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Merlin disappeared alarmingly often for someone in the direct employ of the King of Camelot. Not that Arthur worried when he left so suddenly, not even in the slightest. Merlin was never absent for more than a day, coming back only slightly worse for wear each time, and Arthur tended to let it drop rather than argue with a cranky, tired manservant. Gaius always insisted he passed the time in the tavern, right up until Gwaine said he’d never seen Merlin come remotely near the Rising Sun.
Long story short, Arthur’s manservant, idiot and local cryptid Merlin tended to disappear on his own time, warning no one and reappearing no more than a day later.
Which, in all honesty, was not great for the King’s blood pressure. Or his throat, as he would yell for Merlin once, twice, eight times before someone deigned to tell him that they had no clue where the boy had gone to. Like clockwork, Arthur would grind his teeth, Gaius would wince at the noise, and the council would shift uncomfortably as the King sighed through his nose and made halfhearted attempts to relax.
After Merlin’s fifth disappearing act in three months, Gwaine finally pulled him aside.
“Merlin, you can’t keep...running off, like that. For fuck’s sake, at least tell Arthur where you’re going. This last time? He nearly keeled over during training when Mordred told him. Leon ended up clocking him around the face; it was quite funny, really, his face went all red. But seriously, for Arthur’s sake, you could try to come up with a believable lie.”
Merlin had only blushed and muttered something about not seeing why Arthur cared anyway, he should focus on the kingdom instead, and oh, wasn’t this a lovely opportunity to shove these two thick-headed idiots together. Gwaine patted Merlin absently on the shoulder before rushing to the armory, where he knew everyone (sans the Princess, of course) would be readying for the day’s training.
“Boys, I’ve got an idea.”
Gwaine ignored the chorus of groans that greeted his announcement, as usual.
“Alright. We all know about Merlin’s magic, yes? Good. We know that’s why he leaves. We know it drives Arthur up the wall when he does. Now, gentlemen, how would you like to have a little wager?” And there they went, heads popping up all across the room, half-armored bodies turning and pressing closer to Gwaine, who only grinned at the newfound attention and cleared his throat. Predictable.
“Hear me out- we send Merlin away. Place bets on how long our besotted King can go without him; closest to the date wins the lot. What do we think?”
Leon pushed his way to the front, and oh, boy, here we go . Another lecture from Sir Leon, patron saint of protecting Arthur from his own knights. That man was so damned dedicated it drove Gwaine absolutely mad .
“I’m in. I’ve had enough of their pining, they’ve been driving me up the damn wall with all their gazing . I caught them red-handed the other day, and Merlin had the audacity to tell me he was teaching Arthur poetry . Twelve shillings says he only lasts a day and a half.”
The knights cheered as Leon stuffed the money into an old helmet Elyan had encountered and was waving eagerly around. Percival bet five shillings on twenty-five hours, with Elyan putting six on two entire days. Mordred carefully placed ten shillings in the helmet with a confident “three days.” Gwaine grinned. Arthur would be pissed, yes, but think of it this way: Gwaine was simply attempting to bring the knights together, an essential part of battlefield readiness. Really, he was doing the King a favor. Best case scenario, Gwaine gets sacked and Arthur and Merlin get their heads out of their asses. Worst case, Gwaine gets sacked and/or killed, and Arthur never speaks to Merlin again.
Which was highly, highly improbable.
Getting rid of Merlin wasn’t too hard, shockingly. One breath amongst the knights of a rumored griffin three kingdoms away had his head perking up during training. A whisper amongst the guards, and Gwaine saw him snatch enough food from the kitchens for a week’s ride. A final titter amongst the kitchen staff tipped him over the edge, and the knights watched as Merlin snuck out, gingerly making his way to the stables. Mordred shook his head as his horse clattered out of the citadel, shoving Gwaine’s shoulder to get him to stop laughing.
“He really is hopeless, isn’t he? We didn’t even have to put out that the griffin was headed this way. He just...left.”
