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It is a slow thing, and a sudden thing all the same. Arthur does not remember when or how he puts it together, only that he wakes up and thinks, startled by the clarity of the thought: Merlin has magic.
He knows it as surely as he knows the weight of his sword in his hand, or the warmth of Gwen’s palm in his on lazy summer days. Arthur breathes, and sits up. The certainty of the thought does not shake as he tries to protest impossible and Merlin, really? -- and then gradually, of all the tiny things that he saw and did not understand, coming together in the dead of the night. He thinks of the expressions on Merlin’s face and his absurd, foolish confidence.
Arthur groans. Of course Merlin has magic. He is a fool to have missed it for so long.
He stays in bed with his memories until the skies outside turn his curtains golden with the morning sun. Until Merlin comes with breakfast and then spills it on him, grinning like a clot all the while, looking and acting nothing like a sorcerer who’d saved his life a dozen times over, and Arthur wants to yell at him but can't seem to do anything but stare.
“Arthur?” asks Merlin, looking stupidly worried for a moment, and then Arthur realises his breakfast is all over the floor and he glares and throws his pillow at Merlin with extra force. Merlin yelps like a girl and Arthur thinks how easy it is, to have a secret and act like everything is normal.
Normal.
Merlin is a sorcerer.
Arthur blinks the thought away, and doesn’t think on it again.
◆
Or at least, Arthur resolutely doesn’t think about it until the hunting trip, where the bandits outnumber his knights three to one, and even then he is too busy fighting to notice anything amiss until one of the men cornering him trips and falls. Arthur is plunging a sword into his side and into the next man and on to the next - and it seems that the bandits, now that he’s paying attention, stumble over nothing an awful lot.
In between swinging his sword and the blur of movement, he doesn’t have the time to look for Merlin.
So he doesn’t.
◆
That night Merlin prattles on as he removes Arthur’s armour - Arthur who is exhausted and yet burningly curious, who would take Merlin by the shoulders and shake some answers from him if only he could bring himself to have a talk involving feelings.
Merlin examines the mail as he takes it off Arthur and says cheerily, “It’s barely even dented, O mighty swordsman. Good thing you didn’t get hit, really, this way I won’t even have to hammer out any kinks.”
Barely dented because of you, thinks Arthur, surprised at how bitter he is at first, and then arrests that train of thought because Merlin is looking at him wide-eyed and dimpled and he finds himself thinking with fond exasperation instead: how can Merlin be such a self-serving idiot and survive in Camelot - and the middle part is safe to say so he does.
“Self-serving idiot,” he complains, rolling his eyes where Merlin can see them. “You’d have me fight without my armour if it’d save you the cleaning.”
“Well,” says Merlin, and he’s smiling as lifts the last piece of metal, “There is rather a lot of armour to clean.”
“Idiot,” says Arthur loftily, and reaches out to swat Merlin's ridiculous ears. Merlin ducks and grins, and Arthur just lifts his hand and does it again.
◆
The thing is, Arthur understands why Merlin didn't tell him. He understands this because in the middle of the night he had sat with his head in his hands, trying to figure out how such betrayal and loyalty could coexist -- how Merlin could be such a self-serving idiot and also a self-sacrificing one -- but most of all, trying to figure out how he could live with himself with this knowledge. Trying to figure out what he'd do, as a king, but also as Merlin's friend.
So it is that in the middle of the night he thinks half-heartedly, I probably look so confused that Merlin would insult me just to save me from thinking - and then, and then he understands.
"Idiot," says Arthur, quietly, inexplicably touched.
◆
Afterwards there is a rumour of a poisonous, sorcerous sickness sweeping through the crops of the lower town, and as Arthur orders patrols to be sent, he catches glimpses of the way Merlin clenches his fists as more and more land is taken, and how he slowly and deliberately scrubs every inch of Arthur's chambers - until they are so clean Arthur gives up and tells Merlin to get rid of himself for the day.
"I want you to go to Gaius," says Arthur, "and I don't want to see you until he's figured out how to make it stop."
The look Merlin gives him at that almost makes Arthur swallow, but then Merlin just nods and is gone.
Arthur rests his head against his desk and sighs.
