Work Text:
It started innocently enough.
A group of farmers had come frantically running to the gates of Camelot, desperate for an audience with the king—well, with Arthur, but he might as well have been king by now.
Since Morgana’s betrayal, Arthur had taken over all of his father’s responsibilities on top of his usual princely duties. Merlin couldn’t help but feel bad for him, even despite how much more irritating Arthur had become under this added stress.
But yes, the farmers. They wouldn’t stop rambling about something haunting the caves near their land, destroying their crops and ruining their chances at a good harvest. The odds of it simply being a bad season were high, and yet here they were—stumbling through this wretched cavern. In the dark and cold, no less.
“By the Gods, Merlin, would you keep up?”
Quite irritating indeed.
Merlin grumbled under his breath, not dignifying his prince with a response. He didn’t want to be here. As much as he complained about his daily chores, Merlin would take washing Arthur’s dirty clothes over blindly trudging through these tunnels any day. He didn’t even know what they were looking for.
Truly, Merlin didn’t understand why it had to be him and Arthur on this mission. Arthur had enough on his plate already—any one of the knights would have jumped at the chance to take the lead on this one. But Arthur wasn’t having it. Honestly, Merlin suspected Arthur just wanted some semblance of normalcy in all this chaos.
Speaking of which—where had that prat gone?
“Arthur?” Merlin called. His words echoed back to him, reverberating on the stone walls.
Water dripped from stalactites, but no obnoxious voice responded to his shout.
Great. Not only did he have to stumble in the dark and cold, but he now had to do it alone. A part of Merlin longed to create some light—not anything absurd, just enough to see—but the part of him that had kept him alive this long shut that thought down. He couldn’t risk it.
Just because he couldn’t see Arthur didn’t mean he could let his guard down. Quite the opposite in fact. Merlin knew Arthur could handle himself, but he did prefer to keep him in his sights. Harder for the clotpole to get himself killed that way.
A small glint of light caught Merlin’s eye from the corner of the cave. He wouldn’t have been suspicious if there’d been any light to reflect. Given that Merlin couldn’t see two feet in front of him, there was only one explanation.
Magic, of course.
The light glowed brighter as Merlin approached it, revealing its true nature: a crystal eye. Its surface shimmered like a mirror, but as Merlin looked closer at it, it wasn’t his own face he saw—rather, an old man stared back at him.
Merlin thought it was an old man, at least. His hair was gray and overgrown, but there were no wrinkles or imperfections on his face.
Definitely magic.
“You burden yourself, young warlock,” the man said, his eyes sad but understanding.
“Who are you?” Merlin asked. He doubted this man was responsible for the failed crops, but he still felt wary. Nothing good came from mysterious voices trapped in magical objects.
The old man sighed. “Look inside yourself, Emrys. The truth will set you free, for beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.”
That wasn’t good, now was it?
The crystal suddenly blazed, a harsh contrast against the frozen cavern. Merlin wanted to let go—it was hot, Gods above—but his fingers wouldn’t relax. His hand gripped the eye, and some force was pulling it closer and closer to his face.
Right, Merlin’s hand was really starting to hurt now. He had the urge to use his magic, but someone could be around. It wasn’t worth it. But his hand had to be blistering at this point.
“Merlin!”
Merlin flinched as a hand clapped on his shoulder, dropping the crystal eye to the ground. He looked up defensively, only to see–
Arthur?
“Merlin. What are you doing?”
…
Good question.
Words were one of the things that came easiest to Merlin. He was known for never shutting up. So why couldn’t he think of anything to say now?
A flicker of unease crossed Arthur’s face. “What’s happened?”
Merlin blinked hard and cleared his throat. “Um, nothing– I just,” he trailed off until his eyes found the now broken crystal. “I dropped this. On my foot.”
Arthur’s expression didn’t let up, even in the face of Merlin’s sheepish smile. Maybe he wasn’t as convincing as he thought.
As Arthur leaned down to pick up the eye, Merlin glanced at his hand. The skin was smooth. Untouched. As if nothing had happened. Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or concerned.
“Craftmanship’s not half bad,” Arthur said, peering closely at the eye. The proximity made Merlin’s stomach twist, but Arthur didn’t even flinch. “Too bad it’s broken.”
“Too bad,” Merlin echoed, eyes flicking away from the look Arthur gave him.
Arthur rolled his eyes, placing the eye on a nearby rock. “No matter.” He turned toward the mouth of the cave. “There’s nothing for us here. We should head back.”
“What about the farmers?” Merlin asked. Something about leaving the crystal there didn’t sit right.
Arthur didn’t break stride. “We can help supply them with food for the winter. Everyone has a bad harvest.”
Right. Of course. Merlin tried not to let his eyes linger on the crystal too long as he followed Arthur out of the cave and to their horses. He didn’t think he succeeded.
The ride back to Camelot was peaceful, but Merlin couldn’t get the man’s words out of his head.
Look inside yourself, Emrys.
Great. One more person who knew his true name. Not exactly comforting.
The truth will set you free.
That wouldn’t work. There was only one truth worth guarding with his life, and revealing it in Camelot was a death sentence.
Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.
Where was he even supposed to start with that?
-
The next day, Merlin had all but pushed the event to the back of his mind. He had more pressing concerns—like the fact that it was nearing midday when he finally woke up.
Arthur was going to kill him.
