[Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’)
Originally posted by solstice_mods at [Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’) - derryere
[ Part I] | [ Part II] | [ Part III] | [ Part IV] | [ Part V]
[ Part VI] | [ Part VII] | [ Part VIII] | [ Part IX]
(Part X)
The only arguable benefit of Arthur’s sentence was his prohibition from training or riding or any other sort of strenuous activity, which meant that Merlin had him for almost half a day, every day, attending to his lessons and language studies. The awkwardness of that first morning had relaxed back into familiar territory once Arthur had made his reappearance later in the afternoon, and Merlin couldn’t deny that he might have been ridiculously pleased, and unafraid to show it, by Arthur’s willingness to return when things had ended so strained both that morning and the night before. Arthur showed no signs of annoyance when Merlin eventually broached the topic of his father and whether he and Arthur had been granted a chance to talk, but he did leave his answers vague and succinct enough that Merlin knew not to press too deeply for information on what had taken place behind those closed doors. Arthur’s quiet preoccupation was rattling enough on its own, and for the first few days he seemed to drift through Merlin’s rooms in a daze, content to block out most everything except for the book immediately in front of him, his mood mirrored by the necessity to move slowly and carefully from chair to bed and back again. Merlin did what he could to make Arthur comfortable, attended to his every need both spoken and unspoken, and cherished the few instances he was able to make Arthur laugh and shine through the gray cloud that hung overhead. Arthur was hardly vulnerable or weak, and Merlin would never patronize him by truly being the hovering nursemaid Arthur accused him of (and the pillows fluffed themselves on their own, it was not his fault), but he allowed himself to sit close to the Prince and bestow quiet touches to Arthur’s wrist or arm to get his attention when those proved more effective than repeating his name, and by small measures Arthur healed.
Arthur was lucky enough to only contract a mild fever when some of the lacerations became infected, but he was back on his feet within a few days and seemed better rested and more like his old self after the ordeal. No one seemed the wiser for his rapid recovery, though Merlin received several suspicious, sidelong looks from Gaius for the extra bit of healing magic he would never admit to using. Morgana and Gwen remained highly supportive of Arthur, coming to visit with well-wishes and castle gossip to keep Arthur entertained, though Merlin noticed a marked decrease of their presence in his rooms while Arthur passed his days recuperating on Merlin’s bed or sprawled across his favorite chair. Even Arthur had commented on Morgana’s unusual civility toward him, which Merlin had to admit might seem odd given her extreme reaction the last time he’d been caught consorting with a woman twice his age. But Merlin had a feeling that Morgana was probably shouldering a guilt that neither of them could understand, and that somewhere in her mind she blamed herself for failing to shield Arthur against both Uther and his own youthful follies.
In retrospect, Merlin realized that he probably should have been more adamant about Arthur spending the night in his own rooms after that near-almost-kiss-but-not-quite incident, but Arthur was very good at falling asleep where he lay without Merlin noticing until it was too late (and he suspected it was faked half the time), or talking Merlin into late lessons to study the Greek constellations and the movement of the planets when clear skies permitted. Merlin had almost considered moving in a second cot just to accommodate Arthur’s new proclivity for sleeping in his rooms, until he’d realized that would probably be viewed as encouraging rather than a deterrent, which meant that Merlin was stuck with a blanket and the hard floor, and then claiming the farthest edge of his bed when he’d developed bruises from sleeping on the ground. Around the third time Merlin woke up with his arms around Arthur, their faces too close for comfort and his morning erection heavy against his thigh, he began to wonder if going back in time again to warn himself about blond Princes that liked to cuddle was even a feasible option, or whether this was another one of those fated, doomed, inevitable things that wouldn’t change no matter what he did in the past.
After three weeks Gaius declared Arthur well enough to resume training and leave the castle grounds for regular patrols and hunting excursions. Arthur immediately organized a party and was gone for two nights in the King’s forest, and when he returned proudly bearing a four-point stag, he set out that very same afternoon for an extended patrol of the northern border that lasted almost a fortnight. Morgana and Gwen slipped back into the spaces that Arthur left open with his absence, perhaps perceiving some loneliness that Merlin wasn’t about to acknowledge aloud, even if he did find his days moving slower and with a tedium he hadn’t experienced in years. He was determined not to miss Arthur and not to be depressed, which seemed like rather juvenile emotions even if they did feel like they best described his state of mind, an ailment he blamed mostly on his bed feeling large and cold and uncomfortable now that Arthur had left, and the sleepless nights that passed because of it.
The day of Arthur’s return he pounded into Camelot’s courtyard at the head of a weary but intact battalion, skin tanned and resplendent with the good the trip had done to put color back in his face. Merlin had been coming back from a late morning walk down by the pond, skirting the edge of the courtyard on his way to the castle, and wasn’t prepared for his reaction while watching the patrol’s return. Arthur’s dismount at the castle steps had put him directly in the path of a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds and his head was thrown back in laughter, teeth flashing and hair gleaming from the sun and sweat, and Merlin felt such a sudden, overwhelming rush of joy at the sight that he failed to see the closed door directly in front of him. That shortsightedness earned him a trip straight to Gaius’ rooms, where he spent the rest of the afternoon laid up with a swollen and bloody nose, too congested to nail the pronunciation for a healing spell. Arthur eventually came looking for him, like Merlin had been afraid he would, and the Prince took one long look at him before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Arthur called him clumsy and scattered brained and a great many other things that disparaged on Merlin’s supposed intellect, but he changed Merlin’s cloth for a new one soaked in cool water and sat by his side to tell him some of the more interesting anecdotes of their patrol, his hand next to Merlin’s on the bed and the tips of his fingers a warm point of pressure where they rested atop his knuckles.
By the time a page showed up to summon Arthur to supper with his father, the Prince had finished his highly embellished tale of single-handedly wiping out a whole nest of flesh eating gophers and had moved on to the more entertaining task of puzzling out what pretty head had distracted Merlin from seeing that there was a wall in front of him earlier. It was so ridiculously close to the truth that when Arthur had suggested it Merlin had blushed and then gone surly and tight-lipped, which was all the confirmation Arthur needed to start rattling off the names of serving girls and courtiers, and then stablehands and squires and knights when the first group failed to elicit a reaction. Merlin would have thought he’d bore of the game after the first few dozen names, or when he’d begun listing people who Merlin knew for a fact had been nowhere near the courtyard at the time, but it had prompted at least a couple of chuckles out of him when Arthur had gone on to making suggestions like Big Betty, the head laundress, or Martin, the oldest boot shiner in Uther’s household, and other equally unappealing possibilities. It was only after the page had departed and Arthur had yet to stand, that he looked aside at Merlin with a half-smile that was mischievous and a little guarded, and Merlin felt one of Arthur’s fingers creep over his wrist until it was curled around the narrow bone.
"Arthur," he said finally, the last name in a long list of hitherto undesirable prospects, and his grin was almost tangible as he left Merlin blushing and spluttering denials at the door to Gaius’ rooms as it closed behind him.
The trip seemed to have done a world of good for relations between Arthur and his father, and Uther was clearly pleased that his son was spending more time attending to his duties than dallying in exploitations with members of the royal household. Merlin attended the feast held on the eve of Arthur’s return, more out of curiosity than hunger (his face was still bruised and smarting from the accident), and marveled again at the experience of sitting at the table rather than being delegated to the corner behind Arthur’s chair, wine jug at the ready. It wasn’t Merlin’s first dinner with the court in attendance, but long enough since his last that he beelined for the far end of one of the side tables to preempt any social faux pas of sitting too close to the dais that held the royal family. It gave him an excellent view of the proceedings and put him close enough to the door leading to the kitchens that he could talk to the passing servants as they came in and out. Merlin was happy to see during the dinner that Arthur, Uther, and Morgana all looked more relaxed and convivial than they had in months, and the feelings of warmth and goodwill seemed to come down off the high table and extend throughout the hall, helping the laughter to come easier and the wine to flow faster.
Merlin was still warm when he returned to his rooms that night, the wine, the walk, and the ambient temperature from the summer heat sticking to his flesh and the sweat that beaded on his brow. He was surprised, but probably shouldn’t have been, when Arthur showed up well after sundown and when most of the torches in the halls would be getting put out for the night. The Prince’s eyes were glassy from the wine he’d consumed, not drunk but loose limbed and quick to smile when he sauntered into Merlin’s room and half-fell into his chair, legs akimbo and shirt open at the throat and boots traded in for a pair of comfortable looking slippers. Merlin reclined on his bed while they talked of the mundane and the inconsequential, from court gossip accumulated in Arthur’s absence to more of Arthur’s quirkier tales of his knights and their adventures along the northern border, and Merlin felt happier and more at home than he had in ages listening to Arthur’s voice grow deeper and slower as the candles were reduced to flickering stubs. When Arthur finally moved to depart for the night Merlin got up to see him to the door, and there was an awkward moment when they unthinkingly reached for the brass handle at the same time. They ended up laughing inanely at the blunder and standing there with two matching grins on their faces, and Merlin found himself wondering if there was something he was supposed to do, if this was just a normal goodnight like all the others even though it didn’t feel like it - it felt different but so much better and he couldn’t figure out why.
Arthur’s eyes were shining and he rocked back a little on his heels as his grin turned rueful. "I’d probably kiss you right now if you’d managed to get rid of that stupid disguise," he said brazenly. He left Merlin standing dumbstruck by the door with a smug look and a jaunty gait to his steps, and Merlin’s face didn’t come down off its blush until long after he’d gone to bed.
It was hard to tell himself that nothing out of the ordinary was happening when Arthur continued to fluster and blindside Merlin at the worst of times, and render him downright incoherent the rest of the time, which was embarrassing when Merlin couldn’t ever recall being so edgy even when facing down an oncoming army of Camelot’s best. Things always seemed to happen when Merlin was least expecting them: small passing remarks, a look or a brush of a hand that made his hair stand up on edge, or when he’d grown comfortable enough not to notice that he’d somehow wound up with Arthur practically in his lap while they went over a difficult bit of text together. Arthur seemed to never tire of seeing Merlin grow flushed or hurry onward to bring a topic back on track, and his telling grins seemed to only brighten each time, a gleam in his eyes that told Merlin that Arthur was enjoying the game of unsettling Merlin far more than he had any right to. The most frustrating bit was that Merlin genuinely tried to keep a level head around Arthur, but even on his own there were times when he was brought up short by the sight of Arthur walking through the courtyard or down in the training fields, tall and broad shouldered and so familiar it made something inside him ache with longing. It was a battle being waged on two fronts - the direct assault of Arthur and his new preoccupation with making Merlin’s ears turn red, and Merlin’s own battle to wrestle his wayward feelings back into their confined spaces before he made a fool of himself, or worse, acted upon them. He could only hope that time would prove to be the victor, and Arthur would tire of his amusements and Merlin could retreat back into a state of normalcy, even if that meant denying that he had ever felt temptation toward the Prince, or that he’d ever wondered what circumstances might have been like if only Arthur were a little older.