◆
By the time Merlin is back to casually ruining Arthur's chambers with his pitiful attempts at chores, Arthur is idly plucking at his sleeve when the update finally comes in the form of a breathless knight who reports the discovery of a destroyed-looking spell and an equally destroyed-looking sorcerer next to it.
"The spell must have backfired, sire," says the knight. "It appears the crops have ceased to wilt."
Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"Thank you," he says in acknowledgement as the knight bows and leaves, but he looks at Merlin as he says it.
Merlin holds his gaze for a while, and then smiles. Arthur nearly drops his quill. Arthur opens his mouth to form a question, and then, faced with Merlin's patient smile, closes it again.
"It's almost time for my bath," says Arthur meaningfully instead, and pretends he isn't running away.
◆
In the end he goes to Guinevere.
"Gwen," he says before they sleep, trying not to show his growing desperation -- "What would you do if you knew a secret about someone that they probably don't want to you to talk about? Well - at least if it were me, I wouldn't want it to be talked about, or alluded to, or hinted at, or anything at all really. And, the thing is, you're still not entirely sure if the secret is really there or just a figment of your imagination? And it's not like I can just ask if he has this big secret. And I can't exactly ask if he knows I know, either." Arthur frowns. "It's all very complicated. I don't like it."
Gwen, apple of his eye, light of his life, takes his hand and laughs and laughs.
"What?" says Arthur, baffled. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," she smiles, and changes the subject. Arthur scowls and lets her have it. "Did you consider talking to him?"
"No!" Arthur shoots upright, suddenly awake. "No, no, if he doesn't want to tell me then I'm hardly going to tell him."
Gwen looks like she's going to laugh again, but instead stretches a hand to his shirt and pulls Arthur down next to her. "You're making this more complicated than it needs to be," she says soothingly, ruffling his hair, and Arthur settles down in spite of himself. "If you know a secret, and if he knows that you know his secret, and if both of you are fine with knowing and are too emotionally repressed to talk to each other about it - hush, you know I'm right - then why not just leave things how it is? If he wants to tell you, he'll tell you. If he doesn't, then don't feel too hurt, because he probably already knows that you know and doesn't feel the need to tell it to you anymore."
Arthur thinks about it. "That... does make sense," he admits, slowly warming to the idea.
"You only like it because you have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon and now you won’t have to do anything," says Gwen, and somehow manages to make the insult sound sweet. Arthur loves her all the more for it. "Now, go to sleep."
◆
The next feast is celebrated fairly smoothly, apart from the part where one of the guests tries to kill Arthur, again. Luckily, the assassin trips on the carpet before he can get close, and manages to impale himself on one of the hidden daggers in his belt.
Arthur throws Merlin an incredulous look.
Merlin gives him a lazy, innocent shrug. He sidles next to Arthur and says, "Amazing how uncoordinated these assassins are. You'd think they'd have raised their standards by now."
Arthur stifles a laugh, and turns his head so Merlin can't see his grin.
◆
Later finds Arthur balancing grain supplies with growing frustration. He was never much good at his sums.
"Gwen tells me you're emotionally repressed," says a voice behind him, and Arthur jumps. He puts his quill down and scowls.
"Merlin," he says unhappily, "she said we're both emotionally repressed."
"That's what she said," agrees Merlin, peering over his shoulder to look at the reports. He hums, and scratches out some of Arthur's calculations.
"I was working on that," protests Arthur. Merlin ignores him and magically causes the numbers to tally, except without any magic involved. "Anyway I had the feeling that if I talked to you about it you would end up crying and that would be - be -"
"Frightening? Bewildering?" he can hear the smile in Merlin's voice and mentally sulks. "Too emotional for you to handle?"
"I was going to say awkward," says Arthur loudly. "Because you cry like a girl."
"No, it's because you are too emotionally repressed to deal with crying at all," says Merlin cheerily, and puts down the quill. "It's okay. I understand."
"That's what she said," huffs Arthur, furrowing his brow at the balanced allocations as if they would suddenly grow a tail. Which is ridiculous, but Merlin is magic, so his sums must be magic too, obviously.
"It doesn't work that way," says Merlin, and Arthur immediately whips around and says, "Can you read my mind?"
Merlin is staring at him bemusedly, which Arthur does not appreciate at all.
"No," he says, "but you looked like you were thinking of something stupid. You get that look."
