Archive of Our Own ^beta

A thick layer of fog covered the valley. The Druid leader, a shadowy figure in the mist, drew back the drapes of her hood. Black tresses tumbled over her shoulders. Her eyes, a piercing green, seemed to glow with some otherworldly power.

“This is it,” she said to her group of misfits, letting her gaze wander over each of them in turn. The Sorcerer, willowy and slim and so deceptive; the Barbarian, hulking and broad; the Paladin, holding his sword with dignity and conviction like it was a holy cross; and the Rogue Thief, sly and shifty and impossible to pin down.

She smiled. “This is the day we’ve been waiting for. The day we will have revenge.”

They didn’t dare cheer, not standing in the dark castle’s shadow where any wrong move spelled death, but they lifted their weapons with grim satisfaction.

Silently, they crept after the Druid, letting her lead the way through the mist. They followed her down along the moat, stepping past grime and smile and creatures lurking in the muddy waters, hugging the castle’s towering walls until they came to a secret entrance; a door reinforced with heavy iron bolts and protected by a fearsome guard.

Just one guard, yes, but frightening nonetheless, with sharp fangs and vicious claws and a stink that hovered all around him. He hefted his weapon when he saw them, unimpressed by their presence, and showed all his teeth.

“You can turn tail and run back to wherever you came from,” he said, snarling, “or I can kill you.”

The Druid squared her shoulders. She could feel the Barbarian at her back, readying a battleaxe. Either one of them could take this guard down, she had no doubt about that.

But it was the Sorcerer who stepped forward, sweeping back his hood to reveal the golden glow of his eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Very smooth,” Morgana said, expression caught halfway between an eye roll and a smile.

“That’s me,” Merlin agreed cheerfully. He glanced over at Arthur behind his dungeon master screen, leafing through his Monster Manual. “What do I have to roll, oh omniscient DM?”

Arthur peered at him. “You’re going to use that staff you took from the Sidhe king, aren’t you?” When Merlin nodded, he started muttering under his breath, flipping through his books. “Give me a second.”

“He’s not very omniscient, I think,” Morgana snipped, earning herself a glare.

“If Merlin didn’t keep improvising shit…” Arthur muttered.

It was a rant Merlin was well familiar with, so he didn’t feel bad tuning it out, glancing around the table instead. The Pendragon’s basement was well familiar at this point considering they spent just about every Saturday evening here, spreading papers and dice pouches and Arthur’s various handbooks over what had used to be Arthur and Morgana’s arts and crafts table. The playroom was entirely at odds with the rest of the house. Whereas the entire upstairs was decorated in tasteful creams and whites and exposed wood, with expensive sofas that were as intimidating as they were comfortable, and even Arthur and Morgana’s rooms were, while personalized, neat and color-coordinated, the basement was just a basement. The walls were bare concrete, with storage racks against the walls and plastic tubs stacked high in the darkness; the staircase untreated wood and the lighting a single bulb covered by a dusty lampshade, an old sofa pushed against one wall.

Sometimes, Merlin suspected that that was why they came down here to play, rather than staying in one of the Pendragon siblings’ bedrooms; giant suites with separate bathrooms and four-poster-beds that were as big as Merlin’s entire kitchen back home. The basement playroom was the only room in the entire house that felt like a normal, lived-in space rather than something out of a magazine, and Merlin figured he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the cozy normalcy.

Also, this was the one place in this house where he didn’t get yelled at when he dropped something, so there.

“Arthur,” Morgana said, with an edge.

Merlin looked up. She didn’t usually get annoyed this quickly. And she wasn’t the only one acting weird. Sure, Percy watched from his usual dark corner on Arthur’s other side, silent as always, but next to him, Lance seemed poised at the edge of his seat, studying the map spread out on the table with an intensity it definitely did not deserve.

Morgana’s character sheet probably also didn’t deserve her glare.

At the foot of the table, Gwen sat delicately perched between them, smoothing out her favorite yellow skirt. She smiled nervously at Morgana, but Morgana didn’t smile back.

Gwen frowned.

Merlin frowned, too.

“Got it!” Arthur came up for air, golden hair glinting in the light. “2D6.”

“Right.” Merlin emptied his pouch. Dice spilled everywhere, clattering across the table, unimpressed by Merlin’s frantic attempts to herd them back together. “Shit.”

“Merlin!” Morgana flinched away, hands raised, while Merlin’s D8 and D4 disappeared somewhere between her seat cushion and her very skinny jeans. Merlin knew better than to try to dig them out. She’d probably kill him for it, and Arthur would never let him live it down.

Instead, while she shifted delicately, he bent down to pick up his twenty-sided die where it had come to rest by his shoe. Lance handed him one D6 with a sympathetic smile. Merlin couldn’t see the other anywhere, but Arthur’s dice pouch was right there. He probably had more D6 than he knew what to do with.

Seeing his speculative look, Arthur snatched the bag away. “These are cubic zirconia,” he said, glaring. “Use your own.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. His dice were the average plastic kind, the cheapest ones you could get at the games store. A couple of the corners had worn down with use. Some of the dots had faded. They looked cheap, especially when Percy flicked his missing die over, sending it clattering against Arthur’s fancy-shmancy shiny dice. Still rolled fine, though; his 2D6 landing on a 5 and a 6 as if they were feeling just as spiteful as Merlin.

“I kill the stinking, vicious dungeon guard,” he said, taking care to sound bored. “Can we open the door now?”

The gate creaked open with an unsettling whine. Beyond it, the path led sharply downwards, quickly swallowed by darkness. A damp, musty smell filled their nostrils, carrying with it the scent of underground water and earth and decay.

The Druid stood, her cloak billowing around her. She had waited for this day for so long – the day she would finally be strong enough, able enough, with a powerful party of allies at her back. The day she would invade the towering castle, with its unbreakable walls and skeletal spires, and have her vengeance.

They descended in silence. The Sorcerer used his magic to illuminate the way, blue light flickering over the tunnel’s wall. They made their way over rough boulders and slick stones, climbing down ancient ropes and tiptoeing on worn planks across the blackest abyss.

“I didn’t think we’d all make it,” the Paladin admitted when they had all reached the other side.

Uneasy laughter made its way around the group, because yes, that had been too easy. The chasm went down far as the eye could see, disappearing into the blackness of the tunnel’s eternal night – who knew what lurked down there in the darkness?

And they were right to be worried, because they had only just realized that the path had ended on a small plateau, facing only sheer, unyielding cliff, when it emerged, silently and deadly, from the darkness: A swarm of Balorian spiders.

“Oh God,” the Barbarian said. “Oh God, gross, gross, gross.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be tough?” the Thief asked, smirking.

