The Threads Between Us

That Which Binds Us

A/N: Because apparently this is my favorite timeframe to write fics, this one again jumps off post S4, but Lancelot lived on and married Gwen. I have about 10k of this fic written so far, and I have quite a lot planned. I should also mention that this idea was very much inspired from the fic Tethered by tonytones (Theo/Liam, Teen Wolf).

Something lurked in the forest. Merlin could feel it like an undercurrent of magic, crackling beneath his skin. He jolted at every snapped twig, every rustle in the undergrowth, every sharp noise. Any moment now, something was about to happen. Merlin just couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be.

Each attempt to fall back behind the knights and use magic to peer ahead had proved fruitless because inevitably, Arthur would call his name, and the knights would part to usher him to the front once more.

"What's got your undergarments in a twist?" Arthur quipped as Merlin drew his horse alongside him.

In truth, it was the fact that after too many months cooped up in the castle over the long winter, Arthur had insisted on joining his knights on patrol. "It'll be just like the old days," Arthur had told Merlin as he packed for his king. While Arthur had clearly intended that to be reassuring, Merlin had reminded him that while the "old days" had their moments, they had often involved bandits and near-fatal injuries and the overgrown rodents with a fondness for human flesh. None of that had dissuaded Arthur.

"Nothing." Merlin studied the clump of mane in front of his saddle and ignored the weight of Arthur's inquisitive gaze.

"C'mon, then, what is it?" The light, joking tone had dissolved into something that vaguely resembled concern, but Merlin ignored it. "It's just a standard patrol, what could possibly go wrong?"

Merlin inhaled sharply and twisted in the saddle to glare at his king. "You did not just say that."

"Say what?"

"You said that and now everything that could possibly ever go wrong most definitely will." The undercurrent of magic swirled around him as the horses forged on, and Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that Arthur had just solidified some horrible fate.

"I didn't realize you were so superstitious," Arthur said, clearly unbothered.

"I'm not superstitious. You're just an arrogant prat."

Not even the insult ruffled Arthur's feathers. His soft smile was unwavering, and Merlin briefly felt guilty for trying to dissuade his king from this trip. While it was unnecessary, clearly the fresh air and change of scenery had done wonders for his constitution. His expression had been drawn for weeks. If it wasn't for his bad feeling, this might have been a pleasant outing.

"For the last time, Merlin, you cannot call your king a prat."

"Oh, sorry, you're an arrogant prat, my lord."

Despite the threatening glare in Arthur's eyes, the edges of his lips curved up in amusement. But his retort never came. Leaves crunched just off the path, and Arthur raised a hand, signaling the knights to halt.

The crackling sensation intensified beneath Merlin's skin.

Saxons charged from the trees—at least a dozen of them. The knights dismounted and drew their swords.

Merlin followed suit, but his attention wasn't on their attackers. It was on the whispers emanating from behind a nearby tree, carried on the gentle breeze over the clanging blades.

Whispers of magic.

"Merlin!" Arthur hauled him down as a sword swung right where his torso had been moments before.