Chapter 1: Forgetting
Chapter Text
The sun had passed its peak in the sky, though that hadn’t made it any cooler on the shore of the beach where Merlin stood, disguised as the Dolma. He was positively baking in his multi-layer costume which he wore over his normal clothing.
Though he may have been hot and exhausted, he was also exceedingly satisfied. Gwen was back. He had succeeded in summoning the White Goddess to help cleanse her soul of Morgana’s curse. He could almost collapse of relief.
Actually though, he may collapse from exhaustion instead. He wished he had thought to bring a staff to lean on. Though, as he had been fine for hours prancing around as Dragoon, he’d thought standing around for an afternoon as the Dolma would be easy. Maybe the Dolma was older than Dragoon–he wasn’t exactly precise in his spell casting, something Gaius frequently got on his case about. Though perhaps it wasn’t the age that was exhausting him but rather the immense amount of magic he had just expended. Or the fact he’d been up several times during each of the past few nights to dose Gwen with belladonna. Or the head injury he had gotten yesterday along with the twisted ankle.
After what felt to Merlin like an hour, Arthur pulled away from hugging his wife and looked to the Dolma, to Merlin, again.
“I owe you a great debt,” Arthur said solemnly. “We both do. If there’s anything I can do in return, perhaps a new dress?”
If Merlin hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have given away his charade by laughing at that statement. It had been such a stupid lie, but Arthur had seen the clothes Merlin had packed for the Dolma disguise, and that was the best he could come up with on the spot. Arthur had bought it though and Merlin had despaired of his King’s stupidity, or perhaps his woeful education regarding magic users. Likely both.
“Arthur!” Gwen reprimanded, likely assuming Arthur was being his usual graceless self.
“What, she likes clothes!” Arthur retorted.
Gods, Merlin hoped they didn’t prolong this conversation with an argument. All he wanted to do was to retreat behind the rock and change back to his younger body so they could return to the horses and he could get off his feet.
He’d have to explain what the Dolma had done to keep him hostage. Maybe he could say she put him under a temporary sleep spell so he didn’t interfere with things. That’s just the sort of comment Arthur would make a cheeky retort to, which would distract him from any other suspicions about the Dolma’s odd behavior and Merlin’s inexplicable exhaustion.
But before that, before he could give his body and magic the rest it so loudly craved, he had to finish this conversation. Arthur had asked what the Dolma wanted. Well, there was one thing the Dolma could ask of Arthur that he, Merlin, could not.
“There is one thing,” he started in the Dolma’s raspy voice. “Remember what saved your queen. Magic and sorcery.”
In truth, this was all Merlin wanted, for Arthur to give magic a fair chance. He had despaired of ever being able to show Arthur the good of magic without being banished or beheaded. To be able to represent the wishes of most of the magic peoples–the ones who were in hiding, the ones who lived in fear but did not seek revenge–meant everything to him. He hoped, with his whole heart, that Arthur would be receptive to the Dolma’s plea, that he would open his mind to the possibility of benevolent magic. It had been years since Merlin had truly hoped, perhaps since Uther’s death at his own unwitting hand. This seemed as momentous an occasion as that and, with the Dolma’s success where Dragoon had failed, Arthur might finally be willing to look at magic in a new light.
“It was also sorcery that bewitched her,” Arthur responded.
Merlin tried not to show how much that response hurt him on the Dolma’s face, tried to remain as placid as the still waters behind him, as calm as one with the wisdom and experience the Dolma would have would be. He drew on that imaginary tranquility and made one last attempt to reach past the barriers that Uther and bad experiences had erected in Arthur’s mind and heart.
“There is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men.” Merlin told him. “My request is…that you remember this.” It felt so good to say this to Arthur, openly, without fear of recrimination.
“You have my word,” Arthur promised solemnly.
Finally, a step in the right direction. Arthur was a man of honor, and Merlin knew he would do his best to keep his promise.
A wave of relief swept through his body, and with it, a wave of dizziness. His vision spotted and he realized if he didn’t sit down soon, he was going to collapse. He blinked a few times, trying to get the black spots to go away, but they persisted, and all he accomplished was increasing his sense of dizziness.
He may have blacked out a moment or two, and for a minute a rushing in his ears blocked out any external noise. It took all his concentration not to stumble and fall, something he thought might prove far more dangerous in this body than his own younger one.
As he steadied, the rushing in his ears lessened and he listened for the others’ reactions, wanting to know how hard it might be to escape the situation to turn back into himself. Gwen would certainly have reservations about leaving a feeble old woman by herself. Distantly, he heard footsteps crunching in the gravel, slowly getting softer–getting further away. He opened his eyes and squinted to try and focus, as everything was blurry and twisting around oddly. He glimpsed a flash of blond hair just before it disappeared behind the hill. That was Arthur, walking away.
They had left him. Arthur had left him.
The despair hit him like a punch in the stomach, the hurt like a vice squeezing his heart. Arthur forgot about him. He had forgotten that Merlin was supposedly being held captive by a mad old sorceress who lived behind a rock and took ragged black frocks as payment for incredible feats of magic. He had forgotten that his seemingly vulnerable manservant was now alone with the threat of Morgana. Arthur had just left Merlin behind like a piece of trash to discard when he was done using it.
His chest hurt. Somehow his knees hurt too with the news. He looked down. The ground was much closer than it had been before. Oh, he must have fallen down. He was right–it was much worse to fall in this older body than it was his own. It took him several tries and possibly some assistance from his magic to get back on his feet.
The others must have been well out of earshot by then, so, hoping that changing out of the Dolma’s old body would give him the energy to follow after them, he cast the spell to undo his disguise. He felt the gradual smoothening of his skin, the realignment and strengthening of his bones. The various aches of old age disappeared, though his overall pain had increased. Somehow being back in his own form made the exhaustion and injury worse. Having his magic pulsing through his body to maintain the transformation spell must have actually been covering up the severity of both.
It took him a few tries to get the black frock over his head–his arms were nearly too tired to lift it–but he didn’t dare use magic in his own form as the others could come back looking for him at any moment. It would be easier to get Arthur to believe that the Dolma had trapped him in her dress than to explain that he had magic and was using it to escape said dress.
Once free from the dress, Merlin started to stumble forward, towards his companions, knowing he looked horrible, but that Gwen would immediately fuss over him, even if Arthur was too much of a prat to do such a thing. He hadn’t gotten more than three steps when he tripped and sprawled out on the rocky beach.
He noted distantly that he was lucky he didn’t hit his head on one of the sharp rocks that were littered across and around the path. His hands stung as he pushed on them to try and get up, but the world was swirling around him and he couldn’t tell which way was up anymore.
This time when he fell, he stayed down. The black spots that had been dancing on the edge of his vision finally took over and he passed out.
Chapter 2: Dreaming
Chapter Text
Merlin was underwater. He wasn’t drowning. He was just floating calmly. He could breathe normally, but he also didn’t need to breathe. He hummed a note quietly and found he could hear normally. His bare toes rested on the sandy bottom. He wasn’t quite standing but it didn’t feel odd or uncomfortable.
There was enough ambient light to see his surroundings so he looked around. The sun shone on the water’s surface above him, creating glimmering, shifting patterns below. He seemed to be near the bottom of a valley, with stone formations sloping upward on two sides. Behind him, a softer slope led towards the water’s surface.
Creatures swam around in abundance, many more than what he would expect in such a small body of water. And they were odd creatures, too. Beautiful, but unlike anything Merlin had heard of. One pulsed gently as it floated by, looking like a transparent sack with strings floating behind. Another scuttled by across the bottom; Merlin almost hadn’t noticed it because it was the same color as the sand. When it got to the rock, however, it changed color, and even seemed to change texture, looking exactly like another rock as it paused before moving on.
The creatures seemed to be swirling around almost, drawn to the spot where Merlin was floating. He could feel why: the energy was different. Not wrong, but sacred. He could sense that any creature with a bit of magic would be drawn to this spot instinctively.
He himself was happy to stay there, to simply observe the wonders around him.
--
A voice called his name. He couldn’t quite tell if it had said ‘Merlin’ or ‘Emrys’ or maybe something like ‘Ambrosius’. Perhaps it had been all three. Whichever collection of sounds was uttered, Merlin knew it had been his name and that the owner of the voice was calling him.
The voice itself sounded like the water, rhythmic and mellow, but with enough strength to sink ships, and enough patience to carve stone.
He turned and saw a woman behind him. She was transparent, almost like she wasn’t quite there–Merlin had the feeling that if he reached out to touch her, she would disappear. But he could tell she was real all the same. He couldn’t quite make out her facial features, and after a moment, he realized it was because they kept shifting, as dynamic as the water flowing around them.
“My lady,” he addressed respectfully, and bowed. Or he at least attempted to bow, though the peculiar dynamics of underwater motion, which had seemed inconsequential when all he wanted to do was float, now hindered his actions.
“There is no need for that,” she told him. “You are practically family, Emrys.” The confusion he felt at that statement must have shown on his face, as she continued with an explanation. “You are the child of magic, my kin,” she explained. “I am Ceridwen.”
Merlin was now grateful for Gaius’ insistence that he read the entire passage about the reversal spell as that was the only reason he recognized the name Ceridwen. This woman, this apparition in front of him, was the actual goddess he had invoked to save Gwen.
He looked around again, and with the new information, he could discern that they were submerged in the water of the Cauldron of Arianrhod. The slight slope behind him must have led to the beach where Gwen had been healed.
The peace he felt now made more sense. Ceridwen was the goddess of rebirth, transformation, and inspiration. Her magic had a hopeful sense about it, promising new beginnings and bestowing resilience.
“Thank you, Lady Ceridwen,” he addressed her, not wanting to be impolite by either being too formal or too casual. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“My dear,” she addressed him affectionately, “it was you I was helping. Guinevere is a wonderful queen and she has her own path to follow free of the curse, but my intervention was on behalf of your destiny. Us gods generally do not interfere in the lives of mortals for anything less.”
Well, that was news to Merlin. According to Gaius, Merlin himself had encountered more than one of the gods in his adventures. Anhora, for one, and Taliesin.
“You, my dear, are the exception,” she added.
“I humbly thank you for your exception,” he replied, with another attempt at a bow that proved slightly more successful. She merely smiled at him like a mother who knows something their child does not, but will not explain as it would not make sense to the child until they are old enough to have lived the experience themselves.
They did not speak for a while, merely floated in silence, each contemplating the other. Merlin did not feel pressured to speak, though he knew their conversation was not yet over. He could feel her kindness and the kinship she had affirmed resonating through his magic like the promised warmth of a summer sunrise.
He could also feel her magic, a magic of renewal and of forging new paths, and he knew that this conversation had the potential to change the outcome of his destiny. He knew he could ask whatever he wished and she would answer him with truth and kindness.
“If I may ask, I would like to know, what does this have to do with my destiny?” he inquired.
“My interference in the witch’s plans will allow you to continue with your destiny,” she explained. “Arthur might never have accepted magic were he to lose his wife to it in addition to his parents. Besides, every good example of magic the king witnesses is one step towards Albion.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “It is nice to get a little help every once in a while. It’s not like that prat is ever going to make things easy,” he mused aloud.
He looked down in sorrow–his heart hurt just thinking about how the others had left him behind. When he looked back up at Ceridwen he flushed, remembering he was addressing a goddess and, while she had granted him permission to address her as kin, he should perhaps refrain from using such vulgar terms. Yet, she didn’t appear to be offended and Merlin wondered whether she had even heard, as she appeared deep in thought. Her expression was concerned as she considered him, as if she were worried about him.
The last person to look at him like that had been his mother. Gaius had shown concern for him, certainly, but it was the same concern he showed his patients. While real and honest in intention, it always felt a bit superficial to Merlin. It wasn’t that Gaius didn’t care, it just felt different to Merlin than his mother’s care. Gaius wasn’t warm–he didn’t offer comfort, merely condolences, and though Merlin felt comfortable with him, Gaius frequently reminded him never to get too comfortable–never to feel too safe.
Ceridwen’s concern was the concern of a mother, the concern of the earth, of magic itself. He felt her caring warmth in his heart temporarily filling the hole that had been ripped when Arthur left him behind.
“You are sad,” she observed without judgment. “Tell me why,” she requested softly, with a quiet openness he longed to reciprocate.
“Arthur, he–” Merlin began, but he choked up and had to start again.
Ceridwen didn’t rush him. She simply continued floating, her shifting features somehow still radiating concern.
“He’s supposed to be my friend,” he managed to get out eventually. After the first sentence, the rest of his feelings came rushing out without consideration. “But after I did all this for him, he forgot me. He just left me behind. He’s my destiny, but I’m nothing to him. Does my destiny even have a chance anymore? How can I show Arthur the good in magic when he can’t even bother to remember that I exist?”
She looked at him contemplatively then disappeared, simply fading away into the shifting light of the water. In the moment she was gone, Merlin wondered if she had even existed–it was as if she were a distant memory, an echo of the place.
Then she reappeared, and it was like she was everything.
She looked grim. “I have watched the progress of your destiny, Emrys,” she told him in a tone not quite dark, but deep and vast, and perhaps a bit sad. “I would have hoped that, knowing the importance of your path to Albion, some of our more informed kin may have deigned to interfere or apprise you of your responsibilities. Or, failing that, that our earthbound apostles, those who know how to read the stars and the earth, would have shared their knowledge with you. Alas, you have been left in the dark.”
While Merlin didn’t know exactly who or what she was referring to, it was nonetheless concerning that she thought he lacked such important information about his own destiny. “Will you tell me?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
“Yes, Emrys,” she replied, as he had known she would.
“You are not on the true path of your destiny anymore, Merlin. You have not yet strayed too far for redemption, but I fear that your fixation on Arthur will lead you further astray,” she explained.
“What do you mean? Kilgharrah said my destiny was to protect Arthur,” Merlin pointed out, nonplussed.
“While it may be true he is the Once and Future King, his protection is not all your destiny entails,” she told him. “The Disir tested you, Merlin, and you failed. You chose one man over the fate of an entire people, over magic. I will not deny you were misled by that scheming dragon who claims you as kin, but the result is the same. You are further from your destiny than you have been since your birth as Merlin.”
Something about the phrasing of that last part intrigued him, but he refocused on what was important right now: his destiny.
“How can I fix it?” he asked, trying not to sound like he was begging for guidance, but he really, really was.
“The gods do not typically give second chances,” she informed him. “But I have seen your past through the eyes of fate and I do not believe you are yet judged. While it is still possible for you to fulfill your destiny and bring magic back to Albion, I fear you are far closer to a tipping point than you have been since the lady chose to oppose you.”
“Wait, she chose?” Merlin interjected. “That was a tipping point? But Kilgharrah said it was an inevitability.”
“The dragon may be able to see patterns in fate, but he cannot discern what is inevitable,” Ceridwen explained. “Some things are set in stone–you would always have been Emrys, born with the power to build kingdoms. But what you choose to do with your power is in your hands. You could just as easily choose to topple kingdoms.”
“I would never use magic like that!” Merlin objected, hoping it were true rather than actually believing it.
“Perhaps easy was not the right word,” she amended. “It may not be an easy choice, but it would be possible. However, fate does influence the circumstances in favor of certain outcomes. You were born a peasant, and because of that you are humble and try not to discriminate based on birth, as Arthur was raised to. Your mother is kind, and so you too are kind.”
Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of that. He’d never been too bothered by the whole predetermined destiny before, but knowing his life had been manipulated to create a particular outcome? That was different. That made it sound like he had no free will, like he was simply a log adrift in a river, sent to change the flow downstream. Though Ceridwen had said he could make whatever choice he wanted to. And for the most part, he wouldn’t change any of his choices if given the chance.
That was something he knew he shared with Arthur. Arthur had been put on the path to become king since before his birth, had been destined to be great since before even that. Yet for all the pressure and difficult times he’d endured because of it, he always returned to his duty.
“What about Arthur?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“He, like you, has been born into the circumstances which make his ascendancy as the Once and Future King most likely. He has been surrounded by those most likely to help him. However, his path is still influenced by his choices, and the choices of those around him. Morgana was supposed to be his moral compass, but her choices, influenced by Kilgharrah’s deception, have pushed her down a darker path. As a result, Arthur is not yet the great king he could have been with her help.”
“He is a good man,” Merlin couldn’t help but defend. Though as he did, he wondered if that too had been decided for him–if the incredible loyalty and love he felt for his king, his friend, were all manufactured by fate.
“He may have noble intentions for his kingdom, Merlin, but that is not all that makes a man. I have looked into the past, Merlin, and I can see how he treats you,” Ceridwen told him.
“Well, I did say he was a prat. But that is just how he was raised. And I’m just the poor sod who has to put up with it,” he responded. Again, the need to defend Arthur was virtually instinctual, a self-defense almost. A way for him to justify to himself all he had done in Arthur’s name.
“No, Merlin, this was not what was intended for you,” Ceridwen told him. She sounded almost sad again.
“What do you mean?” he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to open this avenue of conversation, but knowing she would not have brought it up unless it were important.
“You do not have to put up with this abuse,” she replied simply. As if Arthur’s treatment of him was ever simple.
“Abuse?” he questioned. It was a term he had heard before, from Gaius, usually in reference to violence. He wasn’t sure if it applied in his case. “I mean, he throws things sometimes, and he hits me when I annoy him, but there are much worse things he could do, things others actually do. Arthur would never truly harm me,” he ended weakly.
“Merlin,” she said sympathetically, and for the first time in the conversation, her facial features solidified into one coherent face. Just for a moment, he saw his mother, wearing the face she did when she was about to teach him a lesson he didn’t want to hear. It was always important, but he knew that whatever was said next had the power to change his mind, change his life, irrevocably. He was ready for change, however, he realized. If this was the outcome of leaving things be, he needed to hear whatever advice would shortly be coming his way.
He listened as she explained. “Arthur has used his position of power to intimidate you, to physically hurt you without consequence, repeatedly. He piles you with responsibilities, many of which are ordinarily fulfilled by an honored advisor, yet he belittles you in payment. He asks for your advice, yet when you provide it, he lashes out, telling you to stick to serving, or threatening banishment or other consequences. He may believe that he trusts you, that he cares for you, but he creates a hostile environment you do not feel safe in.
“When people spend years living in such an unstable environment, where any wrong move can result in another punishment, it can affect them deeply. You may be used to living in fear of discovery since your youth, but you were always safe in your home. You could express yourself, love and be loved, share opinions and hear new ones in return. Arthur has not provided you the space to do so since you entered his service.
“I can feel your heart, Merlin, you have closed it off to save yourself. But your heart is what will save Albion.” She paused there for a moment, but he knew it was to allow him to assimilate what she had said before she continued.
“Are you willing to allow me to release your heart? To set you on a new course?” she asked him.
While he wouldn’t have been sure of his answer a mere moment before, as soon as the question was posed, he had but one response. “Yes.”
Ceridwen smiled at him, her face once more reflecting his mother’s. She disappeared once more, faded away, and though he could remember their conversation exactly, it was again difficult to keep her in his memory. The lake was fading as well, or at least he was fading out of it. He had but a moment to enjoy the peace of the idyllic underwater scene before there was nothing.
Chapter 3: Strawberries
Chapter Text
Merlin came to awareness slowly, softly. He could feel something beneath him, solid in a way that felt unnatural after floating underwater. As the solidity of the object below him convinced him of this reality, he realized the underwater conversation must have happened in a dream–but it had felt so real. It was real, even if it had been a dream.
He remained confused for a few moments before deciding he may as well open his eyes and see where he was. When he did, the memories came to him instantly–he was on the beach of the lake where he had collapsed after Arthur and the others had left him–injured, exhausted, and alone.
His ankle still throbbed–he’d definitely have to take a look at that–but his head seemed better. He felt around with his magic and discovered a trace of Ceridwen’s hope and warmth–she must have healed him while he slept.
As he took stock of himself, he also noticed he was no longer feeling as exhausted–perhaps the goddess’ interference once more. Or, of course, it could be due to the sheer amount of rage flowing through him at the moment. Because now, outside the embrace of Ceridwen’s warm, motherly, calming magic, Merlin was furious. The mild hurt he had experienced while discussing what had happened in the dream was nothing compared to the pain and anger he felt now.
Arthur had left him behind. Arthur had forgotten about him.
After he had braved Arthur’s wrath to prove that Gwen–Arthur’s own wife–was enchanted, researched a cure, continually drugged Gwen, carried bags for three people, and supposedly been taken hostage, Arthur had forgotten Merlin.
How could he have carried the bags back to the horses without once thinking of how they had been packed and carried by Merlin? How could he have arrived at the horses and not realized that one of them was Merlin’s? How could he have filled Gwen in on what she missed without remembering Merlin was the one who realized she was enchanted, who had ensured her safety in unconsciousness the whole journey?
Gods, he was less important to Arthur than his sword. Arthur never went anywhere without first checking his sword was strapped to his waist. And Merlin didn’t even warrant that amount of regard.
