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It started with the snapdragons.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, picking up the small vase of greenery that had appeared alongside his supper tray. “What is this?”
“They’re called flowers, sire,” Merlin replied, as he crossed the room to Arthur’s armoire. His tone implied that Arthur must have been hit over the head on the tourney field a few too many times, if he had to ask such an obvious question. “I’m sure you’ve seen them before. They grow here.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Arthur testily. “What I meant was, what are they doing in my chambers? I don’t recall having asked for any decorations.”
“That’s because you didn’t,” Merlin agreed. “But you have been moping about like a bear with a sore head recently, so I guess someone thought you could do with cheering up.”
“I see.” Arthur stared at the back of Merlin’s head, nonplussed. Contrary to his manservant’s insinuations, Arthur was quite certain he had not been moping about, sore-headed or otherwise—at least, not when there was anyone else around to see him. Attempting to lift his father’s ban on magic had proven more tedious and time-consuming than he had originally anticipated, which had in turn been wearing on his nerves, but until now he’d been under the impression that he'd been hiding his frustrations rather well. “I didn’t think I was quite so obvious.”
“Well, you see, sire,” Merlin flashed him a sunny smile as he began tossing clothing into Arthur’s wardrobe, “those lines on your forehead do kind of imply that you're unhappy about something. And when the king is unhappy, his knights are unhappy; and when the knights are unhappy, the servants are unhappy; and then, before you know it, the entire castle has a case of the grumps.”
“So you’re saying I’m making everyone grumpy.”
“I’m saying,” Merlin said firmly, “that you need to start taking better care of yourself. Your happiness is just as important as your health when it comes to running the kingdom, you know.”
Arthur made an impatient noise. “My happiness is irrelevant,” he said. “What’s important is getting this mess sorted out, so the people of Camelot no longer have to live in fear of persecution.”
Merlin’s face softened at that, and he nudged the door of the armoire shut on the untidy heap of Arthur’s belongings. “Both things can be true at the same time,” he said, giving the door an extra shove when it failed to close completely. Honestly, it was a miracle he was still employed. “Lifting the ban is important, of course, but you can’t think straight if you’re miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.” It was true that the burden of kingship had become somewhat more oppressive of late, but he was too well aware of the privileges he enjoyed to allow himself to wallow in his misfortunes. “At worst, I might be a little bit stressed.”
“Exactly.” Merlin nodded. “Which is why you need to take some time to relax—enjoy yourself. Here, have one of these.”
He held out a platter of freshly baked honey cakes, which Arthur could have sworn he hadn’t been carrying a moment before. When Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, however, Merlin merely smiled guilelessly back, and after a few seconds Arthur shrugged his shoulders and took one. They were his favourites, after all.
“Even if that were true,” he said, breaking off a piece and stuffing it into his mouth, “which I’m not saying it is, I don’t see how the flowers are supposed to help with anything.”
“They brighten up the place,” Merlin said defensively. “They’re—pretty.”
“Hm,” Arthur said. “And are you aware that snapdragons don’t usually bloom until the springtime?”
The tips of Merlin’s ears were very red. “They must have been early this year, then,” he said.
+
Some days later, Arthur returned to his chambers after a particularly aggravating council session to find a hot bath waiting for him in front of the fire. The water was steaming gently, emitting the faint scent of lavender and rose petals, his supper ready and waiting on a low table next to the tub.
“I still have work to do,” Arthur said by way of protest, but Merlin just clicked his tongue at him, emerging from behind the changing screen with Arthur’s towel and his sleeping clothes.
“You can do it in the morning,” he said, setting his burdens on a chair and moving to unlace Arthur’s tunic. “I’ve been standing about waiting on you for ages as it is; I’m not interested in staying up all night, even if you are.”
Arthur’s conscience pricked a little at that, but in truth he wasn’t interested in staying up all night either, especially if parchment and quill were to be his only company. Besides—Merlin must have put aside his own evening plans to prepare the bath for him. The least he could do was be appreciative.
