Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I'm only honest when it rains

An open book with a torn out page

and my ink's run out

I wanna love you but I don't know how"

The damn tassels were tangled. No matter how much Arthur tugged and twisted, his cape refused to come undone. There were three extra knots where there shouldn’t be, and how they’d gotten so tight he could not fathom. But there they remained.

“Let me,” Merlin said, setting down Arthur’s dinner tray on his desk.

Arthur scoffed as Merlin began to pull at the strings. “There’s no way you’ll be able to-”

His cape slid away from his shoulders and Merlin whisked it away smugly. Arthur had never seen anyone take so much joy in folding something before.

“I loosened it,” Arthur grumbled. Merlin hummed indulgently.

Alright, so maybe Arthur was in a rotten mood. He was man enough to admit it. But after sitting through ceremonies all day, wearing his crown so long it made an indentation across his forehead, he deserved to be. One of his finest knights had just married a lady of the court, which, while a heart-warming affair, meant he had to recite (and listen to) more speeches about love and happiness than was healthy for his sanity.

“Perhaps an early night, tonight, sire,” said Merlin gently. As he reached up and lifted the crown from Arthur’s head, Arthur breathed deeply for the first time that day. His shoulders drew away from his ears. He felt restored, in some strange way, to his natural state of being. Less a king, more a man.

Arthur let his head hang and stretch, dropping his royal posture fully. When he looked back up, Merlin was setting his plate. It was a relief to sit and take his place at his desk.

“They seem a great pair, don’t you think?” asked Merlin idly, lighting extra candles around the room.

“They certainly seem happy,” said Arthur. “That’s what counts.”

“I believe Uther might have disagreed with you there.”

Arthur chewed a bread roll thoughtfully. While his father had always advocated for strategic marriages, Arthur suspected it wasn’t for the reason Merlin thought: Uther had loved Arthur’s mother more than anything, and her death nearly destroyed him. In marrying Arthur off for political advantage, Uther would spare him from any similar heartbreak.

In a way, Arthur had followed that advice. After all, his marriage to Guinevere was founded in friendship and diplomacy above anything else. Though they loved each other, they had shed any façade of a romantic connection long ago. So Uther’s plan had worked in theory. Arther felt no jealousy towards the relationship shared between his queen and Sir Lancelot.

In practice, however, it meant Arthur had come to terms with a much worse fate: being in love with his buffoon of a manservant.

What Uther would think of that, Arthur didn’t particularly want to know.

To Merlin’s statement, he settled for a noncommittal, “Perhaps.”

As he ate, he watched Merlin putter about the room, setting his crown on a cushion and locking it away, shaking out the drapes around his bed, tossing dirty clothes into a basket. This was Arthur’s favourite time of day: both of them too exhausted to bicker, quietly going about routines in each other’s company.

When Merlin folded back the corner of his bedspread, Arthur knew he meant to retire for the night. And perhaps it was the wedding making him sentimental, but suddenly all he wanted was for him to stay, just a little longer.

Unfortunately, the first idiotic, torturous thing he thought to say as he sipped his wine was, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

The question seemed to genuinely throw Merlin. His hands stilled over the covers he’d been smoothing and when he turned to face him, he had that impenetrable look in his eyes that meant Arthur had stumbled onto something important that he likely wouldn’t want to talk about.

“I don’t know,” he said. His eyes flickered across Arthur’s face, likely trying to decipher the sudden interest in his personal life.

“You’ve never been in love?”

“Once or twice.” Merlin shrugged. “Never had the time for it, what with how busy you keep me, sire.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Will that be all?” Merlin asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“They’ll be very lucky. Whoever you end up falling in love with.”

That surprised Merlin even more. Enough to draw a quick, sincere “Thank you” from him. And there was something in the way his gaze softened that caused Arthur to wonder, not for the first time, whether Merlin felt something between them, too.

“That’s all,” Arthur said quietly. Merlin bowed his head and left the room.

Though they slept in separate chambers, Arthur and Gwen ate breakfast together every day. They discussed matters of state and policy over eggs and toast, always careful not to knock over the pitcher of water as they passed reports and documents across the table. Normally, it took place in Gwen’s chambers, her still in her nightgown with sleep-mussed hair, him slightly more presentable from having to walk over.

That morning, however, Gwen showed up to Arthur’s room, fully dressed.

“Have I overslept?” Arthur asked, suppressing a yawn as he let her in.

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m early. There’s something urgent we must discuss.”

“Oh joy,” Arthur groused. Gwen smiled.

He pulled out her chair for her and she smiled again in thanks. As he sat down across from her, Merlin came in with two trays of breakfast.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Sefa told me you’d be eating in here this morning.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Gwen said. Arthur nodded at him, but forced himself to remain focused on Gwen as he began his morning chores.

“So,” Arthur said, “what brings you here so early, my lady?”

Gwen dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. She was meeting his eyes less than usual- it put Arthur on edge.

“As you know, we’ve been close to signing the new treaty with the kingdom of Mora.”

“You have news?”

She nodded. “I’ve received a letter from Queen Olwen, requesting my presence to discuss the final details in person. It’s a long journey there, and I would be gone a fortnight, at least.”

“That’s good to hear. If she’s inviting you, it means she must be close to agreeing.”

“Indeed.” But Arthur could tell there was more to it- otherwise she would have waited for their usual dining time, and wouldn’t be so off. “Though the journey is long, it has proven to be quite safe. I would only need one or two knights to accompany me- I was hoping that Sir Lancelot would be sufficient.”

Ah. There it was. This was more a request for a romantic outing than a diplomatic mission. Gwen saw an opportunity for a brief respite from their duties in Camelot, in which she could spend time with the man she loved. How could Arthur begrudge her that?

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Lancelot is one of my most capable knights. I’m sure he will be excellent protection, for as long as you have need of him.”

Gwen smiled wide and let out a breath of relief. “Thank you, Arthur. Truly.”

Arthur raised his cup in acknowledgement. It was sweet of her to be worried, but there was no need. He knew she didn’t want him to feel abandoned, or alone, but he had long since accepted where they stood. Apparently, though, Merlin shared her concern, given the way he was burning a hole into the back of Arthur’s head with his eyes. Honestly, Arthur’s only sadness was that he would have to undergo a thorough interrogation on his emotional state as soon as Gwen was gone.

And sure enough, once she excused herself to make preparations, Merlin started in on him.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“It’s perfectly normal for the Queen to visit our allies, Merlin, I can’t very well forbid her from leaving the castle without me.”

“But you could send her with a different knight.”

Arthur sighed. “I suppose I could. But it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“You said the most important thing for a marriage is to be happy,” said Merlin, a note of accusation appearing in his voice.

