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The names that make us

Summary:

What Arthur knows: Merlin, his clumsy and foolish servant, is actually quite smart. He’s also loyal, and brave, and in many ways the reason Arthur has so many good people in his life.

The goal: Make Merlin realize how important he is to Arthur, no matter how stubborn he's clearly chosing to be about it.

What Arthur does not know, yet: Merlin has magic. Also they're very slightly a little bit in love.

It's going to take them a while to figure it all out. Meanwhile the knights have known for ages, Gwen figures it out pretty quick, and pretty much all of Camelot has also known ever since that weird peasant stumbled through the gates and challenged the Prince all those years ago.

OR

"How to win over your manservant one argument at a time and convince him it was all his idea."
- a1madora on chapter 3

Notes:

This was so much fun to write you guys have actually no idea. The prompt:

I've lately been enjoying fics where Arthur is slowly giving Merlin more duties that a higher ranking noble would normally do to build up to giving him a title/land/making him an official advisor etc, but Merlin is fighting tooth and nail against anything that is not directly related to helping Arthur. Like more duties and work? Bring it on. He'll add all of that to his list. Official advisor with a seat at the table? No way in hell.

This came from the lovely RandomPersonWithNoName. I’m super happy to have gotten it, it was so great! RandomPerson’s likes match up really well with my own, so I hope I hit enough of them and fulfilled the request. I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it! This ended up being waaay longer than I planned. But, can you blame me? I love writing little interactions between Arthur and Merlin, and the moment I saw the words slow and burn I was like, oup, that’s a thing right there. That’s absolutely a thing that can and will happen. And oh, what this? Slow escalation of content? Don’t mind if I do. Ah, porn with feelings? When is anything I write ever without feelings, and shit, how did 34k happen?

Big, huge, massive, undying thanks to the amazing mods! They were always quick to answer and there’s a special place in heaven reserved for the good people that take the time to set this up. Thousands of hugs for my amazing beta, VanitySanity. Such a rockstar, such a legend. Not actually a legend bc they're new to betaing but they did an incredible job and will doubtlessly become a legend in very short order! This was a doozy and they were supes thorough and supportive and honest, and honestly, what more can anyone ask for in a beta? I loved every interaction we had, big and small, they're such a delight. All the love to everyone and I hope everyone has a kickass day!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: In acknowledgement of uncofortable truths one can find freedom

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Arthur first clapped eyes on the legendary round table, he knew in an instant that with it, he would endeavor to make history. There, in that begotten keep, he and a handful of his closest friends sat in the seats of Kings. He performed his first true act of emancipation from his father's rule and knighted some of the best men he had ever known, for their loyalty and valor rather than their birth. Though he wore neither his Prince's circlet nor what would later be his crown, he felt the weight of the people on his shoulders. And though he could not conceive of a future in which his reign would start with a regency, or that it would only be a day away, he sat the man that would one day become his everything at his right.

But, that was the future. In the present, Merlin was a servant. Knighting commoners was as much rebellion as Arthur had heart for while he was still reeling from a battle and a betrayal. There was a Kingdom that needed saving from a childhood friend-turned sister-turned power hungry witch. And while they made legend of tragedy, whatever intentions Arthur would eventually have for heaping onto Merlin the praise and honor he so deserved were nothing more than a fleeting look and a vague but ever intense sense of gratitude for his presence.

 

***

 

The sounds of swords clashing had a way of making Arthur's ears ring, no matter where he was.

Autumn frosted the ground in Camelot, making it unyielding and cold. Arthur’s breath puffed out in front of him and drifted lazily upwards, mixing with Leon’s to diffuse above their heads in a single cloud. Through thick hide gloves, his fingers were going numb, despite clenching and unclenching them to keep up the blood flow for the last however long. He tried to ground himself with their pain, with the air biting at his face and ears and the rolling sweeps of stabbing wind that grabbed at his cloak. To keep his mind from wandering too far into murky memories about those terrible days when Morgana betrayed her family.

“Leon.” he said, his lips almost cracking in the cold.

Leon cleared his throat. “My Lord?”

“We’ve known each other since we were boys.”

Leon paused. Over the distant clash of knights and squires going through drills at the far other side of the training field, Arthur was sure he could hear the soft clicks of cogs turning in Leon’s mind. Arthur watched Gwaine, across the field, going easy on the young man he was supposed to be teaching. Arthur made a note to speak with him sometime later. “We have.”

“And I can trust you to be honest with me.”

“Always.”

Arthur paused, turning his eyes away from the knights to the servants standing by. Among them was Merlin, Arthur could just about make out his smile. He was saying something to the servant next to him, and they both threw their heads back and laughed.

“Sire?”

Since sitting at the round table, one thing had been made abundantly, painfully, inexcusably clear. Arthur needed Merlin, he needed Merlin like he needed no one else. So much so that, had he needed anyone else like he needed Merlin, he would be slightly appalled at the thought of investing such a weakness in another person. But Merlin, like so often, was the singular exception.

Merlin was the most powerful unifying force in Arthur's life. Exempting Leon, it was through Merlin that he consolidated the people that became his best and closest friends, his knights. Through Merlin that Arthur learned the value of empathy over sympathy to the plight of his people, and became all the more beloved by them for it. Inexplicably, Merlin managed to endear himself to most anyone he met, as if everyone upon meeting him decided independently of each other that here was a person possessed of such goodness that no harm could be allowed to come to him. So great was the people's love of Merlin that Arthur, in keeping the company of such a force of goodness, was also himself assumed to be good and wonderful and just and all the things a benevolent ruler ought to be.

Arthur needed Merlin. Since his first insolent grin up to and including his strange but hugely important moments of insight, he was so necessary to Arthur that he could scarcely imagine his future without him.

And so Arthur would not, could not, in good conscience allow Merlin to remain a servant. While servants were people and people were not nameless or expandable, Merlin was so much more than a person. He was Arthur’s bedrock, his moral compass, his joy, his everything. There was no facet of his life that Merlin had not touched and made irrevocably better.

“What do you think of Merlin?”

Leon’s mind kept ticking. Gwaine made a lazy sidestep. The wind blew and Arthur thought about the round table, of just Kings and of the particular expression Merlin made when he was proud of Arthur. “In what capacity, my lord?”

“In general."

Leon took his time answering. When he did, he carefully minced each word, chewing them all thoroughly before he let them out. “Merlin is tremendously loyal, and brave.”

“True.” An understatement, but true.

The other knights must have noticed what Arthur had, and started rallying against Gwaine. From such a distance the words were lost to the wind, but Arthur could see Gwaine's cocksure grin when he yelled something at Elyan, who puffed himself up to his full height in response. They both broke off from their squires and started squabbling. Arthur knew he would have to go in and break it apart soon.

“Sire?” Leon asked again.

Arthur tracked Lancelot where he inched along the field, to where Merlin met him halfway. They bowed their heads together and started making short, half formed gestures with their hands. Lancelot seemed to have won whatever argument they had, and Merlin rolled his eyes, but he jogged away to duck behind a rack of weapons. As he did, Gwaine managed to trip and fall to the ground, letting out a howl of pain. Arthur smiled when Merlin’s head bobed up over the weapons to see what he had missed. His swirl of black hair swam above a sea of sharp, steel waves. “I had a thought.”

“About Merlin.”

“Yeah.” Merlin went back to Lancelot, who jostled his shoulder with a grin. “Do you remember the speech I made at the harvest festival? It was good, wasn’t it?”

Leon nodded. “It was, I thought it was one of your better ones. What does it have to do with Merlin?”

Arthur turned his attention to Leon, to see his expression when he said, “He wrote it.”

Leon, to his credit, kept any surprise he may or may not have felt off his face. His lips were pressed into a thin, contemplative line. “You said you had a thought?”

With a small smile, Arthur went back to watching Merlin. He abandoned Lancelot to help Gwaine up, who was making an unbecoming fuss and pointing at a conspicuous hole in the ground that had caught his boot. With diplomacy learned through years of mitigating this or that minor disaster the knights were wont to make, Merlin dusted Gwaine off and made a valiant attempt at convincing them all to go back to training. “I did.” Arthur said. He continued to watch Merlin, superimposing an imagined version of him over the one he was looking at. One that carried scrolls and had finer clothes and wore Yrgrain’s sigil on his chest. One that could raise his hand and speak his will into existence with power that, if he did it right, Arthur could invest in him. One that looked to the world the way Arthur saw him, on the occasions he showed rare and unique brilliance. “I think I can make better use of him as more than just a servant.”

Merlin, the real one, looked up and met Arthur’s gaze. He jerked his head, his eyes slightly manic, as his smile broadened as if to say, get over here and help me, cabbagehead. These are your knights, why am I babying them?

Arthur grinned and rolled his eyes, idiot, but jogged over all the same.

 

***

 

Merlin looked at Arthur like he had suddenly grown an extra head that spoke nothing but Latin. “Again?”

“Yes, again.” Arthur said, shoving a roll of parchment and an extra ink pot across the dining table in his chambers, closer to Merlin. “Have you suddenly become hard of hearing?”

Merlin pulled a face. “Have you suddenly become hard of thinking? Why do you need me to write you another speech so soon? I’m busy.” He made a show of folding Arthur’s laundry with more precision than he ever put toward the task.

“And what a crucial undertaking it is, I’m sure the Kingdom would fall if you let another servant handle my laundry. If I’m very unlucky, they might even know that clothes go in the wardrobe, and then my chambers might actually start to look tidy. Heaven forbid.”

“Very funny. I know exactly where your wardrobe is, I just leave your clothes out because it irritates you.” Merlin started on another shirt, but with his point made he went back to folding with his usual carelessness. “I helped you with the speech for the harvest festival because you wanted a commoner’s opinion, but I don’t see why you want help addressing anyone about, what was it? The border?”

“The recent attacks along the border to Mercia, yes.”

“Exactly. I don’t know anything about all that.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, staring idly at Merlin’s nimble fingers. The sun was shining in through the diamond patterned, stained glass window by Arthur’s bed. It painted the wall behind him a kaleidoscope of color, which caught in his hair every time he leaned over to lift another shirt from the basket on the floor. “Sure you do, I’ve told you everything.”

“You mean you’ve complained to me about Lord what’s-his-face that keeps sending you letters because he thinks his precious apple orchard is worth its weight in gold, and will always be the next place attacked. Even though he's nowhere near where everything is going on.”

A smile tugged at Arthur's lips. “See, you have been paying attention. But Lord Wexford’s orchard is besides the point. The people need reassurance that I’m taking action, but action means I’ve got to double the patrols in the area, which means I have to take men away from other patrols to supplement them.” Merlin’s eyes darted to the mountain of paperwork and maps on Arthur’s desk. Arthur knew he won, and so did Merlin, by his expression, but Merlin never went down without a fight.

“Why don't you get Leon to do the patrols? He's your head knight.”

“I am. Except I've left him to the training also and the patrols need my royal signature and seal regardless.” Merlin frowned at the shirt in his hands, so Arthur changed tact. “It would be one less thing to worry about, and I know I can trust you to do a proper job of it.”

“Why Arthur, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Merlin’s shoulders drooped. “Fine.” he said, the word somehow sounding both defeated and utterly indignant. “After I’m done with this.”

 

***

 

Arthur was woken with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The sleep he blinked away was replaced with grogginess, which pulled with it the migraine that had plagued him for the better of the day. “Mer’in?”

Merlin set a small vial with a bright yellow poultice on the desk. “You fell asleep.” he whispered softly. Arthur's chambers were dark, so much so that Merlin was little more than a looming shadow with luminous, concerned eyes. Arthur wondered how long he had slept for, a moment ago it was early evening, and the sky had been pale blue.

He dug his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and pinched them towards his nose. It did nothing for the ache in his head but he convinced himself that the pain behind his eyes was a distraction. “Astute of you.” he grumbled, grabbing the poultice and downing it in one go.

Though the room was too dark to see Merlin’s face, Arthur could hear his unimpressed expression. “That was a double dose, you were supposed to save half for tomorrow morning.”

“Fantastic, you can bring another double with breakfast.”

Merlin sighed. Though, rather than the usual exasperation Arthur expected from Merlin’s sighs, there was something else there. Something he was too tired to put his finger on but if he had to hazard a guess, it almost sounded like affection. “Come on, up you get." he said, his voice still soft and mindful of the darkness. “Can’t have you spending the whole night at your desk.”

“I don’t need your help.” Arthur muttered back, on the principle of the matter more than much else. He allowed Merlin to help him up.

Merlin slung one of Arthur’s arms over his shoulders to take Arthur’s weight. “Of course not, Sire.”

Within a handful of steps Arthur was awake enough to stand on his own, so he pushed himself off and almost stumbled into a bedpost. Merlin said nothing of it, instead he grabbed Arthur's arm and hauled him back so he could start undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. How he saw well enough in the sparse light from the waxing crescent moon was beyond Arthur, but he made quick work of the ties and moved onto the other sleeve. “What were you doing?”

“It’s almost the new year.” Arthur answered. “I’m reviewing the-”

“Reviewing the taxes, right. What bit?”

“Grain.”

Merlin's hands moved on to the ties at Arthur’s collar, he huffed a soft laugh. “And, what, you thought you’d get it all done today? I know you call me an idiot, but really, Arthur. That’s madness.”

In the pale moonlight, the whites of Merlin’s smile and eyes flashed. Between them was a suggestion of his nose and cheekbones, dusty pale and almost glowing. “Not today, obviously. By the end of the sennight, I hoped. I plan to take Guinevere on a picnic before the snow sets in, but I’ll not be able to relax if I haven’t finished at least some of this.”

“Can’t you ask Agrivane for help?”

“Uncle has been indispensable, but...” Arthur trailed off, fatigue making it difficult to find the right words to say, Agrivane is fantastic moral support but he’s utter shite when it comes to real work, without it being overly offensive.

Merlin paused with his fingers on the edges of the shirt collar and watched Arthur. They stood like that for some time, breathing in the night. “I’m sorry.” Merlin’s breath ghosted over Arthur’s exposed collarbones.

Arthur was struck by the inexplicable urge to reach out to Merlin. “What for?”

Merlin tugged the shirt in the way he did to silently ask Arthur to bend over so he could pull it off. “It just seems like you’re doing this all alone.”

Arthur chuckled as he stood straight. Merlin stumbled into the room to fetch a sleeping shirt, what little Arthur could see of him disappearing into the shadows. “I’m not alone in this.” Arthur told the darkness. “You just don’t undress the other councilors when they fall asleep at their desks.” And, Arthur had Merlin. So long as they were together Arthur would never be alone in anything.

From deep within the room, Merlin snorted. “I should hope not.” When he returned, his teeth were flashing another smile. “I’ve enough to do, looking after you.”

“I must be a terrible master.”

Merlin tossed a night shirt over Arthur’s head and let him make sense of the sleeves on his own. “The worst.” he agreed as he stooped to undo Arthur’s boots. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Arthur yawned wide, which aggravated his headache. While massaging his temples he made a halfhearted attempt to continue, saying, “Probably something to do with your paycheck.”

Merlin was silent for several beats. At length, he said, “I’m sure.” Only, that strange tone that had been in his sigh returned to his voice. This time, sadder, hevier. Or, it might have been the depth of the night shadows that lended his voice it’s weight. With the boots loosened, Arthur kicked them off.

Merlin stood and undid the buttons on Arthur’s breeches. “The poultice should start working soon.” Arthur hummed. His eyelids were drooping again and his bed was waiting. He sank into it with a grateful exhale and buried his face into the pillows. His head was pounding, but the simple pleasure of lying in comfort was enough to bring him halfway to sleep. Above him, Merlin’s hand extended from the vague outline of his body. “Close your eyes, it’ll feel better in the morning.”

His fingers brushed aside Arthur’s hair in an unexpectedly tender gesture. They were cold, and soothing, and Merlin mumbled something that was lost on Arthur, but his migraine was fading as quickly as sleep was taking over.

In the morning, Arthur found half the reports gone. Merlin said nothing then the same way he said nothing when the reports mysteriously returned two days later. They were both yawning, but the work was done in excellent time and no one bothered with the mismatched handwriting.

 

***

 

After Yule, Imbolc was Camelot's first and best excuse for celebration, for no better reason than the joy of celebration itself. Technically a holdover from the days of the old religion, as most great celebration days were, the people and Arthur carefully sidestepped the connotations of the day in favor of reveling in the anticipation of spring. After a short but bitterly harsh winter, Arthur let some of his father's vehement hatred of magic thaw along with the ice. Where was the harm in letting the people enjoy an old world spring festival, when the actual magic of it was excluded in favor of innocent merrymaking?

After his fourth cup of wine- fifth? No, Merlin was counting- no, Arthur had insisted Merlin actually take a break and have a cup himself, so he was pissed- probably sixth cup of wine, Arthur found the harm in the evening. For, if mischief failed to manifest itself in the form of Merlin, it almost certainly took the form of Gwaine.

“Princess!” Gwaine yelled from across the banquet hall. Sometime during the night he had acquired a flower crown, and as the feast continued Arthur noticed them spreading through the ranks of knights. And the servants. And several of the nobles. And gods’ mercy, even the guards. “You must join us!”

Arthur, from his casual lean against one of the tables, casual because he could hold his liquor and was absolutely not slumping because Prince Regents did not slump, was sluggish to notice the flower crown in Gwaine's hand before it was too late. In an instant, Arthur had an armful of the sweaty knight fighting to toss the damnable thing on his head. “Don't you dare-”

“Everyone's got one.”

“I'm not everyone, I'm the Prince.”

“And the Princess needs her crown!”

Arthur had just about managed to wrestle Gwaine into submission when his eyes traveled across the hall. Specifically, right at the moment Gwen and Lancelot slipped out through a side door. Arthur froze in place, Gwaine succeeded with an uproarious yell of triumph and moved on to other targets, and Arthur was left slumped against the table.

Percival, who was soft spoken and attentive, came to stand by Arthur’s side. Conversely to Gwaine, if compassion failed to take the form of Merlin, it would instead be Percival. “Sire?”

Arthur swallowed. His mouth had become dry, but he had little desire for wine. “Gwen and Lancelot.”

Percival's face went from drunk and glassy to drunk, glassy, and distressed. “They're-” he started, put his goblet down on the table, collected himself and started again, “Lancelot has no dishonorable intentions.”

Arthur stared at the door, and dimly realized that he had been entirely unconcerned with Lancelot’s intentions. Perhaps that was the sort of thing he should be concerned about, if Lancelot was less of a man than he was. Perhaps he was supposed to be angry that one of his closest knights was sneaking off with his sort-of-but-not-really betrothed, because his father was alive so all they had was an understanding. But all he felt was a vague sort of sadness for the three of them, and the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded their shared love of Gwen.

“I wasn't actually thinking about that.”

Percival swayed. “You weren't? Because Lancelot- he, as I've understood it, he wanted to talk with her. That is, congratulate her. And you. Both of you. He's very honorable.”

Arthur had to fight his tongue to make it say what he wanted it to say, instead of something ridiculous like they would be happier without me. It was ridiculous. Arthur was the Prince and Princes did not wear ridiculous flower crowns and they married beautiful and intelligent women and made them Queen and lived happily ever after. So he fought his tongue and made it say, “They're just talking, then?”

“Lancelot said he wanted to tell her he was happy for you both. But he had to get pissed to say it.” Percival’s face twisted like had meant to keep the last bit to himself. He was still swaying. Arthur thought he might be in danger of toppling over. “We're all pissed. Don't be angry at him.”

“I'm not angry.” Arthur said. Then, he forgot he was supposed to be fighting his tongue, so he continued to say, “They love each other.” Percival made a sound like a cross between a hiccup and a gulp. It might have been funny, for how exaggerated it was, if Arthur had been in any state to laugh. “Be honest with me.”

Percival drew himself up. There was a frown on his face, and he was looking away from Arthur, but his voice became sincere. “Neither would do anything to hurt you, but Lancelot does love her.” There was a pause, in which Arthur's head felt large and unsteady and the room started spinning alarmingly. Then Percival said, “When these things happen, there is someone that must lose.”

The rest of the night passed in a blurry haze that, by morning, mostly faded away. At some point Guinevere found Arthur again, and he had a flash of memory in which she smiled radiantly at him and gave his cheek a light peck. He remembered Merlin, with stark if brief clarity, playing with a flower crown that had somehow materialized on his head as well, remarking lazily how his and Arthur's matched. His cheeks, usually so pale, were painted bright pink. He was sure by the end of night he ended up kissing someone ruthlessly in an alcove, but that may have very well been a dream. By morning, he vowed never to drink so heavily again. Or, never to drink so much for at least the next sennight or so.

