DISCLAIMER: I don't own Merlin. I own the OC's and the story.

Enjoy!

Then

Arthur's fingers grazed the hilt of his sword, which was still sheathed at his waist. He moved them away. Touched the metal hilt again. Moved them away.

Merlin was apparently trying to stay still, but it didn't seem to work out pretty well. He kept shifting, and Arthur could see the muscles in his arms move as he fidgeted with the hands he kept clasped behind his back.

Arthur had expected the answer. He had known the answer, had known it ever since Mordred's final words, ever since his servant's name had escaped his lips as he was talking to Dragoon-the sorcerer who had saved them all. The sorcerer who had killed his father. Arthur's fingers brushed against the hilt again, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest in a sudden movement, making Merlin flinch.

The silence stretched, and the king could feel it pressing down on him, slowly sucking all the air from the room until he was left struggling to breathe. It was funny, actually: there were so many thoughts whirling in his mind that he could not, for the life of him, focus on any one of them, coming up instead with a complete blank.

He realized that for all of these days that he had spent knowing it was the truth, there had always been a part of him that had doubted it: a part that had made actually believing it impossible. Now that he had gotten his confirmation, it was real. It was real and heavy, the realization hitting him over the head like a massive hangover.

Merlin was Emrys. Merlin was the sorcerer.

"A-Arthur?" Arthur snapped his eyes open, noticing his servant all tensed up, not fidgeting anymore, eying him maybe a little fearfully. Not him, he realized. Merlin's gaze wasn't fixed on Arthur's face, like before. It was fixed on the sword he held in his right hand. Arthur glanced at his white knuckles where he was gripping the hilt. When had he drawn his sword? He hadn't even noticed. He let out a shaky breath, forcing his brain to stop thinking, and let the blade fall into his left palm, on the flat side.

He studied the sword, the steel in his hand glinting, a streak of otherworldly silver and gold. He turned it around slowly, taking care not to cut himself: it was fine steel, perfectly forged, a golden band stretching on the center of the blade, the words "Take me up" and "Cast me away" staring at him in ornate scrip from each side. The words had always made him wonder. The sword had always made him wonder: he always felt this pull towards the weapon, as though it was less of a weapon and more of an extension of him, as though it was meant for him. Merlin had showed him the way to the sword. Was all of that a lie as well? Arthur caught a glimpse of his blue eye in the shining metal and he suddenly lowered the sword, making Merlin flinch again.

He looked back towards his servant, feeling his fingers grip the hilt. The sorcerer looked up into his eyes for a second, and as those blue orbs connected with his he felt a surge of irrational blind rage run through him. And all of a sudden Merlin was backing into the wall, eyes wide as he gazed up at him not without fear, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he stared at the tip of his sword, which was touching his chest.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked in a small voice, and Arthur tightened his grip on the sword even more, if that was possible. He closed his eyes and his body started shaking as he struggled to contain all of that anger.

This was Merlin, he reminded himself. He was his friend.

He had lied to him. He was a sorcerer.

Using every ounce of will power that he possessed, Arthur drew the sword back and backed away, letting it fall to the floor through his suddenly numb fingers. He looked up at a scared Merlin, back still pushed against the wall. One whole week of arguing with himself, and he still wasn't anywhere near a conclusion.

And then it suddenly hit him: he had been on the point of killing his servant. Worse, he had been on the point of killing his friend. He brought his trembling fingers in front of his face and stared, not managing to believe what he was seeing.

This was ridiculous! He had to pull himself together. He was a king, for the love of all the Gods!

"Arthur" the voice drew him from the trance, and Arthur looked up to see Merlin had moved and was now staying in front of him. He picked up the sword and put one hand on Arthur's shoulder. The fear in his eyes was gone, replaced by worry.

