hellooooo

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It aches, sometimes, when he allows himself to think they could be more. More than master and servant, more than king and sorcerer. More than... kisses in an empty corridor or the stables or the woods when no one’s watching. Oftentimes, he longs for the affection. Dreams of it. A world where Arthur loved him as much as he’d loved Gwen. A world in which Arthur loved him at all. 

——————————————————————————

So, in a desperate attempt to better understand the preposterous king, he goes to Morgana. “Would he be so cruel if he truly cared for me?”

And Morgana is immediately furious at this question, slamming down an exceptionally heavy book. 

“Is he doing things that make you feel as though he doesn’t love you?” Merlin rushes to say, “No, not necessarily,” before she can go and behead him. “He just... does things differently. For me. Different than he’s been in the past with his... lovers.” 

Morgana narrows her eyes, pondering this for a moment. “What would you like him to be like, then?”

And Merlin wants to say kinder, but doesn’t have the heart to. “Less of a prat, maybe.” Morgana snorts, and Merlin continues, “Maybe dinner in his chambers without him snarling about how useless I am. Or a hunt where he doesn’t leave me hungry. Maybe a morning where we can have a lie-in and he smiles at me as he wakes, instead of pushes me out the door.” Merlin feels wistful as he lists these things off, as he dreams of all the things they could be, and as he goes on, Morgana’s inquisitive eyes fill with concern. “What?”

“He sounds... awful,” Morgana says very quietly. “Merlin, those are very, ehm, low expectations and you talk of them like he’d have to move a mountain to do those things for you.” 

“Well, that’s how he’s always been. A prat.”

“But things should be different now. They just sound worse.” 

“Oh,” Merlin says, and he starts to feel that sense of sorrow again. Morgana puts a hand on his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You should talk to him,” she says, giving him an encouraging smile. 

——————————————————————————

Days later, Merlin is folding Arthur’s laundry in the corner of his chambers when Arthur bursts in, looking frustrated. Merlin looks at him briefly, trying to decipher what was bothering him, when Arthur spots him and shoots him a glare. “Fetch me a bath, would you?” he commands. Merlin stands, dropping the tunic back into the basket, before tripping over a stool that runs into the table, and causes everything to clatter to the floor. 

“Can’t you do anything well? Or are you always so incompetent?” Arthur hisses. 

“Sorry, sire,” Merlin says, and instead of his usual sarcastic tone, his voice is a bit withdrawn, thoughts going back to the talk he’d had with Morgana. 

Arthur gives him a funny look at the unusual tone. “Well, get on with it. I’ve had a long day.” 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin says, and soon he’s coming back buckets of water to fill the tub for his king. As he readies it, he says hesitantly, “Arthur?” 

“What is it?” Arthur snaps, looking up from his desk. 

“I was just... well, you know. It’s been a while since you’ve had a day off. I thought maybe, we could have a picnic or something. Something... nice.” 

Arthur just glowers at him, flicking his quill a bit. “I’m busy.”

“I could try to clear the day for you, so we could spend some time--”

“I said I was busy.” 

Merlin pauses in his movements, trying to feel the warmth of the water against the numbness of his hand. Of his heart. “Alright. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Arthur kisses him in the stables, later. Sweetly, gently. He holds Merlin’s face in his hands like an apology. His eyes look at him like he sees Merlin’s pain, and knows he’s the one who caused it. But he doesn’t say anything, just gives Merlin a long look, and just like that, he disappears once again.

——————————————————————————

The trees are bare, and the snow begins to fall. Thick and heavy. Arthur asks Merlin to try and protect what he can with his magic as the storms sweep over Camelot. Or, it’s not really asking, per se, but that kingly you’ll-do-as-I-say tone that doesn’t bargain room for retaliation. Merlin does so without question, and if there are a couple extra rations in the vaults, food that is more plentiful than normal, no one questions it. The season is harsh, and the people won’t complain.

“You haven’t moved from that place at the window for an hour,” Arthur says flatly. 

“I like the snow,” Merlin says easily. “It’s very pretty.” 

