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“Arthur? Arthur!” The voice was tinny through the metal of his helmet, but the concern in it was obvious and honest. He grunted in acknowledgement, reluctant to leave the speaker in distress.
“I'm all right,” he groaned. “Help me off with this damned thing, will you?”
There was a shuffling, his ears were pulled just a little roughly, then daylight broke through and he blinked into the sun.
“What hit me?” Arthur asked. “I feel like I fell down every step in Camelot.”
“It was a spell,” a perplexed voice answered. “The sorcerer exploded.”
“There was a sorcerer?” Arthur asked, turning to look at the young man. “Did I win?”
“Yes,” came the hesitant answer. “We won. You don’t remember?”
“Apparently not.” The boy was far too scrawny to be one of his knights, and wore a look of confusion like his face had been carved for it. “Who are you?”
“I'm Merlin,” Merlin, apparently, replied. “I'm your manservant.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “in that case, where's my horse?”
#
The servant said nothing as he swept out the grate and laid a new fire. He made no remark as he bundled up Arthur’s dirty laundry and he didn’t so much as hum a tune while he straightened the bedsheets and drapes. In fact, the room was quiet enough that he could have been quite alone in it.
In fact, his every move was in some way observed, albeit subtly and from the corner of Arthur's eye. Arthur sat, very still, very quiet, and observed the very picture of servile efficiency. Arthur tried not to look directly at him, keeping his gaze on a point in the distance and running two bent fingers back and forth across his lips.
His duties evidently complete, his servant gathered up the laundry and inclined his head toward Arthur in a small bow as he made to leave.
“It’s Merlin, isn’t it?” Arthur said suddenly. Merlin turned, craning over the fabric to look at his addresser.
“Yes Sire. Merlin,” he confirmed. Arthur nodded slightly.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said softly. Merlin nodded and let him to his thoughts.
#
Arthur wasn’t quite feeling like himself. There was definitely something he couldn’t put his finger on; something missing in his everyday. He’d won against a nefarious villain and there was celebration to be had, but something was wanting in his skin and in his bones. So he did what was natural; he sought out the person who had last offered him the spark he was so sorely lacking.
He was surprised at the violence of Gwen’s reaction.
Arthur gaped at her, clutching at his smarting cheek.
“How dare you?” Gwen spat, sporting an expression so livid that Arthur, fearless warrior prince, found himself taking a step back. “Aside from the fact that you can't just go around kissing people, you know very well that there is nothing of that sort between us anymore.” Arthur recoiled once more, this time more in confusion than fear, his brow knotting in query.
“I thought we had…” He flustered a moment. “…something?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes rather insubordinately, and sighed.
“Arthur, we’ve talked about this,” she said, as kindly as she could through her clear frustration. “You know that my affections lie elsewhere and any…flirtation with you just leaves me confused. And besides, I’ve seen that you…” She looked away, a flush creeping onto her cheeks. “You were quite clear that you no longer think of me that way. We’ve both moved on, and if you’re having some sort of…crisis, that’s something you need to sort out on your own. I won’t be a part of it.”
Arthur just stared at her. He couldn’t recall any conversation where he might have implied that his feelings had changed, although now she mentioned it, he was sure that it was true. She offered him a conciliatory smile and began to move away.
“Guinevere,” he said, before she could leave the room. “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention.”
“I’m not upset,” she reassured him. “Just confused.”
Arthur nodded. He was more than a little confused himself.
#
“Merlin?”
Merlin looked up from where he was fastening Arthur’s armour under his arm. He really was the definition of efficiency, this manservant of his. It surprised him, but he couldn’t quite say why; he had always had the best servants and, besides, he was the prince, why should he expect anything else? Nevertheless, it was unnerving.
“Sire?” Merlin replied, keeping his eyes averted as was appropriate for someone in his position.
“Merlin, how long have you been my manservant?”
“Not so long, sire,” the young man replied, turning to the table to pick up the next piece of metal with which to adorn his master. “But I have been in the service of the royal house for two years.”
Arthur nodded, his brow and lips tightening.
“I hadn't noticed you before,” he said.
“I’m naturally inconspicuous,” Merlin answered him with a self-effacing smile. Arthur snorted gently.
“I sincerely doubt…” Then Merlin looked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and Arthur couldn’t quite find what he had planned to say. Merlin held his gaze for a long moment and Arthur’s heart momentarily decided to adopt an unconventional rhythm. The boy took pity on him, shaking his head infinitesimally and getting back to his work.
