Arthur had known the moment the crown had been placed on his head that this day would come. He just hadn't known how much it would tear him up inside.
-XXX-
-XXX-
The first sorcerer to be brought before Arthur during his reign did not look evil. She was a rather small woman, petite but strong, her sun-kissed skin and dirty, calloused hands evidence of long hours spent toiling in the fields of some outlying village. She wore simple clothing, bland and a bit ragged (as was the staple of the poor folk) but in no way did it diminish her natural beauty. She had large, brown doe eyes and chestnut-colored hair that was piled messily into a bun atop her head, certain pieces having fallen loose around her face from some sort of struggle. Despite her soft features, her gaze was solid steel as she was maneuvered through the doors of the council chambers and guided to stand in front of the king, heavy chains of cold iron clinking around her wrists with each tiny movement.
Arthur's mouth hung slightly open in an aborted attempt to address Sir Elyan's question about next quarter's crop yields. He closed it with an audible snap, straightening in his chair as he waited for an explanation as to why his private meeting of the Round Table had been so rudely interrupted. As soon as the large oak doors had slammed open to admit the woman and her two keepers, all sound had ceased and every pair of eyes had darted in the direction of the commotion. Arthur didn't miss the sharp intake of breath behind him from his manservant, but chose to ignore it in favor of figuring out what the hell was going on. Turns out, he didn't even need to ask.
"Sire! Apologies for disrupting, but while on patrol near the village of Honeyford, we caught this woman in the act of sorcery," one of the knights announced, his disgust clear in the way he practically spit the words and yanked harshly on the chain connecting the woman's hands. She stumbled forward a step, not bothering to smother a glare at the man for his rough treatment. It was then that Arthur noticed the dark bruise that had begun to flower on her left cheekbone.
"It cannot be denied as the absolute truth, my lord," the second knight piped up, not quite as hostile, but earnest to be heard nonetheless. "I saw it myself, as well as a dozen other knights." The woman stood ramrod straight as they spoke, her chin raised defiantly as she stared down the king. Anyone who hadn't been paying much attention would have missed the flicker of fear in her eyes, which she covered hastily with a mask of indifference.
Arthur looked between her two guards, letting their accusations roll around in his mind for a bit, then focused on the woman, who appeared to be even younger than himself. On the surface, she seemed more harmless than a mouse. That was one problem about sorcery: it was deceptive. You never knew what you were going to get.
"What's your name?" He asked gently, folding his hands on the table.
She hesitated for only a second. "Amelie, m'lord."
"Amelie, what say you to these charges?" He kept his voice even, giving nothing away about his personal feelings. Judgment would be held until he received the full story.
She puffed out her chest, defensive but not ashamed. "Guilty, m'lord," she declared unwaveringly.
Arthur pursed his lips, wishing that it had all just been a big misunderstanding. "Sorcery is against the law. You understand that, do you not?" He wondered if everyone in the room could hear the pleading edge to his voice. Why did these people keep pursuing a course that would only result in pain and misery for everyone involved?
"If saving my sister's babe from the coughing sickness is against the law, then it is not a law I wish to follow," she stated firmly, letting the barest sliver of emotion through her carefully constructed facade.
And here is where Arthur had been struggling with himself lately. Amelie might have been the first magic-user since he was crowned King to be arrested in an official capacity, but he'd met his fair share outside the walls of the citadel, all of them determined to see him dead. At first, it was simple to attack as soon as the first spell was directed at him, his sword arcing through the air before a sorcerer could finish spewing the damning words.
But after so many attempts on his life, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd done to deserve such hatred. So he'd started to listen. Where before he'd cut down the sorcerer in front of him without hesitation, nowadays he'd hear the vitriol they spit at him before he inevitably ended their lives.
Instead of attacking with the voice of his father ringing in the back of his mind— Magic is a plague upon this land! You must snuff it out or the kingdom shall be doomed to chaos and death!— he would defend himself against an onslaught of spells and accusations, the latter doing more to batter him than the magic itself.
You and your father murdered my entire family!
You work to destroy the people you've vowed to protect! You're no better than Uther!
It's no surprise the son carries out the commands of the father even after the man is dead. Such a perfect little soldier, aren't you, Majesty?
All I wanted was to protect my people! They didn't deserve to be slaughtered like animals!
Do you consider yourself a just man, Arthur Pendragon? How many deaths must you add to your conscience before you bend under the weight?
My daughter's name was Eva. She was six years old, beautiful and innocent. She liked to make her toys dance and make the flowers change color and she liked to listen to the birds sing. Uther called her evil. I called her love.
Arthur had yet to face a sorcerer that tried to kill him out of anything but revenge. Part of him—the part that was shaped by his father and was starting to fade bit by bit each day he ruled—screamed that they were corrupted, that they deserved to be punished and that the land needed to be cleansed of such evil. But that part of him kept getting buried underneath all the pain and suffering that Uther had caused, that he had caused. More and more he wondered exactly who he was protecting.
And yet, the law was the law.
Arthur stood to his feet, his crown feeling a hundred times heavier than usual. Everyone around the table watched him in silence, waiting for the verdict. All of them looked distinctly uncomfortable, though he wasn't sure whether that was due to the fact that there was a sorceress standing a few feet away or because they already knew what fate awaited her.
"Amelie, you have been accused of the crime of sorcery. At this hour on the morrow you shall undergo a trial to determine your guilt. If proven innocent, you will be released back to your village with no harm done to you."
There were shocked expressions all around. They'd all expected him to do as his father would have and demand that a pyre be built that instant. But he couldn't find it in himself to condemn even an admitted sorcerer to the flames without solid evidence. Everyone in his kingdom deserved a fair trial, no matter the crime, and he would stand by that until his last breath.
"M-My lord, please!" The knight on Amelie's right spluttered indignantly. "She has confessed! Surely there needn't be a trial?" He exclaimed.
"Are you questioning my judgment, Sir Gerald?" Arthur growled, leaning forward until his fingertips rested lightly upon the tabletop.
The brief hesitation was answer enough, but Gerald reluctantly settled for bowing his head in deference. "Of course not, Your Majesty. We shall take her to the dungeons to await her sentencing, by your leave."
Arthur nodded curtly in affirmation, risking a glance at the woman in question as she was turned away. She was staring back at him in wide-eyed awe, her mouth open but no sound coming out. He wasn't sure how to interpret that expression, so he looked away, taking his seat only after the three intruders had disappeared and the doors had thudded closed behind them. The silence didn't last long.
