A/N: I started writing this in October of 2009 for a prompt on KMM, and began posting it anonymously in September of 2010. Since then, it's mostly been sitting unfinished on KMM, although I kept pushing myself to come back to it over the years. I finally finished it in July of 2018, and decided it was time to de-anon.
Thank you to all of the readers who encouraged me to keep trying over the years (most of whom I'm sure have moved on from the fandom). I'm sorry I wasn't able to finish it sooner for you, but I know I wouldn't have finished it at all without your support!
See the note at the bottom for the original prompt.
Content Warnings: Depression, magical restraint
The Price of Freedom
Arthur stares at him, eyes unseeing. The goblet drops to the floor with a clang.
Sorcery.
"Arthur..." Merlin whispers hoarsely, pleading. "I can explain."
The blood roars in his ears, all other sounds muffled in the face of this betrayal. All he can see is Merlin's face, his eyes wide and scared. Traitor, he thinks. I trusted you.
Merlin makes to step towards him and he stiffens, one hand jumping to the pommel of his sword. Merlin flinches, tears brimming, and Arthur wants to grab him by the tunic and shake him for acting as though he's the one who's been hurt.
"Arthur, I swear— I swear I'd never do anything to harm you or Camelot."
His expression is earnest and innocent, just as it's always been, and it's too much — he can't hear another word. Can't hear another promise from a mouth that has already spewed so many lies.
"Go," he says stiffly. "I don't care where you spend your time, but I don't want to see you again until I call for you."
The pain on Merlin's face is visceral. "What are you going to do?" he prompts.
Arthur shakes his head, overwhelmed. His mind is going in too many directions to think clearly. "I don't know," he says irritably, waving him off. "I need to think. Just— I don't want to look at you right now."
Merlin flinches back again as if he'd been slapped. "Arthur..."
"Just go!" Arthur snaps, glaring at him.
Quietly, he leaves, his hands shaking as they pull the door closed behind him.
The roaring in Arthur's ears has intensified, the sting of betrayal still coursing painfully through his veins. He paces the length of his chambers, at a loss, his thoughts a confusing jumble of no and why Merlin? and I have to report him. But one thought bubbles its way to the surface above the rest:
Is there no one left I can trust?
With a frustrated growl, he grabs a candleholder from the table and hurls it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it smashes to pieces. The rest of the dinner service follows shortly, and then the decorative bowls and wall-hangings and chairs, until Arthur has run out of things to destroy and is left empty-handed, panting heavily, feeling no better for the mess.
He punches the bedpost, the pain just barely enough to break through the angry haze that surrounds him. With another growl, Arthur collapses onto the bed, his head in his hands.
It's several days before Arthur summons him again. Days fraught with worry and tense silence and enquiring looks from Gaius as he mopes about his room, brushing off questions about why he suddenly has so much free time on his hands. The face of the messenger who'd arrived at Gaius' door with instructions from Prince Arthur had betrayed nothing, though Merlin takes it as a small sign of goodwill that Arthur had sent a kitchen maid and not one of Uther's guards to greet him.
He takes a deep breath before knocking on Arthur's door — a small formality that has never been observed between them before but now seems impossible to forgo — swallowing thickly as Arthur's voice bids him enter.
Arthur stands before the fireplace, head down as he stares pensively at his closed fist, his face devoid of emotion. Merlin closes the door behind him, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
For a moment, neither one speaks, the silence weighing heavily between them. Just as Merlin's wondering if he should risk breaking it, Arthur raises his head slightly.
"You're a liar and a traitor."
His voice is flat, strained, and it cuts through Merlin like a knife. He bites his lip to keep from responding.
Arthur turns, his cold eyes staring straight through him. "From the moment I met you, you've shown me nothing but deceit. My father warned me about the treacherous nature of sorcerers, and now I see that he was right."
Merlin shakes his head, stepping forward, "Arthur, please, I'm your friend—"
"It's Prince Arthur, and you're fooling yourself if you think that I could be friends with a peasant, let alone a sorcerer."
Arthur's eyes burn at the interruption, and for a second, Merlin worries that he'll strike him. Then the moment passes, and his expression shutters again.
He straightens, his voice unbearably formal. "You've saved my life in the past, and though your reasons for doing so are not what I once thought they were, I am not so devoid of honour as to ignore the debt owed to you."
Merlin flinches — is this what it all boils down to, in the end? His loyalty and devotion weighed and measured for barter like sacks of grain?
He waits, hardly daring to breath. Waits to hear what repayment his actions have bought him. A quick death, maybe, for his year and a half of service; beheading instead of the pyre. It's a small comfort, but at least it will spare Gaius and the others from hearing his screams as the fire consumes him. Spare his mother the knowledge that she sent her only son to the flames.
