Fic and Christmas.
It's Christmas Eve here, so happy Christmas Eve, everyone :D And my words are (finally) back, so I've got some fic. :D
Title: This Time of Year
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warnings/Spoilers: Vague S4 spoilers, mild expletives, intoxicated clumsiness, general lack of historical accuracy. Pretty much the usual.
Disclaimer: Neither the show nor its characters are mine. If they were, there’d probably be a lot less of this evil plotting nonsense and a lot more naked loving.
Summary: It’s far too peaceful, Arthur’s restless and Merlin’s distracting. Something needs to be done.
A/N: So Arthur giving Merlin a day off is probably something which is even less likely to happen than an Arthur/Merlin snogging session in tomorrow’s episode, but hey. It’s Christmas.
Also, this was written for the Tumblr Merthur Party Secret Santa, for my lovely Prince, fromthedepthsofavalon. Many thanks to night_lyx for checking it over.
There was something about this time of year, Arthur thought, that set everyone in Camelot at ease. Perhaps it was the wintery scent of pine that pervaded the air around Camelot. Perhaps it was the anticipation of the winter feast, which the head cook had been planning for months now. Perhaps it was simply that the snow was falling so heavily that any sorcerer who’d had their sights set on attacking the castle had obviously taken one look outside and thought no, not today. This season was not one that favoured battles, and as a result it had been almost peaceful for the past few weeks.
Peace was not something that Arthur was much used to, and he told himself that it was for that reason - and no other - that he’d turned to Merlin when the man had come in to give him his breakfast that morning and told him that he could take the rest of the morning off. Merlin hadn’t had much to do anyway, because with the snow coming down as heavy as it was and the unsettling lack of magical enemies to fight, he’d been left with a lot more time for completing all his chores than he’d actually needed. Arthur had even been forced to invent a few new ones last week, because Merlin had decided that he had nothing better to do than lie around on the hearth in Arthur’s room and inform Arthur that he’d ‘done that already, sire’ whenever Arthur ordered him to get up and complete a task. He returned to Arthur’s room from reflooring the pig sty in a markedly worse mood than he’d left it in, and Arthur had heaved an inward sigh of relief at this return to familiarity.
But there were only so many new tasks that Arthur could come up with, especially since his job didn’t stop because of the snow and he’d had council meetings nonstop for the past few days. There were a few dozen matters regarding the lower town and the grain stores that had needed his attention, and several more regarding a rather alarming account of the stableboy and the horses that needed settling. By the time he’d finished, he had little opportunity to think up new chores for his manservant.
All of which wouldn’t have bothered Arthur all that much if it wasn’t for the fact that Merlin seemed to think that he was welcome to remain in Arthur’s chambers even when he had no work left to do there. Arthur was used to him coming and going from Arthur’s rooms, banging the door loudly on the way out - he’d had to endure it for years now, after all - but he wasn’t quite so used to seeing Merlin sprawled in front of the fire while he waited for Arthur to finish his dinner, his long legs stretched out across the floor and his cheeks pink from the warmth. He certainly wasn’t used to seeing Merlin curled up in Arthur’s chair when Arthur came in from training with his armour half-frozen and icy against his skin. Merlin had had an actual book in his hand, which Arthur supposed he shouldn’t have found as surprising as he did. He’d known Merlin could read, of course, but he hadn’t known that Merlin did it for enjoyment.
“What are you reading?” Arthur had asked as Merlin unbuckled his armour. Merlin had launched into some long, twisted explanation of what sounded like an epic poem of some sort and Arthur had stopped listening after about five minutes. Instead, he’d simply watched as Merlin’s face lit up as he described some quest or other, and Arthur had been struck with an odd, intensely fond feeling that left him quite unsettled. And unsettled was not a something that Arthur enjoyed being.
Arthur had put up with it for a week or so, but he’d arrived back in his chambers yesterday evening to see Merlin leaping off Arthur’s bed as though he’d been lying on it moments earlier, and the thought of Merlin lying on his bed - sleeping on it, even, with his hair mussed and his neckerchief loosened - had sent a wash of heat through his veins. Really, Arthur had decided firmly, something had to be done. He was finding it far too difficult to concentrate on running the kingdom with Merlin constantly around.
He couldn’t simply order Merlin to stay out of his chambers, though, because it was his job to be in there (and Arthur found it rather ironic that it was this - Merlin actually doing his job, rather than being his usual incompetent self - that was causing such a problem). Rather, he needed some way of getting Merlin and his distractingly long legs and his smile and his reading habits out of his chambers, at least for a while, without it seeming as though that was what he was doing.
So the next morning, when Merlin brought his breakfast into Arthur’s room, his eyes flicking towards Arthur’s bed with an eager gaze, Arthur had a plan.
“It’s winter,” he began, sitting down at the table and poking at his eggs with a feigned casualness.
