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Chapter Text

Gwen was not the only one whose life flipped when Lancelot returned. 

Lancelot was Merlin’s closest friend, other than perhaps Arthur (though whether or not they were actually friends was apparently still in question depending on His Majesty’s moods) and seeing him return was a miracle, a sudden weight off his shoulders. He’d never forgiven himself for letting Lancelot slip through the veil for them, but perhaps he could put it behind him now, knowing the knight was alright.

But he couldn’t be fooled by the Shade; it wasn’t just the oddity of his story or even the fact that he forgot Merlin’s magic. His very presence felt wrong, disjointed, as though Morgana’s spell, while raising his body perfectly, had sloppily stitched together a bare semblance of the knight himself. Arthur’s rage had blinded him to the absurdity of it all - Lancelot would never have come between the king and Gwen, even if his love for her were all that mattered to him in the world.

Merlin should know - Lancelot was the only friend he could be open around. They were honest with each other; he could tell Lancelot of his magical escapades saving his king, and he could get the knight to wryly admit his persisting feelings for Gwen. But Lancelot, who could see through Arthur’s emotional constipation, had put his feelings to the side for a while now.

Perhaps Arthur had considered this, the night Gwen and Lancelot sat in their cells at opposite ends of the dungeon. Maybe he had thought back on all the knight had done for him. In any case, he had drawn his own conclusions; Merlin had not approached him to mention Morgana, disheartened by Gaius’s comments. The two had been distant as Arthur focused on his proposal to Gwen, and the king was the sort to reject any comfort. When Merlin tried to reason with him about Gwen, he was pushed away, Arthur’s trust shattered, clearly desiring time to heal alone.

Which left Merlin to pick up the pieces of the kingdom’s most recent drama, like always, and fit them together again, even if it wasn’t his fault. And it seemed like the only way he could fix things was by chipping off bits of himself to replace the tidbits that got lost in the fight.

Sending off Lancelot was not supposed to hurt. He had done his mourning long ago. But what should have been a faint scar was suddenly a gaping wound when he managed to release his friend from Morgana’s clutches. A simple thank you was enough to destroy Merlin these days, and Lancelot’s crumbled something inside of him. He set fire to the boat as he turned away, feeling more empty and exposed than he had in months.

Returning to the castle felt like Ealdor did after a raid, or after particularly destructive weather - after all, there was just as often a calm after the storm as there was before. The usual bustle of the castle felt subdued, less chatter and more whispering, heads down instead of the usual greetings echoing down the halls. It felt like a funeral, Camelot mourning its queen-to-be, and Merlin - well, he had literally just come from a funeral. He would be the only one to mourn Lancelot this time. The thought irked him greatly.

There was plenty to be done - he should have been helping out with last minute preparations for Arthur’s wedding; now all those preparations of the week needed undone. But to do that, he’d have to speak to Arthur to find out where precisely he was needed, and that certainly sounded like a shit idea. He settled for returning to Gauis to offer his help to the physician for the rest of the day. He was sort of surprised Arthur never sent for him, but then, he’d probably think it’d show weakness to - gods forbid Arthur admit he needed Merlin for anything - so Merlin thought little of it.

Entering the king’s room the next day, he didn’t even try to be cheery, opening the curtains solemnly only to find the bed empty.

“Arthur!” he blurted in a panic, spinning around to scour the rest of the chambers. He spotted the king sitting still at his table in the dark and jumped. “Gods,” he huffed out, walking over before bothering to properly tie back the curtains. The light in the room flickered a bit as they stole back a bit of the sun. “You scared me.” He must’ve passed right by him when he entered. “What are you doing up?”

He’d asked it without thinking. Why else would Arthur be up? The king looked up at him with tired eyes and lied through his teeth. “Wasn’t tired.” Not even I couldn’t sleep . Arthur Pendragon would admit nothing.

Merlin nodded briskly at him, setting down a list he’d had tucked in his pocket, then returned to fix the curtains, straighten the bed. “You have several council me-”

“I remember,” Arthur snapped, waving him off. “I’m the king, Merlin.”

He hadn’t remembered , because today was supposed to be his wedding, and the day had been cleared. There was plenty that needed done, however, and Merlin had filled his schedule to distract him. Arthur just wanted to yell. Anger, evidently, was the only acceptable emotion. Arthur was unbearable when he was like this, and Merlin knew better than to provoke him. Only - maybe Arthur needed this. At the very least, it’d be better for his poor council members if he blew off some steam now. Merlin decided to indulge him.

“Well, I figured I’d remind you. You’re not always the most competent.”

The warlock could almost hear the vein bulging out on the king’s neck. “Competent?!” he cried in outrage. “Merlin, what are you talking about? You’re the most incompetent person I’ve ever met! Where is my breakfast?” he said to prove his point, waving at the empty table before him.

Merlin hadn’t bothered with breakfast. He had figured the king would have no appetite. But he couldn’t say that. “Just looking out for your belts, sire.”

He had expected a flying goblet, but of course, Merlin had not brought the king’s breakfast , so there was nothing to throw. The sound of a chair scooting across the floor startled Merlin from where he was rummaging through the king’s wardrobe, and he swallowed a squeak when he saw Arthur heading towards him with a murderous expression.

“Come here, Merlin, so I can tie those big ears of yours into a bow!”

The warlock pulled the door of the wardrobe in front of himself as a pitiful shield. “I don’t really think a bow would suit me-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur grunted through clenched teeth as he pried the wood out of his manservant’s hands. Just as he got a grip of Merlin’s tunic a knock sounded at his door. Merlin stopped trying to wriggle away and Arthur stopped dragging him closer as they both glanced at the interruption. Arthur sighed and pushed Merlin towards the door, with enough force to make him stumble but not rough enough to be anything but horseplay .

When Merlin failed to offer any greeting, Arthur knew it must be his uncle. For whatever reason, Merlin hated Agravaine, probably because their advice was always at odds. He seemed to think that Arthur relied too much on his uncle, but Agravaine was the only family Arthur had left. And anyway, Arthur was still making his own decisions. He had never considered killing Gwen, despite his uncle’s dark suggestions, and he had ignored all his suggestions regarding Merlin (some subtle but most borderline spiteful.)

“My lord,” Agravaine started, and Merlin caught Arthur’s eye before ducking his head in a most irritated fashion and heading out. Arthur felt his own irritation growing. He hadn’t dismissed him. Which. . . he almost never did, and Merlin wouldn’t have listened to him anyways, and Agravaine usually requested he leave - but the fact that he just decided to leave on his own felt like a desertion.

“I am having the servants remove all the. . .preparations. It’s in progress as we speak.”

“Good,” Arthur said, nodding stiffly, walking to his desk so that he didn’t have to look at the man.

Agravaine waited a beat before going on, “I heard you yelling before I came in. Are you sure everything is alright?”

Breathing slowly through his nose, Arthur composed himself. “I’m not having this conversation again, uncle.”

“I’m not certain having your blood pressure rise as soon as you wake up is good for you.”

Arthur was about to launch into a discussion about how his dynamic with Merlin had started long before Agravaine had even showed his face in Camelot, how could he possibly know whether or not Merlin was good for him, when he realized that one, he would be overreacting, and two, Merlin being good for him was an idea that was not supposed to make it past his subconscious, let alone out his mouth. Instead, he said, “Is there anything else you needed?”

There was a beat during which Arthur suspected his uncle was deciding whether or not to provoke him further. Then, “No, my lord.”

Arthur waved him off. The list Merlin had set down for him was painstakingly lengthy. The king barely registered the door shutting behind his uncle as he remembered that he shouldn’t have anything to do, since he should have been marrying his queen in a few hours. Now there wasn’t even any time to think about a wedding.

Oh.

Stuffing the list in his pocket, he set to work gathering any papers he’d need for his first meeting. Usually Merlin would carry his things - it felt unseemly for the king to stride around with laden arms - but he still hadn’t returned, not only leaving Arthur with full hands, but to walk into the meeting alone.

He wasn’t even there waiting for him, and for a beat Arthur wanted to tell his council that they had to wait - if he had to sit through this so did Merlin! - but then he realized how ridiculous it would sound to postpone just so his manservant could stand off to the side and make faces at him.

After sitting through two meetings, he had lunch, then training with his knights. Much to his chagrin, he found George waiting for him with a steaming platter.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded as George bowed before him.

The man rose with a chink in his usually schooled expression and Arthur huffed through his nose. It wasn’t George’s fault that Merlin couldn’t be bothered to grace his king with his presence. “I mean, where is my clumsy oaf of a manservant?”

“I believe he is with Gaius in the lower town, sire,” George replied carefully.

“I didn’t tell him he could go to the lower town!” Arthur exclaimed in exasperation before realizing he sounded like a petulant child. “It would be nice,” he amended in a calmer tone, “if Merlin would tell me where he was going once in a while.”

George took his outburst in stride, nodding and pulling out Arthur’s chair for him, which annoyed him much more than it should have. But didn’t George think he was capable of pulling out his own seat? He wasn’t some dainty lady of the court!

He brushed the man aside and pulled out the chair himself (which made it farther from the table than Arthur preferred, because of course George had gotten the distance perfect, damn him) and sat down. He had to lean in an unkingly manner to eat, but George said nothing, just stood there watching and waiting. Although he’d skipped breakfast, Arthur still wasn’t all that hungry. He got through a bit of a chicken leg when he set it down, deciding he couldn’t do this with George’s eyes on him. “You’re dismissed.”

George opened his mouth and closed it again, stuck between following orders and some other sense of duty that was clearly on his mind. “What is it?” he asked, tired.

“I still need to dress you for training,” George said. “Do you want me to give you ten minutes before I return? Fifteen? I can wait outside the door and you can knock-”

Heaving a sigh, Arthur stood from his table. “Let’s just do it now.”

George put on his armor, George led him to the training grounds, George carried his sword and his shield, George stood on the sidelines waiting for him. The knights were subdued, and every time Arthur caught a glimpse of Elyan he felt guilty. When Gwaine and Percival had to face him they suffered all the frustrations of Arthur’s day, and he still felt angry by the time training was over. He snapped at George without meaning to while he was removing his sweaty armor, and before the man could remind him of his next four (for the Triple Goddess’s sake, Merlin, four council meetings in a row?!) council meetings, he was out the door and headed to the physician’s tower.

“MERLIN!” he bellowed, because it felt good to yell. He found Gaius working on one of his nasty potions, but his manservant was nowhere in sight. “Where is he?!” Arthur demanded. “Gods help me if you say he’s in the tavern-”

“Gathering herbs, sire,” Gaius said, a perfectly rehearsed line, one Arthur’d heard hundreds of times. It didn’t matter if Gaius was telling the truth, it only served to bother him further.

“Where?”

Gaius looked up, but before he could receive the brow, the physician’s attention landed on something behind Arthur. The king spun, ready to chew out Merlin, but it was only George, red faced.

“What is it?” he said again, trying to stamp the growl out of his voice.

“The meeting’s about to start,” he was trying not to breathe heavily, “would you like me to-”

Arthur strode past him. “Send Merlin my way when you see him, Gaius!” he called behind him, heading to his council chambers in a stormy mood.

No matter Merlin’s intentions, four more meetings had him even more pissed as he returned to his chambers. He waved George away as soon he was out of the council door, and even Agravaine stayed out of his way when he left the last meeting looking ready to explode.

When Merlin was not waiting for him in his chambers (like Merlin would sit around waiting for him) he about pulled his hair out. He spun around, ready to march back to Gaius and demand that Merlin make an appearance when his door opened without forewarning and Merlin himself tumbled in, looking a bit disheveled.

“George said you were looking for me,” he panted, “he sounded worried and I never hear the man sound distressed, are you-?” He looked up to find Arthur glaring at him and his concern dripped away as the king turned and threw his hands up in the air.

“Where have you been?! ” he cried. “You left me with George ! That’s low, Mer lin, even for an inconsiderate idiot such as yourself-”

“You know,” Merlin huffed, hands on his knees, “I was actually worried , I wouldn’t have run over here if I knew you were just going to yell at me-”

“You’ve been avoiding me!” Arthur accused, crossing his arms.

Merlin straightened. “I’ve been helping Gaius!” he said incredulously.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” Arthur snapped, pulling out the list he’d handed the king this morning and tossing it at him. The paper slipped lazily through the air and landed near his feet. “Six meetings! And you didn’t even bother to come to any of them!”

Before Merlin could point out that he really had no business at the meetings anyways, Arthur barreled on, “You’re still mad about me sending away Gwen. Well guess what, Mer lin. I’m not happy either! I was going to MARRY HER!”

“I never know what you want!” Merlin shouted back, waving his hands in angry, incoherent motions. “I thought you’d want some space, and now you just want to act like everything’s normal. It’s not normal to act like you’re okay with this! You clearly aren’t!”

They shouldn’t have been yelling back and forth like this. The guards outside were no doubt listening in, every servant walking past as slow as they could, with their luck Agravaine eavesdropping. Arthur didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t like what’s happened,” he snapped, “but I’m getting past it! What do you want me to do? Break down and sob and mope like a girl? Like you would, Merlin? Like you have been, by avoiding me?” Arthur scoffed at him. “Don’t tell me you’re just doing this for me.”

“Well maybe I’m not!” Merlin cried. When he pointed at Arthur, he meant to be just as angry and accusatory, and was surprised to find his voice betraying him as it wavered. “You made me bury Lancelot alone , Arthur. Lancelot .”

Arthur faltered a bit; whether it was because of the subject change or Merlin’s sudden teary eyes was uncertain. The king faced away from him again.

“Forgive me for not wanting to attend,” he said bitterly.

Injustice boiled beneath Merlin’s skin. “He was a shade!” the warlock exploded before he could stop himself. “He would never come between you and Gwen, you dollophead!” He sighed, knowing he probably should have just let well enough alone, but now he might as well clarify. “Morgana rose him from the dead.”

Arthur spun to look at him. “What?”

“Lancelot wouldn’t betray you, Arthur,” he went on quietly, “and I’d bet Morgana also played a role influencing Gwen-”

“Stop,” Arthur said, holding up a hand. “Don’t.”

Frustrated, Merlin insisted, “Gwen wouldn’t-”

“You’d do well to stay out of my business with Guinevere,” Arthur snapped. “It doesn’t concern you.” He was well pissed, because he added, “And why are you crying over a- a shade, anyways?”

Merlin stopped. He couldn’t explain how he’d released his friend, how he had to watch the man himself die again. It wouldn’t make sense without revealing his magic. “It still hurt.” He whispered it because he knew otherwise his voice would crack.

“You’re dismissed.” Arthur refused to look at him.

“Yes, sire ,” Merlin spat out the word, voice strangled, eyes dripping. He slammed the door on his way out, and the echoing noise almost masked the sound of a vase shattering within.

Chapter Text

When Merlin asked George if he could serve the king again today, the man could hardly say no.

The king’s manservant seemed rather upset, for one, and George had his reliable reputation to uphold. But he had learned the hard way that coming between the two of them only tended to make things worse (yesterday was his latest reminder.)

So even though George would always be honored to serve the king, he was also absolutely dreading it. Not that you could ever elicit such an admission from him. He would never say something like that. It was just how he felt; palms unusually sweaty; a light buzz of fight-or-flight pulsing through his limbs; an extra level of concentration to maintain his normally natural posture and expression. Things he couldn’t control.

When His Majesty the King of Camelot opened his eyes, George had intended to offer him breakfast first, then update him on today’s duties, the weather, Agravaine’s desire to meet with him, what he could look forward to for lunch. As soon as the servant registered in his vision, however, the king moved faster than George had ever seen this early in the morning.

“No,” he said simply, throwing the covers off. “I’m not doing this.”

