Chapter Text
Merlin and Arthur established a new routine. Merlin supposed they would never go back to the way things were as Arthur’s understanding of him shifted.
Arthur carefully rebuilt his knowledge of Merlin and magic. To his relief, Merlin himself was much the same as before in the way he behaved and his intentions.
He had reservations about some of the things Merlin had done. Merlin had looked so guilt stricken and regretful, Arthur couldn’t quite hold a grudge or blame him.
Except that he was also a liar.
While the king knew enough to not question his loyalty and devotion, a niggling doubt at the back of his mind twisted and churned restlessly. Arthur banished it to the back of his mind.
Merlin had lied to Arthur– about Ygraine, Morgana, the Fisher King, even Balinor–his own Father. And Arthur had understood, he choked on it and smothered his anger with it, but some bitterness seeped.
There were so many things he hadn’t known, things that could have helped him be a better Prince, decision he could have made as King. Would Merlin have ever even told him anything if Sir Walter hadn’t attacked them? Ever share his burden and sorrow and joy?
He was doing it now. That’s what counted.
And Arthur shared it all with him, filling their days with a canvas full of colours, shedding light in dark corners and clearing up cobwebs.
Inconceivable as it had seemed to Arthur at the beginning, the hurt and anger eased.
For all the grief Merlin caused, he was also the soothing balm.
The deep blue of Merlin’s eyes were lighter, a cheerful sea, tugging at Arthur under moon tide to join in his happiness. Arthur couldn’t resist.
It was exasperating, honestly.
The distinction he had made to compartmentalise his Merlin and the sorcerer Merlin blurred before he knew it. There was just Merlin, who, despite the recent revelations, Arthur still couldn’t fathom out.
Magic, on the other hand required more thought. Now that his heart was settled, he found it easier to think about laws.
The death penalty was already unofficially relaxed since he began his reign. He had to pick up from there. He would need to consult the royal archives for the old laws that governed magic, which he would study thoroughly with Merlin before presenting the new laws to the council.
He made it clear to Merlin, in no uncertain words, that he was not to go off on magical quests by himself.
Not because he didn’t trust Merlin or his magic, but because, if anything, Merlin’s feats had showed him that the warlock’s plans were non-existent and he scraped by with sheer strength and luck, escaping by the skin of his teeth.
It was in equal parts awe-inspiring, baffling, and exasperating. Entirely like Merlin.
Arthur must have been possessed by a moment of insanity to even consider offering Merlin a knighthood. Merlin had no patience for things like strategies.
It was also not Merlin’s place to be making decisions for him. Hard as they may be, they were Arthur’s burden.
“What was the last spell you used, other than what I’ve seen,” Arthur asked. It had been a few twilights since their return. He was lounging on a chair, Merlin sitting beside him.
Nights had become their time, to talk about everything. Arthur had begun to take his dinner earlier to avoid having them both sleep deprived. It still ran late enough that Gaius had stopped waiting up for Merlin.
Merlin tilted his head, trying to remember. “Probably some cleaning spell,” he shrugged, “some of those stains are almost as stubborn as you.”
“Other than those,” Arthur said as if it was the most obvious thing and Merlin was being thick.
“Probably the flowers I conjured for Gwen, then.”
Arthur hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. He filed it away at the back of his mind to confirm if magic could be used to aid harvest. “So?” he gestured with expectant eyebrows.
“What?”
“Where are my flowers?” he teased.
“I believe you have an entire royal garden,” Merlin retorted, the word prat heavily implied at the end.
“Is that so? Shall I send my manservant to fetch some for me?”
“Erm,” Merlin backtracked. “Perhaps you would like to wait for a more reasonable hour to make such a demand? It’s such a long walk.”
Arthur pretended to consider it for all of a second. “If only there were another way,” he said with sarcasm.
Merlin huffed. “Any requests?”
Arthur waved his hand, helpfully leaving it up to Merlin.
Merlin looked around for inspiration, eyes landing on Arthur’s Camelot red cloak.
He cupped his hands. “Blóstmá,” he incanted, thinking about the cloak and strawberries. He uncupped his hand, half expecting to see a strawberry.
