#i already tear up thinking about merthur but now full tears roll down my face

[chipinabag]

Whatever you do don't do what I did, but if you feel like crying for what I did. Go to Arthur Pendragon/Merlin tag, include these tags:

-arthur Pendragon/ gwen

-Unrequited love

Exclude:

-Not actually unrequited love

It's not a lot of fics but I spent the last hour and half crying. I have wasted a full box of tissues and now my face is puffy and red.

Don't do this if you aren't mentally prepared!!!!!!

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Talk

Prompt: Hi are you still doing Merlin prompts? If so, I’d love to see some bonding with Gwaine and Arthur? You write amazingly and I know you usually focus on Merlin, but I’d love to see those two learn to get along. Maybe they’re on a duo quest to find Merlin and slowly grow together over it? Thank you and no pressure if you’d prefer not to write it!

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: None

Pairings: none, although you can read it as whatever you’d like, Merthur, Gwaine/Merlin, don’t mind 

Word Count: 2876

Arthur’s not exactly sure why Merlin has a habit of disappearing during the day, but he does know the tavern bill isn’t nearly as high as it should be if that’s where Merlin was always going. Gaius may always say—well, not say, more like heavily imply until Arthur puts that together for himself—that Merlin’s there, but Arthur knows better.

Which means Merlin’s just flat-out missing.

Great.

“Arthur,” Guinevere calls as she hustles down the steps, “you’re not going alone, are you?”

“If that’s what it takes, then I will.”

“But you know you can’t go alone, what if you—“

“Guinevere,” Arthur says gently, stepping back to cup her hands in his, “you know I have to go.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying you should bring someone with you.”

“He’s not going alone,” calls another voice.

They both look around to see Gwaine already mounted, riding into the square. He tips Guinevere a deep nod and raises an eyebrow at Arthur.

“Well? You going to get your royal arse onto the horse or not?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back.”

“You’d better.”

“About time,” Gwaine calls cheerfully as they start out of the gate, “you’d think you’d show a little more enthusiasm.”

“We’re here to find Merlin,” Arthur says as firmly as he can, “so let’s get started.”

He urges Hallariel into a gallop, racing through the fields until they reach the deeper woods. To his dismay, Gwaine easily keeps pace. If anything, the knight looks more comfortable on the horse than Arthur feels. He grits his teeth and keeps on.

The forest is empty, no sign of Merlin. They ride on. Gwaine is surprisingly quiet as they search, finally noticing a scrap of Merlin’s neck kerchief heading south.

They slow, giving the horses a break, until Gwaine digs out a scrap of the dries meat and tears into it.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Can’t wait until we’re stopped, can you?”

Gwaine shrugs. “‘M hungry. Aren’t you?”

Arthur is, but he’ll be damned if he’s just going to tell Gwaine that.

“Look, you wanna sit there and not eat, that’s fine with me.”

“Given how much you eat, I’m surprised you still get hungry.”

“Well, when you’re not sure how long you’ll have food or when you’ll get it next, you eat when you’re hungry.”

The blasé way Gwaine says it gives Arthur pause. He twists around to see Gwaine still eating, glancing around to find more trace of Merlin. He looks at the knight.

Gwaine is strong, not as strong as Percival—though who is?—but a strong knight. He sits a horse well, he fights with great skill, and he’s incredibly adept at handling himself.

He catches Arthur looking and raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Arthur blinks and shakes his head.

“There’s a tavern not too far from here. We can stay the night there.”

“Don’t want to camp out in the woods?”

“You can afford it.”

The tavern is small. Modest, even. The innkeeper smiles wide when they come in the door, respectfully asking to stay the night. She bows low and shows them to their rooms, telling them when dinner will be served and that if they need anything, absolutely anything, not to hesitate to ask.

“Just make sure you’ve plenty of food,” Arthur warns with a smile, “my friend here has quite the appetite.”

She smiles and leaves. Arthur turns around to see Gwaine turning the scrap of fabric over and over in his fingers.

“You alright?”

“Never better,” Gwaine says cheerfully—too cheerfully—as he stows the fabric away, “you have a plan on where to head next?”

“There’s another pass further south,” Arthur says, still frowning a little, “we can ask if anyone’s seen him heading there.”

“Merlin didn’t say anything, by any chance, did he?”

“No.”

Gwaine hums thoughtfully. “And you haven’t been…talking or worrying about anything with him, have you?”

Arthur glares. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you?”

“I don’t see why it’s any of your business what I talk about with Merlin.”

“Given he’s missing and you’re the one he talks the most to, I think it is.”

“I think you should trust my judgment,” Arthur says firmly, “and that I shall choose what to share appropriately.”

Something flickers across Gwaine’s face too quickly for Arthur to name. The knight smiles and claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s see what’s for dinner here, shall we?”

They sit downstairs as the innkeeper bustles back over with their food. She bobbles a curtsy and goes to the other guests. As Arthur glances around the mostly full room, he sees the amount of food on their plates is significantly more than the food on the others.

Gwaine, of course, is already eating, although he sees the knight perform the same glance. Within no time, their plates are empty, Arthur’s belly pleasantly full.

“How was it,” the innkeeper asks anxiously, worrying her hands into her apron, “was it to your liking, m’lords?”

“It was wonderful, Hilda,” Gwaine says before Arthur can say anything, “and I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Arthur frowns at him as Hilda pays him no mind.

“Oh, well, thank you, m’lord, I can only hope the rest of my cooking will be good enough.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Gwaine smiles and takes two gold coins out of his purse. “For your troubles.”

“Oh, m’lord, I can’t accept this, it’s too much! And the food is already included with your room and board, m’lord, I—“

“Please.” He puts the money into her hands. “Allow me.”

“Thank you, m’lord, I—thank you.”

She bows and hurries away.

Gwaine turns to Arthur. “You planning on catching flies like that?”

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“It’s called ‘paying,’ Princess, surely you’re familiar.”

“But you—you’re—the food—“

“Was excellent,” Gwaine says firmly with a tone that reminds him vaguely of Merlin, “and very generous.”

“What is going on,” Arthur hisses, “and what game are you playing?”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “You want to have this conversation here?”

With a tact that Gwaine does not employ often, let alone any time Arthur’s actually seen, the knight moves them back upstairs to their beds. He takes a seat as Arthur starts to pace.

“What’s got your pretty little head so worried?”

“You’ve never turned down more food as long as I’ve known you. And you certainly haven’t voluntarily paid for it.”

“Camelot is a kingdom that has more food than any one person could hope to eat,” Gwaine replies, propping his hand up on his knee, “and it comes from the castle kitchens. This place is an inn, run by the people, for the people, with none of the luxuries of Camelot’s heart.”

Gwaine motions around. “These people do their best. Their best should be rewarded, shouldn’t it?”

Arthur stares hard at Gwaine.

Gwaine meets his gaze easily, raising his eyebrow. “You don’t actually think all this is as easy as everyone makes it out to be, do you?”

“What?”

“You’ve never farmed,” Gwaine says, “never known the fear of what happens if your harvest goes bad. You have the security of the castle, of the city. These people don’t. And you’ve never had to worry about coin in your pretty little life.”

And here’s the thing, Arthur knows that. He knows he doesn’t know a lot about what life is like for the people he rules. He knows that.

But he doesn’t know that.

Gwaine seems to take his silence as whatever answer he’s looking for. The knight turns on his side and starts to take his heavy armor off.

“Merlin’s heading south, you think?”

Arthur nods. “I’m not sure what else is out that way. This is probably the last town we’ll come across for a while.”

“Then it’s a good thing we stopped, isn’t it?”

“…yes, I suppose it is.”

Gwaine falls asleep quickly. Arthur stays awake a little longer, looking at the ceiling.

