Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Camelot had been calm - tranquil even - for a total of nine consecutive days. 

Summer had finally arrived, shining down on the castle, warming the flagstones, making every outside chore one of traded laughter and relieved sighs in spots of shade.

The whole kingdom seemed to come alive with the fairer weather, the market town busier than it had ever been, travelling performers frequenting the square and foreign merchants flashing cloth and  jewels vibrant enough to get even Gwens attention, though she swore she was above such things publicly. 

In all, it was wonderful, exuberant, jubilant- 

Suspicious.

“You're such a killjoy,” Gwaine laughed, nudging his friend and nearly sending him toppling over as he tried to balance the heap of laundry he'd retrieved from the lines strung outside, “Peace is a good thing my friend, it's what we fight for.”

“It's weird, no one ever gives us a break,” Merlin snapped, readjusting his load “Somethings going to go wrong, the longer we get off, the worse it'll end up being, mark my words."

“You're no prophetess mate, leave it to the witch.”

“The last time we had a good summer the king died-”

“Not the worst thing ever!” 

At Merlin's scandalized expression he doubled over in laughter, clapping him on the shoulder, “You should see your face! Gods above Merlin, I'm joking. Mostly. Kind of?”

Merlin's eye twitched and he promptly set back off towards the castle, Gwaines laughter echoing as he followed behind like an over eager labrador.

“Gwaine, laundry.” Merlin said pointedly, trying half-heartedly to shake him off with a slightly erratic route ,“Unless you want to help fold Arthurs socks?”

“I need to see the princess actually, very important knight stuff.” 

Merlin paused at the kings door, pinning him with a look “Knight stuff?”

Gwaine merely offered a shit eating grin, hand on the door knob.

“Nevermind. Your funeral, I don't want to know.”

They both stepped inside just in time for a tunic to come soaring directly at them, finally succeeding at toppling the manservant clean over, a cloud of fresh clothes raining down around him.

There was a long, pregnant moment as Arthur Pendragon looked between his fuming servant and knight with eyebrows raised in a spectacular imitation of Gaius, then Gwaine was doubling over laughing, falling right down next to him.

“I am going to kill you-”

“Your face-”

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, a hand pinched between his brows, “For the love of God, what do you think you're both doing?”

Merlin screamed into his hands, and Gwaine lost it all over again, cackling as he clambered to his feet and dragged him up with him.

“I” Merlin half snarled “was doing what you ordered and gathering your summer wardrobe. This one said he needs to talk to you and you attacked me so it is entirely your fault this happened-”

“Alright alright! Just pick them up, Christ!” Arthur waved him off quickly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Gwaine, what do you want?”

“You.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“More specifically you, Merlin and the gang.”

Arthur stared at him, “The gang?”

“Squad? Troupe?” Gwaine tried “Camelot's mightiest? Handsomist heroes? No?”

“You hired him,” Merlin muttered, folding tunics sullenly “this is entirely your fault.

“Ignoring that, what's the goal here? I can't exactly just follow you at will Gwaine, if it's for the tavern-”

“There's a travelling circus in town tonight, one night only,” Gwaine said quickly before the king changed his mind “and we've all more than earned a night off.”

Arthur… actually seemed to be considering it “You are aware if I say yes this will be the only time I allow such a thing for a while? Sure this is the night?”

Gwaine nodded frantically “Yes sir it is! They have fire breathers, and apple bobbing! What a concept!”

“Sounds like a good way to hurt someone.” Merlin snipped mulishly.

Arthurs eye twitched “You know what? Yes, if only because Merlin is so against the concept of having fun, I mean really-”

“Oh because travelling performers have been sooo helpful before-”

“Your mistrust of literally every person ever-”

A piercing whistle interrupted them, the pair snapping around to Gwaine, who shrugged “You two bicker for hours if no one says anything. Look, Merl, I'll even help you finish all your chores first. Come on, mate, you know it'll be fun!”

And something in his friend seemed to loosen at that, Merlin's shoulders sagging with a sigh “alright alright!”

“Yes!” Gwaine cheered, immediately scooping up the rest of the fabric and folding it surprisingly well, “You finish up whatever it is you do all day princess and tell the queen, the courtyard, six sharp!”

With that he closed the armoire and all but dragged Merlin to the armoury, a reluctant laugh leaving him as they went.

Arthur just shook his head as the door swung shut, but he smiled as he sat down at his desk all the same.

At six sharp it was still light, though many vendors began to erect towering light posts, preparing to cast the kingdom under a dreamy golden glow and carry the festivities late into the night.

Gwaine stood smugly on the steps, one hand keeping Merlin from darting off by the scruff of his neck, Percival, Leon, Mordred and Elyan quietly making bets on how long he'd succeed for when Arthur and Gwen arrived, dressed far plainer than befitting their stations in a vague attempt to blend with the crowds.

“My lady, as beautiful as ever!” Gwaine cooed, dragging Merlin with him into a bow, making her giggle and gently tug the servant out of the knight's hands to link their arms.

“Sir Gwaine, mind if I steal merlin for a bit?”

Merlin squinted suspicously at her, "Why?”

“Arthur claims acrobats make him queasy, so you're my date!” Gwen squeezed his arm “you wouldn't deny your queen, would you?”

It was a testament to their friendship that Merlin just smiled softly instead of firing back a line about royalty and orders, nodding his head placidly, “Never.”

“In that case, Percy you're with me, I can see the apple bobbing from here!” Gwaine proclaimed, twitching with anticipation.

“Which leaves four, your choice, Arthur,” Elyan offered, “where first?”

Arthur thought for a moment, “I do hear a man claims to breathe fire-?”

“It's settled then, meet back here in thirty minutes to switch groups, and again at first dark to see the parade,” Gwaine decreed, in his best imitation of Arthur, already tugging Percival away, “see you later!”

Gwen quickly dragged Merlin in the direction of a towering tent, the servant waving smugly at Arthur as they left.

“I can smell gunpowder from here,” Mordred announced, “I believe the fire eater is this way my lord-”

“Arthur,” the king interrupted, “it's everyone's night off, just call me Arthur, Mordred.”

Mordred smiled “Very well, Arthur, come on!”

Though no festival had ever been officially announced within the kingdom it truly seemed the people had taken it upon themselves to host one unofficially in honour of the gentle times they'd finally earned two summers past Uther Pendragon's death.

Arthur could admit, as his knights tugged him between various stalls on their way to the fire eater, that something seemed to have returned to the land since his fathers death and his own ascendency. 

People weren't as afraid anymore. They actually went out of their way to smile at him, calling out greetings, offering free sugared fruits, fresh water, ale, and trinkets. No one shrank back as they passed, even though all of them bore their weapons plain upon their hips. 

Even Mordred, who'd been somewhat reserved since joining the group last year, seemed to brighten under the contagious atmosphere, not bothering to lift his shirt to hide the hint of the druidic symbol at his throat, even when curious eyes lingered on it.

He rather insisted on spending money though, which Arthur and Leon tried vainly to dissuade, and which only worsened when Merlin and Gwen re-joined them, Gwen already sporting a necklace handmade by a foreign blacksmith and Merlin sheepishly adjusting a new neckerchief she no doubt forced upon him.

Mordred seemed utterly determined to find out exactly what manner of trinket might impress the servant after that, for some god forsaken reason.

“He's just Merlin,” Arthur insisted, dragging the youngest knight away from a man selling leather cuffs not unlike one he recalled Merlin wearing his first few years in the kingdom, “you could impress him with a random peony for crying out loud-”

“He likes peonies then?”

Arthur shoved Mordred at Gwaine and ordered him to dunk him in the apple barrel until he came to his senses, ignoring his squawking. 

At some point a group of minstrels took up in the courtyard, a crowd soon gathering to dance and sing among them. 

Arthur hung back, watching as his wife danced with Leon, laughing, her hair catching the firelight and shining with a thousand colours, never more beautiful than when she felt free, feet whirling effortlessly as she slipped between her brother, Gwaine, Mordred, Percival and Leon, just one face missing among them.

