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It is the peak of the morning and Arthur cannot find Merlin. He is supposed to be training, as usual. But his clumsy servant is nowhere to be found, so he cannot begin. Arthur is marching through the yard, scanning the surroundings, as he tries not to acknowledge the hint of panic settling in.
“Merlin!” his voice thunders, rolling in the yard, echoing from the buildings.
He hears the clanking of metal and then sees Sir Gallant storming away from behind the shed, looking bothered. Panic stirs again, a knot forming in his stomach. Arthur feels his blood pumping in his ears as he approaches the shed.
“… Sorry.” Merlin hurries up from the ground, gathering all the equipment he apparently dropped. He is not looking at Arthur. His clothes are a mess. Leaves and dry grass stuck to them. His face…
Oh gods, his face. He has a huge red mark near his left eye and cheekbone that will soon blacken. A trail of blood has formed from the corner of his lips. Arthur’s brain goes into assessment mode, rage forming behind his ribs. His first thought is to chase and bring the bastard to answer. But there’s something he needs to know before anything else.
“Merlin, tell me who did this to you?” he says through gritted teeth. I’ll fucking kill him, that’s what Arthur doesn’t say. He struggles to remain calm. He needs to check on Merlin first. “Are you alright? You need to see Gaius,” Arthur raises his hand hesitantly but doesn’t touch Merlin’s swollen, bruised face so it just hovers in the air and then falls down.
Merlin struggles to find the words. The blow leaves him dazed, and the sight of Arthur catches him completely off guard.
“I…” Merlin lets out a resigned breath. He seems to understand that he cannot lie now. Not to him.
“Training’s cancelled. Come to my chambers. Can you walk?” Arthur’s speech is fast, determined, without hesitation or emotion. He shuts down.
“Sure,” says Merlin with a weak voice. He cannot make jokes when Arthur is distant like that. He doesn’t know what to do with all the armour he is carrying, though.
“Gods, just leave it,” Arthur takes it from him and they walk closely, their shoulders brushing constantly. The air around Arthur is thick with unspoken rage. Merlin feels the need to comfort him, but he doesn’t know where to start. Nevertheless, he tries.
“It’s not that bad. I’m sorry I was late for training. This stupid thing happened…”
Arthur slows down his steps and raises his hand to stop the nonsense. He looks at Merlin with stern eyes.
“Did he do it, Sir Gallant?” he asks quietly, so no one can hear them. They don’t want unnecessary rumors. He looks straight into Merlin’s eyes and when he sees the flinch, that settles it. “I’ll fucking kill him. He’s done.” This time, he can’t hold it back and says it.
“Arthur!” Merlin tries to sound disapproving but he really can’t. His protest is weak, his head is still spinning from the hit.
A few maids are passing by, and Merlin rushes to cover his face. It doesn’t help, because a bruise has already formed.
They walk silently and Merlin is only able to look up once the door to Arthur’s chambers is closed.
“Are you sure, you don’t want to see Gaius?” Arthur tries once more, but without pushing too hard.
Merlin shakes his head.
“I don’t want him to get worried. I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”
Arthur frowns disapprovingly.
“Then I’ll take a look at you. And you’ll tell me what the hell is going on.” He sounds strained from holding back his anger.
Arthur has been ready for training, already running on adrenaline, but it never comes. Instead, he finds Merlin beaten and miserable. The urge to punch something rises in him, but he forces it down because Merlin needs him, and that restraint is what drains him most.
Merlin sits down on a bench, looking a little dizzy. He’s rubbing the dried blood from his face, trying to clean it.
Arthur walks away to his washstand and then returns with a cloth drenched in cold water, and gives it to Merlin to hold against his bruise. He also brings water and another cloth, and gently cleans his face.
Merlin is mesmerized. He doesn’t expect this kind of care and he just watches Arthur, a little lost in it. The silence is comforting, only filled with splashes of water when Arthur wets the cloth in the bowl.
“Does your head hurt? Feeling sick?” Arthur asks, trying to sound neutral, like a physician.
Merlin doesn’t think so. The cold compress is soothing his burning skin. He is really quiet, which is unusual for him.
Then Arthur gently takes Merlin’s right hand in his and examines his scratched fingers.
“I’ll check your ribs and hands, just like I do after a battle, okay?” he asks with such a serious expression that Merlin almost cackles, but somehow, he also wants to cry. He feels stupid.
“Okay,” he manages.
Arthur kneels down in front of him and rolls up his sleeves.
“If it hurts, you tell me, right?”
Merlin nods and Arthur checks him for any broken bones. He doesn’t seem to have any. But the left side is painful. He must have a nasty bruise there. Merlin tries not to think much of Arthur’s hands touching him. He’s too nervous about what will happen next. He keeps way too many secrets from Arthur. He might slip and reveal one or two.
“So, tell me, Merlin, why shouldn’t I kill him right away?” Arthur has stood up, his usual grimace returning to his face.
“You’re a prince, you can’t just go around killing knights,” Merlin snorts mockingly.
Arthur walks to the window and looks through it as if he is observing the weather, while all his senses are focused on Merlin.
“Then tell me, Merlin, what business you and a knight may have, exactly?”
Don’t lie. Please, tell the truth. Merlin shuts his eyes and speaks up:
“I turned him down. That’s what pissed him off, I think.”
Arthur turns around, looking completely stunned. They never talked about personal matters.
Merlin then just can’t stop rambling.
“It was a mistake, though. I was at the tavern... someone I cared about was gone... I was sad and lonely, I guess. Maybe a little too drunk, and he seemed like a nice guy at the time, so we spent some time… you know what it’s like, when you’re all alone, your duties and stupid destiny just crushing you into the ground, so I just wanted to feel something…”
Arthur’s chest feels like it’s being stabbed, again and again. Merlin cannot stop speaking once he starts confessing. He is not looking at Arthur, his gaze fixed somewhere in the room. And Arthur just cannot look away. It is not that it was a man, or a knight Arthur knows little about. It is about the feelings he never thought Merlin had — the deep loneliness and the burden of fate Arthur is all too familiar with.
“… but I had to stop it, because for someone like him I will always be a peasant, low-class, unimportant, someone to use. I think, his ego just couldn’t bear that it was me who rejected him. I also might have made a joke about his lack of intelligence, so he snapped. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”
He’s done rambling, now looking more relieved after finally speaking up.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
“No,” Arthur says, and Merlin looks up at him, noticing he’s become paler than usual, “I am sorry, that you felt that way. I was hard on you, throwing work at you as if it wasn’t you who saved my life multiple times. I’m sorry you had to go to him for comfort.” When you could have come to me, that’s what he doesn’t say.
Merlin is so overwhelmed with the sudden confession that he cannot find the right words. He stands up and closes the distance between them.
“Arthur…”
“So, I’ll ask one more time, why shouldn’t I kill him?” he says determinedly.
Merlin touches his arm and only then Arthur notices he’s been clenching his fists.
“Because I have to stand up for myself,” he says firmly, gently smoothing Arthur’s hand. “You have to trust me with that.”
“You are stupid or mad,” Arthur laughs bitterly. “You want to stand up to a knight who was trained to kill?”
“I am stronger than I look,” Merlin smirks.
And somehow Arthur’s fight is gone. He wants to be lit by Merlin’s soft smile forever. Still, he hesitates.
“So, you’re saying, I’m supposed to let some useless knight hurt my—” servant? friend? my what exactly? “—Merlin?”
“Your Merlin?” Merlin echoes, lightly teasing.
“You know what I mean,” he says, embarrassed.
“I know. And thank you. But please, let me handle this. You can kill him later.” He is lighting up with a smile, all that with a bruised eye and split lip, and Arthur’s heart just melts.
“Right. But if he ever ends up in the sparring with me, I’ll destroy him.”
“I’m sure you will.”
They stand in front of each other, everything said and so much still unspoken settling between them. Arthur feels something he can’t name binding them together.
