Archive of Our Own ^beta

Midnight coming, I can feel it in the air

I hear your voice, run your fingers through my hair

I reach out for your hand, but I know it isn't there

~ x ~

The hardest part was falling asleep. Merlin knew Lancelot was dead. Consciously, he knew it. He had watched Lancelot walk through the tear in the Veil with that heartbreaking smile on his face. He had screamed as the Cailleach, or the Veil, or the powers that be, took yet another of his loved ones from him. He had watched the funeral pyre burn, listened to Gwen’s sobs, struggled to keep his own tears at bay until he finally broke down that night with his fists wrapped in Lancelot’s sheets. He remembered it all so clearly during the day--too clearly--and once sleep took him, he watched Lancelot’s death again and again in his nightmares. But before that...

Merlin felt Lancelot’s fingers running through his hair the moment he closed his eyes. Each time it happened, he was lulled almost to sleep by the familiar touch. But then Merlin remembered--Lancelot was gone, he was dead, he was never coming back--and his eyes shot open to find himself alone. It was like losing him all over again, and Merlin lost count of how many times he jerked to alertness, hoping Lancelot was really there, only to feel his heart stabbed anew.

Merlin had always slept better in Lancelot’s arms. It had started as mere practicality during Lancelot’s first visit to Camelot. Neither one of them was willing to let the other take the floor, so they always ended up tangled together on Merlin’s small bed frame. When Lancelot returned and they won Camelot back from Morgana, Merlin shared his bed once again while Lancelot recovered from his injury. After that, Lancelot gladly returned the favor whenever Merlin was feeling emotionally drained from the lies and the hiding and just wanted to be held by someone who knew him, strengths and faults and all, and cared for him anyway.

It wasn’t an every night occurrence, but it happened often enough that Merlin had grown addicted to it--to the feel of Lancelot’s strong arms wrapped around him, to his warm voice whispering words of praise, affection, and gratitude for deeds no one but he and Gaius knew about. There were no nightmares when Merlin slept in Lancelot’s bed, and Lancelot always made sure Merlin ate enough--no matter how many chores he had to do for Arthur or creatures he had to battle in secrecy--so those nights were the only times when Merlin went to sleep with a full stomach and awoke fully rested.

It had been four days since Lancelot’s funeral, and already, Merlin wondered if he would ever sleep soundly again. Maybe being constantly exhausted was the price he had to pay for not stopping Lancelot from walking through the veil. For saying the cursed words that had cost him his closest friend.

You have to have a reason. Something you care about. Something that's more important than anything.

Sobs wracked through Merlin’s body as he lay in bed, causing his ribcage to convulse, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting the phantom fingers to leave his hair. He felt certain at that moment that he couldn’t survive the confirmation that he was alone, or the fear that he would always be alone--left to hide in the shadows for the rest of his days, unknown to those he loved most. In his nightmares, he would relive Lancelot’s death, and in the light of day, he would remember it. But in the dark of night with sleep still leagues away, Merlin just wanted to relish in his madness for a little while longer. He wanted to live in this imaginary world where he had discovered what Lancelot meant to him before it was too late.

You have to have a reason.

Something that's more important than anything.

He wanted to live in a world where Lancelot’s fingers were really in his hair, and this bed was Lancelot’s and not Merlin’s, and Lancelot would kiss his tears, his pain, his fears away. But Lancelot had never kissed him before, and Merlin’s imaginary world couldn’t give him that.

Something that's more important than anything.

“Gods, I miss you so much,” Merlin said between the pulsing aches of his heart. He felt a soft gust of wind like breath across his forehead, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“I’m here, Merlin,” Lancelot’s voice whispered, “I’ll always be here.”

Merlin sobbed harder, but he didn’t open his eyes. Lancelot’s voice sounded real, but the fingers felt real too, and he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t bear for them to disappear.

“You’re okay, Merlin. You’re safe.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Merlin said, voice thick with tears. “You should have let me go through the veil. I should have died, not you.”

“Don’t say that, Merlin. You’re more important than any of us--the bravest man I’ve ever met and the kindest too. I would walk through the Veil a thousand times to keep you safe.”

Lancelot’s words turned to soft shh-ing sounds and gentle reassurances, and slowly, Merlin quieted and his tears seeped into his pillow. He didn’t open his eyes. He kept them closed painfully tight and let himself drift off to Lancelot’s whispers, his touch, his breathing.

~ x ~

Morning coming early every day

I can barely sleep, I been lying here awake

~ x ~

Merlin woke up before dawn like he had every day since returning from the Isle of the Blessed. He washed his face and changed into fresh clothes, but from the concerned look Gaius sent him when he walked out of his room, it hadn’t helped. Puffy red eyes and blotchy skin were a constant in his life now, and he couldn’t force himself to magic them away. It felt like he owed it to Lancelot not to conceal his sorrow, or maybe like Merlin owed it to himself: a chance to mourn properly for once instead of in secret as he had with Will, with Freya, with his father. Lancelot would want him to let his emotions out, just as he would want Merlin to eat his breakfast, no matter how little of an appetite he had.

“I’m doing this for you, Lancelot,” Merlin said under his breath as he spooned his porridge into his mouth with distaste.

“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty about not letting you waste away, it isn’t going to work.”

The sound of the knight’s disembodied voice startled Merlin so much he dropped his spoon. “Lancelot?” he asked, looking around as if the man might materialize out of thin air.

