Archive of Our Own

“I loved and respected you, but I have to rule the kingdom in my own way,” Arthur stated. The ghost of his father stared back at him silently, eyes low. “I have to do what I believe to be right.”

“I will not allow you to destroy all that I have built!” Uther responded, his voice louder with each word. The anger in his tone portrayed a familiar finality. Arthur had a lifetime of experience to understand that this voice meant their discussion was over, with consequences approaching. Matters were different now, however, and Camelot was his kingdom to serve. 

“Then you'll have to kill me.” Arthur countered, and Uther’s eyes widened. Arthur watched his father take a fraction step backward, his gaze halfway between appall and sizing Arthur up. “I'm not you, Father. I can't rule the way you did.”

For a moment, they both paused, and Arthur was almost hopeful enough to think his appeal worked. Just as quickly as the conflict had colored his father’s face, though, a firm resolution settled over him. 

“Camelot must come before all else.” Below his hard expression, his eyes betrayed regret. Arthur furrowed his brow. “Even you.”

Before he could respond, a sharp weight struck the side of his head, sending a shooting pain through his skull. Blackness swam at the edges of his vision, his consciousness fading threateningly. A shield hit the ground beside him with a tinny noise that hurt his ears through the pain-- had his father thrown that at him? The stone floor beneath him shifted as his knees buckled, body dropping heavy against the cold of it. His father’s footsteps moved toward him with measure. He could hear the sound as if from far away, and he tried to fight through the throbbing in his skull, yet he could not find the strength to move his limbs in defense. He felt sick, a combination of the blow to the head and the settling reality that his father really may kill him while he lay here unarmed and half-conscious. 

His father stood over him as if contemplating. The horn dug uselessly into Arthur’s side, his arms limp and too heavy to grab for it. He wondered if this was better, to watch his father strike him down through his blurry remaining vision, or if he should try to will his eyes closed as his father dealt him the blow. Somewhere to his left, hurried footsteps echoed through the chamber with an urgent drum. His father still stood before Arthur’s eyes, his two wispy boots taking up the bulk of Arthur’s waning vision, and they did not move as the runner’s voice shouted clearly through the silent chamber. 

“Get away from him, Uther,” Merlin called. “You've caused enough harm. You don't belong here. You must return to the other world.”

His father said nothing. If Arthur could have yelled, could have ordered Merlin away, he would’ve. There was nothing Merlin could do against Uther other than stall for time while Arthur regained himself. As glad as Arthur was to know that Merlin hadn’t been bludgeoned to death in the storeroom, gods, he did not want to helplessly watch the idiot die now. Maybe the divine irony of his quickly darkening vision was that he wouldn’t have to. He could just lay here, useless, while Uther killed Merlin and then him. 

“This is my kingdom. You think you can drive me from it?” Uther said. Arthur needed to be able to move, needed to direct the fight back between himself and his father. “You are nothing but a serving boy.”

Uther had held an appreciation for Merlin’s absurd loyalty, Arthur knew this well, but this fondness bore little weight against the violence his ghost had been casually engaging. A serving boy speaking out against his king, former or not, felt like grounds enough for Uther to drop another chandelier. His vision had gone completely dark, but he could make out his father’s boots moving now, shuffling against the floor as he turned to face Merlin’s challenge. 

“I am much more than that,” Merlin stated in response. His defiant voice sounded like it was filtering through syrup to reach Arthur’s ears, everything muffled and distorted. Arthur wished Merlin’s idea of stalling for time didn’t feature quite so much instigating, though he was annoyingly unsurprised that this was the route he would take. If the situation were not as dire, his annoyance may have felt more like a familiar flush of affection for his friend, but the imminent threat to both of their lives overshadowed the chance. 

There was a pause. Arthur strained against his sluggish brain to hear what was going on, afraid his hearing was going alongside his vision. Something was moving, a heavy sound of something moving fast through the air and then-- a colliding crash. He felt another wave of nausea hit him at the realization that whatever his father had just thrown likely collided head-on with Merlin. The man didn’t have a self-preserving bone in his body, and if Arthur had been knocked out so easily, he feared the worst for Merlin’s condition. The room was silent. The sick feeling turned hot within him, and he struggled to regain use in his limbs if only to distract Uther from harming Merlin further. If he could speak, shout for the guards to help Merlin while he talked with his father, anything was better than lying there. 

“You have magic.” Uther’s voice was clear and furious. 

If Arthur was nauseous before, he was gravely ill now. Confusion pooled inside him like trickling water. The hot anger in his chest fizzled out into a cold dread, and suddenly lying useless on the floor felt much more appealing when the other option was processing the implication of his father’s words. There must have been someone else in the room, someone that he hadn’t heard enter, or perhaps he had mistook a stranger’s voice for Merlin’s. Even as the idea crossed his mind he knew it was impossible, but his head was too fuzzy to handle the other outcome. 

