Archive of Our Own

She was standing in a glade, and was half-hidden by the trees, a soft green haze of new growth made brighter by dappled sunlight. In front of her in the clearing were the two people she hated most in the world. Merlin was unarmed, his hands held forward in supplication. Arthur looked furious, angrier than she had ever seen him, his sword point resting against Merlin’s chest. As she watched, he thrust forward, impaling Merlin. A killing blow.

Morgana woke and she laughed with delight.

“Well, fuck destiny.”

Merlin stared around at Arthur’s chambers. The bed was unmade, plates and goblets from several unfinished meals cluttered every space other than the desk, and most of the contents of the wardrobe appeared to be spread across the floor.

It had been a joke to begin with, asking about getting a day off following Gaius’ ordeal, but in the end, Gaius was still too unwell to leave his chambers or take up his duties. Merlin had spent the past few days acting as the physician for the castle and town, terrified by Gaius’ continuing weakness and doing his best to present a calm front to those in the town and castle who asked after Gaius. Arthur had, at least, made sure it was known that their physician was not a traitor and had not fled in the night, but had been taken against his will. Merlin was grateful for that, he supposed, though it meant he was spending twice as long with every patient while they all asked him the same questions.

He had told the Steward about his extra duties, and Martin had agreed to find someone to tend to Arthur in the interim. This was the first time Merlin had managed to make it as far as Arthur’s chambers, and what he was faced with now brought his blood to a boil.

This was Arthur’s revenge. After a couple of sharp exchanges when he had told Arthur he didn’t have the time to serve him, and that Martin would send someone else, Arthur had left him alone. His displeasure was now clear to see.

“Of all the self-centred, pathetic, spiteful - “

For a few more moments, he glared at the mess, waiting for his usual response to kick in, when he would shake his head and roll his eyes and suck it up, because Arthur at heart was better than this. Except Merlin was no longer so sure of that, not after leaving Gaius to be questioned by Agravaine and to believe, for one second, that Gaius could betray them. It had been a long time since Merlin had witnessed Arthur be so thoughtless, so unfeeling.

For many years, Hunith had fondly believed her darling boy was born without much in the way of temper. Until the day she had found him facing up to one of the village boys twice his size. Merlin had come across him tormenting a kitten, and she witnessed his explosion of rage as she arrived on the scene. The bigger boy had ended up on the floor, his nose bloody. She managed to pull Merlin off him and watched as the boy dragged himself up and ran for home. Merlin’s expression had frightened her when he turned towards her, his eyes sparking and his face that of an adult. In the months that followed, the boy swore Merlin had cursed him, suffering an unending series of minor illnesses and boils. In the end, the family left the village, and only the fact that the whole lot of them had been universally disliked saved Merlin from accusation. When Hunith asked Merlin point-blank whether he had been responsible, he had shrugged his shoulders and made no attempt to dissemble. After all those months, he was still angry.

That was the last time Merlin could remember experiencing real fury, despite everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Camelot, even in the face of Uther’s cruelty. It washed over him now. An absolute rage that had sparks flying from his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he got his magic under control, raised his chin, and marched straight out of the door.

**

Arthur was exhausted. It felt like every day was a struggle, and the one person guaranteed to improve his mood was nowhere to be found. Autumn had come early this year, and the harvest had been good. Fruit trees and berry bushes were laden, and the elders in the villages around Camelot were warning of a hard winter to come. The wind tugged at his cloak, and he wrapped it tighter about him as he crossed the courtyard. He strode up the stairs and along the corridor towards his chambers, hardly noticing the people who bowed and curtseyed as he passed, hoping that Merlin would finally make an appearance. His door was open, which was unusual, and when he stepped through, he stopped abruptly. Several different servants were flitting about, changing the bed, sorting out laundry, setting the fire, and dusting. The detritus from several days of meals was already gone.

Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, and he shoved aside the less convenient emotions that threatened to become too obvious to ignore.

“You.” He pointed at one of the random servants. “Find Merlin. Tell him to attend me immediately. The rest of you can go.”

A part of him hated the way they scuttled out gratefully, almost swerving around him as if to avoid a hand or a fist. He had never raised his hand to a servant – well, apart from Merlin, but that was different. Merlin was… Merlin. Merlin understood he didn’t mean it. Merlin knew him.

As he waited, he paced, and with every passing moment his irritation grew, until when the knock sounded – and when did Merlin ever knock – he was well on his way to a good fit of pique.

Merlin stepped into the room, and Arthur snapped before he even had the chance to take a good look at him.

“Where in Hades have you been?” He took his first look at Merlin. “What are you wearing?”

The trademark, not to mention tatty, jacket was gone. Instead, Merlin was wearing a robe over a tunic, a belt cinching in his waist. Arthur swallowed, spending a moment to take him in. Eventually, he met Merlin’s gaze and took an involuntary step backwards. Something else that was gone was the warmth in Merlin’s blue eyes. Instead, a solemn expression was off-set with eyes of flint.

“I was with a patient, Sire. I couldn’t just walk out on them. I came as soon as I could.”

“What do you mean? You’re my manservant -”

Merlin frowned. “Didn’t the Steward tell you?”

Martin had been trying to see Arthur for a couple of days, but somehow Agravaine had always needed to speak to him at the same time, and he had yet to find out what the Steward had wanted. His sudden disquiet as he acknowledged that it had been some time since he had spoken to Martin at all was washed away when Merlin continued.

“I resigned as your manservant, Sire. The Steward said he would arrange for a replacement. Gaius is still unwell. I don’t know when he will be able to take up his duties again – if he ever will – thanks to you and your Uncle. Anyone can be your manservant, but I’m the only other trained physician in Camelot.”

That took a moment to sink in.

“You’re just an apprentice.” It was just this side of a sneer, and Arthur could no longer avoid the hurt he was feeling, nor the guilt. He had not realised how much Gaius had suffered.

“I’ve been training with Gaius since I arrived in Camelot – in between skivvying for you – Gaius has agreed that I am well-qualified and have completed my apprenticeship.”

“But you’re my manservant.”

“Not anymore. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to bully.” His tone was another early promise of winter, frost edging the words.

How could he? How could Merlin say that? After everything they had gone through together? Ice was creeping through him, and he wanted to beg for a better reason, wanted to cajole and tease Merlin out of this mood. That wasn’t possible, though. In the end, Merlin was a servant, and that’s all he could ever be. Arthur was a King, and he could not show any weakness in front of a commoner. Agravaine had spoken to him about how he could be perceived as weak if he appeared too open with people. It had made sense when he pointed it out. He had to be strong for his people, and if that meant he had to be more aloof than he would like, then that’s how it must be. It was certainly not for Merlin to judge him. He drew himself up, and the coldness in his voice matched Merlin’s.

“I see. Well, hopefully I will get someone competent this time.”

That earned him a long, frosty look, before Merlin spoke again. “Is there anything else, sire? I do have other patients waiting for me.”

“You may go.”

Merlin bowed – he actually bowed. Arthur was convinced his jaw had dropped open in shock, and then he was gone.

Arthur staggered back to sit by the unlit fire. Merlin’s coldness was only surface deep; Arthur knew him well enough to see that. It was fury behind the coldness. Anger with him, and with Agravaine. He shied away from the thought that it might be well-earned as one other, devastating fact hit him. Not once in their exchange had Merlin called him Arthur.

**

Merlin strode into the room, startling Gaius from his doze. He had managed to move from the bed to a comfortable chair by the fire. He was not entirely sure where the chair had come from, though he had his suspicions – it was a new addition to the room and considerably more opulent than anything normally afforded the physician’s chambers. Its plush upholstery and perfect cushioning were a boon to old bones, so Gaius was not about to question its appearance. He had expected his recovery to be slow and was content to let the healing take its weary course. It was only days since he had been rescued, but even so, he understood that some of this frailty may never leave him, and he had acknowledged pragmatically that he was unlikely ever to reach his previous level of health.

He had not yet shared this understanding with Merlin and was not about to now, not when he could see Merlin's fury. Instead, Gaius watched him pace around the room, staying silent as he picked up a jar, and replaced it, wandered to a shelf and took down a random book, before eventually he stilled.

“What’s troubling you, Merlin?”

In some ways, Gaius’s weakness had been a boon, and his heart had swollen with pride as Merlin stepped out from his shadow. The man – a boy no longer – was a skilled physician and was learning to trust his own judgement. He had been a feckless youth in many ways when he arrived in Camelot, but Gaius had realised from the start that he possessed a brilliant mind and soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Merlin rarely had to be told or shown something twice, and peppered their training sessions with intelligent questions, offering theories that sometimes took Gaius's breath away.

Merlin sighed and added another log to the fire before sitting down and holding his hands out to the blaze.

“Arthur is not pleased with me.”

“What happened?”

“He’s sulking because I’m not going to run after him any more. Gaius, he’s as bad as he was when I arrived here – just a nasty bully.”

“You’re angry.”

Gaius hardly needed to say it; Merlin’s taut frame and dangerously sparking eyes told their own story.

“He and Agravaine almost got you killed, and all he can think about is how your recovery is inconveniencing him. I couldn’t believe it. I really, really thought he was better than that. He’s turning into Uther, and it’s Agravaine’s influence that’s doing it. He’s pouring poison into Arthur and undermining him. He’s making him doubt himself and leading him into making the worst possible decisions. I can’t watch it anymore, Gaius. I can’t. He trusted Agravaine rather than you. After all you’ve done for him since the day you were born. He trusted Agravaine over me!”

Ah, there was the root of the matter. “He trusts you. He needs you, Merlin, whether he understands that at the moment or not.”

Merlin shook his head. “He’s gone too far from me. It’s too late. And I don’t trust Agravaine not to make things worse for you and me.”

“You think he’ll try again?”

“I think he already is.”

The world around her was white, the cold eating through her sleep and into the dream. She was standing outside in the frigid air, staring at the front of her hut. At the door was a figure she recognised even from the back, his hair grey and dusted with snowflakes.

Her terror woke her, and she huddled in her blankets, shivering. Out of the small window, she could see the snow-covered ground and new flakes falling, slow and inexorable.

**

“You seem troubled, Arthur.”

Agravaine had joined Arthur in his chambers for dinner. Arthur couldn’t recall inviting him, but that barely seemed to matter. He was family, after all.

“I’m fine, uncle, truly. Merlin has given up his post as my manservant to take on the role of physician while Gaius recovers. I am having to get used to a new servant.”

“Well,” Agravaine hesitated. “Forgive me, Arthur, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. I didn’t really want to say, but there has been some talk about the way the boy speaks to you and about you. It may be as well that there is more distance between you.”

Arthur stared at him. His first initial reaction was amusement, swiftly swallowed by concern. He cast away the thought that referring to Merlin as a boy was demeaning, the memory of Merlin, robed and stern, haunting him.

He wasn’t sure what to say in response; his own tangled feelings were too close to the surface, so he changed the subject instead, asking Agravaine about the improvements to the defence of the lower town.

His uncle favoured him with a sharp look, but took the hint. “I don’t think there is much more to be done. It is more important to improve the defences of the citadel itself.”

Arthur disagreed, and where his uncle might be able to sway him on many counts, on this, he was adamant. “No. There is more we can do. We can be more prepared to deal with fire; we can identify secure routes for people to take if they have to run and ensure they're kept clear. I have a list of measures to take already drafted.” All of a sudden, something made him change what he had been about to say – that he would send the list to Agravaine. “I will let Sir Leon have the list, and he can take it forward. It frees you up to deal with more important issues.”

The subtle compliment was enough to soothe any irritation, and Arthur felt happier that Leon would take care of it. After all, he thought, his uncle had not been present when the dragon attacked, or when Morgana and Morgause had taken over Camelot. Agravaine had not been tried in battle. Not yet.

Arthur shifted the conversation once more, and the topic of Merlin and what people might have been saying was not raised again. It didn’t mean that Arthur was not concerned about the gossip. Perhaps, after all, it was as well that he would not cross paths with Merlin so often. Resolutely, Arthur pushed down any reaction other than relief.

**

Merlin thought, and then hoped, that his anger would gradually ease over the weeks that followed, but every time he saw Arthur, he felt his simmering resentment slowly build towards a boil. Especially when Arthur was so often accompanied by Agravaine. His one bright spot was understanding how little respect Agravaine was accorded by the knights – especially those that were closest to Arthur. Gwaine loathed the man and made no secret of the fact.

“Why does Arthur even listen to the little weasel?”

Merlin walked into the armoury just as Gwaine rounded off what had clearly been another rant.

“Because he is family.” Leon’s words sounded reasonable on the surface, and Merlin watched from the sidelines as Leon shoved his training sword savagely into the rack.

“Merlin!” Gwaine brightened as he caught sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw Percival – he said you’d taken a knock to the head.”

“Ach, it’s nothing a tankard or two of the good stuff won’t fix.”

“I hoped it might have knocked some sense into him,” said Leon. “No such luck.” He passed Merlin on the way out of the door, resting a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment.

Merlin swallowed. Leon was the most enigmatic of the knights. Most of his life had been spent living with Uther’s ban and its consequences, but occasionally Merlin had the sense that he would prefer things to be different. He had certainly relaxed since Arthur had become king, though Agravaine’s arrival had lessened his newfound ease.

“Hey!”

“Let me take a look at you.” Merlin drew his attention from one steadfast knight to one who appeared, at least on the surface, to be less so.

Gwaine grumbled, but submitted and beyond responding rudely to the teasing remarks of the others as they stowed their gear and left, was mostly silent. Merlin was about to start packing his bag after tending to the bruises he had found when Gwaine laid a hand on his arm.

“How are you, Merlin?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not – you’re worried and angry.”

Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair and smiled wryly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not to most people, but I know you pretty well by now. I guess it’s Arthur and Agravaine?”

“Who else?” Merlin sighed and sat on the bench next to Gwaine. “I don’t trust Agravaine, and I think he has not finished trying to influence Arthur against us.”

“Arthur would never hurt you.”

“I used to believe that – now I’m not so sure.”

“I think you’re right that Gaius is in danger. I didn’t believe Agravaine when he said he was checking to see if Gaius was alive. I truly think he was about to kill him.” Gwaine set a warm hand on Merlin’s sleeve. “What are you planning?”

“Who says I’m planning anything.”

Gwaine snorted. “If you’re leaving, I’m going with you.”

Merlin turned to face him then. “No, Gwaine, please. You’ve got to stay. I need people here I can trust to look after Arthur. I can’t tell you why – but even if it’s not safe for Gaius or me to stay in Camelot now, it doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to Arthur.”

“After the way he’s treated you - “

“I know. Believe me, I’m so angry, I could -” Merlin’s fists were clenched at his sides, “and I promise I’m not doing this just for Arthur. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to Camelot, and if Agravaine and Morgana get control, it will be a disaster. You know that. Please, Gwaine. I need to know there are people here I can trust.”

Gwaine favoured him with an odd smile, a twist of the lips that didn’t quite show in his eyes. “Trust, eh? That’s an interesting notion. You trust me, do you, Merlin?”

“Of course I do. What’s this about?”

“Do you remember the Perilous Lands – and the funny chap on the bridge?”

“Yes, difficult to forget.”

“Do you recall his words to us, Merlin? Did you ever wonder what they might mean? Strength and Magic, and Courage had already crossed. Well, I know for a fact which one of the two of us isn’t Magic.”

Gwaine’s voice had been dropping lower and finished on a whisper.

“Oh.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Why did you never tell me? Did you really think I would think differently of you? That I would turn you in?”

Merlin winced. “It’s got nothing to do with trust, Gwaine. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell Arthur, Gwen – all of you. From the very first, I wanted to tell. But it’s not safe – not for me and not for anyone who might be suspected of knowing. And I’ve spent my entire life living in fear, Gwaine, terrified that I would slip and someone would find out; terrified I would find myself on a pyre because of something I was born with, something I couldn’t help. Even when I got close to telling someone, it was as if my throat would close on the words, refuse to let them loose. I don’t know how not to be afraid.”

Even now, his pulse was thumping, his breathing erratic, and he almost jumped when an arm snaked around his shoulders and pulled him close into Gwaine’s side.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, I really am. We all have our secrets, I suppose. When are you leaving?”

“I need to find another physician for Camelot, first. There’s a good-sized town just over the border into Mercia. Willowdale. I know their physician died a year or so ago. Gaius and I can manage the work between us, and I -” He trailed off.

“And you’re not too far away if Arthur needs you. Oh, Merlin, you have got it bad.”

Merlin couldn’t find the words to express the horrible mess of his emotions. He shrugged his shoulders, and Gwaine, for once, did not tease.”

“I’ll stay and keep an eye on the Princess. I’ll talk to Elyan, Percival and Leon as well. None of them is fond of Agravaine. Let us know how we can keep in touch.”

“You can’t tell them about me.”

“Don’t worry – though, I’m pretty sure Percival knows, come to think of it.”

Merlin thought of Lancelot and swallowed hard.

Footsteps sounded along the corridor.

“C’mon, Merlin, my head’s hard enough and I didn’t take that much of a knock.” An accompanying elbow in his ribs had Merlin standing and by the time Agravaine strode into the room, looking as if he owned it, Merlin thought sourly, Merlin was stooping over Gwaine and checking the lump.

“No training tomorrow,” he ordered. “You don’t mess with head wounds, Gwaine, you know that.”

Agravaine was frowning at him.

“Surely Sir Gwaine does not take orders from a servant.”

“I take orders from my physician, Agravaine. Did you want me?”

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what his expression was, but judging by the slight kick to the ankle, which Gwaine managed without drawing Agravaine’s attention to it, he must be broadcasting his utter hatred and disdain. He busied himself packing up his medical bag and made to walk out of the Armoury.

“I have not given you permission to leave.”

Merlin didn’t spare him a glance and didn’t break his step, but was unable to leave in silence. “Just as well I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

Gwaine’s badly muffled laugh had him smiling as he walked away.

**

Morgana came back from her foraging trip with a good basket of bounty. The leaves were dropping quickly now, the air colder than usual even for late autumn. Flurries of snow were happening occasionally, though the ground was still warm enough, and the spells short enough, that there was no snow lying. Food was becoming scarcer, and she was going to have to consider how to provision herself for the winter to come. She stopped as she got in sight of her hut, and then relaxed when she recognised Agravaine’s horse.

What did he want?

She entered her space quietly and seethed at the way he was pawing through her belongings.

“Agravaine. Why are you here?”

He didn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed at his snooping.

My lady,” he swept her a low bow, and she wondered whether she had imagined the sneer, the disrespect in his tone, as if he was humouring her.

Agravaine’s glance wandered over her, unable to hide his distaste, and she was convinced. Part of her wanted to turn him into dust, but she needed him. For the moment. She was all too aware that she no longer looked like the princess she was, but she refused to let him forget her rank.

He was excited, she could see, bursting with news. “Merlin is no longer Arthur’s servant. His influence is at an end, and that means we can move more swiftly. We can gather our allies and take Camelot together.”

“Winter is coming,” she said, her tone flat. “It’s hardly the time for a campaign that could be protracted. Do not underestimate Arthur.”

“But I have almost complete influence over him now, my lady. It could not be a better time.”

“Merlin is still in Camelot? And Gaius?”

“They are, though they have little to do with Arthur.”

“Still, I do not trust them not to sabotage any plan we may try to enact. Merlin has been too good at that in the past. If they leave Camelot, we will think again and plan a spring attack.”

