AN: I have a soft spot for eavesdropping fics, and a stockpile of them sitting on my computer. I can't help it. My brain just likes to write them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
Part One
"This should be a good place to camp for the night," Arthur said, pulling his horse to a stop and looking around. "The mountains will give us some shelter if the weather turns."
"Finally," Merlin groaned, wincing as he climbed down from his horse, prompting Arthur to scoff.
"Merlin, we didn't even ride a whole day. The only reason we're stopping now is because I don't want to camp out in the open. Honestly, you'd think by this point you'd be a better horseman."
"You'd think by this point you'd be less of an ass," Merlin muttered back. Gwaine let out a snort, but Arthur ignored both of them.
"I think there's a stream down there," he said, peeking his head out to look down into a gorge. It was a straight drop of about fifteen feet, but he could see the reflection of water through the sparse brush. "We should be able to get some fish for dinner, if we can find a path down to it."
"I'll go," Lancelot volunteered. "I wouldn't mind moving some after a whole day on horseback."
"I'll go too," Merlin pitched in quickly.
Arthur looked at him skeptically. "To catch fish?"
"Yes, to catch fish. I'm not bad at it, you know." He scowled at the unconvinced look on Arthur's face. "I'm not!"
"Perhaps I'll come along, show you how it's done," Gwaine said with a grin.
"No!"
Arthur looked at Merlin in surprise. He usually welcomed Gwaine's company. He studied his servant, but couldn't quite make out the look on his face.
"I just mean, I don't need someone to show me how it's done. Like I said, I'm not bad at it. Last thing I need is for you to come show me up," Merlin joked, grinning at Gwaine. The hurt faded from the knight's face, although the confusion remained.
"Come on," Merlin said to Lancelot, and the two walked away, Arthur staring after them.
Sometimes he felt he knew Merlin as well as he knew himself. After so many years together, he knew his likes and dislikes, his strengths and weaknesses, his mannerisms and quirks. But then there were these moments where he felt he didn't know Merlin at all. Moments where, as silly as it had once seemed, he could almost swear Merlin was keeping something from him.
Once he started looking for it though, those moments were actually pretty frequent. Like that thing last week, when Merlin hadn't shown up for work, but Arthur had spotted him creeping around the armory. Then he'd claimed he'd been out picking herbs for Gaius. And a couple of weeks before that, Merlin had come into work favoring his left arm. When Arthur asked about it, he claimed to have slept on it wrong, but a couple of hours later Merlin had rushed from the room, and Arthur had seen the blood seeping through his sleeve.
So really, the idea of Merlin keeping secrets seemed less and less silly all the time.
While Merlin and Lancelot procured dinner, the other men set up camp, working in a comfortable silence. Arthur may have dismissed Merlin's complaints, but they had been riding hard for days, and everyone was tired.
Their silence made it easy to hear when Lancelot's voice drifted up from below them, bouncing off the walls of the gorge.
"…pretty shallow. And plenty of fish, by the looks of it."
The knights all looked up in surprise; apparently the men had found a way down, but had wandered along the stream until they ended up directly below the rest of the group. Gwaine walked over to the edge of the cliff, sticking his head out to call down to them. But just as he opened his mouth, Merlin spoke.
"It shouldn't take long. At least, not with just the two of us. It would have taken ten times longer if Gwaine had come."
Gwaine's face fell, and Arthur felt a rare stab of anger at his servant, not to mention surprise. It wasn't like Merlin to be meanspirited, and Gwaine was one of Merlin's closest friends.
"The only tricky part will be explaining how we caught so many fish in such a short period of time," Merlin added with a laugh.
There was a pause before Lancelot answered. "We should have let Gwaine come and just dealt with it," he said. "Merlin…"
"Do you have a favorite kind? There really are quite a lot of them here. We could have a whole feast if we wanted."
"Merlin."
Merlin fell silent, and Lancelot's voice softened into something gentle, but grave, like a physician delivering bad news.
"Arthur suspects you."
It was the wording of it. Not, "Arthur was looking at you strangely," or "Arthur has been treating you differently."
Arthur suspects you.
Said like that…there was no doubt Lancelot meant Merlin was doing something Arthur should be suspicious of.
He looked at the knights around him, the confusion and concern on their faces confirming he had indeed heard what he thought he heard. Arthur eased his way closer to the gorge where he could hear better.
"No, he doesn't," Merlin disagreed, the energy suddenly gone from his voice.
There was a long pause before Lancelot spoke again.
"Right. I guess we're just going straight for denial, then?"
Arthur reached the edge and crouched down. He could make out the shapes of the two men sitting on the bank of the stream, an improbably large supply of fish already piled on the ground beside them.
"Did you see the look on his face when you said you didn't want Gwaine to come with us?" Lancelot asked gently.
