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Chapter Text

Of course Uther refused to believe Merlin and of course he had Merlin drink from the goblet he said had been poisoned, as if this exact scenario hadn’t played out before. Arthur remembers a younger, skinnier Merlin drinking from his goblet and choking, he remembers him falling to the floor and the journey he had to go on to find the flower that would save his servant’s life. And now he’s awash with rage, angry at his father, angry at the princess who’d attempted to have his life, though most of all he’s angry at Merlin for drinking it anyway. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten either.

Like a perfect mirror, Merlin fell to the floor and the guards seized the one responsible. Arthur carried him down to the physician's chambers and set him on the nearest cot. He was sweating now, nervous his friend would die. Gaius was quick to work, shoving a small bucket of water and a cloth into Arthur’s hands for him to dab at Merlin’s forehead before scrambling to get his books that could help a diagnosis. Arthur did as he was silently instructed, because he had the chance to help before it all went to shit, he didn’t complain. Merlin didn’t seem to be sick, no, he looked like he was sleeping, this put the prince’s mind at ease. Each reaction to the damp cloth touching his head filled Arthur with hope, and he was right to be hopeful, as Merlin blinked awake and locked eyes with him. Arthur laughed and Gaius shut the book he was holding. Clearly, this was something like a failed attempt on Arthur’s life.
“My dear boy!” Gaius said as he clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “You gave us quite a scare… How are you feeling?” The physician realized Merlin had not broken eye contact with Arthur and seemed to be ignoring him entirely. Arthur didn’t appear to notice, or if he did he didn’t care. Finally, the dark-haired man spoke,
“I know what I drank.”
“What was it?” Arthur and Gaius asked simultaneously.
“A love potion.” Merlin didn’t break from Arthur’s eyes as he said this, and Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to look away.
“Oh, dear…” Gaius sighed and turned to his books, trying to find any information on it. Arthur just felt puzzled.
“So… you’re in love?” He asked, voice laced with sarcasm.
“Deeply.” Merlin replied, the prince grimacing at the response. His servant was messing with him, obviously, he couldn’t fall for a princess, especially Lady Demenra, he hated her with passion. Merlin had made it so clear these past few days.
“With who?”
“The idiot I’m staring at.”
“MERLIN!”

“The potion of Anteros; A concoction invoking love and desire for the first person the drinker first locks eyes with.” Gaius read from one of his many dusty ancient-looking books. Arthur groaned, after about an hour of Merlin insisting this was no jest and rummaging through the texts the physician owned he seemed to really believe it.
“How long is this going to last?” The prince was weary, he couldn’t have Merlin serve him in this state, especially in public. The physician continued his reading.
“Depending on the strength of the potion it could last anywhere from one night to a few months.”
“MONTHS?!” Arthur screeched, sending Merlin into a fit of giggles.
“I’m afraid so, sire. But we still don’t know how powerful it is, Merlin may be back to normal by the end of the week.”
“There must be a cure, an anti-potion, something.” Arthur begged.
“We will look into it, sire, though I don’t recommend betting on it.” The elder man gave Arthur a look of reassurance, trying to let him know this wasn’t the worst-case scenario. The prince appeared to get the message. He looked back at his friend who had been staring him down through the whole interaction. Like he couldn’t get enough, it would have been embarrassing had the man seemed to care.
“Cure…” the raven-haired man whispered, “I can't ever be cured of this.” He spoke as if talking to himself and with a rather ominous tone. Arthur shifted on his heels in discomfort. Merlin seemed off, well, more off than being in love, but he seemed a bit out of it. Stumbling and slurring his speech like a drunk, it was puzzling. However, Gaius soon found that if the potion was mixed with an alcoholic drink it greatly enhanced not only the potion’s effects, but the ale’s as well. So Merlin was dizzyingly drunk. Great. Drunk and head over heels for Arthur, with no shame in saying it either. Arthur was scarlet in the face, the things his friend was saying weren’t dirty, he would have almost preferred that, no, they were endearments. Had it not been for the spell they’d have been confessions.

The physician poured over his books as Arthur attempted to keep Merlin at bay. The man was just so close. Fixing his hair and adjusting his tunic unnecessarily, letting his hands linger as he did so, reciting poetry he apparently knew by heart, (or, the more terrifying thought, he had made it up himself). No matter how hard the prince glared at Gaius he couldn’t seem to will the elder man to find a solution quicker. At last he closed his book, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, but the hope in the blond’s heart vanished as quickly as it had appeared when he saw the expression of sympathy wash over Gaius’s face.
“Sire, I’m afraid you will just have to deal with this.”
“What?!” The prince moaned as he tried to shake off his manservant who had chosen to hold his shoulder and hush him.
“I am certain he will be much better tomorrow, as the ale will be gone from his system, but until then I’m not exactly sure how that may look.”
“Oh, gods…” The prince buried his face in his hands and Merlin returned to his swaying attempts at comforting his prince.
“I’m afraid you may be out of a servant for the time being, sire.” The old man shook his head with pity as he said this, “And I an apprentice…” he added.
Arthur begged Gaius to make some kind of sleeping draft to calm his friend and the physician went to work immediately. Merlin, through all this, was paying no mind to anything around him and thus didn’t complain at the prospect.

Arthur had gotten quite sick of the “I love you”s and the all too fond look in his manservant’s eyes, and he couldn’t bear to hear another little unnoticeable and unimportant intricacy of himself that Merlin not only noticed but now, apparently, fawned over. Gaius pitied him, it was a lot to hear, even for him. Once the sleeping draft was complete the elder man splashed cold water onto his pseudo-son’s face, shocking him enough to clear some of the haze from his eyes. Instantly his demeanor changed, endless apologies for making his prince (Oh yes that’s what he refers to him as now, just fantastic) uncomfortable—promising to never do anything to embarrass him again and other such impossible tasks. Swearing to be as he always was in spite of this curse. Though he didn’t sound ashamed, to Arthur’s dismay, he sounded as though he’d dishonored his lady-in-waiting. It made the prince’s face feel hot, he’d never felt so insulted in all his life, but he couldn’t say anything about it. This wasn’t Merlin’s fault, after all, he couldn’t blame him and his dumb luck and his stupid need to self-sacrifice at any opportunity.

Instead, the blond clenched his teeth and told Merlin to rest for the night, he had to think, and Merlin was too dizzy to walk from the sick cot to his own chambers without stumbling, there was no way he could make it up the stairs without falling, entertaining as that might be. Merlin accepted as Arthur ushered him to his room, though there was a shine in his eyes, like he’d been cheated out of something. It made Arthur shiver.

Alone in his chambers, Arthur didn’t take much care in undressing himself, only shedding the most uncomfortable of his garments and throwing them to the floor. He crumpled into his bed with a groan, punching at his pillows until he deemed them fit and grabbing at his bedding haphazardly. He was hiding under that thick blanket, trying not to think about all the things his friend had told him, trying not to think about what he’d have to do to keep Merlin at bay until the potion finally wore off, trying not to think about just how long that might take. He was exhausted, and he couldn’t sleep. And when midnight came to pass he was still awake and furious, furious Merlin hadn’t seemed at all relieved to be alive, or that neither of them had talked about how he could have killed himself. Arthur was angry at himself for not scolding him, not like it ever helped, but he couldn’t let the sorry sod go on thinking that it was acceptable to throw himself into any available danger just because Arthur was around.

Though he hated to admit it, Merlin had saved his life, many, many, times over. He was guarding him, trying to protect him from sorcerers, bandits, his father, himself, and he’d nearly died for it ten times over. Arthur was angry at the pattern that had been forming, mostly at himself for letting it happen, but Merlin, stumbling idiot Merlin, was some to blame for his recklessness, goodhearted as it may be. Tomorrow he’d head down to Merlin’s chambers and have a talk with him, about their current predicament, but also about his lack of self-preservation. After finding some kind of plan the prince finally fell asleep.

Merlin had no such troubles. He nestled into his bed and fell into a blissful sleep. He dreamt of his Arthur, of their lives together, of the sun in the man’s blond hair. It was the best dream he’d had in years. No screaming or ominous clouds, just his Arthur and him, happy.

Arthur woke to a gentle prodding at his side. It was morning, but it was quiet and the air was damp with the crisp breeze flowing through his open window. Slowly he opened his eyes to a beaming Merlin standing over him.
“Good morning.” The raven-haired man said quietly. Arthur felt like he’d jump out of his skin, immediately he shuffled back and away from his manservant.
“What the hell?!” He hissed, “Did you have to wake me up so creepily, Merlin?” Merlin only chuckled at him before nudging him off the bed and to his changing screen. Arthur didn’t want to admit it, but the gentle wake-up would have been nice if it weren’t for the circumstances.
He glanced around his room, it was spotless. For once it seemed Merlin had taken great care in his cleaning, everything was in its place, the floor was shining, the windows were open, and there were flowers placed around. Fucking flowers. Arthur could feel himself getting tired of it all already, he didn’t want a new Merlin, even if this one did his job. Bossing him around was half the fun.
“I was feeling particularly nice this morning, don’t go expecting this effort all the time.” Merlin said while dressing Arthur, it was like he’d read his mind.
“I shouldn’t expect you to do your job?” Although he said it with an air of annoyance, the grin on his face was obvious. Merlin paused in mock thought before shrugging and shaking his head. Arthur laughed, earning a huge smile from the other. Merlin stared at the blond for a bit before clearing his throat and going through Arthur’s surprisingly light schedule which didn’t appear to begin until midday. As such, Arthur couldn’t reasonably postpone the uncomfortable but needed conversation with him and his servant. He sat on his bed and rubbed at his face, psyching himself up for just how awful this was going to be, Merlin had been eyeing him up like he was his damsel and by the gods if he did that anywhere else the people would talk. And Arthur’s father would hear about it and instead of coming to his son to question him he’d send Merlin away. That just wouldn’t do. Merlin was undeniably his friend, and it wasn’t like the man could help it, it was that damned potion. Just open your stupid gob and get it over with.

“Merlin…” The prince started, quickly embarrassed as Merlin rushed to his side eagerly, “You can’t… Whatever that drink did to you- you can’t act like it.” His servant blinked at him.
“What?” He fluttered his eyelashes at Arthur, the picture of innocence, for once it wasn’t a snide façade. The prince groaned.
“The bloody potion you drank last night!” Is it making him dense as a rock too? He thought, “The love spell?” he mumbled and grimaced. This was just as awkward as he’d pictured. Merlin hummed and looked towards the nearest window, Arthur couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes but he was sure he didn’t like it.
“What do you need me to do?” The raven-haired man asked with a sickly sweet earnesty the prince had long since given up on expecting. It made his jaw drop but he quickly shut it, it was un-princely to gape.
“Just- Just try to act like normal, I don’t know!” The blond managed to stammer out, “Just leave me, I need to think.”
“Yes, Arthur.” Merlin smiled, his gaze lingered on the prince before he picked up his laundry and walked out the door. Arthur groaned and flopped back into his bed. This was going to be a torturous few weeks, days hopefully.

—--------------------------------------------------------

As Arthur had predicted, the next few days were miserable, although in a different way than he’d imagined. Merlin had done his job like usual, though rushed, and let an indignant complaint slip out every now and then. But he was quiet, so uncharacteristically quiet, and absent whenever possible. Trying desperately not to meet Arthur’s eyes, even when addressed. His lips always a thin line as if he’d wished he could sew them shut. He rarely laughed, smiled, reacted, it was unnerving. He didn’t engage with Arthur’s usual jabs or taunts, only giving him a shy eyebrow raise of acknowledgment and scrambling to fix whatever menial mistake he’d made. All his movements hesitant but desperate. He is visibly holding back, like every part of him seems to ache and if Arthur can see it he can only imagine how others might interpret that look.

He’d finally had enough when at lunch his servant had refused to even look at him before setting to work in his chambers.
“Merlin,” Arthur sneered after his manservant had rushed through his chores to leave, “I asked you to act like normal not to,” he gestured at Merlin, waving his arm up and down, “Act like this.” Merlin didn’t meet his eyes, only nodding as he fiddled with the hem of his tunic. Arthur sighed.
“You’ve been acting like a love-struck girl!”
“Sorry.” Merlin murmured.
“Is that all you’re going to say?” The prince scoffed, really, this wasn’t like the man. He always had a smart comment or retort, and he found himself missing them. Then the manservant’s demeanor changed, he smirked and looked up at him through his lashes, straightening his spine and tilting his head to the side, letting some of his neck peek from behind his handkerchief.
“I don’t want to fluster you, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was low and sure, it was almost like a purring, the prince’s breath caught in his throat.
“Merlin!” he gaped, throwing a chair cushion at him. All he got in reply was a low rumbling laugh as Merlin easily dodged the projectile and picked it up.
“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, “I mean I don’t want to embarrass you, I don’t know what to say to you other than things you wouldn’t like. And not the usual banter. It’s just all I can think about. You are all I can think about.” he sighed wistfully. Arthur’s face reddened and Merlin shrugged as if to say, Told ‘ya. The prince grumbled and turned back to his meal and ate it with determination. It was a decent distraction until he noticed Merlin eyeing his mouth and promptly lost his appetite. Yes, Arthur was sick of this. He felt sick, at the least.
“You’re to stop staring at me like that, I can’t have my servant eyeing me up when he serves me dinner!” He shrilled, failing miserably to keep his voice under control. Merlin smiled softly and nodded. Finally, he acted as though remorseful and rubbed at his temples.
“Sorry,” he said again, though with a tone of true regret. “I know this is uncomfortable for you, I promise I’d stop this if I could. It’s just…” He looked at Arthur again and sighed miserably. Arthur felt a harsh pang of sympathy for the man. It’s not his fault. He reminded himself.

After finishing his meal when his appetite had returned, Arthur told Merlin to return after taking off his empty plates. The man did so quickly, giving Arthur little time to find what he needed to say. It was an awkward silence when his servant returned, at least on the prince’s end. Merlin seemed to delight in it, looking Arthur over and listening to him breathe and fidget. Arthur didn’t know how to feel about being… admired. It was so foreign to him. Sure he’d had women fawn over him and leer, but this was… He was being appreciated, it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He wondered, had Merlin been a girl, if he would have liked it. Only now it made him feel anxious. Arthur didn’t enjoy being stared at. At last, he cleared his throat and Merlin’s vision seemed to clear.

“Before I say what I’m about to, remember, I’ll have your head if it ever leaves this room,” He waited for Merlin to nod, which he did immediately, “Right, uhm…” He cleared his throat again, “What can- what can I do to stop- this?” Merlin relaxed his shoulders and smiled with an eternal fondness no human should be capable of. But there he was, in front of Arthur, beaming like the sun itself. He stepped forward and fiddled with his hands in thought, biting his lip, clearly going over what would be acceptable both behind closed doors and outside of them.
“Well,” he mused, “I would be nice if I could talk to you about my thoughts, nothing inane of course, I just meant like, how I feel.” Arthur hated the sound of that but he nodded for his servant to continue.
“And If I could touch you more, like rubbing your back or fixing your hair, nothing to make you uncomfortable. Just friendly touches. Whatever you’re okay with.” He assured, each word laced with a care so deep it would make the ocean a shallow pond in comparison. Arthur shuddered and was sure his face must be scarlet.

“Fine!” he huffed, “Just not in public-never in public!” Arthur chirped. Merlin nodded.
“And quit the gawking, I’m sure people have noticed.” Again, Merlin nodded.
“Of course, my prince.” He hummed. And that was just too much for the prince in question.
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
“Out.”

Chapter Text

When Morgana returns from her trip to a neighboring kingdom in search of a fine seamstress (Gwen and Sir Leon in tow) she learns of Merlin’s poisoning and is right-cross with the king. Yet again he’d treated the servant as though his life was worthless when time and time again he’d proven to be Arthur’s most loyal protector, in his own way. She had strong words for Uther (not that he would listen to her), and Arthur by extension, for not daring to challenge his father further. But, as always, it was Merlin who set her at ease, joking that the poison only made him drunk beyond measure and that its maker was a fool. As always, he cheered her up, along with Gwen, who had scolded him for sacrificing himself so often like the good friend she was.
“You know, Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” Morgana mused, “We ought to go to the tavern sometime. Could be fun.” She snickered as Gwen rolled her eyes and smiled fondly when Merlin exaggerated a shrug like the idea didn’t sound disastrous.
“What am I going to do with you two?” The maidservant doted quietly.

A few days on, the king was sending out more patrols, reports had come in that a gang of bandits had been making big trouble on the edges of Camelot’s lands, and it seems they are getting ever closer to the heart of the kingdom. Although he had been present with the rest of the council for these orders, not once was Arthur assigned to a single patrol party. Which surprised him before it hit his ego, why wouldn’t Uther have him lead a party? It was part of his own duties, and it wasn’t like he had never done so before. And over the days Arthur grew bitter about it.
After yet another meeting, the prince was fuming behind his chamber doors. Rambling on and on about how he has long since earned the right to protect his people and has before, and how ridiculous his father was being. Merlin listened intently, clearly amused by this, as he pretended to clean (he’d already tidied the room that morning, so there was nothing for him to really do in actuality). After nearly half an hour of droning on, the prince went quiet, crossed his arms, and stared blankly. His face was scrunched up, clearly lost in thought, and Merlin took the sight in. One half of him, the half of him he was before he’d drank the love-potion, was just itching to tease his prince for thinking too loud, but the other half, the one that was winning, was content to just sit and stare. Content to enjoy the sight of his prince straining to find a way to get what he wanted. And when the blond’s vision cleared, it seemed he’d resolved to get his place on the next patrol. Merlin sighed, a prickly wiseness skating across the sound, he was worried what would happen to his prince, he knew he’d fare well no matter what, but that damned drink was making all his worries so unbearably loud. He gazed longingly at Arthur, but the man had made up his mind. One little warning, it might not do anything, but it’s all he had the power to do at the moment.
“Don’t.” The dark-haired man said while turning to Arthur’s wardrobe to re-organize it (again).
“What?” The blond balked.
“You aren’t in that party for a reason, Arthur, don’t go begging your father for a fight you can’t know you’ll win. He hasn’t invited you.” He said over his shoulder in a tone far too relaxed for anyone other than him to be using with the prince.
“Excuse me?” Arthur laughed dryly, offended at his audacity.
“I don’t think I could be any clearer, my Lord.” His servant replied, again without looking at him, clearly more interested in the clothes he was rearranging. At least it seemed that way to Arthur. Who only scoffed in retort. He was going to ask his father anyway, even if it had to be behind Merlin’s back. But why would he even feel like this was something worth hiding? And why hide anything from Merlin? He was a servant, his servant, but a servant all the same, Arthur didn’t have to listen to him. For once, Arthur drops it, changing topics to the new batch of knights. Merlin doesn’t hesitate to follow and agrees with him that they are abysmal, even though Arthur isn’t half bad a teacher. And it shouldn’t, but it does make Arthur blush.

Arthur felt like a kid again, sneaking cookies from the kitchen and trying not to get caught by the cook. He was hiding from Merlin, his manservant, because the man had told him not to speak with his own father. This was already tiringly ridiculous. At last he found a servant of his father’s and asked to see him. Dutifully he was led to the king, who at that moment was going over treaties that needed amending.
“Father,” Arthur greeted, nodding his head in a slight bow, “May I speak with you?”
“Mhm.” The king replied, not looking up from his paperwork.
“I-” Arthur cleared his throat and steeled himself, “I would like to join the patrols searching for the bandits. I feel useless watching them go out and return with scant news.”
Uther’s eyes snapped up at him, and all the prince’s hopes bled away, that all-too-familiar look of disappointment and frustration twisting daggers in his gut. The king stood and trailed around his desk, crossing his arms and scowling.
“You will not be going, Arthur. Had I thought you useful, you’d have already been sent out.” Arthur grimaced, why was his father acting like this?
“Father, I have a duty to protect my people! How am I meant to become king if I am coddled like this?”
“Watch your tone! You are not being protected, boy, you are simply not ready.” What?
“How am I not ready for this? I have fought far worse battles than a gang of bandits, I’ve killed great beasts and saved this kingdom more times than I can count!” Arthur was exasperated.
“Enough, Arthur! Another word and I’ll throw you in the dungeons, son or no, leave at once.” Arthur let a breath hiss through his teeth and bit his tongue, spinning on his heels and marching out of the chamber walls.
The prince sulked as he marched through the castle halls, he was made to feel like a boy again, he’d snuck away from his manservant to get what he wanted and was berated and embarrassed by his father after doing so. Had he not proven himself time and time again? That he could handle dangerous situations and was level headed on the battlefield? That he knew when to negotiate and when to defend? That he was fit to lead a party hunting down a simple (albeit large) gang of bandits?
“I take it things didn’t go too well?” Merlin’s voice cut through his thoughts and made him jump.
“Merlin!” the man snickered as he dodged the prince’s strike, “What the hell are you doing creeping around like that?” Arthur hissed, Merlin snickered again, but didn’t otherwise respond. Arthur marched forward and around the man, he didn’t like the feeling of those piercing blue eyes scanning him for… something, Arthur didn’t know what, but he was sure he didn’t like it.
“If you’re going to say ‘I told you so’, get on with it!” He jabbed, Merlin only hummed and fell in step with him,
“Not this time, my prince.” Trying and failing to conceal it, Arthur shivered at the title. It was too much like Gwen’s affectionate term for Morgana, ‘My Lady’. But he kept his mouth shut, it was a formal title, one (although Arthur would have preferred the ‘my’ to be left out) Merlin should have been using anyway. If he were proper, anyway, but he wasn’t, and he hated to admit it but it was something Arthur appreciated. He didn’t like to feel as if others were beneath him, that he was somehow special simply because of his blood. For Merlin of all people, to address him that way… But the slight distraction did not win against the shame he’d been made to feel by his father. It was curious, his sudden change in faith for his son, but it only made Arthur search within himself for the answer, because a child does not steadfastly believe his father to be confused or wrong, no no, they have all the answers, always. So maybe he was still a bit immature, childish even, but it wasn’t a sudden development. Something else about himself had changed noticeably, something the king had seen and skewed his view of him.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with father lately,” he huffed out after a long silence, “He’s been…” Arthur waved his hands lazily in the air, “Treating me like a helpless child, I don’t know what’s come over him.” He marched onward, his servant at his side.
“I’ve noticed,”
“Have you now?” Arthur scoffed. Merlin nodded without snarking back.
“I think he’s worried for you, in his own way, I can’t say I agree with how he’s handling it, but, it must be something like that.” The raven-haired man’s voice was low and sure and oh-so gentle. It was infuriating. But he didn’t need the love potion to force his hand and express that odd demeanor, Arthur had been graced with it several times, and ashamedly, inwardly, he admitted it did soothe him, however slightly.
“Merlin, if I didn’t know better I’d say that’s almost wise.” He chided to ease his own growing tensions. His servant habitually smirked and rolled his eyes.
“Who, me?” Merlin fluttered his eyelashes at him and cocked his head to the side dramatically.
“No, of course not.” Arthur said with obvious insincerity, rolling his eyes and trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Then, it happened. The air between the two seemed to shift, thickening and tense, and the prince saw where his manservant’s eyes had wandered. His own lips. There was a clouded look in Merlin’s obscenely blue eyes that had the prince stopped dead in his tracks, he was clearly… fantasizing. It was bare for the world to see and Arthur shivered for it, clearing his throat and seemingly the man’s mind. Merlin collected himself in an instant, smoothing his hair back unsteadily and turning his face away from Arthurs before continuing their path.
“You have training soon, I already have your practice armor setup, would you like to get dressed now?” There goes that conversation, really- had Merlin not paid attention to Arthur’s orders?
“Fine.” the prince huffed, glad the strange mood of Merlin’s had lifted. Still, his heart panged about how belittled he had been at the words of the king. At least knocking his knights around would distract him, and although instructing the new recruits was not something he was looking forward to, it was better than dwelling on whatever this was.
Merlin dressed his prince (who tried his best not to cringe at how Merlin’s hands seemed to linger) and was dismissed, he didn’t have any reason to stick around waiting for training like Arthur did, and given his current… condition, Arthur wasn’t especially keen on spending time with him after getting embarrassed by his father. So, he made his way to Morgana’s chambers, hoping to catch his friend leaving. Gwen grinned at him as she left her lady’s rooms with a basket of laundry on her hip, finishing her conversation with Morgana as she closed the door. Merlin sighed through his smile, happy his friend was lucky enough to have the companionship with her mistress as Merlin wished he could have with his master. But alas, he was not able to fall so easily into bonds the way women were, their ability to be freely tender and close. He would be a liar not to admit he was a bit jealous, but he was more happy for his friend than envious. Gwen deserved the world, after all.
“Well aren’t you in a good mood, Merlin,” Gwen grinned, “Get out of something I take it?”
“Something like that,” Merlin laughed softly, “Not for long, though.” His friend sighed and her eyebrows pinched in the middle ever-so-slightly.
“You really did scare me, hearing you drank that poison,” She shook her head. “But you seem back to your normal self. Do you feel alright? Truly?” Gwen shifted her footing and moved the basket to better sit on her hip, tilting her head to the side while looking at Merlin. He smiled.
“Better than that.”

