You mean to tell me, that after I went through all the trouble to get us to a place where this was even possible—you refuse the job?"

Arthur shook his head incredulous. How could Merlin even think of refusing this? This was what he deserved, so why was he so sure that he was the wrong man for such a job?

He was powerful, was powerful in ways that Arthur was still beginning to understand. In ways that frankly scared him. The Last Dragonlord. Emrys. The Most Powerful Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth. Druid King. Warlock.

It was hard still, even months after their fateful journey to mesh together the picture he'd painted in such vibrant colors of his bubbling friend, with the dark, dreary, and—and sad picture that was the true Merlin.

Arthur had noticed when Merlin didn't smile, didn't laugh but he hasn't known why—and in an act of arrogance, had never asked. He'd always noticed, but what if he'd asked, perhaps just once—truly asked, probing beyond the surface of Merlin's carefully constructed facade—would Merlin have told him sooner?

He remembers so very little from his brush with death. He remembers in startling clarity the moment Merlin had revealed his secret, when dying embers had turned into a blazing sigil, his own crest embellished in flames. He can remember the moment he woke filled to the brim with old magic, surrounded by glowing spots of light and Merlin, crying, shouting, ordering the sidhe to obey him, wielding what was his birth right, and he remembers afterwards, Merlin spinning him tales that he knew, and yet, didn't know at the same time.

But, he remembers very little of the in between, Merlin tells him he was dead, and Arthur believes him but it is still hard to rap his head around the idea that he'd been dead and then—Merlin brought him back.

It was just plain odd, perhaps extraordinary even, which was—he thought—also the perfect description of Merlin. It is also what made the job so perfect for Merlin and why he can't understand why the man won't just accept the bloody godforsaken thing.

"Can you logically tell me why?"

Merlin didn't answer, he only continued to pace back and forth his hands tugging at raven curls, he'd been at it since the conversation began but now Merlin seemed more agitated—at what Arthur did not know.

"I can't do it, Arthur. It's not the right place for me. Why can't things stay the way they were?"

The way things were? With Merlin having to hide in the shadows? Arthur didn't like that idea. Merlin deserved to be able for people to recognize what he'd done—the tales Merlin had told him, they were amazing, filled to the brim with heroism, and despite knowing these were tales Merlin refused to tell anyone else, not even Guinevere despite her knowing about the servants magic, wanted Merlin to know that he—perhaps the people's love would show him—

"Because you deserve people to see what you've done! You deserve for people to see you as something more than just my manservant!"

"They already see me, Arthur; I'm fine with the way I'm seen! But more importantly I don't want them to see me that way, Arthur! It's safer for me this way; please don't make me do this!"

"Everyone loves you, Merlin. No one would hurt you and I'd they did they'd have to deal with some very angry knights, one angry queen, and—erm—one angry king! What are you so afraid of?"

Merlin turned away from him and turned his face towards the window, his hands coming to rest against the wall, his head bent and in the silence, Arthur could hear how fast and uneven his breathing was, he frowned his brow knitting together. Slowly he crept up to the man laying a hand on his shoulder; he was even more concerned when Merlin jumped at the touch, flinching away.

"Merlin—what's wrong with you? Why are you so scared of this?"

Merlin didn't move but his words caused Arthur to flinch backwards.

"Whenever I close my eyes to sleep—I dream of burning. I'm on the stake and I know I can escape but I also know I won't because I could hurt someone and I think staying there is some final test—of my loyalty – or something and someone lights the wood and—I burn. Every night. I burn," he shivered. "It's so real."

"Merlin—"

"No, Arthur. Please listen to me. I can't do this. It scares me; my mum trained me to never tell and there's been so few that I've told of my own volition. My bedtime stories were cautionary tales on why I could never be fully honest with people. I've been so afraid, for so long, that I don't know what it's like to not be. "

Arthur led Merlin to a chair as his legs threatened to make him fall to the ground.

"Surely—"

"Do you know what it's like to live in fear your whole life? And now, you want me to stand next to you as you repel the ban, and to reveal myself to the whole of Camelot? And aren't you concerned that some people might be angry about this? I don't relish the thought that they could turn on me right there. We've seen the lynch mentality that forms, Arthur, at even the barest hints of magic. Please. Don't make me do this!"

Merlin was shaking, his hands white knuckled and clutched tightly to his chest. His face was bordering on full blown panic and Arthur put himself in Merlin's shoes. Being born into a world that hated magic. Growing up in that world and then—seeing what they'd seen, the hysteria that forms at merely the smallest mention of magic.

He could see why Merlin was afraid. In truth, he was a bit as well, although for very different reasons. There was so many ways this could go wrong.

But it needed to be done.

But perhaps Merlin didn't need to reveal himself at the same time; he wanted it to be something the younger man would remember with fondness not look back on with terror. He deserved to do it when he felt at least relatively safe.

"Arthur, please. You know I'll do it if you need me to, but—I don't want to do it! Isn't there some other way?"

Arthur knelt down so that he was at eye level and nodded.

"I'm still going to repeal the ban, because it's not right. But—hey, Merlin," he stilled Merlin's hands, gently separating them. "It's okay. I'm not going to make you do this now. I want you to do it when you're comfortable, I don't care if its next week or in a year, I don't want this to be something you have to be afraid of."

Merlin placed his head in his hands and breathed in and out deeply, before finally lifting his head and hesitatingly smiling.

"Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome. I don't want you to have to be afraid anymore."

Merlin smiled again.

"When I'm ready—I can still take the job? You'll still want me to be your court—" he stopped and made a face, "—sorcerer?"

"What's wrong with that title? Gaius told me it was one used before the purge—"

"'M a warlock, not a sorcerer."

"Fine then, Court Warlock, though it doesn't have quite the same ring." Merlin laughed, and Arthur smiled. "And Merlin, whenever you're ready—it's yours."

Merlin grinned.

"I've already got a hat for you to wear, it's covered with blue stars, and moons, and feathers. Orange ones. You'll love it."

Merlin didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Arthur actually, upon Merlin's insistence that such a monstrosity could not exist, produced the hat and placed it on his head. The two large thing slipping down over his eyes.

He settled for a groan and a muttered, "prat."