Chapter One : The Truth

"If you wish to save all you hold dear–"

"If you wish to save your kingdom–"

"Embrace the Old Religion–"

"Learn her ways–"

"Bow to the Goddess!"

The words of the Disir echoed oddly around the cave, full of weight, full of magic. It was impossible not to feel it; Merlin could feel their power thrumming through him, strange and ancient and implacable. He could barely stand to watch, so alien was their magic to his own.

Arthur bent his head, torment in his eyes. "You know I can't do that."

"Consider carefully." Every word was carefully chosen, delivered coldly, emotionlessly. "You have until dawn."

The King was silent as they left the cave and retrieved his sword, his expression unfathomable. Merlin himself was almost shaking, his thoughts troubled. What was the right path? His fear of Mordred was insidious; he could not let Arthur die. But at the same time, the words of the Disir had sent dread through him. If you wish to save your kingdom.

What was right and what was wrong? How could he know? Now more than ever he wished that he had never glimpsed the future.

Merlin did not know what he should do. What he could do. So he left Arthur to his thoughts, secretly glad of the quiet, trying to gather himself as around him the world hummed with magic. It was a place as sacred as Avalon, as the Isle of the Blessed. Such places had only ever brought him pain, and yet his very soul sang with delight at being here.

In silence Merlin set up camp letting Arthur lie back, eyes closed as if wounded. The King was so unnaturally quiet that it startled Merlin when he spoke up. "How did you know this place was sacred?"

The question managed to surprise him. "That's obvious."

"Pretend it isn't."

Merlin hesitated. The way the air hummed around him… he had never considered that it might be his magic that let him feel it. What would it be like, to never experience this? He couldn't fathom it. Wouldn't want to. As difficult as having magic was, it was a part of him, a wonderful part. Though he hated the trials it brought him, he could never hate magic. It was beautiful, joyous. Sometimes it was the only solace he had.

Struggling to put the feeling into words, he started slowly. "Everything here… is so full of life." Even as he spoke he questioned whether he should be revealing this much, couldn't even look at his king as he did so, but he owed at least this much to Arthur. He owed him the truth, he owed him the feeling of what this place truly was. "Every tree, every leaf. Every insect. It's as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself."

It was a poor explanation for everything that he felt, like trying to describe what laughter felt like. Yet Arthur sounded surprised, looking at him as if he was a stranger. "You feel all that?"

"Don't you?" What did this place look like to Arthur? The King was shaking his head, and Merlin looked away, familiar guilt rising. To drive it away he took a seat on the other side of the fire and asked quietly, "What will you do?"

Arthur nearly shrugged, his face torn. "I don't know." Slowly, hesitant words struggled from him. "My heart says do anything I can to save Mordred."

He paused, but Merlin knew he wasn't done. He waited, watching the battle in Arthur's eyes. "But I have seen what misery unfettered sorcery brings." It hurt to hear, as it always did. But Merlin listened, as he always did. Because he was Arthur's friend, and a friend was what the king needed right now. "Before my father outlawed magic, Camelot was almost destroyed by sorcery. In my own time, Morgana has used it for nothing but evil."

Morgana. Always Morgana. Merlin could blame no one but himself for Arthur's words. All Arthur had ever known was the darkness in sorcery, made worse by the way Merlin had lied – about himself, about Ygraine.

Then Arthur asked him. Merlin's heart nearly tore itself in two as he said, "What would you do? In my place?"

"Me?"

He should have been expecting it. He knew Arthur valued his opinion, had known that he would ask if Merlin started this conversation. Even so, he didn't know what to say. It felt like there was a hand around his throat, strangling his words before they could form. He didn't know what to do.

He knew what he wanted, but he didn't know what was right. The lies were choking him, the lies and the prophecies. If you wish to save your kingdom… was it a message for Merlin as much as it was for Arthur? Could it be?

Perhaps it was time.

He took a deep breath. "I can't help you this time, Arthur. It is a decision you and you alone must make." Arthur was still looking at him, though, a silent demand as to why, a silent plea for help. Merlin's heart nearly broke. Could he really do this? Could he go through with it? "I'm biased, Arthur," he choked out. "I can't-"

Don't make me say it. He had never told anyone before. He didn't have the words.

