A/N: Hello again! There seemed to be an overwhelming consensus of Keep writing! so, here's Ch. 2! You guys are amazing. A lot of you left really wonderful reviews that totally made my day. But most of my best reviews came from guests, which means I can't reply to you. And I totally would if I could. So, y'all should definitely make accounts. It's fast, it's easy, and it's free—the trifecta of a good time.

Anywho, I've gotten a little more of the plot figured out, and will try to get a new chapter up every week or so, give or take a few days. Again, I am making up most of this as I go and I don't have betas, so if you have an idea or suggestion for this story, drop a comment or shoot me a message, and I'll see what I can do.

Enjoy!


Chapter 2

What have I done?

Merlin was fairly certain he looked even more shocked than Arthur, but truthfully, he was having a hard time focusing on the other man's face. Did he really just say that? Out loud? To Arthur?

Every muscle in his body drew painfully taught and his pulse pounded in his ears. It sounded an awful lot like 'stu-pid, stu-pid, stu-pid...' His breath came and went in tiny, shallow puffs, and he knew that if he didn't get control of himself soon, he was going to start seeing spots again. He tried to sit up straight, to look proud and strong and not like he was about to lose his lunch all over the king's decorative bowl of fruit. He wasn't sure how to proceed. Apologize? Explain? Flee?

Flee was sounding like he best option. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to just disappear, vanish from the conversation without a trace and leave Arthur thinking he had hallucinated the whole ordeal. He felt a familiar warm pressure build just beneath his breastbone—his magic riling and ready to get him out of what it recognized as a dangerous situation—and panic seized him again. He slammed a lifetime of control down on the magic so hard and fast that he saw those spots he had been trying to avoid. No! You will not disappear in front of the king!

With a will like iron, Merlin focused on his friend's face, expecting to see all of the things he had feared from this moment—hurt, betrayal, disgust, rage... But he was instead met with a look of tired exasperation. He knew that look. That was Arthur's 'I don't have time for this' look. If he weren't so numb from the shock of his latest lapse of reason, Merlin might have been offended.

The king dropped his head into his hands again with a bone-weary sigh. He spent a few long moments massaging his fingers into his hairline. Slowly, he scrubbed both hands over his face before speaking. "Merlin, please. I am trying to be—"

A tiny, pained sound in the back of Merlin's throat cut the king off abruptly. He snapped his head up to look at the servant. Merlin watched the exasperation melt right off of his friend's face, wide-eyed realization taking over. He didn't want to know what his own expression looked like, but judging from the heat in his face, the tension in his jaw, and the pinch in his brow, he would bet that his internal panic had very much become external.

"...Serious." The king continued weakly. He pointed a finger at the younger man. "You— You're... Serious."

Merlin tried to speak, but the Albion-sized lump still lodged firmly in his windpipe wouldn't allow it. He could only nod, a movement that quickly became frantic and uncontrolled.

Arthur stared at him, dazed and shocked. "You're serious..." He repeated. The king took a shaky inhale and looked away for a moment. "How long, Merlin?" He asked quietly.

The reply was just as quiet. "All my life."

Arthur closed his eyes, but not before Merlin caught the sadness and pain held there. He lowered his eyes to the tabletop. I'm sorry, he wanted to say. For lying. For hiding. For keeping this from you, my friend. For being a coward. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to apologize, not when he had worn the fear of execution, rejection, and hatred like a cloak of lead since he was a child. But here he was, hoping that Arthur would see him as a trustworthy magic-user, a friend, when he had been lying to the man for the better part of a decade. By the gods, he'll never trust me again. He'll never trust me again, and I don't even blame him.

"Arthur," he forced out, "I wanted to tell you. So many times, I wanted to tell you. I was just..." His voice petered out. When he found it again, it was quiet, breathy. Broken. "...I was scared. I've been hiding all my life. It's all I know."

"Merlin, this is exactly what I'm talking about."

Merlin looked up sharply, confusion taking the edge off of his despair. The king had his head tilted back over the back of his chair, one forearm resting over his eyes. He took a deep breath before dropping his arm back to the table and meeting his servant's gaze. There was a sadness and an anger there that very much made Merlin want to look away.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," Arthur repeated, prodding the surface of the table in emphasis. "You shouldn't have been scared."

"Arthur, I—"

"No, Merlin. You shouldn't have had to be scared. You, of all people, should have not been afraid to tell me. Of all people."

Merlin shook his head, "Arthur, I don't..."

