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The first time the nobles saw Merlin rein Arthur in, they thought it was a coincidence.
The second time, they thought Merlin was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.
By the third, the knights had started making jokes about it.
By the fourth, the servants had learned to look for Merlin whenever Arthur's temper began to rise.
And by the fifth, even the nobles understood something that had taken them years to recognize.
There was no one in Camelot who knew how to handle Arthur quite like Merlin did.
Not because Merlin was stronger.
He wasn't.
Not because Merlin outranked him.
He certainly didn't.
And not because Arthur was particularly easy to handle.
Arthur Pendragon had never been easy to handle.
He was proud, stubborn, quick-tempered, painfully defensive, and more than capable of turning a disagreement into an argument simply because he disliked the idea of being wrong.
But Merlin knew him.
He knew when Arthur's anger was genuine and when it was hiding something else.
He knew when Arthur wanted to fight and when he simply wanted someone to tell him that he didn't have to.
Most importantly, Merlin knew when to push.
And when to stop.
The court would eventually learn that there was a difference.
I.
The first time happened in the council chamber.
It was early in Arthur's time as crown prince, before he had learned how to hide his temper beneath the practiced calm expected of a future king.
The council had been arguing for nearly an hour.
Merlin had been standing against the wall for most of it, holding a tray of untouched wine and wondering whether anyone would notice if he quietly left. Probably not.
Unfortunately, he had Arthur's cloak draped over one arm. Leaving without it would mean Arthur would eventually find him. And then there would be questions. So Merlin stayed.
Lord Bayard was speaking.
"If the prince intends to continue sending patrols north every few days, then we must reconsider how we are allocating the treasury."
Arthur sat at the head of the table, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair.
“The patrols will continue,” Arthur said firmly.
“My prince, there has been no confirmed sign of an attack,” Lord Bayard argued.
“There hasn’t been an attack because our soldiers are there,” Arthur replied, his voice edged with impatience.
“Or perhaps there is no attack because there is no threat,” Lord Bayard countered.
Merlin stopped looking at the ceiling. Oh. That was unfortunate.
Arthur's tapping stopped.
Lord Bayard continued, apparently oblivious to the danger.
“We cannot continue spending silver simply because you believe there might be an enemy waiting beyond the border,” Lord Bayard said. “The treasury cannot support sending additional men and supplies north every time one of your scouts reports something they cannot positively identify.”
Arthur slowly lifted his eyes from the table.
“I don’t believe there might be an enemy,” Arthur said.
His voice had gone dangerously quiet.
Merlin winced.
Lord Bayard, unfortunately, did not seem to notice.
“I know there are men crossing the border,” Arthur continued, his gaze fixed steadily on the older noble. “My scouts have reported movement three times in the past fortnight, and all three reports have been consistent. Horses. Campfires. Tracks leading south.”
Lord Bayard folded his hands in front of him.
“With respect, Your Highness, intelligence reports are not always accurate.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair.
“And yours are?”
The question was quiet enough that several people around the table exchanged uneasy glances.
Lord Bayard’s mouth tightened. “That is not what I meant, my prince.”
“Then perhaps you should explain what you did mean,” Arthur replied.
“I am suggesting that perhaps you are allowing caution to become paranoia,” Lord Bayard said carefully.
The moment the word left his mouth, the entire council seemed to freeze.
Several members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
One of the older knights suddenly found the papers in front of him extremely interesting.
Another noble lowered his gaze toward his cup, as though refusing to witness what was about to happen might somehow prevent it.
Merlin closed his eyes.
He knew that look.
Arthur’s shoulders had gone rigid.
His jaw was clenched so tightly that Merlin could practically see the muscle twitching beneath his skin.
And his fingers had stopped tapping entirely.
Those were all very bad signs.
“My men have reported movement along the border,” Arthur said, his voice becoming firmer with every word. “Three separate patrols have seen evidence of horses, campfires, and men moving through the northern forests. If you would rather wait until those men actually cross into Camelot before we decide they are worth worrying about, then perhaps you would like to explain that decision to the families of the soldiers who will have to fight them.”
Lord Bayard frowned.
“I merely think that we should consider whether the evidence is sufficient before committing more resources.”
Arthur pushed his chair back.
The legs scraped sharply against the stone floor.
“Then perhaps,” Arthur said, rising to his feet, “you should try doing your thinking quietly for once.”
The room went silent.
Merlin sighed under his breath.
He knew exactly what was about to happen.
Arthur stepped away from the table, his attention never leaving Lord Bayard.
The older noble rose as well, although the confidence he had displayed moments earlier had noticeably disappeared.
“My prince,” Lord Bayard said quickly, “I meant no disrespect.”
“You called my judgment paranoid.”
“I said your caution may be becoming—”
“I heard what you said,” Arthur interrupted.
His voice rose, echoing slightly through the chamber.
“And now you are going to explain yourself.”
Lord Bayard hesitated.
“My prince, that was not my intention.”
“Then what was your intention?” Arthur demanded, taking another step toward him. “Because from where I am standing, it sounds very much as though you have decided that you know better than the men actually risking their lives along the border.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is exactly what you implied.”
Arthur’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
Lord Bayard glanced briefly toward the other members of the council, apparently hoping someone might intervene.
Merlin sighed as he pushed himself away from the wall.
“Arthur.”
He said it quietly.
The prince looked at him with his signature gaze of not now, Merlin.
Merlin ignored it.
Merlin walked toward him, keeping his voice low enough that it did not sound like another challenge.
“Arthur, perhaps you should sit down.”
Several nobles looked as though Merlin had just announced his intention to personally challenge Arthur to a sword fight.
Arthur stared at him.
"Excuse me?"
"You should sit down."
"Merlin."
"I know."
Arthur's eyebrows drew together.
“You know what?” Merlin asked, watching Arthur carefully.
Arthur turned his head toward him. “What?”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Arthur insisted, his expression immediately becoming more defensive.
Merlin glanced around the room.
Lord Bayard was staring at the floor.
The other council members were pretending very hard not to listen.
Merlin looked back at Arthur.
“Right,” Merlin said, nodding slowly. “Of course.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him.
