Merlin - The Price of Freedom (Merlin/Arthur) (2/2)
Title: The Price of Freedom (2/2)
Author:
batgurl88
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~7,700
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur (preslash/friendship), Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, Uther
Content Warnings: Depression, magical restraint
Summary: Arthur stares at him, eyes unseeing. The goblet drops to the floor with a clang. Sorcery.
--
( Part One here)
---
"Merlin!"
Arthur's on his feet before he realises it, dropping to his knees next to where Merlin lay unmoving.
His forehead is warm, feverish. He's burning up. Arthur feels for a pulse and instead finds a wrist that is far bonier than it should be, his skin clammy and pale. He's not dead, but he hardly looks alive.
I did this.
He gathers him up in his arms, wincing at how easy he is to carry, and makes for Gaius' chambers, glaring at the guards who watch them pass.
He finds the door open and wastes no time in entering. "Gaius!"
The old man turns away from his experiments, his face losing a few shades of colour at the sight of his charge.
"What happened?" he asks, clearing the pallet for Arthur to set him down. Merlin's limbs sprawl across the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Arthur's stomach roils.
"He just... collapsed," Arthur says carefully, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the bracelet that is surely to blame. He'd hoped that Merlin would get used to it with time - the man who'd sold it to him had promised him as much - but instead he's only gotten worse. It was never meant to kill him.
The physician follows his gaze to the restraint, his expression hardening. He sees the accusation in Gaius' eyes, and of course Gaius knows about Merlin's magic. Why shouldn't there be more secrets? More lies?
"It was necessary," Arthur says, his words rigid and defensive. "It's only meant to prevent him from using magic."
Gaius' sharp eyes bore into his, unwavering.
"Did you never ask Merlin about the nature of his powers?"
It's not a reproach - not exactly - but Arthur hears it all the same.
"What I know is treason enough," he replies coldly.
He means for it to sound final, decisive, but Gaius is still frowning at him like a child in need of a scolding.
"Merlin doesn't just have magic," he says slowly, each syllable measured, restrained. "He is magic. The bracelet cannot lock up one without the other."
The implication hangs there like an axe, sharpened and heavy, Merlin's shallow breaths the only break in the silence. Anger and guilt war within him and he clenches his fist because why can none of this be easy.
He feels Gaius' eyes on him still, expectant, impatient, and something within him snaps.
"You'd have me remove it."
He hardly recognises his own voice, his temper making the words hard, the edges ragged. Gaius doesn't so much as blink, his jaw set. He's silent, though, and that angers Arthur all the more.
He snarls, pacing the room, his ears buzzing and his hands itching for something to hit.
"You'd have me leave him to his own devices, a magic user in Camelot," he hisses, his rage a thing of its own now. "You'd tell me to trust him to know what's best when he's done nothing but lie since I've known him."
He whirls back to the physician, his hands in fists at his sides, his mind plagued by visions of fire and heavy rope twisted into nooses.
"You'd let him use it again and again until someone found out, and then you'd wish he'd had the bracelet on," he spits, the words he's longed to shout at someone for months finally boiling to the surface like fat in a stew. "You know how he is. If I take the restraint off, how long until he lands his head on the chopping block?"
Gaius' expression turns a shade more reproachful, a mulish line to his mouth.
"Forgive me, sire, but at least beheading would be a quick death."
Arthur ignores the truth in the words, his ears roaring with thoughts too many to count. There has to be another path, some other way to have the safety of the restraint without the danger.
Gaius stands taller, the presence of his surrogate son seeming to grant him the strength to speak when he otherwise might not.
"How much longer are you going to insist on punishing him? Or is he to slowly waste away into nothing under your care?"
"And what would you have me do?" Arthur snaps. "Stand by and watch as he uses his magic as he sees fit? Let him use it at the wrong time or in front of the wrong person because he thought he could help? The bracelet may not be ideal, but it's better than the pyre."
The older man's eyes narrow. "Much as I would do anything to spare Merlin that fate, don't you think it should be his choice to make?"
The words make Arthur stumble, pause. They stand there in silence, their barbs to one another like a darkened cloud between them, obscuring Arthur's vision.
Merlin's breath catches in a low hiss, his chest twitching. The air wheezes out of him like a bellows left to deflate.
The noise shakes Gaius from his stupor, and he stoops, fussing over Merlin's pillow as though it will stop his cheeks from being so pale, stop his lips from turning more blue. He grasps the thin bedsheet, pulling it over Merlin's shivering frame and Arthur tracks the movement, half expecting him to cover his face with it as well.
It's what they do with corpses, after all.
Merlin's cheeks are sunken and his hands are shaking and this wasn't how things were supposed to go.