“I did,” said Arthur. “This way, she will be.”

He didn’t even have to look at Merlin to feel the full force of the glare being aimed in his direction.

“But what about you?”

“I’m happy.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. God, why was it so difficult to lie to him?

“Really?”

“I’m not unhappy,” Arthur amended testily. “This is the way it has to be. I knew what I was getting into when I married Guinevere, and frankly, my relationship with her, and hers with Lancelot, is none of your concern.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief. It would be almost endearing, how he simply could not comprehend why Arthur wasn’t bothered by this, if it wasn't so damned annoying. Frustratingly, it did make sense why he was confused- after all, he didn’t know the whole story. Arthur couldn’t fault him for not inferring the cause of his indifference: the whole ‘being in love with him instead’ bit.

Before Merlin could press any further, Arthur said, “Take the plates back to the kitchen, will you?”

“Yes, sire,” said Merlin between his teeth, infusing the title with a bit more bite than was strictly necessary.

Then Arthur was alone.

Was he happy. What a stupid question. He was the king! He had loyal knights, wise advisors. Subjects who looked up to him. A queen who was his partner in everything. And he had Merlin. His best friend.

Who happened to look gorgeous as he polished a chest plate on a nearby bench, sunlight hitting his cheekbones in just the right way, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

Arthur swung harder.

Was he happy?

The blade went too deep into the wood- it took a few hard tugs to pull it out.

“Careful, sire.” Merlin didn’t even look up. “The carpenter’s off sick, so he won’t be able to make a new one. Then where will you channel all that manly aggression?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” he growled, but relented.

Leon was in the small training armory when he went to switch out his sword.

“Your majesty.” Leon gave a short bow.

Arthur nodded at him. “Leon.”

Did he feel more like mace or axe training next? He crossed his arms, considering the two.

“I hear our Queen will be on the road to Mora by nightfall,” said Leon.

“You heard right,” Arthur looked back and forth between the weapons, sizing them up. “It will be a great comfort if she can reach an agreement.”

“I also hear that. . . Lancelot will be accompanying her.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. Could everyone have made a pact that day to inquire after his feelings as much as possible? Slowly, he replied, “Also true.”

“I wanted to say it’s very admirable of you, sire. To allow them this.”

Arthur faced him, surprised, and saw that Leon was completely genuine. He couldn’t help but feel touched. He’d looked up to Leon as a young boy, when he was too little to do anything but watch the older boys train. Leon’s respect was a difficult thing to earn, his praise even more so.

“I appreciate that.”

“I also wanted to offer some advice,” Leon added, “if you would allow me.”

Arthur waved him on. “You know I value your counsel.”

“You should allow yourself the same liberties. Whoever it is you have your eye on,” he said in a way that made it seem like he knew exactly who that was, “I’m sure your attentions would not be unwelcome.”

It wasn’t something Arthur had never considered. In fact, he’d imagined about a thousand ways he could tell Merlin. Confessing it sprawled on his rug after a cup of wine. Admitting it on a ride into the forest. Blurting it out when he woke him up in the morning. Just grabbing his face and snogging him to get the whole thing over with.

Arthur decided on the mace and lifted it from the wall. “Some things are easier said than done.”

By mid-afternoon, Gwen and Lancelot were ready to depart. Lancelot was done up in full chainmail and cape, while Gwen had chosen simple riding gear instead of a dress. It was almost nostalgic to see her so dressed down.

Arthur approached her where she sat in her saddle and reached up to kiss her hand. “Have a safe journey, my lady.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble without me,” she teased.

“No promises.”

To Lancelot, Arthur gave a reassuring nod, then the two of them kicked their horses into a trot and were on their way. As they passed through the gates, Lancelot said something that made Gwen laugh, and the adoration shared between them made something unpleasant twist in Arthur’s gut.

And Arthur wondered then, if maybe, just maybe, he was unhappy after all.

The first few days after Gwen’s departure were uneventful. Mornings were quieter without his friend, but it wasn’t so bad just sitting and watching Merlin work through breakfast, able to put off his own royal duties a little longer. In fact, Merlin was a great help, especially in some conflicts between farmers and citizens of the lower town upon which Gwen would normally provide insight. As ridiculous as Arthur felt for thinking it, Merlin could be a wise advisor when he wanted to be.

Arthur really couldn’t complain. Especially since he and Merlin kept having. . . moments.

Just brief ones: a smile, a nudge of an elbow, a shared incredulous look in public. Whenever they were together, Arthur could barely pull his attention away from him. It was close to driving him mad. And perhaps it already would have done, if it weren’t for the fledgling hope taking hold of his heart- that perhaps his feelings could be returned.

Of course, all peaceful times had to come to an end. And such an end was reached with a report made by Gwaine during a council meeting the fourth morning of Gwen’s trip.

“The Saxons grow bolder- they venture deeper into our borders with every passing day. And there have been some even more unsettling rumours amongst the townspeople.”

Arthur frowned. “Which are?”

“They say Morgana is nearby.” Gwaine swallowed where he stood at the round table. “They say she has a dragon.”

“That’s impossible,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “I killed the last dragon myself, and the last egg was crushed in its vault.”

“I lived among those people for some time on that mission, sire. I do not believe they’re the kind to lie.”

Arthur nodded. If Gwaine trusted them, he would have to take his word. Or be on the look out at the very least.

“Send more patrols to the outlying villages. Make sure they are well-protected, and drive the Saxons back before they get too confident.” Arthur stood up as well. “Any sightings of dragons should be reported back to Camelot immediately. We must all be on our guard- you all know what my sister is capable of.”

All the knights’ faces were solemn.

“Dismissed.”

Each of them stood, bowed, and left, murmuring to each other worriedly. Soon, Arthur and Merlin were the only ones left in the throne room.

“I hope those people were wrong,” Arthur said. “For all our sakes.”

He turned, waiting for Merlin’s affirmation, to find his servant staring, completely zoned out, at the table.

“Merlin?”

“Hm?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

“I have!” Merlin insisted, glaring at the accusation. Then his gaze went back out into the middle-distance. “I’m just worried. That’s all.”

“Me too.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll feel better after some lunch.”

But Merlin remained practically unreachable the rest of the afternoon.

“I was hoping you would allow me the rest of the night off, sire,” said Merlin finally, after serving Arthur’s dinner. “Gaius has just informed me that he needs me to find some rare dittany herbs for one of his remedies.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. Merlin remained entirely focused on pouring his water.

“He says it’s quite urgent,” he added.

“Well,” said Arthur, playing overly concerned. “In that case, it seems it would be immoral of me to keep you. I expect you early tomorrow morning to make up for it.”

