Chapter Text
Progress is progress, Merlin kept telling himself every time the thoughts appeared. Did he believe in what he was saying? No, not at all. What he did believe in was the knowledge that the Once and Future King was an utter prat. He knew that for certain.
Why? Just, why? There’s not believing Merlin because he’s only ever known the man as a bumbling mess and then there’s just not wanting to think it all the truth. Honestly! Oh, and yet Merlin’s the idiot? Ah ha, no thank you.
It had been a month since Arthur and Aithusa had shaken hands—and paws, claws?—but nothing much has changed since then. A whole month! Yet, Arthur still thought he was making it all up to prove himself or something to that degree. He doesn’t need to prove anything!
“It’s getting late, sire,” he says, his voice rather dull compared to his usual chirpyness when waking Arthur. The whole magic ordeal had been getting to him, rather unfortunately, and when a feast is added on top of that…well.
Merlin personally thinks feasts should be banned; nothing good comes from them anyway. At least not in Camelot and her history.
“Please get out of bed.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“...”
“Have you suffocated under all those layers, sire?” Merlin’s standing near the window, the one he opened, though hasn’t made a move to begin his usual literal dragging-out-of-bed tactics.
Arthur’s head peeks out from under his mass amount of covers, his eyes narrowing in on his servant. “What?”
“Are you alright?”
“I’d be better if you actually got up so I can do my job.”
“You never do your job.”
“Well how can I when you make it so difficult?”
The usual banter seems to ease the two of them, and eventually Arthur’s getting out of his bed and Merlin’s dressing him like normal. Then it’s breakfast and a read-through of the day’s plans. Blablabla, training with the knights, blablabla, getting ready for the feast, the feast, blababla, bedtime. That was roughly it, anyway.
“Are you feeling alright, Merlin?” Arthur asks, looking at his servant with a sort of intense gaze.
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be, sire?”
He doesn’t answer at first, instead looking over the man once more, as if he’ll find whatever it is that he wants to. “You’re not yourself.”
Merlin wants to scream at him. He wants to demand why Arthur refuses to see all that he is, all that he has done. He doesn’t yell, though, and instead says that he is fine again before stepping back and allowing Arthur to finish his breakfast.
It’s been a month, and it isn’t as if Merlin didn’t try anything within it. No, he had tried and yet Arthur still thought he was full of it. It made no sense. The man had witnessed him use magic on trips out against bandits, had seen him cast spells over assassins that had snuck into the citadel, and it had even gotten to the point where now Arthur had, in fact, met Kilgharrah. He was told the destiny again by a dragon; and yet!
He really wasn’t sure what else there was to do but accept the fact that his King thought him a liar, thought him a fraud and thought him a storyteller.
Watching the knights train was always such an odd thing for Merlin. Not in a bad way, one would suppose, but odd nonetheless. He had no interest in swordfighting, nor does he care for the violence and idiocy of it all; not that being a knight in of itself is full of idiocy, just that these particular ones are. Still, he stands to the side and watches it all unfold.
While he’s not entirely sure what’s happening, he can tell who is winning in each sparring match. Arthur against Leon, Arthur is winning; Gwaine against Elyan, it’s currently a tie; Lancelot against Percival, Lance is a couple of steps ahead.
Granted, Merlin’s gaze keeps staying on a certain man for longer periods of time, but no one else besides him is aware of that. Arthur does look good in chainmail, though.
You’re supposed to be mad at him!
Merlin’s actually not quite sure if he is mad at his king or not; perhaps frustrated though. Gaius has run out of ideas on how to convince the man, and Lancelot’s only got a smile to give him now. So, all in all, he’s sort of stuck.
“Hey Merlin! You want to watch me kick Elyan’s ass?” Gwaine yells from where he’s stood, his hair swept in the soft wind as his grin grows wider.
“I don’t know, my bets are on him!”
He looks absolutely betrayed by this, as if he’s just been stabbed in the heart.
“What are your other bets, Merls?” Elyan asks, clearly very appreciative that he’s got a vote.