If he were a knight, maybe things would be different. Arthur never forgot his men or left one behind. But no, Arthur had knighted Percival, a stranger, within days of meeting him, and didn’t even think to knight Merlin who had fought loyally by his side for years.
Or maybe if Arthur cared for Merlin a smidgeon of the amount he cared for Gwen. But instead, Merlin was doomed to suffer a lifetime of longing, of touches that were never quite enough, of striving for even the barest hint of recognition, while Arthur and Gwen got a fairytale love.
Not that Merlin was mad at Gwen for any of this–she had been his best friend for years before becoming queen. She was the kindest person he had ever known, perhaps tied with his mother and Lancelot. She deserved the world. But he couldn’t deny he was jealous of her relationship with Arthur.
Merlin had loved Arthur for years, he knew, though he’d only come to realize what his feelings meant when their relationship had changed with Arthur’s marriage to Gwen. He hadn’t noticed how much he relied on Arthur’s company until he had been pushed aside for her.
He had felt so alone since their marriage and it wasn’t like he could talk with anyone about it. He couldn’t talk to Gwen, for obvious reasons, and Gaius wouldn’t understand. Gwaine would just try to take him to the tavern or bed him, neither of which particularly appealed to Merlin. The only person who might understand was his mother, but she was half a kingdom away. Lancelot might have understood, or he would have tried to at least, but he was gone. Merlin had caused his death by confiding in him. And he was alone in his grief. He was always alone.
And now he would have to get himself back to Camelot. Alone.
Well, he wasn't going to rush to catch up with a fucking ass of a king who didn't even have the decency to remember his existence. He was going to take his own sweet time getting back.
Merlin decided to camp out by the Cauldron for the night, feeling safer by Ceridwen’s magic. He didn’t have anything to eat, as the others had taken all the bags. He didn't even have a sleeping roll. The only thing he did have was the Dolma’s dress. So he sat down, using it as a cushion.
He used magic to look a ways down the path back to Camelot, about an hour’s walk. Nothing. It was nearly dark now, so it was safe to assume the others had set up camp for the night, too far away from Merlin to bother coming back if they even remembered him at all.
So he made a campfire. With magic. It was usually easier to find kindling than to maintain a fire with only magic, so he started to search the nearby ground for sticks. There weren’t many trees nearby, so he had to venture outside the circle of light his little campfire was providing. He found himself reaching for his magic again, this time to create a sphere of light.
He felt a tingle of excitement that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. As a child, he had loved to play with his magic when he had the chance. While Hunith had been terrified at times, and had taught Merlin to fear others, she had always made sure he never feared his magic, never hated it. It had always been a part of him, and she celebrated it as much as she did the rest of him. She wouldn’t let him do chores or routine things with magic, telling him he had to practice in case someone else was there next time, but when they were alone, when it was safe (or as safe as it could be, she would say), she encouraged him to play with his magic. She would make up games for them to play, let him tell stories with light shows, and encourage him to bloom beautiful exotic flowers and fruits.
As an adult, he appreciated the line she had needed to toe, allowing him to accept his magic, to love himself, without letting him build habits that would put him in danger if he let his guard down around anyone else.
He recalled a few tricks he hadn’t tried since he was young–talking to animals, gazing into the fire to glimpse beautiful, far off places, and growing the unfamiliar foods he saw in those visions. He had never come across spells for those feats, so he wasn't entirely sure he hadn’t dreamt them. He decided now was as good a time as any to try and see. Surrounded by the sacred magic of the cauldron, he was as safe as he could be, just like his mother used to say.
He started with an easier trick, one he had been able to do in recent years–playing with fire. With a mere thought, the lazy campfire he had made shifted and twisted to his every whim. He made animals, dancing figures, musicians (he swore he could hear a tune playing as the flame figures performed). He lowered the flames then brought them up one by one, building the familiar shape of Camelot. He made one flame grow as the others went out around it–the physicians tower. He made a little flame Gaius, puttering around in his room, fetching herbs to grind, mixing potions.
It was beautiful, much more detailed and vivid than what he had been able to produce in his youth.
He used the fire for his next trick as well, attempting to peer around for glimpses of foreign lands. However, in contrast to the limitless wandering of his youth, the only places he could see were Camelot and Ealdor, though the latter was dark, with most people fast asleep at this hour. He tried conjuring a light to see if he could glimpse his mum, but all it did was pull him out of the vision and back into his own body.
He was hungry. He hadn't tried growing food since he failed that night with Freya, but his magic was stronger now, and perhaps being on sacred ground would improve his chances.
“Blostma ,” he incanted softly.
Nothing.
He touched the ground, feeling the earth like he used to for his mother to find the best place to plant each crop. He gathered the magic into his fingertips and tried again. He felt the magic fill his mouth, shaping it to form words he had never heard but which he understood the meaning of instinctively.
“Al sæd, gewax, fealwiaþ réad beger,” he incanted, more steadily this time. Appear seed, bloom, ripen red berries.
He felt as a strawberry seed appeared in the earth and began to grow. He could feel the seed split, little tendrils creeping their way out. He saw the greens shoot out of the ground, felt them absorb small trickles of his magic as they would have sunlight, he watched as the little buds grew, flowered, fertilized, and as new fruits were formed, little white berries turning pink then red. He stopped the spell before the cycle of life continued, before the little berries dropped and decayed to spread their seeds.
He plucked a berry and bit into it. The juices spilled onto his tongue, as sweet as that first kiss with Freya had been. Remembering her was a bittersweet moment, despite the sweetness on his tongue.
He sometimes wished he had been able to protect her. To run away with her. He knows he wouldn't have, he never could have left Arthur, but he wondered if his life would have been different now, better. He hadn't loved her then, not the way he loved Arthur, but maybe he could have.
Tears fell down his cheeks as he remembered her, as he remembered Lancelot, Elyan, Will, Balinor, and all the others the years had taken from him. He had barely had a moment to himself to grieve since Elyan’s death, worried over Arthur’s safety because of Gwen’s enchantment. He had barely had time to grieve any of his lost loved ones, as destiny pushed him onward.
He sat and stared at the fire, remembering his friends, until he felt the telltale signs of sleepiness.
As the spell to grow the strawberries had been so fruitful, Merlin decided to try growing some moss to make a more comfortable sleeping spot. It was successful, and he fell asleep, soothed by the soft warmth of magic.
Chapter 4: Remembering
Notes:
Quick note- I do think Arthur and Gwen’s romance is sweet, but since this is a merthur fest, I had to break them up. So, just pretend that whatever Gwen accuses Arthur of is true, even if it’s blatantly false based on canon.
Chapter Text
It was a full day’s journey back to Camelot. They had arrived at the Cauldron midday, which left them until sunset for travel. With luck, they would be able to make it back to the forest to make camp.
Gwen hadn't seemed particularly tired, though Arthur could tell she was affected by the ordeal. He had tried cheering her up with a kiss on the forehead, but she had turned away.
She seemed to have understood what was going on as she was rescued from the curse, so Arthur assumed she could remember everything that had happened. He therefore hadn't had to explain much, only filling in the past few days–how they had drugged her and how he had asked Gaius to seek out a magic-user who could cure her. He hadn’t told her of Morgana’s attack on their way to the Dolma, as he didn’t want to cause her any more distress.
It was nearly dark by the time they were deep enough in the forest to set up camp.
She had been quiet the whole journey, not starting any conversation, not asking how long it would take to get back, nothing. Arthur thought she might be tired, so he immediately started a fire and set up a blanket for her to sit on near the warmth.
She still didn’t talk to him, she barely looked at him.
He brought out some bread and rations for her to eat while he got ready to go for a quick hunt so Merlin could make a stew before they went to sleep. He looked around to find Merlin, who should have been caring for the horses, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s—” he started to ask, but then he made eye contact with Mordred and they realized the same thing at the same time. Merlin was not with them. Merlin was taken hostage by the Dolma and they had forgotten to ensure his safe return before leaving.
Arthur had experienced anxiety before–the night preceding a battle, while waiting for the sorcerer to heal his father, before asking Guinevere to marry him–but this kind of panic he had experienced only once–when he had watched an injured Merlin be swarmed by bandits as rocks fell between them, preventing Arthur from saving his friend.
This was just as bad. His mind conjured up the worst images–Merlin dead, just one in a long line of victims of the old woman; Merlin lying face down in the shallow water because he had tripped and fallen with his injured ankle; Merlin slowly starving to death because the Dolma refused to let him go without his friends there to collect him.
Arthur’s ears buzzed, his head spun, his heart raced. He sat himself down next to Gwen before he fell over.
“Arthur, what’s wrong?” he heard Gwen ask. She had seen his obvious panic.
“Merlin,” he said dully. “We left Merlin.”
“Left him?” Gwen asked.
Arthur couldn't continue. It felt like his throat was closing up. He was choking on his own guilt. He sputtered uselessly for a moment, before turning to Mordred to indicate he should explain. Mordred looked a bit fuzzy, and Arthur couldn’t figure out why.
“The Dolma took Merlin as a sort of hostage, as insurance for us to not kill her,” he heard Mordred explain through a fog. “She said she would return him when the spell was over, but we left before she had the chance to release him. I forgot that he, I mean, I was so overwhelmed.”
“She’s holding him hostage? But why did she help us if she was just going to kidnap our friend?” she asked, getting almost as worked up as Arthur felt.
“She intended to let him go, I am sure,” Mordred answered. “But we left too quickly. She was probably too exhausted from the spell to come after us when she realized he was still there.”
Oh gods, Arthur thought, what if the Dolma had been too tired to let Merlin go. What if Merlin was still behind that rock, tied up and starving because Arthur had forgotten him there? What if Merlin had tried to escape but, as he was remarkably clumsy even on a good day, being tied up had caused him to fall and hit his head and he was just bleeding out slowly and by the time they would get back to him he’d be cold?
Arthur was hyperventilating now. He knew he should slow down his breathing, should control his reaction, but he didn’t seem to be able to.
“Arthur, sire, are you okay?” he heard Mordred inquire softly.
No, he was not okay. Merlin was gone. Taken, by a sorceress.
He tried to remind himself that the Dolma was seemingly a good sorceress. She had told him of the goodness of magic, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to go back on her word and harm Merlin.
Most likely she had sent him back to the beach, but there was no way he could have caught up to them on foot, especially with his injured ankle. They had needed to ride hard to make it to the camp before dark. It was then that he realized they had taken all the supplies. Even if Merlin were free, he would be out on his own with no way to make camp, not even flint to start a fire or a bedroll to curl up in for warmth.
And then he remembered Morgana’s attack and the dragon-like creature she commanded.
He stood up, suddenly overcome with the need to go find Merlin, to make sure he was alright.
“Arthur?” Gwen asked rather sharply.
“I need to find him, he’s injured and Morgana is out there! With a dragon!” he shouted, sounding hysterical even to his own ears.
“All the more reason for you to stay here,” Gwen coaxed gently. “It'll be dark in minutes, he’ll have already found shelter for the night. If you go after him now, you're going to get yourself injured or attacked, and then who will be left to rescue Merlin? The best thing you can do for him now is go to sleep and get up at first light to start the search. Okay?”
Arthur didn’t respond, but he sat back down in acquiescence. Guinevere was right, of course, rescue missions were not to be taken lightly, lest the rescue party end up needing rescuing. But his instincts were screaming at him to go anyway, to find Merlin right now.
After a minute, Gwen seemed to decide that Arthur was no longer in danger of leaving.
“I have been asleep for days, so I’ll take first watch,” she told them. “I’ll wake Mordred for second and you can take third so you can wake us and leave at the first sign of light.”
Arthur set up his bedroll, using it as an excuse to avoid the gazes of the others. He lay down, further from the fire than he would usually because he really didn't want to hear if the others were talking about Merlin. Or about him–how unfit he was to lead a mission, let alone a kingdom, if he left people behind.
His bedroll was uncomfortable. Merlin usually set it up, and he somehow always found the perfect position for it, with no roots or rocks poking him at odd angles. God, how could he have forgotten Merlin.
Merlin was just always there, such an integral part of his life, Arthur didn’t notice Merlin’s impact until he was gone. The times Merlin had been captured were some of the worst days Arthur had experienced.
But what did it say about him that he couldn’t live without Merlin yet he didn’t notice his absence until he needed a servant?
He fell into a restless sleep still thinking about Merlin.
--
Gwen had woken in the lake as if from a nightmare. Except that it wasn’t a dream, it was real. The moment the spell had broken, it was as if reality had broken with it. All she had been able to do was cling to her husband as the grief crashed over her.
On the walk to the horses, Arthur had tried to talk with her. He seemed to understand that she could remember everything, so he started by describing the past few days to her–how Gaius and Merlin had figured out she was enchanted, found a cure, and sought out a magic user to complete the spell. How they had drugged her and dragged her to the lake.
She wished he would stop talking. Her thoughts were jumbled around in her head and she was still trying to make sense of it all. She wanted to talk through it, to get some help sorting through what had happened, but she was paralyzed.
Arthur finally seemed to understand she wasn’t listening and stopped talking. But then she was stuck in her head. And oh, that was not a great place to be.
She felt like a monster. She had been an instrument in her brother’s death, had stabbed and killed the second most loyal servant in Camelot.
She wanted Arthur’s comfort, his advice. She wanted to feel loved. She could feel tears rolling down her cheeks and hoped Arthur would stop and wipe them away for her, hold her together as she felt she was falling apart.
All she got was a perfunctory kiss on the forehead, like she was a little girl crying over a broken doll. It was so superficial she had nearly laughed, feeling unhinged.
Sitting at the campfire now, she thought. How had she not recognized the superficiality of Arthur’s love before?
Morgana’s mind games had convinced her that Arthur hated her, but a part of her, no matter how well hidden, had still believed that he loved her, had believed it so deeply that she followed him into the unknown. It was ironic that one result of that action was her realization that Arthur didn’t love her, had never loved her in the way she had believed.
She thought about how it was Merlin who pointed out her enchantment to Arthur. She had been enchanted for weeks, acting oddly, and he hadn't noticed. They had had hundreds of conversations, several of which should have been an indicator that something was wrong. They hadn’t shared a bed in weeks. And he’d never even asked her what was wrong.
She had always known he was emotionally challenged—being raised by Uther, who wouldn't be? So she had taken the lead in any physical or emotional intimacy between them, thinking that he was just uncomfortable with initiating it. But she understood now it was likely because he didn’t desire it the way she did.
He had always made grand declarations of love, with showy gestures, and perhaps that should have been an indicator. His acts of love were just that—an act, a performance.
And when being serious or intimate, he always called her Guinevere. She had thought it a sign of his love, that he loved her name, but now she saw it in a new light—it was another way for him to distance himself from her in the moments they were supposed to be closest.
Gwen didn't doubt his affection, but she realized that he didn't know her well enough to really love her (the way Lancelot had, her mind whispered).
She was glad he was leaving to find Merlin in the morning, giving her a chance to continue on with Mordred. It was less than a day’s ride to Camelot from where they were.
She would have Mordred propose it to Arthur in the morning. She needed some time away from Arthur to think about her future in Camelot.
--
Arthur was woken by Mordred at dawn. When he asked why he hadn’t been woken for the third watch, Mordred simply replied that he was having trouble sleeping anyways, and he knew Arthur would need the sleep for his journey.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Arthur pondered aloud. “Since I will be riding out to get Merlin and you will be waiting here with Guinevere, I expect you will be able to make up the sleep.”
“Actually, sire, the Queen wishes to return to Camelot. With just the two of us, we would be able to make it within the day.” Mordred spoke down to his feet, as if fearing Arthur’s reaction.
Why would he fear Arthur’s reaction? Arthur didn’t know. Perhaps he thought Arthur would still be mad about him forgetting Merlin. Arthur was angry, of course, but he was equally as guilty himself, so he couldn’t act mad at the young knight without being a hypocrite.
“Of course. I would prefer not to have her travel with only one knight, but I suppose the closer you get to the city, the safer she will be,” Arthur considered. “Sir Mordred,” he added seriously, “take care of Guinevere for me.”
“I will protect her with my life, Sire,” Mordred responded honestly.
Arthur packed up his horse and was gone within the hour, determined to find Merlin.
--
The ride seemed to take much longer today than it had yesterday, despite Arthur riding at a faster pace. Horrid scenarios kept flashing through his mind–arriving on the beach to find Merlin unconscious, to find him beaten or tortured, to find him gone.
He took only the breaks necessary for the horse, knowing not doing so would ultimately slow him down. But he spent each rest pacing, anxious to get going again.
Then finally, finally, he saw a figure in the distance. A tall, gangly figure with a spot of red on its neck. Merlin. Even from a distance, it was clear Merlin was limping. Arthur was relieved to see him alive and well, but still a pang of something–fear or pain or guilt, perhaps–rushed through him.
When he approached Merlin, he practically jumped off his horse and shouted Merlin’s name, opening his arms in invitation for a hug that went thoroughly ignored. Something was wrong.
Chapter 5: Reunion
Chapter Text
Merlin set out in the morning, having burned the strawberry plants, the moss, and the Dolma’s dress to leave no trace of his magic, just in case.
His ankle still hurt, so his progress was slow. With every limping step he took forward, his desire to continue walking diminished. He was more aware of the path of his destiny now, but he couldn't forget what the goddess had said about Arthur’s treatment of him.
She was right–it was abhorrent. He wouldn't have stood for it when he first came to Camelot, but he had been a different person back then. He had been a boy, really. The past years had changed him irrevocably, and it wasn’t until now he saw how much.
The years had taken away his hope, his self-respect, had changed him into something almost unrecognizable. He sometimes wondered if he could go back and do it all again, whether he would turn back at the first execution.
He wondered if his mother would be able to look at him if she knew what he’d done.
Gaius had accepted everything Merlin had done, but Gaius had seen the horrors of the purge–he was hardened to the violence in a way Merlin had hoped he would never become. But it seemed that over the years he had.
His first year in Camelot, he had wanted to save every person condemned of sorcery, though Gaius had warned him against attempting anything. After the first dozen, he stopped noticing, burying his compassion under a self-numbing armor.
He had been trying to protect himself, but he had just cut his heart off from the rest of the world. Perhaps that’s why he felt so disconnected from others lately.
He would need time to figure out who he was and who he wanted to be.
Firstly, he wanted to change his behavior with Arthur. Well, what he really wanted was for Arthur to change his behavior, but the only way for that to happen was for Merlin to stop allowing Arthur to influence his every move. He needed some time apart from Arthur, both to get some perspective on their not quite friendship, and also to heal from the hurt of being left behind.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t be petty for now though. If Arthur was going to forget about Merlin, to ignore his existence, then he would stop existing in Arthur’s world. Well, as much as he could without actually leaving. He’d step back from his manservant duties, and if Arthur tried to talk to him, he’d be silent, as if Arthur didn’t exist to him. While that was perhaps not the most effective way to deal with this, it did give him immense satisfaction to imagine Arthur’s annoyance at being woken and attended to by George for the foreseeable future. Maybe then he would notice what Merlin had always done for him. He might realize how much Merlin had cared, and how he had broken that. How he had broken Merlin.
--
It was nearly noon when Merlin heard the hoofbeats that meant his peace was over. Either someone had remembered his existence, in which case he would be forced to spend the next two days in Arthur’s irritating company, or he was about to be attacked. At least if he were attacked he could steal their supplies and perhaps their horse. He really wasn't looking forward to walking back to the citadel on an injured ankle.
As the rider came closer, Merlin recognized it as Arthur. Well, there went his minuscule hopes that perhaps he could have acquired a new horse. Walking it was, then.
Here was his first chance to test his resolve in the whole staying silent thing. No matter what Arthur said, he would pretend he didn’t hear. He would just keep walking.
Arthur stopped a short distance away from him and dismounted, leading his horse to Merlin and opening his arms in invitation. Merlin ignored him–did not stop walking, did not acknowledge his presence.
“Merlin! We were so worried about you!” Arthur exclaimed, sounding relieved and happy to be reunited.
Merlin couldn't help but scowl at that. Yeah, he was so worried when he just left yesterday.
“Merlin, you're limping, are you okay?” Arthur asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
His anger flared once more, but he had decided to ignore the prat for now. So he just kept walking. He had passed Arthur and the horse by now.
“Merlin?” asked Arthur, sounding confused.
Merlin just kept walking.
Arthur quickly trotted over to him, leading the horse.
Merlin felt a weight on his shoulder, Arthur’s free hand.
“Merlin, stop, we need to take a look at that ankle,” Arthur said, from much closer than Merlin expected.
Gods, he was so infuriating. Didn't he know that Merlin was a physician? He knew perfectly well how to bind an ankle and that walking on it wasn't good for it. But he had a point to prove, so he was going to keep walking. Every step was a struggle, both physically and emotionally. Merlin was one second away from bursting into tears or magic or a rant, he wasn't sure which.
