Archive of Our Own

The day was almost offensively normal. It was not any kind of anniversary: not of his coronation, or of his birth, or of his death. It was certainly not anything of Merlin’s doing, not least because he was currently almost 400 million miles away from the Earth. Perhaps most confusingly of all, it did not appear to be the hour of Albion’s greatest need, because Albion was gone. Had been gone, in fact, for over a thousand years. 

The day started in its usual fashion. Merlin woke up, rolled over, went back to sleep, woke up again, actually got up this time, stumbled downstairs, turned on his holoscreen, and froze. The day suddenly became far less normal. Because wading out of the lake on Merlin’s holoscreen, looking for all the world like he had one thousand, five hundred and twenty-seven years ago, was Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin’s heart thudded against his ribs. For the first time in centuries, he felt hope rising dangerously in his chest. He managed to unfreeze enough to press the unmute button. 

“-approximately 05:30 this morning, a man who appears to be legendary king Arthur Pendragon was recorded rising from a lake in Wales, long theorised to be the mythical lake of Avalon-”

Merlin shook his head, not able to believe his ears, nor able to quell his rising surge of desperate hope. He shut his eyes and reached out with his mind, connecting himself to the Balance of magic that ran throughout the universe. At first, it seemed no different. But wait - there was something, some slight deviation, far away from him. A presence he hadn’t felt in years.

Merlin summoned a chair and sat down heavily, unable to take his eyes from the screen. Before him, Arthur Pendragon shook the lake water from his armour and looked around in confusion. Merlin drank in the sight of him like a man parched. Then, abruptly, he started laughing.

“You’re kidding me,” he said loudly over the noise of the still-droning reporter. “Over a thousand years, and I missed it ?” And not only missed it, but was millions upon millions of miles away!

He shouldn’t have left Earth: Merlin knew it with a guilty certainty. He'd waited for so long, but when Arthur finally returned it’s as if Merlin hadn’t waited at all. There was nobody there to greet Arthur, or comfort him, or explain. Arthur didn’t even speak the language!

The reporter went on. “Pendragon was soon picked up by a member of the Department of Magical Regulation-”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Merlin said at his screen. “Those numbskulls?” 

“-and has now been transported to a secure government facility, which for Pendragon’s safety will remain unnamed.”

Merlin stood up. The screen burst into flames. “Good riddance,” he muttered.

His dream was fast turning into a nightmare. The DMR, of all the people who could’ve found him. You were unlikely to find a more brainless, magic-hating group of idiots anywhere, even back in Uther’s day. And they’d put him in a ‘secure government facility’ - well, Merlin knew what that meant, and it certainly didn’t have anything to do with Arthur’s safety. The hope that had been rising in him faded, snuffed out as quickly as it had arrived.

How had he managed to lose Arthur before he even had him again? Merlin could take down a couple of guards, but not an entire station filled with them. Maybe once he could’ve done it. There was a time where he could have stormed citadels single-handedly, started or ended wars as he saw fit. But that was before the rise of technology, and well before the space age.

No use dwelling on the past, Merlin thought. It was the same thought that had kept him moving for centuries.

So, Merlin couldn’t break into the facility alone. He also didn’t know where it was, or how to find that out. Alright. Fine. He’d waited fifteen hundred years for this, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to fail Arthur a second time. So who could do those things? More to the point, who would be willing to do those things, and by doing them firmly position themself on the government’s shitlist?

A thought occurred to Merlin, and he started to smile. Of course. It was fabulously simple, really. He could go to the rebellion, reveal a little of his powers - not too much, obviously, he couldn’t have them suspecting who he really was - and ask for their aid in freeing Arthur Pendragon. It wouldn’t take much convincing to make them see the benefits of being seen to free the Once and Future King from the tyranny of the government. Then once Arthur was free, they could just go. No more responsibilities. No more waiting. 

Merlin cracked his neck and grinned. Saving Arthur Pendragon again, he thought. I could get used to this.

*

The trader sternly shook her head. “Seven bits and no less.”

“Six and fifty?” Merlin said, giving her his best wide-eyed innocent look. He’d practised it a lot over the centuries, and was rather proud of it by now.

She sighed. “Done.”

Merlin beamed as they shook hands and he carefully placed the navigation tool in his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and surveying the rest of the crowded marketplace. Nestled between two bright stalls was a small, shabby stand, largely undecorated. It was this stand that Merlin headed for, still grinning.

“You’re cheerful today, Em,” said the stand’s trader, a big, bulky man that Merlin knew well. Or at least as well as he knew anyone these days.

Merlin shrugged and placed his bag on the counter with a cheerful bounce. “Got a good deal over at Lyssa’s.”

“You always get a good deal at Lyssa’s. That woman has a soft spot a mile wide for you.” He paused, and looked at Merlin again. “But it’s not that, is it? This is something bigger.”

“You know me too well, Tam,” Merlin replied, casting an eye over the goods laid out on the stall. “How was Mars?”

“Oh, good, good. Plenty of business. You came at a good time, cause I’m stocked up on pretty much anything you can imagine at the moment.”

Merlin grinned. “Perfect. Then today I would like 90 gallons of your Class A fuel, please.”

Tam’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Fuck, Em. You going somewhere?”

“I am. And actually, I need your help with that.”

“What, on top of the 90 gallons of Class A?” Tam shook his head. “Only you, Em. Shoot.”

Merlin paused and glanced around the marketplace for anybody listening in. Satisfied, he turned back to Tam, pretending to examine one of the trinkets at the stall and lowering his voice. “You’ve travelled a lot, haven’t you, Tam?”

He frowned at the non-sequitur. “Well, yes. I’m a trader. That’s my job.”

“And in your travels, you’ve heard certain…rumours.” Merlin kept his head down, still ostensibly engrossed in the goods. “Rumours about a certain group of individuals that don’t feel all that kindly towards our current leaders.”

“You’re talking about the rebellion,” Tam said bluntly.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes, Em, you really need to just spit it out and say what you’re asking for. I don’t deal in riddles.”

“Fine.” Merlin leaned forward. “I want to find the rebellion. Can you help?”

Tam grinned in approval. “That’s more like it.” He leaned forward too, until his nose was only inches from Merlin’s face. “And as a matter of fact, I can. Have you heard of the Redlords?”

“As in the Martian crime syndicate?”

“That’s the one. I’ve got reason to believe they’re dealing with the rebels. It’s a damn foolhardy move, straying that close to breaking the Peace, but I respect it.”

Merlin frowned.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tam continued. “Why the hell would I bring myself anywhere near this mess? Now normally I’d agree with you, but you’re the one who’s asking me about finding the rebellion, and they don’t exactly do their recruitment from reputable circles.”

“They’ve got to recruit from more reputable circles than that ,” Merlin said, but his heart wasn’t in his words.

Tam shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s the only one I know about. It’s up to you if you decide it’s worth it.”

Well at least that wouldn’t be a difficult decision. “It’s worth it,” Merlin said. For Arthur, it always will be.

Merlin thanked Tam and started to head for home, walking along the ocean-carved tunnels that were the signature of Callisto’s underworld. Once, all that had lied beneath Callisto’s surface was a sea. In fact, most of the universe still believed this to be the case. But some of the early settlers of Callisto, less than content with living under the watchful eye of the government, had figured out a way to manipulate the tides of the ocean, making it recede towards the centre of the planet and leaving behind it miles and miles of tunnels.

Callisto was one of the few places in the solar system where one could be free of the government’s influence without necessarily being a criminal. Of course, by definition Merlin already was a criminal: he was an unregistered magic user, which in the DMR’s eyes was worse than a murderer. But luckily the people of Callisto felt differently, so Merlin could go about life without worrying about accidently using magic.

In fact, the people of Callisto were so casual about magic that Merlin had felt confident enough to embark on a new project: trying to combine magic with modern technology. It was so ridiculously illegal that he’d probably be thrown in prison for the rest of his life, and Merlin loved it. Progress was slow, but he’d managed to put together a few prototypes.

Merlin reached the final intersection and turned towards his home. He’d had to pay handsomely for the privilege of living so close to the ocean, but it had been worth it. Before he went inside, he walked up to the ocean and bent down, feeling the waves against his skin. For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend he was standing at a different waterside, one many millions of miles away. But only for a moment, and then Merlin opened his eyes and went inside.

Immediately, he knew something was wrong. The house appeared the same, but Merlin was practised in spotting the subtle differences: a scuff on that carpet, that figurine moved a couple of inches to the left. Not for the first time he cursed himself for not bothering to set up more comprehensive wards.

With a flash of his eyes Merlin turned invisible, then stood silently as he debated what to do. He could simply collect his supplies and leave, leaving the intruders to a fruitless mission. But then he would never know who the intruders were, or why they’d come. It was dangerous to have enemies you didn’t know about.

Merlin crept towards the stairs, then thought better of it and Looked, sending his sight outside of his body. It raced up the stairs, then went through a door and paused. Standing in the middle of Merlin’s bedroom were several soldiers in the unmistakable blue and green uniform of the DMR.

A million questions erupted in Merlin’s mind, but he pushed them all to one side and sent his sight racing back to his body. He needed to get out of here. A few soldiers he could deal with, but if you saw one DMR soldier, you could guarantee the rest of the squadron wasn’t far behind.

He opened his eyes. A DMR soldier was standing not three feet from him, and she had a mag-detector.

Well, fuck, Merlin thought succinctly, creeping towards the door as fast as possible. He was too late.

“Captain,” the soldier called, turning her detector towards him. “I think I’ve got something.”

Merlin took great satisfaction in making the mag-detector explode in her hand. The soldier looked around wide-eyed.

“It’s him! He’s here!” she yelled, and five other soldiers sprinted into the room, making sure to immediately block all available exits. Damnit. Say what you like about the DMR, but they were professionals.

“Emrys,” said what must have been the captain, backing up against a wall so he couldn’t be attacked from behind. “We know you’re here. We know it’s you. Surrender now and we can still do this peacefully.”

Merlin thought a succession of rude words very loudly. He’d really thought they fell for the last time he faked his death thirty years ago. It was a very convincing fake, complete with screams, fake blood and an escapee lion.

“You can’t hide forever, Emrys,” the captain said.

“You’re right, I can’t,” Merlin said aloud, and dropped the invisibility.

The soldiers rushed towards the centre of the room, but Merlin was ready and ducked under two of their arms. His eyes flashed gold and he sent the contents of his mantelpiece flying at the soldiers’ heads, sending one man crashing to the floor, but most were wise to this trick and dodged.

“How did you find me, anyway?” Merlin said conversationally, weaving around the soldiers’ bristling tasers towards the door.

“Cover that door,” the captain barked. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t let him draw you into a conversation.”

“So rude,” Merlin said. “And when I’m being so polite to you, as well.” He kept his voice calm and easy as he continued: “You do realise I could have killed you all in an instant if I’d wished to?”

“He’s bluffing,” the captain said. It was true. He was. Powerful as he might be, to kill an entire room of soldiers specifically trained to counter magic would be a challenge. But nevertheless, Merlin could see the effect his words had had on some of the less experienced soldiers, their arrogance giving way to apprehension.

“Tighten in,” the captain said, and the soldiers formed a tight circle around Merlin so that a taser bristled in his face no matter which way he turned. He was cornered. The soldiers approached, tasers up.

Well, Merlin thought, here goes nothing.

He smiled as if he hadn’t a care in the world and closed his eyes, hoping the soldiers would assume it to be a display of arrogance rather than what it really was: a way to hide the brief flash of gold.

He felt the weave and balance of the universe, and pushed.

“Don’t just stand there! Neutralise him!”

As one, the soldiers stabbed the tasers into the area of space that had, until that moment, contained Merlin’s chest. Now, it merely contained a very convincing replica.

The Merlin-replica crumpled to the ground, unconscious. The real Merlin watched, invisible, from the side of the room, fighting the sudden wave of exhaustion. He leant against a wall to keep himself upright. Had he done it fast enough? Had anybody noticed the microsecond of time where Merlin had flashed out of existence entirely?

A soldier bent down to check fake-Merlin’s body. “He’s out.”

“I don’t like that he went so easily,” said the captain. “You two, stay and guard him. The rest of you, with me. If Emrys was hiding out under Callisto, maybe others are too.”

Wait. Wait, did that mean what Merlin thought it meant? They don’t know about the underworld, he realised with a jolt of relief. They think it’s just me hiding out down here. If he could just keep the soldiers from reaching the city, it might yet remain a secret.

Merlin shook off the exhaustion as best he could and followed the majority of the soldiers out of the door, trying not to stumble and reveal himself. He was powerful, true, but that hadn’t been an easy piece of magic to pull off. Still, he had enough left in him for one last trick.

Merlin stood straight and raised his hands up to the sky. “Gewican de stanas,” he began to intone. “Aliese hine.”

“Do you hear that?” one of the soldiers said to another.

“Gewican de stanas,” Merlin repeated, raising his voice. Above them, the tunnel began to shake.

“It’s him! Run!” The soldiers started to sprint back towards the house, away from the tunnel. They were too late.

“Gewican de stanas!” Merlin roared, and the tunnel collapsed in on itself, chunks of rock crashing down all around and raising a thick cloud of dust. When it cleared, there was no trace that the tunnel had ever been there. Merlin smiled, satisfied.

He crept back over to his house, drawing a taser out of thin air. Still invisible, he crept into the house, where both soldiers were carefully watching his replica. Without ceremony, Merlin tased one of them from behind.

The remaining soldier jumped up, eyes scanning their surroundings wildly. “Reveal yourself!” they shouted. 

“If you insist,” Merlin said pleasantly, dropping the invisibility spell and his illusory replica at the same time. He twitched a hand and the taser the soldier was carrying vanished. Another twitch of the hand and the soldier was forced to their knees, bound by invisible ropes. Merlin aimed his taser at their head. “I’d like to know some information.”

The soldier spat at his feet. “I’d rather die than tell a sorcerer anything.”

Merlin cocked his head. “Would you?” he asked, kneeling down so he could look into the soldier’s eyes. “I’m not a cruel man. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”

“Never.” The soldier bared their teeth, but looking at them, Merlin could only pity them with a bone-deep exhaustion. They were far from the only one to succumb to the DMR’s lies. Propaganda was a powerful tool, and Merlin couldn’t undo years of hatred and conditioning.

“So be it,” he said softly, and shot the soldier through the head. He got up stiffly, head swimming. He felt a little sick.

There had been no alternative. The soldier would not have told him anything, save perhaps under torture, and there were some things Merlin refused to do. He could not have let them go: they would have run straight back to the DMR. Perhaps with time, he could have made them see beyond the propaganda, see that the DMR was only using them. Or perhaps the soldier would have taken advantage of Merlin’s weakness and shot him when his back was turned. 

He grabbed his bags and loaded them into his starship, The Kilgharrah , and sat for a moment with his thoughts. Then he engaged the thrusters and began to navigate upwards through the long series of tunnels that led to the surface. Merlin flew towards the light, leaving the bodies of eighteen DMR soldiers lying in the dust behind him. It did not feel like a victory.

*

Arthur’s eyes flew open, and he began to blink rapidly. He tried to draw in a breath and became abruptly aware of the fact that his lungs were filled with water. He started to cough desperately, trying desperately to breathe.

With an immense, hacking cough Arthur cleared his lungs, spewing up water. Once he could stop coughing long enough to draw in a breath, he looked around. He was standing neck-deep in the middle of a lake, dressed in his full set of ceremonial armour. His hair was dripping wet.

As he stood and breathed, memories returned to him in flashes. A round table. Camelot, with banners waving in the breeze. A battle. A betrayal. His chest, stabbed through with Mordred’s sword-

Arthur reached frantically under his armour, feeling at the place where his wound had been. The skin was smooth and unblemished, without even a scar.

That can’t be right, Arthur thought frantically, what kind of sorcery is this-

And then more memories burst from his mind unbidden. Merlin’s eyes glowing gold. The excruciating three-day ride to the lake. The sense of peace, finally, as he laid in Merlin’s arms. 

I died. Arthur knew it with a cold, hard certainty. But the sunlight on his face felt so real, so warm. With the same certainty that he knew he had been dead before, Arthur knew that he was alive now. His face broke into a smile.

“Merlin!” he bellowed, starting to wade out of the water towards the shore. “I’m alive!” He was out of the lake in no time, his body feeling more youthful and fresh than it had in years. “Merlin?”

Arthur scanned the shore of the lake, but there was no sign of his manservant. Instead, a group of people wearing odd clothes were sitting by the lake, watching him with wide eyes. He jogged towards them.

“Hello,” he said. “Have you seen my manservant, Merlin? He’s about yea high, dark hair, always wears this stupid red neckerchief. It appears he’s run off somewhere.”

The people stared at him uncomprehendingly. One got up and started to back away from him.

“What?” he asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

The people muttered amongst themselves. Then, one timidly approached him, and started to say something.

“I’m afraid I don’t speak that language,” Arthur said. “Are you foreigners, then?” He frowned. “What are you even doing near Camelot if none of you speak Brythonic?”

The people started to talk with each other again. One brought out a slim piece of metal from their pocket and began to speak into it.

Arthur threw up his hands. “Well, you’re no help,” he snapped, and started to walk away from them, into the forest, in the direction he vaguely knew was Camelot. He’d probably been dead for a few hours at most. Merlin had most likely begun to return to Camelot, but he could easily catch up, strange foreigners aside.

He had only been walking for half an hour when he came across a second load of foreigners. Where the others had been dressed in all manner of brightly coloured garb, these all wore the same blue and green garment. They wore the colours of their kingdom, perhaps.

“Hello,” he greeted them. “Please tell me you speak Brythonic. I know, it sounds like a stupid question, but I ran into these-” He broke off as one of them stepped forward, drawing a long, black stick from their belt, and suddenly felt immensely conscious of the lack of sword at his side. “Don’t try anything,” he said, backing away. “I’ll have you know that I am a highly trained knight of Camelot-”

The foreigner attempted to jab him in the gut, and Arthur ran. He wasn’t fool enough to turn around, but he could hear the pounding of the foreigners' feet behind him and knew they were following close behind.

“Merlin!” he shouted breathlessly. “Now would be a great time!” There was no reply, but this time Arthur was almost glad of it. There was no way that Merlin would ever let him live this down.

The pounding of feet behind him grew louder. They were catching up. Arthur risked a glance over his shoulder, and immediately regretted it, as one took the opportunity to stab their strange black stick into his chest. He spasmed in pain, and the world went dark.

*

Arthur came to consciousness slowly. He was lying in his own bed in Camelot, with the early morning sun streaming through the window. Arthur smiled and turned over, relishing the time to himself before Merlin came to rudely awaken him. Then he froze.

Arthur bolted upright, leaping out of bed and running to the window. The city of Camelot greeted him, shining in the morning sun. The town square was bustling with people, peasants running errands and traders setting up shop for the day. Arthur laughed breathlessly, disbelieving.

Strange foreigners aside, all was as it should be. Merlin had clearly found him just in time and brought him back to Camelot. He lifted his shirt and inspected his wounds. The skin was bruised and sore to the touch where the foreigner had stabbed him, but where Mordred’s sword had entered the skin was as perfect as it had been yesterday.

There was a knock at his door. Arthur beamed.

“Since when did you bother knocking, Merlin?” he called out. The door slowly opened, but the man standing in the doorway was not Merlin.

“Hello, son,” said Uther Pendragon.

Arthur’s stomach dropped. For the first time in years, he looked upon his father’s face. Uther looked just as he had when he died - no, he looked as he had in Arthur’s childhood, when Uther still stood tall and proud, a representation of the best thing a man could be. Atop his head was a gleaming golden circlet.

“Father,” Arthur said, lost for words. “I…how?”

Uther actually laughed, the sound rich and deep. Arthur remembered how dearly he had treasured that laugh. “I’ve been brought back, my son,” he said. “We both have. We’ve been given a second chance.” He sobered, and looked Arthur in the eyes. “Come, walk with me. We have much to discuss.”

Arthur followed Uther through the familiar corridors of Camelot in a daze. The servants smiled and bowed as they approached, seemingly unsurprised to see a long-dead king walking by them alive and well. “Why aren’t they surprised?” Arthur asked.

“Patience, Arthur,” Uther said, but he did not sound angry. “All will be explained in time.”

Eventually, they reached the great hall, filled with servants milling in and out carrying plates and glasses. Uther clapped his hands and they all scurried outside, leaving the two of them alone in the large hall.

“Come, dine with me,” Uther said, gesturing towards the high table, where a feast had been spread and two places laid out. Arthur’s mouth watered at the smell of the roast boar. Uther watched him carefully.

“The roast boar is still your favourite?” he asked.

“I…yes,” Arthur said, with a disbelieving laugh. “It is. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Uther’s eyes dimmed, and a shadow passed over his face. “And I have only myself to blame for that,” he said quietly. He turned to look Arthur steadily in the eyes. “Arthur, I fear that I have failed you in many ways,” he said. “I have always told you that a man must prioritise his duty as king over all else. I cannot bring myself to regret this advice entirely, but I do regret that in prioritising my duties as king, I neglected my duties as father.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. To his horror, he felt tears pricking at his eyes, and rapidly blinked them away.

“I was a king, not a father,” Uther went on. “I believed that I could not be both, so I sacrificed the one to uphold the other. I have had many years to dwell on this decision, and I have since realised I made it on false premises. It is possible to be both a strong king, and a…” Uther swallowed. “And a loving father.” He paused, and took one of Arthur’s hands in both of his. “Arthur, I beg that you will forgive me.”

Arthur took a moment to take in the entirely new feeling of Uther begging him for anything. “Father,” he began, then stopped, lost for words, unable to reconcile the Uther who condemned Guinevere’s father to death with the Uther who stood before him now, begging for forgiveness.

Uther gently removed his hand. And there was another thing: never in his life had Arthur associated his father with the word ‘gentle’, and yet that was undoubtedly how Uther had moved. “I understand that these things take time,” he said. “But with time, I will show you how deeply I am sorry. I have been given a second chance, Arthur, and I do not intend to waste it.”

Uther sat up straight then, with determination in his eyes, and never had he looked to Arthur more like a king than in that moment. “There is one thing that I have not yet told you, my son. We are not the only two that have been given a second chance.”

Arthur’s heart jolted in his chest. “You mean…” His mind went to so many people he had lost. Lancelot. Elyan. His mother.

“Sir Leon!” Uther called. “Will you join us?”

The heavy double doors opened and Sir Leon strode into the room, looking younger and less worn than Arthur had ever seen him. Arthur jumped to his feet and embraced him. “Leon!” he said, patting him hard on the back. “By the gods, man, this is a week that has lasted a lifetime. It feels like aeons since I last saw you at Camlann.” He leant back to study Leon’s face, then frowned suddenly. “But you didn’t die, did you? So why did my father call this your second chance?”

Leon cast a hard glance at Uther. “He hasn’t told you?” he said.

“Told me what?” Arthur demanded, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

Leon hesitated. “It’s been a little longer than a week since we last saw each other, Arthur.”

“How long?” Arthur said. Leon cast an uncertain glance at Uther. “Answer me, Leon,” Arthur said, voice rising dangerously. “How long?”

“A little over fifteen hundred years,” Leon said.

Arthur collapsed back into his chair. Fifteen hundred years. “Then the others…” he said softly. 

Leon’s gaze was kind. “All dead, sire.”

