A/N: This is my first Merlin fic, so I hope I've done the show justice! Constructive criticism is highly appreciated.
At first, you'd put it down to dumb luck; they were just trivial things, after all.
What did it matter if a tree branch fell on an enemy soldier just as he was about to kill you, or if a bow aimed straight for your head suddenly veered off course? The branch had probably been unstable for some time, and there must have been a strong breeze that day. In any case, there was no other way to explain the coincidences. Well, no other way save one. But sorcery? In Camelot?
Don't be ridiculous.
Only it doesn't seem so ridiculous after a while when these so-called coincidences continue to occur. You may be a bit of a prat and you can't dress yourself without falling on your face, but you know magic when you see it. At least, that's what you tell yourself after one too many close calls with death. Two's a coincidence, three's a suspicious prince, and ten is just becoming utterly absurd. Nevertheless, you keep your mouth shut, because as it turns out you're quite fond of your head and are secretly grateful for whoever it is ensuring it stays attached to the rest of your body.
It's only after coming back from the brink of death yet again that you notice that he's always there. And no, you don't mean Gaius even though it's him you're thanking for saving your life once more. Because miracles are supposed to be one-offs, yet the physician always seems to have a bag full of them ready to hand out at will.
So no, it isn't Gaius, but the knobbly idiot standing loyally beside him that you find yourself smiling at. You consider asking questions but decide against it. After all, if you were right, and you always are, then you may find yourself without a manservant in the morning. Good ones are hard to come by, even if this one does spend half his time in the tavern.
You tell yourself that ignorance is bliss, though you haven't been very ignorant as of late, nor do you feel any semblance of blissfulness as things slowly begin to make sense. Because having a hunch is one thing, but having it confirmed is another. And your head would be rolling half way to Cenred's kingdom by now if it hadn't been for him.
It had been a simple enough hunting trip; the key word being 'had' as you and your men suddenly find yourselves being ambushed by a group of rogue bandits. And it's no strong breeze, no loose branch, no trick of the eye as one intending to take you out from behind suddenly goes flying backwards landing with a crunch against a tree. Your knights don't seem to notice as they fight their own battles, just as he doesn't seem to notice you watching him retreat behind a tree to wait out the rest of the melee.
After getting over the initial shock, you wonder if perhaps your father is wrong, if not all magic is as evil as he says it is. He could have easily killed you by now, and yet he continues to serve you loyally – surely that's reason enough? You try to convince yourself that things will be different when you're king, but deep down, you know nothing can ever change. That Camelot has lived without magic for too long, and a sudden acceptance of the craft would only bring havoc upon the kingdom once more.
So you watch as his face falters each time you get the credit, each time you condemn magic, each time you call him an idiot. And each time he dies a little inside, so do you. Because although you'd never admit it, he's your best friend.
And sometimes, the only way to protect your best friend is to pretend you don't know him at all.