da_ya_ri | [fic] The Ivy Crown, 9f/9

The large door to the stables creaked on rusty hinges when Arthur pushed it open, the bleached wood heavy against his arm. Although dusk was descending rapidly, it was still warm with all the sunlight it had soaked up during the day. A sliver of brightness cut through the growing dark, and Arthur slipped through the gap and let the door fall shut behind him, blinking to adjust his eyes to the flickering light.

The familiar, comforting scent of horses enveloped him, straw rustling beneath his feet as he slowly advanced through rows of spacious boxes. Their occupants watched him with dark, soft eyes, their ears perking up with interest. Just like everything in the tiny village, the large barn was plain but tidy, and the horses were well-groomed—a few of them were a bit thin, but none of them looked truly neglected.

Lanterns lined the walls, basking the large hall in their flickering light, and Arthur noticed with satisfaction that each of the candles was encased in glass to prevent sparks from falling to the floor and igniting the straw. He recognized Merlin's horse, dozing in the box next to Gryngolet's—the stallion's white fur reflected the candlelight and made him look like a beacon in the dim light. He looked up when Arthur walked past, a few stray stalks of hay sticking from his muzzle, but snorted in disdain when he saw that the approaching human was not his rider.

Arthur found himself grinning absently as Gryngolet ostentatiously turned his backside to him. To no one's surprise, Gwaine was still at the tavern, heralding the locals with stories of their journey—everyone had already been more than a little tipsy when Arthur had left to check on the horses. Merlin was lucky that he'd excused himself earlier too; with the amounts of wine that were flowing tonight, he would already have been passed out drunk by now.

Not many travelers passed through the cluster of houses at Camelot's border, and Arthur could picture the slack-jawed excitement of the villagers as they listened to the story of their journey. Their eyes merry with wine, Elyan and Leon had joined Gwaine in his storytelling at some point, and Arthur had thought it safe to leave with the knowledge that there would be at least some grain of truth in the stories.

But despite the exaggerated tales of adventure that Gwaine spun for them, Arthur didn't think that he would boast about the dangers of the Green Knight's challenge. He'd been quiet these past few days, withdrawn, although Arthur could tell that it would just be a matter of time until he was his normal, cheerful, brash self again. For a while, he had wondered if he should talk to Gwaine about what had happened to him, maybe commend him on the fact that he had admitted his mistake. But on the other hand, Arthur was fairly sure that Gwaine had recovered enough by now that any and all reassuring words from his prince would be brushed off.

And besides, he had the feeling that the villagers would join in the storytelling with the rumors that had passed through their settlement. The innkeeper had been all too eager to share them with the group of tired travelers that had booked his rooms for the night, and Arthur still didn't quite know what to make of it. It wasn't surprising that the villagers had heard of the strange occurrences near the border—they were situated quite close to Mercia, after all.

The thunderstorm that Arthur had heard on the evening of their escape had apparently raged all night, whipping rain and quite unseasonal amounts of hail through the Green Knight's forest. Many Mercian patrols had found themselves attacked by flocks of hawks and ravens that seemed hell-bent on scratching out their eyes. Huge golden-eyed hunting dogs had slunk through the night like shadows, driving the soldiers out of the forest with their unearthly howls.

But more than the animals' strange behavior, it was the story of the forest's upheaval that mystified the villagers. Earthquakes had shaken the ground all night, and the very trees had unleashed their fury on the intruders, flinging their branches through the icy air as though eager to sink their thorny twigs into human flesh. And in the end the soldiers had fled in a mad rush, desperate to escape the angered forces of nature that were suddenly hell-bent on driving them out of their lands.

The innkeeper hadn't been able to tell him whether any of the Mercians had died that night, but Arthur had the strange feeling that he didn't really want to know. He could still recall the terrible, calculating fury in the Green Knight's eyes when he'd finally been set free, and Arthur found himself shivering slightly at the idea that he had taken his rage out on those who had intruded in his realm. Sure, it hadn't really been the Mercians' fault that Morgana had lured them there, but he wasn't all that sure if the Green Knight felt that way too.

He shook his head slightly to dislodge the thought—at any rate, he would think twice in the future before incurring the wrath of an ancient forest spirit. And at least they had found Gaheris and Dagonet when they'd stumbled across this village after two days of hard, fast riding. They had headed south just like the Green Knight had told them to, through sprawling fields and hilly woods that looked more and more familiar. And Arthur had felt a profound surge of relief when the innkeeper had told them that they'd crossed the border back into Camelot just outside the village.

After all this time, it didn't feel like they were back, not quite yet, but Arthur knew that that would come eventually. And as soon as they completed their journey back to the citadel over the next few days, he would feel more and more at home.

Llamrei seemed to recognize him by the cadence of his steps, because she stuck her head out of her box before he'd even entered her line of sight. Arthur couldn't help but smile when she snorted a soft greeting at him and started nosing at his shirt for hidden treats as soon as he was close enough. She moved aside obligingly when he let himself into her stall, although she wouldn't have had to—her box was the largest in the stable. Arthur suspected that the innkeeper had seen through his disguise, guessed who he really was, and quietly gave his mare the most comfortable place in his barn.

He ran a hand over the shining fur on her back, glad to find it completely dry—someone must have rubbed her down while they'd been herded off into the tavern by the excited innkeeper. But a trained warhorse though she was, Arthur had wanted to make sure that she was well cared for. He had pushed her to her limits, keeping up their speed at a constant fast trot that sped up into a canter whenever they could afford it. Rationally, he knew that a few more days on the road wouldn't matter anymore, now that they were back within Camelot's borders. But he still wanted to get back to his father as soon as possible.

