Merlin stands outside the warm little bubble, always outside. Not for the first time, he feels out of place, witness to such a private moment. Yet he's mesmerized as Arthur's face suffuses with a new expression, a father.

Eventually, Merlin tears himself away from Arthur's happily ever after. He has a lot of practice stepping from the King's chambers at just the right time. He does so now, ghosting noiselessly to the door and snicking it shut behind him.

It's only as he stands with his back to the wood that he remembers he has nowhere to go. Doubtless his old quarters have been given to someone else. And he doesn't feel ready yet, for the knights. For Gwaine.

So he starts down the hall, headed away. He can always sleep in the stables, with the hounds. Wouldn't be the first time. But before he's even rounded the corner, the door behind him opens anew.

"Wait," someone says.

Merlin turns back to find Arthur closing the door carefully, leaving Gwen to her rest. When Arthur turns to regard him, Merlin's unsure how to interpret his stance, his face. Perhaps the time is past when he knew a King better than he knew himself. The King has moved on and left him behind.

And so Merlin can't be sure what Arthur might do next. Two guards down the hall have snapped to attention, eyes intent on their King.

This is the point where Arthur will either stand by his public vow.

Or he won't.

Merlin returned to Camelot. Cue the pain of death. Except, Arthur's not wearing his sword. His hands clench by his side.

"There's always a price," Arthur says, and at first Merlin doesn't know what he means. He's stiff, as though afraid of what Merlin will say.

"Oh." Merlin blinks. Arthur's waiting for the flip of the coin. His children live. Thus, someone must die. It's the only thing he knows.

"That was the Old Religion," Merlin says. "This is the new."

This grand pronouncement is undermined when the world goes sideways. Merlin has to put a hand to the wall to steady himself. "Ooh."

"Easy there." Arthur steps forward, concerned.

Merlin waves him back and wills away the topsy turvy. Wouldn't do for Arthur to think he can't hold his magic any more than he can hold his liquor.

"Sleep," he slurs. "I need it. The words will wait."

Merlin shoves off and wobbles only a little down the corridor. It's been a long couple of days, what with the dragon and the flying and the birthing of twins.

Behind him, Arthur clears his throat. "That's not the way to your chambers."

Merlin keeps going. If he stops now, he might not start again. "I doubt your new physician would be happy to see me."

"Why would he be in your chambers?"

Everything spins. "Because they're his?"

"Merlin," Arthur says, and he's suddenly too close, his hand on Merlin's arm. "Your chambers are yours."

They look as impeccable as Merlin had left them. No one has disturbed a thing.

Six months, Merlin thinks.

He hardly remembers climbing the stairs to his room, can't fathom that there were ever so many. He certainly doesn't remember face-planting, fully dressed, onto the bed. But he does remember this: it was Arthur who looped an arm around his waist and half-carried him the whole way there.

Merlin sleeps through the day, the night, and most of the next. He sleeps better than he has in months. Six months, to be precise.

Too soon, he's awoken to a raucous clatter in his antechamber. He sits up in bed, instantly on edge, for it sounds suspiciously like a cadre of knights fending off an invading army. And indeed, when Merlin totters down the stairs, there are knights filling his chambers, a roaring fire in the hearth.

They're all here—Gwaine and Percy and Elyan and Leon. Set up camp, from the looks of it, and well into a game of dice.

Gwaine is the first to look up. "I see we woke you at last." He raises his goblet. "To sleeping beauty."

Then there are cheers and a rush of bodies and hugs all around.

"We came as soon as we heard," Gwaine says.

"You saved Gwen. Again," Elyan says. "And my nephews. I have nephews!"

"It's good to have you back," Percy says.

Gwaine nods, solemn. "The King has been insufferable."

"As have you," Elyan says, and musses Gwaine's hair, which earns him a headlock.

"Speaking of the King," Leon says over the tussle, "he requests your presence as soon as you awoke."