"Merlin, you're the most loyal man I have. You've been by my side unwaveringly for years, and I would be a fool to ignore that." Arthur's gaze bored into Merlin's, and the conviction and honesty there shook Merlin to his soul. "I would have never had you executed," he said slowly, deliberately. "Do you hear me? Never."

A tiny, watery laugh bubbled it's way out of Merlin's mouth, wildly dissonant with the storm of emotion raging inside of his chest. "I wasn't afraid of execution." He gave a small half-shrug, "At least, I haven't been for a long time." And that was true. After all, no cell could hold him, no chain could bind him, and no fire would light if he bade it not to. The young man lowered his gaze again. "I was... I was afraid of being hated. Of having to leave. Of having to leave you." Merlin took a fortifying breath and straightened, echoing the words Arthur had spoken to him nearly a year ago. "You're the closest fiend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you."

The corners of Arthur's mouth quirked just slightly. "I believe I said you were my only friend."

The ghost of a grin tugged weakly at Merlin's features. "Well, I've still got Gwen."

Arthur gave a staccato exhale, a single puff of laughter. His gaze went distant, and so the king missed the effect that short interaction had on his friend. At just two lines of their familiar banter, the smallest hint of laughter from his king, Merlin broke. In that instant, the weight of what had just happened collided with the knowledge that everything is going to be okay, and the tears fell hot and fast and silent down his face.

Arthur, gaze still a thousand yards over Merlin's right shoulder, shook his head. "But don't you see? That's even worse. That means that hatred and prejudice are so damn strong here that... That it even wormed its way between us. I tell you everything, confide in you everything, and you should have been able to..."

He must have finally brought his focus back to his servant, because he trailed off and stared at the younger man. At least, that was the impression Merlin got—it was rather difficult to make out the details through the tears. He didn't like to cry in front of Arthur, though it had happened a time or two. Never like this, though. Never had he broken down and sobbed in front of the king, but in light of the the fact that he had just revealed his biggest secret to the one man whom he was most afraid to tell, in light of the fact that he wasn't being shunned, hated, or sentenced like he had envisioned over and over and over... Well, Merlin felt that he was entitled to a little display of emotion. At least, that's what he used later to justify the silent, frame-rattling sobs wracking his body.

Merlin wiped the backs of his hands furiously over his eyes. His face was a wet mess, and somewhere in the back of his mind—somewhere behind all of the shock, fear, joy, despair, and relief—a tiny seed of embarrassment sprouted and was quickly lost. He couldn't believe it. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to say, but he couldn't find the words. He couldn't form a single coherent thought past 'It's going to be okay.'

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, and slowly he turned his gaze back on his king. "I will make this right. I swear it. Our people have been poisoned for too long on hate and fear. This has to end."

There was a heavy timbre in the man's voice, one that held the weight of thousands of years of prophecy. Our people. And there in that near empty bedchamber, illuminated only by a few dozen half-burnt candles and the shining promise of a brighter future, Merlin watched in awed reverence as the mantle of the Once and Future King settled firmly onto Arthur's royal shoulders, bestowed by Destiny's own hand. Pride and passion welled up inside Merlin, and in the presence of his King, he felt like Emrys. The Druidic title sang in his bones, and for the first time, he rejoiced in it. The dawn of Albion, he thought to himself, and we're pulling it over the horizon. Visions of light and warmth and love banishing the shadows of senseless persecution danced before his mind's eye. This is really happening.

Merlin locked eyes with his king. "And I'm going to help you end it. We can do this, Arthur. Together."

A curious look came over Arthur's eyes. Was that... Was that doubt?

"Are you certain you're, you know..." He twirled a hand in the servant's direction, "qualified for this? It's going to be an extremely important and delicate job. Are you sure you can do this for me?"

Merlin nodded. I was born for this. Literally. "I would be honored to advise you and show you the good of magic, sire. I will not let you down."

The doubt eased from he king's eyes a little bit. "You never have. You're a loyal friend, Merlin." A mock-thoughtful expression stole over Arthur's face. "Even if you have been lying to me for years."

Merlin winced. "I didn't want to. I hated keeping this from you. I'm sorry, Arthur, I just couldn't—"

Arthur held up a hand to silence him. "I understand the position you were in, Merlin. You don't have to explain it to me. I don't blame you for this."

The young sorcerer winced harder. Oh, don't say that just yet. "Actually... There's a lot I have to explain to you."

"Perhaps," Arthur cut him off, "but not tonight. I think we both have enough to think about tonight."

