A/N: Behold, chapter ten! Are you ready for BROMANCE OVERLOAD?

Chapter Ten: Steel and Spell

Merlin woke up almost…warm and wasn't sure why. Something was around him, but not those chains…cloth? Had he gotten free of the chains then? Did Arthur—

Arthur knew.

Merlin's eyes opened as he tried to get up, then widened in panic as he couldn't. He was trapped in some kind of tunnel with something pressed up against his back that shifted a little as he twisted to see behind him…a body? Arthur?

Arthur knew.

Merlin wiggled for all he was worth, not caring if he woke Arthur, not even caring where they were. He just needed to breathe, and he needed to breathe now.

He gasped as he squeezed his way out from between Arthur and the wall of what he could now see was a hollow space in the side of a small cliff. Fresh, cold air rushed into his lungs as he sunk to the ground and took in great, heaving breaths.

When he finally calmed down, he surveyed the area. They were in the middle of the woods somewhere, not very close to Camelot, but neither did it seem they were near where Gwil had kept them either. Merlin guessed it was a few hours after dawn—a thin layer of frost covered the ground, but he could tell most of it had already melted. He shivered. How had he not frozen to death?

He cast his eyes around until they landed on the dark red cloth that had fallen off in his attempt to reach fresh air. The padding jacket for Arthur's chainmail. Suddenly Merlin realized his own jacket was missing. He must have lost it somehow during the escape.

He bent down to pick up the jacket and glanced up at Arthur, who was down to only a shirt and was shivering in his sleep. Merlin tucked the jacket over him, gaze softening. Arthur looked almost vulnerable in sleep, with no armor or chainmail, clutching a thick branch like a child would clutch a blanket.

Merlin frowned. Arthur also looked utterly exhausted. Had he been injured during the escape? Merlin didn't really remember much. It was all sort of a jumbled up mess in his head—But he remembered Arthur kicking him, Arthur hating him…

No. No, Arthur didn't hate him. Arthur had given him his jacket; he hadn't wanted Merlin to die. Unless Arthur just wanted to keep him alive so he could be properly executed in Camelot…

No. That wasn't Arthur. Merlin massaged his aching head, trying to piece together what had happened from the fuzzy fragments floating in his mind. Arthur had hated him, but it wasn't actually Arthur, and then he had tried to kill Arthur, but he hadn't realized it was Arthur, and then he'd let Arthur-who-wasn't-really-Arthur be buried under rubble, and then he'd healed Arthur-who-really-was-Arthur, and they'd been running…

He shivered, but not just with the cold. He'd come so close to killing Arthur, closer than he'd come when he was possessed by the Fomorrah, so close it terrified him. And now…Arthur had not only seen him using magic; he had seen Merlin using it to kill. And not only to kill, but to kill Arthur. How could Arthur ever forgive him?

But…Merlin strained to remember. Arthur had forgiven him, hadn't he? He'd said so.

Merlin was going to be sick if he thought about it any longer, so he rubbed his eyes and then hugged himself, patting down his arms. His arms prickled, as did the rest of him, like when he sat on his foot funny, but over his entire body. It wasn't quite painful, but it was unpleasant. He was sure it was his magic, churning inside him wanting to do something but not quite ready to do anything.

But at least his magic was back, he repeated to himself as he tried to rub some warmth back into his arms. His magic was back and he was fine and Arthur was fine and everything was going to be fine…

But the mantra didn't stop his hands from trembling as he gathered as much firewood as he could without letting Arthur out of his sight. He started to fumble with some stones to light the fire, but then cast them away. Tentatively he stretched forth his hand at the small pile of wood, and hesitated a moment. His body prickled more than ever, ready to release the magic, but what if it didn't work? Finally, he took a deep breath and whispered, "Forbearne."

A fire roared to life in his small wood pile, crackling with relieving warmth. Merlin let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as the heat washed over him. His magic really was back. And the tingling in his body had started to subside.

Out of habit, he cast a quick glance at the sleeping Arthur to make sure the king hadn't seen the fire spring to life by magic.

Arthur's eyes were open, studying him thoughtfully.

Merlin knew that Arthur already knew about the magic, but a lifetime of secrecy made him jolt to attention, lies leaving his lips without thought. "I can explain—"

The corner of Arthur's lips twitched. "Can you now?"