It was perhaps one of Merlin’s fatal flaws how terrible of a liar he was. Arthur knew perfectly well what Merlin would be up to that night: trying to forget the news about Morgana over a flagon of mead at the tavern. Honestly, Arthur wished he could do the same. But he was a generous sovereign; he could allow his servant the night off once every. . . few years. Hopefully the thought of an early start would keep Merlin from going overboard.

Arthur dismissed him shortly after that and paid little mind to the urgency in his stride as he left.

When he rose from his chair a bit later, he stretched and glanced out into the courtyard through the window- only to spot Merlin emerging briefly from the shadows, looking hurriedly about, then going quickly back into darkness. In the complete opposite direction from the tavern.

So, he was forced to wonder. If the tavern wasn’t Merlin’s secret, then what was?

When Merlin showed up the next day, it was with wild hair and bags under his eyes. He kept trying to sneak a yawn when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking, as though it was some huge secret that he was tired. Arthur even caught him wincing a few times like he was sore. It shouldn’t have been possible for Merlin to be clumsier than usual, but he managed it that day. It took every bit of Arthur’s self-control not to pry.

But sometimes, one’s curiosity overcomes one’s self-control. Particularly when it’s aided by vindictiveness.

“Late night?” asked Arthur casually, heaving his chest-plate into Merlin’s arms for cleaning.

Merlin grunted under the weight, and managed a strained, “Not really.”

“Lovely. So you won’t mind staying late to mend my tunic, then.”

Merlin stumbled on his way to the polishing station in the armory.

“Ehm, I normally wouldn’t,” he said, dropping the armour on the table, “but Gaius isn’t quite, eh, done with me. Forgot an ingredient, you see. Vital stuff.”

“Ah. Of course. You can’t keep Gaius waiting.”

“Exactly,” Merlin said, nodding, his relieved smile bordering on goofy. “So, I’ll just. . .?”

“Go on!” Arthur motioned his head towards the door. Merlin shot him a quick look that suggested he knew this was too good to be true, but he didn’t question it.

With him gone, Arthur planned to figure out exactly what was causing Merlin to skip work. Which would begin with asking the court physician himself. He waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t run into Merlin on his way, then went straight to Gaius’ chambers.

“Gaius,” Arthur said as he entered. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work?”

“Not at all, sire.” Gaius folded his hands in front of him. “How may I be of service?”

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me as to the whereabouts of my idiot of a manservant.” Arthur watched for a reaction from Gaius, but the man remained carefully neutral. “Merlin is a shoddy liar, I know perfectly well he’s not doing work for you. And don’t say the tavern, because I know he’s not there, either.”

Gaius didn’t answer for a moment, like he was weighing possible explanations in his mind. Merlin was never predictable, but surely he hadn’t gotten himself involved in something that warranted so much caution?

“It’s a rather. . . sensitive subject,” Gaius said.

Arthur stayed quiet, waiting for Gaius to continue, but the physician was still hesitant. He could only assume that whatever Merlin was up to, it was either embarrassing, ridiculous, or both. Either way, Arthur would be able to use it as teasing ammunition for weeks.

“Come on, out with it. It can’t be that bad.”

Gaius raised his chin in a gesture that was almost defiant. Then he said, quite delicately, “Merlin is. . . seeing a girl, sire. In the lower town. I believe he wanted to keep it under wraps, as it were, for her sake. You can understand that I wanted to respect his wishes, my lord?”

From the moment the word “girl” left Gaius’ lips, Arthur’s body went numb. Merlin was. . . courting someone. A slow burn of humiliation began to spread in his chest. How could he have been so stupid? Getting his hopes up, as if there had ever been any chance. Foolish.

“Of course. Thank you,” he managed. Then, ignoring the searching look on Gaius’ face, he sped out of the room.

There was a flower on Arthur’s pillow. No stem, pastel pink petals layered in perfectly symmetrical rounds, bright against the white sheets. He glared at it blearily, as though it were the source of his every problem in life, even though it was probably just something special the maids were doing in all the rooms to mark springtime.

He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but there was an annoying tickle at the back of his throat, dry when he swallowed. The beginning of a cold, he suspected. Or perhaps allergies.

So, with the option of additional rest ruled out, Arthur resigned himself to getting dressed and prepared for the day. He even managed to find his comb and put his hair in a reasonable state. He nearly forgot about the little pink flower entirely until he went to throw his bedclothes onto the coverlet. He picked it up gingerly and cradled it in the palm of his hand.

Footsteps outside his door marked Merlin’s imminent arrival. Instinctually, he shoved the flower into his pocket. The last thing he needed was teasing about sentimentality of any kind.

Merlin, once again, looked exhausted. He carried the breakfast tray as though it was piled with bricks rather than sausages. Bits of hair at the back of his head were standing straight up. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Arthur, his face scrunching up like he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

Slowly, he said, “You’re. . . awake?”

“More awake than you, by the looks of it.” And then, because Arthur couldn’t help himself, “I’m sure if you were up so late, it’s because you were procuring the last of what Gaius required.”

Merlin blinked. “Er- yes. For now.”

“Perfect.” Arthur clapped his hands together. “Breakfast, then.”

And for a few days, everything felt almost normal. He didn’t try to imagine what kind of girl Merlin could be in love with. He didn’t pay special attention to how Merlin acted with every maid to see if there was something between them. He didn’t wonder if he was still seeing her.

He focused on being happy for the fact that, somehow, the threat of Morgana’s dragon had been dealt with.

None of the villagers were willing to talk about it. According to Gwaine, who had gone back to check on the situation, they were all in agreement that there had, in fact, been a dragon. But none would explain how or why it had gone away for good. Gwaine related how only a young boy, not even ten, had exclaimed that someone called Emrys had saved them, before being shushed hurriedly by his mother.

Merlin went alarmingly pale when the name was mentioned. So, naturally, Arthur cornered him about it afterwards.

“You know something, don’t you,” Arthur said.

“What?”

“You look like a ghost, Merlin, you’ve clearly heard of this person before.”

Merlin examined his hands, then shrugged. “Just from some stories Gaius has told me.”

“And?” Arthur pressed. “What do they say?”

When Merlin met his eyes, he had that air about him, the one that made it seem like some kind of power was brewing behind his eyes. Like he really did possess great wisdom. Like he had nobility far beyond his station. “They say that he is the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. That in service of a great king, he could help bring about a new, united Albion.”

Arthur ached. Unbidden, the thought that that girl was extraordinarily lucky rose to mind.