“Excuse you,” the Barbarian said. “We are talking swarm of deadly spiders here, alright? Sometimes being tough means admitting that something is scary. Not that I’m saying you’re not tough, you know, just because you’re not impressed by hundreds of spiders climbing up out of the darkness, I’m just saying that sometimes, it takes more strength to be honest about yourself and your feelings and not just bottling them all up inside and pretending like they’re not happening –”

“Gwen, you’re breaking character.”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Gwen took a deep breath and shot Arthur an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

With a flash of his golden eyes, the Sorcerer summoned another, larger ball of light, letting it hover above the spiders. Accustomed to darkness, they hesitated in their approach. “We have to go,” he said. “Quickly.”

“Why?” the Druid asked, frowning. “Let’s just kill them and call it a day.”

“No, don’t –” the Paladin hissed, but it was too late. The Druid brought down her scimitar, teeth bared, squashing the nearest spider into the rock.

The swarm drew back, but only for a moment. Then it surged forward with a vengeance, forcing the adventurers to scramble up the walls and out of reach.

“Oh blergh,” the Barbarian said, even while hoisting the Druid upwards, away from those skittering legs. “God, see, this is what I mean. We could have tried to get out peacefully but just because someone had to be tough and force a confrontation, now we’re all running for our lives, when really what we should be doing is having a good, hard, honest look at ourselves –”

“Gwen.”

Huffing, the Barbarian fell silent.

The Sorcerer let his light shine brightly, forcing the spiders back into the shadows. “Come on,” he called. “We need to find a way out. This won’t hold them back forever.”

And sure enough, the bravest of the spiders were flitting nearer, closer and ever closer to the light. They didn’t dare to come into the blueish gleam just yet, but dozens of them were gathering just beyond, and it was sure to only be a matter of time.

“There!” the Paladin called, pointing upwards. A dozen feet above them, almost invisible in the rock face, a narrow tunnel had been carved into the cliff. The Thief, small and light and used to scaling even the steepest walls, scrambled up first. The Paladin went next, reluctantly, but the Druid following right behind him with her scimitar between her teeth hurried him along. Fourth in line, the Sorcerer climbed slowly, helped along by the Barbarian but hindered by the magic light he controlled with one hand.

As the light retreated, the spiders neared.

“Go!” the Barbarian bellowed, flexing a muscled arm and all but heaving the Sorcerer into the narrow opening. But with the Sorcerer gone, so was the light, and no matter how quickly the Barbarian climbed, a broad, heavy body is no match against a cavern spider. Sweat beaded on the Barbarian’s brow. Bags thwapped heavily against back and thighs. And still the spiders skittered closer, and closer, drawing level with the Barbarian’s toes, and boot shafts, and sinking their fangs into the Barbarian’s leg.

“Shit,” Gwen muttered.

“No re-rolls,” Arthur reminded them all, unnecessarily. He was a staunch believer in living with whatever hand life dealt you (possibly because life tended to deal him winning hands) and he was the only DM Merlin had ever encountered who would spend twenty minutes creeping around under the table searching for a set of dice in the darkness instead of just rolling a second time.

“I know, I know.” Frowning, Gwen scribbled on her sheet. “So I have only one hit point left, guys.”

To either side of her, Morgana and Lance frowned, then looked away.

Merlin sure loved it when half their party started suddenly acting weird.

To hide his exasperation at the lot of them, he dropped his head in his hand, doodling on the side of his character sheet while Lancelot scouted out a way out of the tunnel. Gwen beamed at him when he found one, then turned red and wrung her hands together.

Merlin wanted to roll his eyes so badly it almost hurt.

Something nudged his leg under the table. When he looked down, it was Arthur’s knee, and when he glanced over, Arthur’s face was a conspiring look at these idiots.

Merlin huffed a laugh, despite it all.

All business again, Arthur turned to the other side of the table. “Okay, Mr Paladin, you’ve gotten the party away from the spiders. And you’ve found the last guy attempting to come through here who wasn’t so lucky. Perce, I’m assuming you’ll want to steal the dead guy’s valuables?”

Percy nodded, earning himself a knife, some food, and a healing potion that he pocketed gleefully.

“Hey!” Gwen protested. “I could have used that.”

“Sorry,” Percy said, not sounding sorry at all.

Arthur sighed, quietly. He looked around the table, gaze lingering on Merlin for just a moment, and said:

The narrow tunnel led them further downwards, the Sorcerer’s light floating ahead, the Barbarian limping behind. It ended in a small, locked door – one that was no match for the Thief’s unique skills – which opened into a room. A chest stood to one side. While the Barbarian and the Druid took to inspecting what they hoped to be treasure, the Sorcerer and the Thief peered at the two doors leading out of the room – one to the left, the other to the right. It was the Paladin who spotted the control panel between the two, with one lever on each side, leaving him with a simple, yet difficult choice.

“The left one,” Morgana said decisively.

Arthur turned to look at Merlin. “It’s Lance’s decision,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. Out of all of them, Arthur was the most well-versed in Morgana’s moods, and it was rare for him to take someone else’s side over hers so publicly. Maybe he was also starting to grow tired of her attitude.

Merlin smiled back.

“The right one,” Lance said.

Morgana huffed.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder though his body was slow to follow, staying turned towards Merlin for a moment longer, like he was a flower and Merlin the sun. It made Merlin feel warm all over.

“You sure?” he asked.

Lance’s gaze flickered towards Gwen, who kept her eyes resolutely fixed on her lap. He didn’t look at Morgana. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Arthur flicked a page in his notes. He rubbed at his eye. “An iron grate crashes down, separating your party – the Druid and the Barbarian to one side, where they have been trying to open the chest, the Sorcerer and the Thief on the other. When the dust settles, you can see that it has embedded itself into the ground, impossible to move.”

The glare Morgana shot at Lance was deadly. “Nice going, asshole.”

“Morgana!” Arthur looked as surprised as Merlin felt. Sure, Morgana was known to have a sharp tongue, but she was usually less crude than that. Also, she didn’t usually take her temper out on people who weren’t her family members.

“What?” She turned her glare on Arthur. “Everybody knows you never split the party.”

Lance crossed his arms, uncharacteristically mulish. “It’s not like I knew what would happen,” he muttered. “And neither did you, so stop acting like it.”

“I said to pull the left lever,” Morgana hissed. “I literally told you so.”

“Then when it’s your turn, you can choose left.” Lance didn’t raise his voice, he never did, but there was a steep frown line between his brows. “And when it’s my turn, then I get to choose what I want, and you don’t get to yell at me when I want something you don’t want, and you don’t get to yell at me when I want something you do.”

