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Chapter Text

Arthur and Merlin have a special relationship. They always have, even when they were prince and servant. While many question it when first noticing, eventually it becomes an understanding in Camelot—and even among some other countries—that where there is Arthur, there is Merlin. And, where there is Merlin, there is Arthur.

That being said, the first rule to know when staying in Camelot is that if the Court Sorcerer and King are pulled apart for any reason, it is best to stay clear of the King. Especially in the mornings. He will not be in a good mood and only the most important matters should be brought to him. This is even more crucial on the occasions when Merlin is attending to matters outside of the castle because it results in a worried, frustrated, and angry king, and no one will be spared.

It is not a secret that Gaius hates council meetings. He only attends them when absolutely necessary because he is very busy and also very old and doesn’t have time to deal with grain reports and bickering council members. It has been months since he attended a meeting, but he was unable to maneuver his way out of this one because of an ailment running through the lower town. To say he is not pleased is to put it lightly.

He is staring at the ceiling, running through the ingredients he needs for a potion when the door slams shut behind a wheezing Gwaine. The sound echoes through the council room, the occupants sitting at the round table in the center staring at him with little concern. Gwaine is always up to something. They had all grown used to it years ago, even Gaius.

“What is it now, Gwaine?” Elyan drawls without moving his eyes from the game of chess he is playing with Leon.

“Merlin had to go into town this morning,” Gwaine says, still gasping for air.

Leon moves his knight, stealing one of Elyan’s rooks. He notes that Gwaine is in obvious need of more training. All of that drinking must be getting to him. “Is he okay?”

Gwaine looks bewildered. “What are you talking about? Of course, Merlin is okay.”

“Then what is this about, Gwaine?” Lancelot asks, having watched the entire conversation with amusement.

Gwaine stares at them like they are all incredibly stupid. They are, in his opinion. “Merlin went into town this morning. That means he was not here to wake Arthur,” he says slowly.

The room freezes, any previous commotion coming to an abrupt halt. Elyan's hand hangs above the chessboard, ready to move his Queen. Leon watches with a horror that has nothing to do with the fact that he is about to lose the game. Lancelot drops his goblet of water, barely managing to stop it from spilling all over the table. Percival looks to the sky as if praying. Gwen stops sewing a pair of socks. Some of the council members look like they are ready to bolt. One, Lord Francis, crawls under the table.

“How long do we have?” Gwen manages to ask.

“Last I heard he was heading here from his chambers. I’d say two minutes at most,” Gwaine warns, glad they are finally understanding the direness of the situation.

That puts everyone into motion. Gwen shoves her socks and needles into a basket at her feet. Elyan and Leon swipe the chessboard off the table, Elyan diving when a piece clatters on the ground. Lord Bryon whispers to Lord Samuel about hiding behind the drapery.

Gaius stares at them with an iconic raise of his eyebrow. “What are you all on about? King Arthur has other people who can wake him. Merlin isn’t his manservant anymore. Lord Francis, get out from under the table, and there will be no hiding behind the drapery, Lord Bryon. For goodness sake, he can’t be that bad. It will be fine.”

Lancelot, who is supposed to be noble and brave, shakes his head furiously. “No, Gaius. It won’t.” He continues to adjust his goblet and help Gwen hide the sewing between their chairs.

Gwaine takes his seat, which is far too close to the King’s in his opinion—only two spots over—and makes himself look like he hasn't had anything to drink yet this morning. He certainly has, but best not make it obvious to Arthur. “We are all going to die.”

“Aren’t you lot supposed to be brave? It’s Arthur, not the executioner,” Gaius says, his eyebrows not able to raise any higher.

“I’d rather the executioner,” Leon says solemnly. Just as Gaius is about to speak again, probably to admonish them some more, there is a loud bang outside of the room, some yelling, and more clashing.

“He’s coming,” Lord Francis whispers, his head popping up from the table.

Gwen sits up straight. “Everyone look natural. Don’t comment on how he looks. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t look him in the eye. And do not look at Merlin’s chair or make references to him.”

Nobody breathes as the door slams open once again, revealing a disheveled, red-faced King Arthur. Part of his hair is sticking up in the back, his shirt remains tucked oddly on his side, and one shoe is untied. “Well, what are you all looking at? Seems to me like you were all lazing around, waiting for me to get here,” he snaps as he strides toward his seat. “And where the hell is my food? I told George to have it brought here. George?!”

George, bless his heart, comes running into the room carrying a plate of food in one hand and a stack of parchment in the other. “My apologies, sire. I have your food.”

He places the food in front of the King and the parchment to the side with only a slight tremor. Arthur stares at the tray for a moment before turning his gaze back to George who shrinks away. “There are no biscuits on this plate. Why the hell aren’t there any biscuits on my plate?”

“I’m sorry, sire. I did not know—”

“Merlin knows! He always makes sure I have biscuits!”

“I will go get some immediately. Elena has the wine you requested—”

“Then, go!” Arthur shouts, watching as George bolts from the room. The maid, Elena, steps forward to pour wine into his goblet. Arthur takes a long sip before returning his attention to the occupants in the room. “Well, let’s get on with it. I don’t have all day to watch you all sit by idly.”

Gaius clears his throat, the only one brave enough to speak, “Good morning, sire. You asked me to this meeting to discuss the ailment spreading through the lower towns. I think—”

Arthur puts a hand up, rummaging through some of the parchment haphazardly. “No. Stop. My reports aren’t in order. Why aren’t they in order? George?!” When George doesn’t answer, he yells again, “George?! Where is he now?”

“You sent him to the kitchen for biscuits, your majesty,” Gaius answers. Gaius does not seem to understand what he did wrong as the rest of the room flinches.

Arthur turns slowly, the expression on his face making Gaius realize why Gwen said not to speak unless spoken to. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Arthur was about to put him in the dungeons. “I am perfectly aware, Gaius. Thank you for stating the obvious as always. However, whether or not George is getting me biscuits, my reports still aren’t in order, and I can’t conduct this meeting. So, if you don’t have anything important to say, don’t waste my time with useless babble!”

In other news, Gaius is never letting Merlin leave the castle again.

Arthur’s attention doesn’t stay on him long for which Gaius is grateful. He turns to Leon, sitting at his left. “Leon, tell me about the patrols in the south that you mentioned yesterday. You said you’d have a report ready for me today.” Leon nods, rummaging through his own reports to find the one he needs. “Before I grow old and die, Leon!” Leon starts rambling about bandit attacks and the number of men needed. Arthur ignores the food on his plate in favor of drinking more of his wine as he listens.

Leon is nearly finished when the door swings open for a third time. There is an audible sigh of relief as Merlin walks in, carrying a tray of biscuits, his own stack of parchment, and the bag he constantly carries around filled with miscellaneous items that everyone knows not to ask about. The answers are never worth it.

He kicks the door closed and raises an eyebrow when he spots Arthur. “Why do you look like that? I’ve only been gone for three hours, and I come back to the castle in complete disarray and you looking like you fell out of bed, had a tumble with the floor, and left your room that way. What happened, Arthur?”

“Why do I—What happened—Merlin! Where the hell have you been?” Arthur’s face is red again, but Merlin doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he takes his time sauntering to his seat which is conveniently placed to the right of Arthur’s.

“I had that meeting with Annabelle at the bakery. I told you yesterday.”

“You did not!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yes, I did after training, on our way to your chambers. Remember?”

Arthur huffs as Merlin places the biscuits in front of him, which means Merlin is right.

Merlin turns to the rest of the table, taking in the mixture of mirth and exasperation present among its occupants. And a bit of fear from Lord Francis, who looks like he may pee himself. “Give us a minute,” he says, his gaze returning to Arthur. “Why do you look like this? I sent George.”

“I don’t like George,” Arthur grumbles.

Merlin snorts. “That much is obvious since he was crying when I found him with your stupid biscuits. Now, get up!” He gestures for Arthur to stand. Arthur stares at him incredulously. “Come on! We don’t have all day. I have more pressing matters to deal with than your pouting.”

“I am the King—” He chokes as Merlin shoves a biscuit into his mouth.

“And I’m Merlin. Hi. Now that we have that covered, stand up so I can make you look presentable.”

When he starts tugging on Arthur’s arms, Arthur sighs loudly but does as Merlin asks. Merlin gets to work quickly. “I wouldn’t have to send George if you didn’t fire your previous ten manservants.” He waves a hand to tie the left shoe that he is surprised the King didn’t manage to trip on and untucks his shirt, running his hands over Arthur's chest and shoulders to straighten it.

“They were horrible. What was I supposed to do?” Arthur says between bites of his biscuit.

“Rumor has it you’re the horrible one, and I’m inclined to believe it. You are a dollophead, after all.” When he finishes with the shirt, he begins on Arthur’s hair. Arthur leans his head forward slightly so Merlin can reach better.

“And you’re a clotpole!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’ll speak to Sylvia. She runs the interviews. I’ll sit in on them and pick the next one. Does that sound agreeable?” He grips Arthur’s face gently, adjusting his head so that he is facing Merlin again.

The tenseness in Arthur’s shoulders fades, a much more relaxed expression replacing it. “I suppose. Try not to pick someone as horrible as you were.”

Merlin grins. “Only the best for you, sire.”

Arthur smiles back, if only because Merlin is smiling.

Merlin steps away and glances over his work. “Much better. You look like a real king now.”

“I always look like a real king because I am the King, Merlin.” Arthur takes his seat at Merlin’s insistence. Merlin remains standing, his fretting having just begun.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.” He pulls Arthur’s reports from the table, sitting them to his right and replacing them with the plate of food, before setting his eyes on the goblet. He shakes his head, picking it up and moving it away from Arthur.

Arthur makes a grab for it but misses. “What are you doing? That’s my wine!”

“Not before dinner, it’s not,” Merlin says, indignantly.

“You can’t—”

“Here you go, Gwaine.”

Gwaine smiles. “Thanks, Merls!”

Arthur growls. “Why does he get wine, but I don’t?”

Merlin moves the empty goblet set out for him in front of Arthur, gesturing for Elena to fill it. “Just water, Elena. Please and thank you. Gwaine can hold his liquor any time of day. You can’t. If you drink before sunset, you’ll be an absolute arse, and I won’t be dealing with that today or any day for that matter.” Arthur gapes at him. Merlin gestures toward the plate again as he picks up Arthur’s reports. “Eat more than just biscuits. Wouldn’t want to add another hole to that belt.”

“I am not fat!”

“Continue eating the way you do and you won’t be able to say that.”

“Continue eating the way you do and you’ll fade to nothing! Honestly, Merlin, have you eaten anything today?”

“I will in a bit,” Merlin murmurs, already scanning the pages. “Does anyone have a quill? I doubt Arthur remembered to bring his.” Gwen smiles and offers hers. “Thanks, Gwen. Will you be free after dinner? I have some things I need to run over with you.” Merlin takes the quill and writes something on the report while simultaneously spearing a sausage and shoving it in Arthur’s face.

“Of course, Merlin. I’ll find you when I’m finished in the kitchens if that is suitable,” she says.

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

Arthur takes the fork from him, eating half of the sausage more aggressively than necessary before shoving the other half towards Merlin. Merlin accepts it without hesitation, eating the other half and handing the fork back to Arthur as he continues writing.

Arthur spears another sausage. “What did Annabelle say?”

“That it’s doable, but she would need a fortnight.”

“That’s cutting it close.”

“I know, so I offered the services of Mary and Isaac. She said with two extra workers she might be able to finish a few days earlier.” Merlin sets the first few reports that he finished back in front of Arthur, who skims through them as he offers Merlin the fork again.

“Why would you send Isaac to work in a bakery? Isn’t he a stable boy?” Arthur asks, taking the fork back when Merlin is finished.

“Yes, but the kitchens could only spare one worker, and Lady Eleanor had mentioned that Isaac is an adept baker. He’s been trying to work his way into the kitchens for a while now. I figure this will be a good test run.”

Arthur hums, shoving a grape toward Merlin. “And did you set up the—”

“Meeting with the western Druids?” Merlin finishes, not glancing up as he takes the grape and scribbles another note. “Yes. I’m meeting them next Wednesday. I’m going to try to free your schedule so that you can come along.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Arthur says, offering Merlin a cheese and a grape because he knows the warlock likes the pairing. “Elena, could you fetch us some more grapes and cheese?”

“Of course, sire.” Elena bows, scurrying toward the door.

Merlin eyes Arthur with a frown. Arthur huffs. “Thank you, Elena.”

Elena startles and turns back around. “It’s an honor, sire.” She bows again before leaving the room. 

Merlin smiles and reaches into his bag for another smaller pouch. He plucks out four sweetmeats, placing them on the plate before closing the pouch and shoving it back into his bag.

Arthur grins. “Are these—”

“Your favorites. I got them from Annabelle before I left. You can have the rest after dinner. Any more and you’ll get a stomach ache. You won’t want that with training later.”

Arthur snatches one from the plate, offering Merlin another grape and cheese before plopping it into his mouth. “What about the—”

“I have a meeting with Audrey to finalize the menu tomorrow afternoon. Much to my chagrin, mind you.”

Arthur smirks. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I heard she has a crush on you.” 

Merlin glares at him, not at all amused. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I’ll need you to look it over. She likes to have your approval.”

Arthur waves his hand, offering Merlin another piece of cheese and then shoving it closer to him when he doesn’t notice right away. “Just tell her I did. I don’t know those things as well as you do. Whatever you pick will be fine.”

“Are you admitting to not knowing something?”

“I said as well as you do, not that I don’t know at all. You’ve been doing it for years, and I never look it over. Did you—”

“It’s been dealt with. I sent a message to Lord Manson’s cousin. And the—”

“I sent the letter last night after you went to sleep. It'll be at least two weeks before we hear back from Lot.” Arthur takes a drink from the goblet before handing it to Merlin.

Merlin sips some water and sets it back down. “We have to contact—”

“Brior. I know. I’m working on it. He’s such a toad, though.”

Merlin snorts. “I know. I still think you should give the title to his wife instead. She’s a lovely lady and runs most of the estate anyway.”

“I’m considering it. It’s unconventional but—”

“You’re the king and can do what you want,” Merlin mimics.

Arthur grins. “Exactly. Only took you years to figure it out, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes again—a common action in Arthur’s presence—and hands the final stack of parchment to him. “There. All in order with my notes. Sorry I didn’t finish that last night. I forgot before falling asleep.”

Arthur smiles softly. “It’s okay. It’s not technically your job. I’m glad you got some sleep. You haven’t been getting enough. Come sit.” He pulls Merlin’s chair as close to his as possible—which he does every meeting and it’s starting to irritate him that someone keeps moving it back because Merlin belongs right next to him. Merlin doesn’t comment, expecting it, and takes his seat. Arthur pushes the plate and goblet directly between them, watching carefully as Merlin finally reaches for some food himself. 

When Merlin seems content eating more of the food and Elena sets down another plate of cheese and grapes between them, Arthur finishes glancing through the reports and faces the table again. “Sir Leon, if you don’t mind, we will get back to the bandit problem in a moment.”

“Of course, sire,” Leon says, a look of awe on his face.

Arthur smiles. “Good. Gaius, you said something about the ailment in the lower towns. What is the update?’

Gaius, who is very old and very busy but also always put together, splutters. Gaius doesn’t splutter. He gives expressions of disapproval, inspiring fear in men with merely his eyebrows. But he does not splutter.

Merlin pauses halfway to reaching for more cheese and looks at Gaius concernedly. “Gaius, are you not feeling well? You seem a bit dazed.”

Gaius looks around at the other members of the round table, searching for answers. He merely receives shrugs and a few chuckles hidden behind coughs. He shakes his head, looking to the skies for mercy, knowing he’ll receive none.

“Gaius?” Arthur asks, patiently. A far cry from earlier.

“I’m fine. No need to worry. About the ailment...”

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. Lancelot whispers to Gwen that they ought to buy Merlin something special. Gwen nods in agreement, passing the sentiment on to Elyan who passes it around the table while Merlin and Arthur remain oblivious as they argue with Lord Misnor about the grain report.

When the meeting ends, Merlin claps his hands together. “Well, this was fun. Arthur, dismiss everyone so you can apologize to George and get ready to take audiences. You have training afterward, and I have a meeting with that sorcerer from Caerleon.”

“I’m not apologizing to George.”

“You will if you want more sweetmeats.”

Arthur looks at the pouch before sighing. “Fine. But I still hate him—”

Merlin nods. “I know. I do too.”

“—And, I don’t want you meeting that sorcerer without guards. Gwaine and Leon will accompany you.” Gwaine and Leon agree immediately. “His meeting is at five. I expect you both there with at least four other guards.”

Merlin scoffs. “That’s excessive. I’m the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. The Druids said so.”

“You tripped over your own shoes last night and got tangled in my travel bag. You almost suffocated yourself.”

Merlin glares. Arthur stares, waiting.

Merlin huffs. “Fine, but only because I know you’ll worry. This has nothing to do with the bag incident which you had promised you would never mention again."

Arthur rolls his eyes, feeling as though he is behind Merlin in their race to see who can roll their eyes the most. “You are coming with me to the throne room for the audiences, right?”

“Of course I am. People don’t like to come when I’m not there because they say you're grouchy and mean.”

Arthur gasps. “I am not! I can handle myself perfectly fine without you. I’m downright pleasant, in fact, because I don’t have to deal with your endless babbling!”

Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Ask them!” Arthur says, gesturing to the rest of the table. 

They stare at him blankly. Gaius shakes his head again. Leon coughs.

Merlin smirks. “Ha! Told you!”

Arthur gapes, leaving a perfect opportunity for Merlin to shove another biscuit in his mouth. He stands up, grabbing both of their stacks of parchment and his bag. “Come on, Arthur. We’ve got a busy day, and you can’t keep lazing about.”

“I didn’t dismiss you!” Arthur shouts as Merlin reaches the door.

Merlin looks back with a smirk. “You never do, sire.” Nevertheless, Merlin waits for him as Arthur dismisses the table and follows him out.

“That's because whenever you aren’t in my presence, you are up to no good, Merlin. No good! You come back with bruises or cuts or you burn my things—”

“That was one time!”

“One time too many!”

The door shuts behind them, their arguing growing fainter as they walk away. Some of the advisors scurry out, but the knights stay. And Gwen, who has pulled her sewing back out.

Gaius, who is still confused about many things and thinks he ought to leave the physician chambers more often because for all the talking Merlin seems to do when he visits him, he does not tell Gaius anything, is trying to decide whether or not he should ask the questions he is thinking or keep them to himself and try not to have nightmares tonight.

“Go on, Gaius,” Gwaine says, drinking the rest of his wine and gesturing to him expectantly.

It seems he will have to ask then. These are the only people he will get a straight answer from anyway. “They were sharing food.” It’s not a question, he supposes, but they seem to understand him.

“They do that,” Percival says.

“Never in his life has Arthur shared anything,” Gaius states like this is a well-known fact. It is.

“He shares with Merlin,” Elyan says. “But only Merlin.”

Gwaine pouts. “One time I tried to take one of the Princess’ sausages and he put his sword to my neck.”

“But he was feeding him like they are married,” Gaius says, still utterly confused.

Lancelot laughs. “They do that all the time. Almost every day, in fact. Arthur knows that Merlin is forgetful when it comes to eating, so he’s asked the kitchens to always give him extra servings so that he can force-feed Merlin.”

Gwen smiles. “It’s so sweet.”

Gaius shakes his head. “He’s always been forgetful like that.” Then, he remembers his other questions. "And the chair?"

Gwaine laughs. "Arthur can't stand when Merlin isn't in touching distance. Speaking of, Elena, could you mention to whoever cleans the room to not move Merlin's chair back? Princess looked like he was about to throw a hissy fit when he saw that it was moved again."

Elena nods and fills up his glass with more water.

Gaius feels like that doesn't really answer anything, if only raising several more questions, but continues on. “Why is Merlin running to bakeries and supervising feast menus? Are those not jobs of the Queen or, in the absence of, the Head of Household?”

There is a long moment of staring which makes Gaius feel like that was an incredibly stupid question.

“Gaius, do you ever leave your room?” Gwaine asks.

Gaius scoffs. “I’ll have you know, Sir Gwaine, that I am a very busy man.”

“Don’t lie, Gaius. We know you avoid these meetings as much as possible. This is the first one you’ve been to in months.”

Leon steps in before Gaius can argue that he does not avoid anything, even though it is clearly a lie. “Merlin has been running the household since around the time Uther died. The previous Head of Household retired not long after his death, and Arthur never appointed another. People started coming to Merlin for questions so he could direct them to Arthur but Arthur was often busy so he left it to Merlin.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “He’s been doing this for three years? He still would’ve been Arthur’s manservant at the time.”

Percival nods. “And before Arthur knew about his magic. But he trusts Merlin with it, and, to be fair, Merlin does an amazing job.”

“That’s why we call him the Queen when he’s not in the room,” Gwaine says, a smirk gracing his face.

Gaius chooses to ignore that for his own sanity. “But I thought Gwen is at these meetings because she is the Head of Household?”

Gwen looks up from her sewing and shakes her head. “No. That’s Merlin. Everyone knows this, Gaius. I’m his right hand. When Merlin took on the job of Court Sorcerer too, he was so busy that he wasn’t sleeping. Arthur found out and was infuriated. He told Merlin to delegate jobs to me when needed. Merlin always asks me politely though, as if I’d ever tell him no.”

Gaius considers this. “So Merlin is Court Sorcerer, Head of Household, my apprentice, and Arthur’s part-time manservant and advisor?”

“Yes,” Lancelot says. “That's why we always ask him if he needs any help when we see him. He’s not really Arthur’s manservant though. He just does some of the jobs like helping him get dressed and making sure the right food is sent to him because Arthur only likes it when Merlin does those things.”

“He does the jobs that Arthur’s wife would. So, we just say that he’s the Court Sorcerer, physician’s apprentice, and Queen in all but marriage. Between the two of them, they run the whole kingdom,” Percival adds, receiving more nods that show Gaius that they are all completely serious about this.

“I should get a new apprentice,” Gaius says, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Merlin likes spending time with you,” Gwen says. “He’d tell you he doesn’t mind, but hiring someone else would be helpful. You’ll have to tell him that you still need his help, but that he can’t take over as physician when you retire so you have to train someone else. If you don’t, he’ll think you are upset with him and overwork himself to please you.”

Gaius agrees with this. Merlin is tricky when it comes to telling him that he is working too hard.

“If they would stop dancing around each other, he would be Queen in actual name, and it would be much easier on him," Gwaine says. "This is getting ridiculous. The sexual tension is through the roof. Do you hear the way he calls Arthur sire?”

Gaius looks forlornly at the door. “They are hopeless.”

Lancelot nods. “Yes. They are also oblivious.”

“And an honest to God mess.” Gwen laughs.

Gwaine shakes his head. “But the lesson here, Gaius, is that it’s very important that Merlin is the one to wake Arthur in the morning. Other manservants make him very angry at that time of day. He doesn’t like anyone but Merlin to help him get ready. So, we go out of our way, using our limited powers, to make sure that happens.”

There is a moment of silence and consideration before Elyan speaks. “What should we buy Merlin?”

“I think he needs a new pair of traveling boots. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Okay. Everyone has to put some money in. That includes you, Francis. Don’t think I don’t see you under the table.”

“Two sides to the same coin,” Gaius murmurs to himself, almost reverently. Regardless, he’s learned his lesson. He’s never attending one of these meetings without Merlin present again.

Merlin loves the boots and is only a little confused about the gift. Arthur, feeling outdone, has a cloak personalized for him.

Chapter Text

The second rule to know when staying in Camelot is to never interrupt a fight between the King and his Court Sorcerer. It does not matter what they say or do. Interrupting or pulling them apart can result in death.

Karl is a good knight. Well, he tries to be. He is relatively newer, having only been a knight for half a year, but he attends every training session, stays late to help the younger recruits, and works hard to uphold the standards of knighthood. One of these standards is protecting the King. He would lay down his life for King Arthur, and he only hopes it shows in his everyday efforts. He also hopes that one day he will have proved that he is worthy enough to sit among the King’s most trusted men at his round table. Until then, he trains hard and does everything expected of him as a knight of Camelot. 

It is during one of these training sessions that he spots the Court Sorcerer walking briskly across the field. Karl thinks it is odd because King Arthur is not training today. Merlin only attends training sessions when the King is present, normally to relay information, have a quick chat with some of the other knights, or fuss over the King in some manner while making comments that would have anyone else beheaded. Karl doesn’t pay it any mind because the King doesn’t seem to care nor any of the other knights.

Karl is currently training with Lancelot, who promised to help him improve his footwork. As the knight is good friends with Merlin, it is not a surprise that he heads toward them. 

“Lance!”

Lancelot pauses in his place, having had yet to spot his friend. “Merlin! How are you? Did you need my help with something?”

Merlin smiles. “I am well. Arthur has ordered a last-minute inspection of the newer knights at four this afternoon. Anyone that has been training for under a year is expected to be present. As Leon is attending to business outside of the castle, I wondered if you could help get them in order.”

“That won’t be a problem," Lancelot says. "Any reason for the order?”

“He wants to make sure they look presentable for the arrival of Princess Millie of Kent. We are expecting her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ah! I will have them ready at four then.”

Merlin thanks him, turning his attention to Karl, who is internally groaning at the idea of an inspection. “Hello, Karl. How have you been?”

“I am well, my lord. And you?”

Merlin laughs. “It’s just Merlin, Karl. And I am also well. How has your sister been faring? I remember she came to Gaius with an ailment a few weeks back.”

Karl tries not to blush. The Court Sorcerer is an important man. To think that he remembers Karl’s name and that he has a sister who was ill a few weeks ago is an honor. “She is well, my l-Merlin. Thank you for asking.”

Merlin seems like he is going to say something more but is interrupted by the shriek of his name coming from across the field. 

“Merlin!” Not that it was really a shriek. The King would never shriek. He would, however, storm across the training field with a ferocity that makes Karl back away from the scene as unnoticeably as possible. 

Lancelot groans. “What did you do now, Merlin?”

Most of the knights have turned to watch what is inevitably going to be a spectacle. 

Merlin, a much braver man than he or maybe a complete idiot—Karl can’t decide—smiles at the King. “Hello, Arthur. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Lovely day? I’ll show you a lovely day!” With that, the King throws a sheathed dagger right at Merlin’s head. Merlin halts it with merely a look, stopping it in its place before it harms him. Karl would think it was fascinating to watch if it wasn’t for the irritation that becomes evident in Merlin’s eyes. Some say they are more afraid of him than the King. Karl never understood. He does now. 

“Did you just throw a dagger at me?!” Merlin screeches. 

“It was sheathed!” Arthur defends, still marching toward him. 

“It’s still a dagger!”

“You told Lady Melanie that my first kiss was with a goat!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to throw a dagger at me!”

“She told half the kingdom!”

Merlin smirks dangerously, picking up the dagger and twirling it in his hand. “I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

“I want you to tell everyone it’s a lie!”

Merlin shrugs. “But it’s not.”

“It is and you bloody well know it!” Arthur stops in front of Merlin and reaches for the dagger. 

Merlin pulls it away. “No. You threw it at me, so now it’s mine.”

Arthur holds out his hand, impatiently. “That was my great-grandfather’s, Merlin. Hand it over.”

“No.”

“Merlin!”

“I don’t think someone who kisses goats deserves this dagger.”

The look that appears on the King’s face has never been more terrifying. 

Lancelot seems to know what will happen next because he pulls Karl back right as the King, in the most kingly manner, tackles the Court Sorcerer to the ground. Karl can only watch in horror as the two most powerful men in the kingdom duke it out on the training field in front of all of the knights. And by duking it out, he means fighting like a bunch of children. 

“Give it back!”

“No!” 

“Did you just bite me?”

“You pulled my hair!”

“Stop hitting me with your shoe! How did you even get it off?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would stop scratching my arm!”

“If you would just give me the dagger—”

“Never!”

“And tell Melanie that I don’t go around kissing goats!”

“I’d rather die! Ow! Stop it! You can’t hit me with my own shoe!”

“I can, and I am!”

“This isn’t very kingly!”

“It’s not very Court Sorcererly of you to spread lies about your—ow!—king like a gossiping girl either! Goddammit, stop pinching me!”

“Stop reaching for the dagger, or I’ll behead you with it!”

Karl thinks that maybe someone should step in. That is a threat to the King’s life after all. He steps forward, but Lancelot puts his arm up to stop him and shakes his head. “Let them figure it out. This is normal.”

“Normal?” Karl asks, even more horrified. 

“You’ll get used to it.” Lancelot shrugs. He shrugs as his King and Court Sorcerer continue taking turns beating each other with a shoe. 

“I wouldn’t have had to tell Melanie that if you hadn’t forgotten my birthday!”

Arthur pulls back, straddling Merlin with the shoe in his hand, ready to deliver another blow. “Your birthday? Your birthday isn’t until the first day of Spring!”

“Which was four days ago!”

The King blinks, looking around as if finally noticing that the frost has disappeared and in its place are the beginnings of blossoming flowers. “Oh my God. I forgot your birthday. How did anyone let me forget your birthday, Merlin? Surely, Gwen would have told me.”

Merlin crosses his arms, managing to look very put out despite lying on the ground with his hair standing in multiple directions and several pieces of grass stuck in it. “Gwen was out of town with Lancelot. They brought me back a cake and a new neckerchief.”

Arthur continues to stare at him for a moment longer. He places the shoe on the ground. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t know how I forgot. I just lost track of the days. And we’ve both been so busy with everything—”

“It’s okay,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur with wide, innocent eyes that are beginning to fill with tears. Karl has to look away, lest he cries himself. The King is faring no better. “I’m sorry I got so angry about it. I know we've both been busy. But it feels like I never get to see you and that makes me—I just—” Karl has no doubt that Merlin would be crying if there wasn’t an audience.

Arthur sighs. “I know. I’m sorry too. Please don't cry.” He falls to the ground and lays next to the warlock, turning his head to face him. “I’ll make it up to you. We could ride out to that clearing in the forest you like and have a picnic. Right now. I doubt you’ve had lunch. I’ll have Beth pack us your favorites—”

Merlin slouches. “You have a council meeting in an hour, guard inspection at four, and Princess Millie’s arrival tomorrow. And I have that meeting with Lord Gareth, the land ordinance with the western Druids to go over, and I have to finalize the preparations for the feast in Millie’s honor.”

Arthur rests his arm on Merlin’s shoulder. “The council meeting isn’t necessary. Lancelot and Elyan can handle guard inspection. Princess Millie’s arrival is tomorrow, not today. I’ll send my deepest regrets to Lord Gareth. He’ll understand that something came up. It’s not like he travels far to reach the castle. The land ordinance can wait a little bit, and I’ll have Gwen look over the feast if you are that worried about it. You told me yesterday that everything was all set though, so I’m sure it’s fine. The clearing is only an hour's ride from here. We’ll be back by sunset. If you want to work yourself into a frenzy about the feast or Druids, you can then.”

“I still think—”

“It’ll be fine. I won’t have you worried the entire time either. We are going to have a nice picnic, and you are going to like it. That’s an order.”

Merlin scoffs, clearly trying to hide a smile as he looks at the King. Then, another look passes over him which Arthur spots immediately. 

“What now, Merlin?” he drawls, looking far more pleased now that Merlin is happier. 

Merlin sighs. “Nothing. It’s just that you’re on the wrong side.”

Arthur laughs. “I know. It’s been bothering me too, but I didn’t want to say anything because you were upset.”

“I’ll fix it,” Merlin announces before proceeding to roll—roll— over the King. The King doesn’t even bother stopping him and, instead, aids him in landing on his left side. “There. That’s better,” Merlin smiles. 

“Much,” Arthur agrees, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him as close as possible. The dagger and shoe lay forgotten to the side. “I don’t know what I was thinking, landing on the left. I never lay on the left.” Then, he looks at Lancelot, who has watched the entire spectacle with a knowing look. “Lance, could you and Elyan inspect the knights for me?”

“Of course, sire.” Karl watches as the King sends out instructions for their horses, a picnic basket, a message to Lord Gareth, and all of the other things he needs to do to get ready for an impromptu picnic. All the while, he and the Court Sorcerer remain laying on the ground in the middle of the training field as Merlin points out a cloud that he thinks looks like a dragon. Arthur tells him it looks like a bush because all clouds look like bushes but then points out one that he thinks looks like a knight when Merlin pouts. All of the knights return to their previous business but leave a wide berth of room for the two as they don’t look like they plan on getting up until the preparations for their picnic are done.

Karl is unsure of how he should proceed. Lancelot, thank goodness for the man, understands and tugs him away from the scene. 

“I see you're confused,” Lancelot says.

“Yes,” Karl says because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Merlin and the King...their relationship is unorthodox but it works and makes them happy, so no one interferes. Do you understand?”

“Um, yes?”

Lancelot looks at him, mulling over his next words. “Do you know how people say the King is best avoided when Merlin isn’t around?”

“Yes.” Karl nods more enthusiastically because he does know that. He’s witnessed it himself, and it is not pretty. 

“There is much truth behind that. When the King isn’t able to have Merlin at his side, he becomes very angry and frustrated. But this goes both ways. When Merlin isn’t around Arthur, he becomes sad and stressed. And sometimes a bit petulant.”

“Petulant?”

“Yes. He’ll act out to get Arthur’s attention.”

“Like spreading rumors about the King kissing goats?”

Lancelot smiles. “Exactly! This is a vicious cycle. Merlin acts out because he hasn’t seen Arthur, but Arthur is already in a bad mood because he hasn’t seen Merlin. So, when Merlin does something to purposefully make him angry because he wants Arthur’s attention, Arthur acts rashly and they get into fights like the one you just saw. They don’t even realize they do it.”

“I see,” Karl lies. Karl does not see. Karl can not make sense of this. This is the King of Camelot and his extremely powerful Court Sorcerer that they are talking about. “But don’t they see each other at council meetings and around the castle?”

Lancelot shakes his head. “Council meetings aren’t enough for them. Only seeing each other in passing or for quick meetings does not work. It helps but not completely. I’ve been expecting this fight. We all have been. It’s been six days since they were able to see each other properly. That’s the longest they’ve ever gone. I can’t believe one of them didn’t break sooner. Merlin’s had dark circles under his eyes for days, looking a wind’s blow away from falling over, and Arthur has been snapping at everyone. He threw a goblet and two pears at Lord Francis’s head and almost declared war on Mercia when Merlin came late to a council meeting.” 

“War?!” 

Lancelot waves his hand dismissively. “Merlin stopped him when he arrived. It’s okay.”

Okay. Karl can deal with this. He is a good knight. “But no one stops these fights? Even when they have an audience?”

Lancelot winces. “No. Absolutely do not interfere. They are short-lived, and neither of them would ever seriously injure the other.”

Karl frowns. “Didn’t the King throw a dagger at Merlin? And Merlin threatened to behead him with it?” 

“Admittedly, the dagger was a bit more extreme than normal, probably because it’s been so long. Six days is a century for them. Regardless, it was sheathed, and Arthur knew Merlin could stop it. And Merlin would never actually behead Arthur. He would behead himself first.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to stop them from fighting and have them talk it out?” 

Lancelot pauses in front of the door to the armory. “No. This is their way. Karl, you are new and don’t understand everything yet. This is very important, though, and something you must understand: Never, and I mean never, interfere with their fights. The last man who did was a new knight, like yourself. He thought Merlin posed a threat, so he tried to pull him off Arthur and drew his sword on him. I have never seen Arthur so angry. Arthur does not like when other people touch Merlin, especially if they are trying to harm him or take him away from him. He threatened to behead the knight on the spot. Merlin started crying which only made Arthur angrier because he hates when Merlin cries. It was a mess. The executioner was halfway there when Merlin managed to calm himself down and convince Arthur that it wasn’t necessary. The knight ended up spending three days in the stocks—which was terrible because every citizen heard what he’d done and they all adore Merlin—and was sent to the outskirts on patrol duty for six months. No one likes to patrol in the outskirts, as you know. He still has two more months before he returns, I believe.” Lancelot sighs when he spots the look of disbelief on Karl’s face. “Look, the best way to deal with the situation is to treat Merlin like you would the Queen.”

Karl can’t stop his jaw from dropping.

“I know. It sounds crazy, but it’s the best way to go about things without getting beheaded or sent to the outskirts. For example, would you interrupt a fight between the King and Queen?”

“No,” Karl says. 

“And would you threaten the Queen with your sword or pull her off of the King because she hit him with a shoe?”

“No?” Karl’s not really sure how it has come to this.

“No. You wouldn’t. Would you touch the Queen without permission?”

“No. I would not.”

Lancelot nods. “And if the Queen looks really busy, what would you do?”

