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"I'm sorry", he said. "I'm genuinely sorry Arthur."
Shoulders slumped, head bent down. But Arthur had his back turned on him, he didn't see the unshed tears shining in his eyes.
"Get out Merlin. Just get the fuck out."
Merlin left.
Arthur had grown up as Uther's son, he'd been taught the lesson a million times.
"Never trust anyone son. You're the prince, everyone wants something from you, everyone will betray you in the end."
He hadn't wanted to believe it at first. He'd been a child, he'd wanted to be seen and to be loved only for who he was. He'd later come to accept it however, because it was the truth. He'd trusted his first nursemaid, had loved her even. She had taken over his mother's face in his mind, he'd come to rely upon her kind voice. The illusion of her motherly nature ended abruptly, shattered by a knife held to his throat.
"You've taken my child Uther Pendragon", she'd said, "and it is my right to now take yours." Her knife had stung where it bit in his skin, the metal impossibly cold. Her betrayal hurt like nothing he'd ever felt. He had been a child, barely 6 summers old, but he was forced to grow up by that one act of treason. The next time his father gave him the lesson he believed him. He watched her burn at the stake and didn't shed one tear.
Later came many betrayals, but Arthur had learned, no longer stupid and trustful. He'd expected the lot of them. They didn't hurt him, he told himself. He was the prince before he was Arthur, he should expect betrayal and assassination and the lot.
If only it were that easy.
Then Merlin came into his life, this loud peasant boy who had no etiquette and yelled at injustice when he saw it, caution thrown to the wind. He had been the first in a long while to see Arthur before he saw the prince of Camelot and heir to the throne. Merlin ignored his crown with the same fervor he ignored any and all propriety. He didn't see rank, only people. Arthur didn't know when exactly he let his guard down. Maybe it was during their first fight, Merlin swinging at him with reckless abandon, even though it was apparent he had no idea what he was doing. He'd yelled at Arthur, mocked him and humiliated him but he'd seen Arthur, the man himself, titles all but forgotten. He grew to respect the idiot.
Merlin steadily turned from a nuisance to a servant then a confidant and eventually a friend, not that Arthur would ever admit that out loud. The walls he had been building since he was a child all came crashing down, one by one. Merlin brought them down, then wholly invaded the empty space that was Arthur's heart. He never once asked for permission, never once paid attention to Arthur's loud complaints. He never seemed to expect anything in return either, he was always there when Arthur needed him, solely because he needed him. Arthur did not know how to handle all that unconditional love. Because it was love, whether Arthur could admit it to himself or not. Merlin loved him, trusted him completely, with fervor that often terrified Arthur. Merlin loved him, unabashedly and with all his heart. And when he looked at him, he only saw Arthur, not idealized but the potential Arthur that could come to be. He did not expect him to change, to fill a mold created long before his birth. Merlin merely pushed Arthur to be the best version of himself.
Eventually he opened up to Merlin. It was hard not to, impossible even. The man was always there when Arthur needed someone to confide into, a comforting presence, a kind word. The man had a sixth sense for Arthur's emotional state, he seemed to understand Arthur's feelings long before he himself could recognize them for what they were. He did cave into the temptation, the need to be heard, to be understood, taking over for once. Uther's voice faded into the background, the lessons that shackled him to a life of loneliness coming undone from a single peasant serving boy.
Oh, the irony.
So Arthur spilled out his mind, his heart, his soul. Everything he was, everything he was to become, his desires, his fears, everything that made him Arthur. His emotions a violent current, growing ever more strong, cleansing everything in its wake. Merlin cradled every admission, every truth, held them softly, carefully, into callused palms. He carried them when they became too heavy for Arthur to bear. He took the truths of Arthur's existence, ugly and beautiful alike, and bore them unto himself with a smile and a wink.
"Let me carry this for you Arthur. Let me help you."
And Arthur, lost in impossibly blue eyes, came undone, word by word and truth by truth. Merlin was always there, to help, to listen, to comfort.
