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Arthur's hand is firm around Merlin's nape when he leads Merlin to his chambers. The guards in the hall hardly spare them a glance, despite the fact that Merlin is being practically frogmarched across the castle against his will.
Or, well, not totally against, he supposes. He's curious what Arthur wants to talk about, mostly putting up a token effort against the manhandling, curious if he's turned over a new leaf on the whole commoners aren't allowed to be knights issue or simply wants to vent his displeasure about the law to someone who will listen.
Needless to say, Merlin is hopeful when Arthur pushes him into one chair and rounds his desk to take the other. Altogether less so when Arthur interlocks his fingers and rests his hands on the desk where they shake, slightly.
Merlin sits up straighter and makes an aborted reach for Arthur's hands that he thinks better of. "Arthur, what's-?"
"You can't ever do that again."
Arthur's voice is serious enough to raise Merlin's anxiety. Only, he doesn't know what he's being instructed not to do, even if he can think of several likely candidates- forging a fake seal of nobility chief among them even if Arthur knows nothing about Merlin's involvement in that.
"I saw you," Arthur says gravely.
Merlin pinches his lips, looking around a bit shiftily but otherwise trying to keep his cards to his chest. There are plenty of things Arthur could have seen and taken issue with in the past few days and if he's only seen one, Merlin would rather not admit to the others. "Saw what?" he ventures.
"Merlin," Arthur chides, utterly unamused and leaning forward across the desk like he can't help himself, fingers flexing where he's keeping them gripped together. Merlin isn't altogether sure what to make of his seriousness.
"Look," Merlin says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "if this is about me asking Penelope to organize your breakfast this morning, I'm sorry. I know she doesn't know that you prefer grapes to plums, but if you hadn't had me up all night polishing your armor I wouldn't have had to. Sire. And, really, what's a few-?"
Arthur holds up a hand for Merlin to quiet and it's only the stony, stormy look on his face that has Merlin obey.
"In the forest tonight," Arthur says, darting a glance towards his closed chamber door, voice lowering but losing none of its rumbling intensity. Merlin feels his shoulders seize up with tension, his stomach a pit of trepidation. "I woke when you placed your hand on my chest, checking my pulse."
Merlin swallows roughly but the lump in his throat only grows. Merlin hadn't been looking at Arthur past verifying he remained alive. He'd been looking at the charging Griffin and-
"Talking to yourself," Arthur prompts meaningfully.
Merlin desperately searches Arthur's eyes for some sign of his true feelings but all he can see is the mask of the stoic prince, first knight of Camelot. This is the face Arthur wears in his father's court.
Merlin withers to see it worn here, in the privacy of their friendship.
"Tell me it was Lancelot who felled the beast."
Arthur's voice is unwavering but Merlin feels in his soul that he is begging.
"Arthur," Merlin entreats, hands flattening and curling restlessly against the desk in front of him, shifting forward in his chair. "I- the griffin-"
"Yes or no," Arthur seethes.
"I…" Merlin knows he did what was right- what was necessary- but he can't help but curse the cost, sat here beneath Arthur's fury. "No," he admits. "Not technically, but if Lancelot's aim hadn't been true the day would have been lost anyway."
Arthur leans back, turning away from Merlin.
Merlin watches the way Arthur clenches his jaw in anger.
"The griffin was a creature of magic. It could only be defeated with magic." Heat burns behind Merlin's eyes. "It needed to be done. I only used it for you."
With a bitter huff Merlin doesn't know how to interpret, Arthur stands and stalks towards Merlin. Arthur's hands, warm and calloused, grip Merlin's shoulders so hard Merlin is sure his bones are creaking under the pressure. Arthur's eyes burn with surety when he says, "Magic corrupts, Merlin."
He explains it as if Merlin is a small child who had attempted to hurl themselves off the castle wall, heedless of things like gravity and pain. Arthur swallows roughly when all Merlin can manage to do is gape and tremble, his head ducking low before rising once more. "Swear to me you'll never use it again."
"Arthur-"
"Swear to me!"
"Arthur," Merlin all but begs, his own hands closing overtop of Arthur's where he's still attempting to wring a promise from Merlin's slender shoulders that he cannot give. "It's not- it wasn't some act of desperation though I was, desperate." Merlin stares unflinchingly into Arthur's furious gaze. "I was born with this power," Merlin whispers, the confession strained even to his own ear even though he swears, he loves his magic. It still shames him to cause such pain in the eyes of his- in Arthur's eyes. Whose hands only flex painfully where they grip Merlin's arms.
"I could move objects without touch before I could speak, Arthur," Merlin confesses. "Please believe me."
Arthur swallows roughly. His expression has returned to unreadable. A stone wall meant to keep Merlin out.
