Chapter Text
The throne room of Camelot stood empty in the pre-dawn darkness, save for the guards at their posts and one restless prince. Arthur Pendragon sat on the steps below the throne - never on it, not yet - and watched the first pale fingers of light creep through the high windows. The great seat loomed above him, carved stone that had borne the weight of kings for generations. Soon, perhaps sooner than anyone suspected, it would bear his.
He could still see his father's vacant stare from the evening before, the way Uther had looked through him as though he were a stranger. The physicians spoke in hushed tones about shock and grief, about time needed to heal. They didn't speak the truth that Arthur saw in their eyes: the king's mind had shattered like glass when Morgana's betrayal was revealed, and all the healers in Camelot couldn't piece it back together.
King Regent. The title sat uneasily on his shoulders, heavier than any armor he'd ever worn. In all but name, he ruled Camelot now. The thought should have filled him with pride - wasn't this what he'd been trained for his entire life? Instead, he felt only the crushing weight of every decision, every life that hung in the balance of his choices.
"You're brooding again."
Arthur didn't startle - he'd learned years ago to recognize the particular quality of silence that meant Merlin was approaching. His manservant had an uncanny ability to move through the castle like a shadow when he chose, though he was just as likely to crash into suits of armor when distracted.
"I'm thinking," Arthur corrected without turning. "Kings must think."
"King Regents," Merlin corrected gently, coming to stand beside him. "And I've seen you think. This is definitely brooding."
Arthur finally looked up at his servant, ready with a sharp retort, but the words died on his tongue. The morning light streaming through the windows had caught in Merlin's dark hair, turning it to burnished gold at the edges. His eyes - had they always been that particular shade of blue? Like the deep waters of the lake beyond the citadel, holding depths that seemed to go on forever.
Arthur's chest tightened inexplicably. He forced his gaze away, focusing on the middle distance.
"The council meets within the hour," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Have you - "
"Prepared your papers, polished your ceremonial sword, and ensured the kitchen knows you'll need breakfast after because you never eat before important meetings? Yes, Sire." There was gentle mockery in the title, a warmth that transformed what should have been proper address into something almost like endearment.
Arthur found himself fighting a smile. "I don't know why I keep you around."
"Because no one else would put up with your royal pratness," Merlin replied promptly. "Also, I'm the only one who remembers that you prefer your wine watered at formal dinners so you can keep a clear head."
It was true, and the fact that Merlin had noticed - had been watching him closely enough to discern such preferences without being told - sent another uncomfortable flutter through Arthur's chest. He stood abruptly, needing distance.
"The council will want to discuss the raids on the border villages," he said, striding toward the doors. Merlin fell into step beside him, as natural as breathing. "Leon returned last night with disturbing reports."
"Magic?" Merlin's voice carried an odd note, something Arthur couldn't quite identify.
"When isn't it?" Arthur sighed. "Sometimes I think every hedge wizard and sorceress in the five kingdoms has decided to test Camelot's defenses now that - " He cut himself off.
"Now that the king is indisposed," Merlin finished quietly.
They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. The castle was beginning to wake around them - servants scurrying past with lowered eyes, guards changing shifts with muted clanks of armor.
"You're a good king, Arthur," Merlin said suddenly. "Regent or otherwise."
Arthur glanced at him, startled by the conviction in his voice. Merlin wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed ahead, but there was something in his expression - a fierce pride that made Arthur's breath catch.
"Merlin - "
"The kingdom sees it. The knights see it. Your father - " Merlin paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your father prepared you for this, even if he didn't intend it to come so soon. You're ready."
They'd reached the council chambers. Arthur could hear voices within, the low rumble of conversation as Camelot's advisors gathered. He should go in, take his place, be the leader they needed. Instead, he found himself lingering, studying Merlin's profile in the torchlight.
There were shadows under his servant's eyes, a tension in the line of his shoulders that spoke of burdens carried. When had Merlin begun to look tired? When had the boyish enthusiasm that had so irritated Arthur in their early days together given way to this quiet strength?
"Sire?" Merlin prompted gently. "The council?"
Arthur squared his shoulders, becoming the prince - the king regent - Camelot needed. "Have my breakfast waiting when I'm done. And Merlin?"
"Yes?"
Arthur hesitated just a moment too long, stifling the open gratitude he wanted to express. Too many watching eyes and listening ears that would pounce on something so un-kingly as thanking a servant, and use it against him. Or worse, use it against Merlin.
"Don’t wander off,” he said instead. “I’ll need you afterward to remind me which advisor is Lord Havelock and which one is Lord Harrow, because I still can’t tell those two wrinkled old buzzards apart."
Merlin blinked, then grinned. "Havelock’s the one with the beard that looks like a distressed squirrel."
Arthur gave a soft huff that might have been a laugh. "Distressed squirrel. Right. That’ll help."
He stepped toward the chamber doors, then paused again, voice quieter.
"And... don’t let the kitchen burn the toast. You always get it right."
Merlin’s brows lifted slightly, but he said only, “Wouldn’t dream of letting your royal highness suffer subpar toast.”
Arthur nodded, then pushed through the doors before he could do something foolish, like reach out to smooth the worry lines from Merlin's brow or ask him to attend the council meeting just so he could have that steady presence beside him.
The councilors rose as he entered, a sea of bowing heads and murmured "Your Highness"es. Sir Leon stood near the great map of the kingdom, his expression grave. Geoffrey of Monmouth clutched his ever-present scrolls, while Lord Cynric and the other nobles arranged themselves according to rank and precedence.
"Gentlemen," Arthur said, taking his place at the head of the table. Not his father's seat - he couldn't bring himself to claim that yet - but close enough. "Sir Leon, your report?"
Leon stepped forward, indicating several points on the map. "The attacks have increased in frequency and boldness, Sire. Three villages in the past fortnight, all along the northern border. The survivors speak of a sorcerer who commands the very trees to attack, who can call lightning from clear skies."
"Druids?" Lord Cynric suggested, his voice dripping with familiar disdain.
"No," Leon said firmly. "The Druids seek only peace. This is something else - someone else. The attacks seem random, but there's a pattern. Each village had recently sent men to serve in Camelot's army."
Arthur studied the map, his mind already working through possibilities. "He's trying to weaken our defenses, make us pull back our patrols to protect the villages."
"Or testing our responses," Geoffrey added quietly. "Seeing how quickly we can mobilize, how we deploy our forces."
"Then we give him nothing to study," Arthur decided. "Double the patrols but vary their routes. I want word sent to all border villages - any sign of magic, any strangers asking questions, and they're to send word immediately." He looked at Leon. "Take Gwaine and Percival, scout the area where the attacks occurred. Look for patterns we might have missed."
"Yes, Sire."
The meeting continued, flowing from border defenses to grain stores to the ever-present challenge of maintaining order with the king's... condition. Arthur found his attention wandering, his gaze drifting to the door where he knew Merlin waited.
It was foolish, this hyperawareness of his servant. Dangerous, even. But lately, Arthur couldn't seem to help himself. He noticed things - the way Merlin's hands moved when he was nervous, quick and fluttering like birds. The particular tilt of his head when he was listening intently. The way he bit his lower lip when concentrating on a task.