The physician mumbles something about water, grabbing a pail as he heads for the door. Arthur wonders briefly if he doesn't want to be here when it happens. When the wheezing breaths peter out into silence.
He jostles a table as he leaves, knocking a wooden cup to the ground. The noise startles Arthur, jolts a memory within him, his eyes tracing its path as it rolls across the floor.
'I swear I'd never do anything to harm you.'
He's sitting suddenly, his eyes sliding back to the pallet in front of him. Merlin's chest rises and falls, each movement a little smaller, a little slower as Arthur watches. He wonders what it would look like if it stopped. He wonders if it would be any more peaceful than choking on thick, black smoke or having the ground drop out from beneath you.
He wonders what Merlin would think.
He tugs at the cord around his neck, the familiar shape of the key sliding across his palm. The click of the lock is nearly deafening, the bracelet falling uselessly to the bed.
Merlin gasps a lungful of air, as though he'd been holding his breath for weeks, the colour returning marginally to his cheeks. It's like watching him die in reverse, like Merlin himself had been vanishing, piece by piece.
Arthur stands and walks out of the room, leaving the key behind.
* * *
He comes back two days later to find Gaius fussing over his experiments once more. It feels like an echo, like stepping back inside a memory, and he hovers for an instant, the door creaking beneath his hand.
The physician stiffens as he enters, a stern look crossing his face.
"Sire."
There's no real deference in the word, a statement in itself.
He moves to stand before the stairway, steady and unyielding, like a sentinel. Arthur wonders vaguely if he'd fight him if he tried to pass. Wonders if he wants to find out.
They stare silently at one another, neither willing to retreat, until a thin voice sounds from the top of the stairs.
"It's all right, Gaius."
His voice is a balm, thready and weak though it is, and it occurs to Arthur that it's more than he's heard Merlin say in weeks.
Gaius doesn't move at first, his expression unreadable, but then he's stepping aside, his head held high. His eyes never leave Arthur as he makes his way toward the stairs, his steely gaze voicing what he cannot.
Arthur walks the steps like a man heading to the gallows, equal parts determination and dread.
He pushes the door open to find Merlin propped up on the bed, a host of threadbare pillows supporting him. He looks better than he had, though that says very little.
Arthur finds himself rooted in the doorway, his mind frustratingly blank. Merlin offers no help, no hint of a distraction or reprieve, as he might have done in the past. He always used to let Merlin carry the burden of these sorts of things, let him shoulder the weight of the emotions and words Arthur couldn't say, could never admit to.
But the Merlin across from him shows none of the openness of before, his thoughts guarded behind thick walls, impenetrable, his sharp eyes watching him without comment.
He almost asks how he's feeling, out of habit. Like this is any other visit, like the time Merlin came down with a particularly bad chest cough and was bed-ridden for three days. But he shuts his mouth tightly, trapping the words before they can escape. It feels wrong to ask after an ailment he's responsible for.
The silence is heavy, awkward. He searches desperately for a way to fill it, but his thoughts are like smoke, slipping through his fingers before he can grasp them. He wishes he had something to do with his hands, wishes he were sitting instead of standing, and why had he even come.
"I wasn't sure whether you'd be awake," he says after far too long a pause.
The words are stiff, too formal, and they hang weakly in the air. Merlin doesn't reply, his posture hunched and guarded.
The silence lingers, and Arthur feels his cheeks heating, even as he inwardly rails against the awkwardness threatening to swallow him. Princes don't grovel, his father's voice reminds him, the words coated in a thin veneer of disgust.
It's clear, though, that Merlin is waiting. To see what he says. What he does. If there's one thing Arthur hates showing more than weakness, it's inaction.
He shuts the door, stepping toward the measly bed. "Look-"
Merlin shifts, tenses, as though preparing for an attack. His eyes are fixed on Arthur's hands and he halts, recognising the reaction for what it is. Merlin may have willingly submitted to the bracelet all those months ago, but it's clear that he has no intention of going quietly a second time.
Arthur's stomach turns, twists.
"I'm not here to arrest you, if that's what you're worried about," he says, the words sounding hollow even to his ears. They do little to reassure Merlin.
Still, he raises his chin, defiant.
"Are you here for your bracelet back, sire?"
Arthur masks his flinch, not sure which hits harder - the comment or the pointed title that follows it.
He stops for a moment, regroups. Thinks maybe he should try a different approach, as he had in the old days. Before the secrets and the lies and what days were those, exactly?
"I'm sorry about what happened," he says, wincing at how detached it sounds. As though it'd been someone else. Unavoidable. An accident.
Merlin seems to agree, his dark eyes not losing a single shade of their skepticism.
He draws in a deep breath. Tries again.