As the season wore on, late summer charged in like a beast bent on melting everyone and everything in its path. Even his cooling spells barely seemed to take the edge off, and as the humidity only worsened Merlin devoted more of his powers to keeping his books dry rather than himself. The weather prompted many trips out of doors for most of the castle staff trying to find some relief, whether to the nearby pond or to the nearby network of caves that led down to the underground river that supplied the city’s water. Feeling adventurous and possibly delirious from the heat, Merlin acquired a book from Geoffrey’s collection (and by acquired it meant borrow, and by borrow it meant temporarily stolen) that catalogued a vast number of individuals who were buried in the catacombs under Camelot’s castle, and it wasn’t difficult to get Arthur on board with the promise of cooler temperatures and dark, unexplored places. He and Arthur spent four days under the castle roaming the dusty and undisturbed tombs, which Merlin was happy to see gave Arthur a far better understanding of his family’s history than anything Uther had been willing to disclose during his life, but when the academic appeal lost out to boredom they were quick to abandon all pretenses of education run like hooligans through the labyrinth of stone sarcophagi, playing silly games of hide and seek that Arthur somehow always wound up winning unless Merlin cheated with magic. They enjoyed finding the most bizarre and puzzling casket motifs and making up stories about how this person or that individual died, scintillating stories of magical beasts and love triangles and strange accidents and black market dealings that all led to inevitable demise. Merlin’s stories usually had some nobleman turn evil or be brought to justice for his greed and misconduct, while Arthur’s tended to involve debauchery and explicitly detailed encounters between lovers, which had a habit of leaving Merlin feeling as though the heat from outside had somehow followed them down below.
As a final bit of intrigue, Merlin took Arthur to the last cavern they’d yet to explore and explained the reason for the long and sturdy looking chain that disappeared into the highest reaches of the rocky crevasse. The dragon was still unresponsive to Merlin’s attempts at goading him to come out of hiding, and though Arthur mocked Merlin for failing to produce the creature, it had been easy to see in the torchlight how pale and unsettled Arthur was at the idea of coming face to face with something that could breathe fire and swallow him whole. It was one less secret between them after Merlin finished explaining that it was the dragon who had told Merlin of his destiny to protect Arthur, though Arthur was oddly solemn after hearing that bit of information, given his usual blustering whenever it was implied that he needed help looking after himself. Merlin might have started babbling as they were leaving, feeling unnerved by Arthur’s silence, reassuring the Prince that he was an excellent warrior and perfectly capable of defeating his own enemies and that Merlin was only there to help him out with the magical kind of danger. Arthur looked progressively more likely to snap before they’d even made it halfway out of the tunnels, when they were both caught by surprise as the torch suddenly gutted and died in a strong gust of wind. There was confusion and a few stepped on toes as they stumbled around in the dark, until Arthur got a hand wrapped around Merlin’s wrist, his fingers slipping down Merlin’s palm and so they were tucked into the spaces between his fingers. They worked their way back to the surface side by side, and neither mentioned how simple it would have been to use magic to relight the torch.
With the harsh weather showing no signs of abating, Morgana and Gwen assigned themselves to a new project of locating a spell that would give them a respite from the heat, rather than join the rest of the castle in their quest to find the coolest shadow to pass the rest of the summer under. Merlin was happy to help the girls when he wasn’t catering to Arthur’s demands for attention, and their research resulted in several interesting experiments involving reflective window shades, stones charmed to stay cool to the touch, self-propelling fans and buckets of water turned to ice, and one memorable time, a localized blizzard that forced Merlin to stay overnight in Gaius’ rooms while the ice melted off the inside of the tower. Despite the successive failures of the spells to make any sort of lasting improvement to their daily lives, it did have the advantage of helping the time pass more swiftly, and before anyone realized it the start of harvest season was upon them, and Merlin quietly gave thanks to another year passing since his arrival into the past.
The onset of the prime hunting season always seemed to drive Arthur to distraction with the possibility of big game afoot, and Merlin was treated to some familiar behavior from the Prince that, in the past, had usually resulted in Merlin waking up at the crack of dawn to gather Arthur’s crossbow and gear and saddle up their horses for the long day ahead. This time around Merlin got to watch Arthur order about other pages and squires with the same laundry list of instructions at least twice a week, which should not have been as enjoyable as it was to watch the boys scramble and cower under Arthur’s impatience to be out of Camelot. Merlin still couldn’t understand the obsession that Arthur seemed to have for the sport of it, but being on the outside for once rather than on the receiving end of Arthur’s ire seemed to give him the perspective to see how truly excited Arthur was under the prickly exterior of impatience and condescension. When Arthur wasn’t barking orders in the courtyard loud enough to be heard up to Merlin’s window, he was cornering Merlin to regale him with tales of his latest hunt that painted his demeanor in a whole new light. Merlin had to wonder if perhaps every time Arthur had dragged Merlin along it hadn’t been to make Merlin’s life miserable, but was his way of trying to make Merlin as enthusiastic about hunting as he was - which was so ignobly sweet that Merlin was torn between wanting to hug Arthur and strangle him for making him wait seven years to figure out something so idiotically in character for the Prince.
Uther grew increasingly fond of throwing a feast at least once a week, most of them conducted out of doors to take advantage of the late summer evenings when people were finally emerging from wherever they’d hidden to avoid the sunlight and the stifling heat. Merlin rather enjoyed the more casual setting, the white pavilions erected on the fields and the open fire pits between them, the strands of lights strung through their eves and the fine feather pillows and soft couches left out for anyone to use. The whole setting felt almost magical while they dined and laughed and sat in twilight under the canopy of emerging stars, the smells of the grass and the earth and the cooking fires weaving a heady combination of contentment and good-will among all those present. He and Gaius usually found a settee to claim together for the evening that placed them within earshot of the royal tent, and there was always a impish gleam in Arthur’s eye when he predictably called Merlin over to ask for his expertise to settle a debate between he and his knights, or when Morgana refused to be swayed in a discussion without Merlin’s input first. More often than not, Merlin found himself spending the latter half of the evening embroiled in some pointless discussion with a nobleman he didn’t even know the name of, and he had a feeling that Arthur only instigated these debates for his personal amusement. But there was something warming about being the person Arthur repeatedly turned to for advice or information, and Merlin knew that his protests weren’t half as genuine as he made them out to be when he griped about how often Arthur pulled him away from enjoying the rest of the festivities. And maybe Arthur knew it, too, because he never did anything but grin and shove another cup of wine into Merlin’s hand, fingers brushing indecently in the semi-gloom of the lantern light, and Merlin always inevitably forgot what he’d been complaining about in the first place.
When the last of the harvests were brought in Camelot celebrated Arthur’s sixteenth birthday as though it were a holiday, and there were more street fairs and festivities going on in the lower town than inside the castle, which still had its share of lavish parties and tournaments to squeeze in during the single day. Merlin would have thought Arthur might be embarrassed with all of the attention and extravagant efforts Uther had gone to in order to properly recognize his son’s coming of age, but Arthur only seemed to soak in the well wishes and take the revelry in stride. There was a tournament held in the competition arena like they had done every year but the one prior, and Arthur astounded everyone by winning undefeated for the first time, which seemed to send the entire mass of spectators into a cheering frenzy that could probably be heard all the way to Camelot’s borders. This time Merlin conceded to letting Arthur use Archimedes for the falconry part of the competitions, though by now the owl and the Prince were well enough acquainted that Merlin’s permission was a formality at best. Arthur won, of course, as Archimedes was brilliant and the smartest of the bunch of raptors and hawks, and Merlin knew with certain doom that the bird would be insufferably smug for days after. It was a high-energy day of excitement that lasted long into the night, and Camelot’s court was visited by singing bards and fire breathing acrobats and exotic dancers that delighted and thrilled the entire hall during Arthur’s birthday feast. Merlin might have gotten a little misty-eyed at one point, but he would always swear later that it had been the wine messing with his head, and not the sight of Arthur standing tall and strong and healthy at the head table, bowing his head and thanking everyone for their gifts and their love. Camelot loved her Prince ardently, and that night Merlin felt the depth of that love along with everyone else, bright and strong and timeless without end.
*~*~*
Things might have continued on as they had for much of the summer, a slow broil of heat and words and glances and touches, had it not been for the rapid change in weather as fall approached that struck with sudden, deadly intent over Camelot; a black sky of clouds that covered the horizon over the course of a single afternoon and released a deluge that showed no signs of abating even days later. It was nothing compared to the summer storms Merlin had witnessed his first year, and by the second day Arthur and his knights had already left the castle to ride out to the surrounding hamlets and help the villagers move to higher ground. The valley that Camelot’s main centre occupied had never occurred to Merlin as being a potential threat for flooding, but with each passing hour he watched the rivers swell and the fields turn to mud, then to lakes, as the rain poured and never ceased.
Merlin didn’t relish the thought of being outdoors in the weather but he did what he could, helping Gaius to move the infirm and the elderly to dryer accommodations, providing dry firewood for the families in the lower town, and fixing leaks in the castle roof whenever he could take the risk without being caught. By day three the pond had broken its banks and spilled out across the practice fields; by day four the moat was filled to near capacity and Uther had men digging trenches on the backside of the castle to give the waters a way to run off without endangering the city below; on day five Arthur and a small group of knights returned to the castle to report on their progress and the conditions of the surrounding farmland, and Merlin might have been guilty of hovering in a corner of the hall while Arthur gave his report just to catch a glimpse of the Prince and reassure himself that he was safe and whole.
Merlin didn’t expect to see Arthur before he rode out again, and he tried to tell himself that the brief few minutes he’d stood in the room with him were enough to be satisfied with until this storm passed, even if the hollow conviction did little to relieve his sense of lonesomeness. He had retreated to Gaius’ chambers to help tend to the sick they’d brought to the castle and was in the middle of replacing sweat soaked towels for clean ones when the physicians’ door flew open, revealing a wet and bedraggled Arthur on the opposite side, his face so open and anxious that Merlin immediately darted away from the cot he’d been crouched by to reach Arthur’s side.
"Sire? What is it?" he asked, reaching out to clasp Arthur by the arm. Arthur was out of his armor and only wearing a tunic and a red jacket that looked almost black where the rain had soaked it through, and Merlin felt him briefly lean into the touch.
"Merlin," he said, sounding strangely out of breath. "They said you were here, I thought…"
Merlin found himself smiling. "The tales of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, sire. I’ve been helping Gaius tend to the sick and the wounded. We’re near to capacity here." He waved a hand back at the room, where half a dozen pallets had been arranged, most of the occupants asleep but some of them watching the door with open curiosity at the sight of the Prince appearing so suddenly. Merlin noticed and moved to better shield Arthur from their inquisitive stares, which got Arthur’s attention redirected back to him. "Did you need me for something? Perhaps we should go elsewhere."
"Yes. Yes, that would be best," Arthur agreed, nodding. "Will they be alright?"
"Gaius should be back shortly," Merlin said as he steered them out into the hall and closed the door behind them. He still hand a hand on Arthur’s arm and dropped it with a guilty smile. "It’s good to see you again, sire. I was sure you’d be leaving again to help with the evacuations."
"My father’s asked me to take a night’s rest before we venture out again," Arthur explained as they walked through the hallway. He looked torn between being grateful for the reprieve and impatient to be out helping his people. "We’ll leave at dawn tomorrow morning."
"Little chance of seeing that, these days," Merlin remarked as they came to the exit on that side of the castle. Beyond the open doorway the rain was coming down hard on the cobblestone courtyard, running off the overhangs and balconies in miniature waterfalls, and every stone waterspout along the walls seemed overwhelmed by the amount of water being funneled through their pipes from the roofs above. Arthur had most likely come from that direction earlier, and Merlin brushed a hand across his closest shoulder, feeling the soaked fabric chill his fingers. "You really shouldn’t be outside so much, sire."
Arthur turned his head to give him a small grin, drops of water from his hair still leaving rivulets across his cheekbones and lips. "But that’s why I have you, Merlin. To warm me up later."
