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Merlin found himself in Gaius’s chambers once more, numbly making potions for the wounded Druids as noon sunlight filtered in through the high windows, illuminating the layers of dust that constantly lingered in the air. The moments from the morning flashed back to him in quick succession despite his best attempts to focus on the task at hand. Arthur's grim expression as he read the reports George had brought him, the uncomfortably heavy lull in the castle as everyone came to terms with what had happened, Merlin barely meeting poor Walter's red-rimmed eyes before looking away-- it had not been a good morning.
In his assiduous efforts and troubled thoughts, he barely noticed when the door creaked open, letting in none other than Arthur himself. “Merlin,” he said, closing the door shut behind him. “Is Gaius here?”
“He went out to see some of the more wounded Druids in the ballroom,” Merlin said, corking a flask and adding it to a legion that was now spreading across the worktable. “I hope the diplomatic side of things is going well.”
“Quite,” Arthur said, making his way over to Merlin’s side of the table. “The druids are rather relieved most everyone made it through the night unscathed. They were quite worried about you, you know.”
“I would imagine,” Merlin said, still not looking at the king as he went on boiling Gaius’s signature pain draught.
Arthur paused. After knowing him for so long, Merlin was completely sure of the expression he was making right now-- the pursed lips, the pulled-back shoulders, the hand gripping loosely at the hilt of his sword-- it was all in his mind like a picture he was seeing with his own eyes. “Merlin,” Arthur began, putting a hand on the table. “Do you know how worried I was?”
Merlin’s fingers stilled for a moment. “Of course, Arthur,” he said, before continuing. “ He wanted desperately to follow that up with some snarky joke but the words were completely lost on him. “Of course.”
The blonde paused again. The air felt stagnant around them, like unventured territory. But how could it be? After everything they had been through together, how was something like this foreign enough to have them floundering? Merlin poured a powder into his mixture with slow hands, eyes falling to the table. The bright afternoon sun cast his and Arthur’s silhouettes with a sharp outline, following Arthur’s movements as he reached out to lay his hand on Merlin’s arm.
“Merlin,” Arthur said again. The warlock couldn’t remember the last time Arthur had felt secure enough to use his name to such a liberal extent. Not in that soft, longing tone, at least.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Is it Tobyn?”
Merlin swallowed. “I suppose,” he said, putting down the vials before he dropped them in the midst of another reverie. “But is it isn’t just him. It’s him and every person before him that I’ve lost. Every person that could’ve been saved if I had just… done better .”
Arthur squeezed. “It’s not just on you, Merlin,” he said softly. “We were all to blame for what happened.”
But Merlin was adamant. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if that’s true this time, what about every time before this? Those times, it was on me and me alone. There’s nobody to blame from before.”
Merlin was glad he had put down the vials. Arthur spun him away from the table with two hands on his shoulders, eyes frantic and searching. “Even those times, it wasn’t on you!” he said, sounding desperate. “Do you think all of wasn't my fault too?”
“How in the name of the Triple Goddess was it your fault, Arthur?” Merlin insisted. “What could you have done?”
“I could have listened,” Arthur said, letting out a shaky breath. “Paid more attention. Actually seen you, instead of just glancing over the façade you had been putting up. I-- I hurt so many people with my ignorance. And Tobyn is another one to add to the ranks.”
Merlin shook his head, opening his mouth to interrupt, but Arthur waved a hand in his face. “Let me finish.” The king looked up at the ceiling, seemingly gathering his thoughts before he continued. “I should have done something as soon as I became king. I should’ve done something even while my father was alive. If I had, then maybe so many people wouldn’t have died. Morgana wouldn’t be God-knows-where, entrenched in her hatred. And you…” he looked at Merlin’s eyes for a split second before looking away again. He didn’t finish the thought. “I hope that… I hope that at least, with the legalization of magic and the druids’ help, I can begin to undo what I have done.”
There was something soft and warm stirring in Merlin’s chest as he reached out to the blonde, hands originally drifting towards his shoulders before he changed paths to instead delicately rest his palms against Arthur’s face. His touch was gentle, as if afraid to startle Arthur away from him like a jumpy forest critter at the first sign of movement. “You did good.”
Arthur managed a weak smile. “I hope… I hope with this, we can… we can work on us ,” he said. “I want to redeem myself for all the times you must have hated me.”
Merlin outright laughed. “Hated you?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t,” Arthur said, eyes flickering across the warlock’s face. “I won’t believe you.”
“Fine,” Merlin said, a grin still splitting his face. “I agree I hated you when you made me muck out the stables twice in the same day. Oh, or when you made me wear that ridiculous servant’s uniform that didn’t exist in front of the whole court-- ”
“I’m serious, Merlin.”
The brunet just blinked, the fact that Arthur wasn’t joking dawning on him all at once. “You really think I could hate you?”
Arthur pursed his lips. “I think you should hate me,” he said simply.
Merlin sighed, hands stilling on Arthur’s face. “Arthur,” he began, breath barely above a whisper as he drew closer. “My love for you has never been conditional, even when it should have been.”
At the words, the blonde’s eyes widened as he laid his own hands over Merlin’s. His jaw worked soundlessly, but not a word came out. Merlin took the opportunity to lean in and connect their lips, feeling a sweet rush of adrenaline at so freely doing what he had been yearning to do for years. Arthur’s hands moved to Merlin’s back, tightening on the fabric of his jacket as he pressed him back up against the worktable.
They broke away for a moment for air but barely moved away from each other, enjoying the intimate proximity. “What did I do to deserve you?” Arthur breathed into the space between them.
“Not nearly enough,” Merlin replied cheekily, fingers tangled into the laces he himself had tied for Arthur that very morning. “What can I say? I’m a catch.”
“Oh, shut up, Merlin.”
“ Make me, sire.”