Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Uh…when was this made again?” Merlin thinks aloud, considering the painting before him from where it hangs in the great hall.

Arthur seems to startle at his words, as though he didn’t expect Merlin to actually comment on his portrait, but to just stand in awe of it. “Just last year, when I was named heir apparent.”

“Ah,” Merlin says, nodding.

“Why?” Arthur adds, feigning nonchalance, but Merlin can detect a bit of wariness in his tone.

“It just…doesn’t look like you. That’s all,” Merlin says. He turns to Arthur whose nose scrunches up slightly in confusion. “Are you sure this rendering is accurate?”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks, not up in arms yet, but Merlin can sense it coming. “That’s how I looked then. Are you saying that I don’t look like that now?”

“No, I don’t think you ever looked like that. I mean look—” Merlin takes a step closer to the painting to point out Arthur’s face. “Something about this area is just…wrong.”

“How?” Arthur barks and now he’s getting irritated. Good. Merlin likes seeing his face get all red like that.

Merlin scratches his chin, pondering, taking his time to think about it before answering. “I’m pretty sure you looked way more like a prat back then, no?”

He turns to Arthur and there’s the red Merlin likes.

“Like, you definitely looked more prat-ish at that time. Prat-full, even,” Merlin continues and when Arthur’s face gets a little too red, he adds, “only if I’m remembering correctly.” He puts out a hand, placating.

“Well, at least you have your memory, Merlin. Then, you might remember that you work for me.”

Merlin turns back to the painting, ignoring him. “I’m just not really sure the artist captured that accurately enough—the prat-full-ness. Maybe you should consider commissioning someone new this year, because I’m really starting to question this person’s artistic integrity.”

Arthur looks like he wants to smack him upside his head, but options instead to roll his eyes, huff and walk away. Merlin spares another lingering glance towards the painting. You know, despite Merlin’s comments he has to admit that the portrait really does make Arthur look flattering, even without the prat-factor. In it, Arthur sits proud and tall, sporting a deep red embellished cloak and his usual bejeweled circlet, face passive but eyes fierce.

He looks every bit the future king he’s supposed to be.

And to be honest, despite what he told Arthur, Merlin kind of likes his prat-iness. Oddly enough, it’s a way for Merlin to read him, because Arthur uses it as such an obvious defense mechanism. Whenever he starts getting snippy, Merlin knows that he’s actually just really embarrassed or ashamed, or feeling something. If anything, it humanizes him.

And paired with the fact that Merlin knows that Arthur doesn’t actually hate him, even if the man’s words tell another story, it’s almost…nice. In a not-so-nice way. It’s half-nice.

He’ll never tell Arthur that, though.

Merlin shakes himself from his contemplation, only to realize that Arthur is already halfway across the room. Merlin rushes to catch up with him, shouting, “Wait!”

Arthur doesn’t stop walking, but visibly slows down. Merlin makes it to his side with a smile on his face. “You know, I bet I could make it as an art appraiser if I didn’t work for you. I think I really have an eye for what’s valuable in a work.”

“Merlin you can barely make it as my servant,” Arthur says. They exit the great hall, immediately  running into a pair of knights who stand at attention until Arthur dismisses them. As they pass, Merlin turns around, waving to Leon, who smiles.

Merlin flips back around, facing Arthur as they walk. “So, if it was just a year ago, why do you need to sit for another portrait?”

“You always change the subject when you don’t have a comeback,” Arthur says, but doesn’t push it any further. “And it’s tradition for any individual named heir apparent to have their portrait made and hung in the great hall. It’s to help keep track of the royal line, as well as to show royal visitors from neighboring kingdoms that—”

“That you’re healthy and ready to ‘merge kingdoms,’ so to speak?” Merlin guesses.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Basically. So, when Lady Catrina—”

“You mean the troll that your father married,” Merlin cuts in, not able to keep the smile from his face. It only just happened last week and of course he’s not over just how funny it is yet. He’s not sure anyone is, really. Uther is still getting strange looks whenever he enters his throne room, as though at any moment people expect him to declare his undying love for some other type of magical creature. 

“Are you going to let me finish?” Arthur asks rhetorically, eyebrows raised. “When my father married a—got married, I was disinherited. Now that I’m being crowned once again, I have to sit for the portrait again.”

Merlin nods. Even though it doesn’t necessarily make sense to sit again for a portrait that was taken just a year ago, it does make sense from a kingdom standpoint to try to solidify their front as a royal family. Word has already spread too far about Uther’s unholy matrimony and Camelot’s status as a strong kingdom has faltered, as has the Pendragons’ authority as a ruling family. As a result of this, crime within the lower quarter of the citadel has been climbing, as have the number of attacks from bandits on citizens of Camelot outside the walls of the citadel. 

This portrait, while seemingly trivial, is the first big step in reestablishing the Pendragons as a sane, totally merge-able royal family, should any delegates from neighboring kingdoms visit in the future.

“And it was only because he was enchanted,” Arthur adds belatedly.

“What?” Merlin asks, already having forgotten what they were talking about.

“My father. He was enchanted,” Arthur clarifies. “He wouldn’t have married that troll otherwise, obviously.”

Merlin can’t help but smile. Arthur really can't let anything go, can he? Merlin stops him with a hand to his chest. “Are we entirely sure of that?” he says, leaning in.

Arthur looks flustered again, but in a different way—one that Merlin can’t quite put his finger on. He recomposes himself quickly, swatting Merlin’s hand away, then points a threatening finger in his direction. “Watch it! Your words are bordering on treason,” he says, then resumes walking.

Merlin follows him. “What? It’s treason to imply that your father is a little bit more open minded about his choice in a romantic partner?” Merlin asks, faking outrage. “A smelly, dung-eating partner.”

Arthur stops Merlin this time with a warning look, his top teeth bared in a strange mix of outrage, disgust, and amusement.

This, of course, makes Merlin want to push more.

“You know what, I actually pity your father,” Merlin says. “That troll’s morning breath must have been really difficult to…”

Merlin starts running before he even finishes his own sentence, already halfway down the hall before he hears the heavy steps of Arthur running after him. 

---

Merlin runs for longer than he thinks Arthur will chase him for. After zigzagging in and out of rooms, up and down stairways, and at one point, hiding in a closet, he finds himself in the kitchen. He quickly sneaks a few stray slices of cheese from off of one of the counters, then hovers over Audrey’s shoulder to watch her cook. She swats at him a few times, which he dodges easily.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asks but doesn’t make any more moves to eject him from her kitchen.

“Other than the thousands of chores no doubt waiting for me right outside of this room?” Merlin asks, hopping onto a nearby, empty counter. He pops another small piece of stolen cheese into his mouth. “Absolutely nothing. I’m all yours.” He opens his arms for a hug, and she smacks him on the shoulder with her wooden spoon, but she looks amused, as do the rest of the kitchen staff.

He rubs his wounded limb and groans over-dramatically. He’s a little too loud and the next thing he knows, heavy steps are making their way down the stairs outside, heading for the kitchen.

And they’re close.

Merlin hops down from the counter in a panic. “Audrey, you have to hide me!”

She doesn’t even question him, just motions for two other staff members to help him hide behind a pile of large flour sacks. They then strategically place themselves so that he’s hidden from the view of the doorway just in time for Arthur to barge in. Arthur stops suddenly just after the threshold, quickly recomposing himself at the kitchen staff’s awkward looks.  

“My Lord,” Audrey greets, bowing only slightly. Arthur doesn’t begrudge her this, most likely because he’s scared of her, along with everyone else except Merlin.

“Audrey,” he greets back. “Have you, by any chance, seen my incompetent manservant?” He looks around, presumably expecting Merlin to pop out of his hiding spot to argue. Tough luck. Merlin isn’t that stupid. No, he’s just going to hang out here in his tiny, safe corner. Although, his breathing seems to be kicking up little dust clouds of flour from atop the sacks in front of him, making his nose itch.

“No, I can’t say I have,” Audrey lies easily. “If he were here, we would be missing half of my inventory and you would be having a light dinner tonight.”

“You must think he doesn’t already pick off of my plate before he serves it to me,” Arthur says, but he must not be convinced because he steps further into the kitchen. The two staff members covering Merlin move slightly to continue keeping him from Arthur’s view.

As Arthur inches closer and closer, it’s harder to do, though—at least without looking suspicious.

Merlin’s suddenly feeling a sneeze coming on from all of the flour particles currently attempting to invade his airways. A few brief moments later and Merlin can’t take it anymore. With his hand over his nose and Arthur getting dangerously close to his hiding spot, he uses his magic to knock over a small pitcher near Arthur’s arm.

Audrey erupts, royal deference be damned, and starts yelling at Arthur, who turns his back to Merlin’s hiding spot in shock. Merlin suspects that Audrey is overselling it a bit because without any visible line of communication, the two staff members seem to know to sneak Merlin out through the back door.

He keeps his movements quiet just outside the kitchen so as not to be heard, but then takes off when he’s at a safe enough distance. He runs down a few flights of stairs and takes the secret backway out of the castle that he’s only half sure Arthur doesn’t know about.

That’s fine, he was supposed to be picking herbs for Gaius, anyway.

---

As he approaches his usual spot for picking yarrow just outside Camelot’s walls, he sees a familiar face.

“Lancelot!” Merlin calls, speeding up just a little.

Lancelot looks up from where he’s sorting bundles of yarrow and rosemary. Well, there goes Merlin’s excuse for staying away from the castle.

“I thought Gaius said that I was supposed to be gathering the herbs,” Merlin says. “I told him I’d do it.”

“Yeah, that was about a week ago,” Lancelot says, smiling wryly. “So, I told him I would.”

Ever since Lancelot came back with them after their run-in with Hengist and his wilddeoren, he’s been reluctantly living with Merlin and Gaius. He initially refused, considering that he’s technically still banished, but he had nowhere to go and Gwen wanted him close but couldn’t make room in her house for him. And let it be said, no amount of nobility could stand up to Gwen tears—or more, the prospect of Gwen tears. At least, not in Lancelot’s case.

Probably not in anyone’s case, honestly.

Merlin added on by telling him that it’s not like he has anywhere else to go and actually, Uther probably doesn’t even remember him—to which Merlin received Gaius’ scolding raised eyebrow. Then Gaius said that Lancelot could make himself useful by helping with minor tasks around their small quarters. That pretty much convinced him.

“It’s only temporary,” Lancelot always says, but doesn’t volunteer any concrete plans to go somewhere else. Merlin thinks he actually likes it here. The work Gaius asks him to do may be menial, but at least it’s not fighting to the death for money. Plus, he gets to be around Gwen. And really, who would turn that down, in any capacity?

“So, why did you decide to do this today, then?” Lancelot asks, bringing Merlin back to the present.

“Oh, you know, just taking a break from the royal ass,” Merlin says. “He’s been driving me up the wall, lately.”

For the past few weeks, Arthur has been snippy, crabby, and all types of cranky. As a consequence, Merlin has had to bear the brunt of this—he’s had to muck out Arthur’s horses’ stables, polish all his weapons and armor, and clean every single inch of his bedroom until Arthur deemed it spotless.

And yes, he knows he probably didn’t help himself by insinuating that Uther’s sexual preferences lie more on the smelly side. The running away was bad, too. And the hiding.

Yeah, he doesn’t anticipate any awards or commendations for his service in the future.

Lancelot doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then, “There’s probably a reason for that—that he’s so angry.”

And Merlin feels a twinge of…something. He’s not quite sure. Happiness? Sadness? Pity? Pride? Maybe everything at once because he knew just how much Arthur liked Gwen, maybe even loved her if his words by that lake are anything to go on.

So, it makes sense why Arthur’s acting so prat-ish. He was forced to admit feelings for someone that he can never be with and he has to see her almost every day—there, but just out of reach. It must be hell.

Merlin doesn’t respond to Lancelot’s statement, because a response is not necessary. So, they just sit in solemn silence, making quick work of sorting and bundling the herbs.

Their usual laughter and kind banter return on the way back to their quarters, particularly when Merlin tries to test Lancelot’s agility by subtly enchanting small objects in his pathway to trip him.

Lancelot, the bastard, dodges every single one with a smile.

---

The next day, Merlin awakens to…

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts from just outside Merlin’s room.

Merlin shoots up in his bed in alarm and Lancelot shoots to his feet from where he was sleeping on the floor, taking on a fighting pose. Merlin waves a hand in his direction and he relaxes, sitting back down.

“Show yourself, Merlin!” Arthur shouts again, then, “No, Gaius, I know he’s not at the tavern. It’s barely sunrise. Even he’s not that much of a degenerate.”

Merlin ignores the fact that Gaius’ go-to way of covering for him is by insinuating that he’s an alcoholic and instead focuses on the fact that if it’s barely sunrise, then he slept in.

