Author's note (1): I am so sorry it's taken this long to update. There's a longer note at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you everyone who's read this far! Just a warning for sensitive readers: this chapter is quite graphic, with character death. Actually this whole story may be quite graphic. I hope I've put up enough warnings beforehand but if anything bothers you, please refrain from reading.

()()()

I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 16

()()()

A loud knocking breaks the silence of the chamber. Again, it sounds, more urgent; the rapping on the door short and brisk.

That's odd, Arthur reflects; it cannot be Merlin, for Merlin never knocks.

"Yes?" He looks up and blinks a bit surprised; it's his father's own manservant, who rarely leaves the King's side. Seldom has Arthur had contact with him. The Prince gives the man an inquiring gaze. "What is it?"

The King's manservant, an elderly man who usually stands quiet wearing a perfectly blank mask, now looks urgent; his face is marred by a frown. "It's the King, sire – he's ill!"

Arthur startles and the questions falls from his lips before he can compose himself, a knot of worry forming in his stomach. His father is hardy. It's not like him to catch ill. And if the manservant goes to him … it must be bad.

"How, when?"

"I do not know, sire; he was at perfect health this morning and during the day, but as I went to assist His Majesty this evening I found him abed, utterly pale! He will not wake!"

"Find Gaius," Arthur orders at once without thinking and stands, hastily putting aside the quill, a few droplets of ink spilling but he takes no heed to it now. "Bring him to my father's chambers immediately."

()()()

He doesn't knock. It is rare for him to do so; his father doesn't like unexpected visitors, especially not at this hour. But recalling the panic on the servant's face Arthur cannot bring himself to care right now and he enters the chamber firmly, the door making no sound as it opens.

"Father, may I enter?" Silence greets his words. Arthur frowns slightly. "… Father, are you there?"

Beyond the door, the room lies quiet. The curtains have been drawn and the gloom makes the stillness even more eerie.

No. No, it cannot be. "Father," Arthur presses, silently chanting, Let it not be! Let it not be! as he approaches the bed; the older man lies on his side, face away. Tensing visibly the Prince comes nearer. He breathes, but his eyes are heavily lidded, and his hands utterly limp. He's paler than usual. There's no sign of fever. Just – stillness.

"No!" Arthur chokes – the servant was right. The stillness … It's just like Morgana's illness before; the image of her pale face flashes through his mind. No!

"But, there's a cure," he mutters to himself, trying desperately to calm down and not let his feeling take control. He must remain calm, for his father's sake. "There's a cure."

Edwin. I have to find Edwin!

()()()

His body is so heavy. It won't move.

He struggles against the invisible chains that suddenly seem to have wrapped around him. Trapped him. Edwin stands above him, calm and quiet and pleased. Just standing there, while he's so clearly struggling, not moving to help – why isn't he helping?

Why can't I move?

"You really are naïve, Merlin," Edwin smirks. "Truly, I thought my eyes deceived me … but no longer. You have magic. And you're freely giving it away."

It hurts. A terrible sharp icy pain cutting through his bones. "No!" he wants to scream and tries to, but his voice is nothing but a weak croak and he cannot lift his arms, can't defend himself from the onslaught. Not his magic! It's his body! Edwin said he'd cure him!

"No," he protests, again, "no."

Inside he tries to reach out and grasp at his magic but it's slipping like sand and the pain increases, a steady pounding burn in his blood. His muscles refuse to cooperate. It feels like someone's cutting open his spine and tearing it out.

Why isn't his magic working?!

The man's whole face is gleaming as if by pleasure.

"It's useless to fight, Merlin. Just relax. It'll be over in just a moment."

Tears well up in his eyes, hot and salty. No! His mouth opens, but there's no noise. I don't want this! Please, let me go! Let me go!

"Hush now. When it's over, you'll be like anybody, normal and no longer a sorcerer. No more magic to taint your blood. You would no longer have that curse. Isn't that what you wanted, Merlin?"

No you don't understand, he cries at the man, not understanding why, why is Edwin doing this? How can he be so cold, just standing there while there's so much pain? Why—

"N-no," he gasps. "That's not it. That's not it. Please -"

"Oh?" Edwin arches an eyebrow at him. "Is it not the only thing then?"

An ice-cold fist breaks through his ribcage, settling around his heart, squeezing; Edwin glances down then, at the half-undone lacings of the servant's tunic. His eyes …

How could anyone have such cold, indifferent eyes?

