Archive of Our Own

Arthur would never remember the weeks after the coronation very well. 

He knew that he felt like he was never left alone. There was a steady stream of well-wishers from both within Camelot and from outside its borders, and all must be welcomed with equal enthusiasm; an intense period of studying Camelot’s (and its neighbour’s) geography via all available maps; a particularly boring two days going over Camelot’s trade agreements and laws with Geoffrey the archivist; and thankfully, every now and again, he could go over military strategy and setup with Leon, which meant he could allow himself to leave his seat and visit the stables or the training grounds, at least for a little while. 

Then, it appeared that he was supposed to show his face to every man, woman and child in the kingdom. The fact that they all must have seen him before, on his many public appearances as Prince or Crown Prince, or on his various travels through the country, was apparently inconsequential to his already established small council of nobles - the people must be allowed to see the new King smile tightly and wave from his horse in yet another ceremony in yet another tired village in yet another obscure corner of the land. 

“Whoever thought this up should be beheaded”, grumbled Arthur one evening, tossing himself on the furs and blankets in his far too large and very impractical tent, which required four people half an hour to set up every evening and four people to take down in the morning. “I should just have put my chainmail on, taken a fast horse and two knights, at most , rode a quick tour around the countryside, and then I could have been done with this farce four days ago.”

“I’m pretty sure it was your father who thought this up, actually”, said Merlin, not nearly as sarcastically as he might have. Everyone seemed to be very carefully considering what to say to Arthur regarding his father, ever since his death, and Merlin was no exception. “Didn’t he do a tour like this when he became King?”

“Oh.” Arthur frowned. 

Merlin made a vaguely amused sound, just finishing folding Arthur’s heavy velvet cloak and putting it in a chest.

“But surely”, Arthur turned on his side to face Merlin, “this amount of… fuss isn’t needed.” 

It was rather unclear whether he by “fuss” meant half the nobles in the castle had decided to join the royal tour, or the tent is ridiculously large for two people, or if he had to stand another speech by some red-faced, over-excited spokesperson for another hour, he might have to punch someone , but as usual, he could assume Merlin understood without Arthur having to explain. 

“The people like the fuss, Arthur”, said Merlin. “People like celebrating things. A crowned King is something to celebrate. And a celebration where the King actually attends is a very good celebration.” 

“I know, I know.” Arthur drew his hand over his eyes and sighed. “Where are we going tomorrow?”

“No idea, Sire”, said Merlin cheerfully. 

Eventually, to Arthur’s relief, they did run out of villages deemed large enough to visit and they all returned to Camelot - and to the normal rhythm of what Arthur had come to understand was ruling a country. Only now, he seemed to have even less time to himself. Despite the fact that he’d essentially been acting regent for quite some time, there seemed to be an endless stream of advisors and nobles wanting his ear or opinion or decision. They always began with a deferential smile and “Now that Your Majesty is King -”, and “for the good of Camelot”, but somehow always ended up suggesting a course of action which would, completely coincidentally, benefit the person in question the most. It gave Arthur something of a perpetual headache - and, he had to admit, something of a foul temper.

Because of everything else that was going on, it took him almost three months to realise that something was off with Merlin. 

Arthur had dismissed all previous signs as Merlin wanting to show Arthur respect while he was in mourning, or Merlin possibly being affected by his sudden rise in status from the Prince’s manservant to the King’s manservant, or Merlin for some reason also being affected by Uther’s death - not that Arthur knew why he would, but it was entirely possible, as long as he didn’t look too closely at the explanation.

But while Merlin did indeed show Arthur a surprising amount of respect and consideration in his initial grief for someone as awkward as Merlin, the new behaviour persisted even after Arthur had shook the worst of it off him and started fulfilling his new duties as King. 

The new elevation to King’s manservant didn’t seem to affect him at all either, once Arthur stopped to actually consider. He was as clumsy as ever, as direct and blatant as he’d ever been, and he didn’t seem more ashamed than he’d ever been over spilling wine on Arthur’s table cloths. 

And Arthur had always known that Merlin wasn’t particularly fond of Uther, really. It had never bothered him; his father had not been a particularly likeable man. Most Kings weren’t. 

What had changed, however, was that Merlin had fallen silent. 

That is, not actually silent - he was still as chatty as ever whenever he accompanied Arthur between rooms in the castle, or travelling beside him on horseback riding from village to village, or after council sessions where both of them had to aggressively vent about a particularly thick-headed advisor (who, coincidentally, had been one of Uther’s closest). 

But the homely chatter in his chambers in the evenings, and in the mornings, when it was just the two of them - that was gone. Instead, Merlin had taken to looking deep in thought, focussing on something very different than what his hands were doing, or Arthur were saying. What’s more, he occasionally stopped whatever he was doing to look at Arthur with something like longing, or worry, or fear. Apparently he thought Arthur didn’t notice any of this - and, to be fair, he hadn’t for a very long time - because sometimes he got stuck like that, absently biting a nail or wiping the same part of the table over and over, or sitting with the quill for his notes hovering over the paper, leaving blue blobs of ink all over it.

But apparently he couldn’t solve whatever it was himself either, because if Arthur had thought Merlin was a constant presence before, it was doubly so now. He never talked, but he also never left, and he looked to Arthur over and over as if he’d say something - and then apparently decided against it. 

Four days after Arthur’s sudden realisation, watching Merlin blustering about his chambers without actually doing anything, just moving things from one spot to another, clearly trying to make up more work for himself so that he wouldn’t have to leave for the night, Arthur had had enough.

“Alright, Merlin, spit it out.” 

Merlin stilled mid-bluster. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been trying to tell me something for ages.”

“I have not!” said Merlin slightly too loudly, colour rising on his cheeks.

“Come on, Merlin. Whatever it is must be important, and you’re clearly -” Arthur waved his hand impatiently in Merlin’s general direction, “- trying to find the right moment. Well, this is me telling you, this is the right moment. Go ahead.”

Merlin looked to the side. “You’re mistaken, Sire.” Then, half a beat too late for their usual bickering (and rather half-heartedly, Arthur thought) he added: “As usual.” 

“See, Merlin, I don’t think I am.” Arthur leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips. “The only question is what it can be, that makes you want to tell me but not want to tell me at the same time.”

“If there was anything to tell you’d know”, Merlin said, now back to a more normal colour, and started up his blustering around the room again. “You’re imagining things. Wouldn’t be the first time, really. Remember that delusion you used to have that you were the best of the knights? Oh wait, you still think that you are. Silly me.”

Not paying much attention to Merlin’s ramblings, a thought struck Arthur. “Is it about a girl?”

Merlin stopped in his tracks and turned to look incredulously at Arthur. “What?”

“It’s just, we’ve never talked about girls.”

“We’ve talked about girls plenty.” 

Arthur waved that away. “Yes, but they’ve all been my girls.”

