How to Tell a Prince You're a Warlock!

by zanoush

Summary:

Merlin’s tried everything to tell Arthur he’s a warlock—breakfast confessions, dramatic spells, accidental near-death speeches. Arthur? Oblivious.
When all else fails, Merlin ties him to a chair.
A magic reveal fic like no other, full of floating goblets, emotional chaos, and one very smug sorcerer.

Notes:

While Arthur is away, Merlin’s secret is revealed. He always knew telling Arthur would be hard, but this is just ridiculous… A magic reveal fic like no other.

Chapter 1: Merlin and the Mildly Inconvenient Siege

Merlin was enjoying a rare day off.

You see, he’d been sick the day before—which meant Arthur couldn’t take him hunting. And since it was a three-day trip, the prince would be out all night, for two nights. That meant Merlin had the rest of today to himself. Well, not entirely. He still had to help Gaius, but most of the heavy work was already done. He’d picked herbs earlier in the week, and today’s rounds were blessedly light thanks to the clear skies and summer warmth.

So, for now, Merlin was sitting cross-legged on his bed, idly flipping through his magic book.

That was when he heard it.

Screaming.

His head snapped up, eyes flicking to the tiny window. There it was again—shouts, panicked voices, crashing sounds. It was coming from the market.

Shoving the book under his bed, Merlin leapt up and bolted for the door.

---

The market was chaos.

People ran in all directions, stalls toppled, smoke filled the air. And at the centre of it all was a beautiful woman striding toward the castle. Behind her, cloaked men—sorcerers, obviously—unleashed magical destruction with terrifying ease.

She had striking blonde hair, pale skin like porcelain, and blood-red lips. Merlin couldn’t quite see her eyes, but every flash of gold heralded another explosion—wood splintering, carts flipping, food stalls bursting into flame.

Camelot was under attack.

Knights and guards tried to intercept her, but they couldn’t get within fifty yards. Some invisible force tossed them aside like dolls. Merlin wanted to help—but there were too many witnesses, and he wasn’t sure he could defeat so many at once.

So he turned and ran—back into the castle.

---

He burst into the throne room, breathless. Uther and his council were already discussing evacuation. Gaius was nowhere to be seen. In the rush that followed, Merlin found himself helping the knights pack weapons, preparing to escort the king out through the secret dungeons.

Usually, servants weren’t allowed near weapons that weren’t their master's. But Merlin was Arthur’s manservant, and the knights trusted him. Soon they were all moving down shadowy corridors, Uther shielded by his remaining guard.

But the sorceress was already inside the castle.

They met resistance near the lower levels. One by one, the knights fought and fell to protect the king. At some point, Merlin realised Gaius wasn’t with them.

‘Gaius?!’ he called, heart racing. No response.

He wanted to go back. He needed to. But there was no time. No way.

When they finally reached the secret door in the dungeons, only Merlin, Uther, and Sir Leon remained. The knight turned, gripping Merlin’s shoulders.

‘Merlin!’ he shouted. ‘We need to slow them down—buy time! You must get the king out safely!’

‘I—I—I can’t!’ Merlin squeaked.

‘You have to!’ Sir Leon insisted, then charged back the way they came, sword raised, disappearing into the shadows.

Merlin tightened his grip on the sword Leon had given him. ‘Your Majesty, we need to go—now!’

He grabbed Uther’s arm, and together they fled through the hidden door, out into the trees.

---

They ran until they couldn’t anymore. Uther wheezed, red in the face. Merlin wasn't much better.

‘My lord?’ Merlin asked. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll live,’ Uther snapped, trying to catch his breath.

A twig snapped behind them.

Merlin spun, sword raised. They were in no shape to run again, especially not Uther.

A sorcerer in a green cloak emerged, hand already glowing. The spell was aimed at the king.

‘Hey! You!’ Merlin shouted, waving his sword like a maniac. ‘Leave him alone!’

The man barely looked at him, laughing as he turned his attention back to Uther.

Merlin chucked a stick at his head.

That got his attention.

The sorcerer turned, raised his hand—and Merlin, in his usual clumsy glory, tripped over a root and fell into a bush, losing his sword. The sorcerer dismissed him and raised his hand toward the king again.

No choice.

