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They’re a couple of miles from the bandits’ hold-out when Merlin finally decides to break the terse silence. He sighs loudly, winces at the motion, and carefully cradles his side.
“How about next hunting trip, we don’t get caught by bandits?” he says sarcastically, wincing again when his horse jostles him.
“Yeah?” Arthur snaps, turning to glare at him. “Then maybe next time, don’t try to chase the game away — oh don’t look at me like that, I know exactly what you were doing. If you weren’t such a crybaby I wouldn’t have had to follow you and we wouldn’t have ended up in that mess!”
Merlin’s jaw drops. “Oh, so it’s my fault, now? You’re the one who always wants to run in and save the damsel in distress like a knight in shining armour!” He specifically told Arthur not to go, but no, Arthur needed to come to the rescue, like always, and of course it was a trap. Honestly, Merlin is surprised not more of the bad guys have thought to use someone calling for help to lure Arthur in. It’s really a very efficient strategy, with how Arthur just runs head first into any situation that seems amiss. It’s very bad for Merlin’s health, really.
“I am a knight, Merlin. It’s kind of part of the job description.”
“You’re the King, Arthur, not some simple knight. And you’re welcome, by the way. That armour doesn’t shine itself, you know,” Merlin snarks back.
Arthur just rolls his eyes at him.
“I’m just saying that maybe I don’t want to be dragged into unnecessary fights with bandits and corrupt lords and evil sorcerers and angry wyverns just because you’ve got a martyr complex,” Merlin continues. The step his horse takes jostles him again and he has to grit his teeth against the whine that makes its way up his throat.
“They’re not unnecessary, Merlin, or I wouldn’t be fighting them,” Arthur says, narrowing his eyes at him and watching the way Merlin carefully holds his side. “I can’t very well leave someone when I know they need help.”
Merlin sighs, frustrated. “Of course you can’t. You’re the King, it’s your duty to protect the people of the land, I know,” he says. “But I’m your servant, and it’s my job to take care of you, and you running in at the first sign of danger makes my job very difficult. I’d just appreciate if you could think about me for a second or two.”
Arthur’s gaze snaps up from where he's watching Merlin’s side, eyes bright with anger. “You seriously think I don’t? I’ll have you know that, frankly, you’re on my mind a lot more frequently than I’d like. Sometimes all I think about you, and honestly it’s becoming rather irritating!” he barks.
The silence that follows is thick and stunned, and Merlin can’t do anything but stare at him in surprise as Arthur’s eyes grow wide and his cheeks turn a pretty baby pink.
“What I mean is you’re always around bothering me so I can’t concentrate on anything else,” Arthur adds sharply, averting his eyes quickly.
Merlin’s mood instantly turns sour again. Here they could have had an actual conversation about feelings and the thing between them that they’ve been dancing around for months, but no, of course Arthur has to go close himself off again. Emotionally constipated prick.
“Yeah? Well, it’s kind of part of the job description,” he parrots angrily.
“Is it also part of your job description to be a bloody idiot?” Arthur bites.
“Is it part of yours to be a bloody prat?” Merlin snaps back. He will not apologise for saving Arthur, no matter how much his side aches or how angry Arthur is at him for it. “Why are you being such a dollophead?” he asks. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always one, but right now you’re being an actual, irritating, immature ass.”
“That’s none of your business,” Arthur says through gritted teeth.
Merlin lets out a humourless laugh. “Oh, but I think it is, considering you’re taking it out on me.” He glares at Arthur, who won’t meet his eyes, and then his shoulders deflate and he lets out a long sigh. “I’m your friend, Arthur,” he says. “I care when something’s wrong and I want to know if there’s something I can do to help.”
Arthur works his jaw, and then grumbles, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough helping today?”
Irritation flares up in Merlin’s chest once more. “You’re- you’re such a- such a-“
“Yes, Merlin, what am I?” Arthur finally turns to glare at him.
Merlin glares right back. “You’re an arrogant prick who can’t get out of his own ass long enough to see when he’s hurting those who care for him,” he bites out, and then he urges his horse lightly to speed up, trotting ahead a few steps until there are two horse-lengths between them.