Arthur beat his knights senseless, belatedly covering for his brutality as ‘realism’, “Your enemies will not show mercy on the battlefield, I expect you to do the same.” It was a bit unfair, but even the most arrogant among them seemed to straighten out their attitudes. So his rather emotional battling did not go without its benefits. It felt good, fighting like an animal. His father was wrong that he was too weak. He was no longer a boy. He was no longer a boy. He was no longer a boy. Repeated in his mind as he jabbed and threw his soldiers. The clang of metal and grunts of men tired and slightly panicked rang in his ears like a joyous song, he was no longer a boy. Resounded, the words in his mind, and he finally freed himself of that doubt that snaked into him that late morning. The sweat and dirt and scrapes and bruises were loud and real and raw. His father was wrong about him, he was in some mood or something other, that was all. Because Arthur was strong, and that was certain. By the Gods it was certain.
When training came to a close, Arthur was elated, breathless sure, bruised, of course, but damn if he wasn’t on air. He laughed as Gwaine remarked on how ruthless he was to ‘those poor babes and their useless sticks’ and clapped his first knight Leon on the shoulder for keeping up with him. Merlin seemed pleased with him as he helped him out of his armor, usually Arthur’s bragging earned him a snarky comment but now Merlin seemed overjoyed. It almost soured the moment, almost, but the prince could see his ‘accomplishments’ were not the thing his friend was smiling over. He didn’t fail to notice Merlin’s hands lingering as they did before either.

Merlin’s face twinged as he looked over Arthur’s minor scrapes and bruises, but only in annoyance. Still, it was more obvious care than he’d shown to the prince before and it made him shift uncomfortably.

“Don’t think my good mood is getting you out of your chores, Merlin,” the prince sneered to break the silence and ease his discomfort. Merlin rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sire.” He scoffed as he picked up Arthur’s armor and shuffled off to begin cleaning it, the prince smiling subtly in his wake.

A servant of the king stepped timidly into the armory and murmured something to Merlin, bowing politely to Arthur and whispering ‘my Lord’ before quickly leaving. Merlin, in such stark contrast anyone unfamiliar would startle, explained loudly over his shoulder that Arthur would be joining his father for dinner that night. The prince grimaced and his good mood soured.

“Great, he intends to insult me further.” he grumbled. Merlin turned his head sharply to Arthur and studied him fiercely, care shining in his eyes. Arthur still wasn’t used to it, it had only been a few days of Merlin’s… affliction after all, it was still an intensity the prince would have to adjust to. After a moment of searching for… whatever it was, it seemed he didn’t find it and Merlin just huffed at him before returning to his work. The blond cleared his throat awkwardly and left his servant to it.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his clothes as Merlin dressed him for his dinner, they were not given many details, as to who would be there, or if this was some ‘family’ matter, neither were sure. So Arthur went with a semi-formal outfit, to be safe. It was odd, his father being so apprehensive about giving simple details such as the purpose of this dinner. Arthur tried not to dwell on it.

Merlin preened him far longer than he would have before and Arthur found he wasn’t as irritated as he should be. He was distracted by the idea of spending dinner with his father, that’s all, yes- under any other circumstances he’d bat Merlin away, he assured himself. But then Merlin started touching his hair. He’d deny it to his death bed, but Arthur leaned into the touch and enjoyed it. It was gentle and sure. Something he’d never had the chance of experiencing. Perhaps a maid had combed his hair when he was a boy, but that had some maternal air about it, along with the cold sense that it was only a job. But this? This was pure affection. And Arthur found himself to be starved of it.

“It should be time, Arthur.” the dark-haired man mused softly, stepping back so Arthur had a clear path to the door. Quickly the prince snapped to his senses and cleared his throat.
“Right,” he said gruffly, “Let’s get this over with then.” and marched out of his rooms and toward the dining hall, his manservant in tow.

He had mastered false bravado long ago, it was a skill required of every noble, to never show cracks at the seams, to never appear to the public with unease, but something about speaking with his father always made such skills fall flat. Then there was Merlin, who strode proudly beside him, grinning in a way most might see as prim, but Arthur knew better. This was an act his friend had to learn as well. Never look bothered at the side of your master, or to them in any way. But under all the useless stuffy noble expectations, he saw that Merlin had an easy confidence at the prince’s side, like it was simply what he was meant to do. Beyond the duties of a job. It was comforting. To see it so plainly. And Arthur found himself relaxed, even if only slightly. As they entered the dining room, guards holding the doors, Merlin quickly went to pull out Arthur’s chair and begin pouring wine. The prince studied his father as he sat and did not fail to notice his sister grinning smugly at him from across the table. The king’s stare was stern, but nothing out of character for him, Arthur had decided a long time ago that his father’s face was just like that. And under it, he couldn’t see any remaining disappointment, rather there was something near fond about his eyes. The prince swallowed and nodded his thanks as Merlin poured his wine and stepped past the king and towards Morgana who'd taken to holding out her goblet with a playful expectancy.

“It is not often I change my mind, Arthur,” the king began, and the prince stifled the chuckle his sister's jump at the sudden proclamation incited, “However, I think it should be fitting you are on tomorrow morning's hunt for the groups causing us trouble.” Merlin stiffened behind Morgana and bit his lip, clutching on to the pitcher he was holding in attempt to hold himself together. Arthur didn’t notice, he was staring at his father, happily surprised.

“I am grateful, truely, but what changed your mind, father?” He tried to ask casually. The king nodded his head and took a tentative bite of the food before him.

“I caught a glimpse of training today, you are very dedicated to bringing Camelot's best to her standards.” He inclined after swallowing. Arthur smiled proudly and dove into his meal. His eyes flicked up to Morgana and saw worry written all over it, Aww, worried about me, Sister Dear? He thought snarkily and tried to somehow convince her of his thoughts with only his eyes. But Morgana wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at his servant, whispering something to him as he pressed his lips into a tight and incredibly forced smile. Arthur shrugged and continued enjoying his meal. He’d get to end those loathsome wildmen’s torment of his people tomorrow, as such he needed to be well fed.

As soon as they’d all finished eating, and Morgana had finished her tale of the seamstress she’d managed to acquire and her certain interest in Arthur’s First Knight, Leon, the royals dispersed and headed to their own chambers. The walk there was silent between Arthur and his servant, who’d elected to keep that same tight smile from before plastered across his face. As soon as they’d entered Arthur’s chambers Merlin’s face dropped into a deadly scowl. He didn’t even look at Arthur but the prince shrank away at the sight. There was something raw about that look, something deeper than the potion’s wiles. Arthur had known for some time that Merlin did care deeply about him, they’d laid down their lives for the other more than once, but it still felt new to the prince, even after all these years.

Merlin turned down the bed and disrobed Arthur silently, shaking his head every now and then. Arthur didn’t pry, he had a suspicion it would sully the elation of getting what he wanted and impressing his father. His manservant’s qualms with that could wait.

Breakfast was quiet. Arthur ate quickly and dressed, Merlin helping him into his armor. The two were contemplating what the day's journey had in store, the latter was jittery and frustrated, making the blond uneasy.
“This isn’t going to be any different than what we’ve faced before, Merlin. You don’t have to be so… panicky.” The prince’s tone was light, but the face he received made it fall flat.
“And how could you know that?”
“In the reports back, which I was present for, nothing was out of the ordinary other than their gathering. Besides, it’s not like you have to come, you’d just be cowering in the bushes anyway.” The words had barely made it past his lips when Arthur knew he’d made a mistake.
“I am not scared for myself, Arthur.” Merlin hissed, staring cold-blue daggers into his prince.
“You’re acting like a girl. I’ll be fine.” Arthur chided, a bit annoyed.
“Oh- I’m sure,” Merlin seethed, “And if you’re stabbed? If you’re hit with a poisoned arrow? Who would be there to heal you and haul your ungrateful ass back to Camelot?” he stalked around the prince, tightening his armor and handing him his sword.
“Merlin, that's enough.” Arthur warned, snatching his weapon and placing it at his hip. His manservant let out a shaky huff and ran a trembling hand through his hair.
“Sorry.” Merlin whispered, turning away to collect Arthur’s pack. Oh.
“I thought love potions were meant to make you act pleasant.” Arthur mused, remembering his friend’s circumstances and trying to ease the tension.
“I think they make things… intense?” Merlin wondered, “It’s certainly exhausting.”
“Well unfortunately you’re going to have to keep it up, we may be out there a few days if we find signs of an encampment.” Merlin whined and held the door open for Arthur.
“Just try not to be so obvious.” Arthur hissed into Merlin’s ear as he walked out of his room and the feelinging of his breath skating across Merlin’s ear dazed him just enough to keep him happy until they reached the courtyard.

He’d considered throwing the whole trip off, but Arthur was desperate for his father’s approval and he couldn’t take that from him. They had to find the bandits and they had to take them down. There was no way around it. Just like always…

The prince was unarguably a great tracker, something he bragged about enough to make Merlin doubt it but, unfortunately for him, it was true. Not two hours into the knight’s journey did Arthur find tracks of a large group heading northeast of Camelot’s forests. They were set for a town by the looks of it, so they followed the trail. Arthur noted how lazily they’d tried to cover their tracks, and Merlin grimaced at their stupidity, not that he wanted a group of dangerous bandits to wisen up- but the potion had made him more selfish, made him forget his purpose. The kingdom needed to be rid of them one way or another, no matter how dangerous it would be for his prince. After an hour of following the trail it became erratic, scattered, looping around on themselves and doubling back. If only Arthur and Merlin could have realized sooner that they had been noticed in their following.

Just as Merlin connected the dots an arrow rushed past his head, missing him by centimeters. His horse reared and he shouted a warning to Arthur as he tried to calm her. A group of no less than fifteen men had the patrol surrounded. They had numbers against them and the element of surprise but they were no match for the knight’s superior training and reflexes. Everyone dismounted and set to work. Most were quickly dispatched, however in the clamor Arthur had been cornered by three men, and they overwhelmed him. Merlin shouted for Arthur to look out but it was too late, one of the bandits had managed to stab him in the shoulder and another bludgeoned him over the head, knocking him unconscious. Merlin dashed to his prince, slithering between the men easily before tripping them with a subtle spell. Merlin acted quickly and twisted a dagger out of the third bandit’s grasp, stabbing him through the throat and quickly slashing at the other two before they were taken care of by the other knights. He panted and glowered at the bodies as he hoisted Arthur up and dragged him to the horses, silently the other knights helped him mount Arthur on his horse before he got on himself, snaking an arm around his prince’s waist to hold him steady and urging his steed back to Camelot.

Merlin kicked the doors of the physician’s chambers open and hauled Arthur to the nearest sick-cot.
“Gaius! I need fresh bandages and cloths, warm water, and a needle and thread! Now!” Merlin barked at the elder physician. Gaius was slightly appalled by his apprentice’s behavior but chose to comment on it after healing the apparently stabbed prince.

Only four hours had passed since Arthur’s return when he woke up, pain searing in his left shoulder and head, vision blurry from tears, mouth dry. His memory of what happened slowly returned to him as he blinked.
“Merlin?” He rasped after the sounds of soft footfalls came to his attention.
“We had to wait for you to wake up to help with that, you need to drink the remedy,” Merlin said gently, gingerly handing the prince a small vial with an amber liquid in it. As Arthur sits up and drinks it Merlin sighs in relief and begins to dab at a gash above the prince’s left ear with a damp cloth.
“Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?” Arthur sputtered, trying not to wince at the medicine’s foul taste.
“Not really the time.” Merlin says quietly, clearly more fixated on the wound he’s so delicately cleaning,
“You wouldn’t have hesitated before.” Arthur remarks, curious.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t have.” Merlin hums. A contemplative pause.
“So this potion thing really is making you feel… that way..?” Arthur cringes, now he can’t deny it. He can’t deny just how powerful the damned drink was, or how miserable it is sure to be making his friend feel.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” Arthur sighs and leans down to rest again, “It’s odd what’s different and what’s the same.” Merlin tilted his head to the side and started to rinse the cloth free of blood.
“How do you mean?”
“I would have thought the potion would make you more strange than it has.” Arthur said groggily, surprised by how tired he suddenly was. Merlin seemed to notice his alarm and assured him right away that the remedy would make him drowsy so he needn’t worry.
“See, you would have still done that before.”
“I am a physician’s apprentice, bedside manner is part of the deal.” Merlin reminded him as he shook his head.
“I know you didn’t learn that from Gaius.” Arthur drawled, smirking at his friend, no way in hell Gaius had given advice on how to soothe Arthur or any patient for that matter, the man was adept at stern silences and The Brow of accusations only.
“He’s shown me how not to do it, by example of course.” Merlin grinned as he stood to collect some clean water.

“Arthur.” The king announced himself to his son sternly, an uneasy and unnatural smile plastered on his face.
“Father.” The prince replied warmly, though a twinge of anxiety and shame sang through it. The king turned his gaze to Merlin, expectant.
“Arthur was stabbed in his shoulder but should heal quickly, I expect him to recover within the next week or so, my Lord.” Merlin said with a reassuring formality.
“Good. Arthur, though I am glad you managed to find the group of bandits I am thoroughly disappointed you were gotten the better of. I should have known better than to go back on my decision.”
“I’m sorry, father…” Arthur replied sheepishly.
“Rest well son, you are relieved of your duties until next week.”
“Yes, father.” When will it ever be enough?
After the king left Arthur heard the distinct sound of a wooden spoon snapping and turned to see a look of murder washed over Merlin’s face.
“Your son could have died and you come in here to scold him- how kind.” The servant hissed under his breath, staring daggers at the door the king had just walked through. Arthur decided not to comment on Merlin’s rather treasonous reaction, it wasn’t all that unjustified at the least. Some small secret part of the prince was happy to have someone care for him enough to feel anger at those who would hurt his pride.

The rising sun peeked through the canopy of the prince’s bed and warmed his face. It was a nice wake up, at least it would have been, had his shoulder not been killing him. His senses came slowly, only becoming vaguely aware of what was happening in his room, a shuffling nearby piqued his attention; Merlin was on time. Because of course he was. Arthur was embarrassed enough as is, and now Merlin was tending to him. He’s failed his mission, been stabbed, and now his infatuated servant was delicately undressing and dressing his wounds. Though, as soon as Merlin began rubbing a pain salve onto his back surrounding the dressed wound Arthur felt immense relief.
“That… it’s never worked that quickly before.” He remarked. Merlin chuckled softly to himself.
“I changed the recipe a bit, to make sure it was faster.” he explained.
“About time,” Arthur nodded, “...Thank you, Merlin.” he added clumsily. Merlin let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched dramatically at his chest.
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Arthur?” He teased grinning ear to ear before taking the bundle of used bandage and supplies and setting them by the door to take back later. The prince rolled his eyes and eased back down into bed.
“The real Arthur is out killing those bandits.” Arthur felt rather bitter about the whole ordeal, he felt his opportunity to get his father’s approval was snatched from his grasp. The king seldom smiled, and the few times Arthur remembered he had, it was almost never directed at him. Nothing was good enough.

“They won’t be giving us anymore trouble, Arthur.” Merlin said softly while folding and putting away the prince’s fresh laundry.
“And just how, exactly, are you sure of that?”
“Just a feeling…” Merlin shrugged. Arthur hated how vague the man could be, even deceptively wise at times, it drove him mad.
“Right.”

After a hearty breakfast Arthur began to contemplate what the past few days had held. And a bit of guilt crept through; Merlin had warned him, told him not to ask for a place in the mission, and he’d done it anyway. And now he was stuck in his room, with nothing to do but think. He remembered the look on Merlin’s face before he’d lost consciousness, the terror was evident, and it had been intense. He knew that Merlin cared about him, he’d proven it time and time again these past years, but Arthur realized how much deeper it must go, especially with the spell’s grip on him. Gods, that must have shook him to the soul.

“Merlin,” he started uneasily.
“Yes, Arthur?” he answered, voice warm and so unnecessarily kittenish. Arthur cleared his throat to calm himself, still adjusting to the man’s overall… “mood”.
“About yesterday,” he steeled himself, “I should have listened… to you.”
Merlin only tilted his head at him, pleasantly intrigued.
“I wanted to uh, to say I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Arthur.” Merlin said easily, smile so tender and warm Arthur felt unworthy. Only a small part was put off by Merlin seemingly not even wanting the apology. The prince huffed and dismissed his manservant after he’d finished dusting. Needed to “think” and come up with a game plan for his revenge. Reasoning as well that Gaius probably had chores for Merlin to catch up on, he was his apprentice after all. Merlin didn’t voice any complaints but the longing look he gave Arthur before leaving his chambers was intense to say the least. He looked like a kicked puppy and Arthur was so disarmed by it he nearly told him to stay.

When Merlin reached the physician’s chambers he found them empty and figured Gaius was out collecting herbs and orders. Only somewhat intent on cleaning the space he grabbed a broom and began to sweep, his mind quickly wandering back to Arthur, like always, though this time without the misery. Distantly, Merlin knew this peace would end, that he’d go back to his painful worrying and longing, but that was later. Now he felt so at ease, so filled with warmth, just to be in love was enough, more than that. He felt more tranquil than ever before.

Arthur’s week of rest had gone by smoothly, his wound healing well, its pain vanishing within the first day and its appearance improving seemingly by the hour. Merlin was proving himself a more than capable physician, though, when Arthur said as much Merlin had told him there was so much he still didn’t know. Arthur rolled his eyes hard at that- it was always a gamble whether Merlin would be bashful or smug and Arthur could never place what would incite either reaction.

After some begging (and reassurance from Gaius and Merlin both) Arthur was allowed to resume training with his knights, with the stipulation that Merlin watched over him to make sure he would not over exert himself and set back his healing. He’d begrudgingly agreed, sighing internally as he imagined Merlin stopping him for daring to even lift a sword. He felt lucky (and a bit shocked) that he was wrong. Merlin hadn’t told him to stop once, he was simply watching him like a hawk, and even then that wasn’t really out of the ordinary. The only real difference now being that he was not distracted by sharpening swords or cleaning armor or whatever petty task Arthur usually assigned him.
The prince felt as though his knights were going easy on him before realizing the only ones to do so had been there when he’d been stabbed. He groaned and fought harder, trying to force the others not to ease up on him, and it worked. Elyan landed a decent hit on the prince though, as soon as he had, he winced and backed up and looked nervously at Merlin. This intrigued Arthur, and when he was nearly struck again, this time by Percival, the man did the same thing. In fact, all of them had been nervously glancing back to Merlin each time they even came close to their prince. Finally he’d had enough and signaled for them to stop.

“What are you all doing?” he asked in exasperation. His knights shuffled on their feet and glanced amongst themselves as if deciding who would speak, still flicking their gaze back to the servant, who now was sharpening one of the prince’s swords, from time to time. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently.

“Well?” he urged. Leon cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Sire, it’s just…” he frowned slightly and scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed flush creeping up it, “After what happened last week, with Merlin doing… Well, that, its just- I feel- We feel a bit odd about him watching so close.” the knight stammered uncharacteristically. Usually he was brave and unashamed, but now he seemed afraid and of Merlin of all people.

“... and Merlin did what exactly that has you all so uncomfortable?” He chided, only to be met with looks of shock.
“You- you don’t know what he did?” Gwaine balked, Elyan and Percival shared a knowing look and eyed the prince before silently agreeing upon whatever it was they’d been thinking.
“Sire, he…” Leon began to explain, “He killed the three that attacked you…”
“With their own weapons-” Percival continued, frowning slightly at the memory.
“All while holding you.” Gwaine finished for them, sounding almost pleased to deliver the fact to the prince.
“You’re telling me Merlin, my idiot manservant, killed three men while supporting my weight?” his knights nodded dumbly.
“Merlin?” he asked again.
“Yes, sire.” Leon answered unhelpfully.
“Merlin?” the prince asked again.
“Yes, sire.” Elyan reassured him.
“I’m honestly surprised he didn’t tell you! Anyway, it's strange he’s acting like it didn’t even happen.” Gwaine mused, breaking the strange silence that had fallen over the group.
“I really don’t believe you.”
“Ask him yourself, sire.” Gwaine shrugged.
“Oh fine,” the prince sighed dramatically, “Merlin!” the raven-haired man set down the weapon and walked over to his prince.
“Hmm?” he hummed curiously, not missing the glances his friends were sharing.
“Did you…” Arthur hesitated and looked awkwardly at Leon and Elyan at the truly strange question he was about to ask, “Kill someone when we were attacked?” just saying it felt wrong, but what felt even worse was seeing the guilty expression on Merlin’s face.
“...Yes.”

Chapter Text

Arthur was sick of it. It had been a week since he’d healed, and Merlin had grown bolder with his affections. Yes, Arthur was sick of it. Sick of the flowers, of the longing stares, of the genuine compliments, of the new tone to their usual banter, of the constant and tender touches, and he was especially sick of how it made him feel, because he knew that could lead nowhere good in the end. Though, what made him feel worst of all was the knowledge that this was only temporary, Merlin would be back to normal at some point, and though Arthur would have honestly preferred later rather than sooner, he didn’t let himself get his hopes up. It was funny, never had a woman made him feel like this, and only now did he realize how much he needed it. He was starved of affection his whole life, and Merlin’s continuous and frequent proclamations were not helping him keep a damper on his feelings. It was a bit too much.

“You are lucky things have turned out this way, sire.” The court physician murmured after Arthur nagged him once again about the man’s newfound habits.
“How is Merlin being in love with me lucky?” He balked.
“You are lucky he is powerful enough to not be overtaken by the spell.”
“And just what does that mean?” He scowled, the faintest flicker of panic showed in Gaius’ face, had Arthur not been staring at him he would have missed it.
“Well… normally one who had drunk the potion would be completely overcome with desire, to the point they cannot control themselves or their actions, even if it means harming the one they are after,” Arthur nodded for him to continue, “You are lucky Merlin isn’t just taking what he wants, he is keen on your safety and happiness rather than his own… Desires.” Arthur grimaced and shut his eyes tight. Having this conversation with anyone would be miserable but something about the grandfatherly presence Gaius carried made it so much worse.
“Although I do worry what he may do if he feels you are threatened somehow.” The thought of what he’d done to the bandits that could have surprised his own knights came to the prince’s mind and he, too, began to worry for his friend, thinking that sooner or later Merlin would bite off more than he could chew and get himself killed. The prince rolled his eyes at how, even though it may be amplified now, Merlin’s need to throw himself into any danger that might be in Arthur’s path was nothing new. He dragged a hand down his weary face and mumbled for the physician to look into a cure further. Merlin would surely get himself killed faster if this was how things were playing out. Gaius nodded curtly and took his leave after muttering something about checking on a few patients. Arthur, alone with his thoughts in the physician’s chambers, wondered just how much longer he could stand it all, and if he ought to have someone keep a leash on his incautious manservant whenever he was unavailable.

After what couldn’t have been more than an hour, Arthur realized he was waiting. For Merlin. The idiot that probably tripped in the woods and fell into a ditch or somehow got lost after looking for some fairytale of a plant that Gaius made up to get him out of the castle and away from Arthur. That Merlin had Arthur waiting obediently. Like a dog. A twinge of disgust traveled up Arthur’s spine and made him shake, he was the prince, it should be Merlin waiting at his beck and call, not the other way around. On principle Arthur grew furious that Merlin was wasting so much time when he really ought to be serving him, it didn’t matter that Arthur had a few free hours, if he hadn’t then where would he be? Stuck suffering the bore that is George and his jokes about brass.
Arthur was sat at the bench Merlin and Gaius ate at every morning, chin propped up in one of his hands and legs crossed, pouting. Because his servant was doing his second job and had left him all alone in his boredom. The quiet really was no fun and the prince relished the idea of tormenting Merlin when he returned for making him wait like this.
Two minutes into his plotting the door to the physician’s chambers swung open and Merlin came trodding in with a basket overflowing with herbs and flowers.