Merlin needs a bath and a shave and will never remotely be prepared for this. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

The throne room is filled to burst, and not only with people. There's an energy in the air, like how skin prickles before a storm. Merlin had made no secret of his return, so word would have spread while he slept. Everyone knows he's back. Everyone knows he saved the Queen. Now, everyone has gathered to see what the King will do about it.

Merlin slips in and waits until the crowd begins to notice.

At the front, Arthur wraps up the day's audience. When Merlin's ripple reaches him, he stiffens and sits up straighter in his throne. But he keeps his attention on the peasant before him.

Not surprising, the man is Dirge. When Merlin was still at court, hardly a week would pass when Dirge didn't bring some perceived slight to the King. Looks like the trend has continued in Merlin's absence. To his credit, Arthur doesn't rush the man. He listens with seeming calm as Dirge drones on about this week's crisis.

At last at last at last Dirge finishes his account. Arthur proclaims his judgment (the same thing he's said the last three times Dirge has raised this issue), which everyone but Dirge can see is more than fair, and the man is led away.

Many in the room had stopped paying attention during Dirge's diatribe.

Everyone pays attention now.

There's a brief pause as Arthur waits for Geoffrey to record the judgement. The only noise in the room is the scratching of his quill, the shuffling of feet, the occasional cough. Geoffrey has never seemed to write more slowly. Finally, he flourishes his quill and gives Arthur a firm nod, it is done.

Only then does the King raise his eyes to Merlin.

"There is one final matter to bring before the court," Arthur says. "A matter of grave importance."

Merlin can see it in the small things—the slight cock of Arthur's head, the squint of his eyes, the whites of his knuckles against the arms of his throne. The King is on edge, nervous.

"Merlin of Ealdor," he says. "Step forward."

The walk to the throne has never seemed so long. Fortunately, Merlin does not walk alone. The knights walk with him, his honor guard. As one, they stop a few paces from Arthur. And this is the point where the knights should break off and move to their usual posts along the wall. This time, they don't. They form a knot around Merlin. And there they remain.

Arthur doesn't miss the gesture. His smile is thin, tight.

"Six months ago, I banished Merlin from Camelot, to return on pain of death. Now, he's returned." The crowd shifts, uncomfortable. They don't like where this is going. "But here's the thing. He came back because I asked him to. I don't know how, but he heard my plea to save Guinevere. And he came from the ends of the earth and did just that."

Arthur stands. He removes his crown and places it on the seat of his throne. "So it's not Merlin who's on trial today." Arthur steps down from the platform. He strides past Merlin and the knights, out into the center of the room. "I am."

The room stirs like wind through leaves and of course. Merlin should have known. Arthur and his acute sense of honor. His original condemnation of Merlin was in public. So, too, must be his absolution.

Arthur continues, "If I learned anything from my father's mistakes, it's to admit when I'm wrong. And so I have something to confess: I was wrong. I did not listen to the counsel of those far wiser than me. I banished an innocent man. For you see, Merlin did not kill my father. Morgana did."

The crowd gasps.

Arthur continues, "But these are things you have seen. There's something worse that you didn't see."

The crowd exchanges glances. What could be worse than killing a king?

Merlin's chest is tight, tight, tight.

Arthur looks miserable. "I struck a friend in anger. Not once, but many times. I made him bruise. I made him bleed."

Merlin's heart bleeds, that Arthur chooses to expose such a private shame. The crowd is restless, uncertain. They can hardly believe this of their King.

Arthur continues, "The King is a subject of this land. Subject to the same laws. Had a man beat his neighbor in anger, I would condemn him to the lash. In this kingdom, this type of behavior is not tolerated, not even from a King."

With that, the King of Camelot kneels at the feet of his former manservant. There's a murmur of shock from the people, for Kings do not kneel to others. It's not done.

Arthur sags back onto his heels and looks up into Merlin's face. "I'm unfit to pass judgment on others, for I, too, am guilty. I have done you a grievous wrong, and I'm deeply ashamed. Not a day goes by that I don't think of it. And so here I am. I await your judgment."

Arthur bows his head. And it feels strange, it feels wrong to see Arthur so broken, doubting, and in despair. This won't do. This won't do at all.

