Arthur is not accustomed to hearing the lustful moans of a couple in passionate embrace in the castle unless he is one of the two; he is especially unused to hearing Merlin let out such sounds, so that he is undoubtedly hearing Merlin sigh, "Oh, please," in that wanton tone makes his heart clench anxiously and him quicken his footsteps towards the sound.

The couple seems to be in a small alcove near Gaius's chambers that Arthur used to hide in as a boy whenever Uther was in one of his rages. That alcove is sheltered from the corridor by a tapestry, and Arthur sweeps it aside, near-wild with the need to find out if it is really Merlin behind it.

He stills, shocked at the sight before him.

Merlin, with his eyes closed and in the middle of an ardent open-mouthed kiss, doesn't notice that there is now bright light falling upon him and his partner: Sir Gwaine perhaps no longer of Camelot. Merlin breaks the kiss with a shuddering gasp to lean his forehead upon the further of Gwaine's shoulders, lips falling open silently, still unaware of Arthur's incandescent eyes upon him.

Arthur wants to move, to do anything but keep standing there, but he can't lift a finger.

Why would he do this, Merlin, who Arthur had thought never needed anyone like this, whom Arthur had never expected to see like this with Gwaine—of all the people Merlin could've been snogging, for God's sake—

Gritting his teeth in agitation, Arthur wrangles with the thick knot his emotions have coalesced into, while simultaneously trying to decide if he should risk humiliating them—well, humiliating Merlin, for Gwaine has oft found himself at the centre of far more ignominious circumstances—by alerting them to his presence. In the meantime, as he can only look on, Gwaine rests his own forehead upon the cool wall next to Merlin's head, eyes half-open, breathing heavily despite Merlin not quite reciprocating. Only then do Arthur's eyes fall upon Gwaine's hand in Merlin's breeches, jerking.

All sensible thought flees from Arthur as blind rage overtakes him; he nearly draws his sword and runs Gwaine through then and there, the sheer restraint born of being a king the only thing that spares Gwaine a painful death. The ache aflame in Arthur compresses itself into a heavy stone, settling in his stomach, threatening never to erode. For a second, Arthur cannot breathe as he watches Merlin move against Gwaine so desperately—

Arthur knows Gwaine has spotted him. Gwaine can see him out of the corner of his eyes, and yet he won't stop doing that to Merlin, who suddenly clutches at Gwaine's back, scrabbling for hold on his chainmail, as if he is reaching his peak. Gwaine's hand moves faster, and he drops his head to nibble and suck at the base of Merlin's neck, tonguing the hollow between his prominent collarbones. With a pang, Arthur imagines it must be incredibly tender and sensitive, for Merlin quavers and sighs and presses up even harder against Gwaine, kissing him again, keening, so unbelievably alluring that Arthur cannot help the sharp, helpless gasp that escapes him.

He nearly takes a step forward to—to do something, no longer able to bear this sight of Merlin so open and intimate and lost in pleasure despite Arthur not being the one to provide it, but suppresses a tremble as right then Merlin comes all over Gwaine's hand.

Merlin cries out, biting down on Gwaine's mail hauberk, all but collapsing against him.

Gwaine finally meets Arthur's eyes in a defiant stare. Arthur cannot make himself scarce quick enough.

Merlin doesn't know Arthur saw—Gwaine did not tell him, by the way he waltzes into Arthur's rooms in the evening, carrying Arthur's dinner and complaining about having to needle the cook's son into sneaking an extra portion of Arthur's favourite pie onto the tray. Arthur cannot face him, sitting at the table as his tray is placed in front of him, staring at a speech he's supposed to give next week. Merlin seems… happier. More relaxed. Of course he would.

"What's wrong?"

Arthur glances up.

Merlin is gazing at him, concerned. Blue eyes try to read him. Arthur flinches. He usually doesn't mind Merlin trying to figure him out, in fact, he even enjoys seeing Merlin make that effort, but today…

"Nothing." Arthur turns back to the paper in his hands. The speech is only half-written. Arthur has no idea what it's even about. He doesn't even know what he's written so far.

Merlin, who had just been standing there, leans over the dinner tray to peer at it. Arthur rips the paper up and crumples it into a ball. Merlin snickers.

