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There was something wrong with Merlin. Sure Arthur has said that many times over the years he's had this strange manservant. He was the worst manservant in the five kingdoms. He was rude, always late, foul mouthed and inappropriately friendly to nobles, servants and knights equally.
But Arthur was certain that there had been different with Merlin ever since the bandit attack.
The past few days had been difficult for the King. Arthur had been forced to watch his servant take a blow he hadn't been quick enough to stop. Merlin had been injured, and Arthur had been terrified. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. Kings couldn't afford to look terrified. So he'd put on his usual mask of confidence and grumbling irritation. Because if Arthur panicked, Merlin would panic and then all hell would break lose.
Then Merlin had disappeared. Arthur had scoured the woods for days, fearing the worst, imagining he'd lost the one person in Camelot who somehow managed to make life simultaneously easier and more impossible.
He never would've accepted Merlin being gone, and he glad he didn't because a few days later Merlin had dragged himself back to camp, filthy, ragged, and very much alive. And Arthur couldn't help himself but hold his best friend close.
Out of relief. Only relief.
Anyway, it was just like Arthur had always known. Merlin could survive anything. He was like a particularly resilient weed: stomp on him, cut him down, he'd sprout back up again, more annoying than ever. Arthur could never get rid of him even if he tried, and he had tried.
Every time he had fired or banished Merlin, the daft boy just appeared a few hours later like nothing had happened.
Arthur hadn't had many constants over the years. But the one thing he always knew was that idiotic manservant would never leave him.
A king needs that assurance, especially when nearly everyone close to him had betrayed him over the years.
Anyway, the problem was ever since Merlin's miraculous bog-resurrection, he had been... different. Distracted. Absent. Lurking. Sometimes Arthur caught him staring, and when confronted, Merlin would glance away with the same he had when he had stolen food from Arthur's plate.
It was troubling Arthur, because, well he'd never admit it, not to the knights, not to Gwen, not even to himself most days, but the truth was simple: he didn't really have any other friends other than Merlin. Not proper ones.
Yes, the knights were loyal, brave, and often good company over a flagon of ale. Gwen was kind, honest, and dear to him in ways he hadn't yet put into words. But Merlin had always been different.
Merlin was his closest friend. His best friend, even. Which was ridiculous, really. Kings weren't supposed to have best friends, especially not ones who stole his food and insulted them daily.
And yet... Arthur couldn't imagine his days without him. Merlin's constant chatter, his ridiculous ideas, even the way he tripped over his own feet...all of it had wormed its way into Arthur's life until it was simply part of the rhythm.
It had particularly dawned on him when his knights decided the best course of action was to dress up another servant like Merlin. As if there was anyone else like Merlin. Arthur had felt bad for poor George, he had woken up far earlier than Merlin ever had done and brought him a feast fit for a King, instead of stealing most of Arthur's breakfast and claimed it was because the king was getting fat.
Arthur had never felt so appalled, and had never felt such grief in his chest without Merlin. It was at that point that Arthur considered going to Gaius and discussing the fact Merlin may have given him some sort of Stockholm syndrome.
So when Merlin came back from the bandit attack and started acting strangely, absent, distracted, evasive, it left Arthur unsettled. He told himself Merlin just needed rest, time to recover from nearly dying. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but worry.
Because if there was one thing Arthur knew for certain, it was this: life without Merlin would be unbearably dull. And those few days he had disappeared had been terrible.
Good manservants were hard to come by. In fact, Arthur wasn't sure any of them qualified as "good." And Merlin, Merlin was certainly the worst of the lot.
He was lazy. He was clumsy. He had a habit of talking back that should have earned him a whipping a decade ago.
But... Arthur liked him.
He'd never admit it, not to anyone. He barely admitted it to himself. But somewhere between the endless bungling and the constant chatter, Merlin had become the one person Arthur wanted around. The one person who treated him like a man first and a king second.
So yes, Merlin was the worst manservant in the history of Camelot. But he was Arthur's worst manservant. And that was precisely why Arthur couldn't ignore it when something was wrong.
***
His suspicion began when he had dinner with Gwen that evening.
It was nice to have her company. After all, Merlin had been avoiding him all day, dodging his attempts at conversation like a particularly slippery fish.
Arthur took a bite of his bread and tried not to think about Merlin. Not too hard, anyway. Merlin had a habit of dominating his thoughts, even when he wasn't there, or, worse, even when he was there, glaring at him from across the room while making that infuriatingly calm face.
And Gwen... well, she and Merlin had always been friends. Of course they were friends. Arthur tried not to dwell on how his only friends were friends with him solely because they were friends with Merlin. That made him sound like Merlin's consort, which was definitely not how he wanted anyone to think of him. He was a king! A very strong, very brave king! And kings were not consorts.
