Chapter Text
One minute, Arthur and Merlin and a small group of knights are moving leisurely on horseback through the summer woods with clouds sailing overhead. The next minute, the air is full of grunts and thuds and clanging swords.
The band of robbers are surprisingly skilled in swordsmanship, and one of them knows magic. Merlin has no choice but to use his own.
When everything is quiet again, Merlin whispers one last spell, because it won't do to have anyone remember him using magic.
The knights mount their horses and ride on back to Camelot, leaving Arthur and Merlin to their special mission that only requires the two of them.
There is no such mission. What there is is Arthur, looking down his blood-stained front in bewilderment, and Merlin, who doesn't know how to repair his mistake.
***
Time and time again, Merlin has cursed the powers that be for giving him magic. But that was when he was younger. In later years, he has thanked them for it - both the fact that he has magic, and for the power of it.
The thing about that is – when something goes wrong, it goes really wrong.
And now it has.
***
"Why do I have blood on me?" Arthur asks.
Merlin swallows. "We've just been in a fight."
A furrow appears between Arthur's eyebrows. "A fight? Why? Who?"
"A band of robbers." Arthur's hauberk is spattered with blood, there's a smear of it on his vambrace, but Merlin is satisfied none of it is Arthur's own.
"You don't seem hurt," he says. "You're not, are you?"
Arthur shakes his head, still with that look of bewilderment. "I don't think so." He looks up. "Did I hurt anyone? By the look of this…" He gestures down his hauberk. "...I must have. And I don't like the thought of that."
"You were attacked," Merlin says, "and you defended yourself."
His mind is racing. The knights all seemed fine, but Arthur… Arthur hasn't only lost his memory of Merlin's magic, but the knowledge of who he is.
And that was why Merlin had to send the knights away and stay behind with Arthur. Even if he does trust the knights, it might come out that the king is weakened, and if the king is vulnerable, so is Camelot as a whole. And Merlin's life is all about protecting Arthur.
Which makes the situation doubly ironic, and doubly painful: Arthur's loss of memory is Merlin's fault.
***
I've done this once before, Merlin thinks, but that's not true.
That time, he had taken away Arthur's free will to get him away from Camelot to save his life, and it had all been intentional. A little comical, even, with Arthur's simpleton sweetness and his readiness to do Merlin's bidding.
This is nothing like that. This time Arthur is aware of his loss, and it's painful to watch.
"I don't know anything! I don't know where we are. I don't know where home is."
"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispers.
"Will it come back to me? Will my memory return?"
"Yes," says Merlin immediately with a conviction he doesn't feel.
Since he isn't sure what went wrong in the first place he doesn't know how to reverse the effect of the spell, and even if the simpleton spell wore off after a while, there's nothing to say this one will. Merlin isn't sure how he'll live with that.
***
They walk in silence, leading their horses. Arthur looks a little better now, less confused and more resigned, his eyes trained on the ground.
"I haven't asked the most important question yet," he says, stopping. "The most basic one, I suppose."
Merlin stops, too, running a hand down his horse's neck. Golden sunlight is filtering down through the trees. "Yes?"
"Who am I?"
Merlin's heart constricts. Arthur's eyes are blue as always but their expression is quite different, with none of the usual confidence.
"You're Arthur," Merlin replies gently. "The king of Camelot."
"The… the king?" Arthur stares at Merlin in astonishment. Then, surprisingly, he laughs. "No, that can't be right! I can't be the king. You're not serious."
"I assure you I am. You really are King Arthur."
Shaking his head, still with a heartbreaking smile on his lips, Arthur begins to walk again, glancing at Merlin above the withers of his horse. "So if I'm the king, then who are you?"
If you only knew. If you knew who I truly am. If you knew what I have done. That this is all my fault.
"I'm Merlin, sire. Your servant."
"Servant," says Arthur slowly. "Well, Merlin, I must say you seem to be taking good care of me. I'm sure you're a good servant."
It's Merlin's turn to laugh. "There's a first time for everything! You've certainly never said that before."
"I haven't?"