“Arthur?” He said in surprise, “You’re still here?”
The prince stood quickly and fumbled his way over his servant, ready to nag him about taking so long and wasting his time but he stopped short as he looked at the grin on the man’s face.
“These are for you.” Merlin said softly before handing his prince a handful of flowers, red foxglove and wild lilies. Arthur stood there looking at the small bouquet and all he’d planned to say fell flat. Red, the Pendragon’s color. Finding exclusively red flowers just for him, probably what took the man so long.
“Ahh,” he started, embarrassed at how long he’d stood there slack jawed, “Right. Uh, thanks.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any less.” This spell was going to be the death of him.
“Yes I’m sweet aren’t I?” Merlin teased, walking past his prince and starting his preparation of the herbs he’d collected.
“Pssh, yeah, sure,” Arthur grumbled, “What guy wouldn’t want flowers?” He continued sarcastically. I mean really, flowers are a woman’s gift.
“You love them, don’t lie.” Merlin taunted half heartedly over his shoulder, tentatively stripping the plants of their thorns and cutting the leaves and placing them in their respective pile.
“Merlin, don’t push it.” The prince said through gritted teeth. His friend turned his head towards him and smiled an apology, he rolled his eyes in return.

After a rather lengthy and frustrating conversation about how despite the passage of time, the little knowledge Merlin and Gaius had on the potion did not miraculously reveal some new secret cure, Arthur asked what the curse has him want to do and Merlin simply states he wants to love him. The prince had to take a moment and not throttle the man right then and there, it was a damn love spell, of course he wants to love him.
“I understand that part, moron, I’m asking what it means.” Merlin’s only response was a raised eyebrow.
“The symptoms, you dolt.” Arthur spat out. Merlin laughed.
“I doubt you’d like to know, if what little I have said to you is anything to go by.” his servant said sarcastically as he turned back to his herb prep. The prince rolled his eyes.
“The symptoms, Merlin.” The dark-haired man stilled his work, gazed above as if in disbelief and sighed. Arthur was not expecting the look he received when Merlin turned around.
His demeanor shifted to one of a slinky ease, relaxed but prepared for only the gods know what and eyes burning with want. A low hum rolled from Merlin’s throat.
“I think you can figure that out for yourself, Arthur.” He purred, looking at his prince through his lashes and smirking slightly. The prince felt his heart jump and a flush creep over him.
“We’re both men!” He finally stammered out.
“I could show you how it works then.” Merlin teased immediately, voice low and sultry, he took a sure step towards Arthur, arms crossed over his chest. Merlin shifted his weight to one side and tilted his head, silently asking the prince ‘Well? Aren’t you going to say something?’
“You’re bluffing.”
“Oh, Arthur, I’m not-”
“You’re bluffing, Merlin.” Ah it was an order, not a question. Merlin shrugged and stepped back, raising his hands in mock-surrender, smirking as he turned on his heels and started to put away the herbs he’d prepared. Arthur could honestly strangle him right there, make him feel as he did. Like all the air had been stolen from his lungs.
He’d never taken Merlin of all people for a flirt, but he supposed he’d never paid attention to that side of him. Although, there was no telling how much of his behavior was the potion and how much was his natural charm. The prince groaned and massaged his temples. Why me? Merlin chuckled softly, seeming to enjoy his misery.

Arthur had to fight for sleep that night. He spent hours tossing and turning, plagued by just what exactly Merlin had been so keen to teach him. And Arthur realized he hadn’t a clue as to how men would lay with each other, wondering if it was even possible at all. And why did Merlin sound like he was speaking from experience. No matter how troubling and curious it all was, the prince couldn’t stay awake forever, and eventually, sleep overtook him.

Arthur felt his manservant’s breath skating over his neck and shivered. Those deep oceans of eyes staring at him hungrily through dark lashes, lips tantalizingly close and parted slightly.
“Well… aren’t you going to say something?” He murmured, voice sickly sweet and soft. He was a devastating sight, and Arthur could feel his legs quake against his will.
“I…” was all Arthur could manage before a helpless whine escaped his lips. Merlin only laughed and shook his head before tilting Arthur’s jaw to align with his. He placed a quick peck on Arthur’s lips, an eliciting whine and quickening breath all the encouragement needed to begin devouring him. The prince’s heart pounded in his chest as Merlin demolished his pride, will, and strength with only his tongue and plump wet lips. Arthur moaned into his mouth and ground himself against the thigh Merlin had placed decisively between his legs.

With a throaty groan Arthur’s body quivered and his eyes shot open. His hands were fisted in the sheets and his back had arched against his will, and his cock was pressed firm against his breeches. He was sweating and panting, alone in his bed and uncomfortably hard.
“No…No no no!” He shook his head fervently. He was not just dreaming about Merlin like that- and he was not harder than he’d ever been in his life because of it! He tried to calm himself, tried to think of anything but the dream he’d just had, but his erection didn’t back down, he was going to have to deal with it.
After a few minutes of fighting the inevitable he placed a shaky hand on his length and stoked down from tip to base, smearing the precum over himself, even that simple touch making him gasp and squirm. He hadn’t had a dream of that nature since he was a teenager, but even then, it’d never roused him enough to wake him and get him this sensitive. He wondered, was it Merlin being his tempest that had him this way? Quickly shaking his head to try and pry his mind from his manservant. But to no avail, the vision kept returning to him and gods above, did it stir him into a mess. He pumped himself feverishly, each motion overwhelming but paradoxically never enough, Arthur bit his lip to stifle his moans as he got closer, closer, closer. He felt the pressure building within as he came close to the edge and the memory of Merlin’s tongue on his sent him crescendoing into bliss. He spilled over his hand and onto his stomach, cum striping over the supple waves of his abdomen. He heaved as the adrenaline crashed through him and left its lingering throbbing in his extremities. After his mind returned to him he cleaned himself up with one of his dirtied nightshirts and crawled back under his bedding. The clarity of what he’d just done seeping into his mind and filling him with shame and embarrassment, but exhaustion took over and silenced it all as Arthur fell deep deep asleep.

Merlin woke Arthur, who was uncharacteristically shy, and nudged the newly bashful prince to his bath. Arthur dressed himself behind the screen (for once) only for Merlin to inevitably end up fixing his miserable attempt at wearing clothes. Really, this mess of a man was meant to be the Once and Future King? Merlin thought to himself as he stifled his fond chuckles.

As usual Merlin went over the schedule for the day, this morning he was to have breakfast with his father, then-

“Oh great.” The prince groaned, “Any reason?” He asked, fearing the answer. It was vague, which was expected but no less disappointing.
“All I know is he said it was to ‘discuss something’ which isn’t too clear.” Merlin winced on behalf of his Arthur, who had promptly shot a searing glare in his direction, slouching in the chair he’d taken perch on.
“Maybe to celebrate your recovery?” Merlin theorized halfheartedly. Arthur shrugged before swiping a hand down his face and steeling himself for a breakfast tainted by palpable fatherly-disappointment.

Arthur would never admit it, but he has to force himself not to pout when Merlin is dismissed at breakfast. Even though he’s sure Merlin is standing right outside the dining hall doors waiting, the fool. He would also never admit to the swooning sigh that escaped his lips at the thought. This is getting out of hand.

The king seemed to be in a pleasant mood, eating breakfast happily and looking at Arthur with approval. The prince doesn’t know how to respond, electing to ignore it and force feed himself as a distraction.

“Arthur,” instantly the prince snapped his gaze to meet his father’s, “I would like to say I am proud of you.”
Arthur’s jaw threatened to hit the floor but he used all his power to keep it firmly shut.
“Although your mission to find the bandits did not go well on first contact, you put up a brilliant fight, it seems they have all retreated.”

Again, the prince forced himself not to gape.

“I would like you to follow their trail again, see if any of them lingered. And if so, a repeat of last time is needed.” And the king, his father, Uther Fucking Pendragon, smiled at him. Pleasantly.
“Of course, father, thank you for this honor.” He said politely, wishing he could run out of the room and hit something, the joy just too much.

Arthur rushes through the rest of his meal, excited beyond measure to leave and investigate, it really was his favorite part. It was why he liked hunting so much, he had tracks to follow, pieces to put together, like a puzzle. He was less princely than usual about hiding his elation when relaying the plan for the day to Merlin. His servant beamed, relishing Arthur’s happiness. Though, and Arthur did not miss it, he looked nervous at the prospect of going after the gang again. Or guilty, rather.

Shortly after preparing the needed supplies they leave with Elyan, Percival, Leon, and Gwaine, who all seem to be treating Merlin like he’s their brother in arms (more so than usual). Arthur decides not to notice, instead turning his focus to the chase.

Merlin and the prince had always been close, even in those first few months, they had something different, obviously and startlingly so, to everyone except themselves. And the depth of their bond had only grown exponentially over their time together.

Leon knew this.

So when Merlin had lingered more often than not, more obviously than usual, and without the snide and snarky pleasantries usually shared between him and his Arthur, Leon was not alarmed. The half of him that was only a man, that was a friend of both Arthur and Merlin, was laughing, “Finally!” it said. But the other half, the Knight, the one sworn to the crown, his prince, and the King of Camelot, was ashamed to have lost the bet. I mean really they had at least two more years of oblivious pining left.

What Leon had not considered, nor was prepared for, was the ferocity with which Merlin would defend his Arthur. He was much more skilled a fighter than he’d let on, that much was clear from the start, but just how dangerous the man revealed himself to be was startling when contrasted with his normal self. And Leon knew the other knights had gathered the same as well. All his fellows opinions of their good friend shifting, not negatively, but shifting nevertheless.

Arthur dismounted from his horse when the group had finally reached the spot they’d battled at previously, it was where they were to begin, and really, it was much more a sight than Arthur could have imagined. The bodies were still there. Seven, none of which had even been looted when looking over them. Whomever may have escaped was scared enough to leave essential supplies behind. His knights had done a great job defending Camelot.

“They must have gone north, look,” Elyan cut through Arthur’s thoughts, gesturing at the scattered brush on their left, broken branches and scraps of clothes torn by thorns, yes they were certainly panicked.
“Good work, I still want to survey this though, I figure whoever was left scattered.” Gwaine snickered at the theory, pretending to try and hide his shit eating grin when the prince faced him.
“I mean, yeah, Merls scared them shitless.” He shrugged. His grin only widening when receiving a quizzical look from the prince.
“Whatever Merlin did may have been out of character, but I sincerely doubt he could frighten a group of rugged bandits.” His knights only laughed in return, Leon trying to remain respectful by only snickering.
“Do tell me what is so funny.” Arthur hissed dangerously. His knights quickly shut up and looked amongst themselves shyly. Merlin looked rather embarrassed, refusing to meet his prince’s gaze and fiddling mindlessly with the hem of his neckerchief. The prince sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Finally Leon cleared his throat and began to explain.
“Well… After Merlin uh, defended you, he chased after two of the men with the weapons of their fallen comrades. And I know you may find it hard to believe but, he was rather imposing.” As Leon stammered on Merlin’s face blushed deeper and deeper in embarrassment. Arthur could hardly believe it, though, all the behavior of his men, and the fact that Leon was the one explaining, made him know it to be true. Still, the prince couldn’t help but feel as though he were losing his mind.

Finding the remaining bandits fared no better for Arthur’s sanity.
Four men, each in their own mess of blood and torn flesh, scattered in a line covering half a mile. One had been taken down first, the other three managing to get farther ahead of their fallen brother but meeting the same fate. Each body was mangled savagely, arms twisted in unnatural angles, faces twisted into silent screams, chests open and organs laying at their sides instead of in their own bodies. It was truly gruesome. And Arthur couldn’t help but feel nauseous at how barbarically they’d been slain. They’d been hunted like prey for revenge and then sadistically punished. Merlin looked ashamed, refusing to face the prince or the bodies he’d mangled only a week prior. The knights seemed to feel pity for the man, as though a beast had taken over him and done evils out of his control.
What tore into Arthur was the fact that Merlin must have returned to the place of their attack to hunt down the remaining men, there was simply no time for him to have done such savage deeds before rushing home to Camelot to heal the prince. At some point during Arthur’s bed rest, Merlin had snuck himself away and tracked down those who had remained before enacting his reckoning.
The journey back was rather quiet, Arthur stewing over how Merlin could hide such an aptitude for violence and wondering why it hadn’t come to his attention until now, the knights and Merlin following in awkward silence as Arthur did so.

Arthur muddled the truth quite a lot when reporting back to his father. Saying that the remaining bandits had succumbed to their wounds or died of infection, that his knights were the ones to have done the damage. The king nodded and waved him away after he’d finished. Arthur was happy to leave, if his father had prodded he may have revealed his lies.
His journey home had kept him furious however. His mind repeating the same thoughts of Merlin recklessly going out on his own to hunt down those worthless men, how the man seemed to feel embarrassed rather than ashamed, how he didn’t feel the need to prove he was the one to do it. Yes, Arthur was quite furious.
The prince dragged his manservant behind a secluded archway roughly, pushing him against the bricked wall and getting in his face as he admonished him.
“What the hell?” He growled, nose inches from Merlin’s. His manservant had a wild look in his eyes and seemed to have lost his breath. Cheeks flushed pink and hands pressed firmly against the wall behind himself. He swallowed thickly.
“I’m sorry?” He asked. Asked. Gods, Arthur could laugh if he wasn’t so angry.
“Where the hell do you get off? You aren’t a knight! You can’t just go around hunting down enemies to the crown all alone! And I don’t even need to ask to know you weren’t wearing armor.” He continued, Merlin was still tense under him.
“I- I’m sorry,” the man panted, turning his head to the side and wincing, “I don’t know what came over me!” He insisted. Ah.
“The potion…” Arthur realized. Merlin nodded quickly, eyes screwed shut. The prince sighed and released the man from his hold, running a hand through his golden hair.
“What am I going to do with you?” He mused quietly, dismissing his friend and heading off to walk through the castle and gather his thoughts.

Later, Arthur is in his chambers doing paperwork, Merlin at his side- helping as usual. Arthur tries to hide the grimace forming but he can’t stand his hands. They’ve cramped up from the tension of trying (and failing) to focus on treaties and practice orders his father assigned. He huffs his displeasure quite accidentally, but of course, Merlin takes note and gazes over him, checking with practiced presision for what could hurt. At last he lands on Arthur’s strained hands, gripping the quill and parchment like some kind of lifeline. The dark-haired man chuckles softly, fondly, knowingly, and Arthur turns his eyes up in question at the sound. Merlin, who had been at his left sorting the parchment into neat piles and checking Arthur’s penmanship, moved fluidly, as though he’d done this new action every day of his life. He hadn’t. But he moved as though he had as he took Arthur’s questioning hands in his own and massaged them with precision.
Arthurs right needed the most attention, of course. The prince let it all happen, with curiosity, and a bit of something else he would never mention even to himself. Merlin, guided by the potion, soothed his prince any way he could. And now, as it seemed, that meant kneading his hands until the pain in them had calmed. Arthur couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips, contended at the sound Merlin finished his minstruations and let Arthur’s hands go, returning to his helping. Arthur blinked at his servant, a fondness in him burbling that he needed to overpower despite himself,
“All these years of signing paperwork and you could have been doing that, Merlin?” he chided with a sweetness unintended. The other chuckled, “So needy.” he said quietly, more to himself than to Arthur, with a grin. The prince rolled his eyes and set back to work, he’d almost finished anyway, no need to stop progress to comment on his friend’s ‘interpretations’ of his wants.
After they’d finished Merlin went down to the physicians chambers to finish the chores he’d been neglecting. He takes his time. Trying to soothe himself with menial tasks and low stress work. It was doing just so.
His mind drifted, as it often did, back to his prince and he pondered over how intensely the man had seemed to feel about his recent actions. Yes, any man could see his behavior was reckless, but not even his friends had come to scold him. Only Arthur had pointed out the obvious danger of going out alone to fight four men. It made Merlin’s heart stutter that he seemed to feel such concern for him. And then his mind wandered further to the ways in which Arthur had entranced him so. His golden blond hair, his shining blue eyes, and his lips… Merlin is lost in his daydreaming, eyes unfocused and his body continuing the movement of sweeping idly.
It had been an hour of his daydreaming when Arthur had come looking for him. Before he knocked his friend out of his apparent daze, the prince took the sight in. Merlin, a fuzzy look in his eyes, sweeping the same small area on loop, completely in his own world. Finally he called out to his friend who turned to look at him, face so… well, Arthur isn’t too sure, but it’s intense whatever it is. Merlin looks at him through his lashes for a few moments more before finally snapping out of it.
His face flushes and he grips the broom, back straightening suddenly and body tense. He keeps his mouth pressed firmly shut, a startled look in his eyes.
“I suppose I’ll talk,” Arthur sighs, waiting for a witty response only to be met with more silence.
“What are you even doing, Merlin?”
“Sweeping!” The man shouted suddenly, “Sweeping…” he repeated in a more appropriate volume, wincing at his own behavior.
“I see,” the prince mused sarcastically, “and all four of those tiles, are they swept enough? Do you need another ten years to do the other five-hundred?” Merlin laughed, bright and beautiful, easy in a way that made Arthur’s heart race a bit.
“Anyway,” the prince cleared his throat, “You will be cleaning my armor.” He ordered, though part of him knew he just wanted Merlin near himself. His servant looked deflated at the prospect of more chores.
“I just cleaned them!” The man whined, “They can’t be that dirty.” Arthur grinned maliciously, leaning forward and crossing his arms.
“Well, Merlin, if you’re going to be such a baby about it then maybe I should have to supervise.” Merlin groaned and sunk his head low in defeat, kicking his foot like a petulant child before marching ahead of the prince.
“Stupid knights and their incessant need to dirty themselves on missions.” The man grumbled below his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing!”

Chapter Text

He began to lean into it. Those simple touches. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, smoothing out his hair, shifting his cape to better sit on his shoulders. All so delicate, nothing new, but they lingered now. And Arthur relished it. It felt so good to be touched, only now he knew he was hungry for it. And thankfully his Merlin was eager to be of service.
Only a few days of this familiar touching had Arthur returning it. Ruffling Merlin’s hair and patting him on the back, bumping shoulders with him and nudging him with his foot when sitting near each other. Each time Merlin beamed and Arthur could feel his heart swell at the sight. He wanted to see him smile again and again, he’d never be sick of it.
Each grin and giggle and compliment had Arthur wanting to show the man with gifts and praises. Only the best a royal could offer. Still, his pride and situation kept him from expressing his gratitude to the fullest extent. So he did what he felt was subtle.

It wasn’t often Merlin had an evening to himself, and Gwaine wanted him to enjoy it. Specifically at The Rising Sun.

“You follow him like a dog!” Gwaine laughed, arm around Merlin, the dark-haired man only looked at him puzzled.
“Do I?” He asked in earnest. Gwaine sighs at his failed attempt to embarrass his friend and takes a generous swig from his flaggan of ale.
“You always looked at him a certain way but there’s just something different now. Like he’s all you can see! I think I’m the only one who noticed but you’ve got to be careful oggling the princess like that.” Merlin snorted at this, of course others had begun to notice his overwhelming symptoms. With a huff decided to let Gwaine in on his secret, though it was mostly the alcohol running through him that led to the decision.

“Well you’ve been horrific at hiding it!” The knight laughed. Merlin laughed with him and the two quickly shifted their discussion to talks of beasts they’d seen and their funniest memories. Merlin felt lucky to have a friend other than Arthur, someone he could confide in (though mainly when in a drunken stupor) and he almost dares tell him his darkest secret, but even a river of ale could not get him to reveal himself.
“Really though, you seem off lately. More so than the lovely dovey attitude.” Gwaine says as he sips his ale.
“Oh yeah?” Merlin raised an eyebrow and fidgets with the mug he’s holding.
“When you… when the king made you drink that love spell, we all thought it was poison.” Gwaine shuddered and looked away, he felt ashamed for not visiting Merlin, although, now he knew Merlin would not have been waiting anyway considering the circumstances. And even if he did, what would have happened if it was Gwaine the poor sod had fallen for?
“I just… you need to take better care of yourself when you can. You gave us all a real scare, not just the Princess.” Merlin huffed his acknowledgment and sipped the last of his ale from his mug.
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done just the same.”
“Yeah yeah.”

Arthur finds them giggling over their failed attempts at convincing the nearest barmaid to pour them another round and they all too loudly plan a heist for it to which Arthur clears his throat loudly and glares down at Gwaine.
“Oh Princess!” the knight bows mockingly, “I didn’t know youud show… up” he hiccups and continues, “coming to have fun with the commoners?”
“Commoners!?” Arthur huffed, “Neither of you are anywhere near common! You,” the prince pointed at Gwaine with an accusatory finger, “Are a drunkard knight that falls for anyone he sees. And Merlin- is Merlin.” Gwaine grinned and looked at Merlin,
“Yes I suppose he deserves his own category.” Speaking with a tone more fond that Arthur would have liked.
A new feeling in him rose, it was an angry feeling, like something of his had been stolen.
“Anyway, you’ve come to play with us, Princess?” Arthur glowers at him for a short time and then gestures at a wobbly though cheery Merlin, “Just how is he meant to do his job in this condition!?” He asks, exasperated.
“Ohh come on princess,” slurs the knight, “let the man have some fun, you can stand to do without your precious for a few hours, can’t you?” Merlin laughs at this and stumbles forward, nearly knocking over a table as he tries to steady himself.
“Gwaine! We can still get it! We have our… OPENING!” he whisper-screamed and teetered on his heels and pointed at the abandoned post of the bar-man. Gwaine grinned at Arthur who was gritting his teeth, “He is going to be sick tomorrow, he can’t drink like you without impeding my work.”
“Work?”
“Yes, you great drunk! Help me get him out of here and you can continue spending all your earnings on ale.” Gwaine shoved the prince playfully and hooked an arm around Merlin’s waistline. The dark haired man jabbed him with his elbow instinctively and the groan of pain that came from the knight's lips earned a hearty laugh from Arthur. They struggle to get Merlin out of the tavern and when they do Gwaine seems to be completely out of breath.
“Could you actually help me, sire? Merlin is kind of heavy.'' Before the prince could retort with a smart comment Merlin flexed his biceps to boast, causing the men holding him to laugh and lose their grip. For a moment it seemed Merlin could walk perfectly, but the illusion was over as soon as it started and he fell against a still giggling Arthur. The impact had the two sprawled out on the ground, Merlin elbowing Arthur's ribs and pushing down on his stomach in attempt to get up. Arthur wheezed and scrambled to get away from Merlin’s sharp touches, trying to get up himself. Finally they both stood and glared daggers at Gwaine, who’d been laughing hysterically at the display instead of helping either of them.
The three of them continued the journey back to the castle and Merlin seemed to gain more control of his gait as they got closer. The man took in the view of the night sky as he half listened to Arthur’s lecture about drinking with Gwaine. The knight in question butting in every now and then to joke and make his friend laugh.

Gwaine let them be once Merlin seemed to have regained some coordination.
Arthur tries and fails to get Merlin to go to his own bloody chambers to rest but the dark-haired man steers them to Arthur’s rooms, of course, still he thinks he has to get the prince ready for bed, Arthur struggling against him fruitlessly, almost impressed at the servants surprising strength. Finally he acquiesces and lets Merlin attempt their nightly routine. Obviously it is a struggle and Merlin quickly becomes frustrated, the final nail in the coffin being when he rips Arthur’s tunic while trying to take it off. His prince barks at him to stop and tries to keep himself from letting his frustration win out, Merlin only staring at the tattered garment in his hands before starting to laugh,
“I did always ha-ate this one.” he slurs, Arthur looked up at him and was surprised by the happiness the sight brought him, Merlin giggling to himself drunkenly while trying to mentally plan the best way to mend the cloth in his hands, his frame illuminated by the candle light of Arthur’s chambers, hair messy but certainly soft, eyes dark and deep but still shining. Arthur felt warmth in his face and decided to finish undressing himself as a distraction. Merlin set the tarnished clothing aside for himself to pick up later and stoked the embers in the fireplace, swaying on his way.
Arthur curled under his blankets and let out a contented sigh, stirring his friends attention back towards him entirely unintentionally. Merlin stood wobbly and wandered over to the side of the prince's bed,
“What is it?” He asked and Arthur only shook his head.
“Nothing, just relaxing.”
“Good.” Merlin smiled down at him so genuinely Arthur thought his heart would run from him. He swallowed and asked Merlin of his day and what he and Gwaine had been talking about. Merlin told him nearly everything, omitting his reveal of their shared secret, and Arthur listened quietly. Merlin slipped into poetry, he was that drunk. But Arthur didn’t mind, he told himself he was just too tired to argue against it and that Merlin was under a spell, he could give him some leniency. He convinced himself that was the truth, that the real reason he hadn’t stopped his manservant was because he enjoyed it, no no no. He did not find Merlin’s voice comforting, or that his words, girlish as they were, soothed his mind. That isn’t true at all!
“My lover is so unimpressed
By everything I say
You can see it in her face

I don’t say much, I just hope and pray
There’s been some big mistake
And pick her flowers just in case

And I don’t mind it when she goes out with her friends
And they drop her off drunk
And I take her up to bed
She says, “I’m sorry” and I kiss her on the head
And everything is fine
Until the morning comes again”

Arthur doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he is shocked awake by Merlin jabbing him in the side, emanating the pains of a hangover in every movement. He was so clearly miserable, yet he’d come to get Arthur early, had folded the laundry and gathered what needed washing, brought him breakfast, and was clearly readying a bath. Arthur sighed, “I was going to give you the morning off…”
Even as he said it Merlin was already helping him from his bed and nudging him to the tub. He was just going to weather the storm. Arthur took off his small clothes and stepped into the bath, he didn’t feel like fighting this morning, though he did wish Merlin would stop doing his job so properly. Ordering him around was half the fun, and he liked the unpredictability of it all. But this Merlin did his job, and what’s more, he actually wanted to do it. It wasn’t something to complain about, certainly, but Arthur found himself wanting to. He scrubbed himself and glanced to where Merlin had gone, he was sitting in a chair pulled from Arthur’s dining table mending the tunic he had ripped last night. He grimaced at his pounding head as he tied off the thread and returned the needle to its pincushion, today was going to be a pain.

