Chapter Text
Bedding was perhaps one of the most insufferable chores humans had ever invented. Strip the bed, clean the bedding, make the bed, then have to do it all again what felt barely moments later.
Beds were just too big, especially those of nobles. Where did Arthur get off, having such a big bed like that? What did he need with so much space? There was only one of him! It was ridiculous. Waste of cloth – and of stuffing for the mattress, come to think of it. Merlin’s folks from back in Ealdor would have felt luxurious if they had shared between three of them what Arthur used for one man.
Wasn’t that always the way, though? Yet he didn’t mind it so much when it came to the food, or the drink, or the space, because unlike bedding, they at least weren’t such ridiculous and insufferable chores to tend to. Blankets took forever to straighten, pillows took forever to fluff, bedsheets never fully fit in the wash basin to be scrubbed, don’t even mention putting on the duvet covers, and-
The door to Arthur’s chambers swung open, pulling Merlin from his irritated thoughts. By instinct he turned to look at whoever had come in, and as a result he had to make direct eye contact with Arthur. His plan to just not acknowledge it if they ran into each other was no longer an option. The king didn’t look too chuffed about running into him either; clearly the events of the previous night were as indelible to him as they were to Merlin.
Merlin at least had the excuse of his work to let him avert his eyes, which was a buffer they both welcomed. He turned away as quickly as he could, pretending that putting on a pillowcase required his full attention. As far as Merlin could tell, Arthur was just standing there. He didn’t know if his eyes were on him, or if he too was trying to look anywhere else.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. Merlin didn’t need to look to know that he was doing that stupid hands-on-hips pose he always pulled when he felt like he had to appear strong and self-assured.
“… Uh, I apologise. I didn’t know you were in here.”
He spoke with a reservation he typically used for addressing acquaintances and allies. He’d never spoken to Merlin like that before. He allowed him a glance, and shrugged. Merlin had decided he was going to play this off; that was better than whatever the alternative might be.
“Don’t be, ‘s your room.”
“I can leave, if-”
“I won’t be in your way long… sire.”
Two could play at the formalities game.
Arthur, offering to leave his own room – and for what reason? To make Merlin comfortable? To avoid him? To be alone? Merlin wasn’t the king here; why not just kick him out? Why would Arthur completely flip the script and become extremely humble out of nowhere?
“… Alright,” he conceded, putting his items down on the table to signify that he would stay in the room as suggested, “and thank you, by the way. For… making my bed.”
“I’m your servant,” Merlin pointed out. It was an odd thing for Arthur to thank him for.
He stifled a scoff, rolling his eyes. How could both Guinevere and Gwaine see nothing wrong with the king’s behaviour when he acted like this?
“Yes, well… regardless.”
Merlin scrutinised while he worked.
This revealed a problem.
As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur really didn’t seem to present any of the normal enchantment symptoms he’d researched. As he watched him sort the day’s matters out the corner of his eye, the growing feeling that their friends had been right began to weigh on Merlin, knotting in his stomach. He thought about what they’d said.
He’s worried you hate him.
Oh, sod.
Arthur was totally just trying to be nice and accommodating because he was worried that he’d made Merlin uncomfortable by confessing his feelings, which was a decision he must have been thinking about for all of yesterday, explaining both the sudden revelation and the odd behaviour throughout the day.
That didn’t change anything for their relationship; Merlin was still a complete and total liar who kept things from Arthur all the time and betrayed his trust routinely, and Arthur could never be with a sorcerer… but perhaps it meant he owed him an apology.
He finally pulled the quilt straight across the sheets, then picked up the laundry basket that was by his feet.
“… Arthur,” he started, stepping forth from the bed.
The king turned to look at him, feeling somewhere between expectant and apprehensive, and poorly masking both with a façade of unbotheredness.
“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry, about last night. You were right, I was just…”
Why had he jumped to the conclusion Arthur was bewitched?
