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Merlin tilts his head up towards the sky, breathing in deeply. The warm summer breeze brushes his face, the scent of trees and earth and horse mingling in his nose. His mare plods along steadily under him, ears pricked. In front of him, Arthur turns in the saddle to smirk at him, simple red tunic exposing his collarbones tantalizingly. The sun glints of his hair, turning it golden, and Merlin feels a surge of longing so intense he nearly topples out of the saddle.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Merlin?" Arthur asks, voice tinged with amusement.
"Not particularly. I don't see the fun in hunting defenseless animals."
"Don't be such a girl. If you had your way, all of Camelot would starve."
"But we don't need to hunt right now," Merlin points out. "We have enough food. You just want to kill something."
"Would you rather I kill you?"
"If you killed me, you wouldn't have anyone to polish your armor, shine your boots-"
"You've forgotten about George again, haven't you."
"If you had George as your servant, you really would kill him."
"I would not."
"Mmmm. Two days in, you'd be begging for me to come back. Only, if you killed me, I couldn't come back, so you'd be stuck with George forever. You'd go mad."
"I must be mad already, to keep you as my servant."
"No argument from me."
"Merlin."
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
Merlin clamps his mouth shut, fighting a smile. He sees Arthur shake his head in exasperation, urging Llamrei on, shifting his crossbow in his hand. Merlin opens his mouth again to needle Arthur, make a joke, when his magical senses light up and the next moment everything is thrown into chaos.
Arthur flies through the air, landing against a tree with a loud crack. Llamrei bolts and figures swarm the path, hands outstretched towards Arthur. Sorcerers.
Merlin jumps down from Hengroen, putting himself between Arthur and the sorcerers.
"Stand back, boy," an older man orders gruffly. "And we'll let you live."
Merlin squares his shoulders, plants his feet. "If you want to kill him, you'll have to go through me."
Behind him he hears Arthur groan, and his pulse quickens. He's alive.
"Very well, then." The sorcerer raises his hand, and Merlin knows this is it. There will be no convenient escape, no plausible explanation. Magic must be fought with magic, and Merlin will not let Arthur die to save himself.
The sorcerer opens his mouth, words on his lips, and Merlin shoves. The man is blown backwards off his feet, crumpling to the ground some paces away. The rest of the sorcerers stare, shocked. There's an intake of breath from Arthur, but Merlin doesn't let himself turn to see his expression.
"You have magic!"
Looking around, Merlin knows he is hopelessly outnumbered. For all his power, he cannot take on twenty sorcerers at once. He relies on instinct and a few spells gleaned from a basic book of magic. Without training, he is no match for them. But, he thinks, they do not know this. He is Emrys, and he has seen how highly magical creatures regard that name.
He tilts his chin up. "I was born with it."
"Impossible," one scoffs, but the others murmur warily.
"I am Emrys," Merlin hisses, letting his eyes glow with power. "I am the Last Dragonlord. If you want Arthur, you go through me."
Eyes widen. Several take a step back.
"You would protect a Pendragon?" one woman spits. "You'd be his servant?" She eyes him in disgust. "You do not deserve the name Emrys. Traitor." She spits on the ground.
Merlin takes a step forwards, and most of the group shrink back. "You think I want to be a servant?" he scoffs, praying they don't see through his ruse. "I'm doing this for us all! Don't you see? I am right by his side. I hear everything he hears, see everything he sees. I've earned his trust. When the time is right, I will bring magic back to Camelot. But until then, he must stay alive." Desperately, he pulls on strands of truth. "I have seen the future! I know the prophecies! There is a plan, but I can reveal it to no other. You either stand with me or against me. Which is it?"
There's silence, a pregnant pause. Merlin feels sweat trickle down his back. Then, slowly, one sorcerer kneels, then another. Merlin lets out a shaky breath as twenty sorcerers pledge their allegiance, twenty sorcerers he has just lied to. This won't end well.
"Thank you," he says, keeping his voice even. "I have seen this come to pass, and you all have parts to play in what is to come."
The sorcerers rise as one. "Our apologies, Emrys," a short man says. "Let us welcome you back to our camp, share our knowledge. We will heal the Pendragon, if that is your wish."
Merlin nods, terrified to know how badly Arthur is injured, how much he hates him now. He knows he has no choice but to go with them. To do otherwise would raise suspicion.
"I would be honored," he manages. "Thank you."
The sorcerer bows, and gestures with an arm. "This way, my lord."
Merlin swallows, and follows his lead.
