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Merlin’s magic is a poorly kept secret.
He knows he’s careless with it, reckless even, but when people find out about it they think he could have nothing left to hide, that they’ve uncovered the ace up his sleeve. It’s easier to risk death as a warlock than reveal his devastating second hidden truth. Every time he uses magic where he might be found he almost welcomes discovery. For all Gaius warns against it, he’s found that the people who know have reacted positively, or, at worst, have simply pretended not to know at all. His magic, he reasons, can be used for good. That’s its purpose, his destiny. There is a worth to it, a greater good that makes the risk of exposure worthwhile.
There is nothing good to come from his other secret being discovered.
They’re searching for bandits that have been troubling the outer villages when Arthur decides to split the group. When he sends Merlin with Leon and Gwaine, Merlin protests. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust them, or that he doesn’t trust Elyan and Percival to keep Arthur safe; it’s just that protecting Arthur is his destiny. So when, only a few minutes after the two groups part ways, they hear the shouts of surprise and the clanging of steel meeting steel from somewhere to the west, Merlin takes off at a sprint without a word, ignoring Leon’s shout to wait for them.
He’s so focused on not tripping over roots and vines (and doing a spectacularly good job of it, thank you very much) as he races towards the sound of fighting that he is completely oblivious to the fact that Gwaine’s shout of “Look out!” from somewhere behind him is intended for him and not for Leon. He hadn’t realised that either of them had followed him at all until he hears Leon’s shout of what might be panic but is more likely to be fury. Panic because a handaxe, presumably thrown by a bandit hidden somewhere in the undergrowth, comes wheeling towards Merlin’s face from seemingly nowhere. Fury because Merlin’s own panic takes over and his eyes flash gold as he instinctively stops the weapon in mid-air mere inches from his face before it falls harmlessly to the ground with a dull thud.
“Leon …” Merlin wants to apologise, or deny it, or something, but before he can find the words for any of that, a bright flash of pain flares hot in his side. He looks down, mouth forming a silent ‘oh’ of surprise when he registers the crossbow bolt lodged in his torso. That’s about all he registers through his suddenly hazy mind, the sounds of combat breaking out around him fuzzy as he tries to move himself into cover behind a tree or in the undergrowth or anything.
The rest of the world seems muted somehow as he slumps to the ground with his back against a sturdy trunk. He’s unaware of what’s happening around him until suddenly there are broad hands over his own and Leon’s face looms over him, blurry no matter how hard Merlin tries to focus his vision. Leon’s expression is stoic, his mouth pressed into a hard line as he moves Merlin’s hands away from where he was trying to pull at the shaft of the bolt and instead starts gently poking around it himself.
“I’m no physician, but you’re still breathing, so I think it missed your lung. Still, it needs to come out. Lie down.” Leon doesn’t give Merlin much choice, strong hands guiding him to lie on the forest floor. He tries to focus his attention on what the other man is doing through the pain, but when he feels hands preparing to rip his tunic, panic surges through him with sharp clarity and he fights to push them off.
“No, no. Wait, I can do it myself,” Merlin insists, pushing himself back into a sitting position despite the way it pulls at the wound in his side. “You need to go and find Arthur. With Gwaine. And I’ll do this. I am the physician’s assistant, after all.”
“Gwaine has gone to find the others. You need help. Physician’s assistant or not, you have a bolt sticking out of your ribs. And if you try and pull your tunic over your head like that, you’re going to make it a whole lot worse for yourself.” Merlin would swear there was amusement in Leon’s voice, though it isn’t unkind. He shakes his head again but can’t argue, has little choice but to relax his hands where they had been clutching the edge of his tunic. There is no way Leon hadn’t seen his magic earlier, though if he did he has yet to react in any way, but this is different. Nobody but his mother and Gaius knows the secret he hides under his clothes, and he can’t bear to think what will happen when that knowledge is uncovered and spreads amongst the knights, the citadel at large. He’ll have to leave, of that there’s no doubt. He can’t go back to Ealdor, but perhaps he could travel into Olaf’s kingdom where nobody knows him: change his name, start again. He’s so lost in his panic that the noise of cloth ripping is sudden and unexpected, startling him from his spiralling thoughts. He hears Leon’s soft, surprised ‘oh’ when his bindings are revealed and he screws his eyes tight shut before he can see the disappointment or disgust or whatever inevitable emotion Leon is looking at him with right now.
