Chapter Text
Arthur watched the tension seep out of Merlin as he succumbed to his exhaustion, going slack again in Arthur’s arms. He looked younger like this, without the heavy traces of fierce defences hardening his face. It wasn’t the same blank lack of expression as when he’d been unconscious. No, there was a peaceful quality to him now, a soft vulnerability as only sleep could bring to light.
“How is he?” Morgana’s voice was tense, cautious — and sounding close enough to startle Arthur. He hadn’t heard her approach.
Aithusa’s purring paused, interrupted by a warning growl, causing Merlin to shift, a small frown creasing his forehead. Arthur quickly reached out to pet Aithusa’s head, soothing her.
“It’s alright, that’s my sister. She’s not going to hurt Merlin either.”
Aithusa gave him a look. A beat of silence passed, then she settled down, resuming her purring. Merlin’s face eased back into gentle sleep. He pulled Merlin closer instinctively, his pulse speeding up slightly when he felt Merlin sink into him further.
To Morgana (who wisely hadn’t come any nearer after Aithusa’s reaction) Arthur replied, “I’m not sure; physically he seems fine, just exhausted. I hope that’s all it is.”
“Do you want to call an ambulance?”
Arthur shook his head. “Judging from his reactions to people he wouldn’t appreciate that. It’d probably be easier for him if it was just Gaius.”
Morgana’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You want to bring him back to the estate?”
“He might be hurt,” Arthur retorted defensively.
“And he might not want to enter the domain of a man who branded him,” Morgana shot back, vicious words lashing into Arthur’s guilt like a whip.
Just then, Leon appeared behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. It was a mystery to Arthur how he managed it — nothing Arthur ever did had an even remotely calming effect on Morgana. The talent seemed to be reserved for Leon and Gwen exclusively.
“How about we wait for him to wake?” he suggested, gently pulling Morgana further away from where Arthur knelt on the street with Merlin in his lap, before giving Arthur a questioning look. “What happened to Aredian?”
The memory of Merlin’s eyes flaring so brightly it had felt like looking straight into the sun, of his magic lashing out, the destructive force of it whipping past him like vicious lightning, returned to Arthur in vivid detail. How it had ripped through Aredian like a hurricane through tissue paper. To protect him.
“He’s dead.”
There was a small gasp from Gwen, while Gwaine muttered, “That’s going to be a bloody cockfight over who’s taking over his place at the top once the other slavers realise he won’t come back.”
“Excuse me?” Morgana interrupted. “What do you mean ‘he’s dead’? There’s no body!”
A muscle popped in Arthur’s jaw as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Though Morgana was quite vocal about her disapproval of their father’s prejudice against magic users, Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how she would react once she realised the extent of Merlin’s abilities.
“Seeing how I wasn’t there when it happened, I can only make assumptions, but I’d wager Sleeping Beauty over there took care of all that in one go,” Gwaine responded before Arthur could deflect. He was leaning against the wall a few metres back, twirling his retractable whip between his fingers.
Morgana stared at him, then turned to Arthur with her eyebrow arched expectantly. Resigned, he inclined his head in capitulation — it was pointless to try and deny Morgana’s wishes when she got like this.
His retelling of the confrontation between Merlin and Aredian fell flat compared to the intensity of Arthur’s memory of it, winding him up tight like a coiled spring as Aredian’s threats rang through his ears again. (An echo of Merlin’s magic wrapped around him in a gentle embrace, sending a shudder down his spine, the same feeling of safety and trust that had enfolded him then returning to him now; steady and reassuring. His tension eased.) He repeated Merlin’s desperate, angry questions, and noticed the flash of Morgana’s eyes when he recited Aredian’s responses mentioning Uther. He recounted how Aredian had forced Merlin’s compliance by threatening Zenya, how Merlin had all but given in, but how he’d stayed defiant despite his surrender, and how his words had given Arthur the final clue he’d needed to solve the dilemma.
“When I bound his magic to him instead of me, Aredian shot her ,” he said quietly.
The woman’s death was heavy on his conscience, her blood on his hands, yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision that had killed her. Between her life and Merlin’s, there had never really been a choice at all. Not for Arthur. He only hoped Merlin wouldn’t blame himself for it.
“He aimed to shoot me next, which is when Merlin’s magic lashed out, like after the collar came off, only stronger and focused on one target. I’d be surprised to find so much as ashes left of Aredian.”