“Ask if she needs help?”

“Yes, and if someone were to try and harm her?”

“I would protect her with my life,” Karl swears. 

Lancelot pats him on the back. “Goodman. Treat Merlin like the Queen, and all will go well. Do you understand now?”

Oh, Karl understands. Do not interfere with or stop any fights between the King and Court Sorcerer. Do not harm Merlin. Do not disrespect Merlin. Do not touch Merlin. Do not breathe on Merlin. He understands. He understands completely. 

Lancelot pushes the door open and greets the other knights. “Six days!” he shouts. 

Gwaine groans. “Leon, you son of a bitch!”

Leon shrugs, appearing satisfied with himself as several knights hand him coins. “I know them well.”

“Whatever. I say you’re a cheater,” Gwaine says. “Okay: Everybody state your next bets.”

“Four and a half days!”

“Twelve hours!”

"Five days!"

“Eight days!”

“Eight? You’re out of your mind, Percival. Camelot will have burned down by then. Six and we were almost at war.”

Lancelot jostles Karl’s arm. “You in?”

Karl is a good knight. He trains hard and strives to live up to the Knight’s Code. That code, however, doesn’t mention anything about gambling against the King and his ridiculous relationship with his Court Sorcerer. “Two days!”

When Arthur and Merlin return from their picnic later that night, they are in much better moods, and Camelot is once again at peace. Merlin does find it strange when Karl starts bowing to him like he does Arthur, though. He ignores it, thinking it must be some joke the older knights are playing on the new recruits. 

Chapter Text

The third rule to know when staying in Camelot and the first rule to know when the royal entourage of Camelot comes to visit you is that Merlin is not allowed to wander freely on his own. Especially in foreign kingdoms. Arthur has rules for this. They must be followed. Strictly. 

When Queen Dahlia of Kent sent her daughter, Princess Millie, to Camelot under the pretenses of their new peace treaty, she was hoping it would result in an engagement. Camelot and Kent have always been on peaceful terms. Millie is a bit younger than King Arthur, being only sixteen—making her twelve years his junior as the King is only eight years younger than Dahlia, herself—but she will make a wonderful Queen and wife. Age is but a number, and King Arthur is the most eligible bachelor in all of Albion. The match would be one made in the heavens. 

It is quite disappointing then when her daughter returns unengaged with the most peculiar stories about the King and his Court Sorcerer. Apparently, the two are inseparable and engaged in all but name. Dahlia tells her daughter that if it is not official, then she still has a chance. Millie seems set on the fact that she does not, however. Millie has always been practical and able to see things as they are so Dahlia is inclined to believe her. 

She is even more stunned when Millie mentions that most of the kingdom calls the Court Sorcerer ‘the Queen’ whenever he and the King are not present. This, Dahlia thinks, calls for investigation. Dahlia loves investigating. 

King Arthur and his entourage arrive a month later. Since the former King Uther’s death, Arthur has been renegotiating peace treaties and trade agreements and has set about meeting the Kings and Queens of all the kingdoms of Albion. While Kent and Camelot have always been on peaceful terms, their relationship has never been strong. Dahlia and her husband, King Harold, welcome the negotiations as there are many benefits to having stronger ties to Camelot. It is also a welcome surprise when King Arthur is nothing like his father. The man is noble, fair, and kind to all. Harold is pleased upon meeting the younger king. Dahlia finds herself once again wishing her daughter had a chance at marriage with him. 

She watches carefully, hoping to see what her daughter saw upon her visit to Camelot. Harold tells her to leave it be, but he’s always been a spoilsport, and Dahlia loves gossip and stories of true love. From what Millie told her, this is certainly the case. 

It is easy to spot the Court Sorcerer when the group arrives. He is riding next to the King, not behind him, as if they are equals. He also exudes power. As Dahlia loves gossip, she has heard a great many things about this sorcerer, or should she say warlock. She knows how powerful he is. It is rumored that he can destroy kingdoms with merely a blink of an eye. Millie told her that he was a kind man, but if anyone tries to harm the King, he is not afraid to kill without mercy. 

Looking at the man, she is inclined to once again believe Millie’s initial assessment. He is smiling at the King and saying something that makes them both laugh, while simultaneously surveying their surroundings for any possible threat. He will not find one in Kent. At least, she hopes he won’t. Everyone is pleased with the burgeoning relationship between Camelot and Kent. Nevertheless, she plans to proceed with caution. Dahlia knows that Harold plans to as well. Neither of them wants to pose any sort of threat, lest they upset the sorcerer or King Arthur. 

Millie also tells them that for as much as they should treat King Arthur well for fear of the Court Sorcerer, they should treat the Court Sorcerer equally. Like they would a visiting Queen, she says. Treating him poorly garners the rage of King Arthur, which is equally frightening. 

As such, Dahlia makes sure to prepare the two largest guest chambers—next to each other, of course—for the two men. She has scheduled time for her and the Court Sorcerer to have tea, as she would any other visiting Queen, and has informed the rest of the castle to treat him as such. She has taken extreme measures to make sure everything is set for their arrival. 

They arrive with ten knights and two personal servants. Dahlia watches as King Arthur slips off his horse gracefully before helping the Court Sorcerer off of his horse, as he would his Queen. The Court Sorcerer takes his hand with ease like this is a commonality. Dahlia is becoming more grateful for Millie by the second. 

As they approach, they fall into step, side by side, with their men following behind them. The sorcerer does, however, allow King Arthur to step forward first when introducing himself. 

Harold smiles warmly. “King Arthur, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

Arthur matches his smile. “It is an honor to meet you, as well, King Harold. I apologize that it has taken so long to meet in person.”

“It is no matter. I know you have been a busy man. My daughter says you were very welcoming upon her visit, for which I am grateful.”

“We enjoyed having her and welcome her anytime she wishes to visit." He turns to Dahlia. "Queen Dahlia, it is a pleasure.”

“Thank you, King Arthur. It is for me, as well,” Dahlia replies.

Arthur beckons his Court Sorcerer forward. “This is my Court Sorcerer, Merlin.”

Merlin bows his head lightly. “It is an honor to meet you both.” Closer up, Dahlia can see why the King would fancy this young man. He is rather beautiful, his features almost elvish in nature. She’ll have to ask if there is any elvish in his blood. 

His smile is genuine, and his eyes sparkle with delight. She’d hardly think this was a man to fear if not for the tales she’d heard.

“We are just as honored to meet you,” Dahlia says. “We have heard a great many things about both of you.”

“All good, I hope,” Merlin says as his grin turns mischievous. Dahlia thinks she likes him quite a bit already. She’s always been rather mischievous herself.

“Of course. Allow me to show you to your rooms. My servants will take your travel bags.”

She is pleased when they appear to enjoy their rooms and even more pleased when the welcoming feast goes well. She watches as they take turns stealing food off of each other's plates and are almost constantly touching. It’s almost imperceptible, but she is sure that their seats are closer together than they were before they sat. 

When it is time for tea the next day, Merlin arrives with a bow and a smile.

“Thank you for the invite, Queen Dahlia.”

Dahlia waves her hand. “Please, it is just Dahlia, Lord Merlin.”

“Then it is just Merlin if you don’t mind. I’ve never been one for titles.”

“Neither have I. I believe we hail from similar backgrounds, you and I. I was also a servant before I became Queen. I never grew used to titles like my husband.”

Merlin’s smile turns more genuine. “It is nice to have someone who understands.”

“Yes, it is,” Dahlia agrees, gesturing toward the display of tea. 

Their conversation is fascinating. She finds herself enthralled by the man who informs her that he is the last Dragonlord, which confirms her theory that he has some elvish blood. Dragonlords descend from elves, she tells him. Merlin, not having known this, asks her what else she knows about Dragonlords. Apparently, Camelot is still working on restoring their magical library and lacks material on the subject. Dahlia offers to show him their library, which houses a small section on Dragonlords. 

She also speaks of her job as the Queen. As Camelot has not had one in a great while, it stands to reason that there is no one to show Merlin the way. She tells him that if he ever has any questions about the Queen’s jobs and priorities, he can write to her. He looks a little confused but promises that he will write to her regardless, if acceptable, as he quite enjoys her company. Dahlia agrees to this instantly. She quite enjoys his company too.

She also finds that she is correct in her theory that he is as mischievous as she. She spends the rest of the afternoon showing him all the secret passageways in the castle and playing pranks on unsuspecting passersby. Merlin’s magic is very helpful in that. 

Dahlia has not had this much fun in a long time. Millie will no doubt tell her to act her age, but she is not that old, and her daughter inherited her father’s lack of ingenuity, which is incredibly boring for Dahlia.

It is much to her disappointment that on the third day of their stay, she is stuck with Harold and Arthur discussing the peace treaty. It is rather boring since Merlin isn’t there. He is supposed to be, but, as this meeting is mostly just boring drivel of which neither of them is interested, they decided Merlin would feign ill and use one of the secret passageways to go to the market and buy them some strawberry tarts. Harold rarely lets her enjoy them ever since he has decided to only eat healthy food—which means the whole castle can only eat healthy food—and Merlin loves strawberries, so it’s a perfect plan. Dahlia would have feigned ill herself, but she is too recognizable and they thought it might look suspicious if they both claimed sick. Especially after the sheep incident. 

So, here Dahlia is, in this boring meeting, dreaming of strawberry tarts while her husband and the King of Camelot drone on about things that they decided over letters long before today, when the doors burst open. Two Camelot knights—she believes their names are Leon and Percival—hold on to a squirming Merlin with a few more knights trailing behind them. She’d laugh if she wasn’t so disappointed about the strawberry tarts that they will no longer get to eat.

“We found him trying to sneak out of the castle through a secret passage, sire,” Leon says, all the while Merlin is muttering for them to let him go. They do, placing him down gently as if he is made of glass.

Merlin smiles in an attempt to pretend as if he was not dragged into the room by knights. “Hello, Harold, Dahlia!”

Dahlia tries not to laugh. “Hello, Merlin!” 

“Hello, Merlin. I heard you were ill. You must be feeling better then?” Harold asks, undoubtedly aware that it is Dahlia who put him up to this if a secret passageway was involved.

“Loads, actually! Thank you for asking.”

Arthur, in no mood to deal with Merlin’s nonsense, gets straight to the point. “Merlin! Don’t you even try to act innocent! I knew you were faking ill! I knew it!” 

“So, you had the knights follow me?!” Merlin responds, all traces of the previous smile gone.

“I knew you were up to no good!”

Merlin scoffs. “I just wanted to go to the market.”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before speaking. “So, you faked ill and tried to sneak out of the castle using a secret passageway that you shouldn’t even be aware of?”

Harold glares at Dahlia. Dahlia thinks the window is very interesting. 

“This meeting is super boring, and I knew you’d make me take a bunch of guards—”

“For a good reason! You are out of your mind if you think I’m letting you leave this castle by yourself! Do you not remember what happened in Gawant?”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

“The lower towns had to be quarantined for three days!”

“Again: not my fault!”

“And don’t even get me started on Nemeth!”

“That is not fair! How was I supposed to know an assassin was after me?”

“You caught a tavern on fire!”

“That was Gwaine, and I put it out!”

Arthur, who is now standing and looking far more agitated than Dahlia has seen him this entire visit, points at Merlin angrily. “You always nag me about my health, but you are the reason I’m going to die of a heart attack. My heart is racing, Merlin!”

“Oh my God—”

“It’s racing!”

Merlin groans. “Fine! If I say please, can I skip the meeting and go to the market? I will take one guard.” When Arthur continues to stare at him, uncompromising, Merlin changes tactics. He shuffles forward demurely, a look of innocence in his eyes as he approaches Arthur. Dahlia would fall for it too if she didn’t know any better. 

Arthur narrows his eyes, wary of the man that stops in front of him. Merlin continues to blink up at him with wide eyes as he tugs on the sleeve of Arthur’s tunic. “Please? I’ll be good. I promise. ”

Arthur sighs. “Merlin—”

“Please?” Merlin draws out, continuing to tug softly at the tunic. “Dahlia told me about this shop they have in town that sells books and some of them are about magic. You know how I’ve been wanting to build our library.” He juts out his lip. “And there won’t be any other time with all the meetings we have, and you don’t need me for this one. Pretty please? I’ll bring you back some strawberry tarts.”

Harold, well-aware of Dahlia’s obsession with strawberry tarts, is definitely glaring holes into her head. Dahlia finds it much more fascinating to watch the resolve fall from King Arthur’s eyes at the mere batting of his Court Sorcerer’s eyelashes.

Arthur sighs again. “You will take four knights—”

“Two!” Merlin demands. Dahlia has to put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. Harold keeps glaring at her as if she caused this—which, to be fair, she did—but she knows he finds it just as funny. These men are some of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, men in all of Albion. It is pretty hilarious.

“Four or you won’t go!”

Merlin pouts. “I get to pick them.”

“You can pick two, and I’ll pick two.”

Merlin considers this as if he is the one who will have the final say in the decision. Dahlia is starting to think he is, at the end of the day. “Deal. I pick—”

“No Gwaine!” 

“You didn’t say—”

“My heart, Merlin!”

“Will you stop with that?”

“Merlin!”

“Fine. Lancelot and Karl.”

“Karl?”

“Karl.”

“If this is because he lets you do whatever you want and bows to you—”

“You said I could pick whoever I want aside from Gwaine, so I picked Karl.”

Arthur huffs. “Okay. I pick Leon—”

“Aw! Come on! He never lets me do anything!” Leon coughs behind him. Merlin purposefully ignores him.

“Exactly, Merlin. Leon listens to me. Everyone else is far too lenient with you.”

“They are not!”

“Shall I mention the visit to Anglia?”

“Will you get over that already? I told you I was sorry. I didn’t mean to incite a riot.”

Dahlia is going to have to get all of these stories out of Merlin.

“Merlin—”

“Your heart. I know,” Merlin mimics. “Leon and who?”

Arthur smirks. “Mordred.”

Merlin's face turns red. “No! I hate him!”

Dahlia hears a squeak come from one of the knights that entered behind Merlin. She has only learned the names of the ones most often around the sorcerer, but that one must be Mordred.

“For no reason!”

“I have every reason! The dragon said—”

“I do not care what the dragon said, Merlin. Mordred promised not to kill me—”

Dahlia’s a little confused now.

“Of course he did! That’s what a killer would say!”

Arthur crosses his arms and stares sternly at the sorcerer. “It is Mordred and Leon or nothing, Merlin. Take it or leave it.”

Merlin sticks his nose up. “Fine. Only because if he’s with me, he can’t kill you—”

“Merlin—”

“And, just to be clear, if something were to happen to him—”

Dahlia hears a much louder squeak this time.

“Merlin, if you harm him in any manner, I will write to Hunith.”

Merlin gasps. “How dare you bring my mother into this?”

Arthur grins smugly. “I’ll do it, and you know I will. Hunith adores me.”

“Yeah, well I’ll tell her that you’re lying, and she loves me more so she’ll believe me.”

“She told me she loves us equally.”

“Well, she’s a liar! She only said that because she didn’t want to hurt your feelings!”

Arthur shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out when I write her.” 

Merlin seethes. “Fine! But when Mordred tries to kill you—”

“He won’t.”

Merlin stomps his foot in a very Queenly manner. Dahlia’s a bit biased because she was the one who taught him, but she thinks he does it extremely well. She is pleased. “That’s it! I knew it! I knew it! You love him more than me!”

Dahlia, having spotted the one named Mordred in the crowd of knights, thinks the boy may faint.

Arthur looks to the sky, patience appearing to be running thin. “Are you serious right now, Merlin? Are we going to do this here?”

Merlin sticks his chin up as if saying that, yes, they are doing this here. “You always take his side! Just admit it!”

“I do not. Your hatred for him is out of hand—”

“It is not. My job to protect you—”

“I do not need protection from Mordred. He is not going to hurt me. Mordred, tell Merlin that you aren’t going to hurt me.”

Mordred steps forward shakily. “I will not harm King Arthur. I promise, Emrys. I swear it on my life. Though limited, I also swear it on my magic.”

Merlin squints at the knight, looking for any detection of a lie, and huffs when he finds none. “I still say you love him more than me. You do always take his side.”

Arthur groans and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he can block out the entire conversation. “Merlin. I do not love Mordred more than you. You know you’re my favorite. I know you know it. You abuse the position all the time. You’re abusing it right now.”

Merlin smiles widely at him. “I’m your favorite?” he says as if he actually did not know. 

Arthur is not fooled. “You’re a menace, Merlin. A menace!”

“But I’m your favorite menace, right?”

Arthur smiles softly. “Unfortunately.” There’s a tender moment between the two, as they look at each other with loving eyes, that Dahlia doesn’t think is meant for others to watch. She watches anyway. It’s not every day you get to witness true love.

“We are in agreement then,” Arthur says, after a moment. 

“I suppose,” Merlin grumbles, trying not to look entirely too pleased.

“Now, the rules—”

“Rules?”

“Yes, rules, Merlin. They are used to prevent things from being burnt down and villages from being quarantined.”

“I hate you.”

Arthur disregards the statement. “Leon, Mordred, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Merlin doesn’t understand the meaning of rules, Lancelot lets him get away with whatever he wants, and Karl doesn’t know that which is Merlin.”

“Yes, sire,” they both say simultaneously.

Dahlia feels bad for Merlin, whose pout is growing by the second.

“He is to be escorted at all times. Do not let him out of your sight. I don’t care what he says. If he yells ‘fire’—”

“That doesn’t work on Leon anymore.”

“—you ask him to escort you to the place of the fire because, most likely, there is no fire, and he is a no-good liar.”

“And you’re an ass!”

“He is not to leave your company for even a second. And if he yells ‘assassin,’ you better protect him with your life because he is serious. He doesn’t lie about that. We don’t lie about assassins. Right, Merlin?”

Merlin sulks, scuffing the floor with his shoe. “Right.”

Arthur nods. “And, he is not allowed to eat blueberries—”

“But I—”

“I do not care how much you like them, Merlin! You are allergic!”

“Only a little!”

“No. A lot. You almost died—”

“I did not!”

“Your throat swelled. You couldn’t breathe!”

“I used my magic to cure myself!”

“Barely. You almost passed out!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “But I didn’t.”

Arthur leans forward, actually clutching his chest this time. “It’s racing!”

“You are so dramatic.”

“Merlin!”

“Ugh! I won’t eat any blueberries! Will you stop that? It’s giving me anxiety. How will I know when you are having a real heart attack, Arthur? You could die, and I’ll have thought you were faking it!”

Arthur stops clutching his heart, accepting that he won the argument, and continues, “You are to check everything he eats. Everything.”

“You are so overbearing!”

“And he is not allowed near any cows!”

Merlin deflates. “Okay. That’s fair.”

“Is that all understood?” Arthur asks.

“Yes, sire,” the knights say.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, you stupid cabbage head,” Merlin mutters. 

Arthur grins, like the statement is a compliment. “Great. I’ll expect you back at the castle no later than an hour before supper. That’s five hours, Merlin. Don’t complain.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’ll meet you in your room beforehand,” Merlin says.

“I’ll see you then. Be good.”

Merlin scoffs. “I’m always good.”

Dahlia chooses this moment to clear her throat. “Could I tag along?”

“No!” Harold and Arthur yell, a bit loudly, in her opinion. 

“Of course!” Merlin says at the same time. 

“No, no, no!” Harold continues. 

“Absolutely not. Do you think we didn’t hear about the sheep?” Arthur exclaims.

Dahlia purses her lips. “This is an exaggeration. We did not know that would happen if we fed it cake.”

“Yeah! How were we supposed to know it would puke the cake all over Lord Archibald?” Merlin says. 

“Merlin!" Arthur shouts. "His pants caught fire magically, and he had to roll in the puke to put it out."

“How do you know it was a magical fire? Maybe they just caught fire on their own.” Merlin sniffs. Dahlia has to hide her smirk. She also taught him how to sniff haughtily like that. It’s an important expression for queens to have. He wears it well. 

Dahlia nods. “I heard there was a piece of flint in his pocket. That could’ve caused his pants to catch on fire.”

Harold points his finger at her. Points it. The audacity of this man. “Dahlia, we know the two of you planned it. We are not stupid.”

“You can not prove—”

“You’ve hated him for years.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Harold. I will not have you accusing me of something that I did not do.”

“You asked the kitchens for cake—”

“Merlin and I thought the sheep would like it. As he said, we did not know it would make it sick.”

Harold sighs. “Dahlia.”

Arthur is looking like he may strangle Merlin again. 

Dahlia sticks her nose up. “Harold. I wish to go to the market with Merlin.”

Harold looks so done. Dahlia, though, has just begun. “I know you planned this. You taught him the secret passageways so you could get some of those stupid strawberry tarts—”

“Harold,” Dahlia says sternly. “I wish to go to the market with Merlin.”

Harold sits up straighter, probably to intimidate her. Stupid man. “Dahlia, I will not be swayed as easily as Arthur—”

“I was not swayed easily!" Arthur shouts. "Merlin, wipe that smirk off your face!”

Merlin looks away to hide the grin that he can’t seem to stop. 

Harold shakes his head. “You were, Arthur. I watched it happen with my own two eyes. All he had to do was bat his eyelashes—”

“That is not true! I stood strong!!”

“For a whole two seconds!”   

Dahlia does not have time for this. She wants to go to the market with Merlin. “Harold,” she growls. “I wish to go to the market with Merlin. Or else.”

“Or else?” Harold asks in disbelief. 

Dahlia narrows her eyes. “Or else I will cry.”

That seems to do it for Harold if the look of panic on his face is anything to go by. “If you go with Merlin, there is no way I am sending you with just four guards.”

Arthur scoffs. “And you say I'm swayed easily.”

“I tried.” Harold slumps in his chair. “I really did.”

Arthur seems to sympathize. “But you are right. Four guards can not contain them.”

The protests from Merlin and Dahlia go unheard.

“I will send four of my men as well," Harold says. "They know the rules for Dahlia. But, just in case, I will tell them to your men.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous!” Dahlia declares.

Harold pays her no mind as he looks at the four men ready to escort Merlin, Lancelot and Karl having arrived moments ago. “Dahlia is not to go near any chickens—”

“Harold!” Dahlia says, only to be ignored by her husband once again. 

Arthur cuts in. “No sheep for them either.”

Harold nods. “I think they should be banned from all animals.”

“That’s a good idea. No animals. At all.”

“And Dahlia is not allowed into the butcher's shop.”

Arthur waves his hand. “Merlin would pass out on sight. They’d never let him in there anyway.”

Merlin’s protests are feeble. It is a fair statement. 

“Good. She is not allowed to go near Lord Delarose either. Or Lady Katherine. My men will know them on sight. They will let you know if either of them is near. Dahlia is to be escorted away immediately.”

“If Dahlia can’t be near them then neither can Merlin,” Arthur adds.

“Yes. We would not want another Lord Archibald incident. And, of course, she is to be kept in sight at all times,” Harold says.

“You’re the worst, Harold,” Dahlia says, rising from her seat. 

“Arthur’s the worst too,” Merlin says, supportively, as he offers her his arm. The four guards that Harold calls add to their entourage as they head to the doors. “What did you think of my stomp?”

Dahlia smiles. “It was beautifully executed. I’ve never been prouder. And the way you batted your eyes? That was a work of art. You must show me.”

Merlin smirks. “Thank you, my lady. But I must insist you show me your methods in return. Tell me, does repeating yourself sternly like that work every time?”  

Dahlia pats his arm. “Oh, every time. And if he doesn’t listen the first few times, I threaten to cry. It always gets him. I can show you how.”

“That’s fascinating. I was thinking—”

“No!” Arthur yells.

“Stop them!” Harold scrambles to his feet, but it is too late. The doors have swung shut behind the two as they maniacally plot ways to convince their kings to do their bidding.

A few days later, when they are saying their goodbyes, Dahlia hugs Merlin and makes him promise to write to her. She sends him with their best books on Dragonlords—which he promises to send back as soon as possible, but she demands he keeps as a gesture of good faith—and as many Queen lessons as she can fit into their allotted time together. He is an amazing student. He’s a natural, really, and she has no doubt that he will put the lessons to good use. She even learned some new things herself! Merlin still looked confused whenever she mentioned anything about the lessons having to do with being a Queen, but she’ll let him figure that out on his own.

She watches as Arthur helps him onto his horse, and they ride away side by side. She will miss her new friend greatly. She’ll have to plan for her and Harold to visit Camelot soon.

“I told you he was taken,” Millie says as they wave goodbye. “Their relationship is unlike any other I’ve seen before.”

“It’s true love,” Dahlia says wistfully. 

“God, Mother, you’re such a sap.” Millie rolls her eyes. “It’s a good thing they left today. I thought Father was going to lose his head if you got into any more mischief with Merlin. Sometimes I think I’m more of an adult than you.”

Dahlia sniffs, very Queenly like. “I’ll have you know, a little bit of fun never hurt anyone.” 

Millie smirks. “I think Lord Archibald will disagree.”

Later, as the evening stretches into the night, and they’ve been riding their horses for hours, Arthur refuses to let the knights and Merlin stop for the night. He is convinced that they can ride a few more hours before resting. 

Merlin is tired, though. And hungry. A tired and hungry Merlin is not good for anyone. He also knows that the knights want to stop too, but Arthur keeps ignoring his complaining. He’s too used to it after years of going on hunting trips and quests together. 

Merlin tried to do it the easy way, but he has had enough. He wants to sleep. 

He straightens his back, holding himself in the most Queenly manner possible—not that he knows it’s Queenly. “Arthur,” he says loud enough for all of the knights to hear. Their grumbling quiets as they turn to listen. “I wish to stop for the night. I am tired and need rest.”

“I already told you, Merlin, we will ride for four more hours—”

“Arthur. I wish to stop for the night. I am tired and need rest.”

Arthur whips his head around. “Don’t you dare—”

Merlin dares. “Arthur. I wish to stop for the night. I am tired and need rest. If we do not stop, I will cry.”

Arthur glares at him. “Are you serious? You think you can—”

A sniffle comes first, but it’s the sob that makes Arthur slow his horse to a stop. The knights follow his lead, stopping behind them and staring at the scene in awe. Gwaine has to put a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Arthur wonders if he can quit his life. Maybe go live on a farm or something. 

“Arthur.” Sniffle. “I wish to stop for the night.” There are tears now. “I’m tired and need rest.” More tears and sniffles and sobs. 

“No!” He yells. “Stop! Stop crying!”

Merlin keeps crying. “Arthur.” He chokes on a sob. “I w-wish to stop for the night.” Hiccup.

“Okay! Okay! We can set up camp for the night if you stop crying! There is a clearing a two-minute ride from here. Please. Stop.”

Sniffle. “Okay,” Merlin says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Another sob.

Arthur just wants the crying to stop. “You didn’t,” he says softly. “I’m not upset. You’re right. We should stop for the night. Everyone is tired and hungry, and it is too dark to continue on.”

Merlin wipes his tears. “If you really think so—”

“I do.” Arthur nods aggressively. “We should stop. It’s a good idea.”

“Okay. If you insist,” Merlin says, still looking too sad for Arthur to bear. 

“I do. Now, come on,” Arthur urges, starting up his horse again. “I’ll help you set up your bedroll so you can go right to sleep when we get there.”

Merlin sniffles. “Okay. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Merlin,” Arthur replies, already ahead of the group. It’s because of this that he misses the devious smirk Merlin sends the knights. The knights think that maybe they should be concerned about this, but, quite frankly, they are too tired to care. 

They are a little miffed when Arthur really does help Merlin set up his bedroll immediately upon entering the camp, wrapping Merlin in his cloak and the thickest blanket and letting him fall asleep while the rest of them set up camp and cook dinner. Merlin did it for them for years, though, and what can they really say? He is the Queen.

Chapter Text

The fourth rule to know when staying in Camelot correlates with the second. It is important to be able to tell the difference between the fights that the King and his Court Sorcerer have. Their most common type of fight is caused by prolonged withdrawal from each other. If this is the case, do not interrupt the fight. Let them figure it out. It’s not a real fight anyway. However, if they are actually fighting—this does not happen often, but when it does prepare yourself—there is only one thing to do: Pray that they don’t take Camelot down with them. 

Mordred—Look, Mordred is trying, okay? He is. He works hard to prove he is worthy of being a knight. He works hard to prove his loyalty to King Arthur. He works even harder to prove his loyalty to Emrys. 

Emrys though...Emrys hates him. It’s not Mordred’s fault that some random dragon says he is going to kill King Arthur. Seriously. What is he supposed to do with that? He has no intentions of killing the King. He quite likes him, in fact, and would be more than willing to lay down his life for the man. 

It does not matter what he does or says. Emrys does not believe this. 

Emrys is Mordred’s idol and to have the sorcerer hate him with a fiery passion is just really upsetting for him. Mordred treats him with respect and goes out of his way to offer help—not that it’s ever accepted, but he still offers. He even bows to him like Karl does. 

Emrys loves Karl. The ass. 

Karl, he means. Karl is an ass. Mordred would never call Emrys an ass because he likes Emrys and respects him and always goes out of his way to help him. 

Emrys still hates Mordred. 

King Arthur is always nice to him. Mordred appreciates it. He does. But he knows when it comes down to it that if Emrys doesn’t trust Mordred, King Arthur will never fully trust him either. Or any of the knights. Gwaine, in particular. Gwaine is mean. 

Lancelot tells Mordred that he should wait for Emrys to come around. He says that once Emrys realizes that Mordred isn’t a threat, he will calm down. He is very protective of Arthur, that’s all.

Mordred thinks that this is the understatement of the century. One time, Emrys enlarged a man’s tongue to the point of suffocation because he shot an arrow at the King and managed to slice some of the hair off of his head. Naturally, he waited to do this until Arthur left the room and then claimed ignorance when he returned. Mordred, being super loyal to Emrys, promised not to tell the King and he didn’t. 

Part of Mordred thinks that it was to show him what would happen if he tried to kill the King. The other part thinks it would have happened whether or not he was in the room because Emrys was far too angry to have planned the ordeal.

Regardless, Mordred has waited and waited and waited. He’s been a knight for almost a year for goodness’ sake.

Emrys still hates him. 

It’s okay. Mordred will figure it out. He will keep being super nice and super loyal and Emrys will have to give up his hatred. He will have to. Mordred will persevere. 

During the year that Mordred has lived in Camelot, he has come to love the kingdom. The people love their King and the period of relative peace that he has brought with him. Morgana is still out there, and there will always be enemies, but King Arthur’s rule of Camelot has been nothing but beneficial to the kingdom. Mordred can’t help but agree. 

He has also come to realize that the King and Emrys have a special relationship that no one can come between. Not that he would ever try. In fact, he goes out of his way to stay out of whatever that whole thing is. Anyone that gets involved with their nonsense—not that it’s nonsense because Mordred respects them and would never say that they sometimes act like overgrown children who are too stupid to realize that they are so in love with each other that it’s embarrassing—ends up in horrible situations like being beheaded or covered in cow entrails. Mordred wasn’t able to eat meat for two months after that fiasco. It was terrifying.  

Anyway, it’s an agreement among all of Camelot's people to let them figure it out themselves, and Mordred is happy to do just that. 

They are training, when it happens. Lancelot is leading the session because Leon has to attend some meetings and Arthur is always busy nowadays. 

It’s a beautiful day. It is the end of summer, the breeze creates the perfect temperature, and not a cloud is in the sky. Mordred thinks it’s going to be a good day. It has been, so far. Nothing could have prepared him for how wrong he is. 

He turns his head in time to spot Leon running toward the field. Running. 

He stiffens, hearing the other knights follow, preparing their bodies and minds for war because that is the only reason why Leon would be running toward them like a mad man.

“They’re fighting!” Leon shouts, red-faced and out of breath. 

“Who?” Lancelot asks.

“Arthur and Merlin!”

“They fight all the time,” Elyan says. 

“No. They are really fighting. A real fight!” Leon clarifies. 

Gwaine blanches and sucks in a breath. “If that's the case, I just want you all to know that it was an honor to serve with you. I’ve never known braver men.” He unsheathes his sword. “I will miss you all almost as much as I'll miss ale.”

Lancelot throws a hand up. “Hang on. Before we start saying our final words, allow Leon to explain.” 

He nods to Leon, and they all wait for the man to calm down enough to speak. “No one knows what happened. A maid heard some shouting from Arthur’s chambers. Not their usual shouting. It was really loud yelling accompanied by the sounds of objects shattering. She sent for one of the guards who sent for me. By the time I got there, Merlin was storming out and Arthur was sitting on the ground surrounded by broken plates and goblets. When I tried to ask him what happened, he threw one of the shards at me.”

“Gwaine is right. We should all take this time to find the people we love and spend our final moments with them,” Elyan says.

Lancelot rolls his eyes. 

“It gets worse,” Leon says. 

“Worse? How can it get worse?” Percival asks, looking a bit green. Mordred wonders if he looks the same. He certainly feels that way. 

“Merlin has confined himself to his room. He is refusing to come out.”

Gwaine makes a wounded noise, far too similar to a sob for Mordred's liking. Even Lancelot is starting to look worried. “He’s confined himself?”

“Yes. He said he would not come out until Arthur stops being a—I don’t want to say the word. It’s treason,” Leon says. Mordred thinks the knight may faint. 

Lancelot frowns. “I’ll go speak to him. Do you have it in you to continue the training session?” 

“I’m not sure,” Leon says. Leon. This is bad. This is very bad. 

“I have faith in you, Leon,” Lancelot says, patting him on the shoulder and walking away. 

They don’t train much. They mostly go over what to do in case of the Reckoning. Gwaine seems very convinced that it is upon them. By the time Lancelot gets back, they have gone over multiple scenarios and the best ways to react such as running away and hiding in the forest. 

Leon is the first to spot Lancelot. “He’s back!”

Lancelot walks to them like he would to his execution. He is covered in feathers and what Mordred hopes are tomatoes but could also be blood. Maybe both. Lancelot sets his shoulders straight, gazing at them each with as much dignity as he can gather while looking like a bloody chicken. “I’m going to go find Gwen. My hope is to spend the last of my time with her. It was an honor serving with you men.” Then, he turns around and walks away. He walks away. Lancelot. Walks. Away. 

Gwaine really does sob this time. Elyan prays. Percival lies down on the ground and curls into the fetal position. Leon just stares, emotionless in the face of death. 

Mordred doesn’t know what to do. He is worried, but surely it can’t be that bad. “They’ll figure it out, right? They always do.”

Leon puts a hand on his shoulder. “You are young, Mordred. You do not understand the things we do. Trust us when we say that there is nothing we can do to stop the inevitable fall of Camelot.” He dismisses the knights' training. The men close enough to overhear their conversation spread the word of what's happened. There isn’t a lot of talking after that, besides the occasional scream of horror or cry for help.

Merlin hasn’t left his room by the end of the night. He refuses to open the door for any food or water because Arthur has guards standing outside, waiting to grab him at the first opportunity.

On the second day of Merlin’s self-imposed confinement, word spreads through Camelot. He refuses to talk to anyone. Not even Gaius can draw him out. Every once in a while, Arthur is found screaming at him through his door, threatening him with all sorts of things if he doesn’t come out. He doesn’t. Sometimes he screams back; sometimes he ignores Arthur until he goes away. 

Words cannot be used to explain how infuriated Arthur is. He takes his meals in his room and only leaves for the most important meetings. No one dares to speak to him. Even then, he lashes out at everyone in his vicinity. They’ve implemented a system throughout the entire castle. If someone cacaws, that means Arthur has been spotted and it’s a warning to run in the opposite direction. It works pretty well. Arthur hasn't a clue.

At the end of the second night, Mordred is hiding in his room. It seems that it has become popular for most knights to do so. If you are hiding, you can’t be yelled at. Or beheaded.

Mordred is lying in bed, questioning his life choices, when he hears Emrys’s voice call to him in his mind. It startles him so much that he falls out of his bed. Emrys never speaks to him through their minds. Not ever. He barely speaks to Mordred in general.

Emrys? 

There’s about a minute of silence before he speaks again. Mordred wonders if he is debating contacting Mordred at all. 

I want to make something very clear: I still hate you. Do you understand? I hate you very much. 

Um, yes? I understand, Emrys.  

Good. As long as we have that clear, I need to ask something of you.

Mordred stands up straighter, even though he knows Emrys can not see him. Yes, my lord?

I need you to go to the kitchens and gather a basket of food and water. Then, I need you to sneak out of the castle and place it below my window.

Mordred has always wanted to be of service to Emrys. He would lay down his life for him as equally as he would the King. This, though? Getting in between their argument? Mordred likes his head, thank you very much, and he hates cow entrails. 

The King said—

Arthur can shove it up his ass. Whose side are you on, anyway?