“All right, fine,” he said, sighing. A hot bath and some food did sound appealing after the day he’d had; Lord Aethelthred had been objecting to the reforms again, arguing that Arthur’s latest draft had too many loopholes that sorcerers could exploit. Adjustments had to be made—not for the first time—and Arthur had retired to his chambers with the intention of doing just that, until his manservant had waylaid him with care and comforts. Still, he had no doubt Lord Aethelthred would find just as many holes to pick in his proposals tomorrow. “I suppose it can wait for a few more hours.”
Merlin beamed at him triumphantly, helping him out of his trousers and ushering him into the bath, where Arthur sank into the water with a groan of pleasure. It really was far too warm to have been ‘standing about for ages,’ as Merlin put it, and the roast meat, when he sampled it, was also the perfect temperature, as if it had been brought up from the kitchens mere moments before.
Fleetingly, Arthur wondered whether Merlin was aware that Arthur knew about his magic, or if this was his uncharacteristically subtle way of trying to out himself without having to actually say the words. Or perhaps, as seemed more likely, he had no idea that he was being so transparent. He appeared to be labouring under the delusion that he had managed to keep his powers a secret throughout his time in Camelot, when as far as Arthur knew nearly everyone who met him had come to the correct conclusion at some point or another. Part of the pressure he felt in drawing up the new laws on magic was because he wanted to get them right, in the hopes that he might finally tempt Merlin to confess.
“Lean forward, sire,” Merlin said, a peremptory finger prodding Arthur’s shoulder. He blinked, realising he had been dozing, and bent to lean his elbows against his knees before he understood what Merlin intended.
“You don’t have to—” he began, but Merlin made a soft noise of dissent and he fell silent, bowing his head as Merlin began to wash his back. This had been a hard-won luxury, once, when Merlin had first been appointed as his manservant and had made no secret of his opinion about the indulgences of princes, though over time he had seemed to resent his duties less. More recently, Arthur had taken to sending him away preemptively whenever he bathed, preferring to tend to his own needs in private rather than risk embarrassing himself in front of his manservant. Tonight, however, he was tired enough that it didn’t seem worth the additional aggravation. Merlin’s hands were steady and sure on his bare skin, lathering soap over Arthur’s shoulders and down the curve of his back, his thumbs applying a gentle pressure as they smoothed out the knots that had gathered in his shoulders and at the base of his spine.
“Better?” Merlin murmured, and Arthur nodded. Merlin moved on to his hair, massaging the soap into it with careful fingers, and Arthur could feel himself relaxing even further, a tension he had not been fully aware of seeping gradually out of his body.
It was both a blessing and a curse, this thing he had with Merlin. There were few people in his life that he trusted so implicitly, and even fewer with whom he had the same level of effortless rapport as he had found with his insubordinate manservant. But, by the same token, there were few people whose loss would grieve him more, if, through some inexpert fumbling of his own, he were to drive the man away or make things otherwise uncomfortable and awkward between them.
There were times when he suspected Merlin might share his feelings—a certain heat in his gaze, his touch, the way he guarded Arthur and his crown so fiercely—but he couldn’t be sure, and it was that which kept him from speaking more than any other consideration. He was Merlin’s superior, at least in the eyes of the world; he could not act without knowing it would be welcome, and he could not know whether it would be welcome until Merlin was free to accept or reject him as he chose, without the threat of execution hanging over his head.
And that would not come until Arthur managed to wring some kind of consensus out of his squabbling, scheming nobles and actually got around to repealing the magic ban, gods damn it, which was what he ought to be doing instead of allowing Merlin pamper him like this. He really needed to stop letting himself be talked into these things.
At last, Arthur sighed and began the disappointing process of getting out of the bath. Merlin seemed aware of his pensive mood, because he didn’t break the silence as he normally would, allowing Arthur the privacy of his own thoughts as he helped him dry off and get into his sleeping clothes. He smoothed his hands over Arthur’s shoulders and down his arms, casually proprietary, and Arthur felt a warm swell of affection for him pressing at the base of his throat, crowding his tongue with words that could not, as yet, be said.
“Well?” he asked, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. “Are you satisfied?”
“You’ll do,” Merlin said, stepping back. His cheeks were slightly pink, his gaze lowered, and if Arthur hadn’t known better, he might have thought he was embarrassed. “You’re only going to bed, you prat; it’s not as if you need to impress anybody.”
“A king must be prepared for any eventuality,” Arthur said seriously, just to listen to Merlin’s snort of laughter. “Good night, Merlin.”