“Percival and Leon!” are his answers. There are great reasons for all of them. He likes winding Gwaine up, Arthur doesn’t deserve his vote, and Lancelot is still laughing at his magic reveal to Arthur. So, therefore, he wishes them all to miserably lose.
In the end, Arthur and Lance win, and Gwaine and Elyan call it a draw. Arthur then asks the knight to carry on training before walking over to his servant. “Merlin.”
“Yes?”
He stares again. The guy’s been doing that a lot. Maybe he’s not as okay with the magic as he said? Or maybe he’s still sussing out all the tall tales and whatnot.
Maybe Merlin should just outright ask. No. Yes. No! …Maybe? “Why don’t you trust me?” Apparently he landed on a ‘yes’, then.
“I do trust you, Merlin, of course I do.”
“Why don’t you believe me then?” he asks, finally turning to face the man. He’s staring at his face, demanding eye-contact and answers. He hopes that is what comes off of him, anyway, and not the worriedness of scaredness that something else is going on in regard to trust, his magic, and them.
He takes a moment before answering the question. “It’s not that I don’t believe everything you told me, it’s just that—”
The warning bell rings out loudly across the field, sending Arthur, Merlin and all the knights into action. Everything in his life just has terrible timing, doesn’t it? It’d be funny if it weren’t so damn bloody irritating.
The feast doesn’t have to be delayed. The warning bell rang out due to some beast rummaging through the lower towns, however it was a creature of magic and Merlin could just feel what was wrong. It was a baby and it was injured. He’s mentioned this all to Arthur, with maybe added a quick note of ‘I can sense all this because I’m powerful’ which, granted, he isn’t the only magic user capable of that but he was trying to sell his point. Anyway, they’d managed to get it away from the people and back into the forest, of which Merlin then snuck out to go and heal it. He demanded Arthur to come with him to witness it, and he did.
“I’m the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth,” he had said. “Arthur?”
“You give yourself too much credit, Merlin. I think healing magic is quite common,” was the man’s response. As if he knew anything about magic!
They’re currently back in Arthur’s chambers, with Merlin getting him ready for the feast. They had just recently knighted a whole load of new brave and daring men, and they thought it would be a good thing to do. Besides, no one says no to a feast (excluding Merlin, of course, who still sees them as places for death, poison, and women flirting with Artur and, no, he will not explain why he has a distaste for that last one).
He’d chosen out the outfit in complete silence, and then began dressing the man in even more silence. He’s at his wits end, Merlin is, with this entire thing. He just doesn’t get it. Why does Arthur refuse to understand that he isn’t lying? He’d seemed so close to telling him at training, but then the bell had gone and ruined that.
He could ask again, Merlin supposed, but he was rather worried he would no longer be given a chance to get an answer. Arthur’s just as quiet as he is, if not more, and it’s vaguely (absolutely) terrifying.
A couple of moments pass and Merlin decides to just do it. When has he ever really thought a plan through, anyway? Gaius could go on forever about how he rarely does.
“You were saying something about how it’s not that you don’t believe me, but that…well, the bell cut you off there.”
Arthur sighs, as if he doesn’t want to have this conversation and Merlin is already regretting bringing it up again. Then, however, he pushes Merlin away from where he’s doing up the laces of his shirt so that he can properly look at him. For a second his mind drifts off to the fact that his hands are clasped in Arthur’s, but he soon focuses.
“I did say that. I…it’s hard to explain, but it really isn’t because I don’t believe you.” He guides Merlin to his table, and it’s oddly feeling like his accidental reveal (the thing that caused this whole mess) all over again.
“So, what is it then? I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in your stupid head.”
He laughs at that. “Merlin, you’ve been my manservant for years, and throughout all of them I’ve known you as a clumsy fool who doesn’t have any manners or sophistication whatsoever. I also knew you as a man who follows me and my knights into dangerous situations time and time again, refusing to leave our side. You always insisted on coming to missions, journeys and hunts, even though you don’t like them, but you always did. So, I took your safety on as my responsibility, because everyone in Camelot is my responsibility, but you especially. Manservants shouldn’t do the things you did, and because of that I thought I had to protect you from everything. Finding out everything that happened when I couldn’t see, everything that you did, well I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“I don’t understand, Arthur.”