"Sire?"
Arthur jerked back to attention, finding the entire council staring at him expectantly. Heat crept up his neck.
"I apologize, Lord Cynric. You were saying?"
"I was inquiring about the feast for the Feast of Beltane, Sire. With His Majesty unable to preside..."
"The feast will continue as planned," Arthur said firmly. "The people need to see that Camelot remains strong, that their lives continue uninterrupted. We cannot afford to show weakness."
The meeting dragged on for another hour, each issue blending into the next until Arthur felt his patience fraying. When Geoffrey finally suggested they adjourn, Arthur barely managed a dignified exit before escaping into the corridor.
Merlin was there, of course, falling into step beside him without a word. They walked in comfortable silence back to Arthur's chambers, where a simple breakfast waited on the table by the window.
"How did it go?" Merlin asked, busy himself with pouring wine - watered, Arthur noted with a fond exasperation he didn't examine too closely.
"Lord Cynric is convinced that every ill that befalls Camelot is the result of magic," Arthur said, sinking into his chair. "Lord Marrok thinks we should increase taxes to fund more soldiers. And Geoffrey wants to consult prophecies and portents before making any decisions."
"So, the usual then." Merlin set a plate before him, the gesture so familiar, so domestic, that Arthur had to look away.
"The usual," he agreed, attacking his breakfast with more force than necessary.
Merlin moved about the room, tidying things that didn't need tidying, adjusting items that were already perfectly placed. It was a nervous habit, one that emerged when he had something on his mind.
"Out with it," Arthur said finally.
Merlin froze mid-reach for a candlestick. "What?"
"Whatever it is you're not saying. You're rearranging my chambers like you're preparing for a siege."
A flush crept up Merlin's neck. "It's nothing, Sire. I just... I worry. About the raids, about you taking on too much. You haven't been sleeping well."
Arthur set down his knife carefully. "And how would you know that, Merlin?"
The flush deepened. "I... that is, when I bring your breakfast, sometimes you're already awake. And there are circles under your eyes. And you've been..." He gestured vaguely.
"I've been what?"
"Distant," Merlin said quietly. "Like you're carrying the weight of the world and won't let anyone help bear it."
The words hit too close to home. Arthur stood abruptly, moving to the window to put space between them. Below, the courtyard was filling with people going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the threats gathering at their borders.
"That's what kings do," he said to the glass. "They carry the weight so others don't have to."
"You're not alone, Arthur." Merlin's voice was closer now, though Arthur didn't turn to look. "You have the knights, the council. You have - " A pause, heavy with things unsaid. "You have people who would stand beside you, if you'd let them."
Arthur's hands clenched on the window ledge. He could feel Merlin's presence behind him, warm and steady and impossible to ignore. If he turned now, what would he see in those impossibly blue eyes? What might he do?
"I should attend training," he said instead, his voice carefully neutral. "The knights will be waiting."
"Of course, Sire." Was that disappointment in Merlin's tone? "I'll prepare your armor."
They fell back into routine, the familiar dance of servant and master that had defined their relationship for years. But as Merlin helped him into his mail, his fingers brushing against Arthur's neck as he adjusted the collar, Arthur found himself holding his breath.
"There," Merlin said softly, stepping back. "Perfect."
Arthur met his eyes, saw something there that made his heart race. Then Merlin was turning away, busying himself with gathering laundry, and the moment passed.
The training ground was already crowded when Arthur arrived. His knights - his knights, the ones who'd chosen to follow him rather than simply obey the crown - were warming up. Gwaine was regaling Percival with what was undoubtedly an exaggerated tale of his latest tavern conquest. Elyan and Leon were discussing sword techniques while Lancelot stretched in preparation for the bout.
And there, sitting on a barrel at the edge of the field, was Gwen. She caught his eye and smiled, warm and knowing in a way that made Arthur want to fidget like a squire caught in mischief.
"About time you showed up, Princess," Gwaine called out. "We were starting to think you'd gotten lost in your own castle."
"The only thing lost around here is your sense of propriety," Arthur shot back, but there was no heat in it. These men had proven themselves time and again. They'd earned the right to informality.
"Propriety's overrated," Gwaine grinned. "Ask Merlin - he's been dealing with your royal pratness for years without any."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "Merlin is - "
"Standing right there," Lancelot interrupted quietly, nodding toward the colonnade.
Arthur turned, found Merlin lurking in the shadows of the arches, a basket of laundry forgotten in his hands as he watched the knights prepare. When he realized he'd been spotted, color flooded his cheeks.
"I was just - the laundry - I'll go," he stammered, backing away.
"Stay," Arthur heard himself say. Then, when everyone turned to stare at him, he cleared his throat. "That is, someone should be on hand in case of injuries. You know how Gwaine is with a sword."
"Oi!" Gwaine protested, but he was grinning.
Merlin hesitated, then set down his basket and moved to sit beside Gwen. They put their heads together immediately, whispering about something that made Gwen giggle and Merlin duck his head.
Arthur forced his attention back to his knights, drawing his sword. "Right then. Let's see if any of you have been practicing."
The training session was brutal, Arthur pushing himself and his men harder than usual. He needed the distraction, the simple clarity of combat where the only things that mattered were blade and balance and breathing. But even in the midst of a complex drill with Leon, he found his awareness drifting to the edge of the field.
Merlin had produced a small kit of medical supplies from somewhere and was tending to Elyan's scraped knuckles with gentle efficiency. The young knight was saying something that made Merlin laugh, the sound bright and clear across the yard, and Arthur's concentration shattered completely.
Leon's blade slipped past his guard, stopping just short of his ribs.
"Point," Leon said mildly, but his eyes were knowing.
Arthur reset his stance, irritated with himself. "Again."
They went three more rounds, Arthur winning two through sheer stubborn determination, before Gwaine called out a challenge.
"How about we make this interesting? Team sparring - me, Percival, and Elyan against you, Leon, and Lancelot."
"Hardly seems fair," Arthur said. "You'll need at least two more to make it a challenge."
Gwaine's grin was wicked. "Cocky bastard. You're on."
The melee that followed was chaos of the best kind. Six of Camelot's finest warriors moving in deadly synchronization, testing each other's limits. Arthur found his rhythm, Leon on his left and Lancelot on his right, the three of them moving as one unit against Gwaine's more chaotic approach.
Sparring brought order.
Strike, pivot, react. In those moments, the weight of Camelot slipped from his shoulders. No politics, no council, no shadows of his father’s judgment. Just motion, timing, and breath.
Arthur called the rotation. “Circle left!”
Lancelot flanked smoothly. Leon followed. Across the yard, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan mirrored the shift. Gwaine, true to form, added an unnecessary flourish to his step, as if auditioning for a crowd.
From the bench near the edge of the yard, Arthur caught Gwen’s laughter. Merlin must have said something - probably at his expense. Arthur didn’t mind. Not when things felt, for once, almost normal.
A glint of movement caught his eye: Percival lifting the two-handed training axe, more suited to strength drills than finesse. Arthur made a mental note to question that later, but now - momentum.
He angled toward Gwaine, who was weaving wide in an attempt to bait Leon. Arthur recognized the tactic, cut inside, and drove toward him fast.