Merlin was easy to spotted luckily, stood nearby, leaning against stacked barrels of ale, a small, pleased smile on his face as he observed.

Sometimes, Arthur thought, Merlin looked just like he imagined he himself did. Like there was some unknowable weight on his shoulders that held him back from joining the others, a knowledge that he didn't belong, was something slightly different, even if he was as much a part of them as their own beating hearts.

It was nonsense of course, Merlin was… well he was the beating heart of the group. The more the king thought about it the more he realised it was true; The servant had brought almost all of them together, and retained a fierce loyalty from each to mirror their oaths to Arthur. He should be with them.

The king almost opened his mouth to insist just that, but a thin, ancient voice interrupted before he could:

“Arthur Pendragon”

Arthur turned, found an old woman stood before him, white hair in two thick braids to either side of pale skin and gaunt face. She was dressed in draping cloths of red, heavy looking hammered jewellery covering her arms and throat, large, ornate rings clicking as she beckoned him over to an equally be-draped caravan.

“Can I help you?”

“No,” she said simply “It is I who can help you. Come.”

Arthur approached warily “to what end?”

“My name is Mneme. I am the Seanchai - a collector of legend and history. I give to all who come to my home their own vaticination, usually for a small sum, but for a king, I would give this word freely.”

“Sounds an awful lot like prophecy, that toes a line in this kingdom.”

Mneme waved an aged hand dismissively “I rely not on the gifts of seers. Seanchai are scholars at heart, and there is a story you need to hear, young king, before it is too late to understand it.”

Arthur glanced back at Merlin, debating dragging him into this too. Deciphering wordplay had always been a rather random strong suit of his servants.

But Mneme shook her head “Leave the boy. My offer is to you alone.”

Arthur was reasonably confident he could take her in a fight, even if she did end up being some twisted manner of sorceress. He didn't sense any malintent, but then when had he ever?

Still, he was curious. 

Arthur followed her into the caravan.

It was deceptively spacious inside, giving an odd, cosy atmosphere. The use of countless rolls of silks and and cottons suspended across the ceiling gave the impression of a much higher roof, a bed tucked into one end, two plush cushions sat to either side of a low table in the middle, the biggest candle he'd ever seen the only thing between them upon it, and a modest rail of clothing hung at the other end.

It was rather homey, all things considered, and smelled of things he had no name for but which tickled his nose and filled his head with memories of the sand blown lands he'd once journeyed to with Gwaine and Merlin.

Mneme ushered him to sit on one of the cushions, lighting some kind of incense before sitting opposite him, relaxing into the atmosphere, almost blending into her domain. 

“Tell me, Arthur Pendragon, what do you know of druid prophecy?”

Arthur settled his knees under him, wary as she lit the thick candle, eyes flicking between the strong flame and her aged face “I know they have many-”

“Not really,” she interrupted, shaking off the tinder she'd used to light it, the smoke curling into the rafters “in truth they only have one that really matters. One perhaps older than prophecy itself.”

“Does that matter?”

“Everything matters, Pendragon. No word spoken is wasted.”

Arthur got the faint impression he was being scolded, if gently. He bowed his head in apology, encouraging her to continue.

Her bracelets chimed, sparking in the light as she drew in breath for her tale, “It is called the Great prophecy, foretelling a time that is soon to come to pass, though it was first known centuries ago. Tell me, how many times have you been called the once and future king?”

That… did surprise him. He’d never gone out of his way to mention the handful of druids who alluded to the title, let alone that Merlin of all people had, if he recalled correctly. 

Mneme seemed to read the answer on his face, “The name comes from this foretelling. One day the once and future king is destined to unite the seven kingdoms and form a sovereign nation of Albion, this I am sure you've heard, but it is but half of a story, and it is not yours alone.”

Albion… a dream he'd had since he was young. Uther had considered unity a children's dream, impossible to ever actually accomplish. But more and more these days the people seemed to turn to Arthur with its dream on their lips.

“What's the other half?”

“You cannot achieve this alone, as I am sure you've guessed. Another walks by your side, the opposite side of the same coin, as alike to you as the sun to the moon, as different as night and day.”

Mneme closed her eyes, drifting her fingers through the candle to catch the flame on her rings, tiny beams of light like shooting stars sparking through the small space, “It is his legend you need to understand. They say even he does not know his own true tale, though he must come to discover it as surely as you do. Albion will only come to exist when both halves are whole, entirely themselves, entirely at peace with each other.”

Arthur frowned “What kind of person?”

“They say he is the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. A warlock so in tune with life that he is magic itself in human form, who walks in the shadows to serve the light, who devotes his life to the once and future king out of the most honest love for him.”

The kings stomach sank. A sorcerer. Love?

Impossible.

“Your revulsion stings my senses,” Mneme sighed “though it is understandable. I am not here to lecture you on the complex reality of magic and morality. He is your other half whether you enjoy it or not, and to reject a protector of this strength isn't just against nature, it's stupid. You will not succeed in peace making without him, will never know life without him, will never truly see without the one who can forge the heights to view from.”

“My view on magic is bloody and well known,” Arthur pointed out “and you expect me to believe some kind of druidic messiah wants to be best friends with me?”

“So the legends say, perhaps he already is,” Mneme opened her eyes “Many know of this prophecy, and they believe in him as much as they believe in you. You ought to take interest, regardless of your reservations, before someone else does.”

It was a lot to take in. Arthur scrubbed a hand over his eyes, “You came to find me to tell me there's an all powerful magic user I'm supposed to team up with. That alone could be considered treason. Why risk it?”

Mneme hummed, her eyes eerily gold as they reflected the candlelight, “I am of the belief no man is complete without their personal legend, and knowledge should be given freely. Camelot is on the path to greatness, but many fear there is still time for the way to be lost. I hope, Arthur Pendragon, that I have given you something to think about, that is all.”

“You have, but….”

Mneme stood, gesturing for Arthur to rise with her, “Prophecy is fickle, no life is set in stone. But it does well to heed the stories of those who came before, all the same. Emrys exists in this world already, if stories are to be believed. It is in both your hands to determine the path you walk with this information.”

“Does he know? The legend of the once and future king?”

Mneme shrugged “who can say? I've told you, and that's where our story ends.”

She swung her door open, ushering the king outside with a smile “Good luck, King Arthur. Perhaps I'll see you again one day in a united land.”

Arthur was left with a strange feeling in his gut, the name repeating over and over in his mind.

Emrys. 

By the time he caught up with the others, Merlin was about ready to shake him.

“You vanished! For ages, Arthur, no one could find you-”

“Calm down Merlin, gods above, you're not my wife!” Arthur huffed, batting off the hands reaching to throttle him, only to be met by Gwens' disapproving stare and shrinking back slightly.

“He was worried, we all were. You should have said something, you are the king you know!” she scolded “where were you?”

“I was just with the… what did she call herself? Shechi?”

Merlin blinked “the seanchai?”

“Yes! That.”

“Seriously? You vanished to talk to a bard?” Merlin looked at Gwen like he'd grown a second head “did you trade him for a different Arthur at a prize draw?”

“Haha,” Arthur said dryly “I do like to listen to my subjects you know.”

“Well, what did she say? Anything of interest?” 

“A very... perplexing story actually. But not one for today, its… I think I need to look into it, and I was actually having a good time-”

“I knew it!” Gwaine materialised, slinging an arm over his shoulder to crow his triumph as the others caught up to them “you heard the princess, it was a good idea!”

Merlin and Gwen didn't look convinced, even as Arthur tried to look as reassuring as possible. 

“Just tell me she didn't try to kill you,” Merlin said eventually “or be-spell you or-”

“I think she was warning me actually,” Arthur admitted, shoving Gwaine off “Look she told me about some guy called Emrys but-”

He certainly didn't expect both Merlin and Mordred to choke, the servant turning a peculiar shade of green as Mordred coughed hastily.

