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“Come on, come on!” Merlin gasps, pushing Arthur’s chest in and out, “breathe, you terrible prat, breathe, come on!” He bends over, presses his lips to Arthur’s cold ones, breathing air into his lungs, and mumbles the enchantment again, hoping that this time it will take, that this time it will work, that this time the air will reach Arthur's lungs and his heart will start beating again. “Come on!”
He’s so distraught that he doesn’t notice Arthur stirring, only notices that he has come back to live when he feels the soft lips against his move, and he’s so taken aback that he lingers, pretends that this is real, just for a second, just so that he can take the memory of Arthur’s not quite kiss and keep it, take it with him on cold sleepless nights or for when the next Lady Sophia comes along.
Arthur’s eyes flutter open, Merlin pulls back regretfully, and Arthur’s gaze is on him, but he’s looking as if he doesn’t see Merlin wholly, which, knowing that he just almost drowned, probably is understandable.
“Hi.” He mumbles, and it is all endearing and cute, how he blinks up at Merlin with a soft smile on his face– even if Arthur would kill Merlin for even thinking about it, this great I’ve-been-trained-to-kill-since-I-was-born warrior.
“Hi,” Merlin says back.
Arthur pushes up on his elbows and looks at Merlin thoughtfully for a couple of moments. “Can I ask,” he begins, frowning, “why you were kissing me?”
Oh. “I wasn’t kissing you, you dolt. I was saving your life.” Merlin retorts, suddenly on edge.
“Oh,” And that cannot possibly be disappointment in his voice, or when he looks away– Merlin is very firm with himself on these things. He has to be. Arthur mumbles something that Merlin doesn’t quite get, except he believes it to should something like I wouldn’t mind but that, again, is surely a product of his imagination, as less than an hour ago he was calling Merlin his worthless servant and eloping with the Lady Sophia– and yes, he was most certainly put under a spell, but Merlin cannot deny that it still tugs at his heart.
Arthur clears his throat: “Well, that seems to be a daily occurrence. I suppose I should thank you, then. From what were you saving me, exactly?”
Merlin holds his breath, meets Arthur’s eyes as evenly as he can. “You don’t remember?”
“There was a girl…. I-“ Arthur’s eyes widen, and he suddenly shoots up, “tell me I didn’t!”
“Didn’t elope with her?” Merlin winces, looking as regretful as he possibly can, waiting for the moment until Arthur gets so flustered, he will start to attempt tearing out his hair and cursing – he’s flushing, his lovely blue eyes are widening, he’s starting to splutter –
Merlin explodes into peals of laughter.
“I, you—you idiot!” Arthur tackles him, and they go under in a flurry of limbs and sand.
.
“Merlin,” Arthur starts, when they’re almost back at Camelot. A relatively easy silence has passed in the meantime, after Merlin filled Arthur in with the information that was safe to know – Gaius and he suspect he was enchanted, they suspect Lady Sophia wasn’t a lady at all and was probably after money, when Arthur tripped and fell into the lake she fled, knowing her enchantment wouldn’t hold up and Merlin fished Arthur out of the lake and brought him back to life.
“When you were trying to stop me from leaving—”
“It doesn’t matter, says Merlin. “I know you were not yourself;”
“No, I.” Arthur’s arm is a heavy but comforting weight on his shoulder, his eyes are wide and earnest and concerned as they meet his. “You’re more than just a servant to me, Merlin. I mean, obviously.”
“You’d figure,” Merlin says, teases, deflects, “with all the life saving going on around here. What would you do if it wasn’t for me?”
Arthur smiles. “Yeah." He nods, and there is something in his eyes that Merlin can't quite comprehend, a sort of realisation, a sort of resignation. "Yeah.”
He claps Merlin on the shoulder, and his hand seems to linger for a second before it falls off, and they walk back to Camelot together in the dying sunlight.
And if Merlin looks a little too often at the way Arthur’s hair turns golden in the light, and if their arms brush together a few more times than is strictly necessary, well, no one but Merlin has to know.