Huh.

In the morning, Gwaine gives the innkeeper another few gold coins after breakfast, as does Arthur. They both insist she takes them, that their stay has been truly lovely. They ask if anyone’s seen Merlin, a skinny, dark-haired man heading through here.

“Aye,” an older man speaks up, “I seen him. Heading toward the pass, he was, said something about a cave system.”

“Cave system?” Gwaine glances at Arthur. “Rung any bells?”

Arthur pays the man for the information and saddles up before Gwaine can ask any more questions. It lasts until the tavern is out of sight.

“Alright,” Gwaine says without any preamble, “now tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bollocks. Your pretty pampered face went two shades whiter when that man said something about the caves. Now tell me what’s happened with Merlin.”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Unless it’s very much escaped your notice, Sire, I’m out here looking for my friend. Not your servant, not a servant of Camelot, Merlin,” Gwaine says in a low, dangerous voice, “and if you do not tell me the truth, I will be performing the rest of this search myself.”

It takes Arthur aback, that’s for sure. He looks at Gwaine, who looks as serious as Arthur’s ever seen him, and pulls Hallariel to a halt.

“Threatening a king is treason, Sir Gwaine.”

“Withholding information is worse.”

“I thought I asked you to trust me.”

Gwaine stares down at Arthur. It’s funny, he never noticed that Gwaine is…taller.

“You really don’t know a damn thing,” Gwaine growls, “do you?”

Before Arthur can answer, Gwaine wheels his horse around and starts moving toward the pass again. Arthur has to urge Hallariel to a trot to keep up. For the next few hours, they don’t speak. The tense silence feels like a weight on Arthur’s armor.

He knows Gwaine and Merlin are close. He knows Gwaine cares for Merlin.

What he doesn’t understand is this.

If…if Gwaine cares for Merlin, then he must want Merlin found, right? If Arthur knows how to find him, he has to trust Arthur, right?

Then why isn’t he doing that?

“Here.” Gwaine swings off his horse and ties it to the stump he lands on. “We’ll camp here.”

Arthur wants to say that he’s the king, thank you very much, so he’ll decide where they stay, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll collect the firewood.”

“Since when do you know how to collect firewood?” And Gwaine’s gone.

Well, he has a point.

Arthur gets their bedrolls set up instead and digs a fire pit. By the time Gwaine gets back, everything’s ready except for the food. Gain sets the wire and proceeds his flint and steel. The fire lights. It’s not as warm as it should be.

They sit in silence.

“…how did you learn how to do all this,” Arthur says quietly after a while, “if you grew up as a noble?”

Gwaine stiffens. “Who told you that?”

“I know you fake it,” Arthur says, “how clumsy you make yourself out to be. But you fight like a noble.”

“What’s that mean?”

Arthur allows himself a small smile. “Like you’ve been trained by someone who’s not cheap.”

It makes Gwaine snort, at any rate. The camp lapses back into silence, but it’s not as heavy as before.

“Nobles are,” Gwaine starts, “an interesting group of people. All talk, most of the time, when they remember how.”

Arthur stays quiet.

“They don’t understand things,” Gwaine continues, his voice growing heavy, “they don’t see things as well as they should. And people get hurt because of that.”

That Arthur knows all too well.

“The common people are the ones who suffer when the lords play their games,” Gwaine says, “they lie and they scheme and they grab for power and they forget why they’re supposed to have it in the first place.”

“To care for the people,” Arthur says quietly, “and so what they can’t do for themselves.”

Gwaine looks at him. In the flickering light, Gwaine looks—well, he looks like he suits the fine robes as well as Arthur.

“I was never very good at their games,” he settles on finally, “but I was good at people. So I left.”

“And you became one of them.”

“Put your faith in systems and you’ll always end up disappointed. Put it in people and you’ll always be surprised.”

“The world isn’t that…easy,” Arthur decides on eventually, “it’s not designed to be.”

“No.” Gwaine looks back into the fire. “I’m sure you’ve been told that, right? That most people will never make a difference, no matter how hard they try? That the world’s just too big?”

“My father—“ Gwaine makes a noise— “he always demanded that we keep the systems intact, that it was the best course of action, that change would be worse.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Not anymore.”

Gwaine sits back. “It’s true to a certain extent, I suppose. That most people won’t ever make a big enough difference.”

“Gwaine—“

“Come on,” Gwaine says with a smile, a sad smile, “you know that. Hilda back there, for example, you can’t tell me that she’ll change the world, can you?”

“…no.”

“But,” Gwaine says, “because we gave her those coins, she can have her inn fixed up. So she can host more guests and take care of her daughter. Then maybe her daughter won’t have to get married young and sell the inn.”

Arthur’s head tilts.

“They may never change the world,” Gwaine says, “but it makes a difference for them.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmurs, “thank you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine waves him off. “Merlin’s not here to beat things into your head, guess someone has to.”

Arthur huffs. “You’re here for Merlin, aren’t you?”

“What, here in this forest or as a knight of Camelot?”

“Both?”

“Both,” Gwaine nods, fixing Arthur with a look, “is that a problem?”

Is it?

“Considering I’m in a very similar position,” Arthur admits, with far more honesty than he’d like, “no, not at all.”

Gwaine raises his water skin. Arthur raises his. They toast to Merlin.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Gwaine says after they’ve eaten their fill, “the next day’s a hard ride.”

“Is that near where the caves are?”

“It should be.” As they bed down for the night, Gwaine looks at him. “Will you tell me where we’re going tomorrow?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good.”

The morning is cool. A light mist settles over the air as they mount up and get rid of the camp. Gwaine rides in front, pointing out the tricky parts and slopes as they pick their way toward the pass.

“So,” he calls over his shoulder, “what are we looking for?”

“There’s a cave,” Arthur says, “of legend. Rumor has it that when the moon turns dark and the rivers run dry, something happens.”

“Sounds maudlin.”

“You’re telling me.”

“So why’s Merlin out here?”

“Remember when the wells all stopped working?”

“A week before we left?”

“Merlin came to me that morning, worried.”

Gwaine’s shoulders tense. “Was he alright?”

“Physically,” Arthur says, “I couldn’t find any injuries, but he—he seemed anxious.”

Gwaine snorts. “Merlin’s anxious a lot. Bears listening to.”

“Which is why I asked.”

The next question is colored with something that might be approval. “What’d he tell you?”

“What I just told you about the cave. Said it merited looking into.”

“Were you planning on it?”

“Yes.” Gwaine twists around. “I was!”

“Then why is Merlin out here alone?”

“Because the idiot decided to run off in the middle of the night instead of waiting for me.”

Gwaine chuckles as he turns back around. “Yep, that sounds like Merlin.”

“He’s going to get himself killed doing that one day,” Arthur grumbles, mostly to himself, “if he keeps waltzing off with no armor and no one to protect him.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing he’s got us, isn’t it?”

“…yes, yes it is.”

“I’ll tell you,” Gwaine says as they round the corner to the pass, “I’m tempted to tell him off when we do find him.”

“You’ll have to get in line.”

“You think you can beat me, Princess?”

“I think you’re going to try and beat me.”

“You’re on.”

Merlin, when they finally find him, walking out of a cave with a suspicious singe to his tunic, just looks like a confused doe when Gwaine and Arthur start scolding him like two parents. And if he’s even more confused when the two of them seem to get along on the way back—with Merlin riding in the middle of them, thank you very much, you’re not vanishing on us again, Merlin—then he keeps his questions to himself until they’re back in Camelot.

And if Arthur starts going to the tavern, well…

Now he’s really curious where Merlin’s going, because he’s sure as hell not here.

