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Arthur wasn’t stupid. He’d known Merlin long enough to know when something’s up.
It started when they left Camelot. It wasn’t as if Arthur’s own face hadn’t been set in a grimace, what with the situation they’d been put in. He didn’t expect Merlin to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as they left to find the one man who could save their city from certain doom. Actually, saving Camelot from certain doom seemed to be a regular occurance for them, but that was a digression. While Arthur and his servant had faced many a perilous journey in their time together, something was undeniably different this time around.
Mainly, it was Merlin’s lack of conversation. Merlin’s favorite thing was to talk, and sometimes, Arthur questioned whether the man was physically capable of shutting up. From dawn to dusk, whether he was attending to Arthur or completing some odd job for Gaius, he filled the air with his chatter. Arthur would never admit it out loud, as Merlin would brag about it for weeks, but it made the long treks they took on horseback a little more bearable. That was why it was so glaringly obvious when, suddenly, Merlin’s mouth seemed to be sealed shut.
“So, this Balinor guy,” Arthur said. “What d’you think he’s like?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Merlin give a halfhearted shrug. “Dunno,” he said, sounding entirely uninterested. Arthur waited for him to elaborate, but no further response was given.
“A Dragonlord,” the prince mused. “And the last one in existence, at that. I wonder what it must be like being able to command such powerful creatures.”
“Not many left to command,” Merlin muttered.
Arthur could hear the frown in his voice. “I suppose,” he said carefully. Merlin chose not to answer.
Arthur wasn’t used to being the one who had to initiate their conversations, and certainly never felt as if he was carrying them. It concerned him, but he left Merlin alone for the time being.
When the sky began to darken, they stopped at an inn. Predictably, they had little luck searching for their quarry there, but they did obtain a room for the night. Merlin went about his duties as usual, undressing Arthur, inspecting the wound that damn dragon had given him, and organizing their supplies, but did so in near perfect silence. Barely a word had passed between the two by the time they sat down on their respective beds. Merlin curled into himself, lying down with his back facing Arthur, and Arthur found that he couldn’t take it any longer.
“What is wrong with you today?” he said, his worry masquerading as exasperation.
“What?” Merlin said, turning his head.
“It pains me to admit it,” Arthur said, “but I do enjoy your surly retorts. In fact, it’s probably your only redeemable feature.”
Merlin paused briefly. “…Thanks.”
Arthur sighed. “There are loads of servants who can serve. So few are capable of making a complete prat out of themselves.” He laid down on his own mattress, glancing over at Merlin with a small smile in the hopes his servant would take the bait. Merlin made a tiny huff of amusement, which was a start, Arthur supposed. “What is it?” he asked again.
“Nothing,” Merlin said immediately.
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s something. Tell me.”
Merlin, of course, did not.
Arthur watched his servant, who refused to look back at him. Was there a reason Merlin didn’t feel as if he could open up to Arthur? Was it Arthur’s own fault? When he thought about it, he realized it must be status. It was inappropriate for a servant to relay his troubles onto his master.
The thought made Arthur more uncomfortable the more he ruminated on it. As much as he lorded his position over Merlin, it was all in jest, wasn’t it? It had taken Arthur a little while to warm up to Merlin’s…blatant disrespect, if he was putting it honestly, but now that he had, he wouldn’t want it any other way. He wouldn’t dream of punishing Merlin for it. He’d thought Merlin knew that.
Arthur stared at the ceiling. “All right,” he said. “I know I’m a prince, so we can’t be friends. But if I wasn’t a prince—”
“What?” Merlin interrupted. There was bitterness in his voice, but more than that, he sounded tired.
“Well, then…” Arthur said, subdued but undeterred, “I think we’d probably get on.”
“So?” said Merlin, unimpressed.
“So that means you can tell me.”
“Mm. That’s true, but you see, if you weren’t a prince, I’d tell you to mind your own damn business.”
“Merlin,” Arthur said. So it couldn’t be that Merlin thought he’d be disciplined for informality. Arthur searched his brain for something, anything. “Are you missing Gaius?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
“Something like that,” Merlin said unconvincingly.