“My lady,” Agravaine’s disappointment was too obvious. “I understand that you may be wary of attacking Camelot -”

The slice of her hand through the air was enough to stop him in his tracks. Was he really so foolish as to try his manipulative tricks on her?

“My decision is made. I suggest you return to Camelot before you are missed.”

With many obsequious bows and false compliments, he finally backed out of the door. Once she was sure he really had left, she collapsed onto her bed. So that they could take Camelot. What a fool she had been. The scales of hatred and thirst for revenge seemed to peel painfully from her eyes. There was no way she could trust him. There was no one left she could ever trust. Even Morgause had her own agenda, her own need to stoke Morgana’s hate and use her magic to take forward her own plans. What was she doing? Why did she even want the throne of Camelot? Or was it simply because she did not want Arthur and Gwen to rule it together?

Gwen.

With a curse, she blinked hard, hauled the covers over her head and tried not to think at all.

**

Merlin made sure he saw Arthur and Agravaine as little as possible, and tried not to be further angered by the king’s gradual isolation from his friends. It was Agravaine’s doing, he knew that, watching as the man managed to cut Arthur off not only from his inner cadre of knights but also from the business of the castle and the well-being of his citizens. If it were not for the fact that Merlin was currently the physician and would have had to treat him, Agravaine would have had a series of minor and painful ailments to deal with. In another time, he would have been mollified by the thought that it wasn’t really Arthur’s fault – Agravaine was cunning and his methods slow and insidious – but now he had to acknowledge that Arthur was an adult, and the King, and that he should be more aware of anyone who might try to manipulate him in this way.

In the meantime, he and Gaius made quiet plans to leave. Gaius sorted through his textbooks and equipment, working out what belonged to the castle and what was his private property. They decided they would need a couple of carts to move the accumulated property of a long life. Merlin fretted at uprooting Gaius, but Gaius himself asserted that he was looking forward to the change. The carts were organised with the horses and drivers needed. Gaius had always been aware that most of Merlin’s money went to his mother, but was still surprised how much he had managed to squirrel away,  although perhaps the state of Merlin’s clothing should have been a clue. Merlin was not one to care much for personal possessions. Between them, they would have enough to get settled and have a comfortable buffer should they need it. Through his networks, Gaius had approached an old friend, and he had recommended a previous apprentice who, he wrote, was both skilled and diplomatic. Letters had been exchanged with him, and Gareth Constantine was already travelling to Camelot to take up the post of physician to the castle and the town.

It was as well that their arrangements had been put in place.

Merlin was summoned to attend a council meeting, frowning as he entered the room and realised there was no seat for him as physician, though there would have been for Gaius. Agravaine had the smug look of someone whose plans were coming to fruition. Arthur looked uneasy, glancing from Merlin to his uncle and around the room, before coming back to land on Merlin once more.

“A chair for the physician, please.”

Merlin’s reaction wavered between shock at Arthur’s consideration and vicious pleasure at Agravaine’s barely hidden shock, though he managed to keep his expression serene.

Agravaine recovered quickly, “Yes, of course, how thoughtless of us.” He fussed around, taking charge of the operation and making it needlessly complicated. Merlin stood quietly until he had finished, catching Arthur’s eye at one point and raising his own eyebrow. Arthur shook his head, looking almost fond.

Merlin took his time sitting and then bowed his head to Arthur. "Thank you, Sire.”

Someone in the room covered a laugh with an unconvincing attempt at a cough as Agravaine could not hide his irritation. Other people seemed to feel the need to suddenly cover their mouths, and Geoffrey, turning slightly towards Merlin to be out of Agravaine’s sight, actually dropped an eyelid in a sly wink.

Interesting, thought Merlin, he obviously wasn’t the only one who disliked the King’s uncle.

The meeting dragged on, as they tended to do, and Merlin tried not to frown at the power Agravaine obviously wielded at the table, the evidence of his tentacles everywhere, and Merlin’s simmering anger at Arthur began to boil once more.

“Of course,” Agravaine was speaking of the castle defences. “There have been no attacks of magic since Gaius returned to us -”

Merlin almost missed it.

“I do hope, Lord Agravaine, you are not suggesting that Gaius has ever betrayed Camelot? I thought it was quite clear that he had been completely exonerated. Is that not so, Your Majesty?” Merlin could not hide the ice in his tone.

Arthur looked troubled. “It is indeed so. Gaius is completely without fault. Agravaine, you must be more careful about how you speak.”

“My King, my apologies. I did, indeed, misspeak.”

Snake, thought Merlin.

“I only meant that in saving Gaius, we have managed to stop – at least temporarily – the witch Morgana.”

We?

Merlin couldn’t stop his eyes rolling.

“Please accept my apologies.”

In the name of the Goddess, why was the man still speaking?

“Thank you for that clarification.”

Fortunately, Arthur seemed to be of a similar mind, stopping Agravaine in his tracks. “Now, uncle, you added another item to the agenda.”

“Indeed, Sire.” Agravaine spared a glance for Merlin. “I do feel that the serfs in the lower town are taking advantage of the kindness of our Court physician. I would suggest that we curtail the services available and ask for a small stipend from those who wish to use them – to cover the cost of the previous free treatment to the treasury.”

“Absolutely not. These people have little enough as it is.” Merlin could not for the life of him stop his hatred for Agravaine showing. It was a mistake, and they both knew it. Agravaine hid his smirk badly.

Arthur was frowning at them both. “I am inclined to agree with Merlin, however, it is not his decision to make. I need to know the costs to the treasury of treating the townspeople. Merlin, you will let me have those figures.”

Merlin glared at him, though Arthur would not meet his gaze.

The table was silent.

Merlin stood, spared one long look for Agravaine, and left without waiting for Arthur to give his leave, ignoring the shocked murmurs behind him.

**

Gaius took one look at him when he stormed into the room and said, mildly. “When are we leaving?”

Later that evening, a servant arrived to summon Merlin to Agravaine’s rooms. With a kind smile for the man, Merlin sent him away with a refusal.

**

Arthur stared in consternation at his uncle. “What do you mean, Merlin refused your summons? You’re a member of the Royal family.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I thought I should tell you. I know you are aware he does not like me. I was troubled when I first arrived here by his attitude in your presence and his manners. I’m afraid in making that known to him, he was concerned at possibly losing his status and is becoming increasingly intractable.” Agravaine shrugged and shook his head. “This is my fault, Sire. I should have handled it differently.”

“Not at all, Uncle, you had every right to speak.” It did strike Arthur that the thought of Merlin being interested in status was hilarious, but it was buried by the concern and fed his growing irritation at Merlin.

“I will speak with him.”

There was a moment when he could not place the expression on Agravaine’s face.

“Sire, I’m sure I can deal with it. You should not have to -”

“I’ve said I will speak with him.” He stood.

Agravaine bowed. “Thank you, Sire.”

**

Merlin couldn’t say he was entirely surprised to be called to Arthur’s chambers that evening. He was tired after a long day, wondering how he had ever had the time to run after Arthur, given his workload as the physician, as well as dealing with all the preparations to leave. He quashed his guilt, knowing he would have to tell Arthur soon. But not tonight – tonight, he just wanted this interview over and done with so he could get some rest.

He knocked and entered. Arthur was sitting behind his desk, frowning down at a parchment, and did not immediately look up or acknowledge Merlin.

The first flicker of irritation flared. Oh, dear, thought Merlin, and then – fuck him.

“You asked to see me immediately, Sire.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop at his frosty tone.

Arthur looked up at that point, the fire to Merlin’s ice.

“You were ordered to attend me, Merlin. As you were ordered to attend the Lord Agravaine. As my uncle and part of the Royal family, you must obey that order.”

All Merlin's intentions to be cool and controlled vanished, his temper beginning to flare.“Oh, he snitched, did he? Why am I not surprised?”

“That’s enough. You will apologise to him -”

“I will not.”

“Then I will have you punished.”

Merlin stared at him, ice melting as the flicker became a flame. “Will you? Really? Why do you put him above everyone else? You barely know the man, and yet suddenly he is your only confidant. Is blood really so important? Important enough to ignore all the friends you’ve known for years, who have supported and cared for you, some of them from the day you were born?” He had to clear his throat before continuing. “I haven’t seen you speak to one of the servants other than to give orders for weeks. You haven’t walked through the lower town. You haven’t spent time with your knights other than at training. You haven’t even discussed citadel matters with the steward. Why?”

“That is enough.” Arthur stood, his face red, hands clenched by his sides. “It is not becoming for a King to be too close to his subjects.”

“Gods, you open your mouth and all I hear is Agravaine.”

“Get out!”

Fury and hurt was driving them both, Merlin understood that, and swallowed down the truths he wanted to fling at Arthur then. If he stayed, this was only going to get worse. He raised his chin, and without offering either a word or any sign of obeisance, he spun on his heel and left, the door closing with a clatter that shook it in its frame. Thomas, the guard standing his duty shift outside the door, winced, and then stared straight ahead as Merlin stormed away.

**

“You’re a bit sparky there, Merlin.” Gwaine’s voice stopped him at the end of the corridor. “I popped in to see Gaius and he said Arthur had sent for you. Though I might have to help you hide the body.”

Merlin snorted, but was grateful Gwaine had spoken. His magic was as unhappy and unsettled as he was and he hadn’t realised it was actually physically manifesting. Gods, if Agravaine had come around the corner. He took a deep breath and reached for control.

“That’s better. I gather it didn’t go well.”

“I’ve to apologise to Agravaine for ignoring his summons, or face punishment.”

Gwaine swore. “I assume you’re not going to do that.”

“Not even if I’m threatened with the pyre.”

“You sure I can’t leave with you?”

“No, I need you here. I’ll do my best to deal with any threats approaching from outside the Castle, but someone needs to keep an eye on Agravaine. It would be helpful if you could escort us to Willowdale, though. We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I think I can avoid Agravaine and Arthur for that long.”

“I don’t have a patrol. Percival’s free as well.’ Gwaine blushed for some reason. “I’ll get him to come along, and we can help you get settled. Why don’t you let Gaius know you haven’t committed regicide, and then come and join us for a drink in Leon’s chambers - just us, Percival, Elyan and Leon? I could ask Gwen, too?”

Some of his fury leached away. “I’d like that. I need to tell them I’m going.”

“Right,” Gwaine rubbed his hands together. “I’m going to see if I can charm the lovely Audrey and get dinner sent up for us.”

“Good luck with that,” Merlin grinned at Gwaine’s back as he disappeared down the corridor, then sobered. The fight with Arthur had been horrible. Somewhere along the line he had lost his friend - or his friend had lost himself – and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it.

The town had been on fire, but now it was a blackened mess, though the smell of charred wood and burned flesh was still sickening in the air. The castle itself was half-ruined, the type of damage that only battle magic could inflict. She wandered amongst the stones and the dead, disturbing the crows. Here and there, she caught sight of a tattered splash of red or a gold-threaded dragon dulled with ash. Then she saw her. A strong, calloused hand still holding a sword, dark curls catching in the breeze, a bird concealing the face. She screamed at the crow, and it took off with a raucous, contemptuous caw, its work done, its feast complete. The corpse left with bloody eye sockets.

She woke then, crying out in horror and denial. If this was her victory, then she would rather be dead.

**

Arthur stared at the door for a long time after Merlin left, then sank bonelessly into his chair. When had it all gone so wrong between them? He knew Merlin had taken an instant dislike to Agravaine, and assumed that there was some jealousy at the root of it, but he could see that the dislike was leavened with a deep distrust. It was something he had tried to ignore, but now it had fractured their friendship, and in the safety of his mind he could admit that Merlin was his best friend, almost beyond repair.

Brooding, he rose to pour himself a goblet of wine and settled by the fire. His chambers were pristine, everything in its place, with no suspicious bundles of clothes lurking in the corner. He hated it. Somehow, he had to defuse the situation between the two most important people in his life. In one aspect, he acknowledged that Merlin was right. Arthur had been drawing back from the friendly relations he had been building with his court, the castle and the town. He had responded to Agravaine’s gentle prompting about propriety and the due reverence owed to him as a king. A memory surfaced. He and Merlin had been walking along the corridor, too involved in their conversation to really be looking where they were going. They had rounded a corner and collided with a maid carrying a huge heap of linen that had been obscuring her view. There had been a great deal of laughter as they recovered themselves, and then they had split the load between the three of them and had delivered it to the laundry. He remembered chatting to the maid, Sarah, about her brother and mother, and she spoke freely in return, entertaining them with a tale of the boy’s latest mischief.

It had been a happy moment, but somehow Agravaine had heard about it and had spoken to him, gently and firmly regarding the honour and deference due to him as king. Looking back on it, he wondered why he had not pushed back. Because Agravaine was wrong, he realised. His uncle was trying to be helpful, he was sure, but Arthur did not want to be the type of King who was divorced from his subjects. Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he wondered what to do next. Leon, he thought in a burst of inspiration. Leon was steady, thoughtful, and the most loyal of men. The watch had just changed, and Leon should be in his own chambers by now. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since he broke his fast that morning. He sent a guard to arrange some food. After dinner, and once he had calmed fully, he could speak to Leon.

**

Merlin looked fondly around the table at his friends. Leon and Elyan were deep in quiet conversation, while Percival and Gwen animatedly discussed sword fighting, complete with arm movements. Only Gwaine was quiet, staring pensively into his tankard of ale. His abstraction was unlike him enough to draw attention, and the conversations died.

“Are you well, Gwaine?” Gwen’s gentle query brought Merlin’s attention back to the present.

“Couldn’t be better.” Gwaine raised his ale.

Percival snorted and moved along to sit closer to him. “You’re never this quiet without a reason.”

Merlin decided it was time for him to speak. “That would be me.” He had everyone’s attention, letting out a heavy sigh before making his admission.

“Gaius and I are leaving the day after tomorrow. We’re taking over a physician’s house in Willowdale”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen looked as devastated as Merlin felt.

There was sadness he could see that, but no particular surprise shown by any of them.

“You guessed?”

“Not that you would be leaving so soon.” Leon filled the silence. “We could see what was happening. Agravaine is making it impossible for you to stay. I don’t like it, Merlin, but I think it is the safest course of action for you and for Gaius. Even though we would be considerably safer if you stayed in Camelot.”

There was something in the way Leon spoke that spiked sudden fear in Merlin. It almost sounded as if he – surely not. His gaze raked around the room, and in every expression he saw concern, he saw worry, he saw knowledge.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to repeat the odd noise that clawed its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Gwaine shoved a full tankard across to him, and he sank half the contents. When he put it back on the table, Percival reached across and removed it, ignoring Merlin’s protest.

“How am I still alive?” he asked.

“Because we all ignore the convenient branches falling on our enemies,” Elyan offered, raising his own tankard in a silent toast.

“And the way those enemies trip over air when they try to attack,” said Percival, doing the same.

“Or our suspicious luck in always ending up where we need to be, through fog, mist, snow and rain.” That was Leon, and he repeated the gesture.

“And how someone can miraculously survive a disease that killed everyone else.” Gwen reached over and grasped Merlin’s hand. “Thank you, Merlin.” Tears shimmered in her brown eyes, and he squeezed her fingers.

“The Princess is still oblivious, of course,” Gwaine toasted Merlin. “And we’re not about to tell him. That’s your job, when you’re ready.”

Merlin sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat. How much he loved them all.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you? Let me know how he – everything is? And you’ll keep a watch on Agravaine?”

“I’m already making some changes to patrol schedules and routes, without informing him. Hopefully we’ll be able to catch him - “

A knock at the door interrupted Leon, and fast upon the knock, the door opened, and Arthur stepped into the room.

Arthur stared around at them, his expression surprised for the briefest moment before the aloof exterior he had been presenting to all recently smoothed out his features.

“It seems as if I have disturbed you, Leon. My apologies.”

Leon had shot to his feet. “Sire, we were sharing a drink. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

“Yeah,” Gwaine butted in. “We’re sharing a drink with Merlin before he and Gaius leave Camelot the day after tomorrow.”

There was a horrible silence while Gwaine and Arthur stared at one another.

Merlin's attention was fixed on Arthur, noting the brief moment of shock the king couldn’t hide. Arthur met his gaze head-on, and his expression became guarded, apart from the fury and the hurt in his eyes.

Arthur found his voice. “I wouldn’t like to interrupt. Do make sure not to take anything that isn’t yours when you leave, Merlin.”

“You -” A crack ricocheted through the room as Percival slapped his hand across Gwaine’s face, with more force than he probably intended if the apologetic wince was anything to go by. Gwaine hardly reacted, his blazing eyes glaring at Arthur.

Merlin felt as if all the air had left the room, drawing in a breath with difficulty as grief wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. He knew he gasped aloud, and Arthur, who had been momentarily distracted, turned his attention back to him.

Merlin could do nothing but stare at him, at his wonderful golden king, at the man underneath who was hurting and hitting out, without any ability to stop himself. But perhaps he had underestimated him after all.

Arthur flinched, and his gaze dropped, before he scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That was uncalled for. I – I am truly sorry. Merlin, perhaps we could speak before you leave?”

All Merlin could do was nod, receiving a nod in return, and then Arthur was gone.

“That could have gone better,” Leon remarked, and shrugged his shoulders at the disbelief of the others. “I think Merlin needs more ale.”

**

Arthur stood outside Leon’s chambers, gathering his composure. He wasn’t sure he had behaved quite as badly for many years, not since he was a callow youth terrorising his servants. His lips quirked upward. It had been Merlin who had called out his bad behaviour then. He dragged in a deep, steadying breath before moving along the corridor a little. Both walls and door were thick enough to stifle any sound from within, but it would be less than edifying if one of them left and found the king lurking about outside.

A step he recognised sounded along an adjacent corridor, and he walked towards it.

“Arthur, what are you doing in the knights’ wing?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “It’s my castle, Uncle, I think I may go where I choose in it.”

“Of course, of course. My apologies. I only meant if you wanted to speak to one of the knights, I could have done it on your behalf.”

“You are very kind, Agravaine, but I wanted a brief word with my first knight about training tomorrow and took the opportunity to stretch my legs after dinner.” And when had he started to explain his actions to his Uncle? “What are you doing in this part of the castle?”

“I wanted to discuss some patrol schedules with Sir Leon, suggested changes – they would be brought to you for your agreement, of course, but I thought it might be helpful to iron out any issues in advance.”

“Very thoughtful. However, I think Leon’s spare time has been disturbed enough this evening. Do please join me for some wine before we retire.”

The last thing he wanted, suddenly, was for Agravaine to walk into Leon’s chambers and surprise that little group as he had done. Somehow, he rather felt that Percival would not be stopping anything that Gwaine might have to say. He considered for a moment whether he should mention that Merlin and Gaius were leaving, but decided against it. Agravaine would find out soon enough, and he couldn’t face the gloating and snide remarks he knew would follow. It was immediately followed by a sense of shame that he would think so badly of his uncle.

Instead, he led the way to one of the small council chambers, calling for wine on the way. The servant ducked his head awkwardly, not looking at him and staying well-clear of Agravaine. Arthur kept his expression passive, though the sight concerned him. He thanked the man when he returned, but said nothing further to him.

Gods, he needed to think and, despite anything his uncle might say about not listening to others, he really needed some advice.

**

Arthur tapped on the door of the physician’s chambers and was relieved when it was Gaius’s voice that bid him enter.

He was sitting in a comfortable chair near the fire, and a glimmer of amusement surfaced as he recognised the chair from Uther’s room. It was an expensive piece of furniture, and he knew Merlin must have arranged for its appearance here. Gaius had a book open in his lap, his spectacles on his nose, but he closed the volume and made to stand when he saw his visitor.