"Sire, was that really the best course of action? Gerald had a point. What's the point of a trial when she has confessed?" Leon asked, much more polite and reserved than the other knight had been. He seemed more curious than accusatory, which Arthur found he appreciated greatly.
"The people need to see that I won't execute someone on a whim." Like my father went unsaid, but certainly everyone was thinking it. "If she's going to confess, she's going to do it before the entire court," he added gruffly, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. It wasn't very kingly behavior, but these were people he didn't need to put on a show for.
"And when she does?" Gwaine pressed, narrowing his eyes in challenge. For once, his relaxed and carefree demeanor was nowhere to be seen.
Arthur grimaced, not wanting to think of the most probable outcome. He didn't think he'd ever be willing to put someone on the pyre. He'd ordered executions before, but none such as this.
"If she is found guilty, then she will be executed, as is the law," he replied firmly. Executed, not burned.
"Some law," Gwaine muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Elyan elbowed him, sending him a warning glare.
"If you have something to say, Sir Gwaine, then by all means," Arthur drawled, waving his hand in invitation.
Gwaine shrugged. "It's hardly a black and white situation, Princess. I mean, come on, it's not like she burned down her village! She helped a baby. Doesn't seem like an act worthy of execution is all I'm saying," he said, disrespectful as ever.
"Saving a child might be where it starts, but all sorcery leads to a dark road eventually," Arthur argued resignedly, not even able to summon any anger in the face of Gwaine's near-treasonous opinion.
"Is that you talking, or Uther?" Gwaine raised an eyebrow.
"Enough," Arthur snapped, not about to listen to one of his knights speak disparagingly about the former king. Gwaine huffed his displeasure but backed off, occasionally sensing when a battle was lost.
"Perhaps we should call an end to this meeting," Guinevere cut in, resting a calming hand on Arthur's forearm. "We've discussed the most important matters. Everything can be saved until our thoughts aren't otherwise occupied," she suggested, reasonable as ever. Arthur was grateful that she seemed to always understand exactly what he needed. She truly was a queen worthy of her crown.
"I agree," he said quickly, squeezing her hand. "Everyone is dismissed to attend to their regular duties. Leon, please see to it that witnesses are collected from Honeyford. They'll need to be here tomorrow for the trial." The First Knight bowed his head in acknowledgment, then followed the others out of the council chambers. Gaius lingered a bit longer, casting wary glances over Arthur's shoulder, but eventually he too left to return to his physician duties.
"Are you alright?" Guinevere asked, concern seeping into her gaze.
Arthur was quiet for a moment, considering his own emotions. "Do you realize this is the first sorcerer to be arrested since I became King?" He shook his head wryly. "Figures that it couldn't be someone who had literal blood on their hands. That would've been too easy," he scoffed mirthlessly.
She gave him a sympathetic smile that didn't nearly reach her eyes, but had no words to offer. Arthur breathed deeply, then turned his head just enough to see his servant, who had remained eerily silent throughout this entire ordeal. Merlin was always the first state his opinion no matter the subject or how much it annoyed his king, so Arthur was curious to know what the man was thinking now.
He didn't expect Merlin's face to be drained of color, his gaze distant and unfocused as he just barely maintained a grip on the water jug he held in his grasp. He looked totally unaware of his surroundings, and Arthur frowned in confusion. He knew Merlin was uncomfortable when it came to magic—the man stuttered over his words when it was brought up, at other times seeming downright terrified—but he didn't expect the sorceress to have such an impact in the small amount of time she'd been present.
"Merlin?" When the servant made no indication that he'd heard, Arthur stood abruptly to grab his shoulder and shake him. "Merlin! Wake up, you dolt," he said irritably, covering his worry with annoyance as he usually did.
Merlin about jumped out of his shoes, flinching away from Arthur like he'd been burned. "W-What?" He stammered, his eyes flickering in every direction like he was trying to remember what he was doing in the council chambers.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "What have I told you about zoning out during important meetings?"
Merlin wrinkled his nose, shifting his grip on the jug as he tried to avoid his king's glare. "Uh…not to?" He guessed, backing up as subtly as possible—which was to say, not at all.
Arthur smiled sarcastically. "That's right. So are you going to tell me what has your head in the clouds this time or do I have to threaten you with the stocks again?" He hadn't put Merlin in the stocks for years, but it didn't hurt to remind the servant that he could at any time.
Merlin scowled, and relief filled Arthur at seeing the familiar fire in his gaze. "It's nothing. Just got a bit bored, that's all," he responded nonchalantly, still edging slowly toward the doors.
"Bored," Arthur repeated monotonously, not believing the flimsy excuse for a second.
"Grain reports are hardly the most thrilling topic, Sire," Merlin retorted, managing once again to make the honorific sound like an insult. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do for your royal backside. You know, polishing…a-and sharpening of…things. Yes. That." He pressed his lips together, spinning around to make a mad dash for the exit.
"Merlin!" The king called after him, having half a mind to chase the man down and demand the truth, but Guinevere's light touch stilled him before he could follow through with it.
"Let him go, Arthur. He's probably just a little shaken," she murmured, coming to stand beside him as they both watched Merlin scamper out of sight.
"He's not the only one," Arthur replied, free to admit his unease when Guinevere was the only one around to hear.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Merlin was panicking. Full-tilt, end-of-the-world panicking. His blood rushed in his ears as he stumbled through the corridors, deafening him to the complaints of those he bumped into along the way. The halls were bustling with servants, all of whom watched him pass with mild concern and no small amount of curiosity. He ignored them all, rushing past to some unknown destination, desperate to escape the confines of the castle. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, trapping him in with no hope of being rescued.
Seven years he'd been in Camelot. Seven years of serving Arthur, protecting him from the shadows. In all that time, he hadn't felt the pressure of his destiny fall so heavily on his shoulders than it did right now. That bright future of a united Albion was teetering on the edge of indecision. Those seven years of lies and love and loss had come to a head. Arthur Pendragon: Once and Future King, destined to return magic to the land? Or was he Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, forever compelled to eradicate magic once and for all?
In the two years that he'd been King, Arthur had never executed a magic-user, guilty or innocent. Killed? Yes.
There were plenty of sorcerers that had tried their hand at ending the Pendragon line, all doomed to fail by falling to the king's sword or being cut down by his secret defender. Merlin didn't like to kill, despite the many times he'd done it over the years, but he didn't mourn those that would see Arthur and Camelot destroyed. It was his duty to protect his king, and his honor to protect his friend. He doubted his destiny occasionally, in those moments when Arthur seemed so much like his father's son, but those moments were rare. Arthur had proven himself to be a fair and just ruler who always put his kingdom's needs above his own. He was worthy of his title and the loyalty he inspired.
