Archive of Our Own

The realisation dawns on him slowly, like the rising sun, and then all at once like the charge of a draughthorse.

It starts with Sir Gwaine giving him a contemplative look after a skirmish with some bandits on a hunt; a tree had fallen on the last of the bandits just as he was rushing at Arthur from behind, too fast for him to turn and defend himself.

"That was lucky," Arthur had laughed, and Merlin had rolled his eyes, and Gwaine had given him that look that said he might be missing something.

Gwaine had hung back with him while the rest of the party charged homeward and murmured, as though afraid of being overheard, "Happens to you a lot, that, doesn't it?"

Arthur had blinked at him. "What?"

Gwaine had flapped a hand back towards where they'd come from. "Near misses, lucky escapes. You've really never noticed how often a… a branch or a rock falls at just the right moment for you to avoid danger?"

"What's your point, Gwaine?" he'd asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

Gwaine had shrugged easily, like it wasn't important. "Just something I noticed, is all," he'd said. "You might be the luckiest bloke I've ever met."

Arthur had opened his mouth, whether in shock or to give some kind of response he wasn't entirely sure, but Gwaine was already nudging his horse faster to catch up with the others. Arthur rode on his own, pondering whether he'd imagined the emphasis Gwaine had put on the word might, until Leon noticed he was lagging behind and made them all stop to let him catch up.

But it's the kind of thing that, once his attention is drawn to it, is actually hard to miss.

He does have quite a lot of lucky escapes. And it's not only him, either; his knights are also frequently snatched from the jaws of death by freak landslides or broken equipment, and now that he's watching for it, Merlin, too, is far more present in battles than Arthur had thought despite usually being the training dummy rather than the trainee, and somehow he escapes with barely a scratch every time. On the occasion that makes him notice it, the barbarian charging at Merlin is stopped a foot or so away from him by his breeches falling down and tangling around his ankles. It makes Arthur a little uneasy to know he'd usually have found this absolutely hilarious.

It's not just when they're in battle, either. An assassin accidentally trips over the edge of a rug Arthur swears was on the other side of the room when he'd looked a moment ago, sending his thrown dagger to lodge harmlessly into Arthur's dinner table. The heel breaks off the shoe of an awful woman Sir Leon is engaged to marry as she's walking down the aisle, leading the sweet mask she wore around him to slip until Leon breaks the engagement in horror. The serving girl carrying Arthur's wine jug drops it before she reaches him, leaving the poisoned wine to hiss and sizzle on the floor.

The conclusion unshrouds itself slowly, but maybe that's just because Arthur really doesn't want to know it. But after a few weeks, he can't deny that there's something more than coincidence going on.

Magic.

Someone in Arthur's inner circle is a sorcerer.

Uther had pressed it into him from the moment he could understand speech: magic is dangerous, evil, corrupting. Magic is to be feared, and those who use it, punished.

Arthur hasn't believed that in a long time, not really, but the knowledge that someone close to him, someone he trusts, has been using magic still sends a shiver of fear up his spine. Arthur is certain he's witnessed truly good magic in his life, but the overwhelming majority of his experiences with sorcerers have been people trying to hurt him or his father, so it's hard to believe this mystery person is genuinely just trying to protect him.

But this… person, this sorcerer causing all Arthur's lucky escapes, must be one of his very closest friends, must have been one of his closest friends for years now. For every time they've saved his life or that of his friends, they must have had a hundred opportunities to harm him, to kill him or enchant him into giving up his throne or his gold or whatever else they might have wanted. And instead they've protected him, watched over him, kept him and his friends safe over and over and over again, risking execution all the while.

And it's a bit hypocritical of Arthur to continue punishing magic users on pain of death when he himself would be dead a thousand times over without it, isn't it, so he'll have to repeal the ban. He'd had a few thoughts about it anyway, since he grew old enough to understand that the majority of the magical attacks Camelot had faced were acts of revenge for the Purge his father had inflicted on them. And it will be a lot easier to put sensible regulations in place to govern magic use with the advice of a sorcerer he trusts.

So he needs to know who it is.

When he thinks about it, the person who has the most of these lucky escapes, besides himself, is Merlin.

Which is good, because his manservant has a terrible habit of following Arthur into danger and trying to sacrifice himself for him, running headlong into battles with no weapon and no armour like a kitten gambolling into a den of lions.

Arthur would never say it to his face, but he thinks he'd be a bit lost without Merlin. He'd considered making him a knight of Camelot, years ago when he'd knighted the others, and he still feels a little bit guilty that his main reason for not doing it was that he couldn't imagine not waking up to Merlin's face throwing back his curtains everyday, to that lopsided grin and cheerful disrespect. Merlin has proven himself more than brave enough to be a knight – perhaps with a little training on not tripping over his own feet – but Arthur is selfish, and if Merlin were a knight then Arthur would need to get a new manservant.