Merlin got up and ran.

Time slowed.

Magic buzzed through his veins as he reached the king, knocking him aside just in time. They crashed to the ground together. Merlin turned and saw the spell forming again.

He didn’t hesitate.

Gold flooded his eyes. He raised his hand. The words spilled from his lips before he could even think.

The sorcerer was flung into a tree and crumpled, unconscious.

Merlin blinked. Then panicked.

‘Did you just use magic?’ Uther asked behind him, voice laced with confusion—and something else.

Merlin winced. So much for subtlety.

‘I—I—’

‘Did you just save my life using magic?’ Uther asked again, slowly.

‘I… yes?’ Merlin offered weakly.

‘You do realise I sentence people to death for sorcery?’ Uther said mildly.

Merlin felt faint.

‘Yet you just saved my life—with the very thing I condemn.’

‘There was no other way,’ Merlin said, bracing himself.

Uther laughed. Loudly. Hysterically.

Merlin just stood there, swordless, breathless, and very confused.

‘Arthur always says you're loyal,’ Uther wheezed. ‘All these years—risking your life for him, for Camelot—and you’re a sorcerer!’

‘I have no desire but to see Camelot safe, and her rulers well,’ Merlin said firmly.
Uther clutched his sides, still laughing. ‘I should have you executed. But…’ He paused, catching his breath. ‘My kingdom is invaded. My knights are gone. My son is absent. And you just saved me. Again, apparently.’

Merlin said nothing, daring to hope.

‘Very well,’ Uther said. ‘You’ll live. But I want something from you.’

‘Anything, my lord.’

‘Save my kingdom.’

---

They did. Merlin and Uther returned the next day, and with Merlin’s magic—used openly for the first time—Camelot was retaken. The sorceress was defeated, her followers scattered.

The people saw everything. So did Gaius, who nearly fainted on the spot.

Uther declared, in front of the entire court, that Merlin would be granted one wish for saving Camelot. Still a little dazed, Merlin asked that no one tell Arthur about his magic—that he would do it himself.

Uther agreed, decreeing that only Merlin could reveal his secret to the prince.

When Arthur returned—with Gwaine and Lancelot in tow—he found Camelot damaged, but victorious. No one told him how.

Lancelot, who already knew, kept the secret. Gwaine was brought into the loop with a mug of ale and a pinky swear.

---

Merlin waited in Arthur’s chambers, nervously tidying things that were already clean.

Arthur was still in a meeting with his father. He’d be back any minute.

Merlin would tell him. He had to.

When Arthur finally walked in, he looked exhausted. He peeled off his jacket and tossed it aside, muttering about missed battles and poor timing.

Merlin decided to wait until Arthur had eaten. Then maybe a bath. Maybe a nap.

Eventually, Arthur sat on the bed, full and clean and content. Merlin took a deep breath.

‘Arthur,’ he began, turning away to compose himself, ‘you know I’ve always been loyal. I’ve never wanted anything but to protect you. That’s why I didn’t tell you. But… now I have to.’

He turned dramatically.

‘I’m a warlock.’

Silence.

Merlin blinked.

Arthur was asleep. Fully, peacefully asleep.

Merlin sighed, tugged a blanket over him, and collected the tray.

‘Brilliant,’ he muttered. ‘Absolutely brilliant.’

---

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Breakfast Reveal

Notes:

Thank you for the lovely comments :D

 

Chapter 2 – The Breakfast Reveal

Merlin had a plan.

A good one, for once.

 

Arthur was back from his trip, in one piece (miraculously), and in that odd post-campaign mood where he was too tired to shout but too pleased with himself to sulk. Perfect conditions for a dramatic, well-timed confession.

 

So Merlin had decided: he would make Arthur breakfast. A proper one. Eggs, bread, tea. Maybe even those honeyed oat cakes Gwen once said helped with emotional resilience. Arthur would sit, eat, be warm and full, and then Merlin would break the news:

 

“I’m a warlock. Surprise! Please don’t stab me.”

 

It was a solid plan. Foolproof.

 

Except… this was Merlin.

 

—-

 

Arthur stared suspiciously at the tray when Merlin entered.

 

‘What’s that?’ he said, like Merlin had walked in carrying a dead squirrel instead of a perfectly respectable breakfast.

