Chapter Text
Merlin is standing anxiously outside of Arthur’s door for about five minutes now, shifting his weight from foot to foot out of nervousness. He could never prepare himself enough for what he was about to do, even if he had two lifetimes over. He had no aggravatingly cryptic dragon to tell him if it was wrong or right or- something. And Gaius would say words along the lines of following his heart. Which is a much kinder statement thought up by Merlin’s imagination, than what might actually plummet out of the physician’s mouth if he were to be awakened at this time of night. So he decided to go with the heart thing. But was his heart making the right decision?
He knocks anyway.
“Enter,” Arthur’s voice orders. The warlock steps inside, facing the door as he closes it, giving himself a brief moment for a last-minute internal pep talk. “Merlin.” Arthur says, slightly surprised, at the new ability of knocking the man seems to have acquired since last time he saw him. Merlin swears his flinch is visible, so he peeks over his shoulder at Arthur. He didn’t notice.
The room is dimly lit by a lone candle, framing the blonde in a divine radiance like he was warding off the edges of the darkness himself. It made him look dangerously intimidating, and each step toward him was like walking on hot coals, making Merlin want to jump up and flee.
When he arrives at the desk he speaks, with much caution, “Arthur.”
The king’s eyebrow’s crease, looking up to him from his paperwork, “Is something the matter Merlin?”
It was now or never, “I have something to... tell you.”
Arthur blinks slowly in question, lowering his quill. “Yes?”
“You have to promise me something first.” Merlin says in one breath.
He lifts an impatient brow with a brief wave of the hand to match, “And that is...?”
“That...” Merlin begins, looking everywhere else but at the king, “You won’t kill me-or-anyone-else.” He blurts.
“Merlin why would I-” Arthur raises his hand, then places it back down, “What’s this about?” He sighs, “Did you do something stupid?”
Merlin shakes his head fervently, “I didn’t... it wasn’t... I didn’t mean to... I can’t...”
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is stern. “Is this about your magic?”
“No.” He answers, sounding resolute for the first time in the short unstable conversation. It felt good to tell the truth now. There was a whole two-day revelation to deal with that. Because the truth he was about to lay down was going to be so much more difficult than one simple word.
Merlin begins to babble, tugging his at fingers, “I am your advisor now and my job is to advise, you, but I’m not sure... how to advise you about this and I-”
Arthur interrupts him again, closing his eyes and physically waving away the nonsensical words lest they infect his brain, “Merlin. You’re not making any sense.”
Merlin takes a breath at Arthur’s signal, calming himself, “I don’t know if I should tell you.” He says quietly.
Arthur’s patience is running as low as his candle, “Out with it already.”
“You have to promise first.”
Arthur’s head rolls, looking for something, anything in the room to lend him some patience before he loses it. With a huff he settles back on Merlin, “Promise what again?”
“You won’t kill anyone.”
He rolls his eyes, “I promise I won’t kill you.”
“Or anyone else involved...” Merlin reminds with a peep.
Arthur almost rips his hair out, “Involved in what?”
“You know what?” Merlin folds his lips with an assured nod, “This was a bad idea.” He declares and swerves around, making for the door. There’s a brief screech of wood dragging on stone. Arthur is faster than him, of course, and by the time his fingers are inches away from freedom, Arthur’s hand is gripping his elbow. Merlin freezes, thinking up other possible means of escape.
Arthur’s voice is skilfully composed, destroying any ridiculous schemes of Merlin’s flight process, “What’s this about Merlin?”
He opens his mouth, “It...” He closes it. Then does so a few times until finally, “It’s... Arthur can... can we speak somewhere else?” He turns around, glancing quickly at the connecting door between Arthur’s and his fiancé’s future chamber, “Please?”
Arthur’s face is unreadable. He lets Merlin go. “Fine,” He points, “if you are sure you are going to tell me whatever this is all about.”
Merlin nods, “I’m sure.”
~
“Why did you have to choose here of all places?” Arthur complains, although he isn’t even the one shivering.
Merlin curls and shudders into his cloak like a hermit, “There’s room for running...” He says casually, shutting his eyes.
Arthur exhales noisily. It had been hard enough to coax a few truths of the past out of Merlin and it seems voluntary confessions might prove even worse. However if there was one person he had patience for, it was Merlin. Ever since the return from Avalon he had been so timid and quiet, even with all the acceptance and reassurance Arthur had given him. He might have been dying but he meant every word, even if he had to remind him every day on.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Merlin.” He half crooks a smile, “Besides, you’ve got your magic if you need to....” He gestures the word ineptly with his hand.
Merlin wasn’t up for joviality, “I would never use it against you.”
Arthur stares at Merlin. His lips are swollen from nervous chewing and are tightly pressed together, involuntarily forming a pout. His slender form is hunched over from the cold, making him look even tinier than he already was. Arthur tears his gaze away and up to the sky. All of the stars to provide company are covered by grey clouds, the moon barely managing to shine through sympathetically. “I know Merlin.”
The warlock rubs his hands together and licks his lips nervously, “Can I ask you something first?”
Arthur remains staring distantly over the view of the dark town. “Hm?”
“It’s a teeny bit personal...”
“Merlin...” Arthur turns and looks at him, deciding to attempt reading whatever expression the warlock had hidden underneath, “Is this about your love life?” Or lack thereof.
“Ah, what no, what does that have to do with anything? This isn’t about me!” He exclaims going a bit redder than Arthur thought humanly manageable as he crosses his arms, violated.