“Merlin, stop, I order you to stop” Arthur declared.
That was the last straw. Angry rant it was then.
“Oh you order me, do you? Just like you ordered me to find a cure, pack supplies, poison my friend, carry a horse-load of bags, find a magic-user willing to help such a gods-forsaken asshole of a king who can’t even remember the existence of his injured manservant who was foolish enough to think that he was anything to the fucking asshole king other than a fucking slave to boss around? No. You don't get to order me around anymore.”
He kept walking, not looking at whatever prattish face Arthur was making now. It was a few minutes before he heard Arthur approach him again.
“I'm sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly. “I was just overwhelmed in the moment. I was so happy to have Guinevere back, and we each had a horse, so I forgot anyone was missing. I wanted to come back right away, but it was already dark and Guinevere said you had probably already found shelter and I should get some sleep.”
“Oh, already dark, was it?” he asked derisively. “So, I’m betting you only realized I was gone when you looked around to order me to set up camp or cook dinner and then: Surprise! I wasn't there when you needed me.”
Arthur’s silence spoke for itself.
Merlin scoffed. “Well you know what, you weren't there when I needed you, you never are. I don’t know what I expected.”
“Merlin, please–” Arthur tried to respond. But Merlin cut him off.
“No.” No, he was not going to let Arthur make excuses. No, he was not going to forgive Arthur just like that.
“At least take the horse,” Arthur implored. “You probably shouldn't be walking.”
Merlin weighed his own stubbornness against his desire to stop fucking walking. Riding the horse himself also came with the added bonus of requiring Arthur be the one to walk back to Camelot. He mounted without a word, his ankle making quiet protest, and trotted ahead a few paces, just far enough to still be in view. He wouldn't actually leave the dollop-head behind, because Morgana was still out there somewhere–possibly injured, but probably still alive.
Arthur jogged to catch up, and Merlin trotted ahead again. Arthur caught up again, and once more, Merlin trotted ahead.
The third time, when Arthur caught up, he commanded the horse to stop. It obeyed, being more familiar with Arthur’s command than Merlin’s.
“Merlin,” he said in what was perhaps supposed to be a sharp voice, but he was slightly out of breath from the jogging, so it came out sounding more exasperated. Merlin felt slightly vindicated at that and decided to allow Arthur to walk beside him for the time being.
--
They kept on until noon, when Arthur stopped the horse again. The fact that Arthur took control of the horse without asking Merlin to stop irritated him, but he supposed he hadn’t given Arthur much reason to believe he’d acquiesce.
“We should eat,” Arthur said, indicating the saddlebags. “I left the crossbow with Mordred so we’ll have to split the last loaf of bread.”
“What, you have food?” Merlin said, feigning true outrage. “Arthur, I didn’t have any food with me when you left, why didn't you tell me you had some?”
Arthur looked a bit more guilty at that, and instead of splitting the bread as promised, he handed Merlin the whole loaf.
Satisfied with that outcome, Merlin split the loaf and gave Arthur half. But he made a show of weighing the two halves in his hands before handing Arthur the smaller half.
Arthur chuckled. “I guess that's fair,” he commented.
Merlin supposed he had been reaching for humor with that gesture, but now that Arthur was laughing, he wanted to take it back. He settled with wiping the smile back off Arthur’s face.
“Well, unlike some, I can anticipate the needs of others and I know that, unlike me, you didn’t grow up learning how to deal with being hungry, so, if you had to go without food until we reach the forest, you'd be even more insufferable than you already are,” Merlin huffed out.
Arthur’s smile disappeared instantly. He looked for a moment as though he would say something, but he didn't. He merely split his half in two again and put some back in the bag.
Chapter Text
They reached a campsite just inside the forest at dusk. Arthur stopped the horse and gestured for Merlin to dismount. As Merlin was expecting to find Gwen and Mordred waiting for them, he was confused when he saw nobody there. Merlin wasn't going to start a conversation to ask though.
Arthur explained without prompting. “Guinevere wanted to go home right away,” he said. “This has been quite an ordeal for her, you know.”
Merlin could have used that as an opportunity to land another blow and point out that Arthur hadn't even noticed she was suffering, but he didn't want to use Gwen in such a way. And Arthur did sound genuinely upset.
Since Arthur had to set snares to have any hope of a filling dinner, they decided to spend the night at the camp. Or at least, Arthur did. Merlin hadn't responded past getting off the horse and starting the fire. Arthur went to set the snares, leaving Merlin alone.
Merlin breathed his first deep breath since seeing Arthur riding up in the distance. He wanted to break down, to let himself feel the hurt that had been hammering him since Arthur had come into view, but he would be back any minute. So Merlin simply sat and stared at the fire, wishing he could make little shapes out of the flames like he had last night.
When Arthur came back, he started a question, “Merlin, what—?” before stopping. He obviously realized that Merlin had no intention of setting up camp or caring for the horses, or cooking dinner. Well, he might help with dinner. Gods knew Arthur could barely cook.
Merlin continued to stare into the flames as he heard Arthur setting up around him. He was huffing and grunting more than was necessary, perhaps in a bid for Merlin to assist, but Merlin wouldn't give in. He set up camp by himself all the time, Arthur could learn how fucking infuriating it was when someone who was clearly able to help instead just sat around waiting for things to be done for them.
As twilight fell, Arthur checked the traps and luckily came back with a rabbit. He set about skinning it, something Merlin had been surprised he’d known how to do the first time he’d seen him do it. Arthur had informed Merlin that a good hunter needed to know how to deal with their kills. But apparently that didn't extend to decent cooking, so as Arthur went to set up the roast, Merlin stopped him silently and took over. Arthur looked relieved, but didn't say anything.
After the rabbit was cooked and eaten, they sat around the fire in silence. As twilight turned to night, Arthur made another attempt at conversation and, with the gentle warmth of the fire and a full belly, Merlin felt gracious enough to let him try.
“Merlin, I really am sorry.” Arthur voiced into the night. “I didn't mean to forget you, it just happened. And I’m sorry about how I treat you too. I guess I do treat you as just a servant sometimes, and that’s my fault. You're so vocal about the mistreatment of others, I thought you'd call me out if things ever went too far.”
“I’ve tried, Arthur, but you don't listen to me anymore,” Merlin replied. “I sometimes think you listened to me more when we were strangers than now that we’re… well. Not strangers.”
Arthur looked a little hurt at Merlin’s hesitation. “We are friends, Merlin,” he declared vehemently.
Merlin scoffed at that.
“I mean, I consider you a friend,” Arthur corrected, softer than before.
“Yeah well maybe that would mean more if you tried to act like one too,” Merlin retorted.
Arthur didn’t respond, and Merlin certainly wasn’t going to continue the conversation. Everything Arthur did right now was irritating him, he wanted to get away from his infuriating company for a while.
“I'm going to sleep,” he told Arthur. “Wake me for second watch.”
Arthur let him go without protest.
--
Arthur had laid out the bedroll, though rather inexpertly. It was clear once Merlin laid down that Arthur hadn’t bothered to clear the rocks and sticks from the space beforehand. Feeling tired and dispassionate, Merlin used magic to clear the ground below him and grow a layer of moss like he had the night before.
A moment later, panic spiked through his being. How could he have been so reckless? Arthur was right there, and given that he’d been watching Merlin closely all day, he was probably watching right now.
Gods, how could he have let his guard down so much around the current executioner of his people? How could he think Arthur would care enough about him to spare him? Hadn’t he proved he didn’t care for Merlin just yesterday? Or at least, even if he thought he did, it didn’t extend very deep?
Not like Merlin’s care for Arthur. He’d always known his love would be unrequited, but he’d thought, or maybe hoped, that he could have Arthur’s friendship in exchange. The past few years with Gwen as queen had taught him differently though.
It was as if, at times, Arthur wanted Gwen to get in between them. He and Merlin used to go on hunts, just the two of them, even when Arthur was regent and when he first became king, but now those hunts had turned into picnics with Gwen. Merlin was still there, but as a servant, a dogsbody, left out of the conversation and activities.
Merlin made sure not to let Gwen see how it affected him. She deserved to be treated as a queen, to be loved so thoroughly.
But gods, yesterday, Arthur had gotten Gwen back and *poof* Merlin was out of his mind. And that hurt. He was never certain of his place with Arthur anymore.
The goddess’ words came back to him–something about a constant environment of fear. He considered how he really felt around Arthur–if he felt like he could be himself, or if the goddess was right and he was hiding still. If he was hiding more than his magic.
And he found that he was. Despite the casual disrespect of their banter, Merlin was afraid to truly tell Arthur what he thought a lot of the time. Like what had nearly happened with Agravaine, Merlin knew he could be one wrong sentence away from banishment. So he held his tongue on important matters–like magic, for example. Or overruling some of Uther’s more traditional laws, the ones that Arthur didn’t see the problem with, because he didn’t ask anyone to explain.
He was scared to show or tell Arthur when he was feeling upset, somewhat because the explanation generally had to do with his magic, but also because many of his attempts to share his feelings had been met with ridicule. Not all of them, but enough that it left an anxiety in his heart, the thought that he was safer confiding in someone else.
He feared for his life as well, sometimes, when he used magic in close proximity to the King and his knights.
And even if he thought Arthur wouldn’t kill him, he was afraid of his rejection, his anger, his hatred. Merlin had been on the receiving end of Arthur’s temper more times than he could count, but the few times Arthur had been really, truly, properly angry at Merlin had been horrible. He was afraid of having to live the rest of his life with Arthur’s hatred.
So Ceridwen was right— he was afraid. And for the first time in years, he truly felt the full extent of that fear.
The goddess had said she would help Merlin open his heart if he was willing, and he had agreed. Since then, he had felt everything more acutely— his joy at rediscovering the wonders of his magic, his anger at Arthur, and now his fear.
He was terrified. And he knew it was partly because it had just been amplified, and it wouldn’t feel this way all the time. But the utter panic making its way through his bones could not be ignored.
How could he have missed this? How could he have meandered through life the past decade without acknowledging this fear and hurt, this betrayal almost that Arthur had piled on him? It was too much, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t hold back the tears. They started slowly, but within a moment, they were flooding down the side of his face. He tried not to make a noise, but Arthur must have heard something as he whispered, “Merlin?”
At that, Merlin broke. He sobbed without restraint. The last time he had sobbed this hard was when he was a child, crying to his mum about how the other kids were mean to him, how they hit him and called him names. The parallel of that to Arthur’s behavior was not lost on Merlin. But here, he had nobody to comfort him. He missed his mum, the only person with whom he had ever felt truly safe.
A warm hand on his back startled him, and he tensed for a moment before he realized it must be Arthur’s.
Gods, this compassion, this comfort, was all he had wanted from Arthur all these years. The acknowledgment that his pain, his happiness, his life mattered. But Arthur had never cared before, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he believed that Arthur did now.
But he let himself believe, for a moment, that Arthur did care, that the hand gently stroking his back was doing so out of care, out of love–not out of guilt as was likely the case.
He cried for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, as the hand on his back continued to rub soothing circles into his skin.
As Merlin calmed down, he felt himself drifting off to sleep, the hand never leaving his back.
--
Barely a minute after Merlin had laid down for sleep, Arthur heard a noise like a pained breath coming from the bedroll. He had been watching Merlin, and he hadn’t seemed like anything had been hurting him when he laid down. Regardless, Arthur needed to check he was okay. “Merlin?” he asked softly.
Apparently physical pain wasn’t the issue. As soon as Arthur had spoken his name, Merlin broke into full sobs. Arthur panicked a bit, not knowing what to do.
He had seen Merlin cry before, but only in times of great upheaval, like when Camelot was threatened by the great dragon and the man who was their only hope was killed. (Luckily, it seemed they were wrong, and Arthur had defeated the beast without the man.) Regardless, Arthur could tell it was a different kind of crying now. There was no imminent risk of harm to him or anyone else. So what was upsetting Merlin enough to make those horrible distressed sounds?
Arthur supposed it might have been upsetting to be left behind, and Merlin was probably scared having to spend a night alone in the dark by a magic lake without even a fire to light his surroundings. Perhaps Merlin was just experiencing the effects of it now.
Though, as Arthur thought, he remembered how Merlin had been distant all day and had yelled at Arthur–all that stuff about being treated as just a servant, about Arthur never being there for Merlin when he needed him.
Arthur felt a pang through his chest, the physical manifestation of his sudden realization that Merlin was probably crying because of him. He had caused this. He had pushed Merlin over the edge and broken him.
But what could he do to fix this? Right here, right now, he had to do something. His heart felt raw and exposed, like his chest was split open and it was in danger of tumbling out–if he didn’t do something it would fall and shatter on the hard-packed earth.
He reached out to Merlin instinctively, needing to get closer to him, needing to be closer to the wound so he could mend it.
He extended a hand and set it on Merlin’s back who, in turn, stiffened for a moment before relaxing back into his sobs.
Merlin felt fragile under Arthur’s touch, warm and soft and human. Arthur’s world narrowed to the feel of his hand on Merlin’s back, the rough shaking of the man he was touching. He could almost imagine he was feeling Merlin’s pain through his fingers. It felt like everything, and it felt horrible.
Needing to do something more, Arthur moved his hand around in vague circles between Merlin’s shoulder blades, firm but gentle, like he might calm a horse that had been spooked. He hadn’t been comforted like this since he was a small child, and he had long since forgotten the mechanics of it, the feeling of being comforted. He wasn’t sure what would help Merlin, what would feel nice, but he knew that this was helping him. Doing something, being connected to Merlin, was soothing the aching guilt he’d felt in his soul since last night.
Just being allowed to touch Merlin felt like a blessing in that moment. After the worry of the night before and the rejection of the afternoon, he tried to pour his regret into the action, like a prayer. He felt hope that things might be able to get back to the way they were, something he hadn’t known he had feared losing until now.
--
Though he took his hand away and went back to sit down after Merlin seemed to fall asleep, Arthur kept watching him. He couldn’t think of anything but Merlin, anything but the way his own heart was breaking at Merlin’s pain.
When enough time had passed that he thought they should switch watch, he went over to Merlin and kneeled down next to him again, like he had earlier. Merlin looked so peaceful in sleep. Arthur had never really taken the time to look, but now he looked his fill.
Merlin seemed different somehow–younger, more free. When Merlin was awake, his face might show any number of emotions. But recently, whenever he thought nobody else was looking, Merlin looked tired. Not just physically, but he looked tired with the world, with his responsibilities. It was a look Arthur was intimately familiar with, seeing it in the mirror every morning and night.
Merlin always made an effort to hide it whenever he knew Arthur or anyone was looking. Except today. Today, Arthur had been sure that the resignation, the anger, and the pain that showed in Merlin’s face were nothing but the bare truth. And somehow that scared Arthur. That Merlin might have been feeling those things all this time, simply hiding them. Arthur was worried for his friend. He didn’t know what Merlin had going on to put that look on his face, but Arthur didn’t want to put it there again by waking him.
He knelt beside the bedroll for a while, just watching Merlin sleep, knowing he should wake him and get some sleep himself, but not able to bring himself to wipe the peace off his friend’s face just yet.
When his legs began to tingle, he realized he wasn’t going to wake Merlin, no matter how tired he was. He resigned himself to an exhausted day tomorrow. Hopefully Merlin wouldn’t object to sharing the horse, because Arthur knew he wouldn’t be fit to walk back to Camelot like this.
He stared at the fire and tried to think of anything else, but Merlin’s gentle breathing was all his brain could process the rest of the night.
+++
Merlin woke to the sun streaming through the branches.
At first, he didn’t register anything unusual about this. Merlin didn’t generally take a watch when out with the knights, as Arthur said he wasn’t a knight and was therefore not prepared to keep the camp safe. Merlin was disgruntled by the claim, but didn’t protest as it meant he got to sleep the nights through, which he thought was fair as he did most of the work to set up camp.
When he opened his eyes, however, he saw only Arthur, which was odd, as when it was the two of them, Merlin usually had second watch.
It took a moment before everything came back to him. Gwen, the spell, the Dolma. Getting left behind. Then last night, losing control of his emotions, crying. Arthur comforting him. Merlin pushed that particular memory from his mind and looked again at Arthur.
He looked like shit. It seemed Arthur had decided to take the whole watch. Stupid, really, as Merlin would have been fine to do a watch shift, but now Arthur was going to have to walk back to Camelot without having slept. Assuming he didn't make Merlin walk.
Arthur was watching the last embers of the fire, seemingly mesmerized. He hadn’t started getting ready yet, which was odd, as Arthur liked to get going at first light usually. He must be really exhausted. Merlin supposed it had been an emotional few days for Arthur as well.
Merlin got up and went to grab the rest of the bread for breakfast, hoping that would break Arthur out of his stupor. He split it in half and handed some to Arthur. Arthur didn’t even say anything, just started eating it, not looking at Merlin.
After finishing his bread, Merlin fell back on habit and started packing up camp. Arthur was apparently too dazed to help. Though Merlin had promised himself to not act like an obedient servant anymore, he convinced himself this was a practical gesture–if he waited for Arthur to come to his senses and pack camp himself, they might be there till noon. As Merlin shoved the last of their things into the saddlebag, Arthur approached him.
“Merlin,” Arthur said tentatively, “I don't think either of us should walk today.”
He was right, of course, Arthur looked more likely to stumble than Merlin after a night in the tavern and Merlin still had an injured ankle, but he didn’t see anything they could do about it.
“Oh, and where do you plan to get another horse, my lord?” Merlin snapped. “Going to go back and ask the Dolma to magic one up for you?”
“No, you idiot,” Arthur responded like a reflex. At Merlin’s sharp look, he reconsidered. “Sorry. No, Merlin,” he amended. “I was going to say, we will have to ride together. At least until we get close to the city, then you will have to walk.”
“Oh, I’ll have to walk,” Merlin repeated, incensed. “I see how it is. Can’t ruin your precious image and be seen riding with your stupid manservant, of course.”
“That's not what I meant and you know it, Merlin,” Arthur replied angrily. “Gods, you're such a pain! Stop taking everything I say the wrong way on purpose! I know you're angry, but just calm down! There’s nothing I can do to change what happened, so just move on.”
“Oh you want me to move on? Fine!” Merlin nearly yelled.
He went to mount the horse, obviously with the intention of riding off (the stupid prat could still walk) but Arthur grabbed him from behind before he could reach the saddle.
They tussled for a minute, Merlin’s limbs flailing about, until Merlin’s foot somehow ended up under Arthur which twisted his ankle the wrong way again. Pain shot up his leg, and he cried out.
Arthur backed off immediately, and after getting up, he reached out a hand apologetically, seemingly to help Merlin up.
Merlin just scoffed. He wasn’t going to accept Arthur’s stupid guilt-fueled assistance when it was the prat’s fault he had just re-injured his ankle.
“Merlin, just let me help you get up,” Arthur implored.
“Fuck off,” Merlin told him shortly, though his voice was strained with the effort of trying to get up with only one semi-functional leg. His body felt shaky from the lack of proper meals the past two days, and even his uninjured leg was not cooperating with him.
“Merlin, seriously, just let me help you,” Arthur repeated.
As Merlin failed to stand on his own for the third time, he conceded and reached out a hand to accept Arthur’s assistance.
Arthur helped him onto the horse, warily, afraid he would try to ride off again, but Merlin’s ankle wasn't up to staying in the stirrup anytime soon, so he had abandoned that plan.
Arthur swung himself up behind Merlin and reached forward to grab the reins, incidentally leaning right into Merlin’s back.
Merlin held back a shiver, but he was sure Arthur could feel his heartbeat pounding at the contact. He willed his body to have more control over its reaction. Arthur was a prat, he should not be getting this bothered by a tiny bit of necessary touch. But Arthur had taken off his armor, and Merlin could feel his warm stomach and muscled chest pressed up against his own back.
And then Arthur went and wrapped an arm around Merlin, presumably to keep him secure. Merlin focused on breathing slowly, on not giving away how this touch was affecting him. He tried to convince himself Arthur was doing it out of necessity, it didn’t–couldn’t–mean anything. But he knew that wasn’t quite true.
Merlin had seen Gwen and Arthur ride double before, though Arthur always rode in front. Gwen, in the less stable position behind Arthur, without her feet in the stirrups, always clung onto Arthur. But Merlin had better balance from his position in front of Arthur and didn’t really need to be steadied. Perhaps Arthur thought he was weak from his injury. Or perhaps he, like Merlin, just wanted to feel some comfort after the long journey of the past few days.
After a few minutes of riding, Arthur’s exhaustion seemed to get the better of him and he slumped forward, resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder.
“‘M tired,” was the only explanation he gave.
Merlin didn’t respond, just let himself relax into Arthur’s grasp. And for a second, he imagined what it would be like to have Arthur touch him like this on purpose, without all the injuries and injustice. But he stopped his mind from taking that line of thought any further. There was no point in torturing himself with what if’s. Arthur didn't care for him that way. He had Gwen, and Merlin would never do anything to hurt Gwen.
