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"I’m happy to be your servant, till the day I die.”
There was a weight in Merlin’s words, which had been uttered only an hour or so ago. Arthur couldn’t help the discomfort blooming in his chest as he got under the covers, laying down as a servant scurried around his chambers, blowing out candles before she quietly left.
Merlin should’ve been the one to do that, but, instead, he left. Most likely to his own room, in his stupid small bed that he was entirely too large for. But Arthur couldn’t help but feel as if Merlin wasn’t actually safe in his room, not with the way his eyes failed to twinkle the way they usually did. Even when Arthur teased him, Merlin hadn’t made a snarky comment. Instead, he chuckled softly, a little breathless.
If it was any other day, that chuckle would’ve made Arthur beam with pride. No matter how much he and Merlin bickered, he liked to make his manservant happy. There was something about hearing him laugh softly in the safety of Arthur’s chambers, his lips twisted in a soft smile that was reserved just for him.
But Arthur ended up being worried, masking his concern with slight jibes. Merlin was hiding something, and he was saying words that felt a little too heavy as he stared into Arthur’s eyes, his gaze never wavering.
Arthur tried to sleep, but his attempt lasted roughly five minutes before he got out of bed, stumbling slightly from having to rely on one arm. He made his way out of his chambers, ignoring the guards he passed by. They knew better than to step in when the prince’s lips were set into a thin line, determination evident on his face.
He arrived at Gaius’ chambers, hesitating when he lifted his hand to knock on the door. The physician would most likely be asleep, but Arthur knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he saw that Merlin was okay.
Arthur knocked on the door, making sure to be gentle, and waited a few seconds before he opened the door. He peered inside. It was dark, but the moon provided enough light for him to see that Gaius’ cot was empty. He frowned, stepping inside and glancing around. There was no one in sight. Now, Arthur was really worried.
There was a little bit of candlelight showing in the creak of Merlin’s door, so Arthur made his way over. This time, he didn’t bother knocking, and burst into the room. Neither Gaius nor Merlin were in sight, but there was a small figure sleeping in the bed. He stepped forward, eyes narrowed and suddenly regretting not having his sword on him. He then froze, holding in a gasp.
The small figure was Hunith, but not the strong and kind woman that was so very clearly Merlin’s mother. No, this was someone Arthur couldn’t recognize at first glance. She was thin, her skin colored and marked with boils. Her eyes were squeezed shut and shallow breaths slipped out of her lips, indicating that her sleep was far from peaceful.
Arthur didn’t understand. He knew he’d been comatose and was bound to miss things, but when did Hunith arrive? And how did she get so sick?
Why didn’t Merlin tell him?
The boy never hesitated around Arthur. He was so up front to the point that it would be considered inappropriate since he is working for royalty. It didn’t make sense. Even though Arthur had only recently woken up, he knew Merlin would tell him that Hunith was ill and that was why he couldn’t attend to him.
More than that—Merlin would never leave his mother. Neither would Gaius, which meant that something very wrong.
Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, slowly going to the chair by the bed and sitting down. He looked at the rag and bucket of water that was placed next to him, hesitating for a moment before soaking the cloth. He twisted some of the water out, grateful that it was still cold, and dabbed Hunith’s forehead with it.
She shifted, her eyes still shut, but Arthur could see the way her shoulders relaxed. He continued to dab at her face gently, hoping that this would do something. He hadn’t seen someone sick like this ever since he was a kid, when there had been an outbreak amongst the lower town and many of his people ended up dying.
Arthur shivered, but did his best to brush the thought away and continued to take care of Hunith. He glanced at the doorway every few minutes, hoping that either Gaius or Merlin would appear soon.
Some time later, Arthur felt his eyes droop and his arm was aching from treating Hunith for some time. He wished he could use his other hand, but quickly accepted his fate since he needed to be there for Hunith, for Merlin.
He blinked a few times to keep himself awake, only to gasp when he saw Hunith still sleeping in bed, her skin returned its normal shade and a healthy flush on her cheeks. The boils were gone, and she looked much more calm, a slight smile resting on her lips.
“What…” Arthur breathed out, only to flinch when the chamber door opened. He got up instantly and practically ran out of the room, halting when he saw Merlin and Gaius.
Gaius had been leaning against Merlin, pale and completely soaked to the bone. He looked even older than he was, gripping weakly onto Merlin’s arm as the younger guided him into their chambers.
Merlin didn’t look much better. He was also soaked and looked so utterly exhausted, but was trying his best to keep himself up because of Gaius. “Alright, let’s get you to bed—” Merlin froze when he saw Arthur standing in the middle of the chambers.
Somehow, Gaius became even paler. “Sire—” he croaked.
Arthur raised a hand, quieting the elderly man. “Let me help you,” he said because, even though he was confused and scared and honestly a little angry because where were they? It pained him to see the both of them so frail and scared.
He was quick to move to Gaius’ other side, using his good arm to guide the physician to his cot. He and Merlin managed to help him change into fresh clothes before Arthur sent a guard to get thicker blankets for him.
