Chapter Text
In their first meeting, Arthur hadn’t been able to hide his elation at hearing the ever longed-for name—as the realisation had struck him midsentence: “yet you called me...friend.” But then the boy—insolent beyond his station, clearly not knowing what Arthur’s was, had fought back. Arthur taunted him, pushing and forcing the physical contact that he’d been bereft of all his life. He had been so caught up in the adrenaline of the meeting that he hadn’t realised the probable effect of the encounter until the guards carted the slender brunet away to the dungeons.
The next morning he watched from his window as the sorceror bent over trapped in the stocks, and was pelted with all manner of fruits and vegetables. He cringed with every piece that struck the brunet’s head, clenching his fists and thinking vehemently that it was not the punishment he would have inflicted on the boy.
Then Guinevere approached and he turned away from the window with a growl.
He went to patrolling with his knights, but when Merlin his Merlin passed him later in the streets, he couldn’t help the jibe that was so clearly a cry for attention: “how’s your knee walking coming along?” The boy didn’t even miss a step and he ached, upset at being denied. He made sure none of his true feelings came across as he walked after him, calling: “oh, don’t run away!”
The sorceror paused, then: “from you?”
“Ah, thank god,” he breathed. Hurrying to correct this slip, he added: “Thought you were deaf as well as dumb.”
“Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass,” Merlin said cheekily, turning to face him. “I just didn’t realise you were a royal one.” When Arthur looked back at his men to judge their reactions, he continued: “Oh, what are you going to do? Get your daddy’s men to protect you?”
One of the nights behind him laughed at that—almost in disbelief. Arthur chuckled, amused by his future’s bravado: “I could take you apart with one blow.”
“I could take you apart with less than that.”
“Are you sure?” He taunted, ignoring the truth that rung from those words. Instead of letting the anxiety show, he tried not to watch as the sorceror stripped off his brown coat and revealed the slender torso. He fought away his nerves with sharp heckles of laughter and turned to take a mace from his guard, tossing it to the sorceror with a flippant jive. He swung his own mace above his head, trying to intimidate the boy into backing down. When that didn’t work, he approached him and said: “I warn you: I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”
“Wow,” the other replied, his impressed tone clearly sarcastic. Then he asked mockingly: “and how long have you been training to be a prat?”
He’d stopped swinging some time ago, and he turned his face away until he could hide the pain that would have so clearly shown in his eyes. This boy was to be his destiny, and Merlin didn’t even like him. “You can’t address me like that!”
“Sorry,” Merlin replied, clearly nothing of the sort. He looked down at the mace in his hand. “How long have you been training to be a prat...” He paused, giving the prince a look from under long, dark lashes, and added: “my lord?”
Arthur gave a grimacing laugh, then swung the mace towards the smug expression. Merlin ducked beneath the trajectory and the fight began—Arthur avoided actually aiming for the boy, and the sorceror in turn used agility and magic (and more falling down than was probably appropriate) to trick his way through. The golden flash in the intense blue eyes told him all he needed to know, and he resolved himself to warn the boy against being so obvious in public where there were money-hungry snitches.
When Merlin turned away, secure in his victory, Arthur took him down with three precise blows that would leave no lasting damage.
After the fight, he said in parting: “there’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” That would be warning enough until he could have the sorceror to himself.
At earliest opportunity, he’d snuck through the castle to the cavern beneath its depths, waiting patiently for the dragon to arrive in its own time. It did, the sound of its wings ripping through the air. It landed on the rocky outcrop across from him, settling down comfortably. “Welcome back, young Prince,” the deep, rumbling voice came.
“Good evening, Great Dragon,” the Prince said, bowing slightly.
“You’ve had a very important day today, haven’t you, young one?” The dragon said, amused.
Arthur ducked his head, embarrassed. “It was him, then. Wasn’t it?”
“The Merlin you met in the courtyard was the Merlin from your destiny, yes,” the dragon agreed. “You didn’t get off to a very good start, now did you?”
He squirmed uncomfortably in his place. “He was so insolent.”
The dragon chuckled, its tail lashing with its amusement. “Merlin is your other half,” it said wisely, “you are in all things equal.”
“Equal?” Arthur asked, outraged, “I am the Prince! He’s just a peasant!”
The chuckle came again. “Merlin is so much more than that,” it replied. “You will come to know that in time.”
“Does he know?” Arthur asked desperately. “Does he know who we are to each other?”
“Know this he does not,” the dragon replied. At Arthur’s crestfallen expression, he growled a little in reassurance. “Be at ease, young prince. As we speak, the sorceror is on his way down to my keep. I will bestow upon him the truth of his destiny.”
Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you,” he murmured. The dragon inclined its head to the wall and Arthur nodded. Reaching for the footholds and scaling his way up to the ledge far above his head as the dragon flew away to hide for a dramatic entrance. He settled down on a boulder to wait—tensing as he heard the blunt: “where are you?”
“I’m here,” the great dragon replied. Then there was a long silence, followed by the heavy sounds of it settling in to a comfortable position. “How small you are,” it said, “for such a great destiny.”
“Why?” Merlin asked, sounding awed. “What do you mean? What destiny?”
“Your gift, Merlin,” the dragon said, “was given to you for a reason.”
“So there is a reason,” he breathed.
“Arthur is the once and future king who will unite the land of Albion,” it explained.
“Right,” he agreed, sounding wary and unconvinced.
“But he faces many threats from friend and foe alike,” the dragon continued.
“I don’t see what this has to do with me!” Merlin retorted petulantly.
“Everything!” it replied impatiently. “Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.”
Get to the point, Arthur thought desperately, tell him we are two halves to be entwined.
“No,” Merlin protested. “No, you’ve got this wrong.”
“There is no right or wrong,” the dragon replied. “Only what is and what isn’t.”
“I’m serious!” he retorted. “If anyone wants to go and kill him, they can go ahead. In fact, I’ll give them a hand.”
Arthur gasped a breath at that, recoiling at the pain and closing his eyes as they watered. The dragon chuckled. He’d known that Merlin had no high opinion of him, but for the sorceror to wish him dead... He breathed out in a low whimper and propped his legs up on the boulder, wrapping shaking arms around his knees.
“None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin,” the dragon said. “And none of us can escape it.”
“No,” Merlin replied stubbornly. “No way, no. No.” Arthur tightened his fists with every repetition and took a shuddering breath as the sorceror continued: “there must be another Arthur, because this one’s an idiot.”
“Perhaps it’s your destiny to change that,” it replied cryptically. There were the heavy sounds of the dragon preparing for flight, then the gusts of wind pushed by his wings.
The dragon settled on the rock across from Arthur, watching and waiting patiently while the sorcerer yelled after the great dragon in an angry and uncouth manner. Arthur hugged his knees tight to his chest and took deep breaths, meeting the dragon’s knowing gaze and Merlin left in a temper.
“He will come around, young prince,” it said reassuringly. “He must. It is his destiny.”
Arthur scoffed, lying his cheek atop one knee. “I didn’t expect him to be happy about it right away,” he admitted quietly. “But I had hoped he couldn’t hate the idea on principal.” Not the idea, a cold voice taunted, just you.
“First impressions are rarely correct, young prince,” the dragon murmured. “He will come around in time. You know this to be the truth.” Arthur sat up properly and nodded in acquiesce. “Destiny has its way of working, no matter if you leave sight of the path you thought you were following. You will have your companion, I promise you this.”
Letting himself be reassured, even if it did not soothe his nerves, he nodded once more and got to his feet. “Thank you, wise one.”
He started his descent, the dragon’s words drifting down after him: “this is not the end of things, Arthur Pendragon. This is only the beginning.”
~~~
“Ah,” Arthur said, looking up from his pouring as the door opened and his whole being gave an internal sigh of relief. “Merlin,” he said, reaching for a grape for something to do.
“How are you?” The other asked, almost before Arthur had finished speaking. He was as hesitant as his voice, closing the door with a gentle hand.
“Good,” he replied, taking a grape into his mouth to avoid the words that floated on his tongue: better now that you’re here.
There was a pause, and Merlin said over his shoulder: “I’m pleased.”
Arthur swallowed painfully, picking up his cup of water and crossing to the chair to keep his eyes away from the blue-and-red-and-brown clad servant. “Yes,” he agreed—for something to say more than anything. “And I owe it all to Gaius.” He sunk into the chair even as his thoughts denied the lie he had just spoken. There’s been a familiar brush of magic in his return to health, something that resonated with the feeling of Merlin the prince had grown to revere.
Merlin’s disappointed expression told him all he needed to know about the fact—his manservant really was a hopeless liar. The pause stretched long between them, and then he became of those blue eyes and all their intensity focussed upon him. “I need to talk to you.”
Arthur sipped at his water and forced himself to taunt the boy, remind him of the place he was supposed to hold. “You still haven’t got it yet, have you?” The almost-outraged disbelief in Merlin’s look made his next words playful when they should have been stinging: “I decide when we need to talk.”
“Not today,” Merlin said seriously.
“I sometimes wonder,” he said conversationally, using his goblet to make gestures to shake off his sudden anxious energy, “if you knowwho I am.” He meant it to come across as an imperious thing, but some part of him echoed with the further question: do you know who I am? Do you know who we are meant to be?