By the time Merlin arrived at the throne room, his anxiety had grown tenfold. On his slightly humiliating sprint there, he’d overheard the other servants muttering about Arthur’s foul mood. Merlin was sure his tardiness wasn’t the main culprit, but it couldn’t have helped.
After pressing his ear to the doors, Merlin slowly opened them and stepped inside. To his surprise, he wasn’t immediately met with badgering and berating, but silence.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, his head in one hand and a quill in the other. He looked focused in that way he only ever did when things were serious. Or when he was exhausted. Probably both.
Merlin approached the table as one would a wild boar: reluctant and terrified.
Arthur must have smelled the anxiety on him. His head sprang up from the papers in front of him. The prince’s face flashed from confusion, to relief, before landing on anger.
Merlin stopped in his tracks, a nervous smile on his face. “Morning, sire.”
“Morning, hm?” Arthur scoffed. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I just had lunch, not breakfast.”
“Must be the lack of sleep, I guess,” Merlin said, continuing his advance to Arthur. He came to stand at his side, glancing over the writings.
Merlin could’ve guessed. With Cenred dead, Essetir was now ruled by Wilfred—a gentler king, supposedly. Arthur was trying to stabilize tensions between the kingdoms, but it wasn’t going great.
“Wilfred still refusing your terms?” Merlin asked.
Arthur dragged a hand across his face. “He won’t let go of the border defenses, but–” He huffed suddenly, seeming to remember his previous anger. “Merlin, where on earth have you been? It’s past noon."
Damn. He thought he had that one.
“I overslept, sire.”
Arthur stared at him. “You overslept.”
“Yes, sire.”
“You don’t do that.”
“Not normally, no.”
Despite how much he complained, Merlin liked having something to do. It felt odd to sit around doing nothing—too much time to think, to worry.
“By the Gods, you’re useless,” Arthur spat. “It’s a wonder I even keep you around at all.”
Well.
That was a bit harsh. Sure, Merlin understood it was annoying that he missed half the day. He was probably more upset with himself than anyone else was. And yes, the words themselves were nothing out of the norm of what Arthur would say to him on a daily basis. But it was the way he said them.
Cold. Hateful. Honest.
Merlin pushed it to the side. “Who else would keep you on your toes?”
But instead of bantering back like usual, Arthur simply rolled his eyes and muttered, “Right.”
Okay. So the other servants weren’t lying about his wretched mood. Great.
For the rest of the day, Merlin kept his quips to a minimum. Tried to, at least. There were a few times—Arthur forgetting Wilfred’s name, for one—where he couldn’t help a quiet jab or a rolling of the eyes. He did his best to do these out of Arthur’s sight, but when he did catch him, Arthur was not amused.
“I could’ve told you that,” Merlin mumbled as he changed the sheets.
He must not have been as quiet as he thought, because his words were not met with silence this time, but a loud bang.
Looking up, Arthur had slammed his palm on the table next to his work. The look on his face wasn’t the angriest Merlin had seen, but the words that came out of his mouth definitely ranked high.
“Get out of my sight,” Arthur said.
Merlin frowned. There it was again—the cold, honest tone he wasn’t used to.
“What?”
Arthur stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “Leave. Now,” he growled. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”
Merlin stared for a moment, realized he was being serious, then quickly left with nothing more than a “Yes, sire.”
He wasn’t sure what had just happened. But Arthur had meant it. That much was clear.
That was what stung the most.
-
When Arthur’s attitude didn’t let up—even three days later, despite relations with Essetir improving and a peace agreement finally within reach—Merlin figured he would ask the knights what they thought. Even if they hadn’t noticed anything, he could count on Gwaine to rag on Arthur and make him feel better.
They were all sitting in a circle on the grass after training. Minus Lancelot. Last Merlin heard, Gwen had needed his help with something. He didn’t want to look too close into that.
As Merlin approached, he noted how exhausted the knights looked. For all that things were going well with Essetir, they’d still been working overtime on the border between the kingdoms, and it was starting to show.
They wouldn’t say anything—well, Gwaine might—but Merlin could tell they wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.
Leon was the first to spot him, offering a small smile. “Merlin! Come sit with us.”
The rest of the knights looked up at his words, a few tired cheers and grins breaking out once they saw him. When Merlin reached them, Gwaine tugged him down onto the grass. He let out a quiet grunt at the sudden drop.
“Started to wonder where you’d run off to,” Gwaine said, slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Can’t survive long with these nitwits without you.”
Elyan scoffed. “Right, like you're not the one landing us more work half the time.”
“He’s right,” Percival whispered from his place on Merlin’s other side. “You should have seen the mess Gwaine made after–”
Gwaine leaned over Merlin to get in Percival’s face. “It’s not my fault they recognized me from the tavern!”
Merlin carefully extracted himself from Gwaine’s grip as he shoved at Percival, Elyan snorting beside them from Percival’s left. He scooted over to Leon—a break in the chaos.
“Children, the lot of them,” Leon muttered fondly. He turned to face Merlin fully. “How are you, Merlin?”
“Good, good,” Merlin said, smiling back. Leon was always a warming presence. “Much better than you lot, I’m sure.”
“The patrols have been difficult, true.” Leon sat up a little straighter. “But really, Merlin, you’re rarely far from Arthur’s side. I doubt he gave you the day off now.”
Merlin winced. “I don’t know if I should be telling you, honestly.”
At that, Leon’s brow furrowed—not the reaction Merlin wanted. “You can tell us—me—anything, Merlin. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” He just didn’t want to put Leon in an awkward position. “Arthur’s being a right prat, is all.”
