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Arthur is confused. Nobody’s ever talked to him like this before, not even his father. He’s heard the phrase “my Lord” from just about everyone: nobles, knights, commoners petitioning his father.
No one has ever dared say it to him with quite the amount of disrespect that this boy had. No one has ever dared to call him an ass or a prat either, at least not to his face. He’s blindsided.
Not to mention he hasn’t had this much fun in years, running around the town square in a real, uncontrolled brawl. No knights letting him win, no captain of the guard barking criticism at him, no servants making sure he hits the target every time. It’s a bit reminiscent of when he was younger, when he and Morgana were allowed to duel together.
And this boy, Merlin. He’s all skin and bones. He looks like a strong breeze would blow him away, and yet somehow, impossibly, they’ve been going at it for minutes now with no clear victor. Of course, Arthur seems to be tripping over something at every turn. He chalks it up to his lack of focus, letting the adrenaline and thrill of the fight wash over him even as he knows his instructors would tell him to focus on his surroundings and be more calculated. He doesn’t care. They’re not watching, anyway, and this is exactly the release he needs.
He can feel a grin splitting his face, and for once it’s not just there because he’s winning and it’s supposed to be. He can tell Merlin isn’t feeling quite the same, the other boys face clearly far more of a glare than a smile. Fair enough, he supposes. He’s been in a bad mood lately, and it’s clearly affected him a bit more than he’d like. Not that anyone would ever call him out on it. No one but Merlin, apparently.
Suddenly though, Merlin spots something in the crowd and freezes, losing focus and giving Arthur the opportunity to send him crashing to the floor with a broom. He’s almost disappointed that it’s over.
He watches two of his guards drag Merlin to his feet.
“Wait,” he says, surprising even himself. “Let him go.” What is he doing ? “He may be an idiot but he’s a brave one.”
Arthur walks up to Merlin, looking him up and down. He’s not smiling anymore, but the adrenaline remains. He’s aware of all the people watching now, a veritable crowd of townspeople gathered around them, staring and whispering. Suddenly, his father’s voice is in the back of his head, reminding him to behave with the honor and superiority befitting his title as prince. Princes don’t associate with commoners, his father would say. No matter how intrigued he is by this particular one. He is clearly a commoner, after all, his dirty jacket discarded in the street somewhere behind them. He shakes his head, eyes narrowing.
“There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Then he walks away before he’s tempted to say something else. He feels eyes on his back.
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Weeks pass, and he does his best not to think about his encounter in the lower town. He sees Merlin around, apparently having found work somewhere nearby, but does his best to ignore him. He’s got a feast to attend, after all.
When he wakes up to a room full of cobwebs and a woman with a knife on the floor, he’s concerned. He doesn’t start to panic until said knife is hurtling towards his chest and his sleep-addled body doesn’t want to move. He blinks, and the next thing he knows there’s a tug at the back of his shirt and he’s hitting the floor. The knife is sticking out of the chair, his chair, right where he’d been not moments ago. His mind is racing, and his body is finally starting to catch up.
He gets to his feet, finally ready for action, but the mysterious woman is unconscious and there are no other threats in sight. It’s not until there’s movement behind him that Arthur finally notices exactly who seems to have saved his life not moments ago. He’s face to face with Merlin, of all people, and all he can do is stare.
He doesn’t know how long he stares for, but he startles when his father claps him on the back firmly.
He’s barely grasped the thread of conversation when his father declares Merlin to be his new manservant and walks away. Suddenly, the entire room is clapping. Merlin has a slightly pained look on his face.
“Okay,” Arthur whispers to himself. “This is fine.” He hopes belatedly that Merlin can’t hear him.
Arthur’s not sure how long he’ll survive Merlin’s tenure as his manservant if a threat to his life is the precedent. Not to mention the butterflies in his stomach. Adrenaline really is something.
