Archive of Our Own ^beta

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After gaining the new manservant, Arthur had quickly grown used to how clueless Merlin appeared to be sometimes. The boy clearly didn’t grow up in the city, as he didn’t understand some traditions and had to pick up royal customs along the way; customs city folk would be used to after observing for years. He had been forced to quickly learn everything: the chores, the castle, the people and the prince’s preferences on the job, so his methods were messy and unpractised. Sometimes he still got lost in the castle’s almost identical corridors, somewhere between the laundry room and god knows where. 

Arthur had just undergone a long day of meetings, and was now retiring to his chambers for the night. Merlin had followed him out of the main hall and proceeded to walk beside him without thinking. Half way through their walk, he remembered someone telling him servants were meant to trail behind their masters rather than beside, but Arthur hadn’t said anything so he decided not to bother correcting himself.

Coming up to the end of the corridor, Merlin began to turn towards what he thought was the right way to Arthur’s chambers, only to be stopped by a light hand on his lower back, gently guiding him the other way. The touch had been so effortlessly soft that he almost didn’t think it was Arthur who had done it. 

Usually, Arthur would have just let him walk the wrong way, only to impatiently call “Merlin!” and have the servant scamper after him while he insulted his absentmindedness. This time, the gesture tolerantly said  “ I know you still get confused and I won’t waste my breath berating you again”. Merlin knew the action had only come from the mind-numbing fatigue that was caused by a full day of lectures, but it had still held an unmistakable fondness.

Merlin glanced at Arthur out of the side of his eye as he was put back on the right path. The prince only huffed and kept his eyes ahead, whereas Merlin averted his to the floor, trying to hide the creeping blush.

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As Camelot’s only prince and finest knight, Arthur took his role as a protector very seriously. It was also just something that came very naturally to him; he was happy to do it, even if he acted indifferent about it.  

So whenever they found themselves in a spot of trouble, Merlin was used to Arthur throwing himself in front of him, sword drawn and poised to strike. However, this time was a little different. 

They had been hunting, easily falling into their usual routine of Merlin complaining and scaring off prey and Arthur shouting at him for ruining everything. Merlin managed to trip and frighten off the third animal of the day. Arthur turned to him, fury in his eyes, but upon seeing something behind Merlin, the fury turned into alarm. Instantly, he was reaching out, grabbing Merlin by the hand and jerking him behind him before dropping his crossbow and drawing his sword. 

Merlin stood in dumb shock, realising Arthur was now fighting off a pair of bandits that must have been sneaking up on him. Merlin could understand pulling him out of the way by grabbing the front of his jacket, arm or shoulder and jolting him forwards. But finding his hand ? Wholly unnecessary and, if anything, he was going out of his way to reach down as well as out. A pull by his shoulder or the front of his shirt would’ve been much more effective, but also more rough and careless. 

Merlin tried to ignore the warmth left around his hand and focus on making sure Arthur didn’t get himself killed.

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Somewhere along their adventure, they found themselves in a run down, old castle, now supposedly inhabited by homicidal ghostly creatures. There had been reports from locals and travellers alike that playful children or refuge seekers had entered the ruins, only to not make it out alive. Those that did survive came out spouting rambling nightmares of soul-draining specters that morosely wandered the corridors. Arthur had been sent to investigate and calm the people. Merlin tagged along, like always.

Both men had begun shivering as soon as they crossed the threshold of the ruins. They didn’t need to verbally confirm that they could feel a shift in the atmosphere. They kept quiet and crept around, on the lookout for any life-stealing entity. 

They were making their way down yet another corridor and Merlin had almost started thinking they were going to leave the ruins with a diagnosis of ‘spooky old castle’ when they both saw it. A dark, towering figure floated out from a passage just ahead of them. Its body was purely made out of smoke and billowing fabric. Merlin couldn’t help the sharp inhale he took, staring ahead, wide-eyed. The being began to turn towards them at the noise. 

Before he knew it, Arthur was pulling him into an alcove, pushing Merlin by the chest against the wall and flattening them both against it. His hand remained firm on Merlin’s chest and he wondered if it was to keep him from bolting or to settle his erratic breaths. Probably a bit of both. He knew Arthur would be able to feel just how much his heart was racing, and if he weren’t so scared, he would be wishing to melt into the wall. Hell, he may as well wish it now too, seeing as it would get them away from whatever the hell was making its way down the corridor. 

What he had thought to be his ears ringing from terror turned out to be a deep, ominous humming omitted by the spirit. The noise got louder and louder as it approached, but capped at a frustrating volume. Not uncomfortable or loud enough that he had reason to be as petrified as he was, but verging on the edge of it, threatening and looming. It felt like it was all around him, filling every crevice and overwhelming his senses. He wanted to cover his ears but fear paralysed him.

The little light they had in their hiding place suddenly vanished, blocked by the menacing figure coming into view as it moved eerily calmly by the alcove. It faced down the corridor but came to a stop next to their hiding place. Merlin couldn’t bear to watch any longer, knowing he’d already be having nightmares, so he closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for his soul to be sucked out of his body. 