Which really was quite disheartening. Nevertheless, George knew not to take it personally. 

“Sire!” he interjected, wincing as he raised his voice. But King Arthur was walking straight for the door. “You’re still in your nightclothes!”

“I am aware, thank you, George,” the man said, not bothering to mask his irritation, nor slowing in the slightest.

George scurried after him as he barreled into the hall. It was early enough that only servants and the rare noble (not a single knight, who all seemed to make the most of their sleeping time) were in the hall, and everyone was still somber. Despite the severity of Guinivere’s banishment, George knew it would not belong before, at least for the servants, everything would be back to normal.

Except perhaps himself and Merlin, at this rate.

He followed the king all the way to the physician’s tower, where he barged right in without knocking. As expected, they found only Gaius, who looked offended at their rude entrance. 

“Now, don’t lie to me, Gaius.”

The man remained unfazed, returning to his work. He appeared to be mashing some sort of paste with the mortar and pestle. “I don’t know where he is, sire. He woke up a bit earlier, but didn’t indicate he had plans out of the ordinary.” He shrugged without looking up from or stalling his gentle grinding movements. “I assumed he was with you.”

“Well, he isn’t,” Arthur snapped, motioning to George, who straightened and bit back a sudden feeling of irritation. This was, for the hundredth time, not his fault.

This time, the physician did look up, settling him with a look. “If I see him sire, I’ll send him to you.”

“Thank you,” the king said, somewhat begrudgingly. He spun on his heels and George trailed behind him.

As they returned to the king’s chambers, both were silent. The man was still stewing over the morning’s events when they turned the corner and caught sight of the manservant responsible for his mood.

A part of George was guiltily relieved; another part thought, Run, Merlin, you git .

He evidently was not there on purpose, because he looked up and made brief eye contact with the king before turning tail to follow George’s unspoken advice. Unfortunately for him, the king needed but three quick strides and a grip on his neckerchief, and he was caught. The manservant made an involuntary noise as he was dragged into the king’s chambers by the red scrap of cloth, and the door slammed shut behind them.

George released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Were it anyone else, he would stand outside and wait. But he knew from experience that they had both already forgotten him completely.

As he continued down the hall to make himself useful elsewhere, he sent a small prayer for Merlin before choosing to forget the idiots — erm, the King of Camelot and his somewhat inadequate manservant — in return.

He hadn’t meant to snag Merlin’s neckerchief, but he couldn’t say he was displeased with the results. Merlin was flushed and caught off guard and here , finally, trapped in Arthur’s grip, and he wasn’t going to slip away this time.

“Where have you been?” Arthur demanded at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “What do you want?”

A second passed as they eyed each other warily, and Arthur tugged on the red still in his hands. “You answer me , Mer lin,” he said, ignoring the way his manservant’s dark hair fluttered with the motion. “I’m the king, remember?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but Arthur didn’t miss him swallowing. “How could I forget?” Something in his voice was abnormal and Arthur decided perhaps it was best he let go. He flicked the neckerchief into his manservant’s face, and Merlin took the abuse with his normal aura of irritation.

“I was helping with the laundry.” He carefully brushed over the fact that this was a hole Gwen had left with her banishment. Well. It wasn’t like she’d have been doing laundry if she’d become queen, anyways. “It’s not like I sit around doing nothing!”

“We talked about this yesterday,” Arthur growled. “You have one job-”

“That’s not true.”

“-to be my manservant,” Arthur overruled the point. “The least you could do is show up.”

“Oh, what difference does it make?!” Merlin snapped, daring him to admit it, to say it out loud, but he knew better, bless the Triple Goddess, and barreled on without an answer. “I’ve said it before, Arthur. I’m glad to serve you ’til the day I die-”

“Then why-”

Merlin spoke over him, unwilling to let even the king interrupt him, “but you just don’t want my service. Because it’s more than that,” he added, voice starting to rise. “I’m not here to scurry around with my head down. I’m your friend , Arthur, and you’re being an ass.”

“Merlin,” he warned.

“I’m always here for you, but you turn me away. Constantly,” he snapped. “I just want to help you, and you refuse, only to go on sulking and making everyone else miserable-”

“Aren’t you one to talk?” Arthur smiled coldly at him. “Were you just not going to mention that Lancelot was under some spell? Or did you plan to suffer with that knowledge alone?” Merlin’s eyes dropped at the mention of Lancelot, mouth twisting unhappily. “How did you figure that out, anyways?”

“Because I know him!” Merlin burst out, then, “I - I knew him.” He took a breath. “I know it’s hard for you, but if you would just stop and think for a second -”

“This better not be about Guinivere,” Arthur interjected tightly. “If you utter one more thing on the subject, I’ll banish you.”

Merlin blinked back at him. Since he became king, Merlin’d been in the stocks once, maybe twice, mostly as a joke; he’d threatened it often and even the dungeons a few times, but he’d never really been serious about that. Usually he won arguments by forcing him to muck out the stables. This was the first time he’d threatened banishment, and he was dead serious.

Hurt flickered through Merlin’s eyes before his steely gaze landed on the floor. He stalked past Arthur to the wardrobe, and the king suddenly remembered he wasn’t dressed yet. He was going to be late to training, which was first on today’s schedule.

Refusing to spare a glance for the outfit George had clearly picked out, Merlin selected something else before slamming the wardrobe shut a little harder than necessary. Neither of them spoke as Arthur dressed. The worst wasn’t that Merlin was pissed; he was also clearly upset. He fitted Arthur’s armor with such efficiency that it occurred to the king just how much Merlin chose to touch him: lazing through slowly each day not because he was inept, but because he was companionable, stretching out their conversations and pacing Arthur’s morning. He desperately pushed these thoughts away; they were making him feel guilty.

He discovered as Merlin followed behind him that despite the tension still between them, he was relieved to have Merlin at his side today. Not that he’d admit it. Just a flimsy, wandering observation to consider. 

It became clear as Merlin was removing his armor before they headed for the first meeting of the day that his manservant intended to treat him to silence, something Arthur always claimed to want but could never seem to enjoy. He had barely even spoken to Gwaine, who made sure to bother Merlin rain or shine. Fine. Let him be quiet for once. Arthur refused to break first.

The meetings were dreadful. He kept trying to catch Merlin’s eye, but he refused to look at the king, making careful inspection of the ceiling, the floor, the wall, even Geoffrey’s beard (at least it seemed). He grew increasingly frustrated when his lunch was as perfect as if George had served him, and there was nothing to complain about. Merlin buzzed around the room, busying himself with stuff he was supposed to do but seldom did, rather than lingering by the table to pester Arthur. The king gritted his teeth and ate everything to try and staunch his anger, but left a roll untouched on the tray beside his stew. His manservant was known to snag bits of his leftovers.

But when Merlin went to pick up the tray, he idly tossed the bread into the dregs of the stew, where it soaked and disintegrated. Arthur couldn’t say he was offended, so he just leaned back and watched coolly as Merlin cleared up his place.

When he finally spoke, Merlin didn’t lift his eyes from where they were trained on Arthur’s lunch. It was the first meal he’d finished since. . .well, and if he weren’t so pissed for other events, he would have been pleased.

“Agravaine’s been wanting to speak with you,” the warlock said without a trace of his usual bitterness. He’d already made it plenty clear to Arthur his feelings of Agravaine, and the king clearly didn’t give a damn. In what world would he take his manservant’s opinion over his uncle’s, anyways? He’d already told Merlin to shove all his other opinions up his ass on multiple occasions. Merlin just had to accept that intercepting Agravaine’s treacherous behavior was one more line on his list of responsibilities. “He’ll likely take you aside after your meetings end.”

It exhausted him to think what the man wished to speak about. Bullying Arthur into thinking he wasn’t kingly enough again? Ensuring him that some bit of pointless cruelty was for the good of the kingdom or necessary to show strength? Or maybe this time he would just go for it and set into action a plot that could actually pose serious danger to Arthur or Camelot. He resisted the urge to scrub at his eyes, which had gotten heavier with his musings, and gathered the tray so he could leave.

“Merlin,” he’d heard his name through gritted teeth enough times to recognize the occasion, “Don’t think you’ll be slipping away. You’ll be at all the meetings.”

“Of course, sire,” he replied dryly.

He had been wrong. That, or Arthur managed to leave swiftly enough that Agravaine didn’t catch him. Whatever the case, it was hours later when Arthur was eating dinner and he was readying the chambers for the night and the man still hadn’t come knocking. 

Merlin remained quiet and intent on his job, slipping in and out of Arthur’s view. The chambers were dead silent except for the crackling fire he’d lit perhaps a candlemark ago, and it was just enough noise to mask any Arthur made. They remained invisible to each other. Not like Merlin was hyper aware of his king, by intuition, magic, whatever - well, if so, it was only because the second he dropped his attention something awful would happen.

In this case, that something awful was merely that the knocking was delayed. Merlin frowned from where he was kneeling as he folded or hung laundry in the wardrobe, thighs braced against his heels. He made to rise, but before he could get to the door, Arthur let out a tired, “Enter.”

Merlin froze, settling back down. Had Arthur actually forgotten he was here?

As he was deciding whether to be offended or hurt, Agravaine entered and did a brief sweep of the room, failing to spot Merlin, then turned to Arthur. “My lord,” he began, pausing in front of the table. The warlock heard the scraping of Arthur’s movements rather than seeing them - the dish against the table as he pushed the half-finished dinner away, the wooden chair against the stone as he stood. “Uncle. I heard you were coming to speak with me.”

“Are we alone, Arthur?” he asked, glancing at the door. Merlin got to his feet and soundlessly appeared in the right line of vision just in time to meet the king’s eyes as he replied, “Yes.”

Merlin blinked in confusion as Agravaine turned back around and Arthur averted his eyes, shaking his left hand in a dismissive motion that might be mistaken for an absentminded attempt to readjust the cuff of his shirt. But the door was on his right. Merlin remained motionless for a moment before deciphering this as a sign to continue putting away the clothes. But why would he want Merlin here? Every other time his uncle requested privacy, he sent his manservant away.

The warlock realized his lips had parted slightly in confusion when he registered how dry his mouth had become. He pressed them into a thin line as he crept back towards his work, feeling more on edge than other times he’d hidden from Agravaine. Which was strange; those stakes were always higher, risking discovery of his magic and the downfall of Camelot, but at least then he knew what was at risk, what he was trying to achieve. He thought he could read Arthur pretty well by now, but in trying to guess his motives in this case, Merlin was drawing a complete blank.

Could it be possible he wanted Merlin to hear this conversation? Or was he overthinking things again - perhaps Arthur was just being a prat and determined that Merlin would finish his duties for once. A sort of payback for slacking off recently.

“What is it?” Arthur’s tired tone had returned. 

“Everything concerning. . . the serving girl,” Agravaine began carefully, “has been undone.” He stepped around the subject with a precision Merlin had failed to. Was royal blood and political grace all he would have needed to gain Arthur’s trust?

The bitterness returned full force, even as Merlin swallowed it down, along with the angry pulse of magic in his blood. Merlin had clawed his way past social class, tradition, misled morals and personal insecurities driven into Arthur by both his father and the high expectations of all who saw nothing but the heir to Camelot’s throne when they looked at him. He had literally crawled and pleaded and risked his skin over and over again, tagging along on suicide missions and remaining adamantly at his side until at last Arthur would begrudgingly confide in him, maybe even consider his opinion, though he’d seldom admit it. Agravaine had suspiciously dropped in out of nowhere immediately after Arthur ascended to the throne, mentioned Arthur’s mother, and suddenly had Arthur’s utmost, unconditional trust above all others.

And maybe it was utterly stupid to think Arthur would actually value his advice, let alone in comparison to his uncle’s, (and the bit about his mother really was unfair), but gods, it stung with how easily the king dismissed him. Yes, he was still just a manservant, but he thought after many years they were friends beneath it all. Clearly, he was mistaken; Arthur thought him dispensable, easily banished, thrown away —

Merlin grit his teeth and focused on how the king replied, even as his throat was swelling. He didn’t want to be upset , he wanted to be angry ; he should be right pissed at the prat, not hurt by his enduring lack of emotional capacity.

“Good. Is that all?”

Agravaine seemed to hesitate. “If you would forgive me, my lord.”

Merlin had to keep pausing in his work for the absolute silence. Well, not really; the crackling of the fire would certainly cover the soft hush of fabric, and he could hang articles during their speech, but the soundless tension in the room felt so fragile that the warlock found himself stopping and holding his breath anyways.

“I think only of you, Arthur.” With footsteps, Merlin imagined him pacing closer, the manipulative villain ever guised as a mentor. “I want you to be surrounded by those you can rely upon. You are young, optimistic, trusting.”

Merlin ground his teeth as Arthur said bitterly, “You think me a fool.”

“No,” Agravaine assured him, “no no. We all make mistakes, putting faith in those we should not.” Merlin wanted to laugh at the irony. “You must remember, Arthur,” Agravaine went on, “that these people under your station can never understand you. They cannot comprehend the weight on your shoulders.”

No , Merlin mouthed without thinking, then thanked the gods he hadn’t actually spoken out loud. First his father, then his court, now Agravaine, all telling him he had to be alone. Was it not cruel enough for Arthur to have all this responsibility so young? Did they all have to insist upon solitude?

The king was quiet; he was actually listening to Agravaine, for the Triple Goddess’s sake. Gwen’s betrayal, however Merlin felt about it, had broken some part of Arthur, and Merlin realized quickly that if he didn’t change his method of fixing his friend, then Agravaine would put him back together instead. The warlock failed to notice his hands shaking with fury where they were clasped around a long forgotten shirt. How dare Agravaine take advantage of him. The warlock felt powerless. What could he do when this man, Arthur’s only remaining family, was not only his most trusted advisor, but the person he wanted to trust the most?

“Get to the point, Uncle,” the king said wearily.

“Your serving boy,” the man replied, and Merlin startled, thinking for a second he had been spotted before understanding he was just the next topic of conversation. “You are too friendly with him, Arthur.”

“Uncle.” Arthur sounded mildly irritated.

The shirt at last slipped from Merlin’s hands. He was not surprised that Agravaine would speak against him, but suddenly he thought back to the eye contact before, Arthur wordlessly telling him to stay. This was it, wasn’t it? He wanted Merlin to hear how easy it’d be to get rid of him. How lucky he was that he hadn’t already been sent packing.

“He is just like the girl,” Agravaine went on stubbornly. The warlock set his jaw at the words the girl , seeing Gwen, tearstained, stumbling through the rainy streets as she left Camelot. “You can’t trust him. What do you think he wants from you, Arthur?”

“That’s enough, Agravaine.”

No further words were said. After a long stretch, Agravaine strode calmly to the door and left, shutting it behind him. They could hear his footsteps echo down the hallway as he retreated.

The warlock knew Arthur could be an ass, but this - this thinly veiled threat? This making a point? Attempt to win their argument? Whatever he had intended, it had been a low blow. Maybe he would’ve expected this behavior from the Crowned Prince, but not the King.

His knees cracked as he stood, but he didn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. A small part of him said to just walk out, to continue the silent game he’d been playing and ignore him. But with his rage rekindled, he was finally more angry than he was upset, and Merlin’d be damned if he passed up this opportunity, to hell with the consequences.

He came into Arthur’s view, only to see his back still turned away. A chance to leave. Instead he stopped where he was, leaving the distance between them, but clearly not going anywhere.

“What the fuck,” he gritted out, “was that?”

Chapter Text

Arthur’s shoulders stiffened at his manservant’s angry tone, but he didn’t yet turn around. “Merlin-”

“If you want me gone, sire , just say so,” he interrupted, voice tight. Somehow this anger was different from the past two nights. It wasn’t explosive with emotion or indignant and exasperated. It was dark and controlled, with a bitter edge of humor curling the end. “You don’t have to threaten me. I’m well aware Agravaine would send me off; your whole council would.”