He’s late for work.

“That’s it, he’s finally going to kill me,” Merlin says, quickly hobling out of bed and throwing his blue shirt and red neckerchief on. He looks to Lancelot, who somehow appears to be both alert and like he could fall back to sleep at any minute. “Does this look like a good outfit to die in?”

Lancelot yawns. “Yeah, the red will cover up the blood well,” he says, eyes closing. A few seconds later, he’s out cold again, snoring softly.

Merlin chuckles to himself briefly despite Arthur’s continued yelling in the background. Then, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for an insurmountable number of tasks, all which Arthur will demand to be completed by the end of the day, no doubt.

When he steps out, though, Arthur falls quiet. He gives him a once over, so Merlin takes the liberty to do the same. It’s only then that Merlin realizes that Arthur’s holding what looks to be a heavy bundle of clothing.

“What’s that?” Merlin asks, then adds “sire,” at Arthur’s livid face.

“Well, you would know if you didn’t shirk the rest of your responsibilities yesterday evening, wouldn’t you?” Arthur asks. “And then maybe I wouldn’t have had to carry them all the way here, would I?”

He then marches over to Merlin and shoves the clothing into his arms. Merlin stumbles at first but recovers quickly.

“Put that on and meet me outside the great hall in half an hour,” Arthur says, then rushes out.

Merlin sends a questioning look towards Gaius, who gives him the raised eyebrow of general disappointment.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Merlin argues.

The eyebrow raises higher.

 “…that bad,” Merlin finishes, feeling properly chastised. Gaius’ other eyebrow goes up to join the other and he turns back to whatever he was doing before Arthur arrived and started rupturing eardrums. Merlin looks down to the bundle still in his arms.

Running his fingers through it, he finds that the fabric is quite soft to the touch, which means that it’s expensive.

He lays it out on top of the table. They look a lot like the robes that Arthur made him wear at that one banquet, only less flashy and ridiculous. No, these robes, while not extravagant nor intricate in their design, do have an air of sophistication to them. Well, in the sense that they won’t make Merlin look like a court jester this time.

Merlin doesn’t think he could get any more confused, but nonetheless he does as he’s told and gets dressed. He eats the small breakfast Gaius has prepared for him—food is in short supply now that they have to serve three people—and then makes his way to the great hall as he was told to.

A few people try to stop him for small talk, many wanting to know why he’s dressed so well, but he does his best not to delay. It’s partially because he knows that Arthur is annoyed with him, but also just out of genuine curiosity.

Once he arrives, he’s greeted by the sight of Leon and another guard standing in front of the entrance. Without a word, Leon lets him pass through.

What’s waiting for him right on the other side of the door is…well, it’s Arthur, but it’s Arthur unlike Merlin has ever seen him before.

Arthur has always looked good—very good—no matter what he’s wearing (or not wearing), but this is…something else. Since Merlin last saw him, he’s put on his usual silver chainmail along with a few new golden accented armor pieces, his circlet, and a short, dark blue cloak with thick golden-thread embroidering. The ensemble is striking and sharp and nothing short of remarkable.

And Arthur, himself, is beautiful. He always has been. From the strong slope of his nose, to his bright eyes, plush lips—he’s stunning. But what’s more is his expression—the look in his eyes, the smirk on his lips, how all the muscles of his face come together in exasperation at Merlin’s antics, or, right now, how they soften when Merlin arrives.

Merlin could get lost in it and he does, if the loud clearing of a throat from someone nearby is anything to go on. In the brief second before he turns his head towards the sound, he realizes that Arthur’s been staring at him, too. For how long, though?

Merlin shakes his head, not wanting to dwell on a train of thought that won’t lead anywhere.

Off to Merlin’s right is an amused-looking woman. She looks to be about his age, maybe just a touch older. She’s beautiful—in a refined way, which tells Merlin that she comes from a well-off family. But her face is kind, self-deprecating, and covered in small spots of paint, probably from the pallet she’s holding…or the paintbrush in her hand.

“Nope,” Merlin says as soon as he notices the easel. He turns back around to make his escape, but when he tries to push past the doors, he is met with an immovable force. He turns back towards Arthur, who looks smug. “Did you tell Leon not to let me out?”

“Yes, and to not let anyone in,” Arthur says. “Now, have a seat.” He points to a small constructed setting in which two padded stools, one tall and one short, are arranged in front of a large set of hanging black fabric.

“Why, though? It’s your portrait!” Merlin whines, but he starts walking, anyways.

Arthur follows behind him. “Well—"

“It’s customary for the prince’s manservant to be in the royal portrait, as well,” the woman chimes in, not looking up from her pallet on which she’s mixing paint. “It’s another way to show his status.”

“Well, then why wasn’t I in the one last year?” Merlin argues, then plops down in the taller stool that’s obviously meant for Arthur, just to be annoying.

Arthur scowls at him. “Because you quit right around that time,” he says, then pushes Merlin to the shorter stool.

Merlin tilts his head. When did he quit?

Wait.

Merlin huffs. “Are you saying that when my village—you know, where my mother lives—was being attacked, you decided to remove me from the royal portrait?” he asks, over-emphasizing every word.

Arthur doesn’t have the decency to look ashamed, but he does try to explain. “It wasn’t my call. My father said you were disloyal.”

“ Disloyal ?” Merlin spits. He drank poison for Arthur, sacrificed his life for him, and that was the one time they knew about it.

And Uther calls him disloyal? And Arthur didn’t say anything, didn’t even defend him?

It makes sense. Arthur isn’t one to disobey or disagree with his father. He can huff and puff all he wants, but unless someone’s life is on the line, he usually aligns himself with Uther’s opinions and ideals.

And really, what’s the loyalty of a manservant between a king and a prince?

Right now, though, Arthur does give Merlin a sort of sympathetic look. Merlin takes it as an apology—a hidden one that can never be uttered out loud because no matter how loyal Merlin is to him, Arthur will always be loyal to Uther first. He’s the man who raised him, his father and the king. Arthur’s devotion and reverence towards him should be expected. And Merlin knows that it’s unfair to expect even a modicum of the same…

But, he can’t help but ask, “So, what’s different this time?”

Arthur doesn’t answer right away, looking down suddenly. He pretends to adjust the placement of his cloak. “I insisted, of course,” he says quietly.

And it gives Merlin hope—hope that “always” doesn’t really mean always, in terms of Arthur’s loyalty to Uther and to Uther’s ideals. He hopes that one day Arthur will be the great king that Merlin knows he’s meant to be. And Merlin will continue to be loyal to him throughout it all.

And if that means sitting through this stupid portrait, then he’ll sit through it.

Again, he drank poison for Arthur, fought Nimueh for him!

How hard can it be to sit for a portrait?

---

Merlin actively regrets every decision that has led him to this moment. And to this stool. Because after sitting on it for a few hours, he’s pretty sure that he now has a concave backside.

Halfway through, he asks the artist, Raina, for a break. She could just work on them separately, right? But she says she needs to at least paint enough to get the perspectives right.

“We wouldn’t want you to look wonky,” she explains. 

Arthur leans in. “More than—”

“More than usual. I know,” Merlin finishes, rolling his eyes, which Arthur doesn’t seem happy about. Merlin gives him a wide smile in return, which seems to make him even angrier.

Raina smirks and tells them to sit still.

---

One of the more difficult aspects of having to sit next to a well-dressed Arthur for hours in silence is the fact that he has to sit next to a well-dressed Arthur for hours in silence .

There are no breaks—no distracting banter, no chasing each other throughout the castle. It’s just them, two humans sharing each other’s company, each other’s space.

And the worst part is that Merlin actually kind of likes it. It’s…comfortable, relaxing even—like sitting beside a warm fire or lazily floating in a streaming river.

Sometimes, when Merlin sits down for one of their many sessions, he has to stop himself from sighing, or inching closer, or even, gods forbid, dropping his head to Arthur’s shoulder. It’s just…when he’s sitting with him like this, he can feel his muscles relax, can feel the tension he always keeps in his shoulders begin to melt away.

It’s happened before, whenever they sit together for long periods of time on hunts in the odd instances when the rest of their party has gone off to bathe or set traps. Merlin just wrote it off as…he doesn’t know what. Another something he can’t explain—that strange mix of feelings he can’t make sense of.

And he’s not entirely sure he wants to.

---

After two and a half sessions, Merlin’s section, as well as a sufficient portion of Arthur’s, must be completed because Merlin is no longer required to sit anymore. He’s surprised at how long it took—more annoyed, honestly—but he does realize how much work goes into painting something of this size, so he doesn’t complain.

Although, even though Merlin’s done, Arthur isn’t. Of course, instead of giving Merlin the day off or asking him to do something useful, he still makes Merlin attend the sessions with him.

Merlin does everything in his power to stave off boredom—pacing throughout the great hall, commenting loudly on other portraits, and running his hands through the royal curtains as he looks out the window, much to Arthur’s irritation. 

After an hour of this, Arthur snaps, “Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?” Merlin asks from where he’s picking the dirt from his nails. Gaius had him gathering herbs this morning for a patient he was treating. Lancelot offered to do it, but Merlin could see how invested he was in whatever Gaius was examining the patient for, so Merlin agreed to do it instead. It did make him late, again, though.

“Stop fidgeting with everything! It’s really distracting. You’re going to mess up the portrait,” Arthur complains.

“Please stop moving, my Lord,” Raina singsongs, focusing intensely on her work. Merlin slowly steps closer to her, watching her paint.

“Don’t bother her, Merlin,” Arthur says through gritted teeth, trying not to move his face. “Just sit down somewhere.”

“He’s not bothering me,” Raina says and Arthur relaxes. “Now, please hold still. I’m working on the most crucial part.”

With Arthur unable to whine at him, Merlin moves closer to watch Raina work. She’s currently painting Arthur’s jawline and Merlin is surprised to find that the majority of his face hasn’t been completed yet. Raina seems to have just laid down the outline and a few test splotches of paint.

Merlin’s portion, though, is completely finished. And it’s fine. He looks just as he does in the mirror—nothing more, nothing less—only with more expensive clothing. And that’s the point—he’s not supposed to look magnificent or anything. No, he’s supposed to look like a servant, because he is.

That’s all. That’s all he can be, even if Arthur fulfills his destiny.

He watches Raina work for the rest of the session. He watches her map out Arthur’s face, watches her mix paint to get the exact right shade, and watches her jump from feature to feature, presumedly deciding in the moment what she would be better suited to depict accurately.

And for some reason, he wishes he had the means to do the same—to look and capture every inch of Arthur’s face and to have an excuse or permission to do so.

---

About halfway through the last session, Arthur tells Merlin to go home early. Merlin doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t question it, lest Arthur change his mind. After hours and hours of boredom—yes, even watching someone paint can get tiresome after a while—he practically races out, not thinking twice about it.

He spends the rest of the day sitting outside, lying in the grass, and soaking in the sun’s warm rays. After a while, though, even this becomes boring. Maybe it’s because when he’s usually doing this, Arthur is sitting next to him rattling off to him about something—fighting moves he wishes to teach the knights, how well they’re doing in combat, or new weapons they’re training with. 

Merlin just listens passively. It’s part of his job to learn about this stuff, so he can know what to expect when they’re out hunting or taking down some new magical beast. Secretly, though, he likes it and right now, he’s missing it right now.

When he can’t take the silence anymore, he decides to be a good servant and go back to wait for Arthur to be finished, wanting to hear Arthur’s voice again. But, as he approaches the foyer outside the royal hall, he sees Arthur and Raina standing together in the small alcove across from the doors.

They’re standing very close together, speaking quietly to each other. After a few moments, she hands him an envelope, which Arthur takes. He opens it slightly, peeking inside. Merlin’s view is blocked by Arthur’s arm, so he can’t see what it is, but he can see Arthur blush slightly. He’s turning that red color Merlin likes, but for an entirely different reason than usual and…for an entirely different person.

And Merlin may not know what was in that envelope, but he does know the nature of it. It makes sense, really, that Arthur would take interest in someone as beautiful and talented as Raina. It’s…appropriate and she’s someone that Uther might approve of. It makes sense , it does.

Merlin just doesn’t know why it hurts so much. 

Except, of course he does, just like he knows what that strange mix of emotions he always feels around Arthur is. He’s known for a long time, now.

He’s in love with Arthur Pendragon.

How could he be anything but? They’re supposed to be each other’s destinies.

And no amount of avoidance or deliberate ignorance is ever going to change that, just like nothing will change his status, nor Arthur’s. He will always be destined to love Arthur from afar and that will always be painful, just as it is now.

He tries not to show how he’s feeling when Arthur spots him. He goes through the motions quickly, shifting his face into a blank, emotionless mask and then adding the fake-happy one on top of it. He’s gotten good at this—he’s had practice from hiding his magic.

