Chapter XVI: The Truth

"You all right, Arthur?"

The prince sighed heavily, resisting the urge to flop onto his bed. It was barely noon, after all, and he'd already slept in later than he'd planned. He had lunch with Cador soon, so it wouldn't do to take a nap.

"Arthur?" Merlin sounded genuinely worried this time.

"I'm fine, Merlin," the prince grumbled.

"You don't look fine," was his manservant's skeptical response. "You've been glaring at that parchment ever since we got back from the tour of the castle. That was yesterday, in case you've forgotten. What are you trying to write, anyways? Maybe I can help."

Arthur smiled despite himself at the younger man's offer. He must be more tired than he thought. "It's a letter to my father."

"…Ah."

"Yes. Ah."

Merlin leaned against the wall, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "About your birth?"

"And about the bandits," he growled.

"Were you going to tell him about our… helpers?"

"I don't know," he replied.

Merlin fidgeted. "What are the odds that he'll find out anyways?"

Arthur shrugged. "High, probably. I don't know."

"Oh." The servant chewed his lip, shifted from one foot to the other.

The prince waited, but his usually chatty shadow couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. Heaving yet another sigh, he mumbled, "So I suppose I should, then. It's better he finds out from me than from one of the guards or a rumor."

Merlin flinched, stared down at his feet. "You really feel that way?" he whispered. He peeked up, wide blue eyes peering through dark bangs, before dropping his gaze again. His fists clenched and he looked up, staring at Arthur with a strange intensity. "You really think it's better for someone to tell you himself?"

"Obviously," the bemused prince replied. What in the world was wrong with Merlin?

"Okay," the manservant whispered. Was he trembling? He was trembling. Why was he trembling? "Okay."

"Okay?" Arthur repeated.

"Yeah." Merlin swallowed hard. "I have… I have something to tell you."

Arthur waited, but his manservant didn't continue. He stood there pale and shaking, visibly terrified. Frowning, Arthur made a 'go on' gesture.

"It's kind of a long story," the boy confessed, looking very young and vulnerable and not at all like his usual cheerful self.

"Just spit it out, Merlin. I'm sure it's not as big a deal as you think it is."

His servant laughed then, the sound high and hysterical. Worry bubbled in Arthur's belly. This was starting to seem like it was a bit bigger than he'd expected, but it was Merlin. He couldn't possibly have hidden anything too important.

Except he had, hadn't he? He'd hidden Mordred in plain sight and lied to Uther's face, and those were just the lies Arthur knew about. It was entirely possible that he'd hidden something else, something that Arthur had never even suspected. The thought disturbed him, made him frown.

Merlin was still laughing, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Arthur pushed himself away from the desk, walked over to his hysterical servant. He placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders, gripped them tight. "Merlin. Calm down."

The younger man nodded, swallowed hard. Wetness glimmered in the corners of his eyes. "Sorry," he choked.

Arthur released him from his hold, backed away. "Right. Now listen up, Merlin, because I'm only going to say this once. You may not have noticed this, but I don't particularly want to write this letter to my father. Cador's spending the afternoon with Morgana, so I can't rely on them to distract me. After lunch, you're going to help me procrastinate by telling me… whatever it is you need to tell me. Do you understand?"

A watery smile. "Of course, sire." For once, the title didn't sound sarcastic. Then he added, "I think that Leon could maybe write part of the letter, at least about the bandits."

"I wish," Arthur muttered. "I outrank him, so it has to be me."

"Maybe write that part down first?" Merlin suggested. He had gotten control of himself with remarkable swiftness, Arthur noted. That had… implications.

Yes, Merlin's big secret (that Arthur hadn't even known he had) was apparently going to be just that: big.

"Arthur?"

Oh, right, he'd said something. "Worth a shot," the prince muttered, returning his attention to the letter. We had almost arrived at Tintagel when we were set upon by a group of bandits….

Merlin's advice worked. Arthur had finished the official part of the missive when one of the Tintagel servants informed him that lunch was ready.

Cador and Morgana were there already. Though they were cousins, they didn't look very much alike. Cador's hair was plain brown, his jaw square, his blue eyes set wide. Morgana had taken after her mother, the late Lady Vivienne.

