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“Merlin, how on Earth have you managed to get this room so clean so fast?” Arthur spun around, staring at the room in astonishment. He laughed. “It’s actually unbelievable. It was filthy earlier. Did you have to use magic to get this all done?” Arthur kept on laughing with joy.
Merlin did his very best to laugh too. “Of course not, sire! Magic’s illegal.” he trails off while Arthur remains oblivious.
“It’s not like you’re clever enough to do magic anyway.” Arthur mused. “It’s not matter if you've got one of the other servants to help you with the cleaning, Merlin. All that matters is that it’s done.”
Merlin kept his hands tightly clasped together behind his back and his eye firmly fixed on the floor. It’s just a little white lie. he thought. And he’ll never know the truth anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
-
Merlin hated lying to Arthur.
He didn’t enjoy lying, really, like most people do. He lied all the time- it came with the job of being part of the royal household. The members of the royalty were always telling their specific servants to lie about various things to various other servants and royal people and loyal or unloyal subjects. He could do all that lying no trouble- plus it was always Arthur’s fault if things went wrong and he could keep his conscience clean- and at the end of the day he did get payed for it, even though it was scratchings. The lying when there were schemes and plans, keeping things from or for Gwen and Gaius, secrets between the knights, pretending that the mutterings he had heard from visiting nobility were whispered praises and telling Arthur as such- that could be trickier, sometimes. It was often amusing, to see the aftermaths and know the true context behind what people were saying and that they would never, ever dream of uttering anything like it if they knew what had really happened.
It was the lying about his magic that got to Merlin, that bit at the back of his neck with sharp pinpoint teeth every time he started to feel a little bit more comfortable in Camelot, a pained reminder of the reality of his real life and its secret status. As the topic of magical persecution began to come up less in Arthur’s court than it had in his father's, Merlin clawed away thoughts of telling Arthur the truth nearly every time he was in a room with him.
He could never bring himself to at on it. He was always too scared, not just of how Arthur might react but also because of everything he could lose. Whilst the obvious one was his life, there was also the fear of banishment and exile, of never being able to see his friends again, losing Gaius, the friendship he had with Arthur and the trust and ease between them.
It meant nearly everything to Merlin and he was far too scared to risk it, no matter how much the guilt might be eating him up.
-
The night Gwaine found out about Merlin’s magic was not really the night Gwaine found out about Merlin’s magic, it was the night Merlin found out about Gwaine knowing about Merlin’s magic. It wasn’t an unusual night; the were ling on Merlin’s bed sharing a pile of blankets with a couple of flasks of beer. They hadn’t had much yet; the beer was lousy old stuff but it was the best thing they could get hold of when Gwaine was still serving a month-long ban from the Rising Sun and Merlin was under strict instructions from Arthur not to be seen near any of the shadier alcohol-selling establishments lest it taint the reputation of the crown.
One of the blankets slipped off the ned of the bed, leaving a slight gap for a draught to get in.
“You go and get it.” Gwaine told Merlin.
“I’m not going to get it, you get it!”
“I don’t want to go and get it, why can’t you just use your magic to get it up here?”
Merlin froze. “You know about my magic?”
Gwaine nodded gently. “Noticed it a while ago. Swords flying through the air and your eyes flashing gold.” He wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I haven’t told anyone. And I never will. You, are your secret, are safe with me. If Arthur or Uther find out and try to hurt you, I will kill them myself.”
Merlin cried into Gwaine’s shoulder.
“D’you wanna magic that blanket back up here now? My feet are getting cold.”
Merlin gave a muffled laugh and magicked the blanket back onto their feet.
-
“I’m sure someone must have used magic to make that axe move away from me.” Arthur said, panting as he lay sprawled in the mud on the forest floor. “There’s no wind. And it was too heavy for any wind to have moved it from the air like that.”
“I didn’t see anyone using any magic.” Merlin said breathlessly. He was sitting on the ground next to Arthur. The bandits were dead or had run. Merlin had moved the axe.
Arthur suddenly sat bolt upright and stared intently at something behind the trees. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“There was someone there. Someone in white.” Arthur looked at Merlin. “It must have been a druid. One of the druids saved me.”
-
After the axe, all Merlin could think about was telling Arthur that he had magic.
“Melin, what’s got into you?” Arthur demanded. “You barely talk and you don’t complain when I give you enormous lists of chores.”
“There's something I need to tell you.” Merlin started to shake. “And you’re going to hate me for it.”
Arthur froze. “What is it?”
“I’ve got magic.”
Arthur shot out of his chair and Merlin was fully expecting to get smacked but instead Arthur’s arms were around him, holding him, comforting him. “Don’t cry, my darling, don’t cry.”
“What will you do to me?”
“Just what I’ve been doing for years.” Arthur kissed his hair, his forehead, his cheek, his lips. “I'm going to carry on loving you and your magic. Except now none of it has to be secret from each other.”