Merlin avoided his eyes the whole time they helped Gaius, his jaw clenched. It made Arthur angrier because he’s never been really good at handling his emotions, but he decided to wait to confront his manservant until after he checked on his mother.
Once Merlin was done looking over Hunith, Arthur grabbed him by his wet collar and practically dragged him out of the physician’s chamber. He heard a soft hiss coming from Merlin, which made Arthur frown, but he continued to stride back to his own chambers. As he shoved the other into his room, he requested one of the guards to get some ointment before he stepped inside and tried not to slam the door shut behind him.
“Where the hell were you?” Arthur asked, his voice laced with anger. He knew he shouldn’t be angry—not when the boy and Gaius had clearly gone through something, but he couldn’t help it. The way Merlin looked, with his pale skin and sunken cheekbones, only confirmed what Arthur feared.
Merlin was going to leave him.
He could see the way Merlin was struggling to speak, shifting slightly as he kept his gaze downcast. Arthur gritted his teeth, using his good arm to grasp at the other’s shoulder. He tried to be gentle, but Merlin still flinched. He couldn’t tell if it was from pain or fear.
Arthur breathed through his nose. “Merlin,” he started, keeping his voice low. “What happened?”
Merlin finally lifted his gaze, eyes filled with tears. There was still no twinkle, no little golden flecks that seemed to show when they were out in the sun. Arthur’s heart clenched, anger loosening its grip on his heart. The other opened his mouth to speak, only for there to be a knock on the door. “Sire, I have what you asked for,” said the guard, his voice muffled through the door.
Arthur let go of Merlin, quickly going to his door and opening it. He thanked the guard, who handed him a small tub of ointment. He shut the door, turning around and seeing Merlin standing there in the middle of his chambers, looking absolutely helpless.
The prince’s eyes softened, walking slowly towards his manservant before he gently grabbed the crook of his elbow. “C’mon,” he muttered, guiding Merlin towards his bed and sitting him down on it. He kneeled down, unlacing the strings on his soaked boots. Slowly, he peeled them off and glanced up at Merlin, who was staring down at him with parted lips.
Heat creeped up Arthur’s neck as he cleared his throat, standing back up. He hesitated, fingers brushing over Merlin’s tunic. “May I?” he questioned, watching the way the other’s ears turned red. He felt the sudden urge to tug at them gently, just like how he would to Gwen’s curls when they were younger.
Merlin nodded, and Arthur helped him out of his tunic. Well, he tried, but having only one arm to rely on made it a little hard. Merlin quickly picked up on that and took off his pants, hesitating for a second before peeling off his wet tunic.
Arthur couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips.
There was a scar right on the center of Merlin’s chest. It was no normal scar. No, it was spread out like the roots of a tree, pink and slightly… charred? They trailed over the planes of Merlin’s chest, as if they were taking over his body. But that wasn’t what really scared Arthur.
It was the fact that it was a scar of magic.
The fear returned to Merlin’s eyes, and Arthur realized that he knew what he was thinking. “Arthur,” he said shakily, blinking furiously. “I can explain—”
Arthur shushed Merlin, helping him lay down on the bed even though his thoughts were running a mile a minute. The anger was there. It was tight, twisting his heart and making it bleed. Merlin was a sorcerer, and he didn’t trust Arthur enough to tell him that.
He glanced back down at the scar, which was throbbing and practically crackling with magic. It wasn’t the type of scar that a person could survive.
But Merlin lived, and Arthur wouldn’t take that for granted.
“Arthur,” Merlin repeated as Arthur applied the cool ointment on his chest, hissing at the contact.
The prince winced, muttering an apology before he continued to rub the ointment on Merlin skin, careful and gentle.
“Arthur,” Merlin stated, his fingers wrapping around Arthur’s hand. He stopped, looking at his manservant, who was staring at him with teary eyes. “Are you mad?”
Arthur swallowed thickly, staring down at their interlocked hands. It felt… warm, despite Merlin’s hands being freezing cold. He shifted their hands, so that his was covering the other’s. He could hear the hitch in Merlin’s throat.
“I was, and I still kind of am,” Arthur admitted quietly, looking back down at Merlin. “But then I saw this.” He nodded towards the scar, noticing Merlin’s grimace.
“No one should survive this,” Arthur continued. “No one can survive this. You—You should be dead.” It pained him to say it, but it was the truth.
When Merlin remained silent, Arthur sighed. “You were saying goodbye earlier.”
The boy stared up at his prince. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Arthur bit down on his lip when he felt the sudden pressure of tears, his grip tightening on Merlin’s hand. “What happened?” he croaked, suddenly terrified of the answer. But he needed to know.
A shaky breath slipped out of Merlin’s lips, his eyes landing on their hands. “There was no way you were going to survive the Questing Beast,” he admitted.