“Please sit, Gaius.”

“It’s good to see you, Sire. It has been some time.”

Arthur managed a smile, acknowledging the guilt and cowardice that had kept him away, acceding too easily to Agravaine’s insistence that Gaius needed to rest and recover.

“I’m afraid Merlin is in the lower town. The new physician arrived yesterday, and Merlin is showing him around and introducing him to the guild masters.”

Arthur didn’t let on that he had watched Merlin cross the courtyard with his tattered medical bag in the company of a stranger, or that he had tasked Agravaine with a meeting to discuss trade routes, which would keep him busy for the morning. The group was chaired by one of the other council members, someone with enough experience and status to keep Agravaine from suggesting anything he shouldn’t.

“It was you I wanted to see, Gaius. I understand you and Merlin are leaving. Is there any way I can persuade you to stay?” He was working hard to keep his tone even; merely a king wishing to retain important services.

Gaius considered him for a long moment. “There’s some mulled cider by the fire, Arthur. Why don’t you pour us some and sit down for a while?”

It was as if all Arthur needed was someone to give him permission to stop for a few moments. The weight of the past weeks sloughed off him, and he drew in a deep breath, Gaius’s kindness and obvious concern washing over him. He did as he was bid and sat in silence, savouring the warm sweetness of their drink.

“So we have a new physician?” Arthur asked eventually. It seemed like an innocuous place to start a conversation. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I informed Martin a few weeks ago of my retirement and that I had interviewed my replacement. Did he not tell you? I will still do some work at Willowdale, but Merlin will do the bulk of it. I’m afraid the distances and stairs here make it impossible for me to carry out my duties as I should. Gareth Constantine was apprenticed to a friend of mine and is a fine physician. He’s a strong man, but compassionate and tactful. He should do well with the court and the townsfolk. I assume you have decided not to request payment from those outside the citadel?”

“He has an emperor’s name,” remarked Arthur, smiling a little. At least now he knew where Merlin and Gaius were going. He sobered. “The cost to the treasury is minimal, so no, and the court physician will be tasked to continue providing services to the town as before.” It was a barefaced lie. Arthur had given the issue no further thought, but his instinct rebelled against the very idea of levying another tax on the poor, and in that moment, his decision was made. He was pleased to see Gaius smile at the news. He would tell Agravaine and the Steward to ensure there was no possibility of any confusion. In fact, he would arrange a meeting with Martin as soon as he could.

“Merlin is angry with me.” He shrugged, he hadn’t really meant to say that.

“Merlin is disappointed,” Gaius suggested, and while Arthur acknowledged that to be true, he knew he was right. “And he is worried about you. It tends to result in a fractious temperament.”

There was something in the way he spoke that suggested that Gaius, too, had been subject to Merlin’s bad mood, or at least a number of rants about kings and their uncles.

“How do I make this right, Gaius?” He felt as if he was ten years old, snivelling into Gaius’s chest as he wondered whether he would ever be good enough for his father, if he could ever make him proud, if he would ever be loved just as he was.

“May I be frank?”

“Please.” All this emotion was exhausting.

“I think some time apart will be good for you both. Merlin spends too much of his time worrying about you, and he needs distance to get some perspective. And Arthur, you have always treated Merlin as a servant, when I think he is so much more to you. For now, make sure your parting is on good terms. Make it easy for him to return when the time is right for you both.”

There was plenty there to think on further, though he felt his skin heat at the notion of what Merlin actually meant to him. Keeping Merlin firmly in his mind as a servant had removed the need to consider their friendship in any other way, but it seemed neither of them could hide from wily old Gaius. He sighed.

“You have relied on your uncle for advice, and while those ties of family are important, it is always wise to gather a variety of opinions, bearing in mind that people have different perceptions around an issue, or may have their own reasons for seeking a specific outcome. Do not see that as a weakness, Arthur. You have friends and citizens you already trust – talk to them and listen to what they say. And then make up your own mind as to a course of action. I have told you already that there are many who work to protect you across this land. Trust your people, Arthur, because they love you.”

Arthur smiled at him, his skin flushing a little, though he was also grateful that he was not subjected to a Merlin-style complaint about his uncle. He refilled their mugs, and they talked a little about the current health of the population. There was a lull in their conversation before Gaius spoke again.

“Do you know your mother kept a diary?”

He stared open-mouthed at Gaius and then shrugged, his mouth snapping closed.

“I know so little about my mother, but no doubt Uther destroyed any such volume.”

“Volumes, as I remember. She wrote every day from when she was a small child.” Gaius paused, his lips pursed. “I think you should speak to Geoffrey,” he said, and at Arthur’s blank look, he elucidated. “Geoffrey is a librarian. He would not destroy the written word if it could be avoided. When I was in your mother’s room for your birth, I noticed that her diaries were not in their usual place. I have often wondered what happened to them.”

“Why tell me this now?”

“I could not say anything while your father was alive, of course, but it strikes me that Agravaine was never invited to Camelot while Ygraine lived here. Her diaries might explain why. And they might also help you to know your mother through her own words.”

He tried not to get his hopes up. “I’ll talk to Geoffrey.” Another thought occurred. “You say he wouldn’t destroy the written word? Even if he was ordered to?”

“I couldn’t honestly say, sire.”

There was a twinkle in Gaius’s eyes that Arthur decided not to mention. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss. He chatted for a while longer, until Gaius’s eyelids drooped, and Arthur remained sitting in silence for long moments after he had removed the tilting mug from the old man’s hand. Before he left, he banked the fire and tucked a rug snugly around Gaius. And if he pressed a kiss to Gaius’s forehead, there was no one to see.

**

Merlin hesitated for long moments outside Arthur’s door. The previous evening his friends had plied him with ale before delivering him back to Gaius. He didn’t honestly remember much of the evening after Arthur left, but Gaius’s disapproving face and his scolding of Gwaine and Percival did stick in his mind. Gaius’s patent hangover cure had been by his bed that morning, and had been fouler than usual, but it was tempered with mercy. Once he had let his stomach settle, washed, dressed and dragged himself out of his room, there had been a decent breakfast awaiting him, and he had recovered quickly.

More than anything, he didn’t want to be in the castle that day, so he was delighted when Gareth Constantine asked to join him on his rounds and introduce him to the townsfolk. He had liked Constantine on sight. He was only a few years older than Merlin, but was settled and wise in a way Merlin thought he could never manage. The day had been enjoyable, watching him charm the people they met, surprised at his understanding and pleased at this obvious compassion. Most of the day had passed before they made it back, and it was only over dinner that Gaius more or less ordered Merlin to go and take his leave of Arthur.

So here he was, hovering around the corridor, avoiding the occasional side eye from the guards. This was ridiculous. He drew in a deep breath and knocked on the door. The summons to enter was immediate, and almost as quickly the guard flung open the door, gave him a brief wink and shoved him through.

It was hardly a dignified entrance, but by the time he steadied himself and turned to scowl at Egbert, the door had been smartly closed behind him.

“Do come in, Merlin.”

“There was an amused note in Arthur’s voice that had been missing for far too long and inexplicably brought a lump to Merlin’s throat.

He coughed and shrugged. “You wanted to see me.”

“Sit down, Merlin.”

He perched uneasily on the edge of a chair. Arthur busied himself attending to the fire for a moment before sitting down facing him.

“You are ready to leave tomorrow?”

“Yes, we plan to head out at first light. We’re setting up in Willowdale. It will take us at least two days to get there. We’ve hired a couple of carts to move everything, which will slow us down, and I want to make the journey as easy as possible on Gaius. We’ll have to spend two nights on the road, which is not ideal with the cold weather.”

“Willowdale is a good-sized town – we’ve broken our journey there in the past when we visited Bayard. It’s well-protected, too, and a trade route, so there should be plenty of work to keep you busy.”

“Yes, we’ve taken a house in the main square.”

A long, uncomfortable silence followed, one Merlin was determined not to break. Arthur had asked to see him, and so it was up to him to lead the conversation.

“What I said last night. It was – after all you’ve done for me and for Camelot – it was ungenerous.”

“That’s one word for it.” Merlin snorted, the old anger flaring up again before simmering down at Arthur’s shame-faced shrug.

“I am sorry. I was – you hadn’t told me -”

“We spoke to the Steward. I assumed he had informed you.”

Arthur stared down at his hands. “Will you ever come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will always be welcome here, Merlin.”

“Will I?”

Arthur met his gaze then, and there was something in that blue gaze that sent hot colour to Merlin’s cheeks.

“Yes.” It was said with an emphasis that could not be denied. There was another long, heavy silence. Arthur stood. “Well, I expect you still have things to do. I just wanted to – Perhaps you would let us know that you have arrived safely.”

Merlin got to his feet. “I will. Gwaine and Percival have a few days leave and are escorting us there and helping us settle.”

“I suppose you’ll be happy to have your best friend along -”

Merlin couldn’t let that stand, emotion crowding into his throat. He shook his head and reached out, cupping Arthur’s cheek briefly. “No, Arthur. You have always been my best friend – and always will be.” He sniffed and laughed. “Even when you’re behaving like an ass.” He gripped Arthur’s hand. “Please, Arthur, talk to your knights and your friends, your other counsellors. Will you?”

Arthur squeezed his hand, his mouth quirking upward. “Giving me orders again, Merlin?”

Merlin couldn’t let this drop into teasing, even as he welcomed it after such a long absence.

“Not an order, Arthur, I’m begging you.”

Their eyes met and held, and then Arthur nodded once. Merlin let out a ragged breath, tightened his grip once more and then released Arthur’s hand, turning to leave, leaving the most important person in his life.

“Good luck, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded, but he couldn’t turn, his vision blurring as he slipped out of the door.

**

The sun was slipping across the horizon as their little convoy prepared to leave the castle courtyard. Gwaine and Percival were a bright flash of colour, mounted on their destriers, with the red capes spread out across the horses’ flanks and the gold thread of each cape’s embroidered dragon catching the slanting rays of light. Merlin had been surprised to see the chair he had borrowed for Gaius safely stowed on one of the wagons as he mounted his own horse. Gaius would travel beside one of the drivers, and he was in his place already, well-muffled up against the crisp late autumn air, all a little uneasy at the occasional snow flurries. They had taken their leave of everyone the evening before, as Gaius had asked for as little fuss as possible, and it was only the travelling party that was present. Merlin was grateful – he didn’t think he would cope well with any more good-byes.

Gwaine, noting his expression, grinned. “Arthur said Gaius should have a comfortable chair in his new home.”

Merlin had stared up at Arthur’s window and, without even realising it, he pressed his hand to his heart. When he turned back, Gwaine’s expression had shifted. He still smiled, but there was kindness in it rather than amusement. Merlin swallowed and blinked.

Percival, who had been watching on silently, said, “Time for us to get moving if we want to get to our overnight spot in good time.”  He allowed no more time for dallying, taking the lead. He was followed by the wagons and then Gwaine and Merlin riding together.

They were watched as they left; some saw them go with concern, some with heavy hearts, and one with the pleasure of a plan coming to fruition.

**

It took them three days of slow travel to reach Willowdale. It was a fair-sized town, as Arthur had said, and was surrounded by a sturdy stockade. They arrived around midday, and the gates were open, no one questioning them as they entered and made their way along the main street into a large square ringed around by good, solid buildings. This was a border town and a trading post, and the townspeople were well-used to strangers. Apart from a few curious looks and an occasional greeting, no one bothered them.

Gaius directed the cart driver to one of the houses, a two-storey structure that currently had all its doors and windows flung open, despite the frigid temperature. The sound of a woman singing wafted to them, and Merlin tumbled gracelessly off his horse, to its snorting affront, and called out.

“Mum?”

The singing stopped, and Hunith came out of the house at speed, falling into Merlin’s arms and pulling him close.

“My boy, my sweet boy.”

When they had calmed down, and the business of unpacking and dealing with the carters and their animals was done, they shared the ale and bread and cheese Hunith had prepared, and Gaius explained.

“I wrote to Hunith and suggested she join us here. There’s plenty of room, and she’s an accomplished herbalist. We will need the help, especially if you are to continue protecting Camelot.”

“Gaius!” Hunith was aghast, staring at the two knights of Camelot who were sitting with them at the table.

“Dear Lady Hunith,” Gwaine stood and came around the table, dropping on one knee and taking her hand. “Merlin’s secrets are safe with us. And now I have met you, how could I ever do anything to bring a tear to such beautiful eyes?”

Hunith stared at him for a long moment and then asked, ”Does that approach ever work for you?”

Percival, in the process of taking a mouthful of ale, was surprised into laughter. His resultant choking fit left him wheezing and red-faced.

Gwaine tried to pout, but his eyes were merry. “Sometimes,” and he winked at Percival as he answered Hunith. “Sometimes, it really does.”

Merlin gaped at him as Percival reached out a long arm, grabbed Gwaine by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back onto the bench. His face was still burning, but Merlin rather thought it was for a completely different reason.

They continued with their meal, and the talk was easy. Merlin gazed around at his friends and family and, for the moment, he was content despite the consistent, dull ache of loss at his core.

**

They had been in Willowdale for a few days, and already the townspeople had started to accept them – two physicians and a herbalist were welcome additions to a population sitting close to a border, and word soon spread, keeping them busy dealing with issues that had, in some cases, required treatment for some time.

The town itself was prosperous, the central square the hub of the community, comprising a couple of taverns and the physician’s house, with a variety of small shops and traders, the buildings sturdy and well-kept. The layout of the town itself, Gaius mentioned, was rather like those of the old Roman days he had seen in books. There was an air of bustle and busyness through the day, and to Merlin, used to the tension in the air that seemed to characterise Camelot, was almost confused by the ease with which people interacted. Marcus, the head man, a great beast of a man with the gentlest manner, visited and welcomed them. Their new home was not small, but he seemed to squeeze himself in, ducking under the door and perching precariously on one of their small stools. He spoke about the way the town worked and what would be expected of them as residents. Working together, he said, had made them richer and safer, and they rarely bothered the local lord, dealing with their own issues through a council drawn from all parts of the population, including women. Then he had stared hard at Merlin and spoke directly to him.

“Magic is supposed to be illegal here, but we have no issues with power being used to help our people. You should take care in how you use it if outsiders are around, but amongst us, we will welcome anything that will make our lives better. There are other magic users in the town, and I can introduce you to them.”

Merlin could only nod his response, his heart suddenly too full to allow speech.

**

After seven days, Merlin rose early and made his way to a clearing he had found some way from the town and called out to the skies.

When Kilgharrah arrived and settled on the ground, he stared down at Merlin.

“Why are you here?” It was a demand and an accusation all rolled into one. “Have you abandoned your destiny?”

They were interrupted by an excited squeak, and a white form detached itself from the dragon’s back and flung itself at Merlin. Merlin shrieked, toppled over, and ended up flat on his back with Aithusa on his lap, head nuzzling into Merlin’s neck.

“Hello, little one.” A wave of love washed over Merlin, and he made his way to his feet, cradling the dragon, who was surprisingly heavy.

“She has missed her dragonlord.”

“I’ve missed her, too.” He winced a little as she scrambled onto his shoulders and looped a long tail around his waist.

He stared up at what almost looked like confusion in the dragon’s face. “I’ve left Camelot, but I’ve not abandoned my destiny.” Drawing in a deep breath, he continued. “Before I left, I asked Arthur to talk to his friends, his counsellors, his knights – and not to rely on the advice of one person. When I thought about it, I realised I’ve always done the same. I only listened to Gaius or to you. Gaius was afraid, and counselled caution, and you...” He met the gleaming gaze. “You had your own reasons for anything you told me, and even when you believed what you advised was for the good of Camelot, it was still your interpretation, not facts.”

He ignored the steam that issued from Kilgharrah’s nostrils at that assertion and quieted the distressed dragon on his shoulder. He wished she was a little lighter. As if in response to his thought, she chirupped and slipped down to the ground, her warmth a comfort against his side as she leaned into him.

“I need to know more,” he told the dragon. “I need to talk to more people who know about the prophecy and about magic. I need to try to understand. My focus has always been on protecting Arthur, and I’ve never really thought about how I could stop any attacks before they happen. If I can convince magic users that I can help bring change, perhaps they might listen. And if there are fewer attacks on Camelot, then perhaps Arthur might begin to understand that magic is not the threat.”

Kilgharrah was as inscrutable as always, but when he finally spoke his voice was soft. “You have come a long way, Merlin. You are a child no longer. Is that why you have called me? To command my obedience?”

“No. I will not command you. I would ask you to help me. Help me to protect Camelot, not just Arthur. Help me to protect magic users, even those who wish to harm Camelot, in the hope that we can change their minds. Help me to become Emrys. Help me to bring peace.”

There was a flash of white in the corner of her eye, and she spun towards it, but it had disappeared. Then it was there again, teasing her. She felt no fear, just a strange exultation, and she laughed, her breathing ragged as she tried to catch her ghost, and it danced away every time.

Morgana puzzled over the vision when she woke, before shrugging it aside. She rose from her nest of blankets, shivering at the frigid air, and hurried to the fire pit to stoke the embers enough to catch a new log. Outside, the snow was falling in earnest, with a silent, endless intensity that was terrifying.

**

Autumn slid inexorably into winter, and the life of the castle and town slowed down as the days shortened and the snow began to fall. Gwaine and Percival had returned from Willowdale, and Arthur tried not to let his relief show too much when they reported that Merlin and Gaius were safe, and Hunith had joined them. Agravaine had, predictably, been delighted by their departure and had made several comments about how quiet it had been since they went; how it seemed that magic was not nearly as much of a threat. Arthur mostly ignored those comments, remembering years of constancy and support instead. Gaius’s words had hit him hard, and Merlin’s pleas before he left had taken root. He reinstated his weekly meetings with the Steward, not missing Martin’s relief as he took hold of the reins once more. Some of the so-called improvements Agravaine had suggested were not what Arthur would have preferred, and he rescinded some orders completely. Perhaps his uncle had not understood the issues fully, he thought charitably, and he took the time to explain his reasons to Agravaine, and this time he was not swayed by his uncle’s comments. There had been less interference with the knights, he discovered, mainly because Leon had steadfastly refused to implement any changes without a direct order from the king himself. Arthur wasn’t sure why he felt so relieved by that, but he made sure to spend more time with his knights outside of training. Gwaine seemed to have forgiven him, for which he was thankful. The man’s friendship was important to him, and he could admit that. His inner core of men, those he had knighted along with Leon, spoke freely to him, and he remembered how much he had always appreciated their mix of experience, knowledge and, on occasion, challenge. He may be king, but that did not mean that he was always right. Merlin had taught him that.

He spoke with the new physician weekly and invited him to join the council, against Agravaine’s advice. The doctor was a fair man, Arthur discovered, treating every patient with the same care, regardless of rank. Gareth Constantine had travelled widely, and Arthur enjoyed conversations with him, learning about the world beyond Camelot and the five Kingdoms, of different customs and peoples. They discussed politics and science, and occasionally Constantine spoke about magic, generally related to healing arts. It had startled Arthur the first time he spoke about it, so casually did he raise it, and he had listened in silence as Constantine described watching a village wise woman using magic to enhance the potency of a treatment he had prepared for a fever that had been rampaging through the area. He described it as a blend of science and magic, and even vouchsafed that he was sad he had no magical ability to enhance his medical learning. It had shocked Arthur into silence, but the next time they met, he had questions for Constantine – questions about magic.

