Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time they shared a bed:

Merlin could throttle Arthur. In general, but very much right now. It was a daily occurrence for the two to find themselves in some kind of trouble, but this was above Merlin’s paygrade by a hell of a lot.

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Arthur had dragged Merlin out of his warm, comfortable bed at the ass crack of dawn that morning under the guise of going for a walk. A walk Merlin’s arse. They had been wandering the same forested area for hours now, Merlin hadn’t the foggiest what time it was, if he had to hazard a guess, he would say midday by the way his stomach grumbled at the lack of breakfast and lunch. He assumed Arthur felt the same way as the pompous prince halted along the path to scout the area.

“Merlin, prepare a fire, I’m going to hunt,” Arthur orders, withdrawing his sword from its sheath by his side. This elected a groan from Merlin who sluggishly dropped the travel pack from his back and began grabbing nearby firewood.

Luckily, with Arthur out of sight, Merlin was able to mutter the incantation under his breath and start a fire with ease. There was no way he was starting one by hand, not when he had been walking for hours. He sits back on his elbows as he waits for Arthur to return with whatever poor animal he’s hunted this time. It was honestly painful, Merlin’s magic connected him deeply to nature, a part of him dies each time Arthur hunts for fun, especially with the knights and his dog. It would be just Merlin’s luck if he returned with a buck.

Branches snapped, leaves rustling as Arthur returns to their impromptu campsite. Strung across his shoulders was the body of a large buck, limp and dripping blood down Arthur’s back.

Fuck’s sake, had to jinx it, didn’t you Merlin.

Merlin sighs heavily and tries to ignore the ache in his chest as he grabs two long sticks. He helps Arthur tie the body to the sticks and they cut the good meat portions off before roasting them over the fire. Unbeknownst to Arthur, Merlin subtly places his hand on the buck’s corpse, infusing it with his magic. He definitely couldn’t save it now, but he could guide its spirit on at least.

“Wow, Merlin, you’re not as lousy as you make yourself out to be.” Arthur teases, gesturing to the fire and the roasting meat. Merlin huffs and throws one of his boots at the arrogant prince. Only Merlin would get away with such treasonous acts. Gaius would just have to scold him later.

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Not long after their stop for lunch, Arthur demanded they keep moving. Merlin reluctantly followed the prince further into the forest, carrying the travel pack on his back. It was heavier than normal, and Merlin swears to whatever god above, if Arthur packed snacks without telling him just to kill a buck, he was going to murder him in his sleep and defy his bloody destiny.

Their trail took them through old ravines, many caves, Merlin’s pretty sure he saw a woodland burial site, and a fucking huge chasm. Merlin was quick to grab Arthur by the back of his tunic and yank him backwards before he could fall into the chasm headfirst.

“You prat! Watch where you’re walking next time!” Merlin scolds, letting go of Arthur’s tunic and sighing deeply. “Bloody hell, do you have no self-preservation skills?”

“Bollocks, Merlin! I’m perfectly capable of not running into danger headfirst.” Arthur argues, earning a deadpan look from Merlin who has been saving Arthur’s life everyday since they first met and hasn’t given up yet… despite the urge.

In Arthur’s defence, it had slowly gotten dark whilst they had been walking. The sky bled into a dark navy and speckles of stars glistened above, the moon was hidden behind clouds, hindering their ability to see in front of them. Merlin, despite being frustrated, sighs and drags Arthur over to a rocky cliff face and throws the travel pack down.

“We’re stopping before you throw yourself off a cliff.” He says firmly, ignoring Arthur’s quips and arguments. He grabs the travel pack and opens it, pulling out the blankets and the bowels for their food, and the one sleeping bag… wait, one sleeping bag? Merlin frantically searches the travel pack for the second rolled up sleeping bag but comes up empty. He groans and sits back on his heels.

“What’s wrong now, idiot?” Arthur asks, leaning against the rocky face of the cliff with his legs sprawled out in front of him.