Gwaine blinked. “Oh, now you’re trying?”
Arthur ducked beneath Gwaine’s swing and stepped into his guard, catching his elbow and turning his weight. Gwaine tried to counter - too slow.
Arthur released his sword deliberately, letting it drop to the dirt, and used both hands to drive Gwaine backward with a controlled shoulder slam.
Gwaine grunted as he went down hard.
Arthur straightened, breathing fast, ready to retrieve his blade -
And that’s when it happened.
Gwaine’s boot, flailing for balance, caught a length of rusted training chain half-buried in the dirt.
His leg shot out from under him.
His elbow slammed into Percival’s side.
There was a startled shout - Percival’s grip twisted mid-swing - and the axe flew, end-over-end, loosed in a wild arc that glittered in the sun.
Arthur turned just in time to see it coming.
The weapon was spinning straight for his unprotected side. His sword was out of reach. He had no time to move.
He couldn’t stop it.
Then -
“Gestillan!”
The air hummed, and the axe froze mid-air, held for a suspended second before it dropped harmlessly to the dirt at Arthur’s feet.
Silence slammed down over the field.
Arthur stared at the axe. Then, slowly, he looked up.
His servant stood frozen at the edge of the field, one hand still half-raised, his face draining of color as he realized what he'd done. Their eyes met across the yard, and Arthur saw naked terror there.
Then Gwaine laughed, loud and boisterous. "Nice catch, Merlin!"
The tension didn’t break, but it seemed to loosen its stranglehold on them. Leon, his expression carefully neutral, reached to help Gwaine to his feet. Percival approached Arthur, placing his huge frame none-too-subtly between Arthur and his line of sight to Merlin, clapped him on the shoulder and quietly apologized for losing his grip on the axe.
Arthur’s mind spun uselessly as he looked at his knights, perplexed. Everyone seemed determined to pretend nothing unusual had happened. They had all seen it, of that he was certain, and yet the only one who would meet his eyes now was Gwaine, who stood casually less than a sword-strike away. His easy grin never faltered, but his sharp eyes glared, threatening, and the message was clear. Just you try to hurt Merlin, I dare you.
And Arthur couldn't help but turn and stare at Merlin, who was now very deliberately organizing medical supplies with shaking hands, his pale skin almost bloodless from fear. Gwen put a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder and whispered something to him before casting an apprehensive look briefly in his direction.
Magic. Merlin had magic.
The thought should have filled him with rage, with betrayal. Magic was evil, dangerous, the root of all Camelot's suffering. His father had taught him that from the cradle.
But all Arthur could think about was how many times he'd fallen - from horses, from walls, in battle - and walked away with barely a bruise. How many times had Merlin been there, quiet and unassuming, cushioning his landing?
"I think that's enough for today," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
The knights dispersed so reluctantly, he almost made it an order, but then Percival threw his arm around Gwaine’s shoulders and began to drag him off, saying something, with forced cheerfulness, about getting a drink at the Rising Sun. Elyan muttered something about needing to get something from the armory, and Leon fell into step beside him as they walked away. Lancelot paused beside Arthur, his expression pensive.
"Sire - "
"Not now, Lancelot."
The knight inclined his head and withdrew. Arthur found himself alone in the yard with only Gwen and Merlin remaining. His servant was standing now, the medical kit clutched to his chest like a shield.
"Merlin," Arthur began.
"I should go," Merlin said quickly. "The laundry won't - I need to - "
"Merlin." Arthur put command into his voice, saw his servant flinch. "My chambers. Now."
Merlin's shoulders slumped in defeat. He nodded once, then turned and walked toward the castle like a man heading to his execution. Arthur watched him go, his mind churning.
"Arthur," Gwen said softly, suddenly at his elbow. "Whatever you're thinking - "
"Did you know?" The question came out harsher than intended.
Gwen lifted her chin. "I suspected. As did your knights, apparently. As did you, if you're honest with yourself."
"That's not - I never - "
"Arthur." Her voice was gentle but firm. "How many times has he saved your life? How many impossible escapes, how many lucky chances? You're not a fool. You've always known there was something different about him."
"Magic is - "
"What? Evil? Look at him, Arthur. Really look at him. Does anything about Merlin seem evil to you?"
Arthur's jaw worked. He thought of Merlin's ridiculous ears, his terrible jokes, the way he fussed over Arthur's meals and worried about him getting enough sleep. The way he'd stood against sorcerers and monsters and kingdoms for Arthur's sake, armed with nothing but loyalty and - apparently - secret magic.
"He lied to me," Arthur said finally.
"To protect you both," Gwen countered. "What would you have done, truly, if he'd told you that first week? That first year? Would you have listened, or would you have done your duty?"
Arthur didn't answer. They both knew the truth.
"Talk to him," Gwen urged. "Before you do something you'll regret."
She squeezed his arm and left, her skirts whispering across the stones. Arthur stood alone in the empty yard, staring at the spot where Merlin had saved him.
Again.
When he finally made his way to his chambers, he found Merlin standing by the window, his back rigid with tension. The abandoned laundry basket sat by the door, forgotten.
"How long?" Arthur asked without preamble.
Merlin's hands clenched at his sides. "Always."
"Always?" Arthur's voice rose. "You've had magic this entire time?"
"I was born with it." Merlin turned finally, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I didn't choose it, Arthur. It chose me. I've tried to - I've only ever used it to protect you, to protect Camelot."
Arthur tried and failed to comprehend. "All those times - the magical attacks, the creatures, the sorcerers who mysteriously failed - "
"Yes."
The simple admission hit Arthur like a physical blow. He sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted.
"The dragon?"
"Me."
"The branch that fell on that bandit who had his sword to my throat?"
"Me." Merlin's voice was barely a whisper now. "Always me."
Arthur buried his face in his hands. His entire world was tilting, everything he thought he knew crumbling. Merlin - his Merlin - was a sorcerer. Had been lying to him every day for years.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out broken.
"And say what?" Merlin's laugh was bitter. "Hello, I'm Merlin, your father made me your manservant because I saved your life using the same magic for which he would see me burn at the stake?”
Arthur’s breath hitched. “Even then?”
“Of course even then!” Merlin said, exasperation and hurt in his tone, even as his eyes finally overflowed. He angrily scrubbed the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “You think it was coincidence that a chandelier just happened to fall on that woman after she’d already put everyone to sleep? You think I’m naturally quick enough to race across the room and pull you out of the way of the dagger that would have killed you?”
Arthur opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Well, when he put it that way…
“I wanted to tell you so many times, Arthur.” Merlin said quietly, still wiping ineffectually at his face. “You have no idea how much I wanted to trust you with this."
Arthur shook his head and looked down, struggling to parse all this information. "But you didn't," he said.
"How could I?" Merlin moved closer, his voice desperate. "Your father had children drowned for showing signs of magic. He burned men and women whose only crime was brewing healing potions. And you - you believed what he taught you. I watched you agree with him, watched you hunt down sorcerers - "
"They were trying to kill me," Arthur protested. He couldn’t defend all of his father’s actions, but they weren’t completely without reason.