Winter announced its arrival with a furious storm, a blizzard raging across Camelot and trapping people indoors. Arthur and the knights took to running drills in the throne room, keeping themselves sharp and alert. Agravaine seemed to withdraw to his quarters, and Arthur could not, in all honesty, say he was sorry about that. As Arthur had reasserted his control, Agravaine had become fractious, pushing his views more forcefully, becoming more overtly critical of how Arthur was ruling. Fortunately, he had few allies within the confines of the castle, and Arthur’s inner circle began, carefully, bringing to his attention those of the Lords who seemed willing to give Agravaine any support.

Even with taking back the reins of his kingdom, the winter days dragged until one day, Arthur found himself entering the library. A mound of blankets and rugs stirred, and Geoffrey emerged at his approach. There was no fire in the library for obvious reasons, and the rooms were freezing.

“Sir Geoffrey, you should not sit here for so long in such conditions.”

“Sire, you are too kind, but I am used to it, and as long as I keep myself covered, it is not so bad. Guinevere brings me tea, too, which is most kind of her.” He had a line of horn lanterns on the desk in front of him, the candles carefully covered and throwing out a soft light, with a little warmth. “What can I help you with today?”

“Before he left, Gaius mentioned that my mother kept a diary and believed there were several volumes. I was wondering if they still existed and if you knew where they were?”

“Ah, my dear boy.” There was such fondness in Geoffrey’s expression when he regarded him then, and it reminded him of Gaius. He swallowed. “Yes, your mother asked me to look after them just before you were born. She thought you might like to see them one day when you were ready.”

A hundred questions flooded into Arthur’s mind, mostly wondering why she had felt the need to give them to Geoffrey, but he couldn’t ask any of them and keep his composure. “I will have them sent up to your chambers, Sire, before the end of the day.”

Arthur gave his thanks and took his leave, almost barging into Guinevere on the way out. She was muffled up in a cloak and scarf, carrying a jug and cups – the famous tea for Geoffrey. He took a moment to ask after her and then let her go on her way.

It was another moment of clarity for him, understanding that he valued her friendship, but any romantic feeling for her had drifted away. It struck him then that Merlin had been doing a little manipulation of his own, pushing Guinevere and Arthur together when their natural inclination was friendship. Without his meddling, the two of them had found their level, and Arthur was astute enough to know they were both grateful for that. He wondered when he would get the opportunity to talk to Merlin, and to ask why he had been so convinced that Arthur and Gwen should love one another.

Merlin.

Arthur swallowed and made himself think about the grain stores and whether they would need to do any rationing this winter.

**

Winter was hitting hard, and Merlin was grateful for the ability to use his magic to help keep their home warm. As Marcus had told him, magic was technically outlawed in Mercia as part of Bayard’s treaty with Camelot, but was not reviled or feared as it was in other lands. As long as he was careful, he could help and not be worried too much about ending up on a pyre. Just how powerful he was remained a closely guarded secret, although there was something about the way Marcus spoke to him that suggested he knew. Simple charms to improve a remedy, or a push to raise the temperature of a room, were things he could do quite simply. As he did more, the restlessness inside him steadied, and he found himself able to settle down to study both medicine and magic. Winter had at least one benefit, as it limited the ability of enemies as well as friends to travel, and that gave Merlin precious time. It gave him time to discuss how he could work with other magic users, how he could protect Camelot from afar, and how, perhaps, he could help Morgana.

When he first suggested to Kilgharrah that the dragon could take him to visit Alator, the reaction was everything he had expected. They had met every few days, the dragon providing information on what he was seeing from the air, and teaching Merlin about his dragonlord heritage. Aithusa accompanied him, and Merlin was always glad to see her, and now, as Kilgharrah reared up in indignation, she tumbled from his back. Merlin managed to catch her, the weight overbalancing him until he ended up on his back on the grass, Aithusa sitting triumphantly on his chest. Again. The ridiculous sight seemed to appease Kilgharrah, for some reason, and he settled.

“Yes,” Merlin wheezed, sitting up and moving Aithusa to his lap as he did so. “I know you’re not a horse, but riding there would take weeks, even if I could manage it in the snow, and you know we don’t have time to lose.” There was a long pause before Merlin spoke again, his fingers busy scratching behind Aithusa’s ear. “I am not commanding that you do this. I’m asking. If your answer is no, then I will ride.”

Kilgharrah considered him for a long moment.

“I will take you.”

“Thank you.”

**

Merlin’s idea to help Morgana had taken root within him. His guilt over his part in what she had become would not let it rest.

He glanced around the room. Gaius was dozing over a book, his colour better than it had been since his abduction and ordeal at Alator’s hands, and his mother was humming gently as she stirred a pot on the stove. She looked up and smiled as she caught him watching.

“Rouse your Uncle and set the table, dear boy.”

A neighbour had butchered a sheep a few days previously and had traded some mutton for a few tinctures for his pregnant wife. He had given them more than the potions were worth, but would not hear of any further payment.

“I know you’d treat us for free if we needed it. I’ll give more when I can, then we’ll be even.” His tone had been gruff, but his eyes were warm.

So, a slow-cooked mutton stew had been simmering most of the day, and Merlin was almost salivating at the thought of it. He did as he was bidden and they ate with pleasure. Hunith poured them some ale, and they chatted about the day as they generally did.

After a long pause, when Merlin missed the glance exchanged between Gaius and Hunith, he spoke what was on his mind.

“I’d like to see if Morgana is all right.”

“Merlin, is that wise?” Gaius could not hide his concern.

“I thought I could go as Dragoon – she thinks he is Emrys. She knows he has magic, so I wouldn’t be giving anything away, but I could protect myself. It’s just – she was brought up in the castle, and she’s living in that horrible hut, and it’s all my fault.”

“Not entirely, dear,” Hunith said, softly. “She has been manipulated by Morgause and has been very afraid. But she also made her own decisions.”

They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again. “I could make some broth and bread. And you could take an extra blanket and some posset. I’ll make something sweet as well, as a treat – it’s almost Yule, and she’ll be all alone.”

Merlin could have cried at the love and warmth in her voice.

“Follow your heart, Merlin,” Gaius said, and there was something close to apology in his voice. “Don’t let fear win.”

Morgana was dreaming again, but this time it felt like flying. She was laughing, she realised. When had she last laughed? She looked down at the countryside below her and saw it spread out; forests and fields, the flush of new spring growth providing a green haze. Then there were villages and towns, followed by her first sight of the bright, sweet spires and towers of Camelot. Home. Her heart thumped with love, with joy. People looked up and laughed with her, waving. It was only then she realised she was sitting on a dragon; pure and white and beautiful.

**

She was waking up, and for once was sad to leave her vision. She was warm, though, which made a change. Even with the strength of her magic, she didn’t know how to make this place warm, spending the days huddled next to a meagre fire, spending so much time gathering firewood and anything to eat. Agravaine hadn’t ventured near her for weeks, and even when he had come before this last blizzard, he had been full of plans to usurp Arthur and didn’t seem to think she might need any help. And she was far too proud to ask. Far too proud to say she was cold, and always hungry, always afraid, always homesick.

So waking up warm was a luxury she had not expected. She blamed that for the reason it took so long to realise she was not alone.

There was a figure tending a pot over the fire, which looked much brighter than it ever did for her. He was humming gently to himself. Fear crawled up from deep inside her, breaking free from where she had battened it down, and tried to deny its existence. Without thought, she flung out her hand and cast, meaning to blow him, Emrys, into dust before he had a chance to do the same to her. The spell flew from her – and nudged Emrys, spilling around him and dissipating.

He turned.

“You’re awake.” His tone was bright and somehow familiar. “I’m sorry to come in uninvited, but you didn’t answer, and it’s chilly out there.”

She would have rolled her eyes at the understatement if only she hadn’t been terrified out of her wits. The fact that the door had been barred from the inside didn’t seem to matter to him. He moved towards her, and she scuttled back in a fearful reaction she could not hide and cursed herself for, only to be shocked when she saw the extra blanket that had been draped over her. He had been so close to her, and she hadn’t even known.

He stopped in his tracks and raised his hands. “Morgana, whatever you think you know or have seen, I do not want to be your enemy. I know you’ll say you don’t believe me and that you don’t care, but I - I just wanted to see if you were well.”

Well? She almost laughed at him. When was the last time she had been well? She couldn’t recall.

“I brought some things. Would you like some broth?”

She was about to deny needing anything from him, haughty and dismissive, like the blood princess she was, but the smell of food hit her suddenly, and her stomach growled its own response.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh, moving away to tend the pot over the fire and giving her time to calm her beating heart. She was hungry and afraid. Part of her wanted to tell him to get out, to find some way past his defences and make sure he could never trouble her again. But she was so hungry, and the scent of hot food sent her traitorous belly rumbling again. She could always decide to kill him after she had eaten. Carefully, she untangled herself from the bedding and approached warily. She sat in the seat by the fire and accepted what was held out to her. The broth was the best thing she had eaten in months, and only years of court training stopped her from gobbling it down. She ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. When she was finished, he took the bowl from her and, with a whispered word and flash of gold, it was clean. She wanted to learn that spell. Morgause had taught her plenty about how to fight and kill with magic, but little else. Over the months since Morgause had died, Morgana had wondered about that. She recalled Morgause doing this type of domestic magic, but her lessons had never included it. Her lessons had always been about war, about vengeance, about making people suffer. Her throat was thick, and she swallowed hard, forcing down the lack of loyalty in her sister.

Emrys handed her a mug of sweet mulled cider, and his blue eyes were soft.

“Why?” she asked. His kindness was killing her. She didn’t understand.

He sighed, nursing his own cup. Something stirred in her, some semblance of recognition, but she didn’t know what made her so sure she knew him. It was more than just the dreams, the nightmare of him standing over her with a sword in his hand, his eyes full of disappointment and grief.

“Because some of this, some of why you are here now, is my fault. I never intended to hurt you. I wanted to help you, but I got it all wrong. In the end, all I did was hurt you. Badly. I let you down, and I betrayed you, as I have done to all magic users over the past few years. I have made terrible mistakes. I was afraid too, but that is no excuse for failing my responsibilities to all who have magic.”

“So, are you going to join me to kill Arthur and take Camelot?” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t so.

He winced. “No. Arthur is the Once and Future King. He’s already a good king when his uncle isn’t interfering, but he needs to unlearn so much of what Uther drilled into him. That’s not easy.”

She could have said any number of things at this point, but something about the way he was staring into his cup stopped her, and they sat in silence

The silence stretched, but to Morgana’s surprise it wasn’t uncomfortable. She drank her cider slowly, revelling in the feeling of being warm inside and out. Eventually, Emrys spoke.

“When did you decide you wanted Camelot?”

The question was unexpected, because when she really thought about it, she couldn’t pinpoint the moment, couldn’t recall making a specific decision. She knew, though, it had been the only thing on Morgause’s mind – to take Camelot from Uther and Arthur. Make them pay. Oh, she had wrapped it up in fancy language, talking about freeing magic users, making Camelot safe for everyone, but Morgana had seen at first hand her complete contempt for those without magic, and even when she loved Morgause with a devotion that seemed a little unsafe now, she had felt concerned. It was Gwen who had come to her thoughts most of all, sweet Gwen who would be Arthur’s queen and would love their people. According to Morgause, she would have to die, too. Gwen had no magic – she was worthless. A fleeting memory of one of her visions made her shiver.

She had no easy answer to give him, and in the end could only shrug.

He didn’t push. After a few moments, he heaved himself painfully to his feet, grunting a little as he straightened his legs. “I should leave you. I would like to visit again, if you promise not to try and kill me.” He waited until she shrugged again, and he chuckled a little. “Is there anything you need?”

Kindness, thought Morgana, was the most effective weapon Emrys had ever wielded against her.

“I don’t need anything from you.” She said, her head held high, but then she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “The spell you used to warm this place. What is it?”

He smiled at her as if she had given him a gift, and in his eyes she saw – she blinked as he distracted her, explaining the spell with enthusiasm, beaming with pride when she got it right.

After he left, she saw the basket. There was more broth, a whole loaf of bread, herbs for tea, a pot of honey, and some sweet cakes. At the very bottom, some little linen bags, filled with lavender. She put them under the pillow and slept the night through without dreaming.

**

Agravaine had never been a patient man, but he had been prepared to play his part, to put Morgana on the throne and then to make her his. His lip curled at the thought of her as he had last seen her – unkempt, unwashed, unhinged. It didn’t matter. She could be managed, he had no doubt of that, and if she couldn’t, Agravaine was already part of the royal household. If needs be, he could rule alone. Camelot and all her riches would be his – one way or another. Winters like this were few and far between, freezing the land and stopping all but the most essential travel. There was no way he could get to Morgana, no way he could harness her magic and her hate, not for the moment. He must do what he could to influence Arthur, to undermine him at the same time as he did so, and make him dependent on his loving uncle. He had thought getting rid of Gaius and his boy would help, but just as he was looking forward to having sole control over the king, the king became much less approachable.

It had started slowly, Arthur turning up at meetings he had previously left to Agravaine and taking control, then having meetings Agravaine was not privy to, until now he knew he was losing his influence. What had changed?

Never mind, if he couldn’t deal with him one way, there is always an alternative. So he took the rebuffs and the exclusion with steady good humour and understanding, slipping in the barbs even when they didn’t seem to land as they once had, and he waited for the winter to pass.

**

Sir Geoffrey had been true to his word, and when Arthur returned to his chambers at the end of a long day, there was a chest sitting on the table. Arthur moved it to the bottom of his wardrobe, weeks passing before he felt he could open it.

Now the wind whistled around the turrets, blowing the falling snow into dizzying spirals. The storm seemed endless as the winter stretched on, and many had started sharing rooms and beds, pooling fuel to keep warm. Arthur had sent out extra firewood to the town, against Agravaine’s advice, and Constantine had moved a number of the elderly and frail from the town into the infirmary. Arthur made sure its fires were kept burning. He was going to have to think about more measures if this went on much longer. Despite the cold, he did not feel comfortable sharing quarters, and now he was wrapped in furs and huddled close to his own fire, thankful for the solitude after a long day. There was little else he could do for the moment and finally he had pulled the trunk from its place and opened it, staring at the contents.

The volumes were numbered, the early ones slim, but they gradually became bulkier, and his immediate reaction was to reach for the last one but he resisted, picking up the first light tome and smiling at the childish handwriting on the front page. If he wanted to get to know his mother then this was the best way to do it.

The first few volumes had obviously been encouraged as a way to help Ygraine learn her letters, part of the early preparation to make her fit to run a household. It was an exercise that had become a habit, and then became a refuge. Arthur wondered for a moment whether anyone else had ever read them, whether she had been able to set down and keep any secrets within these pages.

It became his own refuge as the days dragged on while he spent his energy looking after his people as best he could during this bitterest of winters. He wanted to eke the volumes out at the same time as he wanted to read and read until he had devoured them all. From having little to no information about his mother, now he learned as she learned, grew as she grew, from child, to girl, to young woman. Some of the pages he marked, knowing he would want to read them again. Some made him laugh, some made him wonder, and some sent alarm bells ringing in his head.

Tristan brought me a puppy today. She is so sweet. He said he will help me train her. I have called her Shine, because Tristan said Sunshine was too long. He hugged me and then laughed, even when Shine peed on his boot.

I caught Agravaine reading my diary today. I told him I’d get a hedgewitch to curse him with boils if he did it again.

Balinor and Kilgharrah visited from Camelot. He has taught me a spell to put on my diaries. Agravaine won’t be able to read them again.

Tristan broke Agravaine’s nose today. Why is A so horrible? He tattled to father, and T was banned from Knights’ training for a week. We sneaked out after dark and practised in the clearing. Kilgharrah came and told T his footwork was too slow. T laughed and said he’d take more notice of K once he could hold a sword. K pretended to be cross, but he let us lean against him afterwards and warmed the wine T had brought.

The nights passed, and Arthur came to know her – and not just her, but through her words he learned about her brothers, about her parents and those around her. Balinor seemed to have been a real favourite. How he wished he’d known that Balinor had met Ygraine, and had known her well enough to teach her magic.

Yes, that was the other thing he learned. In Ygraine’s youth, magic was not outlawed and it was not feared. There were sorcerers living freely in Tintagel; dragonlords visited and were welcome, there were hedgewitches and magical creatures and potions and spells, yet no one, least of all Uther Pendragon, saw it as dangerous. Ygraine herself seemed to have some affinity and was able to learn simple spells – gentle, harmless bits of magic.

Arthur read, and his world-view fractured. He felt untethered, unwilling to believe all he was reading and yet knowing, without doubt, that this was first-hand testimony. This was truth. And Arthur Pendragon had been raised to be a monster.

He read on, learning about Ygraine’s betrothal, how she had feared her husband-to-be, how Tristan had begged her parents not to send her away to Uther. He saw her fears change to wonder and to love as Uther won her over, until the mood darkened again when there was no heir. She spoke of her friendship with Nimueh, of Gaius, of Geoffrey, until she ceased to mention Uther at all. And yet, he was always there in the background. The last volume bled with her jubilation, her joy as she discovered she was with child and then came her final entry. The entry that destroyed Arthur.

My dearest, darling boy – because I know you are a boy, my Once and Future King. I do not know what will happen. You are so close to arriving, and I love the feel of you moving within me, but I am so very tired, my love, and Nimueh looks so frightened. I may not even meet you, but know that your mother will always love you. If these are my last words, then they are for you – be brave, be strong, but always be kind to others and to yourself.

Arthur felt his world fall apart completely, tossing everything he believed in up and down, side to side. He had no idea how long he sat there, the fire dying down and the candles unlit. It wasn’t just her words, it was what he knew had come after.

Nimueh. According to Gaius, she was the witch who had entered the caves with him when he went to retrieve the flower that would save Merlin, but she had left him to die, even when she had asserted that she was not destined to kill him. An interesting interpretation of whatever prophecy she had been following, he thought. It seemed that she was his mother’s friend, a dear friend who had helped her conceive Arthur. He thought of Morgause and the vision of his mother and of her words and he knew them to be true. How she had tried so hard to blame Uther. How she had primed Arthur’s fury and sent him home to kill his father. Had Morgause known Nimueh? He shook his head. After all this time it barely mattered. What mattered was the aftermath and the bloody result of Uther’s inability to accept his own guilt.

Merlin had lied to him. He let that sit with him for a while, forcing himself beyond his initial sense of betrayal. What Merlin had done was wrong, but he understood why he had done it. A reign beginning with regicide would have doomed both Camelot and Arthur. It still hurt, though.

He didn’t know how long he might have carried on sitting statue-still, frozen like the winter ice. Eventually, he was roused by a knock at his door, followed by Gwen’s entry, her eyes concentrating on the tray in her hands. He watched without much interest as she shut the door with her hip and then stumbled to a halt.

“Arthur?”

She set the tray on the table and moved swiftly to him. Their friendship had settled and grown since Merlin left and Agravaine’s influence waned, and he was glad that if anyone was to find him in this state, it was her. Any awe she’d had about him being a prince had been eroded during the evenings he had spent with her and the knights in Leon’s rooms, playing dice or chess, or simply talking amongst themselves.

She took his hands now, hissing at the icy touch. Without another word, she made quick work of resetting the fire, lighting all the candles in the room and drawing the heavy drapes across the window to block out any draughts. Then, she pulled a chair and sat opposite him, taking his hands and rubbing them between her own, bringing back the warmth.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

He managed a smile for her, remembering Merlin’s plea to let people in, to trust his friends. He nodded. “I will, but not just yet.”

