The Truth of Who We Are - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: The Truth of Who We Are
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 4261
Rating: R
Warning: Mentions of character deaths
A/N: This somewhat sticks two fingers up at the Arthurian Legend.
Summary: When King Uther dies, Merlin knows exactly where he has to be. He returns to Camelot after years in exile to help Arthur in his new role as king.
It is raining on the night that the king of Camelot dies. The sky is black and the thin moon is obscured by heavy clouds. Raindrops thrash against the stone of the castle courtyard as Merlin's hooded figure rushes to the castle's doors. His clothes are soaked through to the skin.
At the doors, the guards recognise his pale, drenched face even after so many years and they part to let him through. "Arthur's upstairs," one of them says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the steps that Merlin trampled up and down a thousand times as Arthur's manservant. That seems like such a sullen lifetime ago now.
He leaves a dripping trail in his wake as he walks along familiar hallways. The fresh sight of them blows dust from his memories like a powerful gust of wind. Nowhere is that wind more powerful than here, right in front of the prince's - now king's - bedroom.
He doesn't knock, though perhaps he should. He's never been good at 'should' - that helps to explain why he had to leave Camelot in the first place, torn from Arthur's side and his destiny's path for his own protection.
In his bedroom, Arthur stands by his window and stares at the night's storm. He doesn't turn as Merlin walks inside, though Merlin's certain he must know it's him. He's watching the courtyard: he'd have seen him come in.
"I came as soon as I heard," Merlin says. He's still out of breath from his rush to get here. As he pushes his dark, dripping hair from his forehead it occurs to him that perhaps he could have teleported right into the building instead of simply into the city. His power is so much more now than it was before. Sometimes he thinks that there are no limits to what he could do - and that terrifies him as much as it excites him. "I am so sor-"
"Don't say it," Arthur interrupts. The sound of his voice makes Merlin flinch. "Your kind… They must be so happy he's dead."
"That isn't true and you know it." But there had been celebrating in the group he'd been travelling with when the news broke. The end of Uther Pendragon's reign had been met with cheering and singing, but Merlin had not stayed for the festivities. He'd known that his place is at Arthur's side at this time, whether banished or not; without Uther's wrath as a cloak over the castle, he had nothing to fear. "If I had known of his illness…"
"Could you have fixed it?" Arthur asks. He turns around now, staring at Merlin with hawk-like intensity. Merlin does not squirm under his gaze. "Our physician declared it hopeless. What if I'd asked you?"
"I would have done all within my power," Merlin promises - and perhaps it would have worked, and he would have doomed Camelot to several more years under Uther's rule. He would have had to stay in hiding and his actions would have enflamed the wrath of the dragon that lived underneath the castle; if it would have wiped this expression from Arthur's face, this mix of pain and directionless anger, then it would have been worth it. "But even I can't defeat death, Arthur. I've tried."
The sacrifice is too much. When Gaius gave his life to protect him years ago, Merlin had used every drop of magic in his veins to try to return him without exchanging another life - and it hadn't worked. A sorcerer, even a powerful one, is still a human, and all humans have their limits. This is his final opponent.
He steps towards Arthur and watches his face in the flicker of the candlelight. Outside, the storm still rages.
"I can leave," he suggests when Arthur doesn't speak. "If that's what you want, I can go. It's fine, really."
"If I wanted you gone I'd have said so by now, Merlin," Arthur scolds. There's something there that sounds like the brave young man that Merlin remembers, not the weary adult he has turned into.
"Then I'm here for as long as you'll put up with me."
It'll be strange, so strange, to be back in Camelot again. It hasn't been home to him for so long.
Arthur smiles at him, but it is such a fractured and broken thing that Merlin is drawn forward to him. He reaches his side and instantly it is as if no time has passed at all. His arms encircle the new king and he holds onto him. Arthur resists at first, as thick and inflexible as a tree trunk, but then he melts against Merlin, holding on tightly. He feels bigger now, strong - like he could crush Merlin if he ever feels like it.
"He was my father," he mutters, muffled against Merlin's neck.
Merlin wishes that he knew what to say to make it all better. He's supposed to protect Arthur, but there's no way he can spare him this pain. He's here, at Arthur's side and as he holds him and whispers words of empty comfort he can only wish that this is enough to make it easier to take.
*
There is a funeral and a coronation on the same day. Merlin watches from a distance: Arthur looks brave and noble. He will be a wise, great king. Merlin has never doubted that, not even in his years of exile from Arthur's side.
The king is dead. Long live the king.
His heart breaks for him and when the burial and banquets are over Merlin sits in Arthur's chambers and waits for him to return. He tries not to fidget too much, but staying still is firmly impossible. He's nervous, so nervous, but he doesn't know why.
He feels out of place here, as if he no longer belongs in the castle. Morgana was banished years ago and Gwen followed when she left; Gaius is long dead. The dragon won't speak to him any more. He is at the bottom of Arthur's list of priorities, as he ought to be. Loneliness itches around him in the empty room. He misses the crowd he travelled with; wizards, witches and seers, they're like him. They understand him.