"I saw," Merlin admitted flatly. "Arthur suspects something, I'll grant you that. That thing last week…he didn't believe I was picking herbs for Gaius. I don't know why, but somehow he knew I was lying."
He knew I was lying. Arthur did know he was lying, but to hear Merlin admit it so casually was painful.
"So he knows I'm keeping something from him, but I'm certain he has no idea of the truth."
"How are you so sure?" Lancelot asked skeptically, and Merlin laughed. Not a mocking laugh, though – no, this was something bitter and dry and almost pained.
"As you are so fond of pointing out, I have not done the best job covering my tracks. If the truth ever occurred to Arthur and he stopped to think about it for more than three seconds, it would be undeniable. If the thought had even crossed his mind, he wouldn't suspect me, Lancelot. He would know."
Lancelot turned his head to look at his friend, and Arthur cursed the shadows in the gorge that kept him from being able to see more than the outlines of the men.
"Merlin," Lancelot said hesitantly, "have you considered what will happen if he figures it out himself before you tell him?"
Merlin's grim answer came quietly enough that Arthur had to strain to hear it.
"Every single day for the past seven years."
Seven years. So whatever this secret was, Merlin had been lying to him since they first met.
Lancelot spoke slowly, but firmly. Arthur recognized the tone from meetings of the round table, when he proposed ideas he expected to be unpopular, but was determined to fight for them.
"I understand why you didn't tell him in the beginning," the knight said. "When I first met you, it was obvious, and I felt no guilt about swearing to keep your secret. But that was many years ago, and I admit …I'm not sure I understand why you still haven't told him. Why you – why we – are still lying."
"I'm sorry," Merlin apologized, and Arthur could hear far more in the short sentence than just the words. He heard sincerity and guilt and weariness. "I never should have involved you in this. I know lying to the king goes against everything you stand for. You're noble and brave."
"As are you."
"No, I am sneaky and insubordinate." Merlin's tone was joking, but neither of them laughed. "You should probably go, Lancelot. I'll take care of the fish. And in the future…you should keep your distance. From all of this. From me."
"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Lancelot replied lightly. "I'm not abandoning you. After all, I've helped you commit treason for five years. Why stop now?"
Treason.
Not just a secret. Not just lies.
Treason.
But if Arthur's reaction to the word was strong, it was nothing compared to Merlin's.
"It is not treason," he insisted, voice thick with fury. "Treason by definition would mean I was betraying Arthur, and I would die before I betrayed him!"
"As would I!" Lancelot agreed hurriedly. "Merlin, I know your loyalty to him is absolute. I'm sorry – it was just a joke. A poor one."
So…not treason, then? And declarations of loyalty?
Arthur was so confused.
"Just help me understand. Why don't you tell him?"
Merlin sighed heavily. "Why do you think?"
"Do you honestly believe Arthur would execute you if he knew the truth?"
Execute him?
Execute Merlin?
Instead of answering, Merlin asked, "Do you think I deserve to die? For something I never even had a choice in?"
"Of course not!" Lancelot exclaimed, appalled. "And Merlin, Arthur won't think that either! Can you imagine him executing a man for something he had no control over?"
"Can I imagine it?" Merlin's voice turned haunted. "I've imagined it a thousand times, Lancelot. Ten thousand times. Can you imagine it? Me in the courtyard. Arthur standing on the balcony, declaring my sentence. Would he look on me with hatred, as an enemy? Or would he watch me die with regret, as my friend?"
As Merlin described the image, Arthur couldn't help seeing it as well, and his stomach turned with horror.
"He would do neither!" Lancelot insisted. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Not at all. After all, you're right – by the letter of the law, I am guilty of treason, aren't I, regardless of where my loyalty lies?"
And there was that word again.
What kind of treason could Merlin possibly be guilty of? Passing along Camelot's secrets to an enemy? As Arthur's servant, he certainly had access to valuable information, but Arthur could hardly imagine Merlin doing such a thing. Besides, he said it was something he had no control over.
"Merlin, I grant you, things were different under Uther. But Arthur is a reasonable man who knows your character. If you are honest with him, I am certain he will understand."
"And if he doesn't? Are you certain enough to bet my life on that, Lancelot? Because that's what I would be doing if I told him the truth."
"You're going to have to tell him eventually, Merlin. Either that or he'll find out on his own. And don't you believe he deserves to learn the truth from you?"
"Probably," Merlin admitted reluctantly. "Well, yes. I guess he does."
"Besides," Lancelot added, "his anger will be much greater if he discovers your lies himself."
"It's possible he would never find out, you know." Merlin sounded as though he were trying to convince himself as much as Lancelot. "He hasn't figured it out yet. He might never."
"And is that what you want? For Arthur never to know?"
