Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur grinned to himself. Why had he never thought of this before? This was a fantastic idea. Even the knights had agreed. 

He was getting Merlin drunk.

The man was always in the tavern, apparently, so he had to be able to hold his liquor. Arthur wanted to test that.

In order to get Merlin drunk, first he had had to get him to the tavern; it hadn’t been that hard, just a few well-placed jabs at his masculinity and one at his inability to hold his drink, and then the Round Table knights, Arthur, and Merlin were seated in the tavern, tankards in their hands. 

The first step in getting Merlin drunk was to get him drinking the hard stuff, instead of the honey cider Arthur noticed he preferred. This, too, had been fairly simple for Arthur - he bet Gwaine that Merlin wouldn’t play a drinking game with him, and Gwaine had immediately taken the bait and goaded Merlin into joining in. Each time someone said any one else’s name, they both had to take a shot; unfortunately for Merlin, everyone had heard the game’s rules, and started referring to each other by name nearly constantly.

To Arthur’s surprise, it seemed like Merlin had actually quite low alcohol tolerance for somebody so close to Gwaine, never mind how often he was theoretically in the tavern. Maybe that was why he favored the cider, Arthur mused. 

Merlin was currently sitting on the edge of the table like a little kid, swinging his legs back and forth, telling some story Arthur had lost the plot of, involving a statue of a dog. He kept impressing upon the knights how important his mission had been - the entire fate of Camelot had rested on him getting this giant stone dog up the stairs to Gaius’ chambers, apparently - and waving his arms about madly, ale sloshing from his cup. “Gwen helped,” Merlin slurred, “‘cause she’s,” he hiccuped, “nice like that. Gwen is really nice, isn’t she?” This was met with general agreement from his captive audience. 

Arthur, pleasantly buzzed himself, even went so far as to raise his own mug in a sort of half toast. “Here, here.”

Merlin nodded at him. “We finally got it up the stairs, and -” he broke off into laughter “- you should have seen the look on G- Gaius’ face!” He fell over, toppling off the table onto the floor, spilling his ale all over himself and seeming not to care. He popped right back up again, still grinning, before launching into another story, beginning with, “Of course, that was nothing compared to the time I brought in a live   dog -”

Arthur smiled into his tankard. It made good blackmail material to watch Merlin like this, and was incredibly amusing. It had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t seen Merlin laugh like that in weeks, absolutely not. Just blackmail material. 

The night continued, everyone in the tavern becoming more and more drunk, and Merlin becoming more and more incoherent. His stories had more holes in them, and lots of things that didn’t add up. Arthur would have called B.S. on a few of them if he hadn’t actually been there for parts of them. 

It was when the tavern kicked them out (with apologies to Arthur, as he was the king, but a firm insistence that he ought to be getting back to the castle anyway, Arthur left without a fuss) and the knights went to their quarters that things got really weird. Arthur, apparently with a much higher alcohol tolerance than Merlin, was practically carrying Merlin up the stairs to Gaius’ chambers, when Merlin, in the middle of a story Arthur hadn’t actually caught a word of, tugged him into a side hallway Arthur had never been to. He assumed it must be a servant’s passage.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, “what are you doing? We need to get you to bed.”

“Shh.” Merlin giggled - actually giggled - and put a finger over Arthur’s mouth to keep him quiet. “I wanna... show you something.”

“You can show me in the morning, Merlin,” Arthur said exasperatedly, pushing Merlin’s hand away.

“No, now,” Merlin insisted. “‘Ll… be quick.”

Arthur threw up his hands. “Okay, fine, hurry up.”

Merlin grinned. “‘S cool, I promise.” He cupped his hands together in front of him, as if he were holding a small ball. Suddenly, his eyes flashed gold.

Sorcery.

Arthur was dimly aware that he had fallen to the floor, but couldn’t be bothered to care. Merlin had just used magic. Merlin had just used magic. Hellfire, Merlin had just used magic. 

Merlin released his hands, and for a moment, Arthur forgot that he had just used magic, because fluttering up from where Merlin’s hands had just been was a large, blue butterfly. That was glowing. 

“Jus’ learned how to do that, the other day,” Merlin said proudly. 

Arthur felt faint. Under the tumult at the front of his mind screaming sorcery and betrayal, he noted that of course that’s what Merlin would do with magic. Create a butterfly. How utterly Merlin.

