Merthur One-shots

The Sweet Blackberry Is Worth The Bitter Aftertaste

Merlin rolls his eyes, but then glances at the door, then the window and back, before sighing and waving the wood shut. “I don’t want to bother anyone. It’s late enough because you wouldn’t shut up about hunting with King Stalgad.”

“Hunting is an art, Merlin,” he says haughtily as his friend steps forward to help him take off the chainmail.

Merlin snorts. “Yeah. So is Gaius’s potion making.” He sets aside the armor and helps Arthur take off his shirt out of habit, too, because he apparently thinks Arthur is an idiot. Arthur doesn’t stop him from doing it, though. “And at least that’s useful.”

“When I hunt, it feeds you,” Arthur reminds him slowly with wide eyes, as if speaking to a child.

Merlin frowns sulkily down at Arthur’s tunic that he’s folding. “It also causes me a great deal of misery. And stress. Every time we come back from a trip I have more grey hairs.” He tosses it gently beside Arthur’s bag and digs out Arthur’s nightclothes.

“Nonsense,” Arthur says cheerfully. “We both know you’re skipping grey and going straight to white.”

Merlin throws his nightshirt and pants at him. “That’s not even funny.”

He finds his own clothes and starts to kick his boots off and they haven’t solved their little problem and Arthur focuses critically on pulling on his shirt and changing his pants.

He stands there stupidly for a second before climbing into the bed, trying to quell the pace of his ridiculously flustered heart.

Merlin stops in front of him, and Arthur half ignores him, turning on his side and waving a hand dismissively. “Just use your magic to poof up another one.”

He’s facing away, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Merlin lean forward in disbelief. “What?”

Arthur props himself back up on his elbows because of course he can never just say one thing to Merlin and leave it at that. “You know. Make another.” He does another airy hand gesture and wiggles his fingers, and he thinks that maybe this is what irritates his Court Sorcerer.

“I can’t just poof up another bed,” Merlin snaps.

“I thought you were the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth,” Arthur says, because he loves teasing him about that.

Sure enough, Merlin’s ears burn red. “That’s just not how it works!”

“What do you mean? You do stuff like that all the time,” Arthur points out.

“That’s a little different,” Merlin sniffs. “I’m able to summon a lot by instinct, but depending on the size of the object spells are best to ensure-”

“You didn’t even try,” Arthur interrupts. He’s being an ass. He knows he’s being an ass. But the banter is a welcome and familiar distraction, and also he wants to see how mad Merlin will get at him. “Just wave your hand and see what happens.”

He can practically see the throbbing at Merlin’s temple and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. But, sort of to his disappointment, Merlin composes himself with a small breath through his nose and then looks condescendingly at Arthur. “ You ’re gonna tell me how magic works. With your wiggly fingers.”