will byers stan first, byler stan second

They're still not sure what happened. One minute Mum was fine, laughing as he chased them around the field. The next he was on the ground, unresponsive to all their attempts to wake him up. Since then he's developed a high fever, one Gran is working tirelessly to keep down. Perhaps most damning of all though is the fact his magic has gone haywire—well, as haywire as someone with Mum's control can get, at any rate. He gives off slight sparks of magic as objects around the house rattle.

After breakfast, Gran sends them off so she can focus on tending to Mum. Eleanor drags Archfedd away; for a brief second she looks like she wants to grab Duran too, but it's clear she's still not over his comment about Mum dying and she just leaves him by the doorway.

It's fine, though. Duran doesn't feel much like playing right now. Instead he wanders over to Mum's side. Gran looks up at him, surprised, then sad as Duran rests his head atop Mum's chest and closes his eyes. Breathes in his scent.

Then he reaches for his magic. He knows he's not supposed to, knows he's only supposed to limit his magic to the forest where no one from the village can see. But he can't just sit here and watch when he knows there's something he can do to help.

He does his best to remember Mum's lessons, but mainly he relies on instinct, listens to what the magic itself tells him to do. He feels a surge of warmth burst from within himself, then wrap itself around both himself and his mother. He basks in the embrace and waits. Then he opens his eyes.

For a minute he thinks he's failed, as Mum just lies there. Then like a man possessed he bolts up with a gasping breath.

Duran beams. "Mum!"

"Where—what—" Mum looks around their hut, eyes wide, before he finds Gran and Duran next to him. He blinks. "What happened?"

Duran wastes no time launching himself into Mum's arms as he bursts into tears. "I thought you were gonna die," he sobs into Mum's chest. "You just fell! And Gran said not to worry but you wouldn't wake up, and it's been days—"

"Days?" Mum repeats. He looks to Gran for confirmation. "That's not…how long was I out?"

Gran bites her lip. "Four days."

"Four?" Mum pales. "No—I need to—" he gets to his feet, swaying precariously, before collapsing back onto his cot. His face contorts with pain as his eyes flicker between gold and blue.

"No," Mum breathes out. "No, no, no. Why isn't it—why can't I…"

"What you need to do is rest, young man," Gran says, firm. "Whatever you're trying to do can wait, for goodness sake."

"No, Mum, it really can't." Mum stops trying to use his magic and turns his attention to Duran, frantic. "Find your sisters and pack your things. We need to leave now."

Duran stares at his mother, uncomprehending. "Leave? Where—where are we going?"

"You're not going anywhere," Gran says sharply. "Merlin, you've been unconscious for the better half of a week. You're not in any shape to travel!"

"We can't stay here, Mother. He'll have started searching by now. It's a miracle he hasn't already shown up at our doorsteps."

"Merlin, what are you talking about—"

The door flies open. Mum pales, and he rushes towards Duran, taking him in his arms as if to shield him, only to relax when he registers Eleanor and Archfedd's presence. "Girls," he sighs in relief and reaches for them.

They don't look the slighest bit happy, not even when they see Mum is awake. They look scared. Winded, as if they'd ran a great distance in a short amount of time.

"Knights," Eleanor gasps. "Mum, there are knights—from Camelot—looking for you! They asked for you by name!"

"Not just knights," Archfedd says. "Even the king is here! They're on their way right now!"

Mum is white with fear. His grip on Duran tightens, so hard Duran can't breathe. Before he can say so, though, Mum lets go. Gets back up on his feet. He sways again, but this time manages to stay upright.

"You three need to hide," he says. He looks around their hut, eyes shining with desperation until they land on—

"—The barrels," he says. "Hide in the barrels. Quickly!"

"But why? What's happening, Mum—"

"Just do as I say! And don't come out until I tell you. Now hurry!"

Duran and his sisters exchange frightened looks. They've never seen Mum like this before. Terrified, unhinged. It's enough for them to swallow down their questions and let themselves be lifted and dropped into the barrels.

And not a moment too soon. Duran hears the sound of a door breaking, and thundering footsteps. Hears his mother whisper to his grandmother.

"Don't say anything. Let me handle this, Mother."

"Merlin—" His gran starts to say but then cuts herself off.