Arthur sighs, both amused and tired, but the words come out sharper and more impatient than he intends, “Well if it isn’t, then what do you need to run for?”
“Because I don’t know if I’m in a place to tell you or not!” Merlin exclaims. Arthur frowns. Merlin’s lids barely close in their rapid fluttering, “I’m having second thoughts...”
Arthur leans forward, “Is this... serious?” Merlin had even told him about the simpleton incident, which for some reason was the hardest confession of all. He laid his heart and soul out for Arthur in his truths and now there was something even greater than those?
“Yes...” He replies, “And I made a promise to you. About,” He gestures to Arthur’s person, “You know.”
“Yes, no more secrets.” He finishes dryly, sitting back, unfazed by the cold breeze that decided to molest his hair as it passed.
Merlin’s body judders. “And this counts, I think. I know I’ve said before, but I didn’t... I don’t do everything because of obligation or, or destiny. I do it because you’re my friend.” He says firmly, looking at the king. Not before long his words tumble out again, cascading and rolling out nonsense. “I might have been arrogant before because I thought it was meant to be and now I’m not so sure, I’ve made a mistake and it’s entirely my fault.”
“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about but... go on.” If he needed to let it out, Arthur would listen as Merlin always did for him when troubled. The difference is that; Merlin blabs at a whirlwind’s pace and Arthur throws the closest object like a spear on the battlefield at the nearest body. Merlin miraculously dodged each one and he wonders if magic had anything to do with it. He doesn’t think it did.
“I was so sure.” Merlin sniffs emptily at the air, “And now my mind is full of what ifs and doubts that were never there before...” His hands emerge from under his cloak to capture his drooping head, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Merlin, if you want me to lift the ban I would this instant.” Arthur declares with a soft jab of his index onto the table.
“I. I do want that but that needs time. The druids are protected and no one’s head has been rolling on the ground...” Things were coming around, slowly but surely. The first time sorcery had been pardoned, a man was caught using it to heal his injured goat and had been seen by the neighbour. Everyone had been shocked when the king judged it not to be a criminal offense. The ban was not lifted per say, but slightly altered, and Arthur had shut anyone up who had anything negative to say about that. “And your father...” He coughs to steer the conversation elsewhere. “But it’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
“...Have you ever slept with Guinevere?”
The boldness of the question shocks him into stillness. “I... why do you need to know that? If you want to know how that stuff works I could-”
Merlin cuts him off in a way that would earn anyone else the stocks. “Have you?”
Arthur thinks. “We’re not married yet and despite what you think Merlin.” He says playfully. “I am a man of honour.”
Merlin hums. “I see.” He meets Arthur’s eye, a small smile gracing his features, “I’ll take your word for it, sire.”
A single chuckle escapes Arthur. He grumbles something under his breath about insolence and taking who’s what, where. Merlin shakes his head with a grin and they sit in companionable silence, aside from the crickets and the bats and what Arthur hopes isn’t a toad’s croak near his foot.
Arthur slices into the quiet carefully, “I always thought something was wrong... with me.”
Merlin takes a moment then he grimaces, “You don’t have to finish. I’ll get you a potion without a word more.”
Arthur laughs, “No, not like that.” He wonders if it might be. The strange thing about Arthur was that he’s never been, by some work, aroused by a person in his life. Not even through puberty. Perhaps it had something to do with his father breathing down his neck the horrors of bastard children since he was thirteen. But that could never be it. He’d accepted it long ago but his lack of desire for intimacy has finally proven difficult to deal with.
She had tried to initiate and so had he. Her fingers were lady-like, tender, as they ran down his chest. She had a burning desire in her eyes but Arthur could find no fuel for his own. She was merely tracing her fingers in the air, he just happened to be standing there. He had felt nothingness and even though she didn’t say anything, brushed off the incident, it forged a wedge, and he knew she could tell.
What could it mean? Was he dead inside?
“You know the strange thing, Merlin?” He continues, “During those two days,” He swallows thickly, “When I was dying. I never did think of her.”
Merlin begins to prattle in his defense, “Well it‘s not all that strange. It makes sense, in a way. I mean, after all you were with only me the entire time, and, I didn’t exactly say much but magic ha- you know? Merlin? It was understandably a lot to take in and definitely a lot to think about especially when-”
Arthur silences him with brute-force honesty, “But I should have, any right man should.” He goes on, “It was as if the world only had the two of us in it.” He smiles over at Merlin, “And the occasional bad guy of course.” He quips.
Merlin smiles back and replies with equal sarcasm, “Of course. What would we do without them?”
“But, I didn’t mind.” He continues, going back to the established solemnity.
“I did.” Merlin’s smile turns crooked in various places as he wells with emotion.
“Merlin-”
Merlin palms his forehead. “I thought I’d failed and lost you.”
“Merlin?”
He speaks under his breath, lost somewhere in his self, “I wouldn’t have minded failing...”
“Merlin.”
He snaps up out of his hands, “Yes?”
Arthur leans forward, towards him in concern, “I can hear your teeth chattering.”
“Oh.” He says dumbly, as if he just received the answer to something obvious. He takes the moment to listen and realise that the faint clicking noise was coming from
himself
the entire time.
