Chapter Text
The day Merlin realized he was in love with Arthur was one of the most painful of his life.
The specifics of the surrounding situation had faded somewhat in his memory, leaving in their place only the cruelly vivid recollections of the swirling emotions. Before the moment itself there was fear. And then later, relief. They had been in danger again, and Merlin thought that Arthur might die. That was the fear. Then he thought he might be able to save Arthur at the expense of his own safety or potentially life. That had been the relief.
Merlin had not considered before that moment that that reaction, that relief, might be a mark of something deeper. Feeling relief at facing death did not make emotional sense when it stood alone. It required something else. To not value one's own life, perhaps, but Merlin did not want to die. So it must be something else.
All this had been lingering somewhere at the back of his mind, slightly puzzling but not requiring focus while he and Arthur remained in any danger. But then Arthur had cracked open his eyes and and he was okay, he was okay, okay, he was fine and alive and he was not going to die and everything would be alright and they were together again. They were together. And Merlin desperately had wanted in that moment to gather Arthur into his arms and to press their foreheads and then mouths together in a kiss that might never be broken.
And there was the missing puzzle piece.
---
There were so many reasons that it could never work. Not for him, not for Merlin. This realization had been sitting with him for weeks, rotting his stomach into despair and pain. He has to convince himself, totally convince himself, that a relationship with Arthur was something he couldn't want.
He could not risk becoming even closer to Arthur without revealing his magic. That was impossible. He couldn’t force Arthur to choose between himself and Uther. Besides, he knew who Arthur would choose. Who he always chose. Arthur might frequently disagree with Uther, but he would never betray him.
Merlin slams his hunting knife into his bedside table.
Either choice Arthur made would spell disaster. He would never be able to fully recover from what he saw as betrayal and his destiny would be compromised. And if he did send Merlin away, how could he protect Arthur? The decision could never be brought to him.
The knife digs again into the wood.
Arthur was the prince. Of Camelot. As Arthur had so handily reminded Merlin when Arthur thought that Merlin carried an infatuation for Morgana, he could be in a lot of trouble if he seduced a member of the royal court. Arthur was even more untouchable than Morgana. She was the ward of a king. He would be the king.
Merlin thrusts the knife. He rests his hand on the hilt, curling his fingers over the base. His forehead presses down to meet the taut back of his palm. Tears slip from his eyes.
Pursuing Arthur would end with Merlin dead or banished from Camelot any way he looked at it. Destiny would crumble as easily as the stone of Camelot should he not be there to protect it.
The table no longer offers enough resistance.
Merlin drags his palms up to the sides of his fallen head. He closes his eyes, wanting to be reckless just once in a way he couldn't repeat. He doesn't bother to look around himself, feeling a spike of vindictive pleasure at his forgoing of caution. He lifts the knife with his magic, letting it hover in the center of the room. With a flourish and a glint of light it sinks hilt-deep into the wall.
It isn’t enough.
It has to be enough.
---
In the morning Merlin is slightly embarrassed about his knife-throwing antics of the night before. He doesn't have to make his situation into some sort of tragic romance. People loved others who would never love them back all the time. Or two people loved each other and through circumstance were kept apart. He is not the first to feel this, and he is far from the last. People got over it. That's what they did.
Or they ran off and eloped or threw themselves from parapets or made unwise declarations of love and carried on unwise affairs.
His slightly strained smile twists. He looks at his feet, drawing in a long breath and holding it for a moment at the top before releasing it in a deliberately silent gust. That was just in the stories.
"Is anything wrong, Merlin?" He hears the uncertain voice of Gaius behind him.
Merlin is aware that he had not been acting exactly normally for a while, but pausing on the way to the door in order to stare at his shoes and sigh is another level of different and notable.
He lifts his chin and smiles before turning towards Gaius.
"Everything is great! I'm just a bit exhausted." He palms his eyes ostentatiously for effect. Gaius looks at him for a moment before raising an eyebrow and turning away.
"In that case I suppose you had better get off to work." Merlin is being let off this time, he knew. He is going to have to get better at lying. Preferably in the next minute before he reaches Arthur's chambers.
He can do it, though. Everyone thinks that he is hopelessly transparent, but he can keep a secret. Morgana's magic, from herself and then from everyone else. His own. His many unsanctioned and illegal adventures. Morgana's trying to kill Uther. His almost allowing it to happen.
Perhaps this will not be so hard after all. Just one more lie onto the list. Lies of words and lies of omission.
Merlin swings open the door and smiles at the sight of Arthur's sleeping form. Absence of romance does not preclude absence of affection. He pulls the curtains open in a swift movement so that the bright morning light falls onto the bed.
"Rise and shine! Shouldn't you be up attending to your princely duties or something?"
His still dozing friend pulls a pillow over his head with a groan. Arthur reconsiders a moment later and slings it blindly back at Merlin. It hits its target squarely but without any true force.
"If you're going to drag me out of bed, don't do it before you completely have to." He rolls over, eyes still knit shut against the glare. "You don't even have my clothes ready, I expect." Cracking an eye and seeing his expectation fulfilled, Arthur opens both eyes to be able to roll them.
Merlin walks to Arthur's wardrobe unapologetically. While it is true that Arthur's bare chest causes a slight tightening in Merlin's own stomach, he thinks he can separate his care and friendship from his love for all appearances. It is not odd for him and Arthur to be close, as they had been before. It is even required for the dragon's prophecies. He need not lose his friend.
When he returns and pulls the tunic over Arthur's head, Arthur looks him down with a mixture of bemusement, suspicion, and perhaps indulgence. "Why are you so happy all of a sudden?"
"Nothing. I'm just well-rested for once."
Arthur pauses a moment before shrugging. Merlin knows that Arthur noticed Merlin's slight listlessness in recent weeks, but since this is an improvement in his condition rather than a worsening Arthur lets it go.
"I didn't let you off any earlier last night, but at least you've slept. Perhaps it has been your visits to the tavern seemingly every other night." He smirks lightly, but it's really more of a smile.
Merlin offers no comment. They let the matter drop, moving on to the topics and insults of the day.
Merlin's smile, of course, has nothing to do with sleep. It's because he can do this. It will be hard, but he has done harder things to keep Arthur safe. And he has time to figure himself out. He can take all the time he needs, as long as he's able to keep his romantic inclinations private. He can be friend and protector and companion and manservant and leave it at that.
The tasks of the morning are now done, and Arthur leaves for the day's training. Merlin looks affectionately at his back before he trots after him. Merlin will be fine, and Arthur will be great. A great king who will do great things.
If Merlin compromises that, what would be the point of their destiny?