Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was one of those things that blossomed over time. 

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was just rationalising it, or if it was something that was bound to confuse him as they became closer. After all, he and Merlin spent nearly every waking hour together, from the moment Merlin kicked him unceremoniously awake in the morning to when he readied Arthur for bed at night. Arthur was used to having a manservant—he’d had many before Merlin. In fact, he’d regularly sack them just to have a bit of variety, much to his father’s exasperation. Arthur didn’t like having someone close to his personal affairs for too long. It made him uncomfortable, and when his father had hired Merlin, Arthur had fully expected to sack him too before long.

And he had. He had sacked Merlin, but then he’d done something strange by his own standards: he’d rehired him. He wasn’t sure why. An instinct, maybe. Merlin had saved his life. Risked himself to prove Valiant was a danger. He was weirdly brave, and it was clear he cared. He cared for Camelot, and Arthur’s hopes for it. It was a quality Arthur couldn’t just ignore, especially as all too often it was not a trait he saw in others. 

So, Merlin stayed.

And now, so much had changed.

He was king of Camelot now. Every morning when Arthur awoke he had to remind himself of this fact. He was no longer a prince. His whole life he’d been training for this, working in pursuit of the time where he would sit on the throne and command the kingdom. That time was here, and every day was a new challenge, but he was ready. He was ready because Arthur had something he’d never expected to have on his journey—a round table of knights that he loved and cherished, a beautiful Queen that graced him with her smile and wisdom every day. And then he had Merlin, following him around like a shadow, mouthing off per usual. It was perfect. More perfect than he could ever dare dream.

And yet, Arthur lived in fear of that dream being shattered. That was the thing about perfection. It never lasted long. Life didn’t support such things, and there was still war to contend with. Morgana out there in the shadows, planning whatever scheme she had mounting. That rested heavily on Arthur’s shoulders. He figured if anyone were to destroy his current state of peace, she would be the one.

But in fact, it wasn’t Morgana that eventually shattered it. It was instead, himself. Himself, and the enigma that was Merlin.

Arthur had long wondered if Merlin knew he knew. After all, Arthur wasn’t completely blind. Over time, he had begun to suspect Merlin’s feelings were not the simple ones of a servant towards his king. In fact, even shortly after they’d met, Arthur had wondered. Here was this gangly farm boy arriving fresh from the countryside, eyes wide with wonder at things Arthur considered mundane. Merlin was Arthur’s responsibility as his personal servant, after all. His goings-on were Arthur’s problem, and so he’d kept a careful eye on Merlin’s bumbling but endearing attraction towards women. Delivering flowers to Morgana had been something Arthur had expected, as Merlin was certainly not the first newcomer to Camelot to be completely taken by her beauty, but what Arthur hadn’t expected were other attractions that soon became apparent with Merlin. 

The first time he’d truly wondered about it was with Lancelot, when Merlin had first introduced him. How had Merlin found this nobleman, Arthur wondered? Obviously, Lancelot hadn’t been a noble-born at all, which cleared things up a bit, but initially Arthur had been very confused. “Where’s Lancelot staying?” he remembered asking Merlin. 

“With me,” Merlin had answered, as if that were normal.

“Where?” Arthur asked, with genuine curiosity. “I didn’t think Gaius had the room for another resident. Is he taking up one of the sick beds?”

“No, Gaius needs those ready in case of a patient. I gave him my bed.”

“Then where are you sleeping?”

“The floor. It’s fine. I really don’t mind it.”

“We can arrange him a proper chamber,” Arthur suggested. “My father would be happy to host a nobleman I’m testing for knighthood. I can request it at once.” 

“Oh,” Merlin had said, and Arthur had noticed the disappointment. “Well, let me speak with him on it. He can decide.” 

“Alright…” Arthur said slowly, trying not to stare. “Although I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want something more comfortable.”

“I think he likes being treated as normal, actually,” Merlin explained. “Not everyone needs big, fluffy pillows every night, you know.”

“I take offence to that,” Arthur remembered saying dryly, and after that, they’d moved on in conversation. But Arthur still recalled every bit of it. It was the first time his suspicions felt justified. That perhaps Merlin was not attracted to only women. He knew it was possible to be interested in both. It was something he’d heard of before, with people being… experimental. There were whispers of knights having a certain closeness with other knights, rumours and gossip. It was none of Arthur’s business at the end of the day. He was not the sort to go poking around in people’s personal affairs. If his knights were loyal and did their job, he was happy. He merely made a note of it.

After that, the dresses had surprised him. Several times over Arthur had caught Merlin with women’s garments in hand or admiring them, and Gwen on at least one occasion had mentioned something similar. Arthur didn’t understand that fascination, but he didn’t question it. What a man did in his spare time was his business, and if Merlin wanted to wear dresses, that was fine—although Arthur would prefer Merlin didn’t steal his wife’s. Gwen didn’t mind, though. Apparently, she’d offered to sew Merlin one once and he’d gone red and politely declined. But that had been another clue in the puzzle that was Merlin.

There were other things, of course. The suspicious amount of time spent in the tavern, and then Gwaine had popped up. Arthur had once again had a passing thought about Merlin and his habit of attracting fit and talented strays. Both Lancelot and Gwaine had turned out to be some of the most excellent fighters Arthur had ever had the privilege of knowing, and Merlin had discovered them both. So, naturally, when Arthur began to have questions regarding Merlin’s feelings towards him, he really wasn’t all that surprised. Arthur was, after all, the heir to the throne. He was fit and a fighter, something of a similar build as both Lancelot and Gwaine. Perhaps Merlin had a type. If anything, it was flattering. 