All dead. And had been dead for thousands of years. Arthur tried to comprehend the idea of thousands of years, and came up blank. It was too large a thing for his mind to grasp all in one go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said to Uther, who was looking at the two of them with something like regret on his face.

“I was going to,” Uther replied. “There were many things I had to inform you of. I wanted to give you a little time to adjust. Break you in gently, as it were.”

“I see,” Arthur said with a bitter laugh. “You didn’t want to be the one to tell me.”

Uther paused. “That was another reason,” he admitted.

Arthur felt anger boil up inside of him, but he firmly pushed it back down. Even now, Uther still wouldn't tell him the whole truth .

“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss things,” Leon said, backing out of the room. Arthur had almost forgotten he was there.

“Yes, fine,” Uther said distractedly, still focussed on Arthur.

Arthur watched Leon leave, and their eyes met. Behind Uther’s back, Leon made the shape of the hunter’s sign that meant careful. Arthur frowned. Be careful? But what was there to be careful of? There was only one person in the room besides him, and that was…Uther.

Pieces slotted into place, and Arthur ignored them. There had to be some other meaning besides the obvious. Please, he thought, suddenly desperate, just give me one day to believe in my father again. Then I’ll go back to righteously condemning him. But I just need one day of hope.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to tell you, son,” Uther said, oblivious to Arthur’s thoughts. 

“It’s fine,” Arthur replied, suddenly too weary for anger. “But how after one and a half thousand years does Camelot still stand exactly as it did on the day I-” he choked on the word ‘died’.

Uther stabbed a piece of roast boar with his fork. “Come, eat. The food will grow cold.”

Warily, Arthur took a mouthful, then brightened. The taste reminded him of the best days of his childhood, when he and Morgana would be occasionally allowed into official royal feasts and got to sample the fine food.

“The answer to your question is that Camelot doesn’t still stand, not exactly.”

Arthur frowned. “Then how…” He gestured to the feast laid out across the great hall.

“It’s a replica,” said Uther. He did not look at Arthur while he said it.

Arthur laughed. “All this, a replica!”

“Yes.”

Arthur’s laugh became more subdued, and he looked at Uther in shock. “But surely a replica this convincing must have required the aid of sorcery.”

“No,” said Uther with a satisfied smile. “We have come far in the past fifteen hundred years. Now, a field of study named science far surpasses sorcery.”

Arthur took another bite of food, considering this. “It certainly tastes real.”

Uther laughed. “The food is real. Man has not come so far that we no longer require food to survive. But most of the rest is simply a very convincing imitation.”

Arthur set his cutlery down, frowning. “But why go to all this effort, just for an illusion?”

“It’s not an illusion,” Uther said sharply. “It’s a replica. And as to why I went to the effort, I imagined it would make the transition to the thirty-first century easier for you.”

Thirty-first century. The words hit Arthur like a ton of bricks. 

“I wanted to show you that we can have our kingdom still. We can regain all those we lost. We can be a family again, Arthur. We can have everything.” Uther set his glass down and looked Arthur directly in the eyes. “We can bring back Ygraine.”

Once again, Arthur’s world turned on its head. Ever since he was born, his mother had been a figure of memory, not a person, not something that could ever exist in the real world. He’d felt her absence, had imagined her sometimes, on the days that Uther was particularly cold and distant. First, she would come and hug him, wrapping him in her warm embrace, and then she would go to Uther, and he would smile at the sight of her. She would make him happy, in the way that Arthur, even as a child, knew he never could. And everything would be all right.

Arthur was too old for childish dreams, but he foolishly allowed himself to hope. “How?” he asked.

“I have been reincarnated. So has Leon, and now you. There is no reason why she could not also return. We must simply figure out the mechanics of how this reincarnation operates, and then…” Uther spread his hands. “We could be a family again. Everything as it should have been.”

“We could be a family,” Arthur repeated, trying to drill the unfamiliar words into his head. “My mother. Morgana-”

“Oh, but she was never truly a part of our family,” Uther cut in, waving a hand dismissively. “She was my ward, not my daughter.”

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. “She was as much your daughter as I was your son!”

“She was a sorceress!” Uther bellowed, his facade of calm shattered. “Arthur,” he said, regaining his composure, “I admire your willingness to forgive, but she tried to kill us both.”

Arthur shook his head. “Yes, but that’s not why you hate her, is it? After all this time, you still hold a grudge upon sorcery. Morgana only tried to kill you because you killed thousands of her kind!”

“Magic corrupts,” Uther said. He sighed heavily. “Perhaps she was my daughter once. But what you must understand about magic is that it can twist even the best of people, the ones who you trust the most. I know this must be hard to recognise. Your manservant, Merlin-”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Arthur said, a cold fury burning in his stomach.

“You may not like it, but we have to talk about him.” Uther looked at Arthur gently. “I’m sure he was a good man at the start,” he said softly. “But magic corrupts. He misled you, Arthur, led you down a path I would have warned you against. He’s the reason you didn’t rule in the way I taught you. He became corrupted, and he corrupted you too! Can’t you see it, Arthur?” Uther’s eyes were beseeching.

Arthur stood abruptly. “He was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said loudly over the pounding in his ears. “If you can’t see that, then you haven’t changed as much as I thought.” He stormed towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Uther called after him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

Arthur ignored him, and slammed the doors behind him.

*

Arthur was furiously pacing the length of his chambers when there came a knock at the door. “I’m not interested in continuing this conversation,” he said through gritted teeth, continuing to pace.

“It’s Leon,” the voice called. “May I come in, sire?”

Arthur stopped pacing for just long enough to cross the room and open the door, then immediately returned to pacing. Leon took one look at him and nodded, decided. “We’re going to the training grounds,” he announced. 

They made the walk in what was possibly record time, Arthur buzzing with barely-suppressed energy the whole walk. Leon tossed him a sword and he caught it, testing the weight with both hands.

Without warning, Leon rushed at him, but Arthur saw it coming and dodged to the side, bringing up his sword to counter Leon’s. He feinted a blow left, but Leon knew him too well and parried, bringing up his sword to exchange a barrage of attacks. They both fell back, breathing hard. Arthur realised he was grinning.

This time, Arthur went on the offensive, bringing his sword up with a yell. Leon rolled out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid a nick on the shoulder. Arthur pressed the offensive, his body falling naturally into the rhythm. Slash, dodge, parry. He fought with ease, body feeling lighter than it had in years.

Leon matched him blow for blow, but he was tiring where Arthur still felt almost fresh. As he went in for a blow, Arthur ducked underneath his arm and slashed towards his back before he had a chance to turn. He wasn’t quite fast enough, though, and Leon countered just in time, spinning round and blocking in one smooth move that Arthur didn’t recognise.

“You’ve been learning,” he said, backing up to give him time to re-estimate the situation. Leon didn’t reply, and instead rushed him, not allowing Arthur any time to recover. Arthur was ready for him though, dodging to the side and raising his sword to Leon’s neck. He grinned, but the grin slowly slipped from his face as he realised Leon’s sword was positioned just next to his gut.

“Draw,” Leon said.

Arthur sheathed his sword and reached in to pound Leon on the back, delighted. “Well done. You’ve improved, Leon.”

Leon inclined his head, with just the hint of a smirk. “Thank you, sire. You weren’t so bad yourself.” He looked Arthur up and down. “I’ve missed this,” he said suddenly. “I only just realised how badly.”

Arthur tried to hide how touched he was. “I suppose my father’s not exactly the type of sparring partner you’re after.”

Leon laughed bitterly. “No, that he is not.” He sheathed his sword, then turned to Arthur with a serious look on his face. “I want to make one thing very clear, sire,” he said quietly. “Your father may have been my king first, but there is only one man who I dedicate my full loyalty to, and he’s standing right in front of me.”

“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur said, then frowned. “I hadn’t even begun to think about all of that. But of course, now my father is back, he would want the throne again.”

Leon nodded. “Yes, I think that is what he intends. Your father has never been one to share power.”

“Then let him have it,” Arthur said. “Besides, kingship would be a meaningless title anyway. Ruling over a kingdom of ghosts.” He looked out over the training grounds, so close to how he remembered them from childhood. “It’s so hard to believe it isn’t real,” he said quietly.

Leon put a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

“I don’t want to stay here, Leon,” Arthur said abruptly. “Forever trying to relive the past, mourning what could have been. There’s no point to it. I want to see the world as it really is.”

“It’s changed,” Leon warned. “You might not even recognise it.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur said, surprising himself with his own bluntness. “At least it’s real.”

“Then I’ll do everything I can to show it to you, sire,” Leon said. He hesitated.

Arthur closed his eyes wearily. “But?” he prompted.

Leon grimaced. “I don’t know if your father would be amenable.”

“Luckily, I no longer have to follow the whims of my father.”

Leon winced.

“What?” Arthur demanded. “I am the rightful king of Camelot and a full-grown man. I’m sure I can manage to make my own way in the world.”

Leon looked like he was choosing his words very carefully.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Arthur said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“When I said that the world has changed, it was an understatement,” Leon admitted. “With no experience, it’ll be virtually impossible to navigate.”

“Fine.” Arthur started back towards the castle, gesturing for Leon to follow him. “Tell me about it, then, as we walk. It would feel wrong to miss a day of patrolling. I’m sure I’ll pick it up quickly enough.”

Leon looked slightly doubtful, but nodded and began to walk with him. “Well, first of all, there’s no longer an official king. The planets are currently ruled by a council called the Coalition, much like your own council, except the representatives aren’t noblemen but are elected by the people.”

Arthur frowned. “A democracy? Like the Romans? And you said ‘planets’, plural.”

“Yes, like the Romans. And I’m getting to the planets.”

Thus began Arthur’s education in the history of the past fifteen hundred years, detailing politics, science, religion, economics and more fields that Arthur had never heard of. It made his brain hurt.

“How do you even know all of this?” he asked Leon at one point, exasperated. “I would have thought you’d be as much in the dark as me.”

Leon was silent for a few moments. “My reincarnation wasn’t like yours, Arthur,” he said at last. “I was born into this world like any other child, with precious little memory of my previous life save for strange dreams that I paid little mind to. I grew up in the thirty-first century, made friends, got a job working for the Coalition. Then Uther found me. He brought me here, made me remember.”

He drew in a deep breath, seemingly searching for words. “It wasn’t pleasant,” he said quietly. “He took me from everything I knew to a life that I barely remembered at the time. I did remember the oath I took, though, so I was honour-bound to serve as his knight. He wanted to find out why I’d reincarnated, how it all worked. He…ran a series of tests on me.” Leon’s face darkened almost imperceptibly, and Arthur noticed him suppress a shudder. “It was not something I’d wish for you to experience.”

Not something I’d wish for you to experience. “Leon,” Arthur said slowly, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach, “what exactly did he do to you?”

“I don’t wish to get into details,” Leon said quietly. “Suffice it to say that it was unpleasant.”

Arthur knew what Leon’s version of ‘unpleasant’ meant. He’d used the very same word to describe some of the most brutal battles of Arthur’s life. “I can’t believe he’d do that to you!” he burst out, no longer able to restrain himself. “You were always the most loyal of his knights. And after he talked so much about having changed.”

“It was because I was the most loyal of his knights that he did it. He believed he could trust me to never betray him, no matter what he did.” Leon gave a shrug. “He was wrong.”

Arthur clapped Leon on the shoulder. “I’m glad to have you with me,” he said sincerely. “And I’m sorry that he did that to you. I swear to you that now I’m here, it won’t happen again. I meant what I said about leaving, Leon.”

“And I meant what I said about Uther not allowing it,” Leon replied. 

Arthur laughed in disbelief. “I’m not exactly suggesting we ask for permission.”

“Neither am I. But we can’t simply walk out of here.”

Arthur spread his hands. “What’s stopping us?”

“The wards,” Leon returned immediately. “I’m not sure exactly how they work, but they’re designed with two things in mind: keeping magic out, and keeping us in.”

Arthur took a moment to digest this. “So we’re prisoners,” he said flatly.

“In all but name, yes.”

“This is insane,” Arthur said. “I won’t stand for this. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go to my father and demand that he release us.

Leon grabbed at his arm, face panicked. “Sire, no.”

“What?” Arthur demanded, slightly taken aback. “Why not?”

“The test he performed on me didn’t work,” Leon said in a rush. “There wasn’t a lot he could do about that, because there was nobody else to experiment on. Nobody else who’d experienced reincarnation.”

“Leon,” Arthur said slowly, “are you saying that he’ll perform these tests on me next?”

Leon raised one shoulder, face drawn and weary. “I don’t know. I would hope that the fact that you’re his son would stop him…” The unspoken ‘but’ lingered in the air between them.

Arthur sighed, long and deep. “Then we will prepare for the worst. I won’t confront my father. In fact, I’ll be the perfect obedient son. We stay on his good side just as long as it takes to find out how to get past these wards, and then we’ll be gone.”

“It may take a long time,” Leon warned. “But it’s a good plan.” He exhaled and settled his shoulders. “Now. Back to biology…”

After the patrol, Arthur walked straight to his quarters and collapsed on the neatly-made bed. The neatness was almost disconcerting; after years of having Merlin as a servant, he’d gotten used to a certain level of roughness around the edges. But this bed was perfect, and his chambers were impeccably clean, and yet they felt more empty than they had done in years.

He crossed his room to stare out of his window at the night sky, filled with a thousand stars. Apparently, people lived out there now, dotted all over the solar system. The universe felt larger than it ever had, and he felt all of a sudden very small.

“Where are you, Merlin?” he whispered to the sky. He waited for a moment, almost as if he was expecting a reply. Then he shook his head to clear his foolish thoughts, got into bed, and closed his eyes.

He dreamt that he was riding his childhood mare Llamrei through the sky, past stars and planets that stretched on for eternity. On every planet, crowds of people looked up at him, pointing and shouting. On occasion he would see a man with black hair and startling blue eyes and would sit up in anticipation. When they turned towards him, though, they all had the wrong lips, or noses, or smiles. 

Arthur rode on through the night, endlessly searching for something he could not find.

*

Arthur’s knees hurt from kneeling on the cold, hard stone. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, voice as penitent as he could stand to make it. “You were right. Magic does corrupt. It was only once you challenged me that I saw just how much I’d let it influence me.” He risked a glance upwards, and was rewarded by seeing the approving smile on Uther’s face.

“You may rise,” Uther said. Arthur slowly got to his feet, still keeping his head bowed in a clear show of subservience. “Your mishap was understandable. Even I was once taken in by the lies of sorcerers.” Uther’s face darkened.

“Morgana’s betrayal taught me,” Arthur said, with a kernel of truth, “that magic can corrupt even those that we hold most dear.”

Uther nodded approvingly. “So you agree? That in this second chance that we have been gifted, we should work against the evils of sorcery, no matter how they manifest themselves?”

I’m so sorry, Merlin. But this is the only way he’ll trust me. Arthur put on his most winning smile, and said “Of course.”

*

Merlin landed on Mars without too much trouble, after paying off a landing inspector to obtain a free portspace. He’d heard the waiting list for landing on Olympus stretched for weeks at best, with most visitors landing in one of the outlying ports and driving in. Why so many people wanted to visit Olympus, Merlin couldn’t fathom. It was just like humans to build their first proper off-Earth city on an active volcano.

You couldn’t deny that the city was beautiful though, especially the Upper City, where the richest of its citizens lived nestled into the depression at the summit of Olympus Mons, the volcano from which the city got its name. Of course he hadn’t landed there, but it had been beautiful to admire on the way in, silver spires glinting in the Martian sun. Instead, Merlin had landed on the gentle slopes that formed the outskirts of the city, where landing inspectors were far easier to bribe.

He got out of the starship, carefully made sure all his valuables were tucked away, and started walking, scanning the surrounding walls and buildings carefully. Here in the outskirts, the Redlords were far more bold about announcing their presence. If you knew what you were looking for, it was simple enough to spot their graffiti.

He’d have to be delicate about this. The Unspoken Peace between the gang lords and the peacekeepers had lasted a long time, but Merlin knew from long, weary experience that these arrangements never lasted forever. And if Tam was correct, and the Redlords really were dealing with the rebels, it was close to fracturing. Merlin needed to tread carefully.

He wandered past the entrance to a dark alleyway and stopped. There. A stylised red crown spray painted onto the wall, innocuous amongst the other graffiti. 

“It’s always dark alleyways, isn’t it,” Merlin muttered under his breath as he drew closer. “Can never have a nice penthouse or something.”

He followed the trail of red crowns through a maze of alleyways, one he knew was purposefully designed to keep him disoriented. It was working, too. Merlin didn’t know how long he’d been in there for before he came across what would have been an unremarkable metal door, save for the tiny red crown painted close to its bottom.

He gathered his courage and raised a hand to knock. The sound echoed through the silent alleyway, and Merlin listened to the echoes die as he waited.

“Name?” came a raspy voice from the other side of the door.

“Em Falcon,” said Merlin, using the same name that he’d used in Callisto for the past decade.

“Business?”

“I’ve come to see the Don.”

There was a pause, and then an uproar of laughter, which Merlin noticed was from multiple individuals.

The door creaked open just a sliver, and a short man in perhaps his early fifties looked out. He looked Merlin up and down with his one remaining eye, taking in the newly-ironed shirt and expensive trousers, and snorted.

“Little Upper City boy wants to see the Don?” he rasped. “Whatever for?”

Merlin kept his head down, tapping on his leg in a false display of nerves. “I want to join up.”

The gatekeeper let out a dry, rasping laugh. “You want to join up,” he repeated. “You got skills to offer, pipsqueak? Or you just throwing yourself on the Don’s charity?”

“I have skills,” Merlin said, hunching his shoulders defensively. “Please, just let me see them and I promise you won’t regret it.”

The gatekeeper tilted his head, considering. Merlin tried to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Looks like you get lucky this time, pipsqueak,” he said with a grin that revealed yellowed, rotting teeth. “We was just looking for some new entertainment.”

Merlin shuffled inside, making sure to keep his head down. As he entered the room, a series of cheers and whoops erupted from the corner, where a group of thugs were in the middle of a game of cards. One clapped sarcastically at him.

“Through here,” said the gatekeeper, jabbing his thumb at the opening panel of another nondescript metal door. “Don,” he called through, “we got a piece o’ fresh meat for you to chew on.” He shoved Merlin through the door and closed it behind him.

Merlin stumbled into the room. Before he could regain his balance, two heavily-built guards grabbed both of his arms and pushed him into a standing position.

“Upper City boy!” said a delighted voice from in front of him. Looking up, Merlin saw a short, burly woman dressed in a tailored waistcoat sitting splayed across a simple wooden chair. “What brings a nice boy like you to a nasty woman like me, then? Fall into gambling, did you? Or drugs? Borrow a little something you can’t quite pay back?”

Merlin quickly re-evaluated his strategy. She wanted to be entertained, he could tell that much; the instant he became boring to her, he was gone. “I’m looking for the rebels,” he said, tilting his chin up, and was rewarded by the Don sitting up in her chair, attention now fully on him. She began to laugh.

“Fuck, where do they even find kids like you,” she said in between bouts of laughter. “So you’re an idealist, then? Want to join up to a good cause, help save the galaxy?” Her voice was high-pitched and mocking.

“Yeah, maybe,” Merlin said defensively. The more she underestimated him, the better. He needed to be beneath her notice, just interesting enough to grab her attention, but not interesting enough for her to start thinking. As soon as he had a lead on the rebellion, he was out.

The Don wheezed, wiping her eyes. “And you came to me?”

“I heard you had dealings with the rebels,” Merlin blurted. 

Her eyes sharpened immediately. “Oh really? And where would a nice Upper City boy like you hear a thing like that, hmm?”

Merlin internally cursed himself. Now she’d focussed on the fact that there was a member of her network letting things slip, when he wanted her to focus entirely on him. He needed to become more interesting.

He had to take a risk. 

“I have magic,” he said, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. “I’m a sorcerer. That’s why I’m looking for the rebels.”

The Don didn’t laugh this time, merely tilted her head to one side in consideration. “Prove it.”

Merlin closed his eyes, trying to buy some time to think. Nothing too fancy, he decided, because he couldn’t let on he was too powerful. He opened his eyes again and let her see them flash gold as he whispered “Blosmir.” Immediately, vines began to curl around the wooden throne. The Don leapt away from it as if she’d been stung, but then the vines began to flower, bursting into a million different colours. She laughed quietly, under her breath. It was the most genuine Merlin had seen her since he came in.

“Now I think I’ve got a handle on you,” she said, resuming her seat. “Upper City boy, nice, posh, but then you think you wanna rebel a little bit, so you learn a bit of magic, only that lands you in a much deeper pile of shit than you were expecting, right? So you do a little bit of research, you realise that there’s two things looking for people like you, the government and the rebels, and at least the rebels tell you when they want you to die for them. And soon enough, having exhausted all other options, you end up at my door. Am I right?”

Wrong on pretty much all counts, Merlin thought with satisfaction. But he fixed his expression with a look of amazement and said, “Um, yeah.”

“Well unfortunately for the rebels, I could use a little sorcerer on my side. I don’t think I’ll be giving you away that easy. Boys,” she said, raising her voice slightly, “take him to a cell.”

Merlin closed his eyes, defeated, but didn’t struggle. It was always a risk that this would happen, but he wasn’t too worried about getting out. The flight had given him time to regain his strength, and the thrum of magic through his veins felt almost right again.

“Bye, little sorcerer,” said the Don as the guards dragged Merlin away. “See you soon.”

*

The prison was not, by far, the worst that Merlin had been put in. And being a sorcerer in any time period, really, had meant he’d been put in many. This one was cold but not damp, and the cells were clean, if rather small. 

“Don’t try any magic tricks to escape,” one guard warned as the other handcuffed Merlin to the wall. “These are magic suppressor handcuffs, and I’m told if you try anything, they hurt. ”

Merlin, given his propensity for being thrown into prison for magic-related reasons, had made a bit of a study of magic-suppressing cuffs. So far, he’d devised ways out of at least thirty different editions. This pair weren’t even worth his time: he could barely notice the dampening in his magic as they were fastened around his wrists.

The guards left, one throwing a nasty smile at Merlin. Merlin contemplated how long he should leave it before making his escape. Couldn’t be too short, or it’d raise suspicion. Merlin leaned back and closed his eyes, beginning his wait.

“Hey,” came a voice from the next cell. Merlin jumped, surprised. He hadn’t even noticed anyone was in there. “What’re you in here for?”

Merlin looked over at the other prisoner and froze. In the cell next to him sat the spitting image of Gwaine. 

Other-Gwaine frowned, waving a hand as close as he could get to Merlin’s face given the handcuffs and bars. “Hello? Can you hear me? Have my stunning good looks shocked you into silence?” He tossed his hair back and grinned. “I get that a surprising amount, actually.”

“Uh, no,” Merlin managed to stammer, completely thrown off. 

Other-Gwaine pouted. It was an expression that had clearly had time poured into it, and it worked. 

“Not that you’re not, uh, handsome!” Merlin hastened to add. “I’m just- not silent.” His face burned, but he ignored the embarrassment and peered more closely at the stranger. Face, hair, even personality; the man was the exact double of Gwaine. In all the time he’d been waiting, he’d never met someone so perfectly alike to one of his old friends from his first life in Camelot.

Other-Gwaine laughed and tossed his hair back again. Even in the dim light of the cells, it somehow managed to look glossy and vibrant. “Aw, don’t get all flustered on me. My name’s Gwaine. I’d shake your hand, but…” 

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin said faintly. Even his name is the same. “Have we met somewhere before?”

