Work Text:
Merlin supposed they could have gone on for years like that, their whole lives, maybe. Quietly together, the people who knew them best knowing and, if not accepting (Gwen, Morgana, and the knights), not outright voicing disapproval or forbidding it (Uther). Because he understood now, as the snows melted and spring flowers bloomed, followed by summer sun, and falling leaves, and snow again: Arthur loved him. And then more time passed, and he grew to realize that Arthur was in love with him. Not because of his magic, or his loyalty, or destiny, but because he was Merlin. Just Merlin.
If that wasn’t just the most beautiful feeling in the world…
But rarely could things stay just as they are for too long a time.
Uther fell ill and Arthur, who had come to take his royal blood very seriously a long time ago, stepped up to rule as regent until his father recovered. Only…Uther did not recover. He faded away, no matter what Gaius did. The subtle magic Merlin attempted to work on Arthur’s request did nothing. After all, it was not a magical illness. But he tried, kept trying, until he exhausted himself and Arthur forced him to stop.
Arthur had been in a terrible mood when he had returned from a council meeting one night, frustrated that his father’s men still were not accepting of him at their head, but it all vanished when he saw Merlin lying pale-faced and shivering in the bed, looking quite ill himself. It didn’t take long for Arthur to realize that, in addition to tending to Uther, Merlin had completed his chores magically, likely in the hopes that it would be faster that way and they could both rest. But he’d overworked himself, even if it wasn’t in one flashing moment like the day Arthur learned the truth. Magical exhaustion could come on slowly as well, even for the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth.
Arthur sent for dinner, uncaring that the servant who brought the tray saw Merlin in the prince’s bed. “He’s not well and the physician is with His Majesty,” Arthur said. It was a flimsy excuse, but the castle staff were not stupid, and had always had the best eyes for potential gossip anyway. Besides, it had been almost three years now since the evening that Arthur walked through the castle gates holding Merlin like a maiden in his arms. If they didn’t know by now that the prince was in love with his manservant, they never would.
Much like that night when Merlin had first woken in Arthur’s bed, Arthur helped him sit up and balanced the tray across both their laps. Grateful that the kitchen staff had long since learned that Merlin now took his meals with Arthur and that there was plenty for both of them, Arthur did not hesitate to eat his share, though he kept a careful eye on Merlin to make sure he ate his. Aside from that first time, Merlin had been ill before, both ordinary and magical. Arthur knew his habits by now: hide it until it got to be too much, even after Arthur told Merlin it was nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve taken care of me for so long; let me look after you every now and then, yeah? Merlin almost always dropped a little bit of weight when it got this bad, completely losing his appetite to the rest of the discomfort in his body. Arthur was grateful these days that Merlin had a little bit more to lose, but that didn’t mean he liked it, or would let it happen too easily.
The role reversal had continued the rest of the night. Arthur made Merlin get up long enough to use the chamber pot, completely ignoring the latter’s grumbles about not needing Arthur to stand outside the door while he did so, then stripped Merlin so he could rub the man down with a cool, damp cloth. A bath would be in order tomorrow, Arthur thought, but this was enough for now. When they were both dressed and back under the covers, Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s hair and whispered, “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve been doing for my father. But I won’t have you inflicting damage on yourself in the process.”
Merlin sighed into his neck, breath tickling Arthur faintly. “I just want to help,” he murmured back. “I don’t want you to lose him.”
Arthur swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. “We all have our time,” he said quietly. “You have done everything you can and more besides. It was selfish of me to ask; if he discovered you…”
“He’s your father.” Merlin tilted his head back to look at him. “I would have done it anyway.”
Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin’s briefly. “I love you for it. But no more, alright? Promise me you won’t.”
Merlin was stubbornly silent for a few seconds, then sighed again. “Okay. But only because Uther’s irritated with me being there all the time anyway; he keeps reminding me I’m your servant, not his.”
Arthur hid his grin against Merlin’s forehead. “He still doesn’t understand why Morgana and I care for you so much,” he said.
“He just doesn’t understand my charm the way you do.”
“Ah, that must be it.”
