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The sun is beginning to sink towards the horizon, signalling the end of yet another day in Camelot. Everyone in the city is making their preparations to retire for the night. Merchants are packing up their wares, servants are finishing up the last of their duties, and mothers are shepherding their children back home. The people all over the city are winding down after a long day. All of them, except for Merlin, who is running around the castle in search of the King and asking everyone he meets if they have seen him recently. Nobody has. The last time Merlin had seen him was when he had dropped off dinner, but Gaius had required his assistance with a patient, so he had almost literally dropped the King's tray on the table and run off. When he had returned later to gather the tray and ready His Royal Highness for bed, the blond had been nowhere in sight. All that was left behind was the tray, mostly eaten dinner sitting on the plate, getting cold. The tray which Merlin still has clutched in his hands.
After yet another failed attempt to get any kind of information out of one of the other serving staff, Merlin decides to just give up and return the tray to the kitchens. Maybe there would even be a few scraps left over from the various meals made for the nobility currently in the castle and he could take them. It isn't stealing if they were just going to be thrown to waste the next morning. He is hungry, he'd barely had a chance to eat anything since breaking his fast that morning between doing his chores for Arthur and fetching things for Gaius, and could use a good and proper meal. He is practically already salivating at the idea.
The castle is quiet as he makes his way down to the kitchens, everyone else already having gone home (which Merlin is a little grudgingly jealous of). It's nice, in a way, the quiet after the hectic day he has had, and he hopes the rest of his evening and night are equally as quiet. He can feel those hopes shrivel up a bit in chest as he reaches the kitchens and steps inside.
"Arthur?" Merlin asks, absolutely mystified as to why the King of Camelot is in the castle kitchens instead of his chambers where he was supposed to be. Arthur visibly stiffens at his voice and spins around to face him, trying (and failing) to look innocent.
"Merlin." Arthur replies, as nonchalantly as possible. "What are you doing here?"
Merlin gapes at the man for a moment. "What am I doing here? I'm a servant, your servant. I have much more reason to be here than you do. Why are you here?"
Arthur looks... not quite panicked, but definitely flustered before lifting his nose haughtily in the air and saying, "I am the King of Camelot, Merlin, I can go where I please in my own castle."
Merlin lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. It had been a while since Arthur had been quite this snooty about something. So, Merlin supposes, they were just about overdue for an episode as such. Still, that doesn't mean that Merlin is going to respect that. No, of course not. He wouldn't be Merlin if he did.
Stepping further into the room, Merlin sets the tray of now long cold scraps on the counter and narrows his eyes at his King. "We have, once again, proven that you can be a prat. Now, why are you down here, of all places? In all the years I have been in your service, I have never once seen, or heard of you being, down here. To be honest, I wasn't even sure you actually knew where the kitchens were, seeing as you complain about everything being cold all the time. No, you're down here for a reason."
To Merlin's surprise, Arthur's cheeks flush a little pink, and he looks away before forcing his eyes back again. "Shut up, Merlin." The words have no heat whatsoever behind them, making Merlin grin.
"Oh, come on." He says playfully. "You're amongst friends, you can be honest with me. Who am I going to tell?" When Arthur gives him a disbelieving look, Merlin huffs a sigh and rolls his eyes. "Fine. But in all seriousness, you can trust me."
The mood in the room instantly changes, Merlin can feel it, and so he stays silent, watching the King as he clearly goes through the internal struggle of deciding to open up about his reasons for being down in the kitchens or not. He's beginning to feel a little twitchy and fidgety by the time Arthur seems to make up his mind.
Inhaling deeply, Arthur says, "It is my wish to try to court someone, and I was informed that rather than buying them expensive gifts that only showed off my already known wealth, I would have much more luck gifting them something handmade. By me, not someone else." His nose wrinkles a little as he adds on the last statement. Merlin frowns a bit in confusion.
"So you're in the kitchens?" He asks.
Arthur huffs in annoyance. "Food, Merlin! Obviously. I wanted to make them a meal and something sweet to eat afterwards. It seemed the easiest option available to me."