Of course Arthur didn't understand what he was trying to say. How could he? "What do you mean? I know you fear sorcery, but-"

Merlin choked out a garbled laugh. Even to his own ears it sounded wrong. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty. He felt like he'd been poisoned. I can't I can'tIcan't… But he had to. He had to.

Arthur was eying him with such concern it made Merlin sick. He had lied to him, his friend. Would Arthur still be his friend after this? After learning just who Merlin was?

For the thousandth time he reconsidered. But no. He owed Arthur this. He was so tired of hiding it and Arthur had never really asked him about magic before and Gaius wasn't here to stop him and he wanted to tell him and… he was afraid. So afraid. Terrified. He didn't want to do this but at the same time it was all he wanted. That Arthur was even considering the Disir's words… was it a sign, or was he reading too much into it? Did he really have it in him to admit what he was?

Trembling, he wrapped his arms around himself, misery growing in correlation with the concern on Arthur's face. He had to say it. The words were tearing him apart as he warred with himself.

Keep it secret keep it hidden never tell never tell hidehidehide.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Arthur's face anymore, didn't want to see the concern turn to disbelief and then betrayal, didn't want to see Arthur hate him. Coward.

"I'm not afraid of magic," he said, the words clear despite how his voice was shaking. "I-I-" he clenched his hands into fists. Oh, Gods. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

"Merlin-"

Before the concern could stop him, he just blurted it out. "I'm not afraid of magic, Arthur. I have magic."

Silence. Utter silence. Then- "W-what?"

He kept his eyes closed. He could picture Arthur's face all too clearly, the man he loved closer than any brother. He didn't want to see that expression on his face. "I have magic," he confessed, his voice breaking, his heart breaking.

"Merlin?" He sounded so shocked, so aghast. As if he literally couldn't believe what he was hearing, and suddenly Merlin had to see.

Arthur was pale, so pale, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. Merlin swallowed and repeated those damning words. "I have magic."

"That's ridiculous." His voice was a whisper, a plea. It couldn't be real. Not Merlin. Merlin could not have magic. "You are not a sorcerer." When Merlin didn't agree with him, Arthur pleaded, voice rising, "Tell me it's not true. Tell me you're joking, you're hallucinating, you're not- you can't be! Tell me it's not true!"

For a moment, he was tempted. To laugh it off, to take the easy out. "Not a sorcerer," Merlin whispered, but it wasn't a denial. "I'm a warlock."

"Like there's a bloody difference!" Arthur snapped automatically, but he was still staring at his servant as if he were a stranger. It couldn't be true. Merlin could not be admitting to this. He wasn't a sorcerer. Or a warlock, whatever that even was. He wasn't.

But Merlin wouldn't look at him. Didn't take it back. He just sat there, curled in on himself, looking small and pitiful and as if the world was ending around him. Merlin.

Merlin couldn't have magic, because if he did… Arthur didn't even know him. His servant, his friend, who had stood at his side all of these years, been there for him through everything, a solid and stalwart comfort, someone who had been everything to Arthur, more loyal than any knight, more loyal than Guinevere, more loyal than his own family. Merlin could not be a traitor. It was inconceivable.

But Arthur had a very bad record at spotting traitors.

But… Merlin? A sorcerer?

But why would he say it if he didn't mean it?

"It's not true." Even Arthur could hear the denial in his voice, the utter refusal to believe what was staring him in the face. "No. It's not true."

"Arthur…" Merlin's voice broke, somehow mirroring exactly what Arthur was feeling.

And suddenly Arthur was angry. "Do. Not. Call. Me. That." Merlin went still as death, agony flickering across his face, but Arthur didn't care. He looked like Merlin and sounded like Merlin, but Merlin didn't have magic. Merlin wasn't evil. "You… You have magic? All this time, you've been… You have magic?"

Misery in every line of his body, his manservant nodded, meek as a lamb. Arthur couldn't reconcile it. He had never seen a sorcerer that looked like that, not even the druids. And this was Merlin. He knew Merlin.

Or he had thought he did. Because if Merlin had magic… "How long?" he demanded suddenly, needing to know. How long have you had magic? How long have you been lying to me?

