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It takes longer than expected for Merlin’s magic to replenish itself.
Not that Arthur is any sort of expert on any magical ailments, but he can fathom this much at least, based on Merlin’s growing frustration and everyday irritability.
Arthur has found an ally in Gaius, who is too clever not to have caught on to the increasing questions Arthur was sending him about the magical exhaustion, in addition to Merlin’s symptoms. It’s the way Gaius frowns and mutters over his books that makes it very clear something was not right with Merlin’s magic, even after so much of the required rest.
Weeks later, Arthur is in his room with George, preparing for Arthur to visit a neighboring kingdom when Merlin walks in with breakfast. He looks between them, his expression twisting with something complicated and angry, before he sets the breakfast tray down with a clatter.
“I’ll take it from here,” Merlin tells George, his voice tight. George just straightens up and looks to Arthur, his mouth pressed in a disapproving line.
“I’ll call for you in a bit, George,” Arthur says, because as much as he knows George is used to the dynamic between Merlin and Arthur, there are some things Arthur can’t let slide.
George just bows properly and exits without another word, but Arthur can feel the silent barbs tossed between George and Merlin as he goes.
“You weren’t seriously thinking about leaving without me, right?” Merlin asks.
“I’m not taking you with me this time, no,” Arthur says, and surely there must be some magic built up in Merlin based on the way that Merlin’s eyes seem to burn at that. “Your job is to stay home and rest so you can come with me next time.”
“Would you be doing this if you didn’t know about the magic?” Merlin watches him, and it’s clear he’s trying to cover his anger and hurt. “I’m not useless. I served you well enough when you didn’t know any better.”
“Merlin.”
Merlin’s eyes flash gold, just for a moment, like a flickering candle and when he passes out, Arthur is already moving toward him, arms out to catch him.
He settles Merlin into the bed like he had done weeks prior. He’s unfortunately familiar with these sleeping spells these days, and he knows it could be a couple of days until Merlin rouses again, so Arthur makes a note to assign a guard to the room in Arthur’s absence.
Nobody will think twice about it, least of all Arthur.
Merlin is still asleep by the time Arthur needs to head out, but Arthur is reluctant to move from his side. Unlike last time, he is not hesitant about brushing Merlin’s fingertips with his own. He allows himself to hold Merlin’s hand, trace the lines of Merlin’s palm, over Merlin’s wrist and linger over the steady pulse.
He stands to go, and Merlin mutters his name, like he’s distressed, hand flexing toward Arthur’s, but he doesn’t wake. Arthur impulsively reaches out and smooths a hand over Merlin’s forehead. Merlin just sighs, leans into the touch and settles.
Arthur can hear movement outside his room, signaling the arrival of his escorts, but Arthur can’t move, his hand still pressed to Merlin’s forehead.
He feels like he’s on the edge of understanding something crucial, and he’s not sure if standing here watching Merlin will help or hurt that, so with a final look, he turns on his heel and leaves.
When Arthur returns with his entourage, there is a crowd waiting out front, but he immediately spots Merlin standing there, his eyes locked on Arthur, and he’s grinning, whole and healthy.
Arthur can feel any tension in his body dissipate, and he can barely stop his own answering smile. He thinks he does a decent job of it, but Merlin’s smile widens, so it’s hard to say.
He dismounts from his horse and allows himself to be swept into the castle, voices in his ears rapidly catching him up and planning out the rest of his day for him.
Arthur really only notices Merlin keeping pace at his side. Everything else just feels distant at the moment.
He’s eventually able to wave everyone off so he can unwind in his own room, and soon it’s just him and Merlin behind closed doors.
“We figured it out,” Merlin says, low, his eyes clear and bright. “It was you.”
“What was me?” Arthur frowns. “Just start from the beginning of a story for once, Merlin, it’s not that hard.”
“I was magically exhausted,” Merlin says. “But I wasn’t getting better because of you being around. My magic was still subconsciously active, still reaching for you. It didn't know how to sleep, if that makes sense. It seems I really did need you gone in order to get proper rest.”
“See–” Arthur starts, feeling a little vindicated. It didn't really make sense to him, but he still has plenty of time to learn how Merlin's magic functions. He finds he looks forward to it.
“Don’t even think about acting like this was your whole idea,” Merlin interjects. “I won’t make it so easy on you next time. Not that there will be a next time, obviously. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“When have you ever made anything easy on me?” Arthur mutters, but it’s almost dizzying, the relief he feels seeing Merlin visibly animated and healthy for the first time in weeks.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, quieter. “I mean it. Now that I know that you know about the magic, I need you to trust me. Everything I am, everything I do with my magic is for you.”
It dawns on Arthur in that moment, that he is absolutely, utterly and completely in love with this idiot.
“I trust you,” Arthur says, matching Merlin’s tone and gravity. “Merlin–”
He stops, suddenly, feeling a hint of pressure and warm skin against his own.
Merlin is also looking down, an amused expression on his face.
Somehow, Arthur’s hand has found Merlin’s, palm to palm, fingers interlocking.
“Right,” Arthur moves to pull his hand back, clearing his throat, but Merlin just curls his fingers and squeezes.
“I suppose I could use a little more rest,” Merlin murmurs, staring at their hands.
Arthur just makes a noise of assent, and when Merlin tugs him toward the bed, Arthur follows.
With no intention of letting go, Arthur holds Merlin’s hand until they fall asleep.