It was still a rose, as red as ever.
“Merlin?” Arthur called, shaking him out of it.
He offered the flower, without the witticism Arthur had clearly been expecting.
Arthur accepted it and studied it, trying to see what Merlin had seen.
“I conjured one for Freya,” Merlin offered. “She wanted strawberries. I messed it up.”
“She knew about your magic.”
“She was a druid.” Merlin hesitated, wondering if he wanted to tell Arthur everything.
Arthur cupped the flower, fingers running along the edges of the petals. Merlin had seen those finger holding red so many times. Shields, garments, rubies, smeared with Gaia berries, drenched in wine Merlin had mindlessly spilt, coloured with blood.
“She was cursed,” he continued, looking into those eyes on the brink of recognition. “to turned into a bastet every night.” Arthur’s eyes widened and Merlin smiled sadly in response, confirming it.
“I didn’t know till the end,” Merlin said, cutting off any potential reprimands or questions. Anything Arthur had to say had already been said by Gaius years ago.
Arthur looked away. “I dealt the blow,” he said stiffly.
Merlin sighed. He’d assumed as much. It was different to have it confirmed. There must be some irony in Arthur, the one who had captured his heart, dealing the blow that led to Freya’s death.
He rubbed his forearm against his face where a few tears had escaped. “She didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“I’m sorry.” Arthur looked at him, pouring everything he didn’t say.
He wasn’t sorry because it had been his duty as Prince to protect his people. He was sorry for the bounty hunter, for the laws, for the curse, for Merlin losing his love.
Merlin smiled, a bit watery, holding no grudge. “We were going to leave that night.”
Arthur stilled. “Leave?”
“We were going to live by the mountains, away from people. I would have found a way to break the curse.”
A pause. Then, Arthur stood up. “You’d known her for a few days!” he exclaimed.
Merlin blinked, confused. “Yes?”
“You–!” Arthur threw his hands up. “You hardly knew her.”
Merlin was taken by Arthur’s disproportionate reaction. “We were getting there.”
“How are you so certain she was your soulmate?” Arthur asked intently, eyes boring into Merlin’s, searching.
Merlin leaned back in his chair, concerned and wary. “Arthur, are you alright?”
“Answer the question, Merlin,” Arthur glared.
“I already have,” Merlin protested. “You’ve asked me this before.”
“Yes. Before.”
“So? The only thing I didn’t mention was the magic.”
Arthur paced agitatedly. Merlin stood up.
“Arthur?”
Arthur paused. “Gaius told me you are the greatest sorcerer to ever live.”
Merlin stared a bit at the non-sequitur. He hadn’t even known the two of them had discussed his magic. “There are some who believe that, yes.”
“And we share a destiny,” Arthur continued, waiting for an answer.
Merlin wasn’t sure where Arthur was headed with this. “Yes.”
“Freya is your soulmate.”
“Yes.”
“You are sure.” Arthur looked at him with an odd solemnity.
Merlin had the distinct feeling that he was having an epiphany of some sorts. “Yes, Arthur.”
Arthur looked away and rubbed his eyes.
Merlin wracked his head to figure out what was bothering his king. It wasn’t magic or destiny. It couldn’t be Freya or the bastet, or their plans to leave. Those had happened a long time ago. “Is this about your soulmate?”
“No,” Arthur responded dully, not meeting his gaze.
Merlin placed his hand on Arthur’s forearm. When Arthur looked up, he eyes were helpless, set on a tensed face. Merlin felt the muscles move as Arthur clenched his hands into fists.
He looked like he was holding something back.
Merlin tried to read him but his thoughts remained stubbornly in his head.
“How come I’ve never seen your soulmark?” Arthur asked.
Merlin dropped his hand. “Ah. It’s a bit different. Because of my magic.”
“Which I know about now.” Arthur nodded and crossed his arms. “Go on.”
Merlin huffed at the bossy tone. The man was such a clotpole. If he hadn’t been so odd earlier, Merlin would have refused on principle.