"I never meant for the bracelet to hurt you as it did. Gaius said it had something to do with your-" he stumbles, the word still heavy and ungraceful on his tongue after so many months.
"My magic," Merlin says, no less pointed for how softly it's spoken.
Arthur nods sharply, drops his eyes to the floor.
"The restraint was only meant to keep you from using it, it wasn't supposed to be lethal."
Merlin's shoulders are taut, his pale fingers tightly clenching the bedsheets.
"You saw how it was affecting me," he responds tonelessly. "If you didn't mean it as a punishment, then why did you leave it on for so long?"
"I should have been more vigilant," Arthur allows, studying the papers on the walls, the drawings with little notations that bear Merlin's hand. "I could see that you were struggling, but I thought the benefits outweighed the costs.
"I thought, at first, that the bracelet would fix things. That if you didn't have your magic anymore, it would be like it never happened, and we could carry on as we always had. But I was wrong," he says quietly, the words more bitter than he expects. He's had a lot of time to think on it, to think on the desperation with which he'd reached for the bracelet, believing it could restore things. Bring back the old Merlin. The harmless, dependable, trustworthy Merlin.
But the bracelet couldn't erase the knowledge. Couldn't erase the pain, or the betrayal, or the lies.
Arthur clears his throat once, twice.
"It took some time," he continues with forced indifference, "but I finally realised that it wasn't possible to return to a past built on deception. I had to accept that things between us were never what I'd believed them to be."
It's Merlin's turn to look unsure, his long fingers toying with the blankets. "I know it wasn't the best way for you to learn my secret. Believe me, I never wanted you to find out like that."
"You never wanted me to find out at all," Arthur replies more sharply than he intends, resentful. He shuts his mouth, lets his teeth gnaw on his tongue.
Merlin drops his gaze, studying the thin sheet that covers him.
"I wanted to tell you," he says, frowning when Arthur scoffs. "I did. But I've lived my whole life with this secret hanging over me, knowing I was putting myself and anyone who found out in danger. I know how much your father and your duty to Camelot mean to you, and I didn't want to put that burden on you, too."
An ugly fire lights within Arthur's chest, scalding his insides. "You expect me to believe you lied to me for my sake?"
Merlin winces, has the good grace not to meet his glare.
"It wasn't just that," he concedes softly. "I was scared of what you'd do if you ever learned the truth."
"You could've trusted me," Arthur grits out, thinking of the secrets he'd shared with Merlin, the pieces of himself he'd given bit by bit until he was laid bare.
The statement seems to stir something in Merlin, his formerly timid gaze rising once more.
"And look how that turned out."
The unexpected barb leaves Arthur prickly, defensive, his control beginning to slip. "Well, maybe things wouldn't have turned out that way if you'd trusted me first instead of letting me find out the way that I did."
"Would it have made any difference?" Merlin demands, his voice rising. "If I had come to you and told you about my magic three months ago, would you have accepted it? Or would you still have insisted on a way of controlling it?"
Arthur stiffens, his hands curling into fists, even as the accusation worms its way inside his mind, prickling at his conscience. He doesn't know how he would have reacted, doesn't know if there is a world out there with a happier ending for them both.
The guilt sours in his veins and he reaches desperately for the anger he'd felt, lets it fill him up once more. He's not the only one at fault. He'd had his reasons for acting as he had.
"I was doing it to protect you. Do you have any idea how many sorcerers my father has put to death? Most of them for far smaller crimes than enchanting a goblet."
"You think I don't know that?" Merlin's glare is fierce, heated. "I live in the same Camelot you do - believe me, I know very well what happens to sorcerers who are discovered. My whole life, I've had to hide who I am, constantly worrying about what would happen if someone found out. I've been careful."
"Not careful enough," Arthur counters, feeling on more even footing. "If I found out, what's to stop someone else from doing so? All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake, and you'd be headed straight for the pyre."
"I've been using magic my whole life," says Merlin, his anger seeming to grant him strength. "I know how to keep it secret."
"You treat it like a crutch," Arthur retorts. "You use it instinctively. Do you think I didn't notice all those little finger twitches? The way your hand raised every time some threat made itself known? Even with the bracelet on, your first instinct was to reach for magic, and it's going to land you a death sentence. The restraint may not have been the best solution, but at least it saved you from your own stupidity."
Even as he says it, the argument feels tired, worn from the days and weeks he's spent turning it over in his head, stretching it, picking at the loose edges.
Merlin's eyes slant doubtfully.
"You wanted to kill me to keep me from dying?" he says, the words sharp, biting, the fire behind them like something from a distant memory.
"I told you, it wasn't supposed to kill you-"
"But it was," Merlin says. "I get why you did it, Arthur, but it's my life. They're my powers. If I want to use them to help people, then it should be my choice. Taking that away is taking away my free will. If I'm to die either way, I'd prefer to get a say in how it happens."
