Chapter Text
“You called for me, sire?” Merlin slipped into Arthur’s chambers without knocking and closed the door behind him. He frowned as he stood in darkness. No candles burned, and the fireplace was cold, not even moonlight shone inside. Strange, but he didn’t dwell on it. Knowing Arthur, he would rather sit in the dark and wait for him to then complain about not doing his work in time.
Despite the lack of light, Merlin was able to navigate his way around the bedroom that he had gotten accustomed to after a year of tidying up after the pampered prince. His boots made the faintest thud on the floor as he walked the short distance to the fireplace, careful not to trip over his feet or the small rug in front of it. That’s when he noticed the silence — thick and heavy. No snide remark about barging in, no half-barked orders.
“Arthur?” He tried again, stopping to listen. Still no sound. Maybe he had fallen asleep. They did just return from a four-day sorcerer hunt.
For three days they had tracked their latest foe, who turned out to be far better at hiding than fighting. When they had finally cornered the sorcerer, it was almost disappointingly easy. They had made camp for the night before riding back to Camelot the next day, today. Merlin, who clumsily tripped over a tree root and cut his palm, left for Gaius’s treatment, while Arthur went straight to report to Uther.
That was hours ago.
Merlin searched for the flint and steel and turned slightly to face the floor candelabra beside the fireplace, not wanting to start the fire to simply see whether Arthur was asleep or absent. It was a hot summer night; there was no reason to keep the wood burning. He struck the flint against the steel until a spark caught the wick, watching as light filled the space.
Immediately, a rough voice sliced through the silence, startling him. “Put out the candle.”
Well. That answered his question.
As always, Merlin didn’t listen and turned toward the sound instead. The one candle barely touched the far end of the chamber, but he could still make out Arthur’s silhouette propped against the headboard of his bed and likely glaring at him. Merlin rolled his eyes. His royal pratness was waiting to yell at him. So predictable.
“If you were awake, you could have answered—”
“I told you to put out the candle!” Arthur rudely cut him off, hurling a pillow at him.
So that was how this was going to be. Alright. Without another word, Merlin grabbed the wooden splint by the fireplace, and one by one he lit the other candles, ignoring the low growl of protest from the other side of the chamber.
Why was Arthur being such an arse anyway? He was fine earlier, jesting and teasing him. What could have possibly ruined his mood so fast— ah, Uther. Having to see his face after a long ride would dampen Merlin’s mood too. Still, this wasn’t his usual irritation. Merlin searched his memory for anything Arthur might have done wrong on the mission. Nothing stood out. He then reminded himself it was Uther. The king always found flaws in his son. He could find fault in Arthur’s shadow if he wanted to. Merlin huffed. Why did he have to let his own anger out on him, though? He shook his head disappointedly. Like father, like son.
Suddenly, Merlin was pulled from his thoughts as large hands clasped his shoulders and spun him around. He found himself staring at the face he knew better than his own, beautiful even in anger.
“Can you do anything right, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice came out raw and thin, his authoritative tone faltering. He cleared his throat like he could force it back into shape. “I’m the Prince of Camelot, and you…”
The rest of his words fell on deaf ears as Merlin was too shocked by the sight before him.
Arthur looked… a mess. From afar, in the darkness, it hadn’t been obvious. But now, with the space properly lit and standing close enough to feel his friend’s jagged breath, Merlin saw it all.
His blond hair stuck out in every direction, as though he had raked his hands through it again and again. The laces of his tunic hung loose and uneven, as if he had started to undo them and then got distracted — or just gave up. His boots were no better; one looked like he had made a half-hearted attempt at untying it before abandoning that too, the other was still knotted tight.
However, it wasn’t his clothes that caught Merlin’s breath; it was his glassy, red-rimmed eyes, the small cut on his lip and the harsh imprint of a hand across his cheek.
Currently, in front of him, didn’t stand the bold, unshakable knight Arthur worked hard to be. But Arthur. Just Arthur. And it struck Merlin that, like him, the Crown Prince of Camelot was still only a young man forced to bear a responsibility far greater than his years — a burden carried alone.
All the frustration he felt towards Arthur a moment ago was now directed at Uther and soured into anger. He clenched his jaw until it hurt. How dare Uther bruise the perfect face of his son, his heir, his pride, for everyone to see. Every instinct of his screamed to march into the throne room and return the slap. Or better yet, he could strike down the tyrannic king and tear away the crown that had done nothing but weigh Arthur down since, well, ever. The thought burned in his chest, hot and reckless, but he pushed it away, reminding himself that Uther was still Arthur’s father — the only family he had left. But oh, how easily Merlin could make him pay with just the palm of his hand.
