Save a horse (and all that)

by roundtableknight

Summary:

The silence continued; he knew Arthur would speak when all his thoughts were in order, but this was excruciating. Merlin cleared his throat. “Would you like some pants, sire?”

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, his fingers tightening around the rim of the tub and ‘yep I'm being carted to the dungeon now.’

~

Or: Arthurian chores are entirely too ripe for the (gay) taking. Merlin kinda makes this everyone's problem, including himself.

Notes:

Well, *checks notes* 5 years gone and I'm back with an English degree and Merthur love. This was supposed to be like, 5K max, oops. Hope you all enjoy, and check the end notes for additional thoughts! Also apologies for any typos <3

The first time Merlin was sent to muck out the stables after criticizing Uther’s tax increase on the common folk, he barely provided any fodder for the rumors that Arthur later accused him of starting. It’s not as if the horses (Arthur’s royal one’s, anyhow) could tell the household staff what Merlin was calling his thick-brained, numb-skulled, pompous, dollop-pole–

 

“arrogant ass,” Merlin finished, watching Llamrei chomp on a bit of Merlin’s apple he had brought for a snack. “Your owner, that is.” Llamrei’s ears twitched, and Merlin grinned. If he could say that much and all Llamrei did was a horse-style version of a shoulder shrug, then Merlin must not be that far off base. 

 

That, or he needed to stop talking to the horses, but good company was hard to find. 

 

“‘Sharpen my sword, Merlin. Scrub the floors, Merlin. Hand me my papers at the end of my tiny desk because my wrists hurt from displaying my overwrought masculinity with my sword, Merlin.’ I’ll hand him something alright,” he muttered.  

 

Llamrei snorted. 

 

“Exactly! I know I’ve only been here for a few weeks–” Llamrei bucked her head; Merlin sighed, taking out the extra apple he stored for his second snack in his satchel and let her have a decent go at it before continuing, “but the tax is too high for the townsfolk, and I could see Arthur thinking–I know right?–that it was a bit much.

 

“But he didn’t say anything.” Merlin didn’t know exactly what to do. On the one hand, he didn’t owe Arthur anything. If Uther wanted a revolt and a broken kingdom, then so be it. However, Merlin had seen (within the vastness of Arthur’s pratishness, arrogance, and all of that baggage) that he cared for his citizens, unlike Uther. Merlin didn’t want this job, and he especially didn’t want to be working for the crown prince. Will would keel over if he knew who Merlin had to serve, but Merlin had hope that Arthur would talk to his father about the tax increase. 

 

“Maybe that’s why he kicked me out of his room,” Merlin mumbled outloud, feeling his cynical bones being kicked out of his body by his optimistic bones (and his funny bone, that always did the trick). “Maybe your owner has it in him to do something about this whole mess.” 

 

Llamrei had finished the apple, and she now looked at Merlin with nothing but horse-like apathy. 

 

His usefulness had run out. 

 

“Like father, like mare.” Merlin rubbed her nose, and she snorted at him. 

 

Like he said, good company is hard to find. 

 

~

 

The second time Uther increased the common folks’ taxes, Merlin went out to the stables of his own volition, not knowing if he came out to throw hay around for an hour and tire himself out, or because Arthur’s neck wouldn’t be in his line of sight.

 

Stopping at the entrance to the stables, Merlin tugged at his kerchief around his neck; the heat of the day felt like a hand slowly narrowing his windpipe, and he needed to collect his breathing before he did anything that would cause Gauis to give him the Eyebrow. 

 

“Oh, hey Merlin.” The voice snapped Merlin out of his stupor, and he looked up to see Daniel, one of the stable hands, tending to Hengroen. Llamrei bucked her head next door, and Merlin took out a few apples from the satchel to feed her (she did not have Merlin wrapped around her, well, her hooves. He was playing for a long-term win: for Llamrei to like him more than the prat Arthur.) 

 

Speaking of Arthur. 

 

“So, what are you doing here?” Daniel asked after brushing down Hengroen. He had just finished celebrating his 19th spring; Merlin had helped with the preparation after the king had gone to bed, and he had even dragged out Arthur for a piece of cake. Daniel’s face when he was wished a happy birthday by the prince was one of Merlin’s best memories of that evening, which made sense since later Merlin quipped that Arthur looked as anxious among the staff as a newborn foal, and not even the cute ones. 

 

He promptly got vanilla frosting in his eyelids and his eyes started to water, but it was worth it when he saw Arthur’s smug face fade to a rosy color as Merling started to lick off the frosting. 

 

Hey, he wasn’t going to waste good food. 

 

“King Uther increased taxes, again. As if it wasn’t enough a few weeks back.” Merlin still remembered the days after it took effect, holding out hope that Arthur would do anything. At first, he conceded that maybe Arthur wasn’t as good of a person Merlin had hoped, but then he had witnessed the aftermath of Arthur speaking to his father of the tax increase. 

 

It hadn’t been good, and sometimes Merlin wondered if Uther had wanted a son or just a younger version of himself, someone to parade around and do what he said. They didn’t speak of the exchange, but when Arthur had arrived back to his chambers, chest rising and falling as if his ribcage was about to explode, Merlin had finished polishing his armor, fixed the bath for Arthur, and readied his bed. 

 

When Arthur finally returned from his haze, Merlin threw a dirty sock at him and called him a decent dollop-head. Merlin may have had to sharpen his sword late into the night, but Arthur sat across from him by the fire with an extra cup and flagon of watered-down wine. Arthur had spoken then, that sometimes his father sanctions incorrect laws, and Merlin had asked if they could circulate more coins from the royal vault while increasing some of the homemade items from the lower-town. 

 

Arthur had looked at him, and Merlin could only look at the tiny scar above his eyebrow. It was, from all things, a tree branch Llamrei had gone under with Arthur riding her. Arthur had grumbled, but Merlin had thought it made him more approachable. Someone who was merely human, a boy no less. 

 

The fire had crackled, and Arthur had coughed, mumbling something to do with “idiots” and “soft hearts,” but Arthur had brought it up to the next council meeting, and slowly they had been able to lessen the gap with the tax increase while still making Uther happy. The staff had seen Arthur’s willingness to fight for them, and something had slowly shifted in the castle. 

 

What else the staff had seen was Merlin coming out of Arthur’s chambers at dawn to collect his food, his hair a nest from the rug he had lain on while speaking to Arthur and clothes twisted from the way he had held his body. 

 

Merlin may be part of the staff, but he still didn’t understand castle gossip. 

 

“We can’t afford to increase them again, and with Uther’s health decreasing…” Merlin sighed now. He knew Arthur didn’t want to cause any turmoil between him and Uther that would engender a coughing fit or illness, but Arthur also knew the townsfolk couldn’t absorb another tax. 

 

Merlin had said as much last night, sucking up his chest in a terrible parody of Lord Melford and the way he could try to partake in one less chicken leg if he didn’t want his chest to break through his clothing like Lady Annis’ corset on a good day. Arthur had promptly not refrained from such gluttony with his wine; he had been mid-swallow, before coughing it up and spilling it on his draft for his next council meeting. 

 

Daniel knocked his shoulder. “So, did Arthur send you out here after a passionate speech naming his stupidity.” He paused. “And…a tumble on the floor?” Merlin quickly fixed his hair (it was windy out, all right), and grinned; in his solid opinion not enough people loyal to the Pendragon household put Arthur on his toes, leaving it all to Merlin to do. 

 

This is another reason he helped bake Daniel’s cake. 

 

“No, but it might as well be. This morning after training he came in and demanded I polish his sword, even though I know he’s going to practice again tonight! So, I said as much, and he took it upon himself to ‘teach me a lesson’ and watch me oil his sword down by the fireplace. Then, he told me I was holding the pommel wrong–” Daniel coughed, waving so Merlin knew he was agreeing, “I know! So, he took hold of his pommel and showed me how tight I should hold the base before working my way up, and, are you okay?” 

 

Daniel’s eyes had all but bulged out of his head. “Just, are you and Arthur okay with telling me this?” 

 

Merlin was confused. “I’m confused. Of course, how else are you supposed to know what that dollop-pole makes me do in his chambers.” 

 

“Exactly, his chambers.” 

 

“Well, it’s not like I can bring everyone into his chambers for a show-and-tell–”

 

“thank god for that.”

 

“and don’t even get me started on how he wants me to oil his chain mail at dawn,” Merlin huffed, feeling better after getting all of this off his chest. “Thanks for listening, Daniel.” He patted Daniel’s shoulder, reaching to give Hengroen’s nose a scratch. 

 

“No problem.” Daniel’s face looked sunburnt, and Merlin wondered if he was allergic to the hay in the barn. Just like Arthur to give his household staff jobs they were allergic too. 

 

“Merlin!” They both jumped, and Merlin sighed. 

 

“Well, that’s my break. I have to finish with the leather strapping for Arthur’s sword.” 

 

“Leather?!” Daniel gulped, holding fast to Hengroen’s brush like it would defend him from an army and a half.

“Well, yeah. You see–” 

 

“MERLIN!” 

 

“I’ll tell you about it later.” Merlin waved to him. 

 

“Please don’t.” 

 

‘Odd,’ Merlin thought. He would have to check in with Daniel more often to see if that hay was giving him trouble. Maybe he could help with Arthur’s armor? 

 

Merlin snorted at his own thoughts. ‘Now that would be the day.’

 

~

 

“You and my son have gotten close, I see.” Uther had asked to see Merlin a few days after his conversation with Daniel. Merlin had hoped it was to ask about the tax, as he was from an outlying village tied to the whims of kings and their machinations, and he had helped with correcting the first tax increase. But Uther talking about his son made him lose some hope. 

 

Well, that, and Uther didn’t know he had helped with the tax.

 

And he had tripped over a dust mite when he came into the throne room, but that was neither here nor there. 

 

“Well, one certainly has to be while attending to him. I have to get up close just to see the insidious knot he made with his shirt laces.” Merlin paused, then grinned. “It’s almost like no one taught him how to tie his own shoes. He will run the kingdom one day but his fork might end up being a more deadly enemy…” Merlin trailed off as Uther’s face darkened more and more. “Sir.” 

 

Uther sighed. Merlin agreed, he really didn’t want to be here either. “While I hoped to have a few more years of ruling before I passed the mantle to Arthur, I also know I cannot always get what I want.” His stare was directed at Merlin. Maybe he did know about the taxes. And the birthday party he wasn’t invited to. Merlin gulped. “As such, I have been watching Arthur’s close friends and knights to see if I must interfere if they wish to overthrow my son once I leave.” 

 

Merlin thought of Sophia’s love spell, of Cenred’s attack on the citadel, of Hengroen who tried to throw Arthur off him while riding back from a skirmish along the border (Merlin maybe shouldn’t blame a horse, but did you see their eyes? Demonic.) “Don’t worry sir, I have faith that Arthur will succeed and be a great king.” 

 

Uther eyed him. “And that faithfulness has nothing to do with…your relationship?”

 

Merlin froze. He thought back to Daniel’s conversation and the maids whispering in the corridors. Retracing his actions, he realized what he was doing for Arthur was not merely part of a servant’s job description. “I assure you sir, my faith in Arthur comes from what I have seen him do for his kingdom as a servant next to him and nothing more.” 

 

Uther’s face looked as if he had eaten a bitter grape. “Just know, that…if anything were to continue, I would not be wholly opposed to it. It has done him well to have you around.” 

 

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Uther waved him out. Merlin did the world's most half-assed bow before running out. 

 

‘I haven’t been as careful as I thought I was,’ Merlin thought, walking along the hallways back to Arthur’s chambers to pick up his chainmail. How many people think this? 

 

Merlin knew what he needed to do. He needed to make fun of Arthur more, to poke and prod at his comments to show everyone that he had no claim to Arthur in any way besides where his pay came from. 

 

‘Otherwise everyone will start believing it,’ Merlin sighed, gripping his hair. 

 

‘They’ll think I’m the prat’s friend.’