Leisurely the man reaches out a hand, tugging at the string and a cry wrenches from Merlin's throat. No! No, it just can't be happening! This can't be happening! His whole body screams but not a sound manages to leave his throat - Stop! Stop! He tries moving away, struggling with the bonds, but he can't move and it's too late now because a startled expression comes to the scarred man's face. Merlin's eyelids burn, hot tears of humiliation gathering beneath them, threatening to spill.

He's seen – he knows -

"Edwin!"

The voice isn't his and Merlin's eyes snap open in shock. At the sudden noise – a slam, heavy footfall - Edwin snaps back, twisting his head. Merlin wishes he could see, but he can't move and the sounds reaching his ears are growing sluggish. As if they're toppling down a hill and crashing like water on rocks. As if somebody's pulling him away from the source relentlessly. The invisible chains around him tighten.

Edwin's hand disappears and the tunic falls back, and the man slips out of his sight.

"You're needed in –"

The unknown speaker suddenly chokes, as if struggling to find air, and after a heartbeat of silence the voice returns burning, burning.

Then there's a cry, a sharp ringing noise - a sword being brandished. Edwin raises his voice. A spell, Merlin realizes suddenly, he's reciting some spell.

"You're—you're magic!"

Shock makes the voice blue and faint.

"No, it cannot be," gasps the voice.

"Yes," the man says. Using that oddly calm voice. Indifferent. "Oh, do not look so surprised."

"What is a sorcerer doing in Camelot?"

Wait … that voice. Merlin recognizes it. Spitting the word sorcerer so heatedly, so full of hate … It is. It must be.

Arthur!

Part of him rejoices at the realization; another part of him doesn't want to accept it - Please don't let it be please don't let it be – because he doesn't want Arthur to see him like this, this weak and fragile and spread out. What if Arthur finds out his secrets? What if Arthur realizes now? What then?

"Uther Pendragon stole my parents," Edwin spits the name as if trying to crack it against the stone floor. "Through his hatred, he robbed my childhood from me, my freedom and my joy. Nothing but his death shall console me."

The Prince chokes at the truth, which also Merlin has begun to understand. "Morgana's sickness – you caused it! And my father's illness as well!"

"Yes. You see, however I would like to see him burn or have his head roll upon the flagstones, red with blood as he killed so many of my kin, this is the easiest way. Quietly, you see, then I'd have slipped out before dawn, proud of my achievement. I'd even have let you live, little Prince, had you not interrupted me."

There's shuffling, nearing footsteps – a shout. A battle-cry, hoarse from Arthur's throat, and Merlin can picture in his mind how the man might look, sword in hand, eyes dark. Then, there's a shouted word of the Old Religion and the soaring of fire. A cry - a thud, echoing in the chamber, out of reach.

Then a moment of silence, creeping in the shadows. Fear leaps at Merlin's throat. What if Arthur wasn't ...?!

"Just stand still," Edwin says; Merlin can hear the smirk. "That way it'll be easier for me to kill you."

Merlin can breathe again.

He's alive…!

A growl thunders from the base of Arthur's throat. "What have you done to Merlin?" he snarls. "What have you done to him?!"

His voice is so ferocious, like a wild beast's; a dragon's battle-roar – Merlin has never heard it like that before. So instinctive and even protective. He's never spoken Merlin's name in such a manner before, and a small warmth forms in the pit of the warlock's belly: there's hope.

But even if Arthur is armed with his sword and quick on his feet, he has no protection against magic. He needs to run damn it! But the stupid prat won't realize; he never backs down. If only Merlin could move…! His magic … he to reach his magic!

Edwin laughs roughly. "A mere servant mightn't be so precious to you, little Prince, once you find out their secrets."

Merlin closes his eyes tight, assembling his concentration. If Arthur distracts the scarred man long enough, then he could find and grasp it. The magic binds around him, paralyzing him, is slipping ever so slightly, as Edwin is growing occupied with fighting the Prince. If he could just -

"Release him, bastard!" Arthur demands. "Release him and release my father from whatever spell you've put on them and you shall be given a fair trial, as much as I'd rather kill you now. Or I'll cut you down where you stand!"

Just -

"A mere sword couldn't harm me. I'd like to see you try, Princeling."