“Seriously, how did you ever survive this long?” Arthur throws his hands up feebly, “Use your magic,”
Merlin spares him a glance before bowing his head and whispering. It was allowed under the king’s orders after all. Arthur was graced with a flash of gold through the cast of his lashes. A thin ring of dark red encircles them and their table through the short grass that took growth on the stone. The ground burns, unnaturally warm and the heat from it rises, covering their bodies. Merlin lets out a contented sigh.
“Why are you up this late anyway?” Arthur rakes his eyes over the warlock. Merlin up at night was a rare feat. That he got to witness at least.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Merlin answers, still dreamily engrossed in the warmth.
“So you came to me?” Arthur asks incredulously.
Merlin harrumphs like a child and pulls a mean frown. “You weren’t asleep either.”
He almost asks how Merlin knew but bites his tongue. He remembers Merlin could have eyes anywhere in the kingdom if he wanted. “I have a right to be up if I want to.” He defends, and it has nothing to do with him being king or Merlin’s rank. It was simply the right of banter between friends.
Merlin giggles and the sound both annoys and softens Arthur. “Yes, of course, sire.”
Arthur lightly chops the table. “Can you not insult me when you say that?”
“Whatever do you mean sire?”
“Merlin.” Arthur hisses. “Listen-”
“Arthur,” Merlin grins, “It’s common knowledge in Camelot that I never listen to you.”
Arthur narrows his eyes but they lack any real vice, “I’m half tempted to cover you in the rest of my wine.” He says, cupping the chalice. “And the other half to kick you out of this circle.” He sips his drink.
Merlin cowers at the mention of cold and stares at the ground outside of the enchantment like it might eat him suddenly. He unconsciously takes two scoots away from the edge on his chair as if it would make a difference if Arthur decided to give him a good chuck.
Arthur rolls his eyes, “Now back to the point.”
Merlin snaps up with wide eyes, “Hm?”
“Why you brought me here .” Arthur grits.
“Oh,” Merlin says again, scoffing, “I thought to myself, lovely weather you know? And the day-lilies this time of year-”
“Merlin!”
“I,” Merlin hiccups. Then silences. He picks at a stray splinter in the wood of the table to avoid eye contact. Abruptly he sits up and turns, putting his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “It’s about the ritual.”
The one he only knew about as a result of being Arthur’s closest confidant. Arthur shakes his head, “What about it?”
“There’s no such thing.” He says softly. Too lightly. The same way he’d speak to a unicorn in wondrous merriment and awe. Arthur had yet to tell him that speaking to animals (?) isn’t very normal, but, he was Merlin and that was reason enough to think that perhaps, the animals did talk back in some way or the other.
Arthur isn’t sure what to do. But the words sink him deep. There is a moment of uneasy silence. But as he looks into Merlin’s blue eyes, lit impossibly bright by the dull moon, full of worry and care and something else he can’t quite place, he is anchored. “I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop trying to attach me to the chair.”
Merlin withdraws his hands like Arthur had struck him, realising he was in fact pushing him down in silent panic. He carefully peels the chalice from Arthur’s tight knuckled hand and sets it aside. “So... you’re not going to ask me if I'm sure or...?”
Geoffrey had been a strange one, cornering Merlin in the library one evening with the truth in a teary eyed and frantic non-Geoffrey like state.
Arthur looks away, “You've always been a mystery Merlin but if there’s one thing I learned; it’s to believe you when you tell me something.”
Merlin nods. “I don’t know how to tell you this so... I’m going to show you... do you trust me, Arthur?”
“I...” Without a doubt, “yes.”
...
“Merlin! Where are we going!?” The pace is too fast, everything blurs. It has to be some kind of magic.
Before the world could settle properly, Arthur feels himself being shoved into a door just ajar enough for him to squeeze through. Merlin tumbles in behind him swearing and grunting at an otiose attempt to be quiet. How he sneaked around for all those years was beyond Arthur.
He’s ushered over to a wardrobe. Merlin yanks it open, shoving Arthur in bodily and following suit. Arthur wasn’t about being manhandled so there was some mutual trampling.
“Merlin, what in the name of-” He hisses, rubbing his arms finally feeling the cold from all but flying through the corridor.
“It’s alright.” Merlin replies with a flushed face, through the coats and the cloaks, “No one can hear us.”
Arthur shuffles away in the too small space and whacks at a jacket sleeve in his face. “What now?”
“We wait?” Merlin shrugs.
He gets as fed up as Arthur at the clothes at some point later, so he shoves at the clothing frustratingly and they pass through the wall of the closet as if the wood was only an illusion, out to who knows where. Merlin notices the funny look from Arthur.
“What?” The king asks. Merlin should know he was used to this by now, or trying his best to be.
His smile is small and delicate, shy even, as if given a gift, “I never thought you’d go along with this.”
Arthur refrains from pointing out the loss of ability to object while soaring through castle halls. “It’s about time I was included on these secret quests of yours.”
Merlin grins.
~
Arthur wakes to a startling snort. He shifts and moves his feet to stir some life into them. There’s a foreign softness under his body. He runs his fingers through the furs, feeling the thick layers underneath. Apparently Merlin had conjured them in his sleep. He smiles. He then goes to tease Merlin about his girlish tendencies but when he arches his neck to peer up where Merlin still sat, soundlessly asleep and looking so pure, he decides, maybe later.
Arthur lay completely on the floor of the wardrobe, thinking how ridiculous of a thing for a king to find himself in. But breaking normalcy came in package deals when housing stray Merlins. They had barely squeezed in and now there was enough room on the floor to be a queen-sized bed. He urges his body to sit up despite the crook in his neck. He’s almost up when a flicker of the moonlight catches his eye through the holes of the filigree. He knows that silhouette.