Gaius turned toward his apprentice from where he was placing potions in his case for his morning rounds. “Did you say something, my boy?”

Merlin shook his head. He wondered if he might need a potion of his own. “Just thinking aloud, Gaius.”

Gaius pursed his lips in concern. “It might help to share those thoughts with someone who can answer. I know no one can replace Lancelot, but you have friends who care about you.”

“They don’t know me,” Merlin said bitterly, pushing his porridge around in his bowl. “Not like he did.”

“Well, I can’t say I know everything given how often you lie to me,” Gaius paused to raise his eyebrow pointedly, “but I do know you, Merlin, and I’m here if you need to talk, now as always.”

Merlin smiled weakly at his mentor, appreciating the gesture even if he wouldn’t take him up on it. “Thanks, Gaius.” For all that Merlin loved and respected the physician, there were some things he preferred to keep to himself, and grief was one of them.

Merlin didn’t want to share Lancelot with anyone, not through his memories or in his mourning. It was selfish, perhaps, when Gwen and Arthur and the knights were grieving too, but Merlin had always felt selfish where Lancelot was concerned. With few exceptions, everyone who knew about Merlin’s magic ended up dead. Every shared secret between Merlin and Lancelot felt like a rare gift that might be snatched away at any moment. It felt dangerous to speak freely, to use magic freely, but it was also the safest Merlin had ever been because he trusted that Lancelot would never reveal his secret—would never let him come to harm.

Lancelot knew him better than anyone, and he had stayed, and that simple yet impossible feat was enough to ensure Merlin craved Lancelot’s company more than anyone else’s, even though he knew it hurt Lancelot’s honor to lie for him. Even though it put Lancelot in danger to associate with him.

Lancelot was the one selfish desire Merlin let himself indulge, and now that he was gone, Merlin kept his memory close to his heart, even though that meant hurting in silence.

~ x ~

Maybe I'm a fool, doesn't matter anyway

My chest is all tight, my heart still aches

~ x ~

It wasn’t silent, not really. For better or for worse, Merlin’s hallucination of Lancelot made another appearance while he scrubbed Arthur’s floors. It was a chore Arthur only asked him to do when he was sick of Merlin’s sad eyes and quiet mouth but too emotionally bereft to ask him what was wrong. Although it didn’t solve the problem or cheer Merlin up, it kept him out of Arthur’s way and relatively unharmed, unlike when he forced Merlin to train with the knights. Merlin knew Arthur didn’t assign him the task to be malicious, and it was honestly a relief to not have to put on a cheerful face for a few hours, but it bothered him to be cast aside by his king. Merlin hated feeling like a burden, and Arthur’s unconventional kindness toward him only exacerbated that feeling.

“You missed a spot,” Lancelot teased.

Merlin looked up hopefully, but of course, there was no one there. He scrubbed harder at the floor. “If I used my magic, I could have the whole room clean in an instant.”

“Why don’t you?”

Merlin gave a dry smile. “Hm, let’s see...” He pretended to think. “The pyre comes to mind.”

Merlin could have sworn he heard Lancelot’s soft laugh. “That’s never stopped you before. If you were anyone else, I would have dragged you out of Camelot for your own safety long ago. However, I had a feeling you wouldn’t go willingly.”

“Smart man,” Merlin replied easily. Too easily for someone talking to a dead person.

“You’re not afraid of dying, Merlin,” Lancelot said.

Merlin frowned at the ground and scrubbed harder. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He didn’t deny it.

“You’re cleaning the old-fashioned way because you’re punishing yourself, not because you care about Camelot’s laws.”

“You’d know all about punishing yourself,” Merlin muttered. “I’ve never met someone more willing to cause himself pain to save everyone else. You just forgot about the part where your death punishes the rest of us too.”

“I didn’t forget,” Lancelot said, and it sounded like he was sighing. “Sacrificing myself was the most selfish thing I ever did.”

Merlin stopped scrubbing then. “How can that possibly be true?”

There was a brief pause like Lancelot was warring with himself over something, but then he spoke. “Because I couldn’t live in a world without you in it.”

Merlin’s chest clenched so tight he couldn’t breathe.

He cleaned the rest of the room with magic. Wanting to escape. Wanting to stay forever in this room, away from other people and safe with the Lancelot inside his mind. Wanting to turn back time so he could sacrifice himself in Lancelot’s place. Wanting to know why even his subconscious could only bring him more pain.

Lancelot didn’t speak again that day. Merlin wished he would. Merlin also wished to never hear Lancelot’s voice again. Somehow, the two desires coexisted, and more than anything, Merlin just wanted everything to stop.

~ x ~

These are the days, you need double what it takes

I've missed you so much, I shiver and I shake

~ x ~

Things didn’t stop.

A carnival thrown in Arthur’s honor ended in a fatal wound to the king, and Merlin’s best efforts as Dragoon only killed him that much quicker, hardening Arthur’s heart against magic forever.

A war with Queen Annis’ army was only barely averted through Arthur’s good heart and famed fighting skills.

A Fomorroh lodged in Merlin’s neck by Morgana nearly caused Merlin to kill his king.

A Catha Priest by the name of Alator tortured Gaius for information about Emrys’ identity and then switched alliances at the last moment, protecting Merlin by unexpectedly betraying Morgana.

