Uh, so I haven't posted for a while. So here's a cleaned up KMM deanon in lieu of a proper post.

Title: Some Say It's a Blessing, Some Say It's a Curse
Characters: Arthur, Merlin (Arthur/Merlin)
Rating: PG / standard
Wordcount: ~3000
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Genre: magic reveal, powerful Merlin / captured Arthur
Warnings: OC character death, implied injury to other OCs
Beta: copperbadge, cruentum and mellacita all looked at this, but any mistakes are my own :D
Summary: “Last warning,” said Merlin, raising a hand. “If you try to harm him, I will kill you. If you succeed, no-one will leave here alive.”
A/N: The title is from the song "My Boy Builds Coffins" by Florence and the Machine.
For the KMM prompt: Arthur/Merlin - Arthur found out about Merlin's magic some time ago but kept the knowledge to himself. Even Merlin is unaware that Arthur knows. So when Merlin is forced to put on a display of incredible power in front of Arthur in order to save his life, he expects Arthur's reaction to be one of anger, fear or revulsion. Arthur is overwhelmed to learn what his manservant is truly capable of. With all that power literally at his fingertips, Merlin could go anywhere and do anything he wants - and yet he remains loyal by Arthur’s side, risking his own life to keep Arthur safe. When Arthur realises this, he doesn’t give Merlin the reaction he expects. Instead, Arthur drops to his knees in front of him and bows his head.




The sun was out, but the tall towers cast a shadow across the courtyard, chill on what should have been a warm day. Arthur looked at the sky and squinted; it was clear blue, almost cloudless, and his chances of getting the amulet that he'd come here for were looking like slim to none, because his hands were tied and there was a rather large crowd gathered to see the captured foreign prince.

“Arthur Pendragon,” said the King, gathering his purple cloak around him as he stood on the dais. “You have been found guilty of entering our lands with the intent to conquer. The punishment for this crime is death.”

Arthur hated quests. Arthur really, really hated quests. Sometimes he thought his father must be trying to off him, because Uther kept on suggesting solo quests to obscenely dangerous and difficult places. Stupid, solo quests. Arthur hadn’t even had Merlin on this one (something about the amulet keying itself to Arthur and only Arthur), and that stung, because he realised when he traveled alone just how much he missed Merlin. He’d been waiting for Merlin to do what he always did and pop up from behind a bush, or be waiting in a convenient tavern, but so far he’d had no such luck. He was on a bit of an unlucky streak, all things considered.

The executioner was hooded, and his axe looked sharp. Arthur hoped it was sharp. He was probably going to die, after all, and he wanted it to be quick. He’d tested the knots binding him until his wrists bled, and they were strong. He might be able to shouldercharge a guard, but he’d be at a disadvantage. He’d have to try. Better to die on your feet than with your head on a block.

“Kneel,” said the executioner, and Arthur tensed to spring and then a voice said—

“No.”

For a single, terrifying moment he thought he’d worked out how to magically speak whilst he was gagged, but then common sense crashed back in and he realised that he knew that voice. Merlin. Oh gods, Merlin. He turned, his stomach dropping, willing Merlin to run while he still had the chance, before he was turned into mincemeat.

Merlin was moving through the crowd, who were parting for him like he was a rock skipping across a stream. Who were parting for him because he was wreathed in gold fire that sparked and billowed in the shadows between the buildings; it was hot but not-hot, people skittering back when they touched it. Arthur was glad that he was gagged right then, because there were ladies present; but then, the sort of ladies who liked to watch a beheading probably wouldn’t blush at a crown prince who swore the air blue upon seeing his manservant glowing like a priest of the Old Religion. The executioner dropped his axe, but the King strode across the courtyard, lifting it himself.

“Don’t do that,” said Merlin, as he moved to Arthur. He was calm, crazily calm, calm like Arthur almost never saw him. Arthur wanted to step close to him, shake him and ask him what on earth he thought he was doing, putting himself at risk like this. This was ridiculous; this was a misunderstanding, and this was starting to look like Camelot might be bringing in another kinglet under its huge wings, spreading over the land until all belonged to the red cloaks and Pendragon shield.

“I did not know that Camelot was so cowardly as to hide behind a sorcerer,” said the King, hefting the axe.

“Last warning,” said Merlin, raising a hand. “If you try to harm him, I will kill you. If you succeed, no-one will leave here alive.”

There was a collective gasp at that, and then a rustle as people started to move, running from the mad sorcerer and his golden light. Merlin laughed, hollow and unearthly, not even turning as the courtyard emptied -- as subjects supposedly loyal to the King left and bolted for the safe spots under the stairs, or over the moat.

“I’d like to see you try,” said the King, and Merlin nodded to Arthur. Clearly there was something in the weight of the crown that made kings suicidal, Arthur thought, because Merlin looked dangerous. Not like Merlin at all, happy, ridiculous Merlin.

“Wrong answer,” said Merlin, and then everything went goldbright and deafening and smoky, and Arthur closed his eyes against it, only daring to open again when he couldn’t see the light through his eyelids.

