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Arthur was pacing. Merlin watched him from across the fire, his heart in his throat as his king thought. This would most likely be the most important decision Arthur ever made, and Merlin didn’t know what to do. To him, both options were terrible.
On the one hand, if he did what the Disir wanted, magic would be free; but Mordred would live, and Arthur would die. On the other hand, if they let Mordred die then Arthur would live, but Merlin might never be free under Arthur’s reign.
“What do I do, Merlin?” Arthur said, running a hand through his hair.
Merlin opened his mouth to say – something. Probably ‘I don’t know,’ but Arthur continued after only a breath.
“I can’t just overturn everything I’ve worked for. Everything my father did. If I allow magic back into Camelot, what was the point of any of it? It could throw the land into chaos. But,” and he stopped pacing for a moment, staring down at his clenched fist, “Mordred saved my life. Don’t I owe him this? If there’s a chance to save him, shouldn’t I at least try?” With a little growl of frustration, his stride resumed.
What it came down to, Merlin thought morosely, was which outcome he could bear, and which he couldn’t. What could his heart withstand losing? Arthur, or freedom. The repeal of the magic ban was a much longed-for dream. The idea of one day being able to live without fear, without hiding, was what kept him going. And it wasn’t only him that would be affected. All magic users would rejoice in that outcome. But Arthur…
Merlin’s heart constricted at the thought of losing Arthur. Once, years ago, Arthur’s life had mattered to him mostly because of the promised destiny he would bring, the peace and freedom of all Albion. And because he was awful and a prat, but he wasn’t terrible enough to deserve to die. Somewhere along the way, however, those feelings had changed. He began to value Arthur’s life more because of Arthur himself, because of what Arthur meant to him. Merlin didn’t know when, but Arthur had become his sun, the light of his days, the anchor he orbited around. Once again, his mind flashed to the image he had seen of Mordred killing Arthur on a battlefield. All he’d ever wanted was within his grasp, but at the cost of the one thing he most cared for.
Abruptly, Arthur broke into Merlin’s thoughts. “And then there’s the matter of this ‘judgment’ they gave me. The reason we came here in the first place. They said if I didn’t free magic, I’d be bringing doom to myself and Camelot. I don’t – I’m not a follower of this triple Goddess. Theirs is not my religion, I shouldn’t put any stock into what they said, but… remember the unicorn?” Arthur turned briefly to face Merlin, and Merlin nodded.
“I killed it, and brought a curse down on the whole kingdom. What if this is like that? What if my actions here cause harm to my people, those I have sworn to protect? That sorcerer, he said – he said that they had already passed judgement on me and found me wanting, but those women said I had one chance to overturn the judgement, to change Camelot’s fate. If this is a test, like the Labyrinth of Gedref… But what if it’s a trick?”
Arthur scrubbed his hands down his face and walked faster, wearing a track into the dirt, but Merlin was no longer paying attention. His ears rang with Arthur’s words. What if this is a test?... Passed judgment… one chance to change fate. If Arthur failed to repeal the magic ban, even if he let Mordred die, Arthur would be doomed. Merlin, unlike Arthur, had no doubt that the Disir’s words were true. He could feel it. The Goddess’s Judgment was inescapable, incontrovertible. Failure to do as the Disir bid would doom Arthur for certain.
Suddenly Merlin remembered what else he had seen, on the same day as he’d seen the vision of Arthur’s death. They had come there because there were rumors it was where Arthur’s bane could be found, but when Merlin came across a creature of pure magic deep within the caves, it had said that Arthur’s bane… was Arthur himself. Merlin had dismissed it at the time, too focused on the vision he’d been shown, not wanting to believe ill of his best friend. But now it all made sense.
When the unicorn had died, Anhora had set up several tests, and Arthur had passed one, failed the second, but passed the final one. In the last test, he willingly sacrificed himself, not only for his kingdom, but also to save Merlin. In doing so he had proven the goodness in his heart and lifted the curse – but the goblet he’d drunk from turned out to be filled not with poison, but with a sleeping draft. Arthur had sacrificed himself, but he had lived, for it was only a test.
A test. If this was a test – it was not only for Arthur, but for Merlin as well. If Merlin let Arthur save Mordred by obeying the Disir’s commands and bringing magic back, Arthur might die at Mordred’s hand. But, if he brought magic back, thus appeasing the Goddess, the Disir would lift their judgment. He would have passed the test. Arthur might live. Merlin felt hope balloon in his chest like a soap bubble – lighter than air, but so, so fragile.
