Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the night before Yule in the Kingdom of Camelot.

A steady snowfall had lingered over Camelot City for most of the evening, but it now withered to flurries as the storm moved away upon a westerly wind. Rising from the city center, impervious to nature’s whims – or an army’s might – was a grand citadel. This was the home of Camelot’s young king, Arthur Pendragon.

Just within the citadel’s lower curtain wall was Upper Town, where nobleman and wealthy merchants lived. Outside the wall sprawled Lower Town, home to those who toiled as servants or laborers – peasants, each and every one. At the main gate that joined the two was Camelot’s famous marketplace, largest of its kind in the kingdom.

Looming above it all were the towers of the citadel, whose pristine stone walls began to glow a bluish-gray as the moon made her presence known once again. She, and the stars back of her, beamed brightly from the black expanse of the clearing winter sky.

Bluster and bitter cold took hold as the clouds retreated, keeping even the hardiest souls indoors near a fire. Woodsmoke filled the air as it wafted from countless chimneys atop castle and humble home alike, and every window was lit golden-yellow with candlelight.

The usual bustle and noise of the city was absent, replaced with an uncanny peacefulness. Only the music and raucous laughter escaping from the Rising Sun Tavern could be heard in snippets upon the wind.

High above the empty streets and blowing snow, within the white stone walls of the citadel, was the king’s royal chamber. Inside, candles near the beautiful diamond-paned windows waned and brightened in concert with the ever-present drafts. But the blazing fire on the hearth crackled and hissed in glad defiance of the harsh gusts that echoed down the long flue.

In the light and warmth of this room stood two unlikely friends: King Arthur and his loyal servant, Merlin. While both young men had a propensity for driving the other to distraction, they also were inseparable. The two were more than friends, really; they were soulmates. Sometimes, it seemed they were something even more.

*****

Chapter Text

Arthur relished spending his evenings with Merlin. After finishing the day’s duties, he could talk and laugh with him as friends do, and forget entirely their disparate stations. In the nighttime privacy of this room, they were no longer master and servant; they were just Arthur and Merlin. This evening, being the night before Yule, was more special than most. And Arthur had a plan. “This is the night,” he thought.

Given the season, mulled wine was their drink of choice. They each sipped from a large mug; Merlin had just filled them from a flagon he’d brought up from the kitchen. Arthur watched, with a dubious expression, as Merlin hung evergreen boughs around the chamber, matching the Yule decorations that had been springing up around the castle all day. He worked with one hand – the other clutched the handle of his mug.

Somewhat inevitably, Merlin fell from the top of a wobbly stool and landed in a heap on the floor, all while managing not to spill a drop of his wine. He clambered over the toppled stool and stood tall. With a wide grin, he proudly raised the still-full mug high with an outstretched arm, and Arthur cheered. Merlin responded by spreading his arms wide and taking a graceful bow. Unfortunately, the mug bowed with him, dumping its contents to the floor.

“Dammit,” he cursed. Still bent at the waist, he craned his neck and met Arthur’s gaze with a crooked smile and subtle shrug. The king’s eyes were wide, and his jaw quivered as he fought to hold back his laughter. It was a brief and unsuccessful fight.

“Stop laughing at me, you cabbage head!”

“Cabbage head?” Arthur doubled-over, his laughter becoming hysterical. He pointed at Merlin’s mess, unable to speak, then lost his balance and spilled half the wine from his own mug.

“Ha!” Merlin shouted as he stood up, a huge smile on his face. He pointed right back at the king, becoming near-hysterical himself. When they’d finally laughed themselves out, Merlin surveyed the damage.

“Great, now I have two messes to clean up.”

“Well, you are the servant,” Arthur smiled. “Though you need constant reminding of that fact…”

The look Merlin aimed at him, a mix of feigned annoyance and utter fondness, was one the king knew well; it was one, of countless others, that he quietly adored.

When the pair finally settled in front of the fire, mugs freshly filled, Arthur brought up the next day’s Yule feast. It was one of the most anticipated events of the year, and would signal the start of Yuletide – twelve days of entertainment and feasting to celebrate the passing of the winter solstice. Arthur was understandably concerned that the celebrations go well – this would be the first Yuletide of his young reign. Merlin assured him that the castle steward and head cook had matters well in-hand.

Merlin then changed the topic, as he often did, and regaled Arthur with some castle gossip: earlier in the day, a stable boy and kitchen maid had been caught in a broom cupboard near the armory. Arthur loved listening to Merlin’s bawdy tales. And he loved watching Merlin tell them: the gleam in his bright blue eyes as he laughed; the animated way his skinny arms would flail about; and the way his cheeks would go red when he related the more risqué parts of the story. It was all just as intoxicating as the wine; perhaps more so.

As they drank and laughed and the night deepened, the combined effects of the alcohol and the joyful mood of the season had them both feeling rather carefree – and courageous. After years of quiet pining, Arthur suddenly blurted out the truth: that he felt something for Merlin; something more than friendship.

