Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin had imagined a vast amount of ways in which Arthur would discover his magic: he’d be caught when trying to protect his friends, he’d confess for the greater good, he’d break down and give in. And he also thought about, if or when it happened, what Arhur’s reaction would be. Would he sentence him to the pyre immediately? Would he hear him out? Would he banish Merlin? Too angry to let him stay, but too attached to end his life? All of these different ideas plagued Merlin day in and day out as he waited and wondered if the wretched day would ever come to pass.

It did, eventually, though it played out in a humiliatingly different way compared to how he thought it would.

It all started one morning as Merlin waltzed into the King’s chambers like he owned the place, set down the plate of food he brought in (of which was missing a piece he’s stolen) and then began his routine of waking Arthur up.

“Rise and shine!” he beamed as he ripped the covers of the man, making him immediately curl up in on himself from the abrupt coldness. “Come on now, Arthur, you’ve got things to do.” He goes to the window and retracts the curtains so the sun can direct itself right into the King’s eyes. “Let’s have you, lazy daisy!”

“Please stop.”

“There’s no pleasing you, Arthur, there really isn’t. You complain that I don’t do my job but then when I do do it, you tell me to stop.” Honestly, royalty demands just too much from the everyday people.

“How on earth is this doing your job well?”

“...Oh, you want me to do it well? You should have said, sire,” Merlin replies, earning a pillow thrown at his head. “Hey!”

“Shut up, Merlin!”

It takes the usual amount of time to get Arthur out of his bed and into his clothes for the day. When he goes to sit down, he doesn’t even ask. He just looks.

“I didn’t take anything.”

“Merlin?”

“I took one itty-bitty little thing.”

“Give it back.”

“You want me to throw up the sausage?” Merlin asks, miserably failing to stifle his laugh at the face Arthur makes.

“Just get me another one!” he demands. 

“Wha—no.” He turns his nose up in disgust. “It’s one sausage and you’ve still got three right there. I’m not going all the way down to the kitchens for one thing.”

“Did…did you just say no to me?” Arthur asks, and the words sound as if he’s truly mad, but his voice is bored. This is, again, a normal morning.

“I did, sire.”

“I am your king.”

“And I am Merlin.”

“...Fair point, I suppose,” he mutters under his breath, accepting that his breakfast is lacking…well, nothing. It’s always four sausages on his plate in the kitchen when he has them, and it’s always three when he sits down to eat. At this point, all the talk is a part of their routine, as if it’s as much a part of the list of things to get done as is Merlin waking Arthur up and getting him dressed. One would think the King would be annoyed at this, but he’s grown rather used to his incompetent servant. 

“What’s on for today?” he asks before taking bites of his meal. 

“You’ve got a council meeting this morning, followed by training with the knights. After that, you’ve got a window of rest before the hunt you planned.”

“Ah, yes. It’ll be nice to relax.”

“Right.” Merlin sounds very unenthused and it’s really irritating for Arthur. He needs to be more enthused or something, it’s rather dampening to his mood. “Because killing innocent animals is just a relaxing thing to do.”

“You don’t like hunting because you’re bad at it.”

“I don’t like it because it’s ridiculous!” Oh dear, Arthur really should have seen this coming. Hunts are, for some extremely odd reason, big things that make his manservant blow up into rants. But, he’s got food in front of him, so at least he can try to drown the other man out.

“—Oh, and another thing!”

“Are you done? I hope you are because I’ve finished my breakfast so I’ve got nothing else to focus on to ignore your incessant chatter.”

“You weren’t listening to me? Of course you weren’t listening to me. You’re an absolute prat, you are.”

The two of them insult each other for a couple of moments more before Arthur stands, ready to leave. “Please take the plate down to the kitchen before polishing my armour, sharpening my sword, cleaning up my room and…hmm, I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

“I’ll take the plate down later. It makes more sense for me to do everything that’s in here first since I’ll be heading to the kitchens afterwards anyway.”

Arthur stares at him for a moment. “Just do as I say, Merlin!”

It’s Merlin’s turn to stare at Arthur now. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, just that I’ll do that later.”

“What if rats smell it and come into my chambers?”

“Firstly, that’s ridiculous. Secondly, there’s nothing even left on the plate, you practically licked it clean. Thirdly, that’s ridiculous.”

“You said that twice.”

“Yes, well it takes a while for things to be put into that small brain of yours.”

After a cup gets thrown at Merlin’s head and more insults fall between the two of them, Arthur starts to get really irritated. All he’s thinking is ‘how hard is it to follow such simple instructions? Why is the idiot making such a big deal out of this?’

“You look like you’re thinking. Please don’t hurt yourself, it’s hard to do things you’ve never done before.” And, oh, there goes another goblet flying at Merlin.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Merlin! Will you just do as you’re bloody told!” Arthur screams, distantly wondering if this whole thing’s made him late for the council meeting.

“Fine!” Merlin screams back, his arms thrown up into the air as his face grows rather red. “Why are you looking at me like that? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost, Arthur.” 