Each rise of her bounce blocks the moon in the window and casts a quick shadow over their wardrobe repeatedly; her unrestricted breasts heaving with the motion. The outline shows her mouth wide open. She lets out a breathy gasp the same moment Merlin decides to sigh in his sleep, contentedly. Arthur swallows. Her hair brushes her backside as she tilts her head back. A thick dark line emerges from the body beneath to grip her waist, then her breast, then down to where the shadows flatness left to the imagination. Arthur wonders what he should feel.
Guilt, mostly. He doesn’t experience rage, or jealousy, or despair. And for this he finds a pit of culpability. Her feminine voice is nothing but white noise to his ears.
Guinevere’s back arches and she lifts up as the hips beneath thrust upward relentlessly. He can hear the grunts of his father as he goes to where one can only presume, is the edge.
After this she climbs off. Pushing her hair to the side she leans down, to what he assumes is an act of cleanliness, if the subtle dragging movement of her head was anything to go by.
Funny , he thinks, that in all her pride she still reduces to a servant for an abdicated king of no land.
He wants to cry, or he thinks he should. Not for her betrayal but just to feel something, anything . Even if it hurts, just to fill that void inside. He spares a glance at Merlin and suddenly, doesn’t feel so hollow anymore.
Guinevere pulls on her clothes smoothly and unbothered. She picks up her cloak to leave and Uther grabs her wrist. In the dark he can see that familiar soft smile. It used to be her most innocent feature. Now it reeks of something vicious and smug and foreign. She steps backwards and lets the hand feel her bosom roughly. The other hand feels her backside with a slight shove telling by the ruffling of her dress. She takes the smack as a signal to leave, closing the door silently in her wake.
This should be the moment he lets out the breath he’s been holding. But his breathing was perfectly fine.
Arthur releases the fistful of Merlin’s cloak that he’d grabbed at some point and finally sits up properly. He claps his hands neatly on his thighs, crossing his ankles and thinks.
Out of all the women at his father’s disposal, why her? Uther was surprisingly calm and uncharacteristically approving of his desire to be with a serving girl but he attributed it to the deadened madness left behind by Morgana. Even though he didn’t need permission to marry, as he was king; he needed his father’s approval as he always did. In the same way he would look up, thirsty for it, starved of it, as a young boy barely past anyone’s hip.
Uther only ever once got Merlin’s name right and even then the emphasis was in the wrong place. It was unnoticed, so casual, the way he would always remember her name. Glances, acknowledgements, that didn’t rouse any brows or garner attention but was unmistakably, there.
Without a second thought Arthur had agreed to this ritual, not even glancing her way, but she had agreed, later. The father to take the son’s betrothed to bed before his marriage; to “gaze” upon her and approve of her virtue for the son.
Merlin had said he didn’t like it. Then again, the warlock didn’t like lots of things, apparently, which he had never mentioned before The Reveal, which yes, was capitalised on paper, the one he personally titled for a sulking Merlin to write all his sins upon. He always thought Merlin liked polishing his sword… considering how obsessed he was with it.
However, old habits die hard and thus he didn’t heed the warning of the ‘oh wise and powerful wizard’. Merlin had gone red faced and threatened to turn all Arthur’s shoes into loaves of bread at that, but Arthur didn’t take it to heart. People were always mimicking royalty; he could start a trend and go down in history for whole wheat boots.
Arthur rests his palm on Merlin’s forearm and that’s all it takes for him to jerk into consciousness, “Arthur!” He yelps, wide eyed and frazzled.
He knows it’s not the time, or the place, but he really can’t help it, “Dreaming of me?”
Merlin scowls, blinking hard to clear his vision. Arthur is reminded of Amelia, the laundress’ tiny baby, with the permanent pout, grumpy and freshly awakened from some noise.
“I rather not spend the rest of the night in my father’s wardrobe.” He says.
Merlin looks around, “Oh, right, we should leave, I uh, suppose, yeah.” He agrees, standing.
Once outside, Merlin ducks his head, “Sorry about this, I swear.” He peeks up, “It wasn’t a joke or anything.”
Arthur registers that Merlin was asleep through the ordeal. “I don’t think I’ll be heading to bed just yet. How about you?”
Merlin shrugs, he couldn’t find sleep in the first place and though his new bed was large and soft he doesn’t think he can find it there again, “Might just wander about for a bit.”
Arthur smiles, “Join me in a game of chess?”
Merlin looks happy, genuine in a way Arthur’s missed for the past few days as he smiles back, “Sure.”
~
It was really convenient to use magic to move the pieces because at some point Merlin slunk down onto his arms for a new angle, like that would help his impending defeat, and Arthur had followed shortly after from fatigue.
“Rook to B-5.” Arthur says, slightly muffled by the pressure of his head on his chin, and the piece slides over. Merlin had fallen asleep a minute ago but the magic still held. Arthur was about to reach out and wake him to go to bed but before the command could travel from brain to shoulder; he fell into the arms of slumber himself.
He dreamt of strange wardrobes leading into stranger lands where the pieces of their game were alive. They had faces on their life sized wooden forms, poking out like those nomadic wealthy merchants with the funny ruffled collars. They were complete with arms but they had no legs so they hopped in a rather hazardous way for anything caught beneath.