They rode in silence for the rest of the journey back to Camelot.
Notes:
I don’t care that the logistics of this whole double riding thing are dubious, I just want Arthur to snuggle with Merlin unnecessarily, but with plausible deniability for his own peace of mind. So yeah, don’t think about how Arthur wouldn’t be able to steer from behind Merlin’s head or how the poor horse would be exhausted lugging around two grown men and a set of armor with chainmail. Just go with it.
Chapter 7: Heartbreak
Chapter Text
In the end, Arthur hadn’t made Merlin walk into town. It was clear from their few stops that Merlin wouldn’t have been able to walk such a long distance on his own, and Arthur couldn’t justify making him walk just because of old traditions. But he also couldn’t justify staying on the horse with Merlin in front of everyone, so, tired as he was, he got off the horse in the forest and walked through the town to the courtyard near Gaius’ tower, planning on supporting Merlin up to see the physician.
However, even his decision to let Merlin ride through town hadn’t been enough to earn Merlin’s forgiveness–as soon as Arthur helped him off the horse (his ankle was still too weak to land on), Merlin limped off, leaving Arthur standing awkwardly in the courtyard, holding the reigns until a stable boy walked up to take the horse from him.
Deciding that some time might cool Merlin off, he went to find his wife.
--
After the ordeal she had been through, he was unsurprised to find Gwen in her own chambers, working through documents alone.
“Guinevere,” he announced his presence.
He expected a smile or a hug, but instead, she greeted him with a quiet “Arthur,” sounding almost cold.
Something was wrong, he could sense, but he wasn’t sure what. “Guinevere, what’s wrong? Are you not happy to be free of the curse?” he asked. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as she immediately stopped writing and looked up at him with such anger and pain as he had never seen in her eyes before.
An opening seemed to be all she needed and words poured out from her as they hadn’t their whole journey home. “You thought I’d be happy to wake up and realize my brother is dead, killed with my permission?” she asked rhetorically. “To suddenly remember I killed an honest and good man, an innocent, my friend as a servant? Nearly succeeded in ordering my best friend executed? To be told that my own husband, who should know and love me above all, didn’t even realize I wasn’t myself?
“Gods, Arthur, you didn’t realize I was enchanted. That was a horrid impression of me, and you didn’t even notice. You genuinely thought I would execute Merlin? That for the past weeks when I’ve not made any attempt to be close to you, nothing was wrong? Arthur, you haven’t attempted to kiss me once since I was enchanted. I always thought you were shy, but I didn’t think you were indifferent.”
She paused for breath, and Arthur took his chance to protest. “I’m not indifferent,” he denied, “I love you, Guinevere.”
She softened, but not in a warm way. She just looked sad.
“You don’t, Arthur,” she informed him. “I’m not sure you know the difference, but I don’t think you love me, I think you love what I represent: your freedom to make your own choices, your divergence from your father’s path.”
Arthur was confused. Why was she saying this now? Hadn’t they just proved their love to break the curse? He wasn’t going to let this go without a fight.
“Guinevere, I’ve never felt like this about anyone else,” he declared passionately. “I want to be with you, of course I love you.”
“No, Arthur,” she denied again. “You may want me to be your wife, but you don’t want to be my husband. You were perfectly happy when I was enchanted because I didn’t attempt to be close to you. That Gwen didn’t try to talk with you about personal things, she avoided being alone with you, in fact. Arthur, we haven’t shared a bed in weeks. And you didn’t say anything!”
“I thought it might be because you were grieving Elyan,” Arthur protested.
“It could have been,” she conceded, “but still, you didn’t say anything, didn’t offer to comfort me. You didn’t ask me how I was doing, how it was affecting me. You didn’t want to know. You want me in your life, Arthur, but you don’t want to be in mine. And I can’t do that anymore.”
He hadn’t intended his actions to come across that way, but he could no longer deny, even to himself, that her accusations were partially true. “But, what about everything that’s just happened? What about with all my heart?” he asked, grasping for something to hold onto in this mess.
“Arthur, I do love you, with all my heart, I still do. But I cannot be the only one in this relationship,” she said. “I know you feel affection for me, but that’s all it is. Affection. Like one feels for a friend, or a sister perhaps.”
With that declaration, there was silence.
“What does that mean for us?” he asked finally.
“Arthur, I can’t be with you anymore,” she told him quietly, but not avoiding his gaze. She stood up as she continued, and despite being shorter than Arthur, he somehow felt small in her shadow. “I will continue to be Camelot’s Queen, because I can make changes that will improve the lives of our people. I will act as whatever you need me to in public, because I know rumors can destroy a kingdom. But I will no longer be your wife in private,” she declared with finality.
She took off the ring he had given her and placed it on the desk between them. She then turned away, looking out the window.
He didn’t see any choice other than to take it and leave.
--
Arthur headed back to his own chambers, holding the ring tight in his fist, so tightly he thought it might have drawn blood. He looked down and opened his hand. It hadn’t, and Arthur was disappointed. Shouldn’t something that was hurting so much leave a physical mark?
He was hurting. How could Guinevere do this to him? How could she give up on their vows? He hadn’t given up on her during the long journey to rid her of the enchantment, yet in the space of two days, she had given up on him.
He banged the doors of his chambers open, and slammed them shut behind him, not caring who would hear.
He paced. And paced. The space felt too big now for one person. He couldn’t stay there.
He wandered the corridors for a while without direction. Eventually, he found himself at the physician’s tower, not having planned to go there, but knowing now that what he needed was to see Merlin.
Merlin had always helped him with Guinevere. He was probably the only reason they had been able to find each other, and he had played a part in much of their courting. Of course, now that they were married, Merlin didn’t have much to do with their relationship, as most of Arthur’s time with Guinevere was at night when Merlin was not there. But he still helped Arthur prepare surprises for Guinevere, picnics and flowers and such. So he’d be the person to talk to.
Arthur marched into the physician’s chambers, expecting to see Gaius working, and Merlin perhaps in his room sleeping, or doing whatever else he did on his time off. But Gaius was not there and instead, Merlin was. He seemed to be working, brewing something. That caught Arthur off guard a bit. Or at least he told himself that’s what caused him to stumble on his next few words.
“Merlin, I… Guinevere, she…” he started.
Merlin looked up at him and raised one eyebrow. Then went back to grinding some sort of herb for his concoction.
“I don’t know what to do, Merlin,” he finally got out. “She said I don’t love her, but I do. You know I do, you’ve seen it.”
Merlin didn’t even look at him again, continuing to grind whatever the hell he was grinding.
“Merlin, you have to help me! Help me win her back!” Arthur nearly shouted, frustrated.
“What exactly did she say, Sire,” Merlin asked blandly without stopping his work.
Arthur responded, despite Merlin’s less than enthusiastic invitation. “She said that I didn’t notice she was enchanted and that means I don’t love her! But she wasn’t acting off at all, I don’t see how I could have known!” he explained.
Merlin didn’t reply, just kept grinding. The stupid noise was the last straw, and he finally yelled. “Stop that infernal grinding!”
With that, Merlin slammed his tools down on the table. “Arthur,” he said angrily, eyes flashing in the way that meant he was about to burst into a rant. “I realized within a week that something was off, and I knew for certain when she ordered my execution. I couldn’t tell you because I thought you might threaten to banish me like you did when I told you about Agravaine. But even after that, and after her horrid lying about me seeing a girl, I had to drag you out to the woods at night to convince you anything was wrong. You’ve been a shitty husband, Arthur, and you’re a shitty friend, too.”
Arthur didn’t know what he had expected, but it definitely wasn’t that. While Merlin tended to say whatever he thought without regard to the possible consequences, he had never been quite so blunt about it to Arthur, at least not since they had become friends.
Except they weren’t friends, not according to Merlin at least. He was horrified. Was that really what Merlin thought of him?
Merlin seemed to soften somewhat at whatever Arthur’s face was showing, and he gave in a bit.
“Look,” he started. “I know you were never taught how to be a good friend. That’s not entirely on you. But you’re an adult now and you have to put in the effort to learn if you want to keep your friends. I’m mad at you Arthur, I’m furious, but you can fix this with me. But you’re going to have to put a lot more effort into it than a simple apology.”
A challenge.
Arthur accepted with a deep nod. “Of course, Merlin,” he said, forcing his voice into the polite court tone he used on his council. “I’ll leave you to your evening.”
As he left, Arthur reflected that while he may be no closer to solving what to do about Guinevere, he might have the beginnings of a plan to fix things with Merlin.
--
Merlin left to see Gwen as soon as Arthur was out of sight down the corridor. He knew she had been through a lot recently, and if she didn’t have Arthur to support her now, she would need a friend.
When he arrived outside her chambers, however, he hesitated. Was he really the person she wanted to see right now? Or would seeing him just make her feel more guilty about having ordered his execution? They hadn’t been exactly close the last few years. Arthur had taken precedence for each of them in different ways, and Merlin knew he’d pulled back from their friendship out of, well, not quite jealousy, but a sense of awkwardness, knowing how he felt about Arthur, and knowing he had to keep even more secrets from her.
But none of that mattered. Or rather it did, but it was up to Gwen to decide whether she wanted his support or not. So he knocked.
“Who is it?” he heard Gwen’s voice through the door.
“It’s Merlin,” he replied.
After a moment he heard the lock click open, and Gwen opened the door slightly to let him in.
The room was dark–she had no candles lit and all the drapes were pulled closed, giving a false sense of twilight. Despite that, he could still see her face well enough to know she’d been crying.
But she didn’t cry now, she simply relocked the door and pulled one drape open, letting in the warm light of the late afternoon. She sat down at the table, pretending as if she had been in the middle of a document when he inturrupted.
“Merlin, I am glad to see you well,” she said, voice only shaking a bit.
He didn’t respond aloud, just sat in the chair beside her and pulled her into a hug.
It was simple, much simpler than he had imagined, to fix things between them. He had been worrying and hiding for so long that he hadn’t taken the simple step to hug his friend, but that was all it took. Despite her fancy clothes and title, it was as if they were young servants again, comforting each other after Morgana’s disappearance, or after the loss of her father or Will. Different times, perhaps, but their friendship was fundamental. Though it may have changed, may have been obscured through the events of the past few years, none of that could erase the bond they shared.
Gwen cried into his shoulder and he cried into her hair. They quieted down after a few minutes, but stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms, feeling safe, feeling seen.
After a few minutes, Gwen pulled back and sighed. “Did Arthur tell you what happened?” she asked Merlin.
“Sort of,” he told her. “He just strode into Gaius’ chambers and demanded my help. As if I would just leap up and help him like nothing happened.”
“Oh Merlin,” she whispered emotionally, “I’m so sorry we left you. I didn’t know you were there, and I don’t know what happened with Mordred, but I can’t believe Arthur didn’t think–I’m so sorry Merlin.”
“It’s fine Gwen, it’s not your fault, “ he reassured. “And before you say anything, the whole dungeon thing was not your fault either.”
Merlin saw tears run down her face again and he reached out to grab her hand.
“Gwen, my friend,” he addressed her, “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you these past few weeks. I’m so sorry you went through that, and I’m here if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you,” she choked out through fresh tears. After a deep breath, she asked “could we talk about you for a bit? I’m not ready to talk yet and I could use a distraction.”
“Alright,” he agreed. “Well, Arthur’s a prat, but then we both knew that, didn’t we?”
“Sorry, can we not talk about Arthur either?” she interrupted. He nodded in acceptance. “What about Mordred?” she then inquired. “Why do you think he forgot you?”
“Mordred,” he said unhappily. He had been trying not to think about that. But now he would, to give Gwen something else to focus on. “Well, I’m not sure exactly,” he pondered aloud. “He’s a bit young, maybe he’s just forgetful? But also, I don’t think he likes me much, because I don’t like him.”
That seemed to surprise Gwen. “Why don’t you like him?” she asked.
Well, that was a can of worms he was going to leave closed. But he had to say something to explain. “I just don’t trust him,” was what he settled on.
“Oh.” It seemed as if she wanted to ask more, but decided against it. “Well, I’ll be sure not to invite him to the dinner we are going to have to torture Arthur into feeling guilty,” she added.
Merlin smiled. There was his mischievous friend, peeking out from under the queenly facade. “What’s this then? Already concocting revenge plans without me?” he asked, mock offended.
“Well, I was just thinking a night surrounded by people he has pissed off would do him some good,” she stated boldly.
“Ahh very devious,” Merlin replied, also deviously.
Gwen picked up on that, of course. “And what about you?” she accused. “I can’t imagine you’ve not been sitting around thinking up your own plans.”
“No, of course not,” he admitted. “I think though that my only plan is to stop focusing on Arthur. He’s been the center of my life for so long, I’ve forgotten who I wanted to be when I arrived here,” he said more seriously.
“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry,” Gwen said, sounding genuinely guilty, which confused Merlin.
“For what?” he asked.
She looked at him sympathetically. “I know you love him, I’ve known since before we got married.”
Merlin’s stomach dropped. “What? Even I didn’t know then! How did you?” he asked, not even bothering to pretend otherwise.
“It wasn’t that hard to figure out, honestly,” she told him. “You two are close, always have been, and the way you look at him? Well, you’ve never looked at me that way, not even when you first got here and I kept flirting right to your adorable, oblivious face.”
His brain faltered again. Gwen would have to stop dropping surprising revelations on him or it might stop working permanently.
“What? When were you flirting?” he demanded.
“Right when we first met!” Gwen barely got out between her giggles. “Merlin, I gave you flowers, I kissed you for goodness sake!” she reminded him.
“Oh, I suppose you did,” he said, taken aback at the discovery. “I’m sorry Gwen, I never realized, I just thought you were being sweet!”
She just shook her head. “You really are oblivious. You and Arthur both. What a pair,” she said, still shaking her head gently.
They had been, hadn’t they. In the past tense, for now. “Not anymore,” he corrected her. “At least, not until some things change, if he can manage to learn for once in his dollopheaded life.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Dollophead? What does that even mean?” she asked.
He tried to explain. “You know, like… like your head is just a dollop, it’s not got any substance except, well, the dollop. Or. I don’t know, Gwen, stop laughing at me.”
Gwen was hysterical with laughter. They both were, just teetering on the edge between laughter and sobs, between hilarity and heartbreak.
They talked for the rest of the afternoon and ate her dinner together when it arrived. When Merlin left with one last hug, it really was twilight.
Chapter 8: Consultation
Chapter Text
Arthur wandered back vaguely in the direction of his own chambers.
Well, at least he could hope to fix this mess with Merlin. He’d give Guinevere her space for now, and either she’d come around or she wouldn’t. But Merlin had issued a challenge. To become a better friend. That was something Arthur could take action on.
But how was he to start? Merlin had made it clear that Arthur didn’t know the first thing about friendship and, given his upbringing, he wasn’t surprised that was true. So Arthur needed to find someone who was knowledgeable about friendship and ask them.
So he needed to think of someone who knew what it meant to be a good friend, preferably someone who was Merlin’s friend so they could help advise him on strategy. Unfortunately, both of the friendliest people he knew, Gwen and Merlin, were out for obvious reasons. Then there were the knights of the round table.
Gwaine seemed to be the next closest to Merlin, though Arthur wasn’t sure he’d help given Arthur’s recent actions.
Then there was Percival. While Merlin and Percival were friendly, Arthur wasn’t sure if they were very close. Arthur himself, while trusting Percival absolutely, hadn’t had many personal one-on-one conversations with the knight. So, though he was still an option, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable going to Percival first.
Leon might be a good choice, but he sometimes deferred to Arthur, and this was a situation where Arthur needed full, blunt honesty.
So it had to be Gwaine.
Dreading the confrontation which was surely to come, Arthur switched direction to the knight’s chambers, where Gwaine should be at this time of the evening.
--
When Gwaine opened the door to find Arthur smiling at him, he tried to slam it back closed. Fortunately for Arthur, he had managed to slip himself far enough into the room that he was able to stop the door before it shut him out.
“Gwaine,” Arthur started peaceably. It didn’t have the intended effect.
“You should know the only reason I’m not punching your sad excuse for a face right now is because Merlin told me not to do anything violent,” Gwaine threatened.
Arthur almost took a step back at the ferocity in his voice, but fortunately, he didn’t, as Gwaine would certainly have taken the opportunity to lock him out, and this wasn’t a conversation they could have shouted through a door.
“That’s uh,” Arthur started to say, not really sure where to go with that. “Well technically that’s treason, but I suppose it’s fair,” he conceded.
Gwaine didn’t look appeased with the placation and didn’t seem to be any closer to inviting Arthur fully in. Arthur could try ordering Gwaine to let him in, but he didn’t think that would actually work.
“So,” Gwaine started, “why are you continuing to inflict your miserable company on me?”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to explain, but he had to start somewhere. “I need advice,” he told Gwaine.
Gwaine scoffed. “Well you can be sure my advice definitely won’t be purposefully unhelpful, that’s totally not the mood I’m in right now,” he said bitterly.
Arthur should have seen that coming. There was only one reason Gwaine might help him right now–if the result would benefit Merlin.
“It’s about Merlin,” he said.
Gwaine narrowed his eyes for a moment then sighed, stepped aside, and ushered Arthur the rest of the way through the door to his chambers. They weren’t as spacious as Arthur’s own, of course, but there were two chairs they could sit at by the fireplace.
Arthur sat down in one, and Gwaine perched himself menacingly on the other.
“So, what’s this mysterious advice you need, and what does it have to do with Merlin?” Gwaine asked.
“It seems you’ve heard what happened,” Arthur started, trying not to sound awkward.
“Yeah, I went to see Merlin as soon as I heard he was injured,” Gwaine told him. “Now what was it you wanted to ask?” he questioned impatiently.
“I’ve messed up,” Arthur started, knowing he needed to take responsibility for his actions and the consequences they caused.
Gwaine raised his eyebrow in a way that highlighted the obviousness of Arthur’s statement. It didn’t bode well for Arthur, but he continued on anyway.
“I just talked with Merlin,” he said, “and he was quite upset at me. He said I need to learn how to be a better friend. And I want to do that, I do, but I have no idea where to even start. I don’t know what went wrong. I mean, I know leaving him behind was a terrible mistake and it hurt him, but he implied I’ve never been a friend to him. He’s been my closest friend for years, I thought everything was going well.”
“Your friendship might be going well for you, but try to think of it from his perspective,” Gwaine suggested.
Arthur always tried to understand everyone’s perspective in the cases he oversaw in court, so he called on that same empathy now and prepared to listen to what Gwaine said.
“Imagine there’s someone in a position of power over you–they can punish you and you can’t do anything about it,” Gwaine started.
“So, my father then,” Arthur said, naming the only person who had ever had any real authority over him since he was a young child.
“Sure, if that works for you, imagine it’s your father,” Gwaine agrees. “So, imagine he tells you what to do, as part of your job, but he also orders you to do meaningless tasks just for the fun of watching you suffer. He constantly calls you an idiot, throws things at you, hits you when he’s upset, and threatens to banish or imprison you for giving him the advice he asked for.”
While most of these were things his father had actually done, Arthur didn’t like the picture this exercise was painting of himself.
Gwaine continued. “Occasionally, he will admit you’re not horrible, but only when your lives are in danger, and his actions never change to reflect that. You’re never sure when he’s going to snap at you, so you have to act carefully around him to protect yourself.”
Those were also true of his father and had been the reason he’d spent his whole life doubting himself, scared of making the wrong choice, of incurring his father’s wrath. Did he really do the same thing to Merlin?
“Would you really believe that person cared about you?” Gwaine finished.
Arthur felt defensive, wanting to deny everything Gwaine had said, but he knew on some level it must be true. Though he had escaped becoming the same appalling tyrant his father had been as a king, he had become like Uther in his closest relationships–selfish, demanding, even violent at times.
Even if he hadn’t just witnessed the consequences of his actions in his two closest relationships, he would have been appalled at himself.
“What do I do, Gwaine?” he asked, sounding much more wretched than he would have preferred.
Gwaine, the man who had started this conversation with a threat, actually looked sympathetic at his miserable plea.
“Sometimes you have to imagine what someone else would do in a situation, someone who actually is a good friend to others, and then do that,” Gwaine explained to him, much more softly than Arthur would have expected. “After you banished Gwen, when you were upset, what did Merlin do?” he asked, giving Arthur something concrete to focus on instead of his self-pity.
“He was better at serving me for a while,” Arthur said. “He brought me flowers and rubbed my head and feet with lavender oil. And he constantly asked how I was doing, which was really annoying.”
“So maybe try that with Merlin,” Gwaine suggested.
“Try what?” Arthur asked, mind blank for a moment as he recalled the feeling of Merlin’s hands running through his hair, lightly pressing into his scalp.
“Try asking him how he’s feeling,” Gwaine clarified, and Arthur was pulled back into the present.”