“Princess?” Gwaine spoke up from his place beneath Percival. Merlin didn’t know how that happened, but he wasn’t surprised. “He’s been driving me mad. Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s rare to see him not being a prat, though,” Elyan said over Gwaine’s muttered complaints as he tried to shove Percival off him . “What’s new this time?”
Merlin sighed. That was the problem. There wasn’t really anything new, it was just the tone Arthur was speaking in. Maybe he was just being sensitive—he and Arthur bantered all the time.
“Merlin,” Percival said. “Speak what’s bothering you.”
Well, they were asking.
“Arthur’s just– Gods, I don’t know. He’s not saying anything different, but it sounds like he means it now. Does that make sense?”
Leon hummed, contemplating. His face looked understanding, but when he opened his mouth, he said, “Well, are you sure you haven’t done anything?”
…
Oh.
“Uh, I don’t think I have but…”
Had he?
Merlin couldn’t remember anything specific he had done that might have actually set Arthur off, but maybe that was worse. What if he didn’t even notice what had made Arthur so upset?
Percival nodded sincerely. “He has a lot on his plate right now. You should cut him some slack.”
“You have kind of been slacking off recently, Merlin,” Elyan added. The smile on his face felt detached from his words. “Maybe it’s more of a you thing this time.”
“Okay, but… I haven’t even told you what he’s said, so–”
“Come on, Merlin,” Gwaine spoke up, “don’t make me agree with the princess here. Just don’t test him so much, it’ll be fine.”
Oh.
He’d thought at least Gwaine would back him up.
Maybe he was being sensitive.
“Right,” Merlin mumbled as he stood. He took two steps away from the group. They looked… confused. Like they didn’t realize what they’d said. “Thanks for the advice, guys.”
He heard muffled calls for him to come back, but Merlin kept walking. He couldn’t deal with them right now.
But really, who was he to get upset? Merlin chose to talk to them. He supposed he couldn’t really blame them for thinking he was overreacting. He wasn’t the one dealing with the Essetir agreements or having to spend hours on end guarding the border.
Still… they could’ve been a little nicer about it.
-
Four days passed before Merlin said another word to any of them.
Time had been a bit of a blur between waking, working, worrying about the fate of Camelot, and sometimes sleeping. If Gaius noticed anything, he hadn’t mentioned it.
And through it all, Arthur only got worse.
What started as sharper jabs and hurtful comments had devolved into borderline threats. Merlin never used to believe Arthur might hurt him—not unless he discovered the truth. But now? He wasn’t so sure.
The worst one was the most recent, just that afternoon.
Merlin wasn’t actually sure what had gone wrong. He’d done a better job at “shutting up” as Arthur would put it. Well, used to put it. Now he just glared until Merlin stopped talking.
But anyway.
When he and Arthur returned from hunting, Merlin immediately went to fetch lunch. It felt strange, acting so subservient. Yes, he was a servant, and he did like helping people, but he had always kept his sense of autonomy—like he could refuse if he wanted.
Now, everything felt dull. Mechanical. And he was exhausted. Merlin wondered if this was how the other servants felt all the time.
As Merlin opened the door with one hand, the tray of food wobbling in the other, he first noticed Arthur sitting on his bed rather than at the table. He glared hard at the floor like it had offended him, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin propped on his hand.
By now, Merlin had learned to be wary. Who knew what kind of mood Arthur would be in? Gods above, was this how his mother felt when he was a teenager? He owed her a letter of thanks. And an apology.
Merlin placed the tray on the table and began to set out the food, glancing at Arthur every few seconds. When minutes passed and Arthur hadn’t moved, Merlin’s worry won out over his fear.
“Arthur?” he asked. “You alright?”
“I’ve been thinking recently,” Arthur said.
That’s never good, Merlin would usually quip. He stayed silent.
“You really are a shit manservant.”
Okay.
That was normal. He could do normal.
“Yes, well. That was established pretty early on,” Merlin bantered. “Only fitting, really, for a shit–”
“No, I mean genuinely terrible,” Arthur interrupted, then huffed. “Your whore of a mother could have at least taught you how to be useful before sending you off to plague my life.”
…
What?
No, that couldn’t be right.
“I’m sorry?”
He must have heard wrong.
“Good,” Arthur said plainly, finally moving over to the table. “You should be.”
“No. No, Arthur, what did you say?”
Arthur scoffed as he sat down. “Don’t tell me you’re deaf as well as useless.”
He’d imagined what it would feel like, if Arthur were to go too far. He thought he’d be hurt. Scared. Betrayed. And he was, but Merlin hadn’t counted on the anger. He felt that most of all.
“I understand,” Merlin began, “that you are stressed—that everything’s been dumped on you all at once, but–” He curled his shaking hands into fists. “Servant or not, I am your friend, and I cannot believe you just said that to me.”
Merlin only had a second to see the shocked look on Arthur’s face before he turned and all but stormed out, not bothering to close the doors behind him. Arthur’s words rang in his head.
He shouldn’t have–
That wasn’t fair.
Merlin hadn’t exactly opened up about his mother, but Arthur knew. He’d heard enough to understand how much she meant to him. Even without knowledge of his magic, Merlin had made it clear that his mother had put him first in everything—would’ve given up anything for him to have a better future.
For him to– Gods, to imply that she– that she was nothing more than a low peasant who couldn’t even raise a child properly. He hadn’t even done anything. He’d gotten his food. And Arthur said that. For no reason.