"Of course I want Arthur to know," Merlin said with frustration. "I just…don't want to tell him."
"Merlin. You have gone against magical creatures and magical armies. You have willingly consumed poison. You have run into fights to protect Arthur without wearing a scrap of armor. How can you be brave enough to face all those things, but not brave enough to tell Arthur the truth?" Lancelot spoke gently and with kindness, but Merlin's response was immediate, his voice choking on the words.
"Because there is a world of difference between dying at the hands of an enemy and dying at the hands of a friend! I don't want to face Arthur's anger, and I don't want to die. But more than anything, Lancelot, I don't want to die by Arthur's hand!"
The fear in Merlin's voice pierced Arthur. Not that he'd ever tell anyone, but he felt rather protective of the idiot who, as Lancelot had just pointed out, always seemed only too eager to race to meet dangers he was woefully unequipped for. To hear Merlin, whom he felt compelled to protect, speak of Arthur with such fear was unbearable.
"Can I speak honestly, Merlin?"
Merlin snorted. "I didn't realize you were holding back."
"I think maybe you're not being entirely fair to Arthur."
Arthur's eyebrows went up. This was an interesting turn.
"Has he been a loyal friend to you?"
"He doesn't know the truth about me."
Lancelot sighed. "Answer the question."
"Yes," Merlin admitted grudgingly.
"Do you believe he is a man of honor?" There was a brief pause, and then Lancelot said, "Don't look at me like that. Just humor me, all right?"
"Yes," Merlin answered obediently, and Arthur could picture him rolling his eyes. "I think Arthur is a man of honor."
"Do you think he's a good king?"
His voice turned serious. "You know I do."
"Do you think he aims to be just and fair in his treatment of all people?"
"Of course."
"Do you think he is quick to listen and tries to understand before he passes judgment?"
Merlin hesitated on that one. "Yes. He didn't used to be, but he is now."
"Do you think he is quick to show mercy?"
Another hesitation, but this time the answer came with a soft warmth. "Yes. He is."
"Do you think he is worthy of your trust?"
"I would trust him with my life," Merlin answered without pause.
"I know," Lancelot said, and Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. "But it is not your life he needs. It is the truth. And I did not ask if you trusted him; I asked if you thought him worthy of your trust."
It took Merlin a long time to answer that one, and when he spoke, his soft reply barely carried to Arthur. "Yes. I believe he is worthy of my trust."
Lancelot reached out and grasped Merlin's shoulder. "Then maybe, my friend, it's time for you to start acting like you believe those things, instead of just saying them."
There was a long moment of silence before Lancelot spoke again. "I'll take the fish back. Take as much time as you need. I'll cover for you."
"You always do," Merlin answered, his voice rough.
Arthur quickly pulled back, as did the other knights, ducking out of sight as Lancelot turned around and began making his way downstream, undoubtedly following the same path they had used to arrive.
For a moment, there was silence. And then came a choked noise, and it took Arthur a moment to place it.
Weeping. Merlin was weeping. Not little sniffles, but the kind of sobs that shake your body and make you feel like you'll never take a full breath again.
Yes, Merlin had a secret. Merlin was lying to him. But apparently Merlin was also determinedly loyal and valued Arthur's friendship. And whatever this lie was…it devastated him.
Part Two
Arthur watched him.
He caught more little lies. He took the time to parse through stories he would have accepted without a second thought in the past, and he found holes, loose threads that unraveled alibis with just the slightest tug.
He learned Merlin didn't go to the tavern.
He learned Merlin got injured a lot. Some cuts here, a limp there. He always had a story about his clumsiness ready to go, but he spent hours at Arthur's side every day, and Arthur never once saw that level of clumsiness from him.
He learned Merlin sneaked out of Camelot late at night sometimes and didn't come back for hours.
He learned Merlin spent an inexplicable amount of time in the library.
He learned Gwen bought Merlin's lies as completely as Arthur once did, but Gaius avoided eye contact when talking about his ward's activities.
And when Arthur wasn't watching, he remembered.
He remembered all the times Merlin told him something and Arthur didn't believe him, and then Merlin turned out to be right.
How did he know Agravaine was a traitor? Was it just because Agravaine spoke against Gaius, or was there more to it than that?
How did he know Cedric couldn't be trusted?
How did he know Lady Catrina was a troll?
He pulled out the official laws of Camelot and reviewed everything he could find about treason. He and Leon searched through the documents together, but neither could find any mention of crimes that were somehow tied to someone's birth.
And so weeks passed without Arthur making any progress. He watched. He remembered. He wondered. And he waited.
The first time, it was an honest mistake.
Merlin was quieter than usual one day after accompanying Arthur to the knights' training. He frowned as he helped Arthur remove his armor, his forehead creased in worry.
