Archive of Our Own

Arthur stared at the parchment, quill in hand. He knew he had to sign these requisitions and payments for the masonry work that had been done to restore the keep, but he couldn’t focus. Every time he tried to pay attention to them, flashes of memory danced before his eyes.

Agravaine, encouraging him to kill Caerleon in cold blood.
Merlin, shattered and heartbroken when Arthur refused to search for Gaius.
Gaius, half-dead, face nothing more than a mask of disappointment.
Guinevere and Lancelot, locked in a passionate kiss.
Elyan, his sword coming too close to claiming revenge for the Druid boy.
Helios and Morgana—

The quill snapped in his hand. Morgana. They’d defeated her, but only just. And Agravaine … Merlin had been right, Agravaine had been in league with her. 

I keep letting people deceive me. 

Arthur stared bleakly at the parchment. This was not the reign he’d hoped for.

Even Gwen … when they’d reconnected, after watching Isolde die in Tristan’s arms, he’d thought perhaps they would find their own happy ending. But something inside him remained hollow, and when he had asked her a second time to marry him, she had paused.

“I do love you, Arthur,” she’d said slowly. “I think I always will. I appreciate your willingness to forgive me. But even though what happened between me and Lancelot was wrong—was not even something I wanted—I thought about it while you and I were apart. My feelings for you are different to what I felt for him. I doubt I will find that again in this lifetime, but if I married you, I would be depriving you of the chance.”

“I feel it, Guinevere,” he had countered, earnestly, taking her hands in his. “I feel that for you.”

She’d gazed into his eyes for a long time before she shook her head sadly. “You want to. And you’re an honourable, upright man, and you’d live that life. But you don’t feel it for me, not really. And that is what you should feel, what you need to feel, for the person who will be at your side, leading this kingdom.”

He’d sat up all that night to consider her words, and by morning, he’d come to realise that, as usual, she told no lie. He loved her, yes—since the first time he’d kissed her, he’d known a deep affection and care for her—but he felt none of the passion that had drawn her, for whatever reason, to betray him. None of the all-consuming adoration that had driven his father into a frenzy against magic because of the death of his mother. 

He would have begun to wonder if he could even feel such fierce emotion, but that question was to be tucked away, examined another time. At that moment, it had been time to accept that he and Gwen would remain friends—close friends, even—but if he truly wanted to rule with the love of his life at his side, he could not marry her.

They’d settled into a slightly awkward camaraderie since that day, with Gwen unofficially assuming the role of steward (the last having given his life as one of the unfortunate casualties during Morgana’s cruel reign). Her familiarity with the servants and the inner workings of the castle’s daily life made her supremely well-suited to the job, and Arthur had it in mind—and on his endless list of tasks—to rewrite the code of the keep to allow women the right to serve in the role and receive equal compensation to any man who held the position. 

He ran a hand through his hair and opened his desk drawer to find a new quill. He needed to get these parchments to Gwen, in fact, so she could distribute payments and wages. Of course, that was the moment his chamber doors banged open.

“I understand we lived in the woods for some time, Merlin, but I still think you could have learned to knock by now,” Arthur huffed.

“Well, you’re in a strop. Bet you’re hungry,” Merlin retorted, setting down a plate with two chicken legs, some sausages, and a hunk of bread with some cheese, alongside a jug of watered wine. Arthur’s stomach growled, and he grimaced at being caught out.

“Who has time to eat?” 

“Certainly not I,” Merlin said, but his usual grin wasn’t in evidence, Arthur noticed. In fact, his face had gone rather paler than usual—something of a feat, given the usual milky-white pallor of his skin.

The what? Arthur shook his head lightly. That unbidden thought was quite unwelcome at the moment.

“Actually, sire,” Merlin began, and Arthur knew something horrible must have happened. Merlin never used his title in a serious tone of voice unless they were under attack. Before Arthur could interrupt, though, Merlin barrelled on. “If I were to, ah. That is, I … if I had to, at least temporarily, step away from working as your manservant, could you consider still allowing me to reside here, as apprentice to Gaius?”

Arthur's hand stopped carrying the chicken leg to his mouth. “You’re far past the apprentice stage, I believe,” he said quietly. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Merlin’s, knowing surprise and dismay were written on his face, but he couldn’t quite school his expression into one of neutrality.

Merlin’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, which Arthur definitely did not track with the single-mindedness of a hunter. “It’s rather more that … you see, I need more time to—well, Gaius is somewhat diminished, after …” Arthur winced at the knowledge of what had caused Gaius to decline, and his own complicity in the matter. “It’s becoming increasingly difficult to help him and serve you, and—”

“Didn’t realise I was such a burden,” Arthur muttered, dropping the chicken onto his plate. His appetite had deserted him. 

“You’re not—I just need some time to—” 

Arthur held up a hand to cut Merlin off before he began babbling excuses. “Of course, Merlin, you may remain with Gaius even if you step down from your position as my manservant. Camelot is your home, after all, and I suppose if Gaius is nearing retirement, we’ll need a physician." He forced a smile, feeling how it failed to reach his eyes.

“Er.” Merlin bit his lip. “That’s not what—”

Once again, Arthur interrupted him. "So ... all those years ago, when you said you’d be happy to be my servant until the day you die … that was just a joke after all, eh?” He tried for lightness, knowing in his heart it would fall flat, knowing in his heart what the answer would be. 

“No.” Merlin swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “But …”

Arthur held up a hand and nodded slowly. “Never mind. Go see Gwen, collect this month's wages.”

“Oh, no, I can—” Merlin began, gesturing vaguely around him, but Arthur shook his head. 

“No, you're free to go. I’ll call a chambermaid to clear my dishes later. In fact, you should have a bit of time off. Take the afternoon.”

“Arthur—”

“I insist.” He nodded his most imperious nod, and Merlin licked his lips again before offering him a small bow and retreating.

Arthur waited a good five minutes after Merlin left before hurling his goblet at the wardrobe. He kicked his chair over and sank to the floor, allowing himself to break down completely. He couldn’t recall the last time his body had been wracked with sobs (had it ever been?), was not sure why it was losing his manservant, of all people, that caused him to despair.

And then it came to him.

He’d finally managed to drive away the last person who was loyal to him, who cared about him. Agravaine, Morgana, Gwen—their betrayals had cut him to the bone. But only now did he understand that Merlin had been the one person he thought he would never, not in a million years, lose.

~*~*~

Outside the king’s chambers, Merlin slid to the ground, back against the wall. That wasn’t at all how he’d wanted things to go.

