Chapter Text
Merlin knew Arthur. He knew his sense of honor ran so deep and close to his heart, it nearly cost him his life numerous times. He knew the fine line between displayed devotion and ashamed affection, making the man prone to fits of unreasonable anger when the two somehow overlapped. He knew when to rest a comforting hand on his defeated form, and when to avert his eyes to give him the illusion of privacy. He knew how to read the truth in the peculiar slope of his plaintive gaze.
Merlin knew Arthur. Plain and simple. Inside out, from the gentle arches of his heels to the very last strand of his unruly morning hairdo. Worst of all, Merlin knew when he failed to understand his friend. He was very familiar with the quiet surrender of his heart, the way he could not tame its wild beat nor liquid despair crawling up his throat.
The years of constant vigilance and service had somehow erased the qualm of uncertainty concerning Merlin's knowledge of his king. However, there were a few instances where it caught up to him and made him feel like the fool Arthur always assumed he was.
This time was different because, in hindsight, it pierced the veil which Merlin's sense of reality depended upon. It changed everything.
***
Merlin liked his routine. Going up early, admiring the sun color the uneven castle stones with warm colors, throwing his most comfortable tunic on and quietly reciting all his morning chores. Contrary to popular belief, Merlin was not that incompetent of a servant. He could juggle between all his tasks regarding Arthur while keeping an eye on Gaius' patients and any "funny feelings" arising from magical threats. Of course, now that magic was legalized and he could freely take care of any upset monsters or ambitious trolls, the workload was much easier to balance.
In short, Merlin was brilliant at his jobs. The reason one might think otherwise is because one might not be familiar with his most important role in the castle: humbling the shit out of Camelot's young king. If a misplaced armor, meager breakfast, alarmingly joyful morning greeting or "accidental" overheated bath could get a rise out of the mighty Arthur, one could be certain that Merlin would continue to do so, to his complete and utter joy.
Indeed, Merlin could not get enough of the affectionate fury lighting up Arthur's eyes, the way his mouth would sometimes curve into that, oh, so special smirk and say the most baffling insults to his smiling servant (most loyal friend, confidant, protector). Even at his most irritable, the king would adorn his face with a delectable frown and tense hands, fighting the age-old urge to throw a pot at Merlin's head. You see, ever since last winter, when he managed to bruise Merlin's neck after a miscalculated act of revenge, Arthur had ceased any physical assault on his friend. Merlin would never forget the crestfallen look on Arthur's face when he hissed and crumbled on the floor, closing his eyes to ease the pain. Nor the careful hands that prodded at his injured skin accompanied by worried glances, rare enough for Merlin to suffocate his heart in unreleased affection.
This comforting line of thought of course came to an abrupt halt as Merlin finally opened the door to Arthur's chamber. A fully dressed, brooding Arthur was not part of his routine. Routine was the shapeless form of his sleeping figure, peace etched into every line of his face. Routine was the clang of breakfast plates on the table and Merlin's, he hoped, most annoying greetings, followed by an array of varied insults from his grumpy king. Routine was not Arthur's piercing gaze roaming over Merlin's form, routine was not Arthur turning to the side, almost shyly before advancing with a nervous intent so far from his usual confident posture. Routine was not-
"Merlin." Arthur said, without the familiar edge on the first syllable. Not routine. Uneasiness pools at the pit of Merlin's stomach as he considers leaving in a rush. He suddenly remembers facing ungodly beasts and the peril of death multiple times and decides to finally steady his fleeing eyes on Arthur's strangely open face.
A jest should do the trick, as it almost always does, except for a few dramatic instances.
"You look quite constipated, sire." he tries to mock, weakly, as the frown on the king's face only deepens. Crap. It was one of the few dramatic instances.
Thankfully, the tension in Arthur’s shoulders does seem to loosen up, which lightens Merlin's heart in kind. He closes the distance between them, which would not be a problem normally, but which, today, elicits a sudden jump from Arthur as Merlin goes around him to put the plates on the table.