Arthur heard a little huff out of Merlin’s nose, recognizing the half amused, self-deprecating sound. Fuck. He knew how Merlin breathed.

“You’ve never had an issue telling me straight before,” he went on. “I get it, Your Highness , you could throw me out with a wave of your hand.”

“Merlin,” the king said, turning to face his manservant at last, “I didn’t know.”

“Tell me to leave,” Merlin dared him, ignoring his statement. “If you don’t want to see me, that’s fine, but say what you want, Arthur, don’t dance around-”

The slip of his name finally snapped Arthur back to himself. “I didn’t know he was going to bring it up, Merlin!” he exclaimed.

Merlin’s rant stopped, but his manservant still eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t know. How often does he bring this up, exactly?”

“I don’t have to answer to the likes of you,” Arthur snobbed, like he always did when he didn’t want to admit the truth.

Wrong move. Merlin’s eyes flashed again. But then his voice quieted, which was much, much worse. “I know,” his friend said, looking him up and down. Arthur felt transparent with that gaze - not even that Merlin could see inside him, just right through him, like there was nothing there at all. But as aching as that was, it was hardly anything to when his manservant dropped his eyes and uttered the next words; barely audible as they were, they made him flinch: “Sometimes, you’re a little too much like your father.”

Arthur’s own anger flared up, spurred on by hurt. “Well my father might have been wrong about many things, but he and my uncle were right about one. You would never understand what it’s like.”

Merlin’s eyes flickered up at that, and suddenly finding some grip, Arthur went on, “You will never feel the responsibility I do. No one will.” He managed to leave the last words unspoken: I’m alone .

His manservant reached for the door. “I will never know what it’s like to be king, my lord ,” he said, hand hovering on the handle, “but I know more about responsibility than you could ever imagine.” The door slammed before Arthur even had a chance to scoff at him.

Sometimes Merlin didn’t make any sense.

Gwaine might have been a drunkard and a “thick knight” like Merlin claimed, but he wasn’t a total idiot. 

Merlin and Arthur were having a couple’s quarrel, and it suited neither of them well.

The former, often talkative and excitable, was now subdued and withdrawn. Gwaine could hardly stand it. It made him seem more akin to how the other servants behaved around their superiors, and Merlin was so much more than that. He was certain the man’d hardly been intimidated by anyone above his station in his life , but Gwaine hadn’t heard him make a snarky comment on one of the lords recently, and he’d been trailing behind Arthur instead of walking by his side, something Gwaine thought they’d outgrown years ago.

The king was easily provoked as it was; now the smallest, unintentional slip-ups roused his wrath. The servants were all avoiding him - including George - and even the council members left over from Uther’s reign were smart enough to tiptoe around his rage.

So maybe Merlin was being fair with the thick assessment, considering Gwaine didn’t let any of this stop him from messing with the blonde.

“Late night, princess?” he asked as he faced off the king during training. He and Merlin had matching eyebags; though, so did Elyan. It was clearly a strenuous time for everyone.

And really - though Gwaine’s loyalty would always lie with Merlin first, he had made an exception in royal snobs for Arthur, even if he didn’t deserve it all the time. Arthur was Gwaine’s friend, and he did care. But you can only pity someone so much when they decide to release all their pent up rage by beating you to a pulp every other day.

“Some of us have work to do,” Arthur raised his brows as they paced a bit. “And can’t spend all our time at the tavern.”

Gwaine struck first today to buy himself some time for his reply. He wasn’t at all bothered by Arthur’s taunts; he was comfortable with his lifestyle and could hardly care what Arthur’s pompous ideas of duty were. Gwaine was present and ready when it mattered.

Arthur blocked his blow with ease, and began an intense series of strikes Gwaine was not expecting this early on, but was still prepared for. After blocking the king’s sword from getting a little too close to his shin, Gwaine managed two offensive moves himself, a swing at his arm and then a simple but quick dart towards the man’s chest, easily blocked but accomplishing the desired effect of having Arthur step back.

Without the man crowding his space, Gwaine found time to say, “Perhaps you could use a drink to untwist your royal knickers.”

“Is that an invitation?” Arthur asked, unimpressed. This time, he did catch Gwaine’s shin. The training sword wouldn’t cut him, but it still stung like hell.

He gritted his teeth, then screwed up his face as if thinking about it. “Mm, depends, princess. Will you banish me if I say no?”

Leon choked behind him. He knew it was Leon because they’ve all heard that little noise before. And he could imagine Percy and Elyan, wide eyed and still.

Merlin didn’t deign to react at all. In fact, Gwaine could swear from his periphery that the man merely turned the page of the book he had been resolutely focused on since he and Arthur arrived. 

Gwaine received no verbal response, just fury in the form of brute force. Arthur advanced on him rapidly, and though Gwaine matched him as best he could, after a moment he failed to keep up. In a last ditch effort to regain some control of the match, he risked imbalance to pivot and knock the flat of the blade into the king’s hip.

He could tell this pained Arthur, but any satisfaction was short lived because the other man seized the opportunity to send him sprawling.

He knew spinning like that would leave him open, but in his desire to land a hit on the moody king, he didn’t fully account for how pissed he was — or, Gwaine just didn’t care enough for consequences in the moment — and the shove Arthur gave him was enough to abuse his ankle’s limitations. “Gah,” he yelped before he could control it. He struggled to alleviate his suddenly throbbing foot despite the fact he just got the wind knocked out of him.

“Arthur!” Merlin snapped, the first indication at all that he had been paying attention. His book dropped to the grass, forgotten, and Gwaine gratefully accepted the help to his feet as the king stepped back. Percival stepped forward as well to support his weight, and briefly he considered playing it up to see if the man would carry him to Gaius, but he settled for just leaning heavily on him. “Thanks, Perce.”

The man fluttered his hair affectionately.

“Stop taking your anger out on Gwaine,” Merlin chose bluntness today, it seemed, “he doesn’t deserve it.”

Gwaine felt the collective Well. . . sift through the group, unspoken, and fought against a grin when Percy glanced at him knowingly.

Before the king could reply, Merlin dropped down to examine Gwaine’s ankle, turning it slightly left and right, and flinched right after Gwaine did. “Sorry.”

“It was an accident,” Arthur said gruffly, and to his credit, he directed to Gwaine, “Sorry about your ankle.”

“It only seems to be sprained, thankfully ,” Merlin nearly spat the last word over his shoulder.

“No worries, mate,” Gwaine said, “at least now I can skip out on practice, yeah?”

“Take him to Gaius,” Arthur nodded at Percival.

“I’ll go with them; I can do it,” Merlin said.

“I’m sure Gaius can manage,” Arthur told him.

They were both glaring at each other with enough intensity for sparks, almost intimate, as if none of the other knights were standing right there. Since Gwaine was already injured, he wouldn’t risk getting pummeled for yelling out “Get a room!”, but he decided against it anyways.

“Doesn’t Gaius see enough of you, Merlin?” Elyan joked after the tense silence stretched a bit too long. “Let Perce carry him; I’m sure that’s what he wants.”

Gwaine loved Elyan, he really did. As Leon smothered a laugh, Gwaine said to Percival, “You know, that’s not a bad idea-”

“You’re taking up all our time with your drama,” Elyan added, eyeing Gwaine with more fondness than faux annoyance. He tilted his head at the king, raising his sword lightly. “C’mon, Arthur, I’ll face you next.”

A small edge of resentment rose in Gwaine as he took in Elyan’s easy peacekeeping. He had every reason to hate Arthur, but here he was, diffusing the tension. Gwaine certainly wouldn’t have bothered if his sister had been banished. Elyan was a good man. Arthur didn’t deserve him.

“Alright,” Arthur said. He picked up Gwaine’s abandoned training sword, and let Merlin take it when the other man held out his hand.

“You made me lose my page,” he sniffed at the king, but it was much less hostile than before.

Arthur’s reply was low, only for Merlin, but Gwaine managed to catch part of it: “Oh, please. Nobody reads two pages in thirty seconds, Mer lin, I know you weren’t. . .”

Gwaine lost the rest of the conversation when Percival suddenly hefted him up and tossed him over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he grunted, though maybe expecting his fellow knight to carry him like a lady was asking too much.

“We’ll get there faster,” Perce said cheerfully.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, he shook his head, adding, “Don’t you think you could stand to agitate him a little less?”

“Princess?” Gwaine clarified, drawing his eyes away from the view. “Never. He needs to lighten up.”

Percival sighed, then hummed, which Gwaine took to be half agreeance. He probably wouldn’t have heard what the knight muttered next if they weren’t so close. “Hopefully, he and Merlin will make up soon.”

Gwaine was positively gleeful to hear verbal acknowledgement on the subject from another knight, but before he could say anything else about it, he was distracted by a sudden gentle caress on the back of his head. “Doorway.”

“Thanks again, Perce.”

The man patted his back. “No problem, buddy.”

All the adrenaline from his fight with Gwaine had seeped from the king’s body, and he eyed Elyan warily. He vaguely wondered if the man had offered to face him next on purpose, having caught on to the fact that he’d been avoiding him. Surely it was obvious by now.

An involuntary glance at Merlin revealed that he was curled back up under the tree reading again, rather than polishing any of Arthur’s armor or his sword. He had brought it with him to the king’s chambers, setting it on the table while he dressed Arthur, and then picked it up before they left, daring Arthur to challenge him over it. But he didn’t.

Now, Merlin uncoincidentally turned the page just as Arthur’s eyes grazed him, and the king couldn’t figure out if his manservant intended to convince him that he was not paying attention, or if he was actually trying his hardest not to.

He cleaved his own attention from Merlin and redirected it to his knight. “Ready, Elyan?”

The other man nodded, his same forced positive energy from earlier raking its claws down Arthur’s guilty stomach. He wasn’t a total ‘ dollophead ;’ he knew Elyan must foster some bitterness about his sister’s banishment, but gods be damned if he weren’t good at hiding it.

That made it so much worse. He wished the man would yell at him, confront him. Unfortunately, only one person seemed capable of such, and his nose was currently buried in that stupid book of legends.

He motioned for Elyan to make the first move, even as he dreaded it.

Their fight was not nearly as quick or charged as the one with Gwaine. Where Gwaine was reckless and boisterous, deceptively casual in his strokes and prone to take risks, Elyan was careful and ruminative even in the midst of a match: eyes calculating and each strike well thought out. Although Gwaine’s instinctive movements often saved him, Elyan’s delibracy made him harder to predict.

Still, his eyes tended to betray him now and then. They lingered too long or avoided or brushed over too quickly. Arthur had mentioned to him before to keep his gaze on his opponent’s, and he’d managed to beat Leon impressively fast by this advice. But now, any time their eyes met, guilt arose like a sickly wave in Arthur, and he could only imagine what Elyan felt towards him right about now. He wasn’t sure who looked away first each time, but they didn’t hold eye contact for long. The king detested this. It was cowardly, distrustful -  well, he did trust Elyan with his life, probably always would, but that was a deep bond. The ample camaraderie between them was reduced, as thin and wispy as the clouds above.

A clear aim for his knee, followed by an inconspicuous slash at his foot. Ducking every so often instead of blocking; unexpected backsteps and darting offenses. Elyan was riddled with hints and slights, motions fluid and clean. For every move he revealed, he hid another.

Arthur landed a blow that interrupted Elyan’s dance and, despite his silent vows not to coddle his knights, immediately regretted it. The man let out a grunt and a slight grimace, rolling his shoulder, then reconfigured his expression into a half-committed smile.

As they continued, Gwaine’s words floated back to him: Will you banish me if I say no?

It was just an empty taunt, but was it? Merlin’s rage from last night constricted something in his chest, as desperate as he was to bury thoughts of his manservant altogether. I get it, you could throw me out with a wave of your hand.

Is that what they all thought now? That he was becoming tyrannical? Brushing aside his friends?

Training was supposed to make him feel better. It was supposed to drive away these thoughts as he subjected his body to combat. Instead, Elyan’s slower pace was crowding him to the edge of overwhelmed.

Half of him wanted to lash out again, like he had with Gwaine — this time just to blow off steam, not out of childish anger. But he could hardly take anything out on Elyan. How could he?

The only thing he could think would ground him would be a quick hit. And really, he deserved it.

He caught one of Elyan’s tells, a half conscious moment of eye contact he sometimes did before brandishing his shield as a weapon. Arthur had seen him successfully rough up bandits this way with no preamble; he seemed to forewarn the other knights before indulging in brute force. He was too nice a fighter with his friends. 

Maybe he just needed to see that there would be no hard feelings if he landed a proper blow.

Arthur feigned a distracted movement, slicing aimlessly at Elyan’s feet, and pretended to miss the knight when he reared back. He was exposing himself rawly in the only way he could, and accepted Elyan’s shield as it smashed into his helmet.

The exploding pain in his nose and chin made him question the wisdom of his decision, but it had the immediate, desired effect. The only thing he could think about was the hot liquid dribbling down and spilling into his mouth.

“Arthur!” This time Merlin’s tone was spiked with concern. His manservant was beside him in an instant, before the king even finished lifting off his helmet and tossing it aside. If possible, he might have triumphantly said something about Merlin ‘losing his page’ again, but it was just beyond his scope of ability at the moment. His head was ringing hard enough that he didn’t have to think about how much he liked Merlin’s worried eyes flickering over his face. Perfect.

“I’m so sorry!” Elyan heaved out, panting from the fight. His eyes were even wider than Merlin’s. “I didn’t think-”

“It’s alright, Elyan,” Arthur told him, putting a hand up to halt his apology. “Happens.”

Merlin was not fooled. The concern on his face accommodated his growing suspicion. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

The manservant’s accusatory tone prompted Elyan to start again. “Arthur, I never meant to- I assumed you would-”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said, shaking his head as if to dislodge the ache, but only served to spill more red out of his nose. 

“Alright,” Merlin turned to Elyan, Leon, and the other knights, “training’s over.”

“Excuse me,” Arthur said hotly. “Since when do you end training, Mer lin? It ends when your king says, and I say we aren’t finished!”

Merlin’s voice climbed an octave with incredulity. “You aren’t finished?!” Then it dropped in a deadpan. “Arthur, you look like you just came back from hunting. With your mouth.”

Arthur glowered at him a second more until he spat out a glob of blood to the side, then made a show of rolling his eyes. “You heard Mother Hen,” he announced to his knights. “We’re done for the day.”

As though taking this for an okay , Merlin quickly undid his neckerchief and started dabbing at his face. Arthur tried to swat him away, but Merlin slapped his hands right back. He sighed and let Merlin mop up most of the blood, and for once just listened to him when he handed the king his neckerchief and ordered Arthur to pinch his nose with it.

“It’s just a nosebleed, Merlin.” He meant to sound haughty but it didn't come through as well with his nose plugged.

“Your nose is probably broken ,” Merlin corrected with some irritation; then, “What happened?” he asked again, less heated this time. He started taking off the king’s armor right there in the field as Arthur stood holding his nose. He felt ridiculous.

“I guess I was distracted,” he half sighed.

Merlin fixed Arthur with a scrutinizing look as he tossed the chest plate aside. “Arthur, you’re the best swordsman I know. Nobody could get a hit like that on you unless you were injured or seriously inebriated.”

“I’m the best swordsman you know,” he repeated, flashing a grin, which was again ruined by the cloth pressed to his face. Damn it, he had Merlin’s neckerchief against his nose and he couldn't even smell it. What a waste— 

That invasive thought was quickly chased out of his head.

