Work Text:
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Prompt: Merlin's going on a very dangerous mission (idk what for, legit everything can kill him that dumb twink) and he doesn't know if he'll come back so he leaves Arthur forget-me-not flowers on his desk/table the night he leaves are a sign of true love/respect as well as saying you'll never forget that person. basically he's saying goodbye. He also leaves a letter but you know.... in all good fashion, it falls on the floor or something. Anyway Arthur is super excited to see flowers the next morning until Gwen comes in and is like "shit, where's Merlin". Anyway she's panicking cause she knows what forget-me-nots mean. Queue Arthur realizing no one has seen merlin in 2 days and basically leading a mission to get him back - alittletoo-obsessed
Contrary to what some people may believe, Merlin’s not blind. He can see things perfectly well, thank you very much, and sometimes he can see things a little too well for his liking.
So when he sees Arthur and Gwen looking at each other a certain way, he’s thrilled for them—of course, he is—but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just the tiniest bit upset as well.
He’s not really sure when he started to become so fond of Gwen. Maybe it was that first day, where she walked up to him in the stocks, absolutely covered in rotten fruit and vegetables, and introduced herself with a smile. He remembers how light she made him feel, almost forgetting the worn wood still locked around his head and arms.
Or maybe it was when he accidentally stumbles in Morgana’s chambers and Gwen sends him off with a gentle push, laughing as Morgana mistakes him for her. He remembers being so shaky, so nervous about what he’s supposed to be doing, and Gwen cutting through it like a hot knife through butter.
Or maybe it was when he needed help figuring out how the bloody hell armor worked, going to Gwen and having her sit him down and patiently explain everything, beginning to end, going over anything he has questions about with patient relentlessness. She hadn’t let him leave until he could recite—and perform—the whole lesson from top to bottom.
Maybe it was all of those things combined. Maybe it was none of them.
Caring for Gwen was slow, gentle, and inevitable. She is clever, kind, and held herself with a quiet dignity. If you’d asked Merlin at the end of his first week whether or not he thought Camelot could function without her, he’d’ve laughed and shaken his head.
Caring for Arthur was an explosion.
Caring for Arthur was sword fights and insults and boots chucked at him across the room. Caring for Arthur was bloodstained teeth and breathless clasps of each other’s hands and the sudden exhale of danger passing.
From the first second they met, Arthur and Merlin clashed in perhaps the most elaborate way possible. They were polar opposites, rich and poor, noble and common, magic and not. Merlin gave as good as he got, not caring for Arthur’s status and Arthur hadn’t taken it lying down. It was a dance, a strangely choreographed number where they whirled around each other, never pausing, never stopping.
Caring for Arthur was Merlin dragging his feet, over and over, until he blinked one day and he’d been running. He’d never called his sense of self-preservation particularly strong, but drinking poison only a few weeks after knowing the man was a new record. Caring for Arthur was going months thinking he hated the prat and waking up in the middle of the night going oh, fuck.
He’s not sure when he really noticed both of them, but he can’t stop noticing it now.
He’s all too aware of the delicate way Gwen’s hands shake when she offers him an earnest compliment, the strength in her arms when she gives him a hug. He can’t stop seeing the way Arthur instinctively moves toward Merlin when they walk places or stop paying attention to the way Arthur’s touches linger when he roughhouses with him. The tips of his ears still flush when Gwen grabs his hand in the Council chambers, his heart still pounds when Arthur looks at him a certain way.
Perhaps he’s not paying as much attention as he’d think he is. After all, he’s been busy running around trying to save Camelot from magical and nonmagical threats, he’s hardly had a moment to rest. But it’s still taken him a while to really notice.
Notice the way they slide into each other’s orbits, walking around cautiously, always exchanging the gentle look of a wary animal, unsure of how far it can push. Notice the way they start to exchange more than just looks, tentative touches, murmured words in the crowded corridor where no one is paying much attention. Notice the way they look when they talk about the other, a glazed look in their eyes and the softest smile touching the corners of their lips.
Merlin is there, through all of it, beaming and helping and lying to get them their time. He knows what it’s like, to fall for someone helplessly out of your reach, and how hard it can be to watch them go by, knowing you can never touch them. He’s their staunchest supporter, always there with a hand or a word or a well-timed prat-fall. He offers his most sincere congratulations, his loudest declarations of approval, and he feels—
—cold.
Cold and a little like he’s floating.
Caring for Gwen and Arthur is easy. It’s smiles and reassurances and not knowing who to threaten to hurt first if they break each other’s hearts. It’s rides off into the woods and secret picnics and knowing looks as he shuts the door to Arthur’s chambers. It’s flowers and hugs and sunlight.