He looks into the eyes of the man standing in front of him — his friend, the person he can trust. The only one who makes him laugh and who cares for him — not because of his title. It’s almost intoxicating.
For a moment Arthur wonders whether he is truly worth it, whether he can ever return the favour. He feels the urge to lean forward, just a little bit closer, to smell his hair. He just stares at Merlin instead, hoping his eyes can say it all for him.
Eventually, Merlin speaks.
“Erm… Did you have your breakfast? I can arrange something.” He says lightly without pulling away. He always feels comfortable being close to Arthur. It warms Arthur’s heart.
“I… could eat,” says Arthur thoughtfully. “But I’ll have someone else bring it. You can eat with me, if you want to,” he adds quickly.
Yesterday I asked for a beta read of the first chapter of my Merthur fanfic, and today I woke up to messages from you — all amazing people. Thank you! Merthur lives ❤️
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
Part 1, Part 2 (Your're here), Part 3 (SOON)
In the woods. Day.
Arthur: (riding slightly ahead, glancing back) This is nice, isn't it? Just the two of us.
Gwen: (riding beside him, a soft smile playing on her lips) Well, three of us.
Merlin: (riding a respectful distance behind, his face a pleasant blank)
For Arthur, dragging Merlin along on his outings with Gwen has always felt as natural as bringing his sword to battle. Now, after the kiss, after the tower, the habit feels loaded, a minefield dressed up as normalcy. They haven’t spoken of it again. Arthur didn’t feel it right after what Merlin endured. And since then, Merlin seemed to have moved past it, so perhaps Arthur should, too.
Arthur: (forcing a jovial tone) Merlin? Merlin doesn't count.
Merlin: (snorts) Sure, I don't count. I'm not here. Not actually speaking right now. (Thinking) Like always, your perfect, invisible shadow.
Arthur: (turning his attention back to Gwen, a boyish pride in his voice) Aren't you impressed that I remembered our anniversary?
Gwen: (smiles, teasing) But you didn't remember. I reminded you over a month ago.
Arthur: Yes… but I remembered that it was today. Today.
Gwen: Ah!
Merlin: Actually, I did. I reminded him this morning.
Arthur: Shut up, Merlin!
Gwen laughs. After a calculated half-second, Merlin joins in, his laughter matching hers in tone, a flawless copy.
Merlin: (thinking) We are close.
Suddenly there is an explosion and Arthur’s horse rears in terror. Then the girth snaps, making Arthur fall and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Merlin: (watches with hopeful anticipation, thinking) Did he die?
Arthur: (Groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows, dazed but very much alive)
Merlin: (thinking, disappointed) Damn it.
Before Arthur can find his feet, bandits swarm from the trees and they descend on the fallen king.
Gwen: (shrieks, her face white with terror) Arthur! (makes to urge her horse forward)
Merlin: (his hand shoots out, grabbing her horse’s bridle, voice urgent) No! You are the queen. Step back. Stay here.
Merlin watches as Arthur scrambles for his fallen sword and quickly stands up to fight . Arthur is good, even outnumbered, he manages to defeat them all. Or so Arthur thinks. One last bandit, a large man with a notched axe, appears from behind the weapon swinging for a brutal blow. For a fraction of a second, Merlin’s breath catches, a smile forming.
But Arthur twists at the last second. The axe meant for his ribs grazes his arm instead, tearing through chainmail and tunic. Blood blooms instantly. With a roar of pain and fury, Arthur drives his sword up under the man’s guard, and the bandit falls.
Merlin: (sighs in frustration, but quickly puts on a mask of wide-eyed alarm and swings off his horse) Arthur! (runs forward)
Gwen: (right beside him, tears streaking her face as she throws her arms around her husband) Arthur!
Arthur: (winces, but wraps his good arm around her) I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.
Merlin: (beside him, his fingers probing the wound with a healer’s clinical detachment) It’s deep. You’re bleeding heavily. (looks up, meeting Arthur’s pained gaze, his own eyes appearing distressed) We have to get you back to Gaius. Now.
As Merlin presses a strip of his own neckerchief to the wound, he feels something strange—a sudden compression in his chest, a tight flinch, as though the sight of Arthur’s blood causes him physical pain. But that can’t be. He’s a physician’s apprentice; he should be used to this by now.
He dismisses the sensation, quick and deliberate. As he helps Arthur onto his horse his mind is already elsewhere. He has to report this to his lady: the plan failed, Arthur still lives. He’ll have to endure this role a little longer.
Time skip. The Physician's Chambers.
Gaius: (tending to Arthur's wound) You’re very fortunate, sire. The blade grazed the muscle. A bit deeper, and you would have lost the use of this arm.
Arthur: (gritting his teeth against the sting of the needle) But the men who attacked us. Have they been questioned?
Gaius: (shakes his head, dabbing at the blood) I’m sorry, Sire. The wounds were fatal. We were unable to learn anything from them.
Gwen: (standing by the window, her arms folded tightly) It can’t have been a coincidence that they were there, lying in wait. Not on that remote path.
Merlin: (handing Gaius a fresh bandage, his voice light, almost dismissive) Don’t be so sure. If I told you all the times bandits have just jumped out at us in the woods. It’s practically a royal tradition.
Gaius: (hands still for a moment, eyes flickering toward Merlin with confusion and a bit of suspicion, before returning to his work)
Leon: (enters, another knight carrying a saddle at his side) Sire, we recovered your saddle from the forest trail. (Shows Arthur the girth) The girth has been unpicked and re-stitched. It was designed to break, Sire.
Merlin: (eyes widen in genuine shock at being discovered, but quickly masters his expression into one of baffled surprise) It was?
Arthur: (stares at the sabotaged saddle, his earlier pain hardening into something cold and focused. Then looks from the evidence to Gwen) It appears you are right, Guinevere. Someone planned this.
Time Skip. The Council Chambers.
The air in the chamber is heavy with judgment. Tyr Seward, the stable hand, stands before the King and Queen, his face pale and his work-roughened hands clenched at his sides
Arthur: The evidence is staring you in the face. You can't deny it.
Tyr: (voice trembling) Sire, I swear on my mother's life—
Arthur: (walks forward) Just give me their name. Why protect them? They can't help you now. Just give me the name.
Tyr: (his eyes, wide with fear, land on Merlin briefly before snapping back to the king) I have no name. There's no name to give.
Arthur: (his expression hardens into regal finality) Then you leave me no choice. Though it saddens me greatly to do so, I must charge you with treason. Is there anything further you'd like to say?
Tyr: (a tear tracks through the grime on his cheek) You're my king, sire. I'd never do anything to hurt you. Never.
Arthur: (pauses, not wanting to give the next order, but knowing he has to) Tyr Seward, by the power vested in me, I hereby sentence you to death.
Guards move to lead the shaking man to the dungeons.
Gwen: (as soon as Tyr is gone, turns to Arthur, her face etched with distress) Arthur, wait. Don't you think you're rushing to conclusions? He's been in your service since he was a boy. Surely you don't really believe he's capable of treason. He adores you.
Arthur: (conflict wars in his eyes, but he holds his ground) What I believe is irrelevant. The facts speak for themselves. The thread matches and my saddle was under his care.
Gwen: But to sentence him to death? What if he was forced? Maybe someone threatened him or his family. Did you even consider that?
Arthur: (his certainty wavers) It is true… Tyr is a simple man. Threatened or not, he couldn't have planned this assassination himself. He wouldn't have the wit for it. (Runs a hand over his face)
Merlin: (speaking up softly from where he stands by the wall) We can't really be sure of that, though, can we? (sighs, portraying the picture of reluctant reason as he approaches them) I don't want to believe it either. But what can we do if he refuses to speak? It's not as if you didn't give him every opportunity to explain. (Turns to Arthur, his gaze earnest) Given the facts… you had no choice. He is guilty. You did the right thing, Arthur.