As he undid the vambrace on Arthur’s unoccupied arm, Merlin eyed him in a way that meant he saw straight through Arthur’s bullshit. At least it wasn’t like last night. “You let him hit you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Arthur still swallowed against an eager denial. Admitting the truth would lead to Merlin asking why he’d let Elyan bust his nose, which dealt with guilt and feelings and every sort of thing Arthur had no intents of discussing. He hesitated too long and Merlin spoke up again.

“Never again.” His voice was quiet, and he removed the vambrace with a gentleness that had been missing these past few days. He shook his head as he fiddled absentmindedly with the bit of armor. “It’s-” Arthur was fascinated by his usually verbose manservant suddenly struggling for words. “There are better ways to deal with your feelings, Arthur,” he finally said.

The king felt a blush coming on and huffed noisily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Merlin pursed his lips, looking like he wanted to say more. Arthur switched hands with the neckerchief and offered his opposite arm to Merlin. Again, he recognized the easy caress of his wrists as Merlin tugged off the second vambrace. Suddenly, a strong urge to feel the warmth of his manservant’s hands was overwhelming — a pitiful, innocent desire, really: for them to settle on his shoulders briefly, casually; for those slightly chapped knuckles to brush against the back of his neck; for the sturdy feel of them on his back as a physical reminder that Merlin had his back , that Arthur could trust him, always could.

Gritting his teeth so hard his nose ached once more, Arthur willed the thoughts away. Merlin was right, never again ; now he was only having even worse thoughts. Triple Goddess, was he really so touch starved that he yearned for his manservant to do his fucking job?

He’d chased away all other contact. The only touching he’d been allowed was Guinevere, and now. . .

That must be it.

And. Well. Was it that crazy to want his friend to make physical contact with him every now and then? Even if it wasn’t horseplay?

Their eyes clashed for just a second, both startled out of their own thoughts. Then Merlin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, sire, you can bleed on my neckerchief inside. C’mon.” He seemed to trace Arthur’s upper arm as he dropped his arm away.

Fuck him. Fuck him for knowing everything Arthur ever needed, and worse, giving it to him. How did Merlin do it?

The man gathered the chestplate, the two vambraces, and the training swords still littering the ground and nodded at Arthur before heading for the armory. He clearly meant for the king to continue up to the castle, but he hovered in the doorway and waited for his manservant anyways.

He was rewarded with a grin Merlin failed to smother. “You’re a sight.”

“Just hurry up,” Arthur grumbled, dropping the fabric to feel a little less absurd. Unfortunately, his nose had not yet become agreeable, and a wet splat announced a fresh splotch of red on the armory floor.

“Hey!” Merlin complained, ducking back momentarily from further within. “I’ll have to clean that up!” 

Arthur grouched a bit more as he repositioned the makeshift gauze and stepped back outside. A stray, thankfully harmless, consideration struck him and found the king trudging back to where they’d been training.

“Arthur?” Merlin appeared seconds after, breastplate tucked under his arm for polishing later.

The king rose from where he retrieved Raemosean Legends , which must hold myths specific to the area in Merica. He held out the book as Merlin reached him. “Don’t forget this.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Merlin said, sounding surprised, but he quickly recovered. “I suppose I can forgive you for making me search for my place later.”

Arthur slapped him gently with the hardcover as they started back for the castle. “You’re full of shit,” he accused, but didn’t press since Merlin let him off earlier. Instead, he tossed the book to flip it with his free hand so that the spine balanced in his palm, and motioned at the dog ears with his thumb. “How do you even know the difference between these?”

Merlin looked affronted. “What do you mean?”

“Do I have to buy you a bookmark, Mer lin?” he sniped. “A fancy gold-encrusted one? It’d keep your novels in much nicer condition.”

“If I wanted a bookmark, a spare bit of parchment would suffice,” Merlin sniffed. “I suppose I’m not as spoiled as you. I don’t really see the need for one.”

Arthur drummed his fingers on the worn cover. “Well, if you’re so attached to your bent pages, who am I to interfere?”

“That’s right,” Merlin said haughtily, stubbornly. Arthur let slip a little chuckle without meaning to and the ‘scowl’ Merlin gave him was such a poor attempt at being mad that the chuckle turned into a full on laugh.

Merlin shoved at him just as they reached the doors of the castle and then darted inside out of Arthur’s reach.

Wrinkling his nose, Arthur dashed after him, whipping the neckerchief to try and hit his manservant. He succeeded after a second flick of his wrist when an offended little cry reached his ears.

“Gah, you prat!” Merlin protested, wiping at a drop of blood on his cheek. “Oh, that’s really nice.” He jammed his fingers in Arthur’s face. “This came from your nose .”

“I’m well aware, Merlin,” he said, indicating the red all over his face. He was satisfied to see a smear still on Merlin’s cheek, tiny droplets shining like wine on his pale exposed neck.

A cleared throat drew him away from another dangerous bloom of thoughts - from seeing his blood on Merlin? gods, what was wrong with him - and they both looked up to see Agravaine.

Dread, Arthur realized. He felt dread now when he saw his uncle. Guilt joined the sinking feeling in his stomach. His only family left, and seeing him brought dread . His uncle was trying to help him, he reminded himself, and although their opinions differed, he shouldn’t be feeling like this upon sight.

At his uncle’s raised brows another realization came to mind: the image he and Merlin made. He had blood all over his nose and mouth, teeth as well if Merlin were to be believed; Merlin’s already red neckerchief stained darker trailing from his fist; his manservant’s dog eared book clasped firmly in hand. His chestplate still wedged under Merlin’s arm; the small but obvious splatters of blood and the swipe of it painted on the tips of his manservant’s middle and index fingers, sank into the grooves of his fingerprints.

Arthur and Merlin, side by side, ridiculous and slightly gorey, holding fragments of the other as always.

“My lord,” Agravaine said, gaze flicking back to the king. “I wanted to speak with you.”

They all let a beat of silence pass. Then Merlin grasped part of his book. “Let me have this,” he murmured without looking up.

For a moment, Arthur’s grip tightened. No way in hell was he letting Merlin run off with Raemosean Legends ; he could tug on it all he wanted, but he would stay by Arthur’s side while Agravaine commenced whatever awful conversation awaited him.

But that was ludicrous. Nonsensical. He loosened his grip and Merlin grabbed hold of it and was gone.

Without meaning to, the king’s gaze dropped to his other hand, where Merlin’s neckerchief was still in his grasp. He focused resolutely on Agravaine while he fingered the fabric. “Alright then,” he sighed, feeling the tightness of dried blood on his face as he spoke. “Let’s find a basin of water on our walk."

Chapter Text

Their tentative amity slid back into sullen tolerance like the tide slipped away from the shore. The only comfort was knowing that eventually, the tide had to return, if at some uncertain point in the future.

Merlin hated it.

Why did the tide have to leave the shore, anyway? Better, why did it crash in at all? What was the point of smashing confidently onto the shore, only to leave behind sharp broken shells and jagged edges of sea glass when it receded? When the tide disappeared, the shore shredded the feet of anything that walked on it. If the tide had never happened at all, the shore could've been soft, sandy indifference instead of aching with the razor sharp pieces embedded in its banks and lashing out at all its surroundings.

And was there really a guarantee that the tide would return?

Ever since Arthur had spoken with Agravaine, this distance grew between them again, and Merlin discovered he could taste his own hatred. Before Camelot, before destiny, Merlin could not remember fostering a deep dislike for anyone. But he hated Agravaine almost as much as Uther; sometimes it felt like he hated him more. Sometimes, just the thought of what Agravaine said to Arthur, what he made Arthur believe — especially about himself — made the beginnings of frustrated tears burn, unshed, hot needles pressing at the back of his eyes.

Arthur was aggravating as ever, acting cold and callous and dismissive. Merlin wanted to relish the time away from the moody king when he was off doing chores or with Gaius. But instead, a near constant anxiety and acute fear weighed heavy in his chest when Arthur was absent, knowing well that no matter what he or Arthur might happen to want, the warlock was his king’s only true guarantee of protection.

The ache of loneliness was harsher in Arthur’s presence, but it was nothing to the wild, fluttering panic, the outright paranoia that plagued him otherwise. 

So, fine.

He was the perfect servant. He only spoke when absolutely necessary and he kept his eyes downcast and he did his chores instead of reading Raemosean Legends . 

Arthur was playing nice, too. He didn’t throw things or snark at Merlin or mess up his room on purpose (if Merlin needed proof that he did, the sudden relative cleanliness was evidence enough.) 

The tension was still between them, but this time it was resigned. These were the way things had to be. King and manservant, nothing more.

This was emphasized when Arthur announced the due party from Nemeth out of nowhere.

“How come I didn’t know any of this?” he snapped, chasing down the king himself. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

“That’s what ‘confidential’ means, Merlin — keeping it from blabbermouths like you.”

“You can’t do this,” he insisted.

“No. You’re right. I can’t,” Arthur started. “Oh, wait a second,” he smiled coldly, “I’m the king, so I can.”

“Surely it’s a little bit-”

“A bit what?”

He hesitated. “. . .Soon?”

Arthur glared back at him. “What do you mean?”

“Um, well-” Merlin broke eye contact.

“You mean Guinevere?”

Merlin’s eyes darted back up.

“I told you not to mention her name again.”

“Which is why I didn’t.”

Arthur gave a small, humorless nodd. “How many times do I have to tell you? Guinevere made her choice. She betrayed me. Now she must take the consequences.”

“But-”

“But what?”

“Nothing,” Merlin snapped, resentment coiling in his stomach. Arthur was being an ass.

“That’s right. Nothing.” The king turned away.

“Except that you still love her,” Merlin called after him down the hall, not a doubt in his mind. He knew he was right. And Merlin wasn’t about to let his best friend marry some other girl, even if she was a princess or a deft political move, because Arthur was too stubborn to admit he was still in love with Gwen.

Arthur paused where he was almost around the corner. Then, he turned back, storming towards the warlock, expression set in stone. He stopped a breath before Merlin’s face.

“You ever say anything like that again, and I swear you’ll join her in exile forever.”

They stared at each other for a moment, but Merlin had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all. Arthur retraced his previous steps, leaving as if neither of them had exchanged a word.

Princess Mithian of Nemeth was breathtaking. She appeared on horseback in crisp, pure white furs reminiscent of a wedding dress.

Yes, breathtaking. A little suffocating.

Arthur couldn’t have asked for a better arranged marriage. Mithian was kind, beautiful, and intelligent. Pleasant to be around. She didn’t even mind when he somehow spilled soup on himself like an idiot, didn’t even fuss; she just gently dabbed his chainmail with her napkin. That would hardly keep it from rusting, but that would be Merlin’s problem later on.

Merlin had been hovering like crazy since the feast began. Since Arthur had gone off on him that afternoon, he had kept away for awhile, but now he was a constant shadow, and Arthur felt his manservant’s eyes on him the whole night. It made it much harder to distract himself. He was trying not to think about anything but Mithian — not the disaster with the map boy found dead, who might have betrayed any of Camelot’s plans, which could make them horribly vulnerable; not the confused emotions he felt when thinking of Gwen; not the guilt of threatening Merlin with exile; not even his imminent marriage with Mithian. Just her presence now, new and refreshing and surprisingly lighthearted compared to everything else occurring.

And she liked hunting too, he discovered. Neither Guinevere nor Merlin could stand it; he almost laughed with amazement that his fiance shared one of his keen interests. What luck. Maybe things were finally looking up. Perhaps his uncle had been right, and marriage to someone of his station, someone who at least partially understood him, would be beneficial in all the important ways.

Although something still tugged at the edge of his heart, he was looking forward to breakfast with her tomorrow.

Mithian was a tinge surprised when her breakfast with Arthur meant Arthur and his manservant, Merlin. After all, she was not bringing along any guards or servants.

Then again, there was something odd between these two. Admittedly, she liked Arthur a lot more than she had expected to, and had enjoyed their conversations last night. When they swapped stories, she often asked about rumors she had heard concerning Arthur from her father and travelers to Nemeth. Arthur willingly shared his stories of grandeur and bravery, with only a little arrogance. Merlin was in all of them.

Arthur talked about Merlin a lot, though Mithian suspected he didn’t notice. Just as he didn’t notice anything odd about bringing Merlin along for their breakfast date. Merlin was perfectly silent and subservient the whole time, though he was clearly unhappy about something, from his very atmosphere if not by expression or action. He let Arthur redirect their setup for the picnic without complaint, so Mithian voiced complaint for him. After all, she’d never thought Arthur meanspirited at all until she saw the way he spoke to Merlin. It was the strangest thing.

Last night, Arthur had sometimes put Merlin down in his stories, but it had always seemed a joke, with more than a hint of fondness in it, and often he credited Merlin for cleverness, or saving his life. And now he was content to let the man sit behind a tree, pretending he didn’t exist.

Otherwise, she enjoyed the picnic with the King of Camelot. Normally, she would not care for someone burping in her face, twice , but Arthur seemed truly apologetic, almost appalled by his own manners, and being able to outdo him and both laughing about it was refreshing. It made her less worried about their marriage, the ability to be open and trusting with him, even about little things.

Her biggest worry now was Merlin.

Being open and trusting or no, she knew she could not voice this concern to Arthur, knew he would find it ridiculous. But she could tell, even if it was subconscious, that Merlin’s opinion mattered deeply to Arthur, and currently, she was not in the manservant’s good graces.

Mithian caught him in the hallway, crossbow hoisted over his shoulder, wearing an exasperated expression that he had kept hidden this morning.

“You’re not a fan of hunting?” she called after him to snag his attention.

Merlin stopped walking and slowly turned to face her. “What sport is it where one side has dogs and spears and crossbows, and the other nothing?” 

His reply was bitter but reasonable. Rather than argue against it, she went on, “You’re not much of a fan of me either, are you?” He blinked, but didn’t deny it, so she went on, “Come on, Merlin. I’d have to be a fool not to notice.” Her eyes dropped, smile fading. 

“Uh, I’m sorry if I’ve caused offense.”

She tried to shrug it off. After all, she didn’t confront him just so he would miraculously change his opinion of her. “I’m sure you have, uh, good reasons.” Mithian had never been the kind of person to need everyone she met to like her, but it still stung to face it sometimes, especially when. . . “One thing I’ve learned since being here is that Arthur values your opinion above almost all others.”

Merlin scoffed, looking away. He seemed to find this funny, and perhaps, untrue.

“Even if he’d be the last person to admit it,” she added, looking at him seriously.

“You can say that again,” Merlin smiled, tone humorous but not completely sarcastic.

“I like him, Merlin,” she admitted, getting to her point. “All I ask is that you give me a chance. Can you do that?”

He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said, then smiled a little, though his expression was still guarded.

“Thank you.” She beamed back at him.

Arthur’s banter today was unwanted.

For one thing, it wasn’t banter, because Merlin couldn’t say anything back in front of Mithian, but really, he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say anymore. Merlin enjoyed their banter because it made it feel like they were equals. It had been made plenty clear to him lately that this was not, in fact, the case.

Maybe he had been pushing it by complaining about the hunt (even though he always did this), but when Arthur told him he’d give him a five minute start, he really wasn’t in the mood. He drifted away from the king’s side, where he usually stayed, and then further from the hunting party. Arthur was always telling him he was more a nuisance than a help during a hunt, anyways.

Ironically, he spotted a deer, not that he planned on telling anybody. He couldn’t care less if they all came back empty handed, even if it did mean no fresh meat. But after staring at the deer for a long moment, his magic thrummed in him strangely, almost as though it recognized something.

He had half a mind to dismiss the thought, but then he looked harder at the deer’s eyes, this time with magic.

When the deer darted away, Merlin froze momentarily in shock. He glanced at a puddle left by last night’s rain just in time to catch her reflection.