“Well,” comes Leon’s voice after a painful moment of silence. “You’re certainly full of surprises, aren’t you Merlin?” That mild amusement is back, mixed with something different that Merlin can’t place and doesn’t care to, though he sounds almost apologetic when he speaks again. “I’m going to have to undo these to remove the bolt. We can use them to dress the wound until Gaius can treat you. I won’t let the others see.”
Merlin opens his eyes then, searches Leon’s face because he can’t—there’s no way that this is just fine. Leon meets his eyes with his own steady gaze. “We have to pull this out. It’s going to hurt a lot.” And—well. If Leon’s just not going to talk about the elephant in the room, then neither is Merlin. He nods, closes his eyes tight and turns his head away. He’s not afraid of the pain, but Leon’s hands are at his chest, ever so gently unwrapping his bindings where they’re obstructing the wound, and that is almost more than he can bear. He’s so caught up in worrying about what he must look like and what Leon must be thinking that he’s taken completely by surprise when sure fingers tug the crossbow bolt free, the pain intense but over almost the moment he registers it, and then a warm hand is pressing a bunched up handful of his bindings to the wound to stem the blood.
Merlin dares to open his eyes, looks first to where Leon is staunching the flow of blood from his ribs because that’s easier than meeting his gaze, but eventually he can’t stand the silence anymore and lifts his head. The clearly troubled expression on Leon’s face has Merlin’s stomach sinking. He opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words to fix this, nothing he can say to get himself out of this situation. Leon has seen him plain and clear, and no lies or half truths will make it go away. All he can do is wait for judgement, for condemnation. When Leon still doesn’t speak, Merlin clears his throat and tries again.
“Please just—don’t tell Arthur. I’ll go. I’ll leave Camelot as soon as I can, but let me take my secrets with me. Let me say my goodbyes.”
“Merlin.” Leon’s always steady voice sounds devastated, and it takes Merlin by surprise. The sheer depth of concern in it is the complete opposite of the reaction he was expecting and he finds he has to look away for a moment to collect himself. “I won’t tell a soul,” Leon continues, despite the fact Merlin can’t even meet his eyes. Sincerity bleeds into his words, the raw emotion from a moment ago seemingly in check, though when Merlin forces himself to look at Leon again, worry is etched clearly on his face. “Nobody is going to make you leave Camelot. I’m just so very sorry you’ve been carrying this alone for so long.”
There is nothing Merlin can say to that, and even if there were, he doubts he’d be able to manage it around the lump in his throat and the embarrassing heat of tears in his eyes. Leon, to his credit, doesn’t push Merlin for a response as he carefully moves his hand from the wound to check the bleeding, nodding to himself when he’s satisfied. “Do you … need help? Rewrapping these?”
At that Merlin shakes his head quickly, trying to fight back the urge to sit there and sob. He’s painfully aware that the others will probably be heading their way, and while he can pretend he’s teary from the pain and not sheer relief and overwhelm, there’s no excuses he can make to hide the truth about his body if they arrive before he dresses. Leon has the grace to look away when he rewraps his bindings and takes a moment to compose himself, though once Merlin has hauled himself carefully to his feet Leon steps close again to speak in a low voice, wary of the sounds of Arthur and the other knights almost upon them.
“I don’t profess to be able to offer much in the way of meaningful help regarding either of your … secrets. But you will find no judgement if you ever need or want a confidante.”
That’s almost too much for Merlin and it’s all he can do to nod in thanks, throat too thick with emotion to voice any of what that means to him. Leon seems to understand anyway, or at least realise that he’s beyond speaking, because he simply nods in return and turns to meet their prince.
It isn’t that Merlin is avoiding Leon, but if he somehow hasn’t crossed his path in the three weeks since the ill-fated ambush, well, maybe that’s for the best. He spent the first several days back in Camelot in constant fear that someone was going to burst through the door and declare he was to be executed for magic or, worse, banished for posing as the prince’s manservant—but now, almost a full month later, it is becoming clear that Leon really has kept both of his secrets.