Merlin strains against the rejection.
"I only use it for you," Merlin whispers, ignoring the tear sliding down the side of his nose. "If I hadn't-" Merlin stumbles over his words when Arthur shuts his eyes. "The griffin was impenetrable, otherwise. And your father would have sent you, again and again, to face it and you would have-"
"My father burns magic users in Camelot, Merlin," Arthur says, anger rising with every word, "you know this!"
"I do," Merlin cries. "But I couldn't leave you to that fate."
"You must stop-"
"I can't," Merlin says helplessly. "It's as much a part of me as an arm."
"It's a disease!" Arthur insists. "We can- we can root it out, perhaps."
And that stings- as much as a distant part of Merlin's mind can recognize Arthur's desperation for what it is. That he's attempting to salvage this- them- Merlin, whose home lies in Camelot. It stings, to be rejected so completely.
"Is this so evil?" Merlin shoots back wetly, casting his eyes furiously to the desk and dragging Arthur's goblet across it without a spoken word. It's a thrill, to do this under Arthur's gaze, as much as it feels like his undoing.
Arthur physically jolts. "Merlin."
"Or this?" The plum still lying on Arthur's abandoned and uncleared breakfast tray hops into his empty goblet.
Arthur points a finger at Merlin's nose. "Stop this," he commands stiffly.
Merlin says nothing. Merely slips from the chair Arthur had placed him in to his knees on the stone floor, silent tears making tracks down his cheeks as his anger fades, and his eyes light gold.
Arthur flinches.
And watches silently as a blue butterfly emerges in front of Merlin's face and flutters, feathersoft, towards Arthur. He takes a step back, but only one, breathing heavily as the small creature alights on his knuckle without pain.
Merlin summons his magic once more and the butterfly disappears in gentle burst of light.
"I am no different because of it," Merlin whispers into the silence, a desperate edge to his voice even if he knows, accepts, and forgives Arthur for not understanding. Not when he's been raised in Uther's castle, under Uther's Great Purge, and not in the flowering fields of Ealdor where Merlin spent his childhood days summoning butterflies for his mother and giggling at their feathered touch.
Merlin loves Arthur, and he understands why Arthur cannot extend that feeling in reverse. Even Merlin hardly understands how he could have grown to harbor such devotion for the man standing silently in front of him in such a short amount of time.
Merlin smiles- one last mercy for Arthur.
"I place myself at your mercy."
Merlin's voice barely even trembles.
"For you are a good man and will become a great king one day even if I am not there to see it."
Perhaps the dragon was wrong, after all.
Merlin opens his mouth. I love you. Ready to loose his final confession.
Only to be rendered openmouthed and gawking when Arthur falls to his own knees, face buried in his shaking hands.
"Ar-Arthur," Merlin hesitates, withholding himself from reaching out. "Are you alright?"
When Arthur raises his head, his eyes are waterlogged and red-rimmed, the line of his mouth downturned with misery.
And here, Merlin realizes that he underestimated Arthur, restrained as his affection may be in light of his status and responsibilities and ever-watchful father it is affection, nonetheless, that brings him low.
Merlin understands Arthur's pain. But more than that, he understands that, still, a choice must be made.
"I did not wish to put you in this position," Merlin tells him honestly, heart breaking more than it trembles in fear for himself. "I'm sorry, Arthur."
Arthur scoffs wetly.
"That's what you're worried about?"
For all the grace Merlin was ready to extend to any answer Arthur might give, this isn't one he's expecting and it shows.
"What?"
"Merlin, you idiot," Arthur murmurs, pained. "How can I-? How can you expect me to do this?"
Merlin shrugs half-heartedly, one hand rising to grip his own shoulder where Arthur's warmth had been before. "You have a duty to Camelot," he says, eyes downcast. "I know the law, Arthur, but- but people keep trying to kill you."
Arthur runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles, a match to his bewilderment.
It's not lost on Merlin that he was only thrust into Arthur's life because of one such person, who Merlin stook his neck out to thwart. Protecting Arthur like it was second nature.
"What have I done to earn such devotion from you?" Arthur whispers, equal parts incredulous and devastated.
Here, Merlin knows the time for secrets- all of them- has passed. Even so, he can't help but divert, slightly, from the overwhelming affection beating against his chest for a man who still might kill him.
A man who would take no pleasure from it. Even before Merlin bumbled his way into his life.
"You're quite lovable," Merlin admits in a low voice, peering up at Arthur with a wry smile. "Even if you are a prat."
"You can't-" Arthur breathes.
Merlin lowers his head once more. He misses the way that Arthur's expression ripples, the stone broken.
