Chapter Text
The man walked with a confident stride. Grass crunched nearly soundlessly beneath his feet as he marched on, while wind played with his curly hair. A small bag of possessions was draped over his shoulder in a leather pouch. He was armoured against the stormy weather with a thick jacket, his boots well worn and mended in places.
The world seemed to crinkle with anticipation at his arrival.
At the edge of the forest, on the long road that was edged into the earth by hundreds of people stretching on behind and beyond, Merlin came to a halt. He stood upon a small hill, his watchful gaze, hardened by history, fell upon his goal. Camelot’s towers looming straight ahead, painted like marble stone into the sky. It had been years since he’d last seen it and was as majestic as he remembered.
“Finally.” Merlin’s mouth formed around relief.
He had walked a thousand years, a thousand miles and a thousand worlds just to find himself here. Picking up the threads of time and ripping it apart to arrive at the place where he’d always belonged. He was different now, more in control than back when he’d first picked up the sticks to weave his destiny. It was thicker, his magic, condensed as he bore the entire yarn in his grasp, knowing the intended design by heart, knowing the tools to create it. This time, he knew what to avoid, knew how to mend his broken heart with care.
As his lingering gaze only filled with longing, washing away the instant relief, Merlin shouldered his pouch once more and marched on. Every step flickered with excitement, with fear, with that deep ache.
Soon.
Merlin would be home soon.
Camelot’s walls looked as pristine as he remembered it. Emotions flooded his mind as his hand reached for the cold hard stone, making it real. Ancient designs with forgotten meaning catched his eye. The last time he’d seen the castle, it had been little more than its foundation, burned to the ground centuries prior. It was a memorial in the future. Allegedly a secret hideout for some vagabonds in the 13th century, long after Camelot had passed. No one was aware which ruins they were truly walking on. Camelot’s legendary residing place shifted in the minds of men, never however in Merlin’s.
There were little places he knew better than Camelot and so he moved along through the thick crowd that gathered around a pyre.
Merlin hadn’t forgotten the sight of witches burning. This had been his oldest memory of Camelot but not his worst. He’d seen all kinds of horrible things happening after. This one marked the beginning of something greater than himself. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that. Merlin decided not to watch it this time. With a flick of his wrist, a gleam in his eye that could easily be blamed on the sun, and the wood was soaked through with water. No matter how many times they would try to light it, the pyre would not lit.
It caused a commotion, at first, but there was nothing the butcher could do but decide to postpone the execution. Under heavy protests from the King of Camelot, who had sought to mark the 20th anniversary of the capture of the Great Dragon Kilgharrah, the sorcerer was led back to the dungeons.
Merlin chanced a look up at the balcony from which the royal family was watching, desperately searching for familiar faces. His eyes quickly caught on the princess and then snapped to the prince. The sight instantly caused a painfully aching longing in his own chest. A feeling so deep and raw, it nearly caused him to sob, and Merlin was glad he wasn’t standing right before him. His tears would certainly be hard to explain.
Merlin shook his head. It was not time yet.
Not yet.
Other than last time, Merlin did not approach Gaius first. Instead, he marched right up to Uther’s scribe to request an audience for tomorrow.
Geoffrey looked bored as he raised his head at Merlin in question. “And who might you be?”
“My name is Merlin,” he responded honestly. “I come from Ealdor from the border to Essetir. My mother has sent me in order to find work in the city.”
“And what business does an outlier from the villages have with the King?”
Merlin twitched a smile. Long gone were the times when he’d found Geoffrey’s dark frown intimidating. Merlin had lived too long to find many things intimidating these days. “I hear he is searching for a new manservant?”
The scribe lifted a brow, not unlike Gaius would have. Would, Merlin corrected in his mind. Thoughtfully, the man stroked his beard. “The honour of manservant of the Prince isn’t just given to any peasant from the countryside. You would have to be born within the castle and rise to that station!”
Merlin nodded. “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re relieved?”
The scribe twitched his brow and returned to the parchments before him. He dunked his feather into the ink bottle. “Well, Prince Arthur does have a manservant at the moment. His name is Morris.” The scribe bit his lip. “But between the two of us, I doubt he will be making it for much longer. Morris is not cut out for the Prince’s – more extreme hobbies.”