The prince looks away, his posture rigid.
"I'm not going to turn you in."
Something worryingly like hope threatens to loosen the knot in his chest, but the grim look on Arthur's face prevents it. He licks his dry lips. "You're not?"
Arthur watches him closely. "On one condition," he says quietly, confirming Merlin's suspicions.
He holds his hand out in front of him, a thin metal bracelet on his open palm for Merlin to see. There's a hole for a key on the outer band. Merlin's stomach lurches.
"What is that?" he asks softly, though he suspects he already knows.
"A restraint from before the great purge. It's used to inhibit magic."
"Where—"
"It doesn't matter how I got it," Arthur interrupts harshly, his eyes dark. "The question is, will you wear it?"
Merlin swallows again, cold dread settling in his stomach. Just the sight of the bracelet makes something revolt inside him, his instincts urging him to run away, refuse. But this is Arthur. Arthur, whom he trusts with his life. Surely he can convince him he means no harm.
He shakes his head hesitantly. "It's not necessary, sire, I'd never use my magic to—"
"I know what you'll say," the prince coldly interrupts again. "You'll say that you only use your magic for good, that it's nothing to be feared. You think others before you haven't tried the same?"
"But it's true!" Merlin pleads, beseeching. "I promise, I'd never use my powers against Camelot."
Arthur's face contorts with anger. "The word of a sorcerer cannot be trusted."
And that hurts more than any physical blow Arthur could land. Merlin winces, lowering his gaze. It feels as though there's a gaping wound inside of him, widening further with each glare Arthur sends his way, and this isn't how it was supposed to go.
Without a sound, he raises an arm, offering his pale wrist to Arthur.
Solemnly, Arthur produces a small key, the power of the bracelet thrumming and making Merlin's magic scream things like wrong and unnatural. He closes his eyes, struggling to keep his hand from shaking despite his fear.
He knows the very second the lock has clicked into place, the force of its power hitting him like a tidal wave, knocking the air from his lungs. He bends forward, clutching his ribs in pain as for the first time in his life, his magic is gone. It's like a door being slammed shut, cutting him off from everything he knows.
Arthur stands passively over him, one hand hovering awkwardly in the air as if it can't decide whether or not to comfort Merlin. Eventually, it drops back to his side, clenching into a tight fist.
"I'm told it takes a bit of getting used to," he says tonelessly, turning away. "That will be all, Merlin."
Merlin can't reply — can't speak — the metal of the bracelet a brand against his skin. A wave of nausea rolls through him, and thoughts of no and please and how could I have agreed to this flash through his mind as he stares at the hard line of Arthur's back. The pain is less than it was when it started, but the world around him has only grown more gray. How can he survive like this?
His vision is blurry, and it takes him a moment to recognize the tears for what they are.
The prince ignores him as he slowly shuffles across the room, each step feeling somehow raw and exhausting. He's just made it to the door when Arthur's voice stops him in his tracks.
"I'll keep my word," he says quietly, his eyes on the roaring fire. "As long as that restraint stays in place, I'll not tell my father about you."
The promise does little to comfort him.
A small part of him hoped that things would go back to normal between them after that, but he knew it was a foolish wish. There's no way to return to what once was; no way to put the water back in the jug once it's been spilt.
Merlin returns to his work at Arthur's insistence, though it seems to pain the prince to allow it. He says it's to prevent drawing unwanted attention, but Merlin feels him tracking his movements like a wild deer and knows he's being kept under watch. There's rarely a moment of his day that Arthur does not know about, rarely a task that's not carried out within Arthur's sight. He may not be sitting in the dungeon, but Merlin is under no delusions that he's free. In agreeing to keep his secret, Arthur has appointed himself his jailer, checking at every opportunity that the bracelet is still in place, though the distrust in his eyes never lessens after confirming that it is.
The worst cut comes when Merlin goes to polish Arthur's sword and armour, only to find it missing from its usual place. Tonelessly, Arthur informs him that he has found someone else to tend to his weapons, the unspoken someone trustworthy hanging in the air between them like an accusation.
Some days he feels like screaming, missing the trust that had come so easily before, but he knows this is his penance. At night, he dreams of running down a long corridor, desperately chasing something he can never catch, his arms growing heavier from the weight of the bracelet until he can no longer move.
He feels the life flowing out of him, his legs growing roots like a tree into the ground, stuck, and Arthur's voice whispering in his ear that he asked for it.
"Are you all right?"
Merlin glances dully at Gwen, his breath coming out in small, tired pants. The stairs seem longer than they ever had before and the basket of laundry he's carrying might as well be a small boulder.
