(no subject)
Title: Over and Over
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (past canon A/G)
Summary: Following a run-in with a sorcerer, Arthur forgets something terribly important.
Rating: NC17
AN: Belated birthday love for melacita.
This story is a little in the future from the current events of Merlin, but I love Morgana so she's in this. Beta love for claireyfairy1
“Arthur? Arthur!” The voice was tinny through the metal of his helmet, but the concern in it was obvious and honest. He grunted in acknowledgement, reluctant to leave the speaker in distress.
“I'm all right,” he groaned. “Help me off with this damned thing, will you?”
There was a shuffling, his ears were pulled just a little roughly, then daylight broke through and he blinked into the sun.
“What hit me?” Arthur asked. “I feel like I fell down every step in Camelot.”
“It was a spell,” a perplexed voice answered. “The sorcerer exploded. You don't remember?”
“Well, obviously not.” Arthur turned to look at his companion irritably. The boy was young and far too scrawny to be one of his knights. Arthur tilted his face and considered the boy, who wore a look of confusion like his face had been carved for it. “Who are you?”
“I'm Merlin,” the young thing replied slowly. “I'm your manservant.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “in that case, where's my horse?”
#
Merlin said nothing as he swept out the grate and laid a new fire. He made no remark as he bundled up Arthur’s dirty laundry and he didn’t even hum, as he usually would, while he straightened the bedsheets and drapes. In fact, the room was quiet enough that Merlin could have been quite alone in it, but for the tension in his shoulders from the knowledge that he had company.
In fact, his every move was in some way observed, albeit subtly and from the corner of the prince’s eye. Arthur sat, very still, very quiet, as Merlin moved around him, the very picture of servile efficiency. He never looked at Merlin directly and when he seemed tempted, his head snapped back quickly to the point in the distance he seemed to be studying so intently. Merlin wasn’t sure who he thought he was fooling, near-motionless in his chair with nothing to divert him, running two bent fingers back and forth across his lips.
Merlin was relieved to be done and he inclined his head toward the seated, troubled prince in acknowledgement as he made to leave.
“It’s Merlin, isn’t it?” the prince said suddenly, as his servant adjusted his armful of soiled clothing in an attempt to defeat the door. Merlin turned, craning over the fabric to look at his addresser.
“Yes Sire. Merlin,” he confirmed. Arthur nodded slightly.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said softly. Merlin nodded and let him to his thoughts. He closed the door behind himself and leaned heavily back against the wood. It was extraordinary, that civility could be so difficult.
#
Arthur wasn’t quite feeling himself. There was definitely something he couldn’t put his finger on; something missing in his everyday. And he wasn’t so unaware of himself that he didn't know from where it was missing. Something was wanting in his heart and in his bones. So he did what was natural; he sought out the person who had last offered him the spark he was so sorely lacking.
He was surprised at the violence of her reaction.
Arthur gaped at her, clutching at his cheek. He would admit that he hadn't kissed that many people in his life, but he could honestly say none of them had ever reacted like that.
“How dare you?” Gwen spat, sporting an expression so livid that the warrior prince found himself taking a step back. “Aside from the fact that you can't just go around kissing people, you know very well that there is nothing of that sort between us anymore.” Arthur recoiled once more, this time more in confusion than fear, his brow knotting in query.
“I thought we had…” He flustered a moment. “…something?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes most insubordinately and sighed.
“Arthur, we’ve talked about this,” she said, as kindly as she could through her clear frustration. “You know that my affections lie elsewhere and any…flirtation with you just leaves me confused. And since then, I’ve seen that you…” She looked away and Arthur could swear a flush crept onto her cheeks. “You were quite clear that you no longer think of me that way. We’ve moved on, and if you’re having some sort of… crisis, then that’s something you need to sort out on your own. I won’t be a part of it.”
Arthur just stared at her. He couldn’t recall any conversation where he might have implied that his feelings had changed, although now she mentioned it, he was sure that it was true. She offered him a fraction of a smile and began to move away.
“Guinevere,” he said, before she could leave the room. “I apologise if I have made you feel uncomfortable, or upset you in any way. That was not my intention.”
“I’m not upset,” she reassured him. “I’m confused. And disappointed.”
Arthur nodded. Personally, he was just confused.
#
“Merlin?”
Merlin looked up from where he was fastening Arthur’s armour under his arm. He really was the definition of efficiency, this manservant of his. It surprised him, but he couldn’t quite say why; he had always had the best servants and, besides, he was the prince, why should be expect anything else? Nevertheless, it was unnerving.
“Sire?” Merlin replied, keeping his eyes averted as was appropriate for someone in his position.
“Merlin, I can’t seem to recall; how long have you been my manservant?”
“Not so long, sire,” the young man replied, turning to the table to pick up the next piece of metal with which to adorn his master. “But I have been in the service of the royal house for two years.”
Arthur nodded, his brow and lips tightening.
“I hadn't noticed you before,” he said.
“I’m naturally inconspicuous,” Merlin answered him with a self-effacing smile. Arthur snorted gently.
“I don't think…” Then Merlin looked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and Arthur couldn’t quite find what he had planned to say. Merlin held his gaze for a full second longer than was in any way necessary and Arthur’s heart momentarily decided to adopt an unconventional rhythm. The boy took pity on him, shaking his head infinitesimally and getting back to his work.
“Do you think it’s possible, Merlin,” Arthur said after a few more moments, when his curious pulse had more or less righted itself, “to fall out of love with somebody, completely, to make this very clear to them, and yet have no memory of doing so?”
“I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin replied, his eyes flicking up to Arthur’s face for barely measurable fractions of time. “I’ve never fallen out of love.” Arthur tilted his head, choosing not to comment on that as Merlin set his pauldron over his shoulder.
“Perhaps you were in your cups, sire,” Merlin said after a short time. He glanced at Arthur’s questioning expression and explained himself. “When you told this… lady… that your feelings had changed. After a little wine, you’re sometimes a bit more… loose-lipped with true feelings.”
Arthur smiled lopsidedly.
“Am I?” he asked quietly. Merlin's eyes went wide and Arthur enjoyed it, no matter that he didn't understand quite what he had said to prompt it.
“Well, I mean, people generally,” Merlin stumbled. “People are more honest with a goblet of wine in them.”
“Hmm,” Arthur acknowledged. Merlin seemed satisfied with his work, nodding at Arthur's now fastened bracer and lowering his hand to his side. Arthur reversed the movement, taking Merlin's wrist in his hand and lifting it between them. Merlin went willingly, that increasingly familiar look of confusion on his face.
“Have you worn armour?” Arthur asked, studying Merlin's forearm and running his thumb across his pale wrist.
“Once or twice,” Merlin said after a moment. Arthur's eyes lifted to meet his. “I'd never be a warrior,” he added with a brief laugh. Arthur's fingers curled in, squeezing almost to the point of pain, and Merlin pulled his hand away.
He pressed Arthur's sword into his hand and smiled. He reached up, as if to tap his cheek or straighten his hair, before thinking better of it and instead patting supportively on his metal-clad shoulder. He stepped aside and let his prince go by.
#
Merlin was glad to find the physician's rooms empty. He lowered one shoulder and slid his heavy pack onto the bench. Relieved of his burden, he placed both hands on the table and pushed all his weight down into the solid wood.
“Merlin,” Gaius' voice snapped him out of his reflection and he realised how tightly his eyes were closed.
“Gaius,” he said, consciously clearing the resignation out of his voice. “How are you?”
“My health is as it ever is. I am rather more concerned with your wellbeing.”
“Whu- well, I'm fine,” Merlin shrugged. He turned to his pack, pulling out a tarnished gauntlet and forcing his fingers not to caress its inside surface. “Just a little tired.”
“Merlin,” Gaius said, and Merlin's shoulders slumped as he realised he would not evade this conversation easily. He turned to face the old man, though he refused to lift his gaze so they could meet.
“Merlin, I may be old,” Gaius went on. “But I am not yet blind. It is no secret that Arthur enjoys your company over anyone else's, and as you have grown closer you have both benefited greatly from it.”
“He has been my friend,” Merlin answered with a casual shrug. “I imagine I'll always be his.”
“And yet suddenly you're not so bright,” Gaius pushed, for all that Merlin hoped he wouldn't. “For a while you were becoming a stranger to these rooms and now I can hardly turn around without tripping over you.”
Merlin managed a self-effacing snort.
“Don't pretend I implied you were unwelcome,” Gaius chided before Merlin could make the jovial suggestion. “You know I value every minute we spend together. But I am less fond of your frowns. If you and Arthur have fallen out...”
“Gaius,” Merlin interrupted. “We haven't argued. It's just... inappropriate for him to spend so much time with a servant, when he could be so close to taking the throne. He should be with people of his own class; bonding with his knights or building relationships with neighbouring kingdoms. Not...” He searched for something innocent. “Not mucking about in the countryside with me.”
“Are these his words, or yours?” Gaius asked, and the question was clearly not rhetorical.
“He should be meeting the kind of woman...” Merlin began.
“You've not slept in your bed a dozen times in six months,” Gaius interrupted.
“The kind of woman he's going to marry,” Merlin concluded. He finally met Gaius' gaze. “Whatever my friendship with Arthur has been, it had to change.”
Gaius stared at him until Merlin felt as if a salt wind had stripped him raw.
“As you wish, Merlin,” Gaius said at last. The sadness in his voice left Merlin bristling. He turned away, loath to turn bitter words on a man he loved so deeply.
“Wishes are for pixies, Gaius,” he said, picking up the armour once more.
#
Arthur extended his goblet for the fourth or fifth time. And, with glorious predictability, a slender, reliable creature attended him to fill it.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said for the fourth or fifth time that night. Merlin nodded to him in acknowledgement, indulging him by holding his gaze while he brought the cup back to his lips and took a sip.
“Bored yet?”
Arthur's attention snapped to Morgana so quickly he was lucky not to hurt himself.
