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Arthur was, to his dismay, disgustingly besotted. The worst part was he liked it.
He'd long ago realized his model for a loving relationship wasn't as admirable as he thought it was when he was younger. Uther's grief twisted his love for Igraine into a sharp, brittle weapon wielded without any sense of conscience. Arthur's own love and loyalty ran deep and fierce, too, but he strove for compassion where his father chose ruthlessness, mercy in place of Uther's self-righteous decrees. Arthur knew what it looked like when he loved and cared but only in a broad sense: a love for the land and its people.
What he didn't know until recently was all of the dormant spaces inside of him that bloomed and stretched towards being in love.
A month ago Merlin had won their snowball fight and proceeded to take a bath in Arthur's room and fall asleep in Arthur's bed. In the months prior, Arthur had thought frequently about how to cajole Merlin along with him to everything, and about kissing him senseless when Merlin was very annoying, or smiling, or said something funny or stupid, or did something thoughtless or thoughtful. Pretty much at any opportunity. There was no one single thing; Arthur just liked him, all of him, all the time, even when he was angry or irritated.
It had only been imaginings, though, instincts he'd vaguely strategized around, impulses he had resisted or given in to almost on a whim. He approached it the way he tested a friendly opponent's footwork and fighting style: what happens if I advance here, retreat there, feint, parry, step back, circle around, rush forward?
The issue was Merlin didn't abide by the same rules Arthur had learned or instated upon himself. Arthur felt confident he knew Merlin thoroughly. He could predict how Merlin would react to almost anything, knew how to goad him and even, sometimes, how to calm him. And yet Merlin continued to surprise him, continued to cause Arthur to be surprised at himself.
He hadn't slept particularly well with Merlin in his bed. Apparently when in a bed larger than a cot, Merlin tossed about like a tree in a storm. He took too many blankets then got too hot and kicked them off. At one point Merlin sat bolt upright so suddenly that Arthur automatically grabbed the dagger on his bed-stand, disoriented but alert, and whispered, “What, what is it?”
Merlin stared so intently Arthur actually got up to check. Merlin didn't seem to notice him leaving or climbing back into bed.
“There's nothing. Go back to sleep.” Arthur tried to keep his voice soothing. He knew they both suffered nightmares. Merlin didn't answer, just stared eerily, which was when Arthur realized Merlin was still asleep.
“Oh my god,” Arthur said, then shoved Merlin down easily and rolled over so he wouldn't have to see the highly unnerving image of Merlin staring at the bed canopy.
Arthur had started to drift off when Merlin said, “The hunting dog emerges from behind the silk curtain.”
Arthur refused to believe Merlin was doing this. He ignored him, hoping Merlin would either wake himself up or quiet down. He nearly jumped when he felt Merlin's hand grip his shoulder.
“The future as I have seen it,” Merlin said, his voice low, the sensation it caused in Arthur entirely at odds with the utter creepiness of the statement.
That was apparently all Merlin had to say. Over the next twenty minutes Arthur tried to will himself unconscious as Merlin's hand slipped slowly off his shoulder, trailing warmth with it.
In the morning, Arthur woke first and early. He sat up and dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. They felt gritty and dry. His mind was blurry with exhaustion. It was all Merlin's fault. Why should Arthur be the only one up at dawn after a sleepless night? He turned to berate Merlin awake and was immediately overcome by the sight: Merlin's mouth was half open in deep sleep, hair tousled on the pillow, more than his fair share of blankets tangled around his legs, and a slight frown creased his brow as morning light filtered through the window. Arthur's irritation evaporated. In it's wake an incredible fondness rushed through him.
That's it, Arthur thought, I've lost. He sort of wanted to cry. There had been no sudden realization this whole time. There had only been the gentle slope of escalation between them. He was so distracted keeping up with what was happening, chasing the high of Merlin's attention, he didn't stop to think about what it all meant. Before Arthur had really understood, here he was, completely and thoroughly at the top, or entrenched, or whatever—the metaphor fell apart as he watched the easy rise and fall of Merlin's chest, breathing deeply in what was finally a restful sleep.
Arthur had fallen for him entirely and there was no way out but onward.
The alarming clarity he experienced that morning loosened something inside of him. He just didn't know what to do with it all yet. If he was honest with himself, he had a fair idea of where Merlin stood, though he wasn't absolutely sure. Not that he misread anything, but...this was something they were building together. He didn't know the full shape of it.