Merlin cringed and bit back a chuckle at the unintended innuendo. “I can imagine.”
“But you haven’t heard that from me. I shall write you down as voluntary candidate, should Morris be indisposed or the place become vacant.” He paused. “We certainly do not have many volunteers.”
“Certainly. Thank you very much.” Merlin politely nodded at the old scribe. He’d always secretly loved the man’s indiscreet habit of gossip. Often, Merlin had been on the receiving end, but he’d always been a great source for intel. “For your records, you might wish to know that the court physician Gaius is my uncle. He agreed to taking me in until I find a suitable job.” Geoffrey also cared very little about doing his job correctly. The man had been tasked too often with burning important papers he’d written to care about properly filling out the forms. It made it far more believable when he’d ‘lost’ a couple important books too.
“You are welcome.” The scribe said, no longer looking at Merlin and Merlin took this as his sign to leave.
Seeing Gaius again was overwhelming. Perhaps more overwhelming than Merlin had initially expected, but not nearly as emotional as seeing Arthur on that balcony. Just knowing he was here, knowing he lived, - it nearly made Merlin’s magic explode with joy.
Other than the first time around, Gaius did not fall off the ladder when Merlin approached. Mostly because Merlin casually strengthened Gaius’s stance on it with ease. This time around, Merlin knew how to be subtle. He knew how to weave his magic into the fabric of the world without making flashy gestures or speaking any foreign words. Merlin was Emrys. Time itself bowed to his will. The world bended for him before he even thought a word. He was fully in control and had no intention of revealing his magic until it was absolutely necessary. At least to Gaius. This time, he wouldn’t have to be Merlin’s mentor who constantly had to risk his life for his.
In fact, Merlin would not risk anyone else’s life this time. Merlin would become the perfect shadow. A commoner, a servant, a physician. There were a few people he wanted to know, but none of them was Gaius.
Gaius tended to him kindly. A little rough, perhaps, declaring him his dogsbody almost immediately, giving him a room that was small and cold and almost uninviting if it weren’t for the view he had over the courtyard.
Merlin put down his things on his bed, deciding to sort it all out later. It was time for him to scour the castle and distribute Gaius’ tinctures to the castle members. Merlin knew the routine well, although he couldn’t quite remember who he needed to distribute the tinctures to.
The last of Merlin’s destinations led him down into the courtyard where he knew his destiny to be waiting. Merlin was supposed to bring some herbs to Gaius but ultimately knew that the old man would have to wait his turn.
The familiar laughter of his favourite pratt waned over the courtyard, reaching his ears like precious chimes. “This is a moving target practice!” Arthur Pendragon laughed at his manservant’s expense, shooing him over the courtyard as he sent axes flying at the shield in the poor kid’s arm.
This brought him back. Merlin was reminded, all of a sudden, how lonely Arthur used to be as prince. Sure, he was mean and rude, and he was laughing now, but he was surrounded by expectations. The expectation being a bunch of asshole knights right now who wanted to see nothing more than their Prince being powerful.
Be the best, be strong, be powerful, be authoritative. What easier way was there to do that than torment a man younger than himself? One who was in no position to fight back. This Arthur had yet to establish his place at the court, had yet to find his voice, to trust his heart. He was insecure and determined to prove his worth. Yes, Merlin had known that tactic then too, but his eternal fondness for Arthur made it hard to ignore the pressure, to not excuse the behaviour. And the effect of seeing him again softened his heart and warmed him from the inside out.
Still. Merlin stepped forward in careful strides, finding Morris stumbling over a branch, his shield rolling away from him, while the prince raised his axe to throw once more. Arthur would have never thrown the axe at this point, Merlin knew, as he caught the shield with his foot and stopped it only a couple feet away from the prince. This was all for show. Merlin ignored the prince and turned to Morris. “Can you stand?” The boy stared up at him with wide eyes and quickly scrambled to his feet, trying to pick up the shield from underneath Merlin’s foot.
