merlin: i really need to tell you this thing but if i do i know you’re gonna hate me-
arthur: i could never hate you.
merlin: you will! because this goes against everything you’ve ever believed of me and i don’t want to lose you, you’re one of my dearest friends. if you knew you wouldn’t ever want to talk to me and you’re the king it would put you in a difficult position where you’d have to make a choice.
arthur: i won’t. because i know, merlin.
merlin: *goes quiet and stares at arthur in disbelief*
arthur: i know what it is.
arthur: i’ve always known and it doesn’t change anything.
merlin: why didn’t you say anything?
arthur: i… wasn’t sure and honestly, i was kind of scared. because maybe… maybe it does change some things.
merlin: i’m still the same person i was ten seconds ago.
arthur: i know. but i am not… i’ve felt so alone since i found out. i get you, i get it. i was born that way too and there’s nothing that will ever change that.
merlin: it’s not your fault, arthur.
arthur: it’s not a bad thing either, it’s just who i am. it makes me different and knowing that i am not alone... knowing that there’s someone that gets it, that is like you, kind and pure of heart, makes me feel seen.
arthur: *kisses merlin*
merlin: *pulls away* i was trying to tell you i have magic!
Arthur Pendragon/Merlin + Gwaine & The Knights of the Round Table
ao3
Summary: Gwaine plays servant for a night.
WC: 7.3K
Contains: humor & fluff. AU where arthur & the knights know about merlin’s magic, everyone knows merlin and arthur are in love. bickering, humor, meddling/pranks, morgana is not evil & uther is alive. slight angst from miscommunication, kissing, happy ending.
A/N: this was inspired by so many fics i’ve read by the amazing @/merlinlikethebird on ao3. i love how they write merthur through the lens of another knight, especially gwaine, and while their humor and tone for the show are probably more curated than mine… thought i’d give it a shot with my voice and my idea… and a softer arthur bc i’m selfish and like to imagine a world where he gets to enjoy merlin’s magic… hehe i hope u enjoy
Gwaine was certain that personal servants to princes did not shine shoes and sharpen swords. In fact, despite how frequently he tried to forget the ways of nobility from his years in Caerleon, he did not forget that.
Well-off kingdoms had efficient structures, and Camelot was no exception. As he expected, there were noble servants and there was castle staff. Servants attended to their masters, of course, through ensuring meals were had, appointments kept, and tempers contained; but there were cooks to cook, maids to mend, welders to weld, and countless other professions in place to get the physical work done. Royal servants were more personal assistants than task mules. Camelot was much larger than Caerleon, and housed more workers inside its stony walls than Gwaine could ever imagine justifying, and yet Merlin was on his hands and knees mucking Arthur’s steed’s stall as if the actual stableman were not but two doors down, doing the same dirty work. In truth, the idea grated Gwaine. He did not know how Arthur slept at night.
“I mean, really, you cannot be alright with this!” He frowned, leaning against a wooden beam. Llamrei nuzzled her nose into his palm with gratitude, snorting softly as each secretive sugar cube slipped past her teeth.
“Stop feeding her,” Merlin sighed, clambering to his feet. Mud and other unmentionables clung to his knees, clumping in stinking brown dregs. “Sugar makes their stomachs turn, and I do not need more of this!"
Gwaine stifled a smirtle and pushed off the beam, pocketing the treats. “You know, I could always have a word with him. This is beneath you, after all, considering all you do for him, for us–”
Merlin gave the knight’s arm a soft shove and shook his legs out. “There is no word to be had. I am his servant, Gwaine, this is my job. Should he ask me to do his chores and what have you for the knights, I must obey.”
“You don’t understand, Merlin, this is not–”
“I’ve done this job for years now, and in comparison to others, I quite prefer it. Not everyone is so lucky.” Merlin untied the scrappy scarf around his slender neck, using it to wipe the beads forming at his curled hairline. He owned a much nicer neckerchief now, a little red strip with the golden Pendragon crest embroidered at the corner, but he only wore it inside the castle with the newer tunics that Arthur gave him. Fine things in purples and creams, colors of a noble. When he did hard work, he stuck to the older things.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Arthur could fire me at any moment, and it’s wise he should, given the trouble I bring about,” Merlin raised a brow, the smooth skin of his forehead wrinkling like bunched silk. “He keeps me around, and for that I must be grateful.”
Gwaine’s lips parted in incredulity. There was much bravery in his friend, he knew it to be true– his fellow knights had on countless occasions seen Merlin’s eyes glow with final acts of heroism. With but a few arcane words, Merlin could have this stall tidied by the grace of an invisible hand. He could mend tunics and sweep floors without a thought. For some reason, the fool stored his magic for moments most dire, and not for ones in which it would be convenient, and not to mention much quicker. Sometimes Gwaine wondered if Merlin had hit his head as a child.