[supercalvin]

HI I’ve been basically binge reading ur merthur ficlets on ao3 and just. all your fics actually and... first of all i love your writing i would die for you and your AUs. all of them. second of all I have a huge list of shitty AUs that i’d love to see written so it took me ten minutes to actually choose one but. “We’re both in the vegetable isle and I just burst into tears while staring at the cabbages” AU if you’re still doing the ficlets, could I request this prompt? tysm!!!

…crying in the grocery store is too relatable for me right now.

Prompts + Ficlets

***

When Merlin had moved to Camelot, into his Uncle Gaius’ flat which sat above the grocery shop, it had just been part time while he adjusted to the city. Then, when his Uncle had passed away, Merlin had taken over the shop full time. The shop wasn’t huge, but he stocked it full of food fresh from the farms just outside of Camelot and a lot of the old-fashioned herbal medicines that Gaius had always offered.

Being a small shop in a quaint neighborhood, Merlin got to know a lot of his customers.

Mrs. Lee always came in on Sunday mornings, picking up the ingredients for her special Sunday dinners. She would tell Merlin about the dishes and if her son was coming to visit that night.

Some kids usually stopped by after school, grabbing the ice lollies or sweets that Merlin stocked by the register.

Mr. Davies never brought a grocery list with him and just bought what he remembered needing. Merlin had reminded him on more than one occasion that he had bought milk only two days before, and unless he had chugged a whole gallon of milk yesterday, he probably didn’t need another.

So Merlin knew his regulars. Even if he didn’t know their name, he could easily pick out someone who had stopped by his shop before. So that was why it was easy to tell that the blond man standing in the fresh produce section was a newcomer. He had a bag in hand, as if he understood why he was there, but he hadn’t picked up anything. It was almost closing time, five minutes to eight, and the man had been staring at a head of cabbage for the last ten minutes.

Merlin wondered if he was drunk. Or high. He didn’t look the type. He was dressed in a nice but rumbled pair of trousers and his button down was rolled up to his sleeves.

Merlin hesitated by the register, idly sweeping the floor. After another minute, Merlin finally gave into his curiosity and what his mother called ‘a natural tendency to help others’ (although Uncle Gaius had called it ‘a natural tendency to get into trouble).

Merlin cleared his throat, “Can I help you find something?”

With a jump, the man looked up and Merlin was startled to find the man’s face was wet. He hadn’t expected that.

“Oh,” Merlin said, too flummoxed to say more.

“Sorry,” The man’s eyes were red, deep purple circles around his eyes. “I’m just… I was trying to get myself together before I continued shopping. I think I lost track of time again.” He looked around, as if releasing how late it was. “I’ll just…” He tilted his head to the door.

With a quick evaluation, Merlin determined that the man had been born and raised to carry on with a stiff upper lip. Merlin on the other hand, had been raised by a kind mother who soothed his tears and never told him to hold it in.

“Oh forget that,” Merlin reached out to guide the man away from the produce and towards the back of the shop where Merlin had set up a small table and chairs for people to drink the complimentary tea. “Here I’ll make a fresh pot. Just sit right there.”

The man looked like he was going to protest, but then deflated, as if too exhausted to argue.

By the time Merlin came back from the kitchen with the tea and biscuits, the man looked more put together already.

“Thanks,” He said, “You didn’t have to.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “And left you over there by the cabbage? I don’t think so.” Merlin poured the tea and offered cream and sugar, which the man took. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Got sacked,” The man said, looking pitifully into his tea.

“I see,” Merlin took the seat across from the man. “Will you be alright? Financially, I mean.”

The man nodded. “That’s not it. I worked for my Dad.”

Merlin winced, “Sounds complicated.”

The man snorted, which Merlin considered to be a good thing. Humor, even dark humor, could make a situation brighter.

“I came out to him,” The man said, eyes nervously flickering over to the tiny Pride flag sitting next to register. “It didn’t go well.”

Merlin felt his stomach clench in sympathy.

“His loss,” Merlin said, feeling outrage on behalf of this stranger. “Sounds like a right bastard. Sorry. Probably not what you want to hear right now.”

The man’s lip turned up, a facsimile of a smile. “Not sure what I want to hear.”

“Well, that’s alright too.” Merlin said before holding out his hand. “Merlin, by the way. Bi. I own the shop.”

“Arthur,” The man took Merlin’s hand, “Gay. Recently disinherited and unemployed. Bit of a catch, eh?”

Merlin smiled, “Those things are not in your control. Besides,” Merlin said, picking up a biscuit and gesturing with it, “You’re in the right spot. Gwen next door hosts a queer meet-up every Tuesday and I bring over fresh baked bread and anything else from the shop that needs getting rid of. And if you’re in need of a job, my friend Lance works somewhere downtown. Fancy place, I don’t know. But he could help you.”

Arthur frowned at him, “But you don’t know anything about me.”

Merlin shrugged and nibbled on his biscuit, “So?”

Arthur’s eyes began to water again.

Merlin dropped the biscuit and quickly patted Arthur’s hand, which was clenched next to the teacup. “Hey, I know I’m weird, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”

No tears fell, although it looked like a close call. “I’m just… My sister told me when if I came out to my Dad that there would be a community for me. I just didn’t expect a random bi man to invite me over for tea and offer to help me find a job.”

Merlin continued to pat his hand, “Well, I suppose that makes me your queer guardian angel. Or maybe I should be your fairy godmother? That’s more in line with being gay, isn’t it?”

Arthur laughed. It was the first genuine smile Merlin had seen from him. It was something special, Merlin thought, to behold something so intimate. Arthur had been through so much that day, having come out and been disinherited in the span of only a few hours, and Merlin was the one to not only see that freedom from despondency, but be the cause of it too.

***

Prompts + Ficlets

[rosedavid]

Slip-Ups

A Merthur hurt/comfort fanfic

tw // blood and injury description //

Prompt: Merlin gets injured nothing too serious, but Arthur gets into super over protective mode and refuses to leave his side. Throughout the day people keep coming in to remind him of his princely duties, but Morgana ends up blocking them and sending them away so that Arthur can spend time helping Merlin.

...

             Usually, Merlin is more careful than this. Okay, well, careful to an extent. There’s a difference between being carefully reckless and just reckless all together. Today, though, he’s particularly on edge. It’s been a tedious week full of constant running about. Arthur’s seemed to be in an especially bad mood recently, as well, probably because he’s been just as busy as Merlin. With his duties as King starting to mount up to incredulous levels, Arthur’s been at wit’s end recently trying to manage his new role and duties. As a result, he’s been working everyone harder; his advisors, the knights, and of course Merlin himself. With every usual duty, Arthur decides to stack on three more for Merlin to do, with a quick grumble of, “Hurry it up!”

             Now, completely exhausted and frustrated, Merlin is in Arthur’s chambers at night haphazardly finishing the prat’s chores. All Merlin wants is to collapse into bed and sleep for the next few days, although he knows that won’t be possible. His stomach growls as he cleans up. Despite his previous reservations about Gaius’s meals, nothing sounds better right now than a big bowl of gruel.

             “Stupid King Prat,” Merlin growls to himself, scrubbing ruthlessly at Arthur’s filthy armor. “Merlin, you missed a speck of dust on my armor! I’ll have you thrown in the stocks! Merlin, my sword is getting rusty! I’ll show him.”

             The worst part is that before all of this, Arthur was actually starting to be (sort of) nice. Until this week, Merlin hadn’t been forced to muck out the stables in months. Although their constant bickering continued then, it was lighter than usual, more playful. Things had been going well, in other words. And now, Merlin feels like he’s been dragged through the mud.