“Oh, I know who you are,” Merlin replied.
Arthur nodded, trying not to dwell on how husky the boy’s voice was—had he been crying? “Good,” he said, eyes seeking out the redness of his manservant’s eyes. What had him grieved, Arthur wondered, chest aching to join the pain in his shoulder.
Merlin was half-smiling as he crossed over to the table in precise steps. Arthur forced his gaze away to take a drink, and then he said: “you’re a prat.” Arthur stopped before he could sip and gave the boy a look. “And a royal one,” he added, softer.
Arthur looked away, huffing out a breath in a sort of laugh. “Are you ever going to change, Merlin?” He asked, setting down his cup and rubbing at his shoulder as it gave a particularly harsh twinge.
“No,” Merlin replied, amused, “you’d get bored.” Then his face fell slightly—sad and contemplative. Arthur ducked his head again, squeezing the muscles in his shoulder to try and stave off the pain. “Now promise me, if you get another servant, don’t get a bootlicker.”
Another servant? Arthur thought dully. “If this is you trying to leave your job,” he said, leaving the statement open. Merlin would see an implied threat, not the despair that tore into his heart—pain so close to the healing wounds on his shoulder.
“No,” Merlin said quickly. “I’m happy to be your servant,” he continued, his voice soft but still intense. “Till the day I die,” he added, an odd note in his voice.
Arthur wanted to look up sharply from that. Don’t you dare talk about death, he wanted to scream. He forced himself to look slowly, his expression one of question and not accusation.
Merlin looked stubborn and his eyes seemed to be begging the prince to read something from the words that he hadn’t said. The moment stretched between them, Arthur’s heart aching dully in his chest. “Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin,” he admitted, reaching for the cup again. “Other times...”
“Well,” the boy spoke, “I know you.” Arthur met his gaze across the table, frown pulling at his brows and lip curling upwards. “You’re a great warrior,” Merlin continued, head shaking slightly. His eyes were shiny and damp, dark in the firelight and unmoving from Arthur who curbed the urge to shift under the intensity. “One day, you’ll be a great king,” Merlin said.
With you at my side, Arthur’s thoughts clamoured, but he daren’t speak them aloud. “That’s very kind of you,” he said in their stead.
“But you must learn to listen as well as you fight,” Merlin said.
Arthur flicked his gaze away, unable to face the pain and solemnity in Merlin’s blue, blue gaze. He turned his face away, fighting at the panic that was clawing him to do something more. “Any other pointers?” He asked, making sure he seemed annoyed and affronted.
“No,” Merlin said, finally dropping that sad and serious gaze. He stared down at the table and Arthur took the hidden moment to let the fondness for his manservant warm his expression. “That’s it,” Merlin insisted quietly. Then he readjusted himself and met the prince’s gaze again. “Just...” a half-smile tugged at his lips, “don’t be a prat.”
Arthur frowned at the finality in those words, nearly jumping when Merlin turned suddenly to leave. He looked away and lifted his cup to his lips. (from here on out, we go completely AU and even more OOC.)
He turned his gaze back to the door as it closed behind his solemn manservant. That conversation had been beyond strange, even for Merlin. He pulled himself to unsteady feet, pain firing through his shoulder in protest of the movement.
He called for a guard but none came. Frustrated, he steeled his energy and walked gingerly through the palace corridors, pain flaring with every step.
By the time he made it to Gaius’ quarters he was slicked with sweat, head twirling in wild spins with every breath. The physician cried out at the sight of him, stopping packing mid-movement to hurry him into the nearest chair.
He brushed off the physician’s scolding with a dismissive wave and demanded: “Where is Merlin?”
Gaius froze, and something akin to fright inflamed his eyes. “He’s not off on some errand for you?”
“No,” Arthur answered warily, “he said some very strange things to me and I would like to demand the meaning of them.”
“What did he say?” Gaius asked.
Arthur ignored him, continuing: “and if he is so happy to be in my service ‘till the day he dies’, why did it sound like he was saying goodbye?”
“No,” the physician said, breathless. “No, he can’t have...” He shook his head almost violently. “I beg your pardon, sire, but I must leave in haste—I will call Gwen in to take you to your rooms.”
“Where are you...” He broke off as the pieces came together in his head. “Where has Merlin gone and why?”
“He is gone to the Isle of the Blessed, to seek out the High Priestess of the Old Religion to offer up his life in the stead of his mother’s.” He rushed to his pack and shoved in a few last items. “I must stop him.”
Arthur gripped the sword at his hip and struggled to his feet. “I am coming with you.”
“No, my lord—you are in no condition to undertake such a journey.”