“Well I suppose it’s worth a try,” he conceded. “And if that fails, I can give him some lavender oil, because I am not touching his feet,” he added, trying to lighten his own mood with the jest.
“Ah, that’s the thing, sometimes you have to make small sacrifices to be someone’s friend,” Gwaine challenged. “Do you really think Merlin likes touching your sweaty feet? I doubt it. But he does it anyway because he knows it will make you feel better. Sometimes you have to prioritize their happiness over your temporary discomfort.”
“Have you ever done that?” Arthur asked him defensively.
Gwaine was ready with an example on his tongue. “What, you think I wanted to travel to the stinky, hot, tavern-less Perilous Lands to save a bratty noble I already saved twice? I didn’t! But Merlin asked me to, and I knew it was important to him, so I did it anyway. And I told him that I was doing it for him. I let him know he was important to me.”
“How do I do that then, how do I show him he’s important to me?” Arthur asked, wanting to get off the topic of necessary sacrifice, a concept which, as king, he was in fact already very familiar with.
“Give him something, a gift,” Gwaine advised.
“Like what?” Arthur asked, unfamiliar with gifts as anything but meaningless pleasantries exchanged between nobles to remind each other of their wealth.
“Perhaps some new boots, since I know for a fact he’s had the same pair since I met him. Or some time off to visit his mother? Or another blanket, because let me tell you, that bed of his is freezing as hell at night,” Gwaine listed.
“How would you know that?” Arthur asked accusingly before he had even processed the suggestions fully.
“I slept in his bed my first night in Camelot, and from what I hear, Sir Lancelot shared the same honor,” Gwaine said provokingly.
“Really?” Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms, unexpectedly bothered by the admission. “You slept in that tiny bed with Merlin? What on earth would possess you to do that?”
“Relax, Arthur, Merlin slept on the floor,” Gwaine explained, though he didn’t seem to regret what he had just caused with his prior implications. “He does whenever they’ve got more than one patient in overnight,” he added offhandedly.
Arthur’s rage dissipated instantly and was replaced with shocked concern. “What?” he asked. “How often does that happen? He should have told me. Why didn’t he just tell me?”
“Have you ever shown any indication that you’d want to hear anything about his life?” Gwaine demanded back.
“Yes of course! I mean, I know things about him, we’ve shared things about our parents, and I’ve even met his mother on several occasions,” Arthur defended.
“So then you know his father’s name?” Gwaine asked casually.
“He’s never met his father,” Arthur answered confidently.
He should have known Gwaine wouldn’t have been so nonchalant about it if it had been that simple.
“Wrong answer, that changed five years ago,” Gwaine informed him, looking cheerfully vindicated.
So Merlin hadn’t shared that with him in five years. He hadn’t considered Arthur to be a friend for that long? Arthur’s distress at that realization must have shown on his face, as Gwaine softened.
“Arthur, look, I’m not the best friend a person could have either,” Gwaine admitted. “I certainly wasn’t when Merlin picked me up, but I’ve gotten better at it, and you can too. You just have to stop thinking as a king, and start thinking as a fellow human.”
“So what should I do first?” he asked.
“That’s up to you,” Gwaine told him. “But I think a gesture or gift might be your first step towards redemption before you try asking him to share anything personal with you. Or asking how he is might be a good start too, that’s a thing most people do with their friends.”
“Thank you, Gwaine, honestly,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could fit into those few words.
He knew he should give something in return, but he wasn’t sure what Gwaine would want. Then he remembered Gwaine’s first stay in Camelot, that the only reward he asked for in return for saving the prince’s life had been to make the crown pay for his night of escapades. Arthur figured that might be a reasonable offer to make now.
“I’m going to regret this,” he said, not wanting to sound too serious, “but I’m giving you the morning off, and I’ll pay for any tavern tab you rack up between now and tomorrow.”
“I don’t drink anymore,” Gwaine told him.
“What? Since when?” Arthur asked, almost disbelievingly.
“Since Merlin was nearly executed for treason and I was too drunk to know what was going on or do anything about it,” Gwaine told him, looking angrier with each word, though, for the first time in this conversation, it seemed to be directed at himself rather than Arthur.
Oh. “So, uh, what else can I get you?” Arthur asked.
“Just make things better with Merlin, okay? That’s good enough for me,” Gwaine replied, uncharacteristically somber.
Arthur, in a rare moment of clarity, looked at Gwaine and saw the truth written across his face. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he accused, surprised at the revelation.
Gwaine shrugged. “Looks like I’m not the only one, eh?“ he remarked, standing up and stretching. “Now how about you leave me to my beauty sleep and you can go pace, or whatever it is you kings do when you have a problem to solve.”
Arthur left, not to pace, as Gwaine had accused, but to strategize.
Chapter 9: Atonement
Chapter Text
The next morning, Arthur started to put his plan in action. Merlin hadn’t come to wake him, which put to rest that last tiny bit of hope that maybe Merlin just needed some time and they could get back to normal. Though, if his conversation with Gwaine was anything to go by, normal had to change.
It seemed that in Merlin’s absence, another servant had placed Arthur’s breakfast outside the door. Oh right, he had locked himself in last night, not wanting to be disturbed, and Merlin was the only servant with a key. He wasn’t supposed to have one, the only copy other than Arthur’s own should be with the first knight at all times, but Merlin had banged loudly on the door one too many times for Arthur’s liking. Giving in to Merlin’s demand for a key meant he got to sleep an extra few minutes each time his door was locked at night, which was much more often since he had become king.
He ate quickly, contemplating what to get Merlin as a first gift. He would have had no idea what Merlin might want, but luckily Gwaine had given him a good place to start–he should get his ideas from Merlin. So, what had Merlin given him?
Well, the lavender oil was a good idea. But other than the occasional bundle of flowers on his breakfast tray, Merlin hadn’t given him much. Which was understandable–Arthur had everything he needed and more. Except a friend, apparently.
Though perhaps that was another thing he could do for Merlin, give him things he needed–Gwaine had said he needed a new blanket. Or possibly another bed. Maybe he could arrange somewhere else for Merlin to sleep when Gaius had patients overnight. Arthur wondered why Merlin didn’t sleep in the common room with the other servants, but he supposed after the luxury of privacy, he wouldn’t want to start sleeping in the same room as everyone else either.
A perfect solution was forming in his head–he could offer Merlin the servant chambers that were connected to his own room. The chambers he occupied as a prince hadn’t had a separate room for his servant–his manservant was either expected to sleep in the hall with the other servants or on his floor by the fireplace. Arthur had never liked the idea of another person in the room with him while sleeping, so his servants had always slept in the common area. However, the King’s chambers had another small room attached, which had in the past been used for a personal servant. Or possibly a lover–his father hadn’t been too clear on that, as Arthur had been fairly young when he’d asked. Either way, Uther hadn’t used it as intended, so it was just a storage space for now.
Perhaps Arthur could see if it could be repurposed as a second room for Merlin to stay in when the physician’s tower was full. Or really whenever, Arthur would be fine with Merlin staying there just for some privacy from Gaius if he wanted. Or for no reason at all. Arthur liked knowing where Merlin was when they slept next to each other on hunts and patrols. Maybe Merlin could move some of his stuff here just so he could be close by at night if he wanted.
Arthur would have to talk to the steward about getting a bed set up in there. He was sure one of the lower knights rooms would have something suitable. He’d have to approach Merlin about it too, which seemed intimidating–Merlin wasn’t even talking to him right now. Arthur just had to hope he’d be able to smooth things over first through other means.
He had another idea as he got dressed in his least conspicuous outfit to go out to the market, putting on the blue cloak Merlin had lent him while he had pretended to be Sir William of Deira. Arthur had never given it back, which, come to think of it, was not very friendly of him. He couldn’t remember seeing Merlin in a cloak since then, though he knew the servant was often cold.
Had he unknowingly taken Merlin’s only cloak? How could he not have noticed? Shit, he really was a bad friend. And even a bad master. It was his responsibility to make sure Merlin was taken care of, and he’d not been doing a very good job of that apparently.
A cloak would take time to make. He’d order one to be made with the blue one as reference, but he would get the lavender oil to give Merlin today.
--
The market had been a success. Arthur was sure he’d been recognized–he was the king after all–but nobody had bothered him, perhaps knowing that dressed like this, he didn’t wish to be acknowledged. He wondered if Morgana had done the same on occasion, or Gwen. The townspeople had acted far too casually for it to have been an uncommon occurrence.
He was on Gaius’ doorstep now, bottle in hand, but too nervous to knock.
What if Merlin rejected the gift? What if he didn’t like the scent of lavender, or what if it just reminded him of all the times he’d rubbed Arthur’s feet and he got mad? Was he being stupid, thinking he could really fix this after all the relationships he’d broken?
The door opened before he came to a decision. Gaius looked at him severely and walked past without comment, though he spared a shallow bow he normally reserved for court. So Gaius was angry as well. That was good to know.
Arthur had no choice but to walk in through the open door, as he had already been spotted and it would look cowardly to turn back now.
Again, Merlin seemed to be brewing something. He was grinding and grinding away, even more ferociously than last time, which Arthur wouldn’t have thought possible.
Arthur cleared his throat to announce his presence. Merlin didn’t look up. Okay, so Merlin had noticed him, he just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. He’d have to start this conversation himself.
“Um, I got you this,” he started awkwardly. He held out the bottle towards Merlin. “It’s lavender oil.”
Merlin didn’t react. He didn’t even look up from his work.
Arthur’s nerves were building each moment without a response from Merlin. What was he thinking? Was Gwaine wrong and this was not the right first step? What if Merlin thought he was trying to buy his friendship? Oh no. He had to explain, to say something, but what?
He just started babbling, sounding like Merlin trying to explain away a day spent in the tavern. “Uh, well, you always use it in my bath when I’m stressed and I just thought, maybe you’d like some, uh, to help you relax?” he clarified.
Merlin stopped his grinding, finally looking at Arthur and taking the little bottle out of his sweaty hand. He gave Arthur a slight nod but made no other acknowledgment.
Arthur felt his shoulders relax. He started to walk away before he realized he should probably say something else. “Well, enjoy.”
He nearly ran out.
--
That afternoon was council. Arthur hadn’t thought ahead to realize how awkward it would be to sit next to Guinevere for hours and have to pretend like nothing happened. None of the council had been informed of the enchantment or the quest to be rid of it. It had been explained away as the impromptu getaway of a couple still madly in love, just wishing to escape for a while. The council members probably expected them to be besotted over each other, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Arthur had worked on his court face for years, but he was surprised at the ease in which Guinevere held her normal facade. She smiled at the appropriate moments, even at Arthur once in a while, like she would usually do.
But after the others had left, she let it down. The king and queen were expected to discuss the matters on their own before leaving council. It was usually a joyous affair–he, Merlin, and Guinevere laughing at the counselors ludicrous requests, exchanging bets about which one had snored, and then actually getting down to the business at hand.
Today however, Arthur wasn’t even sure what the business had been, and he wasn’t sure Guinevere had truly been paying attention either. Merlin wasn’t there to remind them of what they’d forgotten like he usually would.
Today the king and the queen sat in the chambers in silence.
Arthur realized he should say something, try to fix things with her too. He’d been so focused on Merlin he almost forgot what she’d said. He’d woken up this morning and immediately thought about what he could do for Merlin, not even remembering his wife until she’d shown up at council. And if that wasn’t confirmation of her accusations, he didn’t know what was.
It was unpleasant, to realize he had done this, that he had caused her this pain. But there was a sense of relief too. He was relieved he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore–not that he’d known he’d been pretending. He had genuinely thought himself to be in love, but after everything, he had to admit she was right.
She was sitting silently, pretending to go over the papers from the meeting, but he knew she was just waiting for him to say something. He would have to speak first.
“You were right,” he started, the quiet words sounding distant as they echoed off the stone walls.
Gwen was crying now, quietly, knowing any loud sounds could be heard from outside the hall. Usually this was a source of amusement–the three of them would try to provoke each other to laugh, knowing anyone outside could hear them. Gwen’s quiet sobs now seemed tragic in contrast.
Arthur couldn’t help but contrast it to Merlin’s sobbing that night in the forest. He compared how he felt now to how he had felt then. Both times, he’d known he’d been the cause of the other’s pain. Right now, he felt ashamed. He knew his actions were wrong and he wanted to convey that. He felt sympathy, but Gwen’s pain only affected him peripherally.
Seeing Guinevere cry, he felt compassion, whereas when Merlin had cried, he had felt an utterly overwhelming passion. With Merlin, he had felt every sob as if it were his own. He had needed to comfort Merlin–to comfort himself by comforting Merlin. The connection he had felt when he’d finally reached out…it had burned. He had felt it in his whole being, the desire to reach out for more, to take Merlin into himself and share the burden of his pain.
Arthur put his hand on Gwen’s shoulder. He felt nothing more than the guilt he’d been feeling before.
So it was true. He didn’t feel more for Gwen than anyone else.
He wondered if Gwen felt the way he had with Merlin, if she felt like his hand on her shoulder was the only thing holding her together. She deserved someone who felt that for her, who felt her suffering as their own, who wanted to share her burdens as well as her happiness.
“You were right,” he started again, even softer than before. “I don’t think I loved you as you deserve to be loved, wholly and without reserve. I think I ignored that because you made me a better person, a better ruler, and you deserved to be Camelot’s queen more than I ever deserved to be her king. I got caught up in the novelty of romance, I didn’t realize I could hurt you. I regret that I did.”
Gwen was sobbing now, not able to hide the noise in her hands any longer. He pulled her into an embrace.
“I would be humbled to have the chance to prove myself worthy of your friendship once more. And Camelot would be honored to keep you and your heirs, whomever’s they may be, as our sovereigns,” he told her. He hadn’t thought this out, hadn’t planned any of it, but it felt like the right thing to say, the right thing to do.
He heard a quiet “thank you” from his shoulder and felt inexplicably more guilty. He shouldn’t have put her in this position in the first place.
After another minute, Gwen straightened up and dried her eyes.
“Thank you, Arthur,” she said more formally, once more the Queen.
They both took refuge in the task before them–to determine what had actually happened in the council meeting they had just sat through, and make whatever decisions needed to be made. They fell back on an old pattern of interaction, the mildly formal one they had tended to use whenever Merlin wasn’t present. Soon they were debating the issues in earnest, Gwen more firmly defending her point of view than she had done before, though maintaining a politeness Merlin had never accomplished. Arthur was impressed and found himself being swayed in some decisions, considering factors he might not have thought of, never having been personally affected by the laws they were debating.
While not comfortable, it at least felt more genuine than things between them had in a long time. So, instead of heading out after they finished, Arthur brought the conversation back to personal matters.
“Um, how are you, Gwen,” he started, feeling awkward but knowing the only way around that particular feeling was through it.
Gwen simply looked at him, confused about what exactly he was asking.
“I was recently told that friends ask each other how they are doing,” Arthur tried to explain. “So, um. If you want to share, uh, I will listen.”
Gwen looked sadly at him, perhaps knowing that despite him making the effort she had wished he would, their relationship could never be what she had hoped it was.
“I miss Elyan,” she confessed. “He’s been away for a lot of my life, but he was such a rock for me during my transition to Queen. And he’s all the family I had left. I want to go visit his grave but I’m too scared to go because that’s what we were doing when we were ambushed before. I feel so guilty for letting my fear stop me from honoring him.”
“Would you like to go together?” Arthur asked her.
“Not yet,” she replied. “I need some time.”
“Okay, whatever you need,” he told her. “I’ll see you, uh, later then? Or…” he trailed off, not knowing how to ask if she planned on changing their routine of dining together most nights.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner,” she told him. “Tonight I have to dine with some courtiers after my absence, but we do need to keep up appearances, so we’ll have to maintain any routines that involve other people.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
--
Arthur woke up the next morning more refreshed, and more hopeful than he had been since the awful moment he realized they’d left Merlin behind. He had a plan, and step one–shower Merlin in tasteful gifts–was well on its way.
Arthur’s plan involved attempting a new positive interaction with Merlin each day. Today, Arthur planned to ask Merlin about his feelings. As soon as he remembered that, his optimism bled out of him.
While Arthur was sure he’d asked Gwen and probably others “what’s wrong” or “how are you” many times, he had never thought much about it. It had never been so important, so meaningful, just a conversation starter. But this was so much more.
What was a natural way to bring up someone’s feelings? How did people do this ever, let alone regularly? Why was this so difficult for him?
He got ready for the day with these questions rattling around his head, yet by the time he had gotten himself all the way to the physician’s chambers, he had found no satisfactory answers.
When he walked in directly after knocking, Merlin was alone again.
Where was Gaius? Had he taken to vacating the physician’s chambers in case Arthur came? No, that didn’t make sense. Perhaps Merlin was just being such a negative presence that Gaius had to get out. That seemed more in line with the truth, especially given the ferocity that Merlin was apparently constantly grinding herbs with.
Arthur started talking before he could overthink things again.
“Merlin, uh, I just wanted to ask, how have you been doing lately? I realize that the whole situation was probably traumatic and I just wanted to, uh, check in and say that you can talk to me if you want,” he explained quickly, not wanting Merlin to misunderstand.
Merlin had at least stopped grinding to listen, and his face had lost its ferocity. Instead, he was looking at Arthur in utter confusion, with perhaps a hint of suspicion.
Arthur realized he’d have to explain his intentions, as this was very out of character for him. “Look alright,” he started, “I was told that friends ask how the other is doing, especially after difficult events. So I am asking you, how are you doing?”
Merlin contemplated for a moment, looking over Arthur as though he was determining his sincerity. Arthur tried to look as open and friendly as he could. It apparently worked, as Merlin seemed to decide it was worth replying seriously.
“I’ve been okay,” he said, more subdued than he usually was when talking with Arthur. More sincere, perhaps. “I mean, this is not the worst injury I’ve had by far, but I guess I’ve been feeling lonely since I stopped doing manservant duties. And before you say anything, you prat, it’s not because I miss your infuriating company, it’s because I would spend time with the other servants and the knights while doing some of your chores.”
Arthur contemplated what Merlin had said. Merlin obviously still didn’t want to spend time with Arthur, but perhaps there was a way to ease his loneliness without requiring him to do something he wasn’t comfortable with.
“Would you like to resume some of your duties?” he proposed. “The ones where you might see other people, even if you’re not ready to be my manservant again.”
“Yes, actually,” Merlin replied, sounding surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Arthur to come up with such a helpful solution. “I’d like it if I could be the one to take your laundry and meals and polish your armor.”
“You’re going to make George cry, you know how much he loves polishing,” Arthur joked.
Merlin rolled his eyes in the way Arthur was accustomed to and Arthur felt a ray of hope light his heart. Maybe Merlin was warming up a bit.
Merlin didn’t respond, however, and Arthur didn’t know how to continue the conversation. His plan had only extended up to Merlin’s response, so he started with a weak, “Well, uh—“ before Merlin interrupted.
“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” Merlin told him, but not harshly, just candidly. “But this is a good first step. Finally realizing that other people have emotions, and they’re not just inconveniences.”
Arthur didn’t know what to do except nod and try to exit as quickly as possible.
“Um, ok,” he replied. “I’ll uh, see you at dinner then, I suppose.” Or really he hoped. Because if Merlin did start bringing his meals again, that would give Arthur more opportunities to see him and make things right.
“I suppose,” was Merlin’s vague reply.
Chapter 10: Reconciliation
Chapter Text
Arthur invited Merlin for dinner the night the cloak was ready. It had been nearly three weeks since they’d returned to Camelot, three weeks of checking in with Merlin every day, bringing gifts and helping Merlin with whatever tasks he was doing when Arthur came by. Today was the first time he had formally invited Merlin to spend time with him. As the king, he was always busy, so the only free time he had was near nightfall.
Lighting the candles at the table reminded Arthur of his proposal to Gwen. Somehow, Arthur found himself more nervous than he had been then. It was silly, he told himself. Merlin was just a friend, he had much less to lose here, but somehow, his nerves couldn’t comprehend that.
He set the package with the cloak down on one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down to wait for Merlin. It was difficult. He felt like he did before a tournament, antsy and impatient. In less than a minute he was up again, pacing around his chambers, fixing and rearranging the silverware and plates, making sure the wine jugs were full and in reach of both seats, putting fresh logs on the fire.
He’d set up Merlin and himself at the end of one side of the table, across from each other. He thought sitting at the end and having Merlin sit next to him would be unfair somehow, though it also seemed more comfortable, more intimate. He wanted to be closer to Merlin than the wide table would allow. But, more than that, he didn’t want to piss Merlin off, so he resigned himself to the more egalitarian arrangement.
Arthur would be serving the meal himself this time. It would be a new experience, as, even when Arthur ate with Gwen, Merlin was usually the one to serve them, or another servant if Merlin was nowhere to be found.
It was dark out when Merlin did show up. Arthur was standing by the fireplace and staring into the flames, half despondent, having assumed Merlin wouldn’t be coming, despite having accepted the invitation earlier.