Arthur: (grateful relief crosses his face, comforted by Merlin's support)
Gwen: (whirls on Merlin, shocked) The right thing? To kill a probably innocent man?
Merlin: (raises his voice, exasperated) Maybe he is not so innocent!
Gwen: (stares at him, startled)
Merlin: (closes his eyes, taking a sharp breath to calm himself) Sorry. (Thinking) Keep it together!
Arthur: (staring at him, confusion and dawning worry in his eyes) What are you saying? (A realization sparks) Merlin. Do you know something? Have you seen him do anything suspicious?
Merlin: (seizes the offered chance, shaping his face into one of hesitant discomfort) No. Nothing… it's just… something stupid. Forget I said anything.
Gwen: (her worry overriding her anger) What? Tell us.
Merlin: (shifts uncomfortably, avoiding their eyes) It has nothing to do with this, but… Since… since I came to Camelot. He looks at me… weird.
Arthur: (confused) Weird?
Merlin: I don't know how to explain it. But sometimes he's… too nice? Overly familiar. And… touchy. (rubs his own arm as if brushing off a memory) It just… it made me uneasy. I thought it was nothing, but now, with this… (shakes his head) Or I could be imagining it. Honestly.
Gwen: (her frown deepens, thoughtful) He did glance at you. Several times during the trial.
Arthur: (anger simmers, fused with a protective instinct and perhaps something more. But when he speaks, his voice is low and worried) Why didn't you say anything before?
Merlin: (shrugs) And say what? 'Arthur, help, this man makes me uncomfortable'? You would've just called me a girl.
Arthur: (a pang of guilt hits him—because, yes, he probably would have) Well, if you ever feel uneasy about anyone, for any reason, you tell me. Okay? I won't judge.
Merlin: (a flicker of something dark and resentful passes through his eyes) Oh, because confiding in you has turned out so well every other time, right, Sire?
Arthur: (Taken aback) Merlin…
Merlin: (straightens, the moment of sharpness gone, replaced by a smooth, blank deference) Nothing, my lord. Forgive me. I should go assist Gaius. (Turns and leaves)
Gwen: (watches the door where Merlin went, then turns to Arthur, her expression troubled) He’s been acting… a bit strange. Since the tower.
Arthur: (his gaze still fixed on the empty doorway) I’ve noticed.
Gwen: (trying to sound reassuring) I suppose it’s to be expected. After what Morgana put him through… (offers a small, hopeful smile) But he still smiles. That has to be a good sign.
Arthur: (finally looks at her, his blue eyes clouded with a doubt) But they’re not the same.
Gwen: What?
Arthur: (shakes his head, struggling for the words) The smiles. I don’t know… it’s like they don’t reach his eyes anymore. They’re not… entirely genuine.
Gwen: (giggles softly, though her curiosity is piqued) You noticed that? Since when do you pay such close attention to Merlin’s smiles?
Arthur doesn’t answer. He can’t. The question echoes in the space between them, pointing toward truths he’s not ready to examine.
Time Skip. The Dungeons.
Gwen walks carefully down the worn stone stairs, a covered plate in her hands, when a voice calls from the shadows behind her.
Merlin: Gwen? (steps into the torchlight, concerned) What are you doing here? This is no place for a queen.
Gwen: (startled, nearly fumbles the plate) Merlin! I… I just…
Merlin: (eyes drop to the food, and his expression softens with understanding) You were going to see Tyr.
Gwen: I’m sorry. I know what you said about him. But feeling uneasy around someone doesn’t necessarily make him an assassin, does it? I needed to be sure. Maybe he’ll tell me the truth.
Merlin: To the Queen? (Shakes his head gently) He’ll feel pressured. Cornered. He won’t tell you a thing. He’ll be too scared.
Gwen: I wasn’t always a queen. I was a servant, just like him. Maybe he’ll see me as a friend.
Merlin: But that was before.
Gwen: (straightens her shoulders, resolve firming) I have to try. (moves to continue down the stairs)
Merlin: (a flash of panic crosses his features) Wait! (moves closer, an idea forming) I’ll do it.
Gwen: (pauses, surprised) You? You said he made you uncomfortable.
Merlin: (shrugs) Maybe he just fancies me a bit. In that case, I might have a better chance of getting something out of him. (gently take the plate from her hands) Trust me. It’s better if I do it. He’ll see me as an equal.
Gwen: (hesitates, then sighs in reluctant agreement) Alright. But I’m accompanying you.
Merlin: Okay. But he can’t see you. (points to a shadowed alcove further down the corridor) Stay there. In the distance.
Gwen nods and slips into the darkness. Merlin watches her go, his expression smoothing into one of calm purpose. He turns and walks to the cell.
Merlin: (voice soft and friendly) Hello, Tyr.
Tyr: (recoils from the bars, fear widening his eyes)
Merlin: (crouches, placing the plate just inside the cell, his face a mask of fake worry and gentleness) Don’t be scared. I just want to help you. You must be hungry. Come closer.
Tyr: (driven by hunger and a flicker of hope, comes closer and whispers desperately) I didn’t say anything—
Merlin: (leans in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper of shared concern) Why, Tyr? Why are you protecting them? Did someone threaten you? (his tone changes and drops lower, becoming a venomous thread) You fool. You thought you were protecting your mother by staying quiet here?
Tyr: (confusion and dawning horror) What? But you—you said—
Merlin: (still whispering) Once you’re gone, I’ll kill her with my own hands. But not before I make her suffer for raising such a stupid son.
Tyr’s fear explodes into rage. With a raw cry, he lunges, his hands shooting through the bars to grab fistfuls of Merlin’s tunic, shaking him.
Tyr: NO! I won’t let you!
Merlin: (throws his head back, his voice rising in a perfect performance of fear and confusion, struggling against Tyr’s grip) What are you doing?! Let go!
Gwen: (bursts from the alcove, shouting) GUARDS!
The guards are there in an instant, hauling the frantic Tyr back and pinning him against the far wall of his cell. Gwen rushes to Merlin’s side, helping him straighten his tunic.
Gwen: Are you alright?
Tyr: (still struggling, his eyes wild, fixed on Gwen) Your Majesty! Please! He’s the traitor! He threatened to kill my mother if I spoke! It’s him!
Merlin: (looks from Tyr to Gwen, his face a picture of stunned, wounded bewilderment) I… I don’t know why he’s saying this. I was only trying to help him.
Gwen: (places a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm, her gaze hardening as she turns back to Tyr) I know. I saw it. (voice heavy with disappointment as she looks at the sobbing stable hand) I really wanted to believe you weren’t a bad person. But I clearly was wrong.
She turns away, leading a seemingly shaken Merlin back up the stairs, leaving Tyr’s desperate pleas echoing unheard in the cold dark. Merlin smiles. The witness has been discredited, and the queen’s trust has been weaponized against the truth. His lady Morgana will be happy to know this.
Time Skip. In the Royal Chambers.
Gwen stands before Arthur, recounting the events in the dungeons.
Gwen: …And then, after Merlin showed him such kindness, Tyr just… snapped. He attacked him, and when the guards pulled him off, he started shouting, accusing Merlin of being the traitor.
Arthur: (very angry) You shouldn’t have gone down there behind my back. It was foolish. What if he had attacked you?
Merlin: (speaks softly from where he stands by the fireplace, offering a gentle, reassuring smile) Let’s just be glad it was me.
Arthur’s anger dissolves into something else. He crosses the room, his focus narrowing solely to Merlin. His hand comes to rest firmly on Merlin’s shoulder.
Arthur: (voice drops, earnest and low) Did he hurt you?
Merlin meets his gaze. For a heartbeat, he is dazed by what he sees there: the open concern in those familiar blue eyes, the same he saw in the dust of the fallen tower.
Then he remembers.
