#and wishing the gwen he knew was also alive and thriving

[radioactivedadbod]

On one hand I understand people being like 'Why didn't Peter B. ever react to Gwen being, ya kno, Gwen.'

But on the other

It's probably been like 20 years for him at this point he has grieved and moved on

[bellamyblakru]

Hey, I saw your "I have you, it's okay" Merthur drabble and thought it was incredible and beautifully written ❤️ So could I please request "Please tell me you aren't dead..." + Merthur, thanks xx

THANK YOU SO MUCH IMMA CRY🥺😭this is so kind, of course you can request that!! id literally write anything anyone asks me🥺thank you so much for the request, i hope i don’t let you down!! (im doing canon era again because i live for them, with all the knights alive and such) (i also made merlin say the prompt instead of arthur this time to mix things up)

Merlin was going to kill Arthur...if he wasn’t dead already. 

Last night, the knights, the King and his servant went out to the tavern after sparring to try to enjoy the beautiful new spring weather that had finally arrived in Camelot—instead of sweating and beating each other relentlessly in the sun, Merlin thought unenthusiastically. This tavern trip, however, was different from the others. Instead of Gwaine leading the charge towards drinking unmercifully, it was surprisingly Arthur this time around. Merlin usually didn’t drink—just in case King Prat needed saving, but this time he couldn’t help himself. He was having a good day: Arthur was being unusually kind and tactile with him, Lancelot complimented his outfit, and Gwen stopped by today to give him his favorite sweet from the kitchens, so having a few drinks with his family would only top off his day. It is a known fact in Camelot that Merlin is a lightweight drinker—his abnormally low tolerance for alcohol made every knight howl with laughter, especially when he was hiccuping after drink number three. 

What drunk Merlin and company didn’t realize at the time was how little Arthur was drinking. While Merlin, Gwaine, and Lancelot were on drink number four, Arthur barely touched his first round. Arthur had a reason, of course, for going light today, but he didn’t want to let the others realize his lack of drunkenness. He played the part of drunk King, but he had different plans for that night. 

Earlier that day, a report came in from the south. The writer claimed to have seen a rare creature, one that only existed in the myths and legends, while pleading with the King of Camelot to conquer the beast before it can harm more of his people. Arthur refused to let Merlin read the report—which never happened. Merlin was hurt for a minute, but Arthur soon made it up to him by ordering two plates to be served for lunch (Merlin soon forgot about the paper after that). The reporter was convinced that the creature was a Necat Caritatem. They weren’t big creatures, and they didn’t look extremely threatening. They haven’t been seen in over a century--according to the library, that is. The name loosely translated to “love kills,” which is precisely what it does. It lures their prey with the scent of what or who they love the most, uses it to capture their victim, to slowly suck the love out of them. There are other stories that if the Necat Caritatem catches you with your love, they delight in witnessing one lover losing their love almost as much as the actual taking of the feeling. Arthur had believed they were all killed off--they were once the greatest threat in the land, and if this letter is to be believed, then his kingdom did face one of its biggest threats of their time. 

Killing love is killing hope, light, and freedom all at once. The essence of humankind thrives on the existence of this one single idea, hope. Existing in this world, that can cease to be at any moment, is arduous without optimism. Giving a seedling light allows it to thrive, it becomes one with the world, part of something bigger than itself. Refusing this light slowly kills it. Taking away this love, this hope in the world of darkness, is the worst kind of pain. Arthur refused to let Merlin see the report. He knew where that would lead: “Merlin, no, you can’t come with me” “Arthur, don’t be stupid, of course I’m coming. Who would protect you?” Every time it was the same conversation, with different threats, but this conversation will not happen today. 

This was different. This adventure could take Merlin away from Arthur, and he wouldn’t let that happen. Merlin was Arthur’s love, his hope, his life. Taking away Merlin’s unconditional love would be like stripping away the sun from the earth. Arthur knew that without Merlin’s love and loyalty, Arthur would amount to nothing. Merlin’s smile helped Arthur get out of bed in the morning and was the last thing he thought about before he closed his eyes. Merlin is too important to Arthur, to his kingdom he helped build. Arthur knew Merlin kept secrets, but he didn’t hold it against him. How could he? Arthur understood--he truly did. People keep secrets for a few reasons, but the only one Arthur could give for Merlin would be that Merlin’s secret could hurt those around him and Arthur knew Merlin went to great lengths to avoid hurting those he loved. Some would argue that Merlin kept secrets because Arthur was king, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Some things are safer kept to one person, but he hoped that Merlin would truly let him into his heart one day. 

So, back to the drinking. Merlin was giggling with Gwaine’s attempts at flirting when Arthur tried to make his escape. He was just about to excuse himself when Merlin turned his beautiful, blinding smile onto him, and Arthur had to hold the edge of the table to stop his knees from collapsing underneath him. He holds too much power over me, Arthur thought ruefully with a small returning smile for drunk Merlin’s sake. Merlin stumbled over to Arthur and swung his arm around his shoulders, “Want to retire, sirrree?” Merlin sang to him into his ear. Arthur’s first thought was, how does he understand me so hammered?, then out loud he laughed, “Yes Merlin, I do have a kingdom to run tomorrow, but let’s get you to bed before Gwaine gets you to do anything unlawful.” Merlin just smiled at that and bid his goodbyes to the group, stumbling fast on Arthur’s heels. As Merlin was dead on his feet, the minute they were out of sight Arthur picked him up bridal style to move this along faster. 

Arthur deposited Merlin on the king’s bed, taking care of him for as long as he could. When Arthur gave Merlin his mother’s sigil, he thought it would represent his love and respect for Merlin, but maybe it would help Merlin rise to be the leader he knew he could be when he is gone. Arthur could think of no one else better to lead his legacy. 