Arthur stumbles forwards, ribs aching. His head throbs and he stumbles again, tripping over a root. The ropes chafe at his wrists, his broken arm screaming in pain, and his mind plays Merlin's words over and over again, each worse than the last.
Do you think I want to be a servant?
I am right by his side. I've earned his trust.
I will bring magic back to Camelot.
Until then, he must stay alive.
Traitor, he thinks. Liar. Sorcerer.
I trusted you.
He hates that the anger is quickly fizzling into hurt, hates that he had been so blind. Had everything been a lie? Did Merlin ever consider him a friend? When did he turn to magic? No, I was born with it, he'd said. So it had all been a lie. Merlin isn't even his name. Emrys. The Last Dragonlord. Arthur had never known Merlin at all, it seems.
The thought that this had been his plan all along, that Merlin had lied to him from the very beginning, makes something painful curl in his chest. He'd only become his servant to get close to him, only feigned friendship to earn his trust. Only saved his life for some prophesied plan. He is nothing but a pig for the slaughter, fattened on Merlin's laughter and bright blue eyes.
Had Merlin enchanted him? Had he made Arthur lust after him? Had he made him fall in lov-
He pushes the thought away. It doesn't matter now. None of it does.
In the front of the procession, Merlin laughs at something one of the sorcerers said. Arthur grinds his teeth and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, vowing that if he gets the chance, he'll drive his sword straight through Merlin's heart.
Merlin ducks into the tent, immediately pinned by Arthur's icy glare. He makes sure the tent flap is closed and then approaches cautiously, taking in Arthur's bruised face and the lines of pain around his eyes. He's sitting on the ground, arms tied behind him to the tent pole, and his chest rises and falls rapidly.
"Arthur," Merlin breaths, rushing towards him. Arthur jerks back and Merlin stops, pain lancing his heart. He waves a hand and Arthur's bonds fall away.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asks, voice low and furious. Merlin crouches down next to him, holding out a hand.
"You're injured," he replies, trying to ignore the hatred in Arthur's eyes. "Let me see."
Arthur only glares. Merlin sighs.
"Arthur."
Grudgingly, Arthur holds out his injured arm for Merlin to inspect. The wrist is swollen and purple, likely fractured, and Merlin tries to be as gentle as possible as he takes it in his hands, feeling for breaks.
"Why?" Arthur murmurs.
Merlin swallows. "Why what?"
"You lied to me all this time." Arthur stares at the side of the tent, something resigned in his eyes.
"You'd have chopped my head off." He wishes he could tell Arthur the real lie, wishes he could tell him he hasn't betrayed him, but he can't. There's always a chance they'll be found out, especially in a camp of sorcerers. Arthur's reaction needs to be real.
"I trusted you."
Merlin stops his probing, glancing up at Arthur's face. "I'm sorry."
Arthur snorts and falls silent. Merlin places a hand over Arthur's wrist, whispering words of power, feeling his magic seep down into flesh and bone. Arthur yanks his wrist away.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Healing you." Merlin holds out his hand again, and Arthur slowly relinquishes his wrist. He whispers the words again, magic knitting tissue back together, reducing swelling, clearing the bruises from tanned skin. He removes his hand, and Arthur rotates his wrist, staring in surprise and trepidation at the lack of injury.
"Good as new," Merlin says, trying for a light tone. It falls flat, and Arthur drops his hand to his lap, scowling at the tent again. "Your ribs," Merlin says hesitantly. "Can I-"
"Leave it." Arthur's tone brooks no argument. Merlin swallows and nods, getting to his feet. He hesitates before whispering the spell to tie Arthur's hands again, hating the way Arthur struggles and then goes still. He pauses by the tent opening, looking back, and then leaves before his heart breaks completely.
The sorcerers gather around the fire, passing out chunks of rabbit. Merlin notices they give him the largest share, waiting for him to start eating before they do. There are more people in the camp, men, women, and children who all possess magic. They are not Druids, but the encampment reminds him of them, with tents set up in the sheltered valley and glowing balls of magic floating overhead. They had given him the largest tent, tying Arthur up inside, and led him around the camp, introducing him to the members. Their eyes had alit with hope when they'd heard his name, and he cannot help the guilt that wells up. These are his people, and he has lied to them, tricked them, all so Arthur will live. Arthur who hates magic, Arthur who has not repealed his father's laws. The woman - Nora - was right. He is a traitor.