And so Merlin sinks down to Arthur's level. He lifts his voice for all to hear. "I'm glad you banished me, for now I have walked this land. I have learned of its ways and of its people and of my own magic. It was not a curse. It was a gift. One that I'm happy to return, one that I can use to serve you all the better. And you do not need to ask for my forgiveness. You already have it."

Arthur looks up at Merlin in disbelief, as though he hadn't dared hope.

"You also asked for my judgment, and this I will also give." Gently, Merlin grips Arthur by the shoulders. "Rise, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot." Merlin helps Arthur to his feet, steadies him with his hands. "Go forth to unite the land of Albion and become the greatest King this world will ever know. This is your destiny, the burden only you can carry."

Arthur is stunned. "But I am unfit to be King."

Merlin lets his voice go gravelly, channeling Dragoon. "It's the one who thinks he's unfit to rule that is most fit."

With that, Merlin bows deep from the waist, an honest, true thing, the only time he's ever bowed to Arthur. The rest of the court follows suit, some going to their knees. Then someone starts the chant (and it might even be Gwaine): "Long live the King!"

It's echoed down the hall, through the castle, and bleeds out into the lower town. All of Camelot bows to Arthur.

Through it all, Arthur's eyes stayed locked on Merlin's. Merlin, who's grinning like he's soft in the head. Merlin, who has seen Arthur cry only a handful of times.

This is one of them.

Geoffrey chooses that moment to lean in, quill at the ready.

"So that's a pardon, then?"

Abysmally early the next morning, Merlin goes to the kitchen for a plate of breakfast. Without a word, Cook hands it over, a platter fit for a King. She and the kitchen maids even curtsey, which turns Merlin all kinds of red.

Merlin walks it up to Arthur's chambers. He enters without knocking to find George helping Arthur get dressed for the day.

"That door," George says, "was locked." He looks like he's swallowed hemlock.

"Indeed," Merlin says. He walks over to the table and deposits the plate. Then he takes a few steps toward Arthur. Stops. Waits.

George looks between them.

Neither Merlin nor Arthur say a word.

George looks to Arthur. "Sire, surely you're not going to—"

Arthur looks at him.

The servant shrivels. "Right then," he says, clicking his heels together. "I'll be off."

Neither of them watch him leave. George latches the door behind him, so soundless it's as though he never was.

Arthur steps closer, something tentative in his face. For a single instant, Merlin feels the urge to cower, to run. But he stands his ground.

He trusts.

And this is what Arthur does: Arthur draws him into a hug. A real hug—full contact, boneless, the way they've never hugged. Arthur even rests his chin on Merlin's shoulder.

"I missed you." Arthur's voice in his ear is rough, unsure.

Merlin goes warm. His insides glow.

When he can speak, he says, "And I, you."

They draw back. A warm, heavy hand lingers on Merlin's shoulder. They regard each other.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says.

"As am I." They both have much to be sorry for.

But Arthur's not done. "Truly. There's no excuse for what I did."

"You were scared. I understand."

Arthur's eyebrow quirks at the jibe, but he lets it stand. After all, it's true. "You forgive me too easily."

"I've had plenty of practice."

Arthur releases him and withdraws to a respectable distance.

"This," he says, suddenly stern, waving a hand between them, "never happened."

Merlin breaks into the goofiest grin. "Of course, Sire."

Later, as Merlin swirls a cloak about Arthur's shoulders, the King asks, "Are you going to tell me how you did it?"

"Did what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Walked past at least a hundred guards into the heart of Camelot, unchecked."

"That is a secret." Merlin keeps his eyes on the cloak's clasp.

Arthur frowns. "If this is to work, there can be no more secrets."

Merlin's fingers still. He lets his hands fall away. "Then I guess this can't work." There's a flash of hurt in Arthur's face, so Merlin hastens to add, "After all, a wizard can't be expected to divulge all of his deep, dark secrets. How else am I to preserve an air of mystery? An illusion of grandeur?"