He quietly asked for a horse to be prepared so he could start his southern quest. In the candle light, Merlin looked to be softly glowing. Arthur tried to remember every detail of his best friend, but he would need to leave soon if he wished to get there by sunrise. At the last minute, he decided to write Merlin a quick note explaining what was happening, with the report underneath it, ending the letter with ‘Yours Always, Arthur.’ This was the right thing to do. If Arthur was going to go down, it would be fighting for a future where Merlin exists. 

Merlin woke up with a raging headache that doubled when he opened his eyes to the blinding light. The only thing he remembers from last night was Arthur’s lovely smile and the third drink. The softness underneath him, though, was a rude awakening. He jumped out of the bed but was immediately too dizzy to have a coherent thought. After putting his head against the cold wood of the bed, he decided he was stable enough to finally look around. The first things that drew his attention were the plate of food, Gaius’s hangover medicine, and a pile of papers that had his name written on top. Downing the cure, following that up with some bacon, he sat down to read.

Of fucking course he would, Merlin thought angrily, if there is one scratch on his stupid perfect blond head I’ll kill anyone who has ever threatened him. Merlin left the King’s room in a flurry of anger, love, and desperation. The servants quickly avoided this version of Merlin, knowing better, while he made his way down to the stables to go himself. 

The trip was fairly quick, but what Merlin saw when he arrived made his blood run cold. Arthur was surrounded and caked by blood, both silver and red. Merlin halted for a second, letting his heart slow down enough to get the physician in him to address the situation clearly.

 It didn’t work. 

Merlin walked unsteadily to Arthur, his breath coming in harsh puffs. This wasn’t the end. This couldn’t be the end. They had a kingdom to continue building, they had people to free, but, most importantly, they had their lives ahead of them to learn how to love each other, properly, that is--without one of them trying to die to keep the other alive. 

"Please tell me you aren't dead..." Merlin whispered when he bent down to Arthur’s body, tears already flowing down his face. 

Arthur’s breath was shallow but still there. Breathing, even this small, made the hope in Merlin’s chest burst. He could make it. 

Merlin put his forehead against Arthur’s, put his hands against his heart, and put his entire soul and magic into Arthur. Arthur took a gasping breath and opened his eyes to see his Merlin sobbing onto him. Snapping his head up, it took Merlin to realize that his eyes were still burning gold. Arthur, still breathing heavily, took Merlin’s face into his hands and kissed him. Merlin, still catching up on what was happening, hesitated and when he finally understood what this kiss meant, Arthur unceremoniously passed out again--looking healthier as time continued on. 

Arthur managed to kill the Necat Caritatem in a bloody fight. The creature tried to use a hallucination of Merlin doing magic against him to slow down Arthur’s fighting, but seeing Merlin with beautifully golden eyes, giving off such an auror of power only made Arthur fight harder. If Merlin truly had that power within him, then Arthur wanted to witness that power himself. He knew Merlin’s heart, and an evil sorcerer is not who he was--no matter what this creature showed him. Not expecting that reaction of pure love, the creature fought dirty and clumsily--since it’s main source of attack was usually against the mind. Arthur ended it with Excalibur through its heart, and with Arthur trying to remember when his vision started getting so blurry.

The next time he woke up, it was to Merlin crying over his body, glowing ethereally. Those eyes he was taught to hate was the only reason he was alive, and the golden fire seemed to complete who Merlin was to him: strength, power, wisdom, and love. Through that train of thought, Arthur’s only reasonable reaction was to kiss the ever-loving shit out of Merlin until the dark claimed him once more.

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VII:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VII)

VII. (ALTERNATE POV)

Merlin sadly but undeniably beams at him - and still doesn't seem willing yet to stand up. So Arthur gets down - sitting on the ground instead of commanding Merlin up once more. It's the result that matters anyway: to get them both on the same level. And it works, Merlin finally quitting bowing down to simply sit too.

Arthur focuses for some time on the ring back around his finger, and finally exhales:

"I was unnecessarily harsh, wasn't I?"

And he knows Merlin hears it for the apology it is - and accepts it:

"It's all right, Arthur. I realize it is a lot to take in."

And somehow reassured by Merlin's understanding, Arthur finally dares to ask:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

/

Merlin feels stabbed in the heart. Because of the swift cut from his own pain at his losses - still, no matter how long ago. And because he can read not only Arthur's pain but also Arthur's fear in Arthur's features.

So Merlin hurries to give Arthur both a firm nod and a fragile but positive smile - a silent soothing promise that it is not the worst, at least:

"I can even *show* you; if you want. Share my memories?"

It's out before Merlin had time to weigh the pros and cons; but Merlin won't back off. Sharing his memories implies sharing how he feels about them - and Merlin of course doesn't want Arthur to get more hurt in the process. But sharing his memories brings an added level of truth and certainty and knowledge to what only words ever could - and Merlin's priority right now is simply to make sure Arthur never gets to wonder about how much he might have edulcorated the past in his retelling.

Arthur starts breathing again, but still has to ask for confirmation, in probably the tiniest voice Merlin ever heard from his King: "They aren't bad, right?"

And Merlin just knows what he should mention first; what Arthur fears the most:

"Gwen lived a full life, and brought Camelot his golden age in your name."

Arthur seems to absorb the information. And then, he smiles - a smile both fond and proud:

"I always knew she would be the greatest Queen."

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes again; sad, of course, but assured:

"I'd like to see, then."

"All right."

Merlin moves closer, extending a hand towards Arthur's forehead, explaining:

"We'll have to be connected. And you must close your eyes."