He moves to the table impulsively and reaches for the bowl of fruit that sits in the centre. It's filled high, but he shifts the objects out of the bowl and onto the table top in a rush. When the golden bowl is empty, he places his hand over it and whispers ancient words, a spell he learned in his youth. Water trickles from nowhere, filling the large shallow bowl until it sits before him like a miniature lake.
He glances up at the door but Arthur doesn't burst forth. He's probably still downstairs, entertaining his guests or shepherding the ones who are worse for wear off to the guest bedrooms. Once, Merlin would have been there to run around and help him. That isn't his job, not any more.
Someone else is there to perform all the chores that Arthur dreams up. Someone else has taken Merlin's place.
He closes his eyes to chase away those thoughts. The past is the past. No regrets can change what happened.
With his hands clutching the sides of the bowl, his eyes flash gold and the water mists over. On the surface, he smiles as he can see an image forming: his troop, his haphazard family of fellow magicians. Outlawed, they travel from place to place. It is impossible to stay settled anywhere for long, but they all remain linked no matter where they have to run. He'd only travelled with them for a few months after being alone for so long, but already he misses their company.
In the reflection, he can see the flickering firelight. His eyes flash gold again and he can hear them cheering. "Guys?" he calls experimentally. The cheering becomes glisteningly loud as they look up to the sky, right out of the reflection in the bowl.
Merlin laughs when they call his name and wave up at him. He isn't sure what they see in the sky: he's never seen anyone else using a spell like this before. "I thought I'd better check that you're not getting into trouble," he says, smiling even as a bubble of homesickness rises in his chest. "I know what you're like."
He's answered with a volley of jeers and cat-calls that make him laugh.
"You're one to talk!" he hears Anthony yell at him.
"Me?" Merlin protests, his innocent tone contrasting with his wicked smile. "I am always perfectly well-behaved."
The comment receives another rowdy reaction. They've all been drinking for hours by the look of it. It makes Merlin smile with nostalgia to see them again. It feels like it's been a lifetime when it's only been a few days. He can see their tents in the background and some of the kids are probably already tucked safely away in their beds. He relaxes a little at the sight, some of the tension from being back in the castle fading.
It snaps back when he glances up - and sees that Arthur is in the doorway, watching him silently. Merlin's eyes widen.
"What's he looking at?" he hears someone yelling obnoxiously loud, but he mutters a goodbye and ends the spell without explanation.
He can't make sense of the expression on Arthur's face and it makes him swallow nervously. "Arthur, sire, I-"
"Was that magic?" Arthur asks. He steps inside and the door swings closed behind him. He rolls his eyes, mocking himself when it appears that Merlin won't do it for him. "Of course it's magic - it's you. It's always magic. What were you doing? Planning my death? Plotting how to bring down the next Pendragon?"
Merlin wishes Arthur wasn't king so that he could punch him for that. Actually, it isn't Arthur's royalty that makes Merlin hold back. Arthur has just buried his father and had a kingdom thrust upon him. He deserves some leeway.
"I was contacting my friends," he tells Arthur defiantly. Arthur blinks, slowly: Merlin wonders how much he's had to drink at the banquet. "I miss them."
"Your friends…" Arthur repeats, breathing the words. Merlin flinches with guilt without knowing why, and it only gets worse when Arthur gestures expectantly at him. "Don't let me interrupt."
"I won't do it in front of you," Merlin says. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to do that or if it will always be something that he instinctively hides from Arthur.
"You have to," Arthur says. "I'm the king."
"That means no more to me than when you were the prince. You're a prat no matter what your title."
"You never change," Arthur murmurs - he almost sounds relieved about this. He walks over to his bed and plops down onto it, pulling at his boots. "Come on, Merlin. Do some tricks."
"What I do is not a trick," Merlin scolds. "It doesn't feel right to do it in front of you anyway. After everything… It feels wrong."
It's because of his magic that he was cast from Arthur's side; how could he fling it around so casually in front of him?
"You should just go, then," Arthur says. He waves at the door. "Go."
He won't get his boots off by himself, judging from the way he's struggling with them, and Merlin doesn't know where his servant is - but he doesn't offer to help. His hands itch with the old need to aid in any way that he can, but it isn't his place any more.
"Good night, Arthur," Merlin says, moving to the door. The bowl, still filled with water, sits on the table with the fruit scattered haphazardly around it. Arthur stares at it instead of at Merlin as Merlin leaves; he doesn't say a word.
*
He doesn't know whether or not he's supposed to still be here. The walls of Camelot, which once made him feel so welcome, are now cold. He's been given a guest bedroom to call his own for as long as he wishes to stay. It is far from the busy centre of the castle - and far from the king's chambers. It is worse to be ignored by Arthur than it would be to face his wrath.
The weather is sunny with no clouds in the sky and Merlin spends as much time as he can outdoors. He notices that Arthur is rarely able to personally train with his knights any more. As king, other matters require far too much of his time. Their adolescence is truly over, Merlin supposes: they have put away all childish things.