“I was born with it!” Merlin said, and though he spoke with the same defiant tone, Arthur could hear the waver in his confidence. He wished he had passed out entirely, would rather be at the mercy of his murderous ghost of a father than listen motionlessly to Merlin’s confession.

“I made you Arthur's servant,” Uther said, incredulous. “You are a sorcerer.” 

“Even while you were king, there was magic at the heart of Camelot,” Merlin spat. He didn’t sound half like Arthur had expected him to. He felt like he was a boy again, sitting through his father’s damning trials. Usually, the sorcerers would gloat their violence against Camelot or plead and beg for their lives, sometimes even a combination of both. Arthur had presided over these trials himself now, had been personally on the dealing end for the condemnation of the treatment of magic. Merlin had been there, too. He had watched Uther, watched Arthur, condemn magic users for so much as enchanting smoke to dance. Merlin didn’t sound like they had. He was pushing at Uther, goading him on to keep the attention away from Arthur, but he just sounded tired. 

“I will not allow you and your kind to poison my kingdom,” Uther yelled, and Arthur heard him crossing towards Merlin. Was it better to try and stand? Or just to lie here and absolve himself of the responsibility of handling what was happening before him, spare his father yet another disappointment when he inevitably could not kill Merlin? 

“You're wrong. You're wrong, about so much,” Merlin said in that same sad tone. “Arthur is a better and more worthy king than you ever were.”

Arthur barely had time to process the twisting adoration and shame in his stomach before a horrible roar filled the air-- from Uther’s ghost? He was almost sure one of them was killing the other until the sound flew across the room and through the heavy chamber doors, and everything fell silent again. Then the only sound was the soft, hurried padding of Merlin’s footsteps as he crossed to Arthur’s side to check on him. And where else would he go Arthur wondered to himself. He’s a sorcerer, and yet Merlin stooped beside him, holding Arthur’s head gingerly in his long hands. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t just dreamt this whole conversation in the delirium of his head wound. 

In this small respite from the attacks of his father, Arthur realized he could feel his limbs again, would maybe even be able to move them if he tried. He could’ve opened his eyes, looked up at Merlin, and said, I heard you. I know what you are. He could’ve wrapped his own hands around Merlin’s and admitted I don’t know what to do with knowing this, and I’m scared of you. But I’m more scared of losing you.

Instead, he just laid still. Feigned unconscious while Merlin checked him over, deemed him alive enough, and stood again as he promised that he’d come back soon. Arthur waited to open his eyes until long after the sound of Merlin’s footsteps had faded, chasing off after his father’s horrible scream. It was another moment before he flexed his hands, then his arms, and began to test his legs for stability. The horn was intact, undamaged from his fall and still strapped to his side. He began to walk out after Merlin before his brain had caught up to his body. 

He didn’t know what he would do when he found them. The idea of sending his father away using the horn weighed on Arthur. Memories of attacking his father all those years ago, when Nimueh had twisted his mind, intrusively found their way at the forefront of his thinking. Merlin had stopped him then from killing Uther in the middle of the council chambers. Gods, he may well have stopped Uther from killing him tonight in the very same room. He had seen Merlin decry magic as evil, and yet Arthur seemed at present to owe his life to Merlin’s magical abilities. The multitude of it all made his head ache again, split between his rampaging, filicidal father and the daunting truth about his closest friend. 

The sound of his father’s cold voice, brought him out of his thoughts in an instant.

“It will give me great pleasure killing you,” Uther leered. Arthur turned the corner to see Uther stalking forward, sword raised towards Merlin. 

“Father!” Arthur yelled.

Uther froze, his back to Arthur. For a sickening moment, Arthur saw the spears pinning Merlin to the wall and thought he was too late-- Uther had already run him through. Then Merlin met his eyes, a look of relief and complete assurance washing over his face, and the aching confusion in Arthur’s head of what to do cleared immediately. As Uther turned to face him, Arthur was already raising the horn. 

“Arthur,” Uther said, cautiously. “No. Please.” He met Arthur’s eyes with a pleading look, a softness and fear in his face that he had rarely shown while living. Arthur felt again as he had so many years ago, when he had held his sword against his father’s chest in anger. Hesitation trickled through him, pooling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew his father could read it on his face. “Whatever I have done, I’ve done for Camelot.” 

He could agree that his father believed this, but Arthur could not stand by and let Uther claim willful ignorance to the severity of what he had attempted. He watched Merlin straighten against the wall, a look of concern coloring his face as if he worried these words would sway Arthur from action. He wondered, if he were to lower the horn, to back down from banishing Uther, what Merlin might do. He hadn’t seen him use magic before in the council chamber, only heard him admit to what he was. He didn’t know what it would mean for Merlin to use magic in front of him, for Arthur to see him do it. He didn’t know what it would mean for them. 