"I'm sorry" Merlin whispered quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you"

That was what it took: "I'm sorry I didn't tell you". Merlin wasn't sorry for what he had done, and Arthur wasn't even sure if he had done anything to be sorry for. Yes, he might have meddled with sorcery, and it might have been illegal, but it wasn't like Merlin was evil. If he were, he'd had every chance to kill him all of those years. And he was sorry, off all things, for not telling him. That told Arthur more than anything else ever could.

"I can't kill you" the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. Merlin kept staring at him, but Arthur thought he could see something shift in his eyes. "But I can't trust you"

Arthur needed to get away from him. He moved back from his servant's hand.

"I don't even know you" he said, the words making his throat constrict. His first friend, and he didn't even know him. All of this time, he had been lied to. Living under the impression that they were equals: because the king had shared almost everything with his friend.

It seemed it was not, after all, an even deal. Suddenly, Arthur felt very tired. He turned his back on Merlin, numbly walking to his table and collapsing into one of the chairs. All he could feel as he watched Merlin walk and place the sword by his bedside, and then carefully make his way to the table only to shift hesitatingly in front of it, was empty. He felt like watching a stranger, someone he had only just met, yet had seen around all his life. So little time ago, he would've said he knew everything about this man: that he was his best friend, his advisor, an idiotic servant who went with his king to battle dragons five times his height when he didn't even have a sword. He would have mentioned how he sometimes spoke as if he was a wise man, and how he knew him better than anyone, maybe even himself. He would've felt pride and gratefulness.

Now, however, he knew nothing of this tall, lanky young man, who was dressed in a servant's clothes and appeared to be weak. He knew nothing of him: he didn't know how he thought, what he did with his free time, how his life was. What his motives were. But this stranger still knew everything about Arthur. Arthur's eyes widened the tiniest bit: he realized he had never known all of those things. He had never truly known what Merlin thought, what he did in his free time, why he constantly followed him into battle. He had never asked. Perhaps this was as much his mistake as Merlin's, not that he was ever going to admit that while blood still ran in his veins.

"Sit" he told him, and for maybe the first time, his servant obeyed. Arthur locked gazes with Merlin, but it seemed Merlin's stubbornness and impertinence had always been genuine and not a trick, because the servant held his gaze.

"Mordred knew about… this?" was the first question that slipped past his lips, the sting of jealousy ringing through his heart. Arthur pushed it down, wishing he could smother it with his bare hands. He wasn't supposed to be jealous.

Merlin grimaced, pain filling his eyes for a second before he nodded. "Yes"

Arthur nodded to himself. "When did he find out?"

This time, Merlin shifted uneasily, avoiding Arthur's gaze. That made the king narrow his own eyes. "What?" he asked, not sure he was going to like the answer.

"Nothing" Merlin replied way too quickly. The king gritted his teeth.

"If this is going to work, I need you to be honest with me for once in your life, because right now I am fighting not to banish you from the kingdom" Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, tightening his fists against the new wave of anger. The moment he said it, he realized it was true: this was no game. This man was a stranger to him, and while he certainly couldn't kill him, he was not yet sure he was willing to forgive him. Not sure he could or should, either.

Merlin seemed to grasp the change of tone, and his expression turned somber. He stopped shifting, placing his hands on the table in front of Arthur and nodding seriously.

Merlin's heart had pounded so hard against his ribcage it had hurt, and he was surprised it hadn't poked a hole through his chest and burst out. Arthur had looked insane at that moment, glaring through him with such rage he had thought the king would run him through.

But in the end, he hadn't. He had backed away and let the sword fall to the floor, and Merlin had swallowed hard and cringed at the clangs the blade made against the marble. He had considered leaving the king on his own for a while, but then he had looked up: Arthur looked broken. He was staring at his hands in horror, his whole body shaking and his skin pale. Merlin's mind had immediately pushed all other thoughts aside at the distressed image of his best friend. He had gone and put a hand on his shoulder.

And now he was sitting at the table, and he felt less terrified. He supposed this had to be even harder for Arthur. He didn't know how he did it: Merlin would've broken down by now.