“Do you know much about love, Merlin?” Arthur said after a few more moments, when his curious pulse had more or less righted itself.
Merlin’s fingers slowed on the leather laces he had been untangling. Arthur waited.
“A bit,” Merlin said, eventually.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall out of love with somebody, completely, and yet have no memory of doing so?”
“I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin replied, his eyes flicking up to Arthur’s face for barely measurable fractions of time. “I’ve never fallen out of love.” Arthur tilted his head as Merlin set the pauldron over his shoulder.
“Perhaps you were in your cups, sire,” Merlin said after a short time. He glanced at Arthur’s questioning expression and explained himself. “When you told this…lady…that your feelings had changed. After a little wine, you’re sometimes a bit more…honest.”
Arthur smiled lopsidedly while Merlin turned and retrieved his bracer.
“Am I?” he asked quietly. Merlin's eyes went wide, to Arthur’s unexpected delight.
“Well, I mean, people generally,” Merlin stumbled, his fingers faltering on the buckle at Arthur’s wrist. “People are more open with a goblet of wine in them.”
“Hmm,” Arthur acknowledged. Merlin seemed satisfied with his work, nodding at Arthur's now fastened bracer and lowering his hand to his side. Arthur reached out and took Merlin's wrist in his hand, lifting it between them. Merlin went willingly, an already familiar look of confusion on his face.
“Have you worn armour?” Arthur asked, noting the apparently fragility of Merlin’s slender wrists.
“Once or twice,” Merlin said after a moment. Arthur's eyes lifted to meet his. “I wouldn’t make much of a warrior,” he added with a brief laugh. Arthur's fingers began to curl around his wrist, and Merlin pulled his hand away.
He pressed Arthur's sword into his hand and smiled. He reached up toward Arthur’s face, almost as if by instinct, before redirecting to pat Arthur supportively on his metal-clad shoulder, then stepped aside with a small bow.
#
Arthur extended his goblet for the fourth or fifth time. And, with glorious predictability, a slender, reliable creature attended him to fill it.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said for the fourth or fifth time that night. Merlin nodded to him in acknowledgement, indulging him by holding his gaze while he brought the cup back to his lips and took a sip.
“Bored yet?”
Arthur's attention snapped to Morgana so quickly he was lucky not to hurt himself.
“What gave it away?” he asked, taking another generous mouthful. He could feel Merlin still at his back, moving now to stand a respectful two paces away. So appropriate, to be a distinct distance and yet so readily available. The efficiency remained disconcerting.
“You're putting that wine away like someone's going to have it from you. And you haven't added to the conversation in an age.”
“Have I drunk that much?” Arthur asked, contemplating his cup. “I don't think I've drunk so much.”
“It'll hit you when you stand up,” Morgana said. Arthur shrugged and Morgana grinned. “Merlin,” she said, leaning back to catch the young man's attention. Arthur stiffened, discomforted by the ease with which Morgana addressed his manservant. It hadn't occurred to him that she would even know Merlin's name.
“My Lady?” Merlin replied, taking a dutiful step forward so she would not have to raise her voice.
“Psh, My Lady,” Morgana said. “So formal!” She waved her hand in a way that made Arthur smile and suspect she hadn't been eschewing much wine herself. She straightened her hand in Merlin's direction. “Now, Merlin. When he who is not my brother gets to his feet, he will undoubtedly find them most unsteady. I'm trusting you to get him back to his quarters without breaking anything or embarrassing himself horribly. Does that sound possible?”
“Of course,” Merlin replied with a smile that left no doubt that he did indeed know Morgana well enough for a modicum of informality. It gave Arthur a strange pang of something like jealousy. “I'll look after him.”
“Well, since that's settled and we're all agreed that I can't take care of myself, I might retire,” Arthur said. Feeling Merlin moving back into the position appropriate to his function, Arthur glanced at him. “You can bring the jug,” he said. “And another cup. Might as well make a night of it,” he added quietly to himself.
#
“And then the baker says, 'I know, that's why I put an extra roll in her bag!'”
Arthur threw his head back and roared with laughter, spilling wine on himself, which only made him laugh harder.
“You always love that one,” Merlin said, grinning widely. His smile suddenly faded. “Noblemen, I mean. Your kind of people always laugh at that joke.”
“And how many noblemen have you known, Merlin?” Arthur asked, reaching for the nearly-empty pitcher of wine, his voice and shoulders still shaking with the remnants of laughter.
“How do you mean?” Merlin asked, bristling a little with the perceived implication. Arthur shrugged, reading to refill his cup.