For now, it didn’t matter. Arthur had made up his mind when he’d seen his father’s sword raised at Merlin. 

“You've had your turn,” Arthur said, lowering the horn to his lips. “Now it's mine.” 

Uther gasped, “Merlin has--”

Arthur drew a deep breath and blew a long, clear note through the horn. The apparition of his father shuddered, blurring at the edges, and let out a shrill scream as it dissipated into the air around them. The echo of the horn rang faintly through the room, bouncing off the stone walls of the armoury and hanging as both men watched the remnants of Uther’s ghost fade away. As his heart rate died down, Arthur could feel how tense he was, the cool metal of the horn still ghosting his skin as he lowered it. Across the room, Merlin seemed just the opposite. He let out a short laugh, something between abating terror and immense relief. 

For a moment they shared a long look, catching their breath. Naturally, Merlin broke the silence.

“Good that you showed up when you did,” he said with another breathy laugh. “You were about to be out a servant.”

Arthur would usually have appreciated the brevity, even if he would never admit it, but Merlin’s humor felt sour to him. Merlin was still looking back at him, the corner of his mouth pulled into his usual cheeky grin. His sharp face was lopsided with the smile, but his eyes looked so tired. He looked… normal. There hadn’t been time before to think about what he would do now, faced with the reality of Merlin having magic. They had handled the task of banishing his father, but Arthur was now left alone to address its after effects, and Merlin looked at him like nothing changed. The man he would have called his closest friend, in some ways his closest anything, smiled at him as if nothing had happened. 

He didn’t even know Arthur knew. Gods, his father had clearly been trying to warn him when he blew the horn, but Merlin wasn’t saying anything. 

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” Arthur replied, his voice meeker than he had meant it to be. Merlin pulled a face clearly inherited from Gaius. 

“Easy for you to say,” Merlin scoffed, “you weren’t the one with a sword pointed at your chest. And two spears through your coat, might I add.” Arthur’s heart twinged, and he felt sick again. He was just the same as usual, full of sarcastic banter with no regard for Arthur’s status as his king. Arthur was almost frightened by it, how normal Merlin could be despite the secret he was withholding. 

“But you wouldn’t have let him kill you, of course,” he said. He gave Merlin a forced smile, but the man just looked at him confused.

“Your faith is flattering,” he crooned sarcastically, “but I don’t know what exactly you expect me to have done to fend off your bloodthirsty, intangible father, sire.” 

Arthur felt incredulous, all the confusion and fear and anger of the past hours crashing in as one looming feeling that demanded to be addressed. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Surely, Merlin must have considered that Arthur might have heard him when he proclaimed himself to Uther, or he must have heard the clipped warning the ghost gasped out as it dissolved. And yet… nothing. Not even a shade of uncertainty covered his face, all his worry seemingly gone along with Uther’s ghost. Arthur didn’t know what he wanted to see, honestly. Shame? Or maybe even fear, any acknowledgment that something about Merlin had just fundamentally changed and Arthur had to be the one to decide what to do next. Maybe he was angry Merlin had put him in this position at all, and he wanted to see the same sad look Merlin wore when Arthur yelled at him. Maybe he just wanted to yell at him, to say this is unfair and why didn’t you tell me? But Merlin just smiled that same grin, all cheekbones and teeth. 

“Arthur? Are you alright?” he asked. He hadn’t realized they were still standing so far apart, nearly the length of the whole armoury closet. “Would you mind, ah, unspearing me from the wall?” 

“Right,” Arthur said. The spears Uther had used to pin him against the wall still held him there, cutting clean through his jacket, and Arthur could practically hear Merlin’s inevitable griping about the holes and the cost to patch them. He took a tentative step forward, the horn on its chain tapping against his leg as he moved. He wished he could have banished this along with his father’s ghost, wrapped everything up into one problem and sent it back into whatever veil he had pulled it from. The image crossed his mind of Merlin kneeling on the council chamber floor while a banishment edict was given. By the next sunrise, he would be gone, maybe wandering home to Ealdor, and Arthur would be without him. He struggled to fathom a life without Merlin by his side.

“Arthur?” Merlin repeated. Now some of the worry Arthur had longed for crept into his face. “I’m sorry about Uther.” 

Arthur shook his head. “It’s nothing, Merlin,” he said, crossing the length of the floor towards him and taking hold of the first spear. “You were right.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Merlin asked again, the corners of his quirking back up tentatively. “That shield must have really knocked you hard if you’re admitting I was right.”