Merlin forced a slow breath, dragging his fury back down before his magic acted on its own. Not that it ever did, of course… He focused on Arthur again, who started pacing while still scolding Merlin, or whatever he was on about now. As he watched him, understanding dawned on him the longer he took in the sight. Arthur hadn’t unreasonably demanded the candles be put out; he had wished to hide in the cold comfort of the dark. Hide his disheveled state. The future king couldn’t be seen as weak and deeply affected by — what the clotpole would surely describe as — ‘a small disagreement’ with the current king. Least of by of a servant.
Merlin’s heart ached for his friend and he almost pulled him into a hug; even his magic reached for him. But he held back, not wanting to spook him, knowing he wasn’t the affectionate type. Arthur must have called for his assistance to get him ready for bed but ended up falling apart by the time Merlin showed up.
He didn’t want to be seen, and yet Merlin didn’t listen…
“Are you listening?” Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts, impatient and strained. He stopped walking, arms crossed in front of his puffed-up chest, and looked at Merlin sternly, trying not to show his discomfort, but Merlin saw right through him. He needed to act fast to ease Arthur’s worry.
“Yes, of course,” Merlin lied like it was second nature. He didn’t need to listen to know what he said though. “I’m paying much attention to you, sire. You’re mad about my insolence and want me to leave.”
He watched Arthur carefully, the shift almost imperceptible at first. His bravado faltered: his shoulders sagged, his scowl softened into a frown, and his eyes lost their spark. For a fleeting moment, Arthur looked uncertain, and Merlin nearly laughed at how easy he was to read. Arthur bit his injured lip, hissing at the contact. Then within seconds he schooled his expression again, setting his jaw, hardening his gaze, and straightening his back. His fingers tightened around his biceps as he nodded slowly.
Neither of them moved.
The nod should have been Merlin’s cue to leave, but he didn’t budge, and Arthur made no effort to dismiss him properly. If Arthur truly wanted him gone, he would have dragged him out the door already, with no room for argument. Instead, he stood rooted, gaze wavering like he wanted Merlin to understand something he couldn’t say aloud. Almost wistful. Almost pleading.
And Merlin did; he understood. Arthur wanted company that he couldn’t admit to as the crown prince, even though no one was around to see him be vulnerable in front of his manservant. So Merlin stayed and waited, because despite his strict upbringing, he needed Arthur to push past his pride himself and learn it was safe to ask for support.
But for that to happen, Arthur had to feel less exposed. He needed the dark again. Blowing out the candles outright would be far too obvious — Arthur wasn’t as stupid as Merlin liked to claim, he would see through the plan. No, it had to look like a stroke of luck, like a second chance the universe conveniently handed him.
The warlock racked his brain. Pointing somewhere would raise suspicion. Looking away wouldn’t work either. He needed something subtle, something believable that would distract Arthur long enough…
And then it came to him — perfect!
The splint accidentally slipped from his fingers, his eyes growing wide in faux startle. He apologized and crouched to retrieve it as Arthur muttered something about his incompetence. He whispered a spell before standing up again, splint in hand.
A strong gush of wind slammed the window open, making Arthur jump from the loud noise. His head snapped to the left, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, just as every candle got blown out. In an instant, the chamber was much dimmer; the only light came from the moon now that the clouds it was hidden behind moved on.
Quickly, Arthur looked around in alert for any potential threat that might have caused the sudden wind, instinctively shielding Merlin with his body, who had to bite back a smile. For all his complaining, Arthur always made sure he was safe. Finding no danger, Arthur relaxed his posture and went to the window. He stuck his head out, checking that nothing was lurking, then shut it and made sure the latch was secure.
For a heartbeat he lingered, clearly contemplating something, eyes flicking once to Merlin, who raised an eyebrow in question, then drifting back outside to the moon as if she held the answer to his problem.
Merlin didn’t need to ask to know what troubled him, yet he continued to play clueless, waiting for Arthur to speak.
Eventually, Arthur stepped away, crossed the chamber, and sat on his bed without a word, avoiding his gaze. Merlin stayed by the fireplace, idly fiddling with the candelabra, not sparing him a glance either.
The silence stretched for a minute or two.
Then, “Merlin.”
“Sire?”
“Are you a dog which needs orders?”
“No, sire.”
“Then why aren’t you helping me get ready for bed? How many more times do I need to explain to you how to do your job?” Arthur barked, though there was no bite in his voice nor heat in his sky blue eyes, which looked black in the dark. A breath later he added, “And stop calling me that.”