There's a pause as Merlin mulls this over, and then, "I didn't know you could cook." All this does is make the King look flustered and cross.
With another huff, he throws his hands up in the air and exclaims, "I can't cook, Merlin. Surely you know this already."
"So how are you-" Merlin begins to ask, but cuts himself off prematurely at the scowl forming on the King's flushed face.
"Why do you think I'm down here, Merlin? The best way to get good at anything is to practise. That's always worked for me before, so it'll work now." Arthur says, though he's lacking the confidence he usually has.
Merlin glances at the table behind him. "Is that why you're currently trying to hide a disaster behind your back?" He asks. Arthur opens his mouth, clearly incensed, but before he has a chance to threaten Merlin with the stocks (and maybe even follow through with it this time, his face is pretty red), Merlin rushes to add, "I could help you. Teach you, that is, so you can impress whoever has caught your eye."
That particular sentence makes his heart twinge. He would be lying if he told himself he didn't have feelings for his King, but he was also not fool enough to think anything would ever happen between them. Still, to now be faced with the knowledge that Arthur liked someone else... Well, it just hurt more than Merlin had thought it would. But, Merlin has always prided himself on being a good friend, and if Arthur needs his help with this, then he would swallow down his hurt feelings and do exactly that: help.
"I don't-" Arthur starts, then stops as he glances behind him. He winces, cheeks a little more red as he turns back. It is with clearly great difficulty that Arthur relents and says, "Fine. Your help would be... appreciated."
"Okay." Merlin nods, rolling up his sleeves as he steps even closer, surveying the true damage of whatever the King had been up to before Merlin had interrupted him. "Let's start at the very beginning, with the basics."
~~~
And that is how Merlin finds himself stepping into the role of tutor to the King of Camelot (on pain of death if he ever breathes a word of it to anyone). Arthur is an attentive pupil, not that Merlin is overly surprised about that, given the man's single-minded dedication that he shows everything else in his life. However, while he may have excellent hand-eye coordination when it comes to fighting and wielding a weapon, he sometimes lacks the more delicate touches that cooking and baking can require. And with that comes a whole flurry of frustrations that inevitably get taken out on Merlin, since he is the only other living soul in the room and the one telling Arthur that he is doing it wrong.
For instance, the first night that Merlin introduced Arthur to cracking an egg open.
"Hold the egg gently in your hand." Merlin instructs, while doing just that to physically show Arthur as well. "And then you want to tap the shell against the edge of the bowl to crack it. Then all you have to do is pull it open and let the contents fall into the bowl. Like so." He proceeds to tap the egg firmly against the edge, holding it over the bowl, and allowing it to slip out of the shell to land in a goopy puddle on the bottom. "Now you try."
Arthur nods, brow creased with concentration, which really shouldn't be quite as adorable as Merlin finds in the current situation, and picks up an egg of his own. He trades places with Merlin, and Merlin leans his elbow on the counter, watching as Arthur poises it over the edge of the bowl, inhales deeply, and- SMACK!
Slick egg whites erupt everywhere as bits of eggshell rain down around the bowl. The yoke oozes down onto the counter, and Merlin instinctively jumps back and away from the mess.
"I said to tap it, Arthur, not try to utterly destroy it!" Merlin cries. Arthur turns a glare his way.
"I did tap it, Merlin!" Arthur argues.
Merlin gestures to the remnants of Arthur's egg. "That was not a tap, by anyone's standards. This isn't a battlefield or the training ground. You need to be soft and gentle."
Arthur's glare shifts into a wrinkled-nose scowl. "I've never had to be soft and gentle about anything. I don't know how."
Merlin knows that the words aren't supposed to be a deep confession, or a way to make Merlin feel bad for the man, but his heart twinges anyway. Because of course "the great" Uther Pendragon would have snuffed out any softness his son ever dared to display, leaving behind a man who thought his only purpose was to be hard, to fight, to rule iron-fisted.
"Try again." Merlin says, grabbing another egg and passing it over to him. "This time, treat the egg the way you would hold the hand of the one you wish to court."
