Chapter Text
The brand was worse than iron. Iron had trapped him, shackled him, locked him away — the brand had erased him. Merlin’s breath came in heaves, yet his lungs never truly seemed to fill.
He wasn’t sure whether he’d reached Aithusa. Wasn’t sure whether he could bear it if he hadn’t. The one thing he’d always had, the reward that had made every failed attempt at escape worth it, his little girl — his beautifully dangerous, deadly little girl. He couldn’t lose her, too.
Desperate, he reached again, calling upon something other than his magic. It stretched like a rubber band inside him, flung itself outwards — and found its other home. His relief drew a quiet sigh from him, and he staggered, catching himself on the nearest wall. He straightened — and promptly felt dizzy again. Whatever the other was, it was worlds easier to use with magic.
Magic that wasn’t there any longer.
Its absence left a gaping void in Merlin’s chest, and for a moment he wanted to give in. To crumble under the tragedy his life had become, to sink to his knees and fall apart. And perhaps he would have, if not for the rapidly approaching footsteps.
He set his jaw, gripped Zenya’s gun a little tighter, and waited.
Arthur would be the first to admit that he should’ve paid more attention. But, alas, he hadn’t, too focused on the reassuring feeling of getting closer as he ran.
The cold feel of a gun barrel pressing to his temple jarred him to an abrupt halt, and a vice grip closed around his arm, pulling him into the shadows of a secluded passage.
“Don’t try anything,” Merlin hissed, low and vicious. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you give me no other choice.”
Their faces were hardly a full inch apart. Arthur swallowed, the sudden proximity setting all his nerves on edge. The blazing body heat radiating off of Merlin where they were pressed against each other sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine, and he melted into him despite his best efforts.
“I want to help you,” he managed, though it came out more hoarse than he would’ve liked. Gods, why was his mouth so dry?
“Try fooling someone else,” retorted Merlin. His voice shook ever so slightly, but it was enough to send a thrill through Arthur.
“I do! I—”
“Shut up!” Merlin pressed the gun firmer into Arthur’s temple. “You’re just insurance, so stop fighting me. Aithusa is coming, as soon as she is here you can go.”
“Aithusa?”
“My Valear.”
His Valear. Arthur was torn between giddy elation that his assumption that the creature was protecting Merlin had been correct, and utter shock that Merlin seemed to consider that beast to be something akin to a pet.
He wanted to tell Merlin that it was alright, that he wasn’t going to hold him back, but before he could get out a single word, another voice rang through the quiet alley.
“Lower your gun, sorcerer,” demanded Aredian.
How the hell had he found them? Or caught up with them so quickly? Arthur twisted his head, which prompted Merlin into turning him around entirely without loosening the grip on his arm, and resulted in Arthur’s back pressed to Merlin’s front, held firmly in place by Merlin’s arm over his chest. He swallowed an embarrassing sound, trying to ignore how perfectly they fit together like that.
Aredian stood at the end of the alley, holding Zenya in front of him with a gun to her head, in a grotesque mirror image to the hold Merlin had on Arthur. He sneered.
“Lower your gun or she dies.”
Merlin inhaled sharply, his arm tightening further around Arthur.
“Don’t,” Arthur whispered, quiet enough that only Merlin would be able to hear him. “You can still make it, just stall him.”
“Would you have her blood on your hands for a fleeting illusion of freedom?” called Aredian, flicking the safety switch on his gun.
“Merlin, I’m sor—” Zenya managed before Aredian clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Silence!” he barked, then returned his glare to Merlin. “I will find you again, sorcerer, I can promise you that.”
Behind Aredian, Morgana and Gwen rounded the corner, skidding to an abrupt halt. There was murder in Morgana’s expression, and Arthur’s stomach dropped with dread. He tried to catch her gaze, to signal her to stay out of this, but her focus was on Aredian. The fan in her hand opened without a sound. Gwen backed away a few steps, drawing a small revolver from the folds of her skirts.
Then, Morgana moved, graceful and deadly, with an agility that could outmatch even experienced fighters.