He nodded at his king, feeling a sharp pain through his chest at the look he was receiving: Arthur was looking at him as though he didn't know him.

"Mordred has known ever since he was a child and we smuggled him out of here" he said. His nails dug into his skin as he struggled to keep still when Arthur's eyes widened and something seemed to break in those blue orbs, that grew even colder. He had to suppress a shudder.

"You mean to tell me" he hissed, "that all of this time…?" Merlin wished he had screamed at him, shouted and knocked over some vase, but this seething anger was much, much worse. Because the less Arthur showed, the more he felt, and now his tone was distant and controlled and cold. The tone he saved for enemies.

"…All these years you have been practicing sorcery right under my nose" It wasn't a question.

"No, it's not true" Merlin said, looking away.

"How" Arthur snapped, and Merlin looked back at him when the king's fist collided with the table. "How is this not true? Did you or did you not practice a forbidden art all the years since I have known you? Were you not a sorcerer that time?" Merlin flinched at the word, a small sparkle of anger rising within him. He was not a sorcerer.

"I -" he tried, but Arthur silenced him with a hand. Merlin clamped his mouth closed, waiting for the king to recover. He usually didn't listen to orders, but Arthur seemed in quite the difficult struggle right now, so he reckoned it was best to let him have it his way. Arthur breathed in and out for a couple of seconds.

"Why did you start to practice magic?" he asked, and when he opened his eyes there was a lack of light, a defeated shade to their blue.

"I didn't have a choice" Merlin repeated. The king lay back, watching his fist curl and uncurl bitterly.

"Of course you had"

"I didn't" he insisted. "I was born like this"

Arthur's eyes instantly rose back up to his. "What?"

The prince seemed genuinely surprised. Merlin felt a pang of sadness rippling through him and he smiled. He gave a shrug and looked away, not able to meet Arthur's incredulous gaze any longer. The image of his mother flashed briefly before his eyes. He stared at a stain on the window of Arthur's chamber.

"My mother used to tell me stories of how I turned chairs over or heated the room, or made food float when I was little" he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. How was he to explain the king all of it? Because Merlin got the dreadful impression that he was going to have to. "I only had a choice in how to use it"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur suddenly blurted, and Merlin looked up to see his friend was as shocked at his interruption as he was. He didn't look so murderous anymore. He supposed that was an improvement, so he risked a joke.

"You would've chopped my head off" he smiled goofily, realizing that it wasn't a joke after all. Technically, Arthur would have been forced to chop Merlin's head off. Or fry it. Merlin shuddered at his own thoughts. "And then there's the fact that you would've ended up in this position"

"What position?" Merlin gave Arthur a pretty good imitation of the Eyebrow. "You are the king of Camelot" he reminded his friend, who looked about to say something, so he quickly went on, "And your father was king before you. Would it have been easy, having to choose between you father and me?"

For a moment, Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief and then amusement. Merlin studied his friend closely, his gaze never leaving the king's: his blond hair seemed dull in the shadow, ruffled by sleep and too little care, and his eyes had taken on a distant look, but the ice had melted off them a little.

And then Arthur's entire demeanor changed and for some reason the temperature seemed to drop a couple degrees. Merlin shivered involuntarily. What was Arthur thinking?

Merlin felt as though a couple of eons had passed instead of a couple of seconds, watching the king's fingers numbly clenching and unclenching as he thought, until finally he locked gazes with him again. There were so many emotions in there, had he wanted to, Merlin couldn't have read them all. All he knew, something which was plain as daylight, was that whatever he they were, they were strong.

"Merlin" he asked in a serious tone of voice. He didn't like that tone. "Did you kill my father?"

That was what had worried him? The fact that Arthur would have had to choose between him and Uther? He felt like laughing. Relief crashed over him at the realization that this was just like the Merlin he knew: his servant would really be as stupid as to worry more about that than his own life. Arthur fixed his gaze somewhere above Merlin's head. Where other sorcerers would have killed Uther and probably himself too, Merlin had protected them. Apparently.

