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“I can never trust magic, not when it has taken so much from me.”
So Merlin hides his away, buries it so deeply within himself he can forget it was ever there. And there it stays, even as his hands start to slow, to ache, to burn with the pain of loss, mourning for something inherent.
And then a dragon comes looking for it.
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Bookmark Notes:
Merlin’s fingers wiggle slightly. “I, er, I’m sorry.”
“Merlin, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?”
Merlin shifts a little. “…still being scared?”
“No, Merlin,” Arthur says, pulling back a bit to see Merlin’s face, “you’re in Camelot as a sorcerer who’s seen—god, I don’t even know how much, and you’re right by my side which means you were near my father and you had to listen to me being an arrogant asshole—“
Merlin snickers.
“—so no, Merlin, you don’t need to apologize for being scared. You never have to.”