Morning dawned over Camelot with clear skies and a soft wind that smelled faintly of the ocean, laced with traces of trash and animals and woodsmoke and all those other things that inevitably followed the footsteps of human life. It was all dirt, sweat and work that was carried on the wind, none of which could ever be considered "pleasant" to someone used to the flowered halls of the castle proper.

Still, Merlin found himself enjoying that thick mixture of smells as he went about his morning, even going so far as to open the windows to let a breeze in. It was the first time in months that he'd been able to smell anything other than the smoke and blood of Morgana's brief grab for the throne of Camelot. It wasn't something he could easily explain, not even to Gaius, because he realized that it wasn't a smell so much as a feeling––one of those vague, usually unhelpful impressions that would appear out of thin air without any real reason.

The wounds Morgana had inflicted were finally beginning to close. Camelot was healing.

Not that Arthur was interested in any of it.

"Good morning!" Merlin exclaimed as he threw open the curtains.

Arthur croaked into one pillow and pulled a sheet over his head. Merlin frowned; he had been hoping for banter, annoyance, or at the very least, some interest in the coming day. Arthur hadn't shown any of those since… Merlin couldn't remember. And it worried him more than he cared to say.

It was easy to see that the king hadn't been himself since the siege, and it was easy to explain away as Arthur simply being himself––worrying for his people, blaming himself for those that had been lost, deciding how to keep them safe in the future––but those sorts of thoughts could not be shouldered forever. Merlin considered himself a perceptive person, particularly when it came to Arthur, and the tense silences and blank stares were painfully familiar.

Arthur was scared.

It wasn't the immediate, up-in-arms fear that Arthur was usually so good at handling. It was something new, something deep and vast that even Merlin could not begin to guess at. It hurt that Merlin didn't know how to help, because the months hadn't allowed him to even ask––even if Arthur hadn't fallen into silence, there was still always something to do, some message to carry or project to oversee, and then there were all his regular chores that had been made all the more difficult by his king's inhuman ability to work them both into the ground "for the love of Camelot."

Today, though… today was the day Merlin was going to change it.

The servant harrumphed and tied the curtains in place. "Really. Sun is shining, birds are singing, it's going to be a lovely day; what does it take to make a 'good' morning for you?"

"You shutting up."

"Please; how would you get anything done if I didn't tell you what to do?"

Arthur threw a candlestick that hit Merlin squarely in the stomach. The manservant gasped and sputtered, but then Arthur smiled at him––one of those real, genuine smiles that had become so rare.

"See?" Arthur said, gesturing to his servant's general pain. "Now it is a good morning. Where's my breakfast?"

Merlin grumbled a half thought-out insult under his breath and fetched the ham and bread sitting on the table, consciously resisting the urge to drop it on Arthur's head when he made his way over. Despite the automatic annoyance, there was a small swell of hope in Merlin's chest; it had been months since Arthur had last felt good enough to throw something at him. The young warlock thought that he knew his king well, but even he had found it difficult to get past the cold wall of silence that had become Arthur's every waking moment.

"Now," Merlin chimed, snapping back to his usual morning cheer. "Let's get you up before you get any fatter!" A bit of an easy blow, but always a surefire way to get a response.

He ducked the plate that flew at his head and trotted on to get the bathtub ready. Most of the water he'd hauled into the chambers was somewhat lukewarm, but a bucket or two of boiling water would change that quick enough. And since Arthur seemed physically incapable of getting out of bed by himself today, Merlin was safe to boil the necessary water with a single gesture and incantation. When all was ready, he made his way back to the king's bedside.

"Come on, up."

Arthur made that groan that meant he wasn't at all interested in what the day had to offer him, and so Merlin sighed heavily, rolled up his sleeves and made him.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelped as he was hauled forcefully out of bed and onto the cold stone floor.

"Feeling better?"

"I will with you in the stocks! It's freezing down here!"

"Sounds like a very good reason to hop in a hot bath. Just over there."

