The Crowned Prat of Camlot
Merlin had thought about how he was going to tell Arthur he was a Sorcerer many times.
Sometimes it ends well:
"Oh Merlin! I'm so glad," the Prince would say smiling, his arms wide, going for a hug. "Now you can be by my side forever! And protect me and help me, and I'll even stop hunting because I know how much you don't like it, and I'll get a new manservant who I can yell at order about and put in the stocks, whenever he accidentally breaks something really expensive, but kind of ugly, that he can't fix and it wasn't really his fault."
Sometimes it doesn't:
The fire licked around Merlin's feet, the rope around his arms tight, as it digs in his flesh. Uther's cold eyes glaring at the 'evil' only he and his son can see. Gwen's tears and Morganna's frozen sadness, terrified that she would be next.
The flames rise high.
Merlin dies.
Now he's done it. He's told him.
Whatever reaction he expects of Arthur, it's not this.
Arthur laughs.
Not the laughter of relief as everything slides in place, the laughter of something as though it's the most amusing thing he's ever heard.
Merlin waits patiently for it to stop.
It doesn't.
Merlin has always thought, despite what Gaius and Arthur say he has quite a lot of patience.
It's not that funny.
Yes, erm..., well right.
It's really getting too much now.
No Arthur, seriously.
No really.
Arthur no, stop.
Finally Arthur notices Merlin has his arms crossed, and is doing his very best impression of Uther in a bad mood. Or Uther in a good mood. Or Uther in any type of mood, at any type of day, for any situation. Merlin calls this particular scowl: number forty four, (what he imagines to be) Uther sat on the chamber pot.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, coughing slightly Arthur says, "Go on then Merlin, tell me what magic you've done" Arthur tries and fails to keep the smile from his lips.
After saving his life so many times, Merlin is still hurt to see Arthur finds it so unbelievable.
He knows Arthur is expecting some story of, laying a shirt down leaving the room, then coming back to find it gone. Or worse, cleaning the Prince's armour then looking at it again to find it dirty. Merlin knows Arthur would like that one, it would mean he could make a free jibe at Merlins' lack of polishing skills.
What he gets is no such thing.
Merlin becomes defensive and what was meant to be calm, softly spoken confessions seem to be loud bellowing insults, mostly centred around Arthurs lack of observational skills.
And a few names in thrown in, just because it's really unfair.
"What you think your troll of a step mother just fell on her butt, and the carpet just happened to have been ripped out beneath her feet!"
Along with,
"Oh that enormous well tied chandelier must have just decided to fall when the bad guy was under it, and not on your fat head!"
And...
"The strap that broke when that evil missionary bloke charged towards you with a great big pointy stick, Oh yes! My that really was a stroke of luck, you stuck up-"
And so on.
After a while of once sided communicating, Merlin has run out of times he saved Arthurs life that he can remember. And his throat is sore.
Arthur hasn't said anything in a while.
As Arthur sits on his bed, Merlin begins to realise things can still get very, very bad.
Maybe Arthur thinking he was an idiot was better than him knowing he was a power full aspiring Warlock.
He could still kill him.
Uther would have.
"Well then," Arthur stands up and clears his throat with an awkward cough. "Get on with it."
"Her what?" Asked Merlin confused.
"I've been cursed Merlin." Arthur explains his brow furred slightly. "Only the kiss of a Sorcerer can save me."
Yes that does seem vaguely familiar. Merlin now remembers why he had to tell Arthur he was a Sorcerer in the first place.
"Ah, yes right." Merlin nods, suddenly uncomfortably close to Arthur.
"Right then"
Replied Arthur with a nod in return.
"Pucker up."