Please, oh, gods, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.

Merlin honestly has no idea how long it was before something happened. He had been so focussed on praying to every god he could think of and pretending to be invisible, that he hadn’t noticed the hum subside as it continued down the corridor. Arthur moved beside him and he jumped, eyes snapping open without his permission. Arthur was peeking his head around the corner, hand still pressed against Merlin’s sternum, even though it meant his arm was wrenched uncomfortably behind him. 

Arthur flicked his eyes back towards Merlin, cataloguing if he was ready to move or not. His face held wary concern-- for him or their situation in general, he couldn’t tell. However, in a moment, the care translated through his hand and face was gone and he was being hastily tugged out of the alcove and shoved into motion as they ran in the opposite direction of the phantom.

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Naturally, having the position of the prince's personal manservant came with lots of chores. Or, ‘privileges’, as Arthur sometimes liked to call them when he thought Merlin was being particularly ungrateful for something he was definitely being appropriately ungrateful about. 

“Washing the prince’s clothes is a privilege, I’ll have you know.”

“You should feel privileged to scrub my floors.”

“It’s a privilege to clean the prince’s boots, Merlin.” 

Yeah, right.

Technically, he knew he was in a better position, station-wise, than other servants, but the work could be gruelling and the workload wasn’t spread out over other people. Not to mention the extra-curricular activities that went entirely without thanks. 

That, paired with Gaius’ diagnosis of getting up on the wrong side of the bed, is why he’s feeling particularly bitter today, while he’s lugging Arthur’s full set of armour up the second flight of stairs. Arthur likes to make fun of him for being weak and scrawny, but he had to have a bit of muscle on him in order to manage Arthur’s armour and weapons everyday. His mother always said he was just built lithe.

Usually, other servants and castle staff would be hurrying up and down the steps as they went about their own work, but it had been quiet today, so there wasn’t even a chance of someone offering a hand out of pity. 

He can see he’s made it to the last couple steps, and knowing how close he is just makes his legs shake more and the armour feel ten times heavier. He grunts at the unforeseen increase in pressure and lifts his foot for the last step with a bit more effort. 

There’s an abrupt change in gravity (or he must have miscalculated) because he’s tipping backward, his foot never reaching the last step, instead jerking back to stop him from falling–

Suddenly, there’s a stable arm circling his waist, pulling him back from his doom and up the last step. His stomach swoops, not just from the lurch in direction, but also at the impressive display of strength. The arm makes sure to push him a bit further away from the edge of the stairs before making a hesitant retreat, as if he was still going to tip over. He gets his feet under him properly, his legs remembering the scare and almost shaking more than they were before. After a moment, he peers over the pile in his arms.

Great, of all the god-forsaken people he didn’t want to see.

Before he can catch his breath, Arthur is ranting his usual “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin!” speech, hands on his hips and standing tall over his hunched form, before sending Merlin on his way. 

As Merlin struggles down the corridor he wills the skin around his waist to stop buzzing like that, he’s a prat! and begs his brain to stop relishing the feeling of almost being pulled off his feet like a maiden.

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Merlin had been occupying his thoughts by trying to calculate whether he had spent more time in the woods with Arthur than he had in the castle. At this point, it almost felt like they were out there everyday, and when they missed a day or two, they would end up making up for it with an overnight or multiple day trip (whether it was planned or not). 

His calculations had been interrupted, however, when things naturally took a turn for the worse. Arthur noticed they were being followed, a lone scout trailing their location, no doubt leaving his own trail for his companions. Before they could think up a plan, the scouts' friends had arrived; a large group of men looking far too put together to be your average bandits, but bearing no recognisable uniform. They decided to work out who they were later and focussed on keeping themselves alive. 

The men were smart, spreading out amongst the trees and trying to encircle them, but Arthur was smarter, having been trained to track prey and evade predators since youth; he was confident they would be able to slip out of their enemies’ grasp. He kept low, Merlin copying him as they creeped amongst the trees. Occasionally Arthur would tug him either which way, having seen something Merlin hadn’t. It seemed to be working, the men only finding each other, creating confused clusters of them dotted around. 

They found themselves walking along the bottom of a sharp embankment that was littered with grand trees that tapered off as the ground became too steep. Merlin thought they would soon be successful in slipping away when Arthur suddenly threw a hand up, signalling for Merlin to stop. There were a couple moments silence and Merlin tried to figure out what had made Arthur react like that, when a snap came from above them. 

Arthur acted with practised speed, throwing himself under an outcropping of tree roots and hauling Merlin with him. The movement made Merlin startle and Arthur clearly knew him too well because he immediately threw a hand over Merlin’s mouth, muffling the yelp that escaped him. Something that he had expected even less was the fact that he’d ended up between Arthur’s legs with his back pressed against Arthur’s chest. Both of their knees were pulled up as they tried to tuck themselves as far into the hiding spot as possible. The arm not occupied with Merlin’s mouth was pressed over his chest and arms, holding him there tight.

Two people were grumbling above their heads and dirt began scattering down beside them as they tried to traverse down the slope. 

