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In Merlin’s defence, he hadn’t actually meant to tell Arthur. Sure, telling Arthur about his magic had been something he’d thought about several times during the many (too many) years as his servant. But there had always been some hindenerce in the way; some grand event that always reminded the citizens of Camelot and its ruler how terrible magic was. Not to mention how minimal the prospect of anyone believing him was. He was Merlin , after all. Merlin the manservant. Merlin, Gaius’s ward. Merlin who was anything other than a great sorcerer with a foretold destiny.
There was also the fear of a terrible reaction. Magic was illegal in Camelot, after all. Arthur had risked his life for Merlin more times than the king would ever admit but would this be what finally turned him on his manservant. The Knights of the Round Table had sat there as equals with Merlin amongst them. Would his place at that table be forsaken? Simply banished from Camelot never to return to the family and friends he had found for himself there? Or worse still; Would Merlin face the same fate so many like him had suffered? Would the man that was perhaps the most important in his life condemn him to burn?
Every thought of telling Arthur was accompanied by phantom flames on his skin. Though not as strong a disdain and hatred as his father once had, Arthur Pendragon had no love for magic. He still blamed it for his father’s death - even if ‘Dragoon’ really had meant to help. But there was no proof of that, and Merlin had long since accepted his friend was impossibly pig-headed and stubborn. Though Arthur always insisted it was part of his charm, leaving his manservant wondering if he had any in the first place. There were my days where he was left wondering if the king had any redeeming qualities (all in jest, of course. Merlin would never doubt the sheer goodness in his heart - only a fool would do such a thing).
From the outside, the relationship between Arthur and Merlin would be one looked upon with disbelief. The manservant treated his master with no true respect and words that always lingered on the possibility of mockery. There was always a snide remark between them, insults traded regularly. But to those that knew the two? Their friendship was a surprise to none. Merlin and Arthur were two sides of the same coin; as similar as they were different. The friendship between the two had survived an endless amount of trials and tribulations. Near death experiences and several attempt sieges and the two still stood side-by-side, surely there was nothing that could make Arthur turn his back on Merlin. Not even something as blatant as the truth.
So the thoughts of telling Arthur about his magic lingered in the back of Merlin’s mind, unwavering and unchanging. He could always do a trial run with Gwaine or Leon or any of the other knights (after all, hadn’t Lancelot kept his secret without hesitation) but if it went badly… if it went badly, Merlin wasn’t entirely certain he’d be given the chance to explain himself. Would his friends tie him to a stake to burn as so many magic users had before? Would he be locked away in the dungeons to be forgotten? Or even an eternal prisoner as Kilgarrah had once been? Each thought twisted his stomach and only built up his fear. Perhaps… perhaps it would be best to be blunt; to state the truth as if tearing away an old bandage from a healing wound. After all, being blunt was the language Arthur Pendragon spoke best.
Merlin found himself practising conversation after conversation whenever he got a moment on his own - something that seemed impossible when so many of the knights seemed eager to drag him into their varying antics and pranks. But those moments of solitude still came as he planned his words over and over. Merlin allowed himself to speak allowed secrets he’d barely been able to bring himself to before. Words and stories that only he had known were spoken aloud into the silent castle walls, secrets shared with the city herself. Of course, the stone walls couldn’t attack him in rage or disgust. They could simply… stand there. Firm and unyielding. Rebuilt and standing strong once more after every attack and battle they had protected against.
The walls and possessions of Gaius’s chambers were the most common victims of Merlin’s ramblings. Once their owner was out on his rounds and Merlin was enjoying his few moments of peace, he was always so unlikely to be disturbed. That was how he found himself pacing the length of the room and back again, far too anxious on his day off to be enjoying it. Every sentence he formed felt wrong or misspoken. Never the right words.
Perhaps a more visual demonstration would help get the point across? That was how Merlin found a small flame dancing between his fingers, never harming him. “Arthur, for the entirety of our friendship and my servitude to you, I’ve had magic and I've used it to save your royal arse more than once.” He was about to dismiss the words entirely when he noticed the door to Gaius’s chambers was open and a very familiar figure stood within its doorway.
“Merlin! I’ve been lo-“ Whatever words Arthur would have spoken next died in his throat as he seemed to truly register what had been said. Merlin watched him with baited breath. He was ready for Arthur to yell at him or call for the guards or even draw his sword on his closest friend. But the man did no such thing. Instead, he just turned on his heel and walked away with a face that was stony and unreadable.
Merlin felt his heart sink. “Arthur, wait!”
But the King did not turn back and the words of his Manservant seemed to reach ears too stubborn to listen.
It was over a week before Arthur actually spoke a word to him again. Any time he was expected to be by the king’s side, not so much as a glance was passed his way. All chores and tasks were given via a sheet of parchment left out upon Arthur ‘s desk. He had even begun to request his breakfast far earlier in the morning (despite his disdain towards waking up) for the simple purpose of having someone other than his manservant bring it.