“Merlin!”
He jerked his head up to find Arthur right in front of him, an exasperated expression on his face. Merlin had the feeling this was not the first time Arthur had said his name, or even the second or third.
“There you are,” said Arthur. “I was wondering if you’d gone and left me.” His tone was mocking, but his eyes betrayed his sincerity.
“I’m sorry, Sire,” Merlin said. “I was thinking.”
“About?” Arthur asked, and Merlin almost startled at the lack of a joke about Merlin’s capacity for intelligent thought. “Was it about the Disir, this choice they’ve given me?”
“Yes.”
“And? What do you think?” Arthur’s gaze didn’t leave Merlin’s. The intensity was almost unnerving.
“Arthur?” His heart was beating hard in his chest, so loud Merlin could barely believe Arthur couldn’t hear it.
“Merlin, I know I don’t say it often – or at all – but I do value your opinion. I don’t always listen to your advice, but you’ve rarely steered me wrong. So, I’m asking. What do you think I should do?”
Merlin let out a long, shuddering breath. His earlier conviction that the choice was between Arthur’s life and magic’s freedom reared its head, and he swallowed, terror and heartbreak taking equal hold of him. But what if it isn’t? said a small voice in the back of his mind. What if it’s a test? What if, what if, what if…
Moistening his lips, he chose his words carefully. “I don’t think this is a decision I can make for you. But,” he said, when Arthur began to protest the non-answer, “but, I think you should ask yourself whether you truly believe all magic to be evil. Have you ever seen it used to help, rather than to harm?” Merlin watched Arthur’s face intently. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed deep in thought.
“What you must ask yourself,” Merlin continued, “is not just whether repealing your father’s laws is worth the risk of his fears coming true, but whether upholding them is worth the cost, if there’s a chance he could have been wrong.”
Arthur was silent for a long moment, one which seemed an eternity to Merlin. When he finally spoke, it was slow, tentative. “When you drank poison for me, and I went to the caves of Balor to get the antidote.” He stopped there, and it seemed he might not go on.
“We barely knew each other, then.” Merlin said with a small smile.
This seemed to be the prompt Arthur needed, for he smiled back. “And yet you willingly risked your life for mine. How could I do any less?” He grew serious again. “In the caves. There was a sorceress there, and she tried to stop me. Made the ledge crumble right out from under me, and took the torch with her, leaving me in the dark.”
If Merlin had not had this story from Gaius, he would have questioned how this was an example of magic being good. As it was, he held his silence, and his breath.
“But then, there was this light.” As Arthur spoke, Merlin could hear a note of wonder in his voice, such that he hadn’t heard in years. “It helped me climb up to reach the flower Gaius needed, and showed me the way out. I never found out who sent it.”
Merlin remained silent for a minute, unwilling to break the moment. At last, he said, “Was that the only time?” His heart ached at the thought that one measly light spell Merlin had cast years ago – and one he hadn’t even done consciously – might have been Arthur’s only positive experience of magic.
“The Druids,” Arthur said, frowning. “They use magic, don’t they? But they’re a peaceful people for the most part.”
“Yes,” said Merlin. Well, might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, he thought, and went on, “Mordred is a Druid.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. He must not have known, then, that the knight he loved as a son was one of the Druid people. He certainly didn’t know that Mordred was the same child they had saved from Uther’s men together, so many years ago.
“Is that why you don’t trust him?”
It was Merlin’s turn to be surprised. He’d thought he’d been subtle about it! But then, Arthur could be very perceptive when he wanted to be.
“No!” he blurted. Cryptic prophesies or not, the boy’s heritage had never bothered Merlin. Indeed, nothing Mordred himself had said or done gave Merlin cause to distrust him. Only Kilgharrah’s warnings and one vision. He dropped his head into his hands; now, he had to find a way to explain it to Arthur. He was the one who had brought Mordred’s name into this. Arthur was trying to save Mordred. Mordred, who was a Druid. Who had magic. If Merlin did want Arthur to accept magic, he couldn’t let Arthur think for a minute that his problem with Mordred had anything to do with magic. In fact, he had to convince Arthur to trust Mordred.
If this backfires, he thought, if Arthur bows to the goddess’s demands and brings magic back, and still dies by Mordred’s hand – I will never forgive myself. Or her.
