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Merlin knew that having Arthur, his King, back by his side in the twenty-first century would be weird ever since he strode up to Merlin sitting on the sidewalk outside the local pub -- in full, dripping chainmail and armour that glinted in the yellow streetlight, casting a long shadow over Merlin that had him looking up, stunned, to meet an all too familiar confused expression -- and the first words out of Arthur’s mouth were, “Are you a cat now, too?”
Makeup being the first modern day thing he had to explain to Arthur was not something Merlin could ever have predicted. Just his luck that Arthur would happen to resurrect on one of the rare nights he went out. Usually, he doesn’t wear makeup, but he had recently learned how to get his winged eyeliner just right, so it was easy enough to put on before heading out for a few drinks with work friends.
To make things worse, it immediately became clear to him upon arriving at his apartment building (thankfully only a short walk away from the pub, with many shortcuts through dark alleyways they could take) that he had not been at all prepared to accommodate a newly resurrected king. The elevator that has been broken down since before he moved in left him awkwardly explaining Arthur’s attire as cosplay to the neighbour they ran into as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. And then there was the fact of his shitty, thin-walled, one bedroom apartment. As soon as he locked the door behind him and turned to meet Arthur’s eyes, Merlin knew none of this was going to feel normal any time soon.
Arthur didn’t say anything when Merlin sat him down on the bed, just stripped off his armour, allowing Merlin to help him, then curled up in his sheets and promptly fell asleep for the next twelve hours as if he hadn’t just awoken from fifteen hundred years at the bottom of a lake.
But, then, Merlin has never died, has he? Who is he to say how restful death is? Judging by how little Arthur spoke over those next few days, it seems resurrection is rather draining.
After those first couple of nights, though, when Arthur seemed somewhat recovered, he took the couch and gave Merlin back his bed. Insisted on the matter, in fact, to Merlin’s amazement. He couldn’t figure out how to say no, but then things became even stranger when Arthur confronted Merlin about his habit of waking Arthur in the middle of the night as he lurked in the kitchen (it’s his kitchen, it isn’t lurking when it’s his own kitchen) and he had to admit that he doesn’t really do all that much sleeping, actually, and Arthur returned a little more to his old self, wasting no time in claiming Merlin’s bed once again if you’re not even going to use it.
As if he was doing his very best to keep Merlin from getting too comfortable with any sense of normalcy, when Merlin went to make up the couch for himself to sleep for the night, Arthur rolled his eyes and dragged him into the bedroom. And then ordered him into bed. With him.
Merlin has never been more thankful that he decided to get a double bed. He’s never needed much space, but he likes it all the same, even if he doesn’t use it much. Still, it’s the kind that’s just shy of big enough to comfortably fit two full grown people, so the idea of having to share the thing with Arthur, King Arthur, who he served for so many years, was not something he was keen on. Nonetheless, Arthur wouldn’t hear it. They both knew how deep a sleeper Arthur was -- even if he woke up to Merlin rattling around in the kitchen sometimes, he would be able to sleep through him getting up in the night, and this way they could both avoid the couch, which is admittedly not the comfiest place to sleep. A good, reasonable argument that Merlin failed to counter. Despite the obvious strangeness of a king asking his manservant to share a bed with him.
So that’s how they’ve gone on. Arthur on one side of the bed, by the window, with the streetlights softening his sleeping face through the half open blinds; Merlin on the other whenever he feels able to get a few hours of rest, and otherwise leaving Arthur to himself as he pads around the apartment keeping his mind occupied any way he can through the dark hours.
Like he said. Weird.
The rest feels easy compared to something so absurd. Explaining electricity to Arthur, teaching him how to use the microwave and the shower and watching him marvel over the TV for a while before Merlin decides he might as well show him how to use Netflix. Even the more complicated things, like explaining the modern government and the laws he thinks it would be best for Arthur to be clear on, and how his credit card pays for things even though it has no tangible value like gold did. Eventually, Arthur feels ready to leave the apartment, and Merlin gradually starts trying to acclimate him to modern society.
By the time they find themselves sat quietly in a booth at the local pub nursing their ales one Tuesday night, it’s been months since Arthur returned, and the two have exhausted their efforts trying to figure out why. Somehow, it just doesn’t feel important anymore. Instead, Merlin has simply been teaching him how to live once again, answering every question with a patience learned from a life longer than anyone else will ever know.
But this -- this isn’t something he ever expected to discuss with Arthur.
