x-dark-whimsy-x

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

The Sundered Soul, Chapter 3

HUGE thanks to my new beta reader, @sanniefern (https://www.tumblr.com/sanniefern) who not only helped me polish the writing, but caught a few glaring plot holes. <3

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The Sundered Soul

Chapter 3: Revelation

Dawn came gently to the druid camp, filtered through leaves into dappled gold that painted the canvas walls in shifting patterns. Arthur woke to find Merlin exactly as he'd left him - standing guard, empty eyes fixed on the tent entrance with unwavering precision. The sight hit him like a physical blow, this mockery of devotion without the warmth that made it real. Each morning brought the same cruel reminder: Merlin's body lived, but the man Arthur --

Arthur cut off that thought before it could form completely. Hope was a luxury he couldn't afford to lose, not when they were so close to answers.

"Did you stand there all night?" Arthur asked, though the tightness in his chest already knew the answer. The question was becoming ritual, a desperate attempt to provoke some spark of the old Merlin who would have rolled his eyes and made some sarcastic comment about Arthur's sleeping habits.

"Yes. No threats arose."

The clinical response made Arthur's hands clench involuntarily. No threats arose. As if Arthur were just another assignment, another duty to discharge with emotionless efficiency. He rose stiffly, muscles protesting their night on the hard ground, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his chest.

Outside, the camp was already alive with quiet activity. Druids moved with practiced efficiency, preparing for the day ahead with the sort of purposeful grace that spoke of lives lived close to the earth's rhythms. Several paused to bow as Arthur passed, and it took him a moment to realize they weren't acknowledging him - their reverence was directed at Merlin. Or at what Merlin represented to them, this empty vessel carrying the legend of Emrys.

Arthur's jaw tightened. They saw power, prophecy, destiny. He saw his friend disappearing by degrees, fading like morning mist with each passing hour.

He found his companions gathered around a morning fire, their faces bearing the particular strain of people trying to maintain normalcy in abnormal circumstances. Gwaine's usual irreverent commentary was notably absent, his attention fixed on sharpening a blade that didn't need it. Leon studied a rough map with the intensity of a man seeking distraction in familiar tasks, while Lancelot sat beside Gwen, ready to offer comfort at a moment's notice.

"Sleep well?" Gwen asked as Arthur approached, offering him bread and cheese with the sort of gentle insistence he'd learned not to argue with. Her eyes, however, studied his face with the penetrating attention of someone cataloguing exhaustion and finding too much for her liking.

"Well enough." The lie came easily - too easily. Arthur accepted the food gratefully, though his stomach churned with the familiar anxiety that had become his constant companion. How many mornings did they have left? The priestess spoke of “complications” that might arise the longer Merlin’s body, animated by his magic, was separated from his soul.

"What's our path?" Arthur asked, needing the comfort of concrete plans, actionable steps toward salvation.

Iseldir traced a route on the map with one weathered finger, his movements deliberate and sure. "North through the forest to the valley's edge. The land grows wild there, touched by old magic that remembers when the world was young. You'll know you're close when the trees begin to whisper."

"Whisper?" Gwaine asked, his skepticism a welcome return to normalcy. Arthur felt something in his chest ease slightly at the familiar note of irreverence in his friend's voice.

"The boundary between worlds grows thin near the cave. Past and present blur together. The trees remember what was and speak of what might be." Iseldir's expression carried the weight of ancient warnings. "Don't listen too closely. Madness lies down that path."

"Wonderful," Gwaine muttered, but Arthur caught the way his hand unconsciously checked his sword's placement. "Whispering trees and madness. Just another Tuesday in our lives."

Despite the levity, Arthur could see the tension gathering in his friend's shoulders like storm clouds. They all understood the stakes now, the terrible arithmetic of love and loss that had brought them to this desperate gamble. The knowledge sat heavy between them, unspoken but understood: if they failed here, there would be no other chances.

"We've prepared supplies," Iseldir continued, his voice carrying the gentle authority of age and wisdom. "Food for five days, water skins, healing draughts. The crystal you seek lies deep within the cave, past trials I cannot predict. Each journey is unique, shaped by the hearts and souls of those who undertake it."

Arthur's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, where the locket rested warm against his skin. Inside, Merlin's soul pulsed with steady light, trapped but alive, waiting. The thought of it - Merlin's essence contained in that small space, perhaps aware, perhaps afraid - made Arthur's breath catch.

"Any advice?" Leon asked, his tactical mind already working through possibilities and contingencies, searching for advantages in the unknown.

"Trust each other. The cave will try to divide you, turn you against yourselves and each other. Remember why you are there." Iseldir's eyes found Arthur with uncomfortable discernment, seeing past careful composure to the raw desperation beneath. "And when the moment comes, don't let fear silence truth."

The words landed like prophecy, heavy with implications Arthur wasn't ready to examine. Fear had been his companion for so long - fear of his father's wrath, fear of magic's corruption, fear of acknowledging what he felt when Merlin smiled at him with that particular warmth reserved only for Arthur. How much had that fear cost them both?

They departed within the hour, the druids gathering to see them off with the solemnity of those witnessing a sacred undertaking. An old woman pressed a charm into Gwen's hand - protection, she said, though against what she didn't specify.

A young boy approached Merlin hesitantly, offering a flower with the sort of innocent generosity that belonged to childhood. When Merlin didn't respond - couldn't respond - the child's face fell. Arthur felt his heart clench as the boy carefully placed the flower in Merlin's belt before scampering away, leaving behind a small gesture of beauty that Merlin couldn't even acknowledge.

"Even they see it," Ceryndra said quietly to Arthur, her voice carrying layers of meaning. "What he was. What he could be again."

Arthur's throat tightened. What he was. As if Merlin were already lost, already past tense rather than present hope. "Then let's not waste time," he replied, his voice rougher than intended as he mounted his horse. The familiar movements felt hollow, mechanical - too much like the emotionless precision that had replaced Merlin's natural grace.

This time, Merlin rode his own mount - Iseldir had insisted, saying the bond between rider and horse might stir something in him, might kindle some spark of the connection that had always existed between Merlin and all living things. So far, Merlin sat the saddle like a statue carved from beautiful marble, perfect in every detail but utterly lifeless. His horse seemed calm beneath him, but Arthur wondered if that was instinct or magic, some unconscious spell that gentled the animal's spirit.

The first day's travel was almost pleasant, if Arthur could ignore the hollow ache in his chest every time he looked at Merlin's still form. The forest paths were clear, the weather mild with the sort of perfect conditions that would have made Arthur suspect magical intervention in other circumstances. They made good time, stopping only to rest the horses and eat meals that Arthur couldn’t taste.

Conversation flowed easier than it had in days, as if distance from immediate crisis allowed them to breathe, to pretend for precious moments that this was just another quest, another adventure in the long catalog of dangers they'd faced together. Arthur found himself clinging to that illusion with desperate gratitude.

"Remember that time with the whisht hound?" Gwaine was saying, his voice carrying forced cheer that didn't quite hide the worry in his eyes. 

Elyan shuddered. “Don’t remind me. That thing was creepy. Big black dog with no head. How does something like that even exist?"

“And yet Merlin here threw himself between Arthur and those claws without even blinking,” Gwaine continued. “Stupidest, bravest thing I'd ever seen."

Arthur's chest tightened with memory - not just of the whisht hound’s attack, but of the moment afterward when he'd realized how close he'd come to losing Merlin, how the thought had terrified him in ways he'd refused to examine. "Stupidly brave," he agreed, glancing at Merlin's empty profile. "I yelled at him for that."

"You always yell when he saves your life," Gwen pointed out with gentle amusement that carried undertones of deeper understanding. "It's your way of showing affection."

Heat crept up Arthur's neck. Was he really so transparent? Had everyone seen what he'd been so determined to hide from himself? "I do not - "

"'Merlin, you idiot, you could have been killed!'" Gwaine mimicked Arthur's voice with painful accuracy, complete with a  note of barely controlled panic that Arthur remembered all too well. "'Don't ever do that again!' Meanwhile, we're all taking bets on how long before he does exactly that again."

"Usually within the week," Lancelot added with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. His tone was fond but tinged with the sort of worry that came from loving someone who considered his own life expendable.

Arthur felt something twist in his chest - not jealousy, but a sharp recognition of how many people had seen what he'd been too blind to acknowledge. They were trying to cheer him, he realized. Reminding him of better times, of the bond that had existed before everything went wrong, before magical artifacts and stolen souls and desperate quests through enchanted forests.

He appreciated the effort, even as it made his chest ache with longing for those simpler days when his biggest worry had been whether Merlin would remember to polish his armor properly, not whether the man he -

Arthur cut off that thought with practiced ruthlessness. Not yet. Not until Merlin was truly back, truly himself again.

As afternoon wore toward evening, the forest began to change around them like a living thing shifting in its sleep. The trees grew older, their trunks more gnarled, twisted, with faces in the bark, watching eyes in the pattern of leaves. Moss hung like curtains from ancient branches, creating a cathedral-like atmosphere that made their voices sound hushed and reverent. The very air felt heavier, charged with the sort of possibility that made the small hairs on Arthur's arms stand on end.

"We're close to the border," Ceryndra announced, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had walked between worlds before. "Between the mortal realm and the domain of pure magic."

Arthur frowned, trying to understand the distinction. "I thought magic was everywhere."

"It is. But in some places, it pools like water in a basin." She reined in her horse, studying the path ahead with the careful attention of someone reading invisible signs. "The valley ahead is one such place - a pocket where the old laws still hold sway, where power runs so deep it shapes reality itself."

Something cold settled in Arthur's stomach. If magic was stronger there, what did that mean for Merlin? Would it help or hinder their quest? Would it strengthen the bonds holding his body together, or would it tear him apart entirely?

"From here, I cannot follow," Ceryndra continued, and Arthur felt panic spike in his chest before she raised a reassuring hand. "Or rather, I could, but I would only find a mundane valley, a trick of geography and stone. The true valley admits only those who seek with pure intent, not those who merely accompany."

"You're leaving?" Gwen asked, voicing the concern Arthur felt but couldn't articulate past the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Waiting," Ceryndra corrected gently. "We'll make camp here, maintain a beacon for your return. The old roads can be treacherous to navigate alone - you'll need a light to guide you home."

Her companions were already dismounting, beginning to set up camp with the practiced efficiency of people accustomed to making temporary homes in wild places. Arthur watched them work and felt the weight of isolation settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. Soon, it would be just the seven of them - eight, if you counted the hollow shell wearing Merlin's face - alone in a realm where magic reigned supreme.

Ceryndra approached Arthur, her voice dropping to a private murmur. "Remember what I said. The valley and cave will test you, but the greatest test waits at the end. Half-truths and noble lies won't serve when the moment comes. Only absolute honesty can call a soul back from the edge of Avalon."

Arthur's hands tightened on his reins. The locket pulsed against his chest, warm and insistent, as if Merlin's soul could sense his growing anxiety. "I understand," he said, though understanding and doing were vastly different things. How did one tear down walls built over a lifetime? How did one speak truths that felt too vast, too dangerous for words?

"Do you?" Ceryndra studied him with those too-knowing eyes. "The cave will demand you tear down every defense, leave yourself utterly exposed. Are you prepared for that vulnerability?"

Arthur's throat went dry. The thought of stripping away every careful pretense, every shield he'd erected against feelings too dangerous to acknowledge, made him feel sick with terror. But Merlin's life hung in the balance - what was personal embarrassment against that? "For Merlin? Yes."

"Good." She stepped back, though her expression remained doubtful. "May the old gods guide your steps, Arthur Pendragon. Bring our Emrys home to us."

They left the sorcerers behind, pressing deeper into the forest as shadows lengthened around them like grasping fingers. The change was gradual but unmistakable - sounds grew muffled as if the very air had thickened, colors became more vivid yet somehow unreal, and Arthur felt pressure building behind his eyes like the approach of a storm.

Then, between one breath and the next, they crossed the boundary.

Arthur felt it like a physical sensation, pressure popping in his ears with an almost audible snap. His horse whinnied nervously, dancing sideways with wide eyes, and Arthur had to soothe it with gentle words and steady hands. Around them, the forest had transformed completely, leaving behind any pretense of the natural world Arthur knew.

The trees were ancient beyond measure, their trunks so vast it would take a dozen men holding hands to circle them. Their bark was silver-white in the eternal twilight, marked with spiral patterns that seemed to shift when Arthur wasn't looking directly at them. Light filtered through leaves that seemed to glow with inner radiance, casting everything in shades of gold and green that had no names in mortal tongues.

And there - soft at first, then growing clearer like voices carried on wind - the whispers.

Turn back, young king. This path leads only to heartbreak and pain.

He's already lost to you. Why suffer for nothing but inevitable failure?

Your father was right about magic. It corrupts all it touches, even love.

Arthur gritted his teeth, focusing on the path ahead with desperate determination. The whispers felt like ice water in his veins, playing on every fear he'd harbored since this nightmare began. "Don't listen," he called to the others, his voice sounding thin and strained in the otherworldly air. "It's trying to discourage us, turn us back before we can reach the cave."

"Easier said than done," Gwaine replied tightly, his usual humor completely absent. His face was pale, jaw clenched with whatever the whispers were telling him - probably cruel truths about his past, his failures, his fears of never being good enough for the family he'd found in Arthur's court.

They pushed on, following a path that seemed to exist more in feeling than sight, guided by instincts none of them fully understood. Everything had an eternal quality, neither day nor night but something caught between the two, beautiful and terrible in its alien perfection.

Arthur found himself hyperaware of every sound, every shift in the otherworldly atmosphere. Behind him, Merlin rode in perfect silence, no complaints about the supernatural cold that made Arthur's breath mist, no observations about their strange surroundings. The absence of Merlin's voice - his questions, his wonder, his terrible jokes designed to lighten tension - felt like a wound that wouldn't heal.

"There," Leon said suddenly, pointing ahead with the sort of relief reserved for the end of long marches.

A clearing opened before them, and in its center stood two standing stones, each twice the height of a man and covered in carvings that seemed to writhe in Arthur's peripheral vision. Between them, the air shimmered like heat haze rising from summer stones, though the temperature here was cool enough to raise gooseflesh on Arthur's arms.

"A gateway?" Lancelot asked, his tactical mind already assessing the structure for potential threats.

"The entrance to the true Valley of the Fallen Kings," Merlin said, making everyone jump with the unexpectedness of his voice. It was the first time he'd spoken without direct question since they'd entered this realm, and Arthur felt his heart leap with desperate hope. "Beyond lies Tŷr Profedigaeth."

Arthur twisted in his saddle to stare at his friend - at the empty shell wearing his friend's face. "How do you know that?" The demand came out sharper than intended, edged with the sort of desperate hope that felt dangerous to acknowledge.

"I..." Merlin's brow furrowed slightly, the first expression Arthur had seen from him in days. The sight was so achingly familiar that Arthur's chest tightened with longing. "I don't know. The knowledge is simply there, as if it's been waiting for me to remember."

Hope flared in Arthur's chest like a struck flame, bright and warming and almost too precious to bear. Was Merlin fighting through whatever bound him? Was his soul somehow communicating with his magic-sustained body across the barrier of the stone's imprisonment?

Or was he simply finding a connection where none existed, out of foolishness and desperation?

They dismounted, approaching the stones with the caution of soldiers entering unknown territory. Up close, Arthur could see the carvings more clearly - symbols that seemed to shift and change when he wasn't looking directly at them, depicting scenes of triumph and tragedy, love and loss, the eternal cycle of mortal ambition and divine consequence.

"We'll need to leave the horses," Gwen said with practical authority, already moving to secure their mounts. "They won't cross that threshold - look at them."

She was right. The animals grew increasingly agitated the closer they got to the gateway, rolling their eyes and dancing away from the shimmering air with the sort of primal fear that spoke to instincts older than human civilization. They secured them as best they could with rope and whispered reassurances, hoping the magic of this place would protect them from whatever predators might roam these ancient woods.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, looking at each of his companions in turn. He saw his own mixture of determination and terror reflected in their faces - the knowledge that they stood on the threshold of something that might change them all irrevocably.

"No," Gwaine said with forced cheerfulness that couldn't quite hide the tremor in his voice. "But when has that ever stopped us from doing something spectacularly stupid?"

Together, they stepped through the gateway.

The world lurched violently, reality twisting around Arthur like fabric caught in a hurricane. His stomach rebelled as up became down and inside became out, every sense screaming conflicting information. For a moment that lasted eternity, he was everywhere and nowhere, scattered across infinite possibilities like seeds on wind. He could see every path his life might have taken, every choice that had led him here, every future that branched out from this single moment of crossing -

Then his feet hit solid ground with jarring suddenness, and he gasped, falling to his knees as his body tried to remember how to exist in linear time and space.

They were in a valley, but no valley that should exist in any sane world. The sky above was a swirl of colors that had no names in any human tongue - purple and gold and silver all twisted together in patterns that made Arthur's eyes water to perceive directly. Stars were visible despite the ambient light, wheeling in constellations that belonged to no earthly heaven. In the distance, mountains rose impossibly high, their peaks lost in clouds that moved too fast to be natural, casting shadows that defied the positions of the alien suns.

And scattered throughout the valley floor like a vast cemetery, statues. Hundreds of them, thousands, each depicting a warrior in armor from ages past. The Fallen Kings of legend, turned to stone for their hubris in challenging the old gods, their frozen forms a warning to all who would seek power beyond mortal ken.

"Well," Gwaine said weakly, having found his feet with the careful movements of someone testing whether his body still obeyed natural laws. "That was thoroughly unpleasant."

Arthur watched Lancelot help Gwen up, then turned to check on the others with the automatic concern of a leader responsible for his people's welfare. Leon and Percival looked green around the edges but stable, their soldier's training keeping them functional despite the supernatural assault on his senses. Elyan was already studying their surroundings with tactical interest, cataloguing threats and advantages with the methodical precision Arthur had come to rely on. And Merlin...

Merlin stood perfectly still in the alien twilight, but tears were streaming down his face in silver tracks that caught the otherworldly light.

Arthur's heart clenched with sudden terror. "Merlin?" He moved to his friend quickly, hands hovering over him without quite daring to touch. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I feel them," Merlin whispered, and his voice held a shadow of its old emotion - not the mechanical precision of the past days, but something raw and anguished that sounded almost human. "All of them. The kings, the warriors. Centuries of pride and pain, frozen in stone but still aware. They're still conscious, still suffering after all these years."

Arthur's blood ran cold. The thought of being trapped in stone for centuries, aware but unable to move, unable to speak, unable to die - it was a horror beyond imagination. "Block it out," he ordered, alarmed by the anguish bleeding through this Merlin's usual emotional void. "Don't listen to them. Don't let them in."

"I can't." Merlin's hands clenched at his sides, and Arthur could see him trembling with the effort of containing whatever he was experiencing. "They're so loud, so desperate. They want release. They want - " He cut off abruptly, his eyes flashing gold with power that made the air around them crackle.

The nearest statue cracked with a sound like breaking bones, stone falling away in great chunks to reveal - nothing. Empty space where a body should have been, a hollow shell that had once contained a soul. The actual person had fled long ago, leaving behind only the punishment, the prison of stone that had outlasted its prisoner.

"Merlin, stop," Arthur commanded, grabbing his friend's shoulders without thinking. "Whatever you’re doing, you can’t-- This is hurting you!"

Merlin shuddered under his hands, the gold blazing from his eyes fading like dying embers until, once again, only his irises glowed gold. The tears remained, but his expression smoothed back toward the terrible emptiness that had become so familiar.

"I apologize," Merlin said in that flat, toneless voice that made Arthur's soul ache. "Emotional bleed-through from residual memories. It won't happen again."

"No," Arthur said fiercely, his hands tightening on Merlin's shoulders. The contact felt electric, the first real response he'd gotten from his friend since the soul-stone had stolen him away. "Don't apologize for feeling. It… it could mean that you're still in there somewhere, still fighting to get back to us."

Merlin tilted his head with that particular gesture Arthur knew so well, but his eyes remained empty. "I am not fighting anything. There is nothing to fight."

Arthur wanted to argue, wanted to shake sense into him, wanted to demand that Merlin stop hiding behind magical precision and acknowledge what he knew to be true -- but in reality, he knew no such thing.

Gwen's gentle touch on his arm reminded him where they were, what they were trying to accomplish. "The cave," she said quietly, her voice carrying the practical authority that had kept them all grounded through countless crises. "We need to keep moving. This place... it's already working on us."

She was right, Arthur realized with growing unease. The whispers were louder here, not from trees but from the stones themselves, each fallen king contributing to a chorus of lament and warning that threatened to drive them mad with its intensity. Each frozen warrior had a story, a reason they'd fallen, a warning for those foolish enough to follow in their footsteps. The accumulated weight of centuries of failure pressed down on Arthur's shoulders like a physical burden.

They picked their way through the statue field with careful steps, trying not to look too closely at the frozen faces twisted in expressions of eternal anguish. Some had died reaching for the sky, arms extended in supplication that had gone forever unanswered. Others knelt in positions of worship or submission, their stone eyes fixed on distant heavens that offered no mercy. All had challenged powers beyond mortal comprehension and paid the ultimate price - not death, which would have been mercy, but endless awareness trapped in unmoving stone.

"Cheerful place," Gwaine muttered, his usual irreverence strained thin by the oppressive atmosphere. "Really lifts the spirits and fills one with confidence about our chances."

Arthur might have smiled at the familiar sarcasm in other circumstances, but here, surrounded by the monuments to countless failures, Gwaine's words felt more like prophecy than humor. How many heroes had walked this path before them? How many had been certain they would succeed where others had failed?

"There," Lancelot pointed ahead with relief that Arthur shared. "The cave entrance."

It was impossible to miss once they saw it - a great maw in the mountainside that seemed to swallow light itself, darkness so complete it appeared solid. Above it, carved in stone that glowed with inner radiance, symbols that hurt to perceive directly, as if mortal eyes weren't meant to comprehend their meaning.

Leon squinted at the glowing script, and somehow - though how he could decipher alien symbols, Arthur didn't know - he read aloud: "Tŷr Profedigaeth. House of Trials. Where sight meets truth and hearts are laid bare for judgment."

"Poetic," Gwaine said, his voice carrying a forced lightness that fooled no one. "Also ominous as hell."

They paused at the threshold, gathering courage that felt as fragile as spun glass. The darkness within wasn't natural - it swallowed light greedily, consuming it like a living thing. Arthur could feel it pulling at something inside him, hungry and patient and utterly alien. This was the moment of no return, the point where they committed themselves fully to a path that might lead to salvation or destruction.

"Whatever happens in there," Arthur said, his voice carrying the authority of absolute command, "we stay together. No one faces this alone, no matter what the cave tries to do to divide us."

"Together," the others echoed, even Merlin in his flat, emotionless voice. But something in the way he said it - a slight emphasis, perhaps, or a fleeting expression Arthur might have imagined - suggested that some part of him understood the importance of that vow.