But that said, if Arthur was truthful with himself, the realisation made him a little bit uncomfortable—at least at first. He wasn’t a stranger to having someone develop a crush on him. Ladies of the court had fawned over him growing up and he hadn’t liked that either. He had eyes on him all the time due to his station and this was merely another form. He wasn’t much a fan of people looking at him and wanting something. He didn’t like the burden that came with that, especially if it meant a rejection. He wasn’t good with that and avoided such encounters like the plague. 

He never had to reject Merlin though. If Arthur was correct about Merlin’s feelings, Merlin never truly confessed them. He’d gotten close. When Arthur had been preparing to face the dragon attacking Camelot, he remembered word-for-word what Merlin had said. “I know it’s hard for you to understand what I feel, but…” Merlin had begun, but then he’d trailed off.

Arthur had recoiled a little at that. He hadn’t meant to, but Merlin likely noticed. “Well, I care a hell of a lot about that armour,” Merlin had course-corrected. “I’m not going to let you mess it up.”

It was very clear after that incident. It was a confirmation of sorts that Arthur’s suspicions had been correct, but after that he was more comfortable with it. Merlin’s devotion to him was a constant—a comfort, really. It was something he could rely on, a person he knew would never leave him, and that was something he never thought he’d gain. Merlin seemed alright with his feelings not being requited. Arthur imagined he hadn’t expected them to be, and Merlin had never shown any signs of being jealous of Gwen. In fact, when Arthur’s feelings for Gwen had surfaced, Merlin had been there for him, through-and-through. He’d played the wingman, helped him win her—not that she’d really needed to be won. Arthur was grateful for him. He always would be. Everything was alright, and if Merlin still had his crush, that was okay. Merlin was far from respectful, but Arthur knew the servant would never act on his feelings without Arthur’s consent. 

What he hadn’t really considered in all this was his own feelings, or his own lack of control. 

In many ways, Arthur’s love for Gwen had been a surprise to him as well. It had been growing within him for a while, leaving him drawn to her, thinking of her, but the moment he’d kissed her, the moment things had changed between them, it had been without a thought. Arthur remembered he’d been smiling at her, taking in her kind face, her beautiful eyes, the way her hair was falling gently over her ears in the golden light. It was the most natural thing in the world to lean down and kiss her. It was bliss, and every kiss between them had been the same. The day he’d banished her was the worst day of his life, the pain of it more crushing than any injury he’d ever sustained in battle. To be reunited with her, to make the executive decision to bring her back despite everything… 

Well. It was the best decree he’d ever made. The court had murmured, the talk was negative, but Arthur didn’t much care. He wouldn’t repeal it for anything. To wake up beside her and have her hand in his was a blessing, and he couldn’t imagine sitting on the throne without her beside him. He didn’t care that she was not a nobleborn woman, didn’t even truly care that she had been with Lancelot. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d chosen him, and he’d chosen her, countless times over. They’d weathered every storm. They were unbreakable. 

And thus, Arthur wasn’t sure why he’d created another storm. He wasn’t sure why he’d do that to himself, and to Gwen. Why would he test their armour once again? But just like when he’d first kissed Gwen, he hadn’t thought it through. He hadn’t meant to do it. 

It was a normal day. A perfectly normal day. Arthur had requested a bath, and Merlin had drawn him one. Arthur had gotten in, exhaling as the warm water soothed his battered body. He’d just come from training, and with every year that passed it felt like he weathered the hits less and less. He wasn’t all that old, still fighting fit at 28, but he could begin to feel the effects of age. He was starting to better understand his father’s complaints about creaky joints and old wounds flaring up. 

Merlin was very helpful in this regard. His physician studies with Gaius over the years had made him quite capable when it came to healing. “I’ve added ginger, birch bark, and yarrow to the water,” he told Arthur, just as Arthur was about to ask. “Gaius said it’s supposed to help soothe the muscles.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur murmured, which was true. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the effects of the herbs while Merlin poured water over his hair, beginning to massage and wash it.

“You’ve got a lot of mud on you,” Merlin noted with distaste as he began to gently brush it away with circular scrubs. “Did Percival knock you to the ground hard enough to coat you in it?”

“His attacks are truly amazing,” Arthur marvelled, which was a yes. “I’ve never encountered a knight that could clobber someone with a mace quite like him. His strength is that of two men combined.”

“Good thing he’s on our side, then.”

“Indeed.”

They’d descended into silence after that, but it was a comfortable silence. They’d developed that over time, and Arthur quite enjoyed that they could just sit in quiet comfort. It didn’t feel awkward or strange, and he just enjoyed lying there in the warmth, Merlin’s hands in his hair and then on his chest as Merlin moved on to rub his sore shoulder and side. 

He groaned when Merlin touched a tender spot at his left ribs. “There?” Merlin said softly and Arthur nodded. Merlin hissed in sympathy, his touch growing gentler. “Percival does know your weak points, doesn’t he? Didn’t Sir Accolon hit you there in last year’s jousting tourney?”

“Yes, good memory,” Arthur said, his eyes still closed. He grimaced as Merlin continued to put pressure on the spot. “‘S my fault, really. I’m not adept at guarding my left side. I favour my right. Percival seems to have noticed.”

“Mm, yes, I’ve noticed that too,” Merlin said. “You lean a bit to the right when you attack. Gives it away. Something to correct.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. He glared at Merlin’s cheeky face. “Are you giving me fighting advice?”

“Well, it seems you need it.” Merlin pressed a little bit harder on the spot and Arthur yelped. The servant laughed, and Arthur splashed him.

