A/N: I try my hand at a Reveal Fic. It's a popular horse in the fandom, I know, but I wanted to give it a spin. Only it turned out to span three and a half seasons and became about the boys bantering, with the big reveal scene itself very simple and bare-bones. But I like it.

The first time is in Ealdor.

No, actually, on second thought, the first time is when they first met. Arthur remembers very little of that incident, truth be told; his memory most strongly features a scrawny, smug little idiot challenging him, and his own unusual clumsiness. But he remembers the words- I can take you apart with one blow; I can take you apart with less than that- and realizes, years later, what Merlin so very carefully wasn't saying. Too canny to come right out and say it, but too stupid to leave well enough alone, Merlin had been flaunting his magic from the first moment Arthur had met him.

The second time is in Ealdor, then. Later, when he knows the whole story, Arthur looks back and recognizes that fumbling conversation as an attempt to come clean. Back then, still too much the arrogant prince he had been before Merlin, he had brushed his servant off. And when sorcery had won the day, Arthur had so easily accepted the idea of the dying Will being the source, because he simply knew Merlin was no sorcerer.

The third time is after Nimueh dies, although of course he doesn't know this part of the story until much later. All he knows is everyone in Camelot is celebrating the Prince's miraculous recovery from the Questing Beast's venom, and when he's summoned down to the tavern to deal with his sopping drunk of a servant, he merely thinks Merlin is celebrating right along with them. He doesn't know that his survival is only one small part of the reason.

The tavern owner seems inordinately pleased to find a royal partycrasher on his front porch.

"In there," he says simply, pointing to the storeroom at the rear of the tavern, and Arthur doesn't feel like asking what the idiot had done to earn himself such banishment. The tavern owner doesn't mention any money owed, so Arthur assumes Merlin either paid on his own- doubtful- or that the man isn't feeling brave enough to risk the royal wrath.

Merlin is lying sprawled on the floor, a bit of burlap sacking bunched haphazardly under his head in some basic attempt at a pillow. He tilts his head back a little bit more as Arthur sighs at him and smiles sloppily up at his master.

"You're alive," he says. He makes it sound like a personal accomplishment.

"Noticed that, did you?" Arthur asks blandly.

"I'm alive," Merlin adds. "An' Gaius, an' m'mother."

"If you say so."

Arthur hauls Merlin up, the servant lolling boneless like a rag doll against the prince. He expects the list of the living to continue, but Merlin seems content with just those four.

"Can't tell 'im," Merlin tells his shoulder. Arthur hitches him up a little higher, so he's at least standing on his own feet, and braces him against his good shoulder.

"Can't tell who what?" he asks, as if it matters, because if he keeps Merlin rambling he won't be expected to contribute to the conversation himself. They pass one of the older knights on the way out and Arthur fights off a wince when the man turns to stare at them. He'll be hearing about this from Uther in the morning, he'd bet anything on that.

"Arthur," the servant says, slurring so badly it takes the prince a moment to recognize his own name. He gives a sharp little laugh.

"Keeping secrets, Merlin?" he asks. He's had a little to drink himself, and is still feeling the effects of something Gaius gave him for the pain and the venom, and feels mellow and inordinately tolerant.

"Killed Nimueh," Merlin says. He's talking directly to Arthur's neck by now, and not supporting himself at all. Arthur can feel his wound protesting the strain and is about four seconds from dumping Merlin's ungrateful arse in the street and leaving him to sleep the drink off in the gutter.

"Did you now," he says, thinking maybe it's a good thing he came and got the idiot when he did. Merlin is full of nonsense, but somehow he doesn't think most people would see it as harmless jabber.

"Din't wanna," the younger boy continues. "Din't liker but din't wanna killer."

"And how did you kill Nimueh, Merlin?" Arthur asks, condescending and patronizing and patient and pleasant all in one. He can't get the sap all the way up to the castle by himself so he veers off-course and heads to Gwen's house instead. She can deal with this.

"Magic." Merlin lifts his head and holds out one hand, pointing at a nearby house. "Zap." And he giggles, a semi-hysterical sort of noise, and drops his head again.

