Chapter Text
Arthur didn’t think he had ever seen Merlin quite so cheerful. The boy’s smile covered his entire face, even with the strain of helping Arthur through the castle to his chambers. He was also quiet. Quiet and happy was a strange combination on him.
Once they were safely back in Arthur’s chambers and Merlin was helping settle him in bed, Arthur decided he couldn’t take it any longer.
“What are you so happy about?”
“What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I be happy?”
“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you this … bubbly before.”
“You do realize I just got everything I’ve ever wanted or dreamed of handed to me on a silver platter, don’t you?”
“You have?”
Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, looking slightly more serious. “I told you I wanted to tell you.”
“You did.” Arthur prompted, not sure where he was going.
“And then you died and I never got to have … this.”
“Alright. And what’s ‘this’?”
“You facing that wraith, knowing … I had your back.” His words got slower, more uncertain as he spoke.
“What?” That was the thing Merlin had always wanted?
“Arthur…” he took a breath. “I was born with magic. I grew up as a freak and a bastard. Half the people in Ealdor thought I was a curse. And then I came here and found out you were my destiny. ‘Two sides of the same coin’ they called us. And I spent the next ten years following you around, attending your every need, and then sneaking off behind your back to deal with whatever sorcerer was trying to kill you this week. Do you know how many times I watched you walk into a situation you knew you could do nothing about because it was your duty? And all I could do was follow you and hope for a chance to cast a spell without you noticing, or wait for you to pass out and hope you didn’t die while I was dealing with whatever the threat was.
“I finally got to tell you beforehand exactly what you were facing and how to deal with it. And you trusted me.” He looked at Arthur then, something … hopeful, or pleading in his expression.
Arthur considered his words. “So when you said you said you wanted to tell me …”
“I want you to know me and trust me and stop seeing me as a useless idiot.”
Which was confusing. “Not recognition? If I’m right on even half my guesses, you’ve done more for this kingdom than any of my knights, yet you ask only for my trust?”
“And your friendship.” Merlin managed another smile. “Personally, I’d rather you call me ‘friend’ than any other title you can come up with. And if you try to make me court sorcerer, I will turn you into a toad.”
Arthur chuckled until he realized. “You really could, couldn’t you?”
“Probably. I’ve never had a reason to try. I turned myself into an old woman once.”
Arthur hummed thoughtfully. “Must not have been too hard.”
Merlin looked shocked for a moment before saying, quite aloofly, “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“I’m the Prince. I think I can.”
“I’m the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. I think you can’t.”
Arthur laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Merlin was right: this, here, knowing and being known and accepting each other without pretense really was the best thing that had ever happened.
Merlin managed to hold his offense for barely a moment before his face cracked in a grin and he joined Arthur in laughter.
When he could breathe again, Arthur had to ask. “Did you do this?”
“No. I … I watched you die, and I wished for the chance to do it over, to do everything right and then I woke up in my room. I honestly have no idea how we got here.”
“I wished, too. While I was dying, I wished for a second chance.” Arthur gripped Merlin’s arm. “You know, when I realized I was in the past, one of my first thoughts was regret that you wouldn’t know me. I decided to do everything I could to earn your trust so you might tell me sooner about your magic.”
“I thought the same. I decided I would tell you the night you became king, if I couldn’t find a way to do it sooner. I missed you. I can’t tell you how happy it made me that you recognized Excalibur.”
“I’m not sure you need to. Though speaking of that sword …”
“Tom made it. I asked Gwen for a sword for you and then begged Kilgharra to burnish it. The first time around, I let your father use it to kill the wraith, and Kilgharra told me to hide the blade away where no one could use it. So I threw it in a lake until Morgana’s coup and … well, you lost confidence in yourself, so I made up the legend and told it to all your men, and stuck Excalibur in a boulder for you to pull out.”
“So really, I could have had it all this time.”
“Yes.”
“Why did Kilgarrha make you hide it? Who is this Kilgharra, anyway? I haven’t heard the name before.”
Merlin took a deep breath as though to fortify himself. “Kilgharra is the dragon Uther has chained up under the castle. When he made Excalibur, he said he would only do it if you were the only one to wield it, and I broke that promise.