“Well, you're very good at your job,” Arthur said. “And you're comfortable around nobility. Remarkably so,” he added quietly. “You must have served in some other grand household?”
“Not really,” Merlin replied, sipping at his now full cup. “This was never something I thought about doing. I just sort of...fell into it.”
“Found you were a natural?” Arthur prompted. Merlin snorted in response.
“Hardly,” he replied. “But I do enjoy it. And I'm getting better.”
“Well, you fit in well,” Arthur said, trying to stand his cup on the table beside him. He scowled when it took two tries. “Even if you don't always look too happy, from what I can see,” he added.
“I'm happy,” Merlin said calmly, perhaps fondly. “Happy as a servant can be,” he added.
“Oh, yes, I can see how it must be awful for you,” Arthur said with a grin. “Sleeping in a castle, earning the respect and envy of your peers. All this free wine must be horrible, too! Come on, let me take that off you,” he said, pushing up from his chair and reaching for Merlin's cup.
“No!” Merlin argued, scooting back and grinning madly. “It's fine. It's completely tolerable.” He laughed as Arthur shook his head and protested, insisting he would remove this terrible burden. Merlin held out a hand to delay the prince while he attempted to down the contents of his cup.
“No, Merlin, you mustn't punish yourself on my account,” Arthur said loudly, his grin wide and easy as he made another grab for the goblet.
His fingers caught the base and it tipped, spilling wine down Merlin's tunic and onto the floor behind him. He grabbed for it anyway, alcohol making him clumsy so he missed and landed half over Merlin, his knee on the carpet between Merlin’s.
And that was where he stayed, as Merlin breathed an awkward laugh and looked up at Arthur from the floor.
“Huh. Look what you...”
Arthur didn't let him get any further, closing the space between them and pressing their lips together.
And this was right. It felt so easy to kiss him. Merlin tensed in surprise, but melted immediately and when Arthur tilted his head, Merlin bent with him like it was second nature.
Maybe the wine was enough to avert any awkwardness. If he feared Merlin’s reluctance, that too was cast aside when Merlin's hands found the back of his head, fingers screwing into his hair and pulling him even closer, making a desperate noise against Arthur’s mouth. Merlin arched up against him, twisting and pushing up as Arthur pressed down, their bodies moulding together instinctively.
Arthur's head swam, sending him dizzy with lust and relief. His kisses were hungry, making greedy, relentless demands. It was only when his head started to go light that he tore his mouth away and buried his face in the side of Merlin's neck.
Arthur's senses were full; wet kisses kicking up the scent and taste of sweat and wine on Merlin’s skin, the sound of gasps and hitched breaths escaping the abused lips above him and his skin prickling like there was something magical coursing underneath.
Merlin's fingers left Arthur’s hair and twisted in the fabric of his shirt behind his neck. Arthur took that as permission, or request, and leaned back to pull his tunic over his head. He made sure Merlin's shirt followed, dragging his slim body up to strip him unceremoniously. He spared a glance for Merlin's face, despite the lingering fear that he would see something unwelcome; reluctance, perhaps, or cold resignation.
The expression he met was far from either. Merlin's cheeks were reddened, but it wasn't from embarrassment or fear. The desperation in his eyes felt like a mirror. He reached for Arthur in uncertain, grabbing movements, forcing Arthur to allow the indulgence of a smile. He lowered his head so his mouth met Merlin's stomach just above his navel.
Merlin hissed and arched up into the contact. A lucky guess, Arthur supposed, that he should be so sensitive right there. Arthur mapped the expanse of soft skin with lips, tongue, teeth, and thumbs. His hands ran lower, dropping to press Merlin's hips down to the floor. Merlin writhed uselessly beneath him, gasping and half-forming meaningless words. The fabric beneath Arthur's hands was rougher than his own clothes and caught on his fingertips as he spread his fingers. Merlin was hard, his cock distorting the fabric between Arthur's hands. He moved his hands wider, pushing Merlin's legs apart and pulling the fabric tighter. Merlin moaned outright, then, pulling Arthur's attention upward. He abandoned his position and lowered his body fully on top of Merlin's, grinding their hips together.
Merlin’s breath hitched, his whole body tensing at the stimulation. Arthur took advantage, catching Merlin’s mouth in more kisses that were returned with vigour and a tenderness that Arthur found divinely encouraging. Merlin’s hands moved to the small of Arthur’s back, fingertips dipping beneath the waist of his trousers, holding on as Arthur moved against him.
It wasn’t enough.