When his King doesn’t answer him and instead only shifts his gaze to beside Merlin, he spins around, expecting some assassin of sorts to be in the room, having appeared with magic. Fortunately, there’s no one else here but the two of them. Unfortunately, for him, Merlin’s arms weren’t the only things he’d thrown to the air in his frustration.

The plate’s floating. 

The plate is fucking floating.

Of all the things!

“Merlin… Merlin.”

“Yes…sire?”

“My plate is in the air.”

“It appears so, sire.” 

There are many things tumbling about in Merlin’s head, but some of the main things consist of: ‘do something, you absolute twat!’ and ‘I’m going to die because of a plate’ and ‘hey, at least he’s not screaming at me’ and, finally, ‘why the hell is he not screaming at me?’ to name a few.

“Merlin, why is my plate in the air?”

“Because…because…well…because—”

“If you say ‘because’ one more time I’m going to walk out of here and forget that you or the floating plate exist.” Merlin thinks on it and wonders if he’d actually prefer that to anything else. “Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Are you making the plate float?”

“...No?” Arthur raises his eyebrows at this. “Yes?”

“ Merlin.”

“Maybe?”

“Oh, dear god. Someone help me—help him.”

The two of them stand in silence for a moment, and now Arthur is positive that he’s late for the council meeting. It was about grains and such, though, so it’s not the worst thing in the world. Still, he can’t just not show up, so he walks towards the door, opens it up and begins speaking to the guards. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Merlin turns almost green, with his eyes wide and jolting from one place to another, as if he’s searching the room for exits. 

He remembers that one time with the window and rope and decides that Merlin isn’t reckless enough to do that. At least, he’s pretty sure the man’s not. 

Once he’s done telling the guards what he wants, he closes the door again and turns his attention back to his manservant. 

“I thought you were telling them to come in and arrest me.”

“No, I was telling them to go and tell everyone in the meeting to begin without me seeing as I’m already late to it. No thanks to you.”

“But…you are going to arrest me, aren’t you?” Merlin asks, sounding upset that Arthur isn’t. Which, albeit, is stupid but so are a lot of things to do with his manservant and the brain he possesses, so Arthur just sighs and ignores it for now.

“No, I’m not.”

“How come?”

“Because, Merlin, I’d like you to explain first.”

Merlin’s having a heart attack. He’s sure of it. Or maybe an aneurysm. Why is he being so goddamn calm?

Obviously, this is far from how he’d assumed this whole ordeal would go, as previously mentioned. Merlin thought of panicked magic used to save a life or coming clean for a greater cause. What he did not think of, however, was accidental magic because he was irritated. And, really, not even! It was just banter between him and Arthur, like normal, but no, his magic just had to come out and ruin his life.

“Why are you being calm?”

“Sit down. Also, please remove the plate from the air.” Merlin does as he’s told—for once—and sit’s in the chair next to Arthur’s, who of which is sitting at the head of the table like normal.

“So, you’re a…”

“A sorcerer, yes.”

“I was going to say an idiot, but sure.”

Why is he being calm? Why? 

“Are you going to kill me?” He doesn’t mean to ask the question, he really doesn’t, but currently he’s just revealed his magic and Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon and King of Camelot, is bloody calm. 

He looks taken aback by his servant’s words, and an expression of hurt covers his face, if only for a moment. Then, “Just, please explain what the hell is going on? And, no, I am also not quite sure why I’m being so calm either.”

“Maybe you’re in shock. Gaius talks about that with patients of his all the time.”

“Ah, perhaps. Now, please…”

“Right, right.” 

And so, Merlin explains everything. He tells the thoughts about how this was a ridiculous way to reveal his magic to piss off because, yes it was but there’s nothing to do about it now. So, he explains from the start; his arrival in Camelot. Shortening some bits here and there, Merlin does well to be completely honest, though he fears he’s gone a little past explaining and perhaps into the territory of rambling, but Arthur’s saying nothing against it so he carries on.

He’s not sure how long he talks for, but by the end of it his throat is sore and he feels the urge to down a bath-sized jug of water. For a while Arthur says nothing and Merlin wonders if he’s still in shock and if Gaius might be needed. He would call for his mentor but his legs don’t appear to be working, rather unfortunately.

“So, you mean to tell me that you are the reason I’ve lived this long and have achieved so many things?” he finally asks.

“Well, of course you had something to do with it all as well, but I was there to help, yes.”

Arthur sighs and lets his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on the table and Merlin doesn’t move, letting the man take as much time as he needs to process it all.

“Right. I’d like you to know that I will not be sentencing you to death, nor will I be arresting you. I…I can’t say I trust you right now, but if I put you in a cell I think it would make me feel worse than letting you carry on with your duties.”

Merlin lets out a breath. That was to be expected, he would have been so extremely shocked if Arthur still trusted him after it all. Of course he didn’t, he’s just found out his manservant’s been lying to him for all these years.

“For now, you will continue to be my manservant and work for Gaius, but I hope you understand that I cannot trust you. At least…not right now.”

“I understand completely, Arthur. I just want you to know, I’ve only ever used my magic to help you, to protect you.” 

He sighs again, then looks Merlin in the eyes. “Stop, Merlin. Stop lying.”