“There’s uhh… only one sleeping bag.” Merlin admits, mentally preparing himself for the freak out, the throwing of anything Arthur can find, the screaming. Yet, none of that happens, much to his surprise.

“Oh, shame.” Arthur says. “As your prince, I’m entitled to that sleeping bag, Merlin, guess you’ll have to lay on sticks.”

Merlin could definitely throttle him right now. It would be therapeutic too, a great stress reliever. Alas, he has a destiny to uphold and can’t succeed if he kills his prince.

With a reluctantly “yes, sire” Merlin begins setting up the makeshift bed for his prince. Arthur did nothing but sit there and look pretty, the arrogant prick. Unlike Merlin, Arthur had his cape with him, along with the extra blankets that Merlin was certain he was going hog all night. Looks like Merlin was forced to use his jacket and moss. Great.

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Lucky Merlin, staring up at the forest canopy blankly, counting every twinkle of a star he can see between the leaves. Listening to Arthur snore from beside him. At least one of them was bundled up warm and enjoying themselves. Of course, Merlin could just cast a warming spell on himself but with how tired he is and in such close proximity to Arthur, he though it too risky. Alas, there he was, left to freeze under the stars for the sake of Arthur’s arrogant ass.

“Sod this.” Merlin mumbles, getting up and moving over to where Arthur was sleeping, his loud-ass snores waking the entire forest. Merlin kneels down and grabs one edge of the blanket laying on top of Arthur’s bare chest, he gives it a firm tug to no avail. He groans and tugs harder, finally some leeway. He sighs and crawls under the tiny slither of blanket, he could feel Arthur’s back pressed against his own as he shuffles to get comfortable – or as comfortable as one can be under a slither of blanket and the bare forest floor. There, Merlin somehow manages to drift off into a dreamless sleep, perhaps a mixture of Arthur’s presence and warmth, though Merlin will never admit that to anyone.

During the night, Arthur grunts as a firm tug pulls the blanket away from him. He reluctantly opens his eyes and stares over his shoulder at Merlin’s back. With a sigh, he rolls over and drapes an arm over Merlin’s waist, pulling the other man flush against his chest. The blanket settles over both of them completely and Arthur is more than happy to drift back off, using Merlin’s shoulder as a pillow of all things.

And if Merlin snuggled closer, well, that was no-one’s business, was it?

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The second time they shared a bed:

To say Merlin was furious would be an understatement. Of course, the only available room was in a tavern and of course, it only had one bed. Obviously, because why wouldn’t it? It’s not like they’d been on a perilous mission or anything, not like they had been arguing the entire way back and only stopped because Arthur stubbed his goddamn toe on a bloody rock.

All Merlin wanted was a bed to himself, away from the clotpole behind him, a room to himself where he can scream into a pillow and dissuade himself from strangling the prince in his sleep. God help Merlin’s wavering patience.

Arthur beelines for the bed and flops down on it immediately, his limbs sprawled out in all directions to take up as much space as possible. He sighs in relief as he sinks into the mattress, his muscles easing slowly at the soft fabric rubbing against his limbs. In a matter of seconds, his eyes were closed and he was drifting off into a deep slumber whilst Merlin stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest. He glared at the prince and, with a reluctant sigh, walked over to the small, uncomfortable looking chair in the corner of the room. Plonking himself down with a huff, he pulled his jacket further around himself and tried, keyword: tried, to at least have a nap.

Alas, his efforts were in vain as he couldn’t get comfortable on the chair long enough for his mind to switch off. He tossed and turned, trying every position he could think of, but nothing worked. He gave a quiet groan and tilted his head back over the chair’s backrest. Arthur shuffles on the bed to glare at him.

“Merlin, stop faffing around and get over here.” Arthur grunts, clearly not best pleased with the noise he was making.

Merlin sighs and gets up, walking over to the bed. “Yes, sire?” he asks, tilting his head to look at Arthur better. He wasn’t expecting Arthur to reach up, grasp his arm and yank him onto the bed. With a grunt of surprise, he flops onto the mattress beside the prince, thoroughly confused but not entirely complaining. Arthur gives no explanation, choosing to roll over and face the other way as if he hadn’t just pulled Merlin into bed with him.

