Chapter Text
Merlin’s usually careful with his magic; he has to be, obviously, with magic still outlawed in Camelot. He supposes his hope for things to change once Arthur had taken the throne was far-fetched, because it has been six months, and nothing has changed. Arthur isn’t as harsh - he hasn’t sentenced anyone to death yet, and Merlin hopes it’ll stay that way.
Anyway, the point is - he’s usually careful. He never uses magic with Arthur around unless they’re in danger, but gods the fire won’t bloody light, and it’s the middle of the harshest winter Camelot has seen in a hundred years (or so Gaius says).
He only mutters quietly, and Arthur’s over the other side of the room, so he figures it’ll be okay just this once. Firatha limay , he whispers, eyes sparking their usual golden as flames burst into life.
There’s a sharp clatter behind him, and Merlin whips around to see Arthur standing close, deep blue eyes wide with shock, his fingers still curled around where his goblet should be, had it not fallen. “Sire? Is everything alright?”
Merlin rises from his crouched position on the floor, suddenly aware of how much closer Arthur is than he had originally thought. A look of pure horror and confusion is scrawled across the Prince’s face, a look Merlin hasn’t seen in a long time. “Arthur?”
“Y-You have magic,” he stammers, blinking rapidly in disbelief as he steps backwards instinctively, drawing his sword without a second thought. He points it threateningly towards his servant, almost waiting to be knocked backwards or blown off his feet.
But nothing happens.
Merlin’s expression morphs from concern to unadulterated terror, eyes widening with fear as he fixes his gaze upon the blade pointed towards him. “Arthur, I can explain—”
“I don’t need to hear it. I’ve heard everything I need to.” Arthur's voice is hard and cold, dripping with venom. Betrayal swirls in his eyes and stabs at his gut; he can’t fathom how Merlin could have lied to him for so long.
“No, Arthur wait—”
Arthur steps forward menacingly, pressing the tip of his sword into Merlin’s chest, ignoring the slight wince that crosses his servant’s face. “I am no longer Arthur to you. You shall address me as Your Majesty , as someone of your station should.”
Merlin almost doubles over, Arthur’s words cutting deep into his heart, carving it from his ribs. “P-Please. Everything I’ve done has been for you , Ar-Your Majesty. I use it for you, to protect you,” he sobs, tears rolling thickly down his cheeks. He wipes clumsily at his face, clearly fraught with anxiety - that much is evident from his shaking frame.
Arthur wants to believe him, and he almost does. Nothing about Merlin screams evil , despite what his father had drilled into him about everyone with magic being spawns of the devil himself. He looks… genuinely upset. Surely a sorcerer, an evil one, wouldn’t be crying and begging to explain himself. But what if Merlin is just playing the act? Fooling Arthur into thinking he’s innocent, and then striking at his most vulnerable moment.
But if Merlin wanted him dead, he’s had the best part of five years to do so. He can think of countless occasion his servant has had to kill him, or do whatever he pleased. Arthur’s been plenty vulnerable with him, displaying a tenderness — weakness , as his father would say — that he hasn’t with any other.
Arthur hasn’t been this conflicted in a long time, and now isn’t exactly the best time to think. Merlin’s staring at him imploringly, silently begging him to believe his truth, and Arthur’s more affected by his servant’s desperation than he’d like to admit. He just needs to think , goddammit.
“Leave, get out of my sight,” the King demands, withdrawing his sword slowly. Merlin begins to open his mouth to argue, but with one icy glare from Arthur, he clamps it shut and bows his head low, tears still streaming freely down his cheeks. “Do not come back until I send for you, is that understood?”
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.” Merlin’s voice is a whisper, barely there, but it floats across the room to Arthur nevertheless, almost breaking his heart. His servant sounds so broken, so terrified, and it makes him ache . (Why the hell does he have to be in love with the man?)
Merlin leaves and doesn’t look back, shoulders still shaking from the force of his silent sobs.
Getting back to his chambers is a relief; finally in the peace and quiet of his room, Merlin releases his sobs and whimpers into the silence. He curls up on his bed, shrinking into himself impossibly smaller than he ever has before. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Arthur banished him, or even kills him . Merlin’s not even sure he’d be able to blame him.
He’s such an idiot .
Every insult Arthur ever threw at him is true - he’s never been more stupid than he has now. The thought pitifully makes him cry harder, screaming silently into his pillow as his sides ache from the sobs. He almost wants to just end things now and get it over with.
The thought stops him in his tracks. He’s had these kinds of thoughts before, especially in Ealdor, but not recently. He thought he was better, that he was over all this. Arthur would surely laugh at him for being such a princess if he knew the kinds of thoughts he’d had. That, in itself, hurts. He’s so weak .
