It had been hours since night had descended. Stars filled the sky, glittering like tiny jewels in a tapestry: sewn into the very fabric of darkness.
And it was quiet.
Not just quiet, but peaceful. There was something calming about knowing everyone else was asleep. It made being awake mean something. During the day, awake wasn't something you were, it was something you did: you woke up and you were busy.
But to be awake at night was something else entirely.
It was freeing.
At night, Arthur was free from being a Prince. He was free from responsibilities and expectations and pressure. He could breathe easily. He could relax.
He was cold.
Sat on the windowsill, gazing out into the night, Arthur could feel himself shivering. He'd been sat still for too long. His limbs were stiff and numbed with the cold that crept up from the stone surface below him. He didn't think to get a blanket. Instead, he found himself staring at the darkened fire hearth: packed with logs Merlin had forgotten to light.
And it was odd.
It was odd because, rather than being annoyed, or frustrated, or even mildly amused at the extent of Merlin's incompetence, Arthur felt something entirely different.
He felt sad.
And the sadness was consuming. It was a dull ache that kept growing. And it was heavy. Crushing, almost. And it didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all, and it was ridiculous because—
Arthur jumped up as the chamber door creaked open. "Who's there?"
"Me."
"Who the hell—" Arthur sighed, "for gods sakes Merlin, that's you isn't it?"
There was a familiar light laugh. "Why's it so dark in here? Did you run out of candles?"
"No, Merlin. I happen to like the dark."
"Are you alone?"
"Stop asking stupid questions."
There was another creak as the door was closed, and then a brief flash of gold: the candles leapt into life. It was only then that Arthur could see Merlin's face; bathed under the soft, flickering glow, and smiling widely, he looked nothing short of beautiful.
Arthur felt himself redden. "Can I ask why you're here, Merlin?"
"I thought you might be lonely."
"It's the middle of the night. Of course I'd be alone."
"Being alone and being lonely aren't the same thing," Merlin shrugged, "but if you'd rather I went—"
"No! I mean," Arthur coughed, "you can stay, if you must. I suppose it would be rude of me to kick you out."
"It would."
Arthur slid off the windowsill and took several, slow steps towards Merlin. "You know what I think?"
"Probably not a lot."
"Oi!"
Merlin tried to suppress a grin.
"I think," Arthur paused, leaning against the bed post, "that it's rude that no one lit the fire in here — after all, I could've frozen to death — but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that, would you Merlin?"
Stood in a jacket that was far too big for him, with sleeves that fell low enough to hide his hands, Merlin managed to look the picture of innocence. "I got distracted, I'm sorry. I'm sure you could have lit it yourself though, it's not that difficult, in fact I could do it now if—" Merlin frowned, "why are you smiling?"
Arthur had been watching him fiddle with the hems of his sleeves. He seemed to do that a lot. He'd pull at the sleeves until they frayed. It was like a nervous habit. Something subconscious.
"Arthur?"
"It's nothing."
"It's something."
"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur sighed, flopping down on the bed. Then, glancing up at Merlin, who was still stood beside the door, he added: "you can leave the fire, by the way. And stop standing there like that, you look like a creep."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Where should I stand then?"
"Don't be difficult."
"It's a simple question."
"Just come here," Arthur waved an arm at the empty space beside him. "No falling asleep though."
Merlin stared at him for a moment, half-convinced he'd misheard. It was only when Arthur moved over a little, making more room, that Merlin hesitantly crawled onto the edge of the bed and lay down beside him.
Arthur chuckled. "You'll fall off there. In fact, I'm tempted to push you."
"And why," Merlin huffed, "would I want to be any closer to you when you make comments like that?"
"I'm the Prince, Merlin, most people would love to be this close to me."
"Yeah, well I'm not most people."
"Evidently."
"You're more of a prat than a Prince, actually."
Arthur didn't need to look to know that Merlin was smiling. He could picture him exactly: stretched across the edge of the bed, arms folded, staring at the ceiling, with a small smile spreading its way across his face. "Really," Arthur smirked, "is that so?"
"Yes. You're a prat and you're lucky that I grace you with my presence."
Arthur laughed, and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth; it was quite late, and he really didn't want to attract the attention of the guards. Instead, he shoved Merlin's shoulder lightly and, rather than let him fall, Arthur kept a steady grip on Merlin's jacket and tugged him towards the centre of the bed. "Better?"
It was better. Being nearer the centre of the bed meant two things: comfort and warmth. Comfort, because the duvet — though Merlin was on top of it rather than underneath — was softer; and warmth, because despite the slight chill of the room, Arthur seemed to radiate heat. Being close to him was snug.
"Well?"
"Yes," Merlin smiled, "better."
"Good."
"Arthur?"
"What."
"I need to tell you something."
"Tell me then."
"Do you promise not to be angry?"
"No."
Merlin was suddenly very aware of the room's silence. "I can't tell you why but I, uh," he cleared his throat and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I told Gwen and Morgana about my magic."
"You what?"
"I told—"
Arthur hit him in the face with a pillow.
"Hey—"
"Are you insane?" Arthur hissed, "why the hell would you— Morgana is the King's ward!"
"So? You're the Prince!"
Arthur dragged his hands over his face and groaned. "That's— that's different."
"She's not going to tell anyone, and neither will Gwen."
"That's not the point, Merlin."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point," Arthur sighed, dropping his hands to his sides, "is that you cannot keep telling people. It's a secret for a reason, Merlin. If the wrong person found out — if my Father found out — do you have any idea what would happen?"
"Of course I—"
"You could be killed! They'd torture you, for gods sakes, they'd burn you at the stake," Arthur shuddered, "and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if that happened."
For a moment, Merlin lay completely still. Then, without a word, he reached out and brushed Arthur's hand with his fingertips. He wanted to whisper that it was going to be okay, and that he was sorry — because really, he never thought that Arthur would be distressed or upset or anything other than perhaps a little angry. He wanted to reassure him. He wanted to help calm him down. But, when Arthur laced their fingers together, his warm hand soft against Merlin's own, he felt all his words fall away.
Even now, with his life potentially at stake, Arthur could tell that Merlin had found a way to worry about someone else: to worry about him. He truly was a wonder. It was as if he was incapable of being anything but selfless. His heart was simply too big. And all Arthur wanted was to keep him close.
To hold him.
To keep him safe.
And, lying there in the dark, with Arthur tracing his thumb in slow circles across the back of his hand, Merlin felt more than safe.
He felt at home.
A/N
Not to be a clown, but seeing Bradley post from Tintagel while Eoin makes vague comments about "something" Merlin related has really got me feeling some type of way
I mean, what if they did a small reincarnated!Arthur AU or something... ahahah just kidding... unless ???
~ Kat