Safe
A/N: I'm currently only about halfway through the 3rd season, but considering the way "the status quo is god" on this show, I don't imagine much has actually changed or will change anytime soon. This fic is a scene that could happen at any point in the story, and should really have already happened. Seriously.
In that moment, there wasn't time—no time for secrecy or subterfuge, no convenient pratfalls to distract Arthur or knock him unconscious for five perfectly-timed minutes. It was just now and it was real and it was happening unless Merlin stopped it. He didn't have time to begin to think, as his magic bypassed the rational part of his brain to shield Arthur from the sorcerers' attack. He heard his own voice shout, "Arthur!"—probably the stupidest thing he could have said, as his voice only drew the prince's attention at the moment it would have been far safer for him to be looking anywhere else—but his voice bypassed his brain as well. It was all he said; no other words, no incantation. But his outstretched hand and the brilliant flash of gold in his eyes would be unmistakeable to someone staring straight back at him at such close range. The multiple blasts of magical fire bounced off the invisible shield Merlin made around Arthur, rebounding onto their casters—three black-robed warlocks who stood on the crumbling remains of the rounded balcony that overlooked the interior of the ruined tower. They fell back against the curving wall as one, helpless and lifeless forms of ash in the vague shapes of men. Yet another magical attack on Camelot's Crown Prince, yet another attack thwarted, but...not in secret—not this time.
Arthur's heavy armour, Arthur's brilliant steel—no defence against a magical attack. There was no time, indeed nowhere to duck or dodge. He would have died, had Merlin not kept him safe.
And then Merlin was on his knees at his side, head down, every muscle taut in a clear attempt to still the tremblings of terror that strove to take him whole. His breath, quick and uneven, reached Arthur's ears. But he was still. He wasn't running away.
Merlin! A sorcerer! Whenhowwhathowwhy? You never told— How many times—? You lied, you lied, youlied, lied, liedliedlied!
Beheadings and burnings and drownings...
And he wasn't running away.
Grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Shaking him. Arthur's voice, "Run! Merlin, you idiot! Why aren't you running? Run away!"
And Merlin, still looking down, unable to meet his gaze, shaking his head, mumbling, "I can't—I won't—I can't—I can't! Won't. Can't." A gasp, then a whisper, "Won't leave you; have to keep you safe."
Deep in his chest, Arthur felt something small yet painful break in silence. The pain spread through his chest, burning like the water of a winter lake under shattered ice. Arthur pulled Merlin carefully to his chest, wrapping him tightly in his arms for a moment as he felt tears spring to his own eyes. There would be time later for conversations, for confrontations, for explanations. For now, he needed Merlin to know there would be time, that he had time. "It's alright," Arthur whispered, "I won't tell my father—I won't tell anyone. You'll be safe, Merlin; I'll keep you safe."