A set of nimble fingers grazed Llamrei’s side, caressing her coarse hairs. “He is impossible, but my duty is to serve him, Gwaine. You must understand that, don’t you?”
“I think you’ve gone mad, that’s what it is. If anything, he should be serving you,” Gwaine grumbled.
Merlin’s petaled ears twitched pink, and he scratched beneath Llamrei’s chin, watching her pretty lashes flutter in repose. The creature had taken a liking to Merlin, it seemed. The stableman had a way with horses, but Merlin had a way with everything. Animals, people, nature. It was quite easy to envy the poise with which he approached the world. He was Camelot’s most beloved friend. Merlin knew it, too, and yet he never spoke on his own behalf. If he did, he would say that Gwaine might do well to look beyond his displeasure towards the reasons why Merlin might do scut work, he thought, for not everything was done out of virtue. Everyone had reasons.
Gwaine, of course, could never be convinced of such a thing. With enough work, Llamrei would like anyone with enough sugar! Anyone might learn to polish the prince’s gambeson as he desired with enough instruction and practice. No, there was a melding of minds here, some deeper structure at work which he was keen to unveil. There was a more substantial reason why Arthur insisted Merlin do it all, and Merlin shared in it. He was dying to find out what that reason was– and secretly, he thought he might already have the answer.
“You like to do it, don’t you?”
“Muck stalls? Don’t be ridiculous,” Merlin chuckled, passing a brush over the shifting muscle beneath Llamrei’s coat.
“No, all of it. The cleaning, the tending. You like to have your hand in Arthur’s world.”
Merlin glanced over at the knight, so happily off-duty in a plunging tunic and a swordless hip. His throat bobbed with an empty swallow. “I do not have a hand in anything.”
“You don’t? Then what do you call this?” Gwaine grinned, holding out a sweet for the mare. “You meet his every need, you counsel him, you wake and put him to sleep… it seems to me that his success hinges on you, and you quite enjoy the privileges of being his.”
As Llamrei craned to lick up the forbidden treat, Merlin felt a nervous tug in his gut, and his hand snatched out to seize it. The horse whinnied in uproar as he pocketed the traitorous cube, and he turned to dunk his brush in the bucket of tepid water by the corner of the stall.
Gwaine snickered to himself, raising his palms in a signal of surrender. “I apologize, my friend. I did not mean to touch your property. I wonder, what would you do if I fed Arthur a sweet or two? Would his happiness be afflicted, do you think?”
The shade of Merlin’s fair neck swapped hues with the scarf tried around it, and he began to scrub thoroughly at Llamrei’s hind leg. “Shut up, Gwaine.”
“Yes, my liege,” the man crooned, leaning in to poke Merlin’s side.
The manservant wrenched away and raised a finger, pointing accusingly at his friend. It was a familiar gesture. Although his eyes did reflect a glimmer of amusement, Merlin held the silent threat high.
“Understood. Oh, and Merlin…”
“What?”
“By my authority as a knight of Camelot, you are dismissed from duty until tomorrow. Violation will result in punishment. Have a good night, my friend.”
“What?!”
Gwaine slipped past Arthur’s chosen one, bootsoles sinking into the thick of the lower town ground. The tavern might be on his mind right about now, but today, a knight of Camelot finds himself with a much more entertaining task at hand. All he had to do was find that bloody prince and his knights.
Gwaine struggled to restrain his own laughing compulsion as Arthur puffed hard and dragonlike. The reaction was much more rewarding than the last few he received, but of course Arthur was not afforded the full picture.
Leon had smiled and shook his head somewhere between approval and disappointment when the idea was pitched, offering a thoughtful bid on Merlin. Elyan had been the first to slip a coin towards Arthur’s likelihood to cave, while Percival put his money with Leon’s judgement. Lancelot had simply pursed his lips and stated, “Do not expect me to help you out of this when it ends in disaster,” and kept his grubby palms shut. Truly, he had hoped for more from one of Merlin’s oldest friends– even Gwen and Morgana put their coins on Arthur, sharing mischievous grins in the process. But nonetheless, his pockets were heavy with the predictions of the people, and he was eager to see who would profit. He told no one on whom he placed his own fare.
It seemed, for now, that Arthur was the frontrunner.
“I ordered Merlin to take the rest of the day,” Gwaine quipped, sauntering through the court room to peer out the window. He crossed his arms and stared at nothing, swallowing smiles. “He is just as much our little helper as yours, polishing our armor day in and day out.”
“You do not have the authority to make such calls!”
“I am a knight of Camelot, am I not? You yourself made me one, bestowed upon me all the rights and privileges of one, giving me seniority over all castle help,” Gwaine reasoned with a surprisingly straight face, and making a great effort to emphasize the last word.
Arthur’s jaw clenched tight as he gawked in horror. “Help? Merlin? I should like to think you owe him more credit! He is no mere help, he is my servant!”