“Should sack you,” he muttered as he closed his eyes again. 

“I’ve been here nine years,” Merlin reminded him. “If you were going to sack me over something like this, you’d have done it already.”

“Hm, that’s true,” Arthur relented. “Do I really lean to the right?”

“Only sometimes. Not with a sword, but with a mace, yes. I suppose you’re more comfortable with a sword.”

“I see. Didn’t realise you were paying such close attention to my fighting technique, Merlin. Finally taking an interest, are you?”

“No, just looking out for you,” Merlin answered, and he moved away for a moment, returning with something sweet-smelling coating his hands. He began to work that into the tender spot, one hand on Arthur’s left side and the other doing the same on the opposite. Arthur sighed in relief. The motion left Merlin’s scarf tickling Arthur’s face and Arthur opened his eyes, crinkling his nose as he stifled a sneeze.

“Can you take your scarf off?” he murmured. “It’s getting in my face.”

“Oh, sorry,” Merlin said, and he tugged the scarf off, discarding it. Arthur kept his eyes open as Merlin returned to his massaging, watching Merlin’s face above his. The servant’s eyes were narrowed in concentration and Arthur smiled. As much as he ragged on Merlin for being a dunce at his job, he wasn’t really. He clearly put a lot of intention into it, and Arthur wasn’t great at saying thank you for that. But he was very thankful. 

After a moment, Merlin finished working in whatever paste he’d created for Arthur’s wounds. “There,” he said with satisfaction. He was proud of himself, like Arthur was his pet project. Arthur figured in some ways he kind of was. It was more or less Merlin’s job description. “It should feel better by tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said softly, because he should say that. He didn’t say it nearly enough.

Merlin’s smile widened at it. “Thank you?” he echoed in surprise, his face still just above Arthur’s. Arthur could see his every feature so clearly. The blue of his eyes, the dark stubble from a few days without shaving. The curve of his pale neck, which was so often hidden by his stupid little triangle scarves. They’re called neckerchiefs, Merlin had insisted. Whatever. 

“Do you not want me to thank you ever?” Arthur said back. “Fine, then. You’re a horrid servant. Deserving of no thanks. Absolutely terrible.”

“Ah, there you are, thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Merlin joked, shaking his head as he cupped Arthur’s jaw, about to prepare him for his weekly shave. Merlin’s fingers trailed across Arthur’s jawline and he was smiling, still hovering just above him, and it was then Arthur moved.

He hadn’t meant to. He would swear to the Devil himself that no premeditated thought ever truly crossed his mind. One moment he was just staring at Merlin’s rosy lips and the next he had arced his head just slightly and kissed them, upside-down, with his nose to Merlin’s exposed neck. Merlin’s sassy mouth was as soft as it looked, the kiss so natural and beautiful, and yet unlike when Arthur had first kissed Gwen, Merlin did not kiss him back.

The moment broke. Merlin pulled away so violently that it left Arthur falling back to the tub, banging his head on the side of it. “Ow,” he grumbled, and then Merlin was gone—absolutely bolted. Arthur was immediately flooded with a dark horror he’d never felt before. It consumed him like a shadow as he jolted up and out of the bath, nearly face-planting as he did. “Merlin!” he called, but the servant was already gone, the door banging shut behind him. 

“Ffyc,” Arthur whispered to himself, and he clutched at his wet hair, his head dizzy as he tried to comprehend what the hell he just did. Did he just kiss Merlin? Did he just kiss Merlin? He was standing, naked, dripping wet in the centre of his chambers, his whole world tilting beneath him whilst he tried to come to terms with his own actions. He’d been aware of Merlin’s feelings, yes, but his own—

This was new. This was completely new. 

Right?

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d just been pushing down something that had risen to the surface without prompt. 

In a rush, Arthur grabbed a towel, whispering a string of flurried curses under his breath as he did. He ducked behind his changing divider for his clothes, trying to hurriedly throw something on so he could go after Merlin without being indecent, but then he heard the door open.

He slumped with relief. “Merlin,” he said, hastily tugging his trousers back on. “Merlin, I—I apologise. I don’t know what came over me, truly, I don’t want—”

He stepped out from behind the divider, and immediately froze. 

“You’re… not Merlin,” he choked out, and Guinevere smiled at him. 

“No, I am this strange being called your wife,” Gwen teased as she strode up to him, her purple, gauzy skirts swirling. She was so different from Merlin, so attractive in such a completely different way, and Arthur stood still as a statue as she kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, your hair is wet,” she said as she ran her fingers through it. The movement made Arthur shiver, thinking of how Merlin had just done that. “Is that why you thought I was Merlin? Did he go to get more soap? It smells nice.”

“I—yes, sort of,” Arthur muttered, his voice strained. “He’s, erm. He’s been mixing some new things to help with my sore muscles from training.”

That was true. Not a lie. 

“That’s nice,” Gwen said, and she had her arms over his shoulders now, looking into his eyes. Arthur forced himself to do the same. Their noses brushed against each other, and Gwen gave him a soft kiss. He returned it, on instinct. It still felt so natural, so right. He loved her so much.

So why had he kissed Merlin?

“Why were you apologising just now?” 

Arthur blinked, stunned, as he processed that Gwen had pulled away. She’d asked him a question. “Hm? Oh, I, er. I got water everywhere.”

That was also true, and Gwen looked to the floor. “That you did,” she said with a hint of amusement, but that soon faded. “And… why did Merlin leave his neckerchief?”