 

‘Food,’ Merlin replied dryly. ‘You eat it. Ideally with your mouth shut.’

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He grabbed a piece of bread and inspected it, sniffed it—then took a bite and moaned. Actually moaned.

 

‘Is this… Did you butter it on both sides?’

 

‘Don’t say I never do anything for you,’ Merlin muttered.

Arthur grinned. ‘Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.’

 

Merlin smiled faintly. This was it. He could do this.

 

‘Arthur, I need to tell you something,’ he began, nerves prickling.

 

Arthur was chewing. Merlin waited patiently.

Then Arthur pointed a knife at him. ‘You didn’t put those weird herbs in again, did you? The ones that make me sneeze?’

 

‘No, this is serious—’

 

‘I nearly drowned in snot last time.’

 

‘Arthur.’

Arthur blinked at his tone. ‘All right. What is it?’

Merlin exhaled slowly. Right. Just say it.

‘I—’

‘I mean, unless it’s about the socks,’ Arthur interrupted. ‘Because I know you’ve been putting mine in Sir Leon’s drawer again.’

 

Merlin closed his eyes.

‘That was one time, and it was an accident.’

 

‘You labelled it with a smiley face and the word “enjoy”.’

 

Merlin cleared his throat. ‘Okay, fine, that time was intentional, but—Arthur, listen—this is important.’

 

‘You’re not dying, are you?’

 

‘No.’

‘Being sent away?’

 

‘No! I—’

 

Arthur leaned forward. ‘Did you sleep with my sister?’

 

Merlin gagged. ‘What? No! No, absolutely not!’

 

‘Just checking.’

Merlin took a deep breath, looked his destiny square in the eye, and said—

‘I’m—’

 

The door slammed open.

 

‘Prince Arthur!’ a guard shouted, breathless. ‘Your presence is requested immediately in the council chamber. Something about the catapult budget.’

 

Arthur groaned and stood. ‘Bloody catapults.’

 

Merlin’s hand twitched. ‘But I was in the middle of—’

 

‘Later, Merlin.’ Arthur waved him off and strolled toward the door, grabbing a last bite of oatcake. ‘Great breakfast, by the way. Almost makes up for the socks.’

 

Then he was gone.

 

Merlin stared after him. Then turned to the guard still hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

 

‘I’m a warlock,’ he said flatly.

 

The guard blinked. ‘Uh. Congratulations?’

 

Merlin grabbed a spoon and seriously considered enchanting it to fly into Arthur’s forehead later.

 

—-

 

He tried again that evening.

 

Arthur was in his chambers, polishing his sword while shirtless, which—okay, not the best time to confess anything, because Merlin’s brain had short-circuited before he even opened his mouth.

 

Still, he pushed forward.

‘Arthur?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I really need to tell you something important.’

 

Arthur glanced up, mildly alarmed. ‘You’re not dying, are you?’

 

‘We’ve already done that part.’

 

‘Oh. Right. What is it then?’

 

Merlin braced himself. ‘I’m—’

 

A loud knock interrupted them. Gwen peeked in, eyes bright.

 

‘Arthur, Uther wants to know if you’ve read his scroll about the proposed increase in guard shifts. He says it’s urgent.’

 

Arthur groaned. ‘That’s the third “urgent” scroll today. Do you think he’s just writing them to feel important?’

‘Almost certainly,’ Merlin muttered.

 

Arthur sighed and stood, grabbing a fresh shirt. ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Yes,’ Merlin said faintly. ‘Later. Definitely. Unless I die first.’

 

Arthur laughed and left.

Merlin turned to Gwen. ‘I’m a warlock.’

 

She smiled sweetly. ‘I know. I’m not blind.’

‘Thank you!’ Merlin pointed at her dramatically. ‘Why can’t he be that observant?’

 

‘Because he’s Arthur,’ she said gently, and closed the door.

—-

 

The next morning, Merlin tried a note.

 

A very honest, heartfelt, carefully penned message.

 

Dear Arthur,
I have magic. I’ve always had it. I’ve used it to protect you, Camelot, your ridiculous hair, and your even more ridiculous honour.
I hope you can forgive me.
—Merlin

He placed it on Arthur’s breakfast tray, weighted with a jam jar.