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A few weeks into Merlin’s time as his manservant, he thinks he’s figured him out. He’s been investigating the other boy, perhaps not as subtly as he’d have liked. This is probably because his only source of information on Merlin is, well, Merlin. After learning that the other boy is living with Gaius, he’d been tempted to go to the physician for information, but had decided not to in fear of the old man’s scrutiny. This problem has led to him springing several questions on Merlin while he performs his duties, hoping that the other boy won’t think too much of them.
“Where are you from,” he asks as Merlin pours him a glass of water.
“Ealdor,” is the short, suspicious answer he receives.
“I’m not familiar,” Arthur says politely, trying to extend the conversation.
“You wouldn’t be. It’s not in Camelot.”
It takes several rounds of questioning before Merlin reveals that he came to the city because his mother wanted him to have a better life, although Merlin’s eyes grow rather distant when he tells him this. He asks as many questions as he can get away with, although Merlin still gives him odd looks after each one. Arthur ignores them.
His fascination hasn’t lessened, although he likes to think he’s been doing a fairly decent job of acting indifferent in Merlin’s presence. The other boy hasn’t stopped insulting him nearly daily, even bolder now that he knows Arthur won’t throw him in the dungeons for it.
For some reason, none of the things Merlin says incite anger in him like he thinks they should. Maybe it’s because of this odd fascination with Merlin. Maybe it’s because of the barely there grin on Merlin’s face when Arthur responds in kind. Maybe it’s because Arthur knows that some of the rude things that Merlin says are true, no matter how much he wishes they weren’t. And maybe, as Arthur decides, it’s simply because he’s bored of speaking with nobles who don’t actually know him and Merlin is one of the few who talks to him like he’s his own person. Besides, Merlin is entertaining.
So Arthur thinks he understands it, this fascination. It’s just because Merlin is a commoner, and he has a set of experiences and way of thinking completely different to Arthur’s own.
Arthur’s never been allowed to really, truly interact with any commoners before, not even those in his own city. He’s heard their petitions alongside his father, and he’s been on patrols through the streets, but he’s never really talked to them before.
The way Merlin sees things, he tells himself, is the reason he’s so interested in him. It could have been any commoner, Arthur’s sure, it’s just that Merlin happened to be the first.
He’s even more sure of this when he is introduced to Gwen and experiences something similar. The feeling is less strong, sure, but at this point he is already accustomed to Merlin’s behavior, spending nearly every day with him. Like Merlin, she’s willing to tell him exactly what she thinks (albeit more kindly). Although she’s lived in Camelot most of her life, she and Merlin share similar opinions and backgrounds, and he’s more sure than ever that his fascination with Merlin has nothing to do with the boy himself, but with what he represents.
“Thank you,” he tries once, after Merlin has helped him edit a speech so it sounds, according to Merlin’s, less poncy. Arthur’s not too ashamed to admit that it does sound better.
Merlin hums absently, distracted by a stain in one of Arthur’s shirts.
Then he travels to Ealdor. Merlin’s mother had come to Camelot seeking assistance, and although he’d understood his father’s reasoning, the look on Merlin’s face had inspired in him an anger on the other boy's behalf. Shortly after Merlin leaves, he makes up his mind and begins to pack his own bags, leaving the castle without a word to his father. He tells Leon where he’s going so they don’t send search parties after him. He ignores the knowing look on Leon’s face.
Ealdor is about what he expected. It matches Merlin’s descriptions perfectly, considering there’s not all that much to describe.
While there, he spends quite a bit of time talking to the townspeople. There’s not much else to do. They’re nice, decent people. Many express their gratitude for his aid.
Many times he is reminded of Merlin when they speak. Many of them speak with the same cadence, a slight intonation that he’d barely noticed in Merlin until he’d heard it much more pronounced in Merlin’s village.
Still, none of them captivate him in the same fashion that Merlin has.
When they talk about him, they are respectful. They call him “my Lord” without the slight mocking tone he is becoming accustomed to. They do not grin at him, they do not tease him, and they do not contradict him.
So he comes to the conclusion that it is not Merlin’s status which makes him so special, but his bravery.