Because he was scared of what it might entail if he wasn’t. Making peace with the fact they’d never be together had become a lot harder the moment it became possible that Arthur might want it too.
“What I’m trying to say is, it was a me thing. It wasn’t… because of you.”
Arthur shook his head, “It’s fine, Merlin. You don’t have to explain yourself to me; you don’t owe me a thing.”
“Well, I owe you clean bedsheets. It’s my job.”
He forced a small laugh to try and lighten the mood. Arthur was obliging enough to do the same in return. He then raised an eyebrow.
“Speaking of, I thought I told you to take the day off.”
“Yeah, and I told you I was fine,” Merlin quipped, “What you gonna do, fire me for working?”
“I could,” Arthur jokingly threatened.
Then, suddenly, the king stumbled on his speech.
“I- no; I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say things like that, I’m-”
“Hm? ‘s fine,” Merlin shook his head to dismiss the apology. If he had to take much more of polite, careful, Arthur he was going to lose his damn mind. It was out of character and creepy, and it was doing painful things to his heart to see Arthur behave like anyone but himself.
“Listen, yesterday, I hope I didn’t-” Arthur blurted out the words before catching himself. He gathered his thoughts for a moment before trying again, “that is, I… you… you said that I was threatening you, manipulating… and earlier today, Gwaine seemed worried I’d hurt you, I just… I want you to know, Merlin, that was never my intention.”
Oh wow; it went from bad to worse. Merlin definitely owed Arthur that apology.
“I never want you, or anyone for that matter, to feel-”
“No! no, I didn’t think it was. That was, uh, my own stuff, again.”
He took a deep breath, and then, for the first time that day, properly met his friend’s eyes.
“I don’t think that of you, Arthur. Nobody thinks that of you. I promise.”
It was true; he’d only suspected it when he’d feared that Arthur wasn’t himself, instead under the influence of magic.
“… Alright.”
Arthur held his gaze for an instant longer, before looking into the middle distance to search for the right words.
“I’m still sorry you felt the need to… I don’t know, respond that way. My point is, I can feel one way and you another. That’s okay, I wouldn’t… punish you for it.”
It was clearly a difficult idea for him to make peace with, but he remained stoic. He nodded as though to dismiss him, then turned away.
And that was that.
That was that.
That was that.
Why was Merlin hesitating? That was all there was to it. There couldn’t be any more. There couldn’t be any more because he could never tell Arthur the truth, and nothing loving or healthy could ever come of lies and deception.
But he also couldn’t hurt Arthur. The king had used turning away as an opportunity to hide his face, try and keep some dignity, but Merlin knew it was a farce, and he didn’t want him to be dignified.
He wanted him to be okay.
“I like you too,” he blurted out before he could really think about it.
Arthur turned to look at him, a confused frown in place.
“Merlin, you don’t need to-”
“I’m being honest. You were honest with me, so let me be honest with you.”
What was he doing? What was he doing?? ‘Be honest’? He couldn’t do that! He hadn’t been honest a single day of his life since he first arrived in Camelot!
“Um, yeah, so, I do. Feel the same way,” he was almost muttering. His palms were sweating. He now completely understood Arthur’s behaviour the previous day; in fact, the king had been handling it incredibly well. This was terrifying. “But I just… that’s all it can be. Feeling. Anything else just… isn’t possible. For reasons.”
Wow. Truly, all that practise at deception over the years had made him a master of improv.
“… Not possible,” Arthur repeated.
He nodded, and gave a half-smile. Arthur stared at him with a perplexed expression. He tilted his head away, but kept his eyes trained on Merlin.
“For reasons,” he echoed.
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are just reasons that… it wouldn’t… work.”
A confused laugh escaped Arthur, “What kinds of reasons? Believe me, I have every intention of respecting your wishes, but if something else is the matter then you must tell me. It matters as much to me as your friend as it would otherwise.”
Merlin faltered. What to say?
After some time with no answer, Arthur shifted a little.
“Is there perhaps… something you’re afraid of?”