Gwaine thought to himself, Ah, truer words have never been spoken. From your idiot mouth to Merlin's ears. None of this he said. Instead, he only smiled in the way that made Arthur squirm in his seat at the head of the table. “All the more reason to give him a rest! You work him to the bone, my lord. It cannot be easy, minding you.”
Arthur bristled at the honorific. They always sounded so horrid from Gwaine’s lips. He shifted again, passing a hand through the loom-spun locks brushing his forehead, and twitched his nose in aggravation. “It is his job to mind me.”
“To mind us all, my lord. I have outsourced the chores to the other staff for the evening. Perhaps he might find some relaxation and return grateful. I know how often you two… get into it over his attitude.”
Arthur scowled like a kitten denied milk. “Since when do you order people around?”
“Since today, it seems,” Gwaine winked, crossing the space to clap a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “If you are so unsettled by a lack of care, perhaps I shall tend to you tonight.”
The prince’s cheeks caught fire. Arthur rose stiffly from the chair, swatting Gwaine’s hand back. “You will not!”
“Sire, if you require such attention, it is my fault you will not receive it. It is settled– I will take Merlin’s place.”
“Gwaine!”
“Nonsense, my lord, you will be satisfied,” Gwaine beamed, wiggling his eyebrows. “I shall start by fetching your dinner!”
“I swear, if you so much as–”
“Please, my lord, save your appetite! Supper is but moments away. I shall return with your victuals– must I help you wash up?”
The prince yowled as his knight came to his side and began tugging at his tunic, horrified at the show of indecency in a place so public as the court room. “Get off!”
“As you wish, my lord,” Gwaine bowed, shielding his laughter behind curtains of slick, dark hair. He rose again only to bounce on his heels. “Await my return!”
Arthur seethed at the sight of his friend– at the moment, he was not inclined to be so affectionate– scurrying like a mouse through the doors, patting the guards with playful palms. If such a story was true, he may not see Merlin at all for the rest of the night.
Night was when Merlin came to his chambers with his laundry, and he often sat at the foot of the bed and folded it while Arthur perused the most recent matters which required his eye. Merlin would stick around to stoke the fire and sweep his chambers as Arthur soaked in a hot basin, and they would titter quietly about the day’s training or some new gossip Merlin picked up in the halls. He had this way of scrubbing Arthur’s arms that was thoughtful, lingering… and Arthur swore he wanted nothing to do with the petty whispers of the castle, but he quite enjoyed how Merlin delivered each like a tale, full of humor and intrigue. Arthur fell asleep in low candlelight to the image of Merlin perched on his windowsill and muttering to himself, thumbing through stacks of Arthur’s parchment and making the proper grammatical corrections by a conjured light at the tip of his finger. Every few nights he would do the same job at the edge of the mattress, with a free hand sunk into the prince’s hair. The cool night air would rustle the chocolate curls furling over his cuppish ears and high cheekbones, smearing flavor into the cream of his skin, leaving the prince starving in sleep.
With Merlin dismissed, he would not have his routine. Without routine, Arthur was a very, very irritable man. And so he dispatched himself to expend the energy somehow, before he hunted Gwaine down and reduced Camelot’s guard by one.
Gwaine was not yet so easily thwarted. With money at stake, the knights were eager to watch the bet unfold. While the mastermind was busy pestering Cook in the kitchen over what Merlin usually brings to the prince at a time such as this, and My, don’t you look gorgeous with your hands all tucked into that fowl, Percival and Elyan were stationed in the Great Hall, prepared to receive their prince.
Arthur came storming through the corridor with the illusion of steam spilling from his ears, his leather overcoat clipping the archway with an angry thwack. Percival was the first to step out and greet him, sliding in alongside him on the furious stroll.
“Sire, what is it?”
“Gwaine has sent Merlin home for the evening!” He growled, shooting a dangerous glare over his shoulder. The bemused face of Elyan hurried to catch up, his chainmail clinking acutely and making the hairs raise on Arthur’s arms.
“That was nice of him, don’t you think?” Elyan smirked, nudging the prince’s elbow. “A shame you didn’t think of it. Merlin works hard.”
Arthur whipped around and halted the both of them with harsh palms to the chest, earning two strangled oofs from the oafs. “Heed my words now. As knights of Camelot, you have the freedom to order about who you please, but you do not order Merlin. Do you understand?”
Elyan’s eyes glinted with delight and he gave a triumphant grin. “Yes, sire.”
Percival stood still, mentally wincing at what appeared to be the inevitable loss of his money. “Yes, sire.”
“Good. At least I have two men who still listen,” he snapped, dropping his hands and storming away. “If you see Gwaine about, you have full permission to send him back to the barracks!”
As the prince barreled around the corner, heels clopping against the stone, Elyan and Percival shared a look of mutual hysterics.
“I bet you’re regretting your choice about now, Percy, hm?”
