First ever Merlin fic, hope you like it! More to come.

The throne room is silent with tense expectation; Arthur stands next to the throne and doesn't know where to look. He hears the guards before he sees them, boots thudding martial in the corridor, chainmail clinking with each step. He tries to brace himself but can't help the way his heart skips a beat when they come marching in, Merlin looking pale and alone between them. Uther shifts on his throne as they fling Merlin roughly down before him, face carved from stone and eyes harder still; the sound of Merlin's knees scuffing against the floor echoes accusatory and too-loud in Arthur's ears and he wants to turn away but forces himself to watch.

Arthur hasn't seen him since that moment when the chimera had burst through the windows into the hall, snarling and keening like nothing he'd ever heard before, that moment when it lunged unerringly straight for him, jaws gaping wide, nobles scattering shrieking to either side and his father rising horrified from his seat at the head of the table. Everything was chaos and onrushing carnage, and then Merlin was suddenly there between him and the monster, hand raised, something unintelligible tearing from his lips, and just like that, fast as it had come, the chimera was gone, enveloped in blue flame and burnt away to nothing; it was over before Arthur had the chance to do more than fumble hastily for the sword sheathed at his hip.

That scene that will stay with Arthur for a long time: the utter silence, a roomful of people staring dumbstruck at Merlin, even Uther shocked and frozen; Merlin turning slowly to face him. Arthur could still feel it, the breathless disbelief and giddy vertigo, as though everything he had ever known about the world had been yanked unceremoniously out from under his feet and he was still trying to find his footing. Merlin – hopeless, clumsy, irrepressible Merlin, who knew his place damn well but didn't care, who challenged him and pushed him and looked at him with that unwavering gaze that forced him to do the right thing – Merlin was a sorcerer. Dangerous. Treacherous. An enemy to the throne.

Most of all he remembers Merlin's face, a fragile mix of fear and defiance chasing across his features followed by a kind of weary acceptance, an acknowledgement that the game was up, everything laid bare. 'This is who I am,' his eyes were saying, and 'please' and 'I'm sorry' and 'you have to understand', earnest and pleading; there was so much more in that one look than Arthur could hope to decipher, and it felt like they stood there forever, for a lifetime suspended, but it only lasted an instant and then his father was shouting something and Merlin was surrounded by a ring of steel, guards closing in on him.

'Take him away!' Uther spat, and they did.

Arthur did not once look away, did not blink, did not breathe as Merlin was seized violently and dragged unresisting from the room, holding Arthur's gaze until he was forced finally from sight.

'To think that that boy was a sorcerer – your most trusted servant, all along, a snake in the grass,' Uther said with undisguised contempt. He laid one hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'I dread to think what he might have done to you if he hadn't been exposed.'

Arthur was dimly aware of the guests being shepherded out and servants gathering to clear away the mess and shattered glass, of his father conversing in low tones and issuing terse orders nearby, of Morgana standing by the far wall with her arms around a distraught Gwen; she speared him with a piercing look that he refused to meet. He turned on his heel and strode from the room, his princely demeanour of control all he had left.

Now he looks down at Merlin kneeling, head bowed, in front of him, hands bound in irons behind his back, and his throat closes up; he's still not prepared for this. It's been two days, two nights in a cell, and the time has not been kind to Merlin, staining deep shadows under his lowered eyes and leaving fine lines of tense vulnerability in the slump of his shoulders. Two days, and Arthur thinks he probably doesn't look much better himself. He's spent the time in conference with his father, listening to Morgana rail and rage against Uther's stony composure. Uther cut her down with words like 'order', 'law' and 'justice' when Arthur knew he was thinking 'sorcery', 'deceit' and 'evil'.

Arthur remained silent throughout, thinking instead of Merlin tackling him out of the way of a thrown dagger with impossible speed, the sudden weight of hands on his chest appearing from nowhere; thinking of Merlin unconscious on the floor of the hall, a poisoned chalice rolling out of his limp hand. He thought about a ball of blue light guiding him in darkness and a whirlwind rising from the dust and a mysterious tincture that brought him back from the brink of death. He thought about a thousand small things, a thousand little instances, and the raw edge of broken trust began to ease.

He realises now how long it's been since Merlin first came to Camelot. The months have crept up on him and so has Merlin, slipping under his skin by slow degrees until now, when Uther stares down at Merlin as though he's vermin, as though he'd like nothing more than to crush him beneath one booted foot, when he lifts an imperious hand and orders his execution, it strikes Arthur like a hammer-blow of loss. There is a palpable pause in the air as the words settle and harden into deafening silence: 'The penalty for sorcery is death; you will be executed at dawn.'

Sharp bars of light stream in through the windows, striping the shadowed room in black and white, stark and harsh as Uther's judgement. Merlin looks up, faces his sentence head on and doesn't flinch, just closes his eyes and sighs a little, as though it's a relief to finally hear it out loud. He bows his head as though in deference and suddenly Arthur just can't take it anymore. He crouches down in front of Merlin and grabs him roughly by the chin, forcing his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes for the first time in days. He's aware of the way Uther tenses and the guards' hands twitch on their swords but he doesn't care, too busy searching Merlin's face for a hint of something that will help him do what he knows he has to. Merlin looks back at him, calm and resolved, too proud to beg for his life, and Arthur feels his heart breaking; he knows he can't let it end this way.