Merlin’s brain was hopelessly caught between Oh my god, they’re going to see us and Oh my god, I’m pressed against Arthur’s chest with my head on his shoulder. His breathing must have given him away, as Arthur’s arm tightened protectively, the hold much more than a practical necessity. The hand on his face loosened slightly as the leather-clad thumb moved deliberately across his cheekbone. 

Merlin relaxes slightly in Arthur’s embrace, listening intently for their potential attackers. One of the voices impatiently dismisses the idea of stumbling down the hill, and the other one doesn’t take much convincing. Some crumbling dirt invades their space as the men push themselves back onto the embankment and their footsteps gradually fade away. 

Merlin deflates a little and notices Arthur does too. In fact, he feels it and moves with it. How could he not, in this position? He feels like he should pull away. Even though Arthur was the one that arranged them like this, he feels like he’s done something inappropriate or invaded the prince’s personal space. Nevertheless, he doesn’t move until Arthur does, leaving the decision that it’s safe up to him. 

The hand on his face moves to his shoulder and the prince pats Merlin on the chest fondly. He pushes him away, the gesture more helpful than commanding, and Merlin gets himself to his feet. He pretends to focus on flicking twigs and leaves off his trousers to hide his pink cheeks and not-yet-normal breathing. 

On their journey back, his earlier arithmetic is replaced by wondering how many times Arthur would touch him with that unusual, non-verbal something before they spoke about it.

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When you spent so much of your time running around after a petulant, ungrateful and highly demanding prat, it was miserably easy to forget about your own needs. Gaius frequently scolded him for overworking himself and often commented on how little he ate for someone who did so much physical activity. This morning was when his mentor brought both of those things up. Unfortunately and ironically, Merlin didn’t have time to worry about those things and he’d run out the door with a dismissive, but not unappreciative, “Thanks Gaius!” . 

Now, on a scouting trip with Arthur and his knights, he wishes he’d paid some mind to what Gaius had said. 

They’d set up camp for the night. Or rather, Merlin had set up camp, receiving minimal help from any of the other group members. He knows he’s the servant but come on, there’s 6 of you, at least drag over a log to sit on or something. 

He’d cooked and served the food, quickly moving on to laying out everyone’s bedrolls. The knights scoffed down their food and were done by the time he’d finished so he gathered the dishes and pot and got to work on cleaning them in a nearby stream. When he’d trudged back, everyone was settling down for the night and Arthur made a comment at him about not making a racket. He’d put away the crockery and patted down each of the horses before deeming he’d done enough for the night. 

He drags himself back over to his own horse, patting the mare’s snout and reaching for his bedroll attached to the saddle, only to find it wasn’t there. He confusedly looks around the camp, wondering if he put it out already, but finds 6 bedrolls filled with 6 men. He groans, thumping his head against his mare’s flank. He can visualise exactly where his bedroll is, which is miles away on his bedroom floor in Camelot. He’d run straight past it on his way out this morning. Fat load of good it does there. Gaius was right, he needed to think about himself more. 

There’s not much he can do about it now, so he sags in defeat and hobbles towards the dying fire, deciding he’ll just have to curl up next to it for the night. The ground offers an uncomfortable bed and he knows he’ll wake up sore and cold tomorrow. Nevertheless, he shifts and shuffles as he tries to find the most comfortable position, eventually settling curled on his side. His stomach grumbles and he belatedly realises he forgot to eat, he’d been in such a rush to feed everyone else and complete his chores. He just settles in further, willing himself to ignore the familiar ache. One good thing about being as exhausted as he was, was that he could fall asleep wherever and whenever he liked. 

He very quickly drifted off, but was woken a minute or two later by movement in the camp. He dismissed it as a knight needing the toilet and began to fall asleep again when he heard the person walking closer to him. He was about to open an eye to check for danger, when he felt something be draped over him. A blanket? Who would be giving him their blanket? 

Hands were reaching down, adjusting the blanket to cover all of him and then tucking it in gently around his shoulders and face, taking extra care to make sure it didn't cover his nose.

Ah, he thought, that’s who.

There's a few seconds where nothing happens and Merlin wonders if Arthur is just standing there staring at him. Then, ever so delicately, a finger pushes a stray lock of hair out of his face.

The actions were so tender and kind, Merlin knew Arthur wouldn’t be doing it if he thought Merlin was awake. The touch was so familiar that he was almost ashamed of it, but the fingers grazing his skin made his heart skip a beat, and he knew it was wrong to be ashamed of such a wondrous thing. 

The hands retreat gingerly and he grieves their loss immediately but celebrates the warmth they left behind. He waits until he hears Arthur make it back to his own station before cracking his eyes open to process what had just happened. As expected, he’s met by the darkness of the night, but also finds a small package left by his head. He struggles to think what it is, reaching out and poking it to feel what’s inside. He makes out the shape of some bread and dried meat. 

He’s almost horrified to realise Arthur had been paying such close attention to him. And yet, his chest blossoms with warmth and he squeezes his eyes shut against the joyous tears that gather there. 

Maybe they don’t need to speak about it after all.