“It’s not a lie!”

“I…I understand that you don’t want anything to happen to you, and so I’m making sure nothing will. But that doesn’t mean I appreciate you fabricating that giant lie of destiny and you being some powerful sorcerer. So, please, just drop it.”

Wait… what?

He…he thinks that all of my story is a lie? “No, Arthur, all of that is true!”

“Merlin!” His fists slam onto the table, and his manservant’s reeling back. “The more you try to convince me that you’ve been using magic for me the more mad I’m going to get. You are a sorcerer, you probably suck at it, and you most likely have used it for meaningless things. I am not going to kill you, you don’t need to make up some big story to try and convince me not to.”

He’s speechless. He’s…Merlin doesn’t even know what he is! Arthur thinks he’s making it all up which, granted, his story is vaguely insane but, still!

“Arthur—”

“I need to head down to the council meeting before it’s over completely. Once I’m done with that, I expect my chambers to be clean and my armour polished with my sword sharpened. Understood?”

“But—”

“Understood?”

“I…yes, sire. I understand.” And with that, Arthur takes his leave, the door closing behind him and letting the past couple of minutes finally sink into Merlin’s head.

“He didn’t believe me, Gaius! He didn’t believe me at all!” 

“Well, son, you have to understand it from his point of view.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“That for years he’s known you as his clumsy, useless, foolishly brave manservant who has no manners or balance or knowledge in fighting.”

The two of them are in the physician’s quarters where Gaius makes some remedy for a patient of his. It’s the evening of that same day, and Merlin had gone through watching training to going on a hunt—which, for once, had no surprise bandits or assassins—with Arthur still not believing his story. The truth, Merlin might add.

“Okay, yes, sure. He thinks of me as his idiot servant who hates hunts, trips over air and can’t keep his mouth shut—”

“You are all those things.”

“Gaius!” Merlin does not whine, thank you. “As I was saying, he might think those things, but surely now that he’s seen that I have magic he understands that there is more to me than meets the eye?”

“Can I ask you a question before this continues?” Gaius asks, earning a nod from his ward. “Right, if I give you genuine answers, are you going to listen to them or do you just want to complain about Arthur?”

“...Uh.”

“I thought as much. Complain away, Merlin, I’ll give you my ear, I suppose. But, don’t expect me to add anything if you’re not going to take it in.”

“Fine, fine…So—”

Gaius sighs to himself. He’s thankful that his ward isn’t in a cell or on a pyre right now, but this whole thing with Arthur and him not believing the story is starting to irritate him. He’s the court physician, for crying out loud, not the court therapist. Though, this place probably needs someone with that title, given all the going-ons that occur. But, alas, Camelot has no official Court Therapist, so everyone comes to Gaius.

God, he’s too old for this.

About a week or so passes before the whole magic thing is brought up between the two of them again. They’re out on another hunt, because of course they are, and it’s currently getting rather dark. The two of them, plus the knights, are looking for a spot to start up a fire. Things had been strained between Merlin and Arthur, to the point where multiple of the knights have come up to both of them, on separate occasions though, to ask about it. Lancelot and Gwaine have come to Merlin while Leon’s gone to Arthur. Elyan and Percival have yet to ask one of them specifically, mostly because they thought it weren’t much their business. Besides, they got all the gossip from Gwaine anyway.

With Lance, Merlin explained everything, much like what had happened with Gaius. Meaning, a lot of rambling and ignoring helpful suggestions from the other party. As for Gwaine, he said it was just a small thing and wasn’t his business anyway, though unbeknownst to him, his friend explained this to the other knights and then gave his own thoughts on the matter which consisted of ‘a lover’s spat’ to put it plainly.

Anyway, once they find a clearing, they settle in and begin to start a fire. “Can you guys go fix up the horses,” Arthur says to all the knights.

“But Merlin’s doing that.”

“Yeah, no, I need to speak with him.” All of them left, surprisingly, but not to follow orders. Well, maybe for Leon and perhaps Lancelot, but for the rest of them they understood that this had to do with the lover’s spat (as they were now calling it) and wanted to give the two of them some privacy. 

Once they’re gone, Merlin sits down opposite Arthur, the unlit campfire between them.

“So…”

“So.” He sighs, as if he’s not quite sure what he wants to say. Merlin doesn’t interrupt because he knows it’s about his magic and he doesn’t want to ruin anything. “Can you start a fire?”

“Oh, um, yeah? I’ve done it loads of times and you’ve seen—”

“No, you prat. I mean with…you know.” He wiggles his fingers as if saying the word will burn his tongue, but Merlin gets the jist of it.

“Ah, right. Um, yes. Yes, I can. Do you…want me to?” Arthur nods his head.

A fire is simple, it’s so simple and yet right now it means the world to Merlin. Still, with one quick glance to where the knights had walked off to, he puts his hand out and lets his eyes turn gold. The fire’s no different to any other fire, because why would it be? Though, he wonders if Arthur’s looking for anything like the sort.

Merlin catches his eyes and the way they study the flames. He’s holding his breath, afraid that if he breathes it’ll somehow kill the fire and whatever lingering feeling between the two of them will disperse. 