Frowning at the turn his thoughts had taken, Arthur steered them away from that matter and bent down to check Llamrei's legs. The day's ride had been long and hard, and he wanted to make sure that her joints were fine after cantering madly on the dry, rock-littered tracks that had led them here. But there was no swelling he could feel—her legs weren't even particularly warm to the touch. Llamrei lipped at his hair as though to reprimand him for his useless worrying, and Arthur found himself smiling at his horse when he stood up again.

The sound of creaking hinges drew his attention back to the other side of the barn, and he turned around just in time to see Merlin step out of his horse's box. There was hay in his hair and on his shirt, and he hadn't noticed Arthur yet—but it seemed like he'd just checked up on his horse as well.

Arthur watched in silence as Merlin's offered carrot was gingerly taken from his palm and chewed up with a resounding crunch, a smile stealing onto his face without him noticing. It was the horse's fault that Merlin's backside was probably a mass of bruises—Arthur had seen the way he'd bounced helplessly on its back, doing his best to hold on. But he'd still sneaked away into the night to make sure his steed was cared for, and Arthur wasn't quite quick enough to wipe the probably stupid, fond look off his face when Merlin abruptly turned around.

"Arthur," Merlin said, his eyes widening with surprise and delight when he caught sight of him. Arthur schooled his features into a hopefully neutral expression as he stepped out into the stable aisle, but Merlin walked over to him anyway, peeking into Llamrei's stall.

Merlin smiled when Llamrei sniffed at the hand he held out to her in greeting, but there was a tightness around his eyes that Arthur wasn't used to seeing. "I didn't even hear you come in," Merlin said, a little ruefully, not seeming to notice the way Arthur's eyebrows began to pull together in a frown as he tried to catch Merlin's gaze with his own. "I fell asleep in my horse's box."

That explained a lot, Arthur thought, for the first time taking in the tired slump of Merlin's shoulders, the way he was leaning against the door of Llamrei's stall for support. He frowned, moving a little closer to Merlin on instinct. It would be easy to accredit it to the last few days of fast traveling, but if there was one thing Arthur knew about his manservant, it was that one could never be sure of first impressions.

"I think the horses will be glad to return home, too," Merlin mused, oblivious to Arthur's scrutiny as he jerked his head in the general direction of Gwaine's stallion, a smile pulling at his lips. "Gryngolet is getting grouchy. He didn't even accept the apple I tried to give him."

"Gryngolet is always grouchy," Arthur replied absently, distracted by the dark, bruised shadows under Merlin's eyes. They had faded only a little over the past two days, but he'd been so preoccupied with getting back to Camelot that he hadn't quite noticed until now.

Merlin looked exhausted, and not just from the day's ride. He had already looked tired when they'd made camp just outside the forest, but while Arthur had thought that he'd feel better after a good night's sleep, Merlin seemed to need more rest than he was getting. Arthur's frown deepened when he realized that he had no idea what else Merlin might need—food, some of the potions from the bag Gaius had packed for them?—because his manservant had of course neglected to tell him.

"You said I could always ask if I had questions about your magic," Arthur began, careful to keep his tone light and unassuming. If he truly wanted to find out just how fatigued Merlin still was, it wouldn't do to force him onto the defensive and be placated with empty reassurances of how he was fine—Arthur felt like he'd heard enough of that during the past few weeks to last him a lifetime.

"Of course," Merlin replied, finally looking up to meet Arthur's gaze. But even his surprise couldn't quite cover the tiny hint of nervousness in his gaze, and Arthur silently resolved to hunt it down no matter how much Merlin would try to evade him. "Ask me anything."

"In the forest," Arthur said slowly as he moved to lean against the wall next to Merlin, letting their arms brush as though by chance. "When we were at the Chapel—what exactly did you do?"

Merlin pursed his lips, but he didn't look wary or defensive—he just seemed to wonder how best to explain this. Arthur waited, trying not to drum his fingernails on the wood behind him. Patience, he reminded himself sternly; he would coax this out of Merlin, and then he might even learn how to help him regain all of his wiry strength.

"I kind of—," Merlin started, and broke off again, shaking his head as he decided to try a different approach to the topic. "Remember how the forest's magic used to make me all woozy before?"

Arthur's teeth ground together on their own accord. 'Woozy' was one way to put it, but he wasn't as forgiving as his manservant, at least not in this. Of course Merlin had always assured him that the Green Knight's forest hadn't done it on purpose, and that he shouldn't blame the primal magic that had coursed through the lands like blood-filled veins since the advent of time itself. But as far as Arthur was concerned, he still had a bone to pick with the Green Knight about that.

"Well," Merlin said, looking a bit worried by Arthur's expression, and Arthur struggled to smooth his features back into blank curiosity. "I think the druids must have known somehow, because when we met them, Iseldir gave me a leaf—an ivy leaf. And it protected me."

Blinking, Arthur forgot all about telling the Green Knight that, forest spirit or no, his magic couldn't just go around driving his manservant half mad. He remembered the leaf from that one time he'd seen it at Grænn's house, still recalled how it had fluttered to the rumpled sheets between them, gleaming faintly in the candlelight. Merlin had looked so shocked, like he'd completely forgotten about its existence until it had slipped out when Arthur had pulled his tunic over his head.