It probably wasn’t meant to make Merlin’s insides squirm, but Arthur had a way of looking at him lately that made him wish he was better prepared for these moments, like right now when Arthur’s grin was only getting wider as he stepped backwards out of the entrance and into the downpour.
"Come on, Merlin!" he shouted, and Merlin had no choice but to follow as they ran, laughing, to the set of stairs and the door on the opposite side of the yard. They were both soaked by the time they made it inside, and Merlin immediately regretted that they had to walk half a castle a climb several flights of stairs before they got to his rooms and he could use magic to dry them off.
"That was a stupid idea," Merlin groused as he hugged his arms to himself, water dripping off his hair and robes and leaving a long trail of puddles on the floor behind them as they walked.
Arthur seemed mostly unaffected by the discomfort of being laden down with even more rainwater, and walked just slightly ahead of Merlin to lead the way toward the northwest tower. "Sometimes, Merlin, I think you let the idea of being a forty year old man get to your head. You’re not really supposed to be crotchety and bitter."
"I’m not bitter, I’m wet," Merlin said, and shook his sleeves to rid them of the excess water. "I enjoy being dry as much as the next sane person. Which you, sire, are clearly not."
They were mounting the first set of stairs and Arthur craned his head back to meet Merlin’s teasing smile with his own grin. "Come now. I think the teacher’s more to blame of his pupil comes out displaying abnormalities. You’re belittling your own efforts, here."
"Not if they were there to begin with," Merlin quipped, and he grinned when that got him a backhanded slap against his arm.
They passed a servant carrying a full basket of laundry on the landing and two of Uther’s council members a little farther down the hallway, which meant that the rest of their journey took place mostly in silence until they reached the last set of stairs leading up to Merlin’s tower. Arthur headed in first, since he was still somehow able to open Merlin’s door without Merlin needing to use magic, and the candles around the room came to life as they stepped over the threshold, bathing the room in a warm glow that felt welcoming and warm against their soaked clothing. All of the windows in the room were closed except for one, and Archimedes hooted softly in greeting from his post, feathers ruffling happily. A few of the cups and saucers by the stove rattled hopefully in expectation of tea, and Merlin thought he heard Arthur breathe out a sigh of relief as he came to stand in the center of the room.
"Careful, sire, one might think you actually missed this place," Merlin teased as he shut the door and relocked it.
Arthur barked out a short laugh. "Oh shut up, and come over here to dry me off."
Arthur lifted his arms out to the side, leaving himself open as Merlin approached and placed one hand on each of his shoulders. He couldn’t help squeezing briefly, smiling at the display of trust being offered up so freely, even if it was only a means to an end of Arthur getting drier faster. "Drygest."
Merlin could feel the magic flow through his body and out through his fingertips where they made contact against the material of Arthur’s jacket, and the color quickly changed from almost-black to red in a kind of bleeding effect that moved down the length of him and dried everything in its path. Tendrils of steam lifted into the air, growing thicker by the moment and drying Arthur’s hair from brown back to blond, and Merlin’s own clothes were quickly given the same treatment as he felt his hair and skin dry beneath the material. Arthur was looking down in amusement to watch the effect as their clothes were completely dried from the top down, until all that was left were the puddles under their booted feet. Arthur looked up, which had them nearly eye-level these days, and clasped Merlin’s forearms with a smile.
"I’ll never get tired of seeing that. You could make a fortune in this kind of weather."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Of course. I’ll just stand by the door and dry off every visitor that comes in, shall I? Oh, hello Uther, would you like your doublet dried by magic today?"
Arthur tipped his head back and laughed, and Merlin chuckled with him. "I suppose I’ll have to have you all for myself then," Arthur granted, though by his smirk he hardly looked bothered by the idea.
Merlin felt another one of those familiar flutters tickle his stomach, like he’d had the misfortune of swallowing a particularly energetic bird. He attempted to remove his hands but Arthur’s fingers dug in and continued to hold fast to his arms, which startled Merlin to stilling and meeting the gaze being directed up at him; Arthur eyes were clear and he was watching him speculatively.
"Aren’t you forgetting something?" Arthur asked, nodding toward Merlin’s neck.
It took a moment before Merlin realized what was being asked of him, and he nearly snorted aloud at Arthur’s unusual preoccupation with seeing him sans disguise when they were alone. It would be odd if Merlin didn’t also find it somewhat charming, to be asked for his true face, as if Arthur wished all barriers between them to be stripped away whenever possible. It was a feeling Merlin could understand.
"Onwréon," he said softly, unable to help feeling pleasure at the way Arthur’s eyes widened and drank in the sight as the disguise fell away. It was something so commonplace between them now that Merlin sometimes wondered why he had ever kept this gift a secret, when together they shared the same wonder for magic and all its raw, beautiful forms.
"Good," Arthur said, and Merlin felt the grip on his arms tighten. "And now you’re going to kiss me."
"I’m what?" Merlin protested, confused. It didn’t matter that his heart rate had kicked up all on its own; Arthur couldn’t be serious. "You’re not serious."
Arthur slanted a look at Merlin like he was thick in the head. "We haven’t seen each other in five days, we’re completely alone, and I know you want to. Yes, I’m completely serious."
"But," Merlin began, attempting to withdraw his hands again. Arthur didn’t let him go and took a step closer so they were standing toe-to-toe, his face tipped back slightly. Merlin felt another blush building uncontrollably, and knew that his ears were probably already turning red. He whined in the back of his throat and attempted to push Arthur back, which was like trying to move a boulder but at least worth making the effort once. "Arthur…"
"Consider it a royal decree if you have to," Arthur said, his voice mockingly stern even though his eyes revealed how amused he was by Merlin’s efforts to get free. "I won’t let you go until you do."
"You’re crazy, sire," Merlin growled. He frowned and made another attempt to pull his hands free, which only managed to pull Arthur closer so their chests were nearly pressed together. Arthur’s grin had turned positively devilish, and Merlin had gone from feeling flustered to angry and embarrassed, because regardless that what Arthur had said was true, it didn’t make it right for him to tease Merlin about it.
"Líese," Merlin hissed, and he and Arthur fell apart with a loud clap of magic between them.
Arthur stumbled back and looked at Merlin in shock. "What was that!"
"That was me refusing to cater to your amusement," Merlin snapped, and he backed up to put another measure of distance between them. "I don’t appreciate being toyed with, Arthur."
For a moment Arthur looked genuinely confused, eyes blinking and lips slightly parted, but it quickly shifted to the annoyance that Merlin had been expecting to see there from the beginning. Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. "Damn that Morgana! That’s the last time I listen to a girl," he swore to himself.
"Morgana?" Merlin repeated in confusion. "What does she have to do with it?"
"Nothing," Arthur denied, too quickly, but there was a hard look of determination in his eyes that made Merlin tempted to take another step back. "But I think we’ve just proved that her theories are entirely wrong."
"What are you-" Merlin began, but was cut off as Arthur advanced on him again. He had no time to think or move before Arthur had both hands on his face, skin shockingly cold and clammy from the outside air, and he was hauled in for a kiss.
It was hard and uncoordinated and reminded Merlin too much of that unexpected kiss in the tent, and this time again he found himself held immobile as Arthur’s mouth pressed against his roughly. But where the other kiss had ended on a bite and a quick parting, this one gradually softened and calmed of its own accord, as if Arthur were aware that his aggressiveness was doing nothing except forcing Merlin to be an unwilling participant again. Arthur’s lips moved slower and his fingers loosened their tight hold on his face until Merlin tentatively responded, his jaw unclenching as he brushed against the lips pressed over his mouth. He took Arthur’s bottom lip between his and tipped his head to better the angle, and his hands had come up of their own accord to rest on Arthur’s shoulders, feeling the play of muscle under the fabric as Arthur’s fingers flexed against his face and wove into his hair. The kiss turned damp and warm and slow, as if Arthur’s earlier aggression had leeched away in those first few, heady seconds, and he seemed happy to cater to Merlin’s whims as he nipped his mouth and sucked on his lips, breath warm and skin flushed.
When they eventually withdrew, Arthur’s face was pink and he was grinning like a lunatic. Merlin had a feeling his expression was still stuck on the surprised end of things. "What-"
"That was us proving Morgana wrong," Arthur said smugly. "God you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that."
"What exactly did Morgana say?" Merlin asked, still trying to process past the fact that he’d just shared a pretty fantastic kiss with Arthur, even if it had caught him completely off guard. Again.
Arthur smile faded, though his hands remained positioned on either side of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin realized that he’d yet to let go of Arthur either. Merlin seemed to enjoy having him so close, which wasn’t all that surprising but not exactly something he’d been look to admit to himself or put into practice. But then again, nothing about this evening so far had gone to plan or turned out any way that he could have expected.
"She said all I had to do was wait for you," Arthur said cryptically, and his frown deepened. "I saw the way you always looked at me, and touched me, and I knew you wanted me, too. I got so desperate I actually went to that crazy harpy for advice, and she told me you’d come around eventually. But I am not patient, and you have been driving me crazy, Merlin. How could you think I was teasing you?"
Merlin looked down at the floor, embarrassed for all new reasons with Arthur’s confession hanging so fresh and open between them. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I got so used to it I just thought… it seemed like a game to you."
"You really are an idiot," Arthur grumbled. He tugged on Merlin’s face so that they were facing each other again, noses a short distance apart. "I haven’t wanted anyone but you for so long I can’t remember when I didn’t. You must’ve known that!"
"I didn’t want to hope," Merlin admitted, and he smiled sadly at Arthur’s incredulous look. "I’m so old and you’re so young…"
"I’m old enough to know what I want," Arthur corrected, his blue eyes fierce as they searched Merlin’s face. "And I’m tired of waiting. I want you."
Merlin’s heart did an odd flip in his chest, leaving him feeling strangely out of breath. "Yes," he breathed, and they were kissing again before he’d even realized they’d moved together.
It was again unexpectedly aggressive, the way their mouths met like they’d waited years for this moment, which in Merlin’s case might be entirely true, and Arthur was a man bent on claiming what he wanted as he latched onto Merlin’s lips and fisted both hands in the hair at the back of his head. But this time Merlin felt the urgency in Arthur’s mouth the same way in his own, and he didn’t hesitate to pull on Arthur’s shoulders and drag them closer together, their chests colliding and hips grinding, and someone might have groaned at the contact but Merlin would never admit to it being him. Arthur was licking at the seam of his lips and Merlin got the right idea to open his mouth, and then it was even better, wet heat and the taste of Arthur like the rain outside, tongues slipping in and out and spit going everywhere and Merlin was so mad at himself for not giving into this sooner even if it did feel like the wait might have made it entirely worth it.
Arthur was also surprisingly pushy and impatient, and Merlin felt himself being pulled and shoved backwards across the room, their mouths never separating as they kissed and nipped and rolled around each other’s tongues, until he felt his back collide with the edge of the table and some of the books were knocked off onto the floor. Merlin put a hand back to brace himself as Arthur pushed in, forcing Merlin’s legs to fall open so he could stand between them. This time Merlin did groan as their groins rubbed together, and he felt a full body shiver run through Arthur, the fingers in his hair clenching almost to the point of pain that somehow only managed to turn Merlin on even more. Merlin pushed back into the touch and wrapped his lips around Arthur’s tongue, sucking on the wet muscle and enjoying the tiny whimper this drew from him before he retaliated and did the same to Merlin, though with much more finesse and with a obscene lick to the underside that left Merlin’s head spinning. The taste of Arthur was growing more addicting by the minute, and Merlin was so turned on he thought his heart might explode.
