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CAMELOT

"Maybe he knew that his spell had failed, and he didn't want to be caught," Leon offered to the silence.

"He could have easily killed us," Percival said. "He wasn't afraid at all. He said he could raze the castle and I believed him. He wasn't like any sorcerer we've ever faced. "

It was dark in the council room, and the lanterns were burning low, but no one wanted to return to bed. Avis, the sparrow-hawk, had calmed down, and chattered amiably at his human companions, picking at a plate heaped high with every sort of treat the kitchens could supply for their little guest of honor.

Gwaine preened the bird with his fingers, drawing pleased little noises from the hawk. "And I thought you didn't like Merlin," he said, his voice crackling with exhaustion and strain.

"He said his name was Emrys," Percival grumbled. "Not Merlin."

"No," Gaius said, the first time he had spoken since Arthur had ordered Merlin bound to the bed. "Impossible."

"Why?" Arthur asked. "Who is Emrys?"

Gaius looked up at Arthur with a strange, wistful expression on his face. "Emrys is a creature of the old religion. The druids believe he will revive the Old Religion, and unite Albion under the New religion in an era of peace."

"He was powerful," Arthur pointed out, "but I don't think he wanted peace. His sorcerers killed innocents. Sleeping soldiers. If this Emrys-"

"Emrys is Merlin," Gaius broke in angrily. "That's what the druids call him, and he believed it was his destiny."

"Merlin wouldn't hurt you," Arthur said gently. "I may not trust anything else I know about him, but he would never do anything to harm you."

"Or you, Arthur. Or Any of you." He said, looking around the table at each of them in turn. Leon nursed a magical burn on his ribs. Gwaine's head was matted with blood where he had been thrown against a column. Elyan slumped in his chair over the makeshift sling Gaius had constructed. Only Arthur and Gwen's had escaped from the fight, but their clothes were still bloodied with Merlin's blood. "He wouldn't bring harm to any one of you. He would rather—"

He choked on a breath, looking away until he could speak again. "He would rather die."

Arthur nodded slowly. He waited for the old man to regain his breath before he spoke again. "You know Merlin better than any of us, Gaius. What do you think is happening?"

"I don't know," Gaius admitted. "But I… I don't think it's Merlin, and if it's not Merlin then it's not Emrys."

"Then why did we save his life?" Leon growled.

Avis suddenly let out a screech and flapped his wings on the table, upsetting Gwen's goblet and causing Gwaine to jump back in surprise. The bird strutted confidently across the table to stand in front of Arthur, muttering angrily.

Six pairs of eyes took in this behavior with varying degrees of concern. Arthur, however tapped his fingers against the table as he met the bird's eyes. "Avis," he said. "You know something?"

The bird dipped its head down and knocked his beak twice on the table.

Gwen gasped and Elyan's uninjured hand dropped to the sword on his lap. It was Gwaine who interrupted the tense silence that the bird's odd behavior had caused.

"If he's a sorcerer," Gwaine said firmly, "then he's one of the good ones."

One of the good ones. It rolled through the chamber, but no one spoke up against it. There were good sorcerers.

"If he hadn't…" Arthur shivered, remembering the half-crazed ball of feathers and talons hurtling through the window. He shook his head as more of that memory began to invade his mind. The blood. Merlin's body in his arms as he carried him down to Gaius, too light to be healthy. "He saved… Merlin. No one would have found him…. In time."

"We still have no answers," Leon said, then paused. "Avis… Is that Merlin? Did we save Merlin?"

The bird turned to consider him, then dipped down again. Tapped twice.

"Did he let the sorcerers inside the castle?"

Avis jerked his head sideways in a clear denial.

"Is he enchanted?"

At this, Avis stared at him and cocked his head. "I think he's confused," Elyan said drily.

Leaon huffed in frustration, his voice rising with his temper. "If it's Merlin, why was he acting so strangely? Why did he hurt Gaius and Percival? Why did he try to kill himself? None of it makes any sense."

Avis took off and landed on the back of Gwaine's chair. He squawked indignantly at Leon.

"Maybe whatever Trevellar did to him," Percival said, his face pale. "maybe it… broke him. Messed with his head. Maybe the sorcerers were coming for him. He said Trevellar wouldn't let him go."

