Chapter Text
"My king." The young peasant woman pleaded, on her knees before Arthur's throne. "I have heard rumours. Rumours that I fear may threaten you and the future of Camelot. A new druid king has arisen."
Arthur let out a small sigh, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.
He hadn't meant to seem so nonchalant about his subject's concerns—usually, he was most attentive to even the smallest of problems within his kingdom. But he simply couldn't help it.
As of late, Arthur had been truly losing his wits for two reasons alone. One; all he was ever being presented with the past week was rumour upon rumour of druids and sorcerers that truly were doing no harm to even a blade of grass upon Camelot's grounds.
Two; His useless manservant was not doing his job....again.
Though, more than usual.
Arthur was truly perplexed by it. Of course, Merlin was always useless at his job; that was part of the charm. The challenge that kept their friendship alight. But as of late, Merlin had been neglecting and messing up even the simplest of tasks. Just the other day, Arthur found Merlin snoring in the hallway outside his door. That very evening, Merlin was polishing Arthur's shirts, and hanging up his shoes!
Something was most definitely wrong, but his ever secretive manservant managed to slip away or change the subject any time the blonde brought it up. It was driving him insane.
"My king?"
Arthur blinked, shooting up to sit straighter and clear his throat. "Yes. Yes, I'm listening." He blurted, receiving an odd glance from Gaius, and a quiet snicker from Gwaine in the corner, stood with the rest of his trusted knights.
"I shall look into it. Do not fret—be sure to tell your fellow townspeople that you are under the protection of the King." He said smoothly, quick to regain his composure.
Relief washed over the woman's face as she rose to her feet, clasping her hands together. "Thank you. Oh, thank you, your majesty." She gushed, soon accompanied out by the guards as Arthur stood, fixing the crown atop his head.
"Send word to the druids—I request a formal meeting to discuss these rumours."
As he glanced over to Gaius, hoping to beckon Merlin to accompany him to his chambers, he noticed that oddly enough the space beside the old man was absent.
"Gaius?" Arthur called, taking a step towards the physician, Gaius quickly crossing the space between them in no time.
"Yes, my Lor—"
"Where on Earth is Merlin?" The blonde asked, glancing around the room with furrowed eyebrows.
"Err.. I'm not sure, sire. He may be in his chambers. Would you like me to send him up to you?"
Arthur sighed, shaking his head. His gaze returned to Gaius, giving the man a small smile. "No, don't bother. I'll go find the stupid prat myself—Can't have him skiving off the job again."
"Merlin!" Arthur called, swinging the door to Gaius' chambers open, rather unceremoniously. He stepped in, his eyes sweeping across the room to find no sign of life—Though, Merlin's door was ajar.
Confidently, he began to approach the door, stopping at the steps.
"Merlin, are you here? You should really answer your king when he calls you, you know. If I find out you're in the tavern again, don't think I won't put you in the stocks." He called out, knowing full well the threat would fall on deaf ears, whether Merlin was present or not.
Arthur knew his servant was lazy, of course, but he didn't anticipate opening Merlin's door to find the raven haired manservant slumped on the ground, head resting on his bed, and yet still kneeled on the ground.
What, did he fall asleep praying to the Gods he so desperately believes in? Arthur barked a small laugh, before anxiety settled in.
Was Merlin sick?
Enchanted, perhaps? He didn't seem to wake up from all Arthur's incessant yelling—Something must be wrong!
The blonde dove forwards to grasp Merlin's shoulder, shaking him vigorously.
"Shit—" He began, turning his head in preparation to holler for Gaius, only to pause when he felt more than heard the groan eminate from beneath his hand.
Frowning, he turned back to the man on the ground, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as Merlin's sleep-clouded eyes peered up at him, narrowed as he processed what was happening. Arthur could practically see the realisation flash in Merlin's eyes, before the younger man sprung to his feet with a gasp, hands raised in defense.
"Sire!" He yelped, "I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Honestly, Merlin." Arthur sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sleeping on the job. If I didn't know better, I'd think that you weren't respecting your king."
Merlin let out an uncomfortable laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It was upon following this movement with his eyes that Arthur noticed Merlin's neckscarf had twisted around in his sleep, the awkward knot pressed into his throat, crease marks from the sheets still imprinted on one side of Merlin's face and neck. "Not at all, sire. I was just, um..."
Unable to think of an excuse, Merlin flashed the king a sheepish smile, clasping his hands together in front of himself.
"How about I go muck the stables?"