“A dragon-kissed blade is too powerful for just anyone to wield. It can kill anything, magical or not. And … Mordred’s sword was dragon-kissed. I don’t know how he got it, but that’s the reason I couldn’t heal you. Wounds made with a dragon-kissed blade cannot be healed by magic.”
“So when you let my father wield Excalibur … Yes. I can see why that could be dangerous. And why a creature of magic might be against it.”
“Kilgharra hates him. More than even Nimue or Morgana. I used to go to him for advice, and any time a threat was aimed directly at Uther, he told me … he told me to let him die so you could become king and we could start fulfilling our destiny.”
Then Merlin told him about releasing Kilgharra and learning that Balinor was his father. The conversation continued in similar wandering loops to include another dragon named Aithusa, Morgana and the reasons she turned against them, Mordred and the reasons he betrayed them, and other events and players and threats that related and interconnected in Merlin’s mind, until it was time for dinner and Arthur’s mind was swimming with information.
He was actually relieved to send Merlin to fetch him something to eat.
He watched his friend go about his evening chores, tidying the room, fetching firewood, bringing Arthur’s armor up and settling in to clean it, and Arthur couldn’t shake a sense of wonder at his favorite idiot.
“Why do you do everything by hand?”
“What?”
“Well, if you’re supposed to be super powerful, and Morgana keeps telling me all these everyday tasks magic can be used for, why do you do everything by hand?”
“You realize that every time I do magic, there’s a chance someone will notice and report me to Uther?”
Oh. Right. Of course. He knew that.
“There are a few things I can get away with. Lighting fires. Keeping your bath warm. I’m more likely to risk something bigger when you've given me an impossible list of chores to finish. But it’s safer to do most things by hand, and I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to live that way.”
Merlin looked into the fire for a moment, but then smiled at him. It wasn’t even bitter. He gave Arthur an honest, warm smile. “I’m glad you know, Arthur. That’s enough for me.”
Arthur being laid up after an injury was always a mixed blessing. There were some tasks Arthur was far less likely to demand Merlin perform because Arthur seemed to want him close enough to shout at or make random, ridiculous demands of. He also expected Merlin to generally stay close enough, or return often enough, that he could make random, ridiculous demands of him. But then the boredom would hit. And a bored Arthur Pendragon was a dangerous Arthur Pendragon. Merlin could tell when Arthur got bored because the number of random demands increased in equal proportion to the ridiculousness of said demands.
Generally speaking.
This time, however, Arthur being stuck in bed was a mercy. Perhaps even a kindness. For both of them.
The three days Gaius had demanded he rest followed much the same as that first evening had. Arthur asked a question on events that had happened over the years, and Merlin told his King his side of the story. Sometimes the words just fell out of Merlin, tumbling past each other in relief at finally being spoken, or chasing each other with an urgency and need that surprised him. Other times the words were harder. Ten years was a lot to remember and he had forgotten some things. And other things … Well, there were things Merlin had done over the years that he dreaded telling Arthur. Like when he confessed to killing Edwin, Merlin forced himself to confess each death he was responsible for. Including Uther’s. He confessed each of the times he had aided, willingly or not, one of Arthur’s enemies. And Arthur listened. Merlin spoke and Arthur waited and heard the whole story, sometimes asking for clarification, and only when he had all the information did Arthur pass judgment.
And Arthur did pass judgment on Merlin’s actions.
Some of Merlin’s stories were received with gratitude and Arthur thanked him for being there and being able to do what he did. Most of the deaths were met with regret, but regret that it was Merlin’s hand that dealt the blow and Arthur’s wish that he could absolve him of that weight. Some of Merlin’s choices were met with acceptance and understanding, even if Arthur expressed that he would have chosen differently. Uther’s death was met with sympathy and forgiveness (“you did all you could. I’m grateful you tried.”). But there were a few stories—poisoning Morgana, stealing Arthur’s mind, killing Agravaine—that were met with censure.
“You had no right to make that decision, Merlin.”
Merlin dropped his gaze and apologized, but Arthur sent him off on some task that kept him away from Arthur’s chambers for several hours. When Merlin eventually returned with food, he did so as meekly as he could manage and promised Arthur that if such a decision ever came up again, he would make sure Arthur had all the information he needed and allow the King to make the decision.
Somehow, despite all his fears, Arthur forgave even his worst offenses.
