Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

AN: This chapter and the previous chapter were initially supposed to be one, but it grew into kind of a monster. I chopped it in two in the only place I could, but this chapter is still ridiculously long compared to other chapters in this story. Just a heads up. :)

Chapter Twenty One

"One week, Arthur!"

"You promised Gwen you'd forgive me!" Arthur protested. He was grateful for the promise Gwen had coerced from Merlin, because otherwise he really wasn't sure what his defense would be. He'd taken the most personal piece of information he had about Merlin, the secret his servant had guarded with his life since he'd been born, and he had shared it – albeit it inadvertently – with one of Merlin's closest friends. If there was one person in Camelot who Merlin wanted to tell personally about his magic after Arthur, it was probably Gwen.

In other words, he'd screwed up. And he knew it.

"I believe before she came, we were talking about why I lied and kept this a secret instead of trusting you?" Merlin raised his eyebrows at him, the challenge clear on his face, and Arthur sighed.

"I've lost the high ground on this, haven't I?"

"Damn right, you have."

"Can we call it even?" Arthur proposed thoughtlessly. "You lied and kept secrets, and I accidentally told Gwen?"

Merlin gave him a shrewd look, and Arthur realized belatedly what he'd done.

"That sounds fair," his servant agreed cautiously. "We'll call it even."

"Wait. That's hardly even," Arthur argued, trying to backtrack. "You lied to me for years, and all I did was tell Gwen! Someone you undoubtedly would have told anyway. And I was well within my rights to tell her, since I was seeking counsel for an issue that affects the kingdom! And besides, I didn't even really tell her!"

"Too late," Merlin insisted, the hint of a smile on his face. "You said it was even."

"It's not even at all!"

Merlin just shrugged, the smile growing into a smug grin that made him look so much like himself that Arthur had to fight a smile of his own.

He debated before deciding to drop it. His slip-up with Gwen did make it obvious why Merlin had guarded his secret so closely. Arthur had had honest intentions in his conversation with her; one equally well-intentioned conversation with his father would have sealed Merlin's fate. It was worse than if he had just told Gwen outright, because at least then his actions would have been deliberate. It was scarier to think what he could do by accident.

He supposed now he could stop trying to convince himself to feel angry, at least. There was still a lot to think through, but he found himself almost grateful he'd more or less trapped himself into forgiving the lies without a fight.

Well…maybe a small fight. Merlin had grinned like his old self, after all.

He eyed him for a moment, then grabbed Merlin into a headlock and dug his knuckles into the younger man's head. Merlin protested with a series of unintelligible grunts intermixed with actual words, trapped in the chair by Arthur's hold. And gods, the normalcy of the whole thing was almost exhilarating after a week of everything feeling upside down.

"Come on, Arthur! Ow! Stop!" Merlin's fingers clawed into Arthur's arm, trying in vain to pry it loose.

He's a sorcerer.

The thought popped into his head without warning.

Arthur froze. He'd done this a dozen times before. Maybe a few dozen times. And he'd never even thought about it, because he was the king and he was stronger and Merlin was Merlin, so how could there be any risk in it?

But there was risk in it. What could Merlin do to him? Throw him across the room? Call down fire? Summon a blade and slice him open?

What exactly had the Deilen been so afraid of?

Arthur let go abruptly, jumping back as though Merlin really had called down fire to burn him.

"Arthur?" Merlin turned to look at him, visibly confused as he rubbed his head.

"Sorry," Arthur said awkwardly, taking a step back. "I mean, I'm not sorry. I just…" he trailed off, completely at a loss of how to continue. Was he sorry? Should he be? Damn it, why did Merlin of all people have to have magic? Ironically, he felt his first real stab of anger about the whole thing just moments after bargaining away his right to be angry.

Understanding dawned on Merlin's face, and then his eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," Arthur muttered again, and he turned to cross the room to his desk. He didn't actually have a task in mind; he just needed some distance.

He'd taken about three steps when he felt a thud against his back that knocked him to the floor.

"What-?" he cried, barely catching himself on his hands and knees with the extra weight on his back. "Did you just tackle me?" he asked in disbelief. "Agh – Merlin!"

The younger man wrapped one scrawny arm around Arthur's neck and the other around his upper arm. It was a bit like being attacked by a monkey. A ferocious monkey that weighed nothing but had a surprising amount of upper body strength. It took him a moment to realize that Merlin was actually trying to put him in a headlock.

