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When Merlin returned from the Isle of the Blessed, something was different.
Gaius, thank the gods, was fine. Weak, and shaken, but fine. Merlin had fretted over him, and then upon reaching Camelot and taking him to the physician’s quarters had promptly (and admittedly childishly) ignored him: the rage, knowing what Gaius had meant to do, had not quite bubbled away yet. He’d had the excuse of checking on his mother, who was recovered, and smiling gently at him as he fussed. She cupped his face, kissed his forehead, and he told her everything. He’d missed her, and the emotions of the last couple of days had exhausted him. With his barriers down, it had been easy to rest his head on her shoulder and surrender to the feeling of relief.
But it was Arthur, the last of his responsibilities, his nearly dead team of wonders, who had Merlin spinning out. The prince was bouncing around out of bed, boasting of Gwen’s ego-stroking praise and his father’s happiness at his recovery. Merlin hadn’t even rolled his eyes at his pomposity once, hadn’t felt anything other than a deep calm seeing Arthur go about his daily activities. He was taking training easy for now, as much as it obviously irritated him, but had dived back into his other duties. “I can’t sit around forever, Merlin,” he said, “I take we role seriously, unlike some people.”
And that was the crux of the matter – Merlin did take his duties seriously. As a servant, he admittedly slacked, and cheated, and generally thought that Arthur could do half of it himself. But his destiny – that he took to heart. He had heard the dragon, disbelieving that first week in Camelot, and then somewhere between then and now it had become everything. For destiny, he would put up with his prince’s moods, and tantrums, and teasing, and anger. And, for destiny, the overly friendly hair ruffles, soft looks, and thumps on the arm.
And then Arthur had nearly died, and Merlin had almost died for him. And now, Merlin knew he’d been lying to himself.
Destiny, real or not (and evidence suggested the former), had nothing to do with it. Merlin wouldn’t give up on Arthur if the dragon told him the world would burn tomorrow if he didn’t.
It hadn’t been a difficult conclusion to come to – he hadn’t struggled with it. It was sudden, yes, in the aftermath of the Questing Beast, but it had been a peaceful realisation. Merlin would serve Arthur until he died, and the gods protect anyone who tried to stop him.
***
Years later, Merlin sat back on the uneven ground, deep in the woods. He was laughing, Percival’s story getting wilder as his gestures but wider and more enthusiastic. He watched as Gwaine tilted his head back, clutching his stomach, and then stopped paying attention as Arthur emerged from the trees with Elyan.
“I can see you’re all working hard,” the king said dryly, throwing firewood onto the pile, but a smile tugged at his lips.
“Everything we learn, we learn from you,” beamed Gwaine.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “That should be enough to keep us going tonight. There’s a river over there, if anyone needs to wash.” They all looked pointedly at Leon, whose horse had bucked him into the mud on the journey. He muttered under his breath and made his way where Arthur had directed.
Arthur came and sat beside Merlin. In the corner of his eye Merlin saw Gwaine take out cards, and the three knights settled down into some sort of game, but Merlin’s focus was on Arthur, who was sighing, rolling his head from left to right. Merlin recognised his discomfort, and silently spelled relief into his neck, rubbing his eyes to disguise the flash of gold. Arthur froze.
“Merlin, did you just take away my pain?” he asked, incredulous.
Merlin coughed into his hand. “Of course not, sire. Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t pursue the matter.
It had been ten months since Arthur repealed the ban on magic in Camelot, and just three weeks since he’d discovered Merlin’s. They’d fought, argued and avoided one another, and things hadn’t quite returned to how they had been yet, but Merlin wasn’t sure that wasn’t for the best. For Arthur, ‘before’ was now tainted by the knowledge of Merlin’s lies, and for Merlin it was a time of guilt, and unknowing, and, most of all, imbalance. Imbalance in trust, in their friendship, in the perceived power and the reality of it. He’d feared the moment for so long, but once they’d shouted themselves hoarse at each other – Arthur accusing, him defensive – he’d felt a weight lift from his chest. They weren’t what they were before, but he knew that this could only be good.
“Big day tomorrow,” Arthur said, breaking the awkward silence that had broken out between them.
Merlin snorted. “A great chance for you to show off, you mean,” he jibed. “Really, who’s ever heard of a magical beast immune to magic? You’ll have the opportunity of a lifetime.”
It had been hurtful to Arthur, Merlin knew – finding out that so many of his exploits hadn’t been his wins at all. But Merlin had promised not to hold anything back now, and with that came the explanation of all he’d done for Arthur, and of their joint destiny. Merlin was almost grateful that this particular beast had reared its head now, in an opportunity to restore some of Arthur’s belief in himself.
“Does it bother you, that you can’t help?” Arthur asked it quietly – they hadn’t told the knights yet, about his magic. He knew a couple suspected – Gwaine, maybe Elyan by way of Gwen.
“No,” he said. “You’ve got this one. When we get back to Camelot and someone’s – I don’t know – left a cursed object in your bed. I’ll take that one.”
Arthur smiled at that, but then it twisted into a grimace. “Willing to bet your precious destiny on that?”
And then Merlin realised. “Oh,” he said, “you don’t know.” And of course he didn’t, why would he, other than years of friendship and devotion and something that neither of them had every been able to admit. But he hadn’t been- he hadn’t been clear, he supposed. And suddenly he was hearing everything he’d told Arthur from the king’s perspective, and he wanted to smash his head into a rock.
Arthur turned his head to him. “Don’t know what?”
Merlin reached up a hand, and Arthur pulled in a breath when it landed, brushing his cheek. Merlin sat up straight, and leaned in, and kissed him.
“I’m not here for destiny,” he said.