"Well," Merlin says, "I might not be very good with folding clothes or cleaning, but I do try to save your life now and then."
Arthur is silent for a minute. "I think you probably just did, didn't you? Back there, with the robbers." He meets Merlin's eyes. "So in case I'm not in the habit of saying that, either - thank you."
Merlin's breath catches in his throat. This unexpectedly humble Arthur gets to him. "It's my privilege to serve you, sire."
***
"We should set up camp for the night."
Merlin knows exactly where they are. There's a clearing nearby with a spring and a brook, and soft grass. Perfect for a night's rest.
They let their horses feed and drink, and by the time they've collected firewood, the sun touches the treetops.
"Is this what we do, then?" Arthur asks as Merlin places blankets on the ground just at the edge of the wood. "Sleep like this, without shelter?"
"Usually, yes."
"You're not afraid to?"
Merlin shakes his head.
Arthur looks around at the still, sleepy grass in the clearing, at the deepening shadows underneath the trees. He looks back at Merlin and nods. "Because you know how to defend yourself."
"Yes." Merlin adds, truthfully: "And so do you."
After a small silence, Arthur pulls a face. "At least I used to." He glances down at the sword in his belt.
"Pull it," Merlin says. "Don't think, just do it."
Excalibur is out of its sheath in a second; the blade slicing through the air. With a well-practised, two-handed grip, Arthur beheads an invisible enemy. The confident movements, the look on his face, the last rays of sunlight on his blond hair - even if he doesn't know it, he is every bit the king.
He lowers the weapon and points it to the ground. "So I don't remember anything else, but I do remember that. I remember how to kill." He looks up at Merlin. "What does that say about me?"
The bitterness in his voice makes Merlin's throat tighten. "It only says you were well-trained in swordsmanship from a young age, and you have excellent muscle memory."
Arthur sheaths the sword and looks away, a muscle working in his jaw. "You say I am the king of Camelot, but who am I really?"
"Come and sit by the fire," Merlin says. He hands Arthur a waterskin and a piece of bread. "Eat. You need it."
"Answer my question, Merlin."
"I think the fact that you're worried about that says a lot about who you are."
When Arthur frowns and opens his mouth to protest, Merlin holds up a hand. "No, I'm not trying to avoid the question. Eat. - You're a good man, Arthur, or I wouldn't have stayed in your service. You're kind and fair and brave and true-hearted." He cuts an apple in half and holds one half out to Arthur. "And to be perfectly honest, sometimes really bloody annoying."
To his relief, Arthur grins. "Now, that I can believe." He bites into the apple and chews thoughtfully. "What about you then, Merlin? Who are you? You say you're my servant, but there's something about you, something that…"
The sun has dipped below the treetops; the sky is light but there's dusk down here in the clearing. Merlin's heart is in his throat.
"That what?"
Arthur shakes his head slowly. "Something that suggests to me that you're more than a servant." He looks up again, seeking Merlin's eyes. "It may be naïve of me, but I have this feeling I can trust you. And the way you speak to me - or about me - suggests that you're more of a counsellor, a confidant, a friend even, than a mere servant. So don't tell me you only make my bed in the morning or bring me a hot drink in the evening, because I won't believe that."
Maybe Merlin is all those things to Arthur and maybe he knows he is, but he hadn't realised how much he wanted to hear it.
"Maybe," he says softly. "Maybe so."
***
It's this concession - or confession - of Arthur's that makes Merlin do something dangerous later that night.
He lies awake for a long time. Once Arthur's breathing is slow and even, Merlin secures the clearing, creating a web of wards and protective spells around them.
The question of his magic has weighed heavily on him lately, and today it's been brought to a point. When Merlin first came to Camelot he was so young and Arthur was only the pratty prince, and even though the secret of Merlin's magic was a dangerous one, everything felt like an adventure. Now, after all these years in Arthur's service, everything has changed. Not only has Merlin dedicated his life to protecting Arthur, but learned to love him - love him dearly in a way he'd never admit to Arthur and barely even to himself, and the need for honesty has grown strong. Each day that goes by with Merlin still keeping his magic a secret feels like a new betrayal, one after the other.