How is he supposed to answer that? If he says he’s on Emrys’s side, Emrys will think he’s against Arthur and plotting to kill him. If he says he’s on Arthur’s side, Emrys will think that he is not loyal to him. There is no winning. Not in Mordred’s life. He should’ve stayed in the forest with the Druids.

Um, I—I feel that I should refrain from choosing as I am loyal to both of you.

You will let me starve to death, then?

Mordred shakes his head. No! I’ll protect you with my life.

Then I need you to get me a basket of food and place it under my window. 

You are on the second story.

I have magic, Mordred. 

Oh. Mordred feels stupid. 

While I will still hate you, I will be extremely grateful if you do this.

Okay, Emrys. I will be there soon. 

Thank you. Make sure no one sees you. 

I will. Mordred promises before sneaking out of his room. He’s been on enough patrols through the castle to know how to move around unnoticed. 

He grabs what he can from the kitchen, including several pieces of pie that he knows is Emrys’s favorite. He will kill him with kindness, Mordred thinks. Kill might be the wrong word. Mordred is not killing anyone except for enemies of the crown. He will defeat Emrys’s hatred with kindness. Yes. That’s it. 

I am here, Emrys.

Emrys pops his head out the window. He looks like he hasn’t slept the entire time he has been in there. He levitates the basket up to himself, grabbing onto it with hands that appear much shakier than normal. 

Thank you, Mordred.

Is there anything else I can help you with? You do not seem well. He doesn’t mention why Emrys might not be well. Emrys may look frail, but that doesn’t mean he can’t smite Mordred down without a second thought.

I’ll be fine. Thank you. 

I could fetch Gaius—

That will be all. Thank you, Mordred. I really do appreciate the help. 

Mordred knows when not to push, and he definitely isn’t going to push Emrys. Mordred nods up at him. I’m glad I could be of service. If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask. 

The smallest lift of the corner of Emrys’s mouth is more of a smile than Mordred has ever seen from him. He nods back before closing the window. 

Mordred thinks this is a win. Especially when later, right before he falls asleep, Emrys speaks to him again. 

Thank you for the pie.

You’re welcome, Emrys. Mordred goes to bed with a smile.

Mordred is an idiot. How dare he think that his life could get any better? The third day starts the same as the second. Word continues to spread, and the townspeople grow restless. Arthur is still snapping at anyone that dares to step within his sight, and the rest of the castle is walking on eggshells. 

It is around dinner, when Emrys maintains that he will not be opening his door even for food, that the King loses his patience—if Mordred were not a loyal knight, he would say the King could not lose something of which he did not have to begin with, but Mordred is a loyal knight so he doesn’t say that.

Mordred is discussing the merits of living in the forest with Elyan and Leon when Lancelot rounds the corner, wide-eyed. “He’s ordered the guards to ram down Merlin’s door.” The statement is followed by a loud banging sound echoing through the halls of the castle. 

When they reach the commotion, King Arthur is screaming at the door, only pausing when the guards make another attempt at knocking it down. 

“You will come out this instant, Merlin! I have had enough!” Arthur’s eyes are wild. This is not going to end well. 

“No!” Emrys shouts, only slightly muffled by the door. 

“Merlin, if you don’t—”

“No!”

“Merlin!”

“No!”

“Has staying in your room lowered your ability to speak more than one word? I’ve always thought you were an idiot but this is ridiculous!”

“No!”

“I'm sorry, what was that? Did you say that you weren’t coming out?”

“No! I mean—ugh—Go jump off a cliff!” 

“You will not speak to me like that! It is treason!” The guards ram the pillar into the door again, only to bounce back and have it remain unaffected. 

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you have me executed then? Oh, wait. You can’t because you’d have to be able to get me out of my room!” 

“He’s used magic to bar the door,” Mordred says to the knights around him. “They won’t be able to knock it down.”

“Should we tell him?” Elyan asks. 

“No. It’s not worth the risk of his wrath. He’ll realize soon,” Leon says. 

“When I get my hands on you, Merlin, I’m going to throttle you!” Arthur screams before the guards try again. When they fail again, Arthur starts screaming at them instead. 

“Are you all incapable? How hard is it to knock down one door? You are embarrassing all of Camelot—” A laugh comes through the door. Arthur spins on his heels. “Merlin! If you used magic to lock this door—”

“What are you going to do about it?” Merlin says smugly. Mordred can imagine the shit-eating grin on his face. 

Arthur screams, a rage like no other. “Don’t stop trying to ram it down until I say so! I’m going to retrieve Gaius.” He pivots toward them because they are the unfortunate fools who are standing in the direction of the physician’s chambers. 

Before Arthur can so much as open his mouth, Leon bolts. “Cacaw! Cacaw!” Mordred watches as servants and knights alike scatter in all directions, sending out cacaws of their own. 

“What is wrong with that idiot?” Arthur doesn’t appear to want an answer as he shoves past Percival. Percival doesn’t put up any sort of resistance to the shove. He just falls down like a massive tree somehow able to be knocked down by an angry bunny—not that Arthur resembles an angry bunny at all. No. He’s much more like a griffin about to strike with the face of an angry bunny. 

Gwaine drops to the ground after Percival, checking him over like he’s been injured. “Percival? Percival, can you hear me?” Percival does not respond. Gwaine lets out an anguished shout, “He’s dead!”

Mordred is almost positive that Percival is not dead. In fact, the man doesn’t even seem to be unconscious. 

Is Percival really dead? Emrys asks, making Mordred jump again. Lancelot stares at him like he’s the one who's lost it. Mordred will have him know that he is the sanest person here.  

No. 

Why is Gwaine yelling that then? 

Because everyone has lost their heads. 

Fair. Is Arthur gone? 

Mordred sighs, shooting the door a glare that he hopes will melt through it and make Emrys come out. No. He’s gone to find Gaius.

Of course, he has, the stupid dollophead.

Will Gaius be able to help? Mordred asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too hopeful.

No. Could you bring me some more food tonight, please?

Mordred deflates. Sure. I will be up after dinner.

Thank you. Is there any chance I could bother you with one more favor? 

Anything, Emrys. I am here to help. 

Could you...well, would you mind fetching me some water so I can take a bath? I can send down two buckets when you bring the food. I would be ever so thankful. 

Mordred sighs again. It’s no problem. I won’t be able to heat the water—

I can with magic.

Okay. Good. I will let you know when I am coming. 

Thank you, Mordred. Mordred smiles. I still hate you though. Mordred lets out an anguished shout of his own before storming away. 

“Poor kid,” he hears someone say. “He’s too young for this. It must be so frightening.” 

“Do you think this’ll be what makes him kill Arthur?”

"Percival? You're alive? He's alive!"

Mordred yells again. 

Okay. Okay. Maybe Mordred has also lost it. Just a bit. 

Mordred drops off the food to Emrys. He manages to smuggle some sweetbread out of the kitchen because, yes, he has maintained his initial goal to win Emrys over. One way or another. 

Emrys appears worse than he did yesterday. Mordred feels kind of bad for him. He looks like he still hasn’t slept, the bags so heavy under his eyes that Mordred can see them from two stories away. He looks paler than usual too. Mordred gets to work on the bathwater. He thinks it will do the sorcerer wonders. 

Mordred has never realized how difficult it is to carry buckets of water, and he isn’t even walking upstairs. He will definitely be more thankful the next time he asks a servant to do it. He is so focused on not spilling the water during his fourth trip to the well that he doesn’t notice someone walk up behind him.

“What are you doing out at this hour?” Lancelot asks, making Mordred spill half of the bucket on his pants.  

Mordred doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t. 

“I decided to have a late-night bath,” Mordred says, patting down his pants as if it will dry them. It doesn’t. They are soaked through. He wishes he knew a spell to dry them. But, alas, the only person who could teach him hates him.  

Lancelot raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you have a servant fetch the water?”

“It’s late, and they work so hard. I didn’t want to bother anyone.” Lancelot nods, clearly not at all convinced. Mordred tries to smile, but it is probably closer to a grimace. “I must be going. Have a good night, Lancelot!”

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Lancelot offers, stepping in front of him.

Mordred grits his teeth. “That's okay. I like silence during this time of night. It helps me think.”

“I’ll be silent.” And here, Mordred thought he liked Lancelot. 

Mordred stares at Lancelot as he stands in front of him. He sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately. 

“They're for Emrys,” he admits, knowing that Lancelot will stand there with a disappointed look on his face for all of eternity if Mordred allows him. 

Lancelot doesn’t appear shocked. “He’s been speaking to you through that weird mind thing, hasn’t he?”

Mordred’s shoulders droop. “Yes. I’ve brought him food the past two nights. He asked if I could bring him some water for a bath tonight. He doesn’t look well. I think it will help.”

Lancelot shakes his head, grabbing one of the buckets from Mordred and gesturing for him to lead the way. “The only thing that will help is seeing Arthur.”

“Have you gotten any idea what this is about?” he asks because no one has mentioned anything, and Mordred has been listening carefully for word of anything having to do with the King and Emrys. 

“No. Neither will say what happened.”

When they reach Emrys’ window, Emrys glares at Mordred.

I’m sorry, Emrys. He spotted me. Mordred is sorry alright, but it isn’t about that. He feels sorry for himself more than anything. 

He sits the bucket down so the warlock can levitate it to his window. Lancelot sits his bucket down, as well, while shooting Emrys a disapproving glare worthy of Gaius’s. 

Tell Lancelot to stop giving me that look. 

“He says to stop looking at him like that,” Mordred relays. 

Lancelot sighs. Mordred can relate. “Tell him that I beg him to please come out. If not for me, for the sake of Camelot.”

Mordred shares the information with Emrys. Emrys is not impressed. 

Tell him that I can’t. Arthur knows what he has to do if he wants me to come out. 

“He says that he can’t and that Arthur knows how to get him to come out,” Mordred says, feeling like a pigeon. Mordred is not a pigeon. He is a knight, dammit. A loyal one, at that. 

“Tell him that if he could just tell me what is going on, I could help,” Lancelot pleads. Mordred does.  

Tell him that Arthur knows what he has to do. I will not leave this room a second sooner. Emrys gives them one last look before closing the window and walking away. Mordred hopes that eight buckets of water are enough for his bath. 

On the fourth day, a riot breaks out. Half of the knights are sent to control the crowd; the other half are sent to help King Arthur find a way to scale the side of the building to reach Emrys’s window. He’s pretty sure he heard that the King plans to have them form a human staircase. 

Mordred can’t decide if he’s happier to be on riot duty or if he would’ve preferred being a step for the day.

The moment he arrives with the other knights, chaos greets them. Mobs of people litter the roads leading up to the castle. They are screaming and chanting words that Mordred cannot make out. Some have pitchforks. Others have torches. Everyone else is armed with whatever they can find, potatoes and cabbages common among them. Children are crying. Knights are scrambling. It's a mess.

“It’s the end of times!” someone yells, running from the crowd. It’s Karl, he realizes. Mordred hates Karl. He’s an ass. A cowardly ass. 

“Shut up, Karl!” Gwaine yells as they attempt to make their way through the crowd. Mordred finally realizes that they are distinctly divided in half. As they near, the chants become more distinct. 

“Long live the King!” one half yells, throwing potatoes at the other half. 

“Long live the Queen!” the other half yells, returning their potatoes with cabbages and a few eggs. 

“The Queen?” Mordred yells over the chants. He knows that some of the knights call Emrys "the Queen" but surely it hasn’t reached the entire citadel? Especially to the point that half of them are actively choosing Emrys over the King. Mordred knows for a fact that is treason. 

“They mean Merlin. We aren’t the only ones who consider him the Queen,” Lancelot clarifies as if reading his thoughts. “Everyone adores him. I’m surprised it took this long for a riot to break out.”

“Long live the Queen!” Gwaine shouts, barely having time to dodge a potato. 

“Goddammit, Gwaine, we are supposed to be impartial!” Lancelot yells. 

“We all know whose fault this is, Lance. Don’t act like you don’t agree.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. We are supposed to calm the crowd, not encourage them!” Lancelot is not one to lose his patience. Mordred is really seeing a new side of him throughout this ordeal. He thinks it must’ve been the chicken feathers that did him over. He still mutters about them every now and then. 

“Long live the Queen!” Karl shouts.

“There you go, Karl! What a man,” Gwaine says, patting Karl on the back. 

Lancelot hits himself in the face with his palm. Mordred pats him on the arm, whispering encouraging words that probably don’t sound all that encouraging.

On the fifth morning, they find Arthur sleeping on the floor, his back pressed against Merlin’s door. The guards on duty found a blanket to cover him. Mordred has a feeling that Emrys is sleeping pressed against the other side of the door. It’s heartbreaking, but no one mentions it. They aren't that stupid. 

Arthur looks just as bad as Emrys. Mordred has made trips to Emrys’s window each night, sometimes accompanied by Lancelot. Both of them seem like they are running on no sleep, barely any food—despite what Mordred brings from the kitchens—and are moments away from falling over. 

Later that evening, the riots grow stronger and Lord Francis has a heart attack. Poor Lord Francis. He couldn’t handle the stress. Gaius thinks he will survive, but they all remain on edge waiting for news.

On the sixth morning, Arthur is found sleeping next to Merlin’s door again. This time, the guards had the foresight to plan for it and prepared a pillow and blanket on the ground for him. 

Arthur calls for a meeting in the council room. Mordred isn’t sure why he is called to attend. It seems like it is something for their closer group of friends. Is he a part of that now? He hopes so. It would be an honor. 

They all sit at the round table, the seat to Arthur’s right remaining empty, and watch as Arthur sits down tiredly. “Do any of you have an idea of how to draw him out? He’s been in there for six days with no food or water. I don’t know what will happen if he doesn’t come out soon.” He is genuinely upset about this, looking a moment away from crying. Mordred feels bad. He feels even worse when Lancelot gives him a pointed stare.

None of them speak. Arthur doesn’t yell this time. He just slumps in defeat, covering his face with his hands. 

Lancelot continues to give him pointed glares. Some of the other knights are starting to notice. Mordred spends the next few seconds praying to whoever is listening that he isn’t about to be executed where he sits. 

He clears his throat. “I’ve been bringing him food and water, sire.”

Arthur looks up. Mordred maintains his stare. He is a knight and a loyal one. He will stand by his choice. 

“You’ve been doing what?” Arthur asks, his voice flat. 

“Emrys asked me to bring him food. I have been doing so since the second day of his confinement.” He hopes he gets the good executioner—the one who always has a sharp axe and kills in one blow. He thinks he deserves that. “I’ve brought him bath water twice as well,” he adds because he’s already dug his grave, might as well lay it all out there. 

Arthur’s eye twitches. Mordred wishes he had someone to say his goodbyes to. “And how have you been doing that? His door has been heavily guarded, and I haven’t seen you close enough to the door to speak to him. How did he ask you if you haven’t spoken to him?” He’s too calm for Mordred’s liking. He thinks it’s better when the King yells. 

“As you know, I’m a Druid, sire. We can speak using our minds.” Arthur twitches again. “I’ve been sneaking out of the castle and taking it to his window. He levitates it to himself with magic.” Arthur continues to stare at him. “He told me last night that, when you are ready, he will have his list of demands.” Mordred shouldn’t have said that. He should not have said that. The look on Arthur’s face—he should just go grab the axe himself. It’ll be quicker that way.

“Does he now?” Arthur leans back in his chair. “Can you speak to him from here?” 

“Yes, sire.” Mordred does not like where this is going. He is not a pigeon, dammit. 

“Tell Merlin that he doesn’t get to demand anything. I am the King, and he will do as I say.” Mordred shrinks back, looking to Lancelot for guidance. “Don’t look at Lancelot, Mordred. You will tell Merlin right now. That is an order.”

Okay. Mordred can do this. He can. 

Emrys? I have a message from Arthur.

Oh? What is the message, Mordred? I can’t wait to hear it. Maybe he can’t wait to hear it, but Mordred can wait to give it.

Mordred squints his eyes shut in anticipation. He says that you don’t get to demand anything because he is the King and you will do as he says.  

Tell Arthur that it will be a cold day in Hell when I do anything he says. 

Mordred does not want to tell Arthur that. He does, though, because he’s loyal and Emrys asked it of him. He steels himself, the occupants of the table all staring at him with a mixture of pity and horror. “Emrys says that it will be a cold day in Hell when he does anything you say.”

Arthur’s fist pounds the table. Mordred flinches. “You tell him that if he doesn’t come out of his room, I will burn all of his magic books to ashes.” 

Mordred tells him because he is now a pigeon. That’s okay. He’d rather be a pigeon than beheaded. He can hear Emrys's smirk when he replies. I spelled them all to be fireproof. 

“He spelled them to be fireproof,” Mordred says, flinching back when Arthur throws a goblet at the wall. 

“Tell him that you will no longer be bringing him anything. If he wants food or water, he will have to come out of his room,” Arthur says.

Mordred looks down at the table, considering what he’s about to say next and saying it anyway because he’s already resigned himself to death. “I beg you to see reason, sire.”

“Reason? You dare—”

“If I don’t bring Emrys food, he will starve himself. He is too stubborn for his own good. I don’t know what this argument is about, but I know he’d starve before relenting.”

Arthur glares at him. “You will do as I say, Mordred. I am the King.”

“And Emrys is—” The Queen, he wants to say. Mordred sees that for what it is. He doesn’t think it’s the time to bring up that little tidbit of information, though. “Well, he’s Emrys, sire,” he finishes lamely. The name in itself gives him a solid enough argument. Mordred’s got this. 

“Is he now? Be that whatever it may, my order trumps his.”

“Not this time,” Mordred declares, sounding stupidly brave. Emphasis on the stupid. He watches as several expressions of shock register through the room. Dear God. He’s really done it this time. Mordred does not got this.

“Excuse me?”

Mordred is on a roll with the stupidity. He’ll be damned if he stops now. “If you would just reason with him—consider what he is asking of you—”

“You don’t even know what he is asking of me!”

Mordred takes a deep breath. He will stay calm. He will stay calm. “No, I don’t. What I do know is that he doesn’t look well, sire. The few times I have spotted him, he...he looks like he is wasting away. I’ve offered to bring him something from Gaius, but he refuses. I’m worried about him.” He takes another breath. “I am loyal to you both, sire. I would lay my life down for yours. But you must understand that, as a Druid, I am loyal to Emrys first. Even despite being a Druid, I will always be loyal to Emrys, first and foremost. I am loyal to you because I am loyal to Emrys. Because he has more trust and faith in you than I’ve ever seen one have for another. As such, I will not see him harmed.” There. He said it. He said it. 

“I would never—”

“Ordering me to stop bringing him food and water is harmful. He is not in the condition to go a single day without either. He will, though, if you refuse it of him. As long as he is willing to accept them from me, I will continue to bring them to him, against your orders if need be.” Mordred tries to hide the fact that he is shaking. He will remain strong. 

“Is he really that bad?” Arthur whispers, looking crushed at the thought. 

Mordred nods. “Yes, sire.” Another moment of silence. “Sire, if I may—”

Arthur chuckles, mirthlessly. “I think you already have, Mordred.”

Mordred takes that as a yes. “As I said, I do not know what this argument entails or what Emrys is demanding. I do know, however, that he’d never ask something of you that he would think is unreasonable or harmful to you in any manner. I’m sure that, whatever it is, he has a good reason, even if it is hard for you to see it.”

Arthur continues staring at him. Mordred does not waver as he meets his eyes. He doesn’t know where this courage came from, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Doesn’t he hate you?” Arthur asks, his tone more confused than anything. 

“Yes, sire.”

“Yet, you are willing to defy me for him?”

“Yes, sire.” Arthur looks at him expectantly. “He...Emrys isn’t just Emrys. He’s Merlin. A man who, as nothing more than a child, was told he was to bear the weight of all of Albion on his shoulders—that he was to do it by himself for years, living in the fear that if he was found out, he would be executed. Despite this, he’s done it with more grace and dignity than anyone else could ever hope to manage. He is the most courageous man I have ever met and still one of the most humble. He cares for the people—”

“He doesn’t care for you,” Arthur argues. 

“For good reason.”

“No. Not for good reason. He treats you like the enemy because of something a dragon said.”

“A dragon who speaks prophecies that could very well come true—of prophecies that have come true.” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I’m not saying it will, sire. Prophecies and destinies are not the same. Destinies are set in stone. They are written in a way that there is no changing them. You are destined to be the Once and Future King, just as Emrys is destined to stand by your side and be the most powerful warlock to have walked the earth. Together, you will lead Albion into the Golden Age. That is undeniable. Prophecies, however, are possible outcomes. They are the results of the choices we make. It is prophesied that I am to be the one to kill you. That does not mean I will be the one to kill you. It means that, given a set of circumstances, I could be.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Tell me, sire, how long have you known Lancelot?”

Arthur looks at Lancelot before returning his gaze to Mordred. “Many years.”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life,” Arthur swears.

“But if tomorrow, Kilgharrah were to tell you that Lancelot is prophesied to kill Merlin—that one of his choices could very well lead to Merlin's death—what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t believe it,” Arthur determines, after a moment, sounding hesitant enough for Mordred to carry on with his argument.  

“Maybe not right away, but the thought would fester. You would never trust him with your life again, and you certainly wouldn’t trust him with Merlin’s,” Mordred says. “Am I wrong?”

The King purses his lips. They all know that is the only agreement he will give. 

“You would start to push him away. A man whom you have known and trusted for years—one of your closest knights and advisors—would become nothing more than a threat. The enemy. All because a dragon told you that there is a possibility that he could be the one to kill Merlin. Merlin would be angry about it. Lancelot is one of his best friends. You wouldn’t care though because the mere thought of his death is enough for you to turn on one of the very few people you actually trust.”

They all continue to stare at him, whether in awe at his boldness or horror at the thought he has presented. 

He frowns. “Now imagine that, instead of Lancelot, it is a new knight that the dragon tells you is prophesied to kill Merlin. This is someone you do not know. Someone who hasn’t spent years building your trust—hasn’t even lived in Camelot for most of his life. He’s an outsider, and you were just told that he could very well be the one to run Merlin through. If you were willing to do all of that to Lancelot, what would you be willing to do to him? The better question is: what wouldn’t you be willing to do for Merlin’s sake?”

Arthur doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Mordred clears his throat and says softly, “I do not fault Emrys for his hatred of me. He cares more for you than he cares for anyone else. More than everyone else combined, I’d be willing to say. He would do anything for you—has done everything for you. He would protect you with his dying breath. This is not a secret. To have to constantly see the man prophesied to kill the one you love most, after losing so many others, is terrible, I imagine. Enough so that I have considered leaving multiple times if only to cause him less pain. I have not though because I am very careful of my choices, sire. Knowing that one of them could lead to your death keeps me vigilant and wary. I remain here because I have chosen that, through anything and everything, I will be loyal to you and Emrys until my dying breath. I can only hope that, in doing so, I will one day prove to Emrys that I am of no threat to you. Until that time, it is important that you know I do not resent Emrys for his hatred. I am loyal to him and will do everything in my power to help him. Currently, that means bringing him food, drinks, and bathwater in the dead of the night until your disagreement resolves and he can leave his room.”

No one speaks when he’s finished. They remain silent as Arthur gathers his thoughts. “Thank you, Mordred, for your honesty. I have much to think about,” he says, his voice strained.

Mordred nods. “I hope it helped, sire. I apologize for being abrupt.”

Arthur stands, ready to leave the room, with a small smile on his face. “It is quite alright. I need that sometimes, and Merlin isn’t here to give it to me this time.” He pauses for a beat, walking to the door. He turns to look over his shoulder. “He is lucky to have you, Mordred.”

“He is much luckier to have you, sire.”

Arthur looks down, his hand clenching the doorknob. “I hope so,” he whispers before leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Another beat of silence.

“Holy shit, Mordred! I didn’t think you had it in you,” Gwaine shouts when Arthur is deemed far enough away.

“You may have actually solved this,” Lancelot says with a smile. 

Leon nods. “We are forever in your debt, Mordred.”

Elyan and Percival are adding their thanks, but the conversation—what Mordred just said and to whom—is catching up to him.

He gags. “I need a bucket. I’m going to puke!”

“Get the man a bucket!” 

“That a bowl, Percival, you idiot. It’s not big enough!”

“There are no buckets!”

“Here, give him your hat!”

“Don’t give him my—there goes my hat. I liked that hat. That was my favorite hat.”

“Shut up, Elyan. Gwen will knit you a new one.”

“Are you okay, Mordred?” Lancelot says, patting his back as he pukes into Elyan’s hat.

“I’m never doing that again. You can’t make me,” Mordred groans.

“We won’t, buddy. We know it was tough,” Gwaine say soothingly. Mordred thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been nice to him. That makes the puking worth it alone.

He moans. “It was horrible!”

“We know. You did well, Mordred,” Lancelot says.

“The hat isn’t holding it! The hat isn’t holding it!”

“It’s dripping!” 

“The bowl wouldn’t have dripped.”

“Shut up, Percival!”

Mordred pukes again. “I thought I was going to die!” he wails, ignorant of the shouting around him. 

“You aren’t going to die, Mordred. How about we take you to Gaius and have him fix you up something for those nerves? Maybe a nice sleeping potion.” Mordred really appreciates Lancelot. No matter what he said before when he was getting the bathwater.

“That sounds good,” he mumbles. Lancelot helps him stand. “What should I do with the hat?”

“Give it back to Elyan.” 

“I am not taking that hat back, Gwaine. I would rather cut off my own arm.”

“It’s your hat!”

“You gave it to him!”

“A duel. The loser takes the hat,” Gwaine says, throwing his glove onto the ground, a determined gaze turning into one of disgust as his glove lands in the steadily growing puddle of puke.

“I am not picking up that glove or taking the hat back, and you can’t make me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take the hat.” They all turn to Leon, who puffs up his chest. “It’s the least I can do for the man who saved Camelot.” He steps forward, taking the hat with all the dignity and grace he can muster. “Thank you for your service, Sir Mordred.”

“Leon, you crazy bastard.”

“A brave man, you are. We don’t deserve you.”

“What do I do with it now? Should we call for a servant? I can’t hold it forever. It’s still dripping.”

“We could throw it out the window.”

“What if there are people below?”

“We can’t control everything, Leon.”

“The dripping is getting worse!”

“Don’t push it towards me!”

“Throw it out the window! Throw it out the window!”

“I’m throwing it! I’m throwing it!” He throws it out the window. Seconds later, there is a scream. 

“Oh my God. It hit someone. How could you, Leon?”

“You told me too!”

"If I told you to stab yourself, would you?"

“I think it was Karl!” Leon screams, completely mortified. Mordred can’t help but grin, feeling much better suddenly. Karl is the worst. 

“Don’t look! What if he sees you?”

“I think he saw me or, at least, the window I was in.”

“Everybody run! Evacuate! Evac—”

“Percival slipped in the puke!”

“Leave him behind! 

“Every man for himself!”

Mordred watches as they run past him and Lancelot, arms waving wildly. 

“Cacaw! Cacaw!” 

“Arthur’s back?! I thought he left?”

“He did. It just felt right!”

“God dammit, Leon!”

“Idiots,” Lancelot mutters, steering him toward the physician’s chambers. 

Mordred is glad he came to Camelot. He thinks, maybe, that this is the first time he has felt at home. 

On the seventh morning, Mordred wakes up just before the sun rises. The night before, Lancelot promised to bring Emrys his food when Gaius insisted that Mordred take a sleeping potion. Having gone to bed early, he can’t fall back asleep and finds himself restless. He decides to check on Emrys.

He is not expecting the scene he is greeted by.

The door is open, but Arthur and Emrys aren’t in the room. Instead, they lay in a heap of blankets and pillows in the doorway. Mordred thinks that Emrys must have come out at some point in the night after Arthur fell asleep.

He is curled on top of the King, his head resting on his chest and his legs and arms tangled around the other man. Arthur must have recognized Emrys in his sleep because both of his arms hold him protectively as if fearing someone will take him away. His face is buried in Emrys’s hair, looking more peaceful than Mordred has seen him in a long time. 

Two guards stand watch protectively over them. Mordred motions for them to stay quiet as he bends down slowly and puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, shaking him as gently as possible to prevent Emrys from waking.

“Sire?” Mordred whispers.

Arthur’s eyes open, blearily. “Merlin?”

Mordred puts a finger to his lips as he gestures to the sleeping sorcerer.

Arthur notices him and sighs a breath of relief, his arms remaining in their protective hold. “He came out,” he whispers, leaning his head back in relief. A smile unlike any other graces his face. “He came out.”

“Might I suggest moving to your room, sire? You both could use the rest, preferably somewhere more comfortable than the floor,” Mordred says, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. 

Arthur notices their surroundings for the first time. “Yes, you’re right.” He moves, slowly adjusting Emrys as if he is the most delicate thing he has ever touched.

“Do you need help, sire?”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’ve got him. Thank you, Mordred. For everything.”

“I’m glad to have helped, sire.”

As Arthur stands, Mordred keeps his arm behind him in case he gets tangled in the blankets. He holds Merlin in his arms protectively against his chest. 

Merlin jostles at the movement. “‘rthur?”

Arthur grips him tighter. “Shh. It’s okay, love. I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.”

Emrys curls in further, placing his head against Arthur’s chest. “You’ll stay?”

Arthur looks at Emrys in a way that Mordred hopes someone looks at him one day. “Always.” 

Emrys hums. “Love you,” he murmurs, falling back asleep.

“Love you, too,” Arthur whispers, leaving Mordred behind as he makes the trip to his room, right around the corner. 

Mordred watches them with a smile until they round the corner out of sight. He gathers the blankets and pillows in his arms, ready to place them back in Emrys’s room. He turns to the two guards. “Could you please spread word that the King and Queen have retired to their chambers and are not to be disturbed?”

“Of course, Sir Mordred,” they say with smiles on their faces. Mordred shares a smile of his own.

On the seventh day, Camelot rests, knowing that all is right again.  

Mordred never did find out what they were arguing about. He doesn’t think it’s all that important. Emrys acts much nicer to him now. They aren’t friends yet, but Mordred thinks they are almost there. He has even started teaching him some magic. And, through Emrys’ gradual acceptance, he has earned the rest of the Camelot’s as well. It is true, he finds, that the way to a kingdom’s heart is through its Queen’s. 

Mordred is happy. 

And, if on the eighth day a missive is sent to Queen Dahlia of Kent containing thanks for her splendid idea of barricading one's self in their room, no one is the wiser.

Chapter Text

The fifth rule to know when staying in Camelot and arguably the most obvious is to never harm the King. Doing so invokes the wrath of the Court Sorcerer, which most often results in death, and it will not be a pleasant one.

Arthur is going to die. It is a fact that he has grown accustomed to since he was taken hostage by a group of sorcerers two days ago. It is not the sorcerers he fears, though. No. He couldn’t care less about whatever they are maundering about. 

It is Merlin who is going to kill him. Then, he’ll revive him just to rant and nag about how he said that Arthur shouldn’t go on this hunting trip without him because he had a bad feeling. 

The thing is, Merlin has bad feelings all the time. Are they usually right? Maybe. But that’s not the point. Sometimes Merlin will have a bad feeling and then be the one to cause the problem. For example, the riot in Anglia. Other times, his bad feelings are about little things like food poisoning, an injured bird, or a knight scraping his knee. He always nags Arthur endlessly when he turns out to be right, but if Arthur didn’t do something every time Merlin had a bad feeling, he’d never leave the castle.

He secretly suspects that this is Merlin’s lifelong goal—to keep Arthur confined in the castle where he can watch over him like a mother hawk. Not that he’d ever accuse him of it. That wouldn’t be worth it. 

He finds that accusing Merlin of anything is never worth it. It is almost always better to play ignorant and let Merlin think he believes his lies like the whole magic thing. How stupid does Merlin think he is? Arthur has known about Merlin's magic since the griffin. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to watch Merlin conjure up pitiful excuses. It’s painful for both of them. Instead, when Merlin finally told him, he pretended that he was ignorant all along like he does with almost everything else.

Another example is the time Merlin enlarged a man’s tongue and made him suffocate after he tried to kill Arthur. Does Merlin seriously think he believes that the man randomly choked on his tongue to death? Yeah, sounds reasonable. He even had Mordred lying for him. 

Arthur ignores it because it is better for his sanity if he lets Merlin have his way. But, occasionally, he just can’t handle it anymore. The sheep? Seriously? And the cow. Oh my God. The cow. How is he supposed to ignore these things? He is the King of Camelot. And then, whenever he accuses Merlin, somehow the whole thing turns around on him. Or worse, Merlin starts crying. 

Arthur can’t handle the crying, even when he’s positive it is a ploy to fool him. 

So, he allows Merlin to get away with the sheep, the cow, the riot, the fire, the quarantined villages, the blueberries, that one time with the pie, the bees nest, the dress incident, and so many other things that he doesn’t like to consider or he is certain he will lose his mind. 

Arthur would like to emphasize that he is not stupid. He knows that Merlin has him wrapped around his demonic but cute little finger. What is he supposed to do? He can’t help it. 

He can’t help that Merlin only needs to smile to make Arthur smile. He can’t help that he loves the way Merlin’s nose crinkles when he is being indecisive. He can’t help that Merlin’s voice in the morning is the only acceptable thing to hear at that hour. And he can’t help that Merlin batting his eyelashes definitely makes Arthur succumb to his wiles. 

Arthur can’t help that he is in love with Merlin. 

There. He admits it. He is in love with an idiot. 

He knows it and has accepted it. He also knows that Merlin only sees him as a friend though, so he keeps it a secret. He doesn’t let anyone know, and he’s done a pretty good job of it if he must say so himself. Not even his closest knights are aware of his affections. 

That reminds him of his knights. 

His knights, who are currently chained to the walls of a decrepit castle, in the middle of God knows where, as Arthur contemplates the best way to stop Merlin from nagging him to death. Leon, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Mordred are all here. His most trustworthy men. Mordred is new to the inner circle, but, after Merlin pulled that stunt in his room, Arthur feels that the young knight more than deserves his spot. 

Arthur wanted to go hunting because he hadn’t done so in a while due to all of his kingly duties. Merlin couldn’t go because of some stupid meeting that Arthur couldn’t convince him to postpone as he’d already moved the date twice. Arthur was upset that Merlin wasn't able to come, but it's not like he could call off the whole hunting trip because of it, even if Merlin said that going was a bad idea. That would be too obvious. Arthur has to keep his feelings a secret.

Because of this, everybody is here but Merlin—although, they probably wouldn’t be here at all if Merlin had come—chained against the walls while Arthur is tied to a chair in the center of the room being "interrogated."

“Could you just kill me now?” Arthur drawls, interrupting whatever the head sorcerer is ranting about. He has no clue. He would say that he stopped listening, but that would imply he ever started in the first place. He thinks it might be the blow to his head that he took when they were captured. His thoughts are kind of fuzzy. His head must be bleeding because he has to tilt it to the right to keep the blood from running into his eye. His arm is definitely broken too. The ropes are not helping that.  

The knights blanch at the statement. Okay. Fair. Maybe he shouldn’t be goading a crazy sorcerer into killing him, but they aren’t the ones who are going to have to deal with Merlin’s nagging. The nagging is dreadful. 

“Excuse me? What about nagging?” the sorcerer says. Hm. Maybe he said some of that aloud. Oh well.  

Arthur groans. “Are you going to nag me too?”

The sorcerer seems very confused. Good. Arthur will confuse him to death. Just like Merlin will nag Arthur to death. Where is Merlin? Shouldn’t he be here by now? It’s been two days. Two whole days. 

“What does he mean?” the sorcerer asks his knights.

“How should we know? His head is injured. We don’t even understand him when his brain is functioning correctly," Gwaine says. Arthur likes Gwaine. He’s a good friend. “Thanks, Princess. I like you too, most of the time.”

Huh? Did he say that aloud too? No matter. “Why am I here?” Arthur demands.

“I just told you why you are here!” the sorcerer yells. Arthur winces. Clearly, the man has never had a headache. 

“I was not listening. You were going on and on and on. It was so boring.” He thinks the knights are looking at him more concernedly by the second. He’s fine, he thinks. He knows what he is doing. He is the King. 

The sorcerer stomps his foot. Not like Merlin does. Merlin is much better at that. This man looks like a stupid child. “I am not a child! I am the mighty sorcerer Wispy—”

Arthur barks out a laugh. Wispy? Oh my God. This man's name is Wispy. What kind of name is that?   

Wispy smacks him across the face. Wispy is a jerk. “Stop making fun of my name!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. Does he think a mere smack is going to stop him from making fun of him? Merlin hit him with a pair of gloves repeatedly for ten minutes once, and Arthur still didn’t stop laughing at him for tripping over a bucket.