“Sorry I’m late,” Merlin apologized, a bit out of breath, like he had walked quickly to get here, to get to Arthur. “Gaius has been giving me more responsibilities lately and I was just cleaning up after a patient–well, you probably don’t want to hear about that,” he added awkwardly.
“I’m interested in whatever you have to say, Merlin,” Arthur responded promptly.
“Not this,” Merlin joked. “I don’t think you want to hear about how when babies are sick they–“
“No you’re right,” Arthur interrupted quickly. “I don’t particularly want to hear about that. You know me well, Merlin.”
Arthur could have sworn Merlin blushed at that. But the candles didn’t provide quite enough light for him to be certain. Perhaps he should have lit more. Or perhaps he should have rescheduled his last meeting so they could have eaten earlier. Perhaps this whole dinner thing was a bad idea in the first place. He had no idea what he was doing.
With Gwen there had always been a set path with a set destination and directions for how to get there. Whereas interacting with Merlin lately was like trying to get through the Impenetrable Forest–you couldn’t see more than a few meters of the path ahead so you weren’t really sure you were going in the right direction.
“Well shall we eat, then?” Merlin interrupted his internal spiral.
“Of course,” Arthur replied smoothly, or semi-smoothly, or actually probably jerkily after his prolonged silence.
He pulled out the chair for Merlin as he would for Guinevere. He figured since he and Gwen were friends now, it meant that whatever he had done with her he could do with Merlin, his friend. And although the primary purpose of chair holding was to assist with the skirts of a lady, which Merlin was not currently sporting, Merlin deserved to be treated well. And perhaps, sometime when things were better between them, Arthur might let Merlin know that if he did want to wear skirts, that was okay with Arthur. He distinctly remembered Merlin taking an uncommon interest in Gwen’s and even Morgana’s wardrobes at times, and he wanted to let Merlin know that he accepted all of him, despite what his past teasing had implied.
The meal included all of Merlin’s favorites–or at least what Arthur assumed were his favorites based on what was missing most frequently from his own plates when brought up by a certain manservant.
Arthur served Merlin first. If it were anyone else, anyone who was aware of court etiquette, Arthur wouldn’t have, as it implied that Merlin was of higher rank than Arthur. But Merlin didn’t know about such things, and even if he did, if Arthur served himself first, Merlin would have just complained about how stupid it was to follow stupid rules when nobody was watching.
Merlin just watched as Arthur served him, not starting a conversation. It was an almost familiar pattern now–Merlin waiting to see if Arthur would start the conversation. He hoped it wouldn’t go on for too much longer, he wanted to hear what Merlin wanted to say, and he wasn’t sure what else to do to convey that.
As Merlin started eating without waiting for Arthur (typical), Arthur struggled to come up with a conversation topic. What could he talk about? He wanted to talk about Merlin. Well, Merlin had mentioned Gaius had been giving him more responsibilities, so maybe he could ask about that.
“So, what does Gaius have you doing these days?” Arthur inquired, feeling awkward.
“I’m mostly making potions as of late,” Merlin replied. "He’s had to go out for herbs as I’m still not allowed to walk far distances. I’ve treated a few patients who’ve come in when Gaius was out as well, though that’s normal.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you had continued your apprenticeship,” Arthur remarked.
Merlin told Arthur how he was indeed a fully trained physician now, describing the training he had gone through to get there as they ate and sipped the wine Arthur kept pouring for them both.
“Wow,” Arthur said again as Merlin finished, astonished. “I mean, I knew you were learning from Gaius but I didn’t think you were still completing apprenticeship work. That’s like another whole job.”
“Yes well I do have a life outside of serving you all day,” Merlin retorted, though he was smiling over his wine cup.
“So, what do you do in this mysterious outside life of yours?” Arthur asked playfully. This was where he would normally have said something like, ‘other than frequenting the tavern, of course,’ but it seemed wrong now to trivialize Merlin’s free time.
Merlin thought for a moment before responding. “I study and read a lot. I’m learning Latin and Greek because a lot of medical texts are written in each. And I’m learning a bit of some other languages common to the area, enough to communicate with any patient I might encounter. And…” Merlin sipped his wine as he contemplated whether to continue. “And the language of the Old Religion,” he added finally.
“Wait, what? Why would Gaius teach you that?” Arthur insisted.
“Because when Gaius dies, someone is going to have to be able to interpret curses and such,” Merlin snapped, almost harshly. “You can’t have no knowledge of such things, it would be dangerous.”
“I suppose you’re right, that must be why my father pardoned Gaius for his sorcery,” Arthur realized aloud. “I had always thought he just wasn’t very good at it and so the corruption didn’t get very deep.”
“Is that what Uther taught you happens to magic users?” Merlin asked him, sounding disbelieving. “He told you magic corrupts people?”
“Yes, that’s what he told me, but I’ve also seen it happen.” Arthur explained. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew his father wasn’t always right, and he wanted Merlin to know he’d had other proof to support his conclusion. “How else do you explain what happened to Morgana?” Arthur asked, expecting Merlin to agree.
“She was scared,” Merlin answered back immediately. “She knew people were killed for it, and she was scared Uther would condemn her too, that even you would if you found out. When she told me she was terrified.”
After Merlin’s most recent condemnation of magic, Arthur hadn’t expected such a vehement defense, especially not of Morgana. He was surprised, which is perhaps why his next words sounded so defensive.
“I wouldn’t have blamed her for it, I know Morgause forced it on her. And if she had told me I could have helped,” Arthur countered.
“No,” Merlin refuted emphatically. “Morgana had magic long before Morgause took her. In fact, I think Morgause targeted her because of her magic.”
“Wait, then why would she learn magic if Morgause didn’t force her?” Arthur asked, perplexed and a bit perturbed at the knowledge Morgana had chosen to be corrupted by magic.
“She was born with it,” Merlin explained steadily, “as many are. But it didn’t fully develop until she was an adult, that night with the fire in her rooms. She’s a seer, so it mainly manifested as prophetic dreams before that, or well, nightmares.”
Arthur was thrown. “But she had nightmares as a child! Are you saying she had magic in her, even then?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin replied, impatience slipping into his voice. “Like I said, she was born with it.”
“But she was kind then. Was it when she started using it that she became corrupted?” Arthur asked, confused again.
“No,” Merlin nearly growled, definitely upset. “Magic didn’t corrupt her. If anything, it was fear.”
He stood up in apparent agitation and stalked over to the fireplace.
“She was afraid of being hated, of being killed for something she didn’t choose,” he continued in a bitter tone. “Afraid that you would abandon her and certain that Uther would. You don’t know what fear like that does to a person, Arthur, you can’t know unless you’ve experienced it.”
The way Merlin was talking, staring intensely into the fire, it almost seemed like Merlin understood, like he had experienced it too.
“Oh,” Arthur replied in lieu of any real response.
If Merlin was right—and he often was, even if Arthur wouldn’t admit it—then magic wasn’t inherently evil. Arthur had fought his father on the severity of the enforcement of the laws against magic, but he hadn’t ever questioned the need for the laws themselves. Previously, his experiences had mostly aligned with his expectations. He had believed Morgana’s treachery to be evidence that magic corrupted anything it touched, but if Morgana had possessed it her entire life, then it couldn’t have been the cause of her betrayal. He thought of the Dolma—she hadn’t seemed evil or corrupted, just a bit eccentric. And all she had asked in return for restoring Guinevere was that he remembered the good magic could do.
His mind raced. Questions he hadn’t pondered since he was a prince suddenly overwhelmed him. Were children with magic so much of a threat they had to be killed? Was healing really so dangerous as to warrant the same? If his father had been the one to outlaw magic, what had it been like before that? How did kingdoms that allowed magic prosper? Memories of benevolent and innocent magic flashed before him—the ball of light that guided him when he was in danger, the poultice that healed Gwen’s father, the druid boy he had rescued, the woman who had gifted him the horn. With everything whirling around faster than his wine-softened mind could keep up, it was no surprise something slipped out though his mouth.
“But then, why is magic illegal?” he questioned, more to himself than to Merlin.
Merlin had been growing more impatient with their conversation and this seemed to be the last straw. “I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin exploded. “You’re the king, why don’t you tell me!”
Arthur didn’t have a response to that, so he just followed Merlin over to the fireplace. They had finished their dinner, so Arthur brought the wine over and placed it on the floor before joining Merlin in staring at the embers. The fire seemed to have run out of wood over the course of their argument, which was peculiar, as Arthur had added logs to the fire just before Merlin came in. He added more anyways, and when his head spun simply from leaning over to get the logs, he realized how tipsy he was, so he sat down on the rug to preclude any stumbling.
He had wanted tonight to be a fun time for them both, but somehow he had steered them into a heavier topic. He wasn’t sure how to get them back to a lighter one, especially now that the atmosphere was so tense.
After several minutes of silence, Merlin sat down next to Arthur, close, but not quite touching. Not close enough, Arthur’s mind provided, so he scooted the last few inches and connected his shoulder with Merlin’s affectionately. Or at least he had hoped it would come across as affectionate. But due to slight motor difficulties in his current state of drunkenness, he overshot and bumped Merlin with quite a bit more force than expected, so Merlin of course retaliated with an even harder shove, and soon they were tussling in earnest, barely avoiding knocking over the wine jug Arthur had set down.
Merlin somehow ended up on top, something Arthur would never have predicted but it somehow felt right. Arthur felt a rush of heat, and apparently so did Merlin as he rolled off and tugged off his jacket. His boots followed, then his socks. Merlin was clearly more drunk than he seemed if he was throwing his clothes around the king’s chambers, something he accused Arthur of doing nearly every day as he cleaned up after him. At least Merlin was sober enough to throw them in the opposite direction of the fire.
Arthur poured them both more wine and they again settled shoulder to shoulder, now with a lighter atmosphere.
“Can I stay here tonight?” Merlin asked suddenly.
Arthur hadn’t expected Merlin to start a conversation, so he was too startled to respond right away.
“I don’t mean here here, I mean like in the bed. I mean not your bed, the one you got for me, the bed that’s mine, my bed, in the other room,” Merlin babbled nervously before Arthur had gathered himself up enough to respond.
Arthur laughed at Merlin’s sweetness and smiled adoringly at him.
“Of course you can stay,” he said, feeling light, “that’s why I offered.”
Merlin’s embarrassed blush turned into a wide smile and he settled back into Arthur’s side, overlapping his shoulder over Arthur’s more than it had before. Merlin’s head was now closer to Arthur’s face, he could smell the soap Merlin used in his hair. It was intoxicating, and it took all the self-restraint Arthur had left not to bury his nose in Merlin’s hair and stay there. He settled with leaning his cheek on the side of Merlin’s head and sighing deeply.
“I’ve missed you,” he admitted without really meaning to.
“I’ve missed you too, actually,” Merlin admitted softly. “I’ve missed you since I met you, I think, and you’re finally here. What changed?”
Arthur wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, but he had done a lot of pondering on the topic of their friendship recently, so he was able to answer semi-coherently despite the fog in his mind caused by the wine.
“I hurt you,” he told Merlin, wanting to be honest no matter how difficult it was for him to admit it. “I didn’t mean to, but I did. A lot. And that had to change. I talked with Gwaine after you told me to be a better friend and he told me how I treated you. It was horrible, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Merlin.”
He must have had more wine than he’d thought as he could feel tears slipping down his cheeks, something that hadn’t happened to him in years. Because of his position, the tears slid onto Merlin’s forehead and down his face as well.
As Arthur felt himself start to tremble, Merlin sat up and pulled him into a hug.
“I know you are,” he said simply. And then it was Arthur’s turn to be comforted, Arthur’s turn to cry into Merlin’s shoulder for a bit.
He hadn’t realized how much this all had been affecting him. Obviously he’d been upset that Merlin was hurt and wanted his friend back, but he hadn’t realized he was feeling this ashamed. It apparently took quite a lot of wine to coax out his true feelings, he thought calmly. In vino veritas, as Gwaine would say.
They settled back side by side, except now they were so close Merlin’s back was halfway across Arthur’s chest. His head was directly below Arthur’s now, and Arthur was leaning on the chair behind him to keep them both somewhat upright. A small part of his mind protested at the undignified position, but it was overpowered by the pure pleasure of having Merlin so close like this.
“I don’t think Uther was a good father,” Arthur confessed. Somehow it was probably related to his trail of thought, but the intervening steps were lost in the wine he kept sipping.
“No, I can’t say I approved of his parenting,” Merlin added with a hiccup.
Arthur laughed at the absurdity of it all, and Merlin laughed too. They laughed so hard that Merlin slipped from Arthur’s chest and ended up on his back with his head in Arthur’s lap.
He looked so happy there that for a moment, Arthur thought he might cry again.
They eventually settled down into a peaceful silence until Arthur broke it.
“Merlin, why didn’t you tell me you met your father?” Arthur asked, disturbing the peace of their meditative quiet.
“What? How did you find out about that?” Merlin asked, taken aback by the sudden question.
“Gwaine told me,” Arthur informed him.
“Oh. I guess I never told him not to tell anyone else,” Merlin reflected.
“He pointed out that I don’t know much about your personal life,” Arthur explained. “And I said I did, that we talked about how you never met your dad just like I never met my mum. But he said that you did, five years ago.”
“Yeah, I did,” Merlin told him sorrowfully, and Arthur knew there was more to the story. “Then the next day, he died.”
“Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Arthur consoled him. “That must have been really hard.” Once it was clear Merlin didn’t need further comforting, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have given you time off to go see your mother.”
“I couldn’t tell you, Arthur, it was dangerous,” Merlin replied, a hint of annoyance creeping up in his voice again. “It still is,” he added quietly.
Arthur was confused. There were only a handful of reasons Arthur could think of that would have made Merlin’s father a dangerous topic to discuss, and none seemed very likely.
“What, was he a criminal?” he asked. “A foreign noble? What could be so dangerous?”
“He was… he was a good man,” Merlin explained slowly, “but he was hunted. It was too dangerous for him to stay with my mum. He didn’t know I existed until I went to find him. But he told me he was proud of me, and sometimes, when I, uh, use the skills that he did, I can feel his presence.”
Merlin had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions, but with the wine, Merlin was practically an open book. Arthur could see the grief in the way his shoulders hunched, how he refused to make eye contact and instead played with his goblet.
“Merlin, I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t share things with me,” Arthur said, remorseful. “You’ve been so important to me, the only person I could speak with honestly for a long time. And I want to be that for you now. I want you to feel safe talking to me.”
“But I’m not Arthur, I can’t even tell you what he was,” Merlin murmured.
He sounded so dejected, Arthur felt his little drunk heart shatter. He wanted to comfort Merlin like he had before, so he took the hand that had been absentmindedly playing with Merlin’s neckerchief and started to pet Merlin’s hair clumsily. It felt soft and nice and he hoped it felt this nice for Merlin too.
“It’s alright,” Arthur comforted. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me, but that’s not as important as what you feel. And if you don’t feel safe, well. I just, I want you to feel safe,” he added, frustrated at not being able to express himself as clearly as he wanted through the daze of alcohol.
Arthur wondered when he’d changed so much. Before, Merlin keeping secrets from him would have angered him, but now he cared more about why Merlin felt he couldn’t confide in Arthur than the actual lying. Perhaps it had changed when Arthur felt he had betrayed Merlin by leaving him behind and he had realized what was really important–having Merlin in his life.
“But I’m lying to you,” Merlin repeated, getting agitated and nearly knocking Arthur’s hand from its continued petting. He put his other hand on Merlin’s chest to steady him so he could continue petting the soft locks.
“Keeping secrets is not the same as lying,” Arthur reassured him. “But alright, if you want to tell me something, why don’t you tell me his name?”
Merlin struggled for a moment before arriving at a decision.
“Balinor,” he whispered, as if he were hoping Arthur wouldn’t actually hear him.
Oh, that was something Arthur hadn’t thought of–magic. It made sense now why Merlin didn’t tell Arthur when he found out–Uther had been alive, and if anyone had caught wind of his parentage, he would have been killed. But why did he think he was still in danger?
Arthur’s thoughts swirled and he didn’t trust himself enough to open his mouth yet. He hoped his continued petting of Merlin’s hair would express everything he couldn’t. It apparently didn’t though, as Merlin suddenly sat up and pulled away from Arthur, looking scared of all things.
“So you aren’t going to kill me right?” Merlin whispered, looking simultaneously anxious and melancholic in the genuine way that only the truly drunk seem to exhibit.
“Of course not, Merlin,” Arthur told him, reaching out to hold Merlin’s face with both hands, looking right into his eyes so he could see how serious he was. “You can’t help who your father is anymore than I can. And you’re right, Balinor was a good man. I’m sorry you weren’t able to have more time with him.”
Merlin cried softly this time, the tears of a grief dulled by time.
Merlin fell asleep on Arthur’s lap, arms curled around Arthur and head tucked into his neck. Arthur wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up there nor how he’d managed to fall asleep in such a position, but it seemed to be comfortable enough for Merlin. Though Arthur’s legs were starting to tingle. He didn’t want to wake Merlin, but they had to get to their respective beds to go to sleep. It was similar to that night in the woods, and Arthur, tired from the wine, wanted nothing more than to lie back and sleep there with Merlin tangled up with him. But a stone floor is much harder than a forest floor, even covered in furs. So he shook Merlin awake.
“Off to bed with you, darling,” he whispered softly into Merlin’s ear, which was conveniently located right next to Arthur’s mouth.
Merlin barely woke up, just mumbled something into Arthur’s shoulder and wiggled around a bit as if seeking a more comfortable position. He truly was adorable, and Arthur had the urge to kiss his forehead. He was halfway there when he remembered what he had been trying to do–get Merlin up. So he just pushed Merlin off of him and got himself upright with the assistance of the chair. It was a good thing he held his liquor better than Merlin, as if he were as confusedly drunk as Merlin was right now, neither of them would have made it to a bed that night.
He ended up practically carrying Merlin to the bed in the antechamber. Merlin hadn’t waited for Arthur to pull the blankets back before clambering onto the bed and curling up, but it was much colder in here than in the main chamber, and he didn’t want Merlin to freeze during the night. He remembered the cloak that was sitting on the chair by the fire, forgotten in the evening’s conversation. He stumbled back over to the fire and grabbed the package, ripping it open as he walked back over to Merlin’s side. Merlin was curled up in a tight ball, so it was easy to spread the cloak over him and tuck him in gently.
“Good night, darling,” Arthur said before retreating, leaving the door open in case anything happened during the night.
It wasn’t until Arthur laid down in his own bed that he realized what he’d said. He had called Merlin darling, hadn’t he? Twice, in fact. Oh well. At least Merlin was probably too drunk and tired to remember it in the morning. He tried to forget about it too.
But as he was falling asleep, he had the most comforting thought that maybe Merlin could call him darling too.
Chapter 11: The Nightmare
Chapter Text
Arthur awoke to a scream. Merlin, his mind provided before he was even awake enough to register where he was. He grasped the dagger he always kept under his pillow and scrambled up.
He practically flew to the antechamber door and peeked in cautiously to take stock of the situation. Arthur had left the door open in case Merlin had any problems–he had been a bit too drunk last night for Arthur to feel safe leaving him completely alone.
As he peered around, it was apparent that there was nobody else there. Just Merlin, tossing and turning and screaming. A nightmare, it seemed.
Arthur pondered what to do. He remembered Gaius saying something like you only remember your dream if you wake during it, so would it be better to leave Merlin to sleep through this and forget it?
Merlin cried out again.
Arthur’s decision was made in that moment as he dropped the dagger under the bed with one hand and shook Merlin awake with the other.
Merlin sat up and pulled away instantly, looking at Arthur with the most terrified face he’d ever seen on the servant. Arthur wondered what the dream had been about, if Merlin was scared of him or of what he had seen.
He started to retract his hand that had shaken Merlin, which was still resting on his shoulder, but Merlin grabbed it and pulled it close to his chest, clutching at it tightly like he was hanging over the edge of a cliff, and Arthur was all that was keeping him from falling to his death.
The first sign that Merlin had started crying was the warm wet drops falling on Arthur’s hand. His frame shook slightly, but there was no other sign. No noise this time. Unlike last time. Arthur knelt down so he wasn’t towering over Merlin, so he could take his other hand and run it through Merlin’s hair, mimicking his earlier movements. As Merlin began to take deep breaths, Arthur moved his hand down to Merlin’s back, rubbing up and down softly in time with him.
After a few minutes, Merlin released his hand and scrambled back on his bed so he was sitting against the headboard with his knees up, nearly hiding his face. He avoided looking at Arthur, instead choosing to look at his hands, which he was fiddling around in what must have been a comforting rhythm. Arthur tentatively sat down at the foot of the bed. Merlin didn’t say anything, so Arthur started the conversation.
“Merlin,” he said softly, warmly, “you don’t have to tell me, but what was that about?”