They entered as one, stepping from impossible otherworldly light into impossible all-consuming dark.

For a moment that stretched like eternity, Arthur was blind, his eyes struggling to process the absolute absence of illumination. Then, gradually his vision adjusted to reveal their surroundings.

They stood in a vast chamber that defied architectural logic, so large the walls were lost in shadow, the ceiling invisible somewhere in the darkness above. The floor was smooth stone worn by ages of pilgrims or prisoners, polished to mirror brightness by countless footsteps. The air itself seemed to hum with power, charged with the sort of potential that made Arthur's skin crawl with anticipation.

In the center of the chamber stood a solitary figure.

Arthur's hand went instinctively to his sword, but the figure didn't move or acknowledge their presence. As they approached cautiously, weapons ready, Arthur saw why - it was another statue, but unlike those scattered throughout the valley outside. This one was perfect in every detail, so lifelike it seemed ready to draw breath and speak, crafted with such skill that Arthur could see individual hairs carved into the stone beard, the texture of fabric rendered in living rock.

The statue depicted a knight in ancient armor, one hand extended as if reaching desperately for something just beyond his grasp. His face was young and handsome but twisted with desperate hope and dawning despair - the expression of someone who had gambled everything on a single throw of fate's dice and watched it come up short.

"Don't touch it," Gwen warned as Gwaine leaned closer with the sort of curiosity that had gotten them all in trouble countless times before.

Too late. Gwaine's finger brushed the outstretched stone hand with barely a whisper of contact.

The statue's eyes opened.

Everyone jumped back, weapons drawn in a ringing chorus of steel, but the figure - man? statue? something between the two? - didn't move beyond turning his head to track their movement with eyes that held terrible awareness.

"Finally," he said, his voice rusty with disuse, cracking like old parchment. "Someone has come at last. Please, you must help me. I've been here so long, so very long, and the silence... the endless silence..."

Arthur's throat went dry. This was no statue, no carved memorial to ancient failure. This was a man, somehow still alive after gods knew how many years, trapped between stone and flesh in a hell Arthur couldn't begin to imagine.

"You're alive?" Arthur asked, though the evidence was undeniable.

"Am I?" The man looked down at himself with dawning horror, as if seeing his condition clearly for the first time in centuries. "I can't... I can't move below the neck. Can't feel anything except the cold of stone. But I think, I remember, I speak. What manner of existence is this? What have I become?"

The anguish in his voice was so raw, so human, that Arthur felt his chest tighten with sympathetic pain. This was what failure meant here - not clean death, but endless consciousness trapped in unresponsive flesh, aware but helpless for all eternity.

"Who are you?" Leon demanded, his knight’s training keeping him focused on practical matters even in the face of supernatural horror. "How did you come to be in this state?"

"I am - was - Sir Einar," the man replied. "I came to Tŷr Profedigaeth seeking the Crystal of Restoration to save my beloved from a curse that was slowly killing her. But the cave... it tested me and found me wanting in every possible way."

His stone eyes fixed on them with desperate intensity. "It will test you too, judge you as it judged me. Turn back while you still can, while you still have the freedom to choose retreat over damnation."

Arthur felt cold settle in his stomach, but he pushed it aside with practiced determination. "We can't turn back. Someone we care about depends on us reaching that crystal."

"Ah." Einar's expression shifted, understanding and infinite pity mingling in his immobile features. "Love drives you here, as it drove me to this fate. Then you're already lost, as I was lost. The cave feeds on love, you see - twists it, corrupts it, uses your deepest feelings as weapons against you."

The words confirmed fears Arthur barely dared acknowledge. But he forced himself to stand straighter, to project confidence he didn't feel. They'd come too far to turn back now, invested too much hope and desperation to give up at the first warning.

"What happened to you?" Gwen asked gently, her voice carrying the sort of compassion that had always been her greatest strength. "What trial broke you?"

Einar was quiet for a long moment, his stone eyes distant with memory and regret. "The first trial - the Mirror of Truth. It showed me myself as I truly was, all my failures and fears and petty cruelties laid bare without mercy or concealment. I couldn't face it, couldn't accept what I saw reflected there. I tried to look away, to deny what the mirror revealed."

He laughed, the sound bitter as winter wind. "The cave doesn't forgive cowardice or self-deception. It gave me eternity to contemplate my shortcomings, to understand exactly what I had refused to see. Every day for centuries uncounted, I've stared into that mirror's truth, and every day I've wished I'd had the courage to accept it when acceptance might have saved me."

Arthur's hands clenched unconsciously. How much truth could he bear to see? How many of his own failures and fears could he acknowledge without breaking under their weight?

"How do we avoid your fate?" Arthur pressed, needing practical answers to counter the growing dread in his chest.

"Face whatever it shows you, no matter how painful," Einar said with the authority of hard-won wisdom. "Accept it completely, without reservation or excuse. Denial leads to this - " He gestured at his frozen form with his eyes, the only part of him that could still move. " - and there are fates worse than death, as I've learned through centuries of bitter experience."

He paused, his gaze moving between them with growing urgency. "And trust each other without reservation. I came alone, too proud to share my burden, too convinced that love meant protecting her from the truth of what I was. Don't repeat my mistakes. Secrets and shame are the cave's greatest allies."

Arthur felt those words settle into his bones like lead. Secrets and shame - hadn't those been his constant companions for years? The secret of what he felt for Merlin, the shame of desires that defied his father's teachings and the expectations of his crown?

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Lancelot asked, his voice carrying the sort of gentle honor that had always defined him.

Einar was quiet for a long moment, his stone eyes reflecting something that might have been peace. "Remember me," he said finally, the words carrying the weight of a dying man's last request. "Remember that love without courage is just another chain that binds us to failure. Remember that the greatest enemy of truth is not lies, but the comfortable half-truths we tell ourselves to avoid pain."

His gaze found Arthur specifically, boring into him with uncomfortable intensity. "And remember, young king, that the heart knows what the mind refuses to acknowledge. Don't wait for certainty - it never comes. Trust what you feel, even when it terrifies you."

The words hit Arthur like arrows, each one finding its mark in the carefully guarded places of his heart. How had this ancient knight seen so clearly into his soul? How had he identified the exact fears that kept Arthur awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about blue eyes and crooked smiles?

"Now go," Einar continued, his voice growing stronger with purpose. "The crystal waits deeper still, and the cave grows hungry for new souls to test. Don't let my failure become your own."

They left him there, stone eyes following their movement with an expression of desperate hope. The encounter had sobered them all - a stark reminder of the price of failure, of what awaited those who lacked the courage to face their deepest truths. Arthur felt the weight of that knowledge settle on his shoulders like a mantle, heavy with responsibility and fear.

Beyond the entry chamber, four passages branched off into darkness that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent life. Above each archway, more of those painful symbols glowed with cold fire, their meaning somehow penetrating Arthur's consciousness without translation.

"Truth, Courage, Honor, Compassion," Merlin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "Four trials. We must pass all four to reach the crystal chamber."

Arthur felt a spark of hope at the unprompted response. "Can we take them together? Stay united as we promised?"

Merlin studied the passages with those empty golden eyes, his head tilted in that familiar gesture of concentration. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw something flicker in those depths - a shadow of the brilliant mind that had always been Merlin's greatest gift.

"No," Merlin said finally. "The magic is specific, designed for precise balance. Two for each path. The power within this cave has seen us, it knows us, and has created trials to test us in pairs." The gold in his eyes flared brighter for a moment. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?" Arthur asked, heart clenching with dread. Splitting up felt like betrayal of their promise, like abandoning each other when unity was their greatest strength. But if the cave's magic demanded it...

"Under previous circumstances, those who entered the cave were tested alone, one path for each person," Merlin said, looking at the four paths. "But it seems that the power here senses that I will not leave you, and to maintain balance, it has allowed for the other trials to be done in pairs."

Arthur's chest tightened with a mixture of relief and terror at Merlin's words. Having Merlin beside him felt like armor against the unknown, but it also meant facing whatever trials awaited with the constant reminder of what he stood to lose forever.

"Fine," he managed, his voice rougher than intended. "But for the others, who will pair with whom, and for which trial?"

"You and I will walk the Path of Truth," Merlin said, then turned to the others. "Guinevere and Lancelot shall take the Path of Courage."

“Courage?” Gwen's face tightened with worry, and Lancelot took her hand as she seemed to instinctively reach for him.

Merlin nodded and continued, "Leon and Percival shall take the Path of Honor."

Leon straightened unconsciously, his soldier's bearing asserting itself. "Honor. Yes, that... makes sense." There was relief in his voice, as if this were familiar territory he could navigate.

Percival shook his head grimly beside him. "Perhaps, but honor is not always as clear-cut as we'd like to believe."

"And Elyan and Gwaine shall take-"

"Path of Compassion, got it," Gwaine said, his easy smile strained thin by the oppressive atmosphere. "And how about we try not to get turned to stone like our friend back there, yeah? I'd hate to have to explain to Gaius how we lost his favorite patient to artistic ambitions."

The attempted humor fell flat in the charged air, but Arthur appreciated the effort. "Same to you. All of you - remember what Einar said. Face whatever you see. Accept it. And trust each other."

They turned toward their respective passages with the grim determination of soldiers selecting their battlefields, but as his friends began to move toward their respective trials, Arthur felt panic spike in his chest. Once they crossed those thresholds, there would be no turning back, no way to help each other if things went wrong.

"Wait," Arthur said. The weight of separation pressed down on him like a physical thing. "Before we go… Merlin's soul depends on all of us succeeding. Not just surviving, but truly passing these trials."

The group turned back, forming an instinctive circle in the center of the chamber. Even Merlin seemed more present, his empty eyes focusing on each of them in turn.

"We've faced worse odds," Leon said with quiet conviction, though his hand rested unconsciously on his sword hilt.

"Have we?" Elyan asked, and there was no humor in his voice. "This isn't bandits or sorcerers we can fight. This is... ourselves. Our deepest fears, our worst failures."

"Which is exactly why we'll succeed," Gwen said firmly, reaching out to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. "Because we know what we're fighting for. Not just Merlin's soul, but each other. All of us."

Gwaine's grin was subdued but genuine. "Besides, we're far too stubborn to let a magical cave get the better of us. Right, Elyan?"

"Right," Elyan agreed, bumping shoulders with his partner. "Compassion trial. How hard can it be?"

"Famous last words," Percival muttered, but there was affection in his tone.

Lancelot stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of formal oath. "Whatever we face in there, we face knowing that failure means losing him forever." His eyes found Merlin's empty gaze. "That's not acceptable."

"Together, even when apart," Arthur said, the words feeling like both prayer and promise. "We'll see each other on the other side."

"All of us," Gwen added, looking meaningfully at Merlin. "Every single one of us."

They clasped hands briefly—seven of them connected in a chain of determination and desperate hope, while Merlin stared at the gestures, as if uncomprehending. Then, with reluctance that felt like tearing, they separated toward their trials, each pair disappearing into darkness that swallowed them completely.

Arthur paused at the threshold of Truth, Merlin silent beside him, and whispered, "Forward. For Merlin."

As they crossed the threshold, Arthur felt the magic seal behind them like a door slamming shut. No turning back now - only forward, into whatever hell the cave had prepared for them.

The passage was narrow, walls pressing close enough that Arthur could have touched both sides with outstretched arms. Their footsteps echoed strangely, sometimes sounding like many feet, sometimes like none at all, as if the cave couldn't decide whether they were real or merely echoes of past travelers. The darkness wasn't complete here - veins of silver in the stone provided dim illumination that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, needing to fill the oppressive silence with something human, something real. "Earlier, with the statues in the valley. You felt something."

"Residual emotional resonance," Merlin replied in that clinical tone. "The echo of their pain registered despite my current limitations. An anomaly."

Arthur felt frustration spike in his chest. "That's not what I meant." He stopped walking, turning to face Merlin in the silver-lit darkness. "You cried. You don't cry without feeling something real, something human."

"Merely physiological response to overwhelming stimuli," Merlin said, but there was something in his voice - a slight hesitation, perhaps, or a crack in the perfect emotional void. "It was not indicative of - "

"Stop." Arthur grabbed Merlin's shoulders, desperate to provoke some response, some sign of the man trapped beneath the magical construct. "Just stop with the clinical precision and the emotional void act. I know you're in there somewhere. The real you, not this hollow thing wearing your face."

For a moment - just a moment - Merlin's eyes flickered, blue bleeding through the constant gold like sunlight through storm clouds. His lips parted as if to speak, and Arthur held his breath, hoping against hope for some word of recognition, some acknowledgment of the connection that had always existed between them.

Then the moment passed, and the emptiness returned like a tide washing over sand. "We should continue," Merlin said with that same flat precision. "The trial awaits completion."

Arthur released him, frustration and grief warring in his chest like battling armies. He turned back to the path, trying to swallow the disappointment that threatened to choke him - and found they were no longer in a passage.

They stood in Camelot's throne room, but wrong in every conceivable way. The familiar stones wept blood in steady streams that pooled on the floor like accusations. The windows showed not sky but writhing darkness full of shapes that hurt to perceive directly. And on the throne - the throne Arthur had never dared claim, never felt worthy to occupy - sat his father.

"My son," Uther said, his voice carrying the chill of the grave and the weight of absolute judgment. "Look what you've become. Consorting with sorcerers, protecting magic, betraying everything I taught you from the cradle."

Arthur's throat went dry, but he forced himself to stand straighter. "You're not real. You're just another trial, another test designed to break me."

"Real enough to speak truth you refuse to hear," Uther replied, rising from the blood-soaked throne. With each step, the floor cracked beneath his feet like ice breaking under impossible weight. "I shaped you, molded you from birth to be Camelot's sword against the corruption of magic. And you... you blunt yourself on sentiment and weakness."

Each syllable burned like a brand against his soul, each word finding its mark in the places where Arthur had always doubted himself, even though he knew this wasn’t really his father; even though he knew the real Uther was in Camelot, convalescing under the weight of his broken mind. "I learned to think for myself, to question the hatred you taught me."

"You learned to be weak," Uther countered, his voice rising with the particular fury Arthur remembered from childhood, the rage that had sent him scurrying to hide behind servants' skirts. "You learned to let emotion cloud judgment, to mistake sentiment for wisdom."

Uther began to circle them like a predator stalking prey, his burning eyes lingering on Merlin with disgust so profound it seemed to darken the very air around them. "This... thing... should burn in the courtyard as an example to all who would practice the dark arts. Would burn, if I still ruled with the strength you lack."

Arthur felt his hands clench into fists. "He's not a thing. He's - "

"What?" Uther's laughter was cold and cruel, echoing off the bloody stones like the sound of breaking bones. "Your faithful servant? Your friend? Or something more shameful still, something that makes you weak and foolish, unfit for the crown?"

Heat flooded Arthur's face as if he'd been struck. The accusation hung in the air between them, unspoken but understood, the secret fear that had haunted him for years given voice by the specter of his father's judgment.

"I see how you look at him, boy," Uther continued with merciless precision. "The longing you think you hide, the want that makes you foolish and vulnerable. Unnatural desires, diseased affections that would corrupt everything you touch."

Arthur's breath came short and sharp, panic clawing at his chest. "There's nothing - "

"Lie to me if you must," Uther said with terrible gentleness. "Lie to yourself if it brings comfort. But the cave sees truth, strips away every pretense and defense you've built around your shameful heart."

The air around them shimmered, and suddenly they were surrounded by mirrors - hundreds of them, thousands, each reflecting a different moment when Arthur had watched Merlin with eyes that held too much longing. A thousand stolen glances, lingering looks, moments of wanting he'd refused to acknowledge even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Here was Arthur watching Merlin laugh at something Gwaine had said, his face soft with affection that went far beyond friendship. There was Arthur's hand lingering on Merlin's shoulder longer than necessary, fingers trailing over cloth as if memorizing the shape beneath. Another mirror showed Arthur lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about blue eyes and crooked smiles and the way Merlin said his name like it was something precious.

"This is what you are," Uther spat, his form beginning to change, flesh rotting away to reveal the corpse beneath. "Weak. Corrupt. Ruled by base desires that make you unfit to lead, unworthy of the crown you'll inherit. A king who loves a male sorcerer - what greater perversion could there be?"

The words hit Arthur like arrows, each one finding its mark in the deepest places of his shame. But as he stared at the mirrors, at the evidence of his own heart laid bare, something shifted inside his chest. The panic began to fade, replaced by something else - not acceptance, not yet, but the beginning of understanding.

"No," Arthur said quietly, the word ringing in the chamber like a bell. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Uther's rotting face twisted with fury. "Look at yourself, boy. Look at what you've become."

"I am," Arthur replied, drawing his sword though he knew it was useless here. The familiar weight in his hand gave him strength, reminded him of who he was beyond his father's expectations. "And I see someone who learned that love isn't weakness - you taught me that yourself, in your own twisted way."

Uther's form wavered, surprise flickering across his decaying features.

"You loved Morgana enough to break when she betrayed you," Arthur continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. "You loved my mother enough to detest the very power you once allowed to flourish within Camelot. You taught me that love makes us do impossible things, desperate things."

"And look where love led!" Uther's scream echoed off the mirrors, shattering some of them into glittering fragments. "To madness! To death! To kingdoms burning in the fires of betrayal!"

"To life," Arthur countered, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. "To loyalty that transcends duty. To people worth saving, worth fighting for, worth dying for if necessary."

He looked at Merlin, standing silent through this confrontation like a statue himself, and felt something break open in his chest - not painful, but liberating, like a door long locked finally swinging open.

"You're right," Arthur said, his voice ringing with newfound conviction. "I do love him. Not as a subject loves his king, not as a friend loves a friend, but completely. Utterly. With everything I am and everything I hope to become."

The admission hung in the air like a thunderclap, words that once spoken could never be taken back. Arthur felt exposed, vulnerable, stripped of every defense he'd built around his heart. But also... free. Lighter than he'd felt in years.

"I'm not ashamed of it anymore," he continued, his voice growing stronger. "I can't afford to be. Love isn't the corruption you claimed - it's the only thing that makes any of this worthwhile."

Uther's scream of rage shattered the remaining mirrors, the sound of glass breaking mixing with the wail of a soul denied its victory. The throne room dissolved around them like smoke, the bloody stones and burning windows fading into memory. They were back in the passage, but something fundamental had changed - the weight that had pressed on Arthur's chest for years was gone, replaced by something that felt dangerously like hope.

"You love me," Merlin said quietly, his voice cutting through the sudden silence.

Arthur froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. In the aftermath of the trial, with adrenaline still coursing through his veins and truth still raw on his tongue, he'd forgotten that Merlin had witnessed everything.

"You heard that?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"I hear everything," Merlin replied, but there was something different in his tone - not the flat precision of the past days, but something closer to wonder. "But that statement... it doesn't fit. It… creates patterns I can't follow."

Arthur stared at his friend, searching those golden eyes for any sign of the man he'd lost. "What do you mean?"

Merlin's brow furrowed in that familiar expression of concentration, and Arthur's heart leaped with desperate hope. "I don't understand what it means. But there is something that feels..." He trailed off, looking genuinely confused for the first time since the stone had taken him - confused, but human in his confusion. "When you say those words, something responds. With warmth, recognition. As if part of me remembers what that should mean."

"And what does that tell you?" Arthur pressed, hardly daring to breathe.

"I don't know." Merlin shook his head minutely, the gesture so achingly familiar that Arthur's chest tightened. "We should proceed. The trial is incomplete."

They walked on, but Arthur could feel the change between them like electricity in the air. Something had shifted when he spoke his truth, cracked the metaphorical shell of magical precision that had imprisoned what remained of Merlin's humanity. The question was whether it would be enough to call him home when the time came.

The passage opened into another chamber, this one smaller and filled with soft, golden light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. At the center sat a simple wooden chair, its surface worn smooth by countless years. On the chair rested a crown - not Camelot's crown of state, but something older, simpler, yet infinitely more powerful. A band of silver set with a single red stone that pulsed with inner fire, beautiful and terrible in its simplicity.

"The Crown of the Once and Future King," Merlin said, his voice carrying harmonics that hadn't been there before, layers of meaning that spoke to Arthur's soul. "The symbol of your true destiny, yours to claim if you have the courage to reach for it."

Arthur approached cautiously, every instinct screaming warnings. The crown was beautiful beyond description, and he could feel the power radiating from it in waves - power to protect, power to heal, power to reshape the world according to his vision. Power to keep everyone he loved safe forever.

"It's a trap," he said, though his feet kept moving forward as if drawn by invisible threads.

"Yes," Merlin agreed, moving to stand beside the crown. "But it is also truth. This is what awaits you - kingship beyond what your father ever imagined. Magic and mundane united under your rule, the old ways and the new brought together in perfect harmony. The power to end suffering, to bring peace to every corner of the realm."

Arthur stopped just short of the crown, his hands trembling with the effort of restraint. It would be so easy to reach out, to take what was being offered. With this crown, he could protect everyone. He could change the laws, heal the wounds between magical and non-magical people, create the golden age the prophecies promised.

"What's the catch?" he asked, though he thought he already knew.

"No catch. Only choice." Merlin's voice was different now, layered with power and authority that made the hair on Arthur's arms stand on end. "Take the crown and become what prophecy demands. Unite the lands under your rule, bring peace to the realm, rule with wisdom and strength beyond mortal ken."

Arthur's hand hovered over the crown, so close he could feel its warmth against his palm. "And you?"

"I serve the king, as I always have. As I was always meant to."

The words were spoken with such certainty, such absolute conviction, that they chilled Arthur to the bone. "That's not what I asked." He pulled his hand back, turning to face Merlin fully. "What happens to you if I take this? What happens to the man I - " He swallowed hard. "What happens to Merlin?"

"I become what I was born to be," Merlin replied, his eyes now blazing with golden fire that seemed to burn away every trace of humanity. "Emrys, guardian of the Once and Future King. Your weapon against the darkness, your shield against harm, your tool for remaking the world according to divine will."

Arthur felt ice settle in his veins. "But not Merlin."

"Merlin was a mask," Merlin said with chilling certainty. "A fiction created to hide truth, to allow me to serve in secret. This - " He gestured to himself, power crackling around his fingers like lightning. " - this is truth. This is what I was always meant to become."

Arthur stared at the crown, understanding flooding through him like cold water. This was the real test - not of his worthiness to rule, but of what he would sacrifice for power. Take the crown and gain everything prophecy promised: peace, prosperity, the golden age of legend. But lose the man he loved, watch him disappear into the role of mystical guardian, powerful but no longer human.

"No," Arthur said firmly, stepping back from the crown as if it were a venomous snake.

"No?" Merlin's voice carried surprise, confusion, as if the concept of refusal were beyond his comprehension.

"I don't want Emrys," Arthur said, his voice ringing with absolute conviction. "I don't want a weapon or a mystical guardian or a tool for divine will. I want my friend who makes terrible jokes and trips while carrying my breakfast more often than not. I want the man who argues with me and challenges me and makes me better by refusing to let me settle for less than I can be."