“Gwen!” he hissed, taking off after her. Why was she running towards the hunting party? She must be so damn scared —

“Gwen!” he tried again, certainly not wanting to yell with King Touchy in earshot. She had gotten far too close already; the dogs would catch her scent any minute (assuming the enchantment applied to scent as well as appearance — Triple Goddess, what a mess) and even before then the party might be able to hear her crashing through the brush.

He used a bit of magic to make her stumble on a tree root, and for lack of anything less conspicuous, settled for tackling her to the ground. Which, was not his best decision, considering the awful shriek she let out. Immediately, there were shouts, and the party was upon them. Shit, shit, shit.

“Merlin?” Arthur frowned down at him. “What are you- get out of the way!”

Gwen kicked him in the stomach one too many times and escaped his grasp. Though Arthur was staring at him in disbelief, Mithian took aim. “Distracted, my lord?”

Merlin whipped his head around, scrambling to his knees just in time to redirect the arrow, sending into a tree trunk just a breath from where Gwen had stood. Before anyone could take another shot, she had sprung away into the woods.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, both furious and confused. “Did you just tackle that deer with your bare hands and hope for the best?”

The warlock was too busy rubbing his hip. Gwen was awfully boney in deer form, but he had also seemed to land on something else hard. His fingers scrabbled in the dirt until he found what it was. His eyes widened at the engagement bands in his palm. He hadn’t seen a ring anywhere on Gwen as the deer, but it must have come from her.

A shadow fell over him and he tensed, immediately clenching his fist closed. “What have you got there?” Arthur asked him. Merlin hadn’t realized he’d dismounted. 

“Nothing,” he lied, “just a tuft of fur.”

To his surprise, Arthur extended a hand to him. He slipped the ring up his sleeve and accepted the help getting to his feet. “Don’t ever do something stupid like that again,” Arthur snapped. “It’s dangerous.”

“You think the deer would have hurt me?” Merlin retorted before he could check himself.

Arthur shot him a half-lidded look. “I wouldn’t be surprised if any woodland creature bested you, Merlin.”

Merlin almost smiled despite himself until he caught sight of Mithian peering down at them from her horse, curious. He didn’t reply, remaining silent as Arthur got back on his horse and they resumed the hunt. He managed to redirect them from Gwen’s trail with a significant amount of magic, and after chasing Merlin’s decoys for hours, they returned home with nothing.

When it was dark, he returned to the woods to find Gwen, dirty and bruised, but otherwise alright, curled up in a bed of leaves.

She woke to his gentle touch. “Merlin!” she exclaimed, and they embraced, relieved. She explained that Morgana, of course, was responsible for the enchantment; more troubling was the news she brought of Morgana’s plan to attack Camelot by the siege tunnels. She had obtained them by Agravaine.

“Agravaine,” Merlin muttered bitterly. He must have killed the map boy after using him to gain access to the siege tunnel maps. “Come back with me,” he urged. “You have to tell Arthur.”

“No, Merlin,” she told him. “I can never see Arthur again.”

“He wants to see you,” Merlin insisted. Arthur’s sensitivity to the topic was proof enough, no matter what the man said.

“It cannot be,” Gwen said. “Not after I betrayed him.”

“Gwen,” Merlin tried again, “Come back to Camelot. We all miss you. Arthur will come to reason.”

“You don’t think this reasonable?” Gwen asked, clearly feeling guilty, then sighed. “I would love to return to Camelot. But Arthur and I. . .” she hesitated. “We still need space.” Her eyes darted back to Merlin’s. “Please, don’t get in the middle of it, Merlin. I know you’re only trying to help, but it’s not what Arthur nor I need right now.”

Merlin frowned sullenly at this conclusion.

“You go. Tell him of the danger,” Gwen told him.

Before he could argue further, she stood up. “I’ll give Hunith warm wishes for you.”

“Gwen,” he started again, standing as well, but she hugged him, brief and tight, then started off in the opposite direction of Camelot, back towards Ealdor.

He watched her go sadly. It wasn’t until he was almost back at the castle that he remembered the ring in his pocket and cursed.

Arthur was furious. With himself, with Merlin, with the wildlife, he wasn’t sure.

He had calmed down after a hot bath, but remained frustrated by the long and arduous afternoon spent fruitlessly hunting the same damn deer, the one Merlin had attacked like an idiot. His spirits had lightened by spending more time at dinner (embarrassingly, without fresh game, just from the livestock; how did this courting thing keep going so wrong?) with Mithian, who was delightful company and not at all hard on him for the way the hunt had progressed.

“You forget, my lord, you needn’t explain hunting to me,” she shook her head at his apology, smiling a little. “I know a hunt is not always successful. I am just glad for the day spent outdoors, the chance to see Camelot’s wonderful grounds, and to spend time with you.”

She said all the right things, and she made him feel better about it. But why didn’t her words, her smile, make his pulse race?

What a stupid question. This was a political marriage, after all. And he was lucky, so lucky.

At any rate, he enjoyed conversation with Mithian, and his mood fell when they had to part.

It was when they did that a nagging thought at the back of his mind surfaced. On his way back to his rooms, he stopped Leon (Percival had finally fought and won getting a drunk Gwaine out of the main hall, and Elyan — well, nevermind). “Have you seen Merlin?” he demanded.

As far as he could remember, Merlin had disappeared at some point during the feast. He hadn’t even noticed that a different servant had been pouring his drink because he had been doing his best to ignore his manservant (which sounded a lot more childish than it really was when you put it like that-) and Arthur didn’t even remember what Mithian and he had been talking about, just that he had a sudden urge to say something to Merlin right at his elbow, but when he turned, it hadn’t been Merlin at all. Mithian had quickly sucked him back into conversation after that.

Leon frowned. “No, sire. Have you asked Gaius, perhaps?”

Arthur frowned in return. He could never seem to get anything helpful out of the physician. He nodded at Leon and headed towards the physician’s tower, as Gaius had retired from the feast perhaps an hour earlier.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me where Merlin has gotten off to?” he raised a brow at Gaius before the old man could do it to him. Not that this stopped him. The physician remained unimpressed; sporting his own brow, he replied, “Was he not with you at the feast?”

“He must have slipped away some point during. I haven’t seen him.”

“Neither have I.”

Arthur left, frustrated. One of these days, he was going to have to put his foot down. Merlin couldn’t keep disappearing like this, when nobody knew where he was. What if something happened to him? How was Arthur supposed to find him? What if Arthur needed him?

And anyway, his manservant had a job to do, for fuck’s sake.

But as he opened the door to his chambers, Merlin was already there, laying out his night clothes. “How did you-?” He stopped, halfway in, Merlin blinking innocently at him. “Where have you been?” he demanded, the familiarity of the statement making him angrier. 

“Arthur, I need to talk to you,” Merlin had the nerve to say. He set the clothes down with an air of importance.

“You know, that’s great, because I need to talk to you ,” Arthur said. “Which one of us shall go first?”

“I will,” Merlin said without hesitation. “I know-”

“Now wait a minute!” Arthur said incredulously. “That was a trick question, Mer lin. I’m the king. So you just stop and listen to me . Disappearing in the middle of the feast is unacceptable, but your absence in general is astonishing.”

“Arthur,” Merlin tried to interject, but Arthur was not having it. He was done letting Merlin worm his way out of things.

“You simply cannot keep sneaking off. I always-”

“Camelot is in danger!” Merlin exclaimed.

Arthur paused. “What?”

Merlin heaved a breath. “Arthur, I know this will be hard for you to hear but I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think Camelot was in danger. You know that, right?”

“Merlin, what are you talking about?” the king demanded.

“Agravaine is working with Morgana, and he gave her the plans to the siege tunnels.”

Arthur stared at him in disbelief, but Merlin was dead serious. “That’s a ridiculous accusation, Merlin. My uncle would never betray Camelot,” Arthur spat. “How would you know about this, anyway?”

At this, Merlin hesitated. The king scowled at him and his manservant glared back. “Check for them.” Arthur didn’t respond, but his heart galloped faster than a spooked horse. Merlin nodded at him. “The plans. See if they’re still there.”

This is crazy , Arthur told himself. Merlin has to be wrong. There’s no way Agravaine has been working against me all this time. So why did he feel slightly nauseous? Why didn’t he call Merlin a liar or an idiot and continue on his own rant? Why did he turn and walk out the door?

“Please tell Agravaine I need to speak with him immediately,” Arthur told the guard outside his door grimly.

“Of course. Where should I tell him to meet you, sire?”

Merlin was barely a step behind him as they traveled down into the castle’s depths. The battles with the worst odds couldn’t shake him, but the thought that someone else he had trusted so completely, so willingly, had betrayed him. . .He felt the blood rushing in his ears and the way everything else was tuned out, but his own heartbeat, his own breathing, his own footsteps. And Merlin, Merlin beside him.

He reached into the hole with dread, and when his fingers grasped an empty chute, his stomach dropped. Deep down, he’d known it, hadn’t he? Once Merlin had said it to him with such conviction and certainty in his eyes, he’d knew Merlin was—

Wrong. The tip of his middle finger brushed a wooden knob and he tugged it out, unfurling the cloth for Merlin to see. Merlin stared at it, brows furrowed. Arthur didn’t have to stare at it; he could feel it in his own hand. He willed his gaze to burn a hole through his thick manservant’s skull. Merlin could barely meet his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Agravaine arrived just after. Thank the Triple Goddess Arthur hadn’t had a chance to accuse him of anything. “I came as soon as I could, my lord. Is there a problem?”

“No, Uncle, not at all,” Arthur told him, rewinding the scroll to put it away. “ I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“Can we please—” Merlin began.

“One more word out of you, and I swear to God I will send you into exile.”

That shut him up. Arthur was apathetic to the hurt on his face this time. He was fucking livid. 

Why, why couldn’t he trust either of them? His uncle was always telling him he couldn’t have faith in Merlin, and now Merlin was telling him the same about Agravaine. Why were the two people he trusted most in the world trying to make him doubt himself — make him fucking choose?

And what did it say about him? The king of Camelot, grasping at straws in his own court, with his closest allies and friends and confidants. All while his own sister plotted his downfall.

Of course Merlin was wrong. He had to have been. Because what in all the hells would Arthur have done if he were right?

Chapter Text

Avoiding Arthur never seemed to fucking work, so Merlin just stayed quiet. The king distracted himself with Princess Mithian, and it never worked when he interfered there, either, so he just stopped bothering.

They were on another hunt, though this time with a less populous party. Already, some smaller game hung from the horses, a warm up before deer, which Arthur surely had his heart set on to make up for yesterday.

Merlin wondered, vaguely, if he should have let Arthur just banish him. Or maybe, he should have left of his own volition. Perhaps working from the inside had lost its advantage, and he would have better luck taking down Agravaine and Morgana if he didn’t have to hide everything under Arthur’s nose.

Perhaps? — of course he would. But then how would he bring magic back to Camelot?

He watched Arthur smile at Mithian and ground his teeth, turning away. How would he bring magic back to Camelot at all? Arthur hadn’t smiled at him in ages. He hardly thought his manservant a friend. Mithian was full of shit. His opinion meant nothing to Arthur — if it ever did, it didn’t anymore.

When they returned with promise for a great feast, Merlin drew the king’s bath, helped him out of the chainmail, and made himself scarce preparing for said feast for a while. He made sure to return before Arthur could complain to help the man dress, heavens knew he was hopeless at it.

Merlin proved efficient enough that the king, with a spare moment, sat watching him clean up the bath. Which was inconvenient, to say the least. Now he had to do it manually. When he bent over to retrieve one of the rogue towels Arthur had discarded, something flew out of his pocket and rolled away.

“You dropped something,” Arthur said, frowning, and Merlin was just thinking it was uncharacteristic of him to offer to pick it up when he realized why it had grabbed the king’s attention. He darted over to snag it off the ground, but Arthur caught the leather cord it was still attached to. They both froze.

“Let go,” Arthur commanded, voice low. “Let go, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t hide his grimace when he opened his palm to reveal the engagement ring that belonged to Gwen.

Arthur yanked it into his grasp and paced away, mouth parted as he stared at the ring, ran his fingers along it, as if he hadn’t recognized it immediately. Then, he turned back to Merlin. “Where did you get this?”

Merlin hesitated. He would have returned the damn thing to Gwen by now if Arthur hadn’t been breathing down his neck recently. At his lack of response, Arthur paced back towards him as the warlock stood. “Answer me. Where did you get this?”

The warlock’s head scrambled for a lie as he froze up in growing despair.

“You know where she is.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I know where she is,” Merlin snapped, frustrated. “Where do you think she’s been all this time?” He turned away slightly. “She’s back in Ealdor with my mum.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh, I see.” He just kept nodding as he raised the ring for further inspection. “I get it.”

“You get what?” Merlin asked with a worn expression.

“She gave it to you.”

Merlin’s head whipped up. “What? No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Merlin. That must be where you keep sneaking off to,” the king said bitterly. “Why you kept pestering me about it.”

“Arthur, that’s ridiculous,” he cried. “It’s not like that, at all.”

“Isn’t it?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Where else would you be going?”

“I found it in the woods when I was gathering herbs for Gaius,” he redirected. “She must have lost it when she left. I was holding onto it in case I got a chance to visit her and my mother ,” he added, with an emphasis on the latter.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the movement of Arthur’s fingers rubbing the ring now still. 

“Yeah, well.” Arthur tossed the ring away without looking at it again. “I don’t believe you.”

And somehow that, those words, I don’t believe you , they were worse than anything else — worse than the tormented silence, worse than the threats of banishment.

Merlin paused to wipe furiously at his tears before he followed the king down to his feast, ring forgotten beneath the furniture.

“Are you certain nothing’s the matter?” Mithian asked Arthur again. He’d been distant all of dinner, which surprised her, considering how well the hunt had gone, and how impressive the spread was. He hadn’t eaten much, and she’d been carrying the conversation almost single-handedly; it felt like she had engaged more with his knights than the king himself this evening. It would have irritated her if she didn’t suspect something was troubling him.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said to her with a half smile, and the seriousness of the statement offended her.

“I don’t have to, but I do,” Mithian told him, a bit reproachful. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He met her eyes only briefly. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve a bit of a headache, is all.”

She studied him, trying to discern if he was telling the truth, but decided she owed him the benefit of the doubt. “Why didn’t you say so? There’s no reason to sit here and suffer.” He started to give her a look, and she frowned at him. “By all means, don’t do so on my account. I don’t find it impressive.”

Arthur opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but she held up her hand and excused herself. Maybe the king would get over himself and go to bed early if she did so first.

On her way out, she passed Merlin with a jug of wine at the edge of the room. He looked rather miserable. She made the connection and offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “I suppose Arthur can be a challenge when he has a headache?”

“What?” he croaked. His voice was significantly smaller than the last time they’d spoken. Her eyebrows pinched tighter together.

“Did he not mention it to you?”

Merlin’s eyes slid away. “Why would he? He won’t tell me anything.”

Failing to come up with any comforting response, she wished him a good evening and headed toward her room. She suspected it had been a lie after all.

The king got up not long after. There was a tiny throbbing in the back of his head, but it was hardly the most concerning nuisance. He almost wished it would grow bigger and swallow up the thoughts in his head.

He started down the hall after nodding reassuringly at a concerned-looking Leon, and felt the presence behind him before he could even pick out the footsteps from the noises of the feast.

“Merlin.”

“Yeah?”

He stopped, and his manservant stopped as well, a fair distance between them. He started to doubt himself, but then he just said it. “Send George up, will you?”

This was met with a beat of silence, and he wondered if Merlin would protest. If he wanted Merlin to.

“Yes, sire.” And then he was gone.

“Merlin,” Gaius halted his apprentice. “Where are you going this time?”