Arthur looks even more flustered when Merlin walks over, quickly trying to hide the envelope from Merlin’s view. Merlin lets him, turning instead to look at Raina, who’s watching Arthur with a wry smile. And Merlin tries to not let the pain double down on him as she and Arthur share soft goodbyes.

---

After that, life goes back to normal, or as normal as it can be. He goes back to his usual duties and Arthur goes back to training the knights. Only, Arthur is different now—he’s less cranky, not as short with Merlin, even after a day spent in the same room as Gwen.

He’s happy . Merlin’s mind supplies, unhelpfully. He’s found someone.

Merlin guesses he’s different now, too.

---

Oddly enough, Merlin doesn’t see much of Raina. Usually, when Arthur is courting someone, Merlin is made to attend him for their dates. Then, when Arthur wants to go off with her, he asks Merlin to cover for him, which doesn’t always work out very well for Merlin—he can’t help but be reminded of his time in the stocks when Arthur became infatuated with Sophia.

This time is strange, though, because Arthur doesn’t ask him to attend him or cover for him with Raina. Merlin knows he’s seeing her, though. Sometimes Arthur will give Merlin the afternoon off for no reason and later on one of those days, Merlin will see them together somewhere.

In a more memorable instance, Merlin sees them together shopping in the market in Camelot’s upper quarter when he’s out making deliveries for Gaius. From a distance, Raina seems to be holding up a small, golden chain for a necklace. She holds it out for Arthur to inspect and smiles when he nods. That’s when Merlin leaves, not wanting to see anymore.

Perhaps it’s a blessing that Arthur doesn’t include him in his courting. Merlin doesn’t know if he could bear it.

---

One day, when Merlin and Arthur are on a hunt, their party is attacked. This is not entirely out of the ordinary, especially when they’re using the hunting grounds that aren’t too far from the Camelot-Mercian border. Often, bandits living in the “no man’s land” at the edges will attack to maintain their territories.

Only, this time, their hunting party doesn’t go anywhere near those territories. Which is strange all in itself, but what’s more is that the bandit party that comes is considerably larger than usual, outnumbering Camelot’s men almost three to one. They fight with much more vigor, too, and noticeably better weapons.

Merlin uses his magic to stave them off as best as he can without being too obvious, but there are just too many of them. Near the end, Arthur ends up with a small slash to his chest. It seems more dire in the moment because of the blood, so Merlin promptly loses his shit, and doesn’t leave Arthur’s side all throughout the ride back, as well as all the way up to Gaius’ quarters.

Gaius makes quick work of treating Arthur—carefully removing his bloodstained armor, then cleaning, sewing up, and bandaging the wound. Merlin tries to assist him, but Lancelot seems to be doing a better job of it, probably because he actually listens when Gaius gives his long, boring lectures that Merlin should probably pay more attention to.

Arthur doesn’t seem to mind Lancelot’s presence so much, most likely more focused on the pain that he’s trying to hide, face stoic. Although, once his treatment is finished, the atmosphere is a bit…awkward. Arthur knows that Lancelot came back with them and that he’s seeing Gwen, but he wasn’t aware that he was living in the castle. Either way, he makes no attempts to arrest Lancelot for disobeying his banishment, which seems to put Lancelot at ease.

Eventually, Arthur orders Merlin to go get a few knights to help him back to his chambers. Gaius instructs Arthur to stay in bed for at least the rest of the day, and to not resume his duties as head knight for a few more.

When Merlin returns, Lancelot and Arthur are speaking to each other quietly. Lancelot hands him something, but Merlin can’t exactly see what. It’s small and Merlin thinks he sees a flash of gold before Arthur takes the object, gripping it tightly in his hand, expression unreadable.

It’s then that Lancelot notices Merlin. He quickly goes silent, which signals Arthur to do the same.

“Merlin,” Arthur greets, trying his best to subtly slip the object in his pocket without Merlin catching on.

“I picked up a shirt from your room, to protect your decency,” Merlin says, letting it go. Whatever it is, it must be personal, if the strange energy between Arthur and Lancelot is anything to go on, as well as how they reacted when Merlin entered the room. “That is, if you have any.”

Arthur ignores the comment but does accept the shirt. Merlin offers to help him into it, but he refuses, slipping it on quite easily all on his own. Merlin brought the loosest shirt he could find in Arthur’s closet for fear that a smaller one would press on his wounds.

“At least you’re not entirely useless, Merlin,” Arthur says, seeming to realize this. It’s as close to as a ‘thank you’ as Merlin will ever get, so he smiles.

“I live to serve, sire,” Merlin says sarcastically with an eye roll, which is his “your welcome, you prat.” Lancelot gives both of them an amused look that Merlin only glimpses before Arthur calls the knights to help him stand up. Merlin hovers around them, ready to call anyone out should they support Arthur’s weight incorrectly.

Merlin follows them out, turning back slightly to catch the expression that was on Lancelot’s face, but he’s already turned back to Gaius, helping him clean up the mess from when they first arrived.

Merlin then spends most of the day attending to Arthur—tidying up his room, making sure that he’s comfortable, and checking his bandages periodically.

“Stop being such a mother hen. I’m fine!” he says, but Merlin knows he appreciates it. Nonetheless, Merlin calms down a touch for Arthur’s sake. The rest of the day he spends mostly by sitting at Arthur’s bedside, talking about this and that to stave off boredom.

Arthur sleeps on and off, the draught that Gaius gave him for pain making him drowsy. Merlin is actually surprised that Arthur lets him stay during this. Merlin has seen him sleep before, but only on missions and hunts, or when Merlin wakes him up in the morning. It’s never just been the two of them like this, though.

And it’s a vulnerable thing—to watch someone sleep. They are completely defenseless. Arthur is perhaps the best fighter in the land, but all that training, knowledge, and experience just…goes away. Maybe it’s because he thinks Merlin’s too weak to actually do anything or maybe it’s because he trusts him—two sentiments that would fade away should he find out what Merlin is truly capable of.

Either way, Merlin considers himself lucky.

Arthur sleeps and Merlin is finally given the time to think and therefore, given the time to obsess. As soon as Arthur’s eyes close and his breathing is even, Merlin’s mind is immediately drawn back to the object that Lancelot placed in Arthur’s hands.

All Merlin knows that it’s small, at least part of it is made of gold, and it’s personal. He’s not even sure if it’s something that Lancelot gave him, or something he was returning to him. If he gave it to him, then maybe it has to do with Gwen—some relic of their past relationship that she’s finally ready to give up.

Of course, Lancelot could’ve just been giving it back to Arthur after they had to remove his clothes to treat his wounds. If that’s the case and it’s not Gwen’s, then maybe it’s Raina’s.

Now that he thinks of it, Merlin does remember seeing Arthur and Raina buying a necklace in the marketplace about a week ago. Merlin initially thought it was a gift for her, but it could well enough be for Arthur.

Either way, no matter the answer—no matter whose token of affection for Arthur the object represents, it doesn’t bear well for Merlin and spending any more time thinking about it will only cause him more pain. 

By the time he’s about to start pulling his hair out or, worse, trying to sneak the object from Arthur’s pocket, Uther arrives. He was there when Arthur first arrived at Camelot, but with news of the attack spreading throughout the kingdom, he had to leave to speak with the council on what they were going to do next, especially when news came back from one of the knights that the bandit’s swords had markings of the kingdom of Mercia engraved on them.

At best, it could mean next to nothing—just bandits who somehow acquired Mercian weaponry. At worst, though, it could mean they were hired. 

“Did they target the prince specifically?” Uther asks Merlin before he leaves.

“No more than usual,” Merlin says.

Uther looks frustrated at this and Merlin will give him that; he has a right to be protective over Arthur. Merlin would perhaps fault his method of portraying this, but he, himself, knows how crazy the thought of losing someone you love can make you.

When Uther comes to Arthur’s chambers at the end of the day, he looks haggard. Deep, dark circles line the undersides of his weary eyes and his back is partially hunched in exhaustion. But his face lights up just a fraction when he sees Arthur sitting up in his bed, as does Arthur’s in turn.

Merlin decides to let them be, stepping out quietly. Arthur shoots him a quick look as he does, which Merlin returns with a nod.

---

A few days later, when Merlin is heading down to the kitchens to pick up Arthur’s breakfast, he sees Raina. It’s strange, because in the few days that Arthur took to recover, Merlin hadn’t seen her once. And he would know, as he’s spent almost every moment of every day by Arthur’s side since the attack.

He goes to greet her with a secret motive to subtly inquire about her absence as well as about the golden object if he can manage it, but she seems to be having a deep conversation with a few kitchen staff members, so Merlin hesitates. After some nodding and smiling, each staff member passes her a copper coin, all in exchange for what seems to be a lightly packed envelope. It bears a remarkable resemblance to the one she gave Arthur in that alcove after their last session.

He waits for her to leave before approaching them, asking what business they have with her, but they vehemently deny knowing her, even though Merlin just saw them together, looking quite flustered as they do.

He spots her doing this a few more times over several days with all kinds of people—Guards, cleaning staff, more kitchen staff, and even a few knights—Leon, too, surprisingly.

So, he decides to tell Arthur, even though he’s hesitant about it at first. Arthur has already gotten his heart broken this year and Merlin doesn’t want to be responsible for it breaking again, even inadvertently. But if something suspicious is going on with Raina, Arthur deserves to know.

He aims to be as delicate about it as possible, though.

“I don’t know, I just think that she’s up to something,” Merlin says. “Something definitely bad.”

Okay, maybe not so delicate.

“Merlin don’t be ridiculous. The Lady Raina is an honorable woman.” Arthur turns to Merlin. “And what are you insinuating that she’s done, exactly?” he says, voice coming out entirely too defensive.

Merlin takes a deep breath, trying to quell his growing irritation. He understands why Arthur would question his accusations. Aside from his relationship with her, Raina, for all intents and purposes, seems to be a kind, strong, well-mannered woman. And if she hadn’t traded with just so many people, Merlin would have very little to be suspicious about.

So, he stalls at Arthur’s words, “…I don’t know.”

“Of course, you don’t,” Arthur says dismissively. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Now, can you please get back to doing the work I’m paying you to do?”

“I’m serious, Arthur,” Merlin says with as much sincerity as he can muster.  “With Camelot’s perceived weakness from the other kingdoms, as well as the attack on the hunting party a few days ago, now is the time to exercise caution . I don’t know what she’s up to, and I don’t necessarily think that she’s plotting against Camelot—at least not alone if she is—but can you just talk to her about it? Please?”

For me, he leaves unspoken.

Arthur’s demeanor seems to soften at Merlin’s words, just for the briefest moment. Then, his face hardens over again, but he says, “I will speak with her,” so Merlin takes it as a win.

---

The next time Merlin sees Raina, she and Arthur are fighting. They’re huddled together in another alcove, whispering harshly at each other. Merlin decides to leave them to their business and not intrude, even though he wants to.

All Arthur has to say about it later is, “The matter is handled,” in his most Uther-like voice. Merlin just assumes that they broke up and decides to leave it at that.

And even though he feels bad for Arthur—he does, truly—he can’t help but feel a spark of relief. It’s a horribly possessive thought and Merlin feels terrible for thinking it—possession over someone that isn’t even his—but in the days that follow the incident, Merlin can feel himself finally relax, the tension he’s been constantly carrying slowly slipping from his shoulders.

---

The tension comes back when another one of Camelot’s hunting parties comes back injured and with fewer members. Then it doubles, triples, and quadruples down when all hunting parties, patrols, and scout missions are also attacked, all ambushed by large numbers of bandits, all of whom carry Mercian weapons. This happens in the span of about a week, events sitting far too close together for there to be any type of coincidence. And by the estimates of the knights, these attacks are drawing in, each time straying further and further from the border.  

Perhaps King Bayard is looking to encroach on Camelot’s territory. Hiring the bandits would be a good way to soften the battlefield before sending out any official forces. It also gives him a good idea of how strong enough Camelot’s defenses are.

Thankfully, Arthur hasn’t been allowed to join any of these missions, as he hasn’t entirely healed according to Gaius and also Uther has been discouraging it. Now, in light of these attacks, he’s outright banned Arthur from attending any matter that sits outside of Camelot’s walls.

This alone has Arthur’s blood boiling, but what’s worse is that Uther is sending a collection of knights to try to fight back to maintain Camelot’s border and has forbidden Arthur from attending as well.

“It’s completely ridiculous!” Arthur rages to Merlin in his chambers. “I’m the head knight! I should be on the front lines of this! How can I expect my men to throw their lives down on the line for Camelot if their prince won’t do the same?”

“He just wants to protect you,” Merlin says. “You’re supposed to be the future king.”