He sighed. “No, I’ve never had a problem with the Druids. My issues with Mordred – have nothing to do with anything he’s done, or even who he is. I don’t fully trust him only because of something I’ve been told he will do in the future, which isn’t really fair to him, but I can’t help it.” Resting his head in his hands, Merlin muttered wearily, “And come to think of it, me trusting prophecies instead of people is probably part of why Morgana is the way she is.”
He stared glumly at the ground for a minute, contemplating this, until he felt eyes on him and looked up to find Arthur staring at him with a very strange expression on his face.
“What?”
“You never cease to surprise me, Merlin. Prophecies, really?”
“You’d be surprised. There are quite a lot of prophecies about you, actually.”
“And who have you been getting these prophecies from?”
Merlin waved a hand vaguely, “Oh…everyone. Lots of people.”
The King raised an eyebrow, but let it pass for now. “What was that about Morgana?”
Merlin mentally cursed. He’d hoped Arthur hadn’t heard that bit. He sighed. “I knew she would turn against us. The prophecies said she would be our enemy, so I was warned not to trust her. And yet…” a wistful tone crept into his voice, “if I hadn’t heard those prophecies, if I had trusted her more, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so alone in Camelot. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt Morgause was the only one she could turn to.”
“So you think it wasn’t the magic that made her turn evil?” Arthur asked after a moment.
“No. I think it was fear. Fear of Uther, and consequently everyone else in Camelot, even fear of herself. Fear which festered, and turned to hatred.”
There was silence for a few minutes, as Arthur digested this. Merlin hoped – he hoped. It hurt to hope, yet it seemed he couldn’t help it tonight. It filled him up as he watched Arthur think.
“Balinor!”
The sudden exclamation startled Merlin so much he nearly fell off the log he was sitting on. “What?” he said, stupidly.
“Balinor. The Dragonlord, remember?”
“I remember him, yes.” Merlin could hardly fail to remember meeting his own father, after all.
“He healed me. I was injured, wasn’t I, by bandits or some such – or maybe it was the dragon. In any case, I lost consciousness before we found him, and when I woke in his cave, the wound was completely healed.” Arthur had a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled the incident. “He had every reason to hate me, he could have just let me die. I was the son of the man who killed all his kin and drove him into hiding, yet he saved my life. And then chose to come with us to stop the dragon, though we managed without him in the end.”
“He died saving my life,” said Merlin, voice hoarse. “Took a sword blow that was meant for me.” Now was not the right time to mention his relationship to the Dragonlord, not yet, but he couldn’t let his sacrifice go unremarked.
“Yes, said Arthur. “And – Will! Your friend from Ealdor. He conjured up that, that dust storm, to turn the battle in our favor, and then he took an arrow for me. Neither of them seemed very evil at all. Surly, aggressive, maybe. Resentful of me and what I represented, certainly. But not evil.”
Merlin wondered what it meant that two of Arthur’s examples were really Merlin’s magic, and a third was Merlin’s father, who only helped them because Merlin begged. Obviously, came a dry voice that sounded a bit like Gaius, all the other decent magic users have the sense to stay out of Camelot. Perhaps you should be wondering what’s wrong with you that you’ve stayed so long. He shook the voice away; Arthur was talking again.
“Does Mordred have magic, Merlin, ” he was saying.
Merlin swallowed. He should have expected Arthur to put that together. “Yes,” he said. Now, if Arthur accepted magic, he would be seeking to heal Mordred even knowing he had magic. That could only make Mordred more loyal. If Arthur didn’t accept magic, then even if Mordred survived his wound, he wouldn’t survive long in Camelot, not with Arthur knowing. And either way, the threat would be minimized.
“And you knew,” Arthur said, and Merlin nodded. “And you didn’t trust him, but it’s not because of the magic?” Merlin nodded again.
Arthur was looking directly at him again, staring at Merlin’s face as if trying to fathom the depths of the ocean. Merlin felt uncomfortable, exposed, but he didn’t look away.
“So,” Arthur spoke slowly, eyes never leaving Merlin, “tell me if I’m wrong, but… you think I should do it. Lift the ban.”
Merlin’s hands were sweating. He wasn’t sure if any sound would come out if he opened his mouth, or if his dinner would come out instead. He nodded.
“Are you sure?”
It felt like nothing in the world existed but the two of them. Arthur, with his serious, kingly expression, focused completely on Merlin’s answer. Merlin, his magic pulsing beneath his skin in time with his pounding heartbeat, mesmerized by his king’s gaze.
There was only one thing left for him to say.
He still didn’t trust his voice, so instead, he held out his hands, and conjured a light, which hovered over his palms.