“What?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think we should all go to the tavern actually,” Merlin turned desperately to Leon “When was the last time the king went to a tavern?”

“Some time, for sure, are you alright though?” the knight asked concernedly.

“Totally good, come on, first rounds on Mordred!” 

Merlin ensnared both Mordred and Leon, the others following laughing after them. Arthur frowned at their backs as he took Gwens hand “That was weird, right?”

“For Merlin, no. For Mordred, yes,” Gwen murmured “But it can wait, as you said. I believe you still owe me a dance, my lord”

All thoughts went clean out of Arthurs head.

The suspicion could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, the minstrels were still playing, the lights were hazy and his queen was lovely.

Arthur pulled her into his arms and let the music take them away.

When Merlin comes to wake the king the next morning he finds him not buried deep in his bed with Gwen and nursing a hangover as expected, but sat at his desk with a stack of heavy tomes, Gwen relaxed at her vanity, focused on some manner of embroidery or repair.

“Someone definitely swapped you out,” Merlin declares by way of greeting, plopping Arthur's breakfast on top of whatever paper he was so focused on “I didn't know you could read.”

Arthur barely rose to the bait, immediately moving the plate to the top of one of the stacks to keep writing “You never fail at being deeply unamusing Merlin.”

“That's it?” Merlin looked to Gwen, who just laughed, tying off a stitch and shaking out what appeared to be one of Arthurs riding jackets.

“Merlin I need you to do me a favour,” Arthur said distractedly “I need you to bring Geoffrey here, tell him to bring any and all books he has on druidic legends, I don't care if they're forbidden texts he's smuggled away either. I have a handful of tomes from Gaius but they're not specific-”

“Hang on, hang on, why are you suddenly researching the druids?”

Arthur glanced up “I told you last night, the shinchin-”

“Seanchai”

“Gesundheit,” Arthur continued unperturbed “the- the shen- the bard. The bard told me a druidic legend. I want as much information on it as I can get. Now that I think about it- get sir Mordred as well, I'd speak to him about it, and consider your duties waived for the day, you're helping me with this.”

“Seriously?” Merlin felt like he'd been pushed into a parallel universe, this was.. just what had this woman said to him? 

“Seriously. Geoffrey, books. Mordred, here. Go.”

He looked helplessly at Gwen but she just rose to kiss her husband on the cheek “I think it's good that you're taking this so seriously. Most kings dismiss their fableists as silver tounges. Maybe you'll learn something, its sweet.”

“Traitor,” Merlin decided “you're a traitor.”

“Look on the Brightside, you hate doing your chores, and now I can go get George to cover for you, everyone will be happy!” The queen shoulder checked him gently, vanishing into the corridor.

Arthur fixed Merlin with an expectant look and he sighed, turning to follow.

“You're certain he said druidic legend, specifically forbidden tomes?” the bookkeeper asked incredulously when Merlin arrived, looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

“Believe me, I looked like you do right now. He wants your help.”

“Is the king… okay?”

“As far as I can tell he's actually more level headed than normal, acting all stately and imperious like a regular monarch.”

“Right,” Geoffrey tapped his quill against his chin thoughtfully, “well, most of the books were burned in the purge of course, Gaius will have told you that. I might have one or two but.. I'm reluctant to disclose where. Even to you, boy. Go attend to whatever else he's instructed of you and I'll bring them up when I've checked to see if I have any other relevant texts. ”

“Thank you sir.”

“Yes yes, off with you now!”

It took slightly longer to track down Sir Mordred, Merlin eventually finding him patrolling the far ends of the gardens and nursing a rather spectacular headache going by his expression.

Merlin rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath.

Mordred stiffened in surprise, his head whipping around as it cleared of fog and pain “Merlin?”

“Mordred. Better?”

“Well, yes, but why?”

“You looked constipated”

Mordred looked horrified, Merlin had to hold back a laugh “Sorry. No, Arthur wants to see you, but I need you to be clear headed when you talk to him.”

“He's looking into Emrys, isn't he?”

“Yes. Rather excessively. I don't know what the woman told him but… he must have been up before dawn.” 

Mordred bit his lip worriedly “You don't think she knew-”

“No. No if Arthur had even the slightest clue that I was involved he’d never have let me leave his chambers.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Merlin ran a hand over the sunflowers blooming against the outer wall, seemingly oblivious to the way they straightened under his fingers, petals blooming a brighter gold, “I won't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Tell him… pieces of truth. Enough to make him think Iseldier mentioned it in passing, but you aren't overtly familiar. Try and bore him, if you can.”

“You think that will throw him off?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly “but we have to try. Will you?”

Mordred hesitated for a moment. His relationship with merlin since his arrival had been strained at best, honestly his attitude towards him at the festivities last night was the closest they'd been, Merlin had been downright friendly, especially after a pint of ale had been coaxed into him by Gwaine.

Mordred wanted nothing more than to befriend him, to prove his loyalty to a man who could easily be the closest thing his people had to a king, and who quite literally seemed to exude magic to others with it, the air always fresh and light in his presence.

But trust and friendship took time. Took proof of intent.

He held out a hand, extended to Merlin “ I’ll do what I can to help you. I promise.”

And that seemed to be enough. Merlin offered a small smile, shaking it with a scarred palm.

“Come on then, his highness is waiting!”

Geoffrey had beaten them back to the kings chambers, Arthur and the scholar both bent over a black bound tome, debating whatever it is they found on the page.

“Ah, Sir Mordred. What on earth took so long?”

“My fault, sire,” the knight said quickly “I elected to take a station near the edge of the grounds this morning, the fresh air was… nice?”

Merlin shot him a grateful look, coming to peer at whatever they were reading, frowning slightly, “Is this written in Latin?”

“Right you are boy,” Geoffrey praised “Most of my older texts are, in truth. Tricky to fully translate, some vocabulary is simply lost to time without a professor of etymology to guide us.”

“I'll take whatever I can get, but this will do for now. Thank you Geoffrey, will you reach out to the friend you mentioned about further texts?”

Geoffrey nodded, bowing lowly, “I'll see what I can do. If you have further need of me, the boy knows where to find me.”

Arthur glanced at merlin as Geoffrey left “Does he know your name? I don't think I've ever actually heard him use it.”

Merlin snorted, taking up a seat at the table Arthur had swapped to in favour of the space it offered compared to his desk, “Gaius introduced me to him as his great nephew, I think in his head they're both still young, so I must be a child in his mind.”

“You are a child,” Arthur quipped, before tugging out the chair next to him and waving Mordred over, “Come on, sit down for gods sake!”

Mordred hastened to obey, eyes skating over the parchment covering the wood “What is this about, exactly?”

“Before that - know I do not hold your ancestry against  you, sir Mordred, and I want you to feel comfortable talking to me, nothing held back. Do you understand me?”

Mordred swallowed harshly, “yes my lord.”

“Excellent. I know you were raised as a druid, so tell me, what do you know of the prophecies regarding the once and future king and Emrys?”

There it was. The question was asked. 

What did he know? More than Merlin was probably comfortable with him knowing, truth be told.

Mordred attempted to relax in the chair, determined not to accidentally incriminate either of them, “It's a common enough legend I suppose. The story of a great king who will unite the lands of Albion.”

“Yes yes,” Arthur waved off “I know about the once and future king, what no one seems willing to elaborate on is Emrys.”

“You know-” Mordred paused “you know that its..”

“Me, yes, a few people have said that.” Arthur frowned “I'll worry about that later. What do your people say of Emrys?”

Mordred very carefully did not look at Merlin, casting his gaze to the window, the sky beyond the castle an endless expanse of blue, barely dotted with clouds, “There are those who say he is the most powerful warlock to walk the earth. And that he is destined to help the once and future king.”

“What does that mean though, help me how?”

Mordred shrugged “Who knows? Prophecies don't tend to be overly specific, it could be as simple as vouching for you, or saving your life.”

