Chapter Text
Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, sat at his desk pretending to review trade agreements while actually watching his manservant polish his armor with more attention than the task strictly required.
This had become something of a habit lately. Watching Merlin, bserving the way his too thin frame moved with surprising grace despite his claims of clumsiness. Noting how the afternoon light caught in his dark hair, turning it almost blue-black. Cataloging each expression that crossed that expressive face, tongue caught between his teeth as he worked at a particularly stubborn mark on the breastplate.
Arthur told himself it was merely ensuring his servant was performing his duties adequately. That he was watching for mistakes, for opportunities to correct Merlin's endless impudence and terrible work ethic.
He told himself this knowing it was a lie.
"You're doing that wrong" Arthur said, more sharply than intended.
Merlin looked up, eyebrows raised. "I'm doing exactly what you showed me last week sire."
"Well, I saw it wrong last week then. Do it differently."
"Differently how?"
"Just... differently. Use your initiative Merlin. Though I realize that's asking rather a lot from you."
Merlin's mouth twitched with barely suppressed amusement, which only irritated Arthur further. The boy, Merlin had been in his service for nearly four years now never seemed properly intimidated by him. Most servants cowered and scraped while Merlin argued and rolled his eyes and looked at Arthur sometimes like he could see straight through him.
It was infuriating.
It was also, Arthur admitted in the privacy of his own thoughts one of the things he valued most about Merlin. That honesty and lack of pretense.
He has the ability to make Arthur feel like a person rather than a prince.
"As you wish sire" Merlin said, in that tone that suggested he thought Arthur was being ridiculous but was too polite to say so outright.
Arthur returned his attention to the parchment before him, determined to actually read it this time. Something about grain shipments from Mercia with is actually terribly important. Critical to the kingdom's wellbeing even. He should definitely focus on this rather than watching the way Merlin's hands moved over the metal, strong and capable despite their slenderness.
A knock at the door startled them both.
"Enter" Arthur called, grateful for the interruption to his increasingly troubling thoughts.
Sir Gwaine sauntered in all rakish grin and casual confidence. He'd been away on patrol for a fortnight, and judging by the mud on his boots and the exhaustion barely hidden beneath his jovial expression, he'd only just returned.
"Princess! " Gwaine said, with a bow that was technically correct but somehow still managed to convey irreverence. His gaze slid past Arthur to where Merlin stood. "Merlin! Still haven't been sacked then?"
"He's utterly unsackable" Arthur said dryly. "Believe me I've tried."
"Perhaps you're simply too fond of him to follow through" Gwaine suggested, still looking at Merlin with an expression Arthur couldn't quite decipher.
Something uncomfortable twisted in Arthur's chest.
"Report" Arthur ordered curtly. "I assume there's a reason you've burst into my chambers rather than reporting to my father first?"
"Already reported to the King and he sent me to brief you on the situation at the northern border." Gwaine finally tore his gaze from Merlin and focused on Arthur. "Nothing too concerning, few bandits, I dealt with them easily enough, the usual."
"And your men?"
"All accounted for, few injuries but nothing serious. We're all eager for baths and soft beds truth be told."
"Then you're dismissed. Get cleaned up and rest. I'll expect a full written report by morning."
"Cruel taskmaster" Gwaine said cheerfully. Then to Merlin: "Fancy a drink at the tavern tonight? To celebrate my not dying heroically in defense of the realm?"
Merlin smiled and Arthur felt that uncomfortable twist in his chest intensify. "Can't tonight. I'm on duty."
"Merlin's always on duty" Arthur interjected before he could stop himself. "I'm a demanding master as you noted."
"Tomorrow then" Gwaine persisted. "You must have at least one evening off, even the prince's manservant needs occasional freedom."
"Tomorrow's fine" Merlin agreed.
After Gwaine left, the chamber fell silent save for the sound of cloth on metal. Arthur tried to return to his work but found his concentration had evaporated entirely.
"You don't have tomorrow evening off" Arthur said finally.
Merlin paused in his polishing. "Sire?"
"I'll need you to attend me, there's a banquet. You'll need to be present to ensure everything runs smoothly."
This was true. There was a banquet but Arthur also had six other servants who could manage his needs perfectly well and Merlin knew it.
"Of course sire" Merlin said quietly. Something in his tone made Arthur feel like an absolute cad.
"It's important" Arthur insisted, as if Merlin had argued. "There will be visiting dignitaries, Princess Mithian among them. Everything must be perfect."
"I understand."
"You can see Gwaine another time, surely he'll still be here beyond tomorrow."
