Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Notes: I was recently sucked into the wonder that is Kradam fic, which is why I haven't uploaded anything in a while; but never fear, I have returned to Merlin as well. :D Also, *beats head against the wall* why is it so hard to come up with a title? For me, I think it's harder than actually writing the fic itself.
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"Sorcerer," Arthur says, eyes going wide in shock, hand jumping to the hilt of his sword. Merlin clenches his hands into fists, feels his heart racing throughout his body. The silence between them vibrates with tension and unspoken words, until Arthur swallows hard, and takes a step forward. "You wouldn't hurt me," he says softly, with absolute certainty, and the relief that rushes through Merlin feels like an overwhelming flood of joy, and this is how it happens, or—
***
"Sorcerer," Arthur says, and his face twists in fury. "You've been lying, all this time, you—" Merlin shakes his head frantically, pleads, "I wanted to tell you, I did, I've only used it to help you. I—" He breaks off because it is suddenly too much, the pain rising in his chest, the distrust in Arthur's hard eyes. Arthur's face is closed off; he breathes harshly and looks away from Merlin, says, "I expect you will be gone by tomorrow. If I see you again I will tell my father everything." The sound of his heavy footsteps striding away echoes the shattering of Merlin's heart, and it can't be like this, except it is, or—
***
"Sorcerer," Arthur says, mouth gaping open, then swallows away whatever words would have come next. He kneels to the ground next to Merlin's bleeding form, says roughly, "Then do something, Merlin, heal yourself." Merlin's head is fuzzy with pain, but he focuses on Arthur's face, searches for something in his expression. There is shock there, a little hurt, but mostly there is worry for Merlin. Merlin closes his eyes, whispers the words under his breath, and feels the pain recede from his body, wound closing up. Arthur helps him to his feet and Merlin says, tripping over his words, "Arthur, I—I meant to tell you, you know I wouldn't—you know—" He breaks off when Arthur circles a hand around his arm and levels a look at him that says all too clearly what he puts into words next: "Idiot." Merlin lets out a shaky breath, feels his knees go weak enough that Arthur's hand is all that is holding him up for a moment, and Merlin might have picked a different way for Arthur to find out, but he's happy that this is how it goes, or—
***
"Sorcerer," Arthur says, widens his eyes dramatically, then quirks his mouth sideways in a smirk. "Was that shocked enough for you, Merlin?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows, and Merlin can only gape at him wordlessly. "You—you knew—" he sputters, and Arthur rolls his eyes, says derisively, "Of course I knew, Merlin. Not all of us are as mentally deficient as you are." He leans in, says conspiratorially, "And I don't know if you've noticed, but you are not the most convincing liar, Merlin." Merlin rubs a hand over his face, says helplessly, "Why didn't you say anything?" Arthur shrugs, looks down, says, "I was waiting for you to bring it up." Merlin hears a tinge of hurt in his voice, and grabs Arthur's hand, looks at him apologetically. This is more than Merlin had hoped for, this easy acceptance, and he gives thanks that it has happened like this, or—
***
"Sorcerer," Arthur says, halts in his exploration of Merlin's body as the room lights with a sudden, golden glow. Merlin looks around and goes white, closes his eyes and holds still in Arthur's hold. Arthur stares down at Merlin, who he apparently does not know as well as he thought he did, and tries to reconcile the stories he's grown up with, of evil wrongdoers, with his hopelessly incompetent, foolishly loyal manservant. He can't. Arthur tries to raise some anger in himself, that Merlin has been using magic under his nose for as long as he's known him, that Merlin lied to him, but all that comes to him is the feeling that it is wrong for Merlin to look so scared in his bed. He never wants Merlin to look at him with fear like that. So he runs a hand gently down Merlin's side, like he would soothe a skittish animal, says softly, "It's all right. I trust you." Merlin's eyes fly open, search his face for reassurance, and Arthur says it again: "I trust you, Merlin." Merlin stares at him, then lets out his breath in a near-sob of relief; Arthur tips his face up, thumbs over the curve of his mouth, tells him, "We will be having a conversation later, Merlin." When Merlin open his mouth to say something, he repeats firmly, "Later," and leans down to kiss away the last traces of fear on Merlin's face, and maybe this is how it happens, or—
***
A thousand ways it could happen, where Merlin lets go of his secret to the one person he really wants to tell it to; it could end with Arthur's anger, with his acceptance, his fear or with his love.
What happens is this: Arthur does not find out because Merlin tells him first, waits with quick-beating heart and held breath for the words that will determine his fate. Arthur's face does not twist with anger, nor slacken with shock. He does not cry out for his guards, nor is he complacent with the air of someone who already knows what they have been told.
What happens is this: Arthur stares into Merlin's eyes like he is looking into his very soul, and slowly steps forward. "Thank you for telling me," he says quietly, and raises a hand to the side of Merlin's face, presses it to the curve of his cheek. Merlin shuts his eyes and turns his head to the side, blindly presses a kiss to Arthur's palm and doesn't bother to hide his shaking.
What happens is this: Arthur takes Merlin into his arms and whispers promises of I'll protect you and won't tell anyone and love and always. Merlin kisses Arthur with the knowledge that now he has given Arthur all of himself, everything he held back before; Arthur holds him tight by the heart, and tells Merlin that he will never let go.
There are a thousand possible ways it could have happened, and Merlin can only whisper his fervent thanks into the curve of Arthur's neck, that this is the way it came to pass.
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