“Good night, Arthur.”
He could still feel the warmth of Merlin’s smile as he fell asleep.
+
“Put down your crossbow and come with me,” Merlin said, catching Arthur’s arm on his way out of the armoury. Arthur, who had been about to head down to the archery range for some early-morning target practice, obediently reversed his course and fell into step with Merlin, though not without pausing momentarily to ask,
“Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Merlin hedged. He glanced to the left and then the right, furtive as a thief, then grinned at whatever he saw on Arthur’s face. “I promise, sire, everything’s fine. It’s just that if we don’t go now, Lord Aethelthred might catch us, and I really don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?” Arthur wondered, but Merlin affected not to hear him, and Arthur allowed himself to be towed down the castle steps and out into the courtyard, blinking bemusedly when he saw the horses waiting for them.
At long last, they had finalised the wording of the magical reforms and were preparing to announce them to the populace. It had been an exhausting and hard-fought battle, the sort Arthur had come to despise since he had first become king, but one which he felt justifiably proud of winning, if only because it seemed to take so much more effort than fighting off one’s enemies with a sword. That did not, however, mean that he was free to go out riding this morning on a whim, not when they still had the final copy of the declaration to sign and a celebratory feast to plan for, and his personal speech to write, and—
“Sir Geoffrey has the preparations well in hand,” Merlin said, as though reading Arthur’s mind. “He’s done this loads of times—you’ll only get in his way, if you stand about hovering. You’ve done your part, Arthur; now it’s time to step back and let them do theirs.”
The temptation to agree with him was strong, not least because Merlin was looking at him appealingly, blue eyes wide and full of mischief. Arthur was forcibly reminded of Morgana when she used to try to persuade him to skip out on lessons as a child, and all the trouble he would inevitably get into afterwards. He sighed.
“Where are we going?” he asked, resigned, and Merlin grinned.
“Follow me, sire,” he said, walking over to his mount and vaulting into the saddle. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”
To be fair, he wasn’t wrong about that. Arthur had always loved the way Camelot looked at daybreak, the sun rising slowly over the hills to the east, gradually burning away the mist that clung to the troughs and valleys around them. This early in the season, it was still cold enough for there to have been a light dusting of snow overnight, and the chill stung Arthur’s nose and cheeks as the horses crunched over the frosted grass, clouds of warm breath streaming behind them. It was peaceful out here, and familiar in a way that reminded him what it was he fought for—not just the people but the land itself, bred into his blood and bones like a promise.
Merlin led the way over the fields at a relaxed trot, before finally drawing rein outside of a small hamlet. There he dismounted and spoke to one of the tenant farmers for several minutes, leaving Arthur to fidget conspicuously by the gate, feeling somewhat out of place in his fine tunic and Pendragon insignia. At last, the farmer gave him a friendly nod and went back inside, and Merlin beckoned for Arthur to join him.
“This way,” he said, cheeks pinked with cold. “He said they’ve only just started. If we hurry, we’ll get to be part of the whole thing.”
“What’s only just started?” Arthur complained, but Merlin ignored him, and Arthur traipsed after him through the slush, tipping his head up to the pale sun and wondering what he had done in a past life to deserve this sort of insubordination.
Their destination appeared to be a small sheepfold tucked into the lee of a hill, an unsteady building that did little more than provide shelter for the livestock and storage for their feed throughout the long winter months. There was a small hayloft, accessible via ladder, and beneath it a herd of sheep milling restlessly around the legs of a man who must have been their shepherd.
“Hi,” Merlin said brightly, waving at him. “You must be Michael. I’m Merlin, and this is Arthur. Simon told you he invited us to help with things?”
“Aye,” said the shepherd, squinting at them. He had a grizzled, leathery face, but his eyes were sharp and clear as an osprey’s, and Arthur judged him to be anywhere from thirty to a thousand years old. “You, I can believe, but I’ve known him since he was a wean,” jerking a thumb at Arthur, “and he’s no sheep farmer.”
“No,” Arthur said, since apparently he had done something very terrible indeed in a previous incarnation. “But I’m willing to learn.”