Arthur studies his eyes a moment - not his hand; then gives a nod, doing as requested. Merlin presses his hand against Arthur's skin; not even taking the time to relish on its welcome warmth - alive! alive! - before plunging inwards.

/

Merlin focuses on Gwen, and there she is.

"I understand why you need to stay here. But please don't become a stranger?"

And so Merlin had taken a pebble from the ground and had enchanted it before giving it to Gwen. If she held it in her hands, they could communicate through their minds.

And that's why Merlin can show to Arthur how she reigned - or, in fact, not. She soon took the title of First Guardian instead of Queen, taking care of Camelot until the return of its true ruler, and ruled Camelot with her Concil of Knights. One guardian in waiting was elected right away, and then every five years, by and from Camelot's commoners, both to assist and to be trained as next Guardian, so that there would always be continuity by people aware of the kingdom's affairs in case Gwen would suddenly disappear. The new Concil Knights were chosen by all Knights from the Knights ranks whenever a Concil Knight had to be replaced. The First Knight (Sir Leon had been the first of course) was elected by his fellow Concil Knights. The next Guardian was to be chosen from and by the guardians in waiting. Everyone admired Gwen's natural grace, intelligence and gentle heart. She was a just and concerned ruler, and her people thrived to be worthy of her. Merlin had placed magicals protections on Camelot's borders, so attacks were rare, and never a surprise. There were winters harder than others, and summers harder than others; but all in all, life in Camelot was good.

His last memory of Gwen still brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you too, my dear old friend; but my time is coming to an end. I can feel it, Merlin. This is our last conversation. And I thank you, for all you did for Camelot, for all I know you will continue doing for Camelot, and most of all, for being here for Arthur, when he finally returns."

Merlin needs a pause.

Arthur is crying silent tears when Merlin cuts their connection.

/

Arthur doesn't know how to deal with the force of it all. He hadn't realized he would not only see but FEEL Merlin's thoughts as clearly as his own - nor that Merlin's feelings would be as conflicted as hiw own.

Because Arthur feels relieved, from what he saw: Guinevere had been well, indeed. And Arthur is grateful, and amazed, and proud, and grateful, again, for all she accomplished, indeed. But he can't help but ponder about what he didn't get to see - or better said, to hear: her laugh.

"Was she happy?"

Merlin confirms his doubt, making a face and hesitating before answering; and Arthur can't help but wince.

"Happiness comes in all sorts, Arthur. After all that had happened... But all in all, she was *content*, I believe. Satisfied about what she had achieved, about her people living in peace and prosperity. It brought her joy, and fullfillment. You know she was always happy for anyone being happy. That counts too, Arthur."

"She never remarried?"

"She didn't."

And Arthur's first emotion at Merlin's words is guilt.

"I've doomed her, haven't I? My love for her trapped her into becoming this resplendissant but melancolic Queen." She had been his Queen, and she would always be his Queen, no matter the title she had chosen to wear.

"No. Her love for you."

"I let her down."

"It was neither your fault nor your wish to begin with, Arthur; she knew that."

"But I did it all the same. I had sworn to take care of her; and I didn't."

Arthur can't help but let out a huge sigh.

"She would have been happier with Lancelot, wouldn't have she? If only they had escape-"

/

Merlin's heart definitely cracks at the honesty in Arthur's words. Because Arthur loves Gwen that much indeed - to put her first; even if too late. And because Arthur's remorse is only wishful thinking anyway.

"It wasn't Lancelot at the time, Arthur."

"What?"

"Lancelot had passed behind the veil, and never came out of it. It was a shade, an empty shell brought back and controlled by Morgana to tear you apart. Remember how he was different? So Gaius and I checked. It wasn't Lancelot."

/

Again, Arthur doesn't know how to deal with this new information.

On the one hand, it makes sense, indeed. Lancelot loved Guinevere; had always loved Guinevere - Arthur had realized in retrospect after his Knight's death. But he was nothing but honorable to start with. The Lancelot he knew wouldn't have tried to...

On the other hand, if it hadn't been real, why hadn't Merlin explained it? Merlin had known Arthur had felt guilty for being the reason for Lancelot's death - again. Merlin had known Arthur had blamed Guinevere, even as he had missed her.

But Arthur understands, eventually.

Because it didn't change anything in the end.

Arthur was still the reason for Lancelot's first (and only) death. And Guinevere still loved Lancelot to start with. Arthur had realized that too, long before then - as she had mourned his passing. Knowing bad magic had been involved explained why things had actually happened - Lancelot wasn't Lancelot and Guinevere was enchanted - but it didn't erase the reason things happened from...

Still, it mattered.

Because even if it didn't change the reason, it had taken away Guinevere's choice in the matter, hadn't it? Arthur had accepted not once but twice that he was her second best. Because he loved her. And because she loved him - Arthur had never doubted her love, even though knowing 'With all my heart' meant 'With all there is left of my heart'. So Arthur had chosen to forgive her, of course; but he had blamed her, at first. And he knows Guinevere had always blamed herself. But knowing now what he knows? Arthur believes there would have been nothing to blame her(self) for, if no magic had been at play. Even if Lancelot had been real and she had chosen Lancelot over him? She would have told him, before, instead of...

"Did you ever tell her?"

"Yes. Only after you- but yes."

"Thank you."

.

AN:

It's canon after all magical beings *can* communicate through their minds. Merlin is just powerful enough to create such a link even with not magical persons, bear with me. I mean - he could even communicate with Lancelot's mind after his death, right ! (so no, no, no, this has nothing to do with me being too a Trekkie in love with mind melds...)

Also: I have a lot of feelings about how BBC butchered my heart with 4.09 (and their lousy treatment of its aftermath) and it shows, sorry?

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also… A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I’m still a newbie around here so I definitely haven’t read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven’t seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur’s return, in the fics I’ve read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

.

