Chapter Text
Arthur’s 21st birthday was Merlin’s busiest day since waking up in the past. He had all his normal chores for Arthur, and also got roped into other tasks to prepare the castle for guests, and then he had to prepare Arthur for the ceremony. And then Arthur decided Merlin needed to dress nicely as well. (At least this time he didn’t make him wear feathers.)
When he stood in the throne room that evening and Uther presented Arthur to his people as the Crown Prince, Gwen leaned over and observed that Merlin must be proud of him. Of course Merlin made a joke about socks and royal arses, but the truth was … Merlin was proud of Arthur.
He didn’t know what it was, but Arthur seemed much more like the King who died in Merlin’s arms than the prattish Prince he remembered. Had the years soured his memories of Arthur when they first met? Or had his hard won affection made him more patient with the Prince’s faults while noticing more his strengths?
Merlin’s thoughts were interrupted by the shattering of a window and the appearance of a black knight upon a black horse. Arthur and his knights drew their swords and stepped defensively in front of Uther. The black knight stopped in front of the wall of swords and declared his challenge.
Merlin realized in that moment that before Arthur became King, all of the attacks, all the things Merlin had to save Arthur from, were aimed at his father. Arthur was just caught up in the middle of angry sorcerers trying to end Uther’s tyranny. How easy would it be to step aside? To let one of them succeed and Arthur ascend already?
Merlin tried to imagine that future: Arthur on the throne at 21. Morgana might not go evil. Agravaine might come sooner. Merlin might be able to convince magic users that Arthur was different and beg time to prove it. And then he would have to tell Arthur of his magic. If Uther was dead, Merlin couldn’t hide behind his laws anymore. He would tell Arthur of his magic. He would tell him of the time travel.
And when he did so, Arthur would learn that Merlin let Uther die. Arthur might have accepted that Merlin had magic. He might have found reason to forgive Merlin’s lies. But if Merlin were responsible for his father’s death, if Merlin could have saved Uther and didn’t, Arthur would never let that go. And Merlin couldn’t hurt him like that.
The black knight’s challenge was accepted by Owain, and Merlin knew that by this time tomorrow, the young man would be dead. Merlin couldn’t save him, not without revealing himself.
Once again, Merlin let events play out as they had before. He went about his chores while trying to ignore the wraith standing vigil in the courtyard. He followed Gaius to the tournament grounds, and hated himself as he watched the past repeat itself. Owain landed a killing blow. He relaxed his guard for a moment. The black knight didn’t even notice the injury and killed Owain in his moment of vulnerability.
And then Arthur changed things.
It was one thing for him to privately express doubts about magic after Merlin (and for some reason Morgana) had been gently trying to open his mind on the matter. It had been strange, but an arguable leap, for Arthur to help Mordred, an innocent Druid child, escape. But this? Merlin was certain that at least two, perhaps three knights died to this wraith before Arthur stepped in. And the angle had been wrong for those seated with the king to see the killing blow; he was certain. Arthur had no way of knowing the knight was a wraith, or that he intended to go through all of Uther’s knights until he could kill the man himself.
The moment the black knight’s blow landed, before Owain had even fallen to the ground, Arthur lept over the front wall of the royal box and threw his glove at the wraith’s feet.
Merlin wanted to race over to the prince and smack him for his stupidity. And then demand an answer. But Gaius told him to grab one side of a litter and help him move Sir Owain’s body out of the arena and back to the physician’s chambers.
Then the physician had Merlin accompany him down into the royal crypt, to the tomb of Tristan du Bois, the tomb that was smashed open and empty.
Gaius turned quickly to leave, but Merlin grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Wait. You cannot tell the king.”
“Merlin, this is sorcery. The King has a right to know.”
“No. Not this time. He cannot know. You can’t let him take Arthur’s place.”
“Merlin, if this knight is Tristan du Bois raised from the dead, then no mortal blade can stop him. He will kill Arthur and any other who stands between him and his target. The King deserves to know.”
“What if I can save him?”
Gaius’ face went all soft and worried at that. “My boy, I know you want to protect the Prince, but you cannot use your magic. You know the risks.”
“Not my magic. No one will know I was involved. Please! Trust me on this. Let Arthur face the wraith.”