“He protected you,” said Morgana, a hint of awe in her tone.
Arthur nodded.
“So, with Aredian gone, what about the caravan?” prompted Leon after a brief silence.
“What do you mean?”
“What he means,” replied Gwaine in Leon’s stead, “is that we left them in a right state, didn’t we? Quite a number of wounded, more than a few probably dead by now — and that’s not counting those that were sliced open by your pet over there.”
“Right.” Arthur furrowed his brows, mulling that over for a moment. “And what do you suppose we do about it?”
Leon grimaced. “We can hardly just ignore the chaos we caused.”
“Personally, I say we can,” said Gwaine with a shrug. “Technically most of the chaos was caused by this—” He gestured at Aithusa. “—murderous little angel, and Aredian signed his own death warrant when he went after Arthur.”
Morgana nodded in agreement, which promptly earned her a scowl from Leon (which earned him a frightening glare in return, making him shrink back a little).
“What about her?” Gwen’s question cut through the about-to-crack-lightning tension between Leon and Morgana. She was pointing down the alley. Arthur followed her gaze and winced.
Zenya.
He took a heavy breath. “Gwaine?”
Gwaine straightened with the calm collectedness of a soldier, his warm brown eyes hardening with cool resolve.
(Moments like these never failed to remind Arthur of the fact that he’d first met Gwaine during military training. Arthur, young and green just past his twentieth name-day, starting basic training, and Gwaine with several years of experience under his belt, seemingly the only soldier on base who wasn’t fussed about having a pint with greenies. They’d had their differences, with Gwaine’s tendency towards shenanigans grating on Arthur’s serious sense of duty — but whenever it mattered, it was like Gwaine shed his usual coat and put on another; one Arthur had come to rely on more than once.)
“I got you covered, Princess, but you owe me one.”
Arthur made a dismissive gesture. He had a fairly good idea what Gwaine wanted in return for taking care of Zenya’s remains before the city guard stumbled upon them. They’d always evened their scores in good spirits (and with lots of spirits).
Gwaine nodded, holstered his chain whip, and jogged over to where Zenya lay in a puddle of her own blood. He gestured for Leon to join him, who didn’t quite manage to keep the relief off his face at being called away from Morgana’s sharp tongue and rising temper. A temper that was now promptly aimed at Arthur, as Morgana rounded on him with a huff.
“What about all the things Aredian said?”
Surely you of all people would agree — Your father understands — big advocate of an all-out ban, back in the day — you’d do well to remember his teachings.
He shook himself to loosen his tension. Glanced down at Merlin.
You are where you’re meant to be.
His heart skipped a pathetic beat.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.
“Aren’t you curious?” Morgana prodded, insistent as ever.
“Of course I am,” Arthur scoffed. “But what exactly would you have me do? Aredian is gone, there’s no asking him what the hell he meant by any of it. And Uther— Merlin—” He trailed off and shook his head. Pushed a strand of hair away from Merlin’s forehead, his fingertips tingling where they brushed skin.
A knowing look passed over Morgana’s face. She could read him far too well. This time, it worked in Arthur’s favour, though, because her expression softened, and she gave him a reluctant nod. Now wasn’t the time to think about it. They’d figure it out eventually.
“I suppose I’ll find George to fetch the avion.”
“Perhaps you’d also want to call ahead for Gaius to be ready for our arrival,” Gwen chimed in, and Morgana smiled.
“You’re right, thank you, Gwen.” She took Gwen’s hand and made towards the main market street. “We won’t be long, Arthur.” Take care of him, went unspoken, but Arthur heard it loud and clear.
He didn’t respond with more than a nod as he watched them round the corner. Only after they were gone did he notice that Gwaine and Leon had also disappeared, along with Zenya’s body. Which left him alone once more with Merlin and Aithusa. Merlin, who looked ethereal, bathed in soft golden light coming from nowhere.
Arthur shifted to sit more comfortably on the ground, pulling Merlin closer until he was all but cradled in Arthur’s lap. He resumed the soft strokes of his thumb along Merlin’s face, a small thrill going through him when Merlin turned into the touch with a soft sigh. So peaceful, so serene.
But he would wake eventually. He would wake, and who could say what happened then. Morgana was right; as much as Arthur wanted to bring Merlin home with him, to have Gaius ensure his health, to wrap him in thick blankets and hold him until all his fears drained away, chances were that Merlin didn’t want any of that. Arthur couldn’t blame him, nor would he force him. If he were to suffer five years in chains, he wouldn’t appreciate anyone telling him where to go right after being freed.