He needed time to figure out a plan. In the meanwhile, he'd carry on with Merlin how they'd always been.
The temptation to not escalate was difficult to resist. As the short winter days grew longer, Arthur was hard pressed to find a reason why he shouldn't encourage whatever was going to eventually happen between them to hurry up and happen.
“What are you scheming?” Arthur asked, eyes narrowed. He'd come into his room only to pass Gwen hustling out. She'd given him a quick, deferential nod of her head, trying to hide her broad smile.
“Scheming?” Merlin asked, voice an octave too high. As if he hadn't jumped up and mindlessly grabbed a stray rag the second Arthur came in.
“You know what I mean. Why was Guinevere here?”
Arthur was surprised to find he wasn't jealous. He knew Merlin and Gwen were only friends and he was glad for it. He had seen Gwen's loneliness without her father, and Merlin's bouts of quiet whenever he missed Hunith. He didn't know how to bridge that for either of them, or if it was even possible. Merlin and Gwen were fulfilled by each other in a way he couldn't access, and that was okay, that was good, he wanted them to be able to rely on each other.
Merlin tossed the rag he had picked up back onto the table.
“Nothing,” Merlin said as he shoved a pile of clothes by the bed into a different corner with his foot, something Arthur was pretty sure was against a servant's code of conduct.
“Merlin,” Arthur warned. He wasn't actually impatient, he just liked to play it up a bit.
“You wouldn't understand, you're too...” Merlin waved his hand as he fetched fresh pillowcases from a stack by the armoire.
Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the bed post. “What the hell does that mean? I'm too what?”
“You know, you're too high up, or well-mannered, too royal or whatever. I can't think of the word.”
“Tell me—that's an order.” Arthur said it knowing Merlin would dig his heels in.
“We were talking about last night's potatoes, they were quite nice,” Merlin said blandly.
Arthur took a moment to watch Merlin's deft fingers shake various pillows out of their cases and tug on the bedclothes. Merlin had, he realized, been teasing him for months now—testing boundaries, pushing then retreating while beckoning Arthur to follow. Why not give a little back?
“Did you know,” he drawled, “you talk in your sleep.”
Merlin fumbled the pillow he was changing. “You're lying, I do not.”
Merlin didn't even sound convinced. He sounded nervous. Perfect. Arthur put on a fake thoughtful look. “You do, and you say the most interesting things.”
“What—I don't!”
Arthur grinned. He conceded generously, turning on his heel to rummage about his desk for the scrolls he came for. They hadn't actually talked about the night Merlin spent in his bed and he didn't want to push too far. “Of course, I must have imagined it.”
Merlin threw a pillow which Arthur caught easily with one hand and tossed back, a little too hard. Merlin caught it heavily with both hands and clutched it to his chest, like some offended maiden in those torrid romance books he thinks Arthur doesn't know he reads.
“Fine,” Merlin said, laundry forgotten, “What do you want?”
Arthur looked at him. “What were you and Gwen talking about? I'm not going to clean up after you if you're thinking of getting into something foolish.”
Merlin considered him for a moment. A familiar frission buzzed between them. Arthur refused to look away first. He decided it was time to go on the attack. Merlin's gaze dropped and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“It was going to be a surprise but since you're so intent on ruining it: tomorrow afternoon, you're meant to go over spring supplies with the stable master, right?”
Arthur nodded, suspicious.
The corner of Merlin's mouth tilted up. “I faked your schedule, there's no meeting with the stable master!” Merlin sounded very proud of himself for committing a crime. “You don't have a single spare hour in the next few weeks, you're going to be a tyrant before winter's end if you don't take a break sometimes. You already boss me around enough. So, we're going ice skating. I asked Gwen if she could find an extra pair of skates—she sharpened them and everything. You're going to be terrible at it. It'll be good for you.” Merlin was absolutely gleeful at the prospect.
Arthur did his best to temper the rush of delight that flooded through him. He turned away a little, pretending to sift through the books on his desk. The confidence he held a moment ago transformed into pleased embarrassment.
“I don't see how you plan to acquire skills like balance and grace by tomorrow but if you want to try I won't stop you.”
“Is that a yes?” Merlin asked, unabashedly eager.
Arthur gave in and stopped messing about his desk. He couldn't even remember what he needed in the first place.
He tried to look stern. “Seems I don't have much choice, since you falsified a royal meeting.”