Gwaine only nodded, secure in his own genius. They sent Percival out after him, to tell him of their plans, and, well, they’d see if it worked or not. Merlin would either jump at the chance to prank Arthur (as Perce would tell him they were doing) or ride back twice as fast as he’d left.
They didn’t have to wait long for results. Arthur huffed his way down to the round table the next morning, dressed in the simplest clothes he owned. The back of his shirt was tucked up, giving the knights a lovely view of his back dimples as he clattered to his seat. Really, just how much of everything did Merlin do? Gwaine gave him props for getting out of bed at all.
He looked up as Percival sidled into the room, winking as he met Gwaine’s eye. Merlin would stay away, thank the goddess. Arthur, too lost in some grain report to notice Percival’s arrival, read blithely on. Ah, the familiar tingle of a plan well-executed. The knights around him grinned as Percival mouthed it worked , then straightened as Arthur slammed down the reports.
“Has anyone seen my fool of a manservant today?”
Leon schooled his features into a frown, dusting it with just enough confusion to seem genuine. Gwaine had to appreciate the man’s willingness to lie to the King, he really did. In Uther’s time, none of this would have even remotely passed.
“No, sire. I wasn’t aware he had left again.” Your shirt , he mouthed, and the knights were given the pleasure of pretending to ignore Arthur, as he tried his best not to flush scarlet, groping around behind his back.
“You’re all dismissed. If you see Merlin, tell him I require his assistance.”
The knights murmured a quiet chorus of yes, Sire as they filed out of the room. Once outside, Gwaine collapsed against a wall, shaking with laughter. Oh, they were so fucked.
A day and a half. That’s how long his idiot manservant had been gone and, damn him, Arthur was growing worried. Merlin never left for more than a day. Ever. As much as he dodged questions about where he had been or what that bruise was from or why he was limping, he’d promised Arthur he’d never leave for longer than twenty-four hours. Actually, what he’d said was “I doubt you could last longer than a day without me, clotpole,” but there was something rather softer than usual in his eyes, something of a promise in the way he had touched Arthur’s hand.
Either way, Arthur was panicking just slightly, and not just because he’d walked into his third meeting of the day with his shirt untucked before Leon told him about it. He’d been forced to call in Geoff -or was it George? Grant?-for fuck’s sake. Backup Merlin, as he once heard Gwaine say. Didn’t matter that, for all intents and purposes, he was a far better servant than Merlin. The man once laughed, dry as a bone, at his own joke . About brass .
Suffice to say Arthur almost missed the daily disruptions Merlin brought about. Merlin may be petulant, insolent, aggressive, and downright treasonous, as well as rather condescending, not to mention a total dollophead. But he also had a knack for wiggling Arthur out of tedious meetings, wrote fantastic speeches, and smiled in a way that knocked all the air out of Arthur’s lungs. They had a back-and-forth that stunned every newcomer to the castle. Merlin refused to eat blackberry jam, for reasons yet unknown to Arthur. Arthur always had enough breakfast for two sent to his chambers, because Merlin wouldn’t eat otherwise. They just... fit. Like puzzle pieces, Gwen said once, smiling like he hadn’t just told her he couldn’t marry her because he was vaguely in love with his manservant.
And goddess, he was in love with Merlin, wasn’t he? Merlin, who stayed up with him the night before his coronation, talking and comforting him as best he could. Merlin, always on his right side, offering his opinions on each and every topic. Arthur could feel himself spiralling, sinking deeper and darker as he considered every possible thing that could’ve happened to Merlin on the road.
He didn’t sleep that night.
Two and a half days later and the knights officially started to worry. Arthur looked sick. His under-eyes were so dark they seemed bruised, his eyes dull and worn, hair lank and unwashed. He moved through the castle with a permanent air of melancholy, drifting from room to room like he’d catch Merlin somewhere. The training sessions were intense, the mood darkened by the lack of Merlin’s snarky commentary. Meetings were worse; the King was restless, pacing the council chambers and spacing out so often even Saint Leon became frustrated.