"I said I understand sire."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with something unspoken. Arthur wanted to take it back and to tell Merlin to go to the tavern to enjoy his evening. But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of training about maintaining proper distance with servants, about not showing weakness duty above all else.
And trapped behind something else too. He refused to examine too closely because it felt dangerous, because the jealousy he felt at the thought of Merlin spending his evening laughing with Gwaine in some crowded tavern was not acceptable .
"Will that be all sire?" Merlin asked.
"Yes. No. Wait." Arthur stood, crossing to where Merlin worked. "You've missed a spot there. See? This is why I can't possibly give you time off you're terribly inattentive."
Merlin looked at the armor then up at Arthur with those impossibly blue eyes. "That's your reflection, sire."
Arthur felt heat rise in his face. "I knew that idiot I was testing you to see if you'd have the courage to correct your prince."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sire." Merlin's lips quirked in what might have been a smile.
They stood there, closer than was strictly proper and Arthur found himself noticing details he shouldn't. The faint freckles across Merlin's nose and the way his hair stuck up at odd angles despite his attempts to flatten it or even the hollow at the base of his throat, visible where his shirt collar gaped slightly.
Arthur stepped back abruptly. "Carry on, here is the spot and try to do it properly this time."
"Yes, sire."
That night, Arthur lay awake in his chambers staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Merlin sleeping in his own small room just down the corridor. Trying not to wonder if Merlin was disappointed about missing his evening with Gwaine. He tried not to remember the way Gwaine had looked at Merlin, like there was something between them, some shared understanding that excluded Arthur entirely.
He had no right to care. Merlin was his servant and nothing more. If Merlin chose to spend his free time with knights or tavern maids or anyone else, that was entirely Merlin's concern.
Except Arthur did care. Far more than was appropriate and far more than was safe.
He thought of Princess Mithian, arriving tomorrow. Beautiful, intelligent, kind Mithian. They'd met several times over the years and his father had made his expectations perfectly clear. It was time Arthur considered marriage. Time he thought about securing alliances and producing heirs and all the other duties expected of a crown prince.
Mithian would make an excellent queen. She was everything a princess should be, she was poised, educated, politically astute and Arthur liked her well enough and respected her. Could even imagine a comfortable partnership with her.
What he couldn't imagine was feeling for her even a fraction of what he felt when Merlin smiled at him.
Arthur rolled over, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. He was being absurd, these feelings were nothing more than misplaced affection for someone who'd saved his life more times than he could count. Gratitude and friendship twisted into something that felt like more but wasn't. Couldn't be.
He was the Crown Prince of Camelot, his duty was to his kingdom not to impossible desires that would bring nothing but ruin if pursued.
By morning, Arthur had convinced himself he'd imagined the intensity of his feelings. They were perfectly manageable and everything was under complete control.
Then Merlin entered his chambers with breakfast, hair still wet from washing clothes slightly askew looking sleep-rumpled and entirely too appealing, and Arthur's carefully constructed rationalizations crumbled.
"You're late" Arthur snapped.
"By three minutes sire, which is hardly worth mentioning."
"When I say dawn, I mean dawn. Not whenever you finally manage to drag yourself from bed."
"You're in a pleasant mood this morning," Merlin observed, setting down the tray with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.
"I'm always pleasant. It's you who brings out my less charitable side with your constant incompetence and insolence."
"My incompetence and insolence have kept you alive for four years."
This was true, though Arthur would never admit it. Merlin had a way of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment, warning him of dangers he shouldn't have known about, somehow always knowing when something was wrong.
"Four years of mediocre service" Arthur said instead. "I'm extraordinarily patient, clearly."
Merlin's expression suggested he had several retorts to that but was choosing to keep them to himself. "Will you be needing anything else sire? Or may I attend to my other duties?"
"What other duties? Your entire purpose is attending to me."
"I have duties in the armory. Sir Leon requested help cataloging the new weapons shipment."
Arthur frowned. "When did Leon request this?"
"Yesterday while you were training."
"Well, he can find someone else. I need you here, we have to prepare for tonight's banquet."
"Prepare how? The servants have been preparing for days."
"I need my formal attire selected. And my chambers must be immaculate, Princess Mithian will be touring the royal apartments."
"Your chambers are already immaculate. I cleaned them yesterday. Twice."
"Then clean them again. I want everything perfect."
Merlin studied him with an expression Arthur couldn't read. "Is Princess Mithian really so particular? I understood she was quite down to earth for a royal."
"It's not about her being particular. It's about maintaining proper standards befitting the royal house of Camelot."
"Of course, sire."
After Merlin left to begin his unnecessary cleaning tasks, Arthur stood at his window overlooking the training grounds, feeling thoroughly dissatisfied with himself. He was being petty and he knew it. Inventing tasks to keep Merlin close, preventing him from spending time with Leon or Gwaine or anyone else.