He did not have to wait long for a response; Merlin's face immediately lit with joy and he confessed to feeling the same. And when Arthur took his hand and pressed a surprise Yule gift to his palm, Merlin leaned in and they shared their first tentative kiss. 

While they had come close – very close – to such admissions and affection in the past, some interruption – or simple cold feet – always conspired with their lingering uncertainty to make them pause before they went too far. But this, it seemed, this was the night: a night for confessions; a night to unburden themselves of untold truths.

And so it was.

But then, Gods help them, everything went to hell.

*****

“Guard!” Arthur yelled angrily as he swung open his chamber door and looked down the corridor. Sir Gwaine, who was on reduced duty due to a recent injury, approached from the guard’s station at the entrance to the royal wing. “Gwaine, wake Sir Leon and bring him here. Now.”

As Gwaine spun on his heel to head the opposite direction, Arthur turned back into his room and looked over to the hearth. Merlin stood there, forehead pressed to the stone; Arthur had shoved him against the wall just a moment ago, after violently pulling him from his chair.

Merlin clutched the stonework with his left hand – he was struggling to maintain a standing position as he cried. His right hand was balled into a fist; he pressed and twisted it into the rough surface of the stone in desperate frustration, the knuckles raw and fingers bloody. Gripped tightly within that abused hand was a medallion, the Yule gift Arthur had given him before everything had gone terribly wrong.

The sight and sound of his distress would have broken Arthur’s heart if it hadn’t already been torn asunder by Merlin’s confessions: by the revelation that he was a magic user, working in secret without the king’s knowledge or consent; by the admission that he’d been lying to Arthur, and to all of his friends, for…how long?

Just how long, Arthur wondered, had he played the role of the king’s best friend while committing treason behind his back? Despite the fury that threatened to consume him, he still couldn’t bear to watch as Merlin punished himself.

“Stop that!” He shouted, turning away. No matter what had happened, he didn’t want Merlin to continue to hurt himself. “How could you do this, Merlin: betray me? All this time, I have trusted you; allowed you into my life like no other. I thought you and I were…” Arthur couldn’t finish. He was fighting hard to keep anger and hurt from pushing him to rage. His volatile temper, he’d come to believe, was a curse foisted upon him by his late father. He wished he could control it, rather than it control him, but he hadn’t yet figured out how.

“Arthur…I wouldn’t…please…please don’t hate me…” Merlin begged. He barely managed to choke out the words before his sobbing robbed him of his ability to speak once more.

The king looked to the floor and grabbed his forehead – his skull felt ready to burst open. A short time ago, he was enjoying what arguably was the best night of his life. And now, with the hopes of the evening shattered, he waited for Sir Leon to arrive as Merlin wept behind him.

“My lord,” Leon shouted as he neared the open chamber door, Gwaine tight on his heels. “What is it?” Camelot’s lead knight had clearly rushed to his king’s aid straight from his bed.

“Leon, in. Gwaine, out.” At Arthur’s instruction, Leon motioned for Gwaine to wait in the corridor, and then closed the door behind him.

“Sir Leon, you will escort Merlin to the cells. It would seem he is no friend to Camelot, after all.”

Merlin convulsed as he coughed out a strong sob and turned toward the two men. “No…wait…” He wiped his left sleeve across his wet face, to little effect. His bloody right hand still clutched Arthur’s gift. “I know I hurt you…and you’re angry…just, talk to me…please…I’m sorry...”

Arthur forced himself not to look in Merlin’s direction, and turned away from Leon, as well. “There will be no argument or discussion! Just…take him.”

Leon knew when not to question his king. He gently took Merlin’s arm, and pulled him toward the door. Merlin’s legs buckled beneath him, and Leon had to use both hands to keep him from collapsing to the floor.

“No…I don’t want to go…” Merlin cried out, his voice hoarse and thin.

Since he was a boy, Arthur had heard scores of men plead or beg or cry in the course of battle, or when stood before the executioner. But Merlin’s plea was perhaps the single saddest thing he’d ever known.

“Leon,” Arthur said without turning around; he was struggling to hold back his own tears. “The better cell. And make sure the guards know there is to be no mistreatment. Otherwise, they will answer directly to me.”

“Yes, Sire.” Leon opened the door and moved into the corridor with Merlin in tow.

Gwaine watched, bewildered, as Leon passed him by with Merlin in custody; he burst through the open doorway to confront Arthur. “What is this? What are you doing to Merlin – have you lost your mind?”

Arthur shook his head in annoyance and shoved Gwaine aside, then stepped into the corridor. “Leon, wait!”

Leon stopped, leaving Merlin in the charge of another guard at the end of the corridor. He and Arthur walked toward one another. “Sire?”

As Arthur stopped, he slowly wiped both hands down his face, trying desperately to push away the anger and think clearly. He dropped his hands after a long sigh, his eyes damp and red; he looked to the floor, then up to Leon. He was thankful for the kind eyes he found; there was no judgement in them, just concern – and he found himself able to speak a bit more calmly.