Merlin fell asleep not long after, but Arthur lay awake torn between relief that Merlin was going to stop overextending himself, and guilt that he had just given up on one more bit of help for his father. He’d be furious if magic saved him anyway, he reminded himself. It was completely true, but it made it no easier to bear.
**
“You love the boy, don’t you,” Uther rasped. The illness had reached his lungs now; it was only a matter of time before he succumbed. He didn’t give Arthur a chance to respond. “I’ve known it for some time now. Ever since you disobeyed me to get that ridiculous flower for him. I had hoped you would grow out of it, but…” He coughed. Despite his pounding heart, Arthur gently dried his father’s mouth when the coughing subsided. “I have let it go on, despite my misgivings. You have been happy and it is wrong, but I could not take it from you. I suppose now is my last opportunity to convince you to do your duty.”
Arthur considered his father, weakened, defenseless, nothing like the proud man he used to be. He could lie, he knew. He could tell his father that he would dismiss Merlin, that he would find a woman of noble birth to marry and bear a child with her. Wait until his father died, then pursue his own plans anyway. But sitting here, looking steadily into Uther’s face and seeing nothing but calm there, he found he would not do that. “I know that you will not give my relationship with Merlin your blessing,” he said, forcing his voice to be strong. “I know that you will not approve of it, not here, not in front of the court. And I know that if you were well, you would have tried to stop it eventually.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep his head clear, and his father said nothing in the pause. “You’re right though. I do love him. He changed me for the better, I think, when he came to Camelot. I won’t give him up. I—I can’t. So please…don’t try to make me now.” His chest was tight and his eyes were filling with tears, but he did not break eye contact with Uther. “I do not want whatever time I have left with you to be filled with anger or resentment.”
He knew, rationally, that Uther Pendragon had not always been the best father. He had certainly tried his best, sure, but above all, the man had always been king before anything else. Even when he and Arthur did not agree, he had done everything because he truly thought it was best. But Arthur didn’t think he could bear it just now if his father decided to fight about this.
He could not quite stop the tears from slipping when his father spoke again. “You have so much of your mother in you,” Uther murmured. “She was the better of the two of us; I am glad to see that you remind me of her still, after all this time.”
It was not approval, or even acceptance, really. But it was enough.
**
In the end, it was Morgana who was sitting with Uther when he sighed quietly in his sleep and did not breathe again.
Arthur knew their relationship had been tumultuous. He probably would not have blamed Morgana if she did not mourn at all. So he was a little surprised when he heard of how she’d burst from Uther’s chambers, tears streaming down her face, calling for help. Arthur himself had been in the middle of a council meeting, going over the grain supply with some of the visiting nobles from the outlying towns and villages, making preparations to send men to help with the harvest and ensure they would have enough food for the winter. He did not learn of his father’s passing until almost a half hour had passed, when Merlin, who was supposed to be tending to a few ill in the lower village, rushed into the council chambers. “Arthur,” was all he said. And Arthur knew.
He ignored the expressions of shock on the council members’ faces when he met Merlin halfway to accept Merlin’s embrace. He was vaguely aware of Leon and Percival quietly postponing the meeting, to be resumed the next day. All he could do was cling to Merlin, one hand trapped between their chests, clutching at Merlin’s tunic, the other curled in a fist against Merlin’s back. Merlin, for his part, had his lips pressed lightly to Arthur’s temple, palms resting solidly on the nape of his neck and small of his back. Arthur allowed himself a full minute of weakness, holding onto the other man like he himself would die if he let go. Then, with an enormous effort, he pulled away to see the council dispersing. Only the visiting nobles gave sidelong glances of curiosity and confusion on their way out; his own men, and his father’s, simply left with heads bowed and one or two murmurs of condolences. Not a word had been said, but it was not difficult to guess what had happened based on Arthur’s actions.
