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Chapter Text

Arthur Pendragon knew, in his heart, that nothing good ever came from his father sending for him in the middle of dinner.

It wasn’t even a formal summons — just one of the guards poking his head into the training yard and saying, “The King wishes to see you. And your servant.”

That and your servant was suspicious in itself. If Arthur had done something, his father would simply bellow for him. If Merlin had done something, Arthur would be forced to apologise on his behalf, usually with a headache. But both of them at once?

Arthur tried not to look concerned as he strode into the great hall with Merlin trailing behind him like an anxious shadow. The firelight flickered across Uther’s stern features, casting sharp shadows that made him look even more severe than usual.

“Father,” Arthur greeted, careful to keep his voice neutral. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Uther said, his gaze flicking between Arthur and Merlin in a way that made Arthur’s stomach tighten.

Merlin shifted uneasily. “Sire.”

Uther folded his hands on the table. “I wanted to speak to you both about your… situation.”

Arthur blinked. “Situation?”

Merlin tilted his head. “What situation?”

Arthur shot him a warning look. Don’t encourage him. But Merlin, as always, ignored common sense.

“Yes,” Uther said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “your relationship.”

Arthur’s brain caught on the word like a rider thrown from a horse. “Our—”

“You needn’t play coy,” Uther interrupted. “It’s quite obvious.”

Merlin’s eyebrows jumped up. “Obvious?”

“Your closeness,” Uther said gravely. “The way you’re always together. How you speak to one another. The loyalty you show. I admit, I did not expect it at first, but—” He gave a short, approving nod. “—I’ve come to accept it.”

Arthur was fairly sure he had missed an entire chapter of whatever book they were now in. He forced a smile. “Right. Yes. Of course.”

Merlin grinned brightly. “Oh, well, yes, I am loyal to Arthur. I’d follow him anywhere—into any danger—”

“Usually because I’m dragging you there,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin elbowed him. “Still counts.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “And I suppose I’d follow him as well.”

Uther’s expression warmed, which was unsettling in itself. “Good. Then I have no objection to your… arrangement. As long as it does not interfere with your duties.”

Arthur’s hand froze halfway to his goblet. “Objection to—”

“Your relationship,” Uther said simply.

There was a silence so heavy Arthur could hear Merlin’s breath catch beside him.

If they denied it now, Uther would demand explanations. He might even start prying into feelings . And Arthur was not prepared to have that conversation. Not with his father. Not with Merlin standing right there looking like he was about to either laugh or faint.

“Yes,” Arthur said, forcing his voice into a tone of casual agreement. “Our… relationship.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in disbelief, but when Arthur subtly stepped on his foot under the table, he squeaked, “Right! Our relationship. Very strong. Very… real.”

“Good,” Uther said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d hate to think my son would be ashamed of the man he’s chosen.”

Arthur nearly choked. Merlin went scarlet.

“No shame at all,” Arthur managed to say.

Uther dismissed them with a satisfied nod. They didn’t speak again until they were three corridors away.

Then Merlin hissed, “Arthur, what in the name of the Triple Goddess was that?”

“What was what?”

“You just told your father we’re—” Merlin’s voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “— together .”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Arthur said. “He assumed. I merely didn’t correct him.”

Merlin threw up his hands. “That’s the same thing !”

“Would you rather explain to my father that he’s wrong? About this ?”

Merlin opened his mouth, thought about Uther’s glare, and closed it again. “…Fair point.”

They walked in silence for a few steps.

“So,” Merlin said slowly, “are we just… pretending now?”

Arthur glanced sideways at him. “Looks like it.”

Merlin sighed dramatically. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

—

The Next Day

It took approximately twelve hours for the rest of Camelot to find out.

Arthur had barely made it three steps into the corridor outside his chambers the next morning when Morgana appeared, gliding toward him in a gown the exact shade of trouble. Her smile could have sliced through steel.

“So,” she said, in the kind of voice one might use to begin a scandalous story, “you and Merlin.”

Arthur froze mid-step, caught like a stag in the hunting fields. “…What about me and Merlin?”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it,” Morgana said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve. “Gwen told me your father gave his blessing last night.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “He… told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” Morgana replied smoothly. “She just happened to mention the words ‘Arthur,’ ‘Merlin,’ and ‘approval’ in the same sentence, and, well…” She gestured delicately. “It doesn’t take much to connect the dots.”