He snatches his hand away, unaccountably angry, and whirls to face his father.

'Let me speak with him alone,' he bites out.

'Out of the question; that boy is a sorcerer, and he would kill you to save his own hide without a second thought.'

The slow burn of helpless anxiety that has been coiling in Arthur's gut for days constricts, fuelling his anger. 'He is my servant and my friend!' Arthur declares, jaw tight, and notes the way Uther's eyes light with disbelieving fury at that last word even as Merlin's head comes up, gaze level and intent. 'He has laid down his life for me more times than I care to count,' he continues. 'If he wanted me dead all he had to do was stand by and do nothing; he won't harm me now.'

Uther gives him a long look and Arthur stares him down, gathering all his regal certainty about him like a cloak, taking everything his father has ever taught him about royalty and throwing it down like a gauntlet at his feet.

'Very well,' Uther says at length, eyes flicking coldly towards Merlin and back, 'far be it from me to save you from your own stupidity. You have five minutes, that is all.'

Arthur stands silent until well after they're alone, back turned. He can hear Merlin breathing softly behind him.

'Get up,' he says quietly, listening for the rustle as Merlin obeys. He turns, eyes moving straight to where Merlin's arms are forced behind his back. 'Get rid of those restraints.'

Merlin hesitates, as though suspecting a trap.

'I know you can,' Arthur says. 'Get rid of them.'

'As you wish, sire.'

It's the first time Merlin's spoken, ringing painful in the empty space between them, cutting Arthur to the quick; he grits his teeth against the onslaught of Merlin's quiet, neutral tone. Merlin lifts his chin and holds Arthur's gaze determinedly as his eyes flash molten gold and his shackles clatter to the floor in brittle, broken pieces, hard iron sheared clean through. Arthur sucks in a breath and moves without thinking. He cups Merlin's chin, gently this time, and turns his head slowly to either side, mesmerised by the way his golden eyes seem to trap and hold the light. Merlin holds still for him, tensing only slightly under his hand.

'How do you do it?'Arthur murmurs.

'Do what?' Merlin asks, the smooth skin of his jaw tickling against Arthur's loose grip as he speaks.

'Your eyes...'

'I was born like this. I don't know why it happens, but it does.'

There's a challenge simmering somewhere underneath those words, but Arthur doesn't try and tease it out just yet. The gold glimmers and fades from Merlin's eyes until Arthur's left staring into a familiar blue, seeing Merlin underneath the sorcery, uncertain and hopeful. He realises that his thumb is stroking thoughtful patterns on Merlin's cheek; he lets his hand drop and steps away, begins circling Merlin, measuring him up as though gauging an adversary for combat. Merlin looks dead ahead and swallows, hands fidgeting awkwardly at his sides.

'You lied to me,' Arthur says, choosing his words as though planning a siege. He gives the apprehension a moment to settle in Merlin's eyes, to see if he'll mount a defence, but Merlin refuses to engage. 'You saved my life.' He stops in front of Merlin, gives him a hard look. 'Why?'

In reply Merlin just tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, stares at him as though he despairs of Arthur's idiocy, and just like that the stalemate is broken and the tension drains out of the room; just like that they fall back into their normal rhythm and Arthur feels himself relax and smile.

'Alright, maybe that was a stupid question,' he allows.

Merlin snorts. 'I really would be as bad a manservant as you say I am if I let you run off and get yourself killed.' He pauses carefully, weighing up the moment before he continues. 'And I'd be a worse friend.'

Arthur doesn't miss the emphasis; he glances away. 'Oh, you are a truly terrible servant, make no mistake.'

Merlin's mouth twitches, but it is fleeting and regretful. 'As for the lies, well,' he gestures at himself with a humourless smile, 'we can all see how well outing myself turned out, can't we?' Arthur looks him up and down and has to concede the point; Merlin looks wrung-out and drained, a hollowness shadowing his face. Arthur wonders what it must have been like for him, caged alone in that dark cell, replaying the scene over and over in his head as Arthur had, the scene that had damned him, waiting for the guards to come and take him to his death. The thought stings and Arthur recoils from it, the guilty bitterness sharpening his voice when he next speaks.

'So you didn't think you could trust me?' he demands. 'What, you thought I'd just hand you over to be butchered?'

Merlin's silence speaks volumes and Arthur lets out a heartfelt curse, feels the nail driven home in his chest. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to compose himself. 'Honestly, I don't know what to think about this,' he says softly, voice rough, giving up the fencing and coming clean, 'but I do know that I don't want to see you dead.'

Merlin ventures a tentative grin. 'That makes two of us, then.'