And then, without warning, he was overcome by a coughing fit. He bent over with the force of it, turning away from Merlin to shield his face. His eyes watered, and there was a horrible taste in his mouth, like soap, or Gwen’s perfume.

When he pulled his hand away, a pristine, pink flower was resting in his glove.

“Arthur? Arthur, are you alright?”

Arthur crushed it in his hand so Merlin wouldn’t see. “Don’t be such a girl, I’m fine. And you’ve got laundry to do.”

The concerned expression on Merlin’s face didn’t go away- in fact, it seemed to deepen. But he didn’t press for details. He just squinted at him suspiciously for a second, pursed his lips, then went on his way.

Arthur was beginning to think there was something seriously wrong with him. The coughing fit didn’t stay an isolated incident; he was starting to get them multiple times a day. And while at first he wanted to believe the flowers were a coincidence, they too were increasing rapidly in numbers. They hurt coming up, and the taste was awful. Worse, they were getting harder to hide.

Something had to be done. Arthur couldn’t go on like this. Whatever kind of spell or curse this was that he was under, he had to get rid of it.

Of course, easier said than done. It’s not like Arthur was exactly a magic expert, and though he’d never done much research on the subject, he was certain resources must be scarce since the purge. Even if he did manage to identify it, there was no telling what curing it would require. If a sorcerer put it on him, could it be removed without one?

He did have one hope for getting answers, however.

Which is how he found himself standing before Geoffrey of Monmouth in his library, attempting to look dignified amidst the dust.

Arthur cleared his throat. “I was hoping to do some rather, erm, unorthodox research. About magic.”

Like his friend Gaius, Geoffrey had the irritating talent of keeping his facial expressions under perfect control. Carefully, he said, “I was instructed to burn any books on the subject of magic, your majesty, from the moment its practice was banned in Camelot.”

“I understand that,” said Arthur quickly. “I’m not looking for a spell book or anything. More like a. . . book of diagnosis. Something that could list different curses? Their origins?”

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I know I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you can never be too prepared.” Arthur raised his chin. “I should be well-informed on all types of threats that Camelot could face, magical or not.”

“It is as I’ve told you, sire,” said Geoffrey once again, slowly. “My orders were to get rid of any books with the kind of information you’re looking for.”

Arthur considered him for a moment, then a realization dawned upon him. “Did you follow those orders?”

Geoffrey said nothing.

“No harm will come to you. It is your job to protect information of all kinds. I trust you would not use it for your own benefit, or give it to someone who would do ill with it.”

For a few seconds, Arthur wondered if he had stepped too far. Geoffrey just kept looking at him. Maybe he had assumed wrong?

But then, Geoffrey let out a deep sigh, folded his hands behind his back, and stepped out from behind his desk. “As you wish, your majesty. Follow me.”

Their destination was in the furthest back room, which housed a sizable locked chest sitting against the wall. Geoffrey dusted off a key from inside his robes and inserted it until the lid clicked open. He then proceeded to remove several stacks of books from inside it, which described various weeds and molds. Once it was completely empty, he reached inside and removed what Arthur could now tell was a false bottom.

Underneath was a set of only a dozen or so books- Arthur wondered if perhaps there were several hiding spots, for different subjects. Geoffrey rifled through them a bit before taking out a few particularly thick volumes, titled Magicks Moste Foule, The Buffoon’s Guide to Curses and Hexes, and Common Magical Maladies Vol. 1.

“That should be enough for the basics,” said Geoffrey, piling them into Arthur’s arms. “They should keep you occupied for a fair bit of time.”

Arthur grunted under their weight, but managed what he hoped was an appreciative grimace. “I’m sure they will. Thank you.”

Geoffrey bowed his head, and Arthur began the arduous task of lugging the books all the way up to his chambers.

*****

As it turned out, reading about magic was perhaps the dullest thing on the planet. Arthur managed to work his way through about half of the first book before having to put it down, for the sake of his own sanity. The most he learned from Magicks Moste Foule was that old wizards were awful writers. None of the aforementioned ‘magicks' were able to explain what was happening to him.

Arthur groaned in defeat. Normally he would want to push on until he found the answers, but though it was not yet evening, he found himself strangely tired. The odd word had been blurring on the page.

He let his forehead fall to his desk with a thunk. Perhaps a quick patrol around the town would raise his spirits. It was always nice to greet his people, to be reminded of his purpose. Besides, he could use the fresh air- he was starting to feel a bit dizzy, likely from all the dust off those godforsaken books.

The sun was low in the sky once he got outside, making long, dark shadows across the street. People were in high spirits- spring had just officially begun. Children chased each other around market stalls, their mothers yelling after them, and folks were beginning to sell new wares for the warmer weather.

Some of them called out cheerfully when they noticed him, while others hastened to bow or curtsy. He waved and smiled at each of them. One little boy came right up to him with his brows furrowed and arms crossed.

“Are you really the king?”

“I am,” said Arthur, allowing himself a small smile. “Do I not look like one?”

The boy gave him a thorough once-over. “You don’t have a crown.”

“Well, that’s because it’s in my chambers. Can’t carry it around all day, can I? I’d look like a prat.”

At that, the boy looked delighted. “That’s what Merlin calls you!”

“Is it now?” The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Well then. Next time you see him, you tell Merlin that Arthur thinks he’s a lazy idiot.”

A voice that wasn’t the boy’s piped up from behind them. “Why don’t you tell him that to his face, sire?”

Arthur spun on his heel to find Merlin, bemused, holding a bag of medicine deliveries.

“And, for the record, you look like a prat all the time, with or without the crown.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

A woman ran up to them then, wide-eyed at the sight of Arthur, and grabbed the boy’s hand. “I’m so sorry, my lord!” Then, pulling him closer to her, “Ralf, what have I told you about running off like that? And bothering the king, no less?”

“It’s no trouble,” said Arthur. “He’s been very polite. Apart from certain words Merlin here may have taught him.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but the boy’s mother looked relieved. She dropped quickly into a curtsy and pressed her son’s head down into a bow. Then she tugged him out of sight and back into the crowd.

“You’re one to talk,” said Merlin, “as you were about to teach him ‘idiot’ as well.”

“It’s a word he needs to know, if he’s going to interact with you in future.”

Even as they bickered, the two of them fell into step as they continued down the street. Merlin made a few quick stops when he reached the right house for a delivery, but their walk went largely uninterrupted otherwise. It was nice- Arthur could nearly trick himself into believing that things were exactly the way they always were. That is, if he could stop coughing.

“I really don’t think that sounds normal,” said Merlin after a particularly bad bout. Clearly, he’d actually managed to learn something during his time with Gaius, because Arthur had had to pick very good moments to spit petals out of his mouth. A normal cough this was not. “You should let Gaius take a look at it for you.”