Arthur’s stomach twisted. “You saw us in the council chambers, then,” he asked as he pulled out the first spear and set it against the wall. He watched Merlin draw a breath, the almost minuscule rise of his chest that would’ve been unnoticeable had he not been standing barely a foot in front of the man. 

“Oh, well,” Merlin sputtered out a laugh. “Yes, I found you lying quite unconscious on the ground. Before I set out again for Uther, and then he found me here, and then you arrived.” 

“Right,” Arthur said. He grabbed for the second spear, dislodging it with a tug and leaning it against the stone wall next to the first. Merlin had dropped his grin and fiddled anxiously with the holes in his jacket. 

“Might need the day off to get these mended,” he rambled. “Costly, too, might have to take it into town if Gwen doesn’t have the time between queenly duties.”

“Right,” Arthur repeated. He bit back the fondness of Merlin’s predictability, the urge to shove his shoulder and make a snarky remark about his laziness. Instead, he turned his gaze on Merlin, squaring his face like he did when he feigned upset, when he needed to seem serious. Merlin stopped thumbing at the holes in his jacket and looked up through his eyelashes to meet Arthur’s eyes. 

“Merlin,” Arthur began, his tone flat, his voice as calm as he could muster. He didn’t know where to start. 

“I don’t actually need the day off,” Merlin said. Against his efforts, Arthur rolled his eyes.

“When my father was… when I blew the horn, he was saying something,” Arthur continued. He watched Merlin set his temples. “He said your name.”

“Did he?” Merlin said, swallowing hard. “I was too busy being threatened at sword point and pinned to a wall, I’m afraid. Didn’t catch it.”

“He very clearly said your name.” 

“Maybe he…” Merlin laughed uncomfortably. He looked away from Arthur, furrowing his brow and glancing around the room. It reminded Arthur very much of how he behaved the morning after he’d been in the tavern, always hesitant to meet Arthur’s eyes when confronted. “Maybe he was making a last effort to distract you. He had gone after everyone else.”

“Uther had no reason to hate you,” Arthur said. “He even liked you, on rare occasions.”

“Really?” Merlin said, his crooked grin creeping back across his face. “More than one occasion?”

Arthur did not return his smile, keeping the same terse face. “Why did Uther go after you?”

Merlin paused, worrying his bottom lip and looking at Arthur defiantly. “Likely because I was helping you banish him, Arthur.”

He placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, could feel the soft, worn leather of his jacket against his calloused palm. Arthur couldn’t pick out the look in Merlin’s eyes. Maybe he could just let this go, believe that he had misheard what had been said in the council chambers. If Merlin wouldn’t tell him… maybe he didn’t want to know. Perhaps it would be better for the both of them if Arthur silently chalked the entire encounter up as an effect of being bludgeoned in the head, or perhaps as some sort of fantastical ghost ruse of his father’s making. 

He took a deep breath, nodded once, and dropped his hand. Merlin looked as if the weight of the citadel had been removed from him, his shoulders rolling back as he leaned against the wall.

“Right. Right, of course,” Arthur sighed. He could believe Merlin. There was no one else in Camelot, no one else in his life perhaps, that he trusted more. If letting this go maintained that, he could believe that the blow to his head caused him to hallucinate what was said. “It’s late, Merlin. We should turn in for the night before you oversleep and I miss the morning training.”

Merlin grinned at him. “Does that mean you’ll be readying yourself for bed, sire?”

“Of course not,” Arthur scoffed. “I don’t know what gave you that impression. Come on, Merlin.” Arthur clapped his hand across the back of Merlin’s head, pulling him along as they left the armoury. 

✹✹

The walk back to his chambers was quiet, the evening catching up to both of them now that their adrenaline was gone. They were thankful to avoid any patrolling castle guards as the shuffle of their dragging feet sounded softly through the corridors. Merlin mumbled idly to himself about the holes in his coat, and Arthur tried to enjoy the casual repose as they made their way through the castle halls. 

He had always felt that Merlin was keeping something from him, why not just let it go on? It was practically part of their rapport now. Occasionally Merlin snuck around or blatantly seemed to lie, but he was always incredibly loyal when it counted most. Often, even when it risked his own life. Other than the fiddling behavior, it almost seemed like the man genuinely didn’t know what Arthur had been alluding to. He could chalk up Merlin’s nervousness as leftover fear from his encounter with Uther, and perhaps the shield really had just hit him that hard. 

He tried to push the drip of unsettled curiosity from his mind as he watched Merlin move around the room, readying it for sleep. The man was truly extraordinary at half-assing basic tasks despite having been Arthur’s servant for nearly a decade. His long hands pulled off Arthur’s day clothes like it was second nature, navigating his shoulders and the tie of his belt with familiar ease, but his shoddy folding looked more like piling. He carefully tended to the wound on Arthur’s head, yet Arthur watched him spill half a pitcher of water while filling the wash basin. The man was either tripping over his own feet or incredibly attentive, and maybe that was what left Arthur feeling on edge. 