Merlin beamed. “You won't regret it! I'll teach you. I think the freeze will break soon, we've got to go this week or it'll be too risky. Gwen and I skated last winter, and a few times earlier this year. I've taught Will and some kids from Ealdor, you have to keep your ankles from going inward is the main thing—”
Merlin wandered back to the linens as he chattered about skating technique. He stripped the bed as he launched into a story about a year when he and Will nearly died breaking through a thin patch in the ice. He abruptly cut himself off when he started talking about how he somehow rescued them.
“What then?” Arthur asked. He had settled into a chair by the window and watched Merlin tidy, feeling soft and comfortable, a little bemused, a little amazed that it felt possible to be so content.
“Oh,” Merlin said, eyes darting about a little. He adjusted the laundry basket. “Nothing. I got us out and we were both feverish for three days. Why are you staring at me?”
This was one of the moments Arthur had recently realized presented a choice. He could say, I was waiting for you to be quiet so I could get some work done. Or...or he could say something else.
He shrugged, arms folded casually over his chest, legs extended and relaxed, feet crossed at the ankle. He had regained his confidence from before and quickly struck the opening.
“No reason. Haven't seen you all morning.”
Merlin flushed. It was very appealing. It was also very gratifying to have Merlin be the one out of his depth this time.
“I've, um, got to drop this off,” Merlin said and hustled out the door. Arthur stood and stretched his legs, incredibly pleased with himself. Go on the offense, indeed. It was almost too easy.
His plan to regain some semblance of control over their interactions didn't account for the fact that Merlin was very, very good at skating.
Merlin had only done a few lazy loops around the frozen pond and already Arthur could tell he hadn't exaggerated his skill at all. Arthur, meanwhile, sat on a cold log tugging at the straps which hooked the skates to his boots. He couldn't figure out how to fit the skates onto his boots without the straps immediately coming loose. The distracting sight of Merlin effortlessly gliding over the ice didn't help. His long legs leaned into a turn, his shoulders tilted with it, his hands tucked primly behind him. Merlin tilted his head back, the pale flash of his throat peeking over the dove-grey scarf Arthur had let him borrow and purposely forgotten about. Arthur watched for another minute as Merlin looped once more around the pond. When Merlin slid easily to a stop in front of Arthur, he seemed more relaxed, like how he got when he and Arthur went out to fly a hawk.
“Do you need help?” Merlin asked knowing full well what the answer was.
Arthur scoffed. “Obviously. What are you making me wait for?”
Merlin had the gall to raise an eyebrow at him, mischievous, the tips of his ears red in the cold.
“You didn't seem to mind watching.” Maybe Merlin's ears weren't only red from the cold. Cute, Arthur thought. That was cute.
Arthur felt a spark of elation. Well. If that's how Merlin wanted this to go, Arthur would keep up this time. He was way more charming than Merlin anyway. If Merlin wanted to start competitive flirting, Arthur would show him who was better.
He ignored Merlin's comment, not confirming it but not denying it either. He stuck his foot out imperiously, skate half-dangling. “Come on, then. This was your idea.”
Merlin unlaced his own skates from his boots before tromping over to kneel in front of Arthur. He supported Arthur's ankle with one hand and propped Arthur's foot onto his thigh. They'd done something similar hundreds if not a thousand times before, nearly every morning and evening when Merlin helped him with his boots or armor. He had become excellent with armor and inversely terrible at helping him dress. Merlin was always a little distracted, talking at Arthur as he tugged Arthur's boots on too hard, jamming Arthur's shoulder into a doublet. His hands always flitted about until he tossed them into the air and told Arthur he could finish dressing himself.
This was different. He held Arthur's ankle with firm care as he slipped the skate onto the sole of Arthur's boot with his other hand. Arthur had worn shorter, lighter boots today. Before Merlin let go of Arthur's ankle to use both hands to tie up the laces, Arthur felt Merlin's forefinger slip beneath the top edge of his boot to press below the swell of his calf muscle. It reminded him vividly of when the same muscle had seized up during Merlin's bath a month ago. Merlin had gently kneaded the muscle until it calmed and then—then he had sat there, between Arthur's legs draped over the lip of the bath, sleepy and serene.
Arthur let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Merlin kept his focus on the skates but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. He deftly tied the laces of the skate to Arthur's boot, then did the same for Arthur's other foot, forgoing any more teasing touches.
“Alright then, up. It'll be hard to walk on the ground, so hold onto my arms. And go slow when we get to the ice, you've got to get your balance first.”
