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The first thing Merlin noticed was warmth.
Not the drafty, inconsistent warmth of his own chambers in Gaius's quarters, where the fire always seemed to die in the night and the stones held the chill like a grudge. This was different; something solid and encompassing that pressed against his back like a shield.
The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't move his arm.
Merlin blinked slowly, his mind still caught in the haze between sleep and waking. Pale morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Arthur's chambers, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The arm pinning his own to the mattress was decidedly muscular, decidedly attached to the Crown Prince of Camelot, and decidedly not supposed to be there.
Except it was supposed to be there. Because last night—
Merlin's breath caught as memory flooded back. Hesitant touches in the firelight. Arthur's voice, rough and uncertain, asking are you sure? The feeling of falling and being caught all at once.
"Stop thinking so loudly," Arthur mumbled against the back of Merlin's neck, his breath warm and sleep-rough. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
"Some of us are being crushed by royal limbs," Merlin retorted, though he made no actual effort to move away.
Arthur's arm tightened around him — whether in defiance or affection, Merlin couldn't tell. Probably both. "My limbs can do what they want. I'm the prince."
"That's not how anatomy works."
"It is if I say it is."
Merlin smiled despite himself, something warm and bright unfurling in his chest. This was familiar ground; their constant bickering, the easy back-and-forth that had defined them since the day they'd met. But underneath it now was something new, something that made Merlin's heart beat faster even as everything else felt impossibly, wonderfully the same.
"Arthur," Merlin said softly.
"Mm?"
"You have to let me go eventually. I'm supposed to bring you breakfast, remember? And dress you. And probably polish something."
Arthur was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge. "What if I don't want things to go back to how they were?"
Merlin carefully turned in Arthur's arms until they were face to face. The prince looked younger in the morning light, vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be in the light of day. His hair was disheveled, sticking up at odd angles, and there was something uncertain in his eyes.
"They won't," Merlin said firmly. "Last night changed things."
"For the better?" Arthur asked, and there was something almost fragile in the question.
Merlin reached up, letting his fingers trace the line of Arthur's jaw. "For the better," he confirmed. "Though I still have to bring you breakfast. And you're still a prat."
Arthur's expression softened into something that might have been relief, might have been joy. "And you're still an idiot."
"Your idiot, apparently."
"Yes," Arthur said, and kissed him as the morning sun spilled across the bed. "My idiot."
Outside, Camelot was waking. Soon there would be duties and responsibilities, the weight of crowns and destiny pressing down on both of them. There would be secrets to keep and dangers to face, because this; whatever this was between them, could never be spoken of beyond these walls.
But for now, in this moment, there was only warmth and light and the simple truth that they had found each other. That after all the prophecies and all the lies, after magic and destiny and fate, they had chosen this.
They had chosen each other.
"Five more minutes," Arthur declared, pulling Merlin back against his chest.
Merlin should have protested. Should have reminded Arthur about the council meeting, about his father's expectations, about the hundred responsibilities waiting beyond the door.
Instead, he settled back into Arthur's arms and smiled.
"Five more minutes," he agreed.
And for those five minutes, they were simply Merlin and Arthur — not prince and servant, not futureking and sorcerer, not destiny and prophecy.
Just two people who had finally found their way home.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.