“Don’t let Gwen catch you saying that”, Merlin murmured, and Arthur glared.

“As I was trying to say, we’ve never talked about your love life.”

“There isn’t one”, Merlin deadpanned. “I’m always following your sorry arse around. When do you imagine I’d have time to meet a girl? Seriously, Arthur.”

“Come off it, you disappear mysteriously all the time!” Arthur was beginning to warm up to the idea. “You’d have plenty of time to have a fling or two. Met her at the tavern, did you? Or -” a sudden thought struck him, which made a lot of sense really, ”- the tavern must be where you say you go when you’re really meeting her, because you’re never hungover the day after your mysterious disappearances!” 

“Nice of you to pay such attention to me”, Merlin said, but he looked rather pale all of a sudden. “Never knew you cared.”

“It was rather a bad excuse to begin with”, said Arthur, who by now was feeling rather pleased with himself. “So, is this what you’ve been nervous about telling me? You shouldn’t have worried, I’m happy for you - but don’t be expecting days off just because you have a girl somewhere in town.”

“I do not have a girl in the town.” But the denial was more hesitant this time. 

Arthur shrugged. “In the castle, then. Doesn’t make a difference. Still good for you, still no more days off.” 

Sounding more unsure than Arthur thought was justifiable, Merlin muttered, without meeting Arthur’s eyes: “Well, thanks. I guess.” 

“So.” Arthur picked up his goblet and looked over the rim to Merlin. “Tell me about her.”

“I most definitely will not.” Merlin picked up Arthur’s dinner tray from the other side of the table, looking to all the world as if he was ready either to bolt from the room or sink through the floor. “If there’s nothing else?”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport!” Arthur took a large gulp of watered-down wine. “We’re in the middle of a fascinating conversation!” But Merlin looked even more unhappy, as he sat the tray down again, which led Arthur to reach the rather inevitable conclusion. He sat his goblet down and grimaced. “Gods - you - Merlin, did you get your girl in… trouble?” 

Merlin looked quizzical for a second, then his eyes widened. “Arthur! No! Are you actually serious?”

“Well, it would fit, wouldn’t it?” Arthur reasoned, his own cheeks now a little warm. “It would make sense that you’d - I mean, that you’d want to come to me for help - but also that you wouldn’t want to tell me - or at least that I’d have to drag it out of you -”

“- you haven’t dragged anything out of me -”

“- I’m just trying to help you out here -”

“- oh that’s very generous but for the Gods’ sake Arthur you’ve got the wrong end of the stick -”

“- come on , Merlin, you’re a terrible liar, just admit -”

“- I’ll have you know I’m a terrific liar really and there’s seriously nothing to -”

“- Gods’ sake, Merlin, just admit it already -”

“- I can’t .” 

Arthur stopped mid-argument, mouth still open, as Merlin’s voice broke. 

He half-believed he’d imagined it, up until Merlin shook his head with now suspiciously glassy-looking eyes and said again, in a desperate voice that made Arthur’s gut clench: “I can’t, Arthur.” 

The sudden silence felt very loud, to Arthur’s ears.

“…you can’t.” 

Merlin didn’t reply. 

“So”, Arthur began slowly, looking to Merlin for confirmation, still feeling something uneasily churning behind his ribs, “there’s no pregnant girl you need help with.”

“No.”

“There’s no girl at all.”

“No.”

“A boy?”

That startled a small, wet laugh out of Merlin. “Not that either.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “But you want to tell me what it is.”

Merlin looked away just before the tears spilled over. “Yes”, he whispered.

“And you can’t.” 

Merlin closed his eyes. “And I can’t.” 

Thoughts spinning wildly - equal parts of Gods’ sake Merlin, you’re just trying to make yourself seem interesting and get it out, you absolute git, you’re worrying me, what could you possibly need to hide from me you know I don’t like people hiding things , Arthur ended up with a somewhat stilted: “Well. Try again when you can.”

A flash of something - sadness? gratitude? - went over Merlin’s face. Then he briskly wiped his eyes on his sleeve, met Arthur’s eyes, and gave an almost perfect, respectful bow, before grabbing the dinner tray and vanishing out the door before either of them could say anything else.

Arthur stared after him for longer than he’d ever admit. 

The next morning, Arthur believed he had figured some of it out.

He didn’t reply to Merlin’s “Good morning, Sire” as he opened the curtains, but instead sat up in his bed and said: “This started after the coronation, didn’t it?”

The only reason he saw Merlin’s reaction was because he had been looking for it - surprise, then wariness, then nothing. “What started? And it’s good morning to you too, Merlin, how lovely to see you this fine day, I hope all your dreams were pleasant and about -”

“I don’t want to imagine your dreams, thank you.” Arthur rose and took the robe Merlin handed him. “The thing where you want to talk to me but can’t. That started after the coronation.”

Merlin closed his eyes briefly, but there was no other reaction. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

Arthur gave him a look , and Merlin caved. 

“Yesterday we were letting whatever this is go”, Merlin said, and turned to put more wood on the fire, but Arthur suspected it was merely an excuse not to have to look him in the eyes anymore, because the fire certainly looked like Merlin had already tended to it before waking him up.

“Yesterday I hadn’t realised it had to do with me being King”, Arthur said and sat down at the table, and started cutting into one of the sausages. 

He didn’t say anything else, only bit into his sausage and waited for the inevitable argument. Merlin always had something to say, often far too much - which made it doubly unsettling when he didn’t reply at all, only kept fiddling with the fireplace. 

Frowning, Arthur eventually put his fork down. “Merlin.”

“Yes?”

“You’re making me nervous.” 

“You have a nervous disposition, Sire”, Merlin said. 

“ Merlin .” 

“Arthur, forget it.” Merlin turned on his heels, exasperated. “It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it. I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go back to normal now, please?”

“If you do, then I will”, Arthur agreed irritably, reaching for a piece of bread. “But in that case, you need to knock this -”, he waved vaguely in Merlins general direction with the bread roll, -”off. I have better things to do than trying to figure you out, you know.”

“Certainly, Sire.” Merlin smiled blandly, and it was only because Arthur was still looking that he saw the relief flicker across his face. “Couldn’t agree more. Might I suggest the tax reports from the trade guild?” 

Arthur groaned at the prospect, and bit viciously into the bread instead of answering. Merlin grinned. 

Merlin, to his credit, seemed almost normal in the weeks that followed. The inane prattle in the mornings and evenings was back, for one, and in general it seemed like Merlin was perfectly content to not return to the subject - whatever it had been. The apparent lack of effort on Merlin’s part in doing so would have disconcerted Arthur, had it not been so relieving. Life was much easier, when he didn’t have to worry about his manservant, too, on top of everything else.

All in all, he should have been able to drop the thing altogether. 

