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Arthur sits at his desk in his chambers, humming softly to himself as he looks over the Knights’ patrol reports for the morning. Or, rather, he starts to look over the reports, but the sound of shattering crockery coming through his open window catches his attention and his gaze quickly moves to find the source.
Of course it’s him, the bungling idiot. Gods, he’s adorable, he thinks to himself as he stands to get a proper look out the window and his eyes land upon his servant in the empty square, with a pile of broken ceramic in a puddle of wine at his feet. He watches Merlin quickly scan his surroundings— though he doesn’t look up— then he sees the man’s blue eyes flash golden for the quickest second, and a moment later the pitcher of wine is whole in his hands again, just as though nothing had even happened to it in the first place.
“Oh, fuck,” the Prince mumbles to himself as his brain registers what he’s just witnessed, one hand reaching up to anxiously run through his golden hair. He’s not panicking, though, definitely not. A Prince doesn’t panic, especially not over something so trivial as realising that his manservant— whom he also thinks he’s in love with, but that part isn’t a new development— has magic, and would most certainly be killed on the spot should his father ever find out about said magic. Why on Earth would he panic over that?
And suddenly, as the realisation truly sinks in, a lot more things begin to add up. Large branches falling off of trees to crush his opponents beneath them at almost impossibly opportune moments, or his sword seeming as though there were an invisible string pulling it back into his hand in battle whenever Merlin appeared to be hiding behind the nearest tree. The windstorm in Ealdor all that time ago when Kanan and his bandits were threatening the village Merlin had grown up in, and the young boy— Will, Merlin’s childhood friend— with his now obvious lie that he’d been the one to conjure it, clearly told to use his dying breath to keep his friend’s secret. Harmless little things that had happened to him that he silently explained away in his mind as being simple muscle spasms or awkwardly timed bursts of gas. All the times he’d stumbled or dropped something mere moments after saying something that Merlin would usually call him a clotpole for, which he now realises are his servant’s own way of subtly getting back at him for being... Well, just that, actually— a clotpole.
And if Merlin’s done all these things before with his magic, that Arthur can recall having at least somewhat noticed himself, it begs the question— what else has he done that Arthur doesn’t know about? Has Merlin ever done much bigger things with his magic? Has he ever single handedly saved Camelot and not taken any of the credit for it in order to— quite literally— keep himself from the flames of the King’s wrath? Or, on the other side of the coin, has he ever been one of the sorcerers trying to bring about Camelot’s downfall— only pretending to be Arthur’s friend all this time in order to get close enough to the throne and take it for himself? Arthur has no clue, of course, and as his mind frantically races between every single possibility imaginable, he doesn’t hear the subject of his thoughts knock at the door and come into the room until he speaks.
“Good afternoon, Arthur,” the young Warlock smiles warmly as he steps over to the cluttered desk, his voice suddenly reverberating off the walls causing Arthur to start slightly as he turns away from the window.
“Gods’ sake, Merlin, did you never learn how to knock?” Arthur scoffs as his hand falls from his hair, his eyes almost immediately fixing on the same piece of crockery that had lay shattered upon the palace’s stone steps only a few minutes ago.
“Sorry, Sire. I did knock— but I appear to have caught you lost in thought. I’m sorry for startling you.” Merlin says in a soft tone, setting the pitcher of wine onto the desk, along with the plate of food that he’d brought up for the Prince’s lunch. His eyebrows raise as he notices Arthur’s eyes glued upon the ceramic as he sets it down, his expression almost a knowing one. And yet, simultaneously, it seems almost as if the Prince is forcing himself not to look at something— or perhaps even some one . No, he can’t have seen, there’s no way. But if he did... Merlin thinks before speaking again, forcing his voice to remain steady as his heartbeat grows faster with each passing second of his liege’s silence. “Is everything alright, My Lord?”