“You can take the rest of the day off,” Arthur said after Merlin had dressed him, “I doubt drinking mug for mug with Gwaine would result in a clear mind.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, dear.” Merlin replied with a certain ‘not a chance’ attitude. He grinned mischievously at his prince as he gathered his nightclothes.
“Dear?” Arthur scoffed. Merlin only smirked and continued his duties.

Training was, as it often is, an ordeal. Though this time, it was 100% Merlin’s fault. If he hadn’t been so keen on fawning over Gwaine (albeit sarcastically) Arthur wouldn’t have had to show off so much. The prince didn’t know why it made him so angry. But whatever it was only seemed to encourage Merlin’s behavior. Gwaine was not humble about having the servants wrapped attention either, which only infuriated him more.
The victims of the prince’s assault were not completely unawares. Eyeing each other after every interaction between the two and the subsequent attack it seemed to illicit. Yes, it was obvious to all that the prince was jealous. Jealous of a knight over his own manservant. Plain as day.
Then one of the novice knights thought he had any place to chime in. He did not.
“So are you the treat we all get after training?” He asked suggestively. Merlin shot him searing look, lip curled in a predatory smirk.
“I think you should lay off treats, no? You are supposed to be a knight of Camelot, not a wandering bag of oats.” And Arthur had to laugh. The knight’s jaw could have hit the floor and with his gaping maw open for the world to see, Merlin took his shot and tossed a clump of dirt into it. The knight sputtered and coughed, gagging on grass and earth, his comrades laughed, the chief among them being the knights of the round table and the prince himself. Merlin was nearly proud, but the laughter of five very loud men was not doing great for his headache. They tried to calm themselves when noticing how he winced, and the victim of his clever attack glared at him, enraged he wasn’t thrown in the stocks or otherwise punished. He was astonished at the gal, and that Prince Arthur Pendragon found it funny.
After the men got back to training, Merlin slinked off to tend to Arthur’s other swords. Only a few strokes of the sharpening stone did him in, he cursed at his aching head and searched for his medicine bag.
Arthur stepped away from the fighting to get a drink and found Merlin rummaging through his bag. The man finally found what he was looking for and uncorked a small vial, downing the liquid within and grimacing. Arthur didn’t like how hot his face felt after seeing Merlin look so… so put out, something about it sent a shiver up his spine. And he was ashamed to realize he liked it. The prince cleared his throat awkwardly.
“What have you got there?”
“‘S for hangovers.” Merlin explained, voice rough, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb and looking over at Arthur with half-lidded eyes. The prince’s face grew hotter still.
“Gaius never is good at making those palatable, is he?” Arthur mused, Merlin smiled and nodded before picking up the sharpening stone again and holding his hand out for Arthur’s sword. The prince handed off his weapon and turned to look at his men, studying who needed the most work and where.
“Not half bad a teacher…” Merlin murmured to himself after stealing a few glances at his prince. Arthur pretended not to hear it, he also pretended it didn’t make him grin like an idiot.

Merlin had gone to the tavern with Gwaine again (this time only having one drink which seemed to aid his pains) and returned to Arthur late in the night, undressing him and tidying the room, sorting papers and getting Arthurs outfit for the next day ready.

“Surprised you made it up here on your own.” Arthur said snarkily as he laid down.
“Oh come off it, I only had one drink to help my head.” Merlin huffed.
“Mhm, a highly recommended treatment.” Arthur teased, fighting the smile slowly spreading across his face. Merlin shot him a (playful) searing look.
“Shut up.”
“All the physicians are just raving about it.” The prince continued. Smirking all the while.
“Shut up!” Merlin laughed, shoving a pillow in his prince’s face and grinning wildly. Arthur chuckled and stuck the pillow behind his head, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning at Merlin.

Arthur bugging him over his being late and them bickering like they always do, it’s more tender than before, Merlin with that shimmer of fondness in his eyes, and his prince somewhat returning it.

After rolling his eyes very dramatically, Merlin sat at the table and continued checking his prince’s paperwork; they stayed in a comfortable silence for a while. Arthur had shifted to lay on his side, his arm under the pillow and his head nestled into it. He liked listening to Merlin breathe, he liked his presence, he was tired of going to bed alone and waking up the same. So it was nice, to have his… whatever Merlin had become to him, with him.

“Merlin,” The prince started,
“Yes?”
“Do you know any poetry that isn’t so…girly?”
His manservant laughed softly, “They are a bit dramatic,”
“Anything is better than those love-y ones.”
“Oh? Too much for you to handle, are they?” Merlin teased and propped his face up on the heel of his hand. Arthur turned to face him and glared.
“Just tell me your ‘dramatic’ poems.” He huffed. Merlin smiled at him before tilting his head to look out the window, searching his mind for a suitable sonnet. Arthur laid back and watched him through his sleep-heavy eyelids, the moonlight made Merlin’s eyes piercing, his cheekbones contoured perfectly, his hair casting shadows across his forehead and nose, he really was handsome.
“Hmm,” Merlin hummed, turning toward Arthur, “It’s a bit somber,” he warned, Arthur only nodded for him to continue. Merlin drew in a small breath and kept his gaze locked with Arthur’s.

“What a thing, to be both starving and empty.
To ache for love-
to take scraps from it’s table, and yet, run sickly from the feast.
You can’t fathom why I’d
gobble your kisses but
duck your attention, please.
Understand-
Some of us have gone so long hungry,
the idea of being full
feels worse
than the affliction.”

Arthur blinked, a bit dumbfounded.
“I think that’s still a love poem, Merlin,”
“It isn’t romantic necessarily! It still counts as it’s own thing.” Arthur shot Merlin a look of disbelief and let his eyes drift closed only after the man had smiled at him.
The prince shook his head and thought. Thought about why Merlin would have ever memorized such a thing, maybe some interest in the author, or an old friend had shown it to him, it was cutting, certainly, and he wondered how it made his companion feel. Did he ache as the poem said? Did he feel that empty? And if he did, could Arthur ever truly help him?
“I do remember a happier one now, would you like to hear it?”
“Yes.”

“When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves, there is
this happy tongue.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

Usually, Merlin’s petulance was of no harm to anyone. Unless you counted the extra chores Merlin often earned with his attitude as “harm” which of course he would agree to. However physical harm isn't a punishment Arthur was keen on. Maybe he got rough with Merlin sometimes, “playful slaps” as he’d called them, or had him in the cells to cool off, even the stocks could be seen as harsh, but it was as far as the prince would actually go with his manservant. He never thought about truly hitting him, closed fist, a belt, a whip, any of it, even at his most furious he would never think to stoop so low. But Merlin wasn’t one to stray away from harm in his current state. Only when it came to his prince, of course, but still. He was a force to be reckoned with even before the potion, only now, it was not limited to his very scant abilities to publicly interfere.
Yes, now he openly scowled at council members who seemed to disregard the prince’s opinion, scoffing at their remarks and muttering under his breath enough for others to notice. Arthur dismissed him every time, he couldn’t let his father punish Merlin, not when he had no control. And even under different circumstances, he couldn’t stand to see Merlin face his father’s wrath. He was cruel when he was angry. And more and more that seemed to be the case.
Merlin needed to stop this. It just wasn’t safe. But Arthur found it so distracting he couldn’t remember to tell him off. Something about how Merlin could command any space if he saw fit, how fiercely loyal he was to him. Loyal like an angry dog. Devoted and quick to bite. He was an animal returning to its untamed ways and hell knows where that’d end him up if Arthur didn’t put a cork in all this now. But those deep blue eyes always made him lose focus every time he tried to bring it up.

The new knights (with some exceptions) were still amateurs in their positions. Bratty like most nobles, bored easily, impatient, and unwilling to listen to their superiors when it didn’t suit their interests. Arthur was getting fed up with their attitude. They didn’t deserve their titles, maybe there was still time yet for them to earn it in a way, but now it was just miserable. Merlin seemed to agree at least.
His manservant stared daggers at the arrogant new recruits, snickering about them with Gwaine and the other members of the round table. Condescending them and “accidentally” dropping their things before handing it to them. Although Arthur was happy to watch him humble them, it wasn’t safe for his manservant. He wasn’t going to punish him, but the knights may do so before Arthur could stop them from hurting his Merlin.
One of these new recruits, Sir Thomas, had been struggling greatly with training. He was quick to give up, a sore loser, and a cheap shot. And despite the practicality of taking every shot you could at your opponent, it was not something fit for training. Simply flailing about was no path to success. The prince knew this. But Sir Thomas lacked this knowledge and experience. After dueling with Arthur for a while he grew impatient and embarrassed by how quickly he was overpowered and out-witted. It seemed he thought revenge was in order.
Arthur called for a break and as he turned away from Sir Thomas the young knight hit him square in the back with the butt of his sword. Instantly the knights around him tensed, because who wouldn’t when you’d just struck the Prince of Camelot when his back was turned? Sir Thomas didn’t understand the gravity of the situation he’d just manufactured, evident by the shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
A loud cracking sound broke the silence of the men as Sir Thomas fell to the ground, clutching his head and whimpering pathetically.
Before Arthur could even speak Merlin had thrown a club directly at the knight’s head, it spiraled violently through the air before making contact with a thunderous whack. His eyes were like pinpricks, gaze fierce and terrifying. Pride made the man wounded rise and glare at the manservant. His face was beet-red and a nasty bruise was purpling above his left eye, he grit his teeth and scowled mightily, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’ll pay for that you bloody peasant!” He shrieked, surging forwards toward Merlin. Arthur intercepted him immediately, tackling him to the ground and slamming his head into the dirt hard. The knight squirmed under him as he drove a hard fist into his cheek, reeling back his arm for another blow.
“You will learn your place!” He shouted as he landed another strike on the man. The other knights grappled with Arthur to try and split up the fight but it was miraculously difficult. Arthur only released his hold and ceased his attacks when Merlin had tugged aggressively at his shoulder, stopping immediately before making intense and furious eye-contact with the man.
“I think he understands, Arthur.” The man hissed into the prince’s ear, tearing his attention completely from the pathetic Thomas curled up on the ground below him. Merlin looked at Sir Thomas’s injuries briefly, sending him up to Giaus after assuring him he could walk. It had been a bold-faced lie, but none of the other knights were about to contest it. When Merlin shifted his attention back to his prince, who was still fuming, he ushered him away, insisting he needed to cool off, go to his rooms and think.The prince rolled his eyes but trudged forwards and to his chambers.
“I think that’s enough training for one day.” Merlin ordered easily, and the knights new better than to question him at this point, besides, they’d been going at it for quite a while and most were happy to accept an end to it.

Merlin trailed after Arthur, their walk through the castle silent. As soon as the doors had closed behind them Arthur groaned. Merlin only rolled his eyes and started disrobing him. Eyes scanning Arthur’s back for signs of injury. Arthur didn’t protest, Merlin would badger him for hours if he didn’t allow him a onceover.
“Well, the moron gave you a pretty nice bruise, but nothing seems fractured.” Arthur chuckled at that,
“He’s pretty weak, Merlin, I’d expect nothing less. Or nothing more, rather. He is quite proficient at ‘less’.” Arthur joked dryly. Merlin laughed, and Arthur started feeling better already.

Sir Thomas fled Camelot to live with his mother two days later. Arthur’s only thought being, good riddance. He’d known from the start that the man was a waste of time, but their spat had sealed his fate. All he’d left behind was a laughable legacy that warranted the nickname ‘Guard Dog’ for Merlin.

Funny as it was, Merlin’s new habit of lashing out with less subtlety worried Gwen (and Morgana by extension), though the latter was happy to see him put stuffy nobles in their place and all but encouraged the behavior. At least he seemed to hold his tongue in the presence of the king, that did put Gwen at ease. Though part of her was just waiting for him to slip up and end up on a wheel somewhere in the dungeons, or whatever it was Uther did to punish servants. She couldn’t imagine it being pleasant.
“Don’t you think you’re getting a bit overzealous?” She asked him out of the blue as they did their respective washing for the Pendragon’s.
“What do you mean?” Merlin asked casually, arms deep in a soapy basin scrubbing liberally.
“As much as I enjoy seeing council members and rude knights become flustered and annoyed, it is a bit dangerous to be so snide with them. Arthur can only protect you so much.” Merlin laughed fondly at the mention of his prince.
“I suppose I’ve been spending too much time around arrogance then, what with being Arthur’s manservant and all. Suppose I may have adopted his attitude.”
“More like you’ve been spending too much time with Gwaine, he’s hated nobles since before any of us had even made his acquaintance.”
“True,” Merlin smirked quickly before letting his face fall into a softer smile, “So, how’s Lady Morgana been? I haven’t had to make her a sleeping draft in a while.” Gwen hummed happily to herself.
“Quite well,” She beamed, “You really ought to go visit her sometime, she does miss your company,” Merlin blushed at the flattery and continued his work, “She tells me how her dreams have been more pleasant, and she’s been journaling them and having me scribe them now and then. I’m sure she’d love to tell you all about it.” Gwen offered, Merlin smiled wide at the proposition.
“I may just see her tonight then, if I have the time of course.” Gwen nodded at him and shifted her focus back to her cleaning. Merlin finished ringing out and hanging up the last of Arthur’s washing before grabbing the empty basket and heading for the door of the laundry room.
“See you later, Guinevere.” Merlin smiled. Gwen grinned up at him.
“Goodbye, Merlin.”

The earth below him seemed more alive than usual. And he could have sworn there were not flowers growing where he’d just stepped before. But Merlin wasn’t about to dwell on it, his bouquet would be fuller, he could only be thankful as he picked flowers for his Arthur. Baby’s breath, calla lilies, and pink carnations. The scent was pleasant and they looked wonderful, Merlin was certainly proud of this one. He nearly broke into a run on his way back to Camelot from the pure energy his excitement brought him. He made sure to keep them hidden on the way to the prince's chambers, as he knew Arthur wouldn’t want the gossip the flowers might induce. When Merlin enters he is pleasantly surprised to find Arthur contemplatively looking out the window.
Arthur glanced at him and sighed at the large bushel of flowers Merlin was proudly waving at him. A small smile crept up his face and he turned his attention back to the view he’d been brooding over. Merlin set to placing the plants around the room and making them presentable, humming softly to himself as he did so. Arthur flicked his attention back to his manservant and watched him intently. Merlin, he noticed, seemed to have a certain rhythm in his movements, like every breath was a dance. And oh how he wanted to join in the waltz. But that couldn’t happen, no matter how eager Merlin may be in his current state, Arthur would not take advantage of him.
Merlin met his eyes after setting the room right, his stare unwavering. Arthur swallowed his nerves as he fell into the deep oceans of Merlin’s eyes, he’d never get over their beauty, no matter how much he wanted to. Eventually Merlin sighed softly before looking away and leaving, and Arthur almost asked him to stay, but for what? He had no real reason. So he bit his tongue and fixed his attention back to his window.
You make me feel like a fool waiting for you.

Arthur could cut the tension with a knife. Every stolen glance and gentle touch. Each smile and joke, all layered heavily over something deeper, something that was simply more. He was traveling further and further from the point of no return. And he knew. He knew that the potion was bound to wear off soon, and he’d have to unlearn this closeness. That he may always ache for it. That he’s going to miss it.
“Better enjoy it while it lasts.” Said the proverbial devil on his shoulder,
But he’d only let himself enjoy those simple moments and soft touches, he couldn’t give in- ask more of Merlin than what he’d willingly give when in his right mind. He could never do that to his Merlin.
Merlin returned with the prince’s dinner hours later; light on his feet and bubbly. Apparently Gwaine had given him a (stolen) tart and a small cup of wine before Merlin had come to get Arthur’s food. An anger curled in Arthur’s stomach while Merlin explained it all happily. He tried not to show it, tried. But Merlin could see his thinly veiled jealousy plain as day, only he misinterpreted it, figuring Arthur thought he should have received it instead.
“I can go ask the kitchen for a treat for you.” He offered softly. Arthur shook his head and tore into his meal rather than dwelling on it. But he dwelled on it, of course he dwelled on it. Stupid Gwaine and his stupid hair. He thought.
A sadistic smile crept up his face as he remembered about training with him tomorrow. The poor sod has no idea what’s coming.
Merlin looked at him curiously but didn’t pry. He instead focused on Arthur’s lips with a complete lack of subtlety. And against his better judgment; Arthur decided to give him a show. Licking his lips and sucking any straying juice from the tender meats on his plate off his fingers in as seductive a manner he could, a popping sound smacking as he released one of his digits from the suction of his mouth. Merlin whined.
Arthur looked up at him with decisively heavy eyes and liked what he saw. Merlin was gripping onto the chair in front of him intensely, Arthur would be surprised if the man didn’t leave scratch marks. A handsome blush was painted across the servant’s face and his bottom lip was caught firmly between his teeth. Another teasing lick along Arthur's hand had him whimpering, begging with his eyes for some form of satisfaction. Arthur smirked to himself before shoving his now empty plate towards Merlin.
“You know what to do with this.” He said casually, like he hadn’t just stirred the man into a quivering mess. Merlin swallowed hard and nodded fervently, snatching up the plate and scurrying out of the prince’s chambers. He was sure he heard Gwen questioning him outside, Merlin seemed to have no explanation from what he could tell. A gentle knocking wrapped at his door.
“Sire?”
“You may enter.” Arthur said coolly, attempting to hide the sadistic satisfaction he was feeling.
“Arthur,” Gwen curtsied, “Lady Morgana asked me to inform you of the family breakfast you will be having tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You, the king, and Lady Morgana are to have breakfast together tomorrow, she said you may not know yet?”
“I didn’t.” He didn’t know why he felt disappointed, maybe he just wanted the peace of eating breakfast alone. Gwen smiled at him awkwardly, curtsied again, and left. Arthur felt a little bad about being so curt with her, but his mind was elsewhere entirely. He’d found a new way to torture Merlin, and this time it was a punishment wholly his own.
He’d only let himself enjoy those simple moments and soft touches, he couldn’t give in- ask more of Merlin than what he’d willingly give when in his right mind. He could never do that to his Merlin.
Or maybe he’d push it to the brink, teasing the man but never tipping over the edge, no matter how much both of them wanted to. Going to the furthest point would be a violation, a betrayal, but going right up to the line and leaning over it could be enough. Arthur would only hope.
Yes, he wasn’t going to give in to temptation, but he would enjoy what little he could grasp in the ever-fleeting moments of Merlin’s desire for him.

Arthur realized; he only had so much time left before all of this would be one-sided. Before their friendship would have to face the other side and be forever changed. No matter how Merlin may feel now, Arthur was sure disgust and shame was lurking in his future. There may be a distance slowly stretching between them Arthur could never hope to cross. It crashed on him in Merlin’s absence, he may lose his only true friend because of his father. Had Uther not ordered Merlin drink the potion, Arthur would have been infatuated with the princess across from him, and Merlin would have figured it all out and hatched a scheme to free him of the potions wiles. But now they were in this mess and because of it they may never be close again.
Years ago, when Merlin had just entered his service, Arthur may have preferred that. But not now. Not ever. Arthur had never been able to be so honest with someone, and have that returned; Of course, Merlin did keep things from him, he wasn’t that big a fool, but he didn’t keep his opinions to himself. He didn’t treat Arthur like some holy figure- someone to be feared. He respected him, not out of duty, but out of genuine admiration. Arthur felt like he’d actually earned it from the man. And of course the same could be said of Merlin. Arthur valued his opinion above anyone else, even his father.
Without the factor of romance or lust, Arthur could see now just how much Merlin was meant for him and in turn, how much he was meant for Merlin, the two fit together. Merlin was his friend. And he cared about him down to the very fabric of his soul, he couldn’t lose him.
He was ripped from his thoughts as his chamber doors crashed open. Merlin marched in and slammed them shut behind him, fury etched into his face.
“What the hell was that!?” His voice hitched from the strain of anger as he rushed towards Arthur.
“…What?” Arthur had completely forgotten about his ridiculously obvious attempt at seduction only ten minutes previous, it finally replayed in his mind as Merlin’s expression soured further.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, idiot!” Merlin shoved his prince back, grimacing, his cheeks still flushed, only now with embarrassment.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to!”
Merlin threw his arms in the air in exasperation and rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.”

Merlin all but slapped the prince awake the next morning. Arthur kicked him in the ribs while he got up as retribution.

“You will be taking care of all the preparations for the tournament, Arthur.”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile alongside Morgana as Uther gave the order, the prince did not seem to feel the same happiness as they did.
“How am I meant to train to compete and organize the tourney?” He could snap the table in half with the frustration within him.
“Simple, you will not be participating in the tournament.”
“Father!” He shouted with a voice akin to a spoiled child being punished. Which was not all bad a description for this moment.
“Arthur.” The king's voice was final, this was not a request.
“You must understand all sides of ruling a kingdom, including preparing important events,” Arthur had to grit his teeth to keep from rolling his eyes, “Preparation will begin next week, I will be there should you have questions but I am handing the reins over to you.” Arthur nodded curtly and gnawed at his breakfast, eating like every bite was the taste of ash and blood, it was misery. Morgana smiled at him primly from across the dining room, and it was malicious. Arthur wanted to throw his plate at her. It was quickly wiped from her face however,
“And Morgana, you will help him. There are certain duties that could do with a feminine touch, something a queen would do for him when the time comes, although a sister will do at this time.”
“What are these duties exactly?” She asked, her voice strained.
“Making sure the decor is up to par, the bouquet the winner receives, the food, that kind of thing.” The king explained lazily, his attention split between his patronizing ideas of what a woman’s duties would be and eating his breakfast. Morgana’s eye twitched.
“I see.”
Arthur smirked, happy to relish in her displeasure. At least the misery would be shared.

The meal was over quickly, leaving both Pendragon siblings to stalk off to their respective rooms to sulk.
“I can see you’re happy, Merlin.” Arthur sneered at his counterpart as they walked back to the prince's chambers, Merlin carrying a myriad of scrolls in his arms. His manservant grinned ear to ear.
“I am! It’ll be fun to be on this side of stuffy noble events, besides, it’s a glimpse into your future as king! Maybe this tourney will be better than ever before with your guidance.” He explained, opening the chamber doors with his foot and striding in ahead of the prince.
“And those are the only reasons you’re overjoyed I will not be participating in the actual melee?”
“Perhaps…” Merlin replied cheekily, splaying the scrolls out on Arthur’s desk and setting to organizing them immediately.
Arthur rolled his eyes and started looking over the paperwork. It was essentially a list of chores; Who to write letters to, who to send invitations, who to order to do what, and so on. The rules of etiquette and decorum, what will happen in what order, and on and on and on. Arthur wanted to rip his hair out reading the stuffy and useless drabble that droned on and on page after page. It held the specifics of which royals had which preferences for any manner of things and how many were meant to accommodate and accompany them.
He hadn’t even noticed Merlin taking out the parchment and quill.
“Well?”
“'Well' what?” Arthur moaned, trying not to shred the paper in his hands. He turned his head to see Merlin ready to scribe, waiting expectantly for him to dictate… something.
“What will the invitations say?”
“Your blinding optimism is tiring.”
“Hah hah.” Merlin faked a laugh, flicking his prince on the forehead.
“Merlin!”
The invitations ended up saying a variation of what they always do, “Camelot cordially invites (whomever the royal was) to our annual tournament” and so on. Arthur had no idea why Merlin thought he should change it, royals didn’t care about a personal touch, half of them had never even spoken to the prince. But his father approved of them when they were sent out, so Arthur didn’t mind.

