Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note: Yep, I think I like this chapter a lot (especially the ending!). That is the advantage of having an outline from the get-go, you already have a fairly solid idea of where you want to go with your story. We get to see a little bit—just a hint—of BAMF!Merlin here (and I should probably add BAMF!Arthur to that mix, as well—you'll see why ::winks::), but more of that is coming later on. For right now, I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
One last additional note, this chapter is dedicated to both BlackSky83 and GhostN27 because their comments on AO3 gave me a little bit of inspiration for two scenes to include in here ;).
Reviewers: All 280 of you, thank you!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Three years have passed since Merlin's partial reveal of his magic. On the eve of their assault on Heilos and Morgana's forces, Emrys must finally reveal himself in full. Quite without his knowing, it alters the entire course of Camelot's future—as well as his own, with the Once and Future King…[Bromance to Romance, Ambiguous Relationship (Merlin/Arthur)]
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:A Man's Measure:.
By Sentimental Star
VIII: The King's Grace (Part 2)
It had been a long three years. Of course, Merlin had never expected it to be easy, on those bleak nights he had dared entertain the thought of sharing his magic's true extent with Arthur.
It was maddening, knowing that Arthur knew what he had, but being unable to share anything of what he had done. It was not that he wanted recognition—somewhat bewilderingly, he had recognition in plenty from Arthur, simply by virtue of being the king's best friend.
What he wanted was Arthur to know him simply and wholly, with no secrets left between them. He could handle Camelot, even Gwen and the Knights of the Round Table, not knowing just fine. But with Arthur—
They had tried to talk. Gods, had they tried. But there was always another monster or another council meeting or another treaty to be signed…
Then Morgana had attacked—again—and Merlin had to make sure Arthur did not try to kill himself in a reckless attempt to confront Heilos, Morgana, or Agravaine—
(Nine Months Ago)
"My uncle arrives tomorrow morning," Arthur's soft remark caught Merlin off-guard, causing his hand to jerk and spill a bit of the porridge he had been dishing out for their morning meal.
"What?" he managed, sloppily wiping up the spill with a cloth napkin as his mind instantly sped through all the accommodations such a high ranking guest would require, as he had begun to take on that duty as the Regent's manservant in the absence of a queen. "You couldn't have given me a little more warning, Arthur?"
At least the Crown Prince had the good sense to look sheepish. "I…ah…forgot? Besides, I only just found out myself yesterday evening, Merlin."
Arthur's voice held an ill-concealed note of longing that had Merlin glancing at him sharply, "And who is this uncle, Arthur? I thought your father had no living relatives left."
"He doesn't," Arthur's cheeks slowly colored red, "but my…my mother does…"
Well, that explained the note of longing Merlin had heard. Gods, could Arthur make it any more difficult for Merlin to voice his concerns?
"Arthur," he stated cautiously, carefully setting down the larger bowl of porridge and instead picking up the pitcher of cream to pour it into Arthur's bowl, "the last time anyone from your mother's family appeared, he was a specter whom Nimueh raised from the dead, and he wanted revenge on Uther. You'll forgive me if I am a little wary about welcoming anyone else from her family to court—"
Arthur frowned at him—although whether it was for the fact that Merlin was serving him in the privacy of the Crown Prince's chambers or for what he was implying about his best friend's uncle, Merlin did not know.
Certainly, Arthur's hand gently clamped down on his wrist as Merlin set the pitcher of cream back down on the table, effectively preventing him from reaching for the honey, which the manservant had been preparing to pick up next. The prince's booted foot also kicked out a second chair, a pointed command to sit.
Tentatively, Merlin sat, still unused to eating his morning meal with Arthur. Or being relied on so heavily for advice, for that matter.
The Crown Prince's frown had turned thoughtful when Merlin unsurely glanced up at him, and his voice held a soft quality to it that meant he genuinely wanted an answer to his next question, "Do you honestly think my mother's entire family could want revenge?"
Merlin swallowed, conscious of the fact that his word somehow held more weight than it had even when Arthur had been just the Crown Prince, and not Regent over the entirety of Camelot: "All I know is that your mother's family hasn't been particularly forgiving in the past, and it seems awfully convenient that just as your father has fallen…ill, your uncle suddenly decides he wants to be part of your—of Camelot's court."
Arthur released Merlin's wrist and steepled his fingers, leaning his chin on them as he contemplated the fire across the room.
Merlin was gratified to not the furrow of his brow, which meant that his best friend was sincerely considering his advice.
At last, Arthur sighed, "…Would it make any difference if I said he promised my mother that he'd…he'd be there for me, if I ever needed him?"
"That's assuming he just hasn't made it up, in attempt to get into your good graces," Merlin sighed. "And if he honestly meant it…why now? Why suddenly tell you that…when he could have been telling you that for years? You've never mentioned him before, you know—"
Arthur shrugged uncomfortably, his gaze not wavering from the fire, "He was never…interested, I think, before now."