Merlin took another step toward him. “You’re definitely not angry.”
“I’m not,” Arthur replied firmly. “I’m perfectly calm.”
“And you definitely weren’t about to start shouting at Lord Bayard.”
“I wasn’t shouting.”
“Not yet,” Merlin corrected. “But you were getting there.”
Arthur gave him an irritated look.
“I was making my position clear.”
Merlin glanced briefly toward Lord Bayard, who was still standing a few feet away and looking increasingly uncomfortable.
“And you certainly weren’t about to threaten Lord Bayard.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
Merlin smiled.
“Excellent. Then you won’t mind sitting down.”
There was a long silence.
Arthur stared at Merlin as though he were trying to decide whether it was worth arguing with him.
Merlin simply looked back, completely unbothered.
Around them, the council remained very still. No one seemed willing to interrupt whatever strange battle was taking place between their prince and his servant.
Finally, Arthur exhaled through his nose and glanced away.
“You’re irritating,” Arthur muttered.
“I’ve been told,” Merlin replied.
“Frequently, I imagine.”
“Usually by you.”
Arthur shook his head, but some of the tension finally left his shoulders.
Merlin gestured toward Arthur’s chair.
“Go on, then.”
Then, to the astonishment of everyone present, he sat.
The silence that followed was almost comical.
Merlin handed him the cup of wine from the tray.
"Drink."
Arthur stared at it.
"Are you giving me orders now?"
"No," Merlin paused, "I'm suggesting you drink before you say something that makes your father blame me."
Arthur took the cup.
A few nobles exchanged glances.
Lord Bayard looked completely bewildered.
Arthur took a drink.
Merlin stepped back.
“Now,” Merlin said, gesturing toward the table, “you can explain to Lord Bayard why he’s wrong without threatening to throw him out of a window.”
Arthur turned a sharp glare on him.
“I wasn’t going to throw him out of a window.”
“Good,” Merlin replied, nodding approvingly. “That’s very reassuring.”
Arthur paused.
“I was considering throwing him into the courtyard.”
Merlin stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes.
“Progress,” he said dryly.
A few of the knights around the table quickly lowered their heads, unsuccessfully trying to hide their amusement.
Arthur noticed.
His head snapped around.
“Something amusing?” Arthur asked, his voice carrying across the chamber.
“No, sire,” one of the knights replied quickly.
"Good."
Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
Arthur’s eyes immediately found him.
“You find this amusing.”
Merlin straightened, attempting to look as innocent as possible.
“Not at all.”
Arthur continued staring at him.
“You do.”
“Only a little,” Merlin admitted.
Arthur sighed and shook his head, “I knew it.”
With that, he turned his attention back to the council.
The meeting resumed.
Lord Bayard cautiously explained his concerns, this time choosing his words with considerably more care. Arthur listened without interrupting him, even when the nobleman repeated several of the arguments he had already made.
To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur even allowed Lord Bayard to finish before responding.
When the meeting finally came to an end, no one had been threatened, shouted at, or thrown from anything.
Merlin considered that a success.
As the nobles began filing out of the chamber, Merlin remained behind to gather the cups from the table. He was halfway through stacking them when an older knight approached him.
“Merlin.”
Merlin looked up from the cups.
“Sir?”
The knight glanced across the room toward Arthur, who was speaking with another council member.
Then he looked back at Merlin.
“How did you do that?”
Merlin frowned.
“Do what?”
“Stop him.”
“I didn’t stop him.”
The knight gave Merlin a pointed look.
“You told the prince to sit down.”
“Yes?”
“And he did.”
Merlin shrugged.
“Perhaps he was tired.”
The knight let out a quiet snort.
“I have served the Pendragon family for twenty years. I have watched King Uther order his son to stand down during battle. I have watched Arthur argue with knights twice his age and nobles twice his rank. I have watched him refuse to back down even when the men standing opposite him were holding swords.”
The knight leaned a little closer.
“And you told him to sit down.”
Merlin glanced toward Arthur.
Arthur was still speaking, apparently unaware that he was currently the subject of their conversation.
Merlin smiled.
“Perhaps I’m very persuasive.”
“Or perhaps you’re insane.”
Merlin considered that for a moment.
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
The knight laughed.
“I suppose they aren’t.”
Before Merlin could answer, Arthur called across the chamber.
“Merlin!”
Merlin looked over.
Arthur had finished his conversation and was now holding out his cloak.
“You forgot this,” Arthur said.
Merlin glanced down at the empty space beside him.
“I didn’t forget it. I was carrying it.”
“You were supposed to give it to me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Do I really have to ask you for everything?”
“I can't read your mind, sire.”
Arthur shook his head, but there was no real irritation behind it.
“Come on.”
Merlin walked toward him and took the cloak from Arthur’s hands.
The older knight watched the exchange from behind them.
There was something almost absurd about it.
The prince who had been moments away from losing his temper with a councilor was now standing there arguing with Merlin about a cloak as though that were the most important matter in Camelot.
Arthur looked toward the knight.
“Why are you staring?”
The knight immediately straightened.
“I was merely observing, sire.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Observing what?”
The knight glanced at Merlin.
Then back at Arthur.
“Nothing, my prince.”
Arthur looked suspicious, but apparently decided he had more important things to worry about.
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Merlin, are you coming?”
Merlin followed him, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Arthur.”
II.
The second time, there were far more witnesses.
It happened at one of Uther's winter feasts.
Merlin had never understood why nobles enjoyed eating enormous amounts of food while sitting in rooms filled with people they secretly disliked.
It seemed exhausting.
Arthur appeared to agree.
He had spent most of the evening looking as though he wanted to escape.
Merlin stood behind Arthur, holding a jug of wine.
“You could try smiling,” Merlin suggested.
Arthur didn’t turn around.
“Why?”
“Because you’re frightening the guests.”
“Good,” Arthur replied.
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not really the purpose of a feast.”
Arthur continued watching the room.
“It should be.”
Merlin leaned slightly closer to him.
“You know, most princes try to make their guests feel welcome.”
“Most princes aren’t surrounded by people waiting for them to make a mistake,” Arthur said bitterly.