There were too many thoughts swirling in his head. What was he supposed to do now? Call for the guards, have Merlin executed? The very thought made him sick. But how else was he supposed to react? Merlin was committing treason! Right in front of him! And he was clearly proud of it! He was grinning, waiting for some response, for some approval of his little trick, of his disgusting, evil spell -

But it wasn’t disgusting and evil, was it? It was a butterfly. Just a butterfly (a glowing one, but just a butterfly), floating gently in the air, shining a color blue that Arthur could swear he’d seen before, but not one that he could place. Not the sky, or the sea, or the flowers in the gardens. Something different. Something that lit the dark unlike anything else he had ever seen.

“You ‘kay, Arthur?” Merlin slurred, stepping forward and swaying alarmingly to one side. 

“Not really,” Arthur managed, voice quiet, throat tight. Something was burning in his eyes, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He didn’t care.

Merlin tilted his head to one side. “Why not?”

Gods, what did he even say to that? You’re my best friend and you just broke the laws I’ve sworn to uphold, or You’ve been lying to me for ten years or Because you’re evil, but you’re not, you’re Merlin, you’re brave and kind and wise and my best friend and my brother and you’ve betrayed me. So Arthur just stood there, mouth slightly open, salt stinging in his eyes, throat tighter than it had been since his father died. 

“I’ss pretty dark in here,” Merlin observed. “Is that the problem? I can fix that!” Merlin’s eyes lit up again, not just with the telltale glow of magic, but the genuinely kind and happy excitement Merlin always showed when he knew he could fix a problem for Arthur. Arthur had always loved that look, loved what it stood for, loved what it meant coming from Merlin - he would have expected that adding the magical gold to the look would mar it forever, but it only gave it a sort of ethereal light, enhancing the look rather than ruining it. Suddenly, the corridor was filled with light, a soft, blue color the same shade as the butterfly. 

Arthur’s eyes were immediately drawn to its source, a silvery blue orb in Merlin’s outstretched hand. 

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. He knew that orb. 

He knew that orb, and that’s the only place he had ever seen that shade of blue. That orb had saved his life. He knew that it was the same orb, the same magic, the same caster, the same way he knew that it wasn’t evil, in the deepest part of his soul. 

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. He hadn’t noticed that the last time he had seen it; he’d been too focused on remaining alive to really care what it was that had saved his life (especially once he recognized it as clearly magical in origin).

Merlin grinned, finally flopping down on the floor next to where Arthur had fallen at some point. “Isn’t it? You can touch it, if you want.”

Arthur’s eyes flew from the orb to Merlin’s own. Merlin wasn’t scared at all; he had just shown magic to the king of Camelot, and he wasn’t scared at all. To the contrary, he looked as happy and relaxed as Arthur had ever seen him, if not more. 

Slowly, Arthur inched his hand toward the glowing orb. The light didn’t feel like anything, but the moment his fingertips touched the air where it coalesced into its spherical shape, Arthur gasped, overwhelmed. 

It felt… he felt… so much. There was so much there, things Arthur had never imagined. There was the tingly, dizzy feeling Arthur associated with magic, but there was so much more underneath. A fierce protectiveness, a vigilant determination that had Arthur digging the fingers of his other hand into his own leg at its strength and volume. A warm, welcoming feeling of caring, like Arthur had just been subjected to the largest bear hug in the history of Camelot. An intense loyalty, a stalwart dependability and ardent trustworthiness. A friendly, amused sort of feeling, like he was laughing himself breathless at a comrade’s antics, or his own sense of mischief. A sure, deep rooted trust, a conviction that took his breath away in its firmness. And, overpowering it all, a feeling of such fondness, adoration, and devotion… of love. It was wonderful, more positive emotions than Arthur had ever felt at one time, and  each and every one positively screamed Merlin.

It took Arthur several minutes, minutes of staring at the orb, overcome completely, crying softly in emotion, to come back to himself. 

“What was that?” he whispered, despite the fact that he was pretty sure he knew exactly what it was: a manifestation of Merlin himself, and specifically what Merlin felt… for him.

“What was what?” whispered Merlin, just as quietly. His eyes seemed a little less glassy now than they had been a few minutes ago, and he seemed a little more coherent, although clearly not enough to really recognize what had just happened. 

