"Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I Love."
-Hamlet, William Shakespeare

Disclaimer & A/N: First and foremost, I do not own anything pertaining to BBC's Merlin. This is purely a fanatic's work of fantasy that horribly abuses perfectly wonderful characters.

With that out of the way, I'd just like to mention that this is my first attempt at fanfiction (so have mercy on me haha), and I apologize for any mistakes, inaccuracies, or poor portrayals of Merlin characters. I'm doing my best! This fanfiction will contain non con and somewhat explicit scenes, and the pairing at hand is Merlin and Arthur. I'm aware that this idea has probably been done before, but I just wanted to have my own take on it. Anyway, I hope you find this enjoyable, and thank you for reading!

ps: the quote in the summary is an exert from chapter 3.

Chapter 1: Exposed for What he is

Clean Arthur's room, polish his armor, groom the horses, sanitize the leech tank, and do the laundry—such was his list of duties for the day as ordered by both Arthur and Gaius. And now, 'clean the stables' was made addition to the list that he thought he'd masterfully vanquished in one day. Oh how accomplished he had felt in knowing that he'd conquered his duties in a single 24 hour day! But alas, it simply was not meant to be, because there he now stood among filth and hay, tidying away just as the clock struck twelve.

Merlin leaned up against the knobby wooden end of the broom and expelled a sigh. He had been presented with this task in the very last hours of the day under the pretense that the Prince would be going out for a ride in the early following morning, thus he expected to see shiny clean stables when he arose for his ride. This brings us now back to Merlin in the present, sweeping away at the little flakes of hay and stopping occasionally only to dab away small beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Clean my room, polish my armor, and wash my clothes—oh and, while you're doing all that work, clean the stables too, although I won't actually tell you that until the day is nearly out," Merlin muttered the words riddled with irritation and sarcasm between tired breathes to himself. No, he didn't usually have the pleasure of mocking the Arthur, but considering that he was entirely alone in the dead of night, he thought it acceptable to take the liberty just this once. The horses, not yet slumbering, clopped around in their little cells and jingled their ropes as Merlin moved about them. He took no pleasure in their smell nor his duty. Somewhere in his mind, though, he attempted to patronize his suffering by coaxing himself into at least enjoying the splendid night sky, for it truly was a dashing scene.

He spared few precious minutes of work and sleep deprivation to crane his neck up and peer at the sky. A perfect circle decorated the blackness along with little specks of white. Merlin could just barely make out the view through the cracks between the aged roof of the stables, but the little trickle of light that spilled through gave him hope to finish his job before the sun replaced the moon. He ducked his head back down to continue, but before he could muster another sweep of the broom, a violent gust of wind tore through the stables and lashed at the old wooden planks. It wasn't unusual for the wind to abruptly pick up, not with the coming change in seasons, but this blast have been the fiercest one yet. Merlin sealed his azure eyes shut and brought up his arm to guard his face from lifted hay and debris. His scarlet neckerchief flapped energetically as the gust whisked passed him, though the stables, and back out into the night. Although he welcomed the chilly breeze as an inviting change of the seasons, he did not in the slightest welcome the following events that it produced.

Startled by the sudden impact of the wind, the horses rattled their restraints as they jerked and whinnied in surprise. A cacophony of jingling and metal clanging against metal promptly filled the night air. Merlin cringed at the onset of noise and groped out into the darkness before him in search of the horses, for only a single dimly lit torch served as his guidance through the blackness. He reached out for the reins and the noses of the beasts to sooth them, coo them into silence, and cease their noise lest he wake anyone around, or god forbid he wake Arthur (not that he could considering the distance between his chambers and the stables, but this just proved how paranoid Merlin had grown).

"Shh, it's ok, it's ok," he charmed, "It's just the wind." He patted their long noses and stroked their manes. Engrossed in trying to master them, the servant boy was unable to notice the minute changes that were taking place in the structure that hovered over him. Old rusted nails were being pushed to their extremes and crushed by the immense weight of the stable which they held together. They protested with low moaning, creaking and squeaking, until finally, a small nearly inaudible crack sounded, and one nail gave way. Others followed its example as they were shaken by a combination of the wind, age, and the incessant movements of the panicked horses. A second pop registered a second broken nail, and then a third, and then a forth. The last nail, battered by the responsibility to alone hold the roof after being abandoned of all other assistance, submitted to physics and snapped.

Merlin's head whipped up as the low moaning escalated into an exploding roar. Three out of four corners of the rectangular roof came tumbling down upon him and threatened to flatten both him and the unfortunate horses. A noiseless gasp escaped his lips as instinct and reflexes took command of his slender body. Reflexes prompted Merlin to drop to the ground, and he sank into the hay heavily onto his back. Instinct, on the other hand, forced only his right arm up and allowed words that were gibberish to everyone but a sorcerer to spill off his tongue in a hurry. His blue optics flashed a lustrous hazel as the magic took hold of the mayhem. The whinnying of the horses was silenced, the coldness of the night dissipated, and the shock in his heart ceased when magic interrupted the fall of the stables. The collapsing roof hung in mid air, frozen and defying the laws of physics, and then turned to mend itself. The slanted support beams were made to be parallel again, the roof was nested comfortably upon the beams, and the rusted nails gleamed new and sturdy with resilience. Silence ensued.