This man. “Well, what is it, then?” Arthur said. He chucked a pillow at Merlin’s face in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it seemed his servant wasn’t in the mood for their usual playful banter, as his expression didn’t change.
“I’ll tell you,” he said. Arthur sobered up, ready to listen, but all he got out of Merlin was, “I’m worried about everyone back in Camelot. I hope they’re all right.”
Disappointment washed over Arthur. Maybe, in truth, he should have been more focused on saving Camelot, but on these sorts of missions, he relied on Merlin. Knowing Merlin was distressed, and knowing he was hiding the source of his pain from Arthur, was incredibly distracting. “I know it’s more than that,” he said quietly. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Merlin hesitated, likely formulating his answer. “It’s not for you to know.”
“Even if I can do something about it?” Arthur pressed.
Merlin laughed humorlessly. “I promise you, Arthur. For all the privileges that come with being a prince, you can’t help me with this.”
“So what if I can’t help as a prince?” Arthur retorted. “What if I want to help as a friend?”
“It’s like you said,” said Merlin. “We can’t be friends.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” Merlin said. It was easy to picture his eyebrows raising.
“I said that’s bullshit.” Arthur folded his arms. “Royals made the rule that princes and servants can’t be friends, so that means other royals can disregard it.”
“I don’t think that’s how laws work.”
“It’s not a law, idiot. It’s an unwritten rule.” Arthur’s face softened. “The point is, you blockhead, as much as you infuriate me sometimes, it’s not as if I don’t care about you. I don’t like it when you’re upset, okay?”
That, finally, got to Merlin. Arthur couldn’t see his face, but he could tell. “Why should you care?” he mumbled.
“I shouldn’t,” said Arthur. “Not according to my father, at least. Too bad he’s not the boss of me.”
“He’s the king.”
“I don’t care.” Arthur kept his voice firm. “Not when it comes to this.”
“So…you’d defy your father?” There was something hidden in Merlin’s tone. Arthur got the feeling he was being probed, and the answers he gave now would end up determining whether Merlin decided to trust him.
“Merlin,” Arthur snorted, “I have and will continue to disagree with my father on many things. I’ve defied him time and again. You know this.”
“Fine, then,” Merlin said. “To what extent would you defy him?”
Arthur frowned. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Merlin.”
Merlin went quiet again, and he seemed to shrink into himself a little.
“Turn around,” Arthur told him. “I want you to look at me.”
“Yes, sire.” Reluctantly, Merlin did so.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Arthur. “So just ask me outright. What do you really want to know?”
Merlin sighed. He pinched his nose for a moment before looking back up, finally steeling his features. “During the Great Purge, Uther killed all the Dragonlords and hunted down those close to them—their friends, their family. I have little doubt that once Balinor saved Camelot, he’d do so again. So, Arthur, this is what I want to know. If Balinor had a son, would you turn him in?”
Arthur lifted his head from the bed in shock. “Balinor has a son?”
“Yes. And depending on your answer, I’ll tell you who he is.” Merlin’s blue eyes were as serious as Arthur had ever seen them.
Arthur thought about it. Would he? Dragonlords were men of magic, meaning their descendants were likely magical as well. Protecting a sorcerer from the king’s grasp would be treason. Would Arthur do it?
He never had before. Arthur had assisted in the capture and execution of more magic practitioners than he cared to think about. He didn’t take pleasure in it, but the king’s word was law, wasn’t it? He was protecting his kingdom, that was all. He had no reason to defend these people.
But…
There was a difference here.
Arthur knew his answer. It was selfish, it was hypocritical, and it certainly didn’t speak for his quality of character. But it was honest.
“If it was you who asked me to,” said Arthur, “then yes. I would.”
Merlin’s eyes widened, not having expected that answer. He studied Arthur for a moment, and in his face found sincerity. “My word means that much to you?”
“Your word and your will,” said Arthur. “Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”
Merlin nodded slowly. “I believe you,” he said quietly. “So I’ll tell you.” His brows creased, and he broke eye contact with Arthur in favor of staring at his lap. “It’s me. Balinor is…my father.”
