Work Text:
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Prompt: You truly are a blessed creature; thank you. Is there a possibility of a third? - BubblesOfMusic23
This was beautiful and funny. They deserve so much more 💖 thank you very much 🤗 Hoping to see a third - GhostN27
Is there a potential for Arthur telling Merlin how he feels???? - LittleMrsGreyEyes
Aaahhhh!!! Please please please tell me you'll write a follow up to this? This is THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER!!! Oh the feelings and the everything!
Give me a confession and magic and all the lovely things please? - vidushirsingh
I imagine this story's merlin would have a lot of trouble accepting arthur being in love with him ❤❤❤ - gomee23
Merlin, of course, arrives back to camp with Lancelot in tow and simply looks around at them.
“What the hell did you three just talk about?”
“Did you know there’s a tavern in Mercia where the cheese tastes like ale?”
Arthur can’t disguise the snort in his hand fast enough at Merlin’s incredulous face. He catches Leon giving Lancelot a sage nod and winces. So everyone’s in on this whole ‘treat the King of Camelot like protective parents’ thing, huh? Well, lucky for them, Arthur doesn’t really care anymore.
Lucky for Arthur, they seem inclined to let it go.
Still, he can’t deny the looks of approval he gets when Merlin curls into his side with a happy sigh make his gut twist pleasantly. In a show of affection that surprises even him, he takes Merlin’s hand and gently kisses the knuckle. Merlin, of course, is a little too worn out to notice Gwaine’s low whistle, humming in contentment and burrowing further into Arthur’s warmth.
The problem comes, of course, when it’s time for them to properly lay down and go to sleep because Arthur has a sleeping Merlin on top of him and he’s not moving for anything right now. Gwaine puts up a good-natured grumble as he lays out their bedrolls, dropping the façade long enough to give Arthur a proper nod when he finishes.
Arthur scoops Merlin into his arms, gently laying him down on the bedroll and swiftly getting into his own, only to hear and feel sleepy fumblings from next to him as Merlin tries to work out where his warm pillow went. Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and tucks in next to him, knowing how hard it is for Merlin to sleep in the forest.
“Shh,” he can’t help but murmur, “shh, Merlin, you go on back to sleep. Everything’s going to be alright.”
So everything is awful and Merlin hates it.
First off, the journey is absolute agony because he’s doing something that will make the awful thing happen faster but he can’t not do the thing that will make the awful thing happen faster and it’s too long of a journey for Merlin to properly get over the ‘what if I forgot something super important?’ things and it’s too short of a journey for Merlin to have that nice little zone in between the fear of leaving and the fear of arriving.
But that’s fine because he has the knights, he has Arthur, and he has the safety of the forest where he doesn’t have to pretend like he’s a person if he doesn’t want to and he knows all the knights and Arthur will take care of him and that’s fine.
What isn’t fine is when they arrive at the kingdom Merlin can already tell something’s wrong.
Which isn’t great because now the others can tell that he feels something wrong and he’s being an inconvenience because they have more important things to focus on.
He tries telling Lancelot that when the knight notices he’s falling behind a little bit but Lancelot just has him breathe a few times and tells him that if it’s worrying him, they’ll listen.
He tries telling Arthur that but Arthur just listens to him patiently and assures them they’ll keep their eyes open, thank you for being on guard.
Which is rude because Arthur says it in the gentle voice that he only uses for Merlin and he has to smile at Merlin like he’s something precious and something to be protected and Merlin is far too overwhelmed with actual panic right now to worry about gay panic.
Anyway.
They pass their horses off to the stable hands and Merlin can’t help giving Cara one last pat before she’s led off to the stables. The knights form a protective shield around both Arthur and Merlin, Elyan walking close enough that Merlin only has to turn his hand slightly for Elyan to get the message and clutch his hand tightly in his own.
The lord comes sweeping into the main hall, all tacky clothes and exorbitant amounts of jewelry.
“My liege,” he says in an oily voice, bowing low, “thank you for making the trek to visit my unsightly home.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow at the elaborate rooms. ‘Unsightly,’ yeah, uh-huh, sure.
“Thank you for agreeing to this discussion,” Arthur says instead, already in his full court-proceedings demeanor, “Camelot appreciates your service.”
“Oh, of course, of course, anything for my king.” The lord eyes the knights and Merlin with a look that makes Merlin’s hand tense in Elyan’s grip.
“But you must be tired!” The lord turns and barks at his servants.
Gwaine stifles a murmur of discontent. Leon simply raises his chin.