He’s wondered, over the years, what Arthur might think of all these new advancements; all this new technology, the changes in government and warfare, the abolishment of hierarchy as they had known it then, in Camelot, and all these hopes for equality for everyone, like they always wanted. A fight the world is still fighting. He didn’t always believe that Arthur would ever return. As the centuries ticked by, it was easy to lose faith, and sometimes Merlin found himself sure he would never see him again. But that doesn’t mean he ever stopped thinking about him.
And yet, out of everything, he has never once considered this.
He feels his blood turn to ice as he sees what Arthur is staring at. Two girls have been quietly flirting in the corner for the past hour, and now they’re finally kissing in the warm lighting of the pub, in a world entirely their own. Arthur’s eyes are wide and confused, and Merlin really, really doesn’t want to talk about this.
“Stop staring,” he hisses.
Arthur tears his eyes away, though they stay just as wide as he looks at Merlin. He hasn’t said a word since he softly uttered Merlin’s name in shock. Merlin sighs wearily.
“Look, sire, that’s something you’re just going to have to get used to, alright? They’re allowed to do that now.”
Somehow, Arthur’s eyes get wider.
“They’re what?!”
Half the pub glances up at them. Merlin’s thankful they don’t know what Arthur’s talking about.
Merlin takes him by the wrist and drags him out of there without another word. Arthur seems too in shock to even splutter a protest. They’re already halfway home when he recovers.
“Women … Women kiss women, now? In public?” he asks, sounding exhausted.
“Women have always kissed, Arthur,” Merlin snaps, unable to push back his personal feelings, “that’s nothing new. Men, too. Only now you don’t get your head chopped off for sodomy.” He dares a brief glance over at Arthur, who is just staring ahead unseeingly as they walk. “Well, in most countries, anyway. There’s quite a culture around it now, as is the way of oppressed peoples. Coming together as a community.”
Arthur blinks up at him. He looks like he’s thinking very hard. “Oppressed? I thought you said it was allowed.”
“In the past, you idiot. And there are still people who don’t like it.” He looks at Arthur hard. “But a person’s decency is measured by the respect they afford others. You ought not to judge someone for something you don’t understand.”
Arthur’s expression finally smooths over, and Merlin knows he’s caught the implication of his words. Merlin has gotten more casual about the use of his magic around Arthur -- Arthur even seems to like watching him, sometimes -- but that doesn’t mean he can forget Arthur’s upbringing and prejudices. It’s good to remind him that what he’s been taught to think is right often isn’t the case.
They’ve reached the apartment building, and they climb the stairs in silence. All the energy has gone out of Merlin after that brief explanation and he just can’t deal with this now.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Arthur goes to bed within ten minutes of returning. Merlin doesn’t sleep at all that night.
When the topic is brought up again, Merlin has just returned from a long day at work and is ready to curl up with his hot chocolate. Arthur lifts his head from the couch and shouts, “Merlin!”
Merlin gives him a look. Arthur’s tone is the one he uses whenever he needs to ask Merlin about some modern thing he doesn’t understand, only today he sounds sort of excited about it. He meets Merlin’s glare without remorse.
“Come here,” he says, waving Merlin over. It doesn’t sound like an order. He’s been like that since he came back, less imperious and commanding, like he understood the shift in their relationship in this new world even before Merlin did. Merlin reluctantly trudges over nonetheless, sitting on the couch with his mug.
“What.”
Arthur’s on his laptop again, clearly in research mode. Now that he’s finally confident using it, there’s no stopping him from learning everything he can find on there. Merlin has to make him wear earphones because he prefers YouTube to reading long articles. (I did enough reading as a king, Merlin. What was the point in inventing video if not to replace those tiresome scrolls?) Merlin is just thankful he has yet to discover TikTok, but it’s only a matter of time.
What Arthur says then has Merlin regretting ever letting him touch the thing.
“Do you think Morgana was a lesbian?”
Merlin chokes on his whipped cream.
“Merlin …?”
“Where the hell did you learn that word?” he says through coughs.
Arthur raises an eyebrow and waves his hand at the laptop. There’s lots of tabs with definitions open and more than one YouTube video. Merlin blinks at it like it might disappear any moment.
Arthur Pendragon, researching the LGBT+ community. Oh, gods.
“Why. Would you ask me that.”
Arthur shrugs, seemingly oblivious to Merlin’s internal breakdown. “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”
Merlin stares. “Why are you thinking about it?!”
Arthur gives him that look that always says he thinks Merlin is being an idiot. “I’m trying to understand this time, Merlin. And this is important, isn't it? From what I’ve learned, it seems you have to be careful how you speak about this. There are words you can’t use and questions you can’t ask--”
“It’s just common sense,” Merlin says. “It’s not that hard to tell if what you’re about to say is rude.”