“HEY,” yelled Arthur, the grin never fading from his face. “This is a target practice!” Arthur was walking forward determinedly. “You can’t just interrupt us.”
“Can’t you target something that actually has a chance to evade you? Like, for example, common sense?” Merlin hadn’t turned around yet, only hearing how Arthur startled to a stop.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Maybe if you say please.” Merlin finally turned around, grinning wickedly as the servant quickly jumped aside. The knights behind them started to holler, laughing once more, but at Arthur’s expense this time.
Arthur startled, his eyes widening and his brows twitching, clearly bothered by the sound. The smile never seemed to leave him, however. He was trying to look nonchalant, but Merlin knew better. His heart ached, knowing that he knew every of his tells still. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
Technically, Merlin wasn’t, but there was no point in trying to explain it. “Perhaps.”
“You must be.” Arthur said, his axe swaying threateningly at his side. “Otherwise, you would know that you can’t talk to me like that!”
“Hmm.” Merlin said, tapping his chin to pretend that he was thinking about it. “Are you that insecure that you’d throw a man in the dungeons for speaking his mind, your highness?” Merlin mock bowed to him, watching Arthur’s eyes widening in surprise. “Especially when he tries to stop injustice?”
Loud ‘ohs’ could be heard from the sidelines. Arthur struggled to breathe. “Who do you think you are?”
“The man who isn’t intimidated by your daddy’s men.”
Arthur sputtered at Merlin’s retort, his cheeks flushing as he raised his chin. Merlin knew that he was ignoring the laughter of his men, was trying to find a way out of this mess without looking like a coward.
“My name is Merlin.” Merlin said, choosing peace and reached out his hand to Arthur’s confused frown. “I’m the new physician’s apprentice. It’s nice to make your aquaintance.”
Arthur was so stunned; he mindlessly shook it. “I am Prince Arthur.” He said, sounding a bit dumbfounded by the change in attitude. It did, however, seem to give Arthur some sense of direction. “You don’t seem to care much for your life, do you, Merlin?” Arthur said, his mouth twitching a little, but his voice carrying over to his men.
“Why?” Merlin asked. “You think you can take me?”
Arthur laughed in disbelief, finally letting go of Merlin’s hand. “Is that a challenge?”
“More like a warning.” Energy flickered in Merlin’s mind, threatening playfully.
Arthur turned around to his men, as if to say: ‘you hear this idiot?’. He turned back around to meet Merlin’s gaze head on. “Maybe you don’t know who I am as much as you think you do. I’m not just the Prince. I’m the strongest knight Camelot has to offer.”
“Says who?” Merlin tilted his head, making Arthur’s mouth twitch in offence. “Your father? Or the men behind you? You know – the men who get paid to say so, or demoted when they don’t.”
Arthur’s playful attitude was gone in a second and tightened his grip just enough to hurt. “Be careful.” He said, reminding Merlin oddly of the way he himself had threatened several bandits in the past. “You’re walking a thin line there, Merlin.”
“Hmm.” Merlin made. “So, you are that insecure.” Merlin concluded loudly. And that was all it took. Arthur’s body language betrayed him. Merlin had seen it often enough, his memory easily triggered like a reflex, the way Arthur’s gaze would lower, his chin would rise just before he’d attack. His fist nearly came in contact with Merlin’s chin when Merlin quickly ducked and stepped swiftly aside. His reaction must have surprised Arthur because he overbalanced, when Merlin twirled around, grabbing him by the arm and throwing him over his shoulder in a quick move. Arthur Pendragon hit the floor with a quiet yelp, rendering their audience quiet and in awe.
A thousand years of all different kinds of wars, of hobby martial arts and magical enhancements had made Merlin more aware of his body. More in control, fully aware of what he was doing and when. Despite that, Merlin knew that he’d only caught Arthur by surprise. The moment Arthur’s back hit the ground had everyone in shock, including Merlin.
Arthur made a choking sound of surprise. Merlin, knowing Arthur, quickly jumped out of the way before the prince could use his feet to swipe Merlin’s legs away under him. Instead, Merlin stepped backwards, hands raised to show he was unarmed and had no attention to do more than defend himself. The knights had all quickly drawn their swords, but Arthur seemed too stunned to say anything.