Merlin’s expression softened.
He looked at Arthur for a moment before following his gaze across the room.
“I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
“I am,” Arthur insisted.
Merlin glanced toward the far side of the hall.
“You’re glaring at Lord Cenred.”
Arthur’s eyes remained fixed on the nobleman.
“He keeps staring at me.”
“Perhaps he’s admiring your crown,” Merlin offered.
Arthur finally looked down at himself.
“I’m not wearing one.”
Merlin considered this.
“Then perhaps he’s admiring your hair.”
Arthur turned his head and gave Merlin a flat stare.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
Merlin smiled.
“No.”
Arthur shook his head.
“I suppose I should have known.”
Before Merlin could answer, laughter rose from across the hall.
A group of visiting nobles were talking.
One voice carried farther than the others.
“The prince has always been a spoiled boy,” a nobleman remarked from somewhere behind them.
Arthur’s expression changed.
Merlin noticed immediately.
He followed Arthur’s gaze and spotted the man across the hall, already drinking heavily enough that his words were beginning to slur.
“And Uther indulges him,” the nobleman continued, raising his cup as he spoke to the people gathered around him. “If the boy had been born to a lesser family, he’d have been beaten into obedience years ago.”
Arthur stood.
Merlin immediately caught hold of his sleeve.
“No.”
Arthur looked down at the hand gripping his arm, then slowly raised his eyes to Merlin.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Merlin.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“He insulted me.”
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “He did.”
“And my father.”
“Also yes.”
Arthur pulled his arm free.
“I’m going to speak to him.”
Merlin followed him as he started across the room.
“You’re going to threaten him.”
“I am not,” Arthur replied sharply.
Merlin caught up beside him.
“You have the face.”
Arthur glanced at him.
“What face?”
“The face you make before you threaten someone.”
Arthur frowned.
“I don’t have a face.”
Merlin stared at him for a moment.
“You definitely have a face.”
Arthur gave him an irritated look and continued walking.
“Arthur,” Merlin warned.
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Merlin.”
“You’re going to make a scene.”
Arthur glanced toward the drunken nobleman.
“He already made a scene.”
“He insulted you quietly.”
Arthur stopped so suddenly that Merlin nearly walked straight into his back.
Arthur turned around.
“What would you suggest I do?”
Merlin paused, considering the question.
“Nothing.”
Arthur stared at him. “Nothing?”
“Exactly.”
“And simply allow him to insult me?”
“Yes.”
Arthur looked genuinely offended by the suggestion.
“Why?”
“Because he’s drunk,” Merlin explained. “Tomorrow he’ll barely remember what he said.”
“I’ll remember.”
Merlin’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Arthur’s gaze drifted back toward the nobleman, his jaw still tense.
“But you don’t have to answer every insult,” Merlin continued.
Arthur looked at him again.
“He insulted my father.”
“I know.”
“And you expect me to ignore that?”
“I expect you to remember that your father would probably prefer you not start a diplomatic incident at his own feast.”
Arthur stared at Merlin for several long seconds.
Then he sighed heavily.
“You’re impossible.”
Merlin smiled.
“I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Mostly.”
Arthur shook his head.
Then Arthur’s shoulders finally relaxed.
“Fine,” Arthur said reluctantly.
Merlin smiled.
“Thank you.”
The two of them turned away from the nobleman and began walking back toward the other side of the hall.
They had only taken a few steps when the nobleman’s voice carried across the room again.
“Perhaps the prince is running away because he knows I’m right.”
Arthur stopped.
Merlin closed his eyes.
“Don’t,” Merlin warned quietly.
Arthur slowly turned his head toward the man.
“That man is begging for it.”
“I know,” Merlin replied.
“Then why shouldn’t I give it to him?”
Merlin stepped in front of Arthur, forcing him to look at him instead of the nobleman.
“Because you’re Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur’s anger faltered slightly.
Merlin lowered his voice.
“You are better than him.”
Arthur looked at Merlin, his expression still hard.
Merlin held his gaze.
“Don’t let some drunk fool decide what kind of man you are,” he said quietly. “He wants you to lose your temper. He wants you to prove whatever it is he thinks about you. So don’t give him the satisfaction.”
Arthur’s jaw slowly unclenched.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he glanced past Merlin toward the nobleman one last time.
When he looked back at Merlin, some of the anger had faded from his expression.
“Fine,” Arthur said.
Merlin smiled.
“Come on.”
They turned and walked away together.
Behind them, several nobles who had been watching the exchange began murmuring among themselves.
One woman leaned toward the man beside her.
“Did the prince just listen to him?”
The man watched Arthur and Merlin disappear through the doorway before answering.
“I believe he did.”
The woman frowned.
“Who is that?”
“His manservant.”
She looked toward the doorway again.
“He speaks to the prince as though they’re equals.”
The man gave a small shrug.
“Apparently.”
“And Prince Arthur allows it?”
The man considered what they had just witnessed.
“Apparently.”
The woman shook her head, still looking puzzled.
“I’ve never seen anyone speak to him that way.”
“Neither have I.”
Across the hall, another noble quietly joined their conversation.
“He didn’t just speak to him,” the newcomer pointed out. “He stopped him.”
The woman looked at him.
“You noticed that too?”
“I think half the hall noticed.”
The first man gave a quiet laugh.
“And somehow the prince actually listened.”
The three nobles exchanged looks.
None of them understood it.
Not yet at least.
III.
The third time happened on the training field.
By then, some of the knights had begun to notice the pattern.
Arthur was angry.
Again.
This time, however, no one seemed to know why.
Merlin suspected it had something to do with Arthur’s breakfast being untouched.
He had learned that Arthur skipped meals whenever something was bothering him. Unfortunately, Arthur also had a tendency to insist that nothing was wrong whenever anyone asked.
Merlin had stopped believing him.
“You haven’t eaten,” Merlin pointed out as Arthur strapped on his sword.
Arthur didn’t look at him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I wasn’t hungry yesterday.”
“And the day before.”
“Merlin.”
Merlin folded his arms.
“You need to eat.”
Arthur reached for his sword.