Arthur drops him off with Gwen with the specific instructions to never mind the servant's gibberish. Gwen he can trust, he knows. Even if the idiot starts talking about magic again, she won't take it to heart.

By the time he reaches the castle, he's already dismissed and forgotten everything Merlin said.

The fourth time is after a simple accident, the sort that seems to follow them around sometimes.

"You have magic," Arthur says, not for the first time. It should bother him more than it does but he can't figure why. Thinking at all is beyond him right now, really.

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin answers, all patience, as he stirs the boiling contents of the pot over the fire. It's some herbal concoction Gaius had taught him and will help with the pain, he'd told Arthur, and right now Arthur would kill for that.

"And you healed me, with your magic," Arthur says, still trying to establish recent events. Merlin sighs.

"Yes, Arthur." Not well, admittedly, but Arthur wasn't dead, so he would take what he could get.

"There's something else," the prince says. He tries to turn his head to look at his servant but quickly abstains. His neck hurts, probably because it had been broken only a few minutes ago- according to Merlin, at least, who had been so frantic and so desperately grateful that he'd healed Arthur that he'd answered honestly and without a single thought as to the consequences when Arthur had asked what had just happened.

After a moment, he realizes what he's forgotten. "Oh, yeah. You're under arrest."

"Yes, Arthur," Merlin says, not really paying attention anymore. Arthur gropes around blindly, hands crawling over the patches of forest ground he can reach from where he's lying, and takes the stick he finds and throws it in his servant's direction. There's a startled yelp. A moment later Merlin appears, scowling and rubbing at his shoulder.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"You were ignoring me," Arthur tells him.

Merlin gives him a hurt look. "So I save your life, again, and you throw a stick at me?"

"Is that stuff ready yet?" Arthur demands, flopping a hand in the general direction of the pot.

"Why should I give you any? You just arrested me."

Arthur doesn't have a decent response to that, so instead he just scowls. Merlin sighs and moves back out of his view as he, hopefully, goes to check on the pot. He returns with a steaming cup and gently helps Arthur sit up a bit. He manages to swallow about three mouthfuls before he chokes and Merlin carefully but quickly lays him back down, trying not to jar his neck or his head. He has a concussion; he's had enough to recognize the symptoms.

"I'm not going to remember any of this, am I?" he asks.

"God, I hope not," Merlin says, a bit too quickly. After a moment, realizing how that sounded, he adds, "But if you do, the most important is, when you're out hunting, watch for cliffs."

Arthur makes a noise, because he can't nod, and closes his eyes.

When he wakes next, he's in Camelot. They were found by the patrol his father sent out when they took too long returning, Arthur is told. Merlin was vaguely acknowledged as having saved his prince's life, again. Tunnel-vision Uther, of course, cares only that his son is alive and on the mend.

All Arthur's memories of the forest are vague and scattered- a sobbing laugh of relief, a disgusting sort of tea, and a lot of insults. He thinks he remembers arresting Merlin for something, but can't for the life of him say what.

The day after the witchfinder dies, Arthur and Merlin watch out the window as the guards drag all of Aredian's things into a pile to be burned. No one wants to have anything once owned by a sorcerer. Even the cart horse will be killed- or so goes the implication, but Arthur knows better, knows the beast will be pulling another cart out of town by tonight. Uther is a practical man, sometimes.

"I can't believe Uther turned on Gaius like that," Merlin says. His voice is soft but he sounds like he's been wanting to say it for a while now, gathering his nerve and waiting for the right moment.

"He admitted to using magic, Merlin, you heard him," Arthur says, because he can't very well come out and agree with him. He may argue with his father over almost every detail, but they need to present a unified front to the people, and in this instance Merlin is definitely one of the people.

"Only after Aredian beat it out of him. And Uther sat there and let it happen." Merlin frowns down at the activity in the square.

"Merlin…" Arthur begins warningly. Merlin gets away with a lot around Arthur, but there are lines not to be crossed.

"And he calls Gaius his oldest friend," the servant adds derisively, voice getting louder and colder.