Arthur growled something very un-kingly and made his way behind the dressing screen. Since the king was able to at least bathe himself, Merlin took the pause to rifle through the closets and pick out Arthur's clothing for the day, praying to whatever forces were listening that Arthur wouldn't ask for the chainmail. When he'd narrowed the jackets down to two choices, he brought them over to Arthur for judgement.

"Silk or velvet, sire?"

Arthur paused and frowned. "Is something special going on that I don't know about?"

"A council meeting!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, we have those every week. My armor will do just fine, Merlin."

Merlin frowned. "You've been wearing armor every day since the siege. And that isn't an exaggeration; there has not been a single day where you've worn ordinary clothes."

"Then there's no reason to change it now."

"There won't be any danger, sire, surely? It's a council meeting."

"There is always danger, Merlin, and so we must always be ready for it."

"You can't be ready for danger at every single second of the day."

"I can, and I will if you do as you're told and get me my chainmail."

"It's not like the paperwork is going to jump up at you."

"Then what difference does it make?"

"If you're really that frightened, sire, just keep me close and I'll protect you."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and Merlin paused in anticipation. There was a long, long silence in which the two of them simply stared at one another, but the warlock had played the masculinity card––if anything was going to win the argument, it was that.

"Silk," the king finally demanded.

Silk it was, then.

"And since I won't be wearing my chainmail today, I'm sure you'd love the opportunity to polish it."

And just like that, Merlin's sense of victory was snuffed out.

Whatever quarrel the young warlock had, though, it slipped away soon enough; neither king nor servant were capable of being annoyed with each other for very long. And if truth were to be told, Merlin was more than a little excited to see Arthur rise to the various jibes that he tossed out; it made everything feel… not exactly normal, but like it was on its way towards normal. Perhaps Arthur could start to heal, too.

Still, it was barely five minutes before Merlin turned around and caught Arthur staring blankly out the window, face drawn into a tense mask of contemplation. It was less difficult today than it had been days past; dragging some emotion, any emotion, out of the king's self-imposed meditation was a trial in and of itself, but Merlin was having an easier time of it this morning. Perhaps it was the smell in the air. Perhaps it was the general lack of grief and melancholy. Perhaps Arthur had simply decided that today was a nice day. Whatever the case, Merlin was too grateful to question; he'd managed to get a smile already, and that was more than he'd gotten in the past week. With any luck, perhaps he could figure out exactly why Arthur was so afraid before the day was out.

The messenger came more quickly than they had expected, informing them that the council was in the process of convening and that the king's presence was expected. Merlin wrestled Arthur into his clothes as quickly as he was able, and was quite proud of how presentable Arthur turned out to be in spite of the rush. Arthur didn't give it a second thought, of course, since he had decided to blame Merlin for being late––pointedly ignoring Merlin's comments on how it was Arthur who had refused to get up in the first place––and the two of them arrived to the meeting in a great flurry of blame, names and insults.

More than one knight had to hide a chuckle with a cough.

"We'll finish this later," Arthur growled to Merlin, although Merlin was quite sure that they would both forget the whole thing before the council meeting was over.

"Sire," said Sir Leon, who was gracious enough to keep his face straight.

"Leon. Percival. Gwain. Gaius. Elyan." Arthur nodded to each person around the table in turn.

Arthur took his seat and Merlin settled into a comfortable slouch at his right shoulder. The meeting began.

"We'll begin with you, Sir Leon," said the king. "What's been our progress on the walls?"

Leon dipped his head respectfully. "The outer walls are almost fully repaired, sire. There is still some patchwork in the northern sectors, but we do have them under constant watch and they should be fully functional within the next few weeks."

"And the inner walls?"

"Those will take more time. Specific numbers are still unclear, but once the outer walls are complete we can turn our full attention inward. So long as nothing complicates the process, all the walls of Camelot should be fully restored by summer's end."

Merlin could have sworn he saw the king's shoulders relax, although Arthur's face remained carefully neutral as he nodded.

"That is good news. Divide labour and resources as you see fit, Leon. Percival, what of your scouts?"

