Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Merlin might've claimed it had been an instinct that drove him to cast that spell. An innate need to protect, to preserve. But as the dagger clattered uselessly on the ground, it's course from the lone bandit's hand to his King's heart cut short, he knew that wasn't true. Familiar blue eyes darkened, the initial instinctual terror fading into hurt, then fury. He was expecting it, when Arthur's sword swung towards him, only reaching a stopping point centimeters away from the fragile skin on his throat. Merlin didn't flinch. As the only weapon in existence capable of ending his life shook in the trembling hands of the man holding it, Merlin didn't plead, nor apologize.

"You're a sorcerer."

Arthur only said, and waited as if for Merlin to deny the accusation, laugh it off as a bizzare cosmic intervention. He knew he wanted him to, and he almost suspected he could've, but Merlin was older now, the hope long ago beaten out of him. He didn't want to hide anymore.

"I was born with magic. I am made of it."

"You've betrayed me." Arthur's voice belonged to a King. Rough and stern, uncompromising. It left Merlin breathless, mourning for that of the blonde boy whose laugh made the summer sun seem duller.

"No. No, not you. Camelot's laws. I could never betray you, Arthur. You are my destiny, as I am yours."

The blade pressed firmly against Merlin's throat in response, nearly drawing blood.

"Stop that!" Arthur growled. "You're a sorcerer. You've been lying to me for years. I don't know who you are."

The unsettlingly truthful statement, and the vulnerability of it caused bile to rise up his throat.

"Then let me show you!" He exclaimed. "Everything I've done, I've done for you, Arthur. I've only ever used it for you."

Under the gray light peaking through the clouds, Arthur looked like his father's son. He removed the blade.

"Then you'll face trial. If what you say is true, you'll be found innocent, and you'll leave Camelot unharmed."

Merlin scoffed.

"They'll have me burned at the pyre. You know that. You must do." He couldn't control the heat building up behind his eyes. Arthur remained silent.

"Will you be the one to light the fire, then?" Merlin asked, voice deep and rough.

Arthur didn't spare a response, so Merlin resigned. He lifted his hands slowly, offering them to be bound with rope, only a tiny part of him holding onto hope that Arthur wouldn't do that to him. He did.

During the journey back the ground wasn't miraculously firmer for the horses. He didn't "just know" what path to avoid. It was rougher, longer. Arthur didn't ask any questions, even though they both knew he wanted to. Merlin himself was burning with desire to give him the answers, to be free of the weight that slowly dragged him lower with every new lie, until he was drowning in them. He just couldn't bring himself to speak.

Infront of the great Camelot's gates, the mighty King hesitated for just a few seconds. A tear escaped not from a ruler's eyes, but from those belonging to a boy who had missed his chance to love. He glanced at the warlock's tightly bound wrists, and his mask crumbled entirely for just a second, before King Arthur was back, stoic and fierce. He marched on, his prisoner following closely behind.

.

When he was thrown into the dungeons, no one batted an eye. He supposed that was the biggest testament to all he'd tolerated for too long.

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The trial was over sooner than it had begun. Advisors and lords spoke of the evil nature of sorcery, mentioned heinous crimes and acts of resistance, cursed at the boy, the traitor, the abomination, the sorcerer shackled at the King's feet. Merlin listened, and offered in response every instance in which Camelot had been saved by magic, the king's life spared by his own intervention. He spoke of love, and compassion, and bravery, then only watched as hate drowned out his words.

He watched as Gaius smiled proudly through his tears while Merlin spoke, then crumbled with each accusation that followed. He watched Gwaine clench his fists as he locked eyes with him and nod in quiet reassurance that he stood with him. He watched Gwen shiver as tears filled her eyes, her delicate fingers tearing at the seam of her dress nervously. He watched as many turned away as he spoke, and others nodded in consideration. He watched friendly faces turn away as they came to see him for all that he is, and others offer compassion wordlessly.

He watched as Arthur remained perfectly still through all of it, if not for an increasingly tight grasp on the grip of his sword.

The man that sentenced him to burn at dawn was not the same man he knew.

.

He had barely registered the words spoken, or the chaos that followed. Everything went suddenly quiet, hazy as if in a dream. When he was thrown in the dungeons once again, it still hadn't completely sunk in.

It wasn't long before people started visiting him, with tears in their eyes and a heart heavy with grief. Others came to seek an apology, or offer one. Most shared stories of the most treasured memories with him, and he couldn't help but notice they were speaking to him as if he was already ash.