There’s a faint knock on his door — Gaius, he suspects — and then it opens cautiously. “Merlin, my boy, what on earth is wrong?”
“He knows— Arthur knows,” Merlin chokes out, words still thick with tears despite the ceased flow of tears. Gaius’ jaw drops momentarily before he picks it back up and walks slowly to Merlin’s bed, sinking down onto it.
“Merlin, how?”
Merlin can’t bear to think what kind of thoughts are probably running through Gaius’ mind. All the warnings come flooding to the forefront of his mind, and he winces. He shouldn’t have taken the chance that Arthur wouldn’t notice. Gaius is still eyeing him expectantly, so Merlin knows he’ll have to explain.
“I was, um, trying to light the fire. It was so cold, and it wouldn’t light. Arthur was over the other side of the room and I didn’t think he would notice. I didn’t— I didn’t know he was that close , Gaius.” Merlin can’t help but descend into sobs once more, burying his face into his pillow so his guardian won’t see his cheeks heating up in shame.
“Oh Merlin. I’m sorry, child,” Gaius says soothingly, rubbing Merlin’s leg in slow motions.
Merlin looks at him with bleary eyes, confusion painting his features. “You’re not going to berate me? Tell me how stupid I am?”
Gaius almost chuckles softly, but seems to catch himself as he remembers the severity of the situation. “I know how self-deprecating you are, Merlin. You don’t need me adding to your own internal conflict.” The surge of love Merlin feels for Gaius in that moment overwhelms him, and he twists awkwardly to pull the old man into a hug.
“I love you, Gaius.”
“I love you too, my boy.”
“What am I going to do?” Merlin doesn’t expect Gaius to have the answer, but it feels appropriate to ask anyway, in the hope he’ll be able to offer some kind of wisdom.
“I don’t know, Merlin, I don’t know.”
It’s dinner time when a servant comes bursting into Gaius’ room, panting that Arthur demands Merlin’s presence in his chambers. Merlin immediately becomes stiff with fear; he’s only just calmed down from earlier, but his tears are still damp on his cheeks, and his hands won’t stop shaking.
Gaius pats his shoulder comfortingly before nodding silently in reassurance. Merlin responds with a small nod of thanks, and begins his short journey to Arthur’s chambers.
He doesn’t know what Arthur’s going to say. How could he? He may find himself in the dungeons in less than fifteen minutes, he might be dead by tomorrow morning. Or he might be banished. Merlin knows he’d rather die than live without Arthur.
When he reaches the King’s room, he’s visibly trembling. His teeth sink into his bottom lip punishingly deep, drawing blood. He raises his hand and knocks weakly, immediately berating himself for such a girly knock, as Arthur would say.
“Come in.” The voice is void of emotion, flat and worryingly empty. Merlin wants to wrap Arthur up with a mug of tea and soothe him to sleep upon instinct, but he collects himself as he remembers why he’s here, and enters fearfully.
Arthur is sat at the table, fiddling with his sword belt, unwilling to meet Merlin’s eyes. “Sire,” Merlin begins, unsure of what to do. Immediately, Arthur raises his hand to stop him.
“I’ve been thinking, Merlin. I should have you burned at the stake, by the laws of Camelot. At the very least, I should have you banished. But you’re a damn good servant, and even a friend, despite the fact you lied to me for five years. I can't forgive that, not now, but I do understand why you hid it from me, especially while my father was alive. That said, I can’t allow you to use magic if you’re to stay. If you want to stay in Camelot, you must swear to me, on your mother’s life, that you won’t practice magic here.”
Merlin doesn’t know what to say.
It’s fair, it’s more than he deserves, he knows that much. Arthur could easily have sentenced him to death, but here he is, practically forgiving him . But, and there’s a big but ; not using his magic, tamping it down, could kill him.
He’s read about it in books, though he doesn’t know how real it is. But they say that, if one swallows down their magic and refrains from letting it run free, it can cause great illness and even death.
Merlin doesn’t know for sure that it’s a thing. Anyway, even if he does end up dying, at least he’ll have served Arthur up to his last breath.
“Yes, I swear, I swear on my mother’s life, Sire.” Merlin wonders for a second if he’s being irrational; he’s not going to die, is he? He’s too deeply in love with Arthur to even think about denying him his request, though.
“Then fetch me my dinner, will you?” Arthur speaks with a half smile, and it makes Merlin’s soul soar . He rushes out of the room, grin plastered to his face as he darts to the kitchens.
It’s been two days since It happened — that’s what Merlin’s calling it now — and things are good. Well, they were . Until Merlin woke up feeling like complete and utter shit. He tells himself it’s not because he hasn’t used magic in two days, but he knows in his gut that this is only the beginning of what will be a downward spiral.