She squeezed his fingers and got up to busy herself with the tray. She handed him a bowl of warm stew and placed a goblet and jug close to the fire.

“When you’re ready,” she said and then she left quietly.

Arthur sighed in relief at being left alone, and at the understanding that he was not alone at all. He needed to think. He needed to re-evaluate everything he thought he believed and, goddess help him, he needed Merlin.

**

Winter ground its way forward. Kilgharrah had been surprisingly helpful, identifying a Druid camp within Camelot’s borders and had also taken Merlin to Alator. Merlin visited the camp first, concerned by the sallow faces, the way they had been worn down by the long winter. This was not something magic could help with. It was life. He gave what help and advice he could, asking the leader, Iselidir, to pass word to other groups and to all the magic users he could, that Emrys would intervene to protect them where he could, but that Arthur and Camelot were not to be targeted. Iseldir had smiled at him, and Merlin had tried not to be affected by the pride in his expression. When he visited Alator, the Catha’s first lesson was to teach him how to scry, which was a boon, enabling him to develop his contacts, to learn, and to start to lead. His growing network of contacts fed him with information, helping him to stop several plots against Camelot and Arthur before they went too far. On one occasion, he had disguised himself as Dragoon and sneaked into a meeting of magic users planning to poison Camelot’s water supply. His warning and lecture to them had included a complaint on how that had been tried before and couldn’t they even be original? He had let them all go, watching them scuttling off with his dire threats ringing in their ears.

The advice of Gaius and Hunith was helpful, but more and more he was making his own decisions. Once the winter really took hold, magical attacks petered out as people hunkered down to outwait the winter. Kilgharrah had taken a sulky Aithusa off to warmer climes. His voice had been mild when he pointed out to Merlin that he may be a magical creature, but their reptilian nature meant that the cold affected them. He had promised to return when the weather broke, but remarked that Merlin scarcely needed his help, which was the closest to praise Merlin had ever received from him. In the spring he would return with Aithusa, he said, because she needed to be close to her dragonlord.

Kilgharrah was gone before Merlin visited Morgana. Merlin really wasn’t looking forward to telling the dragon about that.

It felt right, though. Once a week he made his way to her cottage, his magic helping to push through the weather, and to make the journey quickly. Every time, he took food with him, little comforts his mother had produced, and easy spells for Morgana to learn. She was still wary of him, and he caught her watching him sometimes with an expression on her face he couldn’t quite parse – almost as if she was angry and amused all at the same time.

They were sitting by her hearth now, each nursing a tankard of honeyed mead and the strength of it was going to Merlin’s head a little.

“The first time you came here, you said you betrayed me. How?”

He looked at her a little muzzily, grimacing. That was a truth he could not utter. She looked better, he thought. A brightly coloured shawl was around her shoulders, a gift from his mother, though she couldn’t know that. It relieved the unrelenting black she had been wearing and made her look softer, more like the Morgana who had once been his friend.

Sighing, he shrugged. “I can’t tell you that – just know I blame myself every day for you ending up here.”

The little hovel looked and felt better, too, he thought. She had learned how to keep the warmth in the walls and it was tidier than it had been. He looked over at the shelves where the formorrah had writhed in its jar and shuddered at the memory.

Morgana followed his gaze, her own hardening but he thought he might have witnessed the tiniest bit of guilt- not much and it wasn’t there for long – but he was sure he’d seen it. He raised an eyebrow.

She huffed in annoyance, a princess not getting her own way, and he grinned at her, unaware of the mischief and fondness in his eyes.

Her gaze widened and she stared at him. “Hmm,” she said, and took another drink.

There was silence while they both stared into the flames. After a while, Merlin spoke a few words and a little figure on horseback appeared in the flames. Morgana copied him and laughed at her success. The figures circled one another for a few moments until they dissipated back into the flames. He tucked his head on one side. “Your control is improving. I should go soon. This weather isn’t good for my old bones.”

He saw the flash of irritation before she suddenly burst out. “Another lie.” He started, staring at her with a suddenly frightened gaze. “In the name of the Goddess, drop the disguise, Merlin. Honestly, I’m amazed you fooled me once with that.”

There was a long silence and then Merlin cast, his eyes glowing gold as the years slid away. There was the boy she had known, sitting shame-facedly in front of her. Except he wasn’t a boy any more. Despite everything, she could not be blind to the maturity and strength in his face, his features honed by experience and grief. Neither of them were children any longer. Neither of them could pretend.

“I think you should go.” She needed him to leave, to try and come to terms with the knowledge that her suspicions had been correct and yet she hadn’t been able to reach the fury and hate she was sure she should be feeling. Her emotions were a jumbled mess, and she tried not to shiver at the number of times she had accepted drinks from Emrys – Merlin – since he had first visited.

He nodded and stood up and she tried not to be amused as he breathed a sigh of relief at the ease of the movement. At the door, he hesitated.

“I know you can’t forgive what I did – I’ll never forgive myself – but I still want to help you if I can. I hated what you became, and my part in it, but I’ve never hated you. I’ve never blamed you. I’ll come back in a few days and if you don’t want to let me in, then I’ll leave you be.”

Merlin was gone before she could react, before she could spit out how he shouldn’t bother, why should he think she would ever want to see him again, how she would kill him if he came within striking distance of her. But it was all lies, even when she had begun to suspect, to pierce through the disguise, she hadn’t wanted him to leave her friendless in this miserable place.

**

The sky was a clear, bright winter’s blue, and the weather looked set to remain cold but clear for a few days. Arthur, desperate for action and any way to distract his thoughts from the re-evaluation of every tenet his life had been built upon, decided it was time for a hunt. Meat was becoming scarce as the cold weather dragged on. It would be Imbolc soon, too, and hopefully they would manage to bring home enough game to provide a night of feasting for the castle and town. A few days away from the castle would do him good, too, especially getting away from Agravaine’s increasing attempts to ingratiate himself and regain his pre-eminence in the castle. If they took enough supplies to ensure shelter, then the cold should not be too much of an issue – particularly in the forest.

Agravaine hovered as they made their preparations, making gentle suggestions that perhaps the King should not leave the citadel at this time, but if so, perhaps he should take more experienced knights with him. Gwaine, busy tying supplies to one of the pack ponies, snorted out loud at that.

“Thank you for your concern, Uncle, but all my knights are experienced in winter travel. We’ll return in three or four days, hopefully with enough game to replenish our stores. Now, we must away or we will lose the light. Sir Leon will assist you, should anything arise while we are gone.”

Leon had volunteered to stay behind, while Elyan, Gwaine and Percival would make up the rest of the hunting party. Agravaine bowed and swept away, already barking out meaningless orders to the servants. Leon approached to make his farewells and before he mounted, Arthur had his own orders to give.

“Leon, you have the key to my chambers. Ensure there are trustworthy guards on the roster at all times. Only you and Gwen have the authority to enter.”

“As you command, sire.”

They shared a long look.

Arthur swung himself into the saddle, carrying out a quick check to ensure all the preparations were complete, and led the way out of the courtyard.

**

When Merlin knocked at the door to Morgana’s hut, there was silence for a long time and he had just placed the basket down and was wrapping his cloak around him, when the door swung open. He picked the basket up and entered warily, shutting the door behind him. His defences were in place – he wasn’t stupid – but despite all that he had faced in his life, he suspected he would always hope for the best.

The hut was warm, and he was pleased that Morgana was still using the spell he had taught her. She was prideful and stubborn enough to freeze out of spite.

She was standing, her head held high, her gaze cool.

“Hello,” he said, and offered a small wave with the hand not holding the basket.

Morgana snorted and heaved a sigh. “I suppose now you’re here, you might as well sit down.”

He handed her the basket and tried not to grin openly at her eagerness. She unpacked it onto the table. Hunith had included a pot of stew, enough for two days, as well as broth, bread and the usual sweet treat. Morgana was working hard to remain expressionless, but Merlin could see the way her features softened.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding up a small pot.

“It’s a cream. Mother’s hands get dry during the winter – she uses that twice a day. She thought you might like it.”

Morgana didn’t comment, placing it on the table and sitting facing him.

“Why did you poison me?” She fired the question at him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t expecting to have to explain himself, but it was still a shock, and he gaped at her for a moment, wondering how best to unravel the set of circumstances that had led to hemlock. There was no easy way.

“I think I’d better start at the beginning.”

**

“King Arthur.”

It was the second day of their hunt, and it had been going well. Gwaine had insisted on bringing boar spears, despite their bulk and it had been a good decision. Two boar carcasses were ready for transport and deer tracks left Arthur hoping that some venison would also be adding to the Camelot stores.

Suddenly finding a Druid standing in front of him, appearing seemingly from mid-air, would have pulled a shriek from many. Arthur managed to swallow his exclamation of shock and spared a second to feel slightly smug that he had not reacted as he heard Gwaine swear behind him.

Arthur stared at the figure, watching as the hood was lowered and a slender, grey-haired man stood before him.

“What do you want?”

Elyan and Percival moved forward, hands reaching for sword hilts, but Arthur waved them away.

“I am Iseldir. I seek your help, Sire.”

Arthur dismounted, unwilling to start this conversation on an unequal basis. The day was short and evening was fast approaching. He glanced around, seeing enough grazing at the edges of the clearing. There was not too much snow here and it was well-sheltered.

“We’ll make camp here,” he addressed the others and they immediately swung into action, dividing the tasks between them without any question. He watched them with pride for a moment, before turning his attention back to Iseldir and starting a little at the smile on the man’s face.

“There will be fire and food, before long,” he said. “Join our camp tonight and tell us more.”

Iseldir bowed. “Thank you.”

Arthur watched Iseldir as the man ate, slowly and carefully, the sight confirming his initial suspicions.

When Elyan had collected up the empty bowls and they had settled around the fire, Arthur spoke.

“You asked me for help.”

“My people are starving.” Iseldir was blunt. “We are camped not far from here. It is our usual winter camp where groups come together and usually, while it is a time of scarcity, we manage. This winter has been harder than we have known for many years, decades our elders tell us. Without your help, we will not survive it.”

Arthur thought about his mother’s journal, telling of a bad winter when the Druids had come to Camelot for shelter, when they had been helped despite Uther’s obvious disdain. His mother’s mischievous account of that had had him chuckling, but now he wondered how far back Uther’s hatred had gone.

“Why do you think I would help?”

“Emrys told us you would.”

“Emrys? Who is he?”

“He is magic.”

Arthur noticed Gwaine start, but Iseldir was still talking.

“He helped as much as he could but this is nature, it is the way of the land. It is not something that magic can or should meddle with." Iseldir seemed to have no difficulty discussing magic in front of Arthur. “Emrys said that when the weather broke, you would come out of Camelot to hunt. He advised me to approach you and ask for you help. He said you would not allow children to starve.”

That silenced Arthur for the moment. He was aware of the knights exchanging smiles. What did they know that he did not? Something else to think of later. Right now, he had a decision to make. A decision, he knew, that would forever change his reign. What would Merlin say? He smiled. Well, that was easy.

“You must come to Camelot. We need to complete our hunt to replenish our stores and account for more mouths to feed. That will give you time to prepare for the journey. Tell us where we can meet you two days from now, and we will ensure your safety to Camelot.” Tactfully, he did not ask to meet them at their camp. They had no real cause to trust him, no cause at all given his own crimes against them, and it was only the word of Emrys coupled with the desperation in Iseldir’s quiet gaze, that brought them to this point at all.

“I will return to my camp tonight and we will meet you at the longstone in two days time. Thank you, King Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, that would work. If they made an early start from the longstone, then the walk to Camelot, even with a group including children and elders should just take the day. He didn’t want to be making a camp in the open with such a group.

Iseldir stood to leave.

“Wait,” Percival came forward with a bag. “It is not much,” he offered, and Arthur realised he was passing over his own rations. The others followed suit and Arthur added his own portion.

This shook Iseldir out of his calm and he stuttered out his thanks. Arthur and the knights might be a little hungry over the next couple of days, and the amount of food would not be enough for all who needed it, but Arthur knew, somehow, that was not the point.

This was the change; this was when the red cloaks of Camelot ceased being the stuff of nightmares for those of his people who just happened to be Druids.

They watched as Iseldir took his leave and Arthur felt no fear or disquiet when a light, obviously magical, illuminated his path through the trees. He remembered a light just like that leading him to safety.

“Oh, Uncle Agravaine is going to love this.”

Arthur could not quite disguise the way his mouth twitched at Gwaine’s irreverent comment.

**

Morgana always knew the difference between a vision and a dream. This was a vision, but like recent ones, it had not brought fear or fury. It was a late spring day. She knew that because she recognised the flowers, bright ox-eye daisies, blue cornflowers, cowslips and many more – bounty for the bees and butterflies after a wicked winter. They were sitting on the ground, Gwen so very close, and a light, warm breeze tossed their hair. She thought there might be other people nearby, she could hear their laughter, but the only person she could see clearly was Gwen. A swell of warmth and love shook her to her core.

“It’s Imbolc soon.”

The comment came out of nowhere, not following on from the almost civil discussion they were having about Camelot and what was wrong with it. They had reached an uneasy truce over the past few weeks – or at least Morgana had – Merlin was much as he had always been. Winter was grinding on and the thought of Imbolc should have meant thoughts of the winter easing, but it showed no sign of doing so yet. If it hadn’t been for Merlin, she could now admit to herself at least, she did not know if she would have survived.

“I suppose it is.”

“Mother was wondering if you would like to come to Willowdale and spend it with us? You don’t have to,” he hurried on, obviously seeing her horrified expression. “But we would all like you to be there. There’s going to be a bonfire in the square and the innkeeper gave us a haunch of venison for treating his son. There will be plenty.”

He was almost breathless by the time he finished, and she was staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Why?” she managed at last.

“Mum thought you might like the company.”

“Really? And what does Gaius think?” A pertinent question, she thought, considering she had arranged for his kidnap, torture and almost his death the last time they met. A flush of shame washed over her and she thrust it ruthlessly away. They – Gaius and Merlin – had betrayed her first.

“He would like to talk to you.”

“Really. How lovely.”

She hated the way Merlin was looking at her, as if he could see exactly what she was thinking and feeling.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” She blurted it out, only realising when she said it how the thought had been swirling around at the back of her mind for a long time. Merlin leaned back, his eyebrows raised. “When you came to destroy the fermorrah. When you rescued Gaius. You could have killed me.”

Merlin shook his head, then stared down at his feet. “I don’t – I’m not sure. I just – I suppose I was hoping that you would find some way back to us. That you might be able to forgive us.”

That you might be able to forgive us.

“I’ll think about Imbolc. You should go now.”

There was a strange burning at the back of her eyes. Merlin cast a glance at her, hesitating and biting his lip. Then he sighed and nodded, wrapping his cloak around him and slipping out of the door without speaking.

Morgana stumbled backwards until her knees bumped against her cot and she slumped down, burying her face in her hands.

**

Arthur stared at a ragtag group of a hundred or so people, all ages and all looking thin and worn down and for a moment, wondered if they really would make the journey in a day. Some of the men were pulling basic litters with the oldest and weakest bundled up on top. He traded a concerned glance with his knights.

Gwaine sidled up to him. “I could ride hard for Camelot and head back with carts. We should be able to get them through the snow if we use some of the draught horses.”

“Good idea.” He gripped Gwaine’s forearm in thanks, and then watched as he swung off his cape, tucking it around an old woman on one of the litters with a smile and a cheerful wink, before mounting up and riding as hard as he dared for Camelot.

Arthur shed his own cape and saw the others doing the same. He called Iseldir forward and spoke briefly to him, before they arranged them quickly, breaking them into groups and setting the first few children on the three remaining horses. The knights would walk, leading the horses as few of the Druids could ride. The packhorses, tethered to one of the destriers, were already working hard, carrying a good load of boar and venison, and Arthur couldn’t ask them to do more. At least they would not have to move at any speed today. Percival picked up one of the small children, smiling at a startled woman and tucking the child against him in a way that was familiar, as if he had done it many times before. Arthur exchanged a glance with Iseldir and received a nod in return.

“Let’s go,” he called and led them forward.

**

Gwaine must have ridden hard and worked his own brand of magic, because they were only a third of the way to Camelot, and Arthur was beginning to worry about their lack of progress when he spotted the line of carts coming through the snow towards them. The boards were heaped with straw and there were piles of blankets as well. Arthur cast an uneasy glance at the sky, witnessing the light blue rapidly giving way to a seeping heavy cloud. They would be lucky to beat the snow back to Camelot. Without Gwaine’s foresight, they would have been in trouble. The people were weaker than he had expected and he could see that the adults had been feeding the children rather than themselves. Never again, he vowed, would any of his people starve like this.

At the head of the convoy was Gwaine, a dark cloak wrapped about him, and he slipped off his horse as he came alongside. He looked stern and beautiful. If that man was not actually a noble, Arthur would eat Merlin’s feathered hat. However, that was an issue for another day, and he concentrated on Gwaine’s rapid update. The other knights were already helping people into carts, the drivers swinging down to add their aid. Arthur was surprised to see Constantine approach, but he welcomed him with a knight’s grip, elbow to elbow.

Gwaine delivered his report succinctly. “We’ve done the hard work getting here – we’ve beaten a track through the snow and the ground is like iron so there’s no mud. We’ll wrap the horses’ hooves with hessian so they won’t slip. Gwen organised the straw and blankets.”

Constantine spoke. “Gwaine said the Druids were starving. I’ve brought some sweet cider and some soft bread. I’ll give them just a little each. If they haven’t eaten much for some time then we need to start them slowly. Audrey is organising a meat broth and more bread for when they arrive. Martin is arranging cots and pallets in the small council chamber. There’s a fire there and we thought they would prefer to remain together.”

Arthur listened, impressed and proud, as they outlined everything they had put in place so quickly. In the meantime, the carts had been loaded with people, food and drink doled out, and Constantine hurried off to the cart he had arrived on. Arthur had noticed how even while he was speaking, his dark eyes had been assessing the Druids, no doubt identifying those who appeared ill or frail.

As Arthur turned to mount, Gwaine gripped his arm, his voice dropping low. “Agravaine tried to countermand Leon’s orders. He was insisting that you would want the Druids to either die on the way or be arrested the moment they arrived in Camelot. Nobody listened to him but he’s dangerous, Arthur. Probably more dangerous now.”

The disappointment was not as overwhelming as it might have been, not after the telling words of his mother. He returned Gwaine’s hold. “I know. I need to talk to you all.”

Gwaine nodded and they took their place side by side at the head of the column. At the rear, their red cloaks once again a swatch of colour in the gathering gloom, Percival and Elyan provided protection.

**

The castle was a hive of activity, people rushing in all directions as they followed Sir Leon’s lead. Some of them looked afraid or uncertain, but too many of them appeared happy, pleased by the fact that their King was bringing over a hundred Druids into the very heart of Camelot. Even the lords seemed to be under the misapprehension that this was a good thing. Many had offered up blankets from their own chambers, spare clothes, anything these invaders might need. Agravaine was good at reading people, good at manipulation, but there was nothing here for him to work with, no dissent he could see. It was almost as if the people were relieved.

As the winter had dragged on, his ability to visit Morgana and stoke her hate against Arthur had dwindled. He wondered if she was even still alive, and shrugged his shoulders. If she was, then he may still be able to take Camelot with her magic. If not, well, it was time to make contingency plans.