“What gave it away?” he asked, taking another generous mouthful. He could feel Merlin still at his back, moving now to stand a respectful two paces away. So appropriate, to be a distinct distance and yet so readily available. The efficiency remained somewhat disconcerting.
“Well, you're putting that wine away like someone's going to have it from you. And you haven't added to the conversation in an extraordinary length of time.”
“Have I drunk that much?” Arthur asked, contemplating his cup. “I don't think I've drunk so much.”
“It'll hit you when you stand up,” Morgana said, with infuriatingly elegant accuracy. Arthur shrugged and Morgana grinned. “Merlin,” she said, leaning back to catch the young man's attention. Arthur stiffened, discomforted by the ease with which Morgana addressed his manservant. It hadn't occurred to him that she would even know Merlin's name.
“My Lady?” Merlin replied, taking a dutiful step forward so she would not have to raise her voice.
“Psh, My Lady,” Morgana waved away the formality, in a way that made Arthur smile and suspect she hadn't been eschewing much wine herself. She straightened her hand in Merlin's direction. “Now, Merlin. When he who is not my brother gets to his feet, he will undoubtedly find them most unsteady. I'm trusting you to get him back to his quarters without breaking anything or embarrassing himself horribly. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Of course,” Merlin replied with a smile that left no doubt that he did indeed know Morgana well enough for a modicum of informality. It gave Arthur a pang of jealousy that was disquieting enough that he almost missed Merlin's promise. “I'll look after him.”
“Well, since that's settled and we're all agreed that I can't take care of myself, I might retire sooner rather than later.” Feeling Merlin moving back into the position appropriate to his function, Arthur turned his head, his eyes remaining cast to the floor. “You can bring the jug,” he said. “And another cup. Might as well make a night of it,” he added quietly to himself.
##
“And then the baker says, 'I know, that's why I put an extra roll in her bag!'”
Arthur threw his head back and roared with laughter, spilling wine on himself which only made him laugh harder.
“You always laugh at that one!” Merlin said, his smile fading and a flush rushing to his face as he caught his own words. Arthur was still laughing and may not even have noticed, but for Merlin's explanation. “Noblemen, I mean. Your kind of people always laugh at that sort of joke.”
“And how many noblemen have you known, Merlin?” Arthur asked, reaching for the nearly-empty pitcher of wine (their second), his voice and shoulders still shaking with the aftershocks of laughter.
“How do you mean?” Merlin asked, bristling a little with the perceived implication. Arthur shrugged, reading to refill his cup.
“Well, you're very good at your job,” Arthur said. “And you're comfortable around nobility. Remarkably so,” he added quietly. “You must have served in some other grand household?”
“Not really,” Merlin replied, sipping at his now full cup. “This was never something I thought about doing. I just sort of... fell into it.”
“Found you were a natural?” Arthur prompted. Merlin snorted in response. Loudly.
“Hardly,” he replied. “But I do like it. And I'm getting better.”
“Well, you fit in well,” Arthur said, trying to stand his cup on the table beside him. He scowled when it took three goes. “Even if you don't always look too happy, from what I can see,” he added, recalling that he hadn't even noticed Merlin before a couple of weeks ago.
“I'm happy,” Merlin said calmly, perhaps fondly. “Happy as a servant can be,” he added wryly.
“Oh, yes, I can see how it must be awful for you,” Arthur said with a grin. “Sleeping in a castle, earning the respect and envy of your peers. All this free wine must be horrible, too! Come on, let me take that off you,” he said, pushing up from his chair and reaching for Merlin's cup.
“No!” Merlin argued, scooting back and grinning madly. “It's fine. It's completely tolerable.” He laughed as Arthur shook his head and protested, insisting he would remove this terrible burden. Merlin held out a hand to delay the prince while he attempted to down the contents of his cup.
“No, Merlin, you mustn't punish yourself on my account,” Arthur said loudly, his grin wide and bright as he made another grab for his goblet.
His fingers caught the base and it tipped, spilling wine down Merlin's tunic and onto the floor behind him. He grabbed for it anyway, alcohol making him clumsy so he missed and landed with one hand next to Merlin's hip and one leg between the younger man's.
And that was where he stayed, as Merlin stopped laughing and finally looked back to take in their positions. He sniffed an awkward laugh.
“Huh. Do you...”
Arthur didn't let him get any further, closing the space between them and crushing their lips together.
And it was right. It felt so easy to kiss him. When Arthur leaned down, tilting his head, Merlin bent with him like it was automatic. They executed a near-perfect choreography of open mouths and moving bodies.
Arthur assumed, very dimly and with as much attention as he could bother to spare at the moment, that the reasonable amount of alcohol they had consumed was enough to temper the awkwardness that was customary at that point. His only lingering fear, that Merlin would not be as willing a participant as himself, was quickly assuaged, too, as Merlin's hands found the back of his head, fingers screwing into his hair and pulling him even closer. Merlin was bucking up against him, twisting and pushing up as hard as Arthur was pressing down, their bodies moulding together instinctively.
Arthur's head swam, sending him dizzy with power and relief and how right it felt to be in that position. When he could no longer tolerate being denied air, he tore his mouth back from Merlin's and turned his attention to the hungry, wet assault of Merlin's jaw and neck.
Arthur's senses were full; wet kisses kicking up the scent of sweat and arousal that surrounded him. He could hear nothing but the gasps and hitched breaths escaping the abused lips above him and his skin was alight with the taste of Merlin.
Merlin's fingers left his hair and twisted in the fabric of his shirt behind his neck. Arthur took that as permission, or request, and leaned back to pull his tunic over his head. He made sure Merlin's followed it, dragging the slim body up to strip him unceremoniously. He spared a glance for Merlin's face despite the lingering fear that he would see something unwelcome; reluctance, perhaps, or cold resignation.
The expression he met was far from darkness, however. Merlin's cheeks were reddened, but it wasn't from embarrassment or fear. His mouth was open around shallow breaths and if there was hesitation in his manner, it was anxious rather than reluctant. His hands reached for Arthur in uncertain, juvenile grabbing movements, forcing Arthur to allow the indulgence of a smile. He lowered his head so his mouth met Merlin's stomach just below his navel.
Merlin hissed and arched up into the contact. A lucky guess, Arthur supposed, that he should be so sensitive right there. His attention to the area was relentless; mapping the soft skin with lips, tongue, teeth and thumbs. His hands ran lower, dropping to press Merlin's hips down to the floor. Merlin writhed uselessly beneath him, gasping and half-forming meaningless words. The fabric beneath Arthur's hands was rougher than his own clothes and caught on his fingertips as he spread his fingers wide. Merlin was hard, his cock distorting the fabric between Arthur's hands in the final testament to his manservant's lack of resistance. He moved his hands wider, pushing Merlin's legs apart and holding the fabric tighter across his restrained arousal. Merlin moaned outright, then, pulling Arthur's attention upward. He abandoned his position and lowered his body fully on top of Merlin's, grinding their hips together and letting Merlin know, most decisively, that he was not alone in his enthusiasm.
Merlin grunted, his whole body tensing at the stimulation. Arthur took advantage, catching his mouth in more kisses that were returned with vigour and a tenderness that Arthur found divinely encouraging. It took several minutes for Arthur to regain control, forcibly pushing himself up onto his feet and away from Merlin.
#
Merlin blinked to himself, head suddenly clearing a little as Arthur ceased being everything in his world. This was not supposed to have happened, he knew that much. But it felt so right and he was only human and it was too, too long since he had been touched.
Nevertheless, he had to breathe, to get away and secure what was left of his resistance, before they reached a point that was beyond repair. He turned, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. His legs didn't want to respond to him, but he had to get to his feet before Arthur returned from wherever he had been. His hands found the chair he had previously occupied and he dragged himself halfway up.
Too late. Arthur was at his back and kneeling between his feet, fingers running through his hair, pushing his head forward to give the prince unfettered access to his neck and shoulders. Merlin screwed his eyes shut, searching for the resistance he had known was there a moment ago. Arthur's cock was a heavy promise in the small of his back, spare fingers were finding the ties to his trousers, and Merlin's determination was fading into the wine and the want.
His trousers were at his knees, folding into Arthur's as they were as hurriedly pushed down. Arthur's hands were fire where they stroked his back, a soothing motion that did nothing to calm him. All he knew was Arthur's hard cock resting in the crease of his backside, teasing him into an even greater sweat. He was dimly aware of something being said, some familiar word that he couldn't identify until Arthur repeated himself insistently. It was only Merlin's name, but it was a reminder and a question all at once. Merlin turned his head, forcing his heavy eyes open long enough to meet Arthur's glazed, desperate gaze.
“Yes,” Merlin murmured. Arthur's fingers tightened against his skin as the prince took a steadying breath. “Yes,” Merlin said to himself, pressing his forehead to the cushion before him as Arthur, slick with whatever he had stood to retrieve, pressed into him.
It burned, lack of recent repetition and absence of preparation obvious in the initial difficulty. But it was transient and divine. Merlin would have taken far more pain than a momentary discomfort to feel so full, so complete.
Arthur's forehead rested between Merlin's shoulder blades, his breath scorching Merlin's back and unintelligible whispers tickling his skin as he fought for control. As far as Merlin was concerned, control was irrelevant. He dug his fingers into the chair seat and pushed back.
Arthur gave a surprised groan and tensed, dragging his head up from Merlin's back and pulling his hip as he moved. Merlin kept his head down, letting the soft threads keep the sweat out of his eyes as Arthur fucked him. He scratched for purchase as his body was rocked with exquisite, guilty pleasure.
Arthur's hand hit the fabric next to Merlin's, bringing the prince's face down nearer to him, the ghosts of his hot breaths kissing Merlin's shoulders. Drops of sweat broke free of his skin, his hair, his lips to hit Merlin's skin like rain until Merlin dragged himself up to be surrounded by the cage of Arthur's arms.