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. You don't even have to forgive me; you shouldn't forgive me maybe. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

.

AN: Tiny quotes from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

.

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin’s A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere… Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you…

.

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

.

VI. (ARTHUR POV)

.

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. For me to bring magic back."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

/

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

@clone-number-1

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

EDIT: this is a continuation of this supercorp time travel au prompt fill.

So, in my head, the sequel would have picked up a few years after Kara went home. By this point, Camelot is beginning to thrive again. There’s been some lean times, but Morgana has returned to the person the people knew before the coup-- the kind, compassionate lady who personally handed out grain and bread in times of need. So when things improve, they know exactly who it is they have to thank.

The executions have stopped, and magic is beginning to find a place in both Camelot and the surrounding villages. The Druids have been able to put down some roots, and have proven themselves to be valuable healers (a good skill to have, when health deteriorates due to hunger/cold during the lean years).

One day, she’s out riding when a group of bandits strikes. Her guards engage, but when they’re overwhelmed she flees on horseback into the woods. Her horse falls down a steep embankment and the fall knocks her out. The bandits keep going, but someone else finds her. Someone with magic.

Merlin and Gawaine tie her up and bring her back to camp, where Arthur is waiting. He’s shocked to see his half-sister, but Gwen is horrified by her condition and immediately starts scolding them, until Gawaine points out they’d found her like that.

Gwen cares for Morgana until she wakes. As soon as her eyes open, the ropes fall away and she reaches for her sword-- until she sees Gwen, and her eyes soften to wary hopefulness.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Merlin are arguing over what to do with her. Merlin advocates that they seal her in a cave somewhere and let the bears have her, whereas Arthur is fairly more diplomatic. He’s not willing to kill family, no matter her crimes.

Gwen and Morgana stand there listening, unnoticed, for some time. Gwen is shocked by the vehemency of Merlin’s argument-- she’s never known him to be particularly bloodthirsty. But when she glances at Morgana, she finds a familiar rage building behind her friend’s eyes as the manservant speaks. Morgana isn’t suprised, and her hatred for Merlin is greater than her hatred for Arthur. Gwen tucks the odd realization away for later.

They’re noticed before either lady interrupts, and as one the knights draw their swords against the suddenly unbound Morgana. With a spread of her fingers, all the men are trapped frozen in place. Only herself and Gwen remain free to move as they please.

“I have no desire to harm any of you,” Morgana declares, voice soft until she meets Merlin’s gaze. Then her features and voice harden. “But I will if I have to.”

Merlin’s gaze turns petulant rather than penitent, but Arthur remains neutral. “What would you have us do?”

Considering her options, Morgana lets her hand slowly lower, and returns their mobility. “I would have us talk... brother.”

And they do talk. It’s not productive at first. They dissolve into shouting matches about every little thing, but at least no one is trying to kill each other. Between talks, the only person Morgana allows herself to relax around is Gwen. It’s in one of these quiet moments that Gwen asks why Morgana refuses to get within six feet of Merlin.

“During Morgause's first assault on Camelot-- the sleeping sickness...” Gwen nods. She remembers. She’s oft wondered if that was when her mind and spirit had been poisoned against Camelot. “Merlin believed me the cause of the outbreak. He poisoned me.”

Gwen doesn’t quite believe her. She’s certain it might have felt that way, when Morgana reveals she remembers dying in his arms, and then waking up in her sister’s hundreds of miles away from home. But she can’t quite believe that Merlin would do such a thing.

“I made my choices,” Morgana continues. “I’ve done horrible things, and I take responsibility for them. But... sometimes I wonder if I might have chosen differently, had I not been driven to her side.”

Gwen still can’t bring herself to believe it... until one night she accepts a waterskin from Merlin on her way to the tent she shares with Morgana. Old habits die hard, it seems-- she gives Morgana the first sip, as befitting their stations. At first Gwen thinks nothing of it, but then Morgana feels the slowing of her heart and the wobble of her senses.

Obviously, her first though is poison.

"Where did you get this?" she demands. 

Gwen's heart seizes in her chest. "M-merlin... he-he handed it to me, i didn't think--"

The terror that fills Morgana's eyes sears itself into Gwen's consciousness. In that moment, Gwen believes.

Morgana surges to her feet, but the powerful sleeping draught works swiftly. Gwen catches her as her knees give out, and holds her close as she loses consciousness. Gwen breathes a sigh of relief when Morgana continues to breathe, but her heart thunders loudly in her chest, hammering against her ribs and the new truth that stamps repeatedly across her brain. 

This is not the first time Merlin has poisened Morgana.

Gwen is furious, and very nearly kills Merlin right then and there. But she refuses to let go of Morgana, until Arthur finds them. Gwen tells him about the waterskin, but not the invasion. Morgana's had ample opportunity to share that knowledge if she'd wished.

Arthur is also furious, but-- he and his knights all agree that they should keep Morgana unconscious until they decide what to do with her. They pry Gwen away, and then set up a rotating schedule to keep feeding her the sleeping potion.

Gwen is not happy, though she understands Arthur’s desire to give himself time to think. She tolerates him, but not Merlin. She corners him near the stream the next morning, and promises him that if he puts one finger on Morgana again she’ll make sure it’s the last thing he ever does. Merlin tries to explain himself, but Gwen won’t hear it. As far as she’s concerned, Morgana only turned against Camelot after Morgause got her claws in her. Anything that’s happened since is as much Merlin’s fault as Morgana’s.