Yet Merlin himself always seemed far away.
It wasn't so much a realization, but a hunch, a sense of wrongness sitting uncomfortable and heavy in Arthur's stomach. Merlin always wore his heart on the threadbare sleeve of his tunic, he laughed and joked in happiness, frowned and shouted in anger, cried and sulked in sadness. His feelings were always there for Arthur to read and recognize, loud and expected. There was, however, a sense of distance between them that never seemed to lessen, no matter how hard Arthur tried. Merlin was a fish, slipping away quietly, swimming further upstream away from his reach. There was a guarded look in his eyes, eyes that seemed to get more serious, more somber, each passing day. He was not growing subdued, not exactly, but his feelings, once so earnest, now seemed like a performance. Forced and fraying around the edges, missing the spark that made them real and genuine. Merlin was there but less, gaunt and pale in a way he wasn't before, bruise-like splotches under his eyes. Less of a boy and more of a man, eyes older than his years, shoulders bent an slouched, as if from carrying a heavy weight for years without break. A transformation so subtle and slow that Arthur could not say when it began or when it progressed.
He had known, always perhaps, that Merlin was more than he seemed, unsaid truths simmering beneath his skin, seeping out sometimes in the form of profound wisdom or bitter tears. Arthur glimpsed Merlin sometimes, the real Merlin, unguarded and vulnerable, almost free. But the distance, even if lessened for a moment, always existed between them, separating them, an invisible shackle keeping Merlin bound and far away. He had known yet couldn't say the words he wanted.
"You can tell me Merlin. Let me listen, let me help you. Your burdens are mine to share too."
He had never said anything. Or rather, he had tried but nothing so starkly clear.
"I think, in another life we could have been friends, you and I."
But Merlin hadn't told him anything substantial, even after that, even after an admission that clawed up Arthur's throat and left him gasping, bleeding and open. He had lied, blatantly, in a shaky voice, his back turned to Arthur. He could hear his muffled sobs throughout the night, but gave him the courtesy of ignorance, of false privacy. The next morning Arthur ignored the trembling hands, the red eyes, the exhaustion. If Merlin wouldn't willingly share his secrets the who was Arthur to force him to?
They reached an unspoken understanding eventually. Arthur would not question Merlin about the tavern, or the way he winced and limped after his so called "night outs", or the exhaustion in his gaze, or the gloom that seemed to settle all around him. In turn, Merlin would put on a smile that stretched his chin in an unnatural short of grimace and be overly cheerful and call Arthur ignorant and blind. They kept dancing around each other, not knowing how to break out of the ever repeating circle of half-truths and half-lies.
Until magic made itself known.
Merlin was thoroughly exhausted. He was young still, yet it felt like the life had seeped out of his bones, leaving them hollow, empty. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he had started loosing himself. These days he felt like a stranger, an actor trying to imitate a man he didn't understand. Gaius had caught on, had tried to comfort him. He had left, the emptiness plaguing him replaced by a hot momentary anger. He shouldn't be angry at Gaius, he knew that, yet he couldn't help it.
"It will be alright Merlin. One day magic will be legal again and Arthur will thank you. You will be appreciated and known for who you are."
Yet he was the one carrying the burden of Albion's destiny. He had been the one to kill, he was the one with blood covered hands. The price of protection.
He wanted to scream, cry, anything, but it all felt locked so deep inside him. He had taken his destiny seriously, he was, even now, trying his best to catch a future that seemed to slip further away with every effort.
"Thank you Merlin. I had become...confused. Thank you for reminding me that magic is evil."
He had cried silent tears that night. Maybe that had been the beginning of the end, that moment that had killed the remnants of his hope. Arthur had spoken so sincerely, with such finality. Magic was evil and that was that, no further discussion wanted, or needed.
Magic was evil.
And who was Merlin to disagree?
Who was Merlin to attempt to disprove such claims?