“Oh my—will you listen? I am demanding that you hand over your Court Sorcerer and all the information you have on him, or I will kill you and your men!”

Arthur stares at him, probably looking disconcerted. “My Court Sorcerer?”

Wispy glares. “Yes.”

“You want my Court Sorcerer?”

“I don’t know why this is hard for you to understand. You will hand over the warlock that goes by the name of Merlin, or I will kill each and every one of you.”

“Merlin?”

“The Court Sorcerer Merlin, yes.”

“Merlin? You want Merlin? Not me?”

“Yes! We plan to use his power to conquer all of Albion!”

“Are you sure you don’t want me? I am the King of Camelot.” Arthur thinks Leon is going to have a fit. 

“Yes, I am sure. You are merely a way to get to the warlock as you know all of his weaknesses, and you will tell me them in exchange for your life.”

Arthur sighs. “Well, this is disappointing. That’s another point for Merlin.”

Leon looks wary. “Arthur maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Another point?” Wispy the Ugly Sorcerer asks because he’s a stupid idiot. 

“Yes, Wirspia—”

“It’s Wispy!”

“Merlin and I have a bet over who the stupid, evil villains like yourself are after more often: me or him. Now Merlin gets another point. Thanks, Whirly.”

Wispy hits Arthur again. The knights are shouting. It’s like they don’t care about his head either. 

Arthur is getting quite sick of this. He is tired, hungry, and in lots of pain. His vision is also spinning which makes him feel nauseous. 

“You will tell me how to capture your Court Sorcerer—”

“Sorry, Wilpy, Merlin is not for sale today,” Arthur announces, slurring like he drank too much ale. 

Wispy looks affronted. “I’m telling you—”

Arthur glares. “And I’m telling you that you can not have Merlin because Merlin is mine.”

“I’m not asking—”

“He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine!” Arthur stomps his foot with all the might of a King who is currently tied to a chair with several injuries. That’s how you do it, Wirpy, he thinks or says aloud. He is not sure. 

Wispy kind of just stares at him. Then, he stares at the knights. “This is the King of Camelot?”

The knights shrug—so much for loyalty. “You did hit him on the head—”

“Don’t give him the benefit of the doubt, Leon. He’d do this either way.”

Lancelot shakes his head. “No, Leon. Gwaine’s right. He would do it with more dignity if his head wasn’t injured though. That’s kind of your fault, Wispy.”

“I am right here!” Arthur exclaims, although he thinks it sounds warbly. Everything sounds warbly. Arthur does not like it. He squeezes his eyes shut to make the room stop spinning. He’d cover his ears if he could, but stupid Wisply tied the rope around his arms.

“Could you maybe come back later, Wispy? He’s not going to answer anything properly in his current condition. He’s been unaware that he's mumbling his thoughts for hours. He clearly is in no state to talk,” Lancelot says. 

Wispy huffs. “You all seem fine enough to answer questions. I could—”

“You can torture me!”

“Oh my God, Mordred. Why would you say that?”

“He’s hurting the King, Gwaine. It is my job—”

“We were talking him into leaving!”

“It wasn’t working! The Queen said—”

“The Queen is not here, Mordred.”

“All the same, I made a promise. You can torture me, Wispy. I’d be honored.”

“Mordred, we know you are brave, but we didn’t know you are also stupid.”

“I am stupidly brave!”

“Could someone make him shut up?”

“Could you all shut up?!” Wispy screams. Wispy is not pleased. Well, neither is Arthur, so he’ll have to suck it up. 

Arthur chuckles. “Ooh! You made Wimpy mad!” 

“It’s Wispy! And who is this Queen you speak of? He is not married!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Wimpy?” Gwaine snaps. 

Wispy shouts really loudly. Again. What’s a King have to do to get some quiet around here? “I am going to speak to my men. When I come back, I will be given the warlock, or you will all die!”

“Thank God. If Merlin finds me, he’ll nag for hours. This will be a much quicker death,” Arthur mutters. Wispy makes a strangled noise before slamming the door shut. Arthur flinches at the noise.

“Are you okay, Arthur? Your head wound seems to have grown much worse,” Lancelot says. 

Arthur rolls his head over to look at the knight, only opening one eye because blood is dripping into the other at this angle. “‘M fine. Where’s Merlin?”

“You keep asking us that, Arthur. He is not here, remember?” Lancelot says, slowly, like Arthur is stupid. He is not stupid. 

“It’s been two days—”

“Three, Arthur. It’s been three days,” Percival clarifies, speaking just as slowly. He is not stupid!

“We know you aren’t stupid, sire. You just have a bad head injury and aren’t remembering things clearly. It’s okay,” Leon says. 

Arthur squints his eyes at him, opening them both this time so he can see Leon better. “I’m fine. Have I really been mumbling my thoughts?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Hm.”

“For the record, we all know that you are in love with Merlin. You haven’t even remotely hidden it from us,” Gwaine says.

“Is this really the time for that Gwaine?” Elyan says.

Gwaine shrugs.

“You knew?” Arthur asks. There is no way. He is a great secret keeper.  

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “The whole kingdom knows. Even other kingdoms know. We had to put Queen Dahlia in contact with Gwen so she would stop bothering Leon about planning your upcoming nuptials. She’s very persistent, that woman.”

Arthur should feel embarrassed, but he doesn’t really. Maybe he will later. He’s really tired right now. 

“Sire, it would be helpful if you could try to stay awake. We are very worried about you,” one knight says. He can’t tell which one with his eyes closed. He knows that it is not Merlin, though. He would recognize Merlin’s voice. 

“Why is Merlin not here yet? Where is he? He doesn’t ever leave me.”

“I’m sure he is on his way, sire. He’s probably devising a plan. There are at least fifty men at this camp and several of them are sorcerers.”

Arthur is really tired. He should sleep until Merlin gets here. Then, he can nag at Arthur, and Arthur can pretend to hate the nagging, but really he likes it because he likes everything Merlin does. Except for the cow. Arthur did not like the cow. That was kind of extreme. 

“Arthur, please do not go to sleep. Merlin will be here soon—”

“Don’t interrupt him, Lance! This is pure gold! He just admitted to liking Merlin’s nagging.”

“Gwaine, it is not right to take advantage of the King’s state—”

“Shut up, Leon. You act like you’re such a perfect knight and follow all of the rules, but we all know you had a hand in the cow incident!”

“I was not aware that Merlin—”

“You were very aware!”

“At least I didn’t catch three taverns on fire!”

“Only two of those were my fault!”

“Why don’t we all stay calm—”

“You’re not innocent either, Mordred!”

“Yeah! We heard what Arthur said about the tongue incident.”

“I lied about it! I didn’t cause it!”

“You helped Merlin make Lord Fulton fall into a pile of horse dung!”

“That was for my magic lessons—”

“Oh? Is that what we are calling it?”

Arthur thinks he falls asleep for a short amount of time because the next thing he knows, he is awoken by another shout.

“Will you all shut up?!” Lancelot yells. Arthur thinks that Lancelot looks very upset. “I am upset! While you’ve been in and out of consciousness, I’ve had to deal with all of them!”

“That’s a little uncalled for, Lance,” Percival says. “I’ve been well-behaved.”

Lancelot sighs dramatically. “My bad. I’ve had to deal with all of them but Percival!”

Percival nods. “Thank you.”

Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t feel very confused. “Where is Merlin? Why is he not here?”

Lancelot’s anger dims. “He is on his way, Arthur. He will be here soon,” he says softly.

Arthur hunches his shoulders, being careful of his arm because he thinks it is broken. “I wish he was here.”

“I know, Arthur. I do too,” Lancelot says. 

Arthur shakes his head, moving it slowly to prevent any more pain. “You can not wish that too because Merlin is mine. I told the Wilpy that Merlin is mine. No one else can have him. Not even Lancelot. Merlin is mine.”

Several of the knights laugh, their chains rattling along with them. Lancelot has to hide his smirk in his shoulder. “I know, sire. I’d never dare take him from you.”

“Good. Merlin is mine.”

“Merlin is yours,” Lancelot agrees. 

“We are telling Merlin about this right?” Gwaine asks. “It’ll make his day.”

“We are not telling Merlin anything!” Arthur snaps. “We will escape on our own or he will nag, Gwaine. I don’t want to be nagged.”

“That’s not what you said earlier, Princess.”

“I do not know what I said earlier, but I know what I’m saying now! No telling Merlin. We will escape all by ourselves!” Arthur declares, looking at each of his knights and stopping at Mordred who is looking anywhere but at him. He sighs. “You already told him, didn’t you? With the mind thingy?”

Mordred looks down. “Sire—”

Arthur moans. “How could you? The nagging, Mordred! The nagging!”

“Sorry, sire,” Mordred says, not at all looking sorry. The bastard. 

Gwaine gasps. “You’ve been talking to him the whole time?”  

“I thought you knew!”

“You didn’t say anything!”

“I assumed you knew! It's obvious that I would contact him! Why do you think he made me come with you? I hate hunting! But he had a bad feeling and knew I could contact him if anything happened.”

“It was not obvious—” 

“It’s not my fault you are stupid, Gwaine. Arthur realized it with a head injury! And Lancelot definitely knew too!”

“Lancelot did not—”

“It was obvious,” Lancelot confirms.

“I hate you, Lancelot.”

“Anyway, now that Wispy is gone, I can tell you that the Queen is on his way,” Mordred says smugly.

“Oh, thank God! This has been horrible,” Percival whines.

Lancelot shakes his head. “How long will it be? Is the Queen bringing back up?”

“He's a couple of hours away. I’m not sure of the exact—”

“He’s coming alone, isn’t he? Arthur will be infuriated.” Arthur is right here, thank you. “We know you are, Arthur.”

“He’s not coming alone. He said he’s bringing a few knights.”

Lancelot sighs. “That means he’s bringing around five at most, Mordred. How could you let him—”

“I don’t let him do anything! He doesn’t listen to me!”

“Take it easy on Mordred. It’s not his fault he is inadequate,” Gwaine says just because he can.

“Why are you like this? I thought we were getting along—”

“You thought wrong.”

Mordred clenches his fists in their shackles. “I’m going to tell the Queen—”

“The Queen likes me more!”

“The Queen doesn’t like bullies!”

“I am not a bully—”

Arthur is having a really hard time following the conversation. They are speaking quickly, and his head is working slowly and painfully. One word keeps bothering him though. “Who is the Queen?” Arthur asks, making them all shut up. If he’d known that would do it, he would’ve asked ages ago. “I am not married.” 

They all look at each other as if trying to decide who will answer him. He sighs because he might be injured, and they all might be spinning in circles, but he is still the King and they will answer him. “I asked a question," he states. “Who is the Queen? I do not have a Queen.”

Lancelot clears his throat because it’s always Lancelot as he is the bravest of them all. “Thank you, sire. I am honored that you believe me to be so brave. The thing with the Queen, however...it’s just that you do have a Queen.”

“I am not married,” Arthur repeats.

Lancelot smiles. “No, but, think about it, sire. Who is your Queen?”

Arthur stares at him. He stares and stares some more. He does not have a Queen. He is not married. He is not married because he loves Merlin, and he will never marry another. He does not need a Queen because he has—oh. He laughs. “Merlin is the Queen,” he states, simply, in between laughs.

“Yes, sire. Merlin is the Queen,” Lancelot confirms. 

Arthur keeps laughing. He thinks some of them laugh too. “Do you all call him that?” he asks when his head hurts from laughing.

“The whole Kingdom does, sire,” Lancelot says. 

“Does he know?”

Elyan smirks. “He hasn’t a clue."

Arthur tries not to laugh anymore so that his head stops pounding so badly. “That’s nice,” he says. “He is the Queen. Merlin is my Queen.”

Lancelot nods. “He is, sire."

“He’s the best Queen.” Arthur smiles.

Leon chuckles. “There’s not a better one out there.”

“Will he be here soon? I miss him.”

“He will, sire,” Mordred says. “The Queen is on his way.”

“Good. Good. I miss him,” Arthur says, his eyes gleaming at the thought of Merlin but feeling quite tired from all of the laughing.  

“We know, sire,” one of the knights says. It takes Arthur a moment to realize his eyes are closed.

“I wish someone would look at me like that,” another one sighs. 

“Karl does.”

“He does not, Gwaine! I hate Karl!”

“Just because you hate Karl, doesn’t mean he hates you!”

“Agh!”

Arthur falls asleep to their bickering. He wishes it was Merlin’s.

When Arthur wakes the next time, it is to Wispy’s face being far too close to his. Only Merlin’s face is allowed this close to Arthur’s. 

“Good. You are awake,” Wispy says. His breath smells horrible. Wispy hits him again. He must have said it aloud. He doesn’t regret it because the man steps back. Definitely worth the hit. “Have you decided whether your lives are worth that of the sorcerer’s?”

“Merlin?” he asks to clarify. His head is still a bit fuzzy. He can remember most of the conversations he’s had, but some things are coming and going. 

“Yes. The sorcerer named Merlin.”

“I see. As I said before, Merlin is not available today. Come back on a day when he is nagging me, and I’ll see what I can do.” Arthur is glad when the words come out clearer than they had earlier. 

“You will risk your life and the lives of six of your men for that of one?” Wispy asks, looking like he ate something sour.

Arthur looks at his men. They may be able to bicker, but that’s because they don’t have a head injury like Arthur. All of them are injured in some other manner, though. He feels bad because, by the looks on their faces, they know how he will answer the question. They know, and they agree with him. They seem to be saying something else, but Arthur can not pick up on it. “I would give up all my men for him. I’d give up my castle and my kingdom. I’d easily give up my own life. I will not give you to him nor will I tell you anything that could harm him.”

“So you will die then?”

Arthur shrugs. “It appears so.” 

Wispy nods. “If that is your final statement, then I have no use of you, King Arthur. I hope your dedication was worth it.”

Wispy draws back, the words of a spell on the tip of his tongue, while Arthur's men are shouting and Arthur actually feels a bit peaceful suddenly.

He never gets past the first word.

There is a sound so loud that it shakes the walls. It sounds like thunder, Arthur thinks. And thunder comes with lightning and lightning comes with Merlin. He wonders if that is why he felt so peaceful before. Part of him has always been able to sense when Merlin is near. He thinks it might have to do with that whole coin thing people are always going on about. Arthur also knows that Merlin would never let him do something as absurd as die, so he has to be here to save him. 

The sounds of screams follow. Then, Arthur is laughing. He laughs so hard that he can’t seem to stop. He feels more lucid than he has in days as he looks at Wispy’s terrified face.

“What is this? What have you done?” he demands, grabbing Arthur by his tunic.

Arthur’s words are very clear as he speaks. “That,” he pause for dramatic effect, “would be my Queen.”

Wispy pulls back. “Your Queen? You do not—”

“And can I let you in a little secret?” He leans forward. “The Queen gets very angry when people hurt the King.” He smirks, leaning back as if he has all the time in the world. “If I were you, I’d start running.”

But Wispy does not have time to run. The door bangs open and Arthur relaxes as he watches Merlin enter the room. His eyes are a swirling gold. The power radiating off of him is so strong that it’s even visible to Arthur who has not an ounce of magic in his body. Arthur thinks he’s beautiful. 

He wonders what Merlin looks like to Wispy, who is throwing his hands up and stepping away from Arthur in terror. “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!”

“No,” Merlin growls, stepping forward, arm outstretched, “but, you were going to.” He slams Wispy into the wall so hard that Arthur hears cracks. He’s not sure if it is the shoddy foundation or Wispy’s bones. 

Merlin has not turned to him yet. His eyes are focused on Wispy, watching as the man screams in agony. It looks like Merlin is burning him from the inside out.

If Arthur was anyone else, he might be afraid to speak to Merlin when he is in a fit of rage like this. He knows all of the knights are, even Lancelot, despite knowing that Merlin would never harm them. When Merlin is in one of these rages—whenever Arthur is harmed, that is—he becomes blinded by his anger. He won’t stop until every person who dared to threaten the King is dead unless somebody stops him. And that somebody is Arthur.

“Merlin,” he says calmly. 

The magic deflates instantly, but Merlin’s eyes are still gold when he turns to Arthur. “Arthur?” he responds so softly that it breaks Arthur’s heart. Wispy is on the floor, wheezing. He is alive, barely. Merlin will draw this out if he is allowed. He will make the man’s death as slow and painful as possible. 

Arthur won’t let him. It is not that Arthur thinks the man doesn’t deserve it. He does. He had plans to hurt Merlin, after all. But he knows Merlin. When Arthur is not there to stop him, to be there when he comes down from this high, he withdraws—believes himself to be a monster. There are many things that Arthur allows Merlin to get away with. That is not one of them. 

“Snap his neck, Merlin,” Arthur commands, keeping his voice gentle but strong. He is using all of his energy to make sure he sounds lucid. 

Merlin frowns, his lip wobbling. “But he hurt you. He was going to-to—”

“I know,” Arthur says. “And he deserves it. He does. But I’m injured and need your help, Merlin. Do you see? I broke my arm, and my head hurts very badly. You can not help me if you are distracted by him.”

Merlin’s anger is replaced by concern, but the sadness remains. He looks at Wispy, still unsure.

“Do it for me, Merlin,” Arthur says tenderly. 

Merlin nods. There is a quick flash of his eyes, the echo of a snap, and Wispy is nothing more than a soulless body. 

Merlin is hovering over Arthur before the King has time to blink. There is another flash and the ropes fall off. He starts to tilt sideways off of the chair, but Merlin catches him. He always does.

He watches dazedly, letting himself relax as Merlin gently pats him over for injuries, using bits of magic where possible. He can’t heal major injuries like Arthur’s arm or head wound, but he can help with superficial scrapes. 

Arthur loves Merlin’s magic. It always washes over him, warm like a blanket. He sinks further into Merlin’s arms.

Merlin smiles at him, cupping his jaw and healing his split lip. “My magic loves you too. It always reaches out to you whenever you are near. I’ve had to learn to rein it in.”

“You shouldn’t,” he whispers. “It’s hard to explain but it’s-it’s comforting. I miss it when it’s not here.” He pauses. “I miss you when you are not here.”

Merlin reaches for the top of his head, where the blood keeps dripping into his eyes, inspecting the wound with great care. “I missed you too, Arthur.” The magic is warm and Arthur feels drowsy. His eyelids start to fall, but he struggles to keep them open. He hasn’t seen Merlin in days. He will not sleep now that he is finally here. 

“I kept asking for you,” he mumbles. “I kept asking, but you weren’t here.”

Merlin’s smile turns pained. Arthur didn’t mean to upset him. “I know. Mordred told me. I came as soon as I could.”

“You always come,” he says, shooting his eyes open when he realizes he had shut them.

“Yes, and I always will,” Merlin promises, reaching for his arm. Arthur groans in pain. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

“‘s okay.” He remembers something, then. “They wanted you, you know.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? That sounds like another point to me.”

Arthur grins lazily. “But I told them no. They can not have you because you are mine.”

Merlin looks up from where he is inspecting Arthur’s arm, his cheeks flushed. “Am I now?”

Arthur nods firmly. “Yes. You are my Queen. Mine. And I will give you up to no one.”

Merlin cups his jaw again, his thumb rubbing across his cheek. “Your Queen?”

“My Queen. The best one there is." 

Merlin’s face grows redder as he smiles bashfully at the ground. “I suppose that is agreeable, but only if you promise to be my King.”

Arthur leans forward, still struggling to stay awake with Merlin’s warmth surrounding him. “Of course I’m yours,” he says as if it’s outrageous to consider anything else. “Who else’s would I be?” Merlin meets his gaze then, blue eyes flickering gold. He really is beautiful. “I love you,” Arthur says aloud, purposefully. It’s is not a thought meant to stay in his head. He says it with conviction. It is the clearest thought he’s had in a long time.

“I love you, too,” Merlin says, no hesitation in the words—just awe and reverence. Arthur’s smile remains, but he can’t stop his eyes from drooping again. “Rest,” Merlin whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Arthur starts to drift off, lulled by everything that is Merlin, until he’s interrupted by Gwaine. Sometimes Arthur hates Gwaine. 

“Um, not that that wasn’t super sweet and all, but could you help us out over here, Merlin? These chains are really starting to hurt my arms.”

Merlin squeaks, flipping his wrist. The knights fall to the ground. “I’m sorry, Gwaine. I forgot—”

“Us? Yeah. We noticed.”

“God, Gwaine. Can’t you ever shut up? They were having a moment!” 

“Arthur was falling asleep, Mordred! The moment was over!”

“It wasn’t! Emrys was still staring at him with love and compassion!”

“He does that every day!”

“It’s not every day he confesses his love and stares at hin with love and compassion!”

Then, because Arthur is destined to never get some peace and quiet with the man he loves, the door bangs open and some of his knights fall through. 

“You said to give you half an hour, my lord. Is everything okay?” one of them ask.

Merlin nods. “Yes, I’ll need—”

“Mordred, you’re okay! I was so worried!”

“Get off me, Karl! I’m fine!”

“You’re injured!”

“I’m not—Ow! Stop touching me!”

“You could be nicer, Mordred. Karl is just trying to help.”

“Shut up, Gwaine!”

Merlin helps Arthur stand, wrapping an arm around his waist and being extra careful to not bump his bad arm. Lancelot—the least injured of his knights—grabs his good arm and throws it over his shoulder.

No one mentions the dozens of dead bodies they walk through to reach their horses. They don't mention that, of the knights that arrived with Merlin, none had unsheathed their swords. No one mentions any of this because it is not the first time something like this has happened, and it probably won't be the last. There will always be people trying to harm Arthur, but Merlin will always be there to stop them. And if that means raising Hell in the process, then so be it.     

It takes a moment, but, eventually, Arthur is sitting on a horse in front of Merlin, who is fretting over him at every possible moment. He is finally drifting off, when he hears Merlin lean forward. “Don’t think you’ve escaped my ire. You will be getting an earful when we get home and you are healed.”

Arthur groans as if it is the worst pain he can imagine. It’s not. In fact, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Merlin was not lying. A few days later, when Arthur is healed, he unleashes a wrath equivalent of a God’s.

“—And I am so sick of you not listening when I tell you I have a bad feeling! I tell you time and time again, but do you listen? No. Then, guess what happens? Guess, Arthur? Oh yeah. You get injured! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you? Certainly not like a basket of daisies! You are careless with yourself—don’t you dare bring up the cow incident! That doesn’t change the fact that—”

“I love you.”

Merlin stops pacing and turns to the king. “What?”

Arthur smiles as he steps closer to him. “I love you.”

Merlin squints, accusation coloring his eyes, and steps away. “No! If you think this will make me stop—”

Arthur doesn’t let him get far, pulling him in by the tunic so that they are a hair’s breadth away. “I love you. I love your smile and when you laugh. I love you when you cry and are raving mad. I love you when you spend half the day nagging me. I love you more than everything else combined.” Merlin opens his mouth to argue, but then Arthur’s lips are on his and he melts so easily, all his anger fading away as he gives in to the kiss. 

Queens are not the only ones with tricks up their sleeves. Kings, you see, can be just as convincing, especially when it comes to their Queens.  

Chapter Text

The sixth rule to know when staying in Camelot and arguably the most important is to never harm the Queen. Doing so invokes not only the wrath of the King—which is terrifying in its own right—but all of Camelot.

Merlin knows about the whole Queen thing. That’s right. He knows. He isn’t an idiot. Arthur is the idiot. He may try to say otherwise, but he is a liar. Does he really think that Merlin didn’t know that he knew about his magic since the griffin? Probably. Because he thinks Merlin is an idiot. Merlin would once again like to clarify: He is not an idiot.  All of the stupidity landed on Arthur’s side of the coin, lucky for Merlin. He just lets Arthur think that Merlin doesn’t know the things that Arthur is pretending not to know because Arthur has a fragile mentality, and it’s better for everyone if they keep it intact. 

The point is that Merlin knows that everyone calls him the Queen when they think he isn’t listening. He’d known well before Arthur called him it too. He knows Gaius hired a new assistant so that Merlin could focus more on his job as “Queen.” He knows it is why Karl thinks he has to bow to him. Looking back, he thinks it is why Dahlia gave him “Queenly lessons”—which are very helpful, regardless of the situation, and have been put to very good use. He is positive that Mordred calls him it to anyone willing to listen. He knows that citizens were chanting, “Long live the Queen!” during the riot that occurred when he locked himself in his room. And he knows that the knights were the ones who put the idea in Arthur’s head. 

Merlin knows about all of these things, but he doesn’t comment for multiple reasons. For starters, it seems to be a harmless joke, and he isn’t one to stop people from having a good laugh. It also seems to have become so widespread that he doesn’t think he could put a stop to it at this point if he tried. He doesn’t think Arthur could either, especially since now that they are courting, the joke has only intensified. And it makes Arthur laugh when he hears people refer to him as the Queen, and Merlin is a sucker for Arthur’s laugh, so he couldn’t tell them to stop even if he wanted to. 

But, the thing is, Merlin doesn’t get it. He laughs it off when he overhears servants and knights saying it. He laughs when citizens in the town offer him things while stating that they are for the Queen. When their friends start calling him it more often to his face after they watch Arthur do it, he continues to laugh. He even laughs it off when Arthur does it—often when giving Merlin something, Arthur has taken to saying, “For my Queen.” Merlin laughs because he thinks it’s funny, but he just doesn’t get it. 

Sure, Merlin fulfills the duties of the Head of Household and maybe Arthur has a soft spot for him that he takes advantage of way too often, but that doesn’t make him the Queen. The joke started long before the whole courting thing so that can’t have to do with it.  He doesn’t think he acts like royalty, especially to servants or peasants. He tells people to refrain from using his title as he is uncomfortable with it, so how did they go from not using lord to calling him the queen? How did it spread to the lower towns and even foreign countries? 

The fact of the matter is that he is not the Queen. He does not act like it. Not really. He doesn’t see what everyone is talking about. Merlin thinks the whole thing has gotten way out of hand, and that was before the present situation. 

The present situation being his magic confined by some sort of pendant while being imprisoned in the tallest tower of some old castle in the middle of a foreign kingdom of which he doesn’t know the name.

He has never seen something like the object wrapped around his throat, but he thinks it has completely rid him of any magic abilities, including calling to Kilgharrah and speaking to Mordred. 

When he was first taken while collecting some herbs for Gaius, even though he doesn’t really have to anymore and he is well aware that Arthur will be having a fit when he finds Merlin because Merlin didn’t take anyone with him, they had used iron cuffs to restrain him. If they’d left him in just the cuffs, he would’ve escaped within hours. He has been practicing and succeeding at escaping from regular iron cuffs. It takes him some time, but his magic has become strong enough to overpower them. Not to mention that he is able to keep his Dragonlord abilities and speak to Mordred when just trapped by iron cuffs. 

Before they reached the tower, though, they added the pendant which Merlin can’t escape from no matter how hard he tries. It leaves permanent bruising wherever it lays on his neck and he feels himself grow weaker by the hour. He can’t even will himself to touch it. His captor must be very knowledgeable or have someone on their side that is. They also must have planned this far in advance.

Merlin has been in this tower for five days. He feels like the fair maiden in one of those tales his mother used to tell him when he was a child, locked away in the highest tower and waiting for his prince to save him. 

Aside from the effects of the pendant, he hasn’t been treated poorly per se. He was blindfolded most of the way here, but, from what he saw of the castle, it looks like someone has gone to great lengths to make it habitable again. The room they confined him in follows this deduction as it is, dare he say, fit for a Queen. It is nearly the size of his chambers back home, which he thinks are far too big but Arthur insisted on. 

The bed is smaller than Arthur’s but large in its own right and quite comfortable. There are fur rugs covering most of the floor, a desk by the window, and a bookcase in the corner filled to the brim with books that he has used to occupy his time. 

One of the guards removed the iron cuffs once they had him in the room. Merlin tried to escape, but he has never been known for his physical strength, despite Arthur’s attempts at training him. 

Other than the comfortable room, he is brought meals three times a day. There is a hatch in the door that they pass the meals through and lock immediately after. It is the only interaction he has had with anyone since he was put in the room if you can call it an interaction seeing as the guards refuse to speak a word to him. 

He knows that there are at least two guards in front of the door because he can hear them whisper to each other occasionally but not loud enough that he can figure out what they are saying. The only time he was able to gather a conversation was when someone was yelled at for sending him a tray that had blueberries on it. The person yelling was very angry about that as he seemed aware of Merlin's allergy. 

This and that on the second day of his visit he was even given a bath with rose petals— they chained him to the bed while they filled the tub and when it was emptied but gave him plenty of time to soak and gave him a comfortable nightgown to change into—has confused Merlin greatly. If he closes his eyes and ignores the pendant and iron bars on the windows, he can almost pretend he is on vacation. 

It is not a vacation, though. He’d never go on vacation without Arthur.

Arthur must be worried sick, and when Arthur is worried, Merlin is worried. He doesn’t think the pendant will kill him, but he knows that it isn’t doing wonders for his health. He’s grown weak and nauseous. He has been handing his trays of food back almost full. Merlin knows he should eat to conserve his strength, but he can’t stomach the food. Instead, he has taken to sipping on water and laying in the bed, curled up beneath the furs provided when the night grew too cold and Merlin acquiesced to asking for more blankets. 

He thinks that missing Arthur may be making his health decline even quicker. He misses him so much it hurts.  

When Merlin doesn’t leave the bed to retrieve his lunch tray, he hears some more shouting, followed by his door banging open. The person who enters must not be afraid of Merlin escaping because he doesn’t take the time to chain him to the bed. Considering how weak he feels, Merlin thinks that’s a reasonable conclusion to draw. 

“Why are you not eating?” the man asks, slamming the door behind him. Merlin uses all of his energy to push himself into a sitting position. This is the first time anyone has spoken to him. He’s not going to let the chance to get answers pass him by. 

“Who are you? Are you in charge? Because I have been here for five days with no indication as to why I have been taken, and I demand answers!” His voice comes out cracky from disuse—he’d given up trying to get anyone to speak to him after the second day—and he has to grip the bed frame to remain upright, but he is proud that the words come out with an air of authority. 

The man merely smiles, mirth playing in his eyes as they roam over Merlin’s figure. “Spoken like a true Queen.”

Merlin jolts back, dumbfounded by the statement. “Excuse me?”  

He surveys the man, trying to catalog his features in case it is needed later. He can’t be much older than Arthur and holds himself as a noble of high standing would. He has brown hair and eyes. All in all, he isn’t bad-looking, but he is no Arthur. Nobody compares to Arthur. 

“I will make you a deal,” the man says, disregarding his previous question. “For each question of mine that you answer, I will answer one of yours.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “That would depend on the question. I will not answer anything about Camelot.”

The man sits on the chair next to Merlin’s bed. “I’m not asking you about Camelot. I believe I asked why you refuse to eat.”

“This,” Merlin gestures toward the pendant, “is making me nauseous.”

The man purses his lips, peering at it before returning his eyes to Merlin’s face. “I was not told that would be a side effect—just that you would be drained of energy. Obviously, I cannot have it removed, but I will have a potion brought to you to counteract the effects. I will have the kitchen prepare you a lighter meal, as well. However, I do expect you to eat as much as you can and to tell the guards if the potion is effective or not.”

Merlin has even more questions after that. “Why? What is your name? Why am I here? What do you hope to achieve by doing this?”

“I told you: One question for one question, darling.” Merlin tries not to flinch at the endearment. “I will tell you that my name is Gregory Alpine.” 

The name rings a bell. Merlin studies him carefully, trying to recall where he heard the name. “Of Powys?” he asks. 

Gregory’s smile widens. “You’ve heard of me, then?”

“In passing,” Merlin admits. Powys is in the midst of an uprising, which has turned into a full-blown civil war. Gregory Alpine is the leader of the resistance and claims to be the rightful heir to the throne. He is the first cousin of King Philip Alpine, the current ruler. From Merlin’s understanding, it was rumored that King Philip’s father, the former King Marlon, poisoned his older brother, the twice-former King George, to assume the throne. Gregory, George’s son, and Philip, Marlon’s son, were children at the time. They were barely old enough to remember. Gregory’s mother died in childbirth. As such, his uncle took him in as his ward. While it was never proven that King Marlon killed his brother, it is well-known that King George was an unjust ruler. His laws were cruel, and his people were left starving while he lavished himself with the riches of the kingdom. 

Around a year ago, shortly after Marlon died and Philip assumed the throne, Gregory staged a rebellion that had the force of something that had been in the works for several years. Many nobles do not wish Philip on the throne as he is said to be weak-willed. Other than that, he hasn’t heard much about Philip. The short time that he has been in power has been overshadowed by the civil war. 

Gregory, on the other hand, is told to be obsessive and demanding; powerful, in his own right, and determined. 

Merlin only has this knowledge because Powys shares a border with Kent. Powys and Camelot have never had much of a relationship. They are a decent distance apart, having to travel through Nemeth and Kent to reach each other, and Powys has always remained relatively isolated, only trading with the few kingdoms sharing its borders. And, while King Marlon was a better king than his brother, he still wasn’t known for his kindness or charity. 

Arthur has insisted on staying informed on the civil war but has maintained that they would not interfere unless either side tried to expand their territory or draw in one of Camelot’s allies, namely Kent. Kent and Powys have a tentative relationship at best during times of peace. Therefore, King Harold and Queen Dahlia have remained tense in aspects of the civil war.  

This does not bode well for Merlin or Camelot. Arthur won’t think to look here, and, when he does find Merlin, Gregory is bound to have drawn Camelot into this civil war.

Now, Merlin just has to figure out why he is here. Gregory probably wants him for his magic which he will refuse to use. Then, the torture will begin. It’s too bad. Merlin rather liked the rose-petalled baths.

“That is good to hear. I’m glad my name precedes me,” Gregory says, interrupting Merlin’s thoughts. “How are you finding your accommodations?”

Accommodations? “You mean my prison cell?” Merlin asks because he can’t help it. He has never been one to hold back in the face of stupidity. 

Gregory chuckles, gesturing around the room. “I’d hardly call this a prison cell, Merlin. Yes, you can’t leave, but that won’t last forever. Once you have come to accept the situation, you will be more than welcome to roam the castle. With guards, of course.”

“And what is the situation that I need to accept?”

“Tell me how you are finding your room, and I will tell you why you are here,” Gregory says, remaining relaxed. Of the things Merlin has heard of Gregory, relaxed and kind are not among them. Though, he supposes the man could be putting on a facade to gather followers—not that Merlin will ever follow him. 

Merlin frowns. “It is fine. Much better than the actual prison cell I was expecting, I suppose. Why am I here?”

Gregory sighs. “I did hear you are quite inquisitive.” Merlin snorts. “Nevertheless, I am glad you like your room. If you find yourself in want of anything, please inform the guards. I am pleased that you felt comfortable enough to ask for blankets.”

Comfortable enough? It was either ask for blankets or freeze to death. Maybe that’s an exaggeration but still. Merlin has always gotten cold easily. He sleeps best when he lays next to Arthur because Arthur is a furnace. 

Merlin misses Arthur. This conversation is taking a lot out of him, and he wishes that his King would find him soon, but the chances of that are looking dimmer by the second. 

“As to why you are here,” Gregory says, once again interrupting Merlin’s inner monologue, “I assume that, if you have heard of my name, then you have also heard of the current strife within my kingdom.” Merlin nods along, hoping Gregory will finally answer his question. “While my followers grow and Philip’s position wavers, it has come to my attention that many find me to be too...harsh. It makes some hesitate to follow me. One of my advisors suggested that a way to soften my persona would be to find a queen.” Merlin is not following. “You must understand, Merlin, that I accept nothing but the best, and it is obvious to all of Albion that you are the best.”

Merlin stares at Gregory. There is not a word to describe the confusion that Merlin feels. “The best what? Sorcerer? I’m not going to use my magic to help you take over Powys.”

Gregory chuckles. Merlin is starting to become frustrated. Does this man take anything seriously? “You misunderstand. I’m not asking you for your magic, Merlin. I have a few sorcerers of my own who fight for me. While your power will likely come in handy later, it is not why I have you here now. You are here because you are to be my Queen. There is no Queen in Albion more loved than you are. Stories of the Queen of Camelot, of your kindness and fairness, have spread far and wide. People kiss the ground you walk on. They adore you, no matter their status. You have won the hearts of not just Camelot but of most of Albion. With you by my side, there will be nothing that I can not do—that we can not do.”

Okay. What? No. This has gone too far. Merlin is not the Queen. It’s a joke. A joke. Maybe this is a joke. A big, terrible joke. That reminds Merlin of something else that’s a joke. His life. Yeah. His life is a running joke created by the gods for comic relief. Merlin hates his life. 