And because they don't allow her to tend to Morgana, Gwen goes into town with Merlin and Arthur on their next supply run with the intention of wearing him down and convincing him to let Morgana wake up. But when they get there, they find out exactly what Morgana's absence means for the rest of the kingdom. It's all anyone can talk about, and it's not a good riddance. The people are beside themselves, whispering their concerns about the Queen's fate. Gwen gently asks questions, and learns from the baker that Mercia has lent their forces to help scour the countryside for Morgana, and that the baker hopes the Queen is returned safe-- she knows that the transition in power was difficult, but she only knows Morgana as someone who allowed the court physician to heal the bakers son. "She has been kind to us, and times were just beginning to prosper again-- with the promise of being better than before." The baker wipes her hands on her apron. "The Queen has been good to Camelot." It gives Arthur pause, even though it rankles. Don't they know she stole the throne from him, the true and rightful heir? But Gwen meets his gaze. "A king's duty is to his people, even if he doesn't sit the throne. Can you truly in good faith throw your realm back into chaos?" Meanwhile, though Morgana sleeps, someone comes to the silent, powerful call of her magic. A pale dragon, young but fierce. The knights wisely don't interfere as it investigates their camp, and then decides curl up under her arm. It watches the knights with an uncanny gaze, as though daring them to come any closer. Again, they are wise enough not to attempt any such thing. When Gwen and Arthur return, they're followed-- someone overheard their furtive arguing about what to do with Morgana, and tipped off the guards. Soon their camp is surrounded, but these are not the bandits Morgause recruited to help steal the throne. These are the Queen's knights-- the young nobles who had come up and sworn their allegiance to Camelot since Arthur went into hiding. The senior amongst them surveys the camp, and sees Morgana alseep. Realizing exactly how it looks, Gawaine tries to explain. "We found the queen injured, and we've been tending to her..." Its all gutted by the fact that her hands were rebound in the off chance she woke prematurely. The knights arrest them all, and then move Morgana and her new friend onto a travois and they all return to Camelot. Arthur & co are locked in the dungeons, with the promise the queen would decide their fate when she'd recovered. Left to themselves, Merlin remains the only one adamant they'd done the right thing. Gwen is already done with all of them, Arthur is doubting his actions, and even the knights are starting to slide after the dragon business. Merlin re-affirms the danger Morgana poses, and her treacheries. "She's changed," Gwen argues. Or gone back to how she used to be. Before everything. "That's just what she wants you to think!" "That doesn't explain what we heard in the market," Arthur says finally. "We no longer have all the facts. We acted too hastily." And so it goes around and around until the guards come to collect them. They remained chained as they're led to the throne room, where Morgana sits enthroned, alone save the dragon curled around her shoulders. The group stands in awkward silence as Morgana regards them with inscrutable features. The sight of her makes Arthur uncomfortable-- his guilt of what happened in the woods weighs on him, and the visible proof of Gwen's words is unsettling. Morgana has changed.

She sits the throne more comfortably than she ever did while Uther was alive, and gone is the disrespect with which she'd slouched the last time Arthur laid eyes on her. He can see the honor, both expected and given, in the comfortable set of her shoulders. Finally, Morgana turns her gaze on her guards. "Gwen stays," she says simply. "Arthur as well. Return the others." His knights press tighter around him, but Arthur dismisses them with a gentle word. "Go." And then, "behave yourselves. I'll be all right." As the chains are removed from his wrists, Arthur realizes he believes it himself. He doesn't sense any hostility from Morgana, or any of the volatile rage that had gripped her the last time they'd met. "What is your purpose here?" Maybe he was wrong-- the rage is still there, simmering below the surface. She's just better at hiding. "Your men dragged us here--" "And what is your intention, now that you are?" Arthur's mouth hangs open, arrested mid-protest. He'd schemed of returning to Camelot for years. Since the day he was run out of his own castle he'd dreamed of returning home, of retaking the throne. He'd committed to doing whatever it took, but now that he's here, staring the biggest roadblock in her familiar green eyes... he hesitates. "I... don't know." Morgana blinks, but the spell doesn't break. The silence holds, and Arthur's heart pounds heavily in his ears. When Morgana speaks, it is once more to her knights. "Escort them to the guest wing," she says. "They are to remain under guard, together." She rises as her men utter their affirmations, and turns to leave without a second glance. As the guards take firm grips of their arms, Gwen can hold her silence no longer. "Morgana!" The Queen stills. Her head turns, just enough to listen. "I'm sorry." A sob catches at Gwen's voice. "I'm so sorry." Morgana's chin dips as she turns away. She sweeps from the room, and somehow that is more a blow to Gwen than the nights spent in the dungeons below. The chambers they're escorted to are modest to what Arthur remembers, but feels lavish after their imprisonment and years in the woods. A change of clothes is provided to each of them, and they’re left to themselves.

For days.

Food arrives on trays in the arms of servants who claim to know nothing. The guards tell them only that the Queen will see them when she wants, and no sooner. On the third morning, Gwen asks the outgoing guard to deliver Morgana a note, and that evening she’s collected. When she returns, she shares nothing of what was said between them. Arthur only knows that Gwen doesn’t speak another word all night, and he falls asleep to the sound of her trying not to make a sound as she cries.

Another two days, and Arthur still hasn’t been seen. He sends a note of his, if only in the hopes of seeing the hall outside the damn room. To his surprise,

He's delivered to her drawing room, where she sits as she often had at her desk, carefully writing correspondence. She always was better at that than him. "You asked to see me?" Arthur eyes the guards flanking him, but neither make a move to leave. "Do you intend to keep us locked up here forever?" "Well, if you'd rather the dungeons..." "I'd rather my men free and my seat on that throne!" The guards bristle, but refrain from anything further when Morgana lifts a hand. She looks almost amused at his outburst. Almost. "You asked my intentions earlier," he continues. "Now it's my turn. What are yours?" Green eyes stare at him. They remain utterly unreadable, but Arthur takes some solace in the fact that she doesn't have a response either. 