Arthur doesn’t try to catch up.
They reach an inn a few hours later. Merlin’s side aches something fiercely from the long hours riding, but he doesn’t think anything’s broken. The club he jumped in front of — because Arthur was checking up on Merlin like an idiot instead of paying attention to the bandits in front of him — hit him hard, but it hit him at a weird angle since he was closer than the intended target, so it could have been worse. He can breathe properly and while he’s sore, he doesn’t think it’s something a few days of rest won’t cure.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Arthur calls to him when they approach the inn.
Merlin sighs in relief and slows his horse down. He’s exhausted; he thinks if they weren’t stopping, he might just have lied down and slept on top of the horse at this point.
Arthur doesn’t speak to him as they dismount and tie up their horses, or when they enter the inn.
“Two rooms, please,” Arthur tells the innkeeper.
She smiles apologetically at them. “Sorry, lads. Only one room available tonight.”
Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Just the one, then,” he says, placing two gold coins in her palm, and lets her guide them to their room.
“Dinner’s served in a wee bit,” she says with a smile after she points out which door is theirs.
Merlin smiles at her. “Thank you.”
Arthur walks up to the door and pushes it open, and promptly stops in the doorway.
Merlin follows, glancing around him, and stops to stare at the lone bed in the room. Because of course there’s only one bed. Today of all days.
Arthur sighs again, nudging Merlin into the room and stepping in after him.
The atmosphere is still terse, though not quite as angry. Merlin isn’t angry at Arthur per se, now that they’ve had some breathing space and he’s had time to calm down. He understands why Arthur is angry, but it annoys him when Arthur acts like Merlin’s the idiot when Arthur was the one who wasn’t paying attention in a fight, even when he knows Arthur doesn’t really mean it. And he hates when Arthur closes himself off, because Merlin can’t reach him when he does that, and that’s probably the worst off it.
The silence stretches out throughout the evening; Merlin helps Arthur out of his armour in silence, they go down and have dinner in silence, they clean up in their room afterwards in silence, and Arthur checks and bandages Merlin’s bruised ribs in silence. It’s only when Merlin goes to settle for an uncomfortable night’s sleep on the floor that Arthur speaks up.
“Take the bed.” He doesn’t sound even really sound frustrated anymore, just tired, a little spent.
“I’m used to the floor,” Merlin says, because he doesn’t know when to be easy.
“You’re hurt, Merlin. Take the bed,” Arthur says with a half-hearted glare.
“And you’re the King; I can’t very well let you sleep on the floor. How’d that look?” Merlin asks, just the slightest bit teasing because he’s tired of the heavy and awkward tension that hangs around them.
Arthur rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugs upwards just the slightest, and Merlin knows they’re okay. “I think you should be grateful the King is offering to sleep on the floor for you,” he says.
“Yes, eternally grateful the King is such a lovely prat,” Merlin shoots back, letting a smile fully make its way onto his lips.
Arthur glares at him again, but there’s mirth in the corners of his eyes now. He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and pushes him gently to sit on the bed. “Just take the bed,” he says softly, before he settles down on the wooden floor and closes his eyes.
Warmth fills Merlin’s chest as he lies down on the hay mattress. He’s not terribly sorry he lost this specific argument. “Thanks,” he murmurs, because even when Arthur’s being a difficult ass, it’s easy to see that he cares.
Arthur just hums.
Merlin is bordering on sleep when Arthur speaks up a little while later.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For being a prick and an ass and a prat, and for taking my anger out on you. I’m just…” he sighs, “it scares me, when you do things like that. And I don’t know how to process that besides getting angry. I don’t think you’re an idiot — well, most of the time.”
Merlin pulls the pillow from under his head and throws it in Arthur’s face. When Arthur lifts the pillow from his face and smiles carefully, Merlin smiles widely back at him.
“I’m not angry at you,” Arthur continues, turning his gaze to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m angry at myself for letting myself get distracted and letting you get hurt, but I shouldn’t be taking that out on you.”