“You could say please,” he grumbled and he tugged his shirt out of his belt.
Arthur merely raised an eyebrow. Entitled prat.
“It’s on my chest,” Merlin warned before lifting his shirt up.
It was hard to miss it. Despite it being night the sun was up, a constant. It shimmered gold in the dimly lit room, it’s shine fading into Merlin’s pale skin. Merlin imagined that’s what the sun would look like if it didn’t hurt to see it.
Arthur was stunned, eyes filed with awe as he took it in.
His hands raised to touch it. Merlin’s breath hitched visibly.
Arthur’s eyes snapped to his. He grabbed Merlin’s shirt in a rare show of rage. His face darkened, crumpled in a snarl. “You lied.”
Merlin scrambled, holding on to Arthur’s wrist. “What?”
“You’re mine,” Arthur hissed. His other hand came to rest on the sun.
Merlin shook his head. His hear beat faster under Arthur’s palm. “What?”
Arthur drew away. Merlin missed the dizzying warmth immediately, the sun on his chest cooling.
Arthur fumbled with his shirt, pulling it up and scanning his chest. “There,” he said, pointing.
Merlin took in Arthur’s mark for the first time. A half moon, luminescent and gleaming, the silvery yellow light faded into Arthur’s skin.
It was more vibrant that the typical mark. It had the glow of magic. It was beautiful, the envy of any artist who had ever tried to frame it. It was nature and magic woven in harmony, ameliorated simply by being on Arthur..
Merlin couldn’t help but think his sun suited him better–bright, warm, sustaining.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” Arthur said in disbelief, pulling Merlin’s attention away from his chest.
“What?”
“Anytime now, Merlin, feel free to remember more words. My mark. I thought you knew about it.”
Merlin shook his head. “How could I have? Your mark is supposed to be secret.”
“Not to you, you idiot.” Arthur let his shirt drop. The cruel fabric cut off Merlin’s view.
“You never said I could look.” He crossed his arms with a huff.
Arthur looked at him like he was the biggest idiot. He held his hand up. “We’re doing this later.”
And really, it wasn’t fair how calm Arthur appeared while Merlin’s heart was trying to leap out of his chest and run for the hills.
Merlin took a moment to restart his senses.
Arthur was warm, majestic, a symbol of hope, the Once and Future King, singular, irreplaceable. The golden sun. That part slotted easily enough, with how much time he’d spent fantasying about it.
Being confronted with the implication that Arthur was his sun, the one that dawned on Merlin one day all those years ago which now opened up possibilities was a different matter.
Arthur was close and he was watching him. Merlin knew his face was caught somewhere between startled stoat and a frightened doe. He almost laughed at the Arthur-ish thought.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Arthur said, voice deepened with swarm of emotions. He looked half prepared to retreat into himself.
It snapped Merlin out of it effectively. It wasn’t ever a question, was it? They matched, clear as day. And even if they didn’t, Merlin was willing. More than willing. “Arthur, my place is by your side, however you want me to be.”
Emboldened, Arthur stepped closer, nearly touching. The tantalising space between them nearly pulling Merlin in.
Merlin could see the flecks in his eyes, the light shining in them. A piece of the sky plucked and bestowed on the King, a proof and a claim.
“Why didn’t you dance with me?” he asked, grounding Merlin before he could fly away.
The memory was reluctant to surface, to dislodge Merlin’s attention. “I’d dance with you now.”
“Because we match?” There was an undercurrent of something Merlin couldn’t place. It wasn’t quite displeasure or bitterness.
“Because I know you mean it,” he replied softly, infusing sincerity.
Arthur frowned, unsatisfied.
Merlin firmly directed his mind to that night at the ball all those moons ago. “You didn’t ask me, for a dance.”
“Of course I did,” Arthur protested.
Merlin shook his head, concealing a smile. “You demanded. I didn’t think it was actually a dance you were after.”
Arthur made a face. “I don’t like dancing.”
“The entirety of Camelot knows you’d rather be beating people up with swords and lances.”
Arthur tilted his head in exasperation. “Yes, but I can’t ask you for a spar, can I?”
