So earlier today, I happened to read where they say Merlin is going to reveal his magic and take his rightful place as Court Sorcerer and/or King's Advisor in Season Five...and that was enough to get me finishing this fic I've been working on for the past few days. Don't know about you, but I personally can't wait to actually see the look on Arthur's face when it all goes down. *taps foot anxiously awaiting Season 5*
Of course, everyone has their own idea of what the "big reveal" will be, and I know I've already written one major fic on it, but hey, that's what the mystery is for, right? You get a dozen ideas formulated, and in the end, it'll probably be nothing like what you expected.
Either way, this is my own action-packed, emotionally-charged version of the Big Reveal Episode, which actually comes in toward the end of said "episode," because I'm entirely too lazy to write a full one when all I care about is the ending.
Also, I have no distinct time frame for this fic; since I know next to nothing about Season 5, let's just say that it's definitely set after Season 4, and in a time when Mordred is known to be evil and sided with Morgana, as well as the white dragon, Aithusa. Not too far into the future, though; less two years after the S-4 finale? You can decide.

Chapter i

"Merlin!"

A scream, grating and clearly terrified—no matter how the noble king wished to hide his fear from his men—echoed across the field even louder than the noise of beating wings coming from somewhere, everywhere, overhead.

He twisted his body toward the direction of the cry, pushing himself up from where he had so violently crashed upon the cold, damp earth. It was disorienting, so many sensations arresting him at once—the scent of rain-soaked grass perfuming the air, the feel of gritty dirt between his fingers and in his hair and caking onto his dripping clothes, the vision of jumbled movements in the darkness, the flash of moonlight on wet armour, a hand of authority beckoning all who could see him to follow to the city gates; more than any of it, however, was the noise.

A screech a thousand times lower and more powerful than an owl's tore through his head, and he thought he saw something white as ebony dash around him in the black of the night sky, but he did not halt to catch another glimpse. Instead, he threw himself forward, to where their leader stood at the top of the hill, his feet positioned, ready to dash off as soon as his hard, blue eyes saw his men to safety with him.

Merlin half-stumbled up the slick embankment, nearly stumbling again before Arthur saw him, grabbed his scrawny wrist in an unbreakable hold, and dragged him with him, even as two more of the knights—Elyan and Gwaine?—passed them in the obscure light of the full moon.

They were mere footsteps from the gate of Camelot when the dragon reached them.

Merlin had imagined it would be different. He had imagined it more often than he probably ought, envisioned the most desirable of circumstances, the most craved of reactions; he had fantasized about this moment in his mind since the hour he had discovered his destiny, meditated on it since he had first saved the prince's life, even dreamed about it on occasion.

He had contemplated every word he would say, every story he would tell, every reason he would offer for his silence and his untruthfulness.

When moment finally came, it never happened for him to use any of it.

He looked once into the burning gold of Aithusa's eyes, then once into the endless blue of Arthur's, feeling everything for the barest of moments—most clearly, the painful grip of calloused fingers around his left wrist—and he knew within his heart that the time had come, whether either of them was prepared or not.

"Scildan!"

It was several seconds of time before Arthur realized the fire spewing forth from the white dragon's throat was not touching them, and Merlin…Merlin's right hand was outstretched, and he was not looking at him, but ahead at the dragon through the invisible shield between them…and yet Arthur could still see the glowing-gold rings of his eyes in the night.

He released Merlin's wrist.

The heatless light of the dragon's fire disappeared suddenly from around them, and the shimmering shield vanished with it; it was not a heartbeat before Merlin's voice was speaking, like growls and hisses of a monster, in a tongue incomprehensible to the mortal men, eyes fixed upon the beast hovering in the starless sky ahead.

"Non didlkai! Kari miss, epsipass imalla krat! Katostar abore ceriss! Katicur. Me ta sentende divoless. Kar krisass!S'enthend' apokhorein nun epello."

The pearl dragon coiled once in the empty, humid air, a roar like the sound of pure fury escaping him, before he arced away into the night sky. In bare seconds, the resounding beat of his wings was the only hint of his fleeting presence.

Merlin's head spun slightly, the force of power dying down again within him like a violent wave of the sea as it sensed the dragon's spirit no longer close by. Like a rapture fading, the night seemed to flood around him again, the sound of scantly-falling raindrops and the smell of burnt grass filling his senses after the capturing magic had whispered away, back into that secret part of his soul.

It was then that the reality of what he had done assailed him.

He forced his panicked gasp to convert to a calming exhalation, for after all this time, all this endless waiting, the time had finally come, and he could do nothing now but accept his fate.

