Arthur didn't manage to get any sleep that night.

He still crawled into bed. He'd paced for a bit, but it hadn't done him any good. Instead, he just lay there, the three phases of his trial cycling in his mind as he waited for Merlin to come wake him up in the morning.

Merlin did, of course. He didn't knock—he never did—and he entered Arthur's chambers as if it were his own, whistling and sauntering over to Arthur's window. He sounded carefree, but that was quite far from the truth. The manservant—sorcerer—spread Arthur's curtains wide with two hands, showering the room in sunlight.

Arthur snapped his eyes shut before Merlin turned back around, but the manservant must have seen his eyelids flicker. Arthur could hear his footsteps approaching before slowing.

Arthur went rigid with apprehension. He'd been imagining this moment all night, the moment he would face Merlin again. But Merlin didn't utter a word. The covers were not thrown off of him, and Arthur's heart beat like a charging horse. He knew, knew, Merlin's face was right next to his, but he cracked his eyes open a fraction anyway.

Merlin's blue eyes stared back at him, very close and very clearly not tinged with gold. As Arthur stared, he smiled that kooky smile of his—the one that lit up his entire face and usually meant he was about to trip over something. Innocent. Pure. Unsuspecting.

"Now hold on," Merlin whispered. His voice sounded chipper and playful. In fact, his whole demeanour hung in stark contrast to his disturbed, serious self last night. The difference sent chills down Arthur's spine. "Are you awake already? This is truly revolutionary. We should call in the knights and have a ceremony. A momentous occasion."

"Ha ha," Arthur murmured. He was gripping his pillow in a death grip. He'd promised himself he would do his best to keep up appearances. He'd been worried he wouldn't be able to do it, but it was already quite a bit easier than he'd thought. Merlin practically set him up for responses.

He sat up slowly, still clutching the pillow, and Merlin laughed, giving the prince his space. He attended to the stacks of paper occupying Arthur's desk instead, and as Arthur continued to stare, it occurred to him this was what every day must be like for Merlin. Keeping up appearances. Talking. Joking around. Answering in his normal patterns. It had probably become routine for him, as had so many other things.

Yes. He had tohave it down to a science, because there he was. Normal Merlin, wearing his dumb blue neckerchief and cleaning up the pool of spilt ink on Arthur's desk. If Arthur hadn't seen what he'd seen—if the image of Merlin's golden eyes hadn't scarred him forever—he wouldn't have had the slightest idea Merlin had summoned a dragon the night before.

No one would.

It took Arthur a full minute to realise Merlin had stopped organising and was now looking at him strangely. Arthur jolted, startled to find Merlin's gaze back on him so soon, and the servant's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, setting down the quill in his hand. He crossed his arms in a very Merlin way, signaling he was about to bother Arthur about something and not shut up about it. Wonderful.

"I'm sorry?" Arthur managed.

"What're you staring at me like that for?"

Arthur scoffed, slipping out of bed. He gave a very pointed stretch. "I wasn't staring."

"Right." Merlin shot Arthur an unconvinced look, but he went back to the papers. "Are you feeling sick? First, I walk in here and you're already awake. Now you're oddly quiet and staring at me like I've grown a second head."

Arthur snorted. "Now there's an idea," he said, and he was relieved to find his tone sounded normal. His heart was still beating loudly in his ears, but at least he didn't feel like bolting every time he looked at Merlin. "My idiot of a servant, with two heads? Camelot would surely fall."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and thankfully, any concern left his face. "Funny. Now, I take it by the state of these—" He held up several parchment pages of unfinished speechwriting and waved it in Arthur's direction. "—that you did not finish your speech for today?"

"Oh… yes." Arthur stared at the speech pages, suddenly remembering abandoning the effort not long before heading out to find Merlin. He hadn't been in the right state of mind to go back to them afterwards. "I wasn't feeling… inspired."

"Inspired," Merlin repeated in a mock impression of Arthur's voice. "I see. Well, lucky for you, I suspected as much and stayed up writing a draft for you. Here it is."

Merlin pulled out a complete stack of parchment, holding them out to Arthur. Arthur stepped forward and took them, looking over the neat handwriting he'd come to recognise as Merlin's. He also vaguely remembered seeing the stack on Merlin's side table last night. Merlin had truly written them, then. Arthur supposed the best liars dealt in half-truths.

He skimmed over the first few lines and was not disappointed to find them written in his manner of speaking, not Merlin's. Merlin was indeed an excellent writer and Arthur was reminded of how he'd once marveled at the mere fact Merlin was literate. Most of the common folk could hardly write their own names.