 

***

 

Arthur found Gwen in a tight, shady hallway on her way to the knight's quarters. In her hands was a basket full of tunics and cloaks, all neatly folded and pressed. “Guinevere.” Arthur called out, making her stop and turn. 

“Arthur.” she greeted. Out of habit, he pressed a kiss to her lips, which she accepted, but it was painfully chaste. “Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” he said, smiling at her. “Ride with me today.”

She stared up at him. “Alright?” A small smile crossed her face, though it had a questioning edge to it. “Any particular reason?”

“Guinevere- Gwen.” Arthur said and reached for her hand. It wrenched his heart, to be saying this. He was torn between wanting to get it over with as soon as possible and wanting to avoid it until the day he died. Stealing himself, he said, “There is a conversation we have been putting off and I think it's time we finally had it.”

Guinevere's face cleared, her understanding like a whip. “Oh.” For all the intensity in her eyes, her voice was faint. “I see.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I'll meet you in the courtyard?”

“Yes.” Her hands tightened around the laundry basket. “I'll pass this off to someone.”

He watched her turn and hurry away. Before rounding the corner she cast a glance over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. Arthur let himself stand there, alone, as his future ran away from him.

While riding, they spoke of pleasant nonsense, having long ago abandoned formality with each other. In all senses but her name, Arthur had always liked the way her full name sounded. In some ways, that was one of the best things that came out of Morgana's initial disappearance, as without her, Guinevere had been wrapped more completely into the fold of friends Merlin surrounded himself with. And in so many ways, the people that Merlin made his closest friends, in turn became Arthur’s.

Arthur led them to a favorite outlook of his. Through the forest and at the crest of a small hill, the earth dropped away to reveal a swath of farmland that stood between the city and the dark woods which housed the valley of fallen Kings. Like a static ocean, it rose and fell in waves of vivid greens. Far beyond, turned blue by the distance, was the long mountain range that marked the shore of the great lake.

Arthur closed his eyes and breathed with the wind. The sky was clear, and while the air carried with it the scent of budding wheat, it still bit with the remnants of winter frost.

Guinevere stood patiently beside him. As she ever was, a steady presence. She would have made an excellent Queen, wise and vibrant and with a heart big enough to fit all of Camelot inside.

“Lancelot is a good man.”

Gwen sucked in a sharp breath. “Arthur, I-”

He interrupted her before she could say anything that would tear at his heart. “Gwen.” he said, turning to her so he could hold her gaze and keep it on him. “I understand.”

Her eyes were large and brown and searching. “You do?”

“I believe I do. You love him.”

She ducked her head. She looked suddenly small, swallowed by her thick wool cloak and the largeness of the landscape around them. “I said I would wait for you. I haven't broken that promise.”

“I know you haven’t.” Arthur reached for her, he put his hands on her shoulders and let the warmth of his palms seep into them. “What King would I be if I trapped you in a marriage you didn't want? I know I am second in your heart.” Her head shot up and she opened her mouth, about to say something so Arthur stopped her with a raised hand. “Please, do not do either of us the disservice by telling me otherwise.”

“I do love you.” she said, her voice thick and her eyes turning red. Arthur hated himself a little, for causing her such distress. No matter how necessary it was.

“But you love him more.” He rubbed small, tender circles into her shoulder with his thumb. There was a sadness welling up between them, there had been for some time, and now it was finally spilling over. “Lancelot is the best of men, and I cannot begrudge him the honor of your hand. You are both important to me, so I can't in good conscience make three people miserable when two could be endlessly happy.” Thinking back to Imbolc, to the bit of wisdom from Percival that had somehow permeated the drunken haze of that whole night, Arthur said, “Between three, as we are, there is one who must lose. And I can think of no one better to have lost to than Lancelot.”

Guinevere's breath hitched. Then, she tossed her arms around his neck and gripped onto him like he was the only thing that mattered. “Oh, Arthur.” she said, her voice cracked and watery.

Arthur held onto her, pretending for a moment that he could have what she represented to him. Love, marriage, some semblance of living up to what a King should be. The moment he let go he was sure he would flounder in the uncertainty around the vague what next that would follow him back to Camelot. So instead he held onto the last vestiges of an imagined future where he made his father proud, gave Camelot a fine Queen, produced a strong heir, and did all things a King was supposed to do.

With a sniffle, Guinevere pulled away. “I don't know what to say.”

Arthur slid his hands off her hips and tucked them into his cloak. “There's nothing to say. I wish you the best, truly.”

She looked up at him, red eyed but standing taller. “But what about you? What will you do?”

A laugh bubbled out of Arthur, surprising him. “Attend your wedding, I should hope.”

The look she gave him was not exactly pity, he knew they both respect each other too much for that, but there was something that spoke to regret lingering in the corners of her face. But, whatever she was thinking, she said nothing of it. “Thank you.”

To diffuse the tension the only way he knew how, Arthur attempted the sort of joke that would likely make Merlin laugh. “I'm sure you're right to thank me, I've just rescued you from Queenship. I have it on good authority that running a Kingdom is brutal.”

Luckily, Merlin’s humor worked on her and she laughed. “My hero.”

“No really, it'll be the death of me. I don't know how I would have survived this long if I didn't have Merlin.”

Gwen blinked at him. “Merlin?” she asked, an odd quality to her voice that gave Arthur pause.

“Yes?” She was staring at him, her face unreadable. “In the evenings, he helps me with things, writing speeches and going through reports, the like.”

“Don't you have the council for that?”

“I do.” Arthur turned away from Guinevere's wide eyed study of him. He clasped his hands behind his back, staring out over the landscape and picking out the pinpricks of farms and houses in the far, far off distance. Inside were families and people that lived out their own rich, inner lives, filled with toils and joys that Arthur could no more understand then they could him. “But I've been thinking. About the council, about Merlin.”

Gwen knocked her shoulder against Arthur's. “I think it's a grand idea.” she said, her warmth having returned in full. This was the Guinevere he knew, the one he fell in love with not too long ago. The one that made everything seem possible through sheer force of kindness.

He peered at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. “I haven't said anything.”

When she smiled back, it filled her whole face. “You don't need to. He's very good for you, and I'm sure you'll both be happy.”

It was Arthur's turn to stare. He had a little itch in the back of his mind that insisted they were talking past each other. But it was difficult to place, and so long as they were on amicable terms then all was right with the world. “Thank you.”

 

***

 

“Sire.”

Arthur greeted the knight with a nod. “Elyan.” He almost turned back to the armory door, but Elyan’s expression was troubled and it made him pause. Clearly there was something he wanted to say.

Without waiting for Arthur to prompt him, and with tactlessness that was always refreshing to Arthur, Elyan blurted out, “It's a good thing you did for my sister. Thank you.”

It stung, because no matter what he said about Lancelot being a good man and no matter the sincerity of his hope that they could be happy, there was a corner of Arthur’s heart that he reserved for Guinevere alone. To give his hands something to do, he turned away from Elyan and to the rack of practice swords, inspecting them before choosing one to draw from the ranks. “I did it for both of us.” he said, meaning it. All of us, he thought to himself, as there was a thought towards Lancelot’s happiness somewhere in there as well.

“Still, I wanted to thank you myself. And congratulate you and Merlin.”

Arthur glanced up from the worn leather of the practice sword’s hilt. “She told you about that?” While on the hill and during the ride back to the city, he and Guienevere spoke extensively on Arthur's rule. For once, his looming Kingship and his father's poor health did not seem as much like the terrible burdens they usually were, not with Gwen’s smile at his side. As they lobbed ideas on how to convince Merlin to take up a permanent post in the council back and forth, Arthur had almost felt hopeful.

“Some.” Elyan said with a casual shrug. He had his own practice sword in hand, from training, and he stepped around Arthur to place it on the rack. As he passed, he gave Arthur a smile that seemed conspiratorial and sly, not that Arthur had any clear idea as to why he would be looking that way. “She told me about her and Lancelot, and what you did. I asked why and she told me what you said about Merlin.”

What, exactly, Merlin had to do regarding his choices around Gwen and marriage, was beyond Arthur. But, looking back on their conversation, he supposed his wishes concerning Merlin had featured prominently. It was then perhaps not so surprising to assume, with the extra time Arthur had been spending with Merlin to that end, that she would take it as part of his explanation for his actions.

“I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to tell Merlin.”

Elyan grinned like a fool, “Making it a surprise, then?”

“Not exactly, but you know how he gets. He digs his heels in about these things. I haven’t quite decided how to actually ask him yet.”

Elyan barked out a laugh. “That's Merlin. But I'm sure he'll say yes, it's Merlin. Oh-” he said, his eyes lighting up with a thought, “you should bring him to the tavern tonight. We're all going, and both of you deserve some time off. Whether you ask or not, it'll be a lark. Gwaine lost a bet to Perce so he's buying the first round.”

“If you all have got so much extra time that you're making useless wagers on drinks, then I might be inclined to assume you have too much time off and assign you extra drills.” Though, Arthur might go, if only to ribb Gwaine.

Elyan threw his hands up in surrender, backing out of the armory with a sly smile. “The Rising Sun.” he called over his shoulder.

In the end, Merlin somehow heard about Elyan’s invitation through osmosis of castle gossip, and personally took it upon himself to escort Arthur to the tavern. And Arthur allowed himself, if only because Merlin's smile was infectious in the best of ways.

Notes:

*intercom sound*

"This is your author speaking.

All readers are advised to take note that, after Arthur's conversation with Leon, when he ran off to join Merlin, Leon was aggressively rolling his eyes.

Thank you. Please resume reading and we wish you a pleasant binge."

Chapter 2: Love is not finite, do not make it so

Chapter Text

Merlin stumbled into the council room with his usual grace, almost knocked into a member of the court, and then in swerving to avoid him managed to topple a shoulder tall candelabra. It crashed to the stone floor, extinguishing all the candles and breaking three. Arthur, briefly, considered that perhaps he was entirely mistaken about wanting Merlin on his council, and that he really was no more than a useless oaf.

Merlin looked up and tried to smile, though it came out resembling a grimace more than anything else. Arthur pulled a face. “Are you quite finished, or would you also like to break one of the chairs or windows?”

“I could go for an inkpot?”

“Please don't. Come here and help me with this. And do try not to drop anything.” Arthur said, waving him over.

Merlin readjusted his grip on the tray in his hands, which by some miracle had managed to stay in his hands through his ridiculousness with the candelabra, and approached Arthur with a frown. “You'll just make me work on whatever it is, again. I'm not your scribe.”

Arthur favored Merlin with the sort of cheeky smile he was usually given when his manservant decided to be especially insubordinate. “You made the mistake of being competent for once in your life.”

“I see. So the way to get out of all this extra work you've been making me do for ages is to be terrible at it.” With little care for the tray and its contents, Merlin plopped into the chair to Arthur's left. He set the tray down and started picking at Arthur's lunch as if it were his own. “I can do that, you know.”

“In that case, if you do poorly, clearly the best remedy is practice. Thank you for volunteering, if you take care of all this then I think I'll go have a nap.”

“Goodness, Arthur.” Merlin exclaimed, his voice suddenly taking on an exaggerated air of delight. “Why didn't you tell me this was-” he picked up the report in front of Arthur and glanced over it, “-a census on livestock. My favorite. I'd be happy to help you. Help as in not do it all myself because, contrary to what you think, I do actually have a life beyond serving you. If anyone’s getting a nap here, it should be me. I was up all night trying-” Merlin cut himself off, his eyes blowing wide and fixating on a spot over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Up all night?” Arthur asked, adopting innocence. “A curious thing for you to be doing. What, precisely, were you trying?”

Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly, and that alone made Arthur think that there was a chance he actually did not want to know what Merlin was trying. “Not important. Remind me why you want me doing this instead of the people you just had a meeting with?”

Letting whatever had been going on the night before, drop- it was Merlin, how bad could it be- Arthur glanced at the door to make sure it was closed. “I need an impartial opinion for this. And yes, I know it's just cattle and sheep, but you're the last person that needs telling that cattle and sheep are some peoples whole livelihoods.” With another glance at the door, because one can never be too careful when magic is involved, he went on, “Apparently since the great dragon's attack, herding patterns have changed, but I don't know how true that is.” There, that had Merlin's attention. He stopped picking at Arthur's lunch and sat up straighter. “The dragon is supposed to be dead, of course, but there's evidence to show that it, or at least something as large, might be in the mountains to the north and is making the area it's new hunting grounds. I've been getting conflicting reports on it, least of all because the Dragon shouldn't even be there, but also because it means a lot of the animals are driven out of the farms they belong to and are taking shelter in others. But I fear some of the Lords there are being very conservative in their estimates of exactly how many animals they suddenly have, or downright lying about any additions. And others are overestimating, and claiming that they deserve financial aid from Camelot for the burden. Either way, people are losing their livestock, and other people are wrongfully slaughtering them.”

It was a mess, thought Arthur, not least because they might have the same or another dragon on their hands. He sat back and stared at the census, which, also, was something of a mess. And no matter how the nobility squabbled, it was still the people who bore the brunt of it all.

Merlin examined the wall behind Arthur, or he glared at it, it was hard to say. “You really think the dragon's out there?”

“You said I mortally wounded it.” Arthur said. But the numbers on the census were accusing. There was something out there. Something big and hungry and with the ability to start forest fires. The list of creatures that could manage that was very short. “But, on the chance it managed to recover and fly off to lick its wounds, then we need to take action.”

Merlin looked troubled. Arthur had an idea of why. “You're going to go out looking for it, aren't you?”

“I don't see how I can't. I should have slain it, and if I didn't, I now need to.”

Merlin refused to meet his eyes. “I don't suppose there's any hope that it might just go away on its own.”

“Tell you what,” Arthur said as he reached for the bread roll on his tray and a cut of cheese, “if by some cosmic coincidence that actually does happen, then I'll give you a day off.” Arthur ripped a bite from the roll and stuffed it and the cheese in his mouth, smiling around it when Merlin huffed a laugh.

“I'll hold you to that.”

Arthur chewed, watching Merlin. He was less vibrant than he had been a moment ago. Arthur swallowed and asked, “Is there something else troubling you?”

Merlin considered the parchment with great interest for a long moment. “You've been doing this for a while.” He looked up, his eyes searching. “Why?”

“What is, this?”

“This.” Merlin gestured first at the census, then swept his hand towards the splay of other reports, maps and notes strewn across the table. “I'm not mad. I'm happy to unburden you when you need it. But-” he stopped short. Closing his mouth, he examined Arthur with the sort of intensity that often preceded his saying something that betrayed how well he knew Arthur. As if on cue, “You know you've been so strong, through all this. Everyone sees it. You have nothing to prove to anyone.”

Even when expecting it, Arthur was as surprised every time by Merlin's tenderness. “Excuse me?”

Merlin reached for one of the rolls of parchment and carefully unfurled it with the interest of one wishing to have something in their hands and caring little for what actually occupied them. Gazing down through his long, dark lashes, he said, “Policy is all we ever seem to talk about these days. I know-” he paused again, thinking, “I know you have a lot on your mind. But you don't need to suddenly take on a mountain of work to prove that you're capable.” Rolling the parchment with a sense of finality, he said, “You'll make a great King.”

How Merlin said such things with such certainty, Arthur would never know. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I believe it.”

Arthur took a deep breath, breathing in Merlin’s presence, and let it out as a heavy sigh. “I'm...” he trailed off, looking for the words. What was he? A young man, a Prince, a friend and brother and a hundred other things. But a King? “I’m not ready, I don't think.”

Between them, silence stretched. Arthur kept breathing Merlin in, hoping that in doing so he might manage to borrow some of the unwavering faith he had in Arthur’s leadership. He looked past Merlin, to the large, empty council room, to its demands of him. And beyond that, to the expectations of the people and Kingdom, all of which had come crashing down on Arthur the moment he rescued his father and his broken mind from the dungeons after Morgana’s coup. “Some days, I feel like the whole world is at my fingertips. I'm on the precipice of everything I was born to do. But most days it's all I can do to stay standing under the pressure if it all. I'm not ready.”

A hand appeared on Arthur’s. He glanced down at Merlin’s fingertips, they were pale against his own but their grip was true. “I don’t think anyone is, really.” Arthur met Merlin’s eyes, his small, but blinding smile. So full of trust. “I believe in you. And if that’s not enough, you’ll always have me, us, to help.”

 

***

 

“What is all this?”

Merlin blinked innocently at Arthur from his seat at what was supposed to be the dining table in Arthur’s chambers. Supposed to be, because Merlin had apparently commandeered it for the purpose of relocating Camelot’s extensive library. “What’s all what?”

Arthur pulled a face. “This.” He waved a hand at the stacks upon stacks of books. He could barely see Merlin among them. “There’s no room for anything, why’ve you dragged more than half the library to my chambers?”

“Oh, that.” Merlin said with exaggerated understanding. An impetuous grin crossed his face, but he was quick to hide it behind the massive tome in his hands. “Because Gaius actually uses his tables.” he peered over the edge of the pages. “And this is hardly half the library, it’s not even a fraction. A quarter, at most. Probably closer to, say, a sixth or seventh. Or something.”

“Don’t try to be smart about this, you’re too stupid. Why?”

Casually, Merlin propped the old volume open against a stack of priceless books, many one of a kind, and picked up a quill. Without so much as looking at Arthur, he pointed the quill’s short bristles at the census on the far side of the table with disdain that would have even impressed Arthur’s father. “Research.” he answered, and flipped a page. “I’ve decided that if you're going to be such an arse and make your poor manservant do all this extra work, then I might as well make your life as inconvenient as humanly possible. In short, you want my help, this is what it looks like.”

Arthur came very close to throwing something at Merlin. He abstained only because he knew his idiot servant would no doubt flail and somehow manage to damage one or more of the books. And then Arthur would have to answer to Geoffrey, which he did not want to do.

 

***

 

“What’s this?”

Arthur bit down on his smile. “An requisition for the carpenter.”

In short order, Merlin snatched the offending requisition from Arthur’s hand and broke the seal, because he had precisely zero sense of either privacy or sanctity of royal correspondence. But then again, broken seal or no, Arthur knew that anything delivered by Merlin personally would be as strong an endorsement of authenticity as anything. Certainly stronger than a bit of melted wax, no one would doubt the source of a message from Merlin's own hand. “It’s for a new desk, for you. To have here.” Merlin’s eyes skimmed the letter, skimmed again, then glared at Arthur.

“No.”

“This is what my help looks like.”

Merlin twisted a frown around on his lips. “What if I decide not to deliver it?”

“Then I’ll fire you and find a servant who will.”

“Ah, but if I’m fired you can’t make me do your grunt work. Then you'll have no reason to have a desk made at all.”

Arthur lost the battle with his grin. He flashed it at Merlin and was rewarded with another glare. “Of course I will. I’ll fire you as a servant and make you a council member instead. I’ll even give you a title and some land, make you wear all sorts of ceremonial hats.”

Merlin’s face soured more than spoiled milk. “Ugh, please don’t. I couldn’t imagine anything worse.”

“You’re always asking me for a day off.” Arthur shrugged and dipped his quill to continue working on his actual, legitimate, non Merlin related work. “And you even got one because the dragon went away on its own, or whatever it was that happened to it. Here I am offering you all the free days you want, I thought you’d be happy.”

Merlin set about delicately re-folding the letter with a prim lilt to his nose. “I’m sure I’d love that.” he said with a haughty tone that made Arthur’s heart ache with the thought of Morgana. “But to do that I’d have to suffer through the misfortune of having to see your fat face every day in council.”

Arthur dropped his quill and reached for the nearest projectile, a paperweight in the shape of smooth river rock Merlin himself had found on a hunting trip and given him. “I’m not fat!” he yelled, and threw it at Merlin’s cowardly, retreating back.

Merlin jumped aside and ran for the door. “I can’t hear you over the sound of delivering this very important missive!”

 

***

 

Some sennights later brought the installment of the desk in the servant’s annex of Arthur’s chambers. The small alcove off the side of Arthur’s main room was supposed to be used by whoever his manservant was, but before Merlin, Arthur had not been in the practice of keeping a singular servant, so it had been taken up by a haphazard collection of linens, weapons, books Arthur had forgotten about, cobwebs, the chest in which he hid the blue cloak he had never found within himself to give back to Merlin, and much more besides. Exempting the cloak, Arthur had ordered the servants cleaning the annex to toss it all in a corner with the thought that tidying it all might make a nice punishment for Merlin the next time he got too lippy, which knowing him would be several times before the day's end.

Arthur half expected Merlin, upon seeing the desk, to do as he usually would and make himself an irritating nit, but he did quite the opposite. Once he returned from his rounds with Gaius, he barreled in with his usual decorum only to stop short mid-insult and stare.