“That,” said Arthur, waving his hand in the general direction of the orb.

“That? I ‘unno,” said Merlin, shrugging. “Jus’... jus’ something I thought would make you feel better.”

“It worked,” said Arthur, with a small, watery laugh.

Merlin grinned. “Good. I don’t like it when you’re sad. It makes me sad.”

“That’s what having friends does,” Arthur tried to joke, but it fell flat, even to him. 

Merlin shook his head. “Nuh uh. I have friends. I have lots of friends. I don’t like it when they’re sad, but it’s different when you’re sad or upset. It feels…” Merlin frowned. “It makes my magic sad,” he concluded, like that was a totally normal sentence. 

What the hell? “Does your m…” he still couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word aloud. “Does it often feel stuff on its own?” Arthur had never heard of anything like that. 

“Only about you,” said Merlin, as if that made the whole thing any less freaking weird. Merlin shifted to one side, head falling onto Arthur’s shoulder. If it were anybody else, any other night, any other time or circumstance, Arthur would have pushed him off in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it once Merlin uttered his next words. “You make my magic feel nice. You make me feel happy, and safe. Like a warm blanket. Like… like family,” Merlin yawned. 

Arthur felt tears prick his eyes again. Gods, he felt like a teenage girl. But he couldn’t deny that what Merlin said felt good. Not only that, it felt… familiar. Sometimes, Arthur felt upset for no reason, only to find out later that Merlin had been struggling that day, too; and he always felt better when Merlin was around. Like he was safe. Even when they were tied up and captured by slave traders or maniacal sorcerers, if Merlin was there, he was okay. 

Arthur looked down at Merlin’s head, still on his shoulder. His eyes were closed, and his mouth slightly open. For a moment, Arthur felt a spark of indignation - Merlin had fallen asleep on him! - but he softened almost immediately. Honestly, Merlin had the right idea. It was very late, and Arthur was tired. He decided to rest his eyes for a moment, just a moment, and the next thing he knew was the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Chapter Text

“Sire.”

Arthur groaned and turned his head away from the voice. He didn’t want to get up. He was comfortable right where he was. 

“Sire, you need to get up.”

No, Arthur thought, he really didn’t. “Go ‘way, Merlin,” he said. 

“I’m not Merlin, sire, and you really need to get up,” said the voice. 

Not Merlin? Who else would be waking him up? Suddenly, Arthur jolted to full awareness. He was not in his bed, in his chambers. He was… on the floor? And what was laying on him - 

Merlin. Merlin was sprawled across him like a kid. Arthur shot up, frantically looking around. How the hellfire did they get here?

Gaius was standing above him, a worried look on his face. “Sire -”

“What happened?” asked Arthur, putting a hand to his throbbing head. Why did it - oh, right. He probably had a hangover. No wonder he felt like he’d been trampled by a horse. 

“Sire, you need to get to your rooms before a castle-wide search is started,” warned Gaius. 

“Why would that happen?” Arthur stared dumbly at the physician.

“Because Guinevere woke up and you were neither in your bed nor had it any signs of being slept in besides her, and nobody saw you come back to the castle last night. We’re half a candlemark from assuming you’ve been kidnapped and ringing the warning bells,” said Gaius severely. He scanned Arthur and Merlin once, then looked back at Arthur’s face. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, as if he were the one in charge and not Arthur (the king ), “now go find your wife.”

Oh, right. He should do that. Arthur stood up, carefully setting Merlin’s head on the ground below. Something felt different about Merlin now… but Arthur couldn’t place the feeling. It had to be something to do with accidentally falling asleep on each other.

 Arthur nodded once at Gaius, in which it was understood that Gaius would make sure Merlin got to his own room as well, before striding off in what he hoped was the direction to his chambers. He didn’t recognize this corridor at all. 

It took him a few minutes, but he managed to reorient himself and make his way to his chambers, where a harried Gwen was arguing with a guard. 

“I’m telling you, he wasn’t here last night! He could be hurt, or worse, and -”

“Do you want to cause a city-wide panic?”

“Well, no, but we have to find him!” said Gwen, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“That won’t be necessary,” said Arthur, putting as much authority as he could muster into the words (which was not a lot, in his hungover state, and not helped by sleeping on the stone floor).

“Arthur!” Gwen turned, eyes lighting up and shoulders drooping in relief. Arthur smiled at her. Gods, he loved that woman. 