 

Arthur read it. Frowned. Then flipped the parchment over.

‘You forgot to write what kind of jam you want me to buy.’

 

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it again.

 

Then quietly walked into the next room and screamed into a pillow.

 

—-

 

That night, he sat beside Gwaine in the tavern, face flat on the table.

‘Why is this so hard?’ he groaned. ‘He should know by now. I’ve literally glowed in front of him.’

 

Gwaine patted his shoulder. ‘You’re assuming Arthur connects “glowing eyes” with “sorcery”. Honestly, he probably thinks it’s indigestion.’

 

‘Maybe I should just turn into a dragon and spell it out in the sky.’

‘Tempting,’ Gwaine said, sipping his drink. ‘But messy. Do the sparkly magic dinner thing. Romantic candlelight. Reveal your deepest secret over soup.’

 

‘Arthur eats soup like a warthog.’

‘Fair. Okay. Magic puppet show.’

Merlin raised an eyebrow. ‘What would that achieve?’

 

‘Entertainment, Merlin.’

 

—-

 

Later that night, as he helped Arthur undress for bed (a process that involved an unnecessary amount of shirt tossing), Merlin tried one more time.

 

‘Arthur.’

 

‘Yes?’

‘I have magic.’

 

Arthur blinked. ‘What, like… sleight of hand?’

 

Merlin stared.

 

‘You know. Card tricks? Coin behind the ear?’ Arthur grinned. ‘I didn’t take you for the juggling type.’

Merlin sighed.

Arthur yawned, climbed into bed, and was snoring five minutes later.

Merlin stared at the ceiling, considering whether launching himself out the window counted as a valid form of communication.

End of Chapter 2

Chapter 3: The Dramatic Spell Reveal

Notes:

Thank you for all the lovely comments!

Merlin had decided.

If words wouldn’t work, and subtle hints kept missing their mark by entire kingdoms, then he’d go big.

Magic big.

A dramatic light show in Arthur’s chambers. Floating goblets, enchanted candles, sparkling stars across the ceiling. Something so dazzling that even Arthur—bless his suspiciously thick skull—couldn’t possibly ignore it.

No interruptions. No evasions. Just Merlin, magic, and undeniable proof that he wasn’t just some weirdly energetic servant with a knack for turning up at the right time.

This was it.

The grand reveal.

He spent all afternoon preparing.

He enchanted the room to glow golden with soft light. The goblets floated gently in a circle above the table—just a gentle bob, nothing too theatrical (he remembered the last time and the impromptu goblet-based siege). Candles hovered in the air, twirling like lazy fireflies. The crowning glory was the ceiling—a swirling galaxy of light and colour, stars forming patterns that shimmered as they moved.

It was tasteful. Classy. He was aiming for “ancient magical majesty,” not “possessed tapestry.”

A single enchanted rose drifted slowly from the ceiling to land near the doorway—because why not. A little flair never hurt anyone.

Merlin stood back, hands on hips, grinning at his handiwork.

It was perfect.

Arthur strode in from training, tunic half-unlaced, a towel draped around his neck. He stopped in the doorway.

‘Merlin…?’

Merlin turned, glowing slightly with pride (and magic).

Arthur blinked, squinting up at the ceiling. ‘What happened in here? Did someone spill the feast? Or… did the sky fall indoors?’

‘No!’ Merlin beamed. ‘It’s magic!’

Arthur wandered in, looking around like he was inspecting a suspiciously decorated tent.

‘Why are my goblets floating?’

‘I made them float!’

Arthur picked one out of the air and examined it. ‘Huh. Clever rope trick. Bit showy, though. Has Gwaine been trying to impress the serving girls again?’

Merlin stared. ‘Arthur. There are stars on your ceiling.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said slowly, ‘I know. Very pretty. Looks like a map. Is this part of your latest “cleaning innovation” or something?’

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘This is not an innovation. This is sorcery.’

Arthur paused, looked around, and said with complete sincerity:

‘Ah. So you finally figured out how to use reflective polish properly.’

‘What?!’

Arthur gestured upward. ‘The ceiling thing. Very shiny. You probably just angled a bunch of candles or something. Bit excessive for a polishing technique, but if it gets you out of dusting, I suppose I’ll allow it.’