He paused in the doorway, glancing backwards, but not quite meeting Gaius’s eyes. “I have to watch Agravaine, Gaius.” The physician could see the pain in Merlin’s expression at the next words. “Arthur can’t see any wrong in him, and since you and I are the only ones who know, it is my responsibility to find out as much as I can, and do anything within my power to prevent him and Morgana from succeeding.”

Gaius traced the sloped, tired shoulders of his apprentice, the exhausted lines in his forehead, the dark half circles so heavy they seemed to tip the edges of his eyes downward in a constant sad expression. Merlin caught him staring and finally looked up, and Gaius got the full force of the suffering behind those eyes, suffering this boy shouldn’t have.

Man , the physician corrected himself. Merlin had been a man for a long time; much to Gaius’s chagrin, the destiny placed on his apprentice had quickly matured him.

“Merlin,” he said gently, “maybe you could rest this one night. Get some extra sleep.” Merlin hadn’t quite confided in Gaius what had him so miserable, but the physician could tell there was something beyond the normal daily toll weighing on his apprentice. No, sleep would not solve his issues, but extra rest worked small wonders, and sometimes those small wonders made all the difference.

His apprentice’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to offer Gaius a reassuring smile, but gave up on it before it even began. “If I had kept a closer eye on him, do you think I could have saved Eoghan’s life?”

“Merlin,” Gaius said sternly. “You cannot possibly watch Agravaine’s every move. It is not your fault—”

“But it is, isn’t it, Gaius?” Merlin interrupted, a thin veil of humor lying over the deep anguish in his voice. “I’m the only one who knows about him who can do something about it. People have lost their lives because I knew and did nothing .”

“It is not like that,” Gaius chided, none of them could have known what would have happened to the map boy, but Merlin was already heading back out the door. “Merlin, wait-”

“Sleep well, Gaius,” Merlin murmured back, low enough that the old man almost didn’t catch it. The physician stared after him for a long time, wondering if there was any way he could ease the warlock’s suffering.

Not for the first time, he felt bitter resentment towards the prophecy he’d looked forward to for so long. Magic, brought back to Camelot, bringing the golden age of peace and harmony.

It was different, when the price was watching his nephew being torn from the inside out.

It was hardly surprising to Arthur that he couldn’t sleep again.

He hadn’t been able to drift off for ages now, despite the perpetual exhaustion he felt by the end of the day. Usually, he just lay in bed, staring at the shadows around his room, waiting for sleep to come. That evening, he was staring at the ring he’d stooped under his dresser to find, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, watching it reflect the feeble light in the room, bright against the dark crimson of the bed canopy.

(Oddly, looking at it made him think less about Gwen and more about the conversation he’d had with Merlin. The same words over and over.)

He found he couldn’t fight the restlessness tonight.

Arthur clinked the ring on his nightstand. He swapped his sleeping trousers for slightly better ones and put on shoes, but left his nightshirt as it was. After a moment’s hesitation, he tucked the ring into his pocket, then ducked into the hallway.

The guard looked startled to see him slip out of his room, but the king shook his head dismissively, and anyway, it wasn’t the first — or most suspicious — time he snuck out at an odd hour. It was cool in the hall compared to his bed, and it occurred to him that Mithian’s guards gossiping about his odd behavior could reach her and require some sort of explanation, but he couldn’t make himself care about either thing at the moment.

He didn’t really have a destination in mind, just wandered the halls for a bit, trying to clear his head without being disruptive to anyone else, especially Camelot’s guests. But then he heard footsteps and grew suspicious. It seemed like an odd time for a guard shift change, not to mention the footsteps were light and sneaky, quite unlike the self assured guards. His suspicions were confirmed when he rounded the corner to find no one — whoever it was did not want to be discovered.

Scowling, he inspected several dark doorways before he caught the intruder by the arm and yanked them into the lit hallway. “Merlin!” he exclaimed quietly before he could stop himself.

“Arthur.” Merlin’s relief was apparent for less than a second before the color drained from his face. “What are you doing awake?” he asked half-heartedly.

The king’s gaze hardened. He dropped Merlin’s arm. “I would ask you the same, if I didn’t know you were just going to lie.”

It wasn’t just guilt that shaped Merlin’s face, but also anger. He still refused to look at Arthur after the initial moment of surprise. 

Before Arthur knew what he was doing, he jammed a hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring. “Here. ‘Return it to her,’ if that’s what you’re doing,” he mocked, trying to shove it into Merlin’s hand.

But Merlin refused to take it, pushing Arthur’s hands away from him. “That’s not what I’m doing,” he snapped, with enough honest irritation that Arthur could believe him (gods did he want to believe him—)

“Then what is it you’re doing? Please enlighten me,” Arthur struggled to contain his voice in the quiet. 

At last, Merlin met his gaze with such misery that Arthur couldn’t seem to conjure the apathy he’d felt last time, no matter how he tried. “Merlin,” he murmured before he could stop himself, “tell me something to make me believe you.”

His manservant’s eyes traveled down to their feet, then back up again. “Would you rather that than the truth? Arthur,” he pleaded, “I can’t do both.”

The king paused, stopping to consider where they were. He was an idiot. They were right by Agravaine’s room. His fury rose like a wave. His own anger was mirrored in Merlin’s eyes.

“I thought I made it clear to you,” he growled as Merlin cut him off, “He’s not who you think he is, Arthur—”

Arthur’s voice began to raise again. “Do you not trust my judgement?”

Merlin answered him with a whisper before he could go on. “I saw a raven.”

The king blinked.

“A raven came to Agravaine’s window. I saw it.”

Their eyes both slid to Agravaine’s door.

The last time he’d believed Merlin, he’d been wrong. Agravaine had not stolen the siege tunnel plans; he’d seen it with his own eyes. His uncle had given him no reason to doubt him. So why couldn’t he dismiss Merlin’s words? Why, when he wanted so badly to have full trust in his uncle, would he still listen to Merlin’s doubts?

He glanced back at his manservant to see he was already looking at him, eyes dark and frustrated, and realized. . .

Even after Merlin’s mistake before, even with his sneaking around, even with his possession of Gwen’s ring. . .he had more faith in Merlin than anyone else.

He nodded at Merlin and walked silently but swiftly to Agravaine’s door, heart pounding so hard it dulled everything around him into nothing. He opened the door without knocking, knowing how it would look if he was wrong, knowing the trust he was about to sever whether or not Merlin was correct. Merlin was one step behind him.

Agravaine looked up at him as he threw the door open. He was standing beside the fireplace, fully dressed, with no evidence of having gone to sleep, despite the late hour. “Arthur,” he greeted in surprise. Arthur’s eyes latched to the bit of paper in his hand just before he flicked it into the fire.

He watched as the paper danced above the licking flames in slow motion, the only proof of his uncle’s innocence or guilt. Arthur stared at it as Agravaine started to explain why he was awake, or question why the king had barged in so rudely, when Arthur realized that this was not slow motion, but in fact the paper hovering.

Agravaine caught onto Arthur’s stare, then looked beyond him. “ You !”

Arthur slowly turned to find Merlin had stepped into the room beside him. Arthur’s heart froze, heavy as ice in his chest, as his uncle’s accusations rang out in the distance. Merlin’s eyes were rimmed in gold, a color reflected in the twin tear tracks running away from them.

“He’s a sorcerer, my lord, of course!” Agravaine was yelling, but Arthur couldn’t hear him. He watched as his manservant’s face contorted in torment, eyes narrowed and glassy with tears, but still unable to disguise the golden betrayal.

“The paper, Arthur,” he murmured, tears wetting his trembling lips as he spoke. “Please, take it.”

Arthur’s eyes darted away for only a second to find the small cream slip floating right in front of him. Thoughtlessly, he took it out of the air, gaze already back on Merlin. He barely felt the paper between his thumb and finger, easily forgotten again.

Once he had it in his grasp, Merlin’s eyes returned to blue before they closed and succumbed to the tears.

Chapter Text

Merlin would remember that look of anguished betrayal for the rest of his life.

He had to do it. He had to save Arthur from his uncle before it was too late. He was tired of Arthur pushing him away, of watching Agravaine manipulate the king, of the danger it posed to Camelot all while Merlin sat and let it happen. All he could hope was that the paper held enough evidence of Agravaine’s collusion with Morgana. Because he had just given it all up.

His most closely guarded secret. And Arthur’s trust forever.

“He’s tricking you, my lord,” Agravaine said, stepping closer to them but not quite close enough. Merlin suspected he was too cowardly to get near to the sorcerer. As if range mattered for Merlin’s powers. “He’s twisted the words on the paper to frame me. He’s lied to you all this time.”

The shock was slowly seeping out of Arthur’s face, replaced with rage. It wasn’t like the immediate fury moments ago, when the king had caught him spying on Agravaine, or even the explosive anger when threatening him with banishment. Merlin only had one word for Arthur’s expression focused on him now.

Hatred.

Injustice sizzled in Merlin’s veins. He pushed it down. “What does the paper say?” he asked, voice raw, and it was then he felt the sticky tears beginning to dry on his face.

In a second Arthur had him in a death grip, hand clasped on both neckerchief and the collar of his shirt, tight enough that Merlin had difficulty breathing. “Give me one reason to listen to you. One.”

Merlin struggled to swallow, then gave up. “Because I don’t know what it says,” he choked out, “and I want to know if it was worth it.” If it was incriminating enough. If he’d thrown everything away for nothing.

Arthur stared at him for a moment longer, then uncrumpled the note clasped in his fist. As his eyes swept over it, nothing in his expression changed. He looked back at Merlin blankly and despair seized the warlock.

All that, and Agravaine won.

But then Arthur released him. “It’s from Morgana,” he said simply. 

“He’s a sorcerer!” Agravaine insisted. “The boy has framed me!”

“Guards,” Arthur’s voice was hard, but barely loud enough to be classified as a call. 

“You’re not going to believe him ,” Agravaine’s voice was incredulous, but his pleas met only indifference. As soon as the guards arrived, Arthur nodded at them.

“Take them both to the dungeons.”

Merlin’s heart sank, as if he didn’t know this was coming. Still, he felt his frustration, so carefully kept, overflowing as fury of his own. “You don’t have anything to say to me?” he demanded past the scratchiness in his throat.

The king turned around as the guards apprehended them both. Agravaine was out the door at another nod, but Merlin remained, letting the guard clamp his wrists behind his back without resistance as he and Arthur stared at each other.

“You’ve had magic all this time,” Arthur stated. His face remained blank. “You’ve lied to me since the day we met.” Though he was waiting for an answer, they weren’t questions.

“You don’t even care for an explanation?” Merlin pressed. After everything he had sacrificed. All he had suffered. All for Camelot and her king.

Arthur turned away; if that wasn’t indication enough for the guard, he waved a hand as well. “I don’t want one.”

Merlin’s blood boiled; he had to stop his magic from lashing out. “Fuck you, Arthur Pendragon!” he yelled, crying again as he was dragged away, more out of frustration and anger this time. “Everything I did was for you!”

It occurred to Merlin, as he was thrown into a cell, that this was always how it was going to turn out. Arthur would never forgive him for keeping a secret like that. If Merlin had any hope for them staying friends, he would have had to keep that part of himself hidden for the rest of their lives. Arthur didn’t care why Merlin did it, or how much pain it caused Merlin to lie to him, or what Merlin had done for Camelot. Arthur was always ready to take his anger out on Merlin, to place the blame on him. Why would this be any different.

He wasn’t in the dungeon for more than a half hour before footsteps echoed down the hall. They stopped beside his cell, but even then he paid them no attention.

“Why are you still here?” Arthur sneered.

Merlin eyed him lazily from his seat on the ground. “What do you mean?”

“Agravaine says you need magic cuffs to be restrained,” Arthur said, gaze sweeping over Merlin as if he was a stranger. “That you’re dangerous, and could escape.”

So he had spoken to Agravaine first. Big surprise there. “I could,” Merlin agreed, and said nothing else.

“Why don’t you?” Arthur gritted out, even madder that Merlin had forced him to ask.

“I guess I’m waiting to see what you’ll do,” he said casually, then looked Arthur right in the eye. “The law says you’ll have to kill me.”

“It does,” Arthur agreed, and said nothing else.

They were both quiet for a long moment. Merlin let his gaze fall to the stone he sat on, then purposefully began to pick at the grout, as if this were more interesting to him. It was so silent that the scratch of his nail was audible. The king broke first. “What did you mean, before?”

“When?”

“When you said everything you did was for me. What did you mean?”

Merlin glanced up. Was this it? His opportunity to explain himself? To try and change Arthur’s mind, after the man had already tossed him behind bars? The warlock surveyed the king’s expression, mostly blank, but he could swear he could see it—

( Hatred )

“I won’t bother wasting your time,” he said with a bitter edge of humor. “It’s not like you’d believe me.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?!” Arthur was back to yelling. “Don’t you get it, Merlin? I trusted you . More than anyone else. Only to find out after all this time that you’ve been a sorcerer under my nose—”

“Warlock,” Merlin corrected impassively.

Arthur stared at him. “What?”

“Nevermind,” he muttered. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

He succeeded in flaring the king’s temper further. “I deserve an explanation from you!”

“I thought you didn’t want one.” Merlin was starting to fail at projecting the bored tone into his voice.

“I changed my mind.”

The warlock laughed at that. “Did you? You don’t even know what you want. But I do.”

Arthur was livid. “ You do?”

“You want me to tell you I’ve been plotting against you,” Merlin suggested darkly. “To give you reasons to hate me. You sure as hell don’t want the truth.”

“How would you have any idea what I want?!” Arthur snapped. “I want the truth, I just don’t know if you’re capable of giving it to me.”

“Yeah?” An impossible, mirthless grin split Merlin’s mouth. “The truth? You’re nothing without me. My destiny was to guide you every step of the way.”

“You’re lying,” Arthur interjected, but he looked uncertain.

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me,” Merlin told him. “Kill me. See how long you last.”

His words hung in the quiet.

“I don’t need you,” Arthur scoffed. “I could execute you tomorrow morning.”

The emptiness in the king’s voice made Merlin’s blood run cold. How had they gotten so fucked up? Even Arthur’s threats of banishment had felt like an overstatement. But his lack of tone, the way he said it without emotion, like Merlin’s life were arbitrary, made this much more real.

Merlin refused to lose his composure. Fuck Arthur. “Then do it.”

“Kill you?” Now his voice was laced with indignance. Fuck him.

“I’d rather die than spend one more day serving you,” he spat.

Arthur slammed on the bars with enough force to make them rattle. “You better be fucking gone by morning!” he yelled. “If I find you here, I’ll do it.”

Every inch of Merlin was numb. “Ready the pyre, Pendragon.” He originally meant to say it with sarcasm, but it came out tonelessly.

He waited until the king had stormed off before starting to cry.

Chapter Text

Arthur slammed the door to his chambers with no consideration to the other residents of the castle. It was possible everyone had already heard his shouting match with Merlin all the way from the dungeon, anyway. 

He leaned back against the wood and sank to the floor right there, head in his hands, and used the last shred of his dignity to keep from screaming in frustration.

Merlin. Merlin had magic. 

And now he was sitting in the dungeon. And Arthur had just told him he was going to kill him.

First Morgana, then Gwen, then his uncle, and finally, Merlin. He couldn’t trust any of them. His father was right, after all. He couldn’t trust anyone.

So this was what it was like to be king.

He didn’t know how long he just gave up on it all and cried, back to the door, his father’s scolding against tears faint in his memory. It was strange; he had known a time before Gwen and Agravaine and Merlin, but he’d never felt more alone now. Perhaps because now he knew what it was like to have support, and then lost everyone in quick succession.