He turned away from the crown, facing Merlin directly. "I want the person who chose to stay in Camelot despite the danger, who chose to hide his power to protect others, who chose to love me despite every reason not to. Keep your prophecy, keep your destiny. I choose Merlin."

The crown flared with blinding light, power screaming through the chamber like a hurricane. When Arthur's vision cleared, it was gone, vanished as if it had never existed. The chamber had transformed as well - they now stood in a corridor of pure crystal, light refracting in impossible patterns that made Arthur's eyes water.

"You rejected destiny," Merlin said, and, again, there was wonder in his voice - real emotion bleeding through the magical precision like water through cracks in stone.

"I rejected a destiny that doesn't include you as you really are," Arthur corrected, his voice rough with emotion. "If I'm meant to be the Once and Future King, it'll happen with you beside me - the real you, not some mystical construct shaped by others' expectations."

Merlin stared at him, and for a moment - a precious, heart-stopping moment - his eyes were fully present, blazing not just with golden power but with human warmth and something that might have been love.

The locket holding Merlin’s soul suddenly felt hot against Arthur’s chest.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, and the name on his lips sounded like a prayer, like coming home. "I - "

Then he swayed, and Arthur lurched forward to catch him, steadying him as his face went pale. When Merlin looked up, the emptiness had returned, but not completely. "We should continue," he said, but his voice lacked its earlier certainty, wavering slightly as if he were struggling to maintain the facade of emotionless efficiency, before it once again fell over his countenance like a shroud. Then, without another word, he straightened and headed toward the end of the corridor.

Arthur fell into step beside him, fear and desperate hope clogging his throat. One hand reached up to press at the locket over his heart. The sudden heat it generated cooled back to normal, and Arthur didn’t have time to ponder what it meant as they exited the corridor and found themselves reunited with the others.

Gwen was supporting Lancelot, who had a gash on his forehead that bled freely, though he seemed more emotionally drained than physically hurt. Leon looked shaken but whole, his armor bearing new dents and scratches, while Percival stood beside him with the careful posture of someone who had questioned everything he thought he knew. Gwaine was grinning, but it didn't reach his eyes, and there were tear tracks on his cheeks he hadn't bothered to wipe away. Elyan's hand rested on his sword hilt with white knuckles, as if he'd been fighting the urge to draw it.

"Fun trials?" Arthur asked, relief flooding through him at seeing them all alive and relatively intact.

"Brilliant," Gwaine said with heavy sarcasm, though his voice carried a rawness that spoke of deeper wounds than physical ones. "Had to forgive the bastard who killed my father. Hardest thing I've ever done."

Elyan nodded grimly beside him. "Same," he said shortly, and Arthur remembered that Uther had been responsible for the death of Elyan and Gwen’s father.

Arthur's throat tightened. He remembered holding his own sword to Uther's throat, how close he'd come to patricide and regicide before Merlin had stopped him with desperate lies about Morgause's conjuring. Even now, Arthur suspected his mother's spirit had been real, that Merlin had sacrificed truth to save Arthur from a choice that would have destroyed him. The fact that Elyan had passed a test Arthur had nearly failed in reality made his admiration for the man deepen considerably.

"We were shown two paths," Gwen added quietly, her arm still around Lancelot's shoulders. "One led to safety but meant abandoning someone in need. The other led toward certain danger to save a stranger."

Lancelot touched the gash on his forehead ruefully. "The courage wasn't in choosing to help. It was in admitting that part of us wanted to take the safe path, and choosing to help anyway."

Leon straightened, though Arthur could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "We were shown a choice—save a village or complete our mission. Both were the 'right' thing to do."

"Turns out honor isn't about following rules," Percival said, his voice carrying hard-won wisdom. "It's about knowing which ones to break when people's lives are at stake."

Arthur felt something ease in his chest at their words—not just relief that they'd survived, but recognition that they'd all grown from their ordeals.

"And you?" Gwaine asked, turning the question back to him.

"Disappointed my father and rejected ultimate power," Arthur replied, trying to match his friend's light tone despite the weight of what he'd just experienced.

"So, Tuesday," Gwaine said, and despite everything, Arthur found himself smiling.

They'd survived the trials, all of them. The cave had tested them and found them... if not worthy, then at least determined enough to continue. Now came the real challenge - the heart of the cave, where the crystal waited and where Arthur would discover if his choices had been enough to save the man he loved.

The chamber had only one other exit - an archway filled with light so pure and brilliant it hurt to perceive directly. Beyond, Arthur could sense something vast and patient and utterly alien, something that had been waiting for them since the moment they'd entered this place.

"The heart of the cave," Gwen said quietly, her voice carrying the sort of awe reserved for the divine. "Where the crystal waits for those brave enough to claim it."

Arthur once again reached for the locket against his chest where Merlin's trapped soul lay waiting. They were so close now - close enough to taste hope like copper in his mouth.

"Together?" Arthur asked, looking at each of his companions, these people who had followed him into hell itself out of love and loyalty.

"Together," they confirmed, even Merlin in his fractured voice.

They stepped through the archway as one, into light that remade the world around them.

The space beyond defied every law of physics Arthur had ever known. It was simultaneously vast and intimate, ancient and newborn, peaceful and terrifying in its alien beauty. At its center, floating in a sphere of impossible brilliance, was the crystal they'd sought - no larger than Arthur's fist, but perfect in its symmetry, its countless facets refracting light in patterns that suggested meanings beyond mortal comprehension.

This wasn't just a crystal, Arthur realized with growing awe. This was crystallized possibility itself, the power to mend what was broken, to bridge the gap between soul and flesh, to make whole what had been sundered.

"Beautiful," Gwen breathed, her voice carrying the wonder of someone witnessing a miracle.

"Dangerous," Leon corrected, ever the pragmatist, though his voice held its own note of reverence.

Both assessments were correct. The crystal sang with promise and threat in equal measure, power that could save or destroy depending on the hearts of those who wielded it.

"So we just... take it?" Gwaine asked, his usual bravado tempered by the overwhelming presence of the crystal's power.

"Nothing here has been that simple," Lancelot pointed out, his words proving prophetic as the light around the crystal pulsed in response to his observation.

A figure materialized from the brilliance - tall and robed, its features shifting between young and ancient, male and female, human and something far more alien. When it spoke, its voice was like crystalline bells ringing in harmony.

"I am the Guardian of this place," it said, power making the air itself vibrate with each word. "You have passed your trials, proven your intent pure and your hearts true. But one final test remains."

Arthur's stomach clenched with dread. "Of course there is," he muttered, echoing Gwaine's earlier sentiment.

The Guardian's attention fixed on Arthur with uncomfortable intensity, as if it could see through flesh and bone to the very essence of his soul. "You seek to mend what was broken by the Stone of Souls. To restore one taken by the depth of his own devotion. This is noble. But all power demands its price."

Arthur straightened, meeting that alien gaze with all the royal authority he could muster. "Name it."

"One must remain to take my place as Guardian of the crystal," the being said with terrible gentleness. "The power you seek cannot exist unprotected - it is too great, too tempting for mortal hearts to resist. Choose who among you will accept eternal vigil in this place."

Silence fell like a stone into still water, the weight of the choice crushing down on them all. Arthur's mind raced, calculating unacceptable losses. He couldn't lose any of them - they were his family, his heart, the people who made life worth living. But to save Merlin...

"I'll stay," Arthur said, the words torn from his throat.

"No." Merlin stepped forward with mechanical precision, his empty eyes fixed on the Guardian. "Unacceptable. Arthur Pendragon is needed in Camelot. The realm requires his leadership. I will remain in his place."

"Absolutely not - " Arthur began, panic clawing at his chest.

“I-“ Lancelot began, before cutting off with a grunt as Gwen elbowed him in the side. He looked at her, as if trying to will her to understand why he should volunteer. “But I –“

“Absolutely not,” Gwen stated. “Unless you think the crystal needs two guardians, because if you stay, I stay.”

"Actually," Gwaine interrupted, his voice carrying forced cheerfulness, "I volunteer for eternal guard duty."

"Gwaine, no - " Percival started, but he waved him off with a crooked grin.

"Think about it," he said, his usual levity masking deeper currents of pain and determination. "I'm not like you lot. No grand destiny, no kingdom depending on me. Just a drunk who's good with a sword and better at getting into trouble. This way, I actually do something that matters for once."

"You matter," Elyan said fiercely. "You matter to all of us. We're not leaving you here."

"Besides," Leon added, his voice rough with emotion, "who would keep Arthur humble without your constant mockery and questionable advice?"

"Valid point," Gwaine conceded with a laugh that didn't quite hide the pain in his eyes.

Leon nodded. “That is why I should – “

"Stop," Arthur said firmly, his voice ringing with royal command. He turned to the Guardian. "There has to be another way. There's always another way."

The Guardian watched their debate with something that might have been amusement, its alien features shifting in patterns that suggested approval. "Interesting," it mused. "Most who come here argue about why they should not be chosen for sacrifice. You compete to see who will make the ultimate gift for the sake of the others."

"Because we're idiots who care about each other," Gwaine said, his voice carrying fondness despite the dire circumstances. "Terrible strategic thinking, really. We should probably work on that."

"Or perfect strategic thinking," the Guardian replied, its form solidifying slightly to reveal features that were unexpectedly kind. "The crystal requires a guardian, this is true. But not necessarily a living one."

It gestured, and from the light stepped a figure Arthur recognized - Sir Einar, but restored, whole, no longer trapped between stone and flesh. His face held peace Arthur had not seen in the chamber below.

"I offer myself freely," Einar said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "I failed my quest, lost my beloved to my own cowardice and pride. Let me earn redemption through service. Let my failure become purpose, my shame become strength."

The Guardian's shifting features solidified into something almost human, and Arthur saw ancient pain in those eyes—the same pain that had marked Einar's stone face. "As I once failed," the Guardian said softly. "As I was given the chance to serve, to find meaning in my shame. The cycle continues, as it must.”

Sir Einar smiled. “I understand.”

“Will you accept this charge, Sir Einar?" the Guardian asked formally. "Will you take my place so that I might finally find the peace I was denied in life?"

"Gladly," Einar replied, turning to Arthur with gratitude shining in his restored eyes. "You showed me kindness when you could have passed by, offered hope when I had none. Let me repay that debt."

The Guardian stepped forward, placing a hand on Einar's shoulder. Light began to flow between them—golden power passing from one to the other like a torch being handed on. "The bargain is struck. The balance is maintained."

As Einar began to glow with the Guardian's power, the ancient being grew translucent, peace settling over his features like a blessing. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice fading like an echo. "At last... at last I can rest."

He dissolved into motes of silver light that drifted upward and vanished, finally free to seek whatever lay beyond. The crystal's light faded, and it dropped gently into Arthur's outstretched hands, warm with life and possibility.

"Go," Einar said, his voice now carrying the harmonic resonance of his new role. "Quickly, before the cave reconsiders its generosity. And Arthur—" He smiled, the expression radiant with hard-won wisdom. "Love is never wasted, even when it comes too late. Don't make my mistakes."

They ran through passages that seemed shorter now, the cave releasing them as if eager to be rid of visitors who had upset its ancient order. The trials were already fading like bad dreams, their power broken by success. They burst into the alien twilight of the valley, gasping in air that tasted of freedom and hope.

"We did it," Gwen laughed, giddy with relief and disbelief. "We actually did it."

"Phase one complete," Arthur corrected, clutching the crystal like a lifeline. "Now we need to get back to the druids, figure out how to use this to free Merlin's soul."

"About that," Merlin said, his voice cutting through their celebration like a blade. "I'm experiencing significant physical distress."

Everyone turned to stare at him in growing alarm. He was pale - paler than usual - and his hands trembled with fine tremors.

"What do you mean, distress?" Arthur demanded, fear spiking in his chest.

"The trials introduced variables I do not comprehend," Merlin replied, his voice losing its empty precision and taking on an almost human quality of confusion. "Emotional resonance, paradoxical directives centered on..." He paused, his golden eyes finding Arthur's face. "You. Your declaration of love has destabilized my purpose."

Arthur's blood turned to ice. "Is that good or bad?"

"I do not know," Merlin admitted, lifting his hand. Arthur saw with horror a small fissure in the skin, golden light bleeding through like cracks in a dam. "But this body is failing. I cannot function with divided purpose."

More cracks appeared as they watched, spreading up Merlin's arms like a spider web of light. He examined them with the detached curiosity of someone observing an interesting phenomenon rather than his own dissolution. “I predict less than two days.”

"Until what?" Arthur asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"Until nothing of this flesh remains,” Merlin said with that same clinical detachment, "and I return to the eternity of land, sea, and sky."

The words shattered something inside Arthur’s chest. "Then we run," he decided, desperation making his voice harsh. "We get back to Iseldir and fix this before - before - "

"Before this body dies and my essence scatters to the four winds," Merlin finished calmly. "Yes. That would be... preferable."

They retrieved their horses - miraculously still where they'd left them, protected by whatever ancient magic governed this place - and rode hard for the boundary between worlds. The whispers tried to slow them, speaking doubts and fears designed to sap their will, but Arthur pushed through on pure determination and the desperate need to save the man he'd finally found the courage to love.

Ceryndra's beacon fire guided them back through the transformed forest, the sorcerers taking one look at their faces and beginning to break camp without questions. Efficiency born of urgency drove them to remarkable speed.

"You succeeded?" Ceryndra asked, her eyes finding the crystal in Arthur's hands.

"Mostly," Arthur replied, his grip on the reins white-knuckled with tension. "But Merlin is—"

"What in the name of the Old Gods?" Ceryndra interrupted, her face going ashen as she took in the spreading fissures of light that now covered Merlin's hands and arms, creeping up his neck like golden veins. "What's happening to him? This isn't... I've never seen anything like this."

"The trials changed something," Merlin said, his voice echoing strangely, as if it came from multiple directions at once. "There are... contradictions now. Things that don't fit together properly. When Arthur said he loved me, it created fractures I don't understand."

Ceryndra's eyes widened with horror. "Fractures in what? What do you mean?"

"In me. In what holds me together." Merlin examined the spreading cracks with detached curiosity. "This form is breaking apart. I can feel it unraveling, like a tapestry coming undone. Less than two days before there's nothing left to hold."

"Nothing left?" Ceryndra's voice cracked with panic. "You mean he's going to—"

"Die," Arthur finished grimly. "And scatter to the four winds unless we can restore his soul before his body gives out entirely."

The color drained completely from Ceryndra's face as she understood the true urgency of their situation.

"Then we ride through the night," Ceryndra decided. "Hold tight to hope, Arthur Pendragon. You've come too far to fail now."

They pushed the horses beyond their limits, changing mounts when Ceryndra's magic provided fresh ones conjured from shadow and starlight. The journey that had taken two days took one, desperation driving them beyond the boundaries of mortal endurance.

The druid camp appeared with the dawn, and Iseldir was waiting for them as if he'd never moved from his position by the fire.

"You have it," he said, his ancient eyes taking in the crystal before moving to Merlin. His expression grew grave as he saw the extent of the damage. "But perhaps too late. He fragments before our eyes."

Arthur wanted to shout at the old man for stating the obvious, but instead he dismounted and ran to Merlin's side. His friend was gripping the reins with white knuckles, his entire body rigid with the effort of maintaining cohesion.

"Merlin," Arthur called, and Merlin slowly turned to look at him. Light escaped through tiny cracks in his face, giving him an otherworldly beauty that was more terrifying than any monster Arthur had ever faced.

Merlin released the reins and tipped gracelessly from his saddle. Arthur caught him, surprised by how little he weighed - as if the dissolution of his magical bonds was making him less substantial by the moment.

"Tell me what to do," Arthur demanded, cradling Merlin against his chest like something infinitely precious.

"Come," Iseldir said, leading them to a circle of standing stones within the camp. "We prepared for your return, hoping for success."

The stones were carved with runes that pulsed with inner life, responding to their approach with growing intensity. Arthur could feel power building in the air like the charge before lightning strikes.

"Place him at the center," Iseldir instructed, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had prepared for this moment. "The crystal on his chest, over his heart. The stone containing his soul in his hands."

Arthur did as instructed, his hands shaking as he positioned everything with infinite care. Merlin lay still, eyes closed, the golden light bleeding through his skin growing brighter with each passing moment. His chest barely rose and fell, each breath a monumental effort that might be his last.

"Now what?" Arthur asked, desperation cracking his voice like a whip.

"Now we attempt what has never been done," Iseldir said gravely. "We merge soul, body, and purpose back into one unified whole. The crystal will bridge the gap, provide the necessary catalyst, but someone must guide the soul home. Someone it will follow willingly."

Arthur's heart hammered against his ribs. "Me."

"You," Iseldir confirmed, his penetrating gaze seeming to see straight through to Arthur's soul. "But know this - you must offer truth absolute. No shields, no pretense, no careful half-measures. The soul will see your heart entire and judge whether to return to flesh or seek the peace of eternal rest in Avalon. Are you prepared for such complete exposure?"

Arthur looked down at Merlin's still form, at the man who had given everything for him without ever asking for anything in return. Around them, his friends formed a protective circle - Gwen with tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, but her jaw set with composure, Gwaine unusually solemn, Leon standing at attention like a guard at his post, Lancelot with hands clasped in something that might have been prayer. Elyan stood beside his sister with his jaw clenched tight, fighting back his own tears as one hand rested protectively on Gwen's shoulder, while Percival kept watch at the circle's edge, his normally steady hands trembling slightly as his broad frame served as a shield against whatever dangers might threaten this sacred moment.

"I'm prepared," Arthur said, the words carrying the weight of absolute commitment.

"Then let us begin," Iseldir intoned.

The druids formed a larger circle around the stones, their voices rising in ancient chants that seemed to resonate in Arthur's very bones. The crystal began to glow with soft radiance, its light meeting and mingling with the golden glow trapped within the soul stone. Power built around them in waves, making the air itself seem to thicken with possibility.

"Focus on him," Iseldir instructed, his voice somehow audible over the growing crescendo of magical energy. "Call him home with every fiber of your being. Show him why he should choose life over peace, flesh over spirit, love over rest."

Arthur knelt beside Merlin, one hand resting on the crystal where it lay over his friend's heart, the other covering Merlin's cold fingers where they gripped the soul stone. The contrast was stark - the crystal warm with life and possibility, the stone cold with captured essence.

"Merlin," Arthur began, his voice rough with emotion he no longer tried to hide. "I know you can hear me, wherever you are in that darkness. Somewhere in that stone prison, you're listening. Probably laughing at how bad I am at this sort of thing."

The lights pulsed - the crystal's gentle radiance, the soul stone's brilliant golden fire, and the light bleeding from Merlin's skin, all syncing with Arthur's heartbeat like a symphony of hope and desperation.

"I'm sorry," Arthur continued, the words pouring out of him like water from a broken dam. "For every time I didn't see you, really see you. For every moment I took you for granted, treated you like furniture or a particularly useful tool. For being too much of a coward to admit what you meant to me, what you've always meant."

The chanting grew louder, power building like storm pressure in the air around them. Arthur could feel it pressing against his skin, seeking entry, demanding truth from the deepest places of his heart.

"But I see you now," he said, his voice growing stronger with conviction. "All of you. The impossibly powerful sorcerer who chose servitude over dominion. The brave fool who threw himself between me and danger again and again without thought for his own safety. The best friend who never asked for anything except to be allowed to stay by my side."

The soul stone cracked with a sound like breaking glass, brilliant light spilling out like liquid gold. Arthur gripped it tighter, desperate not to lose what might be his only chance.

"I love you," he said, the words ringing across the stone circle like a bell tolling for all to hear. "Not as a king loves a subject, not as a friend loves a friend, not even as a brother loves a brother. I love you as the other half of my soul, as the person who makes me want to be better than I am. Who challenges me and supports me and knows me better than I know myself."

The light was blinding now, all three sources - crystal, stone, and Merlin's dissolving form - singing in a harmony that made Arthur's teeth ache. Through it all, he sensed something else: Merlin's soul, hovering between worlds, caught between the pull of eternal rest and the anchor of earthly love.

Arthur felt that presence brush against his consciousness like a warm hand against his cheek - familiar, beloved, achingly fragile in its exhaustion.

"Come back," Arthur pleaded, pouring every ounce of his desperation into the words. "Not for prophecy, not for Camelot, not even for me if that's not enough. Come back for yourself. For the life you deserve to live openly and honestly, without hiding or fear. Come back and let me prove I can be worthy of what you've given me all these years."

"Choose!" Iseldir's voice rang out over the magical storm. "Choose life or peace! Choose love or rest! Choose!"

For a moment that lasted eternity, everything hung suspended. The lights froze in their dance, the chanting stopped mid-syllable, even the wind held its breath. Arthur felt Merlin's soul hovering at the crossroads between worlds, weighing the choice that would determine everything.

In that suspended moment, Arthur felt rather than heard Merlin's response - not words, but pure emotion that flooded through their connection like sunlight after storm. Amusement at Arthur's terrible way with speeches. Fondness so deep it felt like drowning in warmth. Love that matched and answered his own, patient and enduring and utterly without reservation. And underneath it all, a bone-deep weariness that spoke of years of hiding, of carrying burdens too heavy for one person to bear alone.

Stay, Arthur thought desperately, projecting the plea with everything he had. Please stay. I need you. We all need you. But more than that - I want you. All of you, exactly as you are.

The response came like an echo of his own heart: Always.

The lights exploded outward in a nova of pure brilliance, forcing everyone back and away from the circle. When the radiance finally faded enough for Arthur to see, Merlin lay still in the center of the stones. His skin was whole again, unmarked by the golden fractures that had threatened to tear him apart. The crystal still blazed with inner fire on his chest, its facets catching the light like captured stars. The soul stone had crumbled to glittering dust in his hands.

As Arthur reached for the crystal, a familiar figure materialized from the lingering light - Sir Einar, translucent and glowing with gentle radiance. The ancient knight's face was serene, filled with joy at their success. Without a word, he reached down and lifted the crystal from Merlin's chest, cradling it like something infinitely precious. His eyes met Arthur's, and he smiled - an expression of such profound happiness and approval that it made Arthur's chest tighten with emotion.

Then, still smiling, Einar began to fade, the crystal's light dimming as he became one with the departing radiance. In moments, both guardian and crystal had vanished completely, leaving only the memory of that benedictory smile and the profound silence of a miracle completed.

"Merlin?" Arthur touched his face with trembling fingers, searching for any sign of life. The skin was warm - truly warm, not the artificial temperature maintained by magic, but the genuine heat of living flesh. "Merlin, please - "

Blue eyes opened, focused on Arthur's face with perfect clarity and unmistakable presence. Not the empty gold of magic incarnate, but the familiar, beloved blue that had haunted Arthur's dreams.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was hoarse, but it was his - wonderfully, perfectly, completely his. His eyes darted around, taking in the ecstatic faces of his friends, before returning to Arthur. "Did you just... did you really tell everyone here that you love me?"