It makes Arthur laugh sometimes how much he'd resented Merlin at the beginning, for the very same reasons he values him now. Merlin had never seemed to care that he was the Crown Prince of Camelot: he'd called him a prat when he was being a prat, and called him Arthur when he wasn't, and looked at him like he was a vaguely annoying person instead of a future king. He'd introduced him to Gwaine, and Lancelot, and made them feel comfortable to treat him like a person too, until suddenly he'd had a whole group of friends, something his father had always told him a king could never have.

So it's good that Merlin also has a sorcerer looking out for him.

It also narrows down who the sorcerer might be, because as much as all the knights love Merlin, there's only one who would think him as worthy of protection as Arthur himself, and funnily enough it's the same person who started him down this path of thought in the first place.

Gwaine.

For a moment, he feels a hot flush of rage. That Gwaine had teased him about all his lucky escapes while knowing he had caused them – by committing treason, no less – feels unpleasant. The whole idea doesn't sit right with him, like wearing someone else's armour by mistake, something that he expected to be a perfect fit but instead chafes and pinches uncomfortably.

But he can't deny the fact that Gwaine's magic has protected him, can't ignore the hundreds of times he must have saved his life, based on what he's observed extrapolated over the years they've known each other. He can't ignore it, and he can't continue to persecute sorcery.

He hesitates longer than he's comfortable with, lingering and watching Gwaine out of the corners of his eyes as much as he thinks he can get away with. He considers asking Gaius for advice, who knows more about sorcery than anyone he knows, but he knows Gaius will give him a hedging, placating sort of answer, half his own opinion and half what he thinks Arthur will want to hear.

He needs Merlin.

He corners him when he's clearing his plates after a dinner he'd made Merlin share with him, frowing incredulously even as he stole chicken off Arthur's plate.

"Merlin," Arthur begins, grimacing at how strained his voice sounds already, "I was wondering if I could get your advice on something."

He cringes as Merlin's full lips twitch into the smirk he'd known they would. "I'm sorry?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, trying to hold back his smile. "You heard me perfectly."

"You want my advice?"

When he looks up, Merlin's grinning properly, the crooked little grin that always makes Arthur's heart pound uncomfortably in his chest. The one that he pictures, late at night, in bed alone. "No," Arthur deadpans. "You know what, I've changed my mind. A momentary lapse in judgment–"

"I'm happy to give you advice, Arthur," Merlin interrupts, and there's a softness underneath all the smug bravado that makes Arthur lose the fight to hide a smile.

He takes a deep breath. "This doesn't leave this room, of course," he says.

Merlin sobers a little, straightening his posture and holding Arthur's empty water jug close to his chest. For a moment, he looks like a proper servant. "You can trust me, you know that."

Arthur knows he can trust Merlin. That's why he's the only person he can talk to about this; he knows Merlin will listen without judgment, give a measured and possibly even wise response, and never speak of it again.

"Someone close to me is a sorcerer," he says without further preamble.

Merlin drops the jug. It crashes cacophonously on the stone floor, echoing through the room. He drops immediately to pick it up again, and when he straightens his face is white, knuckles clenched on the handle of the jug, blue eyes wide and terrified.

He knows already, then.

It's not really surprising that Merlin would already know, he supposes. He and Gwaine are so close that Arthur gets jealous, sometimes.

"Merlin, it's okay," he says quietly, leaning forwards in his chair, grateful the desk is between them to stop himself reaching out. "I've known for a while, and I'm absolutely certain that this person has only ever used their magic to protect me. To protect us."

Merlin swallows, still shaking so violently the water jug clinks against his belt. "You – you think so, sire," he stammers.

"I know it," Arthur says firmly. "I do not intend to harm or punish them for their magic. I believe the best course of action now would be to work to repeal the ban on sorcery. I cannot have this person persecuted for protecting me, even if they technically committed treason to do so."

Merlin is silent for a long time, looking at Arthur like he's a banquet in the wilderness, like he desperately wants to believe him but just can't make himself. It gives Arthur complicated feelings deep in his chest, that Merlin is so devoted to his best friend – that Arthur isn't his best friend – that he would fear for them so deeply, keep such a monumental secret from his king for them.

All the times he's mocked Merlin for being terrible at secret-keeping flood back into his mind, all the times Merlin had given him a little smile and said, you'd be surprised.

He is, and he isn't.

"What advice did you want from me, sire?" Merlin asks eventually.