"Illusion is right," Arthur mutters. But he looks relieved. "Seriously, Merlin. I've a family now. It won't do for sorcerers to waltz in whenever they please."

"They won't." Merlin steps away and makes a beeline for the door. He'd forgotten how fun it is to poke the bear.

Arthur calls after him, "How do you know?"

"Because most sorcerers aren't me." With that, Merlin ducks out the door.

"Merlin," Arthur bellows.

Merlin pops his head back in. He looks around, furtive. "If you must know, I didn't walk into Camelot. I flew." Then he's off, leaving a flummoxed Arthur in his wake.

Merlin settles back into his life in Camelot as though he'd never left. Everyone is delighted to have him back. Even George doesn't mind, for it turns out he's the only person in the castle capable of getting the twins to stop crying. He's finally found his purpose in life, as devoted nanny to not one but two princes.

It's almost perfect.

Almost.

Which brings us to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a big day. Arguably the biggest day Camelot has ever seen. Bigger than when Arthur was crowned King. Bigger even than when the babies were born. Tomorrow is the day when Kings and Queens across Albion converge on Camelot. They come to swear their allegiance to Arthur Pendragon as their High King. It has something to do with his tireless efforts to unify the kingdoms, root out all manner of nefarious deeds, and single-handedly eliminate the constant threat of Saxon invasion without an ounce of bloodshed.

But that's tomorrow.

Today, the castle is all a'bustle with preparations for a feast that will make all previous feasts look like a campfire roast. The ovens in the kitchen have blazed non-stop for weeks. Cook has nearly screamed herself hoarse. Merlin thinks he's never seen her so happy.

Today, there are a thousand and one details for Arthur to attend to before the delegations arrive. There's the matter of room assignments and seating charts and approving the wording for the crowning ceremony, which Geoffrey has dug up for the occasion. But Arthur takes one look at the parchments that overflow his desk and tells Merlin, "Right. We ride out within the hour."

Arthur, the soon-to-be High King of Albion, has just decided to play hooky.

There's only one thing for Merlin to do.

He follows.

Together, they gallop from the east gate as though there are bandits on their heels. Arthur might even let out a war whoop, just in time to topple one of the guards as they sweep past.

Not surprisingly, Arthur leads them to a hidden lake in the hills nearby, the one that he and Merlin and the knights have escaped to many a time, particularly during the summer months when the stifling heat gets to be too much or the castle walls start to close in. The water is so blue it hardly looks real.

They spend the morning swimming and sunning themselves and swimming some more. Arthur shows off, spearing fish in the shallows.

"It's all about the reflexes," he says, so modest, as he pikes another one.

In response, Merlin whistles. Five fish leap from the water and flap about on the shore. Arthur's no longer the only one who can show off. They gorge themselves on fish until their tongues singe and juices drip down their chins. Arthur even licks his fingers clean, like a barbarian.

"May I present the High King of Albion," Merlin says with a flourish, and Arthur reaches out to smear greasy fingers through his hair. It's obnoxious, but Merlin doesn't mind. For a long while there, Arthur wouldn't deign to touch him, not even in jest. Slowly, they're working their way back to their easy physical camaraderie. Merlin missed it more than he knew.

"Today, I'm not a King," he says, solemn. "I'm just Arthur."

Afterward, they soak in the water, floating on their backs. Merlin lets the currents drift him out into the middle of the lake, where the water goes dark and deep. He's found it gives him the best view. Then, he looks within. He follows the streams that flow from the lake. Everywhere the water reaches, the land flourishes. And with it, the people.

Albion has blossomed.

Merlin's just about to see if he can stretch his senses into the ocean (or maybe even beyond) when something grabs at his heel and yanks.

When he surfaces, flailing and sputtering, Arthur is already swimming back to shore with long, sure strokes.

"What was that for?" Merlin cries in mock outrage.

"That was so you would stop flirting with the water nymphs and come attend your King."

"There's no King here, remember? All I see is an ass."

"I heard that."

"I'd be worried if you didn't."

Merlin doggy-paddles his way back to shore and flops down beside Arthur on the bank. For a long while, they sun themselves in silence. They'll need drying before they climb back into the saddle.