Relief hit Arthur like a physical blow, so intense it left him gasping. He laughed, or maybe sobbed, pulling Merlin into a fierce embrace that he never wanted to end.

"You absolute idiot," he managed, his voice muffled against Merlin's shoulder. "You complete and utter fool. Don't you ever do that to me again."

"Which part?" Merlin asked, his arms coming up to return the embrace with strength that spoke of genuine recovery. "Getting my soul stolen, or making you confess feelings in front of witnesses?"

"Any of it. All of it." Arthur pulled back enough to see Merlin's face, to convince himself this was real and not some cruel dream. "Are you... are you really you?"

"I think so?" Merlin looked dazed, overwhelmed, like someone waking from the deepest sleep. "I remember the attack, the stone, the moment it took hold. Then... nothing. Like sleeping without dreams, floating in darkness that wasn't quite empty. What happened while I was gone?"

Arthur helped him sit up, keeping one arm around him for support and reassurance. "You saved Camelot. Again. While soulless. Defeated seven hostile sorcerers without breaking a sweat, terrified a lord into attempting assassination, and generally proved that even without your humanity, you're still the most dangerously protective person I've ever met."

Merlin's eyes widened as he took in their surroundings - the druid camp, the circle of stones, the exhausted but triumphant faces of their friends. "Are we in a druid camp? Arthur, your father - "

"Isn't here," Arthur interrupted firmly. "And it wouldn't matter if he was. Things have changed, Merlin. I've changed. We need to talk about everything - your magic, the prophecies, what this means for Camelot. But first - " He cupped Merlin's face in his hands, thumb brushing over the sharp line of his cheekbone. "Are we all right? You and me?"

Something shifted in Merlin's expression - hope and fear and longing all mixed together in an expression so familiar it made Arthur's chest ache. "That depends. Did you mean what you said about... about loving me?"

"Every word," Arthur said without hesitation, the truth feeling as natural as breathing now that it was finally spoken. "I meant every single word."

Merlin's smile was radiant, transforming his entire face with joy that seemed to light him from within. "Then we're more than all right. We're perfect."

Before Arthur could respond, they were surrounded by their friends - Gwen throwing her arms around both of them, Gwaine's voice loud with relief and celebration, Leon's quiet satisfaction, Lancelot's gentle joy. Elyan wrapped his arms around all three of them in a fierce embrace, his earlier composure finally cracking as he laughed with pure relief, while Percival's booming voice joined Gwaine's in celebration, the big knight's eyes bright with unshed tears of happiness. The druids gathered around them as well, their chanting replaced by songs of thanksgiving and celebration.

"We thought we'd lost you," Gwen said, her voice thick with emotion. "When the stone took you, when you became that empty thing... we thought you were gone forever."

"I was gone," Merlin admitted, his voice soft with wonder. "But Arthur called me back. He gave me something worth returning for."

"Don't you dare make light of it," Lancelot said quietly, but his tone carried warmth rather than rebuke. "We all know now. What you are, what you've done for all of us. No more hiding, no more pretending to be less than you are."

Merlin went very still in Arthur's arms. "You know about my magic."

"Emrys," Leon said simply, the name carrying reverence and acceptance in equal measure. "Most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. Protector of the Once and Future King. Also, inexplicably, terrible at doing laundry."

"I am not terrible at laundry," Merlin protested weakly, but Arthur could see the fear in his eyes - the old terror of rejection, of being cast out for what he was.

"You turned my best shirt pink," Arthur pointed out gently. "Bright pink. It took weeks for the color to fade."

"That was one time - "

"Three times," Gwaine corrected cheerfully. "I kept count. Though I have to admit, watching you panic about it was hilarious."

The normalcy of the teasing seemed to reassure Merlin more than any formal acceptance could have. Color returned to his face, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

"Later," Arthur said firmly, seeing exhaustion creeping into Merlin's expression. "Explanations and revelations later. Rest first. You've been through more than any person should have to endure."

Iseldir approached them, his ancient face creased with satisfaction and relief. "Welcome back to the living, Emrys. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been turned inside out and shaken," Merlin admitted. "Did I... while my soul was gone, did I do things? Hurt people?"

"You protected what you love," Iseldir said gently, his voice carrying the wisdom of ages. "As you always have, as you always will. Nothing you did while sundered from your soul diminishes who you are. If anything, it proves the depth of your devotion."

Merlin nodded, though Arthur could see he would need time to process everything that had happened. They all would. The events of the past days had changed everything - relationships, secrets, the very foundation of their lives together.

"Rest now," Iseldir continued. "You've earned peace, both of you. Tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but tonight, simply be grateful for what you've restored."

They gave Merlin a tent, and Arthur positioned himself outside like a guard, unable to bear the thought of being separated even by canvas walls. The druids brought food and drink, offering celebration of their success, but Arthur found himself too emotionally wrung out to do more than pick at the meal.

"You know," Gwaine said, settling beside him with a wineskin, "declaring eternal love in front of druids and sorcerers isn't exactly keeping things subtle."

"Subtlety has never been my strong suit," Arthur replied, accepting the wine gratefully. "Besides, it's a bit late for secrets now."

"Good thing, too. Because if you'd hurt him after all this - after we saw what losing him did to you - I'd have had to kill you myself. King or not."

Arthur looked at his friend, seeing the absolute sincerity in Gwaine's eyes. "You'd have had to get in line. I think Gwen claimed first rights to my execution if I broke his heart."

"Fair enough." Gwaine was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. "So what happens now? Can't exactly go back to the way things were."

"No," Arthur agreed, his hand unconsciously moving to where the locket had rested, now empty of its precious burden. "We can't. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe it's time for something better."

Inside the tent, he could hear Merlin moving restlessly, making small sounds of distress that spoke of dreams not entirely pleasant. Arthur rose without conscious thought, needing to offer what comfort he could.

"Go," Gwaine said quietly. "He needs you. And honestly, you both look like hell. Some actual rest might do you good."

Arthur nodded his thanks and slipped into the tent, finding Merlin tossing fitfully on the simple bedroll. Even in sleep, lines of strain marked his face, and his hands were clenched as if holding onto something precious.

"Merlin," Arthur said softly, settling beside him. "It's all right. You're safe."

Blue eyes opened, immediately alert despite the exhaustion Arthur could see weighing on him. "Arthur? Is everything - "

"Fine. Everything's fine." Arthur reached out, hesitating only a moment before letting his hand rest on Merlin's shoulder. "Bad dreams?"

"Fragments. Memories trying to sort themselves out." Merlin's gaze found his, vulnerable in the dim light. "I keep expecting to wake up and find this was all another trial, another test designed to break me."

"It's real," Arthur assured him, letting his thumb trace small circles on Merlin's shoulder. "You're back. You're safe. And I meant what I said - all of it."

"I know. I can feel it, somehow. The truth of it." Merlin's hand found Arthur's free one, their fingers intertwining with careful reverence. "I love you too, you know. Have for years. I just never thought..."

"That I could love you back?" Arthur's chest tightened with old pain, understanding now how much his blindness had cost them both. "I was an idiot. A blind, stubborn fool who didn't see what was right in front of him."

"You saw what you needed to see when it mattered," Merlin corrected gently. "That's what brought me back - knowing that when the choice came, you chose me. Just me, not the destiny or the prophecy or the power. Me."

Arthur lay down beside him, not caring about propriety or protocol. They'd gone far beyond such considerations in the past days. "Always you," he said quietly. "From the beginning, it was always you. I just didn't understand what that meant."

They lay together in comfortable silence, hands linked between them like an anchor. Outside, the druid camp settled into peaceful rest, songs of celebration giving way to the quiet sounds of night. Arthur felt something ease in his chest that had been wound tight for days - the terror of loss, the desperate fear that he'd never again see intelligence and warmth in those beloved blue eyes.

"What happens when we get back to Camelot?" Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur considered the question, thinking of his father's laws, the court's expectations, the delicate politics of ruling a kingdom balanced on the edge of change. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

"Your father - "

"Will have to accept that his son has grown beyond his expectations," Arthur said firmly. "The laws will change, Merlin. They have to. What we've learned, what we've seen... I can't go back to pretending magic is inherently evil when I've seen what you've done with it."

Merlin was quiet for a long moment. "And us? What we are to each other?"

Arthur's grip on his hand tightened. "That's between us and no one else. Let them speculate if they want - they've been doing it for years anyway, according to Gwaine. What matters is what we know, what we choose."

"And what do we choose?"

Arthur turned on his side, studying Merlin's face in the dim light. "To stop hiding. To stop pretending we're less than we are to each other. To build something real and honest and worth the battles we'll have to fight for it."

Merlin's smile was soft and wondering. "I'd like that. More than I can say."

"Then that's what we'll do." Arthur leaned closer, letting his forehead rest against Merlin's. "But first, we sleep. Really sleep, not that hollow mockery you've been doing. Dream properly, with me here to chase away the nightmares."

"Stay?" Merlin asked, vulnerability threading through the simple word.

"Always," Arthur promised, the vow carrying the weight of everything they'd survived to reach this moment. "From now on, always."

Merlin's eyes fluttered closed, his breathing gradually evening out into the natural rhythm of genuine rest. Arthur watched over him as he'd been unable to do for the past terrible days, memorizing every detail of his sleeping face, cataloguing the subtle differences that marked his return to full humanity.

The crisis was over. The soul was restored, the man he loved breathing peacefully beside him. But Arthur knew this was only the beginning - the first step in building a life together that would require courage and determination and all the love they could muster.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new obstacles to overcome. There would be laws to change, minds to convince, a kingdom to guide toward a more enlightened future. There would be political battles and personal struggles, moments of doubt and tests of faith.

But tonight, they had peace. Tonight, they had each other. And that was enough - more than enough. It was everything.

Arthur closed his eyes and let sleep take him, one hand still linked with Merlin's, ready to face whatever came next as long as they faced it together.

(TBC)

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

That moment when your 6330 word draft of chapter 3 inexplicably turns into 15,000+ words while editing.

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

What is your AO3 account? I need more of your writing in my lifeee

https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWhimsy/pseuds/DarkWhimsy

Regrettably, this is all I have on that profile so far. I've actually been writing fic for nearly 30 years now, but there's a lot of baggage with my other fics and I wanted to start fresh. I am posting the latest chapter there tonight though. :)

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

The Sundered Soul, Chapter 2

The Sundered Soul Chapter 2: The Sorcerer's Gambit

Dawn came too soon and not soon enough. Arthur hadn't slept - couldn't, with Merlin sitting motionless across from him like a beautiful statue carved from grief. Every time he'd tried to close his eyes, he'd found himself cataloguing the differences: the way Merlin's chest rose and fell with mechanical precision rather than the slightly irregular rhythm Arthur had grown accustomed to hearing in the quiet moments. The absolute stillness where there should have been restless energy, small movements, the unconscious habit of touching his neckerchief or running fingers through his hair.

He'd tried ordering him to sleep, desperate for even the illusion of normalcy, but Merlin had simply lain down on the bearskin rug before the fire and closed his eyes, mimicking rest without achieving it. The pretense had somehow been worse than the truth.

"Do you actually need sleep?" Arthur asked as pale light crept through the windows, painting the stone walls the color of old parchment.

"No," Merlin replied from where he lay.

Arthur's jaw tightened with familiar frustration - though this time it carried an undertone of grief that made his chest ache. "Then get up. Stop pretending."

Merlin rose smoothly, returning to his chair by the now-cold fireplace. No stretch, no yawn, no muttered complaint about uncomfortable beds or early mornings. Just seamless transition from horizontal to vertical, as if sleep were merely another unnecessary human affectation he'd discarded along with his soul.

Arthur rubbed his face, feeling every sleepless hour in the grit behind his eyelids and the weight in his bones. His reflection in the window showed a man aging years in days - hollow-eyed, stubbled, carrying invisible weights that threatened to crush him.

His gaze fell to the table where the stone had rested through the night, its golden light pulsing steadily like a trapped heartbeat. Arthur picked it up, the leather cord rough between his fingers, and moved to place it around his neck as he had the day before. But he hesitated, staring at the exposed stone.

Something about having Merlin's soul so vulnerable, so visible to anyone who looked, felt deeply wrong. The stone deserved better protection than a simple cord that left it bare to the world's eyes.

"Merlin," he said quietly, turning to face the motionless figure by the fireplace. "Is there a way to keep this hidden? Protected, while I carry it?"

For a moment, Merlin didn't respond, those empty golden eyes fixed on some invisible distance. Then he tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

"Yes," he said simply, and his eyes flooded gold.

Arthur felt the leather cord in his hands grow warm, the rough material shifting and transforming. The crude leather became a delicate chain that looked like silver but felt stronger than steel, its links so fine they seemed almost ethereal. The stone itself became encased in an elegant locket, its surface smooth and unremarkable—beautiful in its simplicity, but giving no hint of the precious light contained within.

"Only you can open it," Merlin said, his voice carrying that emotionless precision. "It will respond to your touch alone."

Arthur tested it, running his thumb over the locket's surface. At his touch, it opened with a soft click, revealing the stone's golden glow before closing again at his will. Perfect. Safe.

He fastened the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the locket settle against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt. Close to his heart where it belonged—protected, cherished, but secret.

"Thank you," he said softly, though he wasn't sure if Merlin understood why the gesture mattered so much.

A knock interrupted his brooding. "Enter."

Gaius shuffled in, looking as exhausted as Arthur felt. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate robes were wrinkled from a night spent hunched over ancient texts. His gaze went immediately to Merlin, hope flickering and dying in the space of a breath like a candle guttering in wind.

"No change?" The question came out rougher than intended, laden with the desperation Arthur was trying so hard to hide.

"He protected Camelot from seven sorcerers yesterday," Arthur said, unable to keep the bitter edge from his voice. "Defeated them without breaking a sweat. So I suppose that's... something."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Arthur stood abruptly, pacing to the window to escape the old physician's knowing eyes. Below, the courtyard was coming alive with the bustle of morning - servants hurrying about their duties, guards changing shifts, the normal rhythm of life that felt surreal in the face of everything that had changed. "What did you find?"

"References, hints, stories." Gaius set a stack of books on the table with a soft thud that seemed to echo with finality. "The Stone of Souls appears throughout history, always bringing tragedy. In every case, the victim's body collapses the moment their soul is stolen - they become like the living dead, unable to move, eat, or care for themselves." He opened the topmost tome, its pages yellow with age. "There was a merchant in the southern provinces who had his soul stolen by a rival. His family kept his body alive for three days, feeding him water drop by drop, but on the fourth day..." Gaius's voice trailed off meaningfully.

Arthur's blood chilled. "He died."

"And his soul remained trapped in the stone forever. Never moving on to Avalon, never finding peace." Gaius's fingers trembled slightly as he turned pages. "That's what makes these artifacts so evil - they don't just steal life, they steal eternity itself."

Arthur didn’t like what this implied, the horror of it plucking at him with icy fingers. “Explain,” he ordered.

"Well,” said Gaius, “every account differs. Most victims die within days - their bodies simply shut down without their souls to animate them. But there are stories of desperate families keeping soulless bodies alive through constant care, feeding them, moving their limbs, keeping them breathing." Gaius's voice was heavy with sorrow. "None lasted more than a fortnight before the flesh gave out."

Arthur's hands clenched. The thought of Merlin's body simply... stopping, leaving his bright soul trapped forever in that black stone prison, was unbearable. "How do we break it?"

"That's the difficulty. Breaking the stone while someone's soul is inside risks destroying the soul entirely. And even if we free it..." Gaius hesitated. "The accounts suggest that souls freed from captivity sometimes choose not to return. After experiencing separation from mortal concerns, they might choose to move on to Avalon rather than re-enter flesh."

Arthur felt that icy horror grip his heart. “So you’re saying…"

Gaius nodded grimly. "Without his soul, Merlin's body should have collapsed the moment the stone took hold. The only reason he's still standing, still moving, is because his magic has one overriding purpose - protecting you. It's animating his flesh like a puppet, but..." He shuddered. "That's not life, Sire. And if his magic fails, or if the strain becomes too much, his body will die. And if his body dies while his soul is trapped..."

"He'll be lost forever," Arthur finished, the words tasting like poison.

"Never able to move on to Avalon. Trapped in that stone for eternity." Gaius's voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "That's why these artifacts are considered among the darkest magic ever created."

Another knock, urgent this time, cut through the tension. "Sire! The council requests your immediate presence!"

Arthur cursed under his breath. The realm wouldn't pause for his personal crisis, no matter how earth-shattering it felt. Every moment spent in meetings was a moment stolen from finding a way to save Merlin. "Merlin, help me get ready. Gaius, keep researching."

The council chamber was in uproar when he entered, voices raised in argument, faces flushed with indignation. Lord Cynric was on his feet, his face purple with rage, while Geoffrey tried unsuccessfully to restore order.

" - magic in the very heart of Camelot! The prince himself consorting with sorcerers!"

"Enough," Arthur commanded, letting royal authority ring in his voice as he took his place at the head of the table. Merlin positioned himself along the wall, unobtrusive but present - a constant reminder to Arthur of what they'd lost and what they stood to lose further.

"Your Highness," Cynric continued, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. "The entire city speaks of what occurred yesterday. Your... servant revealed as a sorcerer, wielding magic openly!" He spat the words like curses, his disgust palpable.

"To defend Camelot," Arthur said evenly, though his jaw was tight with suppressed anger. How dare this man speak of Merlin like he was some common criminal when he'd risked everything to protect them all? "Or did you miss the part where seven hostile sorcerers attacked us?"

"One evil fighting another - "

"Choose your next words carefully, Lord Cynric." Arthur's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the tone he'd learned from his father - the one that reminded listeners they were speaking to someone who held their lives in his hands. "Merlin has served Camelot faithfully for years. His actions yesterday saved lives."

"His very existence breaks your father's laws!"

The words hung in the air like a blade. Arthur felt the weight of every eye in the room, the tension of a kingdom balanced on the edge of change. His father's laws. His father's hatred. His father's legacy of fear and suspicion that had driven his own daughter to rebellion and madness.

"My father is indisposed," Arthur reminded him coldly, each word carefully chosen. "I rule as regent, and I say Merlin has committed no crime worthy of punishment."

"The law is clear - "

"The law will be reviewed." Arthur stood, the scrape of his chair loud in the sudden silence. "Times change, Lord Cynric. We've hidden behind fear too long. Yesterday proved that magic itself isn't evil - intent matters."

"You speak heresy!" Cynric's voice cracked with outrage.

"I speak sense." Arthur looked around the table, meeting each councilor's eyes in turn, daring them to contradict him. "How many of you have benefited from Merlin's protection without knowing it? How many times has he saved this kingdom while we remained ignorant?" His voice rose with conviction. "I won't execute a hero to satisfy outdated prejudices."

"The people won't stand for it," another councilor ventured, his voice careful, testing.

Arthur's smile was sharp as a blade. "Then I'll convince them otherwise." His tone brooked no argument. "Merlin remains under my protection. Any who move against him move against me. Is that understood?"

Reluctant agreement rippled through the chamber like water through disturbed sand. Only Cynric remained defiant, his face a mask of barely contained fury.

"You'll doom us all," he spat, his voice thick with venom. "Mark my words - "

"You are in danger, Sire," Merlin said suddenly, stepping forward to stand at Arthur's side with fluid grace that would have been beautiful if there had been any life behind it.

The council fell silent as if a spell had been cast, all eyes turning to the motionless servant. Arthur felt his heart skip - it was the second time since losing his soul that Merlin had spoken without being directly addressed, and again, it was to warn of danger.

"Explain," Arthur ordered, though his pulse was racing.

"Lord Cynric bears a concealed blade coated with poison. He bears malicious intent toward you." The words were delivered in that same hollow, emotionless tone, but they hit the chamber like a thunderclap.

Cynric went white as parchment. "That's... how dare you!"

"Sir Leon," Arthur said calmly, though fury was building in his chest like storm clouds. The idea that someone would try to murder him here, in his own council chamber, while he was fighting to save the man who'd given everything to protect Camelot... "Search him."

Leon moved forward with grim efficiency. Cynric tried to run but found himself frozen in place, invisible force holding him as surely as iron chains. Merlin's eyes glowed gold, terrible and beautiful.

The search revealed a thin stiletto, its blade gleaming with oily residue that caught the light like poison given form.

"Hemlock extract," Leon reported grimly, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "A scratch would kill within minutes."

Arthur stared at Cynric, letting the man see the cold rage in his eyes. The betrayal cut deep - not just the attempt on his life, but the timing of it. While Arthur was fighting to save the very person who'd protected them all, this man had been planning murder. "You would kill me and throw Camelot into chaos for this?"

"Better Camelot burn than fall to magic!" Cynric snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "Your father understood! He knew the threat - "

"My father's hatred drove his daughter to madness and rebellion," Arthur cut him off, his voice ringing with conviction born of painful truth. "His fear nearly destroyed everything he sought to protect. I won't repeat his mistakes."

He nodded to Leon. "Take him to the dungeons. Gently - I want him alive to question."

As guards removed the struggling lord, Arthur addressed the remaining council. His voice was steady now, controlled, but there was steel beneath the silk. "Anyone else harboring murderous intent? Now's your chance to confess."

Silence stretched like a held breath.

"Good. Then let's discuss the real issue - how to protect Camelot from those who would use recent events against us."

The meeting continued for hours, each moment feeling stolen from more urgent concerns. They discussed patrol schedules and border defenses, grain stores and trade agreements - all the mundane details that kept a kingdom functioning while Arthur's mind screamed that none of it mattered if he couldn't save Merlin.

Through it all, Merlin stood silent against the wall, watching. Once, when Lord Geoffrey stumbled over words, obviously exhausted from the stress of recent events, Merlin stepped forward unbidden to steady him. The old scholar flinched but then nodded gratefully.

Arthur felt something ease in his chest. Surely that wasn't the action of raw magic alone. Perhaps something of Merlin remained after all, buried beneath the emptiness.

When the council finally dispersed, Arthur found himself alone with Geoffrey, who lingered by the great map like a man reluctant to leave.

"Your Highness," the old man began carefully, his voice soft with age and wisdom. "About your servant..."

"Don't start," Arthur warned, exhaustion making him sharp.

"I wasn't going to counsel execution." Geoffrey's eyes were kind but knowing. "I've served three kings, watched this kingdom grow and change. Perhaps it's time for the laws to change as well."

Arthur turned to face him fully. "You believe that?"

"I believe in you, Sire. And if you say this boy - Emrys, whatever he is - serves Camelot's interests, then I trust your judgment." He paused, his expression growing distant with memory. "Your father would rage, but your father also loved Morgana until his hatred of magic poisoned that love. Don't let the same happen to you."

The words hit closer than Geoffrey probably intended, carrying implications Arthur wasn't ready to examine. He managed a nod, throat tight with unspoken gratitude, and the old scholar took his leave.

