"I just don't understand, Merlin."

The king of Camelot stood in the Great Hall, his hand gripping the edge of a table that rested behind him. His eyebrows drew together, and his lips formed a tense line. The receiver of his critical gaze was a few paces ahead of him, looking very much like he wanted to bolt out the doors that towered at his back.

Merlin made no effort to respond. He simply continued to stare at the floor, as he had been for the past few minutes, not willing to look in his king's eyes. Apparently, Arthur did not appreciate being ignored.

"Well?" His voice was sharp, almost hostile, but not overly so. "Are you even going to try to explain yourself?"

"Forgive me, Sire," Merlin spoke without looking up, "but I do not believe there is anything to explain."

The king's eyes narrowed, and he made no attempt to hide the anger on his face. "Do you mean to say you feel no remorse for what you've done?"

When he saw his servant cringe, Arthur had assumed it was because of his harsh tone, which in a way was true. But he had no way of knowing that it was not because of its harshness, but because of its familiarity—it was the tone of a bitter old king with far too much hate in his heart.

Finally, Merlin lifted his eyes to meet Arthur's.

"You mean for doing everything in my power to guarantee the safety of Camelot's people?" His eyes were still submissive, but oddly resolute at the same time. "No, Arthur. I can't say I do."

The king took a step forward, anger spreading inside of him. "You were caught aiding a group of known sorcerers—relaying valuable information as if they were our allies!" His booming voice echoed through the hollow room. "Not only could you have hurt yourself, but you put the entire kingdom at risk!"

Merlin knew what he did. He wasn't an idiot. The problem was that Arthur seemed to think he had done something wrong.

It was only two days ago that Gilli had showed up in Camelot. Merlin was thrilled to see him, and even more so when he learned the young sorcerer had found a close group of friends—outcasts with magic, like him.

But Gilli's appearance was not just a social visit.

Apparently, while the group was traveling through Odin's kingdom, the young sorcerer came across a meeting between a very dangerous looking thug, and an even more dangerous looking familiar face. A very beautiful, greened eyed familiar face. When it occurred to Gilli that Camelot—and therefore Merlin—could soon be in a lot of trouble, he and his friends set out to warn him.

What else was new? Really, these things didn't surprise him anymore. Morgana sends assassin to Camelot; fighting ensues; assassin is defeated—though not without a rather large bump on the head and a few bruises here and there—and the king is safe.

Basically, it was another average week in the life of Merlin Emrys.

But maybe it wasn't a good thing that Merlin was used to this pattern. Somehow, he always saved his king, and without spilling his own secrets in the process. It had become so common, so routine, that Merlin hardly ever considered getting caught.

Needless to say, Arthur was not the only one who was surprised when he found his servant in the middle of an all out sorcerer-assassin brawl.

Really, the whole thing was a mess, and by the end of it, Arthur had known that Merlin played a bigger role in the plan than the king cared for. Of course, Merlin's part was more than just "relaying information" to a group of sorcerers, but Merlin had no intention of telling that to Arthur.

"You are wrong, Sire." Though he knew it was useless to convince a Pendragon of his mistakes, it felt nice saying it, at least. "Those sorcerers were the ones who warned me about the assassin. They were trying to help."

Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as if scoffing at the naivety of a child. "I don't know what those men told you, Merlin, but whatever it is they wanted, it was not to help Camelot."

Merlin suppressed a sigh of frustration. "How do you know that for certain?"

Arthur didn't miss a beat. "Because they have magic."

And the circle repeats itself.

Merlin took three very slow breaths before responding. "And that makes them evil?"

His king looked at him then, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Of course it does!" He let out a long, exasperated sigh, and rubbed his face in frustration. "What the hell is the matter with you? You're talking as if you sympathize with these people!"

"Maybe I do."

Silence.

Though Merlin didn't know it, Arthur wasn't entirely surprised by Merlin's confession. Generally, Arthur would never connect the two thoughts: Merlin and magic. But as the years passed by, Arthur realized that whenever he did relate the two in his mind, cross-referencing everything he knew about each, he was surprised to realize that Merlin was particularly sympathetic of certain aspects of magic. Little things he said and did—defending the druids, or attempting to explain magic in a reassuring manner. Despite all that it had put them through, Merlin was defensive when it came to magic.

And Arthur, for the life of him, couldn't figure out why.

He ignored it for the most part, dismissing Merlin's behavior as some sort of childish optimism. But this was one step too far. He couldn't ignore it.

"That is a very dangerous thing to think, Merlin." Arthur didn't know why his servant seemed to think the way he did, but he needed to put an end to it. "How can you even say that? You know what magic has put us through. Why on earth do you defend it?"

"Because," Merlin's arms went forward, as if the movement would somehow carry his pain over to Arthur, "they deserve a chance."

Arthur sighed. "I already told you that those men were using you—"

"Not them, you prat." Merlin closed his eyes for a brief moment, attempting to school his irritation. "I mean, not just them." At Arthur's confused look, he continued. "How can you be sure, Arthur? How do you know that there aren't thousands of them out there—thousands of men and women who would swear their allegiance to Camelot?"

"I think I would notice if a bunch of sorcerers offered to be my allies."

"Would you?" It was Merlin's turn to look skeptical. "When you would have them captured or killed as soon as they revealed themselves to you? You claim they are your enemies because so many of them attack Camelot and her inhabitants," his eyes were pleading now, praying for understanding, "but have you ever considered that they attack Camelot because they have been declared your enemies? Because, according to its laws, their very existence is an abomination?"

Merlin paused, knowing what his next words would trigger.

"All because one man deemed it so."

Arthur's expression turned hostile in an instant, recognizing the slight on his father. "Be careful, Merlin."

"No!" As he watched Arthur's face contort in anger, Merlin was vaguely aware that he had crossed a line. But images of his friends kept him there, unwilling to back down. Gilli and his newfound comrades. A dark-eyed druid girl, whose life ended far before its time. Even Morgana—the earlier, fonder version he remembered her as.

"How can you be sure, Arthur? How can you know, beyond reason of a doubt, that all sorcerers are as you say they are?"

"Merlin—"

"How can you be sure that there aren't those out there who are just as loyal, just as willing to lay down their lives for you as any of your knights?"

"Damn it, Merlin—"

"How can you claim to rule a fair and just land when you are too blind to see the allies who are standing right in front of you!"

Years later, after all was said and done, Arthur would look back on that day and admit that, had Merlin not cringed at his own outburst, Arthur might've been able to ignore the meaning of Merlin's words.

Had Merlin's anger not melted off his face in an instant—replaced with the realization that he had revealed too much, gone a step too far. Had Merlin's eyes not gone wide in fearful understanding that he'd been caught by his own slip up.

Yes, if Merlin had only contained his own dread, Arthur would have been able to dismiss his strange words. He would have shook his head, like he always did, to jumble the pieces of the puzzle named Merlin.

But in that instant—that moment when silence engulfed the room and his servant's face lit up with regret and panic and oh gods, what have I done?—Arthur knew there was no turning back. It was as if, after years of attempting to decipher a code, everything just clicked, and no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way to un-see it.

The riddle was solved. The code was broken.

And neither of them knew what to do about it.

Hey there, readers. I should apologize here to all those who've read my other story (Trust, Truths, and Other Troubling Matters) for not updating in a while. I've got a little bit of writer's block, and I think this one shot helped some ^^ I know, I know, another reveal-themed story, but hey, I can't help myself ;P Reviews are love.