A flush rises to Arthur's cheeks as he numbly accepts the egg. He stares almost blankly down at it, as if he had never seen an egg before and was trying to figure out what exactly it was without asking and making himself look like a fool. Oh, the King had it bad. Merlin wishes he could be more happy for his friend and whichever lucky lady had captured his affections.
"Here, I'll help you." He says, stepping closer. He reaches out slowly, giving Arthur the chance to pull away or tell him to stop. When nothing of the sort comes, he settles his hand around Arthur's, easing the egg in the man's palm into the correct position.
"Now," Merlin says softly, close to Arthur's ear, "just tap it gently."
In one fluid motion, he brings their joined hands down, a satisfying crack filling the air. He moves Arthur's hand over the bowl and lets go, taking a step back so he can feel like he can breathe again. Without a word, Arthur mimics Merlin's actions earlier and pulls the two halves of shell apart, allowing the egg white and yoke to fall into the bowl to join Merlin's and the mess left behind from Arthur's previous attempt. Merlin can't help but grin.
"There you go. Just like that." He praises softly. The blond's cheeks flush an even darker red at the words and he looks away for a moment, swallowing thickly before looking back.
"Thank you, Merlin." He replies. Then he continues, "Now why exactly are you teaching me this?"
Merlin chuckles as he pushes away from the counter. "Because," he begins, "eggs can be used for many different things. They can be eaten on their own, used in various dishes, and they're usually quite important in any kind of sweets you wish to make, which I remember you mentioning."
Arthur ducks his head almost shyly, and Merlin takes a moment to study him. He isn't acting as if he was under some kind of spell, but he certainly is acting strangely. He has never been quite so nervous around Merlin before. Whoever he wished to impress must be very important to him.
Gritting his teeth, Merlin shoves the thought aside. "Now, try the egg again and I'll see what I can find in here to show you how to prepare. And remember to be gentle like you just did."
He turns away from Arthur, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath to calm his racing thoughts and aching heart. He could get through this. He would get through this. He would help Arthur learn whatever he needed to learn, and he would stay dutifully by his side no matter whose hand was clasped in the King's. He was meant to be by Arthur's side, and being there as a friend and confidant was good enough for him, no matter what his heart was trying to tell him.
~~~
Their lessons continue every night, and the pride that Merlin feels growing in his chest expands every time he sees Arthur make progress. He is beaming when Arthur successfully makes his first stew (even if it is a little on the salty side... okay a lot on the salty side), and has to rein in the urge to give him a hug when he manages it again, but properly spiced. The look of accomplishment on Arthur's face is enough to make Merlin fall in love with him all over again.
However, the late nights are beginning to catch up with both of them. Merlin finds himself fending off yawns repeatedly through the day, and Arthur lacks some of the physical stamina he used to possess. At first, the only one who notices is Merlin. The King doesn't hurry up the stairs the way he used to, he doesn't walk the halls quite as fast as before. But then it begins to bleed into his performance out on the training field and his knights begin to notice. He is still lethal with any weapon, but he is not quite as sharp as he usually is. Gwaine, of course, notices right away,
"Merlin." Gwaine greets as he strolls over to stand where Merlin is sitting in the lush, warm, green grass, Arthur's sword in his lap. He is meant to be polishing and sharpening it while Arthur trains his men with the mace, but he had long ago gotten distracted by watching the King move across the open field, the sun glinting off of his hair and armour alike.
"Hey, Gwaine." Merlin greets, tearing his eyes away.
Gwaine grins as he settles down next to him. "So, the Princess seems a little sluggish to me. Looks like he's a bit tired."
Merlin purses his lips and nods. "Yeah, a bit."
There's a glint in Gwaine's eyes as he cocks his head to the side and blatantly asks, "You wouldn't happen to have any idea why the King himself would be losing sleep?"
Merlin's hands slip on the blade, very nearly cutting himself, as the full implications behind the knight's statement register in his head. His cheeks flush madly red, spreading down his neck and to the tips of his ears. This certainly isn't the first time he had heard people speculating about his and Arthur's relationship. He has overheard plenty of the serving staff murmuring behind half closed doors. But this is the first time anyone has ever brought it up directly to his face.