“Your knights will be shown to their chambers if you please,” the lord says, “and if you, my liege, would care to have a drink with me?”
Arthur glances over his shoulder. None of them are particularly happy with this plan, but the lord has given them no reason to refuse other than his…personality.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Merlin tries not to wince when the knights have all shuttled away, one by one, leaving just him and Arthur alone with the lord. The lord’s gaze makes him feel…uneasy.
“Your servant may leave as well,” the lord says, turning to the table, “I have plenty.”
“Merlin is my servant,” Arthur says firmly, “if I want him to stay, he will stay.”
The lord’s grip on the decanter barely falters. “Of course, my liege, as you wish.”
Merlin can’t help the protective stance he takes up behind Arthur’s chair, eyeing the goblets the lord has poured with some level of suspicion. This whole place just…sits on Merlin’s skin wrong. It tingles in a way that makes him feel like he’s being rubbed with sandpaper. The lord’s expression when he raises his cup makes it worse.
“To new beginnings,” he says in that same stupid oily voice.
“To new beginnings,” Arthur echoes, bringing the goblet to his lips.
No, Merlin can’t just swat the goblet out of his hands, he’s trapped by societal convention. It’s a very clever trap.
“Well, then, my liege,” the lord says, sitting back with an expression that says he’s just gotten away with something, “why did you come here?”
Arthur furrows his brow. “To negotiate the transfer of goods through your lands.”
“That’s the official reason, yes.”
“That’s the…only reason.”
“Oh come now, my liege,” the lord laughs, leaning forward, “you may speak your truth.”
Arthur’s frown deepens. “The transfer of goods to my people is a significant issue. The majority of my people are poor, they are barely able to sustain themselves on what crops they’re able to grow. If we were to establish a trade route that would—“
“Yes, yes, trade routes and such.” The lord waves a hand and Merlin gawks at his audacity, so different from the way he was behaving a second ago—what was that drink? “But that doesn’t seem so important that you would have to come all the way out here.”
“This is a matter I take very seriously,” Arthur insists, “and I would like to treat it with the respect it deserves.”
“And how much respect is that?”
“Given how we’ve been treated so far, it’s going down by the minute.”
Merlin’s eyes widen as the lord throws his head back and laughs heartily. Arthur…wow, Arthur’s…really not having this. Okay then.
“That’s fair, that’s fair,” the lord says, still chuckling, “but you must forgive my questioning. After all, it’s not often we have…royalty here. We are used to making our way to the capital.”
“Considering this trade negotiation concerns this land, it was better for me to come.” Ah, okay, so…we’re back to court manners?
“But surely that’s a bit…demeaning, isn’t it?”
What is going on?
“Making the proper arrangements for my people is never demeaning, even when it concerns dealing with lords like you.”
So we’re not back to court manners?
Merlin would like someone to explain what’s going on, please, right now.
Judging by the increasing tension in Arthur’s back, he’s also not too pleased about what’s happening right now. He takes another sip from the goblet and the lord just watches him.
“I can’t help but notice,” the lord purrs, leaning forward again, “that you seem to…disagree with your predecessor on many issues.”
“My father and I did not see eye to eye on many things.”
“Mmm.” The lord sits back. “Do tell.”
Merlin can’t help himself from reaching forward to warn Arthur that something is wrong, be very careful, something’s not right.
Arthur seems to hear him move and gives an imperceptible nod.
“As with most regimes,” he says, leaning back in his own chair, “times come where the…older generations must step aside and make way for the new. I have seen Camelot under my father, and I have seen the flaws that still penetrate our society. We…did not always agree on how to address them.”
“And what flaws would those be?”
Merlin frowns. What is happening, why is Arthur being interrogated? And why is Arthur answering any of these questions, why can’t…he…say…no…
Oh, fuck.
Merlin edges forward, every nerve in his body on high alert, as he peers into Arthur’s cup. There’s good news and bad news.
The bad news is that Arthur’s already drunk most of the liquid inside.
The good news is that means Merlin’s going to have to refill it in a moment.
“Oh, I’m being rude!”
Merlin’s gaze shoots up to see the lord staring at him. The lord waves his hand, never looking away from Merlin’s face as some servants bring in another chair.
“Sit.” The lord fills another goblet and pushes it toward Merlin. “Drink.”
No, no thank you, Merlin would very much rather be anywhere other than here, thank you.
But he can’t say that, nor can he risk the lord catching onto the fact that he knows what’s going on.