“There is hope yet for our farm boy,” Percival snickered, throwing an arm around his companion. “Do not underestimate the man.”
Just up the bend, Gwaine was skittering around with a plate full of food, digging his grubby fingers into one of Arthur’s lamb legs as he searched for the prince. As he neared the hall, he came across two familiar faces full of laughter and low mutterings. He halted mid-bite for a rendezvous with the freshly reprimanded.
“Ah, my brothers in crime! Just the men I was looking for. Have either of you seen Arthur yet?” Gwaine narrowed his gaze playfully, licking a finger clean.
“Seen him? Oh, yes,” Percival chuckled, “and he is quite angry with you.”
“That is only because he hasn’t eaten his dinner,” Gwaine swayed the plate with the land’s most incorrigible smile. “Tell me, what direction has our beloved prince gone?”
“He seemed to be heading toward the training field, if my memory serves me,” Percivial plucked a potato chunk from the platter.
“I would be careful if I were you,” Elyan warned with a twinkling eye. “Arthur is quite protective.”
“As is Merlin. You should have seen him earlier when I tried to feed Llamrei. He nearly bit my hand off.”
“Those two are something,” Elyan sighed, shaking his head. “Only an idiot would get between whatever it is they have.”
“And get between it I shall. If you’ll excuse me, I have a master to feed.”
Gwaine left at what could only be described as a skipping pace as he rounded down the hall for the castle doors, nearly tipping Arthur’s half-eaten and wholly cold meal on the way. The man must be hungry, and what a delight it will be to offer him such a robust plate.
Merlin was posted at Gaius’ work station like a child placed in timeout. As his hands fiddled with tedious potions, which he had no talent for nor the passion to try, he fidgeted on his feet and chewed at the inside of his cheek, glancing over at the physician every few seconds.
“Good heavens, boy, dismissal does not mean termination! Must you itch so?”
Merlin frowned and picked at a sprig of rosemary. “I cannot help it. I do not know what to do when I am not working.”
“You are working.”
“You know what I mean! I should be– I should– oh, forget it.”
“I remember a boy who wished every day that Arthur would give him a break,” Gaius sighed, hobbling across the little chamber he shared with the young sorcerer. “I would imagine you might enjoy this time off. Perhaps you should take a walk with Gwen, or fit in some practice with Morgana.”
“I do not want to do any of that,” he mumbled, tearing little nubs off the plant between his fingers and dropping them unceremoniously into a mortar. “Who is cleaning Arthur’s chambers, do you think? Certainly not one of the maids, Gwaine is not a skilled enough meddler to think out a replacement so thoroughly… you know, this will only yield trouble for me, Gaius, you know how Arthur likes things to be done, and nobody does them as well as I, and when I turn up tomorrow, he will be angry with the job– I should go to him, maybe, and explain that this was no request of mine–”
“Do you ever take a breath, Merlin?” Gaius interrupted, looking run through just from listening. His aged hair fell limp against his waxen cheeks, but his mirthful eyes still held enough judgement for the two of them.
The servant felt heat flooding his chest, and he pushed away from the table to stomp towards his room. “I will just read some of my books, then.”
Gaius watched the boy go with a scrutinizing gaze. He has seen enough cases of Merlin’s particular disposition to diagnose him, but he would do no such thing. The only cure for what the boy’s got cannot be bottled, and to try would be futile. It was an affliction of the heart, to say the very least.
As Merlin collapsed onto his bed, the room felt too bright. Being in his chambers while sunlight still spilled across the land was upsetting, and he had no good reason as to why. It was supper, and his rightful place was behind Arthur’s chair, listening to him bicker with Uther once more about the potential benefits to legalizing magic, which always ended in Uther leaving the table early and infuriated while Arthur, Morgona, and himself shared a little laugh. He would then follow Arthur around the grounds for a patrol check, and the prince would inquire after the state of his things, if he needed new boots or jackets; and even quieter, he would ask after his newest studies, what new spells and tricks Merlin had encountered that might aid them on their next expedition.
It was Merlin’s favorite part of the day when the prince would duck behind the garden wall and cross his arms, insisting Merlin display something fascinating. The two of them would hide away until the sky shifted into a deep orange, watching Merlin cast butterflies about or water a patch of green without a cloud in sight. At first, Arthur had been resistant, but the allure of a life beyond his father’s reach had drawn him in. Merlin was his chance at being more than he was told was allowed, and Gwaine, however thoughtful he was at heart, had taken Arthur’s reprieve away. Merlin’s, too. The sorcerer wondered if the prince was eating now without a full cup or Merlin’s warmth behind his chair as Uther questioned him. The thought made the pain swell.
There was something empty about his room now. In all fairness, the thing was practically a box without an object to hold. There was not a trace of him anywhere. A few books on the floor, a mismade bed, some clothes in the corner, but that was all. It did not matter to him most of the time because he was never in it, but now he was forced to be, and he hated it. There was no life. No head of golden hair or remarks disguised in sharp tone. In his room, Merlin was without a purpose. His limbs ached from inactivity as he stretched out on the cot and stared at the ceiling, breathing in slowly.
