Chapter Text
Merlin spent the following morning in his room, waiting. He had not slept much, but with every hour that passed without guards showing up in the tower to arrest him or escort him to the border, he grew calmer and more assured.
Finally, close to noon, he stepped out into the infirmary. He ignored Gaius’s pleas for him to leave Camelot and walked directly to Arthur’s chambers, past plenty of guards and knights.
Nobody stopped him.
Without knocking, he entered, satisfied to see that he had timed it just right. Arthur was already in armour and a pale-faced Morris was at his side, about to strap on Arthur’s walking leg. Both of them looked like they had got little sleep and the lunch spread on the table appeared to be untouched.
As soon as Arthur saw Merlin, his face turned thunderous. “Out!” he growled. “Out, before I—”
“Yes, yes, before you call the guards on me and have me tossed on the pyre,” Merlin retorted, surprised by his own brazenness.
He was not the only one.
Arthur’s mouth went slack, just as Morris let out what could only be called a squeak.
“I know you think I’m some great manipulator,” Merlin went on, spurred on by a sudden rush of reckless confidence. “Some sneaky, slimy sorcerer who has used you ill. And you’re right to be angry with me for lying, you’re right to be angry about the false potions, but you’re not right in sending me away.”
By then, Arthur had managed to close his mouth, though he still appeared to be lost for words.
“No matter what you think, I’m still your friend,” Merlin continued, feeling bolstered by Arthur’s silence as much as by what Morgana had revealed to him last night. “And I will do everything in my power to help you. Because I’m not evil and I think you know it, too, or you would have had me arrested and killed, not sent away. At the very least, you would have made sure I had left.”
Arthur still did not say anything, but neither was he denying Merlin’s words which, in Merlin’s eyes, was answer enough.
“There was never any scheme,” Merlin went on. “I know I should have told you earlier about the magic and if I could go back and change things, I would. But you must know I’ve only ever used my magic to help you. I’ve used it to heal you. I can show you, if you want.” He gestured at Arthur’s leg, still bruised and sore.
Finally, Arthur seemed to have found his voice. “I told you to leave,” he said roughly. “I banished you.”
“I know.”
“And yet you come back here?”
“Yes,” Merlin replied and moved forward until he was standing right in front of Arthur. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
He held out a hand and Morris, wisely, handed over the wooden leg and stepped away, leaving Arthur and Merlin to fight it out.
But neither of them spoke. The tension between them was tangible. Arthur’s eyes were roaming over Merlin’s face, and Merlin did his best not to fidget or give away the fact that, in spite of his bravado, there was still that little voice of fear at the back of his mind, telling him to make a run for it.
But Arthur was not Uther. Arthur was a good man and they were friends. More than that, Morgana had said that Arthur considered him family.
He would not harm Merlin. Merlin was sure of it.
And so, he stood his ground.
Finally, something in Arthur’s expression gave. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Do it. Heal the leg.”
Merlin went down on his knees.
He placed the wooden replacement next to him on the floor, hands trembling with relief, then looked at the state of Arthur’s limb. The end of it was rubbed raw all over and severely bruised. Arthur had to be in considerable pain.
“It’s bad, but I think I can heal it,” Merlin informed Arthur. “I haven’t tried this particular spell before, though. It might take me a couple of tries to get it right, but I promise it won’t hurt.”
Slowly, he reached for Arthur’s leg.
Arthur did not move away.
Merlin broke out in a smile. Gently, he placed his fingers on Arthur’s skin, careful to avoid the worst of the sores. Then, he looked up. “By your leave, sire?”
Arthur stared down at him, face taut as he gave a jerky nod. He visibly braced himself, clutching his crutches until his knuckles went white, his jaw set so tightly that Merlin could see a muscle pop.
It had to cost him, allowing Merlin to work magic on him, and a rush of pride and gratitude overcame Merlin when he realised that after all that had been said and done, after all the lies and deceit, Arthur trusted him.
The realisation had every potential to leave him drunk with happiness and he had to force himself to focus on the matter at hand. He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the wounds, pulling up his magic until he could feel it prickle just underneath his skin, pleasantly warm and ready to be of assistance.
“Þurhhæle ġeallan!”
Merlin’s magic spilled out eagerly, bright and golden, dousing Arthur’s skin in a warm sheen. Above him, Arthur let out a gasp and he jerked, though he still did not pull away. In the matter of moments, the sores had vanished, leaving just the bruises.
Satisfied, Merlin looked up. “That’s the sores taken care of. I can try with the rest as well?”
“Yes,” Arthur said hoarsely. His eyes had gone a little wild, but other than that, he seemed surprisingly calm in the face of seeing Merlin’s magic at work again.
