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“What just happened?”
“I told you not to enter the mysterious, dark cave, but do you listen? No. Of course not. She ensnared us and cast a truth spell on me.” Merlin answers then blanches as if shocked that he’d spoken.
Arthur turns to him, his wide eyes shining with delight as he realizes the power he has been bestowed. “A truth spell.”
“Don’t,” Merlin warns.
“Are you courting my sister?” Arthur asks pointedly, completely disregarding Merlin’s unspoken threat.
“No,” Merlin bites out, anger hardening the short word.
“Huh.” Arthur is genuinely surprised. He considers his question then amends, “would you like to be courting my sister?”
“No,” Merlin says just as irate. “Stop asking me questions.”
“Why not?” Arthur asks, secretly pleased that Merlin isn’t infatuated with his sister. Merlin’s affections potentially lying with Morgana had been a difficult truth for Arthur to face.
“Because it is not her I am in love with.” Merlin grits his teeth then stalks as far away from Arthur as he can possibly get in the enclosed space.
Arthur follows him carelessly. “So you are in love with someone?”
“Yes.” The answer is forced from Merlin’s mouth, and his eyes widen, first in surprise then it quickly morphs into dread. He throws himself onto Arthur, making them both stumble and fall to the dusty ground. Arthur’s breath is knocked out of his lungs when Merlin lands on top of him. He doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before a hand clams over his mouth.
Still, Arthur asks, “who?”
The question is muffled by Merlin’s palm, but it doesn’t seem to matter, the spell working as long as whatever is asked is discernible to Merlin.
“You.”
Merlin is up and off him in an instant. Once more, he puts as much distance between them as he can manage. He comes to a stop at the cave’s wall, his stiff back to Arthur and his shoulders rising and falling around his harsh breathing.
“Oh,” Arthur says uselessly. He is dumbfounded. His heartbeat is loud in his own ears. “Merlin.”
Arthur pushes off the ground and slowly approaches him. Merlin shakes his head vehemently. With a gentle grip around his arm, Arthur spins him. Merlin refuses to meet his gaze. A voice in Arthur’s mind tells him he should back off now, a tactical retreat, but there is something Merlin is hiding, and Morgana is involved somehow.
“So, why do you sneak in and out of her chambers?”
Merlin glares at him. Arthur can’t be bothered to care. They are at a precipice here. Arthur intends to push them forcibly to the other side. It would have been preferable if Merlin would do so willingly, but Arthur is tired of doubting the intentions of those closest to him. He’ll take a short-cut where he can find it.
“I’ve been helping her,” Merlin answers with a great deal of reluctance. “Arthur, please.”
His desperate plea makes Arthur hesitate. The one thing he wants is for Merlin to trust him; he won’t achieve that by forcing his hand. He changes his strategy.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” The response is instant and willing. Arthur doesn’t think the spell forced this one out of him. Still, the reassurance that it is the truth is comforting.
“So what is the reason that you do not entrust me with most things?”
“I’m afraid of how you’ll react to the truth.”
Arthur wants so terribly to ask what the truth is, but he manages to quell the urge. If only just.
“Afraid I’ll react how?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You really believe you could hurt me?” It’s a stupid question. Merlin, moreso than anyone else wields the power to destroy Arthur. He is also the only person Arthur trusts would never do so.
The question had been rhetorical, a taunt more than genuine inquiry. Yet, Merlin is still incapable of lying, and apparently the spell, unlike Merlin, does deem lying by omission a lie. “Yes.”
Arthur gets the distinct feeling that Merlin isn’t referring to the emotional ruins he could leave Arthur in, but rather the physical danger he poses to Arthur. It’s an absurd thought, but the certainty on Merlin’s face, in his unwavering voice, stays his arrogant assumptions.
“Could you, if need be, physically overpower me?” Arthur asks curiously.
Merlin swallows thickly. “Yes.”
Some part of Arthur’s subconscious comes to a realization then, but his mind doesn’t have access to it. Not yet. For now it is just a feeling deep in his gut.