“No, not the cells. Take him to his room. He is to be confined there. Make sure Gaius knows. And place guards outside the healing chamber. Warn them that Merlin has taken up sorcery, and must be considered a danger. I am aware how unlikely all of this sounds, but we must be vigilant – we do not know the extent of his abilities or to what degree the magic has corrupted him. Go! Carry out my orders before I weaken any further.”

“Sire.” Leon nodded, turned and walked back to where Merlin and the other guard waited. They then disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor as Leon led Merlin to Gaius’ chamber.

A final, devastating wail of “Arthur!” echoed from a distant corridor, nearly breaking Arthur’s resolve. He numbly turned back toward his chamber, only to be confronted by an angry Gwaine.

“If Merlin has learned to use magic, it would only be for your benefit. He would never betray you. That man lives for you, God’s know why, but you’re too blind and arrogant to see it!”

“Mind your words, Sir Gwaine, or you’ll find yourself in a cell for Yuletide instead of the banquet hall.” Arthur pushed the knight aside and made for his door. “Return to your duties.” With that, the king closed his door, and locked it.

*****

Chapter Text

Arthur lay atop his bedding, staring blankly at the canopy above. George, a servant in the royal household, had knocked a while ago and asked through the door if he could help prepare the king for bed. Arthur declined, and sent him away.

“Is this my fault?” He questioned the empty chamber, but only a disappointing silence answered him; he sighed and rolled to his side. He begged silently for sleep to take him, to postpone the torment till morning; but, there was no hope of that.

Maybe Merlin felt the need to learn magic to increase his strength or usefulness, he thought; perhaps in response to Arthur’s complaints, or his teasing and jokes. He never really gave Merlin a chance to explain himself earlier – the small dragon made of fiery embers that flew from the hearth under Merlin’s command was all the explanation he needed at the time. His temper had fueled his actions from there.

All he knew for certain was that his heart was broken. He’d been considering how this evening might go for some time – the confession of his feelings, and the gift of his mother’s precious sigil. He valued Ygraine’s beautiful ancestral medallion above all other treasures in his possession, and the thought of giving it to Merlin as a Yule gift had filled him with a sort of nervous joy. But, in the end, all had come to ruin. Anyone he allowed himself to love, it seemed, would eventually betray him.

Arthur shivered with a sudden chill, and glared his disapproval at the low fire on the hearth. But then he bolted upright into a sitting position when a cool dense fog began to fill the room. When he realized he wasn’t alone in the room, he instinctively reached for the dagger he kept beneath one of the pillows.

Standing at the foot of his bed was an ethereal apparition; a bluish glow shimmered around it, blending into the fog. It – she – was a kind-looking young woman, with long dark hair and sad eyes. He knew he should be afraid – and to some extent he was – he’d never encountered a ghost, after all. But he wasn’t terrified – he didn’t fear for his life. There was something strangely soothing about her presence. He should have been yelling for the guards; instead, he just stared, unable to find his voice.

“Do not fear me, Arthur, for I am here to help you. I am Freya, and I come to you as the spirit of Yuletides past. You and Merlin suffer, and your relationship is fractured. My fellow spirits and I have chosen to intervene – you have an important destiny, Arthur; one you can only achieve with Merlin at your side. I wish to take you on a journey of discovery, to the past, in the hope you will better understand Merlin’s actions in the present. Come, walk with me. And perhaps you will learn something new about him.”

Without consciously moving, Arthur found himself standing next to the spirit, dagger forgotten. In the blink of an eye, the fog cleared and they were standing at the door of a simple home on the outskirts of a poor village. The night was cold and dark, but Arthur recognized the village as Ealdor, Merlin’s home.

“You are safe with me, Arthur. Those we encounter cannot see or hear you. I ask only one thing as we walk. I ask you to truly see.”

He noticed, with confusion and surprise, that his bare arms were immune to the chill, and his bare feet didn’t really touch the icy dirt of the ground. Spirit Freya pulled Arthur through the door, as if it were made of mist, revealing the warm interior within. A mother – a young Hunith – was sat next to the fire with her young son in her lap. The boy was slight of build with curly dark hair and bright blue eyes. Arthur would recognize Merlin’s eyes anywhere, no matter his age.

And then those eyes lit with a golden glow, and a small trinket rose from a shelf, floated through the air and landed in the boy’s outstretched hand. Young Merlin giggled happily while his mother shook her head, her face displaying a mix of exasperation and love.

“That is Merlin…” Arthur’s eyes were wide. “He is doing magic as a child. How can that be?”

“He is a warlock. He never chose to know magic – it chose him. He was born with magic, Arthur.”

“Born with it? But that is not…” His thought trailed off as the house disappeared into the returning fog. When the air cleared again, he and spirit Freya were standing near the small stream that flowed alongside the village. Two large young men were standing over Merlin; he was curled-up on his side on the ground, and appeared to be about twelve summers in age. The men were playing a game: it was a competition to see who could punch Merlin the hardest, and hurt him the most.

Arthur instinctively moved to intervene, but spirit Freya caught him by the arm. "We can only observe, Arthur. These men abuse Merlin because they were taught that those with magic are undeserving of kindness."