For what may have been the first time in his career as a manservant, Merlin didn't argue with his master. They sat in a pensive silence for what felt like an eternity before Arthur broke it.

"...You're serious?" Incredulity stitched through Arthur's features. He lounged back in his seat, brows pinched and staring at his young friend like he had just admitted to being half horse. His eyes raked over Merlin's face, like if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see the sorcery in the man.

The corners of Merlin's mouth twitched upwards. "Yeah." He gave a small one-sided shrug, "I'm a warlock, Arthur."

The dubious pinch in the king's brow turned into one of confusion. "I don't know what that means."

Merlin's small grin broadened, "Well, then consider this your first lesson in magic." Arthur's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he leant forward over the tabletop, hands clasped and resting on his forearms. The king nodded in his direction, as if to say 'Go on.' He looked interested, and Merlin couldn't have been more pleased. "There are three types of people," he continued. "You have people who are born with the natural ability to do magic, people born with the potential to learn magic, and people who are completely incapable of performing magic. People who are born with the ability to do magic, like me, are warlocks. Or witches, if you're a woman."

Arthur looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable, but nodded. "So... Witches and warlocks don't have to learn magic? You just... what? Know it?"

Merlin hummed, "Something like that. It's more like an instinct or a reflex. Most witches and warlocks learn that they have magic sometime around adolescence, but it can be any time in a person's life. Something triggers a strong emotional response—anger, surprise, fear—and the person's innate magic reacts to the trigger. At that point, they usually have to study sorcery to control it."

The king nodded again, and quirked a small, mocking smile. "So, how did adolescent Merlin find out he had magic? What's the story there?"

Merlin scratched at the back of his head self-consciously. "Ah, I didn't find out I had magic, really. I've been doing magic since before I could walk." He smiled, "My mother told me that she found out I had magic a couple of weeks after I was born. I magicked her headscarf right off of her head because I wanted to play with it. When she turned around, she saw the magic in my eyes." The young warlock gave a small snort. "A bit of a relief that was, actually. It explained why things ended up on the floor when she wasn't looking and why nothing seemed to be where she left it. She thought we had a poltergeist."

Arthur laughed, "Poor Hunith. I bet you were hell in a cradle!"

"We couldn't afford a cradle, now pipe down—we're not through with your lesson." Arthur tried and failed to school his expression to something more serious, but the curiosity returned to his eyes. Merlin pushed past the surreal feeling of teaching Arthur— Arthur! Of all people!— about magic and continued. "Second, you have sorcerers, or sorceresses. Technically, anyone who uses formal magic, spells and incantations and such, is a sorcerer. So really, I'm both a warlock and a sorcerer, since I use both innate and learned magic."

Merlin saw the way Arthur swallowed hard when he referred to himself as a sorcerer, but decided to ignore it. It'll take time, he reminded himself. "Most people have the capacity for magic, but they have to spend years of study and meditation before they can actually cast anything."

"That sounds terrible," Arthur interjected.

Merlin thought for a moment. "Well, not really. Let's go back to your sword analogy, how long do your squires train either empty-handed or with wooden practice swords before you actually give them a steel blade?"

The king tilted his head side-to-side and acquiesced. "Okay, a couple of years, at least."

"And you have some who are able to execute the forms with little training and have superior reflexes—"

"Like me," Arthur interrupted.

Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him and continued. "And those who have to spend years refining their forms before they're effective or who are naturally uncoordinated—"

"Like you," Arthur smirked.

The young sorcerer looked to the heavens and shook his head. "Why do you have to be such an ass?"

"Sorry, my mistake," Arthur corrected. "You could train for years and never manage any semblance of competency with a sword."

"Hey, I could definitely beat you in a fair fight now that I don't have to hide what I can do anymore," Merlin retorted. "I don't even need a sword."

Something in the king's face sobered. "You will have to hide, for just a little bit longer. I'm sorry, Merlin, you shouldn't have to. I don't want you to. But until I can figure out a way to get the council to agree on a plan for the allowance of magic—"

Merlin shook his head and beamed at his friend. "Arthur, it's okay. I've been hiding my whole life, never knowing if there would ever be a day when I could stop. And now that I know that day will come?" He chuckled, "I don't mind it so much anymore."

"Of course," Arthur waved a lazy hand at his servant, "that doesn't mean you still have to hide from me."

This time it was Merlin's brow that pinched in confusion. "I'm... Not. I did just tell you that I have magic." His stomach gave a happy flutter. I just told you that I have magic!