“See that's what I don't get,” Arthur set down his quill, leaning forwards in his chair to pin the knight with full eye contact, “why would this all powerful sorcerer save me? Magic is outlawed in Camelot. It's been outlawed for twenty six years. Most of their kind despise us!”

“Maybe Emrys thinks you'll change your mind?”

“He’d have no reason to,” Arthur finally looked away “someone that powerful must have some kind of ironclad reason to- to support me. I don't think I've given anyone that reason, and to be frank the notion of a super powerful magic user skulking about Camelot is deeply disturbing. It can't be allowed.”

Merlin crossed his arms around himself, gaze directed towards the ground, and Mordred felt a great swell of pity.

He hadn't thought much about it, beyond his initial awe and confusion, but Merlin's position had to be more difficult than he'd imagined. It was one thing to hear Arthur dismiss and disparage magic users, another to be specifically shat on, so to speak.

“For what its worth my lord,” Mordred said quietly “my people truly believe Emrys is on your side. I don't think he could hurt you if he tried, and vice versa. Uniting Albion aside, your bond is said to be… well legendary. I wouldn't rush to discount such a man.”

“Yes these books say the same. But it's not enough, unfortunately. I can't just take your word that he's harmless, as much as I want to,” Arthur shut the tome carefully, thinking, “You were raised away from the druids in the end, maybe there's more you don't know. Merlin-”

The servant startled, nearly falling out his chair, to the kings bemusement, “first of all, wake up. Second of all, Gaius is still in contact with Iseldir, yes?”

“How'd you know that?”

“I'm not an idiot, Merlin. He always shows up within a day of Gaius requesting it, I don't begrudge him for keeping a useful source at hand,” Arthur drummed his fingers against the table “that being said, do you think Iseldir would agree to meet us?”

“Possibly. But seriously, if this Emrys guy has hid himself for however long, do you really think digging into him is going to make him magically appear now?”

“I don't know. What I do know is that this prophecy has come up enough times to be of note now, and its time we understood what we were dealing with. Get Gaius to set up a meeting? Please, Merlin.”

The rarely used politesse seemed to sway him, the servant sighing and getting back to his feet, “I want it known I think this is a bad idea!”

“You always say that when magic is involved. Don't be such a girl.”

“Don't come crying to me when this bites us on the ass!”

“Go!”

“Yeah yeah.”

Arthur shook his head at him, turning back to Mordred “In the meantime, sir Mordred, how's your Latin?”

Instead of just setting up a one on one meeting, Iseldir invites Arthur to the druids latest encampment, just a few hours ride from Camelot.

The druid leader had only two requests, that they come with open minds, and that they be willing to surrender their weapons when they arrive.

Merlin doesn't know whose more surprised that Arthur agrees, him or Leon.

Naturally the round table come, Mordred quietly briefing the others as they move out, attempting to quell the natural confusion that came with the mission.

“Nervous?” Percival asked Merlin kindly, “You know druids are a peaceful people.”

“Oh I know they're harmless. I just… Arthur's set on this. I don't know that it's such a good idea.”

Percival considered that as they trotted along the path, “I've never minded magic, or those who wield it for good. But I can admit that if Arthurs end goal is to force this Emrys to reveal himself it might bring trouble.”

“Exactly. This isn't the sort of thing he should be taking lightly. After everything that he's been through… I'm worried he’ll find what he's looking for, and wish he hadn't.”

Percival looked back at Merlin then, almost seeming to search his face for something, “You really care about him.” He said it as fact, which it was of course.

“I worry,” Merlin tightened his grip on his horses reins “every time Arthurs gone looking for magic he has gotten hurt, one way or another. If this ends badly, I don't know if I'll be able to help him.”

“Have more faith in yourself Merlin, Lancelot did, he told me so many times to bet on you, above anyone else.”

They hadn't spoken much about that- Lancelot, and his respective bonds with them. Percival had spent untold months with the man when he was banished from Camelot, they'd undoubtedly grown near as close as Merlin and Lancelot had.

“I wish he was here,” Merlin admitted “Arthur listened to him.”

“I miss him too. But are you so sure he would discourage the king from this? Knowledge is power, he always knew that, I think we stopped at more bookkeepers than inns in our time.”

Yeah, but he also knew exactly why this was probably a huge mistake, Merlin thought miserably.

Percival reached out, ruffling his hair affectionately, “It'll be alright Merlin, whatever happens, we face it together. You're not alone in this.”

Not yet maybe. 

Merlin just forced a strained smile, looking back to the road ahead, their journey soon coming to its end, Iseldir stood waiting with two young men to receive them as they dismounted.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Arthur said “I believe you know most of my group already.”

Iseldir nodded, glancing over them, “Mordred, it is good to see you again!”

“And you, elder.”

“And sir Leon, looking healthy!”

Leon smiled ruefully “As a horse. Speaking of, where should we tether them?”

“That's what Leo and Fredeven are here for,” Iseldir said of the two druids “they are my most gifted with animals, they'll take good care of them, and your weapons.”

The kings determination was plain, given that he sheathed excalibur on his steed without so much as a wince, the others following his unspoken command. 

“Come, let me show you our camp,” Iseldir beckoned, leading them deeper into the forest, where a great glade seemed to spill into their path.

It was, in a word, ethereal.

A sanctuary of thriving nature, a bubbling stream cut through the camp which seemed to have tripled in size since they'd last encountered the druids.

Women sat in circles on heavy looking logs, tying baskets or mending clothes, men prepared food by a cheerful fire, children weaved between sun dappled trees, their laughter streaming in their wake, flowers blooming in their footprints.

A handful of carefully woven tents were erected, a gathering of elders sat before them, smoking carved pipes and muttering to each other.

It was a stark contrast to the stark survivalist appearance they'd grown to expect of druids. They actually seemed to be thriving.

You know you helped this to happen.

Merlin shot a quick, questioning glance at Mordred, who seemed as in awe as he was.

Arthur relaxed the laws on druidism, you played a part in that. You make him a better person, and they feel safe near Camelot, near you.

It felt like a stretch. He hadn't even done that much. Had he?

Still, he could sense the whispers hidden by hands as all eyes in the camp took their time to furtively seek him out. He felt bizarrely like a may pole, with invisible strings linlking him to minds buzzing with magic around him.

Merlin ducked next to Gwaine, a shallow attempt at hiding.

“You've made quite the camp here,” Arthur said to Iseldir as they walked slowly through it, “but how is this possible?”

“Are you aware, Arthur Pendragon, that Camelot is the only kingdom to make our existence legal?” Iseldir paused by the area the children played in, watching them, “Since your asendancy we've been treated with nothing short of respect by your soldiers. It might surprise you just how far  that kindness can take people.”

Leon seemed to straighten a little at the indirect praise, “After what you did for me, for Camelot, of course we would.”

“My father… he made a lot of mistakes. I should have said something sooner,” Arthur agreed “I'm happy for you, truly. But it's not why I'm here. ”

“Oh, I know. Perhaps your men would like to take a break while we talk? Our fires are open, and they might enjoy some time within nature beyond stone walls.”

I will do what I can to guide his curiosity, Emrys, you need fear nothing among us.

Merlin nodded almost imimpercitbily and one of the children came sprinting over, offering him a blinding smile;

Play?

Children, it seemed, held a cruder version of the mindspeaking gift, the word more of an impression than true language.

Still, he allowed the child to slip their tiny hand into his, offering Arthur a what can you do kind of shrug.

“Leon, will you stay? And Gwaine, go make sure those kids dont tire him out too much.” Arthur laughed.

Gwaine was more than happy to chase after his friend, while Mordred excused himself to talk to druids he recognised.

“Come on then big boy,” Elyan said cheeerfully to percival, “let's go see if we can make ourselves useful!”

“Sure thing, tiny man.”

“Seriously?”

“You started it-”

Once they'd buised themselves Iseldir brought Arthur and Leon into what they assumed was his private tent, the flap pinned open so they ould still see their companions, but offering privacy enough for now.

“The children remember your servant,” Iseldir said casually, “he is kind when he visits them, I fear they've gotten rather attached.” 