“Oh you know, the usual,” Merlin quipped back, seemingly back to his regular self rather quickly after such an emotional ordeal.
Did Merlin have so many nightmares this was normal for him? Arthur was curious, so he asked, “The usual what? How often do you get nightmares?”
Merlin looked down slightly, not quite meeting Arthur’s eye now. “Most nights,” he admitted quietly. “Usually they’re quiet, but Gaius says I’ve woken him up a few times by screaming. It’s another reason I came here tonight, I don’t like to risk waking the patients. Sometimes I can’t fall asleep until nearly dawn because I’m worried I’ll wake them and impede their recovery.”
Arthur hadn’t known that Merlin had nightmares–he’d never woken like this when they were out of the castle together. Arthur was realizing that there was a lot about Merlin he didn’t know. But he wanted to. So he asked, “What are they about?”
“Oh you know, this and that,” Merlin replied. “Normal nightmare stuff.”
Hmm. So he was not ready to share that with Arthur. That was okay. Arthur asked another question. “Do you know why you have them so often?”
“Well, living in fear can do that to a person, I suppose,” Merlin said darkly.
“Since when have you been living in fear?” Arthur asked, shocked at this particular revelation.
“My whole life,” Merlin admitted sadly.
He looked so young in that moment, remembering the fear he had lived with since his childhood. Arthur could almost see the child Merlin, waking up screaming next to Hunith, who would have soothed him back to sleep in her motherly embrace. Who soothed Merlin to sleep now? Did Merlin wake up like this and have to sit alone in the dark until the fear dissipated? Arthur wished Merlin could stay with him every night, so Merlin didn’t have to be alone when he woke up scared of… well, whatever he was scared of.
“What are you afraid of?” Arthur questioned, not expecting an answer, but asking anyway.
Merlin smiled sadly at that. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday, but not yet,” was his reply.
Arthur found he could accept that answer for the time being. He knew he hadn’t been the most available friend for Merlin, and he was willing to make the effort to earn Merlin’s trust.
With a final pat to Merlin’s leg, Arthur left to go back to his own bed. He fell asleep thinking of the way Merlin had clutched him, like he too felt the connection between them that Arthur did.
--
The next morning after Merlin had wandered off in search of a hangover cure from Gaius, Arthur pondered what his next move could be. He’d given Merlin multiple gifts, asked him about his feelings, and made sure to continue doing so regularly. He’d asked about Merlin’s life, making efforts to improve what he could. And he’d learned more about Merlin’s personal life, had listened and not judged. Which had been hard, what with Merlin’s father ending up being a sorcerer.
Arthur hadn’t asked more about that. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear, what he was ready to hear, really. If Merlin endorsed his fathers magic, would Arthur see him differently? Could their growing friendship survive it?
Arthur was the king who currently enforced the strict laws against sorcery. But he had met Balinor too, had thought him an honorable man to come and save a kingdom that hated him. Merlin’s tears at Balinor’s death made more sense now. And why Merlin had gone out to face the dragon with them. Perhaps he’d thought he’d be a dragonlord as well.
Huh. That hadn’t crossed his mind last night, too drunk on the wine and on Merlin’s touch. Merlin had been there when the dragon was defeated, right? He’d actually been the only person who was conscious, even Arthur had lost some memory of his moment of victory from some sort of head trauma.
What if Merlin had helped out, had actually aided Arthur in slaying the dragon with his dragonlordish powers? Perhaps that’s what Merlin meant when he said he lived in fear. That he was the son of a sorcerer, or he was himself a dragonlord. With magical powers.
Well. After all this introspection, Arthur found he was easily able to identify the emotions he felt at that. He was angry, for sure, but underneath there was a feeling of shame. Had he been such a bad friend that Merlin couldn’t open up to him?
What Arthur had thought last night was still true–he understood why Merlin hadn’t told him of his parentage when Uther was alive. And he supposed if he were living with a secret illegal skill he just found out about, he wouldn’t have told anyone else either. Actually, he probably would have told Merlin, but Arthur knew that he hadn’t yet earned Merlin’s trust in that way.
Arthur tried to apply Gwaine’s advice to this situation. Gwaine had told Arthur to think of their friendship from Merlin’s perspective, and he did so now again. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be Merlin, to be a possible magic user in Camelot under Uther’s then Arthur’s rule. The fear, like Merlin had said, would be constant. Always second-guessing other people’s intentions. Having to be careful, to hide who you are. To be afraid that if your friends found out, they’d turn you in. If he had been born with his powers, as he had claimed Morgana had been, then he’d have lived with this fear since childhood.
Arthur had never lived with fear like that. He wasn’t sure if he truly could understand. So he decided, whatever had happened–if Merlin had done awful things because of his fear, had lied to Arthur and everyone else–Arthur wouldn’t be hasty in his judgment. How could he know what decision he’d make in Merlin’s place? No, if Merlin ever told Arthur more about his fears, more about magic, Arthur would simply listen and comfort him. He could have his own reaction later, if needed, but what Merlin needed most was a safe space to be himself.
But how could he get to the point where Merlin felt safe to talk with Arthur about these things? What else could he do? He’d already done most of what Gwaine had advised, except giving him explicit time off to visit Hunith. But Merlin was basically off-duty now, so he could have gone to visit his mother if he’d wanted to. Perhaps he didn’t want to leave Camelot though, for some reason.
Maybe Arthur could try bringing Hunith to him then, with a royal invitation. And if that didn’t work, he could at least send gifts to help her out. Arthur knew part of why Merlin got a job here was to help support his mother, so he’d probably appreciate gifts to her as much as to himself. Not that Arthur was trying to bribe Merlin back into friendship, he was just realizing that gifts were a normal part of friendship and making up for the years with no gifts by giving them all at once. Right?
He pondered what might be the best gift to give, and decided he didn’t really know well enough what would be useful to a farmer. But maybe this was something he could approach Gwen about. He was sincere in his hope to try and become better friends with her, and this might be a good neutral task to start with.
--
He approached Gwen over breakfast. They typically ate breakfast in their own chambers, but he’d given Merlin the morning off because of the hangover (and the nightmare, but he hadn’t mentioned it in case Merlin didn’t want to acknowledge it), so he instead went to her chambers. Gwen started her mornings early, so she was already dressed and eating breakfast when he arrived. As soon as she saw who it was she dismissed her maidservant.
“Would it be okay if I came in?” Arthur asked. “I’d like your advice about something, if it isn’t a bother.”
“Of course. I am still your queen and your friend, Arthur,” she replied kindly, with only a hint of resignation. “Join me for breakfast?” she added as Arthur’s stomach rumbled.
“Thank you,” he accepted.
Gwen’s servant was not Merlin, so she had a large portion for breakfast, more than enough for them to share. As he dug in, he realized it would probably be rude to ask her for a favor without inquiring about her first. So he asked, “How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright, actually,” she replied. “I’m not happy about what happened between us, but it’s been kind of a relief of sorts. Oh no, that sounded mean. I didn’t mean that being married to you was a chore, but I realize now how much effort I had to put in, and somehow I’m realizing that I’m happier this way for now.”
“No it’s alright, I’ve found I’ve felt the same,” he told her.
“Oh good. Well not good, but umm, you know what I mean,” she replied. She bit her lip, and Arthur could tell she had more to say, so he stayed silent to give her the space to continue.
“And well, otherwise, I’ve been trying to keep busy,” she added. “I meant to tell you, but I did go to Elyan’s grave. I took Sir Leon, as he also knew Elyan as a boy. He knows how much Elyan means to me. And well, I was wondering if you might be okay telling him what’s happened between us? It doesn’t seem right to lie to him, we’ve both known him so long. And since everything is fine between us, I don’t want to have him wondering why I’m not spending time with you because that’s a thing he might notice, especially if I take him places instead of you, and I’d just prefer if everything was out in the open first.” She said all of this very fast, as if trying to get it out before she changed her mind. He took a moment to process what she said, then a grin spread on his face.
“Do you like him, Gwen?” Arthur teased.
She hid her face in her hands. “I really think I might,” she answered.
“That’s great news, I’m happy for you,” he told her, and he found he really was. He had been feeling regretful about everything that had happened between them, but knowing she was able to move on eased that guilt a little.
“Thanks, Arthur. Now what was it you wanted to ask me, before you devour my maidservant’s portion of the breakfast with your big mouth,” she teased.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” he said, not sure whether she was being serious or not.
“Don’t worry, I’d send for more if she hadn’t eaten,” she replied, apparently teasing him.
“Ok,” he said, not quite knowing where to start. “Well, uh, I’m trying to make things up to Merlin as well, and uh, he’s been quite a bit more difficult than you. I don’t mean to say I’m putting more effort into him than you, but he’s making me, I suppose.”
“Arthur, you don’t have to explain your relationship with Merlin to me. I knew when I married you that he was part of the deal,” she told him.
“Oh?” he asked. That was news to Arthur. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Come on, Arthur, he helped you propose for goodness sake,” she said, which was true, and perhaps not as normal as he had thought.
“I guess that’s true,” he conceded. “So, um, I’ve given Merlin some gifts, but I think he’d appreciate it if Hunith were to receive something as well. Not that I’m trying to bribe him, but she’s really important to him and I know he sends his wages to her, and I just thought, maybe it would be a relief for him if she was better taken care of.”
“Arthur, relax, you don’t have to explain” she told him again. “I understand, I did spend nearly a year with her, and I think that’s a great idea. They’d both appreciate it.”
“Oh good,” he said, relieved. “Would you want to help with it then? That way it can be from both of us. I just don’t know what would be helpful, and like you said, you spent some time with her so you might know better than I do what’s helpful.” Arthur really hoped she would help, because otherwise he had no idea who to ask next.
“Yes of course, I can arrange for some things to be gathered,” she said. “I’ll write a note as well, and perhaps you should write one too.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. What would I even say?” he wondered aloud.
“Whatever you want to say, Arthur, she’s a loving mother, so she’ll appreciate it either way,” Gwen reassured him. “Now, go and write it, while it’s fresh on your mind.”
“Alright, my queen,” he said, with a deep bow.
She laughed and shoved him out the door playfully.
Chapter 12: The Visitor
Chapter Text
It was happening more often than Hunith would like–knights of Camelot arriving with mail or gifts or people in tow to bring into her little house. This time, it was all of the above.
Sir Leon rode in front, followed by three carts full of supplies, several guards, and a few servants. He bowed when he saw her, as if she were a proper lady. She hoped this wasn’t how she would find out about Merlin’s promotion to a lord or something.
“With the compliments of the King and Queen of Camelot,” Sir Leon said, handing her two letters.
She didn’t have time to read them until that night, after getting everyone settled in the barn for the night.
The first was from Gwen.
My dearest Hunith,
I hope you are doing well. It was a mild winter this year, which I know is easier on your bones. I hope the blankets I sent were well used. I know five was more than you needed, but I knew if there were only one, you’d not have kept it for yourself. So this time, as authorized by the king, I’ve sent ten.
Ah yes, the king. Arthur.
You were right, Hunith. It took an enchantment for me to see, but I suppose love blinds us all. I am glad to be queen, but I have told Arthur I will no longer be his wife. I find myself unburdened with this choice, free of the constant need to seek out his company when he would not seek mine, free of holding my tongue to stop an argument, free of the doubts that hounded me without my knowledge.
He is already seeking Merlin’s company again, and whether he sees it as related or not, I know it for what it is.
I am not sure if Arthur will include what has happened, as, though I trust in his honesty, I am not sure it yet extends to acknowledging his wrongdoings.
I was enchanted by Morgana. For weeks, I walked around a slave to her whims, party to murders committed on her behalf. One of which was my own brother. In truth, I cannot write what I feel following the ordeal, because I do not yet know it myself. I am not well, it is sure, but I am yet able to go on.
Arthur did not notice my enchantment. It was Merlin who figured me out. In short, we traveled to cure me and, in the aftermath, Merlin got left behind. I myself had no knowledge that Merlin had accompanied us there, having been unconscious the whole journey. However, Arthur had known him to be taken hostage by the magic user who cured me, and forgot to retrieve him before starting the journey back home.
Merlin has been different since returning, distant with Arthur as I have not seen in all the years I’ve known him. Perhaps this was the last straw, as it was for me. I worry for Merlin, but I know you taught him well, as you taught me, and he will persevere. As will I.
I do hope to reunite soon, whether here in Camelot, where there is always a family waiting for you, or on a journey to the village.
With love,
Gwen
The second was from Arthur.
Hunith,
In truth, I do not know what to write. Gwen says it does not matter, that you are a loving mother and you will forgive where possible, but I am ashamed.
I have hurt Merlin. He’s fine, safe and whole here in Camelot, but I fear I have damaged our friendship beyond repair. If I can even call it that. I have come to realize that I am not well learned in the art of friendships and may have no acquaintances that qualify as such.
I left him behind. I’m sure Gwen will include the whole tale in her letter, and I find myself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to commit the memory to paper. So I will leave it to her to explain.
I forgot him. I went back for him as soon as I realized, of course, but it was too late. He has changed, and I am not sure if he is now sadder than he was before or if he has been this way the whole time and I never noticed. I worry for him. I have been in a position to comfort him only twice so far, both by chance, and I wonder whether he is seeking out the support he needs.
In times of trouble like this, I find myself wishing for my mother, for the unconditional support and love I have always imagined she would have given. And so I wonder whether Merlin might desire the same.
Therefore, I would like to extend an invitation to you. I would ask you to stay in Camelot. You would be accommodated in the castle for as long as you need–indefinitely, or permanently. I do hope you will consider it, if you believe Merlin might benefit from your presence as I imagine he might.
With my humblest intentions,
Arthur Pendragon
Oh my. As much as the story saddened and angered her, she was glad that her boy was important enough to warrant personal letters from both royals of Camelot to a foreign peasant woman on the occasion of his being distressed. Hunith knew that Merlin had been through much more difficult experiences since she’d sent him to Camelot, but they did not. This was proof, to her at least, that her baby was cared for.
It wasn’t difficult to make the decision to leave Ealdor. She’d had friends in the village once upon a time, but she remained now out of a sense of familiarity, and so that Merlin might have a place to go if ever he were banished. But he didn’t seem to be in danger of that anymore, gods willing.
--
She went through the gifts in the early morning, before the Camelot party awoke. Though they had been for her, Hunith kept only what she might need for the journey. The rest she distributed amongst those who needed it most. She said her farewells to those who might notice her absence, and she waited at the barn for the Camelot party to rise.
She knew the other villagers would make use of her home while she was gone, that this might be the last time it was her own. It did not sadden her, as it might have before Balinor’s passing. Though this was the place they had shared for a short time, Merlin was the true result of their love. And it sounded like he needed her. Or perhaps, like Arthur needed her. Which, since the two were as tightly bound as two sides of a coin, was nearly the same thing.
As Sir Leon saw her waiting, he did not seem surprised.
“Welcome to Camelot,” he greeted her.
--
Merlin didn’t know what they were waiting for. Well, he did, in the abstract. They were waiting for an important guest. One important enough that Arthur had sent Sir Leon to accompany them. But Arthur hadn’t told him who the guest actually was, just that Merlin would want to be there in the courtyard to greet them.
Based on Arthur’s recent actions, Merlin suspected this was in some way a gesture for Merlin, but he couldn’t think of what important figure visiting would be considered a treat for Merlin. Perhaps Mithian? Or Elena? Merlin had gotten along well with both of them, but he didn’t see how Arthur would have known that, as the conversations he had with them were in private.
So Merlin waited, standing next to Arthur on the steps of the courtyard. And that was another clue–whoever was visiting, Arthur wanted Merlin to be seen as not just a servant.
When the clatter of hooves sounded through the courtyard, Merlin looked up and saw his mother, riding one of Camelot’s finest horses, led by Sir Leon and surrounded by a contingent of servants and guards, as if she were a visiting lady.
Merlin leaped forward out of his place in the greeting formation to help his mum off her horse and claim her first hug.
“Mum! What? Why are you here?” he asked. As he let go of her, he looked around and saw the horses, one of which was pulling a cart full of her belongings. “Are you staying?” he asked, amazed that she had been convinced to make such a move, after years of her refusing him for some small reason or another.
“Yes, for now,” she told him, smiling warmly. “I’m sorry I didn’t send advanced notice, but your young Arthur there invited me without notice, so I couldn’t have.”
“He’s not my Arthur,” Merlin told her, blushing despite himself.
“Well then, why don’t you present me to the King and Queen, darling,” she prompted.
Merlin wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was in this situation, so he settled on escorting her to the steps, where Arthur and Gwen had stepped down to greet their guest.
“Hunith,” Gwen greeted and pulled her into a hug.
Arthur gave her a short nod, but avoided eye contact. Huh. Merlin wondered what that was about.
Arthur waved his hand, the traditional signal for the servants to start the process of moving a visitor’s belongings inside. Apparently Arthur was treating Hunith as a proper guest, as a small contingent of servants and stable staff stepped forward to assist.
While looking very awkward, more than Merlin had ever seen Arthur with a guest, he invited Hunith to follow him to her room. Gwen stayed by her side, and Merlin took her arm, like an escort.
As they all walked to her new chambers, he thought about how though he had really, really missed his mum, but her unexpected appearance meant facing things he wasn’t prepared to. She would ask about the details of what he’d written her the past few years, and he’d have to tell her. There was a reason he hadn’t left to see her the moment he set foot back in Camelot after the whole being left behind thing, and it wasn’t only because that meant leaving Arthur behind, defenseless against magic. In truth, it was because he wasn’t ready to admit his recent deeds to himself, much less his mother.
If Arthur had given him warning, he could have prepared himself. But he hadn’t. Merlin was mad at Arthur for doing this without asking him. He understood that it was likely partly his anger at himself fueling it, but being angry at Arthur felt better, so he ignored that thought for the moment.
When they arrived at Hunith’s room, Merlin gave Gwen a significant look, and then looked at Arthur. Gwen understood what he wanted and took Hunith’s arm from Merlin to steer her inside for a look around.
Merlin stepped in front of Arthur before he could follow.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked, looking confused.
“Arthur, you didn’t ask if I wanted this. You should have asked,” he said, letting a little bit of his anger and hurt seep into his words, hoping it would alleviate some of the intensity of his current emotions.
Arthur looked chastened, and Merlin realized he didn’t feel any better, he just felt guilty for snapping at Arthur on top of everything else.
Arthur was speaking, apologizing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I should have realized.”
“No, I’m sorry, Arthur. It was a kind gesture. I just wasn’t prepared to see her,“ Merlin explained.
“I just, I thought you’d want your mother,” Arthur confessed quietly.
Merlin felt his heart melt a bit more with that. He knew Arthur would give anything to see his mother again. Arthur had told him so, once, long ago, when he was still just a prince. Merlin couldn’t help but see that younger version of Arthur here now, and he couldn’t help but blurt out, “She can be yours too.” Whoops. “Well, I know she can’t replace Ygraine“ he backtracked a bit, “but she gives really good advice and really good hugs.”
Arthur looked at him fondly and a little confused. “Well, I don’t know about hugs,” he told Merlin, “but I could use some advice.”
--
Arthur returned to Hunith’s rooms the next morning, when he knew Merlin was indisposed with a hangover from the welcome feast the night before. He hoped that by then, Hunith was settled enough for a visitor, because he couldn’t wait any longer to talk to her.
He had been anxious ever since she’d shown up. Of course, he had invited her, and he was glad she had accepted. But when writing that letter, he hadn’t thought about the reality of having Merlin’s mum in the castle, having to see her around, and constantly being reminded that he had failed in taking care of her only child. It had only been one day, but the tension was driving him mad. He had to talk with her. He was also hoping she might be an even better mentor than Gwaine in the art of friendship.
Despite all the reasons he knew talking with her was a good idea, he stood outside her door for several minutes before working up the courage to knock.
“Come in,” he heard from inside, a bit muffled through the door.
He walked in to see her eating her own breakfast in a chair by the fire.
“Hunith, how are you settling in?” he asked.
“Lovely, Arthur. Thank you for the invitation,” she said, looking genuinely grateful. “Come, sit with me,” she invited. Arthur was sure that she had a better notion than Merlin that telling the king what to do was in fact improper, but somehow her order comforted him, unlike Merlin’s insolence, which was, more often than not, intended to rile him up.
“I want you to know you’re an honored guest here in Camelot and you’re welcome to anything you want,” he told her.
“Arthur, dear, you don’t need to bribe me,” she told him.
Arthur blanched. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he hurriedly tried to correct his blunder.
Hunith laughed. “I’m joking, Arthur, hasn’t Merlin taught you about jokes yet?” she said teasingly.
Arthur could feel the heat rise in his cheeks and he knew she could see his blush by the way she softened and smiled kindly at him.
“Now, Merlin tells me you need some motherly advice?” she asked, opening the conversation for Arthur to talk about himself.