You are where you’re meant to be.
Aredian’s words echoed through his mind again, and Arthur fought to ignore the excited flutter in his belly at the idea that Merlin was meant to be with him. He didn’t know what Aredian had meant, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t that.
Arthur shook his head to clear it, before lowering his gaze to study Merlin’s sleeping face. (Again.) Peaceful. Serene. Golden.
He tightened his arms around him. At least until he woke, Arthur could pretend that Merlin was where he belonged. Where he would stay.
Merlin was warm for the first time in what felt like forever, wedged between two living furnaces. Low murmurs that he couldn’t quite make out floated through his hazy mind, ceaseless as the brushes of Arthur’s thumb along his cheek.
As he kept hovering at the edge of consciousness, the comforting heat and soothing touches were slowly drowned out by an entirely different feeling. At first it was nothing but a humming buzz, a passive sense of something not quite perceptible. With every breath, it grew. Swelled. Deepened. An image flashed in Merlin’s mind, vivid as waking sight; a lake, its surface as still as ice, perfectly undisturbed, the water clearer than the purest crystal — so clear he felt like he should’ve been able to see right to the bottom of it. Only there didn’t seem to be a bottom. Instead, it just went deeper and deeper, until the light could no longer reach and deeper still, an endless plunge into glittering darkness, vibrating glimmers swirling in infinite spirals around him. Into him.
The quiet buzz had grown to thrumming pulses, raw magic blazing through his blood, his bones, wild and powerful. Yet despite its ferocity, it didn’t feel unhinged. It felt … right. There was no lashing out, no struggle to keep it in check as Merlin sank through the darkness of the lake, deeper into his own power, into himself. It was serene.
He wasn’t sure how long he floated in that lake — long enough for the blackness to shift into purest white, bursting apart in golden threads twisting like glittering whirlpools of magic until that’s what they became again, glittering stars dancing in crystal clear water. The cycle repeated. Merlin continued to drift, soaking it in, and slowly, his perception sharpened — adjusted, like pupils expanding to adjust to the dark.
That’s when he became aware of it. Through the vastness of his magic, he hadn’t felt it at first; the coaxing pull of something — someone — on the outside. Merlin followed it, gave into it, wondering absent-mindedly what he might find on the other side, still absorbing every sensation of magic flowing freely around him. He recognised the familiar feeling of Aithusa’s magic, inextricably connected to his yet always separate in essence. The pull didn’t lead to her, so Merlin let it haul him along because he could see it now; a blazing beacon of light, as brilliant as Merlin’s magic had ever been if not more, and yet something else entirely.
It led to Arthur.
He opened his eyes with a sharp gasp — and the world came crashing down on him, breaking his deep meditative state and scattering any remnants of awareness he fruitlessly tried to cling to. His chest rose and fell with heaving breaths, heart hammering rapidly against his ribs.
“Shh, breathe, everything is fine, just breathe,” Arthur was saying, hugging him close and swaying slightly.
Arthur. There had been something about Arthur, he was sure of it, just before he’d woken up. He tried to catch it, to remember before it was gone. And it was right there, fading too quickly in the back of his mind even as he fought to grasp it. The memory slipped away like a fleeting dream, vanishing.
Merlin’s pulse slowed, and his breathing calmed. He looked up at Arthur, noticing abruptly how close they were. His cheeks heated and he awkwardly scooted back a little.
Arthur let him go.
“Are you alright?”
Merlin shrugged. Nodded. Leaned against Aithusa, who had lifted her head at Merlin’s initial reaction and then promptly gone back to her purring slumber.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Not long. You can sleep more if you want.”
He shook his head, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. When he lowered it, Arthur was watching him, his expression hesitant, cautious. Almost fearful.
“I realise I never introduced myself. I’m Arthur. Arthur Pendragon.” He extended his hand, smiling slightly.
For a moment, Merlin just stared, incredulous. He snapped out of it when Arthur’s face fell into dismayed acceptance, and hurriedly took Arthur’s hand before he could pull it back. The touch felt like a tiny shock travelling up his arm.
“Merlin.” He hesitated. It had been an age since anyone had known him as anything more than that — but the iron was gone, and somehow it felt right. He took a steadying breath and added, “Merlin Hunithson.”