It is not only his words. Arthur seems to attract trouble like no other, and since Merlin is nearly always at Arthur’s side, that means that he is dragged into the trouble more often than not. At first, Arthur thinks nothing of it. He spots Merlin hiding behind a tree after one battle and surmises that he spends most battles that way. But then Merlin rides to face a dragon alongside him with not a scrap of armor to be seen. Then he starts paying attention.
Merlin faces things that grown knights cower at with seeming indifference.
On several occasions, Arthur finds himself terrified they’re about to die horribly, only barely maintaining his composure due to years of princely training, to turn and find that his companion seems calm as could be.
He asks him once, how Merlin seems to remain completely at ease in the fact of mortal danger.
“Practice,” Merlin says with a smile, and when Arthur laughs he continues, “If I got worried about dying, I’d be worried all of the time. So I’ve decided to be worried none of the time instead.”
“Fair enough,” Arthur says. It’s exactly the kind of thinking that he’s come to identify with Merlin. Besides, he supposes they’re in danger often enough for it to feel like all of the time.
This is what makes Merlin special, he decides. This steadfastness is what had drawn Arthur to him upon their first meeting. He had somehow sensed the other boy’s uncanny bravery and been taken in by it. The feeling in his gut is simply admiration and respect for the other boy.
This explanation feels right, and Arthur is content again.
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Then they meet Gwaine. Their first meeting is, as he later finds out, a perfect introduction to Gwaine: reckless and dangerous yet somehow still thrilling . Merlin takes to Gwaine immediately, and suddenly Arthur has questions again.
Because Gwaine is brave, truly and undeniably. And he remembers Lancelot having the same courageous nature.
But they possess distinctly different places in Arthur’s world than Merlin does.
Because Merlin is his friend , he realizes one night as he lies awake, considering. Arthur’s not stupid, he knows that his relationship with his manservant is far from what would be considered appropriate by his father and the rest of Camelot’s court. But when he really stops to think about it for the first time, he comes to the only slightly startling conclusion that Merlin is the first real friend he’s ever had. There’s the boys he calls his friends, of course, in order to please his father and theirs. And Morgana, who is too much like a sister to be a confidant. There’s Gwen, Lancelot, and now Gwaine, all of whom he knows and likes, but who are far more Merlin’s friends than they are his.
Merlin, he knows, is technically his employee. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t considered before that he could also be something more. Arthur knows, deep down, that Merlin is not only at his side because he’s being paid, just as he knows that he would want to spend time with Merlin regardless of the state of his chambers or the cleanliness of his laundry.
He brings it up with Merlin one day. “Are we friends?” he says into the silence of his chambers. Merlin drops the pitcher he had been polishing, clearly caught off guard.
“I suppose so,” he answers carefully. He’s clearly a bit uncomfortable, but Arthur continues probing.
“How do you know?” Arthur asks.
Merlin’s nose scrunches at that. “I know you and still like you,” he decides. It’s an answer that’s a bit serious and a bit teasing, but it’s likely to be the best that Arthur will get. Merlin has always been a fan of cryptic responses.
“I know you and like you too,” Arthur says, because the silence has begun to feel oppressive and it’s his turn to talk.
He sees only a glimpse of Merlin’s face before he turns away. He can’t quite figure out what his expression means.
So now Merlin is special because he’s a friend, and Arthur doesn’t have many of those. The reason he wants to make Merlin smile is because he’d rather keep his only friend, and not just because it makes him feel as if he’s accomplished something.
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Years pass and Merlin remains at his side. They grow older, the passing summers turning them to young men. Arthur takes on more and more responsibilities in the kingdom, seeking his father’s approval. It feels harder to gain than ever.
At the same time, he steps out of his father’s shadow. He stops letting Uther select noble’s sons to be his ‘friends’ and follow him around, especially after he sees the dirty looks they give Merlin when they think Arthur’s not looking. For a while, this means that the only person he really spends any time with is Merlin, although Gwen occasionally accompanies him. Morgana seems less and less approachable by the day.