Merlin, who had killed people, untouched and touched by magic alike. Merlin, who would burn the whole world for Arthur. Merlin, who would forsake magic only if it meant that Arthur would be safe.
He had been killing himself for Arthur for years now, chipping away at his own existence. Somewhere along the lines of love and destiny he learned to live to protect, so intrinsically intertwined with Arthur that he stopped existing as a sole entity. His dreams, his goals, his future, his magic, his life, his purpose, all were for Arthur, all were Arthur's. His to command and his to cast away. And Merlin would rather die a slow burning death than give Arthur the means to cast him away. His magic was for Arthur, its only purpose his protection. Arthur didn't need to know. Arthur could never know, because if he did then Merlin would be sent away, to exile or to death, and he wouldn't be able to protect him anymore. Magic and Albion and his destiny be damned. He would stay by Arthur's side and see him happy and safe and sacrifice the entire world for that privilege.
Merlin was not a good person, he could see that now. He clung, instead, to his younger self, the version of him Arthur had come to trust, even cherish sometimes. He put on a face he barely remembered and performed every day, everything for Arthur's sake. He was desperate, needed that sense of normalcy with Arthur more than he needed air in his lungs. For if Arthur found out who he was, what he was, then he would hate him and everything Merlin had been forced to do, forced to become, would be in vain. All that blood, pointless violence, holding him down, irrefutable proof of his monstrous nature.
No, Arthur can never know, must never know.
Gaius's confrontation, their argument, had left him shaken, unsteady in his anger. He could feel his magic pulsing in his veins, burning under his skin, irate at being suppressed and needing an outlet. He threw open the doors of Arthur's chambers, rage flaring, pulsing on beat with his magic, screaming to be let out. The room was cold and empty and he needed to let the fire out, otherwise it would burn him, swallow him whole in a flash of light, a breath of smoke, a sigh of ash. He waved a hand at the fireplace, logs already inside, seemingly waiting to welcome his anger. A torrent of flames left his fingertips, bathing the fireplace, painting it red and orange and yellow.
Then, a gasp.
He turned towards the door, slightly ajar. Gold met blue, stares interlocking, as his eyes met Arthur's.
In a brushstroke of luck, or fate, or destiny Arthur was faced with unnatural golden eyes, this time impossible to ignore. And as he was shouting for Merlin to get out, to get out of his sight he could feel everything change. Arthur's world shattered and his heart along with it.
For all the time he had spent on Arthur's side, Merlin had never really considered his magic being revealed as a real possibility. It had always felt far away, terrifying but in the scope of nightmares, the fire of the pyre and Arthur's rage blurred around the edges. Even now, everything in the open, he felt trapped in a nightmare, as if he could pinch himself and everything would go back to normal at once. He had trouble aligning this horrible happening with reality, he didn't even want to attempt it because if this was real, if he accepted it, then everything would snap back into focus and Arthur's disgust of him would become clear and undeniable. He left Arthur's chambers as if in a trance, his steps unhurried but unsteady and his nails digging crescent moons into his palms. He did not notice when he tore the callused skin and blood started dripping between his fingers. Reality had shifted in such a major way that the world seemed to him slanted and wrong and off balance.
Arthur knew.
For all his nightmares about that very thing happening he did not know what it meant, for him, for Arthur, for the two of them. His destiny had faded into the background over the years, having been overturned by the need to protect Arthur. He had been a fool for forgetting, for thinking that if he ignored his magic it would cease to be the pressing problem that it had been for his entire life. A fool he had been, because the power of the world was not a thing that could be ignored. His destiny, as if angry, had snapped into place with a ferocity that left him reeling. He had not been planning to go to the tavern but his feet carried him there all the same.