 

~  

 

Merlin looked up, the crick in his neck and the knot in his shoulder argued with him as he finished wiping down one of the knight’s training swords. He saw Arthur and Lancelot practicing counter-moves; Leon and Percival were commenting on the other’s hits to the straw dummy; Elyan shifted into different standing positions. 

 

Arthur’s most loyal knights and friends. And Merlin’s too. Well, not Arthur, mind you, he was a prat and too big for his britches (Merlin needed to put another hole in his belt soon). But they were there for Merlin when he needed them, especially–

 

“Gwaine!” Merlin’s yelp mixed in the air with Gwaine’s laughter; he went ass over tea kettle behind the wooden log he had been sitting on. “What was that for?” Merlin spluttered. 

 

“Just a good day is all. I wish to share it.” Gwaine sat on the grass next to Merlin’s discombobulated figure. “I see the knights are training.” 

 

Merlin sat back up, finding one of the practice swords and pushing it towards Gwaine. “Aren’t you supposed to be out there, oh knight of Camelot?” 

 

Gwaine smirked. “Nah. I got my cardio in a different way this morning.” 

 

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “Gross.” It wasn’t that Merlin was apropos to tumbling into bed with some of the more gracious men of Camelot, it was that he didn’t want to hear about it from his close friend. 

 

“Eh! Don’t knock it. Especially as–” 

 

“As what?” 

 

“Well.” Gwaine scratched the back of his head. His hair in a tangle of knots and a substance he didn’t want to peer closer at. “ I was talking to the stable hand Daniel, and he said you came to him about some of the things Arthur was making you do.” 

 

Merlin stared at Gwaine. Merlin knew he should have asked why he was bringing up the Arthur situation as equal to Gwaine’s sexual stories – wait, Daniel? – but that thought went out the window when he knew he could use this to his advantage. 

 

“Did Daniel speak of the sword incident?” 

 

“Not in as much detail as I would have liked.” Gwaine smirked, nudging Merlin along. 

 

“That’s what I thought!” Merlin all but imploded. “He said he didn’t want any more details, but it isn’t as if I can sneak you all in into the chamber while Arthur’s in the act–” 

 

“The act!” Gwaine leaned back on his palms. “Tell me more.” 

 

“Well.” Merlin thought; though he complained, he never thought he would receive an audience anytime soon. “He makes me sharpen his sword morning and night!” He snorts. “It says it allows him to be in peak fighting mode, but his sword hasn’t moved anywhere between the evening and the morning!” 

 

Gwaine coughed. “Well, you know the refraction period–” 

 

“And then he wants two baths a day! Says it’s good for playing, but there isn’t a speck of dirt on his back from the night before. He’s basically sleepwalking into the tub, so I have to perk him up–”

 

“Whoa, isn’t it a bit red from all the action?” Gwaine looked a bit concerned, which, Merlin thought, was very fair. Arthur’s back ended up looking like a freshly picked apple. Though he should be more concerned about all the water usage. The aquifers were something Merlin had to remember to bring up to Arthur sometime soon. 

 

“Well, yeah. But when I’m not as harsh he calls me ‘fair-minded’ and so I really press down and–” 

 

“Whoa!” Now Gwaine looked like Daniel did. Merlin huffed; he couldn’t catch a break. 

 

“What?”

 

Gwaine looked between Merlin and Arthur out on the practice field. “Is this your first time serving, well–” he led off. 

 

‘A dollop-headed prince?’ “Yeah, where else would I have done this?” Merlin raised an eyebrow, and Gwaine sighed. 

 

“Does he always rile you up so–” 

 

“I wouldn’t feel bad for regicide? Yep.” 

 

Gwaine mumbled under his breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to talk to Lancelot about this; he’s closer to the Princess than me. You,” Gwaine said, jabbing a finger into Merlin’s shoulder, “should have told me about this earlier, but we’ll proceed from here.” 

 

“And what does ‘proceed from here’ entail?” 

 

“It means the princess should know he shouldn’t be treating you like this.” 

 

“Right!” Merlin turned toward Gwaine. “Arthur seems to think this is normal behavior for servants–”

 

“For servants!” exclaimed Gwaine. “That’s what he’s been saying!?”

 

“Well.” Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. “Uther seems to think we’re–” Merlin leaned in close to Gwaine, the other leaning down too, “friends.”

 

“Friends!? Doing this constantly!?” Gwaine scratched the back of his head. “This is worse than I thought.” 

 

“I know! I was trying to tell him that we aren’t friends, but Arthur isn’t helping with all of this serving business. So, I’m really glad you asked Gwaine.” Merlin put his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. “We’ll get this figured out, right.” 

 

“Absolutely.” Gwaine mirrored Merlin. “This will be figured out in no time.” 

 

~

 

It was not, to put it lightly, figured out in “no time.”

 

Merlin awoke with a splitting headache and the feel of the algae living at the bottom of the cistern in his mouth. 

 

“Careful, boy,” a voice – Gauis’, he’d know that relieved-cum-annoyed voice anywhere, even in death – said. “Your body is still recovering.” 

 

Merlin didn’t know if he could call ‘recovering’ the right word. He remembered the gathering of two kingdoms; Uther believing anyone with enough coin in their purse who could peddle pretty words like the market did their wares. The serving girl who said the wine was poisoned; the floor coming up to meet his body like a trapdoor; and–

 

“‘rthur,” Merlin mumbled. He cracked his eyes open, feeling the sweat shift on his brow. His lungs hurt from the inside – something he didn’t know could happen. Gauis’ hand rested on his chest, counting his breathing. 

 

“Sorry, my boy. Lung infections are particularly notorious for going into hibernation for periods of time.” Gauis shifted his hand to feel Merlin’s brow. “Though I’m pleased with your current state after Arthur’s delivery of the flower.” 

 

Arthur. ‘So he did make it,’ Merlin thought, pleased that his almost death at least prevented another. ‘Wh–where is he?” 

 

“Arthur? Uther had him do a routine check of the southern border; he was wearing out the floor boards in his room after I told him we had to simply wait to see how you would react to the cure.” Gauis stood up, his tunic fluttering like a mother hen. “I didn’t want him coming down with heat exhaustion the way we had the fires going in here.” 

 

Merlin slowly pushed himself up. He paid attention to the ache in his arms and chest rather than the (metaphorical) sorcerer in the room: Arthur had saved him. 

 

This was going to be terrible for Merlin’s point that they weren’t friends. 

 

“I told Arthur I would notify him when you woke, but since he’s gone he’ll have to wait to hear the news.” Gauis mixed some herbs together, ones Merlin knew would taste worse than Arthur’s socks he kept throwing at him. 

 

“I bet he’ll be ecstatic,” Merlin mumbled, right before he got a mouthful of potion. 

 

~

 

Arthur’s routine check usually meant a few days away, which Merlin always dreaded since he usually went with; sleeping on the ground was never a sought after prize, and Merlin’s complaints about said ground would engender the knights to complain to Arthur about his complaints. This would cause Arthur to come to Merlin and tell him off. 

 

“Why do you come with if you hate it so much?” Arthur had started in during a routine check around the border, following Merlin around the small tent area like a particularly agitated puppy. “You could stay back at the castle. Gods know my ears could use the break every once and a while.” 

 

Merlin didn’t know how to explain that if he stayed back, then Arthur would probably (re: absolutely) reach his timely demise on the end of a pointy object. But he couldn’t say that, because then he would need to explain just how he had continued to save Arthur, and he didn’t get paid enough for that (he was still talking to the cooks how to implement minimum wage into the castle wages), so he went with something else that was true. 

 

“Well, sire, I would if I knew you could tie your shoes. Last time you found yourself well acquainted with the aquatic fish.” Merlin had been tempted to not remove Arthur from the stream: he had been laying on a particularly large fish that could have been dinner. 

 

“Merlin!” Merlin had heard right before his shoulder was almost wretched out of its socket. Arthur’s face no longer looked like an agitated puppy. 

 

He had looked like a bloody blood (yes, it required two bloodies, Merlin thought) hound. “If I remember correctly, it was you who tied them in the first place, to which they then promptly untied.” Arthur had smirked, as if Merlin had forgotten that part (he hadn’t, well, it had probably been in his memory somewhere). 

 

“And I had to tie them again afterwards, sire.” Merlin had retorted, looking about as innocent as the maids coming out of the broom closets, brushing their skirts and not realizing they were on backwards. “So I must come with you, in the hopes that you’ll land on a bigger fish again for dinner.” 

 

Merlin hadn’t regretted that comment, no matter how intimate he found himself with the bottom of Arthur’s boots. 

 

But now, though he enjoyed the layabout in bed, he was itching to do something, something that would possibly take him near the southern border. Merlin didn’t care what happened to the prat, but it was good to keep an eye on Arthur in case he did something worthy of making fun of. 

 

That’s all. 

 

By the time where he was seriously considering bodydoubling himself and leaving Gaius to tend to a lackluster haybale, Merlin was cleared to slowly start moving, and Arthur’s collection of men with daddy issues and weak jaws (“knights, Merlin, and what do you mean daddy issues?”) returned. 

 

“Hey, Merls.” Gwaine wrapped his arms around Merlin, lifting him up and shaking him a bit to make sure all the bits were there. “How are you feeling?” 

 

Merlin felt his ribs go back to where they should be. Gwaine always undersold his strength, which Merlin’s floating ribs knew well. “Well, I did have control of all my joints.” Merlin patted Gwaine’s back. “But you can’t blame me if my limbs start flailing now.” Gwaine laughed and set him back down. “I take it the patrol went fine?” 

 

Gwaine swatted his hand. “I would have taken a little excitement, the tavern scene is brutal there, Merls, brutal, but otherwise everything was fine. Well, besides a certain princess having no one’s pigtails to pull.” He laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “And speaking of princess, I told Lancelot and Leon about what you told me.” Merlin went to open his mouth, he didn’t particularly want more people involved in Merlin’s scheme to make it known he was working to not be friends with Arthur, especially Leon. He wanted the acting to be natural. “And we all spoke to Arthur.” 

 

Merlin swallowed. “You all spoke to Arthur.” 

 

Gwaine winked. “Yep. Arthur knows to not treat you like his toy; you’re his friend–” 

 

“Wait–”

 

“And what friendship entails is not that.” 

 

Merlin may have lost the plot, because he didn’t know exactly what Gwaine had told Lance and Leon to help convey to Arthur. The best thing for Merlin to do was to go to Arthur directly and tell him that he should stop saving Merlin (because that made it seem like they were friends) and to not listen to Gwaine or any of the knights. 

 

He sighed. “Thanks Gwaine.” Merlin tried to be sincere, and though his acting was horrific Gwaine must have been thinking about the ale down the road, because all he said was an “absolutely, Merls,” and left.

 

~ 

 

Merlin had seen the subjects of King Uther prostrate themselves when he decided to deliver some form of aid, during times of famine or “sorcery” attacks – he also found out most of those were engendered by idiots who didn’t realize you really shouldn’t shoot a unicorn, ahem – so he knew the vague notions of protocol which he should follow in his thanks that Arthur didn’t let him die on Gaius’ pitiful bedding. 

 

He also thought King Uther could tax more of his council so the famines didn’t happen as often as the history books Gaius made him swallow down alluded to, but one can’t teach a dog new tricks. 

 

Maybe he could put a morally just carrot on a stick for Arthur to follow, though. Or some sweetmeats. 

 

The point being, he knew when he walked into Arthur’s chambers for the first time since the Mortaeus flower what should come out of his mouth. But being that Merlin just had the most scintillating conversation with Gwaine, or that he wasn’t a subject of Camelot by definition, it wasn’t thanks that started the conversation. 

 

“You can’t save me again!” Melin shouted, having barrelled through the door and shut them before the guards could start making bets on this argument. He didn’t glimpse much – collarbones that would be a favorite of the gods, a smooth chest angling down to a perfect pillow stomach – before Merlin squawked and turned around, almost barrelling back out. 

