Work Text:
About four weeks after he had married Gwen, Arthur awoke with a strange, golden light around his head.
Naturally, it freaked Merlin out.
Most especially because neither Gwen nor Arthur seemed to realise anything was amiss at all. Gwen kissed her husband good morning that day, running a hand over the back of Arthur’s head in the process, and did not react to the light at all.
Merlin insisted on brushing Arthur’s hair that morning. It was an expected part of a royal manservant’s duties, as was most other grooming like shaving, though Merlin seldomly bothered with it, telling Arthur he could perfectly well hold a comb like any normal person.
This morning, though, he unceremoniously pushed Arthur onto the padded stool in front of the washstand and ran Arthur’s white horn comb through his blond strands. Merlin’s hands were trembling, just a bit. The strange light shone on brightly. There was no warmth to it, nor any other sensation or tangible effect. It seemed almost harmless, a pleasant-looking sheen that lit up Merlin’s pale skin as he worked away at Arthur’s hair.
Still, Merlin scowled down at Arthur’s head. He didn’t like this, not one bit.
“What are you making that face for?” Arthur asked.
Merlin looked up to see Arthur was watching him through the mirror of the washstand. The king looked just a tad wary, eyes narrowed as they were fixed on Merlin’s reflection.
“It’s nothing,” Merlin replied and aimed for a reassuring smile.
He must have got it wrong, though, because Arthur immediately tensed on the stool, “Gods, don’t tell me I’ve got lice!”
Merlin shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Everything’s fine.”
“That doesn’t sound terribly reassuring.”
Merlin wasn’t feeling so assured himself right now, though he wouldn’t tell Arthur that.
“How are you feeling today, sire?” he asked instead as he put down the comb. “A headache, per chance?”
Arthur frowned. “No. Why?”
“Oh, you know me. Just making sure kingship isn’t inflating your overly large head any further.”
His reply jumpstarted their usual bickering, to Gwen’s quiet amusement. She was already sitting at the table to have breakfast, a twinkle in her eye as she listened to them. On any other day, Merlin would have loved the domesticity of it all. He loved Gwen so fiercely. He loved how happy she made Arthur and he loved serving them both, now that it was all official.
But now there was that strange light. And while Merlin tried his best to mask it, he was getting more and more restless about it as the morning went on. As soon as Gwen had excused herself and went to her adjacent chambers to seek out her maidservant, Merlin followed her out the door with a laundry basket. It was an excuse to get away from Arthur and do some research.
Of course, there was nothing to be found about strange head-illuminating lights in any of Gaius’s books.
Gaius had not heard of such a phenomenon, either.
“Did it look malicious to you?” he asked from the worktable. He was chopping valerian root for a sleeping draught.
“No. It didn’t feel malicious, either,” Merlin told him, uselessly flipping through the pages of the book in front of him. “But I don’t trust appearances. It’s very clearly magic, and when has that ever been a good thing, strange magic affecting Arthur with no explanation?”
Gaius didn’t argue the point, but he also wasn’t of any further help.
At the end of the day, when Arthur still seemed to be acting normally, Merlin fell asleep with the hopes that the light might simply disappear.
The next morning, the light shone brighter. It was also starting to get a shape, vaguely circular. Merlin insisted on brushing Arthur’s hair again that day. Still, the light could not be touched, nor did it seem to have any negative effect on the king.
By day three, the light had most definitely turned into a sort of halo. It made Arthur look strangely angelic and it set Merlin’s teeth on edge.
By day four, the halo had grown stronger and Arthur had noticed something was going on.
“Why do you keep combing my hair?” he asked suspiciously.
Merlin adapted an innocent expression. “Can’t I take my duties seriously for once, my lord?”
“You can,” Arthur replied in a guarded tone. “I’d like a diligent servant for a change. But…” He trailed off and frowned.
“But?” Merlin prompted as he tried, without success, to touch Arthur’s halo with his little finger.
“You seem worried.”
“I’m not worried,” replied Merlin immediately, but he knew worry had bled into his voice just then.
Arthur didn’t comment on it, but from then on he started throwing Merlin looks. As Merlin had been throwing Arthur his own looks for the past days, trying to make sure the light wasn’t becoming a threat to Arthur, their eyes frequently met. Arthur’s frown deepened with every instance of him catching Merlin stare.
Merlin didn’t want to unsettle the king and tried to tone it down, but he clearly wasn’t doing a terribly good job.
By day seven, the halo was spiking out upwards and Arthur refused to let Merlin comb his hair.
It took Merlin another two days to finally realise that the light had grown into a crown. Arthur had been bestowed with a crown of light, by unknown forces.
Merlin racked his brain for possibly malicious intentions behind such a scheme. What good or bad could a crown of light do? A crown of light only he, Merlin, seemed to be aware of?
The worst thing about it was, though the crown seemed to have no effect whatsoever on Arthur other than his growing wariness of his manservant, it did start to have an effect on Merlin.