The only part of Uther's legacy that he'd steadfastly carried on were the misguided views on magic, which is where Merlin felt torn between following Arthur to the ends of the earth or abandoning a king and kingdom that would never accept him.
It was easy enough to ignore Arthur's opinion of magic when Uther was King. Back then, all Arthur ever heard was a litany of magic is evil, it must be destroyed, to not do so would be the utmost failure! And the prince feared disappointing his father more than anything else, something he never admitted but was so plainly obvious to those closest to him.
Merlin had dealt with the scathing comments about magic because he had hope for a better future, one where Arthur would see the truth and beauty of magic rather than its capacity for destruction.
Then Uther died, Arthur was crowned King, and they'd entered a sort of limbo. No sorcerers had been executed, but was that because none had been arrested to be executed or because Arthur had relaxed the relentless persecution of magic-users? Merlin had no idea, but he'd always been too much of a coward to broach the subject, terrified of what the answer would be. He wanted to believe it was the latter, more than anything, because maybe then he could finally stop hiding. Maybe then he could tell Arthur all that magic had done for him, and Arthur would see.
But now his time had run out. That woman was locked away in the dungeons, waiting for a trial that could only end one way. The way these things always ended: with a lit pyre. And for what? For saving her sister's child from an early death? (And death it would have been, for babies diagnosed with the coughing sickness had little to no chance of survival.) If she burned tomorrow, if Arthur burned her tomorrow, taking up the mantle Uther had so callously shoved upon him, then where did that leave Merlin? Merlin, who had lied and betrayed and committed such atrocities for the sake of destiny. If anyone was going to be the first to face Arthur's flames, it must be him. Not an innocent. He wouldn't— couldn't— stand for it.
Arthur would hear his truth. He would see. Then, and only then, would Merlin allow him to make such a consequential decision. That was his duty now. Not only as Emrys, magic incarnate and protector of the Once and Future King, but as Merlin, his closest friend.
The time had finally come for Merlin to stop hiding and for Arthur to choose a side: peace? Or destruction?
-XXX-
-XXX-
By the time Merlin was able to pull himself from his whirlwind of thoughts, he found himself surrounded by forest. He stumbled mid-step, whipping his head all around to try and figure out where exactly he was and how he'd made it all the way out there without noticing. The sun had traveled quite a ways across the sky, so he must've been walking for hours.
The area looked familiar somehow, and his breath caught when he saw the faintest glimmer of light on water through the trees. He gulped, slowly moving in that direction once again, knowing now without a doubt where his troubled mind had taken him. He should've expected it, really.
Freya had always put his fears at ease.
The lake of Avalon shone brilliantly under the early afternoon sun, its glittering waters lapping lazily at the beach, quiet and unassuming. Merlin walked up to the very edge, closing his eyes as the magic of the lake flowed through and around him, welcoming him back like an old friend. This magic felt ancient, unattainable yet still a part of him. He sighed, letting the sensation of simply belonging to such a world soothe his nerves. If he listened closely, he could hear the whispers and giggles of the wind spirits as they ruffled his hair and tickled his skin. He smiled at their teasing, releasing a soft burst of his magic as a greeting and a gift, and they carried it away with them, brushing against his cheeks in thanks.
"Merlin…"
Her voice calmed and ached. Just that one word was spoken with such love and affection that he could feel it warm him to his very bones.
"Freya," he exhaled with his next breath, his smile broadening as he opened his eyes. The Lady of the Lake was standing less than a foot away, not able to move farther than the water could reach. She was smiling at him, a soft, delicate thing. Her hand rose up to trace over his temple.
"What brings you here, my love? You seem troubled." Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, the words barely above a whisper. His heart sang at her touch, which was surprisingly warm.
There were so many things he could say, so much that had happened since he saw her last, but the only thought that he could force past his lips was, "I miss you." He gazed at her longingly, wishing more than anything that he could go back in time and run away with her like they'd planned. Surely everything would be better then?
Freya's expression smoothed out knowingly, and she reached down to take his hand, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. "Oh, Merlin, I miss you, too. But we had our time, my love, as short as it may have been. We both know you are destined for much greater things. You always have been, and always will be," she intoned.
He sniffed, blinking away sudden tears. "But why? Why does it have to be this way? When Arthur finds out what I really am, he'll hate me. My destiny will have been for nothing. Everything will have been for nothing. And our friendship…" He trailed off, the words getting stuck in his throat. He couldn't imagine losing Arthur. The very idea threatened to send him down a path he didn't think he'd ever be able to make it back from.
Freya squeezed his hand comfortingly. "A half can never truly hate that which makes it whole," she recited, eliciting a wet snort from the warlock, and he wiped at his eyes roughly with his free hand.
"Please don't start quoting Kilgharrah," he begged, huffing out a pained chuckle.
Her soft laugh filled the space between them, sending a pang straight to his heart. "He can be quite wise from time to time," she teased lightly.
"Only when he knows it'll annoy me," Merlin grumbled half-heartedly, then let out a heavy sigh. "I have to tell Arthur the truth. About everything. I-I just…don't know how," he murmured, chewing on his lip nervously. Seven years of lies were about to be exposed. It was a daunting prospect.
"When the moment comes, you'll know," Freya assured him gently. "It may be difficult at first. There may be anger, and distrust, and hurt, but I promise you, my love: the two of you will get through it. And hopefully, be all the better for it," she added.
He let her reassurances wash over him like a cleansing bath, stripping him of his fears, at least for the moment. He prayed to all the gods that she was right, and that perhaps one day he could earn Arthur's forgiveness.
Maybe, even…his acceptance.
-XXX-
-XXX-
When Merlin finally made it back to Camelot, the sun was sitting just above the horizon, casting an orange glow over the land. Arthur would probably be in his chambers at this hour, but Merlin had one more stop before he could face him, and there was no better time than the present.
He made his way to the kitchens, snatching up one of the dinner trays that had been set out without anyone questioning him. They were used to him running in and out, always late when it came to attending the king. He would occasionally pause to trade gossip with the maids if he had the time, but that normally resulted in getting chased out by Cook. The woman could be intimidating when she wielded a spoon. This time, though, he had more important things to worry about than idle chatter.