Their kissing grew sloppier and wetter without any skill or direction, and Merlin could feel Arthur’s hips were starting to twist in involuntary little circles in his quest to seek out friction, the weight of his cock a heat that he could feel distinctly through the layers of their breeches. Merlin’s hand moved from Arthur’s shoulder down his back to palm the round curve of his ass, and Arthur broke off the kiss with a choked moan at the touch, thrusting into the cradle of Merlin’s legs on either side of him. His lips were red and kiss swollen, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, and the sight of it made his own cock swell to full hardness with how badly he wanted Arthur in that moment.
"Merlin," Arthur panted, his lips hovering and ghosting over Merlin’s mouth as if he couldn’t help himself being drawn back in to kiss him again and again. Arthur’s tiny thrusts were growing more impatient and Merlin could feel the top of Arthur’s thigh pressing firmly into his own erection with each movement. It was making it extremely hard to think with Arthur humping against him and making little sounds like the back of his throat, even though Merlin didn’t see much point for it when it was pretty clear where this was heading. Arthur sounded like he might die or gut Merlin right there if he didn’t let him get off, and Merlin could hardly think of any reason to deny him that when he’d been waiting so long for Merlin to get a clue.
Merlin had to brace himself on the table as he tugged Arthur in closer by the hand on his ass, giving him permission to take what he needed, and Arthur groaned as he mouthed kisses along Merlin’s jaw and neck, hot breath panting into his collar and making the sweat bead on Merlin’s temple. "It’s okay," he said, kissing Arthur’s forehead and the place where the line of his hair began, using his hand to guide Arthur’s thrusting as he ground himself against Merlin and fisted his hands in the collar of his shirt. "Do it, Arthur, god I want to see you…"
Arthur’s head came back up and he kissed Merlin hard, breathing noisily through his nose as he panted and gasped for breath, hips swiveling and jerking with enough strength that he nearly Merlin up onto the table. Merlin felt around until he found the edge of Arthur’s breeches and shoved his hand down the back of them, coming into contact with naked flesh and sweat soaked skin, and Arthur let out a startled moan as Merlin cupped his ass. He let his fingers slip down further, just teasing the edge of the cleft between his cheeks, but it seemed to be enough and Arthur let out a final shudder, his hips grinding in short, hard thrusts as he gasped into Merlin’s mouth and let Merlin swallow his moan as he came.
It took a moment for Merlin to feel the damp through the front of his pants, and he couldn’t help smiling against the lips still softly pressed against his mouth, feeling how Arthur’s kissing had turned lazy and sated after his orgasm. His cock was still a thick, insistent pressure against his thigh, but one he could ignore for the moment in favor of helping Arthur climb down off his high. He used both hands to brush the damp hair off Arthur’s face and pull their lips apart, allowing himself to drink in the dazed look in Arthur’s eyes and the deep flush in his cheeks. He couldn’t help kissing Arthur again, just once, though Arthur responded with more enthusiasm that Merlin would have expected, and he chuckled into their mouths.
"You are insatiable," Merlin whispered, pulling Arthur’s head back once more. Arthur’s lips went from a grin to a half-smirk, and he turned his face to nip at the underside of Merlin’s wrist with his teeth. Merlin shivered at the touch and flushed when he realized that Arthur knew him well enough to notice it when he did.
"Only for you," Arthur said, sounding close to purring. His hands slid from Merlin’s shoulders down his torso, leaving a tail a fire on their path, and Merlin couldn’t help arching into the touch, his hands dropping to the table behind him to grip the edge. One of his arms went around Merlin’s waist and the other continued on toward his groin, and when his fingers skimmed over the outline of his cock Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, his head bent to watch as Arthur rubbed his knuckles almost idly against the ridge.
Merlin swallowed and had to fight the urge to thrust up into the light touch. "Arthur, you don’t…" he began, but the words were bitten off as Arthur turned his wrist to cup the bulge and squeeze Merlin’s cock through the fabric.
"Oh but I really, really do," Arthur said, sounding horribly smug with the reactions he was wringing out of Merlin. He planted a wet kiss against Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin turned blindly into the touch, their lips meeting and breathing together for a moment as Arthur continued to squeeze and drag his hand over Merlin’s erection. Merlin couldn’t help the small moan that escaped him, his hips twitching up involuntarily, and he felt Arthur smile against his mouth before he kissed him hard, tongue pushing through Merlin’s lips.
They kissed wildly for a moment, Merlin rocking up into Arthur’s touch, feeling heady and breathless and like he might actually come just from being rubbed off through his britches, but Arthur pulled his mouth and his hand away with a wicked grin that left Merlin dazed for a moment. And then Arthur was lowering himself to his knees, and Merlin’s breathing stuttered for a whole different reason as Arthur went to work on untying the laces at Merlin’s waist. Arthur was looking up even while his fingers were working, and he hadn’t stopped grinning at the wide-eyed look stuck on Merlin’s face, even though his cock was already beginning to twitch in anticipation.
"Are you sure?" Merlin choked, watching Arthur loosen his pants and tug the top down far enough so that his cock came free. Arthur licked his lips and took hold of the base, giving Merlin one last hungry look that somehow, impossibly, made Merlin grow even harder.
"Absolutely sure," Arthur said, almost growling. He leaned in and licked the head of Merlin’s cock, slowly tasting around the slit and tonguing under the soft tip, and Merlin’s head fell back with a groan, fingers digging hard into the rough edge of the table under him.
Arthur didn’t take his time getting Merlin wet and slicked up with his spit, and Merlin didn’t want to think about how many times Arthur might have done this before or had it done to him, even if it meant that Arthur was much, much better at this than Merlin would have expected. Arthur didn’t hesitate to lick down his cock and drag his tongue over Merlin’s balls, which drew a whole new set of sounds from Merlin’s throat and made his vision white out for a second when Arthur took one of them into his mouth, tonguing and sucking on the skin before releasing it with an obscene pop. He mouthed his way back up Merlin’s cock and took the head between his lips again, and this time the hand holding his shaft began to slowly squeeze and move up and down the length, stopping just under Arthur’s mouth and where his tongue was pressing and swirling tightly over the tip.
Merlin didn’t think he would last very long, not having watched Arthur come once already and now with the sight of Arthur on his knees in front of him, his pants dark and stained between his splayed thighs, blond head bent over his cock and getting him off with a pressure that was perfect and sweet and like nothing Merlin had ever felt before. Merlin’s chest was heaving and he was fighting not to rock into the touch of Arthur’s hand, but Arthur seemed to understand and picked up his pace, moving his mouth off to lick down Merlin’s cock to make it even wetter for his hand, and he kept up the tight strokes that came almost to the head. Arthur’s thumb pressed just under the tip before he replaced it with his mouth again, sucking and lapping at the precome leaking there, and Merlin’s thighs shook hard as they lost the strength to hold him up.
He came with a loud groan, panting hard and his head thrown back, hands white-knuckled where they were holding him up at the edge of the table as he felt Arthur’s hand stroke him through each hot, spine tingling wave of his orgasm. When his vision stopped swimming he chanced looking down at Arthur, who still had him in hand, his fingers coated with the evidence of Merlin’s release. When Arthur saw him watching his grin grew anew, and he leaned in to carefully lick away the sticky white fluid from his hand and the skin of Merlin’s softening cock, which still managed a few feeble twitches of involuntary arousal as Arthur cleaned him with surprising thoroughness. It was probably the hottest thing Merlin had ever seen in his life.
Arthur tucked Merlin away and retied his laces before he pushed himself to his feet, and Merlin grabbed him by the arms to haul him up, their bodies colliding as Merlin pressed a sloppy, grateful kiss to Arthur’s swollen lips. He could taste the bitterness in Arthur’s mouth of his own come but he didn’t care, just kissed him until he ran out of breath and then wrapped his arms around Arthur to hug him.
"That was amazing, you were amazing," Merlin said breathlessly, speaking into the curve of Arthur’s neck.
He felt Arthur’s arms slip around him in turn and the touch of his lips on his throat, which turned into a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses that managed to make Merlin shiver even though he’d just had one of the best orgasms of his life. And that’s when he felt Arthur’s cock against his thigh, hard and straining against the material, and Arthur let out a deep laugh as he nipped the underside of Merlin’s chin.
"Think you can keep up for another round, old man?" he growled, twisting his hips against Merlin’s sensitized cock.
Merlin let out a small groan of misery, but it was mostly for show as he let his hands creep down Arthur’s back to search for the edge of his breeches. "You’re going to be the death of me," he said, but they were both laughing as Arthur kissed him again.
This time, at least, they managed to make it to the bed.
*~*~*
Merlin wasn’t of the opinion that things changed all that much between he and Arthur, though there was by far a lot more kissing and groping and other things going on of an indecent nature than there had been before, but their day to day lives continued on like they always did. There were always Arthur’s lessons to see to, and Merlin took the time to visit Gaius and help him out with his errands when he could, and Arthur still drilled with the knights and went out on patrol at least once a month. Fall gave way to winter and Merlin and Arthur came to appreciate the benefit of a shared bed on the coldest nights, and how enjoyable it was to wake up to a hand or a mouth moving slowly over a morning erection, or how convenient Merlin’s magic it made it for them to clean up and get dressed before Morgana and Gwen showed up at the tower. Merlin was content and happy and probably a little bit in love, but that was okay, because he was pretty sure that Arthur was too.
The best times were the late nights they stayed up together in bed, with soft touches and tender kisses and fingers exploring new places with the knowledge that they had all the time in the world ahead of them. Arthur was desperately invested in learning every square inch of Merlin’s naked body, and he would perch himself above Merlin, their naked bodies sliding together, cocks lined up but in no hurry to go anywhere, and trace his fingers over the accumulation of scars and marks and battle wounds that Merlin never talked about with anyone else.
"What’s this one from?" Arthur asked, palm sweeping over the large knot of burn scars on his chest.
Merlin looked at it a moment before he answered, taking his time like he always did, but never telling anything less than the truth. "That’s from the time I tried to give up my life to save you. The witch I bargained with tricked me though, so I killed her. But she got me with a fireball first."
"And this one?" Arthur asked, fingering the line of scar tissue running over Merlin’s collarbone, just scant inches away from his throat.
"That’s from the time you tried to kill me," Merlin answered quietly.
Arthur bent his head and pressed a kiss to each spot, first over Merlin’s heart and then his shoulder, healing the memory of each one with the touch of his lips. "It will never happen," he said, full of so much conviction that Merlin believed him. He believed him with his whole heart.
*~*~*
Glossary
Onwréon - to expose/reveal
Fabricando fit faber - practice makes perfect
Biddan lácne byre - I beseech, heal this boy.
Swefe - to send to sleep
Bespyrige Arthur Pendragon - Track Arthur Pendragon
Swilte - to send to (a violent) death
Forthræse stefnas of beneodhan ond wricen menn oth helle - Rise up roots from beneath and deliver these men to Hell
Wætere - Merlin uses the term for leading cows to water, shame on him.
Biddan ástelle me on Camelot! - I beseech, fly me to Camelot!
Hámsidhe - Go home
Biddan ástelle büfan campstede! - I beseech, fly above the battlefield!; Merlin meant to say bïrihte campstede - near the battlefield.