"Yes, but..." Arthur chewed the inside of his lip in indecision before nodding at the newly discovered sorcerer. "Go on. Show me."

Merlin's eyes blew wide, and that happy flutter turned into an uncomfortable flop. "You want me— you want me to do magic? What, now?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "No, you idiot, I want you to come back an hour before first light— yes now!"

He was being asked... He was actually being asked to... by Arthur. Though his voice was teasing and familiar, and his posture eager, Merlin could still see an underlying current of fear in his friend's eyes. The young warlock mulled over what he could show Arthur for his first real display of friendly magic. He looked to the candle on the table. Animate the flame? Ember creatures? That was a favorite of his when it came to playing with magic, but... No, there was something inherently dangerous-looking about commanding fire. Merlin wanted something that was undoubtedly benign.

He looked down at his hands. I could conjure something, maybe? Something small? No, not that, either. The only things he could reliably conjure were the elements and flowers. He had already ruled out fire, wind wasn't exactly close-quarters-friendly, and somehow he didn't think that Arthur would appreciate him covering his tabletop in water or sand. And he was not going to conjure a flower for his first open act of magic. The prat already thinks I'm a girl. I'd never hear the end of it.

Merlin glanced around the room, searching for inspiration. Something simple, something familiar... He saw Arthur's sword and belt propped up against the small cabinet where he kept the supplies used to clean the king's rooms. Polish the sword? He's seen me do that without magic a hundred times. Then again, maybe levitating a weapon wasn't the best first impression...

He twisted in his chair to get a better view of the room behind him, and inspiration struck. He turned back toward his king. "Alright, watch your bed."

Skepticism raised one of Arthur's brows. "My... Bed?"

Merlin gave a small huff of mock-exasperation. "Just— watch, okay?" Merlin directed a stern glance toward the bed and watched through gold-edged vision as the bedclothes turned themselves down, the decorative shams removed themselves from the feather pillows and folded into a neat stack on the floor, and the pillows fluffed themselves mid-air before settling at the head of the bed.

Merlin re-settled himself in his seat and looked at Arthur, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. The man's eyes were the widest he had ever seen them, and he stared at the magicked piece of furniture as if Merlin had enchanted it to sing tavern songs instead. He locked those wide eyes on his servant, and Merlin could read the message behind them: You're serious!

The royal blinked the shock from his face. "Merlin," he began, "I can't..." Whatever the man was about to say was lost as a new thought seemed to take precedence. "Hang on," he frowned, "is that how you've been managing all your chores?"

Merlin snickered. "Sometimes. But it's your fault for giving me so many, really. I don't know how you expect one man to do as many things as you assign me in a day." A smirk quirked the corner of Merlin's mouth. "Ironically enough, it was magic that was keeping me out of the stocks when I first started working for you. It was the only way I could get everything done!"

Arthur barked a short laugh. "I always wondered how you managed that! You're the laziest man I know, and yet you would finish the work of three servants—"

"Wait," Merlin interrupted, "you knew you were giving me the work of three servants?" He balked at his master. "Why do you have to be such an ass?" he repeated.

The king reached over and punched his young friend in the arm, and true to form, Merlin gave an exaggerated flinch and rubbed at the site. He glared and groused, but his playful complaining did nothing to hide the absolute elation in his eyes. He told Arthur! He showed Arthur! And everything was going to be okay! But still, a small thought nagged at him...

"...You're really not angry?" He asked tentatively.

Arthur sighed and looked the man over, "I probably will be, in the morning. But for now, I'm just glad you could be honest with me, old friend."

A soft, fond smile stole over the young sorcerer's face. "C'mon, sire. Let's get you prepared for bed. You have a council meeting first thing in the morning and an audience for the soapmaker's guild immediately after that."

Arthur stood and stretched before heading behind the changing screen and snatching up his nightclothes. "The what?" Came the reply from the obscured royal.

"Think about it, Arthur. It's exactly what it sounds like." Merlin stood and retrieved the snuffer from Arthur's bedside cabinet and began snuffing out the candles, leaving the one on the king's night table lit until he was settled into bed. He opened the window to let the cool night air in before drawing the heavy curtains shut and pulling them away from the wall. Arthur liked to have the window open in the summer to air out the rooms, but preferred the curtains drawn. If the sun woke him up any earlier than was absolutely necessary, he was a grouch all day. Unfortunately, air didn't circulate through heavy velvet very well, so Merlin's solution was to pull the curtains as far away from the wall as possible so the breeze could flow out and around behind them. It was one of the many little tricks that Merlin had learned which really made him an exceptional servant. It was also one of the little things that Arthur tended to overlook until it was someone else serving in his absence.