Arthur did not know what to think. At first it was the magic, the huge revelation leaving him enraged without space for other emotion. It had been a convenient excuse not to feel anything less. Because as he stared out his window that night, sleep all but forgotten, he could no longer ignore the core of his anger that pulsed with hurt and betrayal. He had teetered on the line of magic's nature for years, evil or good, finding neither sufficient. An act of rebellion at first, towards his father and the world in its entirety perhaps, then a development of his own understanding and moral code. He had seen evil committed by it. He had also seen it shining behind innocent eyes, the druid boy being a prime example. Contrary to popular belief, he was neither an utter idiot nor blind to the world around him. He had felt the touch of magic in Morgana's eerie warnings, her sometimes prophetic dreams. He had chosen to ignore that, just as he had chosen to ignore the incredible luck that always seemed to follow Merlin around, the golden glint in his gaze just as another bandit got injured by a convenient falling branch. A mere coincidence, a mere trick of the light. Everything he had convinced himself he had buried and forgotten came back rushing at him. Magic was all around him it seemed, in the people he loved most.
Memories resurfaced. Morgana's stubbornness at upholding her morals. Morgana defending with word and sword the innocents that could not help themselves. Morgana standing up to Uther even if she paid the price later, handcuffed int the dungeons like a mere criminal. Merlin rushing headfirst into danger, unarmored and vulnerable, only to protect him. Merlin drinking poison. Merlin smiling at him like he was not about to drink poison again, for his sake.
"Your life is much more important than mine Arthur."
Merlin rushing in the courtroom, breathless and staggering.
"It was me, not Gwen. I am the sorcerer, arrest me."
What courage it must have taken to look Uther in the eye and tell him the truth Arthur did not know. It made his own heroic deeds pale in comparison. The realization was painful at first, uncomfortable, like ripping off a bandage stuck in a festering wound. But by the end of it he felt a serenity, a certain peace of mind. If these were the actions of sorcerers, so selfless and purely good at their core, than it was not magic that was evil and corruptive. It was the souls that harnessed it that used it for evil reasons. He thought he finally understood what Merlin had said to him so long ago.
"Magic is a tool, no more evil than a sword. It is the handler's intentions that are evil."
He felt he could finally understand the meaning in its entirety.
The bitter feeling remained however, the foul taste in his mouth persisted. He was finally forced to face it for what it was. Pain. Hurt. Betrayal. It was not the magic that had hurt him so, no, it was the mistrust, the lies. Merlin would look at him, laughing, and say what a horrible liar he was and then lie through his teeth immediately after. And even worse, he had been in pain too, that much was obvious, and still, suffering and alone, he would not confide in Arthur. Merlin had known everything there was to know about him, but he had not found Arthur worthy of his own secrets. Out of everything, that hurt the most. It left him feeling angry and sullen, yearning for a confrontation. He wanted to comfort Merlin, take care of him with his new found knowledge, protect him, yet he wanted to hurt him too, revenge for the deception.
He chose to wait until morning.
Merlin was beyond drunk. The tavern had been warm and inviting and the burn of the ale had served as a good distraction. He had been pleasantly buzzed when a man took notice of him. Merlin didn't know him, but his build and posture screamed knight. His name blurred into the warm air of the tavern, lost in the noise of voices and clinking mugs. Merlin didn't really care. He provided ample more ale, and Merlin did not refuse, until everything spined at dizzying speed, the room and its occupants becoming a mess of color and noise. He left, with the guy almost carrying him, to where he did not know. It felt good to be so unaware, to forget memories just as they began to form.
He faintly remembered hand tight across his waist, the gray of the castle walls, cold then the warmth of a fire, a bed beneath him. A touch that was crude and rough and he welcomed the pain of it, it's unwanted nature. It was all he deserved after all, his crimes and deceptions leaving him unworthy of kind touch, of genuine love. He could never fathom a tender touch, pure in its intention, it was too dreamlike, too good and he was judged undeserving. He didn't dare hope for it, much less from the only man he truly yearned for. So he made do with this kind contact, being used solely for someone else's pleasure with no regard of his one. It served as a punishment and a reminder both, that this was what was meant for him, that he was barely worth of even that. He did not realize when he lost consciousness.