“I’m just trying to think about what’s best for the future of Camelot.”
Arthur paused, then scoffed in disbelief.
“And you pose a large threat to Camelot, do you? I shouldn’t trust you, you’re one of those many, many, suitors who’s tried to harm the kingdom, all of whom… oh wait, that’s right: all of whom I was warned of by you.” Arthur talked as though her were reprimanding him, “It doesn’t matter what role you fill, whether you’re my servant, my friend, my lover, or anything else, I know for a fact Merlin, that you’re good for Camelot.”
“You barely know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
Merlin didn’t say anything. The very suggestion was laughable.
“Besides,” Arthur went on, “there’s nothing I could learn about you that could change all the good you’ve done for this kingdom. Nor anything that could change the way I feel about you, I’m sorry to say.”
That made him feel angry. How could Arthur say something so stupid, so blatantly, obviously, not true? He laughed because otherwise he’d cry.
“Nothing? Not if… I’d hurt people? Lied to you? That wouldn’t change anything?”
Arthur looked far less bothered by the suggestions than he should have. He shrugged, as though moving to say something. Probably an idiotic excuse for each of those acts. Merlin cut him off, speaking before thinking.
“What if I had magic?”
He drew a sharp breath, then held it.
“… But you don’t,” Arthur said, as though it was a reassurance.
Merlin felt sick as the hard words made contact. It felt like a horse had kicked him in the chest, but with all the rawness of a laceration. Finding any speech of his own became an impossible endeavour.
“Right?” The king slowly added, and the wounds were twisted, salted, agonising.
That was his answer, not that he’d needed to hear it again. He huffed out a cold laugh, trying to steady his breathing.
Arthur watched him, bewildered, as he began piecing together his reaction, and his words.
“… No,” he muttered to himself, breathless, “I’d know. I would know.”
Merlin wasn’t scared of Arthur killing him. His fear was what it had always been; being seen as a monster. The idea anyone would see him that way was hard to swallow, but the idea that Arthur might was unbearable – and this whole conversation had made him see that both lying and telling the truth here would cause that to happen.
If he lied, he was the man who betrayed Arthur by insisting on keeping something from him, leaving him forever guessing as to what was wrong – a monstrous thing to do. If he told the truth, he was the monster by birth who at least came clean. He couldn’t leave Arthur to his own contemplation and self-blaming for this. It seemed that if Merlin’s destiny was tied to Arthur’s, then it was to be by the string that bound faggots to the pyre.
Merlin kept his eyes trained to the ground as he swallowed, and finally found some words - though not in English, mind.
He instead muttered an incantation, holding up and opening his palm to present the blue butterfly that now fluttered out from it as his eyes flared gold. That trick had always been one of his favourites. He watched Arthur stare at it, shocked, eyes wide and lips parted, for some time before letting the enchantment disperse.
Eventually, once the display and the revelation it entailed had sunk in, he swallowed, and jumped to speak again, to explain himself.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. It was never by choice.”
Though, he’d choose it if he could. The only things he wouldn’t choose magic over were the things magic had, time and time again, allowed him to keep: the people he loved.
Arthur cleared his throat, slowly, then asked, “for how long?”
“… I was born this way.”
The king let out a deep sigh that was undeniably outraged as he took that on board, walking a few paces away in his contemplation. He then turned to look at his friend turned traitor, expression stern.
“And you…” he started, in a tone laced with anger and disapproval, “you, of all people, of all places… chose to come to Camelot? The kingdom that outlaws magic. The kingdom known for hunting and condemning it harsher than all others. You left Cenred’s kingdom, to come to Camelot?!”
Merlin looked up at him, confused. The tone he understood, expected, but the words he was lost in. What was Arthur getting at?
“Merlin… how bloody stupid are you? You could have died!”
Arthur was shouting at him. Merlin was staring up at his king with a gormless expression full of disbelief, lost for words, and Arthur was shouting at him. About his safety.