"Oh, hell no!" he cried, and with practiced ease he flipped the man over his back and onto the floor. Merlin fought back, but within seconds Arthur had him lying facedown, the king sitting on his back and barely out of breath.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded through his laughter. "Besides treason, I mean?"

Merlin just gave a small shrug, his movement limited by the way he was pinned.

Absurd as it was, Merlin's ploy had worked. Arthur's fear of Merlin's wrath disappeared as abruptly as it had come. But now Arthur understood for the first time that Merlin let him bully him, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. The teasing and the roughhousing were part of who they were, but – like everything else – there was a lie mixed into the reality of that part of their friendship.

Even so, Arthur couldn't keep from laughing again. And he had to admit, he was relieved to see some of the fight quite literally coming back into Merlin.

"You're a pain in the ass," he said, giving Merlin an extra shove into the floor for good measure before moving off of him and shuffling over a few feet to lean against the bed. Merlin grunted, but when he sat up, he just smiled impishly in response.

"Don't think I didn't notice that you're supposedly too weak to muck out stables, but you're apparently not too weak to attack me," Arthur warned. Although as he said it, he noticed that Merlin was a little more winded and pale than he really should be.

"Maybe don't mention this to Gaius?" Merlin made a face. "I don't think he would approve."

"Not a word," Arthur agreed.

They sat like that on the floor for a few minutes, the joking and the humor fading as the silence lingered, until it turned into something heavy and somber.

"You said you weren't afraid of me," Merlin said finally.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly. "I'm not."

"Then why did you let go?"

"I just…had a moment. It hit me out of nowhere that you could fight back with magic, and I wouldn't be able to stop you. And that realization took me by surprise. I'm not afraid of you," he insisted. "I just needed to…reorient myself, I guess."

"I would never use my magic to hurt you, Arthur. I swear it." Merlin's words were hard and certain, and Arthur could see the desperation in his eyes for Arthur to believe him.

"I know that. Honestly, Merlin, I do. I promise, I will not hesitate to beat you up in the future." His heart fell just a little bit when Merlin didn't laugh. Instead, he nodded and looked away, and Arthur felt like he had failed somehow, although he didn't know what he should have said instead.

"So I guess I understand why you didn't tell me while my father was still alive," Arthur said after an awkward silence, picking up the thread of the earlier conversation. Merlin snorted in response. "But why not after that?"

"You mean shortly after you saw what happened to Morgana after she discovered she had magic? Or while you were blaming magic for your father's death? Or after that druid showed up and sent you into a tailspin where you sure Emrys was evil? To say nothing of all of the offhand comments mixed in along the way about the corrupting influence of magic and the need to execute sorcerers." Merlin looked at the floor as he spoke, refusing to meet Arthur's eyes as the bitterness slipped into his words.

"I didn't know any better," Arthur countered quietly. "And I had no way to know any better. You could have helped me."

Merlin swallowed instead of answering, then eventually nodded. "I guess I could have."

"Why didn't you? It's not like you to hold back. I know I wouldn't have been exactly receptive, but that's never stopped you before. Especially on something important to you."

"Maybe because I didn't want to die," Merlin snapped.

But he still didn't look at Arthur as he said it. It was one thing for Merlin to look away during a difficult conversation, but once he went on the attack in an argument, he always met Arthur's eye.

Which meant he was still on the defensive, despite his aggressive tone. And now that Arthur realized how much Merlin had lied to him in the past, he knew better than to assume his servant's words were as straightforward as they might seem.

"You thought I would have you executed?" Arthur pushed.

"Maybe," Merlin muttered unconvincingly.

"You're Emrys. You're telling me you couldn't escape an execution?"

Merlin's mouth tightened and he shrugged.

Oh, there was definitely more to this.

"I don't believe you. You didn't hide it because you were afraid of dying. So why didn't you tell me?" Arthur demanded, using his best I'm-the-king voice.

It didn't strike fear in Merlin like it did most men, but it did finally get him to look up at Arthur, even if it was only for a second.

"I was scared," he admitted reluctantly, his gaze darting back down and settling somewhere near Arthur's feet. "Of how you would look at me. I couldn't bear the thought of it." He cringed. "It sounds pathetic when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

Now they were getting somewhere, but the ashamed look on Merlin's face made it impossible for Arthur to feel pleased about it.

"How did you think I would look at you?"

"The options were endless. Anger. Hatred. Fear." Merlin's voice dropped suddenly. "Betrayal." He looked at Arthur again and his voice turned thick with sudden emotion. "I've never betrayed you, Arthur. I've done a lot of things, and some of it I'm really proud of and some of it…some of it I would give anything to undo. But whatever I did, my loyalty to you never wavered. Not for a moment. Please believe that."