"Not all of them." Merlin's voice was quiet, sad. "Some were just scared. Some were angry at what had been done to them. And yes, some were evil. But magic itself isn't evil, Arthur. It's just... it's just what I am."
Arthur looked up, found Merlin standing before him, tears now tracking unhindered down his cheeks. He looked young, vulnerable, nothing like the secret sorcerer who'd apparently been defending Camelot from the shadows.
"Were you ever going to tell me?"
"When you were king," Merlin said, his voice wet, strained with the sound of a hope yet to materialize. "When you could change the laws, when it was safe. I promised myself I'd tell you then."
"And if I'd had you executed?"
Merlin's smile was heartbreaking. "Then at least I'd have died as myself, not hiding anymore."
Arthur shot to his feet, unable to bear the resignation in that voice. "You idiot,” he said. His chest felt tight; his heart pierced, and not with the sting of betrayal. “You complete idiot. Did you really think - after everything - "
He couldn't finish. Too many emotions were within him - anger at the deception, grief for the trust broken, but underneath it all, a desperate relief that Merlin was still here, still breathing, still his.
"Arthur?" Merlin ventured uncertainly.
"I need time," Arthur said roughly. "To think. To... process this."
"Of course." Merlin moved toward the door, paused. "Arthur, I am sorry. For lying, for... for all of it. But I'm not sorry for protecting you. I'll never be sorry for that."
He left before Arthur could respond, the door closing with quiet finality.
Arthur stood in the center of his chambers, feeling more alone than he could remember. Everything was different now. Everything had changed.
Except...
Except Merlin was still Merlin. Still the man who brought him breakfast and nagged him about sleeping. Still the one who stood between Arthur and danger without hesitation. Still the person Arthur trusted above all others, the one whose opinion mattered most, the one whose smile could brighten Arthur's darkest days.
Magic hadn't changed that. If anything, it only proved what Arthur had always known deep down - that Merlin was extraordinary.
The thought was terrifying in its implications.
Night fell over Camelot, bringing with it a sense of expectation, like the air before a storm. Arthur stood on his balcony, watching torches flicker to life across the city. Somewhere out there, Merlin was probably in his chambers, wondering if tomorrow would bring execution or exile.
"Idiot," Arthur murmured to the night. As if he could ever -
A commotion in the courtyard below caught his attention. Guards were running, shouting orders. He could hear sounds of crashing armor and cries of pain.
Arthur grabbed his sword and ran, taking the stairs three at a time.
He burst into the courtyard to find chaos. Blue flames licked at the walls, impervious to the water the servants threw at them. A multitude of ravens circled overhead, croaking and cawing. At the center of it all stood a figure in dark robes, hood thrown back to reveal a gaunt face marked by desperation.
"Arthur Pendragon!" the sorcerer called out. "Face me, or watch your kingdom burn!"
Arthur stepped forward, sword raised. Around him, his knights were converging, drawn by the commotion. He saw Leon organizing the guards, Gwaine and Percival flanking him, Lancelot and Elyan moving to cut off escape routes.
And there, emerging from the shadows like he always did when Arthur was in danger, was Merlin.
Their eyes met across the courtyard. Arthur saw the question there, the readiness to act tempered by fear of exposure. He gave the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet. Let me try.
"I'm here," Arthur called out to the sorcerer. "What do you want?"
The man laughed, high and unstable. "What do I want? I want my sister back, but your father burned her. I want my home back, but your knights destroyed it. I want justice, but there is none to be had in Camelot!"
"My father is not - " Arthur began.
"I know about the king!" the sorcerer spat. "Broken in mind, useless. But you... you're just like him, aren't you? The son following in the father's bloodstained footsteps."
"I am not my father."
"Prove it." The sorcerer raised his hands, the circling ravens cried in unison, a terrifying cacophony, and the blue flames leap higher. "Show me you're different. Show me there's hope for change, or I'll reduce this castle to ash and bone."
Arthur stepped closer, lowering his sword slightly. "What's your name?"
The sorcerer blinked, clearly not expecting that. "What?"
"Your name. And your sister's. If I'm to understand your grief, I should know who you mourn."
"I... Aldric. My name is Aldric. My sister was Anya."
"Tell me about Anya, Aldric."
For a moment, the flames flickered lower. But then Aldric's face hardened again.
"Words," he snarled. "Just words. You want to understand? Feel what I feel. Loss. Despair. The knowledge that someone you love is gone forever."
He pulled something from his robes - a stone on a leather cord, black as midnight but pulsing with sickly green light. The ravens shrieked, and the air was filled with the sound of wings.
"Someone offered me coin to test you, Arthur Pendragon. To humiliate you, prove you to be the weak figurehead you are and, better yet, provided me the means to do so." His smile was terrible. "I'm going to steal the soul of the person you most value. Let's see how you handle real loss."
"You can't - " Arthur started forward, but Aldric held up a hand, muttered an incomprehensible word, and an invisible force slammed into Arthur's chest, holding him in place. The ravens broke from their circling formation and settled on the stone roofs and battlements, gazing down at the courtyard, their sudden silence even more unnerving than their noise.
"Can't I? This stone is older than your kingdom, boy. It hungers for souls, and it never misses its mark." He looked around the courtyard, taking in the knights, the servants, the guards. "So many to choose from. But it will know. It always knows."
"Everyone here is under my protection," Arthur said firmly. "Everyone here is equally valuable. You want a soul? Take mine."
Aldric laughed. "Maybe it will! The stone chooses based on your heart, not your words. It will take whoever you value most – even if it’s yourself! -- and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
"Arthur!" That was Gwaine, sword drawn, but the blue flames formed a barrier between them.
"Although," Aldric continued, studying Arthur with bright, mad eyes, "if it's not you it takes - if someone else here more valuable to you than your own life - then perhaps you're not fit to be king after all."
Arthur's heart was racing, but he kept his voice steady. "Every person under my rule is valuable. Every life matters."
"Pretty words," Aldric sneered. "Let's see if they're true. Let's see who Arthur Pendragon can't live without."
He gripped the stone, speaking words in the old tongue. The green light pulsed brighter, spreading out like seeking fingers. Arthur fought against the invisible bonds holding him, but couldn't move.
He heard a familiar voice call his name, and he turned his head and saw Merlin, who was shoving his way through the crowd to get to him, all caution tossed aside.
The light touched each person in the courtyard - guards who had tried and failed to stop the sorcerer’s approach through the lower town. The people who had followed, out of foolish curiosity or lack of self-preservation. His knights, Leon, Gwaine, and Percival. Gwen and Gaius, who had appeared in a doorway. The green light passed over them like they were nothing. It swirled, searching, hungry.
Then it found Merlin, just as he emerged from the crowd and stumbled into the courtyard. Arthur realized a moment before Merlin did, because, as the sickly light streaked toward him, Merlin was too focused on Arthur to realize the danger he was in. There was only a moment for their eyes to meet before Merlin noticed the light that was racing straight at him. He raised his hand in defense, and Arthur saw his eyes flash, a brief, strange glow--
The light struck Merlin like a physical blow. His eyes went wide, the glow extinguished, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, and then he was falling, crumpling to the stones like a marionette with cut strings.
The courtyard went utterly silent.