Arthur shakes his head like Merlin is misunderstanding on purpose. “These things have only been legal for the past half century, Merlin! I’m hardly the only one still trying to catch up with a changing world. So, I’m learning.”
Merlin stares at him for a long moment. “Why is this so important to you?” he asks at length.
Arthur snatches the hot chocolate out of his hands and sips it as he turns to the TV without another word.
“Of course Morgana was a lesbian,” Merlin says with a roll of his eyes. Arthur doesn’t look at him, but Merlin sees his smirk.
It’s another week before Arthur asks the question Merlin’s been dreading. Maybe dread isn’t the right word. Given how oblivious Arthur was about his magic, something he was well aware was rife in the kingdom, Merlin never would have thought Arthur perceptive enough to realise this about Merlin. And yet …
“Merlin, are you LGBT?”
The sentence itself is absurd coming out of Arthur’s mouth. He looks so casual about it, watching Merlin with that expression he used to have whenever he was trying to fathom him out, chin propped up on the table with his hand. He’s wearing a soft white shirt and sweatpants, eyes glinting blue in the morning sun, coffee forgotten on the breakfast table between them. Merlin still hasn’t gotten any more used to this. To Arthur sitting with him for his meals, helping out, being there whenever Merlin comes home. Emerging from the bedroom they share in the mornings with a yawn and sleep-mussed hair, shirt riding up his torso as he stretches. His toothbrush sitting next to Merlin’s in the bathroom.
He still doesn’t like mornings, still hates cleaning, still sucks at cooking no matter how much Merlin has patiently tried to teach him and still jumps at loud noises like he’s trying to go for the sword that no longer hangs at his hip. But he knows how to dress himself now, can work the coffee machine to make it just how he likes it (it doesn’t surprise Merlin how much Arthur turns out to love coffee -- he always thought he would like it, ever since he discovered it himself), and has started looking into jobs he might be able to do without Merlin ever bringing it up.
Of all the ways things have changed, though, this conversation is one he never thought would happen.
Merlin lets his head flop onto the table. The newspaper he was reading softens the impact.
“Merlin, don’t be a child.”
He shoots up at that, staring at Arthur in astonishment. A child? This is childish? How should he react to such a question? What he really wants to do is to get up and start screaming. Arthur’s lucky he’s had so long to learn self restraint.
“Why would you ask me that?” is the response he settles on.
Arthur shrugs. He’s been less confident ever since he returned, unsure of himself, too aware of his ignorance about this new world. He gets this uncomfortable look that Merlin recognises as the look Arthur would always get whenever he was about to say something nice to Merlin. “Things aren’t the way they were in Camelot. I’m not a king of anything and you’re not my servant.” He sighs. “I told you once that, if things were different, we would have been friends. Now things are different. And I … consider you my friend.” He shifts in his seat, but his eyes don’t leave Merlin’s. His tone becomes lighter. “So, with that in mind … Well, these are the things friends talk about, aren’t they?” He waves a hand in the air. “Dating and such.”
Even the word dating over courting is bizarre out of him.
“Seems important to know whether you date men or women or whatever else. Or at all.”
He really has done his research. Maybe he knows more than Merlin does.
Merlin is sure his face is flaming at this point. He has to consciously take a second to calm himself. Arthur Pendragon wants to know about his dating life? He can’t. He just … Oh, gods.
But Arthur basically just extended friendship to him. They have always been friends, even back in Camelot, Arthur had told him as much in the past, but of course it’s different now that they’re on equal footing. There are things that can be said that once could not. And things that are now safe to discuss, even beyond magic.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I am.”
Arthur waits for a moment like he thinks there’ll be more. “Okay,” he finally says. “So what exactly do you like?”
Merlin rolls his eyes hard. “I don’t know, Arthur. People. It doesn’t matter if they’re a man or woman or otherwise, just whether or not I like the person.”
Arthur nods silently. There’s a brief moment of peace between them then, before Merlin sighs, “You’ve got a label for that, haven’t you?”
Arthur’s laugh bursts out of him like he can’t hold it back. He shakes his head at Merlin, a look on his face that Merlin might be tempted to call fond. “How have you lived in this time so long without figuring these things out about yourself? You’ve been around for hundreds of years, Merlin. Surely it didn’t take the world around you changing for you to realise--”
“Arthur, I’ve known I’m queer since before the word existed,” Merlin interrupts. Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I just don’t need modern words to describe myself. I know who I am.”