Two mornings later, Arthur and Gwen are summoned together. They arrive in the reception hall to find a war table and a band of knights and nobles around it. Lord Bayard stands at Morgana’s left shoulder, who herself is in breeches and mail.

“Lord Bayard,” Arthur greets. Bayard gives a simple nod, and Arthur supposes that’s as much as he could hope for. With a contentious claim on the throne and the sitting Queen at his side, perhaps it was more than Bayard would have done had they not once been good friends.

“There have been bandits raiding the border between Camelot and Mercia,” Morgana informs him without preamble, “not far from where you’d made camp. What do you know of a man named Vespard?”

It’s Gwen who responds first. “He’s a monster,” Gwen scoffs.

“Yes,” Arthur confirms, before the other knights can take offense to her speaking out of turn. “He’s an imbecile, but a cruel one. There was a village who put us up for a few days last winter. Vespard had just ridden through, demanding tithes for his protection from other raiders. They’d already been hit twice, and had nothing left to give.”

“When Vespard learned this, he kidnapped the headman’s daughter, and used her as ransom.” Gwen swallows thickly. “We offered to bring her home, but she was already dead.”

“He keeps moving.” Arthur steps towards the table, and the lords step aside to allow him access to the map they have spread across the surface. “We only ever found the remains of his camp. Here.” He points to the map.

“His number was too great for us to consider hunting. He’s no commander-- he loses many, but in the border regions there is no shortage of boys desperate to relieve their families the burden of caring for them. He’s constantly recruiting.”

Morgana meets Bayard’s gaze. There’s a moment of understanding, and then she straightens. “Bayard and I are leading an expedition to resolve the situation. We would welcome someone who knows the terrain more intimately.”

“I would be glad to accompany you.”

With a nod from both Bayard and Morgana, it’s settled. The lords begin to leave, and a quiet murmur starts as they finalize their plans amongst themselves. Morgana remains with Arthur, and continues to address him.

“Your horse was recovered from your camp as well,” she says with a hint of a tease. “But I think the beast has earned its retirement.”

Arthur huffs a laugh. They’d taken the withered nag off the hands of a farmer unable to maintain it. It had been rickety from the moment they took it, and in the end had been kept as an emergency source of meat.

“We’ll lend you another for the journey,” Morgana promises.

“And I thank you for that.”

“I’m coming with you,” Gwen interjects. She pegs Morgana with a hard glard, daring her to decline. “I’m good in a fight--”

Morgana offers a thin smile. “I remember. But--”

“Morgana--”

“This is not the battle I need you to fight,” Morgana continues. She beckons to a man dressed plainly but cleanly. “This is Ulrich, my chief arbitrator in distributing Camelot’s resources to those in need. We’ve made great strides in the past few years, but if Vespard is able to recruit to his cause so easily, then clearly there’s more we should be doing.”

Clasping Gwen’s wrist with one hand, Morgana meets her gaze solemnly. “Would you be willing to tell him what you experienced in the region, and work on determining how we can help? I’d like to have resources moving in by the time we withdraw.”

It’s not what Arthur expects, nor Gwen. She swallows thickly, but quickly recovers with a nod. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Morgana gives Gwen a brief squeeze.

“The men you hold in your dungeons are all skilled trackers,” Arthur reminds her. “And they know the land just as well. We could cover more ground if we split into smaller groups.”

Morgana nods. “Your knights will be released.”

“And Merlin.”

Just like that, the room seems to freeze.

No, not the room. The lords don’t even pause, but Morgana-- the world seems to warp around her when she falls preternaturally still. For the first time since returning this time, Arthur feels a frission of fear.

“The servant stays where he is.”

“You would release trained warriors but leave a manservant in chains?”

“There’s no room for him on this expedition, and I don’t have the manpower to devote guards to following him around the castle. He stays!”

“He can stay with me,” Gwen blurts. “I’ll mind him.”

Morgana’s eyes flash with anger, and her jaw tightens dangerously.

“Would it not be better to keep him within sight, your Majesty?”

Arthur’s not happy about it, but he recognizes it’s better than Merlin in chains for the weeks or months they’re away. He nods. “He won’t do anything stupid while Gwen is still here. You have my word.”

Still unconvinced, Morgana shakes her head. The previous ease with which she’d commanded the room had vanished, replaced with muscles tight with rage. But with a soft utterance of her name, Gwen calls her attention, and whatever she sees in the gaze of her former maidservant gets Morgana over the line.

“Very well.”

Morgana’s always been good in the field.

Arthur never realized how good.

With his help they track the bandits in a matter of days. Under Morgana’s command, they rout them in a matter of minutes. Arthur had been right about the number of Vespard’s men. Even with Bayard’s men they were outnumbered, but Vespard’s force is mostly boys unaccustomed to holding a sword.

Most drop their swords at the sight of Camelot’s finest, but Arthur realizes belatedly that it’s not just inexperience that causes it. It’s also the magic he says flashing in the eyes of more than few knights, and the outstretched hands of practiced sorcerers.

He’d heard that magic was no longer forbidden. He hadn’t realized it was thriving.

The sight unnerves him enough that an older bandit nearly gets the drop on him-- only to watch the man’s feet fly out from under him when Morgana sweeps them with a long leg and then plunges her sword in his chest for good measure.

When she turns, her face sports a familiar grin.

Arthur grins right back, and wears the smile all the way back to Camelot.

Gwen and Merlin emerge from the castle to greet them. He doesn’t miss the way Gwen can’t seem to get away from Merlin fast enough. Nor can he ignore the way that Morgana nearly bowls him over on her way past, her easy smile retreating behind a stony visage.