The sorcerer he'd attacked first turns out to be a man named Eiran, who quickly forgives him. He is the leader in all but name of the group, and tells Merlin how they'd come together. They'd started small, just a few of them running from persecution, but others had quickly joined. There are even a few Druids, those who grew frustrated with their nonviolence and left. They have been avoiding Arthur's patrols using magic and stealth, using their combined power to cloak the valley. There are over twenty experienced sorcerers here, ten more who have small amounts of magic, and eight children just learning their first spells.
Merlin doesn't know how they're going to leave here alive. He does know that whatever happens, it will shatter the last of his soul.
Arthur scowls as he's manhandled out of the tent, ribs still aching fiercely. Merlin looks at him askance, and Arthur can't read the expression in his eyes. Pity? Disinterest? He decides he doesn't care.
Apparently he's to be made a spectacle of, as they walk him around the camp. People bow to Merlin, reverence in their eyes, and spit at Arthur's feet, pure hatred in their expressions. Arthur holds his head high, walking with as much dignity as he can muster. If he's to die, at least he'll die with pride.
Someone throws rocks, but they stop before they reach him, falling to the ground.
"He is not to be harmed," Merlin says, voice authoritative, and Arthur cannot believe Merlin ever fumbled and stuttered as a hapless servant. How had he not seen it, the power in Merlin's stance, the haughtiness in his stare? The high cheekbones that speak of royal blood, and not simple peasant stock?
Children gather around Merlin, eagerness in their eyes, and Arthur watches as Merlin crouches down, cupping his palms together and whispering some sort of spell. When he opens his hands, a blue butterfly flies out, and the children squeal in delight. Merlin's face goes soft, and he glances back at Arthur. Arthur sets his face in stone.
Merlin's smile falters, and he looks away.
"Here." Merlin holds a piece of bread out, so reminiscent of his servant disguise that Arthur's heart twists. Merlin had always done this, prodding him to eat when he was low, offering comfort and words of wisdom. It sends a fresh wave of hurt through him.
He turns his head away. Merlin sighs.
"Come on, Arthur. You must keep up your strength."
"Why? So you can use me to take over Camelot?"
Merlin is silent.
Arthur snorts. "That's what I thought."
"You can't die like this. It's not your destiny."
"Right. Destiny." He looks at Merlin, curling his lip. "That's all you care about, isn't it? You'd betray everyone for the sake of some magical destiny."
"No. I will save everyone for the sake of destiny."
"Save? Is that what you call it?" He scoffs. "You'd bring back magic, destroy everything my father worked for."
"Magic is not evil. You have only been taught to think so."
"Then explain everything I have suffered because of magic!" He meets Merlin's eyes, anger burning hot. Merlin's mouth twists, and his eyes spark with similar fire.
"Your father slaughtered hundreds of innocents, just because they had magic. Because of that, many want retribution. The only people who'd dare use magic in Camelot are those who want to see you dead. Anyone else hides it, or flees. That's why you've never seen good magic, because it's never been allowed. People have used magic against you because they are angry. They have lost friends, family. You would not blame the sword swung by a vengeful man, would you?"
Arthur doesn't respond.
"Magic is not to blame," Merlin presses. "It is neither good nor bad, it depends on the wielder. These people, here, have fled the persecution of your father, the persecution that you have done nothing to stop. Women and children, driven from their homes for something they cannot help."
"Magic is a choice."
"No, it isn't. At least for many. I was born with magic. My mother said I used to float toys to my crib. I could do it before I even learned to walk, or to speak. It is part of me. I can't remove it, or stop using it. And all I've ever wanted is just to live in freedom."
Merlin's eyes are blue and honest, but Arthur knows now not to trust him. Not to let himself drown in those blue eyes, be pulled along into their depths. However much he wants to believe what Merlin is saying, however much it makes sense, he cannot let himself be deceived again. He has been betrayed too many times to ever let himself trust again.
"This isn't freedom," he says, turning his face away. "This is madness."
Merlin's face shutters, and pain gleams in his eyes. He sets the bread down and stands up, disappearing out of the tent.
"What is the plan?" Eiran asks, seated next to Merlin in his tent. "I assume you have a need for the Pendragon, yes?"
Merlin nods. He's been formulating a plan these past couple days, and he's hoping he can pull it off. "Yes. I cannot share the details of the plan, but Arthur must return to Camelot. I must be by his side, as before."
"But he knows the truth now."
"I intend to enchant him. A memory spell. He won't remember any of this, and will simply think he was injured in the woods and a group of kind citizens saved him."