Arthur was leaning casually against his own desk. Or, he tried to be casual. His skin felt tight and his heart was thrumming, and his mind was running with a number of possibilities around Merlin being made uncomfortable or disappointed by the gesture. Arthur had been very specific in his requisition, and for reasons he could not quite name, it was vitally important that Merlin loved the gift. “Well?” he said, making his voice as off hand as he could manage. “It's not as if you didn’t know it was coming.”

Merlin placed the tray of Arthur’s lunch on the table and approached the desk. He smoothed his palm over the polished, dark cherry wood surface and trailed his fingers along the edge with reverence. They found one of the gleaming brass drawer handles, but before pulling it open, in an odd show of deference he glanced at Arthur with a clear question of permission. Arthur nodded his head with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

The drawers were outfitted with the thick parchment, inks, and fine quills necessary to Merlin’s new station. Arthur had every intention of asking Merlin then. Be on my council, join my rule. I want you by my side in name and honor. But watching him, the question lodged in his throat. The moment he made Merlin a Lord and advisor, he knew it would mark the end of an era. The end of Merlin of Ealdor, manservant to the Prince. He would become Merlin of Camelot, advisor to the Regent and King. And Arthur, in a bid of selfishness he had not indulged in since he had been a teenager, was suddenly as reluctant to let go of Merlin the manservant as Merlin himself was reluctant to hand his duties off in favor of the new responsibilities Arthur had been slowly heaping onto him.

Arthur wanted to keep their little mornings and evenings together. He wanted Merlin to wake him up and dress him and steal food off his breakfast plate. To be there for every tourney and battle and celebration, securing Arthur’s armor and running his hands along the metal to ensure the fit. He wanted Merlin with him, close and intimate with him, as only a servant could be, just a little longer. If they could stay here in this moment, then for it’s duration Arthur could ignore the mounting pressures of an unkind world and relish the simple joy that spread across Merlin’s features. The way he came alive when there was something bright and exciting that begged discovery.

Merlin pushed the last drawer back into place. “It's beautiful.”

Arthur traced the edge of Merlin’s face with his eyes, committing Merlin in this glorious, sunny moment to memory. “It ought to be.” he said, trying for a joke and attempting to will away the great surge of emotion that swelled in his chest. It was too much, too large, and frightening in its strength. Merlin always made him feel like that, but there were times when it was intensified to the point of choking Arthur in the best of ways. “It cost a fair bit of coin.”

Merlin plucked his eyes off the desk and met Arthur’s. They were achingly sincere. “Thank you.” he said, and in his face Arthur saw a reflection of whatever it was that gripped his own heart and squeezed. In an instant, Arthur saw such love on Merlin’s face and heavens above, he was made so handsome for it.

Arthur blinked at Merlin, his tongue darted out to wet lips that had become abruptly dry. “Think nothing of it.” he said, for lack of anything else. For lack of finding the right words to articulate why his stomach turned into bubbles of steam when he put Merlin and handsome together in a sentence. Merlin was supposed to be rail thin and clumsy, and while he was still those things, somewhere along the way of Arthur knowing him, he had grown into himself. While still in servant’s rags, his shoulders were suddenly broad and his ears were not so large and his hands had become clever and deft. When he had gone from ridiculous to ridiculously wonderful was impossible to say, but all of a sudden it was as if Arthur was seeing him for the first time, and he was glorious.

Arthur pushed away from his desk and turned his back to Merlin to make himself busy with whatever papers he had, and barking out, “If you’re quite done, then there’s a pile over there that needs tidying.” Without looking at Merlin, he waved a hand in the general direction of the mess that had once been in the annex. Behind him, Merlin scoffed.

“Of course, my Liege.” he said, with laughter in his voice. “I’ll just get to that after I’ve finished with that letter to Princess Mithian you asked me to write, shall I?” But that was exactly what Merlin ended up doing, and later Arthur ended up ordering another servant to clean his chambers without Merlin noticing.

The first time Merlin got lost in the papers and books at his new desk and looked up to find some other servant had brought Arthur's dinner, along with a second plate, he was mortified. He sprang up and all but assaulted the poor maidservant with apologies and promises that it'll never happen again, and Arthur you should have said something-

The second time Arthur did say something. But something took the form of ordering Merlin to stay put because they had both had an extremely long day and the least he could afford himself was allowing, just this once, someone else to do as little as get dinner.

After the third time Arthur stopped counting, and by all accounts, it seemed that Merlin did too. Summer turned to fall, and the mountain of books rose and fell and rose again such that sometimes they managed to envelop the dining table no matter how often Arthur tutted at him. Winter set in and the drawers bulged because Merlin was chronically incapable of keeping his own things tidy, and was only marginally better when it came to Arthur’s. Often Arthur would catch him folding laundry across the writing surface or sitting in his chair with his feet propped up and polishing armor. The desk face quickly became scuffed and marked and gauged, the artisan that made it would no doubt dismay at its use. But it was Merlin’s, and he was using it in exactly the way Merlin did anything. With as little respect as humanly possible but with utmost dedication.

Once, Merlin fell asleep across it. And for once, it was Arthur’s turn to shake his shoulder and whisper softly in his ear. He pressed Merlin against his side and half carried him across the castle to the Physician’s chambers with naught but moonlight by which to see. Merlin mumbled sluggishly about Arthur needing to be dressed for bed, but he was asleep within a handful of winks of his head meeting his pillow.

Arthur stared at him. At the soft puffs of his breath and the flutter of his eyelashes. He felt that overwhelming swell of emotion, of such vivid and intense affection for this wonderful person that had so suddenly appeared in his life,  that had been steadily chasing him whenever they were close. Right then was different, as Arthur gave himself a moment to admire him. As so often, he was taken aback by the sheer strength of his gratitude to forces unknown for having made Merlin the way he was, and for conspiring circumstances to bring him into Arthur’s life.

 

***

 

The second time Merlin fell asleep at his desk, Arthur caught him snoring across it in the middle of the day. Returning from training, and laden with not just his full armor but also the layers of wool batting inside his padded winter doublet, he had no greater desire than to be rid of his clothing and finally have a much needed bath.

Only, Merlin was asleep.

Clanking his way to the desk, Arthur gave him a shake. With a start, Merlin shot up so violently that he almost fell out of his chair entirely. “I’m awake!” he yelled, between windmilling arms and legs. His head whipped around, arms outstretched and fingers splayed as if he intended to defend himself with his nonexistent skill, but he froze when his wild eyes fell on Arthur. Breathing heavily, he let his hands drop and said, “Arthur? What are you doing back so early? I thought you were training?” He glanced down at Arthur’s full armor, before he went back to his face, his own a picture of confusion.

Arthur put his helmet down on the table and tossed his hood on top, leveling Merlin with his most unimpressed expression. “It's been ages. I’m done training.”

“Oh, did I fall asleep?”

“You yelled, I’m awake.”

Merlin slumped into his chair and brought hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. With a half yawn coloring his voice, he said, “Well, sounds like I was awake, then.”

Arthur suppressed a sigh. “Then you’re awake enough to undress me. I need to bathe.”

The fact that Merlin lumbered up without complaint and started to unburden Arthur of his armor spoke more to his fatigue than the fact that he had been sleeping in the middle of the day. Arthur watched him through it, frowning to himself at the bruises under Merlin’s eyes. “Have you been sleeping lately?” he asked.

Merlin paused where he was laying the last of Arthur’s armor on the table. “If this is about me sleeping here, I’ll tell you I can’t remember the last time I did that. I don’t make a habit of it.”

“I know. But how much did you sleep last night?”

Merlin pursed his lips through untying the front of Arthur’s doublet. “Enough.”

Merlin’s eyes were focused on his task, more so than was usual for him. In the low light of winter’s early evening, the shadows across his face made him look pale and drawn. “I can’t let you keep doing everything you have, like this. Clearly it’s too much for you.”

On the last tie, Merlin’s hands stilled. Slowly, he raised his head to look Arthur in the eyes. “What?”

To Merlin’s umbrage, Arthur clarified, “Your duties. They-”

No.” Merlin said, shocking Arthur by the flash of anger in the word. He released his grip, letting the doublet fall loose and open. “You’re- you’re sacking me?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then what on Earth do you mean, clearly it’s too much for you, can't keep letting me do my duties?” His lip curled at the last three words, and he looked Arthur up and down as if he were a stranger.

Arthur winced at his own words, hearing how they must have sounded to Merlin in having them repeated back to him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not sacking you.” Merlin stared at him, waiting for elaboration. “Look, just help me with this and I'll explain. I don't want to stand here sweating in all this while I'm placating your sensibilities.”

Merlin huffed a short, “Fine.” and stepped around Arthur to lift the doublet from his shoulders, then dropped to untie the laces of his boots. “So what, I’m not good enough to fetch your bathwater anymore?” There was hurt there, it made Merlin’s voice some of the sharpest Arthur had ever heard. He stared down at Merlin, at the way he ripped the boot laces like they had personally offended him. Why the reaction, Arthur wondered. It seemed extreme, even if Merlin was irritable from poor sleep.

“No, the opposite, in fact.”

The boots came undone and Merlin held them down for Arthur to step out of, along with his socks. When he had, Merlin set them aside and stood. “I don't understand.” Arthur’s lips quirked up, so Merlin jerked his shirt out of his trousers to prove a point, but the anger had softened at the smile. “Don't say it, whatever you're thinking.”

Instead of making one of the thousands of jokes Arthur liked, he said, “I’ve been asking a lot of you for some time now.”

“And you’re lucky,'' Merlin said as he lifted the shirt over Arthur’s head, continuing when they could see each other again, “that I do any of it. There’s only so much sunlight in a day, it’s something of a miracle I get any of it done.” His eyes went over Arthur’s shoulder briefly, to the darkening sky, before he brought them down again to start on the ties of Arthur’s wool trousers.

“That’s exactly my point.” Again, Merlin’s eyes glanced up, this time to meet Arthur’s with a suspicious gleam. “It is too much. For anyone. So I think you should stop doing the tasks that anyone can do to focus on the things that only you can do.”

As Merlin would sometimes do, he completely ignored the compliment. “So you are sacking me.”

Arthur’s trousers dropped. Left standing there, with nothing but his smallclothes for dignity, he stared down Merlin with all the authority of a King. “No, I’m really not.” he told Merlin, willing him to listen for once in his life. “Before you came along I had a rotation of different servants that all did different things. I’m telling you to delegate. Let someone else handle things like dressing me, getting food, turning down the bed.”

Merlin worked a frown around his face, perhaps considering the nature of the next insult he wanted to make, before he thought better of it and turned to disappear around the screen that shielded the waiting bath. Arthur removed his small clothes and tossed them onto the pile on the floor Merlin had left for later, however later that would actually end up being. On the other side of the screen he heard the bathwater slosh and Merlin mutter something disparaging. “What was that?” Arthur called after him.

“I said, why would I let anyone else do that? When instead you could stop asking me to read reports and write speeches and things.” Arthur appeared around the screen, finding Merlin waiting with his back to him and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. There was steam rising from the tub, which made Arthur pause and temporarily lose his train of thought. Merlin had been asleep, how was the water still warm enough for it to be giving off this amount of steam?

“Arthur?”

Merlin only turned when he heard Arthur get in the tub. The temperature was, as it always was, perfect. He decided not to think about the logistics of it, perhaps when Merlin hauled the water earlier, he made it too warm, knowing it would cool some by the time Arthur was ready for it.

“Do you really want to do that?” Arthur asked as he sank into the water and breathed out gratefully. His side smarted where Lancelot had delivered a shocking blow, by the end of the day it would no doubt bruise magnificently. Merlin dragged the stool closer to the edge of the tub, sat, and dipped the bar of soap into the water as Arthur continued, “Are you telling me you don’t like being in the thick of things and would rather go back to doing nothing but mucking the stables and pouring my wine?”

From where Merlin was lathering his back with soap, came a petualent, “I've always done more than that. I’m still Gaius’ apprentice, too.” Arthur winced, both from his bruise and because he, admittedly, was in the habit of forgetting that Merlin had always had duties besides those in service of him. Though, it was yet another reason for Merlin to relinquish his petty tasks.

“I think you’re more than just his apprentice, by now.” Arthur said. To that, Merlin’s only answer was dropping the bar onto the dish on the floor so he could start sudsing the soap along Arthur’s skin and working his fingers into his muscles. He must have noticed how Arthur favored one side, without having to mention it, he brushed over the bruise with great care. Arthur closed his eyes, easing into the massage of his stiff and cold shoulders, letting Merlin’s deft hands and the warmth of the water remedy his aches. Before he could stop himself, a low, rumbled goan escaped him.

Arthur cleared his throat and sat up. “My point stands,” he said, tense all over again but making himself ignore it. “I know you. And I know that you would not be so quick to give up your opportunity to make real, tangible change.”

Merlin huffed softly, the sound not quite a laugh. “Right, because you always listen to me.”

“I do, actually. More than I think you think I do. Your opinion is valuable to me, I would show you how much, if you’d let me.” Again, Merlin said nothing. He picked up the soap again and, leaning over Arthur’s shoulder, started washing his chest. Arthur leaned back against the rim of the tub, so close to Merlin that while he could not see his face, he could feel tufts of black hair against his cheek.

“So what,” Merlin said, the voice speaking to Arthur from right beside his ear, “I become a pseudo councilor? Hole up here in your chambers and only wander out when Gaius needs me for something?” There was a bitterness in his voice, some old frustration Arthur had not known had been there.

Arthur sat up and turned as much as the tub would allow, to look Merlin in the eyes. “You wouldn’t have to be a pseudo councilor.” he said, summoning his bravery. If he could fight the questing beast and hunt for dragon eggs, then he could talk to Merlin. “You could-”

“I’ve told you before,” Merlin said quickly, “all I’ve ever wanted is to serve you. I’m going to keep doing that, no matter what you say.”

Even when Merlin was being frighteningly loyal, he would always still be insolent. Only him. “You are. You will.”

“Good, then we agree.”

Merlin.”

Merlin sat back and leveled Arthur with a flat look. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”

Arthur sensed that something had given inside Merlin, despite his most valiant efforts to brush Arthur off. So he made the most convincing argument he could possibly think of. “I’ll never make you muck out the stables again.”

Merlin furiously bit down on a smile, but his eyes were sparkling. “Think you can bribe me with that?”

“Is it working?”

Still fighting his smile, he motioned for Arthur to lift an arm so he could wash the underside and along the length of it. “I suppose there are some things I could let someone else do. But I won't give up all my duties.”

“What could you possibly still want to do? For as long as you’ve been my manservant you’ve done nothing but complain about being my manservant.”

Merlin's hand stilled on Arthur’s pectoral, and their eyes met. “This.” he said, and even with a hand in the air and soap in the bristed hair of his armpit, it was a strangely intimate moment between them. Their faces were flushed, from the hot water, Arthur told himself. It could be nothing else- had to be nothing else. Arthur slowly let his arm drop, Merlin’s hands never leaving his skin as he did. His fingers trailed across his skin, leaving the hair standing on end in their wake.

Merlin coughed and glanced away, and like that, the moment ended. He started washing Arthur’s opposite arm and continued with a decidedly lighter tone. “You wouldn't believe how many assassins pretend to be servants just to get to you. I think it's better for everyone if I keep being yours, no matter how rotten it is.” he said, sending a grin at Arthur.

Arthur chose a point on the far wall to stare at while he focused on keeping his breathing level. “Name one.”

Without missing a beat, Merlin said, “The troll Catrina and her servant.”

“Okay, fine, that’s one-”

“Nimue when she tried to poison you with the morteus flower. Princess Elena’s servants were all-”

Alright.” Arthur groused, abandoning the wall to shoot a glare Merlin’s way. “Point made. What of it?”

Dropping the soap into the dish agan, Merlin got a rag and dipped it into the water. “Only that I wouldn’t trust just anyone to be too close to you, and you shouldn’t either.” he said casually, sounding far less like a servant and, oddly, closer to the knights. With one firm twist, Merlin wrenched the excess water from the rag and started scrubbing.

“So?”

“So, I think I should still do this.” Merlin said, his tone taking on an air of both finality and authority. Had it been anyone else, Arthur would have been offended at the absolute gall of someone of Merlin’s ability insisting that they were equipped to protect Arthur in any way, shape or form. “And dress you, and bring your food. And put you in your armor-”

“That’s far too much.” But then, as Merlin said it, Arthur's heart clenched for reasons unknown at the thought of being woken up in any other other manner than Merlin’s horribly cheerful, up you get, lazy daisy.

“I wasn’t finished. I’d also-”

“No, I’m stopping you. I’ll allow you to wake, dress, and bath me. That’s it.”

Merlin dug the rag into Arthur’s shoulder blade with only enough force to make Arthur yelp for the surprise of it. “What if someone tries to poison you?” he asked innocently.

To retaliate, Arthur splashed a bit of water at Merlin’s face. And since Arthur was an excellent marksman, it hit its target. “No one’s going to do that.” he said just as innocently, glancing at Merlin over his shoulder. He whipped his neckerchief off to dry his face, his eyes glaring. “Besides, you’ve already been sharing dinner with me most days, just continue to do that.”

Merlin paused and peered at Arthur over the frayed cloth. “What, all of them?”

“Yes, why not?”

Merlin blinked at him. “Gods above, you're serious.”

“Deadly, I'm afraid.”

 

***

 

Though Arthur stopped explicitly ordering extra plates of dinner from the kitchens, it became habit enough that he was unsurprised to see a set of two on the evening of his first day as King. Merlin set the table slowly, quietly, without looking at Arthur. First the plates, the cutlery, the goblets. Arthur let himself be lulled by the quiet domesticity of Merlin’s presence, seeking solace in the familiarity of it. In the many months since Merlin, in a way, moved into the annex, he had arranged those two settings a thousand times for them, on a thousand evenings, and together they enjoyed billions of sparks of laughter over candle light. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that tonight was just like all those other times.

Something cool pressed against Arthur’s shoulder. Opening his eyes again, to the crackling fire and its dancing shadows, he blinked away the sting building under his skin. He lifted his hand and allowed Merlin to cradle the handle of a goblet into his palm.

“Arthur.” he said.

Arthur’s eyes went from stinging to burning. They were dry, and he was overly warm sitting in the large plush settee, furnished with sheepskins, so close to the hearth. Spring had come fast and warm, a fresh, green delight that made itself an insult to Arthur’s grief.

Merlin appeared in front of him. “Arthur.” he said again. He was kneeling, looking up at Arthur with such devotion. During his coronation, he had heard Merlin's voice ring out through the throne room, singing high above the crowd like a promise for Arthur’s ears alone, long live the King, long live the King! “Do you want me to take your crown off?”

He had worn it all day. He had even forgotten it was there. Arthur nodded.

While he remained seated, Merlin applied himself to the task of shedding Arthur of his regalia. He unclasped the cloak and threw it off Arthur’s shoulders, across the back of the settee. After that he undid the belt and snaked it out from behind Arthur’s back, laying it and the ring of keys attached across a side table, the metals clinking lightly against each other and the wood. Without looking at him, he undid the gleaming gold enamel buttons of Arthur’s formal vest, with it’s bright metallic embroidery and delicate glass beads, so it too, could join the cloak. Until, finally, he was Arthur the man, and not King Arthur, rendered mortal and young and mourning.

Merlin stood to his full height and took Arthur’s crown off his head. Arthur plucked his gaze off the flames and traced up Merlin’s body, a shadowy silhouette against the fire’s light, stopping at his face. “You should eat some dinner.” Merlin said, his voice kind.

Arthur looked at him, looked at him in earnest. For all his wondering and planning for a future reign, now that the time had come, he felt woefully underprepared. But Merlin, as he had always promised, was right here. He was by Arthur’s side to cradle his broken and bleeding heart, to hold it in his hands like he did the crown and be the crutch upon which Arthur leaned everything.

Was this finally the precipice of the rest of his life? Or had he long since hurtled off the edge?

Before he could think better of it, Arthur said, “Stay with me.”

Merlin smiled at him, a lopsided light in the darkness. “I’ve already set the table for both of us.”

“No, I mean, stay with me, by my side.” Arthur stood, to better meet Merlin’s eyes and make him understand the sincerity of his words. “Merlin, I- I need you.” He gave little thought to exactly what he was saying, only that Merlin had to know how singularly important he was, how dependent Arthur was on him for happiness, for comfort, for strength. He reached for Merlin’s hands and held them like a lifeline. Buffered them between his own and the crown. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to ever be parted from you.”

Merlin searched his face and words. Arthur watched the way Merlin’s eyes flickered as he ran them across his features. “I’ll always be by your side.” Merlin said, his face settling into a small, glorious smile. With aching gentleness, he extracted his hands from Arthur’s, lay the crown on the settee and returned to soothe his fingers across Arthur’s knuckles. He carded his fingers through Arthur’s and gripped onto him with such purpose. “I'm your servant, I’ll always be right behind you.”

