Chapter Text
Merlin’s palms are sweaty, his fingers trembling, and he can taste bitter bile in the back of his mouth. He’s never been more frightened in his whole life. He’s standing in front of the door, hand poised to knock, hesitating. Part of him wants to turn back now, wants to flee like the coward he is back to the safety of Gaius’ chambers. He doesn’t want to do this. Not now. Possibly not ever.
Gods above, what if Arthur hates him for this? What if he never forgives him for keeping this secret? What if he doesn’t understand? What if Merlin is wrong about him and Arthur decides to have him executed, after all? What if?
It’s late, his fear whispers seductively, too late to trouble Arthur with such a thing. Wait. What’s one more night of silence? Tell him tomorrow, when both your minds are clear. There’s always tomorrow.
Yes, there would always be a tomorrow—which was precisely the problem. He could put this confession off until tomorrow easily enough, but just as he would be preparing to say something, he would once again find himself grappling with a perfectly reasonable excuse to put it off for another day, and then another. Maybe Arthur would wake up in a sour mood, or lose a match to one of the new knight-hopefuls, or another magical attack would be made on the royal family, or there would be a sorcerer’s execution. If he were to look for the perfect moment to speak up, he would never find it.
When is there ever a good time to explain to your best friend that you are a lying liar who lies, but—oh, yeah!—at least you are sorry?
Merlin presses one hand to his chest, feels his heart drumming a frantic rhythm within his chest, and wills himself to calm. He breathes deep: slow inhale, hold it one-two-three, steady exhale, repeat. Just like Gaius taught him.
Arthur is his friend, not his enemy. Sure, he still acted like a prat sometimes, but he had come a long way since they’d first met. No longer is he the arrogant, uncertain young man desperately seeking his father’s approval: he has come into his own. Childish pranks, half-hearted insults, and persistent inclinations to drive Merlin to the brink of murder aside, he has proven himself a good man, a just prince, and a stalwart friend.
Arthur has put much faith in Merlin, trusting him with his fondest wishes, darkest nightmares, and secrets he’s never dared voice to anyone else. Years of habitual princely stoicism may prevent Arthur from speaking of his troubles freely, but he communicates in other ways, no less significant for their lack of voice. Merlin knows Arthur. It is only fair that Arthur be allowed to know Merlin in return.
Merlin wants to be truly known by Arthur.
His heartbeat is still erratic under his hand, but he stills himself anyway and raps quickly at the door, afraid that he might lose his nerve if he wastes even one second more. Arthur is hard at work at his desk when Merlin slips anxiously into the room, the door clicking shut at his back.
“So, you’ve finally learned to knock, I see,” Arthur comments lightly in greeting, glancing up from his tax reports with an intimate smile that momentarily takes Merlin’s breath away. That smile reminds Merlin of why he’s doing this, why he’s taking a risk Gaius would likely throttle him for.
One day, he would like to deserve that sort of affection.
He attempts to return Arthur’s smile, but he’s never been much of an actor. Arthur sees right through him.
“Is something the matter?” Arthur says, extricating himself from his desk with a worried frown. He approaches Merlin like one might a skittish colt—cautiously, one hand outstretched—as if aware of how near his servant is to bolting.
Merlin giggles a bit hysterically at Arthur’s relieved expression when he allows himself to be drawn toward the supper table. Strong hands settle Merlin gently into Arthur’s favourite chair, the fur at Merlin’s back smelling just like the man leaning against the table with feign-casualness, blue eyes searching and kind.
“Talk to me,” Arthur asks, gently, where he once would have demanded.
Merlin swallows thickly, and braces himself for an uncertain future: “Arthur, there is something you should know about me…”
Maybe speaking up will prove to be foolish, but it will never be a mistake.