Aredian’s eyes flashed a dull orange, and Morgana was thrown backwards, crashing into the ground with enough momentum to send her slithering several feet further than where she’d landed. Gwen never got the chance to pull her trigger before she, too, was lifted off her feet, hitting the wall behind her with a discomforting sound and sliding into a heap on the floor. Neither of them stirred, and if Merlin hadn’t been holding Arthur in an unyielding grip, he would’ve run over to them without hesitation.
The orange glow faded from Aredian’s eyes as they bled back to their usual pale colour.
A strangled gasp escaped Merlin, and somehow he tensed even further. He was practically vibrating against Arthur’s back, every muscle in his underfed body taut like a bow ready to fire.
“You— You have magic,” he rasped. “You! But— But then how— Why—”
“Make no mistake, sorcerer,” snarled Aredian. “I am nothing like you. My purpose is to rid this world of plagues like you; evil, corrupted freaks of nature!” His pale eyes snapped to Arthur. “Your father understands the importance of my work, you’d do well to remember his teachings.”
What? This was the second time Aredian mentioned his father, what the hell did he have to do with anything?
“If you want to rid the world of people like me, why didn’t you just kill me?!” Merlin shouted, his grip on Arthur slacking, and Arthur leaned back against him to uphold the illusion that he was still as trapped as Zenya. “You threatened my mother to take my freedom and kept me for five years! In darkness and iron! What was the point?! Why make me so expensive that nobody could afford me if all you wanted was me dead — did you just enjoy watching me suffer, too cowardly to kill me yourself and hoping Arthur would do the job for you?”
Arthur’s breath hitched when Merlin said his name.
“You’ve already robbed me of my magic, what does it matter whether it ends up in his power?”
What? Arthur frowned, confused. Not even an hour ago, Merlin had been bursting with magic.
“I— You—” Tears streamed down Merlin’s face, and Arthur had to resist the urge to wrap him into his arms.
(Gods, what was wrong with him?! Merlin was a virtual stranger, but there was something about him, something Arthur couldn’t put his finger on. Something that struck deeper than anything ever had. He was powerless against it — and he couldn’t even find it in himself to mind.)
“You are where you’re meant to be,” sneered Aredian.
“What is that supposed to mean?!”
“Enough! Lower your gun or your little friend here dies. Your freedom, or her life.” Aredian pushed the gun barrel into Zenya’s cheek, jostling her roughly. Cruel eyes settled on Merlin; waiting, expectant.
“Everyone for themselves,” Merlin muttered, like he was trying to convince himself. He was trembling, the gun shaking in his hand. “Everyone for themselves.”
Arthur held his breath.
“Fuck. I can’t.” It was barely more than a whisper in Arthur’s ear. Merlin shook his head, his voice breaking as he repeated louder this time, “I can’t. You win.”
The gun clattered to the ground at Arthur’s feet, Merlin’s arm dropped, and he stepped away from Arthur, leaving him feeling bereft and terribly cold.
“Mr Pendragon, the brand,” ordered Aredian without releasing Zenya.
Arthur turned. Met Merlin’s gaze, deep blue as sapphires and full of misery. Reached out to touch the charred Pendragon crest beneath Merlin’s ribs, feeling Merlin shiver under his fingers.
“Your magic is gone?” he asked quietly. “How?”
Merlin’s face crumpled briefly, then he caught himself, smoothing it over with a scowl.
“The brand. If left dormant, it syphons all the magic until—” He broke off, looked away.
Arthur’s heart twisted painfully. Merlin’s words echoed in his head; You threatened my mother — five years — darkness and iron — robbed me of my magic.
“Activate the brand, Mr Pendragon,” Aredian pressed, his tone impatient and laced with disdain.
Arthur exhaled heavily. “Merlin, I— I’m sorry.”
Merlin’s eyes snapped back to his, something unreadable swirling behind them.
“I, Arthur Pendragon —”
The brand flared hot under his palm, a liquid glow spilling out between his fingers, and sapphire irises bled brilliant, molten gold. Merlin gasped, head tipping back, his whole body arching as though he was pulled up by invisible strings. Smells of wood fires and summer storms filled the air.