It is a lie. A performance. Arthur doesn’t see a person; he sees a possession. A useful tool he needs to keep close, to keep pacified. This show of care is just another chain, a way to keep him loyal and controllable.
The moment of weakness passes. Merlin’s posture, which had subconsciously leaned into the touch, subtly corrects itself. He offers a small, brave smile.
Merlin: I’m fine. (pauses, letting a believable tremor enter his voice) It was more frightening than anything. The way he looked at me… after I’d only tried to help.
He let his eyes flicker toward Gwen, a glance that is not quite accusatory, but carries a faint, unspoken rebuke: See what your mercy almost caused?
It has the intended effect. Gwen’s face softens, her eyes filling with a guilty, empathetic sorrow. She mouths, ‘I’m sorry’. Merlin offers a gentle, forgiving smile in return, mouthing, ‘It’s alright.’ He sees the resolve solidify in her gaze: she will not question him again. Satisfied, Merlin turns his attention back to Arthur to keep playing the pathetic weak manservant Arthur believes him to be.
However, as Gwen’s gaze lingers, it travels from Merlin’s carefully constructed expression to her husband. She watches Arthur, whose entire being seems to have pivoted on an axis only Merlin occupies. The king’s earlier anger at her risk-taking has vanished, utterly consumed by a concern that feels… disproportionate. It is in the lingering weight of his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, in the intensity of his focus, in the way his eyes search Merlin’s face not just for injury, but for every flicker of distress. It isn’t a king looking at a servant, or even just a friend looking at a friend. It is something more… profound.
A possibility, unsettling and quiet, settles in Gwen’s heart. She knows Merlin and Arthur have always been close. Closer than most. She has always known that. Yet, this feels… different. She thinks of the strained weeks before the tower, the palpable tension she could never quite name. She thinks of Arthur’s frantic, single-minded charge into a collapsing fortress.
But Gwen says nothing. No. To give it voice would make it real. So she tucks the suspicion away, and simply watches her husband and her best friend, hopping, begging, that she is mistaken.
Time Skip. In the Forest.
Merlin runs a reverent hand over a twisting vine clinging to an oak. A faint, cold smile forms on his lips before he turns and moves where Morgana awaits.
Morgana: (turns as he approaches) Emrys.
Merlin: The plan failed.
Morgana: I’d figured as much. The news would have spread by now if it had succeeded. (her eyes sharpen) Does he suspect you?
Merlin: (with pride) No. The stable hand saw me, but I pulled the strings so that he seemed like the one behind the attempt. He was executed before I came here.
Morgana: (smiles at him genuinely) Smart. Very smart.
Merlin: (a pleased smile forms on his face, basking in the praise)
Morgana: You don’t have to worry. By tonight, you’ll have everything you need to finish the job yourself.
Merlin: (his smile vanishes, replaced by sharp concern) Arthur’s doubled the guard. There are patrols night and day. They could see you and—
Morgana: (her tone dismissive, but holding a strange note of something similar to fondness) I’ll be in disguise, my dear. There’s no need for you to be afraid.
Merlin: I still wouldn’t want you to risk it. What is it you need to give me? Maybe I can find it myself.
Morgana: (studies him for a long moment, then decides to confide) I know of a man. A discreet apothecary. He has a tincture. One with the power to kill slowly, with the utmost pain.
Merlin: (frowns) That’s it?
Morgana: (her brows arch, a hint of offense in her voice) Don’t you think it is useful?
Merlin: (realizing his misstep) I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t mean it like that. But if poison is all you need, I can fabricate it myself. I am a physician’s apprentice. I have access to Gaius’s stores.
The moment the words leave his mouth, the atmosphere shifts. Morgana’s face hardens, her eyes turning to ice as the memory surges to the surface: the bitter taste of betrayal, the agony in her throat, her veins, the face of the boy she’d trusted leaning over.
Morgana: (her voice a brittle whisper) Right. For a moment, I forgot.
Before either can speak again, the distant sound of horses whinnying and the jingle of harnesses cut through the silence. A patrol is approaching.
Merlin: (instantly alert, steps in front of her, his voice urgent) Hide, my lady! I have it covered.
Morgana melts back behind the thick trunk of a tree, just as Gwaine and Leon run into the small clearing, his expression shifting from routine alertness to surprise.
Gwaine: Merlin! (reins in his horse, a grin spreading across his face) What are you doing out here all alone? Bit far from the tavern, isn’t it?
Merlin: (turns with a show of mild, innocent annoyance, shrugging) Am I not allowed to take a stroll now? Since when is fresh air a crime?
Leon: (gaze continues to sweep the tree line, lingering a moment too long on the dense thicket where Morgana hid) We thought we saw someone else. A second person.
Merlin: (follows Leon’s gaze, then offers a careless, bemused smile) Pretty sure it’s just me. And the squirrels. They’re terrible conversationalists, by the way.
Leon: (still not entirely satisfied, but relents) Well, now that we’re here, we’ll escort you back. The woods aren’t as safe as they used to be.
Merlin: (lets out an exaggerated sigh) What am I, the king? I can find my own way back.
Gwaine: Normally, I’d support your right to wander, mate. But the last time we let you ‘go for a stroll,’ you were kidnapped. Arthur went half-mad searching for you, and you both almost ended up buried under the rubble of a tower. So, come on. Humor us.
Merlin: (rolls his eyes) Alright, alright. Lead the way, my lords. (casts one last, seemingly casual glance back at Morgana’s hidden place before falling into step between their horses, thinking) Soon, my lady. Very soon.
Time skip. In the Physician’s Chambers.
Merlin: (enters)
Gaius: (without looking up from his pestle and mortar) You’ve been disappearing a lot.
Merlin: (busies himself at a workbench, his tone light) Don’t I always?
Gaius: When it is related to helping or protecting Arthur, yes. (sets his tools down, turning to face him) This feels different.
Merlin: (meets the look with a placid smile) Who says I’m not doing that now? We solved the mystery of the saddle, but the bandits’ attack remains a mystery. I’ve been… looking into it. Making sure Arthur is safe.
Gaius: Yes. (a pause) It was a shame to learn about Tyr. Even as he was dragged to be executed, he kept screaming you were the traitor. Quite… persistent.
Merlin: (shakes his head, a perfect display of bewildered sadness) I can hardly believe it myself.
Gaius: (watches Merlin closely, saying each word deliberate) Perhaps he harbored some grudge. Some festering resentment, or jealousy, toward Arthur… and that’s why he decided to kill him. You know, since he seemed to have that… “weird” obsession with you.
Merlin: (frowns, a genuine confusion flickering across his face) How does one thing have to do with the other?
Gaius: Because you are close to Arthur. And Arthur cares about you a great deal. To harm you would be to harm Arthur. And to resent Arthur… might mean resenting his hold on you.
Merlin: (thinking, his irritation showing briefly on his face) He doesn’t have a hold on me! Not anymore. (says, forcing his expression to smooth into agreement) Right. Of course. That makes… a kind of sense.
Gaius: (lets the silence stretch. Then, he speaks again, his tone deceptively casual) I’ve noticed you haven’t picked up your magic book lately.
Merlin: (freezes, all the color draining from his face, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded pain)
Gaius: (feigning innocence, pressing gently) Did you learn them all already? Maybe I should find you a new one.
Merlin: (his eyes, wide and suddenly wet, fix on Gaius. His voice a shattered whisper) You are cruel.
Gaius: (utterly taken aback) What?
Merlin: I don’t have magic. You know I don’t have it anymore. You perfectly know that.
Gaius: (alarm bells ring in his mind and his voice softens, trying to pierce the confusion) Merlin, what are you talking about? You lost your magic? When?
Merlin: (his face contorts with torment, as if his memories are writhing, tangled snakes. He looks at Gaius with a heartbreaking mix of betrayal and desperate hope) Or… you don’t know. Or are you lying to me too? Is everyone lying?
