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“Thank you.”
Merlin turns in confusion, half hunched over the chest plate of armor in his lap, polishing rag gripped in his hand loosely. His frowns, and looks at Arthur in confusion.
“What for?”
Arthur turned from where he was looking contemplatively out the window just moments before. His smile was sedate, sadness still lingering in the lines of his face, ever present since the passing of his father just weeks before. But the small, genuine smile on his face seemed enough to overshadow it.
“For everything you've done for me, Merlin.”
Merlin, exasperated, went back to his polishing.
“It's my duty as your servant, sire. I get paid for it, no need for your thanks.”
The smile on Arthur's face stretched a bit wider, mischief creeping in at the edges.
“I mean for all those times you saved my life with your magic, you dimwit.”
Merlin looked up quickly at Arthur, horror coloring his pale face, the tips of his ears turning pink.
“I’m… not quite sure what you mean.” he tried, after a long moment of silence.
Arthur sighed at him.
“I know you're dumb Merin, but surely even you are aware that you've got magic.”
Merlin choked. The sword in his lap clattered to the floor as he stood up in outrage.
“I-- I do not! That's against the law, I, I wouldn't! You've said it yourself, I'm too dumb to be of any use! There's no way I could have magic.” Merlin says resolutely, but the slight tremor in his hands gives away how terrified he truly is.
“Merlin,” Arthur's hand reaches out and clasps his shoulder. “you're not in trouble. I've known for a while now.”
Merlin's knees give out on him. Arthur quickly guides him to a chair and settles in across from him. Merlin sputters for a moment, indignant and frightened, before seeming resolved to his fate.
“How… how'd you find out?”
Arthur shrugs at him.
“Observation, I guess.” Arthur pauses for a barb about his density and inability of such things from Merlin, but continues upon receiving none. “You always disappeared right at the moment of truth in any given situation. At first I thought you were a coward playing at being brave, riding into battle but unable to fight. But then I realized that branches normally don't go flying from trees to crush enemies. And enemies weapons don’t fly from their hands. And that the little voice in the back of my head was not my impending insanity; rather my useless, magic-using, dolt-of-a-servant-- muttering incantations behind trees without realizing the range of human hearing.” Arthur raises a pointed eyebrow at him, reminiscent of Gaius’, and Merlin feels shame tickle low in his gut.
“Sorry.” he mutters, quiet. Arthur huffs at him.
“What in the hell do you have to be sorry for?” he asks. He climbs to his feet again, clapping Merlin on the shoulder once more.
“Well, no matter how many times you've saved my life, until I can get all the laws changed to make you my court sorcerer, you're stuck as my manservant.” he says, headed towards the door. Just as he’s about to walk through, he turns around and looks at Merlin, catching his eye and winking at him. “And my boots could use a polishing.”
Merlin watches as he saunters from the room, confidence oozing from his very pores.
He stares at the closed door for a very long moment, shocked, before a smile takes over his face.
“Prat.” he mutters.