And there's little Arthur can say to that, the statement stirring a memory of sickly pale cheekbones and wrists that were far too thin.
He takes another breath, reminds himself why he's there.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, putting more feeling behind it this time. "As angry as I was, I never wanted to cause you pain. I know I acted wrongly, and you have every right to hate me for that, but I won't apologise for being angry with you."
Merlin's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, seeming to accept the compromise.
"I'm sorry, too," he offers, his shoulders losing some of their tension. "I hated keeping secrets from you, and lying all of the time. I know it hurt you, finding out the way you did. For what it's worth, I wish I had told you instead."
Arthur's not sure what that's worth, not sure what anything is worth anymore, but it's better than nothing. It has to be.
"And," Merlin continues, more hesitantly this time, "I'm sorry for putting the burden on you, too. Of having to keep it a secret from your father all these months."
There's an undercurrent to his words that Arthur just barely catches, his small shoulders hunching. It feels like a test. Like a second chance, of sorts.
He turns it over in his mind, letting the array of possible answers drift across the back of his tongue until the right one settles itself into place.
"I won't expose your secret," he says, refusing to let himself dwell on what that means for his honour as a prince, as a knight, as a son. Whatever else Merlin is, he's not a traitor. He doesn't deserve to die like one.
The glint in Merlin's eyes betrays his doubt.
"I won't stop using my magic," he says, cautiously, like a hunter checking the forest for traps. Searching for hidden dangers beneath the leaves. He raises his chin again, defiant. "It's my life, and if I get caught, I'll face the consequences."
The words are a challenge, echoing strangely in the stillness, giving voice at last to the decision that has laid patiently in wait for Arthur since the moment he fit the key into that lock.
He knows he can't ask him not to use it, can't make his choices for him and still claim to have changed. But if they're to have any hope of a way forward, there can be no more secrets, no more unsaid words left to fester.
"I understand," he acknowledges, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, lending a strange intensity to the moment. "I won't stop you, but I hope you'll be smart enough to only use it when there's no other choice. It may be your life, but it's not just you who's at risk. And there's no guarantee I'd be able to protect you if anyone else found out."
"I'll be careful," Merlin promises, uncharacteristically solemn. "And I'll do my best only to use it when the situation calls for it," he adds, which isn't the same as what Arthur had asked, but is maybe the best he will get.
They stare at one another, each holding the other's life in their hands, and it's strange, really, having to place your absolute trust in someone who betrayed you.
Merlin seems to feel it, too, his gaze drifting uncomfortably around the room.
"...What now?" he inquires, the words sounding more like the answer to a question neither is brave enough to ask.
The light pours in from the window, heavy and golden, as the silence stretches between them.
* * *
He returns to work four days later, still a bit shaky on his feet. He's still getting used to the roar of magic in his veins, to hearing it hum in the earth and the air as he walks. It’s overwhelming and frightening and comforting all at once - having all that power come rushing back to his fingertips after so long without it. He feels like he could move mountains and rebuild cities and bring worlds to their knees and maybe he was right to be afraid. Maybe this is too much power for anyone to have.
But mostly he feels clumsy and tired and unsettled in his own skin, like he’s wearing too much of it. Gaius tells him it’s to be expected.
'Things will sort themselves out again, you’ll see.'
He enters Arthur’s chambers quietly, months of practice under his belt, but Arthur is already dressed and at his desk, like he’s been waiting for him.
“Ah, Merlin. I’d forgotten you were back today.”
His voice is even and stilted, and Merlin knows this game, knows that he hadn’t forgotten. Knows that Arthur is every bit as unsure how to act as he is.
Arthur shuffles some papers around, listing off a stack of chores that need doing like it’s any other day, though his gaze keeps darting warily to Merlin.
Merlin nods along, feeling every bit as awkward and maybe this is the best they can hope for. Maybe there is no going back.
He turns but his eyes catch on the dining table, Arthur’s sword and armor laid out with a cloth and a whet stone beside them, and something in his chest loosens.
He glances back at Arthur who drops his gaze, like he hadn’t been watching anxiously, like he hadn’t been waiting for him to notice.
“I’ll need that lot cleaned by morning. It hasn’t been looked after properly in months.”
Arthur’s voice is casual but not cold, not the distant, unfeeling tone that he's gotten used to hearing. It’s familiar in a vague sort of way, like a tune he heard once in a crowd and long forgot.
Their eyes catch again for a moment before Arthur turns back to the papers before him, red staining his cheeks, his movements too nervous to match the unconcerned air he’s projecting.
The corners of Merlin’s lips pull up awkwardly, out-of-practice, and he sits.