Arthur’s eyes flash up to meet Merlin’s as he thinks everything through as quickly as possible. On the one hand, he can confront Merlin here in his chambers and risk upsetting him in his haste— or, Gods forbid, getting him caught and killed should anyone overhear their conversation. Absolutely not, cries every ounce of his soul as soon as the thought crosses his mind. On the other hand, however, he could wait until the two can be truly alone together— The woods! — and mention it then, where they’d be much safer from any sort of unwanted listeners, and give himself more time to better clear his head about all this before accidentally saying something stupid or rash. In about a half a second, he makes the smart decision not to mention what he’d seen to Merlin just yet, simply nodding his head and managing a convincing enough smile. “Everything’s fine, Merlin... I was simply caught up in my work and didn’t hear you knock. You needn’t apologise; I’m sorry for snapping at you.” He says softly, keeping his eyes locked with Merlin’s— who seems happy enough with this.
“Well, I’m still sorry for startling you, but I do appreciate your apology as well, Sire,” Merlin smiles fondly back down at Arthur before tipping his head. “Is there anything else you need, Sire? Gaius asked me to help him with a few deliveries after lunch, if that’s alright?”
Arthur barely registers his servant’s words as his mind starts to race again, but his brain quickly catches up with everything around him and he nods once again. “No, I’m fine here. Go help Gaius— but prepare the horses when you’ve finished, would you? It’s a nice day for a quiet ride, and I was thinking we could go for one after lunch, just you and I, since my schedule is clear.”
Merlin hums softly in agreement as he nods, one of his sunshine smiles spreading across his face. It causes Arthur’s chest to grow tight with fondness and his thoughts to spiral even faster. “Of course, Sire. I was thinking something similar, since it’s so beautiful out today. It would be a shame to spend the entire day in the castle on one such as this.”
“Yes, truly.” Arthur mumbles as he allows himself to follow where his mind is running towards, not even hearing Merlin’s promise that he’ll see to the horses as soon as he’s finished helping Gaius as he leaves the room. He only just hears the door close behind the Warlock, and Arthur’s hands fly back into his hair as soon as he’s sure he’s alone. “Oh, fuuuuck ...”
He practically drops himself back down into the chair at his desk with a long sigh, finally allowing himself to return to his earlier train of thought as his heartbeat calms. So, Merlin is a Sorcerer. I guess that means he wasn’t lying when he told the court he was to save Gwen... He truly was the one to heal her father, then, he thinks to himself, starting to reach for his plate of food before his hand falls short.
The only reason he’s alive right now is because I didn’t believe him, and I convinced Father that he was lying. He owes me his life— His mind suddenly floods with memories of times when he’d have surely been dead were it not for what he now knows could only have been Merlin using his magic to intervene and save his life— And I owe him mine, at least a million times over. I have to let him explain himself... That’s the only real option there is here, otherwise I risk condemning him to what would surely be his death at the hands of my father, and I would never be able to forgive myself if that happened.
His hand reaches once again for his plate of food, finally picking up the drumstick that lay upon it and bringing it up to his mouth. Gods, I hope Merlin’s quick running those errands for Gaius. He thinks as he takes a bite, moving to grasp the cup of wine that he somehow knew was full— almost as if, even in his earlier state of panic, he still subconsciously noticed his ever—faithful servant ensuring to pour the deep red liquid into the chalice before leaving the room.
There’s no way Merlin is evil, like Father would have me believe, his mind says as he washes the chicken down with a sip from the cup. And if he’s not evil, then perhaps I’ve always been right, and Father is wrong to wage war against magic. Perhaps sorcery itself isn’t inherently evil, but it can be used for evil purposes, just as well as it can be used for good.
In the amount of time it takes Arthur to reach this conclusion on what he’s going to say and do, Merlin has had his own lunch and finished helping Gaius with his rounds. He soon finds himself in the stables saddling up his and his master’s horses, humming softly to himself as he works— much like usual whenever he’s alone and in a particularly good mood. Once he’s got both horses fully tacked and ready to go, he moves them to the water trough and ties them there, letting them get a good drink while he makes his way into the castle and upstairs to the Prince’s chambers, where he knocks on the door once again, this time met with the sound of Arthur’s voice coming from the other side of the wood.