He kept trying to figure out how it had happened. How he’d said it

( I could execute you tomorrow morning )

without feeling to someone he’d known for so long, someone he’d risked his life for, someone who’d risked his life for him. How the person he’d trusted the most had been right

( He’s not who you think he is, Arthur— )

while lying to him this whole time

( You sure as hell don’t want the truth )

and had it all been a lie? All of it? A lie when

( I’m happy to be your servant till the day I die )

they were friends, and all that mattered was keeping the other alive, staying by the other’s side? Was it possible

( I’d rather die than spend one more day serving you )

that he could forgive Merlin?

( I trusted you. More than anyone else )

That Merlin

( Everything I did was for you )

could forgive

( Ready the pyre, Pendragon )

him?

A knock on the door startled a gasp from the king and he realized suddenly that his face was pressed against the frigid stone floor, his tears mixed with cold sweat. He held his breath as if to prevent the person behind the door from hearing him. It was like he was nine again and his father had caught him crying; he’d managed to silence himself, but had been unable to stop the quivers in his muscles and gave his hiding place behind the curtain away. Even now he was shivering against the stone. He couldn’t remember lying down.

Pathetic.

“Sire, Princess Mithian is requesting to speak with you.”

Leon. Arthur inhaled quietly but shakily, then cleared his throat. Forcing himself to his feet, he looked at the candle keeping time approaching the next mark rapidly. “Tell her I’ll be in the meeting hall within the hour.”

“Yes, sire.” Leon’s footsteps retreated rapidly with his words.

So Mithian, at least, had woken up to the commotion. Arthur grimaced as he walked over to the washing basin to clean the tears from his face. He didn’t bother combing his hair, just ran his fingers through it a bit, changed out of his nightshirt, then went down to face the uncomfortable conversation waiting for him. 

The Princess of Nemeth was as put together as ever; only a stray hair or two and her concerned expression betrayed that anything had disturbed her. “My lord,” she said, standing as soon as she saw him.

Arthur tried to offer her a smile as he motioned for her to sit back down. “Princess Mithian. I’m afraid I have bad news.” He watched her frown, waiting for her to recline before he sat down across from her. Some of her guards stood off to the wall behind her, but other than those and some from Camelot, they were alone. No one else sat at the table beside them.

She pursued her lips against whatever she might have been planning to say and nodded for him to continue.

He took a breath, then looked her straight in the eye. She deserved that much at least. “I have reason to believe you are no longer safe here. I need you to return to Nemeth immediately for your own sake.”

Her eyes widened at the news, but otherwise, she lost no composure. “What has happened?”

“I learned that Morgana has plans for an invasion,” he said. There was clearly a hole in this explanation, considering all the shouting she had likely heard from Agravaine’s room, but he could still hear his father’s scolding about revealing weakness. Traitors in court was a big one. Though he had felt comfortable around Mithian these past few days, he no longer had interest in opening up to anyone at the moment, let alone about what a fool he had been in trusting those he did. “It is safest for you to leave sooner rather than later.”

“I understand,” she replied. “I will express to my father the need to postpone our wedding plans.”

When she tried to meet his eyes with this statement, he looked away. Silence settled on them for a long moment. “I don’t think we should continue with these plans,” he said quietly. Arthur looked at her then. “Forgive me, princess.”

She stared at him in shock for a moment. “I am not certain how much recent events have influenced you, but I assure you, there will not be issue with wait—”

It was impolite to cut her off, but there was no need to let her go on when he had made his decision. “My apologies, princess. I have given significant thought to the matter before reaching this conclusion. For this reason, I offer you and your descendants all the disputed land of Gedref.”

Her shock had eased to confusion. “You would give up your ancient claims?”

“I have no desire for war,” he replied, “or to grieve you any more than I already have.”

She studied him for a long moment, and he added, “I will have my scribes draw up the terms after we finish speaking. If they are to your satisfaction, I will sign and finalize the agreement before your leave.”

She looked at him coldly. He hadn’t seen this expression on her the whole visit. “And if I refuse?”

If she refused, he’d be fighting on two fronts. If she refused, his kingdom, his people would suffer due to his own selfish reasons. But how could he marry Mithian? It would hardly be fair to her. She’d already expressed her disapproval for his silence yesterday, for keeping himself closed off. That was all he saw in this marriage. In any marriage. A lack of trust and communication.

It’d be better for everyone, including the king himself, if he remained solitary.

“It’s all I can offer.” He paused. “I do so most humbly.”

Mithian stared at him for another long moment. “Tell me,” she said wryly, “Who is it that trumps a princess?”

He thought briefly of the ring still sitting in his pocket, but though he missed Guinevere, perhaps regretted her exile after all, he couldn’t see marrying her any more than he could Mithian. There was a sort of numb ache when he thought of her. Maybe he didn’t have any more room in his heart after his closest friend had ripped it to shreds.

“No one,” he admitted gently.

“No one,” she scoffed a little, not quite believing him and more than a bit miffed. “Then tell me what changed.”

He shook his head. It wasn’t Mithian’s fault at all, but he didn’t know how to express that without it coming across as superficial. “Nothing,” he said, then, “and everything.”

Mithian was clearly unsatisfied with this answer, but she did not press him anymore. “Have your scribes write the agreement,” she said tonelessly. He nodded, trying not to make his relief apparent. He made to get up, but she spoke before he could rise.

“A word of advice, Arthur,” she remarked, gaze drifting across the grain of the wooden table. “Just because a person isn’t perfect doesn’t mean you have to push them away.”

“Princess,” he intoned, but before he could assure her that he found no flaw in her she rose from the table, acting as if she had not heard him.

“I will see you about the agreement before I leave.” She departed down the hallway with her guards trailing behind her.

Arthur took a beat to compose himself, then stood as well, turning to find one of his knights. “Leon,” he instructed. “Tell a few of the knights to assist the Nemeth party in preparation for their departure. Have the others prepare rations, gather weapons, and set a guard to sweep the siege tunnels. The threat of invasion is not immediate, but still a very real concern.”

“Yes, sire,” Leon nodded at him and took swiftly to the hall.

The king headed for the stairwell leading to the scribes’ quarters. It was still the middle of the night. He’d have to wake them in order to have them draw up the terms.

All the while Mithian’s words echoed in his head, a price almost as heavy as giving up the lands of Gedref.

The guards must have had orders to keep visitors from the dungeons, but Gaius was not so easily deterred. After scolding them like children that he didn’t give a damn what orders they had, he was going to see his apprentice whether they liked it or not, what was an old man like him going to do, anyway? he proceeded down the stairs with an air of importance.

The physician had always been proud of his abilities to heal without magic. He was also proud of his abilities of getting his way with a stern tone and a raise of the eyebrow.

If Agravaine muttered an unkind word to him as he passed, Gaius did not hear it. He stopped with relief before the cell holding his apprentice, who appeared unharmed. He hadn’t known what to expect with all the shouting that had been relayed to him through gossip.

“Merlin, my boy,” he said sadly. “What happened?”

The warlock was twisting something in his hands. It looked like an expensive bracelet. “Do you think I could have kept it hidden from him? Forever?”

Gaius sighed. “You were always going to have to tell him at some point.”

Merlin’s voice remained toneless. “And he was always going to hate me for it.”

“Merlin-”

“And now, he’s going to kill me.” He scraped out the last two words, head falling back against the wall and looking up at the cobwebbed ceiling.

“I don’t think Arthur would hurt you,” Gaius told his apprentice. He would have thought Merlin was just using it as a hyperbole if his voice hadn’t broken on kill .

The warlock’s next words were softer. “You didn’t see how angry he was, Gaius.” He spoke with a bit more volume, but wobbly. “You didn’t hear what he said.”

The physician studied his apprentice, trying to determine if Merlin was exaggerating. “What did he say?”

Merlin drew his eyes from the ceiling and looked straight at Gaius. “He told me if he found me here still by morning, he’d execute me.”

Gaius was about to tell him there was no way Arthur would go through with it, but then he thought back to when the king was still a prince and he’d learned that his father had used magic so that Ygraine could bear him a son. Arthur had been so livid over the death of his mother, whom he had never even met, that he nearly killed Uther. He would have, had Merlin not stepped in to convince him otherwise.

Perhaps he would do it, in a fit of rage. And who else here would stand up against him, to calm him down?

“Merlin,” Gaius said carefully, “Maybe it would be best if you left for a few days. Gave Arthur a chance to cool off. He’s brash when he’s angry; I’m certain—”

“No,” Merlin interrupted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As much as Gaius did not want to believe Arthur was capable of executing his closest friend, he was deeply worried for Merlin’s safety. It irked him that his apprentice was so quick to reject his advice. “Why not?”

“Because I am done, Gaius.” Merlin stated, spreading his hands. “I’m done hiding from Arthur. I’ve done nothing but my best to help him. He’s going to have to live with who I am, or live with putting me to death.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said sharply. “Don’t talk like that.” The warlock’s face crumpled and suddenly the physician regretted how harshly he had spoken. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he assured his apprentice.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Merlin composed himself once more. “I’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me, Gaius,” he said genuinely, “but this is between Arthur and I. Don’t interfere.” He looked away. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

He refused to say much else after that, only repeating the same sentiment when Gaius tried to ask him what exactly had happened. Finally, the physician left, only to run into Elyan.

“Gaius,” the knight said with surprise. “Arthur was going to ask you to stock up on medical supplies in case of an invasion, but we all assumed you were still asleep.” 

“It seems most of the castle is awake, anyway,” Gaius said wryly. “Being an old man gives me no excuse.”

Elyan chuckled a bit, but it did little to smooth his worried brow. “If you’re awake, Merlin must be, too,” he smiled. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him.”

Gaius considered the knight for a moment. If he told Elyan the truth, what would he think? Would he spread the news to the other knights? Would they speak out on Merlin’s behalf?

But this was Elyan, who had watched his own sister’s banishment and still stood by Arthur’s side. The knights of Camelot were loyal to the end. And what was their word worth when Merlin had deceived them all?

“I’m not sure,” Gaius replied. “Perhaps you should ask Arthur.”

Elyan’s smile grew more hesitant, though he nodded. “Maybe. He seems very preoccupied at the moment.”

Gaius nodded back. “Well. I had better work on inventorying my stores for injuries.”

“Great. I’ll let Arthur know if I see him,” Elyan said. 

Gaius allowed the knight to pass him by before starting down the hallway himself. He hesitated at the end of the hall, wondering if he should look for Arthur right now to speak with him about Merlin. To tell the king that he’d known all along, and to recount some of the many things Merlin had done and sacrificed for Camelot.

But then he thought that perhaps now was not the best time to bring it up. If what Merlin had said was true about Arthur’s anger, he still needed time to cool off. Gaius’s interception now could possibly make it worse.

Resigned, he returned to his tower to make good on what he’d promised Elyan.

“Ran into Gaius,” Elyan said as he entered the main hall where most of the other Knights of the Round Table were. Gwaine and Leon were sitting for an impromptu, pre-dawn breakfast (almost certainly nicked from the kitchen without the cook’s knowledge). He frowned at Gwaine. “I thought you were helping the Nemeth party?”

Gwaine reached for the butter. “I was ,” he raised his eyebrows in an innocent expression as Leon began to laugh silently. “But it seemed the Princess Mithian was not fond of my charms.”

“You didn’t,” Elyan said, eyes wide. “Right after Arthur broke off the engagement.”

Leon’s laughter became audible as Gwaine paused, knife in hand, searching for words to defend himself. “Tasteless,” Elyan muttered as he sat across from the man, Leon at the head of the table on his right.

“She looked like she needed some cheering up,” he protested as he continued to spread butter on his roll. “It’s not my fault everyone perceives all that falls from my mouth to be flirtatious. Comes with the good looks.”

“Comes with too many hits on the head,” Leon countered, looking Gwaine up and down. He was still smiling.

“Yes, half from you and half from Arthur in sword training,” Gwaine scoffed, leaning across the table, then wrapped his hands around Leon’s face and batted his eyelashes. “You’ve made me this way, Leon.” His voice was clearly meant to be seductive.

Leon rolled his eyes and pushed him away. “Good thing Percival isn’t here.”

Elyan blinked at that. Gwaine’s advances towards the other knight were fairly obvious, but they walked the line between sport and serious. When Leon acknowledged things like that aloud, even in jest, they were usually set in stone. Like when the four of them went drinking shortly after Gwen’s banishment, when Arthur had been running them hard and everything was miserable. Leon, after too many rounds of mead, had empathized with Elyan about Gwen, and added offhandedly that Arthur already had a wife that he treated poorly and didn’t deserve another anyway. Gwaine held his liquor fairly well, but at several drinks ahead, he’d needed Leon to elaborate. Once he got the joke, the knight had laughed so hard he snorted out snot, which would have been disgusting if they weren’t all so drunk.

“I’m attracted to jealousy, actually,” Gwaine mused with a wide grin.

“Yes, well, there’s little you’re not attracted to,” Leon said good naturedly, about to pop a few grapes in his mouth. He nodded at Elyan first. “You were saying something before all of this, right?”

“I spoke with Gaius. He’s working on medical supplies.”

Gwaine leaned forward, looming over the table. “Any news on Merlin?”

“Nope. Said he doesn’t know where he is.”

“That’s nothing new,” Leon commented. He put down the bunch of grapes in favor of some cheese. “Merlin’s always disappearing. We never hear the end of it.”

Elyan nodded and Gwaine sighed, slumping back in his chair.

“How long’s Percival on siege tunnel guard?” Elyan asked, taking a roll for himself. “Did he get to eat anything?”

“Tucked away three rolls and most of the meat before he was gone,” Gwaine whined. Elyan snickered, despite knowing this would only encourage his friend’s antics.

“Feel a bit guilty since he’s actually doing something.”

“I assumed Arthur would call a formal meeting with us all soon,” said Leon, “but perhaps he’s waiting until more of the council awakes?”

“Those old farts’ll sleep through anything,” grumbled Gwaine, moving on to an apple. “Where is princess, anyways?”

The knights all looked at each other, but none of them had an answer.

Chapter Text

The warlock woke to a patch of gentle, barred sunlight across his feet. He had drifted off slumped against the back wall of his cell, the bracelet he’d found in the corner just barely in his relaxed grasp. He remembered no dreams. A small mercy.

He fingered the engravings with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other, gaze sliding over the morning light, traveling up the bars of his cell, and freezing on a set of eyes peering back at him.

Merlin didn’t jump, but his jaw clenched so hard containing his surprise that his teeth ached. He’d been about to swallow, but his throat got stuck for the moment as he took in a weathered Arthur Pendragon, sitting opposite him on the other side of the bars. The king’s eyes had a red tint of exhaustion, and he looked anything but royal reclined in the shadows of his dungeon: no crown, no armor, no sword.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence. Merlin found himself wanting to ask how long Arthur had been there. Instead, he cleared his throat a little to try and rid the rasp before half-heartedly taunting, “You didn’t have to wait with me all night for my execution, my lord.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Merlin,” Arthur snapped before the warlock even finished enunciating the title. He swiped a hand down his face. “I never should have said that.”

If it was an apology, it was a pretty shitty one. “Waiting for me to disappear, then?” he suggested.

Arthur glared back at him; Merlin wasn’t quite sure if that was a yes or a no. He held the glare, remaining frozen and impassive for as long as he could until he had to shift because damn if his back wasn’t killing him staying in that position so long.

“Wait!”

This time, Merlin did jump; he just caught Arthur’s panicked expression before it closed off in embarrassment, and the king leaned back again, clearing his throat. Merlin resumed readjusting his position, watching the other carefully. I’m not going to , he almost said, but Arthur didn’t really deserve any more promises from him.

“Why are you still here?” It was nothing like the last time Arthur had asked. His expression was much harder to read this time, voice uncertain instead of demanding. Then, it even took on a different meaning: “Why would you stay here at all?”