Merlin gave him a bashful, secretive smile, like he had just thought of the same thing. Their gazes caught and held like a lock clicking into place, and Arthur swallowed, trying to hold on to the vague indignation that he'd felt before. He wanted to hear the whole story of what Merlin had done and what had happened to him, but it was hard to remember that when Merlin looked at him like that, his eyes glittering and dark in the dim light.

"At the Chapel," Merlin said quietly, not breaking Arthur's gaze, "I really had no idea what to do until I remembered the leaf."

Arthur felt himself tense, the warm, weightless feeling draining out of his chest. He swallowed hard and looked away, struggling to keep his features blank. It was something he knew he would remember forever, the creeping terror that had gripped him when Merlin had held up the leaf for a long moment before he'd let it go. He'd had an inkling of what Merlin had been doing then, but somehow, he hadn't thought that Merlin would go through with it until his eyes had turned gold. He never would have thought that he could be that reckless.

"And as soon as I let it go," Merlin continued, his voice hushed, "the forest— um—"

He squirmed a little when Arthur glanced at him again, the tips of his ears reddening, but not with embarrassment. Arthur recognized that shifty look all too well, the way Merlin seemed to find the floor intensely riveting while still trying to sneak glances at him from under his eyelashes.

Arthur forced his teeth not to clench, and absolutely did not notice the deep shadows of Merlin's lashes on his cheeks, dark and velvety in the dim light. "The forest did what, Merlin?" he asked, silently admiring his calm, controlled tone when he really just felt like shaking Merlin back and forth until the truth fell out of him more quickly.

"It needed someone to channel its power," Merlin explained readily. "Without me, it just was, you know?" Arthur didn't, but nodded anyway, unwilling to interrupt. "But as soon as I let it in, it was all too eager to help me. I don't think I could have done it on my own."

"Let it in?" Arthur repeated, his stomach dropping so abruptly that he felt sick. The words came out quieter than before, and finally, Merlin noticed the strain in his voice.

He gave Arthur a quick, startled glance, making a quickly aborted movement as though he'd instinctively reached out to close his fingers around Arthur's wrists, but thought better of it at the last moment. Anxiety flickered over his features, too quickly for Arthur to react, but at least he seemed to understand—Arthur didn't want him to think that it was the subject of magic that frayed his control and made a knot of tension pull tight in his chest.

"Look," Merlin said, somewhat desperately, eager to reassure him, now that he had figured out where this conversation was headed. "I came back, right? Yeah, it overwhelmed me, but then I refocused myself and remembered what I had to do, and it worked out fine!"

"Came back?" Arthur echoed, unable to do anything but repeat Merlin's words back at him while he struggled to understand what he was implying. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears like a war drum, and he knew that he shouldn't feel this cold—it was over, after all, Merlin was still here, and staring at him in shock wouldn't turn back time so Arthur could stop him from doing what he'd done.

"Anyway," Merlin blurted out, apparently deciding that it was better to just get out the rest of his explanation before Arthur could recover enough to shout at him. "I tried to break Morgana's enchantment, but even with the help of the forest it didn't work—I had to find some sort of new focus for it. And so I used my ivy leaf because it seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn't going to control the Green Knight anyway, I just wanted to set him free, and it was the only way."

"Wait," Arthur said, proud of how steady his voice still was when he held up a hand to stop the torrent of words. Merlin subsided into silence, watching him with wide, cautious eyes. In the dim light, it was easy to see how gaunt his face looked, and Arthur silently cursed himself for having been too preoccupied with getting back home to see it until now.

"Let me get this straight," he began, keeping a tight rein on the anger that was beginning to pool in his gut, although it felt so much better than the stunned numbness from before. "You spent two weeks—two weeks—in some half-conscious magical daze until we reached Grænn's house, and then a couple of days later you invited the forest's magic to whisk your mind away because you needed its help?"

His mouth was pressed into a thin, displeased line, but nevertheless, Merlin nodded—and Arthur pushed himself away from the wall with a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a snarl, suddenly needing some distance between them. A tiny voice at the back of his mind told him that he was overreacting, that it wouldn't do to take out his restless frustration on Merlin just because it was better than recalling how he'd shouted Merlin's name at the Chapel, his hope faltering with each second that Merlin's eyes burned gold.

"I can't believe you," Arthur said, fighting to control his voice. He spun around on his heel to face Merlin again, his feet kicking up a cloud of dust from the straw-covered ground. "Tell me, Merlin, do you have a death wish or are you really that stupid?"

Merlin had the gall to look annoyed, and Arthur wrenched his gaze away, paced to the other side of the stable aisle and rested his clenched fist against the door of an empty stall for a moment. His stomach was roiling, and he tried to take deep breaths to quell the feeling, but all he could remember were Merlin's eyes.

They had burned brighter than ever before, and Arthur had hardly dared to blink for fear of missing the moment when they would turn blue again. But the seconds had dragged on, and then the veins in Merlin's arms and hands had begun to glow, his thin frame lit up with raw, centuries-old power as an unearthly shimmer of light collected in the air around him. Arthur had struggled harder than ever against his constraints, shouting Merlin's name over and over in wild, mindless panic. Even when the forest had rendered Merlin near-delirious before, Arthur had not felt this helpless.

"Arthur, you're blowing this way out of proportion," came Merlin's impatient voice from behind him, jolting him out of the memory. "It honestly wasn't as dangerous as you think it was, I had it under control!"