It took Arthur a full week to get bored. By that point, Arthur was allowed to walk around the castle as long as he didn’t climb too many stairs, and Merlin had told him all the important parts of his story and a few of the smaller things he had done in his time in Camelot.
Merlin brought Arthur his breakfast and found the Prince already dressed and waiting for him.
“Get my horse ready.”
Merlin stared at him a moment. “Your horse?”
“Yes, Merlin. That’s what I said.”
“But …”
“ Mer lin. You know as well as I do that I’m not injured. I have nothing to heal. And I’m going to stab someone if I’m stuck staring at these walls any longer.”
Merlin doubted Arthur would actually stab anyone, but he also knew he would be the one Arthur took his frustration out on.
“Yes, Sire.”
“Also pack us a lunch.”
“You get to be the one to tell Uther.”
Arthur didn’t roll his eye because he was a prince and above such things, but he had this gesture—a pinching around his eyes, a shift of his head and shoulders—that expressed the same thing. “Fine. Now go be useful.”
Riding away from the castle together was normal. The two of them had done it more times than Merlin could count. There was nothing exciting or noteworthy about the act at all.
Except.
Except this time. This time, Merlin was riding away from the castle with his King, with his friend, with a man who knew he was a sorcerer and that his whole purpose in life was to defend and serve him and he was alright with it. Merlin was riding out of the city beside a man who knew and accepted Merlin.
Merlin couldn’t stop grinning.
They didn’t ride far. Arthur led them into the woods and just deep enough to find a secluded clearing. There, he dismounted and led his horse to a tree with grasses and weeds for grazing.
“We’re stopping?”
“Yes, Merlin. Do keep up.”
Merlin dismounted and led his horse over beside Arthur’s. “Did you want me to start a fire?”
“No. Come sit down.”
Merlin finished tying his horse and joined his King. He didn’t sit yet, though, because this was strange. Something was going on here, and Merlin didn’t know what.
Arthur looked up at him. “Sit.”
Merlin obeyed, watching Arthur uncertainly.
“Idiot. Now tell me about your magic.”
“I … What … I‘ve told you everything I can think of.”
“You’ve told me what you’ve done with your magic. Not what you can do. I can’t plan around your abilities if I don’t know what they are.”
“Oh. I’ve never thought about it like that. Usually I just do whatever I need to in a given situation.”
Arthur looked at him in disbelief for a moment. “You’re saying you never actually plan anything?”
“It’s worked so far. And there’s not much I could plan beyond following you and sneaking a spell over your shoulder and then hoping you didn’t notice.”
Arthur shook his head. “You should be dead by now. I don’t know how no one’s figured you out.”
Merlin opened his mouth to defend himself but Arthur waved his hand.
“It doesn’t matter. What’s the first thing you usually try, your first instinct?”
“Moving things. My mum says I used to make things float across the room even before I could walk. And it’s subtle. I can trip someone or drop a branch on their head in the middle of a fight and no one notices.”
“Can you move anything?”
“As far as I’ve noticed.” He glanced around the clearing. The horses were still kitted out because he hadn’t known how long they’d be stopping for, so he reached out with his magic to unbuckle the saddlebags and carry them across the clearing to settle at Arthur’s feet. “Sometimes I use spells to help focus if I want it to do something complicated like polish your armor, but most the time I can move things without even thinking about it.”
“Is there a limit to it?”
“What sort of limit?”
“Size or number or distance. Weight, perhaps.”
“Oh. Not that I know of. I’ve never tried moving something I couldn’t see, and I usually only move smaller objects, things I could move with my hands. With multiple objects,” he scratched his head as he considered, “I think it depends on what I’m doing. Complicated things are easier with a spell. I can set the magic going and it keeps going mostly on its own.”
Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll have to find a way to practice that then. What else? I’ve seen you call lighting, but that’s a bit showy to do without a good reason. You said you can start fires. Can you start anything on fire? Could you set a person on fire?”
Merlin felt his blood run cold. “I won’t set fire to a living being.”
Arthur started. “What … Oh. Right. I apologize, Merlín. I won’t ask that of you, either.”
Merlin let his gaze fall. “Thank you.”
They were silent for a long, uncomfortable moment.
Until Arthur nudged Merlin with his boot. “Show me something else then.”