Gwen flinched.

Morgana opened her mouth to say something else, but Arthur interrupted her, voice stern. “The Paladin, in the middle of the room, needs to jump to the side. Which way are you going, left or right?”

Lance glanced around the table. He made eye contact with Merlin, just for a moment. When Merlin shrugged one shoulder, smiling, Lance looked at Gwen again. “Left,” he said quietly.

Arthur spoke over Morgana’s huff, saying, “Okay, roll, please,” but Lance made the jump easily. He shifted his chair towards Gwen and Morgana, just an inch, obviously aware of Gwen’s stiff shoulders and Morgana’s barely contained temper. He didn’t look at either of them.

“Never split the party,” Morgana grumbled. “How are we going to find the treasure now? And who’s going to keep an eye on that damned Thief, ey?” she snapped, gesturing at Percy.

“I’m with Percy, aren’t I?” Merlin kept his tone soothing and light. Even if what he really wanted to do was bitch right back at her. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t make off with any treasure.”

Across the table, Percy smiled a wicked smile, and Merlin had to remind himself that the Thief Percy was playing wasn’t actually twice his size and on the rugby team. Percy’s character wouldn’t be able to clobber him into the concrete just because Percy could.

“Fine!” Morgana crossed her arms. “Fine. Me and Gwen and Lance are taking this one stupid door option that we have, then, and you and Percy can go do whatever.” She huffed.

Half-hidden behind his screen, Arthur rolled his eyes. When Merlin caught his gaze, he sighed, silent, his frustration displayed for Merlin and Merlin alone. Merlin shot back a sympathetic smile, ignoring the way his insides fluttered at the casualness with which Arthur allowed him in.

Their group split in two, the Druid and her companions opened their door to another tunnel and continued to descend. Around them, the air grew damper, heavier, mosses growing on the craggy rock of the tunnels. And, they realized with some trepidation, they were not alone: Sounds echoed up from the darkness – the scratching and wheezing of those most terrifying of underground creatures, the dreaded Wilddeoren.

“Wait, wait, I remember that,” said the Sorcerer. “D’you remember when we were at that tavern like, two weeks ago? The innkeeper gave me those berries that she said would help in my darkest hour, or something? It’s dark now.”

“I think the innkeeper just had a crush you,” the Paladin said, smiling.

The Druid rolled her eyes. “Oh, the innkeeper, definitely just the innkeeper,” but she fell silent when the Barbarian elbowed her. Coming from a Barbarian, it nearly knocked her into a wall.

“Anyway, I gave those berries to the Druid,” the Sorcerer said, trying not to let on that he was blushing. “You could use them to cover your scent.”

They did, reluctantly. Smeared with the red, pungent juices of the gifted Gaia berries, the Druid, the Barbarian, and the Paladin ventured farther into the darkness, towards the snuffling and scraping coming from below. The Wilddeoren were waiting for them. They just had to hope that the berries would work.

Arthur was still bent over his papers, calculating, when the basement door opened. Uther’s shadow fell imposingly down the stairs and across their table. Merlin couldn’t help tensing; Uther was just that kind of person. He wasn’t nasty or vicious or anything abusive like that, but there was just something about the way he carried himself that always made Merlin feel like some kind of lesser creature.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Just about everyone around the table had stiffened, even Percy, who was unfazed by just about everything, and Morgana. The only one who wasn’t bothered was Arthur, who sat up a little straighter but didn’t otherwise seem to feel threatened by his I-wear-suits-and-ties-in-my-free-time father.

“Yes, Dad?” he asked.

Uther took a single step down the stairs. Merlin felt the full weight of the man’s stare as he took in their little group, all huddled around a basement table littered with papers and dice and books. His mouth twisted. “Must you carry on with these ridiculous games?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Arthur said. “It’s fu – it’s teaching strategy. And organizational skills. And math!” He waved a sheet of numbers. Under his breath, he muttered, just loud enough for Merlin to hear but hidden from his father’s stern eye by his screen, “And you said it was okay, so…”

Merlin glanced around. Gwen and Lance sat with their backs to the steep staircase, rigid and unwilling to twist around. Despite his size, Percy somehow managed to blend into the dark of the basement beyond the lightbulb’s glow, while Morgana sat like there was a spotlight shining right in her face, pale and stiff and her jaw tight.

She tensed even more when her father’s eye settled on her. Merlin could feel the clench of her hands all the way over, and he could see Uther’s mouth open, disapproving stare fixed on his daughter, and blurted: “Tabletop role-playing games are an excellent way to improve creativity, problem-solving skills, and critical thinking under pressure. Sir.”

He smiled beatifically at Uther, like he wasn’t secretly withering under Uther’s unimpressed stare. Uther accepted him as Arthur’s best friend mostly because he thought having a normal, every-day, ‘peasant’ best friend would keep Arthur grounded (and also because he didn’t have a choice) but Uther would never be the kind of parent to hug Merlin when he came in the door and insist on a first name basis, the way Gwen’s dad or Will’s parents did. If he was being honest, Uther kind of terrified him. He terrified just about all of them, except for Arthur, who didn’t realize he was the apple of his father’s eye and the exception to every single one of his rules and never understood why people were intimidated by his father’s constant glare.

At least Merlin’s interruption seemed to have derailed whatever criticism of Morgana Uther had been working up to. Instead, the man gave a little half-huff, eyes flickering away.

“Are you leaving?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, we have dinner reservations.” Uther’s stern mouth lifted into a small smile. “Catrina and I will be back late – I expect you all in bed when we return.”

“Yes, dad,” Arthur said. He returned the smile, and Merlin couldn’t help but marvel at the genuine affection those two could project at each other when their default modes seemed to be set to kind of rude. Arthur raised his voice, presumably to where Catrina could hear him, even if she didn’t bother to poke her head in the door. “Goodnight! Have a good time!”

Under Uther’s expectant stare, the rest of them dutifully echoed their “goodnights” around the table.

“See you tomorrow!” Arthur added.

“Goodnight, son,” Uther replied, on his way out the door. “Goodnight, Morgana.”

He closed the door behind himself. Next to Merlin, Morgana still held herself stiff as a board. Sometimes, Merlin was amazed that Arthur didn’t seem to notice the tension running underneath her and their father’s interactions, but then Arthur had a singular skill of noticing seemingly everything and yet nothing at the same time.

On Morgana’s other side, Gwen fidgeted with her hands in her lap. She raised one of them, inching towards Morgana’s leg. Then she shot a look at Lance, watching her movements with a shuttered expression, and dropped her hands onto her thighs, eyes downcast, flushing.