Gwen frowns, grabbing his arm to steady him when it looks like he's about to fall.
"Fine," he says flatly, feeling anything but. Gaius had tried to assure him he'd be back to his old self with time, but he knew a lie when he heard one. He wasn't himself anymore.
There was a man in Ealdor who'd lost his arm fighting for King Cenred. He would sit in the tavern and grimly recount the battle, his hand occasionally twitching to where the missing arm would have been, claiming he still felt the pain of it despite all the years that had passed.
Now, Merlin knows what he meant. It's like losing a limb. He can feel the absence of his magic almost as clearly as he'd once felt its presence, and he still finds himself reaching for it — just like the old man — startling in pain each time he remembers it's gone.
He'd never realised how long it took to do things the "normal" way — even when Gaius and his mother insisted he try his chores without spells for safety's sake, his magic had often found small ways to help. But if he'd thought his chore load was heavy before, it's nothing compared to now. And even the simplest tasks are made that much harder by the effects of the bracelet, leaving him exhausted and gasping for air that will not come.
Gwen's wearing her worried face, her eyes grazing his ragged appearance.
"Maybe you should ask Arthur for some time off. You're working yourself too hard."
He shakes his head — even if he were on speaking terms with Arthur, he knows he can't afford to mess up now. He needs to be at his best — needs to show Arthur he means no harm. He can still be trusted.
"I can't."
Gwen frowns. "Surely Arthur would understand — I know you two bicker and argue sometimes, but he really does care about you. He wouldn't want to see you hurt yourself."
Merlin wants to laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat. His grip on the basket slackens, the pile of tunics tipping precariously to one side.
"I'm not so sure about that."
Merlin steps forward, leaning over Arthur's shoulder to refill his goblet without even being prompted. His hands shake as he tilts the flagon of wine and Arthur's eyes drift towards his wrist out of habit — searching for that flash of dark metal — though Merlin's appearance is probably proof enough of its presence. He can feel Merlin's gaze raking his profile, equal parts pleading and resigned, and he turns away, feigning interest in Sir Galahad's story about the princess and the boar until he can no longer sense his manservant beside him.
His father follows Merlin's retreat with marginal interest.
"Is your manservant quite well?"
Arthur stiffens, his face neutral. He clears his throat.
"As far as I am aware," he says cautiously.
Uther nods, already losing interest in the subject as he pops a grape into his mouth. "All the same, best to have Gaius check him over. If he does have something, I don't want him spreading it to the rest of the castle. We don't need another plague on our hands."
"Yes, father."
The beast isn't going down easily.
The knights surround it on all sides, spears at the ready, flinching backward as it takes a swipe at Sir Bors. Merlin watches from Arthur's side, on edge, his fingers twitching for a power that's no longer there. Not for the first time, he curses the prince for preventing him from giving help where it's needed.
Arthur is distracted, shouting orders and rallying the defences, his eyes on his men. The monster lets out a bone-shattering roar, and Merlin spots the danger before the others do.
"Arthur!"
He doesn't even think, tackling Arthur to the ground as a claw sweeps the area where he'd been standing. He lands heavily on top of him, pain searing across his back as Leon and Geraint race forward to deal the killing blow.
He's panting, watching as the beast lets out a final death rattle. It all feels familiar, and for a moment, he can almost forget. Forget that this isn't the way things are.
Beneath him, Arthur stirs and shoves him off. Hard.
"Burn the carcass and get the wounded on horses," he orders as he gets to his feet, sparing not a glance for Merlin.
"Sire—"
"You're hurt," Sir Leon interrupts, gracing Merlin with a concerned look. Merlin frowns as the knight runs his gloved fingers across his back, a sharp sting accompanying the movement, the dark leather stained red.
"You're bleeding."
Merlin's eyes seek out Arthur's, but the prince's face is pinched and unreadable.
"See to his wounds," he orders the knight rigidly, stalking off to prepare the beast for burning.
Leon's gaze darts questioningly between the two of them, but he says nothing.
Later that day, Arthur stares down at the courtyard, arms folded as he leans against the windowsill in his chambers.
He listens as Merlin putters about behind him, too tired to acknowledge the anger Merlin's silence shouts at him.
"You would have used your magic today, wouldn't you?" he says. "In front of all those people."
Merlin looks up, a tunic slipping from his hands to land useless and flat on the bed. He makes no reply.
Arthur frowns, sensing the unspoken confirmation. Bitterly, he thinks on the fight – how readily Merlin saved his life, nearly at the cost of his own. He would have used his magic against the beast, if he'd been able. Used it, and earned himself a spot on the chopping block.
He looks down, thinking back to the way Merlin had begged, pleaded to be trusted. Believed.