Drygest - to become dry/to dry as if by heat
Líese - to loosen/release/liberate
[ Part I] | [ Part II] | [ Part III] | [ Part IV] | [ Part V]
[ Part VI] | [ Part VII] | [ Part VIII] | [ Part IX]
(Part X)
The only arguable benefit of Arthur’s sentence was his prohibition from training or riding or any other sort of strenuous activity, which meant that Merlin had him for almost half a day, every day, attending to his lessons and language studies. The awkwardness of that first morning had relaxed back into familiar territory once Arthur had made his reappearance later in the afternoon, and Merlin couldn’t deny that he might have been ridiculously pleased, and unafraid to show it, by Arthur’s willingness to return when things had ended so strained both that morning and the night before. Arthur showed no signs of annoyance when Merlin eventually broached the topic of his father and whether he and Arthur had been granted a chance to talk, but he did leave his answers vague and succinct enough that Merlin knew not to press too deeply for information on what had taken place behind those closed doors. Arthur’s quiet preoccupation was rattling enough on its own, and for the first few days he seemed to drift through Merlin’s rooms in a daze, content to block out most everything except for the book immediately in front of him, his mood mirrored by the necessity to move slowly and carefully from chair to bed and back again. Merlin did what he could to make Arthur comfortable, attended to his every need both spoken and unspoken, and cherished the few instances he was able to make Arthur laugh and shine through the gray cloud that hung overhead. Arthur was hardly vulnerable or weak, and Merlin would never patronize him by truly being the hovering nursemaid Arthur accused him of (and the pillows fluffed themselves on their own, it was not his fault), but he allowed himself to sit close to the Prince and bestow quiet touches to Arthur’s wrist or arm to get his attention when those proved more effective than repeating his name, and by small measures Arthur healed.
Arthur was lucky enough to only contract a mild fever when some of the lacerations became infected, but he was back on his feet within a few days and seemed better rested and more like his old self after the ordeal. No one seemed the wiser for his rapid recovery, though Merlin received several suspicious, sidelong looks from Gaius for the extra bit of healing magic he would never admit to using. Morgana and Gwen remained highly supportive of Arthur, coming to visit with well-wishes and castle gossip to keep Arthur entertained, though Merlin noticed a marked decrease of their presence in his rooms while Arthur passed his days recuperating on Merlin’s bed or sprawled across his favorite chair. Even Arthur had commented on Morgana’s unusual civility toward him, which Merlin had to admit might seem odd given her extreme reaction the last time he’d been caught consorting with a woman twice his age. But Merlin had a feeling that Morgana was probably shouldering a guilt that neither of them could understand, and that somewhere in her mind she blamed herself for failing to shield Arthur against both Uther and his own youthful follies.
In retrospect, Merlin realized that he probably should have been more adamant about Arthur spending the night in his own rooms after that near-almost-kiss-but-not-quite incident, but Arthur was very good at falling asleep where he lay without Merlin noticing until it was too late (and he suspected it was faked half the time), or talking Merlin into late lessons to study the Greek constellations and the movement of the planets when clear skies permitted. Merlin had almost considered moving in a second cot just to accommodate Arthur’s new proclivity for sleeping in his rooms, until he’d realized that would probably be viewed as encouraging rather than a deterrent, which meant that Merlin was stuck with a blanket and the hard floor, and then claiming the farthest edge of his bed when he’d developed bruises from sleeping on the ground. Around the third time Merlin woke up with his arms around Arthur, their faces too close for comfort and his morning erection heavy against his thigh, he began to wonder if going back in time again to warn himself about blond Princes that liked to cuddle was even a feasible option, or whether this was another one of those fated, doomed, inevitable things that wouldn’t change no matter what he did in the past.
After three weeks Gaius declared Arthur well enough to resume training and leave the castle grounds for regular patrols and hunting excursions. Arthur immediately organized a party and was gone for two nights in the King’s forest, and when he returned proudly bearing a four-point stag, he set out that very same afternoon for an extended patrol of the northern border that lasted almost a fortnight. Morgana and Gwen slipped back into the spaces that Arthur left open with his absence, perhaps perceiving some loneliness that Merlin wasn’t about to acknowledge aloud, even if he did find his days moving slower and with a tedium he hadn’t experienced in years. He was determined not to miss Arthur and not to be depressed, which seemed like rather juvenile emotions even if they did feel like they best described his state of mind, an ailment he blamed mostly on his bed feeling large and cold and uncomfortable now that Arthur had left, and the sleepless nights that passed because of it.
The day of Arthur’s return he pounded into Camelot’s courtyard at the head of a weary but intact battalion, skin tanned and resplendent with the good the trip had done to put color back in his face. Merlin had been coming back from a late morning walk down by the pond, skirting the edge of the courtyard on his way to the castle, and wasn’t prepared for his reaction while watching the patrol’s return. Arthur’s dismount at the castle steps had put him directly in the path of a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds and his head was thrown back in laughter, teeth flashing and hair gleaming from the sun and sweat, and Merlin felt such a sudden, overwhelming rush of joy at the sight that he failed to see the closed door directly in front of him. That shortsightedness earned him a trip straight to Gaius’ rooms, where he spent the rest of the afternoon laid up with a swollen and bloody nose, too congested to nail the pronunciation for a healing spell. Arthur eventually came looking for him, like Merlin had been afraid he would, and the Prince took one long look at him before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Arthur called him clumsy and scattered brained and a great many other things that disparaged on Merlin’s supposed intellect, but he changed Merlin’s cloth for a new one soaked in cool water and sat by his side to tell him some of the more interesting anecdotes of their patrol, his hand next to Merlin’s on the bed and the tips of his fingers a warm point of pressure where they rested atop his knuckles.
By the time a page showed up to summon Arthur to supper with his father, the Prince had finished his highly embellished tale of single-handedly wiping out a whole nest of flesh eating gophers and had moved on to the more entertaining task of puzzling out what pretty head had distracted Merlin from seeing that there was a wall in front of him earlier. It was so ridiculously close to the truth that when Arthur had suggested it Merlin had blushed and then gone surly and tight-lipped, which was all the confirmation Arthur needed to start rattling off the names of serving girls and courtiers, and then stablehands and squires and knights when the first group failed to elicit a reaction. Merlin would have thought he’d bore of the game after the first few dozen names, or when he’d begun listing people who Merlin knew for a fact had been nowhere near the courtyard at the time, but it had prompted at least a couple of chuckles out of him when Arthur had gone on to making suggestions like Big Betty, the head laundress, or Martin, the oldest boot shiner in Uther’s household, and other equally unappealing possibilities. It was only after the page had departed and Arthur had yet to stand, that he looked aside at Merlin with a half-smile that was mischievous and a little guarded, and Merlin felt one of Arthur’s fingers creep over his wrist until it was curled around the narrow bone.
"Arthur," he said finally, the last name in a long list of hitherto undesirable prospects, and his grin was almost tangible as he left Merlin blushing and spluttering denials at the door to Gaius’ rooms as it closed behind him.
The trip seemed to have done a world of good for relations between Arthur and his father, and Uther was clearly pleased that his son was spending more time attending to his duties than dallying in exploitations with members of the royal household. Merlin attended the feast held on the eve of Arthur’s return, more out of curiosity than hunger (his face was still bruised and smarting from the accident), and marveled again at the experience of sitting at the table rather than being delegated to the corner behind Arthur’s chair, wine jug at the ready. It wasn’t Merlin’s first dinner with the court in attendance, but long enough since his last that he beelined for the far end of one of the side tables to preempt any social faux pas of sitting too close to the dais that held the royal family. It gave him an excellent view of the proceedings and put him close enough to the door leading to the kitchens that he could talk to the passing servants as they came in and out. Merlin was happy to see during the dinner that Arthur, Uther, and Morgana all looked more relaxed and convivial than they had in months, and the feelings of warmth and goodwill seemed to come down off the high table and extend throughout the hall, helping the laughter to come easier and the wine to flow faster.
Merlin was still warm when he returned to his rooms that night, the wine, the walk, and the ambient temperature from the summer heat sticking to his flesh and the sweat that beaded on his brow. He was surprised, but probably shouldn’t have been, when Arthur showed up well after sundown and when most of the torches in the halls would be getting put out for the night. The Prince’s eyes were glassy from the wine he’d consumed, not drunk but loose limbed and quick to smile when he sauntered into Merlin’s room and half-fell into his chair, legs akimbo and shirt open at the throat and boots traded in for a pair of comfortable looking slippers. Merlin reclined on his bed while they talked of the mundane and the inconsequential, from court gossip accumulated in Arthur’s absence to more of Arthur’s quirkier tales of his knights and their adventures along the northern border, and Merlin felt happier and more at home than he had in ages listening to Arthur’s voice grow deeper and slower as the candles were reduced to flickering stubs. When Arthur finally moved to depart for the night Merlin got up to see him to the door, and there was an awkward moment when they unthinkingly reached for the brass handle at the same time. They ended up laughing inanely at the blunder and standing there with two matching grins on their faces, and Merlin found himself wondering if there was something he was supposed to do, if this was just a normal goodnight like all the others even though it didn’t feel like it - it felt different but so much better and he couldn’t figure out why.
Arthur’s eyes were shining and he rocked back a little on his heels as his grin turned rueful. "I’d probably kiss you right now if you’d managed to get rid of that stupid disguise," he said brazenly. He left Merlin standing dumbstruck by the door with a smug look and a jaunty gait to his steps, and Merlin’s face didn’t come down off its blush until long after he’d gone to bed.
It was hard to tell himself that nothing out of the ordinary was happening when Arthur continued to fluster and blindside Merlin at the worst of times, and render him downright incoherent the rest of the time, which was embarrassing when Merlin couldn’t ever recall being so edgy even when facing down an oncoming army of Camelot’s best. Things always seemed to happen when Merlin was least expecting them: small passing remarks, a look or a brush of a hand that made his hair stand up on edge, or when he’d grown comfortable enough not to notice that he’d somehow wound up with Arthur practically in his lap while they went over a difficult bit of text together. Arthur seemed to never tire of seeing Merlin grow flushed or hurry onward to bring a topic back on track, and his telling grins seemed to only brighten each time, a gleam in his eyes that told Merlin that Arthur was enjoying the game of unsettling Merlin far more than he had any right to. The most frustrating bit was that Merlin genuinely tried to keep a level head around Arthur, but even on his own there were times when he was brought up short by the sight of Arthur walking through the courtyard or down in the training fields, tall and broad shouldered and so familiar it made something inside him ache with longing. It was a battle being waged on two fronts - the direct assault of Arthur and his new preoccupation with making Merlin’s ears turn red, and Merlin’s own battle to wrestle his wayward feelings back into their confined spaces before he made a fool of himself, or worse, acted upon them. He could only hope that time would prove to be the victor, and Arthur would tire of his amusements and Merlin could retreat back into a state of normalcy, even if that meant denying that he had ever felt temptation toward the Prince, or that he’d ever wondered what circumstances might have been like if only Arthur were a little older.
