Disclaimer: Not BBC, Johnny Capps, Julian Murphy.

Fore A/N: YAY HERE WE GO GUYS, the epilogue!

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Epilogue

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Quite miraculously, and most beautifully, life continued normally in Camelot.

Arthur, his shoulder now back to perfect health, resumed his duty as the Regent of the kingdom in the absence of his father and fell back to his routine of training his Knights and coming to council meetings. And Merlin, with his ankle fully healed after one more day rest, got back to serve in the royal household, being Arthur's most trusted advisor, and of course, being back to the receiving end of Arthur's sarcastic comments about how clumsy the brunet could be.

Which he always replied with his equally sassy remarks. And a magic prank, for good measure.

Merlin was now allowed to perform tiny sorceries to help him. Lighting the fireplace, washing Arthur's numerous socks that he didn't even want to get close by anymore because it honestly smelled like dead rats sometimes, other domestic tasks.

Arthur couldn't lift the ban from the kingdom just yet. To do that, they would need to break the truth to Uther—tell him that his son's most trusted friend and one of the most closest individual to the heart of the dynasty was a sorcerer, show him that there was only evil in the wielder of the magic crafts – in the hearts of men, and not in the sorcery itself—and so many other dangerous things that could go wrong with the King's condition like that and a deranged sorceress like Morgana roaming the woods, acting as the epitome of the full power of sorcery. Merlin knew it would be a great journey from what they've got now, and he knew Arthur would need him by his side to show Camelot the truth, so he reserved to his duty as Arthur's most trusted advisor.

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The first time Merlin was allowed to perform magic upon Arthur's approval, the blonde's jaw was hanging.

A large storm was raging outside that evening, and it was all Merlin could do to keep the room warm enough. Arthur had just finished his dinner and Merlin rose from where he was sitting on the other side of the room, tidying the Prince's bed, to gather the dirty plates back to the Royal Kitchen.

The two of them was unusually quiet that day but Merlin knew they were thinking of the same thing. Another storm, seemingly a lifetime away. A well, and raindrops pooling around their legs, rising to their thighs on an enormous speed. Arthur's sword on his gut, and the blonde's arms on his legs, lifting him up.

Merlin must've imagined it, but for a moment, a dull prick shot up from his ankle. On the other side of the room, Merlin caught Arthur subtly gave a slight flex on his shoulder.

A thunder cracked outside and the sound of silverware against the floor echoed in the room. Merlin just dropped the wine jug.

"Oh no, forgive me," Merlin gasped, quickly falling to his knees to wipe the red wine off the floor.

He could feel the heat spreading up from his neck as he sensed Arthur's eyes on him. Several moments passed as Merlin busied himself to wipe the floor clean with a piece of cloth before Arthur asked the question.

Merlin couldn't believe his ears the first time he heard it.

"Why don't you use magic?"

Merlin looked up, with a dumb expression that must be written all over his face. "What?"

"Why don't you use magic? It's taking you forever to wipe it clean," Arthur elaborated, leaning to the wall on his shoulder in a boyish fashion, as though what he had just suggested was something out of common sense instead of a crime punishable by death by Uther's decree.

Merlin gulped and blinked, before muttering with a low voice, "I can use–?"

Arthur then straightened up, before his eyes softening at Merlin's. "If you'd like to."

Merlin blinked several times before taking a deep breath. He eyed the remaining red wine on the floor and whispered, "Feormian win rénian." [1]

The red stains on the floor came together before floating up and pour themselves into the jug, filling the quiet room with the sound of filling water against the silverware. The floor was clean but Merlin's eyes still didn't leave the particular spot on the floor. Arthur didn't interrupt him. For a moment, they were both quiet.

"It feels strange," Merlin muttered after a long silence.

He looked up and found that Arthur had been looking at him, with a look of fascination, instead of fear and shock that the brunet had expected, etched on his face. The blonde cracked a soft smile before he turned on his heel and went to rummage through a stack of papers on his desk, chuckling at the brunet teasingly as he did so.