"Well?" Gwaine goads, elbowing him playfully in the ribs.
Merlin glances around to make sure no one is nearby before forcefully whispering, "I am not warming the King's bed, if that's what you're asking."
"But you do know what he's been up to at night that's leaving him just below his usual level." Gwaine says, more a statement than a question.
Merlin wants to tell him no, that he has no idea, because he had promised Arthur that he wouldn't tell anyone. But he also knows that Gwaine is now suspicious, and one way or another, he will get down to the bottom of it simply to feed his curiosity. He truly is stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Groaning, Merlin finally relents. "Yes, alright? I do know. But I'm also not supposed to tell you." Gwaine lifts an eyebrow and Merlin reluctantly continues, "So you have to promise to keep this to yourself and not tell anyone, or Arthur will actually follow through with his threat and stick me in the stocks for a whole month."
Gwaine grins. "You have my word, by the knight's code, that I won't breathe a word of it to anyone."
"Fine." Merlin says, glancing around one more time before saying, in a hushed whisper, "I caught Arthur in the kitchens trying to make something for the one he wishes to court, and I offered to help teach him so his efforts can be successful. Whoever they are, I want them to make Arthur happy, and for that to happen, Arthur needs to at least look like he knows what he's doing."
As he finishes, Gwaine looks oddly like he is about a second away from laughing. Merlin frowns at the reaction. Yes, he had found the whole incident down in the kitchens that night rather humorous, but Gwaine looks almost too knowing, like he's aware of something that Merlin hasn't been privy to.
"What?" He asks.
Gwaine shakes his head and claps a hand down on Merlin's shoulder, just as Arthur looks over in their direction. A dark look crosses his handsome face for a moment before he covers it back up with his usual mask he wears when outside the privacy of his chambers. What was what look for?
"Nothing, my friend." Gwaines chuckles. "Good luck."
He rises to his feet and makes his way back onto the field before Merlin can reply, leaving poor Merlin behind in confusion. Gwaine clearly knows more than he is letting on, Arthur is annoyed about something, and now Merlin is feeling a little guilty about telling Arthur's secret. With a puzzled frown forming on his brow, he looks back down at the sword in his lap. As he begins to polish it to a fine shine, he forces his thoughts way from what had just transpired and instead ponders what to show Arthur next in their lesson that night.
~~~
"What's your favourite dish?" Arthur asks about a sennight later. They had moved on from stew to chicken, and Arthur was still getting the hang of basting it. Merlin found it unbearably endearing that the Great Arthur Pendragon was struggling a bit to grasp something considered so simple in the kitchen.
"Hmm?" Merlin hums the non-verbal question back, too caught up in watching Arthur's hands as they worked.
"Your favourite thing to eat, Merlin. And don't tell me you don't have one because everyone does. So, what's yours?" The King elaborates.
Merlin frowns a bit. "Nothing that you would like, I know that." He replies.
Arthur quirks an eyebrow up. "And what, pray tell, would that be?"
"Growing up," Merlin starts slowly, "we never had much, my mother and I. What we did have, we either grew ourselves or traded what little we had to get. There was always fresh vegetables from the garden out back, and we kept a couple of chickens in the hopes they would give us eggs, but they rarely lay anything. Still, we got too attached to them to just eat them instead, so we kept them in the hopes of getting a small egg every now and then. When we got one, they were always good."
"So," Arthur draws the word out a bit, "your favourite food is small eggs?"
Merlin smiles at him, almost too fondly. "No, it isn't. My favourite food in the porridge my mother would make when we had the right ingredients, but not the watery gruel we so often had. I liked the thicker, more flavourful porridge she so seldomly got to make." Merlin stops and shrugs. "To you, it would be tasteless and unappealing, but to me, it reminds me of my mother."
"You miss your mother terribly, don't you?" Arthur asks softly.