Time and again, those closest to him had sought to harm him and kept this from him with elaborate lies. Even when he had been told explicitly of their plans, he often wrote off these accusations for reason of loyalty. He wanted to trust Merlin entirely, especially since the man had so often been the one to warn him of these betrayals… but a familiar doubt nagged at Arthur’s heart. What if Merlin had been performing the bumbling idiot all these years? He was so close to Arthur’s heart, had open access to the plans of the Round Table and to Arthur himself. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume, if Merlin did have magic, that he held a deep animosity towards the treatment of his people. As Arthur’s servant, he had often been forced to see them condemned and punished personally. Perhaps he had just been biding his time and gaining Arthur’s favor in order to strike against him, from the heart of Camelot. 

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to see Merlin as an enemy. In every fight against Morgana, Merlin had stood by his side despite the friendship he once shared with her. He wondered if she had known about Merlin, if that was why they had always been strangely close. It had driven Arthur crazy, this relationship they shared that he was never let in on. In some ways he supposed he had been jealous of her, but now their closeness made unnerving sense. Still, Merlin had stood against her. He had chosen to fight for Camelot under both Arthur and  Uther’s reigns, surely that counted for something. 

He had brought half of Arthur’s best knights to the kingdom as well, altogether strengthening the virtue of his men. Arthur supposed that could be a tip in support for insurrection, but if he began doubting Merlin and his knights he would only have Gwen and Gaius left to rely on, and gods know they would side with Merlin. And regardless, Arthur had asked for Merlin’s opinion on many issues of magic use to which Merlin had often condemned and warned against the practice entirely! Perhaps, if he did have magic, he felt it a deep burden and only forced himself to use it in situations of life or death. He had said he was born with it, and he had spoken kindly of Arthur to Uther’s ghost. Perhaps that was the answer. He was likely ashamed of his powers, maybe he acquired them through a curse put upon his parents. That would explain his distrust of the practice as well as his resistance to speak honestly when questioned. 

An immense wave of relief ran through Arthur. Surely this was the answer he had been searching for. Merlin was hiding something from him after all, but because he was deeply ashamed of having magic. It made sense why he would come live in Camelot, where magic was banned, to resist the tempting nature of its call. And why he studied under Gaius, who himself had given up the practice! Arthur could have laughed with the simplicity of it all, and he felt a broad grin spread across his face. 

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted. Arthur turned suddenly to look at him, roused from his thoughts. He was standing by the table, his brow furrowed over annoyed eyes. “Did the shield damage your brain, sire?” he mocked. “I’ve said your name three times already.” 

“Ah,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “No, no, Merlin. I’m alright. Just much to think about from the evening.” He smiled again, giving a fond look to the man. Merlin’s eyebrows knit closer together, his annoyance shifting more to confusion. 

“Of course, I’m sure,” he said. Arthur could hear the edge of his anxious ramble creeping into his voice again. Maybe… would it be better if Arthur told him he knew? He was sure Merlin feared him finding out, given how strongly he aligned himself against magic. Perhaps he was afraid Arthur wouldn’t understand his situation, but, luckily for Merlin, Arthur was increasingly confident that he did. 

“What did you want, Merlin?” he asked, still giving a friendly smile. Merlin continued to stare at him with confusion. 

“I want to go to sleep. I was trying to ask if there was anything else you needed, my lord.” 

He did look tired. It must weigh on him, being so close to Arthur as the prince and now the king and keeping such a heavy secret. It may be a kindness, even, to let him know that Arthur knew and that he was in no danger. He had always been a trusted ally, and this changed nothing. 

“No, Merlin, thank you,” Arthur said. “You… you may go.”

“Right,” Merlin said. “You’re… welcome?” He turned, shaking his head, and began for the door. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur said, “Get some rest.”

Merlin turned back, looking puzzled at Arthur as if the man had grown a second head. He opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again. For a moment, he just stared at Arthur.

“Right,” he said again, “...goodnight, Arthur. I will ask Gaius to make up something for your head.” 

He turned again to head out the door, his hand wrapping around the heavy handle and pulling it open. Arthur supposed now was as good of a time to tell him as any. 

“Merlin,” Arthur called out before he could disappear behind the door. The man stopped, his back still to Arthur, sighing deeply and leaning his forehead against the door in defeat. 

“Arthur, I appreciate your unusual friendliness, but if you want me to wake you up in time for practice, you will have to let me--”

“I wanted to tell you that I know.” 