Arthur had, as a general rule, resisted prompting Merlin in moments like these. He didn't want to drag the truth out of his servant; he wanted Merlin to share it willingly. But Merlin's moodiness was so obvious that he couldn't bring himself to ignore it. If keeping the secret was disturbing him this much, the least Arthur could do was offer an opening.
"Something on your mind, Merlin?"
Merlin's mouth pursed thoughtfully, then let out a noisy exhale.
This was it.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked. And though he didn't seem scared exactly, he did seem uncertain.
"Of course," Arthur said, trying to seem as pleasant and nonthreatening as possible.
"Have you noticed Gwaine behaving differently lately?"
It took Arthur a minute to process the words. Merlin wanted to talk about Gwaine?
"He just…I think he's avoiding me, and I don't know why. And he doesn't tell as many jokes anymore, and when he does, sometimes they kind of have a mean edge to them that they didn't used to have. Have you noticed?"
Apparently yes, Merlin wanted to talk about Gwaine. His worry was evident as he watched Arthur.
"Um," Arthur said articulately, still trying to catch up mentally.
"I don't know if he's like that in general, or just when I'm around," Merlin continued. "It would help if I at least knew whether it was personal."
Arthur had noticed the change. It had started the day they'd all overheard The Conversation between Merlin and Lancelot. They'd all been shocked, but Gwaine had taken the news of Merlin's lies and secrets particularly hard. But Arthur couldn't exactly say that.
"He has seemed a little off recently," he said instead, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. He didn't want to talk about Gwaine. He wanted to talk about whatever made Merlin think Arthur was going to execute him, and he was having a difficult time recovering from that brief moment of hope. "But I haven't tried to talk to him about it."
"I have," Merlin muttered. "And he told me to shove off. And he said it about that politely, too. He's never talked to me like that." He thought for a minute, fiddling with the chainmail he was still holding. "You think maybe he's having problems with a girl?"
"I honestly don't know, Merlin. But Gwaine is an adult. I'm sure he can handle his own problems. If he wants to talk about it, he will."
Merlin gave him a wounded look, seeming almost disappointed with Arthur. "He's our friend," he said with just a note of reproach in his voice. "If he has something going on, he needs his friends."
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine. I'll try to talk to him tomorrow and see what's going on." And I can tell him I've made absolutely no progress in unraveling this mystery.
The second time, Arthur felt he had a right to be irritated. Angry, even.
Merlin wasn't himself when he helped Arthur prepare for bed. He wasn't distracted and thoughtful, as he'd been leading up to the conversation with Gwaine. No, this was an entirely different level of anxiety.
He dropped everything he touched. Arthur's clothes. The cup of water he tried to put next to the bed. The candle he tried to light.
Arthur almost asked what was wrong with him, but one look made it obvious.
Merlin was shaking. Not just trembling hands; his entire body was shaking. His face was pale, his breath unsteady.
Arthur might have thought he was ill, except for the look of abject terror on his face. He had seen Merlin face all manner of villains and beasts, and he had, in some of those moments, seen fear in Merlin's eyes. But never anything that compared to what he saw now.
Arthur thought about asking. He kept opening his mouth, the question on the tip of his tongue.
What's wrong with you tonight?
Or perhaps a more authoritative approach.
Something's bothering you. Tell me.
But in the end, he said nothing. And waited.
Eventually, he stood in his sleepwear, watching Merlin fumble with the pillows as he tried to turn down the bed.
And then – finally – Merlin stopped.
He stood next to the bed, his hands still flat on it, bracing himself. He bowed his head and took a deep breath, then stood up straight.
"I need to talk to you." He didn't turn around to say the words, and he spoke quietly enough that Arthur could have pretended he didn't hear.
He suspected Merlin half-hoped he wouldn't hear.
Arthur took a shaky breath of his own, stilling as he watched Merlin and waited. As though any movement might spook him, like a deer on a hunt.
But Merlin didn't speak again. He just stared at the wall, facing away from Arthur, his breathing coming faster, his body still shaking.
"What about?" Arthur asked finally.
This was it.
"You…you're not going to like what I have to say, but please, hear me out."
Now the moment had come, Arthur felt a little nauseous himself, but he tried to push it down.
"I'm listening," he said calmly.
Merlin took one more trembling breath. Then suddenly his body tensed, and without turning around, words spilled out of him, fast and rambling.
"I dropped a goblet of wine on your favorite shirt. The white one. I'm sorry, I know it's soft and comfortable, and I swear I didn't mean to. I have some money saved up, so I'll pay to replace it."
And before Arthur could even reply, Merlin had disappeared out the door.
He hadn't even finished turning down the bed.
And if anyone heard the sound of a goblet hitting the wall, well, Arthur would just say it was one more thing Merlin had dropped.