But he was not cruel towards Merlin. There were no violence nor harsh words spoken towards him and it seemed as if Arthur hadn’t told a soul about what he’d seen. Whatever returned loyalty he had towards the warlock was enough for him to keep his lips shut. Gaius, of course, had more than a few choice words about Merlin’s recklessness of talking about his magic so openly (even if Merlin would insist it wasn’t his fault Arthur found out!). Gwaine had slung his arm over his friend’s shoulder one day, demanding to know what Merlin had done to “get the princess’s knickers in a twist.” Naturally he denied any involvement.
Then came the morning where Merlin found no task sheet awaiting him. Instead, a surprisingly sheepish Arthur Pendragon sat at his desk with no one else in sight. The two stared at each other for a few moments and this time, Merlin felt as if he should be the one to run away.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Arthur opened his mouth to speak. “Guinevere thought we should talk.” And that didn’t surprise him in the slightest. Arthur was scarcely one to talk about his emotions but if there was anyone capable of getting him to do anything, it was his wife. He may have been King of Camelot but Gwen held his heart and that alone made her unquestionably more powerful (that, and Merlin actually respected her). “We… discussed the incident and she thought I should let you explain.”
After years as his servant and now days being ignored, Merlin couldn’t deny he somewhat enjoyed the way Arthur seemed to squirm - as if not entirely sure how to be explicitly open about… anything. “Considering I’m not currently tied to a stake, this conversation is already going better than I ever thought it would.”
“You thought I’d kill you?!” The exasperated disbelief in Arthur’s voice was almost comforting - as if were a normal day and the king had simply decided what his servant said was bordering on idiotic. “I’m not going to kill you, Merlin! I’m disappointed in you I’ve spent years with you as my servant! I can assure you magic isn’t the thing that’s made me want to throttle you.” He was fairly certain that, in some convoluted way, that was Arthur trying to assure Merlin that he cared.
Now it was Merlin’s turn to try and not roll his eyes. “I doubt disappointed is the word you’d use to describe most sorcerers.”
Arthur huffed. “Most sorcerers aren’t you, Merlin. They’re… evil in some capacity. Always have been.” Yet even as he spoke, there was uncertainty in his voice - as if he didn’t entirely believe what he was saying. Not anymore. “And I mean, if you stop practising magic then we can ju-“
“I can’t.” The words were out of Merlin’s mouth before he could stop them. “I was born with it, Arthur. It’s not only something I learnt from a book. It’s something I’ve always had. A part of me.” When Arthur made no move to interrupt him, Merlin kept talking. “To stop using magic would be like stopping breathing. Impossible to survive without. Besides, I’ve used it to save your royal arse more times than I can count.”
Arthur looked as if he were going to pry on the origins of Merlin’s magic before a look of indignation crossed his face. “And when exactly could you have possibly saved my life? You’re a servant, Merlin. And not even one that could swing a sword well.”
“Of course. So all these years, the universe has just… convenistely been on your side. Solutions to problems that really shouldn’t have one of you thought too much about it. Magical weapons, convenient timing, uncovering deceit… All things you would never have fixed without me. God knows how many times you’d have been killed if I didn’t have magic.” He paused for a moment. “Or the amount of times I’d have been killed if I didn’t have you.”
The king’s expression twisted into one of bemusement - laced far more with sincerity than it was arrogance. “Of course I’m going to protect you, Merlin.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m always going to train you. Quite frankly I don’t think I could handle having a servant like George again.” Merlin found his lips curling upwards into a smile. “And if I were to have a best friend, I suppose you’d be a contender for such a title.”
It took everything within Merlin not to roll his eyes. Trust Arthur Pendragon to turn a moment of emotional sincerity into one of emotional incompetence. But Merlin had known Arthur far too long to doubt the honesty behind his words. “You’d give me a title beyond ‘barely competent servant’?” A teasing tone crept into his voice.
“I was thinking more ‘unofficial court sorcerer’ since you’ve apparently done so much to help me over the years! Including assumedly using it to help with your chores.” The look of mischief on his face assured Merlin that his list of chores would be growing far sooner than it would be shortened. “…Of course this does still remain between us and only those you wish to know.”
“Careful, dollop head. It almost sounds as if you care.”
“Just because I’m not going to execute you doesn’t mean I’m against throwing you in the stocks again, Merlin.” Arthur snorted, raising an eyebrow as if daring his servant to defy him once more. “And what else exactly have you been keeping from me anyways?”
As always, he was unbothered by the exasperation in the King’s voice. “I think you’ll have to buy me a few drinks first before all of that.”
Then Arthur did something unexpected.
He laughed.
And Merlin finally felt as if he could just breathe.