The knights soon come back and Arthur’s yet to say anything, so Merlin begrudgingly leaves it be and makes a start on the food. They all sit and talk about all sorts of things, though it’s clear a certain two are less talkative than normal. Still, Gwaine does pretty well filling in all the gaps with the weird dreams he has—a sock made of apples…or maybe an apple made of socks?—and other peculiar stories he’s got tucked into his belt.

Finishing off the food, Merlin mutters that he’s going to go check on the horses and leaves before he can hear any of the responses. He does check on them, but then he stays in the forest after doing so. He’s not entirely sure what he’s meant to do, really. Merlin had imagined so many different ways of it all happening, but had never once thought about something even remotely similar to this. Perhaps that is his own fault, maybe he should have accounted for the fact that he’s quite the idiot. 

Still, Arthur’s relatively fine and he’s not in any trouble himself, but the troubling feeling lingers. Then there’s of course the issue that his king doesn’t believe his tales of heroicness and saving of the day. He’s rather offended by the complete assumption that it’s all lies, he really is.

“Merlin?”

“Ah!” He spins around to face Arthur, who annoyingly snuck up on him while he’d been pondering about what his life has become. “Hello. Can I help you with anything, sire?”

“Stop calling me that, it’s weird.”

“I’m supposed to call you that. You get mad when I don’t.”

“No, I…look, it’s just weird. Alright?” Arthur shakes his head, as if Merlin’s somehow the one making no sense. He’s making perfect sense, thank you! Arthur’s the one doubling back in on himself with all his jibber-jabber.

“So, why’d you come over here?” See, he’s dropping the ‘sire’ so the prat’s got to be happy now.

“The fire. Your, um, well you know.”

“Again with the wiggling fingers. The word isn’t going to hurt you, Arthur.”

“I know! I know, I just don’t want the knights to overhear.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Seriously, maybe it would have been better if Merlin was exiled or something, at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this awkward limbo thing they’ve now got going on. Maybe doing the fire was a mistake. 

“So…”

“Hmm? Oh! Yeah, so, the fire. I, well, um—” Dear god, Arthur Pendragon does not stutter, yet here he is. “Look, this whole thing is going to take a while for me to get used to, but if you want to start using magic when it’s just the two of us, I won’t mind.”

That was…unexpected. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, well, now that I know all magic isn’t evil like my father told me, I should get used to it. Just, only when it’s the two of us, okay? I can’t have you getting found out by anyone else.”

Merlin’s ecstatic. Oh, this had rarely been a scenario he thought out, mostly because he’d always been too scared to get his own hopes up when Arthur forgiving him was such a vague, unachievable idea. And yet here they were. 

“Oh, alright then.”

“Okay.” The two of them stood in the woods awkwardly, neither of them quite sure of what to do next.

“Does anyone else know?” Arthur abruptly asks.

Merlin wonders if it’d be right to tell him about Gaius. Maybe he’s already thinking about it, maybe he’s already suspecting Gaius of knowing. “Nothing’s going to happen to them?”

“No, no. Of course not. I’d just like to know. Really, I’d just like confirmation on Gaius.” Ah, so he is already thinking about that.

“He knows, yeah.”

“I thought so.” He pauses for a moment. Then, “Is there anyone else who knows about you?”

Lancelot. He should tell him, but Merlin’s worried. Gaius is one thing; the man used to perform magic and Arthur’s aware of that, not to mention the fact that he’s lived with the old man for many years. Lance, on the other hand, is Arthur’s knight. He’s a part of Arthur’s trusted people—not to say Gaius isn’t—but as far as the king is aware, Lancelot has never touched magic. 

But, lying can’t be any better. It’d just be delaying the inevitable.

“Merlin? Sometime today, perhaps, you could answer me.”

“You have to promise me that nothing will happen to them.”

“I already did—”

“Yes, but you already suspected that Gaius knew. It’d be unlikely for him to be unaware of the fact that he’s been harbouring a sorcerer for years. This person, however, you might be more surprised.”

He sighs, hands on his hips and he’s flicking between his kingly stance and his just Arthur one. “Please, just tell me. I promise no harm’s going to come to them. Besides, it wasn’t their secret to tell, I suppose.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. The man’s only so far away from them, back with the rest of the knights. “It’s Lancelot.”

“Lancelot knows? He…for how long?”

“You remember when he first came to Camelot, right?” A nod. “Well, the reason he left after defeating the griffin was because he felt like he didn’t earn that right, because he saw me enchanted his spear. Gaius was right about it only being able to be killed by magic, so I did what I could.”

“I…is this a part of your tall tales again?”

“No, I swear! This is true. Not that anything else I told you isn’t true, because it is, and we should really try to talk about that at some point because you thinking I’m lying about it all is really not great and—”

“You’re rambling, Merlin.”

“Ask him, I’m not lying about me helping with the griffin.”

“Fine, I will.” And with that, the two of them head back to the knights, who of which are now in their bed rolls splayed out on the ground. “Lancelot?”

“Yes, sire?”

“May I speak with you for a moment?” 