But what had he wanted? After all that they had faced, Arthur continued to struggle most with betrayal. He fell deep into his insecurities after the disloyalty he encountered over and over, leaving Merlin as the only one left whom Arthur trusted. Unfortunately, that meant Merlin also bore the brunt of Arthur’s anger, and more and more that had meant Arthur lashing out at him: for daring to defend Gwen, for urging him to rescue Gaius, for suggesting that Agravaine might be duplicitous. The weight of destiny on his shoulders had grown crushing, and being proven right time and again (and that Arthur had even, once or twice, apologised) provided little balm to the hurt he felt when Arthur always believed everyone else first. If only Merlin could have told him everything … 

Well. That was the problem. Merlin couldn’t tell Arthur everything.

He had barely slept since they’d defeated Morgana, still felt an unease prickling in the fabric of the world despite seeing Arthur stand over her lifeless body. As sleepless night after sleepless night passed, he realised he could not help Arthur build the Golden Age of Albion on a foundation of lies. He had to prove to Arthur that he was the one who would always be at his side, trustworthy in every way, and that meant no more deception. 

Even though he knew it almost certainly meant Arthur would banish him.

So he’d decided to ask for this … this leave, this change of station, this whatever-it-was. He thought perhaps if he gave Arthur some space, it would be easier to face the threat that Arthur might not accept him. Merlin conveniently ignored that stepping away from being constantly at Arthur’s beck and call would also give him the space to prepare his heart for that possibility. 

The shattered sobs coming through the heavy oaken door, however, nearly destroyed his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to rush back inside and promise Arthur he would never leave him, would always stand at his side. It was no longer merely a matter of destiny—hadn’t been for some time, although he wasn’t sure when it had happened. He and Arthur had gone from combatants in the marketplace to master and servant to close friends so quickly that thinking back on it made his head spin, but the other feelings had crept up on him over the years, so imperceptibly that it had taken his breath away when he realised just exactly what Arthur meant to him. 

Groaning, Merlin let his head thunk back against the wall. Which was where Gwaine found him, nearly an hour later.

“Merlin!” he began brightly, before catching sight of his face. “Oh, hell. What’s Arthur done now?” He sank to his knees next to Merlin on the flagstone and bit into an apple.

“Tired, that’s all,” he murmured, hoping the small smile would put Gwaine off. He should have known better.

“Liar.” Merlin cringed internally at the word, but Gwaine just tossed his hair over his shoulder and began to pull him up off the floor. “Come on, up you get. You’re going to Gaius’ chambers and you’re having an afternoon off. I’ll tell Princess for you.”

“No need. He already gave me the day,” Merlin sighed, letting the knight haul him to his feet.

Gwaine stopped short. “Well, now I know something’s wrong. Wait here, I’ll just—”

“No!” he shouted. Gwaine narrowed his eyes, and Merlin continued more quietly. “No, really. Please. It’s … it’s not something you can fix with a sword, right?”

Gwaine looked him up and down. “For now. But if you keep acting like this, I’m challenging Arthur to a duel.”

Merlin knew better than to argue with him. “Got it, Sir Gwaine,” he replied, giving a small salute and clicking his heels. 

Gwaine rolled his eyes and, with another crunch of his apple, shooed Merlin towards Gaius’ tower.

He dragged his exhausted body up the stairs. A good rest, that’s what he needed, and then he could put his plan—half-baked as it was—into action. 

When night had fallen, Merlin crept out of the castle, silently slinking through shadows to evade the guards on patrol. He made his way to the large clearing outside the walls before reaching deep inside himself for the power he needed. “O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!”

Within moments, the steady beat of massive wings reverberated in the air, and the great dragon circled overhead before alighting. He bowed his head. “Young warlock. What would you ask of me this night?”

“How do you know I have something to ask?”

The amber eyes bore straight into Merlin’s sapphire ones. “You always have something to ask.”

It would be nice if, for once, he didn’t act like he knows my entire life ahead of time, Merlin thought drily. Sighing, he asked, “Is there anything in the prophecy about me revealing my magic to Arthur?”

Kilgharrah regarded him curiously. “I don’t believe so.”

Merlin goggled a bit. “How is that possible? If I’m supposed to return magic to Albion—doesn’t he have to know I have magic?”

The enormous wings moved in a reptilian approximation of a shrug. “Prophecies are not exact things, young warlock. I would have thought you’d understand that by now.” Cheeky bastard.

“Then … there is also nothing that says he mustn’t find out, correct?”

“That is correct.”

Merlin lowered his own head in a sign of deference. “Thank you. Now I believe I know what I must do next.”

“Then if that is all, I’ll bid you farewell. Until we meet again, young warlock.” Turning, the dragon took two steps and leapt into the air, his form dissolving against the night sky until all that was left was the rush of air, the wake of Kilgharrah’s wings ruffling Merlin’s hair.

~*~*~

Arthur was startled from sleep by a brisk knock at his door. That is definitely not Merlin. He squared his shoulders and called, “Enter.”

George stepped briskly into the room, bowing deeply. “Sire, it is my greatest honour to serve you.”

“Thank you, George,” Arthur sighed. 

“I would like to inquire whether my lord prefers to breakfast, or to bathe first?”

“Ah.” He had picked desultorily at his lunch the previous day, and missed dinner, but he still didn’t feel hungry. “I think I’d rather a bath, if you don’t mind.”

“Very good, sire. I shall return posthaste.” He bowed again—Arthur wondered that he didn’t make himself dizzy and tip straight onto his head—and strode purposefully out of the chambers.

Arthur made his way over to the window, gazing absently into the courtyard. Percival and Elyan rode in, returning from an overnight hunting trip; he saw several brace of rabbits dangling from Percival’s saddle, which he knew the knight would humbly deliver to the kitchens as though they were doing him a service by accepting them. 

The knights. Certainly, he had no doubt the Round Table was loyal to him. And he had no reason to question the fealty of any of Camelot’s knights. Why, then, did he still feel as though he’d lost everyone?

Their oath of allegiance is to the crown, he reminded himself. He knew Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and perhaps even Leon would always fight for him, but it was different. None of them serve you, are loyal to you, in the way Merlin is.

Was.

The thought was so disturbing that he barely noticed when George returned, seamlessly directing a small cadre of servants to fill the tub with steaming water. When the others had left, George stood, hands clasped before him. “Sire, your bath awaits. Would you like help in accomplishing your dishabille?”

Arthur frowned. “In … my … erm, oh.” Merlin definitely had not known words like that—nor did he usually bother to ask. Dimly, Arthur was aware he really didn’t want George undressing him. “No, no thank you, George. I can manage it myself.”

