Merthur Writer

Arthur: He believes I did it.

Gaius: He certainly doesn’t remember doing it, and Morgana would never tell him. And what better way to cement his hatred? Merlin has lived with magic his whole life. To have it gone… it must feel like losing a limb, or a sense.

Arthur still struggles to picture Merlin, his clumsy servant, as a wielder of the very power his father has hunted for years. But he does remember the devastating pain in Merlin’s voice when he accused him, as if he had hurt him in the worst possible way imaginable. Thinking Merlin actually did that to himself feels monumental. Because, according to Gaius' comparison, Merlin basically crippled himself just to keep Arthur safe.

Gaius: (secures the last bandage around Arthur’s throat) That moment of clarity proves the fight is still in him. But the enchantment is still in control. We must restrain him. Lock him in a secure room.

Arthur: (shakes his head, wincing at the movement) I won’t have him chained like a criminal in a dungeon. Not after what he’s already been through. (His voice drops, strained with guilt) How is restraining him supposed to convince him I’m not the enemy Morgana says I am?

Gaius: He is enchanted, Sire. His image of you won't change no matter what you do. Now he is a danger. To you, and to himself. Next time, his own magic may not be fast enough to stop his hand. (seeing Arthur’s resistance, he softens his tone) It doesn’t have to be the dungeons. We can use the old guest chambers in the east tower and bind his hands with ropes to prevent him from causing harm.

Arthur’s gaze drifts to Merlin on the cot. He looks peaceful in sleep, the furious hatred he witnessed during their struggle gone, leaving only the familiar, weary lines of his best friend’s face. Then Arthur remembers the snarl, the cruel words, the unwavering pressure of the blade at his throat.

Arthur: (sighs and finally concedes) The east tower. And we use the softest bindings we have. He is to have blankets, light, books, food. Everything he might need. He is not a prisoner; he is a patient.

Gaius: Of course, sire.

Arthur: (looks Gaius squarely in the eye, his kingly authority returning) Inform my knights. Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Mordred. We cannot keep this a secret any longer.

It is a pitiful offering—a comfortable cage. But it is the only shred of dignity he can offer to the friend trapped inside.

As Gaius begins preparing the linen strips, Arthur stands and walks slowly to Merlin’s bedside. He looks down at the unconscious face, at the bandage that hid the wound Merlin inflicted upon himself to save him. A lump forms in his throat.

Arthur: (whispers, his voice thick) I’m sorry. But this won’t be forever. I’m bringing you back. However I have to.

Time skip. In the East Tower.

The room in the east tower may not be a dungeon. But it makes no difference to Merlin when he wakes up to find his wrists bound with soft linen and the door locked from the outside.

His rage is a living thing. He yells until his voice goes raw, hurling insults, threatening violence in graphic, chilling detail, promising death to each of the knights guarding his prison. He sees the devastation on their faces—on Leon’s stern composure, on Percival’s gentle confusion, on Elyan’s quiet hurt—and it only fuels his fury. Actors. All of them. Another layer of Arthur’s cruel game.

Once the shouting subsides into bitter silence, a worry cuts through the anger. Morgana doesn’t know he's been discovered. He failed. And now he is here, captured and useless. He has to get word to her. So he will bide his time and watch. No matter how, he will escape.

The visits are the worst part of the torture.

Gwaine: (enters, his voice pained, his usual swagger was gone) Merlin… I brought you food. (sets the tray down)

Merlin: (stares from where he sits on the bed, pouring every ounce of loathing he can conjure into his gaze)

Gwaine: (takes a shaky breath, his eyes bright with unshed tears) If you had told me… about the magic… I would have kept your secret. I would have protected you. We’re friends. I would never have let anything happen to you.

Merlin: (A cold, mirthless smile) Yeah, right. That’s why you have me imprisoned here. Tied up. Because we’re friends. How stupid do you think I am? Oh, I actually do know. Very stupid. A fool an usurper king hired as a servant.

Gwaine: I never thought that of you. And you don’t really think that of Arthur. You’re the one who showed me he was a king worth serving. Worth being loyal to.

Merlin: Loyalty? (laughs) You attach yourself to anyone who’ll give you a title and a pat on the back. Your knighthood itself is a joke! A consolation prize for a noble son who thinks hiding his inheritance makes him any different from the nobles he claims to despise. (leans forward, his voice dropping to a vicious, intimate hiss) It’s good your father is dead. He wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of you. A drunken, rootless fool, playing at being a hero because you’ve got nothing else.

Gwaine: (flinches as if struck physically, deeply hurt by the words)

Merlin: (thinking, smiling) The truth hurts, doesn't it? Suffer. Suffer like I do.

Gwaine: (takes a deep breath) When you’re yourself again… you’ll understand. (swallows hard, his gaze never leaving Merlin’s hate-twisted face) And I’ll be here. I’ll still be here. (Leaves)

The other knights pay their visits, and Merlin greets each with the same cruelty. It is satisfying, in a way, to see them flinch, to see the hurt in their eyes. But it is also infuriating. How dare they act like the wounded party? Though, by this point, he shouldn’t be surprised by their hypocrisy.

But the most frequent visitor, his personal torturer, is the inept king himself. Arthur is the most persistent in his attempts to weave this ridiculous deception.

Arthur: (sitting on the chair by the door, his own face still bandaged) I didn’t block your magic. You did. When Morgana enchanted you. To protect us from her.

Merlin: (rolls his eyes from the bed) This ‘enchanted’ thing again. Don’t you have anything new? You’re pathetic.

Arthur: (sighs, the sound weary and full of pain) Merlin, please.

Merlin: Also, do you really think I don’t have a million other reasons to hate you? (His voice rises) I’ve fought monsters, witches, bandits for you. I’ve been poisoned, kidnapped, and beaten. And for what? For you to treat me like garbage. To ignore me, to belittle me, to throw me in the stocks for the slightest mistake.

Arthur: First, I haven't thrown you in the stocks in years. Second, I didn’t know you were doing all that! If I had known—

Merlin: Oh, so you have to know I’ve been making sacrifices for you to treat me with basic human decency? Is that how your royal logic works?

Arthur: That's… That's not…

Merlin: But sure. The victim is you. Poor, poor Arthur. His friend, who is a sorcerer, lied to him about who he was in a kingdom where he’d be killed for existing. However will you recover?

Arthur: Merlin…

Merlin: (Sarcastic) As much as I love your presence. (sighs) I really need to pee.

Arthur: (turns, about to call for the guards)

Merlin: (A cold, knowing smile) Sure. Call one of your big, loyal oafs to untie me. I know how disgusted you are to touch me.

Arthur: (turns back, his gaze steady) That’s not true.

Merlin: Prove it.

Arthur holds his gaze for a moment. Then he stands, walks to the bed slowly, and reaches for the knotted linen binding Merlin’s wrists.

The moment the bindings loosen, Merlin moves. In a quick, vicious motion, he tries to loop the linen around Arthur’s neck.

Arthur is ready. He grabs the arm snaking around him, pivots his weight, and throws Merlin down onto the bed, using the mattress to soften the impact but still pinning him firmly.

They both pant, faces inches apart.

Arthur: (more sad than angry) Nice try. (ties the bonds again, tighter this time)

Merlin: (glares, his chest heaving with silent fury)

Arthur: (smooths his tunic, his expression unreadable) The guards will be in to assist you shortly.

It was the first time Merlin tried. In another visit, he tries a different tactic.

Merlin: (surges forward as far as his bonds allow, eyes blazing) My loved ones died because of you! Will! Freya! My father—

Arthur: (Confusion cuts through his distress) You told me you never met your father.

Merlin: Yes. And you are the very reason I never got to meet him. You and your father. Uther hunted him like an animal, forced him to flee my mother before I was born. The only person who could have taught me about what I am… (His voice drops to a trembling, heartbroken whisper) Until that day. The day you needed a way to defeat the Great Dragon. Or rather, a person.

Arthur: (his face goes ashen) No…

Merlin: Yes, Balinor was my father. I found him only to watch him die for your cause. I couldn’t even build a proper burial for him. I couldn’t even grieve him. (leans back, his eyes glistening with anguished tears) See? I have plenty of reasons to hate you, Arthur Pendragon. More than enough. (starts sobbing)

Arthur: (His own eyes are wet, speaks softly) I'm sorry. You are right. Enchanted or not… it's clear I have a lot to make up for.

Merlin: (keeps sobbing)

Arthur: I'll see that your father has a knight's burial. Honored for his sacrifice to Camelot. And… I'll legalize magic again. I swear it.

Merlin: (looks up, a flicker of hope breaking through the tears) Really?

Arthur: Nobody should have to suffer what you suffered just for being who they are. I see that now.

Merlin: (cries, but a small, trembling smile appears) Arthur…

Arthur: (takes a step closer, his instinct to console his Merlin overriding caution)

As soon as Arthur is close enough, Merlin’s sobs cut off instantly, the hopeful smile twisting into a snarl, and his bound hands jerk apart, revealing a sharpened writing quill he’d hidden between his palms.

Merlin stabs the quill toward Arthur’s side. But Arthur is already moving. He catches Merlin’s wrist just before the point connects and quickly disarms him.

Arthur: (lets out a weary breath) That was a predictable one. You can’t surprise me anymore.

Merlin: (his knee comes up hard and fast, connecting squarely with Arthur’s groin)

Arthur: (grunts, doubling over in pain)

Merlin: (smirks) I thought I couldn't surprise you anymore, my lord.

Arthur: (thinking) Once you are back to normal, you are going to have so many chores. I swear to the Gods.

Though he would have loved to succeed in killing Arthur, he already knew he would fail. The king’s reflexes are too sharp, his guard now a permanent. However, it isn’t the real objective anymore.

After each attempt, the knights tighten his bonds. A little more rope, another linen strip, a few extra knots. They see it as increasing security. Merlin sees it as stockpiling resources.

And they have, stupidly, put him in a tower with an open window.

As Leon finishes securing a new, longer length of linen around his already-bound wrists, pulling it snug, Merlin doesn't struggle. He gives him a look of sullen defeat, letting his shoulders slump.

Leon: (voice gentle and pained) I’m sorry, Merlin. It’s for your own safety.

Merlin just looks away, the perfect picture of a broken man.

The moment the door closes and the lock turns, the defeated posture vanishes. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scan his new constraints and smirks.

Patience is key and he will use every last scrap of their fake concern to walk out of this cage and back to his lady.

Time skip. In Gaius’s Chambers.

The atmosphere in the room is heavy, thick with shared dread. Arthur sits by the hearth as Gaius checks Arthur’s injury on his neck, now cicatrize. Gwen sits next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Leon stands close, posture solemn. 

Leon: (his voice was firm, edged with concern.) You should stop going in to see him alone, Sire.

Arthur: (doesn’t look at them, his gaze fixed on the flames) I’m fine. I can handle him.

Gwen: (her voice soft but insistent) No, you are not fine. You come back more wounded each time (adds when he sees Arthur about to retort) I'm not talking about physical injuries.

Arthur: (finally turns, his expression bleak) He wasn’t lying when he told me all those things. Those memories are real. His father did die because of a quest I led.

Gaius: He never blamed you for it, Arthur. Not the true Merlin. Nor for any of the other hardships.

Arthur: Well, this Merlin does. And I can’t say he doesn’t have every right to. (Sighs and looks directly at Gaius, a desperate plea in his eyes) Tell me you’ve made progress.

Gaius: (hesitates, then nods slowly) It seems my first theory was correct. When I was young, I heard about an ancient ritual of the Old Religion called the Teine Diaga.

Arthur: Teine Diaga?

Gaius: The sacred fire. The ritual used the mandrake root to bring unimaginable terror to the victim. Their screams could be heard twenty leagues away. When it was finally over, their will was no longer their own. They were slaves of the high priestesses for eternity.

Arthur: Great. So, what do we do? How do we undo it?

Gaius: (his eyes filled with sorrow) Sire… if it truly is the Teine Diaga… the texts speak of no remedy. The rituals of the high priestesses were secret, passed only among their innermost circles. The knowledge, if counter-magic ever existed, is lost. There is no one alive now who could provide it.

Arthur: What? (Denial flashes across his face) No… there has to be something!

Gaius: I wish, with all my heart, that there was—

Arthur: (shouts, standing up abruptly) NO! I CANNOT LOSE HIM!

Gwen:...

Leon: …

Gaius: …

Arthur: (composes himself) I mean… there must be something. There is always a way. You are the smartest man I know. Think!

Gaius: (after a moment, sighs) I can think of only two beings who might hold such deep knowledge of the Old Ways. One is Morgana Pendragon herself. And the other… is the Dochraid.

Arthur: The Dochraid?

Gaius: A creature of the earth. Ancient, and a devout follower of the Old Religion. She may know of the ritual, or even of a counter. (His expression turns grave) But to seek her is perilous. She cannot be trusted. You are the son of Uther Pendragon, the man who nearly extinguished the practices she loves. She will not help you willingly. She may even kill you before you dare to ask.

Arthur: (straightens, the despair burned away by a reckless, single-minded resolve) Where is she?

Gwen: Arthur, wait! (steps forward, her face etched with fear) I want to save Merlin as much as you. But you heard Gaius. It’s too dangerous.

Leon: Send a party. A small, skilled group. It doesn’t have to be you.

Gaius: A party wouldn’t stand a chance either. The Dochraid is not a foe to be met with steel alone. To have any hope, you would need the aid of magic. (His eyes fall on the sword at Arthur’s hip) Your sword. Merlin reforged it in a dragon’s breath. It carries an ancient power that could offer you protection. But I would still advise you to have the aid of a true sorcerer. (shakes his head slowly) And I fear I know of no one willing to help you.

A memory sparks in Arthur’s mind—an old, powerful sorcerer with familiar eyes.

Arthur: Call that old man. The one who tried to save my father. Dragoon the Great.

Gaius: (stares, a painful look) That… cannot be possible.

Arthur: Why?

Gaius: Because ‘Dragoon the Great’ was Merlin in disguise.

The words sink in in Arthur’s mind with a heavy revelation. The only person who could help him is Merlin himself. And now Merlin hates him.

A hundred inexplicable moments reshape themselves in Arthur’s mind—the old sorcerer’s convenient, timely appearances, the strange familiarity that had niggled at him, the unwavering, hidden loyalty. His clumsy servant had not only been his magical guardian but had also donned a second life, a second face, to protect him from the shadows. Again and again.

And then, when Dragoon failed, he accused him of killing his father.

“I’ve been poisoned, kidnapped, and beaten. And for what? For you to treat me like garbage.”

With every new discovery, Arthur feels more and more utterly undeserving of Merlin's devotion. And yet, he finds himself being selfish even now. Because he needs his Merlin. He needs the man who would stand beside him, tell him words of encouragement and comfort when he needs it, the one who would look at him with eyes full of a belief so potent it could move mountains. He wants him back so desperately it is a physical ache in his chest.

A new terrible truth settles over him, more devastating than the first. He hadn’t rescued Merlin. His Merlin had never come back from that tower. The person he’d clung to in the dust and carried from the rubble… it had already been changed. The last time he had truly seen his Merlin—the one with the too-big heart—was in a sunlit courtyard, unable to meet his eyes as Gwen departed, the unspoken weight of what happened in the tavern hanging between them, stopping him and Arthur from saying goodbye.

No.

That cannot be the last time he ever saw Merlin. He will not let it be!

Arthur: (more determined than ever) I don’t care. I’ll go alone with my sword if I must. I will find this Dochraid. And I will make her tell me how to bring Merlin back.

Gwen: (begs) Arthur, please—

The chamber door opens, cutting her off.

Mordred: (enters, shy, but resolved)  I’m sorry to interrupt… and for eavesdropping. (His eyes sweep the room, landing on Arthur) But you don’t need to go alone, Sire. You don’t need to search for a sorcerer. I know of one that could help you.

Arthur: (studies the young knight) Who?

Mordred: (meets his gaze steadily, a flicker of gold passing through his own blue eyes) Me.

Time skip. In the East Tower.

The door opens, and Gwen steps inside. She has steeled herself, but the sight of Merlin bound and sitting on the edge of the narrow bed still sends a fresh pang through her heart.

Merlin: (doesn't look up at first, his voice flat) Your Majesty. Took you long enough.

Gwen: (takes a steadying breath) Arthur is preparing to leave. He's going on a mission to find a way to break the enchantment. To save you.

Merlin: (finally glances at her, with a cold, dismissive smile) You bought that story, too? Probably. I would love to think you’re a part of this whole charade they’re putting on, but the truth is, you lack the actual wit for it. So naive. (shakes his head) No, he’s deceived you, too. As the parody of a queen you are.

The words are designed to wound, and they do. Gwen flinches, but she doesn’t look away. A new, steely resolve settles in her eyes.

Gwen: They didn’t exaggerate about your cruelty. But hearing it… now I really know this isn’t you. (takes a cautious step closer, her voice softening into a plea) Merlin, I know you are still in there. Help is on the way. (extends a hand)

Merlin: (recoils as if her hand were a viper, his face twisting in disgust) Don’t.

Gwen: (her hand falls, the hope in her eyes dimming, replaced by a deep, weary understanding. Then she nods, turns, and begins to walk back to the door)

Merlin: (dripping with malicious glee) Do you know your husband kissed me?

Gwen: (freezes. She doesn’t turn, but her entire body goes rigid)

Merlin: Twice. He even confessed to having feelings for me. Quite the romantic, our king.

Gwen: (turns back around slowly, her face pale and her eyes wide with a storm of shock, betrayal, and confusion)

Merlin: Oh, don’t look so devastated. Rest assured, he’s just using me. Just like he’s using you. (leans forward). Though I don’t know exactly what use you could be, besides being a good fuck. I mean, you must be. After all, you’ve pleased two men.

Gwen: (slaps him hard in pure, outraged hurt)

For a second, there is only stunned silence. A red mark blooms on Merlin’s skin.

Merlin: (slowly turns his face back to her, a cold, triumphant smile spreading across his features) How easy you lose your temper, my lady. That’s not how a queen behaves. But I suppose we cannot erase our origins. You were never deserving of the crown. At least Arthur has actual royal blood. You… you are nothing but a serving girl playing dress-up.

Gwen: (stares at him, the tears now spilling over, and then turns and leaves)

Merlin watches the door close, the cold satisfaction of a wound well-delivered curdling in his chest. Yet, in the echoing silence that follows, the ghost of her devastated expression lingers. A tiny, unwelcome splinter in the solid wall of his hatred.

Time Skip. In the Dochraid's Cave.

The air is thick with the scent of damp earth, rotting leaves, and ancient power. Arthur and Mordred step cautiously into the gloom, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

Dochraid: (from the shadows) Who dares enter the sacred cave?

Arthur: Are you the Dochraid?

A hunched cadaverous old hag with no eyeballs shuffles into a sliver of light.

Dochraid: Give me your hand.

After a brief hesitation, the king steps forward and extends his hand. The creature snatches it, brings it to her wrinkled nose, and inhales deeply. She recoils, flinging his hand away as if burned.

Dochraid: A Pendragon. Your stench pollutes this place.

Arthur: (his jaw tightens, about to retort.)

Mordred: (steps forward, placing a calming hand on Arthur's arm) Let me speak. Please, Sire.

Arthur: (gives a short, tense nod, falling back a step)

Mordred: (bows to the Dochraid) We come in peace. I am a warlock myself. A friend to the Old Religion.

Dochraid: No one associated with a Pendragon is a friend of the Old Religion.

Mordred: (pleads) Great Dochraid—

Dochraid: SILENCE! (Her shriek echoes in the cave) Emrys will find no relief here.

Arthur: (confused, to Mordred) Emrys?

Mordred: She means Merlin… Wait. (His eyes widen, to the Dochraid) How do you know why we come?

Dochraid: I am the Dochraid. The Earth speaks to me. You are not welcome here. DEPART!

Arthur: (his patience, worn thin by weeks of helplessness, snaps) I have no time for this. (In one fluid motion, draws his sword at the ancient creature)

Mordred: (horrified) Sire!

Arthur: (his voice is low, deadly calm) You'll tell us what you know. Right now.

Dochraid: (lets out a croaking laugh) You dare challenge me, the ancient Dochraid? You? A mere mortal? I am a creature of the Earth! You cannot kill me!

Arthur: Maybe not with a common sword. (shifts his grip, the blade suddenly gleaming) But this one was forged in a dragon's breath.

Dochraid: (Her confidence falters) Liar! You do not have the power to wield such a weapon!

Arthur: (swings his sword, which slices through the air and connects with the Dochraid's outstretched arm)

Dochraid: (screams and clutches the wound, green liquid seeping between her fingers)

Arthur: How do we cure him?

Dochraid: (Her eyes blazed with fury) I won't tell you a thing! (flings a hand out, and a bolt of dark energy shoots toward Arthur)

Mordred: (throws up a shimmering blue shield, deflecting the spell) Sire, you are just making her angrier!

Arthur: (beyond listening, advances, striking her again, this time across the leg)

Dochraid: (Shrieks, collapsing to one knee. Gasps and then gathers her power for another attack)

Mordred: (strained, holding her magical assault at bay with his own) Sire, stop!

Arthur: (stands over her, sword raised, and roars) HOW?!

Dochraid: (her defiance crumbles into bitter defeat) Emrys is doomed! His spirit has been consumed by the Teine Diaga. Bound by the silver wheel for all eternity. His body is nothing but an empty vessel, filled by the will of another.

Arthur: Morgana. I know. How do we undo it? (lifts the sword higher)

Dochraid: (flinches) Only the greatest of sorcerers can attempt such a thing. (turns to Mordred, spiteful) This traitor right here is a rockie. He will be of no use to you.

Arthur: (brings the tip of the sword to hover inches from her throat)

Dochraid: (The words rushed out, forced by terror.) You must travel to the Cauldron of Arianrhod. There, you must summon the White Goddess herself.

Arthur: (doesn’t lower the sword) And?

Dochraid: Emrys must enter the Cauldron. Its waters hold the Goddess's power. Only their touch can heal him. He must enter the water willingly. If he is tricked, forced, or beguiled, the cure will have no effect, and the man you know will be lost forever.

Arthur: (finally lowers the sword, turns without another word and begins to walk from the cave)

Mordred: (Still stunned by the king's brutal tactics, turns to the wounded Dochraid) Eh… Thank you, Great Dochraid. Thank you. (gives a hurried bow and turns to follow)

As they reach the mouth of the cave, a flash of movement comes from behind. The Dochraid, with a final act of vengeful spite, uses a surge of magic to hurl a rusted dagger straight at Arthur's retreating back.

Mordred spins, his hand shooting out. A pulse of blue energy deflects the dagger at the last second, sending it clattering harmlessly against the cave wall.

Arthur doesn't even break stride. He is already striding into the forest, his mind fixed on a distant cauldron, a white goddess, and the nearly impossible task of making a man who wants him dead choose, willingly, to be saved.

Time skip. Back in Camelot.

As Arthur and Mordred dismount their horses, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine and Percival approach them.

Percival: (urgent) Sire!

Arthur: (tosses his reins to a stable boy, his eyes scanning their grim faces) What are you all doing here? Who is watching Merlin?

A beat of silence. The knights exchange a fraught glance.

Leon: (steps forward, his face ashen with the weight of the failure he is about to report) Merlin escaped, Sire.

...

Poor Merlin will have al lot to apologize for when he is back to himself.

Time Skip.

The king does not sit once as the physician works at his bench. He stands close, watching with anxiety as Gaius lits a small burner, prepares a clean dish, and draws a few drops from the cup with a pipette. It seems like forever before Gaius finally adds a clear reagent to the dish and holds it over the flame.