There was no excuse. Not stress. Not exhaustion. He shouldn’t have–
Merlin collided hard with a castle wall and fell flat on his back.
Great. Just what he needed to–
“Merlin?”
A… talking castle wall?
Looking up, he was met with an incredulous, yet worried, Lancelot staring down at him.
Lancelot got over his shock rather quickly, reaching out to give Merlin a hand. “Sorry, Merlin,” he said with a laugh, pulling Merlin to his feet. “I didn’t even see you there–” He paused. “Are you alright?”
Merlin blinked at the sudden change in tone. He plastered a smile onto his face as he brushed off his pants. “I’m fine, Lancelot. Trust me, I’ve had worse than a little tumble.”
“Of course, but… Merlin, you’re shaking.”
He glanced at his hands and—sure enough, his fingers trembled with leftover anger and emotion.
“Merlin.” Lancelot’s tone held concern, now. He was more perceptive than most gave him credit for.
“It’s nothing. Haven’t eaten much today. Going to go do that now, so–”
His attempt at side stepping Lancelot was cut short by the gentle but strong grip on his shoulder.
Lancelot looked at him intently. “I know you, Merlin. You don’t get lost in your head like that. Something’s bothering you.”
Merlin sighed and glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t actually gone that far—had barely turned the corner from the hallway to Arthur’s room. He faced Lancelot again, the same concerned glint in his eyes as he met his gaze. The rest of the knights had dismissed him, but this was Lancelot.
It was worth a shot at least.
“Not here,” Merlin said, grabbing the inside of Lancelot’s elbow. He led them to the servants’ quarters—empty at this time of day. Everyone else was out doing chores.
Merlin would normally be doing the same, but. Well.
After closing the door behind them, Merlin let out a breath. There was no use letting his anger bleed into his conversation with Lancelot, especially if he wanted Lancelot to take his side.
He hated how unsure he was of that happening now.
“Merlin,” Lancelot said as Merlin turned away from the door. “Please—what’s wrong?”
Well, there was no point in putting it off. “It’s Arthur.”
He waited for a response at that, but Lancelot just waited, nodding slightly at Merlin’s pause.
“It’s just– I know he’s been stressed with everything happening, but–” Merlin exhaled sharply. “You haven’t noticed anything off with him?”
Lancelot seemed to think for a moment before shaking his head. “He has been a little harsher lately–”
“Yes! That,” Merlin cut in. His chest eased. Maybe Lancelot would understand after all. “Tell me, what’s the worst thing he’s said?”
But Lancelot only looked confused. “I– Merlin, it was only some extra training and a few comments,” he said. “Nothing that would truly upset any of us—apart from Gwaine, maybe.”
Merlin could feel his face fall. Was it just with him, then? Why hadn’t anyone else had to deal with it?
“Why?” Lancelot asked, voice tightening. “What has he said to you?”
Merlin laughed bitterly as his anger returned to him. “Oh, just that my mother is a peasant whore who couldn’t even do him the favor of raising me properly.”
Lancelot’s face darkened. “He said what?”
If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d say Lancelot was even angrier than him. But that couldn’t be right. The other knights said that he was testing Arthur too much so–
“You know none of that is true,” Lancelot insisted.
“You think he’s wrong?”
Hurt flashed across Lancelot’s face. “Of course I think he’s wrong, Merlin,” he said, his eyes softening. “Don’t tell me I’ve given you reason to think I would say otherwise.”
“No, no, you haven’t,” Merlin sputtered. “It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
Merlin winced. He felt like a child tattling to an adult. “The other knights thought I might have been at fault.”
Lancelot’s expression twisted. He looked like someone had struck him. “What?”
“They just said I should cut him some slack. Even Gwaine.”
“Gwaine,” Lancelot deadpanned. “The man who has repeatedly committed treason against Arthur in your name.”
Merlin shrugged. “I was as surprised as you are.”
“That can’t be right.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lancelot.”
As confusing as this was, it was also a relief. At least there was one person in this Gods-forsaken kingdom who wasn’t defending Arthur.
“Well, I certainly know what I’m going to tell them when I next see them,” Lancelot muttered, more angry than Merlin had seen since Gwen was taken. He took Merlin by the arm suddenly. “Which is now. Let’s go.”
Now?
“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea–”
But Lancelot was already pulling him out of the servants’ quarters and toward the armory.
-
This was decidedly not what Merlin had expected to get out of this. He'd hoped Lancelot would be on his side, yes, but he didn't think he would drag him to face the knights now.
Then again, this was Lancelot—chivalry incarnate. Maybe he should've expected it.
As they opened the doors to the armory, Merlin was surprised to only see his current least favorite knights talking and laughing. Probably a coincidence. Still, Merlin gave Lancelot a sideways look.
The knights' smiles turned strained the moment they saw him. Merlin’s stomach dropped, taking what little lightheartedness he had with it.
Great.
"Lancelot," Percival said. "You've found him, thank you–"
"No." Lancelot's voice was hard. "Excuse me, sirs, but please allow me to speak my piece before you say anything. I'd like to clear something up."
Gwaine looked a little perturbed at Lancelot's tone, but mostly the knights just seemed confused. Were they that convinced they were right? Or had they already decided Merlin wasn’t worth defending?
Leon nodded. "Of course, Lancelot. Go on."