Merlin's heart pounded. There was no denying it now. He was going to have to tell Arthur everything. And he would. Because Arthur deserved to know that much, and Merlin didn't think he could lie anymore.

"Arthur, I have magic."

Arthur gave him an incredulous stare as he sat up.

"I know you know already," Merlin continued, trying to keep the words from pouring out too fast in terror. "But I just…I wanted to tell you. I didn't want you to find out like that. I meant to tell you. There were so many times I almost did, but…"

Arthur lumbered over to the fire, pulling the jacket off his shoulders. "Shut up. And put this back on."

"No, I'm fine, you—"

"Put it back on."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur just huffed and yanked it around Merlin's shoulders himself, then plopped down to sit next to him.

Merlin forced himself not to scoot away as he watched Arthur rubbing his hands before the fire. "Why give me this?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Are you really asking me that question?"

Merlin shrunk further inside the jacket, not trusting himself to meet Arthur's eyes.

"Well, at least I know the idiot part wasn't an act. I gave you that, Merlin, because you're my friend and I don't want you to freeze to death. And what are you even doing, making this?" Arthur gestured at the fire. "Bad enough you made that light last night—"

"I what?"

Arthur repeated slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton, "The light. The big, blue one. The same one I saw when I went after that Mortaeus flower. That you made."

"…Oh." Merlin felt his cheeks reddening. "Erm, was I dying then? Because last time, Gaius said he thought it was because my magic was trying to protect you. Like a last resort, survival instinct sort of thing."

"You conjured a ball of light because you were dying," Arthur said flatly.

"Because you were in danger and I couldn't help. So was I?"

"What?"

"Dying."

"Yeah. Yeah, you were. Your…dragon did something to heal you and said you were supposed to rest. So what are you doing magic for?"

Merlin's throat went dry. He didn't remember calling Kilgharrah, but apparently, he had. "You talked to him?"

"Well, I tried. It flew off before I could get a straight sentence out of it. And we're going to have words about that bloody beast later, but you still haven't answered my question. Why aren't you resting?"

Merlin cast around, trying to relate the magic to something Arthur would understand. "It's like…starving. When a man goes too long without food, his body can't take too much and you have to give him just a bit of food, a little at a time, or he'll get sick. So before, I'd only just gotten it back and then I used so much of it…"

Relief washed over Arthur's face. "So you'll be fine as long as you don't use too much."

"Until I get better. Using it is actually helping, just not, you know, all at once."

Arthur stared at him in puzzlement, and Merlin squirmed under his gaze.

"It's really part of you, isn't it?" the king said.

Merlin nodded, trembling slightly. He couldn't believe he was sitting here, having this conversation. "It is me. I'm not just a sorcerer, I'm a warlock. I was born with it."

"Gwil called you that. Warlock."

"I'm sorry."

At this, Arthur looked even more puzzled. "Sorry for saving my life?"

"No, never that! Just…sorry for everything else. Sorry I lied to you for so long. Sorry you were captured. This was all my fault, and I almost got you killed. I almost killed you."

"Merlin…"

"I didn't mean to. I'd never hurt you, Arthur, you have to believe that. That's what the magic's for, you and Camelot and I—"

"Merlin, will you ever learn to shut up?"

Merlin cast his eyes at the ground and pulled the jacket a bit tighter around his shoulders.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Merlin's voice sounded hoarse to his ears. "Oh, Arthur, I have so much to be sorry for."

"Then I forgive you. I've already forgiven you."

"But you don't know what I've done."

"It can hardly be worse than lying to me for this long."

"I released the Great Dragon."

"I figured you did."

"He told you?"

"No. But he told me about your father, and he told me how you sent him away. So really, you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Your father's dead because of me. I killed him."

"You—wait, what? Don't be ridiculous, you weren't even there! It was that old sorcerer—"

"I was the old sorcerer. I used an aging spell."

"But you—but you…You were gone when I questioned him." Arthur's face flashed from comprehension to shock to anger in quick succession. No hatred, not yet, but Merlin knew it was coming. "But you were in the woods, you were…"

"Peeing?" Merlin said in a hollow laugh. "For that long?"

"But you…but you're good. You wouldn't…"

"I did," Merlin said miserably. He braced himself for the inevitable moment when Arthur turned on him.

