Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.

Until the day he died, many centuries later under very strange circumstances, Merlin would never fully understand how Arthur pulled it off. He understood the basic logistics, with the shutters of the window wide open and Arthur looking like somebody who had just heaved himself through a pane after a climb up a tower, but the window had been closed when Merlin had shut his eyes to sleep, and there was no rope for Arthur to have used as an anchor.

Nor would he understand how Arthur got himself into his horrifying, self-inflicted situation without waking him up, nor the strange tickling in his mind that he'd seen this before, because of course he hadn't. He was quite sure he'd never felt this sudden and intense burst of fear, and he was positive that it had nothing to do with the inexplicable pain and what felt an awful lot like a lump rising on the back of his head.

Because there was Arthur, standing ankle deep in a pool of pitch he'd somehow poured into the extra-long tub he'd commissioned after his marriage and that Merlin hadn't felt like putting away last week. He was holding a torch more precariously than Merlin was comfortable with from his left hand. He held his sword in his right, and it was extended in front of him, not at all precariously, as if he was trying to ward off anybody who was trying to interfere.

Merlin didn't breathe. He'd seen Arthur concussed, bewitched, befuddled, blackmailed, and bewildered into doing things against his own will, and this was not an Arthur forced to dangle a torch over a pool of pitch in which he was standing. Arthur was doing this deliberately, and there was a challenge in his expression.

His mind racing, Merlin supposed the challenge had been there for a while now, but he hadn't wanted to see it. He hadn't wanted to try and hope for the best when he was so much better at dreading the worst, whenever he imagined a scenario of the truth coming out. And the worst was so awful that it was easier not to look, not to see, not to rise. Now, though...

Sweat dripped from Arthur's brow, and Merlin thought that might not be the only liquid on Arthur's face. His eyes were still bright and feverish, but his face was waxy and pale.

The black eye Merlin hadn't been able to use his magic to prevent had never stood out so sharply against Arthur's features, and his skin was bloodless enough that Merlin could see the green edges of a very deep bruise that was slowly getting better. The feather was still in his hair. His left hand, holding onto the torch, still showed the half-healed cuts from the broken windowpane. His eyes looked like…

His eyes looked like they had when he'd realized Agravaine had betrayed him, except he'd looked like a king then. Arthur, standing in pitch in his own chambers with so much desperation in his eyes, looked like the young man who shared confidences around the campfire when the knights weren't around, who was so painfully lonely before he'd gotten a servant who didn't show him the worship of his peers or the deference of the other servants, who fell in love with a woman so many tiers below his own station and married her despite everything.

This wasn't Arthur, heir of Uther Pendragon, who just wanted to make his father proud even after he was gone. This was Arthur when he was being Arthur. When he was trying to be a good man but couldn't sort out what was true and what wasn't, who he could trust and who he couldn't, what was real and what wasn't. This was usually when Merlin would jump in and tell Arthur what to—

"Oh," said Merlin.

"Do it," said Arthur, his voice surprisingly strong. "Just do it. I know you can."

"Do what?"

"Stop me."

Merlin raised an arm at Arthur, prepared to stop him, knowing that Arthur knew. Somehow, he knew, and Merlin had the sense that he should have known that Arthur knew, and this was all happening far too quickly, but there was no time. Not when Arthur was standing in pitch, holding a torch and looking like he'd come to understand too much in not enough time and nobody had been able to help him with it.

And he couldn't have brought himself to trust Merlin with it. Merlin knew that, though it pained him. Not when Arthur must have comprehended the amount of effort Merlin had spent years putting into not confiding in anybody, and actively deceiving him. Despite some of Merlin's favorite insults toward the king, Arthur wasn't an idiot. Once he knew, all of those stories that Merlin had spun must have fallen apart.

All Arthur would have had to do was look back, and their history was full of Merlin-centric conveniences that happened to coincide with Arthur being asleep, unconscious, or temporarily absent. Their shared past was filled with unexplainable things that were easily explained once Arthur understood what two things they all had in common:

Magic, and Merlin.