As the season wore on, late summer charged in like a beast bent on melting everyone and everything in its path. Even his cooling spells barely seemed to take the edge off, and as the humidity only worsened Merlin devoted more of his powers to keeping his books dry rather than himself. The weather prompted many trips out of doors for most of the castle staff trying to find some relief, whether to the nearby pond or to the nearby network of caves that led down to the underground river that supplied the city’s water. Feeling adventurous and possibly delirious from the heat, Merlin acquired a book from Geoffrey’s collection (and by acquired it meant borrow, and by borrow it meant temporarily stolen) that catalogued a vast number of individuals who were buried in the catacombs under Camelot’s castle, and it wasn’t difficult to get Arthur on board with the promise of cooler temperatures and dark, unexplored places. He and Arthur spent four days under the castle roaming the dusty and undisturbed tombs, which Merlin was happy to see gave Arthur a far better understanding of his family’s history than anything Uther had been willing to disclose during his life, but when the academic appeal lost out to boredom they were quick to abandon all pretenses of education run like hooligans through the labyrinth of stone sarcophagi, playing silly games of hide and seek that Arthur somehow always wound up winning unless Merlin cheated with magic. They enjoyed finding the most bizarre and puzzling casket motifs and making up stories about how this person or that individual died, scintillating stories of magical beasts and love triangles and strange accidents and black market dealings that all led to inevitable demise. Merlin’s stories usually had some nobleman turn evil or be brought to justice for his greed and misconduct, while Arthur’s tended to involve debauchery and explicitly detailed encounters between lovers, which had a habit of leaving Merlin feeling as though the heat from outside had somehow followed them down below.
As a final bit of intrigue, Merlin took Arthur to the last cavern they’d yet to explore and explained the reason for the long and sturdy looking chain that disappeared into the highest reaches of the rocky crevasse. The dragon was still unresponsive to Merlin’s attempts at goading him to come out of hiding, and though Arthur mocked Merlin for failing to produce the creature, it had been easy to see in the torchlight how pale and unsettled Arthur was at the idea of coming face to face with something that could breathe fire and swallow him whole. It was one less secret between them after Merlin finished explaining that it was the dragon who had told Merlin of his destiny to protect Arthur, though Arthur was oddly solemn after hearing that bit of information, given his usual blustering whenever it was implied that he needed help looking after himself. Merlin might have started babbling as they were leaving, feeling unnerved by Arthur’s silence, reassuring the Prince that he was an excellent warrior and perfectly capable of defeating his own enemies and that Merlin was only there to help him out with the magical kind of danger. Arthur looked progressively more likely to snap before they’d even made it halfway out of the tunnels, when they were both caught by surprise as the torch suddenly gutted and died in a strong gust of wind. There was confusion and a few stepped on toes as they stumbled around in the dark, until Arthur got a hand wrapped around Merlin’s wrist, his fingers slipping down Merlin’s palm and so they were tucked into the spaces between his fingers. They worked their way back to the surface side by side, and neither mentioned how simple it would have been to use magic to relight the torch.
With the harsh weather showing no signs of abating, Morgana and Gwen assigned themselves to a new project of locating a spell that would give them a respite from the heat, rather than join the rest of the castle in their quest to find the coolest shadow to pass the rest of the summer under. Merlin was happy to help the girls when he wasn’t catering to Arthur’s demands for attention, and their research resulted in several interesting experiments involving reflective window shades, stones charmed to stay cool to the touch, self-propelling fans and buckets of water turned to ice, and one memorable time, a localized blizzard that forced Merlin to stay overnight in Gaius’ rooms while the ice melted off the inside of the tower. Despite the successive failures of the spells to make any sort of lasting improvement to their daily lives, it did have the advantage of helping the time pass more swiftly, and before anyone realized it the start of harvest season was upon them, and Merlin quietly gave thanks to another year passing since his arrival into the past.
The onset of the prime hunting season always seemed to drive Arthur to distraction with the possibility of big game afoot, and Merlin was treated to some familiar behavior from the Prince that, in the past, had usually resulted in Merlin waking up at the crack of dawn to gather Arthur’s crossbow and gear and saddle up their horses for the long day ahead. This time around Merlin got to watch Arthur order about other pages and squires with the same laundry list of instructions at least twice a week, which should not have been as enjoyable as it was to watch the boys scramble and cower under Arthur’s impatience to be out of Camelot. Merlin still couldn’t understand the obsession that Arthur seemed to have for the sport of it, but being on the outside for once rather than on the receiving end of Arthur’s ire seemed to give him the perspective to see how truly excited Arthur was under the prickly exterior of impatience and condescension. When Arthur wasn’t barking orders in the courtyard loud enough to be heard up to Merlin’s window, he was cornering Merlin to regale him with tales of his latest hunt that painted his demeanor in a whole new light. Merlin had to wonder if perhaps every time Arthur had dragged Merlin along it hadn’t been to make Merlin’s life miserable, but was his way of trying to make Merlin as enthusiastic about hunting as he was - which was so ignobly sweet that Merlin was torn between wanting to hug Arthur and strangle him for making him wait seven years to figure out something so idiotically in character for the Prince.
Uther grew increasingly fond of throwing a feast at least once a week, most of them conducted out of doors to take advantage of the late summer evenings when people were finally emerging from wherever they’d hidden to avoid the sunlight and the stifling heat. Merlin rather enjoyed the more casual setting, the white pavilions erected on the fields and the open fire pits between them, the strands of lights strung through their eves and the fine feather pillows and soft couches left out for anyone to use. The whole setting felt almost magical while they dined and laughed and sat in twilight under the canopy of emerging stars, the smells of the grass and the earth and the cooking fires weaving a heady combination of contentment and good-will among all those present. He and Gaius usually found a settee to claim together for the evening that placed them within earshot of the royal tent, and there was always a impish gleam in Arthur’s eye when he predictably called Merlin over to ask for his expertise to settle a debate between he and his knights, or when Morgana refused to be swayed in a discussion without Merlin’s input first. More often than not, Merlin found himself spending the latter half of the evening embroiled in some pointless discussion with a nobleman he didn’t even know the name of, and he had a feeling that Arthur only instigated these debates for his personal amusement. But there was something warming about being the person Arthur repeatedly turned to for advice or information, and Merlin knew that his protests weren’t half as genuine as he made them out to be when he griped about how often Arthur pulled him away from enjoying the rest of the festivities. And maybe Arthur knew it, too, because he never did anything but grin and shove another cup of wine into Merlin’s hand, fingers brushing indecently in the semi-gloom of the lantern light, and Merlin always inevitably forgot what he’d been complaining about in the first place.
When the last of the harvests were brought in Camelot celebrated Arthur’s sixteenth birthday as though it were a holiday, and there were more street fairs and festivities going on in the lower town than inside the castle, which still had its share of lavish parties and tournaments to squeeze in during the single day. Merlin would have thought Arthur might be embarrassed with all of the attention and extravagant efforts Uther had gone to in order to properly recognize his son’s coming of age, but Arthur only seemed to soak in the well wishes and take the revelry in stride. There was a tournament held in the competition arena like they had done every year but the one prior, and Arthur astounded everyone by winning undefeated for the first time, which seemed to send the entire mass of spectators into a cheering frenzy that could probably be heard all the way to Camelot’s borders. This time Merlin conceded to letting Arthur use Archimedes for the falconry part of the competitions, though by now the owl and the Prince were well enough acquainted that Merlin’s permission was a formality at best. Arthur won, of course, as Archimedes was brilliant and the smartest of the bunch of raptors and hawks, and Merlin knew with certain doom that the bird would be insufferably smug for days after. It was a high-energy day of excitement that lasted long into the night, and Camelot’s court was visited by singing bards and fire breathing acrobats and exotic dancers that delighted and thrilled the entire hall during Arthur’s birthday feast. Merlin might have gotten a little misty-eyed at one point, but he would always swear later that it had been the wine messing with his head, and not the sight of Arthur standing tall and strong and healthy at the head table, bowing his head and thanking everyone for their gifts and their love. Camelot loved her Prince ardently, and that night Merlin felt the depth of that love along with everyone else, bright and strong and timeless without end.
*~*~*
Things might have continued on as they had for much of the summer, a slow broil of heat and words and glances and touches, had it not been for the rapid change in weather as fall approached that struck with sudden, deadly intent over Camelot; a black sky of clouds that covered the horizon over the course of a single afternoon and released a deluge that showed no signs of abating even days later. It was nothing compared to the summer storms Merlin had witnessed his first year, and by the second day Arthur and his knights had already left the castle to ride out to the surrounding hamlets and help the villagers move to higher ground. The valley that Camelot’s main centre occupied had never occurred to Merlin as being a potential threat for flooding, but with each passing hour he watched the rivers swell and the fields turn to mud, then to lakes, as the rain poured and never ceased.
Merlin didn’t relish the thought of being outdoors in the weather but he did what he could, helping Gaius to move the infirm and the elderly to dryer accommodations, providing dry firewood for the families in the lower town, and fixing leaks in the castle roof whenever he could take the risk without being caught. By day three the pond had broken its banks and spilled out across the practice fields; by day four the moat was filled to near capacity and Uther had men digging trenches on the backside of the castle to give the waters a way to run off without endangering the city below; on day five Arthur and a small group of knights returned to the castle to report on their progress and the conditions of the surrounding farmland, and Merlin might have been guilty of hovering in a corner of the hall while Arthur gave his report just to catch a glimpse of the Prince and reassure himself that he was safe and whole.
Merlin didn’t expect to see Arthur before he rode out again, and he tried to tell himself that the brief few minutes he’d stood in the room with him were enough to be satisfied with until this storm passed, even if the hollow conviction did little to relieve his sense of lonesomeness. He had retreated to Gaius’ chambers to help tend to the sick they’d brought to the castle and was in the middle of replacing sweat soaked towels for clean ones when the physicians’ door flew open, revealing a wet and bedraggled Arthur on the opposite side, his face so open and anxious that Merlin immediately darted away from the cot he’d been crouched by to reach Arthur’s side.
"Sire? What is it?" he asked, reaching out to clasp Arthur by the arm. Arthur was out of his armor and only wearing a tunic and a red jacket that looked almost black where the rain had soaked it through, and Merlin felt him briefly lean into the touch.
"Merlin," he said, sounding strangely out of breath. "They said you were here, I thought…"
Merlin found himself smiling. "The tales of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, sire. I’ve been helping Gaius tend to the sick and the wounded. We’re near to capacity here." He waved a hand back at the room, where half a dozen pallets had been arranged, most of the occupants asleep but some of them watching the door with open curiosity at the sight of the Prince appearing so suddenly. Merlin noticed and moved to better shield Arthur from their inquisitive stares, which got Arthur’s attention redirected back to him. "Did you need me for something? Perhaps we should go elsewhere."
"Yes. Yes, that would be best," Arthur agreed, nodding. "Will they be alright?"
"Gaius should be back shortly," Merlin said as he steered them out into the hall and closed the door behind them. He still hand a hand on Arthur’s arm and dropped it with a guilty smile. "It’s good to see you again, sire. I was sure you’d be leaving again to help with the evacuations."
"My father’s asked me to take a night’s rest before we venture out again," Arthur explained as they walked through the hallway. He looked torn between being grateful for the reprieve and impatient to be out helping his people. "We’ll leave at dawn tomorrow morning."
"Little chance of seeing that, these days," Merlin remarked as they came to the exit on that side of the castle. Beyond the open doorway the rain was coming down hard on the cobblestone courtyard, running off the overhangs and balconies in miniature waterfalls, and every stone waterspout along the walls seemed overwhelmed by the amount of water being funneled through their pipes from the roofs above. Arthur had most likely come from that direction earlier, and Merlin brushed a hand across his closest shoulder, feeling the soaked fabric chill his fingers. "You really shouldn’t be outside so much, sire."
Arthur turned his head to give him a small grin, drops of water from his hair still leaving rivulets across his cheekbones and lips. "But that’s why I have you, Merlin. To warm me up later."
