I thought the day would never come, but here we are, I hope you enjoy this long-awaited continuation!

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Arthur alternated between sitting at his desk, pretending to read over the documents and maps that Merlin had laid out for him days before, and pacing the floors of his chamber. His footsteps seemed to echo, his movements aimless, with no one near. No one to aim himself at. As king, he was rarely truly alone, instead having long ago learned to ignore the presence of servants and maids. Now, however, he was alone. His thoughts ran through him almost too quickly to form, and he was left feeling breathless, confused. And angry. The anger was there, roiling below the surface. Arthur wanted to throw something. To destroy something viscerally and completely. But that thing wasn't Merlin. Every time his thoughts strayed to Merlin, the rage dissipated, lost its way, and Arthur was left feeling ill. He wanted to focus on his servant, on the betrayal he had seen, felt, deep as bones.

His hand strayed to his abdomen, tracing the gash in his tunic, the flesh below, a white line, only barely noticeable. It was cool to the touch, and didn't hurt, not exactly, but Arthur winced as he pressed his fingers inward. He had been cut, the visceral, bloody memory still very much with him. And more than just him, he had seen his knights fall, as well. This weighed on him, heavier than he could name. They had lost that battle, and yet they were here, all unharmed. It was Merlin's doing, and that knowledge was woven deep into his flesh, in slivers and threads of thought, but it was there. He stood there for quite some time, fingers on his stomach, thinking of nothing at all. His kingdom had survived for so long by avoiding the evils of sorcery, at any cost. His father had seen to that, and he had taken up the challenge in turn.

It seemed impossible that there had been a sorcerer in their midst, so close to him. Merlin, for goodness sake. Bumbling, oafish, loyal Merlin. Who had always annoyed him, and always stood by him. How could it be, that this man had lived with him for years, and possessed such power? Had never used it? Because surely, if Merlin had magic, he would have used it at least to finish his work quickly, and at least somewhat less clumsily than he did.

But how could he have risked that? Being caught using magic, even for something as small as the washing, meant death. Anger rose in him once more, sharp and acidic, but this time aimed at himself. He had just seen a man, his trusted friend, use magic, more massive than he knew existed. To think that he had concerned himself with minutia such as this, had executed people over it. His own people, who had trusted him.

Arthur forced the thought from his head; it would do no good for him now.

It wasn't clear how much time had passed, when Gwaine came to him. The solemn, worried look on his face told Arthur all he needed to know. Merlin was alive, and he was awake. He made his way quickly to the dungeon where he had left them. Merlin was in nearly the same position as before, but his eyes were open now. He wasn't moving, sluggish in his breathing, and the way that Gaius was hovering over him, it was clear he wasn't well.

He stood in the doorway, wanted to gather himself before speaking, and Gaius looked up.

"Sire." he said, bowing his head. "Merlin has saved many lives today."

"Yes." Arthur agreed, surprising himself with how quickly he responded. "He has. That is not in question."

With this, he approached the pair. He wanted to kneel down, to look straight at Merlin, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "Merlin." His throat filled, and he nearly choked on that single word. He swallowed, then spoke again. "Merlin. You have magic." The man in front of him nodded, jaw clenched. "For how long?"

Merlin turned his head, eyes wet and scared. "All my life." he said. "I've never studied, it's always been there."

Arthur turned to look at Gaius. He had never heard of such a thing; even the Druids took years to learn magic. But Gaius nodded, fingers gripping tightly to Merlin's shoulder. "Merlin is an unusual case, my lord." Arthur waited for more, but it never came. The air was thick with words unspoken, but he still could not bring himself to ask for clarity.

Now shaking with anger and uncertainty, he finally managed to speak. "You've hidden this from me for years, Merlin. You know how my father was killed, you know the war that magic brought to Camelot. I can't simply overlook this."

Merlin said nothing, only stared at the damp ceiling, blinking back tears.

The silence only served to unsettle Arthur further. Merlin always had a retort, something to say for himself. No one spoke, only watched each other in fear. It was only when Gaius sat up that Arthur gave direction. "You'll stay here." he said, voice stern, but wavering. "Until you can speak for yourself."

"Sire, I must object!" Gaius stood now. "Merlin is weak, he nearly died to save you. He needs to rest, to regain his strength."

Arthur turned, eyes cold, quiver gone from his voice. "Then he will rest here, behind iron bars, where he cannot harm anyone. See to him, Gaius, and ensure that he recovers well enough to make his own case. Until that day, I will hear nothing of his leaving this cell."

With this, Arthur turned away, shoulders squared, and he left, the ache of uncertainty biting at his heels.