With a full week before the actual preparations would begin, Arthur used his time to train relentlessly. The new regimen he instilled straightening out the last of the unruly newcomers and preparing them to prove themselves in front of the people.
After a particularly vigorous session ending in Arthur pulling a muscle in his left shoulder and bruises spattered across his torso Merlin made his opinion known. Arthur decided to ignore his pleas to stop and put back on his practice armor to rejoin the fray. Merlin grabbed him by the arm, hard. Arthur was surprised by the strength in his grip for only a few seconds before he glared up at Merlin while trying to twist his arm out of the man’s grasp.
“Let me go, Merlin!”
“If you overextend yourself you could cause permanent damage! I’m still a physician, Arthur!”
“Physician’s apprentice- let go!” Just as Arthur went to tear his arm free Merlin released it, catching the prince off balance and causing him to stagger back. Merlin stopped him from falling on his ass by grabbing the collar of his shirt. Arthur swallowed his surprise and steadied himself. Just as the prince opened his mouth he was interrupted.
“My current condition or no- it is still unadvisable to continue this!” Merlin grit out. And just like that, Arthur’s argument had been stolen from him. Still he pushed on, he wouldn’t back down so easily.
“So I am the only knight pushing too far? You haven’t said a word about the others.” Merlin clenched his jaw.
“They’re just collateral to your hissyfit. They’ve already made their complaints known to you.”
“Oh sure. What do they matter in your eyes?”
“So help me, Arthur-”
Gwaine stumbled into the armory after tripping on the uneven stone flooring. Merlin snapped his eyes to meet him and Arthur did the same, eerily quiet.
“Am I… interrupting something?”
“No.” Merlin replied curtly, Gwaine smiled at the obvious lie before turning his attention to study the prince. Arthur’s gaze had wandered back to his manservant, the look in his eyes intense and his jaw clamped tight.
“So much tension, I could cut it with a knife!” Gwaine teased, sidestepping Merlin and wrapping an arm around the prince’s shoulder. Arthur didn’t even have time to question the knight before Merlin let out a low warning, his voice like a rumbling growl,
“Gwaine.” The knight only smirked, not obeying the order that it was, instead moving his arm down to Arthur’s waist. The prince let out a small yelp of surprise, stunned still. Merlin stared at his hand, how it curled around his increasingly baffled prince’s hip, his gaze burning. He flicked his eyes back up to the knight's, something ominous in his searing gaze.
“Gwaine.” This time his tone was foreboding enough it seemed for his friend to follow directions. Gwaine quickly took a large step back and away from the prince, both hands up in surrender.
“Just kidding, Merls!” He said louder than necessary, voice crackling nervously. Arthur was dumbfounded, shocked silent, but he was also breathless. Merlin flicked his hand towards the open field past the armory doors in dismissal and Gwaine left in its direction immediately. Arthur’s breath hitched, Merlin had a dark look in his eyes as he watched the knight hurry away, and they softened almost immediately when they flicked back to his prince.
“What the hell was that about?” He asked jokingly, a smirk creeping across his face. Arthur just huffed and adjusted his shoulder plate. After fiddling with it with shaking hands he decided that he had, in fact, done enough training for one day, much to Merlin’s approval.

That night as they head to Arthur’s chambers they talk about how they think the knights would fare in the upcoming tourney.
“I think it’s obvious that one of the roundtable will be the victor.”
“Much to my father’s chagrin…” Arthur mused. It was no secret that his father despised the round table’s existence. But it had been formed out of necessity, and, as Merlin had reminded Arthur more than once, it was a promise for the future that Arthur’s kinghood would bring upon Camelot. There was no doubt that much change was needed, the prince was not fool enough to ignore it. And Merlin did not waver at his side when he’d formed the round table during his brief regency. When his father was struck ill and unable to lead the charge against an enemy kingdom that had aligned themselves with the powerful witch Morgause, Arthur knew he needed a group he could trust to take their land back, to protect their people. And it had worked. The kingdom was safer now than it had been for many years. So, begrudgingly, when he was well enough, Uther had recognized them for their efforts, bestowing proper and official knighthoods on Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and the late Lancelot.
“We can’t have favorites though, it would not be fair.”
“You may have reservations about that but I sure don’t. It’s gonna be Percy, or Gwaine…But definitely Leon.”
“You can’t even pick a favorite!” Arthur laughed.
“Well it’s you I’m used to cheering for, now I have to actually decide.”
And Arthur did blush a little at that. His brief flattery was squashed however when Merlin seemed to have a faraway look in his eyes, mindlessly moving one foot in front of the other, clearly reminiscing.
Ahh. He was thinking about Sir Lancelot.
“You have to pick at least one new knight.” He decided to distract from the grief that had stolen Merlin’s attention, fortunately it worked.
“Sir Thomas!” He snickered. Arthur laughed along with him.
“But, really, it is hard to choose. You aren’t a bad teacher, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m serious! Give yourself more credit,” Arthur smirked, and if his cheeks flushed pink a little, he’d never admit to that, “Well… not too much credit, your ego’s big enough as-is.” Merlin corrected.
“Oh shut up,” Arthur huffed as he shoved Merlin playfully.
“Let’s say you were a knight. You might make it to the first round.” The prince said sarcastically.
“Oh yes, and the next and the last.”
“And you say I have an ego, you want to test that out? Let's go train then.”
“You just want to throw me around, Arthur.” The prince gasped and clutched at his chest in mock-offense.
“I would do no such thing!” He said airily. Merlin burst out laughing and Arthur quickly joined in his fit of giggles.
“But now that you say that, I would be able to fight back. Instead of being a living training dummy. You would be the one thrown around.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure.” Arthur condescended.
“Revenge for when we first met and such, you know.” Merlin said casually, waving his hand in the air dismissively.
“Merlin,” the prince started, “We’d both be old and gray before you could ever beat me in an honest to gods fight.”
Merlin smirked at him and let out a cocky laugh.
“You wanna bet?”
“You cannot be serious.” Arthur was almost impressed with his manservant’s gal. Merlin sighed as if in understanding, shaking his head and looking down in a forlorn manner.
“I get it…” He shrugged as if acquiescing and agreeing, “You’re scared.” He finished flatly, looking at his prince with a mocking pity. Arthur laughed at him openly, gaze fixated on his.
“It’s the only logical explanation.” Merlin continued.
“Oh yes, the only explanation. Not that it would be an utter waste of time?” Arthur snickered. Quick as lighting, Merlin’s closed fist darted towards Arthur’s face, stopping just a hair before actually making contact. Arthur jolted backward, eyes wide and arms flailing in front of him on instinct. Merlin grinned at him mischievously and lowered his hand back to his side, breaking out into another round of maniacal laughter as Arthur regained his composure.
“Shut up!” he stammered out, embarrassed for flinching. But Merlin’s laugh was bright and infectious. And soon, Arthur started laughing too.
“Shh! It’s late.” He managed through laughter, ushering his manservant onwards.
Merlin quieted down in the last hallway, still snickering but only softly. As soon as the two had crossed the threshold into Arthur’s rooms he jabbed his prince in the side,
“You actually flinched! Still think we’d have to be old and gray for me to beat you in a fight?”
“It’s not the same! I didn’t have my guard up.” Arthur insisted. This time it was his fist to fly at Merlin’s face, stopping just before it connected with his nose. But Merlin didn’t falter, not even so much as a blink. He only cocked his head to the side with that all too familiar devilish smile painted across his face. He didn’t even have to say anything to make his prince defensive.
“That doesn't count!” He chirped.
“Oh really?”
“I practically warned you.” Arthur huffed.
“Whatever helps you sleep better at night, dear.” Merlin said condescendingly, patting his prince’s head to further insult him. Arthur grabbed at his wrist in frustration but the man twisted out of his grasp quickly, instead taking Arthur’s and spinning him around into a headlock.
“Merlin?!” He yelped.
“You started it!” Merlin goaded.
“Merlin!”
The two struggled against each other for far longer than Arthur would have predicted, tripping over one of the chairs at Arthur’s dining table and ending up wrestling on the bed. Breathlessly, with his legs locked around Arthur’s torso and arms snaked around his neck in a strong hold, Merlin rasped out a command for Arthur’s compliance.
“Just submit, Arthur.”
“Never!” Arthur gasped indignantly.
“Then it’s a draw you stubborn mule!”
“Not good enough!” The prince whined.
“Oh yeah?” Merlin hissed against his ear, “Then get up.” Arthur shivered against him, his breath tickling at the shell of his ear and the nape of his neck stirring something disturbing within his heart.
“Just… Give me," He panted, "a second…” Arthur was breathless for more than one reason now.
“One.” Merlin counted.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” He taunted.
Arthur struggled against the man constricting him, he was out of breath, completely disarmed, and he wasn’t about to call for the guards over this. How would he explain it? What could he possibly say that wasn’t humiliating? So he did the only thing he could, and he grumbled his defeat.
“What was that?” Merlin asked in a sickly-sweet tone.
“Just get off-”
“Mhm.” Merlin hummed, releasing his prince from his grasp and rolling himself to the far end of the bed, his legs hanging over the edge and his hands gripping the sheets at either side of himself as he caught his breath. He was sweating, both of them were, but Arthur made the mistake of looking at Merlin and noticed how the candlelight made him look with that added glow one gets after working out. He was staring.
When Merlin seemed to have his breath he looked back at Arthur, eyes heavy, lips parted, hands clutching onto the edge of the bed just tight enough to leave wrinkles in the sheets had he unleashed them from his grasp.
Arthur was slumped against the headboard, propped up by his elbows, his legs falling lazily in front of him. He swallowed thickly as he glanced over his counterpart, taking in the view hungrily. He wanted to touch him again, be tangled in a rough embrace with Merlin, struggle for power and be pinned down in the end again.
Merlin went to stand, to leave, but Arthur wouldn’t have it. On impulse he grabbed at Merlin’s wrist and tugged him back, freezing once his mind seemed to clear, trapped in this new hell he’d created for himself. He couldn’t move, he was locked in place.
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
“I-I… I don’t know why I just did that…”
“I think you do.”
“Uhm…” Arthur mumbled, begging his mind for something to say as Merlin inched closer, “Just,” The heavy look in his eyes scared Arthur back to reality, he released his hold with a small push before extending his arm, “Well done.” He said sheepishly. Merlin looked utterly disappointed, but pride flashed back over him and he took Arthur’s arm with a smirk on his face. The prince’s eyes widened at a sudden idea and before Merlin knew it the prince had brought him back into the fight, a wild look in his eyes and a villainous grin on his lips.
“Cheater!” His manservant yelled, falling into the game again. Arthur laughed maniacally
But Merlin only went limp, falsifying struggle and letting Arthur take all the control, feigning weakness and hurt. His prince’s frustration at the sudden difference evident, giving up his attempt at rekindling their tussle. Merlin took advantage immediately, twisting a leg around Arthur’s and flipping him on his back, knocking a huff of air from the blonde’s lungs.
“Merlin!” Arthur yelped in surprise.
“I can cheat too, you know!” He laughed, Arthur strained against him before giving up.
“Fine! Fine! I submit, happy?” He ground out, Merlin smiled before getting off of him.
“Very.” He replied gruffly.
Arthur threw a pillow at the man, like a bratty child, but when Merlin turned around he saw that his prince was smiling. He leaned over the man and pushed him back down onto the bed.
“Just go to sleep.” He ordered softly, a pretty smile still on his lips. Though his hold was gentle, it was firm, and Arthur nearly forgot how to breathe because of it. He turned his head to the side, Merlin’s burning gaze too much for him to face head-on.
The air is suddenly thick, and with Merlin looking at him like that, Arthur didn't quite know what to do with himself. Lips parted, breath heavy and hot, the heat of it all made his skin simmer. Arthur was just as much a mess as Merlin. He swallowed as he stared at Merlin’s lips, warmth creeping over him and pooling just below his abdomen.
“Merlin…” he breathed. He wanted to give it all up, put himself in his manservant’s hands and have him do whatever he pleased, he didn’t want the hold on his wrists to ever go away, to be free of Merlin’s embrace was something he’d never wish for. He wanted Merlin to teach him those filthy and resplendent things he knew but the prince did not.
No. No no no! We just… we can’t.
No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how lost he was in Merlin’s eyes, they couldn’t indulge whatever this was. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t real.
“Merlin-“ He started in a whine, eyes glossing over, heart racing.
“Arthur.” Merlin purred in response, breath caressing his prince’s sensitive skin.
Gods, why’d he have to sound like that?
His hold on the prince tightened, eliciting another desperate whine.
“Merlin,” he was nearly gasping now, “I… I can’t.”
And Merlin’s hold vanished immediately. Eager as he was to indulge his desires and finally, finally, give the potion what it so desired, he could never take Arthur without his permission. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Merlin took several deep breaths, smoothed his hair back and brushed himself off. He quickly finished snuffing the candles and grabbing the washing, not acknowledging his prince all the while.
He bids Arthur goodnight and leaves hurriedly, ready to resolve what the two had accidentally started. Arthur is a bit disappointed they couldn’t have their usual late night talks. But more presently he starts contemplating what would have even happened had he given in. He thinks about the spell, how Merlin had said it left him wanting, how he might have taken himself in hand and thought of Arthur for his release. A dangerous thought.
After sleep had finally taken him, Arthur has another dream, the kind about Merlin, about how deceptively strong he is, the way he looked when he was hungover and pouting, the way he looked in the candlelight. How he looked at him.

'Merlin had him pinned against the cold brick of the secluded corridor’s walls, hands on his hips holding him firmly in place, Arthur’s arms around his neck. They wouldn’t be seen here, not easily, no one ever milled around this part of the castle, but the small chance of getting caught did make Arthur’s heart race. Merlin was so daring, he’d never admitted it. But he was. Always at Arthur’s side, without armor, or even a simple weapon. Yes, he was ridiculously daring. It made the prince feel hot all over to have that dedication directed toward him, Merlin would do anything for him and he wondered how he was lucky enough to deserve it. But that didn’t matter now, Merlin was kissing him into oblivion, hot and fast and sloppy. Needy. It was bliss.'

Arthur was really having dirty dreams about his servant, his friend, a man. He couldn’t help what happened next, it was nature, some part of him knew that, but he still feels guilty when he wakes up in the middle of the night with an unresolved mess under his covers. He feels like he’s somehow taking advantage of Merlin, even though he hasn’t even done anything. Neither of them had. And yet. Still, he has to deal with himself and he can’t keep his mind off Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. He pictures Merlin over him, tongue in his mouth and his hands touching him intimately. He bites into his own hand. He doesn’t quite know how men would have sex but he knows he wants to learn.
Arthur finally gets back to sleep after cleaning himself up, teary-eyed and panting through the aftershocks. Ashamed of his actions but physically relieved.

Strangely, Arthur did not feel shy as before when Merlin had come to wake him the next morning. Instead he felt an ache, wishing he could have more than his own thoughts and hands, wishing that those feelings he had come to realize were growing were without exception on both sides; requited by a man in his right mind. But Merlin wasn’t, his wants had been perverted by a lecherous woman that had disregarded the servants observant and suspicious eye.
Arthur leaned into Merlin’s lingering touch as he was disrobed and dressed, he let his fingers brush against his manservant’s when he gave him Excalibur. Skin tingling with the warmth of the gentle contact, eager and desperate for more. He’d fallen fully, let it all go, it was hopeless. He was a mess in the head and heart for that stupid black-haired blue-eyed clumsy man he dared call a dear friend. For now, the warmth of it all kept him from losing his mind with despair over it being temporary. Unwittingly he was in the same state as Merlin himself (magical wiles be damned); On air.

Arthur hadn’t planned to admit it- but the actual kill was the least exciting part of a hunting trip in his eyes. No, what he cherished and looked forward to the most was spending time out of the stuffy castle hallways with his knights (and his Merlin, of course). The fresh air, the warm breeze, the casual banter and thrill of a chase, yes he cared for it very much. The small freedoms of those little jaunts.
“Merlin, I wonder why you never wear more than that shabby coat when we go out.” Gwaine mused, clearly keying himself up to tease his good friend. Merlin looked back at him from his place beside Arthur and cocked an eyebrow, easing his steed to slow its pace so he could fall in step with Gwaine instead. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Have a guess.”
Gwaine grinned slyly.
“Perhaps you think yourself impervious to harm? You’ve certainly got quite the streak going.”
“Have you considered the idea that I’m never truly doing any of the fighting? Or that a servant can’t really afford a full set of armor?” Gwaine huffed at Merlin’s response.
“Couldn’t be that, you must be invincible to yourself,”
“To you certainly, but to others? I wouldn’t count on it.” Merlin hummed, leaning back in his saddle lazily and crossing his arms behind his head to further punctuate his point.
“Wanna bet?”
“Bet what, exactly?” Merlin wanted Gwaine to spell it out. An annoying trait Arthur had noticed the week after the man had become his servant, he wanted him to say it, no implications or ways to back out.
“I can most certainly beat you in a fight, Merls, no two ways about it.” The knight didn’t back down, and Merlin grinned slyly.
“You’ll lose your money.” He goaded, voice a little too smoothe for Arthur’s sanity.
“Alright then, hotshot,” Gwaine smirked, “Who all wants a piece of this action? Percival? Who’s your champion?” The knight blinked at him.
“I’m not going to pay you to beat up poor Merlin.” Arthur laughed and Merlin shot him a searing scowl.
“I am not some damsel, Percival!” The servant huffed, Percival just shrugged at him apologetically.
“Leon?”
“I am going to side with Percival on this, sorry Merlin.” Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Arthur?” Gwaine continued.
“Merlin.” The prince replied easily, half focused on a pair of antlers in the distance.
“Oh princess! You wound me!” Gwaine clutched dramatically at his chest. Arthur looked back at him with an insidious grin on his face.
“I’m serious, I’m betting on Merlin.” The man in question smiled smugly as Gwaine sputtered.
“Ok, Merlin, since the princess is so sure, let’s have at it!”
“Gwaine, cool down.” The manservant said easily, still the picture of a sorry winner as he spoke.
“Alright, alright, I understand,” Gwaine condescended, “You’re scared. Don’t worry, Merls, I’ll go easy on you.”
“Well you’re easy to tease.” Arthur laughed. Merlin shrugged and dismounted his horse, the group had come to a natural stop about halfway through the two’s bet had begun.
“Let’s get this over with then.”
Gwaine blanched at how cavalier Merlin had suddenly become, unsure of himself as he, too, dismounted his horse.
“Surprised?”
“Honestly? A little.” The knight said candidly.
“Uh-huh-“ Was all the response he got before Merlin swept his legs from under him and pinned him to the ground, surprisingly strong arms locking his in place against the cool dirt of the forest floor. Gwaine let out a surprised yelp as he hit the earth and his fellows in arms only laughed in shock.
“How the hell is that fair!?” He squeaked.
“I never agreed to play fair~” Merlin teased, voice teetering between flirtatious and haughty.
“Oh you cheeky bastard!” Gwaine laughed from under him, a much better loser than Arthur was before. Merlin let him up and the two both mounted their respective steeds again, the group continuing their casual pace and falling back into the usual banter.

Merlin wore a mighty scowl as he lifted the elk's corpse to rest on the hind of Leon’s steed, thankfully the knight was willing to finish getting it situated. Merlin hated prize hunting, and though it wasn’t the case this time, the kingdom was in a time of plenty so there was no real need to kill the poor beast. Arthur snickered at him for his sensitivity as they headed back for the castle.
On their way there is a lull in the idle chatter of the five men and Gwaine trots up to be at Arthur’s left (Merlin, as always, was on his right).
“So, Princess, what had you so sure Merls here would best me?” Arthur rolled his eyes.
“He’s a cheater.” He replied simply, Gwaine laughed.
“Yes, I see that now.” He said fondly. Something about his tone and the soft expression he had made Arthur feel unpleasant.
“But he’s faced much worse than you, can’t be too surprised he beat you.” It almost felt like his own pride had been wounded, and of course he overcompensated for it. Gwaine quirked up an eyebrow at him before glancing back to a now smirking Merlin, who promptly and very smugly winked at him.
“I accept my defeat!” He acquiesced. Arthur huffed at him, satisfied.

Dinner that night consisted of a lovely deer stew and a lengthy conversation between the Pendragon siblings about tournament preparations. Both agreed how frivolous this side of the event was- but Arthur was sure to infuriate Morgana by telling her she was saddled with “the easy stuff”.
“Twenty different servants I’ve never even seen before all coming to me about something as stupid as what colors the flower garlands should be is not a treat, Arthur! And that’s all that Uther thinks of me! Just some little girl who deals in frilly things and roses. It’s demeaning!”
Arthur’s eye roll was so intense Merlin could swear it made an actual sound.
“That surprises me,” Merlin murmured, “They ought to know by now that red would be traditional.”
“Exactly! Thank you Merlin,” Morgana said exasperated with a wide sweeping motion of her arm, “They’re acting like we’ve never done this before. It’s infuriating.”
“That we can agree on.” Arthur concurred.

Much later in the night Merlin and Arthur were going through the usual evening routine. Though, of course, with the added softness the potion compelled.

“I think you and Morgana are doing very well.”
“Is that so?” Arthur asked sarcastically while climbing under his bed covers. Merlin nodded pleasantly as he drew the curtains closed.
“It is nice to get this glimpse into your future as king.” Merlin said softly as he collected clothes from the floor and put them in their respective hamper.
Arthur felt warm inside from the comment. Merlin really saw himself staying at his side all that time. It wasn’t like Arthur hadn’t known. But now it wasn’t hidden under the safety that was japes and snide remarks. Arthur wished he could return the sincerity to the same extent. But when Merlin would be out of this haze he would remember- and Arthur did not have the cover of acting under a spell. It was too honest- vulnerable.
“Maybe I’ll make you a court jester.” He joked. Merlin turned to look at him just to roll his eyes.
“Like I’d let you do that.” He said with a smirk.

Eventually they were back where they ended up most nights now. Merlin sitting at Arthur’s table looking at the slivers of light seeping out of the curtains reciting poems and Arthur laying in bed on his side- listening intently and stealing not-so-subtle glances at his companion.
Arthur had come to quite enjoy the seemingly endless poetry Merlin would spout each night, sending the prince to sleep like a wise lullaby. His voice silky soft and quiet, gentle like a song.
He never wanted to go another night without it. He would never say so; he’d die first, or just as likely be cursed into it. But not of his own free will would he admit he liked this new routine. Or that he liked (loved) the sound of Merlin’s voice, that he’d never slept better in his life than when he knew Merlin was there. He could never tell him that. He’d sound like a lovesick girl.

“When you sleep tonight, you will dream in the taste of wild blackberries. You will allow the Earth to hold you in its arms and kiss you in the form of sunlight. When you wake, you will remember what you have forgotten since you were very small: you are a part of the Earth. She loves you.”
Arthur’s eyes drifted closed, and as he slept, he dreamt of picnicking with Merlin and feeding him blackberries under the warmth of the sun.