It probably wasn’t meant to make Merlin’s insides squirm, but Arthur had a way of looking at him lately that made him wish he was better prepared for these moments, like right now when Arthur’s grin was only getting wider as he stepped backwards out of the entrance and into the downpour.
"Come on, Merlin!" he shouted, and Merlin had no choice but to follow as they ran, laughing, to the set of stairs and the door on the opposite side of the yard. They were both soaked by the time they made it inside, and Merlin immediately regretted that they had to walk half a castle a climb several flights of stairs before they got to his rooms and he could use magic to dry them off.
"That was a stupid idea," Merlin groused as he hugged his arms to himself, water dripping off his hair and robes and leaving a long trail of puddles on the floor behind them as they walked.
Arthur seemed mostly unaffected by the discomfort of being laden down with even more rainwater, and walked just slightly ahead of Merlin to lead the way toward the northwest tower. "Sometimes, Merlin, I think you let the idea of being a forty year old man get to your head. You’re not really supposed to be crotchety and bitter."
"I’m not bitter, I’m wet," Merlin said, and shook his sleeves to rid them of the excess water. "I enjoy being dry as much as the next sane person. Which you, sire, are clearly not."
They were mounting the first set of stairs and Arthur craned his head back to meet Merlin’s teasing smile with his own grin. "Come now. I think the teacher’s more to blame of his pupil comes out displaying abnormalities. You’re belittling your own efforts, here."
"Not if they were there to begin with," Merlin quipped, and he grinned when that got him a backhanded slap against his arm.
They passed a servant carrying a full basket of laundry on the landing and two of Uther’s council members a little farther down the hallway, which meant that the rest of their journey took place mostly in silence until they reached the last set of stairs leading up to Merlin’s tower. Arthur headed in first, since he was still somehow able to open Merlin’s door without Merlin needing to use magic, and the candles around the room came to life as they stepped over the threshold, bathing the room in a warm glow that felt welcoming and warm against their soaked clothing. All of the windows in the room were closed except for one, and Archimedes hooted softly in greeting from his post, feathers ruffling happily. A few of the cups and saucers by the stove rattled hopefully in expectation of tea, and Merlin thought he heard Arthur breathe out a sigh of relief as he came to stand in the center of the room.
"Careful, sire, one might think you actually missed this place," Merlin teased as he shut the door and relocked it.
Arthur barked out a short laugh. "Oh shut up, and come over here to dry me off."
Arthur lifted his arms out to the side, leaving himself open as Merlin approached and placed one hand on each of his shoulders. He couldn’t help squeezing briefly, smiling at the display of trust being offered up so freely, even if it was only a means to an end of Arthur getting drier faster. "Drygest."
Merlin could feel the magic flow through his body and out through his fingertips where they made contact against the material of Arthur’s jacket, and the color quickly changed from almost-black to red in a kind of bleeding effect that moved down the length of him and dried everything in its path. Tendrils of steam lifted into the air, growing thicker by the moment and drying Arthur’s hair from brown back to blond, and Merlin’s own clothes were quickly given the same treatment as he felt his hair and skin dry beneath the material. Arthur was looking down in amusement to watch the effect as their clothes were completely dried from the top down, until all that was left were the puddles under their booted feet. Arthur looked up, which had them nearly eye-level these days, and clasped Merlin’s forearms with a smile.
"I’ll never get tired of seeing that. You could make a fortune in this kind of weather."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Of course. I’ll just stand by the door and dry off every visitor that comes in, shall I? Oh, hello Uther, would you like your doublet dried by magic today?"
Arthur tipped his head back and laughed, and Merlin chuckled with him. "I suppose I’ll have to have you all for myself then," Arthur granted, though by his smirk he hardly looked bothered by the idea.
Merlin felt another one of those familiar flutters tickle his stomach, like he’d had the misfortune of swallowing a particularly energetic bird. He attempted to remove his hands but Arthur’s fingers dug in and continued to hold fast to his arms, which startled Merlin to stilling and meeting the gaze being directed up at him; Arthur eyes were clear and he was watching him speculatively.
"Aren’t you forgetting something?" Arthur asked, nodding toward Merlin’s neck.
It took a moment before Merlin realized what was being asked of him, and he nearly snorted aloud at Arthur’s unusual preoccupation with seeing him sans disguise when they were alone. It would be odd if Merlin didn’t also find it somewhat charming, to be asked for his true face, as if Arthur wished all barriers between them to be stripped away whenever possible. It was a feeling Merlin could understand.
"Onwréon," he said softly, unable to help feeling pleasure at the way Arthur’s eyes widened and drank in the sight as the disguise fell away. It was something so commonplace between them now that Merlin sometimes wondered why he had ever kept this gift a secret, when together they shared the same wonder for magic and all its raw, beautiful forms.
"Good," Arthur said, and Merlin felt the grip on his arms tighten. "And now you’re going to kiss me."
"I’m what?" Merlin protested, confused. It didn’t matter that his heart rate had kicked up all on its own; Arthur couldn’t be serious. "You’re not serious."
Arthur slanted a look at Merlin like he was thick in the head. "We haven’t seen each other in five days, we’re completely alone, and I know you want to. Yes, I’m completely serious."
"But," Merlin began, attempting to withdraw his hands again. Arthur didn’t let him go and took a step closer so they were standing toe-to-toe, his face tipped back slightly. Merlin felt another blush building uncontrollably, and knew that his ears were probably already turning red. He whined in the back of his throat and attempted to push Arthur back, which was like trying to move a boulder but at least worth making the effort once. "Arthur…"
"Consider it a royal decree if you have to," Arthur said, his voice mockingly stern even though his eyes revealed how amused he was by Merlin’s efforts to get free. "I won’t let you go until you do."
"You’re crazy, sire," Merlin growled. He frowned and made another attempt to pull his hands free, which only managed to pull Arthur closer so their chests were nearly pressed together. Arthur’s grin had turned positively devilish, and Merlin had gone from feeling flustered to angry and embarrassed, because regardless that what Arthur had said was true, it didn’t make it right for him to tease Merlin about it.
"Líese," Merlin hissed, and he and Arthur fell apart with a loud clap of magic between them.
Arthur stumbled back and looked at Merlin in shock. "What was that!"
"That was me refusing to cater to your amusement," Merlin snapped, and he backed up to put another measure of distance between them. "I don’t appreciate being toyed with, Arthur."
For a moment Arthur looked genuinely confused, eyes blinking and lips slightly parted, but it quickly shifted to the annoyance that Merlin had been expecting to see there from the beginning. Arthur scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. "Damn that Morgana! That’s the last time I listen to a girl," he swore to himself.
"Morgana?" Merlin repeated in confusion. "What does she have to do with it?"
"Nothing," Arthur denied, too quickly, but there was a hard look of determination in his eyes that made Merlin tempted to take another step back. "But I think we’ve just proved that her theories are entirely wrong."
"What are you-" Merlin began, but was cut off as Arthur advanced on him again. He had no time to think or move before Arthur had both hands on his face, skin shockingly cold and clammy from the outside air, and he was hauled in for a kiss.
It was hard and uncoordinated and reminded Merlin too much of that unexpected kiss in the tent, and this time again he found himself held immobile as Arthur’s mouth pressed against his roughly. But where the other kiss had ended on a bite and a quick parting, this one gradually softened and calmed of its own accord, as if Arthur were aware that his aggressiveness was doing nothing except forcing Merlin to be an unwilling participant again. Arthur’s lips moved slower and his fingers loosened their tight hold on his face until Merlin tentatively responded, his jaw unclenching as he brushed against the lips pressed over his mouth. He took Arthur’s bottom lip between his and tipped his head to better the angle, and his hands had come up of their own accord to rest on Arthur’s shoulders, feeling the play of muscle under the fabric as Arthur’s fingers flexed against his face and wove into his hair. The kiss turned damp and warm and slow, as if Arthur’s earlier aggression had leeched away in those first few, heady seconds, and he seemed happy to cater to Merlin’s whims as he nipped his mouth and sucked on his lips, breath warm and skin flushed.
When they eventually withdrew, Arthur’s face was pink and he was grinning like a lunatic. Merlin had a feeling his expression was still stuck on the surprised end of things. "What-"
"That was us proving Morgana wrong," Arthur said smugly. "God you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that."
"What exactly did Morgana say?" Merlin asked, still trying to process past the fact that he’d just shared a pretty fantastic kiss with Arthur, even if it had caught him completely off guard. Again.
Arthur smile faded, though his hands remained positioned on either side of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin realized that he’d yet to let go of Arthur either. Merlin seemed to enjoy having him so close, which wasn’t all that surprising but not exactly something he’d been look to admit to himself or put into practice. But then again, nothing about this evening so far had gone to plan or turned out any way that he could have expected.
"She said all I had to do was wait for you," Arthur said cryptically, and his frown deepened. "I saw the way you always looked at me, and touched me, and I knew you wanted me, too. I got so desperate I actually went to that crazy harpy for advice, and she told me you’d come around eventually. But I am not patient, and you have been driving me crazy, Merlin. How could you think I was teasing you?"
Merlin looked down at the floor, embarrassed for all new reasons with Arthur’s confession hanging so fresh and open between them. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. "I got so used to it I just thought… it seemed like a game to you."
"You really are an idiot," Arthur grumbled. He tugged on Merlin’s face so that they were facing each other again, noses a short distance apart. "I haven’t wanted anyone but you for so long I can’t remember when I didn’t. You must’ve known that!"
"I didn’t want to hope," Merlin admitted, and he smiled sadly at Arthur’s incredulous look. "I’m so old and you’re so young…"
"I’m old enough to know what I want," Arthur corrected, his blue eyes fierce as they searched Merlin’s face. "And I’m tired of waiting. I want you."
Merlin’s heart did an odd flip in his chest, leaving him feeling strangely out of breath. "Yes," he breathed, and they were kissing again before he’d even realized they’d moved together.
It was again unexpectedly aggressive, the way their mouths met like they’d waited years for this moment, which in Merlin’s case might be entirely true, and Arthur was a man bent on claiming what he wanted as he latched onto Merlin’s lips and fisted both hands in the hair at the back of his head. But this time Merlin felt the urgency in Arthur’s mouth the same way in his own, and he didn’t hesitate to pull on Arthur’s shoulders and drag them closer together, their chests colliding and hips grinding, and someone might have groaned at the contact but Merlin would never admit to it being him. Arthur was licking at the seam of his lips and Merlin got the right idea to open his mouth, and then it was even better, wet heat and the taste of Arthur like the rain outside, tongues slipping in and out and spit going everywhere and Merlin was so mad at himself for not giving into this sooner even if it did feel like the wait might have made it entirely worth it.
Arthur was also surprisingly pushy and impatient, and Merlin felt himself being pulled and shoved backwards across the room, their mouths never separating as they kissed and nipped and rolled around each other’s tongues, until he felt his back collide with the edge of the table and some of the books were knocked off onto the floor. Merlin put a hand back to brace himself as Arthur pushed in, forcing Merlin’s legs to fall open so he could stand between them. This time Merlin did groan as their groins rubbed together, and he felt a full body shiver run through Arthur, the fingers in his hair clenching almost to the point of pain that somehow only managed to turn Merlin on even more. Merlin pushed back into the touch and wrapped his lips around Arthur’s tongue, sucking on the wet muscle and enjoying the tiny whimper this drew from him before he retaliated and did the same to Merlin, though with much more finesse and with a obscene lick to the underside that left Merlin’s head spinning. The taste of Arthur was growing more addicting by the minute, and Merlin was so turned on he thought his heart might explode.