Sooner or later, Merlin will have to tell Arthur who his servant really is. What he is.
Arthur stirs, turns on his side and groans. "Ow. Sleeping on the ground isn't all that comfortable. Tough on the back."
The fire has died down to embers and the darkness is compact around them. Summer is nearly over; there's an edge of autumn chill in the air. Merlin gnaws on a knuckle and considers.
When the simpleton spell had worn off, Arthur hadn't remembered any of it. This will probably be the same. So Merlin makes his dangerous decision to use magic in Arthur's presence.
Maybe it's stupid. Maybe it's rash. More likely it's been brewing for years.
"I could do something about that," he says, "if you'll let me."
"About what?"
"Your back. The uncomfortable bedding."
"Why wouldn't I let you?"
Instead of replying, Merlin murmurs a spell, and their thin blankets turn fluffy and luxurious like featherbeds.
"Oh," says Arthur, surprised. "Oh. What did you do?"
Merlin smiles through the hammering of his heart. "A little thing called magic."
"Magic? Does magic really exist?"
Merlin laughs softly. "Yes, magic does exist. I'll show you some more tomorrow, if you like."
"Mm," says Arthur sleepily. "I'd like that.
***
Dawn is creeping in when Merlin wakes. He lights the fire with magic and sits watching daylight return. Wisps of mist linger over the long grass and the sky is pearly. Two deer emerge cautiously from the woods on the other side of the clearing, hesitating with one fore slightly lifted and ears alert. With a whispered spell, Merlin tells them they have nothing to fear, and they come out into the open space and begin to graze.
"Oh," Arthur breathes behind him. "That's beautiful. Magic?"
Merlin turns and smiles over his shoulder. "Magic."
This could be their reality, he thinks, their real reality, with him using his magic and Arthur accepting it as natural - beautiful, even. Perhaps Merlin has made a terrible mistake in allowing himself to get a taste of this. Of what it would be like to do this out in the open. What it would be like to be free.
Once the memory spell wears off and everything returns to normal, Merlin will have to hide again.
Arthur pushes off his blanket, slowly, not to frighten the deer. "Today, Merlin, you must keep your promise and show me more of what magic can do."
***
They leave their horses grazing in the clearing, well protected by magic, and spend the day roaming the woods.
Encountering a wall of rock, Merlin waves a hand and a waterfall comes dancing over the lip. Touching the tip of a twig, he makes the whole tree blossom in pink and white. In a copse of birches he conjures a cloud of colourful butterflies, and Arthur watches in wonder as they flutter and swirl among the trees and up towards the sky.
"I hate hunting," Arthur says as they rest on the trunk of a fallen tree and two rabbits hop right up to their feet. "But I guess you know that."
Merlin shakes his head. "I didn't know. You've never seemed to really love it, either, but I guess hunting is just the done thing when you're the king."
Arthur frowns. "Is it? We might have to change that. I understand why it's necessary, but leave it to those who enjoy it."
"Or those who have to," says Merlin dryly.
Arthur nods thoughtfully. "There's no escaping that, I suppose." One rabbit falls asleep on his foot, and he leans down to gently stroke its fur.
Merlin's memory-erasing spell seems to have brought out not only some unguarded truths from Arthur, but all his best sides as well. If he was always like this, Merlin might miss the banter, but there would be so many other things to love instead...
"But I'm sure magic can't be all butterflies and sleeping bunnies," Arthur says later, as they've returned to the clearing and stoked the fire. "There must be a dark and destructive side to it as well. You must have had to kill people, protecting me. Those robbers, for instance. What happened? They attacked us, and...?"
"Things went badly for us with only the swords." Merlin frowns. "Under normal circumstances we would have beaten them easily. But someone in their group knew magic and used it, so I had to as well. To save us."
Frowning, Arthur ponders this. "Was it his spell or yours that erased my memory?"
Merlin winces. "I think… I'm so sorry, Arthur. I think it must have been mine."
The silence that follows feels endless.