“Yes, but how am I supposed to be a great king if he keeps me hidden? Mercia already thinks we’re weak, do we really want them to think even less of us?” Arthur asks. He makes a good point. If King Bayard is looking for holes in Camelot’s defenses, it’s probably not best to give him anymore fuel than he needs, nor is it a good idea to give the impression that yet another heir apparent of Camelot is incompetent enough to let it happen.

And as much as Merlin wants Arthur to be safe, if they are to reach their destinies, they must show strength. You don’t get to be the greatest king to rule all of Albion if you hide yourself away and do nothing in the face of adversity. That is not how strong kingdoms are built nor maintained.

Arthur plops down into his seat. “And the worst part is, I can’t do anything about it.”

It’s true. After their last escape to save Gwen, Uther has made himself keen to their little tricks. This time, he’s commanded a guard—and not just any guard, a knight— to sit outside Arthur’s room, who won’t let anyone in without checking that they’re not hiding anything that could help Arthur escape.

“I’m basically a prisoner in here, while my men set out to fight,” Arthur says.

“And even worse off, you’re stuck here with me,” Merlin says, trying to cheer him up.

“It’s not as fun when you insult yourself, Merlin,” Arthur says, but he adds, “Even if it’s true.”

Merlin blows out a breath of air, then looks to the door, contemplating. “Maybe I can distract the guard?”

Arthur snickers. “With what, your charming wit? I’ll sooner die in here.”

“I’m taking that as a complement,” Merlin says, but Arthur’s right. Unless Merlin were to start a fire, the only other way to get a Camelot knight away from his post is by incapacitating him. It’s something Merlin could do, but not without question, punishment, and/or revealing his magic.

“You really shouldn’t,” Arthur says, kicking his feet onto the table before him. “You need higher standards.”

“Yet, I’m friends with you,” Merlin says distractedly, thinking. The only other time a guard leaves his post is when his shift is done, and another knight comes to relieve him. Merlin shoots a brief look towards the window. The sun has just begun to set, and Merlin knows that the guard outside has been there all day.

“If we’re friends, then I need higher standards,” Arthur says.

Merlin ignores him, mind turning over itself trying to hatch a plan. He stands up abruptly. If he’s going to make it before the guard changes with everything he needs, he’ll have to hurry.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Arthur barks, moving his legs from the table and fumbling to stand up quickly, perhaps to chase after Merlin, but it’s no use. Merlin is already on his way out.

“Off to find better friends,” Merlin calls, halfway out the door. He can just hear the sound of a shoe hitting the wall once he’s on the other side.

As he leaves, he gets another quick look at the knight who’s standing guard outside. Merlin recognizes him but can’t remember his name. Nonetheless, they exchange somewhat pleasant goodbyes and then Merlin is racing off.

---

“Lancelot!” Merlin shouts once he enters his room, breath coming out labored from running halfway across the castle and then to Gaius’ chambers. Lancelot shoots up from where he’s reading one of Gaius’ books on different bandaging techniques. Merlin recognizes it because he’s used it in the past to fight off insomnia.

“What? What’s going on?” Lancelot says, already on his feet in a fighting pose, the bandaging book dropping to the floor in a loud thud.

“Quick, come with me!” Merlin says, then leaves. Lancelot follows behind him cautiously. Gaius gives them both questioning looks but doesn’t say anything, probably realizing that whatever Merlin is doing can’t be stopped and asking about it will only serve to add a few years to his life.

Merlin waves to him on the way out, anyways, feeling a little bad about not telling him what’s going on. But there’s no time—they need to hurry. 

Merlin leads Lancelot to the armory. It’s so late that Lancelot is less likely to be recognized, but Merlin leads him through backways and areas in the castle that he knows are rarely inhabited, anyways. Once they arrive, Gwen is waiting for them.

“Gwen,” Lancelot greets, clearly taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

Merlin quickly busies himself sorting through various piles of spare armor and weapons. “Gwen, I need your help.”

“Right,” Gwen says. She quickly gives Lancelot a once over—which makes him blush—before helping Merlin sort through armor. She turns to Merlin, having laid out a set of gauntlets and a shoulder piece. “This should fit him best, I think.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, moving on to weapons. “Just a simple sword will do, right?”

“Wait, Gwen, what’s going on? Why are you here?” Lancelot cuts in.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” Gwen says to Merlin, then turns back to Lancelot, looking slightly bashful. “Oh, Merlin found me right after my shift and told me to meet you guys here. He said he needed my expertise on knight armor.”

Lancelot looks like he wants to be as respectful as possible, but he can’t help but blurt, “Why?”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to look bashful under Gwen’s admonishing eye. “He wouldn’t have come if I told him,” he defends, shrugging.

Gwen shakes her head, then approaches Lancelot, taking one of his hands in hers. “Okay, then, I’m going to ask you,” she says, looking at Merlin for emphasis, then back to Lancelot, “if you will please help us let Arthur escape by posing as one of the knights guarding his room during the shift change?”

Merlin coughs. “Yes, if you’d be willing to.”

Lancelot looks flabbergasted. “Wha-what?”

Merlin starts, “We would like you to help us let Arthur—”

“No, I believe I heard you correctly.” Lancelot’s hand squeezes Gwen’s. “But, why me? Why can’t you do it?” he asks Merlin. His real question goes unasked.

Why don’t you just use your magic?

“Because I’m much too skinny to pass for a knight. And if I got caught, which is highly probable, it wouldn’t turn out really well for me, would it?”

Lancelot nods, but Gwen sends Merlin a strange look. “But what if Lancelot gets caught?”

“He won’t get caught,” Merlin says. “I promise.”

“That’s what you said the last time you asked me to commit fraud and pretend to be a knight. And now you’re asking me to do it again,” Lancelot says.

“Just a little bit,” Merlin says, pinching his fingers together to demonstrate this. When Lancelot and Gwen still look unconvinced, he feels his shoulders drop. “I just need your help. This is really important to me.”

“You mean it’s really important to Arthur,” Lancelot guesses, but his face is already softening, which automatically causes Gwen’s to do the same.

“It’s the same thing,” Merlin says without hesitation. He’s a little shocked at just how honest it sounds, and he can tell that Lancelot and Gwen are, too, so he deflects, “Plus, with him being stuck in his room for so long, he’s bound to drive me absolutely insane.”

Lancelot rubs his free hand across his face, mumbling something that suspiciously sounds like, “idiots,” but it comes out as a groan. He lets go of Gwen’s hand, then sticks his arms out. “Okay, chainmail first, right?”

Merlin can feel his face light up. “Gwen?”

She searches Lancelot’s eyes, presumably for signs of hesitance or doubt, but she must find none because she says, “Chainmail,” and they get Lancelot suited up quickly because they’re still under a time constraint. When they’re done Lancelot looks, yet again, like a true knight. It’s good to see—he looks so natural, like he was born to wear it.

Perhaps he was.

Before he and Merlin set out, Lancelot takes Gwen to the side. They whisper to each other for a few moments, then he kisses her on the forehead. She looks back up at him, nodding, with all the trust in the world in her eyes. It’s an intimate moment between the two, so Merlin looks away, feeling a pull of jealousy in his heart.

What he would give to have just a small piece of that with—Merlin doesn’t even want to think about it. It’ll hurt too much.

Lancelot and Merlin leave in a hurry. With Lancelot mostly disguised, they can afford to take a quicker, more direct way, which works in their favor because they arrive just before the guard passes the corner to the hallway that leads to Arthur’s chambers. Merlin does end up using his magic to incapacitate him, though, whispering a quiet incantation.

The guard drops and Lancelot races to catch him.

“Why didn’t you just do this to the guard outside Arthur’s room, again?” Lancelot asks, slowly dragging the guard’s limp body while Merlin makes space in the closet for him.

“How would I explain to Arthur why one of the knights he trained would abandon his post?” Merlin says, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “Also, I would like to not get caught for using my magic. My head sits so well on my shoulders. Having it removed would just be so troublesome.”

Lancelot nods grimly. He sets the guard down on the ground, then steps around him to exit and close the closet door. “So, what do I do now?”

“All you have to do is step up to him, nod without a word, and then sit in his place when he leaves.”

Lancelot shrugs. “Seems easy enough.”

Except it isn’t, because when Lancelot walks up to him, the knight immediately asks, “Who are you? I thought Sir Lamorak was supposed to take on the next shift.”

Lancelot stalls for a minute, but answers, “I’m…new.”

Merlin freezes from his hiding spot just around the corner. Why, again, did he think it would be a good idea to ask someone who doesn’t like lying to do something like this? Merlin ventures to peak just past the corner, ready to jump out and cause some sort of distraction if Lancelot can’t keep up the act.

“Really?” the knight asks, sounding slightly apprehensive. “Because I feel like I would hear about a new initiate, especially with Camelot about to go to war.”

“I’m really new,” Lancelot says. “They didn’t have a ceremony for me. Like you said, it’s been…stressful.”

The knight is quiet for a few beats, presumably gauging whether Lancelot is lying or not and because he isn’t, technically, the guard says, “I’m sorry to hear that.” He sticks out a hand to shake. “The name’s Gareth.”

Huh. That’s not what Merlin would’ve guessed.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Gareth,” Lancelot answers, taking the hand and shaking it. “I’m Lance.”

Merlin feels his eyebrows go up. 

“That’s Sir Lance, now,” Gareth says. He claps Lancelot on the back in solidarity with the other hand. “It’s a shame you have to spend your first few days as a knight standing outside of a door.”

“Anything for the honor of serving Camelot,” Lancelot says. It comes out as sarcastic, so Gareth laughs, but Merlin knows that he’s still telling the truth. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. While he felt it was a necessary thing to do to sneak Arthur out, perhaps he shouldn’t have asked Lancelot to pretend to be what he, at one point, wanted most to be.

He’ll add it to his list of future apologies to make, along with Audrey for stealing so much cheese and the unfortunate knight over there in the closet. Speaking of…

“Oh, by the way, what did happen to Sir Lamorak?” Gareth asks.

Oh no. Lancelot won’t have a way to tell the truth around this one. “Uh…” he starts.

Merlin doesn’t hesitate, quickly rounding the corner. “Sir Gareth,” Merlin greets with a smile, thankful that the man introduced himself just seconds ago.

“Merlin,” Gareth greets back, temporarily distracted by Merlin’s presence. “What brings you back so quickly?”

“I forgot to clear the prince’s dirty dishes,” Merlin lies, playing up the “bumbling manservant” routine. The truth is that Merlin leaves the dishes from Arthur’s dinner behind on purpose because Arthur likes to pick at the leftovers on and off throughout the night. “Are you about to leave for the night?”

“Oh, yeah—”

“Before you go,” Merlin interrupts. “I wanted to ask you something.” He wants Gareth out of here before he gets the idea to check that Merlin isn’t smuggling anything in, because Merlin actually is this time.

Gareth seems taken aback. “Go ahead.”

“I think I saw you with that royal portrait maker last week,” Merlin says. He knows he’s hit his target when Gareth tenses up. “It looked like you were buying something from her. What was it?”

Suddenly Gareth looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, a slight blush appearing on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he practically squeaks out.

Well, that’s interesting. Merlin is now more convinced than ever that whatever Raina was doing was if not illegal, then definitely ethically questionable. It would have to be to make a great knight of Camelot this nervous to admit to being a part of it.

“I think we both know what I’m talking about,” Merlin says, leaning in, pretending to actually know. It’s a total shot in the dark, but it seems to be working because Gareth tenses up even more.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Gareth deflects desperately, slowly backing down the hallway.

“No, I don’t think I do,” Merlin says, doubling down.

“You know what, I should probably get going.” Gareth quickens his pace just a little, already halfway to freedom. “I’ve got to be here in the morning, anyways. I should get my beauty sleep in.”

Merlin waves to him menacingly. “And I’ll be here when you get back. Goodnight!”

Once Gareth rounds the corner and seems to be a safe enough distance away, Lancelot says, “Gods, you’re terrifying.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Lance .” Then, he pushes past the doors, only to find an already suited up Arthur.

“What took you so long?” Arthur asks. Merlin can’t help but feel a little disappointed. The last time Merlin came to help sneak him out, Arthur gave him this look of just…pure wonder and appreciation. Merlin was kind of hoping for something like that, again.

He tries not to show his disappointment, but his response does come out a bit snippy. “Oh, I only had to come up with an intricate plan, run all around the castle to accomplish it, and then carry this,” he says, pulling up his shirt and turning around to reveal Arthur’s favorite short sword tied tightly to his back, “all the way here from the armory!”

And dispose of a knight, and almost bribe another—the list goes on.

“Do you know how hard it was to hide that thing?” Merlin pulls the sword from the binding, dropping it roughly onto the table nearby. When he turns back around, Arthur is staring at him, blushing silently.

Merlin smirks, clearly having won. This makes Arthur blush even harder, even though he goes to great lengths to keep his face blank. “Well, your ‘intricate plan’ took forever,” he argues.