Arthur whirled around, grateful for the surge of anger that helped him push away the tight, trembling feeling in his chest. "Oh, of course!" he snapped, the words echoing through the quietude of the stables. Behind Merlin, Llamrei raised her head with a troubled snort, but Arthur couldn't control his voice right now. "I could see that when you were standing there, looking like you would implode with magic if no one stopped you!"

For a moment, Merlin's expression twitched with surprise, like he hadn't seen that coming. He looked bewildered, staring at Arthur with his mouth half open as he struggled to understand what he'd just said. But then his features closed off again, the scowl firmly back in place as he folded his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture.

"The forest knew what I was doing," he said stubbornly, still refusing to shout back at him like Arthur knew he wanted to. "And anyway," he added, his eyes narrowing, "I don't understand why you're getting so hung up on this. It's over, and it worked, and I never saw you coming up with a better plan anyway."

"A plan," Arthur repeated, incredulous, and barked out a short, sharp laugh that hurt his throat. "That, Merlin, was not a plan. That was you jumping headfirst into danger like the idiot you are, because you have this unshakable belief that your magic can do anything—"

"What?" Merlin cut in, looking torn between disbelief and mounting irritation. He stepped away from the wall as well, as if he needed to face Arthur on more equal ground. "Is that it? Are you just upset because it wasn't you who saved the day, because all that was left for you to do was to run away?"

"Oh, yes," Arthur scoffed, willing away the urge to laugh again, if only at the sheer ridiculousness of the fact that Merlin kept missing his point, "because I'm such a pompous fool that I'll wilt like a flower if my ego isn't inflated by glory and fame at all times—" Merlin just cocked an eyebrow at him, and Arthur realized that that was precisely what his manservant had used to think of him not too long ago, and probably still thought sometimes when he was annoyed with him.

Throwing up his hands in frustration, Arthur barely resisted the urge to slam his fist into the wooden stall to blow off some steam. In her box, Llamrei let out an unhappy snuffle and turned back to the mound of hay that a stablehand had left for her to munch on, presenting her backside to them. It seemed like she had decided to ignore her surroundings until the two pesky humans stopped shouting.

"You will never do anything like that again," Arthur said in a low voice when the urge to hit something had mostly gone away. Merlin's mouth dropped open in indignation, but Arthur didn't let him speak, couldn't allow him to argue right now. "No matter what you think your magic can do, you are not invincible, and I won't—"

The furious spark that lit up Merlin's eyes should have warned him. In barely more than a second, Merlin had closed the space between them and was crowding Arthur back against the empty box, clenched hands on his shoulders and his body a long, hot line of pressure along Arthur's front. He was so close that Arthur could see every tiny flicker of candlelight reflect in Merlin's eyes, pupils blown wide in a thin ring of blue, and his breath brushed Arthur's cheeks in short, sharp bursts.

"This is not about my magic, you pompous, self-righteous— this is about you!" Merlin shouted, his touch like a brand even through Arthur's tunic when he poked a finger into his chest. "And at the Chapel it was about doing the right thing and getting us all out of there, because in case you hadn't noticed, Morgana was going to have you killed, and if you think I was just going to stand by and let that happen—"

The thought seemed to unsettle him just as much as the memory of the Chapel had knocked Arthur off kilter earlier, and he couldn't help the tiny flicker of relief that went through him. No matter how impatient and angry Merlin was right now, Arthur could see fierce possessiveness in his eyes, burning with the absolute, uncompromising conviction that he truly meant what he'd said. He was pressing Arthur back against the wooden stall with most of his weight, so close that Arthur almost imagined he could feel Merlin's heartbeat against his own chest, fluttering wildly in the seconds it took Merlin to regather his focus.

"This was never about me," Merlin said, roughly, like he'd been shouting for the better part of an hour. His eyes reflected the candlelight, blue and dark and swirling with a jumbled mass of conflicting emotions. "Nothing, nothing was ever about proving how powerful I am," he broke off, his face twisting with self-deprecation as though it pained him to even say those words. Something in Arthur's chest tightened in response, but before he could react, Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath, and continued.

"Don't you see that in all the time we've known each other, it was never important that I've been saving your life with magic?" His voice rose helplessly on the last word, a hysterical edge of laughter creeping into his tone, like he still couldn't believe that he even had to spell this out for him. "What matters," and he shook Arthur, almost gently, "is saving your life at all. What matters is making sure you become king and don't get gored by some magical mythical beast on the way. It was never, never about me."

Silence fell with the abruptness of cracking thunder, ringing in Arthur's ears as if Merlin had yelled at him. He stared at Merlin in numb, mute shock, feeling like his head had been wrapped in cotton wool and his words were taking a long time to reach his ears. There was nothing he could even think of saying, not to that, not when his head was reeling with half-formed thoughts and responses. He couldn't do anything but stand there and hold Merlin's gaze, share his erratic breaths in the small space between them, and watch the way Merlin's throat worked as he swallowed, his trembling fingers digging into Arthur's shoulders, not like he was still holding Arthur there, but like he needed the touch to prop himself up now.

"What makes you so sure?" Arthur asked, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, and the sound of it made him cringe. It was too raw, too open, but the words wrenched their way out of him anyway, refusing to be pushed back down. "What makes you think that just because it's about me, it can't be about you as well? Do you have any idea how— how pointless it would be without you?"