Merlin burst through the door in his usual chaotic fashion, because, really, who would ever knock for a king? Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He had learned that arguing with Merlin about etiquette was like arguing with a particularly stubborn badger: pointless, exhausting, and slightly dangerous.
"Oh, I might've known," Merlin muttered with a darkness in his voice Arthur had only ever heard during battles or when Arthur had drunken too much mead. He leaned in close to Gwen and Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I know you like to take every opportunity to be by his side. But this is just getting ridiculous. . . You'll be pouring his bath water next."
It was such an odd occurrence, but Arthur found himself having to protect Gwen from Merlin's passive aggressiveness. "Merlin, is something wrong?"
"This is what's wrong," Merlin scowled and Arthur had to push past his first thought that his pout was adorable.
Gwen looked just as confused as Arthur felt. "I was just trying to help. I thought you needed some rest."
"Rest? No, no, I don't need rest. Do you know how long it took me to prepare this meal? I cooked it myself," Merlin switched the food plates and Arthur suddenly had the strange feeling as if his attention was being fought for. Which was absurd.
Arthur cleared his throat. "I think this is just a case of a simple misunderstanding."
"Ah, yes. Well, you would take her side, wouldn't you?" Merlin said and Arthur, well Arthur was left speechless. He wanted to remind Merlin that he had never really taken anyone's side over his, and he'd gotten in so much trouble for it over the years. But he didn't want to say that in front of Gwen, God, it would give the impression that the King was easily influenced.
"Excuse me? Merlin, I think you must be tired. You've been through quite an ordeal." Arthur said through gritted teeth, hoping his idiotic manservant would snap out of it.
Merlin glared at him with such distain and hatred that Arthur had never seen in the boy. Usually it was nothing but pure mischievousness, devotion and sometimes pride.
Merlin's agitation was... off. He was usually animated, yes, but this was different. His face was tight and slightly fiery. That, combined with the intensity of his stare, was... new.
His manservant stormed out of his chambers. Arthur tried to make sense of it. Usually, Merlin didn't care about his manservant duties at all. If anything, he spent dinner muttering about how Arthur was getting fat or needed more exercise.
And yet here he was, practically radiating annoyance because Arthur wouldn't eat the dinner Merlin had made.
Arthur frowned. Something clicked. Or at least, he thought it did. If anything Merlin seemed possessive of the King. It wasn't something entirely knew, Arthur had noticed it before but he had always assumed it was a protectiveness nothing else.
Was he jealous?
Because of Gwen, naturally. That had to be it. Merlin must be secretly in love with Gwen, and all this irritation was just... simmering romantic frustration. Arthur felt his lips fall into a frown. No, no, that couldn't be right. He knew Gwen and Merlin had been friends for years. Merlin had never once acted like that toward her in any romantic way.
You can't be secretly in love with someone for years and do absolutely nothing about it. Not without your best friend noticing.
That would be absurd.
Arthur nodded to himself. Mystery solved. Clearly, Merlin's frustration had a different target. He just hadn't figured it out yet.
***
Gaius was getting too old for this bullshit. He kept his head down, pretending to sort dried herbs while Merlin paced a groove into the stone floor behind him. The boy had been like this all morning; restless, sharp-edged, bristling with a tension he refused to name.
Gaius didn't need to ask to know what was wrong. Another quarrel with Arthur then.
He sighed inwardly. Merlin and Arthur were many things; reckless, stubborn, inseparable, but subtle was not one of them. When they fought, the whole castle seemed to feel it. And somehow, Merlin always ended up in Gaius' chambers afterward, carrying the storm with him.
"Merlin, are you all right?" He eventually asked.
"I'm pacing."
Gaius glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting. "Yes, I can see that."
"A man who is all right does not pace, Gaius."
Nor does a man who has just quarrelled with the King and refuses to admit it, Gaius thought, though he kept the words to himself.
"Oh, well, that's why I asked."
Merlin stopped abruptly, hands clenching at his sides. "I am wrestling with a problem and there are many factors to take into consideration, and I have not yet come up with a solution."
Gaius turned to face him fully now, concern softening his expression. "Can I be of assistance?"
"No." Merlin scoffed, a brittle little laugh escaping him.
Gaius felt the familiar tug of irritation. Merlin would never tell him the truth, not about Arthur, not about what they were to one another. His nephew would rather swallow glass than admit to his uncle that his heart was tangled up with the King of Camelot. Still, Gaius wished Merlin wouldn't take the sharp edge of his moods out on him.
"Would you like to share the problem with me?"
"No."
"Sometimes two heads are better than one."
"Yes. But not when one of them is yours."
The words landed harder than Merlin likely intended. Gaius watched as his nephew turned away, already retreating behind that defensive mask. You may be a grown man, Gaius thought with weary affection, but when it comes to Arthur, you are still hopeless.