"Yes, maybe that'll wake you up. Once you've done that, polish my armour—Hm, better polish my crown, too. And tidy my room, won't you? It's a pig sty."
"A pig sty fit for a king." Merlin nodded, pulling a serious expression, "You'd think the king of Camelot would know how to fold his clothes instead of throwing them across the room each day."
"Shut up, Mer-lin, or I'll...I'll.." Arthur hesitated, clenching his jaw. "Or I'll throw you across the room. Now—scram." Merlin let out a loud laugh, walking past to squeeze out the door, a new spring in his step as if he hadn't been caught blatantly being insubordinate...again.
Arthur's fingers itched with the temptation to fix the neckscarf. He resisted the urge with surprising difficulty, instead watching the clumsy boy disappear out of the room, clearly having no idea how absolutely ridiculous he looked.
✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆༉‧₊˚✧
As soon as nightfall came, Merlin stole a horse and rode out of Camelot, emerald green cloak billowing behind him. It was a gift from the druids, a beautiful thing of soft cloth with embroidered edges, enchanted to keep him warm in the increasingly worsening weather.
He had become close with the druids, visiting them often, so long as all was well within Camelot. Of course, the druids had long since prophesied Emrys would save them all, and were quick to appoint him a leader, of sorts.
Not that Merlin really knew how to do that sort of thing. Sure, he did have some authority, and did make many decisions for the druids, but really Iseldir did most of the work. If anything, the title was a formality.
Still. He was honoured.
His steed slowed to a stop in the forest, whinnying as he clambered down rather uncouthly, foot briefly getting caught on the stirrup. Once Merlin had steadied himself, he lead the horse by the reigns to the druid camp.
"Emrys," Iseldir spoke, a calm smile on his face, "Welcome back. We have a message from Camelot for you."
"For me?" Merlin frowned, following the chieftain into his tent, where a small number of concerned druids mumbled and muttered, surrounding a small scroll of parchment. Merlin pulled down his hood, hurrying to grasp the parchment, eyes tracing over the handwriting he could probably recognise from indent alone.
Arthur.
'King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot requests the audience of Druid Chieftian Iseldir and Druid King Emrys to form an official truce and discuss rumour spreading through the people of Camelot.'
"Fuck." Merlin mumbled, earning disapproving glances from the older druids—not that he paid attention.
"Iseldir, what is this?" He asked nervously, glancing up at the older man, whose grey eyes stared back at him intently.
"It appears word of your leadership has reached Camelot, and the King himself, Emrys." He said calmly, hands clasped behind his back. "He wishes to meet to confirm the rumour. I feel it is within our best interest to meet with him—Perhaps talk him into a peace treaty."
"I can't do that." Merlin blurted, fisting at the emerald green cloth hanging off his shoulders. "You know I can't! Iseldir, he can't know who I am. I know Arthur has warmed up to magic, but he can't know all I've been hiding from him. He will be furious, I could lose my job. I could lose him. Maybe you should go and tell him the rumours are false."
Iseldir sighed, weary.
They'd had this conversation a number of times, and he still couldn't understand what made Merlin so desperate to stay a manservant to the stubborn king. Magic incarnate, scrubbing floors and cleaning bedsheets? Preposterous.
Still, he didn't argue.
"I understand." He said softly instead.
Merlin began to pace, eyebrows furrowed deeply and eyes downcast, footsteps creating a pathway in the dirt.
"Emrys, if I may—What if we hide your identity? Surely it'd be better to provide your king a sorcerer he can put his trust in, rather than lie and create tension." Iseldir offered, watching as Merlin froze in place, thinking.
"I can't do that. I've used the aging spell to fool Arthur before—he won't believe it to be Emrys."
Iseldir nodded slowly, watching the other druids silently file out of the tent, leaving the leaders alone to talk. "I could create an enchantment for you, to disguise you whenever you need it. None of us will reveal your secret—We live to serve you, Emrys. You and the Old Religion."
Merlin glanced at the man, lips pursed nervously. It didn't sound too difficult to execute.
He could talk to Arthur in this disguise. Charm the king. Convince him to sign a peace treaty. And then...Return to the castle as himself as if nothing ever happened. Easy.
Too easy.
Reluctantly, Merlin nodded.
"Okay. Okay, that could work—Let's do it. And tell Arthur we'll meet him in two days time. That'll be long enough for you to work on the enchantment, right?"
"More than." Iseldir hummed, placing his hand comfortingly on the young man's shoulder. "Do not worry, Emrys. With practice and time, you will make a strong leader."
"With your help and council." Merlin argued, "It's you who does most of the work. You've no idea how thankful I am."