Arthur snorted, glancing out. Merlin appeared to have been coerced into some kind of game of tag, dancing away from reaching hands and sticking his tongue out at Gwaine, who attempted to tackle him, failed, and got dogpiled by the kids for his efforts.

“He's good with children,” he agreed “probably cause he acts like one.”

“That's not a bad thing, some would argue a youthful spirit is a free one.”

“Maybe. Still.”

Iseldir tilted his head slightly, “You came here for a purpose, I know. I also know young Mordred told you what he knows, I don't know how much more I can offer in terms of the legends you're seeking.”

“We're hoping you can tell us more about who Emrys might be, or at least his motivations beyond supposedly uniting albion.”

Iseldir hummed “I'm afraid his identity is not something I'm able to offer, even if I wanted to. Though, there are those who say all with magic insinctually know him.”

“What? How?”

“The legends say he is magic itself, yes?” at Arthurs nod Iseldir continued, “Magic isn't some mystical force, it's… life, redirected. It's impossible to create something from nothing, even in the mystic arts. A typical sorocor takes fire from candles, water from streams or they may lift existing objects and utilise them. Even to heal- they don't just close wounds, they encourage the body to heal itself.” 

“That's incredible,” Leon murmured, in spite of himself.

Arthur could admit  it was interesting, but it didn't answer his question.

“What does life feel like to you, Arthur Pendragon?”

Weird question. But he could play along, “I guess, adrenaline, strength, solid ground. ”

Iseldir smiled encouragingly “and you, sir Leon?”

“Warmth,” he offered “sunlight.”

“Imagine those feelings, imagine them being felt as you are now, gently fuelling you, making you feel as alive as you can be, like being close to the stools you sit on gives you life just by being by them. That's how they know him, that's what it is  to be near him.”

Oddly lovely, Arthur thought, must be nice. Weird, but nice.

“You wonder if Emrys has ulterior motives in his goals with you. I expect he does, but not nefarious ones.” Iseldir looked beyond the tent, seemingly watching the children in his care, “his duty is to help you unite the land, but in his soul, he is called to heal the land. To bring life, soothe the wounds of war and bring peace to magic users, and likely to himself. You fear that someone with that much power would use it for ill, but Arthur, you are also a person with immense power yourself, and you are truly trying to help this world. Why could he not too?”

“I've only ever seen magic used to destroy lives,” Arthur said quietly, “it's taken everything from me, my family, my friends, almost my whole kingdom. It's not enough to believe this person means well. Not after everything I've done to magic users, or had done to me in turn.”

Leon understood all too well how he felt.

Magic users were part of the reason he'd almost died in a ditch in the cold more times than he could count, but they were also part of the reason he lived and breathed now.

He’d seen the dragon raze camelot, stealing innocent lives, but he'd also seen humans enact just as much cruelty, the young druid girl Merlin had tried to save years ago coming to mind.

It was asking a lot to encourage Arthur to trust the most dangerous of them now, with no proof, no face, nothing but spoken word.

“I have a suggestion, if I may,” Iseldirs voice roused both of them from their quiet contemplation, “Stay the night with my people, talk to them. You know what we are and what we can do, and you came anyway. They are likely to use magic in front of you. It might help to see it used in a safe setting, and to listen to some stories of how it can be good, for the first time in your lives. Only if I take your word they would face no repercussion, of course.”

It said a great deal about Iseldirs character, and the strength of his beliefs, that he would make the offer at all.

Arthur turned to Leon, “You are my most trusted knight, and my oldest friend. What do you think?”

If you had asked him years ago, before Arthur was even a regent and they were still in the middle of the worst of the purge, he wouldn't have hesitated to recommend wiping the druid camp clean off the map.

But they had saved his life, had help to save Arthur's in their efforts over the years, one of them was sworn into service alongside him to do just that.

He looked out, to Merlin and Gwaine still entertaining the children, Percival chopping wood for a blushing young woman, Elyan using the fire to mend a hammer, Mordred with his head bent, deep in discussion with the elders.

They weren't afraid, they never had been, not the way Leon and Arthur were.

The time for their prejudice was past, and if any of what the druids believed was true, maybe the time for their beliefs to be challenged had finally come.

“I think we should stay,” He said firmly "I'd like to stay.”

Arthur nodded, considering, “No magic is used on my people. Not unless it is life and death.”

“You have my word.”

“Then we would be honored, Iseldir, and are at your disposal.”

Iseldir stood, “You are guests, let us show what hospitality from our kind can look like!”

Shortly after, Arthur called his circle over to inform them of the change to their travel plans.

“Seriously?” Mordred gaped, “you want to… have a sleepover?”

“It's in the name of learning more, sir Mordred. Please feel free to be as.. Druid-y as you wish.”

Mordred pulled a face, “what does that mean? Arthur I'm not different around them!”

“Unless you are, and have been holding back on my account, please don't.”

Gwaine stifled a laugh, and Mordred gave him a withering look, “My lord, I'm not holding back.I have no idea what you think druids do but… I'm just a guy.”

Arthur shifted awkwardly, “right, well, I mean it. So. “

“Riiiight” Mordred looked to Merlin for help, but received a blank smile in response.

You could act all druid-y too he pouted

Not on you're life, go pick flowers and chant ominously 

I think I hate you?

I'll live

Mordred fought very, very hard not to scream, instead just pivoting on his heel and returning to a man he was presuambly friends with to sulk.

The knights however, were slightly more awkward.

“Oh come on you lot,” Merlin said eventually, and led them over to a group of the men “hey there, who wants to arm wrestle a knight of Camelot?”

Arthur was actually impressed by how fast both parties rose to the occasion. Druid or knight, masculinity seemed to be the same.

Merlin slipped back next to him with a shit eating grin as Leon took place as umpire, the knights already cajoling Percival against a particularly intimidating druid.

“Don't look so smug, this is still a mission.” 

“Maybe, but you've got to take a break at some point, can't be all... you... all night!”

Arthur sniffed, “Hard to do, considering where we are. Speaking of, I know you're not the biggest fan of magic. Are you okay with this?”

Merlin got that look he always did when Arthur brought up magic around him, halfway between consternated and distressed, “I actually like the druids. I always have. My feelings towards magic are complicated and unrelated.”

“Most peoples are. But Merlin if druids aren't the problem… why don't you like sir Mordred?”

Merlin froze, “what makes you think I don't? He's a fine knight. Good, even.”

“Right, but you're different with him. I know you, Mmerlin, you've never met a single person you haven't tried to befriend immediately until him. It's clear he adores you as much as Gwaine does but you rebuff him constantly. Why?”

“It's-”

“If you say it's complicated I'm giving you to those children and telling them they can keep you.”

“I don't hate him,” Merlin looked away from him, to Mmordred, the younger man offering a tentative smile in his direction, “It's actually hard not to like him. But he is connected to Morgana, and he still cares for her.”

So that's what this was.

Unbidden, the memory rose of Merlin, covered in mud, deep red welts on his wrists, neck bleeding in Gaius’s care.

Morgana had always seemed to take Merlin siding with Arthur weirdly hard, he was sure there were things about their relationship he didn't know, but he did know that she scared him, and that he had certainly nursed affection for her once.

And arthur understood.

“Some part of me does too, and you I think. If you're afraid that he will betray us and go to her then Merlin, do what you did to the knights.”

At his puzzled expression, Arthur just smiled, “be nice to him. Make him like you. Then if he ever has to choose, maybe he'll choose the idiot he kept trying to buy ale for until Leon cut him off.”

“You know, you do say smart things sometimes, for a dollophead.”

Arthur twitched “excuse me?”

“You heard me- ghfgiaughugj”

Arthur pinned him in a headlock, mussing his hair and muffling his protests with his arm, ignoring his laughing, half hearted efforts to get free.

Arthur caught Iseldirs eye as he did, and got the strangest feeling he'd done something right.

The evening wound down much like any other camping trip had.

