A/N: the fact that I wrote this should be attributed to Ocean Mint Leaves. I have really bad writers block, and it was thanks to her lovely message that I finally sat myself down and wrote something. So thank you, Ocean! :)

I'd like to thank all of you for your reviews, favorite and follows. It's amazing to have such positive feedback :)

Oh, by the way, MAGIC REVEAL guys! It's a bit of an odd one, I think, so it might not be so brilliant… but oh well, I wrote something, finally!

Title: Sunrise

Author: FlYiNgPiGlEtS

Summary: Arthur and Merlin take a moment to appreciate Albion, and the warlock thinks it's about time the king knew the truth.

Ratings: K+

Characters: Merlin and Arthur.

Pairings: Gwen/Arthur.

Spoilers: series 1-4 only, I think. Might be a quote or two from the finale inside. Set between series 4 and 5.

Warnings: none.

Disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

VII: Sunrise: Part I

It was sometime after Morgana's last attack on Camelot, when the city had recovered almost completely from her siege, that Merlin finally stopped to appreciate Albion.

He'd been working so hard for the last couple of months that he barely noticed the transformation that was happening around him. If he wasn't doing something for Arthur, Gaius needed herbs; and, when neither his mentor nor his king needed him, he could usually be found in the lower town, helping however he could in the reconstruction of the burnt or destroyed houses, fetching provisions and doing whatever he could for the needy people of Camelot. It was a wonder he found the energy, really, and went to bed each night thoroughly exhausted. But knowing that Camelot was prospering even after Morgana's latest blow, and that doing something as mundane as hauling bricks around or giving out the provisions Arthur had ordered be distributed during the harsher months was helping, made it well worth it.

So, for a while, Merlin's life continued like that – a whirlwind of rushing backwards and forwards, doing this and that, while Camelot settled into a semblance of normality. Arthur and Guinevere settled quickly into their roles as monarchs and were happier than ever. The knights were content as well, and even Gwaine had no intention of leaving anytime soon. While the knights were often busy with patrols or the vigorous training sessions Arthur put them through, when the king took a break from visiting those in need, their new lives were better than they could ever have imagines. But, despite their numerous tasks in the lower town, where Merlin, more often than not, was also helping, they didn't see the servant nearly as much as they used to, or would have liked.

Though even that was righted when, almost six months after Morgana's siege, Arthur held a feast to celebrate the completed reconstruction of the lower town and insisted Merlin joined the banquet, rather than served at it. The whole of Camelot was rejoicing, peasants and nobles alike, and Arthur was too happy to care that he was publicly displaying his friendship with his servant. After all, Merlin was a lot more than a servant to him and had helped not only the young king, but Camelot itself, so much that it was about time Arthur gave the warlock some credit.

Merlin sat among the knights, alongside his beaming king and flourishing queen, and they talked and drank (and even sung) through the night, until they stumbled back to their respective chambers in the early hours of the morning. It had been the perfect night.

Just because he'd been a part of the banquet, however, didn't mean Merlin was getting the day off, and Arthur had demanded his presence the morning after their jovial celebrations. Merlin had only slept an hour or so – which had become such a regular occurrence these days that it felt almost normal – before setting off, surprisingly early, to Arthur's chambers.

He walked – all right, stumbled, because he might have been a little hung over (but there was no way he was telling Arthur that) – slowly, appreciating the rays of sunlight that beamed through the open windows and the gentle breeze the swept softly through the corridors. It was peaceful. Only a few people were up at this hour and a comfortable calmness had settled over the sleepy Camelot. It was beautiful and Merlin, not far from the royal chambers, couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment, out of the large window that gave him an almost perfect view of the entire city and the countryside that surrounded it.

It was the first time he had looked properly at Camelot, in such a long time, and the first he truly saw Albion.

Sun bathed the hills and swaying trees. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted lightly with only a few fluffy white clouds, and the land below it was a lush, vibrant green. A distant river sparkled as it danced over smooth rocks and, in the bright light of the sun, the citadel seemed taller and more regal than ever, alight with the same lively glow as the leaping waters – a symbol of life and perseverance, of dependence and defiance. Camelot stood tall and proud, and Merlin felt, then, that there was nowhere he would rather be.

And suddenly, it was like everything had fallen into place. The peaceful and prosperous land before him was the Albion he had always dreamed of. This was what he had sacrificed so much for. This was Camelot's true Golden Age.

But there was something missing: magic. Merlin could feel it's presence in the earth now, more than ever, bubbling underneath the surface, stretching over the horizon and blanketing the earth much like the sun itself. It was returning to the land, slowly but surely, though the Once and Future King had yet to accept it, let alone permit it. Magic was growing restless, and so was Merlin.

He wanted Arthur to know the truth. No more secrets, no more lies. It was time.

But what if Arthur didn't accept his magic? What if he chose the wrong moment, or the wrong words? What if-?

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Merlin blinked and was rather startled to find that Arthur was standing beside him, staring out of the window with a small, proud smile. The king's eyes sparkled as he took in every inch of Camelot, filled with the same compassion that he ruled with. Not a single person would have doubted Arthur's love for Camelot, if they had seen the king's smile in that moment.

"Sometimes…" the sides of Arthur's lips tugged further upwards, as if his grin could barely contain itself. "Sometimes I look at all of this and find it hard to believe that it's real. There were times when I thought I would never be king; that I would never live to see this again. It seems like such a long time ago, now. All those fears, they seem so… pointless. When I look at Camelot, the way it is now, I know this is what I've always been fighting for. I'm proud that even when the odds were against us, we kept on fighting. This… it's more than I ever dreamed of."