He barely dared to hope as maybe-actually-Gwaine considered the question. “You do seem…familiar, somehow,” he said, without his usual flirtatious edge. Then he blinked and recovered. “Maybe I saw you in my dreams,” he said with a wink.

Merlin laughed along with him, though it sounded false even to his ears. He barely dared to hope, but his mind was far ahead of him, racing along dangerous paths. Arthur’s returned, after so much time, his treacherous thoughts whispered. Why not others as well?

“So why are you in here, then?” said the-stranger-who-actually-really-might-be-Gwaine. “Don’t be shy, I can keep a secret.”

Well, that is an outright lie, Merlin wanted to say, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you said to a stranger, even a stranger who happened to look uncannily like one of your dead best friends. Instead he decided to tell the truth. “I’m a sorcerer,” he said, raising one of his cuffed hands in demonstration. “That’s what these were for.”

“Huh,” Gwaine said, but he didn’t sound repulsed. In fact, he seemed more curious than anything. “I’ve never met a sorcerer before.”

Merlin shrugged, suddenly shy. “And you? What are you in here for?”

“Told the Don she could go fuck herself,” Gwaine said cheerfully. “Turns out not even my stunning looks were enough to get me out of that one.”

“No, really?”

“I know! I was shocked, I tell you. Certainly won’t be working for her again, though I doubt she’d want to hire me.” Gwaine shrugged, unrepentant. “Her loss.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, no longer fully paying attention. His mind was whirring. If this really was Gwaine, was there a way to make him remember? Probably not one that could be conducted in a cell. Fine, then he’d break Gwaine out with him, get off-planet in The Kilgharrah , find out how to restore Gwaine’s memory, and then…

And then what, though? Because once Gwaine had remembered Arthur, there was no way that he would just sit patiently at home whilst Merlin went to rescue him. No, he’d insist upon helping. Which would put him in danger. It wasn’t like Merlin didn’t need help: in fact, he needed it desperately, hence him seeking out the rebellion for aid. But it was one thing to endanger a faceless stranger like that, and entirely another to do it to Gwaine.

Perhaps it would be better to just leave him in the cell and seek him out later, after he’d rescued Arthur and everything had blown over. But then there would be no guarantee of ever seeing him again. It was selfish, but Merlin didn’t want to be alone any more.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, relishing the sound of the name, “how do you feel about a breakout?”

*

“Left here!” Gwaine yelled as he and Merlin ran, beams of light rushing past their heads. Merlin spotted the tiny alleyway entrance Gwaine was talking about just in time and followed after him, conjuring a quick shield to cover their retreat.

“You sure you don’t have any teleport-y magic?” Gwaine asked hopefully over his shoulder.

“Not for two people,” Merlin said breathlessly. “And none that wouldn’t have the full forces of the DMR breathing down our necks in less than an hour. We’ve already drawn too much attention to ourselves.”

As if in answer, one guard managed to break down Merlin’s shield and sprinted after them. Without looking, Merlin twisted his hand and the guard fell to the ground, unconscious. 

“I can’t do that to all of them,” he warned. It was technically a lie: the guards had no magic-resistant tech, meaning it would be simple enough to down them all, if exhausting. But no common-or-garden sorcerer could do that and live to tell the tale. Within minutes hours, the DMR would catch wind of it, and that would be that. Not even Emrys could stand up to the full might of the DMR’s militia.

As they continued to run, the alleyway ahead of them opened up into a small, empty plaza with numerous alleyways running off it. Gwaine selected one seemingly at random and started to sprint down it, but immediately turned back. “Soldiers,” he said grimly.

With a sinking heart Merlin looked down another alleyway. Sure enough, there were soldiers running down that one too. “They’ve got us cornered. We’ll have to make a stand.”

Gwaine laughed, though it was tinged with nerves. “Good one. Now what shall we actually do?”

“I wasn’t kidding.” Merlin lifted his hands in preparation. Technically he didn’t need to use them, but most sorcerers did. Though at this point the ruse was probably pointless; fighting this many soldiers would almost certainly destroy his cover.

“I haven’t even got a weapon!” Gwaine protested. Merlin snapped his fingers and a blaster materialised in his arms. 

And then the soldiers were upon them. They swarmed around the pair of them, trying to force them apart. Merlin cast protective shields over Gwaine and himself to deflect the worst of the assault, then got to work. Fire sparked in his hands and he tossed it towards one group of soldiers, then swept others away with a gale-force wind. The magic thrummed through his body. It was intoxicating.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted from where he was being backed into a corner. It felt so good to hear his real name from his old friend’s lips that Merlin grinned even as he sent the soldiers flying into the walls. They made a sickening crunch. 

One of the soldiers close to the back was talking frantically into a radio. Merlin summoned it and stamped on it hard, crushing it to pieces beneath his boot. He was too late to prevent the call for reinforcements, though: even as he smashed the radio, he heard the sound of many feet pounding, and it was getting closer.

He had just enough time to think oh, shit before the reinforcements were upon them. They descended on the battlefield in a swarm of blue and green, settling into a practised formation. Merlin experimentally sent a bolt of fire at one of them, but it ricocheted off their shield. His heart sank. A full squadron of DMR soldiers, then, armed with their latest in magic-resistant technology.

As one, the squadron converged on Gwaine. Merlin sent more firebolts at them, which all rebounded. In desperation, he grabbed a blaster from a fallen soldier and began to shoot at them, but it seemed the shields were as effective against ray guns as they were against magic. Merlin tried to run to him, but a row of soldiers turned and stood in his way, forming an impenetrable wall of shields. Gwaine met Merlin’s eyes desperately, aware his weapon was useless.

Then, the wall next to Merlin exploded. 

Bricks flew in all directions. Merlin rolled to safety, trying desperately to direct the bricks at the soldiers instead of himself. He turned to face the new threat.

In front of him, towering over the wreckage where the wall had stood, was a huge white dragon. Her wing and two of her legs were missing, replaced by steel machinery, as was her gaping jaw and one piercing eye. Her tail was lined with steel spikes and her sharpened teeth glinted in the light.

Merlin grinned. 

Aithusa leapt into battle, swiping soldiers away as if they were ants. The squadron attempted to form a line of shields against her but she simply leant down and bit, crushing the shields between her teeth. All the soldiers rallied to fight the new threat, leaving Gwaine free to escape from the mass of soldiers that had surrounded him.

“What the fuck?” he yelled at Merlin, gesturing wildly at the huge cyborg-dragon. 

“She’s friendly!” he shouted back. “No time to explain!”

A new wave of human soldiers ran towards Merlin, trying to escape the dragon at their heels. They were unsuccessful. They hadn’t gotten more than a few feet towards him before Aithusa roared, a sound so loud the floor seemed to shake beneath them. Her jaw unhinged and she shot out a jet of blue flame, burning them all to a crisp. Merlin threw up a shield just in time.

“We’ve talked about this, Aithusa!” he shouted as the flame died away. “Warn me!”

You’ve got fast reflexes, you’ll be fine , Aithusa’s voice spoke into his mind. He scowled, but secretly delighted in hearing her voice in his mind again after so long apart.

Hold o n, she said suddenly, and that was all the warning Merlin got before he was being tossed into the air. He started to plummet towards the ground but Aithusa caught him just in time, manoeuvring herself so he was positioned neatly on her back. He landed with a jolt. Aithusa gave him no time to recover before taking to the air, rising upwards so quickly he was almost dislodged.

Despite the circumstances, Merlin let out a whoop and spread his arm wide, feeling the wind in his hair. It had been too long since he’d flown properly. He’d missed the freedom of it, the feeling you could go anywhere, do anything. But now Aithusa was swooping back to the ground, talons outstretched. She dived at the soldiers like a hawk hunting mice, grabbing two with each claw and carrying them high.

When she dropped them, Merlin was thankful he was high enough that he couldn’t hear the noise of their bodies hitting the ground. Aithusa had no such compulsions, and roared her victory, circling above the rest of the soldiers like an omen of death.

Careful of Gwaine! Merlin thought hard at her. She returned exasperation but a begrudging sense of acceptance. For a moment he saw Gwaine through her eyes, tiny against the mass of soldiers, staring up at her with wonder clear in his face.

When Aithusa dived again, the squadron was ready. They switched formation, holding their shields above them to form a barrier. Aithusa roared in fury, bathing them in jets of flame. A few at the sides fell without the full protection of the shields but most survived untouched. When Aithusa tried to dive again, they stabbed upwards in unison, slicing at her legs. She shrieked in pain.

Merlin reached down to heal Aithusa’s injuries, his carefree attitude gone, replaced by a cold anger. He slipped easily from the dragon’s back and began to plummet through the air, falling so fast that the soldiers couldn’t aim quickly enough to hit him. A few moments before he hit the ground he slowed his fall, then landed with a thud.

Around him, the soldiers began to turn towards him, but Merlin was ready. His eyes burned gold. A thin layer of water began to coat the ground, almost invisible at first but rising fast. Soon it was knee height, and the soldiers had to wade through it to get to him. Then it started to recede towards the side of the plaza.

“What are you doing?” Gwaine shouted.

Merlin released the magic. The water shot downwards, forming a massive tidal wave almost the height of Aithusa. It rocketed towards the soldiers, knocking away their shields and sweeping them off their feet. Some tried to run, but the wave caught up with them, carrying them into the side of the wall with a sickening crunch.

It was then that Merlin again heard the pounding of feet in the alleyway behind him. He spun, raising his hands in preparation. “How many DMR squads does one planet have?” he said to himself, fed up. 

But instead of another squad, a single man came running into the plaza. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a sleeveless jacket that did nothing to protect his arms but did beautifully emphasise his rather impressive biceps. Merlin recognised him immediately.

Percival stopped abruptly at the entrance to the plaza, taking in the masses of swept-over soldiers with wide eyes. Then his gaze landed on Gwaine and his face brightened.

“Percy!” Gwaine exclaimed, delighted. “What are you doing here?”

Percival shrugged. “This massive dragon found me and told me we were jailbreaking you. I didn’t ask questions.” As he spoke, he drew a greatsword from where it had been slung over his back.

The soldiers were already beginning to stand up from where the tidal wave had knocked them over.

“We need to go, now,” Merlin said. “Quickly, before they recover.” He looked skywards and began to call Aithusa down, eyes glowing gold.

“Who is this guy?” Percival whispered to Gwaine. “He looks weirdly familiar.”

“That’s what I said! Apparently-”

Their conversation was cut short by Aithusa swooping down from the sky and landing with a flap of her wings that almost knocked them over. Merlin immediately began to clamber onto her back. “Come on,” he said to the others. “What are you waiting for?”

“Oh hell yes,” Gwaine said with a grin, following suit. 

Percival looked less confident. “I don’t know about this. I don’t really like- heights!” The last word was said in a shout as he found himself levitating through the air onto Aithusa’s back. She leapt into the sky with a powerful flap of her wings.

Behind him, Merlin could see that Percival had screwed his eyes tightly shut. “Just tell me when it’s over,” he said miserably. Gwaine, on the other hand, was having the time of his life, whooping as they rose ever higher.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, letting his adrenaline be replaced by the weightless freedom of flight. Then he opened his eyes and returned to reality. “We need to get off-planet,” he said. “We’ve drawn far too much attention to ourselves to stay here.”

Gwaine shrugged, massive grin still on his face. “Fine by me. Percy and I have been wanting to get out of this place for a while, haven’t we, Perce?”

Percival looked faintly green. “As long as we don’t have to do it on dragonback.”

It took only a matter of minutes for Aithusa to reach The Kilgharrah , seamlessly navigating her way between the industrial low-flying spacecraft common in Olympus. She landed on the dock and all of them dismounted, some more gracefully than others.

Thank you, Aithusa, Merlin thought, placing a hand on her snout. She nuzzled against him affectionately before bounding upwards and launching herself into the air.

“Wait, she’s not coming with us?” Gwaine said, with what Merlin recognised as his best puppy dog eyes.

“She doesn’t exactly fit in the starship,” Merlin said, opening The Kilgharrah’s door and gesturing them both inside. He made his way over to the pilot’s seat and engaged the thrusters. Gwaine’s puppy eyes followed him. “And besides, she likes this planet, and she likes her freedom.”

Gwaine reluctantly came inside the starship, but as Merlin guided The Kilgharrah up and away from the dock he lingered by the doorway, watching Aithusa as she flew into the distance. 

“Goodbye, dragon,” he said as they started to rise over the city. “And good riddance, Olympus.”

*

After a half-hour of flying, Merlin put the ship into autopilot and went to join Percival and Gwaine around the ship’s table. They stopped laughing as he approached, and his chest panged at the reminder that although these were his old friends, they had no memory of him.

“So,” Percy said. “I’m grateful for the lift out, but where are you actually taking us?”

“Anywhere you’d like to go,” Merlin said, more genuinely than he’d meant to let on. After all, he was technically a stranger to them.

Gwaine and Percy exchanged a quick, private glance. “Well, where are you going?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m trying to find the rebels,” he said.

Understanding passed over their faces. “Because you’re a sorcerer,” Percy said. “You think they might be able to shelter you?”

Merlin had to fight with himself to not simply say yes, and tell them the same lies he’d told the Don. It was hard to break the habit of lying, after one and a half thousand years of it. “Not exactly,” he said instead. “I’m looking for their help in saving a friend of mine.”

“Another sorcerer?”

Merlin shook his head. “No,” he said, with a hint of humour at the idea of anyone calling Arthur a sorcerer. “He…” 

“Go on,” Gwaine prompted. “It’s not like we’re going to arrest you or anything. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly perfect law-abiding citizens.”

“It’s not that,” Merlin said, trying to find the right words. He felt a sudden surge of self-loathing. He knew full well that he would be putting them in danger by telling them everything, but he was doing it anyway. 

“Then what is it?”

Merlin hesitated, split between his need to protect his friends and the overwhelming desire to truly have his friends back. His loneliness won.

“Do you recognise this man?” he asked, bringing up the video of Arthur walking out of the lake. Both of them frowned and leaned in to examine it more closely.

“That’s King Arthur, isn’t it?” Percival said. “I saw him on the news the other day.”

“But does he look familiar?” Merlin pressed. Both men were silent for a moment. They looked at each other, having a silent conversation that Merlin couldn’t interpret.

It was Gwaine who broke the silence. “Yeah,” he said, uncharacteristically quietly. “Yeah, he does.”

Percival hesitantly cleared his throat. “You know, ever since the night he returned, I’ve been having these dreams…”

Merlin looked at them both, hope rising desperately in his chest. They looked back at him.

“Merlin,” Gwaine said with a broken laugh, and lunged across the table for a hug. Merlin returned it, clutching tightly at him as if he might vanish any second. Gwaine hugged back just as tightly. His nails were digging into Merlin’s back but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You died,” he managed to choke out. “I let you die.” 

Gwaine squeezed him even tighter at that, then drew back. His hands still rested firmly on Merlin’s shoulders. “You didn’t let anyone die, Merlin. None of what happened was your fault, none of it, you hear me?”

Then Percival was leaning in as well, warm and solid. He wrapped his massive arms around both Gwaine and Merlin. They stayed like that for a long moment.

Merlin pulled away first, making no attempt to hide his red and blotchy face from where he’d been crying. They all took a moment to collect themselves, Percy rubbing at his eyes with a muttered excuse. “You didn’t fail,” he told Gwaine. “I don’t remember a lot, but I remember that. Right before you died, you said you failed.”

“So Arthur lived?” Gwaine said, face brightening. Percy and Merlin’s grim faces were enough to tell him the answer. “So I did fail, then,” he said softly.

“No,” Merlin was quick to correct him. “No, Gwaine, you didn’t fail. It was all my fault that Arthur died. I was trying so hard to avoid destiny that I ended up running right into it.”

“Nobody failed,” Percy said firmly. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” Merlin burst out. “I’m a sorcerer! I was lying to you for years! I knew that Arthur was going to die for years and I still failed to prevent it!”

“To be honest, the sorcery explains a lot,” Gwaine put in. “I was really beginning to think that our enemies were cursed with some branch-felling demon.”

Merlin looked at them both, lost. “Why don’t you hate me?” he pleaded.

“You have magic, sure,” Gwaine said matter-of-factly. “You’re also not evil. So clearly magic’s not evil.”

Merlin stared at him, dumbfounded.

“It’s pretty simple,” Percy added.

“And as for failing to save Arthur, the only thing we’re annoyed about is that you didn’t just tell us about this fucking prophecy so we could help, Merlin. Because we’re - get this - friends. Help? Friends? Heard of them?”

Merlin’s eyes were watering. “You’re going to make me cry again,” he warned, voice already very close to breaking.

“Idiot,” Gwaine said fondly, giving him another hug. 

When Merlin had recovered and dried his tears once again, Percy cleared his throat. “So where is Arthur?”

“Long story short, the DMR picked him up,” Merlin replied with a scowl, eyes still red around the edges. Gwaine groaned. “They’ve got him in a ‘secure government facility’ somewhere, but I don’t know exactly where. That’s why I was looking for the rebels - I was hoping they’d know where to look.”

Gwaine grinned. “Well, you’re in luck, my friend. We just so happen to know where to find the Redlords’ rebel contact.”

Merlin was already moving towards the pilot’s seat. “Where?”

Gwaine looked at Percy, who began scrolling through his handheld computer. He started reading out the coordinates and Merlin punched them in. As the location came up, he laughed incredulously.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, why?”

Merlin spinned round in his chair to face them with a puzzled smile on his face. “Those coordinates are for Dusk.”

Gwaine broke out into a grin. “You’re kidding me.”

“Dusk?” Percy asked, confused. They both stared at him as if he was crazy.

“C’mon, Perce,” Gwaine said, sounding disappointed. “It’s only the fanciest nightclub in the entire damn solar system! Oh, I cannot wait for this. I can’t believe I left my wardrobe back on Mars.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Percy said dryly. He and Merlin exchanged looks.

“You just wait,” Gwaine promised them both. “We’re about to have the night of our lives!”

*

Arthur was not having the night of his life. By all rights, he should have been: after all, the banquet was truly delicious, the wine sweet and plentiful, and the music lively. There was even a group of travelling performers, who leapt around the hall pulling off ever more incredible feats of strength and agility. Uther was certainly enjoying them, if the way he clapped was any indication. But Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

He looked around at the rows of people lining the tables. All were chatting among themselves in a cheerful hubbub, gasping and applauding whenever the performers pulled off some particularly daring trick. Even the servants lining the sides of the hall were smiling.

If Arthur didn’t know it was all an illusion, he never would have guessed. And that was a terrifying thought, that he could have his ability to perceive reality taken away so easily, entirely without his notice. Before, such a thing had been a major feat of magic, reserved for the most powerful of sorcerers. Now, anyone could do it. At least, in theory. Leon had explained that such a thing was only possible for the wealthiest in the solar system.

An illusion like this could provide everything Arthur had ever dreamed of. A peaceful, united Camelot, unthreatened by war or by the ravages of time. His friends returned to him. And yet, he would know it was all a lie.

At the thought, Arthur snuck a glance at Uther. He appeared utterly entranced by the travellers’ performance, clapping along to the music with a smile. Arthur had rarely seen him so at peace. It stung that an illusion had succeeded where his own son had failed.

He shook himself, frustrated. After all this time, he was still seeking the approval of his father. Logically, he knew what his father had done, the atrocities he’d committed. How he’d harmed Morgana; how he wanted to harm Merlin. And yet Arthur still found himself slipping back into the pattern of a dutiful son, trying to impress his father. 

It was made all the more confusing because the role of dutiful son was the very one he now needed to play. To escape from under Uther’s thumb, he first needed to return to it. The irony did not escape him. But if Uther trusted him, then he would be allowed more power, more information. And with that, he could escape.

He firmly ignored the loose definition of the word ‘escape’ in his head. He’d deal with the details when he needed to. For now, he just needed to sit back, listen closely, and lay on the charm.

At the end of the performance, Arthur smiled and leaned in to speak to Uther. “They were incredible, were they not? Far better than ordinary performers. You’re beginning to convince me on the merits of this-” he swallowed the word ‘illusion’ “-replica.”

Uther smiled. “I knew I would win you around eventually.” 

The smugness of the words rankled Arthur, but he refused to let it show, taking a casual sip of his wine to hide his expression. By the time he’d put his goblet down, he was smiling once more. “So this is your life now? Feasts like this every evening? Truly, you are living like a king.”

Uther laughed. “It’s not all feasts. I am still king in role, if not in exact title, and the safety of many subjects now falls to me, not only the ones here on Earth.”

“You still make rulings in court, then?”

“Of a kind, yes,” Uther said indulgently. “Of course, the system is very different.”

Arthur nodded slowly, pretending to consider. “I should love to observe the differences in this modern way of doing things,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

Uther hesitated. Arthur looked at him as innocently as he could manage and took another sip of wine.

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt for you to sit in on one of my meetings,” he said eventually.

Arthur widened his eyes as if this hadn’t even occurred to him. “Oh, yes, I suppose,” he said, feigning disinterest. “Will it be anything like council meetings? I must admit, I haven’t missed those.”

Uther frowned. “These things are parts of a king’s duty, like any other. Attend a meeting with me, and perhaps you will begin to learn this.

“Yes, Father,” Arthur replied. He took another sip of wine to hide his grin.

*

The next morning, Arthur rose early and dressed quickly, not even his illusory not-Merlin manservant managing to dampen his spirits. As he neared the council chamber he made sure to kill the spring in his step. The more Arthur acted as if he hated this, the more Uther would believe it was his idea, and his only. As he walked in, he half-heartedly stifled a yawn for good measure.

In the council chamber, Arthur’s round table had been replaced by Uther’s traditional long one. It wasn’t a surprise. Uther was seated at its head. This also wasn’t a surprise.

Uther looked up as Arthur approached. “Good, you’re here. We can begin.” As Arthur sat down, Uther brought a small metal disk out of his pocket and set it on the table. It began to whir and spin, bathing the walls in a soft blue light. Arthur watched it suspiciously.

Gradually, the light began to coalesce into distinct figures, positioned as if they were seated at the table. As Arthur watched, their features grew more defined, until he could see each individual freckle on their faces. He leaned forward, fascinated, then jumped back when one of them moved.

“Testing,” the figure who’d moved said. She was a woman, but instead of a dress she wore some kind of uniform. “Are you receiving me?”

“We are,” Uther confirmed, not seeming at all bothered that he was talking to a woman made of blue light. “I’d like to introduce my son, Arthur.”

The woman smiled. “Arthur, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” Arthur said automatically. 

“I don’t suppose your father introduced me? I’m Dana Avison, acting head of the Department of Magical Regulation.”

The other three figures began to buzz to life. “And these are the heads of each of our planetary divisions,” Dana continued.

One figure smiled, a large man in the same uniform as the woman. “Arthur, isn’t it? I saw your return broadcasted on holoscreen the other day. I’m Valen Rosek, over on Mars.” His voice was deep and smooth.

“Seren Corwin, on the Moon.” This was from a tall, thin man, sat up incredibly straight in his chair.

“And I’m Scott Kader, on Venus.” A - woman? man? Arthur wasn’t sure - raised their hand in a little wave. They were the only one not wearing the uniform, instead dressed in a crisp white shirt and black waistcoat.

Uther clapped. “Well, let’s begin. Seren, any progress on your tracking efforts?”