             After sufficiently getting his anger out scrubbing Arthur’s already clean armor, Merlin switches to the sword resting on the table’s edge. This is where things go horribly wrong. So pent up with frustration and weariness, Merlin grapples above him blindly for the sword, still muttering insults. In that moment, he fails to grab the correct end of the sword. Instead, his hand slices against the sharp edges of the sword. He bites back a curse, yanking his hand away. Of course, since luck loves Merlin at the moment, the sword comes with it, slicing even further down to his wrist.

             Merlin clutches at his bleeding hand shakily. Blood pools in his palm, red tendrils slipping down his arm and dripping on the just washed floors. Still trying to comprehend what just happened, Merlin stares at the drops of blood, watching as they fall from his hand. This, of course, is when Arthur chooses to stumble into his chambers.

             “You would not believe the day I had!” Arthur groans, stomping through the doors. “I can’t even breathe without someone telling me I’m doing it wrong! Not to mention, my incompetent manservant doesn’t even have dinner ready for me!”

             Merlin continues staring at the blood numbly. Realizing that Merlin isn’t biting back like usual, Arthur finally turns toward him with an open mouth ready to berate Merlin yet again for something trivial. But the words die on his lips when he catches sight of the boy bleeding all over the floor.

             “Merlin!” He cries out, rushing over to the boy. “You idiot! You’re bleeding all over the place.”

             “Am I?” Merlin wonders, head going a bit fuzzy. Along with the blood loss and lack of food and sleep, his consciousness is gradually wavering.

             “What in God’s name happened?!”

             “Had to clean your sword, prat,” Merlin slurs, the conversation bringing him back a bit into reality. Also, the reality of his pain. “Ouch. That hurts a bit.”

             Arthur rolls his eyes, and if Merlin didn’t know any better, he would think Arthur looked scared behind his façade. But why would Arthur be scared? It may be a lot of blood, but it’s just a cut; Gaius will have him stitched up in no time at all. Besides, based on this week, Arthur didn’t seem to care too much about Merlin’s well-being. Why would he suddenly care now?

             “What did you do, gouge your hand open?” Arthur frowns, tearing off a piece of his own tunic before Merlin can protest. He then kneels by Merlin’s side.

             Merlin hisses as Arthur presses the tunic firmly into the crevice of his palm. “Now I hafta…mend that too, prat.”

             Arthur doesn’t respond; instead, he furrows his eyebrows and purses his lips as he applies more pressure to Merlin’s still bleeding wound. “Think you can stand?”

             “’Course I can stand!” Merlin argues. To prove his point, he abruptly pushes himself off the ground, only to find the world spinning around him. He gasps, tipping dangerously. Luckily, Arthur still has his firm grasp on Merlin’s bleeding hand, so the instant he starts swaying, he falls into Arthur’s side instead of back onto the floor. Merlin blinks away black spots and tries to ignore the pain lacing from his hand.

             “….almost fell, you idiot!” Arthur’s voice comes back into focus. “What if I hadn’t been here? Would you have just bled out on my floor?”

             “I’m fine,” Merlin stresses again.

             “You’re ridiculous, Merlin. Come on, let’s get you to Gaius.”

             With that, Arthur takes Merlin’s good arm and wraps it around his own neck. Then, he wraps one arm around Merlin’s waist while the other continues to hold the now soaked rag tightly to Merlin’s wound. It’s an awkward position that makes it hard to walk, but somehow they manage to make it all the way to Gaius without Merlin passing out (although they had to stop a few times to avoid it).

             Arthur yanks open the door, immediately alerting Gaius to their presence. With the combination of Arthur’s panicked expression and blood still dripping onto the floor beneath Merlin, Gaius stands up quickly to help.

             “My goodness, what happened?” Gaius asks, bringing Merlin over to the nearest patient cot. Arthur helps ease Merlin down into a sitting position while Gaius gathers supplies, including a clean rag to continue to staunch the flow of blood.

             “Sword fell,” Merlin mumbles grumpily, not wanting to hear Arthur’s recount of the tale complete with insults and jibes at his manservant.

             “Will he be okay?” Arthur buts in, holding the new rag to Merlin’s hand per Gaius’s instruction.

             Gaius briefly lifts the rag against Merlin’s cut up to inspect the wound. It’s still bleeding, but not quite as profusely as it was before. “Yes, sire. It will require some stiches and it will be sore for a few days, but you got him here fast enough that infection shouldn’t start in.”

             Arthur lets out a deep breath, stepping back to allow Gaius to clean Merlin’s wound. To Merlin’s credit, he only winces and hisses through his teeth as Gaius cleans up the wound. After all the excitement, though, Arthur can clearly see the fatigue covering Merlin. Guiltily, Arthur stares at him, suddenly realizing just how harsh he’s been to his manservant this week. It’s not like Arthur meant to, it’s just with all the pressures of his new duties as well as his newfound feelings…he thought it best to put Merlin away and to work. If he hadn’t made Merlin do so many chores, perhaps Merlin wouldn’t be injured so badly.

             “Drink this, Merlin, it will put you to sleep while I do your stitches,” Gaius coaxes, bringing a vial of probably foul-tasting liquid to his lips. Merlin doesn’t complain, though, simply swallowing it quickly. In an instant, his eyes begin to get heavy, world blurring around him, before he finally falls into a deep slumber.

             Arthur stares at Merlin for an unknown amount of time before Gaius clears his throat. When Arthur looks back up, he realizes that Merlin’s wound has been all stitched up. It gives him a clear view of the length of the cut, extending from the top of Merlin’s palm down to the bottom of his wrist.

             “He is okay, sire,” Gaius reassures him, placing one comforting hand on his shoulder. Arthur nods through clenched teeth. “Sire, if I may…the guards came by asking for you a few minutes ago. You have a meeting to attend soon. Perhaps you should get yourself cleaned up.”

             Arthur is confused at first because one, he doesn’t remember the guards coming by the physician’s chambers, and two, he doesn’t know why Gaius says he should clean himself up. He only begins to understand the second one when he finally takes a look at his hands, caked with dried blood. Merlin’s blood.

             He doesn’t want to leave Merlin’s side for a second, but he also knows that he can’t forget his duties as King. Conflicted, Arthur looks back at Merlin’s pale face tucked into the side of the pillow with a fondness he never knew he possessed.

             “I shouldn’t leave him,” Arthur decides. “Not like this.”

             “I understand your concerns, sire, but what if I had one of the knights sit with Merlin in your absence? Sir Gwaine would be willing, I’m sure.”

             Arthur considers it, but shakes his head. “No, I just…I can’t leave him like this, Gaius. W-what if this was my fault? It’s been a busy week, and I’ve been working him really hard, probably harder than he deserves—”

             “Arthur,” Gaius addresses kindly. “It’s been a busy week for us all. Everyone is tired and frustrated, including Merlin. It sounds to me like it was just an accident, nothing more. You couldn’t have prevented that.”

             Arthur purses his lips but says nothing. Meanwhile, Gaius pulls up a seat beside Arthur, gently coaxing him down into it. “Let me at least get you a fresh basin and rag to wash your hands off, sire.”

             “Yes, that would be good. Thank you,” Arthur clears his throat, not wanting to see this much of Merlin’s blood ever again.

             As Arthur sits there through the remainder of the evening, guards and members of the court come and go, trying to coax Arthur away with no success. Despite some of their glares toward Arthur’s manservant, and some frankly rude comments, Arthur refuses to budge. A few hours later, he thinks that the guards are about to forcefully drag him out of the room when an unlikely hero comes to his rescue.

             “Can’t you see the King is doing something important already?! He’s been at everyone’s beck and call all week, so I think you can survive without him for one goddamn night!” a feminine voice shouts outside the hallway. Then, there are determined footsteps before the door is being opened and closed gently, a large contrast to the tone mere seconds ago.