You can't mean that, Arthur wants to say. You can't talk to me like that. No one has loved Arthur- just Arthur- since his mother, and even that is only a wish that Arthur imagines is true with white-knuckled desperation.
Unconditional love is not easy to come by, Arthur knows, nor something to thoughtlessly set aflame.
"There was a light," Arthur says, chest heaving, hardly believing the words coming out of his throat or the small voice in his mind urging and shouting for this small chance to prove right. "In the caves of Baloch there was a light." Then, remembering: "You were bedridden." Arthur frowns, shoulders drooping.
But Merlin is looking up through his lashes like he had that first day in the marketplace- how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?- and Arthur's voice catches in his throat when Merlin- Merlin- mutters some words of the Old Religion and summons the very same light. It diffuses against the stone floor, their weathered faces and aching knees, like a gentle, unthreatening thing. More so, even, than the butterfly.
Arthur sinks fully onto his heels, lost for words, but loved. So, so loved. He can feel it, emanating from the light, from Merlin's magic which weaves around the room like a warming sun.
If Arthur is being fooled or enchanted, he can understand why so many are taken in by sorcerers. For how could he resist this? How could he crush Merlin beneath his hand?
"Tell me this," Arthur croaks when he's finally able to summon his voice.
Merlin watches him hopefully.
Arthur only takes a moment to recognize that he stands on a knife's edge, his own, clouded, untested judgement the only thing, perhaps, that stands between the kingdom he loves and ruin. His dearest, only friend, and ruin.
"Do you swear your allegiance to Camelot and it's people?"
Merlin nods, sitting up on his knees. He makes another aborted motion to reach for Arthur but balls his fists on his legs instead. "I do," he says, with conviction enough to match Arthur's best knights. "I swear it, Arthur, I swear my allegiance to Camelot and it's people. I have only ever used my magic for you. And to help people."
In the back of Arthur's mind, he remembers Tom- healed miraculously and felled during the escape Arthur made possible.
Merlin's mouth slants.
"And, I suppose since we're being honest, my chores. But only sometimes!" he hurries to add. "When it's unreasonable! Really, I'm not George, Arthur, I don't understand how you expect me to do so many things in a day."
Arthur takes a long, incredulous breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Because it's your job, he doesn't say, but he longs to. He longs for normalcy between them- less stifling than sincerity and truths- but the night seems too wrought for that. Fury still hums beneath Arthur's bones, interlocked, irrevocably, with trust- the only kind of devotion Arthur knows how to wield without bloodshed.
Merlin twiddles his fingers together, "And, well, that day you made me fight you with a mace I might've-"
Arthur's eyes flash.
"You cheated!"
The levity feels forced out of him, instinctual, but it's buoyant, too, and Arthur doesn't fight it. He does not smile, but neither does he fight the relaxing tension between them.
"Only a little!" Merlin defends.
"I should have known. I'm never that clumsy!"
Merlin scoffs. "Oh, I would beg to differ." Then, seemingly remembering the rest of their conversation: "Sire."
Deference looks poor on him, Arthur realizes.
And it's strange because a sorcerer who lacks deference should be run through by Arthur's sword but Merlin, lacking all respect of blood and titles, has only ever been loyal.
And Arthur doesn't quite know how to swallow what Merlin offers. What Merlin is. So,
"Go to bed," Arthur orders.
Merlin's eyes shine, with joy or relief, or perhaps both. With love, maybe. Though Arthur hardly knows what to do with such an unfamiliar prospect.
Arthur's knees pop when he rises from the ground and slowly extends a hand toward Merlin.
Slowly, Merlin takes it.
"Just…just go to bed?" he asks. "That's it?"
Arthur takes a deep breath. He knows what he should do. He knows. Hell, he's angry, still, but he's thinking of the conversation he had with his father about guardian angels. About the kind of king he wants to be. Making sure the punishment fits the crime.
"That's it," Arthur agrees quietly.
Merlin nods, though he's got the look of a startled stoat about him, and he squeezes Arthur's hand before inching, unsure, to the door.
"And Merlin?" Arthur says, before he quite makes it there.
"Be sure to polish my armor tomorrow." Arthur's hand clenches around nothing. "I…won't need you in the morning."
"And…in the afternoon?" Merlin ventures, fingers toying anxiously with his sleeves.
Arthur straightens his back and clears his throat. "In the afternoon, I'll have need of a dummy for sparring practice. Mace work."
"I-" Merlin huffs a soft laugh. "I suppose I deserve that, Sire."
For once, the title sounds as it should. Arthur turns his back, tugging mindlessly at his bedcovers.
"And Arthur?" Merlin calls.
Arthur extends a cautious look over his shoulder, but he looks, and Merlin lights up in the face of it.
"Thank you."