Merlin swept out of the chambers before Gaius could say anything else.
***
Arthur's concern regarding his manservant only grew worse as they day continued.
Arthur was speaking to the room, which was his habit when thinking aloud. The room, unfortunately, had a tendency to answer back in the form of Merlin, who was doing something behind him that Arthur was making a concerted effort not to notice.
It wasn't that Arthur couldn't notice. He simply chose not to. Years of kingship had taught him that if you acknowledged Merlin's strange behaviour, it only encouraged it.
Arthur was speaking to the room, which was his habit when thinking aloud. The room, unfortunately, had a tendency to answer back in the form of Merlin, who was doing something behind him that Arthur was making a concerted effort not to notice.
It wasn't that Arthur couldn't notice. He simply chose not to. Years of kingship had taught him that if you acknowledged Merlin's strange behaviour, it only encouraged it.
Behind him, there was a suspicious thrum followed by a sharp thud. Arthur winced, just slightly, and continued straightening his cuffs as though weapons were not actively being fired in his presence.
"Talk about a bad use of time."
Merlin made a noise that Arthur chose to interpret as agreement. Or possibly excitement. Hard to tell with that boy. Arthur turned, just in time to see Merlin fumbling with the bed curtains in a way that suggested guilt.
Arthur sighed and began pacing instead. Ever since his uncle had suggested a traitor within his ranks, Arthur had been struggling to think.
"There's a potential traitor in our midst and I have to prepare for a knighting ceremony. Maybe it's one of the knights who wants to kill me."
He gestured vaguely, as if the traitor might leap out from behind a tapestry and confess out of sheer politeness. Merlin was very pointedly not looking at him now. Arthur clocked that too, filed it away, and promptly misunderstood it.
Ah.
Of course. Merlin's strange moods and the way he kept hovering and then freezing whenever Arthur spoke had only clarified Arthur's suspicions that his manservant was suffering from love. He'd seen it before with squires, servants, even knights who thought pining could somehow be concealed by excessive enthusiasm or prolonged silences.
Arthur knew he should feel less concerned about Merlin's behaviour. A crush was manageable, healthy even. But the king still couldn't stop that feeling of nausea whenever he thought of Merlin...being in love.
Not with him, obviously. Arthur was not that arrogant. It was the idea of Merlin directing that relentless loyalty, that soft-eyed earnestness, at someone else that made his stomach twist in a way he refused to examine too closely. The thought lodged itself somewhere behind his ribs and refused to move.
Arthur scowled and adjusted his cloak with unnecessary force.
Ridiculous.
Merlin was his servant. His friend. His... well. Merlin. The very idea of jealousy was absurd. Kings did not get jealous over hypothetical lovers their manservants might or might not have. Kings had dignity. Kings had self-control. And yet...
Merlin shut the wardrobe, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts.
"Maybe it's you. Ha."
Merlin stiffened like a man who had just been accused of treason, murder, and poor table manners all at once.
Arthur stopped pacing. Now that reaction was interesting.
He studied Merlin more closely; the wide eyes, the tense shoulders, the way he looked as though Arthur had just uncovered his deepest, most embarrassing secret. Arthur smiled, slow and fond and entirely wrong about everything.
"Don't look so worried, Merlin," he said lightly. "I don't really think you want to kill me."
What Arthur did not notice, because he was King of Camelot and therefore spectacularly oblivious, was the hidden arrow, the carefully rigged trap, or the way he had just brushed past death by inches.
What he did notice was Merlin's flushed face and darting eyes.
"What do you think about Percival?"
He tried to sound casual. He failed.
Merlin looked up at him, blinked once, and said, "Very big."
Arthur stared.
That was... not the answer he had expected. Not wrong, necessarily, but oddly emphatic. Arthur felt something unpleasant tighten in his chest.
"Does that make him a traitor?" he asked, because if Merlin was admiring Percival and his physical traits, then clearly the man had done something criminal to Arthur.
"Are you going to get dressed?"
Arthur frowned. Merlin was avoiding his gaze now, fussing, hovering, pressing him to move along. Arthur stepped out from behind the dressing screen, shirt half-fastened, feeling suddenly, inexplicably scrutinised.
"Have you got somewhere to be?"
Merlin did not look at him. That was becoming a theme.
"Percival's family were killed by Cenred's army. He hates everything to do with Morgana."
Arthur nodded slowly. Merlin knew these things. Merlin always knew these things. It was one of the many reasons Arthur trusted him...perhaps too much.
"You're right. And he has pledged his allegiance."
Arthur crossed the room toward the wardrobe, mind still turning over Merlin's earlier answer. Very big. The words echoed, irritating and oddly intimate. He rested his hand on the doorknob and paused.
Was that... admiration?