 

At the same time, Merlin heard Arthur emit a (never admitted upon pain of death) high-pitch trill and a thunk as the bathtub because less of a bath holding water and more so holding the last of Arthur’s dignity. 

 

“MERLIN!” Arthur roared, and Merlin turned back around to see the prince valiantly trying to right himself in his bathtub, and losing. Arthur finally got a grip on both sides, white-knuckling the basin instead of Merlin’s throat. “Is the cook finally coming for your head? I have half the mind to let her in and help her finish the job.” 

 

Despite what Arthur said, Merlin could string a few sentences together (and save his royal backside from impending death), but the mixture of Arthur’s death glare on him and his chest still out, well, it’s hard to think. This is probably why his mom never let him out of the house, or why he only got to play with Will. 

 

“Well.” Arthur was still looking at him, waiting. Merlin looked back, his mind conjuring up pictures of Arthur in chain mail, sweaty, swinging a hefty sword as he pummeled bandits. He shook his head (he could course-correct) and remembered the conversation he just had with another knight. 

 

“Gwaine told me that Lancelot spoke to you about how you have been treating me, and how that wasn’t how friends treat each other.” Merlin spat out the words, watching them take effect as Arthur’s face changed to one of almost embarrassment. 

 

“Ah, yes.” He unclenched his hands from the tub. “I was, possibly – well, they all heavily implied this so this is all conjecture, especially with Gwaine in the picture. You can only trust him as far as you can throw him. Not that I can’t throw, you see, but–”

 

Merlin stared as Arthur rambled. Arthur didn’t ramble; Merlin wondered if the cook had gotten to Arthur first with her rolling pin. He looked up at Merlin and his voice tapered off. 

 

Arthur ahem’d. “The knights were saying that I may be acting in a manner that didn’t fit our current professions to one another, without asking you.”

 

Merlin didn’t even know Arthur knew the word profession, maybe there was something in those petitions that he never read that he should read. 

 

Merlin nodded his head. 

 

“And so, I was going to ask after I had finished my bath–” Arthur straightened his posture, striking a regal pose in his half-filled bath tub “that I made my intentions clearer to you. I would like–” 

 

“To confirm that we aren’t friends, exactly!” Merlin finished, cutting off Arthur. “It would be horrible if the court thought that we actually liked each other, right?” 

 

Arthur stared at him, his posture faltering like one of those blowfish Merlin saw in Gaius’ books. Did he say something wrong? Merlin was about to ask when Arthur sobered up quickly, nodding his head as if what came before simply…didn’t. “My thoughts exactly.” 

 

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, his doubts abated. “Wonderful. Oh, here.” He went to get a towel for Arthur; looking around the room, he saw more clearly the disaster that had occurred without him in charge. He clicked his tongue. 

 

“Ju–just so I’m on the same page,” Arthur said, once he was properly clothed (chest and all) and settled down to look at scouting reports. “Why can’t we be friends? Not that I want to be your friend anyway. Your ears would knock me unconscious if we spent any more time together.” 

 

Merlin stuck his tongue out when Arthur looked down to turn a page. He was fluffing pillows by the time Arthur looked back up. “Because, I abhor royalty.” 

 

Arthur sputtered. “The same royalty that protects their people from bandits? Who listened last week to his abominable manservant and presented a case to his father, the King, to open the food storages before a famine took the lower town?” 

 

“Not everything is about you, dollop-head. I meant more in the case of Lot’s realm, but sure.” Merlin held up Arthur’s clothes he currently set about folding. “I abhor your specific stuffy shirts and boots.” He smiled, and Arthur hummed. 

 

“What do you propose, then, Merlin? I don’t see you drafting changes to court etiquette.” 

 

“Maybe more along the lines of how you speak of the town, seeing them as citizens instead of subjects. Maybe even work towards them having some stake in the kingdom beyond a flimsy protective wall; make them part of, well, not the court, but an assembly.” He finished folding the last shirt, realizing that talking to Arthur like this wasn’t winning the award for showing everyone they weren’t friends, but he had seen too many people feel unmoored towards Camelot. That wasn’t something Arthur needed when his time as king came. 

 

The fire crackled. “Not the worst idea, Merlin, though you lack any of the required processes that would need to be drafted for that to come about.” 

 

Merlin grinned at Arthur. “This is what your marginally average brain is for, sire.” Arthur sputtered, but showed a slight grin back. 

 

“So,” Arthur started, putting down the last of his papers for the evening, “you don’t harbor any direct ill will towards me, but general disregard to royalty.” He was looking at Merlin like this answer mattered, like if Merlin agreed, then Arthur could do something to change his mind. 

 

Which wouldn’t happen, mind you. 

 

“That’s about right,” Merlin replied, and Arthur nodded, more to himself it seemed than Merlin. 

 

“Well, everything seems done for now. You’re dismissed.” Arthur started to stack his papers and Merlin quickly bowed his head and went out the chamber door. 

 

‘Well,’ Merlin thought, grinning as he made his way down the hallway, ‘that should take care of any rumors about our friendship.’

 

But as Merlin walked away, he felt unbalanced. Arthur not fighting for any semblance was Merlin’s goal – he won. But it didn’t feel like winning. It didn’t even feel like a participatory ribbon they handed out the knights who lost their tournament games. 

 

It felt like a reminder that Merlin thought about Arthur a lot more than Arthur thought about him. That what he all did could be forgotten in a half-filled bath tub.

 

~

 

Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. 

 

Arthur’s heart, which for the past three days had been in his throat, drummed in beat to his myriad of thoughts. 

 

Well, one thought. 

 

Merlin. 

 

After retrieving the Mortaeus flower from Baldor’s forest, he had very nearly paved Gaius’ floorboards with his boots; Merlin’s fever had gone down, but Arthur needed to see Merlin awaken. He had almost shaken him awake if not for Gaius’ firm declaration that Merlin needed sleep. 

 

Arthur had thought he had been asleep for far too long; his room was in shambles; he hadn’t heard Merlin’s laugh in days; and he needed to distract himself from wondering why he cared so much about his manservant despite his propensity to go against Arthur’s orders, bring in wayward knights, and still have time to polish his sword. 

 

Arthur had thought that maybe he needed to rest. ‘I could take the corner by Merlin’s bed.’

 

But it seemed his father believed Arthur had dilly-dallied enough. That same evening, Arthur was called in to do a check of the Camelot-Mercia border in the north-east; he didn’t have time to see if Merlin had woken yet before he saddled Llamrei (Arthur had to push her head away after she kept nosing into his pants pockets, he had no idea what that was about), gathered Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, telling Elyan and Percival to handle the knights’ training, and set out. 

 

And now here he was. Arthur hadn’t been in the right state of mind to discuss with his father why they needed to check the border area (his hands had been full of gripping Merlin’s limp one, cupping it because it was cold, okay Gaius), and he regretted it now. 

 

“Anything,” he asked as Leon came back into the clearing they made to camp. They would stay a total of a sennight, with six of those going along the border, checking in with locals, and hauling Gwaine out of the tavern. 

 

Leon shook his head. “All quiet, both on our side and theirs.” Arthur ran his hand over the pommel of his sword, confused and disquieted. 

 

“Do you know why we were called out here?”

 

Before Leon could answer, Gwaine pipped up from where he and Lacelot sat on a fallen log. “I may have made casual mention to one of King Uther’s advisors at the pub that I had heard about commotion in Mercia.” Gwaine paused. “Socerers.” Next to him, Lancelot froze. 

 

Arthur’s stance immediately readied at the mention of sorcerers. “Where did you hear this information?” He hadn’t realized they were possibly dealing with something far more dangerous than a skirmish, and by the look of Leon’s face, he hadn’t either. His additional men were spaced out along the border; he wouldn’t be able to get a warning signal to them if they chanced upon a magic user, or vice versa. 

 

“Ah,” Gwaine hummed. “Well, you see. I made it up.” 

 

Arthur sputtered. “What!” Gwaine’s ploy for them out here made no sense. 

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Leon asked, his pommel gripped in his hand, and Arthur found he had done the same. 

 

Gwaine flinched at their stances, going to stand up, but Lancelot held his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Lancelot asked him. 

 

“Nothing, nothing!” Gwaine said again when Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I just needed to get you away from the castle to talk.” 

 

“And why couldn’t we talk in the castle, or then, if not in the castle, then in the lower town,” Arthur replied back. 

 

Gwaine opened his mouth, closed it, and then cleared his throat. “I guess the lower town would have worked.” He smiled brazenly. “But nevertheless, I needed to talk to you about Merlin.” 

 

“Merlin?” Immediately, Arthur’s stance changed. His grip dropped off his sword; his mind was back to chanting his name. “Has something happened?” 

 

“Well,” Gwaine started, but Lancelot chimed in: 

 

“You said you wanted me to talk to him.” 

 

“I got to thinking–” 

 

“A dangerous pastime,” Leon murmured 

 

“and you would be too easy on him.” 

 

“What,” Arthur repeated, “has this to do with Merlin?” 

 

Lancelot fidgeted, opening his mouth, but Gwaine got the best of him. 

 

“You cannot continue fucking Merlin.” 

 

It seemed the sparrows even stopped their chattering. 

 

“What?!” Arthur sputtered.

 

“Gwaine,” Lancelot said heatedly, but Gwaine continued. 

 

“Daniel has told me how you make him polish your sword all day and night. You take advantage of both his work and his friendship – which he has said you deem normal and appropriate for a servant to do! So, you fool around with him, he follows you like a soldier onto every battlefield, and yet you can’t even name this relationship for what it is. If he wasn’t so in love with you I would run you through right here and now.” Gwaine’s chest was quickly rising and falling; Leon had looked alarmed at Gwaine’s threat; and Lancelot looked like he needed a drink or two.

 

Arthur could only funnel two things through his head. Someone was spreading rumors about Merlin – which could very well destroy his work in the castle – and that Merlin, well. 

 

Merlin apparently loved him. 

 

“He said that?!” Arthur retorted. This was laughable, wasn’t it? Merlin hadn’t shown any liking toward him, had practically danced his way to the stalks every other day just to get on Arthur’s nerves. And now a love confession?! Arthur didn’t think of Merlin like that at all; he barely thought of him at all! And when he did think of him – when he saw Merlin yelling from Gwaine antics and making Arthur think once, twice, three times about running over – he was just thinking to protect Merlin. He couldn’t handle a sword to save his life!  He didn’t have time for Merlin’s antics when he had a future kingdom to look after; Merlin could do what he wanted and Arthur would do what he needed. 

 

‘Until the poisoning incident,’ he thought; until Arthur put faith into a fucking flower. He would have put faith into a dust mite if that meant Merlin would survive. He didn’t know how to feel about this train of thought.

 

“About rolling in the hay? He all but posted it onto the announcement board, saying it to anyone that would listen to him go on about swords, and chain-mail, and strenuous activity–”

 

“Okay, Gwaine,” Lancelot interjected. “We don’t need to know everything about Merlin and Arthur’s personal relationship.” Arthur always thought Lancelot was apt at delivering sensitive messages in palatable conversation, but this time he needed to be blunt. 

 

“Gwaine, you do realize that it is Merlin’s job to clean my sword and armor. None of that means that I’ve fucked Merlin” Arthur responded heatedly. 

 

Gwaine snorted. “It’s okay, mate. I do my fair share of tumbling around, though I haven’t had the pleasure of Merlin under me–”

 

“Gwaine,” Arthur said again, his voice quiet. “I haven’t.” 

 

Gwaine paused, looking at Arthur as if he had heard something in his voice. “Oh.” He kicked at the grass under his feet. “There went my ‘break his heart and you’re dead speech.’” 

 

Arthur ran a hand through his hair; this was a mess. “So did Merlin really say he loved me?” 