Merlin was trembling again, shivering as if he was frozen. "Always," he whispered.

"What?"

Deep blue eyes opened, and the emotion in them almost blasted Arthur off his feet. Agony and despair and fear and desperation and a hope that was dimming with every passing second. He couldn't stand it, to see such things on the face of his friend… but was Merlin his friend? He had always thought so, his only true friend, though he had never said it, and now…

"I was born with it," Merlin whispered, his voice raw with grief. As if someone had died. And perhaps they had; Arthur certainly felt like he had been ripped open.

"That's not possible." He was proud of how steady his voice was.

"It's not supposed to be." He couldn't help his flinch at the exhaustion, the utter desolation in Merlin's voice. "I'm a freak like that."

The worst part was that Merlin seemed to believe it. Arthur recoiled a little, staring with wide eyes at this thing that wore the face of his best friend. He had never heard Merlin sound like that before. Broken. Despairing. As if he had lost some essential anchor. But still he talked, the explanation spilling from his lips as if it had been waiting for a very long time. "Every candle in our house flared to life the moment I was born, and the first time my eyes opened they were gold. Apparently, I learned to move things with my mind within a week, and I used to play with balls of light whenever I got bored. However impossible it should be, I am telling you the truth. I was born with magic. Born condemned."

Arthur blinked. He had said it so matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't just shattered Arthur's world and ripped apart any of his notions of what magic was and how it was used.

"I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't have it."

"It wasn't a choice?" There was hope in his voice, even though there shouldn't be, because what did it matter if Merlin had had a choice? He had still lied.

Merlin shook his head, a depthless sadness in his eyes. "I've never had a choice." The words were bitter, and suddenly Arthur had a desperate urge to understand.

"Couldn't you just… stop?"

A wry smile touched Merlin's lips. "I tried. Once. The first lesson my mother ever taught me was to keep the magic secret, keep it hidden. It isn't illegal in Essetir, but Ealdor is so close to Camelot that it made no difference. And if Cenred had learned about me he would have taken me and raised me to be a weapon, and mother didn't want that. So she hid me away and shielded me as best she could, but I couldn't help it. It kept happening, just slipping out. Instinctive. If I didn't use it consciously in the day, it happened in my dreams."

"Then one day witchfinders passed through Ealdor. They had captured a young druid and were on their way to Camelot, to sell her to Uther. It scared me so much that I tried even harder to stop using magic altogether." Merlin winced at the memory.

"I couldn't handle it. The more I tried to keep it inside, the more it leaked out, and the more scared I got the more it tried to protect me, lashing out at everyone and everything. And when I didn't let it, when I refused… I got sick. Really sick. I couldn't stop scratching myself, nearly clawed my own heart out. It hurt, more than anything I've ever known. It only stopped when Mother took me deep into the forest and nearly begged me to let it out." He was quiet for a moment, face plagued by that long-ago pain. "I was five then. So no, Arthur, I couldn't 'just stop.'"

Arthur gaped at him. He felt numb, even as there was a roaring in his ears. Gaius would probably have told him he was going into shock, but he pressed on. He needed to understand. "Why would you come to Camelot?"

"I didn't fit in in Ealdor anymore. I told you that much," Merlin said weakly, trying to forget. "I never really did, to be honest. Even though they didn't know everything, they knew enough. They knew that weird things happened around me, that I was different. And it was getting harder to control it; Mother knew that sooner or later I'd slip up. And she knew that I wasn't happy, that I would always be searching for something. Some purpose for what I could do. Some reason that I was…"

Suddenly, Arthur didn't want to know how Merlin would finish that sentence. Some reason that I was...

Different.

Cursed.

A monster.

Effervescent, always-cheerful Merlin. It was so wrong to hear him talk like this.

Merlin let out a deep sigh. "Mother sent me to her brother, to Gaius. She knew he used to practice magic, and he was the only one she knew who might be able to help me, even if it meant sending me into the mouth of danger."

"And it worked?"

Not that he needed an answer to that. Arthur had had no idea, even if he was starting to think that he had been blind. Because looking back… there had always been something about Merlin. Something more than just his legendary insolence and disregard for authority.

The servant smiled softly. "I'm still alive. You're still alive. I'd say it worked brilliantly."