Arthur waved him off. “It’s nothing. A week and it’ll be gone, I guarantee it.”

But once Merlin got it in his head to worry about something, he never stopped. He kept sneaking glances at Arthur, as though he could cure him by looking at him enough. It made him feel hot under the skin. Arthur only noticed it in his peripheral, though, because he was keeping his eyes fixed straight forward. Merlin knew him too well- he feared if they made eye contact, everything Arthur was trying to hide would be laid bare, whether he liked it or not. Mysterious disease and pining both.

By the time Merlin had handed over the last bottle, and had tucked the empty bag under his elbow, the sun had begun to dip properly below the horizon. The majority of people still out were merchants dismantling their stalls. Although their conversation had petered out through the last few stops, Arthur felt no need to fill the quiet. There was something serene about the dusk, about the comfort of being next to Merlin, about spending time together without the obligation.

They were almost back at the castle when someone called out from behind them. A woman.

“Merlin?”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. Surely his luck wasn’t that bad?

She was beautiful. Despite her plain servant’s dress, her wispy golden hair matched with stern brown eyes and a softly upturned nose all gave her the air of a princess. Arthur could just catch the edge of a tattoo where it peeked out the top of her dress, curling across her collarbone like a black snake.

“Brynne?” asked Merlin, sounding dumbstruck. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur hung back as Merlin jogged towards her.

“I was hoping I’d catch you,” Arthur heard her say, but his ears were ringing so loud it was like they were talking underwater. “I wanted to thank you, for everything.”

Merlin blushed. Arthur felt nauseous. “No need.”

“There’s something we need to talk about,” she said. Merlin’s eyes flickered back to Arthur for the first time, then something seemed to pass unsaid between them, and she stepped back. “But- later?”

Arthur was intruding now. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault that he’d fallen in love with someone who wasn’t Arthur- he didn’t deserve to be punished for it, just because Arthur had been too blinded by his own feelings to realize it would happen eventually. He should be allowed privacy.

“Please, go on. I’ve got reports waiting for me in my chambers, and I’ve put off reading them long enough.” Arthur was grateful for the years of diplomacy training that kept his voice neutral. “Merlin, I’ll expect you back within the hour for the last of your duties.”

Merlin looked conflicted, but he nodded. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur kept his regular stride all the way past the gates. He imagined her towing Merlin back into town by the hand. He imagined Merlin laughing and pulling her into the space between two houses, grinning his earnest grin. Kissing her. He imagined the image they’d strike together, dark hair and light, how Merlin would barely have to tilt his head to reach her.

He turned into the first empty room he could find and threw up pink petals.

Cleaning up was a complete disaster. There was no bile, thank god, only pollen, but Arthur had to settle for sweeping it under a dusty dresser.

Once he got back to his room, he scooped the remaining two books off his desk and got straight to work. It was still as dull as ever, but things were desperate now. If he continued the way he was, Arthur wouldn’t be able to get through a single council meeting without having to vomit.

It was just as he was starting to lose hope that he reached page 207 of Common Magical Maladies Vol. 1.

Hanahaki

The growth of flowers in the stomach, lungs and throat, resulting in symptoms including coughing, shortness of breath, dizziness, vomiting, and eventual suffocation to the point of death. The affected will typically cough and vomit petals, leaves, thorns, and full flowers. The plant begins to grow when the victim believes that a deep love they hold for another person is not returned. Without proof that that love is requited, the flowers will continue to increase in number, until the victim suffocates.

Experiments with spells that remove memories of the person they love from the mind of the affected have yielded mixed results. Patients are often unwilling to undergo such treatments even with a guarantee that they will work. Other than honest declarations of love, no cure has yet been found.

Arthur lowered the book to his desk in horror. He had the terrible sense that he could feel roots burying themselves in his lungs, stems rising through his body, leaves tickling the back of his throat. His mouth still tasted like perfume. He swallowed the urge to throw up again.

Arthur was in love with Merlin. Merlin was seeing someone else. Which put any ‘declarations of love’ out of the question.

Arthur was going to die.

“What’ve you got there?” Merlin came in without knocking, as usual, dinner tray in hand. Arthur shoved the book into a drawer and slammed it shut.

“Nothing.”

But Arthur could tell that he didn’t believe him. Merlin set the tray down and then crossed his arms, squinting. “You’ve been acting strange. All week.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.” Arthur wondered if Brynne had to put up with interrogations too. Then he felt sick again, so he tried to think of anything else. Merlin’s eyes softened as worry returned and overtook suspicion. “Look, whatever it is, you can talk to me, Arthur.”

Roots, burrowing in his stomach. Leaves, blocking his airway. Pollen, still sticky under his tongue. And Merlin, cutting into his heart with every moment he stood there.

Arthur couldn’t be around him. He needed to make him leave.

“I don’t need advice from my manservant, that’s not your job,” Arthur snapped. “Maybe a weekend out of work will remind you how to address me.”

Merlin backed away as though he had struck him. His body trembled with anger, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight. He clenched his fists before hiding them behind his back. 

“I’m your friend,” said Merlin coolly, the sentiment weaponized by his tone. “Servant or not. But if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Guilt was sharp inside Arthur’s ribs, powerful enough to make him dizzy. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault that this had happened. But Arthur couldn’t tell him any of it, and he couldn’t have him here right now. So he stayed quiet.

Merlin took that as confirmation. His face hardened as he let out a biting, “As you wish, sire.”

And then he was gone.

Training was a much greater challenge than usual, and Arthur could tell his knights were noticing. His footwork was sloppy, he kept letting his guard down, and one of the newly appointed knights nearly got a hit on him. They were smarter than Merlin, though, and didn’t bring it up. They limited themselves to whispering amongst each other and sneaking concerned looks his way. It didn’t matter. He could always play it off as lack of sleep if one of them did care to ask.

It wasn’t a complete waste, however- hitting things had always helped Arthur think, and this time was no different.

Based on the disease entry, he didn’t have a lot of options. The only thing it had mentioned, outside of requited love, involved magic. But with how difficult it had been to even find a description of the disease in Camelot, looking for another cure on his own could take a very long time. Possibly longer than he had. So if there was any hope, he would need the help of a sorcerer.

The thought didn’t bother him as much as he expected. Since the beginning of his reign, the laws against magic-users had grown. . . rather lax. The more he visited other kingdoms, and saw innocent people performing spells to mend their clothing, to heal their neighbours, the more he suspected his father had been wrong. In fact, the repealing of those laws had been at the back of his mind for a long time, although he hadn’t had the chance to discuss it properly with Gwen or Merlin. 