The liquid, where the wine and reagent meet, doesn't bubble or smoke. Instead, it separates, forming a faint, oily film on the surface, tinged with a sickly greenish hue. Gaius’s shoulders slump, not in surprise, but in grim confirmation.

Gaius: (turns, holding the dish, his face etched with grief) It’s here. A combination of arsenic and aconite. But it’s a small dose. Not enough to kill you… yet. (looks at the cup) My guess is he planned to give you small doses daily until it did. The symptoms of arsenic and aconite are easily confused with common degenerative diseases. He wanted to kill you slowly and pass it as a decline.

Though Arthur was already almost sure, he feels the world tilt at the revelation and has to lean against the wall to stay upright. He brings a hand to his chest, the betrayal feeling like a knife to his heart.

Arthur: (his voice barely above a whisper) That’s why he was willing to drink it himself… (A rebellious tear escapes from one of his eyes, the pain too great to contain it completely) How… how could he?

Gaius: Arthur. That is not our Merlin. Morgana enchanted him. In his right mind, he would sooner cut off his own hands than cause you harm.

Arthur: You told me he is a sorcerer, too. How do I know his own magic didn’t turn him against me?

Gaius: Arthur—

Arthur: Morgana turned on me when magic claimed her.

He wants, desperately, to believe the enchantment. He saw the stranger in Merlin’s eyes. But hadn’t Morgana also changed? Magic had hollowed her out, leaving only vengeance in the shell of his sister. What if the Merlin he glimpsed is actually the real one? What if the sorcerer is the true face, and the friend the disguise? He clings to the image Guinevere and the knights saw: Merlin protecting them with his magic, clearly seeing Morgana as the enemy. Merlin couldn’t have been evil then. But he can’t help his insecurities from rising, having been betrayed so many times. What if the magic in him made him an easy target for Morgana? A willing accomplice?

Gaius: Merlin did not turn to magic. He was born with it.

Arthur: That's impossible.

Gaius: Uncommon, but not impossible.

Arthur: Then he’s been lying to me since the day he came to Camelot.

Gaius: (concedes) Yes. (Softer) But he has also used that magic for nothing but your protection from that very same day. All those miraculous recoveries. The branches that fell at just the right moment. The luck that defied all odds. It was never luck, Arthur. It was him. It has always been him.

Arthur: (still looking doubtful)

Gaius: (more serious) Sire, consider this. If Merlin were willingly serving Morgana, he would have simply used his magic to kill you. It would have been far easier. Instead, he believes his magic is gone and resorts to poison, to bandits and to other meticulous, mortal methods.

Arthur: So?

Gaius: So, it means Morgana either stripped his magic from him when he confronted her, or he himself blocked it so she couldn’t wield it against you. Our Merlin is fighting the enchantment from the inside, even if he himself doesn’t know it.

The physician’s logic quiets the screaming doubt in Arthur’s mind. A knot of wariness remains, but he chooses—more for his own sanity, than for being entirely certain—to cling to the enchantment theory.

Arthur: What do we do then? How do we break the enchantment?

Gaius: Whatever enchantment Morgana used, it is not simple. Common mind spells implant an idea, an order the victim must obey. But this… it’s as if his memories have been poisoned and twisted, not just against you, but against everyone he loves. (Pauses, his voice growing heavy) He visited me yesterday and dropped the pretense. His eyes… I saw only hatred in them. (Sighs) I have a theory, but I must be certain. I will scour every text, call for every scroll. But Arthur, until we know, you must play along. Do not let him suspect. If Morgana realises Merlin was discovered, her next move will be far less subtle.

Arthur: And if he tries to poison me again tomorrow?

Gaius: Then you will appear to take it and I will have an antidote ready for you each morning. It will not be pleasant. It will fight the toxins, not erase them. You may feel ill, but it will keep you alive and buy us the time we need.

Arthur’s gaze falls to the goblet on the table and his mind races backward, rewinding every interaction since the Tower: the bright, empty smiles; the flashes of irritation; the carefully choreographed concern. He thinks of Tyr, his desperate pleas as he was dragged to the gallows, now filled with guilt. Merlin hadn’t just framed an innocent man. He watched him die for it, without a flicker of remorse. Just as he lied about Gaius’s health to maintain his cover.

The saddle. The bandits. The poison. The way he perfectly orchestrated it all is chilling. This is not his clumsy, fiercely loyal friend. This is someone calculating and cruel.

No one changes like that overnight. That can’t be him.

And he wants his Merlin back.

Arthur: (his expression hardens, the grief and shock compressing into king’s resolve) Prepare the antidote. (meets Gaius’s eyes, his own blazing with a new, fierce urgency) And find me a way to bring him back.

Time Skip.

Merlin is not a fool, no matter how Arthur insists he is in this fiction he calls friendship.

He notices the subtle shifts. The stiffness in Arthur’s shoulders when he enters a room. The newly invented chores that just happen to send him to the far side of the castle. The excessive, cloying kindness.

Arthur: (not meeting his eyes, fiddling with a parchment) Take the afternoon. A break. I insist. After all the… strain with Gaius, you must need it.

Arthur giving him time off? As if! The man can’t act to save his own life. But Merlin smiles and ducks his head in false gratitude. Let the fool believe his performance is convincing.

He makes a show of gathering his cloak and ambling toward the lower town. Once around the corner and out of sight, he melts into the shadows, and follows Arthur at a distance. His suspicion is confirmed when Arthur, after a furtive glance around, slips not into the council chambers, but into the stairwell leading to the physician’s quarters.

He doesn’t follow the king inside Gaius’s chambers. Instead, he waits until Arthur leaves and the coast is clear to enter Gaius’s workroom. It doesn’t take long to find the evidence. The used dish, still faintly gleaming with a toxic residue. The goblet. The faint, acrid smell of medicinal ingredients hanging in the air.

Merlin: (more disappointed than alarmed) So… He knows.

The warlock sighs, exasperated. He has been so careful! Enduring the touch of these hateful people. Swallowing his revulsion to play the loyal fool. Putting up with this lousy king. But now the slow, meticulous plan is compromised. The daily doses, the gradual decline. All of it's useless now. The old man has undoubtedly already prepared an antidote.

Calmly and methodically, he moves to a high shelf. From behind a dusty jar of dried mistletoe, he retrieves a small, opaque vial.

Merlin: (smirks as he watches the viscous liquid within swirl) Let’s see if your antidote works against this. (Tucks the vial securely into his pocket)

His lady will be displeased. She wanted Arthur to suffer, to fade in agony. This poison is violent, but swift, only conceding minutes of pain before achieving its purpose. It's far from the long, painful unraveling Morgana desired. But a dead king is still a dead king. And the poison will grant that.

He ensures everything is exactly as he found it before slipping back into the corridor. The careful pretense is over. Now it's a race. And Merlin intends to win.

Time skip. In the Royal Chambers.

Arthur: (at his desk, takes a deep breath) Merlin, where’s the lunch?

Merlin: (smiles) Right away, my lord. (leaves)

Gwen: (stands from the bed, her arms crossed, her expression etched with hurt and firm resolve) Alright. What’s going on?

Arthur: (looks up from the map he was pretending to study) What do you mean?

Gwen: You and Merlin. You’re acting strange around each other again. Even stranger than before. And neither of you will tell me anything! (her voice wavers with frustration) I’m your wife. Don’t I deserve to know what’s happening in my own home?

Arthur: (sets the map down and rubs a hand over his face, the weariness no longer worth hiding) Guinevere… you’re right. Keeping you in the dark was unfair. Especially when this… concerns you, too.

Gwen: (pales, her mind racing to the worst conclusion) What? Arthur, what is it?

Arthur: (strides to the door, locks it, and returns to her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper) Gaius was right. Merlin is enchanted.

Gwen: (blinks, the confession far from what she’d feared that it takes a moment to land) What?

Arthur: It’s a long story, but the truth is… he’s been poisoning my drinks. Small, daily doses meant to look like a slow illness. Gaius confirmed it. (holds up a hand, seeing the panic flood her eyes) He’s preparing an antidote for me each morning. My life is not in immediate danger. But Guinevere, we have to pretend. We cannot let Merlin—or Morgana—know we’re aware. It’s the only way to buy Gaius time to find a way to break the enchantment.

Gwen: (the pieces crash together in her mind) So this means… Merlin is—

A sharp knock at the door cuts her off.

Arthur: (his eyes widen and whispers urgently) Don’t say a thing. (strides to the door, unlocks it, and pulls it open)

Merlin: (stands there, a tray in his hands, a mischievous, knowing smirk on his face) Your Majesties? Am I interrupting something… private?

Gwen: (shock and horror still plain on her face)

Arthur: (noticing instantly, steps slightly in front of her, his voice shifting into a light tone) Ah, Merlin. Guinevere was just leaving. (turns to her, his eyes a silent, desperate plea) You’ll be late, my love.

Gwen: (stared at him, uncomprehending for a second) Uh?

Arthur: (words with a deliberate, reminding emphasis) To deliver the supplies to those most in need in the Lower Town. Like you told me you would this morning. Remember?

Gwen: (understanding dawns and forces a stiff nod, her gaze darting from Arthur’s intent face to Merlin’s politely curious one) Oh… Oh, right. Of course.

Merlin: (his smirk widens) Really? Well, you could’ve told me that before I brought lunch for two, you know? (gestures the tray laden with two covered plates and two vases)

Gwen: My mistake. I’m sorry, Merlin.

Merlin: It’s alright. (nudges one of the plates toward her) Take this with you, at least. You can eat it on the way.

Gwen: (her stomach clenches) Don’t worry. I’m not hungry. But I’ll gladly eat it later. (takes the plate, feeling as if she were handling a live coal, and places it carefully back on the edge of the tray)

The queen takes a step toward the door, then pauses, looking from Merlin back to Arthur. She gives her husband an expression of pure, unguarded worry. Arthur gives her a single, almost imperceptible nod. It’s alright. And, finally, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Merlin: (begins arranging the table, his tone cheerful) You heard her. You can’t eat her plate. She’ll eat it later. (places Arthur’s lunch before him as he sits, then pours a dark, reddish liquid from a small pitcher into the king’s goblet)

Arthur: (watching the stream of liquid, his voice carefully neutral) What’s this?

Merlin: Juice. A blend of pomegranate and blackberry. Don’t worry, I didn’t prepare it this time. Cook’s finest.

Arthur: (gestures vaguely toward his desk) Bring me the letters that are there. The ones from the northern lords.

Merlin: Of course, sire. (turns and walks to the desk, his back to Arthur)

In a flash, Arthur’s hand dives into the inner pocket of his tunic, his fingers closing around the thin silver needle Gaius gave him since the very first morning of this pretending plan. “The antidote will handle the known blend,” the physician told him, pressing the cool metal into his palm. “But if he changes the poison, the antidote may fail. Soak this in the drink. If it comes out clean, the blend is the same. If it darkens… do not drink.” Arthur dips the needle into the deep red juice, holding it for a count of three, and then pulls it out.

His blood runs cold.

The needle, which have always emerged with only the faintest grey shadow, is now stained a deep, oily black from tip to base. The poison hasn’t just changed; it has been amplified.

A wave of pure, icy alarm shoots through him. He barely manages to slip the darkened needle back into his pocket just as Merlin turns, a stack of letters and a letter opener in his hands.

Merlin: (approaching the table, places the letters beside Arthur’s plate) Here, Sire.

Arthur: (looks up, his face pale)

Merlin: (his head tilts with innocent curiosity) Is there a problem?

Arthur: I… I just remembered. An urgent matter I must attend to right now. (stands up)

Merlin: (places himself between Arthur and the door, his smile still in place but his eyes turning sharp) What matter? I don’t remember anything important on your schedule today.

Arthur: It was a last-minute thing. I’ll explain later. (tries to step around him, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears)

Merlin: Oh, but take your drink at least. (gestures to the goblet) You must keep your strength up.

Arthur: No. I’m not thirsty. And I have to go. (pushes past, his shoulder brushing Merlin’s)

Merlin: (his tone of profound disappointment) Oh… I understand. (clutches the letter opener in his hand)

Arthur is two steps from the door, when his warrior’s instincts scream. He whirls, and sees Merlin in mid-lunge, the sharp steel of the letter opener raised in his hand. His hands shoot up, catching Merlin’s wrists just as the point kisses his skin. The blade slices a hot, clean line across his cheekbone, just below his eye, blood spilling immediately.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, they are frozen. Arthur''s fingers locked around Merlin’s wrists, staring into the face of his best friend. Merlin, caught, his body coiled with tension, his eyes inches from Arthur’s.

Then Merlin erupts.

He doesn’t just struggle; he thrashes with a feral strength Arthur didn’t know he possessed. A guttural, furious scream tears from his throat—a sound of pure, unhinged rage.

They crash against the table. The goblet of poisoned juice topples, its dark contents splashing across the floor. They grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury, until Arthur, using his weight and training, forces Merlin back onto the large bed, pinning him down. With a final, heaving effort, Arthur finally wrenches the letter opener free, the small knife lost somewhere in the rumpled covers. That doesn’t stop Merlin from writhing beneath him with all his might.

Arthur: (His voice ragged) Merlin, STOP! Look at me! It’s me!

Merlin: (stares up, still fighting, his eyes blazing with a pure hatred) I know! I see you. And that’s why I’m going to kill you!

Arthur: Listen to me! Morgana did this! She enchanted you! This isn’t you!

Merlin: (stops struggling for a second, staring, then laughs) Oh, of course that’s what you’d rather believe, isn’t it? (With mockery) ‘He’s enchanted! He’s delirious! He’s sick!’ (The mockery vanishes, replaced by scorching contempt) Anything but the truth. That I, rationally, opened my eyes! That I finally see you for the hypocritical tyrant you are, and feel nothing but repugnance for everything you represent!

The words are worse than the knife. They are delivered with a conviction that is absolute, each one a direct hit on Arthur’s deepest insecurities. Could this be what Merlin always thought, hidden beneath the loyalty?

Merlin: It should be Morgana upon the throne of Camelot, not you! A cruel, inept king, just like your father. One who would burn me and the rest of my kind like it was a game.

Arthur: (firmly, even as the words hurt) That’s not true. You don’t really believe that.

Merlin: (his expression turns pained) For a while… I didn't. I actually believed you were different from Uther. But you turned out to be even worse… (A tear falls and his voice breaks with a heartbreaking sorrow) You blocked my magic. You stole it from me.

Arthur’s eyes widen. Any lingering doubt dies in that instant. That is the twisted memory Gaius was talking about. A lie Morgana implanted. The irrefutable proof that Merlin really is enchanted. Relief washes over him, almost overwhelming.

But it is also a fatal distraction.

Merlin gets a hand free, his fingers closing around a metal candleholder on the bedside table. And, before Arthur can react, Merlin swings at his head.

The world explodes into pain. Arthur falls to the side, his vision swimming, a new, hot river of blood joining the one on his cheek from a gash on his forehead, dizziness swamping him.

Through a blurry haze, he sees Merlin loom over him, the letter opener clutched again in his fist.

Merlin: (smiling, rejoicing from the moment) This is for my lady.

Merlin positions the point at Arthur’s throat and begins to press down. Arthur, still disoriented, can only feel the sharp bite of the metal as it indents his skin and then pierces it.

Merlin: (watches the blood well around the blade at Arthur’s throat and suddenly stops, his face changing, cracking for an instant to one of pure horror) … Arthur?

Then, his eyes flash gold.

The letter opener yanks itself from Merlin’s grip, flies backwards and buries itself in Merlin’s own shoulder.

Merlin: (stares down at the handle protruding from his flesh, utterly bewildered)

Arthur: (seizing the moment, more on instinct that consciously, grabs the fallen candleholder and hits Merlin in the head)

Merlin: (collapses, unconscious, onto the bloodied bed)

Arthur lays there, his chest heaving, bleeding from his cheek, his forehead, and his throat, staring at the ceiling. His head still hurts so he lets it fall to the side and takes in the unconscious form beside him and the knife incrustated on his body. 

Arthur: (pain forgotten, opens his eyes wide) Merlin! 

Oh, gods. What has he done?

...

Merry Christmas again! Today is my last exam. Wish me luck! 😊

Meanwhile the guards during the attack:

Guard 1: (hearing through the door) I think the king is being attacked.

Guard 2: Oh, it's just his manservant Merlin. They get along like that.

*More worrying sounds of struggle*

Guard 1: I don't know. It doesn’t sound good.

Guard 2: The king would call us if he was in danger.

Arthur: *stupidly doesn’t*

Arthur: (his expression darkens with immediate, protective anger) How can you say that? Merlin would never do such a thing!

Gaius: (his voice pained, but certain) Not in his right mind, no. But I do not believe the Merlin you brought back from the Tower is in his right mind. I believe he has fallen prey to a dark and powerful magic. That Morgana has enchanted him.

Arthur: Enchanted?

Gwen: (her eyes widening) You mean… like before?

Arthur: (turns to her, very surprised) What do you mean, ‘before’?

Gwen: Oh, Morgana did enchant Merlin to kill you once before. It was a long time ago, when she was still in alliance with Agravaine. She did it with some sort of serpent embedded in his neck. But it was just for a couple of days. Gaius and I noticed, knocked him out and then took it out of him, before he could do anything.

Arthur: (stares at her, a storm of betrayal and frustration rising in his chest) And why wasn’t I informed of this?

Gaius: You were consumed with finding the traitor, sire. We handled it, and we did not wish to add to your burdens.

Arthur: (wants to scream, to demand how they could keep such a thing from him, but takes a sharp breath, containing himself) We will talk about this later. (fixes his gaze back on Gaius) What makes you believe he is enchanted now? 

Gaius: He… (opens his mouth, about to say ‘He believes his magic is gone,’ but stops himself) He hasn’t been acting like himself. His reactions are wrong. He says and does things that don’t align with the man we know.

Arthur: (frowns, unimpressed) That’s it? (throws his hands up in frustration) Gaius, Merlin was kidnapped and likely tortured for weeks in a sorceress’s tower! Of course he isn’t acting like himself! That is not proof he orchestrated an assassination!

Gwen: (nods) It’s true. And I remember how he acted when he was enchanted before. His attempts were… direct and clumsy. The saddle, the bandits—those were calculated. Planned. That doesn’t sound like an enchantment; it sounds like a plot.

Gaius: I don’t think it is the same kind of enchantment. I’ve checked. He doesn’t carry a forromoh this time.

Gwen: Then what makes you so certain?

Gaius: …

Arthur: (his patience wears thin) Gaius, unless you have proof beyond a feeling, we cannot help you.

Gaius: (a long pause, then a defeated sigh. He knows there is no other way) There is something. But to explain it, I must reveal a secret. Merlin’s secret. (looks at them, his eyes pleading) You must understand… I couldn’t tell you. I was protecting my boy.

Arthur: (starts to worry) What? What is it?

Gaius: Merlin is a sorcerer.

Silence.

Arthur: (blinks) What?

Gaius: A warlock. Born with magic. (turns to Gwen, his voice gentle but firm) What you and the knights saw in the forest that day, it wasn’t an illusion. (Looks back at Arthur, earnest) He has used it in secret, all these years, to protect you. To save your life more times than you can possibly know.

Arthur: (A disbelieving laugh escapes him) First, you say he is enchanted. Now you say he is a sorcerer. Make up your mind, Gaius!

Gaius: (his composure breaks, his voice rising with passionate urgency) I am telling you the truth! He has magic, but the enchantment has made him believe it’s gone! At least that’s what he told me, almost in tears, that his magic was lost. And then moments later, he acted as if he’d never said a word, as if the very idea was ridiculous! That is how I know for certain he is enchanted. His mind has been twisted! You have to believe me!

Gwen: (her voice is soft, distant) Merlin… a sorcerer?

She remembers. The flash of gold, the surge of force that threw the snakes aside. Of course she does. But it had been so easy, afterward, to accept the story of an illusion. To separate magic—the destructive, fearful force that had hurt them all for years—from Merlin, her kind, clumsy friend. It had been a relief. Now, Gaius’s words are forcing two realities to collide. The one she always lived, and the one she is not ready to accept.

Arthur: (shakes his head) You sound delirious. I’m sorry, Gaius, but I can’t believe you. Magic? Merlin? It’s absurd.

Gwen: (to Gaius, while she touches Arthur’s arm, her own mind reeling) You have to admit… what you are suggesting… it’s a lot to take in and hard to believe.

Gaius: (desperate) Your Majesty, you saw it!

Arthur: (rises his voice) Enough! (looks at Gaius, very serious) This reunion is over. (takes Gwen’s elbow, turning to leave)

Gaius: (defeated, still tries to warn) Then just be careful. Please. Whatever you believe… do not drink or eat anything he gives you. Trust an old man on this, if nothing else.

Arthur doesn’t acknowledge the warning. He leads Gwen from the chamber, the door shutting firmly behind them, leaving Gaius alone. The old man regretting, for the first time, that Merlin had hidden his magic so well all these years.

Time skip. In Morgana's lair.

A raven lands on the stone sill with a soft flutter, a slim scroll tied to its leg. Morgana takes it, her fingers deftly untying the cord, and opens it.

My Lady,

The preparation progresses. The compound will be ready soon, and I will ensure it is administered. Arthur will perish a slow and painful death, as he deserves. Soon, we will all be free, and the throne will be yours, as it always should have been.

Please take care.

Adores you greatly,

Merlin.

Morgana’s lips curve into a smile. It is not just the promise of vengeance that warms her—the vivid image of Arthur writhing in his bed, betrayed by the person he believed to be his most loyal and close friend. It is the last lines. Please take care. Adores you greatly.

It has been so long since she received a message not of duty, or fear, or fanatical loyalty, but of… care. Since Morgause, since… Mordred. She had followers, sycophants, and fearful allies. But since the last betrayal, she has never allowed anyone close. Never let anyone past the fortress walls of her suspicion.

For a moment, she holds the parchment gently, almost tenderly. Here is someone who sees her cause as righteous, who shares her hatred, and who offers not just service, but devotion and… affection. 

Then, as if sensing the weakness, her expression ices over and her smile vanishes. Emrys. Merlin. He is still the boy who poisoned her and let her to suffer when they were the same. He being enchanted doesn’t change the facts of his past. It doesn’t undo his betrayal.

He is not a companion. He is a tool. A pliable, and convenient tool, currently pointed at the heart of her enemy. And like any tool, he will be cast aside the moment he ceases to be useful. She will make sure of it. This time, she will be the one to wield the poison.

She crumples the letter in her fist, the brief warmth extinguished, leaving only the familiar, comfortable cold of vengeance.

Meanwhile, in the castle.

Arthur would like to say he dismissed Gaius’s warning easily. The man is old, worried, his mind perhaps frayed by fear and guilt. But against his better judgment—against every loyal instinct that screamed in protest—Arthur finds himself watching Merlin.

It begins as a glance, then a habit, then a silent, relentless study.

He notices Merlin avoids touch. It isn’t a rejection, not outright. If Gwaine clapped him on the back, Merlin would smile. If Gwen hugged him, he would pat her shoulder. But he never initiates it. And sometimes, when Arthur’s own hand lands on his shoulder to get his attention, Merlin will flinch. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening of the muscles before he forces them to relax. Trauma, Arthur tells himself firmly. Anyone would startle after what he endured.

He notices the sharpness. Once or twice, a remark from Arthur—a simple tease, a mundane order—is met with a flash of irritation in Merlin’s eyes, a bitten-off retort that feels too cold, too quick. It vanishes as soon as it appeares, smooth over by a mumbled apology or a poor joke. The tension between us, Arthur reasons, his stomach clenching with guilt. The kiss. The tower. It’s my fault he’s on edge.