‘You think I polished the sky?!’

Arthur nodded solemnly. ‘You do get rather intense about cleaning when you’re bored.’

Merlin looked like he wanted to launch himself into the sun.

Arthur walked over to the slowly spiralling rose and picked it up.

‘And this? Gwen again?’

‘It fell from the magically enhanced atmosphere!’

Arthur sniffed it. ‘Well, at least it smells nice. Not sure about the rest of this decor, though. It’s very… dramatic.’

‘I was going for dramatic!’ Merlin groaned.

Arthur nodded. ‘Looks like you succeeded. If I had to guess, I’d say this was some kind of romantic gesture.’

Merlin squawked. ‘It is not romantic!’

Arthur raised an eyebrow. ‘So it’s for me?’

Merlin threw his hands in the air. ‘Yes! I mean—no! I mean, it’s for you, but not like that—ugh! It’s to show you that I have magic! That I’m a warlock! That I’ve been—’ he waved his arms at the room ‘—doing this the whole time!’

Arthur stared at him.

Then he reached up and plucked a candle out of mid-air. It hovered obediently above his palm.

‘Hmm,’ he said, examining it like it was a new species of fish. ‘Must be that new beeswax. Didn’t Gwen say it was lighter than usual?’

‘It is hovering!’

Arthur shrugged and blew it out. ‘Well, it’s not anymore.’

Merlin gaped at him.

‘You know what, forget it,’ he muttered. ‘I hope the next spell does turn your boots into frogs.’

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Merlin. Great polishing. Very ambitious.’

And with that, he walked off whistling.

Merlin stood in the middle of his magical masterpiece and whispered, to no one in particular:

‘I am going to murder him with a glitter hex.’

End of Chapter 3

Chapter 4: The Accidental Reveal

Notes:

Thanks for the lovely comments!

Merlin wasn’t trying to reveal his magic anymore.

Not today.

After the floating goblets that somehow turned into a deep dive on polishing wax, he’d decided to take a break. A strategic retreat. No drama. No roses. No tragically misunderstood magical constellations.

He would just… exist.

And if magic slipped out a bit, well—that was fate’s problem, not his.

---

The first incident happened during breakfast.

Arthur had flung his bacon onto the floor. Not deliberately—it was part of his usual dramatic swordfight reenactment with cutlery—but Merlin was tired, his back hurt, and he didn’t feel like fetching it manually.

So he summoned it.

A little wave of his fingers. A subtle mutter. The bacon floated back onto the plate like a meaty boomerang.

Arthur blinked.

‘Did you just—?’

Merlin froze mid-pour with the teapot.

Arthur stared at the plate.

Then said, ‘Huh. Must’ve bounced.’

Merlin blinked. ‘Bounced?’

‘Yeah. The floor’s got that new stone polish Gaius ordered, right? Makes everything slippery. Even bacon, apparently.’ He took a bite. ‘Mmm. Still good.’

Merlin just sat down in stunned silence and whispered, ‘You’re going to outlive every warlock in Albion by sheer obliviousness, aren’t you?’

---

The second incident was mid-dusting.

Merlin, in a moment of lazy convenience, levitated the brush across the room to dust the far shelf. He didn’t even realise he’d done it until he turned—and found Arthur watching the floating brush with mild interest.

‘New invention?’ Arthur asked.

Merlin stared.

‘Is this another one of those “servant hacks” you always go on about? Like washing tunics in the rain to save water?’

‘I—I—yes?’

Arthur nodded approvingly. ‘Brilliant. Send Gwen the design. She’ll love it.’

Merlin just smiled faintly and made a mental note to start keeping a list titled “Things Arthur Thinks Are Not Magic.”

---

Later, Merlin accidentally healed a paper cut in front of him.

They were reviewing patrol logs. Arthur had sliced his finger open on the corner of a scroll (dramatically, as always). Merlin reached over instinctively and muttered a quick healing charm while pretending to fetch a cloth.

The cut vanished.

Arthur blinked at his now unbleeding finger.

‘Did you see that?’ he said.

Merlin tensed.

Arthur examined the scroll with suspicion. ‘These new scrolls are weird. Paper’s thinner. Probably folds itself when you’re not looking. Must’ve... un-cut me.’