“I’m supposed to protect you, but apparently this entire time it’s been the other way round. You don’t need my protection, and apparently I’ve been needing yours. Behind everything, you are the reason so many enemies have been defeated, so many wrongs have been righted, not me.”
“So, you mean to tell me that you are the reason I’ve lived this long and have achieved so many things?” he finally asks.
“Well, of course you had something to do with it all as well, but I was there to help, yes.”
He wasn’t being rude about it, or in disbelief because he couldn’t possibly imagine Merlin doing so many things. He was worried, and anxious about it all, about the fact that maybe he didn’t deserve his achievements. “Arthur, your accomplishments are yours, of course they are.”
“I’m not so sure, Merlin. I thought I defeated the Great Dragon, but it turns out you still talk with him on occasion. I thought me and my men had conquered the immortal armies, but it was you that had spilled the cup of their blood. I thought that I was perceptive, that I was the greatest leader, and yet you were the one leading me.”
It’s silent in his chambers, the two men unaware of how or where to pick it all up. So they don’t.
Merlin feels horrible. He’s never meant for any of this. In all of his scenarios, it had Arthur mad or angry or betrayed or, in some cases, forgiving. It never had him as this.
“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean for any of this—”
“No, no. Don’t start that. I’m not mad at you for this, it’s not your fault. How could I be mad at you for risking your neck for me time and time again?”
“So…you do believe me, then?” He knew Arthur did, but his heart needed to hear the man say it.
“Of course I do. My…aversion to accepting it has nothing to do with you or how I view you, I promise. I just found myself conflicted. I couldn’t understand why the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth would stay as my manservant. I couldn’t—still don’t, actually—uncderstand why you’ve put up with all that you have.”
For a moment, Merlin considers what to say. It’s such a loaded question, for one so short. Why? It’s the bane of his existence, that one word. In the end, however, he chooses a select couple of words that truly showcase his reasoning.
“Because it’s you, Arthur.”
The feast has no deaths, no attempted murder of any kind, and minimal amounts of chaos. So, all in all it turned out quite alright.
As it turns out, Arthur was only a little bit of a liar, though Merlin only found out after he’d dragged the drunken king back to his chambers late in the night. Apparently Arthur really had at first not believed Merlin’s stories because he thought his servant was too much of an idiot. Then he talked with Lancelot and then met Aithusa. That’s when it turned from ‘it can’t be true because the guy is too stupid’ to ‘I don’t know what it would mean if it is true’ so, yeah. Merlin has some choice words for a sober Arthur, but that’s a problem for another day.
“You can’t blame me, you just can’t. You’re an absolute bumbling mess of a man who trips over nothing and wears the same cute outfit everyday!”
“You think my outfit is cute?”
“...Shut up, Merlin! Anyway, it is not my fault that I didn’t believe you at first. I mean, who would? Then of course Lancelot backed you up and then you made me meet up with that creature—”
“You loved Aithusa and we both know it.”
“—don’t interrupt me, please.”
“Oh, please? The king has manners, everyone!”
“You said I was drunk but I’m not the one talking to people who aren’t there. But, after meeting her I realised that you were somehow telling the truth about it all and that really ruined things for me, you know.”
“My sincerest apologies, my lord.”
“You are forgiven, my lord.”
“I’m not a lord, Arthur.”
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you’re a dragonlord?”
“I don’t think that’s an official ‘lord’ title, though.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. And, sire?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got no trousers on.”
“Ah, right.”
The entire magic mess was something so utterly ridiculous that Merlin would never have been able to guess it. But he thinks about it as he tucks his king into bed, an absolutely oddity of a story is practically perfect for them.
Still, a sober Arthur’s not going to know what hits him until it’s too late. Seriously, Merlin is not that much of an idiot. And, even if he was, Arthur’s just as bad as him.
One would suppose that that is why the stupid situation of it all fits the pair so flawlessly.