"You protected Geoffrey," Arthur said to Merlin once they were alone, studying his friend's impassive face.

"Preventing harm to Camelot's advisors serves your interests," Merlin replied, the words mechanical but the action... the action had been instinctive. Human.

"Is that all?" Arthur pressed, hope fluttering in his chest like a caged bird.

Merlin tilted his head slightly, the gesture so familiar it hurt. "I don't understand the question."

Arthur sighed, the sound carrying the weight of all his fears. Every glimpse of the real Merlin made his absence hurt more, like pressing on a bruise to confirm it was still there.

They were interrupted by Lancelot appearing in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "Sire, one of the captured sorcerers is awake and asking to speak with you. He says he has information he's willing to share."

Hope flared in Arthur's chest, bright and desperate. "Take me to him."

The dungeons were warmer than in Uther's day - Arthur had insisted on basic comforts for prisoners awaiting trial, over his father's objections. The sorcerer, barely older than Arthur himself, sat on a simple cot, hands bound with iron that would prevent spell-casting. He looked up as they entered, his face drawn with exhaustion and something that might have been shame.

"Your Highness," he said, attempting an awkward bow from his seated position. "Thank you for seeing me."

"You have information?" Arthur kept his voice neutral, though his pulse was racing with possibility.

"Perhaps. My name is Garrett. I... I didn't want to attack Camelot. But Marcus - our leader - he said Emrys was enslaved, that we had to free him." His voice carried the weight of regret. "We thought we were doing the right thing."

"By trying to take him by force?" Arthur's tone was sharp with disbelief.

Garrett flushed, color rising in his pale cheeks. "It seemed like the only way at the time. But then we saw him fight, saw what he'd become..." He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. "That's not Emrys. The prophecies speak of wisdom and compassion, not... that."

"His soul was stolen," Arthur said bluntly, watching for the young man's reaction. "Trapped in a stone by another sorcerer. We're trying to free him."

"The Stone of Souls?" Garrett's eyes widened with genuine horror. "But those are legend - evil things, created by those who feared love's power."

Arthur leaned forward intently. "Not legend. Very real." He let his desperation show, calculating that honesty might serve him better than royal composure. "What do you know of them?"

"Stories, mostly. Horror stories." Garrett glanced between Arthur and Merlin with growing confusion. "They steal souls and leave bodies to die, but…"

“Apparently,” Arthur said, “when Merlin’s soul was stolen, his magic remained. It’s keeping him alive.”

Garrett’s eyes widened in understanding. "Ah. I see. Well… that explains much.” His brow furrowed as he looked at Merlin. “Then… perhaps there is still hope. There's a druid camp two days north. Their elder, Iseldir, is said to have knowledge of the old magics. If anyone would know how to break the enchantment on such a stone and release Emrys’ soul, it would be him."

Arthur's heart leaped. "And he'd help us? The Crown has hardly been friend to the druids."

"For Emrys? Yes." Garrett's voice carried absolute conviction. "He is... important to them. To all who practice magic. He's the bridge between the old ways and the new world that's coming."

Arthur glanced at Merlin, standing silent as a shadow.

"May I?" Garrett asked softly.

Arthur tensed but nodded, curious despite his protective instincts.

"Emrys," Garrett said gently, as one might address a wild animal. "Do you know me?"

"You are Garrett. You are a sorcerer. You were a threat, but no longer." The words were delivered without inflection, clinical in their precision.

Garrett's face crumpled as if struck. “Oh, Emrys,” he whispered. He looked back to Arthur with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. We should have known something was wrong when the message came."

Arthur's felt dread spark under his skin. "What message?"

"A raven, last evening. It said Emrys was in Camelot, enslaved by the prince, and that true sorcerers should come free him." Garrett met Arthur's eyes with growing realization. "Someone wanted us to attack. To test you. To test him."

Arthur sat back, mind racing through implications. Someone was orchestrating events, moving pieces on a board he couldn't see. First the attack with the stone, then the coordinated assault... but why? What did they gain from revealing Merlin's power? From stripping away his soul?

"I'll consider clemency if your information proves true," Arthur said finally, though his thoughts were elsewhere. "For now, you'll remain here - treated well, but confined."

"That's more than fair, Sire. And..." Garrett's voice dropped. "I'm truly am sorry. For attacking your home. For what happened to him."

Arthur left the dungeons with more questions than answers, but at least they had a direction - the druid camp, and this Iseldir who might hold the key to saving Merlin. It wasn't much, but it was more hope than he'd had an hour ago.

He was heading back to his chambers when Gwen intercepted him in the corridor, her expression set with familiar determination.

"Arthur, we need to talk."

"Not now, Gwen." He was too raw, too close to breaking. He couldn't handle her gentle understanding right now.

"Yes, now." She planted herself in his path, chin raised defiantly in a way that reminded him why he'd always admired her courage. "You haven't eaten since yesterday. You haven't slept. You're running on stubbornness and will, and that won't last forever."

"Gwen - "

"Would Merlin want this?" she pressed, her voice soft but relentless. "Would he want you destroying yourself trying to save him?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Arthur's careful control cracked, and the words came out harsher than intended, echoing off stone walls: "He's not here to want anything!"

Gwen didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. "No, he's not. But you are. And you're no good to him or Camelot if you collapse." Her expression softened with understanding. "Please, Arthur. One hour. Eat something, close your eyes. Let others help carry this burden."

He wanted to refuse, to push past her and continue his desperate planning. But Merlin chose that moment to speak, his voice cutting through Arthur's internal struggle.

"Lady Guinevere speaks wisdom. Your physical condition is degrading. You require rest and food."

Arthur stared at him, caught between laughter and tears. "Did you just... take her side?"

"I stated facts relevant to your wellbeing." The response was mechanical, but the intervention... that felt like something Merlin would do.

Arthur found himself laughing, short and bitter but genuine. "Fine. One hour." He looked at Gwen, seeing the relief in her eyes. "But tell me honestly - did you know? About his magic?"

Her face softened with memory and regret. "I suspected," she admitted. "Little things over the years. The way disasters always seemed to resolve when he was around. How he'd sometimes know things he couldn't possibly know." She smiled sadly. "And the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. Like you hung the moon and stars. Only someone hiding such a great secret could hide that much love."

Arthur's chest tightened, heat rising in his face. The implications in her words, the gentle understanding in her eyes... "Gwen - "

"One hour," she repeated firmly, steering him toward his chambers. "Rest. Then you can resume your heroic brooding."

She bullied him into eating half a plate of food that tasted like ash in his mouth, and stood guard while he lay down. Arthur was certain he wouldn't sleep, couldn't with Merlin standing there like a statue, golden eyes fixed on some invisible threat.

He was wrong. Exhaustion pulled him under within minutes, dragging him into dreams filled with gold light and empty eyes.

He dreamed of Merlin's laughter echoing in hollow spaces, of reaching for his friend only to grasp smoke. In the dream, Merlin dissolved between his fingers, speaking in a voice like wind through ruins: "You never really saw me anyway."

Arthur woke with a gasp to find Merlin kneeling beside the bed, one hand extended toward him but not quite touching, as if he'd been about to wake him but stopped himself.

"You were in distress," Merlin explained, his voice carrying that blank precision. "Intervention seemed warranted."

"I'm fine." Arthur sat up, scrubbing at his face, trying to banish the lingering images from his dreams. Through the window, he could see the sun had moved significantly. "How long?"

"Nearly seven candle marks."

More than he'd intended, but his mind felt clearer, his body less like it was being held together by will alone. "Any developments?"

"Sir Leon reports three more sorcerers approaching from the east. Non-hostile. They bear a peace banner and request audience."

Arthur groaned, running hands through his hair. Word was spreading even faster than expected, drawing every magic user in the five kingdoms to Camelot's gates. "I’ll have Leon bring them to the throne room. Full guard, but we’ll treat them with courtesy unless they prove otherwise."

He rose, straightening his rumpled clothes. In the mirror, he looked haggard but functional. It would have to do.

"Merlin, can you sense their intentions? Like with Cynric?" The ability was useful, even if the source of it made Arthur's stomach churn.

"Their surface thoughts indicate genuine desire for parley. I cannot sense their deeper motivations without more invasive power."

Arthur turned sharply, something fierce and protective flaring in his chest. "No." His voice was harder than he'd intended. "No invading minds. We're not - you're not a weapon."

"I am what you need me to be," Merlin replied, and the matter-of-fact acceptance in those words hurt more than defiance would have.

"Except obedient," Arthur argued, desperate to provoke some spark of the old Merlin. "You've never been obedient in your life."

"You do not need me to be obedient," Merlin said, and though it was delivered without emotion, it was such a perfectly Merlin thing to say that Arthur's breath caught.

He moved closer, studying that familiar-strange face for any hint of the man he knew. "What I need," he said softly, "is my friend back. The one who argues with me and calls me names and saves my life while pretending he's just lucky. Can you be that?"

For a moment - just a moment - something flickered in those empty golden eyes. A shadow of recognition, a ghost of warmth. Then it was gone, leaving only hollow light.

"I cannot be what I am not," Merlin said simply.

Arthur turned away before his expression could betray the sharp spike of pain those words caused. "Then be what you are. But remember - I'm not my father. I won't use magic as a tool of fear."

A short while later, they entered the throne room, where three sorcerers waited under heavy guard. Unlike yesterday's attackers, these wore simple robes and carried no weapons Arthur could see. The eldest, a woman with silver-streaked hair and intelligent eyes, stepped forward as he entered.

"Prince Arthur. I am Ceryndra. We come seeking truth."

"Regarding?" Arthur kept his voice neutral, though he was studying her carefully. There was power here, but it felt different from the raw aggression of yesterday's attackers.

"Emrys." Her eyes moved to Merlin, and her expression grew troubled. "Word spreads among those with magic. Some say he's enslaved. Others that he's been broken. We needed to see for ourselves."

"And what do you see?" Arthur challenged, though he dreaded the answer.

The woman studied Merlin for a long moment, her expression growing increasingly distressed. "I see emptiness where light should be. Power without soul, moving flesh without spirit." She shuddered. "This is not natural, not even for one such as him."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "A sorcerer stole his soul," he explained tersely, each word feeling like pulling teeth. "Trapped it in an artifact. His magic is keeping his body alive, but we don't know for how long."

"The Stone of Souls?" At Arthur's sharp nod, she paled visibly. "Those are abominations. In all the stories, the victim's body dies within days. But he..." She looked at Merlin with new understanding. "Ah. Magic incarnate. We are fortunate that his nature keeps him alive even without a soul." She paused, looking at Arthur carefully. "You seek to restore him? The Crown seeks to save a sorcerer whose very existence defies the natural order?"

The question carried weights Arthur wasn't sure he was ready to bear. "I seek to save my friend," he corrected, pouring all his conviction into the words. "The rest is politics."

"I see." Something in her expression shifted, surprise giving way to something that might have been respect. "We misjudged you, Prince Arthur. The magical community has long seen Camelot as our enemy."

"My father's Camelot, perhaps. But things are changing." The words felt like a vow, a commitment to a future he wasn't sure he could deliver.

"Understood, Your Highness. We seek only to see Emrys whole again." She hesitated, glancing at her companions. "May I... speak with him?"

Arthur tensed, protective instincts flaring, but he nodded. The woman approached Merlin slowly, as one might a wild animal.

"Emrys," she said softly, her voice carrying reverence. "I am Ceryndra, a priestess of the Old Religion. Do you know me?"

"I know what you have told me. I know that you have significant power. I have not yet decided if you are a threat." The response was clinical, emotionless.

She winced as if struck. "I am no threat to you or yours. I've come to help."

No response. Merlin's gaze remained fixed on some middle distance, as if she weren't worth acknowledging.

"The prophecies speak of you," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "The greatest warlock to walk the earth, who would restore magic to its rightful place. But this... this isn't what was foretold."

"Prophecies are open to interpretation," Merlin said suddenly, his head tilting slightly. "Multiple paths exist. My current path serves my primary purpose."

"Which is?"

"Protection of Arthur Pendragon. Ensuring his destiny."

Arthur's chest tightened at the stark reduction of everything Merlin was to a single function.

"And your own destiny?" Ceryndra pressed.

"Irrelevant."

The word fell between them like a stone dropped in still water. Ceryndra stepped back, visibly shaken.

"His very identity has been stripped away, leaving only purpose," she said, her voice trembling. She met Arthur's eyes with something like pity. "He was never meant to exist this way. And while nothing like this has ever happened, I fear there might be… complications, the longer his magic exists without his soul."

The warning sent ice through Arthur's veins. Time - always time, slipping away like sand through his fingers. "We ride for the druid camp at dawn," he decided. "Leon, prepare a small party - speed matters more than strength."

"Sire," Leon acknowledged, already moving to comply.

As the sorcerers were led away to guest quarters, Gwen approached.

"You're trusting them?" she asked quietly.

Arthur watched them go, noting the careful way they avoided looking at Merlin, the reverence mixed with horror in their faces. "I'm trusting that they want Merlin restored as much as I do." He turned to her. "Keep an eye on them. Any sign of deception..."

"I'll handle it," she promised, her hand finding his arm in brief comfort.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparation. Supplies gathered, horses readied, plans laid with military precision that couldn't quite mask the desperation driving them. Through it all, Merlin shadowed Arthur with mechanical precision, present but not present, a constant reminder of what they stood to lose.

As night fell over Camelot, Arthur found himself in the strategy room, spread before him maps of the northern territories and the routes they might take to reach the druid camp. Candles flickered in their holders, casting dancing shadows across the parchment as he traced possible paths with his finger.

Merlin stood by the window, motionless as a sentinel, golden eyes reflecting the candlelight.

"Two days Garrett said," Arthur murmured, speaking as much to himself as to the empty air. "But which route? The main road would be faster, but more exposed. The forest paths might hide us better, but..." He looked up at Merlin's still form. "What do you think? You always had good instincts about these things."

No response. Arthur's hand tightened on the map's edge.

"I miss you," he said quietly, his voice carrying in the stone-walled room. "I miss your terrible jokes and your worse lies about taverns. I miss the way you'd roll your eyes when I was being a… a clotpole."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words Arthur had never said.

"I know I wasn't... I wasn't the friend you deserved. All those years, and I never really looked. Never asked the right questions. Just assumed you were..." He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Assumed you were simple. Uncomplicated. Mine."

The last word slipped out before he could stop it. Heat rushed to his face as the implications crashed over him.

"Not mine like property," he clarified quickly to the unhearing air, though his voice caught on the words. "Mine like... like how the sun is mine when it warms my face. Like how breathing is mine. Natural. Essential. Always there."

He pulled the locket from beneath his shirt, studying the seamless surface that concealed the light within—warm gold that pulsed like a heartbeat, like life trapped and waiting, visible only when he opened it with his touch. "Were you happy? Living that lie? Or was every day agony, hiding who you really were?"

"You're asking the wrong questions."

Arthur looked up sharply to find Ceryndra standing in the doorway, her expression thoughtful rather than intrusive. She stepped into the room with careful respect, hands visible and empty.

"Forgive me," she said softly. "I was looking for the library—I hoped to research what we might face tomorrow. I heard voices and thought..." She gestured toward Merlin. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when I realized what you were discussing..." Her gaze moved between him and Merlin with uncomfortable knowing. "You wonder if he was happy. But happiness isn't why he stayed."

Arthur's throat went dry. "Then why?"

"Love." The word hung between them like a blade, sharp with truth he wasn't ready to face. "He loved you more than his own truth. Loved Camelot more than his freedom. That's what the stone recognized—not duty or destiny, but love so profound it eclipsed everything else."

Arthur's hands shook as he set the stone back on the table. "You can't know that."

"Can't I?" She gestured to Merlin, who remained motionless despite the conversation happening around him. "Even now, soulless, he protects you. Not from command but from instinct. The stone took his soul but couldn't take what drives him at the deepest level." She paused, her eyes too knowing. "The question is: what drives you?"

"I want my friend back." The words came out rougher than intended.

"Friend." She tested the word like wine, finding it lacking. "Is that all he is to you?""

Arthur stood abruptly, anger flaring without quite knowing why. The question felt like an accusation, like she was trying to force him into admissions he couldn't make. "What else would he be?"

"You tell me." Her eyes were relentless, cutting through every defense he'd built. "You speak of him like sunlight and breathing. You're destroying yourself trying to save him. You trusted sorcerers - your father's greatest enemies - for the chance to restore him. What is he to you, truly?"

"I don't... that's not..." Arthur faltered, the words tangling in his throat. How could he explain what he didn't understand himself? The way his chest went tight when Merlin smiled? The way he found excuses to touch him, steady him, any reason to bridge the distance between them? The way he'd rather face a dozen armed enemies than face the thought of a world without Merlin in it?

"The stone responds to truth," Ceryndra said gently, her voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "When the time comes to call him back, half-truths won't be enough. You'll need to know your own heart as clearly as his knew you."

She moved to leave, pausing at the door. "We ride at dawn?"

"Yes." Arthur's voice came out hoarse, stripped raw by truths he wasn't ready to face.

"Good. The druids know me - it will ease our welcome." She glanced back, her expression softening with something that might have been pity. "Think on what I've said, Prince Arthur. The stone chose him because of what you are to him. His soul will choose whether to return based on what he is to you."

She left Arthur alone with his thoughts and the empty echo of Merlin's presence. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, weighted with implications he couldn't escape.

The night stretched endlessly ahead. Arthur tried to sleep but couldn't, his mind churning with Ceryndra's words. He tried to plan their journey but his thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. Always, he came back to that impossible question.

What is he to you?

Servant. Friend. Protector. Irritant. Comfort. Challenge. The one person who saw past the crown to the man beneath, who stayed despite everything Arthur had put him through. The one who...

Arthur cut off that thought before it could fully form, but it lingered like smoke in still air.

Near dawn, unable to bear the silence any longer, he spoke to Merlin again. His voice was quiet, meant for the pre-dawn darkness and the ears that couldn't truly hear him.

"When we get you back - and we will get you back - things will be different. I'll make father change the laws. You won't have to hide anymore. You can be yourself, openly." The promises felt hollow even as he made them, words without weight in the face of such vast loss.

"Change is not required," Merlin said suddenly, startling Arthur from his brooding. "This is acceptable. I do not need anything."

"No," Arthur said fiercely, turning to face that empty, beautiful face. "You do. You deserve better than shadows and secrets. You deserve - " Everything. The word caught in his throat, too loaded with meaning he couldn't examine.

A knock interrupted the moment, sharp and efficient. Leon entered, armor gleaming in the pre-dawn light, every inch the perfect knight.

"The party is ready, Sire. Ceryndra and her companions wait in the courtyard."

Arthur felt relief at the interruption war with frustration at words left unspoken. The locket pulsed against his chest as he straightened, feeling the weight of what he carried—literally and figuratively. "Good." He adjusted the chain beneath his shirt, ensuring it remained hidden. "Who rides with us?"

"Myself, Lancelot, and Gwaine. Small enough for speed, skilled enough for trouble." Leon's expression suggested he thought they'd find both.

"And Gwen?"

"Insists on coming. Says someone needs to keep you human." Leon's tone carried the weight of agreement with that assessment.

They assembled in the courtyard as the first light touched the sky, painting the stones pale gold. Six horses stamped and snorted in the morning air, ready for the journey ahead. Seven riders - Merlin would share Arthur's mount, the better to keep him close and monitor his condition.

"Cozy," Gwaine commented with forced cheer as Arthur swung up behind Merlin. "Like old times, except eerier."

Arthur ignored the jest, too focused on the way his chest pressed against Merlin's back, how his arms circled his friend's waist by necessity. Merlin sat perfectly balanced, requiring no support, but Arthur held on anyway. The contact felt both natural and wrong - familiar motions stripped of their meaning.

"Focus on the road," Arthur ordered, though the words were meant as much for himself as his knights.

They rode out as Camelot woke around them, passing through streets where early-rising merchants set up their stalls. Word had spread through the city like wildfire - people lined their route, watching in silence that felt heavy with judgment. Some made signs against evil, old superstitions dying hard. Others looked hopeful, as if magic might bring solutions to their daily struggles. A few even bowed, not to Arthur but to Merlin, recognizing power when they saw it.

"They know," Gwen said quietly, her horse keeping pace beside Arthur's. "About his magic, about what he's done for them."

Arthur watched an old woman bow deeply as they passed, her eyes fixed on Merlin with something like reverence. "And?"

"They're scared. But also grateful. Give them time."

Time. Always time, the resource Arthur felt slipping away with each mile they traveled. How long did they have before the separation became permanent? Before Merlin's soul, freed from its stone prison, chose the peace of Avalon over the pain of returning to flesh? What if they succeeded in breaking the stone only to watch Merlin's essence drift away like morning mist, finally free but choosing eternal rest over the burdens of life?

The druid camp lay two days north, through forests that grew wilder with each passing hour. Ceryndra led them on paths Arthur hadn't known existed, ways that seemed to fold distance and make mockery of maps. The trees grew older here, their branches thick with shadow and secrets.

"Magic?" he asked during a brief rest, watching the way shadows moved independently of their sources.

"Old roads," she corrected, her voice carrying respect for ancient powers. "Made long before Uther's war. They remember those who walk with purpose."

The first day passed in relative quiet, their horses eating up the miles on paths that seemed designed for swiftness. Arthur found himself hyperaware of Merlin's presence - the warmth of his back against Arthur's chest, the way he moved with the horse's gait without conscious thought. It was painfully familiar and utterly wrong, like embracing a beautiful statue carved from memory.

They made camp the first night in a clearing that felt older than kingdoms, where standing stones hummed with barely audible power. Gwaine gathered wood while Leon scouted the perimeter with military precision. Lancelot tended the horses with gentle efficiency. Normal tasks made strange by Merlin's stillness at the fire's edge, watching flames that cast no warmth in his empty eyes.

Dinner was a quiet affair, even Gwaine's usual chatter subdued by the weight of what they carried. Ceryndra and her companions ate apart, discussing something in low voices that carried the rhythm of ritual.

"I hate this," Gwaine said suddenly, his voice raw with frustration. "He should be making terrible stew and worse jokes. Not sitting there like a bloody statue."

"We all hate it," Lancelot said gently, though his eyes never left Merlin's motionless form.

"Do we?" Gwaine's gaze found Arthur with uncomfortable directness. "Because from where I sit, seems like some of us are only just realizing what we had."

"Gwaine," Leon warned, but there was no real heat in it.

"No, he's right." Arthur stared into the fire, letting the flames blur his vision. "I took him for granted. We all did. The cheerful servant who was always there, always ready. I never questioned it. Never wondered why someone with his power would choose that life."

"He had his reasons," Lancelot said carefully, his voice carrying weights Arthur was beginning to understand.

Arthur looked at him sharply, pieces clicking into place. "You knew."

Not a question. Lancelot nodded slowly, meeting Arthur's gaze without flinching. "He saved my life. With magic. Made me promise to keep his secret."