“Sire.” He bowed and somehow backed out of the room simultaneously.

Arthur stripped off his nightclothes and stepped into the water, hissing a bit at how it was slightly too hot. That never happened when Merlin was— Stop! he ordered himself. If Merlin didn’t have time to serve him any longer, then that was how it would be. 

Regardless, the thought had made something nasty settle in the pit of his stomach. After he’d gotten over his—episode, he decided to call it, yesterday, he’d tried to work out why Merlin stepping away from his duties troubled him so deeply. It wasn’t as though he were leaving Camelot entirely, and even if he were …

Except Merlin had never been anywhere but by Arthur’s side. Despite a less-than-auspicious first—and second—meeting, they had fallen into each other’s orbit so quickly that Arthur himself could scarcely recall the last time he had undertaken any endeavour, large or small, without Merlin. Over the years, Merlin had learned to read Arthur perfectly, every mood, every thought, and most surprising, Arthur welcomed it. Uther had drilled it into him that as a prince and future king, he could trust no one—trust was a vulnerability. 

But it wasn’t, with Merlin.

Arthur closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the tub. If Merlin were here—Get a hold of yourself! You are the king, and this, this pining for a friend is unseemly. 

Yes, that’s what his father would say, were he still alive. And really, how could Arthur begrudge a man the time to care for the only person he’d ever had as a father, even if they weren’t kin by blood? He would give nearly anything to still have a parent he could watch grow old. 

Another knock at the door let him know George had returned. “Sire,” he said when told to enter—Arthur was quickly tiring of hearing his title used so sincerely—“if my lord wishes, I could bring a small breakfast for you, to eat after you dress.”

Arthur blinked. Nobody could be this efficient and obsequious by nature. “Yes, that would do nicely.” 

Ten minutes later found him seated at his table, spinning his mother’s ring on his forefinger, when George returned with a platter of at least half a dozen freshly-baked honey buns and assorted fruits. Arthur gaped before realising that there were so many buns because George, unlike Merlin, hadn’t stolen one (or several) on the way from the kitchens. Where Merlin put all those buns he nabbed, Arthur could hardly say—he was still just about as skinny and gangly as the day he’d arrived in Camelot—but Arthur always bit his lip against a laugh and nodded seriously whenever Merlin lied (terribly; he couldn’t tell a lie to save his life) that cook had already run out of buns, and that’s why there were only two.

Recalling their near-daily banter about it, Arthur began to smile before he suddenly felt something hard and painful twist in his chest. 

“George,” Arthur said suddenly, interrupting George’s … whatever he was doing. Folding something? Certainly not something Merlin had ever done with any regularity.

“Yes, my lord?” George appeared in front of him, bowing yet again.

“Do the servants—that is, about Merlin—oh, hell. Is anyone talking about why Merlin has ceased to be in my employ?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, sire.” George lowered his eyes.

“Well, who would?” Arthur snapped, slamming a fist on the table.

George appeared unruffled. “I’d suggest only Merlin himself, sire. Would you like me to fetch him?”

“Er. No, not at this time.” Arthur frowned, dismayed at himself for letting his temper get the better of him. “That will be all for now, George.”

“Of course, my lord.” George disappeared.

Great. More time to think. Arthur shoved half a honey bun into his mouth angrily. He knew Merlin as well as Merlin knew him; Merlin’s absence felt like a phantom limb. He simply couldn’t believe Merlin would abandon him like this.

And then the truth of it hit him like a mace to the gut.

He’d turned his temper on Merlin, hadn’t he? More often than he should have, surely, since he’d become king.

Arthur remembered how horrified he’d been with himself when he’d nearly taken a hand to Guinevere upon finding her with Lancelot. And yet, he’d rained his wrath upon Merlin without a second thought.

Merlin had tried to plead for him to go after Gaius, and Arthur had shut him down. Twice, Arthur had threatened to exile Merlin—for mentioning Gwen, for accusing Agravaine of treason. And Merlin had been right about Gaius, right about Agravaine, and in the end, even right that he could find his peace with Gwen. Was that truly how he treated his dearest, most trusted friend? With threats of exile for speaking his mind?

Arthur felt the bile rise in his throat.

~*~*~

“My boy, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate your sudden enthusiasm for the physician’s craft, but to be honest, you’re getting in my way.” Gaius arched his eyebrow, a feat that Merlin could only hope to emulate, and shooed Merlin away from the workbench.

“I spoke to the Great Dragon,” Merlin said by way of response, which was not a response at all.

Sighing in the put-upon manner he’d perfected over the years Merlin had lived with him, Gaius removed the flask containing his potion from the burner and extinguished the flame. “I see.”

Merlin grimaced at the tone. “You know Arthur really took it hard when he discovered Agravaine’s treachery,” he began.

“You cannot put that upon yourself. You tried to warn him.”

“I know, and I’m not blaming myself at all. But—think of all of the betrayals he’s suffered, particularly recently. Gwen with Lancelot, Agravaine, Morgana over and over—it’s the one thing he can’t fight. Can’t twirl a sword around and stab it and make it go away.”

Gaius folded his hands on the table before him. “Merlin?”

Merlin inhaled deeply. “I’m going to tell him about my magic.”

Gaius’ eyebrow shot even higher, which Merlin vaguely thought should have been anatomically impossible. “Must I remind you that the laws against magic are still very much in effect?”

“I know!” Merlin shoved a hand in his hair, frustrated. “And that’s partly why I’ve asked Arthur for this leave, so that we’re not—I mean, he’s not—that is, I’m not constantly with him. So if he needs to banish me, he can, and it will be, you know. Easier for him.”

“Banishment is not the typical punishment, Merlin.” Gaius pursed his lips. “I don’t see how you letting George clean Arthur’s chambers will make it any better when he orders your head removed from your body.”

“He banished Gwen instead of executing her. I think there’s a chance he won’t … rush to see my head on a spike.” Yes he will, Merlin’s inner voice said. When you betray him too, there won’t be anything he’ll want more. “All right, look. It was probably a stupid idea. But the point, which I swear I was going to make a candlemark ago, is that Kilgharrah said there’s nothing in the prophecy about me keeping my magic secret forever. So many people have lied to Arthur. I just … can’t be one of them any longer.”

“And what of the years you’ve done so already?” 

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you think there might be a reason I came to you about this, and it was for advice, not cross-examination?”

“Ah.” Gaius nodded sagely. 