"That bad? You should've just let me do it from the beginning, we both know you're pants at writing anything."

While Arthur appreciates Merlin trying to make him smile, he sincerely doesn't want to see Merlin at the moment. Merlin's smile falters as Arthur doesn't slip into their habitual, easy banter.

"You may leave. I have no more use of you for the day," Arthur mutters.

Merlin stands his ground. "No. Something's clearly wrong. Is it me? Did I make a mess of your armour? More than usual?" Yet another soft laugh. Yet another attempt to cheer Arthur up.

"Merlin," Arthur says as if he were delivering just another customary order. "Get out."

Merlin has the audacity to look hurt.

"Arthur," he begins, stepping forward. His neckerchief, loosely tied, droops, revealing Merlin's collarbones. Arthur's mind immediately flashes back to that afternoon, remembering Gwaine's mouth on Merlin's jugular notch.

He only notices he's risen from his seat and knocked over his chair when the roaring fades from his ears and his vision clears.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asks again, now panic-stricken.

"Nothing," Arthur waves him off in an inferior pretence of nonchalance. "I apologise. Just. Please. Go."

Merlin sucks his lower lip into his mouth in nervous concentration. The same one which Gwaine had tantalisingly licked a few hours ago. Arthur's own tongue prickles. He bites down on it. Arthur's jaw clenching as a result doesn't escape Merlin's notice. He makes to touch Arthur's arm in some show of comfort, but Arthur tenses; Merlin takes a step back, resigned.

"Just eat the pie, all right? I really had to fight that boy for it," Merlin says, before turning and exiting Arthur's chambers.

Arthur doesn't fucking want to eat it.

As soon as Merlin closes the door behind him, Arthur leans against it, securely locking it. Confusion and anger twist his gut, almost nauseating him. That Merlin would allow Gwaine to explore his body like that… Merlin never even hinted at needing release of that sort, and if he had only put voice to his desires, Arthur would've eagerly quenched them. Why hadn't Merlin just spoken his mind with Arthur about this, like he always did despite all of Arthur's rebukes and recriminations? Arthur sighs, feeling irrationally bereft at the mere idea that Merlin in all likelihood also had an emotional entanglement with Gwaine.

Arthur goes to bed, but not before painstakingly eating every slice of the pie Merlin had brought for him, leaving everything else on the tray pristine.

He dreams of Merlin's voice calling Arthur's name in ecstasy, and well, people have been known to dream of more awful things.

Merlin is beaming the next morning when Arthur wakes up, probably because of the empty pie plates. That smile is wiped off his face when Arthur doesn't return to his usual self.

"Training's cancelled for the day," Arthur says, brusque, as Merlin dresses him. "Tell Gwaine to meet me at the grounds in ten minutes."

Merlin starts at the mention of Gwaine. "Why just him?" he asks, adjusting Arthur's cuisse. Arthur almost winces when Merlin's hands go off the metal onto his skin.

"None of your business, Merlin," Arthur says, jerking away from Merlin.

The sharp, simmering fire in Arthur's eyes drains the fight from Merlin.

"Did you see?" Merlin sighs.

"What?"

"Did you see us yesterday?"

"What are you even talking about?" Arthur snaps. As if he would actually admit to it.

"Nothing," Merlin says, this time downright miserable.

Gwaine is twenty minutes late, but he doesn't seem like he cares, leisurely making his way to the grounds, eating the last of a ripe plum. The sharp tang fills Arthur's nostrils and suddenly he loses his taste for plums forever.

"You've kept your king waiting," he snarls at Gwaine, willing him to at least deign to make eye contact. Gwaine doesn't acquiesce.

"Not feeling particularly respectful towards you today." Gwaine tosses the pit aside and draws his sword. "Princess."

Arthur is taken aback at Gwaine's casual disrespect, an erstwhile thing of the past, but doesn't speak. He chooses to retaliate with his sword. Gwaine easily parries.

They spar for the best part of five hours, a bout each hour.