“I’d never agree to one.”
Arthur huffed a breath of laughter. “I think you would,” he said, remembering the circumstances of their first few meetings. Arthur knew how to goad him.
The thoughtful gleam in Arthur’s eyes set Merlin’s alarm bells ringing. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
Arthur smirked. “I’m the king, Merlin, you can’t ask me to abandon thought.”
“Well, right now you’re a clotpole so I can.”
Arthur’s smirk widened triumphantly. “No thinking?”
Merlin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, waiting for him to continue.
Arthur’s pink tongue peeked out, catching Merlin’s attention. “Alright.”
Merlin barely processed the reply when Arthur’s hand came to cradle his face and he kissed him. Merlin swayed forward automatically, hands resting on Arthur’s shoulders as Arthur’s other hand held his waist.
It took a beat but Merlin responded, tentatively moving his lips. His fingers slid into Arthur’s hair holding on gently. His brain sparked and short circuited, sending waves throughout his body. The spark turned into consuming fire as heat bloomed.
Arthur pulled him closer, kissing him with more confidence, demanding every bit of Merlin’s attention. Merlin let himself go, not bothering with finesse, alternatively taking and ceding control. His hands traced Arthur’s jaw, trailing back toward his ear, dropping to his neck, his chest, feeling Arthur’s heartbeat where his soulmark was hidden.
They parted, breathing heavily. Arthur’s eyes were shining as he ran a thumb across Merlin’s cheekbone.
“You drive me mad,” Arthur said, overflowing with fondness.
Merlin licked his lips. His eyes flickered to Arthur’s lips, pink and divine. “You drive me mad too.”
Arthur sighed and brought them closer, resting their foreheads together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Merlin had a feeling they weren’t talking about soulmarks anymore. “Why didn’t you?”
Arthur tugged Merlin hair.
“Ow!” Merlin broke apart, rubbing his head. Pigtail pulling, really? “You brute.”
Merlin’s eyes flashed and flicked a grape at Arthur’s forehead.
Arthur was unimpressed. “Really, Merlin?”
“You’re right. I should have gone for the apple.” Merlin grinned cheekily.
“You should have answered the question,” Arthur corrected. He shook his head fondly. “You’re just like this,” he gestured at where the mark sat on his chest.
Merlin’s frowned in confusion.
“It moves around,” Arthur explained. “And goes through all the phases.”
Interesting. Merlin’s mark did no such thing. “And what does that have to do with me?”
Arthur shook his head and took a stepped back, leaving Merlin oddly vulnerable to the air.
Worry splashed across his face. “I need to know Merlin...” he trailed off, searching for answers in some crevice of Merlin’s face.
Merlin didn’t know exactly what Arthur needed to know. He tried to recall their conversation, but pretty much pulled up blank. The kiss stole most of his thoughts.
Arthur swallowed. “If you still love Freya, or if you don’t...”
Don’t what? Of course Merlin still loves Freya, but what did that have to do with the marks or loving Arthur—oh. Oh.
Arthur wanted to know if Merlin loved him.
Arthur had been looking for his soulmate, was being pressured by the council to wed, had all but give up on finding his match. All through which Merlin had been by his side, encouraging him to marry for love while never once hinting his own feelings.
Arthur had kissed him. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t already felt something. It gave him the courage he needed.
“I am yours, Arthur. Soulmates or not. And I hope–” he swallowed–“I hope you will be...mine?” He tried out the word tentatively, unsure which the right one was. Intended, match, soulmate?
“God help me, I am,” Arthur murmured. He ran a hand through Merlin’s hair. “You have to promise, no more lies, no more hiding.”
Merlin’s heart sunk. He had spent so many years dissecting, analysing, and rationalising his lies, being told by people over and over that they were necessary for a brighter future, to protect others and himself.
He did want to be honest, to promise it and have it all. To be the open book Arthur always said he was.But so many pages had glued together from disuse. Even if Arthur managed to coax them apart, they would yield reluctantly–never the same as they had been.
Destiny had taught him cold lessons and given the choice, he’d always choose to protect Arthur.