As Lance gets up to follow Arthur, he catches Merlin’s eye. He gives the knight a nod, hoping he’ll understand the message. He himself lies down, but he keeps his eyes open until footsteps are coming back. Once the two come back, Merlin risks a glance at them. Lance gives him a small smile, so he assumes it all went fine. As in: Arthur believes Merlin’s story and Lancelot is not in trouble whatsoever.

God, he really hopes he hasn’t just ruined every piece of trust the two had between them. He just couldn’t lie to Arthur again, not after he knows the rest.

“So, let me just get this straight, Arthur found out about your magic because you two were doing your usual bickering and your magic accidentally lifted his plate into the air for no reason?”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“I mean no offence, Merlin, but it is stupid,” Lancelot replies as he sits on the table. They’d come back from the hunt that morning and then the knights had done some training. Arthur had gone a little harder on Lancelot, which is why he found himself in the physician’s chambers. Gaius was out, however, but Merlin knows the basics.

As he fixed up his friend, Lance explained what had happened that night when Arthur spoke to him. It was simple enough; the man had asked about the griffin, explained what Merlin’s version was, and he gave the truth. Merlin’s telling the truth, sire. My apologies for keeping it a secret from you, however I deemed it not something of mine to tell.

Arthur said he was forgiven, though getting his frustration out via swordfighting was definitely still his go to. After Lancelot was done explaining his side of it, Merlin began filling him in on the rest.

“That is not the point of this!”

“I feel like it should be.”

“Okay, goodbye. I’ve fixed you up so you can get the hell out of my room!” Merlin yells, quite miserably failing to hide the smile on his face. 

“He’s fine with it? Seriously?”

“Apparently. Though, he doesn’t believe a word of my tales, even though they’re all true.”

“Well, you have to understand that from his perspective—”

Merlin wanted to roll his eyes backwards and just keep them there. “Yes, yes, I’ve already been told all of that my Gaius. I don’t need it from you as well.”

“Apologies, my friend. Well, I should be off, but keep me filled in on the situation.”

“I will. And, I’m sorry for training today. It’s my fault he’s mad at you.”

“No, it’s not. I’m fine, anyway.” 

Lancelot leaves the room and Merlin’s left in the silence. He’s got a little while to spare, so he sits down and begins trying to think up tactics because he was getting sick of Arthur not believing him. Sure, his life stories are insane but they are true and he will make his king see sense. He has to, especially since Arthur’s half of the goddamn destiny.

He could call Kilgharrah, but that might be a bit too much. 

Merlin does not whine, but he doesn’t not whine either as his head slams into the wood. Then, he remembers another scaly friend of his, only one far smaller, cuter, less metaphor-y and, well, far less annoying as well.

Aithusa.

“Where are we going? I have things to do, you know. Merlin? Merlin! Are you even listening to me?” 

“Stop talking and follow me.”

“You seem to have forgotten, Merlin, that I am the one who gives orders and not you.”

It’s the next day and Merlin had decided to do his plan straight away, so no fear of backing out of it or whatever. Besides, Arthur had a mostly free day, and he knows this since he deals with the man’s schedule so actually, no he doesn’t have many things to do.

They soon arrive at the usual place where he meets up with Kilgharrah, only this time he won’t have to deal with riddles and an old lizard mocking him. He’ll have to deal with a baby harmlessly biting him—mostly harmless, anyway—but he’d prefer that one.

“Since you think I lied about everything I told you, I want to prove to you that I didn’t. Why you don’t believe me in the first place, I’m not sure, but you will after this.”

“I don’t believe any of it because it’s ridiculous!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, don’t be frightened by what is about to happen,” Merlin says, earning a scoff from the man beside him.

“Merlin, I am a king. I do not get frightened—ah!”

He begins speaking in the Dragonlord tongue and has to really refrain from giggling at Arthur. The man pretends that he didn’t squeal (he definitely did) and finally registers what is going on. Or, at least, his understanding of it.

“You sound ill. And stupid. And…ill.” He doesn’t tell Arthur to shut up because he needs to concentrate, but he hopes his glare gets the message along well enough.

Once he’s done, he turns back to his king. “What the hell was that?”

“You’ll see.” Merlin’s gotten a whole lot more calm regarding his magic and all his secrets with Arthur, but he’s glad about it. Besides, this whole thing of his life not being believed as the truth is vaguely starting to get to him. It’s stupid that Arthur won’t accept that what he told the man is what actually happened. Maybe he just doesn’t want to acknowledge that his useless manservant has helped him so much over the years, but that shouldn’t at all take away from what Arthur has done himself. Still, Merlin would like just a little bit of recognition. Just a tad.

“Seriously, Merlin, what on earth are we doing here—” A loud roar cuts him off, and the very brave and fearless King of Camelot is stumbling backwards, falling onto his arse and then freezing in his spot on the ground.

“Arthur, meet Aithusa. Aithusa; Arthur” he introduces, letting the small, white dragon climb on him. She’s gnawing at his hair for a moment, a way of saying hello as she’s yet to develop her speech like Kilgharrah has. Then, she finally acknowledged the second man, not that he himself is all too pleased with that.