For some reason, however, it kept nagging at him, and he couldn’t let it go. “Have you been spying on Camelot for another King?” he said one day, jokingly.

Merlin looked genuinely affronted. “I would never ."

“That was a joke, Merlin.”

“Not a funny one”, Merlin murmured petulantly, apparently giving up on folding Arthur’s shirt and deciding to simply hang it over a chair instead. 

Another time, as they were out riding, he asked: “Is it Gaius? Is he ill?” 

“Gaius is fine.”

“Your mother, then.”

Merlin had the audacity to look amused. “I’ll tell her you asked about her, Sire.” 

After a training session, when Merlin was gathering up all the training weapons and poles for target practice, Arthur said: “You do realise that whatever I’m imagining is probably a lot worse than it actually is?”

Merlin didn’t reply, and simply glared at him. 

And still, Arthur couldn’t let it go. 

“Merlin”, he said uncomfortably one evening, “I just - you can come to me with problems, you know. Or, I hope you know. I wouldn’t - I’d listen, I mean. I want to - I want to be the kind of King where you can - who you can talk to. Raise issues. Even if - even if it’s bad.” 

Merlin smiled - and it almost looked as if he was proud, which was not at all what Arthur had expected and not at all what he had been aiming for. “Oh, I know, Arthur. You’re going to be an amazing King. You are an amazing King.” 

“Then what on Earth could possibly be the matter?” Arthur almost exploded, putting his goblet down on the table with such force that some of the wine sloshed over the edge and down on the table cloth. 

“That you’re too damn curious for your own good”, Merlin exclaimed, looking in dismay at the now stained white linen. “Look what you did! That will take me ages to get out.”

“Like you don’t do much worse on a regular basis”, Arthur protested, sounding quite a bit more like a petulant child than he’d intended. 

“Well, yes, but I can’t very well be annoyed with myself about that, now can I?” Merlin asked rhetorically. “ You , on the other hand…” 

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “You know what, Merlin, whenever whatever this is comes back to bite you in the arse, I want you to remember that you yourself decided to make it worse by not telling me.”

“I don’t doubt it, Sire”, Merlin muttered, pouring a liberal helping of salt on the wine stain.

“And that I will be completely entitled to tell you ‘I told you so’. Repeatedly.”

Merlin still wouldn’t look at him, however, despite the obvious provocation. “You’re already entitled, Sire, in more ways than one.”

And at that, Arthur shook his head and decided, once and for all, to drop it. 

Arthur’s least favourite part of ruling came regularly, without mercy, once every two months - presiding as high judge, ruling in all legal matters that could not or would not be settled in other ways. It was terrible. The day (because he would not accept more than one, one was more than enough) was always far too long, with what felt like hundreds of petty matters, that all simply had to be brought before the King. He was always bored half to death by noon.

What was far worse, however, was that they always made him feel wholly inadequate. There was always some law he was unaware of, that Geoffrey of Monmouth had to clear his throat to get to quickly whisper a summary of into his ear, before it was hopefully too obvious that he hadn’t known about it. It also generally felt like there was no fair judgement he could make - there was generally good points to both (or heavens forbid, all three ) sides of the argument, and most of his rulings left both (or, heavens forbid again, all three) parties looking displeased with the result. And then, there was also the fact that ever since his father’s death, he couldn’t even use the excuse that he needed to confer with the King to get out of having to give a ruling on the spot, which meant he slept very poorly the night after he’d held high court, turning his decisions over and over in his mind, twisting to and fro in his bedsheets, wondering whether he shouldn’t have made another choice, or worded a verdict differently. 

Almost five months after his father’s death, with the sun setting outside the high windows of the throne room, this month’s day of high court was almost, but not quite, to an end. 

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand, closed his eyes for a second, and then took a deep breath. “So, in summary”, he said slowly, and nodded towards the man in a green tunic who was anxiously wringing a felt hat in his hands, “your cattle is dead. Killed. By wyverns.”

“That is so, Sire”, the anxious man (whose name Arthur had, embarrassingly enough, forgotten) said, nodding several times. “Three cows, these last months. All my livelihood, that was. There’s but the two left.”

“And the reason for this is that you had to change grazing grounds, because your neighbour”, he waved towards the other man, who he thought was called Farador, “no longer allows you to use his road to herd it to your old grazing grounds.”

“Fully aware this would mean I’d have to use the grounds very close to the wyvern nest, my lord”, the anxious man said, with a glare towards Farador. 

“But it is not actually your neighbour who has killed the cattle.”

“It is not , my lord”, said Farador indignantly. 

“He might as well have, my lord!” said the anxious man almost at the same time.

“And is there any particular reason”, Arthur asked, turning to Farador, “why your neighbour couldn’t keep using your road?” 

Farador pulled himself up to his fullest height, which would take him approximately to Arthur’s chin. “Does it matter, Sire? Seeing as the road is mine?”

“If it does not”, Arthur said, somewhat more irritably than he’d intended, “surely there would be no harm in letting him continue to use it?”

Merlin, standing just behind his shoulder, snorted. Arthur refrained from turning to glare at him with considerable effort. 

Farador looked disgruntled, but answered deferentially enough. “I suppose, but in fact, Sire, his cows keep trampling my garden when they walk it - it’s just nearby, you see, Sire. And I’ll have no more of it. We’d starve come winter, if I allowed it to continue. Five children, I have, Sire! To provide for!” 

“As if I had any less!” the anxious man cried. 

“And you wish compensation from your neighbour, for this loss of cattle.” 

“I do so humbly ask, Sire.” The anxious man bowed deep. 

“Sire, I beg of you to consider that I have committed no crime! Broken no law!” 

Farador sounded like a pompous arse, but he was also, Arthur was fairly certain, correct in this. A quick glance at Geoffrey, who nodded very slightly, confirmed it. 

Arthur leaned back on the throne, to give himself a moment more to think. “I cannot ask your neighbour to compensate you for the loss of your cattle, good man”, he said finally (to which the anxious man looked like he’d swallowed something bitter, and Farador looked like he’d grown a foot). “No one disputes the road is his, and he is within his rights to ask you to lead your cattle elsewhere where they don’t destroy his garden. However -”, he held up a hand to try to forestall the desperate outburst he could see coming, Gods have mercy - “I will send out a patrol of well trained knights, who can deal with the nest of wyverns. They will bring with them two new cows to replace some of what you lost to these attacks, and you may choose them from the royal barn yourself. In the future, if there should be any more attacks of magical creatures within our borders that you learn of, I’d hope you’d tell me, and I’d hope you’d do so before it gets this bad, do you both hear me?” He levelled them both with a look that he hoped was stern, and not only exasperated. 

The anxious man in green looked a little like he was on the verge to say but I lost three cows, Sire, not two , but decided against it at the last moment. Instead he bowed low and murmured: “Of course, Sire, very generous, thank you.”