“That will be all,” he said to the guard, taking Gwen’s hand and entering his chambers. 

“Arthur,” said Gwen worriedly, once they were in the room and the door was shut firmly behind them, “where were you? What happened?”

Arthur squinted against the sunlight coming in the window. He hated hangovers. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d drunk that much last night, but clearly he had. “I went to the tavern last night with the knights,” he started. “I…” it was kind of hard to remember. “I got Merlin drunk.”

Gwen stifled a laugh. “Okay, I don’t really see how this answers the question, but continue.”

“He kept… telling stories. I… sorry, it’s hard to really remember, I went a little overboard with the ale.” Gwen pursed her lips a little disappointedly, and Arthur felt a stab of guilt. What kind of a husband was he, going out and getting so drunk he couldn’t even explain to his wife why he didn’t come home last night? 

“We… We started back to the castle. The knights went back to their barracks, and I had to drag Merlin up stairs… a lot of stairs. We were almost to Gaius’ rooms, so I could drop Merlin off, when he…” Arthur frowned. The next few memories made no sense. Something about… magic. That couldn’t be right. “He pulled me into a servant’s corridor. Said he wanted to show me some trick.” His brow furrowed. The trick was magic. Merlin had conjured a butterfly. Why wasn’t he freaking out about that? He felt like he already had, he must have, but then how had they ended up sleeping on the floor together? “And then he collapsed on me,” he skipped ahead, after the butterfly, the pain, and… the orb. Huh. “I fell over. I think I must have hit my head, I don’t remember anything after that.”

Arthur’s insides twisted. He really didn’t like lying to Gwen, but he couldn’t just tell her Merlin was a sorcerer! That wasn’t his secret to tell, and besides, he couldn’t even be sure the butterfly and the magic weren’t just some crazy dream. 

A little voice protested; how could he think that was a dream? It was way too real, and besides, dreams didn’t come with that kind of sensation. 

Gwen frowned. “Maybe you should see Gaius, if you hit your head. That would explain your… discombobulation,” she said. 

Arthur nodded absently. “First, we have to make sure that the whole castle doesn’t think I was kidnapped,” he said.

“Or worse,” muttered Gwen with a scowl.

“Huh?”

“I’m fairly certain that guard thinks you cheated on me,” clarified Gwen, looking at the innocently closed door. 

“What?” Arthur stared at her. “I didn’t - I wouldn’t - that’s not - I would never -”

“Calm down,” Gwen laughed, putting her hand on his chest. “I know. I trust you. I’m just not sure that he’ll see it the way I do. Now, get changed and go see Gaius. I’ll handle it.”

“I love you,” said Arthur, brushing her hair out of her face. 

“You better,” teased Gwen. 

“I do,” he promised, kissing her gently. He smiled at her once again, before changing into clean clothes (yes, he could do that without Merlin, thank you very much) and slipping out to Gaius’ chambers. 

Arthur remembered to knock before he entered, and Gaius opened the door. “Yes?”

“I, uh… you wanted to talk about, er…”

Gaius nodded, and let him in. Arthur looked around, and couldn’t see Merlin, so he assumed he must be in his bedroom still. Taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs at the table, Arthur lowered his head into his hands. He idly wondered if Gaius had any hangover potion he’d be willing to give him, but dismissed the thought; this conversation was going to be hard enough without asking Gaius for help to fix a problem he put himself in. 

“Has Merlin woken up yet?” Arthur asked.

Gaius shook his head. “No. I expect he’ll be out for some time. If your hangover is any indication, I expect he rather overindulged last night.”

Arthur winced. Merlin was going to have a massive hangover when he woke up, and it was Arthur’s fault for getting him so drunk. He’d have a much nicer morning if he’d stuck with the cider he was going to drink if not for the drinking game Arthur had put Gwaine up to. “Don’t be too hard on him, Gaius. It’s mostly my fault.”

Gaius looked at him a little strangely, but Arthur didn’t care. If Arthur hadn’t dreamed up the butterfly, Merlin had a hell of a conversation waiting for him when he woke up, and needed any break he could get. Besides, Arthur just couldn’t find it in him to feel spiteful towards him after… whatever had happened when he touched the orb. 