"You'd promise never to use it, but you would, wouldn't you?"
Merlin is silent, but Arthur can hear his answer ringing clearly in the open space between them.
Once a sorcerer, always a sorcerer.
He can see how the future might have been, if Merlin had been left to his own devices. How easily he would have earned himself an execution. How senselessly he'd use magic to solve his problems. How stupid he'd be as to use it in front of the wrong people. Trusting. Foolish.
Merlin has started refolding the laundry, his hands shaking, and the resentment is there, growing a little with each passing day. He no longer doubts Merlin's loyalty, though he suspects the other man's love for him is growing thin.
Arthur turns back to the window, his jaw set. He'd promised he'd protect Merlin, and protect him he would.
Even from himself.
"Arthur!"
Inwardly, he cringes, recognizing the shrillness of Morgana's voice for the lecture it surely holds.
"Morgana," he greets congenially, continuing down the hall, only slightly slowing his pace to let her catch up. "I take it something's upsetting you?"
Morgana scowls, falls into step with him. "I knew you were a brute, Arthur, but I did not think you a tyrant as well."
"And what horrible atrocity have I committed this week?" he asks dryly, though he knows what it is. He knows.
"Have you seen Merlin recently?" she says. "He's barely a step away from death."
"Don't exaggerate, Morgana," he says, but she's not, much. Merlin's little more than a living ghost these days, his face gaunt and pale, and his eyes as vacant as any corpse's.
"That poor boy would give his life for you in a heartbeat," she continues, dogging his steps. "And yet you insist on working him far past exhaustion. When was the last time you let him have the day off?"
It's been months, but he isn't about to tell her that. She wouldn't understand the importance of keeping Merlin close, keeping him in sight. The less time he has to wander... Well, it's just best not to leave him on his own.
"It's none of your business, Morgana," he says instead, turning a corner. They've reached the door to his chambers and Arthur has no intention of allowing her inside. "I'll ask you to stay out of it."
Morgana draws herself up to full height, her eyes burning with the fire only a righteous cause can grant her. "Be a man for once in your life, Arthur Pendragon, and think of someone other than yourself."
Arthur's shoulders tighten, feeling the phantom weight of someone else's secrets. He eyes her darkly.
"I am."
The days pass without much fanfare, his daily chores blending into one another without the rays of happiness that used to distinguish them. He still sees Gwen around the castle, but their talks are short as he hurries on to the next task, too tired to meet her worried eyes as she follows his weary steps across the courtyard.
He wonders if the sudden decrease in magical attacks on Arthur's life is a reflection of that. Maybe the bracelet hasn't affected him alone – maybe the rest of the world's magic was caged away as well. Maybe, in that way, he's still doing his part to protect Arthur.
It's a small comfort.
Three sorcerers have been killed since he let Arthur bind him. He watched every one, forcing himself to remember why he's doing this, to remember that the alternative is worse. It is, of course it is. It must be.
He clears the table in Arthur's room and Arthur ignores him, stares out the window instead. Like he's nothing, like he's not even there. Maybe he isn't. Some days he can't tell.
They hardly speak to one another except to discuss chores, but Merlin finds he minds the silence less nowadays, the thought of trying to keep up with their old banter leaving him exhausted and worn. He goes about his duties in a tired haze, viewing the world around him as if it were at the other end of a very long hallway, distant and meaningless, every sound and action muffled. He barely remembers what magic used to feel like, what his life was like before this, except that it was different. Better, his mind tells him, though it feels more like habit than actual wisdom. Better or worse, it makes little difference to him now.
If this is what his life is like, he can't remember why he ever fought so hard to keep it.
Now, when he moves, his entire body shakes like a leaf in the wind, every ounce of energy spent in making it through the next task, the next chore. It'll be enough, some day. One day, he'll trust me again.
The dishes clatter as he loads them onto the tray, rattling out an anxious rhythm. He can't make the tremors stop.
"You can clean the fireplace next." Arthur leans back against the windowsill, using his knife to chip away at the mortar.
He doesn't nod or respond — there's no point, not when Arthur will refuse to acknowledge him, and why waste the energy? He knows there was a time when the brush-off would have hurt him, but he can't bring himself to care any longer.
He walks toward the door, his vision blurring round the edges like fog on a window. It doesn't matter — he knows the room well enough to walk it blindfolded, his hands clenched white-knuckled around the tray.
The dishes fall, crashing to the ground like the goblet so many months before, and Merlin follows after them.
"Merlin!"
Arthur's on his feet before he realises it, dropping to his knees next to where Merlin lay unmoving.