Staring down at the map in front of them, Morgana hadn’t noticed. She looked paler than usual, even in the basement lightbulb’s orangey glow, her shoulders back and her back straight. Merlin felt a rush of affection, liberally mixed with pity. For all her acerbic wit and her unapproachable air – the one that unmistakably made her Uther’s daughter, even if she would kill him if he ever said so out loud – she looked genuinely miserable now. Vulnerable and hurt.

Carefully, he reached out to squeeze her hand. She shot him a smile, quick but genuine, before freeing herself and picking up her character sheet. “Arthur,” she said. “How long does it take to subtract a couple of numbers?”

“Go screw yourself, Morgs,” Arthur said companionably, finally coming up for air. “Oh hey, Lance, guess what? You’ve come face to face with a Wilddeoren. So –”

The Paladin held his breath. He didn’t dare move a muscle, didn’t even dare blink, while the creature slobbered onto his face and hair. It sniffed at him, and sniffed, and sniffed, and then it bit down hard on the Paladin’s neck.

“That’s disgusting, Arthur,” Morgana said.

Arthur shrugged. “That’s life. Or death, as it were.” He shot Lance a meaningful look, and Lance nodded wearily while he scribbled onto his sheet.

He frowned down at it for a moment before flipping it over, laying it face down on the table.

Merlin looked from him to Arthur. Arthur kicked his foot, easy and affectionate, and said, “Next time, don’t take advice from random innkeepers who have a crush on you, yeah?”

Slowly, wearily, the three left the cavernous tunnels behind them. The ragged, unkempt rocks turned into ground worn smooth with footsteps. Narrow passages widened into caverns; some large and open, others filled with old building supplies and debris. They did not find anything worth keeping, however, and so they kept trekking forward, league by league.

Not long after they ran out of water, they came across a well sunk into the side of a cavern. The Paladin eyed it suspiciously, arms crossed over his chest, but the Barbarian – twice the size of the others and four times as thirsty – uncorked an empty flask and bent down to fill it.

“Are you sure that’s –” was all the Paladin managed before a terrible creature burst from the depth of the well, its screech echoing off the cavern’s walls. An Afanc! Its teeth gleamed, and its clay skin shone, and it bore down on the Barbarian and

Arthur glanced up at the ceiling. “That was the door, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Gwen protested. “Come on, Arthur, the Afanc bears down on me and …?”

“No, that was the door,” Morgana agreed, just as Arthur slid out of his seat.

“It’s probably the pizza,” he said. He glared down at them. “If any of you peek behind my dungeon master screen, your character will be dying a horrible, permanent death.” He eked dutiful nods out of all of them before he rushed up the stairs, summoned by a second, more insistent ring.

“We should go up as well,” Lance suggested mildly. He sounded tired.

“I agree,” Morgana said, surprising the rest of them. She hadn’t agreed with anything Lance had said all night. “Let’s go before Arthur gets it into his head that one of us cheated and torpedoes the whole campaign.”

They trudged up the stairs, Percy in the front ducking his head to keep from bashing it against the narrow ceiling. Merlin, at the back, had a great view of Morgana’s tense shoulders, and how Gwen tried to squeeze Lance’s hand, and her hurt expression when Lance pulled away from her.

The whole night was going great.

By the time they got upstairs, Arthur had already carried the stack of cardboard boxes into the kitchen, opening and spreading them all over the counter. A plastic bag filled with soda bottles stood on the massive kitchen island, gleaming white marble like the rest of the room. He waved a hand behind him when they filed in.

“Pick whatever,” he said. “Morgana, have you seen the pizza cutter?”

“No, I haven’t,” she snipped back, but went over to help him look. Gwen started setting out glasses and Percy went over to take down a stack of plates when Morgana waved an imperious hand, leaving Merlin and Lance hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

When their eyes met, Lance smiled, tired and knowing.

Merlin jerked his head at the door.

In the Pendragon mansion house with its open floor plan, kitchen and living room and entryway divided by nothing more than imposing pillars and a bit of drywall here and there, there really wasn’t anywhere to have a private conversation. Merlin dragged Lance down the hall, lined with thick, fluffy carpet, and into the downstairs guest bathroom. He shot a quick glance behind them, making sure they hadn’t been followed, before he locked the door.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms. “What gives?”

Lance held his gaze for a fraction of a second before he wilted, dropping his head to stare miserably down at his shoes. “I don’t want to speak ill of anyone,” he muttered.

“You’re not speaking ill of anyone, you’re telling me why none of you can interact with each other like normal human beings.”

Lance eyed him. When Merlin eyed back, uncowed, he dropped his head again, sighing, all the tension leaking from his body in a rush. “We went to Elyan’s party last night. Morgana and I.” He hesitated. “Not together, I mean, but Gwen asked us both to come, so we did.”

Merlin nodded. He and Arthur had been invited as well, but instead they’d been riding their bikes all around the city on some fool’s errand Uther had sent them on, getting rained on and almost getting mugged in some dark alley. It’d been fun. Merlin still started grinning when he thought about it for too long.

“So we went. And we hung out.” Lance shrugged, uncharacteristically fidgety. “We were just sitting on the couch, the three of us, and we’d all had some beer, and I, I. I kissed her,” he finally admitted, all in a rush.

“You did?” Merlin asked. Lance had been in love with Gwen since pretty much the day they met, when Lance was the new kid at school and Merlin the one tasked with showing him around. He wanted to say Congratulations, but considering the overwhelming tension hanging over everything, it clearly didn’t go well.

“I did,” Lance said miserably. “And then Morgana kissed her, too, and then Gwen ran away crying and we went home. And now it’s like this.”

Knowing the lot of them, Lance was glossing over a lot of awkward stammering (Lance and Gwen) and some mean comments (Morgana), but Merlin kept his mouth shut and just nodded.

Lance stared at his feet.

“Merlin?” he could hear Arthur calling. He ignored the part that wanted to drop everything and go running when Arthur called, reaching out to squeeze Lance’s shoulder instead.

Lance smiled, wan.

“It’ll be alright,” Merlin promised, even though he couldn’t really see how it would be. Surely at least one of them was going to come out of this with their heart broken. And going by Lance’s hangdog expression, he was thinking the exact same thing.

“Merlin!”

“We should head back,” Merlin said, nodding his head at the door.

“Yeah.” Lance sighed. Then he pulled himself together, the way only he could, settling the misery on his face into something calm and collected and stupidly self-sacrificing. “We’ll figure something out, Merlin, don’t worry about it.”