Caring for Gwen and Arthur is hard. It’s silences and conversations to quiet to hear and questions he doesn’t know the answer to. It’s watching and burning and shaking hands as he picks up the washing. It’s waking up in the middle of the night, shaking in the darkness with the words ‘don’t leave me’ on his lips.
When Morgana leaves, it’s quiet and broken and Merlin is overcome with the need to fuss over the both of them. It’s walking next to Gwen as they go about their chores, holding her hand late at night and drawing her into gentle hugs. It’s remaining steadfast at Arthur’s side and promising to help him find her. It’s having them both crying late at night, wrapped in each other’s arms, halfway onto Merlin’s lap as he strokes their heads and murmurs that it’ll be okay.
It will be okay.
One of the first things that happens after Morgana leaves is they start courting. Still in secret, because Uther can’t find out, not like this, but they start courting properly. Merlin holds them away from the rest of Camelot and glares at it, almost daring it to try and break them apart. He sees them happy, the first taste of happiness they’ve had in a while, and he wants them to drink their fill.
He watches them and he burns.
Caring for Gwen is a flower, tucked gently behind his ear.
Caring for Arthur is a suit of armor, pressing in on him from every angle.
Loving Gwen is the moon, soft, serene, bathing in the gentle light.
Loving Arthur is the sun, fierce, determined, and all-encompassing.
Arthur is destiny, his reason for existing.
Gwen is a choice, his first and closest friend.
A flower will soak up the sun and grow even more beautiful.
A suit of armor will gleam in the moonlight.
Despite destiny, they choose each other.
Merlin watches.
They have chosen and they burn so brightly there is no space anymore for shadow. So he grits his teeth and begins to pull away.
Gwen lets him go gently, with the soft acceptance of a true friend. She lets him step back, fold his hands, and restrain himself to the occasional handclasp or side hug. It makes Merlin feel cold, to have to pull away from Gwen like this, but he knows Arthur will step in and take up anything he may have let slide. She understands, tells him so with a soft word and the assurance of a queen. She’ll make an excellent one.
Arthur clings to him tightly and he seizes on it. He clings back just as hard, never letting his grip waver. He’s by Arthur’s side day and night, serving his king. Arthur clings to his servant and Merlin clings to his destiny.
Arthur clings to the person he can throw his boots at, whom he can order around, who is always there to catch him when he falls.
Merlin clings to the man who looks to him for reassurance, who needs a guiding hand every once in a while, who still smiles at him as the sun goes down.
The day of Gwen’s coronation, Merlin is there, cheering with all the rest. He beams, he yells, he whoops.
The night of the wedding, he learns the difference between knowing and knowing, tears drying on his pillow, his chest going numb.
Loneliness starts to set in not long after.
There was a time where if Merlin were late, Arthur would say something about it.
There was a time where Gwen would always look for Merlin in the Council chamber.
There was a time where Merlin was the one to help Arthur get dressed and ready in the mornings.
There was a time where Gwen would be happy to help him figure something out.
There was a time when Arthur would rest a hand on his shoulder and tell him no man was worth his tears.
There was a time where when Gwen needed comfort, she’d run to Merlin first.
He never really had Gwen, not in any way that people would think matters. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to let himself slip away. But Arthur…he could never have Arthur.
Except…for a little while, for just a moment…maybe…maybe he did.
But Arthur doesn’t notice and Merlin pulls away.
He’s more reckless now. He jumps in front of spells and weapons and sneaks out at night to work. He takes jobs he probably shouldn’t and doesn’t care too much about the worried looks he gets from the knights. He’s just doing his job, they can’t fault him for that.
By the time the fateful quest rolls around, he’s done it. It’s hurt and sometimes it feels like a physical weight in his chest but he’s done it. And they haven’t said anything. So when he gets word that some ancient power is conspiring to break them apart, he barely hesitates before reading up on what he needs to know and packing a bag. He scratches out a note, a brief one, explaining where he’s gone—he’s not letting Gaius say he’s at the tavern for the millionth time—when he pauses.
He’s…he’s probably not going to come back from this, is he?
No…no, probably not.
So…so he can…he can be a little selfish with this note, can’t he?
He fetches a new piece of paper and writes it all down. Everything. He doesn’t cry, he’s cried himself out, and he makes sure to leave the note where he’ll see it. Then he goes to the garden.
He picks a small bouquet of flowers and turns to head back inside, only to run into Gwen.
“Merlin!” She smiles and reaches out to give him a hug and he panics.