"What do you mean, I'm still alive?"

"I've told you before, Arthur. You have no idea how many times I've saved your life." Merlin had said those words before, many times. This time Arthur actually listened. They had been playful before; now they were solemn. They rang with truth, with deep belief – the same belief that had shone through on the numerous occasions that Merlin had told him that he believed in him, in Arthur. That he was a good king. It was a tone of voice Arthur had never been able to help trusting.

Arthur had never understood Merlin. "But- Why?"

Pain lanced through Merlin at that and he flinched as if he had been struck. But then he exhaled heavily, his eyes pinned to the fire. "The first time I didn't even think about it. Everyone around me was enchanted and responding was instinctual, and then she threw a dagger at you and I just… reacted. I didn't even like you, you certainly didn't like me, but even then I couldn't just watch you die."

"Lady Helen," Arthur murmured, surprised. He had never wondered about it before – how the enchantment had been broken, how Merlin had been the only one to recover fast enough to acknowledge the danger and save him. "You used magic? Then? In front of my father?" Had they all truly been that blind?

Merlin nodded. "Not my brightest moment." There was a hint of that familiar grin, that teasing smirk, but it faded quickly. "I dropped the chandelier on her head. And when she had the knife, I slowed time enough to pull you out of the way."

"You slowed time?"

There was so much incredulity in his voice that Merlin would have laughed had the situation not been so serious. He nodded again. "Again, it was an instinctive reaction. The same way I saved Gaius the first day I met him, when he fell off his balcony. Another one of those things I've been able to do almost since I can remember."

It sounded too fantastical to be real. For a moment Arthur wondered if he was dreaming, but even in his nightmares he would never torture himself with the thought that the man he trusted with his life had magic.

"Anyway, that was the first time. And for a little while, even though it was dangerous, I stayed because K-someone told me that it was my destiny to protect you." Merlin swallowed. "But then I got to know you. And I realised that somewhere deep inside, very deep, buried behind the prat-" a flash of a smirk, even as ghosts haunted Merlin's eyes "-was a good man. A man I could believe in. And after that…" he swallowed, as if it were painful to admit it. "It has nothing to do with destiny anymore, not for a long time. I protect you because you are my friend, Arthur, and I never want to lose you."

He was curled up into a tight ball, looking like he was waiting for the axe to fall. Arthur didn't even know what to feel. "When you say the first time…"

Again, a ghost of a smirk shadowed Merlin's face. "You don't want to know. I don't think your ego could take it."

But Arthur wasn't ready to slip into their usual banter. He still felt numb, but he knew betrayal and anger and horror were stirring underneath the surface. More than that, though, there was a deep desire to find out, to understand the man in front of him that he'd thought he'd knew. He waited until Merlin's eyes rose, almost involuntarily seeking out his own, and then said, "I want to know."

It was a king's voice, and Merlin dipped his head. "Yes, Sire," he acknowledged, the title unusually sincere and full of a respect that Arthur could barely believe. As if Arthur still had the power to do anything to him if even half of what he was saying was true.

Closing his eyes again, Merlin called up old memories. "Just in that first year… there was Valiant, where I used magic to expose his shield, and then the Afanc, where I called the wind to help you slay the beast in the water supply, and the poisoning-"

Already, Arthur was gaping. "Wait, wait, what?" Because he had almost forgotten that, to his shame. That Merlin had willingly drank poison for him. And he could ascribe no ulterior motive to Merlin for that, because he knew that his servant had nearly died then.

He did not understand. And he wanted to.

Merlin's eyes met his, careful, wary, evaluating. There was a deep pain in them, but he seemed to find something he was searching for nonetheless.

With no warning, they flared a deep gold, blindingly bright. Arthur flinched violently. It was so unnatural, and he had only ever seen it when sorcerers were trying to attack him, but there was no violent outburst, no pain, nothing but a sudden blue-and-gold glow.

Hovering in the air was a familiar orb of light, tugging up memories of dark caves and spiders and hopelessness. His breath caught. He had seen it before. Just like last time, the sight of it was somehow heartening, like a tangible manifestation of warmth and protection.

It was beautiful.

"You weren't even there. You were dying," he managed to choke out.