He was at war apparently, with Merlin, the ‘snow queen’ he liked to think. What, with his white army, white fluffy-seamed clothes and white kingdom and all. On the battlefield with his own black army, Arthur fought strategically, as far as the logic went, but they were evenly matched.
At some point a unicorn sauntered onto the chaos and he saved it from being squashed by a bishop. Merlin had been so happy that he called the war off right then and there and invited Arthur over for tea instead. It was ridiculous really. But it put a smile on Arthur’s face as he slept. Typical Merlin.
The king awoke the same time as the warlock did. Arthur broke into a wide grin, hidden by his arms as Merlin woke in an amusing series of actions. At first he blinked slowly, all dreamy eyed and distant. Then he lifted his head, just a bit, taking in his location with the most confused expression. After that he lay back down, decidedly not caring. Finally, he met Arthur’s eyes in question through the chess pieces.
Arthur could hear Merlin’s stifled giggles. “Sorry.” He mumbles.
“For keeping me company, or drooling on my table?” Arthur asks, voice teasing.
Merlin sits up swiftly, glaring down at the wood, “I didn’t drool.”
Arthur laughs and straightens up. As he stretches, he notices Merlin’s stare, “Is breakfast going to fetch itself?”
Merlin wrinkles his nose but gets up anyway and walks to the door. The warlock isn’t his servant anymore, but Arthur is quite sure the position is cursed - or something. By Merlin. Arthur can see the smile from behind as Merlin’s cheekbones lift outward. He doesn’t need an invitation of course and fetches enough for two, sitting and helping himself.
“How long has it been going on?” Arthur asks finally.
The warlock chokes on a piece of Gorgonzola and sputters. Trust Merlin to suffocate on cheese. He manages to cough it up and clear his throat. “Excuse me?”
Arthur squares him up with an unblinking stare. “Last night. Guinevere.” He says, casual, nonchalant, reaching for his chalice to drink. As if making small talk.
Merlin looks disturbed but he gets over it, eventually, “Oh um, I don’t know.” He admits sheepishly, poking the rest of his cheese, “A while.”
“I mean can you find out, with like a spell?” Arthur isn’t sure why he asks. Perhaps he wanted to see the magic. It was always mesmerising, after all, Merlin’s eyes full of starlight.
Merlin furrows his brows, “I’m not sure... I would have to ask her anyway.” Arthur nods, digging back into his food. “So you’re not, not going to strangle me or anything?”
“Why would I do that?” Arthur asks, and it’s sincere.
Merlin shifts in his seat, “You’re taking this really well.” Too well. Merlin’s seen this side of Arthur before. It had been a dark time...
He was fine, convinced Merlin he was fine and then suddenly snapped, throwing down his gauntlet and in the spur of combat broke four ribs, two fingers and a kneecap of poor Sir Adrian of Northumbia. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but he’d looked so pitiful in Gaius’ sickbed.
Out of the blue he’d dry humped and intended to tumble an unsuspecting Merlin in the pantry but had mysteriously ‘fallen asleep’ during the act. And when Merlin hid in Arthur’s chamber, the merely visiting man confronted the Prince-at-the-time himself and asked for what he wanted outright, as if Merlin was livestock. He called Arthur rude for not sharing his toffee-nosed, lecherous, but very quite sultry, presumed-bed warmer. Merlin begged him not to pursue but Arthur does what Arthur wants when Arthur is angry.
Merlin considers taking post outside of Uther’s chamber in case Arthur decides to throw him a gauntlet –which would be ridiculous given the man’s pathetic condition, or worse, proceed directly to slice him in two, slowly. He wouldn’t hurt Gwen, Merlin thinks. He’ll check any food she has at the castle just in case.
“We’ve much to do today,” Arthur says between a mouthful of bread, “Hurry and finish up, can’t have you wasting away on your duties.” Merlin glares but obeys and sinks his teeth into an apple.
On their rounds Arthur allows him to check in on Gaius with some hasty made up excuse about juniper berries and tells him not to wait up.
Merlin shuts the door, taking a second to make sure the king has left and turns to his perturbed looking mentor, “Gaius, I think Arthur has actually got a mental affliction.”
“What makes you say that?” He asks worriedly, ceasing his shaking of a suspect vial.
Merlin takes a seat, avoiding Gaius’ eyes, “I told him. And, and he didn’t kill me.”
“Told him what?” He enquires, in the same cautious tone, the one he used to use to interrogate Merlin about some puerile use of magic; worrying whether he had to see his closest thing to a son burned or beheaded, or if he had to think of some scheme to take the blame himself.
“About Gwen.” He answers quietly, “Well I showed him really. I fell asleep and he might have seen... everything. I didn’t mean for him to witness all... of that. ” Merlin says, shifting around unable to find a comfortable position on the hard wooden bench, “But he did and he’s being really calm about it. You know what happened before, Gaius.”
Gaius had remained still through the entirety of Merlin’s ramble. He isn’t too sure how to take the news. He wishes he could explain how that time was different. He wishes he could tell of Arthur’s strange behaviour and its reserved nature, for one alone. He had practically raised the king and Arthur’s protectiveness was just a side effect of something greater. Something he knows Arthur too well to miss. It could be blamed on destiny, or something else entirely, but the barriers must be broken by them and them alone, oblivious as they may be.
“I do.” He says, treading carefully.
Merlin speaks again before he says anymore, “Do you think I did the right thing?”