'I can't overturn my father's orders,' Arthur tells him, and the grin vanishes from Merlin's face; he nods tightly. 'You know what that means.'

Merlin nods again. 'I know,' he says.

'Say it.' The command comes out harsher than intended and Arthur winces, but Merlin doesn't so much as blink.

'I have to leave,' he says calmly, only a slight catch in his voice.

'You have to leave,' Arthur echoes. He sighs, takes a deep breath to steady himself. 'Back in Ealdor, that was you.' Merlin's head dips fractionally. 'What you did there, that power... You've been in the castle dungeons for the last two days and yet you could have broken out and escaped at any time. Why didn't you?'

It's the one thing Arthur can't figure out in all this – Merlin has such power, why did he wait for two full days, wait for a prince who might now have despised him, for what could well be his execution?

'I had to know,' Merlin says seriously, eyes deep and honest. 'I had to know what you'd do.' Merlin steps forward suddenly before Arthur can take in the meaning of his words and drops to one knee in front of him. He takes Arthur's hand and brings it to his lips, brushes a kiss across the back of it.

'I'm your man, Arthur. I'm your man and I always will be,' Merlin swears, calling him 'Arthur' and not 'sire', pledging allegiance to the man rather than the title, and Arthur's heartbeat drags slow and heavy in his chest. 'Believe me,' Merlin pleads.

'I believe you.' Arthur knows as he says it that it's true. Merlin kneels before him in supplication, benediction, promising him forever, and Arthur realises that even now, maybe especially now, he trusts him implicitly and absolutely, with more than just his life. He doesn't know how it happened, how they came to this point, but it's far too late to look back now, so Arthur exhales a shaky breath. 'I believe you,' he says again.

Merlin makes a relieved noise and presses the back of Arthur's hand against his forehead, closing his eyes. 'This isn't how I wanted it to happen,' he says, pained and resigned. He looks exhausted, and Arthur wonders if he's slept at all in the past two days.

'Oh, and how did you think it would go?' he asks wryly, reaching out to ruffle Merlin's hair on impulse, and Merlin smiles almost despite himself.

'To be honest, I don't really know. I think maybe I thought I could keep on hiding it forever, and never have to face up to it.' He sighs heavily and looks up at Arthur. 'I never meant any harm, but I needed to be close to you, and I didn't think you'd understand.' He cocks his head, smiles sadly. 'Maybe I was wrong.'

Arthur snorts. 'You never did give me enough credit,' he says.

'What would you have done, if I'd told you?'

Arthur pauses, a realm of possibilities on his tongue, a thousand scenes playing out before his eyes; his heart aches suddenly with the weight of what might have been. 'Does it really matter now?' he asks.

Merlin takes a minute to think about it. He kisses Arthur's hand once more and Arthur's skin tingles under the dry roughness of his lips. 'No,' Merlin says at last and stands, 'I guess it doesn't.'

He's still holding Arthur's hand, and they just look at each other for a moment, the silence stretching out rife with words unspoken. Merlin's blue eyes are clear and bright with emotion, and he stands tall, proud, broken but not beaten; the light slanting through the narrow windows catches on his pale skin and in his dark hair, silvering his high cheekbones and lightening the shadows under his eyes. It's a beautiful sight, and it strikes Arthur low in his stomach, drives the thought home to him that Merlin is so much stronger than he could ever have believed. He runs his thumb gently over the back of Merlin's hand.

'Get out of here,' he says fondly. 'You always were a worthless scoundrel right from the start; don't know why it's taken this long to get rid of you.'

Merlin laughs; they both know what Arthur really means, and what he can't admit, certainly not here and not now. In a few years, perhaps, things might have changed, but right here in this moment they hold their tongues. Merlin pulls away and walks the length of the hall to the door, steps careful and unhurried. He lays his hands against the cool, dark wood and turns.

'I'll be back,' he promises, and the simple words are layered with meaning.

'I know,' Arthur says.

'Try not to do anything stupid while I'm gone; if you're not alive when I get back I swear I'll drag you back from death itself to make you pay.' He gives him a lopsided grin. 'Who knows,' he says, and his eyes flare golden and brilliant in the shadowed hall, 'maybe I could actually do it.'

Arthur's breath catches in his throat, and that is the last he sees of Merlin – grinning like he always does, idiotic and fearless and so very Merlin, but with those eyes that burn with power and magic and secrets and all the things that Arthur never saw but should have known – before time seems to freeze and hold, and in an instant Merlin has vanished without a trace.

Doors that should not have been open swing slowly shut with a dull thump of finality. The sound of shouting and booted feet pounding on stone drift muted through the heavy doors. Arthur doesn't worry; there's no way they'll catch Merlin now that the gloves are off and all the pretences cast aside. He rubs at his temple with one hand and drags in a long breath, schooling himself to face his father. When Merlin comes back, he promises himself, not a doubt in his mind, he'll be ready.

There you are! Please tell me what you think - but be honest. And also, use good grammar please! How can I respect your criticism of MY grammar if your's is crap!

Junetis :)