He managed to locate the old magic book gifted to him by Gaius and he takes it outside with him. Hidden safely away, he hadn't been able to grasp it in his rush to get out of Camelot years ago.
("Merlin, you must leave - now," Gaius had urged, his face illuminated in flickering torchlight. "Arthur and I can hold them off for some time, but not forever."
Arthur, his reluctant protector, prowled near the door. "He's right. You need to get out of here."
"No. No, I'm supposed to be here. Gaius, my destiny -"
"Your destiny will do you no good if you are executed, my boy," Gaius said.
"Go to the stables - take a horse. When I am king you can return, but not now. Go, Merlin.")
He doesn't think about it now, the last time he saw Gaius alive. Even flicking through the pages of this old book, his spirits sink as he thinks of all that the old man had given to protect him. It isn't right. None of this is right.
Sitting under one of the thick trees at the outskirts of the forest, he squints and looks up when a shadow falls upon him. Arthur. He slams the book in his lap shut: dust flies.
"Mind if I sit down?" Arthur asks.
Politeness. It used to be an alien concept to Arthur, as Merlin remembers.
Merlin grins. "Last I checked it was your kingdom. You can sit wherever you want."
Pursing his lips, Arthur does not return his smile. He takes a seat beside Merlin, resting his back against the same broad tree-trunk. "I'm surprised you're still here," he says after a moment's pause. "I'd have thought you'd want to return to your friends."
"I'm here for as long as you'd like me to be," Merlin tells him. With as out of place as he feels, he'd like to leave right now, but he won't until Arthur tells him to.
"You're always welcome here, Merlin."
"'Welcome' is not the same as 'wanted'. A fine distinction, but an important one." He doesn't feel wanted here, but he wonders whether that is standard. Perhaps everyone always feels unnecessary at court. Perhaps this loneliness is standard.
Arthur says nothing to assuage his fears. He looks at his hands, hidden in brown leather gloves that Merlin is sure must be far too hot for this weather. "Tell me about your friends," he asks eventually.
"I don't know what there is to say," Merlin confesses. They're so used to being outlaws that it would feel like a betrayal to speak of them to Arthur.
"Say anything," Arthur demands. He looks up at Merlin, catching and holding his gaze. He doesn't seem like a commanding king any more - he only looks like a friend. "I want to know where you've been all this time; who you've been with."
And so Merlin tells him, because he has always been so bad at denying Arthur what he needs. He tells him of the people he travels with: of Anthony, who is physically so threatening but has the temperament of a lamb; of Moll, a seer who keeps them safe with her visions; of Simon, who has taught Merlin as much as he can. Arthur laughs when Merlin tells him the stories about the group's children, a rag-tag collection with difficulty controlling the magic they have.
He really laughs when Merlin tells him about the time Simon was turned into an otter as he slept, and how long it took them to figure out how to turn him back into his grumpy, human self.
The sun is making its downward journey through the sky and Merlin rests his head against Arthur's strong shoulder and closes his eyes against the setting sun. Arthur's arm shifts around him and he holds on, breathing steadily.
"You were happy?" Arthur dares to ask.
It's a question that Merlin does not know how to answer, especially now when he is at Arthur's side and at peace. He opens eyes. "I think so," he admits. "Eventually."
The lonely years of wilderness before that are not something he brings up. Arthur doesn't need to know; he has his own pain, ever-present, to deal with.
Arthur rests his head atop Merlin's, and he murmurs, "Good, that's good," in a way that makes it sounds absolutely awful. They sit together until darkness falls, and like this Merlin can almost remember how life used to be.
*
He's already in bed when there is a knock at his bedroom door. Merlin looks at it mournfully in the dark and then pulls the covers over his head. Moments later, the knocking continues until a timid voice calls through the door, saying, "The king told me to keep knocking until you wake up."
Merlin groans, before it occurs to him that this might be important: there might be some sort of danger.
He wriggles out of bed - and he's so enjoying sleeping in an actual bed instead of in a tent on the ground - and moves, flailing, to the door. "What is it?" he asks the red-haired servant standing before him.
The young man's eyes widen, probably surprised to see him still half-asleep and in his nightwear. "What is it?" he asks; his worry carries through his voice.
"They king requests your presence in his chambers immediately," the servant says.
"Do you know why?" Merlin asks.
"He didn't say," the servant answers with an apologetic twitch of his expression.
Nothing too urgent, then. "I'll be there," Merlin promises. "Tell him I'll be there soon."
There's no emergency, and if there is no situation that needs magical assistance then Merlin's stomach twists with nerves as he tries to think of why Arthur might demand to see him. The servant nods and backs away, far better behaved and mannered than Merlin ever was, and Merlin closes the door once he's gone. He turns to find his clothes where he'd abandoned them while getting into bed.
He takes as long as feasibly possible to get changed, but there's only so much time that he can waste. He ought to be rushing to Arthur's side on demand, but he can't. The air pulls at him as if he's trying to wade through swamp-water. Time drags upon him.