Gaius: (reaches out, his voice firm with concern) Merlin.
Merlin: (blinks, the torment suddenly gone. Then he frowns, as if trying to recall a difficult lesson, and, finally an utterly empty laugh escapes him) Don’t be ridiculous, Gaius. I’m no sorcerer. What a silly thing to say. (glances at the water clock on the wall, his movements suddenly brisk) I’d better tend to Arthur now. You know how he gets if his dinner is late. (turns and leaves)
Gaius: (does not move, his face falling into an expression of profound horror and sorrow, and whispers) Oh, my boy. What has she done to you?
Morgana takes Merlin instead of Gwen to the Dark Tower AU
(I know I have a lot of AUs pending, but my mind keeps creating new ones, sorry. Also this is QUITE long so you can take it as a christmas present if you like. So Merry Christmas! :D)
I think there are already Merthur fics with this prompt, but I haven’t read one where Morgana’s decision to take Merlin instead of Gwen actually makes sense.
For starters, I don’t believe Morgana would ever consider making Merlin her eternal slave. Yes, she used the forromoh to control him once before, but it’s established that the Mandrake Root’s brainwashing is stronger and practically impossible to undo. I firmly believe Morgana specifically targeted Gwen not only due to her closeness to Arthur, but because she still loved her—in a very twisted way—and wanted to keep her forever. That would never be the case with Merlin. She hates him too much for that. He poisoned her and betrayed her deeply. And, as far as she knows by that point in the series, Merlin is just a clumsy servant, stupidly loyal to Arthur.
So, how do we make it make sense for her to take Merlin instead of Gwen?
The answer is: by accident.
But before we get to that, let's justify the Merthur part. This is a Merthur prompt, after all.
So, after the events of “Another’s Sorrow,” Arthur brings Merlin to a tavern to celebrate their triumph over Odin and the new treaty. Merlin really isn’t in the mood, too worried about Morgana’s next move and the weight of destiny, but that doesn’t stop Arthur from dragging him there. “You’re always at the tavern anyway. Why are you complaining?” the king proclaims.
They both actually start having a good time, which is what Arthur wanted. He’s seen Merlin so down lately, too serious—maybe also feeling a bit guilty for not listening when Merlin had a bad feeling about the mission—so he wanted to make him relax and smile again like he used to. They’re doing great… until they drink a little too much and end up kissing.
Being the mature person he is, Merlin flees afterward. The next day, when Arthur tries to speak about what happened…
Arthur: Merlin, about last—
Merlin: (polishing a breastplate) The laundry’s done, and Cook says the venison is salted. (avoids Arthur’s eyes at all costs)
Arthur’s words die in his throat. Truthfully, he is relieved. The guilt settled in his stomach like a cold stone the moment he woke up. He is a married man. The drunkenness was no excuse. And the fact that it was Merlin—a man, his servant, his friend—sent a whirlwind of confused shame through him. But, If Merlin can pretend it was nothing, then perhaps the dishonorable act can simply… unhappen?
But as weeks pass, the pretense builds a wall between them. The easy insults vanish, replaced by stiff formality or, worse, silence. Jokes fall flat. A mere brush of hands while passing a goblet feels electric. And the chambers become a cage of unsaid things.
One afternoon, Arthur can’t take it anymore so he confronts Merlin.
Merlin: (folding a cloak with robotic precision, his back to Arthur)
Arthur: We can’t keep doing this.
Merlin: (doesn’t turn) Keep doing what, my lord?
Arthur: (voice low and strained) You know exactly what I’m talking about.
Merlin: …
Arthur: That night—
Merlin: It shouldn’t have happened.
Arthur: But it did. And until we talk about it—
Merlin: (finally turns) What is there to talk about? We were drunk. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Things they don’t really mean.
Arthur falls silent for a moment. Merlin is about to return to his folding, when suddenly Arthur speaks again.
Arthur: (his voice quieter, almost detached) So you didn’t mean it when you said, “I’ve waited so long for this”?
Merlin: (goes very still, the colour draining from his face)
Arthur: (pressing on) Yes, I remember. You also said something… something about me being your destiny. That part is a bit blurry. But you said—
Merlin: (a choked whisper) Stop.
Arthur: I just need to understand. The truth, Merlin. I don’t care if you… fancy men. Honestly, I’d suspected for a while. I mean, you’ve never shown a lasting interest in any woman—
Merlin: (sharp and defensive) I’m into both, if you must catalogue it. Men and women.
Arthur: … Oh.
Merlin: Is that all?
Arthur: No… (sighs) Did you… kiss me… because I just happened to be the closest man—person there? Or…
Merlin: (Stares for a moment, eyes wide, and then a bitter laugh escapes him) So that’s what this is. You don’t want to talk about the kiss. You want to know if I fancy YOU. You need to know if your servant is secretly and pathetically in love with you.
Arthur: Merlin—
Merlin: (voice cracking) You have no right. No right! (leaves)
And things between them get even more awkward after that.
So, when, some days later, the opportunity arises for Gwen to visit her father's grave in the outlying village, Merlin volunteers to accompany her, Elyan, and the other knights in a desperate need for space. A day away from Arthur and the suffocating weight of Camelot's walls feels like a chance to breathe.
Gwen: (riding beside him, worried) Merlin… What happened? Between you and Arthur?
Merlin expected this. Of course they all noticed the sudden distance between him and Arthur.
Merlin:(forcing a casual tone) It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just… a disagreement. King and servant stuff.
Gwen: (doesn’t believe a word of it, but lets it go) Just know you can talk to me. Always.
Merlin nods, a twist of gratitude and sharp guilt knotting in his chest. Gwen has always been a great friend. And there he is, carrying the memory of her husband’s kiss, now finding solace in her kindness. Oh, well. What’s one more secret to bury?
But as they ride, the weight of his deception grows unbearable. She deserves the truth, even if it means she’ll look at him with the hatred he feels he deserves. He will apologize for a lifetime if he has to. He opens his mouth, the confession gathering on his tongue when a sudden hissing slices through the forest calm.
The horses rear, whining in panic. Merlin feels it in his bones. The snakes coiling across the path aren’t natural; they are a summons. Morgana.
Gwaine: (shouts) Run! Run!
Merlin: (taking advantage no one is seeing him, eyes turn gold and the mass of snakes recoil, slithering back into the undergrowth as if called away)
Elyan: (struggling to control his horse) Wait! I think they’re gone!
A cold laugh cuts through the sudden quiet.
Morgana: (steps from behind a great oak, her smile venomous) It seems I have to finish this myself.
Gwen: Morgana!
Morgana: (eyes turn gold) Taefle!
A wave of invisible force slams into them. Knights, Merlin, and Gwen are thrown from their saddles, hitting the forest floor with grunts of pain. Before anyone can rise, Morgana is upon them. She stalks forward, her focus solely on Gwen, and seizes her arm, with a strong grip.
Gwen: (struggles) Let go of me!
Elyan: Gwen!
Leon: My Queen!
Morgana: (eyes turn gold again) Sleep.
The snakes return, their hissing a deadly chorus as they rear to strike the dazed knights.
Merlin: (Pushing himself up, terror for his friends overriding all caution) NO!
This time, there is no subtlety. His eyes burn gold as he extends his hand and a concussive wave of raw power erupts from him, throwing the snakes back into the trees, where they fall, still and harmless.
Everyone—Gwen, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, Leon and Morgana herself—stare at Merlin in utter, stunned shock.
Merlin: (thinking in panic) They saw. They all saw.
Morgana: (her expression shifts from shock to a dawning, volcanic rage) You… All this time.
Merlin: (shoves his panic down and his hand shoots out again) Ástryce! (eyes turn gold and a bolt of energy strikes Morgana in the chest, throwing her back a step and making her let go of Gwen) Gwen, run! (to the others) All of you, RUN! NOW! I’ll hold her back!