Arthur froze, the world suddenly turning cold again, the noises growing distant. He could hear his heart beating faster, pounding in his ears. The old sorcerer had killed his father. The old sorcerer had won the war and saved them all. The old sorcerer was Merlin. Cold dread seeped up his spine, engulfing him whole as another shot of blind rage flashed before his eyes. This time, however, he managed to contain it.

Arthur let out a slow shivering breath. No, Merlin couldn't have killed his father. He couldn't. He just… just couldn't. Arthur realized that his reasons why Merlin couldn't kill Uther were not exactly strong. There had to be an explanation. He had to ask.

Arthur looked up at Merlin, at those brilliant blue eyes that he had thought to be so innocent.

"Did you kill my father?" he asked simply, quietly, his words weighting more that tons. For something that didn't even have a body, words often seemed to affect people like few real things could. Merlin flinched. A full, whole body flinch. The servant looked away, and Arthur though he could see his eyes glossing over, but he ignored it. He needed Merlin to answer to his question, he thought as he squeezed his fist, his nails digging into his skin. He needed Merlin to answer his question with a no.

"I didn't kill Uther" Merlin finally said, still not looking at him, and Arthur felt his heart beat again, relief like never before chasing the shadows in his soul away. He felt like there had been no air, and now finally he was able to breathe. He let his hand unclench. "But it was my fault"

Arthur looked up to see a Merlin look at him with so much grief and guilt, he felt his own stomach knot again. "What do you mean?"

Merlin closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, they looked older, much older. Much older than a young man's eyes should look.

"Morgana managed to put a cursed pendant on Uther, probably through Agravaine" Arhur felt a twinge of anger at the mention of his uncle's name, but it passed quickly. "I couldn't let Uther die-he was you father. So I used an aging spell to turn myself into Dragoon-that way you wouldn't recognize me. But I was in a hurry, and I was nervous.

I didn't notice the pendant, though I should have. I should have felt the curse. It was my fault. All the healing magic I did that night was reversed and amplified ten times. I as good as killed the king with my own hands"

Arthur stared at Merlin long after the servant had finished talking, silence stretching on and on and none of the two occupants of the room willing to break it. The room began to darken, dusk slowly sucking all of the light from the world.

He didn't usually remember everything everyone said. Most of it he forgot. But when someone said something that didn't make any sense, or something that intrigued him, Arthur remembered. "Contained within this great kingdom is a rich variety of people, with a range of different beliefs" was what Gaius had told him that day, after they'd rescued him. "I am not the only one seeking to protect you. There are many more who believe in the world you are trying to create."

It wasn't Merlin. Arthur couldn't feel any happier. It hadn't been Merlin.

"It wasn't your fault" he said quietly, and the look full of hope and wonder he received sealed his decision. He would trust his friend.

He sighed, suddenly exhausted, and stood up. Arthur walked to the window and turned his back on Merlin, looking at the already dark city stretching down in front of him-a sea of roofs and flickering points of light. He clasped his hands behind his back.

"I expect you to be on time tomorrow" he called. He could almost feel Merlin's smile as he said "Yes sire" He didn't turn back as he heard the chair scraping against the floor and he didn't turn as he heard Merlin's footsteps walking away, opening the doors and closing them behind him with a polite. "Good night".

He stood like that, in the dark, a while longer, then walked to his bed and collapsed in it, his head sinking into the fluffy pillow. Arthur closed his eyes.

"One day you will learn, Arthur. One day you will understand… just how much they've done for you."

He finally understood what Gaius had meant. The only thing left to do now was learn.

Okay, so what do you think? Again, thank you all for reading. I am very much indebted to all of you:)

Now, a different matter: I was thinking of changing the title of this story to "Of gold and destinies". So I will wait till tomorrow and then change it-I figured it would be nice to let you know first. What do you think?

Next update will be: Monday.

See you then^^