It was beneath him. A prince should be above such small jealousies.
And yet he couldn't seem to stop himself.
The arrival of Princess Mithian's entourage that afternoon was suitably grand. Arthur stood at his father's side in the courtyard, formal and regal in his ceremonial armor, aware of Merlin somewhere behind him with the other servants.
Mithian descended from her carriage with practiced grace, her gown a stunning creation of deep blue silk that complemented her dark complexion beautifully. She was, Arthur thought objectively, absolutely lovely.
She smiled at him, warm and genuine. "Prince Arthur, it's been too long."
"Princess Mithian, welcome to Camelot." He took her offered hand, bowing over it with practiced courtesy. "Your chambers have been prepared. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Long but uneventful, which in these times is the best one can hope for." Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor. "I look forward to seeing Camelot again. It's been years since my last visit."
Throughout the formal greetings and the escort to her chambers, Arthur was aware of Merlin's presence. Not looking at him directly, not speaking to him, but knowing he was there. Feeling his gaze like a physical weight.
When Arthur finally dismissed his servants to prepare for the evening's festivities, Merlin lingered.
"Something on your mind?" Arthur asked, more sharply than intended.
"She's lovely" Merlin said quietly. "The princess, she seems kind."
"She is."
"Is she the one then? The one your father expects you to marry?"
Arthur studied Merlin's face, trying to decipher his expression. "My father expects me to make an advantageous alliance and Princess Mithian is the daughter of a powerful neighboring kingdom. It would be a sensible match."
"Sensible" Merlin repeated, the word strange in his mouth. "That's what matters in royal marriages I suppose. Sense and advantage."
"What else would matter?"
"I don't know but maybe affection, compatibility or even actually wanting to spend your life with someone."
"Those are luxuries common people can afford. Royalty must think of the kingdom first."
"Must you?" Merlin's gaze was direct, challenging in the way only he ever dared to be. "Always? With everything?"
Arthur felt suddenly exhausted. "What are you really asking me Mer-lin?"
"I'm not asking anything sire. Just wondering if duty really must consume everything and if there's no room for... anything else."
They stood in the fading afternoon light, the space between them feeling vast and insignificant all at once. Arthur wanted to close the distance, to say something true and honest and utterly impossible.
Instead, he turned away. "Help me dress for the banquet and try not to make me look ridiculous. I need to make a good impression."
"You always make a good impression, sire" Merlin said softly. "You're a good man. She'd be lucky to have you."
Arthur closed his eyes briefly against the ache those words produced. "Just fetch my formal tunic Merlin. The blue one with the Pendragon crest."
"Of course, sire."
The banquet was a glittering success by all objective measures. The great hall sparkled with candlelight and filled with music and laughter. The food was excellent, the wine flowed freely and Princess Mithian charmed everyone she spoke with.
Arthur sat beside her at the high table, making conversation, laughing at her witty observations, aware that all eyes were upon them. Evaluating, judging and speculating about a potential union between Camelot and Nemeth.
He should have been pleased. Everything was going perfectly. Mithian was engaging and intelligent, her interest in him seemed genuine and he found her company genuinely enjoyable.
But his gaze kept drifting to where Merlin moved among the servants, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Watching him laugh at something one of the other servants said. Seeing him stumble slightly with a wine pitcher, though he recovered so smoothly Arthur doubted anyone else noticed.
"Your manservant is quite devoted," Mithian observed, following his gaze.
Arthur snapped his attention back to her. "Merlin? He's adequate. When he's not being impossibly clumsy or insolent."
"Strange. I've heard others speak of him with great admiration. They say he's fiercely loyal, I even heard that he's saved your life on multiple occasions."
"He exaggerates his own importance."
Mithian tilted her head, studying him. "You watch him quite frequently."
"I'm ensuring he doesn't drop something valuable or insult a visiting dignitary."
"Of course." Her tone suggested she didn't believe him for a moment. "He's quite striking, isn't he? Those eyes, they look like the summer sky."
Arthur's hand tightened on his wine goblet. "I hadn't noticed."
"No? Most people notice Merlin. There's something about him. Different. Special, perhaps."
"He's a servant. One servant much like another."
"Is he?" Mithian's gaze was knowing, sympathetic, and Arthur felt suddenly exposed. "I think perhaps not. At least not to you."
Arthur had no response to that. Merlin chose that moment to approach the high table to refill their wine and Arthur was intensely aware of his proximity. The brush of his sleeve against Arthur's shoulder. The faint scent of herbs that always seemed to cling to him.