Arthur flinched violently, pulling away from Gwen to look back at the bath. Merlin’s red scarf lay discarded on the floor, which no doubt looked strange. “Ah,” Arthur said, because he had zero explanation for that except for the truth, which felt like the wrong thing to say right now. It was tickling my face and then I accidentally kissed him and he bolted. “Must’ve been bothering him. I’ll, erm. I’ll go bring it back to him. Be back in a bit.”

He broke away from Gwen, guilt consuming him as he walked over and swiped up the neckerchief. It was damp from all the water he’d splashed around. He then went and grabbed his tunic, throwing it on and trying to calm his heart pounding in his ears.

He stole a glance at Gwen, only to find her looking at him critically. That was not good. “I thought you said he was coming back?” she asked slowly. 

Damn. Arthur knew he was a terrible liar. He knew his guilt must be written all over his face and he looked at Gwen, his wife, his love, his Queen, and he noted the knit of her eyebrows, the confusion in her soft eyes. It was like a stab to the gut, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t bring himself to explain. 

“Knowing him, he’s, ah, probably already gotten distracted,” Arthur fumbled. “I’ll just go fetch him.”

And with that, he tried to escape, but Gwen was not about to let him. She caught his arm by the elbow and pulled him back before he could reach the door, forcing him to look at her properly. Her touch was gentle, not forced, and Arthur could easily rip his arm out of her grip, but he didn’t want to. He surrendered to her touch.

“Arthur,” Gwen said, and Arthur melted at how she said his name. No one said it like her, even when she said it like that, with a bit of sterness. It was a voice she used when she was serious, when she was telling him to not shut her out like he often did on instinct. He’d never been good about sharing his feelings. “What’s wrong? You’re acting erratic. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” Arthur said. A lie. Such a blatant lie, and Gwen knew it. She frowned at him, her cute little pout, and she cupped his face in her hands. 

“Arthur,” she said again, and it was like she was hypnotising him, grounding him with his own name. “Don’t lie to me. You don’t need to. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together. Just tell me so I can help. Okay?”

Arthur quivered in her arms, trying to find the words. He tried to choke it out. His confusion, his mistake, Merlin’s reaction. She should know. She deserved to know. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her face fall, or to feel her hands leave his skin, perhaps never to return.

“It’s… I…” he stammered uselessly. “It’s Merlin. He’s upset about something. He doesn’t want me to tell you. I think I should go talk to him.”

That was, in fact, not a lie. Not totally. Gwen’s eyes were still studying him, and she didn’t seem to entirely believe him. She dropped her hands from his face, letting them trail down to his chest.

“Is he okay?” she asked, softly, and of course she cared. Merlin was just as important to her as he was to him. Arthur knew this. “Why does he not want me to know?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, and he was speaking for himself now, not Merlin. “I think he’s going through some things. I’m going to go speak with him, and see what I can do. Then I’ll come back and we can talk properly. Is… is that alright?”

“Yes, alright,” Gwen relented, and she stepped back. She began to take her hair out of its up-do, carefully picking out the pins. She migrated to her side table, placing them down in a neat pile. “I’ll be here.”

Suddenly, Arthur could feel tears prickling his eyes. Watching her, so perfect, unwinding and letting her hair down after her day—it sent guilt alight in him like a flame. The sun was beginning to set, drowning their chambers in golden light. It made her curls glow, and then Arthur was stalking across the length of the room to embrace her, sweeping her off her feet with his hand at her waist, kissing her deeply. 

She giggled as he did it, kissing him back through her smile. When he brought her back up to her feet her hair was a bit frizzy, only half out of its braid. “I love you,” Arthur said before she could say anything. “So much. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that, I love you, too,” Gwen laughed and she kissed his nose. “My, you’re in a romantic mood all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am,” Arthur said, and he kissed her again, just feeling the heat of their love for a moment. It was all still there—the sparks, the butterflies, the sheer happiness that she was in his arms after all this time. It hadn’t waned, and that was a relief, even if it made everything all the more confusing.

He finally let her go, resting his forehead on hers for a moment. “I need to go talk to Merlin,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. He’d kissed his manservant. He’d kissed someone that was not his wife, this woman in his arms, and that thought made his skin crawl with horror.

“Okay,” Gwen whispered back, and she stroked his jawline with a single finger. Merlin hadn’t shaved him, and there was stubble. “As I said. I’ll be here.” 

She grinned a little wickedly at him, pulling away and beginning to undo her dress. Arthur stared at her for a moment like some lovestruck teen, enraptured as she pulled the fabric down a bit, exposing her shoulders. Her skin was bronze in the orange light…

Then Arthur kicked himself out of her spell. He bumbled away, listening to Gwen’s beautiful, bell-like laugh as he roughly scooped up Merlin’s neckerchief, fleeing his own chambers before he was further seduced by his own wife. 

Well. He was still attracted to women. That was settled. Arthur breathed a little easier at that whilst he made his way to the physician’s chambers, even as he mentally kicked himself for not confessing to Gwen right there and then. That would have to wait until he returned. 

For now, a completely different problem awaited him ahead. 

~O~

Gaius was not there when Arthur very gingerly entered the physician’s chambers, feeling like an invader. Everything sat quiet, undisturbed, and Merlin’s door was closed. A bit of fear pulsed through Arthur if he wondered if Merlin was even there. Where would he go, if not here? Arthur’s brain swam with a few different options, but he focused on this one first as he crossed the length of the main room, planting a soft knock on Merlin’s door.