There was silence, stretching out like the yarn pulled from a spindle, until Merlin finally snapped. “Well?”

“I’m sorry, my boy.” Gaius shook his head. “I have no advice for this situation.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped. “No, I don’t suppose anyone does.”

Gaius frowned. “Let us think, though. You’ve asked Arthur for time away from his service, but mightn’t that make your admission harder? If you’ve lost some of your closeness?”

“What do you mean?”

Gaius’ face ran through a number of increasingly complicated expressions. “Your … good heavens, boy, are you going to make me say it?”

Merlin shook his head, feeling rather as if he and Gaius were having entirely different conversations. “What, again?”

“Your feelings. For each other.” 

“Our what?!”

Gaius rolled his eyes so hard Merlin worried he might injure himself. “I may be old, but I’m not stupid.”

The fight left Merlin’s body under Gaius’ glare. “I … it’s not about feelings.” Actually, it is, which is why I ran away from them. “It’s my destiny to help him be the greatest king Albion has ever known, and how I feel doesn’t enter into it. I would give up everything else, even my life, to accomplish that.” 

Nodding slowly, Gaius said, “Sometimes these things aren’t as impossible as they may seem. I don’t know how Arthur will react to learning about your powers, Merlin. But I also remember a time when Uther did not hate magic. Arthur does not have the reasons to despise it, to persecute it, that his father had. I also believe—” and here the eyebrow went nearly to his hairline again, and Merlin couldn’t look away “—that the bond you two have formed just may be the key to fulfilling your destiny and returning magic to this land.”

Merlin stared at his hands, splayed over the table. “Do you think it’s right, Gaius? To return magic to Camelot?”

“I do.” There was none of the hesitation or prevarication that Merlin had expected from his mentor. “I am well aware, as you are, of the evil magic can wreak when used by people who wish to do ill. But the good it can create is so powerful. I would not want to see the hammer forbidden because it can break a finger as easily as it can build a house.”

“Gaius,” Merlin said, a bit of sass in his voice. “I would never have thought.”

“Oh, hush, boy,” Gaius said, motioning him out of the room. “I’m going to start another batch of this potion. You, however, should probably go speak to the king.”

Merlin slumped again. “Soon. I promise. I just … need to tie up a few loose ends first.”

~*~*~

Arthur paced behind his chair in the council chambers, trying to keep himself calm. Finally, the guards pushed open the doors, revealing George. He bowed—good heavens, was this man never upright?—before standing aside. “Sir Leon and Sir Gwaine, sire, as you requested,” he announced, shutting the doors after they entered.

Turning, Arthur studied the men. Leon looked, as usual, unruffled, save for the slight bit of grass clinging to one of his curls from training earlier. Gwaine’s face reflected confusion. Oddly, Arthur relaxed at that. Their very differences were why he’d summoned them together.

“Please, both of you, have a seat,” Arthur said, gesturing at the table. “This isn’t meant to be formal. I wish to seek your … advice.”

Leon gave a small nod of his head and sat in a chair, maintaining perfect posture, while Gwaine snorted and all but threw himself into another seat, sprawling over it and biting into an apple he pulled out of a pocket.

“I wish to know what you all think of Merlin,” Arthur announced without further preamble.

Leon coughed, and Gwaine nearly choked on his bite of apple. “The hell?” Gwaine managed, when he’d recovered.

Arthur glared at him. “As you may know, Merlin has taken some time off. From his duties as my manservant. And I am curious what the castle gossip has to say about that.”

Gwaine and Leon looked at each other, each clearly daring the other to start. Finally, Leon sighed and pushed his hair back. “I don’t think the castle is gossipping, sire. Most of us are merely … concerned … that the two of you have perhaps … fallen out.”

“What my esteemed colleague is trying to say is, what the hell did you do, Princess?” Gwaine added.

Arthur glared at Gwaine. “Me?”

Gwaine bit into his apple accusingly.

The fight went out of Arthur then, and he slumped into the chair at the head of the table. “I don’t know, all right?” he said sadly, and both the knights sat up straighter and regarded him curiously. “I think I let my temper get the better of me around him, because he always was … there. I treated him harshly when I had no right or need to do so. And I worry, now, that I may have ruined the one …” He couldn’t say it.

Leon smiled at Arthur kindly. “I don’t think you ruined anything, sire,” he said, voice low but encouraging. “I think Merlin took this time away to give you both some privacy. I’m sure he knows you never meant to—”

“Oh for the goddess’ sake, look, I get the noble chivalry thing, but just talk already,” Gwaine interjected. “Arthur, you’ve always been a bit too zealous in taking your frustrations out on Merlin. But because he is who he is, he stood there and let you. So let him go, if he just needs a break. Frankly, I don’t know why he’s so damned loyal to you when you treat him like shit—plenty of us would treat him a hell of a lot better—because other than the fact that he’s in—” 

Leon slapped his palm over Gwaine’s mouth. “I think we’ve answered the king’s questions, don’t you, Sir Gwaine?” he gritted out through clenched teeth. 

Gwaine nodded, eyes wide, and Leon moved his hand. “But you could do that again sometime and I’d—” He waggled his eyebrows, causing Leon to flush a bright pink.

Arthur stared at the two of them, unsure about what had just occurred. Still, he had the answers he’d sought, to some degree. “You’re both dismissed. See you on the training ground.” He stood to dismiss them, and Gwaine followed Leon out, although Arthur could hear them begin roughhousing and laughing when they were halfway down the corridor.

He leant over the back of his chair, lips against his tented fingers. He’d been unconscionably rude, even cruel, to Merlin, which he knew. Which, apparently, everyone knew.

Merlin had never called him out on it, loyal as he was. Because he … what had Gwaine been about to say when Leon had silenced him? That Merlin was insane? Arthur snorted lightly. Merlin had always been a bit of a bumbling idiot, but he had moments of … well, Arthur wasn’t sure he’d call it wisdom, but it was close. 

He turned to ask Merlin what he thought, before catching himself. By the heavens, would he never get used to Merlin’s absence? 

I miss him.

Maybe if he admitted it to himself, that would somehow make it easier to tolerate. He missed Merlin’s endless prattle, the way he teased Arthur—always gently, always with kindness underneath it—about being entitled and spoilt and a prat. He missed how Merlin could read his mood at a glance, knew when he doubted that he would ever live up to people’s expectations of him, and always managed to say the right thing to convince him that he had worth. Merlin never toadied up to him, never told him only what he wanted to hear. In fact, he frequently told Arthur exactly what he didn’t want to hear, but it was always for his own good.