“Come!” He calls just as Merlin pushes the door open anyway, smiling softly up at his servant now that he’d allowed himself to think things through a bit more thoroughly and settle his initial surge of emotions during his lunch. “Ah, there you are, Merlin— are the horses ready like I asked?” He inquires as he pulls himself up out of his chair, the Warlock nodding softly.
“They’re all set, Sire. Getting a drink and awaiting your command to leave,” the Warlock smiles, watching as Arthur makes his way across the room toward him.
“Wonderful. Let’s go, then.” Arthur returns Merlin’s smile and makes his way through his chamber door and out of the castle to the stables, not even needing to look back to know his servant was following close behind him.
————————————————————————————————————
Nearly half an hour goes by as they ride out of Camelot and into the woods at a gentle yet brisk pace, Arthur half listening as Merlin prattles on about the things he saw in the market that morning— something about a neckerchief he liked, which Arthur most certainly does not make a mental note of for Merlin’s upcoming birthday. When he’s absolutely sure they’re a safe distance away from the castle, he turns to face his servant, thankful that the brunette seemed to be at a natural break in his rambling.
“Perhaps we could stop and let the horses take a rest? This is a nice little glen, and I know you brought a blanket that we can sit on— there’s one that hardly ever leaves your saddle.” He chuckles with a gentle smile, feeling his heartbeat grow faster in his chest at the way the tips of Merlin’s ears flush a pale pink colour with his light teasing.
“You really are a prat, Arthur, do you know that?” Merlin grins as he brings his horse to a stop, climbing down from the saddle with an ease that rather surprises the Prince, who certainly isn’t graciously eyeing his servant as he does the same thing himself.
“Oh, do hush up, Merlin,” Arthur says, grabbing the blanket off the back of Merlin’s saddle before the Warlock has a chance to do so himself.
“Sire?” Merlin’s head is tipped to the side and his brow is arched rather high in curiosity as Arthur lays the blanket out on the ground himself, having found a patch large enough for them to sit in that was free of sticks and fallen branches.
“Come sit, Merlin.” Arthur pats the spot next to him on the blanket once he’s sat himself down, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing one ankle over top of the other as he places his hands behind him and leans back against them. “There’s something... Something I need to speak with you about.”
Merlin’s brow is still raised as he sits down next to his Prince, making sure to keep an appropriate distance between them despite how alone they truly were. “What is it, Arthur?” He asks softly, his expression having changed to one of worry as he saw how serious Arthur’s was. “Have I done something wrong?”
Arthur’s eyes quickly soften as he looks up at Merlin, the sight of his genuine concern at the fact that something seemed to be bothering the blond nearly making him forgo the conversation altogether and simply kiss the man before him instead. He doesn’t take that option, though— instead, he takes a bit of a deep breath before finally opening his mouth to speak, his words coming out in a near whisper regardless of the fact that there wasn’t another human soul around for at least a few miles. “I know you have magic, Merlin...”
Merlin’s eyes grow wide with panic and he feels his entire face flush a bright shade of red as he locks eyes with Arthur, having kept his gaze down to make the Prince less nervous to speak about whatever was on his mind. Now, however, he’s the one that’s become nervous, and up until this moment, he’s never even thought about just how much fear those six words could instil in him. “How... Arthur, I—” is the only thing he manages to breathe out through the choking sense of panic before his eyes fall to the ground again and he shakes his head, mentally preparing himself for the worst possible outcome.
It never comes.
“I’m not going to tell my father, Merlin— or anyone else, for that matter. I’ve always believed him to be wrong in his war on sorcery, and I don’t imagine you’re the kind of person that would use magic for any sort of evil purposes,” Arthur says quickly, teasing Merlin ever so slightly as he scoots a bit closer to him on the blanket, fighting back the urge to wrap an arm around him in case it would make the other man uncomfortable.
Merlin’s face has twisted into a look of confusion again, having been certain that Arthur was about to fire him, at the very best possibility his mind can come up with in the moment. Though, as he looks up and the sky meets the sea once again, Arthur swears he sees a flicker of hope in his servant’s gaze. “You... Do you really mean that, Sire? You really aren’t going to tell the King?” He asks in a whisper, the inside of his bottom lip pinned anxiously between his teeth.