He turns at the last minute, able to brush it off as not wanting to crush the flowers. She’s hurt but covers it up quickly.
“Th-these, um,” he stammers, thrusting the flowers at them, “these are for you.”
“Oh, Merlin,” she says, taking them, “they’re lovely. Thank you.”
“For you and Arthur,” he amends, fiddling with his hands.
“I’m sure he’ll love them too,” Gwen laughs, “come on, you can help me put them in water.”
“U-um,” Merlin stutters, because he wants to, he really wants to, but he knows he’d never leave if he did, “actually, I have to go.”
“Go?” Gwen frowns. “Go where?”
“Errands,” Merlin laughs weakly, “you know how it is. Uh, my Queen.”
“Oh Merlin,” she says softly, “there’s no need for such formalities. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Friends.
“…yeah,” Merlin breathes, “yeah, we are.”
In his panic, Merlin darts away with barely a goodbye, saddling up his horse and riding out of Camelot. Only when he’s away from the city does he exhale.
Never does he remember that the note he wrote is still sitting on a table in Gaius’ chambers.
“Merlin?” Arthur tosses another item angrily over his shoulder. “Merlin!”
Gwen pushes open the door and comes over to him. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find anything,” Arthur complains, flopping down on the bed, “and I can’t think properly.”
Gwen hums, picking up his comb and brushing out his hair. “And why are we yelling for Merlin?”
“Because he’s late,” Arthur says, taking the comb and finishing his hair, “and I need him now.”
“You’d do to learn some patience, wouldn’t you,” Gwen teases lightly, smiling when Arthur pulls her in for a hug, “oh, alright, I forgive you.”
“What would I do without you,” he murmurs softly, “my Gwen?”
Gwen smiles, ruffling his newly combed hair. “You’d survive. Now come on, up.”
“Ugh,” Arthur groans, “I want Merlin, where is he?”
“Why don’t you go look for him?”
“You’re coming.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Arthur says, not bothering to get out of his sleep shirt, “you want to know where he is too.”
“Arthur, I’m sure it’s fine,” Gwen says, “he just gave me flowers, it’s…”
Gwen trails off and her eyes widen. Her gaze darts to the flowers, still in a vase of water. No…no, no, no…
“Gwen?”
She barely hears him as she darts over, Arthur coming up behind her worriedly.
“Guinevere,” Arthur says softly, “talk to me, what’s wrong?”
“These are forget-me-nots,” Gwen mumbles, “and Merlin gave them to me.”
“I don’t—“
“When was the last time you saw Merlin,” Gwen says, whirling on him, “when?”
“Two days ago, why…”
Arthur’s eyes widen. He grabs Gwen’s hand. “We’re going to Gaius.”
They make quite the sight, tearing through the castle in their nightclothes, guards, and servants flattening themselves against the wall as they go. They burst into Gaius’ chambers and find it empty.
“Merlin!” Arthur storms for his room. “Merlin!”
Gwen’s eyes dart around and find a note lying on the table. She picks it up and her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.
“Arthur!”
“He’s not here,” Arthur says, storming back out, “he’s not—“
“I-I know,” Gwen stammers, “I—I know where he is.”
“Where?”
In response, Gwen simply holds out the note. Arthur snatches it, scanning it furiously.
To Arthur and Gwen,
These are for you. They’re forget-me-nots, picked from the royal garden. If you keep them in water, they should last for at least a week. Malwen’s told me so.
I guess I should explain why I’m giving you forget-me-nots. Well, I have to go somewhere. Things happened, messes were made, and someone’s got to go clean it up. Don’t worry, I do know how to clean up this mess. I, uh, just might be away for a while.
I’m sorry to do this in writing, but I don’t think I could do it in person.
I’m saying goodbye.
I care for you both, deeply. You’ll be great. And you’ll do it together. Camelot is lucky to have the both of you.
I should know, I was lucky enough to see it, if only for a little while.
I suppose it’s not worth saying, but please, don’t be too upset by this. Remember, no man is worth your tears, and I’m certainly not.
I also suppose I shouldn’t have gotten the forget-me-nots, should I? You’ve already started to forget me. That’s alright, you’re supposed to. It’s okay, everything’s okay. It wouldn’t be the end if it wasn’t okay.
Gwen, I am eternally grateful that you were the first friend I made in Camelot. You have such a heart and you will be the strongest Queen of Camelot.
Arthur, I was born to serve you. And I will die to serve you. You are the Once and Future King and Albion will prosper under your rule.
From the coward who can’t say any of this to you in person,
Merlin.
No.
No, no, no, no.
Arthur doesn’t want to believe it.