And whatever Gwaine meant by others treating Merlin better … just how did he get away with saying that? There was no way Gwaine meant as a servant—Gwaine did everything possible to avoid servants waiting on him at all costs—and given the man’s incessant flirting with anything that moved, he must have meant, well, romantically.

Arthur sneered, something hot and unpleasant twisting in his chest. 

Did Gwaine want Merlin? 

Arthur began pacing again, the tightness in his chest increasing as he grew angrier. The idea was ridiculous—Merlin, of course, would never—and he could do a hell of a lot better than Gwaine, of all people—

Oh.

Oh.

Arthur stopped pacing and tipped his head back against a pillar, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. Merlin’s cheeky smile danced in his vision, all crinkled eyes, deep dimples, and plush, pink lips, and the constriction in his chest eased. 

Fucking hell.

I’m in love with Merlin.

When he thought of Merlin, a storm of emotion raged through him. Fierce protectiveness, fond affection, even desire, simmering just under his skin. He’d never known that feeling otherwise (certainly not around Guinevere, whom he suddenly felt he owed a sincere apology somehow). He had always assumed it was just Merlin’s impertinence that made him tingle and want to cuff him about the head or grab his shoulder. Now, days since they had last seen each other, Arthur’s fingers itched with the need to touch him.

There was nothing for it, though. He had to wait this out, see if Merlin came back to him. If he didn’t, Arthur knew he only had himself to blame. But if he did, then … Arthur wasn’t stupid enough to think Merlin would want him, of course. Still, they could at least resume their camaraderie, and Arthur would be happy with the knowledge that the one person he’d found worthy of his trust was at his side.

~*~*~

Wax dripped onto the parchment, and Merlin pressed the seal into it. When he was certain it wouldn’t open on the journey, he handed it off to the rider. He wasn’t sure exactly when it would get to Ealdor, but at least it would arrive.

Unfortunately, there was nothing left on his list of things to do before he spoke to Arthur. He’d hoped it would take him a bit more than four days. Still, no point in putting it off even longer.

He let his feet carry him slowly to the king’s chambers, heart rabbiting wildly in his chest, a small weight tugging at his jacket pocket. He wanted to believe Arthur would, at the very least, refuse to have him executed, but the possibility did exist. If Arthur ordered him dead, he needed to be able to return Ygraine’s sigil before he was led away. 

He smiled wryly at the irony: Arthur had thought he was going to his own death when he had given it to him. The truth had almost forced its way out of Merlin then, stopped only by the lump in his throat. 

Which truth, though? he asked himself darkly.

Outside the door, he paused. He shoved his hand in his pocket, ran his thumb over the wrought-iron bird. After they defeated the dorocha, Arthur had never mentioned the sigil again, and Merlin’s desperate hope that it had meant what he wanted it to mean had dissipated in the months since. 

Well. Even if it hadn’t meant—anything … If Arthur rejected him now, he should give it back.

Merlin squared his shoulders and was actually considering knocking, when one of the oaken doors swung open and George bustled out. He nodded at Merlin in greeting, face as impassive as ever, and Merlin gave him a wan smile before slipping inside and clearing his throat.

“George, I thought I told you—” Arthur began tiredly, falling silent when he saw Merlin standing there. 

Their eyes met, and Merlin had to remind himself to breathe. “Er, hi.”

Arthur swallowed hard. “Is Gaius. Ah. Much recovered, then?”

Opening his mouth to speak, Merlin suddenly snapped it closed. He shook his head ruefully and began again. “You know, I actually came here because … because I have something to tell you. Because I don’t want to … lie. So I suppose I should start with admitting that that was a bit of an … embellishment.”

“You don’t say.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and leant back in his desk chair. 

“Not to say Gaius is at his best these days, and you did cut me off when I was trying to tell you I had… I had to sort some things out. But yeah, I needed time to think. It wasn’t only to help him.”

“To think.” Arthur arched an eyebrow, and Merlin nodded. “Do tell me, Merlin, what were you thinking about that meant you couldn’t perform your duties?”

Merlin’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he took a step towards Arthur’s desk. “Do you remember when we first rode out to meet Morgause’s challenge?”

A grimace settled on Arthur’s face. “Of course.”

Merlin took another step. “Do you remember what you said to me when I tried to tell you your father would be angry?”

Arthur’s forehead creased in a frown. “I said perhaps he had the wrong attitude. Perhaps not all who practise magic are evil. But I learned again and again that I was wrong.”

Another step. “No, Arthur.” His voice came out barely above a whisper. “You were right.” Merlin held out his hand, the sigil resting in his palm, and murmured, “Bebiede þe arisan cwicum.” He looked at his palm, eyes flashing gold.

The small bird raised its head, blinking curiously, before stretching its wings and soaring into the air. 

Eyes wide and mouth open in awe, Arthur watched it circle his desk, then come to alight next to him on the back of his chair. Gently, it nudged his cheek with its head. He reached out a shaking finger to stroke the downy feathers. After a moment, the bird flew back to Merlin’s hand, and with a quiet murmur from him, returned to the sigil.

Gently, Merlin put the sigil on Arthur’s desk. Arthur stared at it, then at him. “Magic?”

“I was born with it,” Merlin replied. “And I use it for you, Arthur. It’s the reason I exist. My destiny. Our destiny.” He cast his eyes down, looking at the ground. “You’ve been hurt by so much dishonesty, I couldn’t bear to keep lying to you. Even if it means you have me killed.”

Silence fell over them like a shroud. Merlin could hear his blood rushing in his ears, louder than a waterfall. Finally, he heard Arthur’s chair scrape on the ground.

“Merlin.” 

When he looked up, Arthur’s icy-blue eyes bore into his own. “Yes, sire?”

“You never told me.”

Merlin shook his head. 

“Why?”

A sharp, humourless laugh burst out of Merlin. “Self-preservation.”

“So the entire time you’ve been here, in Camelot. When my father was alive …?”

“From the first time I saved your life, in fact. I slowed time.”

Arthur spun his mother’s ring on his finger. “You use it for me.”

“Only for you.” Merlin gulped, lungs squeezing in his chest. “So many times. But I was rather fond of keeping my head on my shoulders.” He tried to force a small smile, only half-succeeding.

Slowly, Arthur reached to trace a finger over the sigil, then picked it up and made his way around the desk to stand mere inches from Merlin. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

Nodding rapidly, Merlin said, “I didn’t want to put you in that position. Of having to choose between Camelot’s laws and … me.” He bit his lip, imagining he saw Arthur’s eyes darken in response. 

