He turns and surveys the rest of the party, a reception recognizing Uther Pendragon for his contribution to the British Museum’s exhibit on medieval Camelot. Each and every person is dressed in enough silks, satins, and jewels to run a small country. Merlin himself is wearing his most expensive suit, a navy-blue tuxedo and vest with a white spread collared shirt and a deep gold tie. He looks the part of a young, rich donor, though he stands against everything Uther Pendragon fights for: magic was banned in Camelot for hundreds of years, something the exhibit makes sure to focus on, and the duke would see it banned across the United Kingdom once again.

It is clear from watching the crowd that they are all, each of them, fellow anti-magic supporters. Merlin has heard enough ignorant comments and rude insults about magic to last him a year. It is frustrating to hear magic criticized by men and women who have no understanding of it and would see him penalized for simply being born with it. They are vain and boorish, even cruel in their calls to imprison or execute magic users, and Merlin can’t wait for the night to end so he can move on with his life.

The people around him are also some of the richest, most powerful people from around the city, and Merlin has saved at least a half a dozen of their lives without them knowing anything about him. It’s his job as an agent with MI-5 to track down magical threats across the country and counteract them. He’s part of a top-secret division known as MI-57, dedicated to protecting the citizens of England from magical harm. Only too often he’s saving the life of people who would see him—and his magic—banned in an instant.

Merlin knows attacking men like the duke is wrong: violence is not the answer. He would much rather that people see the good that magic can do, that it can guide and protect and enrich their lives. Magic cannot persevere and thrive by forceful means; it only frightens people more. And so Merlin must turn against his own people, protecting those who would be his enemies from being harmed by magic instead of using his powers to make the world better, more peaceful and beautiful.

Would he prefer to be wrangling magical creatures in Scotland, or tracking down dangerous artifacts hidden deep beneath London? Of course. But Merlin has another talent beside magic: he can lie. He can become anyone, do anything, tell story after story and people believe him. Which allows him to get close to people and then save their sorry arse. He has saved royalty, MPs, bishops, and even a prime minister from magic, using his magic. And still, he’s the country’s most guarded secret.

He's growing weary of it, though—the constant conflict between his magic, his job, and others who use magic for harm and then resent him for doing his job and stopping them. He’s written his request for reassignment, perhaps to recruiting and training, perhaps to the archive at Avalon, but Gaius talked him into taking one more assignment. Merlin fully intends to turn it in come morning; should Arthur Pendragon prove as much of an idiot as Merlin believes the man to be, he may up and quit so he can move to Wales and be with Kilgharrah in the dragon’s old age. 

Merlin finishes his drink and contemplates ordering a gin and tonic, or even asking for a martini, shaken not stirred. It would definitely go down smooth at the moment given the boring nature of the assignment so far and his rather tedious thoughts about it. But because he’s on duty, he is not allowed to drink, smoke, or engage in personal relations. He snickers into another ginger sour as he considers that last. No worries about slipping up on this mission, not with this crowd.

The reception is on the top floor of a posh hotel; apparently the museum itself was too simple for Uther’s tastes. Three of the walls are floor to ceiling windows looking out over the river. It is a warm summer night, and the city lights shine through the glass. Merlin imagines London alive and well outside: theater-goers leaving their plays and musicals, couples walking along the Thames holding hands, magic-users gathering in Greenwich for community and support. He wishes he was out there enjoying it instead of babysitting a duke’s son.

The minimalist bar where he sits takes up the entire fourth wall, along with the elevator and emergency stairway to the lower floors. From his stool Merlin can scan the entire room. He reaches out with his powers to sense other magic users, particularly those who pose a threat. This party, of course, is clear. Merlin has sensed no one with magic in hours. Until he takes a sip of his drink and feels a sharp tickle in the back of his mind.

Someone else has arrived. Someone with magic.

There is a buzz around the room, a flurry of whispers and glances, though Merlin knows no one else could have possibly felt it. No, they are all looking toward the elevator, where a beautiful woman in an emerald-green gown has stepped out and is slowly making her way through the room. Her dark hair is down, covering bare shoulders; a golden bracelet curls around her wrist in the shape of a serpent. She is beautiful in a cold way, and Merlin recognizes her from the papers just as he did Arthur: she is his half-sister, Morgana Pendragon.

Merlin thinks back to what his briefing had told him about Morgana. She is intelligent, ambitious, but more secretive, preferring privacy over publicity. She had spent some time out of the country, and there is speculation that she had recently fallen out with Uther, though it remains unconfirmed and the reasons unknown. She had not been considered a threat to Arthur at the briefing that morning, but Merlin can clearly sense that she has magic and is holding it back. The entire room can see that she looks displeased to be there.

Merlin stands, buttons his jacket. He taps his earpiece and contacts Gwaine, his backup on the street. Gwaine doesn’t have magic; he works their tech and is the best partner in a non-magical fight that Merlin has worked with. “Morgana Pendragon is here,” Merlin murmurs quietly. Gwaine answers immediately.

“Then she found some way in without us seeing her,” he replies. “Because there was no sign of her until now.”

“What’s the threat assessment?” Merlin asks. He’s weaving his way through the murmuring crowd toward Arthur, his top priority now. His job is to protect against magical threats, and he’s fairly certain that threat is Morgana. Apparently, Arthur’s not-so-subtle bodyguard agrees, for the tall, well-built man who’s been trying to remain inconspicuous and failing all night moves toward Arthur as well.

“Same as this morning,” Gwaine huffs over his comm. “We don’t have a lot of intel on her other than that possible falling out with her father, which either means she’s not that interesting or—”

“She’s hiding something,” Merlin finishes for him. “She has magic.”