Merlin raised a brow when one of the knights pointed his sword at him. Then, he shook his head and held out his hand to Arthur to pull him back up. Irritated, Arthur did not deny his help and let himself be pulled back on his feet. “Who are you?” He asked, puffs of breaths escaping him.
Merlin raised a brow. “I already told you.”
“Have we met?” Arthur insisted, shaking his head. “You seem – familiar.”
Last time, Merlin had not thought about those words, but this time they hit him hard. Arthur may not know it, hadn’t known it then, but he’d recognised Merlin. Not because he was familiar by a meeting of chance, but because their souls were intertwined by fate. And yet, it ate away at Merlin that if things were easier, if things were better, Arthur would have simply remembered.
“I’m sure we’ll be great friends eventually.” Merlin said with a smile, finding the answer too complex and a lie too inappropriate to give. He swallowed down his longing pain. His eyes wandered to the knights. “Unless you decide that me defending myself is reason enough to have me executed.”
“I – what?” Arthur’s eyes found his men, and the weight of what had just happened seemed to finally bear down on him. “I’m the crown prince. You can’t – do that.” He told Merlin, aware of how pitiful he now looked as he brushed dirt off his trousers.
“Yeah.” Merlin shrugged. “Guess that’s why you keep winning, huh?”
Arthur’s shoulders sagged, and he seemed to watch Merlin as if he expected him to attack. Then, finally, he raised his hand to his men. “Leave him. He’s an idiot.” He bit his lip, something strange writing itself into his eyes. “Try not to do that again.”
“Only if you behave.” Merlin winked and found to his surprise, the Prince of Camelot flushing an awkward, surprised, red.
Arthur scratched his head, seemingly embarrassed and confused by something, but he didn’t try to fight Merlin once more. “I guess… I’ll see you around?”
“I’m sure you will.” Merlin said and patted his shoulder before he turned around to leave. He didn’t notice the lingering glances on his backside, or the slight quiver of Arthur’s bottom lip as he seemed to forget about the pitying glances of the knights. All reactions Merlin would have normally noticed in an instant. But Merlin wasn’t looking to witness Arthur Pendragon crashing right into a wall of feelings.
“And you are?”
Despite all the years having passed by him, Merlin still felt a shiver down his spine when faced with the Uther Pendragon. The man’s eyes were still sharp, so different from the glassy version they would eventually turn into.
“My name is Merlin.” Merlin explained, unwilling to point out that Geoffrey should have informed Uther of that much. Or at least, Uther should have asked, because this was how spies and assassins got really fucking close to killing him. Merlin would know. He’d stopped most of them. Or will. “I come from Ealdor in search of work.”
“Work.” Uther said and nodded boredly during the petition, his fingers tapping against the throne as his other hand waved him to continue. Merlin had sat through a thousand of these, some with and some without Arthur. Uther didn’t hold as many as Arthur later would, but he too deemed them important. A King listening to his people was rare, especially for one as paranoid as Uther was. Merlin hated to say it, but Uther wasn’t the worst King to serve under. That, obviously, said more about the other King’s than it did about Uther.
Merlin’s eyes lingered on the King for a second, then trailed to Arthur, who promptly flushed at the sight of him. The prince bit his lip, apparently unwilling to explain to his father that they knew each other already. Something seemed to distress him, but Merlin didn’t know what it could possibly be.
“Yes.” Merlin nodded. “I’ve been told a rumour that there is a vacant position in the royal household.”
“Is there?” Uther asked and turned to Geoffrey for confirmation. When the man shook his head, Uther’s suspicious glance returned to Merlin. “There is not.” He said, making Merlin raise a brow. “Which position did you say you wanted?”
“I am here to volunteer for the position of Prince Arthur’s manservant.”
The prince, who had been trying to quench a mysteriously sudden thirst via emptying an entire cup of water, suddenly choked on the too large sip he had taken, until he broke out into a thousand inappropriate coughs.
Merlin raised a brow.