And he notices the disappearances. But Merlin has always vanished. It is one of his most reliable traits.

Driven by a nagging doubt he refuses to name, Arthur makes a few quiet inquiries. He sends a guard to casually check the Rising Sun. The report comes back: the barman hasn’t seen Merlin in weeks. Arthur’s next step feels like a betrayal, but he seeks out Gwaine in the armory.

Arthur: (feigning casualness) That idiot Merlin’s been more insufferable than usual. Has he been drowning his inexistent sorrows at tavern lately?

Gwaine: (turns) The tavern? Merlin? (lets out a short laugh) The only times he’s ever set foot in one were when I dragged him. I figured the whole ‘tavern’ thing was just… his excuse. An inside joke nobody got.

Arthur: (His casual pose stiffens) An excuse for what?

Gwaine: (Shrugs) How should I know? Meeting a girl in secret, maybe? He’s a grown man, got a right to a private life. Even if his taste in alibis is rubbish.

The revelation falls like a bucket of ice water. Merlin never went to the tavern. All those times, over all these years, the ready excuse… it was a lie. A cover for something else.

Arthur shakes his head. Merlin has his secrets, alright. That doesn’t make him a sorcerer. Enchanted or otherwise.

He keeps investigating discreetly. He learns Merlin has been retrieving things from different places—the cook, the herbalist, the market. Herbs. Fruits. Random ingredients. Nothing overtly suspicious…. Right?

Then he discovers what it was all for.

Time Skip. In the Royal Chambers.

The king’s chambers are transformed. Dozens of candles cast a dancing light over a small table set for two, laid with fine linen, silver, and a single vase of red roses. The air smells of roasted game, fresh bread, and beeswax. Merlin is just finishing pouring wine into a goblet when the door opens and Arthur and Gwen enter, arm in arm. They stop short, staring.

Arthur: (very surprised) Merlin? Since when are you so… serviceable?

Merlin: (sets the pitcher down and offers a small, humble smile) Well, after the ambush, and the whole… Tyr business… you never got to properly celebrate your anniversary. (Gestures to the table) I figured you might like a do-over. Without bandits. (His smile turns apologetic, his eyes softening) And… I wanted to apologize. For acting so strangely. I know you’ve both been worried sick about me, and I feel awful. This is my way of making it up to you. For everything you’ve done for me. You deserve this.

Gwen: (her face melts into a touched, radiant smile and presses a hand to her heart) Oh, Merlin. That’s so thoughtful. Thank you.

Arthur: (a conflicted expression flickers across his features and forces a nod) Yes… it is. A very nice gesture.

Merlin: (snorts) Was that a compliment, my lord? (pulls out Gwen’s chair and then Arthur’s) Come on, sit. I bullied Audrey in the kitchens to make all your favourites.

Arthur and Gwen settle.

Arthur: (thinking) So this is what Merlin’s secrecy was for. A surprise. And here I am, doubting his intentions.

Still, Gaius’s warning echoes in his mind: Do not drink or eat anything he gives you. Arthur’s gaze is drawn to the goblet before him. The wine is dark, almost black.

Arthur: (his voice is carefully neutral) What wine is this?

Merlin: (beaming with pride) It’s my personal preparation! A special blend. I’ve been working on it.

Arthur: (frowns, his doubt clear)

Gwen: (smiling, reaches for her cup) It smells wonderful.

Arthur: (a spike of panic lances through him and reaches out, his hand covering hers before she can lift it) Wait!

Gwen: (looks at him, startled) Arthur?

Merlin: (confused) What? What is it? (A pause, then laughs) Oh, I see. Not trusting my skills, are you? (Suddenly plucks Arthur’s goblet and brings it to his lips)

Arthur: (scandalized) Merlin!

Merlin: (takes a long, deliberate swallow, tasting, and then makes a considering face) Alright, maybe it isn’t as good as I thought it was. A bit tart. But I promise it won’t kill you. (Notices his fingers still have sauce on them) Oh! (Quickly sucks them clean with a satisfied hum)

Arthur: (Stares for a moment, then laughs, the sound a little shaky) You've been snacking on our anniversary meal?

Merlin: I got hungry while preparing it!

Arthur: (shakes his head, smiling, relieved) You really are a hopeless case. (Thinking) Gods. Of course it’s not poisoned. What did I even consider it? This is Merlin.

Merlin: (grins, wiping his hands on a cloth)  Now eat, before it gets cold. And try the wine. I insist.

Arthur picks up his goblet, the earlier foolish fear replaced by a faint shame. Across the table, Gwen smiles, picking up her knife and fork, the moment of strange tension forgotten as they begin their meal.

They never get to finish it.

The chamber doors burst open with a crash. Gaius stands there, wild-eyed, his chest heaving.

Gaius: NO! Do not drink it! (lunges forward, snatching the goblet from Arthur’s hand)

Arthur: (stands, anger and confusion warring in his voice) Gaius! What in God’s name is wrong with you?

Gaius: (eyes frantic, darting between the cup and Merlin) He poisoned it! The drink! I found a book open in his room! Recipes, sire! For poisons!

Merlin: (looks utterly bewildered, hurt etching his features) What are you talking about? What book?

Gwen: (gently) Gaius, he tasted the drink himself right in front of us. It’s not poisoned.

Gaius: Maybe it’s in the food! A separate component! (begins tearing through the dishes, upending plates, scattering roasted vegetables and sauce across the table)

Arthur: GAIUS! Stop this!

Merlin: (his voice cracks with distress as he watches the ruined meal) It took me hours to prepare this! Why would you do this?

Gaius: (whirls to face Arthur, pointing a trembling finger at Merlin) Because he is enchanted! And he wants to kill you! Can’t you see it?

Merlin: What?!

Gwen: (steps closer to Merlin, her voice apologetic) He seems to believe… that Morgana enchanted you. That you were behind the saddle… and the bandits.

Merlin: (lets out a choked, disbelieving laugh) That’s absurd!

Arthur: (his gaze is hard on Gaius) He also told us you are a sorcerer.

Gaius: He is! (grabs Merlin by the shoulders, his grip desperate) I know you remember! You told me your magic was lost! My boy, tell them! Break through whatever hold she has on you!

Merlin: (tears well in his eyes) Why are you doing this to me? (Tears fall and looks from Gaius to Arthur and Gwen) Why would I lie about my life? You know what happens to people who practice magic. You’ve seen what magic does! How cruel it is! How can you say such things in front of the king and queen—my friends who have suffered because of magic? I, who have suffered because of magic?

Gaius: (stares, wide-eyed, utterly unprepared for this)

Merlin: (wipes his eyes, his voice trembling) I’ve… I’ve seen this in other elders. I didn’t want to accept it. But I think… I think you’re going senile, Gaius.

Gaius: (recoils as if struck.) What?! That’s not—

Merlin: (turns fully to Arthur and Gwen, heartbroken with concern) He’s been forgetting things. Having sudden changes of mood. Rambling about… about magic and enchantments. I didn’t want to say anything. He is like a father to me.

Gaius: (His voice is a broken plea.) Sire, I swear to you. On my life, I am telling the truth!

Arthur and Gwen watch, torn.

Merlin: (takes a slow step toward Gaius, his expression shifting from concern to something colder, smirks, his back to Arthur and Gwen) Just… calm down, Gaius. (His hand moves toward the inner pocket of his jacket, ensuring Gaius sees it) Let me help you back to your chambers.

Gaius: (With a shout of pure, preventative terror, he throws himself at Merlin) NO!

Merlin: (lets out a convincingly frightened scream as Gaius collides with him)

Arthur: (roars) ENOUGH! (Surges forward and bodily pulls the two apart) GUARDS!

The doors fly open. Four guards rush in.

Arthur: Take Gaius to his chambers. See that he remains there. He is unwell.

The guards move swiftly, taking hold of Gaius and the old man is hauled away.

In the wrecked silence of the chamber, surrounded by spilled wine and ruined food, Merlin stands shakily, his shoulders slumped. Arthur places a tentative, comforting hand on his arm.

Merlin: (flinches, just slightly, then seems to lean into the touch, exhausted) I’m so sorry… about all of this.

Arthur: (sighs, looking at the destruction) It’s not your fault. Go. Get some rest. We’ll… talk tomorrow.

Merlin nods, offering a weak, grateful smile to both of them before slipping out.

When the door closes, Arthur and Gwen are left alone.

Gwen: (lets out a slow breath, her eyes on the closed door.) Poor Merlin. He loves Gaius so deeply. To be accused like that by him… it must be crushing him.

Arthur: (quiet, absent) Yes…

Gwen: (turns to him, hearing the distance in his voice) What is it?

Arthur: Merlin loves Gaius too much.

Gwen: (frowning slightly) Yes. That’s what I just said.

Arthur: But he accused him of going senile. In front of us. To his face.

Gwen: Because Gaius left him no choice! He was raving, Arthur. He destroyed Merlin’s gift and accused him of treason and sorcery. What was Merlin supposed to do?

Arthur: I’m not doubting that Gaius is unwell. But the Merlin I know would have protected Gaius’s dignity, even as he was being accused. He would never have offered up Gaius’s weakness as his defense.

Gwen: (now a bit unsure too, but tries to reason) Well… he told us he had been hiding it for a while. Gaius forced his hand.

Arthur: (nods) Right. I'm just overthinking it. I guess I still can't quite believe what happened.

But, while the king sounds convinced, he doesn't feel so certain anymore.

Time Skip. In Gaius’s Chambers.

The room is dark, save for a single guttering candle. Gaius sits on the edge of his cot, a blanket around his shoulders, looking older and more fragile than ever. The door opens softly.

Merlin: (enters, his voice is calm) Hello, Gaius.

Gaius: (recoils instinctively, pressing back against the wall, his eyes wide with a fear)

Merlin: (approaches, smiling) Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. You’re not worth the trouble.

Gaius: (stares, his face a mask of suffering)

Merlin: Honestly, I don’t know why you’re so upset. I only did what you always taught me to do. To hide what I was. To lie. (spreads his hands, the gesture almost graceful) Isn’t that what you always told me? ‘Don’t use your magic, Merlin. Don't draw attention to yourself’ (his smile sharpens)  Aren’t you proud? Your teachings finally bore such… fruitful results.

Gaius: (flinches as if struck, a low sound escaping him)

Merlin: (his tone shifts, becoming analytical and resentful) You know, you’re just like my mother. So scared. So ashamed of what I was. Both of you, forcing me to hide, to pretend, as if I were some kind of freak you needed to keep locked in, away from everyone's eyes.

Gaius: This… this isn’t you. You would never refer to your mother like that. You know she was protecting you. We were protecting you.

Merlin: Protecting me? (lets out a soft, humorless laugh) You mean like what you did with Morgana? Drugging her night after night? Making her believe she was going insane? (takes another step closer, looming over the seated physician, whispering) Well… Guess who is the insane one now.

Gaius: (can only stare, horrified)

Merlin: (his expression softens abruptly) I always considered you the only father figure I ever had. (reaches out as if to touch Gaius’s shoulder, then lets his hand drop) But you were also the worst father figure I could ever have been given. You taught me to hate what I am. And now… now I finally understand why. (straightens up, looking down at the broken old man, his voice is sweet and gentle) Sleep well, Gaius.

His boy turns and leaves, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Gaius alone trembling in the dark.

Time Skip. The Royal Chambers.

Arthur is in his desk, frowning over a patrol report when the soft clink of a goblet being set beside him makes him look up. Merlin stands there, holding a pitcher, and poures a dark wine into the cup.

Arthur: (eyes it, then Merlin) What’s this?

Merlin: My special preparation. It’s all I could salvage from the… earlier disaster. (offers a small smile) Seemed a shame to let it all go to waste.

Arthur: You didn’t have to.

Merlin: Well, I did. (His tone light, but insistent) So you’d better not let my effort go to waste too, my lord.

Arthur studies him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he picks up the goblet. He brings it to his lips, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face, and takes a deliberate, measured sip. He holds the wine in his mouth for a second before swallowing, watching, waiting for a reaction. He notices Merlin watches him drink, not with notorious anticipation, but there is an attentive expectation on his face. Arthur sets the cup down. He waits for any strange taste, any immediate heat or chill. But nothing happens.

Arthur: It’s tart. Don’t ever try to elaborate wine again.

Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Noted. ‘Don’t ever make a nice gesture for His Majesty.’ (turns to tidy the already-neat desk, his movements efficient)

Arthur: (leans back in his chair, his gaze tracking him) Merlin.

Merlin: (turns) Sire?

Arthur: (chooses his words carefully, each one heavy) Even if you were a sorcerer… I wouldn’t harm you. You know that, don’t you?

Merlin: (lets out a soft, bewildered giggle) Where is this coming from?

Arthur: (keeps his voice casual, but his eyes are intent) I’m just saying. If you were stupid enough to practice magic in Camelot, I wouldn’t have you executed just for that. Not unless you’d done actual harm with it. (pauses) Which, obviously, you wouldn’t.

Merlin: I’m not a sorcerer, Arthur.

Arthur: I know. (holds up a hand) But hypothetically speaking, if you were… you know I wouldn’t just kill you. Right?

Merlin: (falls silent for a moment. Then he smiles, again that warm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes) Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we? And you’re a noble man, Arthur. I’ve always known that.

Arthur: (smiles back, relieved) Good.

Merlin: (gives a final nod, his tasks complete) All done. Good evening, my lord. (moves toward the door)

Arthur: Wait.

Merlin: (stops, his hand on the door handle, and turns back, a patient, questioning look on his face) Yes?

Arthur: (takes a deep breath, crosses the room, and stands before him) I know you don’t want to talk about it. But I need to. (sighs, then whispers) About the kiss.

Merlin: (his expression goes carefully blank) Oh.

Arthur: (runs a hand through his hair) I can’t stop thinking about it. And I know it’s wrong. I’m married. I love Gwen. (meets Merlin’s gaze, his own filled with a tumultuous conflict) But… I liked it. And I think… I think I like you, too.

The chamber is utterly silent. Arthur’s heart hammers against his ribs. This is no lie. It took Merlin ignoring him after the kiss and then nearly dying for Arthur to even begin to unravel the truth of his own feelings. Maybe it’s not fair, but Arthur needs to know he isn’t alone in this. And maybe, deep down, the reason he found the courage to confess is the terrifying sense that he is already losing Merlin.

Merlin stares at him. For a single, breathtaking second, Arthur sees something—a flash of profound, agonizing confusion that twists his features. Then, suddenly, Merlin’s face lights up, his eyes glistening.

Merlin: (hopeful, fragile) Really?

Arthur: (timid, nodding) Yes.

Merlin: Oh, Arthur. I feel the same way.

Arthur: (eyes wide) Really?

Merlin: (circles Arthur’s neck with his hands, pulling him close) I’ve waited so long to do this. (kisses him)

Arthur: (startles, but after a moment of shock, leans into it, deepening the kiss)

Merlin: (frowns into the kiss and his hands begin to roam over Arthur’s shoulders and back)

Arthur: (pulls back, breaking the contact) Wait. We can’t do this. It’s wrong.

Merlin: (innocently) Why not?

Arthur: I’m married!

Merlin: So? That didn’t stop you last time.

Arthur: (freezes) …What?

Merlin: Also, wasn’t Gwen just a servant when you started things with her? Why is it different with me?

Arthur steps back as if struck. The words are not just cruel; they are a fundamental misreading of everything Arthur feels for Gwen, and everything he believed Merlin understood about their relationship.

Merlin: (giggles) Relax, Arthur. You don’t have to go to these lengths to keep me. I’m already very loyal to you. (gives a final, dismissive smile and leaves)

Arthur is left standing alone, shock washing over him in a cold wave.

Merlin, the Merlin he knows, would never refer to Gwen disrespectfully, even so slightly. His Merlin would never believe Arthur capable of something so low as pretending to have feelings just to “keep” someone.

This is not his Merlin.

His eyes snap to the desk, to the goblet of wine—the “special preparation” Merlin had been so insistent he drank.

Arthur strides to the desk, snatches the goblet, and without a second thought, he runs from the room.

...

Thank you goddess of Christmas that decided to inspire me while I'm in exams! 😄🫠

Arthur: (forcing a jovial tone) Merlin? Merlin doesn't count.

Merlin: (snorts) Sure, I don't count. I'm not here. Not actually speaking right now. (Thinking) Like always, your perfect, invisible shadow.

Arthur: (turning his attention back to Gwen, a boyish pride in his voice) Aren't you impressed that I remembered our anniversary?

Gwen: (smiles, teasing) But you didn't remember. I reminded you over a month ago.

Arthur: Yes… but I remembered that it was today. Today.

Gwen: Ah!

Merlin: Actually, I did. I reminded him this morning.

Arthur: Shut up, Merlin!

Gwen laughs. After a calculated half-second, Merlin joins in, his laughter matching hers in tone, a flawless copy.

Merlin: (thinking) We are close.

Suddenly there is an explosion and Arthur’s horse rears in terror. Then the girth snaps, making Arthur fall and hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Merlin: (watches with hopeful anticipation, thinking) Did he die?

Arthur: (Groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows, dazed but very much alive)

Merlin: (thinking, disappointed) Damn it.

Before Arthur can find his feet, bandits swarm from the trees and they descend on the fallen king.

Gwen: (shrieks, her face white with terror) Arthur! (makes to urge her horse forward)

Merlin: (his hand shoots out, grabbing her horse’s bridle, voice urgent) No! You are the queen. Step back. Stay here.

Merlin watches as Arthur scrambles for his fallen sword and quickly stands up to fight . Arthur is good, even outnumbered, he manages to defeat them all. Or so Arthur thinks. One last bandit, a large man with a notched axe, appears from behind the weapon swinging for a brutal blow. For a fraction of a second, Merlin’s breath catches, a smile forming.

But Arthur twists at the last second. The axe meant for his ribs grazes his arm instead, tearing through chainmail and tunic. Blood blooms instantly. With a roar of pain and fury, Arthur drives his sword up under the man’s guard, and the bandit falls.

Merlin: (sighs in frustration, but quickly puts on a mask of wide-eyed alarm and swings off his horse) Arthur! (runs forward)

Gwen: (right beside him, tears streaking her face as she throws her arms around her husband) Arthur!

Arthur: (winces, but wraps his good arm around her) I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.

Merlin: (beside him, his fingers probing the wound with a healer’s clinical detachment) It’s deep. You’re bleeding heavily. (looks up, meeting Arthur’s pained gaze, his own eyes appearing distressed) We have to get you back to Gaius. Now.

As Merlin presses a strip of his own neckerchief to the wound, he feels something strange—a sudden compression in his chest, a tight flinch, as though the sight of Arthur’s blood causes him physical pain. But that can’t be. He’s a physician’s apprentice; he should be used to this by now.

He dismisses the sensation, quick and deliberate. As he helps Arthur onto his horse his mind is already elsewhere. He has to report this to his lady: the plan failed, Arthur still lives. He’ll have to endure this role a little longer.

Time skip. The Physician's Chambers.

Gaius: (tending to Arthur's wound) You’re very fortunate, sire. The blade grazed the muscle. A bit deeper, and you would have lost the use of this arm.

Arthur: (gritting his teeth against the sting of the needle) But the men who attacked us. Have they been questioned?

Gaius: (shakes his head, dabbing at the blood) I’m sorry, Sire. The wounds were fatal. We were unable to learn anything from them.

Gwen: (standing by the window, her arms folded tightly) It can’t have been a coincidence that they were there, lying in wait. Not on that remote path.

Merlin: (handing Gaius a fresh bandage, his voice light, almost dismissive) Don’t be so sure. If I told you all the times bandits have just jumped out at us in the woods. It’s practically a royal tradition.

Gaius: (hands still for a moment, eyes flickering toward Merlin with confusion and a bit of suspicion, before returning to his work)

Leon: (enters, another knight carrying a saddle at his side) Sire, we recovered your saddle from the forest trail. (Shows Arthur the girth) The girth has been unpicked and re-stitched. It was designed to break, Sire.

Merlin: (eyes widen in genuine shock at being discovered, but quickly masters his expression into one of baffled surprise) It was?

Arthur: (stares at the sabotaged saddle, his earlier pain hardening into something cold and focused. Then looks from the evidence to Gwen) It appears you are right, Guinevere. Someone planned this.

Time Skip. The Council Chambers.

The air in the chamber is heavy with judgment. Tyr Seward, the stable hand, stands before the King and Queen, his face pale and his work-roughened hands clenched at his sides

Arthur: The evidence is staring you in the face. You can't deny it.

Tyr: (voice trembling) Sire, I swear on my mother's life—

Arthur: (walks forward) Just give me their name. Why protect them? They can't help you now. Just give me the name.

Tyr: (his eyes, wide with fear, land on Merlin briefly before snapping back to the king) I have no name. There's no name to give.

Arthur: (his expression hardens into regal finality) Then you leave me no choice. Though it saddens me greatly to do so, I must charge you with treason. Is there anything further you'd like to say?

Tyr: (a tear tracks through the grime on his cheek) You're my king, sire. I'd never do anything to hurt you. Never.

Arthur: (pauses, not wanting to give the next order, but knowing he has to) Tyr Seward, by the power vested in me, I hereby sentence you to death.

Guards move to lead the shaking man to the dungeons.

Gwen: (as soon as Tyr is gone, turns to Arthur, her face etched with distress) Arthur, wait. Don't you think you're rushing to conclusions? He's been in your service since he was a boy. Surely you don't really believe he's capable of treason. He adores you.

Arthur: (conflict wars in his eyes, but he holds his ground) What I believe is irrelevant. The facts speak for themselves. The thread matches and my saddle was under his care.

Gwen: But to sentence him to death? What if he was forced? Maybe someone threatened him or his family. Did you even consider that?

Arthur: (his certainty wavers) It is true… Tyr is a simple man. Threatened or not, he couldn't have planned this assassination himself. He wouldn't have the wit for it. (Runs a hand over his face)

Merlin: (speaking up softly from where he stands by the wall) We can't really be sure of that, though, can we? (sighs, portraying the picture of reluctant reason as he approaches them) I don't want to believe it either. But what can we do if he refuses to speak? It's not as if you didn't give him every opportunity to explain. (Turns to Arthur, his gaze earnest) Given the facts… you had no choice. He is guilty. You did the right thing, Arthur.

Arthur: (grateful relief crosses his face, comforted by Merlin's support)

Gwen: (whirls on Merlin, shocked) The right thing? To kill a probably innocent man?

Merlin: (raises his voice, exasperated) Maybe he is not so innocent!

Gwen: (stares at him, startled)

Merlin: (closes his eyes, taking a sharp breath to calm himself) Sorry. (Thinking) Keep it together!

Arthur: (staring at him, confusion and dawning worry in his eyes) What are you saying? (A realization sparks) Merlin. Do you know something? Have you seen him do anything suspicious?

Merlin: (seizes the offered chance, shaping his face into one of hesitant discomfort) No. Nothing… it's just… something stupid. Forget I said anything.

Gwen: (her worry overriding her anger) What? Tell us.

Merlin: (shifts uncomfortably, avoiding their eyes) It has nothing to do with this, but… Since… since I came to Camelot. He looks at me… weird.

Arthur: (confused) Weird?

Merlin: I don't know how to explain it. But sometimes he's… too nice? Overly familiar. And… touchy. (rubs his own arm as if brushing off a memory) It just… it made me uneasy. I thought it was nothing, but now, with this… (shakes his head) Or I could be imagining it. Honestly.

Gwen: (her frown deepens, thoughtful) He did glance at you. Several times during the trial.

Arthur: (anger simmers, fused with a protective instinct and perhaps something more. But when he speaks, his voice is low and worried) Why didn't you say anything before?