“Merlin?” he called, quietly, and he was suddenly overcome with nerves. Merlin’s face after Arthur had kissed him haunted his mind. The sheer shock in his eyes, followed quickly by horror. Part of Arthur felt so strange thinking about it. Merlin hadn’t kissed him back, not even a little. He was surprised by that. Had he not wanted this, deep down? 

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Perhaps Arthur had startled him, or perhaps Merlin just didn’t want to hurt Gwen. Merlin clearly hadn’t expected Arthur to ever do something like that, and Arthur himself hadn’t expected it. He was the one that had made it messy. He needed to fix it. Now.

“Merlin?” Arthur called again, and he rapped on the door once more, a little harder now, more urgent. “Please, if you’re in there, I really need to talk to you. I’m… I’m very sorry.”

He waited, listening, giving it a moment before he decided to move on to other potential places Merlin might’ve gone. But then Arthur heard it. He was a keen hunter, after all, with a good ear. He could detect the soft, subtle sounds of movement, of feet shuffling on wood.

“Merlin, I can hear you in there,” Arthur said sharply. “Please open up.”

No response. After another second of waiting, Arthur sighed. 

“Don’t make me order you,” he said, on instinct, and he immediately regretted it. This probably wasn’t the time for him to be using his king privileges. “I really need to talk with you. Please?”

There was another pause. Then, footsteps, and the door swung open. Merlin stood there, unsteady, his eyes noticeably red and his face puffy. He’d been crying. That’s what he hadn’t wanted Arthur to see, and a slice of guilt crashed through him.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said again, the apology rushing out of him like it could fix things. It couldn’t. “Can we—can I come in and talk?”

“You’re the king, not me,” Merlin murmured with a trace of enmity, and he stepped out of the way. Arthur swallowed roughly as he moved past him, entering Merlin’s room.

He’d been in here several times before, although mostly on raids. His insides squirmed a little at the thought. It wasn’t much, just a simple bed, a side table, a desk. A trunk for Merlin’s things, and a small window that provided a stunning view out into the town. Arthur didn’t have that, as his window looked out into the castle courtyard. He supposed that was nice.

Merlin also didn’t have any chairs. Arthur supposed he should’ve grabbed one from the main room but it was too late to go back now. He opted to awkwardly stand on one side of the bed by the window instead, Merlin standing on the other side. The bed being between them was somehow worse. Perhaps coming in here was a bad idea, but Arthur was somewhat worried about Gaius returning and hearing them talking through the door. At least this way they’d hear him enter. 

“You, erm, forgot your neckerchief… thing,” Arthur said awkwardly, taking Merlin’s scarf and putting it on the windowsill. It was a terrible conversation opener. 

Merlin just stared at him. There was mid-afternoon light pouring in through the window, directing a beam of warm yellow over to the other side of the room. It hit Merlin’s shoulder, but he was standing in the shadows, half-hidden in the darkness. The silence between them was no longer comfortable and safe. It was charged and awkward and Arthur didn’t know what else to say to break it, even though it was him that had initiated all of this. All of this was his fault.

Merlin was the one to eventually break the silence. “Have you told Gwen?” he asked with fear in his voice, speaking barely above a whisper. His fear was mirrored in his face.

“No,” Arthur answered, tense. He exhaled, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “No. I should have. I didn’t… I don’t really know what to say.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Of course I’m going to tell her,” Arthur snapped, looking back at him, and he didn’t know why he sounded so mad. This wasn’t on Merlin. He was angry with himself. “I can’t not tell her. She’s my wife, Merlin. The Queen.”

“I know that,” Merlin snapped back, and his eyes were like steel. “So what the hell were you thinking? What was that?” 

“I… I don’t know,” Arthur said, and he fiddled with his mother’s ring, twisting it around and around and around. God, he was just like his father, wasn’t he? He’d been so angry when he’d learnt of his father’s affair with Morgana’s mother. He imagined Morgana had been even more furious to discover it, and Arthur didn’t even know if that relationship had been consensual. His father had refused to elaborate, descending into his illness. This had only been a small kiss, no planned tryst, but Arthur had crossed a terrible line and he knew it. Merlin hadn’t asked for this. “I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” Merlin said, and his voice cracked. He was shaking a little, his arms wrapped around himself like he was cold. He couldn’t quite meet Arthur’s eyes. “I didn’t realise… I didn’t think you…” 

He didn’t finish the thought. What he meant was obvious. I didn’t know you liked men.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Arthur said again, like repeating himself might help. “I didn’t realise I was having these kinds of… thoughts.”

It was a bad way of saying it. Merlin looked more than a little crushed, which Arthur didn’t like. He hated administering rejection and Merlin looked away, focusing on his boots instead. “So you… didn’t mean to do it?” 

“Did I mean to cheat on my wife? No!” Arthur exclaimed and Merlin closed his eyes. 

“That’s… that’s not what I meant,” he whispered, and Arthur knew that. Merlin had been asking if he’d meant it. If there were feelings involved, romantic thoughts, and not just a bit of curiosity with men.

Arthur didn’t quite have an answer for that yet. It was all a bit too much. Too new. “I don’t know what it was, exactly,” he said, which was true. “I haven’t figured that out yet, and I’m sorry. I understand what a horrible situation this puts you in. I haven’t given you any choice in the matter.”

“No, you haven’t,” Merlin said lowly, a bit of anger leaking into his voice again, and Arthur could see the pain swirling within him. It was obvious how much Merlin didn’t wish to be some romantic experiment, how it was killing him to be involved in something that hurt Gwen. It was also very clear how his own feelings were eating him alive.“But it’s fine. It’s… fine. We can fix this.”