“I think there has been a misunderstanding. I am not the Queen of Camelot. That’s a joke. People just call me the Queen because it’s funny. I’m not actually the Queen.”

Gregory’s smile remains. Merlin hates that smile. He wants to punch it. “Modest too, I see. Another thing that precedes you.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I’m serious. It’s a joke. Arthur and I are not married. Camelot does not have a Queen.”

Gregory cocks his head, mirth still clear in his eyes. “I can assure you, there is no joke at play, darling.”

Merlin hates the endearment more than he hates the smile.

“Your people consider you their Queen as equally as they do Arthur Pendragon their King. I did not bring you here solely because of hearsay. I spent two months gathering intel within Camelot’s walls. Is it not true that a riot gathered because you refused to leave your room of which a majority were on your side?”

“It was an even half!” Merlin yells before he realizes that he is not helping himself. “Regardless, I have no crown, and therefore am no queen.”

“And that is what I am offering you. While it is clear that you need no actual crown for people to follow you, you will finally have the official title you deserve. People will flock to me easily with you by my side, and, when they do, I can offer you much more than King Arthur ever could.” 

Merlin snorts. “Whether I am a queen or not, if you spent any time learning about me, then you will have heard that I only serve one king, and that is King Arthur.”

Gregory’s smile wavers slightly. “It is true that I have heard of your loyalty; however, you will not be serving me, Merlin. You will be ruling with me.” 

“Fine. I will rule with no one but Arthur,” Merlin says indignantly. 

Gregory’s smile tightens. “I suppose we will see about that. I intend to win you over.”

Merlin’s expression turns incredulous. He chooses to ignore that statement. “If I am the Queen of Camelot, as you say, surely your advisors wouldn’t have suggested that you choose me. You are in the midst of a war and you choose to invoke the wrath of the most powerful king in Albion? How will that fare for you, fighting a war on two fronts?”

“I admit that my advisors were against choosing you; however, the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you.” He reaches forward to stroke Merlin’s cheek. Merlin flinches back so violently he hits the wall behind his head. 

He growls. “Don’t touch me."

Gregory leans back in his seat, seemingly unaffected. “There are many things that can be said of me, darling, but I am not that sort of man. I will not touch you until you ask me.” He smirks. “And you will ask me.” Merlin scoots further away, drawing the blanket close and swallowing the acid that rises in his throat. “As for King Arthur, he is only considered to be such a powerful king when you are by his side. He is nothing without you.” 

“That is not true!” Merlin can’t help but shout. 

Gregory tsks. “And from what I’ve heard, he is not dealing well with your absence. Once I take my place as rightful King of Powys with you as my Queen, Camelot will be mine for the taking. Although, I may not even have to take it. Its own citizens could very well turn to me when it is clear that you have turned on their King.”

“That will never happen.”  

“We will see.” Gregory stands. “I have things to attend to. I will have the guards bring you a new lunch and a potion. I will send for a bath, as well. It’ll help soothe your nerves. One of the maids will tend to you.” As he reaches the door, he turns around once more. “And don’t be counting on a rescue, Merlin. I left several false trails that King Arthur continues to follow. By the time he finds you, you’ll be well acquainted with your new kingdom.” 

In the following days, Merlin’s energy fades even more if possible. He can hardly stand on his own. The potions help curb his nausea but not all the way. He is only able to eat bland foods in small portions at a time.

Gregory insists they dine together every night that he is available, making small talk that Merlin rarely responds to. Merlin hates these nights the most.

He spends the rest of his time staring out the window from his spot in the bed. Sometimes he manages to make it to the desk where there is a better view. He figures that if he can contact Mordred at some point, he should have an idea of the number of men coming and going from the castle. 

On the thirteenth day, Merlin decides that he should pretend to be nice to trick Gregory into trusting him. He spends that dinner responding more easily to the small talk. Gregory asks him about himself, never speaking of Arthur or Camelot, so Merlin gives him shallow answers but elaborates them to make it seem like he is giving more information than he really is. He became a master of talking without saying anything years ago. 

Gregory appears pleased. He must think isolating Merlin, cutting off all contact but with himself, is a way to sway Merlin to his side. But, for all of the information Gregory says he gathered before taking Merlin, he doesn’t seem to know him at all. If Gregory knew anything, he’d know that Merlin will never give up. As long as he is breathing, he will love Arthur. Nothing in the world can change that. Certainly not some fake king with a bigger ego than Uther. 

On the seventeenth day, Merlin can’t sit up on his own. The pendant is taking everything out of him. Everything but his hope. He’ll always believe in Arthur, even if there has been no sign of him. Merlin doesn’t blame him. No one would think of Powys or Gregory. 

When Gregory arrives for dinner, he’s already been notified of Merlin’s strength or lack thereof. One of the maids—Merlin doesn’t know her name, but she is the kindest of the lot despite not being allowed to speak to him—spoon-fed him broth for breakfast and lunch. 

“You understand why I can’t remove it, don’t you?” Gregory says in place of a greeting. 

Merlin uses what energy he has left to turn his head toward him. “The iron shackles—”

“I’ve been told you can escape from them.”

Merlin shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “Not that quickly. Takes time and energy.” He leans his head back down. “Give me an hour in them. No pendant. It’ll help, I think.” He doesn’t know how Gregory thinks he will be any sort of queen for him like this. 

“The woman that found that pendant told me it shouldn’t affect a sorcerer like this—”

“Not a sorcerer,” Merlin breathes. “I’m a warlock. I don’t have magic. I am magic. It-it hits me harder.” When Gregory doesn’t speak, just watches him carefully—he’s always staring—Merlin gathers his breath to speak again. “For a sorcerer, it’s-it’s like taking away their ability to taste. Less enjoyable b-but survivable. Me, it’s like taking away my-my ability to breathe.”

Merlin closes his eyes so he can’t see Gregory’s expression. He hopes he'll say yes. An hour will be enough time to try to contact Mordred. It’s a far distance, but he and Mordred have grown close enough—a shock to everyone, most of all Merlin—that he thinks he’ll be able to reach out to him. He knows better than to call out to Kilgharrah. It would be too noticeable. Gregory will have him killed or moved to another location within seconds. 

He is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses Gregory agreeing. “Fine. I will give you half an hour with just the iron cuffs. We will see if that helps. You will be supervised the entire time. If you try anything funny—”

“Too weak,” Merlin croaks. 

“If you behave, however, I will consider allotting a daily time. Is that clear?” 

Merlin nods. “Thank you.” The words taste like acid, but he’s taken to thanking Gregory to seem more sincere.

“Anything for you, darling.” Merlin wants to vomit at the words. Actual acid fills his throat as he hears the door close. He only allows himself a quiet whimper when he is sure that Gregory is too far to hear. 

He’s been losing track of time, his thoughts often wandering to Arthur, so he isn’t sure how long Gregory is gone. It doesn’t seem like a long time, but Merlin can’t be sure. 

He’s only been able to keep track of the days by scratching into the wall behind the bed. He uses a quill he found in one of the desk drawers and hides it under his pillow so that if Gregory ever tries anything, he can try to stab him in the eye. It’s the best weapon he’s got. Pitiful, but a weapon no less. 

“I will watch over you while I eat my dinner,” Gregory says when he enters the room again, a pair of cuffs in his hand. “If all goes well, I will have one of the guards sent to do it tomorrow.”

Merlin nods again. “You’ll not be here tomorrow?”

Gregory smiles, pleased at the question. Good. Merlin is trying hard. “No. I have somewhere to be. I will be back the day after.” 

Merlin offers his hands. Gregory takes them gently, acting as though he is caring for his lover. Merlin supposes he thinks that he is. 

The cuffs weigh heavy on his wrists. He watches passively as his hands drop back to his stomach without his permission, too weak to hold the weight on their own. Gregory helps him sit up, every touch feeling wrong.

Merlin doesn’t have to have his eyes open to know when he unclasps the pendant. His body reacts on its own, even with the iron cuffs in place. He hadn’t realized how much it drained from him. He is still weak, but he feels like the air is actually reaching his lungs when he breathes. 

“There. You seem better already. See what you can eat. If you need help, let me know.”

Merlin reaches for the tray on his lap, noting with little interest the porridge he shoves into his mouth shakily. 

Mordred? Mordred, can you hear me? Please, tell me you can hear me. Mordred? He has never been happier that his eyes do not glow when he communicates with his mind. 

Emrys? Are you okay? Where are you? Who took you? Please, tell me you’re okay. Mordred’s voice enters his mind with the force of someone afraid that he won’t be heard if he doesn’t scream loud enough. Merlin has never been happier to hear the knight’s voice. He has to focus all his attention on not showing his relief or crying from sheer joy. 

Gregory is going on about something of his childhood. Merlin hums appropriately, pretending to focus on gathering another spoonful of porridge. 

I’ve only been given half an hour, and I’m incredibly weak, so I need you to listen carefully.

I’m listening. Everyone is here, Emrys. We were in a council meeting. Arthur is listening. 

Merlin has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He wishes it was Arthur’s voice in his mind. He wishes it was Arthur eating dinner with him. He wishes for Arthur more than anything. But he will not cry. He won’t. He can’t.

I’m in Powys in the tallest tower of the old castle. Gregory Alpine claims to have captured me with the intent of making me his Queen. His forces are strong. I fear they will win the civil war any day now. When he does, it won’t be long before he comes after Camelot. He thinks it will be weak without me. Merlin takes another deep breath, commenting half-heartedly as Gregory continues to speak. The man loves to talk about himself, Merlin has found. 

There is a pause before Mordred responds. He must be relaying the message. Are you hurt? How has he been able to keep you captured? Why are you just now able to speak to me?

He put some sort of pendant on me. I can’t escape it. I’ve tried. It takes all of my magic. I can’t call for Kilgharrah or to you when it’s on. It drains all of my energy. I’ve not been hurt in any other way. Gregory has me locked in my room, but other than that and the pendant, I’ve not been injured. He thinks that treating me well will sway me to his side, make me more agreeable. I was able to convince him to allow me some time in just the iron cuffs. He only allowed it because he wants me to remain as healthy as possible. Tell Arthur to not charge in here without a second thought. He needs a plan. Gregory has several hundred men on his side, if not more, from what I’ve seen. Even if they are fighting another war, he keeps the castle guarded constantly. Arthur should reach out to King Philip. He’ll be willing to give more information on Gregory’s forces if he knows that Arthur intends to move against them. Please, tell Arthur to be careful. 

Merlin does slump in his bed this time. He’s never realized how much energy it takes to communicate like this. Everything he is gaining back from being without the pendant seems to be draining just as quickly. 

He says he will. He says to tell you that we are coming for you, Merlin. We are coming. You just need to hold on a little longer. 

For the first time, Merlin is glad that he is already shaking because he knows that he wouldn’t be able to hide his reaction. Tell him that I’ll never stop holding on for him. I’d hold on until the end of time if I knew he’d be there waiting for me. He breathes through his nose. Tell him...tell him I love him more than anything and everything. Forever and always. Until the stars die, and even after that.

He loves you too, more than anything and everything. Forever and always. Until the stars die, and even after that.

“Okay, Merlin. Time to put the pendant back on,” Gregory says. Merlin sags, visibly. He could swear it hasn’t been half an hour. “I know, but you know why it has to stay on.” Merlin nods, absentmindedly.

I have to go. Tell him to be careful. I love you. I’m okay. I’ll be waiting. Be careful. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—

He lets Gregory think the sob that escapes him is from the pain. The exhaustion isn’t as bad as it was before, but he thinks that knowing there is a way back to Arthur gives him more energy. 

Gregory is whispering soothing words to him as he helps Merlin lie back down. “Do you think it helped?” he says when Merlin is almost asleep.

“Yes,” Merlin croaks. “I feel a little better.”

“We’ll see about tomorrow then.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says again, even if it’s hard to force out.

“You’re welcome.” Gregory smiles that awful smile. “I will see you in two days’ time. Goodnight, darling.” 

Merlin falls asleep thinking of Arthur’s smile. 

The next six days go by slowly. Gregory allows Merlin to take off the pendant for half an hour each day, but the third. On the third, everyone is too busy to supervise him. 

He spends some of the time without the pendant being updated by Mordred about their progress and whereabouts. Most of it, though, he uses to speak to Arthur through Mordred. He has a feeling that Mordred has planted himself by Arthur’s side. Merlin never knows when the allocated time will occur, so there is never any warning. Yet, every time, Arthur is there, responding back to him through Mordred without hesitation. 

Sometimes they talk about Arthur’s plans. They even argue a few times when Merlin disagrees. Other times, they talk about whatever they want. Merlin tells him about the books he occasionally has the energy to read and to bring extra horses because some of them are rare and under no circumstances will he be leaving them behind. Arthur tells him that he can have as many books as he wants, and, if necessary, he can task Gwaine with carrying them all the way home because Gwaine deserves it. He gives no further explanation. Merlin thinks that, with Gwaine, it could be anything.

Arthur only brings up the cow once because Merlin decides that he has found a way to make the whole thing Arthur’s fault, which infuriates Arthur, but he can’t yell at Merlin because he is captured and all, so the joke's on him.  

Arthur also tells him that Gwen has finished knitting Elyan his new hat after Mordred puked in the last one. He says that Karl found out that it was Leon who threw the hat out the window at Gwaine’s insistence. Apparently, Karl was infuriated but calmed down when he found out that it was Mordred’s puke and was much more worried about Mordred’s health than the puke-hat. Mordred relays this begrudgingly, adding his own commentary that Karl was not worried about his health because Mordred hates Karl. Merlin doesn’t understand how that has anything to do with how Karl feels about Mordred, but he doesn’t push it. Mordred is putting up with a lot, and Merlin can’t find the words to say how thankful he is. 

Mordred tells him that Arthur acts much better after he speaks to Merlin. He only vaguely explains how Arthur is faring. Merlin knows Arthur can’t be doing much better than him. Mordred probably doesn’t want to worry him, but Merlin knows Arthur better than anyone. He doesn’t need to be told. 

He goes out of his way to make comments that he thinks will make Arthur smile. He asks Mordred every time if Arthur is smiling so that he can picture it in his mind. Mordred starts telling him when he’s smiling without prompt. 

When the allotted time draws to an end, Arthur never fails to promise him that they are coming and that he loves him. Merlin repeats the sentiment over and over until the pendant is clasped back around his neck. 

On the twenty-fourth day, Merlin keeps his blinds open so that the sunrise wakes him. He uses his last bit of energy to haul himself into a sitting position, then he waits. It isn’t long before he hears the first war cry. 

The effect is instant. He hears shouting through the doors, but no one bursts into the room to grab Merlin because Gregory left last night with most of his knights for an attack on the citadel which Merlin relayed to Mordred who told Arthur who told King Philip. 

Philip’s army, which is far stronger than Gregory made it out to be, will be waiting to ambush them. Camelot’s army, aided by forty Nemeth knights and sixty Kent knights—Arthur says they were offered the aid as they passed through the territories—will take the castle. 

Merlin wishes that he had the energy to move to the window and watch. He needs to see Arthur. He needs to. He’s always been able to tell when he is near. His magic reaches out for the king. Even now when it is bound it struggles to find him, knowing he is near. 

As he waits, listening to the sounds of swords clashing, Merlin prays for Arthur’s safety and for the safety of all those who fight. He knows Gregory’s forces are outnumbered, but that doesn’t guarantee the life of every man. 

When the commotion draws towards the stairs, he moves to plant his feet on the floor, arms shaky and body shivering as he pulls off his blankets. Gregory has only offered him nightgowns. While comfortable, they don’t provide much body warmth. 

There is screaming and pounding footsteps up the stairs. There are more than one set of steps, but Merlin swears he can pick out the sound of Arthur’s. The shouting becomes closer to the door and then there is a noise that reminds Merlin of the time Arthur tried to break down his door when he had confined himself to his room. 

This door isn’t barred with magic, though. It gives easily to the brute strength. Not a moment later a knight is stepping through the doorway, but it’s not just any knight.

It’s his knight. His King. His Arthur. 

A choked sob escapes his throat. “Arthur.”  

When he tries to stand, his knees give out, but he never touches the ground. Arthur is there to catch him. He always is. Just like Merlin is always there to catch him. They catch each other. It’s how they never fall. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says like it is the single most important word in existence. It’s enough to make Merlin grip him as tightly as possible—a silent promise to never let go—as sobs rack his body. 

Somehow they end up on the ground anyway, Arthur bringing Merlin down onto his lap. He pulls Merlin’s head back from where it is tucked against his chest so that he can see him clearly. It doesn’t last long because Merlin emits another sob, and Arthur takes it upon himself to kiss every inch of his face—his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his forehead, his chin. 

Merlin laughs until he hears the distinct click of a clasp and he can feel his eyes swirl with gold. His magic reaches out, latching around Arthur protectively—instinctively. Arthur whips the pendant across the room and cups Merlin’s face, his thumb wiping away tears. “Beautiful,” he says before finally placing a kiss on his lips. 

“Never again.”

“Missed you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Not possible.”

“Is so.”

“Oh yeah? I love you even after the cow.”

Merlin laughs a bell-like sound that makes Arthur beam as he soaks it in. “I love you even though the cow was your fault.”

Arthur tries to look put out but it doesn’t work. They both know he isn’t. He kisses Merlin again, instead.

When they finally stand, Arthur wraps him in his cloak and eyes the nightgown with worry. He hesitates. “Did he—”

"No," Merlin says, shaking his head for emphasis.

Arthur nods, ending the conversation. 

Lancelot and Mordred are waiting patiently by the doorway. Arthur’s hands never leave Merlin, even as he jumps forward to hug both of the knights. They keep one hand locked together, and Merlin uses his other arm to wrap around Lancelot, then Mordred.

Mordred jumps in shock—even though they’d grown close, Merlin rarely touches him—so Merlin grips him with all of the strength he has left. “Thank you,” Merlin says through another sob. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Mordred finally grips him back. “You don’t have to. It’s what I’m here for, Emrys.”

Merlin somehow manages to grip him even tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I should’ve...I should’ve given you a chance—”

“It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“And I forgive you. I’ll say it a million times if you need to hear it.” 

“Because I’m Emrys?”

“Because you’re Merlin.”

Merlin pulls away with a smile that is so wide, Mordred can barely match it with his own. 

Arthur yanks him back into his grip when his knees start to waver, gathering the warlock in his arms when it is obvious he is too weak to walk far distances. Merlin doesn’t complain that Arthur is carrying him like a fair maiden. As long as he is in Arthur’s arms, he doesn’t care. 

“There you all are! While you’ve been having heartfelt reunions, the rest of us have been dealing with a surrender!” Gwaine announces when they reach the bottom of the stairs. 

Arthur rolls his eyes, placing Merlin down so he can hug Gwaine.

Gwaine hugs him tightly. “Go along with it,” he whispers before pulling back, looking distraught. 

“I do have some bad news, though.” He sniffles, and Merlin can only brace himself for whatever he is about to unleash on them.

“What is it?” Arthur says, his brow furrowed.

“It’s Karl!”

Mordred’s eyes widen. “What are you—”

“We don’t think he’s going to make it!”

Mordred spins toward the entrance, breath caught in his throat and eyes wild as he looks for any sign of Karl. “What? I was just with him! He can’t be—he can’t be—”

Merlin puts an arm on his shoulder. “He’s lying, Mordred. Karl’s fine.”

Mordred turns on his heels again, glaring at Gwaine with a fit of anger that shocks even Arthur. Mordred is never angry. Not like this. “What the hell, Gwaine? Do you think that was funny?!”

Gwaine doesn’t stop smiling, even when Merlin is sure Mordred is planning his murder. “I knew you had feelings for him! Look at the way you reacted!”

“He’s a brother in arms! I would act that way for anyone that—”

“No, you wouldn’t!”

“Gwaine, I swear, I’m going to—” 

Merlin puts his hand on Mordred’s shoulder again, squeezing it gently. “Gwaine, there are quite a few books upstairs that Arthur said I could bring home. Why don’t you go collect them? You’ll be carrying them home for me.”

Gwaine looks stricken. “Aw! Come on, Merls. It was just a joke.”

“Then while you are carrying them the entire way home, you can be thinking about what qualifies as a good joke and what we should never joke about,” he says, smiling sweetly.

Gwaine slumps. “Okay.”

“Gwaine.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

“Gwaine."

Gwaine sighs as he turns to Mordred. “I’m sorry, Mordred. That joke was in poor taste. I should have never said that Karl was dead when I know you love him almost as much as Merlin and Arthur love each other.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin scolds. 

Gwaine pouts. “I should have never said that Karl was dead, either way. Joking about death is bad, and I won’t do it again. I’m very sorry, Mordred.”

“I don’t accept your apology.” Mordred huffs before walking away to most likely find Karl. 

“And until he does, you will be prohibited from every tavern in Camelot,” Merlin adds.

“What? Merlin, no! That’s not fair!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gwaine. Go collect the books,” Merlin says, pointing to the stairs before making grabby hands at Arthur, who rolls his eyes but picks Merlin back up swiftly. Merlin has decided that he doesn’t care if he looks like a fair maiden. He’s quite comfortable like this, even with the chainmail. 

“Arthur!” Gwaine calls after them as they walk away. 

"You heard him, Gwaine!” Arthur yells over his shoulder. 

Arthur never lets Merlin out of touching distance. Not when they meet with Philip to confirm Gregory’s death and a pending peace treaty or when they climb on their horse to leave—Arthur insists they share, Merlin sitting in the front with Arthur keeping his arms tight around him, because he keeps falling in and out of consciousness. Arthur remains by his side the entire time, which is just fine with Merlin.  

As they pass the border into Kent, the men set up camp in one of the forests while Arthur, Merlin, and a few knights lead the Kent knights back to the castle. Dahlia and Harold are waiting for them at the entrance. 

Dahlia picks up her skirts and runs to them in the most Queenly manner. “Oh, Merlin, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay!” She wraps Merlin in a tight embrace. Merlin meets it with equal enthusiasm. For only meeting Dahlia half a year ago, they have become great friends. He has missed her quite a bit. 

Arthur also informed him that Kent had been sending scouts out to search for any sight of Merlin ever since he’d gone missing. Apparently, they had already received some rumors from Kent’s scouts that Merlin had been spotted being taken into Powys. It was mostly hearsay, but they had already been in the process of contacting Philip to demand entry into the kingdom when Merlin was finally able to contact them. And, upon hearing that he was captured by Gregory, Dahlia and Harold offered their knights even before knowing that Nemeth had also offered some of theirs. 

“Thank you for all of the help,” Merlin says into her shoulder. “I am so grateful for everything you have done. If there is anything we can do—”

“That is not necessary, Merlin. You are my friend. I’m just glad you are safe,” she says before releasing him. 

“You are the best of friends, Dahlia.”

“As are you, Merlin. Now, come. You’re dead on your feet. I’ve prepared your previous rooms as I trusted that you’d be coming back safely any minute. Just in case, I prepared both rooms—”

“Thank you, Dahlia, but we will only be needing one. I’ll never be letting him out of my sight again,” Arthur says, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist. 

Merlin rolls his eyes as Dahlia laughs. “Yes. I assumed that would be the case. I’ve prepared rooms for your knights as well.” With that, she leads them into the castle, barely allowing them to exchange pleasantries with Harold as she regales a story to Merlin about Lady Katherine and her unfortunate incident with the butcher that had nothing to do with Dahlia. Merlin laughs along, offering ideas of his own that would also have nothing to do with Dahlia when she mentions that Lord Delarose has been making his snide remarks again. Arthur pretends he isn’t listening to the conversation as he likes to think that ignorance is the key when it comes to Merlin and Dahlia. 

They make it through Kent the following day and set up camp at the border of Nemeth. A tent is set up for him and Arthur, but they spend most of the night by the fire so that Merlin can catch up with his friends. Merlin missed them greatly, and he knows they are worried about him. 

It is when Karl comes over to retrieve something that Mordred had borrowed from him and bows to Merlin again that Merlin has had enough. 

“No. This has gone on long enough!” It’s not even just Karl that bows to him. Most of the knights have started to as well, and Merlin knows that it has nothing to do with him being Emrys like when Mordred bows to him despite Merlin telling him not to. 

“What do you mean, Merlin?” Lancelot asks when Karl straightens, looking befuddled.

“The-the bowing! And the whole Queen thing! It’s the reason we got into this mess!”

Arthur reaches forward. “Merlin—”

“No! I am not the Queen! It was a funny joke at first, but it has gone too far. Other people are starting to think it’s true, Arthur. It’s going to confuse foreign dignitaries—it already has if Dahlia’s anything to go by. Don’t even get me started on what Gregory was spewing to me!”

“Merlin—”

“He told me that he spent two months stalking me because he heard that I was the best queen in Albion. Do you hear that? The best queen in Albion. Not the best sorcerer. The best queen. He told me that stories have spread about my fair and kind rule and that people kiss the ground I walk on. And he seriously believed that Camelot was bound to fall in my absence. That or turn on Arthur and willingly follow Gregory should I become his queen! And this is all because you all think it’s hilarious to go around calling me the bloody Queen! In case none of you noticed, I’m not actually the Queen! I have no crown. There was no coronation. And Arthur and I aren’t married! Now, everybody say it with me, ‘Merlin is not the Queen! Merlin is not the Queen!’ Say it!” 

Nobody says it. They stare at him instead, a sense of bafflement surrounding the fire. Most of the surrounding camp has fallen silent too. 

“Arthur!” Merlin yells when they keep staring at him. 

Arthur clears his throat. “Do you not want to be the Queen?”

Merlin’s jaw drops. “What? What are you even—did you not hear what I said at all? I am not the Queen. It has nothing to do with wanting. It’s a simple fact. I. Am. Not. The. Queen.”

Arthur turns to Mordred who turns to Elyan, who turns to Percival, who turns to Gwaine, who turns to Lancelot. Lancelot sighs, wishing he'd been left behind to guard Camelot with Leon. It’s always him. “Merlin, it’s not a joke. We are very serious. You are the Queen.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to stare, his jaw not being able to drop any further. 

“Yeah,” Gwaine cuts in. “That asshole Gregory—may he not rest in peace—may have been an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. You are definitely the best Queen in Albion. No contention.”

“You don’t need a crown to be our Queen. Everyone has come to recognize it on their own and willingly accept it because you’re the best Queen there is,” Lancelot adds.

“And the people love you. That’s why they are always giving you gifts and wishing you well. To be quite frank, they do kiss the ground you walk on, Merlin. They’d do anything for you,” Percival says.  

Mordred smiles. “The knights don’t bow to you as a joke either, Emrys. There isn’t a good person in Camelot who wouldn’t be offended if someone didn’t treat you as per your station: the Queen of Camelot.”

“Even foreign dignitaries. It’s why they treat you so well on visits. Not only did you manage to win all of their hearts, but it is known that to mistreat the queen is to mistreat not only the king but all of Camelot,” Elyan says. 

Lancelot nods. “Why do you think Nemeth and Kent offered their men to Arthur to help find you? They adore you, Merlin. Even after you and Gwaine set that tavern on fire in Nemeth. If Arthur is to be the High King of Albion, then you are to be its Queen and its people wholly agree.”

Merlin blinks. “But why?”

“Why, what?” Lancelot asks.

“I’m not crowned. Why have I been given this title?”

“You can’t be serious, Merlin,” Elyan says, but Merlin continues to blink. He is very serious. “You are the only one Arthur listens to fully. You keep him in check.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You take audiences and petitions with Arthur,” Gwaine adds. “He had the Queen’s throne brought out so you could sit next to him.”

“My legs were tired.”

Elyan rolls his eyes. “You run the household.”

“That doesn’t—”

“You are kind and considerate of everyone. You use the powers you have been given to help your people,” Percival offers. 

“Of course, I would—”

“You run the kingdom with Arthur. Side by side. Without you, Camelot falls to pieces,” Lancelot says. 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t—” 

Arthur takes his hand. “Merlin, Lancelot is right about that. Gregory wasn’t that off about Camelot without you either.” Arthur looks like he is trying not to flinch. The others don’t hide it as well. They all become noticeably rigid. 

“What are you talking about?” Merlin asks.

“Things have been...not so great since you went missing,” Arthur admits. “It’s why I sent those few knights ahead of us while we went to speak with Philip. I wanted to get word to Camelot that you were safe as soon as possible. The people...they’ve been, well—” 

“What the princess is trying to say is that Camelot has gone shit without you,” Gwaine blurts out. Lancelot elbows him. “What? It’s true. We shouldn’t sugar coat it. The only thing we’ve let go on long enough is Merlin not realizing how important he is to Camelot. Do you know how bad things became in your absence, Merlin?”   

“Gwaine, I don’t think—”

“Keeping this from him is not serving anyone, Lance.” Gwaine faces Merlin. “The first week was painful. Troops of knights were sent on hunts. Even townspeople offered to search the forest in groups. After the fifth day of no word, people grew wary. Many had taken to staying indoors, even the children. On the seventh day, a group of townspeople started a vigil to pray for your safe return. There was a group present at all hours, guarding it and praying. It was still going when we left. And the castle was even worse. Without you, the household went to hell. The servants walked the halls like ghosts. The stableboys didn’t talk. Nothing was in order in the kitchen. It’s been chaos. Gwen was woefully unprepared for taking over the household. She had no clue how much work you do, let alone how to do it while the kingdom was falling apart because her best friend was missing or dead. Most of the knights were out searching for any sign of you, but when they were off shift, they confined themselves to their rooms. Training was canceled because Lancelot was busy helping Gwen with the castle. I spent most nights drinking myself to sleep. Percival only came out of his room to search for you or for council meetings, and Elyan wasn’t much better. And Leon spent most of his time trying to help Arthur with the running of the kingdom, which he was even more unprepared for than Gwen was with the household. Do you know why he had to help Arthur, Merlin? Because Arthur lost his shit.”

“Gwaine, that’s enough!” Arthur shouts. 

“No! Did you think we weren’t going to tell him, Princess? Merlin, he’s been out of his mind. He spent the first week yelling at everyone he came into contact with. He stopped sleeping. He only ate on the few occasions Gwen managed to force it down his throat. He left the castle several times in the dead of the night, by himself, to look for you.”

“Arthur.”

Arthur stares at his hands, not meeting Merlin in the eyes. 

“That wasn't even the worst of it. After the first week, he stopped yelling. He only spoke when it was to give orders that concerned you. Leon and Lancelot tried to cover for him to make the kingdom appear stronger despite the fact that if anyone had tried to attack, we’d have been sacked within hours—another thing that Gregory the Asshole was right about. I suspect that if Camelot hadn’t been sacked first, Arthur would have been dead in months.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin says, completely stricken by the idea and feeling a lot like he is going to puke. Arthur still refuses to look at him. From the way Mordred had spoken about Arthur, Merlin had a vague idea that he wasn’t handling his absence well, but he had no idea it was this bad.

“Merlin,” Lancelot starts softly, knowing this topic isn’t meant for Gwaine’s harsh way of going about things. “The council meeting we were in the day you were finally able to reach out to Mordred—there was a reason we were all there. Arthur called the meeting to name Leon as his successor.” What Lancelot didn’t say was that Arthur knew he wouldn’t last long without Merlin. He knew and took conscious steps to prepare for his death. 

Merlin stumbles back, “Arthur.” He takes a deep breath. “You don’t get to—you can’t—how could you?”

Arthur’s gaze remains on the ground as he speaks quietly. “That’s not fair, Merlin. What did you expect of me?”  

“What did I—What did I expect of you? Arthur, if something were to happen to me, you can’t just give up!”

“I didn’t give up, Merlin. I’d have spent the rest of my life searching for you.”

“That is not what I meant! I know you’d never give up on me, but I didn’t think you’d give up on Camelot! Everything you’ve built—”

“Everything we’ve built!” Arthur screams, meeting Merlin’s gaze with a swirling of emotions. “And it’s nothing without you!”

“Arthur, you had every right to be upset, but you can’t just stop living because I’m gone! People’s lives depend on you. You are their King!”

“And you are their Queen!”

“Arthur—”

“Stop denying it, Merlin! How can you not see? How can you not see that you are everything to me and Camelot? I woke up, and you were gone! Gone without a trace! And Mordred kept trying, but he was getting no response from you! Dahlia came to us with the lead on Powys on the fifteenth day, and I would’ve followed it, but it was hearsay and I didn’t expect much. I named Leon not only because I knew I wouldn’t last long without you, but because I knew that Camelot would be better without me should you be d—should you not be found.”

Merlin steps forward, gripping Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, I will do everything I can to stand by your side, but if something is to happen to me, if I am to die before you, you can not let that be your ruin. You are the greatest king Albion has ever known—will ever know.”

“A King is nothing without his Queen. Just look at my father,” Arthur says, resignation in his eyes. Merlin opens his mouth to argue, but he cuts him off. “I am no fool, Merlin. I know that my father stopped being a king the day my mother died. He was a tyrant. Camelot would have been better off without him.”

Merlin cups his cheek, steely determination in his eyes. “You are not your father.”

“I could be,” he whispers, taking Merlin’s hand into his own. “Given the circumstances—given you—Merlin, you were gone. I couldn’t...I couldn’t find you anywhere. You’d vanished. And I—” Arthur shakes his head. “I never understood. I never understood how my father could do it—blame so many innocents for something that was out of their control, persecute thousands in response to the death of one.” He takes a shaky breath. “I do now. The only thing I don’t understand is how he lasted so long without her.”

Merlin brings Arthur’s hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on the palm. “Do you know what? None of this matters because you didn’t lose me, and you never will. We can discuss hypotheticals all day long, but no matter what happens, I will always come back to you. And when I can’t come back on my own, I’ll be waiting for you to come to me. Always. Do you hear me? Death itself couldn’t keep us apart. ”

Arthur searches his eyes. “Yes. Always.”

“But, during those times, when we are apart, we don’t give up hope. We keep going because they aren’t forever and kingdoms don’t run themselves,” Merlin says, a slight smile on his face. 

Arthur shakes his head, finding no humor in the situation. “No. I’m not...I can’t do this again, Merlin. I can’t keep losing you and hoping you’ll be okay when I find you. I can’t. I won’t. ”

“Arthur, there are always going to be people after us. It is who we are.”

“Maybe but we can be more careful. You can be more careful. You always yell at me for not being careful enough, but you aren’t any better. You aren’t an invisible manservant anymore. Do you think Harold lets Dahlia collect herbs in the woods by herself?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I understand that was foolish, but—”

“But nothing. There are going to be some new rules. Anything that used to be in place for my mother will now be in place for you.”

“Arthur—”

“No. I’m serious. You aren’t to leave the castle without an escort. Your days will be preplanned in the way mine are. That means any impromptu meetings with Druids, sorcerers, bakers, or whatever else you get up to in and out of the castle will go through me, even if you have guards.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I don’t care how ridiculous you find it, Merlin. It’s happening, and that’s just the beginning.”

“Arthur, I am an extremely powerful warlock. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will. Being an extremely powerful warlock didn’t stop Gregory from getting to you! And you are more than that. You are the Queen of Camelot, and it’s time that I treat you as such.”

Merlin groans. “Get it through your thick skull, I am not the actual Queen—What the hell? What are you doing? Stop it! That’s not funny!”

“Oh my God. It’s happening!” Gwaine shouts, reminding Merlin that they are not alone. 

“What a twist. I was not expecting this at all. I am pleasantly surprised.”

“Shit, shit, shit! I wasn’t prepared for this today! I’m not even in my best clothes!”

“Oh, God. Gwen is going to be so pissed she isn’t here. Who’s going to tell her? Not me. I won’t. I value my life.”

“This is—oh, it’s just beautiful. I’m going to cry.”

“It can’t happen if you all don’t shut up!” Arthur yells, remaining on the knee he had dropped to moments ago. “Mordred,” he says, gesturing to the knight who pulls a ring out of his pocket. 

Merlin gasps. “Arthur—”

“You’re too nosey for your own good, and I knew Mordred was the only one who could keep something like this a secret. He’s been carrying it around for months.” Arthur smirks. 

“We resent that!” Gwaine yells. 

“Yeah! We are great secret keepers!”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Can't you ever take my side, Lance? Just once.”

Arthur sighs. They shut up again. Except for Merlin. “But you can’t just—if you think you can—”

“Merlin?”

“Shut up?”

