(A/N: Did someone say bonus chapter from Merlin's POV? A few readers requested this and I got carried away, as usual. So here's Chapter 10-13 and a bit beyond from Merlin's POV! Enjoy! Love you all, and thank you so much for reading and your wonderful reviews! I really, really appreciate them!)

Merlin could hear talking at the top of the dungeon stairs. Hushed, garbled words filtering down to him through the darkness, sounding vaguely like arguing. But who was speaking? Arthur? And if so, who was he talking to?

The king?

Hopefully not, Merlin thought, shivering at the thought of Uther, and his whole body was jittery, alight with nervous energy. His magic was restless within him, screaming to be released, and he could feel it building behind his eyes. It was as if his sorcery was begging him to defend himself, and perhaps that was a natural instinct for a sorcerer. Perhaps it was natural to use it in self-defense, but instead, Merlin returned to his pacing. Before long, he'd covered every inch of his cell, desperately trying to expel his energy and banish the panic flooding his brain.

He could still feel the remnants of his spell lingering on the dungeon bars. It had been an instinctual spell, expelled from him without incantation, and in that moment, Merlin had not regretted performing it. He'd relished it, finally revealing his true self to Arthur in a way of his own volition. To finally let himself be free.

But it had been a fleeting indulgence. A stupid, selfish action and now, imprisoned again and consumed by panic, Merlin couldn't help but regret his momentary lapse of judgment. Arthur was clearly not ready to meet the real him, and the look of fear that had entered the prince's eyes was far worse than his anger or scorn. Merlin had never wanted Arthur to fear him. It was the last thing he wanted. The spell he'd performed had been to prove a point, nothing more, but now he had unwittingly killed a knight and sent a spell hurling directly at Arthur's face—

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Merlin scolded himself, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands and pushing back oncoming tears. Stupid, stupid, sorcerer. That conversation might have been his last chance to get through to Arthur. One final attempt to prove to the prince that he was an ally and not a threat, but he'd fumbled it. That much was painfully clear. There was no denying that he had let his own hurt and betrayal get the best of him, and now—

Now, Merlin had a terrible, sinking feeling that Arthur may no longer be able to see him as anything other than a threat. He'd placed the bars back, hoping to clarify his intent, but it was all too little, too late. There would be no sneaking him out of the castle together as they had the Druid boy. No grand reconciliation between them or a change in Arthur's stance on magic. Nothing had changed at all except for the ringing of Merlin's death knell. Arthur was gone, returned to his place at his father's side, and all that was left to complete was Merlin's proper trial. The one before Uther, and not Arthur.

Merlin was pretty sure he knew how that one was going to go.

He had to get out. Should get out, and Merlin let himself approach the bars again, his fingertips grazing the metal as he considered blasting them away once again. He contemplated letting his fear take over and his magic to run free, setting out on a dangerous mission to escape the dungeons and battle his way through the knights to freedom.

He could do it. Part of Merlin knew he was capable of it. After several years of studying magic and roaming Camelot's corridors, Merlin knew which spells to chant and which routes to take. He could avoid his trial before Uther. He could seek shelter with the Druids or perhaps even hole up in his father's cave. It was the logical thing to do. Arthur was gone, solidifying Merlin's failure here, and running for his life was the obvious fallback.

But something stopped him from doing that. Something deep inside him told him no, and it was an instinct Merlin could not explain to himself. Perhaps it was the intrepid embers of hope still glowing inside his chest, but something was begging him not to run from this. A small sliver of hope told him he still had one last chance to get through to Arthur. A last-ditch attempt to break down the barriers the prince still had up between them—

But only if he faced what he'd feared from day one. Only if Merlin allowed himself to face a trial at Uther's feet, and only if he allowed himself to risk an execution like so many sorcerers before him.

He could do it. He could endure Uther's trial. But an execution? A risky escape in the public square? Merlin wasn't entirely sure if he was prepared to face that, and he was even less sure if he could survive it.

But no matter what happened next, everything was about to change.

Merlin let his hand drop from the bars. Despite his magic dancing beneath his skin, he returned to the bench of his cell, sinking down upon it and resigning himself to whatever came next.

Movement sounded from the stairs minutes later. Hushed words had turned to silence and soon there were heavy footfalls echoing off the walls.

Merlin immediately tensed, his breathing shallow. He stood up again, trying to stay steady while he awaited the reveal of who it was. He dearly hoped it wasn't Uther. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face the wrath of the king yet.

But thankfully, it was not Uther Pendragon that rounded the dungeon corner and relief flooded Merlin as Gaius came into view. The physician's white hair and brown robes bobbed in the half-light of the torches and for a brief few seconds, Merlin felt like everything was going to be all right.

"Gaius," Merlin breathed, trying to compose himself a little as his mentor drew near. Gaius being there didn't exactly fix anything, but Merlin was beyond relieved to see him despite Gaius' rather morbid expression.

"Merlin," Gaius said gravely as reached the bars, and he came to an unsteady stop. The old man looked a bit mournful as he stared at Merlin, and Merlin shifted uncomfortably, not accustomed to seeing that look directed at him. He'd seen it many times, but Gaius usually directed his morbid bedside manner to the dead and dying.

Merlin supposed that was what he was, in some ways.

"Was that—was that Arthur up there just now?" Merlin managed to ask, a little nervous to know the answer. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, and if things went badly, this was likely his and Gaius' final conversation together. He didn't want to think about that too deeply. "I heard talking. Arguing?"

"Yes, I was speaking with Arthur up there," Gaius confirmed, and Merlin's heart sank at the physician's frosty tone. "He was warning me. He told me that he's decided not to 'arrest me for conspiring with your sorcery.'"

Gaius imitated Arthur's voice a bit there, and Merlin winced at that wording, closing his eyes. "Conspiring?" he repeated in despair, and he whimpered, collapsing on the bench again and burying his face in his hands. On the bright side, he was glad to hear Arthur had decided to spare Gaius from his downfall. But it was sobering to hear he'd considered it. Merlin didn't like the direction this was headed.

"I'm not going to pretend, Gaius," Merlin murmured after Gaius offered no further comment. He scrubbed at his face, finding his eyes to be puffy and raw from crying. He wasn't even sure what to say. There wasn't much to pretend about anymore. "I don't think there's any digging myself out of this hole. Not this time. Not after all that's just happened."

"Merlin, please tell me you didn't kill him," Gaius said, and the desperation in his voice made Merlin cringe, coiling in on himself. "Please, please tell me you didn't kill Roldan as Arthur believes you did. The knight had a fractured spine, struck by blunt force—"

"It was an accident," Merlin said softly, crestfallen. He'd dreaded this confession, and he heard Gaius exhale through his teeth.

"You did do it?" he whispered, and Merlin felt another rush of guilt slash through him. "With magic? And Arthur saw?"

"Yes. No. Sort of." Merlin groaned, not even sure how to begin to explain. Gaius didn't know the half of how dire his situation had become. "Gaius, there's more to this than Roldan. Arthur knew already. He's known. For days."

Gaius blinked at him, horror growing in his eyes. His expression mirrored Merlin's own panic. "Days?"

"Three," Merlin clarified, and he stood back up, returning to his pacing. "Three days. Three days he's known I have magic, Gaius. And he hasn't told anyone. Still hasn't. He's been testing me—hesitant to arrest me. He's been trying to see if I was an enemy, and then I… and then he…"

His words faltered, unable to truly explain what he'd just done. How much he'd messed up this time.

Unfortunately, Gaius seemed to already know, putting two and two together like the world's most depressing puzzle. "Arthur told me that you attacked him. With magic?"

Merlin's lip quivered, the memory of Arthur's brokenness and fear swimming through his mind again. It was a look he would not soon forget. "We were arguing," he explained, the words coming out in a defensive rush. "He accused me of being out of control. I got angry. Blasted the bars off—"

"Merlin!"

"I put them back!" Merlin cried, but he knew it was a useless justification. "I just wanted to show him what I'm capable of. To make him see the control I possess, but I fear I've made a mistake I can't come back from. I saw it in his eyes, Gaius. He's scared of me." Merlin swallowed thickly, only just now fully processing that reality. "Arthur is scared of my magic."

"Well, I'm hardly surprised," Gaius chastised, and he was admonishing his ward as he usually did, but there was nothing usual about this situation. "All Arthur has seen you do with it is murder a knight and then promptly threaten him—"

"It wasn't a threat!"

"—as he is bound to see any spell like that as a danger to him! Neither one was a useful demonstration of magical control! What were you thinking, Merlin!"

"I was thinking we were ambushed!" Merlin defended himself, but again, it felt like a stupid excuse when he said it aloud. "I was evening out the odds. It wasn't anything unusual, but Roldan—Arthur sent Roldan to spy on me, Gaius."

Gaius' expression shifted. "Sent him?"

Merlin nodded, and he wrung his hands like a worried nursemaid. "He admitted that much to me. He ordered Roldan to study my magic and he came up behind me. The knight wasn't wearing a Camelot cape, I didn't look at his face—"

"So you hit him," Gaius inferred, and Merlin nodded again, feeling the crushing weight of his mistake. The gravity of the loss it had caused.

Gaius' eyes were calculating, his face grim. "Merlin, you have no defense," he whispered, growing closer to the bars and concluding what Merlin already knew, deep down. "Not in the eyes of the court. If Arthur already suspected you of magic—if he indeed had already known—what he has now is proof that you're a threat to Camelot. Even without magic, you'd be hanged for the death of a knight."

Merlin bit his lip. "I know."

"Then you need to escape." Gaius' eyes were narrowed, dark and serious and commanding Merlin from beyond the bars. "Before the trial. The time to get out is now, Merlin."

Merlin knew he was right. Logically, now was the time to get out. He'd thought that himself just minutes ago, but he also had another thought and he had a bad feeling Gaius was not going to like where he was going with it.

"Gaius, we both know Uther would accuse you of helping me," Merlin said, and he held Gaius gaze, forcing him to confront that reality. "He has turned on you in the past and he will again. You know he will."

"Don't worry about me," Gaius said, passively waving his hand, but Merlin shook his head, not about to let the physician write this off like it was nothing.

"No," Merlin said, his voice steely, and with this one thing, he would not shrink away. He would not allow Gaius to put himself in the line of fire for him. He could already see Gaius planning it. "I'm not letting you take that fall for me. Not this time. I am not breaking out."

"Merlin—"

"No, please, just—just listen to me," Merlin insisted, waving his hands, and he came as close to the bars as he could, staring down Gaius with a seriousness that seemed to startle him. "What really would be the point of it, Gaius? Breaking out? Running away? How would that look to everyone? I'll just be another sorcerer fleeing in fear. Reinforcing the system as it is, and throwing away any last chance to get through to Arthur. I'll be admitting my guilt, and not just for Roldan, but for my sorcery too. And I am not sorry about my magic, Gaius. I will not apologise for something I was born with."

Merlin spoke that last part with venom, practically spitting out the word "apologise" and feeling his magic surge up within him at the mention. He would not say sorry for his abilities. Sorcery was not inherently evil, and he had dedicated his life to bringing that fact to light. They both had, and Merlin couldn't allow himself to run away from a chance to prove it, however dangerous that may be.

"Merlin, you cannot worry about Arthur anymore," Gaius pleaded with him, and his expression was broken now, begging. "He is a lost cause. You must realise that. Perhaps not forever, but you need to worry about yourself now, focus on saving your own neck while—"

"Was he conflicted about it at all?" Merlin interjected, a little forceful as he cut Gaius off. His breathing was laboured, and he didn't like Gaius considering Arthur a lost cause. Merlin couldn't allow himself to think like that. "Arthur, when you talked to him just now. Do you think he was conflicted about my sentencing?"

Gaius blinked at him for a moment, his lips a thin line of frustration at Merlin's stubbornness. "Yes, I do believe he was conflicted about it," he relented, and he crossed his arms, looking to the floor. "I doubt he wants to see you dead, Merlin. It's not in his nature."

"Exactly," Merlin said, and he clasped his hands—breathless a little as a plan began to fully form in his head. A stupid plan. A reckless plan. But when had his plans ever been anything less? "Don't you see what I'm getting at, Gaius? I know Arthur better than I know myself at this point. He didn't run to Uther when he first found out about my magic. He knows he should have. He should have reported me immediately, but he didn't because he knew I stood no chance. That's why he tried to test me on his own. That's why I was passing until what happened with Roldan. If I face this sentence—"
Merlin paused for a moment, catching his breath as he processed just what he was saying. What he was planning to do. "If I face this sentence properly," he repeated, speaking with more gravity now. "I can try to show Arthur that I don't mean any harm. I can show him that I accept my responsibility for what happened, and that this doesn't need to be the end. Perhaps I can open his eyes and remind him that this isn't the Camelot he wants. That this isn't the king he wants to be, and is that not exactly what you've been trying to do with Uther all this time, Gaius? Trying to turn the king's mind around on magic?"

Merlin said this all with a hint of hope, but Gaius clearly didn't share it. "Tried, Merlin," the physician clarified, and Merlin could see the years of unjust executions weighing on the lines in his face. "For many years, I have tried to gain Uther's trust and curtail his views on magic. There were days I thought I could get through to him. Many hours I believed I was friend enough to him that he would take my counsel and I could help change Camelot for the better from the inside. But those moments are few and far between. Often too little, and often too late."

The physician sighed heavily, his eyes unfocused and stuck in the distant past. He was burdened by decades of regrets, and Merlin was beginning to accumulate a few of his own. "I'd like to think I have done some good in the little moments," Gaius continued, and Merlin was struck by how beaten down he sounded. How tired. "Perhaps I have not done enough, but I do hope I've made some sort of difference in this place. At the end of the day, everyone is a potential enemy in Uther's mind. None of us are safe. While you may know Arthur better than you know yourself, Merlin, I know Uther better than I know myself. So, please. Promise me. Do not do this. You will not survive it and I do not think I can bear to lose you."

Gaius wrapped his hands around the bars at this, pleading with him, and Merlin copied the motion, cupping Gaius' hands with his. He looked into his mentor's eyes with an apologetic smile, and he could see Gaius processing what that meant.

"I can do it, Gaius," Merlin said, conviction hanging in his every word, and his mind was made up. There would be no swaying him from this course now—much as it pained Gaius and as much as it bred fear within his own heart. Running away would be easier, but the easier course of action was not always the right one. "Arthur isn't Uther. He does not see enemies in everyone. I can get through to him, and I can escape. I know I can do it. After the trial, just before the execution—"

"Merlin, listen to yourself," Gaius snapped, and where platitudes didn't work, he returned to fatherly admonishment. "Do you honestly think you are capable of escaping your own execution, in full view of the king and all his knights? And even if you could, what would it prove? You'd just be showing yourself to be more of a threat, injuring more knights—"

"But what if I didn't hurt the knights?" Merlin countered, and he squeezed Gaius' hands, trying to get the physician to see the importance of what he was trying to do. "What if I escaped from the courtyard without hurting anyone? Proving that magic doesn't need to be a weapon? That it can be gentle and useful and—and kind." He stuttered at the end of his sentence, his own hope and fear catching in his voice. "I can do it. I think."

"You think."

Gaius clearly held no belief in him. That much was obvious, and Merlin didn't blame him. What he was proposing was crazy, and yet, for some reason, he knew it was what he must do. The only thing he could do. "I have to face this, Gaius," Merlin said with a confidence that surprised even himself, and he let his hands slip away from the bars. Something in Gaius' expression shattered in that moment, but Merlin was not going to back down from this. "I won't let you take the fall for me, or anyone else. This is my mess, and mine alone. I won't turn my back on it."

"Merlin—" Gaius started, no doubt heading for another attempt to talk him out of this, but the soft voice of Sir Madoc interrupted before he could.

"Time to go, Gaius," the knight said gently, lingering a ways down the passage in the shadows. Merlin could only partially see the knight's face, but the prison guard was eyeing him warily. Instinctively, Merlin pulled further away from the bars, trying to appear less threatening. He supposed Madoc had heard most of their conversation and was likely on edge, perhaps wondering if Merlin did intend to escape. Merlin wasn't sure how to appear friendly to the knight, so he just sort of stood there awkwardly, wringing his hands.

Gaius took one step back, as if signaling to Madoc he was willing to leave, but his gaze did not leave his ward. "Merlin, your cause is a noble one," the physician said lowly, attempting one last ditch appeal to Merlin's sanity. "It has always been noble, and I believe in it wholeheartedly. But this is madness, not chivalry. If you care for me at all, please don't attempt this. I cannot bear to watch you sacrifice yourself."

Gaius' voice cracked at the end of his words, tears welling in his eyes, and Merlin could feel tears pricking at his own eyes too. He wished he could lie. He wished he could tell Gaius that he agreed and that he would prioritise his own safety this time. He wished he could tell the man he considered his father figure that he wouldn't go running head first into danger. That he'd do the smart thing and turn tail. Run away from it all.

But he knew Gaius would see right through such a lie. So he didn't bother. "I won't fail," he declared instead, moving back to the bars as Sir Madoc gently guided the physician away from the cell. "I won't. I can't. But just in case I do… thank you. For everything."

He called the last words, as Gaius was already disappearing down the corridor, led by Madoc. Merlin thought he might have heard a murmur of a response from Gaius, but he wasn't sure as the knight and the physician disappeared around the corner, leaving Merlin alone once more.

With a pang of deep, dark grief, Merlin fell back down on the bench, hoping against hope that this wasn't the last time he and Gaius would speak to one another. If everything went well, they'd see each other again.

But for now, Merlin needed to focus on his escape, and with that in mind, he laid back on the cold wood of the bench and began to recite his spells.

~O~

It was some time before the guards came to fetch him. They opened the cell door rather violently—rough hands pulling Merlin up from the bench and restraining him. Shackles found their way around his wrists, the sound of chains echoing loud in Merlin's ears. The bite of cold metal was not welcome, and Merlin could feel his magic tingling beneath his skin, coiling like a snake about to strike. That always happened when anyone restrained him in this way. Perhaps it was instinctual for all sorcerers, but he didn't know for sure.

He didn't resist. With not so much as a word, Merlin allowed himself to be dragged out of the cell and led out of the dungeons, one knight positioned on either side of him. Their grip was painful on his arms, and Merlin considered asking them to loosen up as they walked. He could ask, after all. He did know their names: Sir Howel and Sir Ivor. He even suspected they knew his name too, perhaps from years of innocuous moments seeing each other in passing.