“Will you ever tell me?” Arthur redirects, stomach tightening in cautious apprehension. It’s been years. If Merlin was going to divulge whatever it is, surely he would have done so by now.
“Yes,” Merlin says again then raises a palm. “Don’t ask me another question.”
His tone forces Arthur to listen and he watches Merlin closely.
Merlin’s focus drifts from him as he sinks heavily to the unforgiving ground beneath him. He crosses his legs, his hands folding in his lap. Noting the change in the air, suddenly doleful and subdued, Arthur lowers himself to the ground before Merlin. For a moment, he wonders if he should sit beside him, if maybe it would be easier for Merlin to speak if Arthur isn’t right in front of him, but ultimately decides against it. He’d like to see Merlin’s face.
Merlin’s head is low, his gaze on his fiddling thumbs. Arthur resists the urge to reach out and cover them with a hand of his own and command Merlin to get on with it. It is clear that Merlin is gathering his courage, steeling himself for confession.
His dire disposition has cold fear trickling down Arthur’s spine. It makes him question if this is a mistake. What if the other side of this precipice is horrible? What if it brings with it Merlin’s absence in his life? No. Merlin had said it comes down to Arthur’s reaction. Nothing Merlin could say would force him to push Merlin away. Not willingly.
“Remember when we went to Ealdor?” Merlin asks eventually.
The seemingly arbitrary question makes Arthur pause, a confused frown creasing his forehead. “Yes,” he says and nods curtly, just two movements. Up, down.
“Ask me who saved your life.”
“I know who–” Arthur starts to complain, but cuts himself off at Merlin’s sharp look. He sighs. “Who saved my life?”
“Will did,” Merlin answers. Arthur already knows this. Frustration battles his feeble grip on patience, threatening to rip it away from him. “Ask me how.”
Arthur blinks slowly, his mouth curling in annoyance. “How?” he asks exasperatedly. He doesn’t know why he is indulging this. For all he knows, Merlin is just stalling, hoping the effects of the spell will wear off.
“He pushed you out of the way when Kanen fired an arrow in your direction.” Merlin’s voice is thick with grief, and Arthur presses a knee against Merlin’s in silent comfort.
“I don’t understand,” he says, studying Merlin’s face. “What is the point of all this?”
“Ask me how the windstorm appeared.” Merlin’s words leave him roughly, and he clears his throat.
Arthur knows this, too. Will had used magic to create it. Still, he hesitates. A never-ending sinking sensation making his insides tighten. “How did the windstorm appear?”
“With magic,” Merlin says quietly. Silence befalls them then. It feels heavy in the tight space. Arthur doesn’t need prompting for the next question, realization slowly dawning over him.
“Who used magic to conjure up the windstorm?” He asks. His voice is hollowed out by fear.
“I did.”
For the second time in a short while, the air is knocked out of Arthur’s lungs. “No,” he denies uselessly, shaking his head. “You didn’t.”
Merlin’s eyes shine with tears. “I did.”
Arthur recoils in disbelief, denial coiling in his chest, squeezing his lungs and shortening his breath.
A hand frantically wraps around his wrist, as if Merlin is afraid that Arthur will leave, abandon him. Right, that had been his fear all this time. The reminder stills Arthur, keeps him seated as much as the tight hold around his arm, but he can’t bear to look upon Merlin’s face. He closes his eyes and hears Merlin’s breathing grow staggered.
“Ask me anything.” Merlin’s voice is small and timid, begging. It doesn’t matter that Arthur's eyes are closed, the image of Merlin's crestfallen face burns in the darkness behind his eyelids.
Arthur can’t making any sense of his reeling thoughts. “I don’t...I’m not sure I have anything to ask of you.”
“Please.”
Something tickles at the juncture where their hands are attached before a solid weight lands on him. Arthur opens his eyes to find Merlin folded in half, resting his head in Arthur’s lap. The ruins of a man. The ruins of the man Arthur loves.