Arthur felt something twist in his chest - not quite betrayal, but a sharp recognition of how isolated he'd been in his ignorance. "How long?"

"Years."

"And you never thought to tell me?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell." Lancelot's voice was steady, but his eyes carried understanding of the pain his words caused. "Would you have thanked me for the knowledge? Or would duty have forced you to act?"

Arthur couldn't answer, because even now, knowing the truth, he wasn't sure what he would have done. The laws were clear, his father's expectations absolute. He might have tried to protect Merlin, but would he have succeeded? Or would duty and fear have won in the end?

"He was protecting you," Gwen added softly, her voice carrying the gentleness she used for wounded things. "From having to choose between your father's laws and your friend."

"Some protection," Arthur said bitterly. "Look where it led."

"To him saving Camelot again," Leon pointed out with quiet conviction. "As he always has."

They lapsed into silence, the weight of unspoken truths settling over them like dew. Above, stars wheeled in patterns older than prophecy, indifferent to human pain. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl called, lonely and wild.

"Tell me about him," Arthur said suddenly, surprising himself with the request. "The things I missed. The things he hid."

They exchanged glances, a silent communication that spoke of shared secrets and careful loyalties. Then Gwaine spoke, his voice unusually soft.

"He used to practice in the forest. I followed him once, curious about where he disappeared to." His eyes grew distant with memory. "Watched him make flowers bloom in winter, just because he could. He looked... free. Happy in a way I'd never seen in the castle."

"He'd heal people," Gwen added, her voice warm with affection. "Quietly, secretly. A child's fever here, a mother's difficult birth there. Never taking credit, never seeking thanks."

"He'd stay up all night researching spells to protect you," Lancelot contributed, his tone carrying deep respect. "I'd find him holed up in his room, surrounded by books older than Camelot, looking for ways to keep you safe from the next threat."

Story after story painted a picture of the man Arthur had been too blind to see. Each revelation was a small knife, cutting away his assumptions and leaving raw truth in their wake. By the time they finished, the fire had burned low and Arthur's chest ached with loss that felt oceanic in its depth.

"I'm a fool," he said quietly, the words barely audible over the crackling flames.

"Yes," Ceryndra agreed, appearing from the shadows like smoke given form. "But perhaps not irredeemably so." She studied him with those too-knowing eyes. "You see him now. That's what matters."

Arthur looked up at her, exhaustion making him honest. "I see an empty shell," he corrected harshly.

"Do you?" She gestured to Merlin, who had shifted minutely to angle himself between Arthur and the dark forest beyond the firelight. "Even now, he guards you. The soul may be gone, but the heart remains."

"Hearts need souls," Arthur said, though the words felt hollow.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps souls need hearts to call them home." Her smile was enigmatic, carrying mysteries Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to understand. "Rest, Prince Arthur. Tomorrow we reach the druids, and answers."

Sleep came eventually, fitful and dream-haunted. Arthur woke several times to find Merlin exactly as he'd left him, a sentinel against the night, golden eyes reflecting starlight like a cat's.

The second day's ride was harder, the paths narrower and less defined. Magic pressed close on all sides, making the horses nervous and the air thick with power. Only Ceryndra's presence kept them moving forward, her authority over the ancient ways absolute.

Then, between one heartbeat and the next, they were there.

The druid camp materialized like morning mist given form, hidden by arts Arthur couldn't begin to understand. Tents of green and brown blended seamlessly with the forest, cook fires sending aromatic smoke skyward in patterns that spoke of careful tending. People moved with quiet purpose, their faces carrying the timeless wisdom of those who lived close to the earth.

They stopped at the sight of riders, wariness replaced by wonder as they recognized Ceryndra. And then they saw Merlin.

"Emrys," someone whispered, the name rippling through the camp like wind through grain. Druids emerged from tents, gathered in clusters, all staring with expressions of reverence and growing horror.

An elderly man approached, leaning on a carved staff. His eyes were kind but penetrating, seeing more than surface truth, reading the story written in Arthur's desperate posture and Merlin's terrible stillness.

"Prince Arthur," he said, his voice carrying despite its softness. "I am Iseldir. We have been expecting you."

Arthur felt a spark of hope. "You have?"

"The earth itself cries out at what has been done to Emrys." Iseldir's gaze moved to Merlin, and Arthur saw pain flicker across the elder's weathered features. "Such emptiness where once was light. Tell me how this came to be."

Arthur explained tersely - the attack, the stone, the stolen soul. With each word, Iseldir's expression grew graver, the weight of ancient knowledge bearing down on his shoulders.

"The Stone of Souls," he murmured when Arthur finished, his voice heavy with recognition and sorrow. "I had hoped never to encounter such darkness." He straightened, steel entering his voice. "Come. Bring him. There is much to discuss and little time to waste."

They followed him to a tent larger than the others, its interior surprisingly spacious. Cushions and low tables, herbs hanging from supports, crystals catching lamplight in patterns that spoke of careful arrangement. It felt like entering another world, one where magic was as natural as breathing.

"Sit," Iseldir instructed, his voice carrying gentle authority. "All of you. This concerns more than just prince and warlock."

When they'd arranged themselves - Merlin standing behind Arthur despite repeated attempts to make him sit - Iseldir spoke, his words carrying the weight of prophecy.

"The Stone of Souls is old magic, born of fear and twisted love. It takes what the victim values most, using their own heart against them." His eyes found Arthur, seeing too much. "That it took Emrys speaks volumes about his place in your world."

Heat crept up Arthur's neck, the implications of those words hitting like physical blows. "He's very loyal."

"Is that what you call it?" Iseldir's smile was knowing, carrying depths Arthur wasn't ready to explore. "Young prince, duty alone does not rank above self in the heart's measure. The stone saw truth you both have hidden from."

Arthur's mouth went dry. The careful walls he'd built around certain thoughts began to crack under the weight of gentle observation.

"Can you help him?" he asked desperately, needing to change the subject before those walls crumbled entirely.

"Perhaps. The stone can be broken, but not by force. It requires a catalyst - something to bridge the gap between soul and flesh." Iseldir moved to a chest, withdrawing items with reverent care. "There is an artifact that might serve. A crystal from Tŷ'r Profedigaeth - the Cave of Trials - that lies within the true Valley of the Fallen Kings."

"Of course it does," Gwaine muttered under his breath. "Can't ever be simple, can it?"

"Great magic demands great effort," Iseldir said mildly, though his eyes held understanding. "The journey will test you - all of you. The cave does not surrender its treasures easily."

"What kind of tests?" Leon asked, his tactical mind already working through possibilities.

"The kind that strip away pretense and reveal truth. You will face yourselves as much as any external threat." His gaze found Arthur again, piercing and relentless. "You most of all, young king. Tŷ'r Profedigaeth responds to pure intent. Half-measures and hidden hearts will see you fail."

Arthur squared his shoulders, meeting that knowing gaze with determination he didn't entirely feel. "I'll do whatever necessary."

"Will you?" Iseldir moved closer, studying him with uncomfortable intensity. "The stone took Emrys because your heart values him above all else. But do you value him enough to speak that truth aloud? To acknowledge what you've both been dancing around for years?"

Arthur's throat constricted. The careful edifice of denial he'd built began to crumble under the weight of direct challenge. "I don't know what you mean."

Iseldir reached out, his hand hovering just over Arthur's chest where the locket lay hidden, and Arthur felt warmth pulse against his skin. "This abomination works by perverting love. It recognized the shape of Emrys's heart—turned toward you like a flower to sun. The question becomes: when time comes to call him back, what will your heart offer in return?"

The words hung in the air like an ultimatum. Around him, his friends sat silent, carefully not looking at him, but Arthur could feel their attention like weight against his skin.

"Love," Iseldir continued, his voice gentle but implacable, "is not weakness, young king. It is the greatest magic of all. But it requires courage to acknowledge, especially when it defies expectation."

Arthur's hands clenched in his lap. "He's my friend," he managed, the words feeling inadequate even as he spoke them.

"Yes," Iseldir agreed with infinite patience. He stepped back, giving Arthur space to breathe. "Know this - the journey to the cave will take three days. You'll face trials that test body, mind, and spirit. Some who enter never emerge."

"We'll manage," Arthur said with more confidence than he felt, though his voice carried the authority of command.

"I hope so." Iseldir gestured to his people, who began moving with quiet efficiency. "We'll supply what we can - food, water, guidance to the valley's edge. Beyond that, you walk alone."

"Not alone," Gwen corrected firmly, her voice carrying absolute conviction. "Together."

Iseldir smiled, the expression transforming his weathered features. "As it should be. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you begin a journey that will change everything."

They were given tents, simple but comfortable, and Arthur found himself sharing with Merlin as if by unspoken agreement. No one questioned it, though Gwaine's knowing look spoke volumes.

As night fell over the druid camp, Arthur sat on his bedroll, watching Merlin stand motionless by the tent flap. The locket pulsed against his chest, constant reminder of failure and hope intertwined, warm metal carrying the weight of a soul displaced.

"What am I going to do?" he asked the empty air, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers finding the hidden chain. "How do I... how do I tell you something I can't even tell myself?"

No answer came from the hollow shell wearing Merlin's face. But outside, drums began a slow rhythm, and voices rose in ancient songs. The druids sang for Emrys, for his return, for love to conquer fear.

Arthur lay back, one hand over the locket, and tried not to think about Iseldir's words. About truth and courage and hearts turned like flowers to sun.

Three days to the cave. Three days to find courage he wasn't sure existed.

Three days to admit what Merlin apparently had known all along.

The locket pulsed beneath his fingers, patient as heartbeat, waiting for truth to set them free.

-------

Thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented and reblogged chapter 1! <3 I wanted to have this chapter out earlier, but between work and the last week of the quarter for the online university work I'm doing, I didn't have much time to polish this draft chapter. It still might be iffy, so as usual, constructive criticism is welcome. If I stay at this rate of posting, I should get a chapter up once a week -- twice if I can edit faster.

Big question: Should I post this fic to the BBC Merlin community? I just barely joined and I'm not sure if there are unspoken rules about such things.

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

did I mention I love them?

Merlin & Arthur | 3.13 "The Coming of Arthur - Part 2"

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

my first offering to the merlin fandom, good god i'm so obsessed. look at what i've done to my boy.

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

The Sundered Soul, Chapter 1

Prompt credit for this fic goes to @theroundbartable. I found it on @merlinficprompts. https://theroundbartable.tumblr.com/post/723312849564418048/camelot-is-being-attacked-by-a-sorcerer-somehow

I hope it does this prompt justice!

Twelve chapters are currently written, and now I'm proofreading them one by one. This first chapter is as good as I'm going to get it without a beta. (Any volunteers?) :D Also I will be cross-posting to ao3.

Enjoy!

Edit: I'm an idiot who didn't know how to add Keep Reading. Fixed, I hope.

The Sundered Soul Chapter 1: What Remains

The throne room of Camelot stood empty in the pre-dawn darkness, save for the guards at their posts and one restless prince. Arthur Pendragon sat on the steps below the throne—never on it, not yet—and watched the first pale fingers of light creep through the high windows. The great seat loomed above him, carved stone that had borne the weight of kings for generations. Soon, perhaps sooner than anyone suspected, it would bear his.

He could still see his father's vacant stare from the evening before, the way Uther had looked through him as though he were a stranger. The physicians spoke in hushed tones about shock and grief, about time needed to heal. They didn't speak the truth that Arthur saw in their eyes: the king's mind had shattered like glass when Morgana's betrayal was revealed, and all the healers in Camelot couldn't piece it back together.

King Regent. The title sat uneasily on his shoulders, heavier than any armor he'd ever worn. In all but name, he ruled Camelot now. The thought should have filled him with pride—wasn't this what he'd been trained for his entire life? Instead, he felt only the crushing weight of every decision, every life that hung in the balance of his choices.

"You're brooding again."

Arthur didn't startle—he'd learned years ago to recognize the particular quality of silence that meant Merlin was approaching. His manservant had an uncanny ability to move through the castle like a shadow when he chose, though he was just as likely to crash into suits of armor when distracted.

"I'm thinking," Arthur corrected without turning. "Kings must think."

"King Regents," Merlin corrected gently, coming to stand beside him. "And I've seen you think. This is definitely brooding."

Arthur finally looked up at his servant, ready with a sharp retort, but the words died on his tongue. The morning light streaming through the windows had caught in Merlin's dark hair, turning it to burnished gold at the edges. His eyes—had they always been that particular shade of blue? Like the deep waters of the lake beyond the citadel, holding depths that seemed to go on forever.

Arthur's chest tightened inexplicably. He forced his gaze away, focusing on the middle distance.

"The council meets within the hour," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Have you—"

"Prepared your papers, polished your ceremonial sword, and ensured the kitchen knows you'll need breakfast after because you never eat before important meetings? Yes, Sire." There was gentle mockery in the title, a warmth that transformed what should have been proper address into something almost like endearment.

Arthur found himself fighting a smile. "I don't know why I keep you around."

"Because no one else would put up with your royal pratness," Merlin replied promptly. "Also, I'm the only one who remembers that you prefer your wine watered at formal dinners so you can keep a clear head."

It was true, and the fact that Merlin had noticed—had been watching him closely enough to discern such preferences without being told—sent another uncomfortable flutter through Arthur's chest. He stood abruptly, needing distance.

"The council will want to discuss the raids on the border villages," he said, striding toward the doors. Merlin fell into step beside him, as natural as breathing. "Leon returned last night with disturbing reports."

"Magic?" Merlin's voice carried an odd note, something Arthur couldn't quite identify.

"When isn't it?" Arthur sighed. "Sometimes I think every hedge wizard and sorceress in the five kingdoms has decided to test Camelot's defenses now that—" He cut himself off.

"Now that the king is indisposed," Merlin finished quietly.

They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. The castle was beginning to wake around them—servants scurrying past with lowered eyes, guards changing shifts with muted clanks of armor.

"You're a good king, Arthur," Merlin said suddenly. "Regent or otherwise."

Arthur glanced at him, startled by the conviction in his voice. Merlin wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed ahead, but there was something in his expression—a fierce pride that made Arthur's breath catch.

"Merlin—"

"The kingdom sees it. The knights see it. Your father—" Merlin paused, choosing his words carefully. "Your father prepared you for this, even if he didn't intend it to come so soon. You're ready."

They'd reached the council chambers. Arthur could hear voices within, the low rumble of conversation as Camelot's advisors gathered. He should go in, take his place, be the leader they needed. Instead, he found himself lingering, studying Merlin's profile in the torchlight.

There were shadows under his servant's eyes, a tension in the line of his shoulders that spoke of burdens carried. When had Merlin begun to look tired? When had the boyish enthusiasm that had so irritated Arthur in their early days together given way to this quiet strength?

"Sire?" Merlin prompted gently. "The council?"

Arthur squared his shoulders, becoming the prince—the king regent—Camelot needed. "Have my breakfast waiting when I'm done. And Merlin?"

"Yes?"

Arthur hesitated just a moment too long, stifling the open gratitude he wanted to express. Too many watching eyes and listening ears that would pounce on something so un-kingly as thanking a servant, and use it against him. Or worse, use it against Merlin.

"Don’t wander off,” he said instead. “I’ll need you afterward to remind me which advisor is Lord Havelock and which one is Lord Harrow, because I still can’t tell those two wrinkled old buzzards apart."

Merlin blinked, then grinned. "Havelock’s the one with the beard that looks like a distressed squirrel."

Arthur gave a soft huff that might have been a laugh. "Distressed squirrel. Right. That’ll help."

He stepped toward the chamber doors, then paused again, voice quieter.

"And... don’t let the kitchen burn the toast. You always get it right."

Merlin’s brows lifted slightly, but he said only, “Wouldn’t dream of letting your royal highness suffer subpar toast.”

Arthur nodded, then pushed through the doors before he could do something foolish, like reach out to smooth the worry lines from Merlin's brow or ask him to attend the council meeting just so he could have that steady presence beside him.

The councilors rose as he entered, a sea of bowing heads and murmured "Your Highness"es. Sir Leon stood near the great map of the kingdom, his expression grave. Geoffrey of Monmouth clutched his ever-present scrolls, while Lord Cynric and the other nobles arranged themselves according to rank and precedence.

"Gentlemen," Arthur said, taking his place at the head of the table. Not his father's seat—he couldn't bring himself to claim that yet—but close enough. "Sir Leon, your report?"

Leon stepped forward, indicating several points on the map. "The attacks have increased in frequency and boldness, Sire. Three villages in the past fortnight, all along the northern border. The survivors speak of a sorcerer who commands the very trees to attack, who can call lightning from clear skies."

"Druids?" Lord Cynric suggested, his voice dripping with familiar disdain.

"No," Leon said firmly. "The Druids seek only peace. This is something else—someone else. The attacks seem random, but there's a pattern. Each village had recently sent men to serve in Camelot's army."

Arthur studied the map, his mind already working through possibilities. "He's trying to weaken our defenses, make us pull back our patrols to protect the villages."

"Or testing our responses," Geoffrey added quietly. "Seeing how quickly we can mobilize, how we deploy our forces."

"Then we give him nothing to study," Arthur decided. "Double the patrols but vary their routes. I want word sent to all border villages—any sign of magic, any strangers asking questions, and they're to send word immediately." He looked at Leon. "Take Gwaine and Percival, scout the area where the attacks occurred. Look for patterns we might have missed."

"Yes, Sire."

The meeting continued, flowing from border defenses to grain stores to the ever-present challenge of maintaining order with the king's... condition. Arthur found his attention wandering, his gaze drifting to the door where he knew Merlin waited.

It was foolish, this hyperawareness of his servant. Dangerous, even. But lately, Arthur couldn't seem to help himself. He noticed things—the way Merlin's hands moved when he was nervous, quick and fluttering like birds. The particular tilt of his head when he was listening intently. The way he bit his lower lip when concentrating on a task.

"Sire?"

Arthur jerked back to attention, finding the entire council staring at him expectantly. Heat crept up his neck.

"I apologize, Lord Cynric. You were saying?"

"I was inquiring about the feast for the Feast of Beltane, Sire. With His Majesty unable to preside..."

"The feast will continue as planned," Arthur said firmly. "The people need to see that Camelot remains strong, that their lives continue uninterrupted. We cannot afford to show weakness."

The meeting dragged on for another hour, each issue blending into the next until Arthur felt his patience fraying. When Geoffrey finally suggested they adjourn, Arthur barely managed a dignified exit before escaping into the corridor.

Merlin was there, of course, falling into step beside him without a word. They walked in comfortable silence back to Arthur's chambers, where a simple breakfast waited on the table by the window.

"How did it go?" Merlin asked, busy himself with pouring wine—watered, Arthur noted with a fond exasperation he didn't examine too closely.

"Lord Cynric is convinced that every ill that befalls Camelot is the result of magic," Arthur said, sinking into his chair. "Lord Bayard thinks we should increase taxes to fund more soldiers. And Geoffrey wants to consult prophecies and portents before making any decisions."

"So, the usual then." Merlin set a plate before him, the gesture so familiar, so domestic, that Arthur had to look away.

"The usual," he agreed, attacking his breakfast with more force than necessary.

Merlin moved about the room, tidying things that didn't need tidying, adjusting items that were already perfectly placed. It was a nervous habit, one that emerged when he had something on his mind.

"Out with it," Arthur said finally.

Merlin froze mid-reach for a candlestick. "What?"

"Whatever it is you're not saying. You're rearranging my chambers like you're preparing for a siege."

A flush crept up Merlin's neck. "It's nothing, Sire. I just... I worry. About the raids, about you taking on too much. You haven't been sleeping well."

Arthur set down his knife carefully. "And how would you know that, Merlin?"

The flush deepened. "I... that is, when I bring your breakfast, sometimes you're already awake. And there are circles under your eyes. And you've been..." He gestured vaguely.

"I've been what?"

"Distant," Merlin said quietly. "Like you're carrying the weight of the world and won't let anyone help bear it."

The words hit too close to home. Arthur stood abruptly, moving to the window to put space between them. Below, the courtyard was filling with people going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the threats gathering at their borders.

"That's what kings do," he said to the glass. "They carry the weight so others don't have to."

"You're not alone, Arthur." Merlin's voice was closer now, though Arthur didn't turn to look. "You have the knights, the council. You have—" A pause, heavy with things unsaid. "You have people who would stand beside you, if you'd let them."

Arthur's hands clenched on the window ledge. He could feel Merlin's presence behind him, warm and steady and impossible to ignore. If he turned now, what would he see in those impossibly blue eyes? What might he do?

"I should attend training," he said instead, his voice carefully neutral. "The knights will be waiting."

"Of course, Sire." Was that disappointment in Merlin's tone? "I'll prepare your armor."

They fell back into routine, the familiar dance of servant and master that had defined their relationship for years. But as Merlin helped him into his mail, his fingers brushing against Arthur's neck as he adjusted the collar, Arthur found himself holding his breath.

"There," Merlin said softly, stepping back. "Perfect."

Arthur met his eyes, saw something there that made his heart race. Then Merlin was turning away, busying himself with gathering laundry, and the moment passed.

The training ground was already crowded when Arthur arrived. His knights—his knights, the ones who'd chosen to follow him rather than simply obey the crown—were warming up. Gwaine was regaling Percival with what was undoubtedly an exaggerated tale of his latest tavern conquest. Elyan and Leon were discussing sword techniques while Lancelot stretched in preparation for the bout.

And there, sitting on a barrel at the edge of the field, was Gwen. She caught his eye and smiled, warm and knowing in a way that made Arthur want to fidget like a squire caught in mischief.

"About time you showed up, Princess," Gwaine called out. "We were starting to think you'd gotten lost in your own castle."

"The only thing lost around here is your sense of propriety," Arthur shot back, but there was no heat in it. These men had proven themselves time and again. They'd earned the right to informality.

"Propriety's overrated," Gwaine grinned. "Ask Merlin—he's been dealing with your royal pratness for years without any."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "Merlin is—"

"Standing right there," Lancelot interrupted quietly, nodding toward the colonnade.

Arthur turned, found Merlin lurking in the shadows of the arches, a basket of laundry forgotten in his hands as he watched the knights prepare. When he realized he'd been spotted, color flooded his cheeks.

"I was just—the laundry—I'll go," he stammered, backing away.

"Stay," Arthur heard himself say. Then, when everyone turned to stare at him, he cleared his throat. "That is, someone should be on hand in case of injuries. You know how Gwaine is with a sword."

"Oi!" Gwaine protested, but he was grinning.

Merlin hesitated, then set down his basket and moved to sit beside Gwen. They put their heads together immediately, whispering about something that made Gwen giggle and Merlin duck his head.

Arthur forced his attention back to his knights, drawing his sword. "Right then. Let's see if any of you have been practicing."

The training session was brutal, Arthur pushing himself and his men harder than usual. He needed the distraction, the simple clarity of combat where the only things that mattered were blade and balance and breathing. But even in the midst of a complex drill with Leon, he found his awareness drifting to the edge of the field.