He turned his head, cheeks scorching hot and bright with effort, so Arthur could reach his mouth with awkward, salted kisses, his fingers twisted in Merlin's hair in a familiar, possessive grip. Still the motion of Arthur's hips was relentless, though shallower now and at an angle that made Merlin's breath hitch and his vision flicker with white.
The hand left Merlin's hair and reached for his dick. Little pressure was needed to leave him shivering, his breaths shallow and rapid as Arthur stroked him with an eagerness that was almost clumsy.
Arthur gasped and all but growled as Merlin tightened around him, sinking his teeth into Merlin's shoulder. And Merlin let go with a cry of relief, coming over Arthur's hand and onto the thick, red rug beneath their knees. Through the white noise of ecstasy and past the echo of his own shameless moans, he heard Arthur swear and felt the stutter in his thrust as Merlin twisted and tensed.
Soon, Merlin's body was begging him to rest, his shoulders aching to relax in the wake of climax. He turned toward Arthur, a plaintive moan of his name leaving the warlock's lips. Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin's chest, taking his weight for the minutes it took for the prince to follow him. Merlin hissed as Arthur's hips slammed against him, holding them hard together with Arthur inside him to the hilt as he came, gritting out Merlin's name against the side of his head.
A few seconds later, when their minds cleared, Arthur's presence slipped away, drawing out of him carefully and removing the scalding contact of skin against skin. Merlin's arms failed him and he dropped, almost delicately, onto his back. He let his head roll back, his eyes on the fire that still burned behind him. He felt Arthur hit the rug next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and fought the temptation to turn into his arms.
#
When Arthur was very young, he would occasionally wake to find his adopted sister in his bed; afraid of her nightmares and eager for his company. In the early days of adolescence, adult disapproval and increasing self-awareness had put a stop to childish gestures of comfort.
Every morning since then, he had woken alone, or in the company of knights on a mattress of wet grass, without even the satisfaction of a previous evening's intimacy.
Which was not to suggest that he was a virgin, far from it, but rather that his encounters did not tend toward prolonged embraces or attempts at shared dreams. It should have come as a shock, then, or been disconcerting, to wake not only in company, but even wrapped around said bedfellow.
Somehow, though, it was perfectly reasonable and in no way awkward to regain consciousness wrapped in a comfortable tangle of limbs. He had as good as had to drag Merlin into bed with him. His manservant seemed so much more at home lying on the floor, but once overruled by his master, he had turned very readily into Arthur's touch, body boneless and pliant in his hands as he moved them to the bed.
Arthur carded his fingers through the long ends of Merlin's hair as he lay pillowed on Arthur's chest. It was a remarkable feeling, to be content. He felt calmer that than he had done in years. Merlin's eyes opening to him did little to change his recumbent mood. That was, until sweet, sleepy confusion turned to wide-eyed fear. He said nothing, but pushed up with an inadvisable hand on Arthur's stomach and began to turn away.
Arthur was faster, though. His hand darted out and he caught Merlin's wrist before he could escape.
“Stay,” Arthur implored, tugging Merlin back toward him.
“Don't you want your breakfast?” Merlin asked, too nervously for one so naked.
“No, I want to talk to you,” Arthur said, pulling himself to sitting. Merlin relaxed in his grip. “Are you well?” Arthur asked, releasing Merlin's wrist and trusting him to stay. Merlin nodded.
“I'm fine,” he said. “Little sore, I suppose,” he added with a smile that Arthur hoped was flirtatious.
“I'm sorry,” Arthur replied. “I didn't hurt you, did I? I mean, I didn't...”
“No,” Merlin said. “No,” he added emphatically. He shook his head. “I just shouldn't have let that happen.”
“You didn't enjoy it?” Arthur asked.
Merlin flushed.
“I didn't say that,” he began.
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because it seemed to me that you enjoyed it.” He reached out to hold Merlin around the back of his neck. He kissed Merlin's cheek and the edge of his jaw. “It seems to me,” he whispered, “like your body knew me.”
Arthur didn't see Merlin's wide, shocked eyes, so he didn't hesitate before bringing their lips together. Merlin was hesitant, at first, but quickly melted into Arthur's caress. Arthur took a chance and relaxed, refraining from deepening the kiss and letting Merlin take the initiative.
He couldn't help but smile against Merlin's lips as the young man did as Arthur hoped and led the kiss. Something seemed to snap in him and he pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, pushing him back to the bed and kissing him with enthusiasm that bordered on desperation.
Arthur didn't object to the treatment, although he was slightly surprised by the sudden ferocity of Merlin's passion, and he encouraged Merlin with a hand to the small of his back. Where Merlin arched against him, Arthur felt his obvious interest pressing against his stomach, sending an answering jolt of arousal through Arthur's gut.
Arthur's hand moved down to Merlin's backside, fingers teasing the sensitive dimple above his crease as a precursor to unapologetic greed. Merlin pulled away until their lips were barely touching.
“Arthur,” he whispered.
“Prince Arthur!”
The voice was loud and clear, even through the thick wood of the door. Arthur moaned in frustration, his head dropping back in annoyance.
“What is it?” he asked loudly, struggling to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Your Highness, I apologise, but your father requests your presence in his counsel chambers immediately.”
“Of course he does,” he said quietly. He added, loudly enough for the messenger to hear, “Let him know I will attend him presently.”
The messenger acknowledged him and, he presumed, left. Merlin lifted his flushed face to look at Arthur, who was frustrated to see the mask of uncertainty had returned.
“Can I trust you?” Arthur asked. At Merlin's confused, almost frightened expression, he explained. “Can I trust you to be here when I get back? We still need to talk. And,” he added, pushing up to press a kiss to Merlin's chin, “I wouldn't mind finishing what we've started here.”
“You'd better go to your father,” Merlin answered him. “I have duties.”
“Hmm,” Arthur said, releasing him reluctantly as Merlin moved to let him up. “Best help me get dressed, then.”
#
Arthur sat calmly, listening to his father drone, listening to Gaius object, listening to his father fail to listen. It all seemed rather self-defeating, as usual, but while he could usually tolerate the necessity of his own irrelevant presence at these things enough to feign interest, today he couldn't last more than a few minutes before drifting off into contemplation of the young man still, he dared to hope, lying in his bed.
It would be acceptable, though, if he found the young man going about his chores with the ever-present dull reminder of the previous evening's activity in the small of his back.
Arthur squirmed in his seat. Bringing Merlin any pain had never been his intention, nor did he take pleasure in it, but knowing that Merlin wouldn't be able to escape the reminder of him was... inescapably arousing.
“What are you thinking of, brother?” Morgana asked him quietly, a small smile on her face. “That's a devious smile if I ever saw one.”
Arthur shook his head and straightened himself from where he had ended up slumped down in his chair.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was remembering a joke I was told.”
“Well, do feel free to share,” she invited. “I could honestly do with the distraction.”
She had a point. The meeting was tedious, the ultimate conclusion foregone and the outcome completely harmless and irrelevant.
Arthur grinned, recalling the joke that had left me in such hysterics the night before. He was sure it would retain its quality without the lubrication of alcohol.
“Okay,” he said quietly, turning toward her. “So, there's a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker and they all meet up in an inn...”
“Oh, Arthur, is this the extra bun joke?” she asked with a giggle.
“You know it?” he asked, happy to share the amusement while a tad disappointed to have the wind sucked from his sails.
“Of course I do,” Morgana replied. “That's your favourite joke in the world. You know Merlin tells it better than you, though, that's why you make him tell it every time you've had more than a cup.”
“I've heard that joke before?” Arthur asked, his smile fading completely. “I'd swear I'd never heard it before last night.”
“Of course not,” she said sarcastically, misreading his confusion as an act. “Do you remember that time you had him tell it to Lady Amanda?” she reminisced. “We all thought she was going to have him executed until she finally got it and fell off her chair for laughing.”
“No,” Arthur said, staring into the distance. “I don't remember that at all.”
Morgana shrugged.
“Well I suppose you were particularly drunk that night. And it was more than a year ago. Perhaps your memory is going,” she teased.
“A year?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I don't know the exact date,” she said, her smile fading. “Why, is it important?”
Arthur's brow knotted.
“How long has Merlin been my servant?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't know, it must be about two years,” Morgana replied. “Although,” she smiled fondly, “it does sort of feel like he's been here forever.”
“Two years?” Arthur said to himself. “As my servant? Not in the household?”
“No, Arthur, he was your servant from the day he arrived and saved your life.”
Arthur opened and closed his mouth in confusion, lost for words and unable to believe such a thing when he knew, completely, that he had only known Merlin for a week. He knew that Merlin had never told him that joke before, nor entertained guests at a royal function. He had certainly never saved Arthur's life because Arthur would remember something like that. He would know if Merlin had put himself in danger, or pulled Arthur from the path of a knife aimed at his heart.
Arthur grasped his chest in a tight fist as a jolt of shock ran through him. He stood, making no apologies as his chair clattered back behind him and he stumbled unsteadily from the room.
He rounded a corner and clutched at his heart, folding in half and trusting the wall to steady him as memories filtered through like water growing heavy enough to break through the cloud.
Merlin saved his life, once, twice, too many times to count. Dislike and distrust at first until respect was born, growing in affection, friendship... pride in his friend's skills, protectiveness over his friendship and his fragile life.
He remembered mistreating Merlin, neglecting him through fear or childish stupidity and the guilt that followed him when he realised how hurt Merlin had been when Arthur damaged him.
Apologies, embraces, protestations of friendship and devotion, accidental kisses...
Arthur was on his knees, now, breathing shallow as all the lazy parts of his mind woke at once and were filled to be seen.
Merlin was under him, with him, soft and warm and welcoming, playful as he ever was and yet so earnest when he looked up at Arthur, told him he loved him, arched his back and came, breathing life into Arthur again.
Saving his life. Like when they stood in front of the sorcerer, surprising them in the forest and swearing pain on Arthur for his father's sins. Arthur was frozen in place by powerful magic, sorcerer's fire heading toward his doomed flesh as he screamed at Merlin to stay back, to run away.