Arthur rather feels like they are all matches to the death; to be honest, they are all his fault. He had only originally intended to wreck Gwaine in one stint, but every time they take a break, Gwaine smirks, as if he's blatantly taunting Arthur with the previous day's events, and Arthur forgets his exhaustion and charges Gwaine again.

"Had enough, sire?" Gwaine asks, when Arthur is too tired to lift his sword hand and is staggering over to the water-skins Merlin had left for them on the bench next to the shields (he hadn't stuck around. Arthur hadn't asked him to.) "You give up too easily."

Gwaine himself is spread-eagled on the ground, drenched with sweat, panting. Arthur grits his teeth.

"Not when the prize has already been claimed." He sends out a silent apology to the universe for comparing Merlin to a trophy.

"I mean it," Gwaine persists. "You fail to see the forest for the trees."

Arthur shrugs.

"I do not vie for those who have already given their hearts to another," he says, after a long while of careful thought, or maybe he just wants to see the discomfort steal into Gwaine's eyes. "But I can very well clobber those honoured by such endeavours."

Gwaine laughs heartily, so much that he cannot reply.

"Consider today a reprimand for your indiscreet choice of location. Be more careful now on, for God's sake," Arthur says, chest throbbing painfully as he struggles to maintain his light tone. "What if it hadn't been me? You of all people ought to know how fast gossip travels in the castle. Don't let Merlin be trampled on by all the covetous maids who've had their eye on you."

"Next time you see us," Gwaine says, drawing a deep breath. Arthur does a double take; surely Gwaine doesn't think Arthur would be as perverse as he probably is, to intentionally choose the voyeur's custom. "You'll see."

"That makes absolutely no sense. I'll see next time I see you?"

Gwaine shrugs. Arthur throws him one of the water-skins. It slaps him wetly on the face.

"Good day, Sir Gwaine, and may I never have to come across the two of you necking ever again," Arthur says, and after such a magnificent repartee, he should turn and walk away, but his knees give out and then he is flat on his back next to Gwaine.

Arthur's temper with Merlin improves considerably over the next few days (which is to say he doesn't feel like trouncing Gwaine anymore), the result of every effort from Arthur to take the high road, forget about ever having seen Merlin's cock in Gwaine's hand, and dispel all hope for Merlin to love him instead of some annoying upstart like Gwaine. However, Arthur's luck on the best of days is abysmal, so it doesn't come as a surprise at all when the matter simply refuses to die a natural death.

Merlin apparently cannot even look at him without guilt (guilt!) clouding his features anymore. In the mornings, when Arthur wakes up and doesn't yet remember that Merlin is a taken man, he smiles sleepily at Merlin's endearing apple-cheeked face while Merlin unfailingly begins "Arthur, you need to know, I'm sorry, I—" ruining Arthur's mood from the very outset of the day, and so Arthur must shut his eyes again and pretend to be asleep until Merlin finishes every chore except the armour dressing and leaves the room, head hanging, to wait outside until summoned.

He has considered, of course, that doing that might make things much worse from Merlin's perspective, but it's foolish to apologise for getting caught having a tryst with a knight and so hopefully Merlin will see sense soon and stop fucking apologising. Honestly, there's no need, it's not Merlin's fault for falling in love with a buffoon like Sir Gwaine of Camelot, Sir Gwaine with the handsome face and the devil's smile and the long fingers and the charming—

Something cracks in Arthur's hand, sending a splinter of pain through his palm. It's the wooden pen he had hoped to use to finish the wretched speech once and for all, near snapped in two, dripping coal-black ink all over Arthur's fingers.

…damn.

Still, Arthur tries his best to pretend he never saw anything, as if his rage at Merlin that evening and the following day was merely the product of kingly exhaustion, but Merlin seems to see right through all that to the seething envy twisted around Arthur's ribs anyway. Arthur hopes Merlin doesn't really. Merlin deserves an unhindered shot at happiness with Gwaine.

Mountain out of a molehill, young king, he hears a familiar yet strange voice say to him this time as he dreams. Give your warlock the chance to reach you.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, all too ready to believe someone or something really did speak to him in his sleep, and thinks, warlock.

So Merlin is a warlock, not a sorcerer. Is there even any difference between the two?

