One-shot, set in the future, when Arthur is king; vague spoilers up to episode 12. Comments are appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Merlin, and I just write this for fun and make no profit with it.

Beyond

He'd never truly expected to last this long. Never expected, though he'd secretly dreamed of it, to get this chance to lay down his gift at his king's feet, without danger, and wait for his judgement. There were too many instances where things could have gotten wrong, where he might have been caught – he never doubted what his choice would be, if he had to choose between Arthur's safety and his secret, even at the risk of Arthur hating him for it –, or simple broken under the pressure and told... And it had been a long wait. None of it had felt longer than the last few days, with the mourning and the feasts, until finally, they found themselves together with enough time and peace for this.

He wasn't sure what he would have expected of the situation either: anger or acceptance, and he was sure he would have been disappointed and bitter about the former, and gratified beyond measure about the latter. He'd told himself he would abide by any sentence Arthur might speak over him, but in truth, he wasn't sure he'd manage that: he'd die for Arthur, he knew this with a certitude that was a little frightening, but that didn't mean he'd let himself be stupidly killed by him as well.

Watching Arthur stand by a window of the hall – it had been tempting to wait for a moment when they'd both be alone in his chambers, but he'd sworn to force this into something grave and official, though they were just as alone here – he thought that he wouldn't have expected this, this odd, quiet distrust.

"That actually explains a lot," Arthur murmured, before he finally turned back to him, and an irritated look passed over his face as he saw Merlin before the empty throne, one knee still bent, balancing oddly.

"Oh, stand up," he scoffed, irritably; Merlin obeyed gladly. "All this time, you've been waiting for my father's death," he observed.

Merlin flinched. There wasn't much to say to that.

"I –"

"Don't," Arthur just said, but he didn't sound angry.

There was a pause, during which Arthur looked him over, before he said thoughtfully: "That much power..." He interrupted himself, glancing at Merlin, daring him – hoping, maybe – to contradict, to say it wasn't true he wasn't just any warlock, but one of unequalled raw power. "...is dangerous."

"I wouldn't use it against you," Merlin said, softly, and, pleadingly, he added: "You know that."

"I know that you'd mean well," said Arthur, softly. "It might not be enough." There was another pause. "Would you stop using it, if I told you to?"

"What – why would you do that!?" Merlin asked, somewhat indignant.

"Because I'd trust you to keep your word, and because I don't think it's good to let such a power exist unchecked."

"That's – you don't understand. It's part of me like – you might as well order me to always keep my eyes closed, or to never speak again." A look at Arthur's face told him that to the former prince, these clearly fell under "somewhat extreme", and not "completely insane and inconceivable" like Merlin had hoped; a bit irritated now, he added: "You knights are dangerous too, and you don't take their swords away." He glared when Arthur opened his mouth to reply. "You know you won't always be able to beat each of them."

The king rolled his eyes.

"But unlike some people," he said pointedly, "my knights can actually follow orders."

"Maybe it'd be good for you if there's someone around who doesn't just pander to you," Merlin snapped.

Arthur smirked.

"I'm just wondering if it's a good idea if that person is also someone with immense magical powers."

"What, because you might not be able to throw them in a dungeon when you're not happy with what they tell you?" Merlin snapped, but regretted it immediately when Arthur's face closed up; he'd forgotten about Morgana.

"I wouldn't do that," Arthur said tightly.

"Right." Merlin looked at his feet. "Well, I wouldn't use my power to make you do anything." They both glanced at each other cautiously. "I would give it up," Merlin eventually said, softly. "If you asked me to. But," he added hastily, at the look Arthur gave him then, "I'd try to make you change your mind about it. I won't stop bothering you until you do."

Arthur was smiling now.

"Of course." He took a step closer to him, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to touch him. "And if I were in danger, and there were no other way to save me, you'd use it anyway."

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I want to continue to help you," he argued. "Why won't you let me? You're not your father, you don't –"

"I don't trust magic," Arthur said coldly; he winced at the way Merlin flinched at that – like he'd been slapped –, and went on, more composedly. "I'd never see a child executed just for the way it was born. I'd never punish a girl for trying to cure her father's magical decease with magic – but that doesn't mean I trust it."