But Merlin disobeyed him, standing at his side as he should be in Arthur's time of dying.
I'm sorry.
Indecipherable words left Merlin's lips. Incredible fire left Merlin's fingertips.
One sorcerer killed another before his eyes and a great explosion sent him flying backward.
After that, he couldn't recall.
#
Gaius started in surprise, pressing a calming hand to his chest as his door slammed back against the wall to reveal a furious-looking crown prince.
“Where is he?” Arthur demanded.
Gaius swallowed hard, gripping the table and righting his breathing.
“If you are referring to Merlin, Sire, I can tell you I have no idea. I did not see him, but he will not be returning soon. Not according to this,” he said, sounding rather unimpressed and holding up a shabby scrap of paper.
Arthur strode to the table and plucked the missive from Gaius' hand without asking.
“Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a new manservant,” Gaius said bitterly as Arthur scanned the letter. Arthur turned sharply to address him.
“I will not,” he said firmly. “I will find the little bugger and I will get him to explain himself.” He turned on his heel, heading toward Merlin's room. “Drag him back by the ears if need be,” he added quietly, sending a small, unobserved smile onto Gaius' face. Whatever had gone between them, it clearly wasn't so drastic that it had gone past Arthur threatening violence to keep Merlin where he belonged. The prince stood before the mess of Merlin's ransacked room, his hands pressed to his hips.
“Now, if I were an idiot, where would I be?”
Gaius left him to it.
#
The glove that hit the back of Merlin's head was his first warning that anybody else was currently in remotely the same part of the forest as he. Arthur would have mocked him for his lack of awareness. But then, Merlin should have known straight away that there were very few individuals of his acquaintance who would throw a glove at his head in an otherwise deserted forest. He rubbed the back of his head and turned to watch the prince bringing his horse to a halt a few feet from him.
“Your highness,” he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Don't you 'your highness' me,” Arthur said, dismounting and tossing the reins to one side, trusting his familiar steed to stay put. He strode toward Merlin determinedly, then turned on his heel and headed back, finally settling into a distracted line of pacing back and forth in front of him. “I think formal titles are highly misplaced, don't you?”
“Arthur...”
“No, you don't 'Arthur' me, either.” Since that didn't give Merlin much to work with, he stayed quiet. “So what...” Arthur began. “I mean... where do we even start?”
“Magic?” Merlin suggested.
“We could,” Arthur nodded. “We could start there. But let's not. Let's start with you lying to me. What were you thinking? I lose my memory and instead of trying to make me better you just go along with it? Let us go back to the beginning, like nothing we've been has mattered? Was it so awful, being with me? Had you got so bored you'd take the first chance you had to end it? Because I'd never force you to do anything, Merlin. If you didn't want me, all you had to do was say.”
“Arthur, come on, you know that's not true! I didn't want it to be over, I just thought you... I mean, I knew you saw me... what I did, and I know how you feel about magic.”
“So it was better to let me forget it all? Oh, obviously,” he concluded, throwing his arms up in the air. “You've been lying to me since the beginning, what's another lie now, right?”
Merlin balked indignantly.
“I was scared, Arthur! I didn't know what you'd do!”
“Well, obviously I'd have to arrest you! Obviously I'd have you killed!” Arthur walked right up to him, invading his space. “Do you really believe I could be capable of that? Do you think there's anything you could do that would make me hurt you?” He reached out, tracing his fingers down Merlin's cheek. “I could never give you up so easily.” Merlin leaned infinitesimally into Arthur's touch, just as Arthur curled his fingers back into his hand.
“But you could,” Arthur said thoughtfully. He put a little space back between the two of them. “You're leaving me. You don't even trust me not to kill you.”
Arthur's shoulders softened, his head dropping so he could no longer look at Merlin.
“Go back to Ealdor,” Arthur said, twigs cracking under his feet as he walked back to his horse. “Go home, Merlin.”
#
It took Merlin no more than twenty minutes to find Arthur, simply by walking back the way he had come. Which was comforting, in that it meant that he could have ridden for a maximum of five minutes before giving up and stopping.
Arthur was poking disconsolately at a small pile of sticks. He spared a look for Merlin's feet as he entered the clearing. Merlin tossed his bag down on the other side of the fire that didn't burn and sat down on the end his blanket was rolled up in.
“I wouldn't have been gone long,” Merlin said. Arthur tilted his head, still poking, but didn't lift his gaze to meet Merlin's. “I mean, I know I left, but... there's no way I'd have stayed away. I doubt I would have been gone more than a month.”
Silence drifted for a while, permeated by the natural noises of woodland creatures and sound of perturbed prince prodding a pile of sticks.
“And why is that, Merlin?” Arthur asked after a while.
“Because I promised to protect you,” Merlin said. Arthur sniffed derisively. Merlin dropped his head between his shoulders and studied the forest floor. “And because I love you,” he added, little more than a murmur. He felt the moment when Arthur looked up and didn't last long before he had to meet his eyes.
“Light that,” Arthur said, nodding toward the fire. Merlin leaned back to open his pack and retrieve his flint and steel. Arthur threw a small stick at him. “Light it,” he said again, waving toward the kindling. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to,” Arthur said kindly.
It had been quite some time since Merlin had needed words to light a simple fire and with a raised hand a brief flash of gold, the pile of sticks caught fire. Arthur leaned back, his eyes on the growing flames but his expression betraying nothing.
“Why didn't you want me to remember?” Arthur asked, without anger.
“I don't think I know anymore,” Merlin said honestly. “I was scared. But not because I thought you were going to kill me. I never thought that.”
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because that was really bloody insulting, actually.”
“I know. I'm sorry. But you would have been angry and you might have sent me away and you... you'd look at me like that,” he said, standing up as he failed to hold Arthur's cold gaze. “I'd rather be close to you and mean nothing than have you hate me.”
He paused, reflecting upon himself. “And then I started thinking about you, and how you'll be king soon and you'll have to marry someone suitable, it would be easier for you...”
“What absolute horseshit,” Arthur said. He stood up and approached Merlin, crowding his personal space. “You know damned well I have no interest in suitable women. Besides, look how quickly I sought you out. I had no memory of you and yet you were all I could think about. Look how quickly I pulled you into my bed.”
“Took you longer the first time around,” Merlin muttered with a pout.
“Yes, well,” Arthur said, lifting a hand as if to rest it against Merlin's neck. “Clearly something's worked itself deeper than mere attraction. And, for the record,” he said, curling his fingers in and letting his knuckles caress Merlin's jaw. “I couldn't hate you. Even when you leave me and try to break my heart.”
“You told me to go to Ealdor,” Merlin pointed out.
“Yes,” Arthur said slowly. “Because I can't order you to go where you don't want to be. And if you truly don't want...”
“Then you told me to go home,” Merlin interrupted. “And I followed you.” Arthur relaxed a little and Merlin turned into the touch that hadn't left his cheek. “I am sorry I didn't tell you,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry I...”
Arthur kissed him.
“I forgive you,” Arthur said a moment later. “Come home, stop lying to me, and I'll forgive you.”
Merlin nodded, eager to have Arthur's lips again, now his kisses were full of familiar confidence.
“For the magic, too?”
Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin's. He sighed.
“We're going to have to talk about the magic,” he said honestly. “It's harder than forgiveness.” Merlin closed his eyes in resignation, before Arthur went on. “We need to talk about how you use it, what we do with it. And how we hide it.”
Merlin couldn't help but smile.
“You're going to protect me?” he asked. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I'm going to... do something,” he replied. “We'll work it out.”
“Do I have anything else to apologise for?” Merlin asked, resting against his once and future lover and allowing the warmth to suffuse him. “Or promise?”
“Honesty, love, discretion?” Arthur summarised. “I think we have the immediate future covered.”
Merlin smiled, lifted his head and met Arthur's lips at a point that indicated his intentions were identical to and simultaneous with Merlin's.
While Merlin very much appreciated the welcome return of familiar kisses and would never refute their quality, he knew he would be happier when Arthur's caresses lost the slight edge of desperation they currently held. At that moment, he was content to risk a little bruising to reassure Arthur that his promises were faithful.
When they were both flushed and slightly breathless, Merlin pulled back to look up at Arthur through his eyelashes.
“Should I pull out a blanket?” he offered, possibly the least romantic proposition he'd ever said aloud. “It's been a while since we were... you know... outside.”
“Last night aside, it's been a while since we were anything,” Arthur reminded him. Merlin tilted his chin up for a kiss and, though Arthur obliged him briefly, he stopped frustratingly soon.
“I genuinely hate to say this, but we should probably get back to Camelot, actually,” Arthur said reluctantly. “I didn't actually tell anyone I was leaving.”
“Really?” Merlin asked. His impending sexual frustration was momentarily assuaged by curiosity and he was unable to keep the grin from his face. Arthur used his distraction to drag himself away and retrieve his steed. “What happened?” Merlin asked.
“Well,” Arthur said, huffing as he pulled himself onto the horse. “I was about to tell that bloody awful baker joke to Morgana and she said she'd heard it before. Suddenly I remembered everything else.”
“It's a great joke,” Merlin said. “When I tell it. I can't believe you remembered me over a joke, though.”
“Well, you weren't jogging my memories in many other areas,” Arthur said with exaggerated petulance, pulling Merlin up onto his horse behind him. “You know, you're a much better servant when I'm not in love with you.”
“Well, yes,” Merlin said, tucking his arms under Arthur's and resting his head on a familiar, strong back. “I can get away with more when I'm warming your bed.”
“Apparently so,” Arthur agreed, smiling to have his favourite riding cape wrapped around him. “You know I tried to kiss Gwen?” Arthur felt Merlin's head lift from his back and he tensed, perhaps momentarily worried that he should perhaps have kept that to himself. “She slapped me,” he added.
Merlin's laughter carried them almost all the way home. He was clearly never going to let Arthur forget that.
The End
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (past canon A/G)
Summary: Following a run-in with a sorcerer, Arthur forgets something terribly important.