When he woke up it was to a cold foreign room, the fire having gone out a while ago, and loud snoring. He hastily got dressed in the dark and left in a hurry.
Gaius was thankfully gone from their rooms, probably attending to a birth in the lower citadel. Merlin's relief was palpable, Gaius' haughty remarks and overdramatic concern was not something he could handle at that very moment. He stripped quickly, still unsteady and very much not sober and fell asleep, exhaustion hitting him before his head hit the pillow.
It was a restless sleep, more exhausting that anything else. He dreamt about fires, scorching his flesh, and Arthur, scornful Arthur, burning him all over again with passionate hatred.
He was woken abruptly, clammy with the sweat of nightmares and with a pounding headache, from savage knocks at his door, more like punches than anything else.
It was high time the guards came for him.
Arthur kept knocking for what felt like an eternity. It was the early afternoon, his princely responsibilities having kept him away from Merlin's chamber and their much needed talk. He kept knocking, increasing the intensity until he was practically pounding at the door. Surely Gaius or Merlin should be awake at home at that hour.
When Merlin opened the door Arthur felt his breath catch at his throat. The man looked like shit, his eyebags darker than ever, so pale he looked sickly, eyes half closed against the harsh light. He wore only a long tunic, one collarbone exposed and it was then that Arthur realized how much weight he had actually lost. Merlin had always been thin, gangly limbs all over the place, but now he looked positively starved. His collarbones seemed sharp enough to pierce the skin, legs looking as spindly as if twigs. Dark purple bruises started from his neck, littering his exposed shoulder, disappearing under the hem of his shirt, blooming on the skin of his thighs not covered by the fabric. His posture stiff, looking almost brittle, he looked at Arthur as if he was the last person he expected to see, his gaze a strange combination of fear, irritation and stubborn defiance. He stayed impossibly still, only his shaking hands betraying his agitation. All woes momentarily forgotten Arthur could only ask one question, needed only one answer.
"Who the fuck did this to you."
Merlin seemed shocked by that, looking at him with a suspicious half stare, his arms crossed over his chest. Arthur did not know what angered him most, Merlin's pathetic state or the fact that his concern was regarded as ingenuine. Merlin's eyes were piercing were they met his, searching for a trap, an ulterior motive. Arthur wondered if he was even breathing at all.
"Is that really your most pressing concern right now, Arthur?"
It very much was and he was about to say so when Merlin sighed and gestured for him to come in. He grabbed a blanket laying on Gaius's cot, suddenly very aware of the amount of bare skin he was showing, to the prince of all people and wrapped it against his shoulders, partly to brace against the cold and partly against Arthur's permeating stare that was burning holes in his back.
"Why did you really come here sire? I was expecting your guards, not you."
Oh, he knew exactly how to anger him, how to press with his words right were it hurt. To Arthur, hurting Merlin had never been an option, not even a passing thought. Merlin's accusation were vile, hurtful in a most intimate way. Arthur had never considered to send Merlin to the pyre, it hadn't even occurred to him as a possibility. And here was Merlin, convinced that Arthur could send the order, that he could command his guards to arrest him and burn him, alive and screaming, that he could watch passively as Merlin died screaming. The notion was sickening, settling heavy and uncomfortable in his stomach.
"You really think I would do that."
It wasn't so much a question, more of an admission that came out with more bite than he had intended. He huffed a laugh, harsh and humorless, an ugly feeling lodged up and clawing at his throat. It hurt, on such a fundamental level, that Merlin, the person who had always seen the best in him, now regarded him as a heartless monster.
Merlin was now looking at him the same way he looked at his father.
Merlin loved Arthur, that much was undeniable. At that very moment however he could only feel anger, anger that had kept building up over the years, accumulating and festering inside him, hidden and safely tucked away for a long time but not anymore. What an ugly feeling it was, pulsing and bubbling under his skin, screaming to be let out and he was no longer able to keep it in, too exhausting, too painful. He didn't meet Arthur's piercing stare even as he laced his tone with as much venom he could muster.