Merlin isn’t quite sure how to handle that.
The wound in his side has mostly healed by now, and he really is running out of excuses to avoid court and patrols as quickly as Arthur is running out of patience. He is left with little choice in the end but to resume his duties in full and only pray that luck is on his side.
Fate, it would seem, is not on Merlin’s side after all. He’s spent the entire morning gearing himself up to accompany Arthur on a hunting trip he knows Leon will be on and he’s pretty sure he’s ready to face him— right up til the moment he walks into the armoury to fetch Arthur’s hunting gear and finds himself face-to-face with Camelot’s first knight.
“Merlin.” Leon smiles, small but genuine. “I’m glad to see you back on your feet.” And if Merlin didn’t already feel bad for definitely-not-ignoring Leon when he’s really done nothing to deserve it, his being so gracious in pretending not to know he’s been avoided makes it ten times worse. All the things he’d thought he might say to Leon immediately vanish from his head, leaving him standing gaping like a fool as Leon begins collecting his own equipment.
“I—well, I think I should probably say thank you?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question, but he’s so out of his depth here that it does anyway. Leon’s smile gets, if possible, even gentler and Merlin wonders why he was ever worried that this man might treat him with anything but dignity and respect.
“There’s nothing you need thank me for.” Leon’s voice is earnest and his gaze is unwavering as he presses on. “Your secrets are not mine to share. I see no threat to the kingdom or its crown, so there is nothing that would cause me to betray the trust you’ve put in me, no matter how unwillingly you may have done so.”
He’s not so overwhelmed with pain and panic that Leon’s kindness has him tearing up this time, but Merlin still has to take a moment to steady himself before he can respond. “I have no doubt that you believe that, Leon. But that is not the reality. You know what Uther would do if he found out about either one of my secrets, and I know he isn’t alone in that sentiment, not even a little. I’ve built a good life here. I have Gaius, good friends, a good job. A purpose. But if I was exposed … I’d have no choice but to leave.”
“Then we shall see to it that you are not exposed,” Leon answers as if it could ever really be that simple, that easy. There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat and speaks again. “Forgive me if this is too forward, Merlin. But I wanted to say … well. I wanted you to be assured that I do not see you any differently. I have always known you as a man, and that remains the truth.”
A barely-there flush colours Leon’s cheeks and Merlin cannot help feel that there’s something more being left unsaid, but he doesn’t push, choosing to take his assurance at face value. “Thank you, Knight Commander Belcourt,” he nods, then gestures awkwardly towards the racks of swords and spears. “I should hurry; Arthur will wonder where I am.” He doesn’t wait for Leon’s response, grabs the things he needs and rushes away before he can embarrass himself by reading too much into the things Leon didn’t say.
As time wears on, Merlin slowly forgets to be anxious that the aftermath of that fateful bandit ambush will lead to his exile. He’s still painfully aware every single day of how he must maintain the façade of normality, but seven months on from Leon’s very gracious discovery of the truth, he’s all but stopped worrying that that will be the cause of his exposure. What he cannot forget, however, is the way Leon had blushed when he spoke to him, the way he’s sure he saw grey-blue eyes linger over his body for just a moment. If he was avoiding Leon before then, Leon is most definitely avoiding him now.
It isn’t like they really spent any time together outside of Arthur’s presence before, but now that Leon is actively avoiding him, Merlin becomes aware of the lack of him and, worse, finds he misses him. When Leon rushes from the training grounds as soon as physically possible rather than laughing and joking with the other knights like he used to, or when he finds an excuse to leave camp for as long as possible on the hunting trips and patrols Arthur drags Merlin on, well, Merlin knows it’s personal. He can only assume that Leon has reconsidered his previous assurances, probably given out of some sense of noble duty and not truly meant, and that he has realised that Merlin will never truly be a man in the way he knows himself to be inside, that he finds Merlin’s presence confusing—or worse.