Gaius sits on the stool opposite Merlin, “It was a hard thing to do but I believe you have spared Arthur of a miserable future.” He puts a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “Better to find out sooner than later. You are a true friend, Merlin.”
Merlin’s eyes suspiciously dampen and the physician doesn’t think he can handle that right now, “Thanks, Gaius.”
“Of course,” He pats Merlin’s shoulder and stands.
Merlin stays in place, “You don’t think he would... like last time, do you?” He asks anxiously, waving his hands about.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Gaius says, “But do keep a careful eye out; you know how to keep his temper in check.” He raises a brow, “On the other hand, do not involve yourself anymore than you already have. Let him handle how he deals with this.”
Merlin nods and Gaius wonders if it’s one of those genuine ones or ‘I’m definitely not going to listen but I’ll agree anyway’ ones. He wonders if he ever did get a genuine one...
“You’ve done a good deed, my boy, braver than the rest of us I’d say,” That being, those who knew of the illicit affair and said nothing, an alarming few ranging from scullery maids to his closest knights. But every man has their reasons. “Now don’t keep his majesty waiting, off to work with you.”
Merlin lets Gaius shoo him out of his workshop with a big grin. He meets a certain Arthur in the hallway who insists he wasn’t waiting when Merlin said he didn’t have to.
~
It’s become a warm summer day. With a relaxed expression, Merlin watches Arthur drill the knights. He sits on the grass, free to be at ease since Arthur doesn’t seem to be breaking anyone’s anything. The squire he was helping polish armour had gone off to get them some water at Merlin’s complaint of the heat because the warlock noticed the beads of sweat running down the young boy’s face, of who was too shy to complain himself.
He reaches out and almost jumps out of his skin when he notices the returned presence isn’t the servant but indeed, Guinevere.
“Hello Merlin.” She greets sweetly.
“H-Hello Gwen.” Merlin coughs to free the sudden blockage in his throat. “What are you doing here?” He asks and almost smacks himself.
She doesn’t take it maliciously, “I thought I’d watch training,” She says with a soft smile, “With you.”
Merlin nods, “Mhm.”
“We haven’t seen much of each other lately.” She says, peering up at him, “We used to be quite close, I miss that. Not that I don’t consider you my friend,” She adds quickly, “It’s just-”
“I know what you mean.” Merlin adds, saving her the trouble. “We’ve both had a lot on our plates.” He quirks his head and yanks at his neckerchief, suddenly feeling the heat.
He spots the squire over Gwen’s head as she is about to speak, “Oliver,” He exclaims, for no reason at all, “Thought you’d melted away.”
Oliver goes red at the neck and bows, “Forgive me-”
“It’s nothing.” Merlin ushers him over, “It just would’ve been a shame to mop you up off the floor, you’re the only one who’s polishing Arthur hasn’t complained about.”
Oliver ducks his head with a smile, handing Merlin the ewer. He peeks in and sees a few lumps, “Did you go all the way to the ice house?”
“Yes, I thought you would prefer... if you didn’t I-”
“That was very kind of you.” Merlin beams, pouring into two water skins. He gives a reluctant Oliver one and encourages him to drink up lest the armour go dull.
“Thank you.” He says softly. Merlin pats him on the back and the boy returns to polishing.
He offers some to Gwen from the pitcher, “I’m alright thanks.” She refuses politely, putting up her hand.
But Merlin’s already fallen into that bout of cataclysmic enthusiasm. His adrenaline pumps at alarming rates whenever he’s nervous and he gets over excited; it would usually come out in the form of blabbing uncontrollably or tripping over his own feet. He’s sitting.
So what’s Merlin to blab about? Arthur of course, what else does his life contain?
As a result, he proceeds to blither on about more polishing and how it’s only for show but he understands the import of it because knights in shining armour just wouldn’t be the same, even though dull armour would work just as fine but Arthur wouldn’t hear of it, the prat. And how consequently, Arthur made George give him a five hour run down on the ‘kinks and links’ of polishing and of whom, isn’t the slightest bit clever with his eternal supply of brass puns. But he got back at Arthur with two weeks’ worth of horrible jokes from his one session with George and it was worth it.
His throat is running dry but he can’t stop or he’ll start physically jerking about, and between Gwen and Oliver, neither one will shut him up. He’s growing desperate because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing or blurt The Knowledge in Gwen’s face, so he keeps talking about polish, and boy would George be proud, but he really needs someone to silence him before the inevitable happens.
His hand is slightly shaking as he lifts it to take a drink but finds it empty and almost takes a sip from his open fist. He then realises Arthur is standing in front of them, drinking heartily from the seemingly teleporting skin.
He glowers at Arthur and Gwen and Oliver both giggle beside him as Arthur flashes a shit-eating grin at him. “Needed that.” He says handing it back like he asked for it in the first place.
Merlin swipes from the gloved hand, “Never any manners the royals,” He says, mimicking Gwaine under his breath and taking a well needed gulp.
He notices Oliver’s eye quickly dart between them and the skin and Merlin suddenly feels self conscious. Knights shared all the time. Didn’t they? He racks his brain trying to recall something too insignificant to notice at the time when almost everything magical under the sun was trying to kill Arthur.
He decides it unimportant as Gwen stands. “Guinevere,” Arthur greets with a smile. But Merlin knows hesitance when he sees it; in the way Arthur’s eyes haze over, how they lack the customary crinkles in the corner, how he puts all his breath into the syllables, the tiny shrug of the shoulders matching the raise of his brows.
