Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was someone sitting on the throne. Lounging, even. Normally, that wouldn’t have been an issue— Camelot did have a king, after all— but the  person on the throne was not Arthur. No, the king had walked into the room at Merlin’s side, only to draw up short as they both took in the scene around them.

The council, frozen, unable to move anything but their eyes. The guards and knights, disarmed, their own weapons pointed at their necks.  And a woman, clearly a sorceress by her red-tinged gold eyes, sitting sprawled across Arthur’s throne.

“Arthur Pendragon,” the woman greeted, fake, courtly warmth in her tone and lips curled into a cruel sneer. “How lovely of you to finally join us. I’ve been waiting to kill you, you know.”

Merlin groaned. This again. He’d just wanted one, one peaceful day! He hadn’t even gotten to sleep last night, called in the middle of the night by a tug to his magic that meant a magical being had entered the bounds of his alarm system around Camelot. He’d fought the beast and returned back to the castle at sunrise, uninjured but exhausted. He hadn’t had time to eat breakfast. Needless to say, he didn’t want to deal with this today. And he was going to tell this woman that.

She was in the middle of monologuing, probably something about Uther’s crimes against magic and how Arthur would have to pay for that, or something. The usual. Merlin dragged a hand over his face, then held the same hand up to stop her talking, stepping forward.

“I’m not dealing with this today,” he informed her, ignoring Arthur’s splutters from behind him. “If you would like to take a pass at the throne, please come back when I’ve had a decent night’s sleep.”

Everyone in the room was staring at him, the sorceress's eyes bulging out  of her head. Merlin thought he heard a snicker that sounded suspiciously like Gwaine, but that was impossible.

“How dare you!” the woman shouted, probably about to launch into another tirade, but Merlin cut her off.

“No, seriously. It’s always the same. You people show up, spewing some bullshit about how since Uther was a genocidal maniac, everyone who’s ever so much as spoken to him deserves to die. Then you make a few repetitive jibes, throw about some flashy spells, and talk about how you want to kill Arthur. I’m tired of it. So please, just stop.”

He felt like something had broken in him, something that didn’t want to stop. So when the sorceress opened her mouth again, he plowed on.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, for all of this. Cover your ears and eyes if you wish, and we can all pretend this never happened.” He turned to the woman, knowing full well Arthur would do no such thing. He sighed. “Are you all stupid? I mean, come on. It has been seven years. There have been countless, practically monthly, attempts on Arthur’s life and for his throne. Every single one has been thwarted. It's common gossip. Have none of you caught on? I know you all think it will be an easy battle, magic against steel, but has no one questioned why all the magical threats have been stopped before they could fulfill their goal?”

The sorceress’s mouth was gaping open and closed rather like a fish, but Merlin kept talking.

“I’ve no idea how Uther managed to hold the throne as long as he did with no help. Clearly, the Pendragons have had magic on their side for the past seven years. I don’t know how nobody but the druids seems to realize that. Even the Great bloody Dragon tried to attack Camelot when he went free, despite personally knowing and advising Camelot’s protector.”

He could hear the cogs turning in Arthur’s brain. Taking a deep breath, Merlin plunged on.

“You know what the worst part is? The worst fucking part is that some of you fucking worship me. I can hear your slimy little voices in my head, praying for success as you dare to attack my king. Has no one put two and two together? The Once and Future king, protected by his warlock, Emrys? Literally every magic user has heard that. Also, can’t you sense the magic of the man you worship near a god? The druids certainly can; their big mouths have nearly gotten me killed often enough. It’s also theorized within the prophecy that the King is of Camelot, by the way, destined to unite the lands of Albion and bring magic back to the land . Seriously, how the hell do you lot plan on accomplishing that by sowing more fear of magic in his heart?”

The sorceress’s eyes had widened.

“If you hadn’t put it together by now, hello, Merlin Emrys here, pleased to make your acquaintance, now please kindly fuck off so I can go do the laundry, because Camelot and her king are under my protection, and I will not hesitate to rip you limb from limb if you don’t get off the goddamn throne.”

The woman stared for a few seconds, then disappeared in a whirl of light. Merlin deflated.

“I’m going to take a nap,” he told Arthur before escorting himself to the dungeons.

Chapter Text

Merlin startled awake to the sound of a door slamming open. Blinking his eyes open blearily, he took in the barren cell and the dusky streaming in through a singular window. Confused, he wracked his brain for what he might have done to earn a night in the dungeons; Arthur hadn’t sent him in ages, and he hadn’t made any overly treasonous remarks lately.

It took a few moments before he remembered the events of that morning—how he’d been so tired and fed up with everything, the sorceress on Arthur’s throne, yelling at her, outing himself as a sorcerer— and he gulped, slowly raising his eyes to look at Arthur. He didn’t particularly want to see the disgust and anger he would surely find in his king’s eyes, but he had to know.

When his gaze finally reached Arthur’s face, Merlin was surprised not to find the expected rage, betrayal, or hurt. More than anything, the king looked irritated.

“ Mer lin,” Arthur said, in his usual where have you been? tone, and Merlin took a moment to breathe, to crush the hope that began to sprout in his heart. “Have you been here this whole time?”

“S-Sire?” Merlin asked, confused and desperately trying to squash down the traitorous hope that continued to rise.

“Come on then,” Arthur snapped, already moving away, and Merlin’s stomach plummeted.

“So, it’s time then?” he whispered around the lump growing in his throat. The king paused, before turning around slowly.

“Time?” he asked incredulously. “It’s well past time, you idiot! I’ve been looking for you all day! Now chop chop, no more dawdling.  There’s chores that need doing.” 