Farador bowed as well, repeating his neighbour’s “thank you, very generous”, and they finally, finally backed out.

“That was the last one, wasn’t it?” Arthur muttered over his shoulder.

“It was”, Merlin agreed cheerfully. 

“Thank all the heavens.” 

Geoffrey concluded the day’s events, as Arthur sat, attempting to look regal, watching the last of the spectators slowly filing out. He nodded at one or two of the nobles, and gestured to the guards to shut the doors behind them all, once the throne room was empty. Not until then did he allow himself to slump, lean his head back over the edge of the throne, and sigh deeply.

“Wine”, he groaned.

Merlin had apparently decided to take pity on him, because a cool goblet appeared in his hand without comment. Arthur drank deeply, then sighed again, more content this time. 

“I hate magic”, he murmured.

There was a loud clang , and he startled so badly with his cup on his way to his mouth that he almost spilled wine all over him. “Merlin! What on earth -”

“Sorry!” Merlin was already on his knees, gathering the tray and the spare goblets (which mercifully had been empty even before he dropped them, it seemed), looking red around the ears. “Just dropped it, that’s all - there, no harm done.” 

“You clumsy oaf”, Arthur said without heat, leaning back in the throne again, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. “You must be the worst servant ever seen.” 

“Probably”, Merlin muttered. 

Arthur frowned at the unexpected agreement. Then again, when Merlin abruptly said: “Why did you think of that, all of a sudden?” 

“Of what? That I hate magic?”

“Mm.”

“Magic, magical creatures.” Arthur gestured vaguely with the goblet, then drank again. “The bloody wyverns, I suppose. Nasty beasts. Though I wonder why the farmers didn’t send message when they first noticed that there was a nest nearby. That would have spared them both a lot of trouble.”

“Likely because they are magic.” Merlin put the tray back on the side table, and looked at the darkening sky outside the windows. “And you never know what might happen, bearing news about magic.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned to meet Arthur’s eyes. “You hate magic.” 

Something twisted uncomfortably in Arthur’s guts. “Well, yes, but that - I would not take that out on some poor fellow who simply lost his cows to it, Merlin.” The rest of the sentence, not like my father might , went unsaid, but Arthur felt it echo through the room nonetheless. 

“I know that”, Merlin said, smiling a little wider. “They all will too, soon enough.” 

It took Arthur a week or so to notice, but Merlin’s silences, the ones when he both wanted and didn’t want to tell Arthur something, came back, after that. They were fewer, and shorter, and if they hadn’t talked about the fact that yes, there was something to catch, Arthur might have missed it altogether. Sitting by his desk, pen in hand and pretending to ponder what to write next in the letter to one of the outposts near his northern border, he instead observed Merlin as discreetly as he could. 

Merlin was at the end of a story, a second-hand tale from Gaius about something or other he’d encountered in the lower town today. Arthur didn’t bother listening too closely, just hmm- ed at appropriate intervals. 

And when the story was over, Merlin didn’t immediately start telling another. Instead (Arthur saw as he looked up quickly, when Merlin’s back seemed turned), Merlin went to the fireplace, put another log in - but just one, not his usual three. Then he simply sat there with a piece of firewood in his hand, balancing it on his knees, staring into the fire. He looked… troubled.

The thing was, Arthur was starting to feel a bit troubled too, what with the conclusion he was almost forced to draw. 

It had been fine for weeks, and now it was not. Due to something that had happened during high court. And Arthur really couldn’t see much else it could be, rather than… well. 

And he didn’t want to talk about this, he really, really didn’t. But he was beginning to feel like there was no way around it. 

He bit his thumbnail. Looked at Merlin. No, however deeply unpleasant this conversation would be… 

“It’s about magic.” 

Merlin’s head shot up, eyes wide. “What?”

“The thing you don’t want to tell me.” 

“No, it’s not”, Merlin said immediately, but he’d turned paler than Arthur might have ever seen him. 

Arthur ignored him. “And you don’t want to tell me about it because you know how I feel about magic. But you also do, because I’m King now, and should know about it. Is that about it, Merlin?”

“No”, Merlin said. He’d stood up by the fireplace, the piece of firewood still in his hands. His knuckles, Arthur noticed, looked white, and that more than anything convinced him that he was right. Merlin was very rarely nervous. Took most things in stride. But now and then, some things happened which would make him tight around the eyes. And Arthur, looking back, thought most of those times had probably been around magic.

There was probably some sort of magical plot that Merlin knew about somehow, but didn’t want to say how he found out about. Maybe he’d done something stupid to find out about it. Or, maybe, Arthur thought with sudden unease, there was some sort of magical effect, affecting the people of Camelot this very second. Something dangerous, but not dangerous enough to risk… 

“And you couldn’t tell my father because he might -” Arthur stopped short for a second. “Well. Take it out on the messenger.” 

Merlin said nothing.

“But you can tell me , Merlin. I won’t be angry that you hid it from me before”, he added, trying to sound reassuring. “I get it. I understand why you didn’t. But there is something I should know, right?”

After a long pause, Merlin eventually whispered: “Yes.”

The triumph of having been right was somewhat overshadowed by the fact that Merlin actually looked like he was about to be sick. The unease grew stronger. And also, a suspicion. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and put the pen down.

“Is there someone magical that you’re… protecting, Merlin?”

To his astonishment, Merlin let out a small laugh at that - which, horrifyingly enough, sounded wet and desperate, like he might start crying any second. “Sort of?” 

To buy himself time, Arthur nodded slowly. That would make sense. Merlin had always had more heart than sense. He’d befriended something he shouldn’t, then.

“Is it dangerous?” was the most pressing question.

“Not to you”, Merlin said immediately. “I wouldn’t - Arthur, you must believe me - if there was any risk -”

“- I know”, Arthur interrupted, uncomfortable with the sudden desperate earnestness. “Alright.” 

He closed his eyes. 

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to find a magical child, or young woman, or whatever other wide-eyed creature that Merlin had befriended, and drag it to the dungeons. He didn’t want to ask where it was. He didn’t want Merlin to have to tell him, when he clearly would, if Arthur just kept on asking, but just as clearly knew that it would end in destruction if he did. He didn’t want to have to read out the law and be met by terrified tears, or stoic resignation, by whatever innocence had taken Merlin in. He didn’t want to feel Merlin just over his shoulder at the execution, looking at the courtyard full of people with him, not saying a word. He didn’t like executing people. He didn’t want to.

It was just that… sometimes, it had to be done.

Gods, he hated magic. 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me.” 

It was as if the room itself almost stopped breathing. 

Finally, Merlin said, very quietly: “What?”

Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin was standing very, very still. “Don’t tell me. It’s not dangerous, whatever it is. I trust you enough to tell me if that changes. You don’t want to tell me. So don’t.” 

