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Merlin remembered the moment of panic after his father died very vividly. 

He remembered feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of something being passed down from father to son, the idea that magic itself would reject him and make his greatest nightmare a reality. The panic had made it even harder to focus, to try and reach into the depths of himself and unlock that key part of him that was supposed to be there. He remembered the shaky hands as he dared to attempt draconic for the first time, so bad he had to clench them into fists just to feel like he had a grip on something. The timbre of his voice as the call echoed in his throat, deep and masculine, the magic swelling under his skin as he realized that his panic had been unfounded—it had been immortalized in his mind like a painting, one in which he knew every brushstroke and detail.

All of that was to say he shouldn’t be panicked now. The inheritance had held. He knew who he was, and apparently magic did, too—it had proven itself, as it always did, to intimately understand Merlin’s relationship with himself in a way that even he sometimes didn’t fully comprehend. 

But, no matter how many times he attempted to repeat that to himself, the panic remained. 

He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, felt fuzzy in his fingertips as his pulse hammered beneath pin-and-needles skin. Part of it, he knew, was just because this whole affair involved magic—dealing with magical threats in the heart of Camelot had never exactly been easy or relaxing, especially when other kingdoms and Arthur’s safety were involved. But the other part of it, the larger part—

“Merlin, are you even listening to me?” Gwen piped up again, crossing her arms with a huff. It was both so very Gwen and so very not at the same time, and the juxtaposition made Merlin a little dizzy. “You know him best. Can you help me decide? Please? Otherwise, I’ll just blend into the sea of other women, and I can’t have that.” 

“Gwen,” Merlin said delicately, “do you remember the conversation we had about all of this possibly being… you know.”

Gwen looked bemused, shaking her head. “No. Remind me?” 

Merlin dropped his voice even lower, glancing around like someone might appear from the corners of his room and arrest him for daring to think that which was unthinkable in Camelot. Not that this was really a “thinking” matter. When this had all started, Merlin had been about ninety-seven percent confident that what he was dealing with was some kind of love magic, and Gwen’s newfound love for Arthur’s eyelashes was all the proof he needed that his hunch was actually one-hundred percent right. 

“That this is all a spell,” Merlin hissed. Gwen’s eyebrows jumped. 

“A spell? That can’t possibly be! Not all true love has to be from magic, you know. Maybe you’re just jealous.” 

“Gwen,” Merlin said, a lilt of admonishment to his voice. “When’s the last time you have ever cared so strongly about what someone thinks of you, especially a noble prat like Arthur?” 

“You always say such horrible things about him,” Gwen chided, turning her back to him with an air of petulant frustration. “Have you ever considered that, just maybe, he’s a bit nicer than you make him out to be?” 

Merlin groaned, still fighting the panic simmering under the surface of his annoyed demeanor. “You cannot be serious.” 

“If you won’t help me pick out what to wear to watch him train, then I’ll simply ask Morgana. Some friend you are.” 

Morgana. Of course!

“Don’t bother Morgana,” Merlin said hurriedly, a plan suddenly blossoming in his mind. “You should wear the blue dress with the flower details. I imagine all the other women will wear red, or some other representation of Camelot—you’ll stand out. Plus, uhm, Arthur likes that one?” 

The lie tasted bad on his tongue, but Gwen spun back to him, beaming. “Oh thank you, Merlin! I don’t know what I would do without you.” She pressed a quick peck to his cheek before practically flying out of his room to do gods know what. Braid her hair with flowers, maybe. That seemed to be a favorite tactic by Arthur’s admirers at the moment. 

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, taking a deep, long breath. He had coached Arthur through a number of panics—he was convinced the man had some kind of anxiety disorder, though heaven forbid Arthur talked about his feelings long enough to be open to that conversation—but getting through his own was always much, much harder. 

This had all started a mere seventy-two hours ago, when the visiting party of the kingdom of Dyfed had arrived at the gates of the citadel. They had actually brought along a considerable amount of their court, including both King Vortepor and his daughter, Princess Creiddylad, along with a number of attending council people and servants. Plans for this event had been months in the making, involving long communication back and forth between Camelot and Dyfed, all of which had been initially sparked by an increasing number of skirmishes at the kingdoms’ border. As Arthur had explained to him, Camelot rarely kept consistent patrols along the small swathe of land shared by the two as relations had been peaceful for quite a long time (he had added that he believed it had something to do with the relative size of Camelot compared to Dyfed, which was considerably smaller). Those few months ago, though, something had changed, and that rare patrol from Camelot had found Dyfed’s soldiers on the wrong side of the border. Uther’s gut reaction had been war, of course, but Arthur and his cabinet had talked him down, and now here they were, hosting a summit that would hopefully end in the signing of a peace treaty. 