When the moment comes, however, he closes his eyes and whispers ancient words: his eyes open and his surroundings have changed. He has swapped his room for Arthur's much larger one. He smiles, as pleased and surprised as he always is when his magic obeys him and performs as expected.
Arthur is near the door at the opposite side of the room from him. Merlin clears his throat and almost feels guilty when Arthur spins around, startled.
Before Arthur can ask - and before he has to awkwardly state the obvious about how he got in here - Merlin smiles helpfully. "I was told to come, sire?" he asks.
"Yes," Arthur agrees, baffled. Merlin assumes his sudden appearance must have startled him rather more than he'd thought - and moments later he receives an explanation of why that is. "I- Well, I was planning on kissing you when you showed up at the door."
Merlin's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Kissing?"
"You've rather ruined that plan, though," Arthur sighs. He crosses his arms over his chest sternly as if Merlin had done it on purpose.
Merlin rubs his forehead. "Sorry, Arthur, I'm a little confused here. What's the plan? And why does it involve kissing?"
"I wanted to ask you to stay," Arthur says. He brushes his hand over his mouth and clears his throat as he walks forward, but he doesn't manage to obscure the words at all. "It occurred to me this afternoon that the castle was considerably less… exciting without you around."
Merlin frowns, and he doesn't move away even when Arthur is close enough that he's well past the boundaries of 'personal space'. "'Exciting'?" he asks. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"My servant is nowhere near as idiotic as you." Arthur smirks. "I need someone around to entertain me."
Arthur gives a light-hearted shrug as if it doesn't truly matter to him, but Merlin knows better. He knows that no sane person calls their friend to their bedroom at this hour of night unless it feels so urgent that it can't wait; he knows that Arthur's arm around his shoulders that afternoon had felt so natural; and he knows that Arthur had clung onto him like a lifeline on the first night he returned.
He also knows that Arthur's smug expression is already faltering in the weight of silence, but that insecurity is rushing to fill its place.
"Go on, then," Merlin challenges. "Ask me to stay."
Arthur is close, so close, that he only wastes a second before his head bows and his lips steal a chaste kiss from Merlin's mouth. It lasts for under a second, but in that moment Merlin feels their destiny swerve onto a new track, a better track.
Arthur's eyes search his face when he pulls away, showing a lack of certainty that Merlin isn't used to. "Stay?"
Merlin smiles. "I've already told you that I won't go anywhere until you send me away. My place is at your side, Arthur."
"Is that why you're here?" Arthur asks as his fingers brush against Merlin's jaw, so lightly that he's barely touching him at all. "Because it's your 'place'?"
Merlin answers without words but with another kiss: it's a thrill to be able to do this. Arthur's hand shifts to the nape of his neck and holds him in a way that would make pulling away impossible. His lips part and Merlin hears an embarrassing sound escape from his lips when he feels the tease of Arthur's tongue.
They move to Arthur's large bed once Merlin has managed to convince Arthur that he truly has no intention of leaving the castle any time soon. Arthur kneels between his spread thighs and watches him in fascination as he stretches him open - and when Arthur is inside him and his hot, ragged breath pants against Merlin's skin, Merlin finally feels that he's back where he belongs.
*
In the reflection of the water, Merlin can see his friends sitting in the sunshine eating lunch. He stands with his hands resting on the wooden table as he looks down into the shallow, golden bowl; he feels like a god surveying his creation. Determinedly, he does not glance over to the bed, where he knows that Arthur is watching him. It makes his heart pound to do this in front of him.
"We already know," Moll laughs when he tells them that he won't be returning any time soon. "I dreamt it a while back."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Would've messed with your mind too much, sweetheart," she apologises. "Some things need to happen without the aid of magic."
"Arthur says you're free to visit any time you like," Merlin offers - and receives a burst of laughter in response.
"Look'it our Merlin - on first name basis with the king now, is he?" Simon says.
Merlin glances over his shoulder when he feels Arthur behind him. Arthur's arms slide around his waist and his gaze is focused only on the reflection in the bowl, studying Merlin's friends as if they are a particularly important treaty. "Let me offer the invitation in person," he says, in the overly-pompous tone he usually reserves for official business.
The laughter from the bowl silences instantly. Merlin doesn't think that he's ever actually seen Simon lost for words before - it makes him smile.
"Magic isn't outlawed any more," Merlin says - or, at the very least, it won't be once Arthur has had his midnight promises turned into law. "We're safe now, all of us."
Moll meets his eyes while the others celebrate. She smiles, and he wonders - as ever - how much about their future she has seen. "We'll see you soon," she promises.
Merlin smiles and says goodbye - he ends the spell. The water clears until he can see the bottom of the bowl again.
Arthur's chin rests against his shoulder. "So that's magic…" he says.
"That's it," Merlin confirms. "Nothing scary, see?"
"I was never scared of you," Arthur protests. "I know you far too well for that. You're not nearly competent enough to be a threat."
Merlin elbows him in the ribs, lightly, and twists around to face him, searching Arthur's face for something that isn't there: the hidden trace of disgust or contempt. There's nothing there, only acceptance, and Merlin knows that Arthur's kingdom is one he can feel safe in.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 4261
Rating: R
Warning: Mentions of character deaths
A/N: This somewhat sticks two fingers up at the Arthurian Legend.