 

Gwaine immediately started to open his mouth, then closed it and made a vague noise of realization. “No,” he said. “But I thought it was obvious, with him saying that you shouldn’t treat friends like ‘that.’” Gwaine air quoted the last word, and Arthur wondered what Merlin had meant. Well, either way it was good that Merlin didn’t love him, because Arthur, well–

 

“So.” Arthur turned around at Leon’s voice. “You and Merlin are just, like that?” Arthur was about to question what he meant – why was everyone using that word now, damnit – when he thought back to his, um, close behavior with Merlin. The pigtail pulling; bringing him along every trip. He didn’t know why he acted this way around Merlin. The others that were close to him never were exposed to weekly dangers on account of Arthur wanting them with him. 

 

He wanted Merlin to be a better manservant, but wouldn’t punish him if he dallied with the chores, laughing at Arthur’s handwriting while picking soft clothing for a particular upcoming event that was sure to tax him. Arthur wanted his attention, like any prince would their servant (but Arthur never particularly cared for attention), but he had wanted his attention since he sassed him in the courtyard, so that was nothing new! He knew that Merlin was attractive in a lets-not-think-about-him-getting-with-anyone kind of way, but Arthur wanted more. He wanted days and nights with Merlin’s voice making fun of him, spring through winter of them riding through the forest to figure out why his horse loved Merlin more; he wanted, well, everything. But that could simply be chalked up to the fact that–

 

Well fuck. Arthur was in love with Merlin. 

 

Gwaine saw his realization pass his face and smiled. “Lancelot, buddy, you owe me my tab paid off at the pub.” 

 

~

 

Arthur was taking advantage of his empty chambers, providing him with the quiet atmosphere to think about Merlin without, well, Merlin there (he was too exhausted to think about the implications of the bath waiting for him after he gave his report of the border patrol; he didn’t know what to focus on first: that his father didn’t descend into rage over not finding any “sorcerers,” that his father gave his well wishes to Merlin – and remembered his name – or that the bath was the perfect temperature without Merlin in sight). 

 

He was also taking the time to recuperate from the metaphorical beating he took from Gwaine after realizing he was head over training boots for Merlin. Arthur had never had this issue before. The past serving girls and stable boys had shown any appreciation they had for his, um, form, more openly even before he found a soft surface. 

 

Merlin just kept polishing his sword. 

 

So, Arthur had suffered Gwaine’s mockery (and Lancelot’s smile when he tried to recount his memories to see how Merlin had sneaked in his heart. And Leon’s shoulder pats), and then asked them how to go about this. 

 

“Well,” Gwaine had started in, “Merlin is no ordinary fellow. There’s something magical about him.” Lancelot had stiffened next to Arthur, and he himself frowned. 

 

“We’re talking about the same Merlin, right?” Arthur replied. “The same one that yelped when he saw his own shadow during the last banquet.” 

 

Nevermind that Arthur had halfway risen from his chair to protect Merlin before he saw Gwen laughing and Merlin furiously blushing while moving the torch to another wall. 

 

Gwaine had grinned. “The one and only. So–” he leaned forward, “this is what we’ll do. I’ll speak to Merlin when we get back and let it be known that we chatted about friendship and, you know, to treat him like an equal. That should position you in a nice little spot to talk to him when he comes to see you next.” 

 

Arthur had not liked relying on Gwaine, he reminded Arthur of himself 5 years younger and 5 drinks in, but Leon and Lancelot both had thought starting from a place of friendship and slowly making his feelings known would be the best way to go about this. 

 

“Get a feel of the land, like any general does,” Gwaine had finished with, and now Arthur sat in his bath thinking through what he could do for Merlin, from giving him leave to visit Hunith (though Arthur would be more comfortable coming with him – Merlin couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn if he tried – Arthur would rather have to deal with Morgana’s moods while picking her outfit out than meet Merlin’s mother), to bringing him to his mother’s apple orchard – one of the few places where Arthur feels at peace. 

 

Arthur also knew Merlin was never in any rush for chores, so he let himself settle back in the bath and relax, strategizing – he had this in the metaphorical bag. 

 

~

 

In hindsight, he should have remembered he had never been a general before. And he was going to kill Gwaine. 

 

~

 

Merlin felt at peace once more; everything had gone to plan. 

 

“You seem in a cheerful mood,” Gwen commented as she sided up to him. They were both on the edge of the training pitch, Merlin taking on an inconspicuous look (which he thought he did very well, thank you) while watching the training weapons being passed about. He caught someone a few weeks back trying to slip a poison on an otherwise dull blade, and Merlin intercepted it before Arthur somehow would inevitably get it on his skin and die from asphyxiation. 

 

He didn’t care about Arthur, but rather stopping Uther from starting another magic purge. 

 

Well, that, and his mom would box his ears if she learned he didn’t do something to save a life; and Gaius would give him the Eyebrows; and he would feel bad about it for at least a day. Merlin didn’t want to waste a day feeling bad about not saving Arthur. He didn’t know how many he had left himself. 

 

Merlin waved a hand toward the pitch. “Arthur and I were able to set our working relationship straight.” 

 

“Oh.” Gwen looked at him. “And what might that entail?” 

 

Merlin smirked. “We agreed that we aren’t friends. I couldn’t be friends with royalty on principle. Though that makes me look like the odd one out; I think more people should have a say in how things are run.” Gwen stared at him. “I need to read up on it more,” Merlin added hastily. 

 

“But–” Gwen bit her bottom lip, looking toward where the knights were currently training, “didn’t Gwaine talk to you?” 

 

Merlin was startled. “How did you know Gwaine came to talk to me?”

 

Now Gwen looked askance. She picked at the sleeves of her working uniform. “Um, Lancelot!” She yelled. “Yes, he told me he saw… Gwaine walking into Gaius’ chambers the other night. And that they talked about Arthur’s…behavior during patrol.” 

 

“Lancelot, huh.” Merlin nudged Gwen, causing her to swat at him while he saw a slight blush appear on her cheeks. “But yeah, he’s the one that helped me form my thoughts on the conversation I wanted to have with Arthur. Especially the bit that what Arthur still tasks me to do isn’t part of a normal friendship.” Merlin motioned to the sword on the ground by him. He had been polishing that metal since mid-morning, and no friend would do that to Merlin. 

 

“Ah, I see.” Gwen’s eyes were wide, and Merlin was glad to see she saw the unequal balance as servant/prince; that was a terrible friendship story. “Well, I’m glad it went how you wanted it.” Gwen smiled lightly, eyes moving to something behind Merlin then back to him. “Wait, still having to do? Merlin, if Arthur didn’t take no for an answ–” 

 

Crash! 

 

Both Gwen and Merlin jumped. Merlin spun around toward the pitch to see Gwaine laid flat on his back. The rest of the knights had stopped their sparing to watch Arthur standing above Gwaine, his chest rising and falling too fast for simple training. 

 

“What do you think that’s about?” Merlin asked. Gwen patted his shoulder. 

 

“I think something got lost in translation,” she responded. They both watched as Arthur stalked off the pitch and toward the storage building. Gwaine groaned on the pitch before Lancelot came to give him a hand up. “Maybe a couple things,” Gwen amended.

 

~

 

Merlin fumed through the corridor, barely seeing the scullery maids – whose only crime was being in the path of him – back against the wall with their basket of washed clothing. ‘I could make cryptic little comments,’ Merlin thought as he almost tugged the handle on Arthur’s chamber door, ‘in a cryptic little cave, too.’

 

No Arthur. Merlin wanted to grab one of the many nice, coveted family vases and throw it at the dollop-pole, if he could find him in the first place. 

 

Ever since they spoke about their non-existent friendship in Arthur’s chamber, and watched Gwen leave to find Lancelot after Arthur royally beat Gwaine in the training field, Merlin could barely find time to talk to Arthur. Oh, find him, yes. He was always infuriatingly going over food scarcity reports in the lower village with other council members; he spoke more to his father about his duties with the knights-in-training; he stopped the second tax increase from going into effect on those making little as it is. 

 

Uther had stopped Merlin while he cleaned up a family meal with delegates from the North, clapping him on the back and commented – complimented? – him with his work regarding Arthur. 

 

Merlin wanted to scream. 

 

But this is what he wanted right? Merlin wanted to not be seen as Arthur’s friend; how could he be friends with someone whose family actively made living harder for smaller villages and farmers (though Arthur himself had implemented a small contingency of bookkeepers to go and see what additional grain they could keep themselves for the winters). How could he trust someone who's gone after sorcerers before, like him? 

 

But, gods, he missed poking Arthur, and Kilgharrah had only doubled down on his prophecy of Merlin standing by Arthur as he led Albion into a golden age. 

 

And now his destiny had apparently led him to this moment, where a Mercia delegation was almost standing at the gate with their pompous smirks and Merlin couldn’t find Arthur to even suggest a comb going through his hair. 

 

“Two-time, superfluous dollop–” 

 

Merlin pivoted around as Arthur walked through his chamber doors, as if Uther wasn’t about to bring out the guillotine against Merlin’s ineptitude to corner Arthur for the Mercia greetings. “What are you and your big head going on about now, Merlin?” 

 

Merlin, and his big head, threw Arthur’s dinner pants at him, smiling slightly as Arthur didn’t know what had attacked him in the face. “Just how brave you are fighting your belt buckle. I’ve heard it bites.” Arthur tore the pants from his face, a prattish look narrowed at Merlin, which made him smile even more. 

 

“You know I’m the future king of Camelot?”

 

Merlin nodded. “And I’m dreading every minute.” His chest tightened as Arthur’s face fell slightly, but he mentally swatted away the feeling. “Where were you?” 

 

“You know, as my station implies–” Arthur moved past him, seeming to twist slightly so as to not touch Merlin’s shoulder, “I don’t need to tell you anything.” He stood in front of his bed, looking down at the other pieces of clothes Merlin had picked out (and not decided to throw at him). “Does that message ring any bells?” 

 

Merlin raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “No.” 

 

Arthur sighed, raising a hand to pinch his brow-bone. “Of course not. I was finalizing something in a meeting. Work, Merlin, if you know what that is.” Arthur looked over at the candle burning, seemingly realizing the time. “The delegates are almost here.” He turned back to Merlin and his haphazard state. “Why aren’t you ready?” 

 

Merlin sputtered. “Because I’ve been trying to find you! You can never dress yourself in formal wear, and I have a missive from the knights about what they’ve found the King will be addressing tonight.” 

 

Arthur waved a hand. “Put that on my desk and go get changed into your serving clothes. I can dress myself just fine.” Merlin frowned. Arthur had never been able to dress himself, period. It was strange, he’s been helping Arthur–

 

Up to the day of their conversation. 

 

Arthur finished putting on his undershirt, tying the laces. “Well?” That word felt more like a dismissal than anything else Arthur has said to him before. 

 

“Very well, sire,” Merlin said, whispering the last word as he walked towards the doors, not seeing Arthur’s mouth open as if he wanted to say something. Silence filled the room.

 

~

 

The Mercia delegation arrived. Merlin stood behind Arthur, watching the stiffness of his shoulders incrementally lift until he was sure Arthur was going to snap something. Maybe his sanity. 

 

Arthur stood beside Uther, both dressed in their finest – Merlin had fixed a cuff on Arthur’s sleeve before he walked down the main steps to greet the guests – as was the same for the delegation. The wind bit through Merlin’s linen longsleeve, but he didn’t dare move, waiting until Uther clasped hands with King Coenred and moved inside. He waited until the most prominent people passed to poke Arthur’s shoulder. 

 

Arthur grumbled. “What?” 

 

“You’re too tense, unless you want your shoulders to be intimately acquainted with your ears.” 

 

Arthur softly huffed. “You’re one to talk.” 

 

Merlin squawked, but couldn’t do anything as Arthur continued into the entry chamber. Merlin followed, trying to think of a spell that would give Arthur a piece of his mind. Maybe donkey ears? 

 

The peace talks happened in the war chamber; that was Merlin’s time to go help Gwen and the rest of the serving staff with preparing the banquet hall for dinner. 