Only, things were never that simple. Within less than a day, it had become obvious that a couple of the women in Dyfed’s visiting party were infatuated with Arthur. It had started with small smiles and gossip amongst themselves whenever he passed, but had grown less cute as they became more and more competitive in their attempts to vye for the prince’s attention. By day two even more of Dyfed’s court was fawning over Arthur, watching him train and cheering with exuberance whilst waving ribbons at him, shoving each other out of the way in the hopes that theirs might be chosen and tied around his upper arm as a symbol of his love. Although Arthur had basked in the attention for the first little while (and how could Merlin have expected any differently), he had slowly begun to lose his patience with the whole thing, growing more and more exhausted as the days passed since Dyfed’s arrival. Up until now, though, it had been a bit easier to laugh at—some sort of silly “love plague” was clearly being passed around Dyfed’s court, but Camelot had remained unaffected, so Merlin knew all they had to do was stick it out and once Dyfed was gone things would return to normal.

Except now Gwen, one of the most intelligent and strong-willed people Merlin knew, was babbling on about Arthur’s muscles and how he was “a bit nicer than you make him out to be,” which meant he couldn’t just sit and wait for it to go away anymore. It was only a matter of time before the other female attendants of Camelot—and, goodness, maybe even Morgana— were shirking their duties to follow Arthur around and try to gain his favor. 

And this was, of course, where the small, horrible voice in the back of his mind piped up that it could affect him now, too.

Merlin had always known he was a boy. Even from when he had been very little, he had asked his mother to cut his hair shorter, to stop making him wear dresses (and those uncomfortable shoes, which had been less about gender expression and more about the fact that he wanted to run in the mud barefoot, dammit!), to let him play sports with the other boys instead of doing his chores. Hunith, being the wonderful woman she was, had never questioned it—she was more concerned with the fact that he could levitate silverware from the age of three in a land where the legality of magic practice was dubious at best than what pronouns he wanted to use. Surprisingly, no one else in Ealdor had really questioned it, either—there were a few village folk who would whisper behind his back, calling him cruel names and insulting Hunith’s mothering abilities, but both Hunith and Merlin had perfected the art of either ignoring them or giving them a glare so full of warning that they were shut up for the time being. Will had played a pretty big role in that, too; he was one of the first kids to unequivocally declare that Merlin was “cool,” and should be invited to play with them in the evenings before dinner. 

Inheriting Balinor’s abilities as a Dragonlord was the first time Merlin had ever considered the implications of having been born a “girl”. Appearing and sounding as he wanted was easy enough—when puberty hit, he had subconsciously manifested his magic to avert what should have happened biologically, and from that point on it had been a non-issue. (It was kind of an incredible feat, actually, now that he thought about it.) But his father’s death had been the first time where he had been faced with the idea of something intrinsic, the thought that he could be rejected because of that which he had no control over. 

And that was how he felt now. It was obvious that the spell was targeting women, and he was terrified that it would select him as its next victim, declaring to the world and himself that Merlin, Arthur’s manservant, was not actually a man at all. 

He wasn’t ashamed of his identity, not in the slightest. But he didn’t dare think of how Arthur, the epitome of brawn over brain and the reigning champion of toxic masculinity, would react. To that, or to the idea that Merlin was in love with him. The latter was almost worse.

But, for now, he had to get his shit together and talk with Morgana. Sitting around waiting for the spell to affect or not affect him wasn’t going to solve anything. 

“Merlin!”

Or, perhaps not.

Merlin halted in his tracks where he had been walking down the hall towards Morgana’s room, turning to find Arthur poking his head out from behind a corner. When they made eye contact, Arthur started very discreetly but still vigorously gesturing for him to come over, obviously trying to keep himself small and unnoticeable. Merlin obediently hurried over to him, trying not to chuckle just a little bit at the extreme lengths Arthur was taking to go unnoticed.

“Yes?” Merlin started to ask, but he had barely begun speaking before Arthur grabbed him by the wrist and all but dragged him back to his chambers. They had to push past a few of Dyfed’s maidservants to get through the door, and Arthur shut it very quickly and loudly behind him, turning to Merlin with an agitated expression on his face.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he said accusingly. 

“I’ve been hanging out with Gwen,” Merlin replied, trying to sound nonchalant. The original reason he had sought Gwen out was to further discuss his theory with her, and to see if she had learned anything from any of the handmaidens of Dyfed’s court. Obviously, that had not gone according to plan. “I was just about to go see Morgana, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Arthur interrupted, barring Merlin’s path to the door with his body. “This entire castle has gone mad! The only woman from Dyfed that seems to have her head screwed on right is Princess Creiddylad. What am I supposed to do?” 

Merlin sighed.

“Surely you’ve noticed, Merlin. I mean, a couple of women? Alright. Fine. With me, it's bound to happen.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Oh piss off. I just mean to say that it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if a few people were acting this way. But it seems like every bloody woman in their court is obsessed with me! Surely something suspicious is happening here.” 

Merlin chewed his lip, debating whether or not to bring up Gwen. Arthur would find out at training, anyway, but maybe it was better that way than fueling both of their anxieties right now. 

“It’s definitely odd,” Merlin conceded, “but likely harmless. A prank, maybe.” 

The minute it came out of his mouth, Merlin knew the excuse sounded lame. Arthur looked at Merlin with a disbelieving expression. “A prank? Really?”