“That’s what worried you?” Arthur’s voice was incredulous.

A shrug. “I guess. It’s my destiny to protect you, to help you become the greatest king this land has ever known. Making you choose would have hurt you. I never wanted that.”

Arthur turned the sigil over in his hands. “And now, you’re telling me because …?”

“Because lying would also hurt you. It hurts me. It hurts the chance to build the kingdom I know you are destined to lead. And I … trust you. To banish me, if you must, but not to kill me for this.” He gave another mirthless laugh. “Although I’ll go to the headsman willingly if that is your decision.”

Staring at the once-again iron bird, Arthur shook his head. “That isn’t what I want. I want … I want you to always be you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he lowered his voice to add, “I want you.”

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. “Ar—Arthur?”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand in his, pressing the sigil back into it before folding the long fingers around it.

~*~*~

By the heavens, I really am thick.

Arthur sat at his desk as Merlin conjured the dove from Ygraine’s sigil, and it was like the last piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

Why his bath always stayed the right temperature, no matter how long he lingered.

Why tree branches so fortuitously landed on attacking bandits.

Why magical beasts that couldn’t be killed suddenly disappeared.

He wrapped his fingers over Merlin’s and the sigil. “If you’ll have me, I want you. That’s … that’s what this was, giving you my mother’s sigil. Only I didn’t, well, entirely know that’s how I felt, in so many words. Until you were gone.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed out. His eyes were shiny, spots of colour high on his cheekbones.

Shaking his head almost as if to clear it, Arthur bit his lower lip before continuing. “You are, have always been, the one person I trusted completely. The one person I could be myself around, who was always honest with me.” Merlin opened his mouth to interrupt, so Arthur barrelled on, “We’ll come back to the magic. I know why you hid it, and I don’t care. Just, all those times we said we could have been friends had our stations allowed it … we actually were. And then you were gone, and … I thought I’d chased you away, taking out my anger on you.” He frowned.

Merlin licked his lips again, looking down at their linked hands, and Arthur’s heart stuttered as he noticed how long his eyelashes were, how plush his lips. “I hated not being with you. Hated it. I just … I had to … oh, by the goddess, there is so much I have to tell you.”

“Still?” Arthur cocked his head.

“Arthur.” Merlin looked at him as if he’d sprouted wings. “I was literally about to say that I had to talk to the Great Dragon, before I realised that saying it would lead to at least three other questions. And that’s the first of many statements like that.”

Arthur withdrew his hand from where his fingers were clasped with Merlin’s, nodding towards him as if to indicate he could put the sigil away. As he did, Arthur catalogued his features. How did I never recognise how gorgeous he is?

“You’ll tell me about your magic, in time. And, about getting angry at you, I should say—I am sorry. I shouldn’t have railed at you, but I didn’t want to believe my kin would be so disloyal.”

“I know.” Merlin gave him the softest smile, the one that Arthur thought was only reserved for him, and his heart skipped a beat. “I knew you weren’t angry with me, not really, although I admit I didn’t enjoy bearing the brunt of your frustration. But people have betrayed you, and I could never do that. That’s why I’m here, telling you that I’m a warlock. Some say the most powerful ever to walk the Earth.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Arthur smirked. “Not actually as stupid as you look, then, Merlin?” 

“You’re a complete clotpole, you know that?” Merlin said, but the smile on his face gave him away.

Arthur threw back his head and guffawed then, crooked tooth on display. “Yes, because you remind me at every possible opportunity.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t keep a single thing in that prattish head of yours, sire.” 

The absolute cheek Merlin managed to put into a single word told Arthur everything he needed to know. He grinned so widely his cheeks hurt. “So what now?”

Merlin sobered a bit and he walked to a chair at the dining table, sinking into it with what seemed a bone-deep fatigue. “I wasn’t sure if the sigil meant to you what I—I hoped. I only wanted you to know me, and my magic, whatever else you felt. Feel.”

“Believe me, I didn’t know either, at least not consciously, until I thought of you with Gwaine—”

“Gwaine? What?”

Arthur walked over and sat on the end of the bed, facing him. “Seems I have some things to tell you, too. But suffice it to say, Gwaine intimated that someone else, someone not me, could treat you better, and I swear to all that is holy, Merlin, I have never felt so jealous, so absolutely incensed, as I did at the mere suggestion that you might not be—”

“Yours,” Merlin interjected, and Arthur stared at him, a look of wonder on his face. Merlin flushed to the tips of his ears, which Arthur found unbearably adorable, as he continued, “Someone once told me we are two sides of the same coin. I belong at your side, however you’ll have me. I am yours, completely.”

Arthur’s gaze went dark, devouring. “Do you mean that?”

An absolutely wicked grin spread across Merlin’s face. “I have carried your mother’s sigil with me every day of my life since you gave it to me, hoping beyond hope it meant you cared for me the way I cared for you. I came here tonight willing to die to prove my loyalty, if you asked it of me.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “If you’d rather take me to bed, I am absolutely not going to argue.”

Surging up from the edge of the bed, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s biceps and pulled him close. “You have no idea. No fucking idea,” he nearly growled, and then brought his mouth to Merlin’s.

Arthur had kissed people before—sometimes even while not under some sort of enchantment— but he usually left the encounter a bit bemused, thinking that he was supposed to feel something , and didn’t. He cared for Gwen deeply, but their kisses, however loving, awakened nothing in him. The second his lips slotted together with Merlin’s, though, liquid fire raced through his veins. He groaned at the shock of how purely good it felt, and Merlin took the opportunity to lick into his mouth, curling his tongue before it retreated. Arthur shivered and thought he could die happy in this moment, to have known this delight.

Suddenly, Merlin’s mouth was gone, and Arthur came back to himself to feel their foreheads pressed together, Merlin’s breath panted hot and damp against his lips. “What … what do you want, Arthur?”

“Just you.” Arthur spun them around, so the back of Merlin’s knees hit the bed and he flopped onto it, scooting back so Arthur could crawl up over him. “I’ve not … that is. Hands, fumbling with other squires, as a youth on patrol. That sort of thing. Not at all what you might expect from a king.”

Merlin slid his hands over Arthur’s shoulders and down his arms, soothing. “Women?”

“Ha.” Arthur dropped to his back next to Merlin, staring up at the canopy over his bed. “I remember when I had thirteen summers, my father came to my chambers—for the first time that I could recall, mind—and lectured me in great detail for at least three candlemarks about how I needed to avoid siring bastards at all costs.”