The third time, Arthur refused to get his hopes up.
It was looking to be a good day. The kind of day he rarely had as king, actually – the morning was open, so he was going to be able to catch up on a few of those things that needed to get done but he never got around to doing. That afternoon, he had training with his knights, and that night, he was going to have a romantic dinner alone with Guinevere.
Barring an unexpected crisis, it should be the best day he'd had in a long while.
Even Merlin was cooperative, letting him have a bit of a lie-in since his schedule was free, and waking him gently when he did come in. It wasn't until he helped Arthur dress that the king realized something was off. Merlin kept staring into space, only giving one-word answers in response to Arthur's attempts to start a conversation. And half the time those answers didn't even make sense in response to the questions.
Arthur was further surprised when he sat down to breakfast and found an entire feast laid out before him, with generous servings of all of his favorite foods.
"What's the occasion?" he asked with a curious glance at Merlin, but his hand froze halfway to the plate when his gaze landed on his servant.
Merlin clutched the water ewer, knuckles white, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the air a few feet in front of him. His face was pale, his breathing rapid, his eyes fearful, just as he had been that night a few weeks before.
Arthur's heart gave a small leap of anticipation before he squashed it back down.
He should just eat his breakfast. Getting his hopes up that Merlin would finally confide in him would just lead to disappointment, and he didn't want that hanging over him on such a promising day.
Then Merlin took a deep breath and said, his voice trembling, "I need to talk to you."
"Do you?" Arthur asked skeptically, taking a bite, and Merlin nodded.
"I don't think you'll be very happy with me," he whispered.
And like before, Arthur waited and watched.
And because he was watching, he saw the exact moment Merlin's courage gave out. Something flickered in his eyes, and he stood up a little bit straighter.
Before he could say anything, the words popped out of Arthur's mouth.
"Did you spill wine on my shirt again?"
Merlin looked at him sharply, and for several seconds their eyes held. And in that moment, an entire conversation took place.
Merlin had lied about the shirt. Merlin had lied about other things. Merlin had a secret.
And Arthur knew that.
And Merlin knew that Arthur knew that.
And Arthur knew that Merlin knew that Arthur knew that.
Arthur hadn't meant to force his hand; he'd wanted Merlin to come to him by choice. But if the man had changed his mind again, Arthur might very possibly have thrown him out the window.
Merlin seemed to crumple a bit, stepping back to stand against the door, maybe to put more distance between himself and Arthur, or maybe just because he needed something to lean on.
Dear gods, the man was shaking.
"Sit down, Merlin," Arthur said, gesturing to the chair next to him. "I'm sure this conversation will take far longer if you pass out."
Merlin sat hesitantly, taking a seat adjacent from Arthur instead so at least the corner of the table was between them.
And then he sat there.
Shaking. Eyes wide. Breath shallow.
Arthur noticed, with a stroke of amusement, that Merlin had brought a decanter of wine with breakfast.
Arthur did not normally drink wine with breakfast, but apparently Merlin had thought he might need it today. Arthur wondered if he might be right.
Keeping an eye on his servant, he poured a cup and handed it to him.
"Drink," he ordered, and he raised his eyebrows as Merlin chugged the entire thing in one go. Then his servant set the cup down, placed his palms flat on the table, took a deep breath, and finally – finally – looked at Arthur.
"Ready?" Arthur asked quietly.
Merlin nodded, quickly wiping away the tears in his eyes.
This was it.
"Before I start," he said, his voice scratchy, "can I ask a favor of you?"
"What's that?" Arthur noticed he was using the same voice with Merlin he'd use with a spooked horse, but the thought didn't amuse him the way it should have.
"Would you be willing to put your sword away? Maybe over by the bed?"
He blinked in bemusement, but only hesitated for a moment. Merlin wasn't a threat to him, and if removing the sword would help him tell Arthur the truth, then he'd remove the sword.
He stood and unstrapped the belt, then walked over and tossed it on the bed. For good measure, he also removed the knife he kept in his boot. Not because he thought he'd be tempted to use it, but because he knew Merlin knew he kept that knife there, and he hoped the removal of it would encourage or comfort him. But when he turned back around, he didn't see gratitude on Merlin's face; he saw devastation. It took him a moment to find the guilt behind it.
"You're a good man," Merlin whispered when Arthur took his seat again.
Arthur waited a beat, wanting to let Merlin move at his own pace. But when Merlin lapsed into silence, Arthur replied, if for no other reason than to move the conversation along. "I'm curious why you say that as though it's a bad thing."
Merlin smiled darkly. "It…makes the mirror less favorable." He swallowed, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. "I guess you know I've been lying to you."
"Yes," Arthur answered simply.
Merlin nodded, unsurprised. "How long have you known?"