“I will go!” Arthur said forcefully. “Merlin is my...” He paused them, as words were picked up and set aside: manservant, friend, destiny, beloved. Instead, he hardened his glare. “You cannot stop me from going.”
Gaius gave him an intense, appraising expression before heaving great sigh. He turned away, shifting through a number of bottles before selecting one and passing it to the prince. Arthur took it, holding it and staring at the physician in askance. "It's a potion to ease your pain. A very powerful one. You'll need it, sire."
Arthur nodded and uncorked the vial.
~~~
Arthur had first wandered down to the dragon's keep when he was six years old. Lady Helen, his latest nanny, was wine soaked and slumbering next to the
fire in his nursery.
He didn't remember all that had passed between him and the giant reptile, but the memorable exchange was still burnt into his thoughts over a dozen years later. Trembling and worried as only a child could be, he'd asked will anyone ever love me?
The dragon had chuckled deep in its belly and stretched, resting its head on a claw - as close to the prince as he could get without leaving the large rock formation. Young prince, you are but one side of a coin. Rest assured that all you desire shall be granted in your other half.
At Arthur's childish pleading, he had been given a name. Merlin.
That was the name he yelled as he raced across the stone courtyard and dropped to his knees beside the unmoving figure of his destined companion. He gathered Merlin into his arms, whimpering as the limbs flopped uselessly from their own weight. The skin was still warm to touch, but rapidly cooling even as he clutched Merlin closer.
He shook with repressed sobs, aware of the wetness sliding down his cheeks. He looked up as Gaius approached him, holding a silver chalice in one hand and stirring its contents with a finger from the other. He bent down and pressed the vessel into Arthur's grasp. "There is still yet hope," the physician said, "you must make sure he drinks some of this. A mouthful will do."
Arthur cradled Merlin closer, resting the boy's head on his uninjured shoulder and tilting it back.
His attempt to tip the chalice’s contents into Merlin’s mouth merely caused the clear liquid to slip out from the bow-shaped lips and dribble down his
jaw. Taking a shuddering breath, he lifted the cup to his own mouth and held a measure of the liquid behind sealed lips he pressed to Merlin's. He
coaxed the other's lips open with his tongue and transferred the mouthful into Merlin's dry cavern. He cupped a hand around the pale jaw, massaging the
muscles and forcing Merlin to swallow.
He pulled away then, closing his eyes to the thought that was the only kiss he had and ever would share with his other half.
He broke from his melancholic thoughts when heavy thump sounded beside him. He turned to see Gaius fallen against the altar, bloodless white. He called the physician's name, dread clawing at him. He set Merlin up against the carved stone and crawled over to the fallen man.
He knew, even before he pressed two fingers into the wrinkled neck and found no throb to answer. He startled, nearly knocking his head into the stone altar, as a sharp gasp of air sounded behind him. "Arthur?" A familiar voice rasped. "What...?"
“Oh, gods...Merlin!” Arthur gasped. He resisted the urge to pull the slighter figure into his arm and hold him close to reassure himself that he was alive, press his ear to the skinny chest and hear the steady thump of a heartbeat. He turned slowly instead, allowing himself to grasp the bony shoulder in a firm hand. “You’re alive.”
“What’s going on?” Merlin rasped, sitting up. “Who...? No. Gaius!”
The late physician’s words came back to him then: to offer up his life in the stead of his mother’s. “A life for a life,” he murmured.
The too-blue eyes turned to him, alight with fury. “He can’t give up his life for mine!” he hissed vehemently.
“Yet you can give up your life for your mother’s?” Arthur asked quietly. “I won’t pretend I can understand that, Merlin—but Gaius cared for you very much. He didn’t want to see you dead just as much as you couldn’t bear for your mother to die.”
“He wasn’t supposed to die for me!” Merlin cried, fighting against his own weakness and the firm hold of Arthur’s arm to get to the fallen physician.
“He knew what he was doing, Merlin,” the prince said.
“Why aren’t you angry?” Merlin shouted furiously, turning wild eyes on him. “He was the court physician and I’m just some useless servant!”
Answers warred in Arthur’s head – your destiny is so much greater than his ever was and because you mean so much more to me than he ever could. “Who are you to decide who lives and dies, Merlin?” He asked hoarsely.
“He wasn’t supposed to...” His voice broke then and he collapsed forward into Arthur’s good shoulder, shaking with sobs and whimpering in his throat.
“I know,” Arthur murmured. A sickening thought occurred to him as he wrapped an arm around his weeping manservant. He himself had been on the very edge of death, only to be pulled back from the edge by something that felt very much like Merlin. What if Hunith was the life he’d have to pay for the service? And all the near-deaths and the final demise of Gaius was all his fault. He shuddered and pulled Merlin closer, murmuring into the dark mess of hair: “I know.”