Merlin nodded. "Gaius told me I was mumbling the old tongue in my sleep, calling out to you as if I could see everything you were doing. This was in my hand." He met Arthur's gaze with a steady, unwavering look, a depth of loyalty, of devotion, in his stare that Arthur was not prepared for. "My magic is for you, Arthur. Only for you. Since coming to Camelot, I have only ever used it to protect you."

It was staggering. He had always known that Merlin was loyal to him, but in the wake of his revelation it was all the more shocking. He had never known just how far his servant would go for him, more fervent than any knight. He almost shone with it, his devotion for a king that had shown nothing but disregard for people exactly like him.

He couldn't help but compare it to Morgana, so bitter and twisted because of Uther, because of the magic ban. Merlin had magic, and yet somehow it had not tainted him. It was a wonder, and a deep respect began to build in Arthur for this remarkable young man that he had somehow managed to attain the loyalty of. His friend.

But he lied to you, a small voice in the back of his mind protested. And he has magic. Magic has only ever brought evil to Camelot. That voice sounded eerily like his father's. He is just a servant.

But he was Merlin. He was Arthur's friend.

And he wasn't finished. "I could sit here all night and tell you stories, Arthur. Full of conveniently falling branches, and magical monsters, and sorcerers who would not leave you alone. And mistakes. I have made so very many mistakes. But you are my friend, and maybe- maybe I don't have the right to call you that anymore, and maybe you can never trust me again," there was a sob in his voice, but his words remained clear, "but I swear on everything I hold dear that I have only ever used my power to protect you. That though I have lied, unforgivably, I would never, ever betray you. That I could sooner kill myself than harm you."

He took a deep breath. "You are my King, Arthur. You are my King, and my friend, and my brother. I trust you with my life, and I would die for you a hundred times over. I swear that I have never and will never use my magic against you. And…" he closed his eyes against the agony of it. "If you wish to execute me, then I will not fight. But I could not lie to you any longer."

And then he stood, still trembling, and crossed the campsite one heavy step after the other. Only a foot away from Arthur he knelt, bowing his head, and waited.

His secret was out. Magic was illegal. And if he died for it, he would not fight it. Because a world where Arthur hated him for it… he did not want to live in a world like that.

"Merlin…" Arthur whispered, a fragmented cry.

He could not believe it. Could not believe that Merlin was there, right in front of him, as if he truly believed that Arthur would kill him. Could kill him.

Did not believe that anyone could be so stupidly, selflessly loyal.

All uncertainty fell away, the feeling of betrayal gone as if it had never been. This was Merlin. He was not be evil, could not be evil. And Arthur could never hate him, could never kill him, no matter what.

Agony resonated between them both.

Still Merlin waited. Head bowed, eyes down, neck bared. Waiting for judgement. The complete opposite of everything Arthur had ever been taught about sorcerers, about magic.

His beliefs shattered.

Excalibur rang as he retrieved it from its sheath, deep and clear. Perfect, as it had always been. Arthur had never heard anything so horrendous as the sound of his sword being retrieved with Merlin before him like that, and yet his servant – his friend – did not even flinch. Arthur knew that he would not defend himself. That he would die for Arthur – whether it would be by drinking poison for him, or throwing himself before a sword, or even by Arthur's own hand.

Merlin would let Arthur kill him. Arthur's very soul shrieked at the thought.

What had he ever done to deserve such loyalty? Despite his crown, despite his titles, despite all he had done, he suddenly felt completely unworthy. He had always known that Merlin was devoted to him, but never like this. It should never have come to this.

With an anguished cry he flung the sword from him, unable to bear the naked steel in his hands. He fell to his knees next to Merlin – servant, warlock, protector, friend – and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Merlin raised his head a little at the warmth, fragile hope dawning in his eyes. "Arthur?" he breathed.

"You idiot," his King told him.

Relief and hope swelled up in him at what Merlin found in Arthur's blue eyes. "You- you don't hate me?"

A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Even with Kilgharrah's words, he had not dared hope. But he had confessed, and Arthur was still there, looking at him with something like wonder in his eyes.

"You're my friend." Arthur admitted. "I could never hate you."

Tears glimmered on both of their faces as the Once and Future King pulled Emrys into an embrace.