Gaius came, and held him as he cried. He was a small child in the arms of a parent. He let him scream of the unfairness of it all, of the betrayal, of the fear. Gaius comforted Merlin as best he could, and he cried with him, damning himself for not doing enough, not fighting the injustice when he could, believing in Arthur. Merlin held onto him more tightly as he assured him that he'd loved him, and cared for him. He knew him. And that was all that he'd ever needed.

Gaius was ripped away from him by the guards, in fear their disobeying orders by letting him in the cell in the first place would be found out. They apologized repeatedly as they dragged him away.

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It wasn't long before he was joined by a familiar hurricane in the next cell. Gwaine arrived with his long hair ruffled, his nose bloodied, his face tear-stained. Merlin moved closer to their adjoining wall, letting his head rest against it. The sorcerer didn't have to ask why he was there.

"Thank you" he muttered. Gwaine made a pained noise in acknowledgement.

"You were always the bravest one of us." He said after the guards had fallen asleep, his voice heavy with a sincerity that was unlike his usual sarcastic self.

"Was I?" Merlin tried to tease, but his voice carried no amusement. It sounded bitter instead.

"Just leave while they're asleep. You could do it. Leave and don't ever come back. This place doesn't deserve you."

Gwaine's voice was shaky, strained. Merlin felt his heart clench at the words.

"I'm sorry." He said in response. "For lying to you."

And he meant it. Merlin didn't have a lot of friends. He walked hand in hand with loneliness his entire life. He supposed that was the cost of magic in a world sculpted by Uther Pendragon's hatred, a burden inherited from the fear of men before him. But then he'd met Gwaine. This mess of a man with the biggest heart and a unique intelligence that went unnoticed, overshadowed by his clumsiness and complete lack of propriety. He had a bright spirit and an intriguing quality that pushed Merlin to question, and to want. He'd slithered his way into his life and made a home there, and Merlin was grateful. The two of them talked often, and Gwaine asked him questions about his likes and dislikes, let him share stories of his life before Camelot, and shared his own in turn. Countless times Merlin had wanted to confess, if only to be able to relay a story accurately, but ultimately held his tongue, refusing to burden him in that way. He always imagined he'd get to tell him one day.

Gwaine chuckled bitterly. "Considering your position right now, I wouldn't say I blame you."

Merlin sighed. "You'd be the first."

"Just leave, Merlin. Go!" He urged, his voice breaking.

For him, he wanted to. But Merlin didn't move a finger. He could do it, he knew that. No one really knew how to deal with sorcerers in Camelot, and he was no ordinary sorcerer. He could leave the cell with a simple incantation, put thousands of miles between him and anyone that ever knew him with a thought. He could burn the citadel down if he so pleased. Yet he remained still. The dream of a destiny fullfiled, of magic's return on Albion burned like a flame within him, gave him life. He found purpose in Arthur's face. He'd believed in him for so long, so intensely, that it filled him completely, consumed him. And then it was gone, the flame extinguished.

He'd given everything to Camelot, to Arthur, and there wasn't much left. Now the rusty cuffs digged into his skin, and he could hardly remember what it was all for. He only wore the face of the boy he was when he first came into Gaius chambers, when he'd used magic to move a mattress and saw the terror in the old man's face. He'd sacrificed, he'd killed, he'd gone against everything he'd ever stood for. There was not a part of him that was unscathed from his devotion. He thought of everything he lost. Every person he'd grieved in secret. Every insult, every accusation, every time he wasn't believed, every reminder of his value only as a servant. He could leave, he reckoned. If he had anywhere to go, any reason to go there.

He stood up, thick chains rattling against the cold ground and ripping at his skin. "What would be the point?" He asked.

"To live, Merlin, to be free." The Knight responded, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

.

Two guards awoken by the sobbing laughter of sir Gwaine couldn't help feeling a slight satisfaction, when the kind boy who had treated their brother when he was sick was no longer in his cell. They offered water to the Knight, and were uncharacteristically slow sounding the alarm.

.

When Arthur heard the alarm, he didn't have to wonder what it was for. Merlin was standing in his chamber, his eyes red and swollen, hand outstretched in warning. He looked dangerous.

When a guard pushed through the door to notify him of the escape, his eyes glided right over the man standing in the middle of the room, as if he wasn't there at all.

Arthur did his best to avoid looking at Merlin while he spoke. "He'll already be gone. There is no point. Resume your positions." Arthur instructed, and wished it were true.

The door clicked shut and his gaze turned back to Merlin. He looked, simply put, terrible. He always thought Merlin looked beautiful, even when he was sick, and tired, and filthy from their latest adventure, he thought he had a very particular beauty that made his breath catch each time he looked at him. He found it was in the way he was always looking back, his spirit shining through as he laid eyes on him in a way that made Arthur feel like he could do anything.