Merlin figured that meant that Lance was going to do something utterly dumb, like telling Gwen she should be with Morgana because he thought that meant they would be happy, and because Lance thought his happiness didn’t matter as much as other people’s.

“And I can’t even blame her,” he mumbled. “Who would say no to Morgana?”

Merlin’s lips quirked into a tired smile. For all her faults – who would, indeed.

But he didn’t say that, just covered Lance’s hand with his own when he laid it on Merlin’s shoulder, and didn’t stop him when he unlocked the door and left.

Then he sighed.

He took his time washing his hands, and drying his hands. When he finally managed to school his face into something less exasperated and pulled open the door, Arthur was on the other side. He looked just as frustrated as Merlin, but when Merlin stepped aside, intending to let him into the bathroom, he just frowned.

“Merlin! Arthur!” Gwen’s voice, echoing down the hall, sounded almost normal. “Pizza’s getting cold!”

“Coming,” Arthur called back, but when Merlin made to join the others, he found himself stopped by Arthur’s hand around his arm.

“So?” Arthur asked quietly. “What’s gotten into them?”

“Best as I can tell,” Merlin whispered back, “Gwen finally figured out they’re both in love with her and now it’s weird.”

“Ah.” Arthur pulled a face. He hooked an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, leading him past tastefully intimidating oil paintings of his illustrious ancestors, back towards the tension radiating out from the living room. Arthur seemed to feel it, too, because instead of heading in towards the plush sofas and the pizzas piled onto the coffee table, sliced into submission by the cutting wheel in Percy’s well-muscled grasp, he pulled Merlin around one of the pillars into the kitchen.

“Drink?” he asked. “I got Coke and Sprite and water.”

“Blue Fanta,” Merlin said confidently, because Arthur would never break his heart by not ordering it for him. Also, he could see the bottle from here.

“That shit’ll turn your tongue purple.” But Arthur’s headshake was fond. He pulled out the bottle and a glass and poured Merlin a generous helping that Merlin made a big show out of enjoying, smacking his lips and ah-ing over the chemical taste just to see Arthur’s revulsion.

Then he sobered. “So what do we do?”

Arthur ducked his head around the corner, checking on the rest of the group, before he raised disbelieving brows at Merlin. “I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Merlin peered into the living room as well, where Percy had claimed the recliner for himself, leaving Lancelot, Gwen, and Morgana perching stiffly on the big sofa with pizza cartons awkwardly opened on their laps. Arthur probably had the right idea. But it was Arthur, and telling him he was right never amounted to anything good, so Merlin just waggled his brows and said, quietly, “Or this could be your opening. Didn’t you use to like Gwen?”

“Didn’t you use to like Gwen?” Arthur shot back, which was fair. Everyone who knew Gwen fell in love with her at some point.

“I’ve decided to try my luck at being a skinny twink, instead,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

Arthur recoiled. “That color makes you look fucking diseased, Merlin, that shit can’t be good for you.”

And really, how was Merlin supposed to react to that except to try and lick Arthur’s face. Arthur, alternating between laughter and fake retching, caught him in a headlock, so Merlin licked his arm, and Arthur squealed, and that’s how Morgana found them, elbowing and shoving at each other and breathless with laughter.

“Don’t break my Sorcerer,” Morgana said, but there was a fond undertone to her stern expression, and so Merlin didn’t mind it when Arthur scrubbed his knuckles hard over Merlin’s skull before letting go.

“Alright,” Arthur said, sinking into his chair with a heavy sigh. He shuffled some of his papers behind the screen to sit his drink down, shooting Merlin a quick smile when Merlin did the same. His features tightened when he took in the rest of the group. “So your Paladin’s triggered a trapdoor that split the party. We have him, our charming Druid leader,” Morgana leaned back in her chair, raising her hand graciously, “and our almost-dead Barbarian,” Gwen’s lips smiled but her eyes didn’t, “in the dungeons, and our Sorcerer and our Thief sneaking into the upper palace.”

“Yes, yes, and there was an Afanc about to kill the Barbarian, we know.” Gwen waved a hand. “We could have been playing for twenty minutes, if you guys hadn’t needed your secret bathroom conversations.”

“Jealous, are we?” Morgana asked without looking at her.

Gwen flushed. Lance bristled, but it was Arthur who made a chopping movement between them.

“Pizza’s important, Gwen,” he said. He flipped his Handbook open to where Merlin knew he had covered the margins with meticulous notes. He looked unconcerned, but seated next to him, Merlin could see how his hand clenched on his thigh. Sometimes he wondered if Arthur and Morgana realized how similar they were, and he didn’t let himself think about it when he reached out and squeezed Arthur’s hand.

Like Morgana, Arthur looked up to smile at him, but unlike Morgana, he didn’t let go.

The Afanc’s roar had the three of them recoiling in horror. Frozen in shock, the Barbarian’s eyes grew wide. The Druid whipped out her scimitar, but what good would a puny human weapon do against such a creature? Long teeth, and that wet, slick skin, and it was so big.

Slowly, the Barbarian drew a battleaxe. “I can take it.”

“You only have one hit point left,” the Paladin protested.

“So do you,” the Thief said, glancing over, only to be elbowed into silence by his neighbor.

“Shut up,” the Paladin hissed.

“I can take it,” the Barbarian insisted. The axe gleamed. It sang across the cavern in a ferocious arc and –

missed, thudding into the ground with an almighty thwack.

The Barbarian stood, resigned. There was nothing for it now. The Afanc was coming, teeth bared and roar deafening. The Druid watched, helpless, fingers clenched.

And the Paladin? With a despairing cry, the Paladin surged forward and threw himself between the Barbarian and the creature.

“No!”

Gwen’s shout was loud, too loud, considering Lance’s death amounted to him dropping his pencil with a resigned expression, barely a foot away from her. But Gwen looked absolutely gutted, hands coming up to cover her mouth, cheeks pale. Lance winced from the noise. On Gwen’s other side, Morgana winced as well, presumably more from the horror on Gwen’s face.

Arthur grimaced. He glanced at Merlin, helpless, relaxing ever so slightly when Merlin squeezed his fingers under the table.

Percy sat, staring at his hands.

“It’s fine, Gwen,” Lance mumbled. “It’s all fine. I just died.”

“And what’s that supposed to solve?” Gwen hissed at him.

“It’s…” Lance frowned. “You and the Druid can keep exploring the dungeons to find the treasure. You don’t need me for that.”

“It’s not about needing anyone, you dumbass,” Gwen snapped. Her voice was thick. “It’s about being together.”

“Hey, if he wants to sacrifice himself…” Morgana muttered, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it. She didn’t even glare when Merlin elbowed her.

