Chapter Text
Merlin frowned at the snow billowing from the clouds when he drew open Arthur's curtain. Rooted in thought, his mouth did not think to open and call Arthur awake. He could only stare and chew his bottom lip, anxious.
Somewhere, out there, was Lord Vikram, supposed to arrive today from Essetir. Merlin knew how important this visit was—things had been rather frosty with Cenred's kingdom for a very long time, but since the death of King Cenred at the hands of Morgause, Camelot and Essetir had a chance to mend relations.
Of course, Merlin desperately wished for this. Ealdor was in Essetir, and it would bring him peace of mind, never having to worry about his mother's wellbeing should another battle break out, or another war be started.
After Cenred's death, Camelot should have renegotiated peace immediately, but it had been almost a year since. It was hardly their fault; everyone was a bit distracted for a while, what with the success at the Battle of Camlann and Arthur’s near-death experience. Merlin’s secret had been revealed, and Arthur had not been particularly upset about it, much to Merlin’s surprise. Things were fantastic, actually. But still, without the cruel King Cenred, Camelot had a chance to possibly reknit an alliance with Essetir, and it was about time they did.
Merlin was startled from his thoughts by a pillow thwacking the side of his head.
"Merlin!" Arthur complained, voice still weighed with sleep but annoyance sharpening his wits. "Were you planning on gazing at the square all day, or were you ever going to wake me up?”
The warlock shook his head from his reverie. “Sorry sire,” he said, his gaze lingering on the falling snow. “I got distracted.”
He heard less than saw Arthur’s feet shuffling tiredly behind him, joining him at the window. “That doesn’t bode well,” the king grumbled, running a hand over his face to wake himself up. “I do hope Lord Vikram isn’t caught in this.”
Merlin hummed in agreement. “Perhaps you should send some men after him,” he suggested, trying to sound casual and unbothered. “Just in case he ran into any trouble last night.”
Arthur rubbed his eyes, and Merlin thought maybe he’d overstepped, but Arthur was still blearily trying to get his bearings. “I think you might be right,” Arthur admitted, stifling a yawn. “Lord Vikram’s arrival is important—if he’s been waylaid, Camelot has the opportunity to prove our good faith by assisting him.”
Cenred had no direct heir, so the kingdom went to his young nephew, the only remaining member of his bloodline. But this boy wasn’t yet five years old, so he was not, as yet, in charge.
Arthur thought it wise to reach out to the lords who took over Essetir in the interim, and was somewhat surprised when his missive was returned with the promise of a visit from Lord Vikram, the patriarch of one of Essetir's most respected noble families. This is why Merlin chewed his lip as he watched the snow from Arthur's chamber window—today was important. It had to go well, which Merlin knew it would. He only feared the snow might hinder the old lord's journey, or endanger him.
Hours before, Merlin had contemplated going to find the lord himself, to protect him with his magic if need be. He’d hesitated though, feeling something else was afoot. Nothing dark, like his usual funny feelings, but something else. The feeling was so strong that he’d abandoned the idea and resigned himself to wait.
Merlin went about getting the king ready for the day ahead, draping his clothes over his changing screen and gathering his bedsheets as Arthur changed.
“If I didn’t know any better, Merlin, I’d think you were worried about the old lord,” Arthur quipped as he stepped out from behind his screen, fiddling with the laces at his tunic’s neckline.
Merlin glided over and took Arthur’s laces in his long, deft fingers and began to fix it. “I am worried. It would be nice to know whether or not my mother’s village is in good hands,” he admitted honestly.
Arthur’s hand briefly met his own, stilling Merlin’s ministrations and causing the lace to fall back to his chest. “I know how important this is to you,” Arthur said very seriously, and when Merlin met his gaze, he was aware of how close they were standing. To keep his face from reddening in betrayal, he looked back down at Arthur’s lace, finishing the work quickly and taking a step back, as though admiring his handiwork.
“It's important,” Merlin agreed, “but I’m not worried about the treaty, so long as he makes it here in this weather. Lord Vikram is a gentle and generous man. The fact that it is he who wished to come to Camelot is a good sign.”
Arthur let out a huffed laugh. “You speak as though you know the man, but we’ve never met him!”
“You’ve never met him. Now turn around, I need to affix your cloak.”
Arthur did not do as Merlin asked, instead, he crossed his arms as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Merlin was already rifling through Arthur’s drawer for a cloak, feeling victorious as his fingers brushed against the velvety Camelot red fabric. He had a soft smile as he pulled it out—this one was Merlin’s favorite. It had gold thread at the seams, glittering subtly along the trim. And then there was the length, how it fell to the king's knees in the front but stretched near to the floor behind his heels, giving Arthur a regal silhouette while showing off those legs—
“Merlin! I asked you a question!”