God. Gwen. If she were here, she would know exactly what to do. She’d shake her head and show him a sensible way out of the entire mess. And then tease him for breaking his promise to stay out of trouble. Not being able to sound things off with her or Merlin was infuriating.

But, alright. He needed a sorcerer then. Which posed more problems than it solved:

a) Camelot was the last place in the world you’d expect to find a sorcerer.

b) Even if he did, they were unlikely to trust him.

c) Even if they did, they might not even be powerful enough to help him.

Despite those looming obstacles, Arthur did eventually have an idea as he swept Leon’s feet out from under him.

After dismissing the rest of the knights, Arthur laid a hand on Leon’s shoulder and asked him stay behind for a quick word. The knight obliged and the two of them sat on a bench drinking out of water skins brought by a squire.

“The matter I wish to discuss is delicate,” Arthur said. He allowed himself a small cough before continuing. “I trust you won’t share this with anyone.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“I recall that you once spent time with the druids.”

“Yes. They saved my life,” Leon answered, something defensive in his voice.

Arthur smiled. “And for that, we are in their debt. I only ask because I’m looking to contact a sorcerer and I wondered if perhaps they had mentioned him around you.”

Leon frowned. “May I ask why you would do such a thing?”

“Peace between our peoples is long overdue. My aim is simply to reach out. And there’s a. . . confidential issue I hope this person would be able to help me with.” Arthur studied Leon’s face for any recognition. “Did you ever hear of an Emrys?”

Sure enough, the name seemed to surprise him.

“Only here and there, in whispers.” he said. “He’s very important to them.”

Arthur took a long swig of water and swallowed down some pollen that had risen through the conversation. Then he stood up, extending a hand to Leon and pulling him to his feet.

“Then I have a mission for you. I need you to go back to the druids and tell them I seek a private audience with Emrys. And make haste- the situation is more urgent than I can express.”

Leon didn’t need any more than that. With a rapid bow, he left, calling out orders for preparations to a squire.

As soon as he was out of eyeshot, Arthur succumbed to a coughing fit that had been growing all morning. This time, however, when he pulled his hands away, the blossoms were stained with blood.

Amidst all his worries about his kingdom, his people, his life, there was one unthinkable question for which Arthur had no answer.

Would he be willing to forget Merlin?

Even if he managed to find Emrys, or any sufficiently capable magic-user for that matter, it was possible that the alternative solution outlined in the book would be the only solution. As much as he could hope that there would be another way, that Emrys possessed a great enough power to cure him without consequences, the removal of his memories could end up being his only option.

Merlin’s friendship had changed him fundamentally. He’d been a guide when Arthur was lost, a trusted voice when he didn’t know where to turn, the only person who was always willing to tell him exactly what he thought. The only one able to make him laugh when things were at their worst. Arthur was a better king for having Merlin beside him. A better man. Arthur loved him for it.

If it was a choice between forgetting Merlin or dying, Arthur didn’t know what he would do. And that terrified him.

Twice a week, Arthur held open audiences, during which citizens could bring forward issues and disputes, and he would advise them on how to proceed, outline compromises, and provide aid where necessary. It was a good way not to lose touch with the problems of his people, and it gave him an idea of the general atmosphere outside the castle, but otherwise it was a rather forgettable process.

This one had been shaping up to be just as unremarkable- right up until the last person entered the throne room.

It was the girl Merlin was seeing. Brynne.

Arthur’s stomach rolled at the sight of her. He’d never been one for jealousy, but it was nigh impossible to forget the way she’d looked at Merlin, like he possessed all the world’s secrets. Not that he could blame her- without years of training in schooling his expressions, he’d probably look at Merlin that way, too.

“Your majesty,” she said with a curtsy. There was a leaf at the back of Arthur’s throat which he had to swallow down. “I bring not a personal problem to your attention, but information which I believe will be vital to you.”

“Which is?”

“My family lives in the village where the dragon attacked. When I heard there had been sightings, I went to warn them straightaway, and arrived just as things were- resolved.”

Arthur frowned. “And how were they resolved, exactly? According to Sir Gwaine, none were willing to speak of it, except to mention the name Emrys.”

Brynne shook her head. “The villagers were all sworn to secrecy, sire, as I have been. But the next day, I noticed smoke in the forest nearby, as though someone had made camp. I was suspicious, so I went to investigate. They were Morgana’s men. A pair of Saxons on their way to a secret hide-out of hers.”

“I’ve heard similar reports of Saxons breaching our borders. I suppose this confirms them beyond doubt.”

“There’s more.” She took a deep breath. “I overheard their conversation. They said- they said that Morgana captured the queen on her journey back from Mora, along with the knight who accompanied her. They mean to use them as bait, to lure you into a trap.”

Arthur gripped the arm of his throne tightly. Gwen had been gone a few days longer than her initial prediction of a fortnight, but he’d thought she was enjoying her time away with Lancelot. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with all the nonsense about this magical disease, he would have realized sooner. He would have worried, sent out scouts. This was his fault.

“You’ve done a great service to your kingdom by telling me this,” said Arthur. “You have my gratitude. I won’t forget it.”

Brynne smiled sympathetically at him, curtsied once more, then allowed the guards to escort her out.

There was, at least, a silver lining: Morgana wouldn’t be expecting him yet. If Arthur left now, he could sneak in and get them out before she even knew he was coming, and if it was just him and Merlin, they might be able to do it undetected.

It was then, of course, that he remembered how he’d forced Merlin to take time off work. And a bit rudely at that. He supposed he could probably take a knight instead, but it wouldn’t feel right. Merlin always came with him.

Which was how Arthur ended up knocking once again on the door to Gaius’ chambers.

“Just a minute!” came Merlin’s voice. When he saw Arthur, his expression went guarded. “Gaius is out right now. He should be back in an hour or so. You can come back then.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He still hadn’t let him in. The roots around Arthur’s lungs burrowed a bit deeper, making his chest feel constricted. He suppressed a cough.

“Look, I know that I may have slightly overreacted the other night, but you were being very stubborn.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“I know.” He had to fix this. As painful as it was to be around Merlin, if there was any chance he was going to die in the near future, Arthur needed to be on good terms with him. “I had a lot on my mind and I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

That raised both Merlin’s eyebrows. A hint of an incredulous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression that used to make Arthur wonder if maybe he had a chance. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” said Arthur impatiently. Apology done with, he turned away from the door and started to walk away. “Now pack your things, we’re wasting time.”

“Where are we going?” called Merlin from behind him.

“To rescue Gwen and Lancelot. Again.”