Somehow, Arthur wasn’t that surprised. He knew it shouldn’t be possible to survive it, but he couldn’t bring himself to question it when he was very much happy to be alive. He slowly shifted onto the edge of the bed, still holding Merlin’s hand. “But you made sure that I lived,” he continued softly.
Merlin nodded, turning his head towards Arthur. “I went to—to this place called the Isle of the Blessed. It’s where the high priestesses would reside, and there’s this one named Nimueh. You, um, encountered her when you were looking for the mortaeous flower.”
Arthur stiffened, remembering how the priestess had practically lured him in and trapped him. He remembered the fear he felt as he held onto the cliff’s edge, but it wasn’t because his life was at risk. All he’d been able to think about was his manservant laying in a cot, sickly pale and sweat clinging to his skin. If Arthur fell to his death, then Merlin would also die, and that was more terrifying than losing his own life.
He nodded, urging Merlin to continue. “She had a way to make sure you lived,” he hesitated. “A life for a life.”
Suddenly, Arthur was angry again because, of course, that self-sacrificing idiot would give up his own life if it meant that Arthur would survive. “What?”
Merlin held Arthur’s hand with both of his own, his eyes pleading. “I wasn’t going to let you die,” he stated and, despite being frail, Arthur had never seen him look so determined.
That didn’t make him any less angry, though. “How could you possibly think your life is worth any less than mine?” he questioned, his voice growing louder with each word.
Merlin’s lips were set in a thin line, eyes sharp. “I am merely a servant, and you are destined to be Albion’s greatest king. My life doesn’t matter,” he stated.
“Yes, it does! It does to me!” Arthur exploded, ignoring the way Merlin’s eyes widened. “I—you’re not just a servant! You’re… You’re Merlin. My Merlin.”
Merlin’s gaze softened, and Arthur suddenly felt embarrassed. He cleared his throat, frowning when he remembered that Merlin was still very much alive when he finally woke up. “I don’t understand. You were alive when I woke up.”
Merlin swallowed thickly, glancing away briefly. “Nimueh tricked me. She went after my mum,” he explained, his voice wavering.
Arthur’s eyes widened. Hunith! Of course, it all made sense. He thought back to when he last saw her, covered in boils and red spots. He felt angry again. Although he would never want Merlin to sacrifice his life for his own, he knew that the boy would’ve made it clear that only his life could be sacrificed, not anyone else’s. Nimueh simply didn’t care.
“Merlin, I’m sorry,” Arthur said softly, his heart clenching.
Merlin merely nodded, his jaw clenched. “I wasn’t going to let mum die. It was my life for yours. That was the deal, so I planned to go back to Nimueh and make sure to do it right.”
“And that’s why you said goodbye to me,” the prince replied, blinking away his tears furiously.
His manservant looked back at Arthur, his eyes softening. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “I wanted to tell you the truth, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t want you to remember me as someone who betrayed you. I couldn’t bear the thought of that.”
Another tear fell and Arthur inhaled sharply. “What happened after that?”
“Gaius had gone ahead of me to sacrifice himself.” Merlin bit down on his lower lip. “When I got there, I thought he was dead. I—I was so scared, and so angry. First, she went after my mum, and then she went after Gaius, and all I thought was that I’d never see you again—”
Merlin paused, his eyes fluttering shut as he took a deep breath. He looked back up at Arthur. “So, I killed her.”
For a moment, Arthur’s heart stopped. Merlin, who was clumsy and kind and a little bit of an idiot, had killed Nimueh. Maybe he should’ve been scared, but there was no sign of regret on Merlin’s face. It was something Arthur saw in himself—the commitment to the ones and he loved and what he’d do for them.
The younger gestured to the scar on his chest. “That’s how I got this, and I don’t regret it. I would do it all over again,” he stated, his eyes searching Arthur’s.
Arthur stared back in awe. It was like he was really seeing Merlin past his worn clothing and sarcastic humor and his need to defy authority. He always knew that Merlin had faith in him, but it ran deeper than he thought.
“Why?” he asked softly.
A soft smile rose on Merlin’s lips—the small, reserved one that always made Arthur inexplicably giddy. “Because you’re my destiny,” he said, like it was really that simple.
And maybe it was. Even when Arthur wanted to beat Merlin with his mace, there had been something there. Something pulling, tugging, urging for their lives to become entwined. It was what led to Merlin becoming Arthur’s manservant, his ever-growing faith making Arthur feel in ways he never thought he could. Merlin made him want to be better, to be the prince and king Camelot deserved. He helped Arthur love, and it wasn’t like the prince didn’t before, but he’d grown up in a place where it was conditional. And so he loved.
So, really, it was that simple.
Arthur laughed wetly as he shook his head. “And you’re mine,” he said, only to let out a grunt when Merlin threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He wrapped an arm around the other’s waist, his fingertips burning from the heat of Merlin’s skin. He buried his nose into Merlin’s damp hair, his eyes fluttering shut.
He knew that there was more to this—that there were things Merlin had to tell him and the whole “Albion’s greatest king” he needed to process. But, for now, he didn’t mind keeping his destiny close.