**

Arthur was exhausted by the time he dragged himself back to his chambers. Agravaine had been conspicuous by his absence and he could only be grateful. They had managed to beat the snow, but only just, and lazy flakes had already been dropping onto the ice-cold ground as the weary convoy had entered the castle gates. The Druids had seemed stunned by their reception, by the helping hands urging them off the carts and into the security and comfort of the castle. Iseldir had exchanged one heartfelt nod of thanks with Arthur and then had followed his people. Arthur had supervised the clear up, unwilling to leave the castle courtyard until the horses had been led away to a well-earned rub-down and hot mash, and everyone had scattered towards their own duties. The knights had helped Arthur take the game to the castle kitchens before they took themselves off. Gwaine and he had shared a long look, a promise of a long conversation to come. The cooks had been predictably delighted by the amount of game Arthur and the knights had provided, but were too busy feeding the extra mouths he had brought with him to say too much. He stood at the side of the kitchen, watching the hustle and bustle, enjoying the warmth, and demolishing the portion of stew and bread Audrey handed him.

“I’ll send up a proper dinner in an hour, Sire. Off you go now, Gwen is organising a bath.” Audrey had been the cook at the castle all his life and he had spent many hours down here, hiding from various tutors as well as his father. She had scolded him often, generally while giving the growing boy some extra food, and occasionally she had smoothed her hand down his hair and around his cheek. It was as much mothering as he had ever known in his life and the child in him had always treasured those moments. It had never occurred to him before, but it seemed likely that Audrey must have known his mother. He squirrelled that thought away, swallowing hard.

She glanced at him, the beginnings of concern showing. He found a grin for her, snatching one of the cakes she had just pulled from the oven, tossing it from hand to hand and swerving to avoid the ladle she grabbed from the table and pretended to swat him with.

The cake cooled quickly enough in the cold of the corridors and he ate it with enjoyment, nodding at the people bustling to and fro. Martin rounded the corner and they spent a few moment chatting about the Druids, Arthur thanking him.

“It’s no problem, Sire. I am old enough to recall the last hard winter, when the Druids came. I expect, like then, they will only stay as long as they need to. Living within stone walls is not for them.”

The Steward was another who had served in the castle for many years. Arthur decided to test the waters a little. “I think my mother liked the Druids.”

Martin’s mouth dropped open, before he drew in a deep breath, and then he smiled, “She did indeed, Sire. She spent many hours with them, and often visited the camps near Camelot.”

They exchanged a smile and parted. If Martin’s step seemed lighter, and his smile freer, there was no one close by to see.

Something had shifted in Camelot. In the worst of this winter, in the depths of a cold not seen for decades, new shoots appeared.

By the time Arthur reached his own rooms, all he wanted was a bath, dinner and bed. He did not want to deal with Agravaine. It seemed, however, as if that what was next on his agenda.

The guard outside his door – his open door – was uneasy, glancing back into the room behind him. He visibly relaxed when he saw Arthur. Arthur raised his eyebrows and spared him a nod of reassurance, took a deep breath and walked into the room. He was not surprised to see Agravaine. In front of him, her hands on her hips, stood a defiant Gwen.

“Uncle. I thought I would see you when we arrived with our guests.” He looked at the steaming bath. “Guinevere, you are an excellent woman. Thank you.” He busied himself taking off his cloak. “Is there something you need me for, Agravaine?”

“Sire, if I may speak to you in private. I am concerned -”

Arthur raised a hand. “We will speak tomorrow, Agravaine. I would like to rest now.”

“Of course, sire,” Agravaine bowed and then stared at Gwen.

“Guinevere, if you would wait a moment. I would like to discuss what help Constantine might need.”

There was a pause while Agravaine stood there, seemingly unwilling to move.

“Uncle? I will see you tomorrow. We will break our fast together.” Arthur smiled at him and walked forward, ushering him out of the room.

He watched as Agravaine swept down the corridor and around the corner, not moving until he was out of sight. Thomas was hiding a smirk badly. Arthur raised an eyebrow and the guard’s face was suddenly very solemn indeed.

“How many times has Agravaine tried to enter my chambers?”

“Three times that I know of, Sire. Twice with me, and Egbert said he was here late last night. I wouldn’t have let him in today, Sire, but the servants came with the bath and water and -.”

“Don’t worry. Thank you.”

Arthur shut the door and leaned against it.

“You wanted to discuss - “ Gwen began.

He waved her into silence. “No, not tonight. We can discuss any logistics tomorrow. I’d like to talk to everyone.” She knew he meant the knights, but he added. “Including Constantine, Martin, Geoffrey and Iseldir. Not tomorrow night – the night after.”

“I’ll arrange it, Arthur.” She had raised her eyebrows at the added names but made no comment, dropping a curtsey and opening the door.

“Wait,” Arthur followed her. “Thomas, will you be good enough to take Gwen to the gate, and make sure she is escorted home by someone trustworthy.”

“It’s fine, Arthur. Elyan said he would wait for me.”

Arthur looked at Thomas. “To the gate, then.”

Thomas looked conflicted.

“I will bar the door while I bathe. Knock to let me know you have returned.

Thomas nodded, clearly relieved.

There was so much that no one was saying.

Arthur saw them on their way and barred his door as he'd promised. He dropped his clothes in a heap and scrambled quickly into the tub. The water never managed to be as warm as when Merlin was in charge of it. He sat with that thought for a moment.

“You are an idiot.”

He submerged himself for a few moments, not entirely sure to whom he was addressing that remark.

**

Arthur gazed around at the people in the room. Everyone that he currently trusted implicitly in Camelot was present. It was a bit of a squeeze for all of them in Leon’s chambers, but they managed it. Elyan, Leon and Gwen were settled on the bed. Gwaine had made an attempt to sit next to Gwen, but her raised eyebrows had him shearing off to sit on a low stool at the last moment. Arthur had been unable to hide his own grin at Leon and Elyan’s laughter. Constantine, Iseldir, Geoffrey and Martin were on one side of the table, and Percival was sitting on the table itself. Arthur cast a rather uneasy glance at the wooden boards, but it looked steady enough. He waited until they were all settled, clutching the goblets of wine he had served them himself. This was likely to be a long session and he knew he had to start it with an apology.

They would not be interrupted. He did not know what Agravaine might be planning or what he was up to, but Thomas and Egbert were at each end of the corridor, and guards they had recommended were stationed outside Arthur’s chambers. Others were placed at pertinent spots throughout the castle. Not enough to concern anyone, and hopefully not too much to raise Agravaine’s suspicions.

The murmur of conversation tailed off as everyone settled. He was the only one standing. He stared into the depths of his goblet for a moment, watching the way stray candlelight reflected on the ruby red surface of the wine.

Looking up, he caught every gaze before he spoke.

“I am sorry.” He held up his hand to stem the reactions, appreciating their well-meaning attempts at comfort. Only Gwaine was silent and when Arthur met his eyes again, Gwaine nodded.

He hesitated for a moment, hating the insidiousness of Agravaine’s influence over the months as he heard the voice in his head, suggesting that what he was about to say was not appropriate, was not kingly, was not what his father would have done. That thought was enough to silence the voice. Uther Pendragon had been a monster.

“When Agravaine arrived, I was mourning my father, and dealing with becoming king many years before I expected to. He was family and I did not question his motives. That was not my first mistake in this life and won’t be my last, I expect, but it was a crucial one.” The wine was smooth, a special vintage that he had brought specially for these people. He savoured the burst of berry on his tongue, a faint echo of late summer. “I was manipulated, I can see that so clearly when I look back, and many of you tried to tell me. It was Merlin who made me finally realise that I had been blind. For anyone to come so close to fracturing our friendship, to make me doubt even for a moment his loyalty, and Gaius’s loyalty.” Words failed him and he shook his head.

“So what changed?” It was Gwaine who rescued him, yet again, moving the narrative on from his introspection.

Arthur smiled. “I was already uneasy, but before he left, Gaius mentioned that my mother had kept diaries throughout her life. Sir Geoffrey kindly found them for me.” He raised his goblet in Geoffrey’s direction. “In them, a number of things were very clear, not least of which was her dislike of Agravaine and his propensity to lie and manipulate. That would have been enough to change my thinking on many fronts, but there was more.”

He would ask them for their thoughts on how to deal with Agravaine in a moment, but there was a more startling admission to make first.

“Her diaries talked of life in Camelot before the purge; how magic was commonplace, how the Druids were welcomed,” and he offered Iseldir a bow of the head. “Magic was not outlawed until my mother’s death. I believe magic is a force of nature, neither good nor evil, that it is people who can be good or evil, or afraid, or vengeful, in pain, sorrowful.” He stared down into his wine again, unable to bear looking at the shock or horror in their faces. “I intend to lift the ban on magic.”

Bravely, he lifted his head, ready to argue, ready to defend his position.

He started.

Every one of them, even calm, phlegmatic Iseldir, was grinning at him.

**

“Do you have a moment, Arthur?”

Arthur looked up from the reports on his desk. Imbolc was upon them and the weather had finally shown a few signs of easing. Martin had brought the list of stores remaining to him that morning, and they had discussed what to do. The meat from the hunt had helped and there was enough of that to provide a good feast day, even if they ran a little short in the weeks to come and taking into account the extra mouths they were feeding. Agravaine had attended the meeting, trying to argue that the feasting should be restricted to the castle and not the town. Arthur had thanked him calmly for his views and ignored them.

He was grateful for the interruption. “Guinevere, of course, come in.” He stood, offering her a drink and a seat at the table. She fiddled with the cup for a moment, chewing a little at her lip and he waited for her to speak.

“I’m travelling to Willowdale tomorrow to spend Imbolc with Gaius and Merlin. I thought you might like to send a message with us. Gwaine is going with me.”

Arthur pushed down the sudden surge of jealousy. “Good, I would not have allowed you to travel alone, but Gwaine will keep you safe. I will write a few lines for you to take, and thank you.” There was a long pause and he knew her well enough to recognise that there was more she wanted to say.

“I think if you asked, Merlin would come home.”

He smiled at her, grateful beyond words for her friendship, and her growing ease in speaking to him openly. “I know he would.”

She looked a little surprised at that and he chuckled before he explained.

“I also know that I have more to do here before I can ask him. Once the weather has broken and I can send Agravaine back to Tintagel, I would like to go and see him.” That was part of his plan at least – to get rid of Agravaine with as little drama and fuss as possible. With the weather as it was, there was little damage he could do as a traitor to Camelot, and once he had left, Arthur could hopefully consign him to history and never deal with him again. Gwaine had, predictably, not been happy with that approach, asking loudly why they couldn’t just toss him in a dungeon and lose the key, but agreed in the end. Although Arthur had made a mental note to keep an eye on his knight to ensure he didn’t trail Agravaine and get his own revenge.

For the rest of it, bringing magic back to Camelot, well, he had a suspicion that Merlin might be integral to that, but he wanted to have made some progress before he spoke to him. Several winter nights had been spent in close conclave with Iseldir, Geoffrey and Constantine, the group he had tasked with considering the issues they would have to deal with. Watching Iseldir, so naturally honest, engaging in some interesting linguistic gymnastics when speaking about Emrys, was illuminating.

A knock at the door disturbed their comfortable silence, and without waiting for an invitation, Agravaine strode in. He stopped as soon as he saw Gwen. Without any haste, Gwen stood to leave.

“Thank you, Arthur.” She dropped a curtsey and let herself out quietly.

“What can I do for you, Uncle?” Arthur pasted on the congenial expression he had perfected.

“Sire, I have come to you with a particular concern today, and I am afraid it is about the servant Guinevere.”

His practiced expression almost dropped.

“What is your concern?”

“The maid was in Morgana’s chambers earlier and was seen leaving with a number of items.”

What in the name of the goddess -? Questions flowed into his mind, but nowhere was there any misgiving.

“Thank you for the information, Uncle. I will deal with it, of course. Join me for a drink and we can finalise the Imbolc celebrations. I have been so grateful for all your help.” It had been a good ploy. Arthur had taken some lessons from his uncle, insinuating that he was the only one Arthur could trust to oversee the celebrations. It kept him busy and fed his self-importance. In the background, Martin was making sure everything was done properly but Agravaine didn’t need to know that.

**

Arthur was in the courtyard as Gwen and Gwaine made their final preparations. He smiled a little at the full saddlebags and packs. In his arms he carried his own offering and stopped by Gwaine, handing him another pack, which Gwaine accepted with a smile but without detaining him as he stepped carefully across the icy courtyard to Gwen.

“Guinevere. I would be grateful if you would deliver these.” Constantine was keeping Agravaine busy and out of the way. He handed over two parchment notes to her. She looked a little startled when she looked at the names written on the notes, and flushed.

“Arthur, you know -”

He stopped her, his voice low and sincere. “I trust you.” He watched as she stowed the letters and then handed over the bundle in his arms. “Here, an Imbolc gift for you.” It was a woollen hooded cape, lined with soft fur. Her eyes brimmed and he shifted from one foot to another, turning to fuss with the horse’s girth as she swung the warm cape around her shoulders and pinned it in place. “You need to head out to make sure you make the most of the light.”

Gwaine was already mounted, smiling at them.

“Look after her, Gwaine.”

Gwaine nodded and then urged his horse closer, leaning down and saying, “Do you remember that quest to the Perilous Lands that you did all on your own and Merlin and I were nowhere near and knew nothing about?”

“Not a thing,” Arthur deadpanned.

“There was the bridge, remember. What did Grettir call you?

Arthur thought back. He had been struggling by then, but the encounter had stuck with him. “Courage. I have no idea what he meant.”

“Hm, when Merlin and I turned up, he told us that Courage had gone on and that Strength and Magic would be needed to complete the quest. What do you think of that?”

“I think you need to get moving.” Gwen was already trotting off towards the gate. “Tell, Merlin,” he hesitated, not sure how to put into words everything he was feeling, but Gwaine, as he often did, surprised him.

“I know, Arthur. I will.”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, at the solemn slant of Gwaine’s mouth, the lack of his usual insouciant manner. He bit his lip as a thought occurred.

“Don’t worry about it, Princess,” Gwaine’s momentary sadness was gone, and he was laughing as he turned away and urged his horse after Gwen’s.

**

Arthur watched them leave, standing in the courtyard as the icy wind swirled about him. He felt as if it was trying to drag him behind them, urging him to follow. The months since Merlin had left had stretched into an eternity. Arthur hadn’t known who he was, who he was becoming in those last weeks before Merlin and Gaius left. He hadn’t been able to understand Merlin’s distrust of Agravaine, while Arthur clung to the only family he had left, desperate for the affection and affirmation he had never received from his father. Agravaine had seemed to provide that, and it was only his mother’s journals that had been able to strip the wool from his eyes completely, though Merlin’s words had begun the process. Ygraine’s first childish complaints about her brother had hardened over the years, chronicling his duplicity and his manipulative nature. Arthur wondered how long it would have taken him to understand how he was being played, if not for her words. He was afraid it would have been far too long, and would have cost him Camelot.

It might already have cost him his heart.

Drawing in a deep breath, he touched his hand to the sigil he had started wearing under his tunic. No. Somehow he knew that Merlin would forgive him, and perhaps it was no bad thing that he had put some distance between them. Merlin could be a little manipulative as well and that was something they would need to address once they talked. Because they would have to talk. Deep, honest conversations about feelings were close to the bottom of Arthur’s preferred way to spend time, but it would have to be done. If they did not, they would be stuck in a loop of misunderstandings and avoidance, and dear Goddess, there had been more than enough of that.

“Arthur?” Elyan was by his side, his gaze curious. “It’s freezing out here.”

As soon as he spoke, the wind tugged his cape, this time pulling in the direction of the castle. Arthur laughed a little. “You saw Gwen this morning?”

“Of course. And I had strong words with Gwaine about his behaviour with my sister.”

Arthur laughed again, stamping to get the feeling back in his toes, before he led the way to the citadel, the breeze dying away and the air becoming still.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Elyan joined in his laughter. “I know. I wonder about Gwaine sometimes.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Elyan was generally quiet but Arthur had learned he was an astute judge of character and had an ability to see beneath the surface of people and situations.

“There are many things I still have to learn about being a knight, but Gwaine seems to know instinctively. Has he said where he is from?”

“Caerleon, and I agree with you but his history is his to share or not.”

“There are things in all our pasts that we are ashamed of,” Elyan agreed. “Leon has had the throne room cleared so we can run some drills after breakfast.”

Arthur almost winced at Elyan’s words. Little did he know. That had been a private conversation with Iseldir, acknowledging Arthur’s own crimes against the Druids. Iseldir had accepted the apologies, though they had both understood how worthless they were in the face of the outcomes. It was in how the future unfolded, Iseldir had said, that all would see the real atonement. He had been stern but kind and praised Arthur’s ability to seek change. Arthur glanced back at the gate as he entered the castle, and touched the sigil again, and he gave silent thanks to his mother for teaching him how to see.

**

Merlin was nervous. He was so, so nervous. For the fifth or sixth time he got up and went to the door, opening it to peer out into the afternoon light.

“Good grief, Merlin, shut the door before we lose all the heat in the house – again.” Gaius was moving from testy to irritated at the constant draughts.

“Sorry.”

Hunith laughed, stirring the pot over the fire. “They’ll be fine, Merlin. If they left at first light, they won’t get here for hours yet. Come and help me with the beds. It’s as well we don’t have any patients at the moment.” Hunith had decided that she and Gwen would share her room, and so would Morgana if she came. Gwaine and Merlin would share his space, leaving Gaius with his own small slip of a room. It would be cozy.

They worked companionably together, Hunith humming a familiar tune, occasionally breaking off to chat about the townsfolk, or the weather, or whatever occurred to her. Merlin loved her fiercely and was beyond grateful that she was with them and could enjoy an easier life than the constant struggle in Ealdor. His thoughts drifted to Arthur for a moment, something he tried not to allow too often, and wondered what Arthur would have been like if he had known a mother’s love as all-encompassing as Merlin had. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and concentrated on the work. He missed the sharp glance his mother cast him, as she launched into another anecdote.

**

The first stars were appearing in a crisp, cold light, when Merlin heard the sound of muffled hoofbeats. Moments later a thump on the door startled Gaius out of his comfortable doze. He huffed, and muttered something that included the word “Gwaine” in it, before getting stiffly to his feet. Hunith flung the door open.

“Welcome,” she cried and pulled Gwen in, wrapping her in a hug.

There was a flurry of welcomes, and unloading the horses of their gear, before Merlin led Gwaine to the stables attached to the inn to settle the horses next to Merlin’s. The mare whickered, recognising her old stablemates, and they took some time rubbing down and feeding them while Gwaine caught Merlin up on some of the gossip from the Castle.

As Merlin reached for the door to leave, Gwaine caught his arm

“Merlin, Arthur believes you about Agravaine. It’s being taken care of. He’ll want you home, soon.”

“Well, he’ll have to come and ask me.” For the life of him, Merlin couldn’t keep the huffiness from his voice. As if he would just run the moment Arthur called.

He sighed. Of course he would.

Gwaine laughed. “I think that might be the plan. Make the Princess suffer a little bit, eh? Just for me?”

“Don’t be such a child,” Merlin snapped, the admonishment not landing as it should, because he couldn’t help his grin. “Come on.”

When Merlin shut the door to the house, he was immediately tackled by Gwen, wrapped up in hug so tight it took his breath.