Not angry about any betrayal, or about Merlin being a bad person, or a monster, or calling for the guards to take him away.
“… What?”
“You heard me! Of all the idiotic things you’ve done, Merlin, you’re telling me now that my entire knowing you is by far the stupidest!”
Merlin shrugged, half bewildered and half defensive.
“Wha- who are you calling an idiot? You’ve just had a sorcerer revealed to you in your own chambers and you haven’t even called for the guards!”
“You’re not a threat.”
A statement. An assertion. Completely baseless.
The truth.
Arthur scoffed, “I’m not threatened by you, Merlin, and I’m not a threat to you, either. I just can’t believe you never trusted me enough to tell me.”
“You’d’ve chopped my head off.”
“I would not!”
“Why? Because I’m different? There shouldn’t be an exception just because I’m your friend, or, what, your crush; what kind of message would that send to your people, or to other magic users?”
This got him a long, hard stare. He thought perhaps he’d had Arthur stumped, that the king could finally see where he was coming from and would concede, and then he spoke.
“For once you’re right. I think it’s long past time my father’s laws be reviewed.”
Merlin gawked at him.
“I… you’re serious? Arthur, that’s ridiculous; you can’t just change the law because you favour one borne of magic.”
“Again, Merlin, you’re on a roll today – that would be ridiculous. I’ll change the law because countless innocents have died to it, because it is blind and unjust, because without this indiscriminate witch-hunt I would still have my sister by my side and far fewer enemies against me, and most of all because the particular, idiot, sorcerer I happen to love has saved my life and this kingdom more times than I can count.”
Arthur’s scowl was resolute rather than aggressive.
Merlin’s next retort caught on his tongue.
“… I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, to be honest. This,” he gestured to Merlin, “has just been a wake-up call as to how ridiculous the situation has become. So don’t think it’s all about you, and don’t think you can change my mind.”
Arthur was talking some sense without someone having to beat it into him first, for once – and as if that alone wasn’t enough, he’d said ‘love’ where Merlin had said ‘favour’.
And that had given Merlin the certain type of realisation for which one can have but one response.
Merlin started laughing.
He’d just realised what an impossible ass he was being. Him, for once; not Arthur.
Merlin being an ass and Arthur talking sense.
Truly, the world had flipped.
The king, understandably, looked perplexed by this response. Merlin knew he ought to explain, but he didn’t know how.
Eventually, he settled on, “sorry, you’re right. You’re completely right,” and then went on laughing.
So, of course, Arthur said, “Merlin, have you gone mad?” because why else would he be laughing in the king’s face in the middle of a very serious and potentially kingdom-changing conversation?
And Merlin could only shake his head and reply, “maybe,” because for all he knew all the secret keeping and the sudden news that it hadn’t even been necessary really had caused him to snap, and then, “I’ll arrange a council meeting to discuss a law revision later this month then, shall I?” because self-sabotaging idiot or not he still had a job to do.
With that, Merlin bowed to the completely bewildered man before him and readjusted his basket, moving to leave.
It was in the doorway that he realised he was about to, yet again, storm out of the king’s chambers without giving him a proper answer after completely derailing the conversation, and yet again Arthur was just going to let him. This time, he stopped.
“Arthur?”
Arthur gave a deep sigh that could only mean ‘what now?’
“Yes?”
Merlin stepped back into the room so he could do this properly – he owed it to Arthur to at least do this properly.
“I love you too. I’m sorry I was being such a clotpole earlier. And I do trust you; I just didn’t want to put you in the position of ever having to choose between me or your father’s kingdom.”
For the first time since ereyesterday, Arthur looked at Merlin like he understood what was going on with him; those words alone had made him understand the lies and the secrets and the mixed messages. He stepped closer.
“You should have known; I chose long ago to rule my kingdom, not my father’s – and my Camelot is incomplete without you in it.”
When he leant in ever so slightly, a wordless check that this was okay, Merlin leant too, and they kissed. The first, and one of many to come.