"Well you have made your opinions clear enough over the years, sire."
Arthur was not prepared for this. He had expected tears, apologies, maybe even begging. He had not expected to be met with Merlin's ire, just as ferocious, if not more, than his own. He had seemed so fragile, so breakable the previous day, now all nerves and angry glares that wouldn't meet his eyes directly. It was puzzling and infuriating and Arthur was not known for his patience.
"You've had so many chances to tell me, Merlin. And you never did. Not once. You have a lot of nerve accusing me of such cruelty when you yourself are a fucking liar. I thought you were a great many things but I never expected you to be such a coward."
Merlin was exhausted and in pain, dark spots dancing at the edge of his vision, his head feeling ready to explode. He was tired of this sensless conversation, tired of Arthur's accusations, the pained look in his face.
How dare he be so convinced of his moral high ground.
How dare he assume he had been the perfect friend to him all these years.
How dare he be so assured that the fault lied solely with Merlin.
"Oh I don't know, sire. Maybe after listening to you spew your father's bullshit all those times I grew to believe it. You were certainly very convincing."
It was the poison in Merlin's tone, the fact that the one person who truly knew him was know accusing him of being Uther. His words hit the mark perfectly, painful in a way that only Merlin could manage, turning Arthur's very worst fear against him. The man who had reassured him time and time again that he was a good man, a better man than his father could ever dream of being, was now hurting him in the worst way possible without even looking him in the eye. To say Arthur was furious would be an understatement, using his anger as a mask for his heart, not wanting to give Merlin the satisfaction of revealing how much his words had pained him.
"I am not my father."
He yelled that, standing up abruptly and throwing his chair back, arms reaching to grab Merlin's collar and dragging him towards him, over the table. He held him there, forcing him to meet his eyes even though Merlin made futile attempts to avoid him.
"Look me in the fucking eye, Merlin, and tell me. Tell me I am just as much a monster as he is, tell me you lied about me being better like you lied about everything else. But look me in the eye when you tell me you genuinely thought I would be able to send you to your death."
Merlin gasped as the wooden edge of the table bit into the tender flesh of his stomach and when he met Arthur's eyes, looking pained, he flinched. But Arthur still held him there, solid and unmoving, not letting Merlin slither out this time. He could not escape this time, couldn't fool Arthur with a smile and take advantage of his courteous ignorance. Arthur wanted, needed to know and Merlin could no longer avoid it. He looked up at Arthur, suddenly exhausted. His knees buckled, energy and ire disspating at once and leaving only a bone deep emptinence inside him. The only thing holding him up now was Arthur's strong grasp on his tunic. He didn't want to continue this battle of wills anymore. He wanted Arthur to leave him alon like he had all these years. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to disappear. When he spoke his voice came out a broken whisper.
"Maybe you should."
"What."
"You are not anything like your father Arthur, you never were. But maybe he's right this time. Maybe you should really...maybe the pyre is all I deserve."
Arthur's shock was palpable on his face, his anger forgotten, his grip on Merlin relaxing at once. He fell backwards into his chair and he didn't look up again.
"Merlin what...what does that even mean?"
"You don't know what I've done Arthur. You don't know what my magic has done."
There was an undercurrent of desperation in his voice now, as if he needed to prove to Arthur he was evil. Arthur felt frozen in place, didn't know how to react. Merlin was trying to convince him that he was a monster worthy only of execution. He vaguely wondered how he had let things get this bad. Merlin took a breath, then spoke again, words choked by the tears that had finally started spilling.
"I never thought you would hurt me, not really. But Arthur, once you learn everything, everything that I've done...I trust you with my life, you need to understand that, but if you realize what a monster I am, if I tell you my crimes then you'll hate me and I can't..."