“— Master of this Seal —”
Blinding light burst out of Merlin, every inch of his skin set ablaze by pure, beaming magic. It spread through the alley, illuminating every last hitch in the copper-and-gray walls of the surrounding buildings. It wrapped around Arthur, curled into him with soft familiarity, cradled him gently, each touch promising protection. Safety. Trust.
It felt like coming home.
Arthur faltered, staring wide-eyed at Merlin, who was bathed entirely in radiant gold. His face was tilted up at the skies, any trace of his anger and misery vanished. He was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. Without meaning to, he reached up with his free hand — his right still resting over the glowing Pendragon crest — to cup Merlin’s cheek.
Bright gold eyes came down at once, blazing with power, resting heavily on Arthur’s face. Bright gold eyes, gleaming with magic, full of affection and forgiveness Arthur didn’t deserve.
“Pendragon!” barked Aredian, audibly angry.
Merlin’s beautiful face twisted into a frown, and that gentle look shifted into vicious hatred as his glowing gaze left Arthur’s face to seek Aredian.
“You are vile, Jonathan Aredian. I may always be bound to someone—”
Arthur’s attention perked at the words. He struggled to grasp it — a thought, an idea just out of his reach — gears grinding out of synch.
“—but at least I am no longer bound by you.”
Arthur inhaled sharply as the gears clicked into place. And all at once, the answer was crystal clear.
Magic was rushing through Merlin’s veins. It swirled around the brand, its heat strangely comfortable under Arthur’s touch, ready to fuel a connection that hadn’t yet been forged. But Arthur was kind, he could feel it. It took some of the desperate ache for freedom away. He almost didn’t mind.
Almost.
He closed his eyes and revelled. Soaked in the feeling of his magic (his true, natural magic, not a pent up torrent spilling from an unstoppered barrel) roaming wild for the first time in five years — and the last time in his life. He had no feeling of his actual power — that was beyond his reach now, in Arthur’s hands. Perhaps that should have felt odd, magic without power, but it didn’t. It felt … light, somehow. As easy as wind tickling over damp skin. He had no control, either, but that was fine. He didn’t need any control. Not anymore.
No, in these last moments, all he had to do was be.
“It doesn’t matter who binds you, sorcerer,” sneered Aredian, and Merlin could hear the nasty smile he must be wearing. “Your illusion of freedom is coming to an end.”
Merlin opened his eyes. He didn’t look at Aredian, didn’t want the last face he saw as his own, independent person to be his. Instead, he looked at Arthur. Piercing, sky blue eyes, sparkling with an emotion Merlin couldn’t quite place.
“I bind your magic—”
“It was worth it,” Merlin declared, even as his heart clenched with unspeakable grief. “Every moment, every single second of freedom was worth it.”
“—to you.”
Everything halted. Froze. Merlin’s magic hung in the air like liquid smoke, wavering gently in a motionless world, as he tried and failed to comprehend Arthur’s words.
“Your magic shall obey no other will than your own. I release you from my seal.”
The flood of raw power was unlike anything he’d ever felt. The backlash of five years in an iron collar paled laughably in comparison to the sky-shattering force of Merlin’s magic reclaiming its might, the core rattling impact of its roots racing through his veins, anchoring it back into place where it had been stolen from by the parasitic hunger of the brand before Arthur had released it. Back where it belonged, deep in every single cell of Merlin’s body.
It was wild, it was raw, it was feral, and saturated with so much power it drove all air from his lungs. It was Merlin’s. It was his alone, and nobody could ever take it from him again.
A gunshot rang through the alley, echoed off the walls.
No.
Zenya’s body hit the ground with a dull thud, a perfectly circular hole in the side of her head oozing blood.
Merlin cried out her name, barely hearing his own voice over the rush of blood and magic and fury in his ears. His freedom or her life.
His freedom or her life.
Aredian’s gun swerved towards Merlin. Travelled past him until it landed on Arthur. Fired.
The bullet never even left the barrel before it was obliterated by Merlin’s magic. Torn to shreds, along with the gun — and the vile man holding it.