“I need to train.”
Merlin stared at him.
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is today.”
Arthur turned and started toward the training field.
Merlin sighed.
“Fine.”
He followed.
By the time they reached the field, several of the knights were already sparring. The morning air was cool, and the courtyard echoed with the familiar sounds of steel striking steel and boots scraping against packed earth.
Arthur barely acknowledged anyone as he crossed the field.
Sir Leon stepped forward when Arthur approached.
“Your Highness.”
Arthur drew his sword.
“Sir Leon.”
Leon glanced briefly at Merlin.
Merlin gave him a helpless shrug.
Leon looked back at Arthur.
“Shall we?”
Arthur nodded.
The sparring match began normally.
For the first few minutes, there was nothing unusual about it.
Arthur moved quickly, his strikes controlled and precise. Leon blocked each one easily enough, occasionally countering with a blow that Arthur parried without difficulty.
The other knights paid little attention.
Then Arthur’s movements changed.
His strikes became harder.
Faster.
Less controlled.
Leon blocked one blow, then another.
Arthur attacked again.
Leon stepped aside.
Another strike.
Another.
The sound of steel against steel grew sharper as Arthur put more force behind every movement.
Gwaine, who had been leaning against the wall nearby, straightened slightly.
He glanced toward Merlin.
“What has gotten into him?”
Merlin shook his head.
“Don’t know.”
Gwaine studied Arthur for another moment.
“Did you forget his breakfast?”
“Nope.”
“Then it’s probably something worse.”
Merlin frowned.
“Very helpful.”
“I try.”
On the field, Arthur swung again.
Leon blocked the blow, but the force of it made his arm jerk.
Arthur immediately attacked again.
Leon barely managed to catch the strike.
“Your Highness,” Leon warned.
Arthur didn’t answer.
He came at him again.
Leon stepped backward.
Arthur followed.
The knights around them had stopped sparring now. One by one, their attention shifted toward the prince.
Arthur struck.
Leon blocked.
Arthur struck again.
Harder.
Leon stumbled half a step.
Merlin straightened.
“Arthur.”
The prince didn't respond.
“Arthur.”
Nothing.
Arthur swung again.
Leon blocked it, but the force nearly knocked him off balance.
Merlin sighed.
“Arthur, that’s enough.”
Arthur ignored him.
Gwaine raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently not.”
Merlin shot him a glare.
“Helpful.”
“Always.”
Arthur swung again.
Leon barely managed to block it.
“Enough!”
This time, Merlin’s voice carried across the entire training field.
Arthur froze.
Everyone else stopped as well.
For a moment, the only sound was Leon breathing heavily.
Arthur slowly lowered his sword.
Then he turned toward Merlin.
“What?”
“That’s enough.”
Arthur frowned.
“I wasn’t finished.”
Merlin gestured toward Leon.
“Leon is.”
Arthur glanced toward the knight.
Leon was breathing heavily, one hand resting against his side. There was a shallow cut along his cheek where one of Arthur’s strikes had gotten through.
Arthur frowned.
“I barely touched him.”
Merlin stared at him.
“Arthur.”
“What?”
“You nearly took his head off.”
Arthur huffed. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Gwaine muttered from the edge of the field, “You did.”
Arthur’s head snapped toward him.
“Did I ask you?”
Gwaine immediately put his two hands up in a surrender position.
Merlin stepped onto the training field.
“You’re done.”
Arthur looked back at him.
“I decide when I’m done.”
“Normally.”
Merlin walked closer.
“Today, however, I’m deciding.”
Arthur stared at him.
“You are?”
“Yes.”
Merlin reached for Arthur’s sword.
For a second, Arthur looked as though he might refuse.
Instead, he allowed Merlin to take it.
That, more than anything else, made the watching knights exchange glances.
Merlin handed the sword to a nearby squire.
“Go clean up.”
Arthur crossed his arms.
“Are you ordering me around?”
“No.”
“Because it sounded like it.”
“I’m advising you.”
“You’ve been advising me a lot lately.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been losing your temper a lot lately.”
Arthur stared at him.
Merlin stared back.
Neither of them moved.
Finally, Arthur huffed.
“Fine.”
Gwaine grinned.
Arthur immediately looked toward him, “What?”
Gwaine straightened. “Nothing, sire.”
“You seem pleased.”
“Not at all.”
“You are.”
Gwaine shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“All right,” he admitted. “Guilty as charged.”
Arthur shook his head.
Merlin turned toward Leon.
“Are you all right?”
Leon touched the cut on his cheek and looked at the blood on his fingertips.
“I’ll survive.”
Merlin grimaced.
“Sorry.”
Leon gave him a small smile.
“You didn’t do it.”
Merlin glanced toward Arthur.
“Still.”
Leon followed his gaze.
For a moment, he watched Arthur standing a few feet away, arms crossed and expression irritated.
Then Leon lowered his voice.
“How do you do that?”
Merlin blinked.
“Do what?”
“Get him to stop.”
Merlin looked at Arthur again.
“He listens.”
Leon gave him a skeptical look.
“He doesn't listen to anyone.”
Merlin smiled.
“He listens to me.”
The words came out before Merlin had time to think about them.
Leon raised an eyebrow.
Merlin immediately cleared his throat.
“Sometimes.”
Gwaine, who had clearly been listening, laughed from behind them.
“Sometimes?”
Merlin turned toward him.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“That is not what I heard.”
“You hear things incorrectly.”
“I hear very well.”
Arthur walked past them.
“I can hear both of you.”
Gwaine smiled.
“Excellent.”
Arthur gave him a warning look.
Gwaine wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor and walked away.
Merlin followed Arthur.
They moved toward the edge of the field, where Arthur stopped and picked up a towel.
Merlin watched him wipe the sweat from his face.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll tell me I shouldn’t be angry.”
Merlin considered that.
“You shouldn’t.”
Arthur groaned.
“Exactly.”
Merlin smiled.
“But I’m still going to listen.”
Arthur looked at him.
For a moment, the irritation in his expression faded.
The anger was still there, but it had lost some of its sharpness.