“Stale lyft, be gedefned mid fyrfluge,” he murmured, the words hissing softly from the back of his throat. Above his head, little amber flickers of light began to dance, their wings fluttering as the lantern flies danced around the ceiling, buzzing in a slow waltz. Arthur loved the night lights Merlin made. Without him here, they just looked like bugs.
He could not spend the night this way. It was well past supper, and he would have been halfway into Arthur’s leftovers by now. He could not lie still and wonder.
“Really, Arthur, I am capable of running a bath,” Gwaine began, but a harsh clap to the back of his head shut him up.
“I told you to go.”
“Someone must clean these floors, sire, and you must bathe! We would not want to make more work for Merlin, would we?”
“Any work Merlin has is earned, you imbecile,” Arthur grumbles, tugging his tunic off with fervor and tossing it onto the floor. “You think me cruel, but I do not just hand him every task that needs doing!”
Gwaine huffed and sat along the edge of the basin, dipping his hand in the tepid water. It could be warmer, but how can it be when he must carry the pails all the way from the main pump? How does Merlin– oh. Right. It must be quite simple for him.
“Well, you have to admit you run the boy ragged.”
“What I do with Merlin is none of your business,” Arthur nipped, and his shoulders tensed. “And you have disrespected him by thinking so little of us both. I should have you spend the night in the dungeons.”
Gwaine jutted his chin out in shock. That was forthcoming, was it not? The prince almost sounded jealous. Secretive, even. Could it be so? What is it they do, hm?
“We both know you’re too soft on me for that, my lord,” Gwaine lilted, cocking his head. “I have done my best, but if I truly do not measure up, I am sure that Merlin would be happy to return to work...”
Arthur’s shoulderblades clenched together before he rolled them out. If Merlin were here, he would make some snide comment about needing to loosen up, and then he would whisper a few pretty words and make the water steam. Arthur would have the pleasure of seeing his cheeks tint as he turned all attention to folding clothes, and not the shape of the prince as he sunk into the hot bath. Then again, perhaps Merlin was using his time wisely. Maybe he was holed up in that depressing room of his, memorizing new spells that Uther would surely try to execute him for if caught. Perhaps the servant was trying to sneak dinner off the cooks, always hungry inside that skinny ribcage, never seemingly able to put enough away and show it. Merlin might even be out in the lower town, strolling with Gwen or drinking with the knights in the tavern, where Gwaine should be, making sure the boy is safe and unharmed– where Arthur should be, doing a better job of it.
Maybe he did work Merlin too hard. Maybe Merlin had expressed some wish for a break to Gwaine and not him, and this was all necessary.
Come to think of it, the signs were there. Always hungry, always tired. Bouncing from each task to the next with the speed of someone on a ticking clock. Merlin seemed to leap at the chance to do another thing, always rising at Arthur’s call and bustling around corners to deliver. Arthur had increased his workload over the years because as far as he was concerned, nobody did a better job. He had avoided telling Merlin so at the start, for he was such a cocky boy when he arrived in Camelot, but as the years passed and they lived closely, a certain gentleness bloomed. Arthur did not like anyone else touching his things or keeping his schedule. It didn’t feel right.
Around the knights or in front of his father, Arthur was as sharp-tongued as always, but it came with a twinkling eye that Merlin recognized. It was never a reprimand, solely a reminder of how they used to be. His armor was never shinier, shoes never studier, sword never steader than when touched by Merlin. His room frequently smelt of may roses and rosemary. His clothes had traces of lavender from Gaius’ own washing basins. Everything Merlin approached, he did so with care, which was why the stalls took so long to muck. Arthur had come to admire this about the servant– and my, did he hate that word. There wasn’t anything better to call him, though. Court sorcerer was far from plausible. What do you call someone who does everything for you just as you want it, without complaint, and with a smile? And what do you call yourself when you would do it all back, if duty called? He must find a new name.
Gwaine stared at the prince’s back as a near minute passed in silence. Clearing his throat, he tried again: “Should I send for Merlin?”
Arthur’s chest thumped, and when he turned around, a firm shake of disapproval moved his head. “No. No… leave him.”
Gwaine tutted happily. A victory has been made, finally. Some freedom for Merlin, and some remorse for Arthur– all was in balance now. He could see it on that regally destitute face.
“Should I leave you to it then, my lord?”
“Yes,” Arthur hummed, never lifting his eyes. He stepped to the basin as his knight moved aside.