Arthur considered for a moment before replying. "I think I'd like to know what you have to tell me before I answer your questions."
Merlin chuckled mirthlessly under his breath at that. "You're right. I'm stalling, aren't I?"
One more deep breath. In. Out. And then he finally looked up and met Arthur's eyes.
"I have magic."
Magic.
Merlin had magic.
Arthur blinked a few times, then poured himself a cup of wine and mimicked Merlin by drinking the whole thing.
Merlin, his clumsy, earnest, softhearted servant, was a sorcerer.
Arthur…probably should have figured that out, actually.
He started flipping through what he had learned over the past few months, rearranging the pieces to fit this new item of information. The pieces slid into place with relative ease. Then he took what he knew about Merlin and tried to make that fit as well.
That part was a bit more difficult.
Sorcerers didn't cry over unicorns. Or point out particularly pretty butterflies. Or fall behind on patrols because they got distracted watching the sun set. They didn't willingly drink poison or hunt questing beasts or throw themselves in front of dorocha.
But despite this knowledge, all of which was as deeply rooted in him as the belief the sun would rise, he did not doubt Merlin. Because there was no way his friend, pale and shaking as he was, was lying to him. Not right now. Not about this.
Arthur realized he had been staring into space as he thought, and he refocused to see Merlin sitting perfectly still, watching him with unblinking eyes.
"You have magic," he repeated slowly. Thinking back to the conversation he'd overheard with Lancelot, he clarified, "You were born with it?"
Merlin's eyes, already painfully wide, bugged even more. "How did you know that?" he asked incredulously.
"So it's true?"
He nodded. "Yes, sire. I was born with it."
Arthur cocked his head to the side, temporarily distracted. "Why did you call me sire?"
Merlin blinked in confusion. "Sire? I mean, what?"
"You never call me sire, Merlin. Not with any degree of sincerity."
"I tell you that I have magic, and you want to know why I called you sire?" Merlin repeated, baffled.
"Yes." It didn't particularly matter, but Arthur was curious, and it filled the silence as his mind worked frantically to try to process what Merlin had just told him.
"Because I'm nervous, I guess? And I'm trying to show respect? Because I know I don't always show respect, but I do respect you, Arthur, truly I do, and I don't want you to think that I've just defied your laws for the fun of it or that I've disregarded your authority, because that's not what I meant to do. I mean, I do disregard your authority sometimes, you know that, but I don't mean—"
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur interrupted, and Merlin's mouth snapped closed. Arthur realized belatedly it might be a bit unfair to ask him a question and then tell him to shut up, so he softened his voice. "I know you respect me. There's no need to babble."
Merlin seemed to relax just the tiniest bit. "I'm glad you know that," he mumbled.
"So you have magic," he processed aloud. "You were born with it. Gaius knows. Lancelot knows. You've never betrayed me, but you feared my reaction too much to tell me the truth."
Merlin's mouth fell open just a little bit, his brow furrowing in confusion. "How…I mean, I had a speech prepared. I was just waiting for you to seem ready to hear it. But you already…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "How…how?"
Arthur gave him a small smile and decided to meet him halfway. "I overheard your conversation with Lancelot by the stream."
Arthur didn't think it was possible for Merlin to go any paler, but the younger man turned corpse-like at that revelation.
"I don't remember what I said," Merlin said in a hushed voice. "I remember what Lancelot said to me, but I don't remember…oh gods, what did I say?"
"A lot of very intriguing tidbits with no clear explanation," Arthur answered dryly. "You said you had been committing treason this entire time, but you'd die before you betrayed me. You said you thought I deserved to hear the truth from you instead of figuring it out for myself – which has not stopped me from trying to figure it out, by the way. And I feel a bit foolish now, to be honest." He paused and waited until he was sure he had Merlin's full attention. He held his gaze as he finished, "You said you didn't want to die at my hand."
Merlin's eyes fell closed at that, and fresh tears escaped. "I don't," he whispered. "I really, really don't."
"You won't, Merlin."
His eyes popped back open and he stared unbelievingly, searching Arthur's face for a trace of a lie.
"Just like that?" he asked suspiciously.
"The upside to having overheard that conversation months ago," Arthur said with a wry smile, "is that I've had a lot of time to think about this. To know that you committed treason, that you were loyal to me, that you wanted to tell me, that you feared death at my hand. I've had a lot of time to think through those four facts, Merlin. You filled in the blank today, but I'd already made up my mind. Whatever you had done, I knew your loyalty to me was genuine."
Merlin stared at him for a minute, then ran his hand through his hair and let out a short laugh. And then another one. And then he was shaking with a full-bodied laugh that bordered on hysteria.
Arthur watched him, nonplussed, waiting for the fit to end. When it did, Merlin wiped his eyes yet again, this time brushing away tears of mirth.