Merlin gazed at him askance, vague suspicion and unease suddenly swelling into something substantial, "Arthur…and you never questioned why he's suddenly so interested?"
Arthur shrugged again, leaning back in his chair, and diverting his eyes to stare into the depths of his porridge.
Merlin frowned. "This isn't just about your mother," stated with abrupt certainty.
Arthur flushed, but did not deny it.
Merlin's frown deepened. Reaching out, he lightly brushed the knuckles of Arthur's left hand, where his beloved friend's fingers tapped nervously against the table. "Arthur," he prompted.
Arthur released a gusty breath and brushed him off, abruptly surging to his feet, "I don't know what I am doing, Merlin!" he snapped. "How can I be sure I am not leading Camelot to ruin? I-I always expected my father would be there to…to advise me, and now he's just…not-!"
His best friend looked so helpless and heartbroken as he struggled to give voice to an explanation for his father's condition that Merlin felt his own heart break a little.
But Arthur was now ranting, pacing back and forth across the floor of his bedchamber, so Merlin could do nothing but sit back and listen, "—And I know I have you, and Guinevere, and Gaius, and the Knights…but none of you have ever run a kingdom before, and I…I need someone with experience to reassure me that I am not making some dreadful mistake…who can tell me if I am doing something wrong-!"
"And I don't?" Merlin could not help interjecting, rising to his feet, and trying to suppress the sharp flash of hurt he felt at Arthur's apparent lack of confidence in his counsel. "Arthur-!"
Arthur must have still detected something, however, because all at once a dismayed expression stole across his face and he somehow ended up right in front of Merlin, who felt all the air gust out of his lungs at the Crown Prince's sudden, close proximity and the too-blue eyes pinning him in place, "Of course you do, Merlin. Gods, you won't shut up when I've done something wrong…! But I…I can't pile even more on your shoulders. I've piled too much there as it is-!"
Merlin inhaled sharply when a callused thumb swept over the bags he knew were under his own eyes, but he still mustered enough self-discipline to glance up at Arthur and meet his beloved friend's eyes, "I am not fragile, my King," stated evenly.
Arthur's breathing hitched, "Merlin…I-I'm not—"
"You are to me."
Really, that was all Merlin could say before he found himself swept up into a hug so tight that it made him squawk.
"…I think you bruised my ribs," he gasped, when Arthur finally set him back on his feet.
His best friend snorted, a little thick, as he watched him gingerly prod at the ribs in question, "Shut up, Merlin…"
(End Flashback)
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin had not had the heart to press the issue after that. He had only brought it up again once, when Agravaine accused Gaius of treason.
To Arthur's credit, he heard out Merlin's warning; he even thoroughly questioned Agravaine on the matter, not honestly believing himself that Gaius could be a traitor. But Agravaine was a slick operator, and although Arthur had prevented him from executing or banishing the old physician, Agravaine had thoroughly integrated himself into Arthur's graces by that point, causing Merlin to find himself fighting a losing battle.
It still hurt a little that, in the end, Arthur had not listened to Merlin.
Then, as now (and many times since), Merlin regretted not pushing the issue more. Perhaps Camelot would not have fallen, had he done so.
Arthur would have believed me…eventually.
The warlock could not afford to lose himself in "what-ifs" right now, though: every moment he wallowed in self-pity, Agravaine and his mercenaries drew closer. He could hear at least three sets of boots and knew that guaranteed at least three sets of weapons.
He could take on all three (and more), if needed, but he much preferred facing only one.
Because of Arthur's attachment to the man, that one was going to be Agravaine. With luck he would only need to apprehend the lord, not kill him.
It was easy enough to take out the Southrons: as they pelted around the corner of the tunnel ahead of Agravaine, Merlin's eyes flashed gold. He dashed one against the rock wall and swept the other up in a whirlwind not unlike the one he had produced here so long, when they were fighting Kanen.
The one he had dashed against the rocks landed awkwardly, groaning. The other he tossed fifteen feet passed a startled Agravaine, who cursed and halted in his tracks, staring after his man in disbelief. The mercenary slammed into rocky floor with a sickening crunch that told Merlin that particular Southron would not be following them any time soon.
A third flash of his eyes sent Agravaine tripping forward.
As the man stumbled directly in front of him with yet another startled curse, Merlin calmly stepped around the corner. "Hello, Agravaine," he greeted evenly, lifting his chin.
Shocked, the man straightened, "Merlin?" a sneer covered his face, "Merlin. Where's Arthur?"
Merlin shook his head. Wrapping his arms around himself might make him appear vulnerable, but he was really checking to make sure he had his daggers in hand, "Be careful."
He may not want to hurt the man, but he was not foolish or naïve enough to think Agravaine would refuse to attack him.
At least for the moment, attack seemed to be the last thing on the lord's mind. The man's brow furrowed in confusion, "What are you talking about? Where's Arthur?"