The druids wove around them, clearing away the days activities and building a campfire, logs being rolled into position and flashing eyes feeding the blaze as metal pots of soup were hung over it, all hands on deck to feed the many mouths.

Merlin kept trying to help, to Arthurs amusement,  and everytime he did one druid or another would appear and push him back into a seat with stern words, until eventually Iseldir himself said something to him that made him throw his hands up into the air, a round of laughter in his wake as he slumped down and was immediately bombarded by the children again, talking a mile a minute, Iseldir dusting off his hands smugly. 

Tin bowls were passed around, steaming food tipped in. A young woman looked warily at Arthur before whispering a spell and manufacturing a partcuarly large bowl for Percival, who flushed at the attention.

It would never be comfortable to be in the presence of spells being cast but… he made an effort to smile at her and look as non threatening as possible. The king found an extra helping in his bowl as a result.

Before long conversation formed a comfortable bubble and some of the elders began to pick up flutes and lutes, strumming vague tunes to accompany the meal until the metal was passed back up and set into the baskets in the river.

“Everyone, everyone,” Iseldir called, clapping to get the groups attention, a hush falling, “I am delighted to see another day end in joy, even if there are some strained arms among you,”

Elyan and Gwaine shrugged shamelessly, with supportive bandages peeking out from under their tunics, and a few of the camps mens.

"It is a true honor to host, in faith and friendship, king Arthur Pendragon and the knights of the round table. You came to us, trusted us to help you, and have in turn offered us kindness, forgiveness and a new chance. All of us know that the journey to reach this night was not easy for any of you, I thank you, sincerely for your trust.”

A smattering of applause broke out, the loudest from Mordred, who looked at Arthur with nothing short of reverence.

It was almost too much, to be praised for so little, when he had doubted so much.

The knights seemed to share his thoughts, Leon staring hard at the fire, Elyan leaning against Percival and Gwaine uncharacterisatcally serious.

Merlin, he noticed, was looking directly at Iseldir, something unknowable passing between them, tears rising in his friends eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, over the claps and cheers of the camp, the elder spoke a message among the druids;

It is the greatest of honors too, to host you, Emrys. There is not a soul among us who does not believe in you, who is not strengthened by you, who would not die for you. It is my deepest wish that one day you will stand with Arthur Pendragon as equals, that we might celebrate you both, for all you have done. You are our future, our hope and magic itself. To you, Emrys.

The sentiment was echoed by every mind in the camp, the distinct impression of love, of faith and almost… worship… pouring into his mind. Merlin couldn't help the tears that swelled in his eyes, though he tried discretely to wipe them away when he caught Arthur looking. 

“Now, the evening is young yet. Layla, Trevlor, why don't you lead us in music, as our king leads us in life!”

The pair bowed their heads, striking into song, a jaunty, celebratory tune the people waved their hands to, swaying into each other, many arms coming around each other, followed by many, many more.

As the fire began to die down, and people began to slowly drift off, the woman, Layla, lowered her instrument and moved closer to the Camelotians in the pretense of stoking the lingering flames, a final song carried by her and Trevlors harmony alone:

Among the flames, within the ash

Magic dies, its people pass

They cry to gods who never cared

An echoing prayer to one not there

But deep in the meadow

Under the willow

An ancient land

Built long ‘fore he would go

A promise in stone

Temple of brick and bone

He will be known 

He will become

Emrys will rise 

To wet the pyres and smudge the ash

And raise the people

Free at last

Merlin wordlessly stood, vanishing into the woods, but Arthur barely noticed, stuck on the trembling, gentle way the pair had sang, before they too wandered off.

They'd wanted him to hear it, evidently.

At first he thought it was because of the way it made him react- with grief.

It was… a source of shame, that he'd never given much thought to the burnings beyond the enaction of justice.

He’d never stopped to let himself think about the people and communities left behind to dismantle the pyres, who probably traded the grief and fear among themselves.

Gods, he'd seen it in Gaius’s face whenever he asked about the purge, when he'd almost seen him sentenced by Aredian, the distance he kept on Sammahanin and frankly any festivals fire pits. 

But as he laid down  in the blankets they'd been given, Arthur realised something else:

The song mentioned a temple. One Emrys would supposedly be at. Had they just told him -? 

He’d fall asleep with the question buzzing in his mind. 

Meanwhile, in the woods, the object of his curiosity sat by the river, staring up at the stars through a gap in the trees.

“I'd never heard that song before,” Mordred says, by way of greeting, coming to sit besides him “I'm sorry, I would have warned you-”

“Hardly your fault,” Merlin said softly, “I should be the one apologising to you. I've been hard on you of late.”

“You have. But I dont really blame you, given… everything. What changed your mind?”

“Arthur. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Mordred echoed “still. I'm not worried about that right now. Are you okay Merlin?” 

The other man didn't speak for a long time, hands drifting idly through the stream

“Being in Camelot all the time… I guess it's easy to forget the expectations people have for me outside of saving Arthur. Being here, feeling it…”

“It would be a lot for anyone,” Mordred offers “I think that's a hazard of being the one in charge.”

“But I'm not in charge of anyone!”

“Kinda are? If you started telling us what to do we'd probably do it at least.”

“But I'm not your king,” Merlin snapped, head dropping to his knees “I'm just… I'm a servant. A farm boy. I might never be able to live up to all of it, I'm not like Arthur. I'm just not.”

Mordred considered that carefully before he answered; “You're right. You're not like Arthur. And you aren't our king. You are Merlin Emrys. That's kind of the whole point, two sides of the same coin, not one side."

A breath, a beat "You are the man who saves Camelot endlessly and never seeks credit, and who has never walked away from someone who needed help. And that's all they need you to be, the rest of it… it just comes.”

Merlin looked at the stars and wondered if somewhere among them something else looked back. 

They sat in silence until eventually Merlin wordlessly rose, offered Mordred a hand and walked side by side with him to the camp.

They woke in the morning to bird song, sunlight, and a new understanding of each other. 

If only that had been all, and not also to a breathless druid running panting into the camp saying the Sarrum of Amata and the new king of Essitier had learned that Arthur was seeking Emrys, and were now racing to beat him to the temple from the songs, a lone druid no longer among those in the headcount, who had betrayed them all.

“Arthur-”

“No.”

“Arthur-”

“My decision is final, Merlin,” the king didnt even look at him, tightening the saddle on his horse, “If the other kings have reason enough to believe in this temple I'm not letting them get to it first. Either get on your horse or go back to Camelot, I'm not debating this.”

Merlin wanted desperately, just for a moment, to be anyone, anywhere else. He knew going to the temple was pointless, that it didn't matter if the Sarrum or whoever it was that had taken Cenreds crown beat them there.

The whole point was that they were looking for Emrys, no?

Well problem fucking solved, here he was.

But there was no way to explain that to Arthur, nothing he could do but what he'd always done.

He climbed smoothly onto his horse, teeth grit as the others mounted around him. 

Iseldir watched them prepare, expression unreadable.

One of the others told him where it is

Merlin flinched at the sudden voice, whipping to face the druid.

Please tell me thats a joke

I wish it was. Even I don't know what you'll find there Emrys, none have ever entered, its ground sacred to you alone. Be careful.

Merlin tightened his grip on the reins, nodding worldlessly.

None of the other knights dared to challenge Arthur as they turned and raced into the forest, the path stretching distantly ahead of them. They just shared the same look, half determination, half worry.

Thejourney was distressingly short, just three hours ride from the druid camp - Merlin wished it could have taken longer.

Outwardly the temple wasn't much to look at, impressive once maybe, pillars melded to walls sunken into the edge of a great sheath of rock, the outward structure overgrown with moss, vines and vegetation. 

Still, as they dismounted the air seemed almost to hum, the ground slick and muddy beneath their feet.

Merlin stared at it with nothing short of trepidation, even as his breath caught and the sun seemed to highlight their path forwards.

“Keep your wits about you. Percival, Elyan, stand watch and yell if someone comes,” Arthur ordered grimly, unsheathing his blade “I don't like this at all.”