But instead of shouting abuses, Arthur was quiet. "No, you wouldn't. You had every reason to kill him before, but you never did. You even stopped me from killing him once. And even if, for some reason, you didn't have the courage to kill him yourself, all you had to do was let him die. Why go to all that trouble of disguising yourself and making false promises unless you were actually trying to save him?"

Merlin couldn't move. His breath bottled inside his chest, even though he knew he couldn't dare hope Arthur would understand.

"You tried to save a man who would have had you killed for doing so. Why?"

"I thought…Maybe if I healed him, you would see the good magic could do. And he was your father. You would have been devastated. You were devastated. And I was so close. It almost worked…"

Arthur nodded, his face pained with the memory. "What went wrong?"

"Morgana. There was an amulet around your father's neck that reversed the effects of my magic. Probably Agravaine's doing, now that I think about it."

"You healed him," Arthur remembered, "He was getting better…"

"But then the amulet kicked in."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Merlin jerked his head up to glare at him. "How was I supposed to do that without telling you who I was, what I am? You would have killed me! And…and it was my fault. I should have sensed the amulet. I should have stopped it."

"No. If what you're saying is true, and I believe it is, then none of it was your fault."

"Morgana is my fault. You think she really was held in some cell for a year?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "You think she'd already turned against us?"

"She'd turned against us long before that. She was the anchor for the spell that made everyone sleep. Which is why…" Merlin struggled to keep his voice level. "Which is why I poisoned her that night. I traded the poison to Morgause in exchange for the knights stopping their attack. If there was any trace of the Morgana we knew left, she died after a year of Morgause's influence. Morgana's hated me ever since then…and I don't blame her."

Arthur was silent for a long while. Merlin couldn't bear watching him and finally just closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing under control. He could hear Gaius's voice in the back of his mind, worriedly telling him off for being such a fool, for not softening the blow of this revelation. But while most of Merlin was terrified and on the brink of pleading for forgiveness, a part of him, the part that still flinched if Arthur made a sudden movement, was more resigned. He had lied to Arthur and nearly killed him. And as many times as he had saved Arthur, his mistakes had hurt Arthur in more ways than one. Everything he'd ever done wrong hadn't just blown up in his face; it had blown up in Arthur's as well. Arthur had every reason to hate him, and Merlin knew he had to brace himself for Arthur to hate him…again. It had hurt so much the first time when it had been Gwil disguised as Arthur; Merlin didn't dare let himself hope for fear he'd be crushed again.

Arthur finally broke the silence, making Merlin nearly jump. "That was her, wasn't it."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"Guinevere," Arthur said, as if that was enough explanation.

Merlin gave him a look that clearly said Elaborate, you clotpole.

Arthur rolled his eyes briefly. "The poultice under my pillow. My father was going to have Guinevere executed for enchanting me, and then the old sorcerer—you—turned out to be behind the poultice. I always thought it was strange, because I was never under any enchantment. But it makes sense now. Morgana framed Guinevere, and you took the fall for it." Merlin couldn't bring himself to say anything, but Arthur seemed to take that as confirmation. "I almost burnt you at the stake."

Merlin shrugged. "Almost. Best word in that sentence, wouldn't you say?"

"I almost killed you! You'd just saved Guinevere and I almost…How do you not hate me?"

Now Merlin just stared. "Hate you?"

Arthur buried his head in his hands. "No wonder you never trusted me. I don't deserve it."

"I do trust you. I trust you with my life."

"But not with this. Not with what you could do, what you have done for me."

"Look, it's not…" Merlin made a frustrated sound. "It's not like that. At first, no, of course I didn't tell you, because you would have had me executed. And then I didn't tell you because I wasn't going to make you choose between me and your father. And then I always thought I'd tell you when you became king, but I couldn't tell you after Uther died like that. And then…And then I didn't tell you because I was a coward."

"A coward? You're the bravest man I know. Braver than me, even."

Merlin swallowed. "A compliment? Who are you and what have you done with Arthur?"

Arthur flinched, and Merlin's eyes widened a split second later as he realized why. "Sorry, that wasn't funny."

The tension left Arthur's shoulders as he gave Merlin a shove that nearly knocked the warlock over. "What have I told you about being funny?"

Merlin's lips twitched into the beginning of a smile. "I shouldn't."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, letting the fire as well as the ascending sun warm their frigid limbs. But the warmth spreading through Merlin's chest had nothing to do with the fire or the jacket, no matter how much he tried to keep his hope from swelling.