Through it all, Agravaine’s whispers slowly worked to undermine the progress Arthur had made over the years until all that was left was Uther--or worse, an Uther who trusted only one person and a traitor at that.

Merlin knew his Arthur was still buried beneath the tyrant facade, broken and aching, because it tore through the mask from time to time. Each glimpse of his true king was enough to restore Merlin’s faith when he grew disillusioned, but it wasn’t enough to fend off Agravaine’s foul influence, and that scared Merlin more than anything. It was one thing to lose Arthur to a battle or a deadly creature, but it was quite another to watch him fade away before Merlin’s very eyes even as his health remained strong. Merlin had never felt more useless, more hopeless, than when Arthur took Agravaine’s counsel over his.

Ironically enough, it was the hallucination of Lancelot’s voice that kept him sane.

Sometimes he spoke in reassurances like, “Merlin, you are not to blame. It’s Morgana’s fault Uther is dead, not yours,” and, “You know Arthur values you, even if he doesn’t always show it.” Other times, he teased Merlin about Dragoon the Great or offered his advice on how to deal with a problem. More often than not, he just reminded Merlin to eat at mealtimes and told stories to help him fall asleep. Merlin knew it wasn’t real, that Lancelot was dead and not secretly living on inside Merlin’s head, but he liked to pretend. He needed to pretend. And it was oh-so-easy to do so when Lancelot said things that caught Merlin by surprise in a way that figments of his imagination never did, or when he told stories that sounded true but new to Merlin--stories Merlin couldn’t even picture himself making up.

Every night, Merlin went to sleep with the feel of those phantom fingers in his hair, and every morning, he awoke shouting for Lancelot not to walk through the veil, to let Merlin go instead. After the first month, Merlin started using magic to hide the redness in his eyes. He had mourned long enough, the worried glances of his friends told him. It was time to move on. But Merlin couldn’t move on--not when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work, couldn’t eat without Lancelot’s voice to guide him. Not when Merlin caught himself at least once every day forgetting that Lancelot was gone only to lose him all over again.

When the Lamia appeared, it was the first time Merlin felt glad that Lancelot wasn’t there. He watched the knights’ good hearts twist with jealousy and hatred and anger until he no longer recognized them. Until they were husks of the men Merlin knew, controlled by the Lamia and not themselves. Merlin knew how it would break Lancelot to be used in such a way. He would blame himself, even though he couldn’t possibly have fought against it. He would regret hurting Merlin, hurting Gwen, breaking his moral code in such a violent and shameful way. He would probably even go up to Arthur and hand in his cloak, proclaiming himself unworthy to bear knight’s armor when his honor was so sullied. And then Merlin wouldn’t even have his voice in his head because Lancelot would leave Camelot behind forever.

In that moment, Merlin was grateful for the way things had turned out. Just for a moment.

~ x ~

I miss your loving touch, I miss your embrace

But if I wait here any longer I'm gonna fade away

~ x ~

And then Lancelot was back, except not really. He didn’t hug Merlin or offer to share his bed, but most horrifyingly, he didn’t remember Merlin’s magic. As much as Merlin hoped that Lancelot was really back, that he just needed time like Gaius had said, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was really Lancelot at all.

Gwen noticed, because of course she did. She was still a friend to Merlin even if Merlin’s self-imposed isolation meant he hadn’t been much of a friend to anyone lately. After his damning conversation with the false Lancelot, Merlin couldn’t stand to be in the same space as him, so he made his way to the laundry room to catch up on the chores he’d been neglecting. Gwen was already there, helping ease another servant’s workload since Arthur had relieved her of her duties during the tournament.

“Lancelot’s back,” she said as she finished hanging several tunics to dry and started helping Merlin with Arthur’s clothes, “but you don’t seem happy.”

Merlin hummed noncommittally. He wondered if walking through the Veil had given Lancelot some sort of memory loss. That was a possibility, surely. After all, few people--if any--had ever walked back out again. There could be some adverse side effects that weren't yet documented. But why forget Merlin’s magic? Why forget that important detail when all of his other memories seemed to be intact?

Gwen dropped the tunic she was washing in the bucket and dried her hands so she could place them on her hips. “Merlin.”

“Gwen,” he replied in a mockery of her tone.

“Merlin, talk to me,” she pleaded.

It was hard to say ‘no’ to Gwen’s eyes, so he grabbed the tunic she had given up on and began rinsing out the suds. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine.”

But then, it wasn’t just Merlin’s magic. It was Merlin as a whole. Lancelot was perfectly friendly with the other knights and with Gwen, but he was merely polite when it came to Merlin, when before his death he had been so much more.

Gwen snatched the tunic away and angrily wrung it out to dry. “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me. I thought maybe with Lancelot back, you would come back, too, but apparently, I’m missing something. If it isn’t Lancelot, then what is it? What has made you so tired and quiet and sad?” Hands free once more, Gwen squeezed Merlin’s arm. “I miss my best friend,” she finished softly.

Merlin was startled out of his decision to not make eye contact. Concern was dripping off of Gwen like water from the tunic. “Gwen, I--”

“If you’re just going to make up excuses, I don’t want to hear it,” she said. Her hand dropped away in weary acceptance, and she turned to leave.

Merlin felt his heart break for the millionth time. He didn’t want to cause Gwen pain--he’d never wanted that. In his misery, he’d neglected to consider how his behavior might be affecting his friends. Gwen was getting married tomorrow, and Merlin hadn’t been there for her, not the way he should have been. He was supposed to be her confidante, her supporter, her friend. He owed her some sort of explanation, even if that same selfish part of him screamed at the thought of letting someone else share Lancelot’s memory.