Merlin stared at him, his eyes startled and almost scared, as if in all his infinite wisdom, he'd never quite thought of that. For a shivery second, Arthur nearly smiled helplessly at the thought, but shoved the urge away. Something was shaking itself loose in his chest, flopping weakly like a newborn fledgling, bleeding a strange ache down into his stomach. It hurt, and Arthur couldn't, couldn't look at Merlin anymore, the need to break his gaze almost overwhelming, but somehow his eyes wouldn't cooperate.

"You looked so far away," he whispered, helpless to stop the way his voice cracked even on those few words, "like you'd disappear if no one held you down, and I couldn't get to you—"

Once more, Merlin's eyes seemed to hover in front of his mind's eye, golden and empty and gone, and his throat closed up completely, mercifully cutting off the jumbled string of words. He swallowed hard, and found himself thinking of that day in front of Sir Ricbert's mansion where Merlin had stood, his surprised eyes awash with power as he'd touched the Green Knight's ivy for the first time. Something should have changed, especially with the long way they had come together—it should have felt different, but just now, Arthur felt just as powerless as he had all those weeks ago.

Abruptly, Merlin's features blurred out of focus, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that he was leaning in, that his hands had moved to cradle Arthur's face with a shaky tenderness that made his stomach twist. Then Merlin pressed his forehead to Arthur's with a long, hitching sigh, letting his eyes slip shut like someone who had traveled a long way and finally found shelter.

That was it, wasn't it? Merlin's fingers seemed to ask, curling in the short hair at Arthur's temples, what had you so furious? as an unspoken question with the soft touch of Merlin's hair on his forehead. And, God, Arthur, in the trembling outrush of Merlin's breath against his lips, warm and damp in the hush.

Gradually, Arthur felt his breathing slow down and steady, soothed by the body heat that rolled off of Merlin in waves. He closed his fingers around Merlin's wrists, and a small, unoccupied corner of his mind immediately resolved to stuff his manservant full of savory food as soon as possible—Arthur could circle his wrists easily. But for now, he just settled for rubbing soothing circles into Merlin's pulse points with his thumbs, reassured by the fact that Merlin's heart was racing just as much as his own.

The silence settled until it was comfortable, and when it had stretched for long enough, Merlin said shakily, "As if I could ever leave you to fend for yourself."

You dense idiot, he didn't add, but Arthur heard it anyway, and the relief that spread through him at the unspoken insult to his intelligence was almost enough to startle a laugh from him.

They stayed like that for what felt like a long time, neither of them inclined to move. Arthur closed his eyes, unwilling to question how the loose, shivery thing in his chest seemed relieved that they weren't shouting at each other anymore. Merlin's palms were warm and slightly sweaty on his cheeks, and it seemed so strange to think that he could have this—have Merlin—for the rest of their lives.

Merlin, who cleaned his boots and mended his tunics and channeled the world's very own wild, primal brand of magic when the need arose. Reckless, kind, infuriating Merlin, who hadn't left Arthur's side even when Arthur had wanted him to, who had told him about his magic out of the simple desire to stop hiding and to let Arthur know all of him.

Words built up in his throat, pushing to be let out, and as warm and strangely sleepy as he felt, Arthur couldn't think of a reason to hold them back. It was just an unthinkingly honest murmur, sounding loud in the silence between them, but it still felt oddly meaningful when Arthur said, softly, "I should have knighted you."

Merlin let out a suspiciously wet-sounding, choked noise that could have been a laugh, and Arthur knew that he was thinking of that day so many months ago, when they'd first gathered at the round table and Merlin's presence had felt so unquestionably right on Arthur's side.

He took a deep breath, as if the words were a weight that he had to get used to, like a new, richly embroidered cloak around his shoulders. "Don't be silly," he replied, but Arthur could tell how much strength it cost him to keep his voice steady and his tone light. "I'd collapse under all that armor."

Three days later, even Merlin began to realize that they were back in Camelot. They had crossed the border farther to the east this time, and so Arthur had decided not to take a detour through the Darkling Woods as they'd done at the beginning of their journey. But still, the forests and the sprawling fields were starting to look more and more familiar.

He wasn't even all that saddle-sore anymore, Merlin thought with satisfaction as he rode along behind Arthur, the winding forest track being too narrow for two horses to fit next to each other. His gait was still stiff, and he always sat down very gingerly when they dined in a tavern at the end of a day of traveling, much to the others' amusement. But they weren't going quite as fast anymore, and Merlin found that his riding skills had actually improved, so long as he didn't have to survive a day of racing madly south.

True, even during the past few days, Arthur had been pushing them to go faster than they normally would have, but it was nothing compared to their hasty escape to the border. Merlin knew that he was eager to get back home, not simply because he'd missed the citadel, but because slight fear of what he'd find was nagging at the back of his mind.

He had watched how carefully Arthur had questioned innkeepers and villagers alike about what kinds of rumors had floated their way from the city. But nobody had spoken of a sudden string of bloody executions or a summon of the army, and gradually, Arthur had relaxed into a kind of wary watchfulness. Of course they all knew why the prince was still setting a rather brisk pace, and no one so much as mentioned the lack of breaks. They were eager to get home as well, after all.

Merlin could hear Gwaine humming absently behind him—much to Gryngolet's annoyance, if the indignant snorts and stomps were anything to go by—and grinned at the sound. They were drawing closer and closer to the city, and Merlin half expected to see the tall spires of the citadel through the trees at any minute now. The others knew that this forest was the only thing between them and the castle now, and while an eager restlessness had gripped them, it had of course gone right past Gwaine.