Merlin: (shrugs) And say what? 'Arthur, help, this man makes me uncomfortable'? You would've just called me a girl.

Arthur: (a pang of guilt hits him—because, yes, he probably would have) Well, if you ever feel uneasy about anyone, for any reason, you tell me. Okay? I won't judge.

Merlin: (a flicker of something dark and resentful passes through his eyes) Oh, because confiding in you has turned out so well every other time, right, Sire?

Arthur: (Taken aback) Merlin…

Merlin: (straightens, the moment of sharpness gone, replaced by a smooth, blank deference) Nothing, my lord. Forgive me. I should go assist Gaius. (Turns and leaves)

Gwen: (watches the door where Merlin went, then turns to Arthur, her expression troubled) He’s been acting… a bit strange. Since the tower.

Arthur: (his gaze still fixed on the empty doorway) I’ve noticed.

Gwen: (trying to sound reassuring) I suppose it’s to be expected. After what Morgana put him through… (offers a small, hopeful smile) But he still smiles. That has to be a good sign.

Arthur: (finally looks at her, his blue eyes clouded with a doubt) But they’re not the same.

Gwen: What?

Arthur: (shakes his head, struggling for the words) The smiles. I don’t know… it’s like they don’t reach his eyes anymore. They’re not… entirely genuine.

Gwen: (giggles softly, though her curiosity is piqued) You noticed that? Since when do you pay such close attention to Merlin’s smiles?

Arthur doesn’t answer. He can’t. The question echoes in the space between them, pointing toward truths he’s not ready to examine.

Time Skip. The Dungeons.

Gwen walks carefully down the worn stone stairs, a covered plate in her hands, when a voice calls from the shadows behind her.

Merlin: Gwen? (steps into the torchlight, concerned) What are you doing here? This is no place for a queen.

Gwen: (startled, nearly fumbles the plate) Merlin! I… I just…

Merlin: (eyes drop to the food, and his expression softens with understanding) You were going to see Tyr.

Gwen: I’m sorry. I know what you said about him. But feeling uneasy around someone doesn’t necessarily make him an assassin, does it? I needed to be sure. Maybe he’ll tell me the truth.

Merlin: To the Queen? (Shakes his head gently) He’ll feel pressured. Cornered. He won’t tell you a thing. He’ll be too scared.

Gwen: I wasn’t always a queen. I was a servant, just like him. Maybe he’ll see me as a friend.

Merlin: But that was before.

Gwen: (straightens her shoulders, resolve firming) I have to try. (moves to continue down the stairs)

Merlin: (a flash of panic crosses his features) Wait! (moves closer, an idea forming) I’ll do it.

Gwen: (pauses, surprised) You? You said he made you uncomfortable.

Merlin: (shrugs) Maybe he just fancies me a bit. In that case, I might have a better chance of getting something out of him. (gently take the plate from her hands) Trust me. It’s better if I do it. He’ll see me as an equal.

Gwen: (hesitates, then sighs in reluctant agreement) Alright. But I’m accompanying you.

Merlin: Okay. But he can’t see you. (points to a shadowed alcove further down the corridor) Stay there. In the distance.

Gwen nods and slips into the darkness. Merlin watches her go, his expression smoothing into one of calm purpose. He turns and walks to the cell.

Merlin: (voice soft and friendly) Hello, Tyr.

Tyr: (recoils from the bars, fear widening his eyes)

Merlin: (crouches, placing the plate just inside the cell, his face a mask of fake worry and gentleness) Don’t be scared. I just want to help you. You must be hungry. Come closer.

Tyr: (driven by hunger and a flicker of hope, comes closer and whispers desperately) I didn’t say anything—

Merlin: (leans in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper of shared concern) Why, Tyr? Why are you protecting them? Did someone threaten you? (his tone changes and drops lower, becoming a venomous thread) You fool. You thought you were protecting your mother by staying quiet here?

Tyr: (confusion and dawning horror) What? But you—you said—

Merlin: (still whispering) Once you’re gone, I’ll kill her with my own hands. But not before I make her suffer for raising such a stupid son.

Tyr’s fear explodes into rage. With a raw cry, he lunges, his hands shooting through the bars to grab fistfuls of Merlin’s tunic, shaking him.

Tyr: NO! I won’t let you!

Merlin: (throws his head back, his voice rising in a perfect performance of fear and confusion, struggling against Tyr’s grip) What are you doing?! Let go!

Gwen: (bursts from the alcove, shouting) GUARDS!

The guards are there in an instant, hauling the frantic Tyr back and pinning him against the far wall of his cell. Gwen rushes to Merlin’s side, helping him straighten his tunic.

Gwen: Are you alright?

Tyr: (still struggling, his eyes wild, fixed on Gwen) Your Majesty! Please! He’s the traitor! He threatened to kill my mother if I spoke! It’s him!

Merlin: (looks from Tyr to Gwen, his face a picture of stunned, wounded bewilderment) I… I don’t know why he’s saying this. I was only trying to help him.

Gwen: (places a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm, her gaze hardening as she turns back to Tyr) I know. I saw it. (voice heavy with disappointment as she looks at the sobbing stable hand) I really wanted to believe you weren’t a bad person. But I clearly was wrong.

She turns away, leading a seemingly shaken Merlin back up the stairs, leaving Tyr’s desperate pleas echoing unheard in the cold dark. Merlin smiles. The witness has been discredited, and the queen’s trust has been weaponized against the truth. His lady Morgana will be happy to know this.

Time Skip. In the Royal Chambers.

Gwen stands before Arthur, recounting the events in the dungeons.

Gwen: …And then, after Merlin showed him such kindness, Tyr just… snapped. He attacked him, and when the guards pulled him off, he started shouting, accusing Merlin of being the traitor.

Arthur: (very angry) You shouldn’t have gone down there behind my back. It was foolish. What if he had attacked you?

Merlin: (speaks softly from where he stands by the fireplace, offering a gentle, reassuring smile) Let’s just be glad it was me.

Arthur’s anger dissolves into something else. He crosses the room, his focus narrowing solely to Merlin. His hand comes to rest firmly on Merlin’s shoulder.

Arthur: (voice drops, earnest and low) Did he hurt you?

Merlin meets his gaze. For a heartbeat, he is dazed by what he sees there: the open concern in those familiar blue eyes, the same he saw in the dust of the fallen tower.

Then he remembers.

It is a lie. A performance. Arthur doesn’t see a person; he sees a possession. A useful tool he needs to keep close, to keep pacified. This show of care is just another chain, a way to keep him loyal and controllable.

The moment of weakness passes. Merlin’s posture, which had subconsciously leaned into the touch, subtly corrects itself. He offers a small, brave smile.

Merlin: I’m fine. (pauses, letting a believable tremor enter his voice) It was more frightening than anything. The way he looked at me… after I’d only tried to help.

He let his eyes flicker toward Gwen, a glance that is not quite accusatory, but carries a faint, unspoken rebuke: See what your mercy almost caused? 

It has the intended effect. Gwen’s face softens, her eyes filling with a guilty, empathetic sorrow. She mouths, ‘I’m sorry’. Merlin offers a gentle, forgiving smile in return, mouthing, ‘It’s alright.’ He sees the resolve solidify in her gaze: she will not question him again. Satisfied, Merlin turns his attention back to Arthur to keep playing the pathetic weak manservant Arthur believes him to be.

However, as Gwen’s gaze lingers, it travels from Merlin’s carefully constructed expression to her husband. She watches Arthur, whose entire being seems to have pivoted on an axis only Merlin occupies. The king’s earlier anger at her risk-taking has vanished, utterly consumed by a concern that feels… disproportionate. It is in the lingering weight of his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, in the intensity of his focus, in the way his eyes search Merlin’s face not just for injury, but for every flicker of distress. It isn’t a king looking at a servant, or even just a friend looking at a friend. It is something more… profound.

A possibility, unsettling and quiet, settles in Gwen’s heart. She knows Merlin and Arthur have always been close. Closer than most. She has always known that. Yet, this feels… different. She thinks of the strained weeks before the tower, the palpable tension she could never quite name. She thinks of Arthur’s frantic, single-minded charge into a collapsing fortress.

But Gwen says nothing. No. To give it voice would make it real. So she tucks the suspicion away, and simply watches her husband and her best friend, hopping, begging, that she is mistaken.

Time Skip. In the Forest.

Merlin runs a reverent hand over a twisting vine clinging to an oak. A faint, cold smile forms on his lips before he turns and moves where Morgana awaits.

Morgana: (turns as he approaches) Emrys.

Merlin: The plan failed.

Morgana: I’d figured as much. The news would have spread by now if it had succeeded. (her eyes sharpen) Does he suspect you?

Merlin: (with pride) No. The stable hand saw me, but I pulled the strings so that he seemed like the one behind the attempt. He was executed before I came here.

Morgana: (smiles at him genuinely) Smart. Very smart.

Merlin: (a pleased smile forms on his face, basking in the praise)

Morgana: You don’t have to worry. By tonight, you’ll have everything you need to finish the job yourself.

Merlin: (his smile vanishes, replaced by sharp concern) Arthur’s doubled the guard. There are patrols night and day. They could see you and—

Morgana: (her tone dismissive, but holding a strange note of something similar to fondness) I’ll be in disguise, my dear. There’s no need for you to be afraid. 

Merlin: I still wouldn’t want you to risk it. What is it you need to give me? Maybe I can find it myself.

Morgana: (studies him for a long moment, then decides to confide) I know of a man. A discreet apothecary. He has a tincture. One with the power to kill slowly, with the utmost pain.

Merlin: (frowns) That’s it?

Morgana: (her brows arch, a hint of offense in her voice) Don’t you think it is useful?

Merlin: (realizing his misstep) I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean it like that. But if poison is all you need, I can fabricate it myself. I am a physician’s apprentice. I have access to Gaius’s stores.

The moment the words leave his mouth, the atmosphere shifts. Morgana’s face hardens, her eyes turning to ice as the memory surges to the surface: the bitter taste of betrayal, the agony in her throat, her veins, the face of the boy she’d trusted leaning over.

Morgana: (her voice a brittle whisper) Right. For a moment, I forgot.

Before either can speak again, the distant sound of horses whinnying and the jingle of harnesses cut through the silence. A patrol is approaching.

Merlin: (instantly alert, steps in front of her, his voice urgent) Hide, my lady! I have it covered.

Morgana melts back behind the thick trunk of a tree, just as Gwaine and Leon run into the small clearing, his expression shifting from routine alertness to surprise.

Gwaine: Merlin! (reins in his horse, a grin spreading across his face) What are you doing out here all alone? Bit far from the tavern, isn’t it?

Merlin: (turns with a show of mild, innocent annoyance, shrugging) Am I not allowed to take a stroll now? Since when is fresh air a crime?

Leon: (gaze continues to sweep the tree line, lingering a moment too long on the dense thicket where Morgana hid) We thought we saw someone else. A second person.

Merlin: (follows Leon’s gaze, then offers a careless, bemused smile) Pretty sure it’s just me. And the squirrels. They’re terrible conversationalists, by the way.

Leon: (still not entirely satisfied, but relents) Well, now that we’re here, we’ll escort you back. The woods aren’t as safe as they used to be.

Merlin: (lets out an exaggerated sigh) What am I, the king? I can find my own way back.

Gwaine: Normally, I’d support your right to wander, mate. But the last time we let you ‘go for a stroll,’ you were kidnapped. Arthur went half-mad searching for you, and you both almost ended up buried under the rubble of a tower. So, come on. Humor us.

Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Alright, alright. Lead the way, my lords. (casts one last, seemingly casual glance back at Morgana’s hidden place before falling into step between their horses, thinking) Soon, my lady. Very soon.

Time skip. In the Physician’s Chambers.

Merlin: (enters)

Gaius: (without looking up from his pestle and mortar) You’ve been disappearing a lot.

Merlin: (busies himself at a workbench, his tone light) Don’t I always?

Gaius: When it is related to helping or protecting Arthur, yes. (sets his tools down, turning to face him) This feels different.

Merlin: (meets the look with a placid smile) Who says I’m not doing that now? We solved the mystery of the saddle, but the bandits’ attack remains a mystery. I’ve been… looking into it. Making sure Arthur is safe.

Gaius: Yes. (a pause) It was a shame to learn about Tyr. Even as he was dragged to be executed, he kept screaming you were the traitor. Quite… persistent.

Merlin: (shakes his head, a perfect display of bewildered sadness) I can hardly believe it myself.

Gaius: (watches Merlin closely, saying each word deliberate) Perhaps he harbored some grudge. Some festering resentment, or jealousy, toward Arthur… and that’s why he decided to kill him. You know, since he seemed to have that… “weird” obsession with you.

Merlin: (frowns, a genuine confusion flickering across his face) How does one thing have to do with the other?

Gaius: Because you are close to Arthur. And Arthur cares about you a great deal. To harm you would be to harm Arthur. And to resent Arthur… might mean resenting his hold on you.

Merlin: (thinking, his irritation showing briefly on his face) He doesn’t have a hold on me! Not anymore. (says, forcing his expression to smooth into agreement) Right. Of course. That makes… a kind of sense.

Gaius: (lets the silence stretch. Then, he speaks again, his tone deceptively casual) I’ve noticed you haven’t picked up your magic book lately.

Merlin: (freezes, all the color draining from his face, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded pain)

Gaius: (feigning innocence, pressing gently) Did you learn them all already? Maybe I should find you a new one.

Merlin: (his eyes, wide and suddenly wet, fix on Gaius. His voice a shattered whisper) You are cruel.

Gaius: (utterly taken aback) What?

Merlin: I don’t have magic. You know I don’t have it anymore. You perfectly know that.

Gaius: (alarm bells ring in his mind and his voice softens, trying to pierce the confusion) Merlin, what are you talking about? You lost your magic? When?

Merlin: (his face contorts with torment, as if his memories are writhing, tangled snakes. He looks at Gaius with a heartbreaking mix of betrayal and desperate hope) Or… you don’t know. Or are you lying to me too? Is everyone lying?

Gaius: (reaches out, his voice firm with concern) Merlin.

Merlin: (blinks, the torment suddenly gone. Then he frowns, as if trying to recall a difficult lesson, and, finally an utterly empty laugh escapes him) Don’t be ridiculous, Gaius. I’m no sorcerer. What a silly thing to say. (glances at the water clock on the wall, his movements suddenly brisk) I’d better tend to Arthur now. You know how he gets if his dinner is late. (turns and leaves)

Gaius: (does not move, his face falling into an expression of profound horror and sorrow, and whispers) Oh, my boy. What has she done to you?

...

Merry Christmas! I was inspired! :D

So, how do we make it make sense for her to take Merlin instead of Gwen?

The answer is: by accident.

But before we get to that, let's justify the Merthur part. This is a Merthur prompt, after all.

So, after the events of “Another’s Sorrow,” Arthur brings Merlin to a tavern to celebrate their triumph over Odin and the new treaty. Merlin really isn’t in the mood, too worried about Morgana’s next move and the weight of destiny, but that doesn’t stop Arthur from dragging him there. “You’re always at the tavern anyway. Why are you complaining?” the king proclaims.

They both actually start having a good time, which is what Arthur wanted. He’s seen Merlin so down lately, too serious—maybe also feeling a bit guilty for not listening when Merlin had a bad feeling about the mission—so he wanted to make him relax and smile again like he used to. They’re doing great… until they drink a little too much and end up kissing.

Being the mature person he is, Merlin flees afterward. The next day, when Arthur tries to speak about what happened…

Arthur: Merlin, about last—

Merlin: (polishing a breastplate) The laundry’s done, and Cook says the venison is salted. (avoids Arthur’s eyes at all costs)

Arthur’s words die in his throat. Truthfully, he is relieved. The guilt settled in his stomach like a cold stone the moment he woke up. He is a married man. The drunkenness was no excuse. And the fact that it was Merlin—a man, his servant, his friend—sent a whirlwind of confused shame through him. But, If Merlin can pretend it was nothing, then perhaps the dishonorable act can simply… unhappen?

But as weeks pass, the pretense builds a wall between them. The easy insults vanish, replaced by stiff formality or, worse, silence. Jokes fall flat. A mere brush of hands while passing a goblet feels electric. And the chambers become a cage of unsaid things.

One afternoon, Arthur can’t take it anymore so he confronts Merlin.

Merlin: (folding a cloak with robotic precision, his back to Arthur)

Arthur: We can’t keep doing this.

Merlin: (doesn’t turn) Keep doing what, my lord?

Arthur: (voice low and strained) You know exactly what I’m talking about. 

Merlin: …

Arthur: That night—

Merlin: It shouldn’t have happened.

Arthur: But it did. And until we talk about it—

Merlin: (finally turns) What is there to talk about? We were drunk. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Things they don’t really mean.

Arthur falls silent for a moment. Merlin is about to return to his folding, when suddenly Arthur speaks again.

Arthur: (his voice quieter, almost detached) So you didn’t mean it when you said, “I’ve waited so long for this”?

Merlin: (goes very still, the colour draining from his face)

Arthur: (pressing on) Yes, I remember. You also said something… something about me being your destiny. That part is a bit blurry. But you said—

Merlin: (a choked whisper) Stop.

Arthur: I just need to understand. The truth, Merlin. I don’t care if you… fancy men. Honestly, I’d suspected for a while. I mean, you’ve never shown a lasting interest in any woman—

Merlin: (sharp and defensive) I’m into both, if you must catalogue it. Men and women.

Arthur: … Oh.

Merlin: Is that all?

Arthur: No… (sighs) Did you… kiss me… because I just happened to be the closest man—person there? Or…

Merlin: (Stares for a moment, eyes wide, and then a bitter laugh escapes him) So that’s what this is. You don’t want to talk about the kiss. You want to know if I fancy YOU. You need to know if your servant is secretly and pathetically in love with you.

Arthur: Merlin—

Merlin: (voice cracking) You have no right. No right! (leaves)

And things between them get even more awkward after that.

So, when, some days later, the opportunity arises for Gwen to visit her father's grave in the outlying village, Merlin volunteers to accompany her, Elyan, and the other knights in a desperate need for space. A day away from Arthur and the suffocating weight of Camelot's walls feels like a chance to breathe.

Gwen: (riding beside him, worried) Merlin… What happened? Between you and Arthur? 

Merlin expected this. Of course they all noticed the sudden distance between him and Arthur. 

Merlin:(forcing a casual tone) It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just… a disagreement. King and servant stuff.

Gwen: (doesn’t believe a word of it, but lets it go) Just know you can talk to me. Always.

Merlin nods, a twist of gratitude and sharp guilt knotting in his chest. Gwen has always been a great friend. And there he is, carrying the memory of her husband’s kiss, now finding solace in her kindness. Oh, well. What’s one more secret to bury?

But as they ride, the weight of his deception grows unbearable. She deserves the truth, even if it means she’ll look at him with the hatred he feels he deserves. He will apologize for a lifetime if he has to. He opens his mouth, the confession gathering on his tongue when a sudden hissing slices through the forest calm.

The horses rear, whining in panic. Merlin feels it in his bones. The snakes coiling across the path aren’t natural; they are a summons. Morgana.

Gwaine: (shouts) Run! Run!

Merlin: (taking advantage no one is seeing him, eyes turn gold and the mass of snakes recoil, slithering back into the undergrowth as if called away)

Elyan: (struggling to control his horse) Wait! I think they’re gone!

A cold laugh cuts through the sudden quiet.

Morgana: (steps from behind a great oak, her smile venomous) It seems I have to finish this myself.

Gwen: Morgana!

Morgana: (eyes turn gold) Taefle!

A wave of invisible force slams into them. Knights, Merlin, and Gwen are thrown from their saddles, hitting the forest floor with grunts of pain. Before anyone can rise, Morgana is upon them. She stalks forward, her focus solely on Gwen, and seizes her arm, with a strong grip.

Gwen: (struggles) Let go of me!

Elyan: Gwen!

Leon: My Queen!

Morgana: (eyes turn gold again) Sleep.

The snakes return, their hissing a deadly chorus as they rear to strike the dazed knights.

Merlin: (Pushing himself up, terror for his friends overriding all caution) NO!

This time, there is no subtlety. His eyes burn gold as he extends his hand and a concussive wave of raw power erupts from him, throwing the snakes back into the trees, where they fall, still and harmless.

Everyone—Gwen, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Morgana herself—stare at Merlin in utter, stunned shock.

Merlin: (thinking in panic) They saw. They all saw.

Morgana: (her expression shifts from shock to a dawning, volcanic rage) You… All this time.

Merlin: (shoves his panic down and his hand shoots out again) Ástryce! (eyes turn gold and a bolt of energy strikes Morgana in the chest, throwing her back a step and making her let go of Gwen) Gwen, run! (to the others) All of you, RUN! NOW! I’ll hold her back!

The command shatters their paralysis. Driven by instinct and the sheer shock of the moment, the knights scramble to their feet, ushering a wide-eyed Gwen into the dense forest.

Morgana: (shouts) NO! (lunges to pursue)

Merlin: Forbærne! (a jet of fire sears the ground between Morgana and the fleeing party)

Morgana: (whirls, deflecting the flames with a swift gesture of her own. Her eyes, blazing with hatred and new understanding) Emrys.

Under other circumstances, with a clear mind and the element of surprise, Merlin might have matched her. But his focus is shattered—split between his fleeing friends, the devastating exposure, and the crushing weight of a lifetime of secrets crumbling around him.

So Merlin hesitates for a fatal second.

Morgana did not.

Morgana: Swefe nu!

A blast of magic, amplified by her fury, hits him squarely and he is knocked out.

Morgana approaches the fallen sorcerer slowly, moving like a hunter closing in on a mortally wounded prize. Her fury is a living thing, scorching and vast. The friend who betrayed her with poison. The prophesied doom who thwarted her at every turn. They are one and the same. This clumsy, idiotic servant has been the architect of her every misery. Her hand trembles with the desire to finish him. Her fingers curl, dark energy crackling at her fingertips as she stands over him. One spell and her vengeance will be completed.

But suddenly her gaze sharpens. The raw, screaming urge to kill him begins to cool and twist into something else—something colder and far more insidious. She has lost Gwen. Her chance to possess the one piece of her old light, to keep it caged and forever hers, is gone, fleeing into the woods with those useless knights. But here… here lies a different kind of prize. Not a comfort, but a weapon. Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Her destined enemy, helpless at her feet.

A slow, terrible smile touches her lips. Killing him would be a release. A victory, yes, but a finite one. Making him her slave… that is something else entirely. To have his power bent to her will. To have the guardian of the Once and Future King become the instrument of that king’s destruction.

The poetic justice of it is exquisite. The strategic advantage is undeniable.

The crackling energy at her fingertips shifts. The spell for a quick death fades from her mind, replaced by the complex, ancient enchantments of the Dark Tower. 

Morgana: (murmurs, voice a silken promise of torment) Oh, Merlin. You’re not going to die today. You’re going to wish you had.

Time skip. In Camelot.

Arthur: (pacing) No. It can’t be true.

Leon: (voice quiet and steady) We all saw it, sire. His eyes burned gold.

Arthur: Merlin is no sorcerer! (his hand slams on the table, the sound echoing in the chamber) I would know. He cannot keep a secret to save his life.

Except the secret of their kiss, a poisoned voice whispers in his mind. Except the secret of his feelings—or yours. Arthur shuts the thought down violently, clinging to the image of the man he thought he knew.

Gwen: Arthur…(places a gentle hand over his clenched fist)

Arthur: (flinches slightly at her touch, the guilt still fresh. Then insists in utter denial) This is clearly a trick from Morgana! An illusion meant to confuse you, to weaken our resolve!