Merlin turns to Lancelot for some sort of sympathy, expecting to find bemusement instead. Surprisingly, though, what he finds is stark sincerity.

“I want to come with you,” Lancelot says, looking to Arthur. “I want to fight with you and your men.”

Arthur’s face grows serious, too. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Lancelot.”

“You don’t have to. I want to,” Lancelot says. “I’d be useful, too. I know how to bandage wounds, and you know I can fight.”

“But...what about Gwen?” Merlin asks before he can stop himself. He decidedly doesn’t look to Arthur for his reaction, not wanting to make this more awkward than it has to be.

Lancelot, though, doesn’t look fazed. “Gwen is the reason I want to do this. I may not be a citizen of Camelot, but she is. And I will do everything I can to protect her.”

Because I love her. Words unspoken, yet they hang heavy in the air. So, maybe that’s what they were talking about in the armory—he was telling her that he was going to fight.

This time, Merlin does look to Arthur for his reaction because while Lancelot seems to be stating what he wants, he’s actually asking for Arthur’s permission; he won’t go if Arthur doesn’t say he can.

Arthur’s face is solemn but…empathetic. He shoots a brief glance to Merlin—just a flicker—and then he’s looking back at Lancelot. Merlin doesn’t understand why. Maybe Arthur is trying to gauge what he thinks about this.

And Merlin would tell him if he could. He would tell him that he’s been in Lancelot’s shoes all too often. He isn’t sure if he’s ever considered himself a true citizen of Camelot, not under Uther’s rule.

But...Arthur is.

And Merlin would go to battle a thousand times over for him. In some ways, he already has.

“I think he should come with us, Arthur,” Merlin says.

Arthur’s head swivels. “What makes you think you’re coming?”

“In what universe would I not be?” Merlin asks, more seriously than he intends to. “It’s my plan, after all,” he adds, smiling.

Arthur scoffs but doesn’t argue further with either of them. Merlin busies himself gathering things from Arthur’s room that they’ll need for their trip.

“Lancelot, if you really want to come with us—well, it be would an honor to fight beside you once again,” Arthur says sincerely, shaking Lancelot’s hand. Lancelot looks appreciative and somehow, even more determined. Merlin probably should’ve seen this coming when he asked Lancelot to dress up like a knight once again.

“What about me?” Merlin calls from where he’s folding and packing Arthur’s undershirts.

“If you didn’t hide and cower so much, then I’m sure it would be an honor to fight beside you, Merlin. For someone, at least.”

“You know what,” Merlin says, walking back over to Arthur’s wardrobe. “For that, I’m only going to pack your most uncomfortable shirts.” Arthur then stalks over to Merlin to wrestle the itchy, woolen sweater out of his hands.

Now, Lancelot is bemused, to say the least. 

---

They sneak out of the castle easily enough. Now that they aren’t so much on a time limit, they can take their time. Merlin takes them through the secret exit through the kitchen—the one he used to escape Arthur just a few weeks ago—stocking up on scraps leftover from dinner for the journey ahead in the meantime. The staff pay them no mind, none of them brave enough to question the prince, nor his crazy manservant. 

Merlin briefly mourns the anonymity this secret exit used to afford him, not looking forward to when he’s trying to hide from Arthur in the future, but it’s necessary, all in all.

They then make their way to the stables, packing up the horses and riding out, more or less unseen. It’s just as they sneak out onto the citadel that Merlin looks over to Arthur and sees a quick sliver of gold around his neck, flashing like lightning in the moon’s reflection.

Merlin would dwell on it but he’s too busy trying to distract the guards placed at the outer walls without Arthur noticing. Thankfully, though, Lancelot is able to draw Arthur’s attention elsewhere while Merlin does his work.

Once they’re free of the city, they ride for most of the night, only taking breaks when they have to and not for too long. Arthur seems to want to reach his men as quickly as possible. He’s got this frantic energy about him, always moving, always twitching, like he can’t stand to keep still for even a moment.

“You may be content to sit and do nothing when Camelot’s men are out there risking their lives, but I certainly am not,” Arthur snaps when Merlin questions him about it.

It’s almost as though he feels he’s to blame for anything that happens to them in his absence, as though every cut and wound and injury and death will be his fault. At least within his mind.

Merlin finds it to be a bit ridiculous, but at the core of it lies a deep sense of empathy and honor. It’s the opposite from what Merlin would’ve expected from someone like him when they first met and definitely not something he would expect from Uther’s son.

“They’ll hold up okay, Arthur. You trained them to be the finest warriors in the realm,” Merlin says. If they weren’t on their horses, he would venture to pat Arthur on the back, not even caring when his hand would inevitably get swatted away.

But now, Arthur looks to Merlin, holding his gaze for as long as he can without his horse drifting off. He nods almost imperceptibly, then signals for his horse to speed up a bit so that he’s just a few paces ahead of Merlin, not looking back.

Lancelot pulls up beside Merlin, taking Arthur’s place.

“What was that about?” Lancelot asks. 

“You tell me,” Merlin says, blowing out a breath of air, but he keeps his eyes on Arthur up ahead.

It’s strange. It’s not the reaction he usually gets from Arthur. Even in the instances when Arthur secretly wants to admit that Merlin is right or hitting the mark in some way, he deflects with insults or humor. It’s just the way they are—the way it’s been save for the life-threatening moments that do come along all too often. 

Maybe it’s one of those moments now or soon to be because they don’t know what they’re heading into. And the further and further they get from the castle walls, the more dangerous it feels.

---

As they’re coming up on where the knights are said to be stationed, they intercept a small group of bandits looking to ambush the knights from behind. They initially stumble upon them as they’re making camp, so they decide to ambush the ambushers.

“They’re getting craftier with their tricks,” Lancelot comments, once the bandits have been properly incapacitated. He holds up one of the bandit’s discarded weapons, “And their weapons are impeccable.”

“Is that the famous Mercian craftsmanship?” Merlin asks, regarding the long sword, but his question is already answered for him. The silver handle clearly bears the kingdom’s markings. “So, King Bayard is looking to encroach on Camelot’s territory.”

“We already knew that,” Arthur says, off the to side trying to scavenge whatever he can find that may be useful to them. “That’s why we’re out here—to show him that Camelot is still strong, even after what happened with…”

“The troll,” Merlin finishes for him, smiling.

“Right, and after my injury,” Arthur continues easily, as though he were hoping for Merlin’s interruption, so he wouldn’t have to say it, himself.

“I don’t know,” Lancelot intones, sounding unsure.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks, dropping a small, useless piece of rope. He walks over to Merlin and Lancelot.

“Well, while the markings here are accurate to that of a Mercian sword, the shape of the blade, itself, is not. Look—” Lancelot says, pointing to the blade’s edge. “—Mercian swords are not usually this thick, nor are they this heavy, even the larger ones.”

“So, it’s an imitation?” Merlin asks, squinting at it.

Lancelot nods. “I believe so. A very good one, too—almost indistinguishable from the real thing.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, expression growing very serious. He takes the sword, weighing it in his hand.

Lancelot takes the sword back, examining it with a closer eye. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve spent enough time over the past year fighting near the border on both sides to know what a true Mercian sword looks like. And this is not it.”

Merlin pauses, the implication of this slowly sinking in. “Wait, does that mean—”

“The attacks aren’t coming from Mercia, but someone wants us to think they are. Whoever has really hired the bandits, that is,” Arthur says. 

“They want to provoke a war between Mercia and Camelot,” Lancelot says, eyes widening. Arthur nods.

“But, why?” Merlin asks. For all the time he’s spent with Arthur, he still knows very little about the goings-on amongst the kingdoms.

“War is profitable, Merlin. If we go to war, all trade deals between our two kingdoms will stop, which will force us to trade with other neighboring kingdoms, which will then generate capital for them,” Arthur says.

And doesn’t it always boil down to money? If this escalates, both Camelot’s and Mercia’s most loyal men will be sent to die, all under the whims of some greedy king from another kingdom.

“So, some neighboring kingdom hires bandits from near the border to attack the knights, manufactures imitation Mercian swords to make us think that King Bayard wants to attack us,” Merlin starts.

“Then, either we declare war on Mercia, or they declare war on us after we send too many men to fight near the border,” Arthur finishes. “Which my father is bound to do once he knows I’ve gone missing, unless he believes I can handle this on my own.”

Merlin and Arthur share a look. Uther is probably assembling the knights as they speak, en masse.

“Well, we have to go back, then,” Lancelot says. “We have to tell Uther that it’s all a ruse.” His voice is laced with desperation, no doubt thinking of Gwen.

“I’ll get the horses ready,” Merlin says. Amidst the skirmish between themselves and the bandits, the horses have scattered about, so Merlin makes to go gather them.

“We still don’t know who did this, though,” Arthur says. He scans the camp, settling on one of the few bandits still breathing. He’s passed out, still trapped under the large branch Merlin dropped on him at the beginning of the fight.

Arthur kicks the bandit once and he comes to. He sticks the short sword Merlin brought him to the man’s neck. “Tell us who hired you to ambush Camelot’s knights and we’ll spare your life.”

The bandit looks defiant, but Arthur is unwavering, pressing his sword forward a bit, the sharp blade just nicking the surface of his skin. Merlin quietly enchants the branch to weigh heavier on the bandit’s chest just enough to make his breathing laborious.

The man coughs, looking slightly panicked. “It was the king from Deorham,” he spits out and Merlin lightens the weight of the branch.

“King Alined,” Arthur says automatically.

“He paid us to start attacking Camelot’s citizens and knights from the border outward, told us we could keep the spoils from any attacks and gave us good weapons to fight with,” the bandit continues. “We didn’t really question it.”

“You didn’t even know why he wanted you to attack us and you did it anyway?” Arthur asks, outraged.

“We were already attacking you whenever we could. That king just gave us the supplies and the funds to do it more often,” the bandit says, simply. Arthur drops the sword from the bandit’s throat at this but makes no move to help him out from under the branch. “What, are you just going to leave me here?” the bandit asks. “I thought you were going to spare me my life.”

“I am,” Arthur says, then nudges a nearby fallen bandit with his foot, who squirms and groans in response, but still remains passed out. “He’ll help you when he gets up.”

“Arthur, we have to hurry and tell the king about this,” Merlin says.

“It’s no use, Merlin. My father has no doubt readied more men to send to the border. Things can only escalate from here.”

“Then we will prevent them from escalating even further ,” Merlin argues. “We just need to get back before they set out.”

“Merlin’s right,” Lancelot says. “We’ve only been gone for the night. It takes time to get all the resources necessary to send more men out, and they wouldn’t have started until they saw that you were gone in the morning. If we leave soon, we can probably warn the king in time.”

Arthur considers this, nodding. “Then you and Merlin must ride out as soon as possible.”

Merlin’s heart drops to his stomach. “What?” Arthur can’t be insinuating that Merlin just leave him here, right?

“My men are still out there fighting,” Arthur explains. “That’s why we came out here in the first place—to fight with them. Now that we know this battle is for nothing, who knows how many of my men will die? I need to go help them.”

“Then, I’m coming with you,” Merlin says, resolute. He already knows that there’s no point in arguing with Arthur about this—there’s no case where Arthur leaves his men behind.

“As am I,” Lancelot agrees. “That’s what I set out here to do, as well.”

“No,” Arthur commands, turning to Lancelot. “We need someone to go back and I need you to protect Merlin as you go.”

“I don’t need protection and I’m coming with you, Arthur. End of argument,” Merlin argues. He’s the one who’s supposed to be protecting Arthur .

“No, Merlin. You will go back to Camelot,” Arthur snaps in a way Merlin’s only seen him do with an incompetent knight. “That’s an order.”

“And when has that ever worked with me?” Merlin snaps back in the same manner. “No, I’m going with you. Lancelot can go warn the king in my place.”

“No,” Arthur says, shaking his head. He’s visibly growing more and more angry. “It’s not happening.”

“Why not?” Merlin asks. This is ridiculous. They’ve gone into far worse situations before together. They went into bandit territory just a few weeks ago to save Gwen and that was just them. “I always go with you.”

Arthur hesitates for a moment, then settles on, “You’ll only serve to slow me down.”

Merlin can’t help but snort. “I can take care of myself, Arthur.”

“Sure, you can,” Arthur says sarcastically. “You can just stand there doing nothing while everyone else fights, just like you always do. Then I have to protect you, just like with the last bandit attack.”

Merlin stops short. “What?” He was the one protecting Arthur during that attack, along with everyone else, all while trying to hide his magic.

“You didn’t even see them coming! You were too busy staring off into space in the middle of a battle like an idiot! ” Arthur says, voice rising once again.

“What are you talking about?” Merlin says through clenched teeth.