Merlin choked. ‘It un-cut you?’

Arthur nodded seriously. ‘Yes. Must be magical parchment. Or the ink’s got healing properties. Maybe Gwen’s been experimenting again.’

‘Yes. That’s it,’ Merlin muttered. ‘Gwen. Definitely Gwen.’

---

The fourth incident was… less subtle.

Merlin tripped on the stairs.

Which wasn’t unusual.

What was unusual was that he stopped himself mid-fall—in mid-air—with a reflexive levitation charm, hovered awkwardly for a second, then floated gently back to the steps and resumed walking.

Arthur, walking behind him, paused.

‘How did you—?’

‘Tuck and roll,’ Merlin said immediately.

Arthur frowned. ‘But you didn’t roll.’

‘Fastest form of tuck. Learned it from a traveling acrobat. Very advanced. You blink, you miss it.’

Arthur looked vaguely impressed. ‘Can you teach me?’

‘Not unless you want to dislocate your everything.’

‘Fair enough.’

---

That night, Merlin lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, arms flung dramatically across his pillow like a Shakespearean ghost.

Gwaine popped his head in.

‘You still alive?’

‘Barely,’ Merlin groaned. ‘I’ve levitated, floated, healed, enchanted, and literally bacon-boomeranged in front of him, and he still hasn’t figured it out.’

‘That man once mistook a talking bird for a sarcastic servant, Merlin.’

‘I know!’

‘He thought the enchanted dog was a royal messenger.’

‘I KNOW.’

Gwaine walked over, gently patted Merlin on the forehead, and said, ‘At this point, I think destiny’s just keeping him dumb until it’s funny.’

---

The fifth and final moment that day came when Merlin accidentally muttered a truth spell under his breath.

He was irritated. Arthur had been bragging about how he’d definitely win the next tournament because of his “flawless instincts”.

‘You tripped over your own sword yesterday,’ Merlin said.

‘That was intentional.’

‘You got tangled in your cape and punched a tree.’

‘It was a distraction tactic!’

‘You fell off your horse standing still!’

‘It slipped!’

‘You’re an idiot!’ Merlin snapped—and accidentally cast the spell mid-insult.

There was a golden shimmer in the air.

Arthur blinked, swayed slightly, and then blurted:

‘Sometimes I pretend to know what the council is talking about and just nod a lot!’

Merlin froze.

Arthur looked alarmed. ‘Did I say that out loud?’

‘Yes,’ Merlin said, stunned.

‘Weird,’ Arthur muttered. ‘Must be the mead. Don’t tell anyone.’

And off he went, completely unaware he’d been magically forced into honesty.

---

Merlin sat back, stared into the middle distance, and said:

‘I’m going to need a sixth plan, aren’t I?’

End of Chapter 4

Chapter 5: The Deathbed Confession (But Not Really)

Notes:

Thanks for the comments!

Merlin had finally had enough.

The magical breakfasts, the dramatic spells, the mid-air floating, the enchanted bacon—it was all for nothing. Arthur remained as oblivious as ever, somehow brushing off every act of blatant sorcery like Merlin was just particularly enthusiastic about dusting.

So he decided to go nuclear.

If Arthur wouldn’t listen when Merlin said he had magic, and wouldn’t believe the evidence literally glowing in his face, then there was only one option left:

Fake a near-death confession.

Merlin wasn’t proud of the plan. But he was desperate. And let’s be honest, he’d already risked bodily harm for Arthur plenty of times. One little fainting spell wouldn’t hurt.

(Probably.)

---

It began with a stubbed toe.

Not a normal one. A dramatic, painful, furniture-based assault that sent Merlin sprawling to the floor with a yelp, clutching his foot and groaning like he’d been run through with a sword.

‘OWWWWWWWWWW—!’

Arthur, who had just walked into the room, froze mid-step.

‘Merlin?’

‘Ugh,’ Merlin moaned, dramatically collapsing onto his side. ‘It’s… too late. I can feel the end coming.’

‘What?’

Merlin coughed weakly. ‘There’s… there’s something I’ve never told you. A secret… I must confess… before I shuffle off this mortal coil…’

Arthur knelt beside him, frowning. ‘Did you eat the stew again after I said it smelled weird?’