Merlin had produced a small kit of medical supplies from somewhere and was tending to Elyan's scraped knuckles with gentle efficiency. The young knight was saying something that made Merlin laugh, the sound bright and clear across the yard, and Arthur's concentration shattered completely.

Leon's blade slipped past his guard, stopping just short of his ribs.

"Point," Leon said mildly, but his eyes were knowing.

Arthur reset his stance, irritated with himself. "Again."

They went three more rounds, Arthur winning two through sheer stubborn determination, before Gwaine called out a challenge.

"How about we make this interesting? Team sparring—me, Percival, and Elyan against you, Leon, and Lancelot."

"Hardly seems fair," Arthur said. "You'll need at least two more to make it a challenge."

Gwaine's grin was wicked. "Cocky bastard. You're on."

The melee that followed was chaos of the best kind. Six of Camelot's finest warriors moving in deadly synchronization, testing each other's limits. Arthur found his rhythm, Leon on his left and Lancelot on his right, the three of them moving as one unit against Gwaine's more chaotic approach.

Sparring brought order.

Strike, pivot, react. In those moments, the weight of Camelot slipped from his shoulders. No politics, no council, no shadows of his father’s judgment. Just motion, timing, and breath.

Arthur called the rotation. “Circle left!”

Lancelot flanked smoothly. Leon followed. Across the yard, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan mirrored the shift. Gwaine, true to form, added an unnecessary flourish to his step, as if auditioning for a crowd.

From the bench near the edge of the yard, Arthur caught Gwen’s laughter. Merlin must have said something — probably at his expense. Arthur didn’t mind. Not when things felt, for once, almost normal.

A glint of movement caught his eye: Percival lifting the two-handed training axe, more suited to strength drills than finesse. Arthur made a mental note to question that later, but now—momentum.

He angled toward Gwaine, who was weaving wide in an attempt to bait Leon. Arthur recognized the tactic, cut inside, and drove toward him fast.

Gwaine blinked. “Oh, now you’re trying?”

Arthur ducked beneath Gwaine’s swing and stepped into his guard, catching his elbow and turning his weight. Gwaine tried to counter—too slow.

Arthur released his sword deliberately, letting it drop to the dirt, and used both hands to drive Gwaine backward with a controlled shoulder slam.

Gwaine grunted as he went down hard.

Arthur straightened, breathing fast, ready to retrieve his blade—

And that’s when it happened.

Gwaine’s boot, flailing for balance, caught a length of rusted training chain half-buried in the dirt.

His leg shot out from under him.

His elbow slammed into Percival’s side.

There was a startled shout—Percival’s grip twisted mid-swing—and the axe flew, end-over-end, loosed in a wild arc that glittered in the sun.

Arthur turned just in time to see it coming.

The weapon was spinning straight for his unprotected side. His sword was out of reach. He had no time to move.

He couldn’t stop it.

Then—

“Gestillan!”

The air hummed, and the axe froze mid-air, held for a suspended second before it dropped harmlessly to the dirt at Arthur’s feet.

Silence slammed down over the field.

Arthur stared at the axe. Then, slowly, he looked up.

His servant stood frozen at the edge of the field, one hand still half-raised, his face draining of color as he realized what he'd done. Their eyes met across the yard, and Arthur saw naked terror there.

Then Gwaine laughed, loud and boisterous. "Nice catch, Merlin!"

The tension didn’t break, but it seemed to loosen its stranglehold on them. Leon, his expression carefully neutral, reached to help Gwaine to his feet. Percival approached Arthur, placing his huge frame none-too-subtly between Arthur and his line of sight to Merlin, clapped him on the shoulder and quietly apologized for losing his grip on the axe.

Arthur’s mind spun uselessly as he looked at his knights, perplexed. Everyone seemed determined to pretend nothing unusual had happened. They had all seen it, of that he was certain, and yet the only one who would meet his eyes now was Gwaine, who stood casually less than a sword-strike away. His easy grin never faltered, but his sharp eyes glared, threatening, and the message was clear. Just you try to hurt Merlin, I dare you.

And Arthur couldn't help but turn and stare at Merlin, who was now very deliberately organizing medical supplies with shaking hands, his pale skin almost bloodless from fear. Gwen put a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder and whispered something to him before casting an apprehensive look briefly in his direction.

Magic. Merlin had magic.

The thought should have filled him with rage, with betrayal. Magic was evil, dangerous, the root of all Camelot's suffering. His father had taught him that from the cradle.

But all Arthur could think about was how many times he'd fallen—from horses, from walls, in battle—and walked away with barely a bruise. How many times had Merlin been there, quiet and unassuming, cushioning his landing?

"I think that's enough for today," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

The knights dispersed so reluctantly, he almost made it an order, but then Percival threw his arm around Gwaine’s shoulders and began to drag him off, saying something, with forced cheerfulness, about getting a drink at the Rising Sun. Elyan muttered something about needing to get something from the armory, and Leon fell into step beside him as they walked away. Lancelot paused beside Arthur, his expression pensive.

"Sire—"

"Not now, Lancelot."

The knight inclined his head and withdrew. Arthur found himself alone in the yard with only Gwen and Merlin remaining. His servant was standing now, the medical kit clutched to his chest like a shield.

"Merlin," Arthur began.

"I should go," Merlin said quickly. "The laundry won't—I need to—"

"Merlin." Arthur put command into his voice, saw his servant flinch. "My chambers. Now."

Merlin's shoulders slumped in defeat. He nodded once, then turned and walked toward the castle like a man heading to his execution. Arthur watched him go, his mind churning.

"Arthur," Gwen said softly, suddenly at his elbow. "Whatever you're thinking—"

"Did you know?" The question came out harsher than intended.

Gwen lifted her chin. "I suspected. As did your knights, apparently. As did you, if you're honest with yourself."

"That's not—I never—"

"Arthur." Her voice was gentle but firm. "How many times has he saved your life? How many impossible escapes, how many lucky chances? You're not a fool. You've always known there was something different about him."

"Magic is—"

"What? Evil? Look at him, Arthur. Really look at him. Does anything about Merlin seem evil to you?"

Arthur's jaw worked. He thought of Merlin's ridiculous ears, his terrible jokes, the way he fussed over Arthur's meals and worried about him getting enough sleep. The way he'd stood against sorcerers and monsters and kingdoms for Arthur's sake, armed with nothing but loyalty and—apparently—secret magic.

"He lied to me," Arthur said finally.

"To protect you both," Gwen countered. "What would you have done, truly, if he'd told you that first week? That first year? Would you have listened, or would you have done your duty?"

Arthur didn't answer. They both knew the truth.

"Talk to him," Gwen urged. "Before you do something you'll regret."

She squeezed his arm and left, her skirts whispering across the stones. Arthur stood alone in the empty yard, staring at the spot where Merlin had saved him.

Again.

When he finally made his way to his chambers, he found Merlin standing by the window, his back rigid with tension. The abandoned laundry basket sat by the door, forgotten.

"How long?" Arthur asked without preamble.

Merlin's hands clenched at his sides. "Always."

"Always?" Arthur's voice rose. "You've had magic this entire time?"

"I was born with it." Merlin turned finally, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I didn't choose it, Arthur. It chose me. I've tried to—I've only ever used it to protect you, to protect Camelot."

Arthur tried and failed to comprehend. "All those times—the magical attacks, the creatures, the sorcerers who mysteriously failed—"

"Yes."

The simple admission hit Arthur like a physical blow. He sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted.

"The dragon?"

"Me."

"The branch that fell on that bandit who had his sword to my throat?"

"Me." Merlin's voice was barely a whisper now. "Always me."

Arthur buried his face in his hands. His entire world was tilting, everything he thought he knew crumbling. Merlin—his Merlin—was a sorcerer. Had been lying to him every day for years.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out broken.

"And say what?" Merlin's laugh was bitter. "Hello, I'm Merlin, your father made me your manservant because I saved your life using the same magic for which he would see me burn at the stake?”

Arthur’s breath hitched. “Even then?”

“Of course even then!” Merlin said, exasperation and hurt in his tone, even as his eyes finally overflowed. He angrily scrubbed the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “You think it was coincidence that a chandelier just happened to fall on that woman after she’d already put everyone to sleep? You think I’m naturally quick enough to race across the room and pull you out of the way of the dagger that would have killed you?”

Arthur opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Well, when he put it that way…

“I wanted to tell you so many times, Arthur.” Merlin said quietly, still wiping ineffectually at his face. “You have no idea how much I wanted to trust you with this."

Arthur shook his head and looked down, struggling to parse all this information. "But you didn't," he said.

"How could I?" Merlin moved closer, his voice desperate. "Your father had children drowned for showing signs of magic. He burned men and women whose only crime was brewing healing potions. And you—you believed what he taught you. I watched you agree with him, watched you hunt down sorcerers—"

"They were trying to kill me," Arthur protested. He couldn’t defend all of his father’s actions, but they weren’t completely without reason.

"Not all of them." Merlin's voice was quiet, sad. "Some were just scared. Some were angry at what had been done to them. And yes, some were evil. But magic itself isn't evil, Arthur. It's just... it's just what I am."

Arthur looked up, found Merlin standing before him, tears now tracking unhindered down his cheeks. He looked young, vulnerable, nothing like the secret sorcerer who'd apparently been defending Camelot from the shadows.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"When you were king," Merlin said, his voice wet, strained with the sound of a hope yet to materialize. "When you could change the laws, when it was safe. I promised myself I'd tell you then."

"And if I'd had you executed?"

Merlin's smile was heartbreaking. "Then at least I'd have died as myself, not hiding anymore."

Arthur shot to his feet, unable to bear the resignation in that voice. "You idiot,” he said. His chest felt tight; his heart pierced, and not with the sting of betrayal. “You complete idiot. Did you really think—after everything—"

He couldn't finish. Too many emotions were within him—anger at the deception, grief for the trust broken, but underneath it all, a desperate relief that Merlin was still here, still breathing, still his.

"Arthur?" Merlin ventured uncertainly.

"I need time," Arthur said roughly. "To think. To... process this."

"Of course." Merlin moved toward the door, paused. "Arthur, I am sorry. For lying, for... for all of it. But I'm not sorry for protecting you. I'll never be sorry for that."

He left before Arthur could respond, the door closing with quiet finality.

Arthur stood in the center of his chambers, feeling more alone than he could remember. Everything was different now. Everything had changed.

Except...

Except Merlin was still Merlin. Still the man who brought him breakfast and nagged him about sleeping. Still the one who stood between Arthur and danger without hesitation. Still the person Arthur trusted above all others, the one whose opinion mattered most, the one whose smile could brighten Arthur's darkest days.

Magic hadn't changed that. If anything, it only proved what Arthur had always known deep down—that Merlin was extraordinary.

The thought was terrifying in its implications.

Night fell over Camelot, bringing with it a sense of expectation, like the air before a storm. Arthur stood on his balcony, watching torches flicker to life across the city. Somewhere out there, Merlin was probably in his chambers, wondering if tomorrow would bring execution or exile.

"Idiot," Arthur murmured to the night. As if he could ever—

A commotion in the courtyard below caught his attention. Guards were running, shouting orders. He could hear sounds of crashing armor and cries of pain.

Arthur grabbed his sword and ran, taking the stairs three at a time.

He burst into the courtyard to find chaos. Blue flames licked at the walls, impervious to the water the servants threw at them. A multitude of ravens circled overhead, croaking and cawing.  At the center of it all stood a figure in dark robes, hood thrown back to reveal a gaunt face marked by desperation.

"Arthur Pendragon!" the sorcerer called out. "Face me, or watch your kingdom burn!"

Arthur stepped forward, sword raised. Around him, his knights were converging, drawn by the commotion. He saw Leon organizing the guards, Gwaine and Percival flanking him, Lancelot and Elyan moving to cut off escape routes.

And there, emerging from the shadows like he always did when Arthur was in danger, was Merlin.

Their eyes met across the courtyard. Arthur saw the question there, the readiness to act tempered by fear of exposure. He gave the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet. Let me try.

"I'm here," Arthur called out to the sorcerer. "What do you want?"

The man laughed, high and unstable. "What do I want? I want my sister back, but your father burned her. I want my home back, but your knights destroyed it. I want justice, but there is none to be had in Camelot!"

"My father is not—" Arthur began.

"I know about the king!" the sorcerer spat. "Broken in mind, useless. But you... you're just like him, aren't you? The son following in the father's bloodstained footsteps."

"I am not my father."

"Prove it." The sorcerer raised his hands, the circling ravens cried in unison, a terrifying cacophony, and the blue flames leap higher. "Show me you're different. Show me there's hope for change, or I'll reduce this castle to ash and bone."

Arthur stepped closer, lowering his sword slightly. "What's your name?"

The sorcerer blinked, clearly not expecting that. "What?"

"Your name. And your sister's. If I'm to understand your grief, I should know who you mourn."

"I... Aldric. My name is Aldric. My sister was Anya."

"Tell me about Anya, Aldric."

For a moment, the flames flickered lower. But then Aldric's face hardened again.

"Words," he snarled. "Just words. You want to understand? Feel what I feel. Loss. Despair. The knowledge that someone you love is gone forever."

He pulled something from his robes—a stone on a leather cord, black as midnight but pulsing with sickly green light. The ravens shrieked, and the air was filled with the sound of wings.

"Someone offered me coin to test you, Arthur Pendragon. To humiliate you, prove you to be the weak figurehead you are and, better yet, provided me the means to do so." His smile was terrible. "I'm going to steal the soul of the person you most value. Let's see how you handle real loss."

"You can't—" Arthur started forward, but Aldric held up a hand, muttered an incomprehensible word, and an invisible force slammed into Arthur's chest, holding him in place. The ravens broke from their circling formation and settled on the stone roofs and battlements, gazing down at the courtyard, their sudden silence even more unnerving than their noise.

"Can't I? This stone is older than your kingdom, boy. It hungers for souls, and it never misses its mark." He looked around the courtyard, taking in the knights, the servants, the guards. "So many to choose from. But it will know. It always knows."

"Everyone here is under my protection," Arthur said firmly. "Everyone here is equally valuable. You want a soul? Take mine."

Aldric laughed. "Maybe it will! The stone chooses based on your heart, not your words. It will take whoever you value most – even if it’s yourself! -- and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Arthur!" That was Gwaine, sword drawn, but the blue flames formed a barrier between them.

"Although," Aldric continued, studying Arthur with bright, mad eyes, "if it's not you it takes—if someone else here more valuable to you than your own life—then perhaps you're not fit to be king after all."

Arthur's heart was racing, but he kept his voice steady. "Every person under my rule is valuable. Every life matters."

"Pretty words," Aldric sneered. "Let's see if they're true. Let's see who Arthur Pendragon can't live without."

He gripped the stone, speaking words in the old tongue. The green light pulsed brighter, spreading out like seeking fingers. Arthur fought against the invisible bonds holding him, but couldn't move.

He heard a familiar voice call his name, and he turned his head and saw Merlin, who was shoving his way through the crowd to get to him, all caution tossed aside.

The light touched each person in the courtyard—guards who had tried and failed to stop the sorcerer’s approach through the lower town. The people who had followed, out of foolish curiosity or lack of self-preservation. His knights, Leon, Gwaine, and Percival. Gwen and Gaius, who had appeared in a doorway. The green light passed over them like they were nothing. It swirled, searching, hungry.

Then it found Merlin, just as he emerged from the crowd and stumbled into the courtyard. Arthur realized a moment before Merlin did, because, as the sickly light streaked toward him, Merlin was too focused on Arthur to realize the danger he was in. There was only a moment for their eyes to meet before Merlin noticed the light that was racing straight at him. He raised his hand in defense, and Arthur saw his eyes flash, a brief, strange glow--

The light struck Merlin like a physical blow. His eyes went wide, the glow extinguished, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, and then he was falling, crumpling to the stones like a marionette with cut strings.

The courtyard went utterly silent.

"What?" Aldric stared at the fallen servant, then at the stone, which now pulsed with a contained light. "That's... a servant? Really?"

"What did you do?" Arthur's voice came out raw, desperate. The invisible bonds had released him, and he was across the courtyard in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Merlin's still form. "What did you do to him?"

"I... I took his soul," Aldric said, sounding bewildered. "The stone takes the soul of whoever you value most. But why would it choose a servant? Unless..."

Merlin's chest rose and fell with mechanical precision, but his eyes were closed, his face slack. Arthur touched his cheek, found it cool.

"Merlin?" No response. Arthur grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Merlin, come on. This isn't funny."

Merlin blinked his eyes open, and Arthur was so startled by the bright gold of his irises that he jerked back, as if burned.

Merlin sat up, staring blankly ahead.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice broke hoarsely. “What—what are you—” He stopped as Merlin turned his head slowly to look at him and Arthur felt his blood run cold. Merlin’s glowing, golden eyes were open but empty, like windows in an abandoned house. There was nothing there, no spark of recognition, no warmth, no Merlin, even as his servant – his magic-using servant -- sat up and slowly got to his feet.

"Oh," Aldric breathed, looking at the pendant that now pulsed with bright, golden light. "Oh, this is bad."

Merlin raised one hand, and his eyes burned brighter, the glowing gold of his irises bleeding into pupil and sclera.

On the battlements, the ravens shrieked and took to the air, dispersing as quickly as they came.

The temperature in the courtyard plummeted. Frost spread across the stones in spiraling patterns. The blue flames went out like candles in a hurricane.

"This is very bad," Aldric said, backing away. "You should run. All of you should run."

"What's happening?" Arthur demanded, standing but not moving away from Merlin. "Why are his eyes like that? What's wrong with him?"

"Don't you understand?" Aldric's voice was high with panic. "Look at him! Really look! That's not human magic—that's raw power. He's not just a sorcerer. He IS magic."

Merlin tilted his head, studying Aldric with those terrible golden eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, emotionless. "You are a threat to Arthur Pendragon."

"No, wait—" Aldric threw up a shield, but Merlin's hand cut through the air, and the shield shattered like glass.

"Merlin, stop!" Arthur commanded, but Merlin didn't even pause. Another gesture, and Aldric was lifted off his feet, choking.

"I surrender!" Aldric gasped out. "I yield! Please, I'll return his soul, I'll—"

Merlin closed his fist. There was a sound like breaking wood, and Aldric crumpled to the ground, unmoving. The stone fell from his lifeless fingers, still pulsing with that contained light.

Then Merlin simply... stopped. He stood perfectly still, hands at his sides, staring at nothing.

"Merlin?" Arthur approached cautiously. "Can you hear me?"

No response. The glow of his eyes faded until only his irises burned gold, but they remained empty, unseeing.

"He has magic," someone whispered.

"So not the problem right now!" Gwaine said. He approached slowly, waving a hand in front of Merlin's face. "Hello? Hey, Merls? Anyone home?"

Nothing.

Gwen pushed through the crowd, Gaius close behind her. The old physician staggered when he saw the evidence of Merlin’s magic writ plainly in front of everyone in his blazing blank eyes, and he looked around, fearfully seeing all the witnesses still gathered, still witnessing this crime against Uther’s laws that bore but one punishment, but then his gaze was drawn to the pendant on the ground, the black stone pulsing with golden life, and he paled.

"No," he breathed. "No, my poor boy."

"Gaius?" Arthur's voice was sharper than he meant, but he needed answers now. "What's wrong with him?"

Gaius moved to examine Merlin, checking his pulse, looking into his empty eyes. His hands shook.

"The stone took his soul," he said quietly. "But Merlin... Merlin isn't like other men. He's..." He paused, seeming to age years in seconds. "There are prophecies. Ancient texts. They speak of Emrys, the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth. Magic incarnate, born to restore the balance."

Arthur opened his mouth to ask how that was even possible, but before he could speak, Leon asked, with no small amount of awe, "Wait… Merlin is Emrys?"

Gaius nodded. "Yes. And without his soul, without his humanity to temper it, he's just... power. Raw, unlimited power, with no will but to serve his purpose."

"Which is?" Arthur demanded.

Gaius looked at him with infinite sadness. "To protect you, Sire. The prophecies say Emrys exists to ensure Arthur Pendragon becomes the Once and Future King. Without his soul, that order is all that remains."

Once and Future King? Emrys? None of that made any sense, and Arthur didn’t care for an explanation. He stared at Merlin—his friend, his servant, standing without his soul, and apparently powerful enough to kill a man with a twitch of his hand—and felt his world tilt further off its axis.

"How do we get him back?"

"I don't know," Gaius admitted. "The stone still holds his soul, but with the sorcerer dead..."

Arthur snatched up the stone, the leather cord still warm from Aldric's grip. The golden light within pulsed steadily, like a heartbeat.

"Then we break it," he said.

"Sire, no!" Gaius caught his wrist. "Breaking the stone might destroy the soul within. We need knowledge, research—"

"Then get started," Arthur ordered. He looked around the courtyard, taking in the shocked faces of his people. "Leon, double the guard. Gwaine, Percival—help me get Aldric's body to—"

"Sire," Leon said quietly, "perhaps we should continue this inside. The people..."

Arthur looked around, saw servants and guards all staring at Merlin with mixtures of awe and fear. Word would spread through Camelot like wildfire—the prince's manservant was a sorcerer.

"You're right. Leon, have the body taken to the vaults—we may need to examine his possessions. Everyone else... go home." He raised his voice. "What happened here goes no further. Anyone who speaks of it outside these walls will answer to me personally."

Murmurs of agreement, though Arthur knew it was futile. By dawn, all of Camelot would know, and Arthur would be all that stood between Merlin and arrest and execution.

Arthur walked up to Merlin until they were standing face to face. He stared into those empty eyes, trying to see something of his friend in their eerie depths.

“Merlin,” he said.

Merlin didn’t respond, or acknowledge him in any way. His face was blank, peaceful in a way that was deeply wrong. Merlin's face was meant for expressions—exasperation, fondness, that particular smirk when he thought he was being clever.

"Merlin… Do you recognize me?"

No response. Arthur felt thorns of dread twisting in his chest. “Do you even know who I am?”

Merlin focused his gaze on Arthur for the first time. "You are Arthur Pendragon. Crown Prince. King Regent. The Once and Future King."

Again, that nonsensical title, but he didn’t care. At least Merlin was talking to him. "Do you know who you are?"

A pause. "Emrys."

"No.” Arthur resisted the urge to reach out and try to shake some sense into him. “Your name is Merlin," he said firmly. "You're my—" He stopped, unsure how to finish. Servant seemed insufficient. Friend felt too small. "You're Merlin."

No response. Those empty eyes stared through him.

“Gaius.” Arthur turned to the old healer, who was staring at Merlin with a soft, sad horror. “Do you have anything that can fix this?”

“I will do everything in my power to restore Merlin’s soul to him, Sire,” Gaius said gravely, and with enough conviction that Arthur felt a small spark of hope. “I will start with the books and scrolls in my chambers. I have encountered records of the Stone of Souls before, and, while I do not recall reading of any way to undo this enchantment, it will at least be a place to start.”