Gwaine watched in a slight confusion as no counterargument came. No reprimand, no look of reproach. Nothing. If he knew his prince well, surely it was about time to be punished for overstepping his boundaries. But Arthur simply sunk into the water without so much as a huff. A drowned kitten in his own bath. Looking on him now, in the glinting gold of the empty chamber, Gwaine felt something in his stomach churn. Perhaps… he had failed to consider what his game might do to the players. It is possible that he overshot his aim, and landed an arrow right in two hearts, rather than in the core of one silly castle rule.
“Rest, Arthur,” he offered as condolence, and slipped away before the prince felt forced to respond. He shut the royal chamber gently and leaned against the door, furrowing his brow.
Turning to the two guards posted in the corridor, he asked, “If your manservant took a vacation, would you be dejected?”
The guards blinked in unison and stared back, and Gwaine scoffed, turning on his heels. “Useless.”
The cool of the night chilled Merlin’s hands as he trekked across the grounds. It was certainly too late to drop in on the prince now– it was far past when he would normally turn in. The moon was high and full, round as a marble, reflecting silvery streaks over the frosted grass. His threadbare cloak barely did enough to warm him, but every so often he would whisper a soft “Wēarm wesan” and ease the ache in his knobbish knuckles. Sometimes, in the middle of watches out in the woods, Arthur would request that same spell. He said he liked the way it sounded.
There had never been a time when the servant felt more restless. It was silly, really, to feel so upended by a simple day’s work left alone. There were hundreds of men and women in that castle who could do his job with one finger; and Gaius was right, because he did wish for time off on the regular. Caring for Arthur was incredibly taxing, and he could grate the boy so deeply at times that the contemplation of a bathtub drowning was heavily entertained.
Yet again, without those moments, Merlin would never have gotten where he is now. For a servant, he does amazing things. He takes every trip with the knights and eats at their table. He practically is one, seeing as Arthur had a special set of armor for him that he takes along on convoys ‘just in case’. Merlin has been granted grace by the prince to keep his books of magic, as long as he practices out of Uther’s field of vision, and can manage not to screw up. Arthur was so pleased to discover what a true secret keeper his companion could be when he wasn’t busy pretending to be horrid at it. All things considered, caring for Arthur was more rewarding than anything. He relied on the blonde fool to make him happy and keep him safe, and because of that, he was willing to spend every moment at his side, even when it drove him insane.
Perhaps he didn’t know it until now, or never intended it to mean so much until it was taken away, but therein lies the truth: the one thing worse than the restlessness was the ache, and twice as humiliating. He knew it now. Merlin was able to hide many things, but his affection for Arthur was not one of them. Lancelot– always on his side– was the one most inclined to tease him about it behind closed doors, but the others had a mind about them, too. Leon never laid to rest during their nights in the woods without being sure Merlin was not made to have first watch, nor Arthur, and that where they pitched their blankets, they did so side by side. Percival often mumbled stories into the prince’s ears about townsfolk making passes at his servant only to see Arthur send out another public decree condemning indecency against noble relations. Elyan often joined Merlin on walks with Gwen, where he would listen in confidence to his sister and good friend kibitz about the future king in ways only servants can. Among the Round Table, the nature of Merlin and Arthur was not only found comical, but foundational. Without the two of them together and sure of each other’s safety, nobody would be allowed to rest until a balance was reached. While it was a pain, nobody liked to disrupt the rule. They each admired the pair in their own way. Devotion of that nature could not be forged– it was alchemic.
Merlin knew well enough that he had hitched his way up a creek of trouble. He was too deeply entwined now, wasn’t he, and he’d shown his cards; everyone who had passed him today had seen him Arthur-less and heartbroken. Keeping his magic under wraps was a breeze in comparison to tucking his heart back beneath his sleeve. Now all he had was a nervously bitten bottom lip and a prolific sense of longing that would surely throw him on Uther’s radar for other reasons, if he wasn’t cautious.
As he circled the castle in the dark, he peered up and caught a glimpse of candlelight flickering from Arthur’s window. Any servant would have blown such a light out upon leaving him, which meant the prince was up. He contemplated sending a few lantern flies up to say hello, but he thought better of it. Perhaps without Merlin, Arthur had enjoyed his evening. Arthur could have even been the one to tell Gwaine that he should be dismissed. Maybe this change would yield a shift in his duties– it wasn’t unlikely Arthur could have a change of heart. He was due to be king, after all, and he had to keep appearances. The thought made him shiver again, and not with cold this time. He began the walk back to his chambers, resolving to return to work in the morning as instructed and hope for nothing new.
“Rise and shine, your Highness,” Gwaine chirped, yanking the covers clean off of Arthur’s bed.
The prince shot up, dizzy with shock, cradling himself in the cold of the morning. “Gwaine?”
“Yes, sire! Breakfast!”
Arthur blinked the fog from his eyes and glanced around the room. The sun was just beginning to poke its head above the hills. Merlin usually waited until it was actually morning to rouse him, sun proudly hanging in the sky, and with him he would bring fruits and buttered bread and chunks of the good cheese the kitchen liked to hide. Instead, he was tugged out of bed like a pet and made to sit at his own table where a plate of meat and dry rolls awaited his deeply unhungry stomach.