"If the Aquitani found out he was Emrys," Gaius said slowly, "They might have thought they could control him. He would be an invaluable prisoner if they could keep him. If he thought they were going to use him against you, Arthur, he would do anything-"

Percival nodded, his brows furrowed in thought as he worked through this scenario. "Maybe he just didn't want me or Gaius to… to interfere while he…"

"No," Gwaine interrupted, slamming a hand on the table to stop Percival's words. "Merlin wouldn't kill himself."

"It makes sense," Arthur said softly. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," Gwaine said emphatically. "Merlin wouldn't—"

"If you have a better explanation for any of this, I'd like an alternative as well." Arthur said.

The council stared at him, and Avis, sensing Gwaine's distress, crooned a soft little sound in an attempt to comfort the knight. His effort was in vain. Gwaine swept the chair back from the table, unseating Avis from his perch. He flew back to the table and screeched indignantly at Gwaine's retreating back.

###

CAMELOT

Merlin woke with a gasp. The world tipped around him. He was on his back, exposed, unable to spread his wings. He pulled at his shoulders, trying to roll over, but a fresh wave of panic overtook him as he realized that he had been tied to the bed.

His eyes flew open, and a confusion of movement and color met his eyes. The world was out of focus and blurry, he was blind. He opened his mouth to screech his anger and fear, but a very human scream burst out of his throat.

"Easy," someone above him said. "You've been asleep for days."

The sound was muffled, as if there was water trapped in his hears. Merlin cocked his head, trying to understand what was happening.

And then he remembered he wasn't a bird. He tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes before someone wiped a wet cloth over his face.

The feeling of no control didn't help very much with his anxiety, but he took deep, calming breaths until he could frown up at the face above him.

Gwaine. Gwaine with a face like a thunder-head and deep shadows under his eyes.

"I am very glad to see you," Merlin huffed out in a voice that sounded very foreign in his own ears.

"Funny," Gwaine said, the word coming out of his mouth short and sharp.

"Oh." A spike of pain shot up his bound-up arm. "I can explain."

"I'll fetch Arthur."

Gawine's face disappeared and the stool scraped back from the bed.

"Gwaine? Wait, Gwaine!" Merlin called. "Just tell me everyone is alright! I swear it wasn;t—"

His friend's face reappeared above him and Merlin shrank away from the fury blazing in Gwaine's eyes. "What were you thinking? Do you have any idea-?" his voice broke and he looked away, as if the sight of Merlin was unbearable.

A swell of righteous anger filled Merlin, he listed his had up just as much as his bonds would allow. "You nearly got yourself killed in a bar fight. What were you thinking? 'Sir Gwaine, stabbed to death in an alley with a spoon?' Or 'Sir Gwaine, drank himself to death on watered down horse-piss?' Or would else be too damn noble? That was stupid, even for you."

He had touched a nerve. Gwaine clenched a hand over Merlin's restrained wrist. The bandages were only loosely held on with gauze and his wound had been rubbed with fat to keep any infection at bay, and the gauze from sticking.

The line of stitched flesh was long and ugly. Merlin stared down at them, suddenly feeling sick and dizzy. "That's what you did," Gwaine said softly. "That's what you forced Gaius to do, what Arthur had to bind up. What Gwen had to clean. What we all bloody saw. That was cruel, even for you."

Merlin took a deep, steadying breath, tearing his eyes away from the wound. "Gwaine—"

"I'm going to fetch Arthur," Gwaine said, and this time, despite Merlin's pleas, he didn't come back.

With an exasperated sigh Merlin closed his eyes and sliced through the loose cotton bandages that bound him to the cot. He sat up and the world spun again. He closed his eyes and focused on remaining upright until the room slowed, and the pounding in his head receded.

He looked down at his wrist and ran his fingers down the stitches. The flesh was still tender. His eyes burned with tears, grief, anger, relief, they warred for space in his head. His body felt strange to him still, it was tempting to try and take off into flight.

The door to the infirmary opened, and his first visitor was Avis. The bird swooped in through the door with a cry of welcome and excitement. He landed on the bed-spread next to merlin, immediately getting his claws tangles in the sheets.