"I do," Arthur confirmed softly.

Merlin took a ragged breath and pretended to scratch his face, although Arthur was pretty sure he was wiping away a tear.

"You were really that scared of how I would react?"

Merlin gave him a dirty look before saying, "Your opinion matters to me, Arthur." It came out bitterly, almost like an accusation. "Although I'll deny having said that if you ever bring it up again."

It made sense. They may trade insults, but Merlin's opinion mattered to him as well. He would never pander to or flatter Arthur, but when he really needed him, Merlin was there with support and encouragement and loyalty that carried Arthur through the ugliest pits of self-doubt.

Arthur's own expressions of admiration for Merlin had been far rarer.

"I actually have a rather high opinion of you, Merlin," he admitted reluctantly, forcing himself to look him in the eye as he said it. "You're loyal and brave, and in the midst of your usual inane prattle, you have moments of wisdom and cleverness. Truth be told, I have no idea what I'd do without you."

Merlin studied his face with an intensity that made Arthur want to look away.

"Even though I'm a sorcerer?"

Arthur let out a small laugh, more out of exasperation and disbelief at the whole thing than out of amusement. "So it would seem. Although I'll deny having said all that if you ever bring it up again."

The corners of Merlin's mouth turned up and he nodded. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're still an idiot," Arthur added, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

"You're still a prat."

Arthur smirked, but within a few seconds it faded, the heaviness setting in again.

"What is it?" Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur sighed, trying to find the words. But really, the words he was looking for weren't that complicated. It actually boiled down to something very simple.

"I wish you'd told me."

Merlin looked down guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"I understand why you didn't. I just…gods, I wish you had. I wish I could have heard it from you because you chose to share it with me. Not overheard it in a conversation with someone else when you felt you had no choice."

They'd never get that chance again. Never get a do-over. Merlin had had one opportunity to show he trusted Arthur enough to share the biggest secret of his life. And now, no matter what, Arthur would always know that he hadn't.

Merlin didn't answer. He just stared at the floor, blinking in a way that wasn't quite crying, but was close enough to make Arthur uncomfortable.

"Do you trust me?" It was a silly question to ask, because Merlin's words couldn't overwrite his actions. But words would be better than nothing.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" Merlin asked, finally looking up at him.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted. Maybe not. But he'd like to hear him say it anyway.

Perhaps Merlin understood that, because his voice was firm as he answered. "I trust you, Arthur. As my king and as my friend, I trust you."

Arthur nodded his acknowledgment, but he'd been right; the words felt weak in light of Merlin's choices. And Arthur wasn't sure he could even blame him. He wasn't sure he deserved his trust.

"I am sorry," Merlin continued. "Not about the magic, but about all the secrets and lies." When Arthur didn't answer right away, he tentatively added, "Do you think you'll be able to forgive me?" To Merlin's credit, he asked the question calmly, not desperately. There was no demand associated with it. Just a need to know.

"We called it even, remember?" Arthur answered, trying to smile.

"But it wasn't even," Merlin acknowledged bluntly.

"No," Arthur agreed. "It wasn't." Some genuine mirth slipped into the smile. "Are you giving me an out from our deal?"

"It's more tempting than I can say to hold you to it. But I'm not going to trap you into forgiveness you're not ready to give." Merlin laughed suddenly and ran a hand over his face. "Gods, Arthur, I'm so tired of being anything but honest with you. I'm not going to ask you to pretend with me. Especially not with something as important as this. What's the point in you pretending or trying to force yourself to forgive me if it's not real? This time…" his mouth tightened in frustration before he pushed the words out. "This time, I want to do it right. I know we're going to have to do some rebuilding, and I don't want it to be built on lies."

"Rebuilding," Arthur echoed softly. "There's no going back. Only forward." He already knew that, but saying it aloud sent a stab of grief through him. "I wish I knew how much of it was real. I have these moments when I feel like I lost my friend, Merlin. Not because you're gone, but because the Merlin I knew never truly existed in the first place."

Merlin flinched, face tight as though he'd been hit in the stomach. But Arthur didn't pull the punch, and Merlin didn't argue.

"And then other times, I feel like you're the one thing I'm still certain of," Arthur continued, struggling to articulate the tangled web of thoughts in his head. "The back and forth is exhausting, but I can't seem to stop. I mean, I know you. I know who you are. And I know that person, the core of who you are, is the same. I know that. But everything – you included – is just different from what I thought it was." He huffed in frustration. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

The whole thing felt maddeningly nonlinear. His emotions directly contradicted each other. His thoughts contradicted each other.

