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There was something distinctly mysterious about how in tune Merlin was with Arthur at all times – but especially when something was wrong.
“Feeling alright today, sire?” Merlin asked more gently than his usual morning greeting of throwing the curtains wide to let in the sunshine. Arthur was eternally grateful for it, as quite frankly, he felt like shit, and he said as much to Merlin. Well, maybe not the ‘eternally grateful’ part, because he was still a prat king after all.
Arthur was always a bit surprised when Merlin not only noticed something was amiss, but knew exactly how to soothe whatever ailment it was that day. He supposed it ought to come from Merlin’s apprenticeship with Gaius, but it was more than a medicinal remedy every once in a while. It was a keen sense of any physical or emotional distress even before Arthur noticed it himself, and it was a comfort just in his presence, his touch, and his words in response.
This morning, it came with a light hand to his forehead to check his temperature, and to affectionately brush back his fringe. It came with a knowing gaze that Arthur had trouble holding, and with a caring tuck back under the blankets.
“Seems like you’ve come down with a bit of a cold. Have you got a headache too?” Arthur tried to nod, but winced as a shock of sensitivity shot through his body, so he replied aloud instead.
“A bloody awful one,” he lamented.
“I can tell. I’ll run down to Gaius and whip up a remedy, you’ll be right as rain by tomorrow I’d guess. For now, though, I’ll tell the staff and guards to keep it down around your chambers, and the council to piss off, and we’ll just have a quiet day in. Worry not,” he teased lightly with a smile, and swiftly departed.
Arthur’s heart swelled, as it always did when he was so well taken care of. He just wished that Merlin would use the magical talents he was bloody born with so they could skip straight to the good part of a day with no responsibilities, without the cold.
“Merlin, I’m fine,” Arthur insisted, trying to shove his manservant away. He was practically on top of Arthur, and it was just embarrassing at this point in front of the knights.
It was a mistake to jostle his shoulder that much though, and his face drained of all color at the pain that followed. Merlin’s lips pressed into a tight line as he firmly and carefully repositioned himself to treat the wound.
“You are not fine, sire,” he responded curtly. Arthur shouldn’t be moved anymore at how well Merlin knew him, and yet he was still thrown off his guard when Merlin called out to the rest of the knights that had crowded around. “Move on, you lot. Make yourselves useful and stop waffling about here. Percy and Gwaine, go collect firewood. Elyan and Leon, go fetch the cleanest water you can from the stream, back where we passed it earlier,” he ordered. The knights dispersed.
Merlin made eye contact with Lancelot, who remained. “Lance, please go make camp in the clearing, and when they come back with the water, bring it here. I don’t want any of the others to disturb us,” he asked quietly. Lancelot nodded, and quickly departed.
“Better?” he asked Arthur after a moment of silence. Arthur fully relaxed, and allowed some of the pain to show more plainly on his face, but he nodded. “They won’t think less of you, you know,” Merlin murmured.
He carefully removed the armor, chainmail and clothes between him and the wound in the crook between Arthur’s shoulder and his chest. The bandit had a very lucky shot to hit exactly where there were vulnerabilities in the armor; Merlin had to wonder if there had been magic involved.
“I know,” he breathed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the tree trunk he was resting against. “But it’s easier said than done to forget the words of one’s father,” he huffed, grimacing as Merlin had to lift his arm to expose the wound.
Merlin’s lip curled ever so slightly, but he could not (would not) speak ill of Arthur’s dead father, as horrid of a man as he was. Arthur had been through enough.
“It’s a clean stab, we’re lucky. It will need stitches, just a few, and you won’t be able to move it too much for a few weeks, but thankfully it’s not your dominant arm.” Lancelot appeared, as if on cue, with waterskins full of clean, crisp stream water. Merlin thanked him, and he left as quickly as he had come.
Merlin handed his patient one skin to drink from, and used the other to help clean the puncture. Arthur watched him closely as he took a sip, and quietly inquired, “Why don’t you just use your magic?”
Merlin startled at that, almost dropping the whole waterskin. He still had a hard time using his magic out in the open, and had a hard time remembering that Arthur wouldn’t chop his head off for it.
On the contrary, Arthur had taken it in stride like a true king. After he had lifted the ban on magic, Merlin had come to him on a cold winter’s night and confessed by bringing life to the fire with just a look. Arthur was shocked beyond belief, of course, but after Merlin saw a million emotions flicker through his eyes, he watched him settle on a kind of heartfelt acceptance that made Merlin’s knees buckle.