Merlin had always admired his king. Yes, he teased Arthur, took him down a notch when he deserved it, called him a prat and an ass without blinking, but he admired him all the same. Arthur was his king, his destiny, The Once and Future King. Fleeting glimpses of his potential had long turned into permanent good qualities. Arthur was just. Arthur was compassionate. Arthur was caring. Often, Merlin found himself standing at attention in the shadows behind Arthur’s throne and feeling a fierce pride at how well Arthur carried himself in court, how aptly he ruled his people.
Yes, Merlin admired and respected Arthur. If he was pressed, he might admit he was devoted to him. But for all that he adored his king, Merlin had never found himself shying away from him.
The crown of light was having that effect now. Merlin found he had a hard time looking Arthur in the face these days.
Seeing a crown on Arthur’s head affected Merlin. Be it the princely circlet of the past or the heavier coronet of his present kingship, the sight of a crowned Arthur tended to give him goosebumps. Sometimes, it was Merlin himself who set the crown on Arthur’s head and that made him feel a heady rush of warm anticipation. The pull of destiny was strong on those days, with visions of a Golden Age and a united Albion thrust to the very forefront of Merlin’s mind.
The crown of light seemed to be mocking him. It kept attracting Merlin’s attention, then seemed to repel his eyes, forcing Merlin to lower his gaze to somewhere around Arthur’s chin. It simply made Arthur look so different, so aloof, so sovereign, so kingly.
It reminded Merlin dearly of the fact that he was a servant. A peasant. A sorcerer, too, a criminal who lied to his king every day and would one day have to confess to his many sins in front of him.
Which man could be reminded of that at any given moment and continue to look his king straight in the eye?
Arthur most definitely noticed, and this time, he wasn’t letting it go. In fact, after Merlin had spent a whole day avoiding Arthur, thoroughly freaked out by the growing sense of deference inflicted upon him by the crown of light, the king cornered him in his chambers that very night.
“Merlin, what on Earth is going on?” he said and actually clasped Merlin’s shoulder. He sounded upset.
Of course, that tone didn’t make it any less difficult to look up at him, so Merlin didn’t. He set his eyes on Arthur’s chest.
“Nothing is going on,” he muttered. “Could you let go of me, please? I have to stoke the fire.”
“No. We need to talk,” Arthur said. The authority in his voice sent shivers down Merlin’s spine and straight to his knees. Gods, were they buckling? His eyes wandered down to Arthur’s thighs.
“There is nothing to talk about, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied, the honorific slipping out before he could help himself. He felt Arthur’s hand curl into his shoulder in reaction and cursed himself. Merlin never used those two words, not in that tone – soothing and deferent, not mocking. What on Earth was getting into him?
“Merlin,” Arthur said. His tone had changed, from commanding to urgent. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied, and cringed.
“You’re freaking me out,” Arthur told him.
Your crown of light is freaking me out, Merlin thought desperately, his eyes now on the floor.
“Look at me,” Arthur demanded.
Merlin bit his lip. He managed to raise his eyes to Arthur’s chest again, but that was about his limit.
Arthur was having none of it, though. “I said, look at me.”
Gods, but that tone. It was an order by his King, capital K. He couldn’t disobey his King. Merlin swallowed and looked up.
The crown of light shone back at him, illuminating Arthur’s worried but determined features, and the effect was immediate. Merlin’s eyes snapped back down, to somewhere around Arthur’s chin.
“Stop that!” Arthur commanded at once. “Stop doing that!”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Merlin whispered, and Arthur let out a frustrated growl that went right to Merlin’s heart, making it pick up speed. He had angered the King.
“Look at me,” Arthur repeated firmly. “That’s an order!”
Merlin did as he was told. His eyes teared up, but he did manage to hold Arthur’s gaze this time, though the light of the crown now seemed glaring, dazzling him.
“Tell me what is wrong, Merlin,” Arthur said.
“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Merlin croaked.
“Why are you calling me that?” Arthur asked, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. “Why are you looking so scared? Are you scared of me?”
Merlin couldn’t lie to the King. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, realising as he said the words they were true.
He was scared. The King scared him. Because Merlin had been keeping secrets from him for a very long time. Because Merlin was supposed to be his most loyal servant, yet he had betrayed him many times over. Not by hiding to save his own life, never that, but by making decisions for him, by enchanting him and making him into a simpleton, by forcing him to remain in a perpetual state of not-knowing, a King unaware of the things that happened in his own kingdom.
But most importantly, Merlin was scared because he was a sorcerer who had made his home in a place that would see him dead, and he knew that if worse came to worst and Arthur found out, he would willingly go to his death if it was Arthur who ordered it.
As he stared into Arthur’s eyes, set alight by the glimmering crown, glazed over with an almost magical sheen of gold, the tears fell.