Gwen, dear kind-hearted Gwen, corners him in what, once upon a time, would have been their chambers.

"Can you stop making Merlin miserable," she asks wearily as she shuts the door behind her, leaving all greetings to the side and getting to the point. Arthur used to admire her for that until she turned it upon him. "No one can bear to look at him anymore, he mopes, he's sad, his lips do that thing where he pouts and it breaks your heart to see it, Gaius nearly had to lie down the other day when Merlin came into the room—"

"It's not my fault," Arthur tries to explain, but he is busier getting out of bed and trying to get something sensible over his torso because Gwen may have seen him shirtless before but it is harder to argue your point half-naked.

"Of course it is," Gwen continues, that same drained tone in her voice. Arthur wonders if he is the one that put it there. He probably did; evidently depression and misery follow in his wake wherever he goes. Long live the King.

"Whatever do you mean, Gwen," Arthur starts placatingly but Gwen fixes him with a knowing stare that rivals Morgana's—the Morgana of the past, not the one currently holed up somewhere with his uncle, out to get him for some godforsaken reason, the rights to the throne, whatever, Arthur's king and staying king. Merlin's dilemma takes precedence and patience is a virtue he cannot spare for his irritating half-sister at the moment.

"Just go back to normal with him, Arthur," she says, moving to the bed and sitting down on it. Arthur, standing near the changing screen, hesitates for a moment before joining her.

Now's a good time as any, he thinks, and ventures, "If you were just taking a walk in the castle one day and saw Lancelot with some tart's hand in his pants—" Gwen freezes up next to him and Arthur almost regrets it until he remembers why she's here—"would you be able to pretend you saw nothing and go back to normal with him?"

After some deliberation, he amends, "Well, that's not quite the right analogy, Lancelot already loves you and would never think of doing something like that with anyone else. My point is—"

"Your point is, you really want to begrudge Merlin his affair with Gwaine, but in your heart you believe he deserves to be happy, but you want to punch Gwaine every time you see him, but you also want to go about your quotidian life unbothered by all of this, and if only Merlin would stop acknowledging the elephant in the room."

"No," Arthur protests, voice strangled, far too transparently thinking I was the one supposed to say all of that, and Gwen blithely continues, "I really don't see the problem, though, with letting him get that off his chest as long as you don't have to do anything about it."

"The problem is," Arthur says, seizing the chance to be the wise one this time, "I'm turning a blind eye to it because Merlin would be embarrassed if he knew I knew, but apparently he already knows I know and for whatever reason the fact that I know about him and Gwaine upsets him."

Gwen lets out a snort of undignified laughter that Arthur thinks means she's calling him an idiot, but then she shows she hasn't been listening to a word of what he's just very precisely worded:

"You called Gwaine a tart," she says, shoulders shaking in mirth, and Arthur smiles magnanimously and lets the whole her-not-hearing-him thing slide, because yes, he did call Gwaine a tart and Gwaine bloody deserves it.

Gwen leaves him alone after that, but not without warning Arthur that her husband would be interfering in his matters as well.

The meddlesome husband is no better than Gwen—somehow he's worse, because he's saying it all with his extremely expressive eyes that Arthur, if he had been anyone but Arthur, would have called beautiful.

"Sire."

Arthur takes one look at Lancelot and immediately wishes he hadn't.

"Allow me to guess," he says. "Merlin's miserable, it's my fault, I have to do something?"

Lancelot smiles sheepishly.

"It's not my fault Merlin lets Gwaine touch him in all-too-public nooks, you know," Arthur frowns as Lance's eyes widen a fraction; he clearly hadn't known the finer details, and the thought does occur to Arthur that he is spreading exactly the gossip that he had warned Gwaine against helping proliferate, "if anything, it's Gwaine to blame for not leaving Merlin well enough alone."

Lancelot blinks.

"You're jealous," he says, as if it's an epiphany. Arthur looks at him blankly, having confronted the inevitable much, much earlier.

"It's not like I made a secret of it to you or Gwen or even Gwaine; my only issue with it is Merlin finding out, which he mustn't at all costs, Lance, and now if my knight would give his king permission to carry on drafting his oration—"

"Oh, I am so sorry," and Lancelot is already disappearing from Arthur's rooms, which have been accessed by far more visitors than he would like.