The tall man clasped his hands in front of him and sat up even straighter. “We’ve eliminated several possibilities. None of the smaller moons or asteroids we scanned showed any signs of life, so we know the Rebellion don’t have a base there.”

Uther frowned. “Not good enough. I want to know where they are, not the many places they aren’t. I don’t care if you have to scan every inch of the solar system to find them. Dana?”

Dana shifted uncomfortably, though she kept the bright smile on her face. “The mission to Callisto was not a success, I’m afraid to say. We found an entrance to the tunnel system, as suspected, but the team who went down there did not return. From our sensors, we determined it was a cave-in.”

“Well, find another entrance.”

Dana shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. And besides, further missions would likely be fruitless. As we’ve seen, the tunnels are far too unstable to build in.”

Uther huffed in frustration. “At least that’s something,” he allowed. “Fine. We’ll strike the Callisto tunnel system from investigation. Valen, Scott, make your reports.”

Scott shrugged. “Nothing in particular to report. No major incidents. Our donors are as generous as ever, particularly in light of the recent uptick in magical activity. It’s made them unnerved. Afraid that magic will overturn the current order. And I’ve made sure that they channel that fear into funding our weapon development program, which is going wonderfully, by the way.”

Uther nodded, satisfied. “Commendable work. Valen?”

Everyone looked at Valen, who looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “The Martian syndicates are growing far too bold,” he said. “Particularly the Redlords. They recently apprehended a magic user, who then escaped. Their guards were unable to apprehend him, so as a last resort they called in our forces.”

“And?” Uther said, staring down Valen as if daring him to bring more bad news.

“We were unable to recapture the magic user,” Valen said in a rush.

“Let me get this straight,” Uther said. “Your fully trained troop of soldiers, dedicated to fighting against sorcery, were unable to apprehend a single magic user?”

Valen wilted. “We estimate he was at least a Class 6. And he wasn’t alone. He had an anim-cyborg with him.”

“An anim-cyborg,” Uther repeated. “Tell me, just what animal was this anim-cyborg that it took down your entire force?”

“A dragon,” Valen said, not meeting Uther’s eyes.

Uther slammed the table suddenly. “This is a farce. Tell me why I shouldn’t cut your funding right now and hand leadership over to another person who knows how to handle a situation like this.”

Valen paled. “We think we’ve identified the magic user in question,” he rushed.

“And?”

Valen muttered something Arthur couldn’t quite hear.

“Speak up!” Uther demanded. “Who is it?”

Valen looked up and met Uther’s eyes. He spoke just one word. “Emrys.”

The table, as one, collectively paled, including Arthur. His mind raced. A copycat, operating under the name of an ancient legendary sorcerer? It was possible. But Arthur had only ever known one sorcerer whose name had caused that same reaction.

Merlin was back. He had to be. And it made sense: if Leon had been reincarnated, if Uther had, if Arthur, then why not Merlin too? And of course he was wanted by the government. He never had a single ounce of respect for authority in his whole skinny body, Arthur thought fondly. 

He realised he hadn’t been listening to the conversation. “-can’t track him,” Dana was saying. “His ship’s got more anti-surveillance measures than most small planets. How did the Redlords even capture him in the first place?”

They all looked at Valen, who just shrugged helplessly. “I’ve no idea. My best guess is either that they betrayed him and caught him by surprise, or that he went willingly for some reason.”

“Get a covert team in the Redlords now,” Uther ordered. “I want to know exactly what happened, and I want to know Emrys’ next move.”

Valen nodded hurriedly, scribbling down notes on what appeared to be a sheet of metal.

“The rest of you, you know your roles. I expect better next time. Valen, fail me one more time and you’re gone.” Uther didn’t wait for Valen’s stuttered apologies before reaching out and turning off the device. It slowly whirred to a halt.

“Leave me,” Uther said, not even looking at Arthur. Arthur stood silently, but instead of heading for his room, he headed for the library.

Valen had said that his return was broadcasted on the holoscreen. Leon had mentioned holoscreens. They served as a messenger system of sorts, providing news and entertainment to all over the solar system. So his return had been broadcasted to almost the entire solar system.

On top of that, Merlin was back. He was back, and had escaped with a dragon - well, a cyborg-dragon, whatever that meant - from a crime syndicate, and the government were mystified as to why. They didn’t know Merlin. Arthur did, which was the reason why now he was almost jogging towards the library. If Geoffrey could have seen him now, he’d have been astonished.

Fact 1: his return had been broadcast to the entire solar system.

Fact 2: Merlin had been causing trouble.

Fact 3: Merlin was an idiot with no self-preservation instincts, which meant he always, always, tried to save Arthur.

It didn’t take a genius to put them together. Arthur knew, with a mixture of hope and worry curdling in his stomach, that Merlin was coming to rescue him. The thought made him shiver, with excitement or with nerves, he couldn’t tell. The thought of Merlin coming anywhere near Uther was enough to make him vomit, but the thought of never seeing Merlin again was even worse.

Even if he and Leon found a way to escape from Camelot with Merlin’s help, they would never be able to stop running. Uther would pursue them for the rest of their days. And yet when Arthur thought about that life he felt only a rush of giddy hope.

But Merlin, powerful as Arthur begrudgingly admitted he was, was still only one man. What’s more, Arthur had no idea if Merlin even knew where he was or who he was with, making a rescue attempt pretty much impossible. So Arthur needed to find a way to tell him. To communicate a message, secretly, across the solar system, without knowing where the hell Merlin even was. 

He reached the library and scanned the shelves, selecting a few with likely-looking titles and stacking them on a table nearby. A few hours later, the table was covered in books, yet Arthur felt no closer to a solution.

The books in the library were all perfect replicas of the ones from Uther’s time, meaning that even if modern technology had an answer he had no way of finding it here. And the books from his time were telling him nothing he didn’t already know. He sighed and got up from his chair, defeated.

But as Arthur began to return the books to the shelves, he caught a glimpse of a volume he hadn’t noticed before. Its title was utterly innocuous - The Farming of Wheat in Relation to the Seasons - but Arthur remembered it well, having been subjected to it as part of his education in agriculture. As he remembered it, it was a thick, heavy book that weighed as much as his armour, but the volume before him was light and slim. On a whim, he plucked it from the shelf.

As he flicked through, the starting pages were just as he remembered them. So were the pages at the end. When he opened it at the halfway point, however, the book changed. The middle pages were written in an entirely different hand - a different language, too. The dull, unremarkable illustrations changed to ones penned in vibrant inks in rare hues. They depicted not crops, but any number of things: strange beasts, herbs, sigils Arthur had never seen before. With a jolt, Arthur realised he was looking at a book of magic.

How had Uther let this slide? Surely he wouldn’t have ordered the reproduction of anything that remotely promoted sorcery. But then again, Arthur reflected, the library was huge: he’d likely ordered the entire thing copied, or however that worked, without bothering to inspect each individual volume.

Arthur stared at the book, transfixed. His heart pounded in his chest, as if at any moment Uther might appear over his shoulder. Then he had a horrible thought: was this how Merlin had felt? Always terrified of discovery, always looking over his shoulder? Not for the first time, a wave of guilt washed over him.

He shut the book, grabbed a couple of language ones from the shelves, and carried it all back to his quarters, trying to walk as nonchalantly as possible. Once he reached his chambers, he breathed a sigh of relief, closing and locking the door behind him. Wait. Could holograms walk through doors? They were intangible, so it was a distinct possibility. 

Arthur would just have to be on his guard. He spread the books out on his writing desk, looking for a language that matched the one of the book of sorcery.

It didn’t take him long. The book was written in the Old Tongue, a language that had apparently been spoken before the Romans arrived. Luckily, it seemed quite well-documented, and translation was going slowly but steadily.

A knock sounded at the door, making Arthur jump. “It’s me,” Leon called from outside.

Arthur got up from his seat to unlock the door, relieved. “You startled me. I thought for a moment that you were my father.”

“And what are you doing in here that you don’t want your father to see, sire?” Leon crossed the room and peered at the books, his expression swiftly changing to one of unease. “This is a book of magic,” he said.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “Merlin’s back, and I need to get a message to him.”

“Merlin’s back? How do you know?” Leon realised what he’d said and rushed to correct himself. “That is to say, sire, I didn’t mean to doubt your judgement-”

“It’s fine, Leon,” Arthur said, amused. “It’s a new world. Have you heard of the sorcerer Emrys?”

Leon frowned. “Yes. I assumed he was merely taking the name to draw attention to himself.”

“That’s what I thought at first. But the timing is too neat. Apparently Emrys just went from a long time in hiding, to breaking out of a crime syndicate with a dragon cyborg. It must have been my return that prompted it.”

“The timing I can dismiss as a coincidence,” Leon said, “but the dragon I can’t. Did Merlin ever tell you he was a dragonlord?”

“A dragonlord? But that would make his father…”

“Balinor,” Leon confirmed. A shadow passed over his face. “And none of us knew.”

“He was so upset when Balinor died,” Arthur said, stricken. “I assumed it was having a man die in his arms that hit him hard. I never thought…”

“None of us did,” Leon said. “We never really saw everything that Merlin went through.”

Arthur shook himself off. “We’ll do better this time, I swear it. But if Merlin’s a dragonlord, then this Emrys is definitely him. And I’m willing to bet the reason he was causing such a ruckus is that he was looking for us. So we need to get a message to him about where we are.”

“Using magic, sire?” Leon questioned. “I mean no disrespect, but you have realised that Uther’s wards specifically prevent magic from entering Camelot? And that even if we somehow got past the wards, neither of us can use magic?”

“Well, how else are we meant to do it?” Arthur demanded, suddenly feeling rather hopeless. “There’s got to be something in here we could try.” He picked up the book and opened it at a random page, then looked up again as an idea dawned on him. “Wait,” he said. “Leon, you said the wards prevent magic from entering Camelot, yes?”

“Yes,” Leon said slowly.

“But you didn’t say anything about magic leaving Camelot.”

“I didn’t,” Leon breathed. “So you’re saying-”

“That’s the weakness in the wards,” Arthur said triumphantly. “My father would never have thought that a threat could come from within Camelot, so I’d bet there’s nothing to stop magic exiting the wards.”

Leon nodded slowly. “You’re right. He would never expect either of us to use magic from inside. But sire, he’s not wrong. Neither of us can use magic, so we can’t exactly take advantage of the flaw in the wards.”

“Magic can’t be that hard to learn,” Arthur said. “Merlin managed it, for heaven’s sake. I’m sure one of these spells will be suitable for novices.” He looked back down at the book, then did a double take. “Wait,” he said, scanning the page. “This is perfect! Leon, look at this!”

Leon looked closely at the page. “Is that the Old Tongue? I can’t read it.”

“It says ‘On The Bonding Of Dreams’,” Arthur said, grinning madly.

Leon looked like he wanted to object on principle, but he restrained himself. “Go on, tell me what it says,” he said, resigned.

“ ‘A ritual to temporarily connect the dreams of two individuals, one of whom must have magic.’ Then there’s a whole list of instructions on how to perform the ritual, and then at the end it says ‘the individuals shall then share one dream, to end when the caster wakes.”

Leon paused, looking at Arthur’s pleading eyes. He rubbed his face wearily. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, “but how do we perform this ritual?”

*

Dusk, Merlin decided, had well earned its title of fanciest nightclub in the solar system. For a start, there was its location: suspended in orbit above the surface of Venus, where customers could sun themselves on outdoor decks with merely a breathing mask. The amount of money that had clearly been lavished on it helped too - he could point out at least eight different diamond-encrusted objects in any given direction.

But what made Dusk truly special was how it got its name. It floated in eternal sunset, gently drifting through the atmosphere at the same speed that Venus rotated. At Dusk, it was forever dusk, and that was a promise. 

It was spectacular. Merlin gazed outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the sky was gently giving way from a soft yellow to a clear, cool blue. The colour blended and intertwined, laid out before him like a watercolour that used the whole sky as a canvas.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted in his ear over the noise of the pounding music, breaking Merlin from his reverie. “No time for skygazing, we’ve got half an hour before the contact arrives and I intend to have a good time!”

Merlin let Gwaine drag him from his seat and up to the bar. “Two Violet Sunsets for my friend and I, please!” he said to the bartender. He grinned at Merlin. “Ah, this feels just like old times.”

“With you about to encourage me into extremely regrettable decisions? Yeah, it does.”

Gwaine put a hand to his heart in betrayal. “I would never do a thing like that,” he proclaimed, but the effect was somewhat undercut by his mischievous grin.

Their drinks arrived, massive cocktail glasses filled with a smoky violet liquid. Gwaine downed his in one, then attempted to pull Merlin onto the dance floor.

“I haven’t had a chance to have my drink!” Merlin protested. “You dance, and I’ll watch.”

Gwaine pouted, but he took Merlin at his word and made his way off into the crowd. He danced well, Merlin noted: perhaps a little too well, because he was starting to draw a few too many admiring gazes for what was supposed to be a covert mission. Merlin knew that letting him wear the crop top had been a mistake.

And sure enough, as Merlin watched, Gwaine was approached by a gorgeous blonde woman. She took his hand and began to twirl him around the floor.

“I’ll take an Angelfall,” said a voice next to Merlin, and he turned to see Percy leaning on the bar next to him. He’d opted to wear a simple white shirt, but it was a little too small for him, which Gwaine had taken one look at, licked his lips, and declared it wouldn’t be a problem. From some of the looks Percy was getting, he’d been right.

They watched together as Gwaine danced. “He’s drawing too much attention,” Merlin said, uneasy. 

Percy raised an eyebrow. “It’s a nightclub. That’s what people do.” 

Merlin’s expression didn’t ease up, and Percy looked at him with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “You can’t be on guard all the time, Merlin.”

“I have to be,” Merlin said lightly, trying to play it off as a joke. From the look on Percy’s face, it hadn’t worked.

“C’mon,” Percy said, standing abruptly. “We’re going dancing.”

“What?” Merlin said, alarmed. “But-”

“No buts.” Percy heaved Merlin off his stool towards the crowd. “You need to loosen up.”

“And you think the way to make me do that is to shove me into a crowd full of people?” Merlin hissed.

“Stop worrying.” Percy led Merlin into the mass of dancers and began nodding his head to the beat. Hesitantly, Merlin copied him.

“Percy!” Gwaine whooped, emerging from somewhere in the crowd. “Merlin! Dance with me!” He took each of them by the hand and began to shimmy up and down in time to the music. Feeling like a bit of an idiot, Merlin did the same thing.

At the end of the song, Merlin beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of his bar stool. He sipped his cocktail in peace as he watched the two of them dance. A slower song came on and Percy took Gwaine by the hand, spinning him round and round in some semblance of a waltz. They looked happy.

They emerged from the crowd a few songs later, both grinning like children. Together, all three of them headed to the booth where they’d agreed to meet the contact.

They didn’t have long to wait. It had only been five minutes before a man slipped into the booth with them, air mask still on from outside. As he removed it, all three of them gaped.

Lancelot looked back at them, confused. “What is it?”

Merlin was the first to recover. “Nothing,” he said, his voice only slightly strangled. “Uh, hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“...You too?” Lancelot replied slowly. “You are the contacts for the Redlords, correct?”

Gwaine made a so-so gesture with his hand, mouth still half open. 

“Kinda?” Merlin supplied, then mentally face palmed. Really eloquent, Merlin, great first impression.

“He means that we’re mercenaries. The Redlords used to hire us, but not any more,” Percy said, eyes still slightly wide from shock but hiding it well.

“I see,” Lancelot said, nodding thoughtfully. “Perhaps that explains why I feel you’re all familiar somehow.”

All three of them turned to each other and exchanged looks. With long practice, Merlin managed to keep a neutral expression.

“Maybe we have a mutual friend in common,” Percy said, doing an admirable job of keeping his tone even.

“Maybe,” Lancelot agreed. There was no flicker in his expression. “Regardless, we should get on to business. I am afraid, if you are mercenaries, we are not currently prepared to offer you compensation…”

“Oh, no, we don’t need money,” Merlin said hurriedly. “We’ve come to offer our services to the rebellion.”

Gwaine coughed. “In the hope that maybe they could assist with the rescue of our…mutual friend…”

Merlin shot Gwaine a sharp look.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember this mutual friend you speak of,” Lancelot said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Where is he being kept?”

The three of them exchanged glances again, trying to decide how much to tell him.

It was Merlin who spoke first. “We don’t currently know,” he said reluctantly. “But,” he hastened to add, “we believe he would be a great asset to the rebellion upon his rescue.”

Lancelot looked at them with understanding. “I feel I should tell you now that sometimes, however much it wishes to, the rebellion can’t save everyone. But I promise that we will do our very best to save your friend.”

And if they needed any confirmation that it was really Lancelot, there it was. He’d do anything for anyone, and hang the consequences , Merlin thought fondly. Then he cleared his throat, realising that none of them had actually replied. “Thank you,” he said, simply but heartfeltly.

Lancelot looks a little surprised at the thanks. “It’s what anyone would do. But regardless. If you’re sure about wanting to join the rebellion, I’ll lead you there, and I’ll do my best to get you an audience with the Seneschal so you can tell her about your friend.”

Gwaine slapped him on the back. “Knew we could count on you. Wait, who’s the Seneschal?”

“Our leader,” Lancelot answered. “If anyone can help your friend, it’s her.”

*

“So, Lancelot,” Gwaine said faux-casually from where he was reclining on the seat next to the pilot’s chair. “Had any strange dreams lately?”

“Oh, I never remember my dreams,” Lancelot replied. Merlin struck another option from his rapidly-shrinking mental list.

Ever since Lancelot had boarded The Kilgharrah hours ago, Gwaine and Percy had been taking it in turns to pepper him with leading questions. So far, Lancelot had been beautifully polite and entirely unhelpful.

The man in question looked over Merlin’s shoulder at the ship’s starmap. “We’re almost there. You ought to be coming out of pulse speed any minute now.”

Merlin frowned down at his starmap. There were no planets in the region that Lancelot had indicated, or dwarf planets, or even so much as an asteroid belt. Just reams and reams of empty space. “You’re sure it’s here?”

“Trust me,” Lancelot said, and Merlin could hardly say no to that. There was a moment of quiet before Gwaine broke it.

“No dreams? None at all?”

“Don’t press him, Gwaine,” Merlin started to say, but Lancelot waved him off.

“I don’t mind, really. But no, I don’t remember any of my dreams.”

“Not even-” Gwaine persisted, but Merlin cut him off with a sharp look. He didn’t want to scare Lancelot off.

Lancelot tapped Merlin on the shoulder. “Now should be good. Come out of pulse.”

Merlin frowned, but did as instructed. The Kilgharrah jerked as it slowed down, and outside its windows the blur of movement coalesced into a single sharp image.

A huge starship loomed out of the darkness before them. No, wait, not a starship - a whole collection of them, hundreds, maybe thousands, all joined together to create one gigantic structure, floating alone in the vastness of space. It was a jumble of different metals, different styles and colours and sizes, and yet somehow it was also beautiful. The Kilgharrah was dwarfed next to it, a sapling next to a towering oak.

“The Standing Army,” Gwaine said with awe. “So the rumours are true.”

Beside him, Lancelot was taking in the sight as if he was seeing it for the first time. Then he shook himself off and reached for the radio. “Landings, this is Hermes with the starship Kilgharrah , over.”

The radio crackled to life. “Hermes, you are cleared for landing in bay 4, over.”

“Hermes?” Gwaine asked. “You have a code name? That’s awesome. I want a code name.”

Lancelot laughed and pointed Merlin towards the right hand side of the city, where a metal door was swinging open. Merlin flew The Kilgharrah towards it and through the door.

He set them down in what appeared to be a massive landing bay constructed from a hollowed-out starship. It was bustling with activity, people carrying crates and supplies onto and off of many different small starships. “Supply missions,” Lancelot explained. “They’re going to on-planet rebellion bases and to people in poverty throughout the solar system.”

He led the group upwards to a small room where all of them were thoroughly scanned for listening devices or hidden cameras before they proceeded to a sort-of sign in desk. The woman manning it took their names, and Merlin hesitated on the name Em Falcon. Before, he had intended to simply use the rebellion to get Arthur, and then get the two of them as far away as possible, with as little attention on them as possible.

But with Gwaine, Percy and Lancelot at his side, things felt different. He couldn’t just leave them after he got Arthur out; there was no way that they’d abandon Arthur so easily after all that. And even aside from that, Merlin didn’t want to leave them. For the first time in centuries, Merlin found himself wanting to stay.

This time, Merlin decided, he wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past. It was time to stop lying about who he was.

“Merlin,” he said to the woman. “Merlin Emrys.”

They proceeded through a long series of corridors, with Lancelot knocking on many doors and having hushed conversations with the inhabitants. Finally he emerged triumphant. “I’ve got you a room in the starboard quarter where you can stay for the night,” he announced. “And in the morning, I’ve got you an audience with the leader of the rebellion.”

“Damn, Lance,” Gwaine said, impressed. “I wasn’t expecting that to happen so fast.”

Lancelot, inexplicably, blushed. “I called in a favour.”

“Is it just me, or is he more mysterious this time round?” Gwaine whispered to Merlin as they walked to their rooms. 

“Comes with being a rebel spy, I bet.”

“What was that?” Lancelot asked.

“Nothing,” they said in unison. Gwaine caught Merlin’s eye and winked, making Merlin burst into giggles. He frantically tried to suppress them but that only made him laugh harder.

Percy shook his head at them. Children, he mouthed, but he was smiling.

The instant they reached their room, Merlin collapsed onto his bed. “Mmm,” he said, muffled through the covers. “ ‘s warm.”

“Get some rest, all of you,” Lancelot called from the corridor. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“He always was a bit of a mother hen,” Gwaine said fondly as Lancelot left.

Percy snorted. “He wasn’t nearly as bad as Leon. Remember that time when you hadn’t bothered to shine your armour properly, and he gave you a telling off right in the middle of the town square?”

“Course I remember. Nobody would let it go for weeks. But it still wasn’t as bad as that time when…”

Merlin let their voices fade into the distance and shut his eyes, curling into the warmth of the bed. That was one thing he didn’t miss about Camelot; the beds had been hard as stone. At least, his bed had been. He’d tried out Arthur’s a couple of times, for comparison purposes, and had been annoyed but not surprised to find that it was ten times softer than his own. 

He stayed lost in memories of Camelot until he drifted off to sleep. Perhaps it was for that reason that he had the dream he did.

Merlin was standing in the marketplace of Camelot, but it was entirely deserted. Not ransacked, just empty, as if every single person in Camelot had simply put down the thing they were doing and walked out of the front gate. It was silent save for the wind blowing the colourful marketplace flags, but now instead of decoration they leant an eerie feel to the scene. A single apple rolled down the flagstones, a bite taken out of one side. It was the only evidence that up until that moment, there had been life in Camelot.

Merlin walked alone down the empty streets. Without conscious thought, his feet led him on a familiar path, until he looked up and realised he was standing in the castle courtyard. He almost turned around and left again, not sure he could stand the pain of seeing the castle as lifeless and empty as the town, but something stopped him. He walked hesitantly up the steps and through the door.

In the banqueting hall, a feast lay spread out and waiting. Merlin could actually see the steam rising from the plates. The smell hit his nostrils which made his mouth water, and he was sorely tempted to take a plate. In the end, though, it seemed disrespectful somehow, like dancing on a dead man’s grave.