"Yes, sire."
The end.
Author:
batgurl88
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~7,700
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur (preslash/friendship), Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, Uther
Content Warnings: Depression, magical restraint
Summary: Arthur stares at him, eyes unseeing. The goblet drops to the floor with a clang. Sorcery.
--
( Part One here)
---
"Merlin!"
Arthur's on his feet before he realises it, dropping to his knees next to where Merlin lay unmoving.
His forehead is warm, feverish. He's burning up. Arthur feels for a pulse and instead finds a wrist that is far bonier than it should be, his skin clammy and pale. He's not dead, but he hardly looks alive.
I did this.
He gathers him up in his arms, wincing at how easy he is to carry, and makes for Gaius' chambers, glaring at the guards who watch them pass.
He finds the door open and wastes no time in entering. "Gaius!"
The old man turns away from his experiments, his face losing a few shades of colour at the sight of his charge.
"What happened?" he asks, clearing the pallet for Arthur to set him down. Merlin's limbs sprawl across the bed like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Arthur's stomach roils.
"He just... collapsed," Arthur says carefully, unable to stop his eyes from straying to the bracelet that is surely to blame. He'd hoped that Merlin would get used to it with time - the man who'd sold it to him had promised him as much - but instead he's only gotten worse. It was never meant to kill him.
The physician follows his gaze to the restraint, his expression hardening. He sees the accusation in Gaius' eyes, and of course Gaius knows about Merlin's magic. Why shouldn't there be more secrets? More lies?
"It was necessary," Arthur says, his words rigid and defensive. "It's only meant to prevent him from using magic."
Gaius' sharp eyes bore into his, unwavering.
"Did you never ask Merlin about the nature of his powers?"
It's not a reproach - not exactly - but Arthur hears it all the same.
"What I know is treason enough," he replies coldly.
He means for it to sound final, decisive, but Gaius is still frowning at him like a child in need of a scolding.
"Merlin doesn't just have magic," he says slowly, each syllable measured, restrained. "He is magic. The bracelet cannot lock up one without the other."
The implication hangs there like an axe, sharpened and heavy, Merlin's shallow breaths the only break in the silence. Anger and guilt war within him and he clenches his fist because why can none of this be easy.
He feels Gaius' eyes on him still, expectant, impatient, and something within him snaps.
"You'd have me remove it."
He hardly recognises his own voice, his temper making the words hard, the edges ragged. Gaius doesn't so much as blink, his jaw set. He's silent, though, and that angers Arthur all the more.
He snarls, pacing the room, his ears buzzing and his hands itching for something to hit.
"You'd have me leave him to his own devices, a magic user in Camelot," he hisses, his rage a thing of its own now. "You'd tell me to trust him to know what's best when he's done nothing but lie since I've known him."
He whirls back to the physician, his hands in fists at his sides, his mind plagued by visions of fire and heavy rope twisted into nooses.
"You'd let him use it again and again until someone found out, and then you'd wish he'd had the bracelet on," he spits, the words he's longed to shout at someone for months finally boiling to the surface like fat in a stew. "You know how he is. If I take the restraint off, how long until he lands his head on the chopping block?"
Gaius' expression turns a shade more reproachful, a mulish line to his mouth.
"Forgive me, sire, but at least beheading would be a quick death."
Arthur ignores the truth in the words, his ears roaring with thoughts too many to count. There has to be another path, some other way to have the safety of the restraint without the danger.
Gaius stands taller, the presence of his surrogate son seeming to grant him the strength to speak when he otherwise might not.
"How much longer are you going to insist on punishing him? Or is he to slowly waste away into nothing under your care?"
"And what would you have me do?" Arthur snaps. "Stand by and watch as he uses his magic as he sees fit? Let him use it at the wrong time or in front of the wrong person because he thought he could help? The bracelet may not be ideal, but it's better than the pyre."
The older man's eyes narrow. "Much as I would do anything to spare Merlin that fate, don't you think it should be his choice to make?"
The words make Arthur stumble, pause. They stand there in silence, their barbs to one another like a darkened cloud between them, obscuring Arthur's vision.
Merlin's breath catches in a low hiss, his chest twitching. The air wheezes out of him like a bellows left to deflate.
The noise shakes Gaius from his stupor, and he stoops, fussing over Merlin's pillow as though it will stop his cheeks from being so pale, stop his lips from turning more blue. He grasps the thin bedsheet, pulling it over Merlin's shivering frame and Arthur tracks the movement, half expecting him to cover his face with it as well.
It's what they do with corpses, after all.
Merlin's cheeks are sunken and his hands are shaking and this wasn't how things were supposed to go.