Then, out of the blue, Arthur says, "I've been thinking."

Merlin doesn't bother to open his eyes. "Stop. Nothing good will come of it."

Arthur says, "I've been thinking about Morgana."

"Now I know nothing good will come of it."

"Merlin."

"Arthur."

"We have to talk about it."

Merlin is too sun-drunk to follow, head lazy on his neck. "About what?"

Arthur's exasperated. "What Morgana said."

Merlin keeps his voice light. "Morgana said a lot of things."

"And we've talked about most of them." There's a long pause. "But there's one thing we haven't discussed."

Above them, a cloud passes over the sun. Merlin feels a sudden chill that pebbles his flesh. He understands now, what this day has been about. Everything is about to change for them, Arthur's burden to increase tenfold, and they will likely not be able to do something like this again. At least not for a while as Arthur settles into his new role.

So this is their last chance before their life careens out of control. It's Arthur's way of easing into it. This isn't something you just blurt over breakfast.

"Arthur—" Merlin warns, but Arthur barrels on.

"She spoke of your heart."

Merlin's heart makes itself known in his chest. "She was grasping."

"Probably," Arthur says. "Yet it's not something we've ever talked about."

"You never asked," Merlin says flatly.

"Since when has that stopped you?"

Gods help them, Arthur wants to talk about this. And he'll keep them here until they do.

Grudging, Merlin mutters, "There was a girl, once."

"What happened?"

"She died."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." Merlin wonders if Freya is listening to them even now. This is her lake, after all. He sometimes fancies he can hear her, laughing on the wind. But the lake is utterly silent now, no wind through the trees. As though even the forest holds its breath.

"And now?"

Merlin stays silent. He doesn't have to answer these questions. Not if he doesn't want to.

Arthur seems uncertain how to breach the wall Merlin has thrown up. "Gwen and I want you to be happy."

And isn't that perfect. Merlin can just imagine Arthur and Gwen talking about him late at night, heads sharing the same pillow, co-conspirators. Poor Merlin. Possibly Arthur feels that he demands too much of Merlin, doesn't allow him enough time for a personal life.

"I am."

"And yet I can't help but feel there's something missing."

"It doesn't matter now. What I want, I can never have."

Arthur stills. "How do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you know if you've never asked?"

Merlin's starting to feel irritable from the water and the sun and the fish souring in his stomach. This is not at all how he'd hoped the day would go. It was supposed to be relaxing, a final hurrah before the hurricane. Instead, it's starting to feel like a battle.

"I don't have to ask," he says. "I already know the answer." Merlin rolls to his side, showing his back to Arthur.

There's the sound of something shifting along the bank. The sound seems to be coming closer. Merlin peeks over his shoulder to find Arthur half-sitting above him. And of course the cloud chooses that moment to unveil the sun once more. It halos Arthur's head like a crown. He's blinding, some ancient deity.

Merlin squints up at him. "You're blocking my sun."

Arthur leans closer.

So close they could touch.

Merlin can't move. His whole word has funneled to what Arthur will say. What Arthur will do. He's hyperaware of the few inches of heated air between them. His skin strains with it.

Arthur is the one to move.

Arthur is the one to place a tentative hand on Merlin's bare chest. His strong fingers spread across Merlin's heart. Touch unbearably light.

"Ask it," Arthur whispers, "and I will give it."

For a moment, it could go either way. Merlin can see the future in Arthur's eyes.

Words are butterflies that surge up Merlin's throat, that flutter in his mouth. He wants nothing more than to release them, to tell Arthur yes and please and it's you, it's always been you.

But he doesn't.

In that future lies pain of a different sort. Arthur thinks he can give what he offers, but Merlin knows better. Arthur has a family now. He's a father. Even if Gwen understands—even if this was partly Gwen's idea—they don't fully understand what they're offering.

And so, for an eternity, Merlin doesn't move. It takes every bit of his strength, everything he is, but he doesn't move. He doesn't allow it to bleed into his face, how much he wants. How much he needs. He clamps his jaw and won't set those butterflies free. Presses his tongue against the shards of his teeth.