He looked up, and Merlin was still there, unruffled, and the courtyard was…rubble. What had been towers and banners were tattered flags and smoking piles of detritus. The King was gone; not even a body, and there were people cowering in every corner, the sound of someone sobbing in fear in the edge of Arthur’s hearing. The executioner was still there, but he scuttled back as soon as Arthur caught his eye — Arthur honestly didn’t blame him. He looked around; men were standing, pulling each other to their feet. Arthur couldn't see any bodies, and he hoped that Merlin hadn't...

"I said I'd only kill the rest of them if he hurt you," said Merlin. "He didn't."

Arthur exhaled a sigh of relief through the damp gag. Merlin held out his hand, speaking a harsh word, and the ropes fell away from Arthur’s wrists, the gag from his lips. Still, Arthur couldn’t speak.

He’d known; of course he’d known. He wasn’t an idiot, and Merlin used a dozen small magics a day. But this— Arthur had never known that Merlin could do this. Had never know that Merlin’s thin frame contained so much raw power; that Merlin could have turned around at any time and, instead of complaining about his chores, burned Arthur into a small greasy speck on the flagstones.

It was frightening. It was sexy. It made him want to throw himself at Merlin and run away all at the same time.

“This land is under the protection of Camelot,” Merlin announced, still glowing like a campfire. He gestured to Arthur. “Kneel before your prince.”

There was a beat, just a breath where everything stayed the same as it had been. And then the executioner knelt. And then others, one after the other, a cascade of people, bowing and scraping. Arthur’s wrists were sore, and he felt like hell, and Merlin's glow faded to only his eyes, and then it went, leaving him beaming broadly, his smile back to being Merlin, his face gentle again now that Arthur was safe. Arthur swallowed; despite all seeming evidence to the contrary, he hadn't been trying to take over this land. He'd simply been trying to attain an amulet, because apparently it would bring good fortune to Camelot, and his father's decrees against magic were surprisingly silent when it came to do with the good fortune of Camelot. Merlin smiled, pulling something from around his own neck. The amulet. Merlin reverently placed the amulet around Arthur's neck, and Arthur wondered if it would always be like this, a foreign kingdom kneeling to him for something that Merlin had done.

Merlin turned to the crowd. “Now go!” he said, his words accompanied by a thunderclap. “Begone!”

There was a scramble of men, and after chasing the last few off with lightning bolts, Merlin turned to Arthur.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and his voice wasn’t the low growl of the sorcerer. “I just — I couldn’t work out any other way to do it, and I supposed I might as well hang for a sheep than a lamb.”

Arthur shook his head; why should Merlin apologise to him? Merlin took a step forward.

“Arthur, say something,” he said, and then, “I’m not usually like this; it’s just that they had you tied like an animal and I was so angry…”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, and he knelt, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do; couldn’t think of anything that even remotely conveyed what he wanted to say. The stone was cold, as cold as his stomach felt as he thought of all the stupid, petty things he’d told Merlin to do. All the meaningless things, when Merlin could do this. He swallowed. “My life for you.”

“Arthur,” said Merlin, and his voice cracked, “Arthur, Arthur, no, please…”

He knelt, taking Arthur’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over Arthur’s cheeks as he drew Arthur back to eye contact. Merlin’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“This isn’t us,” he said, swallowing hard. “This isn’t you and me. You don’t kneel to me, because I sure as hell don’t kneel to you.” He blinked, and the tears dropped. “Whatever they did to you, whatever it was, I’ll…I’ll undo it. I’ll make time go backwards for you, I’ll…”

Arthur tried to shake his head, and Merlin looked, if anything, worse. “Idiot,” said Arthur, feeling a huge swell of affection threaten to overtake him. “I’m not kneeling because my spirit has been broken.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, and then Arthur had an armful of Merlin, Merlin’s arms around him tightly. “You prat. You complete prat. I thought they’d— I thought they’d—”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, his lips close to Merlin’s ear, so close they brushed against his skin. He could smell Merlin — well, sweat, and apples, and that strange smell that was always just Merlin — and he could feel Merlin’s warmth pressed against him, and his knees were starting to ache but he’d never been so happy in his life to see someone.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried again. “I’m kneeling because—” He sighed, and Merlin shivered when Arthur's breath brushed through his hair, along the edge of his ear. “I’m kneeling because you’re—you’re—I don’t even know what you are. But you just destroyed half a castle, and I’ve been making you clean my boots.”

“To be fair, I usually use magic for that,” Merlin said, cheek pressed close to Arthur’s. He paused. “This probably isn’t the best place for this conversation. My knees hurt.”

Arthur laughed weakly. “So do mine,” he admitted.

“Come on, then,” said Merlin, pulling free of the hug. “Let’s get you up. Leon’s got the men making camp just past the border; you can rest there for the night and we’ll send guards back to secure this place.”

Merlin pulled Arthur to his feet, all traces of any tears gone, and Arthur held out his hand.

“We can rest there,” he said. “And did Leon know what you were up to?”