Eventually, the boy’s mother came upon the scene and chased the men away; she then knelt to comfort her son. The pain and anguish in the boy’s cries sounded all too familiar to Arthur, and he looked away.

“Why, if he had powers even then, did he not defend himself?”

“His mother convinced him not to use his gift against others in the village; she feared that it would only draw more attention. She lived in constant fear for his life; they both did. The charming, smiling young man you came to know wasn’t just hiding his magic from you, Arthur; he was hiding the loneliness and shame of his childhood.”

“Why on Earth would he come to Camelot – Uther’s Camelot – of all places?”

“That was also his mother’s doing. Mostly it was because of Gaius – she knew he could help Merlin learn to control his skills.” Spirit Freya turned to Arthur and bopped him on the tip of his nose with her finger. “Sometimes, young king, it is safer for the rabbit to hide in the shadow of the bear, rather than run from it.”

“But why stay all this time. If he has this power, why does he maintain a charade of being my servant, of being my friend?”

“His friendship is no charade! He stays with you in Camelot for two reasons. First, he learned the purpose for his magic: to help you become the great king you are destined to be. Second, he stays because he loves you. And…I believe you love him, too. Otherwise, I would not have come to you tonight.”

“But, I feel so…hurt; he had so little trust in me.”

“Yes, Merlin hid a part of himself from you; but not to hurt you. At first, he hid to protect his life, just as he had done since he was a little boy. Later, the deception had become so entwined with both of your lives, he felt forced to maintain it. His life has not been an easy one, Arthur; often, the only option open to him was the lesser of two evils. Please, try to understand this.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure how to process this mountain of new information. He turned back to look upon young Merlin as he cried into his mother’s lap, then lost sight of them as the fog returned once more. A moment later, they were back in his chamber, and he was sitting upon his bed.

“Two more spirits will visit you this night, Arthur. Your journey will continue…”

“That news does not fill me with joy,” Arthur sighed. “But I thank you for what you have shown me. If I had known these things, I would have behaved differently this evening. At least, I hope I would have…my temper, it…I lose control.” Spirit Freya gave him a sad but understanding look, and Arthur studied her for moment. “You seem familiar, spirit; did I know you in life?”

“No, not really; but Merlin did. Ask him, someday, to tell you our sad tale.” She bowed her head with a sincere little smile, then faded with the disappearing fog.

*****

As Arthur contemplated all that spirit Freya had shown and told him, the chill and fog abruptly returned. Arthur warily looked about the chamber until a second ghostly apparition appeared before his eyes. It had the form of a middle-aged man with dark, gray-streaked hair, a scraggly beard, and tattered robes.

Arthur recognized him immediately. “You were Balinor, the Dragonlord…”

The spirit ignored him, and spoke with an impatient, demanding tone. “Arthur Pendragon, I come to you as the spirit of Yuletides present. I wish to share my knowledge of Merlin’s good deeds, in the hope you will come to appreciate his incredible generosity. He ceaselessly gives of himself to you, king, without reservation or thought of reward. You will walk with me. And if you open your eyes and truly see, then you will find a new appreciation for him.”

As the fog again cleared, Arthur and spirit Balinor were standing in the cistern tunnels below the castle. They watched as Merlin secretly defeated the Afanc while allowing the then-prince to believe that it was his own actions that killed the beast. Spirit Balinor gave the king a sidelong glance, and then the fog took them over.

When it again dissipated, they watched as the prince angrily sacked his servant over their failed attempt to expose Knight Valiant’s use of a magical shield in a tournament; and then they witnessed Merlin using his magic to bring the shield’s snakes to life, allowing Arthur to defeat them and the knight. Even though Merlin was no longer his servant and had only known the prince for a short while, he still put himself at great risk by using magic in a public place, in full view of King Uther.

Next, they observed as Merlin used magic to kill the Questing Beast before it could harm the prince more than it already had. Then they stood near the altar on the Isle of the Blessed, and listened as Merlin bargained with Nimueh, offering to give his life to save Arthur’s.

“What better show of generosity could there possibly be?” asked spirit Balinor. “These are but a few of the ways Merlin saved you and Camelot after he became your servant. I will show you many more – his acts only became more dangerous and more difficult as time passed; even more so once Morgana Pendragon became your enemy. He never desired adulation; though he hoped to one day have your respect.”

Spirit Balinor presented Arthur with many more examples of Merlin’s selfless heroics – there were serkets and wyverns and high-priestesses; there were armies of the dead and lone assassination attempts and conniving kings – it was endless.

“How often did Merlin save the kingdom of that ignorant tyrant Uther, a man who would thank him by burning him alive?” Spirit Balinor’s disdain and anger was obvious. “How often did he save you, the selfish, arrogant son of that tyrant?” Then his voice softened a bit. “And how often did he suffer alone, in pain, on your behalf?”

In truth, there were too many instances to count. So numerous were they, it felt like days had passed before spirit Balinor finally returned them to his chamber.