Merlin doesn’t stop smiling at him. “I forgive you,” he says, smile widening when Arthur turns his head to look at him. “Though you really do have to work on dealing with emotions. They’re a very human thing to have, Arthur. You can’t avoid them forever.”
Arthur snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “I’m working on it.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Merlin tells him. “For scaring you and making you worry. But I’m not going to stop saving your royal backside if I have to,” he adds.
Arthur sighs again, this time a lot more exasperated but also a little amused. “I was afraid so,” he says. “Bane of my existence,” he mutters.
Merlin grins. “Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Goodnight, Merlin.”
Merlin doesn’t fall asleep. Partially because his stomach is bubbling with happy energy, but also because he’s feeling a little guilty. Sure, he’s hurt, but Arthur’s been fighting and riding for just as long as he has, and he must be just as tired. It’s not like they’ve never slept in close proximity before, and the bed is probably large enough for two, anyway.
And if Merlin wants Arthur a little closer, too, then that’s really no one’s business but his.
He leans over the edge of the bed and looks down at Arthur, who doesn’t look any closer to sleep than Merlin is, though his eyes are still closed.
“Hey, Arthur,” he whispers.
“What?” Arthur answers quietly.
“Get up here already, would you? You look miserable,” Merlin says with a grin.
Arthur cracks an eye open to glare at him. “I’m perfectly fine where I am, thank you.”
“Oh, is that why you’re sleeping so soundly?”
Arthur rolls his eyes, but sits up without much hesitation. “Fine. But only because you asked. What, need cuddles? The bandits scare you that much?”
Merlin raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Would saying yes actually get me cuddles or are you just being a prat again?”
Arthur clears his throat awkwardly and stands up. “Shut up,” he says, handing Merlin the pillow. “Scoot over.” He slides into the bed next to Merlin when Merlin turns to his side and shuffles back against the wall.
And okay, maybe the bed isn’t large enough for two, but Merlin isn’t about to take it back just because Arthur’s warm shoulder is pressed against his chest.
“Happy?” Arthur asks, turning his head to look at him.
Merlin can’t see much besides his silhouette in the dark, but he sees the pale light coming in through the window reflect in his eyes.
He grins and tucks his hands between his own chest and Arthur’s shoulder, half to stop himself from reaching out and draping his arm over Arthur’s shoulder, or placing his hand against Arthur’s chest, or running it through Arthur’s hair, and half to prevent Arthur from feeling the way his heart beats a little too fast in his chest.
“Yes.”
Arthur swallows, eyes flickering over Merlin’s face, and then he nods. “Good. Now go to sleep.”
Merlin hums, snuggling just the slightest into the pillow. “Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Sleep well, Merlin.”
Merlin isn’t sure what time it is when he wakes up, but the world behind his eyelids is the slightest bit bright than when he fell asleep, so he’d reckon sometime just after dawn. He’s warm and comfortable and feels oddly safe, in a random bed he’s never slept in before. He’s sleepy in that cozy, snug way that makes you want to burrow yourself right back under the covers and simply exist in the state between sleep and wakefulness, and so he presses his nose into the pillow underneath his cheek. Only, it isn’t a pillow.
He blinks his eyes open to the skin of Arthur’s neck and collarbone and the fabric of his red tunic, Merlin’s head pillowed on Arthur’s arm and his own slung over Arthur’s side. One of Arthur’s hands rest on Merlin’s shoulder and the other on his waist, and Merlin is tucked safe and comfortable in the warm space between Arthur’s arms and his chest. He’s trapped, he realises, between Arthur and the wall.
He grins into Arthur’s collarbone; if there’s anywhere he wouldn’t mind being trapped, it’s right here, in Arthur’s arms.
He wishes he could wake up like this everyday, wishes Arthur would get out of his own ass and stop pretending he doesn’t want that too.
Arthur huffs lightly and moves his limbs a bit as he starts to wake up, and Merlin pulls back to look at him when he blinks his ocean blue eyes open. Arthur’s lips tug up into a smile that might be the most besotted thing Merlin’s seen in his life, and he’s seen Arthur under the influence of not one, but two love spells. He probably isn’t entirely awake, yet — perhaps he thinks he’s dreaming — but it doesn’t matter, because he’s staring at Merlin like that and Merlin has practically caught him in the act. He’s not getting out of this one.