"Oh," said Merlin again.

And Arthur had sorted it out as best he could alone. Merlin was sure of that. This wouldn't be happening this way if Arthur had confided in Gwen, and if Arthur had figured out Merlin, he wouldn't have gone to Gaius. Arthur had done this alone.

Seeing the very unkingly confusion in every line of Arthur's face, Merlin felt sick. He tried to fight every instinct of a decade of service that told him to protect Arthur from this secret that would change everything. Even knowing that it was too late, that he had to see this through for so many reasons, Merlin instinctively wanted to take it all back and protect. Not to change. To keep everything safe.

Yet he couldn't help but wonder...how much damage had he and Arthur done to their destiny by becoming friends?

And then Merlin knew what he had to do, and what he absolutely couldn't do if they were going to make it to the other side of this intact.

"No," he told Arthur. "I won't stop you."

Then he swiped his hand at the table that he'd moved to block the door, more forcefully than intended. It flew across the floor and crashed into the bed, breaking both pieces of furniture and making Merlin flinch. Arthur yelped, and Merlin couldn't help but break into a small smile at the absurdity. Feeling that he may as well do the thing properly now that he knew Arthur knew, he magically yanked the doors open as well, breaking the bolt clean off even as he approached it.

Out in the corridor, a servant Merlin knew by the name of Robert was looking into the king's chambers, his eyes huge and jaw hanging open. An upended pail of water lay at his feet. Merlin sighed.

"Robert," said Merlin, then snapped his fingers in front of Robert's face to grab his attention. "Robert! Fetch Guinevere, now."

"Guinevere?"

"The queen!"

Robert scampered off, and Merlin sincerely hoped nobody else would pass by until Gwen arrived. He reentered Arthur's chambers, hands raised as if in surrender. Something still wasn't making sense. Arthur would never put himself in so much danger unless it was in the service of saving lives. He wouldn't be afraid to offer to sacrifice himself if it meant helping the helpless, but this?

Why would he put himself in such a deadly situation to try and elicit a confession from a sorcerer, when Arthur had spent his lifetime being taught the evils of magic? And when this particular sorcerer had spent years lying and sabotaging and influencing? Merlin may not have meant any harm when he did these things, and his life may have been on the line as a sorcerer in Camelot, but he supposed Arthur had the right to not immediately see everything from Merlin's perspective. Perspective could come later. It would.

The inexplicable lump on the back of Merlin's head throbbed, and he wanted to rub it.

"Why didn't you tell me, Merlin?" asked Arthur, sounding more like himself again. Some color was flooding back into his cheeks. He readjusted his grip on his sword, and Merlin wondered if he realized that he was holding it at the perfect decapitating height for Merlin's head.

This gave Merlin an idea that seemed very, very good at the time.

He walked slowly toward Arthur and stood right in front of him, the tip of the sword parallel to his shoulder. Then he began to advance so deliberately that surely even Arthur would understand the symbolism, that Merlin was wordlessly making the all-important point that Arthur held a figurative sword at his neck at all times, and the necks of all sorcerers even when they weren't doing anything except existing within the borders of his kingdom thanks to his policies regarding magic. It was such a clear metaphor that he figured even the frequently-concussed Arthur couldn't fail to see it.

"Pay attention, Merlin. You're close to my sword."

Okay, maybe not. Sighing, Merlin decided Arthur might benefit from something a little bit more literal. He took a big step forward and placed one foot in the extra-long tub of pitch. Arthur involuntarily shuffled backward when Merlin moved to drop his other foot into the pitch.

Unfortunately, the wave in the black goo combined with Merlin's inherent Merlin-ness meant that Merlin lost his balance. Arthur, with his inherent Arthur-ness, instinctively reached out to grab Merlin by the shoulder to keep him upright.

"Ouch!" hissed Merlin, not actually hurt but reacting automatically to the presence of a torch entirely too close to his ear.

"You're fine," shot back Arthur, but he did move the torch further back from Merlin. He didn't move his feet, and the tub stilled enough that both found their balance. And were standing ankle deep in a tub of pitch, one covered in feathers and the other holding a torch and a sword while a breeze blew in through the open window behind them.