"That's enough, Merlin," Arthur snaps, voice cracking like a whip. On anyone else, such a tone would prompt immediate obedience and a fearful dash for the door. All he gets from Merlin is a startled glance.

"Sorry, sire," comes the surly mutter before Merlin retreats and goes about doing what he calls cleaning and what Arthur calls hiding stuff behind furniture. Before too long, though, he turns, one of Arthur's shirts balled up in his hand. "What would you do if someone accused me of using magic?" he asks.

"Well," Arthur says, shifting to lean against the wall so he can watch out the window and his servant both, "I don't know if you've noticed, but that's already happened several times. Once just recently, in fact."

"Would you have given me to Aredian to interrogate?" Merlin asks, and by his tone, Arthur knows there's more to this than just resentment over Gaius' treatment.

"Magic is illegal, Merlin," Arthur says carefully, watching the boy closely. He wonders where this is coming from. Merlin merely looks at him, a long steady gaze, and Arthur knows they've both noticed he's dodging the question. After a long moment Arthur turns back to the window.

"No," he says finally, and in that single word is both victory and defeat.

"You're not even king yet and you're already better at it than your father ever could be," Merlin says, and wisely flees before Arthur can come up with a response to that.

The fifth time is over a year later, after they've found Morgana and fended off Cenred's attempt at invasion. He's noticed, of course, that Merlin and Morgana are no longer friends, are in fact cool to each other when they aren't outright avoiding one another, but doesn't know what, if anything, he should do about it. Morgana has changed, has developed something of a sharper edge about her. A year's worth of ill-treatment, Arthur assumes. It's hard for sheltered people to adjust after seeing how brutal the world can be.

They're on their way back from a hunting trip, just the two of them plus one more than they started out- the sharp-eyed scruffy man that Merlin says introduced himself as Gwaine is slung over the saddle in front of Arthur. The knife wound in his thigh isn't bleeding too much, and Arthur knows enough of human anatomy to know how lucky he is that the blade missed the big artery that runs through there. Rushing about like the fiends of hell are on their heels will only jar the wound and increase bleeding, so Arthur sets a sedate, cautious pace. After a while he decides he's bored of this.

"You know," he calls back, "you actually did fairly well back there."

"What do you mean?" Merlin asks warily.

"At the tavern. You fought back, you didn't just hide. I didn't see you trip once. You were actually useful."

"Wow," Merlin says after a long moment. "For a second there it sounded as if you were almost complimenting me."

"It was a compliment, Merlin," Arthur says.

"No," Merlin says, tone considering, and shakes his head. "No, I've heard compliments before, and that definitely wasn't one."

"Fine, never mind." And Arthur faces forward properly in the saddle, resting a hand briefly on Gwaine's back to check for signs of wakefulness. He can't imagine the man will react well, coming to under current circumstances. He knows he wouldn't.

"You know, Arthur," the servant calls up, sounding just a little annoyed, "I don't just hide during a fight."

"Well, you've kept yourself alive this long," Arthur admits. "That's something, I suppose."

"What if I told you I could've won that fight alone?" Merlin asks craftily.

"I'd say you drank more of that mead than I realized," the prince replies promptly, and smiles as he hears Merlin's grumbling. For all that he doesn't care for being insulted, very few people actually dare to talk to him like that. He appreciates it, although of course he would rather gnaw off his own hand than admit it, especially to Merlin himself.

"You call me idiot, but you wouldn't recognize the truth if it came up and smacked you in the face," the servant says stubbornly. Arthur glances around again.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." And Merlin does his sealed-shut-tight thing, settling into the saddle and closing his mouth. Arthur knows he can keep prying all he wants, but even if he gets the boy talking again, it will be nothing but nonsensical comments and obvious lies.

"Well, you did well," Arthur says. And then, because he can't just leave it at that, "But next time, why don't we hold off on annoying people until we know what sort of backup they have?"

"Yeah, that was… not good," Merlin mutters, mostly to himself.

Not a minute later, Camelot's familiar walls come into view through the trees, and Arthur gives in to the urge to kick his horse to a trot.

He never thinks to ask how Merlin intended to win that fight alone. Clearly it had been just a joke anyways.

