Chapter Text
Something was wrong.
Not the “the world is ending, and we’re all going to die” sort of wrong, but an odd, humming some kind of wrong that Merlin could feel threading through the halls of Camelot like an intruder. He reached out with his magic more than once, trying to taste the disturbance, but nothing tugged back. Nothing whispered danger. Nothing even shimmered suspiciously.
Still…Something felt off. As if certain people were keeping very specific secrets. Important secrets.
Normally, that would have been fine. Merlin had secrets too, the kind he intended to keep tucked away until the end of his days – preferably long after that, if fate allowed. But this was about Gwen.
After five years of serving Arthur, Gwen had quietly become the closest thing Merlin had to a confidant. In times of need, she was the person who sat beside him, listening, teasing, and grounding him with her steady warmth. He trusted her. She trusted him. Especially during those late nights when Merlin worked into oblivion, polishing armor and scrubbing swords, Gwen was there.
She tried to help, of course. She always did. Merlin pretended to protest and then relented every time. He didn’t really care whether the work went faster. He just liked that she stayed.
They talked through the entire night more than once. Childhood memories: Merlin running barefoot in Ealdor’s muddy fields and Gwen laughing about Elyan and her father tinkering in their forge. Then gossip, because of course gossip. It was impossible not to when both of them served the royal family and saw far more than most knights ever would.
They were too busy to join the usual servant gossip circles anyway. Between Morgana and Arthur, neither had time for idle chatter with the rest of the servants, most of whom couldn’t imagine what their masters were like beyond the throne or the training yard.
“Did you know Arthur tried to court Lady Ethel during the feast today?” Merlin would say, wrinkling his nose as he scrubbed cinnamon soap through Arthur’s socks – sock-scented aromatherapy from hell. “He’d had far too much to drink and tripped over his own feet. I don’t think she even realized he was attempting seduction. He just looked like a drunk peacock falling over his own plumage.”
Or Gwen would lean in, eyes bright with mischief:
“Do you know who tried his luck with Morgana today?” At that, Merlin would abandon whatever he was doing, since Gwen’s stories were always gold. “Percival.”
Merlin would slap a hand over his mouth to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. Gwen would giggle, knees tucked up, stitching some impossibly elegant cushion for Morgana’s chambers.
“It’s true, Merls. I was with her in the hallway when Percival came by with Elyan. He handed her a flower – very sweet, actually – and then invited her to dinner! She said no, of course. Said it wouldn’t be proper for a princess to dine with one of the King’s knights. But we laughed all the way back to her chambers.”
Those moments were precious. Small pockets of peace carved out of long days. Merlin breathed in those nights like spring air. They reminded him of hunting trips with Arthur, where for a few blissful hours, they forgot the rigid roles of King and servant and existed simply as two idiots with sticks and terrible aim. But having that same kind of freedom inside the castle, at midnight, tiptoeing through echoing corridors while trying not to wake the entire royal court…That was priceless. It was friendship without hierarchy. Without titles. Without weight. Merlin didn’t think he could have asked for anything better.
Which is precisely why something being wrong unsettled him so deeply.
Because Merlin suspected it might be his fault.
Gwen had stopped showing up. No late-night stitching, no late-night gossip, no warmth tucking itself beside him while he worked. Merlin waited for her until the last buckle was polished and the last boot cleaned, but she didn’t come. He trudged back to his room alone each time.
And in the mornings, she claimed exhaustion; Too many duties, Morgana assigning her new responsibilities as head of the servants’ staff, and Elyan falling sick after a knightly expedition. Merlin accepted all of it without hesitation. He wouldn’t dare demand her presence after she’d spent the day running the castle ragged. If Gwen needed to collapse into her own bed in her own home instead of wandering the halls with him, Merlin supported that wholeheartedly.
But loneliness lingered. And Merlin hated being alone.
He hadn’t been this alone since Ealdor. Only now, Camelot knew him. Liked him. Trusted him. He had friends, which made the empty nights feel so much louder. When left with nothing but the creak of old wood and the ticking of torches, Merlin’s thoughts spiraled – sometimes enough to keep him awake long after any reasonable bedtime.
A prophecy hung over him like a storm cloud, heavy and humming. He carried destiny like a second cloak: to protect Arthur, to shape the future, to wield magic in a world that wanted him dead for it. And beneath all that weight, he carried the ghosts of those he failed, and the blood he couldn’t wash away, even when he scrubbed until his fingers burned.
Arthur’s life was in his hands. The one person who felt impossibly far and dangerously close all at once. And somewhere in all that chaos, he missed his mother so much it almost hurt to breathe.