There’s that calculating look again. Arthur just nods, though, like he finally understands what Merlin means. Sips his cold coffee. Snatches Merlin’s newspaper.
And then surprises him with: “You and Lancelot …”
“Oh my gods.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“Of course I do. What else could you possibly be asking?”
“Alright, fine, I was.” Arthur abandons the newspaper once again. He waves his hands. “I’m curious. There are so many things that happened in my castle without my knowledge.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a great big idiot, you might have seen what was in front of your own two eyes every once in a--”
“Merlin.”
Merlin sighs. “Arthur, I never hooked up with Sir Lancelot. I don’t know why you would think that.”
Arthur arches an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t know why I would think that? With all your whispering and knowing looks and sneaking off together?”
Merlin’s mouth falls open. He closes it again, opens it, and fails to come up with a single coherent thought.
“Close your mouth, Merlin, you’re going to catch flies.”
“That you noticed?!” Merlin blurts. Arthur’s brow furrows. “Oh, no, not all the magical threats around you, not me saving your life every other day -- you noticed how Lancelot and I looked at each other?”
Arthur shrugs, making a face as he leans back in his chair. “It’s not like I thought anything of it. I had a kingdom to run, Merlin, it was a busy time. I just … wondered, looking back.”
Merlin isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t want to prolong this line of questioning. “Arthur, he knew,” he sighs. “About me -- my magic. He saw me use it when we first met and he helped me keep my secret. Helped me help you.”
Arthur looks at a bit of a loss for a moment. “I see.” Merlin knows it’s no longer a sore spot for Arthur, those years of lies, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need to process new information as it comes to light.
Only, clearly it doesn’t take him too long to come to terms with Lancelot, his knight, having known about Merlin’s magic all along and hiding it from his king, because a moment later he asks, oh-so-innocently:
“What about Gwaine?”
Merlin goes bright red.
“I knew it!” Arthur laughs, clapping his hands together. “Gods, your face. I knew it.”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin says from behind his hands.
“That man adored you, I swear. Even back then, I wouldn’t have been surprised. He was more loyal to you than to me.”
“Please just stop talking forever.”
“And that boy from back in Ealdor,” Arthur goes on, ignoring him, “that childhood friend of yours, what was his name? Will?” Merlin lets out a loud groan. Arthur grins a self satisfied grin. “I thought so. No wonder you two acted like that. First loves are a strange thing.”
“How do you have me so figured out all of a sudden?”
“I told you from the beginning that I would figure you out, Merlin. It’s not my fault I was missing so many pieces of the puzzle.”
Merlin sighs, picking up the newspaper. “So, what, this is how it’s going to be now? You making guesses out of the blue about people I may have had relationships with back in Camelot?”
Arthur grins and gulps his coffee.
“I had a crush on Morgana when we first met,” Merlin offers, resigned.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Merlin, everyone and their mother knew about that,” he says as he takes another sip.
“Also Gwen kissed me once.”
Arthur spits out his coffee.
Merlin doesn’t notice at first how strange Arthur is acting. A pat on the shoulder is nothing out of the ordinary for them. Even him leaning into Merlin’s side as he’s cooking is negligible. But when he starts to put his hand on the small of Merlin’s back as he looks to see what he’s making, when he swings an arm over his shoulders as they’re sat on the couch -- that gets Merlin’s attention. Arthur even hugs him one morning as he goes to leave for work, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
One morning, he wakes up from a night of actually restful sleep in Arthur’s arms. He’s so in shock he just kind of lays there until Arthur stirs and unwraps himself to go get some coffee, entirely unaffected. The next morning, Merlin’s the one curled up against Arthur, his hands under his shirt, warm against his skin. He gets up before Arthur wakes and makes breakfast, head spinning as he watches the kettle boil, pushing eggs around the frying pan mindlessly.
It’s comforting. All the touching. It reminds him that Arthur is really here, really alive, warm and solid under his hands. He has his King back and he’s not going anywhere. He has his friend. But that doesn’t make all of this any less bizarre.
He knows even less what to make of it when Arthur shows up at the school as Merlin’s leaving work one day to walk him home. Arthur was out job hunting all day, a task Merlin would have liked to supervise, but much as he knows Arthur has a habit of getting himself into trouble, he also knows that he can’t keep handholding Arthur through this new world. He needs to learn for himself. That doesn’t explain why he’s standing in front of Merlin outside the gates as he’s walking out of the school with some colleagues -- the good ones he actually sees outside of work sometimes -- who smile when Arthur slings an arm around Merlin in greeting and ask curiously if he’s Merlin’s boyfriend. Nor does it explain why, instead of correcting them, when Merlin knows full well that Arthur is aware by now of what exactly boyfriend means, Arthur opts for the vaguest response of, “We live together.”