"Why does this city have to have a guild for everything?" The king made his way to his bed, struggling to get his hand through a shirtsleeve that had turned in on itself.

"I'm quite grateful for the soapmaker's guild," Merlin quipped. "I don't even want to imagine what you'd smell like without them. Trust me, they're doing your kingdom a great service." Merlin made a disgusted sound when he caught sight of Arthur's battle with his cuff. He loped over to help the thick-headed royal when he appeared to resort to punching the poor garment from the inside.

"Quit that," he nagged. "You're going to tear it again, and it's the only one you have clean." He grabbed the man by the arm, reached into the sleeve, and yanked the cuff right-side out. "I swear, you're such a child sometimes."

Arthur pulled away and sat on the edge of his bed, pouring himself a goblet of water from the pewter pitcher on his night table. "I'm fairly certain that belittling your king can be grounds for execution, Merlin."

"You know what else is usually grounds for execution?"

The king snapped his gaze to his servant's, whose brows were high and eyes wide in feigned innocence. The younger man dropped an eyebrow in challenge, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Get some sleep, you idiot. You've got as busy of a morning ahead of you as I do."

The other brow dropped. "I don't have that much to do tomorrow."

Arthur gave a smile that had just a few too many teeth for Merlin's comfort. "And do you know who has the power to change that?"

The servant groaned all the way to the door. "Alright, I get the idea. I'll see you in the morning." Merlin had his hand on the latch when the king's voice halted him.

"Merlin?"

He turned to look at his master, who had propped himself up on one elbow. He couldn't see the man's expression in the low light, but his voice had genuine curiosity in it. "If a man born with magic is a warlock, and a man who learns magic is a sorcerer... What do you call a man who hasn't the capacity for magic?"

Pride rose in Merlin's chest at hearing the king voice a question of magic so sincerely and freely. But this was Arthur... He saw his chance here, and he had to take it.

"A dollophead."

He still couldn't make out the details of Arthur's face, but could practically feel the narrow-eyed glare begin to form as he slipped out the door and latched it behind him.

He registered nothing on his way back to Gaius' chambers—not the faint echoes of his footfalls in the deserted stone corridors, not the giggling chambermaid and the licentious stable boy hidden away in an alcove, not even the stone pillar that he would later discover left a nasty bruise on his shoulder when he ran smack into it. No, by the time he ascended the three rickety steps into his own room and pressed his back against his thin wood door, the only thing he remembered of the journey was the lightness in his heart and the repeated thought of did that really just happen?

Some part of him—whatever small part that was not numb with shock—distantly realized that he should tell Gaius of what had just transpired. He could her the old man's soft snores drift through the main chamber, and decided to let his mentor sleep.

In the morning. It can wait until morning.


Arthur scowled through the dark at the retreating form of his manservant until he heard the soft click! of the latch. He flopped back onto his pillows in a distinctly un-kingly fashion and slung one arm over his eyes. Merlin... Ye gods, Merlin was a sorcerer. 'Both a warlock and a sorcerer,' he had called himself. And he could do magic! Actual magic!

There was a part of him, he recognized, that wanted to be angry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a cold, twisting feeling wanted him to be angry and hurt, and spit accusations in the voice of Uther. He lied to you, it whispered, deceived you, betrayed you. A warm, strong feeling deep in his heart argued back—He didn't want to, he had to, he would never betray me. This voice was his own. Stronger, surer, and benevolent in all the ways his father was not.

He didn't trust you! The late king snarled.

He does now, the Once and Future countered.

Arthur sighed aloud and mashed the heels of his palms into closed eyes. What was he going to do? He had been tossing around the idea of easing up on magic for months, but hadn't yet been able to figure out a realistic way to go about it. Before he could even think about getting the council involved, there was information to gather and details to work out. After all, when he said that he wished he knew a sorcerer whom he could trust, he didn't expect anyone—least of all Merlin—to actually deliver. He wasn't even sure whether this new development made things easier or more complicated.

His stomach gave an uneasy flip as a new thought crossed his mind—how am I going to tell Guinevere? He kicked the thought aside and labeled it a 'tomorrow' problem. He was certain that his mind would be far too busy to let him get any rest that night, but emotional exhaustion was exhaustion nonetheless, and before too long, sleep claimed the king...