“Yes,” Merlin replied from somewhere behind him. “The snow is a bit of a giveaway.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, but the point is, it’s traditional to give gifts in wintertime.”
Merlin made a disbelieving sound. “Are you - are you actually ordering me to give you presents? Because really, Arthur, the only thing I can think of that you need is a swift kick up the -“
“No, you idiot,” Arthur interrupted, “I was going to give you one.”
There was a short silence, and then Merlin walked into view around the side of the table and stared at him. Arthur looked pointedly down at his eggs.
“You what?” Merlin asked slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing - or, more precisely, as though he was trying to understand what Arthur was up to, and bugger, why did merlin have to chose this day to become perceptive.
“It’s tradition. It’s bad luck if I don’t,” he said irritably. “Do you want it or not?”
“I -“ Merlin said, sounding taken aback. “I don’t have anything to give you.” He was looking at Arthur with that expression he got sometimes, as though Arthur had done something which had changed Merlin’s idea of how he expected Arthur to behave. Arthur shifted, uncomfortable, and then remembered that he was in his own chambers, he was king, and feeling uncomfortable was precisely what this conversation was trying to help him avoid. Bugger.
“Doesn’t matter,” Arthur said tersely. “You can have the morning off from duties.”
“Really?” Merlin asked, looking wary. “You’re not joking?”
“If you don’t want it -“
“No, no, I want it!” Merlin said quickly. “Thank you, Arthur.” He flashed Arthur a blinding grin, causing Arthur’s breath to catch sharply somewhere between his lungs and his mouth, and then headed for the door.
“Only the morning, mind!” Arthur added when he’d found his voice again, but Merlin had already darted away.
---
Many blissfully distraction-free hours later, Arthur realised that it was well past morning and heading rapidly towards evening, and Merlin ought to have been back in his chambers by now. There wasn’t a feast tonight, so Arthur had been planning to eat dinner in his room, which Merlin knew full well, because it happened every other day.
He frowned and put down the final report he’d been reading. Merlin was often late, he supposed, but he should have showed up in Arthur’s chambers hours ago and he’d never been that late unless there was something seriously wrong. He hoped that the man hadn’t knocked himself out in the woods again. The bruise from the last time was only just fading.
Arthur stood up and walked over to the door of his chambers, asking one of the maids hurrying along the passageway outside if she could find him. The girl dropped into a deep curtsey before scurrying off, and Arthur felt oddly pleased that at least some of the castle staff were up to scratch.
He had to revise that conclusion half an hour later, however, when the maid returned to tell him that Merlin wasn’t in any of the places one would expect a manservant to be.
“He never is,” Arthur replied, but the maid just blinked at him. “Never mind, I’ll find him myself.”
He rose from his seat by the window and sighed. He was half tempted to call for George instead, but the man had expanded his repertoire of brass jokes to include a few about silver, and there was only so much that Arthur was prepared to put up with in a night.
So instead, he strode down to Gaius’ chambers, determined to find Merlin before the time came for dinner.
---
Gaius looked puzzled when Arthur opened the door.
“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sire.” Gaius replied. “He said you’d given him the day off.”
“The morning off,” Arthur corrected.
“Have you tried the tavern?” Gaius asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Not yet,” Arthur replied darkly.
---
Merlin wasn’t in the tavern. He wasn’t in the stables, either, or in the kitchens or Gwen’s house, and no one had seen him heading for the forest, which was another place Merlin seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time. Arthur had almost given up, almost decided that he’d just sentence Merlin to a good month in the stocks when the man returned to work the next day, when he heard something that sounded a little like Merlin’s laughter echoing from the knights’ quarters. He set off down the passage towards the noise.
And then, just as he was rounding the corner towards Leon’s room, something barrelled out of the door on his right and collided heavily with him. Or rather, two somethings, Arthur corrected himself, straightening up and staring at Gwaine and Merlin. Gwaine had kept his feet after the collision, but Merlin had ended up lying flat on his back on the floor and didn’t seem inclined to get up again.
“Merlin, what are -“ Arthur started, but Gwaine waved a hand at him.
“Arthur, my good man,” he interrupted cheerfully. “‘Fraid Merlin’s a bit sloshed.”
Merlin hooted softly from his position near Gwaine’s feet. Gwaine stared down at him for a few seconds and then gave a jaunty grin.
“Arthur’s here,” he said.
“Arthur!” Merlin called, only it came out sounding distinctly like Arfur. Gwaine chortled, swaying alarmingly on his feet.
“He’s drunk?” Arthur asked incredulously. He knew Merlin liked the tavern, but this was getting a little out of hand.
Gwaine shrugged. “Merlin can’t hold his mead,” he said helpfully.
“Oi,” Merlin protested, batting at Gwaine’s foot with a hand. “Can too.”