Summary: When King Uther dies, Merlin knows exactly where he has to be. He returns to Camelot after years in exile to help Arthur in his new role as king.
It is raining on the night that the king of Camelot dies. The sky is black and the thin moon is obscured by heavy clouds. Raindrops thrash against the stone of the castle courtyard as Merlin's hooded figure rushes to the castle's doors. His clothes are soaked through to the skin.
At the doors, the guards recognise his pale, drenched face even after so many years and they part to let him through. "Arthur's upstairs," one of them says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the steps that Merlin trampled up and down a thousand times as Arthur's manservant. That seems like such a sullen lifetime ago now.
He leaves a dripping trail in his wake as he walks along familiar hallways. The fresh sight of them blows dust from his memories like a powerful gust of wind. Nowhere is that wind more powerful than here, right in front of the prince's - now king's - bedroom.
He doesn't knock, though perhaps he should. He's never been good at 'should' - that helps to explain why he had to leave Camelot in the first place, torn from Arthur's side and his destiny's path for his own protection.
In his bedroom, Arthur stands by his window and stares at the night's storm. He doesn't turn as Merlin walks inside, though Merlin's certain he must know it's him. He's watching the courtyard: he'd have seen him come in.
"I came as soon as I heard," Merlin says. He's still out of breath from his rush to get here. As he pushes his dark, dripping hair from his forehead it occurs to him that perhaps he could have teleported right into the building instead of simply into the city. His power is so much more now than it was before. Sometimes he thinks that there are no limits to what he could do - and that terrifies him as much as it excites him. "I am so sor-"
"Don't say it," Arthur interrupts. The sound of his voice makes Merlin flinch. "Your kind… They must be so happy he's dead."
"That isn't true and you know it." But there had been celebrating in the group he'd been travelling with when the news broke. The end of Uther Pendragon's reign had been met with cheering and singing, but Merlin had not stayed for the festivities. He'd known that his place is at Arthur's side at this time, whether banished or not; without Uther's wrath as a cloak over the castle, he had nothing to fear. "If I had known of his illness…"
"Could you have fixed it?" Arthur asks. He turns around now, staring at Merlin with hawk-like intensity. Merlin does not squirm under his gaze. "Our physician declared it hopeless. What if I'd asked you?"
"I would have done all within my power," Merlin promises - and perhaps it would have worked, and he would have doomed Camelot to several more years under Uther's rule. He would have had to stay in hiding and his actions would have enflamed the wrath of the dragon that lived underneath the castle; if it would have wiped this expression from Arthur's face, this mix of pain and directionless anger, then it would have been worth it. "But even I can't defeat death, Arthur. I've tried."
The sacrifice is too much. When Gaius gave his life to protect him years ago, Merlin had used every drop of magic in his veins to try to return him without exchanging another life - and it hadn't worked. A sorcerer, even a powerful one, is still a human, and all humans have their limits. This is his final opponent.
He steps towards Arthur and watches his face in the flicker of the candlelight. Outside, the storm still rages.
"I can leave," he suggests when Arthur doesn't speak. "If that's what you want, I can go. It's fine, really."
"If I wanted you gone I'd have said so by now, Merlin," Arthur scolds. There's something there that sounds like the brave young man that Merlin remembers, not the weary adult he has turned into.
"Then I'm here for as long as you'll put up with me."
It'll be strange, so strange, to be back in Camelot again. It hasn't been home to him for so long.
Arthur smiles at him, but it is such a fractured and broken thing that Merlin is drawn forward to him. He reaches his side and instantly it is as if no time has passed at all. His arms encircle the new king and he holds onto him. Arthur resists at first, as thick and inflexible as a tree trunk, but then he melts against Merlin, holding on tightly. He feels bigger now, strong - like he could crush Merlin if he ever feels like it.
"He was my father," he mutters, muffled against Merlin's neck.
Merlin wishes that he knew what to say to make it all better. He's supposed to protect Arthur, but there's no way he can spare him this pain. He's here, at Arthur's side and as he holds him and whispers words of empty comfort he can only wish that this is enough to make it easier to take.
*
There is a funeral and a coronation on the same day. Merlin watches from a distance: Arthur looks brave and noble. He will be a wise, great king. Merlin has never doubted that, not even in his years of exile from Arthur's side.
The king is dead. Long live the king.
His heart breaks for him and when the burial and banquets are over Merlin sits in Arthur's chambers and waits for him to return. He tries not to fidget too much, but staying still is firmly impossible. He's nervous, so nervous, but he doesn't know why.
He feels out of place here, as if he no longer belongs in the castle. Morgana was banished years ago and Gwen followed when she left; Gaius is long dead. The dragon won't speak to him any more. He is at the bottom of Arthur's list of priorities, as he ought to be. Loneliness itches around him in the empty room. He misses the crowd he travelled with; wizards, witches and seers, they're like him. They understand him.