The physician mumbles something about water, grabbing a pail as he heads for the door. Arthur wonders briefly if he doesn't want to be here when it happens. When the wheezing breaths peter out into silence.
He jostles a table as he leaves, knocking a wooden cup to the ground. The noise startles Arthur, jolts a memory within him, his eyes tracing its path as it rolls across the floor.
'I swear I'd never do anything to harm you.'
He's sitting suddenly, his eyes sliding back to the pallet in front of him. Merlin's chest rises and falls, each movement a little smaller, a little slower as Arthur watches. He wonders what it would look like if it stopped. He wonders if it would be any more peaceful than choking on thick, black smoke or having the ground drop out from beneath you.
He wonders what Merlin would think.
He tugs at the cord around his neck, the familiar shape of the key sliding across his palm. The click of the lock is nearly deafening, the bracelet falling uselessly to the bed.
Merlin gasps a lungful of air, as though he'd been holding his breath for weeks, the colour returning marginally to his cheeks. It's like watching him die in reverse, like Merlin himself had been vanishing, piece by piece.
Arthur stands and walks out of the room, leaving the key behind.
* * *
He comes back two days later to find Gaius fussing over his experiments once more. It feels like an echo, like stepping back inside a memory, and he hovers for an instant, the door creaking beneath his hand.
The physician stiffens as he enters, a stern look crossing his face.
"Sire."
There's no real deference in the word, a statement in itself.
He moves to stand before the stairway, steady and unyielding, like a sentinel. Arthur wonders vaguely if he'd fight him if he tried to pass. Wonders if he wants to find out.
They stare silently at one another, neither willing to retreat, until a thin voice sounds from the top of the stairs.
"It's all right, Gaius."
His voice is a balm, thready and weak though it is, and it occurs to Arthur that it's more than he's heard Merlin say in weeks.
Gaius doesn't move at first, his expression unreadable, but then he's stepping aside, his head held high. His eyes never leave Arthur as he makes his way toward the stairs, his steely gaze voicing what he cannot.
Arthur walks the steps like a man heading to the gallows, equal parts determination and dread.
He pushes the door open to find Merlin propped up on the bed, a host of threadbare pillows supporting him. He looks better than he had, though that says very little.
Arthur finds himself rooted in the doorway, his mind frustratingly blank. Merlin offers no help, no hint of a distraction or reprieve, as he might have done in the past. He always used to let Merlin carry the burden of these sorts of things, let him shoulder the weight of the emotions and words Arthur couldn't say, could never admit to.
But the Merlin across from him shows none of the openness of before, his thoughts guarded behind thick walls, impenetrable, his sharp eyes watching him without comment.
He almost asks how he's feeling, out of habit. Like this is any other visit, like the time Merlin came down with a particularly bad chest cough and was bed-ridden for three days. But he shuts his mouth tightly, trapping the words before they can escape. It feels wrong to ask after an ailment he's responsible for.
The silence is heavy, awkward. He searches desperately for a way to fill it, but his thoughts are like smoke, slipping through his fingers before he can grasp them. He wishes he had something to do with his hands, wishes he were sitting instead of standing, and why had he even come.
"I wasn't sure whether you'd be awake," he says after far too long a pause.
The words are stiff, too formal, and they hang weakly in the air. Merlin doesn't reply, his posture hunched and guarded.
The silence lingers, and Arthur feels his cheeks heating, even as he inwardly rails against the awkwardness threatening to swallow him. Princes don't grovel, his father's voice reminds him, the words coated in a thin veneer of disgust.
It's clear, though, that Merlin is waiting. To see what he says. What he does. If there's one thing Arthur hates showing more than weakness, it's inaction.
He shuts the door, stepping toward the measly bed. "Look-"
Merlin shifts, tenses, as though preparing for an attack. His eyes are fixed on Arthur's hands and he halts, recognising the reaction for what it is. Merlin may have willingly submitted to the bracelet all those months ago, but it's clear that he has no intention of going quietly a second time.
Arthur's stomach turns, twists.
"I'm not here to arrest you, if that's what you're worried about," he says, the words sounding hollow even to his ears. They do little to reassure Merlin.
Still, he raises his chin, defiant.
"Are you here for your bracelet back, sire?"
Arthur masks his flinch, not sure which hits harder - the comment or the pointed title that follows it.
He stops for a moment, regroups. Thinks maybe he should try a different approach, as he had in the old days. Before the secrets and the lies and what days were those, exactly?
"I'm sorry about what happened," he says, wincing at how detached it sounds. As though it'd been someone else. Unavoidable. An accident.
Merlin seems to agree, his dark eyes not losing a single shade of their skepticism.
He draws in a deep breath. Tries again.
"I never meant for the bracelet to hurt you as it did. Gaius said it had something to do with your-" he stumbles, the word still heavy and ungraceful on his tongue after so many months.