Merlin would have liked to think Agravaine genuinely cared about Arthur in some capacity, misplaced though that affection might be, but even he could not quite believe it himself.
"If I knew," the warlock smirked at the scowl that began to twist Agravaine's features, "do you really think I would tell you?"
A full scowl split the man's face and he stalked forward, gloved hand fisting at his side, "This is ridiculous. I refuse to stand about bandying words with a half-wit. Tell me where Arthur is. Now. Or I'll have to kill you."
Oh, like you haven't tried that already…
Merlin snorted, not intimidated in the least, "No, I really don't think I will—"
That was, until Agravaine's fist reared back and almost struck him.
Merlin reacted on instinct: his eyes flashed gold and, abruptly, he found himself with his daggers interlocked with Agravaine's sword.
The man's face reflected his disbelief, "You have magic," he breathed. The lord whirled away, settling into a ready stance, but clearly wrong-footed.
Which Merlin probably should have pressed to his advantage, but he, too, was wrong-footed. He had not intended to reveal his magic to Agravaine (and, in fact, Arthur had insisted he not). "I…was born with it."
To his utter surprise, Agravaine lowered his sword, "It's you. You're Emrys."
Merlin shifted uncomfortably, lowering his daggers, but refusing to sheath them. If he could keep Agravaine talking…"That is what the Druids call me."
Agravaine snorted out what might have been a laugh, letting his grip on the hilt of his sword go lax, "And you've been at court this entire time, by Arthur's side." The lord chuckled, "My, how you have managed to deceive him! I am impressed, Emrys."
Merlin watched him impassively, ignoring the shudder the lord's words evoked at his core. Arthur might know about his powers now and, for some incomprehensible reason, have forgiven him his deception, but the fact remained that he had deceived Arthur. Was deceiving him, even now.
If we could only have that thrice-damned conversation…!
But to do that, he needed to defeat Agravaine first, and the man was still talking, "…Perhaps we're more alike than you think. What say you? Will you join us?"
Merlin stared at the man as he held out his free hand to him.
Gods, Agravaine is even more of a fool than I thought!
With as much venom as he could muster, Merlin spat on the floor at Agravaine's feet, "Does that tell you?"
It was a very clear answer, and Agravaine calmly side-stepped the mess, easily bringing his hand back up to the sword's hilt, "Well, if we're going to do this the hard way—"
Merlin did not deign to reply, instead tightening his grip on the hilts of his own daggers and settling into a ready stance.
Agravaine smirked, swinging his sword up into position, "Ah…Camelot's famous Lady Hawk. I should have known you would never betray Arthur. Very well…let's do this, boy!"
It should have been simple enough. Arthur had trained Merlin exceedingly well in the art of weaponry, and now, with the added advantage of the skills he had learned from Sir Bors…it really should have been no contest.
But Arthur had never truly been comfortable leaving Merlin on his own to face an enemy, so the warlock really should have expected his best friend would follow him, personal safety and Camelot's future be damned.
Certainly, it was the reason why—halfway through his first lunge at Agravaine—he suddenly heard an all-too-familiar cry float up the corridor behind him.
Merlin jerked, twisting around in mid-stance. He landed awkwardly, knee wrenching as stumbled forward into the hall he had just left, absolutely horrified to discover a not-so-unconscious Southron at hammer-and-tongs with—
"Arthur!"
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin should have known better than to let himself get distracted.
Before he had even finished his shout, he choked on it, dropping his daggers, and clawed at the silver chain that abruptly—and harshly—cut off his air supply.
His knees buckled. Agravaine used the chokehold he had on Merlin's necklace to yank him backwards. A broad, armor-clad shoulder rammed into the warlock's solar plexus and Merlin crumpled again, utterly unable to breathe.
Dimly, he thought he heard Arthur screaming for him, but by then he had been slammed into the tunnel wall, and the back of his head and neck cracked painfully against the rough-hewn rock. Against the nape of his neck, Merlin felt a very distinct snap and heard the clatter of metal against stone as his broken necklace tumbled to the ground.
A gloved hand snapped back his head as it struck him across his face, the metal-studded leather splitting his lip. Merlin turned his face aside and spat out the blood that had dribbled into his mouth, but lifted his chin defiantly, refusing to give in to the fire inflaming the entire right side of his face or the black spots dancing in his vision.
Agravaine smirked, sword raised in preparation to strike, "Last chance. Are you sure you won't join us?"
"What do you think?" Merlin snarled, as the blade descended.
Instead of black—and pain—there was a sudden crack. Arthur's blade intersected with Agravaine's own, the Once and Future King shoving his uncle back as the startled man struggled to regain his footing.
His face deadly white, the king shifted until he stood directly between Merlin and Agravaine, all but shielding the warlock with his body: "Touch him again," Arthur hissed, "and I will see you dead, Uncle."
TBC