But Merlin had always been different than the other servants. An enigma if Arthur ever saw one. As unpredictable as he was predictable, and Arthur could never quite put his finger on what it was that set Merlin apart.

Now he was pretty sure he could. He had to be able to read his spell books, didn't he? Write them, even. Who knew? There were many possibilities—many aspects of sorcery that could very well apply to Merlin. A whole new realm of truths concerning his manservant. Arthur was only just now scratching the surface.

But he couldn't let himself dwell on that. Merlin was staring at him again, and once again, it had taken Arthur far too long to notice.

He cleared his throat, giving the speech papers a nice tap. "Looks readable," he managed, hoping to pass this emotional slip by as he had the last one.

Unfortunately, this time Merlin didn't seem to be buying it. "There is something bothering you," he pressed—much to Arthur's dismay. "You never read the speeches I write. You just toss them aside until you need them."

"Well, maybe that's been a mistake now, hasn't it?" Arthur snapped, a bit more hotly than he had intended. "Maybe… maybe you wrote something in here I wouldn't say. Something—I don't know. Something harmful to my image."

Merlin made a face. "Why would I ever write something like that? That's not even comical. If I wrote anything in there you wouldn't say, it'd certainly be humiliating, but it wouldn't be anything harmful."

Well.He'd done it now. Let his tangled emotions shine through. Arthur's cheeks grew hot and he knew he was talking himself into a corner, but the words wouldn't stop coming. The thought—the horrid possibility—that Merlin was only here to manipulate him was a bit too much. Merlin had so much control and Arthur had trusted him unconditionally. If Arthur were king here and now, Merlin could write a law making magic legal and Arthur wouldn't have noticed until he was speaking it aloud. Arthur had granted Merlin so much influence over him and it scared him like nothing else ever had.

"I—why should I trust anyone but myself to do such important things?" Arthur exploded, the worries tumbling out of him. He waved the speech in Merlin's face. "What if they only wanted to lead me astray?"

He regretted the words the moment he said them. Merlin looked hurt, and that was everything Arthur had hoped to prevent. He'd wanted to keep up appearances, keep things normal, so that he could administer his trail without arousing Merlin's suspicion.

Perhaps he 'd given himself too much credit. He was more emotionally conflicted about this whole situation than he cared to admit and just talkingto Merlin made his stomach twist and turn. The urge to run away had never burned so strongly.

"Lead you astray?" Merlin echoed. Pain and confusion shown in his every feature. "Arthur, where is this coming from? Do you not trust me to write your speeches?"

"I—I'm not sure I should trust anyone with anything," Arthur stumbled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered the speech with a shaking hand. "I can't afford trust."

Merlin stared at him for a moment, his expression much closer to the one he'd worn last night. Concerned. Steely. Calculating.

"I think I know what this is," he said.

Arthur's heart leapt to his mouth. "Do you?"

Merlin pursed his lips, and he leveled Arthur with a look of pity—an emotion Arthur hadn't expected. "It's your father, isn't it? Gaius mentioned last night he was sending you after the Druids. Did he talk to you before I woke you?"

Relief instantly flooded Arthur's system. Merlin still didn't know he knew. "Ah, no," he recovered, turning away. He headed for his chair, happy to not look at Merlin for a moment. "He didn't, but I overheard him."

"Right. For what it's worth, I think it's a good plan, going to the Druids."

Arthur stopped in his tracks. "Really?"

"Well, it makes sense." Arthur heard Merlin shuffling papers at his desk. "The information on the sorcerer came from them. They might tell us more, if we ask. But I don't think angering them is a good idea, and I'm worried that's what the king will ask you to do."

Arthur turned back around very slowly. "We?" he repeated.

Merlin's expression morphed into one of disbelief. "Were you going to seek out dangerous sorcerers without me?"

Arthur abandoned the path to his chair completely. He thought through his next words carefully. "The Druids are sorcerers, but I've heard them to be peaceful, usually."

"Peaceful doesn't mean they aren't dangerous," Merlin countered. "I'm coming with you."

Arthur crossed his arms. "I have a feeling my father will order a subtle excursion," he pointed out. "A discrete team."

He was aiming for a jab, and it struck true. Merlin's ears went red. "I can be discrete!"

Normally, Arthur would laugh at his indignance, but instead his mind flew to Merlin's less-than-discrete display the night before. Clearly, Merlin wasn't that discrete...

And yet, he must have been, however thinly. Merlin had hidden himself well, all this time.