Merlin went rigid. Arthur had never seen his defenses go up so quickly, not while actively under attack, not even when pinned to the wall by Uther’s ghost just an hour ago. He worried that Merlin was more ashamed of his secret than he had initially believed. Maybe he had done something terrible with his magic and the guilt haunted him? Or perhaps he just feared Arthur’s response. 

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur said, gently. Merlin’s hand held a white-knuckle grip on the iron handle. He slowly shut the door. “We don’t have to talk about it, I understand how, ah, uncomfortable this may be for you to discuss. But… you have nothing to fear.” 

Merlin still faced away from Arthur, his back tense, though his words seemed to put him somewhat at ease. 

“But if you wanted to talk about it…” Arthur offered. He began to feel a bit like Merlin, digging himself a hole. Perhaps he could have saved this conversation for a less late night. “You’re… I’m your friend, Merlin. This won’t change anything.”

Merlin drew a long breath. He turned slowly to face Arthur, like each movement brought him discomfort. He held a calculating expression, like he was staring down a split path with no guidance of which was right to follow. Arthur watched as a firmness settled over him, his temple set and shoulders squaring out. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated. A faint blush colored his ears and spread across the edge of his cheekbones. “And frankly, if I did, I feel it would be very little of your business to know.”

Arthur’s face quirked into a puzzled expression. “You forget that you’re speaking to your king, Merlin.” 

“My apologies. It’s none of your business, sire. Goodnight.” Merlin gave him a bitter smile and turned back to the door. 

“Merlin, listen,” Arthur scoffed. “There’s no need for this. I can… I don’t quite know yet what to do, but I assure you that we will make this work.”

Merlin's eyebrows shot to his hairline. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his tone almost accusatory. 

“Only that I won’t let any trouble befall you. I know why you didn’t tell me of course, but I want you to know that… I do care for you. You’ve always been loyal and dependable, and your place in Camelot is assured.” 

The stress seemed to have left Merlin’s body altogether, replaced instead by a deep confusion. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms across his chest. “I would hope so, Arthur, if you let Gwaine stay around.” 

“Gwaine as well?” Arthur asked. If he was surprised that Merlin hadn’t accidentally revealed his magic by being a clumsy fool, he was shocked  that Gwaine had any to begin with. He hesitated to believe Merlin. But, Merlin would likely know best, and he supposed a bond over magic would explain why Merlin and Gwaine were so close.

“Arthur, even you aren’t that dense,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. Arthur offered a small smile despite his teasing, thankful to see some of Merlin’s humor come back to him.

“No, of course, he just never struck me as the sort.” 

“Well he’s struck half your knights,” Merlin snorted. Arthur bristled instinctively. 

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. “He’s enchanted them?” 

Merlin hummed at him, his eyebrow raised. “Bit of an odd way to say it, but if it spares me from explaining the details to you, then you can call it that,” Merlin said, shaking his head. 

“Right,” Arthur said. Perhaps he had not been prepared to have this conversation with Merlin. He could believe not all magic was evil, but it was difficult to digest that so much magic had been active in Camelot under his watch. He didn’t know what this meant for his knights, and he felt a bit sore to the fact he had never noticed. He prided himself on maintaining a close relationship with all his men, to be their friend as well as their king. Knowing that Gwaine had and was using magic, not only that but to bewitch the rest of the knights, was a heavy realization. Merlin did not seem bothered by this knowledge, however, which he took as a reassuring sign. The man had stood against the cruelties of magic for years. Arthur could trust that if Merlin accepted Gwaine and his practices, it was worth keeping an open mind. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked. “You were right to say earlier that this changes nothing. I know it may seem odd to you now, but you really need not dwell on it.” 

“I appreciate your assurance, Merlin,” Arthur nodded. “Your council is important to me, as always. It’s only that I did not realize how much magic was in the castle with me, let alone in Camelot altogether.” 

The blush drained from Merlin’s face. 

“Arthur,” he began quietly. “You need to tell me exactly  what you’re referring to.”

Now Arthur was confused. After the evening they had experienced, he didn’t quite see what else Merlin could think he knew. He worried, for the first time, that he may have properly misjudged the situation. 

“Your magic,” he said. “You have magic. I heard you, with Uther. I know.” 

Merlin drew a sharp breath, his face peaky. “Arthur…” he began. His expression pinched together in a pained look, as if Arthur had just wounded him. “Let me explain.” 

“Merlin--”

“This wasn’t-- Arthur this wasn’t how I wanted to tell you,” he said, crossing the floor to Arthur quickly. He held his hands outstretched like he meant to take Arthur’s arm, like he was pleading an appeal. Arthur pulled back instinctively, taken aback by the total switch in disposition from the man, and Merlin’s face fell. 

