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Gaius had insisted that Merlin must remain in his room and rest for the time being. He assured Arthur that it was a natural sickness, nothing to be concerned about, but that nonetheless Merlin was in no shape to join the party on horseback that day. Arthur’s lips were set into a perturbed line as he accepted the news and strode to Merlin’s door and gave a firm knock.
“Too busy being a layabout to help your prince today, Merlin?” he teased, only pretending to sound angry. But his stomach dropped when he only heard a pitiful bout of coughs in response. He eased open the door and came to Merlin’s bedside. He noted how short of a distance that was, and thought for the millionth time he would prefer it if Merlin’s chambers were more suited to his station (and nearer to his own).
“Sire, perhaps don’t come too close,” Merlin huffed out, struggling to catch his breath.
“Nonsense, Merlin. I’ve a much stronger constitution than you, to be sure.” The words were harsh in tone but his fingertips were gentle as they pushed back some of Merlin’s fringe and checked his temperature.
“Pretty sure a royal prat just doesn’t come near enough people to get sick as often,” Merlin teased. For that he got a shove on the shoulder, but it had no strength behind it. “Go, join the knights. Gaius will make sure I’m well enough to draw your bathwater when you return in a few days. Don’t get blown up or anything,” he said sternly, though the severity of his tone was somewhat undermined by his bundled appearance under the blankets.
“Not without you, I won’t,” Arthur quipped, with a well-aimed rag hitting the back of his head on the way out in retaliation. Arthur gave a polite nod to Gaius, with an unspoken take care of him clear as day between them.
“The princess is just fretting over Merlin,” Gwaine insisted as he ladled more broth into his bowl. Dinner was admittedly less appetizing than when Merlin was around to make it, but they made do. Arthur had been quiet the whole expedition thus far.
“What’s the matter with Merlin?” Lancelot asked, immediately more involved in the conversation at the mention of his closest friend.
“He’s taken ill,” Leon replied, knowing eyes on Arthur, who continued to stare resolutely into the flames, ignoring the conversation around him.
“I hope it isn’t serious,” Elyan inquired.
“It’s only the same illness that was in the lower town, he likely got it while he was treating someone,” Leon answered.
“Or," he drew out, "he got it the same way they got it,” Gwaine said with a winking eye and waggling brow. Arthur tensed but didn’t look up.
“What d’you mean?” Percival asked, taking the bait, and Elyan groaned as Gwaine pounced on the opportunity.
“Well, Percy, when two people love each other very much,” he started before Elyan smacked him on the shoulder.
“Grow up, Gwaine. Perce, it’s a sickness that is often passed around young people who are exchanging bodily fluids, usually through kissing.” Bless Elyan for his merciful description, Arthur thought. But his thoughts turned for the worse.
What if Merlin had gotten it from kissing somebody? Or more than kissing somebody? What if he got it from kissing multiple somebodies? His sword arm twitched.
“Yes, exactly Elyan, by kissing people. Merlin kissed somebody!” Gwaine exclaimed, as though this was both the most logical and exciting conclusion he had ever come to.
“Oh shut it, Gwaine, Leon is probably right, Merlin must’ve gotten it while treating somebody,” Lance interjected, always a voice of reason.
“Yeah, Leon must be right, Merlin couldn’t have gotten it from kissing somebody,” Elyan added. Arthur tried to accept relief from this majority, but then Percival couldn’t let it go.
“How can you be certain? Merlin is a handsome enough fellow, surely he has ladies and lads pursuing him,” he challenged.
“Because everyone knows-“ Lancelot began, before quite suddenly finding his broth very interesting. Gwaine was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and Arthur rolled his eyes before finally speaking.
“Because everyone knows what, Lancelot,” Arthur said with a glower in Gwaine’s direction.
“Well, sire, if you don’t know, I suppose it’s not my place to tell you,” Lance said as carefully and diplomatically as possible.
“What is there to know about Merlin that I would not know about?” Arthur said with as careful of a tone in response. Lance looked a little green.