He moves to the table impulsively and reaches for the bowl of fruit that sits in the centre. It's filled high, but he shifts the objects out of the bowl and onto the table top in a rush. When the golden bowl is empty, he places his hand over it and whispers ancient words, a spell he learned in his youth. Water trickles from nowhere, filling the large shallow bowl until it sits before him like a miniature lake.
He glances up at the door but Arthur doesn't burst forth. He's probably still downstairs, entertaining his guests or shepherding the ones who are worse for wear off to the guest bedrooms. Once, Merlin would have been there to run around and help him. That isn't his job, not any more.
Someone else is there to perform all the chores that Arthur dreams up. Someone else has taken Merlin's place.
He closes his eyes to chase away those thoughts. The past is the past. No regrets can change what happened.
With his hands clutching the sides of the bowl, his eyes flash gold and the water mists over. On the surface, he smiles as he can see an image forming: his troop, his haphazard family of fellow magicians. Outlawed, they travel from place to place. It is impossible to stay settled anywhere for long, but they all remain linked no matter where they have to run. He'd only travelled with them for a few months after being alone for so long, but already he misses their company.
In the reflection, he can see the flickering firelight. His eyes flash gold again and he can hear them cheering. "Guys?" he calls experimentally. The cheering becomes glisteningly loud as they look up to the sky, right out of the reflection in the bowl.
Merlin laughs when they call his name and wave up at him. He isn't sure what they see in the sky: he's never seen anyone else using a spell like this before. "I thought I'd better check that you're not getting into trouble," he says, smiling even as a bubble of homesickness rises in his chest. "I know what you're like."
He's answered with a volley of jeers and cat-calls that make him laugh.
"You're one to talk!" he hears Anthony yell at him.
"Me?" Merlin protests, his innocent tone contrasting with his wicked smile. "I am always perfectly well-behaved."
The comment receives another rowdy reaction. They've all been drinking for hours by the look of it. It makes Merlin smile with nostalgia to see them again. It feels like it's been a lifetime when it's only been a few days. He can see their tents in the background and some of the kids are probably already tucked safely away in their beds. He relaxes a little at the sight, some of the tension from being back in the castle fading.
It snaps back when he glances up - and sees that Arthur is in the doorway, watching him silently. Merlin's eyes widen.
"What's he looking at?" he hears someone yelling obnoxiously loud, but he mutters a goodbye and ends the spell without explanation.
He can't make sense of the expression on Arthur's face and it makes him swallow nervously. "Arthur, sire, I-"
"Was that magic?" Arthur asks. He steps inside and the door swings closed behind him. He rolls his eyes, mocking himself when it appears that Merlin won't do it for him. "Of course it's magic - it's you. It's always magic. What were you doing? Planning my death? Plotting how to bring down the next Pendragon?"
Merlin wishes Arthur wasn't king so that he could punch him for that. Actually, it isn't Arthur's royalty that makes Merlin hold back. Arthur has just buried his father and had a kingdom thrust upon him. He deserves some leeway.
"I was contacting my friends," he tells Arthur defiantly. Arthur blinks, slowly: Merlin wonders how much he's had to drink at the banquet. "I miss them."
"Your friends…" Arthur repeats, breathing the words. Merlin flinches with guilt without knowing why, and it only gets worse when Arthur gestures expectantly at him. "Don't let me interrupt."
"I won't do it in front of you," Merlin says. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to do that or if it will always be something that he instinctively hides from Arthur.
"You have to," Arthur says. "I'm the king."
"That means no more to me than when you were the prince. You're a prat no matter what your title."
"You never change," Arthur murmurs - he almost sounds relieved about this. He walks over to his bed and plops down onto it, pulling at his boots. "Come on, Merlin. Do some tricks."
"What I do is not a trick," Merlin scolds. "It doesn't feel right to do it in front of you anyway. After everything… It feels wrong."
It's because of his magic that he was cast from Arthur's side; how could he fling it around so casually in front of him?
"You should just go, then," Arthur says. He waves at the door. "Go."
He won't get his boots off by himself, judging from the way he's struggling with them, and Merlin doesn't know where his servant is - but he doesn't offer to help. His hands itch with the old need to aid in any way that he can, but it isn't his place any more.
"Good night, Arthur," Merlin says, moving to the door. The bowl, still filled with water, sits on the table with the fruit scattered haphazardly around it. Arthur stares at it instead of at Merlin as Merlin leaves; he doesn't say a word.
*
He doesn't know whether or not he's supposed to still be here. The walls of Camelot, which once made him feel so welcome, are now cold. He's been given a guest bedroom to call his own for as long as he wishes to stay. It is far from the busy centre of the castle - and far from the king's chambers. It is worse to be ignored by Arthur than it would be to face his wrath.
The weather is sunny with no clouds in the sky and Merlin spends as much time as he can outdoors. He notices that Arthur is rarely able to personally train with his knights any more. As king, other matters require far too much of his time. Their adolescence is truly over, Merlin supposes: they have put away all childish things.