Arthur breaks his third pen that night as the unbidden memory of Merlin's lush lips on Gwaine's takes root in his mind, and what use is being called Pendragon, really?

Gaius steadily bores holes into Arthur's head with his eyes during the next few council meetings, and Arthur can't even do anything about it.

"Merlin," Arthur offers one fine day when Merlin is sitting by the fireplace, knees drawn to his chest, listlessly stoking the fire in Arthur's bedchamber, "you could do with being a bit more secretive about the things you get up to."

Merlin raises his head.

"So you finally admit you know?" he asks dully. Arthur scrambles for something to say, anything other than yes, I know, and I hate that I had to see you with someone else.

"That tapestry's worn thin with age, really, anyone could've heard you—"

"Arthur," Merlin says, throat constricted, "I would give anything for you not to finish that sentence."

Arthur shuts up in sympathy.

"Anyway, I'm usually better at hiding stuff from you," Merlin says, with a quick glance from the corner of his eyes.

"No, you're really not," the words burst forth from Arthur, "you're really, really shit at hiding even your deepest secret from me."

Merlin properly stares at him and, oh, bless his soul, is terrified (Arthur can't imagine of what); and well, now Arthur will have to give up a secret of his own, given that Merlin looks like he's prepared to either flee or knock Arthur round the head with a log until he forgets he said anything:

"Merlin, you—you're not going to die, I'm writing—no one's ever going to die now because of—" Arthur waves a hand around vaguely, and that will have to do for now.

It does, for Merlin's eyes are all at once full of understanding and adoration and devotion and trust. A silken crown forms on Arthur's head, and he reaches up to grasp an exquisite wreath rich with fragrant forget-me-nots of a kind Camelot has never been able to produce. Arthur frowns at Merlin for the reckless magic use, smiling despite himself. Merlin raises his shoulders, shaking his head helplessly, as if he hadn't been able to control himself. The crown takes the place of honour on Arthur's desk.

"You're relieved of your duties," Arthur says, and Merlin's cheer disappears lightning-fast so Arthur hastily adds, "for the day, I mean."

"Why have you given me this rare privilege, sire?" Merlin asks, getting up and dusting himself off on Arthur's favourite rug.

"Well, I thought," Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his chair, "you'd want to go and celebrate with Gwaine."

The smile fades from Merlin's face. "Yes," he says, before bowing (Arthur awkwardly inclines his head in return) and leaving.

Arthur's abysmal luck decides to ruin his day for him yet again, which is why, having taken an entirely different route this time to his destination, he chances upon Merlin and Gwaine in another recess.

He hears their voices before he sees them, and he, resolutely disregarding the spasm of his heart slowly tearing itself into tiny pieces, slides into place right beside the alcove opening and silently berates Gwaine for being even more reckless than the last time—this one doesn't even have a convenient tapestry for fuck's sake—at least until he hears what they're actually saying.

"—wasn't supposed to find out," Merlin is saying. Arthur sighs inwardly.

"Isn't it a good thing, Merls?"

Arthur's face twists violently. Merls.

"No," Merlin's voice sounds small, dejected. "He thinks we're romantically involved."

"Yes, he is a bit thick," Gwaine says agreeably, "but that doesn't explain the fact that you're both allergic to talking it out."

"Gwaine, I tried, but he just doesn't want to listen or talk or be as he was before, and how do I tell him anything now?"

A sigh.

"Want to forget all about it, then?" Gwaine suggests. Arthur's fingers curl into tight fists.

Another sigh.

"I can't ask you to do that for me again."

"I'm offering, Merls."

"Aren't we in enough trouble already after last time?"

"How much more can we get in?"

A snort of agreement.

"I wonder how you're so all right with it, Gwaine," but Merlin sounds like he's perked up.

"Anything to see my dearest friend less unhappy for even a second. Here, I even have a blindfold for you."