But Arthur has grown up, and he’s found out that having friends doesn’t have to be hard. It doesn’t have to be some life-changing, world-altering experience. It doesn’t mean that you have to get along all of the time or talk about your feelings constantly. Being friends can just mean you like talking with someone and enjoy their company, or simply that you can go to the tavern with them and have a good time.
Unfortunately, this doesn’t do much to increase his number of friends, as Lancelot and Gwaine are still out roaming the land and anyone in the castle he talks to is either just as stuck up as he used to be or someone who would get in trouble with his father for daring to associate with him.
Arthur keeps trying however, because he’s already decided that he doesn’t want to be the kind of king that his father is, and he understands that the respect of your subjects and forming alliances are two of the most important parts of leadership.
“What should I do?” he asks Merlin once. He knows his manservant is well liked in the castle, despite how little time he actually spends with the rest of the staff because his job keeps him nearly constantly at Arthur’s side.
“Keep trying,” Merlin tells him, before carrying a basket of laundry out the door, effectively ending the conversation.
But then the truth comes out, and Morgana is turning on them, and making new friends is the least of his worries. Before he knows it Camelot is nearly lost, and he is escaping into the woods. But Merlin is still there with him, and before he knows it there are others too.
Lancelot, who he has known nearly as long as Merlin, and who he has nearly infinite respect for.
Gwaine, who he knows is there more for Merlin rather than him, but he now counts as a friend just the same.
Leon, who he has known since he was a boy and trusted just as long.
Gwen, who has always been closer to Morgana than to him, but who now understands him better than most in their shared grief over her betrayal.
Gaius, who has watched him grow up, and who has aided him and Merlin in their ridiculous plans countless times.
He hasn’t known Elyan or Percival for long enough to get a good read on them, but they are cheerful and are willing to stand by his side.
Arthur looks at each and every one of them as they stand around the round, stone table. Even here, in an abandoned castle, about to fight an immortal army, Arthur feels far happier than he thinks he ever has been.
And then Merlin stands up. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, but he doesn’t need to. Arthur turns to him, and he can’t help but smile as their eyes meet. Merlin is smiling back at him. He’s entranced. There’s a flutter in his stomach and Arthur can’t figure out what it is .
They defeat the army, and Morgana disappears. Merlin seems more stressed than ever, bags under his eyes growing by the day. Arthur still doesn’t call him on it, because he knows his manservant has put up with a lot from him over the years.
His father remains unresponsive, which doesn’t surprise Arthur as much as it should. Although his father had always seemed to be a strong and unbreakable figure, Arthur has discovered in recent years that appearances aren’t always an indicator of reality.
He does his best to have him protected, but it doesn’t take long for Uther to be attacked. One plot is all it takes, and then the king is dead.
“I’m sorry,” is all Merlin tells him before leaving him to grieve. He has to stop himself from asking him to stay.
His father is dead, and Arthur tries not to cry. Uther would have scolded him for it, and now more than ever he needs to provide the image of a strong king. Besides, he’s practically been grieving Uther since Morgana’s betrayal, nearly a year ago.
He tells himself this, but it only helps in public. He cries that night. It isn’t until he’s calmed down that it occurs to him that his sheets smell like Merlin. Or rather, like his soap, which Merlin also smells like. He’s been ignoring the voice in the back of his head, the one that whispers that he still doesn’t have a label for what , exactly, Merlin is to him.
No one’s there to judge him if he shoves his face into his pillow and falls asleep like that.
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Life continues. He is officially crowned king, although he’s already been performing the duties for the past year. Merlin continues to aid him every step of the way, and Arthur’s never been more grateful. And Merlin becomes his confidant, his advisor, the person he trusts the most.
Merlin is missing. Merlin is gone and Arthur had watched it happen and there was nothing he could do but yell as rocks crashed down between them.
He returns to Camelot in a frenzy, riding out immediately afterward with an armed guard behind him. His uncle had tried to ask if it was necessary to mobilize such a large search party, but Arthur had silenced Agravaine with a glare.
They don’t find him.
Merlin is nowhere to be found and Arthur is back in chambers with the new manservant assigned to him. He’s supposed to be drafting a document for the court but all he can think about is boulders crashing down and bandits with swords and Merlin’s stupid, stupid face.