Merlin grasped his wrists, so Arthur did the same to him. They wobbled the few steps to the pond. Arthur kept his eyes on his feet the whole time, determined to take to skating the same way he took to anything else: assured he would master it quickly.
He stepped onto the ice and his leg immediately flew out from under him. Merlin gripped his arm hard enough to bruise and caught him around the waist, yanking him upright so Arthur's head knocked into Merlin's chin.
“Ouch,” Merlin complained, his warm breath puffing against Arthur's hair. “I thought I told you to take it slow!”
Arthur was startled from having slipped so suddenly, and further dazed by being caught just as quickly. It was a reversal from their time scaling icy steps at the beginning of winter. Merlin was fast and his hands were strong. Arthur wasn't used to being the one caught. It was yet another surprise to find, like every other liberty Merlin had taken so far, he liked it. Maybe not all the time, he never wanted to feel truly helpless. But, on occasion, such as now, his heart beating fast from the adrenaline of the near-fall, held too tight yet secure by Merlin's arm around his waist—it made his stomach swoop.
Merlin steadied him back into standing though this time when he took Arthur's wrists it was to guide Arthur's hands to his shoulders and drop them there. Merlin's own hands settled on Arthur's hips, pushing a bit to get Arthur to shift his weight.
Arthur couldn't help but glance down at Merlin's hands then back up, eyebrow raised as he gave Merlin a shrewd look. “Getting rather familiar with the royal person, are we?”
Merlin childishly blew a sharp breath right into Arthur's eyes, making him blink. “It'll be easier this way, trust me.”
Arthur blew a sharp breath right back, which Merlin ducked slightly to avoid. It fluffed his hair instead, a few strands caught sticking up.
“Hey,” Merlin said, trying to catch his eye. It wasn't hard. Arthur was always drawn to look at him. “Can you do that? Let me lead?”
Arthur's hands tightened involuntarily on Merlin's shoulders. Merlin asked lightly but it was a serious question, so Arthur paused to consider it. Like being caught, he wasn't used to following others. Merlin could let go suddenly, or push him off balance, or any number of things. Even as Arthur thought that, he knew how ridiculous it was. Of course Merlin could dump him on the ice—he very well might, and laugh himself sick about it. But then he'd reach out a hand, fully aware Arthur would pull him down too, or he'd apologize and promise to make it up to him if Arthur was really upset. The point was: Merlin was far from malicious and Arthur, against everything his father taught him about vulnerability and strength, trusted Merlin entirely.
He looked at the screen of dark, leafless trees over Merlin's shoulder, dusted in snow, stray birdsong weaving through. He nodded, gaze flicking back to Merlin right as Merlin gave him a delighted, wide grin and said, “Brilliant,” then somehow started skating backwards from a complete standstill. Arthur hadn't expected that and let out an undignified yelp, his grip tightening even more.
They were moving hilariously slowly, Merlin's feet gliding in a sort of “S” pattern.
“Arthur, eyes on me, you don't need to look down, it'll make you fall. And ease up—you're fine, don't glare at me!”
It was true, he was fine. Merlin did all the work. He tugged Arthur forward by the hips so he slid easily over the ice and shifted his stance to accommodate Arthur's ungainly attempts to anchor himself.
“Why don't you close your eyes. Right now you only need to focus on finding your own balance.”
Arthur complied and was surprised by how much more suddenly rose around him. He could feel the slight inconsistencies in the ice as his skates moved over the surface, how his knees strained to leverage against what felt like nothing. His body echoed every minor adjustment Merlin made. Arthur straightened his back, leaned forward to re-center his line of balance, loosened his tight grip on Merlin's shoulders.
“There you go,” he heard Merlin say, his voice closer than before. They started moving a little faster and he let his knees bend. His ankles kept wanting to turn inward and his feet wanted to join together. He angled his foot the barest amount to keep his legs far enough apart to be steady, but the ice grabbed his movement quickly and he nearly fell again, the sensation made worse by his closed eyes.
“Merlin,” he growled, not actually mad, only shaken.
“It's okay, you're okay, I've got you! Not too bad, you recovered quickly. If you, here, tilt to the left, it feels like you favor your right leg so it's throwing things off. Not too much and you'll have to eventually go back to center.”
Arthur took a deep breath and did what Merlin said. He could feel it, now, the way his body tried to overcorrect everything. Another minute and he noticed Merlin's hands on his hips made fewer adjustments, his hold lighter. He wanted to open his eyes and ask for the next step but Merlin beat him to it as if he could read Arthur's mind.