Arthur peers at the floor, scuffing it with the heel of his boot, vision suddenly blurry as the unmistakable sound of a kiss resonates out of the recess. Time to fuck off, then. He starts walking furtively back the way he came, but then he hears,

"Just think about Arthur as usual, you lovesick fool," and

"I'm not a fool," plaintive but not disagreeing with the 'as usual' or the 'lovesick' bit at all, so Arthur is left with no choice but to immediately halt, swivel, and dash back to them. Somewhere in the back of his mind his royal duties clamour loudly, calling his attention to them in vain; somewhere else back there, Gwen is making a frightening amount of sense, and yet elsewhere in the corners of his oblivious, unseeing mind, he's battering his past self round the head with a shield.

He stops at the entrance, ready to tell Gwaine to back the fuck off, when he sees Gwaine expectantly looking straight at him.

About time, he mouths with a roll of his eyes.

Merlin is standing with his back against the wall, a brilliant red blindfold secure over his eyes.

"Gwaine?" he asks uncertainly.

"What would you do if Arthur were to kiss you?" Gwaine says with a smarmy wink in Arthur's direction.

"Right," Merlin laughs. "That's going to happen."

"Just trying to get you in the mood, Merls," Gwaine says, urgently beckoning a dumbstruck Arthur over. Arthur silently steps over to him, standing in front of Merlin, gazing at Merlin's face in awe, unwilling to believe what was happening. "Would you let him kiss you?"

"Oh, I'd let the pompous prat kiss me anywhere, any time he'd like," Merlin sighs. Arthur beams.

"Even if he were here right now?"

"Gwaine, I'm sorry, I really value your friendship, but if Arthur were here and willing right now, but I would abandon you for him in a jiffy."

"Oh, that hurts to hear!" Gwaine brings a hand to his heart in mock-despair for Arthur's benefit, though there's a twinkle in his eye. "Too bad you've just got me, eh?" He covers his eyes with one hand and waves at Arthur with the other to go on ahead.

Arthur smiles shyly at Gwaine, who does not see it.

"Are you going to kiss me already so I can forget all my Arthur troubles for a while? I feel stupid with this blindfold on," Merlin demands, licking his lips.

"Yes, my importunate darling," Gwaine says, "I'm just smearing honey on my mouth for you, the least you could do is wait and be a bit grateful." Hand still fast over his eyes, he vigorously signals Arthur to get a move on.

"Gwaine, you pestilent fuck—" Merlin starts, and Arthur goes for it, interrupting Merlin mid-rant.

His rough, calloused hands, surely indistinct from Gwaine's own, slide over Merlin's jawline as he kisses Merlin square on the mouth, tender, loving. Arthur doesn't want to let go of him. He wants to lean in and kiss Merlin again, and he does—as much as he can get away with without involving his tongue.

Arthur sucks and bites Merlin's lips shiny cerise, trying to cherish Merlin as much as he can before this chance is forever stolen from him. Arthur is no stranger to kissing, having been his father's pawn once, yet with Merlin he finds himself dipping into unknown waters, he finds himself dizzy with the rush, his heart overflowing.

Merlin's hands go to cup Arthur's face and Arthur immediately grasps Merlin's wrists and draws them away before Merlin's fingers land on a suspicious lack of stubble. He pulls away from the kiss and breathes.

"This is not the time to develop a sense of virtue," Merlin says, deadpan. Arthur can only watch Merlin in wonder.

A breeze filters through the alcove, ruffling through Arthur's hair. Merlin's nostrils flare, and he gasps audibly.

Arthur's heart seizes, and it is as if time slows down to an impossibly sluggish drag as he realises Merlin just smelled the piquant sandalwood oil Arthur had procured from that one foreign trader months ago, which Merlin now adds to Arthur's soap.

Merlin wrenches his hands free from Arthur's hold, takes one tremulous breath, and pulls Arthur to him again for a kiss that is nothing like Arthur's careful grazes. Arthur loses himself as the breeze fills his head with Merlin's scent, sweat and soot and chamomile, and presses him against the wall with all of himself, hands drifting wherever Merlin presents himself to be touched. Merlin moans into his mouth, hooking a leg around Arthur's thigh.

Arthur gives. Arthur gives as much as Merlin is willing to take, and oh, Merlin takes it all, until an embarrassed cough an eternity later brings Arthur back to his senses.

