She Saw and Stayed
The Rising Sun tavern was a cacophony of spilled ale, raucous laughter, and the rhythmic thumping of tankards against oak tables. In the center of the storm sat Gwaine, holding court with a story that was at least fifty percent fabrication, his arm draped casually over the back of a chair.
To his right sat Merlin, nursing a watered-down mead and looking as though he’d rather be mucking out the stables. And to Gwaine’s left, mirroring his smirk but possessing a sharpness in her eyes that her brother often drowned in spirits, was YN.
"You look like you’re plotting a murder, Merlin," YN said, her voice cutting through the noise. She leaned across the table, nudging his elbow. "Is it Arthur? Did he make you polish his chainmail while he practiced speeches in the mirror again?"
Merlin startled, blinking out of his daze. He offered her a tired, lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Worse. He decided to test the durability of his new shield by having the knights throw spears at me. I spent the afternoon pulling splinters out of my own arm."
YN laughed, a warm, throaty sound that seemed to settle the restless energy in Merlin’s chest. She had been in Camelot for three months, arriving unexpectedly with a pack on her back and a sword at her hip, looking for the brother who had stopped sending letters. In that short time, she had carved a space for herself—not just as ‘Gwaine’s sister,’ but as a force of nature in her own right.
She had Gwaine’s dark hair and the same roguish charm, but where Gwaine was a sprawling wildfire, YN was a hearth flame: controlled, sustaining, but capable of burning you if you got too close without permission.
"You let him get away with too much," YN said, taking a sip of her ale. "If Gwaine tried half the things the King demands of you, I’d have tied him to a tree by now and used him as target practice."
"I heard that," Gwaine slurred happily, not looking away from the barmaid he was charming.
“As you were supposed to, brother of mine. Head it as a warning.” She stated over her shoulder.
Merlin swirled his cup. "It’s… complicated. Someone has to look after him."
"And who looks after you?"
The question was soft, barely audible over the tavern din, but it landed with the weight of a stone. Merlin looked up, locking eyes with her. For a moment, the mask he wore so perfectly—the clumsy, simple-minded servant—slipped. YN saw the exhaustion, the ancient sadness, and the fierce, terrifying intelligence buried deep within the blue.
"I manage," Merlin whispered.
YN reached out, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. His skin was cold; hers was calloused and warm. "You don't have to manage all by yourself, Merlin. That’s what friends are for."
Merlin pulled his hand away, perhaps a fraction too quickly, knocking his knee against the table. "I should go. Gaius needs me to... grind herbs. For the... thing."
He stood up, clumsily navigating the bench. YN watched him go, her brow furrowed. She wasn't fooled. She knew a man carrying a heavy burden when she saw one; she’d spent her life watching her brother run from his. But Merlin wasn't running. He was standing still, letting the weight crush him, terrified that if he moved, everything would collapse.
Two days later, the air in Camelot was thick with humidity and tension. Arthur had received reports of a magical disturbance in the Darkling Woods—strange lights, unnatural storms, and travellers disappearing. Naturally, the King decided this was the perfect opportunity for a patrol.
Merlin rode behind Arthur, his head pounding. He could feel the magic from miles away; it tasted like ozone and copper on his tongue. It wasn't a sorcerer. It was something older. An elemental trap.
To Merlin’s dismay, and Gwaine’s delight, YN had insisted on joining. As a skilled tracker, her argument was sound, and Arthur, respecting her and her skill with a blade, had agreed.
They were deep in the treeline when the sky turned a bruised purple. The birds fell silent.
"Halt," Arthur commanded, raising a gloved hand.
"Doesn't feel right, Princess," Gwaine muttered, his hand resting on his sword hilt. He guided his horse closer to YN’s. "Stay close."
"I can handle myself, Gwaine," she snapped, though her eyes scanned the canopy nervously.
Merlin urged his horse forward. "Arthur, we should turn back. This isn't a normal storm."
"Don't be a coward, Merlin," Arthur said, though his grip on the reins was white-knuckled. "We investigate the clearing ahead."
As they entered the clearing, the trap sprung.
It wasn't an ambush of men, but of earth and wind. The ground shook violently, cracking open in jagged fissures. A sudden, violent gale force wind slammed into them, spooking the horses.
"Dismount!" Arthur yelled.
Merlin leaped from his horse just as a tree snapped like a twig where he had been seconds before. Chaos erupted. The knights were scattered by the shifting earth.
"YN!" Gwaine’s voice roared over the wind.
Merlin looked up to see the earth splitting, separating the group. On one side, Arthur, Leon, and Gwaine. On the other, cut off by a widening ravine and a wall of fallen timber, were Merlin and YN.
"Merlin!" YN scrambled backward as the edge of the ravine crumbled near her boots. She lost her footing, sliding toward the drop.
"No!" Merlin lunged, grabbing her forearm. He hauled her up with surprising strength, pulling her away from the edge just as a massive boulder crashed down, sealing the path between them and the others.