Merlin planted his feet more firmly on the loose, wet dirt, his breaths harsh and labored in his ears as his eyes moved to each man around him in succession, to the matching astonishment and disbelief which painted upon each different face the same, terrible, wonderful expression.

None of the four quickest knights of Camelot could even think to reach for their swords in the aftershock of it.

Merlin, though they were his friends, gave them scarcely a thought of consideration, for there was only one man who mattered to him now.

The pounding of his heart in his chest stuttered at the flash of silver beside him, and he spun instinctively so that the two of them faced one another.

At the fright fleeting across the colorless face of his manservant, Arthur clutched the hilt of Excalibur only tighter in his hand, his knuckles white as bone. The relentless blue of his eyes gleamed, almost like two, identical gemstones, above the glitter of rain-water on the blade he held level with Merlin's heart.

"Arthur..."

Merlin cursed his own voice for breaking his throat, despite its quiet calmness. Even while he scrambled in his mind for what he could say to him, how he could put it into words that would make Arthur understand as quickly and certainly as possible, he held himself upright, his narrow shoulders rigid and his gaze even with the king's. If there was one sure thing he must refuse now to do, it was to crumble; it was not in his blood to cower.

"Arthur,"—It was nearly a whisper, but he pressed on with daring obstinacy.—"please, you must hear me out. Let me explain. Just listen to me, Arthur, and you will understand everything…I swear."

The rain began to spatter from the sky in drops as big as grape-seeds, sounding like silver coins clinking together as they struck the already-soaked earth and shattered all around the six men standing exposed to them. In the otherwise perfect silence, each of the four others raised his own sword, and then Merlin was trapped like a common prey between them.

He did not fight, however, or argue against the knights who had been his friends until mere seconds ago; instead, he only pled silently, beseeching his master with his eyes, for if he could only get Arthur to listen to his own heart telling him the truth he already knew, deep within, then perhaps they could come through this without pain. Perhaps he could see past the lies, past the betrayal, and even past the magic itself, and see that the Merlin he knew was no different; perhaps….

"Seize him."

His blood ran cold at the frigid order, and his hopes cut off as he saw it written plainly across the king's face. Acceptance. It was not the acceptance Merlin craved, however; this was the acceptance which he had feared since the first. This was the dead Uther's voice in his son's mind, whispering his ideals to him, this lightning-quick thought which had been pounded into every part of him since his birth, the one which led him from Sorcerer to only one conclusion, without any hesitation.

Evil.

Even as Leon and Gwaine grasped his arms on either side, twisting them painfully behind his back in a clear message, he exclaimed without considering it, his own desperation—for himself, for the failing security of Camelot, and for Arthur—driving the words from his chest.

"No! Arthur, please. You don't understand."

Arthur turned his back toward him, sliding his blade back into its sheath.

"Arthur, listen to me!"

His shoulder was jarred as he was shoved violently forward.

"Quiet," barked Leon's voice in his ear, and though he had considered this as a thinkable consequence, he had always prayed it would never come true.

It was futile, he soon realized, to plead to be heard, for Arthur paid him no heed as he was half-dragged through the gate, past the broken wagons and darkened houses which were all product of Morgana's warring upon them, and Merlin could see Uther in Arthur's every measured step, in the solemn tenseness of Arthur's body, and for a brief moment, in the overwhelming feel of night, he thought that it was Uther leading him to his trial, until the saw the flicker of firelight from a torch in the blonde hair.

Once perceptive glance to Gwaine on his right, and he knew his fate rested solely upon Arthur's verdict.

He said not another word as he was pulled into the dark coolness of the empty throne room. By now, the bright, pale moon had resurfaced from behind the storm clouds, sending its alabaster rays cutting into the dark of the place and illuminating their plight like the gods were watching it unfold from the heavens.

Arthur walked to the double thrones, pressing his hand against the top of the one belonging to his queen, and despite the sensation of doom lingering in the atmosphere all around him, Merlin implored silently that Gwen would be kept unharmed with Gaius beneath the city, no matter what become of them here above.

He was pushed harshly to his knees. He allowed it. There were a few endless heartbeats of silence, and then, as stonily as the gray walls around them,

"Leave us."

He felt the nearly palpable doubt from the two loyal men who held his shoulders down on either side, and it almost sickened him to think that they feared leaving their king alone with him.

"I said, leave us."

The ache in his shoulders was relieved as Leon and Gwaine released his shoulders, and then their footsteps—along with Percival's and Elyan's—echoed hollowly in the black corners of the place before the thick doors shut behind them.

He did not stand. He waited, hands in his lap but head held up to face his master with all the courage and calmness he possessed.

"I wanted to tell you," he said at length, his voice a quiet whisper in the utter stillness. "Believe me, Arthur, I did."