As Gwaine tossed the covers back onto the bed carelessly, Arthur frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing in here?”
“I thought I’d save our darling Merlin the trouble before he comes to attend you,” the knight crooned, ruffling the prince’s hair.
Arthur grunted and swatted at the unwelcome hand, grimacing as if a wound had been reopened. “I hate you. You will train for so, so very long.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Gwaine flashed his teeth in a remorseless smile.
At the edge of the royal quarters, Merlin was up and bustling, trudging his usual morning plate towards Arthur’s chambers. The sorcerer thought it best to start fresh and early, in the unusual case that no servant had been by, or that the state of the prince’s room was not to his liking. In the interest of all of Camelot, it would be wise to tidy it before waking him. Arthur slept like a log, so it would not be a problem. Granted, Merlin would also be afforded the quiet, stolen images of Arthur asleep in his bed, shapely arms tucked under the pillows and slow breaths soothing the soft sounds in the room. It was a view he missed dearly.
When Merlin came to the chamber door and quietly pushed it open, he found the room quite alive. Gwaine was trying to convince Arthur that his bread was freshly baked while the prince sat in his chair, shirtless and irate. The creaking door caused them both to look up, and two very different expressions appeared.
“Well, look who it is!” Gwaine huffed with relief.
Arthur rose from his chair like someone had toyed with an enchanted doll somewhere, arms swinging and eyes alight. “Merlin!”
The servant stepped inside, gangly limbs tangling with the door as it swung shut behind him. As he adjusted the scarf around his neck, one which glittered gold, he smiled sheepishly. “Good morning.”
Gwaine took one look at Arthur and grumbled, seeing the delight clear as day. “Was I really so bad?”
“Yes,” he shot back, raising an accusing finger. Gwaine’s lips curled, recognizing the gesture. Someone had picked that up from someone else, somewhere along the way. “You have caused enough disruption. Get out.”
“But sire, your breakfast,” Gwaine grinned, and then found himself ducking as a hard roll was lobbed at his head.
Merlin hid a laugh behind his hand as Gwaine dodged a few projectiles, darting for the door. He opened it anticipatorily and gave Gwaine a knowing glance as he passed.
“I like my prince, but I do not love him enough to do the job you do,” Gwaine teased, dealing a wink that seemed to put each detail in place at last. He hid behind the door. “Good luck!”
“I fear I am not the one who needs it. Run,” Merlin urged.
Gwaine ducked under another missile before cackling and bounding down the hall, skidding past the guards and disappearing. Somewhere, a call echoed, “All hail the best servant in Camelot!”
Merlin intercepted Arthur as he lunged for the door, seething like a bull and even more worked up. The prince halted at the touch on his chest, releasing a bit of that vengeful feeling. His eyes glazed over the proper plate held beneath his nose, and sniffling in interest, he eased.
“Thank God you’re back,” Arthur pouted, sleepy eyes meeting Merlin’s. “He has plagued me.”
“You mean to tell me that Gwaine has been tending to you since yesterday?” Merlin inquired, crossing the chambers confidently– he was quite comfortable in them these days– and setting the food down before Arthur’s chair, sliding the undesired plate away.
The prince groaned in aggravation as he slumped against the foot of the bed. “Yes. What on Earth gave him that idea, anyway? Did you express a desire to stop working?”
Merlin whipped around quickly. “What? No! I– I thought perhaps it was you who mentioned it to him!”
“Of course I didn’t!” Arthur combatted, rising again. “Why would I send you home early? I did not sleep!”
Merlin mustered a small smile as the prince came closer. “Really?”
Arthur flushed a bit in little patches down his neck. “Well, don’t look so surprised. After a while, one gets used to the sound of your stupid mumbling.”
The prince paused before the servant, giving him a once over. The purple tunic hanging from his regal shoulders suited him so much better than that old, tattered blue one he used to wear. Blue was no shade for a royal servant anyway. Merlin was as noble as they came, and he should look as such. His hand reached out mindlessly to straighten the corner of Merlin’s scarf, and he extended a quiet question: “Do I work you too hard?”
Merlin felt his heart swing, and he shook his head within an instant. “No.”
“Do not feel as though you must lie. I won’t be offended. I have given you a lot of responsibility,” he explained, tracing a delicate line over the boy’s shoulder.
“Arthur, the work I do is a privilege,” the sorcerer promised, swallowing thickly. Gwaine did not know the enchantment which made the bathwater smell of florals, but he did provide Arthur with the castle soap which smelled of powder, and the smell was just as pleasant, if not more so. “I… I thought we both…”
“Agreed,” Arthur finished.
The morning sun began to slither in honeyed waves across the floor, warming the tips of Arthur’s bare toes. He pressed closer until Merlin’s legs met the table behind him. “I missed your lights,” he whispered. “Candles aren’t the same.”