The command shatters their paralysis. Driven by instinct and the sheer shock of the moment, the knights scramble to their feet, ushering a wide-eyed Gwen into the dense forest.
Morgana: (shouts) NO! (lunges to pursue)
Merlin: Forbærne! (a jet of fire sears the ground between Morgana and the fleeing party)
Morgana: (whirls, deflecting the flames with a swift gesture of her own. Her eyes, blazing with hatred and new understanding) Emrys.
Under other circumstances, with a clear mind and the element of surprise, Merlin might have matched her. But his focus is shattered—split between his fleeing friends, the devastating exposure, and the crushing weight of a lifetime of secrets crumbling around him.
So Merlin hesitates for a fatal second.
Morgana did not.
Morgana: Swefe nu!
A blast of magic, amplified by her fury, hits him squarely and he is knocked out.
Morgana approaches the fallen sorcerer slowly, moving like a hunter closing in on a mortally wounded prize. Her fury is a living thing, scorching and vast. The friend who betrayed her with poison. The prophesied doom who thwarted her at every turn. They are one and the same. This clumsy, idiotic servant has been the architect of her every misery. Her hand trembles with the desire to finish him. Her fingers curl, dark energy crackling at her fingertips as she stands over him. One spell and her vengeance will be completed.
But suddenly her gaze sharpens. The raw, screaming urge to kill him begins to cool and twist into something else—something colder and far more insidious. She has lost Gwen. Her chance to possess the one piece of her old light, to keep it caged and forever hers, is gone, fleeing into the woods with those useless knights. But here… here lies a different kind of prize. Not a comfort, but a weapon. Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Her destined enemy, helpless at her feet.
A slow, terrible smile touches her lips. Killing him would be a release. A victory, yes, but a finite one. Making him her slave… that is something else entirely. To have his power bent to her will. To have the guardian of the Once and Future King become the instrument of that king’s destruction.
The poetic justice of it is exquisite. The strategic advantage is undeniable.
The crackling energy at her fingertips shifts. The spell for a quick death fades from her mind, replaced by the complex, ancient enchantments of the Dark Tower.
Morgana: (murmurs, voice a silken promise of torment) Oh, Merlin. You’re not going to die today. You’re going to wish you had.
Time skip. In Camelot.
Arthur: (pacing) No. It can’t be true.
Leon: (voice quiet and steady) We all saw it, sire. His eyes burned gold.
Arthur: Merlin is no sorcerer! (his hand slams on the table, the sound echoing in the chamber) I would know. He cannot keep a secret to save his life.
Except the secret of their kiss, a poisoned voice whispers in his mind. Except the secret of his feelings—or yours. Arthur shuts the thought down violently, clinging to the image of the man he thought he knew.
Gwen: Arthur…(places a gentle hand over his clenched fist)
Arthur: (flinches slightly at her touch, the guilt still fresh. Then insists in utter denial) This is clearly a trick from Morgana! An illusion meant to confuse you, to weaken our resolve!
Gwaine: (leaning against the wall with his arms crossed) Believe it an illusion if you like, princess. Makes no difference to the facts. Merlin’s back there, alone. He used his… whatever it was… to save us, to give us a chance to run. And now Morgana has him.
Arthur: (the frantic energy leaves him all at once, replaced by a cold, dawning horror. Then, he looks up, his face hardening into an expression of pure resolve) Of course we are going. Ready the horses. We leave within the hour.
Time Skip. In the Dark Tower
Morgana did not allow Merlin to wake on the journey. She is not a fool. Her victory in the clearing was mostly due to Merlin’s shock and distraction. She knows that facing a prepared Emrys head-on is a battle she can very well lose.
Luckily, in the panicked retreat, the knights left one of their horses behind. It was a simple matter to hoist Merlin’s unconscious form over its saddle, securing him with rough rope before tethering the beast to her own, so the journey to the tower went smoothly.
Now that she is there, she quickly retrieves a pair of heavy, rune-carved bracelets from a locked iron chest and clamps them around each of Merlin’s wrists. Only then, does she allow herself the next step.
Morgana: (kneels beside him, her voice a silken command) Awace.
Merlin: (eyes fly open, disoriented for a split second, then he spots Morgana and jerks upright, instinct pulling him back)
Morgana: (smiles coldly) Sleep well?
Merlin’s first impulse is to lash out—a spell, a gesture, anything. But as he moves, a leaden weakness floods his limbs, and a cold, biting weight registers on his wrists. He looks down at the dark iron bracelets, his breath catching.
Merlin: (confused) …What?
Morgana: (traces a fingernail over the rune-etched metal) Cold iron. Quite effective, isn’t it? It doesn’t just block magic. It… hungers for it.
Merlin: (a bitter laugh) Very hypocritical of you, to keep such things.
Morgana: (her smile vanishes) No more hypocritical than serving the son of a man who would have you burned for what you are.
Merlin: Arthur is not Uther.
Morgana: (leans in) So? Does he know? Does the golden king know that his precious servant and friend is a sorcerer?
Merlin: …
Morgana: (straightens, her expression shifting to one of pure, scalding contempt) You are pathetic. Hiding your magic for a man who would despise you for it. Betraying, killing your own kin to protect a throne that would see you destroyed. To protect him. All that power… wasted.
Merlin: (meeting her gaze, his voice weary but firm) Spare me the speech, Morgana. I know how this story goes. What will you do to me? Past experience tells me you won't just kill me.
Morgana: (a chilling smile spreads across her face) You are correct. There’s no justice in a quick end for you, Emrys. Not when your suffering can be so much more… useful. (grabs his arm in one swift motion, her nails digging into his skin through his tunic) Stand up.
Merlin: (is hauled to his feet and stumbles, the unnatural weight on his wrists throwing off his balance)
Morgana: I have the perfect room for you.
Without another word, she begins to drag him toward a narrow spiral staircase leading into the oppressive gloom of the tower.
The first few days, Merlin resists. Everytime the voices begin to whisper in the dark, he clings to the solid reality of the cold stone against his back and the biting weight of the iron on his wrists. These are real, he reminds himself. Everything else is Morgana’s poison.
Then the visions come.
Gwaine: (his easy smile twisted into a sneer) All those times I defended you. And you were just lying to my face. Was our friendship a spell, too?
Merlin: (Jerking back as if struck) No! It wasn’t like that at all!
Leon: (with stern disappointment) You served the king. Broke bread at his table. You were a threat sleeping always at his door. Your very existence is treason.
Merlin: (clutching his head) I didn't choose this! I never wanted to lie!
Gwen: (her kind eyes full of tears of betrayal) I called you my friend. I trusted you. And you… you kissed my husband. Was any of it real, Merlin? The laughter, the secrets we shared? Or was I just another piece on your board, a tool to get closer to the king?
Merlin: (a sob wrenching from his throat, his body folding in on itself) I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…
He tries to remind himself they aren’t real. They are fragments of his own fear, given shape by Morgana’s dark magic. But then…
Arthur: (appears, his face a mask of cold, regal revulsion. The look isn’t the fiery anger Merlin has braced for; but a quiet, complete disgust) A sorcerer. All this time. A vile, deceitful creature polluting my court. My father was right.
Merlin tries to turn away, but the vision follows, filling the cell.
Arthur: And to think that I let you kiss me. That I… for a moment, I actually… (wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of profound sickness) It makes me want to peel my own skin off. You are an abomination.
Merlin: (voice a broken whisper, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face) No… please.
Arthur: (tilts his head, a cruel parody of his familiar, considering expression and then smiles cruelly) I would have you executed. Drawn and quartered in the courtyard for all to see what becomes of sorcerers and traitors. (lets out a low, chilling laugh that echoes unnaturally in the stone room) But seeing you here… like this? Broken in the dark? This is so much better. This is justice. You deserve this. (His laughter grows louder)
Merlin: (a raw, shattered scream tears from his throat)
Time skip.