He could detect none of that now. Merlin looked... broken. Hollowed out. The knowledge that it was him that had caused it sat like a noose around his neck.

Arthur spoke first.

"In my wildest dreams, I never thought something like this could happen." He admitted.

"Like you sentencing me to burn?" Merlin retorted.

"I thought you a friend!" He spat, the words burning their way up his throat.

Merlin took a step towards him. "And was I not? What more would you have me do, what more could I give you?"

Arthur stumbled backwards. There were tears in Merlin's eyes. He hated the sight. He didn't know what watching him burn would've done to him. He was hoping for this, he realized. Expecting it, in a way. Merlin always made it out alive. Apparently, even despite Arthur's best chances to change that.

His relief at the thought he wouldn't have to watch his closest friend burn was washed away by the grief that came with the understanding that he'd lost him forever either way. The man standing before him was so familiar, and foreign at the same time. His thoughts tangled up with fear and anger as he tried to figure out where truth ended and lies begun.

"You could've trusted me!" He exclaimed, hurt and desperate, entirely giving up on trying to hold on to any semblance of dignity. He hated how his voice sounded. It was pathetic, he knew, but he'd trusted Merlin not to lie to him, at least not because of his title. He'd believed- Merlin had made him believe that a King could be something other than feared. That he could be a... Friend, even. It hurt more than he thought it ever could to know it was all a lie.

"It's my life that you ask me to trust you with, Arthur. What if I had? When should I have done it? When I'd just arrived in Camelot, before you knew me, or after you'd begun to trust me? When wouldn't you have ordered me to burn? I did trust you. I saved your life. I allowed you to drag me back to Camelot, because I had faith in you. Can you believe that? Even though I knew you'd have me executed, I hoped I was wrong." His voice cracked and broke, bitter disappointment skipping through the cracks. Arthur could hardly breathe.

He nodded to the window. They both knew what they would see if they were to look out of it. "All for the crime of saving your life." He huffed a terrible laugh. "You've no idea how many times I've saved your life. You couldn't begin to imagine all that I've lost to protect you."

Every word destroyed Arthur beyond repair.

"My loyalty to one man cannot outweigh my loyalty to my Kingdom." Was all he could say I response.

Arthur spoke each word carefully. Countless times he'd repeated them in his head, trying to convince himself as well. It was the burden of his kingship. He'd lost so many before, what if this time left his heart irreparably rotten?

Merlin's face stayed entirely neutral when he spoke. He wasn't surprised.

"You are the King of Camelot, after all." He simply affirmed.

"Why couldn't have you been more than that?" He meant. It hurt more. He expected - he wanted - him to be angry, to threaten him, show him exactly how wrong he is and how little he deserves the crown. Instead he was met with hurt and bitter understanding that he couldn't have been someone brave enough to change his perspective.

More than anything he wished he could've been, but in the end he was his father's son, the heir of a legacy, and no feelings of affection towards his servant could change that.

"What do you have to say?" He asked.

"I pose no threat to Camelot. I have no wish to cause harm to anyone. I come to ask that you do not send after me, and to warn that, if you do, the blood of those that find me are on your hands."

The air seemed to grow thicker. Merlin really meant it. He would kill anyone that went after him, he could kill anyone that went after him. It scared him more than he'd like to admit. Regrettably, he thought it was a fear his Merlin could never inspire.

"I am more powerful than you know, Arthur. If I wanted to cause you harm, I'd have done so. Instead I used the very magic that you'd take my life for to save yours. I believed in you. I believed you could be better than your father. That Camelot could right it's wrongs under your rule." He continued.

"Maybe it's habit, but I still do."

Arthur was intensely aware of his vulnerability. Physical and emotional, the warlock had full control of the situation. He knew which strings to tag to cause him to feel like a small kid when his father scolded him, how to make him feel unworthy, insecure. He wanted to apologize, beg for forgiveness, for what he knew in his bones was wrong, and at the same time be free of the only person in the world with the power to make him feel that way. Merlin knew him. Warts and all. His quirks, his weaknesses, his deepest desires and guilty pleasures.

He, however, he never knew Merlin at all. What friend hasn't seen the other love, and grieve and hope. Far too late, he wished he had asked him more questions, listened to him as he rumbled on, noticed everything about him a bit more.

Maybe then he wouldn't have become what he is now. A traitor, set to be executed at dawn.

Arthur nodded, and was grateful when the sorcerer was gone before he could see him break down, no longer capable of keeping any emotions at bay.