Arthur managed to shrug. "Very well. If my father allows it."

Merlin's shoulders slumped in relief. "It'll all work out in the end," he assured, but his words were not assuring. "For all we know, this Emrys could be long gone from Camelot already."

And with that, Merlin made to leave and Arthur watched him go. "I doubt it," he muttered to himself before lifting his chin ever so slightly. All his thoughts—all his planning from the night before—came rushing back to him. "Merlin?"

Merlin stopped, his hand on the door handle. "What?"

Arthur took the last couple steps to his chair and lowered himself into it. "Can I ask you something? Man to man?"

This was it.

Trial number one had begun.

Merlin's fingers slipped from the handle. "Of course. What is it?"

Arthur gestured to the seat opposite him. "Sit," he said.

As expected, Merlin appeared flabbergasted by the request—Arthur never asked him to sit—but the sorcerer approached the chair cautiously. He hovered over it for a second, as if waiting for Arthur to announce he was joking.

He didn't, and Merlin eased himself into the chair in silence. His features further morphed into the look he'd had last night. Thoughtful. A bit on edge. "What is it?" he repeated.

Arthur leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. "All right, Merlin," he began. "I admit I'm more conflicted about this Emrys predicament than I'd liked to be. It worries me, the idea of a sorcerer more powerful than any other. Especially here. My father cares little for the why, but I do. I want to know why such a sorcerer would ever decide to hide here, of all places."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, clearly mulling over how to address the question. For once, Arthur knew exactly what was going on in his tiny head, even if Merlin didn't know he knew. A whole new part of Merlin's brain had been opened to him. It was as fascinating as it was jarring.

"Why do you suppose I would know?" Merlin asked finally, and Arthur could detect the slightest hint of fear in his tone. Normally, he would think nothing of it. After all, this was not something he normally did—flat out ask Merlin for advice. Most of the time, the servant gave it to him without prompt, but this... none of this was normal anymore. "It's not like I've met him."

"No," Arthur agreed, sitting back and trying to put Merlin at ease. If he became too guarded, he might not receive clear answers from him. "None of us have. I just want your opinion because of what you said to me yesterday."

Merlin brow furrowed. "What did I say yesterday?"

"That he must have a reason," Arthur reminded. "I asked you why a great sorcerer would ever come here, and you said he must have a reason. You're the only one I've talked to about this whole thing that gave me any sort of answer. I agree, he must have a reason. But what? What do you think his reason is?"

Merlin's eyes grew unfocused. Arthur could practically see his thoughts running wild. He crossed his arms and Arthur read it as a defensive motion.

"Well, sorcerers don't exactly act without a reason," Merlin answered after a short pause. "That's why I said that yesterday. Every sorcerer that has attacked Camelot has had a reason for it, one way or another, and they were all different. So this sorcerer must have a reason, too. If his aim isn't to harm Camelot, then it must be something else entirely. I don't know what."

Arthur took a moment to process this. His heart pulsed in his ears, but he forced himself to remain flippant. " 'If his aim isn't to harm Camelot...' " he repeated slowly. "Interesting. But I'm not sure I follow. If his aim isn't to hurt Camelot, then what? Do you think he means to help it?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. He paused for a second, and Arthur saw something shift in his eyes.

"That's an interesting thought," Merlin replied, his voice soft. Quiet. The tiniest hint of wonder was audible in his tone. "Would that be so impossible? A sorcerer who bears no ill will towards Camelot?"

Arthur struggled to keep his expression neutral. He could hear a sense of hope growing in Merlin's questions. It made his stomach churn a little. "I can't imagine why. Between me and my father we have done nothing but persecute sorcerer kind."

"That's... true," Merlin agreed. He was no longer quite meeting Arthur's eyes. "But maybe this sorcerer just wants peace, or—"

He stopped himself, and Arthur leaned forward once more. "Or what?"

Merlin hesitated. "Well, perhaps he sees something in you."

Arthur cocked his head a little. Adrenaline rushed through him, and he pulled his hands off the table. They were beginning to shake."In me? What would a sorcerer possibly see in me?"

Merlin's mouth quirked into the slightest of smiles. "A good person?" He said it almost in question, as if he wasn't sure Arthur would like it as an answer. "A prince who cares very deeply about his subjects and understands a desire for peace. Because you do desire it, don't you? Peace between Camelot and its enemies?"

Arthur hadn't expected to be asked a question. A surge of panic charged through him.

"I—well, yes," he decided after a moment. "Yes, naturally I want peace."