Gwaine: (leaning against the wall with his arms crossed) Believe it an illusion if you like, princess. Makes no difference to the facts. Merlin’s back there, alone. He used his… whatever it was… to save us, to give us a chance to run. And now Morgana has him.

Arthur: (the frantic energy leaves him all at once, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. Then, he looks up, his face hardening into an expression of pure resolve) Of course we are going. Ready the horses. We leave within the hour.

Time Skip. In the Dark Tower

Morgana did not allow Merlin to wake on the journey. She is not a fool. Her victory in the clearing was mostly due to Merlin’s shock and distraction. She knows that facing a prepared Emrys head-on is a battle she can very well lose.

Luckily, in the panicked retreat, the knights left one of their horses behind. It was a simple matter to hoist Merlin’s unconscious form over its saddle, securing him with rough rope before tethering the beast to her own, so the journey to the tower went smoothly.

Now that she is there, she quickly retrieves a pair of heavy, rune-carved bracelets from a locked iron chest and clamps them around each of Merlin’s wrists. Only then, does she allow herself the next step.

Morgana: (kneels beside him, her voice a silken command) Awace.

Merlin: (eyes fly open, disoriented for a split second, then he spots Morgana and jerks upright, instinct pulling him back)

Morgana: (smiles coldly) Sleep well?

Merlin’s first impulse is to lash out—a spell, a gesture, anything. But as he moves, a leaden weakness floods his limbs, and a cold, biting weight registers on his wrists. He looks down at the dark iron bracelets, his breath catching.

Merlin: (confused) …What?

Morgana: (traces a fingernail over the rune-etched metal) Cold iron. Quite effective, isn’t it? It doesn’t just block magic. It… hungers for it.

Merlin: (a bitter laugh) Very hypocritical of you, to keep such things.

Morgana: (her smile vanishes) No more hypocritical than serving the son of a man who would have you burned for what you are.

Merlin: Arthur is not Uther.

Morgana: (leans in) So? Does he know? Does the golden king know that his precious servant and friend is a sorcerer?

Merlin: …

Morgana: (straightens, her expression shifting to one of pure, scalding contempt) You are pathetic. Hiding your magic for a man who would despise you for it.  Betraying, killing your own kin to protect a throne that would see you destroyed. To protect him. All that power… wasted.

Merlin: (meeting her gaze, his voice weary but firm) Spare me the speech, Morgana. I know how this story goes. What will you do to me? Past experience tells me you won't just kill me.

Morgana: (a chilling smile spreads across her face) You are correct. There’s no justice in a quick end for you, Emrys. Not when your suffering can be so much more… useful. (grabs his arm in one swift motion, her nails digging into his skin through his tunic) Stand up.

Merlin: (is hauled to his feet and stumbles, the unnatural weight on his wrists throwing off his balance)

Morgana: I have the perfect room for you.

Without another word, she begins to drag him toward a narrow spiral staircase leading into the oppressive gloom of the tower.

The first few days, Merlin resists. Everytime the voices begin to whisper in the dark, he clings to the solid reality of the cold stone against his back and the biting weight of the iron on his wrists. These are real, he reminds himself. Everything else is Morgana’s poison.

Then the visions come.

Gwaine: (his easy smile twisted into a sneer) All those times I defended you. And you were just lying to my face. Was our friendship a spell, too?

Merlin: (Jerking back as if struck) No! It wasn’t like that at all!

Leon: (with stern disappointment) You served the king. Broke bread at his table. You were a threat sleeping always at his door. Your very existence is treason.

Merlin: (clutching his head) I didn't choose this! I never wanted to lie!

Gwen: (her kind eyes full of tears of betrayal) I called you my friend. I trusted you. And you… you kissed my husband. Was any of it real, Merlin? The laughter, the secrets we shared? Or was I just another piece on your board, a tool to get closer to the king?

Merlin: (a sob wrenching from his throat, his body folding in on itself) I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…

He tries to remind himself they aren’t real. They are fragments of his own fear, given shape by Morgana’s dark magic. But then…

Arthur: (appears, his face a mask of cold, regal revulsion. The look isn’t the fiery anger Merlin has braced for; but a quiet, complete disgust) A sorcerer. All this time. A vile, deceitful creature polluting my court. My father was right.

Merlin tries to turn away, but the vision follows, filling the cell.

Arthur: And to think that I let you kiss me. That I… for a moment, I actually… (wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of profound sickness) It makes me want to peel my own skin off. You are an abomination.

Merlin: (voice a broken whisper, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face) No… please.

Arthur: (tilts his head, a cruel parody of his familiar, considering expression and then smiles cruelly) I would have you executed. Drawn and quartered in the courtyard for all to see what becomes of sorcerers and traitors. (lets out a low, chilling laugh that echoes unnaturally in the stone room) But seeing you here… like this? Broken in the dark? This is so much better. This is justice. You deserve this. (His laughter grows louder)

Merlin: (a raw, shattered scream tears from his throat)

Time skip.

Being kind to Merlin has been a challenge for Morgana. She pretty much still hates him to guts. But it was the part she needed to play for the enchantment to succeed. The enchantment of the mandrake root doesn't just show the person’s worst fears and dreads; it slowly erodes the soul's foundations, leaving a hollowed-out space desperate to be filled. To succeed, she has to be the one to fill it. She has to become, in Merlin’s broken mind, the only light in an endless dark. It wasn’t easy. Especially because Merlin has been stubborn. For days he turned his face from the food she offered him. Met her gentle words with silence or sharp, weary retorts.

But the Tower soon did its work.

Now, as she kneels beside him, Morgana sees the change. She gently wipes a tear from his cheek with her thumb, her touch deliberately soft. He doesn't flinch. He leans into it, his eyes, red-rimmed and lost, searching her face.

Morgana: (whispers, her voice a silk-covered blade) You’re so alone. They all left you. They hate what you are.

A sob hitches in Merlin’s chest. Then, slowly, as if the movement pains him, his arms come up—not to push her away, but to wrap around her in a desperate, clutching embrace. Morgana freezes for a moment before returning the hug, a vicious triumphal smile forming on her face. Merlin buries his face in her shoulder, his body trembling with silent tears.

Merlin: (mumbles into the fabric of her gown) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Morgana… for everything. I was a fool. I betrayed you… my own kind… for him.

Morgana: (strokes his hair) Shhh. I know. I forgive you.

Merlin: (pulls back slightly, his gaze clouded with hurt) They never cared. (the hatred in his voice turns palpable) Arthur… he would have killed me. Gwen, the knights… they just pretended. Liars. All of them! (His voice hitches, the hatred momentarily melting into sadness) Though I lied too.

Morgana: (her hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle rhythm) No, my dear. You can’t compare lying for your own survival to their lies. Theirs were born of malice. Yours… yours was born of fear. Of a world that would never understand you. (pulls him close again) But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to lie. You’re not alone. You need never be alone again. (cradles his face, forcing his tear-blurred gaze to meet hers) I’m the only one you can trust. I’m all you have left in the world.

Merlin: (nods, his eyes full of trust) I see that now.

Morgana: (smiles victorious and her fingers trail down to the cold iron bracelets) It was wrong to make you suffer. To restrain your magic like that. But you’ve been so courageous. (unlocks the first bracelet, then the second, letting them fall to the stone floor with a heavy thud) Now, we can work together. As equals. To ensure the utter destruction of everything Arthur Pendragon holds dear.

Merlin: (flexes his freed wrists, smiling eagerly, ready to bring Arthur to his doom)

Morgana: (voice low, hungry with anticipation) Now. Show me your power, Emrys. Show me the strength you hid from them.

Merlin nods, his expression turning serious with concentration. He extends a hand toward a crumbling stone sconce on the far wall. His brow furrows. Nothing happens. Confused, he tries again, his focus intensifying. He brings both hands up, palms outward, his lips moving in silent invocation. Nothing. He tries again. And again. But his eyes, wide and desperate, remain blue. Panic begins to edge into his expression, replacing the eagerness.

Morgana: (her smile falters, a sliver of impatience in her tone) What are you waiting for? Do it.

Merlin: (whispering in disbelief) My… my magic. It’s still gone.

Morgana: WHAT?!

In a flash, she is upon him. Her hands clamp onto his shoulders, then his temples, her own magic rushing into him, searching for the apparently still blocked power herself.

She finds it. It’s not suppressed. It’s not restrained. It is walled off. Sealed behind an internal barrier of immense, instinctual will. A final, desperate act of self-preservation enacted not by the broken man before her, but by the last shred of Emrys, in his final sane moments before the darkness took him. A way to protect the world from what he might become.

The realization hits her like a physical blow. She staggers back, releasing him. All her planning, her patience, her performance… for this. For a hollow vessel, a sword with no blade. A raw, furious scream of pure rage tears from her throat.

Morgana: (slams her fist against the stone wall) NO! No, no, NO!

Merlin: (flinching, his voice a frightened whimper) Please, don’t hurt yourself, my lady! I’m so sorry… I’m useless. I don’t know what happened to it. (stares at his own hands as if they’d betrayed him) Where has it gone?

Morgana whirls, her chest heaving, her gaze burning with impotent fury. She storms to the narrow window, seeking an outlet for her rage in the desolate landscape below.

And then she sees them. A small, determined party of riders closing in on the tower’s base. Arthur and the knights. Coming for Merlin.

For a moment, she is just startled. She hadn’t expected them to come so soon. Focused solely on enchanting Merlin, she hasn’t prepared the traps, trusting naively Emrys’ power would be enough to get rid of them all. Then her mind, always sharpest when cornered, begins to race. Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant. The one who dresses him, arms him. The person the king trusts most, besides his wife. And cares for him enough to come to his rescue himself. The knights also trust Merlin implicitly. Gwen, the queen, loves him like a brother. Even without magic, Merlin is the key to the very heart of Camelot. A slow, predatory calm settles over her. Then she turns from the window to Merlin, her expression smoothing into one of grave, conspiratorial urgency.

Morgana: I’ll tell you what happened. Your precious magic… Arthur blocked it.

Merlin: (eyes widen in surprise and betrayal) What?! Why? 

Morgana: To make you suffer. To punish you for what you are, and to ensure you could never turn your power against him.

The enchantment of the Tower does its final, insidious work. The lie, planted in the fertile soil of Merlin’s broken trust, takes immediate and unquestioning root.

Merlin: (his face crumples, a fresh wave of agony washing over him) After everything I’ve done for him… he did this to me. How? How could he even do such a thing?

Morgana: With magic. You know how hypocritical the Pendragons are. They condemn sorcery from their thrones, only to use it in the shadows when it serves them. Now do you see? Now do you understand why I had to bring you here? Why I had to save you from his deception? (seizes his hands, her grip firm) Listen to me, Merlin. They are coming. Right now. To retrieve you.

Merlin: (a spark of his old defiance flashes) No! I won’t go back! I hate them! I never want to see them again!

Morgana: (with a slow, calculating smile) I know. But they don’t know that. They still believe you are their loyal, foolish Merlin. And if you play the part… if you go back with them, we might still have a chance.

An understanding dawns on Merlin’s face, and his despair hardens into a cold, focused determination. 

Merlin: (his voice utterly devoid of its former warmth) What do I do?

Time skip.

They had just set foot inside the tower's gloom when a deep, groaning shudder ran through the ancient stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. A crack spiderwebs up the wall beside the entrance.

A clear trap. The wisest decision would’ve been to fall back, to regroup outside the killing zone, the knights forming a protective shield around their king.

It is not what happens.

Instead, Arthur runs further in. He becomes a man possessed, breaking down every rotting door in his path. He leaves the knights—whose sworn duty is to form a wall around him—scrambling in his wake as mortar dust fills the air and the very foundations groan. Nothing else matters but to find Merlin.

Arthur: (shouting desperately) Merlin! MERLIN!

He bursts into a small, high cell as a chunk of the ceiling crashes down behind him. And there, in the chaos, he finds him.

Merlin is slumped against the wall, his hands bound above him by heavy chains. He seems smaller, as if the ordeal has physically shrunk him, and so exhausted he seems unable to bear its own weight any longer. But when he lifts his head and looks at Arthur he smiles brightly.

Merlin: (gasps, fragile with disbelief and hope) Arthur?

Arthur is across the room in three strides, his hands coming up to cradle Merlin’s face, to feel the solid, living reality of him.

Arthur: (his voice breaks, thick with relief and terror) I’m here. I’m here. (eyes scan the bindings, his jaw tightening as another tremor rocks the tower) I’ll get you out.

Drawing his sword, Arthur brings the pommel down on the chains with a clang that rings above the din of collapsing stone. Again. And again.

Merlin: (voice weak but urgent) Leave me! Get out!

Arthur: NO!

With a final, grating shriek of tortured metal, the chain snaps. Merlin slumps forward, his strength utterly spent, and falls into Arthur's waiting arms. For a moment, they simply stay there, Arthur holding him, Merlin clinging back with a desperate, bruising tightness. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Merlin's head.

There is no time for more. Another tremor shakes the tower, a slab of masonry crashing down where Arthur stood moments before. Gently but firmly, Arthur shifts, pulling Merlin's arm around his shoulders, taking his full weight.

Arthur: (commands, his voice rough but steady) Lean on me. Just keep moving

Together, they hobble through the shuddering, nightmare corridors—Arthur half-carrying, half-dragging him, Merlin stumbling but moving. And finally, they burst into the cold, clear air, the final, thunderous groans of the Dark Tower collapsing in on itself behind them. Every crash of stone is a reminder of how close death has been.

Merlin: (still clutching Arthur’s arm for support) You came… alone?

Gwaine: (brushes dust from his tunic as he and the other knights close in around them) No, he pretty much abandoned us in there. Charged ahead like a bull.

Merlin: (face lits up) Gwaine! (lets go of Arthur and moves to hug the knight, who returns the embrace with a hearty clap on the back) Leon! Percival! Elyan! (greets each in turn)

Arthur feels a strange, sharp twist in his chest—something hot and unpleasant he doesn't care to name. He watches as Merlin, who has just been clinging to him as a lifeline, now shares his affection with others.

Merlin: (his voice still shaky with wonder) You all came for me?

Leon: Why do you seem so surprised? (his expression shifts, the memory dawning) Oh… (falls silent, his eyes flicking uncertainly to Arthur)

Right. The magic. In the sheer terror of the rescue, Arthur forgot about it. The sight of Merlin in chains burned everything else away. But now, with Merlin safe and the impossible confession hanging in the air, reality comes crashing back. The fear isn't gone, but it is dwarfed by a more profound realization: he can not lose this man. Not to a tower, and not to a law.

Arthur: (stepping forward, his voice carefully neutral) Merlin. My knights… they saw something. When Morgana ambushed you. If you… if you had magic. You don’t have to hide. Not from me. Not now.

Merlin: (looks at Arthur, then at the knights, his brow furrowing in perfect, believable confusion) Me? Having magic? Where did you get that idea?

A beat of stunned silence.

Percival: (utterly baffled) We saw you. Your eyes… they were gold. You threw the snakes back with… with magic.

Merlin: (shakes his head, a small, helpless gesture) I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t use magic at all. I couldn’t have.

Gwaine: (softer now, leaning in) Merlin, mate, you don’t have to lie. It’s us. We won’t do anything to you. We saw it.

Merlin: (his expression turns earnest, pleading) But I’m telling the truth. I don’t have magic. I’m not a sorcerer.

Arthur watches him, sees the clear confusion in his eyes. The tension that has coiled in his gut since Leon first spoke in the council chamber suddenly unspools into a wave of dizzying, vertiginous relief.

Arthur: (words rushed out, eager, absolving) It seems… it seems I was right. (looks at his knights, his authority returning, clinging to the simpler reality) It was an illusion. A trick from Morgana to turn us against each other. She must have made you see it.

The knights exchange glances. Leon’s jaw is tight; Percival’s brow furrowed in confusion. Gwaine stares at the ground, scuffing the dirt with his boot. They have seen it. The raw, golden power, the force that saved them. An illusion that vivid, that potent, seems… unlikely. Their loyalty to Merlin wars with the evidence of their own eyes.

Merlin: (noticing their hesitation, his voice trembles) You… you didn’t really believe it. Did you? (Tears well in his eyes, looking betrayed.) I’m not. I swear to you, on my mother’s life, I am not what you think.

The direct appeal, the raw hurt, is a masterstroke. It bypasses their logic and goes straight to their hearts.

Gwaine: (immediately, stepping forward) No, Merlin. Hey, look at me. (places a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder) Of course we believe you. We’re just… rattled. It’s been a long day.

Leon: (nods, his stern expression softening into one of protective resolve) He’s right. You are our friend. If you give us your word, then that is the truth we stand by.

Arthur watches the exchange, his own relief now mingling with a pang of something else—a twinge of inadequacy. Gwaine and Leon offered the immediate comfort, and silenced the doubt with brotherly certainty. He, the king, only offered a theory. He clears his throat, the need to reclaim the moment, to be the one Merlin looks to, suddenly urgent.

Arthur: (his voice firm, leaving no room for further discussion) Then it’s settled. We’re all in agreement. Merlin is no sorcerer. (meets Merlin’s tear-filled gaze, offering a small, reassuring nod) Now, let’s get you home.

Time skip.

Merlin can't believe it has been so easy.

As they ride back to Camelot, the towers of the castle growing on the horizon, he replays Morgana’s final instructions.

“They might believe you got your magic back, so when they ask, deny it at all cost. They must believe you are still the simpleton Arthur turned you into. They’ll try to trick you for sure. Try to make you believe you are safe to tell. Don’t be bought by their lies again.”

Now, with cold clarity, he sees the proof of her wisdom in every glance thrown his way. Their faces are masks of concern, but now he can see the lie beneath. Gwaine’s easy grin is a bit too wide, Leon’s assessing gaze a fraction too long. They are watching him, waiting for a slip.

And Arthur… the look of sheer, unguarded relief on Arthur’s face when Merlin tearfully denied his magic. It wasn’t a relief that his friend was safe from persecution. It was a relief at knowing the weapon remains disarmed. That the abomination was confirmed to be gone. The magic he took from me, Merlin thinks, the betrayal a fresh, hot wound. He stole my very nature and was glad to see it gone.

The memory of having to embrace them— to throw his arms around Arthur and lean into his supportive grip, to hug Gwaine, to accept Leon’s firm clasp—makes his skin crawl. He had to hug the people who had celebrated his mutilation. Had to smile at the man who looked at him with utter disgust and hatred in that tower. Who laughed at his suffering. Who actually despises him.

But he won’t have to pretend much longer. Soon, his true queen would take her rightful place on the throne. Morgana, his savior, his lady. And these smiling liars, this false king who broke him and called it salvation… they will be gone for good.

Arthur will be gone for good.

The thought brings a serene calm to his heart as he rides through the gates of the city he is destined to destroy from within. So he keeps his eyes wide, his smile grateful, and his hatred perfectly, patiently hidden.

...

So, how do we make it make sense for her to take Merlin instead of Gwen?

The answer is: by accident.

But before we get to that, let's justify the Merthur part. This is a Merthur prompt, after all.

So, after the events of “Another’s Sorrow,” Arthur brings Merlin to a tavern to celebrate their triumph over Odin and the new treaty. Merlin really isn’t in the mood, too worried about Morgana’s next move and the weight of destiny, but that doesn’t stop Arthur from dragging him there. “You’re always at the tavern anyway. Why are you complaining?” the king proclaims.

They both actually start having a good time, which is what Arthur wanted. He’s seen Merlin so down lately, too serious—maybe also feeling a bit guilty for not listening when Merlin had a bad feeling about the mission—so he wanted to make him relax and smile again like he used to. They’re doing great… until they drink a little too much and end up kissing.

Being the mature person he is, Merlin flees afterward. The next day, when Arthur tries to speak about what happened…

Arthur: Merlin, about last—

Merlin: (polishing a breastplate) The laundry’s done, and Cook says the venison is salted. (avoids Arthur’s eyes at all costs)

Arthur’s words die in his throat. Truthfully, he is relieved. The guilt settled in his stomach like a cold stone the moment he woke up. He is a married man. The drunkenness was no excuse. And the fact that it was Merlin—a man, his servant, his friend—sent a whirlwind of confused shame through him. But, If Merlin can pretend it was nothing, then perhaps the dishonorable act can simply… unhappen?

But as weeks pass, the pretense builds a wall between them. The easy insults vanish, replaced by stiff formality or, worse, silence. Jokes fall flat. A mere brush of hands while passing a goblet feels electric. And the chambers become a cage of unsaid things.

One afternoon, Arthur can’t take it anymore so he confronts Merlin.

Merlin: (folding a cloak with robotic precision, his back to Arthur)

Arthur: We can’t keep doing this.

Merlin: (doesn’t turn) Keep doing what, my lord?

Arthur: (voice low and strained) You know exactly what I’m talking about. 

Merlin: …

Arthur: That night—

Merlin: It shouldn’t have happened.

Arthur: But it did. And until we talk about it—

Merlin: (finally turns) What is there to talk about? We were drunk. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Things they don’t really mean.

Arthur falls silent for a moment. Merlin is about to return to his folding, when suddenly Arthur speaks again.

Arthur: (his voice quieter, almost detached) So you didn’t mean it when you said, “I’ve waited so long for this”?

Merlin: (goes very still, the colour draining from his face)

Arthur: (pressing on) Yes, I remember. You also said something… something about me being your destiny. That part is a bit blurry. But you said—

Merlin: (a choked whisper) Stop.

Arthur: I just need to understand. The truth, Merlin. I don’t care if you… fancy men. Honestly, I’d suspected for a while. I mean, you’ve never shown a lasting interest in any woman—

Merlin: (sharp and defensive) I’m into both, if you must catalogue it. Men and women.

Arthur: … Oh.

Merlin: Is that all?

Arthur: No… (sighs) Did you… kiss me… because I just happened to be the closest man—person there? Or…

Merlin: (Stares for a moment, eyes wide, and then a bitter laugh escapes him) So that’s what this is. You don’t want to talk about the kiss. You want to know if I fancy YOU. You need to know if your servant is secretly and pathetically in love with you.

Arthur: Merlin—

Merlin: (voice cracking) You have no right. No right! (leaves)

And things between them get even more awkward after that.

So, when, some days later, the opportunity arises for Gwen to visit her father's grave in the outlying village, Merlin volunteers to accompany her, Elyan, and the other knights in a desperate need for space. A day away from Arthur and the suffocating weight of Camelot's walls feels like a chance to breathe.

Gwen: (riding beside him, worried) Merlin… What happened? Between you and Arthur? 

Merlin expected this. Of course they all noticed the sudden distance between him and Arthur. 

Merlin:(forcing a casual tone) It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just… a disagreement. King and servant stuff.

Gwen: (doesn’t believe a word of it, but lets it go) Just know you can talk to me. Always.

Merlin nods, a twist of gratitude and sharp guilt knotting in his chest. Gwen has always been a great friend. And there he is, carrying the memory of her husband’s kiss, now finding solace in her kindness. Oh, well. What’s one more secret to bury?

But as they ride, the weight of his deception grows unbearable. She deserves the truth, even if it means she’ll look at him with the hatred he feels he deserves. He will apologize for a lifetime if he has to. He opens his mouth, the confession gathering on his tongue when a sudden hissing slices through the forest calm.

The horses rear, whining in panic. Merlin feels it in his bones. The snakes coiling across the path aren’t natural; they are a summons. Morgana.

Gwaine: (shouts) Run! Run!

Merlin: (taking advantage no one is seeing him, eyes turn gold and the mass of snakes recoil, slithering back into the undergrowth as if called away)

Elyan: (struggling to control his horse) Wait! I think they’re gone!

A cold laugh cuts through the sudden quiet.