“What the f—”

“Please don’t swear in front of her, she’s only a baby still.”

Arthur is once again looking at Merin as if he’s gone mad, or perhaps has grown another head. Though, considering where Aithusa has currently placed herself on him, he technically does have another head right on top of his own.

“Believe me now?” he asks, no longer trying to hide the smile on his face. He beacons for Arthur to stand up. “She won’t hurt you, I promise. She’s a baby, and even if she did anything, she’ll listen to my commands.”

It takes a couple of minutes before Arthur even dares to go anywhere near Merlin and the…dragon. And no, he doesn’t appreciate that his manservant thinks that saying things like ‘she won’t bite’ or ‘I can control her’ makes him think that Arthur is any more interested in going near. Sure, this one is a whole lot smaller than the last one he met. And, he supposes that it not trying to kill everyone in his kingdom is a plus, but it’s still, you know, a dragon.

Eventually, however, he’s standing as side-by-side as he can be without panicking. The dragon’s still crawling over Merlin, from his arms to his shoulders to his head, but she’s staring at him. It’s terrifying. And interesting. But most terrifying.

“Aithusa, you said.”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty name.”

“I named her, actually.”

“Pretty stupid, I meant.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “What happened to that other dragon being the last of its kind?”

“I told you about that, back in your chambers. Remember?”

“So you weren’t lying about secretly taking a dragon egg, lying to me about it, hatching the thing yourself and letting your magic name it?” He’s looking at Merlin with a stare he often has when his servant’s being weird. So, most of the time. 

“I was not.” He wants to mention that he was telling the truth about all of it, but decided that he should focus on the dragon thing first.

“So, you’re the last living dragonlord?” A nod, and a step closer. Arthur, surprisingly, doesn’t back away with it, letting the distance between him and Aithusa—and by extension, Merlin—lessen. He gives his king another nod. “And…Balinor was your father?”

At this, Merlin looks away, not that Arthur really notices. No, he’s connected eyes with Aithusa, though Merlin’s certain it’s because the man fears what will happen if he looks away from it, if only for a second.

“It’s cute.”

“She, Arthur. But, yes, she is.”

They can talk about his father another time. Right now he’s more interested in his king and his dragon, and then letting the tall tales become a little less tall in Arthur’s mind.

Aithusa climbs to the end of Merlin’s arm, stretching her neck out to try and get closer to the new man she’s never met. A little reluctantly, he holds his hand out, not quite sure what else to do. The dragon sniffs it and, as if she could sense her master’s love for the man, immediately begins squealing about and trying to reach over. Arthur panics, but listens when Merlins says that she’s just happy to be meeting someone knew.

In the end, Arthur doesn’t hold Aithusa, but he does stroke her, let her lick his hand and, overall, falls just a little bit in love with the adorable thing. 

“Fine, I believe you about this whole dragonlord thing,” he says as they walk back to the castle.

“Thank god! I told you, I wasn’t lying about any of it—”

“I still think you’re an idiot.”

Merlin stares at him for a moment. “But?”

“But nothing. I can clearly see that you are a dragonlord, so maybe those stories are true, but that doesn’t mean everything else is. Last I checked, Balinor was a dragonlord only, so how you’d have so much magic just wouldn’t make sense.”

“Magic doesn’t make sense! It—Arthur, get back here!”

Chapter Text

Progress is progress, Merlin kept telling himself every time the thoughts appeared. Did he believe in what he was saying? No, not at all. What he did believe in was the knowledge that the Once and Future King was an utter prat. He knew that for certain.

Why? Just, why? There’s not believing Merlin because he’s only ever known the man as a bumbling mess and then there’s just not wanting to think it all the truth. Honestly! Oh, and yet Merlin’s the idiot? Ah ha, no thank you. 

It had been a month since Arthur and Aithusa had shaken hands—and paws, claws?—but nothing much has changed since then. A whole month! Yet, Arthur still thought he was making it all up to prove himself or something to that degree. He doesn’t need to prove anything! 

“It’s getting late, sire,” he says, his voice rather dull compared to his usual chirpyness when waking Arthur. The whole magic ordeal had been getting to him, rather unfortunately, and when a feast is added on top of that…well.

Merlin personally thinks feasts should be banned; nothing good comes from them anyway. At least not in Camelot and her history.

“Please get out of bed.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“...”

“Have you suffocated under all those layers, sire?” Merlin’s standing near the window, the one he opened, though hasn’t made a move to begin his usual literal dragging-out-of-bed tactics.

Arthur’s head peeks out from under his mass amount of covers, his eyes narrowing in on his servant. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’d be better if you actually got up so I can do my job.”

“You never do your job.”

“Well how can I when you make it so difficult?”

The usual banter seems to ease the two of them, and eventually Arthur’s getting out of his bed and Merlin’s dressing him like normal. Then it’s breakfast and a read-through of the day’s plans. Blablabla, training with the knights, blablabla, getting ready for the feast, the feast, blababla, bedtime. That was roughly it, anyway.

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin?” Arthur asks, looking at his servant with a sort of intense gaze.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, sire?”