Arthur beamed at him. The sight made Merlin’s heart skip a beat, and he immediately felt silly for it. This man had bought him; purchased him like an object. For all Merlin knew, he saw him as some particularly valuable piece of property and nothing more. And yet—
“You broke the seal. Why?” The words came out more bluntly than he’d intended.
Arthur’s response wasn’t immediate, and his tone was cautious when he eventually replied, “It felt like the right thing to do.”
“Why?” Merlin’s eyes were burning again, and he angrily blinked the tears away before they could fall.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Arthur. “There’s a lot I’m not sure of right now, to be honest. All I know is that I’m … drawn to you. The thought of binding your magic — it just felt wrong. I don’t regret my choice, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Merlin released a shuddering breath, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Thank you.”
Arthur smiled. “You’re welcome.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything else, and Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur was giving him time to process. He was grateful for it, because even though he could feel his magic flowing through his veins, the concept of freedom was difficult to grasp after such a long time in captivity. Unless— Did Arthur mean to put him back in cold iron?
He tensed reflexively, pressing closer to Aithusa as he shrank away from Arthur, eyeing him warily. The flash of hurt on Arthur’s face made him feel guilty for it immediately, but he didn’t relax. Couldn’t.
“What will you do with me now?” he managed, though the fear was too obvious in his voice. Defensively, he pushed further, forced a challenge into his tone. “Another collar, since the brand is useless?”
Arthur’s eyes widened a little, and he shook his head vehemently. “No! Of course not, God, Merlin, I would never—” He ran a hand through his golden hair, making it stand up at odd angles. “I never wanted a slave. My father insisted I get one because he’s hung up on status and appearances, but I never— I’ll admit, when I first saw you I may have acted somewhat impulsively to bid in the auction. There was this feeling, this … pull — I can’t explain it. But I wouldn’t take your freedom, Merlin. I would never do that to you.”
A beat of silence. Then, fragile as glass; “I’m free?”
“You’re free, Merlin, I promise.” Arthur’s smile was sad. “I can give you money to— Where’s your home?”
“Ealdor,” Merlin replied without thinking.
“Does it have a station?”
Merlin shook his head, then paused and shrugged. “I don’t know, it didn’t when— When I left.”
Arthur’s face darkened. “When he took you.”
Merlin shrugged again, ducking his head. He tried not to think of that day.
“I could bring you there,” said Arthur, and Merlin’s eyes snapped up. “Morgana went to call for our transport. We’d have to make a quick stop at the Pendragon Estate — drop off her and Gwen, refuel the avion, and, if you’d allow it, have you looked over by our doctor — but after that we could fly straight to Ealdor. If you want. It wouldn’t be longer than a day’s journey.”
Arthur’s expression was open, sincere, and Merlin could only stare at him. Returning to Ealdor. The idea seemed absurd. As if he could just fit back into the same space he’d vacated five years ago. As if not everything about him had changed since he’d last set foot in Ealdor. Merlin knew he should be happy, that he should jump at the chance to go home, to see his mother again. And he wanted to see his mother again, he did, but this wasn’t right. Leaving Arthur wasn’t right.
I’m drawn to you.
“I’m not sure if— It’s been a long time,” Merlin managed through a dry throat. Arthur perked up a little.
“You— It’s understandable to—” He broke off, gnawing on his lower lip. The pause stretched, until Arthur’s cheeks coloured slightly and his lips thinned as he looked away. He fiddled with the hem of his waistcoat.
“You could stay with me. If you want.” The words were soft and hurried, as though Arthur wasn’t sure whether he wanted Merlin to actually hear them, even as they kindled a blooming heat in Merlin’s chest. “Not as a slave, obviously! Though you might have to pretend in front of my father; he expects me to return with— But you wouldn’t be. You’re not.” Arthur met his eyes, then, and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re not a slave, Merlin, you’ll never be a slave. You could leave whenever you want. If you stayed, I mean.” He eyed Merlin apprehensively. Almost afraid. “Would you— Would you want to? Stay?”
There was no fighting the smile that tugged on Merlin’s lips, so he didn’t even try, and Arthur’s face lit up with what must be a mirror image of Merlin’s own irrational relief. He tried not to think about the way his stomach flipped at the sight of Arthur’s radiant smile.