~~~
Gaius funeral had been a solemn affair. Arthur stood beside Morgana, removed from the main crowd, intensely aware of every movement of his manservant standing a pace behind him.
He couldn’t ignore the hitches of breath that were restrained sobs, but he gladly pretended that he did. Only because Merlin would have been embarrassed to think Arthur knew he’d cried—like it was supposed to be something shameful. If it were left to Arthur’s choice, he would take Merlin into his arms and hold him until the sorceror had spent his tears.
But it was not his choice, so he said nothing about the red-rimmed eyes and tear-tracked face when he passed Merlin on his way inside. As much as he’d done to try and get out of it, Arthur’s presence was required at the appointing of the new Court Physician. The man was perhaps thirty and had a shrewd look about him—Arthur disliked him, but mostly because of the circumstances that forced his presence.
Leaving at earliest opportunity, he strode through the castle in search of his manservant. The skin at the small of his back shivered with a familiar sense and he softened his steps as he turned the corner, hearing Gwen and Merlin’s voices as the two of them stood huddled in an alcove.
“...nowhere to go,” he was saying. His voice was broken, Arthur’s heart aching at the very sound of it. “I have to find somewhere to stay.”
“You’re not going, then?” Gwen asked, clearly relieved. “I thought...after Gaius...you might return home. To Ealdor.”
Ealdor is not his home , Arthur thought vehemently. His place is with me.
“No,” Merlin was saying softly. “I’m needed here.” There was a grin in his words: “can you imagine Arthur trying to get through the day without me?” The prince couldn’t even be offended at that.
“You could stay with me,” Gwen offered hesitantly. “My house has been empty since...my father...”
“Thank you, Gwen,” Merlin murmured. Arthur felt his heart clenched and inwardly he screamed in protest. But he soothed when the sorceror continued: “it wouldn’t be right.”
No, it bloody well wouldn’t , Arthur thought bitterly, before creeping round the corner and making sure his footsteps were heavy as he rounded back the corner and found Gwen watching him startled. Merlin’s face was a grim sort of blank and Arthur gave him what he hoped was a believable glare. “There you are, Merlin! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” His eyes drifted down to the tattered bag sitting at the sorceror’s feet. “Good,” he said, ignoring Merlin’s half-stammering excuses. “You’ve got your things. Come with me.”
He turned on his heel and started walking back the way he’d come.
“Arthur?” Merlin asked, confused.
He looked over his shoulder with a stern frown. “Hurry up, Merlin. I haven’t got all day.”
The sorceror had fallen into step beside him before he turned the corner. Arthur led him up through the familiar path and ushered the sorceror through the door with a look that clearly conveyed his expectation.
Merlin went in, frowning around then back at the prince in confusion. “This is your room.”
“Well done, Merlin,” Arthur replied. “I’m glad to know that after so long in my service, you can recognise my rooms.”
“What are we doing here?” Merlin asked, instead of retaliating. Arthur missed the opportunity for another spar of their verbal warfare, but let the feeling pass. Merlin could be forgiven, under the circumstances.
Arthur didn’t answer him, heading over to a disused door and swinging it open. Merlin continued to frown at him, confused. Arthur heaved a heavy sigh and gesturing the sorceror inside with a sharp jerk of his head. “Inside, Merlin,” he commanded, impatient.
His manservant went in. He stopped halfway into the room, looking around, then back at Arthur leaning in the doorway patiently. “What’s this?” He asked, perplexed.
“Servant’s quarters,” Arthur answered flatly. “Perhaps now that you don’t have half a palace to cross, you’ll be on time in the mornings.”
He tried to make sure his demeanour was imperious—hiding his concern and the hopeful truth of the offer he was extending. But it was clear in the grateful, pained look Merlin gave him that he was more transparent than he’d hoped to be. “Thank you,” he said, lowering his head.
Arthur wanted to grin widely, warmed down to the tips of toes at the clear relief in the sorceror’s expression. He restrained the desire to a small curve of his lips. “Just don’t leave this place in the same state you left your previous quarters,” he said on the matter.
Merlin grinned at him and Arthur’s chest ached in relief. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.
Arthur turned and left him to it, knowing full well Merlin would do exactly that. But he would gladly put up with it to have his destined companion close and safe—just a wooden door between them.
He eased into his favourite chair and leant his head against the back. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of Merlin unpacking soothe him into relaxation.
~~~
Arthur was well-aware of the fact that Merlin had taken his meals with Gaius—whatever the physicians had prepared or had the sorceror prepare. He wondered whether his manservant even knew he was able and supposed to take his meals in the kitchen.
Knowing he probably did not, Arthur sent word down to the kitchen to double his normal portion and had a maid bring him another dinner set.