For several moments, there is nothing but silence. Duran shifts as quietly as he can, holding a hand over his mouth to hide his breathing.

"Merlin," a cold, unfamiliar voice says.

Mum doesn't answer right away. "Your Majesty," he says at last, and Duran is surprised by how his voice betrays none of the fear he'd been feeling just a minute earlier. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

"Drop the facade, Merlin," says the man Duran assumes must be the king. What was his name again? "Whatever spell you cast has been broken, and with it my ignorance of your crimes against Camelot."

"I see," Mum says. "And what are these heinous crimes you claim I've committed?"

The king growls. Duran hears a bang and a shout. Someone hitting a wall.

"Merlin!" Gran cries out.

"I'm in no mood to play games, sorcerer," the king hisses. "I could have you executed for that alone. And I just might. But first, you will tell me this: where is my child?"

Mum doesn't say anything, until—"You must be mistaken, my lord." His voice is like steel. "No child of yours lives here."

"More lies!" The king laughs. It is not a happy laugh. "You wouldn't have gone to such measures if you'd been pregnant with someone else's child. You knew the value of what you carried, knew I would come after you—"

"Value?" Mum repeats, and there's a hint of the real Mum cutting through whatever mask he'd been playing up to this point. "Is that why you're here, Arthur? For our child's value?" His voice takes on a mocking tone. "Of course it is. When did you ever care for anyone beyond what they could offer you—"

"Rich words from someone of your ilk," King Arthur snaps. "You, who implanted yourself in the very heart of Camelot itself, for God knows what purpose, and when you were discovered you—"

"I what?" Mum snarls. "Did I fight? Throw a coup? Lead a rebellion against you? No! I left. I left you to rule your kingdom however you saw fit."

"After casting a spell on the whole kingdom!" The other man shouts. "You erased our memories, Merlin! Erased my memory! Of yo—the child you carried! My child! How could you do that?"

For a brief second, Duran thinks he hears the tiniest crack in the king's voice. He's almost impressed with himself that he catches it, considering everything whirring in his mind right now.

He thinks Mum must hear the crack too. His voice softens into something akin to resignation, albeit still bursting with resentment. "What was I meant to do, Arthur? Wait until the baby was born so you could rip them from my arms and put me on the pyre? Have my child—my child—be raised in that damned castle, raised to hate and fear those who are different? To hate and fear themselves? Because, big twist! Children of sorcerers tend to inherit at least a bit of magic themselves. And that's not even getting into the fact you and I were never mated, never mind married. The world doesn't take kindly to bastards, I know that better than most. Your court would have eaten the poor babe alive."

"No," Arthur says. "I would have protected them. I will protect them. Tell me where my child is, and I will leave you and your mother in peace. Free to go wherever you please, do whatever you want, so long as you never step foot in Camelot again."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I shall tear your village apart looking. Starting, of course, with your little hovel here." The threat in his voice rings true, and Duran's blood runs cold.

"You saved this village, once," Mum says. "Years ago. Now you would condemn it?"

"I will do what I must," says Arthur. "The decision is yours."

Duran is struggling to process what's going on. Mum never talked about their sire. The most he'd ever told Duran and his siblings was that their father died shortly before they were born. But that isn't right, because the bloody king of Camelot himself was claiming he was their father, and Mum hadn't denied it. Which means it's true, and that means—what did it mean? He doesn't know.

But Duran does know this: his father hasn't realized there are three of them. Has no idea Mum had given birth to not one baby, but three. Which means…

Duran knows what it means. Knows what he has to do.

He musters up all the courage he possesses. Sends a prayer to the Goddess. Then he shifts his weight, pushing until the barrel falls to the ground and he tumbles out.

He blinks rapidly as his eyes readjust to the light, and his stomach drops as he registers the sight before him.

Knights, all draped in red. His gran, restrained and gagged by a pair of knights who look at her like she's scum.

A crowned man with the same golden hair as Eleanor, the same blue eyes as Archfedd. The king of Camelot. His father.

His mum, pinned against the wall by said father.

"Mum!" Duran rushes towards him. He clambers at the king's hands before resorting to hitting him on the legs. "Let my mother go!" He shouts.

"Duran!" Mum shouts. "What are you doing?"