"No, what is strange is that you're still terrified of thunders for all the powers you have," Arthur teased, prompting the heat to continue spreading from the brunet's neck.

He was rather scared of thunders, if he were to be quite truthful.

"I'm not scared of thunders!" Merlin denied, his pitch rising slightly in defense.

Hearing this, the blonde released his laughter. "Yes, you are, you jumped out of your skin."

Merlin huffed, cocking his head to the side. Apparently, Arthur still hadn't changed. "And you're such an ass."

"Now you just committed a punishable crime," Arthur replied cockily, which must have released a subconscious response from Merlin, because the next moment they knew, Arthur actually brayed.

Merlin gasped. Both of them looked up and found each other's eyes so quickly that it was amazing their neck didn't sprain. Merlin looked utterly horrified and shocked that he had unconsciously enchanted Arthur —he didn't mean to do so, he truly didn't—while Arthur's jaw was hanging before he narrowed his eyes on Merlin.

"Did I just bray?"

He didn't mean it—he didn't mean it—but it also wasn't his fault that he thought of enchanting the Crown Prince in front of him to bray when he was such an ass—

"I– I think so– I'm sorry! I didn't mean to–"

Arthur rose from his seat and Merlin fell silent, waiting for the worst.

"So it's you who enchant me to bray, the day after Gaius incarcerated the Goblin?"

Merlin fell silent– he wasn't expecting this.

"I– yes, but–" Merlin stammered but Arthur already launched at him.

"It's you!" Arthur shouted, his arms swinging and catching the brunet's head, rubbing Merlin's head hard with his knuckles.

Merlin broke into a series of laughter.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, I can't help but think the braying suits you–"

Arthur actually barked, laughing boyishly. "–shut up!—"

He rubbed the brunet's head harder, prompting Merlin to laugh louder.

"–since you're still an ass!–"

Arthur locked his legs and knocked Merlin's footing, sending the two of them toppling to the ground.

"How many times have you played tricks to embarrass me, Merlin?"

Merlin couldn't find the breath to throw back a witty remark– he was giggling so hard. Arthur pinned him down to the floor, himself joining the brunet in a breathless laughter that seemed to fill the room. Arthur was heavy on top of him, their legs were a messy tangle that snaked on each other on weird angles, and Merlin's face was quite literally almost brushing the stone floor, but he didn't care. The room was suddenly warm and the raging storm outside ceased to be heard. He could almost feel Arthur's breath on his temple, short from laughing, and it was all that mattered to Merlin at the moment.

It was the first time Merlin actually laughed since he revealed himself to Arthur.

The floor still smelled slightly like wine, and to Merlin, giggling under the weight of Arthur as the latter pinned him down and gave him a boyish rub on the head, it was almost intoxicating.

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One day Merlin found Arthur so silent that he couldn't even get a response when he purposefully made a clumsy knock over a pail of water in front of Arthur.

Merlin's huffed, shoulder sagged. He silently incanted for the water to flow back to the bucket and approached the blonde. Arthur seemed not to notice, even when he approached to stand next to him, his thoughts far away. So Merlin asked him with a gentle voice, "Arthur, what's wrong?"

It seemed to coax some response out of the blonde, as he slowly looked up and shifted his gaze to meet Merlin's. They looked at each other for several seconds before Arthur asked.

"Merlin, do you think of me as a friend?"

Merlin was evidently taken aback. Of course Arthur was his friend—his best friend, he even dared say. There was no one in the whole kingdom he was more prepared to lay down his life for than this pompous ass in front of him.

Merlin sighed—he knew Arthur was usually thinking of a suicide mission or some other stupid acts that he would do in the name of chivalry when he began launching on such speech, and was about to leave Merlin in Camelot because he didn't want anyone to get hurt. Which was completely ludicrous, now that they both knew of Merlin's magic and the real reason why Arthur survived most of his battles. Merlin could take care of himself, and what was more, Arthur usually need looking after for. He couldn't shut Merlin out like that.

"Alright, what is it? Are we about to cross the border and embark on dangerous missions? Catching Morgana? Some old sorcerers that your father made an enemy with–"

Arthur visibly flinched, and Merlin stopped midsentence. "Just answer me, do you see me as a friend?"