“Not yet, keep your eyes closed. We're about to go around one end of the pond so there's a curve. All I want you to do is mirror me, weight to your right side.”
Merlin's voice was very very close and got even closer when he pulled Arthur towards him as they went around the curve. It was so distracting that Arthur didn't pay any attention to consciously shifting his weight to match Merlin's.
It only took a few seconds before they were gliding more or less in a straight line again.
“Ugh, I knew it,” Merlin said.
“What?” Arthur frowned. Should he open his eyes? He was used to the darkness now. It had a been a long time since he practiced any swordwork blindfolded. After getting through the initial disorientation it was a relief to let his other senses take over.
“You're actually good at this,” Merlin said, betrayed. “You know how many times I fell when my mother taught me? Maybe I'm a better tutor.”
Arthur basked under the praise. It was rare Merlin complimented him about anything. Even though Arthur knew he was more than capable in many regards, hearing Merlin say it made him feel warm all over.
“I'm sure Hunith was an excellent teacher, and far more patient than you deserved,” Arthur said smugly. The image of tiny Merlin being coaxed onto the ice by Hunith's gentle yet firm guidance was unbearably precious and strangely bittersweet.
He could hear the smile in Merlin's voice when he said, “You're right, she was the best. Don't be so smug, or at least try to hide it better. Okay. Think you can try pushing yourself forward?”
Arthur nodded. Merlin talked him through it well enough but Arthur was hesitant.
“I want to open my eyes,” Arthur said, a little demanding.
“Um, not yet. I mean, keep them closed for this first one, then you can open them.”
When Arthur strung all of Merlin's instructions together and finally pushed off, the burst of smooth speed made Merlin laugh and Arthur suck in a thrilled breath.
“Like that!” Merlin cheered, despite his earlier grousing about how Arthur was too adept at all this. “Again, with the other foot, same thing.”
Arthur did it again, and again, propelling them the length of the pond. Merlin handled the increased pace with ease and let Arthur dictate their momentum.
“Curve coming up,” Merlin said, “want me to take it?”
Arthur answered with a cocky grin and a quick stride, whipping them around the pond's edge, gratified by Merlin's yelp of, “Arthur! Too fast!”
They came out of the turn like an arrow, Arthur laughing with no clue how to stem their wild momentum but not really caring as Merlin cursed him rudely and worked to slow them down.
Merlin managed to bring them to a stop. Arthur bumped into him lightly, letting his head thunk down onto Merlin's shoulder as he laughed, the cold clean air burning his throat.
“You're lucky I didn't let you fly off into the woods!” Merlin shouted, but he was half-laughing too.
It made Arthur laugh into Merlin's shoulder even harder. He remembered the icy steps again and how, once more, their positions were reversed. Back then, Merlin had pathetically dropped his forehead onto Arthur's shoulder, exhausted from slipping on the stairs. Now, Merlin patiently held Arthur upright as Arthur calmed down, the giddiness from skating so fast fading to burn pleasantly through his whole body.
Arthur tipped his head back to the sky, eyes still closed. He took a deep breath and let it out noisily. “Ah, I haven't had that much fun in ages. You sounded so ridiculous.”
“Alright, very funny,” Merlin chided, then moved his hands from Arthur's hips to circle about his waist, much like he did when he caught Arthur earlier, except neither of them had slipped at all so it was more of a....it was a loose hug? Arthur's brain blanked out.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, voice low, still laced with chastising amusement, close enough Arthur could feel his breath fan warmly over his cheeks and mouth.
All of Arthur's mind came back at once, clamoring and hyperaware of how Merlin had his arms wrapped around his waist, how Arthur's hands had somehow become clasped together around Merlin's neck, the crook of his elbows resting on Merlin's shoulders. Their legs weren't tangled but their stomachs were nearly touching. They had at least five layers between them but he could feel Merlin breathing against him.
Oh god. Merlin was going to kiss him. He felt certain of it. He always thought it might be him who took the last step, who crossed the final scant distance between them. His plan to be an incorrigible, outlandish flirt until Merlin was an incoherent mess had, once more, been ruined. Distantly he was annoyed Merlin was better at flirting than he was. He braced himself for the moment, teetering on the edge of it in some sort of joyous, torturous anticipation.
“What?” Arthur said, trying to act normal. He cringed inwardly at his own voice, out of breath from laughing and definitely with an edge of whining.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Oh. Of course. He'd gotten so used to it he'd forgotten they were still closed.