"There is still no word of Morgana's fate," Percival replied. "We've not found any remains or any sign of her escape, although it does seem that we've cleared the lands surrounding Camelot of her forces; we haven't seen any of her mercenaries in weeks, but we did find a small nest of bandits."

"Bandits. Have they been dealt with?"

Percival nodded. "Yes, sire; those that did not fight to the death have fled. We've seen no sign of them since last week."

"Do you believe the land around Camelot to be safe?"

Percival was silent for a moment, but then he nodded. "I don't think there is any more trouble to be found there, but I would suggest waiting another week to be certain."

Arthur dipped his head. "Very well. We'll speak on it next week; once you feel sure that it is safe, we'll lift the curfew on the people."

Merlin felt the brief ripple of excitement like a breeze against his skin, although no one at the table showed any outward sign. When the curfew lifted, it would mean that the city was safe for good.

The meeting moved on, and as Arthur began drilling Gwaine on the state of their forces, Merlin heard the soft rustle of an approaching Guinevere.

"Arthur's in a fine mood today," Gwen whispered, leaning close so that their conversation didn't interrupt the meeting.

"He threw a plate at me this morning. And a candlestick."

"Both? It must be a really good morning."

"Tell that to the bruise on my gut."

"Did he smile?"

Merlin grinned. "Yes."

Gwen sighed in relief. "Good."

The months after the attack had been hard on them all, and Gwen was no exception. She looked just as raggedly tired as anyone else around the table, with bags under her eyes and exhaustion framing every line of her face. As Camelot had spent months slowly getting back onto its feet, she had taken up responsibility for the castle itself––hiring staff, seeing that everything was restored to its proper place, comforting the families of the dead––and her work was clear in her hands and shoulders. She'd barely had time to speak to Merlin at all, never mind Arthur, but she was here now; if she'd managed to find the time for a council meeting, it could only mean that her tasks were growing fewer and fewer.

"Thank you," Gwen said suddenly.

Merlin blinked. "For what?"

"For making him smile."

"Yeah, well, it'd be a lot easier if I wasn't doing it all by myself."

Gwen chuckled. "You know I don't have any time."

Merlin raised a brow and glanced at the meeting, where Arthur was asking Gaius for the state of those still healing.

"I don't know," said the young warlock. "It looks like most everything's clearing up now. Walls are almost done, streets are clear again, the forest's safe; I think you'll both be finding yourselves with free time before the week is out."

Gwen sighed and nodded with a small smile. "Yes. It's good to see things getting better. I was away for so long… it will be good to see Camelot as it was always meant to be."

Merlin leaned closer so he could be even more quiet. "He's missed you, you know. Even if he doesn't admit it."

Gwen shrugged. "We've all had our duties; there's never enough time for anything."

"I'm sure there will be," Merlin assured her. Ideas were already beginning to fill up his head.

"We can hope," Gwen replied quietly, turning her attention back to the meeting.

It might have just been his position, but Merlin was quite aware of the longing glances Gwen sent Arthur's way––just as he was aware of Arthur's almost-invisible fidgeting underneath those glances. Both of them were far too proud to look each other in the eye, because of course that would have resolved everything too easily, and by the end of the council meeting they were both moving around in that tense, jerky way that meant they were anxious.

And since Merlin was the only person who ever noticed these things, he was just anxiously annoyed when everyone was dismissed.

Gwen and Arthur both left in a hurry, quite elaborately looking at everything except each other as they took different doors out of the council chambers. Merlin followed close on Arthur's heels, somewhat disappointed that the meeting was over; while listening to reports and decisions was never exactly thrilling, standing around quietly was perhaps one of the easiest duties he could think of. And, like all easy things, it never lasted. But if he could just think of a way to talk about Gwen…

"Merlin!" Arthur snapped.

Merlin blinked.

"Are you even listening to me?" the king asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Horses, Merlin."

"Horses… yes, you want me to…?"

"See if they can knock some sense into you, for one. The cavalry drill this morning?"

The cavalry drill. Yes, there had been one schedule for the morning, hadn't there?

"You've been doing a cavalry drill every morning for the past week."

"They need the practice."