By the time Merlin carted their meal up from the kitchens, the table had been laid out for two. The sorceror stopped inside the room, looking startled. “Are you expecting company, Arthur?”
The prince looked up from the goblet of wine he had poured for his nerves. “What exactly did you think when you brought all that up?” He asked, gesturing towards the laden tray his manservant was carrying.
“That your appetite was particularly insatiable lately, sire,” Merlin replied, the title sounding downright insulting.
“Are you calling me fat?” Arthur demanded loudly, insulted.
“Would I say something like that?” Merlin asked. Arthur’s affront fell away at the sparkle in the sorceror’s eye that had been present in the long, dragging days since Gaius’ death.
“Of course you would.” He gestured with his cup to the bench on the other side of the table. “Sit down, Merlin.”
The sorceror looked startled again, glancing outside the door then back to the prince. “What? Me?”
“Yes you, Merlin.” Arthur glared at him, setting his cup down on the table. “You didn’t actually think I was going to eat all this alone, did you?”
“No,” Merlin said hesitantly. “I just thought you’d have...more suitable company.”
Arthur clenched his jaw, outraged. “Are you saying you’re too good for my company, Merlin?” He demanded.
“What? No!” Merlin said hurriedly. “I just...I mean...I ate down in the kitchens with Gwen.”
Guinevere , Arthur thought darkly. “Right,” he said through clenched teeth. He scraped his chair back and crossed to the window. “Leave it there, then go.”
“Arthur?” Merlin asked hesitantly.
“I need you to go talk to the blacksmith about the new horseshoes,” he commanded sharply. “Then have my bath prepared. After that, you’re dismissed for the night.”
“Arthur, did I—”
“I have given you a command, Merlin!” Arthur shouted, temper snapping.
“Yes, sire—of course.” There was an indecipherable tone in Merlin’s voice which Arthur closed his eyes to, letting the night breeze wash over him through the open window. He only turned around once the door had closed. He crossed then to the table and glared at the tray laden with food.
He spent a few moments picking through the offerings before his temper broke again and he flipped the tray with a rough jerk. It flew across the room, contents spilling all over the table and floor, hitting the wall with a loud clang. He stood behind the table, fists clenched and breath heaving. Then he jerked on his jacket draped over the back of the chair and stalked out to the knight’s training courtyard.
He gave blows to a heavy sack until his arms burnt with exertion and the fabric was tearing at the seams. Then he stomped back through the otherwise silent corridors back to his chambers.
Not just his chambers, he remembered with a cringe as he entered—but Merlin’s too now. The mess of food had disappeared without a trace, and the copper bath stood by the fireplace awaiting him. He glanced at the door to the servant’s antechamber—it was open just a crack, but there was no flickering candlelight inside. The sorceror had probably gone to sleep already.
Sighing in disappointment, he crossed to the bathtub and dipped his hand in. He grimaced at the barely lukewarm water and dried his hand on the bath linen hanging over the rim of the tub.
Then he crossed to the privacy screen to undress. Standing momentarily stymied by the laces of his shirt and breeches—it had been so long that Merlin had assisted him with dressing and undressing—he shook off his stupidity and yanked at the knots until they came undone. He muttered curses at himself for leaving the bath linen across the room and strode through the cool night air to the bathtub.
He sunk into the tepid water, shivering slightly. He quickly soaped up the washcloth and scrubbed at the sweat and dirt of the day and tonight’s impromptu training session.
Wrapping himself in the bath linen, he shivered at the cold air against his skin wet with cool water and crossed to his bedclothes laid out on the bed. He’d have to ask Merlin to start banking the fire up—the deceptively mild Autumn was swiftly giving way to what promised to be a frigid five months of winter.
Still shivering and clenching his jaw so his teeth couldn’t chatter against each other, he crawled beneath the duvet and set about going to sleep.
The next morning, Merlin thumped down onto the bench across from him and gathered a plate, digging in without a word.
Arthur glared at him tiredly. “I didn’t say you could eat with me,” he pointed out.
Merlin gave him a grin. “That’s because you’re a prat,” he said, before taking a large bite out of his sausage.
And just like that, Arthur knew things were back to normal.
~~~
Arthur was heaving with a breath, adrenaline sliding away as he leant on his sword. It sunk through the Grindylow’s chest and down into the sand in the shallows of the lake. He pulled out the sword and watched as the creature seemed to disintegrate into the sand.
He yanked his sword out and slid it back into the sheath. Then he trudged out of the lake, all too conscious of the water sloshing through his boots. Merlin would be disgruntled about having to clean them later, he thought as he waved away the blanket his manservant offered him to dry with.