Riding all day wasn’t easy. By the time they made camp, Arthur’s breaths were shallow, and there was something foreign creeping up the back of his throat, some kind of stem. Another coughing fit overtook him as soon as they dismounted. He had to steady himself on a tree to stay upright. He kept his back to Merlin and kicked the flowers into the surrounding brush- luckily, his manservant was too busy putting down bedrolls to pay much attention.

Before they left, Arthur had sent a messenger after Leon. If he was able to find Emrys, he was to request that the man wait in Camelot for Arthur’s return. He didn’t know how much time he had to spare, but hopefully it would be enough to get back. Any decisions past that would have to be left for later. Gwen’s life took priority.

As final acts went, rescuing his wife wasn’t bad, he thought.

“It was good of Brynne to come forward,” said Arthur later, as they settled down next to the fire. “Lancelot and Guinevere will both owe her their lives.”

Merlin nodded. “She has a good heart.”

Arthur scrutinized him across the fire. He’d taken off his neckerchief to sleep, shadows shifting across his collarbones. The reflection of the flames in his eyes made them look more yellow than blue. “You two seemed close. In town.”

Merlin shrugged. “We barely know each other. I just hope she wasn’t too late.”

It was easy to forget sometimes that Merlin wasn’t much of a sharer. It seemed counterintuitive for someone so personable to be unwilling to divulge aspects of his personal life, especially since he said whatever was on his mind the rest of the time, but there it was. Arthur told him everything- well, almost everything, this was a special case- but he knew very little about Merlin’s life before Camelot, or what he did outside of work hours. He wouldn’t even know about Brynne had Gaius not told him. That was the nature of his relationship with Merlin, though, he supposed. Like an open book, but with pages torn out. Like a puzzle with missing pieces.

“That’s odd,” said Merlin suddenly.

“What?” Arthur snapped out of his thoughts to see Merlin examining something in his hands.

A pastel pink flower.

“Camellias aren’t normally in bloom for another month.” He placed it on the ground next to him, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I guess they’re early this year.”

“I guess so,” Arthur agreed, tamping down his racing heartbeat. “It’s late, we should get some rest.”

Merlin didn’t answer. He just slumped onto his back and rolled over.

It was another hour before Arthur could fall asleep.

With the description Brynne had given after the audience, it was quite simple to find Morgana’s hide-out. She’d holed up in an old military outpost on their border. The building was in ruins, half the structure crumbling into the ground, stone brick walls coated with moss. From their vantage point in the nearby bushes, Arthur could see only a handful of guards patrolling it.

“Do you think Morgana’ll be in there?” asked Merlin at a whisper.

“Let’s pray she’s not.”

They made quick work of the guards, having long since perfected the “Merlin distract, Arthur knock out” technique, and Arthur snagged a ring of keys off one man’s belt. Then they were off at a jog down the hallways, Arthur ahead with his sword drawn, Merlin a step behind him, peering around at every corner for more guards but finding none. Its layout was similar to the outposts they still used today, so it wasn’t long before Arthur found the entrance to the dungeons.

There was a man guarding the cells. He caught sight of them immediately as they came down the stairs and leapt off his stool with a shout.

Arthur rushed forward and slammed the butt of his sword into the man’s helmet, hoping it hadn’t been enough to alert any others. The effort was starting to wind him.

“Arthur?” came Gwen’s voice.

She and Lancelot were in the very last cell. The two of them had come up to the bars at the sound of commotion and were standing there waiting as Merlin grabbed the keys from Arthur and unlocked the cell. Her face lit up. They were both dirty, their clothes ragged, but they were otherwise unharmed.

After a quick hug for Merlin, Gwen rushed into Arthur’s arms. “It’s so good to see you,” she said.

Arthur squeezed her tightly and let out a relieved laugh. “Likewise.”

He clasped arms with Lancelot next. “Feels a bit like déjà-vu, doesn’t it? Merlin and I coming to rescue the pair of you.”

“Indeed, sire,” Lancelot replied. “Although I do hope this is the last time.”

“Last time,” Merlin interjected, “we barely escaped without being eaten by Wilddeoren. This feels too easy.”

“You can never take a win, can you, Merlin?” said Arthur. “We should be grateful that, for once, everything’s gone to plan.”

Which, of course, is when everything went black.

Over the course of his life, Arthur had put his body through a lot. Rigorous training and tournaments, countless battle wounds, and being knocked unconscious, shot and poisoned were all status quo. But nothing compared to how he felt as he woke up.

If he took too deep of a breath, his lungs began to seize. Everything ached. He was light-headed and weak, and all he could taste was pollen and blood. Any hope of having enough time to get back to Camelot was gone.

As he dragged his eyes open, he did his best to assess the situation. His arms were tied back around some kind of pillar, and a thick rope across his chest held his back flush against it. Merlin, Gwen and Lancelot were also tied up, but they were sitting at the adjacent wall. They were already awake. For an outpost, the room was grandiose- high ceilings, and a raised dais originally for announcements at the front. Arthur guessed it had once been a dining hall. Now, of course, it was Morgana’s temporary throne room.

She was there on the dais, watching him. Behind her was a small, grayish-white dragon, just taller than her waist, its wings twisted, its face gaunt. Nothing like the Great Dragon he’d killed in Camelot.

“I wondered how long it would take you to come,” said Morgana quietly. “I thought perhaps I’d have to send you a note, but I should have known better. The chivalric king was on his way the moment his wife was gone too long.”

“Let them go,” said Arthur, with considerable effort. “Morgana, they were your friends once, too.”

“It seems Gwen and Lancelot are a bit more than friends, though, aren’t they? Rather scandalous, in my opinion, the queen accompanied by one knight alone.” She smirked. “And yet you’re still here to rescue them.”

Morgana stepped down from the dais, her dragon following closely behind. As she approached, Arthur could see her face more clearly. She was even paler than the last time he’d seen her, nearly as gaunt as the dragon, like a ghost of the woman she’d once been. Any compassion or kindness had been wiped away. His sister, manic and empty.

“I am grateful for your nobility, though,” she continued, mock-sympathetically. “It means I can kill you even sooner.”

She was only about a foot away when Arthur, in spite of himself, began to cough again. Unable to catch them, a few camellias fluttered silently into his lap. Morgana paused at the sight of them, then picked one up and examined it. She closed her eyes and recited a few foreign words under her breath. Her irises flashed gold when she opened them. The flower began to float over her fingertips and then, as though some invisible force was pouring dye over it, its pastel pink colour turned a dark, crimson red.

Morgana began to laugh. “Well, Arthur, you could have saved me a lot of trouble! You should have told me you were already dying!”