Gaius looked torn for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Merlin. I can’t let you risk yourself or the Prince like that.”
Arthur was angry. It was a familiar emotion and one he worked not to let control him, but it was getting harder every day. Arthur was no longer a boy, in need of his father’s approval. He was no longer a Prince, obedient to his King. Arthur was a man and a King. He had learned to trust himself and his friends’ council. He had carried the weight of a kingdom and his people had prospered.
Yet now he was once again a boy, barely crowned and beholden to his King.
He had nearly stepped forward yestereve to accept the unknown knight’s challenge, but Uther had put a hand on his arm to stop him. But when Owain fell, knowing Pelinor was next, knowing none of his knights could best this … thing that had come to challenge his father, Arthur’s anger got the better of him.
The King was angry with him, of course. He yelled at the Prince for letting his anger control him, for not valuing his life enough, for not allowing the knights to do their duty. And Arthur argued with every point. His knights deserved to know that he would fight beside them and die with them. Arthur knew that his life was worth no more than any other citizen of Camelot. And Uther, who had ruled by his fear and anger since the day Ygraine died, was a hypocrite for censuring Arthur for this single act of frustration.
The King had Arthur thrown in the dungeon.
He wouldn’t get to sleep on his comfortable bed, but at least this way Gaius wouldn’t drug him.
Merlin brought him dinner. The boy seemed oddly unruffled to be bringing dinner to his Prince in the dungeon. He also told Arthur to try to sleep so he could face the mystery knight on the morrow.
And Arthur did try. He knew this was another of those threats that resolved itself without his involvement. He knew Uther had faced the knight and somehow defeated him. But he didn’t know how. And Arthur had changed things. He challenged the knight a day earlier. He argued with his father. What if that was enough to make the outcome different?
So Arthur tried, but he didn’t sleep much that night.
When Merlin brought him breakfast, he grinned happily at him but didn’t say anything.
And then some time later, Uther stepped in front of the cell door.
Arthur stood, but didn’t move towards the door.
Uther studied him for a long minute before asking softly. “You are certain you can beat him?”
Arthur made himself pause and consider. “Yes, Sire.” He lowered his gaze. “Father. I watched him fight yesterday. He was slow but ferocious. He relies more on strength and power than skill. I don’t … I cannot promise it will be quick or easy, but I am confident I can defeat him.”
Uther nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to hesitate a moment as though he might say more, but then he stepped back and gestured at the guard.
“Your manservant awaits you in the armory.” Then Uther left, and for a long moment, all Arthur could do was stare after him.
Merlin was indeed waiting in the armory when Arthur arrived. He gave Arthur a confident smile.
“Ready?”
“Obviously not. You haven’t dressed me yet.”
“Right. How foolish of me.”
Merlin already had Arthur’s armor laid out on the table, and piece by piece, he helped Arthur into it. He did each piece correctly the first time, and all of it sat as comfortably as it could. (Arthur had a theory that sometimes Merlin intentionally over-tightened or left pieces loose. Probably when he was annoyed with Arthur.)
While tightening Arthur’s right bracer, he asked “You want your shield today, right?”
“Yes.”
So Merlin skipped the left bracer and helped Arthur settle his shield in place. Then he handed Arthur his helmet. And … not his sword. As though he expected Arthur not to notice.
Arthur stared at it. “Merlin?”
“Yes, Sire?” With that ignorant tone as though he didn’t know he’d just done something impossible.
“Isn’t this sword supposed to be impaled in a boulder right now?”
Merlin turned back to him and asked hesitantly. “What?”
“Come on. This is Excalibur. No one but the rightful King of Albion is supposed to be able to pull it from the stone. How do you have it?”
Merlin’s face did something complicated, hope and fear at the same time. “Arthur … how do you know that story?”
“You—“ Except he couldn’t have. Not yet. “Everyone knows that story.”
Merlin’s face was still full of disbelief. “Arthur … I made that story up …”
“You … ? Of course you …” then the significance of the words hit him. “Merlin?”
“Yes, Sire?” But this time with an odd seriousness and uncertainty.
Because there was only one way Merlin would know he told Arthur that story, but Arthur needed to be sure. “Why weren’t you at Camlann?”