“Well, what else could it be! Aside from—dare I say it—that all these women actually do find your arrogant personality attractive.”

Arthur cast his gaze around nervously, seeming to ignore the gibe. “You don’t think it could be some kind of…magic, then?” 

Merlin tried to fight back an expression of surprise. Arthur, just like his father, typically only considered a magical cause as an absolute last resort when all other reason failed. The fact that Arthur had already come to that conclusion pretty much wiped away any hope from Merlin’s mind that this was all just some crazy, completely non-magical happening.

“...the thought did cross my mind,” he admitted. Arthur sighed. 

“Wonderful.” 

“But if that is the case,” Merlin was quick to add, “I doubt it was some kind of malicious act on Dyfed’s part. Likely someone trying to mess with us, or even an attempt at making us think Dyfed does have some malevolent intent.”

“Why those things and not just treachery from Dyfed?”

Merlin gave Arthur A Look. “Oh come on. If you were to launch a magical attack on another kingdom with the intent of conquering them, wouldn’t you pick something with a bit more actual impact than a bunch of girls falling in love with their prince?” 

Some of the tension in Arthur’s face cracked. “Okay, yeah. When you put it like that, it does sound a little ridiculous.”  

“Regardless, I’ll be sure to speak to Gaius about it,” Merlin continued. “I’m certain we’ll be able to figure it out. But, I really do need to get going. I’m supposed to be meeting with Morgana now.” 

Arthur folded his arms across his chest, raising an accusatory eyebrow. “About what, exactly?” 

“I don’t have to tell you everything about my life, you know,” Merlin replied. “Maybe I’m going to gossip with her about how annoying you are.” 

“When I’m in the middle of a crisis?!” 

“Oh please. I know you’re enjoying all of the attention at least a little bit.” 

“I was. Now it’s just freakish.” 

“Alright, alright,” Merlin placated. “I’ll keep my time with Morgana short, and then do some recon to see what could have possibly triggered such a ridiculous turn of events in the past few days.” 

“Well, whatever you do, hurry. I’ve been in here practically all day to avoid this mess, save for my mandatory meetings with Dyfed.” He groaned, smacking his forehead as he suddenly remembered something. “God, training is going to be a nightmare.” 

“I mean, they don’t really do anything, do they? I got the impression they just stand and cheer.” 

“It’s distracting.”

Merlin smirked. “You’ll have to deal with all sorts of distractions in battle, you know. Maybe it’s good practice.” He pushed Arthur lightly to get to the door, not nearly hard enough to actually move him if he wanted Merlin to stay. But, Arthur let himself be pushed, and Merlin took that as his cue.

“Don’t let any of them in here,” Arthur warned. Merlin gave a small laugh.

“Anything you say, Sire.”

Morgana was sitting at her vanity when Merlin entered, futzing with one of the braids in her hair (which was thankfully absent of any flowers) in such a way that it was obvious she was just looking for something to do. She beamed at him when he came in, getting up from her seat and crossing the floor to greet him. 

“I’m surprised Arthur let you escape from his side given all the nonsense happening in the castle,” she said. “Hearing you at the door was a welcome surprise.” 

Merlin gave a halfhearted laugh. “I barely made it. He tried to trap me in his room with him.” He looked at her for a long moment. “Just to be sure, you’re not…?”

“Suddenly in love with Arthur Pendragon, the prince of pricks? No. I’m not crazy,” she finished. 

“And you didn’t…?” 

“Are you suggesting that I’m the one behind all of this?” Morgana hissed, voice dropping.

“No, no,” Merlin quickly amended. “I just wanted to see if it was perhaps a magical prank gone wrong on your part. That would be much easier to clean up.” 

“As funny as it was at the start, I certainly would have shut this ordeal down by now if it were my spell,” Morgana said. “Or, if I hadn’t been able to, I would have told you before it got so out of hand. And—” her expression morphed into one of worry— “I think it’s gotten to Gwen, and I would never let any magic I cast impact her. I’ve never heard her talk so much about Arthur in one sitting.” 

Merlin nodded. “Just before coming here, she asked me to help her pick what dress to wear to Arthur’s training this evening. She’s never been one to care about that sort of thing. Or about what Arthur thinks of her.”

“Gods.” Morgana rubbed her temples. “We have got to figure this out. I swear, I’m the only sane woman in this entire castle.” Her eyes lit up, an idea clearly coming to mind. “Actually, when’s the last time you encountered Princess Creiddylad?” 

“I haven’t spoken to her directly since her arrival, but she attends all of the meetings between the councils of Camelot and Dyfed. She’s rather quiet, lets her father do most of the talking. A bit intimidating, if you ask me. You would know, if you came to any of them.”

“Please, as if Uther would actually let me have a say in the goings on of those things,” Morgana drawled. “But, to my original point, she hasn’t been drooling over Arthur, has she?” 

Merlin’s eyes went wide. “No, now that you mention it I suppose she hasn’t. All of her interactions with Arthur have been perfectly normal; he even made a comment about it to me only a few moments ago.” 

“Don’t you find that odd?” 

He did. “In her defense, you haven’t succumbed to the spell yet, either.”