“Hello, Arthur.” She responds, fiddling with her fingers, “I thought it was a lovely day today and if you weren’t too busy, perhaps we could spend a bit of time together.”
“I apologize,” He says, “that we spend so little hours together these days. My duties as king have left me with little time. However, it would be a waste not to savour a day like this.”
And thus he agrees. And ‘oh my gods’ Merlin thinks. Arthur’s going to murder Gwen in the woods! Then he would say a rogue Wilddeoren ate her and then Merlin would have to make a vow of silence and he’d never be able to look Elyan in the eye again. He can’t live like that.
Thankfully, it was just a walk in the gardens. He keeps a wary eye on Arthur’s hilt from a distance. The king never grabs it but his knuckles are painstakingly white where he grips his chalice. Merlin is sure he’s going to have to have a word with the cutler and invent a reason why the pewter ware has a handprint again.
Merlin takes onto his own in the garden. He cups the roses, revelling appreciatively at their soft comforting feel. His magic wraps around the plants like invisible ivy, fortifying and enhancing their lushness. The floras curl lovingly toward him in response.
“I’d say even the tulips are trying to deflower you.”
Merlin jumps a bit at Gwaine’s sudden presence. His magic recoils, the flowers bowing sadly at the loss. “What’s with everyone and my virtue these days?” He shakes his head absently.
Gwaine bellows and places a warm hand on Merlin’s shoulder. His expression falters however when he sees Arthur and Gwen a short distance away. Arthur sends a subtle frown his way, so Gwaine returns an even bigger one. Gwaine leans close to the warlock’s ear, “Merlin...”
“I told him.” Merlin blurts quickly, stiffening under the hand. Gwaine gives him a disbelieving look, “I swear I did.” He adds frantically.
Gwaine had been the one planning to tell Arthur. Merlin had foreseen the disastrous events that would follow and he didn’t need to be a seer to feel impending doom in his bones. He managed to convince Gwaine to give him the task. He had been reluctant thinking that Arthur might harm Merlin but they came to an agreement, and it was settled. His presence next to Merlin outside Arthur’s door that night was the only thing that kept the warlock from bolting.
Gwaine looks between the three of them, smiling this time when Arthur glances. “And?” Gwaine asks, gritting the word through his faux smiling teeth. “You mean to tell me that he just-”
“I don’t... know.” Merlin interrupts quickly, “But he’s planning something. Dangerous something. Maybe. I’m to make sure he doesn’t murder anyone. You remember the Adrian incident.”
Gwaine nods slowly, “Ay,” He says, “He’s lucky I didn’t get to him first though.” He smiles cheekily. “ I’m not a princess. He would’ve got a good old fashioned rough housing.” He thrusts a fist in the air to emphasize.
Merlin giggles, but folds his lips in to retain seriousness, “But I’m worried what he’ll do, Gwaine.” He blinks owlishly at the flowers, which seem to nod in understanding, “Gaius told me not to interfere anymore than I have and-...”
Gwaine gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze, “I think that’s best, Merlin.” He says, oddly enough.
“Yo-you do!?”
Gwaine hisses to silence him, shooting more forced smiles at Arthur and even Gwen as the outburst caught both their attentions, “ Yes. But speak with him if you can.”
Merlin nods, “Alright.” He eyes Gwaine warily, “ You’re not going to do anything are you?”
“Whatever makes you say that?” He asks innocently.
“Please, for me?” Merlin begs. Gwaine can’t deny him when he bats up through his lashes like that, making him question questions he never questioned before.
Gwaine sputters silently for a bit before finding some words, “Well, tell him to hurry it up soon, yeah? I consider him my friend, though not nearly as much as you do, and I will not sit silently while she... that...”
“She’s my friend.” Merlin interjects, “My first ever friend in Camelot.”
The grip on his shoulder edges toward dangerously tight, “There are no excuses, Merlin. If I were here, who knows? Perhaps your first friend could have been me. We would have been up to tremendous more shenanigans by now.” Flipping his hair he smiles absently at the thought, “No excuses,” He points a finger at Merlin’s open mouth, shutting it. “She’s still a cheat.”
“I wasn’t making excuses. ” Merlin drawls unconvincingly, “I just don’t think anyone deserves to be publicly humiliated or... or gutted or something.”
Gwaine stares in awe, “You truly fell from heaven Merlin.”
Merlin smiles coyly, speaking from the corner of his mouth, “Did I get kicked out or something?”
“Oh no, they sent you to keep that all important princess in check.” Gwaine sighs, “Because gods know, Merlin, a real friend is what someone like him ,” prudish royalty, “needs. If it weren’t you he’d never know what one was otherwise.”
“But all the knights-”
“And who’s responsible for that? Our allegiance lies with him as much as you.” He scoffs suddenly, dripping with disdain, “As if I would ever entertain the idea of befriending Prince Arthur .”
Merlin smiles down at his boots, “I suppose.”
“Now,” Gwaine starts, “I’ll be off. Do keep a safe distance from those roses lest they despoil you when I turn.”
Merlin shoves him, “Gwaine!”
He ignores the jibe and bows theatrically, taking Merlin’s hand, placing a kiss on the back of it, “Just protecting your merit my lady.”
Merlin shoves the man’s head down with the hand, laughing. Gwaine avoids a weak kick with an over-the-top drop and roll manoeuvre before scampering away.