Again, Merlin shrugs. "Of course I do, but I have things keeping me here."
"You know, if you want to go visit your mother, all you have to do is ask. I'll provide you enough time to see your only family." Arthur says, making Merlin snap his gaze back to the King. In all the years of being in the man's service, he had never once been offered the time to go see his mother.
Merlin huffs a laugh and looks away. "You wouldn't survive a day without me, Arthur, honestly." Arthur opens his mouth to push the subject, so Merlin quickly changes it. "Now, once you have that piece of chicken ready, put it back over the fire and start on the next one. You'll get the hang of this one tonight, I can feel it."
Arthur looks slightly disgruntled as he snaps his mouth shut and turns back to the chicken to do as Merlin had instructed. Merlin's heart is beating in his throat as he silently watches the King methodically work. Merlin had always known that despite the insults, Arthur did care for him. Merlin had been one of the only constant friends Arthur had, had in his life, so it only made sense that he would care. But that offer, the softness of his voice, the look in his eyes. It all has Merlin's head spinning, causing him to stumble backwards to more familiar territory.
Few words are shared for the rest of the night, and the ones that are, are strictly about the current cooking lesson that Merlin is teaching the King.
~~~
The topic of Merlin's favourite food or his mother back in Ealdor are not brought up again, for which Merlin is grateful. It's not that he doesn't like talking about his mother, he just isn't entirely sure what to do with the way his stomach flutters when exposed to Arthur's more soft and understanding side.
Arthur has progressed well through Merlin's cooking lessons, and Merlin is almost mournful that they will be coming to an end soon. He has enjoyed spending so much time with Arthur as just a man, rather than as the King of Camelot. Arthur's shoulders are always less weighed down during their time spent in the kitchens after everyone has retired for the night. He is quicker to smile and laugh, more reminiscent of how he used to be as the young Crown prince oh-so-long ago. Or, what felt like a long time ago, anyway. The thing is, though, is that Arthur doesn't really need him anymore. Not in this sense.
And so, for that reason, Merlin holds on to this last lesson as long as he can, a bittersweet melancholy swirling in his chest as he thinks about the next day, the next evening. No longer would he be meeting his friend down here at nightfall. He would be back in his little room, in his shared quarters with Gaius, laying in bed awake as he unwillingly thinks about who Arthur has his eye on.
"Like this?" Arthur asks, breaking into Merlin's steadily falling thoughts.
"Hmm?" Merlin hums, blinking rapidly as he returns to the present. HIs eyes drop to where Arthur is stirring in the last ingredients for the filling he is making. For his last lesson, Merlin had decided to show him how to make berry tarts. Something sweet, just like Arthur had wanted. "Oh, yeah, just like that."
Arthur is frowning a bit as he nods, but doesn't say anything, just continues to stir and mix until he is told otherwise. Which Merlin does after a minute or two.
"That should be fine." He says. "Now, carefully pour filling into each of the shells we already prepared. Don't put too much or they might overflow as they cook. Try to make them all as evenly filled as possible."
Again, Arthur nods, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips as he begins to fill each previously made shell. Merlin finds his eyes drawn to it, instead of what is happening with the tarts, and his belly flip-flops as he admits to himself just how cute Arthur looks like this. Cute was not often a word that Merlin associated with Arthur, but whenever a situation arose where it did, it always makes Merlin's insides swoop dangerously.
"Now what?" Arthur's voice again breaks into Merlin's thoughts and he rips his gaze away from the man's lips, face flushing a little with heat.
"Now we put them in the oven to cook." Merlin says, voice a little more strained than before.
Arthur is quick to do as he is told, taking the tray with the tarts and carrying them to the stone oven. As he carefully opens it, avoiding being burned, heat from the fire crackling inside floods into the room. Arthur positions the tray over the flames, then seals the front closed again. Turning around to face Merlin, he nods. Merlin nods back. All they could do now is wait for them to cook thoroughly, without being burned. Always a delicate balance, in Merlin's experience.
"So," Arthur breaks the silence between them, "what will we be doing next?"