“So, care to explain why you and Merlin were cuddled up in the servant’s hallway outside my chambers this morning?” Gaius asked.

“We were not cuddled up!” Arthur protested. “We just… fell asleep.”

“Yes, while cuddled up,” said Gaius, raising his eyebrow. He waved his hand dismissively. “Just… continue.”

Arthur rehashed what he had told Gwen, but paused after Merlin dragged him into the passage. “Gaius,” he began tentatively. How to ask? He knew that Gaius was rather sympathetic to sorcerers; he had been one, before the Purge, and had known where to find Dragoon to heal Uther. (Not that that had worked, but still.) On the other hand, he couldn’t just go accusing him willy-nilly of harboring one for ten years in the heart of Camelot. “What do you know about magic?”

Gaius looked incredibly surprised by the change of topic. “Er, rather a lot, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“Is it possible for magic to… make you feel things?” he asked.

Gaius looked increasingly confused. “Not in a true sense, no. It can’t conjure feelings from nothing. Things like love spells can create a sense of attraction or obsession, but not real love. It can amplify things that are already there, or twist them into something else, but on the whole, no.”

“What does magic feel like?” Arthur asked.

Gaius frowned. “Why are you asking me all these questions about magic? What happened after Merlin pulled you into the corridor?”

“Please, I’ll explain, just… humor me for a moment,” Arthur pressed.

Gaius sighed, and slumped down into the chair he was sitting in. “Well, I’m not quite sure what you mean by that. Magic is.. It depends on what type of magic it is, what its intention is. Dark magic feels… inherently wrong, like something has twisted and perverted the fabric of reality itself. It feels malevolent.”

“And magic that isn’t dark?” Arthur asked, although the very concept of magic that wasn’t evil would have eluded him only days before. 

“Generally,” Gaius continued hesitantly, “if you somehow felt it, which is much harder to do for someone that is not a sorcerer, it would feel like the intent of the person who cast it.”

Well, that settled it. There was no way Arthur could have made up being able to feel Merlin in his magic, not even subconsciously. Which meant that last night had actually happened. 

“Arthur, what happened?” Gaius asked seriously. 

Arthur sighed. “He said he wanted to show me a trick, something he just learned. And then he…” Arthur put his hands together in a little ball, like Merlin had, and then released them. “And there was… a butterfly.”

Gaius stared at him, a blank expression on his face. Under that expression, though, Arthur could see a spark of barely-concealed panic flare to life in his eyes. “A butterfly? Arthur, I think you may have hit your head, I should probably take a look -”

Arthur shook his head. “I did not hit my head, Gaius, and I wasn’t that drunk. I know what I saw. I know what Merlin did. I know it was… magic,” he whispered the last word. 

Gaius swallowed. “Now, sire,” he began.

Arthur shook his head again. “I don’t know what you’re going to say, but I don’t think you need to. I’m not going to hurt him.”

Gaius slumped in relief. “Good.”

“I just…” Arthur trailed off. How does he even say this? He knows Merlin wouldn’t betray him - any doubts he may have had had been erased by the orb last night - but… what if he had? What could possibly have possessed him to learn magic in Camelot if not treachery?

A sudden thought stopped him.

No. No, he couldn’t have. Not even Merlin was that stupid, was he? He couldn’t have learned magic in Camelot… to help Arthur? Gods, that was exactly the kind of idiotic thing that Merlin would do. 

“When?” he settled on. “When did he… why did he…?”

Gaius sighed. “He never had a choice, sire. He was born that way. Things were strange around him from the day he was born.”

Huh. Gaius was much better at talking around magic like it was normal and untreasonous than Arthur was. “Strange in what way?” 

Gaius shrugged nonchalantly, but his voice dropped in volume. “Floating objects, spontaneous candle lighting, birds and butterflies landing on the windowsills, to sing to him,” he listed. 

Arthur stared. Birds and butterflies singing to him? From the day he was born? Arthur couldn’t even imagine what that must be like. “Why did he come to Camelot, then?”

“For me,” said Gaius, “he couldn’t control it any more, and I was the only person that Hunith trusted to help him.”

“The only person that could help was the royal physician in the heart of Camelot?” asked Arthur in disbelief. There was some kind of deeper irony to that, but Arthur didn’t want to think too deeply into it. 

