I hope I made this version of the magic reveal different. I don't believe that Arthur is as rash as many people write him, and so I wrote this chapter with that in mind.
Present Day
Arthur isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to be looking at.
Because what it looks like, and what it actually is, are two different things, surely.
Except they really aren't, and he knows that. Logically, he knows that.
But that knowledge doesn't help him now.
Staring at his best friend of ten years, Arthur feels the white-hot coil of fury and pain wrap around his heart and yank.
His best friend. A liar. A traitor. A sorcerer.
If it weren't for the fire at his feet threatening to burn him alive, he would run the man through where he stands. However, Merlin happens to be standing several yards away, toe to toe with Morgana, with Mordred behind him, and the only one who isn't shocked into silence is Merlin himself.
So Mordred didn't know, then.
Merlin is actually good at something. Who knew?
Lying.
"Hello, Morgana," Merlin says, standing straight. He holds the shield without a spell, or any sign of tiring. Arthur has seen sorcerers cast before. Usually, after two or three minutes of maintaining a spell, they begin to strain to hold it. But Merlin shows no sign of exhaustion, no sign of letting it fall.
"You? You… you betrayed me even more deeply than I ever could have thought!" Morgana screams, and the building behind them begins to shake. Merlin looks up in alarm, grabs Mordred around the waist, and runs right underneath it just as it crumbles to the ground.
Arthur feels even worse now, and he didn't think that was possible. He reaches forward and his feet move closer, and then the fire bites, and he pulls back hurriedly. Merlin is an idiot, and now… two sorcerers are gone, possibly very powerful ones, and so with them, their chance of winning.
Between the dust and the fog, it makes Morgana difficult to see. But he knows she knows they're nearby. He can hear her calls. "Arthur… Come on out, brother… I just want to talk. Is that too much to ask? Arthur…"
He flinches when her face materializes in front of him, and she grins wickedly. "Hello, brother dearest. It's been a while. How are you?"
Her finger trails down his cheek, sharp and framed with jewels that scrape on his skin. He pulls back, but her other hand wraps around the back of his head and the strength of the hold prevents her from getting any closer.
"Sire!" Leon shouts, and Morgana snaps her head to the side, staring at the knight, who moves quickly.
She holds up her hand and he stops in his tracks, his hand loosening his grip on his sword until it clatters to the forest floor. He gasps in a breath of air, but his face is turning blue, and Arthur's face twists. He rears his head back and slams his forehead to Morgana's, and the impact cuts off her spell and sends her spiraling backward, right onto the hilt of a dark gray sword.
…
Merlin is absolutely covered in dust and grime, and Mordred doesn't look much better.
Morgana laughs, hysteric. "I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion!" she cries, pulling herself free of Mordred's sword. "No mortal blade can kill me!"
"I know that," Merlin agrees, deceptively serene. But something burns in his eyes, something dangerous and cold and powerful, and it sends Arthur's brain into a tizzy. He blinks back his shock at seeing the two of them alive, and instead focuses on Morgana, who is stumbling from blood loss.
"But I don't need a blade to kill you," Merlin says.
Morgana scoffs. "What can you do, petty sorcerer?"
He cocks his head to the side. "Petty sorcerer," he repeats. "Hm. I've been called many things in my time, but never has my power been called weak."
He snaps.
And Morgana falls like a puppet with its strings cut.
…
"You survived," Gwaine says, wonder in his voice. The knight pulls Merlin into a hug. "I don't know how, but you survived getting crushed by a tower."
Merlin laughs. "There was a window. It fell around us."
"How did you have time to think about that?" Percival asks. Merlin shrugs as he pulls away from Gwaine.
"I didn't, really. My magic took the least dangerous path and presented it to me."
Silence. Merlin shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Are you any good?"
Everyone looks to Elyan, and Arthur furrows his eyebrows in confusion as Merlin eyes him curiously. "Good at what?" he asks.
"Magic," Elyan clarifies, and Mordred bursts out laughing.
"Any good?" the druid gasps, his laughter swallowing the rest of the words. He leans his head on Merlin's shoulder and the servant pats his head sympathetically, a grin twitching at his mouth. "He's the best in the land," Mordred finishes, admiration thick in his voice. Arthur is shocked by this statement, and figures that surely Mordred, who is known to be smitten with Merlin beyond reasonable doubt, must be exaggerating.
Merlin, however, shrugs. "I haven't met any other sorcerer of my caliber, and these two are the only ones that come close," he confesses, once again patting Mordred on the head and pointing to Morgana.
Or rather, the spot where she had fallen, now empty except for crushed grass.
Merlin's eyes widen, and Arthur feels a cold chill of fear settle into his heart, staring at his servant and Mordred, unable to grasp the meaning of the last several minutes and unwilling to look any further at the proof that Morgana came back to life.