But there was no point in it, really. Even if they'd been friends, it wouldn't have made any difference. Ivor and Howel were nobles and they had done this with many other prisoners before him. Countless commoners and servants labeled as traitors, dragged to court, and then executed at Uther's whim. Merlin was just another sorry sod on a long list of sorry sods, and in some ways, his magic wasn't even relevant. He doubted Howel and Ivor knew the charges against him. It wasn't their job to know, just to serve and obey.

Technically, that was Merlin's job too, although he'd never been very good at it. His arrest meant his release from Arthur's service, and if everything went wrong and he didn't survive the day, he secretly hoped he went down as Camelot's worst servant in recorded history. That, at least, was a legacy worth leaving behind. Part of him wanted to be some obscure note in Geoffrey's texts. Some stupid footnote: The secret wizard Merlin, manservant to Prince Arthur for some odd four years. Deemed the worst servant Camelot had ever seen before his magic was uncovered.

Yes, Merlin thought wistfully. He'd be happy with that stamp on history. It was better than simply "another sorcerer vanquished by Uther Pendragon" and then another tick on whatever list of dead sorcerers Geoffrey had running. Better than a destiny he'd failed to bring into being.

The death march to the throne room went by all too fast. Merlin's fear grew with every step, beginning to doubt if he could pull this off. All too soon, the bowels of the castle gave way to sunlight, and stares met Merlin from other servants bustling by. People he knew—casual friends, even—glancing at him with veiled discomfort before averting their gazes. After a few instances of such eye contact, Merlin opted to keep his head lowered, not looking at anything other than the floor. It was too painful to see the community he'd come to know and love writing him off as a traitor and a dead man. Someone to be pitied, if not hated and despised. He'd seen it happen before. Everyone would go about their normal day, unbothered while he faced his doom.

The name Merlin would go down in their memories as just another traitor.

They kept moving. The guards pulled him along with more urgency now, and even with his head down, Merlin could tell where in the castle he was. He knew the floors of the citadel better than most, having scrubbed them clean many times. The corridor transitioned from stark white stone to dark stained wood the closer they grew to the throne room, and within minutes, they were braced outside the hall's oak double doors.

Merlin could feel his hands shaking in his shackles. It made the chain links of the cuffs rattle, and he did not raise his head as the doors were drawn open. Merlin didn't need to look up to know everyone's eyes were on him as he was ushered inside, stumbling over his own uncoordinated feet. He walked forward, struggling to summon the courage to look up, but he managed it, just a bit, and his eyes immediately found Arthur's. The prince was standing right where Merlin knew he'd be—at the king's right-hand side, near the throne.

Arthur's gaze was already on him. Merlin's heart skipped a beat as they locked eyes for the first time in hours, trying his best to read the prince's expression. Arthur had never been hard to read, really. His feelings often shone plainly despite his best efforts, and he was an open book to anyone that knew him. Merlin arguably knew him best, and he was pleased to see anguish barely hidden in Arthur's expressive features. Any remnants of his previous anger and fear had melted away, and he seemed deeply conflicted. Arthur held Merlin's gaze, which surprised Merlin, and as he watched, the prince crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive way. He was uncomfortable, and it had been a long while since Merlin had seen him look quite so on edge. So torn.

That look gave Merlin a surge of hope. It stocked the embers still alive in his chest, daring to hope their shared destiny was not yet doomed. He took heart in that dream, holding it close like a lifeline as the guards roughly shoved him to his knees in front of Uther, breaking his and Arthur's eye contact.

All Merlin could see now was Uther's boots. He had shined them often enough to recognise them, dreading the day he'd be staring at them like this, and then the king was speaking his name. Bringing to life a nightmare Merlin had suffered from since his first days in Camelot.

"Merlin," Uther said in his distinct, low growl, officially beginning his trial, and Merlin couldn't stop himself from flinching at his tone. The king often pronounced his name with a hint of contempt, but this was different. This time there was hatred in his voice. "Or should I be calling you Emrys now? I have, after all, been informed that is your true name."

True name. Merlin didn't like how Uther worded that. It felt like an accusation, and Merlin could feel his magic tingling in his fingertips now, springing up within him. He held it back. He'd never considered "Emrys" to be his true name. It was more of a moniker, and one that belonged in the mouths of other sorcerers.

Not in the mouth of Uther.

He looked up. Just a little. Just the tiniest hint of bravery as he met the king's dark gaze and said, "I prefer Merlin."

Uther glowered down at him, and in that moment, Merlin wondered if the king even remembered how many times Merlin had served him well. How many times he, Merlin, a warlock, had defended the king, the very person that hunted and despised his kind.

But if Uther did realise that, he didn't show it. Gaius had been right. There was no mercy for him to be found in the eyes of Uther Pendragon. Merlin could understand why despite his efforts Gaius had given up hope in him over the years. Perhaps the mind of Uther Pendragon was beyond saving, but Merlin would not let himself give up on Arthur.

"Well then, Merlin," Uther sniffed, continuing, and Merlin shifted on his knees, trying his best to prepare himself for what he knew came next. "You stand here accused of sorcery, first and foremost. Am I correct in saying this?"

Merlin swallowed. "Yes," he answered, and it was a confession he'd long feared. Arthur may have witnessed his magic, but no one else had.

That would soon change.

"And you admit to that?" Uther pressed on, and there was a challenge in those words. Merlin vaguely wondered if the king even believed he had magic. If Uther even actually believed he was Emrys.

"Yes," Merlin replied, admitting to it. Publicly and irrevocably admitting his magic, his nature, but this time, he raised his chin in the tiniest hint of defiance. His whole body sparkled with spite. "Although I do not apologise for it."

He'd anticipated the slight murmur that filtered through the crowd at that. Uther's expression hardened at it, but it was Morgana's reaction that Merlin was actually watching for. The sorceress was studying him carefully from her chair, just feet from him. Her face unreadable as they locked eyes. In contrast to Arthur, Morgana was difficult to read, but part of Merlin hoped he could get through to her just as Arthur. He hadn't confessed his magic to her years ago, when he'd wanted to. But he was confessing it now.

"Naturally you do not," Uther huffed, drawing Merlin's attention back to the king. He resigned himself to the degradation he knew was coming as Uther threw a dismissive wave of his hand, quieting his court. "Is there ever remorse to be had in the voice of a sorcerer? And to think I allowed you into my royal household. To think I trusted you as a member of this castle court. I suppose this is a lesson to us that no one can ever be truly trusted, and that no man ever truly knows who is their enemy. Am I right, Arthur?"

Uther turned to his son, looking for his approval, and Merlin followed his gaze, watching as Arthur fidgeted underneath the sudden attention. "Yes, Father," the prince mumbled, but he looked down, not meeting Merlin's eyes. That was painful, but it was also a comfort, as Arthur didn't seem to be adding any further accusations to the trail. Merlin had been half worried their conversation in the dungeon might leak into the court, but it didn't seem like Arthur had told anything to his father.

That was a good sign.

"You also stand accused of murdering a Camelot knight, Merlin," Uther arraigned, and he was walking now. His dark boots passed slowly around Merlin like a predator and his cape trailed behind him. Merlin watched as the crimson folds snaked around him, his shoulders taught and his magic buzzing when the king's boots drew in too close. "Am I correct in that?"

"Yes," Merlin croaked.

"And you admit to that, too?"

"I do," he said, but his eyes welled with tears as he pictured Roldan's lifeless face. He was sorry for that. So very sorry. "But for that I do apologise. It was an accide—"

"Silence!" Uther roared, and Merlin recoiled. The king's arm had swung out and he'd cowered, thinking the king might hit him, but Uther simply pointed at him accusingly, continuing his tirade. "I will not entertain false banalities from your wicked mouth. I've heard enough of them from your kind over the years. You can claim morality all you'd like, but I know the truth of the matter. There are no redeeming qualities in magic. Only death and destruction, and you have proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt today."

"Proven?" Merlin repeated, bristling, and he hadn't meant to fight back like this. He'd only planned to stand up for his magic, nothing more, but Uther's accusation triggered an anger within him stronger than he'd anticipated. A furious defense spilled from his mouth after years of holding back, and he did not recoil anymore. "Proven what, exactly, Uther? That after all the death and destruction you have caused, somehow I am the only one guilty of it? That I am the only one to blame? There is blood on both sides of this story and you know it, Uther Pendragon. So let's not pretend."

A bit of darkness came into Merlin's voice as he spoke—a hint of his true power as he squared his shoulders against Uther, defiant despite being on his knees.

And this time when the king moved forward, he did strike.

The crack was audible. Uther's gloved hand struck fast and hard, a sharp pain exploding across Merlin's jaw, his head snapping back. Stars burst in his vision in a red galaxy as he reeled from the blow, not having expected it, but that had been stupid of him. He should have expected it. He should have anticipated that Uther would not let such defiance of his authority stand.

He tasted blood. Instinctively, Merlin brought his fingers to his face, forgetting they were chained. The shackles rattled when he wiped the blood from his swelling lip, glaring up at the king. For a moment, Merlin almost let his magic burn, a few choice spells coming to his mind.

But he didn't use them. This wasn't about him. This was about proving a point to Arthur. A point about control, and about peace, and a demonstration about who the real enemy was here. How it was not him.

How it was Uther.

Murmurs wafted amongst the court at the king's attack. It had surprised them, and Merlin allowed himself to look at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. Once again, he was pleased to see the prince was upset, having shifted out of his position. Had Arthur guessed his father would hit him? Had he considered preventing it?

Merlin hoped so. He recalled how it had been back in the Druid cave, when he'd watched Arthur move to attack the Archdruid. Merlin now knew that Arthur had been testing him, curious to see how Merlin would handle that situation.

Now it was Merlin's turn to do the testing.

"Don't you dare speak to me in that way, you vermin!" Uther was thundering at him, screeching at him with a level that bordered on derangement. Merlin brought his full attention back up to the tyrant at this, watching as the king's face went red, a bit of spittle foaming at the corner of his mouth. His arm was still raised in threat of another strike. "How dare you pretend that you are the victim here, and in my court of all places. A knight is dead by your murderous hand. A good man, and with a family now left uncared for, so do not pretend you are anything but an assassin and a traitor. You are guilty of all you are accused of, and you deserve to die for it!"

"And so the answer to violence is more violence, is it?" Merlin shot back, and it felt good, the fighting. It came easily to him. He would not take his sentence lying down and saying words he'd repressed for years was all too easy to let slip. His fear from earlier had evaporated, replaced by a righteous fury. The embers of hope had grown to a flame he would not let go out. "An eye for an eye? A tooth for a tooth? Is that your grand plan in this, Uther? We will get nowhere with that mindset and you know it!"

Merlin's voice rose now, anger coursing through him, and he could see the king's own fury growing. A vein was popping on Uther's temple, an unhinged quality to his green gaze as he moved, his shoulder twisting.

This time, Merlin expected the strike. He braced for it, squeezing his eyes shut just as Uther's arm came driving towards him—

But no strike came.

Confusion filtered through Merlin's mind for a moment. He waited a second, still expecting the blow, but when it didn't come, he let out a shuddering breath, opening his eyes just a fraction—

Only to see not Uther standing in front of him, but Arthur.

"Stop," the prince hissed at his father, and Merlin couldn't help but blink in wonderment. His brain suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion, struggling to catch up as he stared at Arthur poised between him and Uther. With a jolt, Merlin realised that Arthur had stopped the king using his left arm, his right hand grazing the hilt of his sword. It was a warrior's instinct, Merlin was sure. An instinctual protectiveness, and not at all unlike how Merlin himself had thrown his body in front of the Archdruid back in the Druid cave.

But unlike that moment, this act of protection held far larger implications. Merlin was struggling to process it, but Arthur had just made a clear movement against his father in front of the entire court. Acted on impulse and protected Merlin, stopping his punishment like Merlin had dreamed he would—

But he hadn't believed Arthur would actually do it.

Uther clearly hadn't anticipated this at all. "What are you doing, Arthur?" the king hissed at his son, horrified, and Merlin stared at the back of Arthur's head, waiting for his answer. He was on tenterhooks, holding his breath as he waited to hear what Arthur was going to say. If he'd speak up in Merlin's defense.

But Arthur didn't get a chance to say anything. The deafening noise of the double doors being thrown open sounded behind them, echoing around the hall with a bang, and Merlin swiveled around, bile rising in his throat as his eyes locked with Gaius' across the room. The physician's expression was wild, crazed, and Merlin really thought this trial couldn't get any worse.

Apparently he was wrong.

"Uther!" Gaius roared with the anger of a dragon, his arms spread wide and his brown robes billowing around him. Merlin had never seen the man look so angry, so desperate, and he immediately sprang into action, rocketing to his feet despite his chains.

"Gaius, don't!" Merlin screamed, and he considered throwing Gaius back with his magic. He even started to recite the spell, but before he could, Gaius reached him and grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging Merlin behind him. He did it with enough force to throw Merlin back, leaving him to fall on his arse and break his spell.

It took him a second too long to process what was happening. Gaius and Arthur poised between him and the king. Their acts of selflessness left Merlin stunned, fighting between fear and gratitude, and he recalled the sadness he'd seen in Gaius' face back in the dungeons. The lack of hope after years of failing to change Uther's mind on issues of magic.

And suddenly, Merlin had a very bad feeling he knew what Gaius was attempting to do.

"It was me who killed him, sire," Gaius announced to the court, his voice solid and sure as he spoke up for all to hear. "I am the one to blame for Roldan's death. I am the sorcerer who has killed him once he was brought to my chambers. Merlin has been entirely under my control, I confess it—"

"No!" Merlin screamed, and he tried to launch himself at Gaius, but the guards predicted his movements this time. They seized him with their rough, strong hands, pinning his arms back. Merlin whimpered as they drew him away, but he kept yelling, desperate to be heard. "No, that isn't true. It's not true! It was me, Uther. I killed him. It was entirely my fault. I am the sorcerer here, he isn't—"

"No," Gaius cut him off with force, and Merlin tugged uselessly at the guards' grip. "No, it was me, sire, you must see that—"

"It was me!" Merlin howled, and this time when his magic surged within him, he did not hold it back.

He felt it. He felt himself let go. A shock wave emanated from him, billowing out in a circle, and his fingers flared with warmth. His eyes burned with energy, the ground shaking beneath his knees, and his emotions seeped into the wood and stone of the castle itself, weaving in with the magic hidden there, taking hold. Camelot had been built by sorcery and when Merlin truly tuned into the world, he could feel that, lying just underneath the surface. It didn't take much to make the castle itself shake.

Fear rippled through the crowd of nobles and servants alike. The guards drew their swords and Merlin felt a sharp edge of blade prick his neck, forcing him to draw his chin back to prevent being sliced open. He let his shackled hands fall back to his lap, his magic fading back into dormancy. The shaking stopped, but a magical threat hung in the air. A small, but powerful demonstration of sorcery.

For years, Merlin had hidden his magic from the court. Now he was hiding no longer.

"It was me," Merlin said again, softer now that everyone had gone quiet. All eyes were on him, and he stood very still so as not to provoke the sword at his throat. He hadn't planned on using his magic like this, but it was necessary now. He needed to prevent Gaius from taking the blame, and if Uther wanted a scary sorcerer to condemn—

Well. Then he could have one.

"As you can see, Uther, I'm the sorcerer here," Merlin said, raising a chained hand ever so slightly. He met the king's gaze despite the sword at his throat, and he noticed Uther's expression had gone from vengeful to fearful in the span of seconds. Merlin selfishly relished that fear. "It has always been me. I have been a spy in your castle for years now, and Gaius has been completely under my mind control. I am the man they called Emrys. I am the sorcerer that you have been told to fear, and you should fear me. You should dread the likes of me, Uther Pendragon, because I alone represent magic returning to this kingdom one day and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"

And as he screamed those final words, Merlin let his magic burst out of him. It didn't take much to let it flare up into a powerful fire. It was always there, just waiting for him to use it, and in one fluid motion, Merlin grabbed the sword at his throat by the blade and tore it away from his face.

It was a reckless move. One that could have gone very badly if the spell he'd chanted in his head didn't take hold, but it did, and the spell "Ahatian" sailed down Merlin's arms and into his fingers, burning the metal in his grasp. Melted globs of metal pooled in his palms like sap, dripping down to the wood floor.

The guard holding him screamed, high-pitched and pained. Some of the globs must have landed on him, and Merlin felt a bit bad about it, but only a tad as he took his advantage. He elbowed the guard, weaseling himself out his grip and standing tall, his magic swirling around him. It was invisible, of course, but it was a presence he was sure everyone could feel now as he let it loose, bringing a mystical wind into existence.

Panic immediately overtook the court. People screamed, Uther drew his sword, guards jumped into action—but Merlin only had eyes for one person as Arthur drew his sword along with them, the blade glinting in the light coming in through the stained glass. The prince locked eyes with him across the hall, and Merlin magic encased him protectively. He could feel his eyes glowing as he stared at Arthur, and he was not apologetic about it. He was no longer trying to appear weak or meek for the sake of alleviating Arthur's fear, and he waited for the prince's reaction. To see if Arthur would attack him, just as Uther and the knights were doing.

But Arthur didn't advance. He didn't move it all, just frozen in place with his arms shaking a bit. His expression was broken, shattered—not scared, but at a loss. Completely unsure of what to do in this situation.

It wasn't much. But it was something. Merlin would take it.

"Restrain him!" Uther was screaming at his knights, giving an order that was obvious to everyone, but to Merlin's surprise, the guards around him all wavered. It took him a second to realise why, but then he recalled the sword he'd melted. The blade was still hissing slightly at his feet, glowing molten red, and it was a clear act of magical aggression on Merlin's part. The fear in the room was palpable.

It felt strange to him, but Merlin allowed himself to grin at their terror. He normally wouldn't. He hadn't wanted to use his magic—hadn't wanted to instill fear like this—but it was required now to protect Gaius. To secure himself as the only target of Uther's wrath.

"Scared are you, Uther?" Merlin asked the tyrant king, taunting Uther now, and he purposely changed the tone of his voice. He was slightly imitating Morgana he realised, even glancing over at the sorceress, and he enjoyed her shocked expression as he allowed the malice to creep into his words. He would be lying to himself if he thought Uther's fear wasn't delicious. It was so very satisfying to see the king only just now realising how much of a threat Merlin truly posed.