Morgana: (steps from behind a great oak, her smile venomous) It seems I have to finish this myself.

Gwen: Morgana!

Morgana: (eyes turn gold) Taefle!

A wave of invisible force slams into them. Knights, Merlin, and Gwen are thrown from their saddles, hitting the forest floor with grunts of pain. Before anyone can rise, Morgana is upon them. She stalks forward, her focus solely on Gwen, and seizes her arm, with a strong grip.

Gwen: (struggles) Let go of me!

Elyan: Gwen!

Leon: My Queen!

Morgana: (eyes turn gold again) Sleep.

The snakes return, their hissing a deadly chorus as they rear to strike the dazed knights.

Merlin: (Pushing himself up, terror for his friends overriding all caution) NO!

This time, there is no subtlety. His eyes burn gold as he extends his hand and a concussive wave of raw power erupts from him, throwing the snakes back into the trees, where they fall, still and harmless.

Everyone—Gwen, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Morgana herself—stare at Merlin in utter, stunned shock.

Merlin: (thinking in panic) They saw. They all saw.

Morgana: (her expression shifts from shock to a dawning, volcanic rage) You… All this time.

Merlin: (shoves his panic down and his hand shoots out again) Ástryce! (eyes turn gold and a bolt of energy strikes Morgana in the chest, throwing her back a step and making her let go of Gwen) Gwen, run! (to the others) All of you, RUN! NOW! I’ll hold her back!

The command shatters their paralysis. Driven by instinct and the sheer shock of the moment, the knights scramble to their feet, ushering a wide-eyed Gwen into the dense forest.

Morgana: (shouts) NO! (lunges to pursue)

Merlin: Forbærne! (a jet of fire sears the ground between Morgana and the fleeing party)

Morgana: (whirls, deflecting the flames with a swift gesture of her own. Her eyes, blazing with hatred and new understanding) Emrys.

Under other circumstances, with a clear mind and the element of surprise, Merlin might have matched her. But his focus is shattered—split between his fleeing friends, the devastating exposure, and the crushing weight of a lifetime of secrets crumbling around him.

So Merlin hesitates for a fatal second.

Morgana did not.

Morgana: Swefe nu!

A blast of magic, amplified by her fury, hits him squarely and he is knocked out.

Morgana approaches the fallen sorcerer slowly, moving like a hunter closing in on a mortally wounded prize. Her fury is a living thing, scorching and vast. The friend who betrayed her with poison. The prophesied doom who thwarted her at every turn. They are one and the same. This clumsy, idiotic servant has been the architect of her every misery. Her hand trembles with the desire to finish him. Her fingers curl, dark energy crackling at her fingertips as she stands over him. One spell and her vengeance will be completed.

But suddenly her gaze sharpens. The raw, screaming urge to kill him begins to cool and twist into something else—something colder and far more insidious. She has lost Gwen. Her chance to possess the one piece of her old light, to keep it caged and forever hers, is gone, fleeing into the woods with those useless knights. But here… here lies a different kind of prize. Not a comfort, but a weapon. Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Her destined enemy, helpless at her feet.

A slow, terrible smile touches her lips. Killing him would be a release. A victory, yes, but a finite one. Making him her slave… that is something else entirely. To have his power bent to her will. To have the guardian of the Once and Future King become the instrument of that king’s destruction.

The poetic justice of it is exquisite. The strategic advantage is undeniable.

The crackling energy at her fingertips shifts. The spell for a quick death fades from her mind, replaced by the complex, ancient enchantments of the Dark Tower. 

Morgana: (murmurs, voice a silken promise of torment) Oh, Merlin. You’re not going to die today. You’re going to wish you had.

Time skip. In Camelot.

Arthur: (pacing) No. It can’t be true.

Leon: (voice quiet and steady) We all saw it, sire. His eyes burned gold.

Arthur: Merlin is no sorcerer! (his hand slams on the table, the sound echoing in the chamber) I would know. He cannot keep a secret to save his life.

Except the secret of their kiss, a poisoned voice whispers in his mind. Except the secret of his feelings—or yours. Arthur shuts the thought down violently, clinging to the image of the man he thought he knew.

Gwen: Arthur…(places a gentle hand over his clenched fist)

Arthur: (flinches slightly at her touch, the guilt still fresh. Then insists in utter denial) This is clearly a trick from Morgana! An illusion meant to confuse you, to weaken our resolve!

Gwaine: (leaning against the wall with his arms crossed) Believe it an illusion if you like, princess. Makes no difference to the facts. Merlin’s back there, alone. He used his… whatever it was… to save us, to give us a chance to run. And now Morgana has him.

Arthur: (the frantic energy leaves him all at once, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. Then, he looks up, his face hardening into an expression of pure resolve) Of course we are going. Ready the horses. We leave within the hour.

Time Skip. In the Dark Tower

Morgana did not allow Merlin to wake on the journey. She is not a fool. Her victory in the clearing was mostly due to Merlin’s shock and distraction. She knows that facing a prepared Emrys head-on is a battle she can very well lose.

Luckily, in the panicked retreat, the knights left one of their horses behind. It was a simple matter to hoist Merlin’s unconscious form over its saddle, securing him with rough rope before tethering the beast to her own, so the journey to the tower went smoothly.

Now that she is there, she quickly retrieves a pair of heavy, rune-carved bracelets from a locked iron chest and clamps them around each of Merlin’s wrists. Only then, does she allow herself the next step.

Morgana: (kneels beside him, her voice a silken command) Awace.

Merlin: (eyes fly open, disoriented for a split second, then he spots Morgana and jerks upright, instinct pulling him back)

Morgana: (smiles coldly) Sleep well?

Merlin’s first impulse is to lash out—a spell, a gesture, anything. But as he moves, a leaden weakness floods his limbs, and a cold, biting weight registers on his wrists. He looks down at the dark iron bracelets, his breath catching.

Merlin: (confused) …What?

Morgana: (traces a fingernail over the rune-etched metal) Cold iron. Quite effective, isn’t it? It doesn’t just block magic. It… hungers for it.

Merlin: (a bitter laugh) Very hypocritical of you, to keep such things.

Morgana: (her smile vanishes) No more hypocritical than serving the son of a man who would have you burned for what you are.

Merlin: Arthur is not Uther.

Morgana: (leans in) So? Does he know? Does the golden king know that his precious servant and friend is a sorcerer?

Merlin: …

Morgana: (straightens, her expression shifting to one of pure, scalding contempt) You are pathetic. Hiding your magic for a man who would despise you for it.  Betraying, killing your own kin to protect a throne that would see you destroyed. To protect him. All that power… wasted.

Merlin: (meeting her gaze, his voice weary but firm) Spare me the speech, Morgana. I know how this story goes. What will you do to me? Past experience tells me you won't just kill me.

Morgana: (a chilling smile spreads across her face) You are correct. There’s no justice in a quick end for you, Emrys. Not when your suffering can be so much more… useful. (grabs his arm in one swift motion, her nails digging into his skin through his tunic) Stand up.

Merlin: (is hauled to his feet and stumbles, the unnatural weight on his wrists throwing off his balance)

Morgana: I have the perfect room for you.

Without another word, she begins to drag him toward a narrow spiral staircase leading into the oppressive gloom of the tower.

The first few days, Merlin resists. Everytime the voices begin to whisper in the dark, he clings to the solid reality of the cold stone against his back and the biting weight of the iron on his wrists. These are real, he reminds himself. Everything else is Morgana’s poison.

Then the visions come.

Gwaine: (his easy smile twisted into a sneer) All those times I defended you. And you were just lying to my face. Was our friendship a spell, too?

Merlin: (Jerking back as if struck) No! It wasn’t like that at all!

Leon: (with stern disappointment) You served the king. Broke bread at his table. You were a threat sleeping always at his door. Your very existence is treason.

Merlin: (clutching his head) I didn't choose this! I never wanted to lie!

Gwen: (her kind eyes full of tears of betrayal) I called you my friend. I trusted you. And you… you kissed my husband. Was any of it real, Merlin? The laughter, the secrets we shared? Or was I just another piece on your board, a tool to get closer to the king?

Merlin: (a sob wrenching from his throat, his body folding in on itself) I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…

He tries to remind himself they aren’t real. They are fragments of his own fear, given shape by Morgana’s dark magic. But then…

Arthur: (appears, his face a mask of cold, regal revulsion. The look isn’t the fiery anger Merlin has braced for; but a quiet, complete disgust) A sorcerer. All this time. A vile, deceitful creature polluting my court. My father was right.

Merlin tries to turn away, but the vision follows, filling the cell.

Arthur: And to think that I let you kiss me. That I… for a moment, I actually… (wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of profound sickness) It makes me want to peel my own skin off. You are an abomination.

Merlin: (voice a broken whisper, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face) No… please.

Arthur: (tilts his head, a cruel parody of his familiar, considering expression and then smiles cruelly) I would have you executed. Drawn and quartered in the courtyard for all to see what becomes of sorcerers and traitors. (lets out a low, chilling laugh that echoes unnaturally in the stone room) But seeing you here… like this? Broken in the dark? This is so much better. This is justice. You deserve this. (His laughter grows louder)

Merlin: (a raw, shattered scream tears from his throat)

Time skip.

Being kind to Merlin has been a challenge for Morgana. She pretty much still hates him to guts. But it was the part she needed to play for the enchantment to succeed. The enchantment of the mandrake root doesn't just show the person’s worst fears and dreads; it slowly erodes the soul's foundations, leaving a hollowed-out space desperate to be filled. To succeed, she has to be the one to fill it. She has to become, in Merlin’s broken mind, the only light in an endless dark. It wasn’t easy. Especially because Merlin has been stubborn. For days he turned his face from the food she offered him. Met her gentle words with silence or sharp, weary retorts.

But the Tower soon did its work.

Now, as she kneels beside him, Morgana sees the change. She gently wipes a tear from his cheek with her thumb, her touch deliberately soft. He doesn't flinch. He leans into it, his eyes, red-rimmed and lost, searching her face.

Morgana: (whispers, her voice a silk-covered blade) You’re so alone. They all left you. They hate what you are.

A sob hitches in Merlin’s chest. Then, slowly, as if the movement pains him, his arms come up—not to push her away, but to wrap around her in a desperate, clutching embrace. Morgana freezes for a moment before returning the hug, a vicious triumphal smile forming on her face. Merlin buries his face in her shoulder, his body trembling with silent tears.

Merlin: (mumbles into the fabric of her gown) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Morgana… for everything. I was a fool. I betrayed you… my own kind… for him.

Morgana: (strokes his hair) Shhh. I know. I forgive you.

Merlin: (pulls back slightly, his gaze clouded with hurt) They never cared. (the hatred in his voice turns palpable) Arthur… he would have killed me. Gwen, the knights… they just pretended. Liars. All of them! (His voice hitches, the hatred momentarily melting into sadness) Though I lied too.

Morgana: (her hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle rhythm) No, my dear. You can’t compare lying for your own survival to their lies. Theirs were born of malice. Yours… yours was born of fear. Of a world that would never understand you. (pulls him close again) But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to lie. You’re not alone. You need never be alone again. (cradles his face, forcing his tear-blurred gaze to meet hers) I’m the only one you can trust. I’m all you have left in the world.

Merlin: (nods, his eyes full of trust) I see that now.

Morgana: (smiles victorious and her fingers trail down to the cold iron bracelets) It was wrong to make you suffer. To restrain your magic like that. But you’ve been so courageous. (unlocks the first bracelet, then the second, letting them fall to the stone floor with a heavy thud) Now, we can work together. As equals. To ensure the utter destruction of everything Arthur Pendragon holds dear.

Merlin: (flexes his freed wrists, smiling eagerly, ready to bring Arthur to his doom)

Morgana: (voice low, hungry with anticipation) Now. Show me your power, Emrys. Show me the strength you hid from them.

Merlin nods, his expression turning serious with concentration. He extends a hand toward a crumbling stone sconce on the far wall. His brow furrows. Nothing happens. Confused, he tries again, his focus intensifying. He brings both hands up, palms outward, his lips moving in silent invocation. Nothing. He tries again. And again. But his eyes, wide and desperate, remain blue. Panic begins to edge into his expression, replacing the eagerness.

Morgana: (her smile falters, a sliver of impatience in her tone) What are you waiting for? Do it.

Merlin: (whispering in disbelief) My… my magic. It’s still gone.

Morgana: WHAT?!

In a flash, she is upon him. Her hands clamp onto his shoulders, then his temples, her own magic rushing into him, searching for the apparently still blocked power herself.

She finds it. It’s not suppressed. It’s not restrained. It is walled off. Sealed behind an internal barrier of immense, instinctual will. A final, desperate act of self-preservation enacted not by the broken man before her, but by the last shred of Emrys, in his final sane moments before the darkness took him. A way to protect the world from what he might become.

The realization hits her like a physical blow. She staggers back, releasing him. All her planning, her patience, her performance… for this. For a hollow vessel, a sword with no blade. A raw, furious scream of pure rage tears from her throat.

Morgana: (slams her fist against the stone wall) NO! No, no, NO!

Merlin: (flinching, his voice a frightened whimper) Please, don’t hurt yourself, my lady! I’m so sorry… I’m useless. I don’t know what happened to it. (stares at his own hands as if they’d betrayed him) Where has it gone?

Morgana whirls, her chest heaving, her gaze burning with impotent fury. She storms to the narrow window, seeking an outlet for her rage in the desolate landscape below.

And then she sees them. A small, determined party of riders closing in on the tower’s base. Arthur and the knights. Coming for Merlin.

For a moment, she is just startled. She hadn’t expected them to come so soon. Focused solely on enchanting Merlin, she hasn’t prepared the traps, trusting naively Emrys’ power would be enough to get rid of them all. Then her mind, always sharpest when cornered, begins to race. Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant. The one who dresses him, arms him. The person the king trusts most, besides his wife. And cares for him enough to come to his rescue himself. The knights also trust Merlin implicitly. Gwen, the queen, loves him like a brother. Even without magic, Merlin is the key to the very heart of Camelot. A slow, predatory calm settles over her. Then she turns from the window to Merlin, her expression smoothing into one of grave, conspiratorial urgency.

Morgana: I’ll tell you what happened. Your precious magic… Arthur blocked it.

Merlin: (eyes widen in surprise and betrayal) What?! Why? 

Morgana: To make you suffer. To punish you for what you are, and to ensure you could never turn your power against him.

The enchantment of the Tower does its final, insidious work. The lie, planted in the fertile soil of Merlin’s broken trust, takes immediate and unquestioning root.

Merlin: (his face crumples, a fresh wave of agony washing over him) After everything I’ve done for him… he did this to me. How? How could he even do such a thing?

Morgana: With magic. You know how hypocritical the Pendragons are. They condemn sorcery from their thrones, only to use it in the shadows when it serves them. Now do you see? Now do you understand why I had to bring you here? Why I had to save you from his deception? (seizes his hands, her grip firm) Listen to me, Merlin. They are coming. Right now. To retrieve you.

Merlin: (a spark of his old defiance flashes) No! I won’t go back! I hate them! I never want to see them again!

Morgana: (with a slow, calculating smile) I know. But they don’t know that. They still believe you are their loyal, foolish Merlin. And if you play the part… if you go back with them, we might still have a chance.

An understanding dawns on Merlin’s face, and his despair hardens into a cold, focused determination. 

Merlin: (his voice utterly devoid of its former warmth) What do I do?

Time skip.

They had just set foot inside the tower's gloom when a deep, groaning shudder ran through the ancient stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. A crack spiderwebs up the wall beside the entrance.

A clear trap. The wisest decision would’ve been to fall back, to regroup outside the killing zone, the knights forming a protective shield around their king.

It is not what happens.

Instead, Arthur runs further in. He becomes a man possessed, breaking down every rotting door in his path. He leaves the knights—whose sworn duty is to form a wall around him—scrambling in his wake as mortar dust fills the air and the very foundations groan. Nothing else matters but to find Merlin.

Arthur: (shouting desperately) Merlin! MERLIN!

He bursts into a small, high cell as a chunk of the ceiling crashes down behind him. And there, in the chaos, he finds him.

Merlin is slumped against the wall, his hands bound above him by heavy chains. He seems smaller, as if the ordeal has physically shrunk him, and so exhausted he seems unable to bear its own weight any longer. But when he lifts his head and looks at Arthur he smiles brightly.

Merlin: (gasps, fragile with disbelief and hope) Arthur?

Arthur is across the room in three strides, his hands coming up to cradle Merlin’s face, to feel the solid, living reality of him.

Arthur: (his voice breaks, thick with relief and terror) I’m here. I’m here. (eyes scan the bindings, his jaw tightening as another tremor rocks the tower) I’ll get you out.

Drawing his sword, Arthur brings the pommel down on the chains with a clang that rings above the din of collapsing stone. Again. And again.

Merlin: (voice weak but urgent) Leave me! Get out!

Arthur: NO!

With a final, grating shriek of tortured metal, the chain snaps. Merlin slumps forward, his strength utterly spent, and falls into Arthur's waiting arms. For a moment, they simply stay there, Arthur holding him, Merlin clinging back with a desperate, bruising tightness. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Merlin's head.

There is no time for more. Another tremor shakes the tower, a slab of masonry crashing down where Arthur stood moments before. Gently but firmly, Arthur shifts, pulling Merlin's arm around his shoulders, taking his full weight.

Arthur: (commands, his voice rough but steady) Lean on me. Just keep moving

Together, they hobble through the shuddering, nightmare corridors—Arthur half-carrying, half-dragging him, Merlin stumbling but moving. And finally, they burst into the cold, clear air, the final, thunderous groans of the Dark Tower collapsing in on itself behind them. Every crash of stone is a reminder of how close death has been.

Merlin: (still clutching Arthur’s arm for support) You came… alone?

Gwaine: (brushes dust from his tunic as he and the other knights close in around them) No, he pretty much abandoned us in there. Charged ahead like a bull.

Merlin: (face lits up) Gwaine! (lets go of Arthur and moves to hug the knight, who returns the embrace with a hearty clap on the back) Leon! Percival! Elyan! (greets each in turn)

Arthur feels a strange, sharp twist in his chest—something hot and unpleasant he doesn't care to name. He watches as Merlin, who has just been clinging to him as a lifeline, now shares his affection with others.

Merlin: (his voice still shaky with wonder) You all came for me?

Leon: Why do you seem so surprised? (his expression shifts, the memory dawning) Oh… (falls silent, his eyes flicking uncertainly to Arthur)

Right. The magic. In the sheer terror of the rescue, Arthur forgot about it. The sight of Merlin in chains burned everything else away. But now, with Merlin safe and the impossible confession hanging in the air, reality comes crashing back. The fear isn't gone, but it is dwarfed by a more profound realization: he can not lose this man. Not to a tower, and not to a law.

Arthur: (stepping forward, his voice carefully neutral) Merlin. My knights… they saw something. When Morgana ambushed you. If you… if you had magic. You don’t have to hide. Not from me. Not now.

Merlin: (looks at Arthur, then at the knights, his brow furrowing in perfect, believable confusion) Me? Having magic? Where did you get that idea?

A beat of stunned silence.

Percival: (utterly baffled) We saw you. Your eyes… they were gold. You threw the snakes back with… with magic.

Merlin: (shakes his head, a small, helpless gesture) I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t use magic at all. I couldn’t have.

Gwaine: (softer now, leaning in) Merlin, mate, you don’t have to lie. It’s us. We won’t do anything to you. We saw it.

Merlin: (his expression turns earnest, pleading) But I’m telling the truth. I don’t have magic. I’m not a sorcerer.

Arthur watches him, sees the clear confusion in his eyes. The tension that has coiled in his gut since Leon first spoke in the council chamber suddenly unspools into a wave of dizzying, vertiginous relief.

Arthur: (words rushed out, eager, absolving) It seems… it seems I was right. (looks at his knights, his authority returning, clinging to the simpler reality) It was an illusion. A trick from Morgana to turn us against each other. She must have made you see it.

The knights exchange glances. Leon’s jaw is tight; Percival’s brow furrowed in confusion. Gwaine stares at the ground, scuffing the dirt with his boot. They have seen it. The raw, golden power, the force that saved them. An illusion that vivid, that potent, seems… unlikely. Their loyalty to Merlin wars with the evidence of their own eyes.

Merlin: (noticing their hesitation, his voice trembles) You… you didn’t really believe it. Did you? (Tears well in his eyes, looking betrayed.) I’m not. I swear to you, on my mother’s life, I am not what you think.

The direct appeal, the raw hurt, is a masterstroke. It bypasses their logic and goes straight to their hearts.

Gwaine: (immediately, stepping forward) No, Merlin. Hey, look at me. (places a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder) Of course we believe you. We’re just… rattled. It’s been a long day.

Leon: (nods, his stern expression softening into one of protective resolve) He’s right. You are our friend. If you give us your word, then that is the truth we stand by.

Arthur watches the exchange, his own relief now mingling with a pang of something else—a twinge of inadequacy. Gwaine and Leon offered the immediate comfort, and silenced the doubt with brotherly certainty. He, the king, only offered a theory. He clears his throat, the need to reclaim the moment, to be the one Merlin looks to, suddenly urgent.

Arthur: (his voice firm, leaving no room for further discussion) Then it’s settled. We’re all in agreement. Merlin is no sorcerer. (meets Merlin’s tear-filled gaze, offering a small, reassuring nod) Now, let’s get you home.

Time skip.

Merlin can't believe it has been so easy.

As they ride back to Camelot, the towers of the castle growing on the horizon, he replays Morgana’s final instructions.

“They might believe you got your magic back, so when they ask, deny it at all cost. They must believe you are still the simpleton Arthur turned you into. They’ll try to trick you for sure. Try to make you believe you are safe to tell. Don’t be bought by their lies again.”

Now, with cold clarity, he sees the proof of her wisdom in every glance thrown his way. Their faces are masks of concern, but now he can see the lie beneath. Gwaine’s easy grin is a bit too wide, Leon’s assessing gaze a fraction too long. They are watching him, waiting for a slip.

And Arthur… the look of sheer, unguarded relief on Arthur’s face when Merlin tearfully denied his magic. It wasn’t a relief that his friend was safe from persecution. It was a relief at knowing the weapon remains disarmed. That the abomination was confirmed to be gone. The magic he took from me, Merlin thinks, the betrayal a fresh, hot wound. He stole my very nature and was glad to see it gone.

The memory of having to embrace them— to throw his arms around Arthur and lean into his supportive grip, to hug Gwaine, to accept Leon’s firm clasp—makes his skin crawl. He had to hug the people who had celebrated his mutilation. Had to smile at the man who looked at him with utter disgust and hatred in that tower. Who laughed at his suffering. Who actually despises him.

But he won’t have to pretend much longer. Soon, his true queen would take her rightful place on the throne. Morgana, his savior, his lady. And these smiling liars, this false king who broke him and called it salvation… they will be gone for good.

Arthur will be gone for good.

The thought brings a serene calm to his heart as he rides through the gates of the city he is destined to destroy from within. So he keeps his eyes wide, his smile grateful, and his hatred perfectly, patiently hidden.

...

Jonas: (follows her quickly)

Below, a knight stands valiantly against the bandits, soon joined by another man. As the clash of steel begin, Jonas whispers to his mistress.

Jonas: Mistress, what is it you are looking for?

Troll: Isn't a king's ward closer to his heart than some lady from a forgotten kingdom? Perhaps I should take her place instead.

Jonas: According to my research, the king views his ward more as a daughter. It would be harder for you to seduce him, mistress.

Troll: (smirks) Nothing a little enchantment can't handle. But first, let's see if she makes it out alive.