Merlin was contemplating a response when Arthur stood; the cracking of his joints suggested it had been awhile since he sat down. “Let’s get out of here,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Let’s go back to my chambers.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Merlin demanded, his own joints protesting as he stood. Arthur stared at him expectantly as the warlock placed a hand on the cell door.

He studied Arthur, trying to determine what the man was playing at. Wondering if this was a test. The king’s gaze dropped to his hand and then rose to his eyes again and stayed.

Holding eye contact, Merlin let the magic flow through his hand without a word, and the door slowly scraped open. He dropped his hand but otherwise remained motionless, willingly contained in his cell as he had been all along.

And then Arthur was stepping around the door as it moved, not bothering to look at the display of magic, just the gold that surely glowed back at him. Suddenly Merlin wanted to run after all; after telling himself he wasn’t going to hide from Arthur no matter what, he was searching the man’s expression for his reaction. For any hint of what he was feeling.

“Merlin, I can get over your magic,” Arthur murmured, a breath away. “But you lied to me. Over and over. Every day.” He started to reach a hand out to the warlock’s shoulder.

Can . Not even will . Merlin gripped the king’s wrist to stop him. “You know why? You know why I lied?” His voice betrayed him. He was going to cry. He shook Arthur’s wrist to give the emphasis his voice could not. “Because you would have killed me.”

The furrows in the king’s brow deepened. “I never should have said that,” he echoed. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry. Hey. Merlin, look at me,” he urged as the warlock’s head ducked to hide his tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Well I’m not!” Merlin half sobbed. He let go of Arthur in favor of pointing at him. “I wanted to tell you. Over and over. Every day. And I couldn’t . Don’t act like you don’t know why.” He was furious with himself for crying, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He swiped at his eyes with the hand not clasping the bracelet.

“Surely you could have told me a long time ago,” Arthur interjected. “I thought I could always count on you to be honest with me. That I knew you like you knew me. I was wrong,” he said bitterly. “It was all a lie.”

“How does my magic make everything a lie?” Merlin snapped past his sniffles. “All these years mean nothing to you now?”

There was a pause. “You’re my best friend, Merlin,” Arthur admitted. “And I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

Merlin turned away. “You want to know who I am? I’m your manservant who uses magic to keep you safe. To help Camelot. That’s it.”

“‘That’s it’?” scoffed Arthur.

“Yeah, the short version. I wouldn’t know where to start with the long one,” he mumbled.

“Try the beginning.”

Merlin glanced back at Arthur, incredulous. 

“The day we met,” Arthur suggested, expectant.

“What do you mean?” Merlin frowned. “What do you want to know?”

Arthur looked at him as if he were stupid. “Everything.”

The warlock stared for long enough that the king added, “But get out of the damn cell already, would you?” He backed up to allow him room.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “The cell you put me in?”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You’re an ass,” Merlin said, but he stepped out of the cell.

“I’m still your king, Merlin.” Arthur’s attempt to be stern failed miserably.

“I’m still the only thing keeping you from dying,” Merlin shot back as they started for the stairs, side by side. “What are you going to do about Morgana?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Arthur grumbled, then, “Stop changing the subject.”

“Arthur, listen to me.”

They both swiveled to see Agravaine, who had stood up upon seeing them. His face was haggard and desperate. It scared Merlin, how much he despised this man, how it gladdened him to see the advisor behind bars. He shifted uncomfortably at Arthur’s side, somehow feeling both indignant, justified as the one outside of the cell, and insecure as if Agravaine could still manipulate his nephew and change Arthur’s mind.

To his relief, Arthur did not seem to care to stop and listen after all. He was on the second step before he froze at the man’s next words: “He’s enchanting you, Arthur. I know you know deep down you cannot trust him.”

The king turned around and went back to the cell. Merlin watched silently, his pulse suddenly thrumming with worry.

“Unlike you, Uncle, Merlin earned my trust. He might have lied, but he’s been a greater friend and ally to me and to Camelot than you have before I even knew you betrayed me.” Arthur’s voice was calm, but still radiated an edge of anger: “Do not speak to me of him ever again.”

Merlin blinked in shock, watching Agravaine’s face close off in cowardice and worry for his life — whether from Arthur or Morgana was uncertain. Merlin suspected the latter.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Merlin startled a bit when Agravaine’s attention turned to him. “You’ve been Emrys all along.”

Ice spread through the warlock’s stomach at these words, even if Agravaine was locked away, even if Morgana had no way of contacting him. Another secret, gone.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur said, already halfway up the stairs. Merlin turned away from Agravaine without replying. He never wanted to see the man again.

Shivering, the warlock followed his king out of the cool, unpleasantly damp air of the dungeon. He’d spent the night there more than once before, but this time it felt different. . . like rising from the grave. In his pale skin, he felt like a ghost beside Arthur. A vengeful spirit haunting his murderer. As he walked down the hall, Arthur glanced behind him every so often to make sure Merlin was still drifting after him. More than once, Merlin wondered what he would do if he disappeared. How he would feel.

They both startled when Gwaine caught them. “Well if it isn’t Princess and Merlin! About time you both showed up — but gods if you don’t look awful-”

A few steps behind was Elyan. “We were just looking for you,” he began, his face transforming similarly to Gwaine’s once he got a real look at them. “Are you two alright?”

Leon showed up last, a bit out of breath. “There you are, sire. Merlin.” He nodded at them both, wearing a concerned expression, but had enough grace not to make a big deal out of their disheveled appearances. 

Merlin slid a questioning look at Arthur. He hadn’t told them. 

“Do you want me to wake up the rest of the council? I know it’s still early, but in the case of an emergency-” Leon started.

“That can wait,” Arthur interrupted. The gravelly edge to his voice took the authoritative tone down a notch. Then he turned and continued on his way without further explanation.

Merlin remained amidst the knights for a moment, desiring them as a barrier from further conversation with Arthur, but also struck by how easily Arthur could denounce him to all their friends. After a second’s hesitation, he followed again, dreading more looks of betrayal and hatred from people that meant so much to him.

“Where are you going?” demanded Gwaine. “What’s going on, princess?”

“That’s not your concern,” Arthur snapped. “If I remember correctly, Sir Gwaine , you should be assisting the Nemeth party right now. But if that doesn’t suit you, I’m sure there’s plenty of other work for you three.” He didn’t deign to describe that work, just kept walking.

In Arthur’s chambers, Merlin felt wrong-footed. Somehow, the indifference, the confidence, the power he’d had last night and earlier in the dungeon had dissipated. He was still furious with Arthur, but now it was mixing with that ever-constant desire to please the man, to glean some sort of appreciation or affection from him. And Merlin hated himself for it.

“What are you doing? Sit down,” Arthur said when Merlin started for the pitcher without thinking. Arthur got it himself and poured them both a cup of wine as Merlin sat.

“I want water, Arthur,” Merlin croaked, a bit accusingly.

The king blinked at him, as if just realizing that Merlin hadn’t seen water since before two screaming matches and many more tears. “Right.” He watched as the man went for a different pitcher and filled another glass. Merlin pretended not to notice as Arthur’s steady hands of a swordsman spilled water over the sides.

“Thank you,” the warlock murmured, accepting the slippery cup and downing most of it immediately. He didn’t miss Arthur’s look of shame and Arthur didn’t try to hide it.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Merlin asked, drawing the king’s gaze upward. 

Arthur swirled his goblet of wine but didn’t drink any of it yet. “I don’t know. It didn’t really cross my mind. I needed time to think.” Something must’ve changed in the warlock’s face at this, because Arthur grew placating. “Merlin, it was wrong of me-”

Maybe Merlin should have been grateful to hear Arthur apologize. Arthur, stubborn, arrogant, and proud, hardly admitted he was wrong. But something about it was too bittersweet for Merlin to swallow. Instead, he pressed the bracelet he still had into Arthur’s hand over the table, stopping him midsentence.

“What is this?” Arthur asked, turning it over, brow furrowing as he tried to place it.

“It’s enchanted,” Merlin said. “That much I can tell.” He stared at Arthur, daring. “Who was in that cell before me?”

Arthur looked away and that was all the confirmation Merlin needed.

“Go ahead,” Arthur said darkly after a moment. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“‘I told you so.’ ‘I was right.’ ‘You were wrong.’ Go ahead and pick.”

Weary, Merlin sipped the rest of his water. “Morgana’s made a fool of me, too. And Agravaine.”

“But how long did you know? And let me make a fool of myself?”

“How was I supposed to tell you?!” Merlin snapped before Arthur slammed both his hands on the table.

“Damn it! I’m not mad at you, Merlin!” the king yelled. His voice cracked. “I’m angry at myself!”

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, then poured himself more water. “It’s not your fault.”

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. “How can you say that?” He dropped his head into his hands. “You’ve tried to tell me before. This is all my fault.”

Sometimes, Merlin had been tempted to think the same thing. He’d been so frustrated with Arthur every time he listened to his father, to his uncle. But Arthur’d always been caught in a web of expectations and indoctrination, lies and half truths, circumstances and perspectives. 

Maybe Arthur should’ve been mad at Merlin. Wasn’t it his destiny to guide the king on the right path? What a shit job he’d been doing.

“Arthur, this isn’t on you.” He couldn’t seem to achieve a comforting tone with how exhausted he was. “It’s hard because you didn’t know the whole story. But now I can tell you anything,” he said, unable to withhold physically flinching. There was plenty he’d love to keep secret. To try and forget. But he was being honest, finally. He would tell Arthur anything he wanted to know. 

Maybe if Arthur forgave him, he could finally find salvation.

He could finally forgive himself.

“The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth,” Arthur repeated, trying desperately to wrap his head around every piece of information. He kept coming back to this one.

They were on the carpet in front of the dying fire. The curtains were all drawn, letting Arthur pretend it was still early morning and not midday, with many duties awaiting his attention.

Merlin scowled at him. “I didn’t come up with it. I’m just quoting Kilgharrah.”

Arthur just stared at him. On the base level, he was still in complete denial — his idiotic manservant, not only a warlock, but the warlock? And yet on another, distant level, somehow it made sense. Merlin’s wisdom. The invisible burden that weighed him down heavier and heavier ever since they met. His quiet strength and sorrow.

“Alright. Let’s see it, then.”

“What?”

Arthur waved a hand. “Some magic.”

Merlin frowned again, looking more tired by the second. His expression made Arthur regret asking a little. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, anything.” He thought about all the stories he’d just heard. About performing magic unconsciously, commanding dragons, surviving a serket sting, powerful forces of nature and brute strength that Arthur had never imagined. 

The warlock’s brows drew together. He cupped his hands together and Arthur watched intensely as Merlin whispered a few words, eyes glowing gold. He opened his hands.

A little blue butterfly danced in front of them before landing in Arthur’s hair. Merlin was giving him that look, the one that meant he thought Arthur was going to say something shitty to him. But then his expression changed, concerned. “Arthur?”

The king realized his eyes were full of tears.

As far as Arthur knew, Merlin could do anything. Make it snow inside. Set the curtains on fire. Change him into a toad. Level the whole fucking castle. But how did the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth display his magic to the king?

The butterfly, humble but beautiful, alighted again, hovering between them a moment. It sailed around the room a bit before settling on the carpet beside them. New life from whispered words.

The most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. Of course it was Merlin. Who else could it be?

“I don’t understand why you did it,” Arthur murmured, it being quite the understatement, “or why you stayed, but I’m glad you did, Merlin.” He reached out to clasp Merlin’s wrist, but the warlock recoiled a bit and he stopped.

He had an unspeakable debt to Merlin, and so far he’d repaid it with scathing remarks and condescension. He retreated guiltily, Merlin’s clear rejection weighing heavier in the silence than Arthur’s grateful words. He was startled when Merlin spoke.

“I do this,” he began, voice just above a whisper, “because of who you are. Without you, Camelot’s nothing.”

Arthur smiled bitterly. “I used to think that,” he said, referring to his days as a proud prince who saw the best in himself. He’d hoped he had changed for the better, but he no longer saw himself in such a unique, singular way. Merlin was the one who had taught him that, after all; he was a little surprised that the warlock’s statement wasn’t edged with a comment about not letting things go to his head. Maybe it was a test. “There are many who could fill the crown.” He spoke meaningfully, looking at Merlin. He’d never admit it, but it had occurred to him before that Merlin would be a good king. Wise, caring Merlin. Magical Merlin. Did Arthur still think so, now that he knew?

Merlin wasn’t looking at him when he spoke. In the afternoon light escaping around the curtains, his eyes appeared shiny. “There will never be another like you, Arthur.”

The king didn’t know what to say. He never did when Merlin paid him these chilling, sincere compliments, ones that made his blood run hot and cold at the same time.

“I also do this,” the warlock continued after a long pause, as if he had debated whether or not to say it at all. Still mid sentence, he waited as if unsure he should continue, till he finished at once, quickly but with each word articulated: “because you’re my friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”

With that, he rose up from the carpet, joints cracking again. His rather ominous words rang in Arthur’s head as he sat up straighter, hand landing on top of Merlin’s foot where it joined at the ankle. “Wait, where are you going?”

Arthur didn’t miss the way Merlin stepped out of his reach. Feeling humiliated and stupid, he resolved not to touch the man again. It was clearly unwelcome. “We have work to do, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was soft and tired again, like it had been for much of their conversation. 

“No, I have work to do,” the king mused, rubbing a hand down his face before he pushed himself to standing. “You should rest.” He was surprised by the resentful look Merlin was giving him.

“Right.” The warlock grabbed his boots quickly and headed for the door.

“Merlin,” Arthur called, agitated and confused. “What-”

“You always do this,” he said, spinning around, but not moving any closer. His hand not gripping his boots danced in angry gestures. “I just spent several hours telling you everything I’ve ever done and you still think you have to do this alone.” He looked straight at Arthur, eyes pinched with frustration. “Is it so hard to see me as anything but a servant?”

“I’ve never seen you that way,” Arthur snapped before realizing the meaning. His frustration blanked for a moment, as did Merlin’s anger.

Arthur took advantage of the relapse. “I just thought you could use the rest. You’re always welcome by my side, Merlin.” In the beat of silence after he spoke, words hanging in the air, he considered how it sounded, how Merlin would hear it: pompous, arrogant. He added, with less certainty, “That is, if you want to.”

Merlin nodded, though his expression remained hard. “You’re an idiot if you think a lack of an invitation will stop me,” he said gruffly as he knelt to put on his boots.

A smile split the king’s face and he let it. He felt heat spread through his chest as he looked at the blessing he didn’t deserve fumbling with his shoes; a man who showed constant devotion despite how many times Arthur fucked up, fucked him over. The ache of his failure to secure Merlin’s trust tried to press against the feeling, but it didn’t prevail; gods, he was just so happy Merlin was still here. Here with him.

He reached out a hand for Merlin to help him up before remembering that he was supposed to be avoiding contact. But Merlin accepted, strength and determination in his grip, the callouses and shape of his hand familiar and yet unfamiliar as of late.

“I suppose you want help putting yours on, sire?” the warlock said, raising a brow as he glanced down at the king’s socked feet.

Arthur’s face was hot, from the comment, probably. He let go of Merlin’s hand. “I’m quite capable, thank you.”

Merlin’s face scrunched up. “That’s not a word I’d use to describe you.”

He was (ridiculously) pleased that their banter had resumed. For this reason, his reply was a bit late. “It’s far too underwhelming, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Merlin agreed, headed for the door once again. “Do you think ignorant is strong enough?”

Arthur froze, all the warmth from a moment ago dissipating. He felt the warlock meant this to be a much more pointed dig.

Luckily, he didn’t have to attempt a response. Merlin was already gone.