Lancelot glanced back at Merlin briefly. He had entered the room in front of him in a protective stance. Merlin wasn't scared of the knights actually hurting him—he could always defend himself, after all—but still. It was a nice gesture.
"It's come to my attention," Lancelot began, "that you lot believe Merlin to be at fault for the terrible things Arthur has said to him?”
Elyan furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry?"
You should be, Merlin almost echoed. He bit his tongue.
"Mate, I don't think any of us know what you're talking about," Gwaine said slowly, leaning back on the table behind him.
Now they were denying it?
"Seriously?"
The room shifted. All eyes turned to Merlin now.
"Merlin, why would we say something like that?" Leon asked earnestly. "Everyone has been stressed these past few weeks, so no one would blame you for what Arthur's said–"
"Why are you lying?"
Merlin caught a flash of something cross Lancelot’s face—shock, yes, but not so much at him. At the words being said, maybe?
Percival stood straighter. "We’re not. And I could ask you the same, Merlin."
"None of us would say anything like that," Elyan said.
Sweet merciful– there was no way this was real.
"Tch, of course he would make something like that up," Gwaine spat. "He's got nothing to do now that Arthur's tired of him."
Merlin flinched before he could stop himself. Gwaine? Again? Lancelot caught the movement and turned toward him, frowning slightly.
"What?" Merlin snapped. "You think I'm lying now, too?"
"No, no, Merlin, just–" Lancelot looked like he was thinking. Hard. "Why did you flinch at what he said?"
Oh, so now he was sensitive, too. Overdramatic and a liar. Perfect.
His face must've shut down, because Lancelot quickly continued speaking. "I don't think you would make something like this up. But I don't believe these men to be liars, either." He glanced at the four knights. "I just want to figure out what's going on."
"I don't think it's that complicated–"
"Merlin, please."
…
Curse Lancelot for being so genuine.
Merlin sighed. "Fine. What."
“I believe,” Lancelot said, surveying everyone in the room, “there’s a discrepancy between what’s being said… and what you’re hearing.”
Merlin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
What was Lancelot on about? Merlin thought he was supposed to be on his side.
“So I’m– what, going mad?” Merlin asked with growing incredulity. “Hearing things now?”
But when he looked back at the knights’ faces, it wasn’t anger or superiority he found.
Only worry. Concern. Enough of it to make his throat close up.
“No one said you were mad, Merlin,” Leon said quietly.
Percival nodded. “No, but I think it’s obvious enough that it doesn’t need to be said.”
Merlin’s heart sank. Obvious? His eyes widened in hurt and disbelief. He couldn’t do this twisting of words, this pretending. What was the point of any of it–
“There,” Lancelot cut in. “What do you think he– no. What did you hear him say just now?”
“What everyone else heard him say–”
“Humor me.”
“He said it was obvious I was mad.” Merlin scoffed. “That it didn’t even need to be said.”
Gwaine blinked. “He didn’t say that, Merlin.”
Merlin turned on him with a renewed fury. “What is with you guys and–”
“No, Merlin, he’s telling the truth.” Lancelot looked at him earnestly. “That’s not what he said.”
Merlin spun back around and stared. “You’re saying I’m making it up?”
“No,” Lancelot said gently. “I’m saying you heard something that wasn’t said.”
“That’s the same thing,” Merlin snapped.
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it, huh?” His voice cracked. “A curse? Sleep deprivation? Maybe I am going mad.”
“Merlin–”
He retreated a step. “No. I don’t– I can’t do this right now.”
Percival looked solemn—sad, even. Elyan shifted, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how. Leon looked visibly pained. And Gwaine, he could tell, was furious.
Yet none stopped him as he turned to walk out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lancelot make a move to grab his arm, but hesitate.
Merlin didn’t look back.
Only Arthur’s voice echoed in his mind.
Your whore of a mother could have at least taught you how to be useful—
Before sending you off to plague my life.
-
Merlin didn’t sleep well that night. Not that he’d been sleeping much at all lately, but this was considerably worse. He spent hours tossing and turning—trying to push away Arthur’s words, the knights’ faces, Gaius’s quiet questions.
Overall, Merlin wasn’t exactly looking forward to going to work the next day. He got ready in a haze, not even speaking to anyone until lunch.
But the castle moved on as always. Despite Arthur mentioning he was more than a servant—once, before all of this had happened—he had the same duties as everyone else.
He didn’t know why he’d ended up in the laundry of all places, but Gwen had found him quickly. She always did.
“Thank the Gods things are finally calming down,” Gwen said, smiling softly as she handed Merlin a folded tunic. “I don’t know how you managed when Arthur was like that.”
Merlin paused. “‘Was’?”
“Well, yes.” Gwen tilted her head as she looked at him. “He’s been more himself these past couple days now that tensions have lessened. Said he’s been worried about you, actually.”
Merlin blinked at her. Worried. About him. Right.
“He said that.” His voice held more disbelief than he wanted it to.
Gwen nodded. “He thinks you’ve been quiet. Jittery. I couldn’t believe my ears when he said he missed your ‘incessant jabbering’.” She gave him a kind look. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
A week ago, the answer would’ve come easy. But Merlin was exhausted—mentally and physically. He’d already tried opening up to Lancelot yesterday, and hadn’t that gone well. Forgive him if he wanted to keep at least one relationship stress-free.
“Of course, Gwen,” he said, plastering on a smile as he put away the last undershirt. “Always.”
-
He couldn’t avoid Arthur for long.
