Work Text:
Every night, Merlin visits him.
Even after the magic ban has been lifted, even after he’s been appointed Court Sorcerer of Camelot, even after the worlds shifted on its axis for better (somewhere Merlin never thought he would cross), old habits do die hard. And even though he might be the member of the Court, he still brings the king his favorite meals, helps him get ready, and sometimes even draws a bath for him.
It’s familiar. Even if Camelot is diving head first into a new and golden age, it’s still change. And sometimes change, for Merlin, can be overwhelming.
Especially when the world is riding atop his shoulders at any given time in the day.
Visiting Arthur is familiar, comfort, and secure. The anchor during stormy seas.
It goes like this:
After Gaius turns in for the night, Merlin heads out, stopping by the kitchens to grab a tray for Arthur. There he meets Arthur’s new servant—a broody teenager—who is always grateful for the many free nights Merlin gives them every night.
“You’re putting my servant out of work,” Arthur always says the minute Merlin steps into his room. And Merlin would either scoff, roll his eyes, or both.
“You always complain about him and he away complains about you. I’m doing you both a favor.”
Merlin places the tray in front of Arthur, taking the seat adjacent to him. He relaxes into the chair, remnants of the day and his role as Court Sorcerer drifting away, ready to come back the next day full force.
“Thank you,” Arthur says in almost a whisper, a voice opposite of a powerful and commandeering king. Maybe Merlin’s not the only one letting go for tonight.
Merlin watches Arthur eat, watching the way the light from the candles bounces off his face, casting him in a warm glow.
Even at the dead of night, he shines like the sun.
“You know you could have some as well.” Arthur’s comment snaps Merlin back into reality and he’s met with the king’s soft gaze, the flicker of light making his eyes almost twinkle. If he squints, he might even find a dust of pink on his cheeks.
Merlin indulges, grabbing his favorite food off the tray, the one that Arthur always sets aside for him.
They eat in a comfortable silence. Halfway through their meal, the night turns colder and with a whisper and a flick of the wrist, the fireplace lights up, casting them in a gentle light.
“Have your eyes always glowed like that when you do magic?” Arthur asks.
Merlin nods. “Every time.”
Arthur gazes at him with an intensity that leaves him weak in the knees. “I like the golden. It’s... nice.”
There’s an edge to Arthur’s voice as if he has something more to say. As if the words are at the very edge of his tongue wanting to spill out, but every muscle in his body is holding it in, for whatever reason.
“Thanks?” Merlin smirks. “I’m glad you’ve grown less frightened of it.”
Arthur rolls his eyes, throwing a piece of bread at him. “Prat. You can’t blame me for being frightened at first. You had magic.”
“Admit it, you were scared that I’m actually better than you at something for once.”
“And then I realized that I was better at so many other things than you. Like fighting. Or being a king.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and gently kicks Arthur in the shin. They continue eating in silence, the crackle of the logs in the fire in the background.
It’s Arthur that speaks again.
“Why do you keep coming back?”
Merlin looks up and finds Arthur’s face open and almost vulnerable. Not King Arthur, but rather just Arthur.
“What do you mean?”
Arthur shrugs. “You’re a Court Sorcerer. You’re in charge of all things magic in Camelot yet you’re still serving me like you did all these years ago. You would think that with all the work you avoided doing back then you wouldn’t even hesitate to stop being my servant. I swear, you had magic and you were still the worst servant I ever had.”
Merlin rolls his eyes again, setting down the food he’s eating. He stares at his plate for a while, his brain a flood of thoughts, waves crashing against each other. He takes a deep breath, and finds his anchor once again.
“I’m not doing it as a servant anymore. I’m doing it as your friend. And as someone who highly respects you.”
“You know you really don’t have to—”
“I want to. I mean, why wouldn’t I? You’re a wonderful king that has done so much for Camelot, so much for magic. It’s the least I could do.”
Arthur ducks his head as if to hide the shy smile lighting up his face. Merlin’s heart feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest.
“You would do all this for me? Even if you’re not obligated to?”
Merlin looks Arthur right in his eyes, as blue as the seas and he’s drowning.
“I would do anything for you, sire.”
He says sire like a declaration, a promise for the future.
Arthur grips the edge of the table, and for a moment, Merlin is afraid that he might have overstepped boundaries. Yet before he could respond, Arthur is out of his chair, crouching down to one knee to be at eye-level with Merlin.
“Arthur, wait, what are you doing—“ Merlin looks over him in exaggeration, about to get him back up on his feet. Kings don’t kneel for anyone. Him of all people should know that.
But what stops Merlin mid-sentence is the way Arthur places his hands on top of his, comforting.
“Merlin.” Arthur squeezes his hands and lifts one to gently cup his jaw, thumb skimming along his cheek. “You know this goes both ways. You’ve done so much. For everyone.” Arthur tucks a strand of hair behind Merlin’s ear. He leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed or just a moment. “You must know how much you mean to Camelot. To me.”
For the first time since Arthur told him he was going to be Court Sorcerer, Merlin is speechless.
“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice is soft, almost a whisper. He says his name almost like a question, a need for clarification. He places a hand on top where the kings hand rests on his chin and closes his eyes, savoring the touch.
“Can I…?”
When Merlin opens his eyes, he finds that Arthur is glancing at him with a smile that he’s never seen outside these chambers before. He leaves the question hanging, and although Merlin might have an idea of what he wants to ask, he’s still afraid of assuming incorrectly. They’ve stood by each other for so long, he doesn’t want to see years and years of friendship crumbling down into dust.
But Merlin finds that he doesn’t even need to answer his question, because Arthur closes the gap, their lips gently touching. And it is then that Merlin’s heart bursts open, his hands reaching out to cup his neck.
Kissing Arthur feels ethereal. It feels comfortable, secure, and just right, as if this is what the universe has wanted for these two men who has been weighed down by fate and destiny and servitude their whole lives. If Merlin is being honest, he doesn’t remember when was the last time he made a decision for himself, and he’s sure that Arthur is the same too.
He deepens the kiss, hands trailing down his neck to grab at his shirt to pull him close. A moan emits from the back of Arthur’s throat and it might be one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard.
“Come to bed with me,” Arthur says in a rough whisper, trailing kisses down Merlin’s neck that leaves him breathless. “Stay the night with me. Every night.”
“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”
Now it goes like this:
Every night Merlin comes by, with food or without (since he has to give the servant some sort of work). Sometimes he draws the bath, but every time he joins Arthur, naked limbs tangled in warm water.
Every night, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand to lead him to bed. And every single night, Merlin lets him.
Sometimes, they don’t even make it to bed some nights. After a tiring day, or after a pretty rough battle, sometimes their lips and hands are on each other the minute they step into the door, seeking, searching for any semblance of comfort in the whirlwind that is their lives.
And when they finally make it to the bed, clothes off and his head resting on Arthur’s chest, Merlin can finally know peace and contentment, and what it means to be loved.
When he glances up at his king, it’s different. When he gazes into those blue, blue eyes, he only saw a storm, a rampage, a life of stormy seas and the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now, all he sees is softness, the gentle blue of water rippling through the seas, the calm after the storm.
Maybe he’s not the only one that needed an anchor, too.