“Can we?” Arthur said doubtfully, and he watched as Merlin began to pace, his movements driven by panic. That was never a good sign.

“You can tell Gwen that it… that it was all my fault,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s skin was already prickling with unease at the idea. “That it was me that kissed you, not the other way around. A lapse of judgement on my part. Tell her I’d been drinking last night with Gwaine or something, he’ll back me up. I made a mistake. She’ll believe it. I’ll resign immediately as your manservant. Stay on as Gaius’ assistant, perhaps still going on any journeys, but I’ll take a step back from your private life. Give you space and not leave any room for further… incidents. Or you could…”

Merlin swallowed. “Or you could banish me.”

He said it with such fear, and Arthur frowned at him. “Merlin, I’m not going to banish you,” he said with force, securing that at least. “And I’m not accepting a resignation, either. You didn’t do anything wrong. Lying and saying you did will only create talk and make you a target. It’ll just stir up an even bigger disaster, and I don’t want that.” 

“I know,” Merlin said, and he looked so shaken that Arthur had the sudden urge to go over and comfort him. He immediately clamped down on that feeling. No more mistakes. “But this is the solution I have. You and Gwen are meant to be together, Arthur. I know you are. It’s why I sent Gwen to Ealdor when she was banished, why I routed us there when we were on the run. You are destined to rule Camelot together, I am sure of it, and I promised myself— swore to myself I’d never come between you two.” 

Merlin was crying now, fully, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, and Arthur had not wanted this. He wanted to stop it, but he wasn’t sure how. “Do you know how many times I—” Merlin choked out, and he was shaking like a leaf. “How many times I’ve stopped myself—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, but Arthur knew what he was saying. All this time and Arthur had only marginally, casually thought about how hard this must be for Merlin. To care about someone in more than a platonic way and then to be with that person daily. To wake him, to bathe him, to dress him and spend so much time with him, all while knowing it wasn’t meant to be anything more. Arthur had felt terrible pain in thinking he and Gwen could not be, for she was a servant. He’d overridden that, but for some time, it had caused him great turmoil. He imagined Merlin’s pain was similar, if not far worse, especially now. Arthur had made it worse. All this time Merlin had held himself back, stopped himself from acting on his feelings, and now Arthur had acted upon his own without thought. How stupid he was. How selfish and reckless. He’d hurt two people in a span of a second, and one of those people didn’t even know it yet.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said again, and once again, it was a useless thing to say. “I’d—I’d suspected you’d had some sort of… feelings. I didn’t want to pry. But I guess now is the time to ask if I was… correct?”

Merlin didn’t say anything at first. He was just fighting back his sobs, gently, the tears rolling down his face as he stared at Arthur. “Do you even need to ask?” he managed finally, his voice raw, and Arthur winced.

The confession, if it could be called that, drenched him in discomfort. Merlin was right, of course, Arthur hadn’t really needed the confirmation. He looked down, embarrassed and not wanting to watch Merlin cry. “I—I did not want this,” he said, which was a useless thing to say. “I never meant to lead you on. This was my mistake, not yours. I’m supposed to be a man of honour, and I’ve dragged you into a raging storm, not thinking of anyone but myself. I’ll be the one to make it right, if that can even be done. Lying isn’t the answer.” 

He looked up again, gauging Merlin’s reaction, and the servant’s lower lip quivered. He looked terrified, but he nodded, pulling himself together. “You’re the king, Arthur,” he said, as if Arthur needed the reminder. His voice was thick with chained emotion. “It’s your decision, not mine. It’s not like there’ll be repercussions for you like there were for Gwen. It’s not like she has the option to leave you. I don’t either unless you grant it.” 

Arthur flinched at that, but he was right of course. Sometimes he forgot his own level of power. Merlin could not resign without Arthur’s permission, and it wasn’t like Arthur would get banished for infidelity, as Gwen had. He was the monarch, a ruler beloved by his people, and kings took mistresses all the time. It was commonplace, even if a bit frowned upon by official standards. There was no such thing as divorce for kings. Gwen could not leave unless she wanted to be a social pariah, and she’d already had a terrible taste of that once. Arthur could not bear to put her through that again, and he didn’t want to. There would be no separation, no remarrying, and overall, there would be no consequences for him other than emotional ones. Maybe that’s why he’d done it. Was he that used to getting what he wanted that he’d acted so unconsciously? 

He was a terrible hypocrite. The self-loathing he felt in this moment overwhelmed him, and Arthur ran his hands through his hair in distress, still damp from the bath. It had been what, an hour? And he had single-handedly ruptured his marriage, thrown Merlin’s nine-year job security for a loop, and probably irreparably destroyed Gwen’s friendship with Merlin—not to mention his own. He deserved banishment for that, but abandoning the kingdom wasn’t an option. He had to stay here, and he had no interest in either Gwen or Merlin leaving his side. 

“You don’t really want to leave Camelot, do you?” he asked, deeply terrified of the answer. “Because I have no wish to keep you here against your will if you did want to… leave.” 

“No, of course I don’t want to leave,” Merlin said without hesitation, and Arthur let out an audible sigh of relief. “This is my home. I belong here, with… you.”

He said the last part with hesitation, which was not lost on Arthur. “Yes, you do,” Arthur agreed, affirming it as he rested the back of his head against the window for a moment, thinking. “Okay. Just… okay. Stay here for now, will you? Don’t do anything drastic. I know you’re thinking about it.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur pushed on before he could. “I’m going to go for a ride,” he decided. “I need some time to think. Alone. To process all of this. Then I’ll talk to Gwen properly. She and I have been through so much, and we’ve come back from something like this before. We can… I’m hoping we can get through this too. I’ll talk to her and then we’ll go from there. So don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything rash. Please, promise me that.”