Arthur starts a little. "You've always had a… balanced opinion on magic, Merlin," he says, remembering with a little pang the times Merlin had told him there is no place for magic in Camelot and wondering what that must have cost him. "I want to know what you think of this approach. I will need your help, if I'm to repeal the ban safely. While I am ready to concede that magic itself is not inherently evil or corrupting, there are some forms of magic that I believe should remain prohibited."

Merlin actually smiles, looking relieved, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "I think you're a lot wiser than you look," he says insolently, "which admittedly isn't saying much."

It's so much a return to the Merlin he's familiar with that Arthur laughs a little harder than the joke warrants, but Merlin's laughing too, the chamber echoing with it. Arthur suddenly wonders whether this secret between them had been holding both of them back from something, something Arthur has long been afraid to reach for but might actually now be in his grasp.

When the laughter fades, Merlin resumes looking at him with something he's a little afraid might be pride. "Of course I'll help you, Arthur," he says softly.

"Excellent," Arthur says briskly, trying to snap them out of all this ghastly sentiment. "Would you fetch him for me, then? I would like to start straight away."

Merlin doesn't move. "Fetch – who?"

Arthur gives him a look. He's already said he won't harm Gwaine. Is Merlin playing dumb intentionally because he still thinks he needs to protect him? "The sorcerer, Merlin," he says, slowly like he's speaking to an idiot.

Still Merlin frowns at him like Arthur's lost him somewhere. "Gwaine," Arthur presses, just in case. "I would like him to help me draw up a plan for reform."

For some reason, this makes Merlin's always expressive face cycle through an alarming range of emotions, in which Arthur can almost make out disappointment and amusement and something utterly devastated before it lands on an expression he's never seen on that face before.

He looks furious.

The look is gone before Arthur can comment on it, replaced by a resigned sort of blankness. "Gwaine is a sorcerer," he says, spitting it out from between clenched teeth.

Maybe he hadn't known, after all. But then why–

"You realised that someone around you had magic," Merlin continues, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion, "so you watched us all, and thought long and hard, and the conclusion that you came to after all of this watching and thinking, is that Gwaine is a sorcerer."

"Yes," Arthur says, bewildered.

Merlin nods abruptly. "I will fetch him for you, sire," he says, his voice cold, and then he's gone before Arthur can even begin to wonder what he's missed.

Gwaine laughs so hard he needs to sit down, landing heavily on the rickety chair in his chamber, and then so hard that he actually can't breathe and he's momentarily afraid he might die from it.

"Well," he says when he's recovered enough to speak. "Our King has finally managed to get hold of the right stick, at least, even if he is firmly grasping it by the wrong end."

Merlin glares at him, like he can't see why this is the funniest thing Gwaine has ever heard. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Nothing that would make him think I was a sorcerer," he defends himself indignantly. Merlin's eyes flash gold and Gwaine's sword springs up of its own accord, flies at him quicker than human hand could cast it, and stops right under his chin before he's even had a chance to blink.

He knows Merlin isn't actually about to hurt him, so he just raises an eyebrow coolly, refusing to allow himself to flinch. Merlin holds his gaze for another moment, then slumps onto Gwaine's bed, the sword falling to the floor with a clatter, and puts his head in his hands.

Gwaine's chest clenches painfully. He crosses to sit beside him, encouraging him to shuffle up so that they're side by side against the wall. He hates to see his best friend look so defeated, and he can admit he feels horribly guilty that it's his fault this has happened.

"It was just a few weeks after I found out," he begins, forcing himself to keep meeting Merlin's eyes even as his body screams at him to drop his gaze in shame.

It had been an accident, Gwaine's discovery of Merlin's magic. They'd been running from a scouting party of Morgana's, her blighted pet dragon swooping overhead, and Merlin had made them all keep running while he stayed behind – as a distraction, he'd said. It hadn't sat right with Gwaine that Merlin had been the distraction, unarmed and defenceless as he'd assumed him to be, so as soon as Merlin was out of sight he'd given the others the slip and crept back to help him, and as such he'd had a perfect view of Merlin blasting half the scouting party out of his way with a wave of his hand. He'd spoken to the dragon in a voice that made Gwaine's very bones shake, and the poor beast had changed direction mid-flight, winging its way harmlessly over the mountaintop away from them.

Gwaine had still been standing there with his mouth open when Merlin had turned and seen him.

"Shit," he'd said.

"Yeah," Gwaine had replied with a little laugh. "My thoughts exactly."

They'd stared at each other cautiously while a series of memories ran themselves back through Gwaine's mind, all the narrow escapes that had kept him up at night for months, wondering. "Explains a lot, though," he'd said flippantly.

Merlin had let out a loud breath that was almost a laugh, looking relieved. "You won't…"

"'Course I won't," Gwaine had told him.

And then, just a few short weeks later, he had.