“I seem to have messed things up between myself and Merlin. And while I’ve made some steps to fix things, I am still learning what it means to be a good friend, since it’s not something I was taught as a child. So I was thinking, Gwaine was saying that Merlin probably learned these things from you, and Merlin is the best friend I’ve ever had, so I was hoping you could give me a few pointers?”
Hunith looked at him tenderly, like Arthur imagined his own mother would have looked at him, and then she was hugging him and he was thinking about how he’d never gotten a chance to do this with his own mother and suddenly he was crying in a way he’d never cried before, losing control and letting Hunith guide him through.
She was making little humming noises, not quite humming a tune, just making comforting sounds. Her hand rubbed up and down his back, and it reminded him of that first night when Merlin cried. He felt a bit like he had then: lost, but he also felt safe.
His tears were over quickly and he pulled away, slightly embarrassed at his response to a simple hug.
“First lesson,” Hunith said authoritatively. “There’s nothing so restorative as a good hug, or a snog if it’s your beau. Physical contact can be a great way to express affection if both parties consent.”
A hug made sense, but Arthur was confused at the rest of what she had said. A snog? Weren’t they talking about him being Merlin’s friend? What did snogging have to do with that? But Hunith moved on before he could think too much about it.
“Now, I don’t imagine you’ve gotten a lot of hugs in your lifetime with that father of yours, but Gwen ought to have taught you a thing or two about it? And the snogging, I’m sure, but for now, you might ask Merlin if he’d appreciate a hug.”
Did she just say “snogging” and “Merlin” in the same sentence? He was going to ignore that for now, because the image of that was… well it was something.
He focused back on the actual advice–hugging.
“Do I have to ask out loud?” Arthur asked her. “You didn’t,” he pointed out.
“Not necessarily,” she responded, “but if you’re going to rely on someone’s body language to tell you if they’re ok with it, you’d better be good at reading it.”
Arthur was good at reading the court members to catch them in a lie, or reading an opponent in a fight to predict their next move, but he somehow thought that wouldn’t translate to this situation.
“Okay, so hugs are good, if wanted,” he recapped. “What next?”
“Second lesson is not to assume,” Hunith started. “Don’t assume Merlin knows what you don’t say. If you like him, you need to tell him you like him. It doesn’t have to be so blunt, but at least show him some appreciation.”
“That’s what Gwaine said,” he replied. “I got him some gifts and I told him he’s my friend, or that I want to be his friend, I guess,” he explained further.
“Alright that sounds like a good start,” Hunith praised, and Arthur felt proud in a way his father had never invoked in him. “But make sure you also don’t assume you understand what Merlin is feeling without asking him,” she added.
“I’ve tried asking about his feelings, and I think he opened up a bit,” Arthur told her, feeling more confident in his progress on this particular goal.
“Very good, Arthur, I’m glad you have been so good to my son,” she shared.
“I haven’t always been,” he said, ashamed that it was the truth.
“That’s alright,” she comforted. “Sometimes we have to do things wrong before we can do them right. I wasn’t always a good mother to Merlin. There were times, many times, when I did things wrong–but the next time I tried to do better. That’s what matters, that you keep trying to do things better.”
Arthur nodded.
“Ok so the third lesson. The advanced lesson,” she intoned seriously. Arthur thought she might be winding him up, but he wasn’t familiar enough with her mannerisms to be sure. She paused, seemingly for dramatic effect.
“Sharing is caring,” she finished finally, releasing the tension of the moment with expert humor.
Arthur nearly laughed. “Is that not a phrase one uses for toddlers? I’m quite certain I’ve heard the parents around Camelot use that while trying to convince their children to share.”
Hunith smiled with him, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Then it should be easy to remember,” she told him. “What I mean by that, though, is that a healthy friendship is a mutual friendship. As much as you are sharing your worries and burdens, you should be asking about Merlin’s own, letting him ask you for advice when needed. And, I’m sure you could do a bit more sharing on your side as well, especially regarding your emotions.”
Arthur thought that was a fair point. While he’d listened to Merlin’s emotions this week, he hadn’t really shared many of his own. Arthur supposed Hunith was right and friendships should be even if possible, which meant until he got a better sense of what that felt like, he’d have to pay more attention to it.
“I know Uther raised you differently than I did Merlin, but you still have emotions,” she said. “Sometimes it can strengthen your friendship to talk about them.”
Arthur certainly felt closer to Merlin after talking about his father, and that had been an emotional conversation. So he wondered what it would feel like to talk more about his own emotions–things he thought and felt about his mother and his father and Morgana. While Arthur had certainly expressed some anger and possibly sorrow about those, he had never talked about it directly with another person. But maybe it was time to try.
“Okay,” Arthur said. “I’ve never been one to share my emotions, but if you think Merlin would enjoy that somehow…” he trailed off, as Hunith was nearly giggling, though she had the grace to cover her mouth while doing it.
“Arthur,” she addressed him, sounding like what she wanted to say was ‘sweetie.’ He was glad she restrained herself, as he had seen Merlin’s blush after enduring those endearments from Hunith, and he rather thought his would have been more impressive, which was not something he wished to display. “Not all of this is going to be comfortable in the moment, but overall it will foster a greater sense of understanding between you. Intimacy and commitment are the two pillars of platonic love, according to some philosophers.”
“Um, love?” he blurted out, incredulous. Just the word had his heart hammering and his breath shallowing. He had just ended a relationship with Guinevere, this was no time to be thinking about love again. Probably. That’s definitely what was making him break out in a light sweat.
He continued his protest vehemently. “I don’t think we need to build love. I mean it’s not like I love him. He’s my friend of course, and of course I care about him but love…” he trailed off.
He had been looking around the room as he spoke, trying to distract his mind from the obvious breathiness of his speech that indicated he was definitely nervous, something he had been trained to look for in visitors who might be planning assassinations. He finally looked back down to meet Hunith’s eyes, not quite sure what he was trying to say anymore. She looked more serious than she had in this entire conversation.
“Arthur,” she said, sounding as if his name itself was a term of endearment, “love is a part of friendships as much as romantic relationships.”
Of course, he’d known that. That’s what he was trying to explain, obviously. He nearly felt relief that she understood what he meant, but then she continued speaking and he tensed again.
“I want you to examine that gut reaction you just had,” Hunith was saying. “Think about what you’re actually reacting to: the thought of you and Merlin being involved romantically, or the thought of someone else thinking you had romantic feelings about Merlin. Think about whose voice is telling you that’s wrong–is it yours or Uther’s?”
Arthur had no response to that, in fact, he wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly. He couldn’t fathom that last sentence. The possibility of his father having thought that he, Uther’s only son and heir, was in love with a peasant boy? Not possible. Uther’s head would have imploded. Or Arthur’s.
And as for other people thinking he was considering Merlin romantically, well, it just wasn’t true, so why would they think that? Of course, he acted different with Merlin than with anyone else, but that’s because he felt different about Merlin than anyone else–he felt Merlin was his best friend, that was it. Right?
Arthur knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He simply stared at Hunith, shocked.
It seemed Hunith had accomplished her mission, as she didn’t try to impart him with any more wisdom, she simply patted his shoulder and bustled away towards the wardrobe.
Arthur was so used to Merlin bustling around that it took him a few minutes to realize that these were not, in fact, his own chambers, and he should probably leave Hunith in peace. He stumbled back to his own in a daze, just to collapse in his chair and continue gaping, this time with no audience.
Chapter 13: Fulfillment
Chapter Text
The next time Arthur saw Merlin, which he absolutely did not manufacture by letting his guard down when casually sparring with Leon without chainmail at a time when he knew Gaius was out making rounds, thank you very much, was the next morning.
He refused Leon’s offer to escort him to the physicians chambers and instead tried to spend the walk up trying to come up with a plan for the whole hugging Merlin thing. How had he done it last time? Well, last time, Merlin had been presumed dead, so Arthur had been sleep deprived for days, then had been surprised in a moment of anticipating an enemy, so really he couldn’t be held accountable for what happened then. Nor could he remember his thought process. Perhaps he hadn’t had one. But now he was thinking about it.
As he started up the steps of the tower, he still hadn’t come up with anything better than falling into Merlin mock-accidentally, which, while much less frightening than admitting he desired a hug, was not the point of this exercise.
What was the point exactly? Oh yes, to let Merlin know he was important to Arthur.
His feet steered him up to the door automatically, and it seemed his hands were determined to betray him as well, as his uninjured arm raised and knocked before he had finalized his plan.
Merlin opened the door.
Arthur was standing there with his hand raised, arm frozen in the knocking position, and other arm bleeding freely as he had let go of it to knock.
“Arthur?” Merlin questioned.
“Merlin! Hello!” Arthur replied, perhaps a bit too brightly. He brought his hand down to clamp over the bleeding cut again.
“Arthur, are you bleeding? What happened?” Merlin asked, concerned.
“Uh, well you know, training,” Arthur got out stiffly through the fog that had overtaken his mind.
Merlin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. It was such a familiar sight Arthur nearly sighed in relief.
“Come here,” Merlin beckoned, waving Arthur over to a stool beside the workbench. Arthur sat where instructed. “Shirt off,” Merlin added after a moment. Oh right, Merlin would have to bandage his arm under the shirt.
Arthur didn’t speak as Merlin worked. He just watched as Merlin cleaned the wound. Merlin made the most adorable concentrated face, and when he had to dab at it with some substance that stung, he made the sweetest sympathetic face. Arthur wished Merlin would look at him like that more, as if he wanted to care for Arthur, as if Arthur’s pain were his own. Arthur knew it was probably a reflex from working with kids, but that didn’t stop his heart from wanting more.
The longer he watched Merlin, with his stupid, adorable, caring face, the more he wanted to know what it would feel like to have him in his arms, to be enveloped in his arms in return. Would it feel warm, like hugging Hunith? Safe, like hugging Gwen? Would it feel unique, as things involving Merlin generally felt? He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without even trying. He needed to know right then, but somehow, he couldn’t ask. He simply sat in silence as he tried to convince his mouth to spit out a few measly words.
“All set,” Merlin said, surprising Arthur out of his own internal battle.
Without thinking, he let his surprise carry the words out of his mouth. “Can I hug you?” he asked. It sounded rushed, forced almost, all wrong, and Merlin looked shocked. It was wrong, bad, he shouldn’t have done that. Arthur was ready to take it back and just leave in disgrace when Merlin replied with a gentle “yes.”
Relief swept through Arthur, along with a new nervous anticipation.
Arthur had thought asking would be the hard part–after all, the hug with Hunith had been so natural. But somehow he forgot all of a sudden what to do with his arms and his legs, and as he stood up he felt so awkward that he couldn’t look Merlin in the eyes. He didn’t know what to do next.
He was surprised when he felt Merlin press up against him and wrap his arms around Arthur. It felt nice, and on instinct, he put his own arms around Merlin.
Merlin relaxed even more into the embrace and his head found its way between Arthur’s neck and shoulder. As Merlin breathed in and out, he could feel warm air flow over his skin, and he suddenly realized he was half-naked. Well, at least he knew now why Merlin had looked so shocked at his request.
Arthur felt invigorated, tingly almost. This was the most alive his body had ever felt outside of fighting. Hugging Hunith hadn’t felt like this, nor the one-armed embraces with his closest knights. Even his intimate embraces with Gwen hadn’t come close to this feeling. There was something different, something special about Merlin, about how Merlin made him feel. Arthur recalled suddenly what Hunith had said about romance and snogging.
Oh my god, was this what a romantic hug was supposed to feel like? He really hadn’t felt anything like this with Gwen. This realization was simultaneously the best thing he had ever felt and the scariest. He felt like any move he made now would be the wrong one. He stiffened, feeling paralyzed.
Merlin must have noticed, as he started making soothing noises and rubbing his thumb around lightly where it was on Arthur’s back. The place it touched felt hot–it burned, that small point of contact somehow more consequential than the entire hug.
What was happening? All he wanted was to enjoy this feeling, the feeling of having Merlin in his arms, finally, but all he could think about was how much more he wanted now.
It was too much. He pulled back and, avoiding making eye contact, turned to exit. He barely remembered to pull his shirt back on before rushing out and back to his own chambers where he could think in private.
--
What did he just do? He’d hugged Merlin! Or technically Merlin had hugged him. But they had hugged. For a long few minutes.
Merlin had been ever so slightly making circles on Arthur’s back with his thumb and it was the best thing Arthur had ever felt. Better than finally putting his sword down after a long practice. Better than kissing Gwen.
How could he have missed this? Was he really so oblivious? Or had he purposely been protecting himself from this revelation, put Gwen between them so he didn’t have to think about Merlin alone? Never hugged him or shown affection to him. Never told him how he felt. Because how could he have, he hadn’t even known how he felt. But he knew now, he knew he loved Merlin.
He had to tell Merlin. That’s what both Gwaine and Hunith had said, to tell Merlin how he felt. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but he had felt much the same during his first battle, and he’d gotten through that.
Ok. He had to tell Merlin. But it should be in private. So, here then. He didn’t think he could go fetch Merlin himself, walk the long halls between the physician’s tower and his chambers with Merlin by his side, pestering him to open up about where they were going and why. No, he would have someone else tell Merlin to come to him.
He walked out into the hall and wandered around until he saw someone else, a servant with a basket of something in their arms, and Arthur asked his request politely instead of ordering it like he would have before this whole ordeal.
“Excuse me,” he interrupted. “Would you mind sending a message to Merlin for me? Or finding someone who would have time to if you don’t.”
“Of course, sire,” the servant replied. “What’s the message?”
“Oh. Uh, I’d like him to meet me in my chambers, at his earliest convenience. But only if he wants to, this isn’t an order or anything. I just want to talk with him. In private,” he rambled. Then, realizing the implications of that statement, he added, “about state matters.”
The servant gave him a knowing smile. “Of course sire, I will deliver the message personally,” they replied.
Something about the tone of the response confused him, but he was too busy worrying about what to say to Merlin to think much on it.
--
All too soon, Merlin came bursting through the doors.
Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say, he just looked at Merlin for the first time since he realized he was in love with the man. He was beautiful, and Arthur wondered why he’d ever called those ears unattractive. How had he ever been able to take his eyes off this gorgeous man? He remembered, quite suddenly, his feelings upon first meeting Merlin. The innuendos he’d made, the attraction that quickly turned into irritation when his father had forced their proximity.
“Arthur?” Merlin asked as he walked across the room, approaching Arthur where he stood by the fireplace. “Are you okay? What did you want to talk about?”
And suddenly Arthur couldn’t hold it back anymore. He hadn’t had a plan, and it turned out his own ‘plan’ to hide his feelings from himself had been a disaster, so he decided to just wing it again.
“I love you,” he blurted out, sounding more crazed than romantic.
Merlin stopped in his tracks, looking shocked.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur hastened to add. “I didn’t mean… Well I did mean that. But I meant to say it better.” Gods above, this was not coming out how he wanted it to.
“What I meant to say is that you’re important to me, Merlin. You’ve been my best friend for ten years, you were my only friend for a long time. You were my first friend, and I didn’t learn from you what I should have about being a friend–I wasn’t a good friend back to you, because I was trying to hide my feelings from myself. Because honestly, Merlin, I’ve been so attracted to you since we met that if we had to work so closely I couldn’t have let myself feel that, not with my father still alive and watching me. So I think I buried it down deep under false layers of annoyance. And I courted Gwen, because she was so much like you, but she was well, female, but now we’ve broken up, and I talked with Gwaine and your mum, and your mum said I should think about you romantically or something, and I realized that even though I called you an idiot and insulted your ears it wasn’t true, they’re the most attractive thing I’ve ever-”
He was interrupted by Merlin’s mouth. On his mouth.
Merlin was kissing him.
Merlin was kissing him.
Merlin’s lips were on his lips, and oh, he should be doing something too. He knew how to do this, he’d kissed Gwen before. But it hadn’t felt like this.
His whole body was rushing, burning. Arthur’s awareness of his surroundings, which had never abandoned him before, abruptly cut out, and he was left with only the sensation of soft warmth on his lips. It was a fairly chaste kiss, just their mouths pressing together, but it felt like everything.
Merlin waited just long enough for Arthur to understand what was happening, then he pulled back.
“I love you too, you prat,” he said, smiling fondly at Arthur.
Arthur, giddy with the knowledge that he could do this now, kissed Merlin’s cheek.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked, finally confident enough to ask the one question that had been a constant on his mind all this time.
“Well, you’d better be better at courting than friendship, but for now, I think you’ve done a good job,” Merlin told him.
Arthur smiled sweetly and leaned in for another kiss.
After a few minutes of bliss, Merlin ended the kiss. The serious look on his face was the only thing that stopped Arthur from leaning back in for another.
“Thank you Arthur, really, for putting in the effort,” Merlin thanked him. He stepped back, putting some distance between them. Arthur wanted nothing more than to close the distance again, but he let Merlin have some space if that’s what he needed.
“I think it’s time for me to put in some effort as well,” Merlin declared. “I had a talk with my mum, and I think she’s right, I think it’s time I tell you what I’ve been so afraid of.”
Arthur recalled that night with the nightmare and the way Merlin had clung to his hand like it was a lifeline. So, he was finally going to find out what that had been about. He tried to look warm and inviting, something he was finding much easier to do now that he was more aware of and open with his own feelings. He smiled softly at Merlin and nodded to prompt him to continue.
“I have, uh. I was born with,” Merlin stuttered out hesitatingly. “Shit this is hard. How did you do it Arthur, just blurt your innermost feelings out?”
“I trusted you,” Arthur responded easily. “And I trusted myself. I knew that our friendship would be stronger if built on truth than on half-hidden lies.”
Merlin didn’t seem appeased by that, which Arthur realized too late was because Merlin had likely been lying to Arthur since they met, if this was as big of a deal as he was making it out to be.
“You’re making this harder you know,” Merlin mumbled.
Arthur sighed. He wanted Merlin to tell him whatever it was that was bothering him, but he also wanted Merlin to feel safe when he did.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” Arthur reassured. “We could always go back to, you know, other activities,” he then insinuated.
“No, I have to tell you now, before well… before things,” Merlin explained without actually clarifying anything.
“You’re shaking,” Arthur noticed.
“I’ve been scared for a long time, Arthur, it’s not going to stop now,” Merlin countered in a small voice.
Arthur reached forward on instinct, not needing to think anymore as he pulled Merlin into an embrace. Merlin shook in his arms.
Arthur was aware of only one thing that would paralyze Merlin like this, one thing Merlin had claimed could lead to such an intense fear one might abandon their principles, might lie and manipulate just to stay safe. Magic. Arthur found he was ready for the confession as it came.
“Do you remember when I was dying from the poison, and you went to get that flower for me?” Merlin asked after retreating from the embrace.
“I was getting you a cure, not picking bouquets, Merlin,” Arthur joked, hoping that falling back on their usual banter would ease some of the tension he could see in Merlin’s shoulders.
Merlin smiled briefly and closed his eyes. In his hand bloomed an orb of light, the same light that had saved Arthur in the caves that night. Arthur found he wasn’t surprised. He had wondered for weeks after the incident who or what had sent that light, if it had truly been a benevolent force. Finding out it was Merlin, that likely every inexplicable fortune that Arthur had wondered about had been Merlin, was as natural as letting out a breath of air and finding there was new air to breathe in.
Merlin, however, didn’t seem to be breathing anymore. He was waiting, breath held, eyes closed, perhaps not wanting to witness Arthur’s reaction.
As Arthur stepped forward to reassure him, however, Merlin let out his held breath in a rushed sentence.
“I told you I’ve been scared my whole life,” Merlin started, gaining confidence with every word. He opened his eyes, and Arthur saw they were shining the most entrancing gold, swirling in minuscule patterns as he watched.
“Well, this is why. I was born with magic,” Merlin confessed. “And I use it, to protect you, to protect Camelot. To heal wounds Gaius couldn’t, to find the path ahead, to cover our tracks on quests. I use it to kill, sometimes, when necessary. Just like you and your knights. I fight with it, to protect our people. But mostly to protect you. I love you, Arthur, I always have, and I always will.” He stood defiantly now, as if daring Arthur to reject him after all they had been through together.
Arthur reached out a hand slowly to touch the ball of light. It swirled where his fingers made contact. He looked up to see Merlin’s golden eyes filled with tears, some spilling down over his cheeks, so he reached out to Merlin, softly caressing his face.
“Beautiful,” Arthur said, and kissed him again.
Chapter 14: Epilogue
Chapter Text
Ceridwen watched from afar as the results of her plan fell neatly into place. She had known that one precise moment would be the right time to intervene. The mechanics of everything were lined up just so, and a simple push–nudging Arthur’s and Mordred's minds away from Merlin for an afternoon and inciting Merlin’s anger at Arthur temporarily–would be enough to change destiny. It had in fact been Merlin’s destiny to fail, but Ceridwen had shifted their path with that one move. She was, after all, the goddess of transformation.
Now only one piece was left to put back in place: Morgana.
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