Merlin’s head jerked up, embarrassed. “Sorry, what did you ask?” he offered diplomatically as he went to drape the cloak over Arthur’s shoulders.
Arthur was glaring at him now, but he seemed more bewildered than angry. “What did you mean I’ve never met the man? Have you met Lord Vikram before?”
Oops. Had he said that? He hadn’t planned on bringing that up. Merlin had just gotten a bit carried away trying to convince Arthur that Vikram was a kind and reasonable man—but it slipped out. See, this wasn't the plan, because he’d been hoping that after so many years, the aging nobleman wouldn’t recognize Merlin. He still hoped for this, even with his new blunder.
Merlin was silent for too long, and Arthur took this as an admission. “You do know him! How? When? Why haven’t you mentioned this befo—”
“Oh calm down,” Merlin said with an eye roll. “It’s not all that serious, Arthur. He stayed in Ealdor for a week when I was seventeen. I spent some time with him then.”
Arthur’s eyes only grew wider. “You spent time with him?! Merlin, why didn’t you bring this up? We’ve been anticipating his visit for a month!”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Merlin replied calmly. “It was almost eleven years ago. The only reason I mention it now is so that you'll know that Lord Vikram will be agreeable.” Merlin sighed as he brought the gold clasps of Arthur’s cloak together just below his neck. “He's a good man, Arthur, and I worry about him out there, with this weather…” he trailed off as he stepped back again, his head turning once more to the window.
Though he may have still been incredulous and annoyed, Arthur only sighed in defeat. “You are a riddle sometimes, Merlin.”
The servant shrugged. “I've said before that you've never fathomed me out,” he reminded the king.
Merlin didn't hear Arthur's quiet utterance of “don't remind me” because he was already back to the laundry basket, stuffing the bedding inside. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” Merlin scolded, changing the topic.
He did mean what he said—he didn't think it mattered much at all. He only refrained from mentioning why Lord Vikram came to Ealdor. It was better that way.
Merlin glanced up from his task as Arthur plopped down at his desk, where Merlin had left the tray. Merlin tried not to stare as the king brought the water goblet up to his lips, tried not to stare at the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, tried not to stare at his mouth as he let out a small, refreshed breath.
No, Merlin had no desire whatsoever to recall those teenage years in Ealdor for Arthur. Maybe Merlin needed to stop having secrets. Everyone had taken his magic in stride, and the ban had been lifted. Truthfully, this was a secret he should be able to tell with ease. It was the kind of thing you were supposed to talk about with your friends.
But as he watched Arthur split a blueberry with his teeth, the dark juice dotting his bottom lip, Merlin fixed his gaze on the basket in his arms.
Arthur wasn’t just a friend anymore, was he?
Merlin hated himself for it, he really did. It was horrible, realizing you were in love with your best friend, with your king. And while Arthur could be a bit possessive in his own right—which now brought Merlin a thrill, when it used to be annoying—Arthur was only possessive because he was Arthur, not because Merlin was Merlin. And he could not confuse the two, else his heart would break.
He didn't need Arthur to want him. He knew Arthur cared for him as a friend, even if he wasn't always great about saying it. Though his magic secret was out, things had remained much the same. Sure, maybe Merlin had hoped for his life to progress, to change, once Arthur knew the whole truth. But other than staying up all night to hear Merlin’s tales of background heroism, Merlin’s magic didn’t seem to change anything between them. And Merlin was more than okay with that. Arthur was his best friend. Merlin didn't need any more.
But it didn't stop him from wanting more. With his job, with Arthur…
A sharp knock at the door pulled Merlin from his thoughts once again. “Enter,” Arthur called lazily, biting into a sausage.
Sir Leon's face peered around the door. “The Essetir party has been spotted in town, sire,” he informed him. “They'll arrive in the square any moment now.”
Arthur and Merlin’s eyes widened synchronously, looking between one another and Leon, still hovering on the threshold. “You’re telling me that the lord has been traveling in these conditions? Was I not told correctly that he is a man in his sixties who has retired his sword?”
Leon looked apologetic for not knowing the answer. “You were told correctly, sire. All I know is that Essetir riders have arrived through the gates. I have not seen them for myself. But Elyan told me there was a man in front, atop the largest horse he’d ever seen.”