Merlin’s smile turned into a grin. He looked back at the leg. “Þurhhæle lælan!”
The bruises faded to nothing but a couple of faint, yellowed flecks on healthy flesh.
“There we go,” Merlin said, let go of Arthur’s leg and reached for the replacement. With practiced movements, he strapped it on, then stood. “All set, sire.”
“Thank you,” said Arthur, and there was considerable weight in those words. It was not just a thank you for the leg.
“Anything for you,” Merlin replied firmly. “I mean it, Arthur. Anything.”
Arthur’s gaze was heavy. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve realised that.”
That was when the noon bell rang.
“I have to go,” Arthur announced. “Edwyn must already be waiting.” He glanced at Merlin, then added with just a hint of a smirk, “What, no grand speech to stop me from fighting?”
“Would it help?” Merlin asked.
“No.” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You’re not planning on using sorcery, are you? Because I must do this myself, and if my father finds you out—”
“I know. I get it.”
Arthur looked him over, then nodded.
Together with Morris, they made their way down the stairs and into the courtyard. Dark clouds hung over Camelot, though it had yet to rain and the courtyard was dry.
As predicted, Edwyn was already waiting, fully armoured and carrying a shield with the Mercian emblem.
He was surrounded by a huge crowd of spectators. They had formed a large circle in front of the grand stairs, marking an invisible arena. The ladies of the court had opted to watch from the balconies up above and a couple of servant boys had climbed the statues in the courtyard to get a better view.
At the bottom of the stairs, a step or two above everyone else, stood Uther with King Bayard. They both looked grim, with Bayard more so than Uther, though he surely had less to fear. Both of them nodded at Arthur as he made his way downstairs and towards Edwyn.
Morgana had yet to make an appearance.
“You’re really letting him do this?” Morris murmured as they stepped to the side and came to stand with the crowd. “He’ll fight?”
“It’ll be all right,” Merlin said, though he sounded calmer than he was.
If Morgana’s plan worked, there might not even be a fight. Certainly, it would not be fought by Arthur.
He turned his eyes on both princes.
“At last, he makes an appearance,” sneered Edwyn as Arthur stepped into the centre of the circle. “Are you ready to fight?”
Almost at once, Leon emerged from the crowd. He, too, was clad in armour. He genuflected before Arthur, dipping his head respectfully.
“Sire,” he said. “Please, I would once more ask you for the honour of fighting in your stead.”
Arthur did not look surprised, though he did not accept the offer, either. “Your loyalty is appreciated, but I will fight the duel myself, Sir Leon.”
Just then, Sir Owain also emerged, kneeling next to Leon. “Sire, please, pick me as your champion. It would be my greatest honour to fight Prince Edwyn for you.”
Arthur opened his mouth, no doubt to deny him, too, but more knights came forward then. Sir Bors was next and Merlin tried not to let the sight of his scar unnerve him. They would prevent the vision, he was sure of it!
Soon, at least ten knights were beseeching Arthur to let them fight and even Sir Lamorak was among them, much to Merlin’s surprise. The crowd was murmuring loudly, anxious to see the duel commence.
“You’re all good, loyal men,” Arthur spoke up at last. “But I cannot ask you to fight in my stead. This duel, I must fight myself.”
“No! I will fight Edwyn!”
Hundreds of heads turned as Morgana’s voice echoed through the courtyard and the crowd gasped and murmured when they saw the Princess descend the stairs.
Morgana was ready to fight. Her hair had been braided and pinned up and she was not wearing a gown, but thick leather breeches and sturdy boots. She had put on a hauberk, cinched at the waist with a broad belt, and her arms and shins were protected by vambraces and greaves respectively. At her hip, there hung a sword. Gwen was one step behind her. Clearly, she had been the one who had helped Morgana into her fighting gear.
Confidently, she brushed past both staring kings on the stairs and made her way towards Arthur.
Edwyn’s eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head. “My lady!” he exclaimed as she approached.
“I’m not your lady,” Morgana spat and came to stand next to Arthur. “I have never been, and never will be. I do not desire this match and I will prevent it with the blade if I must.” She lifted her chin. “And I might just get my chance, too. I shall be Arthur’s champion.”
Merlin was of half a mind to break into applause. Morgana looked strong and capable, certainly capable enough to defeat Edwyn.
Edwyn, however, did not seem to agree. He let out an incredulous noise. “But—but you’re a woman!”
“So?” Morgana sneered. “I’m well-skilled with the blade.”
“You can’t be his champion!” Edwyn said. “You’re not a knight. You’re a lady!”