To their surprise, the two defenders swiftly defeat the bandits—all but their leader. In a final, desperate move, the brigand seizes one of the ladies, holding a blade to her throat.

Kendrick: Put down your weapons. Now! if you value your lady's life!

Lancelot: (warnly) If you value YOUR life, you'll let Lady Merelyn go this instant. That's the Prince's lo-ward you're holding.

Troll: (Surprised) The Prince has a ward too. (Turns to her servant, frowning) You didn't mention this, Jonas.

Jonas: Last I checked, he didn't. It must be a desperate lie to save her.

Before the standoff could escalate further, a third man appears from the shadows, and the bandit leader falls. The troll and her servant follow the group from a safe distance, concealed perfectly by the troll's magic. The troll's fingers twitch, considering whether to end them all now and simply take Morgana's place. But in that very moment, the knight shouts.

Lancelot: (shouts) She is the Prince's mistress!

Morgana and Gwen: (scold) Lancelot! 😠😠

Troll: (thinking) The Prince's mistress? (her attention turns to 'Lady Merelyn')

Merlin: (crosses his arms) Technically is true, but it sounds offensive when you say it like that, Lancelot.

Troll: (thinking) Interesting.

They follow the group until they enter The Citadel. The troll orders her servant to infiltrate the city the next morning and learn everything about the lady who was supposedly the prince's mistress.

After a few days, Jonas meets again with the troll in the depths of the woods.

Jonas: It seems the Prince is not so righteous as I was first told. He has had two lovers! Lady Merelyn and his manservant, Merlin. Though his affair with the lady was recent, and also brief. Apparently, he disposed of her after he learned she was tainted by those bandits, but others think it was rather due to his manservant's jealousy. Either way, no one has heard of the lady since that night. It's as if she vanished!

Troll: So she's gone. (smirks) Perfect.

Jonas: (eyes grow wide) You are not really considering… I already had the ingrediets to prepare the potion with Lady Catrina's—

Troll: Tell me, Jonas, what is the better target? A king who hasn't remarried for 20 years, still in love with his lost wife? Or a young, libertine prince who has already had two lovers?

Jonas: He might not be that easy of a target. Tales are told of this great love he has for his manservant. I was told he almost killed a man out of jealousy over him. And there was this time the king removed his title of prince and banished him—though it was only temporary—due to his fierce love for that boy!

Troll: (listens, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her face) Precisely. A passion that volatile is not a strength, Jonas. It is a magnificent weakness. A king who guards his heart is a fortress. But a prince who wears his on his sleeve? He is a house with its door unlocked. (picks up a dark, twisted amulet from a pouch at her belt) But just in case, I'll make sure this Merlin doesn't become a problem. (her eyes land on Jonas again) Do you have the dagger?

Jonas: (holds up the dagger the bandit leader had held to Merlin's neck) Yes, Mistress.

Troll: Blood?

Jonas: (inspects the blade carefully) No, but it has a bit of sweat.

Troll: It'll have to be enough.

Jonas: Do you want me to get you a portrait of the lady, Mistress?

Troll: (a predatory gleam in her eyes as she closes her hand around the amulet and the dagger) Oh, no. Don't worry. I remember her features perfectly.

Back to the present.

In Merlin's chambers. Morning.

Merlin: (enchanting a painted pebble on his table) Astyre þing thanonweard. (eyes turn gold)

The pebble vanishes.

Merlin: (hits the table in frustration) Damn it!

Arthur: (enters, angry, but not really) What is it you are so busy doing that you haven't brought my breakfast yet?

Merlin: (Exhausted) I'm sorry. I was practicing a spell—

Arthur: (lights up immediately) Really? Can I see?

Merlin: (looks up, stunned, and then chuckles) I'm starting to think you have a kink for me doing magic.

Arthur: Maybe I do. 😏

Merlin: (scolds, but also blushes a bit) Arthur!

Arthur: Your words, not mine. Now, are you going to show me a proper spell, or do I have to starve in vain?

Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Look if you want, but I still haven't been able to make it work.

Arthur: (stands on the other side of the table and watches intently)

Merlin: (grabs another painted pebble and enchants it again) Astyre þing thanonweard. (eyes turn gold)

The new pebble vanishes.

Arthur: (claps) It worked! 😄

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (his smile fades) Did it not?

Merlin: (lets out a frustrated snarl and sweeps the remaining pebbles off the table, angry) It was supposed to reappear there! (He points to the empty space on the other side of the table)

Arthur: ...Oh.

Merlin: (paces back and forth) This is perfect, just perfect. I'm Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth! I can conjure lightning, slow down time, I turned a damn dog statue into a real, living, breathing dog! That's basically creating life! But I can't do a simple, basic, stupid teleportation spell!

Arthur: (watches him pace for a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face) Maybe… you're trying too hard?

Merlin: (Stops pacing and stares at him) What?

Arthur: Well, with the big things—the lightning, the… slow-down—time it's all instinct, isn't it? You don't think, you just… do. It's like when I'm in a real fight, I'm not thinking about my footwork. But if I stop and think about where to place my feet during a simple training exercise, I end up flat on my backside. Maybe you're thinking about it so much you're getting in your own way.

Merlin: (Sighs) So you're saying I'm overthinking a spell that requires perfect thought?

Arthur: (shrugs) I'm saying maybe you should stop trying to force the pebble there, (he points across the table) and just… let it go elsewhere.

Merlin: (desperate) No! It has to go where I want it to go! That's what a teleportation spell is for. (almost shouting) If I let it go where it wants to go, it would have served for nothing!

Arthur: (moving his hands in a calm gesture) Alright! I get it. Relax. You'll get it eventually. Why does it have to work now?

Merlin: Because it… I—(thinking) It would have helped when I needed to bring you to the lake sooner that day. Or to get to you in time before Mordred… (His shoulders slump in resignation and says) You're right. It can wait.

Arthur: Good. Now, about that breakfast? I really am starving.

Merlin: (manages a small, genuine smile) Coming right up, my lord. (He is about to head for the door, but suddenly turns to his pots of lilies on the window and laughs)

Arthur: (smiles) What's so funny?

Merlin: Nothing. My lilies are arguing about who is prettiest.

Arthur: (his smile fades) What?

Merlin: Honestly, when I asked you for the white lily, I just wanted the purple lily to have a friend, but all they do is fight—

Arthur: You can speak to plants?

Merlin: (realises) Oh, right. I didn't tell you that. Yes, I can speak to plants. Or rather, they speak to me. It kind of came with the whole "feeling the pain of the trees" thing. I can't believe I forgot to mention it—

Arthur: (eyes scan Merlin with deep concern, his hands patting his shoulders and arms as if checking for a fever... or something more)

Merlin: What—Arthur, what are you doing?

Arthur: Since when have you been able to speak to plants?

Merlin: Almost since the pain started, though the voices have been getting stronger—Arthur, are you okay? You are pale.

Arthur: (upset, in panic) You should have told me! I didn't know it was getting this bad. (runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself) No, no, no… I need more time!

Merlin: Wait… you still think this is a sickness?

Arthur: (Shouts) IT IS!

Merlin: No! (reaches out and holds Arthur's face, forcing him to meet his gaze) Look at me. I'm fine. Gaius disguised it as a sickness because we couldn't tell you I had magic at the time. This "tree-power-sense" is just part of my habilities. It's not hurting me, Arthur. It's just… me.

Arthur: (a long, heavy pause) Is that really what you think?

Merlin: Well, Gaius thinks so. (Thinking) And I can't exactly explain this is a side effect of my sidhe time travel.

Arthur: But it causes you pain.

Merlin: Not as much as before. I'm getting used to it. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? What else could it be?

Arthur: … Right. It makes sense. (Thinking) Of course he would think that. He doesn't know about my bargain.

Merlin: (watches the sun through the window) Look at the time! I'll bring you your breakfast-

Arthur: Forget it. I'm not hungry anymore. (turns and leaves abruptly, the door closing with a soft but final click behind him)

Merlin: (watches him leave, confused and concerned, thinking) What was that? He believes me… so why does he look more frightened than before?

Time skip. Merlin picks mushrooms in the forest while his guards watch him.

Merlin: (kneeling down to examine a patch of mushrooms) I thought you three were going to take turns on this duty.

Percival: (arms crossed, scanning the treeline) Well, the forest can be very dangerous.

Merlin: It is not!

Lancelot: A sorceress and a griffin attacked in this very forest, Merlin. And each one on different days.

Merlin: That was ages ago! And I defeated them, remember? I'm not helpless.

Gwaine: (eyes wide with excitement) You encountered a griffin and a sorceress?! And defeated them with magic?! Now I have to see that.

Merlin: (snorts as he rolls up his monk sleeves) The only thing you are going to see is me collecting mushrooms and herbs, so enjoy the show. (gently places a hand on a mushroom and whispers to it) Forgive me. I promise your sacrifice won't be in vain. (pulls the mushroom from the earth and flinches slightly, as if feeling a small pang) There you go. (He carefully places the mushroom in his basket)

Gwaine: (whispers to Lancelot) Why does he do that with every plant he collects?

Lancelot: (whispers back) It's part of his powers. I'll explain later.

Merlin: (freezes mid-movement, his hand hovering over another mushroom. His head tilts as if listening to a distant sound)

Lancelot: (worried) Merlin? What is it?

Trees: (a chorus of silent, urgent voices only Merlin can hear) Danger… Monster in camouflage… coming… large stone human lair! Danger… Monster in camouflage… coming… large stone human lair!

Merlin: (murmurs, processing the message) Great stone human lair? (His eyes go wide in horrified realization) The castle! A monster is going to the castle!

Lancelot: The trees spoke to you again?

Percival: (utterly confused) The trees?

Merlin: They said a monster in disguise— (Thinking, panic dawning as a memory clicks into place) Catrina! (scrambles to his feet, shouting) We have to go back! Now! (sprints toward his mare)

Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine: (Immediately break into a run toward their own horses, their casual demeanor vanishing)

Gwaine: (Smirking as he swings himself up into the saddle) Finally, some action!

Meanwhile, in the Training Grounds. Arthur dismisses his knights after an exhaustive training session. Already out of his armor, Arthur stands alone, wiping his brow, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Leon: (approaches cautiously) My lord? Are you alright? You seem worried.

Arthur: (turns to him, his expression grave) Leon, before you go to your trip, I need you to send a message to Sir Florence.

Leon: (pauses, surprised) The… executioner?

Arthur: (nods) It's regarding a private and urgent matter. Tell him I'll meet him in the dungeons tomorrow at dawn. No word to anyone. Not even my father or Merlin. Understood?

Leon: (though clearly confused, he bows without question) Yes, Sire. (He turns and leaves swiftly.)

Arthur: (watches him go, then mutters to himself, frustrated) Morgause is not arriving fast enough…

Lady Merelyn: (calls out from behind him, with a sweet voice) My lord!

Arthur: (turns, and does a double-take, his voice a surprised whisper) Merlin?

Lady Merelyn: (approaches and gracefully pushes back her hood, revealing a stunning white dress beneath her traveling cape) Have you forgotten me already, my lord? Haven't you missed me? (acts dramatically hurt, but her eyes remain seductive and playful)

Arthur: (thinking) Oh, so we are playing this again. Alright 😏 (says, a charming smile) Of course I missed you. I'd never forget a Lady like you.

Lady Merlyn: (giggles) I'm so glad to hear it. I simply couldn't stay away. There are… unfinished matters between us, are there not? (puts a hand on his chest seductively)

Arthur: (looks at her, captivated, but his eyes dart around the public training ground) As much as I'm loving this, we should take this somewhere more private. I don't want to put you in trouble again.

Lady Merelyn: (gasps) Oh, you are so bold, my lord. (pats his chest playfully, but suddenly a searing pain shoots through her hand) AH! (jerks her hand back, turning away from him to hide her pained expression)

Arthur: (his playful demeanor vanishes instantly, replaced by frantic concern) Are you alright? What happened?

Lady Merelyn: (her hand looks like a troll's for just a split second, but when she faces Arthur again it's back to 'normal') Nothing, just a cramp, my lord. (Her smile tightens as she notices the necklace under the prince's clothes, thinking) What is this? Another amulet? Has someone else put a spell on him? No, this is different. It's a protection amulet. Why is the Prince of Camelot wearing something like this?

Arthur: (Thinking, in panic) Is it happening, already? Is he turning? (Says, as calmly as he can) Let me see. (gently grabs her wrist to inspect her hand, his thumb brushing over her unmarked skin, and he sighs in visible relief) It looks fine. But we should go to Gaius just in case.

Lady Merelyn: I am really fine, my lord. You don't have to worry. (thinking) I didn't think I'll have to use this so soon, but it seems I'll have too. (shifts back into her seductive mode, covering her momentary shock with a dazzling smile and says) Please, accept this gift from me. I came from so far just to give it to you. (takes out her own enchanted amulet, holding it out enticingly)

Arthur: (thinking) He REALLY wants to stay in character. (Says, smiling fondly as he takes the amulet) You made this one too? Just for me?

Lady Merelyn: (nods, her eyes gleaming with anticipation) Put it on.

Arthur: (starts to lift the enchanted amulet, about to put it on)

Lady Merelyn: Oh, but take off the other necklace first.

Arthur: (frowns, his hand pausing near his neck) But… you gifted this one to me.

Lady Merelyn: This one is better.

Arthur: But—

Lady Merelyn: (caressing his arm, her voice a silken whisper) Trust me. (She bats her eyelashes) For me?

Arthur: (turns playful, a smirk on his face) Well, how can I say no to a lady? (starts to lift his own protective necklace over his head)

Merlin: (Running, shouts from the distance) ARTHUR!

Arthur: (With the necklace just above his head, turns toward the voice, his eyes going wide) What—?

Lady Merelyn: (in a quick movement, snatches Arthur's necklace from his hands and clasps her own enchanted amulet around his neck)

Merlin: NO! (runs faster)

Jonas: (leaps from the shadows, throwing himself at Merlin to stop him)

Gwaine: (acts instantly, grabbing Jonas and immobilizing him with ease) I don't think so.

Lady Merelyn: (drops to the ground, clutching her hands as if burned, Arthur's protective amulet falling to the ground beside her) My hands!

Arthur: (stands utterly stunned, the new amulet glowing with a faint, sinister red light against his chest)

Merlin: (arrives, breathless and furious, raises a hand, about to cast a spell directly at 'Lady Merelyn')

Lancelot: WAIT! (grabs Merlin's arm, signaling discreetly) There are people around.

Merlin looks around and, indeed, there are servants and guards gathering around. Merlin curses the gossipy people.

Gwaine: (looking at Lady Merelyn) What the fu— 😨

Enchanted Arthur: (blinks, as if clearing a fog, and looks at Lady Merelyn with extreme worry) My lady! (rushes to help her up, supporting her gently) Are you hurt?

Merlin: Arthur, she is not—

Enchanted Arthur: (passes Merlin as if he were a ghost, his focus entirely on the woman in his arms) I'll take you to the physician immediately.

Lady Merelyn: Oh, there's no need, my lord. (looks over at Gwaine, who is still restraining Jonas) You! Let go of my servant this instant!

Gwaine: (his voice firm) With all due respect, my lady. I don't receive orders from you.

Enchanted Arthur: Let him go.

Gwaine: But Sire—

Enchanted Arthur: This instant. What is this way of treating our guests?

Gwaine: (Releases Jonas reluctantly, his jaw tight) Yes, Sire.

Merlin: Arthur! (steps directly in front of Arthur, blocking his path) She is not me, can't you see it?

Enchanted Arthur: (doesn't acknowledge Merlin, his gaze looking straight through him as if he's not there.)

Merlin: (realization hits him, and his face drains of color, murmurs) He… he can't see me. Or hear me. The amulet… it's like it blocks me.

Lancelot: (whispering to himself) Oh, gods. He's enchanted again. 🤦‍♂️

Gwaine: (Who is close enough to hear Lancelot) What do you mean, "again"?! 😨

Arthur: (to Percival, Gwaine, and Lancelot, a confused expression on his face) Are you new? Your faces seem familiar, but I can't remember your names.

Gwaine: (angry) Oh, I'll tell you exactly who we are. We—

Lancelot: (cutting in smoothly, giving Gwaine a sharp warning look) Were recently hired by the king, my lord. For your personal security.

Merlin: (seizes the moment of distraction to lunge forward, trying to snatch the amulet from Arthur's neck)

Lady Merelyn: (moves with surprising speed, putting herself between Merlin and Arthur and clutching Arthur's arm.) My lord, I would like to speak to your father, the king. It's regarding my honor, and it's important.

Arthur: (looking at her lovingly) Of course, my lady. (turns back to the knights, his tone dismissive) Move.

Merlin: (frustrated at being unable to use his magic openly, whispers desperately to the others) Don't leave him alone with her!

Lancelot: We are supposed to escort you, my lord. It is our duty.

Arthur: I'm not a child. I don't need three escorts.

Lancelot: These are the king's orders.

Arthur: (his eyes scan the knights and land on the most imposing one.) You. (He points at Percival.) You can escort me. (He glares at Lancelot and Gwaine.) You two, leave. (Thinking) I can't tell why, but I don't like these two.

Gwaine and Lancelot: (Reluctantly bow their heads) Yes, Sire. (turn and walk away, only to slip behind a nearby pillar to observe)

Lady Merelyn: Oh, Sire. If it is not too much to ask, could a maidservant accompany us too? I wouldn't want to overwork my poor Jonas after such a long journey.

Arthur: (smiling indulgently) Your wish is my command. (spots a maidservant in the crowd.) You, there. Come here.

Maidservant: (Approaches and curtsies) Yes, my lord.

Merlin: (thinking) She's making sure I'm never alone with him. Ensuring there's always a witness. She's smarter than I thought.

Enchanted Arthur and Lady Merelyn: (leave with Jonas, Percival and the maidservant following closely behind)

Merlin: (Watches them leave, hurt. Then his eyes fall on the discarded protective necklace lying on the ground, strides over and snatches it up, his hurt instantly curdling into white-hot rage) You stupid idiot! Why did I even get you this for?! (thinking) Why the hell did Catrina choose Arthur over Uther this time? Another time travel consequence? Why do things keep changing?!

Lancelot: (approaches and places a steadying hand on Merlin's shoulder, his voice low and urgent) Merlin, breathe. We need to think. What is our next move?

Gwaine: (striding over) I would like to know first how on earth you duplicated yourself.

Merlin: I didn't duplicate myself. She is a troll in disguise.

Gwaine: What?! 😨 A troll?!

Merlin: (noticing the lingering servants still watching them) I'll explain everything somewhere more private. (turns to Lancelot, clutching the amulet tightly.) You are right. We need a plan.

Time skip. In Morgana's chambers. Gwaine, Lancelot, Morgana and Merlin gathered in a hushed meeting.

Morgana: (Looking around, to herself) Why do I feel my chambers have turned into a secret stronghold?

Lancelot: Trying to remove the amulet is out of the question. She's always alert, and we can't do it without it looking as if we're attacking a lady.

Merlin: (sighs in frustration) And she makes sure they're always in public places so I can't use my magic without being seen.

Morgana: (horrified, eyes wide) Merlin! 😨

Lancelot: (in a hushed panic) Are you serious?!

Gwaine: (gesturing wildly toward Morgana) The king's ward is right there!

Merlin: (waving a hand dismissively) Oh, right, I forgot. Morgana, they know about me. (To Lancelot and Gwaine) She knows too.

Lancelot: (brings a hand to his chest in relief) Thank the gods.

Morgana: I can't believe you! 😡

Gwaine: (shaking his head in disbelief) Both the prince and the king's ward know about the infiltrated sorcerer. Why am I even surprised anymore?

Merlin: Can we get back on the subject? We have to break the troll's enchantment.

Gwaine: Why don't we just tell the king his son is enchanted?

Lancelot: We may be Merlin's guards, but we are still peasants. We can't accuse a noble lady. Our word means nothing unless we have solid proof. Which we don't.

Morgana: And I already tried, but she made it seem like I was just jealous of her. The manipulative bitch. And Uther is so desperate for Arthur to marry a noble lady, that for once I think he wouldn't mind overlooking her… lack of pedigree.

Gwaine: She doesn't have a pedigree! She's not even a real lady. Merlin made her up!

Morgana: But nobody else knows that.

Lancelot: (eyes lighting up) Oh, Leon could tell the king! He knows about Merlin being Lady Merelyn, and he's a noble. His word would carry weight.

Morgana: He's away on a journey. He won't be back until tomorrow.

Gwen: (enters, breathless, and says urgently) They are in an audience with the king right now. From what I overheard, I think Arthur is going to ask for her hand in marriage!

Merlin: (his expression turning resolute) We don't have until tomorrow. I know how to break the enchantment. Arthur has to cry tears of true remorse.

Gwen: (frowns in confusion) How do you know that?

Merlin: I… read it. Basic… uh… Physician's Apprentice knowledge. (coughs) So the only thing we have to do is make Arthur believe someone very dear to him has died.

Gwaine: Then it's solved. You just have to pretend to be dead.

Merlin: (looks at him, exasperated) How is that supposed to work if he can't see me? The spell blocks me from his sight entirely. He wouldn't even know I was 'dead'.

Morgana: (straightening her shoulders with resolve) So it'll have to be me.

Merlin: There's a potion that can give the appearance of death if you drink it. It's a bit risky, but if you're willing to take it—

Lancelot: (interrupting, his voice firm with concern) Wait. This might not turn out well.

Merlin: Why?

Lancelot: Passing Morgana off for dead could have serious consequences. How do you think the king will react if he finds out his ward is dead, or that someone attempted her life? He almost executed dozens of suspects when her room caught fire. This would be far worse.

Gwen: It is true. And you already got into a lot of trouble when you were accused of trying to kill the king, Merlin.

Gwaine: He what?! 😨

Morgana: I think we are overcomplicating this. We just have to prove this "Lady Merelyn" is enchanting Arthur. We need proof Uther can't refute.

Merlin: We don't have proof!

Morgana: Don't we? (smirks) We have the real Lady Merelyn (points directly at Merlin) right here.

Merlin: ...

Merlin: You have to be kidding me.🤦‍♂️

Gwaine: (thoroughly confused) I'm not quite getting it.

Gwen: (already running to Morgana's wardrobe, excited) I know just the dress!

Lancelot: I'll get the wig. (begins looking around the room)

Morgana: (picking up a pair of silk stockings and looking at them critically) What do you think? (throws them at Merlin)

Merlin: (catches them automatically)

Lancelot and Gwaine: (freeze, staring at the stockings in Merlin's hands with identical looks of horror, acutely aware that they are a distinctly feminine undergarment)

Merlin: (looks down at the stockings, then back at their horrified faces, and lets out a sigh) These will do.

Gwaine: (a wide, gleeful grin spreading across his face) Oh. Now I'm getting it.

Merlin: Yeah, yeah. Once we've saved Arthur, I'm going to kill him myself.

FIRST PART (SERIES 1) >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

...

Sorry fot the delay! University is hard 😓

Now, for this part—I'm sure this turn of events was a surprise! As I've mentioned before, a common trope in another time travel merlin fics that bothers me is when the time traveler (Merlin or Arthur usually) remembers everything with perfect, linear clarity (and let's be honest, nobody has that good memory) and their actions don't create a significant butterfly effect.

So I wanted to explore a version where this did happen. I hope this butterfly effect felt organic to the plot and not forced. Let me know what you think!

Jonas: (follows her quickly)

Below, a knight stands valiantly against the bandits, soon joined by another man. As the clash of steel begin, Jonas whispers to his mistress.

Jonas: Mistress, what is it you are looking for?

Troll: Isn't a king's ward closer to his heart than some lady from a forgotten kingdom? Perhaps I should take her place instead.