“Ealdor is in Cenred’s kingdom,” Gaius said, “and anyone suspected of that sort of illegal activity there is dragged away to serve in his army. They use magic to imprison and enslave them, unlike Camelot - if worst came to worst, Merlin could escape from Camelot. He wouldn’t have a chance in Cenrid’s kingdom.”

Arthur felt sick. Being arrested and burnt in Camelot was somehow a better option to Merlin than staying home?

“And with Merlin’s power under Cenrid’s restrictions and commands,” Gaius said, shaking his head, “all of Albion would be in peril.”

Arthur frowned. “Merlin’s power?” He was Merlin . He couldn’t even lift a mace, he couldn’t be that powerful.

“There are those who say that Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth,” said Gaius in a low, solemn voice.

Arthur’s eyes bulged out of his head. “What?”

“For example, you said there was a butterfly. A real one, not an image or illusion. That can’t happen, even with gifts of that ilk. It’s one of the first laws: a life cannot be created without one being destroyed. For the rest, I… It’s not my place to give you the details,” Gaius said. “It’s not my secret to share.”

Okay, that was just not fair. Arthur was about to say so when a noise came from the direction of the stairs to Merlin’s room. 

“Gaius, what happened? My head’s pounding, and I had the weirdest dream -” Merlin froze in the doorway, blue eyes fixed on Arthur. He tried to fix a smile on his face, but Arthur could tell he wasn’t happy to see him. Arthur felt kind of hurt by that; usually, Merlin’s face lit up when Arthur came by to Gaius’ rooms, as long as he didn’t assign him extra chores while he was there. “Hey, Arthur!” he said with false cheerfulness. 

“Merlin,” Arthur nodded. 

“What happened last night?” Merlin asked again. 

Arthur and Gaius exchanged looks. Clearly, Merlin did not remember revealing his magic. Could Arthur just pretend he didn’t know? That couldn’t be fair to the other man. But how was he supposed to broach the subject?

“Oh, that’s not good. What did I do?” Merlin groaned. “And I can’t be held responsible for any mildly treasonous things that I may or may not have said about our prat of a king. I was drunk. Don’t you dare put me in the stocks for that.”

“What you said was not the treasonous part,” Arthur muttered under his breath. He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose - his head hurt, darn it - and said, louder, “No, Merlin, I will not be putting you in the stocks. This time.”

“I can’t muck out the stables, either,” Merlin interjected quickly. “I did that yesterday, they’re hardly muckable in this state.”

“I’m not going to make you muck out the stables, either,” said Arthur tiredly.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Arthur?” Merlin joked. 

“Keep talking like that, and you’ll find out,” Arthur snapped.

Merlin frowned, and crossed the room to sit at the table with Arthur and Gaius. “Okay, what’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” Arthur tried to defend himself, but it felt transparent, even to him. He sighed, and gave up. “What do you remember from last night?”

Merlin shrugged. “We went to the tavern, got drunk. Made our way back here.” He seemed nonchalant, and Merlin was a good liar - a better one than Arthur gave him credit for - but Arthur knew him well, and there was something off. 

“Nothing else?” Arthur pressed.

“Well, I had a really weird dream,” said Merlin slowly.

“About?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his tone light. If only Merlin would just remember what he had done, the whole thing would be so much easier. 

“Dunno. Something about a glowing butterfly?” Merlin evaded.

“A glowing, blue butterfly?” asked Arthur, finally showing his hand, so to speak.

Merlin’s face drained of blood so quickly Arthur was almost afraid he might faint. The poor guy was whiter than Arthur had ever seen him, even when he was literally bleeding out, or close to it. Arthur suddenly wondered if this little game had really been the best idea.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, voice hoarse. 

“Hey, calm down,” said Arthur, noticing Merlin’s eyes darting to the door, as if mapping his best escape route. 

Merlin let out a wild, crazed laugh. “Ca -  calm down? I’m totally calm. Why wouldn’t I be calm?”

“Arthur,” said Gaius sharply. Arthur knew what Gaius meant - get it over with, stop torturing Merlin.

“I know,” Arthur said abruptly. “I know about your magic.”

One of the glass jars on Gaius’ shelves shattered in a rain of glass, and the hearth flamed to life. Arthur shielded his eyes and cursed loudly in surprise. 

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted. What else could it have been, after all, besides the scared sorcerer?