Merlin swallows, then lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips nervously. He misses the way Arthur's eyes track the movement closely. Inhaling, he finally drops the news he has already come to. "Nothing. You're ready, Arthur. We don't need to do anymore lessons."
The King visibly pales at Merlin's words. "Oh."
He sounds almost nervous himself, which Merlin finds rather odd. He hasn't seen Arthur actually nervous very often. Deciding he needs to reassure his friend, he replies, "You have nothing to worry about, Arthur. You've made great progress, whatever you make will be more than satisfactory. I know it. Whoever the lucky person is, they'll accept your hand in courtship."
His words seem to have the opposite effect on Arthur, making his shuffle on the spot, fidgeting with his fingers a bit. He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out, and he snaps his jaws closed audibly as he turns his head away. Merlin can make out a red flush to his cheeks, even through the dim torchlight.
"I hope so." Is all Arthur says, very quietly. Quiet enough that Merlin wonders if it had been meant for his ears or not. Either way, he just swallows down the lump lodged in his throat and scolds himself to just be happy for his friend. His friend who may have found a chance at love. His friend who would always hold Merlin's heart, no matter what.
~~~
A fortnight passes and nothing happens. Everything stays eerily the same. There are no summons to the King's chambers where Arthur tells him to take the night off. There are no rumours about the King having a courtship with anyone. There is no evidence at all that all those nights teaching Arthur how to cook were actually for any real purpose whatsoever. Merlin isn't sure if he should be relieved about that, or irritated what he wasted all that time (not that it was really a waste as he had enjoyed his time spent with his friend). Merlin gets lulled into a false sense of security, despite his best efforts not to.
It finally happens just over a sennight later. Merlin is running an errand for Gaius and overhears some of the kitchen maids whispering about how the King had ordered them to skip his meal that night. The overheard words make ice fill Merlin's veins, and his heart begins to race and crack as he continues on his way. Any moment now, a guard or another servant would show up and order him to Arthur's chambers where the man would tell him that, that night was the night. His chambers would need to be spotless, scrubbed from top to bottom, before Merlin would need to make himself scarce until the next morning. He feels physically sick with it all.
All day, he flinches at every passing servant and maid and guard and knight. But curiously, none of them ever stop to talk to him. Instead, they nod and smile almost knowingly. It almost hurts more that they all seem to assume that Merlin already knows, about the King's plans, about his chosen recipient, about all of it. Even Gwaine, of all people, merely smirks and lifts his eyebrows, wiggling them a little bit before continuing on his way.
Merlin spends much his day on edge, teeth gritted together hard enough to give himself a headache. He just wants the agony over with. But when he spots Gwen coming towards him purposefully, he realizes that he actually really, really doesn't. He wants to live in his fantasy world where he actually has a chance, where he and Arthur might somehow actually end of together.
Gwen's face is curiously unreadable when she stops him in the hall and says, "Arthur has asked for you."
It's nearly time for dinner, and Merlin makes the split second decision to play dumb and replies, "Okay. I'll just head down to the kitchens and grab his dinner and then head up."
"I'd go see him first." Gwen says quickly before pausing and adding, less in a rush, "It's just that he seemed a little cross, so I wouldn't keep him waiting, if I were you." She smiles sympathetically and Merlin swallows thickly around his slowly clogging throat. Gwen wouldn't lie to him, not really, and the look in her eyes in much too telling.
Slowly, Merlin nods in defeat. "All right, I guess I'll go see His Royal Highness first. Thank you, Gwen." He offers her a strained smile and turns away. With his back turned, he misses the smile that breaks out over her features, bright and sunny and excited. She bites her lower lip futilely to try to contain it. He also misses the way she turns and shoots Gwaine, who's peeking around an opened doorway, a victorious thumbs up.
Merlin's boots feel heavy as he makes his way through the castle halls towards the King's chambers. He ascends the staircases with growing dread. While expecting this moment to finally come, he was really not ready for it. He is not ready to stand by and watch Arthur fall in love someone else. He is not ready to watch the man he loves fall in love with someone that isn't himself.
