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Nothing had changed, yet everything had. Simultaneously at a snail’s pace and faster than a hare. A wave had crashed over his life—both destroying it and cleansing it, washing away the wreckage of the past to make way for the wreckage of the present.
And the fates surely laughed at him when it happened.
Amused by and prideful of their own silly game. Their own sick weaving's that cast him in this life. In this push and pull war of morals of what was right and what was wrong and a truth he would never know.
Arthur stared at his manservant as he picked up things around his room.
It shouldn’t have made his heart flutter to hear him hum as he works, it shouldn’t have sent a shiver down his spine when he shot a playful wink the prince’s way, and it shouldn’t have made his stomach flip when he laughs or rambles on and on…
But it did, and it burned.
Burned like a thousand pyres in the past and in the present, with a fire bigger than his own honour, leaving in its wake destruction and death and pain and suffering and—wrong. It was wrong, it was all so wrong.
He was wrong.
His father was wrong.
They were innocents.
They were like Merlin.
Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath as Merlin turned around and gave him a big, stupid smile, indicating he just said something insulting. His mind was fuzzy as his eyes were, though, and he didn’t hear a word. So, Arthur just rolled his burning eyes, pretending he heard and angling his face down. Not daring let Merlin see the conflicted, frustrated, confused tears making home in his eyes.
He knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did, but he did, and his father [and Merlin] could never find out.
He was in love with a sorcerer…
And really, wasn’t that ironic?
Wasn’t it just ironic that the man he loved the most, he was supposed to kill? Supposed to—to tie to a stake and burn. And watch. Watch like his father watched. Watch and make an example of him. Watch as a reminder.
Not even those closest to him could be trusted.
But he trusted Merlin.
He trusted a sorcerer.
With his life, even. With everything. With his heart. With his soul. With his kingdom.
And he was meant to slay him like a beast—run him through like nothing more than a bandit gone astray. Kill him with the sword he polished every day. Take the life that meant more to him than any.
But he couldn’t.
His father would have him killed—would declare him enchanted, run Merlin through himself. He would enjoy it. He would take pride in it. He would grin when it was done, tell the court he’d saved the kingdom from darkness once again.
By taking an innocent life.
And where was the justice in that?
Did the gods not watch over them anymore? Did they forsake them as his father forsake his people?
They had to have. No benevolent god would watch over this and let it happen. No god of peace, or justice, or balance would let his happen without intervention.
Or had they already intervened? Had they already stepped foot down upon Camelot’s soil and been slain like all other’s that even had a sparkle of golden in their gaze?
He couldn’t tell his father.
“Merlin.” He had to keep him safe. “Come here.”
The air was tense. Honestly, Arthur would have been worried if it wasn’t. Merlin looked up, stood straight before walking over. He had strange, worried look on his face that made Arthur’s heart clench.
“What?” he asked as he stopped in front of Arthur’s desk. “Need me to write another speech for you?”
“No, I—no,” Arthur huffed, brows furrowed. “Sit down.”
Was he doing the right thing?
Merlin tugged over a chair and sat down before crossing his arms over his chest. There was an air of caution around him. One Arthur had never noticed before he found out. One that was always there. One that felt like vigilance. And it made Arthur want to wrap his arms around him and never let him go. Shield him from everything. Keep him safe from everything.
He was doing the right thing.
It wasn’t even a debate. Wasn’t even a question.
“Merlin, I…need to talk to you,” Arthur said softly—softer than he’d ever spoken to Merlin before. And he must have noticed how serious Arthur was, because he straightened up and his face grew grim. Lips pulled into a flat line. A look in his eyes that said he was ready to run at a moment’s notice.
Arthur hated it.
Was he scared of him?
No.
Maybe.
He didn’t want him to be. He shouldn’t have to be. Yet had he ever shown Merlin that? Had he ever—no, he hadn’t. He hadn’t. He’d never thought—he should have known better. How could he have, though? Better yet, how hadn’t he found out sooner?