And if he drinks, he might have a better idea of what’s going on here.
Catching the lord’s eye, he deliberately raises the goblet and takes a tiny tiny sip.
The second it hits his tongue, he knows what this is and they’re in deep shit.
It’s a truth spell.
Which means two things.
One, the lord has access to magic and has no qualms using it against the king.
Two, Merlin better keep his mouth shut.
“Thank you,” Arthur says warily, “for your kindness.”
“But of course,” the lord says, turning his attention fully back to Arthur, “but I must ask, my liege, simply because I am…concerned about Camelot’s future.”
“Are you questioning my ability to rule?”
“Never,” the lord says, “simply the…new rules that I will have to abide by.”
Arthur tilts his head. “‘New rules?’”
“Simply if you wish to install more legislation.”
“More like the opposite.”
Merlin and the lord give Arthur twin looks of surprise. And judging by the way Arthur shifts in his seat, he really didn’t mean to say that.
“Well, how interesting,” the lord simpers, “and what form would that take?”
Merlin’s been in enough Council meetings and feasts to understand the tiny glance Arthur gives him.
He reaches out slowly, carefully, and—
—knocks the goblet all over Arthur’s front.
“Merlin, you idiot!”
“Sire! Oh, sire, I’m so sorry!” Merlin springs to his feet, ignoring the horrible pain on his tongue from lying. “We must get you cleaned up, right away, sire!”
They hustle their way out of the hall, barely following the servant that leads them to Arthur’s guest chambers, barely throwing thank-yous over their shoulders before Merlin’s slamming the door shut and Arthur’s leaning over the desk, panting. Grabbing a chamber pot and scanning the room for water, Merlin gets to Arthur’s side just in time for him to retch.
“What,” Arthur gasps, “the bloody hell is going on?”
“It was a truth spell,” Merlin says, quickly pouring a goblet of water and taking a quick sip. Clean. He hands it to Arthur who downs it gratefully. “Made you unable to lie.”
“Why the hell would he dose us with a truth spell?”
Merlin leans against the desk, breathing heavily. “Don’t think he believed you about why you were here.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
“Wouldn’t your father?”
“He probably would.” Arthur retches again, even though nothing comes up. “Why am I like this?”
“Truth spells are nasty,” Merlin pants, “and you just drunk a whole goblet on an empty stomach.”
Arthur glances around, spots a bowl of rolls, and grabs one, tossing Merlin another. He takes a bite of the bread and sighs.
“How do you know so much about these?”
“Gaius.” Thank god that’s an honest answer. “You’d be surprised how many times they’ve come up.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Of course they have.”
There’s a few moments of silence as they both chew on the rolls.
“I think my father would’ve said he didn’t really care about the trade route,” Arthur mumbles finally, “or that he was in it for the gold as opposed to the goods.”
“I think you’re right.”
Arthur slumps into a chair, chewing mournfully on the bread. “I don’t think my father was a very good king.”
Merlin’s eyes go wide. Sure, he isn’t one for singing the praises of Uther Pendragon either, but that’s not something Arthur’s ever admitted to him.
“Arthur, I don’t know how long the spell is going to last,” he cautions, “and I—I don’t want yo to say something that you—“
“Merlin,” Arthur admonishes gently, “I know that, and I also know that there are very few things I would say right now that I wouldn’t normally tell you.”
Oh.
Uh, that’s rude, because now Merlin feels like an asshole because there are definitely things that Merlin would say right now that he wouldn’t and also Arthur’s not allowed to talk to him like that or look at him like that.
Gay panic or regular panic. Merlin can only handle one at a time.
Speaking of which, his legs are going to decide they don’t want to work anymore right now thank you very much.
“Merlin!”
Arthur shoots up to catch him as Merlin all but collapses into the desk, carefully prying the half-eaten roll out of his hands and cradling him to his chest.
“Shh, shh,” Arthur soothes, carefully guiding Merlin’s gaze to his, “come on, Merlin, just look at me. It’s alright, see? I’m not lying, it’s alright.”
“S-sorry,” Merlin pants, “sorry, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s alright, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Arthur smooths the hair away from Merlin’s face. “In fact, I should be thanking you. You got us out of there.”
“I have to protect you,” Merlin mumbles, a red flush coming to his face at the confession.
“I know, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, helping Merlin sit up straight, “but I also have to protect you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I only had a tiny sip of that damn thing and I have magic, why the hell is it working so goddamn fast?
Arthur frowns. “What do you mean, Merlin?”