"You stopped a bandit from killing him by making a tree fall on him," he says now. "He was laughing about how lucky he was, and it made me so angry that he didn't know what you risked for him to be so lucky, that he appreciated you so little. That we all did, myself included. So I said something snide about him being lucky a lot, that he was the luckiest person I'd ever met."

Merlin looks at him like he's an idiot, which he supposes is well deserved. "I'm sorry, Merlin," he says, putting a comforting hand on his thigh. "I thought he'd just… laugh it off. You know what he's like. I really didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I know you didn't," Merlin says, tipping his body sideways tiredly so that his head rests on Gwaine's shoulder. He puts an arm around him instinctively. They've done this a lot, since Gwaine found out: Merlin coming to Gwaine for comfort, a tiny respite from carrying the weight of the world all on his own. He'd probably have started hoping if it wasn't so obvious Merlin's heart belonged elsewhere.

He lets the silence hang for another moment before he finally lets himself ask. "Since you came here angry at me instead of terrified for me, I take it His Majesty does not intend to hang me for my treason?"

Merlin snorts. "Probably should have led with that, shouldn't I," he says, not moving from Gwaine's shoulder. "No, he's not going to hurt you. He's going to repeal the ban on magic, and wants your help to do it safely. He sent me to find you so you could get started."

Gwaine frowns. "But that's good, surely?"

"It's more than I'd ever hoped for," Merlin admits.

He waits for the but, and when it doesn't come and Merlin still looks unreasonably despondent, he prompts it. "So what's the problem?"

Merlin gets up, scrambling off the bed to pace agitatedly up and down the tiny room. "Does he really think of me so little?" he asks after a few minutes of this, of Gwaine watching him and waiting patiently for him to arrange his thoughts. "That after all the years I've been right there, it's still easier for him to believe you are a sorcerer than even consider that it could be me? That I might be anything other than his stupid, incompetent servant?"

"You know he thinks of you as more than that," Gwaine protests, though he suspects Merlin is as oblivious as Arthur himself as to how the king really thinks of him. But to anyone on the outside, it's obvious enough that there's a betting pool among a select group of knights over when they'll finally admit it to each other. Gwaine didn't even have to start the pool himself, Leon had instigated it, a move that had earned more of Gwaine's respect than his years of solid leadership ever have.

Gwaine makes a mental note to change his stake; he'd thought they had at least another year. They're both idiots, after all.

Merlin makes a noise of frustration. "Right," he says derisively. "Sometimes after I've praised him a bit and told him I believe in what he'll do for Camelot, for Albion, he'll look at me in complete surprise and tell me I might be a little bit wise. What more could I possibly ask for from the Once and Future King?"

Gwaine gives the door a surreptitious look to check none of the others have heard his shouting. It's not suspicious or unusual, for Merlin to be in Gwaine's chamber complaining about Arthur, but he thinks they'll probably kick him out of the pool if they overhear him trying to give Merlin a push.

"Have you ever considered," he says with great patience, "that perhaps our King looks at you so little because he is afraid of looking at you too much?"

Merlin stops pacing for a moment to give him a look that Gwaine suspects could probably actually kill if Merlin wanted it to. "What the hell does that even mean?" he sniffs.

He's not going to spell it out for him, so Gwaine just shrugs. Merlin's shoulders slump, like the fight has gone out of him.

"I just want him to see what I do for him," he says tiredly, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "Just once, just for a moment, I want him to see me."

Gwaine nods, resolved. "He will."

"What will you tell him?" Merlin asks, his beautiful eyes pleading.

He doesn't know yet, not really. He has the whole walk through the castle to work it out. Gwaine does some of his best work on the balls of his feet. "I'll tell him it's not me," he says. "And maybe give him a tiny push in the right direction."

Merlin's grateful smile follows him for the whole journey, until he's facing the door to Arthur's chambers, still with no idea what to say.

He decides to play dumb. Arthur usually buys that better than most alternatives.

"Sire," he says as respectfully as he can usually muster, which means there's a slightly mocking grin at the corners of his mouth. "Merlin said you were looking for me?"

Arthur looks up from behind his desk, papers spread across every inch of it, and smiles in what's clearly intended to be a calming, placating sort of way, the way one might approach a wild animal.

Still a bit scared of magic, then.

He wonders if Arthur is actually even ready to know about Merlin. Maybe the reason he didn't even consider him as an option when he was looking for the sorcerer is less to do with not thinking Merlin is capable of great magic and more to do with not wanting to think Merlin could possibly be something that he is frightened of.

But he'd said all the right things when he'd thought it was Gwaine with magic. And Gwaine wants quite desperately to see a version of Merlin without the weight of all these secrets on his shoulders, allowed to use his magic freely and frivolously.