He doesn’t answer at first, instead looking over the man once more, as if he’ll find whatever it is that he wants to. “You’re not yourself.”

Merlin wants to scream at him. He wants to demand why Arthur refuses to see all that he is, all that he has done. He doesn’t yell, though, and instead says that he is fine again before stepping back and allowing Arthur to finish his breakfast.

It’s been a month, and it isn’t as if Merlin didn’t try anything within it. No, he had tried and yet Arthur still thought he was full of it. It made no sense. The man had witnessed him use magic on trips out against bandits, had seen him cast spells over assassins that had snuck into the citadel, and it had even gotten to the point where now Arthur had, in fact, met Kilgharrah. He was told the destiny again by a dragon; and yet!

He really wasn’t sure what else there was to do but accept the fact that his King thought him a liar, thought him a fraud and thought him a storyteller.

Watching the knights train was always such an odd thing for Merlin. Not in a bad way, one would suppose, but odd nonetheless. He had no interest in swordfighting, nor does he care for the violence and idiocy of it all; not that being a knight in of itself is full of idiocy, just that these particular ones are. Still, he stands to the side and watches it all unfold.

While he’s not entirely sure what’s happening, he can tell who is winning in each sparring match. Arthur against Leon, Arthur is winning; Gwaine against Elyan, it’s currently a tie; Lancelot against Percival, Lance is a couple of steps ahead.

Granted, Merlin’s gaze keeps staying on a certain man for longer periods of time, but no one else besides him is aware of that. Arthur does look good in chainmail, though.

You’re supposed to be mad at him!

Merlin’s actually not quite sure if he is mad at his king or not; perhaps frustrated though. Gaius has run out of ideas on how to convince the man, and Lancelot’s only got a smile to give him now. So, all in all, he’s sort of stuck.

“Hey Merlin! You want to watch me kick Elyan’s ass?” Gwaine yells from where he’s stood, his hair swept in the soft wind as his grin grows wider. 

“I don’t know, my bets are on him!”

He looks absolutely betrayed by this, as if he’s just been stabbed in the heart. 

“What are your other bets, Merls?” Elyan asks, clearly very appreciative that he’s got a vote.

“Percival and Leon!” are his answers. There are great reasons for all of them. He likes winding Gwaine up, Arthur doesn’t deserve his vote, and Lancelot is still laughing at his magic reveal to Arthur. So, therefore, he wishes them all to miserably lose.

In the end, Arthur and Lance win, and Gwaine and Elyan call it a draw. Arthur then asks the knight to carry on training before walking over to his servant. “Merlin.”

“Yes?”

He stares again. The guy’s been doing that a lot. Maybe he’s not as okay with the magic as he said? Or maybe he’s still sussing out all the tall tales and whatnot. 

Maybe Merlin should just outright ask. No. Yes. No! …Maybe? “Why don’t you trust me?” Apparently he landed on a ‘yes’, then.

“I do trust you, Merlin, of course I do.”

“Why don’t you believe me then?” he asks, finally turning to face the man. He’s staring at his face, demanding eye-contact and answers. He hopes that is what comes off of him, anyway, and not the worriedness of scaredness that something else is going on in regard to trust, his magic, and them.

He takes a moment before answering the question. “It’s not that I don’t believe everything you told me, it’s just that—”

The warning bell rings out loudly across the field, sending Arthur, Merlin and all the knights into action. Everything in his life just has terrible timing, doesn’t it? It’d be funny if it weren’t so damn bloody irritating.

The feast doesn’t have to be delayed. The warning bell rang out due to some beast rummaging through the lower towns, however it was a creature of magic and Merlin could just feel what was wrong. It was a baby and it was injured. He’s mentioned this all to Arthur, with maybe added a quick note of ‘I can sense all this because I’m powerful’ which, granted, he isn’t the only magic user capable of that but he was trying to sell his point. Anyway, they’d managed to get it away from the people and back into the forest, of which Merlin then snuck out to go and heal it. He demanded Arthur to come with him to witness it, and he did.

“I’m the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth,” he had said. “Arthur?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Merlin. I think healing magic is quite common,” was the man’s response. As if he knew anything about magic! 

They’re currently back in Arthur’s chambers, with Merlin getting him ready for the feast. They had just recently knighted a whole load of new brave and daring men, and they thought it would be a good thing to do. Besides, no one says no to a feast (excluding Merlin, of course, who still sees them as places for death, poison, and women flirting with Artur and, no, he will not explain why he has a distaste for that last one).

He’d chosen out the outfit in complete silence, and then began dressing the man in even more silence. He’s at his wits end, Merlin is, with this entire thing. He just doesn’t get it. Why does Arthur refuse to understand that he isn’t lying? He’d seemed so close to telling him at training, but then the bell had gone and ruined that.

He could ask again, Merlin supposed, but he was rather worried he would no longer be given a chance to get an answer. Arthur’s just as quiet as he is, if not more, and it’s vaguely (absolutely) terrifying. 

A couple of moments pass and Merlin decides to just do it. When has he ever really thought a plan through, anyway? Gaius could go on forever about how he rarely does.