“Hi,” Merlin mumbles, curling his fingers into the front of Arthur’s tunic.
“Hey,” Arthur says quietly back, voice rough with sleep, smiling at him with heavy eyelids.
“What are you thinking about?” Merlin asks after a while of pleasant silence and dopey smiles.
“You,” Arthur says, without a single moment’s hesitation.
Merlin’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Yeah?”
Arthur hums, running his fingers over Merlin’s side carefully. “Yeah.”
“You know,” Merlin says. “Sometimes all I think about is you, too.”
Arthur grins at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Merlin pinches him in the side, and grins at him when he flinches away from it.
Arthur scowls at him. “Merlin, what the-“
“And you’re not dreaming, if you thought you were. You’ve very much stared at me for five minutes like a love-struck teenager,” Merlin says, smile smug.
Arthur’s scowl turns to a wide-eyed look of horror, and he’s quick to try to scamper backwards, but Merlin wraps his arm back around his waist.
“No, you’re not allowed to freak out; that moment’s passed,” he says, pulling Arthur right back. “I already told you I like you too, so there’s nothing to freak out about, you clotpoll.”
Arthur opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a few moments, and then his features soften and he relaxes back into Merlin’s arms and lets out an astonished chuckle.
“You can’t tell me what to do, Merlin,” he says. The way his eyes twinkle in the morning light belies the stern look he gives him.
Merlin continues to grin at him. “I think I can, though,” he retorts.
Arthur sighs in exasperation. “I’m worried you might be right,” he says. “So,” his lips tug into a smile, “you like me too, huh?”
Merlin shoves at his chest lightly. “As if you didn’t know that already,” he says.
“Well, I didn’t know.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur rolls his eyes at him.
“You’re not nearly as much of an open book as you seem to believe, Merlin,” Arthur says, fingers trailing patterns over the fabric at Merlin’s hip.
“Well, I guess I just need to tell you then,” Merlin states. “I like you, Arthur. A lot. Like a ridiculous amount. Very romantically.”
Arthur grins at him, slow and wonderful. “Yeah? Me too. When I said you’re the only thing I think about sometimes, I meant it. Honestly, I think it might be starting to become a problem. Sometimes I space out during council meetings. I think the knights and the council are wondering if I’m really fit to be King,” he says. “Though I’m not quite as bothered by it as I maybe made it seem yesterday,” he adds, moving his hand from Merlin’s hip to his cheek. “You’re quite lovely to think about, in all honesty.”
Merlin grins so widely it hurts. “Getting to your head that much, am I?”
Arthur’s smile softens and he moves his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
Merlin’s heart flutters, full and happy. “See how easy things are when you talk about your feelings,” he says and pokes Arthur in the chest.
Arthur grimaces. “Easy? No this is like pulling teeth for me,” he states, eyes twinkling with mirth.
Merlin punches him lightly. “Prat.”
Arthur presses a smiling kiss to Merlin’s forehead.
“We don’t have to go quite yet, do we?”
Arthur chuckles against his skin. “No, we can stay a little longer.”
“Good,” Merlin says, tucking his head under Arthur’s chin and pressing himself closer. “Because I think I was promised cuddles yesterday.”
Arthur laughs. “I promised no such thing.”
“But would you say no if I asked?” Merlin retorts, pressing his nose against Arthur’s throat.
Arthur is silent for a moment, fingers threading through Merlin’s hair, and Merlin can hear his heart beating steadily in his chest. It makes Merlin feel comfortably and sleepy and protected.
“No,” Arthur says eventually. “No I wouldn’t.”
“So give me cuddles,” Merlin says, even though Arthur’s very much already giving him the best cuddles of his life.
“Yes, yes,” Arthur says with amusement in his voice. “Who knew you’d be such a demanding partner.”
Merlin presses a kiss to Arthur’s collarbone. “You did, and you love it.”
Arthur chuckles, pressing a matching kiss to the top of Merlin’s head. “Yeah, I did. And I do.”