Arthur’s mouth opened. Closed. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really?” She tilted her head, the picture of elegant disbelief. “Because I must say, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you to admit it.”

Arthur frowned. “…Admit what?”

“That you’re hopelessly smitten with your servant.”

Arthur’s voice shot up half an octave. “I am not—”

“Oh, don’t look so offended,” Morgana said, her smile deepening into something positively wicked. “He’s rather adorable, I’ll give you that. Earnest. Loyal. Infuriating, of course, but then, so are you.”

Arthur spluttered, torn between outrage and the creeping suspicion that arguing too much would only dig him deeper. “You’ve lost your mind,” he muttered, brushing past her.

Morgana fell into step beside him like a cat toying with a particularly irritable bird. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply have an eye for these things.”

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen—”

“Oh, I think you do,” she interrupted, her tone maddeningly calm. “And if you’re smart, you’ll hold onto him. Good servants are hard to find. Good people even harder.”

Arthur gave up entirely and stalked away, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I hate this castle.

Morgana only watched him go, her smile unreadable.

–

Meanwhile, Merlin was having an equally awful morning.

He’d just finished delivering a message for Gaius and was making his way across the courtyard when Gwen appeared from nowhere, a basket of freshly washed laundry in her arms and the gentlest, warmest smile Merlin had ever seen.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, voice full of genuine delight.

Merlin blinked at her, completely lost. “Um… thank you?”

“I always thought you and Arthur would suit each other,” she went on, rearranging a folded tunic as though discussing something perfectly ordinary and not, in Merlin’s mind, utterly absurd. “You bring out the best in him. And he clearly cares about you.”

Merlin’s brain stuttered over the words. “Arthur—cares? Well, I mean, he… sometimes…? Not in the—”

But Gwen was already patting his arm like one might with a particularly cherished younger brother. “You deserve to be happy, Merlin.” She gave him a final encouraging smile and swept off toward the laundry rooms, leaving him standing in the courtyard like someone had hit him with a brick.

He spent the next hour replaying the conversation in his head, trying to work out at which exact moment the universe had decided his life needed to become a farce.

By midday, things had gotten worse.

The castle servants were smiling at him in that we know something way, eyes glinting like they were all in on a secret he had somehow been left out of. The stablehands grinned when he passed by, and one of the kitchen maids actually giggled behind her hand.

Then it happened.

One of the knights — Merlin thought it was Sir Kay, though it was hard to tell when he was wearing a helmet — passed him on the stairs, gave a slow, exaggerated wink, and said, “Good choice, Merlin.”

Merlin nearly tripped down the steps. “I—what?!”

The knight only chuckled and kept walking, leaving Merlin standing there with his ears burning and his mind frantically cycling through whether fleeing the city altogether might be his best option.

By the time he made it back to Arthur’s chambers, he was glaring at the floor, muttering to himself.

Arthur looked up from polishing his sword. “What’s wrong with you?”

Merlin dropped a pile of folded clothes onto the bed. “Oh, nothing. Just the entire castle suddenly deciding we’re—” He waved a vague hand between them, “—you know.”

Arthur smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Merlin stared at him. “I hate you.”

Arthur’s grin widened. “No, you don’t.”

–

Later that week, Uther summoned Arthur to the council chamber. Merlin tagged along, because of course he did — apparently “fetching Arthur’s papers” meant standing directly behind his chair like an awkward, lanky shadow.

Arthur braced for military reports, a lecture about the grain stores, or some tedious diplomatic complaint about border disputes.

Instead, his father leaned forward, fingers steepled, and regarded them with unnerving calm.

“I trust things are… going well between you two?”

Arthur’s mind went blank. “Uh—”

Uther didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s important,” he continued in the same weighty tone he used when discussing treaties, “that you make time for each other. A relationship can falter if you neglect it.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to Merlin, who was staring at him in open-mouthed shock before his expression morphed into barely-contained amusement. His lips twitched. His shoulders shook.

Arthur narrowed his eyes — the do not laugh in front of my father or I will end you glare — but Merlin’s grin only widened.

“Yes, Father,” Arthur said stiffly.