Dust plumed into the air, choking them. Silence followed, heavy and ringing.
"Gwaine?" YN coughed, scrambling to the barrier of rocks. "Arthur?"
"YN!" Gwaine’s voice came, muffled and distant. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine! Merlin is with me!" she shouted back.
"Sit tight!" Arthur’s voice joined in. "The ravine is too wide to cross here. We have to circle around the ridge. It will take us a few hours. Stay put and stay hidden!"
YN slumped against the rock wall, exhaling a shaky breath. She looked at Merlin, who was standing a few feet away, dusting off his tunic. He looked pale.
"Well," she said, trying to steady her voice. "Looks like it's just us."
Merlin nodded, his eyes darting around the forest. The magic here was agitated, volatile. He needed to calm it, but he couldn't do it with YN watching. "We need shelter. That storm isn't finished."
They found a shallow overhang beneath the roots of a massive, ancient oak tree about a hundred yards from the blockage. It was tight, forcing them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder as the rain began to fall—not water, but icy sleet that hissed when it hit the ground.
Night fell rapidly, unnatural and absolute. Merlin gathered dry wood from the recesses of the overhang and started a small fire with flint and steel shavings, painstakingly avoiding the urge to just whisper a spell.
The firelight danced over YN’s face. She was shivering, though she tried to hide it. Merlin unclasped his thick jacket—the one Arthur complained was too shabby for a royal servant—and draped it over her shoulders.
"You'll freeze," she argued, trying to push it back.
"I'm used to the cold," Merlin said softly, pushing her hands away gently. "Keep it."
They sat in silence for a long time, the crackle of the fire the only sound against the howling wind outside.
"You knew," YN said suddenly.
Merlin looked at her, feeding a twig to the fire. "Knew what?"
"That we shouldn't have come here. You tried to warn Arthur. You sensed it." She turned her head, studying his profile. "How do you do that? You always know when things are about to go wrong."
Merlin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Bad luck follows me. I recognize the smell."
"I don't think it's luck," YN murmured. "I watch you, Merlin. You’re always in the shadows, always stepping in right before disaster strikes. You let people think you're clumsy, or foolish, but I’ve seen your hands when you work. You’re precise. You’re... careful."
Merlin’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at her, really looked at her. Her eyes were warm, devoid of the judgment he feared from everyone else.
"It's safer that way," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "To be overlooked."
"Safer for who?"
"For everyone."
YN shifted, the jacket slipping slightly. She pulled it tighter, inhaling the scent of herbs and woodsmoke that clung to it. "You protect them. Arthur. Gwaine. Even when they don't deserve it."
"They're my friends. It's my destiny." The words slipped out before he could catch them.
"Destiny," she repeated, tasting the word. "That's a big word for a servant."
"I'm a very ambitious servant."
She laughed, and the tension broke. She leaned her head on his shoulder, the movement natural, easy. Merlin froze for a second, then relaxed, the warmth of her contact seeping into his arm.
"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly. "If I was stuck here with Gwaine, he'd be complaining about the lack of ale. If it were Arthur, he'd be complaining about the lack of a pillow. With you... it's just quiet."
"I can complain if you like," Merlin offered. "I'm actually quite good at it."
"Don't you dare."
They sat like that for an hour, the storm raging outside, a small bubble of peace existing between them. But in Camelot, peace is rarely left undisturbed.
A low growl vibrated through the ground, different from the earlier earthquake. This was guttural. Alive.
Merlin stiffened. "YN. Get back."
"What is it?" She reached for her sword, but Merlin was already up, moving to the mouth of the overhang.
From the darkness, two glowing yellow eyes emerged. Then two more. Then a third pair.
Wolf-shapes, but wrong. Too big. Their fur was matted and dark as oil, and their skin seemed to ripple with the same violet energy that had caused the storm. Shadow-wolves. Magical constructs.
"Merlin, get behind me," YN ordered, drawing her blade. She stepped in front of him, fierce and trembling.
"No," Merlin said, panic rising in his throat. "YN, your sword won't hurt them. They aren't flesh and blood."
"I'm not letting them eat you!"
One of the beasts lunged. YN swung her sword, a perfect arc, but the blade passed through the creature like smoke. The wolf solidified instantly afterward, slamming into her chest and knocking her back against the rock wall.
"YN!"
She gasped, winded, the sword skittering away. The beast snarled, its jaws snapping inches from her face. Two others circled Merlin, closing in.
Merlin looked at YN. She was cornered, defenseless against magic. If he did nothing, she died. If he acted, she saw him. She would see the monster he was. She would hate him. Gwaine would hate him.
Let them hate me, he thought furiously. As long as she lives.
Merlin extended his hand, his palm flat against the air. He didn't shout a spell; he didn't have time. He let the ancient, roaring power in his blood surge forward.