“Oh yes, right you are. It’s the ale you can’t hold,” Gwaine replied.
Arthur stared between them both in silence. Gwaine looked up, seeming to realise that leaving Merlin lying around at the feet of the king was probably not the best idea. He cleared his throat.
“I’ll just get him back to his rooms, then,” he said.
He bent to pick Merlin up, overbalanced and ended up slumped on the floor beside him. Arthur sighed. Much as he enjoyed the peace for what it was doing for the kingdom, it was making the knights rather restless, and some of them - Gwaine, and Arthur suspected the others might have joined him - were resorting to drink to pass the time. He’d have to start up the early morning training sessions again. It would do no one any good to have the kingdom’s finest warriors seen like this, and he’d long since discovered that that was a surefire way of keeping them in line.
“Is Leon around?” he asked. “I assume he would be, seeing as it’s his chambers you’ve come staggering out of.”
Gwaine opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Leon came out of the door on the right, grinning around at them good-naturedly. He didn’t seem quite sober either, Arthur noted, but at least he was walking straight.
“Evening, sire,” he said cheerfully.
“Leon,” Arthur nodded. “Right, get Gwaine back to his chambers. I’m taking this idiot to his room.” He gestured at Merlin, who was still lying on his back, laughing softly up at the ceiling.
“Of course, sire,” Leon said, and bent to place a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder.
Arthur watched them both for a minute, and then figured that they’d be alright to get back into Leon’s chambers. He bent down and hauled Merlin upright, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist to keep him standing.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Merlin waved mournfully to the other two as they set off down the passageway.
“You’re getting a week in the stocks for this, you know,” Arthur said conversationally.
Merlin swung his head back around from where he’d been watching Gwaine and grinned at him.
“Arthur!” he exclaimed, as though he’d only just realised that Arthur was half-carrying him down the passage - and Arthur really ought to have a conversation with him about the dangers of allowing himself to be willingly carried off by unidentified men. Honestly, did the man have no sense of self-preservation?
Merlin looked about himself, confused.
“Where’re we going?”
“I am taking you to Gaius’ chambers,” Arthur said.
He looked around and realised that Gaius’ chambers were across the courtyard and up two flights of stairs - far too far for Arthur to heave a drunk Merlin. He was the King of Camelot, he couldn’t have people seeing him lugging his manservant about. It wasn’t proper.
He loosened his hold on Merlin as he looked about, and Merlin took the opportunity to lurch sideways into a wall.
“Oh, for heaven’s - “ Arthur started, tugging the man back upright. “I give you the morning off and you decide to go drinking?”
Merlin blinked at him.
“Though I should have expected as much,” Arthur continued. “You’re in the tavern often enough.”
“’m not,” Merlin slurred. “M saving your life mostly. Gaius just says -“ he paused, frowning. “things, he finished. “Gaius says things.”
Arthur sighed. This was going to be a long walk.
---
Merlin was pressed all along his side as they made their way up the stairs, and with each step that they managed the man seemed to be finding it harder and harder to stay upright, until he had both arms around Arthur, his face pressed against Arthur’s chest and his legs at an angle that certainly wouldn’t help him to walk straight.
“You’re hopeless,” Arthur said, and Merlin just made a soft noise and settled his head more firmly against Arthur’s chest, in a manner that certainly didn’t make Arthur’s heart thud a little faster in his chest.
Arthur swallowed and shook him gently.
“Merlin, we have to move. We’re in the stairwell.”
There was no response.
“Merlin.”
“Merlin.”
“Damn it, Merlin, don’t you dare fall asleep.”
---
By the time they reached Arthur’s chambers, Merlin was half-asleep, and any hope Arthur had of sobering the man up and sending him back down to Gaius’ rooms vanished. He was barely able to stand straight without moving, he’d never last the three flights of steps between Arthur’s chambers and Gaius’ ones.
Bugger, Arthur thought, wondering just how he’d ended up here when the morning had been so promisingly Merlin-free. Not that he minded, not really, but there was something about this Merlin, all pink-cheeked and sleepy-eyed, a wide, warm smile stretched across his face, that tugged against Arthur’s chest and made it hard to breathe.
“Sit down before you fall over,” he said, and Merlin lurched over to the bed and collapsed heavily onto it, smiling up at Arthur from his position on Arthur’s pillows.
Arthur sighed, moving over towards the bed. He figured that if Merlin was going to pass out on his bed, he could at least do it without his shoes on.
“I am the King of Camelot,” he told Merlin as he sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged at Merlin’s boots. “This is never happening again, and you will tell no one about it.”
Merlin gave an obedient nod.
“I was getting you a present,” he said as Arthur dropped his first boot on the floor and started on the other one. “Going to. Was going to. With Gwaine.”
“Oh,” Arthur said.
“Only there was wine,” he said, frowning deeply. “And mead. And some ale?”