Merlin couldn’t hold back his grin anymore as he walked over. He opened the dresser and pulled out Arthur’s nightclothes, setting them on the bed. He kneeled to work at the laces of his boots when Arthur asked him about his ‘stupid smile,’ but he just shook his head. He couldn’t possibly admit that the reason for his sudden merry mood was because he slowly was letting Merlin in. No need to push his luck when they were so close to the breaking point. Neither of them spoke up again after that. Usually, Merlin would chatter about, but he bit his tongue tonight; contrary to popular belief, he knew when to shut up.
Once the boots were unlaced, Merlin tugged them off, then peeled away the socks, leaving them carelessly on the floor. Rising, he braced his hands against Arthur’s knees, giving them a light squeeze as he pushed himself up. He expected Arthur to rise with him, but he remained seated, deep in thought.
From above, the young warlock studied him. Arthur was staring holes into the stone floor, his face twisted in quiet conflict. Merlin’s grin faded. It was clear he wished for comfort, or at least company, but he struggled to ask for it more than anyone should have.
For a moment Merlin indulged a humorous thought: would it have been too late for his mother to take him in? He knew she adored him; she would have been delighted to call him family, to love him in all the ways he had been denied for years. They could have lived peacefully and happily in Ealdor together.
He shook his head, suppressing a smile at the fantasy. Focus.
Leaning down, he curled his spindly fingers around Arthur’s wrists, the contrast between them stark. “Arthur,” he murmured, his voice threaded with unspoken warmth, and gave a gentle tug. Arthur stood automatically, moving as if under a spell, still lost in his head. Savoring the heat beneath his touch, Merlin let his thumb caress his skin — an act of comfort for his friend and something he dared not name for himself.
At last, Arthur blinked several times, the clouds clearing, and their eyes locked. The air between them seemed to charge. Merlin let go at once, as if scorched, just as Arthur went rigid. A few rapid heartbeats later, the prince forced his spine straight again, slipping back into his practiced regal demeanor. But it was too late for that. Merlin had long since seen the cracks in his armor, which he still insisted on hiding.
They stared at one another until Arthur gulped — Merlin watched the bob of his Adam’s apple — and turned his head to the side, his face falling into the shadow. The angle drew Merlin’s gaze to the curve of his ear, which looked darker than the rest of his body. Was he blushing? No, this was Arthur. Surely, Merlin was imagining things. It was rather hard to see in this dimness.
He pushed the thought away and lowered his focus to Arthur’s tunic, undoing the lace-mess with a patience Arthur had clearly lacked. Then, he grabbed the hem, Arthur raised his arms without being asked, and Merlin drew the tunic over his head, tossing it onto the heap by his boots. In its place he slipped the nightshirt on him, smoothing it down across his shoulders as he let his fingers linger longer than necessary. Finally, he handed over the breeches; the one garment the spoiled prince insisted on changing himself.
Arthur gave a nod of thanks and disappeared behind the screen.
While he waited, Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing on the ridiculously soft mattress. Royals sure had it good. Sometimes he considered sneaking in for a quick rest while Arthur was off training or otherwise occupied, but his life left little room for such luxuries. If he wasn’t chasing after the prat, he was running errands for Gaius or secretly saving Camelot. He sighed, eyelids growing heavy as he let his mind wander. Honestly, he would take on every challenge ten times over if it meant ending the day on a bed like this. Five minutes on this cloud would erase weeks of exhaustion, he was sure of it. Maybe there was a spell to switch their mattresses—
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked once he had finished changing, his tone flat and unimpressed, arms crossed over his chest once again.
Merlin propped himself up on his forearms — when did he lie down? — and looked him over. Arthur’s blond hair was somewhat tamed, no doubt pressed flat by his own palms. A useless effort, really, considering he was about to ruin it in his sleep. He told him exactly that with a grin on his face. “Preening before bed, Arthur, really? You’re only going to mess it up again. Why bother?” Then, he shot upright and clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with mock horror. “Don’t tell me… you’re meeting someone. A midnight tryst? How scandalous of you, Your Highness.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Why on earth would I meet someone in my sleepwear?”
“Could be a ploy,” Merlin retorted with a shrug, fighting the urge to recline again. “Once I leave, you’ll change into something more dashing and—” He paused as if a thought just struck him. “Ah, I see my fault now. Of course you aren’t meeting anyone, you can’t dress yourself.”