“You guessed it.” Arthur smiles and holds up the ring. “Just, let me speak. No interrupting until I’m done.” Merlin nods, for which Arthur is grateful. If he'd disagreed, this would’ve taken all night. “I want to make it clear that I’m not doing this so that I can enforce those rules on you. I would do that whether we’re engaged or not.” Merlin scoffs. Arthur dutifully ignores him. “Nor am I doing it to get it through your thick skull that you are the Queen of Camelot because you are whether or not we are married. That is a fact, even if you don’t believe it. I’m doing this because if I have learned anything in these past few weeks, it is that I want to spend every moment with you to its fullest. You are my everything. You’ve always told me that you were born for me, but I think that I was born so that you could be. You are my other half; the only person I wish that I could spend every second with, knowing I’ll never be bored because life with you, Merlin, is anything but boring.” Merlin laughs, covering his mouth as it turns into a sob. “You are the reason I am the man I am today—the reason I am the king I am today. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. I love you more than anything and everything. Forever and always. Until the stars die and even after that.” Arthur takes a deep breath, the smile still on his face. “Merlin of Ealdor, will you marry me?”

Merlin throws out his hand, his eyes sparkling with tears. “Of course I will, you utter clotpole. Took you long enough!” The ring is secured, Arthur is kissing him, and everything feels right again.

“That was so beautiful!”

“Are you crying, Gwaine?”

“Shut up, Mordred. It’s not like you’re any better.”

“You’re right.” Sob. “It was beautiful!”

“Yeah, but don’t forget Mordred’s a child. This is not appropriate! Merlin! Arthur! Oh, God. Mordred, cover your eyes!”

“Get off of me! Stop! I’m an adult!”

“Ow! Don’t hit me! I’m trying to save your virtue for Karl!”

“Goddammit! You are so lucky he went to go tell everyone about the proposal, Gwaine! If he’d been here—”

“Then, we’d have another proposal on our hands—Ow! Stop! Stop! You’ll break my fingers!”

“Good!”

“Will you two stop?!” Merlin shouts because he can’t ever have a peaceful moment with Arthur. When Percival punches them both harshly in the arm and they quiet down, Merlin steps back from Arthur with a smirk. “Okay. My turn.” He drops to his knee, mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, dear God! It’s happening again! It’s happening again!”

“My heart’s going to burst!”

“This is too much! Somebody call the physician. Percival can’t take this!”

“What? You can’t propose to me! I just proposed to you!” Arthur yells over the squabbling knights. 

Merlin ignores him. “Lancelot.” Lancelot pulls a ring from his pocket. Arthur’s jaw drops. “Come on, Arthur. I knew you gave Mordred the ring not even two days after. You should’ve given it to Leon. I would’ve found out, but, at least, he might’ve lasted a week.”

Arthur pins his glare on Mordred. Mordred gulps. “I’m sorry, sire! He threatened me! You said you wouldn’t tell, Emrys!”

The glare falls to Merlin. “You threatened him?”

“I thought he was trying to kill you!”

“I thought we were past this, Merlin!”

“We are and I apologized! But he was acting suspiciously. Mordred never acts suspiciously! Anyway, it’s of no consequence because I would have found out regardless of who you gave the ring to.”

“Merlin, you’re the worst!” 

Merlin shrugs and takes the ring from Lancelot. 

“No wonder you were so quick to be almighty about secret keeping, Lancelot. You’re not noble at all. A sly bastard is what you are.”

“Shut up and let him propose, Gwaine.”

“Whatever.”

Merlin laughs at Arthur’s incredulous expression, unsure if it is a result of Merlin proposing after he just proposed or him questioning why he knighted these men. “Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin starts, pulling Arthur’s attention back to him, “when we met, I hated you. You were an utter clotpole and a snobby royal arse. I wanted nothing more than to punch you in the face.”

The knights chuckle as Arthur rolls his eyes. “Merlin, I’m not sure if you realize how marriage proposals are supposed to work. This is exactly why I was the one—”

“Shut up, Arthur. It’s my turn.”

“I’m the King, Merlin. You can’t tell me to shut up.”

“Never stopped me before, but given that I’m the Queen now, I reckon I can.”

Arthur grins. “I’m glad you’re finally accepting it. Now, go on, tell me how you fell in love with me in spite of thinking me an utter clotpole.”

Merlin peers up at him. “Well, it’s a long story. One that will be told ages from now, I imagine. It involves some dragons, a dashing warlock, a dollopheaded prince, courageous knights with a tendency to be a bit thick—”

“Hey!”

“—the occasional troll and goblin, some evil sorcerers, immortal armies, magical beasts, horrible betrayals, and more lies than can be counted—many of them from the warlock. But, somewhere along the way, that dollopheaded prince turned into the greatest king to walk the earth, and he found it in his heart to forgive the warlock for his lies—”

“It was never a question.”

Merlin smiles, taking Arthur’s hand. “And the warlock—he fell hard. Embarrassingly. Can’t even tell you when it happened. It just did. Almost like it was destiny.” Arthur barks out a laugh. “Arthur, I am so hopelessly in love with you, every part of you. Even when you’re an utter clotpole, and when you blame me for the cow even though the cow was clearly your fault—”

“Merlin!”

“Okay, okay. We share equal blame—”

“Merlin!”

Merlin huffs a laugh. “One of my favorite things about you is the way you say my name. It doesn’t matter how you say it. As long as it’s your voice, it’s the best way it can be said. I could spend the rest of my life hearing you say it. As you say I am your everything, you are mine. I can’t imagine my life without you. You are the bravest, most loyal, and courageous man I have ever known, and I’m honored that after everything you’ve been through—after everything we’ve been through—you have chosen to give your heart to me. I will protect it as equally as I do your life which we all know I’m very protective of—don’t mention the tongue, Arthur. I’m professing my love.” He grins up at his king. “And I know that in giving you my heart, you will do the same. I love you. More than anything and everything. Forever and always. Until the stars die and even after that. King Arthur of Camelot, will you do me the great honor of being my husband?”

“Well since you already said yes to me, I suppose I’ll agree,” Arthur says, pulling him to his feet, and kissing him again. 

“Somebody get Percival to the physician’s tent! Hurry! No! It’s too late. He’s died again!”

“Stop saying Percival is dead, Gwaine! And, Percival, stop playing dead! You’re both confusing everybody!”

“We forgot. Who is going to tell Leon? He’ll be more upset than Gwen that he wasn’t here.”

“I think he’ll just be happy he gets bumped down in the succession line now that Merlin’s okay.”

“No, he’ll be pissed that he wasn’t here. He’s been waiting for this since they started their ‘poetry lessons.’”

“Oh, no. Mordred cover your eyes again!”

“Gwaine, he’s an adult. Leave him alone.”

“Percival? You’re alive? He’s alive!”

“I’m leaving,” Lancelot says, walking away and diverting his eyes as Merlin and Arthur stumble toward their tent, barely making it inside before they start taking off each other’s clothes.

When they arrive in Camelot a few days later, Arthur insists that Merlin is still recovering and continues to make him share his horse. Merlin thinks that Arthur is just maintaining his stance that Merlin should never be more than an arms-length away from him. He doesn’t argue because he actually is rather exhausted. He is feeling better than he was before, but it’ll be a few days before he is back to full health. 

So, when they enter the gates, they are riding together as they greet what looks to be the entire kingdom lining the road all the way to the castle. Every person, be it man, woman, or child is kneeling, but their eyes are on Arthur and Merlin. 

Merlin has a fleeting thought to thank Dahlia for giving him some new clothes. This would’ve been much more embarrassing in just a nightgown and Arthur’s cloak. Although, Arthur’s cloak is still wrapped around him tightly. Not that he minds. It smells like Arthur. 

“They’re here for you,” Arthur whispers. 

“What?” Merlin asks, wide-eyed. 

“We really weren’t joking, Merlin. Our people have been devastated. They consider you to be their queen just as they consider me to be their king. They love you. You are the people’s queen.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say or do in response. He settles for resting against Arthur’s chest and trying not to blush as he leads them to the front of the castle. 

Arthur helps him off their horse and up the steps. He barely hears the king order one of the knights to ring the bell for an announcement before Gwen leaps into his arms.

“Merlin! I’m so glad you’re okay!” Merlin hugs her tightly, feeling her tears slide down his shoulder. “We thought we’d lost you both.”

“Never,” Merlin promises. 

She pulls back with a smile, wiping her tears with a cloth. “Good. No one runs this household like you.” 

He takes her hand. “I’m sure you did a better job than you think, Gwen. It was a tough time, and everyone did their best. Thank you for taking care of the castle and Arthur in my stead.”

She grips his hand back, then looks down and gasps. “Is that what I think it is?” She pulls Merlin’s hand closer to inspect the ring. Merlin looks away, sheepishly. “Oh, it is! You’re getting married!” She hits his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For letting me miss the proposal!” Gwen huffs. “No matter, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me by letting me help plan the wedding.”

“Of course, Gwen. I’d be honored if you helped.”

“Good! Because Dahlia and I have already planned much of it.”

“What?”

“Remember when Annabelle sent cakes for you and Arthur to taste test last month?”

“Yes?”

“That was for your wedding cake, Merlin.”

“Gwen!”

“What is this about a wedding cake, I’m hearing?” Gaius cuts in, offering a hug of his own. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I missed you, my boy.” 

“I missed you too, Gaius.”

“I don’t know if I say it often enough, but I am so proud of you, Merlin. Of everything you’ve done, everything you’ve become, and everything you will be.”

“Thank you, Gaius. That means more than you’ll ever know.” Merlin hears the bell ring and Arthur, who’d been ordering other people around and pretending to give Merlin some space even though he never stepped more than a foot away, guides him toward the balcony. 

“I know you’re tired, but with the people already here, we might as well get this over with.” They step out together. With one hand, Arthur silences the crowd and holds Merlin’s with the other. Merlin mutters a spell that he has taken to using when Arthur gives speeches, making his voice loud enough for the whole kingdom to hear. “People of Camelot,” Arthur begins, “as you all know, our Court Sorcerer Merlin has just returned after almost four weeks of being held hostage. What you may not know, was that Merlin was taken by Gregory Alpine of Powys, who claimed to be the rightful heir to the throne and was attempting to overthrow King Philip Alpine. Gregory planned to make Merlin his Queen.” 

The crowd goes into a frenzy, some yelling, others gasping in despair. Merlin is almost positive he hears someone yell, “Not our Queen!” He thinks it was Karl.

Arthur raises his hand again and the crowd calms. “Gregory is dead, killed by King Phillip while our knights and I found Merlin.” The crowd cheers. “And Merlin, as you all know, is loyal until the end. He refused and opposed Gregory at every turn.”

The crowd is definitely chanting, “Queen Merlin!” at this point. Merlin blushes and finds his feet to be quite interesting. 

“It has come to my attention, however, that Merlin does not believe himself to be our Queen. He thought that Gregory Alpine had heard wrong—that he is not the Queen of Camelot or the best Queen in all of Albion.” 

“No!”

“He’s our Queen! Our Queen!”

“Queen Merlin! Queen Merlin!”

Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand, and speaks from the corner of his mouth—a trick he had mastered years ago to hold conversations with Arthur without anyone noticing. “Arthur, what are you doing? Are you out of your mind?”

Arthur, naturally, ignores him because he is the worst. “This, my people, is a grievous error that I have set about to fix!”

“Yeah!”

“Queen Merlin! Queen Merlin!”

“As such, it is with great honor that I announce my betrothal to Merlin of Ealdor, High Lord of the Druids, Last Dragonlord, Court Sorcerer, and Queen of Camelot!”

Arthur kisses him, right there in front of the entire kingdom. If Merlin thought the crowd had lost control before, it was nothing compared to this. 

“Oh my God, Arthur!” Merlin squeaks as Arthur pulls away and raises their hands together into the air.

“Long live the Queen!” Arthur shouts and like a rippling sea, the citizens of Camelot fall to their knees. 

“Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!”

Merlin stares in awe as he watches even his closest friends kneel, chanting along with the crowd. “Shit. I really am the Queen, aren’t I?” 

Arthur smirks and pulls him in once more. “Took you long enough.”

“This is so out of order! We aren’t married! There has been no coronation—”

“When have you ever done as you were supposed to, Merlin?” 

Merlin smirks. “Never.” Then, he kisses Arthur again.

And so the King and Queen of Camelot lived happily ever after. Until the Queen blew up another cow. The King was not pleased, to say in the least. But, as it turned out, it was actually his fault, not the Queen’s. Because there is another rule that everyone in Camelot abides by: It is never the Queen’s fault. 

Chapter Text

Merlin is the queen. He knows it and has come to accept it. In fact, he finds that it is quite enjoyable. Most of his life is the same because, at the end of the day, Merlin has been the queen for a while. Now that Arthur has officially acknowledged it and brought it to his attention, though, Merlin finds that he is more often willing to use the title. But only for the greater good.

Like when he wanted Aithusa to stay in the castle for a few days after she injured one of her wings. Arthur was firmly against it because Aithusa is a dragon and “dragons don’t belong in castles,” but Merlin told him too bad so sad because he is the queen and he demands it, or he will not be sleeping in Arthur’s chamber for an indefinite period of time—another trick he learned from Dahlia. 

Aithusa had a lovely stay in the ballroom, which was filled with blankets and pillows, and has taken to visiting for a few days at a time whenever she is feeling lonely. Soon, she will be too big to fit in the ballroom, so Merlin—with Arthur’s “approval”—is having a habitat constructed for her in the acreage behind the castle. She can’t wait.   

That isn’t all Merlin does for the greater good. The list is endless, really.  

As the Queen of Camelot, Merlin has many important jobs. One of them is knowing everything there is to know about Camelot and its people. Merlin does a very good job at this because he is smart and very talented at gathering information. He’s good with people and was once a servant, making the other servants more willing to talk to him than other nobles. This is beneficial particularly with the maids. The maids know everything. 

Merlin uses his hard-earned knowledge to help others—again, only to help others. He knows, for instance, that Peter, a stable boy, is allergic to horses and definitely should not be a stable boy, but the boy’s family is low on money and it was the only job available at the time he was hired. Merlin, when discovering this, has him swap jobs with Jeffrey, one of the servants, because he knows that Jeffrey is quite taken with horses and a talented rider. He also knows that Elena, a maid, is raising her younger brother because both of her parents died from an illness that ravaged the villages a few years back. He uses this knowledge to make sure she is paid enough to support her and her brother. 

Merlin knows when Karl’s sister is ill. He knows when Farmer Brad loses three of his sheep to an ‘illness’ but knows it was really Farmer Stephan who is bitter that Brad married the woman he is in love with—even though Cynthia had never expressed any feelings toward Stephan and only ever had eyes for Brad. He knows that Lady Melanie can not be sat near Lady Patricia during feasts or there will undoubtedly be a fight because Melanie told Patricia’s mother that Patricia was lying about the man who fathered her unborn child, making her have to marry the correct man instead of the higher noble she was trying to wed. 

Merlin knows that Delphia, the horse, hates Gwaine but loves Percival. He knows that Lord Francis can't attend council meetings unless Merlin is also in attendance because his heart is still in recovery, and he can’t handle the stress that is Arthur without Merlin. He knows that Gaius purposefully misses meetings that Merlin can’t attend for the same reason. He knew, of course, that Arthur had given Mordred the ring to hold onto until he proposed to Merlin. He knows that Lancelot plans to propose to Gwen after Arthur and Merlin are married so that there isn't the stress of planning two weddings at once.  

Merlin knows these facts and puts them to good use because he is the queen and one of Dahlia’s first lessons was that a queen must know everything; with knowledge comes power and with power comes the ability to help. And cause chaos. 

Okay. Arthur was right. Merlin is a no-good liar. He does occasionally—only, occasionally—put his knowledge to use for reasons that aren’t necessarily to help others but mostly to help himself. 

Some may think this is selfish, but that is not true. Merlin has worked extremely hard during his lifetime. He carried the fate of Albion on his shoulders for years before he was able to share some of the burden with Arthur. He’s spent half of his sorry life trying to make sure Arthur doesn’t get himself drowned or skewered or flayed or something else that would make him equally dead. Merlin’s been a manservant, a physician's apprentice, an advisor, a bodyguard, High Lord of the Druids, and Head of the Royal Household all at the same time. And now he is Queen. 

Technically, he isn’t a manservant anymore, but everyone knows that Arthur becomes fussy if anyone else but Merlin performs half the jobs, so Merlin keeps it on his resume. 

Doing all of these jobs is tiring. It is. So, excuse Merlin if he likes to have a little fun every now and then. He’s careful about it. Or he tries to be, anyway. The cow was an accident. He didn’t mean to make it randomly explode and cover all of the surrounding knights in its guts. It truly was an accident, even if most of it landed on Howard who is the worst knight there ever was. 

Maybe it was a little on purpose, but that is beside the point.

The point is that Merlin works very hard so if he wants to use some of his knowledge to his advantage and cause some chaos, then so be it. He’s the queen, dammit. He will do what he wants. He’s earned it. Dahlia said so. 

Thus, when he hears that Gwaine is spreading rumors that Mordred and Karl are having an affair, Merlin decides it has been getting a bit too chummy around the castle for his liking.

Merlin knows that Karl is in love with Mordred. He also knows that Mordred insists that he hates Karl with a blazing passion for some odd reason. Merlin doesn’t understand it. Karl is great. He’s a good knight and a good friend. Who could hate Karl? 

Not-so-secretly, Merlin thinks that Mordred loves Karl back but is too afraid to admit his feelings. It isn’t just the way Mordred reacted to Gwaine’s joke that Karl was dead either. He sees the way Mordred storms away from Karl after Karl pays him a compliment, flushed and angry. It’s the same anger that Merlin gets when Arthur is being an idiot. He also notices the way Mordred looks for Karl whenever he enters a room—Mordred says it’s because he’d rather jump out a window than be in the same room as Karl, but Merlin knows better. He knows. 

But none of that matters. What does matter is that Mordred is maintaining that he hates Karl, Gwaine is spreading rumors that they are in love, and Merlin is still salty that Gwaine told on him when he accidentally ate a piece of blueberry pie which made his throat swell shut again. Arthur spent the entire evening ranting to Merlin while he was confined to Arthur’s bed to rest. Merlin couldn’t even rant back because his throat was swollen. Instead, he had to wave his arms and make gestures that clearly meant that he was the queen and could do whatever he wanted. Arthur disagreed, and, now, blueberries are banned from the castle—he tried to ban them from all of Camelot, but Merlin put his foot down. 

The pie was worth it.    

Long story short, Merlin is not pleased with Gwaine because Gwaine is a tattletale. As such, he plans to take care of this the only way he knows how: By using his knowledge to bend this kingdom to his will. 

Arthur will be so upset. 

Merlin waits until he knows that they are all on the training field, and he just happens to be walking by.

Mordred? He’s actually become used to this method of communication. Merlin and Mordred have found it to be extremely beneficial. They use it to cheat at gambling all the time. Arthur never even knows what hit him. Or maybe he does but knows it’s better not to accuse Merlin of cheating because it surely won’t result in anything pleasant for him. 

Yes, Emrys?

Is it true that you and Karl are having an affair? I thought you hated him. Merlin keeps his face neutral as Mordred stops training, turning to where Merlin is standing at the edge of the field, his face so enraged that he may burst a vein. 

What?! No! That is not true! Where did you hear that? Who is spreading these lies?! Tell me, Emrys. I must defend my honor. 

Merlin bites his cheek to stop himself from smirking. This is going to go very well. Take a deep breath, Mordred. I’m sure the person who said it didn’t mean any harm. Maybe he was just confused—

Who is he? He was not confused! I hate Karl! Everybody knows I do!

That’s what I said! But when the maids told me that Gwaine said you were deeply in love—

Gwaine?! That son of a—

Mordred doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, Merlin watches with uncontained glee as he turns on his heel and storms toward Gwaine, who is blissfully unaware as he spars with Elyan. 

Mordred is on the other side of the field, so Merlin has time to step closer. He doesn’t want to miss a single word of what is about to go down. Arthur and Leon are leading the session. Lancelot and Percival are to their left and Gwaine and Elyan are to their right. This gives Merlin the perfect reason to walk right into center of the commotion without any suspicion.  

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Why are you here, Merlin?” Well, Arthur is always suspicious.

Merlin pecks him on the lips. “I missed you. Is that a crime?”

Arthur opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by Mordred, who finally is close enough to lob a rock at Gwaine’s head. 

“Ow! What the hell is wrong with you, Mordred?” Gwaine shouts, throwing the rock back at him. 

Mordred dodges it. “I should be asking you the same question!”

Gwaine glares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Arthur spends the next few seconds glaring at Merlin. “Merlin, what did you do?” he whispers, though his eyes remain on Gwaine and Mordred. Merlin shrugs, not wanting to speak in case he misses any of the action.

Mordred points at Gwaine harshly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, and I’ve had enough! I let you push me around and make jokes because I thought you had to get used to me like Emrys, but I have had enough! I will not allow you to spread lies about me having affairs!” 

Gwaine, who has finally realized what this is about, grins slyly. “Mordred, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What lies did I tell about you?”

“You know exactly what lies I'm talking about, and I demand that you tell everyone they are false!”

“But then that would be a lie, Mordred." 

Mordred growls. “Fine.” He takes his gauntlet off and throws it on the ground. “I challenge you, Sir Gwaine, to a duel.”

Merlin could cry. From laughter, of course. This is everything he wanted and more. Arthur is still glaring at him. “Goddammit, Merlin,” he says under his breath, but nothing could ruin this.  

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “A duel?”

“A duel,” Mordred says. “Anything goes.” 

“Anything? No rules? Are you sure you want to play this game with me, Mordred? You realize who I am, don’t you?” Merlin chokes a laugh. Obviously, Gwaine is forgetting that Mordred has magic. Thankfully, or not thankfully at all depending on how you look at it, Arthur is the only one to hear him. 

Mordred is as determined as ever, lifting his chin. “If I win, you will tell everyone that you are lying and you will never comment or spread rumors about any of my relationships again.”

Gwaine’s smirk remains steady as he picks up the gauntlet. “I accept your challenge, Sir Mordred, and, when I win, you will tell everyone that the rumors are true and that you do have a deep, undying love for Sir Karl.” Mordred glares but agrees. 

“Oh my—That’s what this is about?!” Arthur shouts. 

Mordred nods. “I am defending my honor against heinous slander, sire.” 

“Do you really have to duel?” Leon asks. “Surely, it’s not that heinous—”

“Gwaine has accepted my challenge, Leon. There will be no backing out from my end.”

“There will be none from mine either. When I wipe the floor with him, he will finally have to admit his feelings for Karl.”

“Do you want to duel to the death instead?!”

“No!” Arthur yells. “There will be no duel as I will not preside over it. This is ridiculous!”

“What? Come on, Princess. It’s just a bit of fun,” Gwaine says, clearly put out that he might not be able to ‘wipe the floor with Mordred.’

“It is not a bit of fun! This is my honor, sire. I beg you to reconsider—”

Merlin steps forward. “I will preside over the duel.” Everyone stops. Leon frowns. Elyan is wary. Percival looks constipated. Lancelot is disappointed—though, Lancelot is always disappointed it seems. Mordred appears pleased but still angry, and Gwaine looks like the cat that got the cream. If only he knew. 

“You will not!” Arthur shouts, looking very much like his head may explode.

Merlin sniffs. “As Queen of Camelot, I am one of the only other people qualified to preside over a duel among knights. It is my duty—”

“Shut up, Merlin! I just said—”

“I do not care what you said, Arthur. I will be presiding over this duel.”

“You will not—”

Merlin shoves a hand in Arthur’s face. “The duel will occur at noon tomorrow. There will be no rules. First to draw blood is champion, unless one of you surrender.” 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “Surrender? The only one surrendering will be Mordred to his undying love.”

“I accept these terms!” Mordred shouts, ignoring Gwaine, and more than likely understanding why Merlin mentioned that little tidbit about surrender. 

Gwaine shrugs. “I guess I do too.” 

“Merlin, get your hand out of my face!”

“Good,” Merlin says, keeping his hand in Arthur’s face. “I will see you both then.”

“You’ll see them at the council meeting in two hours!” Arthur muffles before biting Merlin’s hand.

“Ow! Why’d you do that?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious! You bit me!” 

“You deserved it!”

“What makes you say that?”

“You know exactly what makes me say that!”

“Say it to my face, Arthur! Say it!”

Arthur sighs and starts pulling Merlin off the field, intent on having a long discussion with his queen. 

“No! I don’t want to go!” Merlin shouts, dragging his feet and reaching out to the knights, who make no move to help him. Arthur pulls harder. “No!” Merlin does not want to have this discussion. Not at all. 

He closes his eyes and swoons, falling limp in Arthur’s arms—this trick, he came up with on his own.

Arthur catches him the moment he feels Merlin start to fall and stares down at the sorcerer in his arms with disbelief. “Merlin! Knock it off! I know you didn’t pass out! Merlin! Goddammit!” Merlin refuses to move as Arthur continues to shake him. He can hear the knights laughing in the distance. “Fine, Merlin! Have it your way!” Merlin feels himself being lifted up into Arthur's arms but forces himself to remain boneless. 

“I know you planned this, Merlin!” He growls when they are far enough away. “Stop playing innocent!” 

Merlin doesn’t open his eyes until Arthur tosses him on their bed. He peers one eye open as he snuggles under the covers. “Are you going to keep yelling or are you going to take a nap with me instead?” 

“It’s midafternoon!”

“And you just cut your training short—”

“To yell at you!”

“—so neither of us have anything to do until the council meeting.”

“I thought you had a meeting with Lord Ainsley?”

“He canceled. Wife is ill. Will you come to bed? I’m exhausted and I sleep better when you are with me.”

Arthur frowns. “I told you to go to bed earlier last night.”

“I had to finish the proposal for that new law about the fae,” Merlin says, smiling when Arthur starts to remove his chainmail. 

“Are you going to tell me why you caused Mordred to challenge Gwaine to a duel?” he asks once the chainmail is tossed across the room.

“It’s not my fault Gwaine was spreading rumors about Mordred and Karl. It was bound to get back to Mordred eventually.”

“So you weren’t the one to tell him then?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Arthur sighs. “What am I going to do with you, Merlin?”

“You’re going to take a nap with me. I thought we discussed this. Hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Arthur rolls his eyes as he climbs into the bed next to Merlin. Merlin throws himself on top of him, his head landing on his chest and his legs tangling with the king’s. 

“You know there are pillows right?”

Merlin hums contentedly. “You’re the best pillow there is.” He waits a moment before speaking again. “You’ll sit next to me during the duel, won’t you? I’ve never presided over one before. I’m nervous.”

Arthur sighs a long-drawn-out sigh. “Of course, I will. I wouldn’t miss Mordred kicking Gwaine’s ass for anything.”

Merlin chuckles. “How can you be so sure he’ll win?”

“Because I know your games, Merlin, and you are rubbing off on Mordred. He knew exactly what to say to allow magic in the duel without Gwaine noticing. It’s frightening, really.”

“You always said you wanted us to get along.”

“I’m starting to regret that,” Arthur says. “Try to get some sleep. You have been looking rather exhausted lately.”

“Anything for you, sire.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Everybody stands as Arthur leads Merlin to their seats. Their friends sit on either side of them, and the stands are almost filled. Word of the duel spread quickly, but the cause for it became warped as it was told from person to person. Some think that Gwaine stole Mordred’s lover. Others believe that Mordred was having an affair with Gwaine, and Gwaine left him for another, so Mordred challenged him to a duel for his heart. The latter is Merlin’s favorite. Mordred is not amused. Gwaine, on the other hand, is soaking up the attention because that’s what Gwaine does. 

Merlin settles in his seat, reassuring Mordred that he’ll kick Gwaine’s ass through his mind—Arthur says he has to remain unbiased, but Gwaine deserves it, so he will do no such thing. Gwaine is standing on one side of the arena, speaking to Percival, and Mordred is on the other side, speaking to Lancelot. His friends have evenly split themselves because Lancelot says they need to remain fair. Lancelot and Leon will be cheering for Mordred, and Percival and Elyan will be cheering for Gwaine. Gwen refuses to cheer for anyone, although Merlin thinks she is secretly cheering for Mordred because she has a soft spot for him, and Gwaine is Gwaine.

Merlin squints at Mordred as Lancelot takes his seat next to Gwen. Something is different about the knight, but he can’t figure it out. It takes him a minute or so to spot it. When he does, he has to stop his jaw from dropping.

Mordred, is that a favor? He can see Mordred stiffen in his place which makes Merlin even more curious.

I will neither confirm nor deny—

Is that Karl’s favor?!

No!

Mordred.

Okay, fine! It is!

Isn’t this duel meant to protect your honor from rumors that you and Karl are having an affair?

Yes! But you didn’t see his face, Emrys. He...he looked so earnest. If I’d told him no, I would’ve broken his heart.

Oh my God. You better hope Gwaine doesn’t find out.

He’ll be too busy picking up the pieces of his broken dignity. 

That’s the spirit!

Please, don’t tell anyone, Emrys. If they find out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Promise, Emrys. 

I won’t tell a soul. 

Thank you.

Now, go kick his ass and know that you have the full support of the king and queen, even if Arthur pretends otherwise. 

Thank you, my Queen. I hope I do you honor. 

Merlin waits until Mordred is facing away from him. The duel will begin in five minutes, so he has just enough time to lean over and gesture to Lancelot to get his attention while Arthur is distracted by a conversation with Leon. Lancelot doesn’t notice. 

“Pssst, Lance. Pssst, Lance. I’ve got something to tell you.” 

Lancelot turns his head slowly as if dreading the idea. “What is it, Merlin? I can hear you from here.”

“I need you to come here. It’s a secret.” 

Lancelot shakes his head. “No. I don’t want any more of your secrets, Merlin.”

“What? Why not? I have the best secrets!”

“Because every time you tell me one, something bad happens! Normally to me!”

“That is not true!”

“Last time, one of my eyebrows was burnt off!”

“That was not my fault! Come on, Lance!”

“No!” he turns away, Gwen chuckling at his side. 

“Pssst, Lance! Pssst, Lance! Your Queen demands your presence!”

Lancelot huffs. “That’s not going to work on me, Merlin. I don’t want to hear your secret!”

Merlin leans back. “Fine!” 

“Good!” Lancelot turns his attention back to the arena. 

“Psst, Gwen! Psst, Gwen!”

Lancelot’s eyes widen. “Don’t listen to him, Gwen. Don’t—”

Gwen smiles. “Yes, Merlin?”

Merlin grins back. “I have a secret I need you to tell Lance.”

“Gwen, if you love me—”

Gwen puts down the hat she is knitting—Merlin thinks it’s an apology gift to Karl after the knights threw Elyan’s puke-filled hat on him. “Of course, Merlin.” She lifts up her skirts and walks the short distance to Merlin’s seat. She leans in closely with a smirk. “What’s the secret?”

Merlin loves Gwen. She is the best.  

“Okay. Look discreetly, but do you see that Mordred is carrying a favor?”

Gwen peers over her shoulder to where Mordred is standing and gasps. “Yes! Whose is it?”

"Karls!”

Gwen can’t help the laugh that bursts from her lips. “No! It can’t be!”

Merlin smirks. “It is! He told me! He didn’t want to hurt Karl’s feelings by turning it down. But you have to keep it a secret! Only tell Lance.”

Gwen nods. “Okay. I will.”

Merlin watches as she walks back to her seat and leans into Lancelot.  

Lancelot shakes his head viciously. “No, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to—what? Are you serious?” He turns to Merlin. “Seriously?”

Merlin nods eagerly. Lancelot smacks himself in the face. Then, he stands up and heads toward Merlin with his patented look of disapproval. Merlin, in return, gives his patented look of innocence.

Lancelot leans in as if it is his turn to tell a secret. “Merlin, I know you orchestrated this whole thing—”

“I did not!”

“Arthur may let you get away with whatever you want, but I know you, Merlin! You’re still mad that Gwaine told Arthur that you ate that blueberry pie—”

“He’s a tattletale!”

“And I know you told Mordred that Gwaine was spreading those rumors—”

“He needed to know Lance!”

“And I just want you to know that I’m very disappointed.”

Merlin sniffs. “You’re always disappointed.” 

“I’m very disappointed this time.”

Merlin juts out his lip in a pout. “Are you going to tell on me?”

Lancelot scoffs. “Of course not. I’m not a tattletale like Gwaine.”

Merlin’s smirk comes back full force. “I knew it! Tell me, what do you think about Mordred’s favor?”

Lancelot shakes his head. “I can’t believe him! He is fighting a duel to deny the rumors and then he accepts Karl’s favor?”

“That’s what I said! Has anyone told Karl the reason they're dueling?”

“None of us have, and we are the only ones that know the truth. Gwaine said he wouldn’t. He’s probably heard the stories going around though.”

“My favorite is the one that Mordred is fighting for Gwaine’s heart!”

“My favorite is that Gwaine killed Mordred’s lover out of spite because he wanted Mordred for himself!”

“Ha! I can’t wait for Mordred to destroy him!”

“I can’t either.”

Merlin gasps. “Lance! That isn’t very noble!”

“Please. Did you really think I took Mordred’s side out of fairness? Gwaine doesn’t stand a chance against magic. And I’m kind of mad that Gwaine tattled on you too. Blueberries are banned from the whole castle because of him! I loved the blueberry pies from the kitchen. And we had it under control. You weren’t going to die.”

“That’s what I tried to tell Arthur!”

“What about me? You realize I’m sitting right next to you, don’t you?” Arthur says, having finished his conversation with Leon. “I expected this from Merlin, Lance. But from you? Really? You’re like a bunch of gossiping ladies.”

“Sorry, sire,” Lance says, sheepishly.

“Oh, come off it, Arthur. We are just talking about how Mordred is carrying Karl’s favor.”

Arthur whips his head to where Mordred is standing. “You’re kidding.”

“No, but it’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone. Lance and I don’t share our secrets with just anyone. You better take this seriously.”

Lancelot looks like he is about to argue, but Arthur sighs. “Go back to your seat, Lance.”

“Yes, sire,” Lancelot says, pretending not to notice Merlin’s wink as he walks away.

“That’s really Karl’s favor, though?” Arthur asks after a moment.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “And you say Lance and I are gossips. But yes. Yes, it is.” 

“I need new knights.”

They make their unbiased speeches, and Merlin, once again, states the rules for the crowd. There is silence as the duel begins. Mordred and Gwaine circle each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Gwaine is cocky. Mordred is determined.

Gwaine swings his sword, aiming for Mordred's chest. Mordred reaches out with his left hand, mutters something under his breath, and sends Gwaine flying. He lands on his back, ten feet away. The crowd goes wild. 

Mordred waits patiently for Gwaine to stand back up. Gwaine does, a new set of determination on his face as he realizes why Mordred vied for no rules. He goes charging. Mordred flings him to the side. He lands on his stomach, the air rushing out of him. Mordred waits again. Gwaine charges again. Mordred flings him back again. The crowd is laughing hysterically. 

This repeats a few more times before Arthur speaks from the corner of his mouth. “Merlin, is Mordred going to do anything else?”

Merlin tries to keep his face stoic. “That’s the only battle spell he knows.”

“What? You’ve been training him for months—”

“We’ve been busy! I was captured for one month of it, and I have tons of other things to do! So does Mordred. He’s doing great. Don’t be mean!”

“I’m not being mean! I’m sure he is a great student, but his only strategy can’t be to fling Gwaine around the arena until he surrenders—oh my God! It is! That’s why you said first draw or surrender! Goddammit, Merlin!”

Merlin smirks as Gwaine goes flying again. He wonders how long he’ll last. “You can’t prove anything, Arthur.”

“I heard you whispering to Lance—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must’ve imagined that.”

“Agh!”

“Come on, Arthur. It’s funny,” Merlin says as Gwaine, once again, gets to his feet and looks like he wants to pummel Mordred to the ground. He probably would if Mordred didn’t toss him like a doll again. 

Arthur turns away, clearly to hide his smile. “I have no comment. I’m unbiased.”

“Sure you are.”

It goes on like that for thirty more minutes. The crowd grows restless, wanting a victor soon. Gwaine tries throwing daggers at Mordred, but Mordred dodges them all and continues to throw Gwaine around the arena. 

When Mordred tosses Gwaine this time, Gwaine doesn’t get up immediately. Mordred waits a moment before yelling something out. Merlin is too far to hear what it is. Gwaine yells something back but doesn’t make a move to surrender.

Mordred approaches cautiously. Gwaine throws another dagger with the last of his strength. Mordred dodges it. When he gets closer, he uses his magic to throw Gwaine’s sword a distance away. 

Gwaine gets up on his elbows as Mordred draws his sword, pointing it at Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine laughs as he lifts his hands in the air. 

“That’s surrender! Take that, Gwaine!” someone yells as the rest of the crowd cheers. It was definitely Karl. 

Merlin makes his way to the center of the field where Mordred stands. He raises his hand like he has seen Arthur do many times in the past. The crowd silences. He grabs Mordred’s hand in his and raises it. “Our victor: Sir Mordred!”

The crowd cheers again.