Uther nodded as though imparting a great truth. “And remember: while public displays of affection are unseemly in court, you need not be… cold.” He gave the word particular weight, as if coldness were a criminal offence. “People will respect you more if they see warmth between you.”

Merlin made a noise that could only be described as a half-snort, half-choke.

Arthur’s elbow shot back into his ribs without breaking eye contact with Uther.

Merlin wheezed softly, muttering, “Ow—” but still looked far too entertained for Arthur’s liking.

“Yes,” Arthur said through clenched teeth, “warmth. Understood.”

Uther seemed satisfied, leaning back in his chair like a man who had just resolved an important state matter. “Good. I will not meddle further — you are both adults — but it pleases me to see my son happy.”

Arthur almost swallowed his tongue. Merlin went scarlet and suddenly found the floor very interesting.

“Thank you… Father,” Arthur said, managing the words with all the grace of a knight trying not to fall off his horse.

They were dismissed, and the instant the heavy doors shut behind them, Merlin lost it.

He doubled over, laughing so hard he had to clutch the wall. “ Warmth , Arthur! Oh, yes, let’s show the court some warmth —shall I hold your hand in the council chamber next time? Maybe feed you grapes during treaty negotiations?”

Arthur scowled, stalking down the corridor. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Merlin said, catching up. “Your father basically just gave us relationship advice.”

Arthur groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Too late,” Merlin said cheerfully. “I think it’s sweet. Horrifying, but sweet.”

Arthur muttered something about strangling him before they reached the courtyard, but he didn’t quite mean it.

–

From there, the misunderstanding didn’t just grow legs — it sprouted wings, armor, and a battle plan.

The kitchen staff, who already liked Merlin well enough for his willingness to carry trays and sneak them gossip, suddenly started “accidentally” setting aside extra portions for him at royal dinners. Steaming bowls of stew, an extra slice of roasted pheasant, the largest piece of honey cake — all “oh, we just happened to have some left” in a tone that suggested otherwise.

Arthur noticed. Of course he noticed. Mostly because Merlin had started smuggling half of it away to eat later, and Arthur kept catching him with a mouthful of something in the corridor hours after supper.

“You’re supposed to be my servant,” Arthur said one evening, eyeing the suspiciously lumpy satchel Merlin was clutching.

“And you’re supposed to be gracious, Sire,” Merlin shot back, stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth. “The kitchen clearly thinks I need feeding.”

Arthur muttered something about feeding the rats in the lower cells instead , but his chest felt uncomfortably warm at the idea of the castle looking out for Merlin.

It didn’t stop there.

Gaius, who normally restricted their interactions to medical lectures and muttered criticisms, caught Arthur in the corridor one morning and said, very gravely, “I trust you are treating Merlin well?”

Arthur nearly dropped the training sword he was carrying. “I—yes—what?”

“He’s young,” Gaius went on, “and somewhat… impulsive. He may not always know what’s best for himself, so it’s important that you—” The physician’s gaze sharpened. “—care for him properly.”

Arthur, whose instinctive response to that was he’s a grown man, not a pet , somehow found himself stammering, “Of course. I… do.”

“Good.” Gaius gave him the sort of approving nod one might give a farmer who had promised to water his crops. “I’m glad to hear it.”

By the time Arthur walked away, he had no idea what had just happened, only that Gaius clearly thought Merlin’s welfare was now Arthur’s personal responsibility. Which, Arthur supposed with a reluctant sigh, it sort of was.

The knights were worse.

They took to exchanging knowing smirks whenever Arthur and Merlin bickered in the training yard. Percival once muttered something about “lover’s quarrels” after Merlin corrected Arthur’s sword grip mid-swing, and Leon had the audacity to wink when Merlin handed Arthur his cloak one particularly cold morning.

Arthur endured it all with the stoicism of a man facing execution — and occasionally with the longing of a man considering it as an escape.

And through it all, Merlin seemed… half-amused, half-baffled. He laughed off the teasing, rolled his eyes when servants whispered, and grinned shamelessly whenever Arthur got flustered. But there were moments — fleeting, so quick Arthur almost thought he imagined them — when Merlin’s gaze lingered on him with something unreadable in his eyes.

Something that made Arthur’s stomach twist in ways he refused to examine.

Because the truth was… Arthur didn’t mind the idea as much as he should have.

Which was the real problem.

–

It happened during a training session.