"When do we leave and what do I need to pack?" he asks, as though Arthur had said anything to prompt this.

It stops Arthur dead, because he hasn't said anything to make Gwaine think he's going anywhere. "Er – what?"

Gwaine grins as innocently as he can manage. "Since you've called me here, alone, I assume we're about to embark on an ill-advised adventure somewhere reckless? You know that's my favourite kind of adventure."

Arthur's face clears. "Merlin didn't tell you why I wanted to speak to you," he surmises. Gwaine shakes his head, trying to look politely puzzled. Arthur sighs. "Of course he didn't. That would be too helpful."

A little flare of irritation lights in the pit of Gwaine's stomach. Merlin's right: Arthur values him far too little, even if he was just a manservant who had stood by his side for all these years without question. "I'm sure he thought it would be better coming from you, sire. I've never known Merlin to do any less than his best."

Surprisingly, Arthur seems to pick up on the resentful note Gwaine hadn't tried very hard to hide, and his frown softens. "Of course, you're right," he says. "You know I – I appreciate that he has you to look out for him, that you're..." his face twists possessively, just for a moment, before he gets it back under control. "That you're close. I make a lot of jokes about Merlin being useless, but it's just teasing. If I really believed even half of it, I'd have replaced him years ago."

Gwaine watches the way his face changes when he talks about Merlin, the softness, the light in his eyes. "I know it, sire" he says, as gently as he can. "But I'm not certain Merlin always does." He watches him a moment longer before he says, just in case, "He's my best friend, but we've never been close in any way other than that."

Arthur freezes for a moment, like Gwaine has petrified him and it takes a moment to shake it off. He shrugs with exaggerated carelessness. "I wasn't asking," he says. "It's none of my business."

Gwaine gives him a look that any other king might execute him for.

"Anyway," Arthur says firmly, ignoring the look. "The reason I called you here is because I've been thinking about what you said, about me having a lot of lucky coincidences, and… I understand."

He almost laughs. Arthur looks so earnest, still treating him like he's going to flee or lash out. He wonders if he'll treat Merlin with the same delicacy. "Understand, sire?" he says, still playing dumb.

Arthur stands up and rounds the desk to stand in front of him, looking him in the eye like they're equals. "Yes," he says. "I understand what you were trying to say, and I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner." He steps forward again to grip Gwaine's shoulder, his eyes soft. "Thank you," he says seriously. "For everything you've done for me over the years. All the times you've protected me, protected Camelot. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

It's sweet and heartfelt, and Gwaine feels awful, for a moment, that he's stolen it from Merlin. "That's much appreciated, sire," he says as steadily as he can. "But I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

Arthur nods understandingly. "I know how hard you've had to work to hide it," he says. "But it's all right. I should have legalised magic years ago. I want you to have a proper place on my council, to help me welcome magic back to Camelot."

"Magic, sire?" Gwaine asks blankly. He frowns, lets his mouth fall open, a perfect performance. "Wait – you think I'm a sorcerer?"

Saying it aloud to the king's face makes the ridiculousness of it all hit him anew, and without meaning to he's laughing again, great shaking peals of laughter that make him bend double while Arthur looks on, bewildered.

"Sire," he says when he can breathe again. "I can promise you, I am not a sorcerer." He can tell from Arthur's face that he doesn't believe him, so he carries on. "Magic is punishable by death in Camelot," he reminds him. "Why would I choose to move here, to serve and protect a king who would have me executed for doing so?"

Arthur turns this information over in his head. It looks painful. "Someone did," he protests.

Gwaine shrugs nonchalantly. "Someone with far more understanding and respect for things greater than themselves than I, I'm afraid, sire."

He looks crestfallen, but interestingly, a little relieved, before he turns his focus back on Gwaine, suddenly sharp. "And you've no idea who it is?" he asks.

Gwaine tries to look innocent again, but he can tell he fails.

"It would not be my secret to tell, if I did, sire," he says, the first truthful statement of the evening. "And… I think it would mean more to this person for you to realise it on your own. For you to see them, without needing to be shown."

He lingers just long enough to see the thunderbolt strike him.

It takes two days.

Arthur's been avoiding him, which takes considerable effort when Merlin's duties include dressing and undressing him, so Merlin knows that he's worked it out. He's just waiting, his heart cradled shallow and precarious in his mouth, for Arthur to decide if the sorcerer being Merlin instead of Gwaine changes anything for him.

They're on the training ground when it happens. Merlin, for once, is actually participating in the knights' traditional Saturday morning game: trying their utmost to make Gwaine throw up last night's mead while still wearing his helmet. Arthur likes to pretend that he thinks none of his knights ever turn up to training hung over, let alone that the others have made a game of it instead of addressing it, so he tends not to join them on Saturdays until well into the afternoon.