“The bandits were coming for you and you didn’t even move, so I had to fight them off of you and me,” Arthur says. “And then I ended up injured!”

Wait, is Arthur saying that he was injured because he was protecting Merlin?

Merlin does his best to think back to that day. He was so distracted trying to help everyone. So many bandits just came out of nowhere; it was too much to handle at the time. Then, all of a sudden the bandits were defeated, but Arthur was hurt.

Merlin knew it was his fault, to some extent, for not protecting Arthur well enough. But this realization…well, it makes Arthur’s injury entirely his fault, doesn’t it?

“I can’t be bothered doing that again, not when I have my men to look after, too,” Arthur adds. He’s being mean on purpose, Merlin knows, and at its core, his point makes sense—if he’s spending his energy looking after Merlin, he can’t protect himself as well—but Merlin can’t help but feel a surge of anger pulse through him at his words.

“ Bothered?” Merlin spits. “ Fuck you.”

“Grow up , Merlin, and just do as I say,” Arthur yells.

“No!” Merlin yells. “Who asked you to protect me anyway?”

“Because what else would I do?” Arthur practically screams in Merlin’s face. And it’s this moment that Merlin realizes just how close they’ve gotten. Arthur seems to have the same realization, but he doesn’t back away, just stares Merlin down cold, eyes furious.

But the more they stare at each other, the more Arthur’s eyes soften, anger parting like clouds after a storm, making way for the sun. And Merlin doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

Arthur is scared . And he’s scared he’ll lose Merlin.

Merlin feels his demeanor soften, feels his anger fade away, too. He places a comforting hand on Arthur’s arm, which seems to startle him slightly, but Arthur continues to hold his gaze—and he just looks so...vulnerable. He’s showing Merlin his vulnerability.

Because Merlin matters to him.

Merlin pulls him into a hug because what else would he do?

It's like a dam breaks and suddenly Arthur is holding him tightly, nosing into the juncture between Merlin’s neck and shoulder, almost as though he’s trying to burrow himself into Merlin’s very being.

Merlin wants to laugh. After they defeated the troll, Arthur made it seem like the idea of hugging him was repulsive, but here he is now, holding onto Merlin like he might drift away should Arthur let go. Merlin just lets himself melt into it, resting his cheek on Arthur’s shoulder, which Arthur lets out a shaky sigh at.

It’s then that Merlin knows that he has to do what Arthur says. Because as much as he wants to protect him, if Arthur puts Merlin’s life before his own, he’ll just end up injured like last time, maybe even dead.

And the thought of that has Merlin holding him tighter, too.

Merlin nods against Arthur’s shoulder. Merlin expects Arthur to let go after that, but he doesn’t. So, Merlin takes the rare opportunity for what it is and lets himself bask in the warmth of Arthur’s arms, feeling all his stress, all his worries seep out of him momentarily—just like when they sat together for the portrait. 

They finally pull apart a few moments later and Merlin pretends it doesn’t hurt to do so.

Arthur quickly regains his composure. “Lancelot,” he says.

“Yes?” Lancelot asks from where he seems to have been readying the horses in Merlin’s stead, most likely in an attempt to give them privacy.

“You and Merlin need to get back to my father as soon as possible, before he sends any more men out,” Arthur says. He turns to Merlin. “Like you said, we don’t want things to escalate further.”

Merlin pauses, searching Arthur’s face for any signs of doubt, but he finds nothing less than a renewed sense of determination. So, Merlin nods and starts getting ready for the trip, gathering his few possessions and loading them onto his horse.

“Merlin can reach Camelot on his own easily enough,” Lancelot says, knowing this more than anyone. “I want to come with you.”

“What?” Arthur asks, obviously not expecting this, not because he thinks Lancelot is a coward—Merlin knows he doesn’t. “But what about Gwen? Don’t you want to get back to her?”

What if you can’t see her again? The question goes unasked because anything could happen out by that border, especially if Merlin doesn’t get back in time.

“I would never be able to look her in the eye again if I left you behind,” Lancelot says. “And I came out here to fight to protect her, to protect Camelot. So, I wish to stay.”

Arthur turns to Merlin before he accepts. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself.”

Merlin would laugh at him were the situation not so serious. Merlin can more than handle himself.

“Yes,” Merlin answers simply, instead. “And you’ll need Lancelot, especially if some of your men are injured. He can help them.”

Arthur studies Merlin for a few more beats. “Okay,” he says to Lancelot, then turns back to Merlin. “But you need to leave now. And if you see anyone out there on the way back, take another path. Who knows how many of these little bandit parties are secretly travelling throughout Camelot’s land?” He gestures to the fallen bandits scattered around the campsite.

Merlin nods resolutely. “I will.” He readies his horse for the trip back to Camelot. Lancelot and Arthur follow his lead, doing the same for their journey.

As Merlin is about to mount his horse, Arthur stops him with a hand to his arm. He looks like he’s debating something in his head, but quickly makes the decision to pull the golden necklace from his neck—the one Merlin has been obsessing about for weeks, now—dragging the pendant out from under his many layers and placing it in Merlin’s hand.

Upon brief examination it seems to be a simple golden locket closed tightly. He looks back up to Arthur. “What’s this?” he asks, pretending to never have seen it before.

“It’s something—it’s something that means a lot to me and I—” Arthur takes a deep breath, then forces Merlin’s hand to close around the pendant. “Just…take it back for me. Hold onto it until I get back.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say, so he takes the locket, pulls it over his head and tucks the pendant under his neckerchief. “I’ll take good care of it,” he says. He doesn’t exactly know why Arthur is entrusting him with something that seems to be so important to him, but either way, Merlin won’t let him down.

He mounts his horse without another word, setting off after he and Lancelot exchange their own goodbyes. As his horse carries him away, he spares another look back towards Arthur, who still stands in the bandit’s camp, watching him go.

---

Merlin races back to the castle, going at breakneck speed. He takes fewer breaks than before, barely stopping for necessities. It all goes by in a blur, honestly. One minute he’s on his horse and the next, he’s dashing through Camelot’s outer walls.

It’s pure luck that he arrives in the castle square just as a cluster of knights are preparing to leave. When Leon spots Merlin, he shouts for them to stop.

“Merlin,” Leon greets. “Where’s Arthur?”

“He’s still out there, fighting back the border, but it’s all been a trick. We need to tell the king as soon as possible!” Merlin shouts, dismounting his horse quickly. He makes to run up the stairs, but stops suddenly when Uther comes out, most likely to see the knights off.

Merlin pauses, then decides to bow deeply. If he wants Uther to listen to him, he has to be as respectful as possible.

“Is my son with you?” Uther says, not able to entirely keep the desperation from his voice. He looks far off, eyes scanning ahead of Merlin, only to find nothing. “Has he sent you ahead of him and his party?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, your Highness, he’s still out there, but he did send me with an urgent message.” Merlin then tells him about what they found when they were out there—what the bandit said about King Alined and what they figured out about his motives.  

“How do I know that you are telling the truth?” Uther shouts, voice making Merlin flinch. “How do I know that you weren’t paid to tell me this so that our men will back down while King Bayard has already sent an army to attack us?”

Of course, he doesn’t want to believe him and why would he? Merlin is but a lowly manservant, worth less without Arthur here.

“You don’t,” Merlin says, gritting his teeth. He dares to look up. “All you have is my word. And the fealty I swore to the Prince, to your son. I know it may not mean much to you, but it’s everything to me.”

“Your Highness,” Leon speaks up, surprising everyone, the king included. “I believe that Merlin is telling the truth. Ever since he started attending the prince as his manservant, he’s proven himself to be nothing but unwaveringly loyal to him. He would have no cause to harm him, nor this kingdom.”

Suddenly, a chorus of other knights in the square rush to confirm this. Each one pops up with a different anecdote, many of which Merlin didn’t know they knew about.

“Merlin saved the prince from that witch before he even started working for him,” one knight says. “He can definitely be trusted.”

“Yeah, didn’t he go to the stocks to help the prince when he liked that girl or something, too?” asks another knight.

“He willingly drank poison for him another time, we all saw it,” another says.

“Also, I heard that he warms the prince’s socks by the fire before he goes to sleep because he gets really cold feet at night,” Sir Gareth says, only to receive a series of strange looks. “What I’m saying is that why would he go to those lengths if he were just to leave Arthur to be killed by Bayard’s men?”

Merlin would smile at him were Uther not still staring him down. “Do you swear on your life that you are speaking the truth?”

“Yes,” Merlin says. “I swear on my mother’s life, too.”

The king’s expression is still cold, authoritative, but for just a flicker of a moment, his eyes look pained. “How can I know that my son is still alive?”

Merlin pauses, deliberating. “Respectfully, you can’t,” he says. “But I trust him—he’s one of the best fighters in the land, and he has Camelot’s knights out there to help him. Not only will they fight back the bandits, but they will prove to anyone who’s watching that Camelot is still strong and won’t stand to be used for another’s means.”

“You’re right. Camelot is strong,” Uther says after a pause. “And so is Prince Arthur.” He nods to the knights, waving a hand to them.  

This signals them to dismount and begin unpacking, which they take their time to do, casually chatting to each other. Leon claps Merlin on the back and Merlin can finally feel himself smile, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“And Merlin,” Uther says before he leaves. “I appreciate your devotion to my son, and I understand the circumstances, but if you ever speak out of turn to me like that again, I will have you thrown in the dungeons for a week. Do you understand?”

Merlin nods shakily. “Yes, your highness.”

“Good,” Uther says, smirking like he’s just won something. Perhaps he’s trying to save face after showing just the slightest bit of emotion in front of the knights. It actually reminds Merlin of Arthur, in a way, of that thing that he does to cover what he’s really feeling.

Only, Arthur is all talk in his threats, unless it involves something that is actually a part of Merlin’s job, like cleaning or mucking out stables. Uther’s threats, on the other hand, Merlin has no doubt he will follow up on should Merlin try to talk to him like he’s an actual human being.

Nonetheless, Merlin doesn’t care because he did it . He stopped a potential war.

Now all he has to do is wait for Arthur to get back.

---

In the days following Merlin’s return, he realizes that he has little to no purpose without Arthur. He doesn’t have a job, nor does he really have anyone to talk to, to spend time with. Gaius is too busy working for most of the day and Merlin tries to help him, but he’s so inexperienced that aside from some herb gathering and draught deliveries, he’s basically useless.

Also, it doesn’t help that all of these activities just remind him of Lancelot and his absence as well. The feeling is much worse when he’s hanging around Gwen, though.

When Merlin came back without Arthur and Lancelot, she wasn’t as surprised as he expected, although her tone was melancholic as they sat together. “I had a sense that he wouldn’t come back until everything was settled,” she says, looking to Merlin. “The way he spoke just before leaving with you…I just knew.”

Merlin nods. “He said that he couldn’t look you in the eye if he left Arthur behind.”

“That’s Lancelot for you, always wanting to do the honorable thing,” Gwen says. “It’s one of his defining traits—his honor. And it’s not in a selfish or prideful way. He just genuinely wants to be a good man. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him. It’s just…”

“You would rather have him here,” Merlin guesses. So would he. He would love to have the both of them here right now.

Gwen nods, eyes glistening. “But I know how much it means to him to be out there, to fight alongside Arthur for a noble cause like this, to save people again instead of attacking them like he did in Hengist’s castle.”

Merlin pauses just a beat, thinking. “I think Arthur is the same way. He’s constantly trying to prove that he’s worthy of his title, that he’s honorable enough,” Merlin says. “I think that’s what I like about him, too.”

Gwen gives him a strange look, like she wants to say something, but can’t. Instead, she takes his hand in hers. “Arthur is an honorable man, and he definitely wants to prove himself, but that’s not what drives him—not like Lancelot, at least. What drives Arthur is his willingness to go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves. He does everything in his power not to show it, but he always does it,” she says. “Even when you don’t want him to. Especially then.”

It’s undoubtedly true and Gwen should know it more than anyone. When Arthur just barely let himself love her, he travelled all night against his father’s orders, fought man-eating beasts, and infiltrated an outlaw’s castle just to save her. 

So, who knows what he’ll do for the one he allows himself to love completely?

Merlin and Gwen sit in silence after that, not needing to speak to take comfort in each other’s presence, just waiting quietly for the people they love to come home.

---

Three days after Merlin’s return, he finds himself in Arthur’s empty room. He didn’t plan on ending up there, but after Gaius kicked him out to examine a patient, it just seemed like the natural place to go. Not able to take the emptiness of the room, he busies himself cleaning, adjusting, and organizing Arthur’s things, so that he won’t have a messy room to come back to.