“Merlin, what in the name of the gods—”
His legs went weak. Before he knew it, Merlin was kneeling in front of the King.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Arthur went into full crisis mode. He lowered himself onto the floor – gods, no, Merlin couldn’t bear to see his King kneel – and took a firm hold of Merlin’s arms. He pulled him to his feet and steered him to the nearest chair, where he pushed Merlin down firmly.
“Take a deep breath,” Arthur said. His voice was calm, soothing. The sort of voice he used with scared villagers coming to his court, the sort of voice that introduced the King as 'Arthur' to frightened peasants. Because he was a King like that, one who cared for the small people and never wanted them to be afraid to ask help of their ruler.
Merlin started sobbing. It just happened, the sounds wrenched from somewhere deep within his chest, buried underneath layers and layers of pain. The pain of not being believed about Agravaine, the pain of being threatened with banishment, the pain of hiding for years and year and years, the pain of never being able to show his true self around his King, the man he had given his whole life to except his actual life, though not for a lack of trying.
When Arthur tried to awkwardly pat his back, clearly aiming to comfort him, Merlin buried his face into his hands and wept.
Merlin didn’t know how long he cried but it had to be some time. When he dared show his face again, wiping a sleeve over the worst of the mess, it was dark outside where it had been dusky before. He was drained, exhausted.
“All right,” Arthur said. His voice was perfectly steady. “Now we talk.”
“Please don’t make me,” Merlin whispered.
“Merlin, you can’t have a break-down like this in the middle of my chambers and not expect me to have some questions.” He paused. “Most especially when you still refuse to even look at me.”
Merlin chanced a glance upwards. The crown shone as brightly as ever. He quickly looked away, and Arthur sighed.
“Would it help,” he added, “if I said you have absolutely nothing to fear from me?”
Merlin let out a strangled sound at that. At first he thought it was another sob, but it turned out to be an almost hysterical little laugh.
Arthur caught on. He hesitated, then said in a strange voice, “You do have something to fear from me, don’t you?”
Merlin nodded. Barely, but he nodded.
Arthur paused. At some point during Merlin’s crying fit, he had found himself a chair and sat down in front of him. Merlin had a perfect view of the King’s hands curling against his thighs in what Merlin knew to be a sign of his apprehension.
“I could order you to tell me what has you so upset,” he said eventually, “but I won’t. Instead, I will tell you this. Whatever it is that you have done, whatever it is that makes you believe I will react poorly to it, I promise I will be fair. If you decide to share it now, I will listen and not interrupt. I will not pass judgement until I have heard the whole story.”
Merlin’s lip trembled, though he didn’t think he had more tears in him just yet. “You’ll hate me,” he choked out.
“I could never hate you, Merlin,” Arthur admitted, and didn’t sound the least bit uncertain about it.
Think again, Merlin thought, but stayed silent.
“Trust me?” Arthur asked.
Oh, and he wanted to. Merlin so very dearly wanted to trust him. Hadn’t he always said he trusted Arthur with his life? Telling him his secret would be proof of that, literally putting his life into Arthur’s hands and trusting him not to crush him.
Wasn’t Arthur deserving of Merlin’s trust? Didn’t he deserve to know? Didn’t Merlin deserve to have this terrible weight lifted off his chest, after all these years?
He chanced another glance upwards. The crown of light shone warmly in the dim chambers. Suddenly, it no longer made him shy away. It seemed to invite him, seemed to say, He is your King. Trust him to do right by you.
It was all the encouragement he needed.
Merlin opened his mouth and told his King everything. He told him about first meetings, and stopping time, and falling chandeliers. He told him about a dragon and destiny. He told him about conveniently falling branches and bone-rattling blasts of energy, of magical beasts and of evil sorcerers. He told him about the death of a dragonlord, and the creation of a new one, about the guilt induced by seeing Camelot set ablaze. He told him about Lancelot. He told him about Morgana. He told him about every little lie, every little secret, every mistake, laughably small and frighteningly large.
True to his word, Arthur listened. He never commented, he never asked a question. He only sat, calmly and patiently and regal, a King listening to his subject’s darkest confessions.
When no more words were left to be said, Merlin fell quiet. At that moment, he realised that his eyes had not once strayed from Arthur’s. He had told him everything, and he had told it facing him head-on. There were no more secrets. It was all in Arthur’s hands now, the King whom he trusted.
Suddenly, Merlin felt utterly and completely at ease.
The King did not reply for a long time. He did not look angry, which was good, Merlin supposed. He did not look happy, either, which he had expected. If anything, he looked contemplative.
The crown of light shone on patiently. Merlin was no longer upset by it. He had made peace with it.
Merlin sat and waited.
When Arthur finally spoke, it was nothing like Merlin expected. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said, taking Merlin completely by surprise. “For your trust in me. I realise telling me all this was not easy. You had every reason to be scared.”
Merlin’s heart picked up speed, but Arthur continued, “I can’t give you my final judgment. There’s too much there to be untangled. I need some time to understand it. To really understand it. But I will promise you this: You don’t have to be scared.”
“I’m no longer scared,” Merlin told him and smiled at the crown of light.