Chapter Text
In the days that follow, Merlin is startled at how quickly he and Arthur find a new semblance of normal. It's strange and disorienting, to discover everything can be so wildly different and so utterly the same at once.
Unlike the future king, Merlin's newly returned prince has no compunctions about bossing him around, falling right back into familiar habits. But Arthur is more thoughtful now. With every day that passes, he grows more reasonable in his demands, perhaps because he finally understands how many contradictory pressures Merlin is juggling. He seems increasingly willing to look the other way when Merlin is late with breakfast—to cover for him in moments of forgetfulness—to run interference when Merlin drifts too near Uther's notice and ire.
Arthur encourages Merlin to delegate many of his duties to other members of the household staff—which admittedly, Merlin should have been doing from the start—but it still feels like something of a revelation. Strange and confusing, to suddenly not be drowning in tasks that no servant could manage alone without the judicious use of magic.
Merlin spends those first two weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop, and is pleasantly surprised when he realizes Arthur has every intention of continuing this way indefinitely.
Far more confounding is the simple and staggering fact that Merlin no longer needs to conceal his magic from the prince.
The first time he uses his talents to light the hearth in Arthur's chambers and then realizes Arthur saw him do it, Merlin nearly has a heart attack. He wasn't trying to be careless. It's not as though he intends to flaunt his secret, when surely it must still be a sore spot. But before the prince's journey through time, Arthur would not have been paying any attention to him in such a moment. There is something downright disorienting in the way Arthur is watching him now, sharp and focused, almost glaring at Merlin from his seat at the table. His brow furrows into a deep groove, only to smooth back out a second later, and Merlin has no idea what either expression means.
"You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you?" Arthur sounds exasperated and… fond? That can't be right. Merlin's chest tightens, and he sets the notion aside, as both unlikely and too much to consider right now.
It's clear from Arthur's tone that this isn't an attempt to pick a fight—Merlin doesn't need to justify himself—and yet he finds himself explaining, "If I don't use it in small ways, it sneaks out in bigger ones." He shrugs, apologetic. "No one ever notices. Most of the time, no one pays any attention to servants."
He doesn't say out loud that nobles are thick-headed, self-important louts, but he doesn't bother concealing the wry edge of his expression either.
Instead of taking the bait, Arthur asks with surprising thoughtfulness, "What about other servants?"
Merlin shrugs again. "I don't do it around them."
Arthur's eyes narrow, and it takes Merlin several seconds to recognize the expression for protective ire, as Arthur asks, "And around my father?"
"Only in the most dire circumstances."
"Merlin," Arthur snarls, rising with an angry scrape of chair legs across stone. His whole frame is suddenly taut with frenetic energy, as he storms toward Merlin and the cheerfully crackling fire. "Are you trying to get your head chopped off?"
"Of course not, I'm not completely daft!"
"Could've fooled me," Arthur says, in that smooth, self-righteous tone that always makes Merlin want to knock him down.
"You really have no idea, do you?" Merlin blurts. He clamps his jaw shut tight as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but it's too late. Arthur has stopped directly in front of him, staring hard in a confusing amalgam of irritation and curiosity. Arthur's eyes are bright and blue and utterly inescapable, and his expression makes it clear that dissembling won't be a successful strategy this time.
Arthur's voice comes out slow and deliberate when he says, "No idea about what?"
Merlin swallows hard. He could make a break for the door. Dart out into the hall and yell something over his shoulder about an errand for Gaius. Not that it would fool Arthur one bit, but at least he could put off this conversation, maybe long enough to avoid it entirely. Merlin is not accustomed to taking credit for things, and after so many years of keeping his secrets, the thought makes his stomach squirm.
When Merlin continues to not answer, Arthur's eyebrows arch pointedly higher, and Merlin realizes there's no point running away. He's piqued Arthur's interest. Curiosity shines far too brightly in the prince's eyes, and there's no way he will be put off now. Arthur is every bit as stubborn as Merlin. Perhaps more so, in certain completely exasperating ways.
So Merlin squares his shoulders and tries to sound steadier than he feels. "How often I protect you. And your father." He swallows again, choking back shaky emotion in order to continue, "How many times I've used magic to keep Camelot safe."
Arthur's eyes narrow, but it isn't an angry expression this time. It's keen fascination, and Merlin should not be surprised to hear the next words out of the prince's mouth.
"Tell me."