"Restrain him!" Uther ordered again, more desperate now, and his voice cracked as he gave the command. He couldn't hide the chinks in his armour anymore as the knights finally reacted, dropping into a circular formation and surrounding Merlin on all sides. They advanced slowly, but deliberately, and Merlin let them. He kept his expression cold, calculating, and he stood very still, just watching the knights close in while he considered blasting them all away. A single throw of his arm would do the trick, sending them all soaring, and after that, he could just… leave. Break his way out of the castle. Disappear.

But what would be the point of that? Merlin thought, and he had to remind himself of that fact. He had to remember why he'd chosen to face this trial in the first place. He hadn't come here to play at being an evil sorcerer, attacking Camelot's throne. He was here to announce his magic but refuse to renounce it. He was here to prove to Arthur—and to everyone else—that while he was capable of being a threat, he chose not to be.

And so, when the knights closed in on Merlin, he didn't attack. Instead, with a slow exhale, he let his magic settle, the wind he'd been creating without thought dying down. His hands—still chained—fell limp in his lap, and before long he had a sword to his throat once more.

It was strange, letting his guard down, and yet all too easy after years of pretending he wasn't powerful. His time in Camelot had trained him to be benign, and it had helped him grow accustomed to servitude and humility over power and pride.

He let those lessons guide him now.

"Take him away!" Uther demanded, and the king's motions were wild now—delirious as he gave the order with a mad swing of his sword. "I will not entertain this madness any further! I will not entertain the sin of sorcery within these sacred walls!"

His voice squawked, wavering, and Merlin realised Uther was having a hard time regaining face after the magic he'd just seen. The king pointed his sword at Merlin's chest, and Merlin had had a nightmare about this moment. He had always feared that once Uther learnt of his magic that the king would just stab him and be done with.

"I would slay you here where you stand myself, sorcerer," the king seethed, threatening that. Merlin could see Uther considering the idea of striding forward and burying his sword deep in Merlin's gut, ending this—

But he hesitated. He wavered, and Merlin wondered if Uther realised he could lose that fight. That if Merlin fought back with all his power the king didn't stand a chance.

He must have realised it, because he didn't attack. He didn't advance, cowering just a little, and Merlin grinned a tiny bit to see it. "However, I want the public to see you die properly," Uther decided, and it was a weak excuse for letting Merlin live another hour. "I want you and your ilk to witness what becomes of anyone who dares enter my court as they watch the life drain from your wicked eyes!"

"Then do it," Merlin replied, and there was a challenge there. A challenge, but also a profound exhaustion. He was tired of this. Tired of hiding, tired of fighting. All of it. "Do what you want with me, Uther, but know this—there are so many more people like me. So many more sorcerers who are just people looking for a home and a family. Camelot could be so much greater than it is if you'd let those sorcerers find their way here. I have served you for a long time, and I could have served you all the better with my magic if you'd just let me."

"Get him out!" Uther howled, ignoring Merlin's heartfelt words, and he betrayed his desperation as he whirled to face his son. He was delegating, putting the burden onto Arthur just as Merlin had suspected he would. "Arthur, see to it that the gallows are raised this instant," the king commanded, and he waved his sword in Arthur's direction, making Arthur flinch. "I want this evil sorcerer dead and gone before sundown! Do you hear me?"

"Y-yes, Father," Arthur stuttered, and Merlin had never seen the prince look so shaken up. Good, he thought, and he hoped that meant that this had worked. That he'd gotten through to Arthur on some instinctual level, and he wasn't done yet. The guards seized him from behind, trapping his hands at his sides and dragging him out of the throne room, but Merlin didn't resist it. He looked at Arthur, willing the prince to look at him too.

To his relief, Arthur did, their eyes locking once more, and Merlin could see Arthur's anguish overtaking him before the throne room doors snapped shut, separating them once again.

For now.

~O~

Merlin's dungeon cell welcomed him back with its dank, damp darkness as the guard's shoved him back inside. The smell of his prison washed over him, and the weight of all that had just happened sunk into his limbs. He collapsed onto the cell bench with a shuddering breath. He was shaking somewhat, the shock setting in, and he lay there on his back, hands folded over his chest, just feeling his thumping heart. His breathing was short and he tried to lengthen his inhales and exhales, attempting to calm himself down from everything that had just occurred.

He had done it. It didn't feel real just yet, but Merlin had done it. He'd succeeded. Faced his trial in front of the king, and endured a real-life nightmare—a nightmare he'd suffered from nearly every night since coming to Camelot. The court, the king, everyone knew he was a sorcerer now. Merlin had been accused of magic publicly before, but never before had he used it so outright. There would be no coming back from it, even if he wanted to. It was official now.

His time as a secret sorcerer in Camelot was over.

It was a relief to Merlin, in some ways, to know that. To no longer need to hide. The freedom it offered was a strange sort of solace, but also a newfound fear. In many ways, Merlin did not know who he was outside of Arthur's manservant. He didn't know who he was outside of a farm boy hiding his growing powers, either, and this was a new version of him… this new freedom… he felt ghostly. Unformed. His body was adrift, floating in doldrums, and in many ways he felt like he'd pushed out to sea without knowing how to sail.

Perhaps it was time he learnt how.

Focus, Merlin, focus now, Merlin scolded himself, and he pressed his palms to his eyes until they swirled with stars. He'd achieved the first part of his plan, which had been survive the trial without getting brutally slaughtered. The second part would prove trickier. Earlier, Merlin had heard the king's plans for him: the gallows, and that was good. A noose would be simpler to combat than a pyre or a beheading, and during his first stint in the dungeon, Merlin had composed a skeleton plan for facing all three. Part of him had been terrified he wouldn't learn which one he'd face, but now, thankfully, he could just focus in on the gallows.

With a deep breath, Merlin kept his eyes closed. He squeezed them tightly, forcing himself to conjure up a detailed image of the gallows. A wooden platform. A lever. A crossbeam. A noose. That was what he had to work with as far as magic, and he had a few spells he thought might work.

The first one was the most important one. When Gogan the executioner pulled the lever to make him drop, Merlin had to make sure he didn't drop. The platform below him would swing wide open, and he had to either stop it, or do something else to prevent the noose from tightening around his neck. That was the biggest and most immediate obstacle to not dying.

Merlin had one way to address it. It was the most obvious answer—he could magically prevent the platform from opening at the lever's command. There was a spell for that. Bracinga locum. That would jamb the lever, but it wasn't much of a demonstration, and Merlin imagined himself standing there, the rope around his neck as Gogan furiously jerked the lever only to find it wasn't working. What would the executioner do then?

Draw his sword and stab me, probably, Merlin thought bitterly. No. He needed a better spell. Something a little more… flashy. Something less predictable and less easily denied.

Cbeft flotere. Now that was more extravagant. A floating spell. When Gogan pulled the lever and the platform opened beneath Merlin's feet, the noose drawing tight—what if he started floating in thin air?

That would definitely get everyone's attention, Merlin thought with a small smile, but could he actually do it? He had never tried to make anything heavier than a pitcher float, let alone his entire body. He'd never attempted this spell at that level, but he did have some time on his hands while they constructed the gallows outside.

Might as well try it. Exhaling slowly, Merlin stood up to give it a go. He settled in the centre of the cell, holding his chained hands out in front of him and spreading his fingers wide. The shackles made an awful lot of noise at the movement, and he hoped Sir Madoc wouldn't come running over to discover him practicing magic.

Then again, it wasn't like Merlin had to keep his magic a secret any longer. He might as well practice without fear.

Cbeft flotere, Merlin chanted in his head, releasing his magic at full power and letting the spell flow through his arms. He put his whole soul behind it, a small wind kicking up beneath his feet and pushing him upward—

But with unexpected force and propulsion. Merlin yelped as he was thrown forwards, careening face-first towards the floor from the force of the spell. His body followed, leaving him crumpling like a newborn foul on the straw.

Great. The words of the enchantment worked, but Merlin now realised he needed to be gentler. He needed to maneuver his body and hold himself upright instead of launching himself headfirst. Perhaps if he changed how he held his hands—kept one hand out for the wind, and one pointed in on himself, holding him steady?

That might work. Getting back to his feet with a grunt, Merlin brought his chained hands to stomach, facing his right hand outward and leaving his left hand pressed against his navel. That way, his right arm was poised to control the air and his left arm positioned to control him.

Round two, Merlin thought to himself with newfound conviction, and then he tried again. Cbeft flotere, he chanted in his mind, and his magic billowed out from him, the wind kicking up, his feet lifting into the air—

And this time, Merlin did not fall. This time, he could feel his left hand steadying his core, the spell flowing into his body and not just the air while his right hand controlled the winds, keeping him afloat. He was doing it. He was flying!

Well, not flying. Floating. Floating barely a foot off the dungeon floor. Hardly amazing spell work, but it would do. With a smile, Merlin let his magic fade, dropping his feet neatly back to the ground. That was his first spell sorted. Now for the second. If he could maintain the floating, then the next task would be getting his shackles off.

That shouldn't be too difficult. For a moment, Merlin studied his shackles in the little patch of light his cell provided. They weren't particularly complicated cuffs, and if he focused his magic on the lock—

Onirne, Merlin chanted in his mind, snapping his fingers, and the shackles blew open with a small crack, falling off his wrists and clanging to the ground. Merlin grinned at the sight, rubbing at his raw wrists. That was a simple enough task and a wind spell, byre, would bring the trapdoor back up into position for him to stand on. Perfect.

Next step. Crossbows. Crossbows were the next step. Merlin had attended enough executions to know that the knights would be stationed around the courtyard, ready to deploy bolts at him if he tried anything. That was a normal protocol for sorcerer prisoners, so what to do if they started shooting at him?

"Flotere," Merlin murmured again, waving his hand to bring a blade of straw into the air. He'd pretend this was a crossbow bolt, coming at him—

And then he deflected the attack with a strong burst of magic, sending it away from him and neatly placing the blade back on the bed of straw. He didn't need a spell for that one, really. Directing objects was fairly instinctual magic for him—always had been. He should be able to deflect the bolts without too much trouble, granted he saw them in time.

Right. Next step. The noose. That was probably the most important and dangerous bit, and Merlin brought his hands to his neck, taking off his red neckerchief only to wind it into rope, He tied it semi-tight around his throat, imitating a noose. With a small intake of breath, Merlin grazed a single finger over the knot of the scarf, testing out his spell with slight worry. This one was going to be slightly more complicated, but if he could pull it off—

"Bæst gewyrc an lif," Merlin murmured, dragging his fingertip across the scarf and pushing his magic into the threads like he planned to do with the rope's bristling coils. His scarf responded, the fabric twisting and transforming before bursting into blue wings. A flurry of magically-conjured butterflies jumped into existence, billowing out from his neck and temporarily blinding him.

Merlin couldn't help but laugh in wonderment at the sight. He stood very still, just enjoying as the butterflies fluttered around him—as content as little magical insects could be. Yes, Merlin thought happily, this will do. It would work all too well, and especially if he directed them properly. He tested that out, using his instinctual magic to guide the pack of butterflies from one end of his cell to the other. The glittering insects responded to his unspoken command, following his guidance, and Merlin wondered if he could send them up into the balcony. It would fluster Uther and perhaps demonstrate to Arthur just how much he didn't need to use battle magic to escape…

How magic could be used for beauty, too.

With that decided, Merlin banished the butterflies for now, bringing his scarf back into existence with a reverse spell, edhwierft. He wrapped that around his neck again, moving on to his next and arguably most difficult spell.

The gallows were made of wood. Oak, probably, as that was the most common tree in the Darkling Forest. But could he do it? Was Merlin really about to try one of the hardest spells he'd ever attempted in full view of the king, of Arthur, and of the knights?

Could he really turn the gallows back into the tree it once was?

Maybe. Hopefully. It would certainly be a magical demonstration to remember if he pulled it off, but there was no spell for this. Not one Merlin knew of, anyway. He had gotten the idea off a bit of instinctual magic he'd performed once on accident—back in Ealdor before he'd had any official training from Gaius.

Merlin remembered that day quite vividly. Old Man Simmons had crafted a chair out of a tree he and Will used to climb on. A towering oak, but it had grown sickly over the years and needed to be cut down. This had saddened both Merlin and Will, and he remembered trying to save the tree with his magic. He'd pushed his magic into its trunk and managed to revive some of its dying limbs, but Old Man Simmons had gone and cut it down before he'd been able to revive it all.

In the end, Merlin hadn't been that upset about it. It was a pretty chair. Simmons was an excellent carpenter, and he'd even let Merlin and Will carve their own designs into the legs of it. Merlin wondered if that chair was still around somewhere, propped up in the back of someone's hut in Ealdor. He smiled at the thought, but what he remembered most was what had happened when he'd touched the chair. It was as if he could feel the soul of the tree within the wood, simmering just beneath the surface of the varnish, and when he'd touched it—when he'd let his magic run wild for a moment—that part of the chair had jumped back into its old form. Limbs had sprouted from the legs of the chair, sprouting tiny green leaves, and Will had seen.

"Gods, Merlin," Will had said, and Merlin could remember exactly how he'd said it. It was such a Will way of saying things—like he was chiding Merlin, but not really. "Can you stop being a magical forest sprite for two seconds? Simmons might see!"

"Sorry," Merlin had said, and he'd pulled his magic back. The next time he'd touched the chair, the wood didn't react, but part of him knew he could do the spell again if he tried.

Now was the time to try again. Sucking in a preparatory breath, Merlin focused on the bench in his cell. It was an old thing, barely upright. Merlin wasn't sure how many condemned sorcerers had slept on it before him, but now that bench would serve a new purpose. He approached it, getting down on one knee and resting his palms on the top of the wood. Gently, he stroked the grain with the pads of his fingers, just letting a few tendrils of his magic snake out and into the depths of the bench. He tested the waters, probing to see if he felt what he'd felt back then. The soul of the tree.

It took a moment, but he did feel it. A little tug of life from deep within the bench and Merlin latched onto that, gripping it like he would someone's hand. He pulled mentally, like dragging a drowning person out of deep water, and the wood responded. The bench shook a little beneath his hands, and then with a noise like a strong wind, branches burst out from edges of the wood, sprawling up toward the top of the cell. Merlin drew back from the bench with a grin of success, stopping the spell by letting go.

But then the tree continued to grow despite his lack of touch.

"Okay, er, that's enough," Merlin murmured, a little frantic as the bench nearly disappeared, the wood of it replaced entirely by a quickly-enlarging oak tree. The cell was starting to shake, the oak's branches pushing against the ceiling and curling from the lack of space, trying to push their way to the sun.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop," Merlin whispered, worried he was going to accidentally break out of his cell again. He darted forward, slapping the tree with a burst of instinctual magic, and to his relief, the tree paused at his touch, ceasing its growth. The cell stopped shaking.

Merlin exhaled, slumping. Well. At least he knew that worked, and he'd managed it all without alerting the guard.

Or not. Something shifted behind Merlin. A noise echoing in the darkness, footsteps, and Merlin jolted, whirling around with his hands raised—

Only to find Sir Madoc on the other side of the bars, staring at him, wide-eyed.

Merlin immediately lowered his hands. He'd been worried about this. "Ah," he said dumbly, not having much defense. "Er, hi, there, Madoc. I… S-sorry about this, I just… er."

Merlin didn't know what to say. He didn't want to seem threatening, but there wasn't much he could do to hide an enchanted tree. He was pretty sure they didn't cover this in knight training. "Just practicing!" he settled on lamely. "Not trying to break out or anything. I suppose I could, well—"

With a quick spell, Merlin summoned his shackles into the air, plopping them back on his wrists. He locked them magically. "There!" he said with an awkward laugh. "Very sorry about the tree. Not sure how to get rid of it."

He elbowed the tree trunk at this, his chains clanging, but then he felt stupid for treating a plant like a person. He wasn't very good at this whole being-open-about-his-magic thing.

Madoc just continued to stare. He hadn't moved, and he didn't appear aggressive at all. His arm wasn't near his sword, but he was studying Merlin with a wary curiosity and that left Merlin shifting under the knight's scrutiny, feeling like a bug under a glass.

"The king has ordered me to bring you to the courtyard," the knight informed him after a moment's silence. He sounded deeply uncomfortable, and it occurred to Merlin then that the two of them weren't far off in age. Madoc was perhaps a bit younger. "For your immediate execution."

"Oh," Merlin said, because he wasn't sure what else to say. "Right."

"The question is…" Madoc continued, and he cocked his head at Merlin. His long, shaggy blond hair hung like curtains, framing his face and making him look a bit like a curious dog. "Are you going to allow me to do that?"

Merlin started. He hadn't expected that question, but perhaps he should have. The knights knowing of his magic was new to him, and he wasn't used to being treated like he had a choice in the matter. "Oh," he said again, and he really needed to start coming up with more intelligent answers. "Yes. I mean, yes, I'll let you. You don't need to fear anything from me, Madoc. I promise you that."

"Why?"

It was a genuine question, not nefarious. Madoc seemed to actually want to know, and Merlin wasn't sure how to handle this odd standoff. He and Madoc hadn't exchanged anything more than a few passing words before all this. They weren't friends, and yet the knight looked like he deeply wanted to understand why Merlin was choosing to do this.

Merlin wished he had a good response for him. It was all a bit much to explain, and it would probably sound crazy to anyone but him. It did sound crazy to him, but his plans were usually crazy and stupid, so this wasn't anything new.

There was no good way for him to illustrate his intentions. No simple way to prove he didn't mean any harm, and so instead, Merlin unlocked his cell with magic. The door swung open on its own accord and Madoc recoiled from it. His gloved hands curled around the hilt of his sword, but Merlin held up his arms in surrender.

"I'm not attacking!" he reassured the knight, his voice gentle, although he knew that "hands up" from a sorcerer was less than innocent. "I promise I have no intention of hurting you. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I do fight for Camelot—same as you. I merely wish to serve it with all the means I have at my disposal."

He stepped a bit closer to Madoc, lowering his chained wrists and offering himself up as a prisoner. "Magic just happens to be what I have to give," he explained further, speaking quietly and resolutely, despite knowing Madoc could never understand. "It can be a resource, when used wisely."

"Wisely?" Madoc repeated flatly, and his hand was still on the pommel of his sword. The knight's body was tense, watching Merlin's every move, but he hadn't drawn his weapon yet. That was something. "You killed a knight."