He asks Gwen about it that night.

All she offers is a shrug. “Ask Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs too.

No one returns to the dungeons. Arthur is assigned a guard, but he has free reign of the castle, and his men are permitted to train with the new knights of Camelot. Merlin is allowed no role at all, and follows at Arthur’s heels to the point even he starts to get sick of him.

Again, he asks why Morgana seems to hate him.

“Maybe it’s because I’m the only one in the castle completely besotted with her!” Merlin snaps.

It stings, but isn’t untrue. Arthur’s glad to be home, and no one seems even remotely interested in helping him reclaim the throne. The people are pleased with Morgana’s progress, with the peace that’s settled across the land.

Only Bayard has even thought to mention it.

“You’re the image of your father, Arthur,” the older man had rumbled. “But your father’s reign was a dark one. No one’s keen to return to it.”

Even Arthur has forgotten what he’d sworn to do.

“Morgana’s done a lot of good--”

“And does no one remember the evil she did to get here?! She killed people! She murdered your father!”

Arthur doesn’t respond. How can he, when all he can wonder is how many his father murdered.

Merlin doesn’t settle. Gawaine and the others all find peace in the halls they’d once called home, but each day seems to grate on Arthur’s servant like a sore pimple. And as his mood worsens, so does Morgana’s.

Things finally boil over while discussing a growing dispute with Nemeth. They’ve been going for hours, Morgana and Arthur going around and around with his men pontificating more elaborate and useless by the hour.

“Why not just rehire that mercenary army you used a few years ago?” Merlin spits in a stretch of strained quiet.

Arthur sighs. “Merlin…”

“Your nights are welcome, but your man is here as a courtesy,” Morgana breathes, arms propped against the edge of the table.

“I’m about to kick him out myself--”

Merlin has other ideas. “Or maybe you can just spell them to sleep like--”

“ENOUGH!!”

Morgana’s fist thunders against the wooden table, and her eyes flash gold to make every candle in the room go up like a bonfire. The room falls deathly still, until the Queen finally lifts her her head.

“Keep a better leash on your dog, brother,” she snarls. “He bays too much.”

When she pulls aways from the table, Arthur spies a tremor in her hands before they curl tightly into fists. She leaves without another word, leaving Arthur to adjourn the meeting himself. He does so in a matter of seconds, and goes searching for Morgana.

He finds Gwen instead.

“Please,” he says quietly. “Tell me what happened.”

Alone in her chamber, no one else is their to witness the way her eyes fill with tears. “Merlin poisoned her, Arthur.”

“Merlin? Poison someone? Don’t be ridic--”

“I didn’t believe it either, at first! But then… at the camp, with the waterskin-- she was so terrified, Arthur. Like she recognized it. And she knew, she knew in that moment he’d been the one to give me the waterskin.”

Arthur sputters. “But-- when? How?”

“I don’t know how, but it was during Morgause’s first attack on Camelot. The sleeping sickness. Morgause didn’t steal her to take her away from us. She spirited Morgana away to save her life.”

Shock trickles slowly through his veins like ice, only to be followed shortly by rage. The sleeping sickness-- that was before… before everything. If it were true, what Merlin did would have been murder.

And despite his best effort-- Arthur believes.

Morgana has all but welcomed him back, and given his knights a home under her crest. The other day, he spied a sly smile as she’d spoken with Gwen. But Merlin drives her to rage in an instant.

Now Arthur believes why.

Gwen works closely with Ulrich, and together they get the border region enough to last the winter and then some. Ulrich is pleasant enough, and dedicated to his work, and Gwen enjoys it as well, but-- she misses maid’s work.

Oh, she doesn’t miss the aches and pains, or the sheer drudgery that sometimes filled her days.

What she misses is the intimacy. She misses being relied upon, knowing that someone would miss her if she failed to report to her duties.

She misses Morgana.

As things fall even with Arthur and his knights, Gwen finds the path back to her friend smooths as well. She may no longer be her maidservant, but Morgana doesn’t turn her away the first morning Gwen appears at her door with breakfast in hand, nor any of the mornings that follow. Little by little, Gwen coaxes small smiles from the Queen, and offers tidbits of food to the dragon that grows by the day. It rarely leaves Morgana’s side, except to fly on warm, clear nights like the night that follows Gwen’s confession to Arthur..

Gwen catches Morgana as she leaves the great hall, and tries not to skip when Morgana lifts her chin in invitation to join her. As usual, Gwen fills the quiet between them with soft chatter. It’s nothing really-- just gossip she’d overheard amongst the other maids who cleaned the fireplace in her bedchambers.

“And it seems Phillip went and proposed to Sal--”

“The same Phillip who was courting Anais?”

Gwen grins at Morgana’s interest. “It would seem neither ladies felt particularly wooed when they discovered the duplicity.”

A dark eyebrow lifts, and for a moment it’s not Queen Morgana of Camelot who walks beside her. That eyebrow is all Lady Morgana, her dearest friend.

The Lady Morgana disappears when the sound of shouting ahead cuts through the quiet.

"--now answer me, Merlin! I won't ask again! Is it true?"

Gwen reaches for Morgana. Whether to hold her in place or drag her away, she doesn't know. But Morgana slips from her grasp when the unmistakable thud of fist hitting flesh precedes the hectic rustle of bodies grappling.

Morgana pauses at the threshold, one hand on the partially closed door, as Merlin is shoved away with a shout.

"You duplicitous bastard!" Arthur growls. "Don't you realize what you've done?!"

"She would have killed us all!

"So instead you killed her?!" An impossible sound escapes Arthur. "You... you are the reason for all of this!"

"I didn't force her to invade Camelot or murder your father! She made her choices--!"

"And you drove her to them! You drove her straight into Morgause's arms."