He managed to locate the old magic book gifted to him by Gaius and he takes it outside with him. Hidden safely away, he hadn't been able to grasp it in his rush to get out of Camelot years ago.
("Merlin, you must leave - now," Gaius had urged, his face illuminated in flickering torchlight. "Arthur and I can hold them off for some time, but not forever."
Arthur, his reluctant protector, prowled near the door. "He's right. You need to get out of here."
"No. No, I'm supposed to be here. Gaius, my destiny -"
"Your destiny will do you no good if you are executed, my boy," Gaius said.
"Go to the stables - take a horse. When I am king you can return, but not now. Go, Merlin.")
He doesn't think about it now, the last time he saw Gaius alive. Even flicking through the pages of this old book, his spirits sink as he thinks of all that the old man had given to protect him. It isn't right. None of this is right.
Sitting under one of the thick trees at the outskirts of the forest, he squints and looks up when a shadow falls upon him. Arthur. He slams the book in his lap shut: dust flies.
"Mind if I sit down?" Arthur asks.
Politeness. It used to be an alien concept to Arthur, as Merlin remembers.
Merlin grins. "Last I checked it was your kingdom. You can sit wherever you want."
Pursing his lips, Arthur does not return his smile. He takes a seat beside Merlin, resting his back against the same broad tree-trunk. "I'm surprised you're still here," he says after a moment's pause. "I'd have thought you'd want to return to your friends."
"I'm here for as long as you'd like me to be," Merlin tells him. With as out of place as he feels, he'd like to leave right now, but he won't until Arthur tells him to.
"You're always welcome here, Merlin."
"'Welcome' is not the same as 'wanted'. A fine distinction, but an important one." He doesn't feel wanted here, but he wonders whether that is standard. Perhaps everyone always feels unnecessary at court. Perhaps this loneliness is standard.
Arthur says nothing to assuage his fears. He looks at his hands, hidden in brown leather gloves that Merlin is sure must be far too hot for this weather. "Tell me about your friends," he asks eventually.
"I don't know what there is to say," Merlin confesses. They're so used to being outlaws that it would feel like a betrayal to speak of them to Arthur.
"Say anything," Arthur demands. He looks up at Merlin, catching and holding his gaze. He doesn't seem like a commanding king any more - he only looks like a friend. "I want to know where you've been all this time; who you've been with."
And so Merlin tells him, because he has always been so bad at denying Arthur what he needs. He tells him of the people he travels with: of Anthony, who is physically so threatening but has the temperament of a lamb; of Moll, a seer who keeps them safe with her visions; of Simon, who has taught Merlin as much as he can. Arthur laughs when Merlin tells him the stories about the group's children, a rag-tag collection with difficulty controlling the magic they have.
He really laughs when Merlin tells him about the time Simon was turned into an otter as he slept, and how long it took them to figure out how to turn him back into his grumpy, human self.
The sun is making its downward journey through the sky and Merlin rests his head against Arthur's strong shoulder and closes his eyes against the setting sun. Arthur's arm shifts around him and he holds on, breathing steadily.
"You were happy?" Arthur dares to ask.
It's a question that Merlin does not know how to answer, especially now when he is at Arthur's side and at peace. He opens eyes. "I think so," he admits. "Eventually."
The lonely years of wilderness before that are not something he brings up. Arthur doesn't need to know; he has his own pain, ever-present, to deal with.
Arthur rests his head atop Merlin's, and he murmurs, "Good, that's good," in a way that makes it sounds absolutely awful. They sit together until darkness falls, and like this Merlin can almost remember how life used to be.
*
He's already in bed when there is a knock at his bedroom door. Merlin looks at it mournfully in the dark and then pulls the covers over his head. Moments later, the knocking continues until a timid voice calls through the door, saying, "The king told me to keep knocking until you wake up."
Merlin groans, before it occurs to him that this might be important: there might be some sort of danger.
He wriggles out of bed - and he's so enjoying sleeping in an actual bed instead of in a tent on the ground - and moves, flailing, to the door. "What is it?" he asks the red-haired servant standing before him.
The young man's eyes widen, probably surprised to see him still half-asleep and in his nightwear. "What is it?" he asks; his worry carries through his voice.
"They king requests your presence in his chambers immediately," the servant says.
"Do you know why?" Merlin asks.
"He didn't say," the servant answers with an apologetic twitch of his expression.
Nothing too urgent, then. "I'll be there," Merlin promises. "Tell him I'll be there soon."
There's no emergency, and if there is no situation that needs magical assistance then Merlin's stomach twists with nerves as he tries to think of why Arthur might demand to see him. The servant nods and backs away, far better behaved and mannered than Merlin ever was, and Merlin closes the door once he's gone. He turns to find his clothes where he'd abandoned them while getting into bed.
He takes as long as feasibly possible to get changed, but there's only so much time that he can waste. He ought to be rushing to Arthur's side on demand, but he can't. The air pulls at him as if he's trying to wade through swamp-water. Time drags upon him.
When the moment comes, however, he closes his eyes and whispers ancient words: his eyes open and his surroundings have changed. He has swapped his room for Arthur's much larger one. He smiles, as pleased and surprised as he always is when his magic obeys him and performs as expected.