"Hey you," Merlin said fondly, reaching down to scratch Avis's neck in the itchiest spot. He knew from personal experience just where to dig his fingers. The bird closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a cat.

"I see his sudden change of heart is mutual. I was afraid he was going to try and claw your eyes out again." Arthur began to ask, then seemed to realize what a stupid question that was. He crossed through the doorway, closing it behind him.

Merlin said nothing, but watched him approach with wary caution. It was the first time since he had revealed his power that he and the king had spoken. Arthur seemed at just as much of a loss as he was.

"Is Gwaine alright?" Merlin tried.

Arthur nodded. "Gaius is talking him down. You scared them pretty badly, Merlin."

"I didn't— It wasn't me, Arthur. You have to know that."

Arthur didn't answer. He drew up the stool that Gwaine had kicked out of the way. They were eye level, and Merlin was the first to look away. He wasn't sure why he felt so self-conscious.

"Are you going to talk to me?" Arthur asked quietly, when the silence became too deep. "No more secrets? No more lies? Or am I going to have to trust that you're not going to open any more veins?"

Merlin stood, and locked his knees as they threatened to collapse underneath him. He wavered for a moment, leaning heavily on Gaius's desk. Arthur didn't help him, but continued to gaze at him with an expression Merlin had never seen before and couldn't quite place. "Arthur, I'm… I'm fine. I didn't try to—"

"You've been fighting battles alone for too long," Arthur said. "But you're not a soldier, Merlin. What happened in Aquitane was inexcusable and Trevellar will pay for what he had done. You should have trusted me to see to that. Just because I wouldn't allow you in a war council doesn't mean that we weren't going to-"

"No," Merlin said. "Arthur, I wasn't tortured in Aquitane. Jack was helping me, he saved my life…. Twice."

The king shook his head. "You can't trust your own memories right now Merlin. Whatever they did to you, it's addled your memories. Messed with your thoughts. If not for Avis vouching for you, you'd be in the cells right now, being tried as an imposter."

"Avis?" Merlin said, suddenly side-tracked. He looked down at the bird who looked at him with wide, adoring eyes. "But—"

Arthur leaned back in his chair, his brooding gaze on the bird. "To be honest I've been tempted to lock you in the cells many times, but now that I know they wouldn't be able to hold you anyway it seems like a pretty empty threat."

"You have to believe me—"

"I can't believe you," Arthur interrupted. "Merlin, I don't know what to believe anymore, but I don't know anything about you. It's making it very hard to believe anything you say to me now. You've spent years lying to me, at least that much is fact."

Merlin swallowed.

"First, you save my life using your magic, which I have come to learn is quite literally legendary. Then you return from the dead, to ask me about princesses that don't exist. You throw Gaius against a wall, and the next thing I know you're bleeding out your life in a locked—"

"Freya was a druid," Merlin interrupted suddenly. Arthur's jaw snapped shut. "She was cursed—a chimera. I helped her hide, but… I couldn't. you killed her. I don't blame you, it's… she hated being a murderer. I still love her, but I don't… It wasn't your fault."

Merlin looked away, feeling the old grief well again. "I didn't think you were ready to hear any of this," he whispered. "I was starting to think you'd never be ready, but I was wrong. Arthur, I'm so sorry."

Arthur was staring at him. "Keep going," he prompted quietly.

It wasn't even hard, Merlin hadn't realized that he was keeping a list of his secrets until he was running through them, floundering in the stream of words that could never fully explain what had been happening in Camelot.

"You didn't kill the dragon. His name is Kilgharrah, and I convinced him to leave Camelot. I still ask him for advice sometimes. I can do that—I'm the son of Balinor the Dragonlord. The first time we met I used magic to stop you from taking my head off."

"And Dragoon?" Arthur asked, and Merlin swallowed. How did Arthur know about that?

"That was me. With an ageing spell. I only ever wanted to help you, but it backfired. Badly. I'm so sorry Arthur. I just didn't have any idea what I was doing. As usual."

"And the princess?"

Merlin frowned, the river of words suddenly stopped. "What princess?" he asked. "…Mithian? Or Vivian? I didn't have anything to do with any of that. I swear to you. I was just... I was trying to help."