Arthur subsides with a glare, and mutters, "Don't you have chores to do?"
"Yes, sire," says Merlin, and grins all the way out of the room.
◆
When the next disguised sorcerer arrives, it's to be foiled in his secret assassination attempt by a large tapestry and an unusually windy day. Only, no one could discern that he had been in the midst of a secret assassination attempt, so the next time he is foiled instead by Arthur's curiously misplaced manservant - who eventually reappears when he drags the sorcerer in front of the throne and sheepishly explains how he had the good fortune to be carrying a metal tray to Lord Henry's chambers, whereupon he discovered the books and Lord Henry’s sorcerous disguise.
All of which is perfectly unbelievable, and Arthur is inclined to believe it, and then 'Lord Henry' wakes up halfway through the recount and immediately shrinks away from Merlin in unmistakable terror.
"He's a sorcerer!" hisses the sorcerer, glaring fiercely at Merlin, who actually manages to look rather bored and generally like what a manservant who had been previously accused of sorcery would look like upon a further accusation of sorcery.
“No, I’m not,” says Merlin patiently, as if he were talking to a four-year old and not an evil sorcerer. “I’m Arthur’s manservant.”
It is altogether not a very convincing argument. Arthur laughs, slightly hysterical, because inside he is terrified and of course he's more concerned about Merlin than Merlin is for himself, the absolute idiot.
"If Merlin were a sorcerer," says Arthur, smiling and saying it like it's the funniest thing in the world, except it's really not, "I would know."
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Merlin suppress a smile, and then Arthur feels annoyed enough to add, "He's too much of an idiot to be a one."
Merlin frowns.
Satisfied, Arthur continues. "You on the other hand, have been found guilty of the possession of magical objects with the intent to cause harm to Camelot. For this you will be tried and sentenced tomorrow."
Not-Lord-Henry looks murderous for a second, but when Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder he deflates in resignation. Arthur meets Merlin's eyes, and they are dark and unsmiling, and Merlin looks back.
Arthur forces himself not to stare. He thinks of magic and of power and yet, not for the first time, can’t find it in himself to think of Merlin as a threat.
◆
A few weeks later over dinner in his chambers, Arthur says, "I have a meeting with the council tomorrow. I'm going to lift the ban on magic."
Merlin fumbles and drops the jug he is holding. The wine spills and then stops in mid-air, splaying out into a fan of droplets that then fills itself back into the jug which rights itself next to Arthur's plate.
“Oh,” says Arthur.
He is half-aware that he's pushed back his chair and his body is thrumming for battle, but mostly he looks at Merlin and the gold in his eyes and can't seem to form any words.
Proof. For the first time, Arthur has proof.
Merlin swallows, and backs out of the room. Arthur is distantly aware of Merlin's retreat, but by the time he gets his mind in order Merlin is long gone and Arthur hates himself a bit for it.
"Gah," says Arthur angrily to the Merlin-less room, and punches the wall. "Stupid."
◆
He goes tearing after Merlin.
"Merlin," he yells, as he stalks through the corridors, and hardly even spares a nod for the shaky fingers that point to where his idiot manservant had better be. "Merlin! Where are you?"
He sweeps the grounds until he spots a mop of dark hair on the castle wall, and almost shouts - and then he realises that Merlin is sitting on the castle wall, legs dangling over the edge. Arthur stops short.
"Merlin?" he tries. "Merlin, what are you doing?"
Merlin, blast him, doesn't even turn. "The view is nice," he says, and tilts his head to the side, as if it were obvious.
Arthur forces his legs to move. "Merlin, get down from there. You can look at the view somewhere else. Over here, for instance."
Then Merlin turns and something must have shown on Arthur's face, because realisation spreads across Merlin's features, and he says, "Oh."
Arthur crosses his arms and tries not to look like- however he had looked like.
"Arthur," says Merlin softly, "I wouldn't do that. And I'm pretty sure I could stop myself from hitting the ground."
“Oh,” says Arthur.
He suddenly remembers why he’d run after Merlin in the first place, and curses himself for the way Merlin’s face now looks bitter and resigned. "Merlin," he says haltingly, "Earlier - I was just - surprised."
Merlin furrows his brow in confusion. "I thought you knew?"