Arthur shook his head. “I would have you by my side.”

Merlin stilled. “What?”

“By my side.” Arthur said again. By the gods, why was his heart beating so wildly? Why were his palms so sweaty? Why did this feel like the most important conversation of his life, and why was he so terrified of Merlin’s answer?

Only, no, he was scared because he knew Merlin’s answer already. He knew Merlin’s dislike of the pomp and circumstance of royal functions, of the social shackles that came with nobility. He knew his own heart was hurting and looking for comfort in the wake of his father’s death and that Merlin, wonderful, endlessly loyal Merlin, would grant Arthur anything he asked if only to offer that comfort to him. And Arthur could never take his agency like that, least of all when he had little idea what he was even asking. What he wanted when he stood so close to Merlin and never wanted to let go.

Abruptly, Arthur stepped back, separating their hands and instantly missing it. Merlin took a faltering step forward, his hands hanging listlessly in the air. “Arthur?”

Arthur swallowed, attempted to school his wild heart and marched to the table. “You’re right.” he said, and with it pushed all thoughts of whatever foolish confessions he almost made from his mind. “We should eat.”

Merlin followed him to the table. He sat, he stared at Arthur staring at his plate of food, and for a long time the only sound was the whistle of the chimney and the flickering, soft pop of air and water escaping the logs in the fire. At length, Merlin said so low it was almost a whisper, “You told me once, that no man was worth my tears.” Arthur looked up, finding Merlin’s hands tucked neatly in his lap and staring at some far off point, lost in his own grief. The words were familiar in the same way a half remembered dream was, Arthur knew them, but the context escaped him. “I think,” he said, his eyes misting over with memories, “I think when it comes to mothers and fathers it’s okay. It hurts to lose people we love. And, I think it hurts even worse when we lose someone we never knew, or wanted to know a different way. Beacuse then you lose who you wanted them to be and who they actually were.” To that, Arthur thought of Merlin’s old friend Will, who lived as himself, without judgment, only in his final moments. He thought of Merlin’s parents, and how even though his mother was alive and his father remained a mystery, he was no stranger to loss. Arthur thought of his own father, of a cold King and the many times throughout his childhood he would have wept if the man had showed even a fraction of the fatherly affection he so dearly wished for.

Even bearing his own heartache, Arthur wanted nothing more than to lift Merlin’s burdens off his shoulders. He wanted to see the crease between his brows eased, and wanted to be the reason Merlin could laugh again. Merlin’s heart was precious, and Arthur wished to have it if only to protect it, the way Merlin did his.

“You may be right in that, my friend.” Arthur said, and together, they mourned.

Chapter 3: In levity and in pain

Chapter Text

Arthur’s pace was brisk, but Merlin’s legs were long. They rushed through the castle halls so early in the morning that the sun had only just started to cresent the far horizon, leaving one half of the sky starry and dark, while the other was bright as an inferno.

“You should attend, in Gaius' stead.” Arthur said as he sidestepped a servant half-running in the opposite direction.

“What?” Merlin exclaimed. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.” he said airly, breezing past the guards along the hall to his chambers and opening the door for them both to step through. “You know all the relevant details.” Arthur said, leaving Merlin standing in the doorway while he went to his desk and retrieved his notes for council. “You’re an accomplished physician in your own right, by now. And Gaius hasn’t the time to spare. You’re the obvious choice. In fact, the only choice.” Arthur turned to look at Merlin, who was staring at him with open alarm.

“But I- I can’t.”

“Your second argument is no more convincing than the first.”

And so it was that Arthur had a legitimate reason to drag Merlin into the council room after him and forcefully push him into the seat to his immediate right. He wished, dearly, that it had come under better circumstances, but Gaius did have his hands full. And even if Arthur had wished for Merlin to join governance in such a capacity already, making him the Physician’s proxy would nevertheless be the only sensible solution, given their situation.

Back through the hall, down several flights of stairs, and finally into the council room, Merlin alternated between wide eyed fear of Arthur and the other councilors, and, for once in his life, looking demurely down without an ounce of the courage that Arthur had long admired him for. When Leon walked in, his attention snapped to Merlin, and he gave him a small, if grim, smile. It coaxed another in answer. He gave Arthur, or perhaps them both, a short bow and, with his usual seat otherwise engaged, took Arthur’s offering hand to his left and seated himself there.

When the last of the councilors rushed in and were seated, Arthur stood. “Gentleman, I thank you for answering my summons. I understand this is an irregular time.” Time, by their faces, was not the only thing they found irregular. Their eyes were darting to Merlin, who was staring at the neat stack of Gaius’ notes on the table in front of him and decidedly nothing else. Arthur had glanced at the papers, much of it was in Merlin's hand. “I can see you have questions. Ask them quickly, there are matters that require our attention.”

Lord Marigold raised a hand and Arthur gestured to him. “My liege, I wonder at-” he paused glancing at Merlin before going back to Arthur, “That is to say I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that it is most unorthodox for anyone but the council to-” he paused, glanced at Merlin again before finishing lamely, “sit in on council.”

“That is true.” Arthur said, adopting an expression he had long ago perfected, one of openness, no matter how genuine it ever was. Or was not. “Merlin is here in a Physicians’ capacity, as Gaius’ proxy.”

“My Liege, he is a servant.” Lord Payne said, of the most aghast around the table, by the color of his face alone.

“It is also true,” Arthur said, with a pointed look in Payne’s direction, “that Merlin has faithfully served me for upwards of ten years. Into him I have invested my trust, he needs no better endorsement for his presence.” If there was anything Arthur’s crown had to be good for, it was enforcing what he knew to be good and right, even if there was much grumbling around his council table. Though, he much suspected that two mild comments would be far from the last of the grief he and Merlin would face. Sitting, Arthur gestured to Leon. “Sir Leon, for those who are not privy, please explain what we know so far.”

Leon stood. “Late last night, a sorcerer was intercepted while laying a series of hex bags around the perimeter of the city walls.” Understandably, there was much shock and outrage, and while it was a gruesome attack, if nothing else a silver lining was that it took the shock and outrage off Merlin. “He was killed in the struggle to apprehend him, so we knew nothing of the purpose of his curse, its execution beyond the use of hex bags, nor his reason.”

“His reasons we can guess, they are less important.” Arthur said. They were always the same, bringing Camelot, in some capacity, to ruin.

“Likely to test you, my Liege.” Lord Orval said, from his seat at the far end of the table. “I imagine he would have wanted to strike at Camelot while her new King is still untried. You are no more than a month into reign, you must make an example of this cretin, dead or no.”

Lord Gregory nodded at Orval with clear approval. “I would suggest the salt burning of his corpse. That way we can be sure to purge the city of his magics, in as much as his casting was successful.”

“While I thank you for your suggestion,” Arthur said, “it appears that he was successful, even in death. People in both the lower and upper towns have fallen suddenly and mortally ill overnight. There have already been two deaths.” And like that, the tone around the table turned decidedly serious. “Merlin told me of it this morning, and so I give the floor to him to tell the council in detail.”

Merlin started in his seat, when the eyes of the room turned to him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Arthur- ah, the King, that is, is right. During the night as many as seventeen people came to Gaius with a mysterious sickness, and eight more in the morning. Of the three first people that arrived, two are dead, and many not far behind.” Merlin looked Arthur’s way, for courage or for validation, perhaps both. To the table, he finished with, “Even without the guards seeing the sorcerer, it’s obvious the sickness is from a curse.”

Payne leaned forward again. “And what would someone like you possibly know of curses?” Sneering, he looked down his nose at Merlin, pointedly lingering on his clothes and chipped, dirty nails.

To Arthur’s great pride, Merlin kept himself from rising to the obvious insult, though his muscles were coiled tight. “Magical sickness is different from-”

“Do not interrupt me.” Payne practically hissed, even though Merlin had clearly done no such thing. “We have no way of knowing this, Sir Leon said it himself, we know nothing of his intentions. What proof have you of such bold claims?”

Merlin’s frown was tremendous. “Gaius said-”

“With all due respect to the venerated physician, he is not here. Instead he sends his errand boy,” Payne said, waving a dismissive hand at Merlin and speaking to the table at large, “and expects us to take his word alone in matters of magical attack.”

Merlin opened his mouth to retaliate, but Arthur cut him off by clearing his throat loudly. To comfort and calm him, Arthur reached out under the table and placed his palm on Merlin’s thigh. He kept his eyes on Payne and, knowing full well the answer before he so much as asked the question, said, “My Lord, what is your profession?” They did not have time for this, but Orval was right. Early on, examples must be made.

Payne balked at the question. “My Liege?"

“Your profession,” Arthur continued mildly, “what is it?” Beside him, Merlin had gone still, peering at Arthur with thinly veiled confusion. Leon, because he was better practiced in politics and had a particular talent for keeping a neutral expression, looked on the table with as much mildness as had been in Arthur’s tone. Though he did glance very quickly at Arthur’s hand. Arthur felt a stab of gratitude that he was the only person sitting with the right vantage to see it.

Payne glanced at his neighbors and the councilman across from him for help. It was an obvious question, with an obvious answer that he knew nothing of. “I… am on your council. I run my family’s estate.” he said slowly.

Arthur hummed. “So, you are not, then, someone who has studied under Camelot's royal physician for almost a decade?”

In an instant, Payne understood Arthur’s line of thinking. He shrunk in on himself, while making a most valiant effort not to look as though he was shrinking in on himself. “No, my Liege.”

“And, you have not, personally, treated your King’s wounds and sickness. You have not rode with me to battle?”

“I have not, my Liege.”

“And you are not an authority on magic.”

“No, my Liege. However, the boy is hardly-”

“Then perhaps,” Arthur said loudly, cutting the man off, “we let the person who knows of what he speaks, speak. Or do you disagree with me?”

Payne clamped his mouth shut, but managed to spare himself from looking at Merlin. He bowed in his seat to Arthur, and through grit teeth, said, “I agree, your Majesty. Please, continue.”

Satisfied, Arthur gave Merlin’s thigh a squeeze. It was very intimate, he knew, but Merlin’s hands were on the table top, and Arthur knew he wished to offer some sort of private comfort, away from the prying eyes of these men. “Merlin,” Arthur said, “if you will.”

Again, Merlin cleared his throat, but his voice had a renewed confidence when he spoke. “Ah, yes. Well, magical sickness is different from regular sickness in a variety…”

From there, the meeting continued as any other emergency council meeting might. Plans for mobilizing knights and volunteers were drawn, to dig in the fields around the walls and find the remaining hex bags. Merlin spoke of the nature of the magic that went into such curses, his voice growing steady the more he used it, and how they would know when they had finally found them. Tricky, they were told, without any magical aid, but doable. Merlin laid out Gaius’ demands from the treasury, from the staff and from the people for how they could house the growing number of sick and what to do with any dead, extra supplies, food, aid, the list was endless.

Arthur could not have been prouder if he tried.

Once adjourned, Arthur and Merlin, again, rushed to the royal chambers. Or, Arthur rushed to his chambers and Merlin rushed to Gaius’, and they rushed alongside each other for the shared first leg of the journey. Arthur had to draft an address to the people regarding the cursed plague, and while usually he would have Merlin do it, Merlin’s skill was a precious commodity and he was desperately needed elsewhere. Once that was done, however, Arthur agreed with himself to take a shovel in hand and go join the other volunteers. He could not very well ask his people to risk themselves looking for cursed items if he was not also willing to do the same.

On the way, he said to Merlin, “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was terrible. I was about to lose my breakfast the whole time, I couldn’t stop sweating and I barely remembered my own name.”

Arthur grinned, despite everything. Even at the worst of times it was impossible not to smile at Merlin. “Exactly. Not so bad.”

“Apparently you and I have very different understandings of the meaning of the word bad.”

That drew a chuckle from Arthur. “In this, we might actually. You did better than I did the first time I attended council.”

"What, really?” They rounded a corner and set up a flight of stairs, jumping apart when a maid came barrelling down and joining again at the top steps.

“Really.” Arthur said, huffing. “I actually did forget my own name. It was horrible, Leon had to remind me. And then he had to completely take over when I couldn’t remember anything else because I was too embarrassed about forgetting my name.”

Merlin, huffing as well, favored Arthur with a wan smile. “I don't believe that, he's never mentioned it.”

“I swore him to secrecy.”

“Oh? Then why on earth have you told me now?”

They were fast approaching the fork that would take them in different directions. “Because I want you to see that it's okay not to do well the first time. And that, despite your own impression of yourself, you did, in fact, do extremely well. Better than I could have hoped.”

“What faith you have in me.”

Later, three days later, when the curse had been stopped and the surviving sick returned to health, Merlin exclaimed, “Hang on, you said, first time.”

“When?”

“After council. Arthur, I’m not going to make a habit of those meetings. You do understand that, right? Please tell me you understand, I need to hear you say it.”

 

***

 

“No.” Merlin said with all the vitriol of one staring at a pile of dung. “No, no, no, no, no. No. No.”

From where Arthur had been lounging in the settee by the hearth, he smiled wolfishly at Merlin. “If you act like a child I’m going to treat you like one. Yes.”

Merlin whirled around and if Arthur had not known any better, he would have said that it almost looked like Merlin was about to stomp his foot. But that would have been childish. “I don’t care! I said no and I mean it.”

“You’ve attended all of three council meetings already. You can't keep walking around looking like you’ve been dragged out of the ass end of a stable.” Behind Merlin, the tailor and her two apprentices were standing by. And though the tailor herself was a short, stern woman, made of the same stuff as the cook, the young man and woman behind her had to both hide smiles and laughs. “Honestly, you should have gotten better clothes ages ago. It's a disgrace to Camelot at large. I never should have allowed you to run around looking the way you have.”

Merlin pulled a face. “My clothes are comfortable. If I get anything nicer then I’ll be terrified of mucking them up while I’m doing real work.” Then he screwed his face up as another thought struck him. “And you don’t allow me to do anything. I'm going to keep running around the castle exactly as I please.”

Arthur heaved himself off the settee and, addressing the tailor with an apologetic grimace, said, “I apologize. Give us a moment?”

She curtsied deeply and exited with a polite, “Your Majesty.”

On the table, she had left behind a small mountain of fabric samples. There were densely woven bleached linens. Thatched wools with dark, rich dyes and splendid patterns. Samples of embroidery and silk ribbons, flanders lace made with delicate silver thread. Needle small beads made of glass that refracted sunlight across the table top in a rainbow hue of colors. Looking at it all, Arthur thought that ording the royal tailor to bring their best meant that they really did bring their absolute best, and that it was too much for a regular council member. She had even brought cuts of the cotton, linen and wool fabrics dyed in the royal shade of Pendragon red. While that was certainly excessive, and more than a little presumptuous, Arthur would be lying if he were to say that, now that he was seeing it all, and imagining Merlin wearing it, it did not set something aflame in him. When he thought of Merlin in finery, it had never crossed his mind that Merlin could wear royal red, but now that the idea had been planted, Arthur could think of nothing he wanted more.

Merlin was looking at him expectantly. “I won’t.”

Looking from the samples and back to Merlin, Arthur said, “I know it’s a lot.”

“A lot? Arthur, it’s ridiculous. What am I supposed to do with all this.” Merlin reached out and picked up a sample of white embroidery on a starched shirt collar. Each stitch was so small that the threads were counted between them, and he looked at it like it was some rabbid, dangerous creature.

“Wear it.”

“Arthur-”

Arthur held up a hand, stopping him before he got properly started. If he did, the tailor would be liable to wait outside all day. “Merlin, please. Can we at least agree that you’re sitting in the council for now?”

Tossing the collar aside, Merlin said, “Only because it helps Gaius so much.”

“So we agree.”

“Temporarily.” Merlin said, shooting a slit eyed glare at Arthur before glancing off and muttering hatefully, “Yes.”

Arthur ignored the tone. “So, if nothing else, as a favor to me, I'd like for you to look at least somewhat presentable while you're sitting with us.”

Merlin’s shoulders dropped. “So you want to dress me up like some show horse? I don't want to, that's not who I am.”

“I never said you were.” Taking a deep breath, Arthur crossed the room and retrieved his crown. It had been many months, now, that he had worn it. It still felt so heavy to him, but it got a little lighter every day Merlin was there to put it on his head. “Look, what's this?”

“Your crown?”

“Exactly.” Arthur ran the pad of his thumb over one of the six fleur-de-lis that made up the crown’s elegantly crafted points. When he looked back at Merlin, his expression had softened. “It's a symbol of my rule. When I wear it, everyone stands a little straighter. They take me seriously because they can see that I'm King. Without it, they know I’m King, but with it, they see. And seeing is a powerful thing.” He approached Merlin again, stopped right in front of him so that, but for the crown between them, they stood almost chest to chest. “You look like a servant so long as you wear servant's clothes, but if you dress like a council member, you will be treated like one. They'll stop giving you grief for being there at all, and then we'll both be able to stop wasting energy justifying your presence every time because it'll be as indisputable as this crown that you deserve a seat at that table.”

Merlin's jaw was set tightly. He stared at Arthur, and though the belligerency had faded, his eyes were hard and unyielding. He looked at Arthur strangely, like he was an enemy to be slain. “But I don’t. I’m from a small village no one’s heard of. I'm a servant, I'm no one.”

“You're not no one to me.” Arthur muttered, making Merlin’s breath catch. “I defended your village, I know the names of the people there and I care about where you come from as much as I do you. And while you're still technically my manservant- mind, for reasons I cannot fathom- you're also one of the people in this castle that I count among my closest friends. You yourself said that you would trust my most intimate safety to no one else.” Arthur set the crown aside so he could put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. “Look, compromise. Have, say, a couple of pairs of trousers made, a handful of shirts. Maybe a vest or two. Just enough to wear to council meetings for as long as you attend them, and that's it. You can wear all your favorite rags all the other days.”

Merlin gazed at Arthur with something akin to wonder and disbelief. Arthur wondered where they came from, but then Merlin breathed a soft, “Okay.” so it hardly mattered. Arthur grinned, triumphant, until Merlin held up a finger. “Only if they're made so I can dress myself. If I had to have help I’d never be able to look any of the other servants in the eyes for the rest of my life.”

Arthur laughed. “I can live with that.”

 

***

 

Arthur decided to go for a hunt. The weather had been wonderfully fair for the longest time and he had yet to take advantage of it. If he allowed himself to become too swept up with his new rule, he was sure the whole summer would pass him by without his noticing once.

And, it had been an age since he had marched through the castle yelling at whoever was in earshot if anyone had seen his useless manservant. Even though Merlin could barely be called a manservant anymore, but that was neither here nor there.

Finally he discovered Merlin’s whereabouts, tucked between the shelves of the library with an old book filled with unfamiliar runes. When Arthur entered, Merlin looked up from his seat on the floor, clapped the book shut and scowled at Arthur. “So you’ve found me.”

“So you have been hiding.”

“Of course.” Merlin grinned and hefted his book for Arthur to see. It was so old the leather was cracking, and while it had no title, there were intricate patterns stamped with gold leaf framing it. “These days I have a real excuse to avoid hunting with you. Look, I’m preparing for the next council meeting and everything. You should be proud.”

“Your dedication is commendable, but we both need some color on our faces. It’s not good to stay cooped up inside the castle for sennights on end.”

“I haven’t, I picked herbs for Gaius yesterday.”

Arthur crossed his arms and stared Merlin down. “And today you’re going on a hunt.”

Merlin pursed his lips at Arthur, but acquiesced. “Oh fine. I suppose there’s no sense fighting you on this. You’ll order me either way.” Merlin dropped the book in his lap and stretched his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, revealing a plane of impossibly pale stomach, as his back popped loudly. Arthur looked away to give him privacy.

However, when Merlin made to get up, he swayed, stumbled, and if not for Arthur catching him, would have toppled head first into the floor. “Merlin!” Arthur said, hoisting him up so that he could use Arthur for support. “Are you well?” He brushed aside some of Merlin’s fringe, his face was hot and flushed.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Merlin said, attempting to shover Arthur off, and failing, while massaging his fingers into his temples. “I just used too much-” his eyes snapped open and he froze in Arthur’s arms, “I mean, that is to say, I slept poorly, and got up too fast. That’s all.”

Arthur pressed Merlin against his side, staring with worry at the flush that rose high and dark across his cheekbones. His heart, and Arthur’s for the shock of it, was beating far faster than was normal. “Surely not doing something for me? I told you not to sacrifice sleep for me.”