"I am a coward, though," Merlin said finally. "I was afraid that you'd hate me and banish me. And I can't protect you if I'm banished."

"If I banished you, why would you even want to?"

"Because you're my friend. The best. You really don't hate me?"

Arthur's lips curled in a half-smile. "Of course not. But you're an idiot. Really. The worst idiot I've ever come across."

"…Thanks."

"Worst idiot, but best friend. So I think I'll take you anyway. Just…I hope someday you'll be able to forgive me."

"Already done, you prat."

Arthur let out his breath in a whoosh. He sounded relieved. "I'll make it up to you. I'll…I can't legalize magic. I mean—" he backtracked quickly as Merlin's face fell. "Not immediately. I don't know if Camelot's ready for that. I'll have to ease them into it. But I will repeal the ban, Merlin, I promise you."

Merlin heard the words like cymbals crashing in his ears. His legs felt weak, and if he hadn't already been sitting, he surely would have collapsed to the ground. "I…thank you, Arthur. Thank you."

"Don't. I'm the one who owes you thanks."

"…Sorry, could you say that again?"

"Merlin."

"I mean, thanks and compliments in the same day? This moment will be remembered throughout the ages..."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Of course, sire. You shan't hear another word. I shall leave you to the blissful silence of your own dollopy thoughts—"

"Dollopy?"

"Well, how else would you describe what goes on in a dollophead?"

Before Arthur could retaliate, his stomach suddenly let loose an embarrassingly loud growl, which of course only made Merlin unsuccessfully struggle to choke back his laugh.

Arthur's cheeks flushed slightly. "That was you."

"No it wasn't!"

Arthur drew himself up with as much kingly dignity as he could muster. "Of course it was. You're skin and bones. Obviously, you need food."

"Might do. Do you suppose there's an apple pie around here somewhere? I could eat a pie. Or dumplings. Or pork."

Arthur scoffed in disgust as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. "More like rat."

Merlin's limbs protested as he started to get to his feet too, but he ignored them. "Still bitter about that, are you?"

"Merlin, what are you doing?"

"…Getting food?"

"No, you're staying here. I'll get the food."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're injured."

"But I'm fine now, look!" Merlin took off the jacket and waved his arms around a bit. "See? Fine. Absolutely—" He tried to take a step, overbalanced, and nearly fell flat on his face.

Arthur pushed him back to sit on the ground and rewrapped the jacket around him with a smirk. "Sit. Stay. And try not to fall over like the swooning maiden you are."

"Don't tell me you're going hunting with that?" Merlin waved a disparaging hand at the stick Arthur had been reluctant to let go of since last night. "That thing's going to be useless."

"Well, unless you can—unless you can—"

"What?!"

"Magic me up a sword—"

"I can't just magic you up anything, it doesn't work like that!"

"Some sorcerer you turned out to be. Idiot."

"I'm not the one trying to take down rabbits with a branch."

Arthur pointed the branch at him in a mock threat. "Stay there. Don't move. Rest. That's an order. I'll be right back with food. And hopefully water."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes sire, whatever you say, sire. Just go kill us something, sire, and hurry back, will you, sire?"

Arthur was already wandering off into the woods as he called back, "Think you're missing another 'sire' in there somewhere."

"Try not to get yourself killed, clotpole!"

Arthur laughed and twirled his stick around once, like he'd forgotten it wasn't a real sword. "That's better." And he turned and strode off into the forest.

Merlin watched Arthur's retreating back until the king disappeared. Then he rubbed his stiff fingers in front of the fire. His feet tapped at the ground, itching to run after his friend, but Merlin forced himself to stay put, trying not to think of the many ways in which Arthur might get hurt alone and practically unarmed in the woods. Oddly familiar woods…hadn't he run into serkets around here somewhere once?

No. He shoved the thought from his mind. Arthur was fine. Arthur was perfectly capable of handling himself.

And besides, Merlin didn't want to worry so much when he suddenly had so much else to be happy about. He didn't have to hide from Arthur anymore. Arthur knew about his magic. He was going to repeal the ban. Merlin was free.

He pointed his hand at the fire, and the flames surged higher, radiating blessed heat. Unable to keep the grin off his face, Merlin twirled and twisted the smoke into shapes, just because he could. The flames danced at his word, breathing fire out of his smoke dragon's mouth.