- Almost, almost -

Edwin begins to speak another spell. One of the wall adornments in the room, an axe attached to a wall beneath an old shield, breaks loose from its fastenings. It hovers for a moment.

There's a loud clang: a shattering noise, something splitting apart. Arthur cries out.

There!

Every piece of furniture in the room begin to clatter against the floor and the walls; the invisible bindings fall away and crash to the ground like glass, and suddenly Merlin can move again. His eyes flash gold. Not a moment to lose, the warlock rolls off the medicine table and onto his feet, dragging a whole set of instruments and knifes down in the process.

The noise is shrill and loud. His ears are ringing. Dark spots dance before his eyes. The wave of raw magic just unleashed must've drained him; he grasps the nearest wall for support, dizzy. Something wet and hot escapes from his left ear – Merlin blinks dazedly as he fumbles to catch it. Blood stains his palm and a tiny black beetle slips down. He stares down at it, blinking stupidly, but there's no time to ponder now.

In the commotion, Edwin's words shatter on his tongue and he loses his balance. The axe trembles in mid-air, starting to fall down.

Taking this to his advantage, the Prince launches forward. His sword, Merlin realizes now, is shattered: pieces of metal is scattered about, and the hilt is useless in the Prince's hand. So Arthur grabs the axe. The scarred man stares, wide-eyed at the nearing blade, at Arthur's cold furious face – another spell trembles on his fingertips.

"Arthur! Watch out!" Merlin cries on reflex.

Magic thrums against the walls.

That mere second of hesitation is all Arthur needs to finish his move. The scarred man falls down, blood splattering on the stone; Merlin turns his face away. The body makes a heavy wet sound as it hits the floor.

It remains unmoving.

Then, there's silence. The Prince's ragged breaths echo in the chamber. Wordlessly, he stares down at the body, as if making sure the man truly is dead. The weapon, tainted by death, remains in his hand. The stillness is eerie.

Merlin holds his breath, his stomach threatening to upturn itself.

The blood … all that blood …

Arthur turns to face him, slowly. His mouth opens to speak – Merlin instinctively takes a step back at the sight of that lethal burning fury, of the bloodied axe. Had he seen? Had he realized? Had he -

"You fool!" Arthur shouts. "You – you utter idiot! What were you doing here?! Are you daft?"

At the accusation, Merlin blinks at him confused.

… What?

"I … Hey! That's unfair," Merlin manages to defend himself, albeit weakly, still staring at the Prince perplexed. Why isn't Arthur accusing him for using magic? Why's he calling him an idiot, not a traitor? Merlin's pretty sure he's a traitor and that if Arthur knew about that, the Prince wouldn't call him "daft" – no, Arthur would, armed with his sword, not hesitate. Why would he? He hates all magic, as he has been raised to do. Surely Arthur wouldn't call him "daft" just to arrest him. No, there'd be more pure hatred burning in his eyes and –

"I'm not daft! E-Edwin –" Saying the name, merely thinking it, makes him tremble. " – He said he could cure anything."

"Cure -? Wait, you're ill!?"

Arthur's eyes widen. It would have been rather comical, if not for the cold and the axe and the blood – oh god, the blood, splattered onto the stone and the man's clothes. "So you went to him and not to Gaius and let him put a spell on you?! You, you fool!"

Merlin glares at him on instinct. "I hardly just let him! How were I supposed to stop -"

Sharply he bites his tongue. It's a lie, a blatant lie. Because he could've known. He could've used his own magic and not let Edwin take control of him like that; could've fought back earlier, before Edwin slithered that beetle inside …

A wide range of emotions flashes across Arthur's face in the blink of an eye, conflicting with one another; anger and relief and something else which Merlin cannot read.

"I didn't know he had magic," he says instead. "If I knew, I wouldn't have gone to him!"

Lies, lies, lies.

"Your father ... you said the King has Morgana's illness," he says instead, suddenly wanting Arthur to look away from him – those burning eyes are becoming unnerving. "Gaius should -"

"He has been alerted already and is with him right now. That is why I came here, to find Edwin to assist him, since the illness is like Morgana's. But perhaps the spell died along the sorcerer," the Prince spits the last word with loathing, and Merlin averts his eyes. Sudden sharp shame wells in his chest.

If he weren't such a lying coward, this wouldn't have happened.