"What?" Aldric stared at the fallen servant, then at the stone, which now pulsed with a contained light. "That's... a servant? Really?"
"What did you do?" Arthur's voice came out raw, desperate. The invisible bonds had released him, and he was across the courtyard in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Merlin's still form. "What did you do to him?"
"I... I took his soul," Aldric said, sounding bewildered. "The stone takes the soul of whoever you value most. But why would it choose a servant? Unless..."
Merlin's chest rose and fell with mechanical precision, but his eyes were closed, his face slack. Arthur touched his cheek, found it cool.
"Merlin?" No response. Arthur grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Merlin, come on. This isn't funny."
Merlin blinked his eyes open, and Arthur was so startled by the bright gold of his irises that he jerked back, as if burned.
Merlin sat up, staring blankly ahead.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice broke hoarsely. “What - what are you - ” He stopped as Merlin turned his head slowly to look at him and Arthur felt his blood run cold. Merlin’s glowing, golden eyes were open but empty, like windows in an abandoned house. There was nothing there, no spark of recognition, no warmth, no Merlin, even as his servant – his magic-using servant -- sat up and slowly got to his feet.
"Oh," Aldric breathed, looking at the pendant that now pulsed with bright, golden light. "Oh, this is bad."
Merlin raised one hand, and his eyes burned brighter, the glowing gold of his irises bleeding into pupil and sclera.
On the battlements, the ravens shrieked and took to the air, dispersing as quickly as they came.
The temperature in the courtyard plummeted. Frost spread across the stones in spiraling patterns. The blue flames went out like candles in a hurricane.
"This is very bad," Aldric said, backing away. "You should run. All of you should run."
"What's happening?" Arthur demanded, standing but not moving away from Merlin. "Why are his eyes like that? What's wrong with him?"
"Don't you understand?" Aldric's voice was high with panic. "Look at him! Really look! That's not human magic - that's raw power. He's not just a sorcerer. He IS magic."
Merlin tilted his head, studying Aldric with those terrible golden eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, emotionless. "You are a threat to Arthur Pendragon."
"No, wait - " Aldric threw up a shield, but Merlin's hand cut through the air, and the shield shattered like glass.
"Merlin, stop!" Arthur commanded, but Merlin didn't even pause. Another gesture, and Aldric was lifted off his feet, choking.
"I surrender!" Aldric gasped out. "I yield! Please, I'll return his soul, I'll - "
Merlin closed his fist. There was a sound like breaking wood, and Aldric crumpled to the ground, unmoving. The stone fell from his lifeless fingers, still pulsing with that contained light.
Then Merlin simply... stopped. He stood perfectly still, hands at his sides, staring at nothing.
"Merlin?" Arthur approached cautiously. "Can you hear me?"
No response. The glow of his eyes faded until only his irises burned gold, but they remained empty, unseeing.
"He has magic," someone whispered.
"So not the problem right now!" Gwaine said. He approached slowly, waving a hand in front of Merlin's face. "Hello? Hey, Merls? Anyone home?"
Nothing.
Gwen pushed through the crowd, Gaius close behind her. The old physician staggered when he saw the evidence of Merlin’s magic writ plainly in front of everyone in his blazing blank eyes, and he looked around, fearfully seeing all the witnesses still gathered, still witnessing this crime against Uther’s laws that bore but one punishment, but then his gaze was drawn to the pendant on the ground, the black stone pulsing with golden life, and he paled.
"No," he breathed. "No, my poor boy."
"Gaius?" Arthur's voice was sharper than he meant, but he needed answers now. "What's wrong with him?"
Gaius moved to examine Merlin, checking his pulse, looking into his empty eyes. His hands shook.
"The stone took his soul," he said quietly. "But Merlin... Merlin isn't like other men. He's..." He paused, seeming to age years in seconds. "There are prophecies. Ancient texts. They speak of Emrys, the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth. Magic incarnate, born to restore the balance."
Arthur opened his mouth to ask how that was even possible, but before he could speak, Leon asked, with no small amount of awe, "Wait… Merlin is Emrys?"
Gaius nodded. "Yes. And without his soul, without his humanity to temper it, he's just... power. Raw, unlimited power, with no will but to serve his purpose."
"Which is?" Arthur demanded.
Gaius looked at him with infinite sadness. "To protect you, Sire. The prophecies say Emrys exists to ensure Arthur Pendragon becomes the Once and Future King. Without his soul, that order is all that remains."
Once and Future King? Emrys? None of that made any sense, and Arthur didn’t care for an explanation. He stared at Merlin - his friend, his servant, standing without his soul, and apparently powerful enough to kill a man with a twitch of his hand - and felt his world tilt further off its axis.
"How do we get him back?"
"I don't know," Gaius admitted. "The stone still holds his soul, but with the sorcerer dead..."
Arthur snatched up the stone, the leather cord still warm from Aldric's grip. The golden light within pulsed steadily, like a heartbeat.
"Then we break it," he said.
"Sire, no!" Gaius caught his wrist. "Breaking the stone might destroy the soul within. We need knowledge, research - "
"Then get started," Arthur ordered. He looked around the courtyard, taking in the shocked faces of his people. "Leon, double the guard. Gwaine, Percival - help me get Aldric's body to - "
"Sire," Leon said quietly, "perhaps we should continue this inside. The people..."
Arthur looked around, saw servants and guards all staring at Merlin with mixtures of awe and fear. Word would spread through Camelot like wildfire - the prince's manservant was a sorcerer.
"You're right. Leon, have the body taken to the vaults - we may need to examine his possessions. Everyone else... go home." He raised his voice. "What happened here goes no further. Anyone who speaks of it outside these walls will answer to me personally."
Murmurs of agreement, though Arthur knew it was futile. By dawn, all of Camelot would know, and Arthur would be all that stood between Merlin and arrest and execution.
Arthur walked up to Merlin until they were standing face to face. He stared into those empty eyes, trying to see something of his friend in their eerie depths.
“Merlin,” he said.
Merlin didn’t respond, or acknowledge him in any way. His face was blank, peaceful in a way that was deeply wrong. Merlin's face was meant for expressions - exasperation, fondness, that particular smirk when he thought he was being clever.
"Merlin… Do you recognize me?"
No response. Arthur felt thorns of dread twisting in his chest. “Do you even know who I am?”
Merlin focused his gaze on Arthur for the first time. "You are Arthur Pendragon. Crown Prince. King Regent. The Once and Future King."
Again, that nonsensical title, but he didn’t care. At least Merlin was talking to him. "Do you know who you are?"
A pause. "Emrys."
"No.” Arthur resisted the urge to reach out and try to shake some sense into him. “Your name is Merlin," he said firmly. "You're my - " He stopped, unsure how to finish. Servant seemed insufficient. Friend felt too small. "You're Merlin."
No response. Those empty eyes stared through him.
“Gaius.” Arthur turned to the old healer, who was staring at Merlin with a soft, sad horror. “Do you have anything that can fix this?”
“I will do everything in my power to restore Merlin’s soul to him, Sire,” Gaius said gravely, and with enough conviction that Arthur felt a small spark of hope. “I will start with the books and scrolls in my chambers. I have encountered records of the Stone of Souls before, and, while I do not recall reading of any way to undo this enchantment, it will at least be a place to start.”