Another pause, another breath. Merlin was gasping for air at this point, frantic and shaking all over. When he raised his face he was the perfect portrayal of misery, eyes red, face wet and splotchy from crying, the very personification of dejection.
"Arthur, if you hate me then my existence is meaningless. All the things I have done pointless, all the blood on my hands..."
Arthur had heard enough at that point, feeling sick and cursing himself for not noticing earlier. This was what Merlin had been hiding from him, this was what he had chosen to ignore and let him shoulder alone. Merlin, who had always been there for him, was now coming undone right before his eyes. He could never forgive himself for that.
He stood up again, leaning over the table but this time his hands were soft and kind where they cupped Merlin's cheeks. The man seemed on the verge of hysteria, far away and locked somewhere deep in his mind. When he looked at Arthur he seemed to look straight through him, seeing only the great beyond behind him. Arthur took him in his arms, he was light as a feather, carried him to his bed and held him, his face hidden in the crook of Arthur's shoulder, hands grasping his tunic, rasping out broken pleas.
"Please let it be your hand, your swords, not the pyre, please not the pyre Arthur."
He kept holding him, kept trying to get him to breathe, until Merlin, bruised with the exhaustion of so many sleepless nights, tired himself out. He wasn't calm exactly, more like too tired to care, but his breaths were more steady, more deep, and he had come down from his panic enough to hear Arthur's voice at least.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Merlin. I know what you are now, I know how to keep you safe."
"But you don't know-"
"And I don't care. Everything you have done was to protect me, even if i didn't know to appreciate you for it. But Merlin, look what it's done to you. You've been destroying yourself for my own sake, protecting me even from the mere knowledge of the acts done for my own good. I cannot hold any of your actions against you, I will only appreciate your sacrifices for me."
He held Merlin tighter at that, one hand softly caressing his cheek, wiping away the last of his tears.
"I thank you for what you've done but i won't let you do anything else alone. From now on you come to me Merlin. With anything you need shared."
Merlin, eyes closed, leaned into the warm hand, the welcoming embrace, soaking up the affection, feeling safe and protected and so very loved. Arthur was a solid presence next to him, steadying and reassuring and maybe one day he could be convinced that he deserved it.
"You will tell me everything tomorrow, or next week, or whenever you feel like I've completely earned your trust. But Merlin, one thing I need to know today. Please, tell me who was the one that has done this to you."
He sighed at that, cracking his eyelids open to look at Arthur, hands tightening where they held his shirt. He looked nervous all over again. But it was a day of truths and he was prepared to give them all to Arthur. This one felt like an easy enough one, compared to the whole magic ordeal.
"I genuinely don't know Arthur. A knight I think, maybe one of yours. I wasn't exactly sober when I met him."
He averted his gaze again, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Surely you've heard of my...proclivities. Palace rumors aren't exactly subtle."
Arthur had indeed heard whispers here and there. His suspicions were practically confirmed by Merlin's own behavior, the rejections of any girl that was interested in him, the way he stared at his knights, all the times that he caught his fleeting glances towards him. He had never allowed himself to see Merlin as a possibility, but now that he couldn't ignore it he finally acknowledged the yearning of his heart. His hand curled around Merlin's nape, bringing him forward, closer to him. He looked Merlin in the eyes, not even daring to breathe, an unspoken question in his stare. Merlin's curt nod was all the confirmation he needed.
The kiss felt right, tender and desperate all at once, neither side willing to let go. It had been long anticipated, the two sides of the same coin finally melding together as they were meant to do from the very start. Fate held its breath as their destiny fell into the right course, flowing freely into the desirable future.
The morning finds them in Arthur's bed, bodies tangled, intertwined into a mess of limbs. Ironically, Arthur wakes up first, savors the feeling of Merlin against him, then stands up to order them some breakfast that Merlin desperately needs. When he comes back Merlin is awake, hair tousled from sleep, a panicked expression marring his features.
"I thought you left."
"I could never."
Arthur would make sure than one day Merlin genuinely believed that.