Merlin breathed in and out deeply.

"You can trust me," he said.

Arthur's look softened at that, and he raised a hand as if to touch his face, then let it sink.

"I trust you with my life," he said. "But I'm king of Camelot, and that might not be enough."

"Oh –" Merlin made an effort to draw himself together and find some anger inside himself, because the way Arthur was standing just in front of him, speaking so softly about his trust, he felt like he was the one who was being bespelled. "That's ridiculous. What do you think I'll do, destroy the kingdom to cure you from a bad cough?"

He wasn't quite happy with the way his voice sounded. Arthur smirked again.

"You would, wouldn't you?" he asked happily. "You just like me that much!"

"I don't," Merlin snapped. "And I know it'd be the last thing you'd want me to do. And I like other people too – better than you."

"Of course you do," said Arthur, smugly, his eyes searching his, and Merlin didn't have the force to look away to give his words more strength. "Fine then. But you won't let me control it?"

It was more a statement than a question.

"What do you mean?" asked Merlin, honestly confused, and thrown off by the sudden return to seriousness.

"You won't agree to use it how and when I tell you to, and never outside of that."

Merlin was about to snap at him for that, because really, but then he thought that more than Arthur just being, well, Arthur, and an annoying prat who was way too used to getting his way, this was probably the influence of Uther's paranoia speaking: probably, despite of everything, it was deeply ingrained within Arthur, no matter what his reason might be saying.

"Arthur," he said slowly. "I've been using it to do things like cleaning your stupid boots this whole time. It's not – it's just a part of me." Arthur looked closed upon himself and sceptic. "Look." He glanced at a tall candleholder by the throne, concentrated, and moved it a few inches to the left. "It's just –"

He had to break off when the king grabbed his chin and turned it to him almost violently, his eyes intense.

"Did you know," he asked, his tone oddly light for the way he was looking at him, "that you eyes turn golden when you do it?"

The "do it", suddenly felt disturbingly dirty; Merlin nodded faintly, not quite prepared for that reaction; it didn't help when Arthur added, eagerly: "Do it again."

Just for an instant, he considered refusing; then he concentrated on Arthur's face before him, and made his golden hair lift up, as if a wind was rustling through it, the new crown staying firmly in place. Arthur, eyes wide open and awed, leaned in to kiss him.

It wasn't the first time they did this, they'd shared a few half-acknowledge kisses, and endless amounts of furtive or not-so-furtive looks, and brushes, and one drunken make-out session that was better left forgotten, but it felt different somehow now, without his secret and Uther's overbearing presence looming between them.

Or maybe it just felt different because Arthur was a lot more enthusiastic than Merlin remembered, nibbling at his lips, and rummaging through his mouth as meticulously as if he were mapping out enemy territory, and hand clenching against the fabric of his pants with clear irritation at their very presence.

Perfect, Merlin thought drowsily, with the part of his brain that could still think in such moments as this. I'm going to have the ban on magic lifted because the new king gets off on the way my eyes change colour when I do magic. Oh.

It was his worry at this whole thing still not being resolved, creating an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach that persisted even when Arthur pushed a leg between his knees and rolled his tongue around his in that way he had that enabled him to push him back again. Arthur relented and glared at his hand on his chest.

"Am I still forbidden from using magic without your express order, sire?" Merlin asked innocently; no reason not to take advantage of this.

"Yes!" Arthur said savagely. "There's no way I'm letting anyone else..."

He made a vague gesture. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I don't think it has that effect on everyone. Arthur."

The king breathed deeply.

"Fine – do what you want, for now, but. I still need to think about it."

Merlin nodded. Of course, it wouldn't be that simple.

"Okay."

"You know," Arthur said, fingering Merlin's scarf thoughtfully, "if I ever said you were anything but a completely rotten manservant –"

"You never –" Merlin began, but Arthur didn't let him finish.

"I take it back! You've been doing things by magic this whole time, and you still managed to be horrible." He grinned, and tugged at the scarf until it gave way. "Admit it, you're rubbish at it. There's nothing to it but the nice colour effect."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said obediently, and showed off the nice colour effect by whisking Arthur's long red coat from his shoulders.