"Sire," Cador murmured, dipping his head in a respectful bow. "You will be pleased to hear that I sent out my garrison to capture the sorcerers you saw. They left at the crack of dawn."

Arthur stared at him. "And what of the bandits?"

"If they see the bandits, they will of course apprehend them, but I thought it better to focus on the sorcerers."

…Arthur was beginning to understand why his father's kingdom had a bandit problem.

"I see," he said slowly. "While I must… commend your dedication to my father's favorite laws, in the future, I think it would be better to focus on the bandits attacking travelers rather than the spellbinders who likely saved my life."

From her place at Cador's left, Morgana beamed at him. Guinevere, standing behind her mistress, smiled like the sun.

Cador looked rather confused. "If you say so, Sire. Would you like me to send out a messenger to the guards?"

"That would probably be for the best, yes."

Still a bit befuddled, Cador gestured to his manservant. The old man bowed before hastening out the door, undoubtedly to find a messenger.

They spent the rest of the (unnecessarily long, overly complicated, impressively fancy) lunch discussing bandits and very carefully not mentioning anything related to magic. Arthur kept his new insight about why bandits were so problematic to himself. He would think about it later, maybe make Merlin do some research on it when they got back to Camelot.

Speaking of Merlin, his manservant hadn't said a thing since they'd arrived. Arthur snuck a glance at the boy. His eyes were distant, his mouth curved in a slight frown, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. He was probably trying to figure out how to tell Arthur… whatever he had to tell him.

Finally the lunch was over. Arthur made some excuse about writing down what they'd discussed and left for his room, Merlin at his heels. Soon they were at the door to his room, and then the door was closing behind them and they were alone.

Not certain what else to do, Arthur turned to face his servant. Merlin was even paler than usual, downright pasty in the light streaming through the window. If Arthur hadn't known it was just because of nerves (and what secret could possibly make cheerful, optimistic Merlin so afraid?), he would have sent him to Tintagel's physician.

The silence stretched on and on. It was a very loud silence, Arthur noted, and awkward as well. He couldn't remember the last time they'd been so uncomfortable around each other.

"…Well?"

Merlin jumped at the sound of master's voice. Color tinged the pale cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled, some of his anxiety replaced by embarrassment. "It's just that…. Other people have found out, of course they have, but it's always been an accident. They find out and then I explain. But, well, Gwen figured it out about a week ago and she made some really good points about how I should tell you instead of just waiting for you to stumble across it, and, well, after that, I couldn't find any excuses to not tell you, so. Here we are." He made a vague gesture that encompassed the two of them.

"So say it," Arthur said. It wasn't an order or a command, but it wasn't exactly a request either. He wasn't quite sure what it was.

The other opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. "I will," he whispered. "Gods help me, I really will. But first I have to tell you that—that I believe in you, Arthur. Not the Once and Future King. You. If I didn't think you have the potential to be a great man and a great king and a great friend, I'd have left Camelot months ago. You're my friend, and a genuinely good person, and I, I don't want you to think that I'm just manipulating you for my own purposes. I mean, I am, but—I care for you as a person, too. I swear it."

The thought of Merlin manipulating anyone was downright bizarre. If not for his lies about Mordred and Excalibur, Arthur wouldn't have believed his manservant capable of manipulation.

The other man was staring at him intently, his expression hesitant, apparently waiting for a response. Arthur obliged. "That's well and good, Merlin, but what are you trying to say?"

Another deep breath, another hard swallow—but this time his shoulders straightened and he drew himself to his full height, fear replaced by fearful determination. Without a word, he held out his hand.

Merlin's eyes flamed gold.

And in his hand, a small, familiar orb of light began to shine.

Arthur stared. He didn't know that his eyes were bulging or that his jaw had sagged or even that he had sat down hard on the floor. All he could see was the misty light, Emrys's light, in Merlin's hand.

"Arthur?" The servant—oh, gods, the warlock—sounded nervous. He crouched down to better meet the prince's gaze. The light dissipated. "Are you all right?"

"You're—" he choked out, gesturing wildly.

"…Yeah."

"You're," Arthur repeated, unable to force any other words through his throat.

Merlin—Emrys—shrugged, looking a little bit sheepish. "Um. Surprise?"