“I’m not going to say a word to Father,” Arthur nods sincerely as he does reach to place a hand onto Merlin’s knee, unable to keep himself from offering some form of comfort to the man before him. “You’re my best friend, Merlin, and I—” he hesitates, but Merlin doesn’t seem to notice his pause, “I care for you... I could never let anything happen to you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything ever did.”
Merlin’s hand reaches to land atop Arthur’s on his knee before he can even register the movement, only realising what he’s done when he feels the Prince’s warm skin beneath his touch. “I use it for you, Arthur... Only for you.”
“Guess I’ve been wrong about you all these years— you’re not entirely useless after all, then,” Arthur smiles as he gently pats Merlin’s leg beneath his servant’s hand, his words causing the brunette to laugh.
“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time, you dollophead!” The Warlock grins, looking up at his Prince whose expression matches his almost exactly. Then his own shifts back to one of confusion as their eyes lock again, though a remnant of his grin remains on his lips. “So, what gave me away, then? Save your life a little too loudly last time and rat myself out, did I?”
“A pitcher of wine, actually— I saw you through the window this afternoon,” Arthur explains, another laugh falling from his lips.
“Really? That’s when you realised it? Just this afternoon?” Merlin asks with a cackle, throwing his head back and his grin returning in full force. “You know, you’re lucky you’re pretty, Arthur, because you’ve really very little in the way of observational skills.”
“And you’re lucky it was only me that saw you, Merlin. Otherwise, you’d be in the dungeons right now, and I don’t think I could manage to change my father’s mind about you a third time,” the Prince rolls his eyes, trying— and failing— to ignore the way Merlin calling him ‘pretty’ sends butterflies swarming through his stomach.
“If we’re being honest, you really didn’t do all that much the second time ‘round. I owe Gwen a lot for all she did to help me then.” Merlin can’t help the shiver that runs through him as he remembers when Aredian the Witchfinder accused him, as well as Gaius, of sorcery, which resulted in his adopted father nearly being burnt at the stake after days of ruthless torture. “I don’t recall ever thanking you for letting me see Gaius after he’d been condemned, though. You risked your neck and broke the law for me so that I could say goodbye to him when I was sure he was to die, so... yeah, thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome, Merlin— I know you’d have done the same for me, had our roles been reversed.” Arthur smiles softly over at his servant, and a few moments of, a now slightly awkward, silence stretches between them before the Prince speaks once again. “Show me a spell, then.”
“Sire?” Merlin’s eyes grow wide again at Arthur’s request in both fear and confusion, and the blond can’t help but chuckle fondly at his immediate reaction.
“You heard me, Merlin.”
“Well, technically, you’ve seen plenty of spells before, Arthur,” Merlin chuckles this time, and the Prince rolls his eyes with a fond smile.
“I’m well aware of that, but I want you to do a spell just for me... Something I’ve not seen before.” Arthur nods, before laughing once again as his servant continues to hesitate. “Go on, Merlin, show me a spell. I’m not going to behead you or anything— I’m simply curious.” He pauses briefly, before another single word falls from his lips. “Please?”
The Warlock grins at that and thinks for a few moments, shuffling through his mental magical repertoire before deciding on a simple enough creation spell— hoping to bring forth one of Arthur’s favourite fruits in the hands he’s shaking out and bringing together in front of him. “Blóstmá,” Merlin’s whisper causes his sapphire eyes to turn amber, and he opens his cupped hands to reveal the budding blossom of a red rose. “Well, that wasn’t what I’d intended,” Merlin’s cheeks have flushed a pale shade of pink, and he hangs his head slightly to hide his blush from Arthur. Clearly, Merlin’s magic has just as much of a crush on the Prince as he does, and— apparently— it also has a mind of its own, and he finds himself praying to the Gods that Arthur’s famous obliviousness comes to his rescue at why the spell hadn’t gone as planned.
The Prince reaches out to grab the rose and holds it up to his nose, taking a long sniff of the bud’s perfume before tipping his head over at the brunette, an eyebrow cocking ever so slightly. “What did you intend, then?”