His forehead is warm, feverish. He's burning up. Arthur feels for a pulse and instead finds a wrist that is far bonier than it should be, his skin clammy and pale. He's not dead, but he hardly looks alive.
I did this.
He gathers him up in his arms, wincing at how easy he is to carry, and makes for Gaius' chambers, glaring at the guards who watch them pass.
He finds the door open and wastes no time in entering. "Gaius!"
The old man turns away from his experiments, his face losing a few shades of colour at the sight of his charge.
"What happened?" he asks, clearing the pallet for Arthur to set him down. Merlin's limbs sprawl across the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Arthur's stomach roils.
"He just... collapsed," Arthur says carefully, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the bracelet that is surely to blame. He'd hoped that Merlin would get used to it with time — the man who'd sold it to him had promised him as much — but instead he's only gotten worse. It was never meant to kill him.
The physician follows his gaze to the restraint, his expression hardening. He sees the accusation in Gaius' eyes, and of course Gaius knows about Merlin's magic. Why shouldn't there be more secrets? More lies?
"It was necessary," Arthur says, his words rigid and defensive. "It's only meant to prevent him from using magic."
Gaius' sharp eyes bore into his, unwavering.
"Did you never ask Merlin about the nature of his powers?"
It's not a reproach — not exactly — but Arthur hears it all the same.
"What I know is treason enough," he replies coldly.
He means for it to sound final, decisive, but Gaius is still frowning at him like a child in need of a scolding.
"Merlin doesn't just have magic," he says slowly, each syllable measured, restrained. "He is magic. The bracelet cannot lock up one without the other."
The implication hangs there like an axe, sharpened and heavy, Merlin's shallow breaths the only break in the silence. Anger and guilt war within him and he clenches his fist because why can none of this be easy.
He feels Gaius' eyes on him still, expectant, impatient, and something within him snaps.
"You'd have me remove it."
He hardly recognises his own voice, his temper making the words hard, the edges ragged. Gaius doesn't so much as blink, his jaw set. He's silent, though, and that angers Arthur all the more.
He snarls, pacing the room, his ears buzzing and his hands itching for something to hit.
"You'd have me leave him to his own devices, a magic user in Camelot," he hisses, his rage a thing of its own now. "You'd tell me to trust him to know what's best when he's done nothing but lie since I've known him."
He whirls back to the physician, his hands in fists at his sides, his mind plagued by visions of fire and heavy rope twisted into nooses.
"You'd let him use it again and again until someone found out, and then you'd wish he'd had the bracelet on," he spits, the words he's longed to shout at someone for months finally boiling to the surface like fat in a stew. "You know how he is. If I take the restraint off, how long until he lands his head on the chopping block?"
Gaius' expression turns a shade more reproachful, a mulish line to his mouth.
"Forgive me, sire, but at least beheading would be a quick death."
Arthur ignores the truth in the words, his ears roaring with thoughts too many to count. There has to be another path, some other way to have the safety of the restraint without the danger.
Gaius stands taller, the presence of his surrogate son seeming to grant him the strength to speak when he otherwise might not.
"How much longer are you going to insist on punishing him? Or is he to slowly waste away into nothing under your care?"
"And what would you have me do?" Arthur snaps. "Stand by and watch as he uses his magic as he sees fit? Let him use it at the wrong time or in front of the wrong person because he thought he could help? The bracelet may not be ideal, but it's better than the pyre."
The older man's eyes narrow. "Much as I would do anything to spare Merlin that fate, don't you think it should be his choice to make?"
The words make Arthur stumble, pause. They stand there in silence, their barbs to one another like a darkened cloud between them, obscuring Arthur's vision.
Merlin's breath catches in a low hiss, his chest twitching. The air wheezes out of him like a bellows left to deflate.
The noise shakes Gaius from his stupor, and he stoops, fussing over Merlin's pillow as though it will stop his cheeks from being so pale, stop his lips from turning more blue. He grasps the thin bedsheet, pulling it over Merlin's shivering frame and Arthur tracks the movement, half expecting him to cover his face with it as well.
It's what they do with corpses, after all.
Merlin's cheeks are sunken and his hands are shaking and this wasn't how things were supposed to go.
The physician mumbles something about water, grabbing a pail as he heads for the door. Arthur wonders briefly if he doesn't want to be here when it happens. When the wheezing breaths peter out into silence.
He jostles a table as he leaves, knocking a wooden cup to the ground. The noise startles Arthur, jolts a memory within him, his eyes tracing its path as it rolls across the floor.
'I swear I'd never do anything to harm you.'
He's sitting suddenly, his eyes sliding back to the pallet in front of him. Merlin's chest rises and falls, each movement a little smaller, a little slower as Arthur watches. He wonders what it would look like if it stopped. He wonders if it would be any more peaceful than choking on thick, black smoke or having the ground drop out from beneath you.