When he arrives at the closed chamber doors, he lifts his hand and knocks. When he hears the reply from within, he reluctantly pushes open the door and forces his feet to take him inside. He doesn't allow his eyes to wander, just looks directly at the King. Which really turns out to be a mistake, because his breath catches in his throat and his heart stutters a bit in his chest.
Arthur looks almost resplendent in a sharp, white tunic, his velvety soft red jacket on overtop. The golden buttons are glinting with the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, paired perfectly with his equally golden hair. He's wearing his best trousers and boots, polished to a shine. All that he's missing is his ceremonial sword and his crown.
"Ah, Merlin." Arthur greets, all too easily, as if breaking Merlin's heart before dinner was as natural to him as breathing. Merlin holds his breath. "I see Guinevere was able to find you."
Letting that breath out, Merlin bows his head. "Yes, Sire. She said you requested my presence. How may I be of service to you this evening?" He has never been so deferential in his life, and it feels odd, but if Arthur was to be taking a soon-to-be bride, then she would certainly want Merlin to treat His Majesty with more respect. Unless, of course, it was Gwen. He would be okay with it being Gwen, all things considered. At least she wasn't a complete stranger.
"Yes." Arthur says slowly, as if confused by his servant's behaviour. "I wished to invite you for dinner. Did she not tell you that?"
Dinner? Merlin's first thought is that Arthur is using him to practice for the real thing. He is using Merlin as a trial run before actually asking the one he wants to dinner. And that thought hurts more than it should. Clearly Arthur views it as harmless, as he is unaware of Merlin's feelings for him, but it still makes something almost akin to anger spark in his gut.
It's for this reason that Merlin's reply is, "What are you doing, Arthur?"
"Excuse me?" Arthur asks.
"I mean," Merlin begins to clarify, "why are you doing this?" He sweeps an arm out to encompass the room, the table with dinner already laid out and waiting, the covered tray that probably holds berry tarts. All of Merlin's hard work staring tauntingly back at him. "I know that I'm your personal servant, Sire. I know it's my job to do as you ask. But why this?"
Arthur looks terribly confused as he asks, "What exactly is it that you think I am doing here, Merlin?"
"You're using me to practice, so when you actually ask the one you want to court, you'll know what to say, what to make, what to expect." Merlin answers, sounding much more dejected than he had originally intended to.
There's a sharp intake of breath, followed by a moment of silence, before Arthur quietly asks, "Is that truly what you think I am doing?"
Merlin can't quite bring himself to meet Arthur's eyes when he asks, "Is that not what you're doing?"
Arthur's face softens then, into something almost terribly find. "No, Merlin, it's not. Now," he gesture towards the fully laden table, "would you like to sit down, or have all my hard efforts been for nothing?"
A sort of disbelieving numbness fills Merlin's entire body. Arthur had done all of this, had put this much effort into making dinner, into learning how to make dinner, for him? Merlin can't quite let himself believe it yet, can't quite let himself hope, even though his heart is frantically trying to make him change his mind.
When Merlin fails to move, Arthur frowns a bit. It doesn't look angry or irritated. It doesn't even look mildly annoyed. If anything, he looks worried. Because, if he was telling the truth, he had just put his heart out there on the line, and Merlin hadn't accepted it yet, even though Merlin had personally assured him that whoever it was would.
Merlin blinks. "Are you sure?" He can't stop the words from leaving his lips.
Arthur steps closer, tentatively reaches out for both of Merlin's hands with his own. When Merlin doesn't pull way, he takes both of Merlin's hands into his own, holding them gently but also somehow firmly. He stares down at them without speaking a word. When he finally looks up into Merlin's face, he looks more vulnerable than Merlin has ever seen him, and Merlin has almost always inevitably seen Arthur at his "weakest" moments.
"Merlin," Arthur begins solemnly, "I have never been more sure of anything in my life. From the moment you stumbled so gracelessly into Camelot, you have become the one constant in my life. You are the one I know I can rely on at any time, for anything. You are the one I look to for advice first. You are the one I count on to call me out when my behaviour is less than desirable. Since you came into my life, I have been unable to think of or see anyone else."