For a thousand years, Arthur touches him. Touches him while Merlin tries to lie with his face and his eyes and his very soul.

But his heart.

His heart can't lie.

They can both feel it, thrumming wildly, madly under Arthur's palm.

And the longer Arthur touches him, the more Merlin can feel his resolve melt away, here beneath the warmth of a golden sun and beneath a golden palm.

Nearby, a branch breaks off from one of the trees and lands with a ponderous thud. (Merlin might have had something to do with this.)

At the sound, Arthur retreats. He stares at the offending branch for a long moment, then murmurs, "You've done this before."

And that's when the butterflies escape. Arthur shoves himself to his feet, startled by the sudden apparition. The air over the lake is filled with shimmer and flutter. Merlin accidentally caused a cascade.

Arthur stands at the epicenter—always at the center—of the world's least dangerous tornado. Butterflies alight on every spare inch of his body, as though christening him.

"Right," he says, huffing a butterfly off his nose. "My first decree as High King will be to repeal the ban on magic. Then it's your job to figure out how to keep people from killing each other with it."

Merlin frowns. "Why me?"

"Because you're the Court Sorcerer." Arthur says this as though it's obvious.

Merlin sneezes.

Brilliant, he's allergic to butterfly. He'll add this to the list—flowers and bones and butterflies.

Arthur laughs and whirls, scattering butterflies in his wake. He's about halfway up the bank when he stops and turns back.

"And one more thing. I'm also appointing you as the Royal Tutor. When they're old enough, I want you to teach my boys."

"Teach them what?"

"How to be a great King."

Merlin's mind whirls. There are so many things to see in this wide world, so many things only he can show them. He'll introduce them to the water nymphs. And maybe he'll turn them into owls. Or fish. Or even ants.

Merlin thought he'd seen Arthur happy before, at a feast, the day his babies were born, when Merlin came back. But here, standing on the lip of an enchanted lake, the whole of Albion at his feet, Arthur is a larger than life legend. Someone should compose a ballad. Something about a glorious future in Arthur's eyes and jeweled butterflies in his hair.

But then Arthur ruins it by pulling something from his saddlebag and tossing it at Merlin's head.

Miracle of miracles, Merlin catches it. This time, it's something he doesn't immediately recognize. Something in an odd, conical shape. With a sharp point.

"What's this?"

"Your hat."

"You're joking."

Arthur looks deadly serious. "Every Court Sorcerer needs a hat."

"Right, because you have so much experience with Court Sorcerers."

Arthur says nothing. Just looks at him with that glint in his eye, the first hint of a smile.

"I am not wearing this. No one will take me seriously."

Arthur's smile blossoms. He takes a step toward Merlin.

Merlin almost shakes his head off his neck. He waves his arms about. "No, Arthur. No. I'm serious. Just, no."

Arthur takes another step, until he stands right before Merlin. He leans in again, too close, as though he has some secret to tell. Merlin shivers.

Arthur whispers something, right in Merlin's ear. "Race you."

Then he places a hand in the middle of Merlin's chest and shoves. He's up, up, and away on his horse before Merlin can scramble back to his feet.

Merlin stands hip-deep in the water, a drenched rat, watching his king gallop away, laughing hysterically, looking for all the world like the tow-headed boy who used to ride fearlessly through the fields of Camelot. No crown, no armor, no saddle. He's not even wearing any trousers.

Merlin wears the hat.

It ends up looking smashing with his beard.

THE END

Author's note: The best two words I ever write—the end. This one's been a beast. My husband swore up and down that the story should have ended when Merlin was banished, as he thought that ending felt right. But I wasn't about to leave you all hanging. Arthur's no good without his Merlin. And hopefully this last bit helps tie up some of the loose threads from the series itself. I did so want to see Arthur become High King.

Also, I'm profoundly grateful that here we are so many years after the show and people are still reading this. What a spectacular fandom this is. Stay strong, Merlin fans. Until Arthur returns.