He briskly made his way through the halls until he reached the stairs that led down to the dungeons. The guards at the entrance didn't spare him a glance as he passed, which was no surprise. It was the guards at the bottom of the stairs that stood from their game of dice to question his purpose for entering the dungeons.
He met their suspicious gazes with a cheeky grin, well-experienced in playing the bumbling fool. "Dinner for the prisoner," he explained, raising the tray. "King's orders," he tacked on.
Their postures straightened at the mention of their sovereign, as if Arthur himself would pop around the corner at the mention of his name. They most likely recognized Merlin to be the king's personal servant, for they merely exchanged a glance and a shrug before waving him on. He dipped his head in thanks, scurrying past before they could think to question him further.
Amelie was the only prisoner currently in the dungeons, so it took no time at all for Merlin to find her. She was sitting on the floor of her cell, curled up in a ball and shivering slightly. Her clothes were thin and did little to protect against the chilly evening air. When she heard him approach, her head snapped up, and she automatically pressed herself against the wall to get as far away as possible.
Merlin quickly crouched down so they were eye level, raising one hand as a signal that he meant no harm. She didn't relax, but a bit of the fear faded from her eyes when she realized he wasn't a guard.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. Just thought you might be hungry," he told her, keeping his voice soft and non-threatening. He pushed the tray under the bars, then sat back and pulled his knees up loosely. "Your name is Amelie, right? I'm Merlin," he introduced with a friendly smile, hoping to lower her defenses a bit.
She hesitated, looking between the food and Merlin warily before leaning over to pick up a bread roll, tearing into it like a starving animal. He knew all too well the rigors of living from meal to meal, just hoping for a single scrap to soothe the pains in his stomach.
He let his gaze wander as she ate, wanting her to get her fill before their conversation started. He didn't know how long he had until the guards remembered he was here and came to kick him out, but he figured they'd be plenty distracted by their game for a while yet.
Eventually, Amelie cleared the tray and politely pushed it back to him before settling once again against the wall. By now her gaze was more curious than fearful, which he was thankful for.
"I didn't think I'd get to eat anything before…" She trailed off with a grimace.
"I'm, uh…technically not supposed to be here, actually," Merlin admitted sheepishly, playing with a loose thread on his breeches. Amelie raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to talk to you, and I knew they wouldn't give you any food, so…" He shrugged.
"How'd you get the guards to let you through?" She wondered, furrowing her eyebrows.
His eyes twinkled mischievously. "I have my ways," he answered vaguely.
Her mouth twitched upward briefly. "What did you want to talk about, Merlin?" Her tone was resigned, but not unkind.
He leaned into the bars, looking at her intently. "I want to know if it's true—what you did for your sister's baby. I heard what you said in the council chambers."
She didn't seem surprised in the least that that's the information he sought. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which she was wringing mindlessly. "Yes. My niece was terribly ill. I used magic to save her life," she confessed quietly.
Merlin grasped the bars, tempted to break in just to give her a comforting hug. He'd never found it easy to stand by while others were in pain. He had yet to decide if that was a blessing or a curse.
"And…everyone saw? The knights? The other villagers?" He pressed gently.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them furiously as she nodded. "There was no time. I had been working in the field behind our house, along with most of our neighbors. My sister ran to me crying, holding the babe out to me, pleading for me to save her. The poor thing was turning blue. The villagers might've let my actions pass, but I didn't see the knights!" She sniffed, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "It all came down to horrible timing, really," she scoffed bitterly, then her expression hardened. "But I don't regret it. I'd give my life a thousand times over to see that baby healthy," she vowed determinedly.
Merlin nodded in understanding. "You did a very brave thing," he told her kindly. "You don't deserve to be in this cell, and you sure as hell don't deserve to die." He scowled, frustrated with the entire situation. Amelie watched him with something akin to wonder.
"You really think that," she muttered in disbelief. "But…why? Don't you hate magic like everyone else?"
He shook his head slowly, then after a brief hesitation raised his hand, palm up. "Forbærnan," he whispered, his magic rushing to heed his call as a small flame appeared in his hand, hovering just above the skin. He didn't need to speak his spells aloud like other sorcerers, but he thought it better that she could see and hear the connection formed.
Amelie gasped, scrambling over to sit as close to him as the bars would allow. "You have magic," she breathed, a smile spreading across her face as she watched the fire dance in his palm.
"I do," he stated, the words freeing some long-bound part of him. Speaking the truth for once felt like a breath of fresh air, and he let out a relieved laugh. "I have magic."
"And you live here? In the city?" She exclaimed, eyes wide in shock and confusion.
He shrugged, snuffing the flame with a thought and letting his hand drop. "Camelot is my home, and I have friends here. People I love dearly. There's no place I'd rather be," he said honestly. Maybe there was a time when he could've left with no regrets, but that time had long passed. His very self had been woven intricately into not only Arthur's life, but the very walls of Camelot itself. Leaving now would break him, though he may not have a choice once Arthur learns the truth.
"And you call me brave," she mused, shaking her head.
He frowned, his gut twisting guiltily. "I haven't been brave," he admitted shamefully. "I've been hiding for years, too afraid to be honest with the person I care about most in this world." Amelie tilted her head, clearly lost. He took in a steadying breath and rested his hand over hers on one of the bars, carefully avoiding any contact with the cold iron encircling her wrists. "But that changes now. It has to. For all of our sakes, it has to," he declared vehemently.
"Whatever you're going to do…" She paused, pulling her hand away only to grab his with both of her own, meeting his gaze seriously. "Just…be careful. You've a kind soul, and such a thing is rare in this world," she murmured.
He wondered how a stranger could display so much concern for him, but he was utterly grateful for her support. He needed every bit he could get to face his next task.
"Thank you, Amelie. If this all works out, I'll make sure you get to return to your family," he promised.
She smiled grimly, scooting back to her corner as he prepared to leave. "I won't hold you to it," she said quietly, looking up through the small window to the courtyard outside, where a pyre was just waiting to be built.
The words haunted him all the way up to Arthur's chambers.
-XXX-
-XXX-
Merlin took in a fortifying breath before knocking on Arthur's door. The guards cast him confused glances from their posts on either side of him, used to Merlin simply barging into the king's quarters unannounced. He ignored them, focusing instead on preparing mentally for what he was about to do. After a moment of consideration, he straightened his posture and raised his chin, loosening the tight grip he held on his magic just enough to give a hint of his power. If he and Arthur were going to have this conversation, then Merlin needed to stop pretending to be a simple servant.
Only once he heard Arthur call for him to enter did he push open the doors, not bothering to close them as he took a few steps into the room. The hearth was lit, basking the space in a warm glow, and plates of food were laid out on the table, at least half of which were empty.