Michael snorted, clearly unconvinced, and Arthur glared at Merlin, whose fault all of this undoubtedly was. Merlin just grinned back and shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
As it turned out, the things they were there to help with were preparations for the spring lambing; back-breaking, exhausting work that occupied most of the morning. The pen was full of breeding ewes, many of whom seemed ready to give birth at any moment, and the whole place needed to be cleared out and laid with fresh straw before that happened.
Merlin took to the task with surprising gusto, explaining in between stabbing at bales of hay that he had done something similar back in Ealdor, and Arthur did his best to match him in enthusiasm, though admittedly he found himself watching the muscles in Merlin’s forearms more often than was probably necessary. He still wasn't entirely sure how they'd ended up here, or why Merlin had felt a sudden, pressing need to get out of the castle, but he had to admit that the fresh air and exercise were far more invigorating than another round of shooting arrows at straw targets would have been.
It was mid-morning when the true chaos started. They had almost finished cleaning out the straw when one of the ewes went down, bleating in pain as her labour started; another followed shortly afterwards, and the day dissolved into a flurry of curses and activity, the farmer himself emerging from the house and other farmhands descending on the place to get stuck in.
It wasn’t what Arthur would have called a pleasant experience, necessarily. He stayed out of the way for the most part, having been tasked with keeping the other ewes from crowding the birthing mothers while the others did their work, but he was close enough that he could catch snatches of their conversation now and then, and heard the drop to hushed, worried tones as one of the lambs—an unexpected twin—seemed to be in trouble. When Arthur next glanced over, Merlin was at the ewe’s head, soothing her quietly while Michael passed a hand over her belly, his eyes flashing gold as he murmured something too low for Arthur to hear.
“What was that?” Arthur asked, catching Merlin’s sleeve as he passed some minutes later. “What did he do?”
“An old shepherd’s trick,” Merlin said, meeting his gaze solidly. “Bit of a massage can help to turn the lamb and make things easier for the mother.”
His voice was suspiciously casual, and Arthur let him go, watching as he headed over to the well to draw a bucket of water. At last, he thought he understood the real purpose of this little excursion. Merlin might or might not know that Arthur knew about his magic, but he did know that Arthur had seldom seen it used for anything good. Perhaps this was his way of showing Arthur what it really meant to bring magic back to Camelot; that it didn’t always have to be about violence and bloodshed and death.
Later, when the two of them had cleaned themselves up and the lambs had taken their first tottering steps at their mothers’ sides, Michael allowed them both to take a break, and Arthur followed Merlin up into the hayloft, stretching out gratefully in the straw while Merlin divvied up their lunch.
“How did you know about this, anyway?” he asked, accepting a chunk of bread and some cheese. From here, he could just the lambs’ tails dancing as they, too, settled down to their meal. “I didn’t know you had friends outside of the citadel.”
“I do actually talk to people sometimes, sire,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. “The farmer and his wife come into the lower town sometimes to sell their sheep, and we got to chatting about his flock and how much I used to enjoy helping with the lambing season back in Ealdor. I offered to come by and help when they had some ewes who were due to give birth, and the messenger arrived this morning.”
“So early?” Arthur wondered, stifling a yawn.
“I’m afraid sheep don’t care much for the king’s schedule,” Merlin said, smiling a little. “But I didn’t want to miss it, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt you to skip morning training for once in your life.”
Carefully unexamined was the assumption that Arthur would follow him without being asked, and Arthur wasn’t sure what it said about him that he had done so, without even knowing where it was they were going or why. He had long ago stopped fighting the realisation that he would follow Merlin anywhere, and moved on to trying to figure out a way to say as much to Merlin himself, without making things awkward by overplaying his hand. So far, he hadn’t quite managed it, but he thought he was getting closer to finding the right words—or better yet, the right actions—to explain the way he felt.
“You must get really bored, out here in the country,” he murmured, kicking Merlin with his foot, “if this is what you do for fun.”
“Shut up, my lord,” Merlin retorted, elbowing him back. “It’s no worse than one of your bloody hunting trips, and you take great delight in dragging me on those as often as you possibly can; at least this time there are cute little lambs at the end of it instead of a dead stag or innocent bunny rabbit. Now be quiet and appreciate the miracle of nature.”