Being kind to Merlin has been a challenge for Morgana. She pretty much still hates him to guts. But it was the part she needed to play for the enchantment to succeed. The enchantment of the mandrake root doesn't just show the person’s worst fears and dreads; it slowly erodes the soul's foundations, leaving a hollowed-out space desperate to be filled. To succeed, she has to be the one to fill it. She has to become, in Merlin’s broken mind, the only light in an endless dark. It wasn’t easy. Especially because Merlin has been stubborn. For days he turned his face from the food she offered him. Met her gentle words with silence or sharp, weary retorts.
But the Tower soon did its work.
Now, as she kneels beside him, Morgana sees the change. She gently wipes a tear from his cheek with her thumb, her touch deliberately soft. He doesn't flinch. He leans into it, his eyes, red-rimmed and lost, searching her face.
Morgana: (whispers, her voice a silk-covered blade) You’re so alone. They all left you. They hate what you are.
A sob hitches in Merlin’s chest. Then, slowly, as if the movement pains him, his arms come up—not to push her away, but to wrap around her in a desperate, clutching embrace. Morgana freezes for a moment before returning the hug, a vicious triumphal smile forming on her face. Merlin buries his face in her shoulder, his body trembling with silent tears.
Merlin: (mumbles into the fabric of her gown) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Morgana… for everything. I was a fool. I betrayed you… my own kind… for him.
Morgana: (strokes his hair) Shhh. I know. I forgive you.
Merlin: (pulls back slightly, his gaze clouded with hurt) They never cared. (the hatred in his voice turns palpable) Arthur… he would have killed me. Gwen, the knights… they just pretended. Liars. All of them! (His voice hitches, the hatred momentarily melting into sadness) Though I lied too.
Morgana: (her hand stills for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle rhythm) No, my dear. You can’t compare lying for your own survival to their lies. Theirs were born of malice. Yours… yours was born of fear. Of a world that would never understand you. (pulls him close again) But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to lie. You’re not alone. You need never be alone again. (cradles his face, forcing his tear-blurred gaze to meet hers) I’m the only one you can trust. I’m all you have left in the world.
Merlin: (nods, his eyes full of trust) I see that now.
Morgana: (smiles victorious and her fingers trail down to the cold iron bracelets) It was wrong to make you suffer. To restrain your magic like that. But you’ve been so courageous. (unlocks the first bracelet, then the second, letting them fall to the stone floor with a heavy thud) Now, we can work together. As equals. To ensure the utter destruction of everything Arthur Pendragon holds dear.
Merlin: (flexes his freed wrists, smiling eagerly, ready to bring Arthur to his doom)
Morgana: (voice low, hungry with anticipation) Now. Show me your power, Emrys. Show me the strength you hid from them.
Merlin nods, his expression turning serious with concentration. He extends a hand toward a crumbling stone sconce on the far wall. His brow furrows. Nothing happens. Confused, he tries again, his focus intensifying. He brings both hands up, palms outward, his lips moving in silent invocation. Nothing. He tries again. And again. But his eyes, wide and desperate, remain blue. Panic begins to edge into his expression, replacing the eagerness.
Morgana: (her smile falters, a sliver of impatience in her tone) What are you waiting for? Do it.
Merlin: (whispering in disbelief) My… my magic. It’s still gone.
Morgana: WHAT?!
In a flash, she is upon him. Her hands clamp onto his shoulders, then his temples, her own magic rushing into him, searching for the apparently still blocked power herself.
She finds it. It’s not suppressed. It’s not restrained. It is walled off. Sealed behind an internal barrier of immense, instinctual will. A final, desperate act of self-preservation enacted not by the broken man before her, but by the last shred of Emrys, in his final sane moments before the darkness took him. A way to protect the world from what he might become.
The realization hits her like a physical blow. She staggers back, releasing him. All her planning, her patience, her performance… for this. For a hollow vessel, a sword with no blade. A raw, furious scream of pure rage tears from her throat.
Morgana: (slams her fist against the stone wall) NO! No, no, NO!
Merlin: (flinching, his voice a frightened whimper) Please, don’t hurt yourself, my lady! I’m so sorry… I’m useless. I don’t know what happened to it. (stares at his own hands as if they’d betrayed him) Where has it gone?
Morgana whirls, her chest heaving, her gaze burning with impotent fury. She storms to the narrow window, seeking an outlet for her rage in the desolate landscape below.
And then she sees them. A small, determined party of riders closing in on the tower’s base. Arthur and the knights. Coming for Merlin.
For a moment, she is just startled. She hadn’t expected them to come so soon. Focused solely on enchanting Merlin, she hasn’t prepared the traps, trusting naively Emrys’ power would be enough to get rid of them all. Then her mind, always sharpest when cornered, begins to race. Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant. The one who dresses him, arms him. The person the king trusts most, besides his wife. And cares for him enough to come to his rescue himself. The knights also trust Merlin implicitly. Gwen, the queen, loves him like a brother. Even without magic, Merlin is the key to the very heart of Camelot. A slow, predatory calm settles over her. Then she turns from the window to Merlin, her expression smoothing into one of grave, conspiratorial urgency.
Morgana: I’ll tell you what happened. Your precious magic… Arthur blocked it.
Merlin: (eyes widen in surprise and betrayal) What?! Why?
Morgana: To make you suffer. To punish you for what you are, and to ensure you could never turn your power against him.
The enchantment of the Tower does its final, insidious work. The lie, planted in the fertile soil of Merlin’s broken trust, takes immediate and unquestioning root.
Merlin: (his face crumples, a fresh wave of agony washing over him) After everything I’ve done for him… he did this to me. How? How could he even do such a thing?
Morgana: With magic. You know how hypocritical the Pendragons are. They condemn sorcery from their thrones, only to use it in the shadows when it serves them. Now do you see? Now do you understand why I had to bring you here? Why I had to save you from his deception? (seizes his hands, her grip firm) Listen to me, Merlin. They are coming. Right now. To retrieve you.
Merlin: (a spark of his old defiance flashes) No! I won’t go back! I hate them! I never want to see them again!
Morgana: (with a slow, calculating smile) I know. But they don’t know that. They still believe you are their loyal, foolish Merlin. And if you play the part… if you go back with them, we might still have a chance.
An understanding dawns on Merlin’s face, and his despair hardens into a cold, focused determination.
Merlin: (his voice utterly devoid of its former warmth) What do I do?
Time skip.
They had just set foot inside the tower's gloom when a deep, groaning shudder ran through the ancient stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. A crack spiderwebs up the wall beside the entrance.
A clear trap. The wisest decision would’ve been to fall back, to regroup outside the killing zone, the knights forming a protective shield around their king.
It is not what happens.
Instead, Arthur runs further in. He becomes a man possessed, breaking down every rotting door in his path. He leaves the knights—whose sworn duty is to form a wall around him—scrambling in his wake as mortar dust fills the air and the very foundations groan. Nothing else matters but to find Merlin.
Arthur: (shouting desperately) Merlin! MERLIN!
He bursts into a small, high cell as a chunk of the ceiling crashes down behind him. And there, in the chaos, he finds him.
Merlin is slumped against the wall, his hands bound above him by heavy chains. He seems smaller, as if the ordeal has physically shrunk him, and so exhausted he seems unable to bear its own weight any longer. But when he lifts his head and looks at Arthur he smiles brightly.
Merlin: (gasps, fragile with disbelief and hope) Arthur?
Arthur is across the room in three strides, his hands coming up to cradle Merlin’s face, to feel the solid, living reality of him.
Arthur: (his voice breaks, thick with relief and terror) I’m here. I’m here. (eyes scan the bindings, his jaw tightening as another tremor rocks the tower) I’ll get you out.
Drawing his sword, Arthur brings the pommel down on the chains with a clang that rang above the din of collapsing stone. Again. And again.
Merlin: (voice weak but urgent) Leave me! Get out!
Arthur: NO!