"What is wrong with you today?", Merlin sighs. The silence was starting to frighten him and thus, could not let it go on indefinitely. He had to understand. He nearly always understood. "If something is the matter, you know you can talk to me." he adds softly, but firmly.
"I know. I'm sorry, I-"
"You're sorry?", at this point, Merlin's eyes cannot get any bigger. Arthur fumbling his way through a conversation. Arthur silent. Arthur apologizing.
And now he gets an exasperated look on his face! Gods, Merlin of all people ought to feel like that. "Alright, I should get Gaius, who knows what kind of magical crap-" Merlin huffs as he starts towards the door.
"No! Wait." Arthur latches onto his wrist but the soft touch leaves at once, as if the mere contact of skin had burnt the king’s hand. When Merlin looks up, it’s to meet Arthur’s pleading eyes. Now Merlin is sure that he is missing something. Think. Why would the king look so preoccupied? The harvest season had started well, he had had multiple fructuous meetings with allied kingdoms over the past weeks and even his newly adopted magical decreet seemed to be widely accepted. The grief left by a dying Uther was slowly starting to fade (as shown by Arthur finally rearranging his late father's room after months of poorly canceled hurt each time they passed the heavy door).
It was Merlin's turn to be silent. He watched with a mix of worry and fascination as Arthur’s face contorts into multiple unreadable expressions, as he finally settles on an exasperated sigh and admits: “I could not sleep well this night. You see... Something was troubling me- Not that I cannot handle complex thoughts and difficult feelings! - But, it was, well, it was- It's Lancelot's fault!" he finally splutters, a flush appearing high on his cheeks, or was it simply the rising temperature of the season?
"I don't understand." Merlin mutters, and he really didn't. What could Lancelot have possibly said to strip Arthur from his usual bravado and articulation? The food was getting colder while Merlin's head threatened to burst open. How he wished to speak plainly with his king, for once.
"Of course you don't." Somehow, Merlin's uncertainty had served to give Arthur some confidence back, if the tired twinkle in his eye was of any indicator. Merlin feigned annoyance but really did not care, if he could get through this painful conversation and go back to his scheduled program.
"Please, sire, if you wish to tell me what makes you a bumbling mess of a king on this fine morning, be my guest! I'm sure my brain will somehow manage." Surely this would prompt a snarky retort and put everything in balance again. But Arthur seems to think otherwise, as he takes multiple steps towards his friend.
Now, Merlin has learnt that physical contact is an oddity in Arthur's world. If one shows to much familiarity, and Gods forbid, sincerity, the touch is something an aversive foe that must be avoided and punished. It is used only to taunt, battle, or to care for loved ones in life-or-death situations. Everybody and their uncle know that the only people allowed to breach these frontiers are Gwen and Merlin, the later doing it much more often than the former (the brave fool).
So why do the hands gripping his shoulders not feel foreign to Merlin? The face of his king, so close, and the stillness of the moment almost chocking him with unguarded love. He almost smiles, wants to ruffle his hair and tell him that he worries far too much, for an all- powerful monarch. He should be out there, making some unknown lady swoon or reciting some stupid speech about prosperity and his people's tenacity or Gods know what (actually, Merlin does help Arthur an awful lot in the matter of speeches, so he would know). He tells him as such, can't contain the joy brimming from his heart, contemplating Arthur as the king he always envisioned him to be. But the feeling soon dies like a falling bird.
"Why are you like this?" Arthur cuts him suddenly.
"Like what ?"
"So sodding happy for other people. Like me! You always seem to think of other first, why don't you-", he looks to the side. Hardening the grip on Merlin's tunic, Arthur pointedly gazes into his eyes, his best friend's eyes, ponders over his words and finally, finally, speaks with the utmost clarity.
"Lancelot told me you were in love with me." His voice is steady, but his eyes are nothing short of bursting from intense emotions. Merlin lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. That was the tormenting issue! The simple, most evident fact that represents the love Merlin holds for his dearest friend?
He knows that Arthur already resents him for it, but he lets out a cackle as his heart finally stops madly beating.