The king turned slowly to him, and for the unresolved dimness of the room, Merlin could not fathom his countenance to read it, but when the grave king took two heavy steps toward where he was bowed, the question he asked was not one he anticipated.

"Who are you?"

It took the young warlock several seconds' time to realize what he meant by it.

"It's me, Arthur. I'm Merlin," answered he, and it was less of a fight than he imagined it would be to keep his voice low and tranquil.

Another step, and then the flashing of Arthur's eyes was clear in the pale glow which cut into the crevices of his handsome face from the open window, and the rage in his voice was as clear as the rumbling thunder outside; though, Merlin decided, he preferred the rage, for at least it meant the king was not entirely fallen to his father's cold and unfeeling temperament.

"Do not lie to me." A low hiss. "You are a sorcerer."

More quiet; then,

"I am."

To be admitting it here, in this throne room, before Arthur, sent his heart fluttering up the side of his neck.

"Then you cannot be Merlin."

It was only a black game they were playing, a roundabout routine before it all settled and they must react one way or another. The king was mere steps from him now, and while a dark, heavy turmoil riled in Merlin, he still was not afraid, because this was Arthur, and he knew that his Arthur was good and just, and whatever fate lay ahead for him would be so.

"The Merlin I know," Arthur continued, his face set like flint while his voice shook with his own shaking emotions, "has seen the destruction magic brings and loathes it as much as I."

"You're wrong," Merlin declared before the man could continue. "I've never said that, Arthur."

In his distress, he pushed himself to stand so that their eyes were even.

"Magic is not evil," he went on, and they were not king and servant any longer, but just Arthur and Merlin, friends desperately trying to comprehend one another. "Magic has saved us all more times than you could imagine. It was magic which saved us just now from the dragon. Don't you see, Arthur? I'm not what you think…"

"Magic," hissed as though it was a poison just to speak it aloud, "has caused more pain and sorrow to me and to my people than anything else in this world."

Now, he slid Excalibur from its sheath again with an echoing screech which rivaled Aithusa's in the great room, holding it again at the heart of his servant. Though this time, it trembled.

Merlin looked silently into the livid blue eyes until he was sure Arthur was looking back at him.

"I'm not like her, sire. My magic is nothing like hers."

Perhaps it was the intensity of his posture, or the confidence with which he said it, but his words only served to flare Arthur's temper all the more, and so quickly he could not hope to sidestep him, Arthur shoved Merlin violently into the hard, gray pillar behind him. His dark head struck the cold stone sharply enough to scatter sparks in his vision, and the sword gleamed at his pale throat above the muddy scarf.

The king's eyes were like a roiling ocean; the grimace of his face could only be described as Uther.

"Tell me," he growled, but there was helplessness in his timbre now, a lost sort of fragility that no one but Merlin, who knew him better than any man, could have heard behind the wall of strength and power, "tell me, Merlin, you have not been lying to me all these years."

Merlin felt his eyes waver, for that was the one thing he could never promise his friend. No matter his reasons, he had lied, and he knew it.

"I can't," he whispered, but his gaze remained steady on Arthur's, accepting of his sins.

Arthur's teeth clenched together, his breaths coming out in short, hot rasps, eyes set aflame as Merlin's cool ones bore into them. His arm pressed further into Merlin's chest, the blade moving the barest length to push against his white throat—not enough to draw blood, not yet.

"You said you were my friend."

It sounded as though it would have been a roar were it not so soft.

"I am your friend—"

"You said you were loyal to me."

Merlin's heart began to beat faster again; this time it was not for his anxiety as much as it was the pain in Arthur's gaze.

"I am, Arthur. You are my king. It was only for you that I was even created—"

"Why, Merlin?"

Arthur did not let him finish, and the anew brokenness of his voice sent the young sorcerer to silence. Merlin could only stand, wordless, as the solid arm pressed against his chest shook, the discomfort of the blade having fallen from his neck to his shoulder without either of them realizing it, the sapphire eyes watching him turned dejected-blue with something between despair and resentment.

"Why have you done this?" For one, horrifying moment, Merlin feared the tears brimming in his voice would spill from his eyes, but it never happened. "Why have you betrayed me this way?"

The warlock swallowed, sorrow in him coming to answer Arthur's without his control, because even his otherworldly magic recognized that their king had been hurt so many times—too many—by those he loved, and always, all because of magic. It was cruel and unfair that he should suffer again without any cause at all.

"I have not betrayed you," he said in a quiet murmur, desperate to take the pain of his friend away with the truth. "I never did, Arthur. I've been there with you, through it all. You must think, Arthur. Use what you know—you know me. You know that I'm your servant, and your subject, and more than any of that, I'm your friend. Why would I still be here if I wasn't?"