“Spirit, I am…overwhelmed. I am embarrassed to know that so much has happened in my kingdom beyond my notice. I have failed in my duty, to my people and to Merlin. But I am grateful to you for showing me." Arthur felt a bit numb - his mind over-burdened with so many retellings of stories he thought he already knew. Like with spirit Freya, he couldn't help but wonder why this spirit in particular chose to appear before him; to open his eyes. "Spirit…may I ask…why is it you who came to help me?”

“Because, king, I am Merlin’s father!" Spirit Balinor's eyes were heavy with grief, but his voice remained strong and accusatory. "He held me as I died, then forced himself to mask his grief in your presence. He then became a Dragonlord – that is how he stopped the Great Dragon. Like always, you were blind to events that transpired right before your eyes. A better man would have seen. Despite this, my son loves you; and he suffers greatly without you. And he believes, with all his heart, in your destiny. I came here to help him, to help Albion; not you.”

With a look of contempt, spirit Balinor took his leave in a whirlwind, taking the fog with him. Arthur stood, silent and shocked, as pieces of whirling parchment and several of Merlin's decorations floated down around him in the wake of the spirit's tempestuous departure. Many of the candles had been snuffed out, and the sudden darkness weighed heavily upon his shoulders.

“His father?" Arthur whispered to himself. "Even that, he would not share with me? Oh, Merlin...” He really was overwhelmed. Everything Arthur thought he knew about his past had been called into question. He’d been wrong about so much. And now, Merlin was in custody because Arthur feared the monster he might become. But who was the real monster here?

His mind was a storm of competing thoughts and images. One in particular broke him: the image of Merlin knelt on the ground, holding his dead father, with nobody to comfort him. And then he remembered the morning he found Merlin on the floor outside the Great Hall, where Arthur had spent the night mourning his own father. 'I didn't want you to feel that you were alone,' Merlin had told him.

Arthur slowly moved over to his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, and he lowered his head into his hands and quietly cried.

*****

“Do not cry, my boy. It pains me to see you so sad.”

Arthur looked up; a third spectre stood at the foot of his bed. As it slowly came into focus, the form of an elegant young woman was revealed, one with blond hair and a queen’s crown. The gaze of her pale blue eyes was sharp and unrelenting. Somehow, she was both beautiful and terrifying.

“Mother?”

“Hello, my son. I come to you as the spirit of Yuletides yet to be. Beware: you will not like the grim things I am about to show you. They will cause you great fear and distress. But I will show them nonetheless, in the hope you will choose a better path forward. Come, walk with me. And perhaps, by glimpsing your future, you will find the courage to change the present.”

Arthur was truly frightened by spirit Ygraine’s words. He did not want to go. But he could not resist her outstretched hand as the room filled with fog.

Arthur felt a change in the air, but the fog did not clear completely this time. He once again found himself in Ealdor; the day was gray and the cold air was thick with dampness. He and spirit Ygraine stood at a humble fence surrounding the small village graveyard. There, Hunith kneeled in the mud, placing flowers at the base of a simple wooden marker. A single word carved into the wood made Arthur’s heart sink. The word was ‘Merlin.’

Spirit Ygraine placed a hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. “While you could never put him on the pyre for his so-called treason, you did banish him from your life. Afterward, he swore-off the use of magic forever. He became easy prey, and was killed shortly after he returned home to his mother. After years of fighting sorcerers and beasts and the machinations of kings – all alone, all to protect you – he allowed himself to be brutally murdered by a simple thief.”

“No!” Arthur choked on the word. “This cannot happen!”

“I am so sorry, my son.” Spirit Ygraine’s piercing eyes slid to the side to meet Arthur’s, and a subtle smile grew on her lips. “But, we must move along – there is still more to see.”

They next traveled to Camelot’s citadel, looking out over the kingdom from atop the castle’s highest tower. The sky was blue and the breeze hot – it was the growing season. But where there was once vibrant farmland and lush green forests, the land was now bleak and barren.

“After Merlin’s death, magic began to bleed away from Camelot. He was known as Emrys to the Druids – your servant was, unwillingly, akin to a king in their eyes. Arthur, the Druids are the connection between magic, the land and those that live upon it. They blamed you for Emrys’ death, and they abandoned your kingdom. The magic of the land left with them. Grain became difficult to grow, fruit rotted on trees, and the lakes became choked with the bloated bodies of dead fish. It is ironic, is it not? Your father tried to eliminate the Druids, foolishly believing them to be the threat to his kingdom. Fortunately, he never managed it. Unfortunately, you managed to succeed where he failed.”

Arthur looked out at his desolate lands with wet eyes. “This cannot be my future. Mother, please! Tell me this does not have to be!”

She answered with a slightly menacing smile; her intense gaze revealed no remorse. She tugged on his sleeve, and they moved down through stone and timber to the Great Hall. Here they saw a dejected King Arthur sitting on his throne. The room was dim, the once-beautiful windows dirty, and he was nearly alone. A servant stood nearby, and several knights and lords milled about at the far end of the room. The great round table was still there, but it and the surrounding chairs were empty save for a thick layer of dust.