Arthur clawed back control, forcibly pushing himself up onto his knees and away from Merlin.
“Can I…” he asked, too deep to worry about the rough state of his voice. Merlin nodded decisively before Arthur could even finish the question.
“You’ll need something,” he said, which somehow Arthur knew, just as he moved without consideration to grab the seed oil he put on his calluses at night. He didn’t even wonder at how he knew that it would work. In the seconds Arthur was gone, Merlin had turned onto his front, reaching for his empty chair as if to pull himself up, almost like his legs weren’t working as normal.
Then Arthur was at his back and kneeling between his feet, fingers running through his hair, pushing his head forward so Arthur could drop kisses between his shoulder blades, and if Merlin had been trying to stand, he gave up. Arthur hurriedly pushed Merlin’s trousers down around his knees, then freed himself from his own. Merlin turned his head to look over his shoulder, forcing his heavy eyes open long enough to meet Arthur's. Arthur hesitated, his cock a slick, heavy promise at the small of Merlin’s back.
“You don’t have to,” Arthur said, soft but earnest. Merlin’s throat bumped.
“Do it,” Merlin said. Arthur's fingers tightened against his skin as the prince took a steadying breath. “Please,” Merlin said, almost to himself, bending his knee to allow Arthur room. Arthur felt Merlin’s eyes on him as he began to push inside, only to turn away and press his face into the rug with a gasp.
Arthur fought against baser urges, eager not to hurt Merlin, and moved slowly but determinedly until resistance gave way to exquisite pressure. Merlin moaned long and low into the thick fur beneath him as Arthur’s hips came to rest against his backside.
Arthur curved his body over Merlin’s, resting his forehead between Merlin’s gently shaking shoulders as he held them frozen, his fingers digging pits into the pale flesh of Merlin’s thigh and his breath hot down Merlin’s back. Merlin began to make small movements, jerking his hips to rub his cock against the rug. Arthur moved his own hips, a single thrust that made Merlin convulse and cry out, bringing his hand up to his mouth to bite on the meat of his palm.
Dizzy with the pressure and the pleasure and the undefinable feeling of belonging, Arthur began to fuck him, harder and deeper as Merlin adjusted to the feeling of Arthur inside him. Merlin kept his head down, the soft fur growing wet with his sweat, his fingers scratching desperately for purchase, his lips moving around unintelligible whispers.
Arthur had never seen anything so desperately beautiful. He leaned his head against Merlin’s shoulder, his mouth open and teeth barely grazing Merlin’s skin.
“Arthur,” Merlin said softly, and it sounded like a magic spell. Arthur peeled his hand from Merlin’s hip and found his cock, hot and hard and leaking, half-pressed against the rug. Arthur wrapped his fingers around it and Merlin said his name again, urgent and surprised. He turned his head, meeting Arthur’s gaze with eyes full of tears as Arthur stroked him, and fucked him, and said sweet things that rose unbidden from somewhere deep in Arthur’s chest.
And Merlin went rigid, his whole body arching back. He came with a stuttering cry of relief, spilling over Arthur’s hand and tightening around him so suddenly that Arthur gasped and sank his teeth into Merlin's shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark. Arthur’s thrust stuttered as Merlin twisted and pulsed around him, and Arthur was taken by surprise by the immediacy of his own climax. He cursed, burying himself as deep inside Merlin as he could be without becoming a single being, and came for what felt like a hundred years. He held Merlin’s shaking body against him as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest. It felt like home.
#
When Arthur was very young, he would occasionally wake to find his adopted sister in his bed; afraid of her nightmares and eager for his company. In the early days of adolescence, adult disapproval and increasing self-awareness had put a stop to childish gestures of comfort. Every morning since then, he had woken alone, or in the company of knights on a mattress of wet grass, without even the satisfaction of a previous evening's intimacy.
Which was not to suggest that he was a virgin, but previous encounters didn’t tend toward prolonged embraces or attempts at shared dreams. It should have been disconcerting, then, to wake in the embrace of a bedfellow.
Somehow, though, it was pleasing to wake up wrapped in a comfortable tangle of limbs. He had as good as had to drag Merlin into bed with him last night. Merlin had seemed content to lie panting and useless on the rug, but Arthur had insisted on manhandling him, boneless and compliant, into Arthur’s bed.