They hugged for a long time that night, and didn’t speak on it much since. He just… knew now, and Merlin divulged bits and pieces of his side of the story in the quiet moments over wine, and in tents, and as a way to pass the time on long journeys. The weight on his shoulders lifted with each confession, and the joy in his heart expanded with each silly anecdote. Merlin had begun to blossom into an even greater man than Arthur already knew he was, but he still had his moments of anxiety.
Merlin looked apologetic as he softly muttered a spell to help ease the pain.
“I- um. I’m actually rubbish at healing magic, if I’m honest,” he winced. “And… it’s easier said than done to forget the words of one’s father,” he said quietly, casting his eyes back down at his work to avoid meeting Arthur’s gaze.
“My father has been dead for nearly two years, Merlin. I hope you know that it’s more than okay to let yourself start to forget. Just as I should,” Arthur mused.
Merlin worked in a comfortable silence after that, magically numbing the area but mundanely stitching. Finally, he wrapped a clean scrap of fabric around Arthur’s shoulder to protect the stitches. He helped his friend maneuver his clothes back on, but they decided to forgo the armor for now. As they got up and walked to the clearing, Arthur suddenly blurted out a thank you.
“It’s just a few stitches, sire, even Gwaine could manage that,” he teased loudly enough to hear a hey! come from the campsite. Arthur laughed, but sobered for a moment.
“No, not just this. I mean for everything. For always knowing how to… make things better,” he got out, a little stiff. Merlin softened and affectionately ruffled his hair.
“Of course, Arthur. Someone’s gotta keep the royal line intact!”
“Merlin!”
It had not been a good day. The planned tourney had been rained out with the kind of torrential downpour that made you feel cold in your very bones that time of year, and one of the stores of firewood had been flooded. Everyone had to cram into a few chambers and halls so their body heat could help with the roaring fires. Merlin could only do so much indoors with so many people in a safe manner.
On top of all this, Merlin’s favorite horse had bolted from her stable, and the idiot had actually sprinted after her in the deluge, which of course meant Arthur had to sprint after him. They did finally return the mare to her stable, and made sure to layer any blankets they could spare on her to keep her warm.
Arthur had even felt a little better, watching Merlin care for the horse in the lantern light, eyes a molten gold as he whispered to her. Arthur was certain Merlin actually knew how to talk to little woodland creatures like the walking fairy tale he was, though Merlin would not disclose whether he was right.
But to add insult to injury on a very tiring day, or perhaps injury to insult, as they were climbing the steps to Arthur’s chambers, Arthur’s boot slipped on the wet stone staircase and sent him crashing hard to the landing. He hadn’t fallen far, thankfully, but he did give his head a good thump on the way down. He flinched and took in a sharp breath as Merlin checked on him too hastily and touched the spot he had whacked.
“Oh, I’m sorry Arthur. Hang on, let me get a better look at it.” Arthur bit back a sound of surprise as Merlin conjured a small, blue orb of light and brought it close to his head. He thought back to a very different time, with the same little blue orb. But he kept it to himself for now, tucking it away to ask at a better time than this. Merlin sighed as he finished his examination.
“Clearly, you’ll live, but you got a nasty bump. Let’s get you upstairs and I’ll see what I can do about it,” he instructed as he put a shoulder under Arthur’s to help him up. They picked their way more cautiously up the stairs and in the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, Merlin didn’t hesitate to bring the fire to a roar to heat the room more efficiently.
Merlin still held back in front of others, even the knights, and especially in front of the broader public of Camelot. His habits were changing, slowly, to trust more and more people, and trust that he wouldn’t bring them trouble or harm. But for now, Arthur was just (secretly) proud that he was one of a very small number of people that Merlin now trusted implicitly with his magic.
Merlin sat him down on the couch and levitated a blanket from Arthur’s bed to their spot. Arthur also noticed a slight cooling sensation to the bump on his head, and did feel a bit more soothed as a result. This wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“I don’t want you to sleep until I know it’s not a more serious injury, so we’ll just have to sit here for a while and try to keep busy,” he explained. Without any uncertainty, he pulled off his own boots along with Arthur’s, and curled up on the couch under the blanket as well. Arthur couldn’t explain the sudden blush that rose to his cheeks, so he decided to blame it on the fire.
“Any hotter and you’ll roast us to a crisp, Merlin. George will have a terrible time sweeping up our ashes,” he teased. Merlin grinned and reduced the fire to a calmer warmth.