"Forbearne!"
A shockwave of golden fire erupted from his hand. It wasn't just a spark; it was a torrent of controlled flame. It slammed into the wolves, incinerating the shadow-magic holding them together. They didn't yelp; they simply dissolved into black smoke, screeching as the light consumed them.
The force of the blast lit up the forest like a lightning strike. The heat was intense, drying the rain in an instant.
Merlin stood panting, his hand still outstretched, the golden light in his eyes slowly fading back to blue. Silence rushed back in, louder than the storm.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't turn around. He stared at the empty spot where the wolves had been, waiting for the scream. The accusation. The sound of her running away.
"Merlin."
Her voice was shaky, but not fearful.
He turned slowly, his whole body trembling. YN was still slumped against the wall, clutching her ribs. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dying embers of the fire he had created.
She stared at him. At his hands. Then up to his face.
"You..." she breathed.
Merlin looked down. "I had to. I couldn't let them..." He choked on the words. "Go on. Run. Everyone always runs."
YN didn't run. She pushed herself up, wincing in pain, and stumbled toward him. Merlin flinched, bracing for a blow, or for her to draw a knife.
Instead, her hands grasped his face. She pulled him down, forcing him to look at her.
"You idiot," she whispered fiercely. "You saved my life."
"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said, the confession feeling like a death sentence. "In Camelot. You know what the King would do."
"To hell with Arthur," YN hissed. Her thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, wiping away a smear of soot. "I saw what you did. You didn't hurt anyone. You protected me. That is all I see."
"You're not afraid?"
"Of you?" She let out a incredulous, watery laugh. "Merlin, I have watched you trip over your own feet three times this week. I have watched you tend to Arthur's horses with more gentleness than most men treat their wives. You are magic? Fine. Then magic isn't what they say it is."
Merlin felt his knees give out. The adrenaline crashed, leaving him weak. He slumped forward, and YN caught him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tight against her.
"I won't tell," she whispered into his ear, her breath warm. "I swear it. Your secret is safe."
The rescue came at dawn. Arthur and the knights found them, tired but alive. Merlin had doused the magical fire and covered their tracks. YN told a convincing story of how they had frightened the wolves off with firebrands and luck.
Gwaine had crushed Merlin in a hug that nearly broke his ribs, thanking him profusely for keeping his sister safe. The irony tasted bitter and sweet on Merlin’s tongue.
Back in Camelot, things returned to a semblance of normal. But everything had changed.
Three nights later, Merlin was on the battlements, looking out over the sleeping city. The air was cool, signaling the coming autumn. He heard the soft scuff of boots on stone and didn't need to turn to know who it was.
YN leaned against the crenellations beside him. She wasn't wearing her armor today, just a simple blue dress that matched the shade of his neckerchief.
"Arthur is in a foul mood," she noted. "Apparently, the reports of the magical storm just 'vanished'."
"Strange how that happens," Merlin said, staring at the moon.
"Merlin."
He turned to face her. The distance between them was small, charged with the electricity of the secret they shared.
"You've been avoiding me," she stated.
"I've been busy."
"You've been hiding." She stepped closer. "You think that because the danger is over, I'll change my mind? That I'll realize who you are and report you?"
"It's happened before," Merlin said, his voice guarding a bruise that never quite healed. "People get scared. They realize I've been lying to them every day I've known them."
"I'm not people," YN said firmly. "And I'm not scared."
She reached out, taking his hand. This time, he didn't pull away. He entwined his fingers with hers, the contact grounding him.
"It's dangerous, YN. Being close to me. I have enemies. Powerful ones. If they knew you meant something to me..."
"Then I'll learn to fight them," she interrupted. "I'm a fair hand with a sword, you know. And I have a very powerful wizard on my side."
Merlin smiled, a genuine, blinding thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Warlock, actually."
"Don't push your luck." She stepped into his space, her eyes searching his. "You think you have to be alone to keep everyone safe. I'm telling you, you're wrong."
Merlin looked at her—this fierce, stubborn, beautiful woman who looked at his magic and didn't see a monster, but a man. He felt the walls he had built around his heart for years beginning to crack, letting in the light.
"I can't ask you to stay," Merlin whispered. "It's a hard life. A shadow life."
YN rose on her tiptoes. Her hand came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. Her gaze was unyielding, an anchor in the storm of his life.
"You aren't asking," she said softy, her lips inches from his. "I’m telling you, I'm not going anywhere."
Merlin let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for years. He closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers.
It wasn't a desperate kiss, nor a hurried one. It was slow, deliberate, and filled with a promise. It tasted of cool night air and hope. For the first time, Merlin didn't feel like he was holding up the sky alone.
When they broke apart, Merlin rested his forehead against hers.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," she echoed.
Below them, the citadel slept, unaware that on the battlements, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth had just found something more powerful than any spell: he had found a reason to stop hiding.