It's happened so fast. Unbelievably so. He closes his eyes and begins to pray.
Maybe Merlin has finally met his match.
…
The servant returns to Camelot in a foul mood, and if Arthur is honest with himself, he is somewhat frightened. The grass had died under his feet when the fact that Morgana escaped had sunk into his brain, and it was clear it hadn't been intentional.
If he had such power over life and death unintentionally, Arthur shuddered to think of what kind of power he wielded when in full thinking capacity and with the burn of intent.
Arthur rides as far from Merlin as possible.
He can't decide if he's more hurt over the lies, or more hurt by the lack of trust.
Because he knows that if Mordred hadn't been in danger of being killed, Merlin would have done nothing.
…
He spills it all to Guinevere as soon as he's home, locked in his rooms, crying in her arms.
It's hitting hard.
"Shh," she whispers, rocking him lightly, hand combing through his blond hair and the other gripping tightly to his shirt. He can hear the tears in her voice as she says, "I understand. It's a lot to take in."
He pauses. Pulls away.
"Don't tell me you knew about him, too," he accuses, and she looks away.
"What could I do? My job is to protect the people- all people, and ever since that sorcerer killed my father, I set aside my fear and looked closely at the people of this country. Druids. Priests. Sorcerers. Merchants. Musicians. Nobles. Kings. Queens," she lists, and she looks him in the eyes as she states firmly, "We all have a kind of magic inside us, whether it manifests as true, raw magic or the power of kindness and hope. It's all magic; and those who can practice the physical magic are left in fear because they're different. I see no justice there, not when the brave knights or intelligent historians are celebrated as heroes for their accomplishments, accomplishments that sorcerers never have the opportunity to make."
Everyone has lied to him.
He's never felt so lost, so betrayed. His wife has harbored a deadly sorcerer for who-knows-how long, his loyal knight gave up his secret in his loyalty to another, and his best friend has lied to him every day for as long as they've known each other. He says this to her, and she softens, cupping his face.
"Can you blame us?"
"What?" he demands, voice cracking. "Of course I can-"
"We could be killed for this."
He stops. Killing any of them brings his heart to his throat, and he nearly bursts into tears again right as he thinks it.
His eyes close. She brushes their lips together, hesitant, but he pulls her close and kisses her desperately, settling her on his lap. "Guinevere," he says, pulling her hair pins from the dark curls, and watching as it falls around her face. He brushes it aside and pulls her face close, connecting their mouths again. She lets out a soft noise, and he swallows it, deliberately not thinking of anything except the taste of his wife, the way she moves against him in short movements, the feel of her skin under his fingertips.
He reaches behind her and pulls the laces, and her dress falls open, freeing her for his exploration.
He takes no prisoners in kissing his way down her face, neck, and chest.
Taking in a sharp breath, he presses his forehead to her collarbone, eyes scrunched tightly. "Come to bed," she soothes, pulling back and standing. He nods, and she strips herself of her clothing as he pulls the curtains shut.
He pokes his head outside. "We're not to be disturbed unless it is a state of absolute emergency," he tells the guard, and waits for him to nod before slamming the door.
…
Come morning, he wakes and dresses himself way before dawn.
He leaves his queen asleep, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders before he leaves and pressing a kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair from her face. She blinks sleepily at him and he smiles softly at her, "I love you," he whispers, and she doesn't come awake enough to reply, but there's a smile on her face as she drifts off again.
He walks away at a brisk pace, destination clear in his mind.
The physician is awake as well, and he jumps slightly when Arthur opens the door, blinking at him. "Sire," Gaius acknowledges, bowing slightly before returning to his bag, packing potions into it.
"Is Merlin here?"
"He did not return last night, sire," Gaius says, frowning. It is clear this is troubling to the old man, and Arthur sighs.
"Do you know where he could be?" Arthur questions, trying to keep his voice light.
He rocks on his heels when the physician fixes him with a blank stare. "No," he says plainly. He turns back to his bag and packs the last vial into it, hefting it over his shoulder. "If you would excuse me, sire," Gaius requests, and Arthur sighs but lets him go.
…
With nothing to do, he returns to his chambers and waits.
Within the hour, Merlin comes bursting in the room, breakfast trays balanced on each hand. Arthur wonders fleetingly if he uses magic to keep from dropping them.
"Arthur?" Merlin asks, confused. He walks further into the room and kicks the door shut behind him. Despite the force of the kick, it closes without a sound. Arthur feels even more like a fool when he realizes this is done every single morning, done only to make sure that Arthur and Guinevere don't startle awake by the slamming of a door and that when they do wake, their dignity is intact, no doorway to the hall, which would invite people to look inside.