Merlin sees a young servant boy in the distance trip and fall. Completely forgetting his current duties, he rushes over, taking him up and leading him off to Gaius’ chamber for treatment of the unsightly gashes. They really should line the path with something other than jagged stone, he thinks, what a hazard.
He’s applying the last of the salve on the boy, Henry, when the door opens. He ignores the presence and bandages the last long scrape on the little arm, identical to the ones on both shins and gives him a tap of dismissal, “There you go.”
Henry gives him a gap-toothed smile, “Thanks Merlin!” He hops off the stool and onto the man, wrapping his arms around the warlock’s neck in an embrace for a short moment before darting off in a less than careful manner. His bow to Arthur is deep and awkward, “Sire.” He says before bounding out the door.
Merlin finally notices Arthur. He stands and brushes nothing off his pants. The king is fighting down a smirk, but it defeats him and his lip quirks up a bit. “You make an excellent mother.” He says, somehow lacking the usual tone of mock and tease.
Merlin glares, but he’s smiling as he arranges the rest of the unused tools and bandages. “Do you also need a patching up then, my dear?” Merlin peeks at Arthur in the corner of his eye, “Another paper cut perhaps?”
“Ha-ha, very funny Merlin.” Arthur says sarcastically. “ You were the one insisting to treat me.”
“Tiny wounds get infected easily!” Merlin defends looking affronted, “I would have never heard the end of it if I let your finger fall off.” Merlin remembers Arthur’s hissing and wiggling, face contorted in poorly concealed pain, as Merlin treated the injury. He knew from experience, how badly tiny cuts stung and he didn’t even bother to make fun of the prince at the time, which in recollection, he should have, because he’d cooed over him like a mother hen. Which might have been embarrassing, if Arthur wasn’t wailing like a child. But even Merlin has his limits though.
Arthur sighs because he knows it’s even score, “I suppose my poor finger is forever indebted to you, Merlin.”
Merlin stacks the last vial away and faces Arthur before reaching for the pestle, and snaps out, “More of you than that!”
Arthur grins, “And the rest of me as well.”
The sincerity shocks Merlin. He flushes and suppresses whatever feeling that his stomach had begun to boil before it cooked into something unimaginable and maybe a bit delicious. He means to say, ‘ and I you’ but the thought of it makes him recoil even more and he doesn’t know why.
There was this dance they did, ensconced, where concern and kindness was masked by good hearted jibes and jokes. It was their thing, their communication; a language wholly theirs that appeared strange to the outsider. But when mockery is taken out of the equation, the sheer rawness of it is startling. It’s too open, too real and infinitesimally intense.
“So about Gwen-” Merlin starts, in time as Arthur says, “So what did Gwain-”
“Um, you first sire...”
Arthur coughs, before the silent staring becomes more awkward than it already has, “Out of curiosity, Merlin,” He states quietly, “what did you expect me to do about her?”
Merlin pokes at a piece of dried rosemary on the table, “I don’t know.” He admits, “I didn’t think that far...” He says truthfully. “I didn’t want you to find out after the wed- at all to be honest. But I don’t want to see you hurt, at any point. I couldn’t bear the thought if I didn’t say anything, if you would hate me for it-”
Arthur is next to him, and Merlin wonders if he should be worried that he missed a man in armour and heavy boots moving, “Merlin,” He puts an arm around the warlock, wrapping around and grasping his bicep. “I would never hate you.”
“Arthur,” He mutters weakly after a while, staring at the wood as his damp vision blends the mahogany brown into the green of the rosemary.
“How often?” He asks softly.
“Um,” Merlin blinks away the wetness, thankful for the distraction, “Ever-” He starts but the air catches in his throat at how easily he almost said something so tragic.
Arthur nudges him by the hip, “Go on. Tell me.”
“Every night since your regency.” He admits, pressing his index down hard on a leaf, seeping out all his frustration through the single digit, “I didn’t know it for what it was until a week ago. Gwaine he- he confirmed it for me one night when I followed her. Before that though, I’d no idea but I had a few suspicions...”
Merlin sniffs, digging his nail into the stem. “I never expected that she would... I’m sorry.” He had felt in his selfish heart of hearts that Gwen was to be queen and now, he was wrong and he was lost.
“I haven’t the slightest clue as to why you think her betrayal is somehow your fault.” Arthur begins, “But it could never work regardless you know.”
Merlin snaps his head up. “What why?”
Arthur gives him a gentle squeeze, “Stop burdening yourself unnecessarily, you’ve done enough for me and... I thank you for it.”
Merlin frowns to suppress any more burgeoning tears, “So what are you going to do now?”
“I will call the engagement off. But first I want her to tell me herself. I’m owed an explanation at least.”
“Do you think she would?”
“Do you?”
“I, perhaps if I, spoke to her.”
“Merlin, you’ve no need to do more.”
“If it matters to you, I want to help.”
The words play in Arthur’s head, It doesn’t, not now , not ever . But if it makes Merlin happy, gives him closure for some unknown reason, he will oblige. “I will not request this of you but to make peace.”
Merlin nods happily, “Alright.” He peers up at Arthur suddenly, “But are you alright?”
“I am, I really am.”
“Are you not in love with her anymore?” He asks sadly.
Merlin feels Arthur’s hand wipe at his cheek, at a traitorous tear he didn’t even feel escape, “I don’t think I ever was.”
And with that he leaves. Merlin is left to stand there, stunned and confused.