“I had Geoffrey of Monmouth look it up,” Morgana said and smirked. “Nowhere in the Knight’s Code does it state that the chosen champion cannot be a woman.”
“Morgana,” Arthur spoke up, voice firm. “I know of your skill with the sword, and I appreciate the offer, but this is my fight.”
Morgana rounded on him. “No, my dear brother. It is my duel as much as it is yours. In fact, this challenge would have never been issued had I not refused Edwyn’s offer to dance.” She turned back to Edwyn. “And make no mistake, Your Highness. I will keep refusing all such offers from you, including that of your hand. I will not marry you, and if you take insult at that, too, we can settle it with the blade right now!” She stepped forward and unsheathed her sword, under much turmoil from the crowd.
“I’m not going to fight a woman!” said Edwyn indignantly and took a step back.
“Feel free to yield,” Morgana retorted and approached him.
“That’s enough!”
The courtyard fell quiet. King Uther had spoken, loud enough to have people duck their heads. He stepped down and into the circle, right between Edwyn and Morgana, his face dark.
“Stop this, Morgana!” he ordered. “You will cease this behaviour this instance! It is conduct unbecoming of the Crown Princess of Camelot. Step away and let the men fight!”
“I am not the Crown Princess,” Morgana said and tightened her grip on the sword. “And I will not step away, either. For months, I have told you I do not desire this match. For months, I have told you that it is Arthur, not I, who is the rightful heir to the throne. Have you not seen the knights kneel before him just now? Do you not see the strength of your son, who’s still willing and able to pick up a sword and fight, even after all that has befallen him?”
Uther looked at Arthur and grimaced. “He’s much recovered, yes, but—”
“Uther.” It was King Bayard that had interrupted and all eyes turned on him. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Uther’s shoulder. Merlin was surprised to see he looked rather calm and collected, given the rapidly escalating situation. “You should listen to your daughter. Do you not think it’s time we bury this treaty?”
Uther turned to stare at him. “You want to abandon our treaty?” he demanded.
“From what I see here, that’s all it ever was,” King Bayard replied. “Our treaty.” He gestured at Morgana and Arthur, then the crowd. “Your children do not agree with it. Neither do your knights. And from what my own delegation has told me of the whispers at your court, neither does your council.” He shook his head. “I came here under the impression that Camelot was weak and in need of a future king, but nothing could be further from the truth.”
“But Father!” Edwyn spoke up. “What of my throne?”
King Bayard sent him an unimpressed look. “It was never meant to be your throne, son, but Princess Morgana’s, though you never quite managed to get that into your head. And the way I see it, it will not be her sitting on it, either. The future King of Camelot stands before you now, that much has become clear to me.” King Bayard dipped his head at Arthur in a show of respect. “Your Highness.”
Arthur looked nothing short of shocked, but returned the bow.
“Now, Edwyn,” King Bayard said and his voice grew hard. “Take back this ridiculous challenge! That is an order by your King!”
“But Father—”
“Take back the challenge, before you embarrass yourself any further.”
A few in the crowd dared to chuckle and Merlin quickly slapped a hand against his mouth to hide his own grin as Edwyn went bright red in the face. He sputtered for a moment, though another glare from his father was enough to have him choke out, “I revoke the challenge.”
Satisfied, King Bayard turned towards Uther. “There has been enough animosity and bloodshed between our people, Uther. I, for one, am tired of it, and I will not take offence if we let this treaty rest. Do you not agree that the match between our children is no longer desirable, nor needed?”
Uther looked at Edwyn, then over at Arthur. He took a moment to study his son. “I do,” he said simply.
“Then let us go inside,” King Bayard said and smiled. “It is about to rain and we have yet to break into the Mercian wine I brought, though I think we could all use a goblet of it after this bout of excitement.”
“A splendid idea, Bayard,” said Uther, then turned back towards Arthur. “Arthur. Won’t you join us?”
Arthur straightened on the spot. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Uther glanced at Morgana. “I don’t suppose you’ll want to get changed first,” he said.
Morgana smirked and finally, she sheathed her blade. “No,” she replied. “I’m quite comfortable the way I am.”
“Edwyn, you, too,” ordered King Bayard and the Prince, still bright red, heeded his father’s words and followed.
As the nobles moved inside, Gwen and Morris went with them, and the crowd dissipated, too, talking animatedly about what had just occurred. No one sounded particularly upset that Morgana would not marry Edwyn, and plenty seemed more than happy to see Arthur had been all but reinstated.
Not that Merlin was paying much attention to the talk. He was too busy riding on a wave of relief and happiness.