“Was it sorrel? Thick-limbed like a bull?” Merlin asked urgently, which, of course, was the strangest thing he could have asked.
“Well, I believe so. All Elyan said was that it was the strangest, largest horse he’d ever seen.” Merlin let out a relieved sigh, to which Leon raised a brow curiously. “Is the horse… Lord Vikram’s?” the knight asked awkwardly, unsure why Merlin reacted this way.
Arthur waved a hand through the air as he stood. “Don't mind him,” Arthur said. “Merlin just forgot to mention that he and Lord Vikram are best friends, and he apparently knows everything about him, and he's been worrying himself half to death.”
“That is not what I told him.”
“Oh, and Merlin, since you and Lord Vikram are such good mates, I think it would be a treat for you to serve him instead of me for the duration of his stay. Now you can tend to his strange horse and reminisce about your week of bonding and sharing your deepest secrets!”
Merlin looked to Leon for help, but the man was rendered speechless, eyes wide, still catching up. Merlin scowled at Arthur. “You are such a prat, you know that? I don’t want—”
“Not now, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted. “So you know that it’s Lord Vikram’s horse… good! We know that he’s here, and ahead of schedule.” Merlin rolled his eyes again, this time looking at Leon as if to say can you believe this clotpole? He was rather proud of how easy it was to get this exact message across as Leon held down a shameful laugh.
“I’ll have the throne room prepared.”
“No need, Leon. We will meet him in the courtyard.”
“Sire, the weather—”
“Lord Vikram has traveled in the storm to meet us, so we shall travel in it to meet him.”
“Arthur—”
“No complaining, Leon! A little cold weather will build character. I want some knights with me at once!”
“...Yes, sire.”
After Leon marched hurriedly away, Merlin glared at the king. “Seriously, Arthur, what has gotten into you?! You’re erratic!”
Arthur was grinding his jaw, arms folded tensely across his chest. “I just… I want this to go well! Of course, I want this to go well. I know you think it will be okay, but I’m the king. I need it to be okay.”
Merlin felt his frustration loosen at Arthur’s grumbled admission. He would certainly try to worm his way out of serving Vikram later, but for now, he dropped it. “I know. That’s the only reason I even mentioned I knew Lord Vikram—I know you’re worried about today. It’s been a long time since Camelot and Essetir had the chance to mend fences. But Arthur, the moment you said that the missive you received was from Lord Vikram, I knew everything would work out.” Arthur blinked, apparently struck dumb. Merlin wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing, so he soldiered on. “Come on, you want to suffer in the cold? We’d better go then, or Lord Vikram will find you indomitably rude and declare war.”
Having found his voice, Arthur scoffed. “Merlin, have you forgotten that I’m the king? I’m the one who tells us when to go.”
“Since when? Name one time.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In hindsight, Merlin should have expected it. Okay, perhaps there was no way to guess that this exact scenario would happen, but looking back, Lord Vikram was indeed far too old to ride in such horrible conditions.
And there was only one other person who could ride that wild horse.
Merlin stood a few paces back, but he knew he couldn’t travel far from Arthur’s side without getting yelled at. Even so, he wanted so badly to be invisible. Fortunately, the snow zipped angrily through the air, making it hard to see anything.
Thunderous hoofsteps neared, and Merlin heard his friends muttering around him. He shivered, pulling his thin jacket tighter. This was stupid, they should be inside, what was the point of having a castle if you’re not going to appreciate—
Out of the blur they came, a reddish brown horse as big as a wagon, flanked by two other riders hoisting Essetir’s pale green flag, the snakes appearing to move as they fluttered helplessly in the wind.
The horse was slowed to a stop in front of Arthur, and the rider threw back his hood. And at once, Merlin felt his heart stop.
Surely he was dead. He had died and gone to hell. This could not be real.
“You’re not Lord Vikram!” Arthur called, raising his voice against the wind as the rider slid off his steed.
“Indeed not!” he called, a blinding grin on his face. “My father is formidable, but perhaps a bit helpless in the face of the weather.”
Arthur smiled back at him. “You are one of Lord Vikram’s sons.”
He nodded, his curly hair bobbing up and down, quickly catching snowflakes. “I am the eldest of six. Lord Parajh.” Parajh laughed. “I must say, I admire that you came out here to meet me! Perhaps not the weather I’d envisioned.”
“We can go inside, but I rather thought…” Arthur prattled on diplomatically about this or that, but Merlin wasn’t listening. Parajh was here. There he was. Parajh.
Parajh. Oh no. No no no no no.