“Merlin, it’s alright, I think I understand already,” Arthur assured. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but he couldn't help furrowing his brow in confusion. Merlin looked sick. 

“I was born with it, Arthur,” Merlin said. Arthur could see an anxious flush creeping up the man’s neck from beneath his kerchief.

“I know, Merlin, I heard you,” Arthur said. Merlin's expression was grave, tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. Arthur didn’t know what  Merlin had thought they were discussing, but it was growing abundantly clear that there had been a misunderstanding.

“I use it for you, Arthur. “Only for you, because I know you will be a great king.” 

“Merlin, that’s very kind, but it is alright,” Arthur said. He sighed, taking in the look of fear Merlin wore. He gingerly brought his hands down on Merlin’s shoulders, the feeling of the soft leather reminding him of Merlin’s nervous denial in the armoury. He hadn’t expected this reaction when he had questioned Merlin. He had first worried he would be losing a friend, and then assumed Merlin was ashamed of his powers. Now he just seemed… scared. Merlin stared at him, wordless. Arthur gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze to the man’s shoulders. 

“Look, Merlin,” he began. “I heard what you said, to my father. I assume that you mean no harm--”

Merlin let out a choked laugh.

“--because you’ve always stood by my side. I don’t know why you were born with magic, but I have trusted your voice against its dangers countless times. I know this must be a heavy burden to bear, and I hope that living here has not made this harder for you.”

Again, Merlin made a strangled sound, almost incredulous. Arthur cleared his throat, feeling suddenly very out of his depth. 

“I would never want to see you suffer, even if you use this power for my benefit, as you say,” he continued. “If you would be amendable, I would like to help you find a, ah, cure. For whatever curse befell you--or your family--that led to your powers.” 

Merlin just stared at him, his face shifted from fearful to something less identifiable. It was not an expression Arthur was familiar with seeing on Merlin, and it made him uncomfortable. He felt as if Merlin was looking through him, into his mind, searching for something to pull out and scrutinize. He wondered, fleetingly, if this was the effect of magic. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said quietly. He took a small step back, just enough to shake off Arthur’s hands. “I don’t want to be rid of my magic.” 

“I appreciate all you’ve done, Merlin, but you’ve said before--”

“I’ve spoken against magic when I believed it would lead to harm for you and your kingdom,” he stated. “Your life, the wellbeing of Camelot itself, has been saved by magic more times than you could comprehend.” 

Arthur furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.” 

Merlin shook his head, that same strange look on his face. “I can’t expect you to, not right away. Please believe me, Arthur, I… I won’t be rid of my magic, but this is not how I wanted to tell you.”

“How would you have told me?” Arthur asked, his head swimming. Merlin looked away from him. 

“I don’t know.”

“Would you have told me?” 

“Yes-- I think so. One day, of course, I would have told you,” Merlin assured. “I didn’t know how you would respond.”

Arthur paused, considering. “I don’t know what I would have done,” he admitted. “I’ve spent the night rationalizing to myself that you are not a threat to Camelot. I assumed, from how you had spoken previously, that you would be ashamed of your powers and had kept the truth hidden for this purpose. I never considered that you enjoyed magic. I don’t know what to do with this.”

“I didn't want to put you in that position,” Merlin admitted, softly. 

A moment of quiet passed between them, neither sure how to properly move forward. Tentatively, Merlin stepped forward to where he had stood before. Arthur studied his face, trying to pull out identifiable emotions from his unfamiliar expression. He realized there was a hardness in Merlin’s eyes he had not seen before. He had been very wrong in his assumption that Merlin would want to be rid of his powers, and he worried he had caused deep offense in his suggestion. Merlin fixed his eyes on Arthur’s with a set look. 

“I’m still the same person,” he said. 

Arthur’s eyes looked him over once again. Just as he had been all night, he was still so... normal. Merlin was just like himself. Even the hard look in his eyes did not fall too far from the deep tiredness Arthur usually found in them, often contrasted by a playful grin or a sarcastic comment. 

“I thought I knew you,” Arthur said, softly. 

“You do.” 

“I do.”

Again, silence fell over them. Arthur was tired, he could feel the ache of the day weighing on him and he longed to put this night to rest. There was certainly more to discuss, but perhaps it could wait until they had both slept and had time to settle into this new knowledge. One pang of curiosity still ate at Arthur, however. Something that had burrowed in his mind when he had first heard Merlin speak in the council chambers and had nagged as he suggested finding a way to get rid of his powers. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, hesitantly. 

“Yes?” he responded, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. 

“Will you… will you show me?” 