Rating: NC17
AN: Belated birthday love for melacita.
This story is a little in the future from the current events of Merlin, but I love Morgana so she's in this. Beta love for claireyfairy1
“Arthur? Arthur!” The voice was tinny through the metal of his helmet, but the concern in it was obvious and honest. He grunted in acknowledgement, reluctant to leave the speaker in distress.
“I'm all right,” he groaned. “Help me off with this damned thing, will you?”
There was a shuffling, his ears were pulled just a little roughly, then daylight broke through and he blinked into the sun.
“What hit me?” Arthur asked. “I feel like I fell down every step in Camelot.”
“It was a spell,” a perplexed voice answered. “The sorcerer exploded. You don't remember?”
“Well, obviously not.” Arthur turned to look at his companion irritably. The boy was young and far too scrawny to be one of his knights. Arthur tilted his face and considered the boy, who wore a look of confusion like his face had been carved for it. “Who are you?”
“I'm Merlin,” the young thing replied slowly. “I'm your manservant.”
“Ah,” Arthur said. “in that case, where's my horse?”
#
Merlin said nothing as he swept out the grate and laid a new fire. He made no remark as he bundled up Arthur’s dirty laundry and he didn’t even hum, as he usually would, while he straightened the bedsheets and drapes. In fact, the room was quiet enough that Merlin could have been quite alone in it, but for the tension in his shoulders from the knowledge that he had company.
In fact, his every move was in some way observed, albeit subtly and from the corner of the prince’s eye. Arthur sat, very still, very quiet, as Merlin moved around him, the very picture of servile efficiency. He never looked at Merlin directly and when he seemed tempted, his head snapped back quickly to the point in the distance he seemed to be studying so intently. Merlin wasn’t sure who he thought he was fooling, near-motionless in his chair with nothing to divert him, running two bent fingers back and forth across his lips.
Merlin was relieved to be done and he inclined his head toward the seated, troubled prince in acknowledgement as he made to leave.
“It’s Merlin, isn’t it?” the prince said suddenly, as his servant adjusted his armful of soiled clothing in an attempt to defeat the door. Merlin turned, craning over the fabric to look at his addresser.
“Yes Sire. Merlin,” he confirmed. Arthur nodded slightly.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said softly. Merlin nodded and let him to his thoughts. He closed the door behind himself and leaned heavily back against the wood. It was extraordinary, that civility could be so difficult.
#
Arthur wasn’t quite feeling himself. There was definitely something he couldn’t put his finger on; something missing in his everyday. And he wasn’t so unaware of himself that he didn't know from where it was missing. Something was wanting in his heart and in his bones. So he did what was natural; he sought out the person who had last offered him the spark he was so sorely lacking.
He was surprised at the violence of her reaction.
Arthur gaped at her, clutching at his cheek. He would admit that he hadn't kissed that many people in his life, but he could honestly say none of them had ever reacted like that.
“How dare you?” Gwen spat, sporting an expression so livid that the warrior prince found himself taking a step back. “Aside from the fact that you can't just go around kissing people, you know very well that there is nothing of that sort between us anymore.” Arthur recoiled once more, this time more in confusion than fear, his brow knotting in query.
“I thought we had…” He flustered a moment. “…something?”
Guinevere rolled her eyes most insubordinately and sighed.
“Arthur, we’ve talked about this,” she said, as kindly as she could through her clear frustration. “You know that my affections lie elsewhere and any…flirtation with you just leaves me confused. And since then, I’ve seen that you…” She looked away and Arthur could swear a flush crept onto her cheeks. “You were quite clear that you no longer think of me that way. We’ve moved on, and if you’re having some sort of… crisis, then that’s something you need to sort out on your own. I won’t be a part of it.”
Arthur just stared at her. He couldn’t recall any conversation where he might have implied that his feelings had changed, although now she mentioned it, he was sure that it was true. She offered him a fraction of a smile and began to move away.
“Guinevere,” he said, before she could leave the room. “I apologise if I have made you feel uncomfortable, or upset you in any way. That was not my intention.”
“I’m not upset,” she reassured him. “I’m confused. And disappointed.”
Arthur nodded. Personally, he was just confused.
#
“Merlin?”
Merlin looked up from where he was fastening Arthur’s armour under his arm. He really was the definition of efficiency, this manservant of his. It surprised him, but he couldn’t quite say why; he had always had the best servants and, besides, he was the prince, why should be expect anything else? Nevertheless, it was unnerving.
“Sire?” Merlin replied, keeping his eyes averted as was appropriate for someone in his position.
“Merlin, I can’t seem to recall; how long have you been my manservant?”
“Not so long, sire,” the young man replied, turning to the table to pick up the next piece of metal with which to adorn his master. “But I have been in the service of the royal house for two years.”
Arthur nodded, his brow and lips tightening.
“I hadn't noticed you before,” he said.
“I’m naturally inconspicuous,” Merlin answered him with a self-effacing smile. Arthur snorted gently.
“I don't think…” Then Merlin looked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and Arthur couldn’t quite find what he had planned to say. Merlin held his gaze for a full second longer than was in any way necessary and Arthur’s heart momentarily decided to adopt an unconventional rhythm. The boy took pity on him, shaking his head infinitesimally and getting back to his work.
“Do you think it’s possible, Merlin,” Arthur said after a few more moments, when his curious pulse had more or less righted itself, “to fall out of love with somebody, completely, to make this very clear to them, and yet have no memory of doing so?”
“I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin replied, his eyes flicking up to Arthur’s face for barely measurable fractions of time. “I’ve never fallen out of love.” Arthur tilted his head, choosing not to comment on that as Merlin set his pauldron over his shoulder.
“Perhaps you were in your cups, sire,” Merlin said after a short time. He glanced at Arthur’s questioning expression and explained himself. “When you told this… lady… that your feelings had changed. After a little wine, you’re sometimes a bit more… loose-lipped with true feelings.”
Arthur smiled lopsidedly.
“Am I?” he asked quietly. Merlin's eyes went wide and Arthur enjoyed it, no matter that he didn't understand quite what he had said to prompt it.
“Well, I mean, people generally,” Merlin stumbled. “People are more honest with a goblet of wine in them.”
“Hmm,” Arthur acknowledged. Merlin seemed satisfied with his work, nodding at Arthur's now fastened bracer and lowering his hand to his side. Arthur reversed the movement, taking Merlin's wrist in his hand and lifting it between them. Merlin went willingly, that increasingly familiar look of confusion on his face.
“Have you worn armour?” Arthur asked, studying Merlin's forearm and running his thumb across his pale wrist.
“Once or twice,” Merlin said after a moment. Arthur's eyes lifted to meet his. “I'd never be a warrior,” he added with a brief laugh. Arthur's fingers curled in, squeezing almost to the point of pain, and Merlin pulled his hand away.
He pressed Arthur's sword into his hand and smiled. He reached up, as if to tap his cheek or straighten his hair, before thinking better of it and instead patting supportively on his metal-clad shoulder. He stepped aside and let his prince go by.
#
Merlin was glad to find the physician's rooms empty. He lowered one shoulder and slid his heavy pack onto the bench. Relieved of his burden, he placed both hands on the table and pushed all his weight down into the solid wood.
“Merlin,” Gaius' voice snapped him out of his reflection and he realised how tightly his eyes were closed.
“Gaius,” he said, consciously clearing the resignation out of his voice. “How are you?”
“My health is as it ever is. I am rather more concerned with your wellbeing.”
“Whu- well, I'm fine,” Merlin shrugged. He turned to his pack, pulling out a tarnished gauntlet and forcing his fingers not to caress its inside surface. “Just a little tired.”
“Merlin,” Gaius said, and Merlin's shoulders slumped as he realised he would not evade this conversation easily. He turned to face the old man, though he refused to lift his gaze so they could meet.
“Merlin, I may be old,” Gaius went on. “But I am not yet blind. It is no secret that Arthur enjoys your company over anyone else's, and as you have grown closer you have both benefited greatly from it.”
“He has been my friend,” Merlin answered with a casual shrug. “I imagine I'll always be his.”
“And yet suddenly you're not so bright,” Gaius pushed, for all that Merlin hoped he wouldn't. “For a while you were becoming a stranger to these rooms and now I can hardly turn around without tripping over you.”
Merlin managed a self-effacing snort.
“Don't pretend I implied you were unwelcome,” Gaius chided before Merlin could make the jovial suggestion. “You know I value every minute we spend together. But I am less fond of your frowns. If you and Arthur have fallen out...”
“Gaius,” Merlin interrupted. “We haven't argued. It's just... inappropriate for him to spend so much time with a servant, when he could be so close to taking the throne. He should be with people of his own class; bonding with his knights or building relationships with neighbouring kingdoms. Not...” He searched for something innocent. “Not mucking about in the countryside with me.”
“Are these his words, or yours?” Gaius asked, and the question was clearly not rhetorical.
“He should be meeting the kind of woman...” Merlin began.
“You've not slept in your bed a dozen times in six months,” Gaius interrupted.
“The kind of woman he's going to marry,” Merlin concluded. He finally met Gaius' gaze. “Whatever my friendship with Arthur has been, it had to change.”
Gaius stared at him until Merlin felt as if a salt wind had stripped him raw.
“As you wish, Merlin,” Gaius said at last. The sadness in his voice left Merlin bristling. He turned away, loath to turn bitter words on a man he loved so deeply.
“Wishes are for pixies, Gaius,” he said, picking up the armour once more.
#
Arthur extended his goblet for the fourth or fifth time. And, with glorious predictability, a slender, reliable creature attended him to fill it.
“Thank you, Merlin,” he said for the fourth or fifth time that night. Merlin nodded to him in acknowledgement, indulging him by holding his gaze while he brought the cup back to his lips and took a sip.
“Bored yet?”
Arthur's attention snapped to Morgana so quickly he was lucky not to hurt himself.