Uther mistook Arthur’s reaction for something else because he lowered his gaze at him. “Have you burned through another one?” His pointed glance was not kind. “Morris showed great promise. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Arthur tried to justify himself but kept breaking into coughs.
“He used him for target practice.” Merlin helpfully supplied, dipping on his toes with amusement. “Which is, of course, his right to do as prince.” Merlin said when Uther sent him a glare. “It just made me think that perhaps Morris might be relieved if I asked for his position. He strikes me as someone who likes his head attached to his shoulders.”
Arthur Pendragon had never looked as dumbfounded and silly as he did right now, his chin wet, his eyes wide open and his jaw dropped.
“And you are willing to put up with my son?” Uther said, brow raised but strangely amused by Merlin’s antics. Merlin had always known that Uther wasn’t that easy to rile up when magic wasn’t involved. He also, strangely enough, had a knack for humour. It was probably why he’d never had Merlin executed. He found Merlin’s silly ways and impolite tongue almost as refreshing as Arthur did, though he would never admit it. There was, however, the general disappointment he’d loved to show for his son resurfacing again. “I do see that my son can be difficult at times, and this behaviour will certainly be punished.” He turned to Arthur with a cold glance that made Arthur shrink into himself. “That is not how a knight behaves. But are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
Not that other knights hadn’t done worse, Merlin mused. But Arthur had always been held to a different standard. And a much better one too. Which was quite ironic, after everything Merlin knew about Uther himself.
“I think I can handle him.” Merlin said, feeling oddly like he was about to adopt a rabid dog. He sent Arthur a smile and watched the man freeze up like a statue. His face was reddening by the second and he quickly averted his gaze again.
“Hmm.” Uther said and then sent Merlin a smile. “Once Morris has decided to resign, you shall be granted your wish. The entire castle knows that volunteers are rare for this position.”
“I’ve told you before that I don’t need a caretaker.” Arthur mumbled but Uther ignored him.
“You may ask Geoffrey for the details on your job. I cannot imagine you to be trained in this area.”
Merlin blinked in surprise. This was certainly different from his first time around. “I certainly am not.”
“Then I shall have Morris teach you the works. I’m sure he will be much relieved with your help.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Merlin bowed to him, thinking for the very first time that Uther wasn’t so bad after all. You know… apart from the whole genocide thing.
Morris had resigned nearly as soon as the rumours had reached him. He’d nearly cried when he’d met Merlin and thanked him profusely. Apparently, the job had befallen to him because he’d stood too close to the door when the last manservant had been fired by Arthur himself. Arthur and his father had had a huge argument, and Uther had forbidden Arthur from throwing a servant out without providing evidence and good reason for the decision, which had to be bad enough to ruin their reputation for good. Morris was not allowed to quit unless someone would volunteer for his position. The poor boy must have gone through hell.
So much for it being a great honour, Merlin surmised. It did make him wonder, however, why Uther Pendragon had chosen him the first time around.
The moment Merlin entered Arthur’s chambers on his first day as his official manservant, he didn’t come alone. He was also, apparently, not expected. The moment they opened the door, Arthur Pendragon’s head snapped in their direction, and he promptly walked into the table, barely catching himself by his hands as he tried to look nonchalant about it. “Merlin – Morris –“ Arthur quickly gathered his wits and the last pieces of his honour to straighten his back. “Come – come on in.” He was staring at the floor as if asking it what was wrong with him.
Morris bowed politely, looking like he wished to be anywhere else but here.
Morris elbowed Merlin in the side to follow his example and bow, but Merlin resolutely refused. The hell would he do. Morris elbowed him again. “Morris, I am fine, thank you.” Without caring for any proper introduction, Merlin moved into the room and looked around. Morris hissed at him, but Merlin simply continued to ignore him. This wasn’t his first time here, far from it. But as his hands brushed against the wooden table, his air filled with the faint scents of herbs and fire, the warmth of the room settling on the tiny hairs on his forearms, Merlin felt a wave of nostalgia hitting him and his lips bent into a smile.
How often had he stood in this very room, talking to Arthur about some magical threat, brought him dinner, joked with him or had gotten yelled at? This room held everything he’d ever held dear, from the dust particles that reflected like magic in the firelight to the man himself.