“It was going to be you or me,” Lance said. He shifted in his chair, towards Gwen, closing the rest of them out. He only seemed to realize a moment too late that facing Gwen meant also facing Morgana.

“No, it wasn’t,” Gwen said. “It was going to be me, because I’ve been having really shitty luck with my rolls, and no one asked you to go and get yourself killed in my stead.”

Lance frowned. “I can’t just let you -”

“You can let me make my own damn decisions,” Gwen snapped, voice breaking, before sinking back into her chair with her arms crossed, scowling more fiercely than Merlin had ever seen her scowl before.

Lance didn’t seem to be able to come up with a reply. Merlin wasn’t willing to get involved, and neither Arthur nor Percy seemed keen on the idea, either. They sat in stifled silence, none of them quite daring to break it; staring down at their hands or character sheets or handbooks and letting the awkward quiet stretch into infinity.

In the end, it was Morgana who wrapped an arm around Gwen’s shoulders, exhaling slowly when Gwen didn’t shove her off.

The Sorcerer’s magic nearly took the dungeon door off its hinges. He paused, waiting to see if any guards would come running; the Thief a silent, disapproving shadow behind him. No doubt the Thief’s lock picking skills would have come in handy, but sometimes, when you just wanted to find the damn treasure already so you could end this godawful night and go home, you just needed a little bit of force.

The guards did come running, two of them, but the Sorcerer was strong and not easily cowed. They drew their swords, cursing and yelling, promising him a swift death at the hands of their king. The Sorcerer dispatched both of them with quick, powerful spells. He watched in satisfaction as they collapsed onto the cold stone ground, no longer quite so assured of their superiority, and brushed imaginary dust from his hands.

When he looked around, the Thief had almost sneaked past him.

“Hey, where are you going?” the Sorcerer asked, frowning.

“To the treasure,” the Thief replied, like it was obvious, slinking off down the hall before the Sorcerer had the chance to reply.

Merlin pushed his pencil aside. He wasn’t thrilled at having reached the castle proper missing most of his party, but then the rest of his party was either dead or having an interpersonal crisis in the tunnels far, far below him. So here he was, alone except for Percy’s Thief.

Percy who, in this very moment, tugged on Arthur’s sleeve. Merlin couldn’t hear what they were whispering about, leaning away from the table on the hind legs of their chairs, but Arthur’s face changed from surprised to thoughtful to delighted, so it was probably nothing good.

Percy’s die clattered against the table, hidden from view.

To distract himself, Merlin glanced at Gwen, still sandwiched between Lance and Morgana. She’d calmed down from her earlier outburst and offered him an embarrassed smile. Merlin stuck out his tongue at her, knowing the unexpected blue tint of it would make her laugh, and picked up his own die to fiddle with.

Arthur and Percy shot him identically thoughtful looks, and he didn’t like it.

“Come on, Mr DM,” he said, waving a hand in Arthur’s direction. “We’re in your stupid castle now. Hit me with your best shot.”

Arthur smirked.

The Sorcerer stepped over the threshold. The throne room, lined with enormous pillars, was empty. Darkness loomed all around him, all above him, casting a silent, eerie spell over everything. And yet, it was a grand hall, the floors a polished marble and the drapes thick, luscious velvet. The hall’s domed ceiling rose majestically up above him, mosaics of the king’s glorious conquests glittering in the light of dozens of torches.

Frowning, the Sorcerer looked around. He took another few careful steps, the scuff of his soles against the marble loud in the silence. There was no way he was here alone.

“Sorcerer.”

It was a quiet voice, low and threatening. The Sorcerer whirled around, hands raised defensively, but it wasn’t the King that greeted him. Instead, four dozen guards stepped out from behind the imposing pillars, their weapons sharp, their armor gleaming. The King’s guard were the best warriors in all the land, and there were so many of them. The Sorcerer possessed powerful magic, but even he could not defeat these odds alone.

He swallowed.

“I know why you’re here, Sorcerer.” Now, finally, the King emerged from the darkness. He was a tall man, broad and imposing, with silver streaking his hair and a sharp scar dissecting his forehead. A vicious sword hung at his hip. “I know what you want.”

The Sorcerer squared his shoulders. “King Utherius.”

Merlin snorted. Morgana glared.

“King Utherius,” said the Sorcerer. “What makes you think you know why I’m here?”

“Oh, I know why you’ve come,” the King said darkly. “You’ve come to steal my hard-earned treasures. You’ve come to rob me of what is mine. Why else would you have banded together with that Druid?”

He saw the hesitation in the Sorcerer’s eyes, and laughed, a harsh and bitter sound in the silence. “Don’t act so surprised. Nothing goes on in my kingdom that I don’t know about. You think that I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I don’t know that you’ve joined my daughter’s miserable little troop?”

“Are you deliberately being an asshole?” Morgana snapped.

Arthur raised his hands. “It’s on your fucking character sheet, Morgana. Secretly a princess. You fucking picked it.”

Folding her arms, Morgana raised her eyes at the ceiling. Arthur shook his head.

The King smiled, showing all his teeth. “I know everything about you. I know about your miserable childhood, and your magic, and your little friends. I know your heart’s desire. You don’t want this – this life, gallivanting through the countryside, sleeping rough and fighting every step of the way. You want to be able to help people.” The King smiled again, calmer this time, quiet and inviting. “I know what you want. And I’m going to give you a choice.”

He glanced at his guards. They shifted closer, torchlight making their armor gleam. The Sorcerer couldn’t help staring at them, at their size, their number, their weapons, and the King smiled at that. Slowly, he took a step closer, and he held out a large, scarred hand. “You can join me, or you can die. Now is your time to choose. Sorcerer. ”

Merlin hesitated. “Uh.”

“Uh?” Arthur echoed, mocking. It should have been off-putting, but somehow, Arthur made Merlin’s insides twist no matter what he did. “Come on, Merlin, did you really think the evil king was just going to lie down and take it? Of course he knew you were coming.”

“Uh,” Merlin stuttered. “Percy?” Morgana’s Never split the party echoed through his head. Shit, this would have been so much easier with Morgana and Gwen at his back.

“Percy won’t save you now,” Arthur said. “You’re surrounded by enemy men – trained soldiers, the best in the land. You don’t have anywhere near enough hit points to survive their attack. And the king asked you a question.”

“Um.” Merlin picked up his character sheet. No amount of hit points in the world was going to save him now. He had a choice to make. He was having a hard time remembering what the king’s question had been, but did it really matter? This was the final showdown of the campaign, the moment they’d been working towards for the last month. He couldn’t just keel over and die. He couldn’t.