“I said I was going to sneak in and spy out the lay of the land,” said Merlin, taking his hand with a quietly pleased smile. “I’ll just tell them that I found you in a conveniently unlocked dungeon.”

Arthur surveyed the rubble, and the smoking piles of rocks — rocks, said his brain, Merlin set fire to bloody rocks — and the general signs of retreat.

“You don’t think that demolishing half the enemy castle and leaving them running screaming into the wilderness will be noticed?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged. “People turn a blind eye to a lot of things,” he said. “So you’re not going to burn me at the stake?”

Arthur thought about it — thought about Merlin on the stake, choking in the fumes, screaming out for help — but the image wasn’t right, wouldn’t stay, because Merlin would probably just make himself fireproof and then stand there with a big grin on his face as the pyre collapsed around him. And then he’d go and fetch up Arthur’s supper, because he was Merlin.

“Could I?” Arthur asked. “I won’t. I don’t want to. But I don’t think I could, even if I did.”

“Mmm,” Merlin replied, “you’d have a hard time doing it. I’m not helpless.”

“I saw,” said Arthur. They were quiet, just the press of their palms together and their footfalls as they crossed the damaged drawbridge. He could feel the gaze of unseen watchers, but Merlin seemed unconcerned. “Could you really turn time back?”

“Don’t know,” Merlin said. “Haven’t tried. Probably, for you.” He sighed. “You’re taking this awfully well. How long have you known?”

“About the magic? A while,” said Arthur.

“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?”

“Oh, hello pot, this is the kettle speaking,” said Arthur. “You been doing much these days?”

Merlin laughed, and knocked their shoulders, his hand warm in Arthur’s. “All right, prat.”

“The only thing I could never figure out was why,” said Arthur, as Merlin dropped his hand. “Why would a sorcerer hide in my father’s court? I’d thought that when this finally happened, I’d work it out, but there’s just more questions. If you can—”

Merlin fired off a golden arrow of light behind them, and there was the whinny of a horse and the thump of a body hitting the ground.

“Continue,” he said. “I’m listening, honestly.”

“You’re not, you’re picking off an ambush!” said Arthur, affronted. “I’m trying to be understanding and you’re casting spells!”

Another golden arrow, and another thump and an oof off in the bushes.

“I’m listening,” said Merlin. “And I stay with you because I like you, dollophead.”

“You empty my chamber pot,” said Arthur. “And I throw things at you.”

“I get my own back,” said Merlin, and then, “Oh for the love of—GO AWAY, HE’S MINE—” He fired off more magic, which bounced and fizzed into the bushes. “Already made the point once today that I’m not helpless.”

“Right,” said Arthur, trying to pretend that Merlin standing goldeneyed in the forest and shouting out his possession of Arthur wasn’t one of the sexiest things he’d seen in a long time. “You don’t want—a promotion?”

“To what?” Merlin asked. “Something that will keep me in my chambers, or in the hall, or unable to spend time with you?”

Arthur felt like hitting his head against a tree. “Merlin.”

“Shut up,” said Merlin, turning to him. “Arthur, shut your mouth for ten seconds and listen to me. I do not stay with you for the inestimable glory of being your manservant. I stay with you because I love you, and because you’re my destiny, and because you and me are going to be brilliant.”

“You and I,” said Arthur, and Merlin kissed him.

It was a good kiss, considering that they were in the middle of a public road with assassins possibly bearing down on them, and Arthur was tired and sore and he suspected Merlin was just as tired. Merlin’s mouth was soft under his, and he was bold, licking at Arthur’s tongue and taking Arthur’s face in his hands, controlling and demanding what Arthur was only too happy to give. Merlin pulled back, just a breath of space between them.

“Got it?” he asked, and Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, this one less frantic but no less passionate.

“Got it,” he said against Merlin’s lips.

Merlin smiled. “Good. Come on, we’ve got a way to go before nightfall.”

“If you’re a sorcerer, why can’t you just magic us wings?” Arthur asked.

“You’d still complain. Merlin, my feathers need arranging. Merlin, my pinions hurt. Merlin, flying is boring.”

“Well…maybe,” said Arthur.

“Plus, wings would be harder to explain when we make it to camp,” said Merlin. “And I’d really like to just have something to eat, rather than have to explain why the crown prince is covered in feathers.”

Merlin twined their fingers together as they walked, Arthur occasionally bumping into him, Merlin occasionally firing off a random bolt of magic into the gathering dark.

“I love you too, you know,” said Arthur, as the stars started to come out.

“I know,” said Merlin, the lights of the camp up finally visible up ahead. “Can I sleep in your tent tonight?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” said Arthur, as he caught sight of Leon on watch, and the men ran to them to crowd around. Merlin slipped away into the shadows like he always did, and Arthur wondered how many times he’d gone unnoticed. It didn’t matter, though, because Arthur was watching this time, and so he saw Merlin tip him a wink before vanishing off to the royal tent, and yawning, making flimsy, see-through excuses, Arthur followed.