The light faded, deafening silence settling over the alley. Merlin swayed, catching Arthur’s shocked gaze.
Alive.
He fainted.
It was only thanks to the ready-to-snap tautness of Arthur’s muscles that he managed to catch Merlin before he cracked his skull on the cobblestones. Frowning at how light Merlin felt in his arms, Arthur pulled him into his lap, and gently slapped his cheek in an attempt to wake him up.
“Merlin. Merlin!”
There was no reaction. A frustrated sound formed low in his throat as Arthur found himself torn between holding on to Merlin until he woke, and checking on Morgana and Gwen. His manners won out, and he reluctantly lowered Merlin down to the cold ground — though not before shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around Merlin’s still exposed torso. He avoided looking at the brand as he did so.
It felt wrong to walk away from Merlin. Resolutely shoving down the urge to turn back, and giving Zenya’s body a wide berth (that was something he could deal with later), Arthur padded over to Gwen. She was out cold, but appeared to be breathing normally and, aside from a couple of bruises, looked unharmed. He eased her into a sideways position before moving over to Morgana.
Aredian’s blow had shattered her fan (Arthur already dreaded her reaction to that, she was not going to be pleased), and there was a shallow cut on her temple — just like Gwen, though, she was otherwise unscathed. Arthur shook her gently by the shoulder. To his relief, her eyelids fluttered in response, a low groan escaping her as she scrunched up her face in discomfort.
“Arth’r? Wha—” She tensed, turning her head too fast and wincing in pain.
“It’s alright, he’s gone,” he assured her hurriedly, steadying her as she attempted to sit up. “Take it easy, you took quite a hit. How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she replied with a scowl, squinting as she glanced around. Arthur couldn’t remember whether that was a bad sign. “What happened? Where’s—” She inhaled sharply. “Where’s Gwen?”
Arthur put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “She’s right here, I already checked her over. She seems fine, just knocked out.”
“‘Just knocked out’?!” Morgana cried, scrambling towards Gwen with frightened urgency. “Don’t you know how easily you acquire traumatic brain injury? The fact that we were unconscious at all speaks for at least mild TBI. How long has it been, has it been thirty minutes since she lost consciousness?”
Arthur blinked at her, mildly startled by her outburst. He had honestly no idea how long it had been, but it couldn’t have been half an hour, so he shook his head.
Morgana seemed placated, though she still moved to kneel beside Gwen and checked her over herself. Far be it from Morgana to trust Arthur’s assessment. Although, in this case it was probably warranted, given that she had some actual expertise.
Satisfied that his sister could take care of herself, Arthur pushed to his feet, intending to return to Merlin, when a large shadow flew over their heads. Morgana let out a terrified shriek (which she would vehemently deny afterwards) as the creature landed at Merlin’s side, nudging him with her muzzle as though trying to wake him up.
Arthur swallowed. For the second time in one day, he found himself face to face with a Valear — Merlin’s Valear. What had he called it? Athena? Aithana? Whatever its name, the beast — No, not a beast, Arthur caught himself — she stood protectively over Merlin’s still form, growling threateningly at Arthur as soon as he took a step towards them.
“Arthur!” hissed Morgana. “What the hell are you doing?”
He shushed her without taking his eyes off the Valear. His heart was in his throat, his palms coated with a sheen of sweat as he raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He slowly crept closer, earning a low growl with each step — yet despite the projected hostility, the Valear showed no signs of attacking.
On the contrary, as soon as Arthur was close enough, the growls were replaced by curious sniffing at his outstretched hands. When he could feel warm breath dancing over his palm, he stopped walking. Waited as the Valear continued her examination of Arthur’s hands, and took the opportunity to get a good look at her in return. It wasn’t every day that you got to see a Valear up close, and Arthur realised that he really knew quite little about them, given that they were on his family crest.
