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Arthur had merely asked Merlin if he really felt all that and denied it when Merlin asked if he felt any of that at all. Because Arthur didn’t and he was honest with his manservant, especially in this place.
The truth of it was that Arthur did not need to see the color the plants swelled with or how the sky seemed so much clearer or how the trees were almost alive with the power of this place, swaying giddily to and fro in the wind and whispering between each other with shaking leaves.
He didn’t need these things at all.
He couldn’t feel the vibration of this place as Merlin could but he could see Merlin and that was all he needed. Merlin, who seemed to come alive in this place, so at home that it hurt Arthur because was Camelot not his home? There were no arguments to hold against those passing small smiles though, smiles that Arthur craved now and that this place brought to him. This was the Merlin he was used to, not the morose and quiet man who had suddenly broken into their lives and left Merlin pale and sullen. This place was more forgiving, open, and so like Merlin. Arthur could not blame him for feeling relaxed here.
He wanted to see this Merlin, the one full of life and free from worry. He wanted Merlin’s smile and his laugh and his jokes as if everything was normal and safe between them. He craved that familiarity.
Most of all, he wanted so desperately for Merlin to confide in him, to trust him, to share his desires.
He wanted Merlin to tell him.
And so Arthur asked him.
He asked Merlin what he wanted, if he wanted sorcery in Camelot. And Arthur leaned forward to steal himself and find the right words, to reassure and comfort and accept. He watched Merlin’s eyes, begged him to see the understanding in his own, and prodded when it was apparent that he had not given enough.
He conceded that his father may have been wrong and hoped Merlin understood. Arthur watched those lips thin and fill as Merlin fought to respond to him. And Arthur could see it just there, on the cusp on his mind, on the tip of his concealed tongue. The knowledge that Merlin could reveal to him, the trust he could place in his King if given the chance.
And Arthur tried once more to ask what he, no they, should do. He refused to make this decision for Merlin, he refused to make it on his own. This decision was a judgement on magic and it should be made by one with magic.
He hoped desperately that Merlin would make the right decision, would open his heart to him.
“Accept magic?” He pushed further, trying to keep his tone soft and power through the harsh exhale Merlin set free. Merlin would no longer meet his eyes, not even when he mentioned Mordred. And Arthur began to worry as he saw the fire light catching more and more in Merlin’s eyes as they filled with tears unshed and Merlin shifted more, nervously.
Arthur almost could not bear witness to it, the furrowing of Merlin’s dark brows, the downturn of his soft lips, and the bow of his head for the smallest of moments before he lifted it again, awkwardly working his mouth to try to talk past his broken voice, tried to gather his courage.
Merlin leaned forward and so did Arthur, staring unwaveringly at his manservant, his friend, his comrade. He waited because what more could he say with Merlin ready to cry for the unfairness of it all, that he should be forced to make this choice, that he should have to reveal himself now.
Arthur narrowed his eyes and prayed that was what Merlin felt but also that he might feel safe in making this statement here, between the two of them, secure in the knowledge that Arthur would keep such confessions close to his heart. Close to his heart as he kept Merlin always.
Slowly, those now darkened blue eyes returned to his as Merlin spoke.
“There can be no place for magic in Camelot.”
And Arthur’s heart stopped with those ill-fated words and he felt something deep within him break.