“Has anyone read your papers?”
“No.”
“Swept your floor?”
“Barely.”
“Polished your gambeson?”
“I’ve lost track of it.”
“A castle full of servants, and no one can do my job,” Merlin teased, their noses brushing from mere proximity.
Arthur’s bold hands slid around the purchase of the sorcerer’s hips, and he squeezed lightly. “I’m quite cold.”
“I can draw another bath–”
“No, no. The words, Merlin. I like it when you say the words.”
Merlin’s lashes fluttered as he brought a palm to the prince’s cheek, recanting, “Wēarm wesan.”
Arthur admired the gilded glow of the boy’s eyes as a wave of warmth washed over him, toasting his bones like the caress of an oven. He shivered in adjustment and nudged Merlin’s hand, a pleased beast at last.
“I have been thinking. I suppose it is time to find you a new role,” Arthur suggested.
Merlin’s face fell. This was it, was it? The suspected shift?
“Servant is not fair. You are much more to me. I thought that, from now on, I might call you my… advisor.”
The sun was now sinking into his boots, or perhaps it was the way Arthur’s thumbs notched in his hips. “Advisor?”
“Yes. You are not yet classically trained to be knighted, though I presume soon you’ll be ready… but you are always there, Merlin, guiding me, keeping me out of harm’s way. Your counsel is sought by my men and myself. You…” he rambled, trying to keep a clear head. It was hard when Merlin smelled of rosemary from Gaius’ chamber. “You deserve more than to be seen as my subject, when you are far beyond my equal after all these years.”
Merlin’s teeth poked out of his crooked smile, scalloping his pink lips. It was a missed view, Arthur thought, as his heart squeezed. “What do you think?”
“I think I’d like that very much,” Merlin breathed, lost for air. “As long as I still get to care for you.”
“Oh, no. I do not wish for you to stop. In fact, I find it all the more meaningful if you continue.”
Merlin’s hands found the linen of Arthur’s tunic and held on tight, and a strong set of arms wrapped around his back at last. The prince’s morning breath was unpleasant, but there was a simple fix for that.
“Mæccað mid minte,” he purred.
Arthur furrowed his brow and bumped their foreheads. “What did that one mean?”
Leaning in to taste the result, Merlin lied. “I love you.”
Arthur’s recantation was muffled by the longing press of Merlin’s blessed lips against his own, and for a moment he wondered if some sort of spell was settling over him; but the realization lied in the fact that he would fall this way at Merlin’s feet for just about anything, no magic needed. Merlin might do every chore possible, but in the process, he kept the prince wrapped tightly around his finger. He commanded him with his heart alone. To cross someone that powerful was a mistake, Arthur knew, and anyone who tried was a fool.
When Gwaine made the decision to turn around halfway across the castle and retrieve the unfortunate leather belt he had left behind in Arthur’s room, he was met with the results of his hard work as prince and advisor were caught fooling about on a misfortunate table in ways he’d need a good drink to forget. He decided, for one, to use his good sense and leave the belt for later. There was no point in breaking apart his little project now. The greater trouble would be explaining to his good friends they each lose the bet, since he in fact did not see who caved first.
The prophesied idiot smiled to himself and decided, Perhaps they’ll let me live if I give Merlin the money. He is the beloved boy of Camelot, after all.
i’m just thinking about arthur. and everything he was that he shoved down, because it was learned. i’m just thinking about him and how confused and afraid he must have been all that time, trying to please everyone, trying to make sense of the things inside him that seemed not to align with another soul. trying to fit a square peg into a round hole that he so desperately wanted to make possible. and i’m wishing that maybe he’s finding peace somewhere after having ample time to see that the way things began was never his fault, that his reactions were beaten into him, and if he had just been shown a little more kindness and compassion as a boy, a little more freedom to just make his own choices and trust his intuition, maybe he could have come out as a dog that sleeps soundly rather than bites……. i’m just thinking about arthur
I just love how they cast Hunith. She looked like the most gentle, kindest, sweetest, most wholesome and softest person I've ever seen in my life. I mean LOOK AT HER. She's absolutely beautiful and her eyes is so full of love it look like she was made from it.
She is the only person on earth I can believe who gave birth to Merlin. Emotional, kind hearted and cutie pie Merlin. When Ballinor said that he saw Hunith in Merlin, her kindness, he's not even kidding. It's so transparent there for all to see. He is his mother's son through and through. (I know, I know, Merlin is also a sassy little shit but before destiny fucked him up he's also practically bleeding with empathy).
And THEM!! God Hunith looked at and treated Merlin like he's the most precious thing on earth. I love them so freaking much and it's a CRIME that we only get two episode of Hunith. She's so underrated and she raised the sweetest boy ever and remained so resilient and kind even after how hard it might be for her with Merlin's magic.