"You can perform a spell of this difficulty?"
Merlin levels him with a look. "I am Emrys."
"Right, of course, my lord. I am simply amazed by your power. None of us could hope to sustain such an enchantment."
He smiles wanly. He's actually not sure he can, either. The plan hinges on Arthur pretending to be enchanted, and Merlin doesn't have high hopes of Arthur doing that. It's likely they'll both be dead soon.
"I'll need ingredients for the enchantment," he says. "I'll draw up a list. I would like to have it done tomorrow, so as not to arouse alarm in Camelot of his absence."
"It will be done." Eiran bows and ushers Merlin out of his tent. Merlin goes to his tent and creates a list, using what herbal magic knowledge he'd gleaned from both his spell-book and Gaius. Hopefully none of the sorcerers will know exactly what is needed for this spell. Instead of erasing Arthur's memory, he's going to try something different. He doesn't even know if it's possible, but he is Emrys, and his magic is for Arthur. He has to trust that destiny will not let them down.
He hopes he won't let Arthur down.
A circle is drawn in the earth, stones set around it. Arthur is shoved into it, shirt stripped off to reveal purple bruising along his ribs. He raises his chin defiantly, glaring at Merlin.
Merlin steps forwards with the bowl of crushed herbs and berry juice, dipping a finger into the mixture. As sorcerers hold Arthur still, hands still bound behind his back, he paints sigils on his chest, over his heart, then on his forehead. He keeps his touch light, brushing over Arthur's skin reverently. It may be the last time he touches him.
Finished, he steps back, nodding to the others. They retreat, leaving Merlin and Arthur in the circle alone. Merlin draws on his magic, speaking the words in his head. He cannot do a verbal spell, as the others will immediately know his intent.
He feels his magic latch onto the sigils, wrapping around Arthur. It touches his forehead, presses into his mind, and Merlin closes his eyes and pushes with all his might.
Arthur, he thinks, sending his thoughts outwards. He cannot tell if Arthur heard him, but keeps going. Don't react to what I'm saying. I don't have time to explain, but I need you to trust me. When I end the spell, I need you to act like you're unconscious. When I tell you to wake, I need you to pretend you don't remember anything that's happened here. Pretend you don't know about my magic. The last thing you remember is hitting the tree. Please. I love you. I'm sorry.
His magic falters, and he pushes the last of his strength into the spell.
Now!
The spell ends. Merlin opens his eyes to see Arthur fall to the ground, limp.
Arthur lies still, breathing evenly and keeping his eyes closed as people murmur around him. He's being lifted, carried, then set down on something soft. The sound of a rag in water, then someone cleaning off the paint on his skin. A hand finds his pulse.
"Arthur?" Merlin says softly. "Wake up."
I need you to trust me, he'd said. Arthur should not trust him at all, but somehow, he still does. He does not care about the magic, he thinks. Maybe magic isn't evil. He's certainly pondered that over the years. He cares that Merlin had betrayed him, had lied to him, but deep down something tells him that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't all a lie. There had been moments between them that could not be faked, laughter and heartbreak and something shared that was deeper than friendship. Maybe that bond is frayed, maybe Merlin has harbored resentment towards Arthur for condemning what he was born with, but it is still there. I love you, Merlin had said. And despite everything, Arthur loves Merlin. So he takes a leap of faith, and opens his eyes.
"Hey." Merlin smiles, eyes full of worry, and it takes Arthur's breath away.
"What happened?" he asks, furrowing his brows in feigned confusion as he looks around. "Where am I?" He's in the tent again, but laid out on furs, a blanket over him.
"What do you remember?" Merlin asks, eyes boring into Arthur's.
Arthur blinks, pretending to think. "The last thing I remember....is hitting a tree."
Merlin's eyes widen in relief, and his face smooths. "We were attacked. Some people found us, got us to safety. You've been unconscious for a couple days."
"Oh." Arthur isn't sure how to respond to that. "Camelot?"
"It wasn't safe to move you too much. Now that you're awake, we can ride back. They found our horses."
"Right. Yes, good. We shall ride within the hour."
"Yes, sire." Their eyes meet, and Merlin's shine.
"I'm forever in your debt," Arthur says to the sorcerer, pasting on a fake smile as he settles in his saddle. "Let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you."
"No need, your majesty. Your health is all we desire." The sorcerer bows. Arthur nods, and nudges Llamrei, turning their horses away from the accursed camp and into the woods. Merlin rides by his side, sneaking looks at him when he thinks Arthur isn't looking, brow furrowed with anxiety.