“You did great, Mordred,” Merlin says over the noise.

Mordred smiles. “Thanks, Emrys.”

“We do need to expand your spell repertoire though.” He laughs. “Go on! I’m sure the person who gave you that token is waiting for you.” He gestures to Karl, who is easily the loudest cheerer in the stands.

Mordred blushes. “I still hate him.”

“I know,” Merlin says. When Mordred is far enough away, Merlin steps closer to Gwaine, glaring at the knight lying on the ground and puffing for breath. 

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “Gonna help me up, Merls?”

Merlin sets his mouth in a firm line. “No. You can lie there and think about what you’ve done.”

“Don't be like that, Merlin! You know they're in love. They just needed a little push—”

“That is not what I’m talking about.” 

“What’re you talking about then?” Gwaine asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I do not like tattletales, Gwaine.”

Gwaine opens his mouth to speak, pauses, then starts laughing disbelievingly instead. “You’re kidding me. You...you planned this whole thing! You had me humiliated in front of half of the kingdom by Mordred because I told Arthur that you purposefully ate a blueberry pie and almost died again!”

“I didn’t almost die! Lance and I had it covered. And I trusted you, Gwaine! I would’ve expected that from Leon or Percival or even Elyan, but not you!”

“I swear, Merlin—”

“What are you going to do? Tattle on me?” Merlin raises an eyebrow as if daring him. 

Gwaine drops his head back to the ground. “No. No. I’ve been humiliated enough for a lifetime.”

Merlin huffs. “That’s right. You’ll think twice before tattling on me in the future.” 

“Yes, my Queen,” Gwaine grumbles. Merlin raises his chin before swinging his cloak around in a flair of dramatics and walking back to Arthur. 

Later that evening, Merlin and Arthur are sitting at the table in Arthur’s room, working, eating, and talking simultaneously. It is their evening ritual. They are in a heated battle about what to do with Farmer Stephan when they are interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“Arthur, get the door.”

“You get the door, Merlin. I’m the King.”

“And I’m the Queen.”

“I’m really starting to regret telling you that.”

“Oh, really? Then maybe I’ll sleep in my chambers tonight.”

“You will do no such thing. I forbid it.”

“Try that again.”

“I’ll get the door.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Mordred?” he hears Arthur ask. That makes him perk up. Mordred rarely comes to their chambers. 

“Evening, sire. I was hoping to speak with Emrys,” Mordred says. Arthur opens the door wider, gesturing for Mordred to enter and take a seat at the table. Arthur takes his seat but Mordred remains standing, looking nervous.

“What is it, Mordred?” Merlin asks.

I was hoping we could speak alone. 

“Ah,” Merlin says. “Arthur, get out. Mordred wants to speak to me alone.”

Arthur’s jaw drops. “What?”

“Don’t you have to discuss the new training regime with Leon?”

“This is my room! You can’t kick me out. Can’t you just speak in your heads?”

“We don’t want to.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem doing it when we are gambling!”

“Are you accusing me of cheating?”

Arthur freezes, staring at Merlin. Merlin stares back unnervingly. Arthur moves slowly, grabbing some papers and bringing them close to his chest. “I’m going to go find Leon.”

Merlin smiles. “Don’t be too long. I miss you when you aren’t here.”

Arthur sighs. “I just—I don’t even—” He sighs again, stopping to place a kiss on Merlin’s forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit, you menace.”

“Love you too!" As the door closes, Merlin gestures once more for Mordred to take a seat. “What is this about, Mordred?”

Mordred's face flushes as he sits. “It’s—well, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Is everything okay?” Merlin asks nervously.

“Yes. Everything’s fine. Nobody is hurt or anything. It’s—well, I don’t have any parents, and I’m not that close with Gwen. I thought I could go to Lance but he is—and you are—I don’t know. I know you better, I suppose. We’ve grown close, I think—”

“We have,” Merlin agrees, but he doesn’t understand what having parents has to do with that.

Mordred smiles. “Thank you. I-I was hoping you could help me with something of the”—he clears his throat—“feelings variety.”

“Feelings variety?” Merlin asks, disbelief in his tone.

“Yes.” He looks down, fidgeting with his sleeve. “I’ve never had anyone to talk about these sorts of things with. Cerdan died when I was young, and I didn’t have anyone after that. At least, not until I came here.”

Merlin flinches at Cerdan’s name, feeling something akin to understanding for Mordred. He reaches forward, resting a hand on Mordred’s arm. “My mother is great, but she sent me to Camelot when I wasn’t much younger than you. I didn’t know much more than I’m sure you do. And, Gaius—well, he’s not really the person to go to when you think you are in love with the Prince of Camelot.” 

Mordred chuckles. “I suppose not.”

“What I mean to say is, I understand. Love is a tricky thing, even when we have people to guide us. But I’m willing to help in any manner I can.”

Mordred blushes again. “I didn’t say anything about love.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mordred sighs. “It’s Karl.” Merlin tries to hide his laugh. He doesn’t do a very good job if Mordred’s scowl is anything to go by. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”

Merlin shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I know you are. What about Karl, Mordred?”

Mordred deflates. “I think I have feelings for him.”

“Okay. Admitting your feelings is an important first step to take.”

“Emrys!”

“I’m serious, Mordred. Do you know how long it took me to admit that it wasn’t hate that I felt for Arthur but love? Far longer than it’s taken you with Karl.” He pauses, tilting his head. “I see a lot of Arthur and I in you both, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Karl is a lot like Arthur. Brave to a fault. Hard-working. Chivalrous. A bit of an idiot at times. Don’t tell him I said that. Karl, that is. Arthur knows I think he’s an idiot. And, you,"—he grins—“are a lot like me. Arthur told me last night that he’s worried about how much you are becoming like me, you know?”

Mordred laughs. “He did not!”

“He did! He said it’s terrifying!” Merlin laughs along with him before patting his arm. “For all he is a bit of an idiot at times, Karl is smarter than Arthur though. He already knows about his feelings for you, and he’s acting on them.”

“You really think he has feelings for me? You aren’t joking like Gwaine does?”

Merlin hears a hint of hope in his tone. “Gwaine isn’t joking about that. He says those things because he knows you both have feelings for each other, and it’s Gwaine’s way of helping you see that. He did it to Arthur and me for years. He just wants you to be happy, Mordred.”

“Oh,” Mordred says. 

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I should apologize for embarrassing him in front of so many people.”

“Nah. You don’t have to do that. He deserved it.”

“Because he tattled on you when you ate the blueberry pie?”

Merlin gasps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If Gwaine said anything—”

Mordred smirks. “He didn’t have to. I figured it out last night. I knew there had to be a reason you told me about the rumors.”

“I would never use you like that—”

“It’s okay, Emrys. He did deserve it. For spreading the rumors and for the blueberries. I told him not to tattle, you know. You and Lance had it covered—”

“Thank you! Someone who agrees! I knew I liked you, Mordred!”

Mordred beams. “Thanks, Emrys. I like you too.”

Merlin smiles. “As to this Karl situation, why don’t you just tell him how you feel? It’ll save you a lot of time. Trust me.”

Mordred grimaces. “But what if he doesn’t like me, after all? What if we misread the situation?”

“He gave you his favor, Mordred.”

“He said it was a token of friendship. ”

“He was more worried about your health than the fact that a hat full of puke was thrown on him.”

“He cares about everyone. That’s how he is.”

“He gave you a wooden rabbit with your name inscribed on it after his trip to Nemeth because he remembered that one time, several months ago, you mentioned that you liked rabbits.”

“He said it was a late birthday present.”

Merlin sighs. “Mordred, I am the queen, and, as the queen, it is my job to know everything there is to know about Camelot. And one of the things I know is that Karl is hopelessly in love with you. I can promise you that he will be nothing but overjoyed if you tell him his feelings are returned. He’s been trying to win you over for months.”

“Are you sure?” Mordred asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “Tell him how you feel. It will be okay.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you, Emrys. You are the best queen ever!” He jumps forward, wrapping his arms around Merlin tightly. Merlin doesn’t hesitate before hugging him back. 

Gwaine recants his rumors, but it doesn’t matter because new ones spread. Apparently, a few maids caught Mordred and Karl kissing in one of the alcoves. This, Merlin knows, is nothing but the truth. 

A month later, a new rule is added to Camelot’s long-growing list: Sir Mordred and Sir Karl are not allowed to be on the same patrol. They will get distracted, wander off, and scar the poor soul that has to find them. Sir Leon can account for this. 

Chapter Text

There is one more rule, it turns out, when visiting Camelot. Never, and I mean never, upset Morgana. If you do, it will not end well.

* * *

Morgana hates Camelot. She hates Arthur. She hates Uther and smiled on the day of his death. She hates that Uther, her father , turned on her for something she couldn’t control. For something that is a part of her. She hates that Arthur was a coward and did nothing to protect her. She hates that Arthur, then, made magic legal only a year after becoming king. Morgana wasn’t enough for him to fight for magic. But do you know who was? Merlin.

Morgana hates many things. She hates cabbage. She hates the sound that goats make. She hates Lady Melanie because she’s a gossiping toad. She hates when sand sticks to her feet after stepping out of water. She hates many things. 

Most of all, she hates Merlin.

She has her reasons. Merlin, her supposed friend, betrayed her in so many ways that she lost count. Sure, she betrayed him plenty, but, really, he started it. Maybe he would say that it was her because she sided with Morgause and that is what led him to poison her for the sake of Camelot. But he really started it when he realized she had magic but never confessed himself. They were friends, for Goddess's sake. He could have trusted her—at the time. But instead, she left her to fend for herself in a kingdom where having magic would have seen her burnt at the pyre, regardless of her status. Uther wouldn’t have cared that she was truly his daughter. He would have watched her burn with glee.

So, she hates Merlin. She hates Merlin with a fiery passion unlike any other. And she hates Arthur almost just as much for being her brother but betraying her almost as equally. And maybe because she feels that she wasn’t good enough, but Merlin was (not that she would ever admit that out loud).  

She keeps an eye on Camelot. Her goal is to avenge herself, no matter who she has to kill to do it. She’s been working on her plans to take Camelot for a while now. They are quite good if she must say so herself, even though her army is full of stupid men that hate the Pendragons for some reason or another. They aren’t stupid for that reason. That may be the only sense of intelligence they have. They are stupid for various reasons, one being by the name of Hubert, who once thought that a carnivorous plant was a daisy and gave it to her. She nearly let it eat him out of spite. 

Stupid Hubert. 

Anyway, Morgana hates Merlin. A lot. Like so much it even angers her to think about it. So, when a letter appears in front of her, one evening, while she is dining by herself—she would never dine with her idiot followers—at a slightly crooked table that Hubert and his equally stupid friend, Dorcas, stole from an inn a few towns over, she is appalled that she can even recognize Merlin’s stupid handwriting. She almost burns it on sight before marching on Camelot to burn Merlin. Instead, she decides to open it, but only because she is bored and should probably read what Merlin has to say before burning her for his traitorous ways. 

Lady Morgana,

Don’t burn this on sight. I know you want me, but I beg you to hear me out.

Morgana snorts. Merlin begging—now that would be a pleasing sight.

I am sorry.

Morgan snorts again.

I have done so many things wrong. And I could apologize numerous times, but I feel I could never make up for my mistakes. Still, I hope that you are willing to read what I have to say and that maybe we could put our animosity aside for the sake of Camelot.

She rolls her eyes. Every time Merlin uses the word “Camelot”, she could just as easily replace it with “Arthur”. That is what he really means, after all. He claims to do everything for Camelot, but, in reality, he only cares about Arthur. Merlin would watch Camelot and all of its people burn to the ground if it meant keeping Arthur. She is not a fool. She knows how those idiots feel about each other. Anyone with eyes can see how sickeningly in love Merlin and Arthur are. It’s more than sickening. It’s disgusting. 

Not because they are men, of course. She doesn’t care about that. People should be able to love whomever they please. But Merlin and Arthur—she hates Merlin and Arthur. There is nothing more to be said, then, about their ridiculously embarrassing infatuation that neither of the idiots seems to recognize. 

And, if not for the sake of Camelot, then for ourselves. Hatred is…it’s consuming. There have been moments where I swore I hated people, and I would be lying if I did not include you. To me, you were a friend. A kind person who fought for the justice of the people. Then, you turned to Morgause. And maybe that was my fault because I should have told you about my magic. You could have turned to me and I could have done something. I could have helped you. Gaius could have helped guide you as he has me. We could have fought for the legalization of magic together. 

But I was so scared, Morgana. Unlike you, I had Gaius and Lancelot to rely on, but, at the same time, I felt so alone. People kept talking of destinies—of all the power I was meant to wield and of all the things I was meant to do—and all I was truly doing was trying to survive each day without being burnt at the pyre while also trying to keep Arthur alive. That was a job for a hundred all on its own. 

I had nightmares every night of being burnt while Arthur watched in disgust. In hatred. I imagine telling him the truth and him turning me in himself. Then, I thought of you, and I wanted to trust you. I did. But part of me was so afraid that you would turn on me and if you did I would have to leave Camelot. I wouldn’t be able to protect Arthur or Camelot. I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my destiny. And then you did turn on me, and I was so angry. Most of all, I was sad. My nightmares turned into things I could've done better—ways I could’ve protected you from Morgause. I know she was your sister, but she was blinded by her own hatred. Uther does that to people. He was a terrible man. He caused so much pain and hatred. As a king, he failed Camelot. But as a father, he failed you. Arthur failed you as a brother. And I failed you as a friend. I’m sorry. I know you hate me, Morgana.

But there were many reasons, that on my worst days, I hated you too. You failed Camelot. You turned to Morgause so easily, someone you barely knew. In doing that, you also failed Arthur as a sister. He can be an idiot, but he loves you. Yes, I say that in the current tense because he still does, even if he sometimes says he hates you too. I don’t blame you for turning on Uther, but you turned on me, Arthur, and Camelot before we even had a chance to prove that things could be different. 

Once Arthur became king, things became better. And, once I realized that my fears were what led me to my failure with you and gained the courage to confess to Arthur about my magic—even though, admittedly, I had a feeling that he knew about my magic since the Griffin incident, but he just pretended not to know because he’s a cabbagehead; I digress—everything became even better. Camelot is still improving every day, gradually. The one thing that seems to be missing is you.

I will be honest with you, Morgana, Arthur does not know that I have written to you. I worry about how he will react. I have spent the last few weeks mulling over whether I should even try to reach out to you because I have decided that hatred has only ever caused harm. I could continue to hate you, and you, I. We could fight an unnecessary war that will inevitably result in many deaths, maybe even our own. Or we could try to be better. I want to try to be better.

I’m hoping that writing to you will open a way of communication. Maybe we could discuss our problems and reach a solution that doesn’t include war. My mother has always said that communication is key. I’m hoping this will help.

That is to say, I’m hoping that we can come to an agreement that will see your peaceful return to Camelot. We miss you, Morgana. Gwen does. Gaius does. I do. And Arthur does, even if he won’t say it. But if you aren’t willing to return, we will accept your choice. I’m just hoping we can still find a way to be at peace. I truly think it will be to our benefit. 

Now, I must go. Arthur just found out that I told Lady Melanie that his first kiss was with a goat and he is in search of me. I bet he’ll think before forgetting my birthday again.

Still, your friend, even if you hate me,

Merlin

Morgana purses her lips. Merlin is right: She does hate him. Plus, if she makes peace with Camelot, she won’t be able to be queen. She does understand his point though. A war will likely result in many deaths. She wouldn’t be too heartbroken about losing her followers. They are just brawn, no brains, after all. But she would be sad about losing her own life, she supposes. She would be far happier to slit Merlin's throat, but she recognizes that the odds are relatively slim if her small army is put against Camelot’s army and Merlin’s, dare she say it, strength.

She pens out a response.

Dearest traitorous fiend,

I suppose I will return in peace, but only if I am crowned the rightful Queen of Camelot and my insolent brother steps aside. If he does not, I will continue my plans to take the crown myself. There will be no peace, and I will strive to gut you like the pig you are. I hate you, Merlin. 

Yours in hatred,

The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot

P.S. For record’s sake, it was a sheep. I made it clear to you that Arthur’s first kiss was with a sheep. He says it was an accident, but we all know better. Get your facts in order, Merlin. Furthermore, also for record’s sake, everyone knows your birthday is on the first of spring. It only proves further that Arthur should not be king if he can’t even keep dates straight.

“M’lady, I have brought you a vase of flowers for your table, picked for you by Sir Hubert,” Dorcas says as he presents her with a chipped vase filled with questionable-looking flowers.

Morgana eyes the vase with contempt. “Why didn’t Hubert present them to me, then?”

“He had an allergic reaction to one of the flowers, m'lady, but I promise none of them will eat you. I checked myself.” He then scratches one of his hands. “To be honest, m’lady, I think I might be allergic to them too. But they are beautiful, aren’t they?”

Morgana stares at him before approaching the vase and stopping far enough that she can just see the leaves from here. She tries not to cry from the sheer stupidity. “That is poison ivy, you idiot!”

“Oh,” Dorcas says stupidly. “That is not good, m’lady. I’m feeling rather itchy, m’lady.”

“Get rid of those immediately!” Morgana shouts. When Dorcas is just at the threshold of the door, she says, “Take Hubert and find the bloody healer in town while you're at it!”

“Yes, m’lady.” Dorcas scurries out the door. Morgana stares at the letter. She doesn’t know how to magically send this to Merlin. That isn’t something Morgause thought to teach her before Merlin caused her death. “And fetch Martin! I have a letter for him to send, but don’t touch him!”

“Yes, m’lady,” Dorcas yells again. She definitely needs better knights if she is going to take on Camelot. 

She sighs. Morgana really does hate everything.

* * *

It takes a while for the next letter to pop up in front of her. Likely because the trip to Camelot took Martin a week. He still hasn’t returned, but Merlin probably responded to her immediately. 

It appears in front of her while she is surveying a map of Camelot, searching for its weakness. There is a spot near Camelot’s eastern border where she knows Merlin used to collect herbs for Gaius. He probably still does on occasion. She could have a few men scout the area, and see if he has a schedule. They could attack him, then move on to Camelot. The border is at its weakest there.

She decides to take a break to read the letter. She doesn’t mind humoring him. It will distract him into thinking she won’t attack. 

Lady Morgana, 

I’m afraid it won’t be possible for Arthur to give up his crown, though I suspect you already know that. To be honest, the fact that I received a response was more than I expected, though, so we can start from there. 

While you can’t become Queen of Camelot, as Arthur is the rightful heir and the Once and Future King, there are positions that we would love to bestow upon you—Arthur still doesn’t know I am writing you, but he’ll do as I say and I know he would be happy to have his sister back. He’ll never admit it, but he is quite lonely. There are some things that I, the knights, and even Gwen and Gaius, can not provide for him. His parents are dead, even if he never met his mother and his father was a right prick. His uncle betrayed him. And his sister turned on him. He knows he has us as family, but we will never be you. 

Anyway, the positions that you could be given are Court Sorceress—I could use all the help I can get—and we could make your status as a princess official. It is one that should have been given to you from birth and of which you will be rightfully bestowed if you make your peaceful return to Camelot. You will have all the rights it normally grants. If you don’t wish to be Court Sorceress, I would understand. You can do nothing but live in the castle if you so please. 

We just want you to come home, Morgana.

And I know you hate me. Though, I hope that one day you will no longer feel that way. I have decided that I no longer hate you. You will always be a friend, Morgana. And to prove this, I have written the spell that will show you how to send letters magically below. I’ll be waiting for your response.

Y our friend,

Merlin

P.S. I’m almost positive you said it was a goat. Didn’t he claim to be giving it mouth-to-mouth after knocking it out with his sword? Nevertheless, I won our argument. We had a lovely picnic and he bought me five magic books as an apology for forgetting my birthday. Also, I’ve sent Martin with some of your favorite scones from the bakery. They are not poisoned, but you can check if you’d like. Happy Birthday, Morgana. I hope this year finds us at peace.

Secretly, Morgana is salivating at the thought of those cranberry stones. They are scrumptious. Just as secretly, she eagerly reads over the spell that Merlin has written at the bottom of the page. She doesn’t have access to many books on magic. Most were banned from Camelot and she is still close enough to its borders that the trickle effects have caused no information of magic to be in this realm as well. 

She wonders what it is like to have access to more information. She could learn so much. She wonders what it would be like to officially be a princess. Secretly, too, of course. She missed the nice clothing, though. Her gowns are growing old, and she often has to restitch them. She misses the gardens too. And her rooms. They were twice the size of the entire hut she is currently staying in. She would like the power too. It wouldn’t be equivalent to the queen, but princesses can do many things. She could help bring power to women in Camelot.

No. She hates Camelot. She hates Arthur. And most of all, she hates Merlin.

She decides to write Merlin back again, but only because he has a modicum of intelligence and she has been lacking intelligent conversations these past few years. 

To the traitorous fiendish bastard,

If Arthur truly missed me, he would write to me himself. But given that you haven’t even told him of our correspondence, I hardly believe you are telling the truth. Arthur turned his back on me. You are right. He did fail me. Why should I return to Camelot to fall under his rule? He does not miss me. He does not love me. I hardly think he ever did. 

Not that I mind. I don’t need him. Make no mistake, Merlin, I need no one. I will kill you all. One by one if I must. 

Camelot will never be home to me again. 

Yours in hatred, 

The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot

P.S. It was a sheep, you fool. Though he did claim to have knocked it out with his sword. I knew better. And if you think scone will win me over, you have another thing coming, Merlin. I will kill you, then eat the scones as a reward for doing such a splendid job.

She eagerly recites the spell and watches the parchment disappear before her eyes as it supposedly appears before Merlin in Camelot. What a fool. Now that she has this spell, communicating with her men will be so much easier. Camelot will be hers any day.

* * *

“M’lady,” Hubert says as he enters her hut. “Martin has returned bearing gifts from the Queen of Camelot.”

Morgana spits out her tea. “The what? When did Arthur marry? How was I not made aware of this? Where is Albert? He is meant to be relaying information like this to me. We could use this against Arthur. I should have him beheaded. Albert, that is. And Arthur. His queen too. How dare someone take my title? I shall torture her, then kill her.”

Hubert squirms under her gaze. “We spoke to Albert, but he claimed there was no wedding. The people have deemed the Court Sorcerer their queen. I apologize. I thought Albert had spoken to you about this already.”

Morgana barks out an unladylike laugh. Surely, this must be a joke. “Merlin? The Queen of Camelot? Dear Goddess, Uther must be rolling in his grave.” 

“That’s what we’ve been told, m’lady.”

“Tell Albert to return to Camelot immediately. I need more information before I proceed.” And by proceed, she means to behead Merlin. He dares to try to convince her that they are on friendly terms when he usurped her simultaneously? A traitor. That’s what Merlin is. That is all he will ever be. “I want him to return by the end of the week with intel.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Hubert says, just as Dorcas pokes his head into the hut. 

“I have your gift from the Queen of Camelot, m’lady,” he says, holding out a satchel that undoubtedly has her scones in it.

“Don’t call him that! Merlin is not a queen. He is a traitorous fool!” Then she squints at the crumbs surrounding his mouth. “Did you eat my scones?”

She snatches the satchel from Dorcas as his eyes go wide. “I had to make sure they weren’t poisoned, m’lady. I took a bite of each one for your safety.”

She opens the bag and notices that each scone has a rather gigantic bite taken out of it. One of them looks like two bites were taken out of it. She closes her eyes briefly and questions her life choices. Then, she opens them and refrains from punching Dorcas in the face. He may be an idiot, but he is a faithful idiot. “Maybe next time you could take smaller bites, Dorcas?”

Dorcas rubs the back of his head. “Sorry, m’lady.”

Morgana huffs. “Go speak to Albert. I wish to eat my scones in peace.”

“Yes, m’lady,” they say in unison before scampering out the door. She hears Hubert hit Dorcas and call him a toad just as they close the door. She pretends not to hear the ensuing scuffle that has them shoving each other into the walls of her questionably sturdy hut. 

She has eaten one scone—which is as delicious as she remembers—when another letter appears. It has been a few days since she sent her response. She was expecting Merlin to respond sooner given their easy way of communication, but she supposes if he is playing as some sort of pretend queen, he likely has quite a few duties. 

Lady Morgana, 

I have spoken to Arthur. In the interest of remaining transparent with you—as I feel communication is one of the primary causes of our disagreements—he did not take it very well. He is infuriated that I have communicated with you without his knowledge. I told him that he would have never taken the first step and that he needs to write to you. We had a bit of an argument, but I know he is just upset that I am right. He won’t admit to missing you, but he does. I’ve found him in your chambers more than once, sitting on your bed, staring at the wall. Since you left, he insisted it is kept exactly the same and be cleaned once a week. He’s never changed that rule. I think he’s hoping that when you come home, you’ll be happy that it was just as you left it. He’ll never admit to that either. You Pendragons have a way of bottling your emotions as if it’ll be your downfall to show them. I blame Uther as I do with most things.

In any matter, Arthur will admit I’m right sooner or later. Likely sooner as I have confined myself to my room and am refusing to leave until he agrees to stop acting like a stubborn cabbagehead and write to you. Until then, I’ve suddenly found plenty of free time in my room if you wish to continue our correspondence. I’ll be waiting to receive your reply.

Your friend, 

Merlin

P.S. I’ve told Lady Melanie that it was actually a sheep. She was delighted to amend the story to half the nobles in Camelot. Arthur was infuriated again, but he should’ve thought about that before kissing a sheep. And the scones weren’t an attempt to win you over. They were a gift from a friend because that is what we are: friends. And friends don’t kill each other, Morgana. That isn’t nice.

Morgana…Morgana hates Arthur. And she hates Merlin. But sometimes, secretly, she thinks about what it would be like to return to Camelot. To have friends again. To have a family. To be loved. And maybe to find love of her own. It’s tiring hiding out every second of every day. Of course, there is an end goal in mind, but her funds deplete daily and her men grow weary. Not Humphrey and Dorcas, but they are idiots. 

Nevertheless, sometimes she does, in the deepest pits of her dark soul, admit that she misses Arthur. He might be an idiot, but he was always around when she was growing up. He used to be someone she could rely on. He isn’t anymore. The only person she can rely on is herself. She learned that the hard way. But, occasionally, she feels an ache in her stomach and thinks it’s because she is missing something. Or a lot of things.

She shoves these thoughts deep into her mind before warring over whether to respond to Merlin. If he has locked himself in his room, this could put stress on Camelot. Arthur will be infuriated, no doubt, and be trying to find a way to break Merlin out. This could be the perfect time to attack. Maybe if she continues to write Merlin she could find a good time to break through Camelot’s guards and take the castle. That, and she’s also rather bored. 

Queen Merlin (or so I’ve been told is your new title),

I don’t know what sort of joke it is to name you queen, but surely it must be a hilarious one for most of Camelot to be telling it. To think I thought you were genuine for even a tiny, minuscule of a second.

This is a lie, of course. Morgana thinks Merlin is a lying manipulative toad, but a little lying never hurt anyone. 

Instead, you take my rightful crown. Tell me, how did you do it? I’ve been told there was no marriage between you and Arthur. To be honest, I’m not all that surprised. It must have been your goal from the start. First, you wrapped Arthur around your finger, then you turned me against him, had me kill Uther for you, and I basically delivered you the crown! Maybe I am the fool, Merlin. Maybe we all are, but you. You just play the fool so no one suspects you’re conniving ways. 

Maybe I should write to Arthur after all. Maybe I’ll tell him the truth about you, and we’ll have a reunion after all as we slit your throat together. What a lovely sight that would be. 

I hope you enjoy your moments of solitude. It will surely be some of your last.

Yours in hatred, 

The rightful Queen Morgana of Camelot

P.S. I’m glad you corrected the story. The truth is necessary for situations like these. As for our friendship, you can forget. It was lost the moment you betrayed me.

Morgan lets out a pleased noise as she vanishes the letter. Let Merlin make of that what he may. She is just finishing her scones and dreaming of barricading through the castle when the next letter pops up in front of her. 

Lady Morgana, 

I don’t know what to say about the queen situation other than the fact that it is some gigantic joke that I can’t seem to put an end to. The knights call me the queen behind my back when they think I’m not around, but I’ve noticed. I always notice. They’re stupid but loyal. What can you do? If you’ve heard of it, it must have reached more people, though, which is slightly concerning. Now that I think of it, I think Queen Dahlia of Kent might have gotten the wrong message too. I think they call me that because I'm the head of the household. I took over after Uther died and the last one retired. No one seemed to jump to the position and Arthur was too busy and upset about his father’s death to assign one, so somehow the task got passed along to me. I didn’t mind because it took some stress off of Arthur, and I guess I just stuck with it. Maybe they also call me the queen because I take care of Arthur, or at least try my best to prevent him from being skewered as a result of his stupidity. The queen normally takes care of the king and the castle, right? Maybe that’s why I’ve been attributed the title. I assure you, I’m no queen, though. Most of the time, I feel as though I’m barely keeping Arthur alive, let alone a whole kingdom. 

With that being said, I truly did not plan to have as much power as I have acquired. I only strive to keep Arthur safe and to help him be the best king he can be. I do it because it is my destiny. To be by his side as he ushers in the golden age of Camelot. I’ve also been told we are two halves of a coin more times than I can count, so, admittedly, I also do it because I can’t imagine a life without him. That’s selfish of me, to put my feelings for Arthur above everything else, and I hope you can one day forgive me for it because you were one of the many affected by that choice. It took me a long time to realize why I chose to poison you. For a long time, I said that it was you or Camelot. I was doing my duty and protecting the kingdom so that it could one day be a shining beacon that united all of Avalon. It wasn’t until recently that I admitted that I really saw it as a choice between you and Arthur. Morgause chose you to be the source of her enchantment on Camelot, and I knew if I didn’t act soon, I could lose Arthur. I didn’t hesitate, but I do have regrets. I wish it hadn’t been you more than anything, Morgana. But you have to realize that I will always choose Arthur. I’d choose him over everyone, and I wish I was more sorry about it. I wish I wasn’t so selfish. I can’t change anything about it though. I can only hope that you will realize why I’ve made the choices I have—that maybe I would choose Arthur over you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you. Maybe I choose Arthur over everyone else, but I still try to protect you all. Sometimes I wish I could shove everyone I loved into the castle and put a protective enchantment over it that will never allow anyone to harm us again. Everyone would stay in the castle and never leave. We’d never age. We would all be happy and safe. 

Life isn’t that easy, though. 

I wish I was enjoying the solitude more. I’m afraid it’s rather lonely, though, as the word solitude implies. I miss Arthur mostly. But I’m also angry at him for being a cabbagehead. And, anyway, I can’t miss him too much when he is standing outside my door, yelling like a banshee. I can picture how red his face is. I’ve laughed a few times, which has only made him angrier. I have a feeling he is going to be extremely stubborn about this, but no worries. I’ve put up with his little temper tantrums for far too long. I’m not going to crack. You will receive your letter from him.

Your friend,

Merlin

P.S. I still cling to hopes that our friendship is salvageable. How were the scones? Martin should have returned by now.  

Morgana flips the paper over to scrawl out her response—parchment is expensive after all.

Traitorous fiend also known as Merlin, 

I am in no way extending an offer of friendship by relating to you, but I do know what it is like to have to deal with loyal idiots.

She watches through her window as Dorcas trips on a stick and is mocked by Hubert and Martin, only for Dorcas to beat them with the stick moments later.

Unfortunately, I’ve learned that loyalty often outweighs stupidity when it comes to trustworthiness. Especially considering any idiot would have a hard time betraying me. Unlike you who only played the fool.

Nevertheless, I shall believe that the title of queen has been thrust unwillingly on you if only because the people of Camelot would be stupid enough to do such a thing as name you queen. Idiots, the lot of them.

I’ve always known that you chose Arthur over me. It was never a question of Camelot but always of Arthur. Even a blind man could see that. Which isn’t to say it is an excuse. 

Though, very secretly in a way that it’s almost a secret from herself, she thinks it’s fair to say that it is an excuse. Even before everything had gone sideways, she could see the utter devotion in Merlin. When she had written otherwise, it was only to make Merlin angry—not to incite an all-but-love confession. She always saw that same devotion in Arthur from the moment Merlin drank poison for him. Sometimes she was jealous. She had never had someone so devoted to her before. She had never seen someone look at her that way. Arthur and Merlin have always had an unbreakable bond. After Merlin, Arthur did change for the better. He turned from an arrogant prince to a man worthy of being a king—not that she would ever admit that because the crown is still rightfully hers. 

Although, I suppose I do not know what it is like to love another as you do Arthur.

She nearly crosses that out but decides to leave it. She still has many other reasons to hate Merlin, giving a little on this point doesn’t change her ambitions to destroy Camelot and all of her enemies that reside within it.

I’m glad you are having a terrible time in your solitude. It seems a fitting punishment for the likes of you. I do, admittedly, laugh a bit at the picture of Arthur’s banshee-like face. I can remember him throwing tantrums whenever I beat him in a duel when we were younger. I cannot wait to be him at another and plunge the sword into his heart.

Until then, I shall wait for him to crack, as you say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him win an argument with you. Even when you were his serving boy. I’m sure his letter will be an eloquent apology that I will nevertheless not accept.

Yours in hatred, 

Morgana

P.S. Although I see your stance on the poisoning, our friendship is unsalvageable for several other reasons. The scones were amazing. Annabelle will be one of the few that remain unscathed when I purge Camelot of its traitors. 

The reply comes much quicker this time. 

Morgana, 

I certainly understand what it is like to put faith in an idiot. I put faith in Arthur, after all. I suppose I know what it’s like to love an idiot too. I’ll have you know that this is the first time I’ve said that allowed. Or, I suppose, the first time I have admitted to it in general, given I am not saying anything aloud. 

I miss Arthur terribly, which is a bit ridiculous because he is currently right down the hall from me, likely to return soon to yell at me some more. He is quite angry about me writing to you. Still, he is only angry because he doesn’t want to admit that we are all at fault. We all made mistakes and it is time we own up to them to make things right between us. That is why it would help me to know why else you have come to hate me. It might help us find peace.

Your friend,

Merlin

P.S. I’m glad you see my stance on the poisoning. I regret that it was you, but I cannot say that I wouldn’t make the same choice if confronted with it again. Although, there are many choices that I would make differently when it comes to you if I could. And I can’t argue with your choice to leave Annabelle unscathed. Her scones are almost as good as her blueberry pie. Also, I attached extra parchment to this letter in case you are low. 

Merlin,

I haven't a clue what you have admitted to other than believing Arthur to be an idiot. Your writing was rather unclear. 

Of course, she knows exactly what Merlin is trying to say, but making him admit it straightforwardly was always something she wanted before everything went downhill. Sometimes she just wanted to shake him until he admitted it. The way those two have always looked at each other—apart, possibly, from when they first met, but even that was fueled with sexual tension that left Morgana and Gwen scarred for days—it is so obvious that they love each other. But, even now, so many years later, they still dance around each other. For Goddess’s sake, people call Merlin the queen. How much more obvious could they be? Idiots. They are all idiots. 

Naturally, I do agree that Arthur is an idiot. Did I ever tell you about the time he tried to throw an egg at me, but hit Uther instead? It was in the middle of a feast, no less. Uther was infuriated. When Arthur tried to run away, he ran into one of the maids, who was carrying food. It was stew for the late Lord Galvin, who had no teeth. It landed on Lady Melanie’s mother, Lady Patricia. She was covered in it. Arthur was forbidden from leaving his chambers for two weeks. I spent as much time as I could playing outside, right in front of his window, so that he could see what he was missing. Then, of course, we have the sheep incident, which really says it all.

It is a bit ridiculous that you miss Arthur, considering it’s barely been a day. Maybe some separation wouldn’t kill either of you. Or maybe it would. Please do remain in your room, if only for my sake. 

I don’t appreciate you saying we all made mistakes. As far as I can see, I have only been defending myself, while you and Arthur have betrayed me left and right. You tried to kill me on my birthday—and think scones will make up for it. You killed Morgause. You hid your magic from me. The list could go on forever, Merlin. And the longer it becomes the more my urge to kill you grows.

Yours in hatred,

Morgana

P.S. Maybe there are a few things I would have also done differently, but it is nothing compared to what you have done to me. Furthermore, aren’t you allergic to blueberries? I thought Arthur banned you from eating them after that one incident with Sir Thomas?

Morgana, 

You know exactly what I meant, but I suppose I’ll say it if only to appease you: I love Arthur. There. I said it. I hope you are happy now. Arthur doesn’t need to know though. He isn’t in a position where he is ready to admit that he feels the same. You know how he can be. An idiot, as you are fond of saying.