Merlin’s face crumpled then, not quite crying but so close. “I thought Morgana stole my magic, and I couldn’t protec—” his voice broke.
“Alright. Come here.” Arthur set Excalibur on the table and pulled Merlin into a crushing hug. “Dollophead.”
Merlin gripped Arthur’s shirt, and from the way he was shaking, Arthur was sure he was crying. Not that Arthur’s eyes were entirely dry either. It was Merlin. His Merlin who had been through everything with him, who he had been missing and wishing for for the past months.
After a long minute, Merlin took a deep, shaky breath and sighed out, “My King.”
Arthur pushed his friend back gently. “Don’t let Uther hear you say that.”
To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin’s joy was replaced by a fierce determination he’d never seen before. “Uther was never my king. And he never will be.”
Arthur … had no idea what to do with that knowledge. So he brusquely wiped away Merlin’s tears. “And I suppose that means you think you can cry over me now?”
Merlin laughed wetly. “Of course not, Sire. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.” He picked up Excalibur and slid it into its sheath. “Is there anything I need to know about killing this knight?”
“No. Excalibur will kill him as any sword will kill a normal man.”
Arthur had more questions. He was tempted to ask several of them, but he also had a fight to win. “After I defeat this knight, you and I are going to have a long conversation. And you’re going to tell me the truth.”
Merlin gave him a soggy but excessively bright smile. “I’m looking forward to it, Arthur.”
Merlin couldn’t stop smiling. Arthur knew. Arthur knew about Excalibur being in a boulder. He knew about Camlann. It seemed reasonable to assume he knew everything.
He knew about Merlin’s magic.
Every time he thought of it, tears sprang to his eyes again and he had to swallow them back before Gaius or Gwen noticed and asked him what was wrong.
Fortunately, they arrived at the tournament grounds without running into anyone. There, the wraith stood waiting, still as the gargoyles up on the ramparts.
Arthur paused at the edge of the arena and took a deep breath.
“You die out there then I can’t tell you about all the times I dropped tree branches on bandits to save your life.”
Arthur smiled at him. “I look forward to hearing everything.”
Merlin stood and watched as Arthur walked to the center of the arena.
“You are certain he can defeat this wraith?” Gaius asked, unexpectedly at Merlin’s shoulder.
Were Arthur truly 21, Merlin might have had his doubts. If Merlin had truly only known the Prince for ten and a half months, he might have questioned his skill. But Arthur was 32, and had faced an entire army of undead soldiers and a host of magical beings. Merlin knew exactly how skilled his King was.
“Yes.”
Then Uther stood. “A challenge has been made and accepted. The terms are to the death. You may begin.”
Arthur immediately darted in with a strong, direct swing. The wraith easily brought his shield up to block it and his sword came around to be turned aside by Arthur’s shield. Several blows went back and forth like that, deflected off blade or shield. They each stepped forward and back by turns. Then Excalibur caught in the black shield. With a heavy yank, it was pulled from Arthur’s hand. Both knights stumbled slightly, but the wraith got his blade up quickly and swung at Arthur’s exposed right side. Arthur dropped to the ground and rolled away. (Something in the move reminded Merlin of Gwaine.) When he got to his feet, the wraith stood between Arthur and his sword. The black knight advanced, swinging once and again at Arthur, forcing him to dodge and duck, driving him further from his sword. A strong blow to the shield just as Arthur moved knocked Arthur to the ground again. He brought his shield up, seeming to cower, but his foot hooked around the wraith’s ankle causing him to stumble. (That trick was carefully choreographed by Gwaine and Lancelot in an attempt to mix bar fighting in with their sword technique.) Arthur scrambled to get his feet under him, running before he was even upright. The wraith slashed at his legs as he passed, and Arthur stumbled. He fell to his hands and knees. The wraith stood and turned. Arthur spun and threw himself towards the wraith, Excalibur leading. The wraith brought his blade down on Arthur’s arm. Excalibur drove deep into the wraith's gut.
The wraith collapsed forward, Excalibur falling under him. Arthur watched him, not moving from his position on one knee. After a long minute, he turned to look at Merlin. It was hard to read his expression with the helmet on.