Eventually, the tension snapped into Arthur’s awareness, though not in the way Merlin expected. It happened while Merlin reorganized the King's wardrobe for the fourth time in a week, because apparently Arthur had the organizational instincts of a rabid troll.
“Do you know where Guinevere is?” Arthur asked, breezily tossing a glove aside. “I need her to mend one of my gloves.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to talk to her,” Merlin replied. If Arthur noticed the frustration tucked into his words, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Hm, that’s strange. You two are always together.” He added, with a sly tone that was absolutely designed to irritate Merlin: “Attached at the hip, one might say.”
Merlin turned, frowning, closing the wardrobe. “What exactly are you implying, sire?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nothing, Mer-lin.” He dragged out the syllables in the most insufferable way possible as he sat at his desk. “Anyway, ask her to mend this for me.” There was a hint of something in the way Arthur spoke about him and Gwen.
There was a time when Merlin thought that Arthur was jealous of him for spending so much time with Gwen, but that was quickly off his mind when they both saw Lancelot flirting with her, or even other men that would cross her path. Arthur never reacted badly to those. But there was something there. Not jealousy of Lancelot or any of Gwen’s admirers, but a different kind of jealousy. One Arthur hadn’t named yet. One he maybe didn’t recognize in himself. Merlin was closer to Gwen than most men in the castle. Arthur felt that.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Merlin countered. “I haven’t seen her in days. When I do, she’s swamped and rushing from one chore to the next. And that’s without adding more to her plate- Especially with Elyan being ill. I could give the glove to someone else.”
“First of all, who's the king?”
“You?” Merlin said suspiciously.
Arthur stared. Merlin sighed. “You.”
“Exactly. So when I tell you to do something, you do it.” Arthur smirked. He knew Merlin had a point, but the opportunity to tease him was too tempting. “Second of all, Elyan recovered a week ago. He’s been at the training grounds.” Arthur looked down at his papers, not even noticing Merlin’s frown.
“Really?” he whispered.
Arthur looked up, irritated that he couldn't concentrate on his work while Merlin was there, as if he could hear the wheels in the servant’s brain turning.“What is it?”
“It’s just,” Merlin bit his lip. “Gwen told me yesterday that she couldn’t stay overnight with me cause she was going to take care of her brother.”
“Wow- wow, wait, overnight?!” Arthur gave him a scandalized look, dropping his papers.
“Wait- no, sorry, that sounds strange out of context.” Merlin laughed awkwardly, feeling his palms sweating when Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation. “While I’m doing your…kingly chores. I like a bit of company, and since Gwen is my friend, she decided to spend a bit of her time after work with me. Just talking, that is.” He didn't know why he was explaining himself to Arthur, but he needed to make sure that the other knew that he and Gwen were just very good friends and nothing more.
Arthur grimaced as he didn’t believe a word the servant said, as if it were a poor excuse to hide a secret affair, but he didn’t pressure Merlin. “Well, maybe she got tired of you talking her ear off.” Arthur meant it as a joke, obviously, but part of Merlin wondered if it was true.
“If she doesn’t get tired of hearing you talk, why would she get tired of listening to me?” Merlin asked with a playful smile.
Arthur glanced at him over the papers, expression softening into something quieter. “You know how girls are, Merlin.”
“Do I?” He lifted an eyebrow, scared of the topic of the conversation.
“Yes. Or, well…I think you do.” Arthur abandoned the pretense of work entirely and sat on the edge of his unmade bed facing Merlin.
“Oh, wise and powerful king, enlighten me,” Merlin teased, earning a pillow to the face.
“You clearly know nothing about women,” Arthur said fondly. “They have secrets. Very private ones. And they only share them with other girls, not with nosy boys like you.”
“Nosy boy?!” Merlin laughed, chucking the pillow back and hitting Arthur square in the chest. “Don’t we all have secrets?”
“I don’t have any secrets,” Arthur said with a smile, as Merlin stopped breathing for a second. To know that Arthur shared everything with him, and he was still keeping this all-consuming secret. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Good, 'cause you can’t hide anything from me. Even if you tried!” You would be surprised. “But yes, Morgana has been doing the same thing. And since they spent so much time together, it would be no wonder if they shared their secrets, right?” Now that Merlin thinks about it, Arthur is right, Morgana has been doing the same thing as Gwen. Not having much time to talk or even take a quick stroll outside. Like they are both running against time…
No. Like they are doing this to have time, but for what?