Chapter Text

The day of the tournament had finally arrived and Arthur was rather anxious to see how his knights would fair. Not only did he want Camelot to only have the best- but a childish part of him still wanted his father’s approval, even if more often than not he wished Uther Pendragon was not his family. He was always desperate for praise, and it made him ashamed. His anxieties were quickly quelled when the tourney began; however, even the newest recruits were doing well. The knights of the round table had quickly come out on top in each event, which was really no surprise, and it did make Arthur feel proud.
Throughout the days of the tournament Arthur’s attention was split between his knights and his Merlin, who had seemed almost entirely uninterested in him, instead chattering with Gwen and Morgana and tending to the Round Table between events, barely even giving his prince a second glance. It brought an unwelcome pain to his chest if he thought about it for more than even a moment. It was getting to him.
It was also pissing him off. Merlin wanted to be by his side at every conceivable moment not two days previous and suddenly he’d unstuck himself. No warning. He seemed to be avoiding him.
“Merlin! My drink is getting empty.” A simple petty snarky order for him to make to be sure, but with other royals and the king around Merlin was less likely to ignore it. He refilled Arthur’s goblet happily, but he was sure to give him an eye roll too.
“Enjoying the tournament from the stands, sire?” Merlin asked, tone catty. Arthur frowned at him, the comment had struck a nerve just as Merlin intended.
“You certainly seem to be.” Was all the prince managed, taking a large swig of his wine and looking back to the competition below. Merlin followed his gaze and sighed in a way a doting wife might.
“I know you’re upset, Arthur. And I would feel bad for you but honestly I’ve never gotten to enjoy these.” He spoke with a sweet candor, Arthur did melt a little for it.
“You’ve never had to compete, I don’t see how it’s much different now.” Merlin stared at him in disbelief.
“Well for starters I don’t have to worry about you the whole damn time!” He was in awe of Arthur’s stupidity sometimes, he wished it didn’t endear him as much as it did, “How many times has the tournament just been some convoluted plot against your life? And I’m always tending to you between events, I have to see you hurt yourself over and over again. How is that enjoyable?” Arthur had been smirking at him through his whole rant, chin propped up by his hand, leaning on the armrest of his chair and his other hand resting on his hip. Merlin blushed at him.
“…What?” He asked nervously. Arthur laughed and shook his head.
“Nothing,” he smiled and turned his attention back to his knights, “Who’re you betting on then?” He crashed into the subject change, unsubtle and equally uncaring. But Merlin humored him.
“Gwaine.”
“Gwaine?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘Really?’
“What? He’s sneaky! He’s been in more bar fights than the rest of the Round Table combined and doubled!” Arthur laughed agreeably at his defense.
“Fair enough.”

Of course, it was Leon who had won. He had the most experience, and he was Arthur’s First Knight. When Morgana was overjoyed and Gwen was noticeably disappointed, Merlin explained to Arthur they’d bet with each other as well. Whatever the wager had been was purely pride based however, as Morgana didn’t really need anything in particular. Arthur grinned a little at that- she was his sister after all, a win for a sister is a win for a brother.
He realized he ought to have made a bet with Merlin, but the chance had been missed. He sighed wistfully. Merlin took that as him wanting more to drink- which wasn’t an unfair assumption- and refilled his wine once more while yammering on about how they were right that one of the Round Table would be the ultimate champion.

The feast in Leon’s honor was great, the whole of the round table jolly and red-faced from drink and pride. He was a humble man of course, so every congratulations directed at him made his ears tinge just a little pinker. Gwaine was the first to point it out, calling him a flower in a way unintendedly sweet- obviously too drunk to properly control his voice (his body too, he was stumbling about and leaning on Merlin with his full weight), but everyone laughed anyway, even the embarrassed Leon.
Arthur felt such a swell of pride. But he still stole glances at Merlin, maybe it was the wine, but he was distracting. His laugh and the shine of his eyes, the way his face was flushed and the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. Arthur felt warm, at ease, content. All his friends celebrated around him and his Merlin was right there with them, as he always would be. Together they’d celebrate all their victories and hold each other up through every hardship, just as they had done.
A smile rested easy on Arthur’s lips as he sat quietly in his chair, looking amongst his men and lingering on his Merlin, head propped up by his hand because by now the room was swaying without grounding. He felt like he had the whole world. Merlin stumbled over to him to refill his wine and Arthur’s eyes did not leave him. He blinked at Merlin slowly, with a soft smile and an appreciative hum he drank, still not breaking eye contact. Merlin’s heart raced at that, his heart raced around Arthur often these past few weeks, but now it was stained by anxiety- the delightful happiness and ease was draining from him and he looked at his prince worriedly.
Arthur was already quite drunk, and he’d just poured him another full goblet, Merlin was in no state to take care of him. He needed to sober up.
“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, words slurring together, Merlin had moved to leave- to get water and bread to try and soak up the alcohol, but then Arthur had took hold of his arm and asked him where it was he needed to be that was more important than him. Arthur looked like a kicked puppy- vulnerable.
“Just to get some water, Arthur,” Merlin explained, “Do you need me to get you anything?” He tried to breathe deeply, calm himself down, but then Arthur started to pout.
“You’ll come back?” He asked (rather pathetically), eyes glossy. Merlin let out a strained whine and nodded before tearing from Arthur’s loose grasp and briskly walking towards the kitchens. He needed space- and silence.
Why hadn’t he noticed how oddly clingy Arthur had gotten? It was crystal clear to him now, drunk or not; somehow Arthur had gotten attached to him. Maybe it was a lack of affection through his life that had him eager to hold onto it now, that and the nine goblets of wine. Nothing else made sense to Merlin, well nothing that didn’t make him terribly nervous.

Maybe half an hour later Arthur finds Merlin in the empty kitchens, nibbling absently on a cut of bread and sipping at a small goblet of water. It is quiet and the room is dark save for a few stray lit candles, the glow soft against Merlin’s sharp features. He looks beautiful to Arthur.
“What are you doing?” He asks simply, “You’re missing the party…”
Merlin smiles at him and sets down his food, “Figured I’d sober up a bit.” He explained. Arthur huffed at him as if annoyed, stepping deeper into the room and walking towards him.
“What for? Tonight is a celebration!” He whined, and Merlin had taken immediate note of how close Arthur had gotten. He was nearly on top of him now, Merlin was backed against a countertop, and Arthur’s arms were on either side of him, caging him in.
“I fear you won’t make it up a single step if I’m not there, Arthur.” Merlin laughed nervously. He could feel his prince’s breath on his neck, and those sea-blue eyes bored into him uncomfortably.
“You’ll always be there.” Arthur mused before crumpling against Merlin, “Take me to bed.” He whispered against his chest. Merlin let out a shaky breath and grinned nervously, heart beating quickly.
“Let’s go then.” He agreed softly, hooking an arm around Arthur’s waist and supporting his weight as they stumbled across the castle to Arthur’s room.

“I have good news, Arthur.” Merlin said quietly, turning down the bed as Arthur stumbled into his nightclothes.
“Hmm?” The prince hummed and practically fell into the mattress, splaying out over the bedding and turning his head to look at Merlin, a soft smile still painting his lips.
“The potion is finally wearing off.”
Merlin had expected Arthur to be a bit happy at that, but instead the prince had a look of worry and disappointment about him, like he was rather upset at the idea.
“Really?” He asked, sounding a bit pathetic.
“Yes, the delusions are finally fading, I feel like I’ve woken up from a strange dream.” Merlin tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat, he new he’d never feel that at ease ever again, and the way Arthur was looking at him made him angry. Why did he look so… hurt? It confused him.
“Are we still friends, Merlin?”
What?
Arthur’s eyes were wet and his body was curled on the bed, he looked so small. Merlin stared at him for a long moment, almost forgetting to reply.
“Y-yes,” he stammered, “We’re still friends, Arthur.”
What the hell?
His prince sighed in what sounded like relief and let his head sink into his pillow, body unfurling just a bit as he seemed to relax. Merlin shook his head and let out a shaky breath before pulling Arthur’s bedding over him. His heart panged a little at the sleepy smile that appeared on his prince’s face.
“Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Goodnight, Merlin.”

Merlin decides to go back to the party. He doesn’t want to think about whatever that had meant. So he drinks more, somehow ending up in bed by the end of the party, he doesn’t know how. But his face is warm and he feels light, and there is the faint taste of cherry in his mouth. He grins as the night takes him, and if for only a moment, he feels peaceful once again.

Arthur did not find the same peace.

Delusions. Yes, that was the word Merlin had used. Delusions. Really, how could Arthur have ever convinced himself it would be anything more? He’d let his emotions run, his hopes too, and now he was in bed staring at the canopy above and hurting.
It shouldn’t have stung so much, and he shouldn’t have felt like something of his had been stolen. But it did, and he did. So he lay there, going over everything Merlin had done for him these past weeks, the flowers, the treats, the comfort, the touches, the poems. Arthur already felt the ebbing pain of missing. And the wine was not helping him. Before it had made him feel like he was floating, warm and light, vision blurry, gait unsteady, he was having fun. Now the red liquid had him aching unrelenting, his heartache shaking every fiber of his being, eyes heavy and limbs dead. The devil's blood, he’d once heard an older maid call it, and he didn’t think her wrong at the moment.

But other things could make you feel just as miserable, and then an idea struck him and lifted the weight from his eyelids; Maybe, by some strange twist of fate, the spell had affected him as well. So, after probably half an hour of trying to get enough wit to be able to stand, Arthur made his way down to the physician’s chambers as quietly as he could manage, most of the guards were still watching after the party, or participating themselves, so there were no prying eyes to see the prince stumble. He was grateful for that.
His eyes were blurry, a mix of the glossy encouragement of alcohol and the sense of pain thrumming steadily through his heart, but he found his way to the physician's chambers eventually. He tried to make a quiet entrance.

“Sire?”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Gaius.”
The old man was staring at him, that iconic brow raised, mouth turned down slightly. Arthur stayed silent for a bit, blinking hard and squinting at him, trying to remember why he’d even come down here, and then the familiar scent of herbs that was so Merlin gave him back his memory.
“Where is the book?” He mumbled, he forgot how hard it was to talk when like this. Gaius looked at him strangely.
“The… book?” He asked, stepping closer, now a bit concerned, Arthur didn’t reply.
“What book, sire?” And it was like the flame behind Arthur’s eyes were re-lit.
“The one about the spell,” He said quickly, words stumbling over each other, “the one that Merlin had, the one that makes him love me.” He could’ve phrased that better, too late now.
Gaius looked a little dumbfounded at that, and concerned too. Had? It must be over now.
“It’s on the shelf over there,” he pointed wearily, “May I ask why you need it?” He was hesitant to give arthur the book, if he had any strange ideas about wooing the noble ladies by using magic he wasn’t about to let that happen. Not while the prince’s father was alive at least.
“I’m just curious what it did to him.” Arthur tried to sound sure of himself, like he wasn’t lying through his teeth, “If it made him sick.” He faltered under that imposing gaze and impressive brow, Gaius didn’t pry any further though, figuring even if Arthur wanted the spell for devious means, he was clearly too drunk to remember it well. Besides, he wasn’t going to let the man leave with the book, there were less than favorable passages in the eyes of the law. Hiding in plain sight. Gaius chuckled to himself as he grabbed the heavy text. Birds of a feather. He mused thinking of his apprentice.
“Here it is,” He dropped the book on a small table, Arthur sitting on its bench, standing for too long an arduous task he didn’t feel keen on withstanding, “There, the potion of Antheros. There is some in the druiadic language, but none of what I could decipher tells of the potions symptoms.” Arthur used all his willpower to focus on the words.
After half an hour of him reading and re-reading the same eight paragraphs, Gaius left him to it.
Arthur forgot how hard it was to read like this. Especially when half of the words were medical drabble he had no business in having learned. But nothing in those scant few broken pieces of text did it explain how he felt. Why he was feeling this way.
Maybe on his thirtieth read through he gave up finding some secret sentence he could have missed that excused his heart. He all but threw the book aside, grumbling his thanks in the direction of Gaius’s bedchamber and stumbling back towards his own rooms.
He nearly fell at least six times on his way back, vision clouded and legs heavy.
So unfair. The only coherent thought.

When he makes it back to his room his pain turns to fury. This whole time had seemingly been a walk in the park for Merlin, he was on air- totally in love. And he’d been building Arthur’s feelings, showing him love in ways he never knew he craved. And now it was gone. There would be no gentle touches or late nights talking- no sweet nothings whispered to him when he was upset- all gone. Over. It was over.
Arthur let himself fall into bed, body like lead, and held a pillow close to his chest. Clutching to it and whimpering.

And now he was crying. He was humiliated, embarrassed, he felt like an absolute fool. Of course his feelings were real. But Merlin could never truly feel that way in return, and especially not for him, he was a man. He was Arthur’s best friend. He was his servant. Maybe if they were two different people things could be as Arthur wished. But that was all it was. A wish.
A wish for Merlin to touch him, to hold him, to have him in whatever way two men could have each other. He wanted those soft lips slotted against his and those gentle hands keeping him close. The simple idea sent shivers down his spine. He envisioned it even clearer, Merlin pressing him against the wall, kissing along his neck-
Arthur cock twitched in his pants. He palmed himself through his smallclothes and let out a whine, already embarrassingly sensitive. He was at full mast within a few caresses, teary eyed and ashamed of himself. But he didn’t stop. If he could have one thing it would be this. He could love him from afar and keep himself sane with fantasy and his eager hands. He freed his aching cock and kicked his undergarments away, angrily fisting his dick and keening off the bed in a sure arch. He stroked himself vigorously, setting a relentless pace as he chased the bliss of release. But it wasn’t enough. He groaned in equal part’s frustration and ecstasy, changing positions so he was on his knees. One arm curled under a pillow clenching the case in a vice grip and his other between his legs as he snapped his hips and fucked his hand with abandon.
Rage burned in him and each slap of his hips against his wrist made him whimper and sob, wet and tight tight tight and fast but not fast enough. He took the pillow in his mouth, holding it there like a fox with prey in its maw, muffling his moans and cries, spit stringing from the corners of his lips and tears falling down his cheeks. He started to stroke himself as he thrusted- finally getting just the right amount of friction, and then he thought of Merlin once more. Merlin holding him down on the bed and sucking him like he was drowning for air and he came hard. He cried against his damp bedding as he spurted come across the sheets. Groaning and shaking he collapsed into the soiled bed and sobbed.

“Gods be damned!” He cried. The mixture of his fury and shame clashing hard with the tingling of his orgasm. That crescendo of bliss did not save him. His chest heaved as he cried, broken and pitiful. He didn’t bother cleaning himself up, he just pulled his comforter over himself and wept until he couldn’t hold out against sleep any longer. His head swam- intoxicated and tired he slept, the inky black of night swallowing him and leaving him oddly warm. Physically unable to keep himself awake.

Arthur wakes up, a headache his rising call. It was… early? He couldn’t tell, but Merlin shows up, and he pretends to still be asleep, far too tired to try for conversation and his pounding head upset at the slightest noise, he stays quiet.
The vague shape of Merlin he saw through his half lidded eyelids and blurry vision was still somehow enough to make him ache. He watched as best he could as Merlin silently tidied the room. Dusting here and there, adjusting the curtains, humming to himself softly.
While laying out what Arthur imagined was his schedule for the day Merlin began to recite to himself. His voice was still rough from sleep, no doubt the drinking from last night adding another layer of grit to it. But Arthur liked that, the rough edges that rarely made themselves known in the manservant.

“You’re laughing.
You’re laughing and it rings throughout the whole street and your nose crinkles and your eyes squint and you stop walking to catch your breath and the whole world seems a little brighter,
Even just for a moment,
Even just for one little joke.” He sang quietly. Arthur smiled. If he were a more romantic man, one not burdened by the responsibilities of nobility, he could imagine himself writing just that with his Merlin in mind.

His eyes shut, and suddenly his head wasn’t really bothering him anymore.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been long before Merlin had arrived that Morgana had realized her feelings for Gwen were more than just a deep friendship. It was funny, that even for her own realizations she thought of many things as being “before Merlin” or “after Merlin”. He was quite the enigma, someone she reckoned would never have an equal. But Merlin was not the one she held affections for, more so suspicions of kinship (in certain terms) and a bit of admiration of his unforgiving attitude with her brother. A friendship she felt lucky to have and was eager to keep, and now she was more thankful than ever of his willingness to help with anything asked.
She had finally gotten over herself, and realized that Gwen was so marvelous and kind that even if her feelings weren’t returned she was sure the friendship would persist anyway. So she was to confess, to begin courting Gwen in private (Uther would never approve of course, he’d never let her marry a servant- extraordinary or not), and she hoped Gwen would feel the same. Or… forgive her for her wantings.

“I want to make her something.” She said when Merlin asked her how she was to do it, agreeing to help before she’d even finished the question. She had a feeling he knew something she did not, but she didn’t press, there were more important things at the moment.
“Make her something?” He reiterated, clearly fishing for details.
“I want to make her a box, something for her to keep her things in, like jewelry or letters. And I don’t want to just order someone to make it.” Merlin smiled that dazzling smile at her, and she felt a rush of pride knowing he thought it was a good idea.
“Well I can certainly help with that, would there be carvings on it? Painting?” He pulled out a small parchment and searched for a quill and ink, Morgana quickly found them for him and he started to make a list of materials they’d need.
“I’ve always been fond of wood burnishings? And once when we were visiting another kingdom I heard her mention she’d always admired them. She said it was such a unique way to make art.”
Merlin hummed as she spoke, scribbling down far more than she knew was necessary and she gulped at the idea of how big of a project this would end up being.
“Do you want to hand make it from start to finish? Or is there a box you’ve already selected?” Morgana stood quickly, excited to get another opinion on the chest of her choosing.
It wasn’t large by any means, a simple box with a latch, twelve and a half inches long, seven inches wide, and seven and a half inches deep, of course Merlin did not know those exact measurements, but she did, and she said just so as she gingerly handed it to him for his inspection.
“It’s stained a lovely color, and it’s smoothe too,” He turned it in his hands and opened it, checking the latch and hinges just to be sure they weren’t rusted. Overall it was an adorable little box, perfect for the odd trinket and letter, “Yes I think this is a great choice.” He hummed. Morgana beamed at him.
“How do we start?”

After many hours of sketching and consulting as many books on flowers as they could, Morgana decided on the design. It would be somewhat simple, a string of Aster and Carnations with vines running along the borders of each panel of the box. They would use red and purple stain to fill in the flowers and on the inside of the box would be the inscription, “For my Dearest Guenevere, Yours, Lady Morgana” and another (smaller) burned flower, this one a red rose.
All in all it took them two days of randomly found time to finish it. It was just as Morgana had hoped, better even, and Merlin did not hide his approval of the choice.

“If she doesn’t love it I’ll eat my hat, you know the one,” Merlin joked, “Feathers and all.” Morgana laughed brightly and thanked Merlin for his help.
“I’ve still one more favor to ask of you…” She said impishly.
“Hmmm, let me just check your favor count,” Merlin said in a sarcastic, playful manner, “I suppose I could fit one more in for you, but that’s it for the week.” She smiled at him and rolled her eyes.
“I just don’t know when I ought to give it to her.” And if she did notice the mischievous twinkle in Merlin’s eyes, she didn’t pay it much mind.
“I’d say tomorrow night, it’s set to be a full moon, and those are rather romantic. Additionally there’s nothing going on, it will be just the two of you.” He smiled pleasantly, like he was satisfied with something, and Morgana understood, she was rather rooting for another pair herself.
“I think that’ll do just fine.” She agreed.

Gwen made her way to the physicians chambers, hoping she was right that Merlin would be there for once. And she guessed correctly, there he was sitting in a position she didn’t think possible, his head deep in an ancient and dusty looking book. His head popped up from behind the massive tome and he smiled at her.

“Come to visit?” He mused, Gwen tilted her head to the side and gave him a pointed but friendly look. He rolled his eyes and closed the massive book, setting it down on a work table.
“I have an idea, and I need your help… if you’re not too busy?” She intertwined her fingers and leaned forward a bit, batting her eyelashes and looking up at him, she didn’t need to go through with such a display with him, but it was so fun to tease. Merlin faked apprehension, scratching at his chin and looking at his nails like he was being put out by the very suggestion.
“I don’t know, my schedule is so packed these days,” a lie, but he wasn’t trying to fool her in seriousness, she rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips, “But if I must.” Merlin sighed dramatically as if to acquiesce and shrugged.
“What’s the scheme then?” He asked excitedly. Gwen laughed and felt her face get a bit warm.
“Well you know that I…Feel a sort of admiration for my lady,” she knew it was foolish to mince words with Merlin, but it still made her anxious to state her feelings openly, “I want to make her a gift, and tell her how I feel.” Merlin’s face lit up, and he rushed to her excitedly, and by some mysterious means he already had parchment and a quill.
“Do you know what you’re going to give her?” He asked, voice teetering on giddy, and though Gwen wasn’t surprised by his excitement, it was certainly unexpected with its intensity.
“I-I wanted to make her a special po purée. Calming herbs and spices to help her sleep and give her clothes a pleasant scent.” Saying it aloud made her second guess herself but by the way Merlin was nearly vibrating with joy at the idea, she felt a little less self conscious.
“I think that’s a wonderful gift, Gwen. I have so many supplies here already, and we can go pick some flowers today when I go to gather herbs.”

The bag was made of a thin and sheer crème colored silk, Morgana’s initials sewn into them with a beautiful blue thread, and it was tied off with a blue ribbon, a prayer for good rest sewn into it. Gwen (with the help of a very enthused Merlin) had filled it with lavender and other herbs Merlin said were good for sleep, as well as rose petals and scented oils for fragrance.
She felt very proud of her work, and she couldn’t wait to give it to Morgana. When she told Merlin as such he smiled a knowing smile and kindly suggested she do it that very eve.

“It’s the full moon tonight, and you two will be alone without plans. I think you should go for it.” And Gwen did like the idea. The milky white moon would shine through Morgana’s curtains and make her stand out more, illuminating her sharp features and shining eyes. Gwen already knew she was going to be beautiful as ever. It made her heart jump pleasantly.

All throughout her dinner Morgana felt jittery, anxious and wondering when the right time would be, maybe in the next few seconds it would somehow be more romantic, more… well, right. But as the minutes wore on, and her meal vanished with each anxious bite, it seemed that moment wouldn’t announce itself.

As soon as Gwen had taken her plates off to the kitchens Morgana breathed a shaky sigh, it was now or never, she supposed; She stepped to her window and opened the curtains, letting that soft light brush against the stone floor and peer into her room, and she lit a few more candles, there were always more candles in romantic gestures, at least her books said as much, and it added a warm glow to the room she was sure would make Gwen’s dark skin even prettier, the shadows softening her already soft features.
Morgana retrieved the box and traced over the intricate burnings with her fingertips, trying to quell her anxieties. She could always bail, say she just ‘wanted to give Gwen a gift of appreciation’, nothing more. She wouldn’t let herself, but the thought did make her feel a bit more calm.

At the same time, Gwen had rushed to the store closet she’d hidden her gift in, smoothing down the ribbon excitedly as she briskly walked through the castle halls.
The scent was soothing her even now, and all that was left in her steps was an eager giddiness.

Merlin stopped by much later in the night, asking for Gwen, he wanted to see how things had gone. As soon as he muttered his quiet question he was pulled into Morgana's rooms by two sets of hands. They were giggling and looking between each other fondly.

“How did it go then?” He smiled. Gwen cuffed him on the arm lightly,
“You sneaky little trickster you knew!” Morgana chided playfully, Merlin laughed.
“It was so obvious even before, I’m afraid you two were meant to be from a mile away.”
Gwen blushed and looked away, Morgana was grinning wildly at her, hands reaching for hers.
“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Merlin murmured, he didn’t know why but very suddenly he just wanted out. Gwen looked at him incredulously, “Don’t you want to know all the details? Usually you’d love to hear.”
Merlin shook his head, trying hard to maintain that easygoing smile.
“Tell me tomorrow.” He said simply, making his exit and bidding them goodnight.

That awful sinking feeling twisted in his gut again, the jealousy in him an angry beast. He felt nauseous. He wanted so badly to just be happy for his friends.
But gods how he wanted and wanted to have the same for himself. In his mind he turned every detail over. And it made him angry.

It was so easy for them. Morgana did not have the fate of all magic kind resting on her shoulders, nor did she ever have to worry about the weight of the crown, and Gwen had no dark secret to keep close. Morgana could tell Gwen freely of her powers, her nightmares, and even if Gwen wanted to out her, which she would never do, Morgana could contest it easily, there was no risk. Not really.
And he felt a sharp hatred inside. They were his friends whom he cared so deeply for but at the moment he hated that they could so easily have what he would surely be killed for. He had made it back to his own room now, his inner monologue rushing him through darkened hallways.

Merlin took a knife from his small dresser of things, he usually used it to whittle down Arthur’s arrows or strip plants for their leaves, it was a simple knife but one that used to belong to Arthur. It was the first “gift” he’d given Merlin, though he had insisted it was poorly made and he just didn’t want to keep it, Merlin knew he’d gotten it for him.

It was after a particularly bad fight, Merlin had been cornered, he couldn’t protect himself without being seen, so he just took the beating and limped back towards his mare once the fighting was over. Arthur forced him to take the next week off, and on his first day back he’d given him the knife.
It was actually a very nice blade, and Merlin felt bad taking it, he still struggled with that- he realized. All his life he felt as though he didn’t deserve anything that went well, so when Arthur gave him the knife, even though he literally handed it to him and said it was his- he felt like he was stealing.
A shiny sharpened dagger with a birch hilt, waxed for a smoothe hold and a small band of silver around the butt of it. It was genuinely well made.
His eyes trailed over it as he held it in his hands, scrutinizing it like some kind of trojan horse.