When they asked Gaius, the man just shook his head, telling them heartache wasn’t something curable. Not by his hands, anyway. He had no root, no herb, no tincture, no spell that could bring Arthur back- unless any of those things had anything to do with bringing Merlin back.
Gwaine stumbled into the armory after the day’s training, bruised and aching unlike anything he’d ever felt, even post-battle. Sitting down was a chore, along with standing up, walking, or moving in general. Screw the fucking bet, this was fucking ridiculous. Gwaine didn’t know how they hadn’t been dragged through every inch of the forest to find Merlin yet, but he had a feeling Arthur was close to it.
“Fuck the money. Arthur’s not Arthur without Merlin, and holy shit I don’t think I can take more of this.” Percival chucked his mail tunic on the floor with an air of finality that meant nobody was allowed to argue. The knights all felt it, the servants felt it; hell, the whole of Camelot could probably sense Arthur’s brooding. Gwaine felt sick. He hung back as the knights decided, at two and a half days, that the coin would be split as evenly as possible between Elyan and Mordred. Neither looked particularly pleased, both trying to proffer the whole sum to the other. Gwaine slung his cloak around his shoulders, brushing Percival’s arm on the way out. He’d gotten them into this, and it was only right he should be the one to get them out.
“Sire?”
Thank the fucking goddess. Arthur was surprised to feel tears spring to his eyes, burning away the fog and threatening to spill over as he turned around. He looked a mess, he knew. It hadn’t even been three days and he’d fallen completely to pieces, driven out of his mind with worry even as Gaius reassured him that Merlin had simply been called to tend his ailing mother.
It took less than a moment to make up his mind.
In two steps Arthur crossed the room, pulling Merlin close to his chest and kissing him soundly. Merlin responded with far more- vigor than Arthur expected, shoving his hands into the other man’s hair and angling his head just so and oh, goddess, he was kissing Merlin. Merlin, who tasted of peaches and rosemary. Merlin whose hands were wandering, dragging down his back to cup his arse and haul him closer into the kiss. How they hadn’t run out of breath, Arthur didn’t know. It could be sorcery for all he cared, because he was kissing his manservant, adrenaline pouring hot and fast and heady into his veins.
He finally broke himself away, burying his head in Merlin’s neck and breathing deeply. Merlin chuckled, the sound reverberating through Arthur’s chest.
“I have never been more scared to be alone.”
“Arthur, you shouldn’t’ve worried, I was fine, really, my mum just got sick, that’s all. Gwaine even rode out to escort me back.”
“Oh, well, that fixes it. Next time, I’ll put out the lantern, then. Find your own way back home.”
But Arthur found he rather didn’t mean it, as Merlin dipped his head to find his eyes.
“Hey. I need you to know this. Nothing matters, except for me to be with you. I will never, ever leave you for good. I’ll write it across the wall, should you need me to.”
“Well, I think that would be an acceptable start. You will, of course, need to move all of your things to my room. I’ll be keeping a much closer eye on you from now on, Mer lin.”
Merlin’s answering grin all but lit the room.
Oh, thank god.
“You’re never more divine than when accepting your defeat, Gwaine.”
Percival grinned from his spot at Arthur’s door, where he, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Mordred were gathered anxiously around the keyhole.
“I’ll even have the courtesy of admitting I was wrong. When I’m dying, and no sooner.”
Mordred laughed- loudly. Too loudly. The knights froze as footsteps approached the door and...stopped. There was a bang, like something heavy hitting the door. And then-oh sweet fuck, that was Merlin moaning , a sound each of the knights had likely imagined but never wanted to actually hear. They stumbled away from the doorway, in various states of embarrassment and... discomfort , each splitting off to their own corner of the castle and muttering vague excuses about armor and swords.
Had they stayed just a minute longer, they would’ve heard their King dissolve into decidedly un-Kingly giggles, along with the sound of Merlin wheezing and murmuring something about predictable knights and thinking with certain anatomical parts that were not brains.
Oh, they were going to have fun with this.