Arthur's voice strains and cracks. Gwen watches Morgana with her heart lodged in her throat. The Queen stands still as stone, her features equally impassive.

"You know," the former Prince continues, emotion squeezing at his words, "not long before she first disappeared, Morgana saved our father's life from an assassin. She saved him. A part of her loved him, even after he'd thrown her in the dungeons for having the gall to challenge him. And now I wonder if there was a part of her who still loved him that day... a part of her who might have mourned him, had Morgause not taken her away."

Silence stretches for an eternity before a rustle of fabric drifted into the corridor. Gwen knows instinctively that Arthur is wiping his cheeks.

"But because of you we'll never know," Arthur continues, voice like gravel. "And I will never forgive you for that."

"It was her or you! I chose you." The room rings with Merlin's truth, even aa Arthur's bootsteps click towards the door. "I always have--!"

The door swings open and Arthur steps through, slamming the door behind him. He freezes at the sight of them.

None of them move for a long moment, until Arthur meets his sister's gaze.

"Morgana, I--" He reaches for her, but an invisible force shoves him away. Morgana staggers a step back, eyes wide.

Gwen realizes that the shadow in them is fear.

"Excuse me, your Majesty?"

A young serving girl speaks up from behind, making all three of them jump. She curtsies when they turn to her.

"Lord Bayard has requested an audience. He awaits your convenience in the council chambers."

With an audible swallow, Morgana forces a smile. "Thank you, Amelia."

Amelia leaves as swiftly as she arrived. Morgana follows close on her heels, without looking either of them in the eye. Gwen stays behind, and reaches for Arthur's hand.

"I didn't know," he says softly. "I didn't know."

Gwen nods. "I know."

Arthur has never been a particularly skilled obfuscator. His thoughts and emotions played readily on his face, and this time is no different. His eyes shine with tears, and his throat clicks as he swallows.

"He says he chose me," he murmurs. "He chose me."

Bright eyes meet Gwen's, and in them she sees the helplessness of knowing he could have helped, if only he'd known.

"Who ever chose Morgana?"

Later that night, Morgana drifts to Arthur's quarters. He's been his old chambers ever since they cleared out the borderlands, and if not for the heavy weight of emotion pressing against her sternum, Morgana could almost imagine they were still children-- that the intervening years never happened.

But when she knocks on his open door, Arthur bolts upright from his desk, the guilt in his eyes leaves no room for wistful imagination. He waits, allowing her to speak first.

It takes longer than she's proud of, to find the words she needs.

"Gwen told you."

"Don't be angry with her," Arthur says in a low voice. "I hounded her."

Morgana's lips pull involuntarily, and she has to bite them together to keep from letting him see. Her breath shakes when she inhales, and she twists her fingers together to hide their tremble.

"I didn't know, Morgana--"

"I hated you. For so long. Because of what you meant to Uther, because it felt as though I fought every day just to survive, while you... you were forgiven every transgression." She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears.

"And I think--" her voice catches. "I think a part of me always wondered if you had... that you had known. Or even ordered him to it--"

"Never!" Arthur steps towards, and this time Morgana doesn't flinch. "I would never-- I didn't know. Please, Morgana... please believe that."

His arms wrap around her before even he seems to realize what he's doing. He always was impulsive. But he doesn't pull away. Morgana's chest clenches, and Morgause's voice in her ear warns her not to trust it, warns her to cling to her precious rage and her fortified walls and shove him away.

But then, louder, she hears the echo of Kara Zorel.

"You always have a choice. It just... has to start somewhere."

Morgana's arms wrap around her brother, and holds tight.

She lets go.

A week later, Morgana comes to Arthur again. This time, with a sheaf of heavy parchment in her hand. She dumps it on his desk in front of him, and Arthur has to fight to keep the smile from his face.

He hasn't spoken to Merlin since that night, but in its place his relationship with Morgana had rekindled-- along with all the childish petulance he remembers.

Only for Arthur-- only between them.

"And what's this?" he asks, sitting back in his seat.

"You could read it, you know," she fires back.

"Or you could just tell me."

Morgana arches a single brow, and softens into a languid smirk.

"I wish to make you my heir."

Arthur's ears hollow out for several long moments.

"Excuse me?"

"I wish to make you my heir."

"No, I heard that part. I just missed the part where you lost your mind." He leans forward in his seat. "You do remember you stole the throne from me, don't you ?"

"And here I'm promising to give it back... eventually."

"What's to say I won't just take it when you're not looking?"

Morgana purses her lips, entirely unconcerned. "And spark another civil war? We're just getting over the last one..."

Finally, Arthur allows himself to break into a grin. "Why?"

For moment it seems Morgana doesn't seem willing to share. But then she relents with a huff. "Apparently my lack of progeny has prospective allies concerned that a relationship with Camelot won't survive my reign. Bayard has informed me a marriage would do well to assuage them, but I'm not interested in tethering myself to whatever sycophant the court approves of, so--"

Dark eyebrows shrug, and she tilts her head expectantly.

Despite his smile, there's a kernel of desire in his teasing. Part of him wants the throne, badly enough to consider taking it by force. He was born for it, raised from birth to be king. It should be his. He is the rightful king.

He's just not the right king.

Perhaps, once upon a time, he would have been. When his father died and the land was in turmoil, Arthur's experience on the battlefield would have made him the perfect king to bring the kingdom back under control.

Now, though... Camelot prospers under Morgana. Her hands had gentled on the reins, allowing the kingdom room to breathe and change and grow. She's enacted social programs that Arthur never would have even thought of.

However she came to throne, Morgana is the ruler that Camelot needs now.

And Arthur?

King or no, he was born to serve Camelot.

"I accept."