Something swelled deep within Merlin's chest, a profound feeling of pride and understanding that the warlock knew dominated most of his own smile, and when Arthur glanced his way, the king couldn't contain his joy any longer, and his grin magnified like it had been trying so desperately to do during his confession. In that moment, there was nothing between them but respect and friendship, and they were equals.

They went back to sharing the view, standing in companionable silence, until, "Arthur?"

The king's eyes flickered his way and Merlin knew to continue.

"I have magic."

In hindsight, it might not have been the best time to tell the king his biggest secret. It had been a sudden, spur-of-the-moment decision; he'd barely realized he was actually going to say those words until he had. But there was no going back now.

Arthur looked somewhat confused, although amusement crept into his baffled expression. "What?"

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said, voice wobbling slightly. "I have magic."

Arthur threw his head back and laughed. Laughed! "Of course you are, Merlin."

"No, Arthur, I…"

Merlin fell silent as Arthur continued to chuckle, seeming deeply amused by his servant's confession, and not at all like he actually believed him. How many times, now, had Merlin claimed to be a sorcerer? Arthur was losing count. Of course, it couldn't possibly be true. If Merlin were a sorcerer, Arthur would surely know. And every other time he'd admitted – falsely, of course – to having magic, it had always been proven, somehow, that he didn't. Because Merlin having magic was just absurd. He couldn't walk in a straight line without falling over, for goodness sake.

But then his eyes were glowing gold and suddenly, the glowing azure ball, the same one that had helped him escape the spiders all those years ago, had appeared in Merlin's outstretched hand. There was no denying it – this was magic. Merlin had magic.

Merlin had magic.

Arthur took a shaky step backwards, out of shock and hurt and perhaps even fear, and for the first time in his life, he felt clumsy. His legs were disobeying him and he nearly ended up sprawled out across the floor. Thankfully, his knight instincts saved him from the particular indignity, but it was bad enough that he had so much as stumbled in front of the traitor he had once called a friend.

Merlin was looking at him with wide eyes, begging him to understand, begging him not to run, but that's all Arthur wanted to do. Why did it hurt so much? Why did Arthur's chest feel tight, and why were his eyes burning? Why did he feel so damn betrayed?

The man before him – the sorcerer before him – was nothing more than a servant. A traitorous, useless servant, not his friend; never his friend. No, that's not why it hurt. It hurt because magic was evil and surely, surely, this pain wasn't his own. It wasn't betrayal, like he had felt when Morgana turned against Camelot, or when he discovered Agravaine was working with his half-sister. He'd cared about those people; he had never cared about Merlin.

Merlin was doing this to him. It was a spell. It was all a spell. Somehow, Merlin was torturing him, even if his eyes weren't glowing that hideous gold; this hurt was his doing, some elaborate spell he had cast. All this time, Merlin had been enchanting him. Yes, it was obvious now.

"Arthur-" Merlin took a cautious step towards him.

Arthur stepped away. "You're not… you can't…" Those words weren't his. He didn't speak like that. He didn't sound so hurt, so weak, so vulnerable.

"Arthur, I'm sorry."

"No," the first denial came out as a whisper, but the next time it was a roar, so loud Arthur thought the whole palace might wake, "No!"

There were tears in Merlin's eyes and, as much as he hated it, Arthur knew his own eyes were watery. He took another step backwards, surer, no longer tripping over his own feet, and reached for his sword. A cruel voice was screaming for him to draw it, but he couldn't. And so, instead, he turned away from the tearful warlock and let his shoulders sag with the pain he felt so deeply within himself, that it seemed impossible for it to be real. This pain was so unnatural, so foreign, that Merlin was obviously enchanting him to feel it, because king's were not allowed to feel so broken.

"Leave me," Arthur said finally, voice tense.

"Your…. Don't you want your breakfast?" Merlin mutters.

Something inside Arthur wanted to laugh at that. Merlin was still thinking about breakfast, of all things. But then he remembered that this wasn't the Merlin he knew. This was Merlin the sorcerer, who had betrayed Camelot, who had betrayed him. "Go," he ordered.

Merlin didn't move. Time passed, but they both stood frozen, firm. Then Arthur spun around, finally finding the courage to draw his sword and point it at Merlin's throat. They were both shaking.

"Leave," Arthur growled.

Again, Merlin didn't move.

"Leave now, and I will spare your life!" Arthur bellowed, but he sounded almost as though he was begging. Excalibur was trembling in his hands.

Merlin swallowed, Adam's apple coming dangerously close to Arthur's blade. "No."

Arthur's chest heaved as he drew the sword back, as if to strike. Merlin's eyes were wide and his tears flowed freely down his cheeks, but he didn't make a move to stop Arthur. The king drew a deep breath…

… And lowered Excalibur, arms falling limply to his sides. He couldn't kill Merlin. But he would not allow the sorcerer to go unpunished.

"Get out of my sight," Arthur snapped. "I want you gone by sunrise tomorrow. If I find that you are still in Camelot, I will have you executed."

He couldn't bear to look into Merlin's pained eyes any longer. Arthur turned his back and walked away, because he knew that no amount of yelling would make Merlin go willingly. He always stayed, no mater what.

And the logical part of his mind was already telling him that that was not the behavior of a traitor.

End of Part I

Okay... not exactly what I expected to write, but hopefully it turned out all right. Next part will have more of a discussion about Merlin's magic - maybe a trip to the tavern, even...

They'll only be two parts to this. It was meant to be a one-shot, until I realised it was going to be too long. That happens often, I'm afraid. At least it's not five parts, like the last one... the length of 'Portents and Prophecies' was defiantly underestimated, by a long shot.

Reviews always appreciated. I would also be grateful for any prompts you guys might have. Is there anything you want me to write? I'd be happy to do it, as long as it's a reasonable request :)