She was … majestic. Standing taller than a thoroughbred horse, her build resembled something midway between a jaguar and a leopard; lean, strong, and made to kill. And then there were the wings. At first glance, the matte leathery texture of them might’ve seemed a poor match for the shiny, snow white fur. But as Arthur saw them now, the contrast between glittering fur — which was still streaked with blood, its smoothness broken up by numerous cuts and welts all over her body — and muted skin made sense somehow. Even lying flat against her back, unused, the wings looked strong enough to carry an entire carriage of people.
Something soft pressed against Arthur’s palm, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He managed to stifle his reaction into no more than a flinch, losing touch with Aithusa’s nose for a moment, before cautiously bridging the gap once more.
Aithusa.
Arthur wasn’t sure how he knew all of a sudden, but he was certain that was her name. The name Merlin had given her. Hesitantly, he rubbed her nose bridge — and promptly received a low purr in response, her ice blue eyes closing halfway.
He chuckled. “Hello there, you’re just an overgrown kitten, aren’t you?”
(She really wasn’t.)
Another purr rumbled through her as she pressed her head against his hand. He scratched her forehead, then behind her ears as he stepped closer. Her eyes opened at the movement, watching him with slitted pupils.
“Will you let me check on Merlin?” he asked quietly. “I promise I won’t hurt him.”
It probably looked insane, what he was doing. Petting a magical creature that could tear him to pieces in seconds, talking to it as though she could understand him.
A noise behind him had his head whipping around so fast, his neck popped. He breathed a relieved sigh when he recognised Leon and Gwaine, looking a bit rumpled but uninjured.
Leon hardly spared Arthur a glance, hurrying over to Morgana and Gwen — who was conscious again, sitting upright with Morgana’s arms around her. Gwaine, however, had his wide-eyed stare fixed on Aithusa. He took a step towards them, and Aithusa growled, the low sound sending a shiver of fear through Arthur.
Giant magical murder kitten. Could rip him apart in seconds.
He breathed deeply and shook his head at Gwaine. Thankfully, Gwaine listened (for once) and walked over to where Leon was fussing over Morgana and Gwen, though he didn’t stop watching them.
Arthur returned his attention to Aithusa, giving her another scratch behind her ears, before moving around her. She allowed it, and he sank down beside Merlin, tamping down the automatic instinct to gather him in his arms again. He felt for a pulse, and noted with relief that it was strong and steady. With a small sigh, he settled back on his haunches, absent-mindedly brushing a strand of ink black hair from Merlin’s forehead as he studied him. Though it was barely visible compared to the blinding gleam that had set him ablaze earlier, Merlin’s pale skin was still shimmering faintly golden. It made him look otherworldly, as much a creature of myth and magic as Aithusa.
The giant creature had settled down beside them and begun to lick herself clean. Quiet unintelligible words wafted over from where Morgana was speaking to Leon, most likely retelling what had happened before Aredian had knocked her out.
After the chaos of the past hour, the relative silence settled over Arthur like a heavy blanket. Lingering traces of fire and rain, glittering steam that tasted of Merlin’s magic filled his senses, relaxing him slowly as his mind calmed.
Merlin was safe. Morgana and Gwen were alright, Leon and Gwaine had won their fight. And yet, Arthur couldn’t help but feel that this — whatever this was, exactly — wasn’t over. Aredian’s words replayed in his head, over and over, and Arthur struggled to grasp why they felt so significant. Like an itch he couldn’t quite reach to scratch.
The Blackout. His father. The implication that Aredian had delivered Merlin to Arthur, specifically, on purpose.
It didn’t make any sense.
Arthur never reached a conclusion — Merlin’s eyes fluttered open, and all other thoughts fell away.
The darkness faded slowly, the world coming back into focus. With it came the pain, drawing an involuntary whine from Merlin. His whole body ached, most prominently the burning spot under his ribs.
The brand.
All at once, memories of what had happened flooded Merlin’s mind. With a panicked gasp, he tore open his eyes, already scrambling to get up and off the ground, to run or fight or whatever he had to do in order to—
“Hey, shh, it’s alright, you’re safe.”