Arthur carded his fingers through the long ends of Merlin's hair as he lay pillowed on Arthur's chest. Arthur felt calmer than any time he could remember. Merlin's eyes opening to him did little to change his recumbent mood. That was, until sweet, sleepy confusion turned to wide-eyed alarm. Merlin said nothing, but pushed up with an inadvisable hand on Arthur's stomach and began to turn away. Arthur was faster, though. His hand darted out and he caught Merlin's wrist before he could escape.
“Stay,” Arthur implored, tugging Merlin back toward him.
“Don't you want your breakfast?” Merlin asked, too nervous for one so naked.
“No, I want to talk to you,” Arthur said, pulling himself to sitting. Merlin relaxed in his grip. “Are you well?” Arthur asked, releasing Merlin's wrist and trusting him to stay. Merlin nodded.
“I'm fine,” he said. He considered for a moment. “Little sore, I suppose,” he added with a smile that Arthur hoped was coy.
“I'm sorry,” Arthur replied. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”
“No,” Merlin said. “No,” he added emphatically. He shook his head. “I just shouldn't have let that happen.”
“You didn't enjoy it?” Arthur asked.
Merlin flushed.
“I didn't say that,” he began.
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because it seemed like you enjoyed it.” He reached out to hold Merlin’s face gently, placing a kiss to the side of his mouth. “It was almost like your body knew me.”
Merlin stiffened in surprise, but Arthur was already set on bringing their lips together. It only took a moment for Merlin to melt into Arthur's caress. Arthur took a chance and relaxed, refraining from deepening the kiss and letting Merlin take the initiative.
He couldn't help but smile as Merlin did as Arthur hoped, opening his mouth and letting his tongue touch Arthur’s. Something seemed to snap in him and he pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, pushing him back to the bed and kissing him with enthusiasm.
Arthur didn't object to the treatment, and he encouraged Merlin with a hand to the small of his back. Where Merlin arched against him, Arthur felt his obvious interest pressing against his thigh, sending an answering jolt of arousal through Arthur's gut.
Arthur's hand moved down to Merlin's backside, fingers teasing the sensitive dimple above his crease as a precursor to unapologetic greed. Merlin pulled away until their lips were barely touching.
“Arthur,” he whispered.
“Prince Arthur!”
The voice was loud and clear, even through the thick wood of the (locked and checked and double checked) door. Arthur moaned in frustration, his head dropping back in annoyance.
“What is it?” he asked loudly, struggling to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Your Highness, I apologise, but your father requests your presence in his counsel chambers immediately.”
“Of course he does,” he said quietly. He added, loudly enough for the messenger to hear, “Let him know I will attend him presently.”
The messenger acknowledged him and, he presumed, left. Merlin lifted his flushed face to look at Arthur, who was frustrated to see the mask of uncertainty had returned.
“Can I trust you?” Arthur asked. At Merlin's confused, almost frightened expression, he explained. “Can I trust you to be here when I get back? We still need to talk. And…everything else,” he added, pushing up to press a kiss to Merlin's chin.
“You'd better go to your father,” Merlin answered him. “I have duties.”
“Hmm,” Arthur said, releasing him reluctantly as Merlin moved to let him up. “Best help me get dressed, then.”
#
Arthur sat calmly, listening to his father drone, listening to Gaius object, listening to his father fail to listen. It all seemed rather self-defeating, as usual, but while he could usually tolerate the necessity of his own irrelevant presence at these things enough to feign interest, today he couldn't last more than a few minutes before drifting off into contemplation of what awaited his return. He didn’t imagine for a moment that Merlin would still be in his bed, but it was a guilty pleasure to imagine him going about his chores with a persistent reminder of the previous evening's activity as a dull ache in the small of his back.
Arthur squirmed in his seat. Bringing Merlin any pain had never been his intention, nor did he take pleasure in it, but knowing that Merlin wouldn't be able to escape the feeling of him was... interesting.
“What are you thinking of, brother?” Morgana asked him quietly, a small smile on her face. “That's a devious smile if I ever saw one.”
Arthur shook his head and straightened himself from where he had ended up slumped down in his chair.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was remembering a joke I was told.”
“Well, do share,” she invited. “I could honestly do with the distraction.”
She had a point. The meeting was tedious, the ultimate conclusion foregone and the outcome completely harmless and irrelevant.
Arthur grinned, recalling the joke that had left him in such hysterics the night before.
“Okay,” he said quietly, turning toward her. “So, there's a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker and they all meet up in an inn...”
“Oh, Arthur, is this the extra bun joke?” she asked.
“You know it?” he asked, happy to share the amusement while a tad disappointed to have the wind sucked from his sails.