"Then I will help you,” Arthur said. “Merlin, follow me." And, to his relief, Merlin obeyed.

They made a strange procession through the castle—Arthur leading, Merlin following with measured steps, Gaius hurrying behind. Servants scattered from their path, eyes wide.

Once safely in the physician’s tower, Arthur closed the door firmly. Merlin walked to the middle of the room and just stopped and stood motionlessly, while Gaius began going through the books on his shelves.

Arthur did not like the way Merlin was absolutely motionless, like a statue. "Sit," he said to Merlin, gesturing to a chair.

“I do not need to sit,” Merlin said blankly.

“Ugh,” Arthur groaned, as apparently Merlin was as disobedient without his soul as with it. “Just… do as I say, will you? You are my manservant, after all.”

“I am your protector,” Merlin corrected. “Sitting provides no benefit to my ability to protect you.”

“It will bloody well protect my peace of mind,” Arthur snapped, as he genuinely wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad.

Merlin looked at him with those terrible, empty eyes for a long moment. Then he walked over to the chair and sat.

Arthur heaved a sigh, and ran his hands through his hair. "Do you need food or water?"

"No."

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

“What—” He swallowed. “What happened to you?”

“My soul was removed and trapped by the Stone of Souls,” Merlin said, as calm and emotionless as if he was commenting on the weather.

“You said your name is Emrys.”

“Yes.”

“So what—how--” Arthur gestured to him, struggling to articulate his question.

Merlin blinked. “I am what remains. I am Magic. I am Emrys.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “And Merlin?”

Merlin pointed to the pendant, its leather cord still clutched in Arthur’s white-knuckled fist. He looked down at it, at the golden light trapped within the black stone.

“You mean,” Arthur said hoarsely, “that there is nothing left of Merlin in you, somewhere deep down? That everything he ever is and was, is in this?”

“You are correct that there is nothing left of Merlin in me,” Merlin said. “But we are meant to be the same, I in him, and him in me. We have been sundered in a way that was never meant to be.”

Arthur swallowed. “If you’re the magic, do you know how to… to break the enchantment on the stone and free your soul?”

“No. It is ancient, dark magic, and the enchantment is tied to many anchors that cannot be undone without proper ritual.”

“Do you know the proper ritual?” Arthur asked.

“No.”

“Do you know who does know the proper ritual?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“No.”

Yes. This was definitely what going mad felt like. “If you’re magic; if you’re raw, unlimited power like Gaius said,” he said, gesturing to the physician who had stopped rummaging through his shelves to watch this exchange. “Isn’t this something you should know?”

Merlin gazed at him with expressionless, golden eyes. “I am confined to this flesh, and thus subject to many of its limitations. It is within my power to release myself from this body, but then I would return to the earth, sea and sky, and would be unable to continue as your protector. This body would die, and my soul would remained trapped in the stone.”

The words hit Arthur like a blow. Angrily, and without another word to the magical husk that wore his friend’s face, he hung the pendant around his neck so that the stone rested next to his heart. He turned to Gaius, who was already setting books out on one of the tables.

"Tell me everything," Arthur demanded. "About Merlin, about this Emrys. About his magic. Everything you've kept from me."

Gaius sank into a chair, suddenly looking every one of his many years. "I've known since he first arrived in Camelot. The power in him... it was like nothing I'd ever seen. He could move objects with his mind before he could walk, could speak to the earth itself as a child."

Arthur scoffed. “Oh, is that all.” He turned and strode toward the window before turning back quickly. "And you never thought to mention this," he exclaimed.

"Would you have listened, Sire? Or would you have followed your father's laws?" Gaius's eyes were steady, challenging. "Merlin could have left at any time, and yet he stayed in Camelot for one reason—to protect you. Everything he's done, every lie he's told, has been in service of that destiny."

"Destiny," Arthur spat the word. "I don't believe in destiny."

"Then believe in choice," Gaius said quietly. "Because Merlin chose you, every day. He could have been a king in his own right, could have ruled through power and fear. Instead, he chose to be your servant, to hide his gifts, to suffer in silence so that you might one day bring about a kingdom where magic and non-magic folk could live in peace."

Arthur looked at Merlin, sitting perfectly still in the chair. "And now?"

"Now he's been reduced to his base purpose. Without his soul, his humanity, he's simply the instrument of prophecy. He'll protect you, serve your destiny—but the man who chose to do those things is trapped in that stone."

Arthur’s hand reached up to the pendant and pressed the stone against his breastbone, golden light streaming from between his fingers.  Was Merlin aware inside the stone, alone and afraid? The thought was unbearable.

"How do we free him?"

Gaius opened a large, leather-bound tome, its pages yellow with age, and shuffled carefully through the pages. "The Stone of Souls is ancient magic, predating even the Old Religion. Legend says it was created by those who feared love, who saw it as weakness.” He turned pages carefully, then stopped on a page where Arthur could see a drawing of the pendant. Gaius scanned the page, and said, "There are stories of those who tried to break such stones. Most ended with both souls destroyed—the trapped and the trapper."

Arthur frowned. "There has to be a way--"

A knock at the door interrupted him. Arthur called out an irritated "Enter."

Leon stepped inside, his expression grave. "Sire, forgive the intrusion,” he said, glancing at Merlin who sat unmoving, staring off blankly at nothing. “There's something you need to know."

"What now?"

"The attacking sorcerer—Aldric. We searched his belongings as you ordered. We found letters." Leon held out a sheaf of parchment. "He told the truth, he was hired, Sire. Someone paid him to attack Camelot, to test you."

Arthur took the letters, checking them quickly. No names, no identifying marks, but the intent was clear—humiliate the young regent, prove him weak, sow discord in Camelot.

"Double the patrols," he ordered. "And I want to know who is behind this.” He met Leon’s gaze and knew that his First Knight’s thoughts echoed his own on who was the most likely culprit: Morgana.

It had been over three months since she had attacked Camelot and overthrown the citadel with Morgause and her immortal army. And while Morgause had sustained a possibly fatal injury, it was still long enough for Morgana to regroup and plan another attack. Perhaps even a plan where she hired sorcerers to attack with devastating magical artifacts that stole souls.

But rather than voicing their fears, Leon simply bowed and said, “Yes, Sire,” before walking out and closing the door behind him.

Arthur turned to Gaius and, with an enthusiasm he did not feel, clapped his hands and said, “All right, where were we? Research! We’d best get to it. Where would you like me to start?”

Gaius handed him an ancient, heavy tome from the increasing pile, and he sighed.

They read and researched well into the small hours of the morning, until Arthur’s eyes burned and the words on the pages began to blur, and the next thing he knew, he was woken by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. He jerked upright, noticing with some chagrin that he had fallen asleep at the table. Someone had draped a blanket over his shoulders, and a quick scan of the room showed Gaius asleep in his cot. Thin, grey morning light seeped through the windows. He turned and saw that the noise that woke him was Merlin standing from his chair.

"Merlin?"

Merlin’s head tilted to the side as if listening to something only he could hear. "There’s danger approaching," he said in that hollow voice. "There’s magic coming from the north. More than one source. They mean harm."

Arthur's blood ran cold, and he stood, pushing himself away from the table, the blanket falling from his shoulders. "Can you tell how many?"

"Seven. They will be arriving within the hour."

"Seven sorcerers?"

"Yes."

Arthur looked upward, as if accusing the heavens. Was it only yesterday morning that his biggest worry had been enduring the council? Since then, he had discovered that Merlin was a sorcerer, complicating his already complicated feelings for the man, then he lost Merlin to a magical artifact wielded by an idiot sorcerer who didn’t even know what he was doing, and now his troubles had multiplied sevenfold.

Gathering himself, strode to the door, opened it, and called for the guards. A guard raced up the stone steps of the physician’s tower. “Sire?”

“Fetch Sir Leon,” Arthur ordered. “Sound the warning bells. Inform the captain of the guard that I want every guard armed and ready for an attack. Evacuate the lower town to the citadel. If you see Sir Leon, send him to me."

"Yes, Sire!" The guard quickly ran to obey.

“Sire, what is happening?” Arthur turned to see Gaius awake and easing himself out of his cot as quickly as his old bones would allow.

Arthur nodded his head at Merlin, who stood impassively. “He said danger is on the way in the form of seven sorcerers with evil intent.

Gaius paled. “Oh dear,” he said. “An attack so soon after the first bodes ill.”

The sound of the warning bells began to clang loudly, and Arthur could hear shouts of alarm from outside. “I need to get Sir Leon and muster the knights,” he said. He looked at Merlin, who remained standing, unaffected, and turned to Gaius, frowning. "Can he defend himself? Like this?"

"He's more powerful now than ever," Gaius said quietly. "Without his humanity holding him back, without fear or doubt...”

They both turned as Merlin suddenly moved and walked toward Arthur. “I will fight and destroy the enemies of Arthur Pendragon and Camelot,” he said without inflection, and something about that made Arthur’s heart clench.

“You are not a weapon,” he said firmly. “And I will not use you like one.”

“It is what I am for.”

“No!” Arthur turned and grasped Merlin by his shoulders. He could barely stand to look into those empty eyes, but he refused to let anything happen to Merlin, even if it was just his physical form. “No, you will stay here, with Gaius, until it is safe, do you understand?”

“I cannot effectively protect you if I stay here,” Merlin said. “I will come with you.”

“No! You utter—” Arthur tightened his fingers around Merlin’s shoulders and shook him lightly. “Listen, you… you cabbagehead, if you serve me, you have to do what I say, and I order you to stay here during the battle!”

Merlin didn’t even blink. “I will always serve your best interests,” he said. “Staying here during a battle where you could be harmed or killed is not in your best interests.”

Arthur released Merlin’s shoulders abruptly, leaving him swaying slightly before he once again stilled, and growled in frustration. He glared at Gaius, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. “He might not be Merlin,” Arthur snapped, “but he is just as disobedient and infuriating!”

Gaius’s gaze darted between Arthur and Merlin. “To be fair, Sire,” he said carefully, “Merlin has always protected you, usually from the shadows. If he goes to battle with you now, the only difference will be that he will be out in the open. And, as he is now, I have little doubt of his ability to protect you, and Camelot.”

 “But Gaius, using him like this, like a weapon—"

"I know," Gaius said gently. “You don’t know how many times I wished for him to be safe and free of this burden. But he is the only genuine protection against magical threats. He always has been. You need him. Camelot needs him."

Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, then turned to Merlin. “Are you still capable of helping me into my armor?“

“Yes.”

“Fine. With me, then. Gaius?”

“I will prepare for casualties, Sire.”

Arthur nodded grimly and strode out the door, Merlin keeping pace behind him.

The castle was abuzz with activity as the warning bells continued to ring out. No one attempted to stop Arthur and ask for an explanation, though many stopped to stare at Merlin and his glowing, golden eyes. Knights ran to their posts, servants secured valuables, children were hustled to safety.

When they reached his chambers and Arthur closed the door behind them, he moved to his armor stand. Merlin moved without being commanded and began strapping on pieces with practiced efficiency, helping with buckles and straps, anticipating needs with eerie precision.

Arthur contemplated his soulless manservant as he continued to help him with his armor. “You know,” he said, “I can lock you in here to keep you safe.”

Merlin didn’t even pause in his work. “I cannot be contained by locked doors,” he said, securing Arthur’s pauldron in place.

Arthur nodded, thin-lipped. “Of course not,” he said through gritted teeth. “And that actually explains a lot.”

When his armor was in place and secure, Merlin handed Arthur his sword. Arthur took it, sheathed it in its scabbard, and sighed heavily. "When this is over," he promised, "we'll find a way to bring you back. I swear it."

Merlin stared at him, hollow-eyed, and didn’t respond.

As the warning bells continued to toll across Camelot. Arthur strode through the corridors, Merlin at his heels. Leon met him in the main entry and fell into step beside him.

In the courtyard, his knights were assembled. Gwaine's usual levity was absent, his face grim. Percival stood like a mountain, unmovable. Elyan was checking the edge of his blade while Lancelot spoke quietly with the men.

"Seven sorcerers approach," Arthur announced. "We don't know their purpose, but given recent events, we must assume hostile intent."

His knights glanced at each other, uneasily.

"And why is he here?" Gwaine asked, jerking his head toward Merlin.

"Apparently he fights with us," Arthur said sardonically. "Explicitly against my will. I can explain more later, though I will happily give ten gold pieces to anyone who can convince him to stay inside during the battle."

The knights leaned forward as one to look at Merlin. He looked back at them, standing more motionless than humanly possible.

No one moved.

"Right then!" Arthur continued. "Leon, take archers to the battlements. Gwaine, Percival—you're with me at the main gate. Lancelot, Elyan—"

"Movement on the north road!" a guard called from the walls.

Arthur ran up the steps to the battlements, his knights behind him. In the distance, he could see them—seven figures in dark robes, walking unhurriedly toward Camelot. The air around them shimmered with power, and behind them in the air, an unkindness of ravens flew in haphazard patterns.

“Well,” said Gwaine, looking at the ravens, “that explains why we are being attacked again so soon. I’d bet even odds that those birdies are spying for whoever is behind all this.”

“You are correct,” Merlin said. “The ravens are being used as vessels for scrying.”

Arthur frowned, remembering the ravens that watched on, witnessing as Merlin’s soul was stolen from him, and then Emrys’ ruthless retaliation.

"Confident bastards," Elyan muttered.

"Perhaps they think us weakened?” Lancelot asked.

"Are we?" Percival asked quietly.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who stood perfectly still beside him, those empty eyes fixed on the approaching threat.

"Let's find out.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Merlin, can you stop them from here?"

"No. The distance is too great for precise targeting. Collateral damage to the surrounding forest is unacceptable."

And Arthur felt the tight knot of fear and anxiety coiled in his gut loosen just the slightest. Even soulless, he wouldn't harm the innocent. Some part of Merlin remained, buried deep.

"Then we meet them at the gate," Arthur decided. "If they want Camelot, they'll have to go through us."

They descended to the courtyard, taking position before the main gates. Arthur drew his sword, the weight familiar in his hand. Around him, his knights formed up, shields raised, faces set with determination.

The seven sorcerers stopped just beyond arrow range. One stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal a scarred face and cold eyes.

"Arthur Pendragon," he called out. "We've come for the sorcerer Emrys. Surrender him, and Camelot need not burn today."

Wait, they had come for Merlin?

"Any sorcerer under my protection stays under my protection," Arthur replied. "Turn back now, and you can leave with your lives."

The scarred sorcerer laughed. "You would die for a servant? For a creature of magic?"

"I would die for any of my people."

"How noble. How foolish." The sorcerer raised his hand. "Take them."

The attack came like a thunderstorm. Lightning split the sky, fireballs rained down, the very earth cracked beneath their feet. Arthur raised his shield, felt the impact of magical force nearly drive him to his knees.

Then Merlin moved.

He stepped forward, raised both hands, and the world went silent. Every spell, every attack, simply... stopped. Frozen in midair like insects in amber.

"I have evaluated the threat," Merlin said calmly. And then he retaliated.

He pushed, and the frozen spells reversed, hurtling back toward their casters. The sorcerers scrambled to defend, throwing up shields, diving aside. Two weren't fast enough—they fell, their own lightning turning against them.

"Impossible," the scarred leader breathed.

Merlin tilted his head. "You are incorrect." He gestured, and the leader was yanked forward, held suspended by invisible force. "State your purpose."

The sorcerer struggled, but couldn't break free. "We came for you, Emrys. The prophecies speak of your power. With you, we could remake the world, bring magic back to its rightful place."

"Magic's place is in service to the Once and Future King," Merlin replied tonelessly. "Your goals are incompatible with what I was made to do."

"You're enslaved! Can't you see? They've bound you, reduced you to a pet!"

"I am not bound. I am focused." Merlin's eyes flashed gold. "You will leave. Now."

"Never! We came for Emrys, and we'll have him!" The sorcerer spoke a word of power, and his fellows attacked again.

This time, Merlin didn't hold back.

The air itself seemed to bend around him. One attacker's flames turned to ice mid-flight, shattering harmlessly. Another found the ground beneath him had become quicksand. A third simply... stopped, frozen in place by invisible bonds.

It wasn't a battle. It was a demonstration.

In seconds, five sorcerers lay unconscious or restrained. Only the leader and one other remained standing, and they were backing away, terror replacing arrogance.

"You're not Emrys," the leader whispered. "Emrys would never... You're something else. Something wrong."

"I am what I need to be," Merlin replied. He raised his hand again.

"Merlin, stop," Arthur commanded, fearful that he would be ignored if Emrys didn’t consider this in his best interests.

Merlin paused, hand still raised.

Without letting the immense relief he felt show, Arthur stepped forward, addressing the sorcerers. "You've seen what he can do. What I could order him to do. Leave now. Tell others what happened here. Any who threaten Camelot will face the same."

The leader stared at him. "You command Emrys? You dare?"

"I don't command him," Arthur said, though the words tasted like ash. "But the fool who attacked earlier today removed and trapped his soul.”

The leader’s gaze flicked to Arthur’s chest where a golden light strong enough to penetrate chainmail and plate shown through, and his face turned grey.

Arthur smiled grimly. “That’s right,” he said, “this is your doing, and until his soul is returned, I'm all that stands between him and the world. Would you rather face him with my conscience guiding him, or without?"

The sorcerer paled further. He grabbed his remaining companion, and they vanished in a swirl of smoke, leaving their unconscious fellows behind.

The ravens immediately dispersed.

"Secure the prisoners," Arthur ordered his knights. "Gently—they're defeated."

As his men moved to comply, Arthur turned to Merlin. "Are there other threats?"

"I’m checking." A pause. "No."

"Good. Then..." Arthur hesitated. What did one do with a soulless all-powerful sorcerer? "Return to my chambers. Wait for me there."

Merlin turned and walked away without a word. Arthur watched him go, his chest tight with something that might have been grief.

"That was..." Gwaine started, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.

"Terrifying," Elyan supplied.

"Efficient," Leon corrected, though he looked shaken.

"Not Merlin," Lancelot said quietly, and that summed it up perfectly.

Arthur sheathed his sword, suddenly exhausted. "Have the prisoners taken to the cells—the comfortable ones. I want them treated well. Maybe one of them knows something about the stone."

He started to turn away, then paused. "And thank you. All of you. For standing with him. With us."

"Always," Gwaine said, and the others nodded agreement.

Arthur made his way back to his chambers slowly, dreading what he'd find. Merlin was exactly where he'd expected—standing in the center of the room, motionless, but he immediately turned and helped Arthur divest himself of his armor without being asked.

With is armor gone, Arthur reached up and carefully removed the pendant with the Stone of Souls from around his neck and set it gently on the table. Merlin’s soul shone like a small sun within the black stone.

"Sit down," Arthur said tiredly, gesturing to a chair by the fire. “You must be cold."

"The temperature is acceptable," Merlin replied but sat anyway. Arthur wondered if it was done solely to protect his peace of mind.

Arthur sank into the opposite chair, staring at his friend's empty face in the firelight. Just yesterday, he'd discovered Merlin had magic. Had been angry about the deception, hurt by the lies. Now he'd give anything to have that Merlin back, lies and all.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked. "About before? About... us?"

Silence. Then, "I do not understand the question.”

Arthur's throat burned. "Do you remember being my friend?"

"I have no memories prior to my current state. I possess the knowledge necessary to protect you. Personal experiences are... absent."

"But you knew about the approaching sorcerers. You know how to use your magic."

"I am magic. But I have no memory of time before my soul was removed. I know Arthur Pendragon requires protection. I do not remember why."

Arthur closed his eyes. Somewhere in that stone, Merlin's soul held all those memories—of shared adventures, quiet evenings, inside jokes, and unspoken truths. Everything that made him Merlin rather than just Emrys.

"I'll get you back," he promised. "Whatever it takes."

Merlin didn't respond. The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows on empty walls.

Outside, night deepened over Camelot. In the cells below, five sorcerers nursed their wounds and wondered what they'd stumbled into. In his chambers, Gaius pored over ancient texts, searching for hope. In the tavern, Gwaine bought rounds and didn't make jokes, while Percival sat silent and Elyan sharpened a blade that didn't need it. In Gwen’s house, Lancelot sat next to her and held her as she wept into his shoulder.

And in the prince's chambers, two figures sat by the fire—one wrestling with newfound knowledge and feelings he couldn't name, the other empty of everything that had once made him human.

The stone pulsed on the table between them, golden light steady as a heartbeat, holding a soul captive.

Holding Merlin captive.

"I need you," he whispered to the hollow shell wearing Merlin's face. "Not Emrys. Not magic. You. The idiot who can't polish armor properly and makes terrible jokes and always knows when I need someone to tell me I'm being a prat."

Golden eyes flickered in the firelight, but remained empty.

Arthur settled in for a long night of watching, of guarding what remained of his dearest friend, of planning how to achieve the impossible.

He would get Merlin back.

He had to.

-------------

Feedback and constructive criticism welcome and appreciated! :D

[x-dark-whimsy-x]

Imma write a fic for this prompt. :D Okay I lie. I'm already writing it. 40,000 words and counting. Draft of 12 chapters complete. Proofreading now. Will be posting the first chapter soon!

Camelot is being attacked by a sorcerer. Somehow the knights manage to capture them, but the sorcerer has one last ace up his sleeve:

Sorcerer: you can never win, Arthur Pendragon. I am going to steal the soul of the most valuable person in this room and you can do nothing to stop me!!!

Arthur: and who is that? Can't you be more specific?

Sorcerer: *grabs stone around his neck* well, i'm curious, too, Arthur Pendragon. If it's not you, then I'm afraid you're not worthy of being king!

Arthur: *hand around sword tightens* everyone in this room is equally valuable!

Sorcerer: is that so? *Enchants the stone*

....

A second later, Merlin collapses to the ground

... *silence*

Sorcerer: what the fuck? A servant? Really?

Arthur: *panics* what did you do to him?

Sorcerer: i have His soul, idiot. I told you already! Hold on, why is he standing up? How- oh fuck

Merlin: *raises to his feet. Eyes unseeing.*

Arthur: Merlin? U okay? Do you still have a soul?

Merlin: *doesn't answer* *eyes turn gold*

Sorcerer: this is bad

Merlin: *stretches out hand*

Sorcerer: okay, this is really, really bad. You guys should run

Arthur: what? Why? Why are his eyes like that? What's going on?

Sorcerer: look. It was never my attention to hurt anyone. I just needed the money. The soul thing was my escape plan should I get caught. But we really need to get out of here, because we will all die if we don't

Merlin: *eyes still golden* *attacks*

Sorcerer: *barely manages to deflect the attack* yap. This was a bad idea.

Arthur: merlin has magic?

Sorcerer: so not the problem right now. He IS magic! And I have no idea how to return his soul. Seriously! Run!!!