...for what felt like only a few fleeting moments before his room was awash with light and noise and why in the seven hells does this have to happen every morning?!

"RISE AND SHINE, SIRE!"

Arthur grit his teeth and shoved his royal head under his pillow to protect himself from the sunlight searing his retinas and his servant's voice grating the inside of his skull. "Shut up," he groused.

Despite the barrier of silk and down, he could still hear Merlin tut in disapproval. "Arthur, you know I can't understand you when you hide under your pillows like that."

"I am not hiding under my pillows!" Arthur replied indignantly, still very much hiding under his pillows.

Merlin sighed, "Really, what did I just say?"

Arthur threw a hand out from the sanctum of his coverlet and fished blindly around his nightstand, searching for ammunition. His fingers curled around the first movable object they came into contact with and he hurled it in the direction of Merlin's complaints. He heard the man yelp quickly followed by the sound of metal clattering against stone.

"That still had water in it, you clot!" The king listened with vindictive pleasure as his servant grumbled unintelligibly behind him.

He smirked sleepily into his mattress. Must have been the goblet. "Serves you right for being obnoxious."

"Alright, enough with that pillow."

The sound of Merlin's unbelievably loud footfalls neared the side of his bed, and a hand twisted into the pillow still pulled firmly over his head. Arthur's hand shot out from the tangle of sheets and gripped Merlin's wrist like a vice to prevent the man from yanking the pillow away from him. The king rolled his disheveled, golden head to the side and shot a murderous one-eyed glare up toward his manservant. "Move that pillow, and you'll lose this hand."

"Fine."

Merlin's free hand grabbed the king's wrist in turn, and with a shocking display of force, hauled the royal right off of the bed and dumped him on the floor like an overstuffed sack of grain. Arthur scrambled to his feet, fists balled and furiously kicking the sheets and coverlet away from his tangled legs.

"MERLIN!"

He rounded on his servant, whose slate-blue eyes were wide and hands were held up in a gesture of placation. "Hey," he began, "I didn't move the pillow. I get to keep my hands, thank you." He dropped the hands in question, much too confident in getting to keep them for Arthur's liking. "But since you're up, eat something. We need to get you dressed and out the door."

The king twisted and looked at his bed, where the pillow was, in fact, still lying neatly at the head—the only dressing still on the mattress. He plodded over to the table and tucked into his breakfast, popping a wedge of cheese into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully and watched his friend scurry about his chambers, gathering up the bedclothes from the floor and tossing them into a large laundry basket. The man was humming tunelessly as he worked, stripping the folded sheet and pillow cases and wadding them up before stuffing them in the basket as well. Merlin was usually irritatingly energetic in the mornings, but today he seemed downright cheerful.

Arthur tore a chunk from a honeyroll with his teeth. Briefly, he wondered if their conversation last night had been a dream. Everything just seemed far too normal for... for that to have happened. He mulled over how to broach the subject without the possibility of sounding like a lunatic and took a sip from the water goblet set next to his breakfast tray. He crinkled his nose at the unpleasant dusty flavor and frowned into the cup. He examined its contents. Was that... Was that grit? He looked from the pewter goblet in his hand to the matching pewter pitcher on his nightstand, and narrowed his eyes at the suspiciously dry floor between them. He leveled a glare at his equally suspiciously dry manservant.

"Merlin," he ground out, "is this the water I threw at you?"

The sorcerer sniffed, not bothering to look up from the corner of the fresh sheet he was folding and tucking under Arthur's mattress. "Shouldn't have thrown it at me."

Well, at least I know it wasn't a dream. He saw the second goblet pushed away from its matching breakfast tray and picked it up. The water inside looked much clearer, and the king took an experimental sip. Detecting nothing wrong with it, he swapped the goblets back. "You're lucky I haven't fired you."

"You have fired me," Merlin reminded him, shimmying the down pillows back into their decorative shams. "On multiple occasions."

Arthur finished up his breakfast. "Ah, right. Don't know what I was thinking."

"Me neither." Merlin smoothed the coverlet over the bed.

"About rehiring you, I mean," Arthur clarified.

"I know what you meant." Merlin gathered up the laundry basket and set it next to the chamber doors. "Now get dressed, will you? I have clothes set out already on the stool."

"You know," Arthur said, standing and shedding his white sleep shirt and stepping behind the changing screen, "for a servant, you sure do spent an awful lot of time trying to order me around in the mornings."

Merlin's reply came from somewhere in the rear of the room. "I wouldn't have to spend so much time ordering you around if you didn't waste so much time stalling like a lame horse."