“You were saying something about how it’s not that you don’t believe me, but that…well, the bell cut you off there.”

Arthur sighs, as if he doesn’t want to have this conversation and Merlin is already regretting bringing it up again. Then, however, he pushes Merlin away from where he’s doing up the laces of his shirt so that he can properly look at him. For a second his mind drifts off to the fact that his hands are clasped in Arthur’s, but he soon focuses.

“I did say that. I…it’s hard to explain, but it really isn’t because I don’t believe you.” He guides Merlin to his table, and it’s oddly feeling like his accidental reveal (the thing that caused this whole mess) all over again. 

“So, what is it then? I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in your stupid head.”

He laughs at that. “Merlin, you’ve been my manservant for years, and throughout all of them I’ve known you as a clumsy fool who doesn’t have any manners or sophistication whatsoever. I also knew you as a man who follows me and my knights into dangerous situations time and time again, refusing to leave our side. You always insisted on coming to missions, journeys and hunts, even though you don’t like them, but you always did. So, I took your safety on as my responsibility, because everyone in Camelot is my responsibility, but you especially. Manservants shouldn’t do the things you did, and because of that I thought I had to protect you from everything. Finding out everything that happened when I couldn’t see, everything that you did, well I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“I don’t understand, Arthur.”

“I’m supposed to protect you, but apparently this entire time it’s been the other way round. You don’t need my protection, and apparently I’ve been needing yours. Behind everything, you are the reason so many enemies have been defeated, so many wrongs have been righted, not me.”

“So, you mean to tell me that you are the reason I’ve lived this long and have achieved so many things?” he finally asks.

“Well, of course you had something to do with it all as well, but I was there to help, yes.”

He wasn’t being rude about it, or in disbelief because he couldn’t possibly imagine Merlin doing so many things. He was worried, and anxious about it all, about the fact that maybe he didn’t deserve his achievements. “Arthur, your accomplishments are yours, of course they are.”

“I’m not so sure, Merlin. I thought I defeated the Great Dragon, but it turns out you still talk with him on occasion. I thought me and my men had conquered the immortal armies, but it was you that had spilled the cup of their blood. I thought that I was perceptive, that I was the greatest leader, and yet you were the one leading me.”

It’s silent in his chambers, the two men unaware of how or where to pick it all up. So they don’t. 

Merlin feels horrible. He’s never meant for any of this. In all of his scenarios, it had Arthur mad or angry or betrayed or, in some cases, forgiving. It never had him as this.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“No, no. Don’t start that. I’m not mad at you for this, it’s not your fault. How could I be mad at you for risking your neck for me time and time again?”

“So…you do believe me, then?” He knew Arthur did, but his heart needed to hear the man say it. 

“Of course I do. My…aversion to accepting it has nothing to do with you or how I view you, I promise. I just found myself conflicted. I couldn’t understand why the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth would stay as my manservant. I couldn’t—still don’t, actually—uncderstand why you’ve put up with all that you have.”

For a moment, Merlin considers what to say. It’s such a loaded question, for one so short. Why? It’s the bane of his existence, that one word. In the end, however, he chooses a select couple of words that truly showcase his reasoning.

“Because it’s you, Arthur.”

The feast has no deaths, no attempted murder of any kind, and minimal amounts of chaos. So, all in all it turned out quite alright.

As it turns out, Arthur was only a little bit of a liar, though Merlin only found out after he’d dragged the drunken king back to his chambers late in the night. Apparently Arthur really had at first not believed Merlin’s stories because he thought his servant was too much of an idiot. Then he talked with Lancelot and then met Aithusa. That’s when it turned from ‘it can’t be true because the guy is too stupid’ to ‘I don’t know what it would mean if it is true’ so, yeah. Merlin has some choice words for a sober Arthur, but that’s a problem for another day.

“You can’t blame me, you just can’t. You’re an absolute bumbling mess of a man who trips over nothing and wears the same cute outfit everyday!”

“You think my outfit is cute?”

“...Shut up, Merlin! Anyway, it is not my fault that I didn’t believe you at first. I mean, who would? Then of course Lancelot backed you up and then you made me meet up with that creature—”

“You loved Aithusa and we both know it.”

“—don’t interrupt me, please.”

“Oh, please? The king has manners, everyone!”

“You said I was drunk but I’m not the one talking to people who aren’t there. But, after meeting her I realised that you were somehow telling the truth about it all and that really ruined things for me, you know.”

“My sincerest apologies, my lord.”

“You are forgiven, my lord.”

“I’m not a lord, Arthur.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But you’re a dragonlord?”

“I don’t think that’s an official ‘lord’ title, though.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. And, sire?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got no trousers on.”

“Ah, right.”

The entire magic mess was something so utterly ridiculous that Merlin would never have been able to guess it. But he thinks about it as he tucks his king into bed, an absolutely oddity of a story is practically perfect for them.

Still, a sober Arthur’s not going to know what hits him until it’s too late. Seriously, Merlin is not that much of an idiot. And, even if he was, Arthur’s just as bad as him.

One would suppose that that is why the stupid situation of it all fits the pair so flawlessly.