‘No, you idiot!’ Merlin gasped. ‘I’m dying! Don’t you understand? This is my final breath! My tragic demise!’

‘You stubbed your toe on a table leg.’

‘A vicious table leg,’ Merlin corrected.

Arthur squinted at him. ‘You’re being dramatic again.’

‘Because it’s the end!’

Arthur stood. ‘Hang on, I’ll get Gaius.’

Merlin grabbed his sleeve with a gasp. ‘Wait! Before I go… you must know… the truth…’

Arthur leaned down cautiously. ‘What truth?’

Merlin took a deep breath. ‘Arthur… I’m a… I’m a war—’

Arthur clapped a hand over Merlin’s forehead. ‘No fever.’

‘Let me finish! I’m a warlock!’

Silence.

Arthur stared.

Then said, slowly, ‘You mean like… with herbs?’

Merlin blinked. ‘No! That’s a herbalist! I mean magic! Spells! Power! Sorcery!’

Arthur scratched his head. ‘Hmm. Sounds like you hit your head when you fell.’

‘I did not!’

‘Did you breathe in too much polish again?’

‘No! I’m magic! I’ve been saving your life for years!’

Arthur sighed. ‘Merlin, you say a lot of strange things when you’re injured. Remember when you broke your wrist and kept insisting you were secretly a goose?’

‘I was delirious!’

‘And when you twisted your ankle and told me you could speak to trees?’

‘Okay, that one might actually be true.’

Arthur gently patted him on the shoulder. ‘Just rest. You’ll feel better soon.’

‘I JUST TOLD YOU I’M MAGIC.’

Arthur gave him a Look. The same Look he gave him whenever Merlin forgot to unpack the saddlebags or claimed the curtains had attacked him again.

‘Of course you are,’ Arthur said, with full, patronising cheer. ‘And I’m a flying donkey.’

‘You don’t believe me?!’

‘I believe you think you’re a warlock,’ Arthur offered helpfully. ‘Which is very brave of you.’

Merlin groaned and flopped backward with a loud thud, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the table leg again.

‘You’re unbelievable.’

‘You’re injured and clearly delusional,’ Arthur said. ‘Stay here. I’ll fetch a snack.’

‘This is not a snack moment!’

But Arthur was already halfway out the door.

‘You’re lucky I like you!’ Merlin called after him. ‘Because otherwise I’d enchant your boots to moo when you walk!’

‘Already do,’ Arthur shouted back.

Merlin lay there, arms splayed, staring at the ceiling.

A squirrel outside the window seemed to nod in sympathy.

---

Gwaine arrived ten minutes later, leaning in the doorway like he’d been waiting for the precise moment Merlin’s dignity hit rock bottom.

‘So,’ he said, ‘fake death? Nice touch.’

‘He thought I meant I practice herbalism.’

‘That’s generous. Last week he thought “philosophy” was a type of soup.’

Merlin covered his face with a pillow. ‘It’s hopeless.’

Gwaine walked over and nudged him with a toe. ‘You know, I admire your persistence. Most people would’ve moved on by now. Or actually died out of sheer embarrassment.’

‘I don’t want to move on. I want to tell him the truth.’

‘You’ve told him the truth. At least six times. You could make him a commemorative plaque at this point.’

‘I might do that.’

‘Make it sparkle.’

‘I always make it sparkle.’

---

Later that evening, Arthur returned with a tray.

‘Here,’ he said, placing it beside Merlin’s bed. ‘Cheese, bread, and one of those honey oat things you like.’

Merlin squinted at him.

Arthur shifted, suddenly awkward. ‘I, uh… figured if you were dying, you deserved a decent last meal.’

‘I’m not dying,’ Merlin said flatly.

‘Right. But just in case you decide to try again tomorrow.’

Merlin stared. Arthur looked too pleased with himself for someone who still didn’t know he’d eaten magic-heated soup on several occasions.

‘I’m magic, you know.’

‘Of course you are,’ Arthur said, ruffling his hair.

‘I will hex your bathwater.’

‘That’s the spirit.’

Merlin sighed and took a bite of bread.

At least the oatcake was good.

---

End of Chapter 5