             Morgana stands in front of the doorway, as regal and snarky as ever. Even though Arthur tends to butt heads with Morgana more than he does anyone else, he suddenly feels a great relief for her actions. As much as he hates to admit it, he probably owes her one, but he’ll think about that later. Right now, as per Gaius’s instructions who left to take care of a woman giving birth in the lower town, Arthur needs to keep his eyes on Merlin to be sure an infection won’t take hold.

             Silently, Morgana strides over to the other side of Merlin’s cot, where the boy lies deathly still and pale. The only thing keeping Arthur from completely losing it is watching the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest. That, and clutching at Merlin’s uninjured hand, which he drops when Morgana comes into the room (although he’s pretty certain she saw since Morgana has eyes like a hawk).

             “He looks exhausted,” Morgana comments, glancing at the boy’s stitched up hand.

             “Yeah,” Arthur agrees quietly, eyes latched on Merlin.

             “You look exhausted too, Arthur.”

             Arthur waves her off. “I’m fine. It doesn’t matter anyway, I have to stay awake to take care of him.”

             “Well, you won’t be any use to him if you pass out.”

             “ But I can’t—”

             “I will watch over him, Arthur,” Morgana interrupts. “I am Merlin’s friend too, after all. Although I have a feeling that he may mean something more to you.”

             A red flush brightens on Arthur’s cheeks, a mix between embarrassment, anger, and thoughts of Merlin. “Morgana!”

             “Hush, I have eyes, you know. I can tell you’re both infatuated with each other. Please, Arthur, go lie down and rest.”

             “If you truly know, then you understand I can’t leave him.”

             Morgana purses her lips in thought. “Then take Merlin’s bed. I’m completely sure he wouldn’t mind. Gaius or myself will wake you when Merlin wakes up, himself.”

             The thought of sleeping in Merlin’s bed sends shivers down Arthur’s spine. It’s not like the bed is anything special based on when Arthur has seen it. In fact, it’s probably more uncomfortable than most of the beds in the castle. But because it’s Merlin’s bed, it won’t feel uncomfortable to Arthur. He hates to admit when Morgana is right, but she has a few good points. Too tired to argue anymore, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand again and squeezes it, bidding him goodnight. Morgana takes his place, hand lingering on Arthur’s forearm.

             “Promise you will wake me if anything at all happens?”

             “Yes, Arthur. I will. Now please, you look worse than Merlin. Get some rest. Merlin will be fine.”

             Arthur barely registers climbing up the steps to Merlin’s room. He practically collapses onto the bed. He breathes in a combination of the smell of soap and Merlin. It’s like home. Nuzzling his face into Merlin’s pillow, Arthur almost instantly falls asleep.

…

The sunlight is the first thing to wake him up, streaming through the window and lighting up the entire room. The second thing he registers is the sound of people moving about in the kitchen. Although Arthur wants nothing more than to curl back under the covers and fall asleep, his waking thoughts immediately drift once again to Merlin. What if Merlin is awake? Or what if he’s worse than before? Arthur shoots up out of the bed immediately while thoughts plague his head. He’s aware of how gross he probably looks and smells, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Stumbling out of the room, his eyes search out the familiar black mop of hair. He finds it quickly, still tousled as Merlin sleeps on the cot. Morgana has now been replaced by Gwen, who is helping Gaius organize some herbs and medicines.

“Gaius, how is he?” Arthur clears his throat, trying to sound less worried than he really is. Based on Gaius’s raised eyebrow, it doesn’t work.

“He’s doing well, sire,” Gaius responds with a slight smile. “He stirred a bit in the night, but fell into a deeper sleep. But based on the medicine I gave him, I bet he’ll be waking up anytime now.”

Somewhat relieved, Arthur goes to take his place at Merlin’s side again, but Gwen coaxes him away. “Have some food, your majesty. Based on what Morgana told me, you haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

Begrudgingly, Arthur sits down at the table, biting into an apple. He is hungry, but right now food just doesn’t sound appetizing. Still, he manages to eat a bit, even chatting with Gwen about random goings on in the town. It’s only about half an hour later when Merlin begins to fidget.

Arthur, of course, is the first one by his side. Merlin squirms, wincing as he rolls over on his stitched hand. Arthur rolls his eyes before helping un-trap Merlin’s hand. As he grabs Merlin’s hand, one finger traces beside the stitches in a delicate, almost not-there touch. Finally, Merlin’s eyes flutter open, looking dazed.

“ ‘Thur?” Merlin murmurs, squinting up at him.

“Yes, you dollop-head, it’s me,” Arthur teases, still stroking his hand.

“That’s my word.”

“Is it? Because I think it describes you much better.”

Gaius takes that moment to interrupt. “Merlin, how are you feeling?”

Merlin hums, sitting up more. “I feel fine. Hand’s a bit sore, but otherwise I’m okay. Can I get up, stretch my legs?”

“As long as you take care not to exhaust yourself, that should be fine.”

Arthur frowns, “Are you sure, Gaius? I mean, Merlin was just badly injured. Should he really be up and about already?”

“I’m okay Arthur, truly,” Merlin smiles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried about me.”

In a rare moment of affection, Arthur blurts out, “Of course I was worried about you, idiot!”

Merlin gapes. “Y-you were?”

“Merlin—I found you dripping with your own blood, and it was my fault. I thought—I mean, what if I hadn’t been there in time? You could have bled out!”

Merlin’s face goes stern. “Arthur, this wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was my fault. I should have been more careful.”

“I should have noticed how exhausted you were, though. I’ve just been so caught up in everything…”

Arthur feels a hand intertwine with his own. His heart picks up speed, and Merlin looks at him hesitantly. Arthur makes no move to pull away, simply squeezing Merlin’s good hand with his own. Merlin softens at that, unconsciously leaning towards him.

“You were kind of being a prat,” Merlin admits, earning him a glare. “but I know you’ve been overwhelmed recently, too, with everything that’s been going on. I don’t blame you at all.”

Arthur swallows. “Yes, well, I suppose you deserve a day off after all this.”

At this, Merlin snorts. “How generous, my lord.”

“Hey, I can take that day away!”

Both of them are beaming by now, impossibly closer to each other. With a tenderness seldom shown to anyone else, Arthur brushes a stray strand of Merlin’s hair from out of his eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Merlin leans into his touch.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Arthur whispers, stroking his temple with one thumb. There’s so much they need to say, but right now isn’t the time. Instead, they both stand there, taking each other in. There will be time for sorting everything out properly later. Right now, they are content to relish each other’s company.

“Me, too.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

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Prompt: For you, a little Merlin prompt to think about if you like it! Arthur is usually the big strong one of the 2, but when he collapses one day they find out it’s because of a heart defect he was born with and that if he continues at his current pace, it will kill him. I’d like to see how Arthur would deal with having to rest more often, stay in bed longer, etc. and obviously Merlin would be so doting uwu

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3 Part 2: Rise

Pairings: Merthur can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2941

The first time Arthur collapses in the middle of the training ground Merlin’s heart leaps into his throat. He barely hears the roar of the other knights over the rush of blood in his ears as he scans the field, looking for something, anything, and rushing to Arthur’s side.

“Sire,” Leon is already calling, “sire, can you hear me?”

 “Get Gaius,” Lancelot calls over his shoulder before rolling Arthur onto his back, “Arthur, Arthur, you need to breathe, can you—“

 “Merlin?” Leon pulls Merlin down by the sleeve of his tunic, even as Merlin falls to his knees. “Merlin, what’s—“

 “…lin,” Arthur mumbles, “Mer…lin…”

 Gwaine makes some comment, he’s sure, but Merlin can’t hear anything other than his king. “I’m right here, Arthur, what’s—what happened, are you alright?”