Merlin propped himself up on an elbow. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. And I didn’t really find myself compelled to try, with any of the chambermaids or courtiers’ daughters who signalled their interest. So it was easy enough to avoid.”

Placing a hand gently over Arthur’s heart, Merlin asked quietly, “And Gwen?”

Arthur closed his eyes. “Must we?”

“Yes. I’m done with keeping secrets—any secrets. And if you tell me, we will both be sure you’re here of your own free will and not because I accidentally enchanted you after falling in love with you.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. “You fell—”

“Shhh, dollop-head, just answer my question.” Merlin aimed for nonchalance but flushed prettily, Arthur’s heart doing some kind of complicated dance in his chest at the sight.

With a sigh, Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. “I loved her, but it was different. Real, but chaste. There was no … desire. I didn’t quite understand it then, but I know it now. ”

Blinking slowly several times, Merlin began to trail a fingertip up Arthur’s neck to his jaw, tracing the cut-glass jawline before pressing it over Arthur’s lips. “All right,” he murmured. 

Before Arthur could ask what he meant, Merlin leant down over him, claiming his mouth in a crushing kiss, and Arthur’s brain stopped processing conscious thought. He just felt: Merlin’s lips, soft and sweet, dragging over his own, dry and rough from having chewed on them the past few days; Merlin’s fingers, long, elegant, cupped against his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw so tenderly he thought he could cry; Merlin’s legs, bracketing his own as he knelt up, surrounding him completely.

“Have you, then … women, men? Gwaine?” Arthur grimaced even as he said it, but Merlin merely sat back on his heels, the cheeky grin on his face.

“Never Gwaine, although not for lack of trying on his part,” he said with a smirk. “By the time I met him, I’d already fallen for you. Being with anyone else would have felt … wrong. Back in Ealdor, there were a few boys. Nothing serious, just messing around, hands and mouths and staying warm on a cold night.”

Arthur was slow to process the words, relishing the weight of Merlin astride him. “Only there? You waited for me?”

A soft look passed over Merlin’s face. “I would have waited forever.” He ducked his head to mouth wetly down Arthur’s neck. “I think I dreamt of you before I knew you,” he murmured, breath ghosting over the damp skin, making Arthur shiver. Then he winked. “And I truly didn’t have that much free time, prat.”

“I’ll show you a prat—” Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, rolling them over so the dark curls splayed over the pillowcase. Merlin grinned up at him, and he felt like he might die of fondness. “Perhaps it’s my turn to undress you.”

The sapphire of Merlin’s irises nearly disappeared into black. “Oh,” he breathed. “You do know how, then, cabbage-head?”

“You really can’t talk to your king like that,” Arthur murmured as he pulled his own tunic over his head before skimming his hands down Merlin’s torso to the hem of his. The fabric wasn’t as fine as his own, but his light touch still made Merlin’s breath hitch and his muscles spasm. He pushed the fabric up, and Merlin groaned before reaching down and yanking it up over his head. Arthur’s fingers flexed against his abdomen then, bared and pale, and both of them gasped.

Bending down, Arthur licked over the hollow of Merlin’s throat; the smothered moan it caused went straight to his cock, which he realised was achingly hard in his smalls. He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s shoulder. “Care to demonstrate those country-boy skills?”

A delighted laugh bubbled out of Merlin then, and Arthur thought he’d never heard anything so wonderful. “As if I haven’t wanted to get my hands on your cock for fucking years , Arthur,” he said, and Arthur’s prick throbbed at the sound of Merlin’s voice saying such utterly debauched things. 

Merlin deftly unlaced Arthur’s breeches, pushing them and his smalls down over his hips to let his cock spring free. Without pause, he wrapped a hand around the shaft, pumping it slowly root to tip before thumbing under the head, then did it again, and again. 

A groan dropped from Arthur’s lips; he was unable to look away from the long fingers caressing him, teasing jolts of pleasure out of him with the merest touch. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he trailed his own fingers along Merlin’s forearm, feeling his muscles there flex and contract as his hand worked over Arthur’s erection, and a spike of lust shot up his spine.

“Wait,” he choked out, and Merlin’s hand stilled, eyes going wide with worry. “What about you? I want … if you do.” 

Merlin’s face relaxed into the most devastating grin Arthur had ever seen. “Of course I do.” Arthur began to fumble with his breeches then, abandoning the laces after a moment and slipping his hand inside to feel the silken skin against his sword-calloused palm, watching Merlin’s eyes grow hooded and glassy. “Yeah,” he sighed, biting his kiss-pink lips as Arthur stroked him.

It was too much and yet not nearly enough, and Arthur withdrew his hand. “Too much fabric,” he muttered, dropping to his side and kicking his clothing off his legs before turning again to Merlin’s breeches. “And these are all knotted.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Merlin let his eyes flash gold, and the laces of his breeches undid themselves. “Better now?” 

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “All these years you’ve spent so much time, dressing me and polishing my armour and—wait. Did you polish my armour with magic?” 

Merlin shook his head. “Rarely. It was safer not to get in the habit of using it for little things. And I can tell you more, but right now I’d rather like to get back to touching you, so …” He seemed a bit unsure all of a sudden, and Arthur couldn’t help but cup his cheek and press their lips together quickly.

“When you do magic, your eyes glow like starlight,” he whispered against Merlin’s mouth, tugging at the breeches so Merlin could wriggle out of them and press his body fully to Arthur’s. They fit together as though they were made to do so, and Arthur felt a wave of pleasure wash over him as every inch of bare skin found its mate. 

Slowly, Merlin canted his hips so that their cocks rubbed, and they both moaned. Then Arthur felt a firm palm on his shoulder and let himself be pushed back into the pillows. “Want to taste you,” Merlin breathed out against his neck, beginning to press open-mouthed kisses down his sternum. He flicked his tongue into Arthur’s navel, eliciting a small shiver as his abs tensed.

Arthur bit his bottom lip so hard he thought he might draw blood when the dark head hovered above his cock. Merlin gazed up at him from under his lashes. “May I?” 

“Fuck, yes, please.”

“So you can ask nicely,” Merlin replied with a wicked grin before licking his lips.

“Merlin—” Arthur began, then promptly forgot every word he had ever known as the soft tongue curled around the head of his dick. Merlin licked there before he traced along the vein on the underside. Arthur began to tremble from the barely-there touches sending sparks radiating all along his nerve endings, unsure he could take much more, before Merlin wrapped his plump lips around his shaft and swallowed him down as deeply as he could. 