“Prettier now with the knowledge that the people will live to see another year, thanks to you.” Merlin stiffens, surprised by the compliment. The rare sliver of gratitude. He feels something swell up in his chest, an emotion he can’t quite explain. His eyes sting a bit. It’s been ages since Arthur’s said anything remotely kind to him. 

Arthur, as always, tears him away from happy thoughts. “Now you’re looking at me oddly. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I think you just complimented me, sire,” Merlin tries to quip. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Arthur says brashly, too aggressively to be taken as a joke. And just like that, Merlin’s smile fades a bit. “What?” Arthur says, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing, I’m just being stupid.” 

“Like always, then.”

Merlin is quiet a moment, then laughs softly. But the sound is sad as it leaves him. “Yeah, like always.” 

——————————————————————————

Yule comes. Merlin gifts Arthur a statuette of a dragon, carved from wood. It’s intricate and extremely detailed, and Merlin feels immense pride when he gives Arthur the ribbon-wrapped box. It fits in the palm of Arthur’s hand. 

“You got me a gift,” Arthur says slowly, perplexed. Merlin gives him a confused look. 

“Of course,” Merlin says. “I’m your lo--” He cuts himself off. “Servant. Your friend.” Arthur looks at the box, very pensive. 

“Thank you,” he says after a beat. “I’m sorry, Yule just got away from me, I suppose.” And Merlin knows this mean that Arthur didn’t get him a gift, which he tries to brush off. 

“It’s alright, sire,” Merlin says, trying and failing to muster up a smile. “I don’t do things and expect you to do them in return.” He knows he sounds a little bitter, by the way Arthur stiffens and his eyes widen. And deep, deep downs, he knows he’s not talking about the gifts, either. “Happy holidays, sire.” 

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Arthur mourns his father’s and his mother’s death a few days later, which, coincidentally, align with Arthur’s birthday. He asks Merlin to stay after Merlin puts out the candles, drunk off the best wine the castle can offer due to the feast, sounding vulnerable and tired and very, very young. 

“Will you stay, please?” Arthur says from under piles of blankets. “Will you come here?”

And Merlin just nods, changing into his sleep tunic and pants that he keeps in Arthur’s room for nights like these, making his way over to the bed. Setting his boots on the floor and tucking in. Arthur immediately curls into his side. 

“You smell nice,” Arthur whispers, his breath tickling Merlin’s ear. His tongue slurs his words, still affected by the alcohol. 

“It’s the vanilla. I’ve been in the kitchens all day.” 

“No, you smell like you.” Merlin feels his heart clench at that. 

“You’re drunk,” Merlin says, unable to keep the affectionate fondness out of his voice. He brushes Arthur’s hair from his eyes. Arthur grunts, but holds Merlin closer. 

After a few moments, Merlin believes Arthur is asleep, but he hears Arthur murmur sleepily as he traces patterns on Merlin’s chest, “You’re so beautiful. I love you so much. I love you every single day.” 

And Merlin has trouble believing him, but he says, “I love you, too.” 

——————————————————————————

They don’t talk about it. Arthur doesn’t seem to have remembered it. Nevertheless, things don’t change, after that. 

——————————————————————————

The first day of spring comes around, and with it Merlin’s birthday. He smiles as the flowers bloom, as his magic surges out to the fields and wildflowers grow. Gaius makes him a special breakfast, gives him some new charcoal to draw with. Gwen and Morgana give him a very beautiful dagger coupled with little flowers they’d forced into his hair very early in the morning, and the knights invite him for a night at the tavern. 

Arthur doesn’t acknowledge the day of his birth at all. 

And it’s not a big deal, truly. He’d grown up with just his mother and Will, and though they made an effort to acknowledge his birthday, there was never anything spectacular. Ealdor was what it was, and he’d been grateful for whatever he had. 

But he can’t help but wonder if it’s because Arthur’s always hated birthdays, but remembers how he’s gifted Gwen some new tools for blacksmithing, and Morgana a lovely necklace.  The king had even gifted Gwaine a personal tankard, and Lancelot new gloves. 