Merlin grimaced at that, his mind flashing back to Roldan unwillingly. He supposed that would be a sore point. "Yes," he admitted hollowly, not about to shy away from what had happened. "It was an accident. Friendly fire, I promise you, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't answer for it."

Madoc's eyes narrowed, but he also looked like he was trying to puzzle Merlin out. Trying to understand the sorcerer before him before Merlin was strangled out in the square. "Is that why you're still here?" he asked after consideration, curiosity winning out over any sort of fear he had of Merlin's magic. "I overheard your conversation with the prince. I listened to what you told Gaius. You decided to stay. You decided not to fight back. And what for? Penance?"

Penance? Merlin bit at his lip at the word, shifting a bit and rattling his chains. "Yes," he answered, and he tried to figure out how best to explain. "Well. Sort of. I made a mistake in battle. Someone paid the price for that mistake. I suppose I want to show the people of Camelot that I recognise that. That I plan to do better in the future, and to show them how not all sorcerers have turned against the kingdom."

"So you don't plan on dying?"

It was a more of an accusation than a question, and Merlin hesitated. "No, I don't plan on dying," he admitted, although he wasn't sure if he should admit to that. "I have work I still want to do. Things to achieve to help Camelot, but I don't plan on hurting any of the knights when I get out. Really, I don't, but it's fine if you don't believe me, because—"

He paused, swaying. "Well, I don't expect you to," he finished with a heavy sigh.

"But I do believe you," Madoc said, and he said that so suddenly, so softly, that Merlin didn't hear him at first. Merlin's head snapped back up, eyes wide, and Madoc met his gaze. "You don't remember me well, do you?"

"Remember… ?" Merlin asked, his mind racing to grasp what Madoc was talking about. Madoc smiled, and suddenly, his gloved hand was no longer on his sword. The knight stepped back, his tension uncoiling, and Merlin began to wonder if he'd read the knight all wrong.

"You don't remember my first day in Camelot," Madoc elaborated, and Merlin was struck by the knight's sudden change in demeanour. "I met you on my first day here. I was injured while training. Never been good with a mace. Messed up my leg a little, but Gaius was out, so you stepped in for him."

Merlin's brow furrowed, trying to wrack his brain to remember this, but none of it was ringing a bell. Worry suddenly gnawed at his stomach. "Was—was I rubbish?" he asked, trying to picture himself standing in for Gaius. "I'm not a great physician."

"I thought you were wonderful," Madoc said, his voice sincere, and Merlin stuttered, not sure how to take the compliment. "You fixed me right up. Perhaps you used magic, I don't know. But what I do know is I hadn't even been in Camelot a full day and you were the first person to say a kind word to me. I told you I was no good at fighting and you said not to worry, you were worse and you still had your head. So I'd be alright."

Madoc beamed at Merlin, his smile ear-to-ear now, and Merlin blinked rapidly, finding tears pricking his eyes. He didn't recall any of that. "Did I say all that?"

"You did," Madoc said, and he crossed his arms, tilting his head at Merlin like a delighted puppy. He was staring at Merlin with slight admiration now, and Merlin really didn't know how to handle that. "You really don't remember, do you? Of course, I had no idea I was talking to a sorcerer that day. But you seemed alright then, and you seem alright now, Merlin. I suppose that counts for something. To me it does, anyway. Not that my voice matters, and you can understand why I cannot afford to show it publicly. But I do believe you."

Merlin opened his mouth to say something in reply. To express his wonder—his gratitude at this show of support, even if only secretly. But he found he had no words to say. He hadn't known Madoc had given him more than a passing thought, let alone that he had meant something to him, but it meant a lot to hear it—and especially from a knight. Especially with what he was about to face.

Madoc's smile faded a little at Merlin's silence, but it was still there, and then he went a step further, offering Merlin his arm. It was a gesture usually meant for fellow knights, and Merlin stared at his arm with wide eyes. "I think we need to go," Madoc reminded him, and he sounded genuinely upset about it. "Sorry."

"No, it's… alright," Merlin said, and he tentatively took Madoc's arm as best he could with his shackles. He clutched the knight's forearm at the elbow, leaving Madoc to do the same to him. Two warriors, sharing a knight's bond. What a strange pair of servants to Camelot they made.

It was a nice moment. A calm Merlin hadn't expected before the storm, and then Madoc was moving, escorting Merlin up the stairs and towards the courtyard in a respectful silence. The knight gripped Merlin like the prisoner he was, but he did so with a lighter touch than any of the other guards before him. It was a kind gesture, especially as Ivor and Howel awaited Merlin at the edge of the castle courtyard, poised to take over for the final stretch.

"This is where I must leave you," Madoc warned as they approached the two knights, speaking softly in Merlin's ear. "But I wish you luck in your future, Merlin, assuming you do make that escape of yours. Perhaps we'll meet again."

"Yes, perhaps we will," Merlin said, and he found himself a little choked up. "And thank you, Madoc. Truly. For your kindness."

He didn't need to look at Madoc to see his smile. "Just repaying the favour," Madoc whispered, and then he was gone and Merlin was back in the clutches of Ivor and Howel, marching towards his execution.

The final stretch wasn't that different from when they'd marched him to the throne room just hours before. It was just as terrible of an experience as Merlin had imagined it to be, but this time as he walked, he held onto a newfound hope growing within his chest.

A hope for peace between knights and sorcerers after all.

~O~

The first thing Merlin saw as he entered the courtyard was the noose.

It swung in the wind. Centred in the square, long and ominous and waiting for him. The crowd of commoners had come in droves, filling nearly every open space in the small square, but their jeers and yells hardly reached Merlin's ears. The noise seemed to come at him like they were all underwater, gurgling and fuzzy and leaving his head spinning. All Merlin's bleary eyes could see was the rope straight ahead of him, swaying in the breeze, and the panic that struck him was so much stronger than he'd anticipated.

Merlin had faced death before. He'd looked it straight in the eye many times, but this was different, and it took Merlin a moment to realise why. Before when he'd faced death, he'd always felt like he was making a difference. He'd always felt that his murder would mean something, whether anyone knew of it or not. He could die happy knowing he made a difference, however small, and that had served Camelot and Arthur well.

But this death… Death by noose. Death by executioner. Death as a traitor—

This wasn't a secret death. This wasn't an honourable death. This wasn't a murder that meant anything. Merlin would end up just another sorcerer body on a growing pile, and his mind and magic rejected that so strongly that it became hard to walk. The guards didn't give him the option of halting, however, pushing him onward, and Merlin tripped on the cobblestones, continuing his way out into the thick mist.

The jeers from the crowd grew louder as he stumbled. Merlin found himself processing their words now, truly hearing the insults hurled at him for the first time. Allowing himself to know and understand what people thought of him now that his secret was out.

They weren't anything he hadn't expected to hear. Murderer. Demon. Deceiver. Charlatan. Devil spawn. Merlin had first heard those words upon his arrival in Camelot, when he'd first entered this very courtyard and witnessed an execution. He still remembered the name of the man who had been executed: Tom Collins. Merlin recalled feeling unsurprised as he'd watched on, but also sick to his stomach. Witnessing as a sorcerer lose his head within minutes of his arrival.

Merlin had anticipated this, the executions. He'd heard the horror stories. It was something he'd been willing to risk if it meant seeking Gaius' tutelage, but Merlin also remembered promising himself he'd never let that be him. He'd sworn that to himself that day, and to Gaius and to his mother too, but here he was—walking in Tom's footsteps and being pushed to the gallows through the jeering masses. Was there another young sorcerer standing in the crowd today, having just arrived in Camelot? Watching Merlin now, and thinking the same thing he had thought to himself four years ago?

Merlin dearly hoped not. I'll be fine, he'd told his mother. He'd promised her he'd be careful, downplaying her worries about Camelot and her doubts about Gaius. He had even promised it to Will, and he'd promised it to himself most of all as he'd watched Tom's severed head tumble into a little basket. I won't let that be me. I'm going to use my magic for good. I'm going to make a difference.

Four years ago he'd promised himself that. Use his magic for good. Make a difference. Don't die.

Time to put that promise to the test.

Recite your spells, recite your spells, Merlin ordered himself mentally in a frantic cycle, attempting to focus and banish the fear clouding his brain. He needed to keep his mind clear if he had any hope of pulling this off. Cbeft flotere, onirne, byre, bæst gewyrc an lif. Cbeft flotere, onirne, byre, bæst gewyrc an lif. Cbeftflotereonirnebyrebæstgewyrcanlif—

Merlin's feet reached the edge of the gallow's steps, the welts of his boots hitting the side of the lowest step. He froze, paralyzed by fear, and the guards hoisted him, forcing him up the few short blocks to the platform. Gogan, dressed in his executioner's black robes, seized Merlin by the arms, dragging him the rest of the way to the platform's centre. In that moment, Merlin allowed himself to look away from it all, away from Gogan, away from the noose, away from the crowd—

And up into the balcony, where he knew Arthur would be.

It was almost trance-like, how their eyes locked almost immediately. Through the mist, through the crowd, and through the chaos, the crown prince stood at the balcony with his arms on the parapet, peering down at Merlin with a deep fear that was somehow a comfort to Merlin.

And then Arthur did something Merlin hadn't expected he'd do.

He brushed his nose.

Surprise coursed through Merlin's body like a stroke of lightning. Two brushes of Arthur's nose with his pointer finger, his eyes locked unblinkingly with Merlin as he did it, and suddenly Merlin remembered. He remembered coming up with that signal, how many years ago now. He'd meant it as a joke, really. A little signal between the two of them that meant "hey, idiot, get out of here and don't get killed, will you?" They'd never actually used it. Arthur stuck to his actual signals, known to him and his knights, and Merlin had slowly grown to learn those, too.

But this signal. This signal was meant for him and him alone, and as Merlin stared up in awe, Arthur did it once more. Get out of here, the prince's eyes seemed to scream at him. Get out! Run!

It wasn't acceptance. It wasn't absolution. It wasn't even a promise that everything would be alright after this, but Merlin was so shocked and so happy to see it that he almost laughed in wonderment. That wouldn't have been a very appropriate reaction to having a noose brought over his head or the knot tightly pulled to his neck. The feeling of a coarse coil tightening across his Adam's apple was enough to send every tendril of magic within Merlin into activity, swirling into a tempest, and this time, he didn't plan on holding it back. He didn't plan on becoming another helpless Tom Collins on a long list of Tom Collins', nor a failure for the Druids to mumble about in their secret caves. That was not Merlin's future. That was not his destiny.

He would not fail.

Gogan's hand was on the lever now. The crowd had gone quiet, hushed. They anticipated the king's order—anticipated the hollow snap of Merlin's neck and the gurgling of a hanged man, but Merlin wasn't about to let them have it. With a resolute confidence, he kept his gaze on Arthur, letting his magic swell up within him in preparation. Focus, he told himself, not allowing his fear get the best of him, and then he saw Uther's hand drop. He heard the lever grind forwards, felt the platform give out beneath his feet—

Cbeft flotere! Merlin screamed in his head, his left hand pressed so hard against his stomach it hurt and his right-hand facing outward, his power bursting out of him like a flame blown to life—

And the noose did not grow tight. His body did not drop. His magic enveloped him in a soft bubble of wind, keeping him afloat, and the gasps of shock and horror filtering through the gathered crowd was music to Merlin's ears. He smiled, just a little, and he enjoyed watching terror strike the face of Uther Pendragon. Beside the king, Merlin saw Arthur duck away from the balcony edge, sick to his stomach. But had he seen? Had he looked away?

Focus, Merlin, Merlin reminded himself, and he couldn't afford to be distracted. He was still alive. Still breathing, and he couldn't take any time to revel in that success. First spell done, several spells to go.

"You dare!" Uther was screeching at him from above, leaning over the rail with his face red and boiling with rage. Merlin had anticipated this, and he couldn't help enjoying it. "You dare attempt to challenge my authority, sorcerer? This hanging was chosen as a mercy for you. I will have your head for this!"

The king waved his arm, signaling his knights into action, and at the commotion, Arthur returned. The prince practically flew back to the parapet, his hair askew in the wind and eyes wide, and that left Merlin searching Arthur's face for the relief and acceptance he hoped to find there.

He found it. Relief was written into Arthur's every feature, replacing his anguish at Merlin's plight, and Merlin no longer hid his smile as he moved his attention to Uther—emboldened as he stared down the king from below.

"I do dare," he said loudly, assuredly, and Merlin snapped his fingers, mutely performing his second spell: onirne. With a small click, his shackles fell off him with fluid grace, and Merlin rubbed at his sore wrists, relishing his freedom. Predictably, the crossbows fired at him within seconds. Bolts whizzed for Merlin's head, and he raised a newly-freed hand—stopping the bolts just inches from his face and directing them away from him with a practiced ease. It didn't take much to bring them all to rest in a neat pile on the courtyard cobblestones.

It felt amazing. Merlin found himself more energised and alive than he had ever been in his life. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used his magic so openly, and let alone this level of magic. Even the floating spell was becoming easier for him the longer he held onto it, and Merlin could feel his magic growing stronger the more he stopped holding back.

"I do dare to challenge your authority," Merlin continued smoothly, still squaring off with Uther, and he hoped if there was a secret sorcerer standing somewhere in the crowd, that they heard this. That they witnessed what Merlin did next as he brought his hand up to his neck, drawing his finger across the rope of the noose and performing his next spell: bæst gewyrc an lif.

The butterflies that flew from his neck obscured his vision for a moment. A rush of wings tickled Merlin's nose affectionately, and then they were gone, soaring into the balcony and obscuring the vision of the Camelot knights instead. Merlin heard panicked shouts from above and his smile widened while he snapped his fingers, performing byre to bring the gallow's platform back up to solid ground for him to stand on. He finally let go of his floating spell, dropping back to his feet.

"Surrender yourself, sorcerer!" Uther was screaming at him, but it was almost comical now, Uther's rage. His fear-mongering held no sway anymore, and the terror Merlin had seen growing within the king back at his trial had fully developed now. He was trying to mask it, but Uther was very clearly scared of Merlin.

Merlin, in a weird way, was quite proud of that.

The crowd of common people, however, seemed to hold a similar sentiment. Merlin heard murmurs of terror spreading through the courtyard—fear at his powerful display of magic. He'd expected everyone to run, but to Merlin's shock, most people seemed to have stalled, still standing by to watch. Curious as to what would happen next.

Their interest outweighed their fear.

"My apologies, your majesty," Merlin called up to Uther, and he couldn't resist the selfish hint of smugness as he spoke. "I am afraid I will not be taking orders from you any longer. You've lost that privilege, and I am done watching the execution of my kind take place in this courtyard."

It felt good to say those words. No, it felt better than good. It felt right, and Merlin's next spell came to him easier than he'd expected. Reaching for the wood of the gallows with the palm of his hand, Merlin felt the spark of life within the beams almost immediately. It was all too easy to grasp onto it, pulling on that promise of life just as he had done with the bench in his cell. The gallows began to shake beneath his feet and Merlin rotated his wrists, letting his sorcery run wild for the first time since stepping foot in Camelot nearly four years ago.

The chaos he created was immediate. An oak tree burst to life all around him with a deafening groan, the wood twisting into creeping branches, and Merlin sent those branches hurling up into the expanses of the balcony. He could feel the limbs of the tree as if they were his own arms, directing each one with ease and snatching the knights from their posts. Merlin's whole body pulsed with magic as he worked, energy like lightning prickling his skin, and his next motion wasn't planned. He moved on instinct alone, letting a branch sweep him up in its mossy hold and bringing him up, up, up to the balcony in the soft embrace of newly-budding leaves.

Two stunned Pendragons stared at him as he reached their level. Father and son, but there was a difference between them now. Arthur was looking at Merlin with awe, even happiness, and Uther was staring at him with both fear and fury. The king drew his sword, angling to attack, but Merlin reacted before he could strike. He knocked Uther's sword out of his hands with a branch, sending the king's weapon flying and leaving flowers to burst to life on the branch's end, raining petals down onto Arthur's blond head.

Merlin hadn't meant to do that. His magic seemed to be taking a life of its own, enjoying the chance to create more life. Merlin didn't bother reigning it in, allowing more flowers to grow on the tree. He was in control, and yet his unconscious was expressing itself. Creating beauty amongst the chaos.

Merlin hadn't realised how much he'd needed that.

"Sorry," he said to Uther, speaking for the first time since coming up to the balcony, and he bore down on the king now from the slight height his tree gave him. He wasn't really all that sorry. "I'm a bit tired of all this violence. And aren't you tired of it by now, Uther? The endless cycle of killing? Or has it just become habitual for you at this point?"

"You deserve death, you demon spawn," Uther spat at him, but there was no bite to his bark. Merlin simply sighed, exhaustion beginning to weigh on him.

"Right," he said, not even sure why he'd bothered to ask. He rubbed at his face, his jaw still sore and bruised from Uther's slap back in the throne room. "I won't bother arguing with you, Uther. I said my piece back at court, and as I told you then, I apologise for what has happened with Sir Roldan. I hope I can make it right one day. Perhaps under new management."

He glanced to Arthur at this, daring to make his meaning clear, and Arthur stared back at him, looking like he wanted to say something but he dared not. Merlin offered him a smile and he hoped that was assuring. They would speak again in due time, and the glow of relief in Arthur's eyes was enough for Merlin for now. More than enough, and it was time to go.

This last step had always been a part of his plan. It was a magic stronger and older than any of the spells he'd performed so far, but Merlin required no practice to perform it. He wondered if Arthur knew what was coming as the dragon language left his throat, calling Kilgharrah just as he did back in the clearing. It felt amazing to scream to the sky, and as the dragon's roar left his lips, Merlin could see recognition dawning in Uther's face. The king knew the words of a Dragonlord and it wasn't long before Kilgharrah's roar sounded in answer to Merlin's call, the castle itself shaking from the creature's imminent arrival.

"No," Uther whispered, horrified as Great Dragon's giant wingspan became visible in Camelot's sky. The tyrant's eyes went wide and bright, glistening with fear as they stared up at an old enemy, and Merlin could not help but smirk at his terror.

"Yes," he said with fervor, and Merlin willed the branch of his tree just a bit higher, preparing himself for his grand exit. "You really shouldn't lock us magical creatures up, Uther. We seem to have developed a bad habit of breaking out."