Arthur detaches himself from Merlin’s grip, his stomach lurching at the injured sound that leaves Merlin. He arches lower, palms framing Merlin’s cheeks and pushes him upright. He forces Merlin to meet his eyes.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
Their voices are each as broken as the other’s.
“Have you ever harmed anyone with your magic?”
Merlin’s wet eyes falls shut and he nods haltingly in Arthur’s hands. “Yes.”
Arthur’s heart stutters in his chest. How does Arthur reconcile those facts? How can he be relieved at the knowledge of Merlin’s love and find out that Merlin has used his magic for evil in the same breath?
“Have you ever used your magic to the detriment of Camelot?”
Merlin shakes his head, a tear trailing down his cheek as he opens his eyes, the movement releasing it from its confines. Arthur wipes it away solemnly.
“No. I would– I would never.”
“Then what have you used it for?”
“For you, Arthur. Only for you.” Merlin’s reply is fervent, desperate for Arthur to believe him. Merlin’s hands grip onto Arthur’s knees.
Arthur frowns, uneasy at the idea that magic is being used in his name. By Merlin, no less. “How so?”
“To protect you.” His hold around Arthur’s knees tightens involuntarily.
Arthur feels light-headed with the weight of his words. Bile burns in the back of throat. “Tell me you didn’t condemn your soul for me.”
Merlin frowns, confusion washing away some of the anguish on his face. “What?”
“Tell me that you didn’t turn to magic for me.”
“I didn’t,” Merlin tells him easily. Arthur wants to believe him, to take his word for it.
“Are you lying?” he asks anyway, needing something more tangible to grab onto than the promise of a man who has lied to him for years.
Merlin flinches at the question and his mouth twists with returning pain. “No,” he says roughly. “I was born with it.”
“You were born with it?” He hadn’t intended to phrase it like a question. Surprise and denial had forced him to repeat the words back at Merlin. All his life, he’s been taught about the abomination that is sorcery, how people will allow it to corrupt their souls and twist them into an irredeemable version of themselves.
“Yes,” Merlin says and destroys the bedrock of Arthur’s worldview in one word.
The despicable act lies in the choice. What choice does a child have in how they are born? What choice did Arthur have in the tragedy of his own birth? Arthur intimately knows the pain of being marked guilty before drawing his first breath. He cannot inflict the same judgment onto anyone else.
His hands move to the side of Merlin’s neck and his thumbs begin caressing his soft skin of their own volition. He presses his forehead against Merlin’s firmly and exhales slowly, emptying his lungs with a long, steadying breath, ridding himself of the overwhelming emotions clobbering in him.
Merlin’s shaky breath joins his, fanning over his skin warmly. Arthur’s mind spins with the information he’d gotten, but he is surprised to find that it doesn’t change anything important. It doesn’t change his heart or his feelings. He breathes easier, knowing Merlin isn’t lost to him.
After a long bout of silence wherein they bask in the proximity and the feel of the other, Arthur snorts.
Merlin presses against him in a silent question.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever been adamant about not speaking. Usually you never stop.”
One of Merlin’s hands releases his knee and moves to his thigh to pinch him in punishment for the jab. The squeak Arthur lets out at the sudden pain is very dignified, thank you very much.
“I could always leave, return to Essetir, and allow you to listen to George go on about brass.”
Arthur shudders, his hands around Merlin’s neck tightening as though the thought of Merlin leaving causes them to convulse in prospective panic.
“I will chain you to my person before allowing that to happen,” Arthur tells him sternly, half intrigued by the idea. “I am generous to a fault – shut up, Merlin – but I cannot listen to another word about brass or the intricacies of parchment creation for as long as I live.”
A wet laugh bubbles out of Merlin and Arthur sags, cushioned by the tenderness of it. The laughter ebbs away eventually, leaving behind a soft, but tired smile. Instinctively, Arthur almost stifles the urge to give into his heart’s desires, only to remember the lack of need to do so. Heart pounding, he tilts his head, using his thumbs to tip Merlin’s face back and presses his lips to Merlin’s.