Was Merlin...
He shook his head, forcibly.
"I'm wrong to doubt him. I need to put it from my mind."
Merlin shifted behind him, restless. Arthur didn't see the way Merlin's neck twitched, didn't feel the danger curling through the air like a held breath.
"You must get dressed."
Arthur smiled faintly at that. Bossy. Familiar. Almost fond.
"Indeed."
He opened the wardrobe.
Nothing happened.
Arthur frowned, glanced inside, then shut it again with a soft click. He had the distinct impression he had just narrowly avoided something, though he couldn't have said what. Merlin, behind him, exhaled sharply.
Arthur turned away, oblivious.
Arthur disappeared behind the dressing screen, missing the sudden flurry of motion behind him, the wardrobe flung open, the arrow firing, the near miss. He adjusted his cloak, entirely unaware that death had just brushed past his shoulder.
"Elyan, could he be the traitor?" Arthur continued. "My father killed his father. Could you get me my ceremonial sword?"
Merlin froze.
Then, far too brightly, "Ceremonial sword. Of course."
Arthur felt oddly warmed by Merlin's eagerness, even as the unease returned. He watched Merlin retrieve the sword, testing its weight with an intensity that made Arthur tilt his head.
"I find it hard to believe that Elyan would think ill of me," Arthur said slowly. "But... can't trust anyone."
Merlin lifted the blade. Arthur met his eyes.
"In fact—"
The word lingered, unfinished, as something inside Arthur softened and gave way. The chamber seemed to quiet around him, as though the world itself were holding its breath. In that suspended moment, every battle blurred together, every shouted order, every night he should have died and did not.
Merlin was there in all of them, not at the centre, not demanding notice, but woven through his life like a constant thread of light. Always close, infuriating and brilliant and unmovable. Trust, Arthur realised, was not built from vows or crowns or bloodlines, but from the quiet certainty that someone would be there when the world fell apart. The thought was strangely gentle, almost reverent, like waking from a dream and finding it real.
"I think you, Merlin, are the only person I can trust."
The words landed heavily between them.
Merlin raised the sword, his gaze fell deep within his king's.
Arthur's heart stuttered with a sudden, dizzying misinterpretation that bloomed fully formed in his mind.
Oh.
Oh.
Of course. The tension, the hovering, the strange intensity. The way Merlin kept watching him as though waiting for something. Arthur felt the pieces click together with a confidence that was, in retrospect, wildly misplaced. It was painfully obvious now. Merlin wasn't acting strangely because of danger or suspicion or anything so dramatic.
Merlin wasn't just in love.
Merlin was in love with...him.
Before Arthur could even begin to process the implications, how one was meant to respond to such a thing as a king, or as a man, the doors burst open. Gwen and Gaius rushed in, voices overlapping, worry spilling into the room.
"I know, I'm late," Arthur said mildly, stepping aside as Merlin lunged...
...and promptly ran into a column.
Arthur turned at the sound of the impact. Merlin lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious, hair in his eyes, utterly harmless.
Arthur stared down at him.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, ceremonial sword in hand, looking at the man who irritated him, saved him, followed him everywhere, and apparently might have been in love with him this entire time.
Arthur swallowed, throat dry.
Well.
That certainly explained everything.
***
The council chamber hummed with voices, the kind of voices that made decisions sound like poetry and occasionally like someone trying to sell a goat. Arthur nodded, half-listening, issuing decisions that sounded right even if he had no idea what they were about. Borders, taxes, trade routes. Easy. Predictable. Nothing like Merlin.
Merlin was missing.
Arthur noticed it like one notices a missing sunbeam in a familiar room. A small absence that made everything else brighter, sharper, heavier. He should have been annoyed. Merlin was usually everywhere, like a shadow with opinions, but today the shadow had vanished. And, absurdly, he felt... relieved. No sniping comments, no quiet corrections, no pained expressions when Arthur did something foolish.
But soon Merlin would return.
And then Arthur would have to let him down. Gently. Kindly. Without breaking the strange, stubborn, perfect thing that Merlin had become in his life. Arthur shivered at the thought. Merlin's happiness was too luminous to be dimmed.
And he could not bear the idea of being the one to do it.
Arthur leaned back in his chair and pictured Merlin: standing a little too straight, eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed tight in disappointment, eyes looking just out of reach. The boy's laugh gone quiet. His hands fidgeting with nothing. Arthur's stomach twisted. He could not, would not, allow it.
He loved Merlin, obviously. Not in the poetic, courtly way knights talked about love in old stories.
No. He was his friend, and that had always been brighter, fiercer, and more relentless than any knights tale. Merlin's cleverness, his clumsy bravery, his stubborn loyalty, the tiny little way he always seemed to know exactly what Arthur needed before Arthur even did, all of it threaded into him like a melody he could not forget.