“What?” Gwaine’s curse is too loud for the earpiece and Merlin winces.

“Stay alert. I’m pretty sure this is why I’m here.”

“Aye, boss.”

“And don’t call me that.”

The tension in the room increases tenfold as Morgana makes her way toward Uther Pendragon. Merlin moves closer to Arthur; his assignment is to protect him, not Uther, yet Morgana is clearly looking for a confrontation with her father, so why wasn’t Merlin assigned to protect Uther? They wouldn’t leave him unprotected, as Merlin himself had saved the older Pendragon from a magical threat two years ago in the form of a hideous troll. Had the Home Office missed something?

It was actually Kilgharrah who had sent word that Arthur was in danger. He’d not said anything other than the future of Albion depended upon Arthur’s survival, and that Arthur’s survival depended on Merlin. It was an odd statement even for the dragon, who had been speaking more and more of Merlin’s destiny. He said Merlin would be known as Emrys and was destined to do great deeds beside Albion’s greatest warrior. It sounded like nonsense, and Merlin wishes he’d gone to Wales to speak to the dragon himself about Arthur; he has not seen Kilgharrah for several months, and as the last dragonlord he should be more mindful of his duty. But his mother had been ill, and after Merlin had nursed her back to health, he had been sent on assignment after dreary assignment, unable to connect with the dragon and learn more about this mysterious destiny.

He watches Morgana approach Uther as he comes up behind Arthur. The son throws him a look over his shoulder, then does a doubletake, eyes wide. He looks Merlin up and down with sharp blue eyes, not in a lascivious way, but as if he recognizes Merlin and can’t place him. He’s never met the man before so he’s not sure why Arthur Pendragon is looking at him like he’s seen a ghost. Still, Merlin nods amiably, notes the bodyguard move in closer, then glances back toward the middle of the room. Uther is standing in front of the dais where he gave a dull speech earlier, and Morgana slows as the crowd parts for her.

“This is not good,” Arthur murmurs to no one in particular. When no one answers, he looks back at Merlin again. “Are you here for them?” he asks, jerking his head toward his father and sister.

Merlin is caught off guard and gives Arthur an honestly confused look in reply. Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re clearly MI-5,” he whispers, leaning back. “So are you here for me or my father?”

Merlin narrows his eyes at the other man and decides honesty is the best way to gain Arthur’s trust should he need to get him out of there quick. “For you,” he murmurs quietly. “Sire.” It’s not the proper way to address the duke’s heir, but Merlin doesn’t really care to dig the correct way out of his mind.

Arthur snorts as he turns away. “Just Arthur will do,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Since you’re not even close on the title.” Merlin rolls his eyes right back.

Uther and Morgana embrace and hold hands, though Merlin can see the forced affection in them both. And he can sense Morgana’s magic growing, to what end he does not know. He steps forward, placing himself in front of Arthur. The blond-haired man grunts irritably, and his bodyguard moves closer.

“I don’t think it’s me she’s after,” he murmurs into Merlin’s ear. Merlin can’t help but reach up and bat him away as it tickles. “And I can’t see with you standing in front of me, idiot. Move.”

“But should she change her mind and decide you’re a prat, I can protect you better here,” Merlin replies smartly.

The man huffs. “You can’t talk to me like that, you know. I’m the Duke’s son.”

“Right now, you’re just the prat I’ve been assigned to protect, not a fancy title,” Merlin replies. “And I didn’t get the memo about how to address an arrogant arse.”

“You misaddressed me as ‘sire’ so don’t pretend my title wasn’t in your memo,” Arthur points out. “And I’m not arrogant.”

“But you are definitely an arse.” Merlin can’t help but lean into the snarky nature of the conversation. He hadn’t been expecting much from Arthur Pendragon, but in a few words the other man has at least shown himself able to hold his own, if still a bit of a prat. “Besides, you just told me to call you Arthur, like an old friend, so I’m not sure why you’re so worried about titles.”

“I take it back,” Arthur replies. “We are not friends, and we will never be friends. Now move.”

“No, my mistake. I’d never be friends with someone like—” Merlin feels the change in the air too late and whirls around, arms spread discreetly before Arthur, magic ready at his fingertips. Morgana attacks Uther instead, but the Duke stands tall, untouched by her spell.

Arthur takes a step forward, but Merlin pushes Arthur even further behind him, ignoring the bodyguard moving closer. He taps his earpiece and calmly murmurs, “Black fire.”

“That your secret code for danger, then?” Arthur scoffs, but his voice is slightly unsteady. Merlin nods silently as he watches the scene before him. Morgana is staring at her father in shock, and even Merlin is caught off guard by Uther’s shield. A man who is so publicly anti-magic should not be able to block a spell like that. The crowd is silent.

“Magic?” Morgana taunts, eyes flashing in anger. “The man who would ban it is now using it to protect himself? You’re such a hypocrite, Uther Pendragon!”

“No, I’m a survivor,” Uther snaps back. He holds up his wrist, where a silver bracelet glows with an ugly yellow stone. “And this…this is technology, developed to protect men like me from evil witches like you.”

Merlin inhales sharply; he has not heard anything about technology that could block offensive magic like that. If it is true, the world order is about to massively change, particularly with Uther Pendragon leading the way against magic. Maybe Merlin won’t be turning in his transfer paperwork after all.

Morgana appears to bow her head in defeat. She has revealed her secret to the entire room: the daughter of Uther Pendragon, well known for his opposition to magic, has magic herself, and her father has just called her an evil witch. But then she raises her head, her eyes defiant, and Merlin knows it’s not over.

“I wonder if you shared your precious technology with your son.”

Uther’s eyes widen as she turns her head, lifts her hand, and casts a spell straight at Arthur.