Show Me An Answer
Arthur wakes to warmth and comfort, and really doesn't want to open his eyes. But his head's throbbing and the light streaming into the room is just a little too bright, and he knows that he's going to have to move at some point. Where is he, anyway? This doesn't feel like his bed.
He cracks his eyes open against his own better judgement and just stares up at the stone ceiling for a minute or too, taking stock of his body – there's a low ache in his joints but other than that he's apparently fine. But he has no idea why his bones are aching.
Then he looks to his right and sees Merlin stretched out on a small, makeshift bed down on the floor beside him. His chest is rising and falling gently, and it's only after watching him sleep for a few moments that Arthur remembers exactly what happened the previous day.
In a flurry of movement he's off the bed and kneeling beside Merlin, grabbing him and turning him over onto his stomach, ignoring the warlock's sleepy protests as he's roughly woken.
"I just need… I need to…" Arthur murmurs urgently, hands awkward and scrabbling at Merlin's tunic and eventually managing to yank it upwards. He reaches out a hand and touches the smooth, unmarked skin, and feels his whole body relax.
"Are you done?" Merlin asks, his face presses into the blankets, and Arthur lets go of him abruptly, frowning.
"What on earth are you doing on the floor? You died yesterday. Get on the bed and get some rest."
"You sort of passed out on me yesterday, I didn't have a choice in the matter," Merlin points out even as he slowly gets to his feet, and Arthur's hands are there supporting him. "And I feel fine, really. Just a bit stiff and achy, really. Pretty good, considering."
"Good. That's good," Arthur nods, helping his manservant onto the bed despite his own weariness, and sits down beside him. He's not sure what to say, how to broach the topic of the magical transfer, so he says nothing. He's beginning to think that perhaps Merlin's lost for words too, but then the silence is finally broken. The Prince misses it immediately.
"Arthur, you saved my life. Again."
And what is he supposed to say to that?
"You saved mine first."
"This is getting to be a habit for us, isn't it?"
Merlin smiles then, a small smile that fades quickly.
"How did you do it, Arthur? I was dead. As in, completely dead," he asks quietly, and for a minute the Prince doesn't respond, just listens to the birds singing outside. He's trying to work out exactly how to explain it because he's not entirely sure himself – there had been such an immense sense of urgency that he'd not been thinking about what he'd been doing. He just knew that he needed to save Merlin.
"When you… when you died, you… you gave me your magic," he hesitates, then ploughs on. "I found a sorcerer that could help me, found a spell. I saved you with magic."
Merlin's hands are shaking now, his face slightly white, and Arthur feels a spike of concern begin to work its way into his chest.
"Are you feeling all right? Is it your back?" he asks, reaching up to the warlock, but the other man backs away. His eyes are wide and fearful.
"You know? About me being a sorcerer?" he replies, his voice stilted slightly, and Arthur's hands drop, and he nods slowly.
"I couldn't really ignore it for much longer."
"You mean you knew?"
"I had my suspicions."
"But you didn't say anything!"
"I didn't want you executed."
Merlin doesn't really respond to that, just stares down at where he's twisting the blankets in his hand, and Arthur feels a wave of relief and confusion wash through him that he doesn't understand at all.
"I'm not going to hand you over, Merlin," he says quietly, raising a hand then pulling it back in. He's not sure what he was about to do, but the other man is staring at him now. "I promise. Besides, I'm in the same boat as you now."
"But what if you took all my magic? What if I can't use it any more?" he protests, and Arthur shrugs. "What if you're the one stuck with it now, and you have to face the consequences?"
The corners of Arthur's mouth twitch at that – even in this distraught state, Merlin's still putting him first. He realises that if he thinks about it, his manservant always has. And also that though Merlin may have been having trouble hiding his magic, he would also be completely lost without it.
"Try something," he says simply, turning his head as he hears movement behind the door, then he looks back at the warlock.
And then Merlin's eyes flash golden and bright, and the floorboards creak upwards and a book sails from beneath them to land on directly in the warlock's hands. His lips quirk.
"I guess when you used my magic on me, some of it transferred back," he surmises, running his hands over the cover, and looks up to Arthur. "And you can still do magic."
"Yes, I can."
"Is it as bad as you thought?"
Arthur can't help but smile at that, because no, it really isn't. He saved a man's life with it – surely, that could never be classed as a bad thing. His father told him that to know the heart of one sorcerer was to know them all. He knows Merlin's heart.
"You can teach me how to use it, if you want," he suggests, and Merlin's face contorts as he tries to look delighted and horrified at the same time. It's almost endearing, and Arthur nearly wants to touch him.
"Magic is forbidden, Arthur," his manservant reminds him, but he just shrugs.
"I don't think I'm going to be getting rid of it any time soon. This thing, whatever it is… it's not going away."
"I know."
"So I might as well use it."
Merlin hesitates then, and Arthur realises that at some point the warlock's fingers have stopped twisting in the bed sheets and are now twisting in his own. He's not sure how he missed that happening.
"What will your father say?"
Arthur shrugs, pulls his hand from Merlin's grip, and hauls himself to his feet. His eyes are sparkling and there's a small smile playing across his face, and he's more content than he's been in a long while. It feels good.
"Let's go find out, shall we?"
With no bones to break I can be who I am
Cause you know me better than anyone