It's short, but I haven't been writing much lately for schoolwork-related reasons, so I'm putting this up anyways. I was watching The Mark Of Nimueh again, and the way Arthur says, "There's no way he's a sorcerer," and leans towards him like he's saying you'd better not make a liar out of me, caught my attention, as did the fact that he lied for Merlin at all.

.

"Do you want to know why I confessed?" Merlin asks him later, when the council meeting he had so ridiculously burst into had ended and he had stewed for a bit. They're in Arthur's chambers, and sunlight is streaming through his window to cast the type of glow around him usually reserved for paintings of martyrs.

"No," Arthur tells him, leaving no room for argument. He receives an indignant but grateful look, and continues, "and I don't care. I know you wouldn't spread a plague, and that's that."

There's a long, shrewd silence on Merlin's end, until he inquires, "You know I'm not in love with Gwen. Why did you lie for me?"

"First thing that popped into my head," he replies honestly. "I remembered that flower, and I'm surprised at how blind you can be, not noticing those looks she gives you. She's clearly interested in you, even if you aren't, and you should tell her she hasn't got a chance so she can go find someone else suitable."

Merlin stammers for a moment, eyes widening in surprise and denial as he takes half a step back out of the sunlight. The illusory radiance of his pale skin disappears in the shadows, and he looks more like the awkward servant Arthur had almost forgotten he is. "What? No, she's not, she's nice to everyone!"

Arthur gives him the kind of look that Morgana gives him when he's being blind to another's feelings. "And you call me oblivious."

"I just confessed to being a sorcerer in the middle of the throne room," he persists, shaking his head and huffing a laugh at some sort of irony that Arthur had missed. "You don't like me, we're not friends, and for all you know, I could be the most powerful sorcerer in the land."

Arthur remembers the raw honesty in his declaration of Gwen is not the sorcerer, I am! and reflects for a moment on the many pyres he has seen burn in the citadel that he had done nothing to stop.

"Merlin," he clarifies in a steady voice, "you saved my life, and it would be poor repayment to have you killed without a single vote in your favour. I've grown rather fond of you in recent weeks. I would not see you executed."

"Thank you," he says, accepting the compliment with surprise and sincerity, "but what if I were a sorcerer?"

Merlin's gaze is expectant and he is clearly hanging all his hopes on his next words. Arthur had known that this was coming, but it doesn't stop the dull ache of loneliness in his chest as he answered.

"Then I would tell you to leave while you still have your life and not return. I do like you, Merlin, much as I pretend not to, and I don't want you dead. You didn't cure anyone with magic, and you didn't cause the plague, and that's all that needs saying."

Merlin's eyes watch him with an intensity that makes him uncomfortable. "Arthur -"

"That's what I would say to you if I thought you were a sorcerer," he speaks overtop of the protest. "You aren't, however, and our focus should be on facts, not fictions. Is there a way to clear the serving girl's name?"

"The name you're encouraging me to clear is Guinevere," Merlin corrects, looking so horribly betrayed that Arthur almost regrets his words. If it saves a life, he reminds himself, it's worth losing a friend. "I was about to ask advice from Gaius about that, actually, once he's finished giving me a good tongue-lashing."

In a quiet moment, he drops his eyes to the ground, then glances back at Arthur's face. His head is tilted downwards, and the sun shines gold on his dark hair. "I'm not sorry that I confessed, but I feel horrible about what might have happened to him because of it."

The word confess strikes him as odd, and there is almost certainly something he doesn't know, but Arthur doesn't have the heart to push. He'll likely find out sooner or later anyways. "Go ask Gaius, then, and good luck."

"Thanks," Merlin says, sounding as though he means it behind the layer of hurt and remorse. Arthur grimaces at him, trying to tell him everything he couldn't say aloud, and from the small nod he receives as he leaves, it is understood.