Merlin shouldn’t confess to having magic. He shouldn’t confess to the great destiny that ties his soul inextricably to Arthur’s. He shouldn’t confess that he is bound to serve Arthur until the day he dies.
He doesn’t, but what actually comes out of his mouth is worse.
“Because I love you.”
Arthur’s mind stutters to a glorious pause.
Merlin…Merlin loves him. Merlin loves him.
Merlin, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to be reacting quite the same way Arthur is, judging by the way his eyes go wide and he tries to scramble away.
“Wait, Merlin, Merlin don’t—come here, please—“
Arthur catches him gently before he can stand up and hurt himself, pulling Merlin into his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. Now he doesn’t have to hold back as he cradles Merlin like he’s something precious, running his hands over the smooth expanse of Merlin’s back, pressing little pecks to his shoulder.
“Shh,” he murmurs, not bothering to try and keep his tone purely calm anymore, “shh, Merlin, it’s alright, it’s alright…”
It’s not working. Merlin’s just getting more and more worked up.
“Come on Merlin, you have to breathe, shh, that’s all, in for four…”
Merlin’s sob sounds almost like a scream.
“Oh, Merlin…”
That’s all the answer Arthur needs to know they’re nowhere near the stage where Merlin can calm down. So he changes tactics, tucking Merlin’s head into the crook of his neck.
“It’s alright, Merlin,” he soothes, hand rubbing lazy circles into Merlin’s back, pressing his cheek against the crown of Merlin’s head, “you just sit right here, alright?”
“I—I—I can’t—Arthur—“
“Shh,” Arthur murmurs, “you don’t need to talk right now. You don’t even have to think right now if you don’t want to. All I want you to do is cry it out, Merlin, okay?”
Merlin burrows closer to him, letting Arthur tug him more fully onto his lap.
“There you go,” he whispers as Merlin sobs, “shh…that’s it…”
He’s still wearing his cape, he realizes, and he shifts to holding Merlin with one arm so he can wrap it around them like a blanket. It smells like the forest, like Camelot, like Arthur, and Arthur tucks it close around them so it’s all Merlin can smell.
Merlin’s still shaking, the poor thing, and Arthur can’t help the crooning reassurances that he gives, starting to rock them back and forth a little on the ground.
When Merlin presses his forehead hard to Arthur’s shoulder, he stops, still holding on to him tightly.
“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?”
Merlin nods.
“Good. Can you listen to me, please? Just for a moment?”
Another nod.
“The truth spell is still intact,” Arthur murmurs, feeling the strange prickling sensation on his tongue, “so I’m telling the truth, okay?”
A gentle squeeze of his arm.
“I’m not angry with you, Merlin,” he murmurs, “I’m not. I’m not upset with you, I’m not going to send you away, you’ve…you’ve actually made me very happy today.”
He can’t help the smile that comes to his face when Merlin pulls back enough to look at him, his face all red and blotchy. Pulling off his glove, Arthur raises his hand to Merlin’s face, wiping gently.
“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you too.”
“Y-you can’t.”
Arthur’s eyes widen. “What do you mean I can’t?”
“You-you can’t love me,” Merlin whispers, “you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have magic,” Merlin says, even as the words make him look like he’s about to have another attack, “I’m a sorcerer.”
And honestly, it makes Arthur laugh.
It’s nothing more than a brief chuckle, really, but is that all? Really, Merlin thinks him being a sorcerer is enough to make Arthur not love him?
“It’s true,” Merlin says miserably—ah, he must think Arthur doesn’t believe him—“I’m a—I have magic, Arthur.”
“I know,” Arthur says softly, “I believe you.”
“Then why…why’d you laugh?”
“Because you seem to think that’s enough to make me not love you, you clotpole.”
“That’s still my word.”
“Yes, and it suits you wonderfully,” Arthur murmurs, reaching out to ruffle Merlin’s hair, “but I’m serious. I don’t care that you’re a sorcerer, Merlin. I never have.”
“You never—wait, what?”
“I knew.” Arthur allows himself a small self-deprecating smile. “Took me longer than I’d care to admit to figure it out, but…yeah. I knew.”
“Wait, when did you—“
“You told me I killed a dragon and then fell asleep,” Arthur deadpans, “was I supposed to believe you?”
“…I thought it was good.”
“Well, you’re an idiot.”
“Hey!”
“But you’re my idiot,” Arthur says fondly, “and if you’re my magical idiot, then so be it.”