“Merlin! Keep a better handle on that!” scolded Gaius, as if such things exploding were an everyday occurrence. Perhaps they were, with Merlin, Arthur supposed; how was he to know? Apparently, he had not been privy to nearly as much of Merlin’s life as he had assumed. 

“Sorry, Gaius,” Merlin said, chagrined. His eyes flicked back to Arthur and his pallor - and panic - returned. “Now, uh, Arthur - er, sire - I - er…” he trailed off as what had just happened really set in. His breathing sped up again. He finally seemed to settle on a weak, “What?”

Arthur winced. He really hadn’t meant to cause such a reaction; he’d just wanted an explanation. “Last night, after we got drunk, I tried to help you get back to your chambers. You pulled me into a servant’s passage before we could get there, saying you had some trick to show me, after which you… conjured a glowing, blue butterfly.”

“Oh.” Merlin’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I see.” He was clearly still panicking, but he was keeping it under control for the moment. 

“I admit I… did not have the most kindly reaction. I kind of… freaked out,” admitted Arthur. 

“Sorry?” Merlin offered timidly. For a moment, his usual humor and teasing manner leaked into his words as he said, “Next time I accidentally reveal my biggest secret, I’ll try to use more tact.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur waved his hand. “I got over it. Mostly. Anyway, you asked if I was okay, to which the answer was a resounding no, and then did… something to make me ‘feel better.’ Which surprisingly, worked. Too well, given that we immediately fell asleep afterwards.”

Merlin had lost some of the crazed, panicky look in his eyes, replaced by vague confusion. “Um. Okay. What?” Merlin shook his head, as if to clear it. “What did I do?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Arthur evaded. At the twin glares Merlin and Gaius shot him, he sighed and relented. “You made an… orb of light. I touched it, and…” he trailed off, the tips of his ears burning. “It cheered me up,” he finally settled on. 

Merlin nodded slowly. “ þæm Sáwlum Beorhtum, ” he murmured to himself. “It must be.”

“Must be what?” Arthur questioned.

Merlin looked back up, as if he had forgotten Arthur was even there. “It’s not important,” he said.

“It is, actually,” said Arthur, annoyed. “Stop keeping secrets, telling me that things aren’t important, that I don’t need to know them!”

“I don’t!” snapped Merlin.

“Yes, you do!” said Arthur, much louder than he intended. “Maybe not in so many words, but you do! You do every time there was some assasination attempt or attack or magic going on that you knew everything about after the fact! Every time we went on patrol, random branches would fall on our enemies! Every time you used magic and didn’t even feel guilty about not telling your -” Arthur broke off, eyes stinging again. He tried to pretend to himself that he was going to say something like “King” or “liege lord” or “master,” but he knew he was going to say “best friend.” A few days ago, or last night, he would have named himself Merlin’s best friend in a heartbeat, but after learning that Merlin had kept such a large secret for so long… he wasn’t sure he was.

No , Arthur reminded himself. You know what you felt in that orb. You know you couldn’t have made that up, not with any amount of wishful thinking. 

“About not telling me,” Arthur finished weakly. 

Merlin looked down. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But…” he trailed off.

“I understand,” Arthur sighed heavily, dropping his head into his hands and surprising himself with the fact that he did, sort of at least, understand. “I probably wouldn’t have told me, either.” He smiled ruefully. “King of Camelot, and all that. Uther’s son.”

“ þæm Sáwlum Beorhtum,” Merlin repeated, “means the Soul Light. I… I didn’t know it was an actual thing, for a while, not just something I’d made up. It… it’s a kind of manifestation.”

“Of?” Arthur asked, glancing at Gaius, who didn’t seem to have any idea of what Merlin was saying any more than Arthur. 

Merlin grimaced uncomfortably, the tips of his ears burning bright red. “Well.” He coughed uneasily. “You, er, felt it last night. Souls, and… stuff.”

Arthur felt his own ears begin to burn. He had an inkling of where this was going, but he needed to know for sure. He made what he hoped was an encouraging noise. 

“Gods, okay, speaking of secrets, well,” Merlin scrubbed his hands over his face, and started blabbering, “we’re two halves of the same coin because you’re the Once and Future King and I’m Emrys and we’re destined to unite the five kingdoms under your rule and bring peace and a golden age to all of Albion, including the restoration of magic, and, well, we’re connected in some metaphysical way that I haven’t quite figured out but is basically summed up by the orb you mentioned.”