Morgana made a face. “Arthur is like a brother to me. I don’t think there is any love spell you could cast that would make me want him in that way. Plus,” she continued, “this plague started in Dyfed’s court and has only just now started affecting members of Camelot. Why is she the only one of them who hasn’t fallen victim to the spell yet?”  

Merlin nodded. “You’re right. It definitely doesn’t make sense. But why would she cast such a spell to begin with? It’s just making Dyfed look bad, without actually accomplishing anything.”

“I don’t know,” Morgana admitted. “I hadn’t gotten that far in my thinking. But,” she continued, turning back towards her vanity mirror to take care of a few flyaways, “I think it’s time she and I had some royal girl talk. I imagine you’re going to speak to Gaius about this, yes?”

“I was headed that way next,” Merlin confirmed. “He and I had talked about the possibility of it being magic a day or so ago, but I’ve been so busy running around trying to keep Arthur from getting mobbed that we haven’t had the opportunity for any further conversation beyond that.” 

“I’ll report back to you about what I’m able to get from Creiddylad. Hopefully, it’s enough to guide us in the right direction.” 

She started out toward the door with Merlin tailing her, and just as she went to go down the hall Merlin gently touched her shoulder. 

“Please be careful,” he said quietly. “Even if the spell is her doing, letting her know what you can do could be incredibly dangerous.”

“I’m not a child, Merlin,” she shot back, but he knew from her expression that she was grateful for the concern. “Meet me in my room this evening, after supper?” 

“Certainly,” Merlin agreed, and they went their separate ways. 

The day only wore on more tediously from there. With the source of the spell still unknown, combined with how finicky love magic tended to be, Merlin and Gaius had no great place to start doing their research. Aimlessly pouring over dozens of magical texts had proven both exhausting and useless—there were spells for trying to increase the compatibility of a couple, for aiding in, erhm, “getting it up,” and even spells for poisoning other relationships, but none of the ones they had found so far matched what was going on currently. They all seemed confined to one or two individuals as well, not an entire, unending crowd of people. 

“I just don’t understand it,” Merlin groaned, slamming shut the book in front of him. “The fact that we can’t find the spell makes me wonder if the sorcerer didn’t just make it up themselves.” 

“You know how difficult a feat that is,” Gaius said, not looking up from the text he was reading. “I highly doubt whomever cast this is that advanced.” 

“Then why is this so impossible to find? Perhaps I can sneak out tonight and go to Kilgharrah for advice. This seems like something he would know the answer to.”

“Merlin, my boy, when has that dragon ever given you a direct answer?” 

Merlin put his head in his hands, defeated. “Never. And, odds that Arthur doesn’t keep me around as some kind of girl-repellant are rapidly decreasing with every passing moment.” He looked through his laced fingers. “Apparently Gwen tried to give him one of her hair ribbons to wear whilst he was training. It shook him up more than everything else, I think. He’s worried about her, as am I.” 

“Ultimately,” Gaius reminded him, “the spell seems to be harmless, and it’s possible that its effects will fade when Dyfed leaves. Assuming that the sorcerer is a part of Dyfed’s party.” 

“It’s also possible that isn’t true,” Merlin replied, ever the pessimist. He wondered when he had lost the boundless positivity he had brought with him from Ealdor.

Lowering his voice, Merlin continued, “Morgana is suspicious of Princess Creiddylad. She’s the only woman from Dyfed who hasn’t seemed to have fallen under the spell.” 

“That is interesting. But why would she do such a thing?” 

“That’s what Morgana’s trying to figure out. She went to chat with her shortly before I came here, and hopefully she learned something that will put us on the right path.” 

Gaius closed his book much more delicately than Merlin had, finally looking up through his glasses with a raised eyebrow. 

“You know, something we haven’t considered is that this is actually a spell gone wrong,” he said carefully. “Do you know why love magic is often so difficult to control?” 

Merlin shook his head. 

“Typically when you cast a spell, you are accomplishing a very specific task—imbuing an object with some kind of charm, for example. With love magic, you’re attempting to manipulate human emotion, a much more volatile target. That’s why the majority of these spells we’ve gone through deal in such small scales—trying to do anything more could lead to disaster, particularly by a more novice magic-user.”

Merlin considered this. “So, it’s possible that whoever cast this was trying to do something much different?” 

“Yes,” Gaius confirmed. 

“Which means we’re not only looking for spells that match exactly what’s happening, but also spells that could be accidentally twisted into what’s happening.” 

“Yes.” 

“Which means that this task just got twice as impossible.” 

“...perhaps.” 

Merlin wanted to pull his hair out. 

“What kind of spell do you think they would have been trying to cast?” 

“I’m not quite sure, but even in the most horrendous mis-casts there are some things that stay the same from the original spell,” Gaius explained. “See what Morgana comes back with. It could inform our idea of what the original intent was, if it doesn’t match the present outcome. But first, you better get back to Arthur. I believe he should be needing to eat soon.” Gaius gave a small smile at that last bit, and Merlin stood up stiffly and stretched. 