Merlin's head is reeling, and he almost feels the room swaying around him along with it. "Arthur, what exactly are you saying?"
Arthur's smile at once turns more nervous. "I am saying that I would accept no one else by my side, in all things. I am saying that I learned how to cook for you, so I could offer you more than flashy things that gold can buy. I am also asking if you would like to join me for dinner?"
The unspoken question hangs in the air, the implications of his invitation not being lost on Merlin. 'Would you accept this hand I have extended to you?'
A shaky smile tugs at Merlin's mouth. "I would love to join you for dinner."
Now it's Arthur's turn to look almost tentative and disbelieving. "Really?" He asks hopefully.
Without a word, Merlin tilts his head closer and softly brushes his slightly parted lips over Arthur's, letting them linger just long enough to properly remember what his mouth feels like when it's pressed to his own.
When he pulls away, Arthur's eyes are still closed. His belly flips and flutters as he watches them slowly blink open. The King looks almost dazed, and it makes Merlin smile. He knows that he probably looks disgustingly fond, and probably adoring as well, but he doesn't care. He is in love, and the man he loves, loves him back.
"Does that answer your question?" He asks softly.
Arthur nods, a slow smile stretching across his mouth. "Yes, that answer is quite satisfactory." He says, just on this side of breathless. Merlin's own smile grows. "Now, dinner?"
Merlin barks out a delighted, relieved laugh. "Yes, dinner. After all, I would hate for all your hard work to go to waste."
The nerves crawl back into Arthur's eyes as he nods, letting go of Merlin's hands to allow them both to take their seats opposite one another across the table. His hands hover over his own cutlery, watchful, blue eyes locked on Merlin, clearly waiting to begin eating until Merlin had started. Dutifully, Merlin grabs his fork and pierces one of the cooked vegetables. Without hesitation, he lifts it to his lips and pops it into his mouth. He isn't even surprised as it's perfect flavour erupts over his tongue. He gives Arthur a smile filled with pride.
"It's perfect, Arthur. Just like I showed you." He says once he has fully chewed his mouthful and swallowed it down. The smile that Arthur gives him is radiant, practically lighting up the whole room, and Merlin vows, then and there, to do everything he can in the future to bring that smile out as often as possible.
They eat in relative silence, Merlin thoroughly enjoying every perfectly cooked bite. His stomach is still leaping and somersaulting at the knowledge that Arthur had done all of this for him, that he loved him. He had never dared to let himself think of what things would be like if his feelings were requited. The chance that they might not be was too painful to bear thinking about, so he had never bothered. Now though, all he can think about is Arthur's lips against his, how much he wants to do it again.
As he finishes his last bite, he grins cheekily at Arthur across the table. "I believe you promised something sweet for afterwards."
"Right." Arthur says distractedly. His hand fumbles the cover over the tray and Merlin's heart flutters and squeezes at the way his cheeks flush a little pink. He lifts the cover, revealing four berry tarts underneath, their sweet smell already reaching Merlin's nose. Still, he shakes his head.
"I think you can do even better than that." He says with a grin and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. For a moment, Arthur looks confused, but then realization dawns over his entire face, causing the pink flush already there to deepen to a lovely shade of red.
However, he nods and gets to his feet, rounding the table so he can reach out his hands in offering. Merlin readily accepts them, curling his fingers around Arthur's hands and allowing himself to get hauled up onto his feet. Once he is eye level with the man, he lets his grin fade into something softer. Arthur's own smile matches his as he leans in and gently presses their lips together.
A frenzy of butterflies erupts in Merlin's stomach and he tightens his grip on Arthur's hands in an attempt to ground himself. He feels light as a feather, as if he could float away at any moment, Arthur's grip on him the only thing keeping him firmly planted on the stone floor beneath his feet.
'I love you.' He tries to say with every press of his mouth.
'I love you, too.' Arthur seems to reply, angling himself a little more to kiss him a little deeper. 'I will always love you.'