He squelched over to the woman and stood by her huddled form. “Are you alright?” He asked.
She got to her feet, seeming to glow with some inner power. “You have my saved my life, Arthur Pendragon,” she said—her voice echoing through the clearing, though there was no reason for it to do so. “For that—I will give you your heart’s desire for just one night.”
Before he could move, she disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light. He growled, turning to Merlin. “What the hell was that?” He demanded. The sorceror in question looked dazed, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Merlin?” He asked hesitantly.
Merlin shook his head, coming back to focus. “Could have been a sidhe,” he suggested, “or a sorceress.”
“Are you alright?” Arthur asked nervously, all too aware of what his heart’s desire was.
“I’m fine,” the sorceror replied with the usual grin. “Come on—if we make good time, we might make it back to Camelot before sundown.”
Arthur nodded and trudged over to his horse, vaulting up and waiting for his manservant to scramble inelegantly over the horse’s back. His lips twitched up in a fond smile which had fallen before the sorceror had righted himself. The woman had said he would have his heart’s desire, yet Merlin stayed unaffected.
Yet another reason , he thought bitterly, not to trust evil sorcerors. He spurred his horse a little faster and raced towards the city.
They got back just as the sun was sinking below the horizon at the north wall—quicker to head straight to the stables rather than dismount in the courtyard. Eyeing Merlin and daring him to say anything, he led his mare into the stall and looked around with a tired eye.
“You’ve been neglecting your jobs,” he called to Merlin playfully. Behind him the stall door creaked open “When was the last time you mucked out these—”
He was cut off as he was shoved roughly against the wall and felt insistent lips smashed against his own. He stared wide-eyed, terrified, at Merlin’s face in cross-eyed range. The blue eyes were closed, black lashes fluttering as he continued to press kisses onto the prince’s lips.
Arthur’s jaw fell slack and Merlin took advantage of the slight change with a tongue delving into the other’s mouth and a low moan. Arthur closed his welling eyes and whimpered low in his throat. How am I supposed to survive this? He thought desperately.
Ignoring the wetness trickling down his face, he lifted his hands to Merlin’s face and pushed him away carefully. “Merlin, what are you doing?” He asked, hating how tight and gravelly his voice sounded.
“I would’ve thought that was obvious,” the sorcerer replied half-laughing.
“Why?” Arthur asked.
“Because I love you, you prat,” Merlin replied fondly, pushing him back against the stall.
He leant his head close again, but Arthur held it away from him with the hands still cupping his face. I will destroy that sorceror, he thought furiously. “In the stable?”
Merlin hummed in agreement, stepping closer and pressing his hot length against the prince. “I couldn’t control myself,” he admitted in a husky voice.
“Of course not,” Arthur agreed, thumping his head back against the wall. That’s because you’re enchanted. “Do you think you can make it back to our chambers?”
“Without you?” Merlin asked, pulling away and looking totally confused.
“I need to report to my father,” Arthur reminded him, dropping his arms back to his side.
Merlin pouted and buried his forehead in the crook of Arthur’s neck. “Sometimes I hate that you’re such a dutiful prince and son,” he whispered.
“And sometimes I hate that you’re such a terrible manservant,” he said lightly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. “Have you seen the state of the stables?”
“Is it my fault you’ve barely let me leave your chambers for weeks?” Merlin murmured, making small nips at the tendon where his neck and shoulder met. Arthur shuddered at the sensation and pulled the sorceror’s head away from his neck. “Right, stables,” he muttered, kicking the hay at his feet. “Don’t take too long, okay?”
He hurried out, head ducked low and taking several backwards glances at Arthur still half-fallen against the stall.
He thumped his head against the wall, then a few more times for good measure. What the hell am I going to do?
He hesitated after reporting to his father, then asked for a word with the new physician. As he asked for a powerful sleeping draught, he wished that it was Gaius he was still speaking to. He could have explained properly what the sorceress had done and the real reason he needed the draught, instead of making up some lie about difficulty sleeping.
He headed back to their chambers, a glass bottle held tightly in his fist. He found Merlin sprawled on his bed underneath the covers, giving him a seductive smile. He shivered slightly, trying to repress the desire that coiled low in his gut. He poured a goblet of wine with shaking hands and tipped the draught in.
Turning with a smile, he crossed to the bed and settled down beside Merlin above the sheets. He nestled against the pillows and pretended to sip at the wine. Pressing the cup to Merlin’s lips, he tilted it up until the sorceror had no choice but to drink.
He blue eyes watched him warmly as he swallowed until the cup was empty. Arthur set the goblet onto the table beside his bed and watched the sorceror for signs that the draught was working.