He wonders what Merlin would think.
He tugs at the cord around his neck, the familiar shape of the key sliding across his palm. The click of the lock is nearly deafening, the bracelet falling uselessly to the bed.
Merlin gasps a lungful of air, as though he'd been holding his breath for weeks, the colour returning marginally to his cheeks. It's like watching him die in reverse, like Merlin himself had been vanishing, piece by piece.
Arthur stands and walks out of the room, leaving the key behind.
He comes back two days later to find Gaius fussing over his experiments once more. It feels like an echo, like stepping back inside a memory, and he hovers for an instant, the door creaking beneath his hand.
The physician stiffens as he enters, a stern look crossing his face.
"Sire."
There's no real deference in the word, a statement in itself.
He moves to stand before the stairway, steady and unyielding, like a sentinel. Arthur wonders vaguely if he'd fight him if he tried to pass. Wonders if he wants to find out.
They stare silently at one another, neither willing to retreat, until a thin voice sounds from the top of the stairs.
"It's all right, Gaius."
His voice is a balm, thready and weak though it is, and it occurs to Arthur that it's more than he's heard Merlin say in weeks.
Gaius doesn't move at first, his expression unreadable, but then he's stepping aside, his head held high. His eyes never leave Arthur as he makes his way toward the stairs, his steely gaze voicing what he cannot.
Arthur walks the steps like a man heading to the gallows, equal parts determination and dread.
He pushes the door open to find Merlin propped up on the bed, a host of threadbare pillows supporting him. He looks better than he had, though that says very little.
Arthur finds himself rooted in the doorway, his mind frustratingly blank. Merlin offers no help, no hint of a distraction or reprieve, as he might have done in the past. He always used to let Merlin carry the burden of these sorts of things, let him shoulder the weight of the emotions and words Arthur couldn't say, could never admit to.
But the Merlin across from him shows none of the openness of before, his thoughts guarded behind thick walls, impenetrable, his sharp eyes watching him without comment.
He almost asks how he's feeling, out of habit. Like this is any other visit, like the time Merlin came down with a particularly bad chest cough and was bed-ridden for three days. But he shuts his mouth tightly, trapping the words before they can escape. It feels wrong to ask after an ailment he's responsible for.
The silence is heavy, awkward. He searches desperately for a way to fill it, but his thoughts are like smoke, slipping through his fingers before he can grasp them. He wishes he had something to do with his hands, wishes he were sitting instead of standing, and why had he even come.
"I wasn't sure whether you'd be awake," he says after far too long a pause.
The words are stiff, too formal, and they hang weakly in the air. Merlin doesn't reply, his posture hunched and guarded.
The silence lingers, and Arthur feels his cheeks heating, even as he inwardly rails against the awkwardness threatening to swallow him. Princes don't grovel, his father's voice reminds him, the words coated in a thin veneer of disgust.
It's clear, though, that Merlin is waiting. To see what he says. What he does. If there's one thing Arthur hates showing more than weakness, it's inaction.
He shuts the door, stepping toward the measly bed. "Look—"
Merlin shifts, tenses, as though preparing for an attack. His eyes are fixed on Arthur's hands and he halts, recognising the reaction for what it is. Merlin may have willingly submitted to the bracelet all those months ago, but it's clear that he has no intention of going quietly a second time.
Arthur's stomach turns, twists.
"I'm not here to arrest you, if that's what you're worried about," he says, the words sounding hollow even to his ears. They do little to reassure Merlin.
Still, he raises his chin, defiant.
"Are you here for your bracelet back, sire?"
Arthur masks his flinch, not sure which hits harder — the comment or the pointed title that follows it.
He stops for a moment, regroups. Thinks maybe he should try a different approach, as he had in the old days. Before the secrets and the lies and what days were those, exactly?
"I'm sorry about what happened," he says, wincing at how detached it sounds. As though it'd been someone else. Unavoidable. An accident.
Merlin seems to agree, his dark eyes not losing a single shade of their skepticism.
He draws in a deep breath. Tries again.
"I never meant for the bracelet to hurt you as it did. Gaius said it had something to do with your—" he stumbles, the word still heavy and ungraceful on his tongue after so many months.
"My magic," Merlin says, no less pointed for how softly it's spoken.
Arthur nods sharply, drops his eyes to the floor.
"The restraint was only meant to keep you from using it, it wasn't supposed to be lethal."
Merlin's shoulders are taut, his pale fingers tightly clenching the bedsheets.
"You saw how it was affecting me," he responds tonelessly. "If you didn't mean it as a punishment, then why did you leave it on for so long?"