Arthur immediately shot to his feet, and Gwen turned in her seat to face the new arrival, her curious frown morphing into an expression of pleasant surprise. Merlin stopped a few feet away, giving the queen a respectful nod.
"Merlin! There you are! Where on earth have you been, you idiot? I had half the castle looking for you!" Arthur berated, coming around the table to stand in front of him. The king looked him over, as if checking for injuries. Normally Merlin would have teased him for worrying, but his sense of humor was buried beneath a mountain of anxiety.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I was…going for a walk." It wasn't exactly a lie, but it certainly wasn't the full story.
Arthur visibly flinched at his formal tone, then coughed uncomfortably. "Yes, well…You missed dinner," he stated, sounding quite disappointed at that fact.
"We've been worried about you, Merlin," Gwen piped up softly, coming to stand next to him. She brushed a hand over his jacket-clad shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Merlin gulped, unable to meet her caring gaze for too long. He really hadn't thought his absence would be noticed that much. "I…I need to talk to Arthur," he blurted instead of answering.
"Is this about the sorceress?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.
Merlin blinked in surprise. "What makes you say that?"
Arthur rolled his eyes, but his tone held no trace of mocking when he spoke. "C'mon, Merlin. I know how uncomfortable you are with magic. It's okay if you found her presence…unsettling," he said slowly, clearly attempting to comfort Merlin without outright calling him a coward.
Merlin scowled at the assumption. "What are you talking about? Magic doesn't bother me," he refuted. The very thought was laughable. The mighty Emrys, afraid of magic.
Arthur was unconvinced. "Then why do you always shut down when it's brought up? And whenever we see a sorcerer out on the road, you're the first to run and hide," he pointed out.
"I do not run and hide!"
"You definitely do. Not that I blame you, what with your complete lack of skill and coordination."
"Says the man that gets knocked out every other week!"
"Gentlemen!" Gwen interrupted, exasperated. They both shut up immediately and looked at her with chagrin. "Now, I'm going back to my chambers for the night. I expect that you two can get on well enough without me until morning?" She chided.
Arthur's cheeks flush, and he clears his throat before leaning in to give her a chaste kiss. "Of course. Sleep well, Guinevere. I'll see you tomorrow," he said, fondness seeping into his expression as he looked at her.
She pressed her hand lightly over his chest in farewell before retreating. "Goodnight, Merlin," she called out as she pulled the doors shut behind her. The silence that filled the room following her absence made Merlin squirm uncomfortably. He was so not prepared for this. Whatever confidence he managed to cobble together before entering was fleeing quickly in the face of Arthur's scrutiny.
"You're acting even stranger than usual," the king noted, walking over to his desk to sit in his chair. Merlin followed reluctantly, shuffling awkwardly on the opposite side of the desk rather than sitting in the other seat.
"I just have a lot on my mind. There are things…things I need to say. Things you need to hear." He swallowed, staring a little too intensely at Arthur, as if he could force all his thoughts into the other man's brain without ever having to voice them aloud.
Arthur sighed, leaning back in his seat. "If this is about the sorceress, I know you think it's stupid to have a trial when she outrighted admitted her guilt, but I—"
Merlin's eyes widened, and he hurried to cut him off. "What? No! That's not—no. I think you're right. Everyone deserves a fair trial, no matter the circumstances." He wasn't sure whether he was advocating for Amelie or himself at this point, but his opinion stood either way.
Arthur threw a hand up in the air. "Then what's the problem? Why'd you run out of there so quickly? Where have you been all day?" He questioned.
Merlin bit his lip, inhaling shakily. "I…I was…" Damn it, pull yourself together and spit it out! "I just needed time…to come to terms with…with what I had to do. What I have to do," he finally stammered out, cursing the waver in his voice.
Arthur tensed up, tapping the arm of his chair absentmindedly. "And what exactly is it that you must do, Merlin?" He inquired softly, matching the serious mood that had enveloped both of them.
Merlin stared at him for so long in complete silence that he was sure Arthur was going to simply kick him out of his chambers, but the king returned his gaze unflinchingly, waiting for a response.
Instead of answering directly, Merlin posed his own question. "Are you going to burn Amelie tomorrow? The sorceress?" He corrected, realizing Arthur might not appreciate his familiarity with an alleged criminal.
Arthur's jaw clenched, and Merlin could practically feel the flare up of kingly indignation. "If she is found guilty at the conclusion of her trial, then she will be executed, as per the laws of Camelot," he stated formally.
Merlin's stomach churned at the detached words, hating when Arthur sounded so cold and unfeeling. It reminded him too closely of Uther.
"You can't do it, Arthur," he pleaded, rushing forward to sit down across from his friend, leaning forward as much as the desk would allow.
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"You heard what she said this morning, just as well as I!" He continued, bordering on frantic. He'd meant for a calm discussion, but his personal stake in this entire situation was unraveling his composure. "She used her magic to save a life!"
"Merlin…"
The servant ignored the dark warning. "You can't kill her for using her magic for good. It's not right and you know it!"
"Merlin."
"If you do this, you'll be no better than Uther—"
"Enough!" Arthur slammed a hand down on his desk, his glare searing right through Merlin like a lance. "I'll thank you to leave my father out of this conversation," he growled.
Merlin pressed his lips together, shaking his head in frustration. "You never listen to me," he whispered, pain evident in his tone. "Not when it matters." How many times had Merlin gone to Arthur to warn him or give him vital information and been brushed off like dirt under his shoe? Valiant, Cedric, Agravaine— what did he have to do to prove to Arthur that he was worth listening to from time to time?
Either Arthur could read minds or he was specially tuned to Merlin's facial expressions, because his entire demeanor softened and he sat forward with his hands folded in front of him. "You're right," he admitted, shocking Merlin into raising his morose gaze from the floor. "You're the most loyal person I know, Merlin, and I do value your counsel." Arthur exhaled heavily. "To be honest, I don't quite know how to feel about this situation. I know magic is dangerous, but executing the sorceress seems too harsh a punishment when she hasn't technically hurt anyone." He was staring off to the side, contemplative, so he didn't see the hopeful gleam in Merlin's eyes. However, his next words were quick to bring the warlock crashing back to reality. "Perhaps execution isn't the only solution. If I could get her to swear an oath to give up magic…or, I don't know, make her wear something similar to those cuffs she has on to suppress it…Maybe then she wouldn't have to die," he mused.