"You did it to protect us," Arthur says at last. He pokes at the ground with a stick, not looking up.
Merlin can't, he just can't tell Arthur the worst part - that magic is banned, that it wasn't Merlin's battle spells that took Arthur's memory away but the spell to erase everyone's memory of the incident. He has violated so many rules and betrayed Arthur's trust in so many ways - and still not, still not, because everything he's done, he's done for Arthur's protection.
Magic. A double-edged sword.
"Your memory will come back."
Arthur throws the stick angrily into the fire. "Will it? Why hasn't it yet?"
Merlin shakes his head mutely.
***
Later, when darkness has fallen and only the embers are glowing, shifting into new patterns again and again like some complicated dance of miniature lights, Arthur and Merlin lie in companionable silence, listening to the distant hoot of an owl and the small, secret rustlings of night creatures.
"Pity the sky is overcast," says Arthur sleepily, "or we could have watched the stars."
Merlin smiles to himself. "Let's see what we can do about that."
He stretches out a hand towards the sky. Beside him, Arthur sits up, looking not up at the clouds but down at Merlin.
"This thing your eyes do when you do magic," he says. "It's…they're... it's beautiful."
And Merlin is glad of the dark because of the way his cheeks heat.
Arthur clears his throat and lies down again. "Well. Yes. Clouds, Merlin. Stars."
Merlin grins and murmurs the spell. Slowly the clouds disperse, from thick cloud cover to rags and wisps, and finally to nothing. The moon is nearly full and the sky is strewn with stars. Arthur and Merlin lie side by side, watching in silence.
***
The second Merlin opens his eyes, he knows something has changed. Beside him, Arthur is throwing his blanket off. His movements are different. The look in his eyes is different. His whole demeanour is.
"So this is what you are," he says, his voice low and shaking from withheld emotion. "A sorcerer. How long were you going to hide that from me, Merlin? What was your plan?"
Merlin scrambles to his feet, alarmed. "Plan? I haven't - "
Arthur is trying to fasten his armour with clumsy, jerky movements - pauldron, vambrace... When Merlin moves up to help, he's pushed away.
"You must have been planning something, staying by my side, deceiving me for years. It must have been the means to an end. So - what end?"
It's like being stabbed. "Only one end, Arthur. Protecting you."
"Oh, come on, Merlin. You can do better than that." There's ice in Arthur's voice. "Every single day has been a lie. I trusted you. You betrayed me. That's all there is."
The fact that this is true to some extent hurts bitterly.
Merlin takes a breath. "No, it's not all there is. Arthur, you have to listen to me. I've never done anything to hurt you. I never would. I've only ever used my magic to protect you."
"Is that so." This quiet voice, this cold rage, feels worse than if he'd ranted and screamed. "And why are we here, then, out in the woods on our own? You sent the knights back to Camelot. Yes, you probably didn't expect me to remember that. So what were you going to do? Are you still trying to tell me there's no plan?"
"The only plan I've ever had is to protect you!" It's Merlin who's shouting now, to counter Arthur's ice. "Your memory loss made you weak and I couldn't send the weakened king back into Camelot - surely you must see that? My only plan was to protect you until you were yourself again!" He sucks in a shaky breath. "Please, Arthur, you have to believe me. I'm telling you the truth."
"The truth." Arthur's tone is scathing. "As someone who's lied to me for years, Merlin, you're in no position to talk to me about truth."
He gives up trying to fasten his armour and throws everything in a clattering heap at Merlin's feet. It feels symbolic, and final.
Arthur mounts his horse with a leap, his face hard and eyes blazing. No one who saw him now would mistake him for anything but the king of Camelot.
"Magic is banned in Camelot," he says without looking at Merlin, "and you're a sorcerer. Don't bother to come back to the castle. You're no longer welcome there."
Trembling with emotion and with the injustice of it all, Merlin opens his mouth to protest. But what good will it do? Arthur is caught up in his own rage; he won't listen. So Merlin only stands with his hands hanging by his sides, watching as Arthur sets off through the woods, red cape flying.