"Yes," Merlin answered, almost without missing a beat. "Yes, of course you are my friend, Arthur."

The blonde before him closed his eyes, before he rose from his seat to stand before the window. Merlin followed him with his eyes.

"You shouldn't, you know," Arthur said in a low voice.

He knew where this conversation was going. He knew it would come up any day now, if he were to be honest.

"I have killed your kind. For all the goodness in the hearts of your people, I killed them. I murdered them. Their blood is on my hands and there is nothing I can do now to make right all the sins I've committed," Arthur explained. He was silent for a long time, before adding with a low voice, almost as though he was afraid to say it, "Merlin, I'm not your friend."

Merlin closed his eyes and sighed in silent despair. "Arthur, don't say that–"

"It's true!" Arthur cut him off. "How can you say that I am your friend–"

Merlin shook his head slowly– Arthur was being impossible again. "Arthur, listen to me–"

"–when I have blindly killed your kind, although they didn't do anything but trying–"

"No– stop it–"

"–to survive in my father's regime. And not to mention that it's not even their fault that–"

The air was thin, it wasn't exactly how Merlin predicted the conversation was going to be, and he was forced to cut the Prince off before he could say anything else.

"Arthur– Arthur, look at me!"

Miraculously, Arthur fell silent. He turned back to meet Merlin's determined eyes that didn't leave Arthur's as he approached the Crown Prince slowly. Merlin stopped to stand next to Arthur before the window that overlooked the courtyard, but the brunet didn't take his eyes off from Arthur. He needed to convince Arthur– all the horrors and the sins he had committed, it was all Uther's teachings.

Because when he looked at Arthur, he didn't see Uther.

He saw a young man, barely of age, smuggling a Druid boy from the cellar under his father's nose, because it was the right course of action, contrary to the murderous label Uther had given to the Druid people. He saw a knight, travelling leagues of woods because a servant was lying on a cot in Camelot, dying from poison, or because his people were starving to death. He saw a Prince, his eyes dark with age and his figure heavy with the burden of a beheading that his father had scheduled on the next sunrise, despite his youth, and his voice hoarse because Merlin knew he had been arguing with Uther the evening before. Because when he saw Arthur, he saw an enraged and anguished man, storming into the court room and threatening a sword on the king's throat because it had dawned on him how many innocent lives Uther had executed– on which exact moment Merlin knew Arthur was not his father.

He was everything Uther was not.

"Their blood is not on your hands," Merlin said after a long pause, his voice gentle. Because he meant it– every word, every syllable, every breath. "You cannot be blamed for all the wrongs that Uther taught you."

"I used to believe it," Arthur whispered, barely audible, averting his eyes once more.

"Your father made you to, it's not your fault."

They both knew it's not enough. As true as the fact that it was his father's teaching that made Arthur do it, it still didn't change the fact that he had slain so many innocent lives, execute so many people, burned so many bodies.

But Merlin knew they had to make it enough. There was nothing that could bridge the two of them regarding the lost lives of these sorcerers but their complete trust on each other, so they had to make it enough.

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But Merlin appreciated what he got nonetheless. Honestly, it was a great improvement to wash Arthur's socks from afar. He could even do that while doing two other tasks at the same time.

Sometimes, when Merlin performed the tiniest sorceries, he would catch the blonde looking into his eyes with fascination on his face and a fond smile on his lips.

"Alright, what is it, Arthur?" Merlin asked him after several days noticing how Arthur kept doing that.

Arthur chuckled. "What is what?"

"You—smiling and all that after I performed magic," he elaborated. "Is it something I did? Is it bothering you–"

"No! No, no," Arthur cut him midsentence, sending the brunet silent. "It's just..."

Merlin stayed silent, waiting for Arthur. After some moments, Arthur looked up and seemed more bashful than anything when he said, "it's just your eyes are beautiful when they flash golden like that."

Merlin just smiled.