“What gave it away?” he asked, taking another generous mouthful. He could feel Merlin still at his back, moving now to stand a respectful two paces away. So appropriate, to be a distinct distance and yet so readily available. The efficiency remained somewhat disconcerting.
“Well, you're putting that wine away like someone's going to have it from you. And you haven't added to the conversation in an extraordinary length of time.”
“Have I drunk that much?” Arthur asked, contemplating his cup. “I don't think I've drunk so much.”
“It'll hit you when you stand up,” Morgana said, with infuriatingly elegant accuracy. Arthur shrugged and Morgana grinned. “Merlin,” she said, leaning back to catch the young man's attention. Arthur stiffened, discomforted by the ease with which Morgana addressed his manservant. It hadn't occurred to him that she would even know Merlin's name.
“My Lady?” Merlin replied, taking a dutiful step forward so she would not have to raise her voice.
“Psh, My Lady,” Morgana waved away the formality, in a way that made Arthur smile and suspect she hadn't been eschewing much wine herself. She straightened her hand in Merlin's direction. “Now, Merlin. When he who is not my brother gets to his feet, he will undoubtedly find them most unsteady. I'm trusting you to get him back to his quarters without breaking anything or embarrassing himself horribly. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Of course,” Merlin replied with a smile that left no doubt that he did indeed know Morgana well enough for a modicum of informality. It gave Arthur a pang of jealousy that was disquieting enough that he almost missed Merlin's promise. “I'll look after him.”
“Well, since that's settled and we're all agreed that I can't take care of myself, I might retire sooner rather than later.” Feeling Merlin moving back into the position appropriate to his function, Arthur turned his head, his eyes remaining cast to the floor. “You can bring the jug,” he said. “And another cup. Might as well make a night of it,” he added quietly to himself.
##
“And then the baker says, 'I know, that's why I put an extra roll in her bag!'”
Arthur threw his head back and roared with laughter, spilling wine on himself which only made him laugh harder.
“You always laugh at that one!” Merlin said, his smile fading and a flush rushing to his face as he caught his own words. Arthur was still laughing and may not even have noticed, but for Merlin's explanation. “Noblemen, I mean. Your kind of people always laugh at that sort of joke.”
“And how many noblemen have you known, Merlin?” Arthur asked, reaching for the nearly-empty pitcher of wine (their second), his voice and shoulders still shaking with the aftershocks of laughter.
“How do you mean?” Merlin asked, bristling a little with the perceived implication. Arthur shrugged, reading to refill his cup.
“Well, you're very good at your job,” Arthur said. “And you're comfortable around nobility. Remarkably so,” he added quietly. “You must have served in some other grand household?”
“Not really,” Merlin replied, sipping at his now full cup. “This was never something I thought about doing. I just sort of... fell into it.”
“Found you were a natural?” Arthur prompted. Merlin snorted in response. Loudly.
“Hardly,” he replied. “But I do like it. And I'm getting better.”
“Well, you fit in well,” Arthur said, trying to stand his cup on the table beside him. He scowled when it took three goes. “Even if you don't always look too happy, from what I can see,” he added, recalling that he hadn't even noticed Merlin before a couple of weeks ago.
“I'm happy,” Merlin said calmly, perhaps fondly. “Happy as a servant can be,” he added wryly.
“Oh, yes, I can see how it must be awful for you,” Arthur said with a grin. “Sleeping in a castle, earning the respect and envy of your peers. All this free wine must be horrible, too! Come on, let me take that off you,” he said, pushing up from his chair and reaching for Merlin's cup.
“No!” Merlin argued, scooting back and grinning madly. “It's fine. It's completely tolerable.” He laughed as Arthur shook his head and protested, insisting he would remove this terrible burden. Merlin held out a hand to delay the prince while he attempted to down the contents of his cup.
“No, Merlin, you mustn't punish yourself on my account,” Arthur said loudly, his grin wide and bright as he made another grab for his goblet.
His fingers caught the base and it tipped, spilling wine down Merlin's tunic and onto the floor behind him. He grabbed for it anyway, alcohol making him clumsy so he missed and landed with one hand next to Merlin's hip and one leg between the younger man's.
And that was where he stayed, as Merlin stopped laughing and finally looked back to take in their positions. He sniffed an awkward laugh.
“Huh. Do you...”
Arthur didn't let him get any further, closing the space between them and crushing their lips together.
And it was right. It felt so easy to kiss him. When Arthur leaned down, tilting his head, Merlin bent with him like it was automatic. They executed a near-perfect choreography of open mouths and moving bodies.
Arthur assumed, very dimly and with as much attention as he could bother to spare at the moment, that the reasonable amount of alcohol they had consumed was enough to temper the awkwardness that was customary at that point. His only lingering fear, that Merlin would not be as willing a participant as himself, was quickly assuaged, too, as Merlin's hands found the back of his head, fingers screwing into his hair and pulling him even closer. Merlin was bucking up against him, twisting and pushing up as hard as Arthur was pressing down, their bodies moulding together instinctively.
Arthur's head swam, sending him dizzy with power and relief and how right it felt to be in that position. When he could no longer tolerate being denied air, he tore his mouth back from Merlin's and turned his attention to the hungry, wet assault of Merlin's jaw and neck.
Arthur's senses were full; wet kisses kicking up the scent of sweat and arousal that surrounded him. He could hear nothing but the gasps and hitched breaths escaping the abused lips above him and his skin was alight with the taste of Merlin.
Merlin's fingers left his hair and twisted in the fabric of his shirt behind his neck. Arthur took that as permission, or request, and leaned back to pull his tunic over his head. He made sure Merlin's followed it, dragging the slim body up to strip him unceremoniously. He spared a glance for Merlin's face despite the lingering fear that he would see something unwelcome; reluctance, perhaps, or cold resignation.
The expression he met was far from darkness, however. Merlin's cheeks were reddened, but it wasn't from embarrassment or fear. His mouth was open around shallow breaths and if there was hesitation in his manner, it was anxious rather than reluctant. His hands reached for Arthur in uncertain, juvenile grabbing movements, forcing Arthur to allow the indulgence of a smile. He lowered his head so his mouth met Merlin's stomach just below his navel.
Merlin hissed and arched up into the contact. A lucky guess, Arthur supposed, that he should be so sensitive right there. His attention to the area was relentless; mapping the soft skin with lips, tongue, teeth and thumbs. His hands ran lower, dropping to press Merlin's hips down to the floor. Merlin writhed uselessly beneath him, gasping and half-forming meaningless words. The fabric beneath Arthur's hands was rougher than his own clothes and caught on his fingertips as he spread his fingers wide. Merlin was hard, his cock distorting the fabric between Arthur's hands in the final testament to his manservant's lack of resistance. He moved his hands wider, pushing Merlin's legs apart and holding the fabric tighter across his restrained arousal. Merlin moaned outright, then, pulling Arthur's attention upward. He abandoned his position and lowered his body fully on top of Merlin's, grinding their hips together and letting Merlin know, most decisively, that he was not alone in his enthusiasm.
Merlin grunted, his whole body tensing at the stimulation. Arthur took advantage, catching his mouth in more kisses that were returned with vigour and a tenderness that Arthur found divinely encouraging. It took several minutes for Arthur to regain control, forcibly pushing himself up onto his feet and away from Merlin.
#
Merlin blinked to himself, head suddenly clearing a little as Arthur ceased being everything in his world. This was not supposed to have happened, he knew that much. But it felt so right and he was only human and it was too, too long since he had been touched.
Nevertheless, he had to breathe, to get away and secure what was left of his resistance, before they reached a point that was beyond repair. He turned, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. His legs didn't want to respond to him, but he had to get to his feet before Arthur returned from wherever he had been. His hands found the chair he had previously occupied and he dragged himself halfway up.
Too late. Arthur was at his back and kneeling between his feet, fingers running through his hair, pushing his head forward to give the prince unfettered access to his neck and shoulders. Merlin screwed his eyes shut, searching for the resistance he had known was there a moment ago. Arthur's cock was a heavy promise in the small of his back, spare fingers were finding the ties to his trousers, and Merlin's determination was fading into the wine and the want.
His trousers were at his knees, folding into Arthur's as they were as hurriedly pushed down. Arthur's hands were fire where they stroked his back, a soothing motion that did nothing to calm him. All he knew was Arthur's hard cock resting in the crease of his backside, teasing him into an even greater sweat. He was dimly aware of something being said, some familiar word that he couldn't identify until Arthur repeated himself insistently. It was only Merlin's name, but it was a reminder and a question all at once. Merlin turned his head, forcing his heavy eyes open long enough to meet Arthur's glazed, desperate gaze.
“Yes,” Merlin murmured. Arthur's fingers tightened against his skin as the prince took a steadying breath. “Yes,” Merlin said to himself, pressing his forehead to the cushion before him as Arthur, slick with whatever he had stood to retrieve, pressed into him.
It burned, lack of recent repetition and absence of preparation obvious in the initial difficulty. But it was transient and divine. Merlin would have taken far more pain than a momentary discomfort to feel so full, so complete.
Arthur's forehead rested between Merlin's shoulder blades, his breath scorching Merlin's back and unintelligible whispers tickling his skin as he fought for control. As far as Merlin was concerned, control was irrelevant. He dug his fingers into the chair seat and pushed back.
Arthur gave a surprised groan and tensed, dragging his head up from Merlin's back and pulling his hip as he moved. Merlin kept his head down, letting the soft threads keep the sweat out of his eyes as Arthur fucked him. He scratched for purchase as his body was rocked with exquisite, guilty pleasure.
Arthur's hand hit the fabric next to Merlin's, bringing the prince's face down nearer to him, the ghosts of his hot breaths kissing Merlin's shoulders. Drops of sweat broke free of his skin, his hair, his lips to hit Merlin's skin like rain until Merlin dragged himself up to be surrounded by the cage of Arthur's arms.