Through the empty corridors Merlin wandered, until he reached the place he had most been dreading. He paused at the door to Arthur’s chambers, almost raising a hand to knock before thinking better of it and simply pushing the door open.

Arthur was sitting at his writing desk. Merlin leapt back from the door as if he’d been stung, but in his haste he managed to knock over a broom, which collided with Arthur’s set of armour, which crashed to the floor with a deafening clatter. Arthur turned around slowly, and Merlin winced.

“How is it,” Arthur said, speaking slowly and making direct eye contact, “that even in a dream, Merlin, you manage to be so clumsy?”

Merlin blinked rapidly. “You know this is a dream?”

“Well, obviously,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin like he was an idiot. It was not a new expression. “You’d hardly be here if it wasn’t, would you?”

Merlin felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and then stamped on it. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” he began. “I didn’t know when you’d return, and Earth really wasn’t safe to live on any more, and I always thought that I’d have - well - more of a warning than this. But I’m coming to find you, Arthur, I promise.”

For a second, Arthur looked relieved, but he quickly covered it. “Well, obviously,” he said. “You are my manservant, after all. This is practically your job.”

Merlin spluttered at him, outraged. “How come even in my dreams you can’t be nice to me?”

“Being nice is for peasants,” Arthur said haughtily. “And this is my dream, after all, so I should be able to treat you however I see fit.”

“It is not your dream,” Merlin snapped, feeling the conversation was getting away from him very quickly. “It’s my dream, so I’m in charge-”

“Merlin, the thought of you being in charge of anything is deeply terrifying,” Arthur said, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile. “And I’m the one who did the ritual, anyway, so that means it’s my dream.”

“Of course even in my dream you can’t admit when you’re wrong,” Merlin muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sire!”

Arthur cast his eyes around the room for things to chuck at Merlin but evidently came up empty. He settled for a glare instead.

“What did you mean, ‘ritual’, anyway?” Merlin asked, subtly edging outside of Arthur’s throwing range.

Arthur brightened. “I did sorcery,” he said proudly. “I knew it couldn’t be too hard. You manage it, after all.”

“Oh, very clever, sire,” Merlin said witheringly. “But seriously, what did you mean?”

“I meant,” Arthur said, speaking very slowly, as if Merlin was a dullard, “that I found one of your fancy little magic books, and did the ritual to connect dreams, and now here we are.”

Merlin’s face went white. “ On the Bonding of Dreams,” he whispered, disbelieving. “But this isn’t real. It can’t be.”

Arthur looked at him. “Can’t it?”

Merlin laughed nervously, heart beginning to race. He stepped forward and bared an arm.

“Pinch me,” he said to Arthur. Arthur reached out and pinched him, hard. It hurt. “Ow, you clotpole, I didn’t mean that hard!”

“I wanted to make sure you felt it!” Arthur protested. 

“Yeah, well, I did.” Merlin rubbed his arm. The skin had gone red where Arthur had pinched it. He looked up at Arthur, barely daring to believe it. “Is it really you?” he breathed.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Merlin?”

Merlin gave him a look that contained too much desperate hope to be called a glare. “Oh, for once in your fucking life, can you just make something easy,” he said, and reached in to embrace him. Arthur stiffened, and then melted into the hug. Merlin marvelled at how warm he was, how different from the lakeside.

“You died,” Merlin said into his shoulder, choked. “You died.”

“I’m back,” Arthur said, and Merlin laughed wetly. Slowly, Merlin released him, though he still clutched at Arthur’s shoulder with one hand, as if verifying he was still real.

“If this is only a dream, it’s the best one I’ve ever had,” he whispered. Arthur smiled and opened his mouth to reply-

Without warning, a deafening crack sounded, drowning out Arthur’s words. The ground beneath them shuddered and the room began to fade around them, colours becoming subdued, lines going from solid marker to sketched pencil. Arthur looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened in horror, staring at something Merlin could not see.

“What’s happening?” Merlin said, frantic. He looked in the direction Arthur was facing but could see nothing except the chamber walls. “Arthur, what are you looking at?” He tried to clutch at him closer, but Arthur’s shoulder went hazy and indistinct, Merlin’s hand passing through it like it was passing through thin air. 

Arthur looked at the place where his shoulder should have been and swallowed. When he looked up at Merlin, the horror was gone from his face. In its place was a quiet acceptance.

“I have to go now, Merlin,” he said steadily. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Don’t you dare,” Merlin said furiously. “Don’t you dare leave me again, Arthur Pendragon.” Against his will, his eyes pricked hotly with angry tears.

Another crack sounded, this time more violent, and Merlin made an ugly noise somewhere between a sob and a scream. Arthur’s writing desk trembled and crashed to the floor, papers spilling across the floor and through the air. But as the world began to fall apart, Arthur merely stood there, steady, the calm to Merlin’s storm.

“I have to go,” he repeated. “But not for long. I promise it won’t be for long this time.”

“Where are you going?” Merlin said desperately. “I don’t even know where you are!” He was crying in earnest now, staining his cheeks with tears.

“I’m in-”

A crack cut off Arthur’s words. “I’m in Ca-” he tried again, but his mouth snapped shut before he could finish the sentence. 

“What’s going on?” Merlin pleaded. “Why can’t you tell me?”

Arthur looked at him meaningfully. “I’m right here ,” he said.

Merlin shook his head frantically. “I don’t know what that means!”

“You’ll find me, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, gathering Merlin in his already-fading arms and looking at him with unspeakable faith. “You always do.” 

“Don’t leave me!” Merlin howled. It made no difference. Arthur flickered and was gone, and Merlin was left on his knees in the fading room. This time, he knew that he was alone in the empty castle, with not even his ghosts left to haunt him.

Merlin knelt alone, and wept.

*

Until Uther walked in, Arthur’s plan had been going so perfectly.

After dinner, under cover of nightfall, Leon had arrived at Arthur’s chambers with all the necessary ingredients for the ritual. He’d wanted to stay, but Arthur had sent him away, despite his protestations. 

“Leon,” Arthur had said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “if I get caught doing this, I need somebody on my side that Uther trusts. There’s no point in us both going down together.” And it was that, finally, that made Leon agree to leave.

The ritual itself had gone smoothly, as far as Arthur could tell. He’d lit the candles in the correct order, burned the necessary weird-smelling ointments, and chanted the strange words. Privately, he was convinced that at least half of it was nonsense - he’d never seen Merlin mucking around with ointments - but he followed the instructions to the letter regardless.

The end of the ritual was spectacularly anticlimactic. Arthur had half convinced himself the whole lot was a load of nonsense, and was halfway through clearing away the evidence when he was overcome by a sudden bout of exhaustion. He staggered over to his bed and promptly passed out.

The book hadn’t made it clear how disorienting the dream would be. Arthur swam for what might have been hours or might have been seconds amidst memories which blurred together like blending ink. He floated between childhood and adulthood, his surroundings flashing between woodland and villages and great halls.

And then a knock had sounded at the door, and all thought of the ritual had promptly fled from his mind. Because Merlin was right there, in Arthur’s chambers, clumsy and impertinent and so very himself that it made Arthur's soul ache. Merlin had hugged him, and Arthur had stood there and wished with all his heart that this dream would never end. It was a foolish wish, and Arthur knew it. 

A crack had split the world apart. Arthur had looked over his shoulder, and seen his father standing behind him.

He’d said goodbye to Merlin as best he could. He vowed to himself that it would be the last goodbye they’d ever have to say. His throat had closed when he tried to speak of Camelot, perhaps the wards finally kicking into action, so Arthur could only pray that Merlin had understood his message. Then Arthur awoke, and stared up into his father’s eyes.

Uther didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Arthur could see the remnants of his ritual upturned and scattered on the ground, and his memories returned to him with dreadful clarity.

Uther pressed a tight hand on Arthur's shoulder and forced him to his feet. His mouth was a thin line, an expression Arthur was well familiar with from his childhood - when he’d allowed himself to lose a tournament, when he’d cried at the death of his hunting dog, when he’d asked too many questions about his mother. In short, when he’d been a disappointment. 

But Uther’s eyes did not contain the same fury they had then. Instead of blazing fire, they were empty, like hollow pits dug too deep to see the bottom. It was far more unnerving than the anger.

As Uther led him from the room, neither of them spoke. Uther kept his eyes straight ahead, dragging Arthur behind him like a misbehaving dog. Arthur began to open his mouth, meaning to somehow defend himself, to make Uther understand, but he took another look at his father’s face and closed it again. What was there to say, really?

It didn’t take long for Arthur to realise where he was being taken. The path to the dungeons was one he had walked many times, leading traitors and thieves and murderers the same way Uther was now leading him. Down, down, down, they went, descending flights of stairs that had never felt so endless, the light growing ever dimmer. The air was cold and damp, yet still somehow stifling.

As they entered the dungeon, Arthur looked at the row of cells with new eyes. How many innocents had kneeled there on the hard stone, awaiting death? How many that he’d been too blind to save? He brushed a hand against a familiar scorch mark on the wall, remembering the woman who made it. She had been a wild, screaming thing; had thrown off her chains and cast a wave of fire that had burnt a knight to death. Arthur had put a sword through her gut. It had never occurred to him before to wonder what she’d done to be discovered, but now the thought refused to leave his mind, a last remnant of her ghost left to haunt him. Not so different now, are we, prince of Camelot?

Uther began to unlock the door to one of the cells, and finally Arthur spoke. “Are you going to say anything to me?” The words, which he’d meant to sound confident and sure, seemed to peter out in the empty room.

Uther looked at him then, eyes hard and unbending as steel. “I have been betrayed by a child of mine before,” he said, voice ringing out strong and firm, every inch the king of iron. “I did not expect for it to happen again, but I will not allow it to destroy me a second time.”

“You won’t even ask me why?”

“What is there to understand?” Uther grasped his wrists with more force than was necessary. “Magic has corrupted you, as it corrupted Morgana. You are lost to me now.”

“I’m not corrupted,” Arthur said, voice shaking only slightly. “That’s what you tell yourself, because it’s easier, but it’s not true. Even Morgana wasn’t corrupted, not really. She realised that you were…”

“That I was what, Arthur?” Uther demanded, tightening the shackles around his wrists. “Go on. I did not raise a son that will not finish what he started.”

Arthur’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears, so loud he could barely hear himself. “That you were cruel,” he forced out. “That you were a hypocrite.”

Uther laughed, a grim mockery of the word. “Cruel is a word for children.”

“You tried to teach us that,” Arthur said. “She learnt it so well that I think it was when she hated you most that she was cruellest. That she was the most like you.”

Uther shoved Arthur into the closest cell, face contorted with rage. “We are nothing alike.”

“Do you know what she never realised, though?” Arthur continued as if he hadn’t spoken, words that he’d kept inside for so long now scratching at his throat as they came out. “That magic isn’t violent or corrupting or evil. She never saw anything except that, so she thought that’s how it has to be. Maybe that’s what you think too. But it can be beautiful -”

His father kicked him to the floor. “Silence,” he growled, hands twitching at his sides. “You will not call that which killed my wife beautiful .” His hands shuddered as he twisted the key in the lock of the cell door.

“This won’t bring her back, Father,” Arthur said softly. “She’s gone. Let her rest.”

“No,” Uther said simply. “I will not allow it. Not until I have exhausted all the options I have available to me.” He looked at Arthur through the bars of the cell, and for a moment the rigid posture of a king dropped and Uther merely looked like a man, old and weary. “I had hoped to avoid this,” he said heavily. “You have left me with no choice.”

“What choice?” Arthur said, but Uther was already turning to leave. “Father!”

“I mourn for you, my son,” Uther said without turning around. 

“Father!” Arthur shouted. “Wait!” It was to no avail. Uther’s footsteps faded into the distance, and Arthur was left alone in the dark.

*

Merlin threw off the covers from his bed and sat up, panting heavily. He was soaked with sweat and his face was damp and stained with tears. He reached out to the table light and flicked it on.

Twin groans sounded from the beds next to him. “Jesus, mate,” Gwaine said. “You’re not fun to share a room with.”

Merlin didn’t reply, still trying to corral his breathing into control. 

“Merlin? You alright?” Gwaine flicked his own light on and padded over, ignoring Percy’s groan. He saw Merlin’s blotchy, red face and softened. “Nightmare?”

“Something like that,” Merlin said breathlessly.

Gwaine sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “It’s all over now,” he said reassuringly. “It wasn’t real.”

Merlin shook his head, trying to draw his muddled thoughts together. “That’s just the thing. I think it was.”

Gwaine drew back. He looked cautious, but not scared. “Is that…a thing? That you can do?”

Merlin shook his head again. “No. Well, not normally. I’m not a Seer. But this dream was - different. Not like a normal nightmare. It felt strange.”

“Strange how?”

Instead of answering, Merlin stood abruptly and began to pace. In the next bed over, Percy groaned and turned over. “What’s going on?”

“Merlin had a nightmare,” Gwaine called back.

“Not a nightmare,” Merlin said, continuing to pace. “More than that.”

Percy yawned and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Is this some magic-y thing?”

“Maybe?” Gwaine hazarded. 

“Definitely,” Merlin confirmed. “I just need to do some research. This reminds me of something, I’m just not sure what.” He blinked and a flash of gold briefly lit the room before fading away. A book now lay in his hands, and he began flicking through it.

“Feels odd to watch you do that,” Percy said. 

Merlin blinked and looked up from his book, all concentration gone. His face sank. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“Nah, don’t apologise, mate,” Percy said, grinning. “It was cool.”

Merlin smiled tentatively, more touched than he could say at the casual acceptance. He returned his focus to the book, skimming through titles of spells. Suddenly he let out a sound of triumph. “Here! Look at this.” Percy and Gwaine crowded around the book.

“We can’t read this, Merlin,” Gwaine said good-naturedly. “It’s in your magic gobbledegook.”

Merlin looked sheepish and waved a hand. The text fluttered and rearranged itself into more familiar words. 

“On The Bonding Of Dreams,” Percy read out, frowning. 

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a ritual that temporarily links people’s dreams together, so you can communicate across long distances. And it doesn’t even require magic to perform, so long as the person you’re linking to has magic.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine said slowly, “I probably don’t even need to ask this question, but who did you dream about?”

“Arthur,” Percy answered for him, exchanging a meaningful look with Gwaine. 

Merlin spluttered. “I don’t always dream about Arthur,” he defended himself. 

“But this time you did.” It wasn’t a question.

Merlin wilted. “Well, yes.” He looked at them hopefully. “But don’t you think it makes sense? Arthur was trying to communicate with us!”

Gwaine and Percy exchanged glances again. “Merlin,” Gwaine said gently, “do you think you might maybe be reading a little too much into this?”

Merlin shook his head stubbornly. “I know how this sounds. But I’ve been waiting for Arthur for one and a half thousand years. I know what deluding myself into hope feels like. And you have to trust me when I say that this is different.”

Gwaine and Percy had a silent but very energetic conversation involving a lot of eyebrow raises.

Percy sighed, defeated. “Tell us about the dream.”

“I was walking through Camelot,” Merlin began to recount. “It was entirely empty, until I reached Arthur’s chambers and he was sitting at his desk. He knew he was in a dream, and he said that he’d been the one to cause it.”

“So no mention of his actual location?” Gwaine said with a hint of scepticism.

Merlin hesitated for a moment, thinking back. Already the details of the dream were beginning to fade. “No,” he said reluctantly. “Hang on - yes.” Percy and Gwaine both looked sceptical now, and he rushed to explain. “He tried to tell me, but I think something was stopping him. But he did say something weird, near the end.”

“Go on,” Gwaine said.

“He said ‘I’m right here’,” Merlin said with a puzzled laugh. He gestured to the room. “Which clearly he isn’t, so…”

Percy frowned, thoughtful. “Where was the dream again?”

“Camelot,” Merlin said. “Arthur’s chambers. But Camelot is long gone. There’s nothing there but ruins now.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Merlin paused. “I visit them every century,” he admitted without making eye contact.

“Every century,” Gwaine repeated. “How long ago was the last time you visited?”

Merlin made some quick calculations. “Sixty years, maybe?”

“Then maybe Camelot’s not ruins any more,” Gwaine said.

It took a few seconds for Merlin to absorb. Images of a towering grey prison where Camelot had once stood flashed through his mind, and he shuddered.

“That’s horrific,” Percy said quietly. “Imprisoning him in the same place that he used to rule.”

“All the more reason to get him out, and quick,” Gwaine said, though he too looked slightly queasy. “At least we have a location.” He rose and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder before drawing him into a hug. “No use worrying about it, yeah?” he said quietly. “You can’t be of any use to him if you don’t sleep.”

Despite Gwaine’s words, it took a long time for Merlin to fall asleep again that night, and when he did, his dreams were of prisons, dull and grey, stretching so high they encompassed the sun.

*

“You all look tired,” Lancelot commented as he led them along the long series of corridors.

“We had a disturbed night,” Gwaine said, shooting a glance at Merlin, who spluttered indignantly and used his magic to poke him in the back. Gwaine yelped and Lancelot looked at him strangely.

“What about you?” Percy said to Lancelot, glaring at the other two. “Any…strange dreams?”

Merlin face-palmed.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember,” Lancelot said, thankfully looking amused rather than annoyed. 

They emerged from the corridors into a small but busy room, where a single shuttle in the centre was being swarmed on all sides by people with sponges and cans of fuel. Lancelot headed to the corner, where a man stood alone, notebook in hand. He brightened as Lancelot approached.

“Lance! Was beginning to think you’d never get back. These new recruits?”

“Something like that,” Lancelot returned, smiling. “It’s good to see you, Charlie.”

Charlie offered them the notebook and gestured to a list of names. “Sign there, everyone.” Then to Lancelot: “They must be quite the new recruits, if you’re taking them to the boss. Not that you need much of an excuse for that,” he added wryly, and Lancelot blushed crimson. “Well, all in order, off you go.”

“Not that you need much of an excuse?” Gwaine said to Lancelot, waggling his eyebrows. Lancelot blushed, if possible, even redder.

“Oh look, the shuttle’s ready,” he said, dashing off towards it. 

Gwaine put a hand over his heart. “Our boy’s all grown up. I feel so proud.”

Percy and Merlin politely ignored Lancelot’s flaming face as they stepped into the shuttle. Lancelot refused to meet Gwaine’s eyes, which was probably wise.

“So,” Merlin said loudly as the shuttle took off, trying to get them back on track. “Anything we should know before we go in there, Lance?”

Lancelot looked relieved to have a distraction. “Not much, no. But you should know that it won’t just be the Seneschal you’ll be talking to, it’ll be her council as well. You’ll state your case, the council members will provide advice on what is to be done, but ultimately it’s her decision.”

Merlin nodded. Now that the moment was coming up, he began to feel his nerves rising. He looked out of the shuttle’s window in hope of a distraction and saw that they were travelling through a clear tube, with only what appeared to be a thin layer of glass between the shuttle and the vastness of space. This did not help his nerves.

Gwaine shuffled over so he was on the seat next to Merlin. “What’s the plan?” he whispered.

“We persuade them they need Arthur,” Merlin replied, trying to sound collected and confident.

“Yeah, but how do we do that?”

Merlin was spared having to reply by the shuttle reaching the end of the tube.

“We’re here,” Lancelot announced. “The leader’s personal sector.”

They got out of the shuttle into a small, grey room with a few plastic chairs lining the walls. It did not seem like the headquarters of a rebellion. There was a door at the other side of the room at which Lancelot paused. He checked a device on his wrist, which flashed green. “She’s ready for you.”

Merlin steeled his nerves and made to push open the door, but Gwaine caught his arm. “Remember you’re not doing this alone, yeah?” he said. “You don’t have to put everything on yourself all the time. Here, I’ll go first.” Gwaine pushed open the door, and Merlin followed, touched.

The room was larger than the last but still plain and grey, putting Merlin more in mind of a conference room than the headquarters of a rebellion. A long steel table dominated the room, and sitting in the centre was a very familiar woman.

Guinevere was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that were a far cry from her usual courtly dresses. She wore no crown, and her hair was not tied up but hung loose around her face. And yet Merlin thought she had never looked so much like a queen. She smiled at them as they walked towards her, and a piece of Merlin that had long been missing felt like it had found its way home.

“Please, state your case,” said a woman sitting beside her, and Merlin was brought back with a jump to the present day. He cleared his throat. 

“We’ve come to point out to the Rebellion the advantages of rescuing Arthur Pendragon,” he said. Immediately the table burst out in heated conversation. Lancelot looked at Merlin sharply, as if seeing him with new eyes.

Gwen raised her hand for silence, looking weary, as if this was a conversation she’d had many times before. “Let him speak.”

Merlin swallowed, suddenly very aware of the many eyes on him. “I don’t speak to offend,” he began, and a few of the council members scoffed and looked away, “but it is no secret that the Rebellion is currently in a delicate position.”

Gwen did not move to react to the statement, instead merely watching Merlin intently.

“Rescuing Arthur Pendragon from beneath the nose of the government would signal to all that you are a force to be reckoned with. And saving the king who united Albion would make a clear statement of intent to the people of your heart, your intentions.”

Gwen nodded. “Both valid points,” she said. She looked at him keenly. “Now tell me why you, personally, want me to save Arthur Pendragon.”

Gwaine laughed abruptly in the silent hall. “She’s got you there, mate,” he murmured.

Merlin breathed, in and out. He shouldn’t have been surprised: Gwen always did know him too well. She’d know if he lied to her, but more than that, there was something oddly alluring about telling the truth. He’d spent centuries buried under the weight of a thousand secrets - or really, just one. Perhaps, now, he could cast off the weight. Perhaps it really was that simple.

Percy tapped him on the shoulder, and Merlin realised he’d been standing there in silence for too long. He breathed again, in and out. He’d been given a second chance. He wouldn’t waste it.

Merlin stopped running.

“My name is Merlin,” he said, looking Gwen straight in the eyes. “But I’m also called Emrys.”

Murmurs rippled around the room, but he ignored them. “Upastige draca,” he whispered, and a miniature dragon burst into life with a crackle of flame, soaring into the air and around the room. Gwen watched it fly with wonder in her eyes.

Merlin could pinpoint the exact moment the wonder turned into recognition. Gwen gasped, though she tried to hide it, and looked wildly around at the four of them, staring as if she wanted to imprint the sight into her mind forever. At her right hand side, the woman looked at her, concerned, and whispered something into her ear. Gwen waved her off, eyes still wide but back in control. “I wish for a private audience,” she announced. 

Immediately, the council raised their voices in protest, but Gwen ignored them, rushing to her feet. As the council were waved out by security, Gwen broke out into an unqueenly run, hair flying out behind her. She flung herself into Merlin’s arms, all courtly manners flown to the wind, and for a moment they were no longer Seneschal and sorcerer, only a pair of laughing servants.

“I missed you,” she said into his hair. “I can’t believe I forgot.” Then she broke away and dashed towards Gwaine and then Percy, hugging them just as enthusiastically. 

From the corner came the sound of Lancelot clearing his throat, his expression one of complete befuddlement. Merlin had almost forgotten he was there. From the way Gwen’s expression froze, so had she.

She broke away from Percy and took a step towards Lancelot, looking at him carefully. “He doesn’t remember, does he?” she said to nobody in particular.

“No,” Percy answered her softly. “I’m sorry, Gwen.”

Gwen closed her eyes tightly. Lancelot just stood there, bewildered but not fleeing. When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with an emotion Merlin couldn’t name. She walked slowly towards him, treading lightly, as if she were attempting to tame some shy beast. Ever so gently she ran a hand over his hair and cupped his face.