Arthur pulled his head through his scarlet tunic and one arm through a sleeve, about to complain that he did not waste time when Merlin's voice made the comment catch in his throat.

"Stánbót þas weall."

Arthur whipped his head around the edge of the screen, tunic still only half on. He stared at Merlin's profile, who was standing head-bowed and left hand resting on the windowsill.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Arthur nearly shrieked.

Merlin jumped nearly a foot and flinched so hard he backhanded the stained glass. The young sorcerer grabbed at his reddened knuckles and hissed. "I'm fixing the mortar in your windowsill, you prat! Since you keep picking at it and putting off getting a stonemason in here, I figured I'd just take care of it before you made it even worse." The fire in his eyes died. "Is that..." he shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "I mean—is that alright? Because I don't have to... You know."

Merlin's voice was casual enough, if a little self-conscious, but Arthur didn't miss the fear in his friend's eyes. He's still afraid of me. The thought sent a pang of sadness through his chest. Of course he's afraid of me, I tell him he doesn't have to hide anymore, and as soon as he trusts me enough to do magic in front of me, I yell at him. Arthur neutralized his expression. "No! No, that's fine, Merlin. Carry on."

Merlin's lips pursed and eyes crinkled in a way the king recognized as the man trying not to laugh. "D'you—" he turned his head to the side and coughed, then tried again. "D'you need help with that?" He nodded his head towards the king's torso. Arthur looked down. He had successfully pulled his head and left arm through the appropriate holes in the tunic, but in his distraction, had gotten his right elbow firmly chicken-winged into the sleeve, his hand angled uncomfortably against his collar bone. He glared over at his servant. "Shut up and get over here."

Merlin snickered, but did as he was told. He pulled his master free before resettling him into the shirt. Long fingers and practiced hands tugged on his cuffs, straightened the seams at his shoulders, and smoothed his collar. Arthur took comfort in the familiarity of it, the feeling that things hadn't changed irreparably.

After a critical once-over and a small nod of satisfaction, Merlin turned his back towards his king, offering him privacy to don his own trousers, but staying close at hand just in case. Arthur stepped into the fresh pair, tied them off under his tunic, and grabbed his thin leather belt from the stool.

"You're all grown up now, Arthur. I assume you can handle your own lacings?"

Arthur could hear the impish grin on Merlin's face and turned to scowl at the back of his stupid raven-tousled head. Arthur's hand whipped out and he snapped the end of his leather belt right across the seat of Merlin's trousers, and was immediately rewarded with a rather embarrassing and unmanly 'Yip!' from the ingracious servant.

Merlin spun wildly, spitting a few choice oaths in the direction of his king and covering his backside. He flitted his gaze between Arthur's face and the belt in his hands with a mixture of disbelief and outrage, and directed a severe look towards the leather article. Arthur nearly dropped the belt in surprise when it lurched in his grasp and snapped its free end right over the backs of his hands of its own accord. He barely registered his newly-smarting knuckles—he was too busy staring open-mouthed at Merlin's face.

This was the—what, third? Fourth?—time Merlin had openly performed magic in the king's presence, but each time, he had been turned away or obstructed from view. Something about seeing his friend's normally blue eyes flare with gold and power, even so minutely, suddenly made this much more real.

He would never forget that image. Something about the anger in his expression—playful or no—coupled with those eyes alight with such effortless magic produced an almost instinctive feeling in the back of Arthur's mind. He was suddenly certain that he never wanted to see the young man truly enraged. And yet... It wasn't frightening, like the other few times he had been close enough to a sorcerer to witness the change in their eyes. The fact that this was still Merlin probably helped with that quite a bit, but there was something different here that the king couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Arthur?"

Despite having been staring at the man's eyes, Arthur's didn't register the concern and apprehension there until Merlin spoke. He mentally shook himself.

"Merlin, your eyes. They..." Arthur nearly huffed at himself. Well, it's good to see that all those years of eloquence training really paid off.

The warlock ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, yeah. That happens, usually."

Arthur stared at Merlin's face again. "You know, I've seen that happen on sorcerers before, and I've always thought it rather... Unnatural. Wicked." Perverted, he didn't say. Frightening. Evil. He watched the hurt bleed into his friend's expression and continued. "But there's something different about it with you, Merlin. It looked... Natural. Like it's supposed to be there."

Merlin gave a small relieved chuckle. "That's probably because it is supposed to be there. I was literally born with it."