It just so happened that Merlin’s mother, Hunith, was in Camelot to visit her son. She was the one to help Gaius prepare Uther’s body for burial; neither of his children could bring themselves to do it, and she insisted that Merlin stay by Arthur’s side. “He needs you, my boy,” she whispered, bringing her son’s face down so she could press a kiss to his forehead. “You, more than anyone, will get him through this.” Arthur hardly heard her, staring down at his father’s peaceful, still face. Gaius was guiding Morgana to the door, but he could not bring himself to leave just yet. When Hunith came to his side, he turned to respectfully ask that she give him a few minutes, but the words vanished when she pulled him down to her level as well, hugging him as tenderly as she did her own child. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of sorrow that washed over him, burying his face in the woman’s shoulder and just holding back a sob. She held him like that for a long, long time, saying nothing when she felt his tears soaking into her dress. She stroked his hair and only released Arthur when he himself let go. She brushed the remaining tears from his cheeks, kissed his forehead as she had Merlin’s, and gently sent him off with Merlin’s arm around his shoulders.
Truthfully, Arthur did not remember much of his father’s burial, or even of his own following coronation. He mourned stoically, shoulders stiff, like he knew his father would have wanted, but the days blended blurrily together in his memory later on. Lords and ladies from across Albion came to express their condolences, he knew, and life in the kingdom carried on as before, with him officially at the head as king. But none of the mattered, really.
What he did remember was this:
Merlin by his side, day in and day out, lending his own quiet strength to Arthur even when he could neither say nor do anything to comfort him amidst the nobles; Merlin’s hand firmly holding Arthur’s during mealtimes, reminding him silently that he must eat; Merlin in his bed, every night, fingers carding through Arthur’s hair and lulling him to sleep when he could, or giving him a sleeping draught when he couldn’t; Merlin, right there, for as long as Arthur needed him to be.
**
The topic of marriage, as it so often did now that Arthur was truly king, arose again during council not long after Uther’s passing.
“I’m so tired of their talk of ‘strategic matches’ and ‘the kingdom needs a queen, My Lord,’ and ‘now more than ever, you must understand the importance of having an heir.’” Arthur was pacing the room, picking up random objects only to set them down in an entirely different place, undoing all of Merlin’s work of tidying from that morning. “I am well aware that I will not live forever, but they are well aware of my stance on the subject! I will not marry some noble’s daughter or even a neighboring kingdom’s princess to strengthen Camelot. I will not marry at all until it can be – well, until it’s…” He trailed off, glancing uncertainly at Merlin, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed and had been for the last fifteen minutes while Arthur ranted. It was always best to let Arthur talk until he ran out of things to say, rather than try to calm him down.
“You know my opinion on the matter,” Merlin said, firmly ignoring the leap his heart gave, knowing full well what Arthur was not saying, and the accompanying pain at the suggestion he was about to give yet again. “There are a few ways to go about it, but the best would be to marry someone you trust. Gwen is more than suitable and they would accept her, commoner as she is. She is one of your dearest friends, it would not be remotely a stretch for the kingdom to see your feelings as more romantic in nature.” Truthfully, Merlin had rather thought they were himself until Arthur had kissed him in that clearing all that time ago. Even after, he wondered if Gwen resented him for taking all of Arthur’s time, but she had never been anything but supportive, and she had Lancelot besides.
“And you know my opinion on the matter,” Arthur retorted. “Besides, it is not long now before Lancelot asks for her hand; I would not stand in the way of that, even if I did not have you as my own.”
Merlin sighed. “A compromise, then. Appoint an heir, at least for the time being until you have a child yourself.”
“I will not be having a child—”
“I know that,” Merlin interrupted, leaning forward and catching one of Arthur’s hands as he walked past the bed again, “but they don’t have to. And it would quiet them for the time being, at least on the subject of your lack of union. It is not a perfect solution, but there are ideal candidates, Morgana being the obvious choice. Perhaps even her own child, if and when she has them.”
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, absently tangling their fingers while he thought about this. “She has Pendragon blood, if not the name,” he mused. “And Camelot has had a few queens that were the primary monarch. There have been kings who ignored the traditional firstborn son rule in favor of simply firstborn.” But then his face twisted and his other hand waved through the air in frustration; evidently there was still nervous energy working out of his system. “But I am tired of compromise! I’m tired of hiding and pretending, even though most of the kingdom knows the truth by now regardless.”