“Later,” Arthur said quietly.
Merlin nodded.
“Later.”
Arthur looked down at the towel in his hands.
Then, after a moment, he added, “And I’m eating.”
Merlin smiled.
“Good.”
Arthur glanced at him.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m always pleased with myself.”
“That isn't true.”
“It usually is.”
Arthur shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Behind them, Leon watched the exchange.
Gwaine returned to stand beside him.
“You see it now, don’t you?”
Leon looked at him.
“See what?”
Gwaine nodded toward Arthur and Merlin.
“The pattern.”
Leon watched Merlin say something that made Arthur roll his eyes.
Then Arthur actually smiled.
Leon stared for a moment.
“I think I do.”
Gwaine grinned.
“Everyone will eventually.”
Leon glanced around the training field.
Several of the knights were still watching the prince and his servant.
“I don't think Arthur has realized it yet.”
Gwaine laughed quietly.
“Oh, he knows.”
Leon raised an eyebrow.
“You think so?”
Gwaine watched Arthur reach out and shove Merlin lightly on the shoulder as Merlin said something that clearly irritated him.
Merlin laughed.
Arthur shook his head.
But he didn't look angry anymore.
“No,” Gwaine said. “I think he just doesn't know what to call it.”
And perhaps that was true.
Because Merlin had never asked Arthur to listen to him.
He simply spoke.
And somehow, Arthur always did.
IV.
The fourth time was more serious.
By then, Arthur had learned to control his temper better.
The knights had noticed it. The council had noticed it. Even Merlin had noticed it.
Arthur still became angry easily, but he had gotten better at stopping himself before that anger turned into something worse.
There were, however, some things that could still get through his defenses.
His father was one of them.
The subject of the conversation that afternoon was a treaty.
A visiting lord had been arguing for nearly half an hour that Arthur should change the terms of the agreement before it was finalized. He had brought up concerns about trade, border protections, and the number of soldiers Camelot would be expected to provide.
Arthur had listened.
He had answered every objection.
And he had refused every request to change the treaty.
“My position has not changed,” Arthur said, keeping his voice even. “The terms are fair to both kingdoms, and I will not renegotiate them simply because you have decided you would prefer a better arrangement for your own.”
The nobleman frowned.
“My prince, I assure you, I am only trying to ensure that both kingdoms benefit from this agreement.”
“And they will.”
“If you would simply reconsider—”
“I have reconsidered.”
The lord opened his mouth again.
Arthur leaned back slightly in his chair.
“No.”
The single word ended the discussion as far as Arthur was concerned.
Unfortunately, the nobleman did not seem to understand that.
“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “King Uther would be more inclined to listen.”
Arthur went completely still.
Merlin was standing near the door.
He saw it happen.
The change was almost imperceptible.
Arthur's face emptied of emotion.
His shoulders straightened.
His eyes hardened.
It was different from the anger Merlin had seen on the training field or during council.
There was no heat in it.
No raised voice.
Just something cold settling behind Arthur's eyes.
“Perhaps,” Arthur said quietly, “you should concern yourself with your own king.”
The nobleman smiled uneasily.
“I meant no offense.”
“You implied that I am incapable of making decisions without my father.”
“I merely suggested—”
“I know what you suggested.”
Arthur stood.
The scrape of his chair against the stone floor seemed unnaturally loud in the silence that followed.
The nobleman took a small step backward.
“My prince—”
“Leave.”
The lord blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Arthur stepped around the table.
“Leave.”
The nobleman glanced toward the other council members, clearly hoping someone might intervene on his behalf.
No one did.
“Your Highness,” he said carefully, “I came here in good faith.”
“And now you're leaving in bad faith.”
Arthur took another step forward.
The nobleman swallowed.
“My prince, I did not intend to question your authority.”
“You questioned my judgment.”
“That was not my intention.”
“You brought my father into a conversation that had nothing to do with him.”
Arthur's voice remained low.
That somehow made it worse.
Merlin knew that voice.
He had heard it before.
It was the voice Arthur used when he was trying very hard not to let his anger take control.
Merlin moved away from the door.
“Arthur.”
The prince didn't look at him.
“Stay out of this.”
“No.”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
Merlin continued walking toward him.
“You've made your point.”
“I'm not finished.”
“Yes, you are.”
Arthur finally turned toward him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Several nobles around the table looked increasingly horrified by the fact that Merlin was apparently willing to argue with the prince while he was angry.
Merlin, however, didn't seem concerned.
He lowered his voice.
“You don't need to prove anything.”
Something flickered across Arthur's expression.
The anger was still there.
So was the hurt beneath it.
The visiting lord wisely remained silent.
Merlin glanced toward him.
“He's leaving.”
Arthur looked at the nobleman.
Then back at Merlin.
For a long moment, Merlin thought Arthur might refuse.
Instead, Arthur stepped aside.
“Go.”
The nobleman did not need to be told twice.
He gathered his papers and hurried toward the door.
It closed behind him.
Silence settled over the council chamber.
Arthur remained standing.
His hands were clenched at his sides.
Merlin waited.
The other council members remained very still, apparently uncertain whether they were expected to continue the meeting or quietly disappear.
Arthur finally spoke.
“You were about to tell me I was angry.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“You were.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were standing in front of him looking like you were considering throwing him through the wall.”
Arthur glanced toward the closed door.
“I was considering hitting him.”
Merlin sighed.
“At least you're honest.”
Arthur rubbed a hand over his face.
“You don't understand.”
Merlin's expression softened.
“I understand more than you think.”
“No, you don't.”
Arthur turned away.
Merlin followed him a few steps.
“Then explain it.”
Arthur stopped.
For a moment, he said nothing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“He was questioning whether I can be king.”
Merlin didn't answer immediately.
Arthur stared at the table.
“And he used my father to do it.”
“I know.”
Arthur swallowed.
“I am tired of everyone thinking I am only my father's son.”
Merlin stepped closer.
“Arthur.”
The prince looked at him.
“You're not.”
Arthur gave him a tired, humorless smile.
“Very profound.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
“You're Arthur.”
Arthur looked away again.
Merlin continued, his voice gentle.