Merlin pursed his lips, not answering right away. Arthur waited for him to argue, but Merlin just nodded. “Yes, sire,” he said tersely, formally. Arthur didn’t like that one bit.

“Don’t do that,” he ordered, frowning. “Don’t shut yourself off from me and pretend I’m just the king to you. It’s not helpful.” 

Merlin flinched a little, his eyes still glassy with tears. “Yes, sire,” he said again, quieter now, and he’d put a barrier up. Him, Merlin, putting up a wall between the two of them, when they’d both worked so hard to tear such things down. Arthur hated everything about it. 

“Alright, fine, be that way,” Arthur muttered, more hotly than intended, which he knew was entirely unfair. He knew Merlin was just trying to protect himself and also Arthur from further ruin, but he stalked towards the door angrily, trying to open it. He pulled it with force, but the door just rattled, not opening. He tried it again and it didn’t budge.

“It, er, it gets stuck like that sometimes,” Merlin said. “You gotta jiggle it at the right angle, here—”

He stepped in, ducking between Arthur’s arms to move the door in the exact way it needed to open. They were awfully close to each other now, which wasn’t lost on either of them, and when the door swung open, Arthur hovered for a moment in the doorway. He and Merlin just looked at each other, their faces close, in a way they’d done countless times—but things were different now. 

Then Merlin pulled away, jolting back like he’d been burnt. Arthur didn’t enjoy the stab of pain he got from that as he stomped out the door, letting it swing shut behind him. He gulped in air, fighting back his own tears as he fled the physician’s chambers for the comfort of the stables. 

“Out,” he ordered the stable boy sharply as he stalked into the familiar expanse of the barn, relishing the smell of hay. The boy skittered away immediately, eyes wide, and Arthur vaguely realised the stablehand was new. Arthur didn’t even know his name. He’d probably given the poor kid a fright and his self-loathing deepened. For ages he’d feared his father’s less desirable traits would rise up in him once he became king, much as he’d seen it in Morgana with her own levels of power. This was two instances in one day. He was acting on instinct and ingrained privilege. What was wrong with him? Was this not what Gwen had worked to weed out of him to begin with? Is that not what made him begin to see her in a different light? Was he not working to make everyone more equal, to create a symbol in the round table?

He sort of wanted to punch himself in the face, but that wasn’t helpful. Instead, he tacked up his own horse, Hengreon, which he hadn’t done in ages. A stablehand usually did it, or Merlin if they were on a journey. But it felt good to do it with his own two hands, like counteracting this terrible pit of power abuse he’d fallen into lately. He located his own saddlecloth and girth, securing his own saddle. He kept his movements gentle as he untied Hengreon from his post, and he noticed Gwen’s white mare, Llamrei, in the stall next to them. Arthur stared at her glorious coat for a moment, remembering how he’d gifted Llamrei to Gwen, and something terrible twisted in his heart, thinking of the betrayal she was going to feel when he told her. He placed the metal bit gently into Hengreon’s mouth before securing the bridle to his head. Then he dropped his stirrups into the proper position, did a quick check, and mounted in one clean sweep, careening out of the stables at full speed.

The guards jumped out of his way as he barreled out of the gate and across the drawbridge. Everyone jumped out of his way. He didn’t even need to call for it. Everyone knew to clear the way for the king and before long Arthur had swept through the lower town and was cantering into the Darkling Forest, the trees engulfing him. The temperature cooled off in the shade. Leaves crunched under foot, the beginnings of Hidref, the season of the stag’s rutt. 

Arthur instantly felt calmer as soon as he was in the forest. He loved the castle, loved his people and his knights of the round table, but this right here, this was his Camelot. The forest, and the many others within Camelot’s borders. Its rolling hills, its mountains, its wild animals. Castles came and went, kings came and went, but this was what really made up his kingdom. 

After a bit of progress on the trail, Arthur slowed Hengreon from a canter to a walk, running his hand through the horse’s mane for comfort. Then he just breathed in and out, in and out, trying to collect his thoughts. His mind was reeling not just with the mess he’d created, but also the new, confusing fact that he apparently had romantic thoughts towards men. That was really new. He didn’t think he’d had any of those thoughts before… right?

Maybe he had. It was hard to say, difficult to sort out normal thoughts from the not-normal thoughts, everyday desires from romantic desires. He’d long found women pleasant to stare at, admiring their long hair and soft features. He’d long found men admirable, noting their build or grace, or their skill in battle. Were those the same thing? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps attraction to men was different than attraction to women. Perhaps you noticed different things. What did Gwen like about him?

He thought about that, trying to remember if they’d ever discussed it. He was sure they had. “I love how your hair is golden in the sun,” he recalled her saying once, which was similar to something he’d thought of her. Her curls, and how they fell around her face, how they seemed to glow in the sunlight. She had little freckles that dotted her nose. He liked to count them, and he’d admire her body, her soft curves and warm brown skin, her long fingers in his hair. 

Arthur supposed he’d noticed Merlin’s features in a similar way. His dark mop of hair, his angler face. His round ears and naturally lithe form, those long fingers. He had such pale skin, prone to sunburn, and his worn boots had terrible traction, leaving him skittering around on the castle floors like a newborn fowl. Arthur had noticed all that, stared at all that, many times. Merlin and Gwen looked completely different, and yet his staring wasn’t all that different, was it? Nor his wish to be close to them. To be held by them. Cared for by them. 