Merlin wasn’t sure why he thought he might be able to. Maybe he’d hoped Arthur really had tired of him for the day—hell, the whole week. But that would be the worst case scenario. That would mean Arthur was done with him. That would break him.
So. Not thrilled about whatever was behind this door. But it was his duty, after all.
He knocked twice, waited a moment, then slipped into the throne room. It was darker than usual—the sun had set hours ago, but the torches struggled to burn. Their flames cast long, flickering shadows across the stone. As if being alone with Arthur wasn’t unsettling enough.
Speaking of which, just where was the man?
“Merlin.”
Question answered.
Arthur sat at the head of the table as he always did. The light of the flames didn’t reach him, leaving him covered in shadow. Not even his golden hair stood out against the dark throne.
Merlin forced himself to step forward. “You asked for me, sire?”
What once began as a sarcastic joke now came without thought. Whenever he addressed Arthur, “sire” rolled off the tongue, often more cautiously than not.
Arthur sighed, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. Merlin still couldn’t see what facial expression he was making.
“Say, Merlin,” he said, “I confide in you about most of my troubles, don’t I?”
Right… that was not what Merlin was expecting him to say.
“Um, I would say so, sire.”
“Then what’s stopping you from doing the same?”
Merlin didn’t quite understand what was happening right now. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t act dumb, Merlin,” Arthur sneered. “As much as I may declare otherwise, we both know you’re a little smarter than that.”
“Arthur, seriously, what are you talking about?” Merlin asked. He didn’t even realize he’d dropped the title until the words had left his mouth. Something about this conversation was strange and… nostalgic enough for him to revert back to their old ways of speaking.
Arthur abruptly stood from his throne with a yell. “Enough! You thought you could hide this from me? You did hide it—from me? For years?”
This was spiraling into dangerous territory. The kind that meant fleeing Camelot—his friends, his home, Arthur.
But no, he couldn’t be talking about that, could he? Merlin had been careful. So careful. Yes, there were moments—slips—but Arthur never noticed! He wasn’t talking about that. He couldn’t be, right? Right?
“You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur said, his voice barely audible. “And you’ve been using magic since the day you arrived in Camelot.”
…
No.
No, that wasn’t–
…
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t know. Merlin would’ve–
Since the day he–
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
The room swayed. His lungs felt like they were folding in on themselves.
He couldn’t. He–
He wasn’t meant to find out like this.
“Nothing to say? Perhaps a pyre should suffice for your crimes against this kingdom.”
His feet were running before the words fully sank in.
Merlin didn’t know where he was going—not really. He knew this castle like the back of his hand. But that meant Arthur did, too. There was nowhere he could run. Nowhere he wouldn’t be found. Not with guards. Not with Arthur coming and–
He coughed, choking on air. His breaths were coming too fast—he could tell—but he had no time to stop, no time to calm down. Arthur’s bewildered voice called his name from the throne room, followed by the slam of doors.
Footsteps pounded behind him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear they were gaining on him. Merlin clumsily wiped at his eyes, vision blurred with tears, and took a sharp left.
He needed to go. His things were in Gaius’s– no, no time. He had to leave now.
He’d send a letter later—maybe. Did he really want to make Gaius choose sides?
Another cough wracked his chest. He stumbled, and the voice behind him called out in warning.
“Stop running!”
He wheezed out his next breath in panic. That was much closer than before. He’d never make it out of the castle by himself—not with guards at Arthur’s beck and call. He’d have to– have to use magic. But he had to be out of sight, first.
After another misstep, Merlin’s eyes locked onto the door to the servants’ storage closet. It didn’t have a lock, but he could fix that.
Merlin all but ran into the door as he flung it open, throwing himself inside and slamming it shut. A quick incantation spilled from his lips—no one could open it now. No one but him.
He sank to the floor and ran a trembling hand through his hair.
Okay. Okay. This was fine. He just had to get himself out of here and–
“Merlin, open the door!”
His breath caught on the incantation—still sputtering out in gasps and wheezes from the run, from the panic. A whine escaped his throat as he pressed his fists to the cold floor.
Arthur’s tone was kind. Gentle. But his words were nothing of the sort. “You can’t run from this, Merlin. Crimes must be paid for.”
Merlin’s words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “Stop, stop, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’ll leave– I promise you’ll never see me again just–”
His chest heaved with unbidden sobs. He didn’t want to leave. Gods, that was the last thing he wanted. But there was one thing he feared more.
“Please, I don’t want to burn, Arthur.”
“Admit it, then.” Arthur’s voice was barely audible.
“I–” He coughed again, throat raw.
“Admit what you are, Merlin.”
So this was what he wanted. What was the point if he’d already found out?
One last thing.
At least Merlin could do one last thing for him before leaving.
“I’m a sorcerer,” he whispered. “But I swear, Arthur, it was only ever for you. I only ever used it for you, you have to believe me–"
The door opened.
The door… opened?
Suddenly, Arthur was standing there before him. Merlin tilted his head up—Arthur’s eyes were wide. Worried. Concerned. But that wasn’t right. Why would Arthur be concerned about him now that he–
Arthur dropped to his knees and took Merlin by the shoulders. “Gods, Merlin, are you alright? What happened–”
Merlin gasped sharply and flinched hard, but not far enough to rid himself of Arthur’s hold. He couldn’t do this back and forth anymore—between friend and foe, warmth and fear. It wasn’t right. It would’ve been better for Arthur to just–
“Get on with it already.”