There were hands on him, far too gentle to belong to any of Aredian’s people, matching the soothing tone in which the words were spoken. His vision was blurry, obscured by dark spots dancing in front of his eyes, but his gaze snapped to sky blue eyes as quickly as a magnet to its counterpart. He sagged, the urgency draining out of him despite part of him shouting inside his head that he shouldn’t trust so easily — he couldn’t help it.
Arthur caught him before he fell back onto the street, holding him up with an arm around his shoulders, his head supported in the crook of his elbow while his other hand brushed the side of Merlin’s face. The touch felt achingly familiar.
“Easy there,” Arthur murmured.
Merlin exhaled shakily, trying to get his bearings (and trying to suppress the warm shiver that spread from his tingling face downwards). Slowly, the spots cleared from his eyes as Arthur helped him to push himself into a sitting position, the blurry outlines of Arthur’s face sharpening into crisp contours.
Goddess, but he was beautiful. His eyes were soft, shining with gentle concern, and he wore a small smile on his lips that made Merlin’s stomach flutter. Without his coat obscuring them, the fitted waistcoat and shirt left little to the imagination, outlining lean abs and strong arms. Comforting heat radiated off of Arthur, seeping into Merlin where their bodies were connected.
He shook himself. Blinked rapidly a few times. It didn’t clear his head as much as he’d hoped, but enough to tamp down the ridiculous notion that he was safe.
Before Merlin could continue down that train of thought and convince himself that he wasn’t, a sudden loud purr startled him out of it. He turned automatically, fast enough to make his head spin a little, jaw dropping as he saw Aithusa lying there all peaceful serenity. The strangled noise that escaped his throat was half sob, half laughter. He wanted to move so badly to hug her because she had heard him, had come for him, fought for him — but his limbs weren’t obeying him properly, and all he could do was flail in an aborted attempt to move.
Aithusa understood, bowing her head towards him so he could pet her. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur seemed to understand too, guiding him forward without removing his arm to support him, shifting with him until they were close enough for Aithusa to lick a rough stripe across Merlin’s face.
“Ugh, Aithusa!” he laughed, batting her away weakly.
She gave a satisfied purr in response — then bumped her head against Arthur’s, demanding attention, and drawing a soft chuckle from Arthur as he lifted his free arm (the one that wasn’t still partially supporting Merlin’s weight, warm and reassuring around his shoulders) to scratch her ears.
Merlin gaped at the sight.
Aithusa didn’t like people. Or, well, at least that’s what Merlin had thought, it wasn’t like he’d actually been able to spend much time with her. Locked up in iron. Still, he knew Aithusa, in a way he’d never known another being, and Aithusa didn’t like people. Yet here she was, letting — no, making Arthur pet her like a domestic house cat. Relief spread through him as the image sank in. Aithusa liked Arthur. Trusted him. Had allowed him to remain at Merlin’s side.
All at once, the tension he’d been holding rushed out of him with a sharp exhale, and he sagged against Arthur’s chest. Into Arthur’s warmth. The arm around him tightened, taking on his weight without effort, so Merlin allowed himself the luxury of a moment’s respite, closing his eyes as his head fell on Arthur’s shoulder. He smelled of clean smoke and pine and something distinctly Arthur underneath that made Merlin breathe in deeply before he could catch himself, bringing a sense of safety and comfort that nearly overwhelmed him.
“Are you alright? Do you want to lie down?” Arthur’s voice was laced with worry.
It took Merlin a moment to respond with more than a shake of his head, words escaping him completely.
“‘M fine,” he mumbled, his head still on Arthur’s shoulder. Why were his eyelids so heavy? He struggled to blink them open when he realised they’d fallen shut all by themselves. A warm hand cupped his face, skin prickling under the soft touch.
Nobody had touched him like that in years; careful, gentle. It made him ache in the most blissful way, and he leaned into it reflexively, covered Arthur’s hand with his own to keep it there.
Arthur pulled him closer without another word. Held him. His thumb tracing Merlin’s cheekbone with soft strokes.
Merlin exhaled a long breath. He should open his eyes. To his left, the solid warmth of another, much larger body settled against him, vibrating with the steady rhythm of Aithusa’s continued purring, and his mind drifted.