“You don't have to be your father.”
Arthur was silent.
“I know.”
“You don't have to rule exactly the way he does.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to make every decision the way he would.”
Arthur's eyes lowered.
“I know, Merlin.”
“And you don't have to be perfect.”
Arthur let out a quiet breath.
“I know.”
Merlin smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Arthur looked at him.
Merlin tilted his head.
“You don't have to make everyone afraid of you, either.”
Arthur sighed.
“I know.”
“Excellent.”
Arthur shook his head.
For the first time since the nobleman had mentioned Uther, some of the tension finally left his shoulders.
“How do you always do that?”
Merlin blinked.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel like an idiot.”
Merlin smiled.
“Practice.”
Arthur stared at him for a moment.
Then he laughed.
It was quiet.
Barely more than a breath.
But it was real.
Merlin smiled.
And across the room, the council members watched in stunned silence.
They had just seen Arthur Pendragon go from being furious enough to throw a visiting lord out of the room to laughing because his manservant had made a joke at his expense.
Again.
One of the older knights exchanged a look with another.
Neither of them said anything.
They were beginning to understand.
Merlin didn't stop Arthur from being angry.
He simply reminded him that he didn't have to let his anger decide who he was.
V.
By the fifth time, it had become almost ridiculous.
Everyone knew.
If Arthur's temper rose, Merlin would appear.
Sometimes the knights joked about it.
Sometimes the servants deliberately sent Merlin toward the king's chambers whenever Arthur was angry, usually with remarkably innocent expressions on their faces.
Even some of the nobles had started watching Merlin instead of Arthur whenever a council meeting became tense.
It had become something of an unspoken rule.
If Arthur's voice got louder, find Merlin.
If Arthur started clenching his fists, find Merlin.
And if Merlin was already in the room?
Everyone could relax. Mostly.
It happened during a council meeting.
The discussion concerned the kingdom's grain stores.
A poor harvest had left several villages struggling, and reports had been coming in for weeks about families running out of food before the next shipment could arrive.
Arthur had spent most of the morning going over the numbers.
“We have enough to send another shipment north,” he said, looking down at the figures in front of him. “It won't be enough to solve the problem entirely, but it should keep the villages supplied until the next collection.”
One of the nobles shook his head.
“We cannot simply give away our reserves.”
Arthur looked up.
“They aren't being given away,” Arthur said firmly.
The nobleman shook his head. “They are being sent to villages that cannot repay them.”
“They are being sent to people who are hungry,” Arthur replied.
The nobleman shifted in his seat.
“My point remains.”
Arthur frowned.
“We cannot know whether the harvest will improve,” the nobleman argued.
“We know people are hungry now,” Arthur replied.
“And if we exhaust our stores?” the nobleman asked.
“Then we ration,” Arthur said.
“And if the winter is harsh?” the nobleman pressed.
Arthur's voice sharpened.
“Then we endure it together.”
The nobleman shook his head.
“That is not leadership.”
The room changed.
Merlin noticed it immediately.
So did everyone else.
Arthur's expression went still.
His jaw tightened.
His fingers slowly curled against the edge of the table.
Across the room, one of the knights glanced toward Merlin.
Merlin sighed quietly.
The nobleman, apparently unaware of what he had just done, continued.
“A king must think of his own kingdom before—”
“Before what?”
Arthur stood.
The sudden movement made several people around the table straighten.
The nobleman hesitated.
“Before its people?”
“I meant—”
“You said it wasn't leadership.”
Arthur's voice rose.
“You are suggesting that protecting our own people somehow weakens this kingdom.”
“No, sire.”
“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”
The nobleman opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Arthur stepped around the table.
Merlin moved before anyone else could.
“Arthur.”
The king looked at him.
Merlin didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
Arthur stared at him.
Merlin raised one eyebrow.
Arthur immediately noticed.
“Don't.”
Arthur's shoulders dropped when Merlin only smiled faintly.
“I'm not doing anything,” Merlin said innocently.
“You're doing the eyebrow,” Arthur replied.
Merlin blinked. “What eyebrow?”
Arthur gestured vaguely toward Merlin's face. “That one.”
Merlin's smile widened. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“You know exactly what you're doing,” Arthur said, giving him an exasperated look.
Merlin shrugged.
“Perhaps you should sit down.”
Arthur stared at him for another moment, clearly trying to decide whether arguing was worth it.
The entire council watched in complete silence.
Finally, Arthur sighed.
He returned to his chair.
A few of the nobles exchanged amused looks.
Arthur immediately noticed.
“If anyone laughs,” Arthur warned, looking around the table, “I will have you removed.”
Merlin leaned slightly toward him, clearly trying not to smile.
“Very dignified.”
Arthur turned his head and gave Merlin a pointed look.
“You are enjoying this.”
“Oh, immensely,” Merlin replied, his smile widening.
Arthur shook his head.
Then he looked back toward the council.
His expression became serious again.
“We will send the grain.”
The nobleman looked startled.
“Sire—”
Arthur raised a hand.
“No.”
The nobleman fell silent.
“We will send enough to keep the villages supplied,” Arthur continued. “And we will continue rationing our own stores until the next harvest.”
The nobleman hesitated.
“That may leave Camelot vulnerable if the winter is particularly severe.”
Arthur looked directly at him.
“Then we will face that problem when it comes.”
He glanced around the table.
“But I will not sit here and watch our people starve because we were too afraid of what might happen tomorrow.”
No one argued.
The nobleman lowered his head.
“Yes, sire.”
Arthur nodded.
“Good. Then we are finished with that matter.”
The meeting continued.
This time, no one challenged him.
And Merlin remained where he was, quietly watching Arthur work through the remaining issues without allowing his temper to take control again.
Later, as the nobles began filing out of the council chamber, one of them approached Gwen.
“I have a question.”
Gwen smiled.
“About?”
“The king.”
Gwen glanced toward Arthur.
“That could be anything.”
The nobleman lowered his voice.
“Why does Merlin always seem to know when he's about to lose his temper?”
Gwen looked toward Merlin.
He was walking beside Arthur, listening as the king complained about the council.