"My magic," Merlin says, no less pointed for how softly it's spoken.
Arthur nods sharply, drops his eyes to the floor.
"The restraint was only meant to keep you from using it, it wasn't supposed to be lethal."
Merlin's shoulders are taut, his pale fingers tightly clenching the bedsheets.
"You saw how it was affecting me," he responds tonelessly. "If you didn't mean it as a punishment, then why did you leave it on for so long?"
"I should have been more vigilant," Arthur allows, studying the papers on the walls, the drawings with little notations that bear Merlin's hand. "I could see that you were struggling, but I thought the benefits outweighed the costs.
"I thought, at first, that the bracelet would fix things. That if you didn't have your magic anymore, it would be like it never happened, and we could carry on as we always had. But I was wrong," he says quietly, the words more bitter than he expects. He's had a lot of time to think on it, to think on the desperation with which he'd reached for the bracelet, believing it could restore things. Bring back the old Merlin. The harmless, dependable, trustworthy Merlin.
But the bracelet couldn't erase the knowledge. Couldn't erase the pain, or the betrayal, or the lies.
Arthur clears his throat once, twice.
"It took some time," he continues with forced indifference, "but I finally realised that it wasn't possible to return to a past built on deception. I had to accept that things between us were never what I'd believed them to be."
It's Merlin's turn to look unsure, his long fingers toying with the blankets. "I know it wasn't the best way for you to learn my secret. Believe me, I never wanted you to find out like that."
"You never wanted me to find out at all," Arthur replies more sharply than he intends, resentful. He shuts his mouth, lets his teeth gnaw on his tongue.
Merlin drops his gaze, studying the thin sheet that covers him.
"I wanted to tell you," he says, frowning when Arthur scoffs. "I did. But I've lived my whole life with this secret hanging over me, knowing I was putting myself and anyone who found out in danger. I know how much your father and your duty to Camelot mean to you, and I didn't want to put that burden on you, too."
An ugly fire lights within Arthur's chest, scalding his insides. "You expect me to believe you lied to me for my sake?"
Merlin winces, has the good grace not to meet his glare.
"It wasn't just that," he concedes softly. "I was scared of what you'd do if you ever learned the truth."
"You could've trusted me," Arthur grits out, thinking of the secrets he'd shared with Merlin, the pieces of himself he'd given bit by bit until he was laid bare.
The statement seems to stir something in Merlin, his formerly timid gaze rising once more.
"And look how that turned out."
The unexpected barb leaves Arthur prickly, defensive, his control beginning to slip. "Well, maybe things wouldn't have turned out that way if you'd trusted me first instead of letting me find out the way that I did."
"Would it have made any difference?" Merlin demands, his voice rising. "If I had come to you and told you about my magic three months ago, would you have accepted it? Or would you still have insisted on a way of controlling it?"
Arthur stiffens, his hands curling into fists, even as the accusation worms its way inside his mind, prickling at his conscience. He doesn't know how he would have reacted, doesn't know if there is a world out there with a happier ending for them both.
The guilt sours in his veins and he reaches desperately for the anger he'd felt, lets it fill him up once more. He's not the only one at fault. He'd had his reasons for acting as he had.
"I was doing it to protect you. Do you have any idea how many sorcerers my father has put to death? Most of them for far smaller crimes than enchanting a goblet."
"You think I don't know that?" Merlin's glare is fierce, heated. "I live in the same Camelot you do - believe me, I know very well what happens to sorcerers who are discovered. My whole life, I've had to hide who I am, constantly worrying about what would happen if someone found out. I've been careful."
"Not careful enough," Arthur counters, feeling on more even footing. "If I found out, what's to stop someone else from doing so? All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake, and you'd be headed straight for the pyre."
"I've been using magic my whole life," says Merlin, his anger seeming to grant him strength. "I know how to keep it secret."
"You treat it like a crutch," Arthur retorts. "You use it instinctively. Do you think I didn't notice all those little finger twitches? The way your hand raised every time some threat made itself known? Even with the bracelet on, your first instinct was to reach for magic, and it's going to land you a death sentence. The restraint may not have been the best solution, but at least it saved you from your own stupidity."
Even as he says it, the argument feels tired, worn from the days and weeks he's spent turning it over in his head, stretching it, picking at the loose edges.
Merlin's eyes slant doubtfully.
"You wanted to kill me to keep me from dying?" he says, the words sharp, biting, the fire behind them like something from a distant memory.
"I told you, it wasn't supposed to kill you-"
"But it was," Merlin says. "I get why you did it, Arthur, but it's my life. They're my powers. If I want to use them to help people, then it should be my choice. Taking that away is taking away my free will. If I'm to die either way, I'd prefer to get a say in how it happens."