"This is so ridiculous, Merlin," muttered Arthur.

"I'm demonstrating why I didn't tell you about my magic!" protested Merlin, gesturing vaguely down at their situation, as if Arthur could forget that they were two grown men standing in a tub of black goo in the middle of the day

"Why wouldn't you just tell me why you didn't tell me? Not telling me things is literally the problem here, Merlin!"

"It's a metaphor, Arthur!"

"And now we're both standing in pitch."

"That's your fault! That's your fault."

"That's half my fault. The other half is yours."

"Well, we are two sides of the same coin."

"If you don't stop making up silly metaphors, Merlin…"

"Fine," said Merlin, both exasperated and aware that the pitch was cooling and hardening around their ankles, which could just make the situation more complicated. "I didn't tell you because you might have chopped my head off. Or at the very least exiled me. And my mission is to bring balance and return magic to Camelot by your side."

Arthur looked Merlin very deeply in the eyes as he said all of this, as if he had to be sure that Merlin was being truthful. Merlin supposed he deserved this. It was a long time before Arthur spoke again.

"Okay," said Arthur. "Okay—"

"And also I was born with magic and am the last Dragonlord and the druids call me Emrys because my birth was foretold and I might be immortal," said Merlin, very quickly.

Best to get it all out before Arthur made any profound declarations, he figured, and Arthur surely was ready to hear it after spending all these days trying to trick the truth out of Merlin. He'd calmed down considerably and seemingly returned to his senses after he'd realized how ridiculous the situation was. This was progress. Merlin was sure of it.

Merlin was sure of it for nearly a full thirty seconds before the flabbergasted look on Arthur's face led him to suspect that maybe he should have left the whole immortal possibility until a later date.

"Don't you drop that torch, Arthur!"

"What?" asked Arthur vaguely, then realized that the torch was tilting slightly sideways as he processed Merlin's comments. He rolled his eyes at Merlin, but tightened his grip on the torch anyway. "I'm not going to drop it. Of course I'm not going to drop it! Do you think I want to burn myself alive?"

In Merlin's opinion, Arthur sounded far too indignant for somebody who had planted himself in that precise situation, and he couldn't help but snap back.

"Why would you do this and put yourself in so much danger? You're the king of Camelot with no heir! Don't risk getting yourself killed because you're mad at your servant. Just look at this situation!" said Merlin, waving needlessly down at the pool of pitch and leaning back to avoid the torch. "And how did you even do all this without waking me up?"

"You started to wake up," said Arthur sternly, but his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. "So I hit you over the head with a goblet. And I was never in any danger."

Well, that explained the lump, although he still didn't understand a lot how Arthur pulled it all off. Arthur wasn't that self-sufficient when it came to the domestics of life.

"I have not hit you with nearly enough goblets for you to forget what happens when fire meets pitch."

"You never would have let me drop it," said Arthur. "You would have used your magic to do the right thing. I know you would have."

And it was in that moment that Merlin knew everything was going to be okay. Ten years of tension broke in him so suddenly that he wanted to cry from the combination of exhaustion and relief and regret that he never knew he could feel so profoundly.

The profoundness was lost on Arthur, who was recovered enough himself to start complaining as if this was just another day.

"You wouldn't have let me drop the torch, even if you did let me punch a window—"

"You hardly punched it."

"And knock over a valuable elixir jug belonging to Gaius—"

"How was I supposed to know what you were doing?!"

"And tripped me over a shield—"

"I didn't even do that this time!"

"And hit me over the head and then try to convince me a fire tornado did it!"

"Okay, I did do that," said Merlin, feeling obligated to concede that last point.

"Is a fire tornado even a thing?" asked Arthur suspiciously.

"I mean, it could be."

"So it could not be?" said Arthur, but he was smiling just enough for Merlin to decide it was worth a goblet to the head if this was the result. "But believe me when I say that I was not worried for myself when I stepped into this pool of pitch. You have some explaining to do about pretty much everything since you arrived in Camelot, but a lie is not enough to outweigh years of loyal service and friendship."