Nearly arching off the mattress as wet heat and intense suction surrounded his cock, Arthur fisted his hands in the sheets. “Fucking hell!” he managed to croak out. “Merlin, Merlin …”

Merlin bobbed his head once, twice, then took him all the way again, lips stretched obscenely around him. Arthur could have sworn he’d never been this hard, had never felt every muscle in his body begin to tighten with pleasure. He never wanted it to end, the molten need curling in his belly washing over him like a tidal wave.

Pulling off with a lewd slurp, Merlin looked up at him again, lips spit-slick and swollen. “I do have some talents, sire,” he murmured, voice raspy, then pressed a soft kiss to the head of Arthur’s cock before moving back up his body. 

“You make my title sound both like an insult and an endearment, and I’ll be damned if that isn’t making me want you even more,” Arthur gritted out, pulling Merlin tight against him again and licking into his mouth, hungry and needy. Merlin whimpered, tangling his tongue with Arthur’s, and bucked his hips so Arthur’s slick cock dragged against his own. 

They moved like that for a long moment, hot and hard against each other, until Merlin reached between them and encircled them both with his hand. “Oh fuck, yes, this …” he panted, tipping his head back for air, and began to stroke them, tight and fast. 

Keening, Arthur thrust into Merlin’s fist, the extra slide of Merlin’s cock against his heightening the sensations coursing everywhere through him. He kissed sloppily along the expanse of pale neck on display, threading his fingers into the curls at Merlin’s nape to hold him close. His climax began coiling in his core, pulling him tauter and tauter, and then Merlin twisted his wrist and the coil snapped, consuming every inch of Arthur’s body in divine bliss. His vision went white and he nearly sobbed in ecstasy as he coated Merlin’s hand with his release.

“Arthur, oh, oh,” Merlin gasped, hand flying over his prick for another endless moment before his body tensed and he shook apart against Arthur, spending between their bodies. 

As he blinked back to awareness, Arthur felt Merlin’s lips pressing soft, sweet kisses along his shoulder. He caressed Merlin’s back, down to his pert, perfect arse, feeling Merlin chuckle a bit when he squeezed it. “You’re liking that, then?” he asked.

“Mm. Rather prefer yours. And your thighs, especially when you ride,” Merlin replied. He adjusted himself so they were lying comfortably on their sides. “All parts of you, really, but you know I don’t want to make your head any bigger than it already is.” 

With a small snort, Arthur shook his head. “Still so impertinent. At least now I know how to get you to shut up.” He kissed him then, nipping lightly at his bottom lip, and Merlin grinned. 

Then the smile fell from Merlin’s face and he turned serious. “You do need to decide what to do with me, Arthur. I’m a sorcerer. Magic is still illegal, feared and distrusted.” He pushed himself up to sitting and stared at his hands in his lap.

Nodding slowly, Arthur sat up as well. “I want to learn about it before I start … that is. It’s time to change things. Draft new laws, try to right the wrongs of the past. But I need to know more.”

“Anything. Everything. I’ll tell you all of it. And … Gaius can, too. He knows.”

Arthur gaped. “He lied, too?”

“Please don’t be angry with him. He … he felt like he had to protect me.”

“There’s going to be a lot, isn’t there, that I’ll need to learn to let go.” Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face.

Merlin looked subdued. “Yes. And it’s not all pleasant. After you hear it all, if … if you want me to leave Camelot, I will.”

Arthur huffed a small laugh. “You truly are an idiot, aren’t you?” 

Merlin’s head snapped up. “What?”

“What about this—” Arthur gestured between them, then at the rumpled sheets “—gave you the impression I ever want you to be anywhere that isn’t with me?” 

A shy smile crept over Merlin’s face. “Really?”

Arthur’s gaze raked over him: his sex-mussed hair, sticking up wildly; flushed cheeks and bright eyes; miles of pale skin, his chest and groin dusted with dark, wiry hair. He felt his spent cock twitch in a valiant attempt to harden again, and rested a hand on Merlin’s knee. “Really.”

~*~*~

In his wildest dreams, Merlin had never expected to wind up here, in the king’s bed, free to touch Arthur. To tell him everything he’d done. To show him his magic. He covered Arthur’s hand with his own, willing his heart to stop pounding like mad in his chest. 

“Did you truly mean—that is, when you gave me your mother’s sigil …?” he asked quietly, after they’d sat there in silence for a moment.

Pressing his lips together, Arthur nodded. “I spent a lot of time decidedly ignoring my feelings. But there’s been something about you … always. From the first moment we met, in fact.”

A small smile played at the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “Do you remember the second time we met?”

“Of course. I tried to take your head off with a mace.”

“And I stopped you, using magic.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “You cheated?”

Merlin struggled to bite back his laugh. “I was fast, and scrappy. I probably would have escaped, but then I, er, got distracted.”

“Distracted?”

“You have very shiny hair.”

Arthur threw back his head in a braying laugh. “And you have the most amazing cheekbones and wonderful smile I’ve ever seen, even when it is mocking me.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure I didn’t accidentally enchant you? You’re saying such nice things to me.”

“You’d better not have done—but no, these are the thoughts that always crept around the edges of my consciousness. The ones that made me punch you in the arm or tease you about being a girl. I’m not very good at talking about …” Arthur gestured vaguely.

“Feelings?” Merlin supplied with a small smirk.

“That.” Arthur shrugged. “But you’ve always been the one person who didn’t let me get away with being, well, a prat. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t met you.”

Merlin felt so much fondness in his chest that he couldn’t quite breathe. He moved his hand under Arthur’s, twining their fingers together. “Should I … that is, it’s late. Did you want—”

“The last time you left these chambers, I felt as though I lost half of my soul. Don’t go. Stay.”

Surging forward, Merlin kissed Arthur with a passion he hadn’t known he possessed. Arthur moaned, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him near.

“I meant it, you know,” Merlin murmured when they parted. “I am happy to be yours, always.”

“Because of destiny?” Arthur asked, nuzzling the soft skin under Merlin’s ear.

“I believe in the future you will build, but not because of a prophecy. Because of you.” With a flash of his eyes, Merlin extinguished the candles and hooked his ankle around Arthur’s. His magic thrummed through him happily, and lifting a hand, he whispered, “Draca.” A tiny dragon assembled itself from the sparks and flapped around the room before returning to the embers. 

Arthur grinned at him in wonder and draped an arm across his chest, eyes scanning his face in the dim light from the waning fire. “I love you too, you know, idiot.”

“Dollop-head.” Merlin snuggled into the bedclothes. “I know.” 

They fell asleep not knowing where one ended and the other began. The future would wait until morning.

~*~*~