“I can’t,” he choked.
“Merlin.”
“No!” Merlin shook his head, voice strained with emotions held back. “I may be a liar, Arthur, but I don’t break promises.”
He’d expected Arthur to be angry. From the looks of it, Arthur had been, if only for a flash, before weariness crept over him like unkempt vines.
“I can promise to be true to you, to never betray you or Camelot, to protect you with everything I am.” Merlin hoped those would be enough.
“You’re not a knight.”
Merlin gave a half smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “It hasn’t stopped me.”
Arthur watched him for a moment, his sharp eyes cutting some of the weariness. “You’ve offered lots of things but you haven’t asked for anything.”
Merlin shook his head. “I have everything I want.”
It was true. Especially if him and Arthur were going to be, well, him and Arthur. Which was probably unlikely since Merlin had basically said he wouldn’t stop lying.
“Surely not everything,” Arthur prodded with an edge of something that could have been urgency or desperation.
Merlin wondered why this was important. He shrugged for lack of better response. “I’d appreciate a hug every now and then.”
Just like the kiss, Arthur swooped in a blink, arms encircling a startled Merlin, holding him tight. Merlin melted, bring his arms to hold him back, pulling them as close as physically possible.
Tears stung his eyes for some unfathomable reason. He squeezed them shut and buried his face in Arthur’s neck.
It felt more intimate than the kiss. Their hearts swallowed one another best they could. Their bodies creating harbours for the souls.
The sun and moon, a match made in celestial heavens, majestic and ethereal. Yet Merlin and Arthur had something they never could as they dutifully fulfilled their lonely orbits where a single destructive kiss could bring the world to oblivion.
Constellation were infinitely beautiful and breathtaking, no man had ever been able to encompass the awe they inspired, yet the space between them wasn’t to be overcome.
Merlin and Arthur were free to pull each other in over and over again, containing supernovas within themselves. The mortal privilege of touch.
Arthur appeared as affected as Merlin when they finally drew apart.
“What else do you want,” he asked hoarsely.
Merlin could get used to this. This idea of want. He’d always wanted Arthur, whatever Arthur was willing to give. Always the passive recipient. His desire had never taken a definite shape beyond that, recognising the danger in it.
The black holes in Arthur’s eyes drew Merlin in, hungry and demanding but not taking. Yielding to Merlin. It was a heady thing, addictive.
“A kiss,” he answered to Arthur’s words and eyes. This time he didn’t wait for Arthur, grabbing his collar and bring the lips together. “All of them.”
“What,” Arthur said between kisses, “else.”
“You,” Merlin nipped Arthur’s lip, “all of you.” He moved to Arthur’s neck, kissing, licking, biting, but not sucking, not yet. There would be time to leave marks on him later, once everything was sorted.
Arthur gasped, holding Merlin head. “I can’t,” he panted. “I’m the king.”
Merlin understood. Camelot would always be Arthur’s priority. It was what made Arthur so different.
His sucked on the patch on skin, leaving a light pink bloom before straightening up. “I know.”
Arthur looked torn, holding on to him as if he would disappear. He had less faith in himself than Merlin had in him.
“My King,” he said reverently, cupping Arthur’s face. “My love.”
Arthur’s eyes shut. “Yes.”
“You could say it back, you know?”
Arthur opened his eyes, where everything unsaid pooled for Merlin to see. “Say what?”
Merlin pinched the prat’s cheek. Hard. Arthur yelped and swatted his hand away. He retaliated by pulling Merlin into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles on his head, only letting up once he was satisfied.
“Prat,” Merlin said breathlessly with a grin.
“Come on then, my love,” Arthur said, in the exact intonation he used for Merlin’s name, pulling the warlock along towards the bed. “We should get some sleep.”
Arthur smirked at Merlin’s deer-eyed looked. “Sleep, Merlin.”
“Right, yeah.” Merlin followed with enticing thoughts of a warm bed, and hopefully Arthur’s warm arms.
And there, under the covers of darkness and sheets, in the comfort of each other’s arms and words, the two souls found a home.