“You want me to… to just continue keeping secrets from you?” To Arthur’s surprise, Merlin sounded almost… angry? 

“ You were the one to say that you couldn’t tell me this”, Arthur reminded him, annoyed. “You have told me - repeatedly, I might add - to stop asking. Well, I’ve stopped asking. Let’s leave it.” 

“I just told you it’s about magic, and that you should know about it, and you - what - you just don’t want to know ?” 

“No, I told you all of that, because you were busy denying -”

“- yeah, well it was sort of implied -”

“- can’t you just be grateful, Merlin, and then we’ll leave it -”

“When have you ever decided not to face something head on, you pig-headed prat, you’re just -”

“- don’t you dare call me -”

“- a coward -”

“Hell, Merlin, I’m trying to protect you!” Arthur exploded, finding himself standing up behind his desk, arms wide. Merlin had, in turn, come closer, and the firewood he’d held was thrown to the side, and they were standing on either side of Arthur’s desk, chests heaving, hot with anger.

And so, pale and dark-eyed with fury, Merlin said: “I have magic.” 

And Arthur couldn’t think. 

The fire crackled. 

“No”, he said. 

Merlin smiled, humourless. 

“ No ”, Arthur said again, hoarsely, weakly. It felt like a free-fall, like the floor suddenly had disappeared underneath him; a whoosh- ing in his ears and a blur before his eyes. 

“I’m afraid so”, said Merlin.

And despite the way the world had gone fuzzy around the edges, Arthur could see that it was the truth. He was afraid. He was pale, hands trembling, eyes shining wet. But he didn’t look away.

“You’re lying.” But for what possible god-forsaken reason, Arthur couldn’t figure out.

And then, Merlin looked at the candle on his desk, and said something in the strange language that Arthur had always associated with battle, threats and secrets, and the previously very much unlit candle was suddenly flickering with light.

Arthur couldn’t help it. He flinched - his entire body suddenly a step further back, without his choosing. The heavy armchair he’d been sitting in, that he now bumped into by moving away from the desk, fell over with a heavy crash . The backs of his knees smarted, where they’d struck. 

Merlin didn’t move. 

Arthur didn’t move.

The wetness in one of Merlin’s eyes spilled over. The tear ran down his cheek, and Merlin didn’t move to dry it off. 

With the same visions of having to lead someone to the dungeons, to trial, to the courtyard, but with the nameless sorcerer suddenly replaced in his mind by Merlin , face pale and resigned; with visions of having to stand on the balcony alone while death and destruction was dealt, Arthur said with lips that felt numb: “Why would you tell me such a thing?”

Merlin’s shoulders gave what could have been a shrug, or a shudder. “I… felt like you had a right to know.” 

“Now that I’m King”, Arthur’s memory supplied, from the very first time they’d gotten close to talking about this.

“Yes”, Merlin whispered. 

“And what exactly do you expect me to do now that I know?” Arthur asked, something like bile, or fury, rising in his throat. 

“Letting me live would be nice”, Merlin offered with a shaky grimace, that possibly should have been a smile. 

“Oh really? You know what might have been better in that case?” It didn’t feel real. He must sound like a maniac. “ Not telling me about your magic. ” Not showing it either, for that matter.

He felt like he should grab a sword. To hold for its comforting weight in his hand; to threaten; to kill. He wasn’t sure. But when he looked for it, he found it over by the bed where he’d left it earlier, not by his side or by his desk; too far away to grab hold of easily. Merlin saw him looking, and his eyes darted that way too, and then back. He didn’t change expression at all. Must have already taken notice of where it was. Must have realised he’d be able to run, or fight him off with magic , before Arthur could grab it, or else he wouldn’t have said anything. That was smart. That was calculating. That was, Arthur thought, exactly what a sorcerer would do and think. 

The lack of his sword suddenly made Arthur feel naked and very vulnerable, in a way he didn’t like at all. 

This wasn’t Merlin . Not the Merlin he knew, at any rate.

This was a sorcerer. In his chambers. They were alone. And Arthur couldn’t reach his sword.

Mouth dry and heart beating fast, he tried to sound as normal as possible. “So what’s the grand plan?”

“What do you mean?” asked Merlin cautiously. 

Arthur bitterly wished that his armchair was still standing, so that he could have sat down in it; nonchalant and kingly. Instead, he stood stiff and with his chin held high, and tried to look like he was in control of the situation. “I mean , now I know. You have magic. What will you do now?”  

Merlin looked down at his feet. When he looked up again, he looked more sad than afraid. “I’m not going to do anything, Arthur. I’m not a threat to you. I’ve told you before, I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die. I meant that.”

Arthur scoffed, but his mouth had dried up and his tongue felt like sawdust, so he couldn’t say anything. 

“It’s true”, Merlin insisted. 

Arthur swallowed. Then cleared his throat. It didn’t feel better. “Will you.” He cleared his throat again. “Will you resist arrest?”

Merlin said nothing, at first. Then, slowly: “No. But I was rather hoping… there’d be no arrest.” 

“You know the law.” Arthur knew he did. Almost as well as he himself. Merlin was present at every high court, every deliberation, every petition, that Arthur himself was - a constant shadow, occasionally butting in with a joke, occasionally butting in with an opinion he really shouldn’t voice but apparently couldn’t stop himself from speaking. 

Merlin shrugged, a half-aborted motion of shame, or fear, or both. “Laws can change. The… King can change the law.” 

And there it was. Arthur stared. Merlin had the good sense to blush - which, now that Arthur thought about it, definitely didn’t suit him as he was apparently a sorcerer , but which was very much like something Merlin, his idiot manservant, would do. “You want me to legalise magic.” 

Merlin winced. “I mean - I would love that, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t expect anything like - but maybe, once I’ve explained -” 

“I don’t see how there’s anything to explain”, Arthur interrupted, a coldness spreading from the ache in his abdomen to his chest, to his arms and fingers, so that they suddenly felt freezing. “You’ve admitted to having magic. For what possible reason, I have no idea. I -” He broke off before he could continue, on the verge of saying something stupid, something pleading, like I even told you not to . 

“Magic isn’t what you think it is, Arthur.” 

“For the love of all holy, Merlin - shut up .” The venom in his voice surprised even him. 

It did stop Merlin short, though, something pained shooting across his face, and the room did in fact fall silent. It gave Arthur a second to think, and he didn’t like any of the conclusions he had to draw. His thoughts wouldn’t stay in order, either - jumping from it’s Merlin, to betrayal, to manipulation, mind magic, control, to how could he, to would the guards hear if he yelled, and back to betrayal, betrayal, betrayal. 

Before he’d had the chance to decide what to say, what to do, Merlin decided - true to form - that an order from his King was more like a suggestion than anything else. Tentatively, he started again: “It really isn’t though. It’s not your fault - you’ve been lied to your entire life -”

“My father taught me about magic.” It was a warning. 