"Then I will help you,” Arthur said. “Merlin, follow me." And, to his relief, Merlin obeyed.
They made a strange procession through the castle - Arthur leading, Merlin following with measured steps, Gaius hurrying behind. Servants scattered from their path, eyes wide.
Once safely in the physician’s tower, Arthur closed the door firmly. Merlin walked to the middle of the room and just stopped and stood motionlessly, while Gaius began going through the books on his shelves.
Arthur did not like the way Merlin was absolutely motionless, like a statue. "Sit," he said to Merlin, gesturing to a chair.
“I do not need to sit,” Merlin said blankly.
“Ugh,” Arthur groaned, as apparently Merlin was as disobedient without his soul as with it. “Just… do as I say, will you? You are my manservant, after all.”
“I am your protector,” Merlin corrected. “Sitting provides no benefit to my ability to protect you.”
“It will bloody well protect my peace of mind,” Arthur snapped, as he genuinely wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad.
Merlin looked at him with those terrible, empty eyes for a long moment. Then he walked over to the chair and sat.
Arthur heaved a sigh, and ran his hands through his hair. "Do you need food or water?"
"No."
"Do you need anything?"
"No."
“What - ” He swallowed. “What happened to you?”
“My soul was removed and trapped by the Stone of Souls,” Merlin said, as calm and emotionless as if he was commenting on the weather.
“You said your name is Emrys.”
“Yes.”
“So what - how--” Arthur gestured to him, struggling to articulate his question.
Merlin blinked. “I am what remains. I am Magic. I am Emrys.”
Arthur took a deep breath. “And Merlin?”
Merlin pointed to the pendant, its leather cord still clutched in Arthur’s white-knuckled fist. He looked down at it, at the golden light trapped within the black stone.
“You mean,” Arthur said hoarsely, “that there is nothing left of Merlin in you, somewhere deep down? That everything he ever is and was, is in this?”
“You are correct that there is nothing left of Merlin in me,” Merlin said. “But we are meant to be the same, I in him, and him in me. We have been sundered in a way that was never meant to be.”
Arthur swallowed. “If you’re the magic, do you know how to… to break the enchantment on the stone and free your soul?”
“No. It is ancient, dark magic, and the enchantment is tied to many anchors that cannot be undone without proper ritual.”
“Do you know the proper ritual?” Arthur asked.
“No.”
“Do you know who does know the proper ritual?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“No.”
Yes. This was definitely what going mad felt like. “If you’re magic; if you’re raw, unlimited power like Gaius said,” he said, gesturing to the physician who had stopped rummaging through his shelves to watch this exchange. “Isn’t this something you should know?”
Merlin gazed at him with expressionless, golden eyes. “I am confined to this flesh, and thus subject to many of its limitations. It is within my power to release myself from this body, but then I would return to the earth, sea and sky, and would be unable to continue as your protector. This body would die, and my soul would remained trapped in the stone.”
The words hit Arthur like a blow. Angrily, and without another word to the magical husk that wore his friend’s face, he hung the pendant around his neck so that the stone rested next to his heart. He turned to Gaius, who was already setting books out on one of the tables.
"Tell me everything," Arthur demanded. "About Merlin, about this Emrys. About his magic. Everything you've kept from me."
Gaius sank into a chair, suddenly looking every one of his many years. "I've known since he first arrived in Camelot. The power in him... it was like nothing I'd ever seen. He could move objects with his mind before he could walk, could speak to the earth itself as a child."
Arthur scoffed. “Oh, is that all.” He turned and strode toward the window before turning back quickly. "And you never thought to mention this," he exclaimed.
"Would you have listened, Sire? Or would you have followed your father's laws?" Gaius's eyes were steady, challenging. "Merlin could have left at any time, and yet he stayed in Camelot for one reason - to protect you. Everything he's done, every lie he's told, has been in service of that destiny."
"Destiny," Arthur spat the word. "I don't believe in destiny."
"Then believe in choice," Gaius said quietly. "Because Merlin chose you, every day. He could have been a king in his own right, could have ruled through power and fear. Instead, he chose to be your servant, to hide his gifts, to suffer in silence so that you might one day bring about a kingdom where magic and non-magic folk could live in peace."
Arthur looked at Merlin, sitting perfectly still in the chair. "And now?"
"Now he's been reduced to his base purpose. Without his soul, his humanity, he's simply the instrument of prophecy. He'll protect you, serve your destiny - but the man who chose to do those things is trapped in that stone."
Arthur’s hand reached up to the pendant and pressed the stone against his breastbone, golden light streaming from between his fingers. Was Merlin aware inside the stone, alone and afraid? The thought was unbearable.
"How do we free him?"
Gaius opened a large, leather-bound tome, its pages yellow with age, and shuffled carefully through the pages. "The Stone of Souls is ancient magic, predating even the Old Religion. Legend says it was created by those who feared love, who saw it as weakness.” He turned pages carefully, then stopped on a page where Arthur could see a drawing of the pendant. Gaius scanned the page, and said, "There are stories of those who tried to break such stones. Most ended with both souls destroyed - the trapped and the trapper."
Arthur frowned. "There has to be a way--"
A knock at the door interrupted him. Arthur called out an irritated "Enter."
Leon stepped inside, his expression grave. "Sire, forgive the intrusion,” he said, glancing at Merlin who sat unmoving, staring off blankly at nothing. “There's something you need to know."
"What now?"
"The attacking sorcerer - Aldric. We searched his belongings as you ordered. We found letters." Leon held out a sheaf of parchment. "He told the truth, he was hired, Sire. Someone paid him to attack Camelot, to test you."
Arthur took the letters, checking them quickly. No names, no identifying marks, but the intent was clear - humiliate the young regent, prove him weak, sow discord in Camelot.
"Double the patrols," he ordered. "And I want to know who is behind this.” He met Leon’s gaze and knew that his First Knight’s thoughts echoed his own on who was the most likely culprit: Morgana.
It had been over three months since she had attacked Camelot and overthrown the citadel with Morgause and her immortal army. And while Morgause had sustained a possibly fatal injury, it was still long enough for Morgana to regroup and plan another attack. Perhaps even a plan where she hired sorcerers to attack with devastating magical artifacts that stole souls.
But rather than voicing their fears, Leon simply bowed and said, “Yes, Sire,” before walking out and closing the door behind him.
Arthur turned to Gaius and, with an enthusiasm he did not feel, clapped his hands and said, “All right, where were we? Research! We’d best get to it. Where would you like me to start?”
Gaius handed him an ancient, heavy tome from the increasing pile, and he sighed.
They read and researched well into the small hours of the morning, until Arthur’s eyes burned and the words on the pages began to blur, and the next thing he knew, he was woken by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. He jerked upright, noticing with some chagrin that he had fallen asleep at the table. Someone had draped a blanket over his shoulders, and a quick scan of the room showed Gaius asleep in his cot. Thin, grey morning light seeped through the windows. He turned and saw that the noise that woke him was Merlin standing from his chair.
"Merlin?"