"I want you to tell me something," Arthur says, picking a grape off the plate as soon as Merlin sets it down. Merlin nods, hands behind his back and looking nervous.
"You didn't kill Morgana. Why?"
Merlin shrugs. "I meant to. I guess it takes a bit more than force of will to kill a High Priestess, which hadn't occurred to me. The last time I killed one-" His mouth shuts abruptly.
Arthur lets this slide, popping the grape into his mouth. "So Morgana is more powerful than you, as a High Priestess?"
Merlin scoffs. "No, sire. She wishes. I can bend the earth, control the skies and the seas, many magical creatures, and morph time to suit my needs. I hold the power over life and death. I work exclusively without incantations, and most of my magic is pure instinct. Incantations serve only to heighten the power of my spells, but I don't need them to beat her. She doesn't know this."
Arthur eyes his servant dubiously. "Please, Arthur," Merlin says next. "I never wanted to-"
"Lie to me?" Arthur finishes, meeting his friend's eyes. The other man nods.
Picking up another grape, he pushes another chair out with his foot. "Sit," he commands, and Merlin actually follows this order, perching on the edge of the chair without hesitation. "Eat," he says next, and at this, Merlin frowns.
"Sire?"
"Would you rather I arrest you? Because then I can force you to eat."
Merlin picks up a few grapes, but doesn't eat them, instead picking at the skin with his thumbnail. "I'm sorry," he mutters.
"Gaius explained something to me when you were missing," Arthur says, ignoring the apology. He rolls the grape between his fingers and watches Merlin out of the corner of his eye. "He told me there was a difference between a sorcerer, and a warlock. Which one are you?"
"I am a warlock, sire," Merlin says, confusion in his voice and on his face. The anxiety in Merlin's eyes only increases.
"We never did talk about what happened after you were kidnapped," Arthur says.
"No," Merlin agrees slowly. "Does it matter?"
"What happened to you, Merlin? Who was it? What did they want?"
Merlin takes a shuddering breath. "They wanted the identity of Emrys."
Arthur looks at Merlin properly, dropping the grape on the plate, leaning forward. "And why would you know that? And how did they figure that you would know?"
"I get into a lot of bad places at bad times," Merlin says with an ironic smile, before it slips off his face. "They thought I had someone at my back, and they wanted to know if it was Emrys."
Arthur has more questions now than he did before. He frowns, and Merlin winces, beginning to babble, "I don't know who they were, exactly, but I do know that they kept me primarily in a village not far from the Forests of Wychwood. They never entered, because they don't have magic, and they never thought I did, either, because I was very careful never to be caught by someone I intended to leave alive. They tortured me for weeks and weeks and weeks, using all sorts of vile tools. I never gave in. I knew it wouldn't matter if I told them or not, because if I told, I would be killed, and if I didn't I would eventually die anyway."
"Whoa, Merlin," Arthur says, and reaches out, places his hand on Merlin's knee. "Why? Why wouldn't you reveal him? Who is he to you?"
Merlin lets out a laugh. "He is my everything. My past, present, future. I am Emrys, Arthur."
Arthur grits his teeth. "Not even Emrys can help you now," he says, and Merlin's confusion overtakes him again.
"What?" Merlin asks.
"That's what they said when they kidnapped you."
Merlin swears softly.
…
Arthur considers all day, and he gradually sees that Merlin hasn't actually changed all that much.
He finds himself less and less angry.
Because, God help him, he does understand. He looks at the way he treated Mordred and he understands. He looks at his past reactions to magical influences and he understands. He looks back on many statements he's made in the past and he understands why Merlin never could bring himself to say anything. And he hates himself for it because he understands how utterly small and insignificant and hopeless Merlin must have felt, for all these years.
"I want to apologize," Arthur says that evening, when Guinevere is having a late dinner with Elyan and he and Merlin are alone.
Merlin freezes before he resumes polishing Arthur's boots, giving a small hum of consideration before asking, "Why?"
"I can't imagine what it feels like to live under the threat of an axe for being born," he says.
Merlin lowers his hands from the boot to his side, and he stares into the fire. "No, you can't know what that feels like," Merlin agrees. His tone is even and it is clear he isn't trying to be condescending.
"You probably resent me," Arthur says. "If not for yourself than on behalf of your people."
Merlin is quiet for a long, agonizing moment. "I don't, actually," he says eventually, turning to look Arthur in the eyes. It hits the king in that moment that he isn't looking at a servant. He's looking at a king.
"You should," Arthur argues, and Merlin shakes his head.
"If you can forgive me for being born with magic, Arthur, I can forgive you for being born into a prejudiced home without any true education of the history of my people."
Arthur nods.
And Merlin smiles.