“Come on, Merlin.” Going by the sharp grin on his face, Arthur was enjoying this way too much. A knee found Merlin’s thigh underneath the table, pressing in. “The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Just blast a spell at him, Merlin,” Lance said, to Percy’s eager nod.

“You’re dead,” Morgana shot back, without any heat. “But yes, Merlin, spell.”

“I don’t have a spell that would take out two dozen armed guards,” Merlin said, frantic. He flipped open the Player’s Handbook, but if he hadn’t seen the magic words before, would he really find them now?

“Any spell!” Gwen agreed, sitting up. “Aim it at the king, or something.”

“Uh.” Merlin kept flipping, pages blurring together. “Um.”

“Merlin,” Arthur singsonged. He grinned maniacally. “Around you, the king’s guards have settled into formation. As the king raises his hand, his archers raise their bows, a hundred arrows aimed true at your heart.” He licked his lips, drawing Merlin’s eyes in, and fucking hell, his nerves were already shot, he didn’t need Arthur making porno moves to go with it. “They draw, strings creaking, and-”

“I want to seduce him.”

Arthur froze. He wasn’t the only one – all around the table, Merlin’s friends eyed him in various stages of disbelief. Only Morgana started laughing, quietly, behind her hand.

“You what?” Arthur asked blankly.

“I want to seduce him,” Merlin repeated, firmer now. He’s just blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, because Arthur, but whatever. Fuck it. This adventure had already devolved into sniping and pigtail pulling, why not go all the way? The way the night was going, there was a good chance this was their last campaign together, anyway.

He leaned back in his chair, die held challengingly in one hand. “I seduce the king to keep him from killing me.”

“He does have pretty high charisma,” Morgana said, taking Merlin’s character sheet. “It could work.”

“You can’t just – you can’t…” Merlin didn’t often see Arthur speechless, and it was kind of hilarious. “That’s my dad you’re trying to mack on!”

“He’s based on your dad,” Merlin said archly. “And that wasn’t my idea, was it?”

Arthur scowled. He bent his head over his papers. For a while, there was no sound in the room besides the scratch of Arthur’s pencil on his paper and their breathing. Merlin shot a glance at Lance, who smiled back at him, affectionate despite the weariness in his expression. At Lance’s side, Gwen glanced at Morgana, but Morgana didn’t look her way.

Percy watched, silent.

Arthur raised his head. “You’re going to have to roll an 18 or higher,” he said. “Otherwise you die.”

“Fine.” Merlin blew across his janky, cheap, worn plastic die. “Here’s me seducing your stupid evil king.”

With a disbelieving headshake, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. The others stared, hushed.

Merlin rolled.

The die clattered against the wood, across Merlin’s character sheet, and then off the tabletop, rolling across the floor and disappearing behind a stack of boxes.

“Whoops,” Merlin said.

Arthur glared at him.

Merlin didn’t remind him of his no re-rolling rule, because Arthur would probably kill him. Instead he watched, silent and trying not to smile, while Arthur pushed himself out of his chair and stalked over. Frowning, but with delicate movements, he began moving the boxes aside, one by one, peering into the darkness for the die.

“I think I see it,” Lance said, waving his phone’s flashlight into the darkness. Gwen sat up, leaning into his side in an attempt to see, but for once, Morgana didn’t seem to care. She, too, was leaning in close, craning her neck like that might help her see a tiny die from a dozen feet away.

Scowling at them all, Arthur crouched down, ducking his head underneath a shelf. He pulled out his own phone to shine into the darkness. Then he froze.

Morgana reached over to clutch at Merlin’s hand. Gwen whimpered. Percy shuffled his feet.

Silently, Arthur put his face in his hands.

Merlin crowed with laughter. “It worked, didn’t it? It totally worked!” Next to him, Morgana shook in silent delight, while Gwen across the table started giggling behind her hand. Lance was grinning. Even Percy cracked a smile.

Merlin smacked his lips. He leaned back in his chair, triumphant. “Come on, Dungeon Master,” he said, crooking his fingers. “Give me back my die and then let me at that sweet, sweet evil king.”

Amidst the laughter, he could barely hear Arthur mutter, “I hate you.”

Protected by his magic, the Sorcerer surged forward, burying his fingers in the king’s short hair and claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss.

“I hate you so much.”

The King drew back, lips red and flushed, eyes wide with wonder. His hands cupped the young man’s face tenderly. “Sorcerer…”

Next to Merlin, Morgana howled with laughter, clinging to his shoulder for dear life. Her other hand had tangled with Gwen’s, curled into the dainty fabric of Gwen’s skirt, while Gwen and Lance giggled breathlessly, heads leaning together. Across from Merlin, Percy snickered into his hand. Even Arthur, face furiously red, was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

Unfortunately, Merlin himself was starting to regret the decisions that had led him to this point because his mind kept supplying him with images of him making out with Arthur and Morgana’s dad. Still, he made kissy faces at Arthur, just because he could, and Arthur reached over his screen to pick up Merlin’s character sheet and hit him with it.

“Sorcerer,” the King said, eyes wide. His hands, rough and marked with the scars of his many wars, settled on the Sorcerer’s shoulders. “Can this be true? Can you really love someone as harsh and heartless as me?”

“I can,” the Sorcerer said, throwing back his cloak, assertive and sure. “I can and I do. Leave your past behind you, evil king, and find happiness with me.”

“I will,” the King promised. He waved an imperious hand. His guards, though disbelieving, let their weapons sink. “You have shown me the error of my ways,” he said fiercely. “Will you do me the honor of joining me at my side, to help me govern my kingdom in kind and just ways and to allow magic back into the land?”

“I will,” the Sorcerer promised. His lips still tingled with the King’s kiss –

“Arthur!” Merlin protested, burying his hands in his hair.

“You brought this on yourself, Merlin,” Arthur shot back, still crimson. “You brought this on yourself.”

– and he could still feel the warm weight of the king’s hands on his shoulders. “I swear, my liege, I’ll never leave your side again.”

Arthur snapped his book shut and threw aside his screen with a flourish. “The end.”

“Oh god,” Merlin mumbled, sprawling out onto the papers in front of him. “The next time I have an idea, someone stop me.” He felt a comforting hand in his hair – Lance, he found when he looked up, smiling at him with genuine affection.

“I thought that went really well,” Gwen protested. Her shoulder was still pressed up against Lance’s, her other hand still hidden under the table, next to Morgana’s.

Who was frowning. “Wait a minute,” she said, stopping Percy in gathering up his dice. “That’s not the end. We went into the castle to steal the evil king’s treasure and give it to his poor, exploited villagers, not to sleep with him. We can still do that.”