Merlin’s smile was tired, but sly. “Indirectly, perhaps.” He turned his face, and with it Arthur was very suddenly and very acutely aware of just how close they were standing. He could feel Merlin’s breath on his lips, and instinctually his tongue darted out to wet them. Merlin’s eyes dropped to the motion, then went back to Arthur’s. They could not have leapt away from each other faster.

Arthur coughed, feeling hot and like his clothes were clinging too tightly, looking anywhere but Merlin. “Right, well, if you’re feeling unwell you’ll be no use to me on a hunt.”

“Oh.” Merlin said. Through the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw that Merlin, too, was trying very hard to not look at him. “Well, if you’re sure.” He leaned down to pick up his things and cradled them to his chest as he brushed past Arthur. “I’ll see you for lunch, or dinner. Or whenever. I’ll see you.”

Something in Arthur made him shoot an arm out and catch Merlin. They were friends, looking away from... whatever that strange closeness had been, he and Merlin were never awkward with each other. And it was unacceptable to allow it to be so, even for a short while. “Before gathering herbs yesterday, when was the last time you were actually out of the city?”

Merlin pursued his lips while he thought. “I’m sure it wasn’t too long ago.”

Arthur looked him up and down, saw Merlin’s blush and instantly regretted it, then quickly retracted his arm. “You’re pale,” he said, making himself look Merlin in the eyes because he was a Pendragon and Pendragons did not avoid peoples eyes like they were blushing maidens. “Paler than you were last summer.”

Merlin pulled a face. “I really don’t see what my tan has to do with anything.”

“If I know you right, and I do, I know you’d like nothing better than to spend days on end swanning about in the forest with all the little woodland creatures like a girl’s petticoat.”

“Goodness, here I thought you almost cared about me, for a moment. Then you had to go and be a cabbagehead.”

“Put this away,” Arthur said, gesturing to the books and papers, and ignoring Merlin’s barb, “and join me in the courtyard. We can go for a ride, perhaps. You can steal some buns from Cook, we'll pick berries or whatever girls like you like to do. I'm serious, we'll go mad if we don’t, I’m sure of it.”

Merlin peered at him, but a small and wondrously delighted smile spread across his face. At the sight of it, Arthur’s stomach did a flip that was not altogether uncomfortable as much as it was new and surprising. It made Arthur want to put Merlin and handsome together in a sentence again. “You'd give up hunting just to have me spend some time in the forest to loaf off and be entirely unproductive?”

“I know, it must be the end times.”

Merlin laughed. It was bright and honest and it made Arthur’s stomach swoop again. He wished it was sentient so he could order it to lie still. “Well, if I ever needed proof of our friendship I suppose I finally have it.” Merlin’s face had become radiant. Even in the dim, windowless bowles of the library, it shone as strong as the sun.

They walked out of the library together, keeping a lazy pace. “What, drinking poison for you wasn't what proved it? Or defying my father to go hunting for the morteus flower? Or standing up for you when you accused-”

Merlin jostled his shoulder. He had so many times, countless really, but in this instance it left Arthur's skin curiously hot. “Right, right, I get it. Both of us keep almost dying. You know I'd really rather keep that to a minimum.”

“That’s not the sort of thing one can or cannot plan for.”

“Won't stop me from trying.”

 

***

 

Swanning about in the forest did not go to plan.

The plan, as Merlin put it, was to loaf off and be entirely unproductive, not get ambushed by a stray hippogriff.

As it turned out, the creature was young and had picked a place for nesting too close to the road, and Arthur and Merlin had been the unfortunate idiots that happened to stumble upon said nest. Thankfully, no eggs were cracked, but the monster became furious and deadly for their proximity. And for all Arthur’s distrust of magic and creatures thereof, even he could understand the universal rule of staying well away from a wild animal’s offspring, regardless of how mundane or otherwise the creature in question was. He made a mental note to have signs posted to protect the nesting area from other wayward travelers, since relocating an equine nightmare beast of a mother would inevitably be more trouble than it was worth.

Of course, that would come after Merlin was done assaulting his arm. Arthur grit his teeth and hissed in pain. “Do you have to tie it so tight?” They managed to escape with their lives intact, and sought refuge under a large willow, but Arthur had been dealt a painful injury to the arm. The bone was only fractured, Merlin had told him, thankfully not broken, despite the frightening amount of swelling it was doing.

Just to prove a point, Merlin kicked Arthur in the shin. Though his hands were still endlessly gentle on his arm. “Yes, actually. And you have yourself to thank for this. Honestly, taking on a hippogriff by yourself.”

“It’s not like we had any choice. I thought you said you knew this area of the forest.”

“I do. She was new.” Merlin tied off the first of several frayed bits of fabric he was using to secure an improvised splint to Arthur’s arm, torn from his own trouser leg. One of the raggedy old pairs, which could be a blessing in disguise, Arthur might just manage to convince Merlin to have a nice pair made to replace it.

Arthur tried for a smile. It was watery and fooled neither of them. “It was supposed to be practice. A warrior must be able to fight all manner of beasts, as well as men.”

“Right. I'm sure this will help you win the upcoming tourney. Congratulations in advance.”

Merlin tied another rag off. They were so tight Arthur wondered how much of the pain was Merlin’s knots and how much was his swelling. “It’s an important one.”

“You've already won I-don’t-know-how-many, why's this one so important?”

Arthur kept hissing and gritting his teeth, and hoping that Merlin was almost done. At great length, he said, “It’s my first as King.”

Merlin's hands paused, “Oh, Arthur, I-” he stopped himself to instead focus on the task at hand. Arthur stared at the shadows of his long, dark lashes, at his intense and steely focus on his craft. As he so often did, Arthur felt such gratitude for Merlin.

He tied the last knot, but his hands never left Arthur’s arm. Through the swaying leafy vines of the willow, sunlight dappled the skin of Merlin’s hands where they cradled Arthur’s injury. “I’m sorry, I don't think you’ll be able to compete.”

“No?” In truth, Arthur had expected Merlin to say something along those lines. His whole arm throbbed.

Merlin kept his eyes lowered while he ran his fingers up and down the makeshift bandage. Every beat of Arthur’s heart sent a hot shock of pain through his arm, but Merlin’s fingers were cool and soothing, so he closed his eyes and leaned against the trunk behind him. Around them were the sounds of the forest, songbirds, rustling leaves, grasshoppers. It was a comfort, as it always was, to be out here where it was just Arthur and his men, or just him and Merlin.

“It won’t heal in time.” Merlin said. The pain was ebbing, and with it, Arthur let out a low sigh. At it, Merlin paused again, but only very briefly. “The tourney is just over a fortnight away, and this will take at least twice as long to heal completely, if not more.”

Arthur hummed. “If you say so.”

“I’m afraid so.”

The summer day was so stunning that Arthur could almost forget about being upset. Almost. “Right.” he said. It was the only thing that could be said. All that was left was to become comfortable with the reality that the upcoming tournament was the last of the season, and that his grand victory as King would have to wait until the year after. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

Merlin's smile, even when Arthur only heard it in his voice, must have looked as watery as his own had been. “It won't be so bad. I'm sure one of Camelot’s knights will win.” His hands kept soothing the injury, and the pain was slowly replaced with a strange numbness that was, if not pleasant, at least not painful.

Arthur was struck with a sudden thought. He sat up, making Merlin startle and turn his face away. “Why don't you sit with me, then?”

Blinking, Merlin slowly turned his face back. “What?”

“In the royal box.” Arthur clarified, already smiling. If there was one thing that could make up for his misfortune, it would be having Merlin at his side and making scathing remarks about the general goings on of a tournament. “You don’t attend me anymore, so attend with me.”

Merlin was looking rather alarmed. “I can't do that.”

“Sure you can. Dress up in your council clothing and no one will think strangely of it. Besides, if I’m not competing you'll hardly need to help with my armor and such. You'll be utterly useless, so you might as well talk my ear off with your nonsense instead of getting in anyone's way.”

“I talk your ear off anyway.”

“Yes, but this time with permission.”

Merlin pursed his lips, but behind that there was a small smile. “I'd feel very awkward.”

“You're always awkward.” Arthur answered, and that was the end of it.

 

***

 

Tournaments at Camelot came with much pomp and circumstance, which was rather impractical for Merlin since he spent every second sitting next to Arthur looking as though he was trying to make himself so small that he could disappear entirely. He stood next to Arthur when he welcomed the champions, sat with him when he bid the first games begin. But, if Arthur had to say, Merlin was most awkward when three servants arrived with refreshments and indulgent food, and Arthur gestured for Merlin to help himself. He hemmed and hawed and generally made a nuisance of himself, until Arthur all but ordered him to serve them both if only to get Merlin to actually open his gob. Arthur may or may not have shoved a slice of honey dipped apple into Merlin’s face himself, but it was just the one and he was sure no one noticed. If nothing else, he got Merlin to, albeit with extreme reluctance, start eating.

True to form, Merlin had no short supply of scathing remarks, each one a reminder of why Arthur ever bothered to keep him around. “Good gracious, look at him. He’s flouncing about like an overstuffed peacock.”

Arthur snorted. On the fifth round of fighting, a pompous knight flying the banner of one of the western Lords pranced into the arena like it was an Grecian stage, bowing and throwing kisses at women in the audience, and bowing to Arthur so deeply that the feathered fringe atop his helmet swept the ground. He did nothing without a flourish, including beating the younger knight he was up against into the ground with unnecessary force. Arthur was looking forward to watching one of his core knights teach the man a lesson in humility.

“Where would you have seen a peacock?”

“I read about them in a bestiary book from the library. It’s called educating yourself, you might want to try it sometime.”

The knight knocked his opponent to the ground and twirled. Arthur spared a glance for the poor Lady of whom he had secured a favor, and the mortified cringe she was trying to hide. Beside her, a second woman was poking her shoulder with a teasing grin that reminded Arthur very much of Merlin. “I’m glad he’s not one of yours.” Merlin said as he took a sip of pear cider and settled deeper into his seat.

“I’m sure he’s vying.”

“He’s making a spectacle of himself, that’s what he’s doing.”

“You know, you could at least try not to speak ill of your betters.” Even if Arthur might have once meant remarks at Merlin’s station with an undertone of sincerity, these days they were truly nothing but jokes. As far as he was concerned, Merlin was everyone’s better. 

“We both know if I ever did that, then I wouldn’t be sitting next to you right now.” Merlin said with a laugh, his eyes still on the arena, but it made Arthur pause. Merlin had said it so casually, it rolled off his tongue with such offhand nonchalance, and yet it put their entire relationship in perspective Arthur had never once given words to. Had Merlin ever been any less than exactly himself,  Arthur would have never given him a second thought.

“You’re right.”

Merlin must have been more or less ignoring Arthur, because he laughed again and said, “I usually am.”

Arthur turned away from the victory march of the knight to stare at Merlin’s profile. The strength of his brow, the sharp, straight slope of his nose, the redness of his lips. And the utter brilliance of the mind that hid behind it all. “I want you to plan the coming harvest festival. Officially.”

That got Merlin's attention. “You what?” he said, turning to Arthur.

“Plan the-”

“No no, I heard you fine.” He put his goblet down onto the table between them and gave Arthur a hard, calculating look. “I can’t plan something like that, that’s one of the biggest events on the royal calendar.” It was one of the few days where the Citadel opened up for the commoners. There were games for children and small lotteries, the kitchens outdid themselves every year and none were barred entrance. The crown and nobility were expected to provide, all in the name of inspiring goodwill between the King and people. For years, as Prince and Regent, Arthur had represented his family, as Uther had always looked on the affair with vague disdain. So long as a Pendragon was present, he was happy to let Arthur have the glory of what he considered a superfluous holiday.

“Sure you can, you planned the feast for this tourney just fine.”

“Because the feasts for tourneys are all the same anyway. And people kept asking me about your final decision on this or that and most of the time you were too busy to find, so someone had to give an answer. That’s not planning anything, that’s being left with decisions that don’t even really impact anyone by default.”

Ignoring the last bit, which Arthur actually had not orchestrated but was delighted that people were, of their own accord, regarding Merlin as something of an authority, he said, “You've watched me host the festival enough times, you've seen what it's like. Set up some games, organize some prizes. It's not any harder than that.”

It's not any harder than that.” Merlin echoed back, frowning at Arthur. “It actually is, you know. No one cares about the color of banners or seating arrangements for a tournament, but for something like Harvest it’s actually very important where people sit in relation to your great, fat head. And everything is even harder when I'm running around like headless chicken trying to find who's actually in charge of things only for everyone to give me funny looks and say they thought it was me of all people. I know you like to call me foolish, but sometimes I wonder if the whole castle isn't.”

Arthur laughed and reached for the plate of sweet meats. “When was the last time I called you that?”

“Yesterday. I threw a shoe at your head.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Arthur said, popping a morsel into his mouth with a grin. “I thought you were aiming for the window. You wouldn't happen to be blind in one eye, would you? It would explain so much.”

“Clotpole.”

“So? The festival? I've got another favor to ask about that.”

“Oh for fucks sake-”

“I wouldn't want the person who planned it, serving at it.” Arthur said, raising his voice above whatever complaint Merlin was about to make. “It would give the wrong idea, you understand. So if you plan it, officially, that is, I’m afraid I'd have to insist that you attend it with me.” In the span of a single day, Arthur had become irrevocably spoilt in having Merlin sitting with him. And he knew that he could never again enjoy a single feast, festival, torney or otherwise without Merlin right next to him.

Merlin sat back, crossed his arms, and gave Arthur a long, pensive look. “You're a monster, you know that?”

“Mhm.” Arthur reached for another slice of meat. “So you accept?”

“Slavedriver.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

“Ass.”

“I know you're more creative than that. Here, have some of this, I ordered enough for two.” He said and pushed the plate into Merlin’s hand. “Elyan is up next and Leon tells me that he's invented an interesting backhanded twist, so I'm eager to see him beat this pompous wankstain with it.”

Of all Arthur's victories, getting Merlin to laugh with a lewd insult would stand tall among them.

Chapter 4: From the outside gazing in

Notes:

Oki slightly shorter chap but we're setting up the big climax!

Chapter Text

“How long did you think you could keep this up without me noticing?”

Arthur paused on his way through the door into his chambers and turned to see Merlin, perched on his desk chair with his legs thrown casually over an armrest. As he ever was, every line of his body was a masterclass in impertinence.

Arthur made himself frown instead of allowing Merlin to see any sort of fondness for his brazen disrespect, it would only encourage him. He did have a reputation to protect. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere, doing something?”

Merlin twisted in his seat and let his feet drop to the floor. “Like mucking out the stables?” he asked with a raised brow he could have only learnt from Gaius. “General servant's things?”

“Considering we've got council in not too long, I should hope not.”

Arthur crossed the room to collect his notes. Merlin appeared behind him, close enough that Arthur was startled by the warmth of his proximity. “Yes, about that.” he said. Arthur whirled around, coming face to face with him. “I had an interesting conversation with Lord Rineheart today. I think I’ve made a new friend.”

Arthur took a step back and gave Merlin a look. “Do I want to know?” Arthur had yet to meet the new, decidedly younger addition to his cabinet of council members. The elder Lord Rineheart had recently retired to the family’s summer estate, so his eldest son was due in Camelot to replace him. By the looks of things, he had not only arrived but had managed to already befriend Merlin. Either that was him being very shrewd and getting on Merlin’s good side, or he was of impeccable character to have gotten on Merlin’s good side without trying. Arthur was inclined to assume the latter, Merlin was an exceptional judge of people, and also criminally paranoid when it came to Arthur’s safety. If Rineheart had been even a little suspicious then he and Merlin would be having a much less casual conversation about him.

Merlin leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, wrinkling the voluminous linen of his shirt sleeve. “He came to me because he wanted to sort out a donation on behalf of his family for the festival prizes. But that's besides the point. What is the point is that he had it in his mind that I was some sort of Lord. He addressed me with a title. Lord Merlin, never in my life did I think I would hear that.”

There, Arthur smiled. A sidelong thing that made Merlin scowl tremendously. Lord Merlin, it sounded rather nice. “Are you really surprised? Given everything.”

“I am actually.” Merlin said, practically seething in place. “I asked Cornelius about it, but he was just as confused as I was. He just looked at me and said, my good man, I don’t believe you know what people have been saying about you.”

“You're on a first name basis with Rineheart already? I haven’t even met him.”

“But I got him to tell me everything he’d heard and he said he’d gotten most of it from Leon of all people-”

“Merlin, how is any of this relevant to anything?”

“So I went to Leon and he had some very strange ideas about you and me.”

“Ah.” Arthur said. “That.”

Merlin regarded him with sharp interest. “That indeed.” For all of Merlin’s fighting Arthur on taking a proper seat on the council and actually advising him in an official capacity, somehow he had mastered the art of sounding righteously insulted and righteously expectant of an answer to said insult in equal measure, in the Lordliest of fashions. “Are you aware that everyone in Camelot is under the impression that, somehow, I'm your right hand?”

Arthur thought that it must have been fairly obvious after Merlin took the seat on his literal right since the first time he attended council, ostensibly, in Gaius' stead. Even though Merlin knew that Gaius’ usual seat was several places down the table. Arthur also knew that he really, really should have formally asked Merlin somewhere along the way but there comes a point when even the most obtuse can put two and two together, so he had half a mind to shuck a little of the blame onto Merlin for being astoundingly oblivious.

“And then I went and talked to the other knights and Gwen,” Merlin continued, still doing his best to hold onto his righteous indignation even though Arthur’s grin had, despite his own best efforts, turned lopsided and fond, “and they seem under the impression that there exists some sort of understanding between us.”

Arthur huffed a breath. It was all over now, he thought. “You know, I had wanted to ask you. Properly, that is.”

Merlin’s entire self froze in an instant. “What?” he asked, shocked, and glanced over Arthur with new confusion. “That's true? You actually-” A flush rose on his cheeks, dark against his pale complexion.

“I did, I have. For, well, for some time now.”

Merlin’s breath caught. “How long?” He slowly unwound his arms, letting them drop and hang limply at his sides.

“I can't remember when I first thought of it. Back when I became Regent, sometime. Perhaps before.”

“You've...” Merlin said slowly, pausing to look Arthur up and down again, then with something decidedly hot in his eyes that Arthur had trouble placing he went on, “felt this way since then?”

“It's not so much a matter of feeling any sort of way.” Arthur said, though, perhaps it was. He had always felt strongly about honor, about duty. About wanting to honor the people in his life that were most important to him. “I’ve told you for some time now that you’re important to me, and I’ve meant it every time. And though I haven’t asked you in any certain terms, I’m telling you now. I need you. I care about you.” He bridged the distance between with a single step, staring Merlin directly in his wide, alarmed, eyes. So alarmed that Arthur felt compelled to take his hands and hold them tight, for fear of Merlin toppling without them as an anchor. When he did, Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, but allowed his hand to be held. “And you’re right, even if your position in the household changes, I would still want no one else as close to me as you are.” Since so much of their friendship had been defined by the ease with which they exchanged insults that would be otherwise be scathing and inappropriate to anyone else, it made such honest praise awkward on Arthur's tongue. But it needed saying, and if Merlin was to be believed, in the moments he managed to give his own forms of compliment, then Arthur was nothing if not courageous and fair. Even in matters of the heart.

Merlin was gazing back at Arthur with that fierce look he would sometimes wear. The one that always made something dark and wonderful coil in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. It was the look that had such possibility in it, that made Arthur feel as though he was capable of anything, so long as he had Merlin there beside him. Arthur gave him a sincere smile, and the one Merlin answered with was breathless and disbelieving and oh so happy. “You’ve never been a conventional servant, and I very much doubt that you’ll be a conventional councilor. Or Lord, or what have you.”

The happiness on Merlin’s face froze, then slowly melted away. “Wait, no- councilor?”

Arthur's eyebrows drew together at Merlin's new expression. “Yes?”

“All this time, you were talking about council?” Merlin said the word like it was supposed to have some other meaning, only Arthur had no idea what that meaning was supposed to be.

“What else would I be talking about?”

Merlin took a quick step back, taking his hands back and bringing them up to his chest protectively. Arthur took a faltering step forward, to follow him, but Merlin took another two back. His cheeks had gone from pleasant, dusty pink to splotchy, all of a sudden he looked furious. “Council.” he said, spitting the word. Then, to himself, he said disbelieveingly, “Council.”

“Merlin?”

He closed his eyes against Arthur and turned his face away, pain coloring it. “Just, stop. Please.”

Arthur resisted the urge to reach out, it was clearly unwelcome. But, if not for touching Merlin, what then? What could Arthur do? “I don’t understand. What’s wrong? I thought you might be happy.” True, Merlin had fought him. But also true that once he had a handle on the power Arthur invested in him, he took to it like a fish to water. Already he had written and argued for new policies and amendments to existing laws and won. He slipped into the high and formal articulation expected of one addressing the court like it was his native tongue. Merlin was so good at it, and Arthur had seen him beam with well earned pride for it.