This was bad. Beyond bad. Arthur was clearly unhappy that Merlin had never mentioned Vikram, but he paled to think how Arthur would react to Parajh. And now, like that late summer day in Ealdor, Merlin didn’t have a choice, the truth simply arrived on horseback, unexpectedly. Merlin hated that history seemed destined to repeat itself.
Parajh had not seen him yet, what with the blizzard and the years that had passed, but Merlin knew it wouldn’t be long. He could feel his face heat up, even shivering in the cold.
“Let’s get inside,” Arthur said at last, much to everyone’s collective relief. Parajh let out a laugh at the contented sighs that came from both the Camelot party and his own.
As they turned to go in, Merlin tried as best he could to hide. He slunk alongside the gathered knights, allowing Parajh to slip in front of him. Merlin let out a breath as Parajh’s back was to him, the lord and Arthur already making friendly conversation. The only problem was that Parajh’s horse kept turning his head, causing the lord to struggle.
“Hayagriva! What has gotten into you?” Lord Parajh scolded the beast fondly, and finally the horse obeyed the urging. Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat—Hayagriva kept turning to him. Did the horse remember him? How far back did horses' memories go?
Shaking his head, he remembered that it didn’t matter. Whether it was Hayagriva who gave him away or not, there was no getting out of this one.
The horse was passed to the stablehands, as well as the other four carrying Parajh’s party. As the group moved within the castle walls, Merlin felt the blood return to his fingers. He continued to stare at Parajh’s back, brainstorming excuses and plans that all seemed weaker than the next.
Once in the throne room, Parajh bowed his head deferentially. “I appreciate your interest in peace with Essetir, King Arthur. My father is one of many surviving lords who want to see the stain of Cenred’s unjust rule lifted from our kingdom. The treaty we sign tomorrow will ensure a future of safety and goodwill between our lands.”
Arthur had a diplomatic smile that Merlin knew was immensely relieved. “It lightens my heart to hear you share the sentiment, Lord Parajh. I am glad to hear that Essetir looks forward to turning a new page with Camelot. It is fully my intention to foster a new age of peace.”
Parajh smiled back, the same, boyish grin that used to make Merlin swoon. Now he had to do everything in his power not to roll his eyes. Yes, Merlin was glad that a treaty would be signed, but he had been prepared to share the castle with Lord Vikram, not his son. Merlin didn’t look forward to what this might dig up.
Of course, now was as good a time as any to have his day ruined. “I should allow you all to rest and gather your wits until dinner. I am certain you are exhausted from your journey, in such tumultuous conditions.”
Leon nodded. “You will each have your own chambers in the castle, and a servant to attend to your needs. King Arthur has already declared that you shall have his personal manservant tend to you, my lord, during your stay.”
Arthur looked surprised at this, and Merlin had to stifle a laugh. It was very Arthur-like to pout about his trick being foiled, now that the person he meant to torment Merlin with wasn’t here. The adorable, selfish bastard didn’t like to share. But he’d made the mistake of making such a command in front of Leon, and now Arthur was stuck with his decision. Well, they both were.
“Yes, of course. Merlin!” Arthur’s eyes searched for him. Merlin had positioned himself behind the lord, head bowed with the other bystanders. Unfortunately, Arthur always managed to find Merlin, so he had no choice but to take a step forward.
Merlin knew he was not imagining the straightening of Parajh’s spine or the slow turn that the lord made to follow the king’s gaze. His eyes met Merlin’s, and they were flooded with recognition and surprise.
“The… king’s personal manservant?” Lord Parajh repeated, his dark brown stare locked on Merlin. “You spoil me, King Arthur.”
Arthur’s lip curled as it always did when someone said something insane. “Yes, right,” he said, collecting himself. “You will want for nothing while you stay in my castle. You are an honored guest, and will be treated with the highest respect.” The last part was clearly aimed at Merlin, even if the Essetir party didn’t know that. “Merlin, if you wouldn’t mind showing our guests where they will be staying?”
Merlin wouldn’t allow things to escalate here and now, so he tore his gaze from Parajh as quickly as possible. “Of course, sire. If you would follow me,” he said in his best impression of a deferent, well-behaved servant. He cast no looks back at anyone in the room as he led them out, uncertain that he’d manage to regain his composure if he lost it now.
Down the halls they went, an eerie silence following. Though Merlin did not fancy explaining the situation to Arthur, he missed his comforting presence. Not that he particularly wanted to be in a room with both Parajh and Arthur again. Two parts of his life, colliding unceremoniously.