“There is no joy in a dying kingdom, Arthur. After Merlin’s departure, your former friends began to leave you. And poor Gaius, he became low and soon began to show his age. He only lasted a short while. Your famed knights of the round table mostly disbanded – after all, neighboring kingdoms have no interest in conquering a cursed land. And Camelot is indeed cursed…”

“Mother, enough! Please, take me home. I cannot bear this any longer. Just tell me if I can prevent this from happening – I beg you.”

“Arthur, the way forward is difficult for you to see because your mind is cluttered with royal duty, with loyalty to your father. You must rise above such considerations. Break free from your father’s path – that way leads only to ruin. He was wrong about so much, and you must find the courage to forsake his ways.”

Spirit Ygraine paused for a moment while Arthur stared, lips parted in disbelief, at the sad scene before him, blinking away the tears that continued to fill his eyes.

“Magic is not inherently evil, Arthur. Just as the pursuit of wealth or political power does not necessarily corrupt the soul, so it is with magic. And when wielded by someone like your Merlin, it can accomplish unfathomable good. Do not turn him away because of his magic, my son. He was born for you, and you alone. Embrace him; thank the Goddess herself for him! And in time, you will understand just what a gift he is.”

Spirit Ygraine took Arthur’s trembling hand and caressed it. She looked into his eyes and smiled – this time, her gaze was gentle and her expression kind. Then, softly, she said, “Come, I will take you home. You have seen all you need to see.”

She then pulled Arthur back to the present; back to his chamber. She helped him to sit on the edge of his bed, and offered one last piece of advice.

“Son, do not allow yourself to live in the grip of Uther’s unjust laws and prejudices. For if you do, the future you just witnessed awaits you. I have faith in you. But you must choose to follow where your good heart and noble mind lead you. Just be you, Arthur, and all will be well.”

*****

Chapter Text

Arthur woke with a start. “Mother?” There was no one there. He was in his bed, warm and comfortable beneath the blankets. A glance to the window revealed that it was early morning, just after the dawn. “Please,” he said to himself, “let that all be a dream, a very bad dream.” He sat upright and looked about the chamber. “Merlin?” He called out, allowing himself to hope.

Then, his chest went tight when he saw it – the dark stain of blood on the stonework near the hearth, where a despondent Merlin had ground his knuckles against the wall. Arthur sighed. “Well, I guess that wasn’t a dream…”

Something shiny then caught his eye: a circle of polished metal. It was his mother’s crown, the one her spirit was wearing – it now rested at the bottom of his bed, perched upon a small pillow atop the blankets. “Gods help me…” he whispered. “She really was here.”

He leaned forward and touched it, just to make sure it was solid and real. And with sudden surety, Arthur knew what he had to do. The spirits of Yuletide had shown him the way. But did those travels, across the land and through time, all occur the previous night? That first journey with spirit Freya seemed so long ago…he felt sure that Yule must be long passed.

He rose from the bed and moved to the window; swinging open the sash, the king leant into the cold morning air. His kingdom looked beautiful and healthy and peaceful, undercover of a thick white blanket of fresh snow.

“You, stable boy!” He called down to the courtyard, to a portly young man scurrying through the snow in his duties. “Tyr? Yes, Tyr Seward. Tell me, what day is this?”

“Majesty?” Tyr asked, confused, as he leaned back and looked up to the royal window.

“Tell me what day this is!”

“Why, it is Yule, Your Majesty. Of course it is.”

“Thank you, Tyr. Carry on. Oh, and come to the feast in the Great Hall tonight. Tell the guards you are my guest. And bring your mother.”

“It would be a great honor! Thank you, Your Majesty; thank you! Happy Yule, Sire!”

Arthur spun from the window and hurried about the chamber. He built up the fire, then found some clean, warm clothing; he wondered what sarcastic remark Merlin would make about the king dressing himself. He sat on the bed to pull on his boots and glanced over at his mother’s crown. He smiled, and left it sitting there on its little pillow when he stood to leave.

When the king pulled open his chamber door, he startled Gwaine, who’d fallen asleep in the corridor. The sleep-deprived knight grumbled as he struggled to his feet. “Sire. What’s going on? What are you going to do?”

Arthur stepped up to Gwaine and clapped his hands on his shoulders. “I am going to see Merlin, Sir Gwaine. And you? You should get some rest…well, more rest. After all, Yuletide is upon us. Tonight begins twelve merry days of feasting!”

Gwaine didn’t seem to hear him. “I won’t let you hurt Merlin, Arthur.”

“I go to apologize, not to harm him. He is a gift, Gwaine, and we shall treasure him.”

With that, Arthur walked away, leaving a bewildered Gwaine leaning against the wall, mumbling some incoherent reply.

When the king arrived outside Gaius’ chamber, he addressed the two guards. “You are dismissed. Go, enjoy Yule with your families. But first, inform Sir Leon that guards are no longer required here, by my order. Merlin is once again a free man.”

“Yes, Sire!” They responded in unison, and hurried away.

Arthur slowly opened the door and peered inside. He saw Gaius sitting near the fire; apparently, he’d fallen asleep in his chair. There was no sign of Merlin in the main chamber. Arthur quietly made his way over to the old physician and bent over to gently rustle his shoulder.