“I should get paid more for having to fight my way through a sea of admirers to get to his room, you know,” he said, pulling his coat back on. Gaius laughed.

“Goodbye, Merlin. I wish you luck.” 

As expected, Merlin had to push past some very eager handmaidens in order to not only get into Arthur’s chambers but also fetch their dinner. Having made the connection that him being Arthur’s manservant meant he spent plenty of time with him, all of the women were eager to ask him if Arthur would like this instead of that, or if Merlin could have Arthur conveniently walk by one of them at a certain time, etcetera. It was getting ridiculous—even with the fact that there seemed to be less women mulling about than usual—and though he was definitely still anxious about the possibility of the spell infecting him he could certainly appreciate that he was still levelhead for now. 

Though, that changed when he found Arthur and Creiddylad eating supper together. 

Having finally made it to Arthur’s room, he began loudly declaring his usual apologies about being tardy (though this time he did have a legitimate reason) but was interrupted by Arthur clearing his throat. With the door shut, he turned to find Arthur at one end of his dining table and Creiddylad at the other, a pitcher of wine and multiple platters of food between them. 

Immediately a strong jealousy sparked in Merlin’s gut, turning his ears hot with both embarrassment and a bit of anger. Arthur and Merlin had been eating supper together on days like this for gods know how long, and the thought that he had been replaced without so much as a courtesy notice made his stomach roll. 

“Apologies, Merlin,” Arthur said, looking a little awkward. “I meant to have someone fetch you to let you know, but with the whole situation outside my door it was proving to be impossible.” 

The way Creiddylad looked at him, gaze intense while she said nothing, broke through the overwhelming jealousy and stirred up some unease at the back of Merlin’s mind. It was odd that she was the only one unaffected by the spell—it was damning that she had wiggled her way into dinner alone with Arthur. 

Merlin didn’t even know what to say, but he realized he was expected to say something, so he gave a thin smile. “Of course, Sire. My apologies for interrupting.” 

Without another word he pivoted and left, still carrying a large enough dinner portion to feed two people, and headed towards Morgana’s chambers. 

“It’s her,” he said when he entered, at the exact same time she said, “She did it.” Then, realizing what Merlin was carrying, Morgana raised an eyebrow and added, “What’s that about?” 

“Guess who Arthur is having dinner with,” Merlin said hotly, half-ignoring the question as he set the plate down and collapsed dramatically into the chair opposite Morgana. Her face went wide with shock, but then she schooled it back into her typical, aloof expression. Merlin tried to do the same—the last conversation he wanted to have right now was about the spell possibly heightening his own reactions.

“You know, that doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “And, I should clarify—she didn’t tell me she cast the spell. But our conversation was certainly…off-putting, to say the least.”

“At least you had a conversation. She didn’t say a word to me when I was in Arthur’s room—just stared.”

“Yes, I see what you mean about the staring,” Morgana agreed. “But no, it was more than that. I’ve met many princesses and noblewomen who aren’t good at smalltalk—certainly nothing to be held against them. It’s almost always tedious.” She played with a curl in her hair absentmindedly. “Here, I’ll just describe it. It went something like this—I introduced myself more personally than I had at our initial meeting, apologizing for not doing so sooner, and asked if I could provide her with some company before supper. Seemingly reluctantly, she said yes. We chatted about odds and ends of things for a while—well, I did, she mostly just nodded along—and then I brought up the odd happenings surrounding Arthur. Her demeanor changed instantly. I mean, it had never been particularly pleasant, but she shuttered off what little she had been sharing with me, and when it was obvious she wasn’t going to tell me anything I left.”

“Gaius told me that it’s possible the effects the castle is experiencing are different from what she might have originally intended,” Merlin said. “Did anything hint towards what she was actually trying to do?” 

“Not on my end, but having supper with Arthur seems particularly notable.” 

“That’s for damn sure.” Merlin propped his feet up, looking thoughtfully at Morgana. “It’s obvious she wants something to do with Arthur, but what?” 

Things fell silent for a long moment, both of them mulling over the events since Dyfed’s arrival. Merlin heard Gaius’s voice in his head, replaying the conversation from earlier, and he suddenly sat up straight with his feet on the floor. 

“I’ve been thinking about the ‘targets’ of this spell as being the people impacted,” he said, voice rushing to keep up with his mind. “The women who are now in love with Arthur. But what if the target was Arthur?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Maybe Creiddylad was trying to get Arthur to be the one who fell in love, but something went wrong and instead everyone fell in love with him.” 

“You think she wanted Arthur to fall in love with her? Why? She doesn’t seem like the romantic type, and that wouldn’t exactly cause a political scandal. They’re both respected heirs. In fact, a union between them would almost certainly be celebrated.” 

Merlin’s thoughts tripped over themselves, and he closed his eyes to try and clear his head for just a moment before everything started rolling again. “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe she wants the opposite of a political scandal. Arthur told me that the reason Dyfed and Camelot had been peaceful for so long is because Dyfed knows it can’t conquer Camelot, and Uther has, fortunately, never acted on the fact that Camelot is much bigger. But with how aggressive Uther has been acting recently in his relations with other kingdoms, I wonder if King Vortepor panicked, and sent his troops into Camelot to try and go on the offensive before Uther could put him on the defensive. A marriage between Creiddylad and Arthur would guarantee that the two kingdoms remain at peace, permanently.” 