The boy was chaotic, infuriating, blindingly brilliant and Arthur had staked a silent claim on him without ever realising it.
He exhaled. The solution, naturally, was simple: Merlin needed a new crush. Someone suitable. Someone delightful. Someone utterly, completely, inconveniently not Arthur.
Arthur immediately hit a problem. They spent nearly every waking moment together And, well... Arthur liked it that way. He liked having Merlin to himself. Too much, perhaps. But entirely innocently, naturally, strategically.
But it was no wonder Merlin had a crush when the two had become so unseparable.
He scrolled through candidates in his mind. A knight? Boring. A scholar? Overly pedantic. A servant? Too dim. Merlin needed someone clever, daring, who could match his wit and kindness and decent looks he guessed.
Arthur frowned. None were good enough. None. Not one.
Still, he sighed, poetically, tragically, like a man who could compose a sonnet about his own boots if he had the time. Merlin was too luminous, too clever, too utterly his. The thought of someone else stealing even a fraction of that light was unbearable. And yet, he had to be kind. He had to let Merlin live, breathe, laugh.
Arthur straightened, tried to look regal and reasonable. Yes. He would find Merlin a crush.
And then he would make sure the crush was adequate. Perfectly adequate. Not too clever, not too bold, not too... Merlin-like.
Because Merlin deserved the world. And Arthur? Arthur, he decided firmly, would protect it, even from himself.
**
Okay, so it was settled then. Arthur had decided, with all the reason and subtlety a king could muster, that Merlin needed a new crush. Someone respectable, clever, brave, and capable of surviving Merlin's brilliance without falling apart.
Unfourtuantly, Sir Gwaine, despite being a complete man-whore, ticked those boxes. Bold, fearless, slightly reckless. He also was pretty devoted to Merlin, which was good.
He found Gwaine in the training yard, polishing his sword with an unnecessary flourish. Arthur approached with the kind of regal precision that made him look like a man delivering a royal ultimatum instead of an awkward matchmaking request.
"Gwaine," he said, voice sharp but controlled, "I need your assistance. Something delicate."
Gwaine looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Is it about Merlin?"
"How did you know?"
His knight shrugged, "what else do you talk about?"
Arthur ignored the comment entirely. "What do you think of him...do you find him...admirable?"
Gwaine's grin widened. "I find him very endearing. he's clever, brave, and—" Gwaine's grin turned mischievous "—a very pretty lad to look at."
Arthur's face went crimson. Seemingly forgetting that he set this conversation up in the first place, his hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Gwaine! Don't speak of my servant in such a way!" his voice echoed across the yard.
Gwaine blinked, then laughed. "Don't be such a prude Arthur...he's a good kisser too, you know."
Arthur froze mid-breath. His sword wavered slightly. "You...what?!"
He lowered the sword slowly, his pride warring with the furious, possessive ache in his chest. He could not, would not, allow this. No knight would have Merlin in such a manner without his approval. Certainly not Gwaine. Certainly not anyone.
"I'm joking..." Gwaine laughed but then stopped. "Arthur, no Arthur, it was a joke, Arthur put your sword down!"
On the other side of the castle. Gwen nearly dropped her basket of food as she looked towards the training yard. She didn't even know what to think when she saw Arthur, red-faced and regal, charging across the courtyard with his sword raised like a noble general leading a heroic charge.
He was chasing Sir Gwaine who was screaming loudly. Very, very loudly.
Gwen blinked, she really wasn't paid enough for this.
***
Arthur paced back and forth across his chambers, hands behind his back, boots thudding with the rhythm of his thoughts, which were now entirely out of control. The afternoon had been... catastrophic. Absolutely catastrophic. He had tried to find Merlin someone else to like, someone suitable, someone worthy, and every single attempt had failed in spectacular fashion.
After Sir Gwaine, Arthur tried one of the scholars from the Library of Camelot, Sarah. Arthur had thought, surely, Merlin would appreciate someone clever. But once Arthur had mentioned Merlin to that girl, she had gone red in the face and said Merlin was "cute" and started stuttering like a poisoned pig.
Finally, there had been the baker's apprentice, which Arthur had thought would be simple, practical, and entirely safe. Turns at the boy was as dim-witted and incredulous as a mule, as he thought Merlin was "annoying" and "clumsy". Arthur had nearly fired him on the spot, but Gwen had intervened and told him to put his anger in check.
Arthur stopped mid-pace and ran a hand over his face. He felt a knot of frustration, irritation, and something heavier, something sharp and twisting in his chest. How long had Merlin even liked him? Months? Years? He pictured all the ways Merlin had quietly saved him, fussed over him, insulted him when he was behaving foolishly, smirked at him, smiled at him, carried his burdens with that relentless, infuriating loyalty. Arthur clenched his fists. If Merlin ever realised that Arthur hadn't...or couldn't...reciprocate... or worse, if Merlin liked someone else...