Not even Gwaine had anything to say to that as they pushed the heavy oak doors open, a tunnel leading them in.

Inside the walls were whitewashed, though streaked with dirt and dust after so many centuries.

A light at the end of the tunnel guided them forwards, a great, circular antechamber waiting for them. No torches were needed, impossible sunlight seeming to fill the room, every inch of it warm and iluminated.

A pedestal sat in the middle, words inscribed on its face, endlessly repeated in a spiral.

“Walk eternally in light, walk in harmony, in life,” Mordred translated “repeated.”

But the others weren't listening.

On every wall between great pillars were stone carvings of scenes, scenes not unfamiliar.

A king by a bed, holding a baby, the queen within it turned away, eyes closed. Below it, mirrored almost, a woman was alone in a bed of straw, a tiny baby in her arms.

In another, a great dragon soared over a castle with its smaller kin, another of a hand emerging from a lake, sword in hand, another of the isle of the blessed a figure turned away calling lightening from the sky.

This was their lives, Merlin realised, but…

“The druids prophecy is inscribed on every wall,” Mordred confirmed grimly, “this is all… prediction. Or history.”

But then was any choice he'd made his own? Merlin looked at the druid, and saw his own fear reflected back at him.

“None of this helps us. We need to go further in-”

“Are you so sure that's a good idea?” 

Arthur turned to Merlin “we've talked about this-”

“This is an ancient magic temple, it could be full of traps Arthur,” Merlin snapped “or worse things you don't actually want to know-”

“I want to know. You can stand guard outside with the others if you're that scared Merlin but frankly I never knew you for a coward,” Arthur strode over to one of the doors, paused in its threshold “I need to find Emrys, no matter what.”

“You're unbelievable.” Merlin turned heel, walking randomly through a different tunnel, grim faced.

Mordred moved to follow him, but found Arthurs hand on his arm, “No. You're with me, I need you to continue to translate. Let Merlin have his tantrum on his own, unless someone else wants to deal with that?”

No one's really surprised when Gwaine shrugs and jogs after the servant, though they are all quietly relieved all the same. 

They pass through a number of rooms as the group continues through the deceptively large temple, some simple prayer areas, with half crumbled stone pews and ancient, but largely decorative, symbols inscribed on the floor. 

Ultimately they stepped out into fresh air, Leon sighing in relief.

It seemed like something of a courtyard, ornate trellices carved from oak forming a semi circle around the biggest tree Arthur had ever seen, towering towards the heavens, its trunk thicker than three ships masts, the foliage above casting the yard into a deep, gem like green. 

At its base was a statue, a faceless man, arms spread wide, flowers and animals reaching up towards him, a plaque carved at its base.

Mordred immediately went over, to begin his translation, while Arthur came to lean against a trellis, wary.

“What are you going to do?” Leon asked him quietly as they waited, “if we find this man?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you've rushed us into a random temple searching for a sorcerer. Do you intend to kill him if he's here?”

Part of him wanted to say yes. Wanted it to be as simple as ending the threat once and for all.

But the other part had listened to the druids, to all the people who had named him the once and future king over the years, and to the legends. 

Killing Emrys wasn't the right move, he was pretty sure. He just didnt know what the right move was. 

“With others on their way we cant stay here,” Arthur settled on “he’ll have to come with us.”

“And how exactly do you intend to subdue someone that powerful?”

“They say he lives to help me, right? So he won't hurt me. I'll distract him, I trust you know where to hit a mans skull?”

Leon searched his face, “Are you sure that's the right thing to do?”

“You want to risk asking him to come quietly and have him start turning us into donkeys?”

“We have a problem!”

They both turned to Mordred, who was now sat on the grass, head in his hands, paler than they'd ever seen him. 

“What is it? What does it say?”

Mordred… looked like his father had once, after a battle in the east, when many good men had died and he'd gone to personally tell their wives and children.

A hopeless, honest grief. 

“Sir Mordred?”

The boy shook his head, “I didn't know, I had no idea what his name meant, or how literal it was I- he really, really won't like it.”

Arthur wordlessly pulled him to his feet, gently tugging him so they were eye to eye, “tell me.”

“Emrys is… immortal. In the truest sense of the word. I don't think he can be killed. He's magic itself, the song was literal in that,”

Mordred looked past him, to Leon, eyes full of what he now realised was actually sheer reverence, “Emrys is a god, or as close as a man can get to one.”

The admission hung heavy in the air, the king stepping back, a hand gripping his mouth as he bit his tongue.

“We knew he was powerful-”

“An unkillable god Leon,” Arthur whispered, “if he doesn't favor Camelot he could wipe us all out like we are nothing.”

“He does, right Mordred?” Leon forced his own panic down, ever a soldier ,“every legend we've heard suggests he cares about you, and about Camelot. But this does mean we need to be cautious. We should find the others.”

“Merlin,” Arthur seemed to snap back to reality “You're right. God we need to tell them-”

“No!”

Arthur blinked, raising an eyebrow at his knight “no?”

“Just… you know what he's like with magic?” Mordred tried, “we should wait until we're out of here to tell him, in case he… spooks?”

Arthur considered that for a long moment, Mordred holding his breath, but the king nodded “Fair enough. But we need to go now.”

It takes precious minutes to track down the missing duo, minutes none of them felt like they had, the hallway Merlin had initially run through taking them deeper and deeper until, after what felt like an age, they found themselves in what was surely the heart  of the place.

Gwaine was scratching his head, examining something written on the walls, looking bizarrely concerned but Merlin, he stood before a smaller statue, closer to life sized than the one in the courtyard.

A woman and a man, carved out of blinding white marble, cradling a baby. 

Merlin was stood before it, eyes shining oddly in the light, hands fists by his side.

“Merlin?”

The servant turned slowly, and Arthur looked at the statue, really looked. The faces were familiar, somehow, like people he'd seen before. But who?

“Tell me it isn't true,” his words almost imperceptible "tell me this isn't…”

But he wasn't talking to Arthur.

“Merlin,” Mordred stepped forwards but something held him back,his voice catching in his throat.

“Tell me it isn't true,” the servant repeated "It can't be. I won't believe it.”

Distantly, feet slapping against stone. Time was running out.

“We need to go,” Arthur asserted, “Gwaine, Merlin?”

But his servant ignored him, moving suddenly to grab the druid by his shirt, hands forming fists in a bizzare lurching of rage, “Tell me!”

“Merlin-” Leon moved to grab him but Mordred threw up a hand, halting the increasingly concerned knights,

“Stay back it's fine!” Mordred bit out, “what did you read?”

“He shall never pass through the veil of death, he who is life never able to join those at rest, such is the burden of the god who will bring Eden to Albion,” Merlin quoted softly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, “tell me none of that is what I think it is.”

“Soldiers are approaching!” Elyan skidded into the chamber, out of breath, immediately confused by the scene he arrived to intterupt, "Is everything okay?”

“Look at the walls mate,” Gwaine nudged his king “look familiar to you?”

Reluctant as he was to look away from the tense embrace of knight and servant, Arthur did, and would forever wish he had not.

The carvings told the story of a life, from birth to future. In landscapes painfully familiar. Events he knew, knew because he'd lived them, each one increasingly, horrifyingly known.

“But that's…”

“And the statue,” Leon realised, “Arthur doesn't that man look like the painting your father showed us of Balinor?”

“Please,” Merlin half sobbed, falling to his knees and taking Mordred with him, “Mordred I'm begging you.”

Dots were connecting. Dots Arthur didn't want to connect. Wanted to take and destroy and hide.

The statue was Balinor, undeniably, and the woman… 

“I'm sorry, Merlin.”

Arthur had never seen Merlin this distraught.

Not  when Will died, or Lancelot, or the dragonlord, or any of the many casualties they'd faced over the years together.

The man knelt on the ground, hunched over, one hand clutching his stomach like he might be sick, face white as the marble behind him, tears falling soundlessly to the ground while Mordred watched, a quiet devastation written across his own face.

