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Merlin tried to take care of himself. He really did. And he was getting better at it, surely. Ever since He and Arthur and Guinevere had started being more open about their relationship, it had gotten easier, because he could ask for help. Arthur would give him a day off if there was some magical mission he had to go on. Gwen would help him search through tomes and rummage through the vaults when he needed answers. He could come home, beaten and bruised, and not have to hide his pain. When he came limping back from the brink of death, he’d have two of the most important people in his world supporting either side of him as they made their way to the infirmary.
He could ask for help now. It was easy.
But that didn’t mean that he always did.
Merlin had always been skinny. For the first few years of his life, it was because he was a growing boy in a starving village. Then, it was because he was too busy serving Arthur and battling his demons, both figurative and literal. Now, he found that, even with the love and support of all the people he surrounded himself with, some things just made him feel a bit nauseous.
It was when winter rolled around that he’d get extra squeamish. Everyone would get crammed into the small confines of the banquet hall or their family cottage or the tavern and it seemed that, no matter where he went, each and every place would be filled to the brim with hot bodies and warm breaths, the air so stuffy and thick and wet that he often forgot how to breathe. He’d constantly be yearning for fresh air, but no one was ever willing to open a window because it was so damn cold outside.
So, as much as he loved Arthur and adored Gwen, he often spent the colder days alone in his tower, the window propped open ever so slightly, if just to keep the air circulating.
Arthur strutted in one day, face red and breath slow, a slight scent of mead wafting in with him. “Merlin.”
Merlin turned from the window and smiled. The king was in casual attire, his tone soft and cheerful. “Hmm?”
“Gwen, she has a dinner prepared for us in our chambers.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Arthur put his hands on his hips and swayed to one side, shifting his weight. His chest puffed out as he drew one, long breath of air. “You know, she didn’t say.”
Merlin hummed and nodded his head. Arthur leaned back slightly and looked at Merlin past the length of his nose. He’d been keeping warm with liquor, Merlin realized, and it was probably the only reason that he hadn’t complained about the draft in Merlin’s study.
Merlin was always a bit put off by Arthur when he was tipsy. Alcohol did have a way of muddling one’s mind, often setting aside any sense and making way for raging libido. The way Arthur acted when he was drunk often served as a stark reminder that Merlin was not in love with people like him, and that his companions often did engage in things that would send him into a numbing depression if he participated.
Gwen walked in then and muttered something about everything being ready and that her lovers should come out of their hidey hole and come have dinner.
“It’s not my hidey hole, it’s Merlin’s,” Arthur said. His voice was clear, if a bit slow and, though a completely sober Arthur would have never repeated the phrase “hidey hole”, Merlin was fairly certain that Arthur had his wits together.
“I’m ready,” Merlin said, rising from his chair.
Gwen smiled and traced her hands along the curve of Arthur’s back as she turned him back towards the door. Merlin, though he had been trying valiantly to feel the welcome and love, frowned as the little details began to pile up.
Her hand stayed in contact with the king as they strolled down the hall, and Arthur subconsciously leaned into the touch. When he reached for Merlin’s hand, his palm was sweaty.
Arthur and Gwen would clearly be sharing the bed alone when the night came to a close. They currently wanted after something that Merlin never had.
That familiar nausea settled in as he sat down before a steaming meal of pheasant and pastries. The sight of Gwen’s lovely meal made his mouth water but the intrusive thoughts made his stomach churn.
“Merlin?” Gwen asked.
Merlin looked up to see her brow wrinkled with worry. Before all this, before they knew about his magic and his struggles and his secrets, he was fairly certain that neither of them would have ever noticed his discomfort. But things were different now, better.
“I’m fine,” he lied anyway. Gwen’s hand fell away from Arthur’s arm and the king leaned less into his wife and more into his chair. Merlin looked behind them towards the bed and berated himself for thinking of what might happen there later. It always made him squirm, like the day he had walked in on them spooning, or the morning when Arthur mistook him for Gwen when he was hungover and the room was dark. He wondered if Arthur ever thought of him in the way that he thought of Gwen. What fantasies did he keep buried beneath his dreams, just so that Merlin wouldn’t feel a bit uncomfortable?
“Want us to open a window?” Arthur asked, moving to get up.
It was a bit warm with the steaming soups and the roaring fire. “Thank you,” he replied, trying to smile.
Everyone was desperate in the winter. When one couldn’t lay beneath the sun, they would instead seek heat lying beneath the covers, a warm body pressed up against theirs.
Merlin reached for his water and took a few eager gulps. Gwen gave him a light smile and Arthur grinned when he came back to the table.
“Can I kiss you?”
“What?” Merlin felt chills run up his spine. They’d been openly courting each other for over a year now. What need did the king have for permission?
Arthur, hopeless as he was, let out a small laugh. “I want to know, if you’d be alright if I kissed you.”
Arthur’s hand came to rest on Merlin’s and he realized startlingly that he had tears rolling down his cheeks. Arthur, who was fit and warm and loved to celebrate by tucking in with Gwen pressed against him, was asking him if it was okay to kiss his lover.
And the tears began to fall because of what Merlin realized what that meant. Arthur didn’t want Merlin if it meant his misery. Gwen, who could be loving the king in the bed a few meters away, had come climbing up several flights of stairs to fetch Merlin, because they loved him.
And love isn’t worth causing hurt.
But, gods, was it worth hurting.
Because when Merlin mutely nodded and Arthur pressed his lips to his temple, his heart burst in a flutter of painful emotion. When Gwen stood and did the same, his chest ached with the love he was receiving. And it hurt. It hurt so much.
But just because it hurts, doesn’t mean it isn’t good.
Once his face was wiped dry and the king and queen were satisfied that his mood was remedied, he found that he could, in fact, stomach the hefty meal before him, and he was willing to take a few sips of a rich, warm cider. He knew then that he would not spend that winter losing pounds and counting the days. He would spend it with his belly full, as well as his heart.
So, when the night came to an end and, instead of sending Merlin off with a kiss goodnight, they lead him to lie beside them, he was no longer surprised because, despite his worrying, he was loved as he was.
He just needed reminding sometimes.