Arthur felt guilty, that’s all. He felt bad that someone got hurt because of him. Not because it was me who was hurt.

A droplet of water splashed against the blade and Merlin realized he’d been crying.

“Huh…” He hadn’t felt like he’d been crying, maybe his eyes were watering from his staring, but when he started to chuckle at himself his voice hitched and his body wracked suddenly. He was sobbing now. Sobbing and clutching the knife Arthur made just for him. He plunged it into his bed, erratic compulsive stabs into his simple nest.
He screamed, angry, sad, jealous, guilty, everything negative he could feel was coursing through him.

Blood rushed to his ears as he howled and suddenly there were two strong arms fighting to hold his still. In his confusion he reeled back, head knocking painfully against something hard, and loud. He blinked, trying to clear his vision enough to see, turning around wildly.
“Merlin!” Finally his hearing returned to him, it was Gwaine's voice that called. He was still shaking, chest heaving, but his confusion was all that kept him from continuing his fit.
“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted again, finally freeing the knife from his iron grip, “Merlin, what- what the hell?” He stammered in a panic.
But Merlin couldn’t explain himself. He wasn’t in any state to speak, and as Gwaine stared at him worriedly, gripping him by the shoulders, his resolve crumbled, and he wept. His head fell forward and he shivered, he tried to cover his face, to keep some semblance of dignity, but Gwaine wasn’t having it.
The knight wrapped his arms around him tight in a bear hug, rubbing his back and holding the back of his head gently, hands carding through Merlin’s hair to soothe him.

Gwaine was sure Merlin could feel his galloping heartbeat but he didn’t care, when he heard those awful wails he thought Merlin had been fatally wounded, and when he burst into his room and saw Merlin weeping violently with a knife clutched in his hands, blade in the air about to come down, he thought he was going to witness his greatest friend’s suicide.
He would hold Merlin as long as he needed, not just to help his friend but also, selfishly, he thought, to be sure he wouldn’t lose a friend. He felt such immense and sudden fear at the idea of Merlin’s absence he was surprised his legs didn’t give out from underneath him.

When his breathing had finally slowed to a less asthmatic pace, he gave Merlin a squeeze and pulled back slightly.
“What… what were you going to do with the knife?” Even implicating what he had made him shiver again. Merlin shook his head against Gwaine’s chest.
“N-nothing,” He stuttered, voice ragged, “Just c-cutting up my bed.” He wheezed for air, Gwaine rubbed up and down his arms slowly.
“I’m so tired of being angry all the time.” He whimpered. Gwaine felt his heart break for his friend.
“It’s alright, Merls,” he assured him, pulling him back in close and rocking a bit, “You’re not a monster for being angry.”

Merlin woke up before sunrise, as usual, Gwaine curled around him protectively and sound asleep. He felt a rush of embarrassment and shame, had he asked Gwaine to stay with him, or was the knight there by his own insistence? As he wriggled free his memory returned to him; Gwaine had refused to leave Merlin’s side, even after his weak protests, and had forced him to lay down and rest, keeping him there until he finally fell asleep. Merlin assumed he had meant to get up but had fallen asleep himself before he could do so.
The knight grumbled and rolled over, still unconscious.

Merlin felt numb now, body aching like his heart did, and a selfish part of him wanted to curl back up in bed with his friends arms wrapped securely around him. There was safety there, warmth.

It had been two full weeks since the potion had finally set him free and he realized now just how badly he craved physical affection. He wanted so badly to reach for Arthur, to fix his hair and bump playfully against his shoulder, to hug him and hold him. But it was over now. He had no excuse.

Arthur was desperate not to notice the absence of Merlin’s touches. On more than one occasion he found himself reaching for the man, just to stop short when Merlin keenly rejected them. He’d be met with a shrug or nothing at all, and Merlin would back away from him whenever he got too close. And it hurt. Gods how it hurt. But what could he possibly say? Arthur is a prince, he can’t feel anything for his servant regardless, platonic or otherwise. There was nothing to do. Nothing to say.

He awoke that morning to the sounds of Merlin tidying his room, he could see his servants movements were sluggish, his eyes were red and puffy too, and he seemed to be breathing a bit sharply.
“Whatever happened to you?” He asked groggily, trying to sound casual but falling short, the worry in his ragged voice obvious. Merlin’s back straightened in surprise and he turned to face him.
“What?”
“Did something happen last night?” He mumbled against his pillow, head too heavy to lift at the moment. Merlin blinked at him quickly, trying to find an excuse, it was miraculously difficult.
“Just um… I accidentally rubbed my eyes after touching some nettle…” He lied. Arthur smiled at him warmly and laughed, the sound like a rumbling purr.
“Silly.” He mumbled endearingly before falling back to sleep. Merlin’s face felt warm and he stood there frozen, just staring at the sleeping prince. Finally he shook his head and left the room, heading down to the kitchens for Arthur’s breakfast.

It was late afternoon, the sun was shining and there were few clouds spotting the sky, it was a lovely day. But something was bothering Arthur. Something was always bothering Arthur; that twisted knot in his gut that pangs every time Merlin steps away from him.
But this was more than just that now.
Gwaine had been hovering around his manservant all day, asking him things in serious hushed tones and prodding at Merlin every time he returned from stepping away- like he was checking for wounds. The knight was not the type to be so nervous and fidgety, and alongside that he’d given up his usual persona of picking fights and getting up to all sorts of nonsense. Merlin looked guilty and annoyed all through his fretting and as time went on Arthur started to worry about him as well. He didn’t have the reason why yet, but now he too was nervously watching his manservant.

The sounds of the grindstone were always grating, but after so many years of handling weapons, it became a sort of background noise, like the wind or the sound of whinnying horses. Still, the familiarity did not save Merlin from the strain the sound added to his headache.
The night before Gwaine had insisted on having some drinks to take Merlin’s mind off of… whatever the mess in his mind was. It didn’t work, as much as Gwaine had tried. After the first few mugs Merlin was sobbing loudly in the tavern and Gwaine had rushed him back home.
He’d awoke late in the morning, his friends crushing arms wrapped tight around him like before, and had to rush through Arthur’s morning routine all while trying to manage his hangover. He was a lightweight, he knew, so did anyone that looked at him for even a second. But it was so hard not to overdo it, especially when he was so miserable. He wanted to get lost in the ale, fall down the cool well of the blood red wine and just drown in it. But it didn’t last, of course it didn’t. And then he felt worse than he did before he was drinking, and so he heaved as tears flowed from his eyes like waterfalls.
The shrieks of each stroke of the blade against the stone made him nauseous. He didn’t even notice Arthur come in.
“Merlin.” Arthur greeted, fidgeting with his ring and glancing over his manservant.
Merlin did not reply. He only paused for a second before continuing his chore. The prince sat down next to him.
“Merlin, are you…” Arthur winced when Merlin scooted away from him. He cleared his throat and continued.
“Are you alright…?” His voice was tender, gentle.
“I’m fine.”
They sat there without speaking for a long moment, the only pause in the sound of metal grinding against stone when Merlin was inspecting the sharpness of the blade.
“It’s obvious.” Arthur stated very matter-of-factly and nudged him, “Come on, what’s bothering you?”
Merlin stayed silent, his motions stilled. Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing up and down slightly.
“Merlin.”
He shivered at his own name, he shut his eyes tight and cowered, shying away from the gentle touch.
“Looking at you makes me feel sick, Arthur…” He whispered pitifully, the prince let him go immediately, shuffling back to give him more space.
“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. Merlin shook his head.
“No, no. You didn’t…” he sighed and rubbed his forehead, “You’ve nothing to apologize for I just… I feel ashamed.” He explained, leaning back and continuing to rub small circles against his temples.
“I said so many things to you. And I… I feel disgust for having put you in that position. I’m sorry you had to deal with all that.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Merlin. It was the potion. I know that.” Arthur said a bit hotly. Merlin smirked and looked over to his prince.
“Yeah, yeah.” He said quietly, pausing as he looked at his reflection in Arthur’s sword.
“I can’t take any of it back.” Arthur flinched a little at that. The regret in Merlin’s voice cut deep and he felt guilty himself for being so willing to receive his friend’s affections. After a bit of standing there and stewing he realized he should probably say something instead of letting Merlin’s words hang in the air.
“Hey now, it wasn’t all bad. At least you showed up on time.” He joked. Merlin let out a small laugh and Arthur smiled, heart just a bit less heavy, and left him to it.

That night, long after Arthur had gone to bed, he awoke to soft footfalls and the gentle opening and closing of his door. He stilled in bed, ready for a fight, sure this was going to be an assassination attempt. But after many minutes of waiting, and no further movement from the stranger, he relaxed slightly. Every muscle was no longer tense but his eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and he could see the reflection of the stranger in the window across from him. He stared intently, letting his eyes fully focus until he could see who this person standing in his room quietly was.
It was Merlin. Arthur let out a breath, but he did not indicate his being awake and aware. He wondered what his friend was doing, if he was sneaking around and was worried he’d been caught- waiting for Arthur to fall asleep proper. But it was getting to be an awfully long time now, more than he expected the man to wait.
It must have been an hour before Arthur heard that pitiful sound. Merlin sniffling quietly. He saw the silhouette of his friend shivering and listened to the soft cries. He wanted to get up, to turn over and ask Merlin what was wrong, he wanted to pull him into a hug and take all his pain away. But he was a prince. He was Arthur Pendragon.
“Oh Arthur,” Merlin whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Spoken so softly it wouldn’t have woken Arthur had he actually been asleep. Then Merlin left. Just as quietly as he came. And Arthur curled in on himself under his covers, hugging a pillow close to his chest.

“I forgive you. I will always forgive you.” A reply to empty air. Secrets poured into the night. His eyes felt damp when he closed them, and he fell asleep again, dreaming of nothing and no one at all.

Gwaine had never enjoyed the company of a proper drinking buddy, so he didn’t know the etiquette or what was considered concerning quite yet. But it didn't take long.
Merlin had been joining him at the tavern every chance he could and sometimes would be there before him, usually on his second drink.

He was fun to drink with at the start. A bit too loud but spectacularly funny, and the stories he told sometimes captured the whole tavern as its audience. But towards the end of the night, he’d grow quiet. His movements languid and his eyes dim of their usual cheer. And he would talk at length of how destinies were a fool's errand and that the laws of man had been corrupted since the dawn of the royal bloodline. His eyes would be glossy and he’d sneer at the joy of anyone “free-er than him” as he’d put it.
But Gwaine understood him at some level. He was a man of multitudes, someone intelligent beyond the credit given. So he sat with him through it all, it was interesting at least, and it made him feel closer to his friend somehow. Like he was seeing what no other had before him.
Then one night Merlin seemed to get worse, just angry and mean and jealous of the idea of happiness. He looked at Gwaine angrily, telling him how foolish he was to keep his company.

“You think we have so much in common, that we are somehow connected, but you’re wrong. I am not meant to be here, Gwaine, I am not someone who can be myself.” But the knight would stay, he would stay no matter how hard Merlin pushed. Because he knew he was drunk, and he knew something was happening in his mind he would not share.
So, like always, he stayed with Merlin, he didn’t get up from his seat or tell Merlin to leave. He stayed by him.
And by the end of the evening, when there was only an hour or two before dawn, Merlin was crying into his shoulder and begging for forgiveness as the knight lead him to the physician’s chambers.

“You just need to sleep it off, Merls.” He’d say quietly, over and over between gentle hushes. Merlin fell asleep on top of his bedding as soon as Gwaine had gotten him down, so his friend found a spare blanket and laid it out over him before sitting in a chair across from the cot and getting some rest himself.
They had a long discussion that morning as Merlin made himself various hangover relievers for the day ahead. After a lot of sighing on Merlin’s part Gwaine poked him in the sides to get his full attention,
“You’re burning the candle at both ends, Merls. I’d be daft not to see it.” He warned.
“Thanks for noticing, I’ll be sure to note that down.” Merlin wasn’t particularly happy with the conversation as it had been- his sardonic response withstanding.
“Don’t sass me, I was just about to do you a favor.” Gwaine scolded teasingly, getting in his friend’s way as much as he could to keep him from hiding away.
“A favor?” Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, he could only imagine the scheme his friend had in mind.
“I was going to ask if Princess would give you the morning off.” He explained simply, like it would be an easy task. Merlin laughed at him heartily.
“Fat chance of that panning out,” He grinned mirthlessly, “But I won’t stop you.”
“You never know!” Gwaine sounded a bit exasperated now, “Besides, everyone can see he favors you over anyone else. If a dear friend suggested you needed rest, he may listen.” He teased. Merlin blushed at the idea and grumbled in annoyance.
“Whatever.” He mumbled before finally dodging out of Gwaine’s way and heading towards the kitchens to get the prince’s breakfast, the knight, to his annoyance, trailing behind him.

“I would love to know why Gwaine is here.” Arthur said through grit teeth, his morning already off to a strange start. He found it mildly amusing that Merlin looked just as annoyed as he felt.
“Ask the idiot yourself.” Merlin replied without even glancing at either of the two men, instead making his way towards the wardrobe. Gwaine scoffed,
“What is it with you and getting help? Can’t a friend help with a burden?”
“Burden?” Arthur asked hotly. Merlin scowled and turned around,
“He’s not a burden,” He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and stalking towards the knight, Gwaine cowered slightly, a worried look on his face, “And I didn’t ask for your ‘help’ if I do recall.” The knight looked hurt by this, scrunching up his face and puffing out his chest. Arthur watched intently as he ate his meal.
“Fine, but you better take it easy- if I see you in the tavern tonight I’ll drag your sorry ass back to your room and bar the door.” Merlin’s face went red and he shoved the knight away and out of Arthur’s chambers.
“Just get out!”
Merlin closed the doors behind him loudly and turned around, face still red and full of annoyance. Arthur grinned at him.
“Just how exactly, was Sir Gwaine going to help you?” He mused before popping a strawberry into his mouth. Merlin sighed and shook his head.
“He was going to ask if you’d give me the morning off.” He said simply, Arthur looked a bit confused at that.
“…That’s all?”
“…Yes.” Merlin looked confused, like he didn’t believe Arthur would have done so. I mean, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, but Arthur was aware of how soft he’d been with the man even after the potions effects had left.
“Why would he be so insistent?” He was suspicious now, “Does he know something I don’t?” Merlin looked a little guilty and Arthur wouldn’t deny the pang of jealousy he felt in that moment.
“Merlin.” He warned, his friend sighed dramatically and continued his busywork.
“He thinks I’m overworking myself. I told him that’s nonsense and he insisted. That’s all.” He wasn’t going to open that Pandora’s box now, it was only morning, and the pounding headache he was nursing not withstanding, this wasn’t something he wanted to start the day with.
Arthur only hummed, the simple sound indicating that he didn’t believe Merlin at all. His friend glared at him as he set out his clothes. His prince smirked and Merlin braced himself for whatever bad idea was about to come out of the man’s mouth.
“I didn’t know you actually spent time in the tavern, always thought it was a lie,” He teased, “Thought you weren’t really much of a drinker.” Merlin continued his glaring. Arthur raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to object to the observation.
“People change.” He said curtly, taking Arthur’s empty plates and storming out of the room. The prince looked sort of hurt as he left, and although Merlin felt a little guilty, he didn’t feel like apologizing anytime soon.

A few days of this go by, Merlin silently doing his work, Gwaine always irritably nearby, and Arthur doing his best not to annoy him further.
During a routine patrol Gwaine finds himself able to talk to Arthur alone, Merlin had not come to join them, apparently Gaius needed help with his work and Merlin had a lot of things to catch up on. The knight rode right beside him, glancing back to make sure they were out of earshot of the others.
“Sire,” He started in hushed tones, Arthur side eyed him and slowed his pace to be next to his knight.
“Hmm?”
“Merlin has been getting worse.”
Arthur gripped his reins tightly, he felt tense and worrisome, he looked at Gwaine fully now, and the knights expression was grave.
“Explain.” He ordered.
The knight looked behind them again before continuing,
“I’ve caught him in the taverns again and again, no matter how much I tell him to stop and drag him away he always ends up back there,” He sighed heavily and continued, “I know I’m not one to talk when it comes to drinking but he isn’t… he’s not doing it for the merriment or to let off steam. Something is deeply wrong. I worry for him.”
Arthur swallowed heavily, trying desperately not to show how worried he truly was on his face.
“Do you know the reason? Is it something I’ve done?” Gracefully Gwaine did not comment on how pleading the prince had sounded,
“I don’t know what it is. But I know it’s been troubling him long before the whole… debacle with the potion.” Arthur felt his face grow hot.
“And just what does that mean?”
“Merlin told me what it really was, besides how could I not notice, he was very happy that whole month,” Gwaine explained quickly, he didn’t have the time or care about how Arthur felt at that moment, “But I know there is something he refuses to tell anyone. Not me, not you, not even Gaius I assume. I think the only one who could have known was…” He turned away now, eyes staring out at nothing. But it clicked into place for Arthur.
“Lancelot?” He asked quietly.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said the man’s name. But it came rushing back, his death. And he wanted to be in the forgetful haze again.
“They were always close, closer than even you and Merlin,” Gwaine was still staring out at nothing as he spoke, tone clipped with grief, “He knew him in some way I am not able to. But if you asked him… maybe he’d explain himself. He holds you very highly.” The knight had no deception in his voice, and he seemed almost jealous of the late knight’s bond with his friend. Arthur felt itchy very suddenly, to have his… bias for Merlin be obvious enough for Gwaine to pick up on was worrying, and more so- he felt irritated that somehow Lancelot had some secret knowledge of Merlin that no one else had. He wanted so desperately to know himself what mysteries Merlin was keeping. He wanted to know his secrets, wanted to be trusted with them.
He wanted that closeness that apparently even Gwaine was not afforded.
“Do you… do you think they were..?” He didn’t say it outright but Gwaine laughed before he elaborated, which relieved him a bit.
“No, no they were not.” Arthur met Gwaine’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.
“How are you so sure?”
“Trust me, Arthur, they both had their sights set on someone else.” Gwaine smirked at him, knowing Arthur had no clue who he was referring to and relishing in the disgust and envy plain on the prince’s face.
“But why would you care?” He prodded, snarky as ever. Arthur sent him a burning look and had his steed pick up the pace.
“Get back in line.” He ordered, very clearly embarrassed by what Gwaine was implying.
Arthur felt nervous now, nervous and jealous but most of all he felt worried for Merlin. He’d never actually thought about how Sir Lancelot’s loss had truly affected them, himself, the round table, Merlin. He’d bottled it all up and hidden it away- refusing to address the grief. The insurmountable loss. It was a hazy memory now.

A dark fog clung to the air, damp and smothering, all quiet except for the occasional chirp of a cricket. Merlin and Lancelot had returned to the group, Arthur, happy to see his friend alive, felt a bit renewed, but their mission was not over.
Morgause had torn open the veil to the dead, knowing the sacrifice required to mend it, holding Morgana hostage and in an enchanted sleep to lure the prince towards it further. And it worked. The devastation the tear had caused and the threat to Morgana added, Arthur was going to sacrifice himself- as the witch had wanted. But Merlin wasn’t about to let that happen, knocking out the prince with a spell and offering himself up instead. Little did he know, Lancelot wasn’t going to let that happen to his friend either.
“What are you doing?” Merlin gasped, struggling forward to get to Lancelot. He was going to walk through the veil, he was going to sacrifice himself, in place of Merlin.
“Lancelot! You’ll die! Please just let me take his place!” He pleaded.
The knight only turned back and looked at him, a smile on his face, and he walked through the veil. It swallowed him up and vanished.
And just like that he was gone.

Arthur did not know the full story, of course, but what he did know was that one of the bravest men he’d ever met was gone. And there was no way to fill his place.
Everyone had just shut the memory out it seemed. They never talked about it, nobody had. And Arthur had learned to ignore the weight of it.

The patrol returned to Camelot as the sun began to set, a slight breeze combing through the branches of the forest and cooling the knights in their layered wear. It was nearing the end of summer now, and fall was on its heels, migratory birds leaving their nests, lilacs in bloom. Arthur wondered what herbs might now be in season, he’d have to ask Merlin about it next time he goes out foraging. There were more pressing matters though, things he’d have to word delicately to be understood.

Arthur means to talk to Merlin, he really does. Nothing his mind was giving him would work though, he was never good with words and this was not something he wanted to just barrel through. He ended up doing a lot of intense staring at his manservant who was promptly weirded out. They talked even less than before, and it made the prince feel achy. He missed the banter that he was inadvertently preventing.
Eventually he decides that if Merlin wanted to talk about it he would bring it up, and Arthur would just have to wait for that moment.

“We’re going on patrol for three days,” Arthur stretched his back lazily, “You know what to pack of course, but we are leaving this afternoon.” Merlin nodded along like he was listening and set out Arthur’s breakfast.
The prince stared at him for a bit before he cleared his throat dramatically.
“What?” He asked dumbly, Arthur chuckled.
“We’re going on a patrol,” he started to explain again, popping a berry from his breakfast tray into his mouth, “Three days, we leave this afternoon.” Merlin seemed to take it in this time, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice how his gaze was focused on his lips.
“Any particular reason?” Merlin asked casually, tearing his eyes from Arthur’s mouth. The prince smirked, having some idea as to why Merlin would be so fixated on his lips. He shrugged when Merlin looked at him again.
“We could do with the fresh air, besides, always good to do the rounds.” It wasn’t a complete lie, the prince just had ulterior motives. He felt like he was being tossed around by desire. To help Merlin, and to have him. Selfless and selfish, both pulling him back and forth like the tides of the sea.

They both needed some time away from the stifling air of the castle, they were not completely alone to Arthur’s behest but still, enough separation from both of their responsibilities. Gwaine was not invited, Arthur made sure of it, he didn’t want him to hover around Merlin like he had been, plus time away might get him to do his actual job instead of fretting over his friend. It was interesting to see the knight so protective of his friend, even humorous at times too. He’d seen the man dragging Merlin by the ear away from the tavern while scolding him like an angry mother, the manservant beet red and positively fuming.
But Arthur wasn’t especially keen on dealing with that specific sort of chaos for three straight days.
Joining them would be Elyan and Leon, a small party to be sure, but they were not on a treacherous journey. Merlin didn’t seem to have any complaints, he didn’t seem to have anything to say at all. He’d gotten more and more distant, not just from Arthur, but from everyone. And there was a chilling look in his eyes, like he’d come to some sort of bleak conclusion.

Their departure was peaceful, none of the men having much to say and simply enjoying the nature around them. Arthur already felt refreshed, each new lungful of air sending pleasurable shivers through him. They were two hours from Camelot’s walls before a word was spoken. Just idle chatter, Elyan remarking on the lovely weather and Leon responding in kind, Merlin chiming in at some point with a joke that made the small group laugh lightly, Arthur didn’t say much though. He was lost in his mind, ruminating on what could be if the stars were to align. He fantasized about leaving everything behind, Merlin and him in a village so far no one would know who he was.
He stayed in that daze late into the night. His short rest filled with dreams of flower filled meadows and Merlin by his side. When it was his turn to keep watch he almost rolled over and ignored Leon’s gentle prodding so he could continue the dream. But he fought his urges and walked to the edge of the group’s temporary encampment to take up his position.
Merlin was still awake, shifting between periodically stoking the fire and adding more fuel, and tending to the horses.

“Can’t sleep?” Arthur asked after a while. Merlin let out a small quiet laugh.
“No. No I can’t.” He replies softly, idly brushing his mare. Arthur looked at him curiously,
“Well… I don’t mind the company.” He tried so hard to sound casual, aloof, anything but desperate. He even looked away from Merlin as if he was bored, when really his heart was pounding so spectacularly he was sure it may well burst from his chest. The implication sitting in those six simple words was a leap he’d never thought he’d take.
Merlin did not respond for a long moment, contemplating something. The silence between them stretched for only a minute or two before Merlin quietly made his way to Arthur and sat across from him.
“Arthur,” Merlin began quietly, the prince turned to look at him and tried to keep his cool, “What did you mean on that night?” His tone took Arthur by surprise, and he knew immediately what night Merlin was talking about, but what he’d said escaped him.
“Hmm?” He didn’t really know just how much he’d said when he was drunk at Sir Leon’s celebration.
“You asked if we were still friends.”
Ah.
“I don’t remember that.”
For a brief moment Merlin looked angry, Arthur looked away immediately. He hated when the man looked at him like that.
“What did you mean, Arthur?” The prince knew better now than to hope he’d let it go. He collected his thoughts, slowing his breathing to calm himself. Merlin waited patiently.
“I think I was worried you’d be disgusted by me.” A warmth rose in his cheeks and he hoped the dark cover of night would conceal the blush he was sure painted his face. At first Merlin looked surprised, but then his eyes softened and he smiled that warm smile that always took Arthur’s breath away.
His friend laughed, “Oh I’ve always found you quite repulsive,” he joked, a smirk pulling at his lips, “But it hasn’t turned me away yet.”
Arthur grabbed Merlin’s neckerchief and flipped it up into the man’s face.
“Shut up.” He held back his laughter as best he could and grinned. Merlin shoved him back playfully and the two fell into a comfortable silence.