"Sorry," he murmured, looking a little embarrassed. "I just…I told you I have magic. And I'm not going to die. Are you even angry?"
Arthur gave him a small smile. "No. Not yet, at least. Right now I'm mostly surprised. And confused. You're a sorcerer, and you're not evil. And I honestly have absolutely no idea what to do with that. It reminds of the time crazy old Lord Bancroft gave me a pheasant for my birthday. Was it a pet? A meal? Something to turn loose and hunt? I was twelve and I had no idea what he intended."
Merlin looked bemused at that. "I don't know about pheasants, but you're right – I'm not evil. Magic doesn't have to be evil, Arthur."
The king snorted. "Apparently."
"It's just power. Power can corrupt, and fear can corrupt, and people with magic have a lot of both of those things. But it doesn't have to be that way."
"We are not going to talk about the way things are and the way things could be," Arthur answered immediately, cutting that line of discussion off at the knees. "I have enough to process today, thank you." He looked at Merlin. "You're really a sorcerer?"
Merlin gave him a small smile. "I really am. A warlock, to be specific." Then the smile fell abruptly. "I should have told you a long time ago. I would have told you a long time ago, if I'd known you'd react like this." He winced as realization dawned on his face. "Oh, Lancelot is going to be insufferable. I hate it when he acts all noble and then he's right."
"He's known from the start, hasn't he?"
Merlin grimaced apologetically. "It was an accident. He caught me enchanting his spear to fight the griffin. It ended up being a good accident, though. I don't know what I would have done without him."
"Never told me, for starters," Arthur muttered, and Merlin laughed. "I can't believe my servant is a sorcerer."
His eyes fell on the wine decanter again, and he filled Merlin's cup before topping off his own.
"You were buttering me up, weren't you? Letting me sleep in, bringing me a fancy breakfast?"
Merlin shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't see the harm." He took a small sip, and Arthur took it as a good sign that he didn't chug it again. "So what now?"
"What now?" Arthur repeated.
"You said I won't die by your hand. Does that mean I'm forgiven? Are you okay with magic now?"
Arthur let out an exasperated sigh. "Merlin, I've known for all of two minutes. Maybe you could give me a full ten minutes before demanding any decisions from me?"
Merlin looked away, his cheeks turning pink. "Sorry."
Suddenly Arthur's eyes widened and a grin split his face.
"You didn't actually knock me out, did you?" he demanded excitedly.
Merlin frowned. "Which time?"
Arthur's smile fell as quickly as it had come. "When I supposedly ran off with Sophia. You said you knocked me out with a lump of wood. What other times were there?"
"Out of all of the pieces to finally put together," Merlin said, staring at him dumbfounded, "the first thing you think of is that? Not 'Oh, that's why that immortal army vanished!' or 'Oh, that's why that rockfall saved my life!' No, you immediately go to when you eloped with a homicidal fairy and I had to drag you out of a lake - in full armor, mind you - and bring you back home!"
Arthur blinked. "I eloped with a what?"
"Sophia was a fairy who tried to kill you," Merlin repeated. "She wanted to trade your soul for immortality. But I saved you. And I actually got a pretty handy magical staff out of the deal. Plus, I got to see you live with the belief that I had bested you in a fight, and I have to admit I enjoyed that."
Arthur's head started to spin. He finished his drink and poured himself another one. Noticing Merlin's cup was low, he topped his off as well.
"A fairy wanted…" he repeated, trailing off as he tried to follow the story. Then his mind bounced back to something else Merlin had said. "Wait, when did you save my life with a rockfall?"
Merlin froze for a moment, then slowly focused on taking a drink.
"If you lie to me, I'll stab you," Arthur threatened, the words popping out before he thought them through. They surprised him, his brain starting to feel a little fuzzy, but he was only half joking. Maybe even a little less than half. Merlin must have believed him, at least, because he fidgeted nervously.
"Oh, you know," he said vaguely. "I've done lots of things to save your life over the years. Redirected arrows. Made bandits drop swords. Rockfalls. Those kinds of things."
"What. Rockfall." Arthur growled, quickly running through the past several years and trying to remember any rockfall. Specifically, a rockfall that saved him, considering a rockfall was rarely good news.
And then it clicked.
"The mercenaries," he breathed. "When you got hit by a mace. In the Valley of the Fallen Kings."
Merlin finished his wine and filled both of their cups, studiously avoiding Arthur's eyes.
"You did that?" Arthur demanded, feeling the blood rush to his face in anger.
Probably in anger. It was possibly the wine. But probably anger.
"I thought you were dead, Merlin!" he yelled, the memory of that week still stirring echoes of panic and grief. "Do you have any idea what kind of hell you put me through?"
"It wasn't particularly fun for me either," Merlin muttered. "I got abducted by Morgana."