"I should have been more vigilant," Arthur allows, studying the papers on the walls, the drawings with little notations that bear Merlin's hand. "I could see that you were struggling, but I thought the benefits outweighed the costs.
"I thought, at first, that the bracelet would fix things. That if you didn't have your magic anymore, it would be like it never happened, and we could carry on as we always had. But I was wrong," he says quietly, the words more bitter than he expects. He's had a lot of time to think on it, to think on the desperation with which he'd reached for the bracelet, believing it could restore things. Bring back the old Merlin. The harmless, dependable, trustworthy Merlin.
But the bracelet couldn't erase the knowledge. Couldn't erase the pain, or the betrayal, or the lies.
Arthur clears his throat once, twice.
"It took some time," he continues with forced indifference, "but I finally realised that it wasn't possible to return to a past built on deception. I had to accept that things between us were never what I'd believed them to be."
It's Merlin's turn to look unsure, his long fingers toying with the blankets. "I know it wasn't the best way for you to learn my secret. Believe me, I never wanted you to find out like that."
"You never wanted me to find out at all," Arthur replies more sharply than he intends, resentful. He shuts his mouth, lets his teeth gnaw on his tongue.
Merlin drops his gaze, studying the thin sheet that covers him.
"I wanted to tell you," he says, frowning when Arthur scoffs. "I did. But I've lived my whole life with this secret hanging over me, knowing I was putting myself and anyone who found out in danger. I know how much your father and your duty to Camelot mean to you, and I didn't want to put that burden on you, too."
An ugly fire lights within Arthur's chest, scalding his insides. "You expect me to believe you lied to me for my sake?"
Merlin winces, has the good grace not to meet his glare.
"It wasn't just that," he concedes softly. "I was scared of what you'd do if you ever learned the truth."
"You could've trusted me," Arthur grits out, thinking of the secrets he'd shared with Merlin, the pieces of himself he'd given bit by bit until he was laid bare.
The statement seems to stir something in Merlin, his formerly timid gaze rising once more.
"And look how that turned out."
The unexpected barb leaves Arthur prickly, defensive, his control beginning to slip. "Well, maybe things wouldn't have turned out that way if you'd trusted me first instead of letting me find out the way that I did."
"Would it have made any difference?" Merlin demands, his voice rising. "If I had come to you and told you about my magic three months ago, would you have accepted it? Or would you still have insisted on a way of controlling it?"
Arthur stiffens, his hands curling into fists, even as the accusation worms its way inside his mind, prickling at his conscience. He doesn't know how he would have reacted, doesn't know if there is a world out there with a happier ending for them both.
The guilt sours in his veins and he reaches desperately for the anger he'd felt, lets it fill him up once more. He's not the only one at fault. He'd had his reasons for acting as he had.
"I was doing it to protect you. Do you have any idea how many sorcerers my father has put to death? Most of them for far smaller crimes than enchanting a goblet."
"You think I don't know that?" Merlin's glare is fierce, heated. "I live in the same Camelot you do — believe me, I know very well what happens to sorcerers who are discovered. My whole life, I've had to hide who I am, constantly worrying about what would happen if someone found out. I've been careful."
"Not careful enough," Arthur counters, feeling on more even footing. "If I found out, what's to stop someone else from doing so? All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake, and you'd be headed straight for the pyre."
"I've been using magic my whole life," says Merlin, his anger seeming to grant him strength. "I know how to keep it secret."
"You treat it like a crutch," Arthur retorts. "You use it instinctively. Do you think I didn't notice all those little finger twitches? The way your hand raised every time some threat made itself known? Even with the bracelet on, your first instinct was to reach for magic, and it's going to land you a death sentence. The restraint may not have been the best solution, but at least it saved you from your own stupidity."
Even as he says it, the argument feels tired, worn from the days and weeks he's spent turning it over in his head, stretching it, picking at the loose edges.
Merlin's eyes slant doubtfully.
"You wanted to kill me to keep me from dying?" he says, the words sharp, biting, the fire behind them like something from a distant memory.
"I told you, it wasn't supposed to kill you—"
"But it was," Merlin says. "I get why you did it, Arthur, but it's my life. They're my powers. If I want to use them to help people, then it should be my choice. Taking that away is taking away my free will. If I'm to die either way, I'd prefer to get a say in how it happens."
And there's little Arthur can say to that, the statement stirring a memory of sickly pale cheekbones and wrists that were far too thin.
He takes another breath, reminds himself why he's there.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, putting more feeling behind it this time. "As angry as I was, I never wanted to cause you pain. I know I acted wrongly, and you have every right to hate me for that, but I won't apologise for being angry with you."
Merlin's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, seeming to accept the compromise.