"Well, it hardly matters now. He is dead, and Gaius must find some other cure. I can't believe ... I can't believe Edwin caused all this from the beginning."

The Prince steps over the body – oh god, the body; Arthur just killed a man ruthlessly and wordlessly right before his eyes. And while Merlin has seen a man being killed by a sword before, as the Prince killed Valiant in the tournament, he has never seen it this close or brutally, or seen the Prince so taciturn before, his hand gripping the hilt of the weapon harshly, knuckles white. His eyes …

For a moment Arthur's eyes were entirely unfamiliar.

It's frightening to know Arthur can do that.

He sounds so oddly collected, albeit there's a sharp edge to his tone. Worry? Why's Arthur worried? Arthur is many things, but not worried about a servant. It's confusing and a thousand other things, and Merlin staggers against the wall, overwhelmed by the thrumming of his heart and the loud rushing sound past his ears and the blood, the blood.

"Merlin … your ear is bleeding. We must get you to Gaius. Come on." The Prince grabs his arm using his left hand, the one that hadn't wielded the axe. The grip is warm and steadying and somewhat comforting.

Arthur drops the axe onto the floor on the way out. Merlin dares not glance over his shoulder as the door shuts.

()()()

The guard in the next corridor stops short at the sight of them, fisting his spear tightly in shock.

"Sire? What's happened?" the man asks, wide eyes taking in the Prince's ruffled clothes and the traces of blood, and the slightly slumped servant following the Prince like in a daze. "Sire?"

"Alert the guard. Edwin has betrayed us: his body is in the chambers assigned for him. And send for sir Leon and sir Bedivere! Tell them to go to my fa—no, to the council chambers. The council chambers, now at once," Arthur orders rapidly, and a thousand questions must rest of the guard's tongue, but the Prince's look silences him. "I shall meet with them there shortly. Has Gaius passed this way?"

"Yes sire," the guard replies distractedly. "Not long ago; he went toward the west wing of the castle."

Arthur nods: that is where his father's rooms lie. "Good. Now hurry!"

The guard obediently scurries away and Arthur tugs on the servant's arm, bringing him back to awareness.

"Come, Merlin," the Prince mutters. "Merlin! Don't just stand there."

Unable to speak, Merlin just nods jerkily and follows, feet moving mechanically beneath him, the stone-floor cold.

()()()

Quickly Gaius rises to his feet from sitting at the King's bedside as the door slams open. The old man freezes at the sight of them: Arthur's dark and dangerous expression, his sword yet unsheathed, and Merlin's pale face, gaunt knuckles white.

"What's happened?" the old man exclaims, startled. "Sire? Merlin? Your ear…"

"I found him at Edwin's rooms. Gaius, he was a deceiver – he used magic all along," the Prince says, tone cold. "You were right to doubt him."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. When I went to fetch Edwin, Merlin was there – he was just lying there all still -" The Prince draws a sharp breath at the memory despite silently promising himself not to lose control.

"It hurt," Merlin gasps suddenly. "It hurt so much and … and I couldn't move." His uncle sends him a concerned look, laying a steadying gnarled hand on his back.

The Prince's frown deepens. "When I arrived, Edwin attempted to use magic to kill me. However one of his spells must've gone wrong, for the very ground seemed to tremble for a moment. I couldn't wait for reinforcements or try to subdue him and let him face trial, for I knew he'd fight until death. There was no choice."

"So he is dead then?" Gaius asks gravely. For some reason Merlin cannot entirely understand, there's relief in his eyes.

Arthur nods. "Yes. I've alerted the guard as well; they are to escort the body away. I'll need to speak with my men and assemble the council. We mustn't let the public find out like this about Edwin's death: it'd only cause panic. Leon and Bedivere are to meet me in the council chambers shortly."

Gaius nods.

The physician casts yet another worried glance at his nephew, grabbing the young shoulders. Merlin tries to smile, to tell him it's all right, that it's fine, that everything's all right now, but he's exhausted and hurting and there's an inexplicable grief clawing at his insides, sharp and unforgiving.

It's not merely the shock – it's the loss of the hope which Edwin first had sparked, that candle which Gaius had advised him against lighting. If not for Arthur he'd have lost his magic, and for that he's grateful, but …

But Edwin's words, his promises, his cure. His cure. If not for his magic, Edwin mightn't have … have done what he did. Tried to do. If not for his magic, Edwin might have made his body normal.