Merlin's heart dropped to his stomach, and he instinctively reached for his magic just to reassure himself that it was there; it swirled up at his command almost alarmingly fast, eager to do his bidding. He remembered what the cold iron felt like when he'd visited Amelie in the dungeons. Even in the council chambers when he'd been standing a good distance away, he could feel the sucking coldness, the lack of sensation, coming from the cuffs. They made his magic rear defensively, seeking to eliminate the threat. He hoped he never had to find out how it felt to wear them.
"Even if she swore such an oath, there's no guarantee she wouldn't break it later on for the same sort of reason she broke the law in the first place," Merlin pointed out weakly, struggling to recall why he thought telling Arthur the truth was a good idea. "And she could always find a way to break the cuffs." And it would probably be me doing the breaking, he added silently, unable to fathom the idea of leaving someone like Amelie in such a state for the rest of her life.
Arthur frowned in disappointment. "I suppose you're right. I guess execution really is the only way to be sure her magic will never be used against Camelot," he muttered sourly.
"Why are you so convinced she'd use her magic against Camelot?" Merlin demanded.
Arthur gave him his patented You're an idiot look. "I don't know, Merlin, maybe it's the countless number of sorcerers that have attacked us in the past. I like to think I learn from experience," he replied sarcastically.
"All of them were seeking revenge for wrongs done to them during and after the Purge—"
"Funny, it almost sounds like you're defending them," Arthur cut in monotonously, his eyes hardening.
Merlin huffed. "I'm not saying they were right to hurt other people, but surely you can see they had motivations beyond a grab for power," he implored.
"Regardless of their motivations, sorcerers are corrupted. They've brought harm to my people many times over for the sake of their own revenge fantasies," Arthur bit out through gritted teeth, his hands gripping each other so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Merlin deflated, sinking back in his chair and letting his shoulders slump. "Not every sorcerer wants revenge. Some just want to help," he mumbled.
Arthur's anger shifted into confusion. "What are you talking about?" He questioned. Merlin sighed, running both hands over his face and through his hair before jumping to his feet so he could pace away his tension. Unfortunately, it didn't settle his nerves in the slightest. Arthur stood up as well, coming around the desk to intercept Merlin by grasping his shoulders in a firm grip. "Merlin," he said, much gentler than the warlock expected based on how their conversation had gone thus far. Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, feeling the sting of tears that he refused to let fall. One of Arthur's hands moved to the nape of his neck, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Merlin, look at me," Arthur ordered softly. Merlin hesitated another moment before slowly lifting red-rimmed eyes to meet his king's crystal blue ones.
"I-I'm sorry," Merlin said, his breath hitching on a sob. He was trembling, though he couldn't tell if it was from fear, or guilt, or anticipation. Perhaps it was all three. He grabbed Arthur's wrists, clinging to him for dear life. He wanted more than anything to just pause time and never let anything change between them.
Arthur was growing more concerned by the second. "For what?" He asked calmly, his hands steady and soothing.
"I w-wanted to tell y-you. F-For so long, I've wanted to tell you," Merlin stammered through his tears. There was no stopping them from running down his cheeks now, but he didn't care to wipe them away. His entire focus was on the man in front of him. Arthur swallowed, anxious about what Merlin was trying to say, but his hold didn't relent. "I was afraid, Arthur. P-Please try to understand!" He begged, letting out a few harsh sobs before pushing himself to continue. His voice was wet and clogged with emotion, his words a blubbering mess of sound, but Arthur seemed to hear him anyway. "I couldn't tell you. Y-You were the p-prince. I c-couldn't make you choose b-between me and your father! And I know U-Uther's gone now, but I'd spent so long keeping it a s-secret…And I knew once I told you, I'd lose you f-forever." Merlin was falling apart at the seams, only held up by Athur's grip. His crying was loud in the silence of the room, and he dropped one hand to clutch at his stomach. It was twisting painfully, reacting to his distress. It took every ounce of his will power to keep his gaze trained on Arthur, since every part of him wanted to disappear into the shadows.
"Merlin…what are you saying?" Arthur pressed warily, though it was obvious he knew exactly what the servant was indirectly telling him.
Merlin inhaled a wobbly breath, dredging up as much courage as he possibly could. He would never be ready for this. "I have magic," he admitted at last, the words clear and unmistakable. Just three little words, and they had the power to destroy seven years of friendship.
Arthur's expression went blank, and his face paled dramatically. His hands dropped as he took an unsteady step backward, and Merlin let him go with wide, heartbroken eyes. Merlin's arms dangled uselessly as he watched the king's expression flip through a plethora of emotions in just a few seconds. Shock, resignation, fear, hurt…but never anger. In fact, it didn't look like Arthur even had the energy for anger. And somehow…that was worse.
"Arthur?" He ventured hesitantly, sniffling as he tried to get his tears under control. If there was anything that could overcome his fearful silence, it was worry for his king.
Arthur stared at the hearth, watching the fire dance lazily with a distant gaze. His fists were clenching and unclenching, and Merlin wondered morbidly if he was itching to grab his sword, which was currently tucked away in a chest on the other side of the room. It wasn't a surprising thought, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
Merlin considered his options. He could leave—but then Arthur would think he was fleeing and might feel inclined to chase him down and run him through. He could ask Arthur what he was thinking, but that sort of thing never went down well on the king's good days, nevertheless a few seconds after learning his manservant had magic. That left him with option three: bear the tension-fueled atmosphere in miserable silence until Arthur fully processed what he'd just heard.
A quarter of a candlemark passed with absolutely nothing happening before Arthur finally spoke, his voice jagged with pain. "Why?" He whispered, still looking at the fire rather than the man he was addressing.
Merlin was exhausted from the continuous emotional turmoil of the day, his now-dried tear tracks were making his cheeks itch, and his throat felt raw, but he still perked up at hearing Arthur talk to him. It wasn't until he opened his mouth to answer that he realized he had no idea what Arthur was asking, but the king continued before he could even attempt a reply.
"Why do the people closest to me always betray me in the end? Am I really such a terrible person?" He sounded desperate and broken, but not angry.
Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, loathing the idea that Arthur could ever blame himself for the failings of those he loved: Morgana, Uther…Hell, even Agravaine had a place in Arthur's trusting heart before his treachery was discovered. And now Merlin was just another addition to the list of people who had hurt him.
He rushed forward, disregarding the fact that it was probably much safer to keep his distance. "Arthur, no. Don't think that. Never think that," he protested vehemently. "You are a good man, with a kind heart. Your people love you, and you deserve that love." He reached out as if to give Arthur a reassuring touch, but managed to pull back at the last second, aware that such an action would not be welcomed.