"I thought it was a matter of the utmost importance! Of course you would make me nervous because of something the entire kingdom has known for years, instead of fretting over- over treaties or some villagers quarrel, or, or... Gwaine's gambling away his knightly goods any chance he got!". Merlin is exasperated, but highly amused, as he detaches himself from Arthur and contently slips back into his routine. "Lancelot going around reviving old gossips to satisfy his romantic heart. I should’ve known!” he muses out loud. “Anyway, where did you put yesterday's tunic? I was sure it was- Here it is! Do you know how long it took to wash away this nasty stain? Ask Gwen when you - What?". Merlin's smile falters when he takes in Arthur's figure, which did not move an inch since he stepped away.
He looks odd. As if frozen in time, his arms limp by his side, eyes glued on Merlin and -strangely- unreadable, his posture is tense and, overall, the king looks like he might throw up any seconds from now. Why was he still worried sick? Merlin ought to reassure him, he should not be thinking too much about this matter. Not at all! He closes once more the distance to stand by the king’s side.
"Why are you still pouting? Is it really because of my affections? Don't you tell me you had no idea!" he jokes, poking an index to Arthur's bicep as he continues to fold the tunic. He grins, trying to uplift his friend, still lost in thoughts. But when Arthur lifts his face, he looks even more serious. It's one of the first time that Merlin doesn't quite know what to make of this familiar face, the one he has come to adore and care for deeply. He glances at his hands and grips the fabric nervously.
"I had no idea". Arthur whispers. It baffles Merlin how defeated he sounds, as if the knowledge alone could make all of his defenses crumble to dust, as if Merlin's affection wasn't as inherent as the setting of the sun and the gusts of wind chasing heavy clouds away. He smiles fondly and guides Arthur by his wrist to the nearest chair. He sits, wordlessly. As if the king, of all people, being manhandled was not odd enough.
"Are you not embarrassed by me, uh, knowing how you feel?" he asks carefully. Merlin rolls his eyes while snatching a cold sausage.
"Mhn, well- Ah." He munches on a hard part of the sausage. He swallows. "You see, I've known for ages the nature of my affection for you. I am not and will never be ashamed of it, for it is as natural to me as the magic flowing in my veins, to speak plainly." His mouth is full of grease and he must look promptly disgusting. He glances at the king who watches him with something akin to - wonder? No, that can’t be it. Merlin shrugs and swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Even back on familiar grounds, he senses a kind of strange nervousness creep beneath his skin. He always assumed that Arthur knew, after all. How could he not ? How else did he explain the maddening devotion, the undying support and unguarded looks of affection that Merlin had shown him for the past ten years? How did he not know when-
"All those years ago", Merlin begins, eyes suddenly averted, "When I told you I would be happy to be you servant until the day I die," he sighs and smiles earnestly, if not a bit sadly. "Didn't you realize then, at least?”. He sighs heavily. “I've never tried to hide it. It's there for everyone to see." He fiddles with a lone strand of tissue on his sleeve. "It doesn't change anything, Arthur. I am your friend. I will never burden you with futile expectations, I would never come in between you and your future wife- unless she is a total prick!" He tries to smile but Arthur's gloomy mood has gotten to him. What a dreary morning. He decides to put an end to this, once and for all. To hell with the doubts and heavy feelings. Merlin takes one of Arthur's hands and holds it firmly, wanting the statement to last. "My love for you is not heavy to bear. It lifts me up and helps me breathe." Please, understand. Please, let this sadness wither away. "It's a gift. It ought not to be as complicated as it is shown in court or in romance books. I did not and will never wait for any reciprocity to bask in the joy of feeling this love while it lasts." The words are so close to what lies in his heart, that he cannot help but squeeze the hand between his own and offer a bright smile. "You needn't worry for me. But I'm touched you would feel the need to”, he concludes.