“Arthur? Oh, my lord; forgive me!” Gaius made to stand, but the king left his hand upon his shoulder and the old man stilled. “Sire, is everything all right?”

“Yes, Gaius, all is well," Arthur answered, then settled into the other chair near the fire. "And do not worry, Merlin will be fine – he and I will both be fine. I have come to talk with him, to apologize for last night.”

“Oh, Your Majesty, that is the happiest thing I have heard in a very long time. I was so worried; he would not speak with me, and I could do nothing to calm his sorrow. When Leon posted the guards, I had a pretty good idea of what must have transpired. You…you must be furious with me, Sire. I’ve helped him keep his secret all these years…”

“No Gaius, I am not angry – not any longer. I now understand…everything…or most things, at least. Tell me, what do you know of the spirits of Yuletide?”

“The spirits…? Well, my lord, there are many interpretations of that particular myth. It is said that, when a person experiences a particularly strong trauma on the eve of Yuletide, one caused by their own misdeeds, that three spirits might come to them, to encourage them to change their ways.”

“It is no mere myth, Gaius. I had just such an experience last night! One of the spirits was my mother; another was Merlin’s father. The crown that adorned my mother’s spirit is still in my chamber at this moment. I suppose she left it behind so there would be no doubt that her visit was real.”

“Why, that is incredible! And who was the third spirit?”

“A young woman called Freya – I saw her first. Apparently, in life she was a friend to Merlin. I don’t recall meeting her.”

“Oh yes,” Gaius sighed. “I will let Merlin tell you about her. So, did this encounter with the spirits help you, then?”

“Very much, Gaius.” Arthur smiled. “It was not a pleasant experience – in fact it was sad and humiliating and terrifying. But it changed everything.”

“To my knowledge, my lord, that it is how it usually goes; in theory, at any rate…” Gaius groaned in discomfort, then shook his head in embarrassment. “Pardon me, my lord. I must remove myself from this cursed chair, but I do not know if I am able…”

Arthur stood up, helping Gaius to his feet. “Let me help you over to your bed. You must rest – I expect to see you at the Yule feast this evening!”

With the king’s assistance, Gaius was soon stretched out upon his bed. He sighed with relief – he was far too old to spend the night sat on a hard chair. He looked to Arthur with an unusually soft expression.

“Thank you for coming to see Merlin. I am proud of you, my boy.”

Arthur thought for a moment, then sat on a small stool beside the bed.

“Gaius, I have never once thanked you for the care you show me; but you have done so, since the day I was born. You know that Uther was often…cruel…to me. But I always had you to come to. So…thank you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It was my honor to help as I could. Now...go be with Merlin – he is in his room. I know he still suffers. He needs you, Arthur. And…I believe that you need him, too.”

Arthur nodded and clasped a hand around Gaius’ forearm. He then stood and moved to the door to Merlin’s little room. He raised a hand to knock, but stopped; he decided to gently push open the door instead. He quietly stepped in, closed the door behind him and moved the few steps over to the side of Merlin’s bed. He lay there, curled up, with his back to Arthur.

“I don’t want to talk, Gaius. Please, just leave me be.” Merlin’s voice was hoarse, and soft with sadness.

“It’s me, Merlin…”

“Arthur?” Merlin rolled over to face his king. The skin below his wet eyes was dark, and the whites looked red and sore; the great mop of dark hair atop his head exploded out in every direction.

He was a mess; he’d clearly endured a sleepless night.

“May I sit?” The king asked, gesturing toward the edge of the narrow bed.

Merlin moved over as he raised himself to a sitting position. Arthur sat upon the bed, to Merlin’s left, and turned to rest his back against the headboard. One foot was still on the floor, the other hung off the side of the small mattress. As Merlin settled close at Arthur’s side, he winced and cradled his bandaged right hand in his left. He’d unthinkingly put weight on it as he moved, causing a sharp jolt of pain.

“Will it be okay?”

“Yeah, Gaius patched it up best he could. That was stupid…hurting myself like that…”

“No, I understand…”

“Arthur, I am so sorry…”

“Hush now, Merlin. I am the one who should apologize. You know, better than anyone, how I struggle with my temper. I try so hard to control it, to free myself from it. But Uther’s influence is a stubborn thing, it seems; or, perhaps, I am too weak to overcome it.”

“No, Arthur. You are the strongest person I know. You have made tremendous strides in becoming your own man, your own king. I have been so proud of you. And…after the things we said…and your beautiful gift…I thought that maybe, just maybe, the time was right for me to reveal my secret to you. And I thought…or hoped...well, that maybe you would be proud of me, too. But that was dumb…there never would have been a good time to reveal that I was a liar, would there?”

“I admit I was hurt and angry, and acted rashly,” Arthur confessed. “I deeply regret rushing to judgement, and the pain it caused. I am sorry, Merlin, truly.”

“I know...and it’s okay, Arthur...honest.”

“It is not okay, Merlin. But if you are offering forgiveness…then…thank you. This ordeal may prove beneficial in the end, though; for today, I have a new view of…everything! And I make this promise to you: from this day forward, I will walk a different path from the one my father trod. The laws will change, Merlin. I know I can do better. And I will, as long as I have your help. And your loyalty, if I still deserve it.”