“Gwen,” Lancelot said. He put a hand over hers. At the same time they leaned forward and Merlin thought they might kiss, but they simply rested their foreheads together. Gwen closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her cheek. There was a quietness to the moment, an intimacy that went beyond a simple kiss, and Merlin suddenly felt his intrusion and looked away.

When he looked back, they were still holding each other, and Gwen was smiling through her tears. Lancelot broke away and looked at all of them, face slightly sheepish.

“You bastard,” Gwaine said, striding furiously towards him. Gwen looked ready to defend him with her last breath, but instead of hitting him Gwaine drew Lancelot in for a furious hug. “You self-sacrificing, noble bastard. ”

Lancelot had the nerve to laugh, thumping Gwaine on the back. “It’s good to see you too, old friend.”

“Too damn noble for your own good,” Percy said, running up to thump Lancelot on the back.

Lancelot had the grace to look a little sheepish. Then he looked over at Merlin, who was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost. “Sorry,” he offered.

Merlin marched over to him, incredulous. “Sorry?” he repeated. “ Sorry? Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it, you clotpole! We agreed that I was meant to be the sacrifice!”

Lancelot looked at Merlin, face entirely serious. “I’ll never apologise for saving your life, Merlin.” 

Merlin experienced the same unpleasant mixture of frustration and love that he underwent every time Lancelot did something stupidly noble, which was often. “ Idiot,” he said with feeling, and reached in for a hug.

“So,” Gwen said, after everyone had finished hugging each other but before they’d started to feel self-conscious about it, “what now?”

“Now we save Arthur,” Percy said matter-of-factly.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that one, Perce. Got any plans for how?”

“Actually, wait,” Gwen cut in before Percy could start. “If we’re going to talk about strategy, we should bring in the rest of my council.”

Merlin was glad that he wasn’t the only one who seemed hesitant about this.

“Gwen,” Gwaine said hesitantly, “I’m sure they’re good people, but will they believe all this? You’ve got to admit it sounds - well, insane.”

Gwen raised her chin. Her look of determination had never changed, from when she was a stubborn serving girl to a queen. “I’ll convince them.”

Nobody argued. 

“We’ll reconvene here in half an hour, so we can start planning.” Gwen smiled wickedly. “I always rather liked the idea of saving Arthur, for a change.”

*

True to her word, in half an hour Gwen’s council were back in the hall, all looking varying degrees of sceptical, but Merlin figured it was promising that they were here at all. The long metal table had been replaced by a circular one made of oak, which was so like Arthur’s round table and yet so far from it that Merlin got a lump in his throat whenever he looked at it.

When just over half an hour had passed Gwen came hurrying back into the hall, breathless but beaming. “It took a while, but I finally managed to persuade him.” Then Merlin saw that following behind her, looking slightly overwhelmed but mostly excited, was Elyan. 

Everyone rushed to greet him, the knights all embracing him or slapping him on the back in delight. Merlin hung back, uncertain of his reception.

“Hey, don’t avoid me!” Elyan called. “Just cause you’re some crazy powerful sorcerer now doesn’t mean you get away with not giving me a hug!”

Merlin approached him and hugged him tightly, relieved. “Glad to have you back,” he said, and meant it.

“Glad to be here,” Elyan said with a grin. “Knights of the Round Table reunited, huh? Who would’ve thought it?”

One of the council members coughed pointedly.

“We’ll talk later,” Elyan said, giving him a final slap on the back. He made his way over to the table and sat. Merlin, Gwen and the rest of the knights followed suit, and the council finally began.

“First on the agenda, let’s discuss Arthur’s location,” Gwen began.

The woman who had been sitting on Gwen’s left shook her head violently. “Nope. No way. First on the agenda, let’s discuss why we’re even considering doing this.”

Gwen sighed. “Mel-”

“Gwen,” Mel returned. “This is crazy. I’m choosing to believe you, but this is still crazy. You’re the leader of this entire operation, and like it or not that means people depend on you. Thousands of people. You can’t risk that for one man.”

“I’m well aware of my responsibilities,” Gwen said primly. “And as head of this rebellion, I believe that this is the way they would be best served.”

Mel looked unconvinced. “But really, now, of all times? The rebellion is walking on eggshells, and you know it better than anyone.”

“That’s why I’m suggesting this.” Gwen sat up even straighter and addressed the whole table, eyes painfully earnest. “If we continue as we have been, the rebellion will fall. Our numbers are growing, but that means our supplies are spread ever thinner. Our on-planet bases are being snuffed out one by one, and the Standing Army is a hair’s breadth from being discovered at any given time. This mission is a risk, yes, but it offers us a chance. To act. To actually make a lasting change to this solar system.”

“Snatching the government’s most valuable asset right from under their nose,” one man mused. “You have to admit it has style, Mel.”

Another woman shrugged. “If nothing else, we go out with a bang.”

Around the table, people started nodding, hope spreading like wildfire. Gwen looked at Mel, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, fine,” Mel sighed. “I never could say no to you. But I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

Gwen smiled and tapped at the device on her wrist. The centre of the table split in two and from the gap created emerged a model, which reshaped itself before their eyes into a miniature Earth.

“We’ve received intel that Pendragon is in Camelot,” she began, businesslike. “As Camelot no longer exists, we’ve taken this to mean the ruins which remain where Camelot was previously situated. Likely whoever has Arthur captured has created some sort of base in this location.”

“Whoever has Arthur captured?” one man asked. “Do we not know who’s responsible?”

“We know he was originally taken by the DMR, so it’s likely one of their leaders,” Gwen replied. “Unfortunately, the higher up you go in the DMR command structure, the hazier things get. We have theories about the identities of the planetary heads, but nothing concrete. And we have almost nothing about the identity of the main leader, if they even have one.”

Percy frowned. “Isn’t it illegal for the government to keep the identities of their officials a secret? Especially ones as high-up as these?” 

Mel chuckled, low and dark. “Not when they’re dealing with magic users. Keeping their identities concealed is supposedly a protection against some forms of magic.”

One girl who looked barely out of her teens rolled her eyes. “Surprise, surprise, the government is corrupt. Can we get on with this?”

Gwen made a pinching sign with her fingers, and the model zoomed in on the ruins of Camelot. “We don’t know exactly what to expect from this base, but we can assume that we’re dealing with the very best the DMR has to offer in terms of tech.” She looked at Elyan expectantly.

“That means their finest in magic-detectors, anti-mag fields, repulsors, holograms, and so on,” he said, counting them off on his fingers. “We have ways to counter some of them, but not all, and definitely not quietly. Not to mention the sheer firepower they’ll probably have guarding it.”

“Which means we’re looking at a covert mission, small team, limited magic use,” Gwen continued, looking at Merlin apologetically. “Get in, find Arthur, get out. Avoid confrontation wherever possible.”

One man looked up from where he’d been scribbling notes. “When you say small team, how small are you talking?”

Gwen paused, considering. “Six,” she said finally. “One to pilot, and five for the entry team.”

Mel caught on quickly. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Myself, Elyan, Lancelot, Merlin, Percy and Gwaine,” Gwen continued as if she hadn’t heard.

“Absolutely not,” Mel said flatly. “I am not letting this become some sort of Arthurian rescue team. Half of them aren’t even trained, for fuck’s sake!”

“We know the environment,” Gwen countered. “And they are trained. Lancelot’s a trained pilot, Elyan knows DMR tech better than anyone, Gwaine and Percy are professional mercenaries, and Merlin happens to be the most powerful sorcerer of all time.”

Merlin’s cheeks heated and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as everyone peered at him.

“And you?” Mel asked.

Gwen’s expression flattened. “I’m going, Mel. It isn’t up for debate.”

“You’re too important.” Mel looked at her, her hard expression dropping for a second. “We’re doomed without you.”

Gwen’s eyes softened. “If this mission fails, we’re doomed anyway,” she said simply. “I’m going.”

Mel’s face was torn but in the end she simply nodded. At the other side of the table, someone cleared their throat. “So in terms of equipment…”

From there, the discussion turned tactical. As he listened to the various specialists argue and debate, Merlin found something rising in his chest that he vaguely recognised as hope. He looked at all his friends seated once again around the round table, younger and dressed in t-shirts instead of armour, but faces still just as determined.

Holy shit, Merlin thought, heart racing. We might actually be able to pull this off.

*

The cell was hard and cold, and Arthur had a sleepless night. When he finally gave up on trying, light was beginning to poke through the small window, set high in the wall and covered in bars. Arthur ached, unaccustomed to sleeping on the hard stone floor. Sleeping on the dirt while hunting was an entirely different matter; at least then he had many layers of furs between him and the ground. Here, a thin cotton sheet was all that separated him from the stone.

Arthur went through his set of morning exercises, and though they were a challenge in the cramped cell he welcomed the distraction from his uneasy thoughts. The look of betrayal in his father’s eyes haunted him, despite how much he tried to tell himself that his betrayal had been justified. More than anything, Arthur wished he could make his father see magic’s potential for beauty, as well as pain. 

But Uther had had years to stew in Ygraine’s death, to take hold of his grief and hammer it into anger, forge it into a vendetta that became a crusade. Arthur had hoped that seeing what his beloved ward had transformed into would awaken him to the harm he’d caused. Instead, it had just broken him. 

When Arthur had first awoken, it had seemed a miracle to have his father before him, alive and whole, the strong and noble king of Arthur’s youth instead of the broken man he’d watched die. But now Arthur could see that he wasn’t whole, not truly. All the illusion of Camelot was merely an effort to return to the past.

Uther hadn’t moved on. Morgana’s name was no longer to be mentioned, like Ygraine’s before her, save on Uther’s terms. He’d written her off as a traitor, corrupted by the same force that took his wife. He couldn’t face the truth, so he’d constructed a lie around himself, with Arthur and Leon as actors.

Arthur had not fit with the lie. So he was to be written off, like Morgana, in service of maintaining his father’s illusion.

He was left to ponder these thoughts for a long time, alone in the small cell. Such a long time that Arthur’s stomach began to ache and he began to wonder, rather dramatically, whether Uther would just let him rot down here, forgotten. But sometime midafternoon, as best as Arthur could gather from the light of the tiny, far-up window, he heard footsteps approaching and stood so rapidly his head spun.

First came Leon, walking with head down, carrying a plate of food and a jug of water. Behind him walked Uther. His sword clanked as he approached, and his eyes were the empty eyes of a king.

Leon set the food and water down just outside the bars of the cell. As he stood, his eyes met Arthur’s briefly, and if Arthur had harboured any doubts about Leon’s loyalty in the long, lonely hours of the night, then the love and worry in Leon’s eyes was enough to assuage them. Then Leon looked away, and the moment was broken, but Arthur felt warmed through despite the cold of the cell.

Uther stepped forward and turned the key in the lock. Gone were the shaking hands of yesterday; now Uther’s countenance was entirely cool determination, smooth steel. He stepped into the cell and regarded Arthur for a moment. Then from his cloak he brought out some sort of shaped leather object. With a shock, Arthur realised it was a muzzle.

Uther stepped forward and placed the cool leather onto Arthur’s face. He tied the straps carefully, almost delicately, tight enough to be secure but not so tight that they dug into Arthur’s skin. It was a peculiar mercy.

Without speaking, Uther led Arthur out of the dungeon and down a staircase that Arthur realised with a start he’d never been down before. It grew ever colder as they descended, until the thin spiral steps opened out into a massive chamber. No, not a chamber; it was more like a cave, a huge hollow nestled deep in the bowels of the earth.

For the first time, Uther spoke, still not looking at Arthur. “I don’t imagine you’ve been here before.”

“No.” And that was…discomfiting, to say the least. He didn’t like the idea that there was somewhere in his castle that he had no knowledge of.

Uther stared out into the blackness. “This is the place where I chained the Great Dragon.”

Arthur took a step back.

“Yes, it’s an unnerving thought, isn’t it?” Uther smiled without mirth. “Quite emblematic, I thought. The rot at the heart of our society, chained, but never entirely dead, never entirely without power.”

He’s talking about magic, Arthur realised, and his heart sank.

“Of course, the dragon’s long dead now,” Uther continued. “A symbol, perhaps, of how it is possible for the rot to be cleansed. For things that have long been wrong to finally be made right. And in that spirit…”

He clapped his hands, and out of the darkness a light bloomed, spreading so suddenly that Arthur had to look away to avoid hurting his eyes. When it had dimmed slightly, Arthur looked back. A platform rested suspended in the centre of the cavern, a clean, pure white against the old grey stone. 

“Light out of darkness,” Uther said. “Poetic, isn’t it? Come.”

You never used to care about poetry, Arthur thought, but he had little choice but to follow Uther across the scarily thin bridge to the platform. As he neared, he could see the platform was filled with strange devices and machines, all unfamiliar to Arthur and all that same, blinding white.

Uther led Arthur to a strange thin bed in the centre of the room and gestured for him to lie down. Arthur lay completely still, heart pumping but knowing that running at this point would be worse than useless, as Uther tied straps around his wrists and ankles. It was only at that point that Arthur put it together. The muzzle, being tied down. He was going to be tortured.

Arthur couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. Surely, cold as his father could be at times, he wouldn’t lay a hand on his only son. As he lay there still, an unbidden memory rose of listening outside of the cells of a sorcerer as Uther went in. They called it information retrieval, but everyone knew it was torture. Arthur remembered the helplessness, hearing the screams from outside and being able to do nothing whatsoever save silently listen. Uther would come out afterwards, hands bloodied, and say, a king must be strong, Arthur.

That memory hadn’t resurfaced in a long time. Arthur had pushed it to the back of his mind, unable to reconcile the image it painted of Uther with the father he idealised. It made him wonder what else he’d forgotten. 

Above him, his father loomed. In his hand was a knife.

Arthur tried to scream, but the muzzle stifled him so that all that came out was a muffled sound of anguish.

“If you struggle, you’ll just make this harder for both of us,” Uther said.

Both of us? Arthur wanted to scream. You’re the one holding the knife!

Uther looked down at him. Arthur couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. Regret, perhaps, or sorrow, but overwritten by implacable determination. And perhaps the regret was only Arthur’s wishful thinking.

“I didn’t want to do this, Arthur,” he said. “I had hoped there would be another way, that we could bring back your mother together. But you have driven me to this.”

Nobody’s driven you to anything, Arthur thought, hoping his message was conveyed through the hatred in his eyes. All along, everything was your choice. 

“This will be worth it, my son,” Uther promised. From the table next to him, he picked up a syringe and jabbed it into Arthur’s arm.

The last thing that Arthur saw before he passed out was his father’s eyes, and then only unbearable pain.

*

When Arthur woke up, he was back in the cell, and he was in agony. A dull, thrumming pain ran throughout his entire body, and when he tried to sit up, his back screamed in pain. So he simply lay there on the thin sheet, panting. To his horror, he felt tears pricking at his eyes.

“Don’t move,” said a voice next to him. Blearily, Arthur turned his head to see Leon kneeling just outside the cell, one hand outstretched through the bars holding a cup of water.

“I can’t come in and give this to you, sire,” Leon said slowly and clearly, “so you have to take it.”

It took a moment for the words to penetrate through the fog surrounding Arthur’s thoughts. With all his remaining strength, he flung out an arm and let out a small moan of pain as the action pulled on one of his wounds. His fingers stretched towards the cup, still an agonising few centimetres distant.

“I can’t watch this,” Arthur heard Leon mutter, and a second later Leon was in the cell beside him. He felt his head raise up and a cup of water was raised to his lips, so obligingly he took a sip. Half the water went down his chin and the part of him that was still worrying about reputation protested loudly, but all Leon did was wipe it away with a cloth.

“Another sip,” Leon commanded, so Arthur did what he was told. The water began to sooth his parched throat. “That’s good. Now some food.”

Arthur bit into the proffered dry bread, chewing it slowly. Swallowing made his throat hurt again.

“Wha’s,” he managed to get out.

He couldn’t see Leon’s expression, but he could feel the way he tensed. “Don’t try to speak, sire.”

Stubbornly, Arthur tried again. “Wha’s he done to me?” he slurred, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.

Leon fed him another mouthful of bread. “I don’t know for certain,” he said, voice admirably even. “But it appears to be similar to the experiments he performed on me, and I was able to recover.”

Arthur reached out and grasped Leon with one clumsy hand. “Sorry,” he rasped.

Leon stilled. “Whatever for? No, actually, don’t answer that question, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“Couldn’t…protect you,” Arthur pressed on. He couldn’t see Leon’s face, but it was amazing how he could radiate disapproval.

“I swore an oath to protect you, sire , not the other way around.” It was amazing how pointed Leon could make what was technically supposed to be a respectful term. “And I’ve failed that oath twice now, so don’t you dare apologise to me. Sire.”

“Haven’t failed,” Arthur mumbled. 

Leon paused. “What was that?”

“Haven’t failed,” Arthur repeated, louder this time. He gave him a poke in the side for good measure.

Leon was silent for a moment, and Arthur wished more than ever that he could see his expression. “Eat your bread, sire.”

Arthur took the message and shut up, biting into the chunk of bread with a scowl. Chewing seemed to make his ears hurt, which didn’t make sense, and he didn’t like it. With Leon’s help he managed to finish the bread and water, which should have energised him but somehow seemed to only make him more tired.

Leon must have noticed his head drooping. “Rest, sire,” he said firmly, carrying Arthur over to the bed. He removed his cloak and tossed it over him. “Don’t lose hope. This will be over soon.”

That night, Uther again brought him to the laboratory. This time, he did not send Arthur to sleep. Arthur wondered whether it was cruelty or simply cold scientific curiosity. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Arthur awoke the next morning with Leon beside him, stitching up a wound in his side. It was an unpleasant way to awaken. Leon must have noticed him wake, but he remained silent, focussed completely on his gory work. Arthur lay as still as possible while the needle bit into his skin again and again.

When it was done, Leon washed his hands in a bucket of water and bandaged the wound. Arthur watched the blood from Leon’s hands spread through the water. Then Leon carefully raised him up to a sitting position and brought a cup of water to his lips, gentle as a mother. Arthur took a sip and the taste of iron hit his tongue. Immediately, he spat it out. Leon had given him the water with his blood in it, he knew it. Some sick part of Uther’s experiment. He’d been betrayed-

Leon saw his frantic eyes and showed him the cup of water. It was clear and fresh. Then Arthur realised that the taste of iron had been from the blood in his mouth.

“Try again, sire,” Leon said, looking at him almost mournfully. Arthur sipped at the cup obediently, feeling immensely guilty for his doubt.

That night, Uther gave him a twin wound on his other side. In the morning Leon stitched that one as well, the air between them thick with unsaid words.

Four days later, it was still not over. Every evening Arthur had been taken to the laboratory; every morning he would wake, so pained that he could barely move. Leon had assisted him as much as possible without raising suspicion, but could rarely stay longer than a half hour. As the days wore on, Arthur found his mind beginning to blur around the edges, the constant pain making his once-sharp thoughts turn foggy and dim. His one respite were thoughts of escape, but even those were darkened by his knowledge that at the moment he could barely crawl, let alone run.

He could only hope that his plea for help had penetrated Uther’s anti-magic walls and Merlin was on his way, preferably with a small army at his side. No, scratch that, a large army: who knew what defences Uther had managed to construct. If the lab was anything to go by - but there his thoughts scattered, unable to linger on that place too long. 

His thoughts were scattering more and more often these days. This worried Arthur, when he remembered to think of it. If his mind broke as well as his body, then he might as well rot away in his cell. A sudden image came to mind: Merlin approaching Arthur’s cell, blasting away the bars, but Arthur shrinking back, unable to recognise him. He pushed the thought away. It would do him no good.

After that, the days all began to blur together. The only way Arthur could keep track was his wounds: the left wrist broken yesterday, the thin line around his neck the day before. But that led him naturally on to wondering what new injuries he would receive that night, which was something Arthur avoided thinking about at all costs.

He was holding together better than most would in the situation, he knew. Irony of ironies, this was thanks to Uther, who had long ago trained him in methods to resist torture. Except this wasn’t torture, not exactly, because Uther wasn’t demanding information from Arthur, exactly. Instead he was demanding it from Arthur’s body. Searching for the secret of reincarnation along the side of Arthur’s rib, in the lining of his stomach.

How long would it take for Uther to give up? There was no way of knowing. When he asked Leon, the knight had only shaken his head, saying by the time Uther had given up on him he’d long ago stopped counting the days. Arthur said nothing, but privately he thought it was a miracle that Leon had survived with nobody to feed him or patch his wounds.

One particularly brutal morning, Leon had answered the question for him. Normally when Leon caught sight of Arthur’s wounds he looked sad; today, he looked angry. No, angry was the wrong word for it. Leon looked at him with nothing less than rage.

“He was never this brutal to me,” Leon said, ripping off yesterday’s bandages with a gentleness that couldn’t have been further removed from the fire in his eyes. “He at least made sure I would live.”

He dipped a sponge in water and began gradually washing Arthur’s wounds. 

“I’m his son,” Arthur croaked.

“Exactly,” Leon said grimly. “One would think he’d spare a little more mercy for his only son.”

Arthur shook his head, then regretted it as it pulled the wound on his neck. “It means I have to be the strongest,” he whispered. “I have to withstand anything.”

“He’s going to kill you, Arthur!” Leon said, raising his voice for the first time since Arthur had been put in the cell. “Maybe that’s not his intention, but that’s what’s going to happen if he carries on like this!”

Arthur said nothing. Leon’s hands were turning white where they were clenched on the sponge.

“I’m going to kill him,” Leon said, very calmly.

Arthur opened his mouth, but Leon interrupted him.

“I don’t care what the plan is. I don’t care if the government kills me afterwards. I swore an oath to protect you, Arthur, so let me protect you. He trusts me. I can just stab him in the back, easy as that.”

“It wouldn’t be that simple,” Arthur said wearily. “He’ll have defences against that kind of thing. And then you’ll be dead, and I’ll be in just the same position as before, except without you to keep stitching me up I probably will die.”

Leon didn’t reply.

“Think it through, Leon,” Arthur said. “You know I’m right.”

Leon pursed his lips and said nothing, which meant that he was thinking it through and he did know Arthur was right. 

“We just need to hold out for a little longer,” Arthur said, trying to summon some kingly authority. The effect was offset somewhat by the fact that he burst into a coughing fit directly after he’d finished speaking. Leon supported his back as the cough wracked his body. Arthur wiped blood and spittle from his lips before he continued. “Merlin will be here soon.”

“Right,” Leon said.

“You don’t believe me,” Arthur said flatly.

Leon sighed. “Uther has had years to build his wards. Even if the dream ritual managed to get through to Merlin, we have to face the fact that he might not be able to help us. Uther’s made changes to the wards, now - you can’t do magic from inside Camelot any more. Besides, we don’t even know if Merlin still has magic. He could’ve lost it when he was reincarnated.”

It was all perfectly logical, and yet Arthur couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Maybe he was clinging on to a fool’s hope, but something told him it was more than that. “I have to have faith, Leon,” he said quietly. God knows I have little else.

Leon bent down and kissed his bruised knuckles. “My king,” he murmured. “If all else fails, then I will have faith in you.”