He breaks the kiss to see Lancelot and Gwaine ogling them. Gwaine, the pervert, is sporting an obscene, gleeful grin while Lancelot just looks highly discomfited, clutching a scroll of important-looking paper that he silently hands over to Arthur, who steps back and away from Merlin. Without a second glance at anyone else, Arthur leaves the alcove, followed by Lance.

What would the Morgana Arthur used to know think about all this, he wonders. She was much braver than Arthur where it counted. Perhaps she deserves the throne after all.

Nah. Not really.

Merlin doesn't fetch Arthur his dinner that night, nor does he wake Arthur the next morning. Arthur does not call for him, though Gaius sends word that he is to blame for keeping Merlin away from Arthur, not any reluctance on Merlin's part. It relieves Arthur more than Arthur had expected it to.

"I'm happy you fixed things with Merlin," Gwen says, joining him on what Arthur had really hoped would be a solitary walk along the battlements.

"Fixed?" Arthur laughs.

"He can't stop beaming, I've heard," Gwen answers. "Got shouted at by Gaius for glowing as the alderman Cedany hacked up blood in his dispensary."

Arthur snorts. Merlin through and through.

"If he's happier now, I've got nothing to do with it, for we haven't even seen each other in days."

"Lancelot doesn't conceal anything from me, you know, Arthur." Tiredness creeps back into Gwen's voice, and Arthur hurriedly says, "Do elaborate," just so she won't look at him as if Arthur provoked the world to settle on her shoulders.

"You know what I'm talking about. You even have proof of Merlin's emotions towards you now, and now that you've been made aware that his momentary tryst with Gwaine was inconsequential, what's stopping you from obtaining happiness for yourself?"

"The one time I'm actually unselfish," Arthur mutters. Gwen swats him on the arm lightly.

"I assure you I'll deal with matters when he returns to my service. In the meantime, George has been serving me quite well—just in case you were worried I was deserted by all my servants."

"I wasn't worried at all."

They share a small chuckle and finish the walk in silence.

"I've realised you're a far bigger idiot than I'd thought," Arthur hears the next morning as he jerks awake. He blinks the darkness away to see Merlin standing over him with a tiny grin. "And you were already a massive idiot."

"No more than you," Arthur mumbles sleepily and turns over.

"You're going back to sleep?" Merlin asks, incredulous. "You're seeing my face for the first time in days, you realise?"

"You're welcome to join me in my bed," Arthur replies, and is promptly hit in the head by one of his own pillows. That gets him sitting up.

"You're an idiot," Merlin repeats. "And a prat. And a dollophead. And a clotp—"

Merlin will always take the first step towards him in their struggle to reach each other, Arthur understands. The thought fills him with ceaseless gratitude for Merlin's existence; an emotion wells up inside him that he can't name, until he can:

"I love you," he interrupts, his own first step towards Merlin. "I have loved you, and I will love you for as long as I live."

Merlin pauses. Arthur wholly understands why Gaius had to berate him in alderman Cedany's presence.

"The thing with Gwaine that you saw," Merlin ventures, cautious.

"It doesn't matter, and I have no right to resent it."

"I mean, it was only a one-off thing, but I'm not saying I wouldn't be pleased if you were jealous…"

"Oh, I was very jealous."

"I love you so much, too," Merlin says, happily. "Look, I even finished your speech. Why did you break all those pens? Were you that frustrated by how shit you are at speechwriting?"

Arthur falls back into bed with a groan. He'd almost escaped that bloody thing, too.

At least Merlin climbs in beside him, laughing and making everything promptly better.

Gwaine wakes up to an entire room full of white chrysanthemums, wishes Merlin's magical incontinence would just resolve itself, and goes about finding the flowers new homes.

Fin

(according to flowermeaning dot com, chrysanthemums can be given as a gift to thank a friend who helped you during difficult times;

also, forget-me-nots symbolise:
- true and undying love
- remembrance during partings or after death
- a connection that lasts through time

and if that isn't merthur to a T...
also i really like the image of arthur with a crown of merlin's forget-me-nots on his head sue me

hope you enjoyed this despite the inconsistent writing style :) let me know what you thought!)