A twig snapped behind him. The dragon vanished as he whirled, his heart pounding as he inspected the trees.

Nothing. The tension left his shoulders as he scolded himself. He'd been scared for so long that now he was jumpy. It must have been an animal or something. If it got close enough, perhaps he'd be able to catch it with magic. He doubted Arthur was having any luck hunting things with a tree branch, after all.

He peered harder into the trees, but didn't see a deer or a squirrel or anything edible, and sighed in disappointment. The things he would do for some food…not to mention water. His throat burned from thirst.

And for the love of Camelot, was his body ever going to prickling?

He curled the jacket tighter around himself and turned back to the fire, composing an insult for Arthur about the length of his absence.

That was when the attackers swarmed from the trees.

As Merlin had predicted, Arthur was not having much luck with hunting.

He trudged through the forest, swinging his stick aimlessly, testing its weight in his hand. He dearly wanted to clobber something, because clobbering was simple and satisfying. His thoughts, on the other hand, were turbulent.

He'd meant every word he said to Merlin—he did forgive him, and he would repeal the ban. But now that some sense of normalcy had returned, now that Merlin was no longer on the brink of death and Arthur felt the security of a weapon in his hand again, he was beginning to realize what he'd gotten himself and his kingdom into. Nothing was ever going to be the same again, and Arthur would have to deal with the consequences of bringing a known sorcerer—warlock—back to Camelot. How would Camelot react?

For starters, Arthur knew that his beloved Guinevere, despite her gentleness, had a healthy wariness of magic. Like Arthur, she had blamed Morgana's descent into darkness on magic. And magic had indirectly caused her father's death, as Uther had had him executed for sorcery. Still, Arthur was sure she would support him in his decision to repeal the ban, especially if he revealed Merlin's magic. She was always the first to tell him to rule with a kind and trusting heart, and how could he possibly do that if there were good, innocent magic-users being killed in his kingdom?

On the other hand, the majority of his council would be outraged, and likely remind him that Uther would have had Merlin banished if not outright executed, regardless of what the warlock had done for Arthur or the kingdom. Arthur knew his father would have said he couldn't tell the mind of a sorcerer, but that had always seemed a flimsy excuse—and never more flimsy than it did now. If Arthur knew one thing, it was that Merlin was too loyal for his own good. And what he'd told Merlin was true: he was not his father, even if he was just beginning to realize that that was a good thing.

Most of all Arthur worried about Camelot's people. How many of them truly believed in the magic-hating falsehoods Uther had preached for the last two decades? Would they revolt for fear that their king had unleashed a wave of murdering sorcerers upon them? Or perhaps they would welcome magic back into the kingdom. If Merlin could hide right under both Pendragon and knights' noses for years without being caught using magic, how many peasants in the outer villages or even in the lower town of Camelot itself might have managed to hide? Perhaps Arthur would lift the ban only to discover that he had been living amidst a slew of sorcerers.

That thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. After all, he had been taught since birth that magic was evil. And though he knew without a doubt that Merlin was not evil, the way Merlin's eyes had glowed and the unfamiliar words falling off Merlin's lips just felt so…not normal. Normal wasn't Merlin lighting fires with a word. Normal wasn't seeing Merlin's eyes glow that unearthly gold. Normal wasn't Merlin conjuring balls of light when he was dying. Normal wasn't riding on a dragon or speaking to one. It just seemed so unnatural for something Arthur had always thought of as so evil to be coming from someone he'd always thought to be so good. And to imagine a whole kingdom, his kingdom, teeming with sorcerers filled his gut with dread.

But he'd have to overcome that, wouldn't he? Merlin deserved that much. His people deserved that much.

Arthur was torn from his thoughts by a rustle in the distance. Instantly his body reacted, crouching behind a tree. He held his branch at the ready. His stomach roared with anticipation. Breakfast had arrived.

But he hesitated as the rustling soon gave way to quiet voices.

"…Sword's getting dull. Think I need a new one."

"Quiet, we're getting close."

"Oh, what's the point? Got them surrounded, don't we? Not like there's anywhere for them to run."