 

“Do you know what these talks are about?” Gwen asked, both of them assigned cutlery and dishes for the tables. The torches were lit alongside the walls, glimmering off the tableware in a simple yet unique way that pleased Merlin. “You spend the most time with Arthur, even more so than his knights.” 

 

Merlin sighed. “Unfortunately, no. Arthur hasn’t been speaking with me, well, since he returned from retrieving the Mortaeus flower. His goodwill with speaking to a lesser person must have run out.” Gwen pinched his arm. “Ow!” 

 

“Stop that.” She chided him. “I was speaking to Lancelot, since he was with Arthur during the border patrol.” Gwen bit her lip, thinking through something. “He didn’t say much, but what he did alluded to the fact that Arthur had something important to say to you.” 

 

He snorted. “No such thing. Which is good!” Merlin raised his hands. “I wanted to let him know that our stations – and that he’s a prat – go against us being friends, but–” He hesitated, Gwen still looking at him. When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. 

 

“You miss him,” she finished for him, and Merlin nodded glumly. “Men,” Gwen mumbled, shaking her head. “You know what you should do?” 

 

Merlin stared. 

 

“Tell him!” Gwen exclaimed, pinching him again in the arm. “You saw him at training. Clearly something is not being said between the two of you.” Merlin meant to respond, but a servant entered the hall, telling them the meeting was finished. They both hurried back into the kitchen to grab their pitchers and find their respective masters (though Merlin had told Arthur from the get-go that he wasn’t afraid to say no to Arthur’s requests. It took a few trips to the stocks before Arthur realized there was no getting through him). 

 

Merlin found Arthur being served dinner. Roasted duck and plum sauce filled the air; homemade buns with honey butter filled the plates in between the main and side courses, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t until he went next to him to fill his cup that Arthur startled out of his stare. “Okay?” Merlin asked. 

 

Arthur tapped his first two fingers against the wooden table. He looked at Merlin and gave a slight but visible shake of his head. Leave it alone for now. Merlin had almost forgotten their own subtle language between the two of them these past few weeks. He had missed it. 

 

Merlin nodded and stepped back from Arthur when Uther stood to address the crowd. 

 

“King Coenred and I, along with our esteemed council, delegates, and my son–” Uther placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, Morgana watching from the other side of King Coenred, “spoke at length today involving various issues that plague both of our kingdoms.” Uther raised his cup, and Merlin watched as Arthur visibly relaxed when his father’s hand was off his shoulder. “Firstly though, let us give a toast to our allies and our combined fight against all who wish to see us ruined.” 

 

A cheer went up, praising both Uther and Camelot’s allies. 

 

“Now,” Uther said, setting down his drink, “among our conversation was the realization that a band of druid people have been plaguing both of us.” Coenred, still sitting, nodded along. “This cannot stand. When my wife Ygraine died by the hands of the sorcerer Nimueh, I promised you all, the people of Camelot, that this evil would no longer plague us any longer.” Uther paused, watching the crowd watch him; Merlin thought he had a bit of a hubris problem, but his attention was dialing into what Uther was spouting. He looked at Arthur, his face so well-set to neutrality that only his hands clenching his legs under the table gave him away. 

 

“And so,” Uther finished, “we have agreed to weed out this poison. We will track down this band of druids and rid the earth of them; a group composed of both Camelot and Mercian men, with my son leading the battle against evil.” The banquet hall exploded in applause; Merlin looked to see Lancelot and Percival frowning; Leon and Elyan was being knocked around by knights sitting next to him excited for this new adventure; and Gwaine looked close to regicide. He looked back to see Morgana’s face, one of horror at Uther, quickly morphing into polite applause when Uther looked toward her.

 

“Now, let us feast, and may the Gods grant us favor!” Uther sat back down, immediately hashing out the finer points with King Coenred. Merlin watched as Morgana politely excused herself from the table, Gwen following close behind. Arthur merely drained his wine and raised his cup for a refill. Merlin knew he needed to talk to Gauis immediately to see if they could make contact with the druid camp Uther was speaking of, to see if they could send word out to hide quickly before a group marched out with bloodlust in their veins, but he needed to stay with Arthur. 

 

He had to see what else the night would bring. 

 

~

 

It wasn’t until much, much later that Merlin wrangled Arthur’s body – flailing limbs and all – back to Arthur’s chamber. He had just heaved him onto his bed, ‘bloody boots and socks godsdamn,’ when Arthur awoke and raised his head.

 

“I wanna ‘ave bath, Mer–” Arthur’s bath fell back to the bed. Merlin shrugged and continued working. 

 

Arthur awoke a second time, grumbling and throwing off his bedsheets. “I’m sweltering, ugh.” Merlin, who had covered Arthur out of the pity in his heart (the prince was not going to make training in the morning), lost what was left. 

 

“Well, sire, you can always sleep without blankets on. Now, I really must go,” Merlin said, all but running to the chamber door. He still needed to talk to Gaius about the druid mission, see if he could leave tonight even while Arthur was otherwise occupied, and he was almost–

 

“Merlin.” Arthur was sitting up now, and Merlin cursed that his eyes didn’t go crosseyed anymore from the mead; he was probably sweating out the alcohol (if that wasn’t a lovely image of the future king). His eyes were still slightly glassy, but it held a look that knew he would remember in the morning if Merlin left tonight before finishing all Arthur needed. 

 

He sighed. “I’ll get right on it.”

 

“Wonderful.” 

 

Merlin filled the bath with water another servant brought up early, knowing Arthur’s tendencies too well after a gathering, and heated it while Arthur tottered around behind his changing screen. He thought it may be a quiet night from Arthur’s side; it was almost midnight, an almost full moon casting the room in a soft glow, and he hadn’t been talking to Merlin. 

 

Arthur had gotten into the bath, almost finishing his hair and Merlin going to put away the soaps, when Arthur cleared his throat. “Merlin, I– I know I haven’t spoken to you recently. Ran away, in fact.” Arthur gave a slight laugh, and Merlin saw a faint blush rise to his cheeks. ‘He still must be more gone than I thought.’

 

“It’s okay. We aren’t friends,” Merlin responded, his chest clenching when he saw Arthur’s smile drop off his face. 

 

“Yes, well–” he shifted in the water, “that is what I’ve been thinking about, how to go about this.” Arthur waved at the vague notion, and Merlin was stuck between propelling him forward in his conversation or stopping him so he didn’t slip under the water. “I’ve heard some rumors.” 

 

‘Oh no,’ Merlin thought. Arthur may have heard about Uther thanking them for being friends, or how Daniel had spoken to Gwaine about this mess in the first place. For how much he liked to gripe on Arthur, he didn’t want him to know just how much he talked about him. 

 

“You know how rumors circle, sire–” 

 

“But they may also cause damage to a reputation,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “And for that, before I do anything else, I wish to apologize.” 

 

Merlin blinked. He didn’t think being known, even adjacently, as the prince’s friend was seen as damaging to anyone but him, but dollop-head’s minds work in mysterious ways. “You’re forgiven.” 

 

He didn’t realize how much tension Arthur held until his shoulders visibly lowered. “Good.” He swallowed, a slight smile gracing his lips as he ran his hands through the bath water. “I’m glad. Now, I wanted to begin again and ask–” 

 

Whatever Arthur meant to ask was quickly derailed by the chamber doors bursting open, an angry Morgana storming through. 

 

“I have magic!” 

 

Merlin dropped his soaps.

 

He watched as Arthur sputtered, balance sitting in the tub faltering, and he went under; Merlin looked at Morgana, seeing her anger a facade for fear before she turned to face the door, went to save the prince from his second bath tub fiasco. As he pulled a now coughing Arthur from the water like a particular graceless fish, he heard Morgana still talking: 

 

“--en told me but I didn’t think you would be doing stuff now?!” 

 

Merlin gripped Arthur’s shoulder, looking towards Morgana. “What?” 

 

Morgana, still facing the wall, simply repeated what Merlin had said: “What?” 

 

Arthur stopped coughing, the silence only interrupted by the crackling of the fire. Merlin looked past Morgana to see the chamber doors closed, though he didn’t remember when that happened. 

 

The silence continued; he knew Arthur would speak when all his thoughts were in order, but this was excruciating. Merlin cleared his throat. “Would you like some pants, sire?”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, his fingers tightening around the rim of the tub and ‘yep I'm being carted to the dungeon now.’

 

“A joke, haha!” Merlin went to reach for the soaps. “I’ll just head out now–” 

 

“No!”

 

“Merlin!” 

 

He startled, seeing that both Arthur and Morgana (who pointedly stared anywhere but at Arthur) were looking at him. Morgana unclenched her hands from her dress. “I would like you to stay.” 

 

Merlin nodded apprehensively. He really didn’t want to be in a room with both of them bickering like siblings, but he couldn’t disobey orders. 

 

Or maybe–

 

“A towel, Merlin.” 

 

He sighed. At this rate he wasn’t even going to be back for Gaius’ terrible oats. Merlin quickly grabbed Arthur’s towel, handing it off before rechecking the fire and cleaning up the bath tub as Arthur scrambled toward the changing screen. Morgana took a walk around the room to appreciate the…curtain embroidery. 

 

Merlin had almost forgotten what Morgana was in here for, when he turned from the fire to see Arthur sitting in a chair nearby, motioning for Morgana to sit in the other. It wasn’t until she was settled that Arthur directed a question at her. 

 

“Could you repeat what you said when you came in here?” Arthur looked at Morgana; his eyes were clear, as if his head knew he needed to be present, though Merlin could see Arthur had heard what she said. He merely was looking for confirmation. 

 

Or denial. 

 

Morgana looked at her prince, her future king, and took a deep breath. She stood taller. 

 

“I have magic.” 

 

You could have heard one of Gaius’ suture needles drop. 

 

“Can you start from the beginning?”

 

Morgana, who had been in a defensive position, furrowed her brow. “You mean when I first noticed my magic? I– I guess I started to notice it when Sophia arrived–”

 

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “When did you start learning magic?” 

 

“I didn’t,” she answered, laughing in disbelief. “You think I, a ward of Uther Pendragon, would search out magic?” 

 

“Well you must have.” Arthur’s voice rose. “Even accidentally, you could have, I don’t know, touched something magical.” 

 

“Or maybe,” Morgana began, her body poised to strike like a viper, “I’m telling you the truth because I trust you.” 

 

Merlin thought Arthur would blow her comment off; Arthur didn’t deal in feelings. But he thought again of Arthur saving him, and of now taking the time to hear Morgana out instead of alerting his father about this confession. Arthur himself was quiet, his foot tapping as he put his face in his hands. Morgana looked to Merlin, who gave her a nod. Her demeanor shifted into something more like her usual stance – a bloodhound, which Merlin would take as a victory. 

 

“Why are you telling me this now, Morgana?” Arthur raised his head, shadows followed his eyes. “With the Mercia delegation in our home, where anyone could hear you.”

 

“Because,” she pushed, “the raid you are tasked to lead cannot happen. Arthur–” Morgana sat at the edge of her seat, hands kneading into her skirt, “those are people. They just want to live in peace; we have seen no evidence of what King Coenred speaks of!” 

 

“And why not just say that? Hmm. Why say that you have–” Arthur waved a hand. 

 

“Magic?” Morgana finished. “Because sometimes, no matter what we may think, it takes knowing someone who you love is part of the community you will attack to understand the enormity of the situation.” 

 

Arthur flinched, but said nothing. Merlin stayed quiet; he didn’t think either would do one another harm, but he also knew Arthur needed to think things through. Morgana sat back in the chair, her posture slumped. 

 

Merlin thought she was immensely brave. 

 

Arthur shifted in his seat. “Here’s what we’ll do. Morgana, I’ll meet you in the morning after training to go over what you just said, assuming this isn’t a half-inebriated dream–” 

 

“You know this isn’t, and there’s more–”

 

Arthur raised a hand. “Tomorrow, ‘gana, please.” 

 

Morgana narrowed her eyes at Arthur but nodded. 