Merlin gave him a fond smile and leant over, pressing a lingering kiss to the prince’s lips. Arthur tried to ignore the expanse of bare skin available to him as he rested a hand on the sorceror’s prominent shoulder blade. Merlin pulled away with a frown. “This would go a lot better if you were participating, Arthur,” he pointed out.
Arthur sighed heavily, resting his head back on the headboard. “I know.”
Merlin leant up, scowling at him. “Don’t you want this?” He asked.
“I do!” Arthur said hurriedly, sliding his hand up to the sorceror’s neck. “Believe me, I want this more than anything.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Merlin asked, perturbed.
“I wonder whether you actually want this,” the prince admitted mournfully.
“Of course I do!” Merlin snapped impatiently, his eyes blinking heavily as the draught clearly took hold. “I’m the one initiating it.”
“You’re enchanted,” Arthur told him painfully. “The woman in the woods. She did this.”
Merlin sat up properly, frowning at him. “But the woman in the woods said...” He trailed off, eyes going wide. “Arthur, am I your heart’s desire?”
Arthur flinched at his tone, clenching his eyes closed against the welling tears. He nodded, then turned his face away.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Merlin said hurriedly, gently. He took the prince’s chin in slender fingers and turned his face towards him. Arthur refused to open his eyes, even as the sorceror pressed feather-light kisses all over his lips. “You have me, Arthur.” His voice was starting slur and his grip was slackening.
“But for how long?” He asked hoarsely.
“For...” He broke off, breathing heavily. “Arthur, was there a potion in that wine?” He demanded, sounding angry and slurred.
“Sleeping draught,” Arthur admitted, clenching his eyes shut tighter and bringing a hand to cup the sorceror’s head as Merlin slumped against his chest. “I thought it would be easier for you to sleep this off.”
“Arthur,” Merlin protested sleepily. “I love you.”
“I know,” the prince replied, pressing a kiss to the damp temple. “I love you too.”
Merlin hummed, and before long he was snoring lightly on Arthur’s chest. Shuddering in defeat, Arthur slipped out from underneath him. He collected the haphazardly thrown clothes and redressed the sorceror with detached efficiency. He thought about moving Merlin to his own room, but laid him back on the bed and pressed a kiss to one sharp cheekbone.
Then he swept out of the room, pulling a hooded cloak over himself. He led his eager mare past the sleeping stableboy and followed his earlier path back to the grindylow’s lake.
He flung himself off the horse and glared around the clearing, plunging his sword into the dirt.
“I thought you would be locked up in your rooms with Emrys right now,” a familiar voice commented. He whirled around to see the woman from earlier leaning against a tree, watching him curiously. He yanked his sword out of the ground and approached her, squinting through the bright glow she emitted.
“Undo the enchantment,” he commanded angrily, gripping the hilt.
She smiled pleasantly. “I can’t—but it will be over as soon as the sun rises anyway.”
“Will he remember?” Arthur asked through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “He will remember everything clearly, even once his thoughts and feelings are different than they are now.”
“Make him forget,” Arthur asked, bowing his head. “It’s not fair—just let him forget, please.”
“You’re a very strange man, Arthur Pendragon,” the sorceress remarked. “It is not many a man who would waste his only night to be with his beloved to cross a kingdom to beg for them to forget.”
“It won’t be my only,” he said, frowning.
She laughed cruelly. “And what makes you think that? The word of a dragon?”
He scowled at her, stepping forward and raising his sword. “What are you implying?”
“Kilgharrah is charged with ensuring that the destiny of Albion comes to pass,” she said coldly. “By any means necessary. If you have to believe that you and Emrys will become lovers in order to do what you must, then the dragon would have no issue in letting you think it was meant to be.”
“You’re lying!” he spat harshly, pressing the tip of his sword to the sorceress’ stomach.
She gave him a mocking sort of smile. “If that’s what you need to believe.” Her eyes flashed and the clearing was momentarily lit with blinding light. “Merlin will remember nothing from the moment you killed the grindylow. Just as you wish.”
He gave an angry shout and drove the sword through her body and into the tree behind her back. Brilliant green liquid poured from the wound and she smiled at him one more time before she slumped, lifeless.
He yanked the sword out, spraying himself with the ichor and cringed. A sidhe, then—no sorceress. Trudging back over to his horse, he mounted and rode back to Camelot as fast as his mare would go.
He left her in the hands of the confused stableboy, returning to his rooms and finding Merlin still fast asleep in his bed. He closed his eyes in pain, remembering the sidhe’s words. Shoving them aside, he pulled his chair over to the bedside and sunk gratefully into the seat, watching the sorceror slumber unknowingly.
If you had to believe that...then the dragon would have no issue in letting you think it was meant to be .
He drifted to sleep with tears drying on his face.