The manservant snorts and turns away, snuggling into the blankets happily. Finally, a comfortable position. He quickly drifts off and, along with Arthur, sleeps soundly.

Until he sprawls out over the entire bed.

Arthur huffs as he’s kicked to the edge of the bed, he looks over at Merlin with narrowed eyes and huffs. Of course, his manservant was acting like a bloody starfish, couldn’t take up more space if he tried. Arthur refuses to let his manservant win their little game and turns over, pushing Merlin onto his side and spooning him. He rests his chin on Merlin’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Arthur?” Merlin mumbles, a slight accent coming through his words.

Arthur just hums. “Go back to sleep, Merls.” He mutters, and the other promptly does so.

Stupid bloody Merlin and his sleeping habits.

Chapter Text

The third time they shared a “bed”:

If Merlin wasn’t the most powerful warlock to walk the earth, he would end it now. How the fuck had he gotten himself in this situation? He had always prided himself on his observation skills, managing to deflect any attempt on Athur was crucial to his position as Emrys. He could just tell when something is wrong and yet, he missed this?

“Merlin, you are an embarrassment to the people on this hunting trip, you know that?” Arthur scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, the chainmail clinking together as he moves. Merlin could just make out the ridge between his eyebrows through the mop od blond hair against Arthur’s forehead. Gonna have to get Gwen to cut it soon, he’s going to whinge the entire time though.

Merlin can’t help but scoff in reply, mirroring Arthur’s movements as he looks away. “This wouldn’t have happened if your pompous ass was watching where you were walking.”

“That’s the whole point of bringing you along!” Arthur complains. Ah, the whingeing begins early then.

“So not to wipe your ass and tuck you in at night?” Merlin asks sarcastically, feeling the rope dig into his thighs and back as he leans as far away as possible – which wasn’t much but oh well.

“Merlin!” Arthur fumes, his sharp movements towards him rocks the netting more. “You absolute tosspot! Shut your foul mouth!”

Merlin sighs, they had been walking the woods again, this time under the guise of checking for bandits that had been spotted near Camelot’s boarders. The knights had joined them, but they had split up to cover more ground – guess whose stupid idea that was (Arthur). Granted, Merlin had been lost in his own thoughts, mostly berating Arthur for his stupidity as splitting up when there could be bandits at any turn but also cursing Kilgharrah for putting him in this position in the first place. Stupid bloody dragon, stupid bloody prophecy. OoOoOo TwO sIdEs Of ThE sAmE cOiN mErLiN, oOoOoO dEsTiNy MeRlIn- shit.

Arthur’s yelp had snapped him out of his silent complaining and the next thing he knew, they were being tugged up by a rope netting. God fucking damn it. Arthur had set off a goddamn trap and now they were stuck here until the knights found them and let them down – if they let them down. Merlin’s day couldn’t get any worse, could it?

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“Merlin, your foot is digging into my thigh.” Arthur complains, for the nth time that hour.

“Sorry your royal pratness.” Merlin replies, devoid of all cares now.

He was getting cramp in his legs from having to bend them for so long and Arthur made a habit of kicking him in the shins whenever he relaxed them even slightly into him. Merlin was, as Arthur would say, too lanky and his legs barely fit inside this stupid netting. Arthur wasn’t much better but at least the prat had more room than Merlin.

“Careful Merlin, that’s a week in the stocks for you.” Arthur says with a quirk of his brow. Merlin was certain this had been the extent of their few hours together. Reduced to insults and mindless threats of the stocks, though Merlin doubted Arthur was truly serious about it. That clotpole couldn’t do a single thing for himself, he had Merlin do everything – ask Gwen.

“The stocks, is it? That’s quite mild for you, prat.” Merlin replies, picking at a loose thread of his trousers. If Arthur hadn’t been sat literal centimetres away from him, he could have used his magic to get down or transformed into a bird or something. Instead, he was stuck playing babysitter to an arrogant prick who thought the stocks was the perfect excuse to bully him.