“Like what?”
“Not combat magic. We’ll have to train on that another day after I’ve had time to think on it. I’m sure you have something useless you do with your magic. Show me that.”
Merlin hesitated, but brought his hands together. Then he had a thought and looked at Arthur. “Go like this.”
Arthur gave him an assessing look, but obeyed. Merlin cupped his hands around Arthur’s and leaned in to whisper magic into the space. He hesitated before pulling Arthur’s hands open, but then the same blue butterfly appeared and a wave of wonder and joy swept through him at the sight. He watched it flit around the clearing and remembered that moment in the cave, feeling his magic again, understanding just how much a part of him it was.
He sensed Arthur watching him and cautiously lowered his eyes to his friend. Instead of a mocking grin, though, Arthur’s face was thoughtful.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”
Merlin ducked his head, feeling sheepish.
“No. I don’t mean to mock. I just … I like seeing you happy. It’s been hard the past few years. I understand better now, and seeing you smile like that …”
Merlin found himself smiling warmly at his friend. “I love magic. It’s in everything. It’s life and I can feel it, and I didn’t even realize that until Morgana made me think she’d taken it. It felt like going deaf, and now …” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I’m not sure I’d understand even if you could.”
They sat for a moment in silence, but it was a nice silence.
Then Merlin grinned at an idea. “Here. Lean forward a moment.”
“What are you …?” Arthur obeyed even as he questioned.
Merlin set his hands around the crown of Arthur’s head and reached for his magic again. He didn’t have a spell for this, just an idea, but his magic humored him and created a chain of daisies around Arthur’s head.
He couldn’t help the giggle that burst from his chest at the sight.
“What did you do?” Arthur reached up and felt the flower crown. He pulled a face, but lifted the chain of daisies with the same care he used on his own crown. “Flowers, Merlin? Really?”
“You have complained more than once that I haven’t brought you flowers.”
Arthur snorted. “Think these would go better here.” He leaned forward and placed the flower crown on Merlin’s head. “Merlin Balinorson, King of the flowers.”
Merlin grinned. “If I’m the king, then you have to do what I say.”
“You never do what I say, so I see no reason why I should.”
Merlin hummed. “Perhaps because I can turn you into a toad if you don’t? And then you have to do something nice to convince me to change you back.”
Arthur started to laugh, but paused. “Could you actually do that?”
“Probably. There’s enough stories about it, it must be possible.” He pulled the saddlebags closer and started pulling out lunch. “Do you want me to figure it out?”
“If you want to. I imagine I know less of magic than you do of the sword. I’d no sooner tell you how to wield it than ask you advice on training my men. I just need to know enough to know how I can use you if I need you.”
That was a hopeful idea. Except … “Arthur, magic is still illegal. You can’t …”
“We’ll have to make it legal then. Change the laws so …” he sighed and let his head fall back. “I’m not yet king. Not until … but if we save Morgana, then she won’t, and it could be a decade or more before my father dies or grants me the throne.” He stared across the clearing without seeming to see it. “Which is the greater evil, Merlin? To continue living as Uther’s pawn while secretly undermining him as best I can or to depose my own father as well as his advisors who would never stand for a hostile change in rule?”
Merlin gave the question the consideration it was due. But even then, he had no clear answer. “I don’t know. Our people suffer every day he’s on the throne. And the longer he stays, the harder it will be to convince them you are different. And yet … I stopped you killing him once before, when you learned of your conception. I still think that’s not a weight you want to carry. I’m not sure it’s a weight you would be capable of carrying.”
“No. You’re right. And I’ll not begin my reign with bloodshed.”
Merlin handed over some dried meat and a chunk of bread, then moved to sit beside Arthur so their shoulders touched.
“You know, I could probably turn him into a toad. We could give him to the troll pretending to be Lady … Katherine? Katrina? Whatever her name was.”
Arthur chuckled but shook his head. “I’m not sure that would be any better. Besides. As far as the court believes, I have barely completed my twenty-first year and been crowned Prince but a fortnight ago. Can you imagine any of them trusting me to rule? They barely accepted me as King at twenty-six and that was after nearly a year as Reagent.
“No. As much as I hate it, we’ll have to wait and plan carefully. Perhaps in time, a solution will present itself.”