Merlin looked like he might be ill, but didn’t heed it. “I - yes, I know, but your father - he was - he was biased, Arthur, he didn’t think clearly -”

“Biased?!” Arthur couldn’t believe his ears. He took a step forward, unconsciously, forgetting all about the fact that his weapons were on the other side of the room while the traitor in front of him apparently had his close to hand. Apparently, Merlin had forgotten the same, because he took a step back as Arthur advanced, the desk between them momentarily also forgotten by them both. “Magic killed my father !” 

“And it saved your life! A dozen times! At least!” Merlin took another step back, holding his hands out in a non-threatening gesture which did absolutely nothing for Arthur’s sudden fury. “It is both , Arthur, neither good, nor evil - it’s a tool -”

“You know that isn’t true!” It was too easy, far too easy to get dragged back into the argument - like the situation was normal, like the topic was just any topic, interrupting each other just like they usually argued when things were normal. “You’ve seen the dangers with your own eyes! What about the dragon, huh? What about Morgana? She used to be good, and then magic twisted Morgana’s senses -”

“- fear did that, Arthur, it wasn’t her magic -”

“-and you’d know, I suppose -”

“- I would, actually, I think better than perhaps any -”

“-because you’re an expert and none of this is because of your own self-interest-”

“Arthur, I was born with magic!” Merlin said loudly, exasperated, flinging his hands out in a look at me sort of gesture. “Yes, I do think I know a bit more about it than you do!” 

“Just stop talking !” Arthur roared. 

He was lying, of course he was - all magical creatures would, to protect themselves or hurt others or both, but it hurt when it was Merlin who did it, and he didn’t want to hear it, couldn’t hear it - 

“I should call for the guards.” 

Merlin took a breath as if he was about to say something, then apparently decided against it. It was quiet for a moment.

Feeling like he was about to be sick, Arthur closed his eyes. “Get out.” 

After a heartbeat, Merlin said quietly: “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

Without thinking, Arthur spun, grabbed the first thing off his desk and hurled it towards Merlin with all his strength. It turned out to be his inkpot, which smashed spectacularly against the door behind where Merlin’s head had just been, had he not ducked. “Go!” 

Merlin, wide-eyed and half-hunched, with tense shoulders and mouth pressed so tightly together his lips were almost white, spun too, and disappeared out the door. 

Arthur closed his eyes again, then opened them immediately as he swayed and almost lost his balance. His knees felt weak, and he reached out to steady himself against the desk. 

He had absolutely no idea what to do next. 

The next morning, much earlier than usual, Arthur had dressed himself and sat down at his desk by the window. He’d placed a report in front of him (the report from the knights who had been sent to deal with the wyverns, as it happened), but wasn’t even pretending to read it. 

The problem was, he had finally decided, during the long, grey-lighted hours of the early morning, that Merlin hadn’t shut up . That was the long and short of it. Some things you just don’t tell the King. If you’re a nobleman, you don’t tell the King that you accidentally were left with more in your stores after the tax man had come than you should have, as long as everyone seemed happy. If you’re the King’s guest, you don’t tell the King that he’s too drunk to dance, you just dance along. If you’re the King’s knight, you don’t tell the King that you’re too afraid to face an enemy on the battlefield. And if you happen to have a little magic that you barely use and which hasn’t as of yet corrupted you, you don’t tell the King about it - you keep your mouth shut and live out your days in peace, happily darning the King’s royal socks. Most people would have the sense to know that - but, of course not Merlin . 

Some part of him - the part that felt too young to be King, too inexperienced; the part that felt like a boy dressed up in someone else’s clothes - desperately wished there was someone he could talk to about it. Ask for advice, or sympathy, or just have a listening ear. Because of the nature of the subject, however, there was of course no one. He would not - could not - make the same mistake as Merlin had, in speaking something out loud that should never have been said. 

Ordinarily, he might have talked to Merlin about it. The thought was bitter with irony.

Merlin came a little later than his usual time, as far as Arthur could tell, but he did come, as he’d said he would. Unwise, perhaps - but just like him, and somehow, that made Arthur breathe a little easier. He looked nervous, but unsurprised to see Arthur already up. He also looked tired. Uncomfortably, Arthur briefly wondered if he’d been laying awake all night listening for the guards to come, before he struck the thought out of his mind. 

Merlin tentatively closed the door behind him, took a few steps into the room, and drew a deep breath as if to speak. Arthur, who had come to a decision during the night, was quicker. 

“Now, let me make this very clear - we’re never going to talk about it again.” 

Merlin immediately looked peeved. “What? We have to.” 

“You swore to me that whatever it was that you kept secret wasn’t dangerous. As long as that is true -”

“It is - well -”

Arthur glared, and continued as if Merlin hadn’t spoken: “- then there’s nothing to talk about. I don’t need to know all your - your tricks. I’m sure there are a thousand things about your work I don’t need to know about. Let this be one more. That way, the law has no business with you either.”

“ Tricks ?” Merlin said incredulously. 

Arthur waved a hand. “Now, you’re going to fetch me breakfast, and later, you’re going to make sure the following from Ascetir keep who are due to arrive today are given chambers and food befitting their station, and you are shutting up about this and never speaking about it to any living soul ever again, have I made myself clear?”

“Arthur, this is not -”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“- something that we can just -”

Realising he wasn’t getting through, Arthur reinforced his voice with steel. “That is an order from your King , Merlin.” 

Merlin gave what could only be described as a loud huff , shifted from one foot to the other, and looked away.

“Now. Breakfast .”

Lips thin and pressed hard together, Merlin went. 

Arthur exhaled slowly, finally allowing himself to lean back in his chair. He gripped the armrests tightly enough that it stopped his hands from shaking. 

A moment later, he decided that he wasn’t hungry after all, and that maybe everything would just be easier if he wasn’t in his rooms when Merlin returned. Nodding to himself, he rose, and left - without a clear plan as to where to go, but that would surely sort itself out very soon. There was always someone who demanded the King’s time. 

The entire rest of that day - nay, that entire week - Arthur acted completely normal. He completed all of his duties, attended everything he should attend, spoke to everyone he should speak to, and made decisions whenever needed. He attended the birthday celebration of a noble’s son who was coming of an age to take his place as a squire to one of his knights, and gave an encouraging, if short, speech to the pimpled, red-faced lad, who looked extremely pleased to have gotten the attention of the King. He listened with care to the steward of one of the border fortresses, who reported that the recent rains had led to floods, which in turn had caused one of the walls to partially collapse upon itself, and would the King please allow some funds for the repairs, for the protection of Camelot? He rode out with the royal stable master to inspect the three new foals recently born to carefully selected mares, to see whether he wanted to choose one for himself already, or whether he wanted to wait until they’d grown. (He did, in fact, choose one of them for his own - an almost entirely black, long-legged creature who had first nuzzled his hand and then tried to bite it, which Arthur was immediately charmed by, to the stable master’s pleasure.) 