Arthur whirled around, shoved a chair into the wall, breaking a vase, then kicked the vase shards across the floor in frustration. He grabbed a candlestick and hurled it at the wardrobe. It clattered harmlessly. He grabbed another and slammed it down onto the desk. Papers scattered. Ink splashed.
The thought of Merlin's smile, brilliant and infuriating and utterly, impossibly perfect, made his chest ache. Merlin's voice, sharp when needed, soft when gentle, teasing when mischievous. Merlin's cleverness. Merlin's bravery. Merlin's beauty. He could not lose it all. He could not.
Arthur dropped to his knees amid the wreckage of his own fury, staring at the floor. The boy he had tried so desperately to redirect, to save from himself, to protect... the boy he had repeatedly kept to himself under the guise of duty... was brilliant, relentless, dangerous, and entirely impossible to replace.
He let out a long, frustrated groan, gripping his head. Merlin was too clever, too beautiful, too stubborn, too loyal, too everything. And Arthur had no idea how to stop himself from caring far too much.
Arthur sank onto the edge of his bed, the shards of broken vases and scattered papers around him forgotten for the moment. His chest felt impossibly tight, a weight pressing down from somewhere deep and sudden. He tried to summon logic, reason, the royal discipline that usually kept him upright, orderly, untouchable. But there was no armour against this truth, no sword sharp enough to cut through it.
He could not imagine Merlin with anyone else.
The thought came unbidden, and it struck him with the force of a hundred battles. Not because Merlin needed anyone, not because he was incomplete, but because the idea of him belonging to someone else felt like losing the sun itself. Every glance, every laugh, every tiny, infuriating flourish of Merlin's cleverness belonged to Arthur. He wanted it all. He wanted Merlin to stay. To stay near, to stay mischievous, to stay infuriating, to stay endlessly, achingly brilliant.
And then it crystallized, sharp and undeniable: he was in love.
Arthur's mind raced through the endless, chaotic reasons he had loved Merlin all along. The way Merlin looked at him, not as a king but as a man he was endearingly fond of. The way Merlin corrected him, teased him, saved him, challenged him, carried him forward when he himself was too stubborn or too foolish to move. Every small kindness, every impatient reprimand, every word, every smile...it all weighed in him like gold and iron and sunlight all at once.
He could not let anyone else have that. He could not imagine Merlin laughing with another, sparking mischief in someone else's eyes, soft and sharp and utterly, impossibly alive for someone who was not him. The thought made his chest ache, his hands curl into fists as though he could somehow grasp the boy to him, keep him safe, keep him only for himself.
And yet, he knew love was not a chain. He could not trap Merlin. He could not claim him. He could only... hope. Hope that Merlin would stay, that Merlin would choose, that Merlin would somehow continue to shine, here, beside him, where he belonged, whether the boy understood the depth of Arthur's feeling or not.
Arthur's head fell into his hands. The revelation was simple, terrifying, and utterly beautiful. He loved Merlin. He wanted Merlin. He could not bear to see him with anyone else. And in that truth, unspoken but blazing and bright, the king found something he had never admitted before. Not to anyone, not even himself.
Merlin was the sun, the fire, the anchor, and a chaotic storm all at once. And Arthur had loved him entirely, impossibly, unreservedly, from the first moment he had noticed him.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. He had always felt it, ever since the first day Merlin had appeared in the court yard and called him a prat. There had been this warmth that pulsed in the spaces between them. Not the warmth of sunlight or fire. Something deeper. Something... alive.
It had felt like magic; tempting, confusing and forbidden.
Arthur imagined their souls, for lack of a better word, intertwined in ways he could neither see nor fully understand. It was as if, long before he had met Merlin, they had been bound together, threads crossing and knotting invisibly until the moment they finally stood side by side. Every time Merlin touched his arm in passing, every time he corrected him, every time he laughed at him or scolded him or saved him from danger, the threads tightened, pulled taut, thrummed like strings of some invisible harp that only Arthur could hear.
Arthur did not knock.
He stormed into Gaius' chambers like a man charging into battle, heart pounding, blood roaring, courage held together by sheer momentum. If he stopped moving, if he paused to think, he would lose it. So he didn't think about Gaius, or that Gwen was also there.
Merlin stood in the middle of the room, arms full of herbs, hair a mess, looking utterly, dangerously perfect.
"Sorry," Merlin said quickly, already bracing himself, "I wasn't in the tavern...I've been picking herbs for Gaius."
Arthur didn't slow down.
"You don't have to lie to me anymore," he said, breathless with the effort of not turning around and fleeing. "I know the truth."