“I’m sure there was,” Arthur said.
“‘M drunk,” Merlin added helpfully.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed, tugging Merlin’s other boot off.
“You’re pretty,” Merlin said after a while.
Arthur blinked.
“’Specially after training,” Merlin added. “you’re all cold and … and pink. And it’s hard to read when you’re there all cold and pink.” He made a face that Arthur was sure was supposed to be a scowl, only the ale seemed to have caught up with him and all he could manage was a sort of displeased smile.
Arthur opened his mouth to object to being called cold and pink, then stopped as he realised that it seemed almost as though Merlin had been having the same problem as Arthur, and oh, that was interesting. Though if either of them was pretty it was Merlin, obviously, with his huge blue eyes and his high, shadowed cheekbones and his full pink lips.
“Didn’t know what to get you anyway,” Merlin began, as though he’d forgotten what they’d just been talking about. “You’ve got - you’re - perfect. And a prat. Perfect prat.” He giggled.
“Leon said a hug,” he added contemplatively.
There was silence for a moment as Arthur tried to process what exactly Merlin was on about, and then Merlin, who’d been sitting and staring at Arthur, seemed to make up his mind about something. Before Arthur could reply, Merlin lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Arthur, his face buried in Arthur’s neck and his hands warm around Arthur’s sides.
“There,” he said, voice muffled against Arthur’s skin.
Arthur sat still for a moment, uncertain. He was about to tell him to stop it, get off, that’s quite enough now, but then, for some reason, he didn’t. It was sort of nice, having Merlin wrapped around him like an intoxicated, well-meaning octopus, his fingers brushing lightly over Arthur’s back and his face warm against Arthur’s shoulder. He smelled like mead and soap and some scent that Arthur had come to know as Merlin’s, a light, summery scent that Arthur probably shouldn’t have recognised as easily as he did. It felt almost okay, having Merlin tucked in so close beside him with his body pressed against Arthur’s - not like something that Arthur had been waiting for, exactly, but as though this was something that Arthur had been wanting for a long time, only he hadn’t fully realised it until now.
So instead he wrapped his arms around Merlin, one hand coming up to stroke through Merlin’s hair, just briefly, because Merlin was drunk and Arthur was tired and it was cold, and he was the king of Camelot besides, so he could spend his evenings hugging his manservants if he wanted to. And he did want to - he wanted to keep Merlin this close for as long as he could, because keeping him out of sight was useless and keeping him in sight but out of reach was unbearable, but this? This he could live with.
And perhaps it had been there all along, only Arthur hadn’t thought to look for it because Merlin was silly and big-eared and Merlin, and it hadn’t been until all the other distractions, all those dragons and sorcerers and armies, had vanished that he’d noticed it. Perhaps Arthur had become so used to Merlin being a constant thing amid all the battles and all the change that he hadn’t stopped to consider why he didn’t mind Merlin being the constant. Because he didn’t, really - he liked Merlin appearing beside his bed at ridiculous hours of the morning, and he liked the way Merlin had pushed his way into Arthur’s life, until Arthur couldn’t remember what it had been like when he wasn’t there. More peaceful, he supposed, but the past few weeks had shown that peace and Arthur weren’t exactly suited to one another.
“Oh,” Arthur said softly, and Merlin hummed against his shoulder, as if to say finally, you’ve worked it out.
“Shut up,” Arthur added. Merlin leaned back and stared at him with a sleepy, fond expression on his face, as though he’d forgotten that he was supposed to reply to that with some snarky comment. Instead, he simply leant in and pressed his lips against Arthur’s, soft and warm and so brief that Arthur almost thought that he’d imagined it.
“There,” Merlin whispered against his lips, and then settled his head back on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur stared quietly down at him, sure that the whole world could hear the heavy thudding of his heart. It wasn’t much, really, just a fleeting press of lips, but to Arthur it felt a little like everything.
They stayed like that for a long while, until the sounds of the castle had given way to silence and Merlin had drifted back off into sleep, his arms loosening around Arthur’s body. Arthur settled the man back onto the bed and then slipped beneath the rugs beside him, trying not to smile at the way Merlin turned in towards him in his sleep.
And perhaps Merlin would wake the next morning with no memory of the night before, and perhaps Arthur would have to sentence him to a week in the stocks anyway to teach him to follow instructions (‘a morning off doesn’t mean the entire day, Merlin, honestly’) and perhaps Arthur would forbid Merlin from having any days off for the rest of his life and Merlin would scowl at him for a week or so, but he’d deal with all that in the morning. At this moment there was just the cool darkness of Arthur’s chambers, the soft, slow sound of Merlin’s breathing beside him and the warmth of the man’s body close to his, and that, Arthur thought, was enough for now.
End
And now I'm off to cook all the things for Christmas. Oh, I love this time of year. :D