"Yes," says Arthur, "and I knew you knew that I knew. But the thing is, I didn’t know. Not- not for sure. I had a feeling. But I hadn't actually seen, before."
"Oh," says Merlin. "Well. I was surprised, too."
“Did you really think--” that I was going to execute you, Arthur starts to say, and then abruptly realises that this line of conversation might lead to unexpected feelings. He shifts uncomfortably at the thought. "Uh, are we- are we actually talking about this?"
Something warm and bright crosses Merlin's eyes then, and he hops off the wall towards Arthur.
"No to both," he says cheerfully, and Arthur feels a tight coil of something in his chest loosen at the sight.
From up here, the view of Camelot is surprisingly beautiful, touching a part of Arthur’s heart even after all this time. They stand together and watch the kingdom unfold beneath the shadow of the castle, and the bustle of activity softens the edges of Arthur’s discomfort until it becomes but a vague memory, blown away by the wind weaving through the turrets, wisping through his hair.
Then Merlin says,"You are such an emotionally repressed clotpole," and utterly spoils the moment. Arthur thwacks Merlin with unrepentant sharpness. Merlin swats his hand away with a grin and heads down the stairs.
"About the laws," says Merlin, laughter running through his voice, “Took you long enough.”
Arthur falters on his way down the steps. He’s suddenly aware that he’d just let go of a weight he hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying, and when he steps into himself again it’s with the knowledge of something deeper than mere relief at Merlin’s approval.
He’s not quite sure what it is, but it feels like he’s walking down the path back home.
Merlin glances up with eyes blue and strangely wise, and for a moment, Arthur thinks he sees Camelot as it could be -- and, he promises himself, how it will be.
◆
Much later, Arthur says, “I’ll need a court sorcerer.”
Enough time has passed since the first meeting that the ink of Arthur’s signature on the final laws have seeped into the parchment, but not so much time that Merlin has stopped walking around with an expression of dazed happiness on his face all the time.
It makes Merlin look like a happy idiot, and not at all like a sorcerer. He only looks like a sorcerer when he’s actually giving Arthur advice about Camelot, because when he’s giving advice about other things Arthur generally listens to him and then does the opposite.
“But not yet,” says Merlin, and he’s serious this time, so Arthur listens. “The people need time to adjust.”
Arthur says, “I know,” and he is not sulking. He's just disappointed that Merlin won’t be wearing the ridiculous robes that he’s ordered for the position anytime soon. And also the hat.
Although what if Merlin turns out to be a terrible sorcerer?
Merlin looks at him like he knows what Arthur is thinking even though he actually can’t, and then he says, “I’m actually really powerful, you know.”
Arthur eyes Merlin suspiciously. “Yes, of course.”
Merlin pouts. It does not at all reassure Arthur of Merlin’s magical capabilities. “Just you wait, I’ll do something really cool and heroic and then you’ll see.”
“Yes, yes,” agrees Arthur. “In the meantime, my armour needs polishing and my stables need mucking and my laundry needs.. laundering. Run along.”
Merlin’s cheerfulness immediately evaporates. Once he’s out of the room, Arthur laughs, and can’t stop. Merlin, a mighty sorcerer? He’s looking forward to it.
◆
It takes five months.
Arthur surveys the vast empty courtyard and says carefully, "When you said, ‘just you wait’, did you know there was a massive army of sorcerers out for revenge?"
"Not at the time, no," answers Merlin, looking insufferably smug. "These things usually just happen around you."
"Oh, right," says Arthur. He peers at the ground where the earth had opened up and then closed again, and traces the fissure all the way across the field. Merlin kneels and touches a hand to the stones. When he stands up again the cracks are gone, and Camelot looks whole again.
Then Arthur looks -- really looks -- at Merlin. He says, at last, "I see."
◆
He makes Merlin his court sorcerer two weeks later. At the end of the ceremony Merlin smiles and takes his hand and whispers in a language that Arthur doesn’t understand, but doesn’t need to. Arthur blinks and finds himself standing on the castle wall - standing and stumbling in surprise, but Merlin is a steady presence by his side, and Merlin won't let him fall.
Ahead the future stretches, bigger than he feels he can endure. But Merlin's hand is in his and as they stand in warmth of the sun, Arthur knows that somehow, together, they will build a Camelot to be proud of.
◆
The End.