The room fell into silence. Merlin blinked. Once. Twice. His face drained of colour in real time. "You... you do?"
That look, confused, startled, on the verge of panic, nearly derailed Arthur entirely. He forced himself onward, words tumbling out before doubt could catch up. "It's okay, Merlin," Arthur said quickly, softer now. "I know the truth, and it's okay. Because I feel the same."
Merlin stared at him like Arthur had just announced he was secretly a dragon.
"Wait," Merlin said faintly. "What?"
Arthur clenched his fists. Oh, for fucks sake!
This man had faced death itself with less resistance.
"I know you've been acting strangely this week because you're in love with me," Arthur blurted out, voice rising with equal parts panic and exasperation, "and I'm telling you it's okay because I'm in love with you too."
The silence shattered and Gwen dropped a glass in shock. It hit the floor and exploded into a thousand glittering pieces, the sound echoing through the chamber like a bell tolling the end of Arthur's sanity.
Arthur felt his cheeks burn Gaius looked like he might sit down very suddenly or possibly pass out standing up.
Merlin just stared. Arthur's words hung in the air like a thunderclap, and Merlin's face betrayed him instantly. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating as if trying to take in every impossible syllable at once. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out, leaving him frozen mid-breath, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.
A heat crept into his cheeks, rising in a bright, undeniable blush that spread across his ears and down his neck.
Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it again. Stuttered. Opened it once more. Words came out garbled, nothing forming, nothing making sense. His wide, shocked eyes never left Arthur, pleading silently, fumbling helplessly with the truth he could not say aloud.
Gaius stepped forward, clearing his throat with the calm authority that often steadied the chaos around him. "Your Majesty," he said carefully, "there is no traitor. We have discovered that Merlin was under Morgana's spell. That is why he has been... behaving strangely all day."
Arthur froze, chest tightening so suddenly he felt it might stop his heart altogether. "...Under a spell?" His voice cracked slightly. "All day?"
Gaius nodded slowly. "Yes. That is also why he attempted to...well... he tried to harm you. But due to his physical weakness, the spell could not compel him to succeed."
Arthur's knees felt like lead. His hands fell to his sides, trembling. His mind stuttered and broke, trying to reconcile the warmth, the mischievous looks, the strange behaviour, with the horrifying truth now laid bare. He felt his chest constrict, a sudden, sharp ache that felt almost like someone had ripped out his heart and held it up for inspection.
"Wait," he whispered hoarsely, voice breaking. "You... you mean... he was... trying to kill me? All day?"
Merlin's mouth opened again, words still failing him. His eyes pleaded, frantic and full of apology, but the sound refused to come. He could not explain, could not convince, could not fix it with anything but the hope that Arthur would somehow understand.
Gaius put a hand gently on Arthur's shoulder. "It's resolved now, Arthur. You needn't worry. The spell's broken. He's safe."
Arthur shook his head, heart shattering again. "Safe... safe... but all day? All day he... he could have..." His voice caught. "All that... I thought..." He turned away abruptly, swallowing hard. Words failed him. Rage, fear, heartbreak, and humiliation crashed together in a single wave.
Merlin stepped forward, timidly, finally able to form a sound. "Arthur..."
Arthur did not hear him. Not really. His pride and shame wrenched him from the room before he could. His hands clenched, jaw tight, and he stormed out, chest heaving, the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue.
Merlin froze in the doorway, helpless, cheeks still flushed, mouth opening and closing. Gwen and Gaius exchanged worried glances, both knowing there was nothing they could do but watch Arthur disappear in humiliation, and perhaps heartbreak, too.
Outside, Arthur's boots echoed down the stone corridors, each step a drumbeat of pain and confusion, leaving a trail of shattered courage behind him.
Arthur slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing hard, as if the act alone could keep the world at bay. The adrenaline that had carried him through the confession had burned itself out, leaving him raw, hollow, and painfully aware of the silence around him.
He sank onto the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. His chest felt heavy, each beat a sharp reminder of what he had just discovered. Merlin hadn't been in love with him. Not today, not this week, not...at least in the way Arthur had thought.
The warmth he had felt, the connection, the inexplicable magic that had always seemed to hum between them... it had been a lie, or at least a lie twisted by Morgana's spell.
Arthur wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, fighting back the sting of tears he would never allow to fall. Arthur's hands clenched at his knees, nails biting into skin he barely felt. His heart felt impossibly heavy.
And the realization cut through him with the precision of a blade: Merlin might never see him that way. Merlin might never be his.
Arthur leaned forward, forehead against his knees, letting the silence and the ache settle into him. Camelot could be at war, dragons could rise, and knights could fail, but none of it would matter so much as this: the boy he had loved with everything he had, the boy who had always been his constant, had not...could not...love him back.
The king closed his eyes and let himself feel the heartbreak fully, bitter and sharp and endless.