Merlin’s head tilted to the side as if listening to something only he could hear. "There’s danger approaching," he said in that hollow voice. "There’s magic coming from the north. More than one source. They mean harm."
Arthur's blood ran cold, and he stood, pushing himself away from the table, the blanket falling from his shoulders. "Can you tell how many?"
"Seven. They will be arriving within the hour."
"Seven sorcerers?"
"Yes."
Arthur looked upward, as if accusing the heavens. Was it only yesterday morning that his biggest worry had been enduring the council? Since then, he had discovered that Merlin was a sorcerer, complicating his already complicated feelings for the man, then he lost Merlin to a magical artifact wielded by an idiot sorcerer who didn’t even know what he was doing, and now his troubles had multiplied sevenfold.
Gathering himself, strode to the door, opened it, and called for the guards. A guard raced up the stone steps of the physician’s tower. “Sire?”
“Fetch Sir Leon,” Arthur ordered. “Sound the warning bells. Inform the captain of the guard that I want every guard armed and ready for an attack. Evacuate the lower town to the citadel. If you see Sir Leon, send him to me."
"Yes, Sire!" The guard quickly ran to obey.
“Sire, what is happening?” Arthur turned to see Gaius awake and easing himself out of his cot as quickly as his old bones would allow.
Arthur nodded his head at Merlin, who stood impassively. “He said danger is on the way in the form of seven sorcerers with evil intent.
Gaius paled. “Oh dear,” he said. “An attack so soon after the first bodes ill.”
The sound of the warning bells began to clang loudly, and Arthur could hear shouts of alarm from outside. “I need to get Sir Leon and muster the knights,” he said. He looked at Merlin, who remained standing, unaffected, and turned to Gaius, frowning. "Can he defend himself? Like this?"
"He's more powerful now than ever," Gaius said quietly. "Without his humanity holding him back, without fear or doubt...”
They both turned as Merlin suddenly moved and walked toward Arthur. “I will fight and destroy the enemies of Arthur Pendragon and Camelot,” he said without inflection, and something about that made Arthur’s heart clench.
“You are not a weapon,” he said firmly. “And I will not use you like one.”
“It is what I am for.”
“No!” Arthur turned and grasped Merlin by his shoulders. He could barely stand to look into those empty eyes, but he refused to let anything happen to Merlin, even if it was just his physical form. “No, you will stay here, with Gaius, until it is safe, do you understand?”
“I cannot effectively protect you if I stay here,” Merlin said. “I will come with you.”
“No! You utter - ” Arthur tightened his fingers around Merlin’s shoulders and shook him lightly. “Listen, you… you cabbagehead, if you serve me, you have to do what I say, and I order you to stay here during the battle!”
Merlin didn’t even blink. “I will always serve your best interests,” he said. “Staying here during a battle where you could be harmed or killed is not in your best interests.”
Arthur released Merlin’s shoulders abruptly, leaving him swaying slightly before he once again stilled, and growled in frustration. He glared at Gaius, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. “He might not be Merlin,” Arthur snapped, “but he is just as disobedient and infuriating!”
Gaius’s gaze darted between Arthur and Merlin. “To be fair, Sire,” he said carefully, “Merlin has always protected you, usually from the shadows. If he goes to battle with you now, the only difference will be that he will be out in the open. And, as he is now, I have little doubt of his ability to protect you, and Camelot.”
“But Gaius, using him like this, like a weapon - "
"I know," Gaius said gently. “You don’t know how many times I wished for him to be safe and free of this burden. But he is the only genuine protection against magical threats. He always has been. You need him. Camelot needs him."
Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, then turned to Merlin. “Are you still capable of helping me into my armor?“
“Yes.”
“Fine. With me, then. Gaius?”
“I will prepare for casualties, Sire.”
Arthur nodded grimly and strode out the door, Merlin keeping pace behind him.
The castle was abuzz with activity as the warning bells continued to ring out. No one attempted to stop Arthur and ask for an explanation, though many stopped to stare at Merlin and his glowing, golden eyes. Knights ran to their posts, servants secured valuables, children were hustled to safety.
When they reached his chambers and Arthur closed the door behind them, he moved to his armor stand. Merlin moved without being commanded and began strapping on pieces with practiced efficiency, helping with buckles and straps, anticipating needs with eerie precision.
Arthur contemplated his soulless manservant as he continued to help him with his armor. “You know,” he said, “I can lock you in here to keep you safe.”
Merlin didn’t even pause in his work. “I cannot be contained by locked doors,” he said, securing Arthur’s pauldron in place.
Arthur nodded, thin-lipped. “Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth. “And that actually explains a lot.”
When his armor was in place and secure, Merlin handed Arthur his sword. Arthur took it, sheathed it in its scabbard, and sighed heavily. "When this is over," he promised, "we'll find a way to bring you back. I swear it."
Merlin stared at him, hollow-eyed, and didn’t respond.
As the warning bells continued to toll across Camelot. Arthur strode through the corridors, Merlin at his heels. Leon met him in the main entry and fell into step beside him.
In the courtyard, his knights were assembled. Gwaine's usual levity was absent, his face grim. Percival stood like a mountain, unmovable. Elyan was checking the edge of his blade while Lancelot spoke quietly with the men.
"Seven sorcerers approach," Arthur announced. "We don't know their purpose, but given recent events, we must assume hostile intent."
His knights glanced at each other, uneasily.
"And why is he here?" Gwaine asked, jerking his head toward Merlin.
"Apparently he fights with us," Arthur said sardonically. "Explicitly against my will. I can explain more later, though I will happily give ten gold pieces to anyone who can convince him to stay inside during the battle."
The knights leaned forward as one to look at Merlin. He looked back at them, standing more motionless than humanly possible.
No one moved.
"Right then!" Arthur continued. "Leon, take archers to the battlements. Gwaine, Percival - you're with me at the main gate. Lancelot, Elyan - "
"Movement on the north road!" a guard called from the walls.
Arthur ran up the steps to the battlements, his knights behind him. In the distance, he could see them - seven figures in dark robes, walking unhurriedly toward Camelot. The air around them shimmered with power, and behind them in the air, an unkindness of ravens flew in haphazard patterns.
“Well,” said Gwaine, looking at the ravens, “that explains why we are being attacked again so soon. I’d bet even odds that those birdies are spying for whoever is behind all this.”
“You are correct,” Merlin said. “The ravens are being used as vessels for scrying.”
Arthur frowned, remembering the ravens that watched on, witnessing as Merlin’s soul was stolen from him, and then Emrys’ ruthless retaliation.
"Confident bastards," Elyan muttered.
"Perhaps they think us weakened?” Lancelot asked.
"Are we?" Percival asked quietly.
Arthur glanced at Merlin, who stood perfectly still beside him, those empty eyes fixed on the approaching threat.
"Let's find out.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Merlin, can you stop them from here?"
"No. The distance is too great for precise targeting. Collateral damage to the surrounding forest is unacceptable."
And Arthur felt the tight knot of fear and anxiety coiled in his gut loosen just the slightest. Even soulless, he wouldn't harm the innocent. Some part of Merlin remained, buried deep.
"Then we meet them at the gate," Arthur decided. "If they want Camelot, they'll have to go through us."