He was being cheeky now and he knew it, but Merlin didn't regret his words as Kilgharrah's massive form reached the mouth of the courtyard, hovering just above them. The townspeople scattered, screaming and fleeing the arrival of a dragon, but Merlin mentally spoke to Kilgharrah, warning him not to attack anyone. He was sure the thought crossed the dragon's mind as they both stared down Uther—their shared enemy—but now was not the time for revenge. Killing the king wouldn't do anything but burn the bridge that Merlin had built between himself and Arthur, and he would not jeopardize that.

But that didn't mean Merlin couldn't strike fear into the heart of Uther Pendragon. With a twist of his arm, Merlin had his tree bring him up to Kilgharrah's level, neatly placing himself on the dragon's back where he belonged. He met Uther's gaze, declaring himself as a Dragonlord without needing to speak it aloud, and he hoped Uther knew what that meant. He hoped Uther realised he was staring at the son of Balinor in this moment, riding the very dragon Uther had tricked his father into capturing. He hoped that King Uther Pendragon, for all his tyrant ways, was beginning to realise how Merlin was preparing his son to unravel the threads of hatred sewn into Camelot's tapestry. That when Uther was gone, all he had built may collapse to be turned into something new.

In many ways, Merlin hoped that terrified him.

"I don't really wish to leave, you know," Merlin said to them, finding his words as he thought through what sort of message he should leave everyone with. He was speaking to a sitting king and a future king. He would not waste this last opportunity. "I consider Camelot my home, and I know many sorcerers wish they could call it home as well. Sorcerers that could make excellent citizens or knights if you'd let them. Your worst enemies are the ones you create, Uther. So, please. Stop that cycle. Both of you. I'm only your enemy if you force me to be one, but until then…"

Merlin trailed off, letting his words deepen into Draconic as he told Kilgharrah to rise a little higher. He clutched one of the horns on the dragon's ridged spine while they ascended, but he kept his gaze on Arthur.

"...I'll be around," Merlin finished, securing a promise to Arthur, and he was pleased to see the prince smiling back at him. A small smile, a hidden smile, but it was something. "Have a pleasant evening, your majesties."

And with that said, they were off. Merlin commanded Kilgharrah to leave and it was a melancholic mental order, but very satisfying and very right all the same as they rose into the sky in a flurry of wings and wind. A dragon and a dragonlord taking to the open air, leaving behind a furious and murderous king. Crossbow bolts soared their way, one final attempt at hindering them, but the bolts merely bounced off Kilgharrah's impenetrable scales. One arrow careened towards Merlin's face, but he deflected it with a flick of his wrist and it felt wonderful. His magic was still swirling around him in delicious freedom, his oak tree stretching up towards the sky. Its branches seemed to wave goodbye to the pair of them. Merlin still didn't quite know how to uncreate it, so he left it there, still growing somewhat in the courtyard. A beautiful, mossy oak tree planted in the centre of Camelot.

Merlin could think of worse ways to make an exit.

The open air was welcome to his lungs as they finally left Camelot behind. It was as saddening as it was thrilling, and Merlin found himself breathing hard—heaving a little as the events that had just come to pass caught up with him. But he'd done it. He'd done it.

Madness! Kilgharrah's voice spoke in his head, and it took a moment for Merlin to realise the trembling he felt beneath him was the dragon laughing. You are truly mad, Merlin. I must say, I had not foreseen this.

Don't pretend you didn't love it, Merlin replied to him, smiling, and he slapped Kilgharrah's back fondly, leaning against the dragon as they rose higher into the clouds. The mist overtook them and rain began to envelope Camelot's skies. They'd left just in time to miss the oncoming storm.

Kilgharrah just continued to laugh. Oh, indeed, I will treasure that look of horror on Uther's face for some time, do not doubt that. But have you thought this through, young warlock? We are both free of our shackles now, but you are without a home. Where will you have us go?

Merlin smiled into Kilgharrah's scales, just letting his cheek rest against the dragon's hide and the wind brush his hair. He closed his eyes as he let himself be carried away from Camelot, considering Kilgharrah's question. He'd return. He knew that. Camelot was home, and his destiny called for him to make his way back one day.

But for today, he was grateful to taste the magic in the air. To taste freedom.

I have a thought, Merlin said to Kilgharrah in answer, mentally projecting the place in his mind to the dragon.

And then they were on their way.

~O~

Merlin's boots sank into the clay of the riverbed as he dismounted Kilgharrah. The forest around them was quiet and calm, minus the distant chirp of birds as they settled down for the evening. Sunset had come and gone, leaving them in blue-black darkness, but Merlin conjured a small globe of light, letting it lift from his hands and float above the water. The cave sat before him just as he'd left it.

Just as Balinor had left it.

"This is where my father lived," Merlin explained to Kilgharrah, and he could hear grief in his own voice as he spoke aloud for the first time since leaving Camelot behind. "For a time, anyway. This is where I met him. Briefly."

"I know," Kilgharrah rumbled in response, and Merlin looked up at him, surprised. "I can feel his magic around us. Dragonlords have a particular energy to their sorcery. It is very distinct."

"Really?" Merlin said, and he reached out with his own magic, searching for the remnants of his father. It took a moment, but just as Kilgharrah said, he could feel it now. A distinct energy that felt familiar, even comforting. Like a home he never knew, or one he knew long ago. He smiled, finding tears welling in his eyes as he latched onto his father's magic like a warm hug.

"How long will that remain here?" Merlin asked. "His magic."

"Forever," Kilgharrah said, and Merlin started. "Magic does not die, Merlin. It cannot. It will fade or travel, but it does not perish. His presence will always be here, just as your magic will in all the places you have called home."

"Oh," Merlin said, because he wasn't sure what else to say. There wasn't much to say, other than to stand there and bask for a moment. To enjoy the gentle sounds of the creek and the rush of the wind through the trees, paired with the soft touch of his father's magic, entangled with Merlin's own.

Kilgharrah allowed him his minute of reflection, but after a while, he spoke again. "You will call this place home for a time, I imagine," he said, gesturing to the cave with his large head. The dragon seemed cramped by his surroundings, and Merlin could tell he was already itching to be free in the sky once again. "But I do not doubt that Camelot is still your home in your mind."

"Yes, you're right, of course," Merlin said, and he sighed, perching himself on one of the stones in the creek and dangling in boots in the water. He washed off the clay from the worn soles. "I meant what I said to Uther back there. I have no wish to leave Camelot behind. My place is at Arthur's side, but I cannot play that role until he's ready. Not until he's crowned king and he can welcome me back. If he even wants me back. Until that day, I must wait."

"And what will you do with all that time?" Kilgharrah asked, dipping his head towards Merlin, his golden eyes shining. "While you wait."

Merlin considered this for a moment, summoning up a bit of the clay from the riverbed and twisting it into the air to form shapes. "I have a few ideas," he replied thoughtfully, studying the clay as he molded it. "I can't abandon Camelot completely, you know. Morgana is still a threat. I don't know what she's planning, but surely nothing good, and who knows what she'll do now that she knows of my magic? I'll need to keep my ear to it all, and Arthur will need to be able to call me if he needs me. Much as I call on you."

"Ah," Kilgharrah murmured, and he seemed to follow where Merlin's thoughts were headed as he watched Merlin craft a whistle out of the clay. "I suppose it is time you learnt what it is like to be at the beck and call of another, as I do."

"What're you on about, I've always been at your beck and call with your voice in my head," Merlin grumbled, but he meant it affectionately as he created two more whistles. His spells felt so free all of a sudden—loose and breezy in a way that the whistles practically crafted themselves. "Arthur will just have to adjust to calling me using sorcery instead of screeching at me. Gwen and Gaius as well."

"I trust you know how to enchant those whistles to summon you and I?" Kilgharrah inquired, and Merlin didn't quite like his doubting tone. "Or has Gaius not been tutoring you in your magic as you'd hoped?"

"You're always so cynical," Merlin chided, but he finished molding the whistles. "I do know how to enchant them properly, yes. I'll need a personal tie to the three of them to make the enchantment hold, won't I?"

"Correct," Kilgharrah confirmed. "And how do you plan on gaining such items, when you've left Camelot behind? It would not be prudent to waltz back into the citadel so soon after your miraculous escape."

"No," Merlin agreed, and he frowned, thinking before coming upon a possible solution. "I'll need an agent," he decided, and then he reached out his hand, whispering to the forest with his sorcery and looking for an animal to answer his call.

He got one. It took a moment, but a little bird alighted onto a branch near the creek, staring down at them curiously. It chirped, and Merlin smiled.

"Hello," he said to the bird, and Kilgharrah chuckled.

"A merlin falcon," the dragon noted, amused. "How fitting that it should answer your call."

"Yes, fitting," Merlin said, and he stared at the bird, thinking. "Can I put my consciousness into a bird, do you think? Direct it?"

"Merlin," Kilgharrah said with a deep rumble, "I think you can do anything you put your mind to. For so long you have held yourself back, but you need not hide any longer. I can feel your magic just as I feel Balinor's. You are on the cusp of greatness, young warlock. Do not doubt yourself."

Merlin blinked up at the dragon, not having expected the compliment. The dragon was his mentor as much as Gaius was in many ways, but it was so rare to hear the creature believe in him. "I won't doubt myself," he promised the dragon. "And thank you, Kilgharrah. You can leave me, if you'd like. I will not trap you here. I know you are meant to roam."

The dragon shifted, bowing his head in thanks, and Merlin bowed back. "I will not stray far," Kilgharrah promised, and Merlin was once again surprised by the dragon. "There is change in the air, young warlock. Trials yet to come. You need to train. You must push to grow beyond what you know, here and now. It is time you became the wizard the Seers have foretold for centuries."

Merlin exhaled through his teeth, feeling a knot growing in his stomach at the thought. "No pressure."

Kilgharrah chuckled, and he spread his wings, preparing to leave. "I believe in you, Merlin Emrys," he declared, as if reading Merlin's mind, and Merlin wasn't sure he'd ever heard the dragon say his prophetic name. "In you, I do see hope for us all."

And with that said, Kilgharrah was off, taking to the skies as he was meant to do. Merlin watched him go, harbouring some small comfort in the image of the Great Dragon silhouetted against the soft white glow of the moon. The dragon was a symbol of magic, but it was also the symbol of the Pendragons. It had long bothered Merlin to see Uther using a dragon as his crest, but he was feeling a bit better about it now that he viewed it as a shared symbol. It stood as a symbol of what came before and also of what was still to come—all that had led to this time, and all that was left to build. You need to train, Kilgharrah had told him. You must push to grow.

"Alright, then," Merlin murmured, and he focused on the falcon. "Let's push a little, shall we?"

And with that, Merlin pushed—shoving his magic out from him and joining his soul with the bird. He left his body behind, traveling with the falcon as it took flight, and he marveled at his own reckless magic. He had no idea what he was doing, not really, but he was acting on instinct and it felt right as he saw the world through the falcon's eyes. The trees, the sky, and then Camelot, not far off in the distance. The bird's nimbleness felt amazing, adjusting to every little push and pull of the wind, and before long, they landed as one on Merlin's windowsill, looking in on his abandoned bedchambers.

The window itself stood cracked open. Merlin realised he'd forgotten to close it. Gaius would have scolded him for letting a draft in, but Merlin was grateful for his own forgetfulness as he and the bird flew inside as one, scooting from Merlin's chambers to the main breadth of the physician's quarters.

Gaius was not in. That was good, as Merlin wondered if Gaius would sense it was him within the bird as he flew through the empty chambers, locating Gaius' medicine bag and directing the falcon to peck a thread out of the leather. That would work alright, and with the thread acquired, they continued on to Gwen's house, soaring through Camelot's smoggy night air.

They entered her home through the chimney, navigating down in the dark to Gwen's tidy one-room. Gwen was also not in, and Merlin directed the bird to the top of Gwen's dresser chest, locating a stray pink hair ribbon. That would do nicely, and with that secured in the bird's beak, next Merlin was off to the citadel itself—resting for a moment on Arthur's windowsill.

The prince was asleep, sprawled out upon his covers and still fully clothed. His face was buried in his pillows, snoring loudly, and Merlin would've laughed at that if he could. The idiot couldn't even undress himself without Merlin's help it seemed, but it was good to see he was alright. The dollophead hadn't gotten himself murdered in the few hours Merlin had been gone. That was an achievement.

He pressed on. Last stop: Uther's chambers. Merlin knew he was being particularly daring trying this. This was so much more than a thread and a ribbon, and he could have gone for something easier in Arthur's chambers. Something small, like a hair from his comb or a bit of red thread from his cloak, but the royal seal would be better. Stronger. Merlin was sure he'd hear the call of Arthur's enchanted whistle better if it held magic from the Pendragon seal within it. He wasn't sure how he knew this, but he did, even sensing the power of the seal in his bird-form. There was power in the mark of the king.

Merlin stole that power. Just briefly, borrowing the seal and also some parchment and a still-dripping quill from Uther's desk, and then he was off again, flying back to the cave and back to his body. He left Camelot in a flurry, his second escape of the day, and when the falcon returned to the riverbed, it was a terrible and weird feeling bringing his soul back into his body. Merlin heaved with breath, as if he'd been holding it under water for some time, and his skin felt cold to the touch.

Maybe he shouldn't try that again.

"Thank you," he said to the bird, and he took the objects from its beak and claws. "Don't stray too far," he added, keeping the falcon near him as he returned to work on the whistles. He molded the thread from Gaius' medicine bag into one wet clay whistle and Gwen's hair ribbon into the second. Then, lastly, he took the Pendragon seal and stamped the symbol of the dragon into the third and final whistle, watching as the image settled into the clay.

He dried them with magic. It didn't take much, a simple wave of his hand and the clay hardened, ready now for the final step: the enchantment. Merlin began that immediately, settling his magic over the three tiny instruments. In many ways, performing this spell felt like writing in swirling letters on a piece of parchment—engraving the whistles with his whispered words but also his personal magical brand. Merlin was connecting their call to him and Kilgharrah, weaving his love and loyalty into the clay itself.

He felt when the spell was complete. He was getting better at this. Just as Kilgharrah had told him, Merlin was pushing himself, allowing his lessons from Gaius to build upon what he already knew by nature. He was growing ever closer with the language of the world and the magic woven within it, progressing into the warlock he needed to become if he were to succeed in all he hoped for.

He hoped he was capable of becoming what he needed to be. This new Merlin was scary to him. No longer hiding. No longer a shadow. Who was this man called Merlin, if not a servant or a secret?

He guessed it was time to find out.

With the whistles completed, Merlin set them gently on the rocks before scrawling a letter to Arthur on the bit of parchment he stole. It was a small note to ensure the idiot knew where the whistle came and what to do with it. Merlin wasn't sure if Arthur would listen to his instructions, but he hoped so, and next, he jotted out another letter—this one to Lancelot. Merlin wasn't sure where the former knight was exactly, but he hoped the falcon could help find him. Perhaps then the two of them could meet and make plans beyond what Arthur was currently able to do. If Morgana was to attack, Arthur was going to need all the help he could get. They'd need a group of men they trusted to fall back on, and Merlin was pretty sure he knew just the ones to call.

Comforted by this plan, Merlin finished his little experiment and gave both the scrolls, the seal, and all three whistles to the falcon. He implanted his instructions in the bird's mind carefully, and this time, he didn't join his soul with the bird as it took flight. He didn't need to, somehow knowing the falcon would deliver the items successfully and report back to him. In a weird way, Merlin felt like the prince of his own tiny kingdom, left to him by his father. A shallow brook, a quiet cave, and a beautiful forest, alight with life. It was more than Merlin could have ever asked for, and it was exactly how he'd want a sorcerer's domain to be. Peaceful and undisturbed.

It was a calming realisation, if a little melancholic, and with drooping eyes, Merlin retreated to his father's cave to get some sleep. He was pleased to find his father's furs and other supplies were still sheltered within the darkness of the cavern, undisturbed. Exhaustion overtook his body without warning, and Merlin cuddled within his father's sleep sack, relishing the smell of Balinor still on the fur. He'd forgotten that smell. He wouldn't let himself forget it again, and swaddled in that sweet warmth, Merlin drifted off into some much-needed rest.

~O~

It was just after dark when Merlin heard the call of the enchanted whistle. A piercing, ethereal sound deep in his ears, shooting through the thick trees and scattering the birds before it settled in his eardrums. Ceaseless and ringing. Annoying.

Really, Merlin had expected nothing less from Arthur's call.

He had enjoyed his one day off. A simple day. A quiet day. It was exactly how Merlin had always imagined taking some time off—lounging by his father's little creek and fishing unsuccessfully for an hour. Playing with the birds as they came to spy on the new human occupying the cave. Merlin even suspected his father used to feed animals because the birds and squirrels were absolute beggars, not at all afraid of a human touch as they crowded the rocks near the cave. For one day, he felt like the forest sprite Will had always accused him of being, but he was all too excited when his falcon returned with a successful reply from Lancelot.

The former knight's swirling handwriting covered the scroll. It spelled out Merlin's name, and Merlin's heart had skipped a beat at the sight. He'd been all too excited to read the note, and while it wasn't long or detailed, Merlin was beyond delighted to hear that Lancelot was not only doing well, but that he was nearby. The swordsman was staying in a town Merlin recognised—Engard, which was within walking distance. Lancelot gave the name of the inn he was staying at and Merlin planned to meet him there, especially as the former knight assured him he knew of a tavern where they could speak more privately. It was a tavern with reports of bar fights that spoke of another possible friend, and Merlin looked forward to that. Even with one day on his own he was getting lonely, and when night fell, Merlin began to prepare for his trip into town tomorrow.

But then the call reached his ears. Loud and shrill, Merlin had been waiting for it, but he was also unsure if he'd hear it so soon. He hadn't been sure if Arthur would call him right away, or if he'd wait some time. But apparently he'd actually listened to Merlin for once, and Merlin fought against the lightning strike of nerves that rose up within him. He himself wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to Arthur. He was even less sure what he wanted to say. Everything had changed, but neither of them could just ignore that change.

And as always, there was still work to be done.

Merlin didn't even need to summon Kilgharrah. The dragon appeared in the sky above Merlin's creek within minutes, landing in the same deep footprints he'd pressed into the clay the night before. The dragon stared down at Merlin with a deep tiredness in his golden eyes that Merlin was beginning to understand.