 

“Thank you.” Arthur looked to Merlin, who had stationed himself on the floor and was not having competing dreams of telling Arthur he had magic and wishing to keep watching his hair slowly dry. He shook his head. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Not a word of this to anyone, Merlin. Not even Gwaine and the others, let alone…” Arthur trailed off, looking toward the door that had been open when Morgana came in. 

 

She followed Arthur’s line of sight. “I told them to go when I arrived. I waited till they left to come in.” 

 

“You came in here practically flying,” Merlin quipped. 

 

Morgana snorted. “I took a running start.” 

 

Arthur was still staring at Merlin. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Arthur. I won’t tell anyone; I would never do that to Morgana.” 

 

“Oh, but you would do that to me?” 

 

Merlin smiled. “There’s nothing special to tell, unless you want me to spread the fact that you talk in your sleep about fighting techniques.” 

 

“I do not!”

 

“‘Block, parry, oil my sword, Merlin,’ you even get the cadence right while you sleep which goes to show how few things are bouncing around in that head of yours–”

 

“I have never–”

 

“You even purr sometimes!” Merlin laughed. He had forgotten about that one. 

 

“Why you–” Arthur started, a smile tugging at his lips that Merlin barely caught, before Morgana interrupted. 

 

“Boys!” They both turned to her. “While I appreciate the…confirmation of facts–” 

 

“The what?” Merlin asked. 

 

“–we have to stay on topic for now,” Morgana finished, looking between Merlin and Arthur. 

 

Arthur cleared his throat, chastised for a moment. “You’re right. Morgana, I’ll see you tomorrow, and–” he went up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, “thank you for trusting me.” They looked at one another, and Morgana nodded. “You will be safe from Uther.” 

 

“I just want safety for everyone,” she responded, giving Arthur a quick hug before stepping back. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” She opened the door and gave them both a nod before closing it behind her, though the door didn’t sound like a finished conversation, but more like a bell signaling the end of the night. 

 

One that passed long ago. 

 

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “Gods,” he mumbled and looked at Merlin. For a moment they didn’t have weeks of silence between them, or the conversation that never finished by the bath tub. 

 

Between them looked something scarily similar to two soldiers going through battle and surviving despite the odds. Friendship. 

 

Merlin jumped. “Well, I best get back before Gaius believes me to have fallen down the stairs somewhere. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

 

Something shifted in Arthur’s eyes, a resolve, a shifting of priorities. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Merlin.” 

 

~ 

 

Merlin arrived at Arthur’s chambers on time the next morning – like always, prat – to find it devoid of the aforementioned prince. 

 

“Huh,” Merlin said, and then immediately scrambled to find him. His conversation with Gaius last night had reinforced his need to get to the druid camp before Mercia did; Merlin didn’t know when he started to trust Arthur, but he believed he would protect Morgana. But those from Mercia had no good will to impart on her or the druids. 

 

So Merlin made a plan. He loved plans, especially when he was never allowed to follow through on his plans because they ran away from him, and this one involved somehow convincing Arthur to take a small, Camelot-focused group only to the camp. So, not much hope, but he had nothing else to go on, and Merlin was nothing but stubborn. 

 

His stubbornness ran him right into Gwaine. 

 

“Whoa, Merls!” Gwaine grabbed his shoulders, steadying him from having a lovely meeting with the floor. “What are we running from?” 

 

Merlin shook his head, which felt about twenty feet ahead of his feet. “Haven’t had an infestation of flesh-eating termites in a while, no need to run. Have you seen Arthur?” Gwaine stared at him, and Merlin touched his face with a hand to see if something was amiss. 

 

“Never a dull moment with you, mate.” Gwaine wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “And you’re in luck; Arthur asked me to come find you.” As they turned the corner Merlin saw Gwaine grimace and stretch his arm. 

 

“Is that still hurting from practicing with Arthur?” 

 

Gwaine snorted. “If you want to doll it up, sure. Practice.” 

 

Merlin stopped them, reaching a hand to Gwaine’s injured arm. He knew Gaius checked it, but it was ingrained in him at this point to help. “Still bruised,” Merlin murmured to himself, feeling the slight puffiness of the injury. He quickly looked down as if checking something near Gwaine’s hand while whispering a quick healing spell. “I’m sorry Arthur’s big head gets him into fits like this,” Merlin quips, putting Gwaine’s arm back down and looking up at him. 

 

Gwaine smiles. “Productive talk in the ring and out. I’m just glad things have gotten better lately. Morgana said you both can’t keep it out of the ba–” 

 

“Merlin.” He looked to the side to see Arthur standing with Leon and Lancelot outside one of the map rooms. “You’re almost on time for once.” Merlin narrowed his eyes. 

 

“And you almost buttoned your tunic correctly for once, it’s truly a great achievement of the day.” Gwaine laughed and clapped him on the back. 

 

“C’mon, Merls. Let’s see what the princess wants.” 

 

Merlin followed Gwaine, and upon entering the room he saw it was empty beyond a simple table with a map of the bordering kingdoms between Elyan and Percival. A few shelves lined the walls, but no other Camelot knights. More importantly, no Mercia delegates. 

 

Leon shut the door after they all entered, and for a moment Merlin thinks they’re there to confront him about his magic, but that wouldn’t make sense with the way Arthur acted finding out about Morgana. But maybe–

 

“‘lin, are you listening?” Arthur’s voice cut into his tempest thoughts. Trying to play it off did nothing, and Arthur just shook his head. “I let you sleep in late, and your mind is still lounging in bed.” 

 

Merlin stood straighter. “I was on time to your room this morning.” 

 

“Uh, mate.” Gwaine nudged him. “You never made it to his room.” 

 

“I would have, and on time.” 

 

Arthur cut in. “Okay, we’re getting off track.” 

 

Merlin saw Percival lean over to Elyan. “Were we ever on track?” he asked Elyan genuinely. Elyan patted him on the back and sighed. 

 

“I brought you here this morning because I trust you all individually and as part of a team,” Arthur started, causing any remaining chatter to dissipate. “I can’t tell you all everything, because parts are not my story to tell, but what I can tell you is this: the accompaniment of Merica knights to the druid camp my father spoke of last night, or any knights outside of you all, would be detrimental to any future peace talks we could have with the druidic people.” 

 

The room itself felt like it was holding its breath. Merlin's first thought was that he didn’t even have to plead his case to Arthur, his second thought was why would Arthur care about the druids in any long-term capacity. None of that involved Morgana or her safety in the castle.

 

“And this is something you hope to have happen in the future, Sire? Peace talks with the druids, I mean.” Leon asked, pointing out part of Merlin’s train of thought. Leon had been there the longest of them all; he would have seen the environment Arthur grew up with, surrounded by his father and his rhetoric. This was a trajectory that couldn’t be easily explained away. 

 

“I think it’s great,” Gwaine chimed in. “Not killing innocents, and it goes against the king.” Gwaine smiled, his teeth sharp in the candle light. “It’s wonderful.” 

 

Merlin caught Lancelot looking at him, probably trying to see if Merlin had anything to do with this current change of plans (and heart). He shook his head slightly, and Lancelot nodded, his eyes going back to Arthur. 

 

“I think,” Arthur began, his voice betraying no inkling that what he said went against king Uther’s decrees, “that a people, who have no physical evidence against them, should not be persecuted based on another’s beliefs.” 

 

Merlin could still hear the conflict in his voice; it was his father he was going against, and that was no light stance to take. Morgana had trusted him with the truth, and he accepted what that truth entailed, including his past prejudices. 

 

Merlin felt pride at his future king, and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling. 

 

Leon nodded. “While not aligning with King Uther’s views–” he looked at Arthur, giving him a slight nod, “I agree with this choice.” Arthur’s shoulders relaxed slightly, looking for the first time since last night that something other than bloodshed might be possible. Elyan and Percival agreed too, though he didn’t know their history well enough if they had ever agreed with Uther’s stance to begin with.

 

Arthur looked at him. “Well? You’ve been quite quiet over there, Merlin.” Though said with a faint mockery, Merlin could see it for what it was: bluster. Merlin didn’t know why Arthur cared for his opinion – and this wasn’t helping them not being friends – but he voiced it anyway. 

 

“This may be the smartest choice you’ve ever made, sire.” Merlin smiled cheekily. “Though you don’t have those very often, so the pickings are slim.” Arthur huffed, a slight smile pulling at his lips. 

 

“Speak for yourself. You thought the idea to steal one of the cook’s pans to feed the horses was ‘genius,’ as I recall,” Arthur retorted. 

 

“And it was. I just didn’t expect the horse to want to eat the pan more than the food–” 

 

Gwaine whistled. “While I don’t wish to block anyone’s co–” 

 

“Conversation,” Lancelot interjected, while Leon put an arm around Gwaine’s neck. “Apologies, he’s still a bit foggy from last night’s tavern run.” 

 

Merlin cocked a brow; he hadn’t smelt anything on Gwaine, but he shrugged. He looked to see Arthur staring at Gwaine like he was a dagger board. 

 

“Um,” Merlin started, “that’s okay.” 

 

Gwaine smiled back at Arthur. Merlin opened his mouth to ask, but Arthur started to, very pointedly at Gwaine, lay out the plan to take a small trip up to the druid group as a “scouting team.” 

 

If any other weird, silent conversations occurred, he chalked it up to an early morning; and if he also knew he would have been late to Arthur’s room, that was between his bed and himself. 

 

~

By the time they got permission from Uther to scout the area before sending in a larger group – and “make sure our Mercia allies are not in any danger, father” – it was the day after their meeting. Merlin had gone to check on Morgana to see if she needed anything. 

 

“Arthur will tell you more, about the dream I had,” Morgana had said, standing in front of the mirror as Gwen helped wrap a shawl around Morgana’s shoulders. Gwen had looked over at Merlin and gave him a slight, knowing smile, and Merlin didn’t know what to do with everyone he was finding who believed in a future different from the one they currently lived. “But–” she had turned to face Merlin, “please keep Arthur safe. He listens to you, and if he starts to do something foolhardy, you can talk to him.” 

 

Merlin had almost scoffed; Arthur, listen to him? But before he could he had remembered Arthur looking to Merlin for confirmation that going to the druids was a good idea. That if Merlin had argued, Arthur would have listened. 

 

His chest had hurt suddenly, and he blamed it on the sausage he had stolen from Arthur that morning. 

 

“I will, my lady,” Merlin had said, and Morgana nodded, thankful. 

 

And now Merlin was stationed on Hengroen, watching the tree line for bandits while slipping the horse apple pieces so he didn’t throw Merlin off like the last time (Arthur had laughed himself off his own horse). The aforementioned man was in close by, speaking in hush tones to Leon; what they hadn’t spoken of to Uther – and needed to come up with a half-dashed plan themselves – was how they would be able to show their genuine wish to talk to the druids and not be on a futile chase finding empty firecamps. While Merlin didn’t want to take on the job, he knew he was the best bet to open conversation. 

 

He just couldn’t tell Arthur, which was humorous because he always told Arthur what jobs he did and didn’t want.

 

They made a good pace, bedding down for the night about 50 paces from a slow moving river for water. Merlin waved away Gwaine and Lancelot’s invitation to fish (he wasn’t used to using equipment, and had fallen in after taking a fin to the face), and Leon went to freshen up a bit. Elyan and Percival said they would scout the perimeter once more before they winded down, their shadows dancing away as the sun lowered. 

 

Merlin had just kneeled down to start the fire, kindling in hand, when Arthur cleared his throat behind him. Merlin rolled his eyes. “If you think you can start the fire fast, sire, be my guest.” 

 

Merlin heard a huff and smiled. “While I would love to show my prowess of fire building, I do have something of importance to talk to you about,” Arthur said, coming around to the other side of the wood and sitting against a fallen log. Merlin ducked his head, closing his eyes as he lit the kindling with the stone. 