The king, to any onlookers, must have looked truly out of it. Of course, the matters of the heart had always been difficult to discuss for him, but the red color spreading down his neck is nothing short of spectacular. And neither the room temperature, nor any sudden sickness, would explain any of it. Only the love he could now clearly see reflected in the eyes of his foolish, self-sacrificing, utterly maddening, manservant.
"Worry! About you! I just- wanted to clarify some disturbing information Lancelot had to say, that is all." He retorts, but it does not hold any bite to it.
Of course, it was not all that simple, as it rarely is between Merlin and Arthur.
***
Ever since that conversation, the routine Merlin had so carefully put together since his life took a turn for the better started to disintegrate. He could do nothing but try to act the way it was before. Now, it seemed like everyone wanted to get on his nerves, especially-
"Arthur!", Merlin huffs, knee-deep in the tall grass, sporting a competitive glare directed at his foolish king. "I can see you." And he could. A blonde mope of hair suddenly drops behind a tree and Merlin is already running in his direction, fuming. "Gods! You must stop following me around. It's getting very annoying." Surely, Arthur is crouched down, looking guilty and - embarrassed? Why would he look embarrassed?
"You should feel honored, Merlin, that a man of my station would even- No, Merlin!" Too late, prat. Merlin had just emptied the content of his waterskin on the now dripping, furious king. "Merlin!"
"You better stop doing whatever you're doing immediately". Merlin warns, finger pointed at his king’s face. He was not in the mood to joke around, why couldn't Arthur understand it better?
But Arthur looks miserable. Which makes Merlin's heart stop for a short time. Then, the idiot has to open his mouth: "I talked with the knights, they told me to-", but he stops as Merlin stomps his foot, anger filling his heart. He was sick of these hidden conversations, tireless gossips and Arthur's inability to just communicate with him directly. "I don't know what has gotten into you since you have learnt about- you know". He helplessly jerks his arms around. Great, now he is the inarticulate one. "But it doesn't change anything, Arthur!", he cries, desperate to be heard.
"Well, maybe it should!"
What?
What ?
Arthur is standing up now, rapidly approaching, his face is still wet, making his lashes and clear blue eyes stand out. Merlin takes a step back. He sees the dark hues of his usual golden hair, as well as individual tear drops tracing the delicate features of his nose, jaw, neck. His anger melts like snow under stark daylight, he registers his beating heart and the weakness of his knees. He doesn't know what can be read in his eyes but doesn't care - he has no secrets to guard anymore, after all. "Merlin." It's like a melody, soft to his ear. "Yes?" His eyes are fixed on a lonely strand of hair stuck on Arthur's cheek. Without thinking, his hand rises to put it behind his left ear. As it begins to fall, it is caught by Arthur's own, rougher, hand, in a surprisingly tender gesture. He presses it down on his chest and Merlin can feel the fast beating of his heart, making his cheeks instantly warm up. What is the meaning of this what is the meaning of this what is the meaning of this what
The picture of a lone dragon warning him about great destinies, queens and kings, ancient swords and a deep loneliness comes unbidden to his mind. The soft breeze becomes scorching, as the memories take hold and crushes his heart. He doesn't feel warm anymore, his gaze is hollow and Arthur grips his hand tighter, he whispers something - his name, probably, or maybe it's just his imagination.
With a jolt, Merlin remembers.
He is not meant to be here, in this moment. Sharing his deep affection loosely, making it linger and mark the skin of his king. This is all wrong.
He is meant to serve this man. Guide him to his glory, help him build a kingdom like never before seen. Dress a list of candidates to the throne, be a good judge of character for his future wife. If he is lucky, he could still be attending them, making his family happier, until they all die. His breath comes short, he falls to his knees, into the dry herb and moss. Arthur is still holding onto his hand in a near bruising grip, but his voice is broken as he shouts Merlin's name in vain.
Merlin trembles all over, sparks of magic hanging in the air, searching for release. A spasm of electricity courses through Merlin's skin and Arthur projects hard on his back. Leaves, herb and branches begin to swirl dangerously around the restless servant, as the king leaves to call for help.
When he comes back with two of his knights, Merlin is nowhere to be seen.