“I am sorry.” Morris quickly apologised for Merlin. “He’s new. I’m going to show him around his duties –“
“Thank you, Morris, but I believe that won’t be necessary.” Merlin said and sent him a glance. “You may leave now.”
“But.”
“I said you may leave.” Merlin spoke with a voice that made him sound almost threatening. Morris looked from Merlin to Arthur, but then apparently decided that it was saver to do what he was told. He left, then, leaving Merlin alone with the strangely tense prince. He was staring at Merlin like he’d just turned into a frog or something. Merlin shifted his entire attention back to his King, currently prince, and stepped forward, nearly trapping Arthur between the table and himself. This position was not unfamiliar for Merlin, as Arthur had always been comfortable in his presence before. When Merlin reached for Arthur’s collar, however, the prince grabbed his wrist.
“What on earth are you doing?” The prince said, hissing in a breath.
Merlin frowned. “It’s past dinner time.” He gestured at the table with the left-over plates and empty wine. “I’m undressing you.”
If Arthur hadn’t been red before, he certainly was now. “Holy mother of god.” He muttered into the faint stubble that graced his chin. “You are not undressing me.” Arthur said with surprising finality and pushed Merlin away.
Almost offended, if not shocked, Merlin stood where Arthur left him, eyes blinking in confusion. “But I’m your manservant, that is my job.”
“You’ve been in Camelot for a day!” Arthur suddenly yelled. “You’ve already invaded the physician’s quarters, you’ve effectively defeated me in a fair fight and fired my manservant to assume his position. And now you sent him away as if you had any authority over anyone in this castle! You’re insane if you think I’d let you just –“ Arthur flared his arms. “Waltz in here and –“ he sputtered. “It’s not gonna happen!”
Somehow, this left Merlin wrong footed and speechless for the first time since he’d returned to Camelot, stepping backwards in defence. “But –“
“For all I know you could be an assassin!” Arthur declared, suddenly pacing, gaining a certain distance from merlin. “Or a sorcerer. Or – or –“ He didn’t seem to know much else to name, so he turned back around.
Merlin watched his Prince’s tirade for a second, his mind calmly accessing the situation.
“If I were an assassin, I’d be terrible at it.” Merlin pointed out. “I mean, I would have been discovered in a day, wouldn’t I?”
Arthur scoffed, ignored him and tried to calm his erratic breathing. “So, you admit to being a sorcerer?” He almost laughed, not a hint of belief in his words. But also, to break Merlin’s heart, not a hint of trust either.
Merlin had made a decision when he’d turned back in time. He hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, hadn’t expected it to happen at all, with how thick Arthur could be sometimes. Merlin had had no intention of revealing his magic to Arthur, but he’d also promised himself not to lie to him anymore. Not about the nature of magic, and definitely not if Arthur would ask. “Warlock, actually.”
Arthur huffed a laugh, disbelief evident in his tone until he saw the serious unmoved expression in Merlin’s eyes. With growing alarm, Arthur grabbed his sword, but Merlin shook his head. “In fact, you’re not entirely wrong about anything you said.” Merlin walked closer to Arthur and saw Arthur flinch, clumsily pushing the table backwards. Merlin moved past him, hoping to assure Arthur that he was not a threat and then leaned against the table. “That I became your manservant is, in fact, not a coincidence and I certainly didn’t decide to become yours because of how well you treat your servants –“
Arthur twitched.
Merlin decided to take pity on him and reveal at least part of the truth. “I grew up, learning about a prophecy, about a great King. The Once and Future King. The King who will bring peace and prosperity to the land. Equality, justice, that is what you will represent one day. The druids have known of your destiny for centuries and have foreseen that you need help growing into a Legend.” Merlin paused, letting Arthur process his words. “I have come to offer my assistance because I believe in your destiny, Arthur Pendragon.”
For a moment, Arthur just stared at him. His face blank, his sword drawn but not entirely raised against Merlin.