“Oh.” If Arthur hadn’t already been sitting down, his legs probably would have given out from under him, he looked so shocked. “You - but - oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh.’” Merlin found he could summon a bit of humor, thanks to Arthur’s flabbergasted expression.
“How long?” Arthur got out.
“All my life.”
“You mean you’ve been practicing magic the entire time we’ve known each other?” Arthur said, a bit of indignance creeping into his voice. “Is our entire friendship based on lies?”
“No! Arthur, our friendship is real. Please believe me, it’s the most real thing in my entire life. I think it’s the only reason I’ve kept going this long.”
Arthur looked startled at this, but Merlin barreled onwards.
“Arthur, when I said all my life, I meant, literally, all my life. I’ve been doing magic since before I could walk.” He took a deep breath, “And that’s how long I’ve lived in fear. Yes, I’ve lied to you since we met, but only because if I hadn’t you’d have killed me.”
Arthur opened his mouth as immediately to say, “I wouldn’t have-”
“Are you sure?”
Arthur opened his mouth again, then closed it. He stared at the silvery light for a long minute.
Finally, he said, “So, magic wasn’t a choice, for you?”
“No, never. There were times when I wished it was, that I could just… stop. My life would be simpler, then. But I could no more stop using magic than I could stop breathing. Magic is as much a part of me as my blood.”
“Well,” Arthur said, in such a brisk tone that Merlin startled, almost dropping his spell, “that certainly makes things simpler.”
“It… it does?”
“Of course. If you were born with magic, it can’t be evil. I’ve tried, Merlin, I’ve tried very hard in the last few minutes, but I just can’t imagine you as some evil maniac. The image falls apart. So, if magic is not evil, it only makes sense to lift the ban.”
Merlin laughed incredulously - wetly. Oh, he was crying.
“Can you believe,” he said, “I almost told you not to?”
“What?” said Arthur, shocked. “But - why?” He raised his eyebrows and looked from Merlin to the orb of light he was holding.
“Prophecies,” Merlin said, with feeling. “Stupid, fucking prophecies.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows even higher, giving him the Look that meant, Explain, Merlin, or so help me you will be shoveling manure in the stables for a week straight.
Merlin sighed. “Mordred is destined to kill you. I know, I know!” he said, when Arthur’s face went slack with shock, and he opened his mouth to object. “He’s the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, and worships the ground you walk on. He has no motive to kill you. But I’ve Seen it. I was shown a vision in a magical pool. I Saw a battlefield, you and him facing each other down with swords over a field of corpses, and Mordred running you through with his. Nice as he may be, I can’t just forget that. I’ve tried.”
“So… to let him die, you’d rather lose the chance to use magic freely, to be yourself?”
“If it meant I could save you from dying… yes.”
The king was quiet for a moment. “What changed your mind?”
“You,” Merlin said. “You were talking about the judgment the Disir gave you. I realized that you were doomed for certain if you didn’t lift the ban. You mentioned the Labyrinth of Gedref, and the tests you went through, and I remembered that we thought one of us had to die, but it was just a test and turned out to be a sleeping potion. I thought it was possible this was like that, where it looked like you’d die if you went through with it, but if you did it anyway for the sake of Camelot, it would turn out to be false. And then I finally realized that Mordred has no possible motive to kill you - except the ban.”
Arthur sobered at this. “Yes, that is a good point. How many sorcerers have tried to kill me with that motive? Wanting revenge for all those who were killed because of the law. And I just took it as more evidence against them. But revenge is not something inherent to magic, but to people.” He stopped there a moment, before saying with uncharacteristic hesitance, “Merlin? Why… why haven’t you? That is, why did you stay in Camelot, helping me even when the law should have made you hate me?”
“Because I believed in you. Even in the beginning I could tell you were different from your father. I knew that you were not Uther and did not deserve to die for his sins. And then, as I came to know you, I saw that you were honorable, and good, and true of heart. I stayed because I grew to love you as my king, and as a friend. And because I hoped this day would come.” He gave a wry smile. “The prophecies also said you would bring a golden age, unite Albion, and bring magic back to the land. So, I guess I wanted those ones to be true.”
Arthur looked a bit daunted at this list of tasks, but rallied to step back into their usual banter. “Merlin, I think you’d better stop listening to prophecies for a while. Just follow your instincts, such as they are, and let fate handle itself. Clearly thinking about it is too much for you.”
Merlin took the jab with a smile. “Alright, but if you die on me after this, I’ll kill you.”
“Fair enough,” said Arthur.