"Against what? You heard what Percival said; there's no one out there for them to fight."

"We need to be ready."

There it was again. We need to be ready. There's always danger. Merlin couldn't remember a time that Arthur had been so stubborn about so many things. Perhaps the general cheer of the day was making it seem worse, but the warlock's exhaustion and general frustration were getting heavier by the second; as long as Arthur remained so completely on edge, nothing could be done to help him.

With a sigh, Merlin sacrificed himself for the greater good. "Are you sure it's them that need the practice?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed wickedly. "You're right, I must be mistaken. You clearly need some practice with your footwork. We obviously need to try a new exercise today!"

And that was how Merlin ended up spending the rest of the day being charged at by horsed knights pointing lances at target right he held aloft, as far away from his head as possible.

When Merlin was finally allowed to stagger out of the jousting arena, he was met by a sweating, stinking Gwaine atop a sweating, stinking brown horse.

"Still with us, Merlin?" Gwaine chuckled, tossing his waterskin. Merlin caught the waterskin and didn't answer, preferring instead to drain the thing until it was half-empty––making Gwaine grin with a chiding "Easy, there; don't go making yourself sick on it."

Merlin returned the waterskin and wiped his mouth. Nearby, the other knights that had participated in the impromptu jousting practice were dismounting, shedding their armor and getting ready to move on to whatever duties they had for the afternoon.

All except Arthur, who was trotting over to Gwaine and Merlin with a massive smile plastered across his face.

"Good to see you resting, Merlin," the king snickered. "I take it that means you have enough energy for another go?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it, sire; you're as worn out as the rest of us."

"Perhaps you have enough energy for another go, Gawain?"

Realizing that he was on the verge of volunteering himself, Gawain held up his hands in surrender. "Meant nothing by it, Princess."

"Then nothing's taken," Arthur assured. Then, to Merlin, "My horse needs watering. He's a bit heated; don't let him drink himself sick."

Merlin sighed in relief. "Yes, sire." Watering the horse was practically a promise that practice was over.

Arthur fell into step beside Merlin. When they reached the water trough, Merlin made use of his king's company.

"The apples are probably coming in," Merlin said. "It's been a good summer for them."

Arthur rolled his eyes and set his helmet on a post. "Let me guess: you want to go frolicking through the fields to find some."

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. I just heard Gwen mention it."

Arthur's full attention snapped to him. "What did Guinevere say about them?"

Merlin chuckled. "Nothing; she just said it while we were talking, how she'd like to go looking for some. Not that I blame her; she's been working as hard as you have. Barely sets foot outside the castle. I'll bet she misses it."

Arthur was silent for a moment. Then, "We can't be certain the forest is safe for another week."

Merlin leveled a pointed look at his friend. "Oh, if only there was someone willing to keep her safe."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Your subtlety knows no limits, Merlin."

"You'd be surprised."

"I would be very surprised, indeed."

Merlin grinned and tugged at the horse's bridle, yanking the animal's head out of the water before it drank itself ill.

"I guess it's not really that important," the servant continued. "I mean, she's certainly used to working nonstop––I'd say she's been working more than you have. It's not as if she'll mind another two weeks."

"Merlin."

"Sire?"

"... Shut up and get some fresh horses."

Merlin had the good sense to hide his grin until he was out of sight.

Guinevere, of course, nearly glowed when Merlin passed on Arthur's invitation for a picnic. She set her work aside immediately, dashing off for a more appropriate dress and leaving Merlin to prepare everything himself. After helping Arthur out of his armor and into something more appropriate, he was sent to gather up what they needed; food, blankets, pillows––it was all routine and easy, to the point that Merlin almost forgot to be irritated that he would be the only one carrying anything.

Arthur was first to the courtyard, which gave Merlin a clear view of his king's face when Guinevere joined them, wrapped up in purple and blue lace like… well, like a queen. Arthur stared in silence as Gwen made her way down the steps, and Merlin looked away so he could give their greeting at least some illusion of privacy––even though he could hear them both stumbling over their words like lovestruck children. They hadn't spoken to one another in so long that Merlin was willing to hold his tongue, at least this once; it felt only reasonable that they might need some time to get back into the swing of things.