“Let’s be honest, sire, he’d just be annoyed that he had to spend a moment away from his precious brass,” he joked with an impish grin. Arthur couldn’t help the laughter that burst forth at that, shaking his head.
“You give him too hard of a time,” he admonished with a playful tone.
“Well, whenever George is around, I’m not, and I think that’s a fair reason to give someone a hard time,” Merlin insisted haughtily.
“What makes you think you’re better to have around than George?” Arthur mocked good-naturedly. He noticed Merlin shift and fidget a bit, and suddenly had the feeling he had misunderstood Merlin’s comment.
He knew his reaction wasn’t insecurity about his position, they joked about Merlin’s terrible manservant-ing all the time. It never meant Arthur wanted anyone else around other than him. Then it clicked, and for once, Arthur felt like maybe he could do the comforting instead.
“Despite his equally poor healing skills and excellent service, he just doesn’t fill the void when you’re not around. For all his diligent qualities, I don’t miss him when he’s gone like I miss you,” he admitted fondly. It was his turn to be vulnerable, and it was wholly worth it when he saw a soft, happy smile bloom from his best friend.
“It’s settled then, I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin decided, and began playing with shapes in the fire, content. Arthur’s injury was long forgotten.
Arthur did ask about the orb that night. The thought that, even near death, Merlin was always reaching out to help him warmed him more deeply than the hearth ever could.
Arthur was in a foul mood. Understandably so, Merlin had said, based on the events of the previous council meeting.
The council had forced Arthur’s hand on the subject of marriage. Their archaic solution to the kingdom’s heir (or lack thereof) was to host a ball, with all the eligible young royals they could think of.
It just felt so wrong to forcibly mingle with so many people that wanted him for the most superficial reasons. And if they were genuine attempts to get to know him, it was more unfair that he would never want the same things in return.
Arthur’s heart wasn’t in it, in a way he couldn’t even express to Merlin. It was eating him up inside, it felt like wearing ill-fitting shoes all day – he just couldn’t ignore it.
His heart was not in it for anyone, and yet he couldn’t tell why. The answer was nagging at him, in the depths of his heart, but he was too stubborn to notice it.
So, Arthur huffed, puffed, and fussed the whole time he was getting ready on a miserable evening two weeks later. Merlin didn’t comment on any of it, which was as equally unusual as Arthur blatantly glaring at everything and everyone in his sight. Well, everyone except Merlin, because he refused to meet his gaze.
Finally, before they left Arthur’s chambers to join in the festivities downstairs, Merlin put a hand on his chest and wouldn’t let him pass.
“Can you at least tell me why this is bothering you so much? I know, it’s a stupid thing to have to endure, it is. But you don’t actually have to propose to anybody tonight, you just have to show the council you’re making an effort,” he tried to placate. “If anything, this will help you procrastinate since they’ll leave you be for a while after.” Arthur pushed his hand away and made for the door.
“They’re forcing me to play with people’s hearts when I know I’ll never give anyone else mine,” he bit out, storming out of his chambers and leaving a bewildered Merlin in his wake.
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Merlin quietly attended to his duties that night, thankfully avoiding any of his usual clumsiness. He kept a close eye on his king, gears turning as he tried desperately to figure out what was going on in Arthur’s head, or his heart, as he had put it.
He finally found a moment with Gwen, and asked her about it. Gwen shifted her weight, sighed, and looked knowingly between Merlin and Arthur, who looked positively uncomfortable.
“I think it’s pretty obvious that ‘his heart’, as he puts it, lies with another. None of these people will remedy that,” she put bluntly, before returning to her work. Merlin somehow felt even more confused.
Before he could think on it for long, he felt a tug on his magic and instinctively looked back to Arthur. The idiot had tried to save a lady’s ornamental dagger from falling to the stone floor, and grabbed the blade instead of the hilt.
“Oh my, Your Majesty, let me help, I’m so sorry!” The woman fretted, fluttering about him and doing nothing helpful at all. George was ever dutiful and appeared with a napkin to staunch the small but steady drip of blood from Arthur’s palm where it had been sliced. Merlin held back. There were plenty of people around to help him with such a minor cut, and Arthur had been pretty cross with him earlier. He probably needed space.
To his surprise, though, as if he read Merlin’s thoughts, Arthur searched the room from his spot and quickly met Merlin’s gaze. He could see the pleading look plain as day as he slightly held up his injury for Merlin to see. Merlin softened, and of course made his way over immediately.
“Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up,” he whispered. More loudly, to the rest of the room, he excused them both, and encouraged everyone to return to their merrymaking in the meantime.
Merlin was going to lead them both to the hallway, but Arthur tugged on his arm to go to the antechamber instead. He followed his king’s lead, and when they were alone, conjured a little blue light to see by.
Without a word, he took the napkin and tore it into strips with the help of a spare dagger Arthur kept on his belt. Then, with magic, he stitched the pieces together into a length of bandage that he could use to stem the flow of blood. It was a very shallow cut, and would certainly heal quickly on its own, but this would help.
As he silently wrapped Arthur’s hand, pulling the pristine fabric over the mess on his palm, Arthur watched him intently.
“I’m sorry, for earlier,” he murmured. Merlin stilled for only a second before continuing his work. He couldn’t meet Arthur’s gaze.
“You don’t need to apologize, my lord.” Arthur sighed, and stopped Merlin’s progress.
“I do, and I can’t believe you just called me ‘my lord,’” he teased gently.
“You were just upset about this old farce, I know you didn’t mean it,” he assured. He did know, but somehow that didn’t help.
What did help was the sincere look Arthur gave in return, and his insistence that he should explain himself better.
“I should use my words, as you’re always telling me,” Arthur chuckled. Merlin couldn’t help but smile in response. “I just… I don’t want to stand around here, trying to choose someone I don’t even know, over a person I already lo-“ Arthur coughed, “ahem, like enough to tolerate.”
“You already know someone tolerable? That’s high praise in King Arthur’s book, by all accounts. Which lucky someone or someones could that be?” Arthur was relieved that Merlin was back to banter.
“Well, I don’t know know. Guinevere, for one, but we know her heart is with Lancelot,” Arthur says with a smile. Things were easy and amicable between the three of them, with no heartache on Arthur’s part.
“Alright, so Gwen’s taken. Who else is perfectly tolerable?” Arthur sighed and fidgeted, and Merlin squeezed his arm to steady him so he could actually finish wrapping his hand.
“I guess the knights are out of the question, it would create a conflict of interest,” he huffed. Merlin laughed as he pictured each of the knights on the throne next to Arthur, each more ridiculous than the last. Except maybe Leon, he was regal enough for the position.
“I might have to tell Gwaine about that,” he chuckled aloud. Arthur couldn’t even pretend to glare at him, he just laughed as well.
Then he quieted, and Merlin felt something shift between them. He didn’t need his magic to sense that.
“I suppose there’s one more possibility,” Arthur murmured, looking away. Merlin didn’t dare to break the silence, he simply tucked in the end on the bandage to secure it and didn’t pull his hand away.
Arthur glanced down at their joined hands, and took in a shuddering breath before looking Merlin in the eyes.
“There’s this friend. For all the brilliant magic in the world at his fingertips, he’s an absolutely terrible manservant, and yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. He sparks joy when it feels like every light has gone out, and is the greatest comfort in my life. He can’t even heal with his magic worth a damn,” he teased, before he sobered and clasped his good hand over their joined hands. “Yet he always knows just how to patch me up.”
Merlin had involuntarily drawn in closer, as he always did, his magic drawing two halves together to make them whole.
Arthur leaned forward as well, and conspiratorially whispered as he glanced down at Merlin’s lips and back up to his eyes. “I suppose you could say he is perfectly tolerable,” before closing the gap and pressing a chaste kiss to Merlin’s lips.
The moment they embraced, Merlin’s magic sang with the purest joy he had ever felt in his life. It was so overwhelming that he almost forgot to respond. Arthur was unbothered, he chuckled as he pulled back.
He could see that a golden aura emanated from their clasped hands and encompassed them both. He could feel the warmth of Merlin’s love in his bones as if he’d lain out in the sun for a hundred years. He grinned even wider when Merlin opened his golden eyes and noticed this manifestation, shocked.
“I- I didn’t know I could do that,” he breathed.
“I suppose there’s still much to explore about your magic,” Arthur replied fondly. He confidently unwrapped his hand, despite Merlin’s protests, to reveal that the wound had healed as if it had never happened.
“I guess you’re not such a rubbish healer after all,” he said before pressing his lips to Merlin’s once more.
This time Merlin reciprocated properly, muttering against his lips, “Perhaps we can renegotiate my status beyond ‘tolerable’ then, my lord,” with a mischievous grin.
Arthur heaved Merlin forward to straddle him, chasing that smile with more kisses and nips.
“That could be arranged.”