“Oh, Merlin, it’s so good to see you. You look so well – not that you don’t always look well. It’s just, you used to have to work so hard – not that you didn’t always work hard, of course -”

“Gwen,” he stopped her flow of chatter, laughing at her. “I’ve missed you.”

He looked round happily, at his mother and his uncle and his best friends. “I’m so lucky to have you all here.” He hoped Morgana would come and that she could feel this warmth. He hoped that Arthur was surrounded by his friends, too.

**

She must be mad. Snow hadn’t fallen for several days, so Morgana could follow the trail Merlin had made to her hut a few days previously. When she had woken that morning she had had no intention of going to Willowdale. Why would she? Why would she want to see Gaius? Why would he want to see her? It was madness. And yet as the morning had gone on, even her magic had seemed unable to combat a bone deep cold. The loneliness had almost overwhelmed her and the thought of being in company, even if they didn’t trust her, was too strong a lure. She had been alone for so long and even when she was living in a castle, her growing magic had kept her apart. It had torn her from her friends and threw her into the arms of a sister who, while Morgana still believed she had loved her, yet had manipulated and used her to enact her own revenge. She remembered what she had said to Merlin about loyalty, that she had no one left to be loyal to. It had hurt even as she had said it. As she walked, she thought about the one person who had been loyal to her from the first moment they had met. Gwen had never let her down and yet Morgana had not been able to trust her, had not shown her loyalty in return by telling Gwen about her magic. She had been jealous instead, seeing the closeness growing between Gwen and Arthur and doing everything in her power to destroy it. In this rare period of introspection, she acknowledged that it had nothing to do with Arthur. She sighed and shifted the basket she carried to her other arm, trudging on without any idea what she was walking towards.

Morgana almost turned around and walked back when she entered the gates of the town. Despite the biting cold, there was a festive air, with people setting up tables and a scent of roasting meat in the air. There was a babble of cheerful conversation and she was almost bowled over by a gaggle of screaming, laughing children, too involved in their own game to take much notice of the witch in their midst. She grimaced slightly. Living in that hovel made it difficult to keep clean and tidy and she knew she must look dreadful – and probably smelled dreadful as well. There was a sudden lump in her throat and she wanted nothing more at that moment than to disappear. Her mind was made up. She couldn’t face anyone like this.

“Morgana. Oh, Morgana!”

She gasped, and suddenly there were arms around her, hampered by the basket she still carried, it’s wicker edges digging into both their ribs, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop the sob that worked its way from her throat as she buried her face in Gwen’s shoulder and breathed in her scent, lavender and rose and something sweet that was distinctly her own.

“You came. I’m so glad.”

Deliberately, she pushed Gwen away. How could she possibly be pleased to see the woman who had plotted against her, who had brought war to her home?

There were tears on Gwen’s cheeks, and she had to blink her own eyes to clear her sight.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, going for her usual haughty tone and missing by miles.

Gwen reached out and touched Morgana’s cheek. Morgana wanted to flinch away, but felt stuck, frozen in the face of Gwen’s warmth.

“I came with Sir Gwaine, one of Arthur’s knights, to spend Imbolc with Merlin. Gwaine was Merlin’s friend before he became a knight. Just to warn you, he’s a terrible flirt, but he’s a good man.”

“You told a knight of Camelot that I would be here?”

“Don’t worry, Morgana. It’s fine, I promise you, you’re safe here. We’re all safe. Now, come, it’s too cold to stand around here.”

Morgana was reminded that Gwen was just as happy working the forge as she was being a maid in the castle. The grip on her arm was strong and not to be gainsaid. Before she knew it, Gwen was opening the door of a substantial house and was pulling her through.

“Morgana’s here.” She sounded positively thrilled to announce it, as if the sworn enemy of Camelot was not about to arrive in their midst.

She almost passed out to find herself in the company of so many people at once – at least two of whom she had tried to kill. There was a moment’s silence as they all stared at her, before a sweet voice drew her attention.

“Morgana, my dear. I’m so glad you have come.” Hunith bustled forward and reached up to press a kiss to her cheek.

Court manners came to her rescue. “Thank you for the invitation, Hunith. I brought these if they are any use.” She had done the foraging for herself and was pleased she had, because the basket contained a variety. Once upon a time, she would never have survived in the woods, but she had learned, and there were enough rosehips, sloes, the last of the apples, and chestnuts to make a decent offering.

“Oh, how lovely. And I wanted chestnuts, so that is perfect. Come and sit down. Merlin, take Morgana’s cloak. Gwen, can you find some more tankards, please. Gaius, is that cider mulled, yet? Gwaine, find another stool, please?”

There was a flurry of movement as everyone leapt to follow Hunith’s orders. Gwen passed her and dropped one eye in a wink.

Gwaine, who had been standing, stern and beautiful as he regarded her, wiped off a spare stool and grinned as he made a grand gesture towards it. “My lady.” His grin changed his face, turning it teasing and mischievous. He grunted as Merlin’s elbow caught him in his ribs.

Morgana spared Gwaine a cool nod. “Gwen warned me about you.”

He gasped, theatrically, pressing a hand to his heart. “Gwen, how could you?”

The teasing continued until they were all settled around the fire, sipping at the warm cider. Morgana expected it to be uncomfortable but instead there was a quiet conversation about the festivities in the town, about the continuing winter and the hardship it was bringing, how it was good to have a day to think of other things, of a new potion Merlin was trying to help with lung rot. That shocked her, because he spoke of using his magic to help its effectiveness and neither Gwaine nor Gwen blinked an eye.

And then Gwaine spoke about Arthur inviting the Druids to Camelot and she broke her silence. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“They were starving. He couldn’t leave them to die. He wouldn’t.”

She looked around at them. “He did that? Really?”

Merlin looked proud enough to burst.

“Well,” Hunith clapped her hands together. “We can’t sit around all day. Gwaine and Merlin are going to help get the square ready for tonight and prepare the ploughs for the Imbolc blessing, and Gaius, you said you wanted to catch up with your friends at the tavern this afternoon. We’ll clean the house and make some decorations. I’ve got straw for Brigid’s crosses to hang over the doors and windows. Plenty to keep us busy.” She shooed them all off, until only the three women remained.

“Merlin said he taught you the spell to heat water?”

“He did,” Washing her face in hot water the first time after so many, many months, had been blissful.

“Good. Gwen and I thought you might appreciate a bath.”

“I brought some things for you from Camelot,” Gwen had already disinterred a tub and was transferring large jugs of water into it. The boys got the water earlier, but we need to return the jars to the tavern. They can do that later.” She was rattling on.

Hunith set up a screen around the bath, shielding it from the door and windows. She put her hands on her hips and looked Morgana up and down. “Now,” she said.

Morgana wanted to protest, to say she was powerful, a priestess of the Old Religion, the most powerful witch in the Five Kingdoms. She was not a child to be babied like this, but she met Hunith’s steely gaze and Gwen’s hopeful expression and submitted.

**

Afterwards, Morgana felt better than she had for many months. She had been bathed and pampered, her hair washed and the knots teased out by Gwen’s gentle hands. Her dress was an old favourite, a light, warm wool in a deep red. It was one she had worn the last winter in Camelot. Gwen had spent time on her hands, too, reshaping her nails and smoothing cream into her rough knuckles, until she felt almost like herself again.

When the men reappeared, the reaction of Gwaine in particular had almost made her laugh and his fulsome compliments had bolstered her in some way. She had been used to such fancy language throughout her days in Camelot, but there was a teasing quality in Gwaine’s delivery that went beyond those old, sycophantic comments and made them funny and real all at the same time. Gwen was right, he was a terrible flirt. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes drifted to Merlin when he thought no one was looking, though, and she felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him. There was no doubt in her mind that Merlin’s heart was already given. Gwen had smiled at her in quiet satisfaction and there was something in her deep brown eyes that had sent more of a flush to her cheeks than all of Gwaine’s fancy words.

Her attention shifted to Merlin, who was currently engaged in a spirited debate with Gaius. The Merlin she had come to know in the past months was a man, not a boy. He had told her about the prophecy, about his anguish when everything he tried to do to subvert it seemed to fail. He had spoken, too, about his break with Arthur and how, in trying to open Arthur’s eyes, he had had to open his own. Perhaps that was part of the problem, she mused, as she caught Gwaine’s gaze shift again. Merlin had concentrated all his efforts on keeping Arthur safe, and that had become an obsession. It made her think about her own actions in a different light. She had already begun to question Morgause’s motives even if she did not doubt her love, and acknowledged how along with Merlin, she had been manipulated. She did not like the picture of herself she was reframing, but she was nothing if not stubborn and knew if she was ever to build a meaningful life for herself, she had to accept her own failings.

“You are very thoughtful, Morgana?”

The others were filing out of the door and into the square, and she could hear the musicians beginning to tune their instruments. Twilight was falling and the bonfire in the centre of the square would soon be lit, adding to the light of the cooking fires, which had been going for most of the day.

She smiled at Hunith. “It’s nothing. We should join them.”

“Sit for a moment.”

Morgana sat.

“It has been a difficult time for you.”

An understatement if ever there was one. Morgana felt her mouth twist in a wry grimace.

Hunith continued, “We can’t always escape our past but we can decide how much we want it to influence our future. You’ve made mistakes and people have let you down badly along the way, too – people you loved and trusted. Here and now, in this moment, you have to make a decision. You don’t have to forget – but can you forgive? Can you move forward? There are still people here who love you. Can you trust them again?” She reached out and cupped a hand around Morgana’s face for a moment, and then smiled like the mother she was. “Now, come, let’s go and have some fun.” She leapt up from her own chair, a giddy girl banishing the matriarch. She grabbed Morgana’s hand and hauled her to her feet and Morgana was laughing as they tumbled through the door to join the others.

**

The next morning was quiet. They had all drunk more than they should and even Hunith had been giggling and silly. Morgana hadn’t had so much fun since – she wasn’t sure she’d ever had so much fun. She had danced with them all, and eaten her fill of good hot food for the first time since she had left Camelot, and the plentiful warm cider had made her brave, dancing with Gwen in her arms, stopping breathless and laughing, to tuck a wayward curl behind Gwen’s ear.

At the moment, however, she just wanted the floor to stop moving beneath the bed. She shifted, and Gwen groaned quietly in protest. Someone knocked at the door.

“Go away,” Gwen managed, feebly.

Merlin answered, sounding almost human. “I’ve got three doses of Gaius’s patent hangover cure here. Shall I bring it in?” He obviously took Gwen’s grunt as agreement as he slipped in the door, popping two vials on top of the girls.

“Mum?”

“Hmm, oh, Merlin,” Hunith sat up and looked at the vial he was holding out to her. “Oh, I don’t need that dear.” She slipped out of the bed and grinned at the girls. “You young things have no staying power.”

“I’m going to hex you,” grumbled Morgana, as she managed to open one eye.

Hunith laughed. “Come on, Merlin, let’s get some food ready.”

It set the tone for the day; getting the necessary chores done, quiet conversation, games of chess and nine man’s morris. Morgana was sent to wake Gaius from an afternoon nap and they spoke about his betrayal and hers. She wasn’t entirely sure she could forgive him, even if she understood, but he had forgiven her unreservedly, which left her feeling a little ashamed.

They sat down to eat that evening and she was pleased that she had helped throughout the day. In Camelot that would never have been expected or even allowed. Hunith had done them proud, with roast venison, roasted vegetables and so much more. There was a sweet chestnut pie afterwards and for a moment she thought she might cry when Hunith thanked her for the chestnuts.

There were gifts, too, and she was embarrassed that she hadn’t even thought of bringing anything at least for the three people she knew were going to be present. Hunith was kind as she brushed aside a stumbling apology and said what she had brought had been a gift for them all. Morgana felt better when she saw that most of the gifts exchanged were small things, bright ribbons for the women, knitted socks for the men. Then Gwaine hauled out a pack from the corner.

“Arthur sent some gifts as well.”

Morgana tensed and pulled back from the cozy circle around the fire, wondering whether she could hide away for a time. Gwen grasped her hand and leant against her, an implicit order to stay.

Hunith and Gaius were delighted with their warm, fur-lined gloves and Gwaine laughed when he saw he had received the same. It almost made Morgana laugh at Arthur’s lack of imagination, recalling her own frustrated attempts to drop loaded hints to him in the past. She swallowed hard at the unwanted memory and pushed it aside. Gwen mentioned that she had already been gifted her cape, but there were gloves for her, too. Morgana was curious to see what he had given Merlin, raised her eyebrows because for once Arthur had got something right. Well well. When the cloth covering it was removed, it displayed a satchel, the type of bag a physician would carry, and it was a beautiful soft leather. Gwaine also handed Merlin a note, which he slipped into his pocket.

“Morgana...” Gwaine was holding out a packet for her.

She took it as if it might bite her. There was a note, too. She looked around at them all, caught Merlin’s eyes, felt Gwen squeeze her fingers. This was not something she could open here. The idea that Arthur had known she might be here was terrifying enough, that he had thought to include her like this was almost more than she could bear.

She managed to smile around at them, and then stood, putting the unopened package in the basket of gifts and belongings she would take home with her on the morrow.

**

Merlin slipped away into Gaius’s room, the note from Arthur gripped in his hands. He thought Morgana saw him go, if her sudden sly smirk was any judge, but he couldn’t wait for one more minute. Cursing at the way his fingers trembled, he slipped a finger under the wax seal and unfolded it.

It wasn’t long. Merlin would have been surprised if it was.

The winter has been longer than usual and I will be glad when it is easy to travel once more. I am expecting Agravaine to return to his estates in Tintagel in the spring. Perhaps you will come to visit, or I will visit you. There is much for us to discuss. Please pass on my regards to Gaius and Hunith. You will all be more welcome here than you know.

Merlin sniffed and folded the note carefully, knowing Arthur well enough to read so much more beneath the surface of his words. Taking a deep breath, he rejoined his friends and family, something in him finally settling into peace once more as the last remnants of his anger melted away.

**

Gwaine and Gwen decided to escort Morgana back to her hut, much to her dismay, but they wouldn’t be dissuaded. She had been hugged and kissed and had more food and gifts pressed on her, to the point where she just needed to get away and be on her own. The offering from Arthur was like a thorn in her flesh until she could have the peace to open it. Still, she knew that Gwen wanted to spend more time with her, and that thought warmed her more than it should.

So much of her time in the past years had been spent in solitude and she had few words to spare, listening to them chatter about the last few days. Gwen walked arm in arm with her and occasionally those strong fingers tightened on her elbow, anchoring her to the earth. Apart from addressing a comment or two in her direction, they let her have her silence.

The room was cold and damp when they opened the door, and Gwaine wasted no time in setting the fire, letting Morgana use her magic to light it, with no sign of discomfort at its use. Gwen bustled round lighting every candle she could find and obviously ignoring the squalor. Morgana could have died of shame.

“You need to travel on, or you will not get back to Camelot today,” she said, eventually, as neither of them seemed willing to leave her here.

“Can I come and visit you?” Gwen asked. “Once the weather is better?”

“If you really want to.” She was moving towards the door as she spoke, desperate for them to be gone, hating the thought of being left alone.

“I will then,” Gwen reached up, pressing her lips to Morgana’s cheek.

“Morgana’s right, Gwen, we need to go. Good to meet you properly, my lady.”

Gwaine saluted her in his own, rakish fashion, and she managed to find a smile despite the lump in her throat.

She watched at the door as they rode away, her eyes fixed on Gwen’s back. Just as they were almost out of sight, Gwen turned to look back at her and raised her hand.

Morgana barred her door, and began mechanically to unpack the baskets and packages they had left. There was a colourful blanket, more food, hair ribbons, lavender sachets, some creams and potions, and then there was the unopened parcel. Taking a deep breath, she opened it. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find a pair of gloves, but there was also a fine dagger. He had given her one once before but it had been lost a long time ago. There was also a ring – a woman’s ring, but it carried the Pendragon crest. She frowned and opened the note.

The ring was my mother’s. I think she would like you to have it. I am working on repealing the magic ban. I hope one day you will feel able to come home again. I miss my sister.

Morgana sank onto the bed and wept bitter, lonely tears.

**

Arthur had managed to enjoy Imbolc, despite feeling that there was a gaping hole in his heart. He smiled his way through the feast, with his uncle at his side, and imagined his mother’s voice in his ear making comments about her brother. He spent a quiet morning going back through the journals and reading about Imbolc celebrations throughout her life. The day after the feast he spent with what he had come to regard as his inner council, enjoying their company and pleased in particular to see the difference even a few days of food, warmth and freedom from worry had made to Iseldir. All the Druids were thriving, and had begun helping where they could. Constantine in particular sang their praises and Arthur managed to completely ignore the amount of magic he knew was being used in the physician’s rooms. It hardly mattered, when much of their time was spent discussing how to safely bring magic back to Camelot. He had asked Iseldir, Constantine and Geoffrey to start looking at revising old legislation which, like an extensive magical library, had somehow managed to survive Uther’s purge.

One day soon, Arthur would talk to Iseldir about events that plagued his conscience and ask how he could show his contrition in a meaningful way.  Iseldir had spoken about his behaviour in the future providing proof of his contrition, but discussions on practical elements that could be put in place would be helpful. What he had done was impossible to put right, but he could be better. He could banish the monster his father had created.

**

Finally, it seemed as if the winter was easing its hold on the land. Morgana woke one morning to the sound of rain falling, and watched over the next few days as the endless white was washed away. When she next went out to check her traps, the once frozen ground was soggy, but the air was so much warmer. Merlin turned up a few days later, cursing at the mud and talking about flooding.

“The bridge over the river was washed out completely. The water’s gone down now but it means Willowdale is cut off from the trade route, which is not good now people are on the move again. They’re arranging a work party to try and get another bridge in place. They all pretty much know I’ve got magic now, so the town leader, Marcus – you met him at Imbolc – has asked if I can help.”

Morgana remembered the hulking man, his strange accent and red hair and beard. She would have been afraid of him, she thought, if she hadn’t seen him dancing with two children in his arms and one on his back. He was a gentle giant, but exuded a natural authority. She wondered where this was going.

“Well, I said yes of course, but it would go much quicker if there were the two of us. Mother would love to see you, and I could teach you the spells.” He paused for a moment, and his tone was sly when he added. “Gwen’s coming to visit.”

That fact, of course, had nothing to do with her decision to go.

**

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he looked out onto a Camelot free from ice and frost. Spring had come at last. The days were lengthening and the mood of the citadel and town lifted.

“Sire,”

He turned to see Iseldir standing, his usual calm demeanour in place, hands folded in his robes.

“It is time for my people to return to the forest.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing he would be sad to see them leave. His glance took in the man before him, quietly pleased to see that he looked much healthier than when he had arrived. As did all the Druids. “You know you are welcome to stay longer?”

“We have been most grateful for your hospitality, Sire, and for the friendship you and all around you have shown us. Our hearts tell us it is time to travel once more.”

“You know you are safe to travel in Camelot.” The plan to repeal the laws banning magic were nearing completion. The presence of the Druids had been more beneficial than Arthur had expected, the residents of castle and town warming quickly to their gentle ways. Once one or two complaints of magic being used were dismissed by Arthur in Council – and Arthur had his suspicions about where the accusations stemmed from – everyone had settled down. Just the day before, he had been talking with one of the Lords when a gaggle of Druid children had tumbled along the corridor chasing a ball that was clearly being nudged along with some magical help. Lord Conrad had dodged one excited child, set another on her feet, and chuckled at their antics. He had commented quietly that it was good to see the Druids looking so well, and then had continued their conversation.