All in all, he kept nearly as busy as he had in the days just after the coronation. Arthur had also taken to dressing very early, before Merlin showed up to his chambers, and to eating breakfast in the antechamber to the main hall, while chatting to the steward, the commander of the night guard, Geoffrey the archivist, or someone else conveniently close by. Most evenings, he spent in the company of his knights, who looked somewhat confused over the change, but seemed pleased enough to have him, and he made sure to dismiss Merlin for the night while other people were present. Merlin barely had time to try to say more than a word or two to him, during the days. 

Merlin looked increasingly frustrated, but as Arthur had guessed, didn’t want to argue when others could hear. He did have some sense of self-preservation, then. 

And as Arthur kept so very busy, he could keep himself from thinking about what Merlin had to preserve himself from. Most of the time.

The thoughts inevitably came in the early morning hours, though. In his bleakest moments, he was convinced he was dooming all of Camelot to inevitable downfall - letting a sorcerer, however loyal (because he couldn’t really doubt Merlin’s loyalty; it was plain in all of his actions since the coronation and up until this very moment) run about free? Letting him live ? What was he thinking? When had magic not caused disaster and ruin - even the initially most innocent-looking?

At other times, he despised himself for being a hypocrite. It wasn’t a sorcerer he was letting live, after all - it was Merlin, and he was only doing it at all because it was Merlin. He was becoming the sort of King that let his friends (yes, friends - he could admit it at least to himself) stand above the law. He’d promised himself he’d never allow that to happen - he would rule a fair and just Kingdom. And yet, here they were. It made him feel ill. What sort of man was he on the verge of becoming? 

And at yet other times, he simply lay awake, staring at the canopy above the bed, wondering what else Merlin could do, if he could light fires with just a word. Wondering about things that had been allowed to stay unexplained, or shrugged away, but which now needled themselves back into his thoughts. Could he have magicked away the difficult stains on Arthur’s second-best doublet, when they still had been there after two turns to the wash? Could he make a bandit drop his sword mid-move with a yelp, so that Arthur would have time to defeat his first foe without being hit by a second? Could he make a large tree branch fall over the road, just in time to stop an attacking rider that might otherwise have killed a Camelot knight? 

All seemed very likely. 

A small, nagging part of him wondered, too - could he have killed a dragon, while Arthur had been unconscious? Was there other things he could have done, more important and larger than lighting fires, that Arthur had no idea about?

Such were Arthur’s thoughts, when one morning, Merlin had apparently decided that he had had enough of avoidance, and the door to his chambers opened a good two hours before they normally did. Arthur, still in bed, scrambled up to seated.

Carrying a heavenly-smelling breakfast tray, Merlin said, in a completely normal tone of voice: “I feel like you didn’t completely get what I was saying.” 

He hadn’t even fully entered Arthur’s chambers yet and definitely not closed the door entirely behind him, which made Arthur’s heart leap up to his throat. 

“ Shut the door”, he hissed. 

Merlin, seemingly unbothered, did so. “You seem to think this is a little thing, some tricks - lighting fires, calling objects from the other side of the room, or the like -”

“It is absolutely not a little thing ”, Arthur said, teeth clenched while his mind played up all sorts of visions of lighting fires and calling objects that Merlin was in the centre of, “and you’re not talking about it anymore.”

“It’s not a little thing, though, I know things that would be useful to you - and sometimes I sense things or people tell me things -”

“I don’t want to know, Merlin.” Arthur threw the covers back and rose, wishing he wasn’t in his nightshirt, but not wanting to stay trapped in bed, forced to listen to whatever Merlin decided he should hear. “Get me my black trousers with brass buttons and a clean shirt, will you?”

Merlin shot him a look, but obediently set the breakfast tray down on the table and went towards the cupboard. Arthur couldn’t help glancing down at the tray as he passed, and his stomach growled. He took two sausages and a bread roll from the plate and brought them to his desk, where he then put them down and instead picked up the topmost sheet of reports. He felt too unsettled to eat.

Merlin came over to hand him his clothes, looked assessingly at Arthur, then tried again: “It really would be better -”

“We’ll have to listen to more reports about the rains today”, Arthur interrupted, barely knowing what he was saying. “Apparently most of the coastal areas are in desperate need of help.”

“You’ll help them, I’m sure”, Merlin said. “As I was saying -”

“An entire fishing village has been abandoned”, Arthur read from the page, not taking his eyes off it while simultaneously putting his legs into the trousers. “Due to extensive flooding - a small river usually flows by the village, and now flows through it. Fancy that, Merlin. But they managed to get everyone out, at least.” 

“Yes, that’s great -” 

“Even the livestock, apparently. So no deaths at all. Isn’t that lucky.” Arthur shucked his nightshirt over the armchair by the desk, and quickly pulled the clean, white linen over his head, not stopping to let Merlin help him with any of it.

“Very lucky”, Merlin said, clearly impatient now. 

“There is still the question of whether to rebuild the village or whether to let it fall to ruin, though - the river might overflow again at a later date, so it might be better if -”

“ Sire.”

“- another site was chosen - but then again, this is fishing folk, isn’t it - and fishing is their trade, so they couldn’t very well -”

“Arthur!” Merlin all but yelled, and Arthur couldn’t help looking up from finishing buttoning his trousers, astonished. “Will you stop trying to change the subject and listen to me?” 

Arthur fell silent. It wasn’t what Merlin had said, nor really how he’d said it - loudly, with clear frustration - but rather the raw desperation in his face. 

Arthur had never seen Merlin like this, he realised - not ever. 

With a sinking heart, he decided that he had to give Merlin something . “I can’t talk about this, Merlin”, he said, and tried to sound both gentle and firm. “If you think about it, you’ll understand why.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“What?” 

“You don’t want me to keep this secret from you anymore”, Merlin said. 

Arthur took a deep breath, and sat down in his chair. So much for his attempts to avoid this altogether. He caved, and said: “The secret isn’t kept in any way, shape or form.”

“You know what I mean.”

Arthur didn’t want to reply to that, and in a bout of childishness, decided that he didn’t have to. 

Merlin looked frustrated. “Can’t you -”, he broke off, took a deep breath, then started again, throwing his hands out widely in a gesture that probably was supposed to indicate helplessness. “I don’t have any excuses anymore, Arthur. I wish I did - I wish I could justify not saying anything, but it’s dangerous for you not to know, don’t you see? I’ve never been able to warn you against anything , not properly, because I’ve never been able to tell you why I know things, which means you haven’t listened to me, which means you’ve made all sorts of stupid decisions -”

“Stupid decisions?” Arthur couldn’t help but butt in, incredulously, but Merlin continued as if he hadn’t spoken:

“- but now I can warn you, because you’re King now and you should get to decide for yourself how you’d like to handle magical - well, problems, or issues, or whatever you want to call them, because it’s your kingdom.”