The silence between them deepened, and Merlin's heart raced. His hands were shaking. He had ben tired when he woke, but now he was full of nervous, jittering energy. He folded his arms across his chest and tried hard to breathe normally.

Arthur was looking at him. Staring at him. The strange, sad expression had left the king's face, but somehow the completely unreadable expression was worse. Even Avis was quiet, his large, luminous eyes sweeping from Arthur sitting on the stool to Merlin standing by the window.

Merlin sucked in a breathe, opening his mouth without really knowing what was about to escape when Gwaine came skidding through the door, his eyes wild. "Wait!" he panted, righting himself in the middle of the chamber. 'I didn't tell anyone- How did you know about the spoon?"

Arthur turned his attention slowly from Gwaine's interruption back to Merlin. "Tell me," he said slowly and evenly, "exactly what happened in Aquitane."

###

AQUITANE

Trevellar supported Murdoch. The king's weight seemed heaver today as they watched Leif's body taken away. "Should we send the head to Emrys?" the king mused.

"No," Jack said. "I don't think he'd have any use for it."

Murdoch hummed his agreement, and together they turned back to the castle walls. "Are you alright? I know you were fond of the boy."

Trevellar grimaced. "Being stabbed seven times in the chest did somewhat change that."

"The diviner's say seven's a magical number," Murdoch said cheerfully. "They're usually right, you know."

Trevellar nodded absently. He felt nothing of the king's humor. He breathed in deeply, so deep that his lungs hurt and his bandaged pulled against his still-healing wounds. He was healing too slowly, and the healers had recommended he not be present at the execution.

But he had a duty. Not just to Murdoch, but to Leif.

They walked slowly back through the courtyard to the garden. Jack summoned a breeze to keep them cool. His magic came easily again, some of Merlin's influence still remained in Aquitane, but there was no telling if it would stay or fade.

"I've received a petition for your services," the king said. "And I think it's a reasonable request."

Trevellar sighed. "Don't tell me I have to grow Lady Sorcha's hedges into dragons again. I don't care what you say she can—"

"Oh no, nothing so wasteful," Murdoch interrupted. "There's a young man, and he needs a master."

Trevellar clenched his hand into a fist and his heart lurched sickeningly. "Your majesty, after everything that's happened. I can't just—"

"Nonsense," he said. "You should at least meet with the boy. I think you need a bit of a sabbatical, a bit of color."

"Sabbatical? Where would I be going?"

"Camelot," Murdoch said simply. "There's a very promising talent, and I can think of no better instructor."

###

CAMELOT

3 MONTHS LATER

Arthur's court was full of people. Nobles, commoners. Soldiers. The hum of conversation vibrated the walls, cutting out every other sound. Avis, seated on Merlin's shoulder, nibbled affectionately on his ear. The bird was usually to be found with Gwaine, but he was unusually good at recognizing Merlin's moods and had apparently taken on the duty of easing the warlock's nerves.

The thrones were still empty, and while Merlin waited in the wings, dressed in the clothes that he, Gwen, and Arthur had finally agreed were suitable, he was suddenly sure that everything was going to collapse around him.

"Merlin!"

Lord Ya-Tiren's hand clapped onto Merlin's shoulders heartily and the sorcerer flinched a little. He smiled up at the noble tentatively. "My Lord."

"I'm very glad to see you up and about," the noble said. "Arthur's been hiding you from court for far too long."

"I was… ill."

Ya-Tiren's face twisted into a frown. "I know all about that," he said. "What those people did to you, and we open our borders to them? I don't know what Arthur's thinking."

He cast his eyes about the room and leaned closer. "I've seen one of them. A sorcerer," he said quietly.

"Oh?" Merlin said. His hands were slippery with sweat.

"You can tell right away. It's in their eyes."

"Right."

"Uther wouldn't stand for this. He was a man who stood his ground."

Merlin looked up at the noble. Ya-Tiren's only son had died almost a decade ago, in an illness that had claimed many of Lord Ya-Tiren's vassals and servants. Some had said it was a witch's work, and such an explanation was more attractive than the truth: that sometimes, people just fell ill. Sometimes they died.