Arthur stared at the other man. “Say again.” There was no way he had heard that correctly. Once and Future King? Arthur thought he’d heard that somewhere before, but couldn’t for the life of him remember where. And what the hell was the rest of it supposed to mean, for that matter?

Merlin groaned, dragging his hands down over his face. “You’re the Once and Future King,” Merlin said, “which means… well, to be honest, I’m not quite sure - nobody seems to think that I need to hear the original prophecy, only interpretations -”

“Prophecy?” Arthur said, eyebrows shooting up. “Like… like Morgana’s dreams?”

“Very nearly,” said Gaius, “delivered to prophets of the Old Religion by the Triple Goddess herself, in a verbal format rather than the visual medium of Morgana’s dreams. Sometimes, they are easier to understand, sometimes more difficult.”

“Have you heard the prophecy the druids speak of?” Merlin asked.

Gaius shook his head. “The words of the prophets were a closely guarded secret. I was never entrusted with it, especially due to my closeness with Uther. I expect there are very few still alive who know even a fragment. Only the idea lives on, and now comes to pass through you two.”

Arthur was glad he was sitting down. “So what do you know? What does it mean?”

“You are destined to unite the five kingdoms -” a likely outcome, Arthur thought sarcastically “ - into one nation of Albion, bringing peace and prosperity to all. A golden age, if you will, which has been popularly interpreted to include the restoration of magic to the land,” said Gaius. 

Arthur stared into space for a moment. Huh. Uther must be spinning in his grave.

“Not just magic,” said Merlin, with a quiet solemnity. “More than that. Justice. Harmony.” He stopped, and his voice gained even more weight. “Balance.”

Arthur had a vague idea that the idea of balance was very important in the Old Religion - something about a life for a life, things like that - but he was still concerned about the prophecy. “What does Merlin have to do with it, then, if I’m some prophesied figure?”

“Merlin has just as many, if not more, prophecies about him as you do, sire,” Gaius said before Merlin could answer. “Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, as I said. He is more than a sorcerer - more than a warlock, even. He is magic itself.”

Arthur couldn’t help a shiver going down his spine at that. He wasn’t even sure what it meant, but it sounded incredibly important.

“I’m supposed to help you,” Merlin cut in. “Be your protector, your guardian, and your champion among the magical peoples.”

I’m gonna need one, Arthur thought, before he realized that he was thinking as if this was all irrefutable fact and that it was inevitable that he was going to try and open diplomatic relationships with magic users and required an ambassador - it wasn’t as if any sorcerer (besides Merlin, apparently)  was going to listen to the son of Uther Pendragon. 

“According to a… reliable source, we are two sides of the same coin. Connected,” said Merlin softly.

Arthur thought about that for a moment, and then something clicked. That ‘something about’ Merlin he’d felt from the beginning. The way Arthur sometimes just knew Merlin was in danger, and the way it was clear that Merlin always knew when Arthur was. The way that Merlin’s magic is happy when he is around, and the way they were upset when the other was. “Oh,” Arthur said.

Arthur could tell Merlin had seen him connect the dots before Arthur even vocalized his understanding. 

“So, that light is an… expression, of that ‘coin?’”

Merlin nodded. “As far as I can tell.” 

“Huh.” Arthur stared at the wood of the table, tracing the grains into knots and whorls. Interesting. So… magic. Merlin is… magic. He is… magic. 

Uther’s beyond spinning, Arthur decided. He must be doing a whole clog dance by now.

Arthur swallows dryly. For a moment, he debates asking his next question, wondering if it’s better to just put the whole matter to rest for the day, revisit it another time. Let his pounding head calm down. Make sure the castle doesn’t think he was cheating on his wife. Maybe take a nap.

But no. He has to know.

“So what other secrets have you been keeping?” he asks. He knows there are many. There has to be. Somebody doesn’t live a whole double life as an all-powerful warlock without accumulating more secrets than they know what to do with. 

Merlin pauses. “I… you’re going to have to be more specific.”

Well, that’s wonderful. Arthur fights the compulsion to sigh heavily in exasperation. “It appears that, despite mystical soul lights, I don’t…” he stops, suddenly fighting a lump in his throat. “I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. As I would like to. So… start from the beginning. We’ve got time.”