Morgana’s vision had not come to pass. Her plan had worked, too, though she had been convinced she would actually have to fight Edwyn to make him back off. As it was, things could not have gone better. Arthur’s diplomatic efforts had finally paid off and played right into their hand. King Bayard had voluntarily backed out of the treaty and even let Uther keep face.
With the lightest of steps, Merlin returned to the infirmary, where he found Gaius standing by the open window. He must have watched the proceedings from up in the tower. He turned towards Merlin when he came in and smiled tentatively. “A favourable outcome,” he said.
“An understatement if ever I heard one,” Merlin replied happily. “And you’ve yet to hear the best news! Arthur let me use magic on him!” He launched into an excited tale about everything that had occurred since their argument, taking any raised eyebrows in stride.
“I’m glad,” was all Gaius said when Merlin was done.
Merlin’s grin dampened considerably when he saw Gaius’s cautious look. “You’re not happy?”
Gaius sent him a small smile. “Of course, I’m happy. You followed your heart and you were rewarded. I couldn’t be gladder for you.”
“Thank you,” Merlin replied. More quietly, he added. “And I wanted to say: I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you last night. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
At that, Gaius sighed and moved to sit down at the table, gesturing at Merlin to do the same. When Merlin had settled down across from him, he said, “It is I who must apologise, my boy. I have thought at length about what you said to me, and I’ve come to realise that you were right. Secrets and lies might be necessary for survival in Camelot at times, but they are not always the only way.” He sighed again, then said, “Twenty years, I’ve been lying, Merlin. Twenty years, I’ve been hiding secrets. From the King, Prince Arthur, Princess Morgana… And more recently, from you.” He shook his head. “It is hard to change an old man like me, but I think I can yet make an effort. No more secrets. I swear it.”
Warmed by the promise, Merlin gifted him with a bright smile. “Thank you.”
Gaius reached out to pat Merlin’s hand, smiling more genuinely this time before he added, “And I think I shall make good on that promise right now. Let me just make us some tea and then, I will tell you about your father.”
Much later, Merlin was sitting in his room, looking through the grimoire on the hunt for any information he might find about dragonlords, amazed at what Gaius had revealed about his parentage. His father was a man named Balinor, who was alive but in hiding, with the power to command dragons. Gaius believed he might be the key to one day make good of Merlin’s promise to free Kilgharrah.
He looked up from his reading when there was a knock at the door. He almost fell off the bed when he saw it was Arthur, who was looking about the room with a raised eyebrow. He had changed out of his armour and into courtly attire, but he was still wearing his walking leg and had braved all the stairs of the tower to come up here.
“This place is a mess,” he said in lieu of a greeting.
Merlin put aside the book and scratched at his neck as he took in the clothes and knickknacks strewn about the floor. “Well, not everyone has a manservant to clean up after him.”
Arthur grimaced and closed the door behind him. “Ah, about that,” he said gruffly.
“You’re not dismissing Morris, I assume?” Merlin asked.
“No,” Arthur confirmed. He looked around again, then made for the chair at Merlin’s desk. “I already apologised, too. He was very forgiving.” He sent Merlin a look as he sat down. “Much like you.”
“You were angry and scared,” Merlin murmured. “It’s all fine.”
Arthur studied him quietly for a while, though the silence was not uncomfortable. “I still don’t understand it,” he said at last.
“Magic, you mean?” Merlin asked quietly.
Arthur shook his head. “That you kept staying. That you decided to help me. You had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by helping me.”
“Nonsense,” said Merlin, though he felt his cheeks grow hot. “I gained a friend, didn’t I?” More shily, he added, “Besides, I’m not as selfless as all that. There’s something you don’t know yet.”
Arthur did a poor job hiding his apprehension. “Oh?”
“There’s a prophecy,” Merlin said quickly. “About you. Well, us, really. I heard it from a dragon.” Arthur’s face grew incredulous. “It‘s a long story,” Merlin hurried to add. “Anyway, the important part is that, according to this dragon, you are destined to be a great king. A king who will bring magic back to Camelot, among other great deeds. And I, well… I’m supposed to help you with that.” He smiled, perhaps a little timidly. “That’s why I’ve got magic, Arthur. It’s for you.”
Arthur looked him over carefully. “That’s why you befriended me, then? Because of this prophecy?”
“No. In the beginning, I thought the dragon was full of it,” Merlin said. “You were far too much of a prat for me to believe him about you being some great king.” He tried for a grin, happy when Arthur’s lips twitched upwards in response. More soberly, he added, “Though I won’t deny that it helped me believe in you. That, if only I worked hard enough to help you, you’d reign Camelot and think differently of magic.”
Arthur looked away. “Think differently,” he repeated. “Not like my father, you mean.”