Arthur still didn't look at him. "I thought I knew you," he murmured without inflection, lost in his own thoughts. Merlin flinched, feeling like his friend was drawing further and further away each moment.
"I'm still the same person," he insisted quietly, silently begging for Arthur to meet his gaze.
"All this time…" He scoffed; it was full of bitterness, and Merlin almost recoiled. "You must think me a complete fool."
Merlin shook his head in denial, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "That's not true," he argued.
Arthur's gaze finally shot up to meet his own, the king's eyes blazing. "How long?" He demanded. "How long since you learned sorcery?"
Merlin raised his chin slightly. He might be ashamed of his cowardice, of hiding in the shadows and lying to Arthur for years, but he'd never been ashamed of his magic, and he wouldn't start now. "I was born with it," he declared firmly, just as he had to Agravaine all those months ago. "My eyes were golden for the entire first month of my life, and I was floating objects in the air and setting the hearth alight before I could talk."
Arthur blanched, his mouth working to form a response. "That…That's not possible," he said, lacking any conviction. "Sorcerers have to learn. They have to…have to study. People aren't just born with magic!" He exclaimed, desperate to believe his own words.
"My mother would disagree," he remarked a bit petulantly.
Arthur looked decidedly wrecked, and Merlin softened, letting his mild irritation fade away. He supposed it would be rather mind-shattering to learn that some people had no choice when it came to having magic when your whole life you'd heard otherwise.
Arthur swallowed, looking like he'd be sick any moment. "You're telling me there are people who didn't choose to have magic. Innocent people who…who my father—"
"Yes," Merlin finished, grimacing at the reminder of all the innocent lives Uther had snuffed out with no remorse.
Arthur swayed a bit, reaching back to grab a bedpost so he didn't collapse. "Those Druids…" His voice cracked, and his gaze wandered around the room frantically, like he was seeing the ghosts of his past come back to haunt him for his sins...again.
Merlin bowed his head, unable to offer any words of comfort in this instance. The guilt of what happened in that Druid camp would most likely rest heavily on Arthur's conscience for as long as he lived. As much as he wished he could snap his fingers and take away his king's pain, he knew such an experience would remain a part of Arthur forever.
"That boy forgave you," Merlin reminded him gently. "Because you are a man worth forgiving."
Arthur sank onto the edge of the bed, glancing up at Merlin through suspiciously glassy eyes. "I don't understand. You should hate me," he insisted, shaking his head in confusion. "I've killed so many of your kind."
"I could never hate you, Arthur." Kilgharrah's and Freya's words rang in his head. A half can never truly hate that which makes it whole. He really hoped that sentiment worked both ways. Arthur simply stared at him with a carefully guarded expression, and Merlin felt uncomfortably exposed, like all his secrets were written on his skin.
"I can't believe you have magic," Arthur murmured in disbelief, his hands resting limply over his knees.
"I use it for you, Arthur," Merlin told him honestly. "My magic, everything I am, is yours. If you believe anything, believe that. Please. I would never harm you. I would die first," he vowed, holding out his hands in a gesture of offering. Arthur considered him for a moment, and Merlin didn't know if it was wishful thinking that he saw the man's gaze lighten with some sort of understanding.
"Show me," Arthur commanded at last, the words barely audible.
Merlin's mind went blank. "What?" He replied dumbly.
Arthur stood, approaching him like one would a startled horse. "Show me your magic. I want to see it. I…I need to see it," he corrected, stopping just a foot away. Merlin fought the urge to retreat to the farthest corner of the room. His mind kept repeating Show me, show me, show me on a loop. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever hear those words in this context.
After letting out a shaky breath, Merlin nodded in acquiescence, for once perfectly happy to obey. He lifted his hands, cupping them together and pressing them to his lips. He closed his eyes, thinking of the first time he'd tried this spell. He'd just been a boy back then, in love with a beautiful girl. He pictured her smile, the twinkle of affection in her gaze, and he pushed the feelings that picture brought into the empty space between his hands, filling it with life. He didn't speak, but he knew his eyes flashed gold when Arthur gasped quietly.
Merlin uncovered his creation, presenting the Pendragon-red rose in front of him for his king's inspection. Arthur stared at it in absolute wonder, his eyes flicking between the flower and Merlin's eyes, like he wasn't sure which of the two was more intriguing. Merlin ducked his head slightly to hide his shy smile.
"It's beautiful," Arthur complimented with absolute awe. "I've never seen magic be so…"
"Harmless?" Merlin guessed, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah…I didn't know magic like this existed."
Merlin sighed, running a finger over the delicate petals of the rose. "That's because it isn't allowed to exist in Camelot," he pointed out, his tone wistful but free of accusation. Arthur winced, hearing the accusation anyway. Merlin continued without commenting on his reaction. "Magic is a tool, Arthur. One that is wielded by those who would use it for good—" He gestured at the rose with a jerk of his chin— "...and those who would use it to hurt others. Just as a sword can be used to defend the innocent and the weak, it can also be used to cut down an enemy. Uther could never see the difference. It is my hope that you will see the truth where he could not," Merlin explained, a bit of reverence seeping into his words by the end of his short speech. He dissipated the rose in a burst of golden sparks, dropping his hands.
The corner of Arthur's lips quirked upwards. "You always were a wise one, weren't you, Merlin?" He teased, his eyes glinting with mirth. Merlin hadn't thought he would get to see that hint of fondness ever again. The relief of seeing it now threatened to send him to his knees.
"Just part of my charm, Sire," he commented cheekily.
Arthur huffed out a reserved laugh, but it wasn't long before his amusement was replaced with an air of frustration. He turned away, running his hands through his hair and mussing it up in the process. "I still don't understand, though, Merlin!" He groaned, throwing his arms up in the air. "Why come to Camelot in the first place? And why stay, all these years? You can't enjoy being a servant!"
Ah, and here's where the real secrets started to come forth into the glaring light of truth.
"I came to Camelot to learn to control my magic," Merlin began, figuring he'd start with the easiest question. "It was getting too wild and powerful, and my mother was worried I'd be discovered and captured by Cenred's knights. He would force sorcerers to do his bidding, usually by blackmailing them in some way, or taking someone they cared about as insurance that they would do as they were told," he said grimly, thinking back on all the horror stories he'd heard growing up. The idea of being a slave to Cenred's whims was worse even than the idea of burning on the pyre.