The morning sun was bright, the air crisp, and the training yard full of the usual clang of steel and shouts of exertion. Merlin, naturally, had stationed himself just at the edge of the field, holding Arthur’s water flask and wearing an expression that suggested he was ready to offer “helpful” commentary at any moment.

Arthur was in the middle of sparring with Sir Leon, their wooden swords clacking hard enough to raise splinters, when Merlin’s voice rang out across the yard:

“Arthur! Your stance is sloppy!”

Arthur’s head snapped toward him in disbelief — and that was all it took.

Thwack.

The wooden sword caught him square in the ribs, hard enough to make him grunt.

“Merlin!” he barked, staggering back a step.

Merlin jogged over, far too cheerful for someone who had just caused bodily harm. “What? I was helping.”

“You distracted me.”

“I distracted Leon too, so it’s fair.”

“That’s not how this works!” Arthur snapped, snatching the flask from his hands.

Merlin only shrugged, that infuriating little grin tugging at his mouth. “Seemed to work fine from where I was standing.”

Arthur huffed and took a long drink, trying to cool both his temper and the flush creeping up his neck. Somewhere behind him, Leon gave a quiet chuckle.

“You two really are like an old married couple,” Leon said, loud enough for the rest of the yard to hear.

The reaction was instant.

Merlin sputtered, choking on his own breath, eyes going wide. Arthur inhaled at the wrong moment and nearly drowned himself on his own water. A few of the other knights — Percival and Gwaine, judging by the snickers — exchanged grins.

Arthur lowered the flask with deliberate slowness, fixing Leon with his best you’ve just signed your own death warrant glare.

Leon, infuriatingly unruffled, only grinned wider. “Oh, don’t act surprised. Everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Merlin demanded, though his voice cracked slightly on the last word.

“That you’re—” Leon waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, “—you know.”

Arthur set his jaw. “Back to training, Leon.”

Leon smirked but raised his sword again. “As you wish… Sire.”

Merlin lingered at the edge of the field a moment longer, clearly biting back a retort, before deciding retreat was the better option. Arthur caught the faint sound of his snickering as he walked away.

Arthur made a mental note to add firing Merlin to his to-do list. Right after figuring out how to stop blushing every time someone mentioned them in the same sentence.

–

That night, Arthur found himself lying awake, staring at the carved beams of his ceiling, the dim glow of the dying fire flickering across the stone walls. Sleep refused to come. His mind, traitorous thing that it was, replayed the day’s events on a loop — Gwen’s knowing smile, Morgana’s smugness, Leon’s maddening smirk, Gwaine’s laugh echoing across the training yard.

How had this happened? How had the entire kingdom managed to get it into their heads that he and Merlin—?

He scowled into the darkness. It wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t true. He was the Crown Prince of Camelot — soon to be king — and Merlin was… Merlin. An infuriating, clumsy, stubborn servant who could barely hold a sword the right way up.

So why did the thought of standing up tomorrow and setting everyone straight leave a peculiar heaviness in his chest?

Arthur exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn’t just about appearances — he’d corrected false rumours before without losing a wink of sleep. But this… this was different.

Because if he was honest with himself… it wasn’t just the kingdom.

Somewhere along the line, between the endless bickering and the reckless loyalty, between Merlin’s inexplicable ability to show up exactly when Arthur needed him and his equally infuriating ability to drive Arthur up the wall — somewhere, things had shifted.

And the most dangerous part was, Arthur couldn’t pinpoint when.

It was in the little things: the way Merlin could read his moods without a word. The way his laugh always, always pulled one from Arthur in return, even on the worst days. The way Arthur found himself looking for Merlin in a crowded hall without meaning to.

He rolled onto his side, frowning at the shadows. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Merlin was his servant. His friend, perhaps. Nothing more.

…And yet the thought of waking up tomorrow and having Merlin act differently — or worse, put distance between them — made that ache in his chest twist sharper.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and muttered under his breath, “I need to get a grip.”

But the truth sat there, stubborn and unshakable, long after the fire burned out.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone!!

Thank you for all the support and kind comments, I have continued this story so if you are interested in reading more about the disaster that is Merlin and Arthur's love life I have created a series for it named 'A Royal Mess' the title of the sequel is 'A Royal Disaster'.

I really hope you all enjoy it :))