“We know, and will spread the word when we meet and talk with other groups.”

Arthur had spent some time with Iseldir, admitting his own crimes from the past and asking what he could do to make reparations. He had not asked for forgiveness. He had no right. Iseldir had been kind, but had asked only that Arthur protect the Druids for the rest of his life. It was an easy oath to give.

“Will you see Emrys?”

“Perhaps.”

“I would welcome him to Camelot.”

Iseldir smiled at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “He will come back to you. You and he are linked by love and prophecy, after all. Apart, you have both grown; together, you will continue to do so.”

He had bowed and left Arthur stunned. Then Arthur laughed.

“You idiot,” he said and smiled.

**

Morgana hummed as she wandered through the woods, pleased to see the soft green blush on the trees and the bright yellows of the celandines popping up on the woodland floor. Her basket was filling nicely with the spring’s bounty: dandelions, chickweed and ransoms already picked. She had found a small hawthorn bush, delighted to see some early leaves and buds. That was a treat and she ate some then and there.

She had made two trips to Willowdale, helping with the bridge and then to help when a sickness brought by a visitor had rampaged through the town. She could not pretend to ignore how good it felt to use her magic to build and to heal, and the welcome of the townspeople had sent warmth seeping to her core. Despite that, there was still an ocean of resentment in her, seeking revenge on all who had done her wrong, and however much she wanted to move away from those feelings, they still haunted her.

A rustle in the bush shocked her out of her introspection and she set down the basket carefully as she drew her sword. It was probably just a rabbit or a bird, or perhaps -

The creature that appeared suddenly out of the bushes was nothing she had seen before, but she thought she could possibly put a name to it. It regarded her for a long moment, and then hopped in place and squeaked, as if excited. It reached out its head and sniffed at her, and then caught her gaze. There was something both young and ancient in those eyes. The dragon, because she was sure that was what she was seeing, put its head on one side, and drew in a breath.

If she could have moved, she would, sure she was about to be immolated, but instead the dragon breathed out and warm air washed over her. Something in her heart eased and she closed her eyes against sudden tears.

A nudge had her opening her eyes again, to find the dragon right in front of her. Daringly, she reached out and stroked a soft snout, reaching up to pet behind one ear. The dragon sighed happily, eyes drifting closed.

“You precious darling.”

She stood there, warmed and charmed, and almost happy. Eventually, she picked up her basket. The dragon investigated the contents, then the hawthorn bush and bounded away. When she did not immediately follow, it bounded back to her side and nudged her. Laughing, she took the hint and trailed in its wake until it led her to another stand of hawthorn bushes.

“Thank you.”

It nudged her again and she rewarded it with more petting. Then, its head perked up, it made a sound that she would have called excitement, and was gone.

Morgana stared after it, a little sad to see it disappear as quickly as it had arrived, but feeling better than she had for many months.

**

Agravaine watched the Druids leave, but felt little satisfaction. Only that morning, Arthur had commented how Agravaine must be missing Cornwall and his estates at Tintagel. He had smiled and agreed, but asserted how he felt he must do his duty and support his sister’s son. He could hardly tell Arthur that he had beggared his estates and the lords who owed their allegiance to Tintagel would probably kill him if he showed his face there. He spoke of Ygraine in glowing terms, and tried to pretend he did not see the brief distaste on Arthur’s features.

Nothing had been heard from Morgana, and he assumed she had not survived the winter. No matter. He had a plan. Agravaine always had a plan, and reports had come in from the countryside that would help him achieve his goal.

“Sire...”

“Uncle. What can I do for you?”

Die, he thought, but pasted on a concerned expression.

“These reports of a magical creature terrorising the countryside are very concerning, don’t you agree?

“I am concerned, I will admit, but the beast has caused no actual injuries or damage as far as we know.”

“Indeed, sire, as far as we know. Those who have seen it say they feel it is young. We do not know what will happen as it grows, or if there are others.”

“That is good reasoning, Agravaine. What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should ride out and see if we can witness it for ourselves and make our own judgment.” He paused for effect. “I must admit it would be good to leave the castle for a few days. Perhaps we could do some hunting at the same time?” A stray cross bow bolt might go anywhere. What a tragedy. How desolate and guilt-ridden he would be when he returned with Arthur’s body.

He missed the knowing glint in Arthur’s eyes.

“A hunt sounds good, Uncle. I will arrange it.”

Agravaine remained calm, bowing low and sweeping away.

**

“You can’t be serious, Arthur?” Leon was horrified at the very idea of Arthur leaving the castle with Agravaine. “I thought you were going to send him back to Tintagel.”

“That was my plan, yes. However,” Arthur waved a hand at Geoffrey, who passed him a piece of parchment. His informal council memberswere squeezed into Leon’s chamber as usual. “Our intelligence network suggests that Tintagel does not want him back and he knows that.” He nodded his thanks to Constantine who, he had discovered, was an excellent spymaster as well as a talented physician and had a system of contacts in many kingdoms.

Leon pursed his lips. “So you believe he’s going to make a move?”

Gwaine sighed. “Tell me again why we can’t just throw him in a dungeon and toss away the key.”

Arthur wondered that himself, but that small part of him that yearned for family still prevailed. Perhaps, just perhaps, Agravaine had changed. He could almost hear Merlin scoffing at that thought.“He’s still my family. I have to give him the chance. And if he won’t take that chance, then it has to be me who deals with him.”

“Arthur, you’re an idiot,” Gwaine grumbled, but raised his hands in surrender.

Arthur grinned at him. “Oh, yes, there’s a lot of that around.”

**

Merlin trotted along the trail. His regular trips back and forth over the months had worn down the grass and made a path, so he could travel quickly. Kilgharrah had returned with Aithusa a few weeks before, and Merlin had marvelled at how she had grown. She was too big to sit on his shoulder now, but was still as playful as she had been. Kilgharrah looked as if he had suffered from that, saying that she could stay with Merlin now. Merlin had confessed about Morgana, but the anger he had been expecting did not come.

“I was so sure of what the prophecy meant, Merlin, so sure that it was set in stone, but now the future is unclear, and I see different pathways. You have grown in wisdom and strength, and I trust you to make the decisions you feel need to be made. I will enjoy the freedom of the warm air once more, and I will tell you of anything I learn that threatens Camelot. And if you have need of me, call and I will come.

He was gone before Merlin had a chance to say anything, and he had watched until Kilgharrah was a speck in the sky, his eyes blurring.

True to his word, Kilgharrah had visited once since, talking of a group of bandits who had captured a sorcerer and bound his will to theirs. Merlin had written to Gwaine and a group of knights had duly ambushed the bandits and dealt with them, while Merlin rescued the sorcerer.

Now, he was on his way to share some news with Morgana that Gwaine had passed on, about the Druids and Arthur’s work on repealing the magic laws.

He stumbled to a halt in the clearing. It seemed as if all the contents of the hut were outside. As he watched, Morgana appeared, her hair wrapped up and an apron tied around her dress. She was wielding a broom in a terrifyingly inept manner. He knew better than to laugh, though, and called out a greeting instead. She looked up and he saw the smudge of dust on her nose. He really mustn’t laugh.

His attention was snagged by a sound he recognised, and he spun around, managing to place the basket he carried on the ground. Something bright white and the size of a very large dog was barrelling towards him.

“Aithusa, no – ugh.”

She hit him right in his midriff, knocking him over and knocking the air out of him at the same time. He lay on the ground crowing, his attempt to breathe not helped by Aithusa sitting on his chest and snuffling his hair.

Groaning, he managed to move her and sit up. “Every time, Aithusa. You don’t get any lighter, you know.”

Morgana was laughing, the sound pealing through the air, happy and bright and as merry as he’d ever heard from her. He grinned as Aithusa bounced across and snuffled at her, and he liked the way she was so much more gentle with Morgana. Still giggling, Morgana reached out and petted her behind her ears. Aithusa collapsed with a happy huff, her eyes half-closed.

“Well,” she managed eventually. “So this is Aithusa – I should have guessed. You did tell me you were a Dragonlord and had hatched an egg. I met her a few days ago.” She paused to survey the mess around her, and the look she cast at Merlin was calculating. “Now you’re here, you can make yourself useful and help me clean this place.” She tossed the broom in his direction.

Merlin would do anything in his power to keep Morgana this happy. She reached out a hand and helped to haul him to his feet.

“Aithusa,” he said suddenly, as stealthy movement caught his attention. “That’s our dinner – go catch your own.” Aithusa withdrew her head from the basket and looked like she was sulking.

Morgana laughed again. “She’s so sweet. When will she be able to fly?”

“Kilgharrah says it won’t be long, but she probably won’t be able to speak for a few years. He thinks that when she is able to carry a rider, is when she will speak.” He shrugged. Kilgharrah was trying to be less cryptic in his answers but some things about dragon lore he either did not remember or had never known. It had never been his job, he had said rather huffily, to look after the children.

“Kilgharrah – the dragon who told you to kill me.”

Merlin shifted uneasily. “If it’s any consolation, he thinks he was wrong now.”

Her expression and raised eyebrow told him exactly what she thought of that, but she said no more about it.

“Let’s get to work,” she said, instead, and he grinned before grabbing the broom.

She knew this scene. The clearing and the trees and the lake were all familiar. Arthur was facing Merlin, his sword point held towards Merlin’s breast, but this time it was different. This time Arthur dropped his sword and pulled Merlin into his arms. They were laughing and for a moment she felt their joy as her own. Until Agravaine appeared, his face a rictus of hate and envy. Before Arthur could reach for his discarded sword, before Merlin could cast any defence, Agravaine -

She woke with a scream, sitting upright and pressing her hand to her wildly beating heart. Despite its nature, this was a vision she understood completely. It was almost more than a vision because there was little room for misinterpretation. This was not some possible vague future. This was gong to happen soon. The twists and turns her life had taken had left her at odds with the Triple Goddess she was supposed to serve, but this felt like a gift. It was a sign, a sign that that life could be different, that she could finally be done with a mindless quest for vengeance. This was her final choice. The urgency swept her up and out of her bed, running through the forest. The trees seemed to sway out of her way, roots disappeared into the ground, so she did not trip, branches pulled themselves aside as if the very land understood her goal. Arthur would not die today.

**

Neither Agravaine nor Gwaine were particularly pleased with all of the company they were keeping. Agravaine had tried hard to persuade Arthur that the two of them should spend time alone, as uncle and nephew, to strengthen their bond. Arthur had smiled congenially at him, but still invited Gwaine to join them.

So they had mostly ridden in silence, two of the men seething, while Arthur occasionally passed meaningless comments on the weather, the forest, the spring flowers. All Agravaine wanted to do was kill them both. A feat that he knew would be more difficult than he had originally planned. Somehow, the crossbow and bolts he had quietly concealed among the kit packed, seemed to be missing. Agravaine understood that he was an indifferent swordsman – he had never seen the point in much practice when he could order or pay men to do the killing for him. He was no match for Arthur or Gwaine, but cunning had always been his main talent. If he planned this right, he could kill them both and blame Gwaine for the King’s death.

His plotting kept him amused for a time, until he realised Arthur had raised his hand to stop them.

They dismounted slowly, their movements as quiet as they could make them. They had come to rest in a sizeable clearing beside the shores of a small lake. Agravaine was not sure he had ever been here before, but the other two men seemed to know where they were. The horses shifted and snorted, but did not seem as if they were about to bolt. All three drew their swords and Agravaine heard what had taken Arthur’s attention, the sound of breaking branches and twigs travelling closer to them. Arthur signalled to them, sending them around in different directions and Agravaine almost grinned at how easy he was making this for him. He let Arthur creep forward, watching as Gwaine obeyed his command and slipped into the trees on the left. He ignored the order he had been given, easing in behind Arthur.

**

Merlin was chasing Aithusa – again. It was a favourite game of hers and he knew she would eventually tire and let him catch up. For the moment, she was leading him in a merry chase through the forest and ignoring his calls. He could use his dragonlord voice, but preferred not to and, if truth be told, the chase was fun. If she thought he was falling too far behind, she would slow down, waiting until he got almost within touching distance before she spun away again. Merlin felt free and happy, and was thinking of nothing other than a cool drink of water from the nearby stream that fed the small lake, when he stumbled into a clearing and tripped over Aithusa’s tail.

He tumbled down, shrieking in shock and rolled onto his back, to find himself staring up into a very familiar, very irritated pair of blue eyes.

The happy leap of his heart was ridiculous. “Hi,” he said, and waved.

Arthur stared down at him for a few heart stoppingly long moments before he sighed, rolled his eyes and held out a hand. Merlin swallowed as the calloused palm closed around his fingers and hauled him to his feet.

“Am I to assume that this is yours?”

Aithusa huffed her indignation. To Merlin’s shock, Arthur glanced at the young dragon and inclined his head. “My apologies.”

Aithusa looked from Merlin to Arthur and back to Merlin, her head on one side. He always knew Arthur was brave, but watching him stay absolutely still and calm while a young dragon snuffled his hair was impressive.

“This is Aithusa. She won’t hurt anyone, Arthur.” Arthur was still holding his sword and he eyed it warily. “Um, I’m a Dragonlord – her Dragonlord. There’s quite a lot I have to tell you.” He tried a smile. Arthur’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

“I’m quite sure there is, Emrys.”

Merlin felt the colour leach from his face.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, then he sighed and dropped his sword, pulling Merlin into his arms. “You are an idiot.”

“And you’re a clotpole,” It sounded like an automatic response and Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur to bury his face against his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

**

She had to get there on time, she had to. It was like static in the air, the smell of a storm, magic swirling unhappily about her, dragging her onwards and not letting her stop for breathlessness or the stitch in her side. The alarm had taken her suddenly, a vision of Arthur in a clearing she knew and she knew, she knew, she knew that if she took too long, all would be lost.

The noise she made erupting into the clearing was enough to startle the two men apart, and barely enough time for them to notice Agravaine advancing quickly, sword in hand and his intention clear. It was too late. There was no time, no time even to cast. He was too close. Any magic would hit Merlin and Arthur, too.

“Arthur!” She screamed out her regret.

Aithusa was faster than them all, pouncing on Agravaine and pinning to the ground, a great maw full of teeth opening. He screamed.

“Aithusa, wait.” Merlin’s order was unambiguous.

Morgana watched as Aithusa growled and knew the dragon would happily kill Agravaine and feel no remorse at all.

For the first time, Morgana understood the horror and terror a dragon could wreak, and the power of a dragonlord. Aithusa held Agravaine in place, her eyes on Merlin as she waited for his command. Morgana looked at Merlin and saw that his attention was on Arthur, his brows furrowed. Oh, Merlin may be a dragonlord and wield extraordinary power, but Arthur was his king. Like Aithusa, Merlin was waiting for his command.

The mad dash through the forest caught up with Morgana and she collapsed against a nearby tree, relief almost taking her to her knees. Then she straightened, touching the ring on her finger and made her confession.

“Agravaine was working for me. We planned to take Camelot.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to read Arthur’s expression. He had changed in every way, she could see that even here and now. The bratty obnoxious boy was gone. There was no puppy fat left in his face. Arthur seemed taller and broader, his stance sure and steady. His features were honed and severe, his mouth an uncompromising line, which curved briefly into a smile as he glanced over at her. There was strength and wisdom here. This was a King. This is a King I can follow.

“I know,” he said simply.

Merlin snorted. Arthur sent an elbow into his ribs. Morgana chose to ignore the relief that washed over her, and rolled her eyes instead.

A crashing through the undergrowth presaged Gwaine bursting into the clearing. “What did I miss?” he asked, then blinked at the dragon.

“Aithusa, this is Gwaine.” Merlin made the introductions.

Morgana almost laughed aloud at the glance the dragon cast over Gwaine, as if she had heard all too much about him already.

“Let him up, Aithusa.”

Arthur spoke the quiet command as if he expected to be obeyed, and somehow Morgana was not surprised when Aithusa did as he said, though not without a disapproving hiss.

When she had moved to the side, Arthur picked up his blade. “Pick up your sword, Agravaine, and let’s end this.”

Agravaine scrambled backwards. “You are a better swordsman. I have no chance against you.”

“That’s correct, but at least you will die an honourable death, even if you have never lived an honourable life. The alternative is that we bind you and return with you to Camelot, where you will be tried and publicly executed. The choice is yours.”

“And what of her?” he sneered at Morgana. “The witch has also plotted against Camelot – has waged war against you.”

“My sister believed that Camelot posed a threat to her existence – as it most certainly did under Uther. Her actions, I can easily forgive. Pick. Up. Your. Sword.”

Morgana shivered at the power in his quiet order. Agravaine scrambled to his feet and gripped his weapon.

“Arthur, wait.” Taking a deep breath she held out her hand and heard Agravaine curse as the dagger he had secreted in his boot slid out of its hiding place and flew across the clearing to smack into her palm.

Arthur nodded his appreciation, though he did not take his eyes from Agravaine. He reached into his belt, where his own dagger was sheathed. He pulled it out and held it towards her with a light two-fingered touch. “Morgana,” was all he needed to say. She did not hesitate, though part of her wanted to mock him a little for this display of chivalry. The dagger joined the other one and she swallowed down her joy at the knowledge that Arthur had, without flinching, asked her to use her magic.

Aithusa and Merlin retreated to stand with Gwaine and Morgana. Morgana slapped Merlin’s hand away to stop him biting his nails.

It was not a long fight. It was never going to take much time, though Morgana wondered if Arthur would ever explain the way he took the time he did, leaving two careful cuts on Agravaine’s face, cuts that would have scarred badly if he had ever been going to live. Arthur decided the moment of Agravaine’s death, thrusting his sword through him, pulling him close to say something to his uncle, before he withdrew his blade, dropped Agravaine to the ground, and watched him die with dark satisfaction. Morgana shivered for a moment, a vague disquiet and memory of Uther surfacing at the sight of Arthur’s satisfaction.

Then Merlin was barrelling across the clearing and pulling Arthur into his arms.

“Arthur, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Arthur pulled him close and hushed him, before leaning forward until their foreheads were pressed together. Unable to resist, Morgana moved closer, Gwaine and Aithusa close behind.

“All will be well,” Arthur murmured, and then he kissed Merlin, wrapping his arms about him as if he would never let him go.

She turned to Gwaine, meaning to make some teasing remark to offset the emotion prickling at her eyes and closing her throat, and was surprised by the soft melancholy on his face as he looked at the two oblivious men. He caught her looking.

“Who was ever going to stand in the way of that, eh?” He smiled fondly at them and seemed to shake himself. “Will you be coming back to Camelot? We could spend an evening or two at the tavern getting to know one another.” He winked.

She thought of sparkling dark brown eyes, curls moving in a spring breeze, and laughed at him. “Not if you were the last man alive.”

He clutched his heart in mock agony.

They teased one another, becoming friends. Arthur and Merlin were oblivious. Agravaine lay where he had fallen, ignored and already forgotten.

Aithusa had curled her tail about her and was fast asleep

Morgana is walking along the rampart, high above the town, a summer breeze ruffling her smooth, shining hair, tossing it into unruly curls. She is arm in arm with Gwen, who is giggling at the sight in front of them. Arthur and Merlin are arguing about something as usual, accompanied by an occasional shove. Most unbecoming behaviour for a King and his Court Sorcerer. Above, a white dragon wheels and soars in the warm thermal updrafts.

“I won’t catch you if one of you falls,” she teases.

They turn to face her with twin outraged expressions and Gwen snorts with laughter.

And … oh

It is not a vision.

Fin