Happy!” Merlin exclaimed with a flash of white hot outrage. “No, I- it’s my fault.” he continued to himself, looking askance and backing away further. “I really, really should have told you the moment I started noticing everything was changing but I just couldn't. This is all my fault, I’m such an idiot. How could I let myself think-” Arthur stared at him, listless and wishing to comfort him, to understand why he needed comforting at all. And wanting nothing more than to go back to a moment ago when Merlin had been all smiles and mirth like he usually was. In the span of a heartbeat their conversation had gone from their typical light hearted nonsense to- to whatever this strange and intense reaction on Merlin’s part was. “I’m sorry,” Merlin said, “you’re not the only one that hasn’t been honest.”

“About what?” Arthur knew Merlin had never been good at lying, he had never met anyone worse. Whatever this was about, Arthur was sure that he must already know. For that reason, and against his better sense, he laughed. It sounded high and worried and was more a nervous reaction than much else, and it was evidently very wrong of him to do.

Merlin’s eyes went glassy and red. Astoundingly, it looked as though he might actually cry. No matter how often Arthur teased him for sensitive, girlish tendencies, it was a shockingly rare occurrence to see him actually shed a real tear, the last time must have been after the Dragonlord’s death during the great Dragon’s attack. Merlin swiped at his face and said, “I can’t be here right now.” and all but ran out the door.

“Wait- Merlin!” Arthur called. Practically leaping away from his desk, he took off after him, but Merlin was nowhere in the hall. Picking the direction that led to the physician’s chambers, he ran down the hall and glanced around the corner, which was empty save for the guards stationed there. With his heart in his throat, Arthur pivoted and ran the other direction, this time going as far as jumping down the stairs two at a time to catch up to him.

Along the way, he asked servants and everyone else if they had seen Merlin and continued running at an undignified pace until he had gone so far that it was hopeless, knowing that Merlin could have gone any number of ways. He even briefly passed Rineheart, but their short conversation left no impact on Arthur. His thoughts were consumed with nothing but where Merlin had disappeared to, and why.

 

***

 

“Lancelot!” Arthur called out and ran to intercept him on his way from his and Geinuvere’s home in the lower town. Gwen, with her brother knighted and without any real reason to continue as maid, had reopened her father’s forge and was, according to the praises Lancelot would sing every chance he got, was making a tidy name for herself. He must have been helping her, he was without armor and had long lines of soot across his shirt.

“Sire.” Lancelot called and swept into a bow at Arthur’s approach. When he looked up, his face pinched, making Arthur wonder how much distress was showing on his own. “Is there something troubling you?”

“Have you seen Merlin anywhere?”

It was slightly concerning, how Lancelot’s expression cleared with understanding the moment Arthur mentioned Merlin. “No, I usually assume he's with you or Gaius. Or, well, wherever it is Merlin is these days. Seems he has a hand in just about every pot.”

“I already looked for him in Gaius’ chambers, he hasn’t seen Merlin all day, apparently.”

Lancelot’s face pinched again. “You don’t think-”

“No, he’s in Camelot. It’s just,” Arthur paused, taken with shame for having to admit his own shortcomings in all matters Merlin to Lancelot, who, besides Arthur himself, was one of his closest friends, “we had something of a row. And now I can't find him.”

“Ah, I see.” Arthur wondered if he actually did.

Arthur made himself swallow his pride and ask, “If you see him, I wonder if I might ask you to speak to him for me.”

“You,” Lancelot paused, regarding Arthur, “want me to speak to Merlin on your behalf?” he spoke slowly, sounding out each word like they were all questions in and of themselvs.

Arthur coughed into his hand and looked away, finding himself unable to meet Lancelot’ eyes in full. “Yes.” he said, trying to sound as though it was perfectly reasonable for a King to ask a knight to speak to servant on his behalf.

Lancelot was silent for a long beat, in which Arthur grew increasingly more tense. The day was late, and though the sun was a ways away from setting, there was only so much time and Arthur knew from experience that Merlin could make himself incredibly difficult to find if he truly wanted to be alone. “Sire? Was that all, or did something else happen?”

Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out as he rubbed at his temples with a hand. “You are, in some ways, closer to Merlin than I am. And I… I do not understand his behavior right now. I hope you might be able to make more sense of it.” Arthur looked back at Lancelot to find him still regarding him, still with calm contemplation that reminded him of Leon.

“May I ask what happened? Specifically? It seems unlike Merlin to run off without a word.”

Arthur nodded. It was true. “We spoke, I asked him to join my council, officially.”

“Oh, congratulations. Only, I thought he already was on your council? Hasn't he been attending for months?”

“Technically speaking he only attended in Gaius’ stead.”

“Ah.” Lancelot said. “I take it he didn't react well.”

“He was peculiar. Said something about it being his own fault for not saying something about something. And that he hasn't been honest with me. I can't think of what he could mean, but by the way he reacted...” Arthur’s voice drifted, his thoughts turning to Merlin’s explosive reaction. Clearly, Arthur had said something inflammatory, but he could do naught but guess at any of it.

Lancelot, unlike Merlin, was very good at keeping his true feelings off his face. Arthur watched him for them, in the hope that it might help him piece together whatever it was that Merlin was feeling, if he could see any of it reflected in Lancelot. But whatever this thing that Merlin had not told him about- and Arthur was beginning to think that there must be a thing, and a large one at that- it was impossible to tell by Lancelot’s expression. His face was, although concerned, inscrutable. “He said that?”

“Then he ran away. Practically disappeared, I was only a step behind him but it’s as if he vanished.”

Lancelot nodded his head slowly, a calculating edge creeping in around his face. With it, Arthur guessed that he must have some knowledge of whatever all this was, and now he was thinking about how best to approach it. Arthur was unsure if the fact that Lancelot knew made him feel safe on behalf of Merlin, that he had someone to talk to, or slightly jealous that the person he could talk to was someone other than himself.

“I understand.” Lancelot said, his voice taking on a gentler tone. Gentler than Arthur thought he deserved after making Merlin so upset. “I’ll speak to him.”

“Thank you.” Arthur clasped a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder and tried to impress his gratitude into him through the gesture.

Later, when Lancelot found him again, and told Arthur where he could find Merlin, he also told him, “It’s not for me to say. Merlin will have to find his own words, but know that he does trust you. He would not have chosen secrecy if there was any other option.”

"Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Arthur was about to brush past Lancelot on his way to do just that, but he was stopped.

“Arthur.” Lancelot said, forgoing the title and the usual deference that went with it. Arthur stopped, turned and looked at the knight, at the severity he wore. “Please, I implore you, listen to all he has to say. Be patient. He is more devoted to you than anyone, and there is nothing that can change that. He asked me to tell you that all he has done, he has done in service to you.” It was strange and ominous, but Arthur nodded all the same. Then he left to find his wayward friend.

 

***

 

“So this is where you are.”

Arthur had to walk much of Camelot’s outer walls until he finally stumbled on Merlin, sitting in the grass and looking out over the sea of fields and farms that seperated the city and lush green forest. The sun was behind them, on the other side of the city, so here the shadows were deep and tinted lilac with the hazy light of late summer evenings. The air was turning cool, a balm against the heat of the days this time of year.

Without looking up, Merlin said, “Hi.” A breeze rustled by, sweeping the stalks of wheat and making it all ripple golden. It tugged at the curls that framed Merlin’s face, his hair having at some point grown long enough for the tips of his locks to twist and curve around each other. Arthur’s cloak floated on the air, the gleaming golden dragon embroidered onto it riding the wind.

Arthur slumped next to Merlin. For a long time, they sat in silence. Arthur idly watched the wheat, the rustling leaves of the forest beyond, the birds that shot out of the treeline and galloped through the currents with song too distant to hear. Rising up from the horizon, storm clouds brewed. It would likely be upon the city in a day, perhaps, two, unless they were lucky and it was taken in another direction.

Without a preamble, Arthur asked, “Lancelot spoke with you?”

“Yeah.”

Merlin’s muscles were loose and his posture relaxed. His knees were bent and he had his arms slung over them. But, he was radiating something that was not quite anxiety and not quite anger. Something sad and tired. It made Arthur want to reach out and pull Merlin close, if only to lift his burden off his shoulders for a time and give his closest and best friend some reprieve.

Taking a fortifying breath, Arthur said, “I cannot imagine what on Earth has made you act this way. But I would understand, if you would let me. And the only way I will is if you are honest with me.” He kept his eyes off Merlin, on the storm. Clearly, there was something that was making Merlin afraid, and despite how Arthur was prone to tease him, he knew that Merlin was no fool. If he was afraid, then it was for nothing less than a legitimate reason. “Merlin, please tell me. I can't promise that I won't be mad, but I can promise that you're too important to me to let myself not understand. I will try, I am trying. But I can only do so much, you must meet me halfway if we're to have any hope of sorting this out.”

“You'll hate me.”

Three hurtful words. But it was the way with which Merlin had spoken them that made Arthur's chest ache. He sounded so horribly resigned.

“I won't.”

“You say that now.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, holding back the snap from his voice, “do not presume to know my feelings. You cannot know that until you've said whatever it is.” Merlin brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head on his them. His hair fell over his eyes, but the rigid set of his shoulders were obvious enough. He stayed like that so long, silently, that eventually Athur continued on his own. “Merlin, by now it’s no exaggeration to say that there is nobody closer to me than you.” Absurdly, that made Merlin curl all the more tightly in on himself. “I refuse to lose you to whatever this is. I don't care what your answer is to the council position is, leave Camelot for all I care-"

Merlin's head shot up. “You want me to leave?”

“No, obviously I don't. But I'm saying that I wouldn't hold you back if you wanted to. All I wish for is your happiness, and second to that I wish that your happiness can be found here. But if it can't, then so be it. So long as you speak to me."

Merlin stared at Arthur, but Arthur kept his eyes resolutely forward. Slowly, still watching him, Merlin returned his head to his knees. “What's the worst betrayal you can think of?”

“Pardon?”

“The worst thing. What do you think is so bad that it would make anyone keep a secret for years and years.”

Arthur leaned back against the city wall and sighed deeply. “Oh, I don't know. Have you murdered anyone lately?” Arthur meant it in jest, but Merlin was not laughing. No, if anything his eyes turned hard and cold. Arthur had the sudden, absurd, and terrifying thought that Merlin had, in fact, taken a life. “Merlin?”

“That too.”

Arthur sat up and gaped at Merlin. “What?” Of course there had been times when Merlin, foolishly, took a sword in hand with intent to defend either himself or Arthur, but he had certainly never killed. Arthur would have known.

“Guess again.”

Merlin! You can't just say-” Arthor stopped and collected himself, yelling would do no good. This was mostly likely Merlin being overly dramatic because he was clearly feeling rather morose, and in his dramatics speaking very thoughtlessly. “You said that too. Is there something else?”

Again, Merlin asked, “What's the worst betrayal you've ever faced?”

Arthur pursed his lips, but leaned back against the wall. “You're bent on making this a riddle?"

Arthur glanced sideways at Merlin and saw a small, secret smile grace the edges of his lips. It looked as thin and fragile as a gossamer. “I learned from the best.”

Arthur looked away again, ignoring the small blue shape that Merlin was making himself into, and considered his question in earnest. His first thought had been Gwen and Lancelot, and their beautiful, untouchable love. His second had been his Uncle, and how the man had stayed in Camelot only for as long as was absolutely necessary before slinking off to his own estate again. He thought of his father, and the confusing mess of harsh and often contradictory lessons that had been passed down from King to son.

At length, he said, “Morgana. There is no one who's hurt me more.”

“Because she had magic.” Merlin said, phrasing it not like a question, but a fact.

“Yes and no.” Arthur gazed absently at the sky, at the dark gray clouds and the very slowly encroaching night. Morgana was still at large, somewhere out there in the world, perhaps close enough that she too, was looking at the same storm clouds, or perhaps not. It had been two years at least since she last tried anything, Arthur had begun to wonder if she had found a hole somewhere and withered away. Or, perhaps she had sailed off across the ocean, hopped aboard a viking ship and discovered greener pastures. She might have ended up in Francia, or further still and found her way to the Orient. If anyone could do it, it was her.

But inso leaving, to wherever she was, she had left behind such scars on the people that had once known and loved her. There were times Arthur wanted to kill her, but for the most part whenever she crossed his mind he felt a deep, endless pit of grief and mourning for the girl with whom he had spent his formative years. He mourned the sister he never knew he had until it was too late. “That's part of it.” Arthur said, feeling and sounding heavy with bittersweet wistfulness. “Mostly I just wish I had her back, the way she was. Before insanity set in. I wish we could be a family.”

“But she was born with magic. If you had her back the way she was, she'd still have that. She'd still be betraying you because of that.”

“I suppose.” Arthur said, thinking to himself how curious a word like betrayal could be. His father had brandished it like a sword, like betrayal could be a weapon, vindication, and justification all in one. To Arthur, in cases of betrayal, there were never any winners, only hurt, grief, and loss. He had no stomach for it. “But, well, it hardly matters anymore. She's chosen her path, I have mine. And they're mutually exclusive. Magic or otherwise, I can only judge her by her actions. And she's chosen to use her magic to hurt my people.” Arthur glanced at Merlin again, out of the corner of his eyes. “Now, what does that have to do with you?”

Merlin was staring at him with the sort of large eyed expression he had worn in the moment right before Arthur’s proposal of a council position went completely sideways, upside down and inside out. “Do you really believe that?”

“Believe what?”

“That Morgana had a choice. That it wasn’t just magic that corrupted her.”

“Merlin, I understand your fear of magic, I do. But why are we talking about that when I am trying to ask why you had such a strong reaction earlier? What is it that you’re keeping from me?”

Merlin licked his lips, and suddenly there was an electric anticipation between them. Arthur wondered if this, here, finally, he would get to know. Though, instead of saying anything that made sense in any meaningful way, Merlin said, “Morgana and I aren't so different.”

Arthur blinked at Merlin and tried to work this new riddle out in his mind. “And how’s that?” Of course, before Morgana's short and brutal stint as Queen, it would have been impossible to imagine all that she did. But, if Morgana's betrayal was impossible, anything Merlin might do that was comparable to her was laughable. If Arthur had to quantify it, he would count Merlin as his most loyal companion, including everything from drinking poison to riding out with Arthur on quests and to battle with no armor to speak of. Between him and Morgana, as much as Arthur had once loved his sister, and perhaps still did, Merlin was in his own league entirely. There was no one that could compare, not his knights, not his blood. Merlin was Merlin. He always would be, no matter the perceived betrayal. That much Arthur would swear to.

But then, it was also just like Merlin to blow some small infraction so wildly out of proportion that he managed to convince himself that he was as bad as Arthur's mad excuse of a sister. “I assure you, you're nothing like her. Whatever it is you think you've done.”

“Its not something I've done.” Merlin insisted desperately, erring on hysterics. “It’s what I am, what we are.”

Arthur shook his head, baffled. “What on Earth do you have in common with her?” He would have passed it off as joke, call Merlin a girl or some such, if not for his intensity.

Merlin’s mouth twisted. “You're not listening to me.”

“What's there to listen to? You haven't said anything.”

Merlin's chest heaved. He whipped his head around to face Arthur, his eyes red rimmed and his expression as cold and unyielding as steel. “Morgana kept her magic secret once she found out that was what her dreams were. She was born with it, but only found out about it later in life, but that's not true for everyone that's born like that. Sometimes people know about it from the very start.” Merlin was leaning in, very close, willing Arthur to understand... something. Something crucial he was blind to, something that was so large that getting him to admit to it was like pulling teeth. Arthur tried to make out the details of the looming shadow that rose up and clouded over Merlin’s cracking face, but it was like trying to grasp water. “Listen to what I'm saying.” he said, his voice turning desperate and almost breaking for it. “I never meant to let anything go so far, I never wanted anything to do with the royal family. I was sent to Camelot to hide, to disappear in a city big enough that no one cares if you're a little strange. In a small village where everyone knows everyone, it's impossible to keep anything secret-”

The word went silent.

Arthur watched Merlin's mouth as it moved, as a tumble of words fell out of it and landed in a horrible little heap on the ground between them. He heard none of it.

His ears rang.

His eyes started to burn.

After however long, Merlin paused, tears were down his cheeks. His mouth moved again, and Arthur saw the contours of his own name on them.

“You-” Arthur said, disbelieving, “you're...”

Merlin swallowed. Then nodded once.

Arthur got up and left.

Chapter 5: Love and hate are two sides of the same coin

Chapter Text

It was Leon that found Arthur. Or, it was Leon that was the only person brave enough to interrupt Arthur where he was summarily demolishing a practice dummy.

Night had long since fallen, so the training field was barren, which suited Arthur just fine. Alone, without a servant, it was better that way. Now, if only Leon would go and do something other than sit on the bench at the far edge near the citadel wall, staring relentlessly, Arthur might actually find a modicum of tranquility.

Arthur had brought a torch with him and shoved it into one of the many sconces buried in the ground. It was barely enough to see by, but all Arthur truly needed was the vague outline of the dummy. The darker, all the better to imagine it as a hulking foe, a faceless enemy, something he could fight and defeat and from which he could steal victory from it’s cold, wood hands. He hacked at it, then hacked some more, then kept going until all that was left was a stump of splintered wood sticking out of the grass, surrounded by decimated pieces of carnage.

Arthur paused, finally, chest heaving and shoulders aching. He turned his practice sword in his hands, feeling the worn leather of the grip and the painfully cold bite of the guard’s metal. The night air was cold too, cold and getting colder. Arthur’s fingers and nose were starting to go numb.

Leon was still sitting on the bench, watching.

Accepting his defeat, Arthur sank to his knees and collapsed against what used to be the dummy. He closed his eyes, breathed in the dew, and focused on calming the trembling in his muscles instead of Leon’s soft footfalls across the torn grass of the training field.

Something heavy was dropped over Arthur’s shoulders. The cloak was warm where Leon had been holding it, and it did much to protect Arthur’s damp skin from the frigid night. He sat next to Arthur, and even through both their cloaks he could feel the heat of their arms seeping through the fabric. 

In much the same manner as his last conversation with Merlin, Leon spoke without looking directly at Arthur. “We’ve known each other for many years.” Since they were children. Some of Arthur’s earliest memories were of visiting Leon’s family’s estate and running through the maze of blackberry bushes, playing knights, slaying dragons and rescuing each other, eating themselves sick on under ripe berries because they were too impatient to wait.

“We have.”

“And you can trust me to be honest with you.”

“Always.”

Leon was silent for a time. Before the storm clouds moved in, the wind had brought their mistier cousins, which halfway obscured the moon and most of the stars. It made the sky seem foamy and milky pale, with the moon itself a lazy eye staring down at Arthur and judging him. 

“Merlin is deeply in love with you.”

Arthur wondered if he should feel shocked, or surprised. Merlin was a man, he was a sorcerer. He was a liar and a coward and a betrayer. Arthur was too tired to be surprised by any of it, not of the magic or the love. He was tired, it was so late that it had become very early. It was cold and wet and Arthur was tired.

Arthur thought back to the moment when he gifted Merlin the desk, that glorious moment that he wanted to pluck out of time and immortalize within his own memory. He thought of the midday sun and the gratitude shining like a beacon on Merlin's face. He thought of the way Merlin turned and breathed thank you, he looked at Arthur like he was everything. And Arthur had been so nervous, he wanted Merlin to love it. To love everything, to love his life in Camelot and the people. To love being with Arthur and to love being at his side. And, Arthur thought, perhaps he may have been slightly in love with Merlin too, all along, without ever having given words to it.

Was that what love was? Had Arthur always had it? If this was love, it was nothing like how his father had described. A King was supposed to conquer, possess. He was supposed to choose a worthy goal and fight for it with a sword in his hand. He was supposed to find a prize and make her Queen, some wonderful woman to flaunt and show off, to take his arm, his hand, his crown, and submit to his rule. A King was supposed to be so much, have so much, and command it with strength that was nothing less than his birthright. But the one thing a King could never be was a man with a man’s heart and a man’s weaknesses. Arthur, the King, the great, the son of Uther, could not be vulnerable. But that was exactly what Merlin made him.

More than that, Merlin’s very existence stood so diametrically opposed to everything Arthur was supposed to want and fight for. He quarreled with Arthur and resisted him on everything regardless of how small the matter. He was awkward, and thin, and his ears were large, and there were very few people that would call him a prize. But his smile, the warmth he was capable of was unlike anything else. There was such surety in his calloused hands when he took Arthur’s and made it seem as though he was truly capable of the impossible. He made Arthur want to believe in himself, if only to live up to Merlin's unwavering faith. And every time he looked at Arthur with that devotion, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

“He’s magic.”