“I was trying to make a strawberry— I know they’re your favourite,” Merlin admits softly, still keeping his eyes on the ground at his feet.
“Well, it’s the right colour,” Arthur smiles fondly as he moves to playfully elbow Merlin’s shoulder, trying— and succeeding— to draw another laugh from his servant’s lips. He grins at his success and sniffs at the blossom once more, turning to look at Merlin again. “It’s beautiful— certainly much more beautiful than a strawberry.”
Merlin quickly looks up at the Prince as his blush persists on his cheeks. “I suppose you’re right,” he whispers as Arthur tucks the rose behind his ear, the bright shade of red popping out brilliantly against the man’s golden hair and fair complexion. “It truly is beautiful.”
It’s Arthur’s turn to blush now, his mind running rampant with hopes that Merlin could possibly feel the same way he does as he thinks he recognises the emotion he knows all too well in the dreamy look on the Warlock’s face. He’s about a half a second away from telling the man before him about his feelings, but he stops himself short and instead mumbles something Merlin truly thought he’d never hear. “Thank you, Merlin… Even if it wasn’t what you’d intended, I think it’s wonderful.”
“You’re welcome, Arthur,” Merlin manages as he smiles widely— his blush still remaining on his cheeks, however. “I’m glad you like it so much. Perhaps I’ll start making flowers for you every so often.” The words fall from his lips before he realises what he’s saying, and both men’s faces flare bright red as they each turn to spare themselves from the other’s gaze.
“I— I’d like that, actually. Princes appreciate flowers and gifts from handsome men just as much as Princesses do, you know.” Arthur whispers as he forces himself to look back at Merlin, wanting to gauge the Warlock’s response to his words as he finally does let it out— albeit in a rather roundabout way.
Somehow Merlin’s blush grows even deeper, spreading out to cover not just his entire face, but his neck and ears as well. “Well, I’ll take that into consideration— I’ll tell the next handsome man I meet, so long as he’s fitting for someone of your status.” He says, only picking up on half of what Arthur had been meaning.
“You really are an idiot sometimes, aren’t you?” Arthur mumbles as he shakes his head, taking a deep breath before trying again. “I meant you, Merlin, not some random nobleman— or anyone else, for that matter. I don’t want any of them, and I never could, if I’m honest... I want you .”
Merlin’s brow furrows deeply as he processes what Arthur is telling him, biting at the inside of his flushed cheek. Of course, all he’s ever wanted was to have Arthur love him back, so his heart is doing flips of joy in his chest. His brain, however, refuses to let him forget that Arthur is a Prince and he himself is nothing but a servant, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart crack and fall back to its usual resting place beneath his ribs. “You can’t, though... Even though I want nothing more, your father would never allow it, so we can’t, Arthur,” he whispers, his voice unsteady as he looks away. “I’m just a peasant, a simple servant and nothing more. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Arthur reaches out to grab Merlin’s hand and holds it gently between both of his own, stopping the brunette as he starts to stand. “Merlin, none of that matters to me, don’t you know that? You are what matters most to me. Not my father and his stupid customs, not any of my Knights— not even Camelot itself means as much to me as you do. If I was told to choose between you and my place on the throne, I’d choose you a million times over.”
“You can’t mean that, Arthur,” Merlin’s voice is barely even audible as he shakes his head, his hand remaining between Arthur’s. “You can’t— it’s your destiny to become the greatest King that Camelot has ever seen. You can’t give that up, least of all just for me.”
“Being King means nothing to me if I can’t have the one person I love more than anything else in the world by my side.” Arthur’s gentle grip on Merlin’s hand tightens just enough to lace their fingers together, moving to where his bright sky blue eyes were locked with Merlin’s own deep sea ones again. “I’ll never be able to become the King you think I’m meant to be without you. You make me whole, Merlin.”
Years later, the two men will continue to argue between them as to which one instigated that very first kiss just moments after Arthur’s confession. Truthfully, they’d each instigated the kiss just as much as the other, their bodies simply reacting subconsciously to the sound of their destiny’s souls crying out for each other to be made whole again, but of course they can’t possibly know this themselves.