After their escape from the forest, Gwaine had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, not even commenting on the breakneck pace that Arthur had set for them as they'd raced towards the border. While he'd seemed to accept the Green Knight's forgiveness, Merlin knew that something had been knocked loose in his view of himself, something that needed time to realign. Maybe even Gwaine himself hadn't thought he would get so worked up about a broken promise.

But then, on the morning before they'd crossed the border back into Camelot, Gwaine and Merlin had been given the task of preparing the horses together. In the shadow of a tall birch, Merlin had sneaked surreptitious glances at Gwaine's mildly annoyed frown, unsure if he should ask what was wrong.

In the end, he hadn't needed to prod. While Gwaine had coaxed Merlin's horse to open its mouth for the bit of the bridle, he had complained that everyone kept staring at him weirdly and treated him with kid gloves these days. That sounded more like the Gwaine Merlin knew than any of the absent remarks of the past few days, and Merlin turned away to hide his relieved smile.

"They were probably just surprised," Merlin had ventured tentatively, not quite sure how to put his thoughts into words. His horse seemed to notice the seriousness in the air, because it had stood very still as Merlin lifted the saddle up on its back. "That you admitted your mistake, I mean."

Gwaine had considered that for a while, absently scratching behind the horse's ears when it had sniffed at his pockets for treats. "Yeah, well," he'd said at last, and Merlin had looked up just in time to see the familiar broad grin spread across his features. "I'm just a very honorable, courteous man, you know."

Merlin snorted out a surprised laugh, and straightened up from where he'd secured the cinch. For a moment he'd just looked at the amusement twinkling in Gwaine's eyes, already melting into a familiar jaunty exuberance. He'd been dangerously close to saying something utterly sappy, like that he was secretly proud of Gwaine, but instead he just replied, "Of course you are," and that had been the end of that.

He smiled at the memory, listening to Gwaine's humming. That evening, Gwaine had regaled the entire tavern with tales of their journey, and Merlin had been relieved to see him mostly back to being himself. Still, he hadn't been surprised when Gwaine had omitted his involvement with the Green Knight—it seemed like Gwaine wanted to keep that story for himself.

Sunlight was trickling down through the leaves overhead, turning the mossy ground into a patchwork of bright, warm spots and deep shadows. Merlin was grateful for the trees, since the day had dawned so bright and sunny that he'd known they would soon need every patch of shadow to cool down.

Arthur had chased them out of bed with the first light of dawn, insisting sternly that they might reach Camelot in the early afternoon if they would just get their lazy asses moving. Merlin had tried to throw a pillow at him, but Arthur ducked and it hit Leon instead, who had just stuck his head into their room to ask if Arthur had seen the spare map anywhere.

But although they had all yawned and grumbled under their breath when they'd gone down to the tavern for a quick breakfast, Merlin knew that by now the others were just as grateful as he was for the early start. Even beneath the trees, heat was gathering slowly, dust motes and little swarms of insects dancing in each patch of sunlight as though relishing in the warmth. Arthur had already stripped off his jacket, and Merlin dreaded the moment when they would emerge from the cool, shady forest to cover the last of their journey through Camelot's open fields.

Behind him, Percival, Leon, and Lancelot were talking quietly about a new schedule for training, to make up for all the time they'd traipsed through the woods instead of honing their fighting skills. Merlin saw Arthur perk up visibly as he tried to listen in, and smiled—he would never understand how the knights could actually look forward to getting back to training. He'd already been mystified when they had raided Grænn's armory and trained the days away, but at least it had given them something to do to pass the time there.

Merlin strained his ears, but as far as he could tell, Elyan didn't seem to take part in the conversation. He was riding along behind Gwaine, leading the packhorse with him, and Merlin imagined he could feel his pensive gaze resting between his shoulder blades, making his skin itch just a little, although it wasn't an entirely uncomfortable feeling.

But then again, he couldn't blame him. Both Elyan and Percival hadn't said anything about what they'd seen at the Chapel, although Merlin was well aware that they did know about his magic now. They'd probably been just as preoccupied with their hasty return to Camelot as he himself was—or maybe they just didn't know how to bring it up in a casual conversation.

Nevertheless, Merlin had known that they would eventually talk to either him or Arthur, and he hadn't been sure whether to feel relieved or anxious when Elyan had approached him this morning.

Despite the thoughtful, cautious look in his dark eyes, trepidation had gripped Merlin when he'd seen Elyan walking towards him to help him with their luggage. Even though he'd been with them for quite some time, Merlin hadn't really had the chance to get to know him that well. The months of rebuilding the damage done by Morgana's short reign had been too hectic, and then he'd told Arthur about his magic, and everything after that seemed to blur in front of his mind's eye, until the day they had ridden out to the Northern Plains.

The same went for Percival, in a way—and then Merlin had suddenly been forced to reveal his magic to them, because the Mercian soldiers would have found them otherwise. And now there were two knights who knew about him, but who Merlin didn't really know, and while he tried to tell himself that he was just overreacting, it was hard to shake off the lingering anxiety.

They had defended Camelot just as valiantly as the rest of them, they had trained and laughed and gotten drunk with Arthur and the others. But Merlin just hadn't known how they would react, and it had been hard not to just mumble an excuse and push past Elyan this morning on his way down the stairs.

"So, you have magic?" Elyan had asked him, hesitantly, like he didn't quite know how to approach the subject. He'd courteously relieved Merlin of most of the bags he'd been hauling along, carrying them down the narrow staircase with no visible effort.