That would be the last time they had a conversation over the rest of the patrol. It wasn’t an uneasy quiet, more so contemplative and peaceful. But it still made Arthur feel… itchy, like something was terribly terribly wrong. He couldn’t shake it. Merlin seemed completely aloof but the prince knew in his heart it was a lie the man had come to master. He kicked himself for not noticing sooner, the first night he’d put it all together he combed through his memories and found time and time again that Merlin had deliberately acted a fool when he should have been upset. And stupidly Arthur had been none the wiser, too caught up in his own head to see it.

Inside there was rot. Each night Merlin would go to bed aching, each night he’d wake and have the urge to traverse the castle's empty and uncaring halls to end up back in Arthur’s room. He wanted to see him peaceful. He knew he wouldn’t see him like that much longer. Because already it felt as if he was too late, every hour that passed by added to the betrayal. Even if Arhutr would fully accept him- he’d waited too long. Far too long. How could he ask forgiveness for that? How could he possibly believe he was worthy of forgiving?
He may have died inside, he thinks, the same night Lancelot left him alone with his destiny. His only connection to someone that knew what and who he was and was on his side, not the Old Religion or the druids or anyone else that had found out the prophecy of The Great Emrys. With the death of the knight, so too did the small amount of hope Merlin had left.
Being found out, or confessing himself. Which sword did he want to lay on? It consumed Merlin’s every thought.
Somewhere in his pathetic drunken mewlings to Gwaine he’d said so. The time- the wait- was his downfall, his biggest knife into Arthur's back. He contemplated just leaving. Quitting and running off somewhere, somewhere where no one knew him and no one could find him. Maybe he’d cross the sea. But Arthur wouldn’t be safe. Even if he were banished he’d find a way to come back, to stay and protect the only part of the prophecy he agreed on, the Once and Future King; Arthur Pendragon. He was worth the pain, Merlin knew this for some time, but it didn’t make it any easier.

He filled his days as best he could to keep his mind busy, doing extra chores and forgetting meals, listlessly wandering from one task to the next. He barely spoke, which everyone noticed, but they all failed to get him to open up.
Gwen received hollow replies, short and empty, as did Morgana and Gwaine and Percival and Elyan and Leon. Gaius gave his apprentice looks of disapproval every time the man left without eating or speaking, he tried to talk to him at night, but when Merlin returned he went straight to bed.
Arthur tried to talk to him, and Merlin would respond, but so obviously he was acting. Putting on a show for Arthur so the man couldn’t prod him with leading questions. The prince wanted so badly to make whatever it was go away, he wanted to take away all the pain, to see Merlin smile again. He got a few grins, when a joke slipped through the cracks and earned a bemused huff, and every time it felt like he’d found gold. He ran through every moment he got anything near a genuine smile each night before he finally fell asleep and he tried his hardest to earn them again the next day. He was grasping at straws now. Someday soon whatever the hell it was that was getting to the man would break him, and Arthur didn’t want to see that happen.

Gwaine had taken the mother hen role lately, hovering around Merlin and trying to force feed him, trying (and failing) to keep a conversation going. More than once he’d followed Merlin into Arthur’s bedchambers, bickering with him and following him around the room like a cat. Arthur was getting sick and tired of it, even banning Gwaine from that particular side of the castle at night. Merlin seemed relieved a little but Gwaine was furious. Arthur assured him he could keep an eye on their friend perfectly fine without him but the knight didn’t seem convinced.
It’d been a few nights since Gwaine’s banishment from Arthur’s hall and things had been going… alright. Merlin still didn’t speak as often as he used to, and every now and then Arthur would catch him staring with a glint of hurt in his eyes. There was no getting it out of him it seemed.

It was late, quiet, and cool, Arthur was laying in bed and mulling over what his plans for the next week would be and Merlin was going over some documents the prince had just finished earlier that evening. The crinkling of the parchment was oddly relaxing and Arthur found himself staring again. He wanted so badly for his friend to open up, he wanted to help.
“Can you please stop?” Merlin said through grit teeth, eyes still scanning across the legal papers, Arthur startled and cleared his throat.
“…Stop?” He asked dumbly, he hadn’t been doing anything, had he? Merlin slowly set the papers down and shut his eyes tight, rubbing at his temples annoyedly.
“You’re doing it again,” He groaned, Arthur just shook his head, “Stop looking at me like I’m a wounded animal.” He met the prince’s eyes now, and Arthur shivered.
“I am not.” He lied, face feeling warm, Merlin glared at him.
“You are.” Merlin snipped, getting up and closing the curtains.
“Are you-?” Arthur hadn’t finished his question before Merlin had turned around with a scowl on his face.
“I’m fine.” Now it was Arthur’s turn to be angry.
“Oh really?” He started, voice clipped and hands shaking a bit, “We barely speak anymore! Gwaine is constantly worried over you, and I don’t know how many times I’ve seen you drinking a relief draft when you come to wake me in the morning.” His face was warm and his eyes were glossy, he was a mess, and Merlin looked… shocked. He felt bad now, but still.
“I’m alright, Arthur, really…” He started sheepishly, embarrassed by himself.
“Merlin,” The prince rose from his bed and stepped towards his friend, “You’re not.”
“You don’t need to bother.” Merlin backed up his voice carrying a finality to it that Arthur despised.
“I think I will.” He argued, grabbing Merlin’s shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. His friend startled at the touch but did not try to get away.
“Arthur?” His voice was so small and desperate his body shook with antsy, like he was trying to fight back accepting it.
“As much as I hate to admit it,” Arthur said softly, arms still tight around Merlin’s back, “You are important to me. Even if you are an idiot.” Merlin laughed sharply, gingerly returning the hug before backing away, Arthur let him go, even if he didn’t want to. He gave the man a soft punch in the shoulder.
“I think I’ve just been tired,” Merlin admitted with a shy smile, Arthur smirked at him,
“Sure.” He said without a lick of sincerity, he didn’t believe the excuse for a second, but he’d let the man get away with it for now.
“Get some rest then, Merlin, and sleep in tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Goodnight, Merlin.”

The prince slept better than he had the past seven nights, it wasn’t completely fixed, and he didn’t truly know what was plaguing his Merlin’s mind, but this was a start.

Merlin did not sleep as well. He hurt even more now, he had Arthur’s arms around him, he’d drank his scent in, and it was clear now more than ever exactly what he was giving up soon. He wept long into the night and when he awoke he just lay in bed not bothering to get up until midday. He tried his best to not look so haggard when he brought Arthur lunch, he pulled it off for the most part. The prince seemed to be smiling just a bit more, that was good at least. Still, Merlin knew it would be over soon. He had to tell him. He was going to tell him.
Things were going to change, it was too late to turn back.

Chapter Text

The sun had only just started to rise when Merlin had come to Arthur’s room, the prince stirred, somehow aware of Merlin’s presence even when asleep. His eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the darkness, rolling over lazily and shutting his eyes again, grumbling. The servant’s quiet shuffling a strange lullaby. He didn’t continue his happy slumber though, his mind instead fed him memories of the night Merlin had come to his room simply to cry and apologize, and what it was that the man felt such remorse over was something that had been bothering the prince deeply. He couldn’t ask about it outright, he knew Merlin would never admit to something like that. Not while sober.
Regardless, Arthur felt bitter about this whole scenario. Merlin was inarguably Arthur’s best friend. He’d acquiesced at least four days into the entire ordeal with the potion that he cared oceans for the black-haired man, and looking back he was sure Merlin felt close to him as well. Hell, Gwaine had confirmed it before he went mama bear and coddled the servant to kingdom come.
In certain terms? Arthur was pissed off. Merlin was only hurting himself with the guilt he felt, and the prince was sure it wasn’t just because he’d embarrassed himself when under a love spell. This was something big, something old. Something Gwaine didn’t even know, and that sorry sod had nothing over on Merlin, so this wasn’t some “I can’t let my prince know of this less I lose my job or worse” situation.
While the prince was stewing under his blankets and ruining his own morning, Merlin opened the windows and tied up the curtains. The morning movements second nature and instinctual at this point. Some part of him was completely calm, it was a usual day, no horrible mental pains plagued him and he was still a little drowsy. But that was only part, he was pointedly ignoring the second half of his brain that was moping like a heartbroken teenager. Absently he mused over how dramatic it all was. But his secret does, in fact, have weight. His life, and consequently Arthurs, is on the line. That was most important, how either of them felt was trivial no matter how much it hurt.

He could feel Arthur’s burning gaze and chuckled,
“Breakfast is on its way, Your Royal Highness.” The prince let out a small sound, like he was shocked he’d been noticed and Merlin didn’t hide his laugh as he left for the prat’s food.

The silence was deafening and Arthur’s face was bright red. Still he continued to work himself up over Merlin’s Secret and Important Problem and when the man finally returned Arthur was nearly furious. He stuffs his face and Merlin gives him a questioning look near carefree enough to get him to choke a bit in embarrassment.
“Lose a tournament in your dream or something? Or are you having one of those days?” He prodded playfully. Arthur’s heart fluttered at the return to form and he smiled a little too giddily it seemed judging by Merlin’s look of surprise.
“...What?” he asked apprehensively. Arthur collected himself and ran over a myriad of answers in his head. He decided on none of them though.
“Nothing.” He lied, giving Merlin a smirk and continuing his meal less savagely. His friend eyed him suspiciously before deciding to drop it and fetching his clean clothes instead.

Today’s schedule was light, leaving Arthur to begrudgingly dismiss Merlin for the day, “if I actually need you I’ll send for someone, just be back to bring me my dinner” being the consensus. It was a welcome break if Merlin was fully honest with himself. He needed to be away from Arthur and collect himself. But as always; fate had other plans.

On his way down to the physician’s chambers he runs into Morgana and Gwen, who decide (for him) that they’d all be having lunch together.
“You’re getting awfully thin,” Gwen fretted and before he knew it he was in the kitchens helping Gwen grab three meals and a jug of wine. Suddenly he was being sat down across from Gwen in Morgana’s chambers, a plate in front of him and an already filled goblet in his hand.
“You overwork yourself,” obviously, Merlin thought but did not comment, “We hardly get to chat with you anymore!” He couldn’t remember who’d been talking so he just blinked and took a bite of the bread roll on his plate. Gwen (at least he thought it was) sighed dotingly and murmured something he couldn’t catch.
“I haven’t had a good gossip sesh with you in ages,” Morgana complained, Merlin’s brain fog finally clearing as he filled his stomach, “How’s blondie been? Any trouble in paradise?” There was a sudden shuffling sound and Morgana yelped, Merlin finally glanced up and saw that Gwen was giving her a very pointed look, one that seemed to hold a whole conversation within. Merlin swallowed and wiped his mouth.
“Paradise?” He quirked up a brow, “Did you get hit on the head? No way we’re talking about the same prat that I work for.” Gwen’s stern glare melts away and Morgana suddenly looks very relieved.
“Guess not,” She mused easily, “But seriously, what the hell has been going on with you?” Merlin tensed a little, he still hadn’t come up with a good lie to explain his recent… misery. He felt bad, because the two really did care, he was sure of it, but he just couldn’t put them in danger.
“Uhh…” he stalled, gods had the potion fried his brain that much? Well, “Remember when I drank that poison?” the two women across him’s eyes widened.
“Turns out it affected me more than initially thought.” He shrugged, taking another bite of his meal to avoid the two’s gazes.
“Oh you poor thing!” Gwen fussed, reaching across the table to place a hand over Merlin’s idle one. Morgana was giving him a similarly empathetic look.
“You’ll be okay though, right?” She asked quietly. Merlin sighed.
“Yeah.” He lied.

After the impromptu lunch date was over, Merlin trudged down to his rooms aching for a nap, but as soon as he flopped onto his bed he realized he wasn’t going to get a lick of rest anytime soon. It was all a mess, his blanket torn to shreds, his cot spilling hay, floor covered in shreds of fabric and ripped paper. It was like a tornado had ran through the place.
But Merlin couldn’t find it in himself to care. Everything felt useless and ridiculous and unnecessary. He closed his eyes and shuddered. Sleep would not take him, but he didn’t want to see his reality, so he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.
Knock knock knock. Gaius wrapping at his door. Of course.
“Merlin, I have some deliveries for you to make, there’s been an awful cough going around the lower towns and I’d like to dispel it sooner rather than later.” Merlin got up at once, sighing and tired but relieved to have a mindless task.
“Let me just get my boots on.” He replied casually through the door.
The elder physician handed off a bag of drafts and a parchment of addresses, an ambiguous expression on his face. Merlin gave him a forced smile and headed off.

He didn’t return to the castle until past sundown. Arthur was furious when he’d made it to the princes chambers.
“At least explain where you’ll be! I sat here waiting like a fool! I haven’t eaten because I was waiting on you!” He huffed, embarrassment teasing his tone and flushing his face, his voice crackled with the new sound of worry and some distant part of Merlin perked up in curiosity.
“Didn’t know I’d be out so late,” he explained earnestly, “Forgive me for not realizing how much you need me.” He taunted, realizing a little too late of the flirtatious implications. Still, he didn’t want to back down. Arthur looked positively frazzled for a few wonderful moments before shaking his head theatrically and huffing like a pouting child.
“Just make yourself useful and try to find me some semblance of a meal.” He ordered hotly, turning away from Merlin and marching towards his desk.
“Yes sire!” Merlin said mockingly, even saluting the prince before scampering off to the kitchens.

Dinner was silent, Merlin was mending Arthur’s favorite tunic by the firelight and the prince was watching from the corner of his eyes as he ate. It was autumn now, the trees colorful splashes of reds and oranges across the landscape, grass yellowing beneath them. The air had gone permanently crisp and the whole castle was feeling it, shivering occasionally and wearing an extra layer or two. But despite this Arthur hardly ever felt the cold, Merlin kept the fire roaring at all hours, and the prince's clothes felt thicker somehow. He was spoiled rotten and it was all Merlin’s fault. He chuckled to himself and tied off the thread of his hemming.
“Done?” He asked the prince, Arthur blinked at him slowly before coming to his senses and nodding casually. Merlin took his plates and left.
He was… at peace with himself. He’d made his decision, soon Arthur would know, and no matter how the prat felt about it Merlin was still going to protect him and help him fulfill his destiny in whatever way he could. The pain wasn’t gone and he still ached more than anything for an excuse to touch Arthur again, but that was just something he’d have to deal with forever. He had little hope and many regrets but at least it would be over soon.

“Merlin.” Gaius only used that tone when he was really in trouble, and it sure felt like it now. Slinking deeper into the physician’s chambers he did not answer, only ducking his head to avoid eye-contact.
“What is the matter with you?” Blunt as always, no sympathy detectable in his tone. Merlin shrugged, heading for his room. Gaius sighed and took Merlin by the arm, ushering him to a bench to sit. It creaked under his weight, wood unwaxed and splintering, cold but flexible. It felt real under his palms and Merlin wondered why it stuck out so much, why it would ever matter enough for him to give it any thought. Gaius cleared his throat, he’d been asking him something.
“It’s time.”

The elder man tried to talk him out of it, convince him he wasn’t thinking clearly, it was obvious the lack of sleep and proper food had been getting to him, it was too dangerous now. Uther was still king, how Arthur felt about magic wasn’t clear, he could be putting his entire destiny in jeopardy. He paced around, arms waving emphatically, totally frantic. Merlin blinked at him, unmoved.
“It’s time.” The room felt colder than before, and Merlin stood with a strange heir of regality. Emrys would survive. Survive and do his part. "Have you gone mad?!" Gaius blurted, those iconic brows knitted together with worry. Merlin looked down at him, eyes empty and knowing all the same, he did not repeat himself. The elder physician shook his head slowly, shrinking into himself. He looked so old now, so small and tired. Merlin walked around Gaius and went to bed leaving the man to worry and pace.
He dreamt of nothing, and in the morning he wondered if he would ever dream again.

Morgana had snagged him sometime between breakfast and lunch, pulling him by the elbow and marching him towards the gardens. Merlin didn’t object to the odd direction, but he still had questions that she refused to answer. Finally, when they’d reached the briar patches and had slowed to a reasonable pace, Morgana turned Merlin by the shoulders to look at him head on.
“The nightmares are back and I’m not the one having them,” she started with confidence, Merlin felt like he was missing something.
“You want to… talk about your dreams?” He asked, Morgana rolled her eyes at him. This was going to be an interesting conversation.
“No, I want to talk about your dreams,” she let out an exasperated sigh, “I know something’s wrong with you, and Gwen says you’ve been having night terrors. So… spill!”

He lies to her, of course.
He tells her the cold is getting to him, that back home this time of year was hardest and he can’t kick the fear it left in him. Those things were true once, when he’d first arrived in Camelot but that was so long ago now and it was the first thing he could think of. She gives him a pitying look, it was something she’d never really understood (being royal herself), she did not know what it was like to go hungry. But she can imagine it was hard; She wants to believe him, it would be so much simpler, so infinitely less worrisome, Merlin was a skinny little thing but resilient beyond measure, it had to be worse than the cold whatever was haunting him.
“Are you having visions?” It’s a quiet panicked whisper, the question heavy in her mouth, Morgana does not think Merlin would betray her or reject her. If he feared her though, she isn’t sure she could stand that.
“No,” he replies casually, trying to assure her between the lines that he was still on her side, “Just nightmares. My teeth falling out, being late, getting frostbite, spiders. You know, the usual stuff…” He gave her a lopsided smile and Morgana laughed.
“Even so,” the woman sighed, taking Merlin’s arm in hers and walking forwards through the garden, “You should try a sleeping draft, you need your strength and I can’t stand to see you so tired.” The fur lining her coat brushed against Merlin’s wrist and tickled his pale skin, underfoot was the crunching of felled leaves and twigs. Absently, Merlin wondered who was meant to tidy it up, they were the royal gardens after all.
“If you want to keep it secret you can request one in my name.” Ever the schemer. Merlin thought.
He does genuinely appreciate the gesture, he even promises to get himself the sleeping aid and bids her farewell. The wind feels colder than before, icy and cutting against Merlin’s lithe form, it feels like penance. The guilt flows through him, freezing in his veins and sending throbbing pains to his head, he is not a good friend, he is a liar, and he hates himself more than anything for it.
There was a time where he imagined a “someday” where he and Morgana could talk about their gifts freely, he could show her how to harness her power, and she could provide him with understanding. It felt like such a juvenile dream now. Instead he was heading for his room and thinking up his escape plan in case everything went as horribly as he feared.
He was a runner after all.
Merlin never had much in terms of possessions, a few knickknacks and now magical items he’d have to hide somehow, a few books, an old journal, a leather bracelet his mother made him he never wore for fear of it unraveling. He felt sad packing them away, like he was taking his whole life and leaving no trace. But that wasn’t really true, there were so many things he’d be leaving behind, his friends, his Arthur. He sighed miserably, it was all so unfair. His room looked bare now (more so than usual) and it felt colder, like the life had been sucked right out of it. A wooden cabinet that was likely older than him, the small table by his cot, the window sill, all empty, like Merlin was never there. He thumbed over the button on his bag and let a huff out through his nose.

The kitchens were always a bit busy, even on uneventful nights. So many nobles with so many prissy tastes and ‘needs’. Gwaine thought it was all a bit ridiculous, but he wasn’t upset at the never ending supply of sweets. The younger of the kitchen staff were most susceptible to his flirtations, so he always had a little something extra on his tray, but tonight he was feeling generous.
He wandered through the kitchen casually, saying his hellos and acting curious and as if he was without ulterior motives. Then he made eye contact with his prize, a tray of fresh-baked cherry tarts, his mouth watered and he smirked. Sneaking a napkin from one of the messy prep tables he bundled up two of them and scurried away, grinning and heart racing youthfully. He knew Merlin preferred strawberries, but cherries were still delectable so he’d just have to suck it up. He speed-walked the long journey to Merlin’s room, a playful smile on his face, ‘This’ll cheer him up a bit.’ He thought. The knight burst into his friend's little abode with gusto, bowing and holding out the treats like they were gold offerings. When he finally looked up he saw the empty around him and his act faulted.
“Going somewhere?” He asked squeakily, nervous Merlin got into something big.
“Maybe,” Merlin sighed, flopping backwards onto his bed, “But I hope not.” He closed his eyes and dragged a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and frowning.
“Something happen?” Gwaine wondered aloud, sitting on the edge of the cot and taking a bite of his tart and setting the other one down with its napkin on Merlin’s side-table.
“Nothing… yet.” Merlin sat up and took his baked treat, biting into it hungrily. Gwaine huffed in annoyance, knowing Merlin probably hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Gwaine, there’s something very important I must tell you.” The knight quirked up a brow.
“Go on.” He nodded, Merlin frowned at him and screwed his eyes shut for a few moments. He let out a small frustrated sigh and continued.
“Tomorrow I am going to tell Arthur, because he must know first, and after I’ve told him, I will tell you. Just understand… it may well be the last time we ever speak.”
“You don’t think it’s going to go well then?” Gwaine asked softly, Merlin nodded slowly, eyes tired beyond measure.
“Whatever it is,” his friend placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, “I’ll come with you. Even if you have to leave, I’ll follow.”
Merlin chuckled softly.
“You’re my friend, I won’t abandon you.”
“Thank you, Gwaine. Thank you.”
Eventually they end up talking about much lighter subjects, laughing quietly and sharing fond memories. But when it’s truly late, and the candles have burned down to the last of their wicks, Merlin seems to let his friend in, he is vulnerable all on his own, no liquor melting away his walls. He talks about how awful he feels now that the potion is gone, how carefree it made him feel.
“It’s like…” he waves his hands around in the air, trying to find the words, “It’s like all the joy has been stolen from me.” He does not mean for it to sound so heartbreaking, but it does, and Gwaine can’t help but feel sorry for the man. He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and lets his fingers brush up and over the slope of his framed edges.
“I don’t think there’s a person in the world who deserves that less than you, Merls.” He thought aloud, he was not one to hide his affections; Merlin was his greatest friend, he’d never lose sight of that, and in his darkest hours- he'd be there. Merlin would do just the same after all. He shivered under Gwaine’s firm hand, not used to this kind of comfort. He could melt into a pile of tears, he thinks. It was so infuriating to be so desperate for comfort, but he needed it so badly, and he was grateful Gwaine was able to give it to him.
“I may have to leave this all behind you know.” He mused, Gwaine laid down on the cot next to Merlin looking up at him.
“It was nice while it lasted though, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly, trying to spin the dower situation just a bit, “You can have the memory of this place, no?” Merlin shook his head and laid down next to him, letting out a tired breath and lacing his fingers together over his chest.
The silence swam between them freely, an hour or two of calm quiet before Merlin spoke again.
“I need you to know: I hated that I needed more than this from him. There is nothing more humiliating to me than my own desires. Nothing that makes me hate myself more than being burdensome and less than self-sufficient. I did not want to feel like some nagging man who might exist in a comedy.” Gwaine could’ve sworn his heart broke enough for there to be a loud crack.
“Oh, Merlin.” He frowned, rolling on his side and hugging his friend. Merlin smiled sadly against him and returned the embrace, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. His eyes grew heavy and his breathing slowed.
“I hate being like this.” He whispered. Gwaine choked and held him a little tighter, trying to hold back tears. ‘He loves him.’ Gwaine thought, ‘Arthur would be a fool to deny him. Oh if he does…’ He felt his heart race with anger. ‘Well then we’ll run off, set out on our own adventure. Find great beauties to marry and settle in some faraway pasture.’ He further imagines this little life with Merlin as he holds him. He doesn’t love him in the way Merlin surely loves Arthur, but he does love him, and it isn’t any less strong.
“I promise I’ll never leave your side, Merlin.” He swears quietly, giving Merlin one last squeeze before climbing out of bed and throwing a blanket over his now sleeping friend.