“Yes, well.” Arthur began stacking papers together. “Unfortunately, while our Druid leader and our Barbarian were navigating the dungeons and our resident Sorcerer was seducing the king,” he glared at Merlin, “the Thief made off with the treasure. So there you go.”

They stared at Percy.

Percy shrugged. “You don’t let the Thief out of sight,” he said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Motherfucker,” Morgana said, heartfelt.

“Wait, I died for nothing?” Lance cut in.

Gwen frowned. “I thought you died to save me.”

“And that,” Lance said quickly. He reached out to squeeze her hand, and Gwen let him, a flush coloring her cheekbones.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Merlin heard Morgana mutter in Lance’s direction, although she didn’t sound too angry about it. When he caught her eye, surprised, she blushed the tiniest bit.

Merlin turned the other way to shoot Arthur a look, a did you see that too or was that my imagination? look, but Arthur, misunderstanding his wide eyes, shrugged. “Treasure’s gone,” he said. “Better luck next time.”

“You’re an ass,” Morgana said.

“Wasn’t my idea.” Arthur shrugged again. He closed his handbooks and tucked his papers away. “S’not me you should be insulting.”

Across the table, Percy shoved his dice into the pocket of his hoodie and stood. Presumably he was trying to make an exit before they realized who they should be insulting. Merlin wasn’t fooled, and judging by the way Morgana’s eyes narrowed, neither was she.

It was Gwen who saved him, in the end, getting to her face with a renewed flush to her face. She untangled herself from both Morgana and Lance and gathered her dice together with shaking fingers, stuffing them into their pouch and the pouch into her pocket. “Yeah, I should – yeah.” She shouldered her bag.

Quickly, Lance clambered to his feet, hovering close.

Morgana, not to be outdone, rose as well. “I’ll walk you out.”

With a bit of an eye roll, Merlin gathered up his and Arthur’s empty drinks and followed them. This time, when they climbed the narrow staircase, there was decidedly less tension. Or different tension, perhaps, but nothing that settled over them like a suffocating blanket. Percy was quick to disappear from the cellar but the others took their time, Lance’s arm brushing against Gwen’s waist and Gwen’s hand against Morgana’s shoulder.

At the top of the stairs, with all of them gone already, Merlin couldn’t resist turning to give Arthur a look. Down in the basement, still sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by his handbooks and papers and notes, Arthur raised his hands with an exasperated air.

Merlin detoured into the kitchen while the rest of them were putting on their shoes, making sure to leave the glasses in the dishwasher just the way Catrina liked it. It wasn’t like he was going to go home tonight – he probably spent more weekends at the Pendragon household than he did at home – and he wasn’t going to be the reason Arthur’s stepmother snipped at him, no sir.

When he ducked out into the hall, he could see Morgana still by the door, leaning against the doorjamb, willowy and lean. Gwen and Lance were already outside, holding hands, shoes on and jackets around their shoulders. Merlin kept watch for a moment, unsure if he was going to spend the night soothing a distraught Morgana, but as he looked on, Gwen leaned up to kiss Morgana’s cheek. Then, sinking down from her tiptoes, she turned a fiery red.

So did Morgana.

Merlin stared. He had never seen Morgana full-on blush before. Or smile quite that way. He couldn’t hear what she said to Lance, either, but whatever it was had him looking away, flushed and smiling. He clearly wasn’t needed here. And since he himself had left someone back in the basement playroom, all alone, Merlin figured that was a good moment to sneak away before they spotted him.

When he eased back down the stairs, Arthur had sprawled out on the old couch in the corner, stuffing loose pages into his DM file folder covered with stickers of tabletop RPGs and puns. Merlin allowed himself a moment to look, just look, at the loose spread of Arthur’s legs in his fancy jeans, at the golden hair falling into his forehead.

At Arthur’s smile when their eyes met.

“They okay?” Arthur asked.

“I think so.” Merlin descended slowly, one wooden step at a time, leaning against the rough banister when he reached the bottom. “Not sure about Percy when they remember he took off with an entire campaign’s worth of loot, but they seem to be figuring their shit out.”

“God, I hope so.” Arthur pushed the folder aside and slipped his fancy dice into their fancy velvet pouch. “I’m not looking forward to having to replace half of my adventurers just because they can’t resolve their sexual tension.” He paused, bag in hand, before tilting his head back to give Merlin a surprisingly vulnerable look. “You wouldn’t leave me because of some bullshit love triangle, would you?”

With a disbelieving huff, Merlin crossed the room and flopped down on the sofa next to him. “Never.”

Arthur smiled. “Good.” He dropped his dice bag onto his folder and shoved both away. “So,” he said, sinking deeper into the couch. “We’ve learned once again why you never split the party and to not let the thief out of sight. And that love always trumps hate.” He blinked at Merlin, eyes soft and heavy-lidded. “What next?”

“Well.” Merlin kicked out his legs, ignoring the way his heart was starting to thud heavily in his chest. “Since we’ve also all learned that kissing your crush out of nowhere is a bad idea, how do you feel about some making out?”

Arthur quirked a brow. He didn’t look surprised, or particularly excited at the prospect, but Merlin couldn’t read his expression, either. “Well, that depends,” he said.

“On what?” Merlin asked, instead of what he actually wanted to say, which was ‘Asshole.’

“On if your tongue is still coated with noxious chemicals.” But he didn’t wait to see if Merlin’s mouth was still blue, just reached up to cup the back of Merlin’s neck and pull him down to seal their lips together. Merlin kissed him back, smiling at the way his heart was pounding, and then smiling even more when he felt Arthur’s lips quirk against his.

“You’re my favorite adventurer,” Arthur whispered, breath ghosting against Merlin’s cheek.

“Am I.” Merlin drew back, grinning. “Does that mean I can roll your fancy dice next time?”

Arthur scoffed. “No. ”

Gaping, Merlin clutched his hands to his heart. “Not even if -”

“No.” But in spite of Arthur’s harsh words, his expression was soft when he leaned in to kiss Merlin again, and Merlin couldn’t really stay mad when Arthur smiled at him like that.

“Do you have any idea how expensive those stupid fancy dice are?”

“So you admit they’re stupid?” Merlin shot back, grinning, throwing up a defensive hand when Arthur made to slap the back of his head.

“It’s an expression, Merlin, god. How are you so, you’re so…” Arthur tried to cuff him around the ear with his other hand, which Merlin also blocked, and then went for his ribs. Merlin retaliated by using his longer legs to force Arthur off the couch. Arthur kept his hold and dragged him off with him, and across the floor, rolling over and under, grappling at each other and kissing and bumping into chairs and table legs, laughing.