And there's little Arthur can say to that, the statement stirring a memory of sickly pale cheekbones and wrists that were far too thin.
He takes another breath, reminds himself why he's there.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, putting more feeling behind it this time. "As angry as I was, I never wanted to cause you pain. I know I acted wrongly, and you have every right to hate me for that, but I won't apologise for being angry with you."
Merlin's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, seeming to accept the compromise.
"I'm sorry, too," he offers, his shoulders losing some of their tension. "I hated keeping secrets from you, and lying all of the time. I know it hurt you, finding out the way you did. For what it's worth, I wish I had told you instead."
Arthur's not sure what that's worth, not sure what anything is worth anymore, but it's better than nothing. It has to be.
"And," Merlin continues, more hesitantly this time, "I'm sorry for putting the burden on you, too. Of having to keep it a secret from your father all these months."
There's an undercurrent to his words that Arthur just barely catches, his small shoulders hunching. It feels like a test. Like a second chance, of sorts.
He turns it over in his mind, letting the array of possible answers drift across the back of his tongue until the right one settles itself into place.
"I won't expose your secret," he says, refusing to let himself dwell on what that means for his honour as a prince, as a knight, as a son. Whatever else Merlin is, he's not a traitor. He doesn't deserve to die like one.
The glint in Merlin's eyes betrays his doubt.
"I won't stop using my magic," he says, cautiously, like a hunter checking the forest for traps. Searching for hidden dangers beneath the leaves. He raises his chin again, defiant. "It's my life, and if I get caught, I'll face the consequences."
The words are a challenge, echoing strangely in the stillness, giving voice at last to the decision that has laid patiently in wait for Arthur since the moment he fit the key into that lock.
He knows he can't ask him not to use it, can't make his choices for him and still claim to have changed. But if they're to have any hope of a way forward, there can be no more secrets, no more unsaid words left to fester.
"I understand," he acknowledges, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, lending a strange intensity to the moment. "I won't stop you, but I hope you'll be smart enough to only use it when there's no other choice. It may be your life, but it's not just you who's at risk. And there's no guarantee I'd be able to protect you if anyone else found out."
"I'll be careful," Merlin promises, uncharacteristically solemn. "And I'll do my best only to use it when the situation calls for it," he adds, which isn't the same as what Arthur had asked, but is maybe the best he will get.
They stare at one another, each holding the other's life in their hands, and it's strange, really, having to place your absolute trust in someone who betrayed you.
Merlin seems to feel it, too, his gaze drifting uncomfortably around the room.
"...What now?" he inquires, the words sounding more like the answer to a question neither is brave enough to ask.
The light pours in from the window, heavy and golden, as the silence stretches between them.
* * *
He returns to work four days later, still a bit shaky on his feet. He's still getting used to the roar of magic in his veins, to hearing it hum in the earth and the air as he walks. It’s overwhelming and frightening and comforting all at once - having all that power come rushing back to his fingertips after so long without it. He feels like he could move mountains and rebuild cities and bring worlds to their knees and maybe he was right to be afraid. Maybe this is too much power for anyone to have.
But mostly he feels clumsy and tired and unsettled in his own skin, like he’s wearing too much of it. Gaius tells him it’s to be expected.
'Things will sort themselves out again, you’ll see.'
He enters Arthur’s chambers quietly, months of practice under his belt, but Arthur is already dressed and at his desk, like he’s been waiting for him.
“Ah, Merlin. I’d forgotten you were back today.”
His voice is even and stilted, and Merlin knows this game, knows that he hadn’t forgotten. Knows that Arthur is every bit as unsure how to act as he is.
Arthur shuffles some papers around, listing off a stack of chores that need doing like it’s any other day, though his gaze keeps darting warily to Merlin.
Merlin nods along, feeling every bit as awkward and maybe this is the best they can hope for. Maybe there is no going back.
He turns but his eyes catch on the dining table, Arthur’s sword and armor laid out with a cloth and a whet stone beside them, and something in his chest loosens.
He glances back at Arthur who drops his gaze, like he hadn’t been watching anxiously, like he hadn’t been waiting for him to notice.
“I’ll need that lot cleaned by morning. It hasn’t been looked after properly in months.”
Arthur’s voice is casual but not cold, not the distant, unfeeling tone that he's gotten used to hearing. It’s familiar in a vague sort of way, like a tune he heard once in a crowd and long forgot.
Their eyes catch again for a moment before Arthur turns back to the papers before him, red staining his cheeks, his movements too nervous to match the unconcerned air he’s projecting.
The corners of Merlin’s lips pull up awkwardly, out-of-practice, and he sits.
"Yes, sire."
The end.