*

Merlin stood at the edge of the impromptu camp, staring at the birds wheeling in the grey sky, eyes unfocused and distant. His magic chafed at the bit like an impatient horse, raring to be let loose to run. With long practice he kept it tightly chained. There was no knowing how far Uther’s defences might extend into the surrounding lands, searching for the slightest hint of magic. 

They were close to Camelot now, barely five miles distant. Even after centuries Merlin recognised the forests and fields they had walked through, and by some almost-forgotten habit he’d even plucked a rare flower for Gaius. He twirled it between his fingers now. He could just drop it, but he hesitated before letting it fall. Instead he turned to Gwen standing beside him and slipped it behind her ear.

Gwen smiled at him, surprised. “You haven’t done that since we were both servants together.”

“One of my many regrets,” Merlin said lightly. “How could I have abandoned you to Arthur’s horrible taste in flowers?”

Gwen laughed. “He tried his best,” she said fondly. “But I don’t think he ever understood the meaning of the words ‘colour scheme’.”

“Well, maybe now we can teach him together,” Merlin said. Assuming that we can actually get him back.

Gwen seemed to pick up what he’d left unsaid. “We’ll find him,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “And we’ll have a second chance to teach him flower arranging.”

Merlin grinned at the idea of Arthur sitting in front of an empty vase, brow furrowed in the same way as it did when he was planning battles. “I’d like that,” he said. He almost said more, but he bit his tongue.

Gwen noticed. “Go on,” she said. “What were you going to say?”

Merlin froze for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. “You know me too well, Gwen.”

“And well you should remember that,” Gwen said, giving him a poke in the side. “Go on, tell me!”

He paused, trying to gather the right words. Then he decided that there was nothing that would be the exact right words, and the best thing he could do was be honest. “I was going to say that I’d like a second chance at a lot of things,” he said, meeting her eyes. “After you became Queen, I think we drifted apart. And I think it was my fault. I was so…wrapped up in my own head, by the end of it. And after Arthur died, I just couldn’t stand to be in Camelot any more. I’m sorry.”

She took his hand in hers. It was warm and toughened, the calloused hand of a servant. “I forgive you,” she said quietly. “You don’t need to apologise, but I forgive you anyway.”

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I wasn’t blameless, either,” she continued. “I never truly saw you, before Arthur died. I never really knew what you were going through, all of that time.”

“No,” Merlin said, stricken. “No, Gwen, it wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she said, squeezing his hand. “And I’m sorry too, that you were hiding for so long and none of us realised.”

The simplicity with which she said it cut at Merlin directly, so that he had to stop for a moment and just process. “I’m not hiding now,” he said, once he’d recovered his voice.

“No,” Gwen agreed, “but you were, for a very long time. Even after Arthur’s death, I think you were still hiding. What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for not seeking you out.”

The lump in Merlin’s throat steadfastly refused to go away. “You had your own grief to deal with,” he managed. “We were both mourning.”

“Stop making excuses for me and accept my damn apology,” Gwen said, with a flash of queenly stubbornness. 

“Yes, Gwen,” Merlin said meekly.

“That’s ‘your highness’ to you,” Gwen said, but she laughed as she said it. Merlin laughed with her, feeling that one of his many lingering mistakes had finally been made right.

The noise of the birds overhead brought Merlin back to his surroundings. They had ceased their endless circling and were now flying south, raising a din as they did so. Their cries grew deafening as they flew low over the camp, and then they were gone. Something had disturbed them.

In the distance, from the direction that the birds had come, a low whirring began to grow. Merlin almost sent out his Sight to see what was causing it, but thought better of extending his magic like that so close to Uther’s territory. Instead he had to squint up at the sky as the whirring grew louder and louder.

Gwaine clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin’s magic reacted on instinct, surging out in a wave of energy that Merlin only just managed to curb. He also jumped about a foot in the air. “Don’t do that, Gwaine,” he complained, trying to calm his pounding heart.

To her credit, Gwen tried to stop herself from laughing at him. “No need to be so jumpy, my friend,” Gwaine grinned, seemingly unaware or uncaring of how close he’d just come to total obliteration. “Hear that? That’s Elyan’s drone coming back.”

Oh. Well, now Merlin felt stupid for immediately assuming that the whirring was some new enemy coming to kill them. Especially since he’d been there when it had been arranged that Elyan would handle reconnaissance, being the most experienced with operating the new technology. But it was like Gwaine said; Merlin was jumpy, on edge, forgetting to think and instead just itching to blast anything that came within range. He needed to focus.

“Come on,” Gwaine said, oblivious to Merlin’s thoughts. “It’s time to plan a super-awesome heist with no weaknesses or flaws whatsoever!”

“....right,” Merlin said. “Because all the plans we make always go perfectly.” But he allowed himself to be led inside the large tent currently serving as base of command, Gwen following behind. The knights looked up as they entered. They were all standing around a large oak table - Merlin had no idea how they’d got it here - covered in maps.

“Good, you’re all here,” Lancelot said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re still waiting for Elyan, but from the long-distance photos we’ve received we have good news and bad news.”

“Whenever people say that, they never actually mean that they have good news and bad news,” Merlin said. “They mean that they have bad news with maybe a tiny silver lining. If you’re lucky.”

Lancelot grimaced. “In this case, you’re not wrong,” he admitted. “The photos are blurry, but…” He held up a photo to demonstrate.

Merlin squinted at it, then paled. “Is that…”

“The city of Camelot,” Gwen breathed. “Exactly as it was during Arthur’s reign.”

“ That’s what Arthur meant in the dream,” Merlin said. “When he said ‘I’m right here’, he was being entirely literal. He’s in his room, in a reconstructed version of the city of Camelot.”

Gwaine took another of the photos, this one taken from an aerial view, and looked at it closely. He tapped at a section of the lower town. “Something’s wrong here,” he said slowly. “The Red Lion ought to be right there - I should know, I drank there often enough. But instead there’s just a regular house.”

Merlin took a photo and held it up for them all to see. “And here’s the old apothecary,” he said. “I used to get herbs for Gaius from there until it closed down after the proprietor died. But in this photo it’s still there.”

Gwaine snapped his fingers. “It’s Uther’s Camelot, not Arthur’s,” he said. “The Red Lion only opened up in the second year of Arthur’s reign.”

“But if this place was built to imprison Arthur, why build a replica of the citadel during his father’s reign and not his own?” Lancelot asked, wrinkling his forehead. 

Merlin felt a sick feeling beginning to grow in his stomach. “You’ve all returned,” he said slowly. “Gwen as well, so we know it’s not just knights. Who’s to say that other people couldn’t?”

The table exchanged a glance. “What exactly are you saying, Merlin?” Gwen spoke up.

“What I’m saying,” Merlin said grimly, “is that there’s only one person I can think of who would’ve had reason to build a replica of Uther’s Camelot.”

“Uther himself,” Gwaine said flatly. “God fucking dammit. Of all the people who could’ve had a second chance, and it was him.”

“We don’t know it’s Uther,” Lancelot said, but then he winced, as if that sounded weak even to his own ears.

“It would make sense,” Gwen said reluctantly. “We’re looking for a high-up member of an organisation that hates magic. Who fits better than the king who carried out the Purge?”

There was a moment of silence as everyone contemplated her words. Merlin felt his initial shock beginning to fade, replaced by a quiet anger. Hadn’t Uther hurt enough people the first time around? Why should he be afforded a second chance, when so many others hadn’t? The injustice rankled.

Gwaine sighed, sounding weary beyond his years, and Merlin was suddenly reminded that despite appearances, Gwaine was not always the happy-go-lucky joker he pretended to be. “Right, fine, Uther’s back. Sounds about right for our luck. Can we just get a show of hands here, who actually liked the guy?”

Not a single hand went up.

“Leon might’ve done,” Gwen said hesitantly. “He was Uther’s knight for longer than he was Arthur’s.”

Percy shook his head. “I don’t believe it,” he said firmly. “Leon recognised injustice where he saw it, even if he never said anything out loud. Besides, after Arthur died, there was nobody more dedicated than Leon to changing Uther’s policies.”

At that moment, the tent flap opened and Elyan stepped inside, looking harried. “I have the close-up photos. You won’t like it, though.” He rummaged through his bag and drew out a photo, which he threw down onto the table.

As one, they bent down to inspect it. It depicted the courtyard in Camelot, but it was not empty and quiet as it had been in Merlin’s dream. It was busy and colourful, filled with stalls and flowers and decorations and -

“People,” Lancelot breathed. “It’s full of people.”

He was right. The courtyard was filled to bursting with people, inspecting items from stalls, talking with each other, laughing. They were dressed in exact replicas of ninth century clothes - no, not replicas, they were too accurate to be anything except originals. Merlin squinted closer at the faces of the crowds, and his stomach dropped.

In the corner of the photo, a short, jolly-looking woman was deep in conversation with a store owner, half turned away from the camera. Even so, Merlin recognised her. She was a baker from the lower town, a friendly and generous woman who’d always offered him an extra muffin or two when he came shopping for Arthur. She had died centuries ago.

“That’s Agnes,” he said numbly, tapping her on the photo. “I know her. She used to bake raspberry muffins.”

“ Everyone’s been revived?” Gwaine half-screeched.

Elyan quickly shook his head. “That’s just the thing. The drones are equipped with thermal imaging cameras, but none of these people showed up on the scans. It’s like they weren’t even there.”

“An illusion?” Percy said, puzzled. “But Uther would never use magic.”

Gwaine scoffed. “He always was a hypocrite.”

“Magic isn’t the only way to create an illusion,” Gwen said slowly, pulling the image towards her. “What do you think, Merlin? Could this be magical?”

Merlin frowned. “It could, but it would require a sorcerer of enormous power to maintain an illusion on this scale whilst keeping the detail of individual faces. Nimueh, perhaps, or Morgause…”

“Or Morgana,” Lancelot finished.

Merlin hesitated. “Yes, theoretically, but I can’t think of a single reason any of those three would willingly side with Uther.”

“It isn’t necessarily magic,” Elyan put in, beginning to scribble furiously on a sheet of paper. “Gwen, haven’t your sources reported the DMR’s recent interest in holographic technology?”

“Yes,” Gwen said, sounding puzzled, “but what has that to do with - oh. ”

“Oh?” Lancelot prompted.

“You really think it’s advanced enough for that?” Gwen directed the question towards Elyan, who shrugged.

“I can’t be sure, but it’s more likely than Uther and Morgana suddenly becoming best pals.”

“Wait,” Gwaine interjected. “You’re suggesting that the whole thing - the entirety of Camelot - is a hologram? That’s insane, surely?” 

Merlin tapped his fingers on the table vacantly. “It does sound insane,” he agreed. “But I’ve run into the DMR a lot over the years. Their budget has always been ridiculous, and yet in the past few years their tech hasn’t seemed to have gotten much better. All that money’s got to have been going towards something.”

“Uther’s been channelling government funds into his own pet project,” Gwen mused, looking oddly delighted. “If this gets out, we might finally have a chance to push towards defunding the DMR.”

Elyan looked less sure. “If I’m right, I doubt the hologram’s the only thing that he’s been working on,” he warned. “His defences are going to be ridiculous.”

Gwen rubbed her hands together, her face breaking into a smile.

“Are you excited about this?” Lancelot asked incredulously.

Gwen shrugged, her smile gaining a sharp edge. “To steal my ex-husband from right under the nose of the man who killed my father? Yes, I am.” 

Merlin winced.

“But we need to talk strategy,” Gwen continued. “I think the hologram is a blessing in disguise. The people are exact copies of people who used to live in Camelot, right?”

“Right,” Elyan said. 

“ We used to live in Camelot,” Gwen reminded them.

“Wait,” Gwaine said, beginning to grin. “Gwen, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I think she is,” Merlin said, his grin matching Gwaine’s. “We can just stroll on in there.”

Gwen shrugged mischievously. “Why not? Even if Uther runs straight into us, he won’t realise a thing. He’ll assume that we’re holograms, same as everything else.”

Everyone turned to Elyan, who looked like he was thinking very fast. “I mean, yeah,” he said, sounding faintly shocked. “If the holograms are that lifelike, there’s no reason why he should be able to tell the difference. The only thing is, the holograms of people won’t be tangible. The walls, floors, tables, and so on, sure, those will be tangible. But not the people. Living things are too complex for that.”

“So if he literally tries to walk through us…” Gwaine began.

“We’re doomed,” Elyan finished. “And I need to talk with Merlin about what defences Uther might have constructed. But aside from that, it’s a solid principle.” He sounded surprised by his own words.

“Walking straight into the base of the man who wants us dead. It’s madness,” Lancelot said. Then he too began to grin. “When do we start?”

*

“So does everyone remember the plan?” Gwen whispered.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t think we went over it enough times,” he whispered back. “I think twenty repetitions just wasn’t enough.” Percy elbowed him.

Gwen nodded. “Right,” she said, sounding nervous but determined. “Make sure you’re next to your partners. The instant Merlin gets us past the wards, we split up.”

Merlin nodded and drew closer to the wall. This was his task: to make a small incision in the wards, enough to allow them entry but not to alert Uther.

The city wall is an illusion, Merlin remembered Elyan saying in the mission briefing. Stab it, burn it, blow it up, it won’t even show a scratch. Ignore it. Once you get past the wards, you can just step through it, easy as that.

Get past the wall, you also get past Uther’s shields. The trick is to do that without him noticing. That’s all on you, Merlin.

Merlin closed his eyes, focussing. He tentatively extended his magic towards the citadel, searching for the shielding magic of the wards. When he hit it, it was like running straight into a brick wall, and he had to stifle a sound of pain. He drew his magic away from the barrier, then approached again, this time merely probing it. The sensation in his magic was akin to running his hand over smooth steel.

He was fairly certain, he reflected, that if he merely overwhelmed the wards with everything he had that they would fall in an instant. But Elyan had shut that idea down very quickly.

The wards and the holograms are linked, he’d explained, intertwining his hands together to demonstrate. If one goes down, it all goes down, and if the holograms go down you can be sure Uther will know about it. And then we’re all screwed.

Merlin had to be more subtle. Unfortunately, ‘subtle’ was not a word that Merlin had ever been very good at.

“Merlin?” came Gwen’s voice in his ears.

“It’s more complicated than I expected. Give me a moment,” he murmured back without opening his eyes. Carefully, he drew his magic forward to inspect the wards more closely, searching for the tiniest chink in the armour. He winced as his magic again collided with the barrier, but it was worth it: he could see it much more closely now, like looking through a microscope. There! A microscopic crack, impossible to miss now he’d found it.

Now to get through, without setting off every alarm in the vicinity. Gently, Merlin reached his magic towards the crack in the wards, feeling rather than seeing its connection to the citadel wall. He pinched his fingertips together tightly, then impossibly slowly he drew them apart, and as he moved his finger the crack widened until it was about a finger width across. He waited with bated breath for an alarm to start blaring in his ears, but nothing happened.

This time, he clasped his hands together. As he drew them apart the crack spread rapidly, jetting down the entire length of the wards. Hurriedly Merlin drew back but it was too late: the wards were now covered with cracks. Soon they would splinter like an eggshell.

No, Merlin thought. Almost unconsciously, his magic flooded out of him, crashing towards the falling wards like a tidal wave. They slammed together with all the force of the ocean and Merlin’s world shook. He could feel himself trembling.

Merlin’s magic had intertwined with the ruins of the wards, holding the cracked pieces together like an invisible glue. He felt a sweat bead on his forehead and gritted his teeth against the strain. It felt like holding an entire city together with nothing but his mind.

For a moment it was all he could do to just hold it there, straining against the mass that threatened to crush him. Then he gathered his strength and carefully split two of the pieces apart, forming a slim gap.

He opened his eyes, knowing for a fact they were glowing pure gold. “Now,” he whispered, and walked through the solid wall.

For the first time in centuries, Merlin regarded the inside of Camelot. He had come out in a quiet section of the lower town, behind the backs of the houses closest to the wall. Those houses tended to be the cheapest given that they were the first line of defence in an invasion, but they were larger than most houses cramped in the middle of the city, so some people decided that they would take the risk. 

Merlin was pulled away from his thoughts as Gwen stepped through the wall next to him. Though he knew that the wall was merely an illusion cobbled together with some extreme anti-magic tech, it was odd to see a person step through it with no resistance whatsoever. He didn’t have time to watch the others come through though, because Gwen pulled him away and started walking fast towards the castle. 

They walked through the back ways of the lower town, making sure to avoid the more populated areas, but as soon as they were far enough away from the others Merlin collapsed against a wall, breathing hard. Gwen rushed to support him.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. “Just…give me a moment.” In his mind he pictured the wards again, shattered to pieces, held together only by his concentration. He couldn’t allow them to fall. Uther would know in an instant that his defences had failed, and they would never make it out alive.

“You’re clearly not fine,” Gwen said reproachfully. “What’s gone wrong?”

For a moment he hesitated, not wanting to worry her and distract her focus from the mission. But if he was compromised, she needed to know. “To get in, I shattered Uther’s wards.”

Gwen paled.

“They’re still holding up!” Merlin rushed to make clear. “It just means that essentially, I’m holding them up. Singlehandedly. Which is not exactly a piece of cake.”

Gwen pursed her lips. “Go back,” she said.

“What?” Merlin shouted, then winced as his voice echoed off the nearby walls. “I mean, what?” he said more quietly. “Gwen, you can’t mean that-”

“If you collapse every thirty seconds, then you cannot continue with this,” she said firmly, in the voice she normally reserved for the throne room. “I mean it. Unless you can think of a way to fix this, go back.”

“I can’t fix it,” Merlin snapped. “Without my magic, the wards will collapse and the holograms with them. Simple as that.”

Gwen lowered him gently to the floor. “Just try, Merlin. Anything you can think of.”

Merlin looked up at her stubbornly, ready to protest that he was feeling better already, really, and was entirely fit to continue. Then he realised with a shock that it wasn’t even really a lie: he was breathing easier, strength returning to his muscles. He closed his eyes and again envisioned the wards, cracked into pieces, his magic the cement that kept them together. But the image was incorrect. Merlin focussed, and then the real image slid into view. 

One by one, the cracks in the wards were disappearing, replaced once more by a surface like smooth glass. Tentatively Merlin retreated his magic from the outermost sections, but they didn’t fall. The wards were remaking themself.

Merlin opened his eyes in relief. “Everything’s fine,” he told Gwen, reaching out a hand so he could be pulled up. “The wards are fixing themself somehow, so I don’t have to hold it up anymore.”

Gwen hauled him to his feet, looking slightly put off. “Oh,” was all she said.

“That was good news,” Merlin said helpfully.

She wrung her hands, embarrassed. “Sorry! Sorry, it’s just that, well, I’m not used to our plans going well.”

Merlin laughed, taken off guard. “Me neither,” he admitted. “But let’s not jinx it.”

“Plenty of time for things to get worse,” she agreed, already continuing her brisk walk towards the castle. Merlin hurried to catch up, relishing the feeling of the burden on his magic lightening.

As they got closer to the castle, they had to go to more and more effort to avoid the crowds. Even the smallest alleyways had people walking down them - no, not people, Merlin corrected himself. Just holograms. He had to remember that.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the wide street that led to the marketplace. It was bustling with people, and Merlin felt an irrational jolt of fear as he looked at the teeming crowd.

Gwen touched his arm. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said with as big a smile as he could muster. He braced himself, took a deep breath, and walked into the crowd.

Nothing happened. Nobody started pointing at them and screaming intruders! A few holograms glanced in their direction, but looked away again almost immediately. Still, Merlin could feel the unpleasant prickling of eyes on his back. Paranoia, maybe? But in this circumstance, Merlin suspected that paranoia was justified. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck.

He walked steadily forwards, trying to keep his eyes straight ahead and his expression fixed as one of casual contentment. Perhaps he needn’t have bothered: the holograms seemed expressive enough, smiling and laughing and talking to each other. But when he examined their faces closely, something in their eyes seemed…empty, somehow. Lacking in some unquantifiable way in what made up a human being.

He felt a hand slip into his and had a moment of panic before he realised it was just Gwen. When he risked a glance at her she kept her face straight ahead, but squeezed his hand reassuringly. He squeezed back, indescribably glad that she was with him.

After what felt like the longest half hour of Merlin’s life - and he had lived through many long half hours - they finally broke through the illusioned crowds to the edge of the castle. Together, they made a break for the door to the servant’s entrance, then shut it behind them and collapsed against the door. Helplessly, Merlin started to laugh. Maybe the tension had finally broken him. Then Gwen joined him, sounding almost hysterical.

“We…made…it,” she said in between giggles. She wiped tears from her eyes. “Look at us, giggling like children.”

“That was so stressful,” Merlin said fervently. “I did not expect that to be so stressful.”

“It’s not over yet,” Gwen said, sobering up. She stood up and brushed down her skirts. “How do I look?”

“Like the best servant in all of Camelot,” Merlin said. “Well, second best.”

Gwen put her hands on her hips. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, then I’d just like to remind you that good servants don’t generally get put in the stocks.”

“That was all Arthur’s fault!” Merlin protested. His smile faded.

“And soon, you’ll be able to tell him that in person,” Gwen said firmly. “Let’s go.”

They began to ascend the many flights of stairs from the servant’s entrance to Arthur’s chambers. Merlin had forgotten just how many steps there were.

“What…kind…of a… clotpole makes his servant do this every day?” he panted, not really expecting an answer. Gwen nudged him sharply. 

He looked at her, puzzled. What? he mouthed. Then he looked up and paled. A maid was coming down the stairwell, carrying a jug of water. As she passed them, she looked them over briefly, but must have been satisfied with what she saw because she continued down the stairwell without stopping.

Merlin attempted to slow his racing heart. They clearly don’t recognise us, he told himself firmly, so get a grip on yourself. 

“We should probably act more servant-like,” he whispered to Gwen once she’d passed. Gwen nodded, looking paler than usual.

They continued upwards in silence. As they neared Arthur’s chambers, Merlin felt his pulse begin to race. What if he wasn’t there? What if he was?

They reached the top of the stairwell. Merlin felt like he was going to be sick. The short walk from the stairwell to Arthur’s door stretched out before him, metres transformed into dizzying miles. Merlin took a step forward. The sound of his boot against the hard stone seemed to envelop the corridor. He took another step.

Then, simple as that, he was standing outside Arthur’s door. Gwen touched his shoulder briefly. Merlin took a deep breath in, and another. He steeled himself and knocked on the door.

There was no reply.

Heart sinking, Merlin pushed the door open. Sure enough, the room was empty. What’s more, it was pristine: pristine in a way it had never been when Arthur had been inhabiting it. He blamed it all on Merlin, of course, but Arthur was a slob. This room was more spotless than Merlin had ever seen it, and it made him want to cry. 

Behind him, Gwen closed the door. She walked over to Merlin and quietly put a hand on his shoulder. 

“His desk is empty,” Merlin said. “His desk is never empty.” He glared at the desk in question, half-heartedly.

“I know,” Gwen replied in the bright tone of voice she used when she knew something was wrong and was trying to pretend it wasn’t. 

“He doesn’t live here, does he,” Merlin said. It wasn’t really a question.

Gwen hesitated. “It doesn’t look like it,” she admitted. “But he’ll be in here some-”

Three sharp knocks sounded at the door. Gwen cut herself off abruptly. The two of them stayed frozen in place for a moment, listening.

The knocks sounded again, more insistent this time. Gwen unfroze. “Clean!” she hissed at Merlin, rushing to the door. Merlin hurriedly conjured a rag and began to scrub one of the cabinets at random.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Gwen open the door. For a moment she remained very still. Then she bobbed a perfect curtsy.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly. Dread spread through his body like ice, and he shivered, though he did his best to suppress it. There was only one person in the world who Gwen would curtsy to here.