You never told me about the Uther incident. I assure you I will be bringing it up to him the moment he admits that he is in the wrong and writes to you. I will also be telling anyone willing to listen. I’m sure Gwen will get a kick out of that story. I would have loved to be there just to see the expression on Uther’s face! Gods, that must have been wonderful. 

Morgana, we have all made mistakes. You plotted with Morgause against Camelot. I understand that you were scared and that I should have helped you more. I should have told you about my magic, but, as I’ve said, I was terrified. I felt like every mistake I made was the wrong one, and it was, in the end. But you turned to her, after barely knowing her, when you had Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and me. Maybe it doesn’t feel this way now, but you could have trusted us. Instead, you trusted a woman you barely knew and let her manipulate you. That is what she was doing, Morgana. She saw you as a way to gain power and used to get it. I didn’t intend for the blow I dealt her to be fatal, but I am not sorry for killing her. She tried to kill Arthur and destroy Camelot. What was I supposed to do? I am sorry for how it made you feel, though. I know she meant a great deal to you.

And for as much as you say I have betrayed you, you betrayed me too. You left me for the serkets, which I barely survived. You used mind control to try to make me kill Arthur, which I still have night terrors about succeeding. You have tried and, in some cases succeeded, in hurting every person who ever truly loved you. Especially Arthur. He is your brother, but you chose her over him. But none of the things you have done has made us stop loving you. And that is the most important thing. I swear on Arthur’s life that I truly want to make amends with you—that I truly want you to come home. Camelot is your home. It will be waiting for you to return, as will its inhabitants. 

Also, I didn't mean to push you down those stairs. That was an accident. I was just trying to stop you from killing Uther, which I know sounds odd given that he was an utter ass, but it was the right thing to do.

Merlin

P.S. We have both made mistakes, but they shouldn’t define our future. We can change the future together, you and I. And maybe Arthur too if his big head doesn’t get in his way. And I thought we agreed to never talk about the Sir Thomas incident again? That was not my fault. If anything, it was Arthur’s. And Sir Thomas. I hate Sir Thomas. 

Merlin,

Did you truly write what I think I did? Do my eyes deceive me or did you finally admit to loving my idiot brother? I thought the day would never come. Granted, if you still won’t admit it to Arthur, I suppose it hasn’t. I’m sure you two idiots would dance around this forever if you could. 

Fine. I suppose I can admit that I have also made mistakes, but only because I was led to make them. It’s not as if I suddenly made those decisions overnight. If you had told me about your magic, I might have trusted you enough to turn to you. How was I supposed to know that Gaius or Arthur wouldn’t turn to Uther? Arthur would have done anything for his approval, and Gaius was one of his most trusted men. I would have truly never guessed that he had been aiding your magic abilities the entire time. And Gwen, she was my servant, but she was also my friend. I didn’t want to risk her head too. I always thought that maybe she would come with me when I left. But she didn’t. She took your side. And part of me hates her for that. How is she, though? Rumor has it that she is in love with Sir Lancelot and their marriage is inevitable.  

As for Morgause, she loved me. I know she did.

Maybe Morgana says this more for herself than Merlin. Morgause was her sister. She had to have loved Morgana. But Morgana has agonized for many nights over that though. Maybe she was her sister, but did she truly love her? Or is Merlin right? Could she have been using Morgana to her own ends? Maybe it was both. Maybe Morgause did love her, in her own way, but still sought to use her to her own ends. Was she fooled because she had no one else to turn to, so she trusted the first person who seemed as though she actually loved her for who she was? She shakes her head.

We were going to rule together. We were going to make magic legal. But it would have never come to that had Uther not made it illegal in the first place out of his own mistakes. He killed thousands because of his mistake. And Arthur helped him. Maybe he has made magic legal now, but back then, he wasn’t someone I could trust. Uther had him under his thumb. I’m glad he is dead. Everyone in Albion is better off now that Uther is dead. I can’t say it would have been wrong to kill him. Just as you don’t regret killing Morgause, I can never say I regret trying to kill Uther. I’ll never understand why you stopped me. 

I didn’t want to hurt any of you, but some of you hurt me first. Others…I can’t quite remember who did the hurting first but it has felt neverending since.

She stares at that sentence for a moment. She contemplates lighting the parchment on fire, but she doesn’t. Instead, she wipes the water off her cheeks that must have dripped from the hole in the ceiling, then pens out the following sentence, instead.

Maybe I do wish it would stop, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can forgive and forget. I don’t know if I can ever call Camelot home again.

Morgana

P.S. Amending the past to change the future is much harder than it seems, even with Arthur’s big head to help. And I know you hate Sir Thomas. Everyone knows you hate Sir Thomas, Merlin. That doesn’t make it his fault. You scarred the poor man for life. It is acceptable to blame Arthur, though. I blame him for everything.

She wipes the last of the water off her face and glares at the ceiling. “Hubert!”

Hubert scurries into her hut with Dorcas behind him. He comes to a halt so quickly that Dorcas tumbles into him and they end up in a heap on the ground. Hubert groans and muffles out something that sounds like, “Yes, m’lady?”

Morgana pretends not to notice. “I need my roof fixed. There is a hole in the ceiling. I want it done first thing in the morning. I am going to bed now. I am not to be disturbed. Am I clear?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Hubert says as he scrambles to his feet and salutes her.

“Yes, m’lady,” Dorcas echoes as he trips on one of Morgana’s boots and nearly falls again.

Hubert leans forward. “Have you been crying, m’lady?”

Morgana growls. “No! The hole in the ceiling is dripping on my face!”

“But there is no rain—”

“Get out!” She flicks her hand and watches them run out of the hut. She decides that if Merlin writes back, he will have to wait until Morgana. Maybe he can take days at a time off to barricade himself in his room, but she can’t. She needs her rest. And she’ll have to tell them that there is a hole above her bed too because it seems her face is leaked on all night.

* * *

The next morning, she wakes to the sounds of screaming. She runs out of her hut only to find Hubert and Dorcas running toward her with their faces swollen.

Morgana takes a deep breath. “What happened now?”

“You see, m’lady,” Dorcas begins once he’s stopped in front of her. His arms and legs appear swollen too. “We were trying to collect some honey for your breakfast, but the bees—they didn’t like that, m’lady.”

“They were very angry, m’lady,” Hubert adds, the words coming out garbled. It appears his lips were stung. 

Morgana takes another calming breath. “Go see the healer. Again. ”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“And make sure someone fixes my roof when you are finished!”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Morgana seriously questions why she keeps those two idiots around. 

When she returns to her hut, she sees a letter waiting for her at her table.

Morgana,

We won’t dance around it forever. Arthur just needs to come to his senses. We’ll get there, though. Even if he is an idiot.

I could argue I was led to make the mistake I did too. There is always a reason that we make the choices we do. It’s important to realize that we still made them though. I chose to poison you. Maybe it was your life or Arthur’s, but I still chose. You chose to leave me for the serkets. Maybe it was because I poisoned you, but you still chose to do it, knowing it would likely lead to my death. I chose to keep my magic from you. You chose to trust Morgause. I chose to stop you from killing Uther. You chose to brainwash me. We made choices and many of them were mistakes. I could give you a million reasons and defenses, but I still made those choices and I’ll own up to them. I’m sorry, Morgana. Truly. I hope that you can understand why I made the choices I did, as I have tried to understand why you made the choices you did. Nevertheless, I’m sorry for everything that I have done to hurt you. 

Gwen is doing well. She helps me run the household and does a million other things that keep this castle running. She misses you terribly. She is the only one that keeps your room tidy. She doesn’t let anyone else go in there. She would be overjoyed if you returned. You are her best friend. She and Lancelot are doing well. They are sickeningly in love, but I am happy for them. I’ve no doubt they will marry soon. And she didn’t betray you, Morgana. She just recognized the pull the Morgause had on you.

That being said, maybe Morgause loved you, but she also used you. I hope you can see that, Morgana. 

Morgana does. She had thought as much last night. It still brings pain to her chest every time she thinks about it. She doesn’t think that pain will ever go away.

I say this not to hurt you but to be honest with you. You can love someone but still use them for your own purposes. Uther did it to Arthur. He did it to you too. I don’t blame you for wanting him dead. I surely did more than once. I protected him mostly for Arthur’s sake, I think. Also, admittedly, I take far too much advice from a dragon. He causes me more pain than joy, I think. And he’s always ridiculously cryptic. You should meet him. I’d love to see someone put him in his place. He is a nightmare, truly.

I digress. What I mean to say is that you also can’t blame Arthur for Uther’s mistakes. Uther raised him to hate everything magic, but he has grown from that. He has realized the error of that way of thinking and has legalized magic. Not just for me. But for you, Mordred, the Druids, and everyone else that was harmed by Uther’s hatred. Uther is dead now. I can’t say I’m quite sad about it either, but we can’t let him ruin our lives forever. We can’t let his hatred linger through us. We need to leave it behind with him. It’s the only way we’ll ever be able to move on.

I know you didn’t want to hurt any of us—even if you have said as much more times than I care to count. When I came to Camelot, you were one of the kindest people I had ever met. You truly cared about others. I know that Morgana is still there. She’s just been hurt so many times that she’s built a wall around herself.

Sometimes I can’t remember who began this cycle of hurt either. Truly, I think it was Uther. But, as I said, we can end it. We can stop the cycle and move on. I’m not asking you to forget. We can’t forget our past. If we did, we would be doomed to repeat it. We need to learn from it and try to be better. I’m willing to try. Are you?

Merlin

P.S. It was definitely Sir Thomas’s fault. It surely wasn’t my fault his arm was in the way. And I also blame Arthur for most things. Including this one incident with a cow. It truly was his fault but Arthur is a liar who will tell you otherwise. 

Their correspondence continues like that. They write to each other all day during the next few days of Merlin’s self-imposed isolation. Morgana finds herself responding with fewer threats and more genuine responses as it goes on. She also finds that Merlin seems to be growing weary of his time apart from Arthur. She has no doubt that he will stick it out until Arthur is willing to write to her—Merlin is just stubborn like that—but his writing becomes slightly lackluster. She can tell he isn’t faring well. Although, never once does she consider attacking Camelot, even when Merlin tells her about Arthur trying to build a human staircase to reach him or the crowd in town rioting over the affair. Instead, she finds herself trying to comfort him with old stories of their times together. Then, she questions why she did this because she hates Merlin. She does. Really. 

Maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as she thought she did, though. She’s trying to figure that out—what she truly feels for Merlin and even Arthur. She thinks maybe Morgause and Uther swayed her feelings in some ways. She is still angry that Merlin and Arthur did what they did, but Merlin seems genuine. Especially if he is willing to argue with Arthur for this long. 

She also finds out that Mordred has been aiding Merlin. Merlin still says he hates Mordred, but she suggested he look into why he believes those are his feelings for Mordred, just as she has with him and Arthur. Mostly, she is glad Mordred seems to be happy and safe. 

She doesn’t hear from Merlin on the seventh day of his isolation, so she hopes something good has come of it—though, she becomes quite angry when she finds herself worrying a little too much about Merlin’s health. She is still maintaining that she hates him at least a little bit. 

It is on the eighth day that she receives a letter in different handwriting, one that she would recognize in an instant. It is then that she knows Merlin has won.

Morgana,

I’m not going to fill you with pleasantries and falsities about my feelings toward you. Part of me hates you, I think. Merlin says it’s impossible to truly hate someone you love, but sometimes I think you have broken that rule. You could have trusted me, Morgana. I would have never turned you into Uther. Even before I knew you were my sister, I always considered you one. Sure, we argued as siblings do, but I loved you. I still do, even though you betrayed me in possibly every way that matters. 

Merlin says that you have been working out some of your own hatred toward us. I don’t blame you for that, but I wish you would see why I feel the way I do. And even if you said you did and that you forgave us, I cannot say that I wouldn’t have a difficult time trusting that it wasn’t a ploy to harm us when we fully trust you again. You have fooled me too many times already.

Nevertheless, I miss you, Morgana. It took me some time to admit it, but I do want you to come home. Camelot is your home, and it is sorely lacking without you. I wouldn’t hesitate to deem you the rightful title of princess that you deserve should you return home. I’m also willing to make you Court Sorceress if you are interested. 

I don’t know what else to say to you other than that I am sorry. I hate that you turned against me, but Merlin has made me grapple with understanding the reasons why you did. I am trying to come to terms with it. I hope you are too. In the meanwhile, I hope we can avoid war if only for our own sake. 

Your brother always,

Arthur

P.S. I did not kiss that sheep! Or a goat, for that matter! I thought I had killed it and was trying to revive it! Stop spreading lies!

Morgana doesn’t respond immediately to this letter. She spends some time working on the few enchantments that she knows, and finds things for Dorcas and Hubert to do. She receives a report from Albert that Camelot is once again at peace. Then, she has her men prepare lunch as she writes her response.

Arthur,

I never expect you to fill anyone with pleasantries as you are not a pleasant person, nor are you intelligent enough to construct any falsities. A large part of me hates you too. It has taken me some time to realize it, but I think Merlin is right—please don’t tell him I said as much or I fear his head will grow as large as yours. You cannot fully hate someone you love, and you are my brother. I suppose I have to love you if only for that reason.

Even then, how was I supposed to trust you? I had seen you stand by and allow Uther to kill magic users more times than I could count over the years. I can tell that you have seen the error of your ways, but you can’t tell me that your love for Merlin didn’t have a major impact on that. I wonder if you had loved me enough to make the same choice without Merlin to sway you.

I’m trying to understand my own feelings toward you and Merlin. I am doing so for my sake, though. Not yours. I’ve found, over my discussions with Merlin, that hatred festers. I do not think I want to spend the rest of my life filled with it. That doesn’t mean I forgive you. Words are useless things when it comes to apologies. I could apologize a million times, but it would mean nothing to you. And you can apologize to me as many times, and it will mean nothing to me. Actions speak louder than words, brother, and just as you aren’t sure if you can trust me, I am sure that I can’t trust you. Not yet. Maybe someday. But not now. You’ve done nothing to prove me otherwise, especially considering how long you were willing to argue with Merlin about writing to me. He was growing ill, you know? I could tell in his letters how terrible being apart from you was for him, but it took you a week to right your wrong! Another day and I wouldn’t have had to fight for Camelot. It would’ve fallen for me! That is your fault, Arthur. It wouldn’t have happened if you would have just seen reason sooner.

Not that I care for Merlin. I’m just making a statement about your unbearable stubbornness. 

Maybe Camelot could be home for me one day, but we have a long way to go before it becomes as much. But, as I told Merlin, I am willing to try.

Sadly your sister, 

Morgana

P.S. You kissed a sheep, Arthur. I saw it with my own two eyes. Those of which are scarred because of it. I’m not spreading lies as it is nothing but the truth.

And so, they try. 

Trying mostly involves bickering back and forth between letters about whether or not Arthur kissed a sheep and a goat—Merlin and Morgana decide that it must have been both if they remember it both ways, which Arthur is infuriated about. But it also includes feelings and emotions, things of which Uther would be disgusted. That only makes it better, but no less difficult. Morgana finds that the roof of her hut is leaky in several places as she writes these letters. She has Hubert and Dorcas repairing it daily. 

Then, Arthur goes missing. Most of the letters she writes are to Merlin as he is best at keeping up their back and forth. Sometimes Arthur takes a few days to respond so she doesn’t worry when she doesn’t hear from him. Merlin, on the other hand, takes time out of his days—which she has come to find are quite busy—to write her back once or twice. Sometimes more than that. So, when she doesn’t hear from him for two days, she grows—secretly—worried. She receives a hasty reply on the third day that he has set out to find a sorcerer named Wispy who has kidnapped Arthur and the other knights.

It is by the end of the night that she receives a letter confirming his safety—though she never doubted Merlin’s capabilities. That night, she lies in bed and questions why she felt so…scared isn’t the right word. She supposes she was concerned. And maybe a little scared. It was that same feeling she used to get whenever Uther sent Arthur on some ridiculously dangerous quest for no reason other than to prove his worthiness for the umpteenth time. Sometimes, she wondered if Uther wanted him to die. He was certainly careless with his son’s life more often than not. 

Things go back to normal after that. Arthur writes to her about how Mordred is doing and she learns that Merlin is forging a better relationship with him. Apparently, it was him that convinced Arthur to stop being an arse when Merlin had locked himself in his room. Mordred was always a kind soul. She is not surprised that he cares so much for Merlin, even if Merlin has not trusted him since the day he entered Camelot as nothing more than a child. She understands why Merlin feels the way he does. Prophecies are so intertwined with magic that it makes it difficult to ignore them, but she is glad he is giving Mordred a chance.

Then, Merlin goes missing. 

She notices something is wrong on the first day. She tries to send her letter to Merlin, only for it to pop up right back in front of her. At first, she grows angry. Maybe he has decided to forsake her after all. Then, she realizes that she is thinking irrationally. Nothing in their previous letters indicates that Merlin would stop writing to her. She tries five more times before she decides to write to Arthur instead. The letter is sent to him without a problem, but she doesn’t receive an immediate response. Then, she realizes that Arthur doesn’t have magic. Mordred is just a beginner, and the spell is a bit complicated. He likely can’t send her anything. So, if something is wrong with Merlin, if he for some reason is not with Arthur, Arthur has no way to communicate with her. 

She isn’t far from Camelot. Her location is about a day’s ride, but she doesn’t think they know where she is. She doesn’t want to send someone yet. It could be nothing. But she can’t think of a reason why Merlin wouldn’t be able to receive her letters. 

On the fifth day, two knights from Camelot arrive. It is Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival. The look on their faces tells Morgana enough that she isn’t even concerned that Arthur and Merlin must have known where she is all along. 

Hubert, Dorcas, and a few other men form a blockade between the knights and Morgana. Hubert knows about her correspondence with Merlin and Arthur. She may or may not have vented to him one evening when she had a little bit too much wine.

“Halt!” Hubert shouts.

Gwaine and Percival stop their horses. “We come bearing a letter from King Arthur of Camelot for Lady Morgana,” Gwaine says. 

“We mean her no harm,” Percival adds. Both men look as though they have not slept in many nights. Their hair is hazardous. Their eyes have many bags under them. Gwaine’s eyes aren’t steady though. He is scouring the entire camp as if looking for something.

“I shall receive the letter,” Morgana says, stepping between her knights. 

Gwaine steps forward with the letter. “Do you have him?” he asks when he’s close enough to her that only she can hear him. “Arthur says you have been working on peaceful terms, but if you have him—”

“If you’re referring to Merlin, I haven’t a clue where he is,” she says, her heart beating slightly faster. She can’t be offended that he would ask such a question. She has kidnapped Merlin multiple times in the past. This time, though, it was not her. She doesn’t know who was involved. She doesn’t know anything. “I’ve been trying to reach him with my letters for days to no avail. I do not have him, Sir Gwaine.”

Gwaine stares at her for a moment longer. Whatever he finds must be good enough because he nods and steps back. She opens the letter.

Morgana, 

Merlin is missing. He went to retrieve some herbs for Gaius by himself—which I’ve told him many times not to do—and we have not seen him since. Mordred cannot contact him through their mental connection. I have knights searching everywhere and, I, myself, have searched the surrounding area to no avail. 

I know Gwaine has probably already asked and that we are on tentatively peaceful terms, but you cannot blame me for asking: Do you know where he is? I’ve searched everywhere I could think of before asking this of you because I hope our truce is true. But you have fooled me before, Morgana. I’m hopeful that you haven’t again. If you haven’t, then I should tell you that Gaius believes that if Mordred can’t reach him, your letters won’t be able to either. Merlin has never been unable to contact me for more than two days. It is going on four as I write this. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, please notify me. 

I can’t find him, Morgana. I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this without him. 

Arthur

Morgana stares at the letter. If Mordred cannot speak to Merlin and her letters can’t reach them…No, it mustn't be. Merlin survived a serket sting, for Goddess’s sake. Surely, he can’t be…no. He isn’t. He just hasn’t been able to escape yet. 

She closes the letter. “I’ll pen my response to him and deliver it immediately. If you’d like to search the grounds for your sake of mind, there will be no harm done to you. I understand the concern given our tentative relationship.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Percival says before he and Gwaine set out to search the few huts in the area. Most of her men take turns staying in the huts and sleeping in the tents. She waits until they are far enough away. 

“Dorcas, Hubert, follow me.” She leads them into her hut and closes the door. She keeps her voice low as she speaks. Some of the men at this camp would not be pleased with her tentative truce with Camelot. If she returns to Camelot—not that anything is official yet—she has certain men that she trusts whom she will bring with her. There are quite a few stragglers that she plans to leave behind. Luckily, most of them are hunting today, so they won’t question the Camelot knights checking their tents. “The two of you are to search the area for any sign of Merlin. I want no stone unturned. Start within a radius of a half day's ride. You don’t need to cover the grounds between us and Camelot. I’m sure their knights will do so if they haven’t already. I want you to expand further from Camelot. Check everywhere. If you find him, bring him to me unharmed. Am I clear?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“And I want you to make it clear to our outer ranks that we are still at odds with Camelot. I don’t want them to turn on us if we make our position clear too early.”

Hubert clears his throat. “What is our position, m’lady?”

Morgana purses her lips. “I don’t know yet. We have reached a tentative truce, though. Take Albert and Timothy with you. Report back to me every other night. We’ll extend the search further if necessary.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

They disappear out the door, leaving Morgana by herself. She didn’t tell them that she doubts there will be a Camelot to return to if they can’t find Merlin. If Morgana had heard this news a few months ago, she would have been thrilled. This would be the perfect time to attack Camelot. Arthur is undoubtedly frantic. The kingdom, itself, is probably a mess. In the letters from Arthur, he has told her how much the people love Merlin. She can’t imagine any part of the kingdom is currently running smoothly without him. If she had heard this news a few months ago, she would have attacked. She would have killed Arthur the moment she had him in sight. Now, she only hopes that Merlin is safe. She can admit that she has started to view him as a friend again. She has missed having friends. And family. She’ll lose both again if he is not found.

She grabs a piece of parchment and writes her response to Arthur.

Arthur,

I don’t know where Merlin is. I’ve been trying to send a letter every day to no avail. I wish I had more information for you. I’ll do my best to help you locate him. I’ve sent a few men into the surrounding area to see if they can find him or any knowledge of his whereabouts. 

I know you are scared, but please be careful. Merlin would not want you to do something stupid. He would want you to be smart about this and to stay safe. I’ll update you if I find anything. Wherever he is, he must be okay. Merlin has survived far more than anyone—even me—could. He’ll be okay. So will you.

Morgana

* * *

On the eighth day of Merlin being missing, Morgana joins the search. She is sure one of these idiots, which includes Arthur and his knights, must have missed something. So, she decided if she needs something to be done right, she is going to do it herself. 

On the twelfth day, she extends the search further. She keeps some men back at the camp and goes with the others into the caves a day’s ride away. She has already searched everywhere else. The woods. Nearby towns. The mountains. She doesn’t know what else to do.

On the fifteenth day, she returns to camp to restock. She still has hope of finding Merlin. Giving up would mean he is dead. And he is not dead.

Gwaine and Percival are waiting for her. This is their third visit. The second time, they brought her another letter from Arthur and the news that he was faring poorly. Once again, Morgana can tell that the news they bring is not good.

Dorcas tells her they arrived a few hours before she did.

“Lady Morgana,” Gwaine greets, his tone flat. He looks as though he has lost some weight. “The King wishes for you to return to Camelot as soon as possible.”

“Why?” Morgana says because it surely can’t be due to Merlin being found. Gwaine would have led with that. 

“He’s not faring well,” Gwaine says. “The search for Merlin continues, but he wishes to see you.” Gwaine sighs. “I think it’s some sort of last wish of his to see you. He’s all but given up on the kingdom. Other people are doing most of the running of it while he searches for Merlin in the middle of the night. I think he plans to name Leon as his successor. While you would technically be next in line if you had been regranted your title, you haven’t and the people will not trust you. I think he just wants to see you before he vanishes into the night on a lifelong search to find Merlin.”

“So he has given up?” she says.

“On the kingdom. On himself. He’ll never give up on Merlin, though.”

“What do you think?” she asks. “Do you think he is…dead?” A flash of pain appears in Gwaine’s eyes. She can sympathize. She feels the exact pain as she speaks the words.

“I hope not,” he says. “I pray every night that he is not. Merlin is strong…stronger than anyone else I know. And he is my best friend. I will not give up hope on him. None of us will.”

Morgana squares her shoulders. “Then neither will I. I’ll be returning to my search. As will you and the rest of the knights.”

The smallest of smiles graces Gwaine’s lips, and she knows she has done something right for the first time in maybe a long time. “Of course, m’lady. You’ll be returning soon, though, won’t you?”

She cocks her head. “Only when the king and queen are both there to greet me. A princess deserves a grand welcome, after all.”

“That she does.” She watches them ride into the trees before returning to her hut.

Arthur,

I’ve thought many things of you over the years. I’ve thought you were an idiot (you still are), a stubborn prick, a traitorous arsehole, a spineless coward (mostly when it came to Uther), a besotted fool (for Merlin, of course), and many other things. I assure you, the list could go on forever. But I have never thought of you as a quitter. Once you set your sights on something, you never give up. So why are you now?

I’m not returning home just to be welcomed to your pity fest. Pull your shit together. You are the King of Camelot. Start acting like it. Your kingdom needs you. Your queen needs you. The next time I see you, it will be a grand feast dedicated in my honor with Merlin at your side. Until then, I’m not going to give up. There are many things we Pendragons can be called, but quitters is not one of them. 

Morgana

On the nineteenth day, she receives word from Martin that Merlin is in Powys. Naturally, that is the exact opposite direction of where they were searching. Arthur will be entering the kingdom with an army. Morgana takes a breath of relief. When Hubert hugs her, she doesn’t fling him into a tree with her magic.

On the twenty-fifth day, she receives a letter from a handwriting that she feared she would never see again.

Morgana,

Arthur and Gwaine tell me that you helped search for me. Thank you. With all my heart. It means the world that you did so. It means even more that you tried to whip Arthur into shape for me. He tells me you wrote him a nasty letter telling him to pull himself together. I’m glad. Someone needed to do it. If it couldn’t be me, I’m glad it was you. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for not giving up on Arthur. Thank you for caring.

To be honest, I didn’t know if we would ever reach this point. I didn’t know if we could. I hoped. I hoped so very much, but I was always afraid that your hate for me was too strong. I’m glad it wasn’t. I’m glad you are my friend again. I have missed you so very much. 

Will you return home soon? I swear we will have only the grandest feast for your return. 

Your forever friend,

Merlin

On the twenty-fifth day, Morgana decides that it is time to go home. 

Queen Merlin,

I will be home soon, but there are some things I need to do first. In the meantime, you can tell me why you were taken by Powys. I have not heard much other than your location.

Your forever friend,

Princess Morgana

And so, Morgana begins to purge her ranks. She rids her camp of the men she can’t trust. It takes some time, but soon she is left with only six men that she trusts unconditionally. A condition of her return is that they are to be made knights. There are a few other conditions, of course, but that was an important one.

She keeps in touch with Merlin and, occasionally, Arthur, throughout it all. A week before her return, Merlin tells her that she missed Mordred annihilating Gwaine in a duel. She laments not being there to witness it. He also tells her about his and Arthur’s engagement. She can’t wait to help Gwen plan the wedding. She can’t wait to see Gwen. And Gaius. And Sir Leon, who she grew up around. And Gwaine, who she has grown a bit fond of since their last encounter. Percival too. And Mordred, of course. She has missed him terribly. She has to threaten Lancelot too. If he breaks Gwen’s heart, she will break him. And a new knight named Karl, who apparently Mordred has fallen in love with. She will have to threaten him as well. 

She can’t wait to see Arthur and Merlin. It’s been so long since they’ve been on friendly terms that she doesn’t know what to do or say. But her heart is filled with hope thinking of seeing them again. Her friends. Her family.

It is sunny the day she enters the gates of Camelot. Her men follow behind her on horses. A crowd surrounds the entrance. At first, she fears they will jeer at her or throw rotten fruit. Instead, it is rather silent as she enters. They stare at her as if unsure of what to do with her. She is only slightly perturbed until she sees Merlin, smiling brightly at the castle’s entrance, where most of the crowd has gathered. Arthur is there too, of course, but Merlin’s smile is so bright that it is hard to look elsewhere.

Hubert helps her off her horse. The sound of her boots seems to be the only noise as she takes a few steps forward. Merlin cocks his head as their eyes meet, his smile never waning. He seems to be waiting for Morgana to make the first move.

She does.

She is running before she realizes it, right into Merlin’s waiting arms. He spins her around, and she lets out the most carefree laugh she has had since she was a child. When he sets her on the ground, he still doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” she says. It’s the first time she has said that. Never in any letters did she say the words. She had refused, at first, to ever make an apology to him. She realizes, though, that she is sorry. She made mistakes, but she is fixing them. She is proud of that.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I’m glad you're home, ‘gana. We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. More than you will ever know.” She hugs him tighter. “Thank you. For never giving up on me. For…for always remaining my friend. Even when I did not deserve it. I will never be able to thank you enough, Merlin.”

Merlin pulls away and wipes a tear from her face. It is then that she realizes she is crying. It is not raining, and there is no leaky roof, so surely it must be tears that are descending down her face.

“You always deserved it. You always will. Don’t forget that, ‘gana. You deserve to be happy. I hope you can find that in Camelot with us.”

“Don’t be silly, Merlin. Of course, I will. You are my family. This is right where I need to be.” She didn’t think it was possible for his smile to grow wider. She is glad it is because of her.

She turns to Arthur, who is waiting patiently for his turn, and punches him on the shoulder.

“Ow!” he says, rubbing his shoulder. “He gets a hug, but I get punched?”

Morgana narrows her eyes. “That’s what you get for acting like a quitter! If you ever give up on your kingdom again, I will do far worse than that.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I would expect no less, ‘gana. Now, do I get a hug or what?”

Morgana is tempted to say “what,” instead she pulls him into a hug and whispers, “I’ve missed you, brother.”

Arthur’s shoulders relax as he whispers, “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re home, Morgana. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“You are very lucky,” she says, “to have someone like Merlin. Don’t you dare ruin that.”

“I would never,” he says, and she just knows that he is looking at Merlin with those ridiculous lovestruck eyes.

Gwen is next. She starts crying again and hopes she will not be judged for it. She rarely cried in front of people before everything happened. She doesn’t wish to be considered weak for it. But emotions aren’t weak. And she hasn’t seen her family on good terms in years. And Uther is no longer here to tell her how to act—to pretend to be someone else. She can be herself now, whoever that may be. 

As she receives hugs left and right and Arthur announces to the kingdom that she’ll officially be granted the title of princess, only for them to cheer in return rather than remain silent, she thinks that finally, she is happy. Finally, she is at peace. 

The sun shines above them, casting a golden light above the kingdom, and it makes her realize that this is what Merlin has been talking about. The Golden Age of Albion. In that moment, she knows it has finally begun. And they will experience it together.

* * * 

“No! I’m not doing it, Merlin, and you can’t make me!”

“It was one of her few conditions—”

“Few?! She sent an entire list! And don’t think I don’t know that you convinced her to add blueberries being allowed into the castle again to the list! I know you did it, Merlin! I know—”

“How dare you accuse me of that! It’s not my fault Morgana loves blueberries, Arthur!”

“Do you really think I can’t tell when you are lying out of your—”

“Finish that sentence, Arthur. I dare you.”

Arthur glares at Merlin. 

Merlin glares back. “You promised. It was on her condition list.”

“I am a king, Merlin. She can’t—”

“Kings don’t break their promises, Arthur. And you promised.”

Arthur glares at Merlin.

Merlin glares back.

Arthur huffs. “Do I really have to?”

“Yes, it was one of her conditions, and she is already waiting for you. I have prepared everything.” 

“Of course you have! You’re going to get a kick out of this, and it really isn’t fair to—”

“Shut up, Arthur.” He pulls Arthur down the hall, into the extra ballroom where all their friends are waiting for them. 

“Wait!” Arthur shouts, digging his heels into the floor. “You said it would just be you and Morgana in a private room!”

“No,” Gwaine says, his feet kicked up on a table in the corner. “He said you would be in a private room, but he never said who would be in it. And if you think we’ll be missing this, princess, you have another thing coming to you.”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s just our inner circle, Arthur. They’ve seen you in far worse scenarios.”

“Karl hasn’t!”

“I was there for the incident with Lady Applebee.”

“Shut up, Karl!”

“Don’t be mean to Karl,” Merlin says, “or he gets to take a turn after Morgana.”

“There are no turns! Morgana gets five shots—”

“Ten!”

“Why are you defending her, Merlin? If anything, you should be up there too!”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Merlin wrote to me all the time. We made up our differences. Your letters were lacking. There is still some residual anger. This will help.”

Arthur frowns. “I am the king! I was busy—”

“And Merlin is the queen, your manservant, head of the household, Court Sorcerer, and occasionally Gauis's apprentice. Quite frankly, you overwork him, Arthur. It is absolutely ridiculous how busy he is. Yet, he still found time to write to me several times a day, while I received short responses from you that Merlin had to remind you to write.”  

“I don’t overwork him! He—”

Merlin shoves him. “Get up there, Arthur. The sooner you do, the sooner it’s over.”

“Yes, brother,” Morgana says, a maniacal grin on her face as she takes a spot next to a bowl of rotten fruit and vegetables. “Do hurry, you are wasting time. Mordred and I have a magic practice with Merlin after this. I’d hate to cut into that. Especially considering Merlin’s hectic schedule.”

If they didn’t know it, they would think Arthur was heading to the pyre. Instead, he is led to the stocks set up in the middle of the room. He grumbles the entire time as his head and arms are locked in place. 

“This is ridiculous,” he shouts when Merlin steps away. “I am the King of—” The first plum splatters in his face. 

“Excellent throw, Princess Morgana!” Gwaine shouts. 

Morgana grins triumphantly. “Thank you, Sir Gwaine!”

“I hate you all!” Arthur shouts as a rotten cabbage is thrown at him. A piece of cabbage sticks in his hair.

Merlin laughs hysterically. 

Morgana mocks him as she throws each item, reaching her target almost every time. Arthur looks like the bottom of a stew pot when she runs out. 

“You’re out! Now get me out of here this instant!”

“I’m not finished yet, you cabbagehead!” she yells as she reaches beneath the table and pulls out another bowl. 

“You tell him!” Merlin shouts. 

She grins at Merlin, a twinkle in her eye that he has missed greatly. She picks up a rotten apple and holds it out for Merlin. “Would you like to throw one, my Queen?”

“Don’t you dare take that apple, Merlin!” Arthur yells. 

Gwaine starts chanting. “Do it! Do it!” And soon, almost the whole room has joined in. 

“Merlin, don’t you—”

Merlin dares. Merlin always dares.

He takes the apple and makes eye contact with Arthur before throwing the apple at him. He doesn’t throw it very hard in his defense. It’s soft enough that it squashes across his cheek. “That’s for all the times you put me in the stocks!”

“You deserved it! You were a terrible manservant!”

He throws a plum. “And you were a dollophead the entire time! You still are!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” He picks up a spoiled potato. “And this is for banning blueberries!”

“You are allergic!”

“And this is for calling me a cheater!”

“You used magic with Mordred—”

“Prove it! And this is for the Queenly rules I have to follow!”

“They keep you—”

“And this is for the cow!”

“The cow was your fault!”

“And this one is for the cow too!”

“When I get out of here, I’m going to strangle you!”

“I’d like to see you try!” He throws another apple. 

“Do another one for the blueberries!” Lancelot shouts.

Arthur gasps. “I thought you were loyal, Lancelot?”

Lancelot shakes his fist. “You took away our blueberry pie!”

“Yeah!” Merlin shouts. “This one is for the blueberry pie!”

“It was part of Morgana’s condition to bring it back because of you, you menace! I’m pretty sure half of those conditions were yours!”

“I have no clue what you are talking about, Arthur,” Morgana says, though the look on her face says otherwise. “Those were purely my conditions. They had nothing to do with Merlin.”

“Yeah!” Merlin shouts again and throws a cabbage. He takes a deep breath and looks at Morgana. “I feel a lot better now.”

“Don’t you? It’s very therapeutic. Maybe we should make this a recurrence. It might help keep things…peaceful around here.”

Merlin taps his chin and dutifully ignores Arthur’s cursing in the background. “You aren’t wrong, Princess Morgana. Shall we continue?”

“We shall.”

“And this one is for the sheep!”

“Merlin!”

And this time, they truly lived happily ever after because they finally reached the Golden Age of Camelot. Not through war and death but through a few letters, plenty of apologies, and by putting the king in the stocks. Did you honestly expect any less of Camelot?