He turned his head, cheeks scorching hot and bright with effort, so Arthur could reach his mouth with awkward, salted kisses, his fingers twisted in Merlin's hair in a familiar, possessive grip. Still the motion of Arthur's hips was relentless, though shallower now and at an angle that made Merlin's breath hitch and his vision flicker with white.
The hand left Merlin's hair and reached for his dick. Little pressure was needed to leave him shivering, his breaths shallow and rapid as Arthur stroked him with an eagerness that was almost clumsy.
Arthur gasped and all but growled as Merlin tightened around him, sinking his teeth into Merlin's shoulder. And Merlin let go with a cry of relief, coming over Arthur's hand and onto the thick, red rug beneath their knees. Through the white noise of ecstasy and past the echo of his own shameless moans, he heard Arthur swear and felt the stutter in his thrust as Merlin twisted and tensed.
Soon, Merlin's body was begging him to rest, his shoulders aching to relax in the wake of climax. He turned toward Arthur, a plaintive moan of his name leaving the warlock's lips. Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin's chest, taking his weight for the minutes it took for the prince to follow him. Merlin hissed as Arthur's hips slammed against him, holding them hard together with Arthur inside him to the hilt as he came, gritting out Merlin's name against the side of his head.
A few seconds later, when their minds cleared, Arthur's presence slipped away, drawing out of him carefully and removing the scalding contact of skin against skin. Merlin's arms failed him and he dropped, almost delicately, onto his back. He let his head roll back, his eyes on the fire that still burned behind him. He felt Arthur hit the rug next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and fought the temptation to turn into his arms.
#
When Arthur was very young, he would occasionally wake to find his adopted sister in his bed; afraid of her nightmares and eager for his company. In the early days of adolescence, adult disapproval and increasing self-awareness had put a stop to childish gestures of comfort.
Every morning since then, he had woken alone, or in the company of knights on a mattress of wet grass, without even the satisfaction of a previous evening's intimacy.
Which was not to suggest that he was a virgin, far from it, but rather that his encounters did not tend toward prolonged embraces or attempts at shared dreams. It should have come as a shock, then, or been disconcerting, to wake not only in company, but even wrapped around said bedfellow.
Somehow, though, it was perfectly reasonable and in no way awkward to regain consciousness wrapped in a comfortable tangle of limbs. He had as good as had to drag Merlin into bed with him. His manservant seemed so much more at home lying on the floor, but once overruled by his master, he had turned very readily into Arthur's touch, body boneless and pliant in his hands as he moved them to the bed.
Arthur carded his fingers through the long ends of Merlin's hair as he lay pillowed on Arthur's chest. It was a remarkable feeling, to be content. He felt calmer that than he had done in years. Merlin's eyes opening to him did little to change his recumbent mood. That was, until sweet, sleepy confusion turned to wide-eyed fear. He said nothing, but pushed up with an inadvisable hand on Arthur's stomach and began to turn away.
Arthur was faster, though. His hand darted out and he caught Merlin's wrist before he could escape.
“Stay,” Arthur implored, tugging Merlin back toward him.
“Don't you want your breakfast?” Merlin asked, too nervously for one so naked.
“No, I want to talk to you,” Arthur said, pulling himself to sitting. Merlin relaxed in his grip. “Are you well?” Arthur asked, releasing Merlin's wrist and trusting him to stay. Merlin nodded.
“I'm fine,” he said. “Little sore, I suppose,” he added with a smile that Arthur hoped was flirtatious.
“I'm sorry,” Arthur replied. “I didn't hurt you, did I? I mean, I didn't...”
“No,” Merlin said. “No,” he added emphatically. He shook his head. “I just shouldn't have let that happen.”
“You didn't enjoy it?” Arthur asked.
Merlin flushed.
“I didn't say that,” he began.
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because it seemed to me that you enjoyed it.” He reached out to hold Merlin around the back of his neck. He kissed Merlin's cheek and the edge of his jaw. “It seems to me,” he whispered, “like your body knew me.”
Arthur didn't see Merlin's wide, shocked eyes, so he didn't hesitate before bringing their lips together. Merlin was hesitant, at first, but quickly melted into Arthur's caress. Arthur took a chance and relaxed, refraining from deepening the kiss and letting Merlin take the initiative.
He couldn't help but smile against Merlin's lips as the young man did as Arthur hoped and led the kiss. Something seemed to snap in him and he pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, pushing him back to the bed and kissing him with enthusiasm that bordered on desperation.
Arthur didn't object to the treatment, although he was slightly surprised by the sudden ferocity of Merlin's passion, and he encouraged Merlin with a hand to the small of his back. Where Merlin arched against him, Arthur felt his obvious interest pressing against his stomach, sending an answering jolt of arousal through Arthur's gut.
Arthur's hand moved down to Merlin's backside, fingers teasing the sensitive dimple above his crease as a precursor to unapologetic greed. Merlin pulled away until their lips were barely touching.
“Arthur,” he whispered.
“Prince Arthur!”
The voice was loud and clear, even through the thick wood of the door. Arthur moaned in frustration, his head dropping back in annoyance.
“What is it?” he asked loudly, struggling to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Your Highness, I apologise, but your father requests your presence in his counsel chambers immediately.”
“Of course he does,” he said quietly. He added, loudly enough for the messenger to hear, “Let him know I will attend him presently.”
The messenger acknowledged him and, he presumed, left. Merlin lifted his flushed face to look at Arthur, who was frustrated to see the mask of uncertainty had returned.
“Can I trust you?” Arthur asked. At Merlin's confused, almost frightened expression, he explained. “Can I trust you to be here when I get back? We still need to talk. And,” he added, pushing up to press a kiss to Merlin's chin, “I wouldn't mind finishing what we've started here.”
“You'd better go to your father,” Merlin answered him. “I have duties.”
“Hmm,” Arthur said, releasing him reluctantly as Merlin moved to let him up. “Best help me get dressed, then.”
#
Arthur sat calmly, listening to his father drone, listening to Gaius object, listening to his father fail to listen. It all seemed rather self-defeating, as usual, but while he could usually tolerate the necessity of his own irrelevant presence at these things enough to feign interest, today he couldn't last more than a few minutes before drifting off into contemplation of the young man still, he dared to hope, lying in his bed.
It would be acceptable, though, if he found the young man going about his chores with the ever-present dull reminder of the previous evening's activity in the small of his back.
Arthur squirmed in his seat. Bringing Merlin any pain had never been his intention, nor did he take pleasure in it, but knowing that Merlin wouldn't be able to escape the reminder of him was... inescapably arousing.
“What are you thinking of, brother?” Morgana asked him quietly, a small smile on her face. “That's a devious smile if I ever saw one.”
Arthur shook his head and straightened himself from where he had ended up slumped down in his chair.
“Nothing,” he said. “I was remembering a joke I was told.”
“Well, do feel free to share,” she invited. “I could honestly do with the distraction.”
She had a point. The meeting was tedious, the ultimate conclusion foregone and the outcome completely harmless and irrelevant.
Arthur grinned, recalling the joke that had left me in such hysterics the night before. He was sure it would retain its quality without the lubrication of alcohol.
“Okay,” he said quietly, turning toward her. “So, there's a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker and they all meet up in an inn...”
“Oh, Arthur, is this the extra bun joke?” she asked with a giggle.
“You know it?” he asked, happy to share the amusement while a tad disappointed to have the wind sucked from his sails.
“Of course I do,” Morgana replied. “That's your favourite joke in the world. You know Merlin tells it better than you, though, that's why you make him tell it every time you've had more than a cup.”
“I've heard that joke before?” Arthur asked, his smile fading completely. “I'd swear I'd never heard it before last night.”
“Of course not,” she said sarcastically, misreading his confusion as an act. “Do you remember that time you had him tell it to Lady Amanda?” she reminisced. “We all thought she was going to have him executed until she finally got it and fell off her chair for laughing.”
“No,” Arthur said, staring into the distance. “I don't remember that at all.”
Morgana shrugged.
“Well I suppose you were particularly drunk that night. And it was more than a year ago. Perhaps your memory is going,” she teased.
“A year?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I don't know the exact date,” she said, her smile fading. “Why, is it important?”
Arthur's brow knotted.
“How long has Merlin been my servant?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't know, it must be about two years,” Morgana replied. “Although,” she smiled fondly, “it does sort of feel like he's been here forever.”
“Two years?” Arthur said to himself. “As my servant? Not in the household?”
“No, Arthur, he was your servant from the day he arrived and saved your life.”
Arthur opened and closed his mouth in confusion, lost for words and unable to believe such a thing when he knew, completely, that he had only known Merlin for a week. He knew that Merlin had never told him that joke before, nor entertained guests at a royal function. He had certainly never saved Arthur's life because Arthur would remember something like that. He would know if Merlin had put himself in danger, or pulled Arthur from the path of a knife aimed at his heart.
Arthur grasped his chest in a tight fist as a jolt of shock ran through him. He stood, making no apologies as his chair clattered back behind him and he stumbled unsteadily from the room.
He rounded a corner and clutched at his heart, folding in half and trusting the wall to steady him as memories filtered through like water growing heavy enough to break through the cloud.
Merlin saved his life, once, twice, too many times to count. Dislike and distrust at first until respect was born, growing in affection, friendship... pride in his friend's skills, protectiveness over his friendship and his fragile life.
He remembered mistreating Merlin, neglecting him through fear or childish stupidity and the guilt that followed him when he realised how hurt Merlin had been when Arthur damaged him.
Apologies, embraces, protestations of friendship and devotion, accidental kisses...
Arthur was on his knees, now, breathing shallow as all the lazy parts of his mind woke at once and were filled to be seen.
Merlin was under him, with him, soft and warm and welcoming, playful as he ever was and yet so earnest when he looked up at Arthur, told him he loved him, arched his back and came, breathing life into Arthur again.
Saving his life. Like when they stood in front of the sorcerer, surprising them in the forest and swearing pain on Arthur for his father's sins. Arthur was frozen in place by powerful magic, sorcerer's fire heading toward his doomed flesh as he screamed at Merlin to stay back, to run away.