The three of them mounted their horses and set off at a leisurely walk, with Arthur in the lead and Merlin in the back. The conversation was stilted and awkward as they moved through the city––they managed to get that house patched up, that family is doing well with what they've lost, Leon thinks that the walls will be done by the end of summer, I know Arthur I was at the meeting––but it eased when they got outside the castle gates. When the stone and soldiers faded behind them, their responsibilities and worries faded as well; soon enough they were all by themselves with a curtain of forest holding back the weight of their everyday lives.

Summer was in full bloom around them, having just moved beyond its peak; although not yet late enough to be called 'late summer,' it wouldn't be very long before it was appropriate. The heat was somewhat less oppressive, and the berries and fruits were ripening to their best. The clouds were few, the birds were loud and the tree canopy was thick. It was a perfect day to be outside.

"Merlin! Stop staring at the flowers and get moving!"

They'd stopped, and Arthur was glaring at him expectantly––because of course Arthur wasn't going to do any of the lifting. Merlin groaned theatrically and dismounted, gathering up everything that had been loaded onto his unfortunate horse.

"Over there, under that tree, Merlin," Arthur commanded, barely giving his servant any time to catch his breath.

Merlin grumbled and did as he was told, shuffling under a massive oak tree and leaning against the trunk; Arthur always like to give him a hard time, and so he knew better than to set everything down before knowing for certain that this was where Arthur actually wanted to settle.

Indeed, it was only a few moments before Arthur grinned mischievously and changed his mind.

"The stream doesn't run close enough," the king declared. "The other side of the tree."

Merlin rolled his eyes and hauled everything to the new spot. Gwen flashed him a look of sympathy, but she was too amused to speak up. Yet.

"Hmm," Arthur mused. "I think there might be too much windfall. Try on the other side of the stream, Merlin; it'll be cooler over there."

"Won't do anything for all that hot air."

"What was that?"

"I said you've got a leaf in your hair."

Arthur frowned and ran a perplexed hand through his hair. Gwen snorted quietly and hurried to Merlin before the king could figure out that his hair was perfectly clean.

"I think that right here is perfect, Merlin," Guinevere said, ending the torment. "Thank you."

Merlin dropped everything to the ground with a loud sigh of relief and began to spread out the picnic.

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur prodded. "We don't have all day."

"Perfection takes time. I need absolute concentration," Merlin replied as he angled the pillows just so.

"So sorry to break your concentration Merlin!" Arthur shouted. "But there is something I need that only you can give me!"

Almost finished, the warlock glanced up with a quizzical look. "What's that?"

Much more calmly, the king replied, "Your absence."

Merlin wrinkled his nose in protest, but did as he was told and left the king and not-quite-queen-yet to their own devices, mumbling about clotpoles and underappreciation. Gwen, at least, was thoughtful enough to give him a grateful smile, which made it feel a bit better. If all went well, she might even manage to cajole Arthur into smiling on the way back.

The afternoon passed quietly. Merlin didn't go far––if he wasn't within shouting distance whenever Arthur decided the picnic was over, he would probably be carrying everything back without the help of a horse––but he was far enough away that he neither intruded nor was intruded upon. Once he was certain that he wouldn't be called for anything else, he curled up against a tree and fell into a light doze, something he usually didn't have the time or place to manage.

And like all good things, it ended far too soon.

"Merlin." He was being shaken awake, roughly but not painfully, and he recognized Arthur's voice before he even realized that he'd been sleeping.

Merlin blinked and looked around blearily. The king was standing over him, pressing a finger to his lips to… be quiet? Tensing for danger, Merlin scrambled to his feet.

"What's happening?" he hissed. "What's out there?"

"Shut up, Merlin; there's nothing! Be quiet!"

Arthur was entirely calm and relaxed. Merlin's eyes narrowed.

"What's going on?" the warlock asked.

"Gwen's sleeping."

Merlin blinked again. "I don't understand."