Merlin isn’t usually one to like busy work, but right now it’s good—it means he doesn’t have to think about how it’s been three days and there hasn’t been any word of the status of the knights near the border. And it’s just hard…waiting and not knowing; he’s not used to it. Merlin and Arthur are always together in serious situations like this—always trading quips, insulting each other, doing anything to lighten the mood and the burden of just how stressful any given mission can be. But, without Arthur here, that burden falls entirely on Merlin and he feels it like a weight on his chest.

And he can’t do anything about it. So, he cleans for…he doesn’t know how long. All he knows is that when someone’s knocking at the door, he’s polished the floor, remade Arthur’s bed, dusted around his windows, and cleared Arthur’s leftover dinner that Merlin didn’t dispose of before they left, which was pretty disgusting if he’s going to be honest.

“Come in,” he says, although it comes out more like a question. Who would be knocking on Arthur’s door at this time?

“Merlin!” Raina greets, genuinely happy to see him.

“Lady Raina,” Merlin greets back, surprised. He offers her a small bow and she waves a hand in his direction, dismissing all formalities. “What are you doing here?” He thought she left after the break-up, after whatever she did to warrant it. Apparently it wasn’t that bad, though, because she’s still here. In Arthur’s room.

Does that mean she’s looking for Arthur? Does she not know where he is now?

“I went to your chambers and Gaius said you’d probably be here,” she says. Is Merlin that predictable? Although, Merlin should probably count his blessings. At least Gaius didn’t tell her to check the tavern.

“What?” Merlin asks. “Why?”

“The frame for the portrait was just finished, so they’re putting the whole thing up today. I’m here ‘supervising’ it, basically so they don’t mess up my work,” she says with a chuckle. “I thought you might want to come with me, so I went looking for you to ask. Do you?”

“They’re putting it up today?” Merlin asks, still several steps behind. He was just minding his own business obsessively cleaning and all of this new information is being thrown at him all of a sudden.

“Yes,” Raina answers patiently. “Do you want to come with me and see it?”

Merlin gives a quick look over the state of Arthur’s room. It’s sufficiently clean—probably was hours ago—and he has nothing else to do. “Okay,” he agrees. At that he gets a wide smile.

Raina links her arm with his, leading him all the way to the great hall, where two men seem to be carelessly hanging the royal portrait where the old one used to be, almost dropping it at one point.

“Hey!” Raina unhooks her arm from Merlin’s, striding over to the two men. “What do you think you’re doing? Be careful!” she commands. Once the men look properly chastised and get a new grip on the frame, Raina sends Merlin an apologetic look, then goes back to directing them on how to hang the painting.

“Uther wants to do a small unveiling ceremony when Arthur gets back, so he’s having us cover it up for now,” she says to Merlin, when all is done. “But I wanted you to be one of the first people to see it in all its glory!” She spreads her arms out wide to indicate the magnitude of the painting hanging before them.

Much of it is the same from when he saw it last. In it, he still looks as plain as ever, the expensive clothing only just barely distinguishing him from any other servant. Arthur, on the other hand, whose face wasn’t completed before he dismissed Merlin from the last session, looks magnificent.

And it’s not because of what he’s wearing, or how he’s depicted, which is amazingly, but it’s because he just looks like Arthur. He looks exactly as he has for the last year and a half that Merlin has known him for. And Merlin knows it’s only been a few days, but he can’t help but get a little emotional in just seeing it, seeing him.

Merlin feels himself subconsciously grasping the locket still around his neck, shocked to meet cold metal—he was keeping it tucked under his neckerchief, but it must have fallen out when he was cleaning.

“Oh hey, it’s my locket,” Raina says, noticing his movements.

Merlin freezes. He completely forgot. The locket did turn out to be a necklace, and with the same golden chain he saw her with at the market. So, it is hers.  

Merlin takes a deep breath, then pulls it over his head and hands it to her, pretending like it isn’t heartbreaking to do so. Arthur said to bring it back with him, so he probably wants Merlin to give it back to her. “I think Arthur wants you to have it,” Merlin says.

Raina looks down at it dumbly. “Uh…why?”

“It’s yours isn’t it?” Merlin asks, confused. “You just said it’s your locket.”

“Oh, no,” she says shaking her hand frantically. “It’s not my locket, I just started thinking of it because I helped have it made.” So, it’s Arthur’s, then. But it’s from her. “Also, because I painted the—” she continues, then stops short. “Merlin, how long have you been carrying this?” She's giving him an odd look.

“Since I left Arthur near the border, why?”

Raina shakes her head to herself. “And you didn’t think to open it?” she asks, a wry sort of smile slowly appearing on her face.

“No, why would I? It’s Arthur’s,” Merlin says automatically. Despite what Arthur says, Merlin isn’t that disrespectful. Not always, at least.

“I’m just trying to gauge your train of thought here,” Raina says, holding up a placating hand. “So, Arthur gives you this, no doubt, very special locket just as you’re about to say what could be your last goodbyes, and you think it’s mine? ”

“It won’t be our last goodbye and why wouldn’t I think it’s yours?” Merlin asks, irritated. “You two were dating.”

Raina looks at him like he just grew a second head, then lets out a sharp guffaw. “ What ?” she asks, her smile so wide it eclipses most of her face. “Oh, I can’t take this anymore. He paid me to be quiet about this whole thing but—gods, this is too much.” She quickly unclasps the locket, cackling, then shoves it into Merlin’s hands.

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to look at it dumbly. It’s a very small painting of him, head partially thrown back in laughter.

“Now, why would he give me a picture of you that I painted? Even if we were dating—which we were not —wouldn’t that be strange?” she asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, even if we were both secretly in love with you, it would be pretty weird.”

“I don’t get it,” Merlin says. “Why would he have this? And when did you even—what?” He feels like his brain is about to explode. “Both— what ?” his eyes go wide.

And then Raina explains everything. She explains how Arthur commissioned her to paint Merlin while they were sitting for the royal portrait, how she helped him find the right sized locket—the one Merlin is holding right now. And it suddenly comes together for Merlin—the conversations he saw Raina and Arthur together, why Arthur didn’t want Merlin to be around them, and why he was so secretive about the locket.

But, Arthur secretly being in love with him? It can’t be. 

Then, that starts to click, too.

Everything to the staring, to the blushing, to the laughing, and the pointed insults that Arthur always uses to cover things up, to the strange looks from just about everybody around them, to the locket—it’s all been there the whole time, but for some reason Merlin just couldn’t see it. He definitely should’ve, especially after that moment they shared before he left. He was just so surprised to know that Arthur actually cared about him.

Gwen’s words about what drives Arthur—his care for others—suddenly pings in Merlin’s brain. Just a few days ago with the locket still wrapped around his neck, he wondered what it would be like when Arthur finally let himself fully love someone. But, he already knows what that’s like, doesn’t he?

It’s when Arthur went to get the Mortaeus flower for Merlin when he was poisoned, or when he came to help rescue Ealdor, or when he drank what he thought was poison for him at the end of the Labyrinth, or when he was injured trying to protect Merlin in the bandit attack, or even when he asked Merlin to leave for his safety.

And really, how the fuck , didn’t Merlin see it before?

“Are you okay there, Merlin? You kind of stopped moving,” Raina says.

Merlin thinks he stopped breathing. “Yeah,” he says in a sigh, smiling. “So, you and Arthur definitely weren’t dating, then?”

“No,” she says with a laugh. “Definitely not.”

Wait. “Then, why were you guys fighting that one time?” Merlin asks.

She suddenly looks bashful, uncomfortable even. “Oh, you saw that?”

“Yeah, I thought you too were breaking up,” Merlin says. “But if you weren’t together, what were you arguing about?”

“Well,” she says, taking a deep breath, “There’s...actually something I need to apologize to you for.” She removes the hand from his shoulder, looking down, then back up. “You see, I may have taken the small leftover sketches and paintings and may have…sold them to people all over the castle. Allegedly.”

“Allegedly?” Merlin asks, confused. “But you’re the one alleging it. So…you did it.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking even more uncomfortable. “And Arthur found out and told me off. That was the end of it, though, I swear!” She looks down once again. “I’m sorry, Merlin. It’s just…my family isn’t doing too well, financially, not after the whole troll incident. And once word got around about the portraits, they really started selling . I don’t know if you know this, but you’re very popular around the castle. Scarily so.” Her eyes widen as though to emphasize this point.

Merlin’s eyes widen too, but he can’t help but smile. Honestly, he’s more flattered than anything. “So, you made good money off of me, huh?”

Raina initially flinches at his wording, but once she looks up to see that he isn’t angry, she relaxes. “I’m a richer woman because of that goofy smile of yours. That, plus what Arthur gave me for the first one. That boy has no idea what the standard rate for a painting of that size is. No offence.”

“None taken,” Merlin says. “But, goofy ? It’d say ‘ eccentric’ at the most.”

“Let's just settle on ‘odd,’” she says, looking at him like that’s exactly what she thinks he is.

Merlin just laughs, finding it supremely strange that he can laugh right now. When he woke up this morning to another day without Arthur, he definitely wouldn’t be able to think it possible, nor this feeling of…relief—the kind that lightens the weight on his chest just a bit.

---

It’s been a whole week since Merlin arrived back in Camelot when Arthur finally returns. When it happens, Merlin is sitting in the kitchen with Audrey, once again picking at scraps of cheese, which she lets him do because she knows he’s sad. Also, because Merlin knows that she bought one of his portrait and he has sweet, sweet leverage over her.

He’s sitting atop the counter, wondering if being Arthur’s manservant is what’s keeping him from just sitting in the kitchen and eating all the time, when Gwen bursts in.

She immediately spots him. “Merlin! Arthur’s party is on their way. They’ve sent someone ahead; they should be here any minute,” she breathes, then sets back off, confident that Merlin will be right behind her and he is. They make their way to the castle entrance in a blur, just in time to see a collection of men on horses trotting just past the castle’s walls. Leading them is Arthur, with Lancelot trailing just behind him.

Merlin jumps down the stairs just in time for Arthur’s horse to approach him. Arthur looks like an absolute mess. He’s covered in dirt and dry blood, his hair is equal parts matted and unkempt, and he’s sporting deep under eye circles. He looks utterly exhausted, like he could tip over at any point, staring forward as though he isn’t even there enough to register that he’s made it back already.

“Hey,” Merlin says softly, shaking his shoulder.

And it’s like Arthur finally wakes up, recognition coloring his features. “You made it back,” he says absently, as though it were the only thing he worried about.

“Yeah, I did,” Merlin says, eyes prickling. “And so did you.”

“Arthur!” Uther calls, just having arrived. Merlin briefly finds it funny that word got to him before it did to him, but Arthur is looking away from him and to Uther and no, no, no—don’t look away.

“Father,” Arthur greets, sounding even more awake now.

Merlin has to back away to make room for Uther to help Arthur down, after which he pulls him into a tight hug. “My son,” Uther says, softly petting Arthur’s hair and not caring about looking weak by doing it.

“Merlin,” Lancelot calls from nearby, already down from his horse and with Gwen in his arms. She’s shaking, but they both smile brightly at Merlin, who smiles back and hugs them both because he knows that Lancelot won’t be letting go of Gwen for anything, nor will she him.

“Merlin, go fetch Gaius. Tell him that Arthur will be treated in his chambers,” Uther commands with Arthur’s arm around his shoulder.

Treated? Has he been injured again?

“Don’t worry. He only has a few minor wounds that I patched up easily,” Lancelot says, reading him well. He pauses. “I can go get Gaius for you if you’d like…”

Merlin looks from him to Gwen, who looks like she would kill him if he made her separate from Lancelot. “No, I’ll do it. Uther will have my head otherwise.” Merlin spares one more look to Arthur, who is slowly making his way up the stairs with the help of his father and now Leon.

Arthur’s here and he’s completely intact—that’s all he needs to know. Merlin takes off, sprinting to Gaius’ chambers to notify him. Gaius looks just as happy as anyone to hear the news and once he assures Merlin that he is more than capable of carrying the necessary supplies to Arthur’s chambers by himself, Merlin takes off again, only feeling a little bad about it.

When Merlin finally reaches Arthur’s chambers, Arthur is propped up on the bed. His chainmail and armor have been removed, discarded on the floor off to the side. He also seems to have been given a small basin of water and a rag, which has allowed him to remove some of the filth from his skin and tame his hair. He looks almost normal, save for the exhaustion.

“They came in droves—the bandits,” Arthur says to Uther, “It felt never-ending.”

“But you conquered them all,” Uther says with a smile. Neither of them seems to have even noticed Merlin’s entrance, so he decides to hang out off to the side.

“No, I didn’t,” Arthur says and Uther’s smile drops. “Their numbers were too great, their weapons too well crafted, and they were seemingly tireless. We fought them off the best we could for the longest we could, but it was too much.”

“Then, what did you do?” Uther asks, wary. “You didn’t retreat, did you?”  