Merlin usually watches from the sidelines while the others try and fail. The closest he's seen them come was a few months ago when Leon caught him a ringing blow right to the top of the head and he'd just managed to get the helmet off before emptying his stomach onto the grass.

Says a lot that he still spends his Friday nights in the tavern, really.

Merlin is still a little mad at Gwaine, so today he shrugs off his jacket and grabs a sword from the rack, rolling up his sleeves determinedly amid cheers and shoulder claps from the others as they step aside to give him a turn. He catches a flicker of dread from Gwaine's warm, brown eyes through the slits in the helmet, clearly seeing the determination set into Merlin's face and understanding in a way none of the others can how much trouble he's in.

"Merlin," he manages, his voice a little pleading uner the bravado.

Merlin raises an eyebrow, daring him to protest. Gwaine holds his gaze for another moment, then blows his breath out heavily. "Fair enough," he says.

He's better at this than he thinks any of them realise, even without magic, the instinctive result of being Arthur's training dummy for years. Gwaine doesn't fight back, only defends himself as Merlin rains increasingly fast and hard blows down on him, feinting at his legs occasionally to draw his defence away from his head. The knights have formed a circle around them, jeering and shouting advice at Merlin and taunts at Gwaine until it finally happens: Merlin lands a smack with the flat of his blade against the side of the helmet that snaps Gwaine's head to the side, the clash of sword on helmet loud enough from the outside that he can imagine it's deafening from the inside, and while everyone's cheering with their eyes on Gwaine he whispers an incantation to induce momentary vertigo and Gwaine loses it, staggering, vomit spraying out of the gaps in the helmet.

Merlin allows himself a few moments of being cheered and clapped on the back, Percival grabbing him in a triumphant hug so tight that he loses his breath, and then he goes to check on his friend.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, putting a hand on Gwaine's back where he's managed to get the helmet off and is bent double over the grass, gulping weakly.

He's a mess, his face and hair covered in it, but he grins at the question nonetheless and reaches behind him to slap Merlin affectionately on the back. "'Course I am," he says cheerfully, undermining it slightly by trying to straighten up and immediately dropping back down, retching. "Might need a new helmet, though."

Merlin grimaces at the helmet, lying a few feet away on the grass. "I'll help you clean it, later," he promises, suddenly feeling guilty. "Sit down, I'll get a damp towel to clean you up."

Gwaine obediently lies down on the grass and starts taking off the parts of his armour that don't need to touch his face: gloves, bracers, greaves. Leon's already approaching with a towel and a bucket of water, still chuckling. "Oi, you don't think you're finished, do you?" he asks sternly, but Merlin can tell he's mostly joking.

They're helping Gwaine off with his mail shirt when the King arrives.

"Morning, sire," Leon greets cheerfully, but he falls silent quickly. Arthur is charging towards them with singular purpose, face set, eyes blazing and focused entirely on Merlin.

His stomach drops.

Instinct kicks in and he considers running, using magic to stall Arthur just enough that he can get away, get out of Camelot and hide himself forever. But Arthur had said just two days ago that he was okay with his mystery protector, that he wanted to welcome magic back to his kingdom. Which means that if Arthur is angry, it's not because of Merlin's magic, it's because of his lying.

The only way that's any better is that he probably won't be burned at the stake for it.

Arthur gets close enough for Merlin to see that he definitely is angry, but there's something else behind the expression, something wild, determined, half-crazed. "Arthur," Merlin tries when he's only a few feet away, but Arthur doesn't stop, doesn't even blink, just keeps striding forwards until he actually collides with Merlin, crashes his whole body into him, and then he grabs his face, and kisses him.

It's hard and a little brutal, the harsh press of lips almost more of a blow than a kiss, and so it takes Merlin a long moment to understand the fact that Arthur's kissing him, Arthur's hands are in his hair, Arthur's body is pressed against the length of his, steady and determined. He makes a strangled, desperate sound as his brain finally catches up and lets him kiss back.

He can hear cheering, and can't tell if it's from the knights around them or just from every cell in his body. He wraps a hand around the warm soft of Arthur's neck, another around his back, pulling him closer. He's wanted this for so long that he can't stop himself long enough to question it, he's greedy for it, drinking it in like he was dying of thirst, but Arthur's matching him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping through him like rain after a drought.

After an eternity and not nearly long enough, Arthur pulls back, cupping Merlin's jaw in both hands and resting their foreheads together. "I see you, Merlin," he says, softly so that the words are just for him. He presses another kiss to Merlin's mouth, already open with shock. "I see you."

Through the kiss that follows, at the edge of his consciousness, Merlin dimly hears a thump of fist on padded flesh. "You cheated, didn't you," Leon is saying to Gwaine, his voice accusatory.