"Nothing new there, then. Come on. And be quiet."

Bemused, Merlin followed on Arthur's heels, under the oak tree and across the stream to the haphazard spread of the picnic––and to Guinevere, who was snoring softly amidst the pillows. Arthur gestured frantically to keep silent, pointing at the picnic in general and mouthing 'clean it up.' Merlin cocked his head, almost asking how exactly Arthur intended to get Gwen back to Camelot without waking her up, but then thought better of it and simply did as he was told. The servant bundled up the items while the king moved them onto the horses.

Gwen stirred when Merlin began cleaning up the food closest to her. Arthur was just out of earshot and facing the other way, so the warlock acted quickly; leaning into Gwen's view, Merlin put a finger to his lips.

"Merlin?" Gwen whispered sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Shh," Merlin soothed. "Just lay there. Arthur will have me in the stocks if he knows I woke you up."

"What's happening?"

Merlin grinned. "I think he's going to try and carry you back to Camelot. Asleep. Or, at least, he's hoping to."

Gwen chuckled disbelievingly. "All the way back to Camelot?"

"Yes, now shh. Go to sleep, he's coming back."

Guinevere bit back a smile and closed her eyes. By the time Arthur returned, she had arranged herself into the very picture of elegant slumber. Merlin could still see her barely-contained smile when Arthur slipped gentle arms under her knees and shoulders to hoist her up, holding her close to his chest as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her to the horses. Merlin scampered ahead and brought Arthur's horse to kneel down, making the mount infinitely easier for both king and fiancé, and was promptly shooed off to take care of the other two horses.

To her credit, Gwen kept up the fake sleep for the ride back. Although Merlin couldn't see her from where he rode behind, he had a clear view of Arthur's face for the entire journey. The young warlock wasn't sure what exactly he had hoped to see––tranquility, happiness, peace, some combination thereof––but he hadn't expected Arthur to look so… somber. He held Gwen gently, like he always did, but he looked at her the same way he looked at his subjects: with regret. The same look that had been haunting his face for months. The sight of it frustrated Merlin to no end, because the afternoon was supposed to make that look disappear. If Gwen couldn't get through to him, Merlin didn't know what could.

The evening passed quietly once the three of them returned to Camelot proper. Almost too quietly. Once the horses were stabled and settled and the plates and blankets returned to their proper places, Merlin returned to Arthur's chambers to find his friend once again staring listlessly out the window. With so many repairs and projects in the city on the edge of completion, there was little for Arthur to do tonight other than sit and wait––and that was a duty he took far too literally.

"Something interesting out there?" Merlin asked, trying his best to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he began preparing the room for the night.

Arthur didn't answer.

Merlin sighed. "Not that I'm complaining, but you've usually got something else you want by now. Second dinner. Different pillows. Bedtime story. Security blanket."

"Yeah, sure." The king continued to stare out the window

Merlin frowned. "Guinevere."

Arthur blinked and looked at Merlin. "What was that?"

Let it never be said that Merlin didn't know a magic word for Arthur. "Nothing. Just, she seemed happy when we got back."

"Oh. Yes."

"Not telling me to shut up yet?"

"I'd be very much obliged if you did." Arthur ran a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders, seemingly brought out his trance.

"Do you need anything else, sire?"

Arthur shook his head, but was looking down and toeing the floor in that awkward way that meant he had something on the tip of his tongue. Merlin waited patiently, hoping to the gods that Arthur would open up about his troubles without the warlock needing to go digging.

"Do you think I'm a good king, Merlin?"

Merlin blinked, somewhat disbelieving. "What? That's what you've been so quiet about?"

"I'm serious, Merlin."

"Yes, you're a good king, Arthur." It felt as if he had just asked Merlin whether or not the sky was blue. "Of course you are."

Arthur was quiet for a moment. Then, "I haven't even been king for two years, and we've already seen a siege. After how many others in the past years? Two? Three?"

Merlin's face hardened. "No. You can't blame yourself for what happened. Morgana was after the throne long before you became king. She brought it on, and if you hadn't become king then she would have still tried to take Camelot over. You didn't invite her, Arthur; you stopped her."