Arthur is near the door at the opposite side of the room from him. Merlin clears his throat and almost feels guilty when Arthur spins around, startled.
Before Arthur can ask - and before he has to awkwardly state the obvious about how he got in here - Merlin smiles helpfully. "I was told to come, sire?" he asks.
"Yes," Arthur agrees, baffled. Merlin assumes his sudden appearance must have startled him rather more than he'd thought - and moments later he receives an explanation of why that is. "I- Well, I was planning on kissing you when you showed up at the door."
Merlin's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Kissing?"
"You've rather ruined that plan, though," Arthur sighs. He crosses his arms over his chest sternly as if Merlin had done it on purpose.
Merlin rubs his forehead. "Sorry, Arthur, I'm a little confused here. What's the plan? And why does it involve kissing?"
"I wanted to ask you to stay," Arthur says. He brushes his hand over his mouth and clears his throat as he walks forward, but he doesn't manage to obscure the words at all. "It occurred to me this afternoon that the castle was considerably less… exciting without you around."
Merlin frowns, and he doesn't move away even when Arthur is close enough that he's well past the boundaries of 'personal space'. "'Exciting'?" he asks. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"My servant is nowhere near as idiotic as you." Arthur smirks. "I need someone around to entertain me."
Arthur gives a light-hearted shrug as if it doesn't truly matter to him, but Merlin knows better. He knows that no sane person calls their friend to their bedroom at this hour of night unless it feels so urgent that it can't wait; he knows that Arthur's arm around his shoulders that afternoon had felt so natural; and he knows that Arthur had clung onto him like a lifeline on the first night he returned.
He also knows that Arthur's smug expression is already faltering in the weight of silence, but that insecurity is rushing to fill its place.
"Go on, then," Merlin challenges. "Ask me to stay."
Arthur is close, so close, that he only wastes a second before his head bows and his lips steal a chaste kiss from Merlin's mouth. It lasts for under a second, but in that moment Merlin feels their destiny swerve onto a new track, a better track.
Arthur's eyes search his face when he pulls away, showing a lack of certainty that Merlin isn't used to. "Stay?"
Merlin smiles. "I've already told you that I won't go anywhere until you send me away. My place is at your side, Arthur."
"Is that why you're here?" Arthur asks as his fingers brush against Merlin's jaw, so lightly that he's barely touching him at all. "Because it's your 'place'?"
Merlin answers without words but with another kiss: it's a thrill to be able to do this. Arthur's hand shifts to the nape of his neck and holds him in a way that would make pulling away impossible. His lips part and Merlin hears an embarrassing sound escape from his lips when he feels the tease of Arthur's tongue.
They move to Arthur's large bed once Merlin has managed to convince Arthur that he truly has no intention of leaving the castle any time soon. Arthur kneels between his spread thighs and watches him in fascination as he stretches him open - and when Arthur is inside him and his hot, ragged breath pants against Merlin's skin, Merlin finally feels that he's back where he belongs.
*
In the reflection of the water, Merlin can see his friends sitting in the sunshine eating lunch. He stands with his hands resting on the wooden table as he looks down into the shallow, golden bowl; he feels like a god surveying his creation. Determinedly, he does not glance over to the bed, where he knows that Arthur is watching him. It makes his heart pound to do this in front of him.
"We already know," Moll laughs when he tells them that he won't be returning any time soon. "I dreamt it a while back."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Would've messed with your mind too much, sweetheart," she apologises. "Some things need to happen without the aid of magic."
"Arthur says you're free to visit any time you like," Merlin offers - and receives a burst of laughter in response.
"Look'it our Merlin - on first name basis with the king now, is he?" Simon says.
Merlin glances over his shoulder when he feels Arthur behind him. Arthur's arms slide around his waist and his gaze is focused only on the reflection in the bowl, studying Merlin's friends as if they are a particularly important treaty. "Let me offer the invitation in person," he says, in the overly-pompous tone he usually reserves for official business.
The laughter from the bowl silences instantly. Merlin doesn't think that he's ever actually seen Simon lost for words before - it makes him smile.
"Magic isn't outlawed any more," Merlin says - or, at the very least, it won't be once Arthur has had his midnight promises turned into law. "We're safe now, all of us."
Moll meets his eyes while the others celebrate. She smiles, and he wonders - as ever - how much about their future she has seen. "We'll see you soon," she promises.
Merlin smiles and says goodbye - he ends the spell. The water clears until he can see the bottom of the bowl again.
Arthur's chin rests against his shoulder. "So that's magic…" he says.
"That's it," Merlin confirms. "Nothing scary, see?"
"I was never scared of you," Arthur protests. "I know you far too well for that. You're not nearly competent enough to be a threat."
Merlin elbows him in the ribs, lightly, and twists around to face him, searching Arthur's face for something that isn't there: the hidden trace of disgust or contempt. There's nothing there, only acceptance, and Merlin knows that Arthur's kingdom is one he can feel safe in.