Merlin understood this, and no matter how much the old man railed against sorcerers and magic, he knew that in truth the old man was remembering the helplessness he had felt at his son's deathbed. The tragedy that his holding had survived. He smiled, though even that small expression made his cheeks hurt. "You're a good man," he said to Lord Ya-Tiren. "And I hope… I hope that—"

"Their Majesties, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere," a crier shouted, his voice booming over the chatter and cutting through all conversation.

Arthur and Gwen appeared from the side of the room, walking hand in hand. Merlin's back straightened and his head bowed in reverence until his friends had taken their seat at the head of the room.

Jack Trevellar trailed behind them, in his distinctively rich and colorful robes. His appearance drew whispers and conspiratorial glances from the crowd.

The crier approached the dias and accepted the scroll from Arthur's hand. A formality carried over from an ancient law.

He bowed and turned back to the crowd, breaking the seal and unrolling the scroll with practiced smoothly.

"The king hereby decrees:" he began. "That the practice of magic, and the possession of magic artifacts in Camelot is…" He paused, moving the scroll slightly closer to his eyes. "Recognized and authorized by their majesties, and that—"

He was drowned out by the whispering and murmuring of the crowd. The crier stopped and looked back to Arthur, as if the king could give him guidance. Merlin's heartbeat thrummed in his chest. He felt sick. He was going to cost Arthur the throne. They had moved too fast, bargained too heavily on the trust of the people—

Merlin started to stumble backwards, lose himself in the crowd, but stooped as Arthur drew to his feet, a second later, Gwen stood as well, supporting her king.

And the chatter did cease.

"I hereby decree," Arthur said, his voice louder and more commanding than the crier could ever hope to be. "That the position of court sorcerer be filled by my most trusted servant, and my most loyal friend, Merlin."

It was his queue, and while there was a smattering of laughter from the nobles and servants who knew who Arthur was talking to, the hall was strangely quiet.

As much as Merlin's feet wanted to turn and run for the nearest exit, he forced himself to move forward. He couldn't breathe. He was sweating and cold all at the same time. The crowd parted n front of him, their faces a blur. He almost wanted to turn back and see Lord Ya-Tiren's face.

But he didn't. His eyes focused on Arthur and Gwen.

They stared at him, no hint of a smile on their faces, only confidence. The sight filled him with a strange calm and as he drew closer, his steps became more fluid and breathing became a little easier.

When at last he stood next to Arthur he turned to face the crowd.

Shock. Disbelief. Many of the faces were familiar to him, but many were not. Arthur turned and laid a hand on his shoulders. "Don't mess this up," he whispered playfully and Merlin fought the irrational urge to punch his king.

Arthur went back to stand by Gwen, leaving Merlin alone, facing the crowd.

He stood on display, feeling like a child about to recite a lesson for the class. A lesson he hadn't properly prepared. "I… I swear my fealty to Camelot. I swear my life to the king, and my service to his citizens."

Deafening silence greeted this oath, the oath that Gaius had dug out of the old library records. It wasn't even as long as the oath that the knights took, or even as complicated as a servant's contract. At the time Merlin had found the words moving, but now, looking out at the sea of faces, he couldn't help but hear them again in his head. Empty, meaningless promises that of course they wouldn't believe.

He searched the crowd for a friendly face.

All were still. Slack-jawed.

But the moment couldn't last for the eternity it felt like.

Lord Ya-Tiren wove through the crowd. He was a tall man, instantly recognizable by his black cloak and the shock of white hair he obsessively groomed. The crowd closed behind him. When he reached the edge of the crowd, Lord Ya-Tiren glared up at Merlin.

Merlin looked down, feeling his heart plummet. He heard the rustle of Arthur's clothes as the king began to come to his aid.

The sound of Lord Ya-Tiren's fist hitting his chest seemed to echo around the chamber louder even than Arthur's proclamation. The old man gave a shallow bow from the waist, and stayed slightly bent, at the level one would afford to an equal.

Under Merlin's astonished gaze, the movement was quickly taken up by the court and the gesture rippled outward. In a wave, men and women nodded. Merlin stood a little straighter, and felt the weight of this approval sit on his shoulders.

Arthur reappeared at his side and finally there was a smile gracing his handsome face. "It's a start," the once and future king said. "A good start."