"Hmm." Arthur glanced back out the window for another moment, then heaved a great sigh that seemed to deflate his entire body. He looked exhausted, not by any physical strain but by the long, repeated strain of a king that assumed responsibility for every single death in his kingdom.

After a small, empty silence, Arthur switched topics. "Gwen and I are getting married."

"I had gathered that, yes. Are you going to bed?"

"Yes." He began to shed his daywear. "We're thinking at the end of summer, before fall. To celebrate the inner walls being completed. If Leon's right, they'll be bringing in the harvest round that time, too."

"Oh! You mean––you're actually getting married!" Merlin didn't even care that his voice squeaked.

Arthur gave him a quizzical look. "What does that mean, we're 'actually' getting married?"

"No no––I mean––it's just, you've always sort of talked about it like it was going to happen, but didn't really do much for it. I'm not doubting you, Arthur; I'm just glad that you're finally making it happen."

"I'm sure." Arthur held out his sword belt.

Merlin couldn't suppress a subtle shiver when he took it; even through the leather of the scabbard, the sword thrummed happily in the hands of its creator. The sorcerer almost tried to shush the thing before he remembered that Arthur couldn't hear the weapon's magic anyway. The king was as uncaring as ever, already pulling off his shirt, and Merlin hoped that… nope, nevermingd the shirt went flying. Merlin huffed in annoyance and picked it up.

"Do you think that Morgana is dead?" Arthur asked suddenly, halfway through the buckles of one boot.

Merlin paused. "Morgana? What do you mean?"

Arthur stilled, looking blankly at the air in front of him. "The wound she sustained… I've seen its like before. It's always a fatal blow, after a while. But she shouldn't have been able to move with such an injury, and there was no body…"

"Morgana's strong. She might have been able to get out of the castle before it took her. Adrenaline, it can work wonders on the body; I've seen a man––"

"Merlin."

Merlin stopped.

"I've heard all that before. That's what they all said after… it happened."

"Yes, sire."

"You, Merlin. Do you think that Morgana is dead?"

Merlin looked down. "... No."

Arthur nodded, unsurprised, and finished taking off his boots. Those went flying, too, but Merlin was quick enough to catch them this time. Then the king went still, not out of reaction or danger, but out of… weariness. Weariness and pain and guilt and fear. In that single look, Merlin realized what it was that was weighing so heavily on the Arthur's heart.

He was afraid. Of Morgana.

"Merlin," Arthur said softly, almost too softly for Merlin to pick up. "Do you think Morgana will try again?"

"... Yes."

There was a long silence as they both returned to what they were doing: Arthur to undressing, Merlin to setting things in their proper places.

When the time came to set down the sword, Merlin spoke again. "We'll win, you know. If… when she tries again."

"Perhaps." Arthur didn't look up. His tone said that he didn't believe it.

"We will, Arthur. Do not doubt yourself. You have been our leader for so long already, and you have never led us astray. Morgana cannot change that."

"But Morgana will try again. And there will be more death when she does. It's just… I've been thinking. If there's something, anything that could possibly stop her." His body slackened and his eyes saw nothing; he was retreating into himself, thinking about… something more.

"There's something else," Merlin realized. "I know that look."

"It's nothing. Just a word Morgana said when we found her."

"A word. Magic?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. It sounded like one, but… she used it differently. It was the name of something, I think, but the way she said it… she was afraid. Not of me––never of me––but of something else. I'd never heard it before, but she was terrified."

"That doesn't sound like Morgana."

"No, I don't think so either. At least I wouldn't have, had I not seen it for myself."

"What was she scared of?"

Arthur paused, as if hesitant to say the word out loud. "Emrys," he finally murmured. "Something called Emrys."

The floor dropped out from under Merlin's feet, and he could have sworn he was falling. The lights of the room began to spin, lancing straight to his gut and very nearly making him vomit. Merlin was vaguely thankful that he had already put everything down, because he would have almost certainly dropped them otherwise. The sound of that word on Arthur's lips… it hit him like a physical blow. He hadn't been prepared. He hadn't been prepared for Arthur to say that name.