“They’d be blind not to,” Merlin joked, but it fell on deaf ears as Arthur continued.
“I’m the king, I should be able to marry who I like,” the king said stubbornly. He glared halfheartedly at Merlin. “I would be able to marry who I like, if you would just—”
“You know why we can’t do that yet,” Merlin interrupted, even as he squeezed Arthur’s hand in his. “You’re very close to legalizing magic in Camelot again and I am so, so proud of you for it. But if we were to tell the kingdom about me now, they would think—”
“They’d think you’d enchanted me,” Arthur cut him off in turn. “I know, gods, I know, but even after the law has passed, we’ll still have to wait to reveal you. Then it’ll take more time until you can be court sorcerer, and then we’ll have to wait even longer to tell the kingdom of our relationship, and only then can we begin convincing them that we should be able to marry and you rule at my side. It’s too bloody long, I’ve kept you a secret for almost three years now. I want to be able to show everyone you’re mine.”
Merlin used the hand he still held to tug Arthur forward onto the bed. He pulled him forward until he could tip backwards, the king landing smoothly in the vee of his legs. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s and hoped he could hear every single thing Merlin wasn’t able to put into words. “We’ll think of something once the law is passed,” he promised, Arthur’s breath slightly ragged in his ear. “Okay? It won’t be that long, not really.”
“It better not be,” Arthur grumbled, even as he twisted his hands up under Merlin’s shirt, “or I’ll have you in the stocks for a month. Lying to the king is treason, Merlin.”
Merlin laughed and kept laughing as Arthur made it his mission to rid him of his clothes.
**
When the ban on magic was finally lifted, the next problem revealed itself: how on earth were they supposed to reveal Merlin’s magic without the whole of Camelot thinking he’d enchanted Arthur?
“We could wait until there’s a battle,” Arthur offered halfheartedly at best. The chances for a battle anytime soon were highly unlikely; even in his short reign as king, he’d done a phenomenal job of extending peace to just about…well, everywhere. For the first time in many years, Camelot didn’t seem to have any active enemies.
Even the druids had cautiously accepted Arthur’s offer of friendship. Morgana had a lot to do with that, admittedly; she had travelled in Arthur’s stead to deliver the news of the legalization of magic once more. When the news spread among the camps across Camelot, she further convinced them by requesting to spend a few months with the druids to learn more about their own particular magics. Arthur was all too happy to allow her some time away from the castle; she’d been growing restless of late with the knowledge that Arthur was getting ready to appoint her as his heir. Once that was official, it would be much more difficult for her to go anywhere for long periods of time.
“No matter what we do, someone will insist on doubt,” Merlin said tiredly. “There’s no way to convince everyone that I haven’t been using you all this time for my own gain.”
“You’ve been in my service for how many years now?” Arthur asked. “If you were going to do something, you’ve had about a million chances to do so. Even if the argument could be made that you were biding your time until I was king…” He swallowed against the pang in his chest and went on, “it’s been months. Why play servant for that long without making a move? My father’s old advisors won’t take loyalty as a good enough reason.” They might accept love though, Arthur thought absently. They could kill two birds with one stone here, he thought. Three, if he could appoint Merlin as Court Sorcerer on the spot, though that might take some maneuvering. Unless…
He could hear Merlin talking about waiting “until the right time” again, but an idea was forming rapidly in his head now. Merlin would hate it, would never go along with it. Hell, no one would want to go along with it if he told them. But there was no easy way to do this, they’d established that a long time ago.
“There is no right time,” he said now. “There won’t ever be a right time. We need to just…do it.”
“Just like that?” Merlin said skeptically.
“Just like that,” Arthur echoed. “The knights will back you, the rest of the serving staff will back you, all the people you and Gaius have treated will back you. The council won’t have a leg to stand on.”
“They’ll try anyway,” Merlin warned. “Your father’s men especially.”
“Then we’ll deal with that as it happens,” Arthur assured him, saying nothing of the plan forming in his head. Better to ask forgiveness later than permission now in this case.