"You what?" Arthur took a deep breath. "No, never mind. Don't answer that. I...I'm done. No more revelations today."
Merlin looked relieved. Then his eyes flitted to Arthur's plate, and he frowned. "You didn't eat your breakfast," he said, a note of reprimand in his voice.
"I got distracted," Arthur grumbled, and Merlin's frown deepened.
"That's a lot of wine on an empty stomach," he worried, reaching out and grabbing the carafe. "That's enough for you."
Arthur caught the handle before Merlin could move the wine to the other end of the table. "I am the king of Camelot," he declared. "I give you orders, not the other way around." And just to prove his point, he poured another cup of wine. Merlin shrugged and poured himself a cup as well.
"You just lectured me," Arthur protested, and Merlin raised his eyebrows at him.
"I ate breakfast," he pointed out, and Arthur eyed him dubiously.
"Did you really?"
Merlin ducked his head guiltily. "I was too nervous to eat," he admitted. But he took a sip anyway.
After a moment of careful thought - mostly about the fact that his thoughts weren't quite as clear as they should be, and he was feeling quite warm - Arthur demanded, "Show me something."
"Show you something?" Merlin repeated quizzically.
"With magic. Show me magic." Only it came out more, "Shimmy majick."
Merlin fought a grin, then considered for a moment. Stretching out his hand, he murmured a word - a spell, Arthur corrected himself - and a flame appeared in his palm.
Arthur studied it for a moment, then nodded, taking another sip of his wine. "What else?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, then said another word, and the fire took flight, transforming into the shape of a small dragon. The flaming creature did a circle around the room, then came and settled down in front of him. Arthur reached out to touch it, pulling back and cursing when it burned his finger.
"What did you expect?" Merlin asked, bemused, and Arthur glared at him. The dragon dissolved in front of him, leaving a small scorch mark on the table.
And that's how Sir Leon found them several hours later, when he came to find out why Arthur hadn't shown up for training. A few more scorch marks dotted the table and walls, and several butterflies inexplicably fluttered around the room. Arthur and Merlin sat at the table with red faces, Arthur laughing hard enough that tears shone in his eyes, and Merlin chuckling along, but also looking a bit perplexed and dazed.
"Are you drunk?" Leon asked, dumbfounded, and Arthur sat up straighter, nearly falling off his chair in the process. Merlin reached out and caught him with one hand, shoving him back into his seat.
"I am the Camelot of king," Arthur declared defensively. "I do not have to answer to the likes of you."
"Yes," Merlin said with a hiccup. "We are. But he's drunkerer than I am."
Leon looked around for empty bottles or pitchers to try to gauge how much they'd had, but all he found was a carafe of wine on the table, and it was full to the top.
"How much have you two had?" he demanded, and Merlin shrugged.
"A few pitchers. We ran out a few times, but I made some more."
Leon frowned. "You mean you fetched some more?"
"No," Arthur said, shaking his head a bit too vigorously. "He made it. Great trick. Don't tell Gwaine. Hey! Hey, Leon! Hey!"
Leon's concern gave way to amusement. The two men didn't seem to be in any sort of trouble. This wasn't depressed drinking or angry drinking. If anything, both men looked happier than Leon had seen them in a long time, casual and lighthearted, and - perhaps most importantly - perfectly at ease with each other.
"Yes, Arthur?" Leon asked with a smile.
"Did you know I tried to marry a killer kairy?"
Leon paused at that, unsure how to answer. "A what?"
"A filler...a killer kairy," Arthur repeated.
"A killer fairy," Merlin supplied, and Arthur nodded.
"All right," Leon said, deciding not to pursue details just then. "I'll let the men know you aren't feeling well, and I'll lead training today. How does that sound?"
Arthur frowned. "I probably shouldn't lead training today."
"No," Leon agreed. "You probably shouldn't. You just stay here and get some...rest." He patted the king's shoulder gently and headed to the door.
But before he left, he took the carafe of wine. To save them from themselves.
As he walked out, he heard Merlin snort and say, "Like that would stop me."
"We still have cups," Arthur agreed.
None of which made any sense.
Leon handed the carafe off to a servant to return to the kitchens, then headed back to the training field with a smile on his face.
Tomorrow, he would ask Arthur exactly what manner of treason Merlin had committed.
AN: Recommendation time! I recently read my first-ever reincarnation fic (kind of by accident – not my normal kind of thing, but I stumbled into it in a roundabout way). It's called The Voice in the Dream by OneDarkandStormyNight. It's old (2012), but does not have NEARLY as many comments as it deserves for its awesomeness. I'm kind of obsessed with it, tbh – it's the first time I can remember ever being tempted to write a fanfic of someone else's fanfic. I strongly recommend checking it out!