Baffled, Arthur’s mouth fell open, though a smile stretched the corner of his lips up, a playful gleam flashing in his eyes. “I can send you to the stocks.”
Merlin chuckled unconcerned. They both knew it was an empty threat. He could insult Uther and still walk a free man afterwards. Whenever he thought too long about how much Arthur tolerated — no, indulged — from him, a warmth spread in his chest. But he always brushed it off and tried to ignore it. Arthur simply liked the fightback. No one else dared talk to the prince as just a person. A friend.
Speaking of friends.
Arthur didn’t seem to be able to admit it yet, but tonight he needed one, and Merlin would give him one last chance to admit it. With a newfound resolution, he pushed to his feet, standing face-to-face with Arthur.
“Will that be all, Arthur?” Merlin asked in a formal but kind tone, throwing him the last bone on the platter.
Arthur’s expression shifted, mask slipping again. The smugness vanished, leaving something caught between hesitation and panic. His mouth opened, then closed again. Once, twice, as if he were trying to catch the right words before they got away. He worried his lip, not reacting to the pain this time. Merlin tilted his head but said nothing. Eventually, Arthur drew in a breath, steeling himself, and exclaimed, “Do you want to have wine with me?”
Merlin blinked, surprised. This wasn’t what he expected, but it was a start. “Do you have wine here?”
“Ah, um—” Arthur turned to check his desk, then his dining table, then his desk again, as if a jug might materialize out of thin air. After a few futile tries, he stopped, defeated by reality, and sheepishly looked back at Merlin, clearing his throat, about to fumble through an excuse. But before he could get out a word, a loud rumble cut him off. Arthur froze, mortified. Color rushed to his ears, clearly visible in the moonlight, unlike earlier. His lips parted like he was about to deny it, but there was no mistaking the sound.
The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched, amusement bubbling in his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to smother it, but a snort escaped, then another. And then he was bent over with laughter until his stomach hurt and tears blurred his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t be laughing, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny. Just so… ordinary. So human.
Arthur glared, but it lacked any real heat. “Stop cackling like a hyena, Merlin.”
“Sorry,” Merlin wheezed, forcing himself upright. He wiped his eyes and grinned, still breathless. “Would you like me to fetch you something to eat?”
The prince gave him a look, eyes flicking up and down as if assessing whether Merlin could even manage the task without tripping over his own feet. He hesitated before he shook his head. “No. It’s fine. It’s been a long day. You can go rest, Merlin.”
Merlin arched a brow, incredulous but amused. Arthur Pendragon worrying about him? Was the sky about to split open and rain fire upon Camelot?
As if realizing how uncharacteristic that was of him, Arthur hurriedly added, “Besides, I’ll be going to bed now too. I can wait until breakfast.” Except his stomach growled again, betraying him. “Maybe… Maybe something small to not keep me awake from hunger.“
“You got it!” Merlin replied cheerfully. He walked toward the doors but stopped and turned to say with a grin, “I’ll also bring the wine,” before stepping out and closing the door behind him.
The hallways were quiet as Merlin trudged toward the kitchen, the torches low, shadows dancing across the stone walls. The castle was winding down. Everyone was seeking rest after a long day — everyone except him, apparently. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He would gladly collapse into bed right about now; even the cold stone floor looked inviting. But instead, he kept going for Arthur’s sake. He passed a handful of servants who were finishing their work for the night. As the polite man his mother raised him to be, Merlin offered them all a crooked smile and a soft, “goodnight,” earning tired but kind goodnight wishes in return.
A long yawn escaped him, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Merlin wondered whether Gaius was back from the pregnant woman he had rushed out to help earlier yet. Something he wasn’t looking forward to as the future court physician. Childbirth was not for the faint hearted, and while Merlin wasn’t squeamish, he was still frightened from the one time he had to assist Gaius… Thankfully, his mentor hadn’t forced him to tag along again, however, he kept reminding Merlin that he had to get used to it because one day he wouldn’t be around anymore to do the work.
Merlin shook his head. He didn’t want to think about losing the closest thing he had to a father figure. Speaking of Gaius though, there should be leftover porridge that he had made. Merlin would bring Arthur some. To keep himself awake, Merlin started making a mental list of what else to gather for the hungry prince. Obviously he would have to pack blackberries as they were Arthur’s favorite, and some strawberries for himself. Cathy had mentioned they had bought plums just today, he would take some of those too. Cheese and bread were a must. Should he bring pickled eggs too, or would that be too much for the night?
While he was mulling over tonight’s menu, a sigh left him. He rubbed his eye, and muttered under his breath, “I should really ask for a raise.”