“What?” Arthur blinked. “Merlin, what?”
Merlin flinched. “I didn’t know! I mean, Gaius told me. It was just before we left.”
“So that must mean…” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Merlin…you’re not a sorcerer, are you?”
The blood seemed to completely drain from Merlin’s face. “Not—not all Dragonlords were sorcerers.” The statement was feeble and they both knew it.
“God in Heaven.” Arthur felt sick. “You have magic?”
Merlin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”
No. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Arthur turned over in his bed, his body stiff. “I’m going to sleep. We leave at dawn.”
***
This time, Arthur refused to talk as much as Merlin.
After finally obtaining a lead, they rode on towards Balinor’s cave, but the tension was thick between them. Too often, Arthur would catch Merlin stealing a look at him, eyes filled with anxiety, but did not dare to say anything.
Arthur wouldn’t have had a response anyway. His city was falling. His closest friend had lied to him. The wound on his torso was aching. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
Merlin is a sorcerer. The realization resurfaced every five minutes or so, bringing with it a sharp stab of betrayal. What was he meant to do with this information?
He’d told Merlin he would not hurt him, and he’d stand by that. There was no way he could, in good conscience, sentence the man to death. His father would say he’d gotten too attached. Maybe he was right, but there was no going back for Arthur. He was stuck with Merlin now. Arthur grimaced—he hated the fact that for the first time, it felt like a bad thing.
His head hurt. His body hurt. He clutched dizzily at his wound. How had this happened? How…? Why…?
He could feel his eyes beginning to close.
***
Arthur woke, good as new, and emerged from the cave. He quickly realized it: they had found Balinor.
Merlin was sitting in silence just outside of the cave, watching a man who was standing a little ways down the river. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.
“He’s not going to help.”
Arthur stared at Merlin, whose eyes remained trained on Balinor. “What?”
“He refuses to stop the dragon.” Merlin threw a stray pebble into the river with a frustrated force.
Arthur’s stomach dropped. “And he knows what’s at stake?”
Merlin nodded.
“Fuck.” Arthur fisted a hand in his hair. “We’re doomed.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” There was devastation in Merlin’s voice. “I thought my father would be something more.”
His father…
Arthur realized with a pang in his chest that as horrible as it was that Camelot would fall without a Dragonlord’s help, this meant more to Merlin than even that. This was his first impression of his father, and Balinor was choosing to stand by and let innocents die.
This must have been exactly what Merlin was worried about. This must have been the reason he was so distressed throughout their journey. Arthur had offered to help, but when Merlin told him…Arthur had made it worse.
Guilt washed over him like a wave. He didn’t think he was in the wrong for feeling hurt that Merlin lied to him about being a sorcerer. However, there was a time for his problems and a time for Merlin’s. Right now, this was about Merlin discovering a father he never knew, and finding him to be cruel. In this moment, it didn’t matter how mad Arthur was. He needed to be there for his friend.
He sat down beside Merlin, placing a hand on his knee. Merlin glanced at him, surprised and more than a little nervous. “I’m sorry too,” said Arthur.
“You…are?” Merlin asked.
“Yes.” Arthur nodded. “It wasn’t fair for me to shun you like that when I pushed you to tell me what you were upset about in the first place. Your…abilities are something we can talk about later—and we will talk about them, trust me—but they can wait. Before you’re a sorcerer, you’re a citizen of Camelot, and a prince looks out for his subjects. But more importantly than that, Merlin, you’re my friend.” He squeezed Merlin’s knee briefly. “So, I’m sorry about your father. This…it can’t be easy.”
Though Merlin still looked dejected, a small glimmer of hope lit up in his eyes. “Arthur…thank you.”
A prince wasn’t supposed to hug his servants, but Arthur Pendragon was allowed to hug his friends. And so he held Merlin in his arms, a promise fresh on his lips: they’d work through this together. The dragon attack, the issue of Balinor, Merlin’s magic, all of it. They were a team, now and forever.
Truly, Arthur had gotten too attached. He found he didn’t regret it in the slightest.