He doesn't count those myriad little comments when he runs the tally, all those times that Merlin told him he has no idea what Merlin has done for him, what Merlin is capable of. He doesn't add to the total those times when he starts talking about his inescapable destiny as king and Merlin proves a little too understanding.

He doesn't count the time when Merlin tried to turn himself in after Gwen was arrested for sorcery. He has a feeling Merlin would have done that regardless, whether or not he actually had magic.

He doesn't count the times Merlin was accused of sorcery by other people- the witchfinder, the goblin-in-Gaius- because Gwen was accused of sorcery twice and she's about as magical as a tree stump. People used such accusations as a weapon in Uther's court.

If he were being honest, Arthur would admit that he can understand why Merlin did not reveal his powers the day Uther died. For one, it would have looked highly suspicious, the king killed by a powerful sorcerer and the prince's manservant rushing to reveal himself as a powerful warlock.

For another, by then Merlin had an enemy more serious than even Uther: Morgana. The worst Uther could do to him was try to execute him- emphasis on the try, Arthur thinks, since he highly doubts Merlin would have gone to his death like a lamb to the slaughter. But Morgana has other weapons at her disposal, and can attack in sly and subtle ways that even Merlin might not recognize or think to defend himself against. Uther was a menace but Morgana is a genuine threat, and Merlin wisely kept his head down until he knew the shape of her plans.

Honestly, what was one extra year of lying? It wouldn't have made Arthur feel less a fool to be told a year sooner, wouldn't have taken any sting out of the betrayal. If the story would have been different for Merlin revealing himself sooner, if he could have kept good men from dying, could have spared people pain and suffering, well, they'll never truly know. Things will be as they are, and both Merlin and Arthur have spent enough time railing at the gods to know the hopelessness in fighting destiny.

When Merlin finally, officially, tells him, Arthur is inclined to disbelieve him. They've been through so much, done so much, and he's heard that so many times- Merlin uses magic, Merlin is a sorcerer- that even when the man himself is standing before him saying it, he can't help but laugh it off. And then Merlin lights the fire in the fireplace from ten feet away, looking Arthur straight in the face as his eyes flare magic-gold, and Arthur stops laughing.

There's yelling and throwing of small objects. There's hurt and betrayal and apologies and regret. There's a good deal of talking and interruptions and amazement.

There's one bad moment, when Merlin admits to being Dragoon and to letting loose the dragon, all in one long rush. Arthur's whole world narrows down to those words- killed my father, attacked Camelot- and by the time he comes back to himself, he has reacted as a warrior will, and the keen edge of Excalibur's blade is pressing against Merlin's neck. Merlin who says nothing in his own defense, who sits and waits for his king's judgment, who looks at Arthur with a steady unwavering gaze, trusting him to do what is right, even if it should mean his own death.

Merlin who forged the blade that is a hairsbreadth away from killing him.

Arthur pulls back and drops the sword, the clang of it hitting the floor echoing through him, and turns away. He's shaking, so he wraps his arms around himself to hide it. He feels sick.

"Why?" he asks. He thought, after learning that Merlin is one of them, that he'd hit his capacity for surprise, that nothing else Merlin could tell him would be as bad as that first moment of realization.

And Merlin, with sad, tired eyes, tells him everything.

They joke about it later, poke fun at each other as they normally do. When the wounds have had time to heal a little. When Arthur can mock-threaten to have Merlin killed without the warlock giving that tiny flinch. When magic can be mentioned in Arthur's presence without the king shooting his servant a quick accusing glance.

Merlin tells Arthur that it's disgusting, that he seems so willing to fall under any stray enchantment waved in his direction, and that so many people seem determined to magic their way into his bed. Arthur loftily replies that at least he doesn't trip over his own feet three times a day, and really, how pathetic is it that an all-powerful warlock can't master the concept of balance? And they mock and pick and snipe like always, earning eye rolls and fond smiles and exasperated sighs from the people around them.

And when Merlin tells him things, he listens. Most of the time, at any rate. Not that he admits it. Can't make things too easy for him.