"You're taking this very well," commented Merlin, surprised Arthur had alluded to a friendship. He rarely acknowledged that at the best of times, and this was hardly their best time. Perhaps Arthur sensed that this was the beginning of a new chapter in the history of Camelot. And perhaps Arthur would also be willing to leave the tub full of pitch and the feathers out of the telling of the story.

"Well, I've been processing it ever since the fire tornado incident."

"All on your own?"

Arthur nodded, somewhat sadly. Merlin didn't know what the say to that. Part of him wanted to apologize and make amends, while the rest of him felt that this was Arthur's fault as much as his own and the only way this would work was if either both of them or neither of them apologized. The silence was awkward and heavy. This was going to be a process.

"What the hell are you two doing?!" yelled Guinevere from the doorway, breaking the moment with no small amount of alarm in her voice. They both jumped at the sound, and Merlin only just managed to keep his balance and prevent their situation from looking any worse. Guinevere's expression suggested it was plenty bad already as she surveyed the two of them.

Merlin looked at Arthur, with the feather in his hair, bruise around his eye, cuts on his hands, and arms aloft holding a sword and a torch. Arthur looked at Merlin, who despite everything was still covered with feathers, whose hair was frowzy and unkempt from his nap, and who quickly schooled his expression into what he hoped was something dignified. They both still stood ankle-deep in pitch. In the same tub.

Gwen looked like she wasn't sure if she should laugh, shout, or summon Gaius because clearly there was some kind of noxious gas in Arthur's chambers that had driven both the king and his manservant mad.

She also looked like she was justifiably leaning toward shouting.

"Merlin's a sorcerer," said Arthur quickly, clearly trying to delay the conversation about the pitch.

"Arthur climbed the tower without a rope," said Merlin at the very same moment, plucking the torch from Arthur's hand and magically extinguishing it. He handed it behind his back to Arthur, who tossed it out the still-open window behind them. Somebody yelled from far below a moment later.

Gwen looked from one to the other several times, then settled on Arthur.

"You did what?"

Arthur sputtered for a moment before finding his voice. "Did you hear I said Merlin's a sorcerer?"

"Well, of course he is," said Gwen crossly, grabbing each of them by the elbow and yanking them out of the tub. "That just makes sense when you think about it. But climbing the tower without a rope?!"

Standing in her velvet and jewels and crown, Guinevere glared at Arthur exactly as she had when she was still a maidservant in an apron, and Arthur's retort died on his lips as he looked at his wife. Not defensive, but serious and considering. Merlin wondered if this was what Uther looked like before his queen had died.

"You're right," said Arthur quietly, and Merlin was struck by the realization that Guinevere would be a truly remarkable queen if she ever had to rule alone. He hoped with every fiber of his being that such a day would never come, or at least not for a good long while, but Gwen was born a queen long before there was a king who had the sense to marry her. If any good came of how long Merlin did what he had to do to keep his secret, it was that change would happen when Gwen was on a throne by Arthur's side.

"You're right," repeated Arthur, more strongly, standing up so tall and proud that suddenly it didn't matter that he had a black eye and a feather in his hair. Merlin felt a chill go down his spine, but the good kind, like he'd felt at Arthur's coronation when he forgot all of the ridiculousness he'd witnessed over their years together and chanted "Long live the king!" with everybody else. Arthur was ready, and Merlin was determined that he would work by his side rather than from behind his back this time.

"Don't worry," said King Arthur. "Everything is going to be alright."

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The second half of this story is brought to you by "When Blue Was Gold," from which I shamelessly pulled a passage that I wrote for Chapter 12 and have been holding onto. So, I guess I have a Merlin multiverse now. :)

In all seriousness, thank you for reading, and I apologize for how long this got between two chapters. At least now you may be able to tell why I chopped it in two! If I write any more for "In Media Res," I'll go back to one-shots.

I would LOVE and appreciate any and all reviews if you have a few moments and any thoughts!