In Merlin’s absence, he turns to Agravaine. He trusts his uncle, he does, even if sometimes they disagree. They disagree about Merlin.
It’s only been a few days, and Agravaine’s voice has started to grate on his ears. He misses Merlin’s calm but confident guidance. He considers the fact that Merlin is simply a better advisor than his uncle, but even when he turns to Gwen, who he knows to be fair and wise and who he would trust with his life, he can’t help but miss Merlin.
So he rides out again, this time accompanied by Gwaine. It takes them no time at all to come across Merlin, so short a time that he would think he was imagining it, if not for Gwaine’s delighted exclamations.
He hugs Merlin tightly, pressing his face into the other man’s neck, ignoring the mud he can feel seeping into his clothing. By now he is used to the way his heartbeat quickens, enough so that he ignores it with little trouble.
“I’m glad we found you,” he dares to whisper into Merlin’s ear.
“I’m glad you found me too,” is the reply. Arthur laughs, but Merlin just stares at him. It’s a bit strange, but Merlin’s been through an ordeal, so he lets it go.
He brings Merlin to Camelot on the back of his horse. Everyone, including Merlin, behaves oddly for a few days, but eventually they go back to normal so Arthur doesn’t worry too much about it.
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He marries Gwen. He decides that he doesn’t have the time to go looking for love, and Gwen is nice enough. He could love her, he thinks. Someday, anyway.
He doesn’t let himself glance at Merlin, who is standing in the front row, during their wedding, at least not more than once. He steadfastly ignores the desire to turn his eyes to the crowd, pushing down the feeling in his chest. He has been doing his best to come to terms with the inexplicable nature of his fascination for his best friend.
“Congratulations,” Merlin tells him gently after the ceremony. It hurts a little to look him in the eye. He’s not quite sure why.
Arthur doesn’t respond.
That night when Gwen goes to sleep next to him, Arthur tries his best not to think about how the smell of her perfume overpowers the scent of soap lingering in his sheets.
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Merlin has disappeared again. He’s been doing that more and more lately. Arthur doesn’t like the way his chest clenches when Gwen informs him and Gaius that his manservant has gone to visit a girl. He decides it’s because Merlin didn’t tell him, didn’t confide in him, and not anything deeper.
Merlin returns a day later with a pronounced limp. Arthur doesn’t want to consider what activities Merlin could be participating in with a lover that have left him with a limp.
He’s been ignoring a lot lately, he knows that. He’s afraid that if he lets himself think about it, he’ll come to a conclusion he doesn't like.
His regime is far more tolerant than his father’s, of course, and Arthur has made it clear that it doesn’t bother him– relations of that nature. No, it’s something about Merlin that’s making him feel this way.
He brings it up the same way he starts most of their important conversations– by springing it on Merlin while they perform their respective duties in the silence of his chambers.
“I don’t mind, you know,” he starts out. Merlin freezes. “I mean, it doesn’t bother me. I understand.”
Merlin is still frozen. Arthur can’t see his face. It’s raining outside, the sound of droplets hitting rooftops filling the room.
“Could you just clarify what, exactly , you’re referring to.” Merlin’s voice is rather high. His shoulders look tense, even from across the room.
“Your little rendezvous. Whoever it was with. I don’t mind,” he finishes awkwardly.
Merlin doesn’t respond to that. His shoulders untense only slightly. They pass the rest of the night in silence before the other man returns to Gaius’ rooms for the night.
Something has changed now that Arthur knows where Merlin’s preferences lie. He can’t quite put it into words. When he was a young teenager, a few years before he’d met Merlin, he’d wondered. About himself. There would be a boy in the kitchens or a knight in training, and Arthur would take interest in their eyes, or notice a particular curl of hair around their ear. Then he had watched his father banish two men after they’d been brought in front of the court for having relations, and he’d put the thought from his head.
But he’s married to Gwen, a woman, and Merlin’s preferences have absolutely nothing to do with him. This is what Arthur tells himself as he watches Merlin limp his way down the hall.