In the corner, Merlin was struggling helplessly against his bonds. Gwen’s eyes were full of tears. Arthur couldn’t even muster up the strength to reassure them.

“I knew seeing your wife have an affair must be painful for you, but I didn’t realize it was enough for you to contract hanahaki. Although I must admit, it has a lovely sort of poetry to it. Arthur Pendragon, persecutor of magic-users, killed by a magical disease.” She was practically towering over him now, grinning madly as she lifted her hand. “But don’t worry, dear brother. I’ll end your suffering.”

Then a few things happened in very quick succession. Morgana opened her mouth, but another voice shouted in that foreign language, and she had to duck as a fireball the size of her head went sailing over her. And standing off to the side, miraculously untied and holding his own hand out, was Merlin.

Morgana stumbled back, confused, but Merlin wasn’t paying her any mind- he was making direct eye contact with Arthur, his expression desperate and afraid. Arthur could barely process what he was seeing. For all he knew, he could be hallucinating at this point in the illness.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said.

The dragon rushed forward and breathed fire right back at Merlin, who threw up some kind of shield against it, then spoke in a voice much deeper and more commanding than Arthur had ever heard from him. It backed off, whimpering, and slunk back around behind Morgana. She was shaking her head furiously.

“How can you take his side, if you have magic?” she shouted. “How can you betray your own kind? You’re as bad as Emrys!”

Since he had stood up, Merlin had been shaking, but at her words he went perfectly still. Solemn. Like he’d accepted his fate. “I am Emrys.”

In all their time growing up together, Arthur had never seen Morgana look so terrified. She placed a hand on her dragon’s head, panicked, and as she screamed, a whirlwind of magic surrounded the both of them. When it dissipated, she and the dragon were gone.

With just a look, Merlin snapped the ropes around Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot. Then he ran to Arthur and knelt beside him. It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe at all.

Arthur grabbed his arm. “I was looking for you.” He coughed. “Emrys.”

“What can I do? Arthur, what’s the cure?”

“Gwen,” Arthur said, ignoring him, “you’re my heir. I trust you.”

She shook her head disbelievingly. She was probably in shock, which was alright, because Arthur probably was a bit, too.

“Arthur, what is the cure?”

Merlin’s eyes were wild. If he was as powerful as Emrys was meant to be, maybe they really could have figured out something else. But it was too late. Arthur knew that.

“Requited love,” Arthur said, gasping from the effort. “I can’t ask-”

But Merlin had already turned to Gwen. “You have to tell him you love him, it’s the only way-”

“It’s not Gwen.” Merlin faced him again, this time with tears in his eyes. And it struck Arthur, through all the haze, that this was his last chance to tell him. Or else Merlin would never know. And overwhelmingly, in that moment, Arthur needed him to know.

“What?”

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s arm. “It’s you.”

Merlin blinked. His brows furrowed, like he couldn’t quite process what he was hearing.

Arthur hoped, belatedly, that he hadn’t destroyed the love Merlin had already found. He deserved to be happy. The edges of Arthur’s vision were getting blurry.

“You dollophead,” Merlin whispered. It took all the energy Arthur had left to keep eye contact. “Don’t you know that I-”

Then Arthur’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell once again into unconsciousness.

Arthur woke up in his own bed with absolutely no idea how he got there, but feeling better than he had in weeks. If it weren’t for the residual ache in his chest, he might even have wondered if the whole thing had been some terrible dream.

And if it weren’t for Merlin, ringing out a wet cloth into a bowl on his desk, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Can’t believe I’m not dead,” he commented mildly, sitting up. It felt so good to breathe again.

“Christ, Arthur,” Merlin said, startling at the sound of his voice. The desk chair had been moved beside the bed, and Merlin dropped into it tiredly. Arthur wondered how long he’d been asleep. “You nearly were. How do you feel?”

“Fine. Back to normal.”

That didn’t seem to comfort Merlin- he kept looking at him like he was going to pass out again at any moment.

“I swear.”

Merlin leaned back a little. “You scared me.”

Arthur winced. “I’m sorry.”

“You should have told me.”

“I suppose that would have saved the both of us a lot of trouble.” That drew a small laugh from him. “What did you end up doing, anyway? Some kind of alternative spell? The whole thing’s a bit hazy to me.”

“What?” Merlin shook his head, confused. “No, why would I?”

Arthur sighed. Of course Merlin was going to make him spell it out. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough. “Well, before the whole mess with Morgana, I was trying to find a sorcerer anyway, since the whole. . . requited love bit was off the table. Obviously.”

Merlin looked completely bewildered. “Off the table?”

“Look, I know you were trying to keep it under wraps, but Gaius told me about you and Brynne. Alright? So you don’t have to sneak out anymore. It’s fine. You’re allowed to court whomever you wish. Not that you would need my permission anyway. She seems like a lovely girl!”

Now Merlin was looking at him as though he’d just grown a second head. “You think- Gaius told you- you think Brynne and I are a couple?”

Arthur hesitated. “Aren’t you?”

“No! Absolutely not! I was ‘sneaking out’ to save her family’s village from a dragon! She only spoke to me in the lower town because she wasn’t sure whether to come forward about the Saxons to you or not. Which, by the way, I would have warned you in advance about if you hadn’t been such a prat that night.”

Arthur just stared at Merlin, whose ears had gone beet red. Slowly, he started to reframe everything that had happened over the past few weeks. “That. . . still doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t need some other cure.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Merlin, then he rose out of his seat and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Arthur leaned up to meet him, his hands reaching automatically to pull him closer. It was like he’d been dropped into one of those fantasies about telling Merlin, except so much better, because this one was Merlin’s real lips against his, his real fingers in his hair.

When they broke apart, he could only look at him with sheer wonderment. Merlin had just kissed him.

Merlin dropped his forehead to Arthur’s. “All this time, and you never said anything,” he muttered.

“Neither did you. Not about the magic, either.”

“I know,” Merlin said. Then he did the exact opposite thing Arthur wanted, which was to back away. “I won’t blame you. You know, if you feel differently now. It’s a lot. I understand.”

His voice was guarded, like he was preparing to throw a wall back up. Arthur reeled him back in for a softer kiss, cradling his face in his hands, moving his thumbs in little circles across his cheeks, filling it with all the reassurance he could.

“I don’t,” said Arthur. “I won’t ever.”

Merlin smiled in that way that meant Arthur had done something amazing. The smile that made Arthur’s insides feel like they were glowing. And then it turned mischievous.

“So, theoretically, if I never did mend your tunic. . .”

“I’m getting a new manservant.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

And, damn him, he was right. But as they kissed once more, Arthur decided he was a lenient enough king to let it slide.