It was not a question and so, Merlin stayed quiet.
Arthur did not seem to expect a reply. “He took me aside earlier, my father. Told me he would arrange it so I’d become Crown Prince as soon as the Mercians have taken their leave. He even told me he was proud of me, for not giving up, for getting back on a horse and going back to training, for being willing to fight Edwyn and all that in spite of my—” He grimaced as he quoted. “—unfortunate predicament.”
“He didn’t apologise?” Merlin asked.
“Please,” said Arthur. “When would he ever! But he will make me his heir, and that is what I wanted, so I suppose I must be content.”
“And are you? Content?” Merlin asked.
“There was a time when I would have done anything to hear those words from him,” Arthur confessed. “I’m proud of you, from his lips – a dream come true! But today, they rung hollow. I heard them and I felt… nothing.” He paused to run a hand through his hair. “I’ve always idolised my father. Looked up to him. Thought he could do no wrong. But he was willing to cast me aside, to disinherit me, even when I improved.” He shook his head. “He was wrong to treat me this way. So it isn’t exactly a leap to think about what other things he might be wrong about.”
“Wrong about magic, perhaps?” Merlin suggested quietly.
Arthur sent him a small smile. “I think I already saw proof of that.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“You healed my leg so effortlessly today. And you lifted the curse, too, by your own account. Is there any way… I mean, is there a chance you could…”
“I can’t grow it back,” Merlin replied, hating to crush Arthur’s hopes. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible.”
Arthur looked away, cheeks growing red. “Of course. Silly to ask,” he murmured. After a pause, he added, “And if you had come to Camelot earlier? Back when the witch attacked me. Could you have healed me then? Prevented it?”
“Probably, yes,” Merlin confirmed with a sad smile.
“That’s what I thought.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in Arthur’s words.
Merlin’s heart ached for him. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”
At that, Arthur let out a snort and looked up. At Merlin’s frown, he said, “What on Earth are you apologising for? Not coming to Camelot earlier?”
“I’m sorry you had to go through all this. Sorry I couldn’t do more.”
“You’ve already done plenty,” Arthur replied. “And I don’t just mean lifting the curse. Being there for me, even when I least deserved it. Giving me a piece of your mind, even when I didn’t want to hear it.” He hesitated, then added, “Fighting bandits, too, perhaps?”
It was Merlin’s turn to look away. “Yes. That, too,” he admitted.
“And to think I called you a coward!”
Merlin did not care for the note of guilt in Arthur’s voice. “You couldn’t have known,” he told him, making sure to catch his gaze as he did.
“Flying branches? Slipping swords?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow. “In retrospect, it’s completely obvious. I’m surprised you managed to keep your secret as long as you have, if that’s the level of caution you’ve displayed so far.”
“Some things are worth the risk,” Merlin replied seriously.
Arthur conceded the point with a nod. Then, he reached inside his doublet to retrieve a small item and got up from the chair with the help of his crutch. Once he had sat down next to Merlin on the bed, he held out the item.
Merlin took it and brushed a thumb over it. It was a large coin of silver, showing a dove flying past a cross.
“Your mother’s sigil,” he said, realising what the token had to be.
Arthur looked at him in surprise, then rolled his eyes a little. “Morgana,” he said. “Can’t keep her mouth shut.” More roughly, he added, “Did she explain what it means?”
Merlin nodded, suddenly not so sure he could speak without embarrassing himself.
“It’s yours to keep. It’s a gift,” Arthur emphasised. “Not a reward. I realise I haven’t been the most reliable of friends. I’m quick-tempered and I don’t always think things through before I say them. I hope this would make you feel safe if I ever—well.”
“Thank you,” Merlin breathed. He swallowed against the roughness in his throat, then added, “I appreciate it, really.”
“But?” Arthur ventured.
“I’m surprised, that’s all,” Merlin said. “That you would give this to me now.” He wiped at his eyes, then asked, “You’re not still angry with me? For lying? For deceiving you?”
Arthur looked away. “I fear that would be rather hypocritical of me, don’t you think?” he replied. “After all, I kept a rather large secret from you, too.” He let out a self-depreciating laugh. “Believe me, the irony was not lost on me, accusing you of manipulation and feigning friendship.”
“Well, I reckon we’re even then,” Merlin said and wrapped his fingers around the sigil, bringing it close to his heart.
“You’ve done far too much for me for us to ever be that,” Arthur replied quietly and bumped his shoulder against Merlin’s. “But I hope that one day—well. Obviously, I cannot do much about it now, but when I’m King…”
Merlin smiled at him, understanding him well enough.
“Yes,” he agreed, his heart glowing with the implications. “When you’re King.”