“Is he?”

“You don’t sound surprised. How am I the only one that is at all surprised? He. Has. Magic.”

There was a treacherous smile in Leon’s voice. “Sire, it is not that I am not surprised, I am. I would have never expected our Merlin to have been harboring such a secret. But I am more surprised that his having magic would have anything to do with how you perceive him.”

“It’s magic.”

“And he’s Merlin.” Leon turned, so Arthur turned as well, and he was faced with Leon’s seriousness. He looked into Arthur’s eyes, bore holes into them and burrowed down into the recesses of his soul. “Knowing my own loyalty to you, I say this: Merlin’s devotion to you is greater than that of everyone in Camelot combined, it knows no bounds. My King, you have but one choice, and Merlin is waiting for you to make it.”

 

***

 

If Arthur had known that all it would take to make Merlin knock was to reveal his magic, then he would have demanded the truth many, many years ago.

“Come in.”

Arthur had ordered another servant attend him that evening, even doing those tasks which Merlin had taken such pains to guard for himself. Arthur pushed away the voice that screamed in his mind that a sorcerer had been dressing him all these years, had brought his food and polished his sword and advised him both for and against magic.

The fire crackled merrily, casting his chambers in warm, orange light. Merlin entered into it, and it ghilded his skin in flickering gold. Arthur wanted nothing more than to bask in the sight of him, to go back to how things had been and instead allow them both to enjoy the fact that their hearts belonged to the other. If Arthur could forget about the magic for a moment, then he could live in the reality of Merlin loving him.

But both he and Merlin had been given a day to stew in their feelings since Arthur left him at the castle wall. And while Arthur had come to the tentative decision to, if nothing else, hear whatever explanation Merlin was willing to make, Merlin had apparently decided to settle on simmering anger. He stood in the middle of the room, a hard edge to his face and severity in his brow, and glared at Arthur with everything he was worth. Which, considering he was supposed to be a rather apt sorcerer, his worth was high. But that was fine, Arthur could handle an angry Merlin, magic or no.

“You summoned me, Sire?” Merlin asked, both sounding and looking imperious. He decided to wear a change of his council clothes, Arthur wondered if he had perhaps taken his lesson in the significance of visual cues to heart.

“I did.” Merlin’s eyes tracked him closely as Arthur swept past him on his way to the table. There, a jug of wine, which Arthur picked up, and two goblets had been left at his request. Into each, he poured a small measure, set the jug down, and held out one of the goblets towards Merlin. “Drink.”

Merlin made no move to take it. “You’re pouring me wine?”

“I’m pouring us both wine. I daresay this is a conversation we need some fortification against.”

“If you’re going to yell at me or sentence me or what have you, do it now.”

Arthur inclined the goblet further without dignifying Merlin’s petulance with a response. “Your King has given you an order.”

Because Merlin was chronically incapable of doing anything without defying Arthur in some way, he snatched the goblet out of his hand. There was a little spark and a zing, right where their fingers grazed each other, but it was gone as soon as it had come. Keeping his eyes resolutely trained on Arthur’s, he knocked back all the wine in one go and slammed the goblet down on the table. “Well?” he demanded, barely giving himself a chance to catch his breath.

Arthur stared at him, considering his options. In truth, he had given very little thought to how he wanted this conversation to go. The last day he had spent thinking, his mind kept circling back to how Merlin had managed to lie to him for so long, and how even despite all that he was, as Leon had said, he was nothing if not endlessly loyal. And, if keeping sorcery a secret was any indication, what he was willing to do for Arthur was, indeed, boundless.

Had he been manipulating Arthur all along? No, he had fought Arthur tooth and nail to reject any bit of power he tried to invest in his servant. A power hungry sorcerer would have jumped at any of Arthur’s offers the first chance they got. Then, had he wanted to bring magic back? Also no, many times Merin had said in no uncertain terms that magic could have no place in Camelot. Perhaps it was because he supposedly loved Arthur, but how could someone of magic love anyone that had personally had a very active hand in the prosecution of his people?

What it came down to, Arthur realized upon reflection, was that he knew very little about Merlin at all. Everything they had been through, it had all always revolved around Arthur's life. His reign, his Kingship, his regency, his being Prince. It had always been Arthur Arthur Arthur, and Arthur had never once given any thought to the sort of life Merlin had been leading all this time. And what a complicated, double life it must have been. Threats around every corner and the ever present sword of Damocles in the form of a burning pyre dangling over his head. Arthur could scarcely imagine it.

Arthur, who was still a little in love with Merlin, yearned to do more than imagine. He yearned to know.

“You lied to me.”

Merlin’s face was harsh, harsher than Arthur had ever seen it. He wondered if this was the face of Merlin the Sorcerer, the conniving person that was capable of brutalities foreign to Merlin the manservant. “You were easy to lie to.”

Arthur stared at him, wondering if Merlin was being intentionally hurtful in order to incite a reaction from him. “I suspect I have been. But you never gave me a chance to be anything but.”

That wrongfooted Merlin’s anger. Arthur saw it play out on his face. In rapid succession he went from incenced to taken aback, to confused, to calculating. “You’re not angry anymore?”

“I never wanted to be angry at you.”

“You should be.” Merlin said, a sneer twisting onto his face. “You said it yourself, I lied to you. I’ve been lying to you. You should be furious.”

“And I was.” Arthur said. But he was also tired. He had faced so much hardship and there were times where the only thing that kept him going was Merlin’s steady presence at his side. The thought of something like magic, as large and all-encompassing a lie as it was, tearing them apart and taking from Arthur his one truest anchor, it was too much to bear. The thought of having to face the whole of the rest of his life without Merlin? No, he could not allow it. “But what point is there in being angry at you? You said, once, that you could take me apart with less than a single blow. That was true, wasn't it?”

Merlin’s breathing was harsh. “It was.” Somehow, that was slightly better. To know that the first time, so long ago, Merlin had been truthful. The first words they shared had not been lies.

“How powerful are you?”

“Very.”

Feeling brave, in the face of this sorcerer, Arthur took a challenging step forward and tilted his chin up. “Show me.”

Merlin searched Arthur’s face, the irises flickering this way and that the closer Arthur came to him, but he did not retreat. The air became electrically charged, it set Arthur’s heart beating wildly and his very skin aflame. Every lesson he had been taught as child always ended the same way, that no matter what he or anyone did, everything would be for nothing if magic could be allowed to survive. And here Arthur was, standing chest to chest with this bold and remarkable stranger he, in some ways, knew better than he even knew himself. This creature, this thing, this magic.

“What would you have me do,” Merlin asked, his eyes turning dark and becoming half lidded, “my Lord?”

The challenge, that was familiar territory for them. Their first meeting, the body of their friendship, had been built upon and sustained by their respective abilities to issue and take challenges. But this? This was new. This heat that pulsed between them. Merlin’s newfound deference to Arthur’s titles. How had they never before tried this?

“I dont care. Prove you're what you say you are, sorcerer.”

Without taking his eyes off Arthur, Merlin muttered, “Prosm tohweorf.” His eyes lit up, like so many sorcerers Arthur had seen before, each one looking for blood. But instead of some mighty blow or mortal wound, all the candles in the room were snuffed out, one after another, as a gentle summer breeze swept across them and ruffled their hair. The fire sank, and with a squeal of cracking wood, it blew out, leaving a hot bed of embers behind.

Arthur laughed, breathless and delirious, while watching the last bit of light in the room fade as Merlin’s eyes returned to their familiar blue. “Is that the best you can do? Blow out some candles.”

In the new darkness, Arthur almost missed Merlin’s smirk. “Upastige draca.”

Arthur had been so focused on Merlin, and the second flash of amber magic that lit up his face, that it took a long moment for him to notice what the spell actually did. In the hearth, the coals and embers started sparking and shifting around themselves. Arthur jumped back with a shocked cry when they stretched upwards with a spit of flame and shook, before resolving themselves into a bright, molten dragon. Merlin turned an idle eye towards it, held out his hand and called softly, “Drakon.”

Arthur’s heart snagged and his stomach dropped. Something had been altered in Merlin’s voice, making it deep and gravelly and like something out of fire and brimstone holy stories. The little coal dragon shook itself, and with a half formed squak it should not be capable of because it was literally made of burning wood and held together with flame, trotted over to Merlin. It hefted its wings and pounced into the air, soaring above their heads before coming to perch upon Merlin shoulders. Like a cat right out of the depths of Hell, it bumped its head against Merlin’s cheek and nuzzled him affectionately. Merlin brought a hand up and scratched under the thing’s chin, making it bear its neck in permission.

“This is what I always wanted to show you.” Merlin said, gazing at the dragon sadly. “It’s not all bad.”

Arthur had backed up against the table and gripped the edge of it with one hand to hold himself steady. In the shadows, with Merlin illuminated by the conjured beast, he was like some vengeful god. Some otherworldly creature that better belonged in frightening stories told to children to keep them away from the woods at night. He looked like a nightmare. He looked like a Pegan deity. He looked like something Arthur, though a King, a mere mortal had no right even attempting to understand.

Merlin stopped scratching the dragon and they both turned to look at him with twin sets of luminous, bright yellow eyes. “There are some that say I’m the most powerful warlock to ever live.” The dragon cocked its head to the side and settled itself on Merlin’s shoulder, the long whip of pure flame that made its tail curling around his neck. It was too attentive for a beast, much less one made of nothing at all, and it regarded Arthur with much the same intelligence Merlin did. “Are you afraid?”

Arthur swallowed. “Should I be?” Arthur was not afraid. He was exhilarated, his blood was boiling in his veins and every instinct he had was telling him to run or fight or do something other than stand there and dumbly stare at this breathtaking creature that had once been his friend and servant. He was horrified, he was appalled, but he was not afraid.

“I could do anything to you right now. I have been able to do anything for years.”

But you haven't, Arthur thought to himself. Not once. Merlin could have done anything, Arthur had been at his most vulnerable and Merlin had been capable of such impossible feats as imbuing life and sentience and intelligence into wood and air.

“Have you ever enchanted me?” Arthur asked, struck by the thought that he might be enchanted right now. How else was he to explain how his head was swimming and making him dizzy, how his heart was beating so fast he might as well be having a stroke. But then, when had he ever felt this way, outside of being close to Merlin, magic or no.

The dragon’s tail swished in the air, leaving spots in Arthur’s eyes. “Yes.”

The admission twisted Arthur’s heart, which was already fragile in the wake of Merlin’s magic. Hoping, he asked, “Did you have good reason to?” His father would have never trusted any answer given, but Arthur pushed away the ghostly voice. If he was to have a true picture of Merlin, he would have to earnestly listen.

“I think I did.”

Though all his courage had fled him, Arthur made himself push away from the table and step closer to Merlin. The dragon’s eyes tracked his movement like a predator. “You said that you’ve killed before.”

He could see Merlin trying to work out Arthur’s words, his actions, trying to understand the meaning behind them and what he would do about that. While there could be no question as to what Merlin was willing to do, Arthur was desperately curious about the extent of his abilities. “I have.”

“Often?”

“Often enough.”

Arthur reached out, as he had done so often before, and made to take Merlin’s hand. “Did you have good reason for those too?”

Though Merlin’s eyes were already shining, they flashed as a shock of thunder cracked the sky outside. Between one blink and the next, a heavy sheet of rain hit Arthur’s window. “Why do you ask?” Merlin demanded, his voice taking on a jagged edge that made it sound like the chipped blade of a sword. “Why do you care? I told you I have magic and you walked away.” It was rising in volume, he was practically yelling in Arthur's face. “You just left. Left me sitting there wondering if you hated me or worse. If you were going to have me hanged or beheaded or burned or gods know what else.”

Merlin turned sharply away and threw his hand out, jostling the dragon from it’s perch and barking out a harsh, “Bo bakl wah dromær.” in that same, growled tongue. The dragon all but leapt to the hearth, jumping into the ashes and returning to being a roaring a fire. Arthur stared at it, no matter how it hurt his eyes, awash with strange grief for a stranger creature, shocked at it’s sudden departure. Was it so easy for Merlin to create life that he would just as easily toss it aside in a fit of rage? Was he perhaps some sort of God, made carless of life for his own detachment from it?

“I don’t hate you.” Arthur said, this time taking hold of Merlin’s forearm and holding it. Outside, thunder raged, and inside all the candles burst to life with flames that momentarily shot as high as the ceiling. Around them, the furniture trembled and the walls groaned, everything cowling inwards toward them, toward Merlin, submitting to the whims of forces greater than the natural world. “I could never hate you.”

“You should.”

“I don’t.”

Merlin whipped his head around, so close that they stood almost nose to nose. “I set the dragon free. I’m the reason Camelot was attacked.”

The old, long healed wounds from those gruesome days and nights flared anew, but Arthur swallowed down his remembered fear and forced himself to ask, “Did you have good reason?”

Merlin’s breath hitched. It was coming out short and labored through flaring nostrils. His eyes burned, but Arthur could not look away, not for the life of him. “I disguised myself as Dragoon. I killed your father.”

Arthur screwed his eyes shut at that, his hand involuntarily squeezing Merlin’s arm. Letting out a shaky breath, he made himself open his eyes again. “You tried to heal him.” He remembered the man’s wrinkled face and his strangely familiar eyes, wide with shock when Uther let out his final breath.

“I killed Morgana.”

There, that must be the worst of it. Arthur hoped it was. “Her heart turned black a long time ago.” he said, trying to believe it. Later, he would mourn his sister, and pry from Merlin the events that brought her end, now was not the time for it.

Rage broke Merlin’s face, clear and horrible rage. “Why are you being so calm?” Magic whipped around them, prickling and incandescent, it surged through the air as if some of the storm from outside had been sucked in. “Yell, get your sword, do- do something!”

With magic swirling in the air, Arthur gazed up at Merlin and tried to remember every friendly little barb they made to each other. He tried to seperate Merlin’s wounded heart and the way it was making him act out from the good and kind person he knew him to be. Merlin may have magic, and had this outburst happened within their first, maybe second, year of friendship, Arthur knew that he would have taken it as proof that magic was corrupting. But he was not so young anymore, and he loved Merlin, and he knew that if there was one thing that defined Merlin, it was his enduring virtue.

Arthur cupped Merlin’s cheeks and turned his face so that he could meet his glowing eyes directly. “I don’t think I can. Not to you.” he said, praying to whatever was listening, that he was not making the worst mistake of his life. That trusting Merlin would not be the death of him or his people. “May the Goddesses take pity on me, I think I love you.”

Like that, something must have snapped in Merlin. With a growl that was unlike him, he surged forward and crashed their lips together. Arthur gasped into it, and his whole body gave a great lurch of pleasure the like he had never felt.

The magic stilled, coming to an abrupt and chest rattling halt. All Merlin’s anger and ferocity, it translated into the harsh bite of his lips on Arthur’s. He pushed them against the table, so that the edge of it dug into the back of Arthur’s thighs with painful force. His hands came up to grip at Arthur’s hips, hard enough to bruise, and tugged them ever closer.

Arthur, taken by the shock of the act as much as Merlin’s dominance in it, let himself be ravaged. He let go of Merlin’s face and instead wound his arms around his neck, gripping onto the back of Merlin’s tunic and pressing their chests together, and when that was not enough he arched into it. Dimly, Arthur was aware of being pushed so far onto the table that he ended sitting on it, he was aware of the wine spilling, and of the faint scratch of Merlin’s day-old stubble and the trails left by the uneven fingernails of his thumbs where they snuck under the hem of his tunic and found skin. But those sensations, though delicious in their own right, were nothing to his own desperate hunger for intimacy he had never before so much as considered.

It was not until a goblet clattered to the floor with a loud clang that they parted.

Arthur took a great heaving breath of air, then another, then he kept gulping air as if it was for the first of his life. Perhaps it was, perhaps this was the start of some strange new life wherein he kissed and was kissed by Merlin. Where Merlin had magic. Where sense was forgotten and all that existed was their bodies, together, heaving against each other.

Merlin was still close to him, their hips were still slotted against each other and his hands were still digging into Arthur’s skin, they were sharing breath and though Arthur had not drunk so much as a drop, he tasted wine. Against his lips, Merlin murmured something nonsensical and Arthur heard the goblet scrape against the floor. He tore his eyes away from Merlin’s own glowing ones to glance over his shoulder in time to see the goblets and the jug right themselves, and for the spilled wine to lift itself off the table and swirl in the air, before depositing itself back into the jug as if nothing had been amiss.

Arthur turned back to Merlin with a certain woozy wonder that magic could be used for something as mundane as cleaning, but Merlin was having none of it. He leaned in and kissed Arthur again, dragging his teeth across his lower lip in one instant and licking the wound in apology the next. On instinct, Arthur hooked a leg around the back of Merlin’s thighs and brought their crotches together, making his breath hitch and chest stutter and groan into Merlin’s mouth with the surprise shock of pleasure at feeling hardness against his own.

This was all supposed to be wrong. Merlin was magic, it was evil and taboo and wrong and Arthur was aching for every bit of it. Absolutely mad with a crazed desire to be closer to Merlin, to touch more of him, to feel him in ways he could scarcely comprehend but he knew he wanted. Merlin was everything Camelot stood against and by every right Arthur should despise him but instead they were here, they were kissing, and it was frightening how natural it felt. Like this was what they were always meant to be, and the fact that they had gone so long without was testament more to their foolishness than the strength of their wills. What good was will when it kept a man from such delights?

Without giving himself a moment to think- because Arthur knew himself well enough to know that if he did, he might pull back and realize how insane they were being- he started tugging at Merlin’s tunic to release it from where it was tucked into his trousers. Merlin growled something unintelligible into his mouth that may have been magic or may have been incoherent arousal, and tugged Arthur’s hands away by his wrists.

Arthur shook one of Merlin’s hands off him so he could grip at the back of his neck and dig his fingers into the divets along the top of Merlin’s spine. He gasped into Arthur’s mouth again, but in response grabbed him by the waist and bodily maneuvered them away from the table and across the room.

There was only so much manhandling Arthur was willing to take, even if it meant wrenching some semblance of control back from the most powerful warlock alive. And that in itself was a terrifying thought, that he, Arthur, a human and a man, would dare dream of doing that.

With a bite of his own, he pushed back against Merlin until he was walking them backwards, and Merlin was gripping onto his shirt for balance. Merlin’s back hit one of the bedposts, making him grunt into Arthur’s mouth, which he soundly kissed away. There, with the bed as leverage, he rutted into Merlin until they broke apart to pant against each other. 

Distantly, in the far back of Arthur’s mind where his rational thoughts had slunk off to, he knew this was, objectively speaking, a very bad idea. There was much that was still unresolved between them, and coming in their trousers like boys would do little to help patch the rift in their friendship. But then, that was how they had always been. Within a month of having known Merlin, he had drunk poison to spare Arthur from Nimue’s villainous intentions. And Arthur, to prove his pure heart to Anhora and save Merlin, had been very close behind. Since the moment they met, he and Merlin had been emphatically incapable of doing anything the right way, in the right order, at the right time. They jumped into friendship at the drop of a hat and consequently spent years pining for each other, without Arthur ever having known that those were indeed what the feelings were. Nothing about the two of them could be offhand or casual, especially not this.

The moment Arthur got comfortable and settled into a slower, gentler rhythm, Merlin flipped them around and pushed him onto the bed, separating them with a gasp and wet pop. Arthur fell, collapsing back on his elbows, and tried to catch his breath and his reeling mind. For surely, surely, this was all some vivid fantasy, there could be no version of Merlin that would deign to kiss Arthur so thoroughly. Only, it must be reality, because Merlin was following him onto the bed, looming over him with dark, stormy hunger. He wedged one of his knees into the junction of Arthur’s legs, pressing against his erection and stealing his breath. It sent a jolt of arousal up Arthur's spine, making him sit up with it, reaching out, only to be stopped by a pair of firm hands on his shoulders.

For the first time since this strange game started, Merlin looked uncertain. Arthur furrowed his brow, they could not afford uncertainty. Not now, not with this. Neither of them could be any less than absolutely certain of what they were about to do.

Gazing down at Arthur, Merlin’s lips were kiss dark and parted delicately. His tongue darted out to wet them, and Arthur was helpless but to follow the motion with his eyes. “Have you ever done this before?” Arthur asked.

“Seldomly. Have you?”

“No.” At that, Merlin’s eyes pinched in thought. By the Gods, Arthur felt so exposed. He was unsure what was worse, being in this position with a sorcerer or being in the position with Merlin.

But, Merlin had decided to be angry with him, and he was nothing if not obstinate. Shrouding his uncertainty in acrimony that was as old as their friendship, he said, “What, all those Princesses throwing themselves at you weren't good enough?”