Anything. Anything …

Trying to convey this to Gaius with one look and no word is not possible, and the weak smile fades, no sound managing to leave his throat. Now the shock is starting to settle, it is giving away for a strong wave of anguish, and he has an urge to start weeping. But he can't. He can't because he can't deal with Gaius or anyone else asking questions now. He doesn't want to be pitied either, he just wants to be held for a while and be given a chance to forget all this happened.

Gaius leads him to a chair to sit. Meanwhile, Arthur walks up to his father, feeling the man's brow.

"Gaius, what's wrong with him? Can you heal him?"

"His symptoms are exactly like Morgana's were: fever, paralysis ... Given we can't know Edwin's cure now, I do not know what to do." The physician looks pained.

A string of foul words leave the Prince's mouth – he starts pacing, looking ready to face down an army unarmed and single-handed. "There must be something, Gaius!"

Merlin watches the two with a distant gaze, yet processing all that's happened in the last hour. But through the haze, the thought strikes him:

The beetle.

"Gaius," Merlin gasps. "Gaius, look!" He holds out his hand, unknotting it, and yet resting at the centre of the palm, stained with red, is a small black creature. It's still as death.

Gaius and Arthur both see this, and the old man kneels before him, eyes wide. "Merlin, how did it get there?"

"My ear. When Edwin …" He chokes on the memory. "He put it there. It hurt, and then, when Arthur came into the room, when Edwin tried to – when he tried using magic, I could suddenly move, and then there was blood running from my ear and the beetle fell into my hand."

The Prince blanches. "When Morgana was cured…there was blood in her ear too," he murmurs quietly, realizing that which Gaius must have too, and the old man might have suspected this for some time now. He stares at the servant, horrified at the realization: "He tried to give you the illness!"

Another string of foul words that Merlin hasn't even heard Arthur say before is uttered, Arthur grabbing the back of the nearest chair, leaning against it, knuckles white.

"Mayhap the beetle was cause of the illness itself. How he put the beetle first in Morgana's ear I don't know, but he might have removed it, caused her to wake up. And when the beetle fell from you ear, Merlin, you suddenly had control of your body again," Gaius says and looks up at Arthur. "Now you tell me he did have magic, it makes sense. He could have used some spell to hide the beetle and make it obey his command."

"How do we stop it? There's a beetle inside my father's head! We must get it out!"

The frantic, almost mad tone of the Prince makes Gaius wince.

"Sire, you must calm down," the old man says gently, soothingly. "You must meet with sir Leon and sir Bedivere in the council chambers, remember? You cannot go to them in this state."

"You're right," Arthur mutters, closing his eyes briefly and trying to fight the tantrum in his heart. "I just. Gaius, you must find a way. Father must be cured!"

If he isn't, if he isn't, are the underlying words; if he dies …

"I swear I shall do all in my power to cure him. We know the cause of the illness now; it's given us a head-start. Now go, sire. Assembly the council and try to keep them calm for now."

Focus. Focus.

Arthur opens his eyes again and sends a final despairing look at his father's unmoving body, and then, against the power of his will, his gaze travel to the pallet beside the cabinet where Merlin is sitting still huddled up in a position making him look quite fragile, and Arthur's throat tightens.

The servant, noticing his stare, looks up. Without a word, he nods. It's almost as if he's saying, 'Go - things'll get sorted, don't worry' - and amidst all doubt and fear, it gives Arthur hope.

"Please do anything you can to save him, Gaius," the Prince says and the old man nods. "I shall." Then the door closes behind the Prince, the clicking of his footsteps growing fainter and fainter.

Merlin stares at the still body of the King in despair. Before, when Morgana fell ill, Gaius was completely unable to help. Now, Edwin is dead. There's no one that can help. Nothing to do. What if the King dies? Arthur will be heartbroken and mad. He'll … Merlin doesn't want to think of it, and shudders.

A gnarled hand settles on his shoulder, startling him. "Gaius," he murmurs. "What are we going to do?"

"There is a way," the old man responds and Merlin stiffens, realizing.

"Surely...we can't! Gaius, if the King finds out...!" He sends his uncle a desperate glance.

"There are times when it is necessary."