“For now,” Merlin said, though it was a feeble pretence. (Loath as he was to admit it, Aredian’s proclamation that Merlin was where he was meant to be felt … right. Whatever that implied, Merlin didn’t dare to think further about it for now.)
Arthur indulged him with a nod anyway. “Of course, just for now.”
For a moment they held each other’s gaze. Merlin didn’t know what to say. What to do. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the faint echo of approaching footsteps saved him, and the two men who had accompanied Arthur earlier rounded the corner only a moment later. If they were surprised to see Merlin awake, they didn’t show it. Instead, the shorter of the two addressed Arthur, who rose to his feet.
“It’s taken care of.”
“Thank you,” replied Arthur, though his eyes already swerved back to Merlin who was still leaning against Aithusa’s curled up form. “Your next tab is on me.”
“Damn right it is.” The man grinned, entirely unbothered by Arthur’s diverted attention.
“Can you stand?” Arthur asked, extending his hand towards Merlin.
Merlin rolled his eyes before he could think better of it. To his surprise, it earned him a broad grin from Arthur, so he felt marginally more confident when he took the offered hand and allowed Arthur to pull him to his feet.
The momentum was stronger than Merlin was prepared for. He stumbled a little, before he was caught by a steadying arm wrapping around his waist. Arthur’s face was mere inches from his.
Gods.
His only consolation was that Arthur’s cheeks flushed red just as Merlin’s own face heated. He tried to quickly step back, but Arthur still held him firm, and neither of them seemed able to look away.
Arthur cleared his throat. Let his arm drop from Merlin’s waist.
“Right. Merlin, these are my … friends, Gwaine and Leon. Gwaine, Leon, this is Merlin.”
“Er, hello,” Merlin stuttered, still reeling a little from his proximity to Arthur.
“Nice to meet you, Merlin,” said Leon. He wore a kind smile, the type that radiated an utter lack of judgement. In comparison, Gwaine’s expression was downright predatory.
“It’s a pleasure,” he purred, a broad grin splitting his face.
Next to Merlin, Arthur bristled. Merlin had to resist reaching out to calm him, even as his stomach fluttered at the thought that Arthur was jealous. And if that wasn’t worth leaning into…
“Pleasure’s all mine,” replied Merlin, smiling back at Gwaine (and quietly rejoicing at the twitch of Arthur’s brows).
Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt the conversation before it could start, only to be cut off himself before he could utter a word.
“Oh, you’re up,” exclaimed the pale woman who had already helped Merlin in the market as she rounded the corner. The same woman who had later attacked Aredian.
Merlin blinked, only now realising how unusual her reappearance in the alley had been. Between Arthur releasing him (and his magic) from the brand and Aredian shooting—
“Zenya,” he gasped.
Arthur’s face fell. He began to say something, reaching for Merlin in a soothing gesture, but Merlin wasn’t hearing it. Blood was rushing in his ears, deafening him as he staggered a step backwards. His gut twisted and a wave of nausea swept over him
“She’s dead. She’s dead because of me.”
“Merlin, no.” Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him a little.
“I killed her!” Merlin’s lungs wouldn’t fill properly.
“Aredian killed her. You complied, Merlin, you did what he asked to save her.” Arthur grimaced. “I didn’t. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
That startled Merlin out of his panic, and his shallow gasps for breath halted in surprise. His next inhale was deeper, while his brain was still processing Arthur’s words.
“You— No! Aredian—” He broke off.
“Exactly,” agreed Arthur. His hands were still wrapped around Merlin’s shoulders, firm and steadying. “Aredian. Not you.”
Merlin blew out a long breath as his stomach slowly untwisted. He glanced around, then frowned when he found no sign of Zenya’s corpse.
“Did I—” He swallowed and made a vague gesture to indicate his magic lashing out.
Arthur shook his head. “Gwaine and Leon took care of it.”
A soundless Oh was all Merlin could manage in response. A mixture of shame and guilt threatened to push him back down a spiral. But Gwaine gave him a sloppy salute and a grin, so he forced himself to breathe slowly, pushing it away.
He focused back on the pale woman. Behind her, the second woman in the lavender dress had also appeared again. Both of them were smiling at him.
“You’re— You helped me flee. Why?”
The pale woman’s smile widened. “Well, I’d also make a run for it if I were to be bound to Arthur.”
