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It takes days of searching before they find Merlin bound in a cave, his body inked with unfamiliar runes, pale and unresponsive.
Arthur immediately fears the worst, just from the look of Merlin, and his feet feel rooted to the ground, unable to move.
Instead, it is Gwaine that rushes in, pulling Merlin into his arms and checking his pulse, patting Merlin’s cheeks until Merlin’s eyes flicker open.
It is strange the way Gwaine curses under his breath and immediately moves his body to block Merlin from Arthur’s sight.
“He’s alive,” Gwaine says, more to Lancelot than anyone else. “But we’ll need to get him out of here fast.”
Arthur watches Merlin lean forward in Gwaine’s hold and whisper something to him, and Gwaine’s shoulders stiffen at whatever Merlin tells him.
Arthur steps forward to take Merlin from Gwaine, but Gwaine just turns his body a little more, shielding Merlin.
Something about that makes Arthur’s heart squeeze a little, his stomach dropping.
For some reason, Arthur isn't being trusted with Merlin.
“Sir Gwaine!” Arthur snaps, as if the title would remind Gwaine who he had sworn fealty to.
As if it had ever mattered to Gwaine, who had made it very clear from the beginning that his loyalty was first and foremost to Merlin.
“I can walk,” Merlin says, finally, his head down. “Barely, though. I feel like my legs are going to give out any moment, and i think they dosed me with something? They wanted answers about Arthur-of course I wouldn’t give them anything-but I want to tell you everything, all of you, I'm so tired of lying–”
“Truth serum,” Lancelot says, crouching on the ground with a vial between his fingers, before he moves to flank Merlin’s other side.
Then, Merlin looks up, his eyes meeting Arthur’s.
Eyes that burn gold in a way Arthur has only seen in other people, under very specific circumstances.
Arthur feels his mouth go dry, and a pit of anger and dread begins to grow in his stomach.
On the way back to Camelot, Merlin is seated with his hands bound in front of him on a horse who is tethered to Arthur’s own horse.
Arthur has noticed the way his knights are riding closer than usual, and he knows it’s not for the safety and well being of their king, but for Merlin.
With the serum still in his system, Merlin has been doing his best to be quiet (a feat, the fond part of Arthur that had considered Merlin his best and most trustworthy friend), he’s eventually just settled for glancing over at Arthur from time to time.
Arthur makes sure Merlin never sees Arthur looking back.
Arthur could easily ask Merlin anything he wanted right now, and Merlin couldn’t lie to him. He wants to know why Merlin lied to him all these years, if Merlin has thought it was fun, making a laughingstock of Arthur.
Why Gwaine and Lancelot already seemed to know, because they were clearly privy to Merlin’s secret.
“You must have had a reason,” Arthur says out loud, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin flinch, then straighten up, steeling himself.
“Arthur–”
“What did you want once this was all over?” Arthur demands, unable to stop himself. “My life? The throne? Revenge? You must have had some ulterior motive! Tell me!”
“I want to tell you!” Merlin snaps. “I’ve always wanted to tell you, but not like this, Arthur. There’s so little control I have with anything in my life. I just want this one thing on my terms.”
“You lost the right to your own terms when you lied to me about your magic for years,” Arthur says, low. “You had more than enough chances.”
Merlin just looks at Arthur, cheeks flushed from his own outburst, mouth pressed into a tight line like he’s physically holding back words. His eyes had returned to the usual blue at some point, and Arthur can’t help but wonder if the serum is still in effect, or if Merlin lied about that, too.
Arthur can see Gwaine just off to his left, holding his horse’s reins in one hand and barely looking away from Merlin and Arthur. Arthur knows that he’s riding to keep the two of them in view as opposed to staying ahead, and will not be afraid to intervene if Arthur does anything with Merlin.
As though Arthur would do anything with Merlin’s hands tied, defenseless (although Merlin isn't really defenseless, is he?)
As though Arthur would do anything to Merlin at all, and wasn’t that just the crux of the problem?
“Sire,” Lancelot says from the other side of Merlin, and Arthur once again realizes the flanked position was for Merlin’s safety. “Merlin is still weakened from the past couple of days. Perhaps we could–”
“Is everyone forgetting who the king is, here?” Arthur interjects, his eyes finding Merlin’s again. He’s not surprised to see neither Gwaine nor Lancelot bat an eye.
“It’s fine,” Merlin says in Lancelot’s direction, and Arthur can’t help but feel a tiny twinge of guilt, because Merlin does still look worn out. He raises his bound hands off the saddle. “I’m not going anywhere, anyway.”
“Merlin,” Gwaine says, raising his voice. “You don’t owe anyone an answer.”
Arthur begs to differ, but Merlin just shifts in his saddle, his eyes on Arthur.
“I usually wouldn’t,” Merlin says, and it sounds like he’s addressing Arthur, despite the general comment. “But this is something that’s been a long time coming, and I want to answer, but this is for Arthur and me alone.”
Arthur says nothing, but Gwaine makes a sound in his throat, looking between them.
“Merlin,” Gwaine says. “If you think I’m going to just leave you two alone, with your hands tied–”
Merlin just smiles at that, and Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen that sort of smile on Merlin.
It’s small but confident, self-assured, and something about it makes Arthur’s heart skip a beat for reasons he will not examine. “It’s not like I need my hands to do magic these days,” he says. “But for the record, I’d never use it against you, Arthur. I never have.”
Arthur hates how much he believes that, but he schools his expression. “We’ll camp here, then. Merlin, with me.”
“Not much of a choice,” Merlin mutters as Arthur leads both of their horses off to privacy. The comment is a little too close to their usual rapport for Arthur’s comfort right now, but he lets it slide.
Once they’re alone, Arthur leans over and removes the binds from Merlin’s wrists.
“The serum’s wearing off, by the way,” Merlin says, absently. “I don't feel compelled to answer anything I don't want to."
Arthur just nods, refusing to show any sign of relief at that, then folds his arms over his chest. “I have questions,” he says, stiff.
“I have answers,” Merlin replies, his voice laced with sincerity, soft and meaningful.
“We should start from the beginning,” Arthur says, controlled, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. “Like when you first started using magic.”
“Since birth, actually. I was born with it.”
“Since birth? I’m going to be here a long time listening to you, aren’t I?”
Merlin lets out a wet, startled laugh, wiping his eyes. “You did ask.”
He’s still furious, and he’s still hurt, but something in Arthur warms at Merlin’s laugh.
“Just get on with it, Merlin,” Arthur mutters, and with a final, cautious look, Merlin does.