But Gwen loved him, too, and she deserved someone to talk to. Merlin probably deserved that as well, even if he didn’t think he wanted it.

“She blames herself,” Lancelot’s voice said. “She made me promise to keep Arthur safe, and I swore to protect him with my life.”

Merlin wondered when his hallucination of Lancelot had started offering information Merlin himself had forgotten. Had Merlin dredged that up from the depths of his mind just to give his imaginary knight something to say?

“I was going to walk through the Veil,” Merlin said when Gwen was nearly at the door.

Halting, she turned to face him, brows pinched.

The words ached to burst out of Merlin now that he had started. “Lancelot knew I was planning to sacrifice myself so Arthur didn’t have to, and he told me he didn’t know if he could do that--if he could knowingly give up his life. I told him you have to have a reason. Something that’s more important than anything.” Those words had haunted him for all these months, and saying them aloud now sent a new jolt of pain through him. “While I was offering myself to the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world, Lancelot stepped through the veil in my place.”

Gwen’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, Merlin,” she said. And then she was coming toward him, pulling him into a hug.

Merlin went willingly, clinging to her as tightly as she clung to him. He felt fresh tears spring to his eyes at her touch and at the sharing of such a painful memory. He buried his face in her shoulder as sobs wracked through him. The feeling was familiar now, but this was the first time anyone but his imaginary Lancelot had comforted him, and it felt different.

“I hear his voice, Gwen,” he gasped into the fabric of her dress. “I feel his fingers in my hair when I try to sleep. I’m scared that I’m going mad, but I’m even more terrified of him leaving me for good.”

She squeezed him tighter and then pulled back to look at him. “He won’t leave you for good, because he’s back now. Right?”

Unable to meet her eyes, Merlin stared at her shoulder, sniffling pitifully and feeling guilty for the tears and saliva he left on her dress. “It’s not him, Gwen.”

“How do you mean?”

Merlin bit his cheek. He wanted to tell her everything the same way he always did, but that wasn’t an option. Still, he needed to give her a reason if he didn’t want to sound even crazier than he already did. “There’s something important that Lancelot knew about me, and this Lancelot doesn’t remember.”

Gwen studied him closely before glancing around the laundry room and then meeting his eyes once more. “Is this about your magic?”

Merlin froze. “I--what? I don’t--”

Gwen smiled sadly. “The year we met, you confessed to sorcery to keep me from getting executed, remember? And then a mysterious old sorcerer with familiar blue eyes nearly went to the pyre for planting a fake love spell under Arthur’s pillow, even though I know Arthur wasn’t enchanted.”

Merlin’s heart raced in his chest. “Gwen, I need you to know, I would never hurt you, or Arthur, or Camelot. I--”

“I know, Merlin,” Gwen said, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder and sending relief coursing through his blood. “You have a good heart, no matter what the law says about magic users. I trust you.” She flashed a smile at him before biting her lip. “That’s it though, isn’t it? Lancelot knew about your magic, but this Lancelot doesn’t.”

Merlin nodded. “Lancelot saw me use my magic the first time he came to Camelot when I helped him defeat the Griffin. He wouldn’t just forget.”

Gwen considered this carefully, and then her eyes went wide. “You don’t think Morgana’s behind this, do you?”

Merlin grimaced, knowing deep down it was true even as he sought desperately for any other explanation. “That’s my best guess. I just wish I knew what she was planning.”

Gwen pulled him into another hug. “I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I see anything.” When they separated, she held his hands in hers. “Keep me updated?”

Merlin smiled, and it was more genuine than any he had given since before Samhain. “I will. And Gwen? I’m glad you know about my magic.”

Gwen smiled back. “Me too, Merlin. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to keep it a secret from your friends--from Arthur.”

Merlin glanced down at their hands. “It’s how it has to be. Arthur will never accept magic.”

“Don’t say that,” Gwen chided, tightening her grip on his hands. “Arthur is a good man.”

“It’s the truth,” Merlin said with a shrug. “Magic killed both of his parents. If he knew about me, he’d never trust me again.” Gwen looked ready to protest once more, so Merlin quickly said, “I’ll be alright, Gwen. I’ve been hiding for years, and because of you, I have someone to talk to about it again.” Merlin backtracked quickly, “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Of course, Merlin, whatever you need.” She had an intense look in her eyes, one that made Merlin sure she would make a great queen. “It may not seem like it now, but magic won’t always be outlawed.”

Merlin withdrew at her words. It was an empty promise he himself had made to countless magic users over the years, even as he did nothing to work toward that future besides keeping Arthur safe and slowly, accidentally, turning him against magic. Merlin managed a weak, “I hope you’re right," but it fell flat.

“I know I am,” Gwen said firmly. “Arthur may not trust magic, but there was a time when I didn’t either. Then I met you.”

Merlin’s mouth felt thick at the loyalty in her words.

“Arthur will come around in time.” A hint of a smile touched her lips, and her chin dipped down mischievously. “And if he doesn’t, it just so happens that his queen is more than capable of taking matters into her own hands.”