With a final, grating shriek of tortured metal, the chain snaps. Merlin slumps forward, his strength utterly spent, and falls into Arthur's waiting arms. For a moment, they simply stay there, Arthur holding him, Merlin clinging back with a desperate, bruising tightness. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Merlin's head.
There is no time for more. Another tremor shakes the tower, a slab of masonry crashing down where Arthur stood moments before. Gently but firmly, Arthur shifts, pulling Merlin's arm around his shoulders, taking his full weight.
Arthur: (commands, his voice rough but steady) Lean on me. Just keep moving
Together, they hobble through the shuddering, nightmare corridors—Arthur half-carrying, half-dragging him, Merlin stumbling but moving. And finally, they burst into the cold, clear air, the final, thunderous groans of the Dark Tower collapsing in on itself behind them. Every crash of stone is a reminder of how close death has been.
Merlin: (still clutching Arthur’s arm for support) You came… alone?
Gwaine: (brushes dust from his tunic as he and the other knights close in around them) No, he pretty much abandoned us in there. Charged ahead like a bull.
Merlin: (face lits up) Gwaine! (lets go of Arthur and moves to hug the knight, who returns the embrace with a hearty clap on the back) Leon! Percival! Elyan! (greets each in turn)
Arthur feels a strange, sharp twist in his chest—something hot and unpleasant he doesn't care to name. He watches as Merlin, who has just been clinging to him as a lifeline, now shares his affection with others.
Merlin: (his voice still shaky with wonder) You all came for me?
Leon: Why do you seem so surprised? (his expression shifts, the memory dawning) Oh… (falls silent, his eyes flicking uncertainly to Arthur)
Right. The magic. In the sheer terror of the rescue, Arthur forgot about it. The sight of Merlin in chains burned everything else away. But now, with Merlin safe and the impossible confession hanging in the air, reality comes crashing back. The fear isn't gone, but it is dwarfed by a more profound realization: he can not lose this man. Not to a tower, and not to a law.
Arthur: (stepping forward, his voice carefully neutral) Merlin. My knights… they saw something. When Morgana ambushed you. If you… if you had magic. You don’t have to hide. Not from me. Not now.
Merlin: (looks at Arthur, then at the knights, his brow furrowing in perfect, believable confusion) Me? Having magic? Where did you get that idea?
A beat of stunned silence.
Percival: (utterly baffled) We saw you. Your eyes… they were gold. You threw the snakes back with… with magic.
Merlin: (shakes his head, a small, helpless gesture) I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t use magic at all. I couldn’t have.
Gwaine: (softer now, leaning in) Merlin, mate, you don’t have to lie. It’s us. We won’t do anything to you. We saw it.
Merlin: (his expression turns earnest, pleading) But I’m telling the truth. I don’t have magic. I’m not a sorcerer.
Arthur watches him, sees the clear confusion in his eyes. The tension that has coiled in his gut since Leon first spoke in the council chamber suddenly unspools into a wave of dizzying, vertiginous relief.
Arthur: (words rushed out, eager, absolving) It seems… it seems I was right. (looks at his knights, his authority returning, clinging to the simpler reality) It was an illusion. A trick from Morgana to turn us against each other. She must have made you see it.
The knights exchange glances. Leon’s jaw is tight; Percival’s brow furrowed in confusion. Gwaine stares at the ground, scuffing the dirt with his boot. They have seen it. The raw, golden power, the force that saved them. An illusion that vivid, that potent, seems… unlikely. Their loyalty to Merlin wars with the evidence of their own eyes.
Merlin: (noticing their hesitation, his voice trembles) You… you didn’t really believe it. Did you? (Tears well in his eyes, looking betrayed.) I’m not. I swear to you, on my mother’s life, I am not what you think.
The direct appeal, the raw hurt, is a masterstroke. It bypasses their logic and goes straight to their hearts.
Gwaine: (immediately, stepping forward) No, Merlin. Hey, look at me. (places a firm hand on Merlin’s shoulder) Of course we believe you. We’re just… rattled. It’s been a long day.
Leon: (nods, his stern expression softening into one of protective resolve) He’s right. You are our friend. If you give us your word, then that is the truth we stand by.
Arthur watches the exchange, his own relief now mingling with a pang of something else—a twinge of inadequacy. Gwaine and Leon offered the immediate comfort, and silenced the doubt with brotherly certainty. He, the king, only offered a theory. He clears his throat, the need to reclaim the moment, to be the one Merlin looks to, suddenly urgent.
Arthur: (his voice firm, leaving no room for further discussion) Then it’s settled. We’re all in agreement. Merlin is no sorcerer. (meets Merlin’s tear-filled gaze, offering a small, reassuring nod) Now, let’s get you home.
Time skip.
Merlin can't believe it has been so easy.
As they ride back to Camelot, the towers of the castle growing on the horizon, he replays Morgana’s final instructions.
“They might believe you got your magic back, so when they ask, deny it at all cost. They must believe you are still the simpleton Arthur turned you into. They’ll try to trick you for sure. Try to make you believe you are safe to tell. Don’t be bought by their lies again.”
Now, with cold clarity, he sees the proof of her wisdom in every glance thrown his way. Their faces are masks of concern, but now he can see the lie beneath. Gwaine’s easy grin is a bit too wide, Leon’s assessing gaze a fraction too long. They are watching him, waiting for a slip.
And Arthur… the look of sheer, unguarded relief on Arthur’s face when Merlin tearfully denied his magic. It wasn’t a relief that his friend was safe from persecution. It was a relief at knowing the weapon remains disarmed. That the abomination was confirmed to be gone. The magic he took from me, Merlin thinks, the betrayal a fresh, hot wound. He stole my very nature and was glad to see it gone.
The memory of having to embrace them— to throw his arms around Arthur and lean into his supportive grip, to hug Gwaine, to accept Leon’s firm clasp—makes his skin crawl. He had to hug the people who had celebrated his mutilation. Had to smile at the man who looked at him with utter disgust and hatred in that tower. Who laughed at his suffering. Who actually despises him.
But he won’t have to pretend much longer. Soon, his true queen would take her rightful place on the throne. Morgana, his savior, his lady. And these smiling liars, this false king who broke him and called it salvation… they will be gone for good.
Arthur will be gone for good.
The thought brings a serene calm to his heart as he rides through the gates of the city he is destined to destroy from within. So he keeps his eyes wide, his smile grateful, and his hatred perfectly, patiently hidden.
I watched Merlin at first when it was aired. The end broke my heart, I also recall having something of a heartbreak myself. The show was hidden in the corner of my heart and brain, and I decided I would never watch it again.
Time has passed.
It’s been a really long time.
A friend of mine sent me fanart of Merlin and I was surprised to find out the fandom is still alive. As time has passed I didn’t know why I couldn’t just watch few series. I also attended a medieval festival in my town and it seemed only logical.
And then I wondered. Why on earth I never rewatched it? It is so entertaining, funny, loveable. I totally lost myself in this magic world again. I wondered why on earth did I hate Morgana?
And then season 5 happened. And they turned on this sad theme. Something moved in my heart.
I watched without remembering the plot completely, I wished like the first time that Merlin told Arthur, I wished things would be different. When I reached the last 2 episodes, I was both eager and scared.
And then it was like 6 months of completely not getting over from it.
Now I know.
Why I didn’t rewatch it.
It is even more painful knowing that during these years I haven’t watched it, Arthur still didn’t return (does that make sense?)
It is no news to any Merlin fan that Arthur goes through the show oblivious to half the events, which really shapes his POV. So, as an experiment, I've put together an edited version of S1, which only shows the world as Arthur knows it.
I've taken out as much of the footage that contradicts Arthur's worldview as I could (i.e. no Merlin doing magic or villain exposition) to show how Arthur experiences the plot.
Introducing BBC Arthur:
If you watch it, please let me know what you think! Enjoy!