“Of course I do,” Morgana replied. “That's your favourite joke in the world. You know Merlin tells it better than you, though, that's why you make him tell it every time you've had more than a cup.”
“I've heard that joke before?” Arthur asked, his smile fading completely. “I'd swear I'd never heard it before last night.”
“Of course not,” she said sarcastically. “Do you remember that time you had him tell it to Lady Amanda?” she reminisced. “We all thought she was going to have him executed until she finally got it and fell off her chair for laughing.”
“No,” Arthur said, staring into the distance. “I don't remember that at all.”
Morgana shrugged.
“Well, it was more than a year ago. Perhaps your memory is going,” she teased.
“A year?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“I don't remember exactly,” she said, her smile fading. “Why, is it important?”
Arthur's brow knotted.
“How long has Merlin been my servant?” he asked.
“I don't know, it must be about two years,” Morgana replied. “Although,” she smiled fondly, “it does sort of feel like he's been here forever.”
“Two years?” Arthur said to himself. “As my servant? Not in the household?”
“No, Arthur, he was your servant from the day he arrived and saved your life.”
Arthur opened and closed his mouth in confusion, lost for words and unable to believe such a thing when he knew, completely, that he had only known Merlin for a week. He knew that Merlin had never told him that joke before, nor entertained guests at a royal function. He had certainly never saved Arthur's life because Arthur would remember something like that. He would know if Merlin had put himself in danger, or pulled Arthur from the path of a knife aimed at his heart.
Arthur grasped his chest in a tight fist as a jolt ran through him. He stood, making no apologies as his chair clattered away and he stumbled unsteadily from the room.
He rounded a corner and clutched at his heart, folding in half and trusting the wall to steady him as memories filtered through like a cloud growing heavy enough to rain.
Merlin saved his life, once, twice, too many times to count. Dislike and distrust at first until respect was born, growing in affection, friendship... pride in his friend's skills, protectiveness over his friendship and his fragile life.
He remembered mistreating Merlin, neglecting him through fear or childish stupidity and the guilt that followed him when he realised how hurt Merlin had been by Arthur’s actions.
Apologies, embraces, protestations of friendship and devotion. And a moment when Arthur had thought Merlin dead, and had pulled him into a crushing embrace filled with relief and revelation that turned into a desperate, unintended kiss.
Arthur fell to his knees, breathing shallow as all the lazy parts of his mind woke at once.
Merlin under him, with him, soft and warm and welcoming, playful as he ever was and yet so earnest when he looked up at Arthur and told him he loved him, breathing life into Arthur again.
Saving his life, again, when they stood in front of the sorcerer who surprised them in the forest and swore pain on Arthur for his father's sins. Arthur was frozen in place by powerful magic, sorcerer's fire heading toward his doomed flesh as he screamed at Merlin to stay back, to run away.
But Merlin disobeyed him, standing at his side as he should be in Arthur's time of dying.
I'm sorry.
Indecipherable words left Merlin's lips. Incredible fire left Merlin's fingertips.
One sorcerer killed another before his eyes and a great explosion sent him flying backward.
After that, he couldn't recall.
#
Gaius started in surprise, pressing a calming hand to his chest as his door slammed back against the wall to reveal a furious-looking prince.
“Where is he?” Arthur demanded.
Gaius swallowed hard, gripping the table and righting his breathing.
“If you are referring to Merlin, Sire, I can tell you I have no idea. I didn’t see him, but he won’t be returning soon. Apparently,” he said, sounding rather unimpressed and holding up a shabby scrap of paper.
Arthur strode to the table and plucked the missive from Gaius' hand without asking.
“I may be old,” Gaius said, “but I am not yet blind. For a year you’ve barely left each other’s company, and then this week I can’t turn around without tripping over him. Now, I don’t know what caused the two of you to fall out, but he says he had to leave for a while and, well. I think that’s a shame. For him, and for you. And for me. For all of us.”
Arthur stared at him for a moment, aware that he was being admonished but unable to explain why he didn’t think he deserved it. He turned to the letter, pursing his lips to discover it held nothing of use.
“Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a new manservant,” Gaius said bitterly as Arthur read. Arthur turned sharply and screwed the page into a straw.
“I most certainly will not,” he said firmly. “I will find the little bugger and I will get him to explain himself.” He turned on his heel, heading toward Merlin's room. “Drag him back by the ears if need be,” he added, sending a small, unobserved smile onto Gaius' face. Whatever had gone between them, it clearly wasn't so drastic that it had gone past Arthur threatening violence to keep Merlin where he belonged. The prince stood before the mess of Merlin's ransacked room, his hands pressed to his hips.