It sounded so reasonable, in many ways. Merlin looked so earnest - he clearly believed what he was saying. 

Arthur couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt more out of his depth. 

He took a deep breath, and leaned back in the chair. He found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose, like he usually did when either on the way of developing a headache, or when Merlin was particularly obstinate, or - as was the case right now - both. 

He forced himself to stop. Tried to look collected. “This is still treason, in case you’ve forgotten. Punishable by death.”

Merlin scoffed. “Oh, come off it. If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.” 

Arthur hadn’t been entirely sure of that himself, up until this point, but Merlin’s certainty grounded him in a way that was both comfortably familiar, and deeply troubling. “Banish you, then”, Arthur suggested, realising a little too late that he’d implied agreement by not arguing.

“You shouldn’t”, Merlin said. “I’m no use to you anywhere else.”  

With something uncomfortably like panic rising in his chest, Arthur flung both hands out in a gesture far too like the one Merlin had just made, and snapped: “I will not be the sort of King that makes exceptions to his own laws, Merlin - if I know about this, then you will die .” 

Merlin, mercifully, didn’t comment on his hypocrisy, but merely said: “The law is wrong. It doesn’t allow for all the good magic can do. Or for all the innocent, neither good nor bad, that simply is.”

“There’s no such thing as good or innocent magic.” It was an instinctual response, but no less true. 

“But there is , Arthur.” Merlin leaned in, put both hands on the desk. Still looked earnest, still looked desperate. “ Please , let me tell you about it.” 

“And I should just take your word for it, I suppose?”

Merlin straightened, then shrugged, shoulders tense. “Why not? I know more about it than anyone else you’ve talked to.”

“Because you were born with magic.” Arthur was sure the derision he felt could be heard. It was well known that no one was born with magic. No human, that is - only magical creatures, inherently evil, could be born with magical powers. Why Merlin would claim such a thing was beyond him, even after several sleepless nights, going over everything he’d said again and again. 

“I was.” Merlin looked stubborn. “Talk to my mother, if you don’t believe me. I called any toys and food I wanted from across the room when I was barely a year old. I restored the plants in her kaleyard when the hares had been at it when I was three, because I saw that she was sad. I remember putting out a fire in the barn with a thought when I was five or so, to keep it from burning down - it’s one of my earliest memories. No one could have taught me that. No one else knew. My mother kept it all a secret, and made me do the same. I remember her telling me stories about the bad men that would come and take me, if anyone ever saw me do anything like that.” 

That actually did stop Arthur short. He’d met Hunith, and knew her to be an honest woman. There was little to gain by telling such stories, and much to potentially lose - including her own life, and that of her child. 

Probably sensing he had the advantage, Merlin pressed on. “And that’s only part of it - I’ve learned so much more since I came to Camelot. But - I guess the main thing is that - well, there’s so many people with magic who just want to… live in peace. Who don’t want to fight, or plot against anyone, or - or anything like that. People who don’t do bad things with their magic. Just… people.” 

Something hard and dark formed in Arthur’s stomach. “You’ve been consorting with sorcerers behind my back?” 

Merlin’s eyes widened. “No! Or, well… a little? Not consorting , but maybe… talking to? A bit? Sometimes?” 

“If there are so many of these good sorcerers, or people who just want to live in peace ”, Arthur said with what he himself thought was impressive self-restraint, “why is Camelot under near constant magical attack?” 

Merlin grimaced. “Well… a lot of people are angry, too, I suppose. About the Purge, or something that happened in the years after, to their kin or loved ones. They want vengeance. Or justice, but it amounts to the same thing for many. It’s one of those one bad thing leads to another, then another, then another - can’t you see? Uther killed their families, so they want to kill Uther’s family, so you kill them, and then their kin in turn want to kill you.” 

“No one killed Morgana’s family.” It had slipped out - he hadn’t meant to say it. It was still raw - too raw - and he rarely spoke of her to anyone, not even Merlin. 

Wincing, Merlin said: “She was afraid for her life, though. What… Uther might do, if he realised her dreams were prophetic. That she had magic. That fear… twisted her. It made it possible for others to… trick her. Lure her onto a path she never should have taken. Because she wanted to feel safe somewhere, and she didn’t in Camelot. Not anymore.”  

“That’s a convenient explanation”, Arthur scoffed, but found his mouth suddenly dry. 

Merlin looked at him like he was a little simple - and in all fairness, Arthur might have deserved it. “None of this is convenient , Arthur.” 

And it really wasn’t, was it. 

Because Arthur knew Merlin - quite well, in fact, even though it seemed he was a sorcerer and a fairly good liar and maybe all sorts of other things he’d never mentioned before. But Merlin didn’t have to say that he, too, had feared for his life, if Uther ever found out he had magic. Was apparently born with it. Arthur had heard it all the same, and he saw that Merlin knew that he’d heard. 

The picture just didn’t add up. 

None of it made any sense. 

Unless… unless what Merlin was saying was true. Or at least, unless Merlin believed it to be, on - Arthur had to admit - sounded like fairly good grounds. 

He had to look away. 

He sensed, rather than heard, Merlin exhale, and some of the tension in the room bled out. 

He supposed he should feel himself backed into a corner. Like someone threatened the world as he knew it. He supposed he should feel angry. He was rather surprised to only find weariness, and something that approached sadness - and something like trepidation, over the things he did not yet know but would know soon, that he sensed he would have lived happier if he’d never known about at all. 

“Alright”, he said eventually, and looked at Merlin again, who - to his immediate annoyance - looked almost giddy, clearly having already realised what Arthur was about to say. Arthur didn’t like that one bit, but he had committed now. “I will hear you out.”

“Thank you, Sire”, Merlin said, a large grin threatening to break out on his face any moment. 

Arthur held up one hand to forestall it. “Not now, though. It will have to wait until tonight. I really do have to meet with the people from the flooded areas.”

“I know”, Merlin said cheerfully. 

“And I’m not promising anything other than listening”, Arthur continued sternly, trying to reclaim some of the control of the situation that he, apparently, had already lost. 

“Absolutely, Sire.” 

Arthur sighed, then rose - stole a quick glance at the breakfast, and decided taking the time to eat it wasn’t worth being stuck in here with a practically vibrating Merlin - and moved towards the door. 

“Coming, then?”

“Right away, Sire.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin snatch up the sausages and the breadroll from the desk, before hurrying after him, stuffing some of it in his mouth.

Years of annoyance and familiarity spoke before he could stop the words: “Merlin, do you actually have a death wish?”

To his relief, Merlin answered in kind.

“Not at all, Sire”, Merlin said, cheerfully chewing. “Never did.”