They don’t move for a beat, parted lips slotted together, as they breathe each other in. Then with a guttural moan, Merlin’s hands bury into Arthur’s hair. He rocks onto his knees and pushes himself firmer against Arthur. Their mouths move together urgently and Arthur thinks he can taste the fervent desperation with each kiss.
Arthur loses himself in the sensations as the kisses deepen. Heat coils dangerously in his gut, and he is pretty sure the earth is quaking under the force of their passion. Merlin pulls back with a frown, and the shaking doesn’t stop. A loud commotion draws their attention to the entrance of the cave and they watch silently as the boulder that had been keeping them trapped rolls away.
Arthur stares at the opening, wincing when sharp sunlight cuts his eyes. He turns to Merlin. “Could you have done that?”
Merlin shrugs. “Probably.”
Arthur blinks at him slowly, trying to fathom him out unsuccessfully for the umpteenth time. “So why didn’t you?”
“You didn’t know about my magic then,” Merlin defends with a shrug like it should be apparent.
“You could have done it surreptitiously and convinced me the sorcerer had changed her mind.”
“Oh.” Merlin freezes then throws his hands in the air. “I was distracted.”
“If you’re who has been protecting me all this time, it truly is a wonder that I’ve survived this long.”
“You don’t have to make it out of this cave alive, you know? I’m still mad about all the questions you posed knowing I couldn’t refuse to answer, and I’d be more than happy to leave you here to rot.”
Arthur pushes at Merlin, directing them out of the cave. Before exiting, he moves past Merlin and checks their surroundings, hand on the pommel of his sword. Deeming it safe to do so, he walks out, Merlin on his flank.
“As if you wouldn’t take advantage of it had the roles been reversed,” Arthur responds as they set out to walk back to the castle.
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”
Arthur frowns then realizes what Merlin is implying. “Don’t you dare.”
Merlin smirks, and Arthur realizes that the dynamic between them may not change into something unrecognizable, but Merlin has gained some ground here and he won’t hesitate to use magic, or the teasing threat of it, to antagonize Arthur like he does with everything else.
Things could be worse.
“Just how powerful are you?”
Merlin thinks it over for a moment. “I am to sorcery what you are to swordery.”
Arthur rolls his eyes at the rhyme and stubbornly refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of acknowledging it beyond that. “That good, huh?”
Merlin huffs and shoulders him as they walk. “You’re so unbearably smug.”
Arthur’s smile widens as he turns to Merlin, stumbling along sideways so he can see Merlin’s face. “Do you love that about me?”
“Yes,” Merlin answers instinctively, spellbound, and then sighs theatrically. Arthur throws his head back in laughter. “Shouldn’t outlawing magic prevent all of this from happening?”
“Clearly there are some oversights in the process.”
The air between shifts. Merlin lours, his darkening mood hanging over them, as they are reminded of the dangers that threaten them.
“What else do you love about me?” Arthur asks, one because he’d like to know and two, to divert Merlin’s attention from the grim thoughts casting shadows over his face.
A fist punches his shoulder. Hard. Arthur grimaces, but it’s more than worth it when Merlin starts listing the things he loves about Arthur, such as his heart and his never-ending attempts at doing right by everyone. It’s sweet really, and said heart flutters at every reason that falls from Merlin’s mouth. Merlin ends the list by pointedly telling Arthur that he has both the ability and willingness to render him speechless, so that he is physically incapable of asking any more questions.
“You wouldn’t do that,” Arthur says smugly. “You love the sound of my voice. You just said so.”
Merlin grumbles under his breath, and he is entirely too endearing and compelling. Arthur scans their surroundings then pulls Merlin to a stop, dragging him in for a tender kiss.
There are many things to figure out, first and foremost, how to keep Merlin alive under his father’s reign. Secondly, it’s become apparent that there are many things Arthur has missed over the years, which Merlin will need to disclose to him. There is probably a great deal of it which he won’t like, but he is certain they can handle it. Arthur will manage. Particularly if every blow is softened by the press of Merlin’s lips.