The dread that had been building in Merlin’s gut dissipated quickly into confusion, but Arthur was walking quickly towards the stairs, not even checking to make sure Merlin was following. The warlock swallowed nervously and hurried to catch up. The two of them walked in silence, until Merlin registered the direction they were going--and it wasn’t to the courtyard.

“Are you not-” he started, stuttering, “are you going to execute me?”

Arthur stopped in his tracks, shoulders going tense. “Am I-” he paused, seemingly lost for words. After a far-too-long silence, he sighed, “No, Merlin.” His words were careful, spoken with finality in the tone that Merlin knew meant he was hiding his true emotions. Aware that he was being given a rare window of lenience, a masked offer to just forget about everything, Merlin pushed on anyway. He never had been good at backing down, especially not from Arthur.

“But I confessed to having magic in front of the entire court.”

Arthur, surprisingly, just whirled to face him and threw his hands into the air. Color Merlin completely out of his depth.

“So you’re a better liar than I thought!” he huffed. The king and his manservant stared at each other, Merlin’s mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say.

“And you’re not…mad?” he asked timidly, watching in something close to awe as Arthur’s entire demeanor softened. 

“You saved us all quite the headache,” he said, smiling and shaking his head slightly. “Gods know how you came up with that , though.”

All at once, the hope and elation that had been steadily growing in Melin’s heart fled and his stomach dropped. Everything clicked into place; of course. Of course Arthur didn’t believe him. Again .

Suddenly, Merlin was desperately furious. He was tired of never being taken seriously, and he was tired of living in fear, with more and more guilt clawing away at him for each passing day. 

Woodenly, he stated, “You don’t believe me.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows lifted and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but Merlin cut him off with a quick word muttered into his fist. The open, if irritated, expression on the king’s face immediately shuttered when Merlin opened his palm to reveal the small flame dancing over his fingers. After holding his king’s gaze for a few moments, Merlin quenched the flame and turned away, suddenly hit with the realization of what he was doing.

What had he been thinking? He had been given the perfect out, a way to once again laugh it off and go on as normal. Instead, he’d decided to smash all the caution and barriers he’d built over the years, and now everything was ruined. Despite what he’d said earlier, he knew Arthur would never kill him, but the king hated magic and everything to do with it. He’d be sent away, and then how was he meant to fulfill his destiny? 

And oh , all his other friends must know now, too. They wouldn’t dismiss it as easily as Arthur had, and the idea that Leon and Elyan must hate him now, too, that Gwaine must think that Merlin doesn’t trust him, that was almost worse than Arthur’s scorn. He pressed a hand firmly against his mouth to stifle a sob. What had he done ?

With his thoughts swirling around frantically, Merlin missed the sound of Arthur’s heavy footsteps coming up behind him, only noticing that the king had moved when his hands landed firmly on Merlin’s shoulders. The warlock startled, hands coming up defensively even as he closed his eyes, not wanting to see Arthur’s anger.  

“Merlin.” The king’s tone was unreadable. “Look at me.” 

Merlin did not look at him.

“Merlin, please.”

Merlin opened his eyes. Yes, he was very weak to the word “please” from Arthur’s lips. It didn’t happen often, ok? Still, he looked up very slowly, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. And yet, when he finally met his friend’s gaze, what he found there was not the bitter hatred he had feared, but instead bewilderment and deep hurt. Just as bad for his heart, but not quite so terrifying. The warlock said nothing, just waited for Arthur to give him an actual reaction, yelling, screaming, banishment, the stocks, anything. Anything other than this silence, that went on, and on, and on, until Merlin’s stomach had finished tying itself in knots and had moved on to his lungs.

Finally, Arthur spoke.

“Why?”

Chapter Text

“Why what?”

Merlin forced himself to hold Arthur’s gaze, even as the king pulled back and ran a shaky hand through his hair, face contorting in a way Merlin didn’t know how to read. Silence reigned again, long enough for Merlin to think that Arthur might not answer.

“Why would you turn to magic? Why are you here, in Camelot, as my fucking servant ? Why- why didn’t you tell me?” the king cried. He stood in the stunned silence for a moment, chest heaving, before his shoulder drooped and his face fell. Quieter, he asked, “Did you really think I’d kill you?”

That snapped Merlin out of his stupor. He intentionally softened his gaze, sighing as he stepped closer to his king.

“No, I-” he swallowed, “I know you better than that. But you have to understand, sire; my whole life, I’ve been taught to fear what happens if anyone were to find out. I’ve been lucky so far, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing--of you turning me away, hating me for something I can’t control. I always wanted to tell you, I did. Please believe me.” Merlin was shocked at the sudden calmness within him. His voice didn’t shake at all, and he was proud that he managed to hold Arthur’s gaze. The king, on the other hand, looked completely shattered, as if he didn’t know what to feel, and Merlin watched, heart breaking slightly, as his face settled into an expression of hurt confusion.

“What do you mean, your whole life?” Arthur asks, and Merlin could see him gearing up for another round of questions, so he cut him off. He had the feeling that all was not lost, so long as he could explain himself. Arthur was a good man, after all.

“That’s- I can explain everything, but it’s…a really long story.”

“I have time.” The response was quick, sure, and proved Merlin right in thinking Arthur wanted to salvage their relationship, too. He would never admit that the thought made him feel all warm and fuzzy. 

And so he found himself sat on the king’s bed, telling his entire life’s story and painting his side of the picture of the last seven years. Arthur listened intently, cycling through looks of honest remorse, surprised and indignant realization, and desperate fury. It took forever and no shortage of tears and shouting to get through everything, but by the end, Arthur was still there, willing to listen and change, and Merlin felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. His voice was hoarse as he recounted his thought process that morning (had it only been that morning? Everything had changed so quickly). 

Finally, when he wound to a stop, Arthur moved to wrap him up in a hug and whispered, “Thank you.”