Arthur's grip on his stick tightened. Bandits. Bandits on the verge of attacking a camp. And the only nearby camp was…

Arthur's stomach dropped as he thought of the fire, made with Merlin's magic. How could he have been so thick? He'd been so distracted by the way the fire had been started that he'd forgotten what it might bring. And he'd left an injured Merlin right next to it, alone and undefended except for his recovering magic. More than left—he'd ordered him to stay there, with a smoke signal attracting the attention of every bandit out for blood like wolves to a limping doe.

And he called Merlin the idiot.

The voices were coming closer. Arthur didn't think, just reacted. He leapt out as the two bandits passed, clobbering one from behind and shoving him into his fellow, then running straight for the campsite. He could hear the shouts behind him, but he was desperate to reach his injured friend and even lighter than usual with no armor or chainmail, so he quickly left them behind. It didn't matter if they followed him; they already knew where he was headed. Where Merlin was.

"Merlin!" He careened back into the campsite and froze, open-mouthed at the sight before him.

Merlin stood by the extinguished fire, bodies scattered around him. He turned his head to look back at Arthur, and his face lit up. "Where have you been, you prat?!"

"Behind you!" Arthur yelled, snapping from his daze and dashing towards Merlin, stick raised.

Merlin whirled in time to see a sword swinging straight at his face. He threw his hand in front of him to block the blade, and the bandit was blasted backwards into a tree. The bandit's sword flew elegantly from his hand and into Merlin's. The warlock held it out to Arthur as he reached him.

"I got you a sword. Do you like it?"

Arthur snatched the hilt and whirled to stab a man coming up behind him. "Needs a polish."

"Why can you never just say thanks?"

Another wave of bandits raced towards them, enraged at the loss of their fellows, and Arthur felt the ever-familiar surge of energy rush through him, ready for the fight. At his back he felt Merlin there, present as ever. Arthur's sword flashed as he swung with trained precision, felling enemies with ease and knowing without looking that Merlin was doing the same right behind him. Without conscious thought, both men fell into step, as Arthur whirled to stab an oncoming bandit and as he saw arrows divert their course from the corner of his eye. Approaching bandits howled as they dropped their weapons, the hilts of their swords inexplicably glowing red. The forest came alive, tree roots snaking out of the ground to snatch unsuspecting ankles.

And through it all, Arthur fought, dodging and attacking in practiced rhythm, and he sensed that this…this felt unmistakably familiar, despite the fact that it was magic surging through and around him. He felt fear, yes, but the normal fear that always came when his life was in danger, of near misses and almost fatal mistakes, not of the magic. This felt completely natural, Arthur realized, blocking a blow aimed for his side, as if he and Merlin had always fought like this. As he and Merlin circled back-to-back in perfect sync, defending against the oncoming horde, Arthur suddenly understood. They had always fought like this, king and warlock, in the bloody dance of battle, but Arthur had never opened his eyes wide enough to notice he had a partner. The magic defending him felt as familiar as the footwork he'd practiced since childhood, as normal as the heft of a sword in his hand. It acted for him, like an extension of his sword.

That was what they were, he and Merlin, Arthur decided. Magic and sword, two halves of one double-edged weapon.

And it felt right.

The last bandits finally retreated with frightened yelps, leaving Arthur and Merlin standing alone in the campsite-turned-battlefield.

Arthur pressed a hand to his heaving chest, realizing belatedly what they'd just done. "We just took on thirty men. Two against thirty."

"That many?" said Merlin, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He frowned in concern. "You alright? Any injuries?"

He wasn't even winded, Arthur thought with a sort of exhilarated annoyance. "You've done that before, haven't you?"

"Done…?"

Fought with him. Defended him. Battled at his side so perfectly, it had almost felt like Arthur had been wielding the magic as much as Merlin. Arthur had only just learned that Merlin had had magic all along, but now it seemed like he had always known.

"It's just—it's always been you, hasn't it?"

Merlin looked outright alarmed at the king's giddiness. "Arthur, are you—"

He threw his arms around Merlin and just laughed and laughed.

"I—what?" Merlin nearly squeaked. A moment passed, with Arthur just laughing into his shoulder, before Merlin tentatively hugged him back.

"So, does this mean you didn't get breakfast?"

A/N: Thought about cutting it off at a cliffhanger with Merlin's ambush...but decided to end with bromance instead. You're welcome. :) Perhaps you could, you know, thank me with reviews. Or cake.