They descended to the courtyard, taking position before the main gates. Arthur drew his sword, the weight familiar in his hand. Around him, his knights formed up, shields raised, faces set with determination.
The seven sorcerers stopped just beyond arrow range. One stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal a scarred face and cold eyes.
"Arthur Pendragon," he called out. "We've come for the sorcerer Emrys. Surrender him, and Camelot need not burn today."
Wait, they had come for Merlin?
"Any sorcerer under my protection stays under my protection," Arthur replied. "Turn back now, and you can leave with your lives."
The scarred sorcerer laughed. "You would die for a servant? For a creature of magic?"
"I would die for any of my people."
"How noble. How foolish." The sorcerer raised his hand. "Take them."
The attack came like a thunderstorm. Lightning split the sky, fireballs rained down, the very earth cracked beneath their feet. Arthur raised his shield, felt the impact of magical force nearly drive him to his knees.
Then Merlin moved.
He stepped forward, raised both hands, and the world went silent. Every spell, every attack, simply... stopped. Frozen in midair like insects in amber.
"I have evaluated the threat," Merlin said calmly. And then he retaliated.
He pushed, and the frozen spells reversed, hurtling back toward their casters. The sorcerers scrambled to defend, throwing up shields, diving aside. Two weren't fast enough - they fell, their own lightning turning against them.
"Impossible," the scarred leader breathed.
Merlin tilted his head. "You are incorrect." He gestured, and the leader was yanked forward, held suspended by invisible force. "State your purpose."
The sorcerer struggled, but couldn't break free. "We came for you, Emrys. The prophecies speak of your power. With you, we could remake the world, bring magic back to its rightful place."
"Magic's place is in service to the Once and Future King," Merlin replied tonelessly. "Your goals are incompatible with what I was made to do."
"You're enslaved! Can't you see? They've bound you, reduced you to a pet!"
"I am not bound. I am focused." Merlin's eyes flashed gold. "You will leave. Now."
"Never! We came for Emrys, and we'll have him!" The sorcerer spoke a word of power, and his fellows attacked again.
This time, Merlin didn't hold back.
The air itself seemed to bend around him. One attacker's flames turned to ice mid-flight, shattering harmlessly. Another found the ground beneath him had become quicksand. A third simply... stopped, frozen in place by invisible bonds.
It wasn't a battle. It was a demonstration.
In seconds, five sorcerers lay unconscious or restrained. Only the leader and one other remained standing, and they were backing away, terror replacing arrogance.
"You're not Emrys," the leader whispered. "Emrys would never... You're something else. Something wrong."
"I am what I need to be," Merlin replied. He raised his hand again.
"Merlin, stop," Arthur commanded, fearful that he would be ignored if Emrys didn’t consider this in his best interests.
Merlin paused, hand still raised.
Without letting the immense relief he felt show, Arthur stepped forward, addressing the sorcerers. "You've seen what he can do. What I could order him to do. Leave now. Tell others what happened here. Any who threaten Camelot will face the same."
The leader stared at him. "You command Emrys? You dare?"
"I don't command him," Arthur said, though the words tasted like ash. "But the fool who attacked earlier today removed and trapped his soul.”
The leader’s gaze flicked to Arthur’s chest where a golden light strong enough to penetrate chainmail and plate shown through, and his face turned grey.
Arthur smiled grimly. “That’s right,” he said, “this is your doing, and until his soul is returned, I'm all that stands between him and the world. Would you rather face him with my conscience guiding him, or without?"
The sorcerer paled further. He grabbed his remaining companion, and they vanished in a swirl of smoke, leaving their unconscious fellows behind.
The ravens immediately dispersed.
"Secure the prisoners," Arthur ordered his knights. "Gently - they're defeated."
As his men moved to comply, Arthur turned to Merlin. "Are there other threats?"
"I’m checking." A pause. "No."
"Good. Then..." Arthur hesitated. What did one do with a soulless all-powerful sorcerer? "Return to my chambers. Wait for me there."
Merlin turned and walked away without a word. Arthur watched him go, his chest tight with something that might have been grief.
"That was..." Gwaine started, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
"Terrifying," Elyan supplied.
"Efficient," Leon corrected, though he looked shaken.
"Not Merlin," Lancelot said quietly, and that summed it up perfectly.
Arthur sheathed his sword, suddenly exhausted. "Have the prisoners taken to the cells - the comfortable ones. I want them treated well. Maybe one of them knows something about the stone."
He started to turn away, then paused. "And thank you. All of you. For standing with him. With us."
"Always," Gwaine said, and the others nodded agreement.
Arthur made his way back to his chambers slowly, dreading what he'd find. Merlin was exactly where he'd expected - standing in the center of the room, motionless, but he immediately turned and helped Arthur divest himself of his armor without being asked.
With is armor gone, Arthur reached up and carefully removed the pendant with the Stone of Souls from around his neck and set it gently on the table. Merlin’s soul shone like a small sun within the black stone.
"Sit down," Arthur said tiredly, gesturing to a chair by the fire. “You must be cold."
"The temperature is acceptable," Merlin replied but sat anyway. Arthur wondered if it was done solely to protect his peace of mind.
Arthur sank into the opposite chair, staring at his friend's empty face in the firelight. Just yesterday, he'd discovered Merlin had magic. Had been angry about the deception, hurt by the lies. Now he'd give anything to have that Merlin back, lies and all.
"Do you remember anything?" he asked. "About before? About... us?"
Silence. Then, "I do not understand the question.”
Arthur's throat burned. "Do you remember being my friend?"
"I have no memories prior to my current state. I possess the knowledge necessary to protect you. Personal experiences are... absent."
"But you knew about the approaching sorcerers. You know how to use your magic."
"I am magic. But I have no memory of time before my soul was removed. I know Arthur Pendragon requires protection. I do not remember why."
Arthur closed his eyes. Somewhere in that stone, Merlin's soul held all those memories - of shared adventures, quiet evenings, inside jokes, and unspoken truths. Everything that made him Merlin rather than just Emrys.
"I'll get you back," he promised. "Whatever it takes."
Merlin didn't respond. The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows on empty walls.
Outside, night deepened over Camelot. In the cells below, five sorcerers nursed their wounds and wondered what they'd stumbled into. In his chambers, Gaius pored over ancient texts, searching for hope. In the tavern, Gwaine bought rounds and didn't make jokes, while Percival sat silent and Elyan sharpened a blade that didn't need it. In Gwen’s house, Lancelot sat next to her and held her as she wept into his shoulder.
And in the prince's chambers, two figures sat by the fire - one wrestling with newfound knowledge and feelings he couldn't name, the other empty of everything that had once made him human.
The stone pulsed on the table between them, golden light steady as a heartbeat, holding a soul captive.
Holding Merlin captive.
"I need you," he whispered to the hollow shell wearing Merlin's face. "Not Emrys. Not magic. You. The idiot who can't polish armor properly and makes terrible jokes and always knows when I need someone to tell me I'm being a prat."
Golden eyes flickered in the firelight, but remained empty.
Arthur settled in for a long night of watching, of guarding what remained of his dearest friend, of planning how to achieve the impossible.
He would get Merlin back.
He had to.