Merlin’s face split into a surprised smile. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. He felt more like himself than he had in months, and he wondered how different things might have been if he had opened up to Gwen in the beginning. He thought Lancelot would be proud of him for finally speaking to someone, and Gaius too, even though he would lecture Merlin for at least an hour about the importance of keeping his magic secret. As much as Merlin had feared the loss of his privacy--a natural side effect of a lifetime of secret-keeping--it felt good to not be alone.

~ x ~

I've been waiting here like a dog at the door

You used to throw me scraps, you don't do it anymore

~ x ~

The hallucination didn’t show up that night, and Merlin wondered if the presence of this false Lancelot was making it harder for Merlin to remember his own. The thought scared him more than he cared to admit. He should have been happy that he was creeping toward sanity again, but he just felt afraid. Maybe talking to Gwen had served the purpose imaginary Lancelot had served, and now he was no longer needed. For a moment, Merlin wished he had said nothing, that he had kept Lancelot for himself. But then he remembered Gwen’s declaration of trust and the feel of her arms wrapped around him, and he couldn’t make himself wish her support away.

“Lancelot?” he whispered from his bedroll on Gaius’ floor. The false Lancelot was in Merlin’s bed, and Merlin hated him for it, but he also desperately hoped his sheets would smell like him when Morgana’s plot was over. Merlin hated himself for that, too. “I don’t want you to disappear,” he croaked.

There was a breath on Merlin’s face like a sigh, but there were no fingers in his hair or whispers in his ear. Merlin barely managed any sleep at all.

When he finally gave up on trying, he read books by candlelight. Everything about necromancy made his skin crawl, but it seemed like the most promising theory, so he kept at it. By the time morning came, he was almost certain this Lancelot was a shade, brought back from the dead by Morgana for some nefarious purpose. Merlin wished he knew what it was. Despite the opportunity he’d been given during the tournament, Shade Lancelot hadn’t tried to kill Arthur which suggested Morgana had another plot in mind.

Whatever her scheme, Merlin certainly wasn’t the intended target, but it seemed Morgana had accidentally created the perfect kind of torture for him. Shade Lancelot was a mockery of his Lancelot, and seeing him walk around, joke with the knights, pretend to be someone so good and honorable and perfect when he was really just Morgana’s puppet made Merlin sick. Perhaps that feeling was what kept away his hallucination. Even a recreated memory of the real Lancelot was too good to exist in the same vicinity as the Shade.

After the tournament, while Merlin was polishing Arthur’s armor, Gwen snuck into the armory and shut the door firmly behind her.

“Merlin, are you alone?” she asked, eyes darting around fearfully.

Merlin set aside Arthur’s chainmail, feeling the urgency in the air like a storm cloud. There was something else as well. A sort of...fogginess radiating from Gwen. “Yes, what is it?”

She sat beside him on the bench and held out her arm. There was an intricate silver bracelet on her wrist, and when Merlin reached for it, he felt that strange fog increase. “Lancelot gave me this. He put it on me before I could stop him, and ever since then, I’ve felt out of sorts. I walked into his tent during the tournament, but then I couldn’t remember why. I think it must have something to do with this.”

Merlin studied its magical signature closely. “Morgana’s enchanted it.” His brows furrowed. “But why would she...” Then it hit him. Morgana had already tried to ruin Arthur and Gwen’s relationship once before, as Gwen had reminded him just yesterday. “The wedding.”

Gwen’s brows furrowed. “She’s trying to stop the wedding?”

Merlin nodded. “That must be it. For whatever reason, she can’t stand the thought of you on the throne.” After Gwen’s promise yesterday that she would see magic legalized even if Arthur wouldn’t, Morgana’s priorities seemed even more disconnected from her proclaimed cause than usual. “If she’s enchanted you and brought Lancelot back from the dead, it can only be because she wants Arthur to see you two together so he’ll call the wedding off.”

Gwen looked at the bracelet with horror. “I would never do that to Arthur. Surely he would realize magic was involved?”

Merlin pulled a face. “When Arthur saw you and Lancelot together after we rescued you from Hengist, he was heartbroken. I’m afraid if bad memories resurfaced, he wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Gwen started to pull off the bracelet, but Merlin stopped her. “What is it, Merlin?” she asked.

Merlin considered the situation. “If Lancelot sees you’re not wearing the bracelet, he’ll report back to Morgana, and she might try something worse. We need to make it look like their plan is working.”

Gwen sent him a pained look. “I don’t want to stay enchanted, Merlin. What if something happens and Arthur never forgives me?”

Merlin was quick to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I’ll break the enchantment.” He pinched the bracelet between thumb and forefinger and whispered a quick spell.

Gwen inhaled when his eyes flashed gold, but she didn’t pull away. Once the fogginess disappeared, Merlin glanced nervously at her. She smiled back, grateful if a bit hesitant.

Anxieties somewhat soothed, Merlin turned his thoughts back to the plan. “Lancelot will probably want you to meet him someplace where Arthur will walk in on you, so for now, just go along with it, and let me know when and where. I’ll start looking for a way to get rid of Lancelot,” or break him from Morgana’s control, a hopeful part of him whispered, “but in the meantime, we don’t want him to get suspicious. It probably goes without saying, but whatever you do, don’t kiss him or do anything that looks romantic in case Arthur is there to see.”

Gwen took a deep breath and nodded with determination. “Alright.” She tilted her head to the side, a curious look crossing her features. “Is there any way to get the real Lancelot back? Using magic?”