**
Merlin might think that Arthur was naïve when it came to how other people viewed the sorcerer, but truthfully, Arthur had just about expected this reaction to the reveal of Merlin’s true power. The knights, as he had known they would, stood staunchly on Merlin’s side – which led to several of the older men on the council accusing Merlin of enchanting them too. Merlin, standing in the middle of the chambers, began to look all too much like he was on trial, and Arthur could see the fear creeping onto his face as the council raged and argued.
“Enough!” Arthur’s shout echoed through the hall. Silence fell. “Merlin has never harmed me, and never would. I’ve known of his magic for years now, and he has saved my life with it many times, probably more than I know of. Did it pain me to keep this secret from my father? Yes, but it was necessity to keep Merlin alive. I trust him with my life, and more than that, I trust him with this kingdom. But if the word of your king is not enough to convince you of Merlin’s loyalty to Camelot, to me, then I suppose he must prove it to you.” He stepped around the table and came to stand in front of Merlin. His heart was racing now, not in fear but in guilt at what he was about to ask the other man to do.
“Arthur, what is this?” Merlin said warily. This was not part of their discussion.
Arthur unsheathed his sword and held it out for the nearest knight – Leon – to take. “I could never hurt you,” he murmured, just loud enough for the whole room to hear, but meaning it for Merlin’s ears only. “And I know you could never hurt me. And this shouldn’t be necessary, but it is.” He took two steps back and spread his arms wide in invitation. “Give it your best go, Merlin,” he said, louder than before.
“What?” Merlin gasped in alarm, but it was almost drowned in the ensuing chaos around them. Arthur had to yell multiple times for the council to quiet back down enough for him to hear Merlin chattering in panic, “Arthur, no, what are you doing? I’m not going to try to – I won’t – no, I won’t do it.”
“You will,” Arthur said calmly. “I’m ordering you to.”
“Sire, this is too much—” one of the younger men who had previously been on Merlin’s side spoke up.
“He won’t hurt me,” Arthur interrupted. “He can’t hurt me. Merlin’s magic is him, and it will not harm me either.” He gazed steadily into Merlin’s agonized face. “I trust you. Now trust me in this. Please.”
“Arthur, don’t make me do this,” Merlin pleaded. “I can’t risk it, what if it goes wrong?”
“You once practically blew up a house without so much as singeing a hair on my head while I was in it,” Arthur reminded him gently. “So try to hurt me now. Give it all you’ve got. Well, without leveling the castle if at all possible.”
Merlin was shaking from head to toe, tears pooling in his eyes, and Arthur hated himself for what he was doing but it was too late to go back now. “Think of all the times you feared for your life living in Camelot. Think of all the times you woke up wondering if that day would be your last, if you would be found out by my father, by me. Remember how it felt, not knowing if I would ever accept your magic, not being able to tell me the truth because there was a small part of you that thought I would have you burned for it.” And gods, that hurt to say, to know that there had ever been a time where Merlin might have imagined Arthur could kill him. He raised his arms again, eyes locked on the man in front of him. The man he loved. “Now do it.”
And Merlin raised his hand, his blue eyes flashed gold, and with tears streaming down his face he spoke in the language Arthur could never hope to understand. At once fire engulfed his body. It licked at his skin, blinded him so he had to close his eyes. He smelled smoke and felt the heat and knew without a doubt that Merlin was trying to burn him alive right then and there. But despite the screams and yells from all around the room, despite the stone beneath his feet growing scorched, Arthur felt no pain. The heat was there, yes, but it was as if an invisible wall was dulling it. He was surrounded by fire, by Merlin’s magic in its most dangerous form, and he was completely safe.