“Arthur?” Merlin asked. He shifted slightly in his seat, growing visibly more and more uneasy the longer the silence stretched on. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. He could beat around the bush, let it go gently and tell him in soft, cushioned words. Pepper in meaningless preamble and extend the pain that would surely come after, or he could do it blunt.
Treat it like a battle wound.
“I know you have magic.” Pull the bolt out of the body in one swift move. “I’m not telling my father, I’m not executing you, and I’m not letting anything harm come your way.” And there was the comfort. The guarantee of life after what should have been a mortal blow. A promise of safety.
Merlin stared at him.
Wide eyed like a deer staring down a hunter, frozen and breathing heavily. Then, a loud, shuddering breath echoed through the room and Merlin slumped down. He looked near tears and Arthur, not for the first time that night, wanted to wrap him up and never let him go.
“How…how long have you known?” Merlin whispered, staring down at his lap. “I was going to tell you—I swear, I was going to, I just—”
“It would be stupid for you tell me while my father is in rule,” Arthur scoffed. Then, he took a breath and softened his voice, “I didn’t mean to find out. You were reckless, honestly. But you were protecting me… You were protecting me from a group of bandits—you thought I was asleep. And you were…powerful. You were…incredible. And you were magic. And I didn’t know what to do because you were spouting all this—this stuff about loyalty and…”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Merlin asked him, something desperate in his voice.
And Arthur wasn’t surprised. He would want to know the same. He let out a quiet sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“I was—well, processing,” he said, “and I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to just spring it on you and risk you running. And I needed time to think about it. I mean—it was a lot to take in…”
“But you’re…okay with it?”
“I wasn’t at first, but yeah,” Arthur promised him. “Yes. You’re safe. You’re safe here, with me, and I know I’m safe with you. I don’t—I don’t need to know the details of all you’ve done right now… We can set away a day, go out and you can tell me as much as you want.”
“You’re being really calm about this,” Merlin said, only a small shake to his voice.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think and reconcile the real you with…the idea of you.” Arthur got up and walked around the desk. He could feel Merlin’s eyes locked onto him as he approached. “And I found out…”
“Found out…?” Merlin whispered when he trailed off.
Heart pounding in his chest, Arthur grabbed the arms of Merlin’s chair and turned it outwards, so Merlin was facing him. Then, he kneeled down, took Merlin’s hands in his own.
Was he really doing this? Was he really dropping two massive things on Merlin like this?
Merlin stared at him with wide, curious and confused eyes, lips parted ever so slightly and…he knew. Arthur knew. Whatever he said would be reciprocated well. He was making the right choice. A secret for a secret.
“I found out that regardless of what you are, I still love you,” he confessed, “and that I don’t love you in spite of your magic, but even more because of it.”
Merlin inhaled sharply. “You…love me?”
“I do.”
“I love you, too…” Merlin’s voice nearly shook as he said it. “You’re—I don’t know how to express how much…I love you. Everything I do—it’s for you. To protect you. All of it, all of the—”
Arthur cut him off with a small shush and shook his head.
“Later. You can tell me everything, later. When we aren’t in the castle walls.”
“What now, then?” Merlin asked.
Arthur hummed and ran his thumbs over Merlin’s knuckles. “Now…I ask for your hand in courtship…”
“And your father?”
His father. His father…The King. If he found out, about any of it… “He doesn’t need to know. You’ve shown you’re good at keeping secrets and, well, so am I.”
“Okay.” Merlin nodded. Arthur’s heart skipped. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Okay, yes, I accept your proposal.”
A grin threatened to break out on Arthur’s face, and he barely kept it off. “I only have one condition.” When Merlin didn’t refuse him right away, Arthur continued, “you stop sneaking around when something’s wrong and come to me, let me help.”
“Every time?”
“Every time.”
The pause that followed his confirmation was nerve-wracking. Until, finally, Merlin sighed and cracked a smile.
“No promises.”