“So she’s doing this for the sake of her kingdom,” Morgana said. 

“It would make sense. If she had wanted to kill Arthur, there are a dozen ways to do it that don’t involve making him fall in love first, and she surely would have done it by now. With the peaceful history between Dyfed and Camelot, there isn’t anything she could be trying to get revenge for, either.”

“Okay,” Morgana said. “Okay. So if she was attempting to get Arthur to fall in love with her, that’s probably a much easier spell to undo, right?” 

“If the spell had been cast correctly, yes,” Merlin agreed, and the energy that had been building since entering Morgana’s chambers finally got to be too much, causing him to push to his feet and start to pace. “Well, we’d have to figure out Arthur’s ‘true love’ and have them kiss, but at least we’d know that’s how to undo it. Because it’s been so mangled, though, I’m not sure how to solve it.” A horrible thought occurred to him and he stopped, looking back towards Morgana a bit helplessly. “Hopefully not by finding each and every one of their ‘true’ loves and having them kiss. Oh gods, this is a nightmare.” 

Morgana laughed. “I doubt we’ll have to go to so much of an extreme.” She tilted her head, thinking. “Are there any other ways you read about that can break love spells?” 

Merlin pondered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “In my readings with Gaius, I remember seeing that some of the spells would be rendered ineffective if the caster lost interest in whomever they had cast the spell on. Like, if they had cast a spell to make person A fall out of love with person B, but then ended up not liking person A anyway, person A’s feelings for person B would return.” 

“We already know that Creiddylad doesn’t actually have feelings for Arthur, though. Or, at least, that’s what we’re assuming.” 

“But what if Arthur is person A? And all the women are person B? It’s a stretch, but maybe if he makes some kind of public display of affection towards someone else the spell will be rendered useless because they’ll realize he has no interest in them.” 

“The tournament after the signing tomorrow!” Morgana exclaimed. “Assuming all goes well—and I can’t imagine it won’t, strangeness aside—everyone will be there. But who should he be with?” 

Merlin looked at her pointedly.

“Absolutely not. We’ve already had the discussion about how he’s like a brother to me.” She chewed her lip, indecisive. “If we get Arthur to agree, he and Creiddylad could make a public appearance—” 

“No,” Merlin snapped, practically jumping out of his own skin in his eagerness to disagree. To (poorly) cover up his feelings, he added, “We’ll just be solving one problem by creating another. Arthur can’t marry Creiddylad.” 

“I didn’t say anything about marriage! Just them appearing together; a one time deal to get rid of this whole mess.” 

“If we fuel her and Arthur’s relationship, it will only be more difficult to disentangle,” Merlin argued.

“Alright. Why don’t we just ask Arthur, then? Maybe he actually likes her, and they will get married, and—” 

“He doesn’t.” 

Morgana leveled him with an indecipherable look. Merlin couldn’t tell if it was pity or incredulity that he could be so dense. 

“You’re the one who walked in on them having supper together, not me.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “What’s gotten into you, Merlin? You’re acting like one of those girls.” 

A pit opened in Merlin’s stomach, vast and empty.

To Morgana, it was a harmless poke, the kind of teasing that they did with each other all the time. It was one of the reasons Merlin liked her so much as a friend—he was able to act like himself with her, and her with him, instead of them both putting up some kind of pretense due to their relative stations.

But to Merlin, the comment meant that he wasn’t hiding his feelings as well as he had thought. If he couldn’t control his emotions well enough to have even a twenty minute conversation with Morgana without losing his head, then surely the spell that had ravaged the castle like a disease had poisoned him, too.

“If that’s what he wants, then—fine,” Merlin conceded, voice quieter than it had been. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest right between his ribs, bruising the flesh of his heart. “But it seems unfair, knowing that she doesn’t actually like him.” 

“One thing at a time, I suppose. Can I trust you to have this conversation with Arthur normally, or do I have to do it?” 

“I got it.” Merlin bowed his head to hide the humiliation coloring his features. “I’ll ask him when I go to perform my nightly duties.” 

“Excellent.” Morgana gestured towards the plate he had brought, which was certainly cold now. “Are you going to eat?” 

Merlin gave a weak smile. “I already did,” he lied. “That was all for Arthur.” 

Morgana raised a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing.

About an hour or so later, Merlin was back in Arthur’s chambers, finishing up his explanation as to how he thought the spell could be broken. 

“So,” he said, fighting the urge to grit his teeth, “you need to make an appearance with someone at the tournament. Princess Creiddylad, perhaps.” 

Arthur gave an amused huff. “Perhaps not. It was delightful talking to someone who could have a rational conversation with me, but we are very different people. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” 

“The wrong idea is exactly what they need to get, Arthur,” Merlin argued, ignoring the small amount of joy he received at having his suspicions about Arthur and Creiddylad validated. 