But Merlin disobeyed him, standing at his side as he should be in Arthur's time of dying.
I'm sorry.
Indecipherable words left Merlin's lips. Incredible fire left Merlin's fingertips.
One sorcerer killed another before his eyes and a great explosion sent him flying backward.
After that, he couldn't recall.
#
Gaius started in surprise, pressing a calming hand to his chest as his door slammed back against the wall to reveal a furious-looking crown prince.
“Where is he?” Arthur demanded.
Gaius swallowed hard, gripping the table and righting his breathing.
“If you are referring to Merlin, Sire, I can tell you I have no idea. I did not see him, but he will not be returning soon. Not according to this,” he said, sounding rather unimpressed and holding up a shabby scrap of paper.
Arthur strode to the table and plucked the missive from Gaius' hand without asking.
“Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a new manservant,” Gaius said bitterly as Arthur scanned the letter. Arthur turned sharply to address him.
“I will not,” he said firmly. “I will find the little bugger and I will get him to explain himself.” He turned on his heel, heading toward Merlin's room. “Drag him back by the ears if need be,” he added quietly, sending a small, unobserved smile onto Gaius' face. Whatever had gone between them, it clearly wasn't so drastic that it had gone past Arthur threatening violence to keep Merlin where he belonged. The prince stood before the mess of Merlin's ransacked room, his hands pressed to his hips.
“Now, if I were an idiot, where would I be?”
Gaius left him to it.
#
The glove that hit the back of Merlin's head was his first warning that anybody else was currently in remotely the same part of the forest as he. Arthur would have mocked him for his lack of awareness. But then, Merlin should have known straight away that there were very few individuals of his acquaintance who would throw a glove at his head in an otherwise deserted forest. He rubbed the back of his head and turned to watch the prince bringing his horse to a halt a few feet from him.
“Your highness,” he nodded in acknowledgement.
“Don't you 'your highness' me,” Arthur said, dismounting and tossing the reins to one side, trusting his familiar steed to stay put. He strode toward Merlin determinedly, then turned on his heel and headed back, finally settling into a distracted line of pacing back and forth in front of him. “I think formal titles are highly misplaced, don't you?”
“Arthur...”
“No, you don't 'Arthur' me, either.” Since that didn't give Merlin much to work with, he stayed quiet. “So what...” Arthur began. “I mean... where do we even start?”
“Magic?” Merlin suggested.
“We could,” Arthur nodded. “We could start there. But let's not. Let's start with you lying to me. What were you thinking? I lose my memory and instead of trying to make me better you just go along with it? Let us go back to the beginning, like nothing we've been has mattered? Was it so awful, being with me? Had you got so bored you'd take the first chance you had to end it? Because I'd never force you to do anything, Merlin. If you didn't want me, all you had to do was say.”
“Arthur, come on, you know that's not true! I didn't want it to be over, I just thought you... I mean, I knew you saw me... what I did, and I know how you feel about magic.”
“So it was better to let me forget it all? Oh, obviously,” he concluded, throwing his arms up in the air. “You've been lying to me since the beginning, what's another lie now, right?”
Merlin balked indignantly.
“I was scared, Arthur! I didn't know what you'd do!”
“Well, obviously I'd have to arrest you! Obviously I'd have you killed!” Arthur walked right up to him, invading his space. “Do you really believe I could be capable of that? Do you think there's anything you could do that would make me hurt you?” He reached out, tracing his fingers down Merlin's cheek. “I could never give you up so easily.” Merlin leaned infinitesimally into Arthur's touch, just as Arthur curled his fingers back into his hand.
“But you could,” Arthur said thoughtfully. He put a little space back between the two of them. “You're leaving me. You don't even trust me not to kill you.”
Arthur's shoulders softened, his head dropping so he could no longer look at Merlin.
“Go back to Ealdor,” Arthur said, twigs cracking under his feet as he walked back to his horse. “Go home, Merlin.”
#
It took Merlin no more than twenty minutes to find Arthur, simply by walking back the way he had come. Which was comforting, in that it meant that he could have ridden for a maximum of five minutes before giving up and stopping.
Arthur was poking disconsolately at a small pile of sticks. He spared a look for Merlin's feet as he entered the clearing. Merlin tossed his bag down on the other side of the fire that didn't burn and sat down on the end his blanket was rolled up in.
“I wouldn't have been gone long,” Merlin said. Arthur tilted his head, still poking, but didn't lift his gaze to meet Merlin's. “I mean, I know I left, but... there's no way I'd have stayed away. I doubt I would have been gone more than a month.”
Silence drifted for a while, permeated by the natural noises of woodland creatures and sound of perturbed prince prodding a pile of sticks.
“And why is that, Merlin?” Arthur asked after a while.
“Because I promised to protect you,” Merlin said. Arthur sniffed derisively. Merlin dropped his head between his shoulders and studied the forest floor. “And because I love you,” he added, little more than a murmur. He felt the moment when Arthur looked up and didn't last long before he had to meet his eyes.
“Light that,” Arthur said, nodding toward the fire. Merlin leaned back to open his pack and retrieve his flint and steel. Arthur threw a small stick at him. “Light it,” he said again, waving toward the kindling. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to,” Arthur said kindly.
It had been quite some time since Merlin had needed words to light a simple fire and with a raised hand a brief flash of gold, the pile of sticks caught fire. Arthur leaned back, his eyes on the growing flames but his expression betraying nothing.
“Why didn't you want me to remember?” Arthur asked, without anger.
“I don't think I know anymore,” Merlin said honestly. “I was scared. But not because I thought you were going to kill me. I never thought that.”
“Good,” Arthur interrupted. “Because that was really bloody insulting, actually.”
“I know. I'm sorry. But you would have been angry and you might have sent me away and you... you'd look at me like that,” he said, standing up as he failed to hold Arthur's cold gaze. “I'd rather be close to you and mean nothing than have you hate me.”
He paused, reflecting upon himself. “And then I started thinking about you, and how you'll be king soon and you'll have to marry someone suitable, it would be easier for you...”
“What absolute horseshit,” Arthur said. He stood up and approached Merlin, crowding his personal space. “You know damned well I have no interest in suitable women. Besides, look how quickly I sought you out. I had no memory of you and yet you were all I could think about. Look how quickly I pulled you into my bed.”
“Took you longer the first time around,” Merlin muttered with a pout.
“Yes, well,” Arthur said, lifting a hand as if to rest it against Merlin's neck. “Clearly something's worked itself deeper than mere attraction. And, for the record,” he said, curling his fingers in and letting his knuckles caress Merlin's jaw. “I couldn't hate you. Even when you leave me and try to break my heart.”
“You told me to go to Ealdor,” Merlin pointed out.
“Yes,” Arthur said slowly. “Because I can't order you to go where you don't want to be. And if you truly don't want...”
“Then you told me to go home,” Merlin interrupted. “And I followed you.” Arthur relaxed a little and Merlin turned into the touch that hadn't left his cheek. “I am sorry I didn't tell you,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry I...”
Arthur kissed him.
“I forgive you,” Arthur said a moment later. “Come home, stop lying to me, and I'll forgive you.”
Merlin nodded, eager to have Arthur's lips again, now his kisses were full of familiar confidence.
“For the magic, too?”
Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin's. He sighed.
“We're going to have to talk about the magic,” he said honestly. “It's harder than forgiveness.” Merlin closed his eyes in resignation, before Arthur went on. “We need to talk about how you use it, what we do with it. And how we hide it.”
Merlin couldn't help but smile.
“You're going to protect me?” he asked. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I'm going to... do something,” he replied. “We'll work it out.”
“Do I have anything else to apologise for?” Merlin asked, resting against his once and future lover and allowing the warmth to suffuse him. “Or promise?”
“Honesty, love, discretion?” Arthur summarised. “I think we have the immediate future covered.”
Merlin smiled, lifted his head and met Arthur's lips at a point that indicated his intentions were identical to and simultaneous with Merlin's.
While Merlin very much appreciated the welcome return of familiar kisses and would never refute their quality, he knew he would be happier when Arthur's caresses lost the slight edge of desperation they currently held. At that moment, he was content to risk a little bruising to reassure Arthur that his promises were faithful.
When they were both flushed and slightly breathless, Merlin pulled back to look up at Arthur through his eyelashes.
“Should I pull out a blanket?” he offered, possibly the least romantic proposition he'd ever said aloud. “It's been a while since we were... you know... outside.”
“Last night aside, it's been a while since we were anything,” Arthur reminded him. Merlin tilted his chin up for a kiss and, though Arthur obliged him briefly, he stopped frustratingly soon.
“I genuinely hate to say this, but we should probably get back to Camelot, actually,” Arthur said reluctantly. “I didn't actually tell anyone I was leaving.”
“Really?” Merlin asked. His impending sexual frustration was momentarily assuaged by curiosity and he was unable to keep the grin from his face. Arthur used his distraction to drag himself away and retrieve his steed. “What happened?” Merlin asked.
“Well,” Arthur said, huffing as he pulled himself onto the horse. “I was about to tell that bloody awful baker joke to Morgana and she said she'd heard it before. Suddenly I remembered everything else.”
“It's a great joke,” Merlin said. “When I tell it. I can't believe you remembered me over a joke, though.”
“Well, you weren't jogging my memories in many other areas,” Arthur said with exaggerated petulance, pulling Merlin up onto his horse behind him. “You know, you're a much better servant when I'm not in love with you.”
“Well, yes,” Merlin said, tucking his arms under Arthur's and resting his head on a familiar, strong back. “I can get away with more when I'm warming your bed.”
“Apparently so,” Arthur agreed, smiling to have his favourite riding cape wrapped around him. “You know I tried to kiss Gwen?” Arthur felt Merlin's head lift from his back and he tensed, perhaps momentarily worried that he should perhaps have kept that to himself. “She slapped me,” he added.
Merlin's laughter carried them almost all the way home. He was clearly never going to let Arthur forget that.
The End