"Thank you, Merlin" Mithian said warmly. "The evening has been lovely. Your prince is fortunate to have such capable service."
Merlin ducked his head. "You're too kind, my lady. We all serve as best we can."
After he moved away, Mithian turned to Arthur with a gentle expression. "May I speak frankly, my lord?"
"Of course."
"I like you, Arthur, truly. You're everything I was led to believe. You are honorable, courageous, kind beneath that gruff exterior,I think we could build a strong alliance between our kingdoms. Perhaps even a genuine friendship."
"I hear a 'but' approaching."
"But I would never wish to come between a person and their happiness. And I think your happiness might lie in a direction your father would not approve."
Arthur felt his chest tighten. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you? I see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you too. There's something there, Arthur something rare and precious."
"There's nothing inappropriate between me and my servant" Arthur said stiffly. "Such a thing would be impossible. It is against every rule of proper conduct, not to mention that Merlin is..." He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
"Merlin is what?"
"Male" Arthur finished quietly. "Even if he were of appropriate station, which he's not, there's that considerable obstacle."
"Love is rarely convenient for anyone, regardless of their station. But for royalty?" Mithian shook her head ruefully. "We're expected to love duty first, kingdom second, and ourselves not at all."
"That's what it means to rule."
"Perhaps but it seems a heavy burden to bear alone."
Before Arthur could respond, Gwaine appeared at the edge of the dais, bowing with his characteristic casual grace. "Begging your pardon, sire, my lady. I was hoping to steal Merlin away for a moment. That matter we discussed earlier requires his attention."
What matter? They'd discussed no matter that Arthur was aware of. Suspicion coiled in Arthur's gut.
"Merlin is working," Arthur said curtly. "Whatever it is can wait."
"It's rather time-sensitive, I'm afraid."
"Then handle it yourself. That's what I pay you for."
Gwaine's eyebrows rose at Arthur's tone. "As you wish, sire."
After Gwaine left, Mithian murmured, "You might want to examine why the thought of your servant spending time with that rather handsome knight distresses you so much."
"I'm not distressed. I'm maintaining proper discipline. Merlin is on duty, he can't simply wander off because Gwaine has some allegedly urgent matter."
"Of course, my lord. My mistake."
But her knowing look suggested she understood far more than Arthur was comfortable with.
When the banquet finally ended and Arthur returned to his chambers, he found Merlin already there, turning down his bed and laying out his nightclothes.
"Gwaine seemed disappointed he couldn't speak with you," Arthur said, aiming for casual and missing entirely.
"Did he?" Merlin's tone was neutral. "It probably wasn't important."
"What did he want to discuss?"
"I'm not certain, sire. Perhaps something about tomorrow evening since I couldn't meet him tonight."
"About that." Arthur cleared his throat. "I may have been... hasty. If you wish to meet Gwaine tomorrow, I can spare you for a few hours."
Merlin turned to face him, surprise evident on his face. "Really, sire?"
"Don't sound so shocked. I'm not a complete tyrant. If Gwaine has something important to discuss with you, I suppose you should be permitted to hear it."
"That's... surprisingly generous of you."
Something in Merlin's tone needled at Arthur. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing sire. Just that you've been rather intent on keeping me busy lately. Finding tasks that don't really need doing and making sure I'm always within reach."
"You're my servant. You're supposed to be within reach."
"I'm your servant, not your possession."
The words hit harder than Merlin probably intended. Arthur felt his jaw tighten. "I'm well aware of the distinction, thank you. If you'd rather serve someone else, I'm sure it can be arranged."
"That's not what I said."
"Then what are you saying?"
Merlin was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was softer. "I'm saying that I don't understand you lately. You seem... I don't know...different. Angry about things that shouldn't make you angry and you are keeping me close but pushing me away at the same time."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? Because sometimes I think..." Merlin stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter what I think. You're right. I'm your servant. My thoughts on the matter are irrelevant."
"Merlin—"
"Will there be anything else sire? Or may I retire?"
Arthur wanted to say yes, there was something else. He wanted to ask what Merlin had been about to say and whether he felt even a fraction of this impossible, inappropriate desire that consumed Arthur's every waking moment.
Instead, he said "You may go but be here at dawn. Actual dawn, not your interpretation of it."
"Of course, sire."
After Merlin left, Arthur stood in the center of his chambers, feeling more alone than he could remember. He thought of Mithian's gentle observations, of Merlin's confusion and frustration, of Gwaine's knowing looks.
He thought of duty and desire, of what was expected and what was wanted, of the impossible chasm between a prince and a servant.
And he wondered how much longer he could continue pretending that chasm meant anything at all.
To be continued...