In another heartbeat, cold rationality slammed down over the whirling fear and sickness. Control, it demanded. Whenever his magic was seen or guessed at, Merlin was usually so good at handling the fear––both others' and his own. Being called Emrys didn't surprise him anymore.

But… Arthur.

Merlin was staring at the wall, facing away from his king. There was a small crack in the stone, and that crack was what he focused on; he needed to reel back in. Breathe. Had he stopped breathing? In. Out. In. Out. He was alright. He was here, in the present moment.

"Have you heard of it, Merlin?"

Through sheer force of will, Merlin commanded his face to remain neutral as he turned back to look at Arthur.

The king was still looking down, his face pulled into perplexed contemplation. He hadn't even glanced up at the question, and Merlin suddenly forgot what he had just been asked.

"Sorry, what?"

"That word, Merlin. Emrys."

He was more prepared this time, but the sound of Arthur's voice handling that name still knocked the wind out of him.

"No," Merlin managed. "Never heard of it."

"Gaius has never said anything about it?"

"No. Never."

Arthur hmmed and slowly made his way towards the bed. Once he'd turned away, Merlin's senses came rushing back to him. He was alright. He wasn't in danger. Arthur had only heard the word in passing. He didn't know it had anything to do with anything. He didn't even know that it was a person; he'd called it a something. He knew nothing. There was no reason to feel so terrified.

"It's probably nothing," Merlin said, scratching his ear compulsively and following Arthur to his bedside. He still needed to make sure that there was water on the end table. "We both know Morgana. You can't trust what she says."

"This was different, though. Morgana lies, but she's proud. She would never make herself look weak on purpose, nevermind afraid."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. That's the Uther in her, even if she'd rather die than admit it."

"Then… if she is scared of something, maybe this Emrys," he tried not to stumble over the name, "is even worse than she is. Probably... probably magical."

Arthur pulled the blankets up to his chest and settled against the pillows. "Maybe."

"It's probably nothing."

Arthur sighed. "I know, just…"

"Just?"

"If Morgana is alive, and if she is going to try again, I know that she doesn't fear me. She doesn't fear my knights. If she doesn't fear us, then why wouldn't she try again? We may fight her off again, yes, but at what cost? There are always casualties. The people of Camelot have been through so much already, and I don't want this to become a war."

"You can't protect everyone, Arthur."

"I'm the king. It's my job to protect everyone."

"You have protected this kingdom from danger for years, with and without that crown on your head. The people know that. The people trust you, Arthur, and they know that you are not to blame for Morgana."

"It doesn't matter if they blame me or not; Morgana still came, and she still slaughtered. If she's still alive, she's going to try again. I'm certain of it."

"That's not something you can control. We will fight her off."

"But what if I could control it? If Emrys is something we could control––" Merlin's heart skipped a beat "––something we could wield for ourselves, would it matter whether or not it is magical? If there is something in this world that makes Morgana afraid, isn't it my duty to see if we can somehow make her afraid, too?"

"It is your duty to rule," Merlin said, swallowing a painful lump in his throat and searching for anything that might change the subject. "What about your wedding? Seeing you happy would give the people what they need most: hope."

"The people need safety more than hope."

"They do have safety. In you. In Guinevere. In the knights. They don't need… whatever 'Emrys' is. They need you, Arthur."

Arthur looked up and frowned at him. "Are you pretending to be wise again so you can leave?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, sire. But so long as I'm being wise, how about this: weddings are an excellent time to give servants a day off."

Arthur chuckled. "Never lose your humor, Merlin."

"Why? Afraid if I did, people would notice yours?"

Arthur threw a pillow, so clumsy and tired that Merlin didn't even have to dodge it.

"Go on, Merlin. I know you want to get on with… whatever it is you do at this time of night."

"Wait, what does that mean?"

"It means get out or I'll throw the pitcher."

"Yes, sire! Good night, sire!"

"Isn't with you around."