Jonas: According to my research, the king views his ward more as a daughter. It would be harder for you to seduce him, mistress.

Troll: (smirks) Nothing a little enchantment can't handle. But first, let's see if she makes it out alive.

To their surprise, the two defenders swiftly defeat the bandits—all but their leader. In a final, desperate move, the brigand seizes one of the ladies, holding a blade to her throat.

Kendrick: Put down your weapons. Now! if you value your lady's life!

Lancelot: (warnly) If you value YOUR life, you'll let Lady Merelyn go this instant. That's the Prince's lo-ward you're holding.

Troll: (Surprised) The Prince has a ward too. (Turns to her servant, frowning) You didn't mention this, Jonas.

Jonas: Last I checked, he didn't. It must be a desperate lie to save her.

Before the standoff could escalate further, a third man appears from the shadows, and the bandit leader falls. The troll and her servant follow the group from a safe distance, concealed perfectly by the troll's magic. The troll's fingers twitch, considering whether to end them all now and simply take Morgana's place. But in that very moment, the knight shouts.

Lancelot: (shouts) She is the Prince's mistress!

Morgana and Gwen: (scold) Lancelot! 😠😠

Troll: (thinking) The Prince's mistress? (her attention turns to 'Lady Merelyn')

Merlin: (crosses his arms) Technically is true, but it sounds offensive when you say it like that, Lancelot.

Troll: (thinking) Interesting.

They follow the group until they enter The Citadel. The troll orders her servant to infiltrate the city the next morning and learn everything about the lady who was supposedly the prince's mistress.

After a few days, Jonas meets again with the troll in the depths of the woods.

Jonas: It seems the Prince is not so righteous as I was first told. He has had two lovers! Lady Merelyn and his manservant, Merlin. Though his affair with the lady was recent, and also brief. Apparently, he disposed of her after he learned she was tainted by those bandits, but others think it was rather due to his manservant's jealousy. Either way, no one has heard of the lady since that night. It's as if she vanished!

Troll: So she's gone. (smirks) Perfect.

Jonas: (eyes grow wide) You are not really considering… I already had the ingrediets to prepare the potion with Lady Catrina's—

Troll: Tell me, Jonas, what is the better target? A king who hasn't remarried for 20 years, still in love with his lost wife? Or a young, libertine prince who has already had two lovers?

Jonas: He might not be that easy of a target. Tales are told of this great love he has for his manservant. I was told he almost killed a man out of jealousy over him. And there was this time the king removed his title of prince and banished him—though it was only temporary—due to his fierce love for that boy!

Troll: (listens, a slow, calculating smile spreading across her face) Precisely. A passion that volatile is not a strength, Jonas. It is a magnificent weakness. A king who guards his heart is a fortress. But a prince who wears his on his sleeve? He is a house with its door unlocked. (picks up a dark, twisted amulet from a pouch at her belt) But just in case, I'll make sure this Merlin doesn't become a problem. (her eyes land on Jonas again) Do you have the dagger?

Jonas: (holds up the dagger the bandit leader had held to Merlin's neck) Yes, Mistress.

Troll: Blood?

Jonas: (inspects the blade carefully) No, but it has a bit of sweat.

Troll: It'll have to be enough.

Jonas: Do you want me to get you a portrait of the lady, Mistress?

Troll: (a predatory gleam in her eyes as she closes her hand around the amulet and the dagger) Oh, no. Don't worry. I remember her features perfectly.

Back to the present.

In Merlin's chambers. Morning.

Merlin: (enchanting a painted pebble on his table) Astyre þing thanonweard. (eyes turn gold)

The pebble vanishes.

Merlin: (hits the table in frustration) Damn it!

Arthur: (enters, angry, but not really) What is it you are so busy doing that you haven't brought my breakfast yet?

Merlin: (Exhausted) I'm sorry. I was practicing a spell—

Arthur: (lights up immediately) Really? Can I see?

Merlin: (looks up, stunned, and then chuckles) I'm starting to think you have a kink for me doing magic.

Arthur: Maybe I do. 😏

Merlin: (scolds, but also blushes a bit) Arthur!

Arthur: Your words, not mine. Now, are you going to show me a proper spell, or do I have to starve in vain?

Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Look if you want, but I still haven't been able to make it work.

Arthur: (stands on the other side of the table and watches intently)

Merlin: (grabs another painted pebble and enchants it again) Astyre þing thanonweard. (eyes turn gold)

The new pebble vanishes.

Arthur: (claps) It worked! 😄

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (his smile fades) Did it not?

Merlin: (lets out a frustrated snarl and sweeps the remaining pebbles off the table, angry) It was supposed to reappear there! (He points to the empty space on the other side of the table)

Arthur: ...Oh.

Merlin: (paces back and forth) This is perfect, just perfect. I'm Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth! I can conjure lightning, slow down time, I turned a damn dog statue into a real, living, breathing dog! That's basically creating life! But I can't do a simple, basic, stupid teleportation spell!

Arthur: (watches him pace for a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face) Maybe… you're trying too hard?

Merlin: (Stops pacing and stares at him) What?

Arthur: Well, with the big things—the lightning, the… slow-down—time it's all instinct, isn't it? You don't think, you just… do. It's like when I'm in a real fight, I'm not thinking about my footwork. But if I stop and think about where to place my feet during a simple training exercise, I end up flat on my backside. Maybe you're thinking about it so much you're getting in your own way.

Merlin: (Sighs) So you're saying I'm overthinking a spell that requires perfect thought?

Arthur: (shrugs) I'm saying maybe you should stop trying to force the pebble there, (he points across the table) and just… let it go elsewhere.

Merlin: (desperate) No! It has to go where I want it to go! That's what a teleportation spell is for. (almost shouting) If I let it go where it wants to go, it would have served for nothing!

Arthur: (moving his hands in a calm gesture) Alright! I get it. Relax. You'll get it eventually. Why does it have to work now?

Merlin: Because it… I—(thinking) It would have helped when I needed to bring you to the lake sooner that day. Or to get to you in time before Mordred… (His shoulders slump in resignation and says) You're right. It can wait.

Arthur: Good. Now, about that breakfast? I really am starving.

Merlin: (manages a small, genuine smile) Coming right up, my lord. (He is about to head for the door, but suddenly turns to his pots of lilies on the window and laughs)

Arthur: (smiles) What's so funny?

Merlin: Nothing. My lilies are arguing about who is prettiest.

Arthur: (his smile fades) What?

Merlin: Honestly, when I asked you for the white lily, I just wanted the purple lily to have a friend, but all they do is fight—

Arthur: You can speak to plants?

Merlin: (realises) Oh, right. I didn't tell you that. Yes, I can speak to plants. Or rather, they speak to me. It kind of came with the whole "feeling the pain of the trees" thing. I can't believe I forgot to mention it—

Arthur: (eyes scan Merlin with deep concern, his hands patting his shoulders and arms as if checking for a fever... or something more)

Merlin: What—Arthur, what are you doing?

Arthur: Since when have you been able to speak to plants?

Merlin: Almost since the pain started, though the voices have been getting stronger—Arthur, are you okay? You are pale.

Arthur: (upset, in panic) You should have told me! I didn't know it was getting this bad. (runs a hand through his hair, muttering to himself) No, no, no… I need more time!

Merlin: Wait… you still think this is a sickness?

Arthur: (Shouts) IT IS!

Merlin: No! (reaches out and holds Arthur's face, forcing him to meet his gaze) Look at me. I'm fine. Gaius disguised it as a sickness because we couldn't tell you I had magic at the time. This "tree-power-sense" is just part of my habilities. It's not hurting me, Arthur. It's just… me.

Arthur: (a long, heavy pause) Is that really what you think?

Merlin: Well, Gaius thinks so. (Thinking) And I can't exactly explain this is a side effect of my sidhe time travel.

Arthur: But it causes you pain.

Merlin: Not as much as before. I'm getting used to it. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? What else could it be?

Arthur: … Right. It makes sense. (Thinking) Of course he would think that. He doesn't know about my bargain.

Merlin: (watches the sun through the window) Look at the time! I'll bring you your breakfast-

Arthur: Forget it. I'm not hungry anymore. (turns and leaves abruptly, the door closing with a soft but final click behind him)

Merlin: (watches him leave, confused and concerned) (thinking) What was that? He believes me… so why does he look more frightened than before?

Time skip. Merlin picks mushrooms in the forest while his guards watch him.

Merlin: (kneeling down to examine a patch of mushrooms) I thought you three were going to take turns on this duty.

Percival: (arms crossed, scanning the treeline) Well, the forest can be very dangerous.

Merlin: It is not!

Lancelot: A sorceress and a griffin attacked in this very forest, Merlin. And each one on different days.Merlin: That was ages ago! And I defeated them, remember? I'm not helpless.

Gwaine: (eyes wide with excitement) You encountered a griffin and a sorceress?! And defeated them with magic?! Now I have to see that.

Merlin: (snorts as he rolls up his monk sleeves) The only thing you are going to see is me collecting mushrooms and herbs, so enjoy the show. (He gently places a hand on a mushroom and whispers to it) Forgive me. I promise your sacrifice won't be in vain. (pulls the mushroom from the earth and flinches slightly, as if feeling a small pang) There you go. (He carefully places the mushroom in his basket)

Gwaine: (whispers to Lancelot) Why does he do that with every plant he collects?

Lancelot: (whispers back) It's part of his powers. I'll explain later.

Merlin: (freezes mid-movement, his hand hovering over another mushroom. His head tilts as if listening to a distant sound)

Lancelot: (worried) Merlin? What is it?

Trees: (a chorus of silent, urgent voices only Merlin can hear) Danger… Monster in camouflage… coming… large stone human lair! Danger… Monster in camouflage… coming… large stone human lair!

Merlin: (murmurs, processing the message) Great stone human lair? (His eyes go wide in horrified realization) The castle! A monster is going to the castle!

Lancelot: The trees spoke to you again?

Percival: (utterly confused) The trees?

Merlin: They said a monster in disguise— (Thinking, panic dawning as a memory clicks into place) Catrina! (scrambles to his feet, shouting) We have to go back! Now! (sprints toward his mare)

Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine: (Immediately break into a run toward their own horses, their casual demeanor vanishing)

Gwaine: (Smirking as he swings himself up into the saddle) Finally, some action!

Meanwhile, in the Training Grounds. Arthur dismisses his knights after an exhaustive training session. Already out of his armor, Arthur stands alone, wiping his brow, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Leon: (approaches cautiously) My lord? Are you alright? You seem worried.

Arthur: (turns to him, his expression grave) Leon, before you go to your trip, I need you to send a message to Sir Florence.

Leon: (pauses, surprised) The… executioner?

Arthur: (nods) It's regarding a private and urgent matter. Tell him I'll meet him in the dungeons tomorrow at dawn. No word to anyone. Not even my father or Merlin. Understood?

Leon: (though clearly confused, he bows without question) Yes, Sire. (He turns and leaves swiftly.)

Arthur: (watches him go, then mutters to himself, frustrated) Morgause is not arriving fast enough…

Lady Merelyn: (calls out from behind him, with a sweet voice) My lord!

Arthur: (turns, and does a double-take, his voice a surprised whisper) Merlin?

Lady Merelyn: (approaches and gracefully pushes back her hood, revealing a stunning white dress beneath her traveling cape) Have you forgotten me already, my lord? Haven't you missed me? (acts dramatically hurt, but her eyes remain seductive and playful)

Arthur: (thinking) Oh, so we are playing this again. Alright 😏 (says, a charming smile) Of course I missed you. I'd never forget a Lady like you.

Lady Merlyn: (giggles) I'm so glad to hear it. I simply couldn't stay away. There are… unfinished matters between us, are there not? (puts a hand on his chest seductively)

Arthur: (looks at her, captivated, but his eyes dart around the public training ground) As much as I'm loving this, we should take this somewhere more private. I don't want to put you in trouble again.

Lady Merelyn: (gasps) Oh, you are so bold, my lord. (pats his chest playfully, but suddenly a searing pain shoots through her hand) AH! (jerks her hand back, turning away from him to hide her pained expression)

Arthur: (his playful demeanor vanishes instantly, replaced by frantic concern) Are you alright? What happened?

Lady Merelyn: (her hand looks like a troll's for just a split second, but when she faces Arthur again it's back to 'normal') Nothing, just a cramp, my lord. (Her smile tightens as she notices the necklace under the prince's clothes, thinking) What is this? Another amulet? Has someone else put a spell on him? No, this is different. It's a protection amulet. Why is the Prince of Camelot wearing something like this?

Arthur: (Thinking, in panic) Is it happening, already? Is he turning? (Says, as calmly as he can) Let me see. (gently grabs her wrist to inspect her hand, his thumb brushing over her unmarked skin, and he sighs in visible relief) It looks fine. But we should go to Gaius just in case.

Lady Merelyn: I am really fine, my lord. You don't have to worry. (thinking) I didn't think I'll have to use this so soon, but it seems I'll have too. (shifts back into her seductive mode, covering her momentary shock with a dazzling smile and says) Please, accept this gift from me. I came from so far just to give it to you. (takes out her own enchanted amulet, holding it out enticingly)

Arthur: (thinking) He REALLY wants to stay in character. (Says, smiling fondly as he takes the amulet) You made this one too? Just for me?

Lady Merelyn: (nods, her eyes gleaming with anticipation) Put it on.

Arthur: (starts to lift the enchanted amulet, about to put it on)

Lady Merelyn: Oh, but take off the other necklace first.

Arthur: (frowns, his hand pausing near his neck) But… you gifted this one to me.

Lady Merelyn: This one is better.

Arthur: But—

Lady Merelyn: (caressing his arm, her voice a silken whisper) Trust me. (She bats her eyelashes) For me?

Arthur: (turns playful, a smirk on his face) Well, how can I say no to a lady? (starts to lift his own protective necklace over his head)

Merlin: (Running, shouts from the distance) ARTHUR!

Arthur: (With the necklace just above his head, turns toward the voice, his eyes going wide) What—?

Lady Merelyn: (in a quick movement, snatches Arthur's necklace from his hands and clasps her own enchanted amulet around his neck)

Merlin: NO! (runs faster)

Jonas: (leaps from the shadows, throwing himself at Merlin to stop him)

Gwaine: (acts instantly, grabbing Jonas and immobilizing him with ease) I don't think so.

Lady Merelyn: (drops to the ground, clutching her hands as if burned, Arthur's protective amulet falling to the ground beside her) My hands!

Arthur: (stands utterly stunned, the new amulet glowing with a faint, sinister red light against his chest)

Merlin: (arrives, breathless and furious, raises a hand, about to cast a spell directly at 'Lady Merelyn')

Lancelot: WAIT! (grabs Merlin's arm, signaling discreetly) There are people around.

Merlin looks around and, indeed, there are servants and guards gathering around. Merlin curses the gossipy people.

Gwaine: (looking at Lady Merelyn) What the fu— 😨

Enchanted Arthur: (blinks, as if clearing a fog, and looks at Lady Merelyn with extreme worry) My lady! (rushes to help her up, supporting her gently) Are you hurt?

Merlin: Arthur, she is not—

Enchanted Arthur: (passes Merlin as if he were a ghost, his focus entirely on the woman in his arms) I'll take you to the physician immediately.

Lady Merelyn: Oh, there's no need, my lord. (looks over at Gwaine, who is still restraining Jonas) You! Let go of my servant this instant!

Gwaine: (his voice firm) With all due respect, my lady. I don't receive orders from you.

Enchanted Arthur: Let him go.

Gwaine: But Sire—

Enchanted Arthur: This instant. What is this way of treating our guests?

Gwaine: (Releases Jonas reluctantly, his jaw tight) Yes, Sire.

Merlin: Arthur! (steps directly in front of Arthur, blocking his path) She is not me, can't you see it?

Enchanted Arthur: (doesn't acknowledge Merlin, his gaze looking straight through him as if he's not there.)

Merlin: (realization hits him, and his face drains of color, murmurs) He… he can't see me. Or hear me. The amulet… it's like it blocks me.

Lancelot: (whispering to himself) Oh, gods. He's enchanted again. 🤦‍♂️

Gwaine: (Who is close enough to hear Lancelot) What do you mean, "again"?! 😨

Arthur: (to Percival, Gwaine, and Lancelot, a confused expression on his face) Are you new? Your faces seem familiar, but I can't remember your names.

Gwaine: (angry) Oh, I'll tell you exactly who we are. We—

Lancelot: (cutting in smoothly, giving Gwaine a sharp warning look) Were recently hired by the king, my lord. For your personal security.

Merlin: (seizes the moment of distraction to lunge forward, trying to snatch the amulet from Arthur's neck)

Lady Merelyn: (moves with surprising speed, putting herself between Merlin and Arthur and clutching Arthur's arm.) My lord, I would like to speak to your father, the king. It's regarding my honor, and it's important.

Arthur: (looking at her lovingly) Of course, my lady. (turns back to the knights, his tone dismissive) Move.

Merlin: (frustrated at being unable to use his magic openly, whispers desperately to the others) Don't leave him alone with her!

Lancelot: We are supposed to escort you, my lord. It is our duty.

Arthur: I'm not a child. I don't need three escorts.

Lancelot: These are the king's orders.

Arthur: (his eyes scan the knights and land on the most imposing one.) You. (He points at Percival.) You can escort me. (He glares at Lancelot and Gwaine.) You two, leave. (Thinking) I can't tell why, but I don't like these two.

Gwaine and Lancelot: (Reluctantly bow their heads) Yes, Sire. (turn and walk away, only to slip behind a nearby pillar to observe)

Lady Merelyn: Oh, Sire. If it is not too much to ask, could a maidservant accompany us too? I wouldn't want to overwork my poor Jonas after such a long journey.

Arthur: (smiling indulgently) Your wish is my command. (spots a maidservant in the crowd.) You, there. Come here.

Maidservant: (Approaches and curtsies) Yes, my lord.

Merlin: (thinking,) She's making sure I'm never alone with him. Ensuring there's always a witness. She's smarter than I thought.

Enchanted Arthur and Lady Merelyn: (leave with Jonas, Percival and the maidservant following closely behind)

Merlin: (Watches them leave, hurt. Then his eyes fall on the discarded protective necklace lying on the ground, strides over and snatches it up, his hurt instantly curdling into white-hot rage) You stupid idiot! Why did I even get you this for?! (thinking) Why the hell did Catrina choose Arthur over Uther this time? Another time travel consequence? Why do things keep changing?!

Lancelot: (approaches and places a steadying hand on Merlin's shoulder, his voice low and urgent) Merlin, breathe. We need to think. What is our next move?

Gwaine: (striding over) I would like to know first how on earth you duplicated yourself.

Merlin: I didn't duplicate myself. She is a troll in disguise.

Gwaine: What?! 😨 A troll?!

Merlin: (noticing the lingering servants still watching them) I'll explain everything somewhere more private. (turns to Lancelot, clutching the amulet tightly.) You are right. We need a plan.

Time skip. In Morgana's chambers. Gwaine, Lancelot, Morgana and Merlin gathered in a hushed meeting.

Morgana: (Looking around, to herself) Why do I feel my chambers have turned into a secret stronghold?

Lancelot: Trying to remove the amulet is out of the question. She's always alert, and we can't do it without it looking as if we're attacking a lady.

Merlin: (sighs in frustration) And she makes sure they're always in public places so I can't use my magic without being seen.

Morgana: (horrified, eyes wide) Merlin! 😨

Lancelot: (in a hushed panic) Are you serious?!

Gwaine: (gesturing wildly toward Morgana) The king's ward is right there!

Merlin: (waving a hand dismissively) Oh, right, I forgot. Morgana, they know about me. (To Lancelot and Gwaine) She knows too.

Lancelot: (brings a hand to his chest in relief) Thank the gods.

Morgana: I can't believe you! 😡

Gwaine: (shaking his head in disbelief) Both the prince and the king's ward know about the infiltrated sorcerer. Why am I even surprised anymore?

Merlin: Can we get back on the subject? We have to break the troll's enchantment.

Gwaine: Why don't we just tell the king his son is enchanted?

Lancelot: We may be Merlin's guards, but we are still peasants. We can't accuse a noble lady. Our word means nothing unless we have solid proof. Which we don't.

Morgana: And I already tried, but she made it seem like I was just jealous of her. The manipulative bitch. And Uther is so desperate for Arthur to marry a noble lady, that for once I think he wouldn't mind overlooking her… lack of pedigree.

Gwaine: She doesn't have a pedigree! She's not even a real lady. Merlin made her up!

Morgana: But nobody else knows that.

Lancelot: (eyes lighting up) Oh, Leon could tell the king! He knows about Merlin being Lady Merelyn, and he's a noble. His word would carry weight.

Morgana: He's away on a journey. He won't be back until tomorrow.

Gwen: (enters, breathless, and says urgently) They are in an audience with the king right now. From what I overheard, I think Arthur is going to ask for her hand in marriage!

Merlin: (his expression turning resolute) We don't have until tomorrow. I know how to break the enchantment. Arthur has to cry tears of true remorse.

Gwen: (frowns in confusion) How do you know that?

Merlin: I… read it. Basic… uh… Physician's Apprentice knowledge. (coughs) So the only thing we have to do is make Arthur believe someone very dear to him has died.

Gwaine: Then it's solved. You just have to pretend to be dead.

Merlin: (looks at him, exasperated) How is that supposed to work if he can't see me? The spell blocks me from his sight entirely. He wouldn't even know I was 'dead'.

Morgana: (straightening her shoulders with resolve) So it'll have to be me.

Merlin: There's a potion that can give the appearance of death if you drink it. It's a bit risky, but if you're willing to take it—

Lancelot: (interrupting, his voice firm with concern) Wait. This might not turn out well.

Merlin: Why?

Lancelot: Passing Morgana off for dead could have serious consequences. How do you think the king will react if he finds out his ward is dead, or that someone attempted her life? He almost executed dozens of suspects when her room caught fire. This would be far worse.

Gwen: It is true. And you already got into a lot of trouble when you were accused of trying to kill the king, Merlin.

Gwaine: He what?! 😨

Morgana: I think we are overcomplicating this. We just have to prove this "Lady Merelyn" is enchanting Arthur. We need proof Uther can't refute.

Merlin: We don't have proof!

Morgana: Don't we? (smirks) We have the real Lady Merelyn (points directly at Merlin) right here.

Merlin: ...

Merlin: You have to be kidding me.🤦‍♂️

Gwaine: (thoroughly confused) I'm not quite getting it.

Gwen: (already running to Morgana's wardrobe, excited) I know just the dress!

Lancelot: I'll get the wig. (begins looking around the room)

Morgana: (picking up a pair of silk stockings and looking at them critically) What do you think? (throws them at Merlin)

Merlin: (catches them automatically)

Lancelot and Gwaine: (freeze, staring at the stockings in Merlin's hands with identical looks of horror, acutely aware that they are a distinctly feminine undergarment)

Merlin: (looks down at the stockings, then back at their horrified faces, and lets out a sigh) These will do.

Gwaine: (a wide, gleeful grin spreading across his face) Oh. Now I'm getting it.

Merlin: Yeah, yeah. Once we've saved Arthur, I'm going to kill him myself.

FIRST PART (SERIES 1) >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

...

Sorry fot the delay! University is hard 😓

Now, for this part—I'm sure this turn of events was a surprise! As I've mentioned before, a common trope in another time travel merlin fics that bothers me is when the time traveler (Merlin or Arthur usually) remembers everything with perfect, linear clarity (and let's be honest, nobody has that good memory) and their actions don't create a significant butterfly effect.

So I wanted to explore a version where this did happen. I hope this butterfly effect felt organic to the plot and not forced. Let me know what you think!