Their kissing grew sloppier and wetter without any skill or direction, and Merlin could feel Arthur’s hips were starting to twist in involuntary little circles in his quest to seek out friction, the weight of his cock a heat that he could feel distinctly through the layers of their breeches. Merlin’s hand moved from Arthur’s shoulder down his back to palm the round curve of his ass, and Arthur broke off the kiss with a choked moan at the touch, thrusting into the cradle of Merlin’s legs on either side of him. His lips were red and kiss swollen, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, and the sight of it made his own cock swell to full hardness with how badly he wanted Arthur in that moment.
"Merlin," Arthur panted, his lips hovering and ghosting over Merlin’s mouth as if he couldn’t help himself being drawn back in to kiss him again and again. Arthur’s tiny thrusts were growing more impatient and Merlin could feel the top of Arthur’s thigh pressing firmly into his own erection with each movement. It was making it extremely hard to think with Arthur humping against him and making little sounds like the back of his throat, even though Merlin didn’t see much point for it when it was pretty clear where this was heading. Arthur sounded like he might die or gut Merlin right there if he didn’t let him get off, and Merlin could hardly think of any reason to deny him that when he’d been waiting so long for Merlin to get a clue.
Merlin had to brace himself on the table as he tugged Arthur in closer by the hand on his ass, giving him permission to take what he needed, and Arthur groaned as he mouthed kisses along Merlin’s jaw and neck, hot breath panting into his collar and making the sweat bead on Merlin’s temple. "It’s okay," he said, kissing Arthur’s forehead and the place where the line of his hair began, using his hand to guide Arthur’s thrusting as he ground himself against Merlin and fisted his hands in the collar of his shirt. "Do it, Arthur, god I want to see you…"
Arthur’s head came back up and he kissed Merlin hard, breathing noisily through his nose as he panted and gasped for breath, hips swiveling and jerking with enough strength that he nearly Merlin up onto the table. Merlin felt around until he found the edge of Arthur’s breeches and shoved his hand down the back of them, coming into contact with naked flesh and sweat soaked skin, and Arthur let out a startled moan as Merlin cupped his ass. He let his fingers slip down further, just teasing the edge of the cleft between his cheeks, but it seemed to be enough and Arthur let out a final shudder, his hips grinding in short, hard thrusts as he gasped into Merlin’s mouth and let Merlin swallow his moan as he came.
It took a moment for Merlin to feel the damp through the front of his pants, and he couldn’t help smiling against the lips still softly pressed against his mouth, feeling how Arthur’s kissing had turned lazy and sated after his orgasm. His cock was still a thick, insistent pressure against his thigh, but one he could ignore for the moment in favor of helping Arthur climb down off his high. He used both hands to brush the damp hair off Arthur’s face and pull their lips apart, allowing himself to drink in the dazed look in Arthur’s eyes and the deep flush in his cheeks. He couldn’t help kissing Arthur again, just once, though Arthur responded with more enthusiasm that Merlin would have expected, and he chuckled into their mouths.
"You are insatiable," Merlin whispered, pulling Arthur’s head back once more. Arthur’s lips went from a grin to a half-smirk, and he turned his face to nip at the underside of Merlin’s wrist with his teeth. Merlin shivered at the touch and flushed when he realized that Arthur knew him well enough to notice it when he did.
"Only for you," Arthur said, sounding close to purring. His hands slid from Merlin’s shoulders down his torso, leaving a tail a fire on their path, and Merlin couldn’t help arching into the touch, his hands dropping to the table behind him to grip the edge. One of his arms went around Merlin’s waist and the other continued on toward his groin, and when his fingers skimmed over the outline of his cock Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, his head bent to watch as Arthur rubbed his knuckles almost idly against the ridge.
Merlin swallowed and had to fight the urge to thrust up into the light touch. "Arthur, you don’t…" he began, but the words were bitten off as Arthur turned his wrist to cup the bulge and squeeze Merlin’s cock through the fabric.
"Oh but I really, really do," Arthur said, sounding horribly smug with the reactions he was wringing out of Merlin. He planted a wet kiss against Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin turned blindly into the touch, their lips meeting and breathing together for a moment as Arthur continued to squeeze and drag his hand over Merlin’s erection. Merlin couldn’t help the small moan that escaped him, his hips twitching up involuntarily, and he felt Arthur smile against his mouth before he kissed him hard, tongue pushing through Merlin’s lips.
They kissed wildly for a moment, Merlin rocking up into Arthur’s touch, feeling heady and breathless and like he might actually come just from being rubbed off through his britches, but Arthur pulled his mouth and his hand away with a wicked grin that left Merlin dazed for a moment. And then Arthur was lowering himself to his knees, and Merlin’s breathing stuttered for a whole different reason as Arthur went to work on untying the laces at Merlin’s waist. Arthur was looking up even while his fingers were working, and he hadn’t stopped grinning at the wide-eyed look stuck on Merlin’s face, even though his cock was already beginning to twitch in anticipation.
"Are you sure?" Merlin choked, watching Arthur loosen his pants and tug the top down far enough so that his cock came free. Arthur licked his lips and took hold of the base, giving Merlin one last hungry look that somehow, impossibly, made Merlin grow even harder.
"Absolutely sure," Arthur said, almost growling. He leaned in and licked the head of Merlin’s cock, slowly tasting around the slit and tonguing under the soft tip, and Merlin’s head fell back with a groan, fingers digging hard into the rough edge of the table under him.
Arthur didn’t take his time getting Merlin wet and slicked up with his spit, and Merlin didn’t want to think about how many times Arthur might have done this before or had it done to him, even if it meant that Arthur was much, much better at this than Merlin would have expected. Arthur didn’t hesitate to lick down his cock and drag his tongue over Merlin’s balls, which drew a whole new set of sounds from Merlin’s throat and made his vision white out for a second when Arthur took one of them into his mouth, tonguing and sucking on the skin before releasing it with an obscene pop. He mouthed his way back up Merlin’s cock and took the head between his lips again, and this time the hand holding his shaft began to slowly squeeze and move up and down the length, stopping just under Arthur’s mouth and where his tongue was pressing and swirling tightly over the tip.
Merlin didn’t think he would last very long, not having watched Arthur come once already and now with the sight of Arthur on his knees in front of him, his pants dark and stained between his splayed thighs, blond head bent over his cock and getting him off with a pressure that was perfect and sweet and like nothing Merlin had ever felt before. Merlin’s chest was heaving and he was fighting not to rock into the touch of Arthur’s hand, but Arthur seemed to understand and picked up his pace, moving his mouth off to lick down Merlin’s cock to make it even wetter for his hand, and he kept up the tight strokes that came almost to the head. Arthur’s thumb pressed just under the tip before he replaced it with his mouth again, sucking and lapping at the precome leaking there, and Merlin’s thighs shook hard as they lost the strength to hold him up.
He came with a loud groan, panting hard and his head thrown back, hands white-knuckled where they were holding him up at the edge of the table as he felt Arthur’s hand stroke him through each hot, spine tingling wave of his orgasm. When his vision stopped swimming he chanced looking down at Arthur, who still had him in hand, his fingers coated with the evidence of Merlin’s release. When Arthur saw him watching his grin grew anew, and he leaned in to carefully lick away the sticky white fluid from his hand and the skin of Merlin’s softening cock, which still managed a few feeble twitches of involuntary arousal as Arthur cleaned him with surprising thoroughness. It was probably the hottest thing Merlin had ever seen in his life.
Arthur tucked Merlin away and retied his laces before he pushed himself to his feet, and Merlin grabbed him by the arms to haul him up, their bodies colliding as Merlin pressed a sloppy, grateful kiss to Arthur’s swollen lips. He could taste the bitterness in Arthur’s mouth of his own come but he didn’t care, just kissed him until he ran out of breath and then wrapped his arms around Arthur to hug him.
"That was amazing, you were amazing," Merlin said breathlessly, speaking into the curve of Arthur’s neck.
He felt Arthur’s arms slip around him in turn and the touch of his lips on his throat, which turned into a series of wet, open-mouthed kisses that managed to make Merlin shiver even though he’d just had one of the best orgasms of his life. And that’s when he felt Arthur’s cock against his thigh, hard and straining against the material, and Arthur let out a deep laugh as he nipped the underside of Merlin’s chin.
"Think you can keep up for another round, old man?" he growled, twisting his hips against Merlin’s sensitized cock.
Merlin let out a small groan of misery, but it was mostly for show as he let his hands creep down Arthur’s back to search for the edge of his breeches. "You’re going to be the death of me," he said, but they were both laughing as Arthur kissed him again.
This time, at least, they managed to make it to the bed.
*~*~*
Merlin wasn’t of the opinion that things changed all that much between he and Arthur, though there was by far a lot more kissing and groping and other things going on of an indecent nature than there had been before, but their day to day lives continued on like they always did. There were always Arthur’s lessons to see to, and Merlin took the time to visit Gaius and help him out with his errands when he could, and Arthur still drilled with the knights and went out on patrol at least once a month. Fall gave way to winter and Merlin and Arthur came to appreciate the benefit of a shared bed on the coldest nights, and how enjoyable it was to wake up to a hand or a mouth moving slowly over a morning erection, or how convenient Merlin’s magic it made it for them to clean up and get dressed before Morgana and Gwen showed up at the tower. Merlin was content and happy and probably a little bit in love, but that was okay, because he was pretty sure that Arthur was too.
The best times were the late nights they stayed up together in bed, with soft touches and tender kisses and fingers exploring new places with the knowledge that they had all the time in the world ahead of them. Arthur was desperately invested in learning every square inch of Merlin’s naked body, and he would perch himself above Merlin, their naked bodies sliding together, cocks lined up but in no hurry to go anywhere, and trace his fingers over the accumulation of scars and marks and battle wounds that Merlin never talked about with anyone else.
"What’s this one from?" Arthur asked, palm sweeping over the large knot of burn scars on his chest.
Merlin looked at it a moment before he answered, taking his time like he always did, but never telling anything less than the truth. "That’s from the time I tried to give up my life to save you. The witch I bargained with tricked me though, so I killed her. But she got me with a fireball first."
"And this one?" Arthur asked, fingering the line of scar tissue running over Merlin’s collarbone, just scant inches away from his throat.
"That’s from the time you tried to kill me," Merlin answered quietly.
Arthur bent his head and pressed a kiss to each spot, first over Merlin’s heart and then his shoulder, healing the memory of each one with the touch of his lips. "It will never happen," he said, full of so much conviction that Merlin believed him. He believed him with his whole heart.
*~*~*
Glossary
Onwréon - to expose/reveal
Fabricando fit faber - practice makes perfect
Biddan lácne byre - I beseech, heal this boy.
Swefe - to send to sleep
Bespyrige Arthur Pendragon - Track Arthur Pendragon
Swilte - to send to (a violent) death
Forthræse stefnas of beneodhan ond wricen menn oth helle - Rise up roots from beneath and deliver these men to Hell
Wætere - Merlin uses the term for leading cows to water, shame on him.
Biddan ástelle me on Camelot! - I beseech, fly me to Camelot!
Hámsidhe - Go home
Biddan ástelle büfan campstede! - I beseech, fly above the battlefield!; Merlin meant to say bïrihte campstede - near the battlefield.
Drygest - to become dry/to dry as if by heat
Líese - to loosen/release/liberate