"But… but you're Merlin," Arthur protested.

"I am. It's just that I'm Emrys, too."

"How?"

"Illusion spell," he replied with a little half-shrug. "The druids taught me when I brought Mordred back to them."

That wasn't quite what Arthur had meant, but he didn't think he could explain himself, at least not coherently. His brain didn't seem to be working quite right. It skittered and stuttered and stumbled, his thoughts a disjointed flurry of shock Merlin warlock Emrys shock disbelief shock light gold ye gods secret shock. He wanted—he needed—he didn't know what, he couldn't think, and Merlin (Emrys Emrys Emrys) wasn't helping matters by staring at him with those big blue (gold) eyes of his.

"…Leave me."

Merlin jerked back, horrified.

"Not like that!" Arthur exclaimed. "I…. I need time to think, Merlin. Emrys. Whoever you are."

"It's Merlin," the other man muttered, beginning to back away. "I'll be in the next room if you need me. Or have any questions. Or… anything." And then he was gone, slipping into the room's adjoining servant quarters and closing the door behind him.

Arthur stared numbly at the door. Merlin. It was Merlin. It was Merlin all along, Merlin who had sent the light and fought Sophia and Aulfric and killed the wraith and made Excalibur and cured the Questing Beast's bite and held his own against Cornelius bloody Sigan. It was Emrys who had darned his socks and mucked his stables and performed a million other demeaning tasks on a daily basis. His idiot manservant was his powerful warlock. He didn't understand.

Okay. Okay. Merlin was Emrys and Emrys was Merlin. Maybe if he just focused on the fact instead of the implications, the world would start to make sense again. Except that wasn't working, because Merlin is Emrys was such a strange alien thought that he couldn't comprehend it. Part of him wondered if this was a dream, but he knew it wasn't, because he just wasn't that creative.

Merlin. Emrys. Gods. Gods.

It didn't make sense. Merlin was, well, a bit of an idiot. He was reckless and mouthy and—oh. Emrys was reckless and mouthy, too, and he could be considered a bit of an idiot for using magic in Camelot. And they were both pro-magic and stubborn and had faith in Arthur. Both had expressed their desire for the war between magic and mundane to end. And he'd never seen them together.

Things were starting to make a bit more sense now. He could see the similarities, so it didn't seem quite as far-fetched as it had a few moments before. It was still ridiculous and mind-boggling, of course, but a bit less so.

Merlin was Emrys. Merlin had magic. Powerful magic, too. And he apparently spent his free time stealing from the vaults and freeing imprisoned dragons and breaking accused spellbinders out of the dungeons and dear gods what the hell else had he been up to. Did he have any hobbies that weren't massively illegal?

He'd stood up and started pacing at some point. He paused briefly to groan. How the hell had he never noticed all of this highly illegal activity taking place right under his nose?

It was the ears, Arthur decided. Nobody expected someone with ears like that to be a criminal mastermind, or any kind of mastermind at all, for that matter. No wonder he changed those stupid ears when he turned into Emrys.

When Merlin turned into Emrys, because apparently he was Emrys and thought it was a good idea to be a powerful warlock and work as Uther's son's manservant. Arthur couldn't decide if that was courage or insanity. Probably both.

Well, at least now he knew why Merlin was so frightened of the king. It was a minor miracle that he'd been able to lie to the man's face or tend him when—

Arthur froze in mid-step.

Edwin Muirden.

The prince spun on his heel, sprinted into Merlin's adjoining room. The warlock jumped, knocking an old, large, and probably illegal book off his lap. "Arthur?"

"Edwin Muirden," he replied.

"…What about him?"

"Why didn't you let him kill my father?"

Merlin dropped his gaze, focusing on the (definitely illegal) book. "Because I knew this day would come."

Arthur gestured for him to go on.

"There was an Elanthia beetle in his brain," Merlin sighed. "I thought—I'm not proud of this, Arthur, but I thought about letting Uther die. Then I realized that one day, I'd have to explain why I helped murder your father." He shrugged. "So I magicked the beetle out and tried to help him with what little herb-lore I knew. I figured that if he died anyways, at least you couldn't blame me for not trying."