It was all impossible, but it was obviously true. He knew Merlin forward and backward, and yet he was a stranger. He trusted Merlin, but he doubted him.

Merlin stared hard at the floor as he thought. "My loyalty was real," he said finally. "My, uh, personality, I guess, for lack of a better term. That was real. The jokes. The complaining. When you and I just talked about things, that was all real. Some of the realest moments of my life, actually. My belief in you was real. Is real. I really do hate hunting. The violence of it, at least. I kind of like going out for hunts though, because I like being outside and I like spending time with you and the knights. I hate mucking stalls, even though I love being around the horses, but I don't mind polishing armor. It's kind of soothing, actually, and I—" he broke off suddenly, pursing his mouth shut.

"And you what?" Arthur pressed suspiciously.

Merlin chewed his lip before answering. "I do little bits of magic when I polish your armor. I weave protection spells into it. Strengthening the metal, adding deflection charms, things like that." Merlin didn't blink as he waited for Arthur's response.

Merlin wove protection spells into his armor when he polished it.

So this was where Merlin met Emrys. Polishing armor as a faithful servant while weaving spells as a secret protector.

Arthur met Merlin's eyes and gave him a dry smile. "I have moments," he admitted, "when I'm almost annoyed by how much sense all of this makes. It's shocking, but it all just fits so well."

"Your friend was real, Arthur. Our friendship was real. I swear it."

The earnestness in Merlin's voice was so familiar. Merlin was so familiar.

Arthur swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak in response. He hadn't intended to say any of this today – he was supposed to be helping Merlin, not laying more guilt on him. But Arthur didn't want to rebuild on lies either, and that's what he'd be doing if he just pretended none of this had hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For what I let slip to Guinevere. I swear, I didn't think she'd put it together based on what I said. I…I did consider telling her, I admit. To get her advice. But I didn't. I wouldn't have."

"I believe you."

Arthur steeled himself. There was one more thing he needed to say. He needed to say it aloud for his own sake, to speak it into truth, and he knew Merlin needed to hear it so that he could stop looking worriedly over his shoulder at the past.

"I understand why you did it. I wish you'd felt you could trust me, but I guess I understand why you didn't. And I forgive you for the lies. For all of it. Personally and legally, I mean."

Merlin snapped his head up so fast his neck let out an audible pop. He stared with wide eyes, disbelief and hope fighting for control of his expression.

Arthur frowned and clarified. "Please don't go doing magic where anyone can see it. I'll have a terrible time explaining why I'm letting my personal manservant commit high treason. But…" he sighed. "What I'm trying to say is, you don't have anything to fear from me, Merlin."

Merlin continued to gape at him, his eyes questioning, and Arthur gave him a curt nod in confirmation. Then Merlin sucked in a raspy breath, and Arthur realized he hadn't been breathing.

"All right there?" he asked, his stomach sinking as he noticed the wetness brimming in Merlin's eyes.

Oh gods. He was going to cry. Or maybe faint like a girl? He looked like he'd stopped breathing again. Or possibly both, because that wetness was definitely turning into actual tears now.

Arthur scowled, his jaw tensing, before he swore under his breath and scooted a few feet across the floor to cover the distance between them.

"This never happened," he muttered gruffly before grabbing Merlin into a quick hug. He and Merlin didn't hug; that's just not how they operated. But damn it, the man looked like he needed a hug, and Arthur was the only one in the room.

It was meant to be a brief hug, the kind where Arthur just smacked him on the back a couple of times and then let go, maybe making a joke to defuse the awkwardness of the whole thing. But the minute his hand touched Merlin, the other man completely fell apart.

Merlin buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking, not making a sound as he tried to contain the emotions. Arthur froze, one arm hovering around him, unsure what to do. Then he swallowed and pushed aside everything his father had ever taught him, and he wrapped both arms firmly around Merlin's shoulders.

Whatever restraint Merlin still had vanished. He gave himself over to weeping, no longer trying to keep quiet. He wrapped his arms around his knees, but he leaned – collapsed, really – against Arthur, getting all manner of tears and snot on his shirt.

Arthur had never seen a grown man cry like this before. He'd rarely seen a grown man cry at all, actually, apart from Merlin. But his tears over the unicorn had been nothing in comparison to this. Even when he'd sobbed over Balinor's body, there'd been some element of restraint to it. He sobbed now with complete abandon.