There was a gentle knock at the door.
"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was quiet, hesitant, but steady.
Arthur lifted his head slightly, forcing a stiff smile, though the weight in his chest made it nearly impossible. "Merlin...I..." he began, voice breaking just enough to betray his composure. "I'm sorry. I hope you don't think poorly of me. I... I hope we can still be friends."
Merlin stepped inside, quiet as a shadow, and paused for just a heartbeat, taking in the sight of Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world rested there.
"Arthur," Merlin said softly, moving closer, "you're an idiot."
Arthur blinked up at him, startled. "What?"
Merlin crouched slightly, tilting Arthur's chin up with one hand, the other stroking back the hair that always seemed to fall into his eyes at exactly the wrong time. His touch was gentle, steadying, grounding. "Yes, I was cursed," Merlin said, voice firm but quiet. "Yes, I tried to kill you all day...though, in my defence, I wasn't exactly physically capable."
Arthur's stomach twisted, guilt and relief crashing together. "Merlin..."
Merlin held up a finger, cutting him off. "But," he said, and Arthur leaned forward a little, desperate for any clue in Merlin's expression. "I'm not offended about what you thought. I mean, I'm glad treason wasn't your first thought."
Arthur scoffed at this, "Merlin you don't possess the skill to kill me...besides you've had years to do that."
Merlin gave him that endearing smile, the one Arthur liked to think was only reserved for him. "I would never want to kill you...not really."
"Yes, because then you'd be unemployed."
"That's true."
"You've never been tempted to?"
"It would make my life easier," Merlin said, his smile only widening. "But there would be no point."
"No point in what?" Arthur asked, still unsure what Merlin was even doing here.
Merlin shrugged, "being in Camelot, without you."
Arthur's heart froze for a moment. "Ha, ha...Gaius, Gwen, Gwaine...you wouldn't leave them for me."
And the look Merlin gave him there, tore Arthur apart, he didn't need to say anything but from that look alone, it dawned on Arthur that Merlin would. Merlin pushed a piece of hair out of his face. "I would...you'd be annoying about it. But I would."
Arthur swallowed, "I'm sorry...again. For embarrassing you in front of Gaius and Gwen. I shouldn't have said that..."
"Arthur..." Merlin said in a tone that was simultaneously scolding and full of endearment. "You didn't embarrass me."
"I didn't?"
Merlin made an odd sound, "I mean it wasn't ideal to say those things in front of my uncle but...you embarrass me every day anyway, so I'm used to it."
"You do as well! Do you remember that sheep incident? Or the time you spilled a whole pitcher of wine down that idiotic noble! Or the time you pulled down my trousers in front of-"
His manservant laughed and his hand cupped Arthur's cheek. "Arthur..." Merlin said carefully. "I love you too."
Arthur stopped rambling and choked. Merlin kept laughing. "And that's the most embarrassing thing ever," Merlin added.
"What?"
"I said...I love you too," Merlin said simply as if it wasn't the most earth-shattering thing ever uttered.
The words sank in slowly, impossible and beautiful. Arthur's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. The weight in his chest shifted, uncoiling, a light threading through the ache and confusion.
"Really?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking. Merlin laughed even more, resting an arm around Arthur's shoulder. "Why?"
"Oh I don't know, you're an idiot and a prat, and bossy and annoying..."
"But..."
Merlin shrugged, "but nothing. I still love you." Merlin's eyes were steady, warm, unwavering, even as the tiniest hint of exasperation flickered at the corners. "Now, can you sit still long enough for me to stop worrying you'll cry?"
Arthur nodded, breath catching. All the heartbreak, the frustration, the lonely pacing of the last hours, collapsed into a single, dizzying clarity. Merlin had loved him all along. The warmth he had always felt, the pull, the magic...it hadn't been an illusion. It had been real.
Merlin let go of Arthur, and sat in down in front of him, grinning. "What is so funny?"
"I can't believe you..." he giggled "...stormed into my uncle's chambers..."
"It's not funny!" Arthur whined.
Merlin was hardly breathing between giggles, "and loudly declared that you..."
"Oh shut up," Arthur said, trying to supress a smile.
"That you..." Merlin kept giggling and Arthur tackled him to the ground. Merlin's laughter didn't cease once he hit the floor, but only got louder. "Love me."
"And God help me," he muttered. Because despite the fact that Merlin was red in the face, laughing at him and insulting him, Arthur's heart was in flames. "Shut up, Merlin!"
"Make me," Merlin chirped.
Arthur rolled his eyes but dipped his face down anyway, sealing his lips with Merlin for just one stolen kiss. And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped just for them.
The world slowed, wrapped around them gently, and Arthur knew that no matter how hard the day had been, it had ended exactly where it was meant to.
And all was well.