The horses, perhaps shocked into silence, were thankfully unharmed by the incident and remained in their places, only occasionally bumping against the sides of the stables and jingling the ropes. Heavy breathes were pushed from Merlin's chest as he laid idly amongst the hay. For several seconds he remained unmoved, still somewhat stunned by his near death experience that was, for once, not evoked by malicious magic or purposeful intent. Finally, he assured himself that it was merely an accident, one that he was lucky to have prevented with magic, and began to rise. He propped himself up onto his elbows and then onto the callused palms of his worn hands. At that moment, it suddenly struck him that he'd used magic completely out in the open. A cold sweat broke as the realization hit him. Merlin flew up onto his feet, kicking hay he'd just swept in all directions. He whirled around in a three-sixty in a daze, his head light from standing so suddenly and with adrenaline still fueling his energy. But his pulse was allowed to rest when he made a second realization, that it was the dead of night and surely no one was wondering at the hour. Relief replaced his panic, but only briefly, for then his panic was replaced by raw terror as from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a blurry figure flee off in the distance. He saw the well built shape of a powerful man, clad in casual attire and fitted with a sword snug on his belt. The steps echoed off in long intervals which indicated long agile strides, and golden blond hair that shined even in the darkness fluttered, as Arthur Pendragon escaped the scene of the crime.

The young prince had not been out to enjoy the scenic night. No, of course not, he would very much rather have been comfy in his chambers in soft slumber, but this situation called for his immediate attention. He had ventured from the comfort of his bed and out into the gloomy streets in order to bestow upon his manservant yet another simple task. The horses had to be groomed and their hoofs cleaned in preparation for the ride. Now, had this been a usual case, then Arthur would not have gone out of his way to order Merlin such a thing at such an hour because the duties should have been done based on common sense. But that trait was among the many things that Merlin lacked, and rather than wake in the morning to irritation and unprepared horses, he would make his morning more pleasurable by sacrificing his night, and remind Merlin of this task.

He'd made his way down to the stables as a lone man of the night. The event would most likely just evolve into a routine spat of words and usual obedience from Merlin in the end. He did not, however, expect to find that that would very much not be the case. Nothing was usual about the encounter—Arthur didn't even allow it to reach the stage of an encounter. As he neared the stables, an explosive blast of wind crashed through the walls of Camelot, inducing only a brief pause in Arthur, but a wild frenzy among the horses. He watched Merlin's pitiful little shape try to put the animals at ease, but then he witnessed the slow decay of the stables, and then their eventual collapse. Merlin's name was about to involuntarily slip off his tongue as he surged forward toward the stables fully prepared for a rescue to ensue, but be it good or bad, a rescue was not necessary. Arthur stared in a mixture of confusion, awe, and burning hate as he witnessed the roof linger in mid air and then move to repair itself of its wounds. It was magic. It wasn't ordinary magic either. It was magic evoked by Merlin, and because of that, it most definitely was not ordinary magic. It was magic preformed by his long trusted companion, and he would not stay to see anymore of it. At a loss for words or even a decent reaction, Arthur fled. He wheeled around on his heel and charged straight back for his chamber. He forgot his orders to Merlin, he forgot his morning ride, and he remembered how it felt to be utterly betrayed.

He saw me, he saw me, he saw me! What else could Merlin do but flee? Nothing, so flee he did. He fled like he was running for his life, and in a sense he was. He abandoned the horses, the stables, and his cleaning duty. They were of little importance in this situation. His feet pounded against the ground as heavy as stones and his body was fueled with fresh surges of adrenaline. His labored breathe heightened again after only a brief moment of rest, and he forced his body to do his bidding despite its fatigue. Not once did he stop to look over his shoulder or to even think. He stopped running only when he came to his lodging among a sleeping Gaius, and even then he did not stop until he reached his room. The boy crashed down onto his bed as the effects of his trek caught up to his body, yet the fatigue tortured him a great deal less than his mind did. The only thoughts that clouded his mind were that of Arthur. Arthur had seen him. It wasn't meant to be like this. He hadn't revealed himself for a cause or to save Arthur's life. It wasn't dramatic, meaningful, or flashy. It was an accident—a single, simple, stupid accident. And now his life was over.