“We spent half the meeting discussing grain,” Arthur was saying. “Half of them had no intention of agreeing with me before they even sat down.”
Merlin smiled.
“Perhaps they simply enjoy arguing with you.”
Arthur looked offended.
“They do not,” Arthur insisted.
“They certainly seem to,” Merlin replied.
“They are supposed to advise me,” Arthur said, sounding increasingly annoyed.
“I think they are,” Merlin said with a small smile.
Arthur frowned.
“By telling me I'm wrong.”
Merlin shrugged.
“That is what advising is.”
Arthur muttered something under his breath.
Merlin laughed.
Arthur rolled his eyes, but the tension that had been sitting in his shoulders all morning was gone.
They watched the pair disappear down the corridor.
Gwen had a faint smile on her face.
“Because he knows him.”
The nobleman looked back at Gwen, confusion littering his face.
“We all know him.”
Gwen's smile softened.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Not like Merlin does.”
The nobleman glanced toward the corridor again.
Arthur said something that made Merlin laugh.
Arthur shook his head, but there was the faintest smile on his face.
The nobleman watched the king's shoulders relax.
“I see.”
Gwen nodded.
“Eventually, everyone does.”
VI.
The sixth time was different.
There was no angry king.
No council chamber.
No noble waiting to be threatened.
No political disagreement.
No sword.
There was only Merlin.
And his magic.
It began in the forest.
Arthur found him just after midnight.
At first, Arthur thought Merlin was injured.
Then he saw the trees.
They were moving.
Not from the wind.
There was no wind.
The branches twisted away from the center of the clearing as though something at its heart was pushing them back.
Arthur stopped.
His hand went immediately to his sword.
“Merlin?”
There was no answer.
Arthur took another cautious step forward.
A flash of blue light tore through the clearing.
Arthur's breath caught.
Merlin stood in the center.
His hands were raised, his body rigid as magic poured from him.
Arthur had seen Merlin use magic before.
He had seen him summon fire.
He had seen him move objects without touching them.
He had seen Merlin use power that no ordinary man should possess to save Arthur's life more times than either of them could count.
But never this.
The ground beneath Merlin's feet was cracked.
Stones floated around him.
Leaves spun violently through the air.
Blue light pulsed beneath his skin.
“Merlin.”
Merlin's head snapped toward him.
His eyes were glowing gold.
Arthur froze.
“Go.”
Arthur slowly lowered his hand from his sword.
“What?”
“Go,” Merlin repeated, his voice shaking. “You need to leave.”
Arthur took another step forward.
“No.”
“Arthur.”
“I said no.”
Merlin's breathing became uneven.
“I can't control it.”
That frightened Arthur more than the magic.
Merlin never said those words.
He always knew what he was doing.
Even when Arthur didn't understand how.
Even when Merlin lied.
Even when he pretended everything was fine.
Merlin always had an answer.
Now he didn't.
Arthur stepped closer.
“How did this happen?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you stop it?”
Merlin shook his head.
“I tried.”
The magic suddenly surged.
A wave of power ripped through the clearing and threw Arthur backward.
He hit the ground hard.
“Arthur!”
For a moment, Arthur couldn't breathe.
Then he heard Merlin shouting.
“I told you to stay away!”
Arthur pushed himself onto one elbow.
“You think I'm going to leave you here?”
“Yes!”
“Not a chance.”
Another pulse of magic tore through the clearing.
Arthur raised his arm to shield his face as the force knocked him sideways.
He stumbled back to his feet.
Merlin stared at him in horror.
“Arthur, please!”
Arthur stopped.
Merlin was crying.
That was what made Arthur's heart break.
Not the magic.
Not the power.
Merlin.
Arthur had seen Merlin afraid before.
He had seen him terrified.
But never afraid of himself.
“I can't stop,” Merlin whispered.
Arthur took another step.
“Then don't.”
Merlin stared at him.
“What?”
“You don't have to stop it all at once.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can't!”
The magic surged again.
Arthur kept moving.
“Merlin.”
“Stay back!”
“No.”
“Arthur!”
“I am not leaving you.”
“I could kill you!”
Arthur stopped.
For a moment, they stared at one another.
Then Arthur lowered his sword completely and let it fall to the ground.
“You won't.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you.”
Merlin shook his head.
“You don't.”
Arthur's expression softened.
“I do.”
Merlin's voice broke.
“I don't even know myself right now.”
Arthur took another step.
The magic flickered.
Arthur continued.
“You once told me that fear doesn’t get to decide what we do.”
“I was wrong.”
Arthur shook his head. “No, you weren’t.”
“I was.”
“You weren’t, Merlin.”
Merlin looked away. “Arthur—I can’t control this.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“Then let me help.”
“You can’t,” Merlin cried, his voice breaking as another surge of magic tore through him.
“You don’t know that,” Arthur said firmly.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
The distance between them closed.
Magic crackled through the air around them.
Arthur could feel the heat against his skin.
It was wild.
Powerful.
Alive.
But underneath it, Arthur could still see Merlin.
The same Merlin who complained about Arthur's clothes.
The same Merlin who stole food from his plate.
The same Merlin who followed him into danger despite having every reason not to.
The same Merlin who had spent years standing in front of him whenever his temper became too much.
Arthur reached out.
Merlin recoiled.
“No.”
Arthur stopped immediately.
“Merlin,” Arthur said softly.
“I’ll hurt you,” Merlin whispered.
“You won’t,” Arthur assured him.
“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded.
“Look at me,” Arthur said.
Merlin’s eyes flickered, struggling to focus on him.
“Merlin, look at me,” Arthur repeated.
Slowly, Merlin did.
Arthur took another step forward.
“You know what you’ve always done when I lose my temper?” Arthur asked.
Merlin swallowed before answering, “Annoyed you?”
“Among other things,” Arthur replied.
A broken laugh escaped Merlin, and Arthur smiled.
“You always make me stop,” Arthur said.
“I can’t stop this,” Merlin whispered.
“Then I will,” Arthur said firmly.
Merlin stared at him.
Arthur reached up and gently placed a hand against Merlin's cheek.