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a very solid no, either. Merlin just sort of stares at him as Arthur introduces himself to his colleagues, until he finally regains control of his brain once again and wishes them a nice evening before dragging Arthur away with him.
As they take a brisk pace to the apartment, Merlin hisses, “What was that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Walking me home? ‘We live together’? What is going on with you?” he demands, so confused he can barely string together a coherent thought. Arthur just raises an eyebrow. Infuriating as ever. At least that hasn’t changed. “Is this your way of showing me we’re friends?” Merlin tries.
Arthur gives him that look again, the one that tells him he’s being an idiot.
“I don’t know how you ever managed to survive in Camelot when you’re this oblivious.”
“What does that even mean?”
Arthur rolls his eyes and lets them into the building. Merlin got another key made for him a while back and he kind of regrets it when the man stomps inside, leaving Merlin scrambling to grab the door and follow him.
“Arthur?” he asks as they step inside the apartment, door swinging shut behind him. Arthur is already at the table, giving him an expectant look. Merlin sits down.
“Merlin,” he says.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he just returns Arthur’s stare, waiting.
Arthur considers his hands for a moment.
“Merlin, you told me you’ve never needed a word to describe who are you are because you know yourself.”
Merlin blinks at him.
“Well, that’s not the case for me.” Arthur sighs. “I never knew who I was when I was young. My father raised me to be the perfect heir, and I grew up convincing myself that whatever he wanted me to be was exactly what I was. But I had my fun before I knew better, before I understood duty and what it meant to be a future king, and …” He trails off with another, heavier sigh. Merlin can see he’s struggling with his words, but the best course of action seems to be just waiting him out. Eventually, Arthur looks up. “What I’m trying to say is that all that research taught me something.” He shrugs, and there’s a feeling of helplessness to it. “I’m bisexual.”
Merlin’s eyes go wide. “Oh! That’s-- That’s fantastic.”
Merlin has never seen Arthur look shy, but this, him rubbing the back of his neck, forcing himself to meet Merlin’s eye, is the closest he’s ever come.
“Really?”
Merlin grins. “Of course. I’m happy for you, Arthur.”
Arthur smiles slowly. “Thank you, Merlin.”
Merlin hums, considering him. “Arthur Pendragon of the Knights of the Round Table, bisexual King of Camelot,” he muses. “That’s really something.”
“I’m not a legend, Merlin,” Arthur says with conviction. “And I’m no king anymore, either.”
“You’ll always be the Once and Future King, sire. That won’t ever change.”
“And, what, you’re still my servant? My subject?” Arthur says, looking almost -- disappointed. “Is that how you see us?”
Merlin frowns. “Well, not exactly. You’ve finally learned how to dress all on your own, you can fend for yourself now,” he smirks. Arthur scowls, but Merlin goes on before he can interrupt, “I’m the man who will always be by your side, no matter what.”
Arthur smiles at that, a soft look that is familiar to Merlin, even from those years back in Camelot.
Merlin remembers, then, why this conversation began in the first place.
“What does this have to do with all that stuff at the school, anyway?” he asks.
Arthur’s smile disappears, and he stares at Merlin for a few moments like he’s waiting for something. Merlin stares back.
“What the fuck, Merlin,” Arthur finally says.
“I regret teaching you that word.”
Arthur just gets up with a loud noise of irritation, stomping back to the room with a mutter of, “Honestly, Merlin, I have never met someone so oblivious in either of my lives …”
Merlin frowns after him.
He doesn’t get what he’s missing. Not over the next few weeks, as Arthur’s behaviour stops registering as strange, even as he gets more familiar. Not when he starts making Merlin his tea in the mornings, when the hugs before he leaves for work become ordinary -- expected, even. Not when he tells Merlin his eyeliner looks cute with a familiar grin he can’t quite place. And not when he comes home one day to find Arthur beaming at him, announcing he’s found a job (a bodyguard, of all things, though he does have the right skillset for it, Merlin admits), and they drink the oldest kind of ale Merlin managed to find in the local stores in celebration, and Arthur even asks Merlin to dance, and they do so right there in the middle of their tiny living room, Arthur’s hands on him, strong and warm.
Merlin doesn’t understand it. Not until they put their drinks away and get changed for bed, not until they climb in and Arthur, fully conscious, wraps himself around Merlin, and there, in the dark of their room but for the warm streetlight spilling in through the blinds, kisses him soft and slow. Then it all finally makes sense.