“I really, really don't know what's going on but Arthur,” Elyan said urgently, “I wasn't kidding. We need to go.”

Right. Armies imminent. Soldiers.

Leon gripped Mordred by the arm, tugged him to his feet, the mans eyes never leaving Merlin.

“Merlin,” Arthur knelt besides him, pushing the treacherous thoughts down, down, down “I don't know what's going on but we don't have time, I'm sorry. We need to go.”

“I can't,” Merlin whispered, voice cracking on every note “I-”

“I'll help. Come on,” Arthur slipped his arms around him, heaving the smaller man to his feet, “can you walk?”

Merlin looked at him “Don't you see?”

“I see that you're hurting,” Arthur said stubbornly “and I wish we had time for you to have a mental breakdown but we don't because the Sarrum is almost-”

“The Sarrum is almost what, Arthur Pendragon?”

The knights of Camelot whirled, forming a protective circle around Merlin and Arthur on instinct, swords up as the Sarrum of Amata stepped into the chamber, soldiers filing in with him, four of them gripping a bound Percival between them.

The older king looked between them, eyes narrowing on Arthur still supporting his servant, a gleam in them ththaArthur really didn't like.

“I'm impressed you made it this far, though I hear you had rather a lot of help from little rats in the forest,” the Sarrum drawled, “strange though, I've been searching for this mythical wonderchild for years, why the sudden interest on your part?”

“You must be shit at looking then, since it took me all of three days,” Arthur spat, “there's nothing to find anyway, so let my man go.”

“No.” Sarrum strode fully into the room, the knights closing together tightly, making him laugh

“No, I don't think so, see I might not have found this temple but I did at least bring enough soldiers for the task. Noble though your round table is… not really an army, is it?”

Arthur made sure Merlin could stand on his own before he drew his own blade, coming to stand next to Leon and Gwaine, “I have no quarrel with Amata, so I don't need an army. You can have the temple, like I said, there's nothing here. You can let us go in peace.”

“A tempting offer,” Sarrum tapped at his jaw thoughtfully ,“hmmm tell you what, I will let you go, I'll even let you take your little tin soldiers with you. On one condition.”

Arthur twitched “and what is that?”

Sarrum peered over his shoulder to where Merlin stood, pale, mouth set in a hard line, “Him. I want him.”

“Merlin?” Elyan blurted, “the servant?”

“He's not for sale,” Arthur snapped, “and has nothing to do with this sick power play.”

“From the way the druid boy trembles everytime I look at him… I beg to differ.”

“Arthurs right though, Merlins just a servant,” Gwaine fought the urge to step back towards him, “you don't need another snarky kid-”

“I've named my terms, unless the boy has anything to add?”

Don't, Arthur prayed desperately, don't say anything Merlin please-

“What makes you think I'd go with you?” 

And there it was.

Merlin seemed to have regained some of his strength, color coming back to his face as he crossed his arms imperiously, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I think you'll do anything it takes to save Pendragon,” Sarrum smiled, “or at least, that's what the legends say, no?”

“You're not seriously accusing Merlin of being Emrys?” Elyan spluttered, confused why Arthur wasn't one to beat him to it, “seriouisly? Arthur?”

“Like I said,” was all the king snarled,.“he isn't for sale.”

“Let me put it this way. The boy comes with us, or I slit the big ones throat and kill you all, then take both you and the boy anyway.”

“There's no need for that.”

Merlin moved, tried to push past the others, but found both Arthur and Gwaine shoving him back.

“Stand down Merlin, I mean it.” Arthur hissed at him, not even turning back.

“I won't let you die for me.”

“I swear, everytime we leave the castle I have this argument with you Merlin, how many times do I have to tell you, your death is not up for debate!”

Merlin flinched like Arthur had stabbed him himself, Mordred wincing.

The Sarrum just watched with vague amusement, toying with the hilt of his sword.

“This is all very touching, but I don't have all day. The boy or your lives, if he's just a servant it's no real loss, is it?”

“I don't know if we can win this,” Leon murmured in the kings ear, “what do we do, Arthur?”

Arthurs eyes cast about, as if searching for a last minute miracle “Sir Mordred, I know you have gifts can you-?”

“Not without hurting sir Percival too. I'm sorry sire.”

If he takes you, could you escape?

Easily, make Arthur agree. You owe me this.

Mordred steeled himself before sheathing his blade, “Arthur. It's not worth it.”

Gwaine snarled but it was the king who whirled on the druid, “Are you insane? You want to hand him over, after weeks of following him like a dog?”

“No I don't want to, but look around. We can't win this, Arthur. No miracle is coming. Percival has a wife waiting for him in Camelot, you have a queen and kingdom, Elyan a sister, Leon has nephews depending on him. You would sacrifice all of that for one man?”

Arthur looked at his knight like he'd just declared treason, and truthfully speaking against Merlin tended to equate as much, “we don't betray our own.”

“I'm volunteering Arthur.” 

Merlins hand, gentle on his arm, “Sir Mordreds right. I'm just a servant.”

“Gaius and your mother would never forgive me.”

“You're as good as Gaius's son you know,” Merlin smiled slightly, though his hands shook, “he told me that once. And my mother doesn't need me anymore. Stop thinking like my friend, and think like my king.”

“It isn't right”

“Good kings make hard choices,” Merlin glanced at the Sarrum, at the mocking bemusement as he listened to every word, “you know who you are. You know why you have to survive. This is not where you die.”

And in that, there was no choice. 

“Release sir Percival,” Arthur ordered, eyes still on Merlins, “we're standing down.”

“What ? no!” Gwaine cried, but Percival was shoved towards him, forcing him to catch his bound friend, though he wanted to rage with the betrayal.

“I was wrong earlier,” Arthur told Merlin solemnly, “you're not a coward. You've actually always been one of the bravest men I've ever met.”

Merlin bowed, as much a sign of respect as he had left to give, “Run. Don't look back until you reach Camelot.”

Take care of him Mordred. No matter what it takes. 

You have my word. Until your return.

Merlin finally turned, and when he stepped forwards he found that Arthur and Leon moved not to pull him back, but to press one last, comforting hand to his shoulders.

The Sarrum laughed, deep and cruel, hands clapping, “Oh what a show! What a show, your highness. I should have demanded this years ago!Over you come then boy!”

Merlin found, even with his newfound knowledge of supposed immortality, he could still be afraid as he stepped over to the Sarrum, the towering general wrapping arms around him in a mocking embrace, cheek pressed against his hair, so close Merlin could smell exactly how the trip over had treated him, and feel flecks of dried blood against his skin.

As disgusted with the embrace as he was, it never occurred to him to wonder why it was happening, until heat ripped through his gut, wet and searing as a blade tore through flesh and muscle, clean through to his back.

Time moved oddly as his mouth opened, eyes flaring gold and flickering to nothing as the Sarrum pushed him back, off the sword, a look of triumph in his eyes.

Distantly, he could hear the knights screams, held back by a flare of Mordreds own power, tears dripping down his face as he stopped them from interfering.

The soldiers in front of him held no kindness, or even interest in their gazes, watching him stumble into no mans land between the two groups disspassionatly, blood staining the holy ground a vivid red.

He'd been stabbed before, but never a killing blow, never like this. 

It might be true that he'd somehow survive this, might be true that he was immortal somehow.

But Merlin understood clearly in that moment that pain wasn't accounted for in that deal. 

Dying hurt.

Merlin collapsed to the ground, his own heartbeat echoing in his ears with the screams and one voice echoing over all of it:

Please live, please live Emrys, please live, please live Emrys-

Prayer, Merlin thought.

Mordred was praying.

The Sarrum said something, hands waving, but it slid from his ears like water as soldiers marched forwards, yanking his burning body to its feet, half dragging him after them as they turned back into the tunnels.

The last thing he'd remember was being strung over a horse in a flash of agony, and the terrible mingle of a druids prayers and a a grieving kings scream.

End of part 1