"We are beckoned," Kilgharrah announced, sounding vaguely annoyed, and Merlin tsked his dower attitude, climbing onto the dragon's back while rubbing at his ears with one hand. The sheer call of the whistle still lingered there.

"It isn't so bad, is it?" he asked the dragon as they took off. Anticipation flowed through him like static, paired with a nervousness like no other. Part of him dearly hoped it was Gaius and Gwen calling him alongside Arthur. He had so much to say to them. So much to explain. "I did have a whole day to myself without anyone asking anything of me. A calm before the storm. I consider that a win, don't you?"

"Hmph," Kilgharrah growled in response, but Merlin wondered if the dragon felt it, too. The magic in the air was different than yesterday. It was darker, colder, and it warned of change on the horizon as they soared back to Camelot, returning to the clearing that had spawned that change in the first place.

Three figures awaited them on the clearing's pitch. Blond hair, brown hair, and white hair as the trio stood together in the moonlight, not at all strained or unfriendly. Merlin's nerves leapt to his throat at the sight. He was nervous, but also joyful. These were three people that meant more to him than the whole world, and as they landed, Merlin dismounted from Kilgharrah in a flurry, tripping over himself as he did so. He recovered clumsily, yelling a hopeful hello to the three of them. Arthur, Gwen, Gaius. His friends, his family, and then he sprinted across the clearing, rushing into Gaius' arms.

It wasn't how he planned to make an entrance. Merlin hadn't really had a plan, or any good words to say. He'd seen tears in Gaius' eyes and then he'd acted, feeling they both needed a hug after how they'd left things. He wanted to feel Gaius' touch not separated by bars, and part of him realised he needed this hug more than he'd thought.

"It's okay, Gaius," Merlin murmured in the physician's ears, basking in the familiar scent of his mentor. It was very different than Balinor, but just as comforting. Herbs, mostly, and the distinct musk of Camelot, their home. "Really. I'm fine."

"You're an idiot," Gaius murmured back affectionately, and Merlin grinned into Gaius' tunic. He relished their embrace for a moment longer, feeling Gaius' magic resting just beneath the physician's skin—dormant, but alive. Merlin entangled his own magic with Gaius' on instinct, just as he had recently done Balinor's, and he wondered if the physician felt that as they broke away, trying to compose himself before he faced Arthur and Gwen properly. He tried his best to appear diplomatic, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded.

Gwen and Arthur stood next to each other, just a few feet off from them. They were both watching him carefully, and Merlin wasn't sure he was ready to have their cautious gazes on him so soon.

He could tell Arthur was not quite ready either. The last time they had locked eyes, Merlin had had a noose around his neck, and before that, he'd been restrained by shackles and bars. So much had happened between them. So many lies, so many betrayals, and so many little stabs to the heart. Merlin wasn't sure anything could be the same between them again.

But then Gwen was running from Arthur's side, embracing him—grasping onto Merlin so tightly he could barely breathe, and he melted into her touch. "Oof, alright," he gasped at her loving attack, clutching her back, and he felt tears grow in his eyes once again. "S'okay, Gwen, I'm okay."

"No, you aren't," Gwen whispered into his scarf, and in that moment, Merlin truly processed the strain she must've been under. This had been hard for her too, and he felt a pang of guilt at that. They hadn't spoken since everything that had happened, and as Gwen broke away, Merlin could see the worry she'd had for him. With a very Gwen-like smile, the serving girl drew a purple flower from her bun and tucked it behind Merlin's ear, as if making sure he was still there. She looked so relieved, and the scent of violets surrounded them, overwhelming him.

"I don't think any of us are alright," Gwen continued, and she patted his cheek. Her brown eyes shone with emotion, just like Gaius. "I thought… I thought you and Gaius were perhaps messing with magic. Cooking up potions, or something like that! I suppose this goes a bit beyond that, doesn't it?"

"Yes, a bit," Merlin said, and he got the sense that Gwen wasn't sure what to think of his magic. In a gesture of goodwill, Merlin removed the small flower from his hair, holding it out to her and transforming it into a full flower crown with a spell. He levitated that on Gwen's head as a sort of apology, delighting in her awed smile. "Sorry I didn't tell you," he added sheepishly. "I did wonder if you'd suspected me."

Gwen laughed, eyes glittering, and she took off the crown, studying the flowers Merlin had brought into existence. Merlin waited a little nervously for her review. "I didn't expect something quite like this," Gwen admitted, although to Merlin's relief, she put the crown back on with satisfaction, tucking it into her curls. "But I'm warming up to it."

Merlin returned her smile—relieved more than he could say that everything was alright between them. That she accepted him. "I'm glad," he said, squeezing her hand tightly, and then he took the next step. He brought his gaze back to Arthur.

The prince hadn't moved. He stood frozen where Gwen had left him, stiff as a statue. He wasn't dressed in his armour—just a tunic and a blue cloak that Merlin recognised as his own. He'd gifted it to Arthur during the time he'd wanted to pass as a commoner for the tournament, and Merlin had forgotten he'd stuffed it in the back of Arthur's wardrobe after. The prince couldn't have looked less like a royal in this moment, and for some reason, that amused Merlin as much as it calmed him.

Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin had never seen the prince so unsure of himself. Merlin wondered if he felt obligated to speak. "Still alive, are you?" he asked, and really, Merlin wasn't sure what he'd expected Arthur to say. Not that, but somehow, that was the most Arthur to say, and because of that, Merlin's face broke out into a smile. It was the most relieved and genuine smile he'd had in days.

"Still alive," he confirmed, happy to say that, and he noticed his whistle was still clutched in Arthur's hand. He pointed to it by way of conversation. "Glad to see you received my gift. And glad to hear it works."

"Works!" scoffed Kilgharrah from behind them, rumbling the ground beneath them with his voice, and Arthur recoiled, startled. Merlin supposed the dragon was going to take some getting used to for the prince. "I say. That is an understatement. A detestable sound."

"But effective," Merlin pointed out, glancing back at the dragon and mentally warning Kilgharrah not to startle Arthur. He then looked back to Arthur, preparing to explain. He wasn't used to talking about his magic openly and he wasn't sure if he should, but he pushed on anyway. "I specifically enchanted the whistles so they would summon the both of us, no matter where we are. Could you even hear it?"

"No, I couldn't," Arthur answered after a brief hesitation, his voice a bit strained, and Merlin wondered if he should have refrained from asking him magical questions so soon. The prince lifted the whistle like it might bite him, studying it in the moonlight. "Although Gaius appeared to. Two sorcerers operating under my nose, and now I have you sneaking about my father's chambers and stealing his seal out from under him. Reckless and harebrained even for you, Merlin."

He shook the whistle at Merlin, reprimanding him a little, and Merlin smiled, happy to hear a hint of the normal Arthur returned to his voice. He was also happy to see the Pendragon seal hadn't gone unnoticed. He'd been proud of that little addition, and he approached Arthur cautiously, trying not to crowd him. Arthur watched his approach warily, but he didn't step back. That was good.

"I guess I've always been a bit harebrained, haven't I?" Merlin said softly, and he stopped just short of Arthur, lifting a hand to reveal the enchantment on the whistle. The clay instrument glowed lightly in Arthur's fingers, Merlin's spell woven into the curves of the Pendragon dragon.

"I've tempted fate enough these past few days," Merlin explained further, and then he dropped his hand. The whistle stopped glowing. "Might as well tempt it a bit further. The seal actually strengthens the enchantment. A personal tie to you. It amplifies the sound and makes it easier to hear its call from long distances. This way you can… you know. Call me when you need me."

"I see," Arthur said shortly, and he stared at the whistle, as if debating whether he should chuck it and its magic away from him. But he didn't. "Well, the bird that delivered it shat on my bed, so thank you for that."

Merlin choked back a laugh at that. He'd temporarily forgotten about the falcon he'd sent to Arthur's chambers. Shitting on Arthur's bed hadn't been a specific part of his magical instructions, but Merlin did think it was rather funny. "Well, I might have told the bird to do whatever necessary to get your attention, including making a bit of a mess," Merlin admitted with a laugh. "Got yourself a new servant to deal with it yet?"

"Got a new one this morning," Arthur answered, his voice stoic, but his tone betrayed a hint of mirth. "He's dreadful, really. Somehow even more incompetent than you."

He smiled a little. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless, and Arthur really was trying. Merlin could see the effort. He was trying very hard to speak like things were normal between them, and Merlin appreciated that, even if it was just delaying the inevitable. Arthur was avoiding a conversation they both knew they must have, as either the two of them would find a new way forward or they would not. Merlin hoped for the former. He felt it was within their reach…

But to achieve that, Arthur would have to make that move himself. Arthur was the future king, and he needed to make the decision to accept Merlin, not the other way around.

"Poor chap," Merlin said simply in response to Arthur, smiling softly, and then he fell silent. He stopped pretending everything was normal. Stopped letting himself slip into his usual banter and stopped carrying the conversation, awaiting Arthur's decision. Awaiting what he would say as to where they stood.

An awkward silence fell upon them almost immediately. Arthur looked at a loss now that Merlin wasn't leading their conversation, and it was made all the worse by Gwen and Gaius standing idle, watching them and unsure of their place in this standoff. Arthur squirmed, and Merlin could see the battle raging in his blue eyes, struggling to figure out what to say. The prince's lips parted after a second and Merlin stilled, prepared for whatever it was that he was about to say, but Arthur's mouth just sort of flapped soundlessly. Whatever words he meant to speak did not come out.

Merlin couldn't quite hide his sadness at this development, but he understood it. Nothing about this was easy. "It's alright, Arthur," he said after another pause with Arthur failing to speak. It was awkward and painful, but Merlin did understand. He supposed it had been a foolhardy wish to have Arthur just accept him and move on. "You don't need to pretend everything is normal. It's not, and it will probably always feel strange. I'm just… I'm glad. More than I can explain. I'm glad you're giving me a chance. That you chose to give me a chance. I do appreciate it."

Those words tumbled out of Merlin with ease. He was glad, and as he spoke he saw something shift in Arthur's expression. Merlin wasn't sure what it was, but whatever Arthur was thinking, he struggled to voice it. The prince still failed to speak, and after another pause of awkward silence, Gaius cleared his throat.

"Perhaps you should introduce Kilgharrah to the two of them, Merlin," the physician suggested, providing them with an out, and Merlin jumped on the opportunity.

"Right, yes!" he said, clapping his hands and turning back to the dragon. Maybe Arthur just needed a bit more time. "Kilgharrah, I believe you know Gaius already, but I don't think you've met Arthur or Gwen properly. Gwen, Arthur—meet Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon."

He gestured between the dragon and his two friends, pretending this was a normal introduction. It wasn't, of course, and Gwen drew a little closer to Arthur's side. She seemed nervous, but she also eyed Kilgharrah with a profound curiosity. "Hello," she offered, and Merlin supposed that was something.

"Hello," Kilgharrah said back, bowing his head to them. He was being polite, which was good, but then the dragon continued speaking. "It is certainly a pleasure to meet the young Pendragon and his future queen, and under better circumstances than last we met."

Both Arthur and Gwen's eyes widened. Arthur sputtered, bombarded by his first prophecy, and Merlin cringed, rounding on the dragon. "Kilgharrah, please keep it light on the prophecy snippets," he hissed, mentally telling off the dragon before turning back to Arthur and Gwen in a rush. "I did tell him I didn't want to overwhelm you both with prophecies. He rarely elaborates."

"I elaborate when necessary," Kilgharrah said, unhelpfully. "When the time is right, and only then."

Merlin sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Mending the gap between the magical and the not was going to be harder than he thought, and he had expected it to be hard. Kilgharrah was not helping.

"Do you… do you regularly ride around on dragons?" Gwen asked tentatively, and at least she wasn't totally scared off. Merlin wouldn't have blamed her if she'd run for the hills at the prospect of a prophecy-spitting, irritable dragon. "And are there more? Dragons, I mean."

Merlin smiled sadly, having not thought of how little Gwen and Arthur might know of that history. "I'm a Dragonlord," he explained, although he wasn't entirely sure if Gwen knew what that meant either. "So, yes, I can speak the dragon tongue and they must listen to me when I ask something of them. It's an ability I inherited from my father. Unfortunately, due to Uther, there aren't really many dragons around anymore except for Kilgharrah."

"Yes, because I was a trophy to him," Kilgharrah added with a scoff, and Merlin winced, wondering if this was the best conversation for Arthur to be a part of right now. Perhaps he should not have mentioned Uther. "A symbol of his victory against magic. For years he kept me shackled underneath that castle, torturing me when it suited him. I suppose people as young as you did not even know I was there, did you?"

"I didn't," Gwen admitted sadly, and Merlin grimaced at the deep discomfort in Arthur's face.

"He's very sorry about the fires and all that," Merlin tried, addressing Arthur and speaking on the dragon's behalf. But as he spoke he knew that Kilgharrah wasn't all that sorry about attacking Camelot. Arthur wasn't stupid, and he likely realised that too.

"It's… fine," Arthur said weakly, speaking for the first time in a while, and to Merlin's surprise, he addressed the dragon directly. "I'm sure my father and his actions made you very angry, Kilgharrah," the prince began, and he looked like he was fighting with everything in him to look the dragon in the eye. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. I didn't know of it, and I wish I could have done something to prevent it. But that said, I don't think attacking Camelot and hurting innocents along the way was the answer."

Merlin just sort of stared at Arthur for a moment, stunned. He hadn't expected the prince to speak to Kilgharrah, let alone remember the dragon's name and attempt diplomacy. Please be nice to him, he warned the dragon mentally. Please. He's trying. This is progress. This is everything I am fighting for.

Behind him, Kilgharrah shifted, and to Merlin's relief, the dragon's response was kind. "No, perhaps it was not the most productive choice," the Great Dragon replied carefully. "And what a strange day this is. One I have foreseen for some time. A Pendragon, standing before me, talking of peace over violence. I did not imagine this hour would ever come."

"I did," Merlin said with relief, and he crossed his arms, finding himself swelling with a bit of pride. Even amongst all this uncertainty, all this struggle, Arthur was here. He was standing here of his own volition, speaking to a dragon that was once his enemy with the diplomacy of a future king. That was more than Merlin had given him credit for. "I knew he'd come around. Your prophecies always come true eventually, Kilgharrah. Even if it's not in the way we expect."

Arthur looked to Merlin again at this. His expression was still guarded, unsure, but he seemed a little bit more grounded now. He still didn't seem to have the proper words to say, and maybe there weren't any proper words to say. But that was alright. This was progress, and Merlin took comfort in that.

"Can I…" Gwen began to say, but she stopped, looking sheepish. Merlin turned his attention back to her, and he was surprised to see Gwen's fear of Kilgharrah nearly gone. She was studying the dragon with a sort of calculating curiosity now. "Can we… that is to say, Mr. Great Dragon, sir, could I…"

She couldn't seem to form the words, but Merlin caught her meaning, delighting in what she was trying to ask. "Can you ride him? Is that what you're asking?"

"Yes," Gwen confirmed softly and Kilgharrah snorted, unamused.

"I am not a horse, Merlin," the dragon complained, and Merlin rolled his eyes. This was not going very well on the dragon front. Kilgharrah couldn't be nice for one hour? Merlin was trying very hard to mend the gap between magic and non-magic, but Kilgharrah being snooty about dragon riding wasn't going to help that.

"She toils all day working in the castle, can you blame her for wanting to try something as exciting as flying?" Merlin snapped at the dragon, and he opted to speak out loud in his defense of Gwen. I am trying to build something here, Kilgharrah, he added mentally, and he hoped the dragon would listen to him without a formal command. Kilgharrah looked frustrated, but Merlin ignored that as he looked back to Gwen. "Of course you can have a go, Gwen," he said cheerfully, granting her his permission. He was quite happy that she'd want to try dragon riding. He hadn't expected that, and it was a nice step towards non-magic users accepting magic. "There's nothing quite like it, trust me."

Gwen's face lit up at his answer, and she turned to Arthur, grasping his arm in excitement. "Will you come with me?" she asked, breathless, and Merlin had never seen such deep horror slash across Arthur's face like that.

"Er—" Arthur managed, and he eyed Kilgharrah, looking like he'd much sooner eat a jar of worms from Gaius' medicinal stores. "I think my feet do better on the ground, thanks. But you're welcome to it."

Gwen deflated a little. "I'm not sure I want to go alone," she admitted, unsure now, and Kilgharrah chuckled, setting off Merlin's nerves again.

"Perhaps the physician would like to join you," the dragon suggested with an edge of malice. "If I remember right, you never did conquer your fear of heights, did you, Gaius?"

Beside him, Gaius paled, and Merlin glanced to his mentor with a raised eyebrow. "Are you scared of heights, Gaius? I didn't know that. We live in a tower, I thought you'd be alright with it."

"A tower and a dragon are two different things," Gaius murmured, looking a little sickly, but he met Merlin's gaze, and Merlin could see him calculating something. "However, I imagine I must get used to it if dragon riding is in our collective futures. It has been many years since I last braved the skies. I suppose now is as good a time as any to get back into it."

"Back into it?" Merlin echoed, shocked, and his mind whirled as he tried to remember a time Gaius had talked about riding dragons. He was about to inquire on it further, but Gaius all too quickly left his side, moving away as he joined Gwen by Kilgharrah. It took Merlin a moment to recognise what he was up to, but he understood quickly enough. Gauis was providing Merlin with an opportunity to talk to Arthur alone. Just the two of them.

In many ways, he was grateful. He could see Gaius' unwillingness to fly written in his every feature, but it was clear that he thought this was the best decision. Perhaps this was just what Arthur needed. A second chance for the two of them to speak, no longer separated by bars and without Kilgharrah bearing down on them as a reminder of all that had happened between them.

Gaius began to help hoist Gwen onto Kilgharrah's back and Merlin watched them carefully. Please be gentle with them, Merlin warned Kilgharrah mentally. Perhaps just a small loop? This is a big step for Gwen, and for bringing magic back to Camelot.

I will be gentle, the dragon assured him, exasperated, and Merlin relaxed a little. Focus on your prince. I will focus on this. I do not wish to see Gaius tossing up his dinner from off my back.

Mm, thank you for that image, Merlin said back dryly, but he put his trust in Kilgharrah and glanced at Arthur to see how he was taking this.