Merlin’s heart stuttered. “I don’t know, Gwen. Shades are controlled by their summoner. From what I’ve read, our Lancelot isn’t even in there, or if he is, he’s buried so deep it might be impossible to drag him out again. But I won’t give up without trying.”

Gwen placed her hand over his on the bench, rubbing her thumb over Merlin’s knuckles. “I know you won’t. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin shook his head with a forced smile. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still got work to do.”

Gwen took the chainmail from Merlin’s lap. “Go do your research. I’ll finish this.”

“Are you sure?” Polishing Arthur’s armor was one of the only chores he actually liked to do. He took pride in it. If he did a poor job, Arthur’s life could be in danger. It was certainly more important than washing his socks or combing his hair.

Gwen gave him a knowing look. “Blacksmith’s daughter, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

“Right,” Merlin said sheepishly. “Thanks, Gwen.” With that, Merlin hurried to Gaius’ chambers, intent on finding a way to save Lancelot, or, if it came down to it, to dispose of the shade before it could cause any more trouble.

By the end of the day, Merlin was no closer to finding a way to restore Lancelot. Every book he found on necromancy--which wasn’t many, even after he snuck into the secret section of the library--spoke of how to summon a spirit from the dead, how to control it, and how to destroy it, but there was no information on how to break a summoner’s control. Merlin had known it was probably a lost cause, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of killing Lancelot, even if it wasn’t really him.

When Gwen stopped by to give word that Shade Lancelot was planning to meet her that night in the council chamber, Merlin slammed his book shut with a hopeless sigh. He’d read this particular book three times now, and still, he’d found nothing even close to promising. Merlin supposed the good news was that shades could die almost as easily as a regular mortal, so at least the fight shouldn’t take long.

“Lancelot wouldn’t want to be controlled by Morgana,” Gwen said from the doorway. “I know it hurts, but he wouldn’t begrudge you for sending him back to the spirit world. He would thank you.”

Merlin nodded, lips pressed together to keep himself from breaking. Gwen was right, of course, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I’ll track him down and stop him before he goes to meet you.”

Gwen gave him a sad smile and then shut the door behind her.

Merlin took a deep breath. After hiding away the books on necromancy, he called for his imaginary Lancelot one more time. “Lancelot?”

No response.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. The words echoed around the empty room, making Merlin feel more alone than ever. Swallowing down the pain, he hurried out of Gaius’ chambers.

Agravaine was the first voice Merlin heard when he spotted the two figures in a dark corridor. The sound of his insufferable drawl made Merlin wish he could breathe fire like Kilgharrah. When Agravaine strode toward Arthur’s chambers, Shade Lancelot set off down the hall. A part of Merlin wanted to chase after Agravaine since he didn’t trust the man to be left alone with Arthur, but a louder part reminded Merlin that the shade was the most pressing threat at the moment. Agravaine could wait.

Merlin trailed twenty feet behind the shade, staying just far enough back to not lose track of him while mostly staying out of sight. As the false Lancelot paused to peek around the corner, probably checking to see if Gwen was there yet, Merlin used his magic to fling the shade toward him. Lancelot fell at his feet, and when his eyes shot open unnaturally, Merlin used his magic to bind his wrists and ankles and drag him up so he was standing.

“Magic,” the shade spat as he tugged at his arms.

“The real Lancelot knew about it,” Merlin told him darkly. “That’s what gave you away.”

The shade tugged harder. “Your powers won’t stop me. I have orders from my mistress, and I will see them through.”

Merlin’s chest squeezed at the sight of Lancelot behaving in such an unrecognizable manner. He wanted to make him stop, to make the shade’s blood stop flowing and his heart stop pounding and his eyes stop sparkling with life when it was clear a shade’s existence was not life at all. At the same time, Merlin felt his heart rebel at the thought of killing Lancelot. His magic rebelled at the prospect of surrendering his only chance to bring the real Lancelot back.

“Merlin,” his hallucination said, breath warm against Merlin’s ear. “It’s alright. I would rather be gone for good than under Morgana’s control. That’s not really me. The real me is right here beside you.”

A choked sound escaped Merlin’s throat, and he tightened the bonds on the shade’s limbs. Lancelot wanted him to do this. Lancelot died for Merlin, and his last wish was for Merlin to kill his imposter. Surely Merlin could do that? For his closest friend? For the man he loved?

But then Merlin thought of the last thing the phantom said: The real me is right here beside you. Merlin remembered all of the stories his imaginary Lancelot had told him that Merlin could hardly believe, let alone make up on his own. He remembered how the fingers in his hair and the breath against his ear felt as real as any living person. Suddenly, Merlin had an idea. It was probably hopeless, certainly stupid, and definitely mad, but he couldn’t not try. He had promised Gwen he wouldn’t give up without giving it his best effort, hadn’t he? Well, this was the only chance he had, and he wouldn’t let it slip by.

“Stand where the shade is standing, Lancelot,” Merlin said under his breath, wanting it to be clear exactly who he was talking to. The breath against his ear paused, and then Merlin felt the phantom presence move away.

“I’m here,” the voice said.

Merlin didn’t have a spell for what he wanted to do, but he had always done best with instinctual magic anyway. Leaving the bindings intact to keep the shade from struggling too much, Merlin stepped forward and clutched his hands around its jaw. The shade spat in his face and writhed to get away, but Merlin just closed his eyes and let his magic pour out. He felt it bubbling inside him like boiling water and let it spill over into the shade. Once it started rushing into the body before him, he added his intent: restore.