Everything was too bright and washed out for a moment—the snow, the ice, the sky.
A churning disappointment sunk into him. Merlin had missed the moment, on purpose. Otherwise he would have kissed Arthur when Arthur's eyes were still closed, when he and Merlin were still....ugh! What was Arthur doing! Pining away—he could take charge too!
He blinked a few times and colors resolved, first as Merlin's dark, wind-tousled hair, then his eyes, winter-blue and kind, always with something flighty, held back, restrained.
“Hi,” Arthur said stupidly. It turned out Arthur was nothing more than a lovesick, beauty-stricken fool.
“Hello,” Merlin said, red-cheeked and smiling, “do you want to try skating on your own?”
The moment slipped past, water through his fingers.
Arthur pulled away. “If I could handle that curve with my eyes closed, I'll be fine,” he said. Only a little petulant.
Merlin let him go, but not too far, watching carefully as Arthur stood on his own for the first time.
“Lower your arms, then push off,” Merlin said.
Arthur rolled his eyes but did as he was told. It was an alarming sensation which quickly became easier to control. Soon his actions took on a level of practiced fluidity. Merlin deemed him good enough to leave unattended and circled away to skate wide loops and spins. The petulant mood that stemmed from his disappointment at Merlin not kissing him (and what a bizarre thing to think, Arthur was well and truly done for) faded fast. It was too hard to stay annoyed when the uncomplicated joy of gliding over the ice quietly filled his mind.
He startled when Merlin skated up next to him, took the hand that Arthur still had outstretched for balance, and spun Arthur easily to face him, both of them coming to a gentle stop.
“We should head back, you have the council meeting soon,” Merlin said. Arthur had lost track of time and it had been blissful.
“Oh? Are you sure you didn't falsify that one as well?”
“Ah,” Merlin said, a little sheepish but hardly chastised, “This humble servant doesn't know what you mean, my lord.”
Merlin still held onto his hand and made no move to let go.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You're hardly humble, you know.”
Merlin swung his hand slightly, playful. “Does this mean you're done sulking?”
Arthur dropped his mock glare in genuine confusion. “What? When? I wasn't sulking.”
“You absolutely were, it was very pitiable. It looked like you enjoyed skating, though. I was right, wasn't I? You liked it?”
Suddenly Arthur knew Merlin had noticed his disappointment after—when they hadn't—when he'd gone to skate on his own. Against his will he felt his neck and face grow hot with embarrassment. He was weirdly happy for Merlin to have noticed, mortified he'd been so transparent, and feeling dumb for being mortified because isn't this what he wanted, in a way?
“It was fine,” he answered shortly.
“Oh my god,” Merlin said, “you are still sulking!”
Before Arthur could admit to it, or defend himself, or decide which stance he wanted to take at all, Merlin pulled sharply on his hand, and Arthur slid right into him, caught in a tight, one-armed embrace. They both drifted a few inches on the ice. His face was smooshed into Merlin's scarf, and Merlin shook with silent laughter against him.
“Arthur,” he said, full of fond exasperation, “what am I going to do with you.”
Then Merlin pressed a lingering kiss behind and below his ear, right where the hinge of his jaw was and his hair curled. Soft and simple. Arthur heard him sigh, then Merlin dropped the arm holding him and leaned back to look at Arthur's face.
Arthur was stunned. Do something you idiot! He yelled at himself. Stop gaping!
“When did you get taller than me?” Arthur blurted out. He could hit himself. He could sink below the ice and be frozen for a thousand years.
Merlin blinked but answered without pause. “I've always been taller than you. You never noticed?”
“I—you slouch. Bad posture. And. I'm cold.” It hardly made sense but Arthur fell short of processing the most benign kiss in the world that somehow still turned him to mush.
Merlin, to his credit, wasn't phased. He rarely was, Arthur realized, but usually Merlin was the one changing topics every minute and spouting nonsense.
“Come on,” he said, showing Arthur a level of mercy he only ever did when Arthur was either very sick or overtired from a day holding open court. “We'll have barely enough time to get you some mulled wine before the council.”
When Merlin was helping him change into a set of dry boots back at the castle, some of Arthur's coherency returned. The warm wine didn't hurt either.
“No need to look so pleased with yourself,” he groused.
Merlin looked up at him, utterly unrepentant, relentlessly affectionate. “I disagree, sire. There seems to be every reason.”
He shoved Merlin's stomach with his foot. Next time, Arthur vowed, he would be the one turning Merlin incoherent.