The magic flickered.
Arthur felt the power beneath Merlin’s skin.
It was enormous.
Terrifying.
But Merlin’s face was still Merlin’s.
“Listen to me,” Arthur said.
Merlin closed his eyes. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Arthur insisted.
“I’m trying,” Merlin whispered.
“I know.”
Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin’s.
“Don’t fight everything,” Arthur said softly.
Merlin’s breathing shook. “Then what do I do?”
“Listen,” Arthur repeated.
The magic continued to roar around them.
Arthur tightened his hand against Merlin's cheek.
“Just listen.”
Merlin opened his eyes.
“You're safe.”
The magic flickered.
“You're here.”
Another flicker.
“You're with me.”
Merlin's breathing slowly began to settle.
Arthur kept talking.
“You don’t have to control all of it,” Arthur said softly.
Merlin swallowed. “I don’t know how.”
“Neither do I,” Arthur admitted.
A tiny, exhausted smile appeared on Merlin’s face.
Arthur smiled back.
“We’ll figure it out. Together,” Arthur promised.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The magic still hummed around them, but it was quieter now. The light beneath Merlin’s skin had dimmed, and the air no longer felt like it was fighting to tear itself apart.
Merlin looked at Arthur.
Really looked at him.
There was something different in his expression now.
The fear was still there.
So was the exhaustion.
But beneath it was something softer.
Something that made Arthur’s breath catch.
Arthur’s hand remained against Merlin’s cheek.
His thumb moved gently across Merlin’s skin.
Merlin leaned into the touch.
Arthur’s eyes dropped briefly to Merlin’s lips before returning to his eyes.
Merlin noticed.
For once, he didn’t make a joke.
He simply stepped closer.
Arthur closed the remaining distance between them.
Their lips met softly.
The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though both of them were afraid that moving too quickly might break whatever fragile peace they had finally found.
Merlin’s hand curled into the front of Arthur’s shirt.
Arthur’s other hand settled at Merlin’s waist, holding him steady.
The magic flickered once more around them.
Then it began to fade.
Slowly.
Merlin pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against Arthur’s.
Arthur kept his hand against Merlin’s cheek.
“You’re still here,” Arthur whispered.
Merlin gave the smallest smile.
“So are you.”
The magic finally began to weaken.
The stones dropped to the ground.
The branches stopped twisting.
The leaves fell.
The air became still.
Merlin’s knees buckled.
Arthur caught him before he hit the ground.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Merlin’s forehead remained against Arthur’s, his fingers still curled into the front of Arthur’s shirt.
The last traces of magic faded from the air around them.
Merlin took a shaky breath.
Then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Arthur’s hand remained against his cheek. “No.”
“I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t,” Arthur said quietly.
“I almost did.”
Arthur shook his head. “But you didn’t.”
Merlin looked down, his grip tightening on Arthur’s shirt.
“I was so afraid.”
Arthur’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“I couldn’t stop it.”
“You did.”
“Because of you.”
Arthur shook his head. “No.”
Merlin looked up at him. “Yes.”
Arthur gave him a small smile.
“Because you trusted me.”
Merlin stared at him.
Arthur brushed Merlin's hair away from his face.
“You've done this for me more times than I can count.”
Merlin gave a weak laugh.
“You’ve lost your temper more times than you can count,” Merlin pointed out.
“Probably,” Arthur admitted.
“Definitely,” Merlin corrected.
Arthur smiled. “I suppose we’re even.”
Merlin shook his head.
“No.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“You’ve got a long way to go,” Merlin replied.
Arthur laughed.
Merlin smiled.
For a moment, they simply stood there.
Then Arthur glanced toward the castle.
“Come on,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked up at him. “Where?”
“Home.”
Merlin leaned against him.
“Can you carry me?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You can walk.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“So am I.”
“You’re the king.”
“And?” Arthur asked.
“Kings carry exhausted sorcerers,” Merlin declared.
Arthur laughed. “That’s not a real rule.”
“It should be,” Merlin insisted.
Arthur shook his head.
Then he bent down and lifted Merlin into his arms.
Merlin blinked in surprise.
“I was joking,” Merlin said.
“I know,” Arthur replied.
“You don't have to,” Merlin murmured.
“I know,” Arthur said softly.
Merlin rested his head against Arthur's shoulder.
“Thank you.”
Arthur looked down at him.
“Don't thank me.”
“Why?”
“Because you would have done the same.”
Merlin smiled.
“Yes.”
Arthur carried him through the forest.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Eventually, Merlin murmured, “You know, there were probably easier ways to stop me.”
“Probably,” Arthur admitted.
“You could have hit me.”
“I considered it.”
Merlin lifted his head, staring at him in disbelief. “You did not.”
“I did,” Arthur replied.
“Arthur.”
“What?” Arthur asked innocently.
“I would like to think you have more faith in me than that.”
“I do,” Arthur assured him.
Arthur smiled.
“That’s why I didn’t.”
Merlin settled against him again.
The forest was quiet now.
The magic was gone.
And for once, Arthur was the one doing the carrying.
Years later, when the nobles heard the story, they would tell it differently.
They would say Merlin had always been the only person capable of controlling King Arthur's temper.
They would talk about the council meetings.
The feasts.
The training yard.
The arguments.
The countless times Arthur had been ready to fight and Merlin had simply stepped between him and whatever had angered him.
They would laugh about it.
They would call Merlin brave.
Some would call him foolish.
A few would call him reckless.
But those who had been there would know the truth.
Merlin never controlled Arthur.
Arthur simply trusted him enough to listen.
And on the night Merlin lost control of himself, Arthur returned that trust.
Because that was what they had always done.
When one of them reached the edge, the other reached back.
Not because they were stronger.
Not because they always had the right words.
But because they knew each other well enough to recognize when the other was drowning.
And when Arthur carried Merlin home that night, the king understood something he had perhaps known for years without ever putting it into words.
Merlin had never been the person who stood behind him.
He had always been the person standing beside him.
And sometimes, when Arthur couldn't find his way back to himself, Merlin was the one who reached out and brought him home.
That night, for once, Arthur was the one who did the reaching.