“Merlin,” Merlin didn’t even notice when Arthur got close and flicked one of his ears, making him cover it up and distance himself from Arthur. “What’s happening in that enormous head of yours? Smoke is practically pouring out.”
“I just…Gwen and Morgana look like they’re doing everything possible to make more time for something. I just don’t know what.”
“Why does this bother you so much?” Arthur tilted his head.
“It doesn’t!” Merlin blurted. “I just don’t understand why Gwen would lie about Elyan.”
“Stop pouting, Merlin, it doesn't suit you, especially for a girl.”
“She’s my friend, Arthur. I’m worried. And I am not pouting, you clotpole.” Merlin shoved Arthur’s arm.
Arthur shoved back, but the servant dodged, laughing as he fled across the room.
Small moments. Silly, fleeting moments. Merlin treasured them. He could voice a worry, and Arthur, without fail, would drag him out of his own head. And though Arthur rarely voiced his side of things, Merlin knew Arthur cared. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t ask what was wrong. He wouldn’t linger. He wouldn’t stay.
✶
Merlin couldn’t sleep. His stomach grumbled, and his thoughts circled the same tired worries. He tried to obey Arthur’s advice and stop being “nosy,” but the idea that he’d done something wrong gnawed at him. What if Gwen was avoiding him because he’d overstepped somehow? Merlin had never had a friend like her. The thought of losing that burned in a way he didn’t have words for.
Eventually, the spiral became unbearable, and his stomach demanded tribute.
He slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, wincing when the floorboards groaned. Gaius snored loudly from the next room, and Merlin pulled on boots and a jacket before slipping into the corridor. Their quarters were empty of food; Gaius had sworn he’d fetch something from the lower town in the morning before breakfast.
So Merlin made for the kitchens, yawning and calculating how much trouble he’d be in for stealing bread and cheese earmarked for Arthur’s breakfast. Arthur would survive without dairy for one morning. Probably.
He was mid-yawn when he froze. Soft footsteps. Hushed voices. Urgent whispers. Instantly, Merlin clapped a hand over his mouth and felt magic crackle in his bones, ready to shield him.
He crept toward the sound. He thought it was just someone working in the kitchen, but then Merlin heard soft giggles and various “shhh” sounds.
“We can’t-” Merlin heard, stopping in his steps towards the kitchen door since that voice was undeniably Gwen's.
“Why not?” And that's Morgana! Merlin thought, hiding in the shadows close to the door.
“Because this is the food your dear brother is going to eat!” Gwen giggled.
“My brother is not going to die if he misses his daily bread, Guinevere,” Morgana whispered. More silence. More giggling. Merlin’s ears burned. He considered retreat, but the light in the corridor stretched long shadows into the kitchen. If he tried to pass, he’d be spotted. And suddenly, he wasn’t hungry at all.
“Morgana…” Gwen whispered.
“It’s all right. Everyone is asleep. Even the guards avoid this place at this hour.”
Silence settled again. Merlin assumed they’d slipped out through the far door. He exhaled, shoulders dropping, and eased forward so he could go back to his chambers when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
There aren't many things that shock Merlin anymore. He had faced sorcerers and monsters and destiny itself. But nothing prepared him for the sight of Gwen pressed up against the kitchen table, arms looped around Morgana’s shoulders, while the princess kissed her with slow, deliberate intent. Merlin’s body reacted before his mind did. He sprinted to the end of the corridor, slammed against the wall, and stared into nothing, chest heaving.
Morgana. And Gwen.
Gwen and Morgana.
Of all the secrets in Camelot, it was not one Merlin would have ever guessed. Not because he found anything wrong with it, on the contrary, he adored them both. He just never considered it. And it explained so much. Where Gwen had been. Why Morgana vanished. Why they both looked like they were outrunning the sun. For a moment, Merlin smiled, soft and genuine. Gwen looked happy, and that mattered. More than anything, he would love to share that sentiment with her…
Then, predictably, Merlin spiraled. Did Gwen not trust him enough to tell him? Was he not a good enough friend? But no. That was unfair. Hypocritical, even. Merlin was sitting on a world-shattering secret. If anyone understood keeping secrets for safety, it was he.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep. Badly.
“Merlin!” Of course.
He turned around, giving one of his innocent smiles that showed all of his teeth. “Hello, my lord. Out for a nightly stroll?”
“What are you doing creeping around the castle?!” Arthur demanded, jabbing an accusatory finger that Merlin promptly redirected away from his face.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Merlin retorted, pointing Arthur’s own finger at him.