Merlin is his best friend, and that’s that.
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Merlin tells him that Gwen has been enchanted by Morgana. He thinks it should say something about their marriage that he didn’t even notice. Gwen had seemed distant but still herself to Arthur. He saves her, of course he does, because Gwen is his friend, but it feels routine. He doesn’t feel the same even a fraction of the desperation he had felt when Merlin had been missing.
“Thank you,” he tells Merlin after they return to Camelot.
“Of course,” Merlin says. “Anything for you and Gwen. You know that.” Arthur wants to scream.
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But there’s no time to consider what any of this might mean, because suddenly Mordred is betraying them and Morgana and her army are marching toward Camelot. Arthur’s making decisions that could change the fate of his kingdom and there’s not time to think about matters like love.
Merlin tells him that he won’t be accompanying him to battle. Arthur is angry, because he can’t imagine what could possibly demand Merlin’s attention more than the fate of their kingdom. But he’s also worried, because if Merlin’s not with him then he can’t protect him, and if something happens to Merlin then Arthur will never have the chance to figure out exactly what the other man means to him. But he lets him go because he’s never been able to give orders to Merlin and a general with important looking maps is demanding his attention.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Be safe.” Merlin nods once and then he’s gone.
He can’t stop himself from hoping it’s not the last time he’ll ever see him as he watches Merlin slip out of the throne room.
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His side is on fire. In the heat of battle, he’d turned and there stood Mordred. His mind raced. His body wouldn’t keep up. There was no one to pull him out of the way. He couldn't dodge the blade.
Arthur wakes to Merlin. They’re in the woods, but he can’t remember how he ended up here, much less the end of the battle.
Merlin’s talking, but it’s confusing, and Arthur’s struggling to keep up. Something about a prophecy and defeating the Saxon army. Arthur is still fighting to keep his eyes open, but Merlin is crying, that much he can tell. Then he’s extending a hand towards the fire and Arthur’s lifting his head from the log it’s lying on to follow the motion. There’s shapes dancing there and Arthur is sure he’s not imagining them.
He considers getting angry. But frankly, he thinks he might be dying, and yelling seems like it would take a lot of energy that he doesn’t have.
There’s silence for a long moment. “Okay,” Arthur says before he lets his head fall back onto the log. He’s long since given up thinking he can understand anything about Merlin.
Merlin just stares at him.
Then, as if taking Arthur’s silence as permission, he begins to talk. He starts with the prophecy, and Arthur wonders briefly if fate is the only reason Merlin has put up with him all these years, but then he feels the firm grip of Merlin’s hand on his shoulder and that thought is gone. Maybe fate was what had sparked their meeting, but Arthur knows this is more than that. He barely even entertains the thought that Arthur’s infatuation could be blamed on prophecy or magic.
Merlin might have been talking for hours by the time Gaius arrives in the clearing. He examines Arthur’s wound and the look on his face is all that is needed for Arthur to know what the outcome will be.
Strangely, Merlin seems more upset than he does at the news of his impending death.
Arthur blinks and then he’s on a horse, the sight of trees flying by making him dizzy. At some point, Morgana catches up to them. He does his best to stay awake as she dies, owing that, at least, to the girl he once knew.
Merlin is still crying. He wants to fix it. “Just… just hold me. Please,” he says.
The tears run faster. He talks about Camelot, about their kingdom.
“Thank you,” he chokes out. His eyes close again. He can hear Merlin yelling.
“No,” he hears. “Arthur!”
He wakes again when they hit the ground. They are somewhere else. He doesn’t know how they got there, but apparently Merlin is magic, so he doesn’t try too hard to figure it out.
His head is in Merlin’s lap again. It’s nice. Merlin’s not looking at him, tears still flowing. Arthur wants to wipe them away, but his arms won’t move. Merlin hasn’t even noticed that Arthur is awake, still distraught.
Arthur wonders absently if this is how it looks when someone loses their other half, a piece of their soul. Oh, he thinks to himself. His eyes close.