“No, Father,” Arthur says, and Uther relaxes. “It took me a while, but I found out who the supposed leader was—the one who was coming up with all of the complex strategies to ambush us. You see, the bandits didn’t know why they were fighting; they were paid and were allotted the spoils from whatever raids they performed. Once I fought my way to the leader, I told him why.”

“And he called off his men?” Uther asks. “They stopped after that?”

“Not at all,” Arthur says, chuckling. “He called off his men when I explained to him that if Camelot went to war with Mercia, the war would be fought over the border.”

“In bandit territory,” Uther finishes, surprised. “It’s…definitely unconventional. Are you sure it worked?” It’s a choice that Merlin isn’t sure Uther, himself, would make. No, with his pride, he would’ve died fighting the bandits—or, more, sent out men to die in his place.

“They stopped attacking,” Arthur argues, picking up on Uther’s tone. “I personally watched them pack up their camps and leave.”

“Yes, but what is to stop them from coming back, or making a nicer deal with King Alined?”

“At the risk of their own territory?” Arthur says.

“You said it yourself—the bandits didn’t even know what they were fighting for and yet they still killed, all for their own gain. There is no sense of honor amongst them and you are naïve to think otherwise.” Uther takes a deep breath. “You did a well enough job, my son, and you’ve made your way back, which is what matters the most.” He stands up. “Although, now that you’ve returned safely, I must convene with the council to figure out what our next move is.”

Arthur looks like he still wants to argue further, but Uther has already turned away from him.

On his way out, Uther stops to address Merlin. Perhaps he knew that he was there all along. He puts a heavy, intimidating hand on Merlin’s shoulder, then shoots a glance to Arthur and back, as if to say, “Take care of my son, or else.” Merlin does his best to stand up straight, refusing to crumble under the weight.

Uther then makes his exit, expecting Merlin to close the door behind him. Merlin does it, but with an exasperated sigh.

“Is that supposed to be for my father?” Arthur calls out from over by the bed.

“Yes,” Merlin says bluntly. He then walks over to the bed, trying not to think about how nervous it’s making him. This is the first time he and Arthur have been together in a while—longer since they’ve been alone together—and with everything Merlin found out while Arthur was gone, he doesn’t know how to proceed. What if everything is different now? What if it doesn’t work out for them?

“Good,” Arthur says, which surprises Merlin.

Merlin sits down in the seat at Arthur’s bedside. “Huh,” Merlin says to himself.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Merlin says.

Arthur looks like he might let it go, might just try to get a little sleep in before Gaius shows up. “No, what is it?” he says, anyways, with a groan.

“Don’t worry about it,” Merlin says, sounding a touch hysterical to his own ears.

“Just spit it out, Merlin,” Arthur snaps.

“It’s just…the seat is warm.”

“…what?” Arthur’s eyes open. “Of course, it’s warm. My father was just sitting there.”

“Yeah but it’s a little too warm,” Merlin says, shifting in his seat. “And the heat is consistent across the chair.”

“And what exactly are you insinuating?” Arthur asks. “That my father has a large ass?”

“This is why I told you not to worry about it!” Merlin says, but he’s smiling. He missed this.

Arthur seems to have as well because for all of his exasperation and offence, the corners of his mouth are upturned. “Leave it to you, Merlin, to welcome me back with talk of my father’s rear end,” Arthur says.

“It’s what you pay me for, sire,” Merlin says.

“It most certainly is not.” And now Arthur is fully smiling. It falters a bit when his eyes focus on something around Merlin’s neck—the locket. “You kept it,” he says, looking back up to Merlin.

Merlin looks at him like he’s an idiot because he is. “What else would I have done?”

Arthur rolls his eyes at that, but he’s blushing once again, and Merlin takes pride in the fact that it’s for him this time. Maybe it always was. 

Arthur holds out a hand expectantly, so Merlin pulls the locket over his head and drops it gently into his palm. Arthur turns it over a few times carefully. “You saw what’s inside, right?” he says, looking down.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “I didn’t mean to, at first. But then Raina opened it—”

“Raina?” Arthur says, eyebrows knotting in confusion, as though he never expected her and Merlin to ever interact again.

“—and she told me everything. Well, not everything. Some things I had to figure out for myself.”

“You’re figuring things out?” Arthur asks. “Oh no, we’re all in trouble, now.”

“Don’t be a prat just because you like me,” Merlin says.

“Who says I like you?” Arthur argues, but he’s blushing even more. No, he loves Merlin. And Merlin loves him back.

Merlin swipes the locket from his hands, opening it and pointing to the portrait inside for emphasis. “This. This says it.”

Arthur snatches the locket back from Merlin’s hands. “Well, that was an oversight, obviously,” he says, turning over on his side, away from Merlin. He then scoots to the far end of the bed, obviously making room for Merlin.

Merlin’s surprised at first, but ultimately decides not to question it. He kicks off his boots and settles right behind Arthur. After a bit of brief, awkward deliberation, Merlin decides to wrap his arms around Arthur, pressing his face to the back of Arthur’s neck. The effect is instantaneous, that relaxed feeling coming back—the one he always feels with Arthur when it’s just them like this. It soothes that ever so present tension in his shoulders, washing it away in waves. He lets out a shaky sigh.

It’s just…he was starting to worry that he may never see Arthur again, much less get to hold him like this. No, he doesn’t think he ever expected something like this.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, sounding uncharacteristically earnest.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, turning to wipe his prickling eyes on his sleeve, trying his hardest to not let go of Arthur in the process. “You just smell really bad.”

“So do you. What’s your excuse?” Arthur shoots back, quick as lightning. “Seriously, though, what’s with your breath?”

“It’s all the cheese I’ve been eating,” Merlin says.

“It’s rancid ,” Arthur says.

Merlin chuckles, then lifts himself up, kisses Arthur on the cheek and then blows hot air into his face.

Arthur yelps. “How dare you!” he shouts trying desperately to throw Merlin off of him, but Merlin doesn’t let him. Merlin tightens his grip, but not so much as to press on Arthur’s wounds, nor so much that would keep Arthur from actually throwing him off if he wanted to. Arthur only threatens him a few times before breaking out into laughter, himself.

And Merlin doesn’t know how he thought things might change once they started something like this because it fits into their dynamic perfectly, like it was supposed to be there all along. Perhaps it was.

Suddenly, the door begins to open, and Merlin practically dives off of the bed, landing on the floor.

Gaius stands at the threshold, leveling both of them with a flat look. He then shakes his head and walks over to the table off by the windows, taking his time laying out the necessary supplies from his bag in a subtle effort to give Arthur and Merlin time to recompose themselves.

Merlin briefly considers sliding himself underneath Arthur’s bed and never showing his face again, but Arthur gives him a look that says, “Don’t you dare leave me alone with him,” Merlin stands up quickly, toeing his shoes back on.

Gaius checks over Arthur’s wounds in deafening silence, which Merlin desperately tries to fill with an almost constant stream of useless chatter. Luckily, the examination doesn’t last long, as Arthur’s wounds weren’t that bad to begin with and apparently, Lancelot did a well enough job bandaging him up when they were out by the border. Gaius relays this with great pride, the type of deference Merlin knows that won’t be applicable to him after today.

After Gaius finishes, he leaves behind a small set of draughts for pain with instructions for Merlin to administer them to Arthur every few hours. Once he finally leaves, Merlin and Arthur resume their previous positions, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Far past when Merlin thinks Arthur’s asleep, he turns over in his arms. “Do you think I made the wrong choice with the bandits?” he asks, looking like the decision has been wearing him down for years, rather than days.

“Not at all,” Merlin says. “You definitely made the right choice.”

“How do you know?” Arthur asks in a very quiet voice.

Merlin thinks about it for a minute, looking down. “Because I just know. You had a choice of letting the violence continue, with the bandits not even knowing what they were fighting for, and you chose instead to end it. You found another way, a smarter way. And you came back to me. So, I know it was the right thing to do.”

Arthur nods thoughtfully.

Merlin looks back up into his eyes. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for it.”

Arthur pauses. “It’s worth something,” he says, that rare sign of vulnerability coming back, so Merlin kisses him. Arthur melts into it automatically, almost as though there wasn’t a question of kissing Merlin back.

“Gods your breath is still terrible,” he says when they finally pull apart.

“You didn’t seem to mind literally a few seconds ago,” Merlin says.

“I was temporarily blindsided by your temporary bout of wisdom,” Arthur says. “And since there’s no way it’ll ever happen again, I’m afraid you’re going to have to give up cheese if you ever expect me to kiss you ag—”

Merlin kisses him again.

Arthur pushes him off after a few incriminating moments. “You always try to change the subject when you don’t have a retort,” he says, entirely too offended for a conversation about cheese.

“That was the retort,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes. “And I’m afraid you’re going to just have to get used to it. I love cheese more than I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” Arthur says, turning back over.

And he’s right, Merlin doesn’t. He doesn’t tell him this, though, instead optioning to bite the back of his neck, which causes Arthur to shudder and blush.

Oh.

Let’s just say that Arthur doesn’t mind Merlin’s bad breath as much as he says. Just as well, Merlin takes on the solemn burden of putting up with Arthur’s still smelly body in stride.

---

Epilogue

Less than a week later, with Gaius declaring Arthur completely healed, Uther finally arranges a banquet for the unveiling of the portrait. It turns out to be bigger than anyone anticipated; the royal hall has been decorated as though it were the solstice celebration, a large expensive dinner ordered, and entertainers from all over the kingdom hired to perform.

It’s almost like another coming of age ceremony for Arthur and they are expected to dress as such for the occasion, which means that Merlin has to wear the clothes that make him look like a court jester again.

When Arthur spots him across the room, he laughs out loud. Merlin scowls at him, but he doesn’t look the slightest bit remorseful. Merlin resolves to let him make it up to him later.

“Merlin,” Lancelot greets beside him. “Nice outfit.”

Merlin smiles. “You, too.”

Lancelot’s wearing his standard set of chainmail, much like the other knights attending this event.

Before Arthur even finished healing, he approached his father and asked him to lift Lancelot’s banishment and reinstate him as a knight, arguing that Lancelot had more than earned his place as one of Camelot’s fiercest and most honorable warriors.

It made another surge of pride shoot through Merlin’s chest at this, hope too. Hope that if Arthur can see that a man can be noble and honorable no matter the circumstances of his birth, then one day, he may be able to see that those who practice magic aren’t evil, either. And maybe one day, when Arthur is king and no longer attached to Uther’s ideals, he’ll end the banishment of magic, itself, in Camelot. 

Uther, of course, refused Arthur’s request, but then Arthur stated that he wouldn’t fight without Lancelot and they spent a solid three days not speaking to each other until Uther finally relented, stating that Lancelot’s knowledge of medicine and Mercian weaponry would benefit them more than if he continued to be banished.

The knights have taken to calling him, “Sir Lance,” much to his eternal embarrassment. Other than that, knighthood suits him just as it always had—he seems lighter, much more in his element than when he was sleeping on Merlin’s floor. It probably also helps that he doesn’t have to sneak around to be with Gwen anymore, too. Speaking of…

“Where’s Gwen, anyways?” Merlin asks.

“She’s over there, talking to Arthur,” Lancelot says.

Merlin turns to look back at Arthur, who’s nodding along intently to whatever Gwen is saying to him.

“She wanted to thank him for having my banishment lifted,” Lancelot says. “Among other things.”

Gwen wipes her eyes quickly, then gets up on her tiptoes to give Arthur a quick hug. Just a few weeks ago, Merlin would be dying with jealousy, probably worried that they would get back together. And Merlin knows that Arthur did love her, to some extent at least. And nothing will change that because it’ll always be a part of who he is.

But that’s okay. Merlin doesn’t think he’d want to be with someone who loves carelessly.  

After Gwen and Arthur exchange their goodbyes, Gwen walks towards Merlin and Lancelot. She wraps an arm around Lancelot, who draws her into an embrace. Merlin looks away to give them some form of privacy, but before he does, he can see them both smiling.

His eyes land on Arthur, who’s already looking at him. He pointedly draws Merlin’s attention to the portrait over to the side. It sits out in the open, a centerpiece for the banquet’s set up. Merlin looks back to Arthur, questioning, only to see that he’s returning his gaze, holding the locket that still hangs around his neck between his fingers as if to say, “This —this is the one that matters.”

Merlin fishes for the matching set around his own neck. Unfortunately, Raina had to leave Camelot before he could ask her to paint a small portrait of Arthur. It isn’t so bad, though, because the sketch of Arthur that sits within Merlin’s locket, is one that Merlin drew, himself. 

It took forever to get the result he wanted — many long hours of Arthur posing and complaining about it, but he never quit or told Merlin to stop trying, so he didn’t. He took all the time in the world cataloging and mapping and replicating Arthur’s annoyed expression because now, he can.