No—think Merlin, think. He smothered his face into his pillow and chocked off his breath just long enough for sense to find its way back into his mind. Still fully clothed, he allowed his pulse to decelerate and his aching limbs to rest, and then finally he dared to move himself again and flopped over onto his back. Perhaps it hadn't been Arthur who saw him; perhaps it was just a passing stranger. Things would be easier to take care of that way. Or perhaps whoever it was hadn't seen anything at all. They might have passed after he'd preformed his magic and saw only a servant boy cleaning the stables. Yes, yes that certainly was a possibility. After all, he'd heard no footsteps or any indication of other people until he laid eyes upon Arthu—no, the passing stranger. Moreover, if it was Arthur and had he really seen anything, then he would have confronted and ceased Merlin immediately. He would not be laying in his bed listening to his breathing and the silence. Rather, he would be in the dungeon, and alarm bells would be chiming and rousing every citizen from their sleep. Arthur, or the stranger, surely saw nothing, and Merlin assured himself of this.

He fooled his mind into being at ease and played his brain to nearly believing that his optimism was the truth. To seal the deal, he preformed his usual routine before he slept. He undressed and neatly set his clothes aside. He would have to rise early that day to prepare the horses for Arthur's ride. Warm covers waited for him as he slipped under their safety, turned onto his side, and slept not one wink until the sun had already crept up over the mountains.

But it was not the truth. The truth was that the witness was indeed Arthur Pendragon, and he had certainly seen everything that he needed to see. The prince plowed through the castle, the guards, and every closed door until he reached his chambers, to which he practically shattered the doors as he entered. Upon entering, the familiar aroma and comfort of his room served well to calm his mind and nerves. For a loving brief moment he also forgot what he just saw, that he'd seen Merlin of all people perform magic. But that memory had already been burned into his mind, and his ease quickly transformed back into a terrifying jumble of emotions. Arthur flew back into his rage after mere seconds of peace, ripped his sword from his side, and cast it across the length of his room. It splat against the hard surface some feet away and left an ugly trail to mark its path. He marched straight for his bed and threw himself down onto its surface. The soft covers did little to soften the blow of his realization. He sat, still in silence, with his elbows propped on his knees and his chin rested on his interlaced fingers.

Merlin used magic. Merlin—magic. The connection simply could not join. He could not use both terms in one sentence. They did not fit, did not belong, could not belong. Merlin couldn't, and wouldn't betray him. But he did. Arthur bit down hard on his lower lip, but stopped before drawing blood. Be cool, be composed, he told himself. He was the crown Prince and future king of Camelot. If he could not work his mind around this simple ordeal, then he was not worthy of his title. But the ordeal was far from simple. Frozen in thought, Arthur made no movement besides the occasional twitch and fidget. His mind, however, was reeling with activity. One by one the connections began manifesting themselves. Things that didn't make sense began to make sense. All of Merlin's miraculous feats, his own miraculous survives, unexplained miracles, and so much more, could all be explained by Merlin's ability to use magic. And then Arthur made one final realization that was the most revolting of them all.

Merlin had saved his life, countless times no doubt, and he had done it with the use of magic. Merlin, a mere servant, a once trusted ally, and a weak little creature that walked on a plain that was even lower than the dirt below his feet, had saved him. At this point, he could no longer think of Merlin as the dear friend that he was. What a fool he had made of Arthur. All the times Merlin joisted that he could defeat Arthur, and that without his presence he would be doomed, Arthur had haughtily disregarded, but oh how right Merlin had been each and every time. How many times had Merlin had the opportunity to kill him? to crush him into submission? All this time it was Merlin who stood in power, and Arthur who stood beneath. He had depended on Merlin, needed him, required him—and the realization of his dependence was disgusting.

Arthur finally mustered the resolution to stand. The moon spilled light through his small window and indicated how late the hour was, and that it would be wise for him to sleep if he still wanted to proceed with his morning ride, but more likely than not, the ride would be removed from his schedule, for he had something more urgent to attend to. He had to reassert himself over Merlin. It was Merlin who depended on Arthur, not Arthur who depended on him. It could never be the other way around—never. He didn't need Merlin; he would be fine without him. The fear of acknowledging his dependence failed to strike himself as being strange, for Arthur justified his need to prove himself with his title as Prince, and that a prince need only himself as support to succeed. He rejected the possibility of another reason behind his denial, but that reason buried itself deep within the crevasses of his mind, and would remain in hiding unless violently forced to reveal itself. In the mean time, Arthur undressed and nested himself comfortably in his bed. Uther did not need to know about Merlin. Merlin had betrayed only one person, and that was Arthur, so it was only right that Arthur was the one to administer punishment. Not only was he going to be punished, but he would be shown that in the end, it was ultimately Arthur who was independent and Merlin who was dependent.

Before rest sent him off into the land of slumber, Arthur resolved to throw Merlin back into submission, and it would happen without fail—he promised himself that.

A/N (again): This chapter is just a little prologue of sorts since it doesn't contain much besides that one incident, but thank you for reading nonetheless!