“You have them both. Always.”

Arthur smiled and pulled Merlin over so his head rested on his chest. As gently as he could, he took Merlin’s injured hand into his own hands. It was bandaged around the knuckles, thumb and palm, and the exposed fingers remained closed. While supporting it with his left hand, the king moved his right hand to rest lightly atop the bulky wrappings, and with his own warm fingers he softly stroked Merlin’s, which were freezing cold. The tension in his hand, and his entire body, began to melt away. It was then Arthur noticed that those abused fingers still clutched his mother’s sigil, which was partially hidden beneath the bandages.

“Merlin…” Arthur sighed.

Merlin lifted his head from Arthur’s chest and looked down to his hand. “I never let it go. I just couldn’t. Poor Gaius had to fix-up my hand just like this.”

Arthur carefully lowered Merlin’s hand and rested it in his lap, and then wrapped his arms around him in a firm embrace.

“You feel so cold,” Arthur said as he released him. “Here…” He leaned away so he could maneuver a blanket over Merlin’s shoulders, wrapping him tight, then pulled him back close. Arthur carded his fingers through Merlin’s hair, attempting to return it to some semblance of normalcy; he had little success. Merlin hummed in appreciation anyway, resting his head again on Arthur’s chest. They sat quietly for a long moment, the king absentmindedly stroking his fingers through the hair above Merlin’s ear, until Arthur broke the silence.

“Gods, Merlin, I was so out-of-sorts last night. I didn’t know what to do – I certainly couldn’t sleep. Poor Gwaine spent the night on the floor outside my chamber, no doubt to run me through if I attempted to do you further harm. But while he slept, I had the most amazing experience. I thought it might have been a dream – but it wasn’t. I will tell you the whole story later; I want Gaius there to help me comprehend it all. But for now, let’s just say that I learned – from three ghostly spirits, if you can believe it – what I most needed to know about you and your magic. I know now how much you have sacrificed on my behalf, and just how important you are to my future; to Camelot’s future.”

“Ghostly spirits? How much did you drink last night?” Merlin smiled and snuggled the side of his head into the soft fabric of Arthur’s tunic. “I can’t wait to hear that story. In the meantime, let me just say that, for me, this past night was the worst ever. And I’ve known some doozies!”

Arthur snorted a small laugh. “I know you have, Merlin…I know now. It pained me, to learn how often you suffered alone; it pains me still. Just know that I will do my best to ensure that you never suffer again, that you are never in a position like that – in peril and all alone.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Merlin’s smile dimmed, and his brow furrowed. “You know, when things went to hell after I showed you my magic, I feared that the life I’d truly wished for – the one I wanted with you – had ended…just as it was beginning. That was hard, really hard: to get a glimpse of your dream then watch it crumble.”

Merlin shifted a bit, placing his injured hand – and Ygraine’s sigil – over Arthur’s heart, and his smile quickly returned. “But now, here with you, I’m just happy; my dream seems possible again. No matter what the future brings, I want nothing more than to face it with you.”

“I am glad – I want exactly the same. And I am proud of you, Merlin, and so very thankful to have you by my side. I will never again forget that, you have my word.” Arthur’s thought was nearly interrupted when a sudden yawn took control of him. “I think our lack of sleep is finally catching up to us.”

“Yeah, I’ve been sitting here all night, exhausted but wide awake. But now I’m finally sleepy…” He was starting to slur his words, just a bit. “So, did those spirits tell you about all the horrible mistakes I made along the way?”

“No, they seemed determined to focus on your good deeds; but I am anxious to hear all about the bad ones! For now, let us rest for a bit. Then we must prepare for tonight’s feast – this is a day of celebration, after all. I’d say you and I have something special to celebrate this Yule. And Merlin? I want you to sit at the high table tonight, by my side – there will be no more secrets, no more hiding.” Arthur’s eyes, though shining with happy satisfaction, were growing heavy; Merlin’s were already closed.

“Okay, Arthur…” Merlin was quickly sliding toward slumber.

A gust of wind rattled the little room’s window; Arthur looked over, and noticed that it was snowing again. He looked back to Merlin and studied him for a moment, then smiled at the contentment and happiness he found on his sleepy face. His fingers still lingered in Merlin’s hair, thumb gently caressing the rim of his ear.

Softly, he said, “Happy Yule, my young warlock. I…” He hesitated a moment, but then laughed inwardly at himself. No more hiding. “I love you.”

He leaned over and kissed Merlin on the top of his head. And Merlin, his eyes still closed, rewarded him with a big toothy grin.

“No more secrets,” Merlin mumbled sleepily. “Happy Yule, my king. Love you, too.”

*****

Epilogue

And so, the two unlikely friends were at peace once again. Their relationship had weathered a brutal storm and emerged as something much more.

The waking world’s Yule gift to the pair was allowing them, at last, to slip from its grasp and sink together into an overdue, blissful sleep.

*****

The End

*****