"I'm sorry, too," he offers, his shoulders losing some of their tension. "I hated keeping secrets from you, and lying all of the time. I know it hurt you, finding out the way you did. For what it's worth, I wish I had told you instead."
Arthur's not sure what that's worth, not sure what anything is worth anymore, but it's better than nothing. It has to be.
"And," Merlin continues, more hesitantly this time, "I'm sorry for putting the burden on you, too. Of having to keep it a secret from your father all these months."
There's an undercurrent to his words that Arthur just barely catches, his small shoulders hunching. It feels like a test. Like a second chance, of sorts.
He turns it over in his mind, letting the array of possible answers drift across the back of his tongue until the right one settles itself into place.
"I won't expose your secret," he says, refusing to let himself dwell on what that means for his honour as a prince, as a knight, as a son. Whatever else Merlin is, he's not a traitor. He doesn't deserve to die like one.
The glint in Merlin's eyes betrays his doubt.
"I won't stop using my magic," he says, cautiously, like a hunter checking the forest for traps. Searching for hidden dangers beneath the leaves. He raises his chin again, defiant. "It's my life, and if I get caught, I'll face the consequences."
The words are a challenge, echoing strangely in the stillness, giving voice at last to the decision that has laid patiently in wait for Arthur since the moment he fit the key into that lock.
He knows he can't ask him not to use it, can't make his choices for him and still claim to have changed. But if they're to have any hope of a way forward, there can be no more secrets, no more unsaid words left to fester.
"I understand," he acknowledges, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, lending a strange intensity to the moment. "I won't stop you, but I hope you'll be smart enough to only use it when there's no other choice. It may be your life, but it's not just you who's at risk. And there's no guarantee I'd be able to protect you if anyone else found out."
"I'll be careful," Merlin promises, uncharacteristically solemn. "And I'll do my best only to use it when the situation calls for it," he adds, which isn't the same as what Arthur had asked, but is maybe the best he will get.
They stare at one another, each holding the other's life in their hands, and it's strange, really, having to place your absolute trust in someone who betrayed you.
Merlin seems to feel it, too, his gaze drifting uncomfortably around the room.
"...What now?" he inquires, the words sounding more like the answer to a question neither is brave enough to ask.
The light pours in from the window, heavy and golden, as the silence stretches between them.
He returns to work four days later, still a bit shaky on his feet. He's still getting used to the roar of magic in his veins, to hearing it hum in the earth and the air as he walks. It's overwhelming and frightening and comforting all at once - having all that power come rushing back to his fingertips after so long without it. He feels like he could move mountains and rebuild cities and bring worlds to their knees and maybe he was right to be afraid. Maybe this is too much power for anyone to have.
But mostly he feels clumsy and tired and unsettled in his own skin, like he's wearing too much of it. Gaius tells him it's to be expected.
'Things will sort themselves out again, you'll see.'
He enters Arthur's chambers quietly, months of practice under his belt, but Arthur is already dressed and at his desk, like he's been waiting for him.
"Ah, Merlin. I'd forgotten you were back today."
His voice is even and stilted, and Merlin knows this game, knows that he hadn't forgotten. Knows that Arthur is every bit as unsure how to act as he is.
Arthur shuffles some papers around, listing off a stack of chores that need doing like it's any other day, though his gaze keeps darting warily to Merlin.
Merlin nods along, feeling every bit as awkward and maybe this is the best they can hope for. Maybe there is no going back.
He turns but his eyes catch on the dining table, Arthur's sword and armor laid out with a cloth and a whet stone beside them, and something in his chest loosens.
He glances back at Arthur who drops his gaze, like he hadn't been watching anxiously, like he hadn't been waiting for him to notice.
"I'll need that lot cleaned by morning. It hasn't been looked after properly in months."
Arthur's voice is casual but not cold, not the distant, unfeeling tone that he's gotten used to hearing. It's familiar in a vague sort of way, like a tune he heard once in a crowd and long forgot.
Their eyes catch again for a moment before Arthur turns back to the papers before him, red staining his cheeks, his movements too nervous to match the unconcerned air he's projecting.
The corners of Merlin's lips pull up awkwardly, out-of-practice, and he sits.
"Yes, sire."
The end.
Written for this prompt on KMM: Arthur/Merlin, When Arthur finds out about Merlin's magic, he initially agrees not to turn Merlin in on the basis that Merlin stop using magic completely, even going as far to put an unnoticeable, magic-inhibiting shackle on Merlin. But not being able to use his magic has a devastating effect on Merlin. Angst ensuing, please.
Bonus points if Merlin still manages to save Arthur from something stupid/magic despite the restraint.
Thanks for reading!