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Gaius released a tired breath as he paused his walk on the hallway. It had always been like this every summer– the summer atmosphere and celebrations, the people of Camelot's lower town downing one too many tankards of cider on one go and gods know what else during these nights that caused them peculiar illness, and Gaius having to visit them the next morning because they complained they seemed to lose their sights. The unbearable heat also didn't help.

In short, it had been a very tiring day for the old Physician. Not to mention Merlin had been absent these past few weeks and hadn't been able to help him during these tiresome trips to the Lower Town.

Not that he wasn't happy for Merlin.

The first time Merlin went back to their chamber in the Physician's Wing, the brunet was beaming so bright that Gaius almost thought the warlock was in love. Happy was an understatement when Merlin told him that Arthur had accepted him back to the royal household, after three of the darkest days Gaius had seen on the sorcerer's life where he hid in his room like a terrified deer.

The days after it, the brunet hadn't seemed to leave the Prince's side– he went for Arthur very early every morning and came back to the Physician's Wing very late at night, if not at all.

But honestly, he would be more than glad if he could borrow the Prince's certain manservant to help him once in a while.

Gaius resumed his walk to the Court Room and was rather surprised to find the guards standing on the outer hallway instead of guarding the main entrance. He was even more surprise to find the scene within, before his heart softened in realization.

Arthur was sitting on the head of the table, papers and scrolls strewn in front of him, his brow furrowing as he held two parchments on each of his hand, seemingly comparing the two. Beside him was Merlin, sitting on a seat next to him, his neck cocked to a side as he tried to read a scroll. Both of them looked so immersed that none of them noticed Gaius stood there, blinking for several moments as he registered the view before him.

Merlin was conversing with Arthur regarding the matters of Camelot and there was no man on the door– not only was Arthur asking for Merlin's counsel as equals, he trusted him to provide him physical protection.

Gaius smiled.

Arthur and Merlin looked up and broke a smile in an almost harmonious movement.

Arthur rose from his seat to greet him. "Ah, Gaius! We've been expecting you. Please, have a seat, you look very tired."

He then led Gaius to have the other seat next to his on the table. "What news of the Lower Town?"

"Oh, it's just the heat, Sire–"

Merlin, on the other hand, had a mixture of surprise and concern written on his face when he looked up. Gaius hadn't finished his sentence before Merlin came to him, his hand already grabbing a goblet and a jug of water from the table. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry, Gaius– you should've told me the trip would be today– I would've come with you!"

Gaius wanted to tell him that there was almost no chance he could notify Merlin of the trip if the warlock spent all his waking moment on Arthur's side, but found himself not able to say so–he just chuckled at Merlin's antics. "Nonsense, Merlin, I've been doing this every summer."

He then proceed to give the Prince a report of the circumstances on the Lower Town, silently wondering to himself how much longer until the two youths before him realize that they were, indeed, Soulmates.

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The next day was one of the most mundane days in Camelot.

The summer sun stung at Arthur's nape every time he ventured outside the castle's walls past noon, his list of duty and the invitations to send representatives for foreign diplomatic meetings were piling up on his table, and he had council meetings almost every week.

Arthur sighed as he shuffled the parchments on the table in front of him, trying to find the right letter. He was on one of his council meeting and the room was buzzing with talks about tithes, trades, and political deals. Arthur subconsciously laid his fingers on his temple, messaging his head to ward off a headache that was slowly creeping up his neck.

He found it underneath the map Camelot's land– a letter from Nemeth. They were asking for a diplomatic meeting on next month to discuss the disputed lands of Gedref– thank heavens, finally some concrete progress regarding Gedref–

"Your Highness, I'm afraid we have no other option than to raise the tax," a voice next to him pulled his attention whilst he was still reading the letter. "We still haven't recovered from the loss Morgana inflicted on us on her last assault."

"The tax is already high enough as it is, Sir Ogden, I don't think we can manage to raise it even more without causing riots," Arthur elaborated, putting the letter back on the table. He made a mental note to visit the request letter later that day.

"I also tend to think that way, Your Highness," one of the lords added, approaching him. Arthur looked up.

"Why is that, Sir Cador?"