Merlin opened his eyes. The golden light was so bright it reflected back at him from the shade’s dark eyes. Blueish white smoke slipped into the shade’s open mouth, and there was a sickening suction sound that drew it deeper. As Merlin continued to push more and more magic into the shade’s body, he felt something shift, change, click into place. Merlin released one more burst of magic, and then Lancelot stopped struggling, falling limp against his magical bonds.

The bindings were harder to keep in place now that Merlin had used so much magic. Panting from exertion, he lowered Lancelot gently to the ground and let the bonds fall away. He joined his knight on the stone floor and placed Lancelot’s head in his lap before checking his breathing and the rhythm of his chest. He was alive. Now, Merlin just had to wait for him to wake up to see if his efforts had worked.

Merlin trailed his fingers through Lancelot’s hair, returning the favor he had relied upon all these months. A desperate ache thrummed in his ribcage at this last impossible hope.

Soon, Lancelot’s eyelids began to flutter, and Merlin leaned over him, wondering if he would be able to tell whether or not he had been successful just by looking at the man before him.

“Lancelot?” Merlin asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

Lancelot looked confused for a moment, and then he smiled--a genuine, perfect smile with the same amount of fondness and gratitude his Lancelot always sent his way. “Merlin,” he breathed.

Merlin’s own breathing hitched, and suddenly he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, laughing like a madman even as tears streamed down his face. “It’s you,” he said. “It’s really you.”

Lancelot sat up, wincing slightly as though it felt strange being in a body again, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he lifted a gentle hand and placed it on Merlin’s cheek, looking at him in wonder. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin warmed under his touch. He’d never handled praise well, and the weight of emotion in Lancelot’s eyes only made it that much more difficult. His heart raced and his skin felt electric. Unable to respond with words, Merlin cupped the back of Lancelot’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He half-expected Lancelot to turn aside before their lips met or to freeze in shock or surprise, but instead, he met Merlin halfway, and then Merlin was drowning in him.

He’s alive, alive, alive, Merlin’s heart chanted with every beat. Lancelot’s lips were warm and slightly chapped, and they moved against Merlin’s with such singular focus that Merlin could barely think. He never expected he would get to have this. He thought he’d realized what he wanted too late. But now, it was happening, and Merlin almost couldn’t believe it.

When they broke apart, Lancelot pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed. Their lips were only inches apart, and their exhales mingled between them.

“If I’d known I would get a welcome like that,” Lancelot said, “I would have died for you ages ago.”

Merlin laughed a bit breathlessly, overwhelmed by the unbelievable happiness coursing through him. “I’ll kiss you whenever you like if you promise never to do it again.”

Lancelot smiled at him. “You know I can’t promise that.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes even though he had expected that response. This was Lancelot, after all, and a Lancelot who wasn’t willing to sacrifice himself for those he cared about could only ever be a shade. “Alright, you don’t have to promise. But I won’t forgive you if you die on me again.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upward. “I suppose that’s fair.” And then Lancelot was leaning in to kiss him again, and Merlin realized he was crazy for trying to bargain in the first place. As if he could ever resist Lancelot. Merlin climbed clumsily into his lap and deepened their kiss, letting one hand press against his chest to feel that perfect heartbeat.

“Merlin, did you--oh!”

Merlin broke away from Lancelot’s lips to see Gwen standing at the end of the hall with both hands over her mouth.

“Er, hi Gwen,” Merlin said, red-faced but too happy to look appropriately embarrassed. “We were just--um, never mind. Lancelot’s back!”

Lancelot twisted around to see her, and Merlin was satisfied to note his flushed appearance. “Guinevere.”

Gwen’s hands dropped away from her face to reveal a bright smile. “Lancelot! I’m so glad you’re back.” Then her smile turned wry. “Although I doubt I can top Merlin’s greeting.”

Merlin stood and offered a hand to Lancelot to help him up.

“Arthur will be on his way if he’s not already,” Lancelot said. His expression darkened. “Agravaine is bringing him here at Morgana’s behest.”

Gwen’s smile faltered. “Agravaine?”

Lancelot nodded. “He’s the traitor in the court. Morgana has been using him to undermine Arthur’s rule since he arrived in Camelot.”

Merlin made a face to confirm his words. “If we can figure out a way to let Arthur catch him reporting to Morgana, that’ll be our best chance to convince him. He doesn’t want to believe his uncle is the traitor, but he won’t dismiss that kind of hard evidence.”

Lancelot considered this. “Then we shouldn’t say anything about Agravaine’s involvement when they arrive in the council chamber.”

“What should we say instead?” Gwen asked.

Merlin heard footsteps approaching and used his magic to look around the corner. It was Arthur and his uncle. “We’ll figure something out,” he said quickly, ushering them into the chamber. “They’re right around the corner.”

Once inside, Merlin tried to figure out what they should be doing. He decided to fling his arms around Lancelot, much to Gwen and Lancelot’s surprise. Lancelot hugged him back after a moment’s hesitation.

“I trust you know what you’re doing,” he said in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin just kept hugging him tightly.

Footsteps grew closer and then stopped. “Uncle, what am I looking at?”

“Arthur!” Merlin said happily, breaking away from Lancelot. “Lancelot’s back!”

Agravaine looked murderous for a moment before smoothing his expression into something courtly. He didn’t speak, however, likely trying to figure out what had happened so he would know his next move.