Merlin goes into Arthur’s chambers that morning to bring Arthur’s breakfast, and doesn’t get so much as a ‘hello’. 

“Set that down on the table,” Arthur says, glued to his desk once more. His eyes flick up to Merlin very briefly, and sees the little flowers in his hair. “What are those flowers for?” 

“Gwen and Morgana gave them to me for--” 

Arthur scoffs, rolling his eyes a bit. “Don’t be such a girl. Take them out before training today.” 

“Arthur,” Merlin starts, feeling riled and annoyed and hurt. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

Merlin glares at him, but deflates. There isn’t anger left anymore, just disappointment. Sorrow.  “Why are you so mean to me, Arthur?” 

Arthur snaps his head up. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying to understand what’s going on, with your slow acceptance of the magic, and... the kisses, but I can’t. I can’t do this anymore,” Merlin says very softly. He longs to say, You’re breaking my heart, but holds his tongue. “It’s like I’m nothing to you but a few snogs on the side. I can’t go on like this.” Arthur just stares at him, his mouth slightly agape. “I’m sorry, sire. I won’t be attending you for the rest of the day.” 

———————————————————————

Hours later, Merlin is ambushed by his prat of a king as he grinds herbs for one of Gaius’ sleeping draughts. He wants to get his list of chores done before he heads out to the tavern with his friends. 

“What do you want?” Merlin says haughtily. “I told you I can’t attend to you today, and I also don’t want to see you.” 

“Come with me, please,” Arthur says tentatively. He’s no longer wearing his armor, and it looks like he’d had a bath after training, wearing a simple tunic and pants. He would look common, if not for his golden hair and the way he carries himself like a king even now. “Ready a bag, something light. You don’t have to bring much.” Merlin glares at him. 

“I said I don’t want--”

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur says, near begging. “Trust me.” Skeptically, Merlin puts down the bowl, packs a light bag, and follows Arthur to the stables. They get onto their horses, and Merlin follows Arthur’s lead. 

He is brought, shockingly, to a meadow. Arthur leaps off his horse first, tethering it to a tree, and goes searching through some bushes. He brings out a blanket and a basket and sets it down. Merlin gives him a suspicious look. “Are you enchanted?”

“No.” Merlin approaches him, and Arthur removes his shoes and settles on the blanket. “Sit.” Surprisingly, Merlin does as told. “I’m sorry I’ve been horrid. I want to make it up to you.” He rifles through the basket a tad, and pulls out a lovely, deep purple robe. It looks like it costs more than Merlin’s made in the past ten years. “Happy birthday, love.” 

“You’ve definitely been enchanted.” 

“Shut up,” Arthur says, swatting Merlin’s arm. “I know I’ve been... in a mood. I’ve treated you horrendously. I was confused, and stressed, and while that is in no way an excuse for my appalling behavior, I just wanted to apologize and tell you why.” He pulls out a scroll tied with red ribbon and hands it to Merlin. Merlin undoes the bow, eyes traveling down the page. 

I, Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, hereby repeal the ban of sorcery and legalize the usage of magic. Wizards, sorcerers, warlocks, and witches will now be protected within Camelot’s borders. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes. “Oh, Arthur.”

“This is what I’ve been working on, for those months following your confession. It only got approved today.” Merlin tackles him with a hug, kissing the day light out of him, and smiles brighter than the sun. Arthur looks up at him, surrounded by wildflowers. “I love you. I’ll get better at showing it, I swear it. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

——————————————————————————

Merlin is at the tavern as the knights, Gwen, Morgana, and Arthur are gathered at a large, round table, laughing over drinks and telling stories, singing songs. The whole tavern seems to be in a good mood, many coming by to say happy birthday to Merlin on their way out or in. And Arthur, beautiful and golden, squeezes his hand every time someone tells him ‘happy birthday’. He fixes Merlin with a meaningful look. He tucks a flower behind Merlin’s ear and when a petal falls to the table in the space between them, Merlin thinks,