“Alright, and I am more than willing to figure out some way to do that that doesn’t involve anyone from Dyfed.” His eyes locked with Merlin’s, and he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head. 

“Give me your neckerchief,” Arthur said suddenly, and when Merlin raised an eyebrow he backtracked a bit sheepishly. “Sorry. That was rude. But that would be genius, wouldn’t it? If they see it tied around my arm they’ll know I’ve taken a fancy to someone and will have their hearts broken without me having to actually appear with anyone.” 

It honestly was quite smart, except for the fact that blood was rushing to Merlin’s cheeks at the thought of that kerchief belonging to him. He knew it would mean nothing to Arthur—it was evident in the way he was so callously talking about it now—but that made the fact that it meant something to him all the more painful. And, assuming that their way of undoing the spell was correct, wouldn’t Merlin still be affected if they used his neckerchief? If anything, it could make the spell even worse, and the thought of spiraling even further made him nauseous. 

“Haven’t you any other cloths you can use?” Merlin managed to ask, terrified his voice was going to come out as just a squeak. “Even a napkin. They surely won’t know the difference.”

Arthur blanched. “Well—I suppose so, yes. But is that going to be convincing? Anything I own is going to be…well, rather fancy. And expensive. Which would suggest Princess Creiddylad having given it to me.” 

“No one is going to look that hard, Arthur.” 

“My father would!”

“If your father is going to look that hard, then he’s surely going to notice if you wear my neck scarf. I wear it all the time!” 

Arthur screwed up his face in thought. “Okay. Do you have any you don’t wear all the time?”

“Have you considered that, just maybe, I wear them all the time because I only have the few?” 

Arthur didn’t seem to have a response to that. 

“Oh, whatever,” Merlin forced himself to say, untying the kerchief from around his neck like he didn’t care about it. “Just take it. If you get any blood on it, I will kill you slowly and deliberately.” 

Arthur took the cloth from Merlin’s outstretched hand with a great deal more delicacy than he expected, tying it around his upper arm as a test to make sure it was big enough. 

“Fancy that,” Arthur said quietly, looking at the tie for a moment. Merlin felt like dying. The scarf looked like it belonged there, not around Merlin’s neck. 

Arthur untied it again, setting it gently in his bedside drawer. “It’s decided then. You better hope this works, Merlin.”

Merlin tried not to show his disappointment.

The signing went off without a hitch, much to everyone’s relief. Both Dyfed and Camelot seemed to have found terms that they were happy with, and now they were to do what all men in power seemed to find entertaining—fight.

It was very ironic, if you asked Merlin.

“You better not lose,” Merlin was saying as he suited Arthur up for the tournament. “On the off chance someone recognizes my scarf, I don’t want it associated with a loser.” 

Arthur barked out a laugh. “Please. If I lose, I guarantee that out of the two of us, I will be more embarrassed.” 

Merlin finished strapping Arthur’s armor together with a flourish, stepping back to make sure everything fit well. The light filtering in through the red walls of the tent cast a strange array of shadows on Arthur’s face, making it difficult to read his expression as he did his own once-over of his armor before asking, “Bring me the scarf?” 

Dutifully, Merlin brought over his blue kerchief, holding it out to Arthur as nonchalantly as he could manage. Arthur didn’t take it, though, and Merlin immediately felt his nerves springing to life.

“Would you mind—uhm—tying it on, for me?” Arthur asked. Merlin’s eyes widened, hoping the strange tent lighting hid his expression as much as it was hiding Arthur’s. “It’s hard to—with the armor—”

“I got it,” Merlin said, putting them both out of their misery. He tied the kerchief around Arthur’s upper arm with shaky fingers, trying not to linger but failing. When he stepped back, Arthur smiled at him.

“Wish me luck.” 

“I don’t think I need to.” 

Arthur exited the tent and headed into the arena, while Merlin watched from just outside of it. He could hear, from the numerous gasps in the crowd, that Arthur’s token did not go unnoticed. A few of the women that he recognized as being from Dyfed ran from the stands in tears, only to reappear a few fights into the tournament with much more normal attitudes. It was evident that their idea had worked—in case he had any lingering doubts, Gwen sent him a bemused expression from across the arena when the spell seemed to wear off for her, and Merlin bit back a chuckle. 

It made him realize, too, watching Arthur fight, that he couldn’t blame his emotions on the spell. While one part of him had been anxious that the spell would affect him, it seemed that another part had been anxious to find something to blame for his feelings for Arthur. The jealousy he had felt towards Creiddylad had been so overwhelming if only because he had never actually been jealous of someone before—Arthur hadn’t had a serious relationship in the time that Merlin had known him, never mind during the time he had started to like him. 

It made it all the worse when Arthur came practically bouncing back to Merlin’s side after winning the tournament, glistening with sweat, quite frankly rather gross but beaming one of those devastatingly brilliant smiles.

“I think it worked,” Arthur said happily as they walked back into their tent.

“Yes,” Merlin said, forcing a smile. “I told you it would.” 