The words came out before he could think twice, quiet and resigned.
But Arthur only looked confused—a bit offended, really. “Merlin, what on earth are you talking about?” he said. “You need to calm down. Here, let me–”
“No!” Merlin yelled, voice cracking. “Don’t do that. Stop it. It’s cruel.”
Arthur didn’t let go. His hands tightened, grounding Merlin with the pressure.
Sweet merciful–
“Why are you doing this?” Merlin cried, chest heaving. “I know you’re going to kill me, so just do it–”
Arthur yanked him forward, and for one terrifying second, Merlin thought it had begun—that this was it. But then there was a hand on his head, one around his back, and he realized Arthur was hugging him.
“I would never put you on the pyre,” Arthur whispered fiercely, his arms tightening. “Never.”
“But, you just– you just said–”
“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.” Arthur paused, breathing deeply. “I don’t know what you heard, but I promise it’s not true.”
Not this again.
“No,” Merlin pleaded. He struggled in Arthur’s grip, but it held fast. “I’m not crazy, stop it–”
“I know, I know,” Arthur said. “This isn’t your fault. Lancelot spoke to me yesterday.”
His eyes were wet, and his chest still from how hard he’d been breathing—but at that, he slumped in Arthur’s hold.
“What did he say?” he rasped.
Arthur let out a quiet hum, adjusting his grip around Merlin. “First, he made sure I hadn’t said what you told him I did. Honestly, I think he might’ve killed me if I had, prince or not.”
Merlin’s breath hitched at the reminder of those words—Arthur quickly continued. “Once that was out of the way, he told me he’d just come from Gaius’s chambers.” His voice gentled. “They were talking about a curse. On you, Merlin.”
Oh.
Yes.
Of course.
Merlin didn’t know what was more humiliating: that he’d been cursed without realizing—or that he’d doubted his friends’ honor and lashed out before considering the possibility.
He was supposed to be Emrys, Gods above, and he couldn’t even tell the difference between magic and reality. He’d been awful to everyone lately when they hadn’t done anything wrong. Sweet merciful, the knights probably hated him–
“Hey now, none of that,” Arthur said. Something must have shown on Merlin’s face. “Just listen for once, hm?”
Stupid. All of this. He’d worked himself up over words no one had even said.
“It was a curse, Merlin. You’re not to blame.”
Had he said that out loud?
“You did.”
Right.
Merlin pulled back slightly—just enough to actually see Arthur’s face. He roughly wiped at his eyes with steadier hands than before. “Fine, but why is it that I’m not hearing it now? You seem normal enough.”
“Well,” Arthur said slowly. “Gaius thinks it was trying to get you to admit something. My best guess is your magic.”
His magic?
His… magic.
Oh no.
He’d admitted it.
Because of a curse. Not trust. Not choice. A curse. How stupid could he be–
“Merlin, stop, it’s alright!”
How could it be alright?
The curse didn’t matter anymore. This Arthur knew. The real Arthur knew. And now Merlin had to leave. Because he couldn’t even realize he’d been cursed–
“I already knew, Merlin!”
He knew and now it was–
…
Already?
“Yes, already,” Arthur said. “I’ve known for years. I just hoped you’d tell me yourself. Can’t say I expected it to happen like this, though.”
None of this made sense.
“And you’re not– you don’t–”
“Want to kill you? Not anymore than usual, Merlin.”
Oh.
Well that was a relief.
A laugh bubbled up out of Merlin’s throat before he could stop it.
“Hey, what–”
“I was so worried,” Merlin said. This didn’t feel real. “Terrified. For years. And you’re just– you’re fine with it.”
Arthur looked apprehensive—the same face he made whenever Merlin said something “wise”, according to him. “Yes, I’m– why are you surprised?”
“You despise magic. You’ve never gone against your father’s words.”
“Okay, that’s not fair. I helped Mordred get out of Camelot–”
“I knew about Morgana. I could’ve helped her—stopped her from becoming what she is.”
“Morgana is… she made her own choices. I don’t think–”
“What if I turn out to be just like her, hm? I could betray you, destroy Camelot, and–”
“Merlin, enough.” Arthur gave him a firm shake. “Just shut up. My turn to talk now.”
Oh, this prat–
“Let me lay this out, because clearly you’re not listening.” Arthur huffed. “One: you are a sorcerer—have been since the day I met you. Two: I don’t care. I have nothing against a magic user who hasn’t done me wrong. You haven’t done me wrong, have you?”
Merlin smiled for the first time in days. “You mean besides dragging you out of bed each morning?”
Arthur smiled too—tight-lipped and full of long-suffering. His grip on Merlin’s shoulders tightened in irritation, just shy of bruising. “Yes, Merlin. Besides that.” He sighed, glancing down at the floor beneath them. “Now that’s out of the way, get up. My knees are killing me, and you look like hell.”
Merlin scoffed. “I think I get a pass.”
“And Gwaine calls me princess,” Arthur muttered. He finally let go and stood, brushing himself off before offering Merlin his arm.
Merlin accepted it with a quiet groan as his knees cracked. Once he was up, Arthur reached for his face, holding it steady as he looked him over. He wiped away the tear tracks with both thumbs, then gave a short, satisfied nod.
“Right, let’s go. I’m sure they’re all worried sick.”
Arthur opened the door easily, and the two stepped out of the cramped, stifling space into the cooler hall.
“Wait.”