 Arthur blinks slowly, squinting a little in the harsh light. “…’course ‘m alright, Merlin, just…jus’ need to get up.”

 “You’re slurring your words a little, sire,” Leon says softly, “we need to get you to Gaius.”

 “Gaius…yes, Gaius, where is—“

 “I sent one of the others after him,” Lancelot says, helping Merlin heave Arthur into an upright position, “he’ll be here soon.”

 “We should get you in the shade,” Merlin says, noticing the way Arthur won’t stop squinting, “make the sun go away.”

 “You want to just…wave your hand and vanish the sun?” Arthur’s head turns to smile drowsily at Merlin.

 “Would if I could.”

 “Can’t you?”

 Merlin rolls his eyes. “Shh, you prat.”

 “Between the two of you,” Lancelot mutters, “it’s a wonder you managed to keep it secret.”

 He doesn’t even flinch at the weak punch Arthur gives his shoulder.

 Percival comes over and helps, heaving Arthur to his feet and walking towards the shade, doing a marvelous job of making Arthur look like he’s the one doing the leading. Leon barks at the others to clean up, they’re finished for today, and Elyan sees them off. He hurries over as soon as they’re gone, pulling his glove off to feel Arthur’s forehead.

 “You’re warm,” he mutters, “but you have been working awfully hard in the bright sun. Gaius will know more.”

 “Where is he,” Gwaine growls, his eyes scanning the field, “he normally doesn’t take this long.”

 “He’ll come,” Merlin says, his eyes still fixed on Arthur’s pale face, “he’ll come.”

 “It’s fine,” Arthur protests despite the fact he hasn’t been able to move on his own, “just need a moment and I’ll be right back up.”

 “You collapsed, Arthur.”

 “And?”

 “How much water have you drunk today?”

 “Enough!”

 “Well, clearly—“

 “You don’t even know that’s why it happened, Merlin.”

 “What about food?”

 “What are you, my mother?”

 “Well, someone has to make sure you look after yourself.”

 The knights politely look the other way. Well, no. Leon turns to admire the tree leaves. “Still can’t believe they came in this early.”

 “I expected the blooms to be gone by now,” Lancelot agrees.

 The others just appreciate the show, at least until Gaius comes across the field.

 “About time,” Merlin murmurs when Arthur finally looks like he’s going to start taking this seriously.

 “What happened?”

 “He collapsed,” Merlin says before Arthur can say anything, “in the middle of the field. I didn’t see anything.”

 Gaius accepts Merlin’s information with a careful nod. He leans forward and starts looking over Arthur. Arthur puts up with the examination with the patience of a child who’s been promised a treat if they sit still.

 Merlin watches anxiously, for any sign of magic, of poison, of anything that would explain why a man in his prime would collapse. Out of nowhere. He sees nothing. Gaius pulls away and nods to Percival.

 “Come on, sire,” the knight says, helping Arthur to his feet, “let’s go.”

 They retreat to Gaius’s rooms, only for Gaius to instruct all the knights to leave. Arthur protests first, to everyone’s surprise.

 “They’re my knights,” Arthur defends, “if there is something wrong with me, they should know about it. That is their duty to Camelot and my duty to them.”

 “…we can inform them of it at a later time,” Gaius says, fixing Arthur with a look, “this matter is of a…delicate situation.”

 “I don’t care.”

Merlin glances back and forth between the two of them, unsure who to side with. Arthur, whose sense of duty keeps their circle close and whose trust in his men is enough to make Merlin’s head spin. Or Gaius, whose devotion to his patients and their privacy can overrule everyone in Camelot to keep them safe.

 “A compromise,” Lancelot says, breaking the silence, “we will stand on the other side of the room, and then the king may decide whether or not he wishes to inform us.”

 The knights follow Lancelot as Merlin makes to go with them. A hand snags his sleeve and he turns. Arthur isn’t even looking at him and yet the strength of his grip and the way his hand trembles is enough to freeze Merlin in his tracks.

 As soon as Gaius begins to explain, Merlin clutches Arthur’s arm just as hard.

 “…what do you mean it’ll kill me?”

 Gaius bows his head. “There is not a well-known name for this type of condition, sire, not this specific one.”

 “There’s something wrong with my heart?”

 Arthur’s voice cracks on the last word.

 “I am afraid so, sire,” Gaius says quietly. “Something you were born with. Worsened due to lack of acknowledgment and getting to be unavoidable.”

 “So—“ Arthur swallows heavily—“so what do I do? How do I get better?”

 “This…this is not something you cure, sire,” Gaius explains, “this is something you must live with.”

 “You’re the greatest physician in all of Camelot,” Arthur says, his voice growing steadier, “you—you of all people could find a way to fix this.”

 “This is beyond even my capabilities.”

 “But you—you—“ Arthur’s gaze lands on Merlin and Merlin winces. “You.”

 “No, Arthur,” Merlin says, even as it tears at his throat to say so, “I—I can’t. I don’t—there isn’t—I can’t.”

 “Magic made me,” Arthur whispers, “magic—magic can fix this.”

 Merlin shakes his head. “I can’t. I don’t know how. And I—I don’t think we can.”

 Arthur looks back and forth between the two of them.

 Arthur has always been full of fire. Burning, smoldering, fierce, and passionate. When he fought, it blazed high, ready to light the way or burn down his opponent. When he spoke, it sparked, little flicks of light jumping high into the air, pulling everyone into the blaze. Even when he woke, the fire hums, making him warm in a way that pulls Merlin closer, holds him firmly.

 Merlin stares at Arthur and watches the fire go out.

 The hand on his arm leaves. Arthur stares down at it like he doesn’t recognize it. It trembles. He closes it into a fist.

 The trembling doesn’t go away until he takes a deep breath.

 “What do I do,” he asks lowly, “to stay alive?”

 Gaius breathes out and it’s only then that Merlin realizes he’s been holding his breath too.

 “We adapt.”

 It isn’t easy.

 It isn’t easy waking Arthur up later, making sure he goes to bed earlier and eats properly-spaced meals throughout the day. Every time Arthur looks like he’s being held in a cage, glancing out the window with a wistfulness that makes Merlin’s soul ache. He piles Arthur’s plates high with his favorite foods, distracts him with inane arguments, and servant gossip. When Arthur’s slower to wake in the morning, he sits on the side of Arthur’s bed and strokes his head, letting Arthur nuzzle sleepily into his leg and hum.

“Come on,” he coaxes lightly, “let’s get you something to eat, hmm?”

 “Fuzzy,” Arthur mumbles, “my head feels fuzzy.”

 “Gaius said that was going to happen,” Merlin reminds, scratching his fingers lightly along Arthur’s scalp, “and it happened yesterday, remember? It went away as soon as you started breakfast.”

 Arthur’s eyes close and he tucks his head more firmly against Merlin. His eyes squeeze shut tightly and Merlin can’t help the soft noise that escapes his throat.

 “Tired…”

 “I know you have to get up,” Merlin murmurs, “but it’s okay…you can take your time, no one’s going to come in here and tell you you have to go somewhere.”

 Arthur’s head lolls to the side, looking up at him. “Your job, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. No one’s getting in here on my watch.”

 “My Merlin…” Arthur hums lazily. “Mine…”

 “Yours, you prat.”

 Arthur does eventually rise and Merlin makes sure he eats. He sits him down at the desk and starts his chores, returning to see Arthur still staring out the window a few hours later.

 “Training tomorrow,” he reminds cheerfully, “that’ll be nice.”

 “Mm.”

 It isn’t easy when Arthur’s not allowed to train with all of his knights. If Merlin thought spending the day with Arthur after he learned that the others go easy on him because he’s the prince was hard, this is…well.