Gaius had even warned him about it, reiterating what Merlin already knew. He’d brushed it off, assuring his guardian that he’d be fine , but here he is with a scratching at the back of his throat and nausea rolling over him in huge, crashing waves. It takes every ounce of self-control not to throw up as soon as he pushes himself up in bed, but he manages to make it out to grab a bucket before he spills his stomach.
His head pounds, a searing pain that has him staggering backwards, vision blurred. He didn’t know it would be this bad after just two days. He has to go a lifetime like this. Merlin blearily casts his eyes upwards and prays to the gods that somehow this clears.
It doesn’t.
Merlin drags himself to his duties, or Arthur will have a fit, but it becomes increasingly harder to pretend he’s okay. He finds himself gagging and retching into his mouth, swallowing down the urge to vomit everywhere more times than he can count.
Arthur’s beginning to notice something’s wrong — to be fair, it’s hard not to when Merlin’s pressing his hand to his mouth every few minutes and rubbing at his throbbing head almost constantly. “Merlin, are you alright?”
The young man nods insistently, but doesn’t speak, gathering up the Prince’s duty laundry hurriedly. He needs to be sick, but if he is, Arthur will send him away and he can’t have that. He feels empty when he’s not by Arthur’s side; lying in bed isn’t exactly going to get rid of this illness either.
“You look ghastly, Merlin. Go to Gaius, will you?” For a second, Arthur softens with concern, but his eyes quickly steel and he laughs off his gentle words. “Can’t have you throwing up all over my clothes, can I?”
Merlin nods and smiles tightly. “Yes, Sire.” He leaves promptly with the laundry basket, hoping to drop it off before hurling his guts into the nearest bucket, but apparently his body isn’t working with him today, and before he knows it, he’s retching into the laundry basket.
“Oh no,” he whispers once he’s done, scrunching his nose up in disgust at Arthur’s now even dirtier clothes. He sets the basket on the nearest table and prepares a spell in his head. But then he remembers his promise, and he pushes down the fighting desire to just fix Arthur’s clothes.
As soon as he picks up the basket and continues on his way to the laundry room, a sharp pain permeates through his gut, forcing him to drop the basket to grab at his sides. It’s so bad , and it only seems to be getting worse; it feels as though his insides are twisting together. Unable to help himself, Merlin sinks to his knees, eyes wide, neck straining as he bites back a scream of pain. He shoves his fist into his mouth and sinks his teeth into the skin, trying to combat the desperation to whimper.
“Merlin, by the gods, are you okay?”
It’s Gwen.
He shakes his head painfully, clutching at his stomach before keeling over and slumping onto his side. “G-Gaius,” he chokes out, tears welling involuntarily in his eyes.
“Gaius is over the other side of the castle, Merlin. Wait— Let me just get Arthur.” She’s run off before Merlin can force out that Arthur can’t know he’s this ill. Especially not the reason why, anyway. He’d surely be banished without a second thought.
Merlin focuses on trying not to pass out from the pain while waiting for Arthur to come and… what’s Arthur going to do, exactly? He’s not exactly a physician.
And then suddenly there’s a warm body beside him, hands flitting over his limp body, eyes assessing for damage. “What the hell happened, you idiot? Why did you come to work if you were this ill?” Arthur doesn’t even bother waiting for a response before scooping Merlin up from the floor and clutching him almost possessively to his chest. “Come on, we have to get to Gaius.”
If it weren’t for the searing pain just about everywhere in his body, Merlin would have thoroughly enjoyed the comforting warmth of Arthur and the musky smell that he’s worn for so many years. But considering he can’t really focus on anything else right now, he’ll have to appreciate Arthur some other time — if there even is another time.
Arthur bursts into Gaius’ chambers and places Merlin down with a care he doesn’t often show. Gwen runs to fetch him, because he seems to be conveniently out running errands. “Just hang in there, Merlin,” Arthur says, forcing his voice to remain calm, despite the obvious panic behind his eyes.
“Ar-Arthur,” Merlin whimpers. His skin feels like it’s on fire, his head is throbbing intensely and he can’t breathe .
“Gaius is on his way, don’t worry.”
No, you prat, this isn’t something Gaius can solve.
Merlin opens his mouth to choke some more words out, but then Gaius appears, rushing through the door with Gwen trailing behind him, panicked tears welling in her eyes.
“I need space. I’ll send for you when he’s stable.” It’s a polite way of telling them to shove off, they both know that. So they do. Arthur and Gwen leave reluctantly, both worried about their friend, making Gaius promise to definitely send for them as soon as humanly possible.
“Merlin, what the hell is going on?”
“Th-The magic. It’s killing me.”