But he had looked vaguely curious instead of frightened, and so Merlin had done his best to smile through the shiver of nervousness that went through him. "Yes," he'd replied simply, trying to look encouraging, to show that it wasn't anything that Elyan had to be hesitant to talk about with him.

"I figured, after what you did in the forest," Elyan said dryly, probably realizing how stupid his own question had sounded.

He'd reached the ground floor just when Gwaine poked his head into the stairwell to pick up the bags and carry them outside. His easy smile faltered a bit when he caught sight of Merlin's expression, and he'd raised his eyebrows in a silent question—it was clear that he would have made up some excuse to distract Elyan if Merlin needed him to.

Merlin had waved him off, trying to convey that he was grateful for his protective concern, but wanted to face this situation on his own. Gwaine picked up the bags with a last assessing glance at Elyan, and Merlin had used the chance to retrieve their bedrolls from where he'd propped them up last night in a corner of his and Arthur's room.

Elyan had been watching him with a pensive expression when Merlin dragged the first two bedrolls onto the narrow landing. He'd straightened up, flushed and sweaty with exertion, but although he met Elyan's gaze without flinching, the knight took his time carrying the bedrolls downstairs, looking like he was carefully turning over what he wanted to say in his head.

Finally, though, Elyan had stopped to look at him after he'd accepted the next bedroll. His features were cast in shadow by the dim light in the stairwell—there was a tiny window just next to Merlin, but the dawn had not yet crept far enough across the sky to provide more than grayish, thin light. But the cautious concern in Elyan's voice had been unmistakable when he'd asked, "But you're okay now?"

At Merlin's puzzled stare, he shifted a bit uncomfortably, and walked downstairs again to deposit the bedroll next to the other ones. The door to the tavern creaked as Gwaine and Lancelot came in to shoulder their blankets and carry them out to the horses, and Elyan waited until they were gone before he spoke again. "It's just, Percival mentioned this morning how you've been looking kind of tired after the Chapel—"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, really," Merlin interrupted, relieved that he finally understood what Elyan was talking about. The rest of their luggage was piled up on the landing now, and he stared down at it in lieu of meeting the knight's eyes again. He didn't know if Elyan would have seen the small smile that tugged on his mouth in the near-darkness, but he hadn't wanted to risk it.

A hesitant flutter of hope unfurled in his chest, and although Merlin knew better than to let it grow, he couldn't bring himself to push it away. Elyan wouldn't have asked after his health if he'd been wary or even afraid of him now, and if Percival was worried about the shadows under his eyes, he might not see him differently either.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Elyan laughed softly, shaking his head, and hefted up three of the remaining bedrolls while Merlin dragged the last one up over his shoulder. "You, a sorcerer," he said, like he needed to say the words aloud to believe them. "I never would have guessed."

"I'm sneaky like that," Merlin replied absently, distracted by the unbalancing weight of a pile of blankets—the stairs were narrow enough, and he couldn't even really see where he put his feet in the wan early morning light.

Elyan rested a steadying hand on Merlin's shoulder to help him keep his balance, and they slowly walked down the stairs together. Only when they reached the ground floor did it occur to Merlin that he could just have used his magic to lighten his load or steady his footing. But well, considering what they were talking about, he was glad that he hadn't. The flare of gold in his eyes would have been all too visible in the twilight, and he didn't want to scare Elyan off.

Slow realization was dawning in Elyan's eyes by the time they had carried the bedrolls into the tavern for the others to pick up. Merlin deposited his load on the ground with a sigh of relief, pressing both hands to the sting at the small of his back when he straightened up again. The tavern was deserted—not even the innkeeper was up yet, although Merlin suspected that if he woke before they left, he would insist on plying them with field rations, despite the fact that they only had about half a day of traveling ahead of them.

"So it was you all along?" Elyan asked softly, when Percival and Leon had come in to carry the bedrolls outside. "The immortal army—?"

He trailed off expectantly, and it took Merlin a moment to understand what he was asking. "Sort of," he hedged, wishing that his guard hadn't come up at that, because the conversation had been going so well. But he couldn't help the uncertainty that sneaked its way into his tone, because while he wanted to be honest, even Arthur didn't know about the sword that Merlin had hidden away for him, encased in stone.

Yet, Merlin thought, silently resolving to tell Arthur about it as soon as they had settled back into their usual routine at Camelot, as well as all those other things that they still needed to talk about. Just then, he had tried to think of something to reply, well aware that Elyan was still looking at him. Leon and Percival's boots had been wet with dew and left damp imprints on the floor, and Merlin stared down at them for a moment before he forced himself to meet Elyan's gaze again. "I had... help."

Something about his tone must have told Elyan that he didn't really know how to say that this wasn't anything that he wanted to talk about. He smiled, his teeth gleaming in his dark face, and gave Merlin a nod to show that he understood. Relieved, Merlin had smiled back, perhaps a bit shakily, and the moment had ended when Gwaine had poked his head through the front door and asked why they weren't helping the others with the horses yet.

All in all, that particular conversation had gone far better than Merlin had ever dared to hope it would. He knew that it wasn't the end—he was sure that Percival would soon approach him in the same manner, and Gwaine might ask him to come up with some magical cure for hangovers at some point. But well, he figured he could deal with that.

Ahead of them, the path broadened as the trees stood further and further apart, and Merlin touched his heels to his horse's flanks, urging it to go faster until they caught up with Llamrei. The path looked well-traveled, unlike those they had seen in the Northern Plains; many faded hoof prints covered the ground between the two grooves where carts' wheels had worn down the widening road.