“I instructed that this room be left untouched,” said the voice of Uther Pendragon. 

Merlin could do nothing save keep scrubbing as Gwen stammered. “My apologies, your highness,” she said, curtsying again. “I was of the impression that you wished the room to remain clean. It won’t happen again, sire.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Uther said. “And to think that I thought that with holograms I would finally have servants that could follow orders.” With this, Uther stepped into the room.

Merlin stopped scrubbing and dropped quickly into a bow, heart pounding, praying to God and fate and anything that would listen that Uther had not seen his face. His prayers were in vain.

“Straighten up, boy,” Uther ordered. 

Merlin straightened. There was nothing else he could do. With the hand that wasn’t holding the rag, he signalled for Gwen to run.

I’m sorry, Arthur, he thought, looking Uther dead in the eyes. I failed you again.

Uther frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. “I didn’t order a hologram of you made,” he said slowly. 

Merlin raised his chin. 

He saw the exact moment that realisation dawned on Uther’s face. With great satisfaction, Merlin took in the mingled fear and rage in Uther’s eyes.

“You,” he growled.

“Me,” Merlin agreed.

“Guards!” Uther shouted. His eyes darted from Merlin to the door.

Merlin thought very, very quickly. The time for secrecy was over: the DMR would hear of this regardless of what happened next. If he could break the wards, and properly this time, he would have a chance at subduing Uther. Maybe there would be enough time to find Arthur and get off-planet before the DMR arrived. He just needed enough time to break the wards. He needed to stall.

Merlin pictured the wards in his mind and took a step towards Uther. “What makes you think they’re coming?” he said softly, relishing the way Uther leant away from him. “I suggest you play very, very nicely, your highness. After all, it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

Uther spat in his face. Merlin wiped the spit away slowly, not breaking eye contact. In his mind, he approached the wards, tracing the outlines of the cracks that he’d left, all almost fully healed over. “That wasn’t very clever,” he said.

“Do something about it, then,” said Uther. 

Merlin baulked, his attention drawn away from the wards. “Excuse me?”

“If you have all this power, sorcerer, why are you sneaking around, playing at being a servant?” Uther took a step forward. Unconsciously, Merlin took a step back, then cursed himself when Uther smiled. “You’re bluffing.”

Fuck, Merlin thought eloquently. He reached for his magic and instinctively, desperately threw it at the wards but there was no time-

“There it is,” Uther said with dark satisfaction. “I can see the fear in your eyes now.”

Fast as an executioner’s blade, Uther brought his hand up. Merlin gasped as the taser bit into his flesh.

“Maybe you really are just a man,” Uther said from above as Merlin collapsed to the floor, sight blurring. “You certainly fall like one.”

*

Arthur sat curled in the corner of his cell, as far away from the door as he could get. Today was one of his more lucid days, which he was grateful for. His thoughts were still blurry and indistinct, but he was able to at least follow a train of thought. Of course, this lucidity came with its downsides. It resulted in him actually thinking about his situation, something which Arthur attempted to avoid at all costs.

He was steadfastly not thinking about all the new and interesting ways in which his father could torture him tonight when footsteps sounded down the corridor. Arthur frowned. Perhaps he was less lucid than he thought. Either that, or he’d totally lost track of time, because Leon had already seen him this morning and he still had hours before Uther usually came for him.

Nevertheless, the footsteps grew louder. Uther marched into the dungeon, but this time he didn’t even spare a glance for Arthur. Instead he marched straight past his cell, and stopped at the one next to it. He was carrying a large bundle of rags thrown over his shoulder. Arthur squinted at him, mystified.

Uther unlocked the cell door, and flung the bundle of rags to the floor. Without ceremony, he locked the cell and left.

On the cell floor, the rags made a very human-like groan. Then they began to move. At this point Arthur realised that he might have been mistaken in his labelling them as rags, and decided to correct his estimation to ‘human’ until further notice.

Another prisoner, then? But who? Not Leon, surely. But there were no other humans in Camelot, and there would be no reason for Uther to imprison a hologram, which were intangible anyway.

The other prisoner decided to disturb his train of thought by groaning again and uncurling from their ball. As they straightened, Arthur peered at their face, then did a double take.

He must not be lucid after all. Either that, or he must be mad. There could be no other explanation for the fact that the other side of the cell wall, looking for all the world like he’d stepped straight out of the ninth century, was Merlin.

Merlin finished uncurling and started to look around. He turned towards Arthur, and their gazes met.

Merlin’s eyes opened impossibly wide. His face split into a grin. “Arthur?” he exclaimed. 

Arthur felt like he had been stabbed in the chest. “You’re not real, are you,” he said softly.

“What?” Merlin frowned. “No, Arthur, I came to-”

“You’re a hologram,” Arthur said. He laughed dryly, but it turned into a hacking cough. “You’re not real. You’re some new way my father has found to torture me.”

“Wait, torture you?” Merlin sounded alarmed. The hologram was a very good actor. “What do you mean, torture? Also, I am not a hologram, you utter clotpole -”

“Don’t use his word,” Arthur snapped. 

“I am him! And it’s a good word!”

Arthur shook his head stubbornly. “You can’t fool me. You’re not real. You’re just my mind playing tricks on me. I’ve finally gone mad. You’re just a figment of my madness.”

Hologram-Merlin stared at him in disbelief. “One and a half thousand years, and this is the thanks I get? We’re finally reunited, and you refuse to believe I’m even real?”

Arthur elected to ignore him. It was a technique that had worked wonders with Merlin in the past. But no, he couldn’t forget that this wasn’t Merlin. It couldn’t be. 

But what if it was, his traitorous mind whispered. “Shut up,” he said out loud.

Merlin looked affronted. “I didn’t say anything!”

“I’m not talking to you!” Arthur snapped back. He looked at Merlin hopelessly. “You know,” he said abruptly, “this is really quite cruel. Showing me the one person I want to see more than anyone else in the whole universe, and it’s not even real.”

“I am real,” Merlin said reflexively. “Wait, I’m the person you want to see more than anyone else in the universe?” He sounded dangerously hopeful.

“Obviously,” Arthur sniffed. “If you’re a figment of my own mind, you ought to know that.”

Merlin’s hands twitched. He looked like he was torn between wanting to kill Arthur and trying to hug him. This hologram, or delusion, or whatever it was really was very realistic.

“Arthur,” Merlin said very patiently. “I’m real. And I’ve come to rescue you. Remember, like I told you?”

Something inside Arthur crumbled ever so slightly. “In the dream?”

“Yes, Arthur, in the dream.” He sounded exasperatedly fond.

“That was real?”

Merlin’s patience elapsed. “Yes!”

“You’re real?”

“Yes!”

Arthur got a lump in his throat. “Really?” he managed.

Merlin’s eyes were very soft. “Yes, really,” he said. “I’m here, you complete and utter cabbage-head, and I’m going to save you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, stumbling towards the bars of the cell. Merlin rushed towards him, outstretching his hands between the bars.

“ Dollophead ,” Merlin said fervently as Arthur barrelled into him, embracing him as best as he could through the bars.

“Idiot,” Arthur returned, clutching Merlin just as tightly. 

They stayed like that for a long moment. Any remaining fears Arthur might have had that Merlin wasn’t real were washed away by his warm solidity. For the first time since he’d entered the dungeon, Arthur no longer felt cold.

Merlin pulled away slightly, and Arthur realised with a jolt that his face was blotchy and red. “Have you been crying?” he said incredulously.

“No!” Merlin said defensively. He sniffled and blinked rapidly. “Just - happy to see you.”

Arthur felt a warm fuzzy feeling inside his chest, and felt horrified at himself. “Well, me too, I suppose,” he said as gruffly as he could manage. “I’ve been needing a proper servant back.”

“No, you can’t brush this off,” Merlin said with a hint of glee. “I heard you. You said that I’m the person you want to see most in the entire universe.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And yet now you’re here, Merlin, suddenly I don’t want to see you at all.”

“You didn’t deny it!” 

Arthur allowed himself to soften slightly. “I didn’t,” he said begrudgingly. 

Merlin enveloped him in another bone-crushing hug. “Ow,” Arthur complained, but secretly he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. After a moment, Merlin drew back again, looking at Arthur with a look in his eyes that Arthur couldn’t name.

“You’re really back,” he said softly. “After all this time.”

“After all this time?” Arthur repeated, frowning. “Wait, when did you get reincarnated?” He scanned him up and down. “It can’t have been that long ago. You barely look like you’ve aged a day.”

Merlin grimaced. “About that,” he said. “I never actually died.”

Arthur stared at him, stunned. Then he laughed. “Good one, Merlin. You actually had me for a minute.”

Merlin didn’t laugh. “It wasn’t a joke,” he said grimly. “You remember what the druids called me?”

“Emrys,” Arthur returned, bewildered. “Wait, what do -”

“It means ‘immortal’,” Merlin interrupted. He spread his hands with a forced smile. “And here I am.”

Arthur stared at him, trying to get his mind to equate Merlin with immortality. He failed entirely. “But since my death, it’s been…”

“Centuries,” Merlin finished for him. “Fifteen of them, to be precise. One thousand, five hundred and twenty-seven years, fifty-two days, and about six hours since you died.”

Arthur sat down heavily on the stone floor. “You’ve been waiting for me all this time?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Merlin said softly, joining him on the floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, he would’ve looked like a child except for his eyes. Now that Arthur looked, they were old, impossibly old in Merlin’s youthful face. Old, and haunted. There was nothing in existence worth making Merlin’s eyes look like that.

“For me?” Arthur said.

Merlin raised his head. He looked tired. No, not tired - weary, a fatigue that went beyond mere lack of sleep. “Yes, for you,” he said, a little testily. “There’s no need to mock me for it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur said immediately. “I promise you I wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, brought up short. “Well, good.”

Arthur looked at Merlin again, curled up on the stone floor of the dungeon. Merlin had waited for him, for centuries, assuming that Arthur would mock him for it. Arthur felt sick with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Merlin looked at him with alarm. “What for?”

“Making you think that I’d ever mock you for something like that,” Arthur said. “And for making you wait that long in the first place.”

Merlin’s ancient eyes softened. “I forgive you,” he said, uncharacteristically sincerely. “And it was worth it.”

Arthur looked away and tactically rubbed at his eyes. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He couldn’t afford to give Merlin any more blackmail material today than he already had. “Anyway,” he said loudly. “What was that you were saying about getting us out of here?”

Merlin took to the subject change with clear relief. “Well, I’ve got these on, so I can’t do much,” he said, raising his hands and waving them around. For the first time, Arthur noticed that he had thin metal bands around each of his wrists, digging into the skin too tightly to be bracelets. “They’re magic suppressors. First actually effective ones I’ve run into. They’re bloody annoying, but if I can just get them off I should be able to bring down the wards and we can get out of here. Plus getting them off won’t be too much of a problem, because the rest of the team should be here soo-”

He cut himself off abruptly. “Do you hear that?”

Arthur listened. For a second all he could hear was the wind blowing faintly from outside the tiny window. But then he heard it: footsteps on the stairs. Arthur’s heart sank.

“Why would Uther be coming back already?” he hissed.

Merlin shook his head, raising his finger to his lips. Arthur fell silent again. As the footsteps grew closer, Arthur realised that it wasn’t just one set of footsteps, or even two. At least five people were making their way towards the dungeon.

The rest of the team. The meaning of Merlin’s words finally hit him. He looked at Merlin, who had gone unnaturally pale. “Merlin,” he said quietly, “please don’t tell me that our rescuers are currently being marched into the dungeons.”

Merlin winced, which was really the only answer that Arthur needed.

The dungeon door swung open, and in walked Uther. He was not alone. Arthur could only watch as one by one, his would-be rescuers shuffled into the room, all handcuffed and bound together with thick iron chains that clanked as they walked. Behind them was Leon, his face entirely blank.

Uther looked at Merlin, white and shellshocked, and laughed. “Don’t tell me you thought I wouldn’t find the rest of your little rescue mission.

Merlin remained silent, but Arthur was close enough to see the silent rage in his eyes.

“Very noble of you, to sacrifice yourself so your serving-girl friend could escape,” Uther said, placing a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “Pointless, of course. Once I knew you were trying to pose as holograms, it was the work of moments to release sleeping gas and watch all the copycats fall.” 

Uther removed his hand and stared at Merlin, eyebrows raised. “Not feeling talkative? No matter.” He turned away and clapped his hands. “Sir Leon, shackle him with the rest of them.”

Leon inclined his head, face still perfectly blank. “Of course, sire.” He began to walk towards Merlin’s cell.

“Traitor!” 

Arthur whipped his head around to see Gwaine yelling furiously after Leon.

“Now, now, Sir Gwaine,” Uther chided. “Of all of you here, he is in fact the only one not a traitor.”

Gwaine unleashed a string of curses so foul that Uther looked genuinely disgusted. “Silence,” he snapped, but this only seemed to encourage him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, am I offending your delicate kingly sensibilities?” Gwaine mocked. “Never knew you had such a weak -” 

He was abruptly cut off when Uther shoved a gag into his mouth. 

“The next time, it’ll be your tongue,” Uther said. “Where was I? Ah, yes.” He began to pace up and down his line of captives, regarding them with cold satisfaction. “Every single one of you is a traitor to the crown -”

“We’re not,” Gwen interrupted him, voice shaking slightly from suppressed rage. “Every one of us here is loyal to Arthur -”

Uther slapped her across the face. Gwen fell silent from shock. “Be silent,” he hissed. “You are nothing more than a jumped-up serving girl who never learnt to recognise her betters.”

“She is my wife and the rightful queen,” Arthur said loudly. “There was a time where you would never have dreamed of hitting a woman, Father.”

Uther blinked as though he’d been slapped. “I - yes, of course. I - lost control of myself.”

“That’s where you draw the line?” Lancelot said, his voice filled with uncharacteristic disgust. “You regret hitting a woman, but not killing thousands of them?”

“Silence, the lot of you!” Uther roared. “Leon, gag them all!”

In the cell next to him, Leon was midway through attaching Merlin’s arms to the same heavy iron chains that the rest of them were bound in. He was taking an awfully long time, Arthur noticed. “Just a minute, sire,” he said mildly.

Uther tightened his jaw. “Well, as king, there are some things you have to do yourself.” He looked at Arthur as he said it. “One of the many lessons you failed to learn.” 

Arthur could do nothing but watch as one by one, Uther gagged each of his friends with tough strips of leather.

“As I was saying,” Uther continued, “each and every one of you are traitors. I have no patience for traitors. You are sentenced to death by hanging. Be grateful it is not on the pyre.”

Arthur felt sick to his stomach. “Father, you can’t,” he said, but even as he said it he knew that it would make no difference. His father’s mind was made up, and it could not be changed. His friends would die trying to save him for a second time, and once again it would be all his fault.

“It is the only thing I can do,” Uther said. His voice was almost gentle as he said it. “I know these people are important to you, my son. But they have corrupted you, turned you against me, and now the only way to correct it is with their deaths.”

Arthur looked at the eyes of his knights, his wife. He was astounded to see no blame in them. Gwen’s eyes were filled with tears but there was no hatred, only love and deep sorrow.

Then he looked at Merlin. Leon was leading him out of the cell, hands chained behind his back. As Merlin exited the cell, he looked over his shoulder and winked at Arthur, of all things. He twisted his hands, and behind his back, just barely hidden from Uther’s sight, appeared a tiny golden dragon.

Arthur had to fight to keep his mouth from gaping open. It took all his years of court and council meetings to keep from grinning as the little dragon circled round in the air, flapping its tiny wings. He had never been so glad to see magic in his life. 

“Chain him to the others,” Uther commanded, oblivious to the magic happening mere metres away from him. Leon rushed to obey, and Arthur felt a surge of panic: if at any moment Uther looked closely at Merlin’s suppressors he would surely realise they weren’t on properly. But instead, Uther approached Arthur’s cell and stared into it. Arthur stared back, fighting to hide the precious fragments of hope he now felt. 

“You will watch,” Uther said heavily. “And perhaps you will finally be free of corruption.”

*

The crowd roared. Around the line of nooses they jostled each other, each craning their neck for the best possible view of the execution. From the balcony, Arthur watched them with disgust. 

He remembered executions. As crown prince, he’d had a duty to attend enough of them: in fact, Uther insisted upon it. Later, during his own reign, Arthur made it his rule to attend every single one. If he was sentencing somebody to death, he maintained that he should at least look them in the eye as it happened. But not in all his years of executions, not as crown prince nor as king had he seen a crowd roar like this at the prospect of death. It sickened him, and the fact that the crowd wasn’t actually real did nothing to change that.

In the centre of the crowd stood six figures, standing on six boxes. Wrapped around their necks were nooses. By them stood an executioner, long black cloak flapping in the wind.

Arthur turned his head to look at his father. From his throne in the centre of the balcony, Uther domineered over the proceedings. To a casual observer, it would appear that Uther wore the same stony-faced countenance as always. Arthur wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse that he could see a hint of sorrow in the slope of his father’s shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. 

Before the execution, Uther had healed him. It hadn't taken long: a quick injection to his thigh, another to the back of his neck. When Arthur had asked him why, Uther hadn't replied. Arthur suspected that this was because Uther didn't know himself.

“It isn’t too late to change things, you know,” Arthur said quietly back in the present, his voice almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

For a moment he thought Uther would merely scoff and refuse to reply, but his father looked at him with a sad smile.

“It is too late,” Uther replied. “I was set on this path centuries ago, when magic stole your mother’s life away from me. Since then, everything I’ve done has been to avenge her. There is no choice in the matter. There is no changing things. I am walking the path that I must walk, for the people that I love.”

Did it make it better or worse, that Uther loved him? That his father was about to kill his friends in the name of love? Arthur wished he knew.

Uther stood from his throne and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my son,” he said, and the worst part was that he sounded like he meant it. “I am building a better world.” With his free hand, he signalled to the executioner.

Arthur leapt to his feet, shrugging off Uther’s hand and rushing to the edge of the balcony. Frantically he locked eye contact with Merlin, hoping against hope that he would be in time.

“There is no stopping this,” Uther said from behind him, but Arthur ignored him.

Merlin looked very small against the teeming crowd. But even as far away as he was, Arthur could tell when his eyes burnt gold.

With a grinding mechanical sound, the box under his feet dropped away, but Merlin did not fall. He merely stood there in midair, as if he had forgotten that he was supposed to hang.

Next to him, Uther bellowed. Merlin looked him directly in the eye, and with a wave of his hand the boxes, nooses, and executioner all vanished.

“Sorcery!” Uther roared, but Merlin was no longer paying him any attention. He closed his eyes and his face creased in deep concentration.

“Father,” Arthur said quietly and Uther swung round to face him, eyes wild and chest heaving like a raging bull.

“Did you know about this?” his father demanded, staggering forward. “Did you know?”

Arthur looked him straight in the eye, trying to project a calm he did not feel. “Yes,” he said simply.

“You betrayed me,” Uther growled, bringing his face so close to Arthur’s that he could feel Uther’s breath on his cheek. “My only son, and you’ve betrayed me once again -”

“Be quiet,” Arthur interrupted.

Uther blinked, momentarily derailed. Then his surprise turned into anger. “How dare you.”

Arthur laughed, slightly hysterical. “No, I mean it. I really do mean it. I’m not a disobedient child any more, Uther, and you lost any right you had to treat me like one when you died and I had to carry an entire kingdom on my back. So now, just listen to me. Please.”

Uther took a step back, looking at Arthur as if he’d never seen him before. Then, very slowly, he inclined his head.

Arthur took a deep breath. “You’re living an illusion,” he said quietly. He crossed to the middle of the balcony and waved a hand towards the now-silent crowd. “These people are dead and buried. They should be allowed to rest.”

He took another deep breath, inhaling the silence, afraid to look at his father’s face. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder sounded. It started to rain.

“None of this is real,” Arthur said, louder. 

As the rain hit the crowd below, they all looked up in unison. Arthur looked up with them, relishing the rain running down his face. When he looked back down, the crowd was blurred and indistinct, and when he blinked they were gone.

Arthur felt rather than saw Uther’s presence next to him. When he dared to look at his father, he was staring out over the almost-empty courtyard like a man bereaved.

“It’s not real,” Arthur said again, and the rain fell harder, drumming on the cobbles beneath them. In the centre of the courtyard, Merlin opened his eyes and they were pools of gold. The moment stretched like molten glass. The rain fell, and the work of centuries was condensed down into a few golden moments.

Camelot lay in ruins. Where moments before had been a towering castle was now only a few lines of rubble, barely distinguishable from the muddy ground. A meadow stretched for miles where the lower town had once been, and beyond them Camelot’s mighty walls had finally fallen not to intruders, but to inexorable time. All was silent, save for the sound of the hammering rain.

Arthur breathed in the scent of the rain. He was standing now not upon a balcony, but a pile of rocks. He sat down, taking in the ruins of his kingdom. 

After a moment, he turned to look at his father, who was still standing shellshocked. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But that was an illusion. You can’t return to the past, no matter how hard you try. In the end, the real world is all we’ve got.”

Uther looked at him. All his earlier rage was gone, and now he was empty, hollow, a shell of a man. Arthur found himself pitying him.

“You’re a hypocrite, Father,” he said, with a tremor of a smile. “You say you did all this to make the most of your second chance, but all you’ve done is retread the past.”

Uther looked at him beseechingly. “I just wanted Ygraine back.”

“You didn’t,” Arthur said. “You wanted to recreate the past. You wanted to punish the thing that killed her.”

“Magic is evil,” Uther said, but it came out as a plea. “It kills. It corrupts…”

“Magic was never corrupting,” Arthur said with a sudden surge of anger. “Revenge is corrupting. Hate is corrupting. You turned your grief for my mother into hatred for magic, and then you poisoned the whole of Camelot with it. Morgana didn’t betray you because magic corrupted her: you corrupted her. She hated you because you taught her how.”

“Your legacy wasn’t strength, or protection, or any of the other things you taught me that a king should be. It was hatred, and it has only ever been hatred, and the fact that you did it in the name of your love for Ygraine only makes it all the more ugly.”

Uther looked at him with unfocused eyes. “A king has to be strong,” he murmured. “A king has to be strong…”

Arthur turned his back on his father, suddenly immensely weary. “Goodbye, Father,” he said. “I hope you change, but I don’t think you will.” He took a deep breath and walked away from Camelot.

He had made it about a hundred metres across the fields when a shout came from behind him.

“Oi, where’re you going?” Gwaine came running up to him and punched him in the arm. “We had a bloody hard time finding you, Princess. Don’t think we’re just letting you run off again.”

“Soon enough, the full force of the DMR will come down on this place,” Leon agreed. “We need to get off-planet before that happens.

“He’s right, you know,” said Lancelot from Arthur’s other side. “Can’t let you get captured again.”

“Yeah, it could start to get embarrassing,” said Elyan.

“I’d be embarrassed,” Percival added.

Gwen laughed from behind. “I think he’s most embarrassed at being saved by a girl.”

“And I think that it would be very rude for him to leave without so much as a thank you,” said Merlin.

Arthur turned, for once unwilling to hide the simple joy on his face. Merlin grinned back at him.

Together, the people of Camelot walked away from its ruins, towards the stars.