A blush lit back across Merlin’s ears, creeping onto his face in a way that made Arthur smile. He often saw Merlin embarrassed, a common side effect of his being the castle’s most useless servant, but rarely did Arthur see him flustered. He could’ve laughed if the air didn’t still feel so tense. 

“You’re asking me to do magic? In the castle, in front of you?” Merlin’s voice had an edge of uncertainty, but he met Arthur’s eyes with a warm look. 

“You’ve already done sorcery in the castle tonight, in front of my father no less. Besides, how am I to believe you otherwise?” Arthur smiled. He hoped the gesture came across in goodwill and didn’t further Merlin’s nervousness. To his reward, Merlin let out a short laugh and shook his head. 

“You have to promise not to put me in the stocks,” he said. 

“Of course, I can promise that,” Arthur assured. “Sorcerers are sent straight to the dungeon.” 

Merlin did not find this funny. Arthur immediately felt a pang of regret. 

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said. “I promise, as I said before, no harm will come to you.”

Merlin bit his lip contemplatively, drawing in a deep breath. He nodded once, and stepped back from Arthur. Cupping his hands together, he raised them to his lips. He met Arthur’s eyes and whispered something in a language Arthur didn’t recognize, blowing gently as if to trap the words in between his hands. He gave Arthur a small, crooked smile. Slowly, he opened his hands to reveal the glowing figure of a dragon, floating between them and shining as if made from embers. Arthur, though, could almost have missed it entirely. 

“Your eyes, Merlin--” he breathed. The rest of his sentence caught in his throat, too taken aback by the sudden golden flash in the man’s eyes. Fear hit him first, ashamedly. He had been on the receiving end of that glow, felt like a prey animal staring into the yellow eyes of a predator much more powerful than he could hope to be. But now it was framed with Merlin’s dark eyelashes and the crinkling edges of his smiling eyes. The dragon figure cast a warm light upon his face, and it seemed almost as if Merlin were lit from within. The gold shine of his eyes began to feel less like an imposing danger and more like watching the magic within Merlin find its way out to Arthur.

“Oh” Merlin said. The dragon fizzled out, a faint remnant of its glow still dancing in Arthur’s eyes. “They glow, from the magic. I assumed you had seen it before on other sorcerers.” 

“Of course, many times,” Arthur nodded. “I just wasn’t expecting to see them on your face. It suits you, though. It’s… almost beautiful.” 

The blush darkened on Merlin’s cheeks, and Arthur felt his own ears go warm. He suddenly realized how much he had leaned into Merlin, or perhaps they had leaned into each other, when he conjured the dragon. Arthur cleared his throat, leaning back, and ignored the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest. Merlin took to rubbing his hands together, as if brushing off ash from the dragon. It reminded Arthur of his fussing with the holes of his jacket earlier in the night. He hadn’t realized Merlin was such a habit of nervous fiddling. 

“You believe me, then?” Merlin asked. 

“Of course,” Arthur said. “And I won’t even put you in the stocks or the dungeon.”

“Your kindness knows no limits, sire,” Merlin said with a tired smile. 

Arthur gave a short laugh and clapped his hand over Merlin’s shoulder. “I try to serve my citizens well,” he sighed. “I will even, in my graciousness, let you retire to your chambers now. We can discuss this--and the magic ban--another time. We both need rest.” 

Merlin jolted. “The ban? You would consider lifting it?” 

“ Mer lin,” Arthur drawled, rolling his eyes. “I told you no harm would come to you. I don’t know if… I’m not sure if the kingdom is prepared for the ban to be lifted at once. But I would be grateful, as always, for your council on the matter as I begin revising how it’s upheld. Perhaps we begin by allowing those born with magic, like you, to practice freely.”

“How will you fairly determine the difference?” Merlin pushed, furrowing his brow. 

“This is exactly why I will be grateful for your council,” Arthur said, smiling. “Perhaps I will lift it, I’m not sure yet, Merlin. I’ve always trusted your opinion when it comes to matters of sorcery, however. I trust that your advice will be key in deciding a fair and equal resolution.” 

“You sound like a king,” Merlin laughed. “I will readily give my council, but in the morning.” 

“And Gwaine’s, of course.”

“Gwaine?” Merlin asked. “Why would Gwaine advise on sorcery?”

“Did you not… What were you referring to earlier, Merlin? ‘Enchanting the knights’?”

Merlin’s face undertook a rapid change in expressions, first scrunching confused, then dropping in realization, before finally setting in amused humor. The tips of his ears turned red as he gave Arthur a broad grin. “That, my lord, you will have to ask Gwaine yourself.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to question further, but Merlin had turned, laughing, and was quickly leaving the room. “Sleep well, sire!” he called as he slipped behind the heavy door, and Arthur swore the door seemed to gently close by itself as Merlin’s footsteps echoed down the hallway.