Arthur has no idea what he's going to do with Merlin. He still doesn't understand what happened, why Merlin spoke into his mind and made him lie to the others. It was supposed to take his memory, it seems, but Merlin hadn't done that. Why? If he had, it would be so easy for him to keep lying to Arthur, staying as his servant. It makes no sense.
They ride the rest of the day, stopping for the night in a secluded valley. As soon as Arthur's dismounted and checked the area is clear, he whirls on Merlin. "What the hell was that?"
Merlin hunches, looking down at the ground. "I had to make them think I was on their side, so they wouldn't kill you. I pretended to erase your memory so they'd let you go."
"Why? Aren't you on their side? You have magic."
"Yes." Merlin meets his eyes at that. "But I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you."
"Why?" Arthur strides closer, grabbing Merlin's jacket and shaking him. "Why, Merlin? You said it yourself. My father has slaughtered your kind. I've been no different. Why would you protect me?"
"It's my destiny."
"So that part was true?" Arthur shoves down the hurt. "You're only doing this because of some destiny?"
Merlin shakes his head, so close Arthur can count his eyelashes. "At first."
"And now?" Arthur's eyes flick down to Merlin's lips, parted slightly.
"You know why."
"Say it," Arthur breathes, hand fisting in Merlin's jacket.
Merlin swallows. "Because I love you."
Arthur yanks Merlin closer, lips crashing down onto his. Merlin stiffens and then melts into the kiss, mouth parting to let Arthur in. Arthur imagines he can taste the magic on Merlin's lips, feel it humming beneath his skin. Merlin and magic. Magic and Merlin. They are one and the same, and Arthur does not care. He would give up his entire kingdom to keep Merlin safe.
He pushes Merlin's jacket off his shoulders, fingers fumbling with the laces of his tunic. He breaks the kiss only long enough to pull it over Merlin's head, revealing pale skin marred by scars.
"Where did you get these?" he murmurs, sucking bruises into Merlin's neck.
"I-ah-protecting you," Merlin answers breathlessly, hands tangling in Arthur's hair.
Arthur hooks a foot behind Merlin's knee and sends him sprawling on the ground, winded. Arthur strips off his shirt and climbs over him, kissing over the scars that litter his torso.
"Ow," Merlin pants, getting his breath back.
"Shut up." Arthur moves back up to connect their lips, finding Merlin's warm and pliant beneath his. All that power, and he'd let Arthur land him flat on his back when he could have stopped him. It sends a thrill through Arthur.
"Do you trust me?" he whispers against Merlin's lips.
"With my life," Merlin whispers back.
Arthur kisses him again, hands sliding downwards until he reaches Merlin's breeches. He starts to undo the laces one-handed before Merlin shoves his hand aside, undoing them deftly and shoving them down his hips. Arthur helps him pull them off completely, throwing them behind him somewhere, and divests his own. They're both naked now, Merlin sprawled on the hard earth.
Merlin reaches for him and Arthur settles on top of him, hands braced by his shoulders. Their hips brush together, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, and Merlin moans, the sound urging Arthur on. He sucks a finger into his mouth and slips it between them, pausing by Merlin's entrance.
"Tell me to stop."
Merlin opens his legs wider, capturing Arthur's lip between his teeth and biting down gently before letting go. "I want you," he breathes, pupils blown wide.
Arthur presses his finger in, swallowing Merlin's gasp as he claims his mouth. He moves his finger and Merlin keens, hands clamping tight on Arthur's sides. Arthur winces, ribs protesting, and Merlin lets go.
"Sorry."
"Can't you...?" Arthur withdraws his hand, wiggles his fingers. "Magic?"
"Oh. Oh." Merlin's eyes widen as he stares at Arthur. "Really?"
"I suppose you haven't killed me yet."
Merlin grins and lays his palm on Arthur's side gently, closing his eyes.
"No. Let me see."
Merlin opens his eyes, and the irises turn gold as his skin tingles under Merlin's palm. The pain washes away, replaced with a warm glow, and Merlin looks ethereal beneath him, golden eyes and pale skin, dark hair mussed on his forehead. Arthur cannot help bending down to kiss him, feeling the magic spread through his body. It doesn't feel evil, or corrupting. It feels like Merlin, like something he has known all along.