Still, his secrets haven’t been shared, and Merlin supposes he should be grateful for that. He is grateful for that. It’s just that for a few glorious moments he had thought there was someone, just one person outside of his mother and Gaius, that knew about him and wasn’t disgusted by his magic or his body. He doesn’t know if it’s one or both that affronts Leon, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter when it comes down to it. Leon knows, and continues to keep his secrets, and hates him for it.
There is no reason why this particular dreary winter’s day should be special. Merlin is collecting ingredients for a new batch of sleeping draughts, since the silver birch bark is found too far out of the citadel for Gaius to get it, with the way the chill winds drive an ever-present ache into his old bones. The leadup to Yule is Merlin’s favourite time of the year; the chill air and the bright winter sky make his magic sing in a way he cannot describe. He’s taking his time on his errands, enjoying just being. Snow has been falling slowly since the morning, and now, away from the bustle of the city, Merlin stops to watch the fluffy flakes drift through the air on the breeze before they settle. He's so caught up in it that he fails to notice someone else joining him in the small patch of birch trees that grow just off the main road out of Camelot. He becomes aware of Leon’s presence gradually, a warmth somewhere to his left that doesn’t break the moment but somehow enhances it. He thinks vaguely that he should be questioning what Leon is doing here, and how long he’s been standing there watching Merlin without his being aware. It hardly seems relevant though. Merlin turns to look at Leon but he doesn’t speak, instead waits for him to say whatever it is that’s on his mind.
Long moments pass like this: Leon clearly aware that Merlin is awaiting an explanation, Merlin not pushing for one. Eventually Leon sighs, breath clouding out in front of him in the bitter air. “I have come to offer you an apology, Merlin. I came to find you in your chambers, but you weren’t there. Gaius said I might find you here, and I think I’m glad of it. This is a beautiful place.” He pauses, takes a deep breath which Merlin recognises as the way he steadies himself before leading his men into danger, or before he delivers bad news to the king. He frowns to think of what Leon might have to say that warrants a similar reaction, and for the first time in months he worries that Leon might share his secrets after all, if he’s just noble enough to apologise first. Leon is seemingly unaware of Merlin’s concern, lifts his chin a little before he speaks again, committing to whatever words are about to leave his mouth.
“I ride north tomorrow morning. I am long overdue a visit home, and my mother writes my sister is due with her baby any day now. I’ll be gone til Imbolc. I just—I felt I couldn’t leave without speaking with you. I have been a coward, I know. You must think poorly of me after the lengths I’ve gone to to avoid your company, for which I am deeply sorry. The truth is that I have no idea what to do or say around you anymore.” He pauses here, a small, self-deprecating smile gracing his features.
“I have known for a very long time that I am unlike other men. I do not fancy women the way they do. Rather the opposite, in fact. And I have known since the day I met you both that you captivate me, and that it would be impossible for a multitude of reasons to pursue a courtship with you. And then, when those bandits ambushed, I saw you get shot and I—I panicked. You could have died, and I was sure my world would end. And then you weren’t grievously injured and I should have been joyous for it, but instead my heart broke when I realised you believed I was in any way capable of sharing your secret against your will, that I would prefer you leave Camelot than be in my presence once I knew the truth about you. The others may think me courageous and sure, but in the weeks following your injury, I couldn’t have been further from that. I was glad of it when you avoided me, though I would never admit it to myself at the time. I had no idea what I could say to you to reassure you that you were, and always will be, safe with me as your confidante. I had no idea, either, how to convey any of this without seeming as if I was only interested in light of what I had seen, when in truth I was shocked to find myself attracted to you still, given that a body like yours has never enticed me on any woman.
“Then you bumped into me in the armoury and I couldn’t leave without saying something to you, but I wasn’t prepared and I spoke both too plainly and not at all plainly enough. I have regretted my abruptness every day since, and every day since I have found another reason why it would be best to forget the whole business and allow you to flourish without my bumbling attempts at expressing even a little of what you have come to mean to me. But now I am due to leave, and the thought of parting without crossing this self-imposed chasm between us weighs too heavy to ignore, and I could think of no way to do so without sharing the entirety of the truth. I can only hope that if you are as horrified by my secrets as you once worried I might be by yours, that you can find the grace to tell me upfront, so that I can take the time I’ll be away to lick my wounds and return to the other knights with a game face.”