Merlin doesn't know what they're talking about, but he can guess – he's noticed the knights exchanging pointed looks and occasionally coins when he and Arthur bicker in front of them – and Gwaine definitely cheated. How else would Arthur know that all Merlin has ever wanted was to be seen by him, if Gwaine hadn't relayed their conversation?

Gwaine makes an indignant sound; Merlin breaks the kiss to look without drawing any further away from Arthur than he has to, and sees him rubbing his arm where Leon's punch landed. "How dare you," he says, but he's beaming far too widely for a man who still has vomit in his hair. "I had a hunch, that's all."

He can tell Arthur's about to ask the question, and he doesn't want this moment to suddenly become about the fact that Arthur's knights had been betting on when he'd finally snog his manservant, so he recaptures Arthur's attention with a hand to his cheek, trying to convey let's go somewhere private with his eyes as best he can. There's so much they still need to say to each other, and he'd really like to say it without their friends watching them and possibly also without clothing.

Arthur takes Merlin's hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Leon, you can handle training today without me?" he says, not looking away from Merlin.

"Gladly, sire," Leon says, although he still looks annoyed enough that Merlin suspects Gwaine will need to put his armour back on.

Arthur nods sharply, and leads Merlin away without another word, staunchly ignoring the salacious noises that follow them. Merlin catches Gwaine's eye and grins at the wink he receives.

They make it as far as the armoury. It's deserted while training is in full swing, and Arthur takes advantage of this fact to press Merlin against the wall between two shields and kiss his breath away.

"Arthur," Merlin gasps when he pulls away to breathe. "Wait, just–" he can feel his magic responding to the kiss, to the weight of Arthur's body against him. He pushes gently at Arthur's chest until he eases back far enough to look each other in the eyes.

"Why now?" he asks. Arthur raises an eyebrow as if to say, isn't it obvious. Merlin sighs. He thinks it is obvious, but him lighting up the room with accidental magic when Arthur didn't know he was a sorcerer might be sort of hard to come back from if he's wrong. "Arthur, I need you to say it."

Arthur's face clears in understanding. "Merlin," he says, his voice deeper than Merlin's ever heard it. "Now, because I was madly in love with you before I understood what you've done for me, what you've risked to stay by my side. Now, because I am done being in denial about what I want." He cups Merlin's jaw with both hands again, his blue eyes earnest and sweet, and Merlin thinks his heart might explode. "Now, I know you have magic. You've been protecting me, with magic, since the day we met."

And Merlin couldn't have imagined it better, really, so he throws himself back into kissing Arthur like it's his destiny. Arthur slides a hot hand under his shirt to grip his side, his knee pushing between Merlin's thighs, making things suddenly urgent.

"I know there's a lot we should really talk about," he murmurs directly into Merlin's ear. "But I've spent years thinking up things I'd rather do to you first."

Merlin hums agreement. Arthur's thigh is pressing right to where he needs it most, and the idea of stopping to have all the conversations they need to have is untenable. He tugs at Arthur's belt instead, pulling it loose until it clinks to the ground and he can push up his shirt and map the planes of his belly. He's never appreciated so much all the time Arthur spends training: all the hours he's spent polishing and sharpening and mending armour are absolutely worth it if the end result is that he gets to feel these abdominal muscles, clenching and flexing in response to the drag of his fingers.

"Does this mean you'll stop complaining about what a terrible servant I am?" Merlin asks, although he's doing an excellent job of undressing Arthur now, his trousers halfway undone before he remembers he can use magic and suddenly they're around his ankles.

Arthur snorts. "You are a terrible servant," he says, but his eyes are soft when he lifts Merlin's chin to make him look him in the eyes. "Your value to me has never been your service."

Merlin opens his mouth to say something sarcastic, but Arthur puts pressure on his chin until it closes again, and then covers it with his own until he forgets what he would have said. "Merlin," Arthur says when they break apart again, cradling the back of his head like something precious. "What I said before, I see you, I said it because… you have always seen me. From the moment we met. You didn't see a prince, a future King, you just saw–"

"A prat," Merlin can't stop himself from saying.

Luckily, Arthur laughs. "When I was being one, yes," he agrees. "I needed that. I have needed that. You've always challenged me instead of deferring to me, and it's always made me feel…" he trails off into a shudder as Merlin manages to get his smallclothes down to his thighs and wrap a hand around him. "Like that," he laughs. "But I was terrified of what my father would do to you if he worked out how I felt, so I pushed it down so deeply that even when he was gone, I avoided thinking about you as anything more than a manservant and a friend. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn't see or appreciate you because of that."