“…you’re not…how are you not angry?”
“Why would I be angry?” Arthur quickly lays a finger across Merlin’s lips. “Sorry, forgot. Let me rephrase: I’m not angry, and I don’t have a reason to be.”
Merlin still manages to look contrite even with Arthur’s finger where it is.
“I’m not angry with you for trying to protect yourself. I’m not angry that you had to lie to stay safe,” Arthur says softly, “I’m not angry with you for having magic. And I’m certainly not angry with you for being afraid.”
“But…why not?”
“I’m not angry with you, love, I promise. How could I be angry with you for being afraid of me?” Arthur smiles. “Be a bit counterproductive, wouldn’t it?”
Merlin shakes his head stubbornly. “But I should’ve—“
“I think perhaps the lord did us a favor with that truth spell, didn’t he?” At Merlin’s confused look, Arthur continues. “I spoke the truth when I said I disagreed with my father on a lot of things. I spoke the truth when I said my plan was to get rid of laws instead of adding more.”
He hesitates, then leans forward to brush his lips over Merlin’s forehead. “And I spoke the truth when I said I loved you.”
Merlin just looks at him, trying to form words. “…what…why…you want to legalize magic again?”
“Well, stay with me on this one, but I’ve had quite a few good reasons to believe magic isn’t inherently bad.”
Arthur smiles at Merlin’s confusion.
“I’ve had my life saved more times than I can count,” he says quietly, “I’ve been shown it’s better to lead with kindness than with cruelty.”
Merlin’s hands tremble when Arthur kisses them.
“And it’s given me the words I need to tell the man I love how I feel.”
He rubs Merlin’s knuckles with his thumbs. “That’s a few pretty good reasons, isn’t it?”
“…god, you’re being so sappy right now.”
Arthur laughs. “Are you complaining?”
“…no…”
He grins and pulls Merlin back in for another cuddle. “Then I’m afraid I don’t see the problem, love.”
Merlin whines. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what, love?”
“Arthur!”
“But I love you.”
“Why are you being like this?”
At the note of genuine concern entering Merlin’s voice, Arthur gentles. “Because we’re both upset, Merlin, we’re both under the influence of a truth spell, and…well, because I can.”
Merlin huffs. “Not so sure about that last one.”
“I’m the King of Camelot, I can do what I want.”
“No, you bloody well can’t.”
“So I can’t kiss you if I want to?”
There’s a rustle as Merlin shifts in his lap. “…didn’t say that.”
Arthur smiles, guiding Merlin back so he can see his face. “You’ve just had one of the worst attacks you’ve let me help you with,” he murmurs softly, in complete seriousness, “and the last thing I want to do is make it worse. So yes, I’m being gentle, Merlin.”
He wants to stop there, but this damn truth spell…
“…and also because I don’t have to stop myself from doing it anymore.”
Merlin chuckles. “You’re just a big softy, aren’t you?”
No. “Yes.” Damnit.
Arthur sighs. “Take this damn truth spell off."
"Why?"
Stop asking me questions, I can't not answer them, you lovely idiot. "Because I'm not used to being so openly vulnerable about my feelings and I'm getting a little uncomfortable."
Merlin sobers a little, his cheeky smile softening into something a little gentler. "I can't take it off, unfortunately, but it will fade before too long."
"Oh, thank god."
"I, um..." Merlin twists his hands together. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"It's alright," Arthur says, taking his hands, "I'm...I'm not mad at you about it."
"Really?"
"Truth spell, Merlin."
"Right," Merlin laughs. He swings their hands back and forth, before a little furrow forms between his brows.
Arthur notices. "What is it, Merlin?"
“Hmm,” Merlin hums, “will you still tell me you love me? Even without the truth spell?”
Arthur reaches forward to cup Merlin’s face in his hands. “Everyday, if you’ll let me.”
And he does.
He tells Merlin when the truth spell wears off.
He tells Merlin when they go see the lord to actually negotiate this trade deal, thank you very much.
He tells Merlin when they mount up to ride back home.
He tells Merlin when the knights can all hear and Merlin can scold them because ‘they’re not his parents!’
He tells Merlin when they arrive back in Camelot and he shyly asks if Merlin wants to eat dinner with him.
He tells Merlin when they start working on legalizing magic again.
He tells Merlin when he makes him Court Sorcerer, loud enough to tell the whole kingdom.
And every single time Merlin gets anxious or he has an attack, or even simply when he looks to Arthur and needs a little bit of reassurance, he tells him.
I love you.