 Arthur grunts, swinging the practice staff at Leon who blocks it easily, pivoting and standing just out of the way. Arthur lunges after him and again, Leon twirls just out of range. Merlin watches as Leon’s brow furrows and his hands flex on the grip of the staff. They lock eyes for just a moment.

 Leon, despite being one of the most loyal, longest-serving knights Camelot has ever known, is not one to take it easy on anyone, not without good cause. Merlin can count on one hand how many times he’s seen the knight do so. First was with Arthur when the prat was even more fat-headed. Second was when Merlin was forced to spar with them after he’d just recovered from a very nasty concussion. Third is now. Right now.

 He can see the frustration in Arthur’s posture and the way he deliberately leaves himself open for an attack. Leon doesn’t take it. Arthur stops, panting hard, and says he’s done for the day. Leon accepts it with a gracious nod and Arthur walks back over to Merlin as Elyan takes his place.

 Merlin hands Arthur a waterski without a word and stands there while Arthur tries to get his breath back. He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin freezes, waiting until Arthur eases himself down to the steps. They sit and watch the rest of the training.

 “We should do shield work next,” Arthur murmurs, “even though we don’t usually carry them.”

 Merlin nods.

“Gwaine needs to make sure he doesn’t overstep his left.”

 Merlin nods. “Lancelot’s been improving, he’s smoother now.”

 Merlin nods.

 “…we should go back inside.”

 Merlin helps his king up and they go back inside.

 It isn’t easy when Gwen and Morgana come into Arthur’s chambers and they talk. For hours. Gwen and Merlin go and do their chores, whispering back and forth about whatever idle thing they’re talking about now, knowing that there are two siblings in a room that cannot really ever leave it.

 He’s felt it once, only once, when he walked back into the room after leaving them to talk to see Morgana standing with her back to Arthur, looking out the window, and Arthur still at the table, his fist trembling. Morgana had turned and swept past him with her cool gaze masked firmly in place. Arthur had pointedly ignored Merlin’s look and gotten back to writing something at his desk. Merlin had stood there, helpless in the cold room.

 That was the only time, though. After that, he knew they took pains to make sure they parted on better notes. Perhaps one of them noticed the way Merlin’s hands twitched or how Gwen worried at the hem of her apron. They’d caught up with each other after that night, huddled in the darkness of one of the great halls that no one would look in, their arms curled around each other as they whispered about the Pendragons, freed from Uther yet still held by his legacy.

 Merlin looks at Morgana when she takes him by the arm and pulls him into her chambers.

 “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?”

 Merlin shakes his head. He hasn’t stopped looking, not really, but he is starting to gain hope that this won’t be as bad as they think.

 Morgana sits down. “Well…at least some good will come of this. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so willing to…talk.”

 “…talk?”

 “Arthur has always been one for bold, brash, dive-in-with-a-sword politics,” Morgana says, “he’s never really been one to appreciate the intricacies of trying to get things done.”

 She fixes Merlin with a look. “You know that.”

 Merlin does.

 This is good work. It’s work that needs to be done. Morgana’s good at it. Arthur will become good at it. They need to talk, not just about politics, but about each other. It isn’t easy but it must be done.

 So they adapt.

 Merlin worries.

 Arthur is not one to take hardships of any kind lying down, ever. And yet Merlin hasn’t heard him once complain about this, not in any significant way. No dragging his feet, no staying stubbornly until he collapses again, no pointlessly insisting he can do something he can’t.

 Which means that something’s coming.

 It happens in the smallest of ways.

 They’re in Arthur’s chambers in the late afternoon, the sun shining in the window as Arthur squints at his work. Merlin folds the last sheet and sets it aside. The scratchings of Arthur’s quill stop.

 There’s a sharp snap.

 The quill falls broken down onto the floor, a section of its shaft worn to breaking from heavy use. Arthur stares at it like a corpse.

 The sound of his chair scraping back makes Merlin wince as Arthur throws himself up.

 “Useless—“

 “Arthur!”

 Merlin barely manages to stumble forward enough before Arthur’s striding out of his reach. He slams his hands against the wall. His head bows. A guttural roar builds up in his throat. Merlin winces. He can see Arthur’s muscles tense and refuse to relax. Can see the way his hands twitch for a sword. His legs for a fight. His body for anything.

 And he can’t move anymore or he might collapse.

 “Useless,” Arthur growls again, “useless.”

 “Arthur—“

 “No, Merlin!” Arthur whirls around, fire in his gaze, “what good am I like this? I can’t train! I can’t fight! My own knights won’t even—I can’t—all I can do is talk! How am I supposed to defend my people?”

 “You have knights to fight for you, Arthur, you can—“

 “And what kind of a ruler would I be,” Arthur snarls, spittle flying from his lips, “if I sat on my arse in a castle while men died for me? What kind of a coward—“

 “You’re not a coward!”

 “Aren’t I? I’ve been sitting here—“ he waves a disgusted hand at his desk—“talking to people about things I would do while knowing damn well I won’t!”

 “But that doesn’t make you useless, Arthur!”

 “Doesn’t it?” Arthur slams his hand against the wall again. “I can’t fight anymore! I can’t patrol anymore! What can I do? I’m just—I’m—I’m—“

 Merlin rushes forward as Arthur collapses, catching him and pulling him close. “You have to breathe,” he gentles, “come on…”

 “Can’t—even—shout—“

 “Shh, shh,” Merlin says, “come on, you can yell at me all you want after you’ve breathed, come on…”

 Arthur breathes, but before he’s got his breath all the way back he turns his head. “…not mad at you.”

 “…I know.”

 There’s a few moments of silence as their breaths ring in the chamber.

 “…for all my life,” Arthur murmurs finally, “I’ve been known as a fighter. That’s…that’s all I was going to be known as. Even as a king. And now…now…”

 Merlin can feel the roll of Arthur’s throat as he swallows.

 “Now I don’t know what I am.”

 “You’re a king,” Merlin says softly, “not because of your prowess with a sword, but because of your heart.”

 Arthur makes a noise of protest.

 “No, no, you listen to me. You make choices based on what you think is right. No amount of skill with a sword can make you think differently.” Merlin’s fingers find their way unconsciously into Arthur’s hair. “You’re a good man because you care, not because of your fighting skill.”

 Merlin closes his eyes.

 “You…you chose to do so many things, Arthur, because you knew your people. You knew your kingdom. Not because you knew your way around a sword. People don’t follow you because you fight well, they follow you because you rule well.”

 He presses his cheek to the top of Arthur’s head.

 “And if they stop following you because you can’t fight like you used to, then they weren’t truly loyal followers of yours to begin with.”

 It isn’t easy. It probably won’t ever be easy. But as Arthur turns his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck and breathes easier than he has in a while, Merlin starts to believe it may be alright.

[supercalvin]

Hey! First I want to tell you how much I adore the things you write! You’re honestly so talented and I love your Merthur fics sooo much!! And now for the prompt thing, it’s kind of basic but if you could write something about merthur running away to live in a farm (On canon era)? Thank you! Stay safe

I had a bigger idea for this that I might expand into a longer fic one day. But who knows if that will ever happen. So here is this instead!

Prompts + Ficlets

Edit: now with a PART TWO

***

Merlin woke in a cold sweat, gasping as if he had been drowning. This was the third dream in as many days. First, he had dreamt of Gaius, sitting by a fire in a small house on the outskirts of the lower town. Merlin hadn’t thought much of it. Then next night he had dreamt of Lancelot, seeing him in Camelot’s red and gold, with Gwen by his side. The dream had made him sad, but nothing too worrisome. Tonight, Merlin had dreamt of Morgana. She was sitting on Camelot’s throne, Camelot’s knights at her feet, and Excalibur in her hand.