His hand moves between them again, working Merlin open as the sky darkens and Merlin writhes beneath him, undone by Arthur's hands. When he presses in, gold floods Merlin's eyes, sparks dancing along his fingertips as he rakes blunt nails down Arthur's back. The forest swallows the sounds of their lovemaking, moonlight bathing them in its glow.
Merlin reaches his climax first, back arching as he cries out, magic flooding from his every pore. It engulfs Arthur, licking up his spine, and he finds himself coming, every cell alighting with pleasure. He slumps over Merlin as the magic fades, both of them panting heavily. He rolls them to their sides and Merlin tucks himself into Arthur's chest, head nestled under his chin. They fall asleep that way, tangled together on the forest floor.
Merlin wakes slowly, head pillowed on something soft. He blinks open his eyes, taking in smooth skin and the rise and fall of a chest beneath him, a warm hand tracing patterns on his back. He raises his head slowly, and the hand stops as he meets Arthur's eyes.
"Good morning," Arthur says neutrally.
"Uhh," Merlin replies eloquently. He sits up, wincing at his soreness and looking down at Arthur. There are fading bruises around his eye, the ones on his ribs healed, and he regards Merlin with an unreadable expression. The events of the past few days flood back suddenly, and Merlin flounders for something to say.
"You, uh," he starts, feeling extremely awkward with their mutual nakedness in the light of day. "Do you...are you...I mean..."
"For gods sake, spit it out. Stop babbling."
"Right. Um, are you going to execute me?"
Arthur stares, and then sits up abruptly. "What?"
Merlin, startled by Arthur's response, blinks stupidly. "Magic is...illegal in Camelot."
"Yes, I know. I'm the King."
"Right. So I want to know if you're going to have me executed. For having magic," he says, thinking wildly that maybe Arthur forgot about it.
"Merlin." Arthur shakes his head, smiling slightly. "I'm not going to have you executed."
"Banished, then."
Arthur chuckles. "Don't be an idiot."
Sudden anger sparks, mingling with hurt, with years of frustration and fear. "An idiot?" he snaps. "For thinking that you'd kill me for having magic, like everyone else? I've known what would happen to me if I were ever found out since I got to Camelot! I've had to hide it since I was born, knowing I'd be killed for it!"
Arthur's smile has slipped from his face, and he stares at Merlin with an expression of utter shock.
"Merlin-"
"No! I have protected you for ten years. I have been by your side through everything, have given my life for yours, knowing the entire time that you would kill me if you ever found out what I was." His chest heaves, tears pricking his eyes. "I betrayed my own people for you. You don't get to laugh-you don't get to say-to-"
Suddenly Arthur's arms are wrapping around him as he sobs, ten years of pent-up emotion spilling over.
"I'm sorry," Arthur murmurs into his ear. "I didn't think."
"When do you ever," Merlin says, the insult ruined by his cracking voice.
Arthur chuckles, and holds him tighter, a hand rubbing his back. "I'm not going to execute you," he says firmly. "Or banish you. It's clear you've been protecting me from the beginning. Lady Helen, the dragon, Morgana, all those bandits that mysteriously tripped...I've been so blind for so long. If you aren't evil, then magic isn't. I swear to you, I'll make this right."
He pulls back, hands cupping Merlin's tear-streaked face. "You have a lot of explaining to do. You've lied to me for years. But I trust you. And I....I love you."
Merlin draws in a sharp breath. He searches Arthur's eyes, seeing nothing but truth.
"I love you too," he whispers, smile breaking over his face. "And I'll tell you everything. No more secrets."
Arthur kisses him, and all is right in the world.
Three months later
Merlin kneels in front of Arthur, blue robes pooling on the ground. He looks up at Arthur, resplendent in his golden crown, Excalibur in his hand. Gwen stands next to him in her finery, eyes brimming with pride. Arthur raises Excalibur, touching it to Merlin's shoulders.
"I henceforth name you Merlin, Emrys, Court Sorcerer of Camelot."
Merlin rises, turning to face the crowd as a cheer goes up. He catches Gaius' eye, a shaky hand wiping away a tear. Gwaine whistles, and the knights clap. He sees Eiran standing in the crowd, among sorcerers and Druids and magical peoples of all kinds. He catches his eye and nods.
You did play your part, he had told him, when they at last met again. But it was not to help me overthrow Camelot. Arthur is the one who will bring back magic to the land. He is the Once and Future King.
And you are Emrys, Eiran had replied. It is you we follow. He paused. Do you love him?
Merlin startled, then nodded. Yes. I love him.
Then we shall follow him. He who wins Emrys' heart, wins the heart of magic itself.