Merlin smiled. "I want that, too," he agreed. "And I can't speak for anyone else, but I believe you're destined to be a great king, Arthur. Possibly the greatest this land has ever known. Anyone who knows you even a little bit knows you aren't your father. Your subjects love you. They trust you. Believe in you. Sorcerers are humans, too, and it—well, it's possible there are people who hope peace can be achieved, however difficult. And if it is possible, you'll be the one to do it. I'm sure of that."

He said it with such quiet confidence that all the words Arthur had prepared left him in a rush. His mind went blank for a moment, struggling to recalibrate.

"I… huh," he managed, clearing his throat to buy himself some time. His chest felt very tight. "Didn't know you thought that way, Merlin."

Merlin small smile grew a little. "Why not? Did you not think I believe in you?"

"Well, no. I just… I don't know what I expected you to say. Not that."

"Hm." Merlin rested his hand on the table, tapping his fingers on the edge of the wood and staring off into space. That was lucky. Merlin's sudden movement made Arthur flinch and sent a fresh wave of fear washing over him. Arthur hated it, but he definitely feared Merlin's magic. "Well, it's true, I think. And if I believe it, maybe this Emrys does, too. However wrong he might be."

Arthur paused for a moment. Processing. While he did, Merlin avoided his gaze.

"It's an interesting possibility," Arthur admitted. "A sorcerer that simply wants peace."

"Yes. Interesting."

"Not very likely."

"No, I suppose not."

Arthur eyed Merlin critically now. He ran his final question through his mind, testing the wording before asking. The final level of trial one. It was fascinating to him to consider the conversation from Merlin's end. After all, how many times had Arthur brought up the sorcery ban in passing conversation? How many times had he and Merlin discussed it? He wasn't sure he could recall. Such discussion was commonplace. It was normal for him to talk about the law and his job within it, especially when there was a manhunt on.

But to Merlin, such talk was not trivial. Did his heart skip a beat every time Arthur mentioned the ban? Did he mentally prepare for these moments—these opportunities—where he could discuss it, carefully picking out each word he spoke? To influence Arthur's decisions and viewpoints, however minutely.

Influence...

Or manipulate.

Several thoughts squirmed in Arthur's mind. There was a thin line between influence and manipulation, and the latter skirted dangerously close to malicious intent. Possibly even low-level enchantment.

He had to know which one. He wanted to know which one.

"Merlin..." Arthur said slowly. "Let's say it was possible a sorcerer came here because he wanted peace. Then what? Do you think he'd believe I'd bring magic back to Camelot?"

Merlin locked eyes with Arthur at this. His expression grew rigid. Tense. "Wouldn't any sorcerer want that?"

"I... well. I suppose so." Arthur paused, trying to find the correct phrasing. "But do you think a sorcerer would expect me to do such a thing, on my own free will. Because frankly, I find that hard to believe. I've seen nothing but destruction come out of sorcery. I'm not sure there can ever be peace between us and them."

Disappointment flashed through Merlin's eyes. It was small and subtle, but it hurt Arthur to see it. The servant heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose it is far fetched," he agreed, looking away once more. "But I do know that as far as Camelot is concerned, you define the future, Arthur. You determine whether the current laws stand or not, and I can't imagine why anyone pursuing peace wouldn't hope you'd consider reconciliation. It's in your nature, I think."

Arthur leveled Merlin with a scrutinizing look at this, taking in every unspoken word on the servant's face. "In my nature? You believe that?"

Merlin looked back at him, and this time, his eyes held Arthur's gaze with confidence—a bit of the true Merlin sinking into his features. A sorcerer with conviction. "Does it really matter what I believe?" he asked, and his voice was so quiet, so tired, it shook Arthur to his core. "In the end, it matters what you believe, Arthur. That isn't something I, or anyone else, can decide for you. In the end, it will be your decision, and yours alone. So do what you think is right."

Somehow, Arthur had thought he'd known what Merlin would say. Somehow, he thought he was prepared for the servant's answer. But he hadn't expected that, and his next breath came out shallow. He sat back in his chair—hard—and he could feel his stoic facade break.

Merlin looked alarmed by the reaction, but Arthur felt so relieved he could hardly bring himself back to his senses.

That isn't something I, or anyone else, can decide for you.

It will be your decision, and yours alone.

Do what you think is right.

Merlin was not enchanting him. Not manipulating him. Arthur couldn't believe those words were anything less than the cold, hard truth as Merlin understood it. Arthur hadn't known those last few sentences were what he'd needed to hear, but he was so comforted by them he could cry.

Trial one was complete.

Merlin had passed.