 

To be honest, he didn’t even feel the two objects meet, which told you Arthur’s ‘keen eye’ talk needed a bit of freshening up. Merlin opened his eyes to see the fire going; Arthur watched him with an open face, one he wasn’t used to. He turned around to grab a few more pieces of wood to feed the fire before settling against his pack, facing Arthur with only the fire between them. “Now what’s this about importance?” 

 

Arthur’s lip twitched before settling. 

 

“I suggested this to Leon – and before you begin he also said it was a cumbersome plan – but I believe the best way to go about showing our intentions is if I go to where the druids were last seen setting up camp.” 

 

Merlin wet his lips. “I don’t think the word there to use is ‘cumbersome.’ More aptly put would maybe be ‘idiotic’ or ‘stupendious.’” Arthur huffed. “Or ‘egregious.’ Oh! ‘Lacking-self-preservation skills-to-a-worrying-degree.’” 

 

“That last one isn’t even criticising the plan, it’s about me.” 

 

“They all are,” Merlin retorted. He understood, in a vague, possibly philosophical way that Arthur going alone would show good will, humility, blah blah. But Merlin didn’t grow up reading classics; he was trained by his mother to help others and a dragon that talked in his ear about destiny. 

 

Arthur hunched forward, his fingers picking at the sole of his boot. “What would you have me do then?” 

 

“Let me come with–” Merlin held up a hand when Arthur started to interject. “You were correct in not wanting to bring any of your knights in at first. That’s showing hostility against a peaceful people. But if I come with you, a servant who cannot fight–” a lie and a half, Merlin thought, “but nevertheless came with on a mission of this high importance, then it shows you value in equalness between you two.” 

 

Arthur was quiet. “I may yet find some job for you once I am king that isn't my servant.” He paused, then: “But the horses would miss kicking you.” 

 

Merlin threw a stick at him. “That was one time, you ass!” He saw Arthur share a small smile with him across the fire, but he still picked at his boot. “What is it?” 

 

Arthur’s brows drew close, holding his breath for a few moments before slowly exhaling. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

 

Merlin waited, remembering Morgana’s words to keep Arthur safe. 

 

“I cannot say it’s wrong of me to ask for peace between the druids and us, because asking for peace in this first conversation isn’t even about welcoming magic back or anything with Morgana, but rather committing to equal discussion.” Arthur leaned back against the log, his shoulders tense. “But isn’t it wrong to go against the King, without his knowledge, and speak to a people he has deemed dangerous? But how can they be dangerous if the only magic I have seen from Morgana leads her to fear herself? She shouldn’t fear her own mind! That’s my father’s doing, whose evil in magic I have yet to see.” Arthur looked up when Merlin moved from his spot to sitting next to Arthur, shoulder to shoulder. He could faintly hear Gwaine laughing at something Lancelot said, a friendship made from Arthur’s work to be better than those before him. 

 

Merlin nudged Arthur, who took in a ragged breath. “Morgana saw in her dream a boy, seven or eight, in the camp. I know I have done heinous things, but if trying to gain my father’s approval by hurting a boy is what it takes, then I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be sorry for being better than your father,” Merlin said. “What you say shows your ability to see the facts in front of you, not coined prejudices against a people you haven’t seen act that way.” He turned toward Arthur, the heat of his arm seared into his jacket. “I follow you, Arthur, not your father. And I will serve you until the day I die.” 

 

He realized how truthful that sentence rang, a clear bell through the mist and shroud. For all Merlin had made Arthur’s nobility the reason that they couldn’t be friends, Merlin would rather follow him than any villager who shared the same thoughts as Uther. He bickered with Arthur because he saw how caring he was to others, and that scared Merlin more than he knew what to do with. 

 

Arthur stared at him, face open and holding something that made Merlin want to throw another stick at him, or throw himself over a cliff. “Thank you.” 

 

Merlin turned back to the fire, arm realigning with Arthur’s. “Yeah, well. Knowing your proclivities for welcoming danger into the castle I probably won’t last long.” 

 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Merlin’s eyes widened at the confession, but before he could say, do, anything, Gwaine burst from the treeline with their catch. 

 

“I’m being a perfectly wonderful housewife, Merls. May I get a kiss for my effort?” Merlin laughed, not realizing Arthur had pulled away until he was cold again. 

 

“I’m pretty sure any woman who heard you say that could and would kick your ass.” 

 

Gwaine paused and winked at Merlin. “I do love an independent woman, or man. Maybe one that can clean swords well–” 

 

“Let’s start dinner,” Arthur interrupted, his face crimson. Merlin didn’t realize they had been sitting in the sun, and Gwaine’s knowing smirk didn’t do anything to answer that question. 

 

~ 

 

Finding the druid camp the next morning was a mix of relief and anticlimactic; Arthur and Merlin had just left the knights behind when a druid appeared in front of them. 

 

“Gods.” Arthur jumped, which Merlin would have made fun of him for if not that he did the same. So much for a plan. “We don’t mean any harm; I left my sword with my knights – I mean, we aren’t here to ambush you or anything! And Merlin here can’t figure out his right from left–” Arthur was babbling, which he only tended to do when he cared dearly about an unknown subject and which Merlin thought would be cute if they weren’t on a very important mission. 

 

Peace,” the druid said, holding up a hand to stop Arthur from probably spilling state secrets, “I know who you are, Arthur Pendragon, and I welcome you into our camp.” 

 

“You do?” Arthur questioned; Merlin kicked him in the shin. “I mean, thank you. I will do my best to live up to your expectations while here.” 

 

The druid seemed amused. “I believe you will. You may collect the rest of your knights, but leave Merlin here with me.” Merlin’s eyes widened, and Arthur opened his mouth. “There’s no need for you both to find the others, correct? We do not need to trample the wood so much.” Arthur looked at Merlin to see if he was alright with this arrangement; he was more awkward than uncomfortable with it, but either way they couldn’t argue with the druid. 

 

“Go, I’ll be fine. I probably couldn’t find the knights anyway, left from right, remember?” Arthur seemed to make up his mind, nodding. 

 

“Yell if you need anything.” Merlin would have kicked Arthur again if he didn’t immediately jog out of range, saying that in front of the druid, but the man in question didn’t seem affronted by it. 

 

They both watched Arthur until his body was covered by the foliage. “Destiny could have chosen worse for partners,” the druid commented, and Merlin turned back to face him.

 

“What?” 

 

He waved a hand. “Nothing you need to worry about for a few more years.” The man paused, then: “It’s good to finally meet you. My name is Aglain.” 

 

“Merlin,” he replied, though Arthur had already spoken it; he thought it was courtesy to say it properly. 

 

Aglain looked at him. “That is one name for you, yes.” 

 

Merlin’s thoughts fumbled. He went to open his mouth, but Aglain tilted his head toward the path Arthur had taken out. Merlin listened and heard the almost silent footsteps of the knights; he realized Aglain could hear like him, and that he knew Merlin had magic. His eyes widened at the instinctual fear, but the voice entered his head before he could spiral any further. 

 

‘Do not be afraid, young one. We will protect your secret.’ Aglain nodded to Merlin once more before facing the direction the knights were coming, and Merlin realized that now the druids and Kilgharrah could speak to him in his head. 

 

Wonderful. 

 

Aglain welcomed the rest of the knights, giving his name before asking them to follow him. The knights formed a protective barrier around Merlin, which he thought both kind and laughable. Aglain looked back once and saw this, nodding to himself before continuing through the forest until they reached a clearing. Or what used to be a clearing. 

 

The makeshift village was brimming with life; young children ran around the trees while what seemed to be their mothers yelled at them to do their chores; a handful of older druids were setting a fire with food beside it for lunch; tent flaps moved constantly with the bustle. 

 

No matter what happened when speaking with Uther later, Merlin was glad they came to give warning. 

 

“I’ll lead you to one of our community tents to discuss why you came,” Aglain said as they followed him. The children closest to them stopped their running to watch, while the older men and women looked to Aglain and nodded, going back to their work. Merlin had a fear that they should have left their swords, but Aglain had made no move to tell them they weren’t allowed. 

 

Merlin thought that was either incredible trusting of him, or incredibly idiotic, but sometimes they were one in the same. 

 

“I’ll go gather the other leaders,” Aglain said as he opened the tent flap for them. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He let it fall after Merlin entered. It didn’t seem that Aglain would out Merlin as a sorcerer, which built in him equal parts relief and apprehension, but their mission overruled any side-quests Merlin thought about exploring. 

 

He almost ran into Arthur while thinking, the others having paused near the entrance. The area was simply furnished: a few rugs scattered around as places to sit and easy to roll up fast and leave; the middle of the space held a dug-out dirt pit, which Merlin thought could satisfy a fire during the colder nights. What made the knights stop, however, was the light. 

 

Orbs pulsed at various intervals in the area, giving the room a feeling of having an open roof. Arthur personally seemed to be taking them in. Merlin nudged him to get his feet moving. 

 

“Everything all right, sire?” Leon asked, also seeing his body language. 

 

“Yes, just–” Arthur wet his lips, “these are the same as the light which led me out of the cavern with retrieving the Mortaeus flower.” Merlin quickly looked down at his feet; Gaius had told him that he was murmuring something while fevered, but he didn’t know his magic had reached that far to protect Arthur. “I guess I’ve pushed it out of my mind.” 

 

“Ah, but remember,” a voice said behind them, and they all turned as the others Aglain had spoken about walked in, led by a younger woman, “Magic has always been there to protect you.” 

 

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Was the light your doing?” His stance betrayed no apprehension about them being in a space with a number of druids; Gwaine and Lancelot looked at ease too, Elyan and Percival were still taking in the surroundings, and Merlin chalked Leon’s years of suffering to Arthur’s decisions the reason that he was the first to go and sit. 

 

“No,” the woman answered, “there is someone in Camelot who wishes to keep you safe.” 

 

Merlin saw that the woman was looking at him, and he quickly coughed into his shoulder to push Arthur out of his thoughts. Arthur shook his head and gave Merlin a glare, then held out his hand to the woman. “I’m sorry, I haven’t formally introduced myself. I’m Arthur Pendragon.”

 

“Yes,” the woman smiled, “I heard we had an…interesting visitor.” She waved behind them towards the rugs. “Please sit, and we can discuss why you’ve come.” 

 

As they all went to sit (Leon already enjoying being off his feet), Merlin saw a small boy in the crowd of adults. His short stature had hidden him before, but now with the dispersal of everyone Merlin’s magic called to him like a beacon. 

 

He didn’t need to ask if Arthur had any description of the boy Morgana had seen in her dreams. This was him. 

 

“Before we begin, I would like to introduce myself and my people,” the woman said once they were all seated in a large circle. “My name is Sadia.” Sadia nodded to the person sitting on her right and went around. “This is Cerdan, Iseldir, Aglain – who you know – and Mordred.” Merlin didn’t know if Arthur had noticed the druid boy – Mordred – as the boy Morgana spoke about, but nevertheless Arthur nodded to all of them. 

 

“With me are my knights Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, Elyan, Percival, and my manservant Merlin,” Arthur responded in kind. Merlin saw Mordred turn to look at him before Sadia started their conversation. 

 

“We welcome you into our space, Arthur Pendragon, though we are curious as to why you would seek us out in such genial terms. Your father the king has made it known in no uncertain terms what to do with people like us if found.” Sadia’s tone wasn’t unkind, but one who was appropriately sceptical about a Pendragon engaging with their people in anything other than a bloodbath. Arthur nodded to her and looked at the others as well. 

 

“And I wish to say once more that I wish – and do my part – in this conversation staying amenable.” Arthur’s eyes quickly sought Merlin out, and he nodded for Arthur to keep going. “My knights and I come to warn you about a pact made by my father and Mercia to hunt your village down. We made haste to act as if we were a scouting party, and wished to give you time in advance to gather your things and leave before the others arrive.” 

 

Sadia stared thoughtfully at Arthur; Merlin felt someone looking at him and turned to see Aglain giving him a small smile. But it was Cerdan who asked the next question.