Arthur gave Merlin an unimpressed look as he approached. “Did you hit your head, idiot? He’s been back for days.”

Catching on, Lancelot said, “No, sire. I wasn’t myself. Morgana placed me under an enchantment. Until now, I was completely under her control.”

Confusion flickered over Arthur’s face and then cleared, as though he had just pieced together how unusual Lancelot’s behavior had been over the past few days. Smiling, he clapped Lancelot on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back then. How did you break the enchantment?”

Merlin froze, and Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times. Merlin hadn’t thought up an excuse yet, and he had never been good at lying on the spot.

“True love’s kiss,” Gwen blurted from beside them.

Arthur’s face fell as he looked between Gwen and Lancelot with dawning realization. “Oh. I see.”

Gwen’s eyes went wide. “Oh no, Arthur! It wasn’t me.”

Arthur’s relief was short-lived as bemusement quickly took its place. “Then who...”

“Erm,” Merlin said intelligently, lifting his hand to wave.

“You?” Arthur’s brows rose impossibly high. “You...you kissed my best knight?”

Merlin gave him an affronted look. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’ll have you know I’ve kissed lots of people.”

Lancelot nudged Merlin’s shoulder. “I hope you’re not planning to make a habit of that.”

Merlin grinned crookedly and nudged him back. Lancelot intertwined their fingers.

Arthur cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at their interlocked appendages. “Right. Well. I’m going back to bed. Good work, everyone. Or...something.” Arthur turned on his heel and left the room. A disgruntled Agravaine followed after him.

The moment they were gone, Gwen cracked up. “I think you broke him, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged. “He’ll get over it.” He tilted his head to the side. “Probably.” Then he remembered what day it was and jumped. “Tomorrow’s your wedding, Gwen! You need to get some sleep so you’re well-rested for the ceremony.”

Gwen’s eyes lit with excitement at the mention of her wedding, but her lips were twisted into a smirk. “You just want to get rid of me so you can celebrate Lancelot’s return.”

Merlin simply winked and shooed her away.

When the two of them arrived in Merlin’s room, Lancelot asked, “Can I share your bed tonight?” He was smiling another perfect smile, and Merlin nearly forgot how to breathe.

In lieu of a verbal response, Merlin nodded, because he wasn’t sure he could manage anything else at the moment. Lancelot was back--he was really back-- and Merlin wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in the comfort of his arms.

Merlin changed into his sleep clothes, tossing Lancelot a set as well, and pulled back the blanket. The bed was too small for two people, but they had managed before, and Lancelot didn’t have his own chambers yet. Merlin was secretly pleased about the bed size since he wanted to be close to him tonight. Merlin crawled into bed, and Lancelot followed shortly after, opening his arms to invite Merlin to curl up inside them. Merlin did, sighing happily as he rested his cheek on Lancelot’s chest. Lancelot looked at him with a tired smile on his face as he trailed his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Merlin kept his eyes open for once--because he could do that now, and Lancelot still wouldn’t disappear.

“You stayed,” Merlin said, the implications of phantom Lancelot actually being the real Lancelot finally sinking in.

Lancelot nodded. “Apparently the blood sacrifice didn’t require the whole soul--something about Morgause being mostly dead when Morgana sacrificed her to open the veil. The Cailleach demanded only an equal exchange, so a part of me stayed here with you.”

Merlin felt warm all over at the admission. Then the corners of his lips turned down. “Where did you go last night?”

Lancelot looked at his hand in Merlin’s hair instead of Merlin’s eyes. “I heard you when you spoke to Guinevere, and I couldn’t bear to hurt you any longer with my presence, even though it pained me to stay away.”

“Hurt me?” Merlin repeated, brows furrowed.

Lancelot met his gaze again. “You told her you thought you were going mad. I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

Merlin only vaguely remembered saying that to Gwen, but he couldn’t deny it was how he’d been feeling for months. “Have I ever told you you’re too noble for your own good?”

Lancelot laughed and Merlin could feel the sound vibrating through his chest. “More times than I can count.”

“Well, apparently, I need to say it more,” Merlin said. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I preferred madness to losing you.”

Lancelot quirked his head with a small smile. “I don’t blame you. After all, I chose death over living without you.”

Even as his throat tightened with emotion, Merlin teased, “Don’t tell anyone else that. They all thought you did it for some selfless reason.”

“It’ll be our secret,” Lancelot said back. His voice was as serious as ever, eyes intent on Merlin’s face. “It seems, when it comes to you, I can be rather selfish.”

Although Lancelot had told him that before, Merlin hadn’t known it was really him then, and the words were so reminiscent of how he felt about Lancelot that, for several seconds, he couldn’t do anything but stare. When he recovered his wits enough to speak, all Merlin could think to say was, “I missed you.” He had expressed that sentiment more times than he could count in the weeks since Lancelot walked through the Veil, but using it in the past tense seemed to mend something inside him.

Lancelot ran his thumb across Merlin’s cheek, and Merlin kissed him, pouring all of his emotions into the brush of lips--his guilt, his pain, his love, his joy.

When Merlin slept that night, he didn’t have any nightmares. When he woke in the morning, it was to a kiss on his temple instead of his own screams. And when he heard Lancelot’s voice in his ear, it wasn’t just a phantom or a figment of his imagination.

It was quite possible Merlin’s standards were skewed, but he couldn’t think of anything better.