The older man smiled wider, nodding his head. "I have an inkling. Now, let us get to work."
✧*̣̩⋆̩☽⋆༉‧₊˚✧
The time for the druids' visit was upon them, and Merlin was certain he would not last much longer.
Arthur had been working him to the bone more than usual, preparing for the arrival of the Druids and their 'king.' Merlin hated the title people had started giving him–Druid king. He had enough titles, thank you. Dragonlord, Magic Incarnate, young warlock, Dragoon the Great, Emrys, Merlin, idiot—
Merlin groaned, leaning on his broom.
Since the king was busy with his duties, Merlin was sure just a brief shut eye couldn't hurt. Just resting his eyes, nothing more. He had so much to do, preparing for his own arrival—a break was so desperately needed. Merlin had already been a tired mess the past few weeks, but nothing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion he felt now.
Just a moment of shut eye. That's all..
"Mer-lin!"
Merlin let out a long groan, opening his eyes to see Arthur glowering by the door.
"Taking another nap instead of cleaning, are we? I need you to prepare rooms for the druids. Will two be enough? It needs to be fit for a king, you hear me? Or—Better than that! This is incredibly important."
"I'm sure the druids will be happy with regular treatment, sire." Merlin sighed, "Anyway, can't I just take a small break? I haven't even had my breakfast yet."
"Merlin!" Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to inhale slowly. Merlin didnt see the blonde prat this worked up very often, at least not since Uther died.
He really was stressed.
"This is so, incredibly important. I don't expect you to understand why, but trust me, I know politics. I need this to go well, so prepare the rooms and make sure they're immaculate. And then just...make yourself scarce, until I have to get ready for the feast."
Merlin pursed his lips, gripping the broom tighter. He swallowed thickly.
"I apologise, sire." He said softly, "Um, George will have to help you with the feast tonight. Gaius is sending me on a trip to fetch some herbs, they're very important, only bloom under the waning moon, you see, so I can't go any other ti—"
"Whatever! Just get it done!" The King barked, waving his hand dismissively as he stomped to the bed, taking a heavy seat on the edge of the mattress and setting his crown aside to massage his temples. Arthur listened to the long sigh from behind him, and despite his outburst, relaxed once he felt nimble fingers pressing into his shoulders.
"Sire," Merlin said, voice softening into that tone he always seemed to resort to when things grew serious, "I'll be back soon, I promise. I know George will make this evening go smoothly, far more than I would."
"Yes, it will help to not have to worry about you spilling wine all down the druid king."
Merlin bit back an amused grin, instead opting to move his shoulder massage along to the nape of Arthur's neck. The king let out a small groan beneath his touch. "So...you seem more nervous than usual. Aren't you used to meeting with nobility by now? It isn't because he's a druid, is it?"
"No, no, not at all." Arthur sighed, closing his eyes, "I suppose I'm beginning to get used to magic. It's...Not quite so bad, I'm realising. Not all the time, at least. I think I'm just nervous because..well, my father would be disappointed. He'd never stand for such a meeting to take place. Why, my father would clip me round the head for even telling the servants to prepare a room for King Emrys."
"Your father was a prejudiced man." Merlin muttered, fingers dancing back down to massage the tense muscle of Arthur's upper back. The domesticity of it all used to be stupendous to Merlin—Nowadays, neither man even thought about it, the actions coming as second nature to them.
"You are a better king than he ever was, Arthur."
"So you keep saying."
"Hey—You know I don't lie about this stuff. Emrys will love you, Arthur. Maybe try and look forward to it, he might not be so bad. He might be just as nervous, you know. If not more."
When Merlin's hands left him, Arthur let out a sigh and turned to face the servant seated behind him, cross legged on the bed as if it were his own. "You know, Merlin. Times like this make me think you might actually have a brain in that thick skull of yours. You're too wise sometimes—I don't like it. It's unsettling."
Merlin snorted a laugh, turning to climb off of the bed only for his boot to catch on the silk duvet draped over the mattress. In one swift movement, Merlin stood and stepped forwards, only to collapse to the ground with a hard thwack, the sheets tangling around his feet and arms sprawled out either side of him. "Shit—!" He yelped at the impact, groaning in pain on the hard stone floor.
The King merely laughed, pointing a finger at the poor injured Warlock.
"Now that's the Merlin I know! Now, off you go! And I expect to see you first thing in the morning, not a moment later than sun up."
"Yes, Sire." Merlin whined, clambering off the floor and rubbing his sore knee with a pout.