"Duran," the king breathes out. His gaze shifts from Duran's mother and onto Duran himself. Letting go of Mum, he gets down on his knees and takes Duran's hands in his. Duran tries to wriggle himself free, but the king—his father—is too strong.

And—a part of him doesn't want to fight. Despite himself, despite knowing the danger this man poses to his mother, to his sisters, to himself, Duran can't help but feel safe. He knows it's a trick, knows he can't trust it, but he can't seem to resist the almost overwhelming pull of his sire's presence. As if in a trance, he stops fighting.

King Arthur looks at him like he's the most wondrous thing in the whole world. He brings his gloved hands up to Duran's face and cups his face. Slowly, his eyes fill with tears. "My son," he says, voice tremulous. "You're…you're so big."

Duran stares at him. Is this really the same man who threatened his home mere minutes ago? Who had held his mother against the wall in such feral anger? He doesn't understand. Not this, not his mum lying to him about his sire, none of it.

His father envelops him in a hug. Duran fights the instinct to melt into it, keeping his arms by his sides until the man puts his hands on his shoulders and puts some distance between them. He looks at him sadly. "Do you know who I am?" He asks.

The nine year old swallows. "You're King Arthur," he says. Then, "You're my father."

His father smiles. "That's right. Your…your mother told you about me?"

Duran considers lying. But his hesitation is an answer all on its own, and the smile on Arthur's face fades. "Of course he didn't. God forbid that man be honest for once in his life." His father closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "You were listening to our conversation, then."

It's not a question, but Duran nods anyway. Arthur sighs.

"So you know, then, that your mother has committed a great crime," he says. "More than one, even. He cast a spell on me to forget he and I ever met—to forget we'd sired a child together. He took you away from me before you were even born. Took you away from the place you were meant to call home."

Duran fidgets. "Ealdor is my home," he says. "And Mum—Mum says Camelot doesn't like people with magic. That they burn people like us."

"You are nothing like them," Arthur says harshly. Duran inhales sharply, and Arthur softens immediately. "What I mean is—whatever magic you may possess, it doesn't change that you are just a boy. My boy. I would never let you burn."

"Classic Pendragon hypocrisy."

Duran jumps at the sound of Mum's voice, having forgotten somehow he was even there as he stood nearby. His father's face twists with anger, and he stands back up, turning around so as to face Duran's mother once more. "I suggest you mind your tongue before I cut it off," he threatens.

Duran's eyes widen with fear, but Mum only laughs darkly. "In front of our son? That wouldn't make a good impression, would it?"

Arthur's lips curl into a sneer.

"Don't hurt him," Duran blurts out, frantically trying to redirect his father's attention back towards him. "Please. I'll go with you to Camelot, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt Mum and Gran—"

"No, Duran—" Mum bolts forward, stumbles over his feet, and crumbles to the floor.

Duran's father eyes him. "You can't just make things easy, can you, Merlin?" He says tiredly, pulling out what appeared to be a simple bracelet from his pocket.

Mum pales. "No," he says. "No, don't you dare, Arthur Pendragon—"

Arthur pays his protests no mind as he reaches down and foists the bracelet onto Mum's wrist. Mum's eyes flare golden for a split second before they go back to blue.

"Cold iron," Arthur says. "Only the person who put the bracelet on you can take it off. And I won't be doing that anytime soon."

Mum glares up at him from the floor, breathing heavily. "Damn you, Arthur ," he curses. "Damn you to hell! Magic or not, if you think I'm going to let you take my son away from me—"

"Mum," Duran says. "Please. He's not taking me, I'm choosing to go with him."

"To Camelot!" Mum says. "Duran, you don't understand, that place is poison. You won't survive it. Not as you are now. It will change you, change you from the sweet boy you are into—into a Pendragon."

Duran furrows his eyebrows. "It won't change me, Mum," he says. "I promise. I won't let it."

His mother's face crumbles. "Duran."

Duran's lower lip trembles. Overcome with sudden emotion, he launches himself at his mother, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I have to, Mum," he sobs. "I have to save you—save all of you." He chances a glance at the other two barrels, praying his mum understands what he cannot dare say aloud.

His mum's eyes light up with understanding. "Brave boy," he whispers and presses a kiss against his forehead.

Duran closes his eyes, wishing he could just stay there in his mother's embrace. But then his father clears his throat, and the moment fades.