Arthur looked disgusted at the revelation that the former Essetir king had resorted to such methods. Merlin couldn't help the twinge of affection in his chest at seeing Arthur feel sympathy for magic-users.
He pressed on, not giving himself time to chicken out of telling Arthur everything. "Anyway, my mother knew Gaius from when she lived in Camelot as a girl, and she knew he'd practiced magic and that he wouldn't turn me in, so she sent me here hoping he could teach me control."
Arthur didn't look the least bit surprised that Gaius knew the truth about his magic. "And did he? Teach you control?" He asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
Merlin snorted. "The castle's still standing, isn't it?" He quipped, realizing a second too late how that sounded, and cringed as Arthur's other eyebrow joined the first one.
"I'm sorry, what? Are you implying that you could level this castle if you wanted to?" He replied incredulously.
Merlin bit his tongue hard as a punishment for his idiocy. He'd meant to ease Arthur into the fact that he was powerful. It was bad enough that Merlin had magic, but powerful magic? This wouldn't be good.
"Um…maybe?" He answered vaguely.
"Merlin…"
Merlin's shoulders dropped in defeat, and he hugged his torso. "My magic is pretty strong, you could say," he admitted slowly, understating his abilities as much as possible.
"How strong?" Arthur pressed, unwilling to relent.
"Well…the Druids seem to think I'm the most-powerful-sorcerer-to-ever-walk-the-earth ," he spit out in a rush, scratching his chin briefly and avoiding Arthur's dumbfounded gaze. "Although I'm a warlock, not a sorcerer, so they must be wrong," he added quickly, rolling his eyes in an attempt to lighten the situation.
Arthur digested that information for a minute, going through a couple rounds of squinting, shaking his head, and cursing under his breath, before straightening his posture and letting out a sigh of resignation. "Warlock?" He inquired half-heartedly.
"Warlocks are born with magic. Sorcerers must learn it," he explained. Arthur simply nodded in acknowledgement.
"Why did you never tell me, Merlin?" He asked softly, sitting back down on the bed.
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "You would've chopped my head off," he stated in a duh tone.
Arthur flinched at the blunt response. "You really believe that?" He choked out, swallowing the emotion in his voice.
Merlin's eyebrows furrowed, thinking of Amelie down in the dungeons, awaiting such a fate, or something along those lines. "I…Yes," he confessed. "At least when you were Prince. But then…" He exhaled heavily, going over to sit next to Arthur without bothering to ask permission. Arthur made no protest, instead scooting over to give him more room. "After you became King, I convinced myself that I had to wait, that you weren't ready to hear the truth. But now I know I was just afraid of losing you, of losing our friendship. I was afraid you'd hate me…for the magic, yes, but mostly for the lies," he said regretfully.
Arthur placed a hand on the curve where Merlin's neck met his shoulder, briefly reaching his index finger out to tap the bottom of Merlin's chin to get him to raise his head. "I could never hate you, Merlin," he assured him, echoing Merlin's statement from earlier. "You have magic, and you lied. For years, you lied, but you are my friend, and I cannot imagine a world without you by my side."
A small smile spread across Merlin's face, and whatever tension he had left seeped out of him. Their friendship wasn't broken. Arthur still wanted him around, still cared for him. His magic danced along his skin, just under the surface, rejoicing at Arthur's acceptance.
"It only took you seven years to admit that we're friends," Merlin teased, breaking the serious atmosphere. Arthur laughed, full and bright and everything Merlin needed to hear. He shifted his arm to wrap around Merlin, pulling him close in a rare hug.
"No point in stating the obvious. Though I suppose I should've known you'd need it spelled out for you, what with your general lack of comprehending the simplest of things," he retorted mockingly, his wide grin belying the insult.
Merlin shoved him away playfully, chuckling despite himself. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, clotpole," he shot back. "May I remind you who writes all your speeches?"
Arthur feigned ignorance. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
"You never do."
"Oi!"
Merlin dodged the incoming slap to the back of his head, hopping off the bed. "It's unkingly to beat your servants," he chastised, tsking in disappointment.
"Well, apparently you're quite capable of defending yourself," Arthur returned, standing up and crossing his arms.
Merlin grinned wickedly. "Especially against arrogant prats who take it upon themselves to bully the newcomer," he drawled, seeing the exact moment that Arthur understood the meaning behind his words.
"You bloody cheater!" He exclaimed, marching forward to attempt another swat. Merlin narrowly dodged, much more nimble on his feet now that he had loosened his grip on his magic. It flowed through his limbs, giving him a strength and grace he hadn't had previously.
"I simply used the tools at my disposal," Merlin replied with an eye-crinkling laugh.
"I demand a rematch!" Arthur ordered childishly, practically stomping his foot.
"Oh, please, I could take you apart with less than one blow," Merlin repeated the old words, letting his magic fill his eyes with gold.
Arthur froze where he'd been chasing after his wayward servant, and Merlin mirrored the action, suddenly terrified he'd ruined everything. He bit his lip, clamping back down on his magic viciously. Stupid stupid stupid, he berated himself.
Arthur began shaking his head, slowly making his way over to where Merlin stood stock still. "I can't believe I never noticed it before," he murmured, reaching up and letting his fingers hover right above Merlin's cheek, underneath his eye. "The magic, it's just…it's you."
Merlin inhaled a surprised breath, having expected anger. "You're really not mad?" He asked meekly.
Arthur moved his hand to pat the side of Merlin's neck twice before dropping it back to his side. "I'm not mad," he reassured him, then hesitated on his next words. "Just…don't lie to me anymore, alright? Never again," he commanded softly.
Merlin nodded with wide eyes. "Never again. I swear it, Arthur. I'll tell you everything. Even…even the stuff you might not want to hear." He gulped, thinking about every little mistake he'd made since he came to Camelot…and some of the big ones.
Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Good. Because I need to hear it. And in return, I make you an oath of my own: whatever you have done—the good, the bad, the ugly—I swear to hear you out when you tell me about all of it, and I swear that no matter how I react, you will always have a place at my side, and you will always be my closest friend," he vowed.
Merlin's lip quivered under a sudden onslaught of emotions, and he lunged forward to hug Arthur before he could think twice about it. Arthur, who'd turned out to be every inch the King that the legends spoke of. Arthur, who'd accepted his magic, just like Merlin had always dreamed he would. Arthur, who was hugging him back like his life depended on it.
"Thank you, Arthur," he whispered, squeezing tightly and giving himself the freedom to hope for that bright future of Albion.