The prince was watching Gwen carefully, eagle-eyed, and his face was pale, lined with worry. "She'll be fine," Merlin tried to assure him, but he wasn't sure if his word counted for anything in this matter. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea after all. "Kilgharrah and Gaius would never let anything happen to her. I promise you that."

"I know," Arthur said, and Merlin was pleased to hear sincerity in his voice. A tiny droplet of trust, and Merlin tried to strengthen that trust, speaking to Kilgharrah aloud in Draconic for Arthur to hear. "Be safe," he said as a command, and the dragon bowed his great head in recognition before he took off in a flurry of wind, Gwen and Gaius both clutching to the horns on his back.

Gwen's laugh of wonder carried on the air as they rose into the sky. Flowers flew from the crown Merlin had created for her, swirling in the evening air peacefully, while Gaius looked like he was bracing for death. The duo successfully left the clearing behind, ascending into the clouds, and Merlin watched them go with a critical eye, making sure they were secure as the dragon reached his usual height. Kilgharrah would likely do a large circle around the forest before coming back, and that left Merlin a bit of time. Enough time to stop avoiding what he and Arthur were both avoiding from the start, and Merlin let his gaze drop from the dragon, properly looking at Arthur with nerves like wildfire flowing in his veins.

Arthur still had his eyes turned to the sky. The dragon was more or less gone now, but he was still staring, avoiding looking at Merlin a moment longer. The prince appeared shaken, maybe a bit cold or perhaps even more nervous than Merlin, and when Arthur did finally look at him, his blue eyes were welling with tears.

Merlin immediately frowned at this display of emotion. "Are you alright, Arthur?" he asked, almost stepping forward, but he stopped himself. He wanted to give Arthur space, and he was unsure what else to say. He knew Arthur's answer before it left his lips.

"No," Arthur said, and that was the truth of it. Arthur was far from alright. This was all too much for him, and that was very clear. "No, I'm not alright, Merlin. I nearly killed you."

For some reason, that was not what Merlin expected him to say. "No, Merlin, the girl I've been courting just took off on a dragon" was more what he had expected, and Merlin softened at the brokenness in Arthur's face. "Well, yes, I know, but… you didn't," he tried awkwardly, attempting to soothe the guilt Arthur was clearly facing. "That's all that really mat—"

He didn't get to finish that sentence. He didn't get to finish because Arthur barreled at him in a clumsy, uncoordinated rush. The prince pulled him into a crushing hug before he could move, gripping him in just as hard as Gwen had, and Merlin was so stunned that all the breath left his lungs. Arthur had never hugged him before. Never. Not in four years of service, and he was so shocked by it, so relieved, that it took him a moment to hug Arthur back.

But he did. Merlin melted into Arthur's touch, hugging the prince back tightly and tears welling in his eyes as he wound his arms around Arthur's shoulders. All the tension he'd been holding within his chest uncoiled, and just as previous smells had overwhelmed him, Arthur's scent overwhelmed him now. Merlin wondered if it was his magic that was making him so overly-sensitive, but it didn't matter. Arthur smelt of Camelot. He smelt of the wood-ash lye Merlin used for his washing, and of the training grounds, and of Audrey's horrid pies. He smelt of home even more so than Gaius, and Merlin never wanted to let go.

He did, of course. Gently. He let go, not wanting to trap Arthur for too long, but something had changed between them. Something small had been mended, and Merlin cherished the look of warmth Arthur gave him as they broke apart.

"I'm sorry," Arthur choked out as soon as they separated. His face was red, contorted in guilt and pain, and he should feel that. It was good that Arthur felt guilty and pained by what had happened, and yet Merlin wanted nothing more than to soothe those feelings and banish them forever. To let Arthur grow, and then move on. "I'm so sorry, Merlin. I don't… I don't know what else to say."

"It's okay, Arthur, really," Merlin said, laughing a little. "But thank you for saying it," he added, and it was then that he noticed the flower petal in Arthur's hair. It was pink and very clearly a blossom from Merlin's tree yesterday. The clotpole couldn't even brush his hair without his help, could he?

With a smirk, Merlin summoned the petal using magic, bringing it into the air between them. He saw Arthur's brow furrow, realising that he'd been walking around with a blossom in his hair all day, and Merlin wiggled his fingers, transforming the petal into a full flower crown to match Gwen's. He was getting better at that particular spell, and he levitated the crown onto Arthur's head gently.

Arthur stood very still as Merlin did this. He seemed uncomfortable, not used to witnessing his magic nor appreciating it as much as Gwen, but he didn't protest. He even laughed a little, tears in his eyes. "Crowning me a bit early, are you?" he said.

"The way I see it, I've always been in the service of King Arthur," Merlin told him, crossing his arms, and he hoped Arthur understood his sincerity. "I was never really a servant to King Uther, not that I ever really listened to either of you."

His tone lilted in jest towards the end of his sentence, and Arthur scoffed. "You listen when it matters," he murmured, and he grew serious again, watching Merlin closely. "You did see it, didn't you? My signal. From the balcony."

Merlin bit his lip, thinking back to that moment. "Yes, I saw it," he acknowledged, imitating Arthur's signal—two brushes to the tip of his nose with his pointer finger. Get out. Run. A last-ditch attempt on Arthur's part to tell him he was sorry and to tell him to escape, having no knowledge of the plan Merlin had concocted. "I'm glad you remembered it. And I appreciated it."

Something flickered in Arthur's expression. Realisation. "You were planning on getting out anyway, weren't you?"

Merlin couldn't help but smirk a little at that. Arthur was getting better at reading him. The real him. "I always had a bad feeling I'd end up with a rope around my neck, one way or another," Merlin explained, and it felt strange to talk about this. Voicing fears and past events he'd never been able to share with Arthur before. "I've had nightmares about it for years. But that's also given me plenty of time to plan how I wanted it to go. I decided if I was going to do a big escape, I might as well do it publicly. Make a statement. Show the people and your father that magic can be a force for peace, if you let it. But… it did mean a lot to me to see your signal. To see you made a decision in the end."

"Made a decision to not let my father brutally murder you?" Arthur murmured, his tone bitter and tortured, and Merlin flinched a little.

"Yes. That," he said, unsure how else to respond. He didn't know how things had gone between Arthur and his father following his escape. He imagined it didn't go well.

Arthur didn't elaborate, and Merlin figured now was not the time to push him. "I'm only sorry I didn't come to the conclusion earlier," Arthur said instead, apologising once more, and he studied the sky. He was looking for Kilgharrah no doubt, and thinking of all that had happened in just a few days. "I'm sorry that you felt the need to be subjected to a trial and a public execution just to make a point."

Merlin was really not used to this sad, apologetic Arthur Pendragon. It was welcome, but also strange. "I'm sorry, too," Merlin offered, because that needed to be said. Arthur wasn't the only one with regrets. "I'm sorry about Roldan. I had a lot of time to think about that in the dungeon, and about how I didn't even look at him before I killed him. How my magic is often like your sword, as you pointed out."

Merlin raised his hand at this, summoning a bit of fire into his palm. It was an easy spell, nearly effortless for him, but he saw Arthur's expression immediately change. A mix of discomfort and awe filled the prince's features, and Merlin hoped Arthur could see the beauty in the flame just as much as he saw the danger.

"It is not always a weapon, but when it is, I have a responsibility for how I use it," Merlin continued, trying to impart that lesson on himself as well as to Arthur as he let the flame flicker in his hand. "I've grown careless with that over the years. Grown to see enemies as faceless. As simply obstacles. Not as people with… families. Children. I didn't used to be that way. I'd… I'd never killed anyone before I moved to Camelot."

Arthur grimaced, watching as Merlin extinguished the flame. "War changes you," he muttered, and as he did, Merlin realised this was one thing Arthur was very capable of understanding. "I am certainly not without my own sins in that category. I suppose I'd never considered you a warrior before, Merlin, but you are, aren't you? And it's easy to become desensitized to the killing. To only see the end, and not the means, and how often you find yourself in a situation where no answer seems like the right one."

"Right, exactly," Merlin said, and he sighed heavily. "It's hard to imagine a time when I wasn't caught in such a situation. And is that what your whole spectacle was in the Druid cave? Giving me the choice on what to do?"

Discomfort immediately flooded Arthur's face at the mention, but he nodded. "A little," he admitted, and Merlin thought back to how Arthur had acted back in the cave. Erratic and irrational. It was all making a bit more sense now, and Merlin tried to see this from Arthur's perspective—a knight taught to hate magic attempting to find the good within it. "I didn't want to threaten the Druids, but it was part of what my father asked of me. I already knew that you were Emrys, and he put me in a bad position by sending me out to interrogate them. I suppose I… I just wanted to see what you would do if you were in that situation. If you were me."

"I assure you, I have no interest in being you, Arthur," Merlin said with a hint of sass, trying to lighten the mood, and Arthur laughed.

"I know," he said, and his tone was bitter now. "Just checking. And why would you, anyway? I don't know why anyone would want to be Prince of Camelot. You handled that situation better than I could have ever hoped to do. My kingdom is on the brink of war with Essetir, and we are still warring with sorcery. The people of Camelot don't trust me. My father sees me as a failure. None of that exactly bodes well for my kingship."

He sounded so broken. So beaten down. Merlin didn't think he'd quite realised the extent of Arthur's instability until this moment, watching the doubt and guilt and fear swirl within the prince's blue eyes. "You're being too hard on yourself," Merlin said, and he meant it. Yes, Arthur had been an absolute prat, but now was the time to move on. To face these great tasks, and to work to become better. Could he not see that? "Perhaps it looks that way at the moment, but you have the potential to bring this kingdom in a new direction. A direction your father would never dream of. The Druids have foreseen that potential in you. Even Cian told you as much."

Arthur snorted in disbelief, and Merlin wished he could convince him. That he could make Arthur realise just how much greatness was possible inside of him. "I admire your optimism, Merlin," Arthur said, and he kept his gaze focused on the empty sky. "It's a wonder to me that you can be optimistic at all. But it's one thing to see potential, and another entirely to see it through. My father is not fit to rule, but I am not ready to replace him. Perhaps I will never be ready. I don't have a plan for how Camelot can move forwards, and I don't have any idea how I can go about reintroducing magic to the people after years of it being vilified. What sort of king will I be, if I can't face all of that?"

The prince's voice cracked as he spoke, betraying openly his insecurities and fears. That was a big step for Arthur, Merlin realised. Admitting these things, airing them out, and in a subtle way, asking for help. For a warrior taught to bottle up his emotions and handle things with violence, this was huge progress, and Merlin's heart swelled to hear it.

"You will achieve it, Arthur," Merlin told him, and he said it with more conviction than he'd ever felt about their shared destiny. They could achieve this. Together. "It is your destiny to become the greatest king this kingdom has ever known. That's something only you can do, and it is my destiny to help you get there. Mine, Gwen, Gaius. You don't need to do any of this alone, alright? So don't let the future overwhelm you."

Arthur pursed his lips, still looking very unsure. "Easier said than done, Merlin."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Merlin said with a wry laugh, and he didn't think Arthur quite knew the extent of just how well he knew that. Not yet. One day they'd hash out all the things Arthur didn't know. But not tonight. One step at a time. "But you're not your father, and that alone is enough to put you on a different path. I saw you, you know. When Gogan pulled the lever on the gallows, I saw your expression. You couldn't hide your grief. You once told me no man is worth your tears, but I…"

Merlin trailed off for a moment, trying to think through what he was attempting to say. The image of himself back on the gallows, staring up at Arthur, returned to him in a rather traumatic rush. That was just a day ago, and yet it felt like ages. "I was glad to see you not take your own advice," Merlin decided on, and that felt like a good way to say it. A gentle way to tell Arthur he was both proud and thankful for Arthur's decision in the end. "That's not nothing, Arthur. Your father has become desensitized to death. He has no problem murdering loyal friends. You aren't like him in that way, and you can change things. You have that power. We both do, and we can find a new direction, together, assuming you're willing to actually take advice for me."

He tried to lighten the mood a little there, joking somewhat, and he managed to wrestle a bit of a smile from Arthur with it. "Me, take advice from a sorcerer?" Arthur said in jest, and he sniffed. "A scary thought."

Merlin shrugged, and he looked up at the sky too, smiling at the moon. "Stranger things have happened," he said, and he wasn't totally joking anymore. "You'll need a royal advisor when you're king, won't you? Perhaps I'll apply."

Beside him, Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is that your plan? When I'm crowned king, you come waltzing back in and apply for a promotion?"

"Is it really a promotion if I got sacked from the previous job?" Merlin pointed out, and he was half-serious, half-joking. "Perhaps it's more of a rehiring situation."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. "You didn't get sacked, Merlin."

"No, I got arrested. Bit different, I suppose."

They fell silent for a moment then, both of them just grinning and looking up at the moon. It was nice, in a way, what they had become. Still arguing, still joking—still themselves, but talking of bigger things. Part of Merlin had feared they'd never go back to those things. Some part of him had feared that the days of Merlin and Arthur, arrogant prince and bad-mouthing servant, were finally over. And perhaps those days were gone, in a way, but they were simply moving into new ones. A new dynamic between the two of them was forming, building upon the old one, but this one had Merlin's magic woven into it.

Merlin's smile faded a little as he considered that. He should be happy, shouldn't he? Delighted and relieved that he was free now. Happy that Arthur was okay with it all, or at least as much as he could be okay with it at this moment.

But if Merlin was honest with himself, this new version of their relationship scared him. A new sort of partnership between them, and one with this… unformed identity he now had to contend with. A Merlin not in the shadows, and a version of him that would have to deal with people's fear of him. People's fear of his power.

"You aren't…" Merlin began to say, and he struggled with the words for a moment before he got them out. "You aren't scared of me, are you, Arthur?"

He forced himself to ask it. The question had been on the tip of his tongue for some time, but part of him really didn't want to know the answer, and especially as Arthur paused at it. He looked thoughtful, conflicted, but the silence was answer enough. Of course Arthur was scared of it. Everyone was scared of it. Merlin had seen that much back in the courtyard and that realisation sent a sinking, melancholic and lonely feeling coursing through his bones. His non-threatening days were truly over, weren't they?

"Not scared, per se," Arthur answered gently after a moment, but Merlin wondered if he was just trying to be nice. "I don't think you'd ever intentionally hurt me. But I will say it's hard not to feel like you've drawn a sword on me every time you use it."

A sword. Merlin grimaced a little at that description, but that was a fair comparison. Merlin had used it himself. He could see how it would take time for Arthur to not always see his magic as a weapon, but they could work on that. "The last thing I want is for you to fear me, Arthur," Merlin expressed, and he hoped this could act as an unofficial pact. A promise to work towards an understanding between them on the matter. "Or anyone to fear me. I don't think that's the purpose of it, instilling fear, but I hope the more you learn of it the less threatening it will seem. You've only ever seen magic used as a weapon, but there's so much more to it than that."

"I'm sure that's true," Arthur acknowledged, and he did seem to be willing to learn. To face his distrust of magic, and to look for the beauty within it. It would take time, but the embers of hope were still burning somewhere within Merlin's chest. They could get there. They just needed time. "And if I can begin to see that, maybe the people of Camelot can grow to see it, too. Perhaps that can be the next step in preparing me for the throne. Growing to learn that which I do not understand."

A tiny smile returned to Merlin's face at that. Perhaps he was worried for nothing, and he marveled at what Arthur was saying to him. It was like hearing his own hopes and dreams spoken back to him, but in the voice of the person he'd most wanted to hear it from. "I hope so," Merlin said, hearing the hope shining in those three words, and just as he spoke them, he spotted Kilgharrah returning to them. "They're back," he told Arthur, and Arthur started at the announcement, squinting at the sky.

"How can you tell?" the prince asked, confused, and he squinted even more. It occurred to Merlin then that Kilgharrah was still too far out for his non-magical vision. "I don't see anything."

"I can see farther than you," Merlin revealed, unable to totally hide his smugness. Sometimes he forgot his vision was better than the average person's. "Perks of magic, I guess."

Arthur just stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Merlin bit back a laugh at his dumbstruck expression, and he had a feeling he'd be seeing it often as Arthur learnt more and more about what Merlin's magic entailed. As he discovered just how much Merlin had been holding back on him.

There was still so much left to say. So much left to discuss, but tonight had been a good start. Merlin grinned as Kilgharrah safely landed back in the clearing, Gwen and Gaius still clutching onto the dragon's back, and Gwen's face popped up from behind Kilgharrah's head nearly immediately. Merlin was delighted to see her face flushed with happiness. She'd had a nice time, then. That was good. That was progress.

"Have fun, did you?" Merlin called out to her, and Gwen was practically glowing as she dismounted the dragon with surprising grace, bouncing back over to them.

"That was amazing," Gwen gushed, her curls windswept as she enveloped Merlin into another crushing hug. Merlin melted into this one just as much as the first, glowing himself at her happiness. It was all so welcome after all the stress of the past few days. "You're right, there is nothing like it! I can't even describe it. You really must try it, Arthur."

"I'm sure I will have to eventually," Arthur said offhandedly, and Merlin could tell he still wanted nothing to do with it. "Did Gaius survive?"

"He… struggled a bit," Gwen admitted, and Merlin looked over to the physician just in time to see Gaius throwing up in the bushes. He choked back a laugh at the sight. "He'll be okay, I think. And how about you two? Have a nice chat?"

Gwen touched Arthur's flower crown with amusement at this, noticing that Merlin had made him a matching one. Arthur's cheeks flushed, almost as if he'd forgotten about the flowers, and he took the crown off, twirling it awkwardly between his fingers. "Yes, something like that," the prince said, and then he biffed Merlin roughly with his elbow—throwing Merlin back, and much to Merlin's surprise. It was a very normal thing for Arthur to do, really, but Merlin had no longer been anticipating such friendly roughhousing. "Things are a little different now, but not altogether different."

"Ow, hey, speak for yourself!" Merlin complained, and he rubbed at his ribs, acting a little over dramatic just because he could. Inside, however, his heart was soaring. He'd really thought these days were over, but Arthur was right. Things weren't altogether different. "I'm not your servant anymore. You can't treat me like your personal training dummy. Those days are over."

"Are you quite sure?" Arthur asked him, an edge to his voice, and he went to shove Merlin playfully, but Merlin let himself react this time. He allowed his magic to swirl up within him, stopping Arthur in his tracks and holding him back. It was a simple spell, hardly difficult, but Merlin saw Arthur's eyes widen in shock for a second before narrowing.