Merlin was in love with the king, that was as unavoidable as it was unrequited. And now, here was Parajh, his first love. And his first heartbreak. This was his worst nightmare. How was he getting out of this?
Finally, arriving in the guest wing of the castle, Merlin showed each of Parajh’s companions, all knights of Essetir, to their chambers. When the last one had closed the door, Merlin felt his skin prickle, as though it were still regaining its warmth. But that was not it, no, it was the heat of Parajh’s stare, the one he could not meet.
“And this one is yours, my lord,” Merlin said awkwardly as he opened the doors to the chambers at the end of the hall. “I hope it suits you.”
“Come in with me, will you? I’d like to see that it’s up to standard.”
Merlin almost laughed but thought better of it. He knew this trick well, and he also knew that Parajh had no standards when it came to rooming. The man would be just as comfortable on the stable floor. Still, he had no excuse, so Merlin silently followed him inside.
“Close that door, it’s rather drafty in these halls,” Parajh said, his voice the picture of nonchalance. Merlin gritted his teeth and did as he was asked.
When the door shut with a resounding thunk, he paused in the silence that followed. Maybe Parajh meant nothing, maybe he was going to say nothing. Maybe all of this was some sick joke, and—
“Merlin, I can smell the smoke coming out of your ears.”
When has Merlin ever been lucky, anyway? He turned slowly on his heels. Parajh was waiting patiently when Merlin’s eyes finally found him. “Does it smell the same?” Merlin asked dumbly.
This made Parajh laugh, a hearty sound that came from his throat. The man was prone to libation and humor, his laugh was not a rare sound. Yet it was so defining of his character that Merlin felt awash with memory.
The tavern was warm, and Parajh squeezed Merlin’s hand between both of his own. “Better?”
“Much,” Merlin replied, leaning across the table to place a kiss on Parajh’s cheek before sitting back. “But if we get kicked out, I’m blaming you.”
Parajh laughed, that laugh Merlin loved so much. “That’s fair. I think we look old enough to drink, don’t you?”
“You, maybe. I still look twelve.”
“Oh please! With that jawline of yours?”
“Parajh!”
“I’m just calling it like I see it,” Parajh said with a dangerous smirk.
Merlin was happy. Parajh made him happy. Should they talk about the future tonight? Merlin had been wanting to ask Parajh about what would happen when the month ended. The end of summer was coming, but what if Parajh wanted to stay?
“Merlin?”
“Hm?”
“I can smell the smoke coming out of your ears,” Parajh teased, reaching over the table to flick Merlin’s earlobe. “What are you thinking about?” That was all he needed to say, and Merlin knew he would tell him anything.
Merlin shook himself out of it. That was a long time ago, after all. “Will you be needing anything else, my lord?” Merlin asked, reveling in the frown that took over Parajh’s ever-happy face. Maybe it was petty, but Merlin was still unhappy with him. He didn’t intend to let him off the hook so easily.
“Please don’t call me that,” Parajh said with a pout, sitting on the side of his bed. “Don’t call me ‘lord’ or ‘sire’ or any other bureaucratic nonsense. Please, I can’t…” Parajh looked up at Merlin with a vulnerability that clearly frustrated him, and Merlin sighed, defenses slipping.
“Alright, Parajh,” Merlin acquiesced. It felt a little weird to him too. “But I need you to understand something. This is my home. My job, alright? And I don’t appreciate you showing up and interrupting things.”
Parajh held his hands up in surrender, his usual impish optimism returning, though his eyes were still a little sad. “Understood. You are a servant. The king’s personal manservant, I believe the knight said?” Merlin nodded and Parajh chewed his lip. “Well, you’re not my manservant. I don’t want you to serve me.”
Merlin huffed, irritated. “It is literally my job.”
“To what? Make my bed? Bring me my meals? I’ll pass, thanks. But don’t worry, I’ll tell the king what a good job you did before I leave.” Parajh gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I am thrilled that the king is generous enough to part with the most handsome servant in the castle. I'm not sure I would extend the same generosity in his position.”
Merlin snorted. “Cute.”
“I know you are.”
“Parajh!” Merlin said, punctuating his reprimand with a hard stare. “Stop being weird about it! You are insufferable!”
Parajh grinned in satisfaction, all teeth. “Oh, I plan to be. I’ve got years to make up for, don’t I?”
Merlin groaned, running a hand over his face. “You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
The lord shrugged, a daring smirk on his face. “Have I ever?”
Pursing his lips, Merlin spun around and stalked toward the door, pulling it open angrily. “No, you never do.”