Arthur can’t believe it.
Not Merlin.
Not like this.
Gwen’s crying. He’s crying. They’re both crying and in an instant, they’re dashing back to their chambers to get dressed. They help each other with their armor, the sadness, and confusion and hurt cooling into determination. When they step out again, King and Queen of Camelot, they march down the corridor to find the knights.
They have a mission to complete.
Merlin doesn’t remember the journey. He doesn’t even really remember the fight. He just remembers using so much of his magic that he screamed it out, collapsing into a pile of tangled limbs as soon as the ancient deity exploded into dust.
Then he remembers a hand carding through his hair, soft and reassuring, like his mother used to do when he was sick. And he’s warm, he’s so warm, like someone’s wrapped him in a cocoon and he’s never coming out. He never wants to move again.
“—do that?”
“I don’t know,” another voice says, soft and close, “I don’t know, Arthur.”
“What—what did we do wrong?”
Merlin mumbles at the note of distress, shifting. The hand in his hair stills, then resumes its gentle ministrations.
“Shh, shh,” the voice soothes, “go on back to sleep, Merlin.”
It’s so warm and Merlin listens.
When he wakes up again, he almost bolts upright because he knows where he is. He’s made this bed too many times, done up the curtains too many times, to not know where he is.
Gwen sits next to him, a cloth in her hand, dabbing gently at his forehead. Arthur shoves him back down when he moves, his hand staying on his shoulder.
“…’rthur?”
“Merlin.” Arthur’s eyes flash angrily and Merlin flinches. “Explain.”
“…explain what?”
“This!” Arthur explodes, waving angrily at the room around them. “You, leaving, giving Guinevere those flowers, that note, you have to explain.”
Oh.
Oh, oh, no. No, no, Merlin doesn’t want to explain.
“Arthur,” Gwen chides lightly, still focused worriedly on Merlin, “softly. He’s already upset.”
“He’d better be bloody upset,” Arthur growls, and oh, oh, his hand’s shaking, “he just scared the hell out of us.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” Merlin stammers, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” Arthur cries, throwing his hands up and storming off, “he’s sorry! Sorry for what, Merlin, telling us you love us and then running away? Not telling us you were leaving? Leaving what was basically your goodbye letter in Gaius’s chambers?”
“Arthur—“
“Don’t lie, Guinevere!” Arthur’s voice grows frantic. “You were just as upset as I am!”
“I am upset,” Gwen says, “but I’m not about to yell at a man who was on his deathbed not a few hours ago.”
That seems to do the trick. Arthur comes back over to the bed, falling to his knees beside Merlin and bowing his head. The top of his golden hair barely brushes Merlin’s arm and Merlin longs to reach out, to touch it, to reassure Arthur that he’s still here, he’s sorry, but he—he—
“How could we forget you, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, looking up with red-rimmed eyes, “after all you’ve done for us?”
“You should’ve seen him,” Gwen says, tucking a strand of hair behind Merlin’s ear, “he was quite inconsolable. We almost lost you, Merlin.”
They’re talking about him like he means something and Merlin doesn’t understand.
“Don’t act like you weren’t snapping at the knights to get their arses into gear,” Arthur says to Gwen, “because you were.”
“As if you didn’t hoard Merlin all to yourself when we married.”
“Merlin’s mine.”
“What’s yours is mine.”
They’re…they’re arguing over who gets to keep him. Not who has to, who gets to. Oh…oh, wow.
Gwen, who realizes their bickering helps somewhat to pull Merlin out of his head, clutches Merlin to her and shoots a playful glare at Arthur. It’s almost ruined by the big puppy eyes Arthur defaults to when someone tries to take away his Merlin. They devolve quickly into little tugs, each playfully vying to cuddle more of Merlin while stealthily maneuvering him into a secure position.
“Merlin, please tell him you prefer me,” Arthur orders.
Merlin can’t.
Arthur pouts. Gwen smiles.
“Do you prefer me then?”
He can’t say that either. Then Arthur’s fingers ghost gently over his chin and he turns to look.
“Do you mind if we share you, love?”
Love.
“Don’t scare us like that again,” Arthur murmurs, pressing his forehead breathlessly to Merlin’s, “never again, Merlin, you understand?”
“I understand,” Merlin pants as Gwen’s hand rests lightly on his shoulder, “I…I understand.”
“Good,” Gwen says softly, “because my best friend is convinced I don’t love him and I have to fix that.”
“And my Merlin is upset,” Arthur agrees, “and I have to fix that.”
“Don’t leave me,” Merlin mumbles. They tighten their grip on him.
“Never.”