Merlin tilted his head, his hands clutching at the wooden table. He’d known it would be difficult to confide in Arthur about his magic. After all, it had taken him over a decade the first time around. And a part of him suffered at the reminder that he’d never told his Arthur. Had left him in the dark. It seemed unfair to confide in this new version of him, this younger version of Arthur who had not yet been shown the worst that magic had to offer.
However… Merlin could keep secrets from Arthur, could remain quiet about certain things, but the time of lying was over. Merlin sighed, his eyes wandering sadly towards the sword. A sword that was less than a practice sword, compared to Excalibur. “You have no reason to trust me, I get it.” He looked up, hoping to not look too threatening. “So, let me gain it. Let me deserve your trust.”
Arthur frowned at him. “My father would have you executed on sight.”
“You are not your father.” Merlin said gently and wished he could reach out a hand to comfort Arthur as he used to. Just a single touch against his shoulder. Before, Merlin had only needed a word to assure him. Today – today marked a time when Arthur was still trying to find out how to trust anyone at all. “And I am risking my life confiding in you.” Merlin reminded him, glad that the sword hadn’t yet pierced skin. Not that it would have killed him, Merlin regretted to know.
Arthur swallowed, his eyes lingering on Merlin’s frame, accessing the situation. “Fine.” Hesitantly, he sheathed his sword. “The druids are peaceful people. If they vouch for you –“ the words died on his tongue and Merlin could read the grief from Arthur’s brow. Merlin was aware of Arthur’s first raid against a druid camp. Knew of the guilt this Arthur carried, would carry, into his Kingship. The druids had been peaceful. The knights had not been. That wound was fresher on his mind today then likely ever after.
“Thank you.” Merlin said, finally offering a sincere bow to the surprised prince. “Whatever you need, Sire. Call on me.” He paused and looked up. “But don’t be a prat about it.”
The prince flushed awkwardly, torn between guilt and regret and insecurity. “For one, you will not undress me.” He decided randomly, a gleam of sweat catching light at his brow.
“Why not?”
“Why are you so insistent on taking my clothes off?” Arthur hissed defensively, stepping away like an insecure, blushing maiden.
Merlin raised a brow. He wanted to ask why Arthur was so focused on that part but decided against it. “Alright, if your royal pettiness can dress himself.” He paused. “Anything else?”
Arthur blinked. His face boiling at this point. “Huh?”
Merlin’s frown deepened. “Me not being allowed to undress you is the only rule? What about razors? You will need to be shaved. Drawing baths. Mucking out the stables – no, wait, you love punishing me with the stables.” Merlin whispered the last part to himself, but Arthur seemed to have heard him.
“Erm.” Arthur made, apparently confused. He swallowed around a lump in his throat as if realising how strange his request had sounded. For Merlin more than anyone. As far as Merlin remembered, Arthur had never had any problems with this.
To a point, Merlin could understand him, though. Merlin had been acting suspicious from the very moment he’d entered the castle. A thousand years ago, Merlin had been a lot different, a lot less confident, a lot less straight forward. He had been suspicious then too. But more in the way that a harmless mouse was suspicious. Arthur had much bigger things to worry about than hiding cheese.
Merlin met Arthur’s gaze head on, watching Arthur freeze for the second time that day. “I respect your boundaries,” Merlin said, although he knew that would never be entirely true. Personal space had always been a foreign term for the both of them. But Arthur’s boundaries had also been much different the first time around, so perhaps he had respected them just as much as he did at the moment.
“That’s all… For now.” Arthur trailed off. He looked conflicted, perhaps even confused. Then he cleared his throat again. “You may… erm… clean up the dinner plates.”
“Of course, Sire. Thank you, what an honour it is to serve you.” Merlin grinned mockingly, real relief flooding his system and hurried to clean up the mess Arthur had left him. It may sound tedious, but Merlin was happy to collect the evidence of Arthur’s needs. It reminded him that there were needs to begin with. That Arthur was alive.
Arthur watched him with a mix of horror and fascination, but if he’d wanted to say something, he remained eerily quiet until Merlin was done.
“Good night, Arthur.” Merlin said, hoping to sound gentle and trustworthy as he closed the door.
Arthur remained where he stood, looking like he had expected a different outcome from this evening.