What could only have been seconds later, the flames died in an instant. The noise in the hall died gradually as the council realized that Arthur was unharmed, as he had promised he would be. But Arthur paid them no attention. He only took four steps forward before collapsing to his knees in front of Merlin, the latter of whom was practically vibrating out of his skin and sobbing. Arthur gathered the man’s hands in his own and cupped one of Merlin’s palms over his cheek. The other he gripped by the wrist and guided over his own neck, shoulder, down his chest. “I’m alright,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s so hard it hurt. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You bastard,” Merlin rasped, moving one of his hands to twist in Arthur’s hair. “Don’t you ever—I should hate you, I should…”
“That’s treason, Merlin,” Arthur said lightly, though his own throat was closing up now too and he could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears. He held Merlin’s face in his hands, urging him to open his eyes and look at him. “I could have you in the stocks for that. Calling your king a bastard, and in front of the council no less—”
“Shut up,” Merlin snarled, and then made sure Arthur did by kissing him.
There were a few gasps of dismay around the hall, but mostly whoops from the knights and resigned sighs from council members who had already suspected. Arthur didn’t care though, couldn’t care, not now. This was it, then. This was Merlin letting go and damning propriety and finally doing what Arthur had wanted all along: telling everyone exactly what the two of them were. There would be no doubt left in Camelot after this.
They only stopped kissing because Arthur couldn’t stop grinning against Merlin’s mouth.
“Shut up,” Merlin muttered, and sure enough, his ears were burning red when Arthur pulled back far enough to look. The king urged Merlin to his feet before turning to face the council once more, hand still tightly clasped in the sorcerer’s. “We will continue tomorrow,” Arthur said, tone leaving no room for protest. “The meeting will begin with drawing up the proper procedure for instating Merlin as Court Sorcerer. Make your preparations and have them ready by noon.”
No one, not even his father’s old advisors, shot even so much as a look of dissent at the two of them as they filed out of the room. Gwaine enthusiastically clapped them both on the shoulders, loudly wishing them a long and happy life together. The other knights were much more subtle, with smiles and nods and Lancelot saying quietly, “I’ll have Gwen start planning the wedding now, shall I?”
“Plan your own first,” Arthur told him.
When the room was finally empty, he turned back to face Merlin head on, catching his face in his hands. Merlin’s cheeks were tearstained and there was a mix of horror and anger warring there, but relief and love were the overwhelming expressions Arthur could see. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice still low. “I knew if it came down to this, you never would have agreed.”
“I could have hurt you,” Merlin choked out, eyes filling with tears again. “Gods, Arthur, what if it had gone wrong? You’d be dead and I’d be to blame.”
“I knew it wouldn’t go wrong,” Arthur said softly. “I knew because even when you’ve completely lost control of it, your magic has never caused me any harm. Your love for me is so deep in you that it extends to every part of you, and that includes your magic.”
“You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you,” Merlin mumbled, lightly cuffing Arthur upside the head.
“I’m sure of you,” Arthur corrected him. “I’m sure of us. And I’m certain that if the roles were reversed, the way I love you would prevent me from hurting you as well.” He kissed Merlin again, just a light press of lips. “I am truly sorry for putting you through that though. I also know that if the roles were reversed, I’d be furious with you.”
“Furious doesn’t even begin to cover it, you clotpole.” But Merlin was kissing him again, and not as chastely as Arthur had kissed him a moment before. “Gods, we’ve done it now, haven’t we?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur said primly, just barely suppressing a shudder when Merlin’s lips moved to his neck. “I was merely a victim in your assault.”
“Do you ever shut up?” Merlin pulled away, but only to start pushing Arthur towards the door. “Hurry up cabbagehead, I’m not doing this with you in the middle of the damn council chamber.”
“We could though,” Arthur said. “Who’s going to stop us?”
“Oh, you bloody—” Another flash of gold and the sensation of moving very quickly, and they were standing next to Arthur’s bed. “Get naked.”
Arthur looked around in mild surprise. “Why haven’t you done that before? We could have saved so much time traipsing about the castle trying to get where we’re going.”
“You need the exercise,” Merlin retorted with a sharp bite to Arthur’s jaw. “Take your bloody clothes off, damn you.”
Arthur was on his back with Merlin softening inside him a little while later, sticky and blissed out, when he finally spoke again. “I suppose we should start planning a wedding now though.”
“Morgana has it covered,” Merlin said sleepily in his ear.
“Good,” Arthur murmured, closing his eyes. “I hate event planning.”
They slept.