Merlin rode up next to Arthur just when the forest sloped down into a familiar sprawling expanse of pasture and fields. They had reached the city's outlying fields well before the early afternoon, just like Arthur had said they would when he'd woken them in the morning. Meadows of golden crops swayed lazily in a slight breeze, and Merlin saw a couple of farmers at work in their fields, small patches of dark clothes and sunburned skin among their harvest.

Half hidden by the woods that waited for them on the horizon, Merlin could see Camelot's turrets, tiny and glittering in the brilliant sunlight as if in greeting. He spotted the tower that housed Gaius' chambers and smiled at the thought of seeing him again, thinking that the physician had most likely thrown the windows wide open in an attempt to coax a summer breeze into the room.

It had to be stiflingly hot up there, and he doubted that anyone would willingly head up into the towers today. Still, he almost thought he saw guards on patrol on what little he could see of the battlements, and felt his smile widen into a grin with the excitement that suddenly thrummed through him. They would be the first to notice their approach, and by the time they finally rode into the courtyard, clusters of squires, servants and stablehands would have spread the word of their prince's return.

A couple of farmers called out greetings to them as they slowly rode out of the forest and through the fields, but a glance to the right revealed that Arthur probably didn't even hear them—his gaze was fixed on the castle like he'd never seen it before, slowly tracking the reflections of light on the roofs. Glad to be home? Merlin almost asked, but thought better of it when he saw the way Arthur's eyes were scanning the sky.

But there was no smoke darkening the horizon, and even from this distance, the citadel looked just like it always had. Merlin waited, his heart beating a bit faster than usual, and if he hadn't been watching him so closely, he might have missed the moment the tension drained out of Arthur's shoulders.

He released a slow breath, glancing over at Merlin as if to assure himself that he was seeing the same thing, that the castle really did look just like it had on the day they'd left. Merlin beamed at him, all but bouncing in the saddle in his almost childish happiness to see the castle again. Arthur's smile was distracted but genuine, and he gave Merlin a tiny nod, the guarded look in his eyes softening, now that he had found his home just the way he had left it.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the rapid drum of hoofbeats from behind, and a second later, Gryngolet darted past them in a blur of white and kicked-up dust.

"Race you to the castle!" Gwaine shouted back over his shoulder even as the wind whipped his hair into his face, and Gryngolet put his head down and ran, his muscles bunching under the shining white fur as he raced ahead of them in a whirl of moving legs and a flying white mane.

Percival's huge black warhorse flew past Llamrei's other side, almost close enough to touch. The laughing challenge froze on Gwaine's features as he saw the taller knight spur his horse into a flat-out run, and he turned back around in Gryngolet's saddle, leaning over the white stallion's neck to urge him on.

Merlin's horse shied slightly, but broke into a trot on its own accord, like it wanted to follow its companions but didn't dare startle its inexperienced rider. Then Llamrei was catching up as well, and suddenly Arthur leaned over to tug on Merlin's reins, urging his horse into a faster pace even as Merlin spluttered indignantly and squeezed his knees around its shoulders.

"Come on, Merlin!" Arthur shouted over his shoulder, and Llamrei darted ahead when he loosened her reins, widening her leaps until her hooves didn't seem to touch the ground anymore. Leon and Lancelot rushed past Merlin, Elyan close behind, but at a slower pace to accommodate the packhorse's greater load. "We haven't got all day!"

Gwaine and Percival were already far ahead, clouds of dust billowing in their wake, but Llamrei seemed hell-bent on giving chase. Arthur was laughing when he turned back around in his saddle, and Merlin caught a last glimpse of the cocky exuberance glinting in his eyes, chasing away the somber relief from before.

A laugh burst from his throat as he surrendered himself to his fate and gripped the saddle with both hands, slackening his hold on the reins. His horse let out a surprised snort—as carefully as Merlin had been riding throughout this journey, it probably hadn't expected him to ever let it loose. But then Merlin felt its stride lengthening, and leaned forward to accommodate its movements.

The sun blinded him when he passed Elyan and the packhorse, but he didn't slow down, squeezing his calves around his horse's flanks even harder instead. He barely caught a glimpse of Lancelot's surprised look when Merlin flew past him too, but his horse's full gallop didn't feel so jarring anymore, and he wasn't bouncing helplessly in the saddle as he had before.

Dust stung his eyes, and his knees were beginning to ache with how hard they were gripping his horse's shoulders, but he kept his gaze fixed firmly on Arthur's back, on the sun glinting in his disheveled hair and the chestnut blur of Llamrei's legs. His heart was pounding so hard that he felt it all the way down to his fingertips, and he was grinning like a maniac, he knew, but he couldn't tamper it down even when he tasted the kicked-up sand in his mouth.

He felt securely stuck to the saddle, his hips rolling in time with the rhythm of his horse's leaping canter, not even thinking of slowing down although he knew he would be exhausted by the time they arrived in the courtyard. Percival and Gwaine would most likely spend the rest of the day arguing about who had come in first, and finally resolve to settle the matter with some inadvisable drinking game.

But right now, Merlin simply allowed the exuberant laugh to break free of his throat, the sound immediately torn from his lips by the wind, ducked low over his horse's flying mane to chase the whirl of Llamrei's hooves, and let the fields fly past in a blur of gold and green.

__________

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[fic] The Ivy Crown, 9f/9

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