“Watch yourself, Merlin, I could have you scrubbing the chamber pots of every room in the castle.” Arthur warns, his voice playful yet tinged with an air of seriousness. Merlin huffs quietly and looks away once again, how much longer before he can disappear back to his room in Gaius’ chambers and just sleep for twelve hours?

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Sticks snap beneath the knights’ feet as they trek through the forest trying to find Merlin and Arthur. They found it suspicious that the two hadn’t returned by nightfall and went looking for them, just in case they had been captured by bandits. Although, knowing Merlin, that probably wasn’t the case.

“I’m telling you; they’re fucking.” Gwaine pipes up, plodding along beside Percival as if this was a daily occurrence.

“They’re not fucking, you div.” Leon replies, his hand was constantly at his side in the event that they do get ambushed by bandits. He was likely the most paranoid out of all of them, which prompted a lot of teasing from Gwaine. “Just stay alert and keep an eye out for any movements.”

“Yes, mam.” Gwaine scoffs, rolling his eyes teasingly.

They walked for what felt like miles until a rustle caught Lancelot’s attention. He whips his head around, scanning the vast amount of forest around him before noticing a familiar red neckerchief. Merlin?

Lance smacks Gwaine’s shoulder and points into the distance. “You see that?” He asks curiously, wondering if he saw it correctly.

Gwaine follows his gaze and stares for a moment. “Is that-?”

“I think so.” Lance says in turn and the two split from the group to go investigate. If this were a haunted forest or house, they would likely be the first two dead.

Leaves crunched under their footsteps as they make their way closer to where they saw the neckerchief. Gwaine cracking a joke or two about how Merlin must have gotten sick of Arthur and buried him in the woods. Lance chuckled but knew better, as much as Merlin despised the prince at times, he wasn’t stupid enough to outright kill him, not before their destiny is fulfilled.

As they approach, Lance can make out the familiar netting of a trap and a pair of tangled limbs caught inside it. He heard Gwaine’s cackles from beside him, the sight of Merlin and Arthur sprawled out together in the trap, fast asleep, was enough to bring the knight to the floor with laughter. Lance wasn’t too far behind, chuckles of his own leaving his lips as he took in the sight. Merlin is going to throttle me later when I tell him.

If the knights waited until the morning to let them down, well, that was an issue for another day.

And if Merlin did, in fact, throttle Lance for his indiscretion, well, that’s another story for another time.

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The fourth time they shared a bed:

Merlin had been working nonstop for the past three days without sleep. Arthur had been adamant about working him into the ground and Merlin was feeling the aftermath of not sleeping. Arthur had gone off on a hunt with the knights, typical of him to have fun whilst Merlin works his arse off behind the scenes. He was sure Arthur had done it purposefully just to spite him for his insults back in the forest. He hadn’t been joking about cleaning the chamber pots and Merlin almost threw up three consecutive times whilst tending to it. Luckily, his magic had made quick work of that job and all he had left was to clean Arthur’s chambers and change the sheets. Much easier than cleaning chamber pots.

He was currently flopped over the bed, attempting to wrangle the last corner of the sheet onto the firm mattress of Arthur’s bed. Lucky prat, getting nice mattresses. Merlin grumbles to himself as the sheet refuses to cooperate with him. He felt himself getting more dishevelled by the second, his hair sticking up in strange places and his neck growing sweaty from the work out. He grins widely as the corner finally, finally, cooperates and curls around the mattress. He sighs in relief and flops onto the bed, laying on his stomach as his eyes droop closed on their own. Laying on the mattress now, Merlin finally realised how tired he truly was and how sore his body felt from running around like a headless chicken for three days. Merlin could only hum as his body relaxes into the sheets, feeling himself become one with the bed.

A few minutes couldn’t hurt…

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“Merlin better have cleaned my chambers better than last time,” Arthur says as he and the knights walk back through the courtyard towards the castle. It was just past noon, and the sun was unforgiving as they trudged towards the large oak doors of the castle. Everyone was sweating under their leather and chainmail, Gwaine was not going quiet either.