It’s well known that Leon is good and true, always genuine with his words, but there’s something in his voice as he lays his confession bare to Merlin that goes beyond that. There’s a rawness, an edge that begs to be believed, and Merlin is floored by it. He’s helpless to do anything but stand and gape for what can only be a minute but must feel like a torturously long time to Leon, who nods tersely and clears his throat; presumably gearing up to accept rejection.
“Leon—” Merlin speaks quickly, steps forward to touch Leon’s arm where he was already beginning to step away from Merlin. “Wait. I—” He pauses, takes a steadying breath because Leon’s gaze is so intense and so hopeful when he turns back to him that anything he thought he might say in response leaves him in a rush of emotion and there’s nothing for it except to step into Leon’s space and pull him into a kiss.
It’s messy and a little desperate, and it’s perfect. Merlin crushes his lips to Leon’s, who stands still, stunned for a beat before he inhales sharply and kisses back just as greedily. Their noses bump awkwardly as they adjust to each other and Leon’s hands grab at Merlin, pulling him closer by his hips until they’re pressed flush from the waist up, like he can’t get close enough. There’s nothing chaste or shy about the noise Leon makes in the back of his throat, making Merlin grin wide as he finally breaks away for air, resting his forehead against Leon’s shoulder. Any apprehension that he might have had about his feelings for Leon (if he had allowed himself to acknowledge them at all, that is) are well and truly washed away by the completeness that he feels here against him. He makes no attempt to move away from Leon until Leon himself clears his throat, hands loosening their grip on Merlin’s waist a little.
“I—apologise,” Leon says, flushing “I have no words to express how overjoyed I am that you feel for me even a portion of what I do for you, but that is no excuse for such unbecoming behaviour.” He makes no attempt to move away from Merlin even as he tries to talk himself into being ashamed, and so it’s Merlin who steps back, though he keeps his hands on Leon’s shoulders.
“If I recall correctly, I kissed you first, so there’s really nothing you need to apologise for.” Merlin smiles softly, fighting down the urge to grin like an idiot in case Leon thinks he’s taking this anything less than seriously. “I think we’ve both been fools, and we have a lot to discuss. But I would rather not add ‘caught kissing the first knight of Camelot in the woods’ to the list of reasons I risk getting hanged, and I really should be getting these ingredients back to Gaius. Later, when all our duties are done for the day, I would very much like to see you again before you ride north.” He leans in to press another, much softer, kiss to Leon’s lips even as he murmurs against them, “If I have to go three months without you, when I only just got you, then you’ll have to make tonight one we won’t forget in a hurry.”
Merlin steps back properly then, bending to pick up the basket of birch bark that was long since abandoned. He grins when he straightens back up and sees that his words had the intended effect: Leon’s usually unflappable composure reduced to a furious blush and a glazed, faraway look in his eyes before he visibly checks himself into an attempt at a more neutral expression. “Yes, of course,” Leon nods, and Merlin can hear the huskiness in his voice before he clears his throat and tries again, adopting the courtly countenance that Merlin is much more familiar with than this new Leon who is nervous and wanting … this new Leon whom Merlin wants to get to know inside and out. “Then I will let you go, of course. It doesn’t do for me to hold you back from your duties. I shall await you in my rooms tonight?”
Merlin adjusts the basket in his arms as he pretends to think, as if there is any doubt he will show once the castle is sleeping. Still, he can't resist teasing with his head tilted coyly to one side. "Perhaps," he says in his most officious tone, the one anyone who knows Merlin knows is far from genuine. He is swiftly reminded just how much they have to truly learn about each other when Leon makes a valiant effort not to look crestfallen, and Merlin takes pity, rising onto his tiptoes and pressing a swift kiss to Leon's cheek. “As if there were ever any doubt,” he whispers, stepping back once more before Leon fully realises what has happened.
Leon’s expression transforms from one of disappointment to one of joy, and he takes Merlin’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to the palm. “Until tonight, then.”
“Until tonight.”