He remembers what Gwaine had said: perhaps he looks at you so little because he's afraid of looking at you too much, and thinks that Gwaine is far more perceptive than his behaviour leads people to believe.

Merlin is touched, but he's also trying very hard not to be offended that Arthur can still hold such a serious conversation while Merlin's hand is on his cock. "Arthur," he says as patiently as he can. "Shut up."

"Right," Arthur says, refocusing his attention on Merlin's trousers. "Sorry. Just thought that was important to be clear on."

He kisses him again, Arthur chuckling into it as the points on Merlin's trousers fall open under his hands. Merlin can't hold back a moan as Arthur cups him through his smallclothes, hips jerking involuntarily. He, too, has spent years thinking about this, barely daring to imagine the feel of Arthur's hands on his skin; it feels overwhelming, now, to think that it's happening.

Arthur finally manages to wrestle Merlin's underwear down far enough that his cock springs free, jumping into Arthur's hand like it's got a mind of its own. "Merlin," he groans, rolling his hips so that his own cock pushes through Merlin's hand. "Show me some magic."

Merlin snorts. "It's like that, is it," he teases, shifting so that their pricks align and he can wrap his hand around both of them.

"Maybe a bit," Arthur admits, gasping at a particularly dextrous twist of Merlin's wrist. "And as magical as that feels, Merlin, it's not quite what I had in mind."

He rolls his eyes and leans as far back into the wall as he can to feign nonchalance. "I'm not a performing conjurer," he protests, but follows it up with an incantation that fills both of their palms with something slippery.

Arthur moans so loudly that Merlin almost slaps a hand over his mouth. "That's more like it," he says, smug and obnoxious, and Merlin loves him so much he can't breathe.

It doesn't take long, the knowledge that they're in the unlocked armoury adding a sharp, frantic edge to the pleasure crashing through him; Merlin grabs Arthur's firm backside with his free hand and pulls him in tighter as he comes, wet and messy, into the space between them, and Arthur follows him with a greedy sound that almost sounds like Merlin, panting wetly into his neck, both of them sagging down the wall as their knees fight to give out.

Merlin admits defeat after another moment and slides all the way down the wall to sit on the floor. Naturally, this puts him at eye level with Arthur's sticky, softening cock, and he has to look up at him from under his eyelashes with a heated expression, and then suddenly Arthur's on the floor too, looking a little bewildered to find himself there.

"Well," he says, shifting until he's propped up against the wall next to Merlin. "That was… well."

Merlin waits a moment for him to expand on that, at the very least to offer whether well was good or bad. When he doesn't, Merlin shakes his head. "Prat," he says fondly.

He waves a hand, his magic obeying without spoken direction to clean them both up. Arthur makes an approving noise and leans his head against Merlin's shoulder.

"Leon and Gwaine had a bet on when this would happen, didn't they," Arthur says, sounding like he's aware he should be embarrassed about it but can't quite muster up the energy.

Merlin reaches up a hand to card it absently through Arthur's hair. "Percival and Elyan were in on it, too," he says. "And maybe a few of the others."

Arthur hums. "Pretty sure Gwaine cheated."

"Maybe," Merlin says evasively. He wants to believe his best friend just realised they were on that course and took advantage of it, but he can't deny that Gwaine started all of this and gave them both the final push. And he has been pushing Merlin fairly hard to come to dice night at the Rising Sun since he found out about his magic. "He would have played everything the same without the bet, though," he says. "I don't begrudge him taking money from the others for it."

"I would have worked it out without him," Arthur says confidently.

Merlin laughs so hard he slips out from underneath him. "If you say so, sire," he says, in that way that makes it obvious he really means prat.

Arthur works his way back to his feet, pulling his clothing back into order. "Come on," he says briskly. "Now you can use magic to fulfil your duties as my manservant, I'll have to add a whole list of other duties to your new role as Court Sorcerer."

He sounds positively gleeful, and Merlin hides his face in his hands so Arthur can't see that he's grinning through his despairing groan. First on the list, whether Arthur puts it there or not, is a basic explanation of how magic requires energy and balance and is therefore not a sustainable way to do two jobs at once.

He takes the hand that Arthur offers to pull him upright. "I am joking, Merlin," Arthur says gently. "I'll find a new manservant. I want you sat beside me at the table, not stood behind me. I have done, long before I knew you had magic. It was selfish of me not to, just because I didn't want anyone else dressing and undressing me."

Merlin gives him a lewd expression, and Arthur's cheeks turn a rather fetching shade of pink. "I can still dress and undress you," he promises. "Although I'm about to start demonstrating a marked preference for one over the other."

Arthur stops on the threshold to the armoury, one last moment before they return to the world forever changed. "I love you," he says softly.

"I love you, too," Merlin tells him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Cabbage head."