Arthur paused, turning back with a confused—maybe slightly concerned—look. “What is it?”
“The door,” Merlin said. “It was enchanted. How did you get in?”
He’d used the strongest incantation he knew. Desperation did that to a person.
But Arthur only shrugged. “Your magic’s never worked on me properly, anyway.”
Huh.
Arthur faced forward and began walking to the armory. Merlin stared after him.
Weird.
“Wait.”
He turned again, more exasperated this time. “Gods, Merlin, what now?”
“You said ‘they’. Who’s they?”
Arthur rolled his eyes fondly before stepping back to grab Merlin by the wrist. “Who else, moron?” Then he dragged Merlin toward the armory.
-
He supposed he should’ve expected it the second time.
Upon arriving at the armory, Merlin was again greeted with his “least favorite knights”, plus Lancelot this time. He really owed them an apology.
Gwaine was the first to spot him. His eyes widened—then he ran forward and wrapped Merlin in a hug so tight it knocked the air out of him.
“Don’t scare us like that, you idiot,” he whispered.
“Relax, Gwaine,” Elyan said with a soft laugh. “He’s not going anywhere. Give him a little space.”
Merlin hugged him back tightly and gave a small nod. That seemed to be enough, and Gwaine released his hold, though he kept one arm slung around Merlin’s shoulders.
“No chance,” Gwaine said. “He’s stuck with me for the next month, minimum.”
Percival stepped forward. “For once, I agree with you.”
“Fantastic,” Arthur muttered. “A troop of knights trailing after a servant while he does his chores. Just the image I want for Camelot.”
Leon raised his hands placatingly, though to whom Merlin was unsure. “What everyone means is that we’re glad you’re alright, Merlin.”
Merlin nearly smiled at that, until he caught Lancelot’s eye from the sword rack. Lancelot—who had been the one to hear Merlin out, who’d first realized something might be off. And how had Merlin repaid him? With snark and fear and distrust.
“I–”
“It’s okay, Merlin,” Lancelot said gently. “It’s not your fault.”
People kept saying that.
“No, that’s not true. Part of it is.” When many mouths opened to oppose, Merlin quickly continued. “Just let me speak. Please?”
They looked hesitant, specifically Gwaine, but ultimately nodded.
“Go on, Merlin,” Leon said.
Now or never, he supposed.
“I was awful to all of you,” Merlin said, voice low but steady. “You didn’t deserve that. I doubted your honor and friendship before thinking something else could be at play. That wasn’t fair.”
None of them broke eye contact. Merlin let out a quiet laugh. “Which, quite honestly, is a bit rich coming from me—considering I’ve been hiding something from all of you.”
He glanced at Lancelot again, who nodded in encouragement. Then—Arthur, who was watching him intently.
“I… have magic. Born with it actually.” He looked back at Lancelot quickly. “Don’t know if I mentioned that bit.”
“Gaius thinks the curse made me hear—well, basically what I expected you lot would say if you knew about my magic.”
Arthur nodded solemnly in confirmation.
“Lancelot’s known for a while. Apparently, Arthur has, too,” Merlin muttered. “I didn’t know that, though. Probably would’ve saved us a lot of trouble if I had.”
Arthur huffed at that. Merlin pressed on. “I understand if you’re upset—about the magic, about me not telling you. Either. Both.” He took a breath. “But I am sorry. Truly.”
Still no one spoke. But Lancelot was smiling softly, and something in Merlin eased.
“I figured,” Gwaine quipped from Merlin’s side. He’d forgotten he was there.
Merlin turned to look at him. “You… figured?”
Gwaine simply rolled his eyes. “When a dwarf blatantly calls your friend the Magic of Courage, Strength, and Magic, you start to wonder.”
“Gwen’s had her suspicions,” Elyan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Doesn’t bother me either way.”
Leon hummed. “Arthur’s spoken with me about it. I may serve Uther, but his views are not my own.”
Oh. Another relief.
“So I’m the only one who didn’t know?” Percival asked with a small laugh. “Not that I mind, just—good to know.”
“I don’t think I need to say anything,” Lancelot said, walking toward them. He rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you trust us. No one’s going to tell.”
Merlin let out a small laugh, and what little tension remained disappeared entirely.
Arthur sighed, clearly relieved, and stepped up beside Merlin. “Right, now that’s settled, can we get on with this already? I have meetings to attend.”
Merlin frowned. “Get on with what?”
“You showing us, obviously,” Gwaine laughed, tightening his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Come on, I want to see!”
Lancelot let his hand drop and crossed his arms. “We’ll have to go into the forest, no?”
“I believe the hunting grounds should work,” Leon reasoned. “They’ll be empty at this hour.”
“Can’t he just teleport us there?” Percival asked.
Elyan elbowed him in the side. “That’s not how it works, moron.”
Technically, Merlin could probably try. They didn't need to know that, though.
“Not so bad, hm?” Arthur murmured from beside him.
Merlin huffed a laugh. “No, it’s awful. I’ll never get a moment’s peace again.”
“Nah.” Arthur ruffled his hair. “Better to stay busy, though.”
Merlin glanced around. Percival and Elyan were still arguing over the logistics of teleportation. Lancelot and Leon debated directions. Gwaine was trying to rush them all out the door. Then there was Arthur, eyebrow raised in that smug way of his.
“You offering to cut down my chores?” Merlin asked as they started walking toward the forest.
Arthur scoffed, giving him a light shove. “Don’t push it.”