Arthur thought of what Merlin had said, his claim that he wasn't just using him to bring back magic. Would he still have spared Uther if that wasn't the case? The prince didn't know. All he knew was that if spellbinders were as innately evil as his father claimed—if magic was the corrupting force he'd been taught—then Merlin would have just stood back.

Merlin wasn't evil. Dishonest and criminal, yes, but….

"Would the others have done that?"

"What others?" Merlin asked, befuddled.

"The others," Arthur replied. "People like you. Would they have…?"

Merlin sighed. "Some would, I think," he admitted. "The druids, probably. Most wouldn't, though. Your father isn't exactly popular among my people."

"….I suppose he wouldn't be."

"If it makes you feel better, I have requested that people quit trying to assassinate him. The druids and I have been trying to convince everyone that peace can't be won through murder, fear, and mind control."

"Mind control?" Arthur yelped.

Merlin winced. "There's one person, Nimueh's successor, who thinks we should enchant the crown princes of every kingdom we can. I've explained to her why that isn't going to happen."

"And she listened?"

"I think so."

Arthur groaned, rubbed at his temples. "But you don't know."

"Sorry."

"…I need to meet with her."

"What?" Merlin cried.

"I said that I need to meet with her."

"Are you crazy?"

"If I am, it's thanks to you."

Merlin's shoulders slumped. "…I probably deserved that," he admitted softly.

Arthur sank into the room's sole chair, suddenly exhausted. "Probably."

"Are you sure you're all right, Arthur?" Merlin—Emrys—asked quietly, fiddling with his (undoubtedly illegal) book.

"I'll be fine," the prince replied. "Just…gods. When you said you had something to tell me, I was expecting something normal. I really should have known better."

"Yeah, you should have," Merlin agreed. There was a tentative note to his teasing, the barest hint of a question, like he wasn't certain he could do this anymore. Then, softly, "I thought you'd be angrier."

"Maybe once the shock wears off," Arthur retorted.

"Ah." Merlin winced.

"Unless you have any other earthshattering secrets you'd like to share with me?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Arthur twisted around to gawk at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Merlin shrugged, the motion as awkward as ever. "I mean that there's things I couldn't tell you about until you knew who I am. There's other things that I still can't tell you because they aren't my secrets to tell. But there's nothing I can tell you that's quite as big as me being Emrys. They're more like… auxiliary secrets."

Arthur groaned and let his head slump against the wall.

"I'll tell you if you ask," Merlin promised. "Or if it comes up in conversation, I guess. As long as it's my secret to tell, I'll tell it."

"I'll hold you to that, Merlin."

"Okay." The warlock shoved his book under his pillow (more proof that it was illegal) and leaned forward on his bed, hands clasped in his lap. "What do you want to know?"

And Arthur laughed, because it was just like Merlin and Emrys to misinterpret what he'd said like that. It was just like the both of them to stare at him with steadily increasing concern, obviously wondering what had gone wrong and how he could fix it. "Not now, you dolt," he explained once his breath returned.

Merlin beamed at him.

They were silent for a time, Arthur with his eyes half-closed and his hand to his brow, Merlin glancing intermittently between his retrieved book and his boss. Merlin was Emrys. The thought was only a little less insane than it had been earlier, and yet….

Perhaps, in time, Arthur could get used to it.

I'm BACK! And on time, too, because it's still July in my time zone.

So who was expecting the Reveal right after a hiatus? I know I sure wouldn't, except I did, because I wrote this (and not as much of my thesis as I wanted to, but I like writing this a lot better).

Alternate chapter title: "In which Arthur Sees the Light"

Next chapter: August 18. Arthur tries to handle Merlin's big secret (and probably a couple auxiliary secrets, too) as Uther deals with the assault on his dungeons.

Also, if you're a fan of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, I've been working on a crack fic based on the premise of Useful!Bloodraven forming an alliance with Ned and Cat right after Robert's Rebellion to prepare for the Long Night, and Winterfell basically becomes a magical madhouse of hilarious absurdity. Dunno when it'll be published, because I haven't finished it or my stupid thesis and I've still got this, but writing it makes me giggle maniacally, so hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Until then (or August 18, whichever comes first), friends!

-Antares