 

“Why would you care what happened to us? I appreciate your words, if true, but this does nothing beside stave off the inevitable–”

 

“Cerdan,” Sadia scolded him, but he continued. 

 

“--of the next hunt your father does against us. How will you change things for us in the long-term when you are king?” 

 

“We haven’t offered them anything to have that conversation, Cerdan,” Aglain said. 

 

“We have offered our children to the blade for years,” Iseldir retorted. 

 

“Everyone,” Sadia punctuated. The others went quiet with their conversation, though they looked ready to begin again at a moment's notice. She sighed. “While I hate to bring in doubt, Pendragon, Cerdan speaks a certain truth. Why would you offer us this knowledge, freely, when Camelot aims to decimate us.” 

 

Merlin had been watching Arthur take in their words like a sponge, a hit at his vulnerable spots for every brutal truth they spoke. He slowly went to take his sword out of his scabbard; Sadia simply watched, while Merlin saw Iseldir lean in front of Mordred as if to shield him. But all Arthur did was throw his sword in the pit in front of him so he could not grab it and motioned for his knights to do the same. 

 

“I know I have done nothing to earn the trust of you and your people, nor do I currently hold power to better the ways you are treated. But I do hope by the time that my reign comes that the partnership and aid I have shown will give my words some belief of a future working together, and with no debts marking our partnership as anything but genuine.” Arthur knocked his shoes together, thinking, and Merlin remembered that Arthur was only twenty seasons old and spoke better than his father ever did. “I recently had someone I love dearly come to me in the hope that they would be believed, and I realized there was no world I wanted to live in nor continue that would make someone afraid to be themselves.” 

 

“Aye, aye,” Gwaine whispered, and Arthur’s lips twitched before finishing. 

 

“I also had someone, who I have only treated as expendable, listen to me and believe me to be a person that I never thought I could be.” Merlin’s heart pounded, and he quickly looked down at his own boots. “And these two things are kindnesses and a trust I never could have asked for, but instead they were given freely. That’s what I hope to offer in the long-term.”

 

The space was quiet after Arthur finished. Merlin knew in some respect that he owed allegiance to the druids for protecting what was left of magic, but he would fight any of them if they tried to throw away any of what Arthur had said. 

 

“Thank you, Arthur, for speaking to us in a way no king has in a long time,” Sadia said. 

 

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “I am not yet the king of Camelot.” 

 

She smiled. “You are to us.” 

 

~

 

They stayed for the evening in the druid’s camp; the conversation with Sadia and the others took till the sun started to wan, and they offered to house Arthur and them overnight. Between food with the others in the camp, and most of the druids’ knowledge that they could take any of the knights in a fight without their swords, the air was pleasant with chatter and Gwaine being led away with others to drink. 

 

For his part, Merlin simply set up his bedroll and tried to not make any conversation veer towards him. He was glad the prince was, well, pompous and gregarious enough to lead the discussions while eating. 

 

And kind, sometimes. And this was one of these times, when he brought Merlin his meal; warm when his arm leaned against Merlin’s own; and–

 

“Merlin, are you finally having that breakdown? I knew you couldn’t handle this many days off,” Arthur said, causing Merlin to zone back in and realize he was basically gnawing on his wooden spoon in frustration of Arthur being…Arthur. 

 

“You wish,” he retorted, “I know the true knowledge of luxury now.” Merlin leaned back on his bedroll and cursed when he pulled out a rock from under his blanket he had missed. 

 

“Sure.” Arthur patted him on the shoulder and let silence fill their area. Usually, Merlin wanted to fill it with chatter so Arthur sent him away faster, but he didn’t want to leave their space. They watched as Lancelot and Leon were pulled into conversation, small smiles and tapping feet as they relaxed into the evening after a productive – historic – meeting. Elyan was looking at some of the weaponry the druids used, conversing about the materials as Percival looked on with similar intrigue. Merlin breathed, and Arthur broke the silence. “Did you see the boy in the meeting with us?” 

 

“Mordred? Yes, do you think he’s…” Merlin let his question drift off, wanting to see if Arthur felt it too: a fate of many stringing together. 

 

“Yeah, I do. I was speaking to Iseldir after, and some of the druids believe him to be part of an…ugly destiny. That’s why he protects him. I wish to speak more tomorrow with him about what we may be able to do to change the minds of some.” Arthur stirred his spoon in his bowl. “No one deserves to have their destiny control their life.” 

 

Merlin thought of the dragon, who had told him in the beginning that it was his destiny to protect Arthur. Now, though, he didn’t know if he would leave Arthur if the dragon told him it was part of the plan. He didn’t know if that should scare him to know that about himself. “Morgana will want to help, to give him a chance like she deserves.” 

 

“I just wish I could do something more now. I know that’s how all leaders feel and I don’t even have the crown yet.” Arthur huffed. “I’m planning on telling them about my plan to have a…meeting of equals, if you can call it that.” Merlin looked at him. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Arthur set aside his bowl and turned toward Merlin. “Remember when you spoke to me that we weren’t friends.” Merlin winced; Arthur didn’t seem to mean anything by bringing this up beyond the story, but it didn’t help now with his growing feelings. “You said that more people should be involved in decision making beyond the council, a place of equal standing.” 

 

Merlin didn’t realize Arthur had been listening. “Yes?”

 

“So what if,” Arthur continued, wetting his lips, “we had a round table of sorts, a place where knights and lay people and druids–” he nodded toward the main fire, “could express their needs and hopes in an environment that gave them that power.” Merlin stared at him, and Arthur’s expression from tentative turned downward. “Stupid, I know. I guess I–” 

 

“Shut up,” Merlin said, and then got up and walked into the woods. 

 

~

 

Okay, maybe walking into the woods in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but Merlin was nothing but a creature of habit, a being of magic and conversation with nature. 

 

And he was sassy, but that’s neither here nor there. 

 

What was here were his thoughts about Arthur. Arthur, who threw him in the stocks on the first day of meeting and then saved him from dying by week three of throwing food at one another. Who seemed to brush off Merlin’s ideas like flies but actually listened to him, something even a villager in his town wouldn’t do. Who had taken Merlin’s vitriol that they couldn’t be friends because he was a prince and thus evil and oh, Will would be so mad at him for ever considering Arthur a friend, but he was. 

 

Arthur was his friend and Merlin liked him maybe a little too much and how did he become the bad guy? Gods, he needed to find a cliff to fling himself off of immediately. 

 

“Merlin!?” Merlin sighed and stopped walking, turning around to see Arthur jogging toward him. “What are you doing?! There could be bandits around.” Merlin looked at Arthur, his eyes questioning and open and fuck, Arthur had him. “Merlin, what’s the matter?” 

 

Merlin couldn’t hold it in anymore. “YOU!” 

 

Arthur jerked back. “Me?” 

 

Merlin ran his hand through his hair, his brain trying to force some semblance of explanation out of him. “Why are you so nice?” He poked a finger forcefully into Arthur’s chest, who did nothing to stop it. As if he trusted Merlin not to harm him, which made him furious. “You protect Morgana and talk to her with empathy! You listen to her and come here to warn the druids! You make a plan for a future with them that grants them equal standing though it would lessen your own power! I don’t get it–” 

 

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” Arthur yelled at him, chest heaving, and Merlin wondered if he did find a cliff to fall off of earlier. 

 

“What?!” His feet stayed put, his mind trying to translate what Arthur just said. Arthur’s feet weren’t stuck, though, and he proceeded to pace back and forth in front of Merlin while talking. 

 

“After I brought you the Mortaeus flower I was sent on a scouting trip, and Gwaine told me that you had been spreading rumors about us sleeping together and that you loved me–” 

 

Merlin spluttered. “What!?” 

 

“--and I was treating you like a servant and not a lover. Which I took offence to because I would never treat someone I slept with like that–” 

 

“Hold on–” 

 

“And then I realized that I possibly, and this was embarrassing to admit, in love with you too and wanted to ask you if I could court you.” 

 

…Okay, Merlin actually didn’t know what to say to that. 

 

Arthur looked at him. “But after you barged into my room and told me we weren’t friends–” 

 

“You agreed!” Merlin yelled. 

 

“I was naked in the bath with you screeching at me like a banshee! What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, actually Merlin, light of my life, I was going to ask for your hand in courting once I got out of this bath?’” 

 

Merlin huffed, his mind circling back to the beginning of the conversation. “I made no such insinuations that we were together.” 

 

Arthur snorted. “Apparently, you kept talking about cleaning my ‘sword.’” 

 

Merlin groaned. “It’s not my fault everything you knights do is phallic! Choose a different job!” His legs finally gave out, and he sank down on the forest floor. “I don’t get it though. Why would doing all of this–” he waved toward camp, “be for me.” 

 

Arthur sat down next to him, cooled off from their initial spat. “I thought, if we weren’t yet friends, then I could do something to show my appreciation. I didn’t know how to go about a discussion of equals like you spoke of, but I thought I could start small.” Arthur sighed. “Then Morgana shared her secret with me, and I realized whatever you thought of me paled in comparison to helping her; the druid talk fell into place, and I had you to thank for the idea of a round table,” Arthur finished, then quickly added, “but I would have thought of it eventually, of course.” 

 

Merlin nudged his shoulder with his own. “Of course.” 

 

Arthur leaned back. “So there’s everything, and I guess–” he cut himself off, then looked toward Merlin, “you never said you didn’t like me.” 

 

Merlin huffed and resituated the cuffs of his jerkin. “I didn’t say I liked you, either. And I remember stating we weren’t friends while you drowned in your bathtub–”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur interjected, leaning toward him. Merlin looked, expecting to see Arthur smug, but instead he looked hopeful. Merlin hadn’t seen that in Arthur for a while. 

 

“Will is going to kick my ass,” Merlin murmured. 

 

“Wha–” Arthur said, or tried to, before Merlin’s lips met his own. One of Merlin’s hands grabbed onto Arthur’s arm for balance before Arthur batted his arm away and hauled Merlin into his lap, letting out a soft moan when Merlin landed.

 

Merlin leaned back, laughing softly when Arthur’s lips chased his own. “I have to breathe.” 

 

“You have time for that later,” Arthur said as his arms tightened around Merlin’s waist. 

 

“Oh do I?” Merlin asked, smiling as Arthur leaned in to kiss him again, which Merlin permitted. The second kiss was slower; their teeth didn’t clack together like school boys finding out about kissing for the first time. One of Merlin’s hands carded through Arthur’s hair, ending on his neck, and Arthur gave an approving sound at his action. 

 

Merlin’s brain was blissfully quiet until he heard distant laughter, and realized they were nearby the camp. With the druids. With the knights. He leaned back, breaking off the kiss. “Camp,” he said through swollen lips. Arthur’s eyes were dark, and Merlin wondered if he needed to insult him to come back to the present, but he nodded and Merlin shuffled off him. “So, we should probably get back?” Merlin asked, shy all of the sudden. He didn’t know why. Arthur had started this conversation, Merlin wasn’t at fault. But, er, maybe he was? He did start the kissing, and– 

 

“Merlin,” Arthur said quietly. Merlin looked up at him and Arthur smiled. “Stop thinking.” 

 

Merlin laughed, relief and incredulousness in one. “It’s not as easy for me as it is for you, sire.” He licked his lips to offer some relief for the swelling, and Arthur’s eyes followed the motion. 

 

Oh, this would be fun. 

 

Arthur started to step toward him when laughter sounded from the camp again. “We’re finishing this later.” 

 

“We haven’t even started,” Merlin responded, and watched Arthur swallow. He cursed and turned toward the camp, but turned his head and narrowed his eyes. 

 

“And no more sword jokes.” 

 

Merlin smiled. “But they worked so well for us.” 

 

Arthur huffed, a laugh escaping, and they made their way back to camp like they did everything else. 

 

Together. 

Notes:

Q&A:

- Merlin’s magic reveal to arthur? Never heard of her.
- Merlin’s dad and the dragon? That’s a different fic to deal with those repercussions.
- Poor Daniel? Poor Daniel indeed.