“Forget Merlin, I’m going to die in this stupid armour.” The long-haired knight groans, tugging at the collar of his cape as he walks behind Arthur.

“Oh, stop whingeing, you scruff,” Arthur scolds, walking through the foyer of the castle and through the halls. “You’re a knight, act like it.”

“What crawled up your arse and died?” Gwaine complains.

“He hasn’t seen Merlin yet.” Percival teases.

Gwaine snickers in amusement. “Oh, Merlin, please kiss me, Merlin. I worked so hard to hunt us some dinner, Merlin.” He mocks, his voice a higher pitch.

A hand whacks the back of Gwaine’s head. “Pack in,” Leon scolds.

“Ow! Leon!” Gwaine huffs, rubbing the back of his head where Leon had hit him. He glares at the taller knight as they continue walking through the halls.

Arthur sighs in defeat as the knights continue their bickering. He wanted to sit in his chambers and chill out, was that so much to ask? And where the hell is Merlin? He detours from the knights to his chambers, following the same hallway he always did, admiring the same tapestries, the same drapes, the same view. Sometimes it really did get old. He almost longed for something new, something different – maybe a famer?

He reaches his chambers and his body relaxes naturally. He hadn’t even realised how tense he had been until his hand settled on the doorhandle. It was odd, but he could swear he could hear snoring, soft snoring, almost like a cat purring. Strangley enough, he hadn’t seen Merlin around either, usually Merlin is bustling around either doing his chores or fetching herbs for Gaius, Arthur always sees him running around somewhere but not today.

That terrified him. Where is Merlin?

“Merlin?” Arthur calls as he walks into the room, pushing the door open with one hand and unhooking his cloak with the other. “Merlin?”

His chamber was spotless, everything was just the way he liked it, and Merlin had even gathered fresh flowers for the vase on the window ledge. It smelled strongly of pinewood which Arthur preferred, meaning Merlin had gone out to gather the pine needles somewhere along the line. There was no dust, no laundry, nothing out of place except one thing. His bed. One of the curtains was drawn closed and Arthur could swear there’s a leg sticking out from behind it. The snoring sounded louder now as well, the purring sound picking up as Arthur stepped closer to the bed.

He pulls the curtain back carefully, on edge as he peers around it. “Merlin?” he asks confused, staring at the lanky boy laying in his bed. The blankets were on a heap beside the bed, not even on top. His pillows were askew, and the sheets were now wrinkled thanks to Merlin’s curled up frame laying on top of them. Arthur knew he should be mad, furious even; Merlin had taken it upon himself to nick his bed whilst he was out and have a nap. Unfortunately, Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be mad, Merlin looked so cute laying in his bed having a nap, the blond didn’t have the heart to kick him out now.

He slowly walks over to his wardrobe and peels his chainmail off, changing into more comfortable clothes for lounging around in and climbs onto the bed beside Merlin. He leans over and reaches his hand out to gently caress Merlin’s cheek with the bad of his fingers. Merlin was surprisingly smooth for a manservant, Arthur had half expected him to have scars and imperfections from sweating so much or doing manual labour every day but there wasn’t any that he could feel. He draws his hand back quickly as Merlin stirs.

“Shh, you’re okay, go back to sleep.” He reassures, feeling very awkward with this development but not wanting to disturb the other. Merlin hums and drifts back off almost immediately. Arthur gives a sigh of relief and lays down on his back, staring up at the ceiling to reflect on the day he’s had. He wasn’t going to stay in bed, merely just think for a moment and get up to do some meeting preparations but all of that flew out the window the moment Merlin rolled over and snuggled into his chest. Arthur’s eyes widen and his breath hitches, he was frozen, he couldn’t move. Merlin, his Merlin, was snuggled into his chest, fast asleep, and Arthur couldn’t move. He forces himself to relax and drape an arm around Merlin’s waist.

Oh well, he’s comfortable.