He can't believe it. Gaius, who always tells him to be careful, is asking him to perform magic on the King himself! Even after knowing that magic was the reason for the ill itself! Overwhelmed by his guardian's faith and confidence in him, Merlin nearly loses his breath, and he stands frozen like confused. What is he to do? Gaius so earnestly trusts him to fix this. But how? He has no words – no spell – no path. And oh god, it is the very King of Camelot and Gaius wants him to do magic on the man…!

"I don't know how," he whispers. Unwillingly he glances at the shut door. What if the guards hear? What if Arthur returns, right when his magic is boiling?

Merlin isn't sure if he dares.

"Think, Merlin. The beetle fell from your ear. There must be a reason for that. A reason provoked by you-"

Merlin's brow furrows in concentration as he tries remembering the details. His pulse speeds up, his chest twinges: he can't get the images out of his head, the blood and Arthur's raging eyes, and it's difficult to concentrate.

"I … I didn't use any spell. Just reacted. It hurt and I couldn't move, and I fought back, trying to get free. Then – when I could move, my ear bled."

"Then you must do the same now," Gaius concludes. "Fight back." His voice is very calm and gentle. He guides him to sit on the bedside, facing the King. The old man's eyelids are heavy and his skin growing pale. In a way, he reminds Merlin of a ghost, a shadow of something past. He's never even been this close to the King, the man who beheads all magical beings, before – what if he wakes up? What will Uther do when finding him sitting there right before him, hands filled with magic and eyes glowing gold?

His gaze flickers, from the King's face to his hands. Taking a deep breath, he tries stifling his thundering heartbeat. He has to try. Has to try, for Arthur's sake.

This single thought in mind, he closes his eyes and reaches out. His magic is there – safe and warm as before, before … before it happened; it wraps securely around him and instead of forcing it with words and will, he lets it guide him.

The moments of silence following, even Gaius seems to hold his breath, and all is utterly still. The candle lights freeze, no longer flickering uncertainly on the bedside and outside it is completely dark. For a moment it is as if time has stopped.

Then, he finds it. A piece of magic, right before him. It is dark and tainted. And he can feel it so strongly now perhaps because Edwin is gone and can no longer shield it. Swiftly, Merlin's magic strikes, and he gasps staggeringly once the ordeal is over. His eyes open. There in his palm lies a tiny black beetle.

"You did it. You did it! Merlin, oh Merlin. I am so proud of you!"

Gaius' embrace is sudden and fierce, and Merlin relishes in the support. He feels suddenly drained. Then the physician takes the beetle from his hand and wraps it in a small piece of cloth.

"I'm tired," he mutters. His head hurts, and his stomach is still tying itself in knots. Arthur…how is he doing? His eyes had been so wild, so filled with concern, and the Prince can be so rash. Merlin doesn't know anything about politics or what one should do when one's King falls ill, but this is Arthur's father also, and the Prince might be feeling alone. A sudden urge grabs him to go down the hall, toward the council chambers unbidden and see if Arthur is any calmer now than half an hour ago. The feeling fights with his tiredness for a moment.

"Go home and rest," Gaius advises, unaware of his inner battle.

Merlin turns and walks out of the door, not quite feeling the ground move beneath his feet; for a moment, by the crossroad in the corridor, he pauses. Left – home, to his bed – or right – to the council chambers, to Arthur?

Torn, he stares at the two stone arches. As he stands there, a passing by guard finds him and asks if everything all right, wondering what a servant is doing standing idly in a corridor past nightfall. He struggles to come up with a decent reply, murmuring something about going home; the guard nods, evidently not caring much. The guard, just like the majority of Camelot, has not yet heard of the King's illness or Edwin's death; he knows nothing of the uproar threatening to spill from Arthur's lips.

He makes up his mind then, and turns right. The prat may deny it for ever and ever, but he needs someone to just be there sometimes and tell him he's not alone.

()()()

Author's note (2): Arthur is an oblivious prat. Yes, I know. And I know I'm evil and whatnot for not letting him know the truth about the magic or Merlin's sex yet. But honestly, Merlin has used magic right in front of him in the series many times and Arthur's always remained completely oblivious. So while he might have hunches as to why Merlin has "something he can't quite put his finger on", he hasn't realized that Merlin has magic yet. Neither his sex. Besides he's very distracted right now, trying to deny/push away his feelings and dealing with his father's sudden illness. Oh sometimes I just want to hug him. Oh, poor Arthur ... and poor Merlin!