Arthur's countenance wavered the barest trace, his miserable eyes flitting down to Merlin's scarf and clouding with a dark hint of doubt, but that was all that Merlin needed to continue. In his excitement, he pushed off from the column a bit, but kept his hands firmly at his sides, not daring to move them for fear of Arthur's feeling threatened by the magic his fingers held.

"You know me, sire," he murmured gently, and for one moment, the mask in the king's sapphire eyes flickered away altogether. "Just because you know this about me doesn't change that. I never lied to you about who I am—only what I am."

Before he had the chance to utter another word, a clatter sounded on the rooftop above them, like of the solid rock of the castle cracking under strain, and a shower of stone-dust drifted to the floor behind the thrones.

It was then that Merlin felt a strange, potent magic seeping into his senses through the open windows, alerting him suddenly of the great threat which still loomed over the city, and of the terrible foes Camelot would face—tonight. She was coming.

"Arthur." His voice was saturated with urgency as the vile magic grew stronger in the air; he inhaled it through his nostrils and tasted it on his tongue. "I can stop them. I know what to do."

Arthur's eyes looked to the floor in deep contemplation.

"Let me help you stop them," Merlin pled on. "Let me prove myself to you, Arthur. Let me show you what good magic can do."

Another long moment of breathless quiet, apart from more trembles of the walls and soft falls of dust from the rafters. Then, Arthur's face rose again to his, and Merlin felt his own demeanor fall to abjection at the sight.

"You are a liar."

Merlin felt his breath stutter in his chest, for Arthur's voice was icy and absolute in his ruling.

"No, Arthur…"

"You're a traitor," he went on as though Merlin had never spoken, as if Merlin's sorrowed-blue eyes were not pleading with him silently. "How can I ever believe another word you tell me, Merlin? How can I know that you will not unite with Morgana if I let you go free?"

"I'm not a traitor, Arthur!" Merlin nearly shouted, cutting off the king with the unexpectedness of it, pulling free of Arthur's grasp and stumbling back. "I would never join with her. Look inside yourself. You know me…."

"You are a filthy sorcerer," was the only answer, spat like lye from his mouth. "Corrupted by the magic you have chosen to practice. I cannot trust you, Merlin, never again."

"You don't understand what you're saying, Arthur," Merlin told him, regaining his strength and composure even as the betrayal filled the king's eyes again and controlled him, wounding himself with his own verdict. "I wanted to tell you. So many times, I came close to explaining everything, but I never could."

He stepped forward again, unafraid of the sword still ready in Arthur's right hand.

"You need me now," he told him with intensity strong in his every feature. "Let me fight this battle with you, sire, just like I have all the others. Please, let me help you save your people. You yourself have said you have nothing to answer her power. You have me."

Arthur's countenance never faltered again; his eyes only narrowed as he shouted toward the heavy oak doors.

"Men!"

"Arthur—"

The king grasped his wrist in a vice-like grip as he reached out, and Merlin gasped with startlement, instinctively trying to free himself, but to no avail.

Arthur stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart, his eyes as dark as the sky.

"You will be lucky to escape with your life for the lies you've told," he murmured, quiet in his rage; he twisted Merlin's wrist tighter. "If I let you live, you will be banished from Camelot forevermore."

"No, Arthur, you must hear me out—"

"I wish with all my heart that I had never met you, Merlin."

The warlock was stunned at that, and he knew, looking into his face in that moment, that his master meant every word, and that petrified him as nothing else had ever done. No matter what the outcome was on this night, he would be cast away from his destiny for the secrets he had kept hidden. Arthur would never know him for who he fully was; they would neither of them know what it felt like to be truly free.

When the king turned his eyes away from him like a final word, Merlin had the strength to struggle only slightly as he was dragged away from the room and toward the lonely dungeons.

The instant the doors reclosed again, the hand holding Excalibur shook so violently—not only with anger, but with something else as well—that Arthur nearly dropped it before he recovered himself. It did not keep his eyes from dimming as the deceiving sound of Merlin's begging echoed hauntingly through his mind.

To be continued

As you might be able to tell (then again, maybe not), I'm trying to keep the pace and mood as closely related to the show as possible. Let me know how I'm doing, and I'd really like to know the readers' opinions on how this chapter went, since it is, y'know, the MOST IMPORTANT MOMENT EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MERLIN, and all.
If you didn't like it at all, keep in mind that I could be a fragile-spirited little redhead...Okay, fine, let's face it; there are no fragile-spirited redheads...Still, I really hope you enjoyed it, and there is more coming soon, depending on how fast I can get reviews out of you...
(Oh, and there will be a happy ending. Just thought I'd make that clear in case you were worried.)