“I love your crooked smile,” Gwen would say, which had made him self-conscious. He’d never been terribly happy with his teeth, but he loved her smile, and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. Merlin’s laugh made him happy too. If he was honest, Arthur pursued Merlin’s laugh. He prided himself on getting the servant to laugh louder than anyone else did.

“I love how much you care about Camelot, about your people,” Gwen had said. “I love the way you trust, the way you act out of love.” And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Arthur knew he was drawn to people with steadfast loyalty, people that understood his duty to the kingdom. Gwen understood that deeply, and she shared it with him.

Merlin did, too.

In fact, perhaps that was it—the end all be all of it. It was so obvious and Arthur suddenly felt like he’d been hit over the head with the blunt end of a sword. So much of what he loved about Gwen, so much of what had drawn him to her, Merlin shared. That deep loyalty to Camelot, and the way they both spoke to him plainly. In so many ways, they treated him not just as a king but as a human being. They respected his station, supported him in a way that helped him endure the hardships of it, but they also helped him let down his guard and just… be. They helped him live, enabled him to be more than just a tool for the kingdom. They were both servants, both familiar with a side of life Arthur was not, and they helped him see that. 

At the end of the day, Merlin and Gwen made him better. 

It was something Arthur could hardly begin to comprehend. It was a strange, beautiful thing, and something that he was so drawn to that it overwhelmed him. Perhaps that was why it had been so natural for him to kiss them both, why he’d found himself desiring to be close to them all the time. They’d changed him. For years his father had stuffed laws and duties into his head, separating him from other people, isolating him. Gwen and Merlin had prevented that from continuing, keeping him connected, involved, loved and cherished. If they were both pleasing to look at while they did it, that didn’t hurt, right? He couldn’t imagine his life without Gwen and Merlin in it, couldn’t imagine not having both of them at his side. He didn’t want anything to change.

But Arthur wasn’t deserving of all that love, really. That was what bothered him. Gwen and Merlin were so adept at showcasing their love, so talented at being there for him in every way he needed. Arthur, in contrast, was rubbish at it. He was king on birth alone, and he strived so hard to be worthy of that, but he wasn’t sure if he was. He’d made so many mistakes and now he’d made another one—one that estranged them both in one go. What an absolute excuse for a man he was. He deserved to keep riding on and not look back. Gwen would make a better ruler than him anyway. She could find another king, a better one than him. One that was more deserving of her. Merlin too, as he should find himself someone that would respect him and look out for his feelings, one that would not so carelessly test his boundaries. 

But that was useless talk, wasn’t it? Arthur could see Gwen’s frown in his mind’s eye as she tapped his nose like he was a sad puppy. “No self negative talk,” she’d say, each word with a tap. “That’s not helping anyone. If you have things to work on, work on them. There is no changing the past.”

She was right, of course. There was no changing the past. He was the king, a full grown man, and he needed to face his mistakes like one. No more running. No more excuses, and with that, Arthur yanked Hengreon’s reins and turned them around. He looked at Camelot in the distance above the trees, taking in the sight of the white towers he called home, and his Queen somewhere within them. He needed to go talk to her. No more avoiding it. He was a knight, and knights did not avoid conflict.

And with that, Arthur raced back to Camelot.

~O~

Gwen was waiting for him when he returned, just as she’d said she would be. Arthur had to fight the panic that rose in him the moment he saw her.

She was dressed in her nightgown. A beautiful white one, with lace that draped her in splendour, and she sat at Arthur’s desk like the angel she was, writing something. She glanced up when he entered and a smile graced her face.

“There you are,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and love, and Arthur was so overwhelmed with guilt at the look in her soft eyes, the slow blink of her long lashes. “I was starting to worry.”

“No need,” Arthur said quietly as he crossed the room. He settled by the bed, leaning against the post as he stared at her. He forced himself to not pull away. He was going to face this. No more running. “What are you writing?”

“Oh, nothing special,” Gwen said, and she put her quill back in the pot. “Just keeping a little journal of thoughts. Did you talk to Merlin?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered, and Gwen knit her forehead. 

“Is he okay?” 

“No.”

“In what way?”

Arthur paused, quivering a little as he struggled to form the words. This was it. He had to say it. “I… did something to him,” he managed to say. “It’s my fault entirely. I hurt him.”

Gwen’s smile completely faded and Arthur hated that. He braced himself for what was to come. “Hurt him?” Gwen repeated, and she was on the alert now. “Hurt him how?”

“I hurt… you,” Arthur whispered, continuing despite her question, just trying to get the words out. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at her. “I hurt the both of you. Not intentionally, but I have.”

“What did you do to hurt me?”

Arthur was definitely shaking now. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, opening his mouth to just say it. But again, he couldn’t do it.

“Arthur?” Gwen’s voice was worried now, pressing him. She deserved to know. She deserved to know.

“I kissed him,” Arthur blurted out, and then he was opening his eyes. He’d said it. He’d finally said it. “I kissed Merlin. I… I don’t know what came over me, but I kissed Merlin. I’m so… I’m so s-sorry, Gwen.”

He exhaled shakily, his whole body wracked like he’d just come from battle. He stared at her, and she stared at him. Husband and wife, king and queen, with Gwen just stunned for a moment. 

Arthur prepared himself for the worst. He prepared himself for her tears. For her anger. For betrayal that he understood too well. He expected her to rage at him, to throw things. He deserved it.

But instead, Gwen’s soft lips curved into the smallest, wondrous of smiles.

“Well,” she said softly, almost in awe, and her eyes were sparkling.

“That has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”