“What he means, sire, is that we are as certain of Merlin as we are of you, and thus have no reason to worry about Merlin getting this… well. From anyone who, uh-“ Leon persevered valiantly, but he was beginning to turn the color of his hair with the effort.
“What both of these idiots mean, sire,” interrupted Gwaine with no regard for their pointed looks and nudges, “is that they’re certain he wouldn’t have gotten it from anyone other than you, and you’re not sick, are you?” He grinned, sitting back on his haunches like he was quite pleased with himself.
Elyan looked like he might strangle Gwaine.
Lancelot put his head in his hands.
Leon coughed uncomfortably.
Percival looked a little confused.
Arthur was frozen as his body caught up to his racing mind. After what felt like an eternity, the prince spoke.
“You think that I- that we- that Merlin and I-“
Princes do not splutter, but perhaps Arthur could be forgiven in this instance.
“Whatever gave you that idea!?” he cried. The knights all shifted in their spots uncomfortably, no one willing to explain. No one except Gwaine, of course.
“Well, princess, have you ever seen yourselves? You can’t keep your hands off each other! You’re attached at the hip!”
“Merlin looks at you like you’ve hung the moon, and you look like you wish you could, if that would make him happy,” Lancelot started.
“You always check on him before anyone else after a battle, and you fret over him the most when he’s ill or injured, as does he,” Elyan supplied.
“I do not fret-“
“I can see it now,” said Percival with a wondering gaze. “Yes, I’ve never explicitly thought that you were lovers,” (Arthur choked) “But I did always assume you were just…”
“Made for each other,” Gwaine finished for him.
“You seek his counsel and approval, and trust his judgement above all others, even when it’s risky for you to do so,” Leon added, and Arthur was shocked that even he had something to say about it.
Arthur was reeling in more ways than one. Firstly, that his knights had given so much thought to Arthur’s love life, and secondly, that they had imagined it with his manservant.
“Well, let me set the record straight for all of you,” Arthur bit out. “We are not romantically attached. He is my servant, maybe my friend-“
“Your best friend!” Gwaine cried.
“ALRIGHT! He may be my best friend, but that does not mean that we are or wish to be… you know. And no,” he said with a murderous glare at Gwaine, “He did not get the kissing sickness from me.”
“Maybe he should’ve!” Gwaine just had to have the last word.
Arthur lunged, fire between them be damned.
On the ride back to Camelot the next day, Arthur was in a black mood. The knights didn’t dare bother him for anything, turning to Leon instead for directions.
As they rode, Arthur thought long and hard about their conversation around the campfire the night before.
“Maybe he should’ve,” Gwaine had said. They were all so certain that Merlin and Arthur were a pair. Well, they were, for all intents and purposes, aside from the romance bit. They weren’t wrong, and that was perhaps what made Arthur even more upset.
What if he had ruined prospects for Merlin? What about prospects for himself? Was he being laughed at behind closed doors for choosing his manservant over noblemen and women? Did Merlin even want such closeness, or did he feel obligated to his prince and future king? The thought that perhaps Merlin didn’t willingly reciprocate made Arthur’s stomach turn, and he struggled to hold back the bile rising in his throat.
He would have to make this right when they reached the citadel. He would have to clear the air, and ensure Merlin knew that nothing was between them. Nothing had to be.
No matter how much he suddenly wished there was.
As soon as they reached the citadel, Arthur separated from the knights, leaving his mare with the best stable boy, tossing him a gold coin. He took the stairs two at a time to Gaius’ quarters, and pulled up short just before he was about to barge into the room. He paused and caught his breath, then gently knocked.
“Come in!” he heard Merlin holler cheerfully. Arthur’s stomach dropped, he had half hoped it would only be Gaius and he’d have to come back later. Then at least he could yell at Merlin for not being around when he needed him. For not being around when I want him, his heart corrected. He pushed open the door and entered.