"Feels good, does it?" the prince accused, his voice low, and Merlin smirked at him. He thought maybe could get used to this new dynamic.

"A bit," Merlin admitted, and then he released Arthur, letting the prince fall back into motion. "Not the first time I've done it to you, if I'm being honest. Do you remember when we first met? In the market?"

"Oh, I do," Gwen chimed in, and her eyes were glittering. She was enjoying this, elated to see them fighting again—as friends, and not as enemies. "If I remember correctly, Arthur nearly took your head off with a mace, didn't he?"

"He did indeed," Merlin confirmed, and he looked back at Arthur, feeling quite odd admitting to this so long after it occurred. But it was funny to see Arthur processing the truth of it. "But I stopped him. Using magic."

Arthur's eyes immediately went wide at the admission. Indignation fluttered across his features, followed quickly by rage. "You cheated!" he exclaimed, leveling a finger at Merlin, but Merlin was ready for that accusation.

"Didn't cheat," he argued, and he threw out his arm, pulling a breeze into existence that knocked Arthur flat on his back with one large gust. The prince crashed to the grass with an oof, and Merlin grinned ear to ear as he towered over the prince—the victor finally for once in his life.

"Just used my resources to bring you down a notch, is all," Merlin finished smoothly, and he smirked down at Arthur's red face, reveling in the frustrated look staring back at him. It was so very satisfying to see Arthur processing just how easily Merlin could beat him. How much he would now continue to defeat him. "That fight feels like a long time ago now, doesn't it? You certainly were a prat before I came around to humble you, you know."

"Think you've cured me, is that it?" Arthur grumbled, and he looked disgruntled when Merlin offered him a hand. He accepted it humbly, however, letting Merlin hoist him back to his feet.

"Cured you from what, being a prat?" Merlin asked, and he raised a curious eyebrow. "Hmm, I don't know. Jury's still out on that one. Perhaps I should test you on it, Arthur. Create a trial of my own design to see if you're worthy of being king?"

He was being malicious now, and he knew it. He was pushing the joke a little too far, but Arthur took it well. "Alright, I suppose I deserve that one," the prince mumbled, brushing grass off his cloak, and Merlin had to give him credit for how well he was taking this newfound loss of status. He decided maybe that was enough banter for today.

"I'll stop," Merlin promised, holding up his hands and biting back any further sassy remarks. "Truce? No more teasing? All forgiven?"

"All forgiven," Arthur agreed, and then he was pulling both Merlin and Gwen into him—drawing them into a group hug. Merlin was just as shocked by this hug as the first one, but he fell into it with open arms. Pure happiness rushed through him for the first time in… well. He wasn't sure how long. It was bliss, clutching his friends and feeling their love and acceptance. To wind his arms around them and know that the greatest trial he'd ever faced was behind him now. That they could move forward.

Merlin never wanted to let go of them. He never wanted to leave his friends behind—never wanted to leave Camelot behind—but Kilgharrah's voice wormed its way into his head before long, warning him. We should get going, Merlin, the dragon said, and he sounded rather unimpressed by all this hugging and happiness. A downer as always. The sun is due to rise. We best not be near Camelot when that happens. It's always best to travel in darkness.

Merlin sighed at the truth in that, and as the group hug broke apart, he felt the overwhelming pressures of duty returning to his bones. He still had much to do. Much to achieve, but it had been a beautiful moment. A blissful second of everything being right with the world, and he would cherish this memory for some time.

Merlin… the dragon chided him again, stronger now when Merlin didn't respond, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I'm coming, okay?" he said out loud, turning to look at the dragon with an annoyed frown. "You don't need to chide me in my head anymore. You can talk freely in front of everyone now."

"In your…?" Arthur began weakly, and Merlin realised with a jolt he'd never explained the mental talking magic to Arthur just yet. He opened his mouth to explain, but Gaius chuckled, cutting him off.

"There is much to fill you in on, Arthur," the physician said, and perhaps he was right and it was best not to overwhelm Arthur too much here and now. "Perhaps I can do so over breakfast."

"That would be good," Merlin agreed, relieved that Gaius had offered, and he glanced up at the sky. Sure enough, daylight was beginning to creep its way into the horizon, the slight pink-orange of dawn painting the clouds. "I can come back tomorrow evening, if you'd like, but I'd best be going for now. It's not smart for me to be near Camelot in the daylight, and besides. I have a meeting to attend."

"Meeting?" Arthur asked, confused, and Merlin realised he hadn't mentioned his letter to Lancelot. "A meeting with who?"

Merlin smiled, briefly calculating how to mention this to Arthur. It was good news, after all. For once. "An old friend of yours, actually," he explained slowly, mysteriously, and he watched as Arthur struggled to puzzle out who that might be. "I thought he might be interested in learning what has transpired these past few days. That, and if your reign is near, how you may consider letting some non-nobles join your knight. A repealing of the First Code of Camelot, perhaps?"

He saw recognition dawn in Arthur's face almost immediately at that hint. "Lancelot," he said with an awed smile, and Merlin nodded.

"I sent him a letter, too," he explained, and he couldn't quite contain his excitement at the thought of seeing his friend again. "We're due to meet in a tavern, so I'm hoping we might see another friendly face. I've heard reports of bar fights there. Odds are high."

Arthur's eyebrows shot to his hairline, and Arthur didn't need to say Gwaine's name for Merlin to know he understood who they talking about. "What exactly are you playing at, Merlin?" Arthur pressed, and he was serious just as much as he was joking. "Raising me a little secret army? Rounding up all the men my father has exiled?"

"Something like that," Merlin said, and it was exactly that. An exiled crew that was loyal to Arthur, ready at any moment and a secret from the likes of Morgana, and with that in mind, Merlin reached Kilgharrah, letting his hand stroke the dragon's scaly side. He was sad to leave. He didn't want to go, but it was time, and he'd be back. This was the beginning, not the end.

"There are people out there that want you as king, Arthur," Merlin reminded the prince, and he decided then and there that those were good words to part with. A small glimmer of hope for Arthur that he was not alone in this, and that Merlin chose to follow him. That this was the path he'd decided to follow, with no turning back now. "People who have chosen you as their sovereign, and not just because of your birth status. Don't ever forget that. There's power there that your father can't begin to imagine."

"And I suppose you know a thing or two about power beyond imagination?" Arthur shot back, teasing him a little, and Merlin laughed as he drew up a spell—floating up onto Kilgharrah's back with a growing ease. He really was getting better at that flotere spell.

"Me?" he joked back to Arthur, feigning ignorance with a dramatic hand to his chest. "Powerful? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

And then with his hands curled around Kilgharrah's horned spine, he was off. The dragon wasted no time taking off, flapping his massive wings nearly as soon as Merlin was secured on his back. They took the sky, Arthur and Gwen and Gaius forced to stand back to give the dragon room. They grew smaller the more Merlin and Kilgharrah rose, but Merlin had just enough time to send a spell soaring down at Arthur, sending the flower crown from Arthur's hands back to head where it belonged.

Arthur's smile was the last thing Merlin saw before clouds overtook him. Dawn washed over them, warm and soft and hopefully, and they left the clearing behind—leaving Camelot and all its people at their back once more.

For now. Merlin knew he would return, sooner than later. He'd be back for good one day, and Merlin took heart and that as they soared over the lands of Camelot, making their way to Essetir. The future was still ahead of him, as uncertain and scary as ever…

But at least he knew he wasn't alone. At least he didn't have to hide anymore. And in that fact, Merlin could finally find true peace.

~O~

It was a cute little tavern, the one Lancelot had chosen for them. It was called The Lady's Kerchief, and Merlin wasn't sure if he should be flattered or offended at the drawing of a red kerchief on the tavern sign.

He entered rather cautiously. It felt strange, walking around as this version of himself that wasn't totally hiding any longer. After all, any person here could possibly recognise him. He was in Essetir, not Camelot, but they weren't far over the border. There could be Camelot citizens in this very tavern—people that might recognise him as the sorcerer that had magically escaped execution just a day before.

But luckily, no one batted an eye as Merlin strode inside. He glanced around, looking for Lancelot, and while the tavern was lively and crowded, Merlin didn't spot Lancelot right away. A little disappointed, he opted for the bar, just lounging near it until the bartender took note of him.

"Looking for someone, are you?" the man asked, and Merlin jolted at the attention.

"Er, sort of," Merlin answered, and he gave the tavern one more wry glance around, hoping Lancelot might pop up at just the right moment. "Just waiting for a friend."

"And that friend wouldn't be me, would it?" asked a familiar voice, slurred a little and teasing, sending Merlin nearly jumping out of his skin as a tankard of mead slid its way down the bar, bumping his elbow.

Dark, long hair and hazel eyes met Merlin's gaze as he looked up, and a smile broke over both their faces.

"Gwaine!" Merlin exclaimed, and he abandoned the drink, pushing away from the bar to tackle his friend in a hug. It had been too long, and Merlin found himself overwhelmed to see him.

"Thought I'd find you here, Merlin," Gwaine slurred, slapping Merlin a little too hard on the back before they broke apart. The nobleman dropped into the nearest available seat with unsteady steps, and Merlin realised with slight exasperation that Gwaine was already drunk. The sun had barely begun to set. The tavern itself likely opened its doors only an hour ago. How many drinks had Gwaine already had? "That man you know told me you'd be here. You know, the one. The bloke with the perfect posture and all the nobleness?"

"Lancelot," Merlin clarified, and he crossed his arms at Gwaine, unable to wipe the smile off his face. "He found you, then? I did give him your description in my letter to him."

"Rude of you!" Gwaine complained, and he grabbed his drink only to down a giant gulp of it. "Lancelot showed me your letter! 'Long, dark hair, drunkard, likely no coin at all and too much confidence'? That is how you choose to describe me to strangers, Merlin?"

"He found you with that, didn't he?" Merlin said, and he could not hold back a laugh. "Also, he isn't a stranger, Gwaine. Lancelot is by far one of the best fighters I've ever seen. I figured you'd like him."

"Oh, yes, he's very good," Gwaine agreed, and he took another sip of mead. "That's how we met, of course. He came up to me, he asked if I was Gwaine. I said who's asking, and he mentioned your name. Then he told me he once served as a knight of Camelot under Prince Arthur and that he heard I did so once, too. So naturally I had to challenge him to a duel."

Merlin's eyes widened, horrified. "You what? Gwaine! Why?"

"Because I was not a knight under Arthur, last I checked," Gwaine said, leveling Merlin with a stern finger before burping rather loudly. "The last thing I need is men walking around this town saying I am one! Going to ruin my image, that is."

"Oh, please, as if you wouldn't accept a knighthood in an instant if Arthur handed you one," Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes at him.

"Well, I certainly would accept it," interjected a different voice, and Merlin's head snapped up so fast he got whiplash. His gaze found dark brown eyes, twinkling at him, and Merlin really did think his heart might burst.

"Lancelot," Merlin breathed, and then he jumped up for his second friendly hug of the night. He embraced his friend tightly, and Lancelot was much gentler than Gwaine, patting Merlin's head unlike Gwaine's rather rough slap to his back. It was amazing to see Lancelot again, and Merlin immediately felt safe as they broke apart, the former knight's smile soft on his face and his eyes alight with happiness.

"It's good to see you, Merlin," Lancelot said quietly, sounding as poised and measured as usual, and with a practiced, social ease, he directed Merlin and Gwaine to another table, tucking them into a private little corner of the tavern. Gwaine came along without a fuss when Lancelot expertly put a new drink in his hands, and Merlin hadn't realised how much he'd wanted to see these two friends interact. He'd known it would feel right somehow. Like he was building a team of people he trusted more than anything.

"Glad to see Gwaine didn't stab you," Merlin noted, only half joking as he noticed Lancelot looked perfectly intact. "I didn't think I needed to include 'might attack' in my letter, but perhaps I should have."

"Oh, it was fine," Lancelot said, unconcerned, and he grinned a little at Gwaine across their table. Gwaine didn't notice, as he was too busy trying his new drink. "He was a little too unsteady on his feet to do any real damage."

"Lies!" Gwaine declared, and he sloshed his drink in Lancelot's direction now, offended. "A trickster, this one, Merlin. Using fancy footwork to get around my moves. Very sly."

"You were very talented, I give you that," Lancelot said, as nice and complimentary as ever, and he looked at Merlin now, growing a bit serious. "So," he said, transitioning. "He knows."

Merlin grew a little still, his mind shifting to Arthur. He thought of how Lancelot had been the only one to know Merlin's whole story besides Gaius. "He knows, yes," Merlin confirmed with a deep sigh, and across the table, Gwaine made a confused noise, his eyes narrowing.

"Knows what?" Gwaine asked, and he now eyed the two of them suspiciously. "Who are we talking about? Who knows what about what now? And why're you putting this lil meeting together, Merlin, and coming out here to Essetir all alone?"

"You didn't… you didn't tell him anything?" Merlin asked, surprised, and he looked to Lancelot, only to find the man biting his lip in deliberation.

"I figured it is your choice who to tell," he answered, noble as ever. "You didn't specify in your letter if I should tell him or not, and it's not my information to share."

"Right," Merlin said, and he fought back a sudden rush of fear that coursed through him. For some reason he'd assumed Lancelot would just tell him. That Gwaine already knew then, and was fine with it. This was Gwaine, after all. No need to be worried. He was sure Gwaine would be okay with his magic—if he even remembered this encounter tomorrow—but Merlin found himself still nervous. He wasn't used to sharing his secret.

But no more shadows. No more hiding. He was building a team, and that required trust. A leap of faith. "Don't panic, okay?" Merlin murmured, and he locked eyes with Gwaine, trying to pull some focus out of the other man. "I'm going to show you something, Gwaine. Something big. Something important. A secret I've been keeping for a very long time."

Gwaine grew very still, and despite his few drinks he seemed to realize this was as important as Merlin said it was. His eyes focused on Merlin, surprisingly serious and alert, and the drunkenness seemed to leave him somewhat. "Show me what?"

"This," Merlin said, and then he reached forwards and touched Gwaine's tankard with one finger. His eyes flashed obviously gold, the mead in the cup swirling in a small tempest, and then the alcohol turned to water in Gwaine's hand.

The water stilled. Merlin drew his hand back. Gwaine stared. Just stared, boring holes into the tankard for a long moment. A very long moment, and Merlin grew a little nervous at how long Gwaine had been silent. For a brief interlude, Merlin glanced over at Lancelot, worried that he might need Lancelot's help to make Gwaine understand, but then Gwaine moved. Very slowly, his hand curled around the tankard and lifted it to his lips.

He took a sip. A delicate sip, and then his eyes went wide.

"You bloody bastard," he murmured, and Merlin wasn't sure if that was a good "bastard" or bad "bastard." "You bloody bastard, you turned it to water, didn't ye? I may be a bit drunk, Merlin, but I know magic when I see it."

"Is… is that alright?" Merlin asked, and he tensed, leaning away from Gwaine just a bit. He studied the man, his friend, trying to gauge any sort of reaction. Any sort of judgment. "Is… is it alright with you, that I have magic? That's what I'm trying to show you. Camelot isn't exactly the best place for sorcerers, so I wasn't really sharing that information. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

The words came out of him in a messy rush, but Gwaine just leveled him with a serious gaze. "You can turn it back, right?"

"What?"

"The water. You can turn it back into wine?"

"I think it was mead."

"Well, now I want it to be wine. Bloody by the good book that way, right?"

It was Merlin's turn to stare at Gwaine now. "I think magic is sort of the opposite of the good book, Gwaine," he explained slowly. "That's the whole thing. Sorcery, not miracles."

Gwaine just slid the tankard back to Merlin, entirely serious. "Wine," he said again, and Merlin sputtered, obliging as he tapped the tankard and used the same spell, switching the water out for wine this time. It was one of the easiest spells in his grimoire, really, but Gwaine looked stunned as he grabbed the tankard back again and took another sip, wine reaching his lips now.

"Brilliant," he murmured, sounding elated, and he slammed the tankard down to the table top, sloshing wine everywhere before he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his sleeve. He leveled Merlin with a finger again, but his smile was back now, sending relief instantly flooding through Merlin. "You keep doing that, magic man, and you've got no problems from me, I can tell you that."

"O-okay, deal," Merlin laughed, and he waved his hand, filling his tankard up just a bit to top things off. "You're alright with it, then? My magic?"

"'Course I'm alright with it," Gwaine said with a dismissive wave of his hand, and he smiled wide now, looking quite genuine and not even that drunk. Merlin thought he would remember this tomorrow, and that was a relief. "I'm just messing with you, Merlin. You're a mate. I'd never be upset. You did give me a fright just now, though, I'll tell you that much. I definitely did not peg you as a sorcerer, unless I'm hallucinating all this right now."

"You aren't," Merlin assured, laughing. "And don't worry, most people don't seem to guess. I gave Lancelot a pretty bad fright with a spell when we first met."

"Glowing, magic lance," Lancelot murmured vaguely, and Gwaine raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, now that sounds better than wine," Gwaine whispered, and his eyes were wide as saucers, clearly imagining magical glowing weapons. "I would like one of those, I think. And could you enchant my sword? Is that a thing you do?"

"We can talk about it," Merlin said, not about to entertain that request right away, but it truly was amazing, this happiness flowing within him. Acceptance. That was what it was. This was who he was now. Accepted. Free. A new Merlin, and maybe… maybe this wouldn't be near as scary as he'd feared. Surrounded by friends instead of all alone. "But for now, would you two listen to me for a moment? I've got some propositions for you, and the three of us have some work to do…"

And with that, Merlin drew Gwaine and Lancelot in, leaning them in close and beginning to discuss his plans. A grand scheme to create a militia of his own, and a new clan of knights ready to answer Arthur's call should the need arise. A group of men he could trust to band around him and Arthur in battle.

It began here. It began now. The budding of a new Albion that Kilgharrah had prophesied all those years ago on Merlin's first night in Camelot, standing cold and unsure on the steps of the cavern below the castle. It had felt like a fleeting dream then when the dragon had first told him of it. A fantasy, and nothing more.

But it felt real to Merlin now. A new day dawning for the kingdom of Camelot, and a glorious future hidden just around the corner. A bright new realm of possibilities for Albion, and a future where knights and sorcerers and kings and commoners alike could live in prosperity and peace. A golden sunrise in the name of King Arthur.

And wasn't that something worth fighting for?