“I heard your clumsy footsteps by my door earlier. Had to see what you were getting yourself into.” Arms crossed. Regal annoyance activated. “And in case you forgot, I am the king. I can do whatever I want.”
“Yes, well, the King needs his beauty sleep. Let’s go,” Merlin hissed, suddenly very aware that if Arthur followed the noise toward the kitchen, he would witness… well. Things. Gwen and Morgana's things. Complications, Merlin honestly didn’t know how Arthur would react to that, and did not have the emotional capacity to unpack this in the middle of the night.
So Merlin spun Arthur around and shoved him hurriedly back to the opposite corridor.
“Beauty sleep?!” Arthur barked, attempting to turn back toward him as Merlin shushed him. “Don’t shush me! What are you doing?!” Arthur tried to grab Merlin's arms, who was pushing him back in an attempt to stop him. He succeeded until Merlin and his clumsy feet ended up stepping on Arthur's foot, which was only covered by his sock. “Mer-huf!” Merlin interrupted him by putting his hand over Arthur's mouth.
“Stop being loud, you’re going to wake the entire castle!” he whispered fiercely, wobbling as he lost balance and nearly toppled onto Arthur. The King caught him by the arms.
And then – stillness.
The corridor hummed with torchlight, shadows flickering across Arthur’s blue eyes. There was a spark there, brief, quick as a shooting star, and Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur saw it too in his, or if Merlin only imagined it in the space between heartbeats. Arthur’s breath ghosted warm against Merlin’s palm, mouth slightly parted–
Until his gaze flicked past Merlin down the corridor.
He quickly distanced himself from the brunette, clearing his throat in a way that was entirely too dramatic. Merlin followed his gaze. Gwen stood there, frozen. Her cheeks flushed red, arms crossed over what Merlin belatedly realized was one of Morgana’s nightgowns. Not her own.
“Guinevere,” Arthur said. Tense. Neutral in the way that meant very much not neutral. Merlin wondered if Morgana had left through the other kitchen door so they wouldn't be seen together, and if Gwen was on her way back to Morgana’s chambers.
“My lord,” Gwen answered quietly, her cheeks burning. Then, softer: “Merlin.”
“Gwen,” Merlin said, unable to stop the fond grin tugging at his mouth. He couldn’t help but be happy that his friend was with someone she liked; she looked like she was having fun, and that's all Merlin cared about. All his previous doubts rushed out of his mind.
After a stretch of painfully awkward silence, Arthur asked, without looking away from Merlin – as though he wanted Merlin to deny it before he even asked:
“…Did you two come from the same place?”
It hit Merlin all at once how incriminating everything looked from Arthur’s angle. Same location. Same late hour. Merlin intercepts Arthur. Gwen is in a princess’s nightgown. Her blush. Their hurried escape.
They looked like the world’s worst conspirators.
“No!”
“Yes!” Gwen answered at the same time. Merlin whipped his head toward her. Traitor, his expression screamed.
Arthur sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. “It is far too late for this. What are you doing here, Gwen?” The girl darted a look at Merlin, silently begging for help. Merlin blushed under Arthur’s scrutiny.
“Elyan caught the illness again!” she announced, clearly proud. “And Morgana thought it best if I slept in her chambers until he feels better- so I don’t catch it.”
Merlin’s face did an entire silent opera of horror. Arthur already knew she’d lied once about Elyan, and he would see her brother at training tomorrow, perfectly healthy and swinging a sword. Gwen would never leave her brother sick, even at the risk of getting sick herself. It was the worst lie in Camelot's history.
Well, after the one where Merlin said he was not a sorcerer.
“And you, Merlin?” Arthur asked, now openly amused. He knew. He knew both of them were lying. It didn’t matter what they said. Even after many years of lying, Merlin was still shit at it, so the only thing that came out of his mouth was:
“I forgot my neckerchief. In the stables.”
Arthur stared. “And you need it right now.”
“Yes.”
“In the middle of the night.” Arthur lifted one of his eyebrows.
“…I can’t sleep without it.”
“Good god, you are an idiot,” Arthur muttered. Then, waving them off: “Go to sleep. Both of you.”
Merlin did not need to be told twice. He walked very quickly, Gwen beside him, which undoubtedly worsened their case. They walked in silence until their paths split, exchanging only a small, mortified “goodnight.” Merlin slipped into his chambers feeling exhausted and, finally, sleepy, even if his stomach still voiced occasional complaints. Tomorrow, though… tomorrow he would have to face Arthur’s questions.
He was not ready.