Merlin blinked, confused. “You know Arth—”
“Merlin, this is my sister, Morgana, and her servant, Gwen,” Arthur cut in, rolling his eyes at Morgana, whose smile broadened further into a gleeful grin.
Whatever Merlin had expected, it wasn’t that. It made sense, though. She’d recognised the brand — the Pendragon crest, burnt into blistering skin. She’d recognised it, immediately realised what it meant, and jumped to Merlin’s aid.
A smile spread on his face.
“I’m Merlin.”
Morgana’s eyes flashed mischievously.
“I know. I think we’ll be great friends, Merlin.”
“Oh good gods, I am going to regret this, aren’t I,” groaned Arthur.
Leon clapped him on the back and shrugged, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile as he said, “You’ve had worse.”
“I’m not so sure,” muttered Arthur, and while Leon tried to smother his chuckle, Gwaine had no such inhibitions and laughed heartily, earning himself a glare. “Off with you, I don’t need your mockery.”
Gwaine raised his hands in surrender without losing his grin. He glanced over at Merlin and winked. (Arthur bristled. Again. Merlin’s silly heart skipped a beat.)
“See you around, Merlin.”
“Get home safely,” added Leon, briefly gripping Arthur’s arm in goodbye and sketching a bow towards both Morgana and Gwen, before following Gwaine towards the main market streets.
“You too,” said Arthur.
No sooner were the two men gone that a shadow fell over them, and Merlin flinched, his magic surging up to defend him (and Arthur) against— an airship?
“Don’t worry, it’s just George with our avion,” murmured Arthur, his voice low right next to Merlin’s ear. Since when were they standing this close again? And since when—
Merlin was torn between quickly pulling his hand away, or gripping Arthur’s tighter to make sure he wouldn’t let go. He ended up doing neither, frozen by Arthur’s presence. His smell, his warmth. His eyes, electric blue and fixed intently on Merlin.
The airship landed at the corner of the alley. It was a tight fit. A man in a simple servant’s uniform climbed out of it, opening the door to the main cabin.
Arthur smiled at Merlin, warm and encouraging, before turning towards the airship without dropping Merlin’s hand, pulling him along.
“Wait.” Merlin stopped short after only a few steps. “I have to say goodbye to Aithusa.” He turned back, reluctantly removing his hand from Arthur’s.
“Won’t she follow?”
The question was asked in such a genuinely puzzled tone, Merlin halted mid-movement to shoot Arthur an incredulous look.
“She’s a Valear. A creature of magic. Do you intend to keep her in the Pendragon dining room?”
Arthur laughed, and the sound tinkled over Merlin’s skin like sunlight.
“The grounds of the estate are vast, I’m sure there’s a cozy spot of forest for her, perhaps even a nice little cave. She’s a big girl, isn’t she? Aren’t you?” He petted Aithusa’s head, scratched behind her ears, drawing a satisfied purr from her.
Merlin stared in awe.
“You’re serious.”
“Of course I am serious, Merlin,” retorted Arthur, leaning closer as he took Merlin’s hand again. “Now come on, and tell Aithusa to follow us.”
As it turned out, Arthur’s silent assumption that she would follow either way without being told had been correct, because Aithusa got to her feet, licked Merlin’s face one more time, and trotted along as they made their way to the airship. Morgana sat inside already, Gwen and the other servant perched on the steering bench at the front.
When Arthur reached the steps that led into the cabin, Merlin slowed. Arthur’s hand slipped out of his as he stared at the airship. Avion. Whichever.
“Merlin?” Arthur eyed him, visibly concerned. Nervous.
For a moment, Merlin had no words. There was so much going through his head. Five years in chains. Five years in darkness. Five years without his magic. And now…
“I’ve never flown before.”
Arthur’s expression softened, and he smiled, extending his hand to Merlin again. An offer. An invitation.
“It’s not half as scary as it sounds, I promise. And the flight won’t take long. We’ll be home in an hour at most.”
Home.
Something settled inside Merlin. Clicked into place. He took Arthur’s hand, let himself be pulled into the cabin and onto a comfortable leather seat, with Arthur sliding in next to him. Morgana smiled at him as Arthur yanked the door closed.
The airship took off, and Merlin held his breath as the city shrank beneath them as they rose up. Arthur’s hand settled on his back, warm and comforting, as though it had always belonged there.
Behind the avion, Aithusa glided through the air silently, following them.
Towards a new life. A free life.
Towards home.