Arthur snorted, but for once chose to do as he was told, lying in comfortable silence while the sheep baa’ed and bleated down below. Merlin’s shoulder pressed against his, warmly intimate, while Merlin himself murmured something that could have been a blessing—or a spell. Above them, watery spring sunlight filtered through the holes in the thatch, catching in Merlin’s hair and the glittering dust motes that hung suspended around them, and Arthur felt almost ready to burst from the sheer intensity of the feeling, a breathless anticipation that was only tangentially related to the expectation of new life below.
Only a few more days now, he was sure of it. Only a few more days, and everything would change.
+
The magic ban was repealed with all due pomp and ceremony, and Arthur read out the new laws in front of the assembled crowd with a feeling of lightness that he had seldom experienced since the moment his father’s crown had touched his forehead. This was the right thing to do, he was certain of it; not just because of what it might mean for him, personally, but because it meant that his people would no longer have to live in fear, or suffer under the dark clouds of secrecy and paranoia. In his albeit limited experience, this kind of certainty was rarely granted to leaders of any sort, and he fully intended to appreciate it for what it was, and for the happiness it brought to those around him.
The real highlight of the celebrations, however, came afterwards, when he and Merlin retreated to the royal chambers. Arthur was tired by then, the sharp edges of the day softened by drink and good food, so that he was barely paying attention as Merlin closed the door and—unusually—slipped the latch behind them.
“Arthur,” he said. When Arthur turned back to him, Merlin was already down on one knee, both hands cupped in front of him like a supplicant—but they weren’t empty. Instead, he cradled a gossamer ball of familiar blue-white light in his palms, his gaze trained unflinchingly on Arthur’s face.
His eyes said, I know that you know, but also, I’m afraid of what you’ll do now that you know and, more complicatedly, what do we do now that we both know that you know, and you can’t un-know it?
Arthur took a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden flutter of nerves in his belly.
“Get up,” he said softly, and Merlin stood, letting the globe of light hang in the air between them. “How long?”
“I was born with it,” Merlin said, a touch of pride in his voice. He stood straight-backed, chin high, and for all that he might have begun by bending the knee, it was clear that that had been a gesture of respect and not of deference. “Since I came here, I’ve used it in your service. To protect Camelot, of course,” he took a deep breath, “but mostly for you.”
Arthur had long ago come to the conclusion that Merlin was one of the bravest men he had ever met, but he was beginning to think that was an underestimation. He watched as Merlin lifted his hand again, this time nudging the glowing sphere towards him, and summoned enough of his own courage to step forward and catch it, holding onto it for only a couple of seconds before it popped like a silvery bubble and disappeared.
“Merlin,” Arthur said slowly. “Are you—have you been trying to court me?”
“For some time now, actually,” Merlin said, with a lopsided smile. “But thanks for noticing.”
Arthur flicked his forehead—it was instinct, at this point, to retaliate when Merlin was being insubordinate—but most of his attention was focused on the gift that had just been given to him. He thought back to all of the small kindnesses of the past few weeks: the indiscreetly proffered honey cakes; the scented bathwater; the busy morning that had suddenly opened up when he needed a break. Each had been carefully calculated to show how much Merlin cared without being obvious; if Arthur had rejected him at any point, he could have returned to merely doing his job without losing face, or causing any lasting damage to the relationship between them.
Brave, Arthur thought again. But smart, too. Not a trait he was accustomed to associating with his manservant—at least, not out loud.
“May I kiss you?” he asked abruptly. Merlin blinked at him and then laughed, sounding almost shy.
“That was sort of the idea—” he began, but Arthur cut him off. Merlin’s mouth was open under his, caught in the middle of his sentence, but after a moment it softened and slid into place, curling at the edges with a smile that Merlin apparently couldn’t suppress.
“Thank you,” Arthur said quietly when they parted. “For—for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” Merlin said. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he leaned forward to kiss Arthur again, one hand coming up to stroke through Arthur’s hair. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Arthur caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm and watching the way Merlin’s fingers curled over it. “Although,” he murmured, tugging Merlin closer so that he could speak directly into his ear. “I did rather enjoy seeing you on your knees.”
“For the first and last time,” Merlin said, but it was the same tone of voice in which he had once said the tavern, so Arthur knew it was a lie.