Gaius scolded Merlin for not telling him about the dreams sooner. Merlin defended himself, saying he hadn’t thought they were visions of the future. He wasn’t a Seer after all. Perhaps they were visions of a possible future.

“But Lancelot…” Merlin said, his voice trailing off and his heart sinking. “It must have been Gwen’s dream…”

Gaius shook his head, “I will try to find some explanation today. Now off you go before Arthur comes looking for you.”

Merlin thought about mentioning the dreams to Arthur. It had been a year since Merlin had told Arthur of his magic. Although Arthur had come to understand Merlin’s decisions, Merlin feared these visions would be too similar to Morgana’s nightmares for Arthur to trust them.

That night, Merlin went to sleep and almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he was opening them again. Except this time he wasn’t in his room, but in an open field. He blinked at the bright sky above him. Where was he? He wandered down the rows of wheat until he came across a small cottage. Merlin squinted and he could see a small village down the lane.

“There you are. Where have you been?”

Merlin turned around and was surprised to see Arthur. This far out in the country he had thought he might see Gwaine or Percival. He looked around, trying to see who Arthur was talking to, but no one else was around.

“What are you looking at? Close your mouth, you look like a startled stoat. Come on,” Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and tugged him along.

In his three previous dreams, no one had ever acknowledged him. He could walk around and speak, but it was like he wasn’t there at all. Merlin stumbled along, trying to piece together what was different. All his other visions were of places he had been before, but this place was completely unfamiliar. It must have been something of Arthur’s memories.

Arthur led Merlin to the cottage, but instead of going inside, Merlin was dragged around the side to where there were even rows of vegetables and herbs. Clucking and pecking between the plants was about a dozen chickens. Merlin blinked at the scene before him. It reminded him of Ealdor.

Arthur’s hand slipped to Merlin’s neck and playfully ran over Merlin’s hair.

“Look!” He said with the sort of smile Merlin so rarely saw. It wasn’t like the polite smile Arthur used with his counselors, or the comforting smile he used with while holding court, or even the roguish smile he used with his knights. It was a barely-there tilt of his lips with his eyes almost closed with mirth.

Merlin was so distracted that he didn’t see what Arthur was pointing at.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned Merlin’s head to the back of the cottage, towards a lavender bush. Only one or two of the flower bundles had popped open to reveal the light purple blooms, but Merlin could tell it would be in full bloom in a few days.

“Lavender?” Merlin asked, looking at the plant. It had obviously been well kept, trimmed and watered.

Arthur stared at him as if he had grown two heads. “Aren’t you happy?”

“Uh,” Merlin gave a wary smile, “It’s very nice…?”

“Nice? You’ve been yammering about your stupid bush for weeks, waiting for it to bloom so you can dry it and use it in poultices, and now that it is, it’s just nice?”

Merlin opened his mouth, about to say that this couldn’t possibly be a vision. Merlin must have eaten something off before falling asleep. This couldn’t be Arthur’s vision for the future.

“This is my lavender bush?”

“Yes, of course it is. Did you think I dug up yours and put in a new one?”

Merlin looked down at Arthur, just now taking in the fact that Arthur wasn’t in chainmail. He wasn’t in his usual well-crafted clothes either. He was in a loose-fitting white shirt that was unlaced at the chest, exposing tanned skin. His boots were scuffed and his hands were dirty, as if he had just been working in the garden behind the house.

“I was feeding the girls when I saw the new blooms. I’ve been trying to find you for ages. Were you off in the woods practicing your magic?”

There was too much in that sentence to digest. All Merlin said in response was, “The girls?”

Arthur gestured to the chickens, as if that was the sane thing to do.

“Are you alright? You seem... off.” Arthur asked, before shaking his head, “No matter. Let’s go inside and we can have some of that rabbit stew you promised me.”

Arthur walked into the cottage, which must have been Merlin’s. Merlin looked at the lavender bush and the small cottage. Did Arthur… Did Arthur want Merlin to leave Camelot? Was his dream for Merlin to practice his magic where Arthur didn’t have to see it?

Merlin stepped into the cottage cautiously. The first room was a large space with a large pot hanging over a fire. There were shelves of food with a table that was cluttered with bottles and dried herbs. There was another smaller table off to the side which was obviously meant for eating. So far, it looked like a nice home. Merlin wouldn’t mind living in, if the dreaded feeling that Arthur wanted him gone wasn’t overwhelming him.

While Arthur went to look at the stew, Merlin quickly took at glance at the only other room. There was a bed, larger than Merlin had ever had. In the corner was a wardrobe and what made Merlin pause was the chest in the corner. It looked identical to the chest that sat in Arthur’s chambers. Then his eye caught on the table next to the bed. Excalibur was leaning against the bedside table.

“Merlin?”

Merlin turned on his heel to see Arthur leaning in the doorway.

“Looking for something?” He was smiling, his brows raising, almost as if to imply…

Merlin blinked at Arthur, his mind connecting the clues but not wanting to allow himself to believe it.

“The food will get cold if you dawdle any longer,” Arthur said, but he didn’t seem in a rush. No, in fact he seemed happy to take his time.

Happy. That was the feeling Arthur seemed to be radiating. Not the pride of Morgana’s vision, the love of Gwen’s, or the peace of Gaius’. He was so inexplicably happy, and Merlin had never seen him like this before. So at ease in his own skin.

Merlin opened his mouth, his throat closing with emotion.

“What is it, love?”

Merlin closed his eyes at the endearment that rolled off Arthur’s tongue so easily. So natural that Merlin’ heart ached at the sound. Merlin could feel himself shake. He tried to calm himself, knowing that too much emotion would likely wake him. He couldn’t risk that, not when he was so close to understanding.

“Merlin,” Arthur stepped up in front of Merlin so that they were eye to eye. “Is something wrong? You seem upset.”

Merlin opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Arthur’s dream was to be a farmer. A dirty farmer on the edge of some kingdom, with his knight’s armor piled in the corner, as if a forgotten past. Arthur’s impossible dream was to be here, in some unnamed village, with rabbit stew, and chickens, and…Merlin.

Merlin tried to keep an even expression, but he could feel his lips tremble, and Arthur began to blur as Merlin’s eyes watered.

A king could never be truly happy. It was a fact that both Merlin and Arthur had come to understand a long time ago. Merlin knew that Arthur would have to make choices that would weigh on him. Arthur had already lost so much through this war, and it was only the first step to a united Albion. They both had a weight on their shoulders that they could never escape.

Arthur reached out, his hand resting on Merlin’s neck, his fingers skimming into his hair. “Do you want to lie down?” Arthur asked, his voice so sweet that Merlin felt like he was about to choke on his own tears. “I’ll take the stew off the fire and we can lie down for a bit.”

Arthur turned to leave, but Merlin could not let him. He grabbed Arthur’s tunic, his fingers clenched in the thin white fabric, holding him in place.

“Don’t go,” Merlin whispered, ashamed at how desperate he sounded.

“Oh, love. What happened?” Then Merlin was being wrapped in Arthur’s arms. He could barely feel those strong arms wrap around him, his face being pressed to Arthur’s neck, before his eyes opened and he felt his own small bed underneath him.

He choked out and raised his hand to his face to find that he had started crying in his sleep.

“Merlin?” Gaius rushed into the room and when he saw Merlin, he sighed. He sat on the edge of the bed, “Oh, my boy.” Merlin let Gaius wrap an arm around him, feeling ashamed at his tears. Only the night before he had dreamt of Morgana taking the throne and that hadn’t thrown him into a fit. But a single lavender bush and an uninhibited smile from Arthur, and he was trying to keep himself from falling apart entirely.

“It’ll be alright, it was only a dream.”

If only Gaius knew that Merlin wished it wasn’t.

***

PART TWO

Prompts + Ficlets