“Arthur!” Merlin cried in surprise, a grin blooming across his face. When Arthur felt a matching smile appear unbidden on his own visage, his heart flipped and he knew. They were right. They were all right.
He couldn’t stand there like an idiot for long, as Merlin quickly crossed the room for a friendly hug. He really wasn’t supposed to do that, but Arthur had always affectionately called it a symptom of being a country bumpkin in a big city. Affectionately.
Even now, Merlin’s hands lingered on his shoulders, holding him back to check him over for injuries. Attached at the hip. Checking over each other before anyone else.
“I’m glad you managed to stay in one piece while I was mending,” he teased, turning away to whatever task he was completing for Gaius. “If I had known I would have drawn that bath I promised, but you are a day early, so I find that’s hardly my fault,” he continued. He filled in Arthur on the minutiae of the castle operations and gossip as if he’d been gone for weeks and not merely a weekend.
Arthur mechanically returned the information with a summary of his own of the knight’s trip. He included a moment where they had turned a blind eye to a harmless magical creature of some sort (it had looked like a friendly forest animal until it had sneezed fire, after all), guessing correctly that Merlin would love to hear all about it. Seeking his approval. It had really been nothing, but that was when Arthur saw it on Merlin’s face as he recounted the tale.
“Merlin looks at you like you’ve hung the moon, and you look like you wish you could, if that would make him happy.” Arthur trailed off, and Merlin came near as Arthur stared off out the window.
“Arthur, are you sure you’re alright?” He looked closer at Arthur’s head, inspecting for any trauma.
“Just… something the knights said.” Merlin laughed.
“You should never take that lot too seriously, you know that better than anyone,” he said with a knowing smile. Arthur swallowed, chest suddenly tight with feeling.
“Yes, although… I think they might be right for once,” he breathed, looking back at Merlin, heart in his throat.
“Right about what?” It was now or never.
“That we- that I- Merlin-“ he stuttered. “How did you get sick?” Merlin looked confused, but answered plainly.
“A young woman who lives next-door to Gwen got it from her partner, and accidentally sneezed on me while I treated her. Why? Do you think you’re getting sick?” he worried, feeling Arthur’s forehead for a temperature.
“No, no. Only, perhaps I wish I was.” Merlin’s eyes searched his, only more lost than before. “What I mean is that perhaps, if I was, it’d mean we’d given it to each other,” he finished somewhat lamely, and immediately wished he could take it back. But then he caught a mischievous glint in Merlin’s eyes.
“Did Gwaine say something to you?” he said with a poorly hidden chuckle.
“No. Yes, well- he may have said something about- never mind. Forget I said anything,” he huffed, embarrassed. Merlin stopped him from pulling away with a firm but gentle grip on his arm.
“Arthur, I told the knights it was a kissing sickness so that they’d stay out of trouble before going on that trip with you.” Merlin couldn’t keep himself from fully giving into laughter then. “I just didn’t want them mingling and getting sick too, since I couldn’t come. I was serious when I told you to keep your distance, it’s an illness mostly of proximity and touch, though clearly it’s somewhat airborne as well since I wasn’t touching that patient,” he clarified.
“So, you haven’t been kissing anybody?” Arthur said (a little stupidly, but he had to be sure).
“No, you dollop-head. I haven’t,” he promised.
“Do you… do you want to be? Kissing. That is. Not me, I mean, in general,” Arthur coughed.
“In general? Nah,” Merlin teased. Arthur was a little crestfallen and looked away. “But you? Any time, sire,” Merlin tacked on. Arthur looked sharply back at him in surprise, and as if on cue, he promptly sneezed.
"Oh,” he said sheepishly.
“Although perhaps it can wait a few days longer. Come on, Master ‘Strong Constitution,’ I have a remedy for that,” Merlin insisted with a grin.
The only concern Arthur had left was for the ‘I told you so!’ he would most certainly receive from Gwaine after this, but kissing Merlin would certainly be worth it.