Arthur finally did reach out, it was his turn to grasp Merlin’s hips, to draw him close. But the man stayed put. “If I had taken any of them to bed it would have been as good as a proposal of marriage.”

Merlin’s eyebrows lifted with what was probably supposed to be idle interest, but Arthur knew him better than that. His eyes were too keen, and his grip too tight, to be idle. “And you never grabbed a servant?”

“What do you take me for?” Arthur bit back. “I wouldn't put a servant in that position.”

Merlin pressed some of his weight onto his knee, making Arthur spasm. “Then what's this?”

Swallowing his moan, Arthur said, “You were never my servant. Not really.”

Merlin knocked his head back and laughed breathlessly, his eyes screwing shut. Arthur was distracted by the long pale line of Merlin’s neck and the attractive jut of his Adam's apple. “What are we doing?” Merlin said, all of a sudden his voice losing its bite and becoming pained instead. “This isn't us.”

Merlin’s leg started to move away, so Arthur gripped his hips with new force and made him stay. “And you weren't supposed to be magic.” he countered, allowing a growl to reach his voice.

Somehow, instead of putting Merlin off, a dark excitement flickered into life behind his eyes. “You are angry at me.”

“I am.” Arthur said, drinking in the way Merlin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Like that was all he needed, like he wanted Arthur to take some retribution onto him. Using Merlin’s hips as leverage, he scooted closer, strandling Merlin’s knee and grinding himself on it. “I don't know what to make of you anymore. I don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling when I look at you, or what I’m supposed to think. All I know is that I have long trusted you, and while I don't know when that trust turned into love, I know that it has. And I also know that I have been looking at you, and that you have been looking at me.” Merlin melted against him, falling so that he was sitting in Arthur’s lap. Arthur leaned in, their noses touched. “Do not lie to me, not anymore.”

“You hate me.”

Arthur drew Merlin in for a deep, slow kiss. “Perhaps.” he whispered against Merlin’s lips, surprising even himself by the gentleness of his own voice. “Perhaps I do.” Merlin sighed into the kiss. Arthur wondered if that was the vindication he needed. To know that Arthur understood his sins and was willing to hate him for it. Or perhaps they were both beyond saving at this point.

Either way, Arthur snaked his hands between them and tried to make sense of the mess of ties on Merlin’s breeches. How, when he had been so insistent to make them in such a way that he could dress himself, were they still such a maze that Arthur could not manage to loosen them?

Gently, more gently than he had done anything so far that night, Merlin rested his hands on Arthur’s and drew them away. Arthur made a sound of impatience, but Merlin leaned in and licked it away. Still holding his hands, Merlin placed them on either side of Arthur and pressed them down into bed's coverlet while he arched into his chest. “You said you’ve never done this before.” Merlin murmured, not meeting Arthur’s eyes and instead staring hungrily at his neck. “Are you sure you want it to be me?”

Their chests were heaving against each other, making it something of a challenge for Arthur to put his thoughts into any sort of cohesive order. With Merlin straddling him, their erections were straining painfully inside their trousers and against each other. “A bit late now,” he said, cursing himself for how breathless he sounded, “isn't it?”

Merlin’s face hardened. “No, it’s not. That’s why I asked.”

Of course he was asking. Merlin was a subversive sorcerer who had lied to and betrayed Arthur since the moment they met, so of course he was asking permission. Arthur drew his hands out from under Merlin’s and cupped his face to draw him in for another kiss. Merlin’s arms came up, one winding around his shoulders and ending with his fingers in the hair at Arthur’s nape, and the other resting on his chest, splaying over his pectoral.

Arthur drew back, making Merlin’s hand fist into Arthur’s shirt, and stared back with every ounce of determination he had. He leaned their foreheads together, sharing each other’s air. “I trust you.”

“Okay.” Merlin said, pressing a quick, bruising kiss against Arthur’s lips, “Okay, good.”

With a wave of his hand and another bright flash of magic, their clothes very abruptly disappeared. Arthur cried out, for the shock of it, for the swoop of cold air that rolled over him, and for his cock springing free and meeting Merlin’s. Instinctually, Arthur fell back on his elbows and bucked up, but Merlin’s weight kept him in place. His hand, no longer in Arthur’s shirt, brushed over his bare chest and ran over a stiff nipple, drawing out a high keening sound Arthur had been entirely unaware he had the ability to make. He tossed his head back, panting, aching, needing, and Merlin took the opportunity to attach himself to his jaw. He sucked and licked down the length of Arthur’s neck, following the hard tendons of muscle and turning Arthur into a stuttering, gasping mess.

Before Arthur had a chance to process much more than Merlin and naked, Merlin was crawling further onto the bed and tugging Arthur with him. Together, they scooted up so Arthur lay with his head upon the pillows, letting Merlin slot himself into the open V of his thighs. He pressed against Arthur, from hips to chest, and took his mouth like it was the only thing in the world worth having. Mercilessly, he took them both in hand and started jerking their lengths together. It burned, but Merlin swallowed every sound Arthur made, every embarrassing noise that Arthur would have deeply regretted had Merlin been anyone else.

Arthur reached up and around Merlin’s shoulders, to dig his nails into Merlin’s skin if only to have something to anchor himself through his own spasms. Merlin groaned in pain when Arthur scratched down, dragging the skin, but his grip never faltered.

Merlin leaned down to meet Arthur’s neck again. Whatever bruises he was leaving behind, they would be obvious, blindingly so, to anyone. Arthur tossed his head back, baring his neck more, caught between the shame of having to march around the castle covered in marks, and the intoxication of letting Merlin claim him.

Merlin’s pace was relentless and bruising, and soon it had Arthur’s toes curling and biting his reddened lips. “I-” he huffed, “Merlin, I’m-”

No.” Merlin growled. His hands stilled, he went so far as to squeeze the base of Arthur’s erection and make him shout with the pained pleasure of it.

“Don’t stop.” He all but roared in Merlin’s face. Every part of him was hot and aching, sweaty, needy, desperate.

Merlin had the utter gaul to grin at him. “Impatient, are we?”

With a vicious snarl, Arthur flipped them over. Only, once he was hovering above Merlin, and Merlin was lying under him and looking utterly debauched, it dawned on Arthur that he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He was caught staring at Merlin, transfixed. His inky black hair fanned out around his head, contrasted starkly against the bleached white of the bedclothes. His chest, flushed dark under the short, bristled hair growing there, rising and falling with Arthur’s own. It matched the rich color of his lips and rose blush on his sharp cheekbones.

He was staring right back at Arthur. “Well?” he said, brimming with fire. “Now you’ve got me here.” He lifted his chin and Arthur could not tell if that was Merlin’s way of issuing another challenge or baring his own throat for Arthur to mark. So they could match, a dark promise on both their parts. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur answered honestly.

Merlin huffed an almost smile. “Then let me rephrase, who’s taking who?”

It was the word that stole Arthur's breath, because it was brutal and he would never want to simply take Merlin like he was a thing to be had. Even though he likely should, especially to make up for the stuttering mess Merlin had reduced him to a moment before. Instead, he said, “Does it matter?” No matter how they arranged themselves, Arthur would always be King and Merlin would never care. It was how they always were, would always be.

Merlin quirked a smile. “Logistically, it does.”

Then Merlin’s eyes flashed and, from nothing, a small clay pot materialized in his hand. If they were any less close than they were, Arthur would have been able to hide how his muscles tensed at the sight of it. But, when their erections were trapped between their stomachs and sharing precum, there was little hope of being able to hide much of anything. “Did you make that out of nothing?” Arthur asked, part of him afraid of the terrible truth behind, I’m the most powerful warlock to ever live, and the other part of him in utter awe of it.

Chest heaving, he went back to meet Merlin’s gaze, finding it to be overflowing with as much insolence as he usually threw in Arthur’s face. But Arthur was still pinning him down to his bed. Here they were, a mortal man and the single greatest sorcerer alive. Arthur had seen Merlin’s kind burn villages and animate corpses, call magical beasts to heel and tame the winds, and Merlin was supposed to be the best and most powerful of them all. And yet he had decided that it was to Arthur that he would submit. Arthur could drink himself into oblivion on the knowledge that he was the master of that power.

So it really did not matter who took who.

Merlin twisted the lid of the pot off, revealing a semi congealed pomade the consistency of honey and color of peaches. “No, I summoned it, from my room.” With fascination, Arthur watched Merlin dip his fingers into the pot and with another flash of his eyes, it and the lid floated over to the side table by the bed. He looked at Arthur again, but all of Arthur's attention was focused on Merlin's hand, and the squelch of lubricant he was rolling between his fore and middle fingers, and his thumb. Very abruptly, it all beaceme frighteningly real.

“What do you need that for?” Arthur asked, still looking at the pomade, and feeling embarrassingly obtuse. It was melting with the heat of Merlin’s skin, making it glisten rose gold in the firelight.

A hand appeared on the edge of Arthur’s jaw, which finally drew his eyes back to Merlin. “Arthur,” he said, the name an endearment in and of itself, “now I know you’re not that thick. We’re both men, we can do this in whatever way either of us would like. But I need to know who to prepare, so it doesn't hurt.”

Prepare was a word that, in this context, was wildly unfamiliar to Arthur. “How often did you say you’ve done this?”

Merlin's smile turned sharp. “Enough to know what I’m doing. So?”

Arthur was aware that, again, Merlin was asking for permission. So again, he leaned in and stole his lips for a deep, plundering kiss which quickly had Merlin groaning. “I trust you, Merlin. I always will.”

Merlin had no quip to make back, so instead he let his hand disappear between their bodies without a word. Arthur stared down at him, every muscle coiled and tense, while he waited for the mystery of whatever it was he was planning. Then, Merlin’s mouth dropped open and he sucked in a sharp hiss of air. He knocked his head back and arched up, letting out a string of little, strained puffs of breath that accompanied his small sounds of pleasure. And, oh, Arthur thought, prepare. If he was about to- to Merlin- if they're about to- with Merlin- together- of course, prepare.

Arthur’s arms started trembling with how tense his muscles were, keeping him frozen and hovering above Merlin while he watched him impale himself on his own fingers. He was so hard he was aching, throbbing, his cock was dripping but Arthur only had eyes for Merlin, for every trembling breath he took and for the hand that gripped Arthur’s jaw and neck like a vice.

Arthur closed his eyes and sank down to taste Merlin’s skin. If he allowed himself to look for much longer, he was convinced he might climax then and there, and then all of this would be over before it really began. So instead he concentrated on Merlin’s neck, his skin, on licking and bruising him with the methodical dedication he paid to his knights’ training. He wanted all this to last, strange as that was. He wanted to draw out every moment and live inside it, make a home there and experience it as a whole life. He wanted to savor every last drop before it became a memory, because there was no second first time. This, these acts, these feelings, he would only ever have them once. And they would forever belong with Merlin.

He breathed Merlin in, nosed behind his ears and sucked a lobe into his mouth, drawing out a low moan as he did. Arthur kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to be enveloped by Merlin’s scent mixed with the smell of sex and sweat and something that left his tonge tingling as if he just bit down on a kernal of black pepper. He wondered how much of it was Merlin and how much his magic, where one ended and the other began.

With a shuddering breath, at long last, Merlin said, “Okay. I’m ready.” His breath was choked and strained, and it sent a pulse of pleasure down Arthur’s spine and straight into his cock. “Just,” he panted, “go slow, at first.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Arthur nodded. Looking down at the delicious spread of Merlin’s legs, he pried his cheeks apart and got his first glimpse of Merlin’s hole. He looked away, back to Merlin's face, which was screwed tight and tossed to the side. His breath was coming out in short, hitched bursts, his chest rabbiting with it. Unable to help himself, and exhilarated that he could, Arthur ran a hand across the taught plane of Merlin’s stomach. It traveled his chest, brushed over an erect nipple and made Merlin cry out. Arthur lined himself up, and pushed in.

Merlin’s whole body shuddered and he cried again, his voice high and tortured. Arthur had to bite savagely down in his own lip to keep himself under control, so savagely that he tasted iron. But he cared nothing for it, not when he only had his head in and already Merlin was hot and tight and everything about it was correct. For want of any sort of coherent thought, he said, “Merlin.” and brushed his nipple again. “Merlin.” He rolled the name around his mouth and tasted it, ran his tongue over its slopes and edges with the knowledge that, no matter what Merlin’s history looked like, Arthur was the one saying his name like this. And it was for his King that Merlin was giving himself.

Merlin’s hand left Arthur’s neck, leaving a brand of flushed, damp skin in its wake, and let it trail down Arthur’s heaving chest, bouncing down the grooves of his ribs, over his hip bones before finally coming to a stop at his thigh. He squeezed the flesh, tried dragging Arthur closer in wordless beseechment. “Arthur.” If saying Merlin’s name had been like a drug, then hearing his own was several thousand times that.

Arthur obeyd. With halting, aching slowness that made him want to roar, he continued to push in until he and Merlin were flush against each other. Arthur could feel Merlin’s muscles twitching and shifting around him, encasing him, grabbing onto him and pulling him impossibly deeper. His hand was still gripping Arthur's thigh, digging into the flesh and turning it white with pressure, pulling him closer. “Arthur.” he said again, this time with an undercurrent of impatience. “Oh for the love of- move, will you?”

Arthur decided to wait. Instead he leaned forward and licked a long line up the center of Merlin's chest to his collarbone. “If you could ask for anything, what would it be?”

He looked into Merlin's face as he cracked his eyes open, one part astonished that Arthur was refusing to move and two parts confused by the question itself. “What?”

“What do you desire most in the world?”

In lieu of answering, Merlin grabbed Arthur by the neck and tugged him down for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss. The pomade left a sticky, half dried smear across Arthur’s spine, but he found he cared little for it. “Isn’t it obvious?” Merlin asked, his voice breaking. There was salt in the kiss, Arthur leaned back enough to see that Merlin had started crying. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

With no other assurances left to give, Arthur kissed Merlin again, making it gentle. Into it he poured everything Merlin was unwilling to hear, everything he wished he could say and make Merlin believe. I trust you. You’re my heart, my happiness. I want you, I want to be with you and I want you by my side. From here on out, forever. You’re mine, I’m yours. Yours is the council I trust most, it is to you I look to first, every time. Every life. Every world. I love you.

“And I you.”

Merlin turned his face away and brought a hand up to cover his mouth, biting down viciously on his knuckles. With nothing more to say, Arthur finally listened to Merlin and pulled almost completely out.

Merlin lowered his hand with a throaty sigh, before he cried out when Arthur snapped his hips forward. When their skin met, it was with the sound of a wet squelch and a loud slap of their thighs. The brutal obscenity of it was one of the most hideously arousing sounds Arthur had heard in his life. He did it again, and again, and every time Merlin moaned against his knuckles. He hooked a leg around Arthur’s back and tried to pull him closer, tried to urge him to go faster, but Arthur was determined to take it slow, determined to draw out every bit of this.

His determination was rewarded with Merlin, still a panting stuttering mess, started to go boneless and relaxed under Arthur’s lazy, fire hot pace. He seemed unable to agree with himself on where he should put his hands. He ran them up and down and across Arthur’s things, his chest, his arms and every bit of skin that was even slightly within reach. He didn’t look at Arthur, instead he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, but Arthur’s eyes were fixated on Merlin. The way his skin glowed in the firelight, making him look as though he was made of rose tinted white gold. The sweat that beaded on his skin, the flush in his chest and face, the muscles in his stomach that undulated every time Arthur slammed into him. How Arthur could have ever thought of Merlin as anything short of absolute perfection, a fantasy made real, was beyond him.

Too soon, Arthur felt a hot twist in his gut that told him his climax was fast approaching. His hips started to stutter. The closer he got, the more he started losing his steady, controlled pace. He leaned down and breathed heavily into the damp skin of Merlin’s neck, pouring every once of himself into concentrating on his task. As if sensing it, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's back in an embrace, hugging him ever closer, trapping his own dripping cock between their bodies and riding the pleasure of it.

Within a handful of thrusts Merlin was coming, it splashed against their skin and he all but howled with it. Arthur was not far behind, he became desperate to follow Merlin over the edge so he sped up, wild and frantic and mindless. Merlin’s breath stuttered, turning into short, wretched cries of overstimulated pain. He dug his nails into Arthur’s back, as Arthur had done him, and that was what, at long last, sent him tipping over the edge into delicious oblivion. A loud groan was ripped from Arthur when he finally shuddered and spilled himself into Merlin.

For a bright moment, all he saw was stars. They were so bright he had to clamp his eyes shut against their brilliance.

Slowly, Arthur came back to himself. He slid out of Merlin with a wince and collapsed in a boneless heap at his side, still panting, his heart still pounding inside his chest. Every part of his body was warm, tingling, and more exhausted than it had ever been. He felt it as deep as the marrow of his bones.

He blinked up at the canopy of his bed and wondered if he might have fallen asleep, because floating through the air like little embers were the stars he saw upon orgasm. He turned to look at Merlin, who seemed about as wrung out and weak as Arthur was. He had eyes to match the embers. “Sorry.” he said, his voice hoarse. Arthur thought it was a rather peculiar thing to be the first said after sex.

“What for?”

Merlin waved a loose-elbowed arm through the air in a large sweeping motion that seemed to encompass all the floating embers at once. “I think my magic likes you.”

It started with a small, panted huff. And though he was too tired, soon Arthur’s cheeks hurt for the force of his deliriously delighted laughter. “It’s,” he asked, tucking his smile against Merlin’s skin, “sentient?” Of course Merlin's magic was so strong that it had a mind of its own, one likely just as obstinant as its owner. And it liked Arthur.

“No.” Merlin said, a frown in his voice. Then he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed.

All at once, Arthur was struck with the fear that Merlin intended to leave, so he shot an arm out and grabbed onto Merlin’s still feverishly hot skin. “Where are you going?”

Merlin glanced over over his shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m not going anywhere, clotpole.” he said, and finally he sounded like himself. He sounded like the Merlin Arthur knew before all this strangeness with magic and attraction. “Don’t you want to get cleaned up?” he asked, glancing meaningfully towards the privacy screen, behind which Arthur’s wash basin was.

“Oh.” Arthur said. He was still holding onto Merlin’s arm, and he had little intention of letting go. “Just use magic.” he said, because although the magic and attraction were both strange, they were, in each their own way, a part of Merlin. It had just taken Arthur a long time to see it.

Merlin gave Arthur a long, complicated look, before he waved his hand and muttered a spell. A moment later Arthur’s skin was tingling as if he had just stepped out of the bath, and the evidence of their tryst had vanished into nothing, up to and including the sweat that had been on their skin and soaked into the sheets. Gratefully, Arthur tossed the covers back and crawled under them, sleepily tugging Merlin with him. Merlin allowed himself to be pulled and maneuvered so his back was pressed to Arthur’s chest. “That's handy.” Arthur muttered into the ridge of Merlin’s shoulder blade.

“Handy enough to get myself killed for, I’m sure.” Merlin said, a note of bitterness creeping back into his voice. But he was also loose and warm, and his yawn was large, so Arthur decided to take it as a joke.

But, in case it was not, he said, “I won't let any harm come to you, not ever. You’re safe with me.” and tightened his arms around Merlin’s waist. “I want you to know that I love you.” It felt awkward to say, now, without the beat of tension and fear stabbing at their hearts. The words were made more real, for having been said when they did not need to be.

Merlin hummed with contentment, but said nothing, so Arthur dragged himself out of almost-sleep to prop himself up on an elbow and hover over Merlin so he could look the man in the face. “This is usually the point where one says it back.”

Merlin turned enough to give Arthur an eyebrow. “That’s really not the sort of thing one can demand of another person. Not even magic can make someone fall in love with someone they don't want.”

The irony of the two of them laying beside each other, stark naked and sated, and Merlin saying, don’t want, was not lost on Arthur. He captured Merlin’s lips for a deep, possessive kiss that had Merlin almost moaning all over again. “Yes, but I know you. I know you would not have stayed by my side for as long as you have if there was not a part of you that loved me too. So I want to hear you say it. Your King demands it.”

Merlin’s smile was brilliant. Watching it spread across his face was like coming home. “There’s no pleasing you.” he said, but he pressed his lips against Arthur’s firmly, happily. “Alright. I love you too. With everything I am, not just a small part.”

“Good. You’re my everything, too.”

Notes:

Like I said, huge thanks to VanitySanity, the mods, RandomPerson, and, ofc, everyone who's read this far!

Let me know what your favotite quote or scene was! Let me know your least favotite! Let me hear your voice so I can love you!

Edit: was no one going to tell me I misspelled favorite not once, but twice? Haha omg