"It suits you," the king admitted.

Merlin's features pinched in disgust. "Ew, and you call me a girl!"

Arthur took a playful swing at his manservant, who danced away. He threw the man a threatening look on his way over to the looking glass, retrieved his comb and raked it through his hair. Merlin rustled and bustled somewhere in the room behind him, and when he glanced at the room at large in the glass, he saw the servant's rumpled lower half sticking out of his wardrobe, nearly waist-deep in the hanging clothes.

"You want mail or a coat today?" The question came muffled.

"The jerkin, preferably." The king turned. "Merlin, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm—trying to—ack!"

Merlin stumbled backwards and landed heavily on the stone floor, letting out a little pained yelp on impact. A few clothes and hangers fell to the ground around him, including Arthur's brushed leather jerkin. Arthur raised his eyebrows at the young idiot, who smiled sheepishly back at him from the floor.

"My, uh," he pointed to his throat. "My neckerchief got caught on a hanger."

"Right," Arthur turned away and gathered his rings from his dressing table. "Well, whenever you'd like to stop being completely useless, I have a few errands I need you to run today in addition to your usual chores."

Merlin stood and began setting his small mess to rights, slinging the jerkin over one shoulder. He hummed, letting Arthur know he was listening.

Amazing. If he were anyone else's servant, they'd have him flogged fifty times over. "I need you to bring my armor in for repairs, prepare a missive, and gather the round table for a private noonday meal."

Merlin approached the king, jerkin in hand and confusion on his face. "Okay...? Who's the missive to?"

Arthur stepped back into the leather and shrugged it on with Merlin's help. "Caerleon. If I'm going to move forward with lifting the ban on magic, I want to know how other rulers who allow magic operate. The only two kingdoms I know of that openly allow magic are Caerleon and Deorham, and I trust Annis far more than I trust Alined."

Merlin snorted in agreement and readjusted the leather over Arthur's shoulders.

"I'd like to invite her to Camelot for a time, maybe a week or so, just to visit and talk. And if she has a court sorcerer appointed, I'd like him to attend as well."

Merlin looked up sharply. "Really?" There was an excitement about him that made Arthur smile.

"Of course. You know, Merlin, if we lift the ban, Camelot's going to need a Court Sorcerer, too." He chuckled to himself at the bright, elated smile that cracked Merlin's face in half.

Merlin laughed in glee. "A Court Sorcerer! In Camelot! Arthur, that's amazing!"

A small pinch of sadness made itself known in the king's chest. He turned to his sorcerous friend. "Merlin," he asked, "have you, you know, had the opportunity to meet many other magic users?"

"Mm, not many," Merlin admitted. "Most of them have been the ones with some kind of grudge against you, but I've met a few decent people. I've never had the opportunity to learn from any of them, though. Almost all of the magic I know has been self-taught." The excitement returned to the warlock's eyes as a new thought seemed to occur to him. "Arthur, if we get a Court Sorcerer, d'you think he'd take me on as an apprentice?"

"We need to find one first, which is something else we'll have to figure out. Don't get ahead of yourself." Arthur stared at the top of Merlin's head, which was bowed just slightly as he did up the ties of the front of Arthur's jerkin. "There's one more thing..."

Merlin cocked his head, keeping his eyes on his task.

"Lunch, with the round table... I want to discuss the future of magic in Camelot with them. Get a few more opinions." The king took a deep breath. "I also want you to tell them."

That got Merlin's attention. His hands stilled and he snapped a terrified gaze to Arthur's face. "No..." Merlin swallowed and took a step back. "No, I can't, Arthur. I—" He shook his head. "I'm not ready for that."

"Please, Merlin," Arthur entreated. "If we're going to change the laws, everyone will eventually find out anyway." The already pale servant whitened to an alarming shade, as if this thought had never occurred to him. Arthur clapped a hand over his friend's shoulder and spoke to the man earnestly. "These are your friends. They're not going to hate you any more than I did. It'll make this whole process easier if we can freely bounce ideas off of you."

Arthur saw the fear in Merlin's expression solidify into determination. The young man gave a single nod. He smiled and clapped Merlin's shoulder again. "Excellent. I'll see you at noon, then." Arthur strode over to his desk and snatched his notes for the council meeting. He crossed the room past a stunned Merlin still standing by his dressing table and paused in the open doorway to throw one last parting comment toward his servant.

"And don't forget about my armor!"


Spells:

"Stánbót þas weall." — Restore the stone of this wall.

Thanks for reading!

-Red