“Now, if I were an idiot, where would I go?”
Gaius left him to it.
#
The glove that hit the back of Merlin's head was his first warning that anybody else was currently in remotely the same part of the forest. Arthur would have mocked him for his lack of awareness. But then, Merlin should have known straight away that there were very few individuals of his acquaintance who would throw a glove at his head. He rubbed the back of his head and turned to watch the prince bringing his horse to a halt a few feet from him.
“Your highness,” he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Don't you 'your highness' me,” Arthur said, dismounting and tossing the reins to one side, trusting his familiar steed to stay put. He strode toward Merlin determinedly. “I think formal titles are highly misplaced, don't you?”
“Arthur...”
“No, you don't 'Arthur' me, either.” Since that didn't give Merlin much to work with, he stayed quiet. “So what...” Arthur began. “I mean... where do we even start?”
“Magic?” Merlin suggested.
“We could start there,” Arthur nodded. “But let's not. Let's start with you lying to me. What were you thinking? I forget and instead of trying to make me better you just go along with it? Let us go back to the beginning, like nothing we've done mattered? Was it so awful, being with me? Had you got so bored you'd take the first chance you had to end it? Because I'd never force you to do anything, Merlin. If you didn't want me, all you had to do was say.”
“Arthur, come on, you know that's not true! I didn't want it to be over, I just thought you... I mean, I knew you saw me... what I did, and I know how you feel about magic.”
“So it was better to let me forget it all? Oh, obviously,” he concluded, throwing his arms up in the air. “You've been lying to me since the beginning, what's another lie now, right?”
“I was scared, Arthur! I didn't know what you'd do!”
“Well, obviously I'd have to arrest you! Obviously I'd have you killed!” Arthur walked right up to him. “Do you really believe I could be capable of that? Do you think there's anything you could do that would make me hurt you?” He reached out, resting his fingers on Merlin's jaw. “I could never give you up so easily.” Merlin leaned infinitesimally into Arthur's touch, just as Arthur curled his fingers back into his hand.
“But you could,” Arthur said thoughtfully. He put a little space back between the two of them. “You left me. You don't even trust me not to kill you.”
“Arthur, it wasn’t like that…” Merlin started, as Arthur turned to walk away from him.
“No, it’s like this,” Arthur replied. “I couldn’t manage a week without you. But you could just…” he shrugged, “throw us away.” Merlin struggled to get words out as Arthur mounted his horse. “Go back to Ealdor, Merlin,” Arthur said, turning back to Camelot. “Go home.”
#
Arthur was poking disconsolately at a small pile of sticks when Merlin found him, twenty minutes later. He’d ridden all of a mile before stopping, sad and angry and uncertain what to do, and had turned back twice before giving up and sulking in a glade. He spared a look for Merlin's feet as he entered the clearing. Merlin tossed his bag down on the other side of the unlit fire that Arthur had built, and sat down next to it.
“I would have come back,” Merlin said. Arthur tilted his head, still poking, but didn't lift his gaze to meet Merlin's. “I mean, I know I left, but... there's no way I'd have stayed away.”
Silence drifted for a while, permeated by the natural noises of woodland creatures and the sound of a perturbed prince shuffling twigs.
“And why is that?” Arthur asked after a while.
“Because I promised to protect you,” Merlin said gently. Arthur sniffed derisively. Merlin dropped his head between his shoulders and studied the forest floor. “And because I love you,” he added, little more than a murmur. Arthur finally looked up, holding still until Merlin met his gaze.
“Light that,” Arthur said, nodding toward the fire. Merlin leaned back to open his pack and retrieve his flint and steel. Arthur threw a small stick at him. “Light it,” he said again, waving toward the kindling. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to,” Arthur said.
It had been quite some time since Merlin had needed words to light a simple fire and with a raised hand a brief flash of gold, the pile of sticks caught fire. Arthur leaned back, his eyes on the growing flames but his expression betraying nothing.
“Did you really think I’d punish you for this?” Arthur asked, fighting to keep the hurt from his voice. “That I loved you so little?”
“I don't know,” Merlin said honestly. “I was scared. But not because I thought you were going to kill me. I never thought that.”
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because that was really bloody insulting, actually.”