Merlin made a decision and walked out into the arena. He crouched beside the wraith and shoved him over onto his back. It didn’t react. He pushed the helmet off to reveal the face of a corpse. Not even a recent corpse. It was dry and withered, barely more than a skeleton. Merlin grabbed Excalibur by the cross guards and pulled it out of the body. Again, there was no reaction.
When he turned back to Arthur, the Prince had dropped his shield and was removing his helmet. His right arm was tucked against his chest, and he still hadn’t moved from his position on one knee.
“Give me my sword and help me up.”
“Of course.”
He offered the hilt and Arthur took it with his left hand. Merlin quickly knelt under that same arm, and with a nod from Arthur, he pushed to his feet, taking most of the Prince’s weight with him. Merlin had seen this moment enough times from the outside to know to turn Arthur to face the king, and grip Arthur so he could raise his sword above their heads in victory.
The crowd cheered. Uther clapped. His face never changed much, but Merlin thought he saw a hint of pride or respect there.
Arthur lowered his sword with a tired huff. Merlin again recognized the moment and slowly led Arthur out of the arena. Gaius met them halfway and went to Arthur’s other side.
“I think my arm is broken.”
“Let’s get you back to my chambers and I’ll take a look at it.”
Merlin kept his head down as they walked. He gently wrapped his magic around his King to support his weight. It made the trip a little easier and only a little longer than normal.
When they reached Gaius’ chambers, the physician began bustling around while Merlin helped Arthur out of his armor. The way he winced and hissed through his teeth every time Merlin moved or touched his right arm told Merlin quite a bit on how much pain the knight was in.
Gaius’ findings, once he had assessed Arthur’s injuries, justified Merlin’s concern.
“Your leg is clean and not deep enough to be a concern, but your arm here … I’m afraid there is damage to the muscles combined with the break, I can’t guarantee you’ll ever get your full strength back even if it heals well.”
Arthur clenched his jaw. To be crippled at barely 21 years of age … Sure, he could learn to wield a sword with his left hand, but he would never again be the best swordsman in five kingdoms.
Obviously, Merlin couldn’t just stand by and accept that. “Does the bone need to be set?”
“Yes. And the sooner we do so, the better. Would you stand behind His Highness and help steady him?”
“Of course.”
Merlin moved where he was directed and wrapped his arms around his friend. Arthur’s uninjured hand came up to grip Merlin’s arm.
“Deep breath, Sire.”
Merlin didn’t see what Gaius did, but Arthur tensed, grunted, and swayed a bit in Merlin’s grasp.
“Merlin, hand me those boards, please.”
“I have a better idea.” Merlin knelt in front of Arthur with a smile. This was why he had magic. And finally, his King would get to see that. “I promise this won’t hurt nearly as much.”
Merlin squeezed Arthur’s shoulder to offer comfort, then slid his hands around Gaius’.
“Merlin, what are you doing?”
He ignored his mentor’s concern and reached for his magic. He met Arthur’s gaze as he muttered the spell. His magic stirred and flowed into Arthur’s arm as streams of amber dust. Merlin could actually feel strength returning to the bone and the muscle knitting together. He pulled his hand away before the cut had fully healed. A trail of light followed his hand to Arthur’s leg, where he let the last of the spell dissipate.
“What have you done?” Gaius gasped beside him.
Arthur’s attention immediately flew to the older man. “You will not speak of this to anyone. If my father asks, my armor turned the blade. Understood?”
“You …? Yes, Sire. Of course.”
“Good.” He glanced down at his arm before giving Merlin a small smile. “Guess you’re not as big an idiot as I thought. How much did you do?”
“Oh. Well, I’m not actually sure. I’m not great at healing spells, but I’m pretty sure the bone is whole again? We should probably splint it just in case.”
Just then, the door opened and the king stepped into the room. “Gaius. How is he?”
Gaius glanced at Merlin and Arthur before responding. “Mostly minor injuries. The cut on his leg may bother him for a week or so, and I’m concerned the arm may be broken, but both are likely to heal fully as long as we tend them properly. I recommend three days of bed rest and at least two weeks without strenuous labor. It may be a month or two, though, before he is fit to train with the knights again.”
“Good. I would speak to you when you’re finished here.”
“Of course. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve bound his injuries.”
Uther nodded and turned to leave, but paused and glanced back at Arthur. “You fought well today.”
“Thank you, father.”