Arthur had cried like that when he was sixteen, hours after he killed a man for the first time. His father and fellow knights had celebrated with him, toasting his accomplishment over dinner, but once he was alone in his chambers that night, he'd cried into his pillow much like Merlin cried into his chest now. Then the next morning, he had reminded himself he was a prince. He hadn't cried like that since.

After a minute or two passed, Arthur thought about saying, "Don't be such a girl, Merlin. It's not that big of a deal." And then after a couple more minutes, he considered saying, "Okay, that's enough. Pull yourself together."

But he said nothing. He didn't pat him on the back comfortingly or rock him the way his nurse had done when he'd cried as a child. He just kept his arms tightly wrapped around his friend until he was done.

Finally, the sobbing subsided and Merlin pulled away, although his body still trembled.

"Sorry," he muttered, wiping his nose and staring at the floor.

Arthur had no idea what to say in response, so he just nodded, even though he knew Merlin wasn't looking at him.

"Are you going to call me a girl?" Merlin asked. Arthur couldn't tell if he was trying to make a joke or if he was genuinely worried about Arthur's reaction. Either way, Arthur was grateful he hadn't caved to that impulse.

"No. Well, not right now. Next time you cry over a bunny rabbit or something, I probably will."

Merlin didn't quite smile in response, but his expression lightened just a bit, so Arthur called it a win. When Merlin wiped his nose again, Arthur fished out a handkerchief and handed it to him, looking away politely as he blew his nose.

"Why?" he asked finally. It felt like a stupid question, but he asked anyway.

"Why what?"

"Why…that." Arthur gestured vaguely. "Was it just because I said I forgave you?"

Merlin laughed shakily, and suddenly his eyes were filled with hope and disbelief and, above all, awe.

"It was the wording, I guess. You said I had nothing to fear from you, Arthur." Merlin toyed with the handkerchief, the small smile on his face seeming incongruous with his next words. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live in fear of your best friend? Every single day, for years, to wonder if the man you'd die for, the fairest and most honorable man you know, would turn around and kill you, just for being what you were born to be? And even before that, to live in fear for your life, no matter what you do or where you go?" He shook his head in wonder. "The very idea of having nothing to fear from you…" Merlin chuckled. "It will take some getting used to. Even trying to think about it was…is overwhelming."

Something tightened in Arthur's chest. He'd realized, of course, that Merlin feared him. He wasn't an idiot. But hearing him describe it was torturous, especially with the rather daunting compliments he'd casually mixed in.

Although less torturous than every day of his friend's life, apparently.

"That's over and done now, Merlin. You have nothing to fear from me," Arthur repeated, and Merlin's eyes fell closed as he listened to the words.

"Thank you, Arthur."

Suddenly the moment was overwhelming, and Arthur felt almost trapped in it. Thoughts, feelings, lies, questions, forgiveness, hope – there just wasn't enough room for all of it, and Arthur craved a sword in his hand and an enemy in front of him so he could focus on something straightforward that came naturally.

And it was like Merlin somehow knew, because suddenly he grinned and said, "So are we the kind of friends who hug now?"

"Don't be such a girl's petticoat," Arthur scoffed immediately. And all of those things didn't disappear, but they did seem just a little less overwhelming as Arthur grasped that piece of normal Merlin had sent out like a lifeline.

"I'm impressed. You went a full ninety seconds without calling me a girl."

"I didn't call you a girl," Arthur argued. "I called you a girl's petticoat. I see your magic doesn't help your listening skills any more than it helps your cleaning skills. You know," he added, "from down here, it's obvious how much of a mess this place truly is. Get it cleaned up. And once you're done tidying, it's clear the floors could use a wash."

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered, and Arthur noticed with a sharp pang that the title was missing its usual sarcasm. The order had been half-taunt, but Merlin had taken it seriously.

And just like that, normal was gone again.

Arthur stood and helped Merlin to his feet, then they stepped around each other awkwardly as Arthur tried to get to his desk and Merlin moved to the table to clear the breakfast dishes, the unthinking rhythm they'd once shared conspicuously absent. Merlin kept quiet as they both worked, no good-natured grumbling or inane questions, and Arthur didn't ask Merlin's opinion on the documents he was working on. It wasn't a painful silence, though. If anything, it was heavy with the weight of forgiveness and hope and possibility, occasionally punctuated by another sniffle from Merlin. Even so, Arthur missed the casual conversation, the easy banter, the security of knowing someone as well as he knew himself.

But there was no going back. Only rebuilding and moving forward.