Arthur undid the handkerchief from his arm so he could take off the rest of his armor, handing it back to Merlin. “No blood, but it may smell. It means I survived, though, so you can hardly complain.” 

“What?” Merlin asked, looking up from where he had started undoing the straps of Arthur’s armor. It was hard to tell, but he could’ve sworn Arthur’s cheeks went pink. 

“That’s where this tradition comes from, you know,” Arthur said. “Knights will take a charm from the person they love as a promise that they’ll survive the battle to give it back.” 

Merlin didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to say anything. So he just nodded. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Arthur said quietly.

“No, not at all,” Merlin rushed to say. “It’s just—oi, I can’t have a conversation like this when you smell like a pig.” 

Arthur laughed a little, but then looked at Merlin a bit more seriously. “Is there a conversation to have?” 

“I don’t know! You tell me!” 

He stopped working on Arthur’s armor and they stared at each other, long and hard. There was enough commotion outside that anything they said to each other right now would go unheard by other ears. 

After a long while, Arthur spoke. “I’ll admit there was a selfish reason for being so adamant about using your scarf,” he said softly, surprising Merlin. The honesty surprised him so much, in fact, that Merlin opened his own mouth and started talking, too. 

“And I, for being so adamant against it,” he agreed. Arthur’s face fell, and Merlin rushed to fix his statement. “No, no I mean—I—gods, Arthur, you have to promise not to tell a soul, or laugh at me, or be weird, or anything but, uhm, I thought I was under the spell. And that if you used my scarf, the spell would be broken for everyone but me.” 

“You’re not a girl,” Arthur pointed out, confused. 

“No, but, well, I was. When I was born. And I thought that—maybe—it would still—you know. Work on me. I guess.” He said it all in one long, stuttering rush, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, trying to puzzle out exactly what Merlin had said. Merlin could practically see the disdain in his gaze, the judgement passing through his mind as he re-imagined Merlin with this information. If his anxiety hadn’t already frozen him in place he would’ve taken a step back, a vain attempt at avoiding the aftermath of his own big mouth. Even still, his hands shook at his sides, a tremor that was usually accompanied with the inability to breathe easily.

“But you’re…not a girl now?” Arthur replied, confused, and Merlin couldn’t tell what exactly he was trying to accomplish with his question. The inability to breathe took that as its cue to make an entrance stage left, and Merlin felt like dying for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. The lack of oxygen made him lose his sense of balance and he started to topple forward, the world spinning around him as he thought about all the horrible ways this could end. 

Arthur caught him easily, looking worried. “Merlin, I don’t care,” he said, sounding both gentle and a bit Pendragon-blunt at the same time. “I’m just making sure I have things the right way.” 

What little air Merlin had in his lungs left him in a rush. “No. I’m not. A girl, that is.”

“Okay. Excellent. Nothing has changed, then.” 

Silence. Merlin took a long, shaky inhale, forcing his lungs to expand so he could regain the ability to stand and stop leaning against Arthur’s palms.

“Why did you think you were under the spell?” 

Laughter, bright and relieved, exploded out of Merlin before he could stop it. “Are you really that stupid, or do you just want me to say it?” he asked, his body turning to river-wet clay as relief flooded through him. 

“Is that why you were so standoffish about—”

“Obviously!” Merlin exclaimed, laughing so hard he fell entirely against Arthur. “I mean come on, Arthur! Why else do you think I suffer through dinner with you every night? Because I like washing the dishes afterward?” 

Arthur cuffed him lightly on the head, also laughing. “Well, we can have supper together tonight. I imagine Princess Creiddylad will have no interest in dining with me now. Even if she did, I’ll give you priority to make up for my egregious mistake.” 

“As you should.” Merlin hummed, feeling a bit high on the euphoria of being loved. It emboldened him enough to add, “Well, that’s two of my three major secrets exposed to you now. How ever will I remain interesting?” 

“Is the third one that you have magic?” 

Merlin tensed. 

“What?” 

Arthur flicked Merlin’s ear playfully. “You are atrocious at hiding it, Merlin. I mean, seriously. And, just to clarify, I don’t care about that either.”

Merlin went mushy again, feeling all of his remaining anxiety drain out of him like a leaky spigot. 

“And how long were you going to keep that little tidbit of knowledge to yourself?” 

“Until you told me,” Arthur said simply. Merlin almost felt like crying, but staved off the urge. 

“So…does this mean you’re always going to wear my neck scarf when you fight?” he asked, once his brain had recovered from the truly ludicrous series of revelations that had happened in the span of barely five minutes.

Arthur snickered, pressing a kiss to the top of Merlin’s forehead. The action was so small but so much that Merlin could have died a third time, only it would have been a much happier, much more wonderful death, like a star exploding and washing the entire universe in a warm, brilliant light. Well, assuming they did that. He didn’t actually know.

“Only if you’re willing to deal with the consequences,” Arthur said. 

“Like what consequences?” 

Gwen burst into the tent then, pointing a finger at their huddled forms. “Was that Merlin’s neck scarf?” 

Arthur tilted his head to look back at Merlin, grinning. “Those consequences.”