Annoying, brightness disrupted his sleep. He scrunched his face, tossing in his bed, which was really uncomfortable this morning. Bright sunlight…bright, like midday….midday! He shoved up, about to shout for Merlin, but when his eyes shot open, the yell caught in his throat. This wasn't his room in Camelot; he was in a hut in Ealdor. Merlin had let him sleep in because he was no longer a King, just a recovering patient with no pressing matters of state. He flopped back into the pillow with a huff. If they never returned to Camelot, Merlin would never need to wake him with that overly cheery attitude again. Why did he get the sense he would miss that? He ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deeply. No cough. At least he was feeling better. Against the protest of his body, he got out of bed, stretching his arms and rubbing the crick out of his neck.

The hut was just as he remembered. Walls of stone, unevenly built, were hardly quality craftsmanship. Heat seeped from his bare feet into the dirty floor of cracked mud. The windows held no glass, stained or otherwise, but were simply holes in the wall with bars. The thatched roof of straw was low, stifling, compared to the spacious halls of Camelot.

Hushed whispers drifted from the other room. He made his way out. Merlin and his mother were hunched together on a bench.

"Arthur!" Merlin jumped up when he noticed him and rushed to Arthur's side. "Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?"

Merlin looked ridiculous bouncing around him, giving him a quick once over. Arthur couldn't stop a chuckle, "I'm fine, Merlin."

"You must be hungry," Hunith smiled as she fetched a wooden bowl and filled it with porridge.

"Yes, thank you," he answered, taking a seat at the table.

She placed the bowl and a spoon in front of him, then turned to Merlin as he sat down beside Arthur, "I'll run the clothes down to the stream for a wash, shall I?"

The smile Merlin gave her, youthful and carefree, highlighted his eyes. "That would be very helpful, thanks, Mother." Now that Arthur wasn't dying, the conflict of reconciling Merlin, his friend, with Merlin, the sorcerer, weighed on his mind. He still looked like the same Merlin he thought he knew. Same raven hair. Same boyish features. Same blue eyes. Deep, blue eyes…

"Arthur? You sure you're all right?" those eyes turned to him as the door clicked closed.

Arthur cleared his throat, turned back to his porridge, "Yes, Merlin, I told you, I'm fine."

Faint sounds of birds filled the awkward silence as they both sat, unsure what to do next. Arthur began slurping his porridge, one slow spoonful at a time. It was a peaceful quiet, the sound of having nothing of importance to do. It felt strange.

"I told Mother-" Merlin's voice made it less strange, "-that there was a battle…"

Slurp. Slurp.

"…that you nearly died…"

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"…that I told you I'm a sorcerer…"

Slu-

Merlin's mother knew about his magic. Of course she would, she was his mother, she probably taught him. But, wait, did that mean-

"Does she have magic too?" Arthur berated himself for sounding afraid.

"No!" those blue eyes shot up, so emotive, like an open book, "she's never had magic."

"But you-"

"My father."

Arthur's stomach twisted. Merlin's father had taught him magic? "You told me you never knew your father," he had revealed that after Arthur had shared his deeply personal feelings about never having known his mother. It was something they had bonded over. The wooden spoon dug into his palm. "Was that a lie too?"

A hand reached out. He jerked away.

"You did know him," he seethed through a clenched jaw, "he taught you magic."

"No one taught me magic, Arthur. I was born with it." Merlin seemed distraught. Good, the liar.

"That's impossible," those damn blue eyes, deceptively trustworthy, "magic is a practice, a choice-"

"Not always. Not for me. And it wasn't a choice for-" Merlin cut off before he said her name.

Arthur had to ask. He had to know.

"Did she know about your magic?" he made himself meet Merlin's gaze.

Why did those blue eyes look so pained? He had a sudden urge to caress away all the sadness in their depths. Damn those blue eyes.

"No," Merlin replied and Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, "not until right before Camlann. Mordred told her, I'm sure of it."

"Mordred knew?" Merlin had trusted Mordred with his secret more than Arthur? Unless…it was a bond between hidden sorcerers. Both of them, lying to his face, together. A sudden rage overcame him. "You knew about him too" he shoved away from the table, "that he had magic," his knuckles went white from gripping the spoon, "didn't you?"

"Arthur…"

"DIDN'T YOU?!"

Now there was fear in those eyes and Arthur didn't care.

"…yes…"

With an enraged shout, the spoon was flung across the room, smacking the wall.

"Damn it, Merlin! It's one thing not to tell me about your magic, but to not tell me about one of my knights?!" he was pacing frantically, yelling, "you shouldn't have kept this from me, Merlin!"

Merlin's voice was shaky, the muted "I'm sorry" barely audible.

Emotions ripped through him, threatening to break him, pulling him in so many directions he didn't know which way to turn. He paced the room in an angry frenzy, wanted to hit something, break something, grabbed the bowl from the table, yelled his frustration, threw the bowl with all his force, watched it shatter like his heart, porridge splattering in a mess. His breathing was still ragged when he could finally look at Merlin again.

Those blue eyes were now red and puffy. Arthur felt vindicated. Let the lying traitor panic. The heady sense of control over another made up for the lack of control he felt over his inner turmoil.

But this was Merlin. And he was near tears with fear. Fear of him. The rage died instantly. He thought he might vomit. Arthur ran his hand through his hair and sat down. Silence again, but now somber with broken trust and broken hearts. He steadied his breathing, calmed his voice. "It doesn't matter now. I shouldn't have yelled."

Merlin rubbed at his eyes, sniffled. How badly Arthur wanted to take it all back.

"Can you fix the bowl?" he asked, quiet with shame.

Those eyes remained downcast, subservient, as he nodded. Arthur was going to need to find a way to fix this.

Gold flashed bright, revealing the raw, hidden truth, a symbol of everything they now struggled with.

Damn those gold eyes.