“I know. I'm sorry,” Merlin said. “But you would have been angry and you might have sent me away and you... you'd look at me like that,” he said, waving at Arthur and standing up as he failed to hold Arthur's cold gaze. “I'd rather be close to you and mean nothing than have you hate me.” Arthur stared at him in horror, wholly aware that there was nothing in the world that could make him do that. Merlin took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t just that. I’ve known for a while that…” he paused, and Arthur let him. “Your father wants you married. You’re going to be king and you’ll have to marry a suitable woman, and I can’t watch you...”
“What absolute horseshit,” Arthur said. He stood up and approached Merlin. “You know damned well I have no interest in suitable women. My father can crow from dawn to dusk about marriage and heirs and alliances, but I’ll do what I please. While you are on this Earth, I’ll marry nobody else.” Merlin stared at him with wide eyes. Arthur shrugged, plagued with the curse of honesty. He shook his head. “Maybe if I find a like minded woman, who understands the benefits of a diplomatic arrangement but knows she’ll never share my bed. Or I die a bachelor and leave the Kingdom to Morgana’s heirs. But I’m not finding a suitable woman to replace you, Merlin. How could I? You’re baked into the clay of me, Merlin. You’re in my bones. I had no memory of you and yet you were all I could think about. Look how quickly I pulled you into my bed.”
Merlin blushed and looked away.
“It did take you longer the first time around,” Merlin admitted.
“Yes, well,” Arthur said, lifting a hand to draw Merlin’s face back up. “You hadn’t dug yourself so deep in me back then. And, for the record,” he said, curling his fingers in and letting his knuckles caress Merlin's jaw. “I couldn't hate you. Even when you leave me and try to break my heart.”
“You told me to go to Ealdor,” Merlin pointed out.
“Yes,” Arthur said slowly. “I won’t order you to go where you don't want to be. And if you truly didn't want...”
“But then you told me to go home,” Merlin interrupted. “And I followed you.” Arthur relaxed a little and Merlin turned into the touch that hadn't left his cheek. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry I...”
He began to babble, so Arthur kissed him. The tension left Merlin’s body and he kissed back, soft and familiar and salted with tears.
“It’s okay,” Arthur said when they separated, his lips still close enough to brush against Merlin’s. “Come home, stop lying to me, and all will be forgiven.”
Merlin nodded, avoiding Arthur’s gaze and swallowing hard.
“For the magic, too?”
Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin's. He sighed.
“We're going to have to talk about the magic,” he said honestly. “It's not about forgiveness.” Merlin closed his eyes in resignation, before Arthur went on. “We need to talk about how you use it, what we do with it. Just because I know, doesn’t mean you can start using it all the time. We need to be careful.”
Merlin smiled at him in wonder.
“You're going to protect me?” he asked. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I'm going to... do something,” he replied, pulling Merlin into a hug. “We'll work it out.”
“Do I have anything else to apologise for?” Merlin asked, resting against his once and future love and allowing the warmth to suffuse him. “Or promise?”
“I mean, I’m sure I can think of something,” Arthur said. “But I think we have the immediate future covered.”
Merlin smiled, lifted his head and met Arthur's lips at a point that indicated his intentions were identical to and simultaneous with Merlin's. Arthur knew his kisses carried an edge of desperation, but Merlin seemed content to risk a little bruising until he got over how close they came to losing this. When they were both flushed and slightly breathless, Merlin pulled back to look up at Arthur through his eyelashes. Arthur knew that look, and while he didn’t object to picking up where they left off that morning…
“I truly hate to say this, but we should probably head back to Camelot,” Arthur said reluctantly. “I didn't actually tell anyone I was leaving.”
“Really?” Merlin asked, unable to keep the grin from his face. “What happened?”
“I was about to tell that bloody awful baker joke to Morgana and she said she'd heard it before. Suddenly I remembered everything else.”
“It's a great joke,” Merlin said. “At least it is when I tell it. Did you really remember me over a stupid joke?”
“In my defence, until last night you were trying very hard not to jog my memory,” Arthur said with exaggerated petulance. “You know, you're a much better servant when I'm not in love with you.”
“Well, yes,” Merlin said. “I can get away with more when I'm warming your bed.”
“Apparently so,” Arthur agreed, overjoyed at the tease and grinning with the promise of normality being restored. He fetched his horse while Merlin put out the fire, and his smile faded as he walked the horse over.
“Merlin, I do need to confess something, and I hope you can forgive me,” Merlin’s smile vanished. “While I’d forgotten, and I was trying to work out why I felt so empty. I…I tried to kiss Gwen.” Merlin’s eyes went wide, his mouth open in surprise. “She slapped me,” Arthur added.
Merlin's laughter rang out loud through the forest, clear and bright as wedding bells in spring.
The End