The first thing Arthur felt was floating. It was a wonderful thing, that tickled his insides and made his heart quicken and his face heat. He felt as though he were suspended in air, light as a feather.

Yet it was also very frustrating, because princes weren't supposed to feel this way about their servants. They were supposed to marry noble women with lavish gowns and heaps of money. They were not supposed to notice their manservants, no matter how cheery his chatter in the morning, or how blinding his smile, or how ridiculous his ears.

Sons of Kings, especially of King Uther, were not supposed to let their manservants call them "prat" affectionately, or to let them share a goblet of wine before bed. A son of Uther Pendragon was not allowed to become lost in the ocean-blue eyes of their servants as they chatted easily at night over the prince's dinner, or to let their knees knock together underneath the table.

It was frustrating and it was wonderful, which made everything too confusing for Arthur's liking. He often caught himself staring at Merlin as the servant went about his chores, talking aimlessly about this or that, and he shook himself roughly to rid himself of the warmth spreading from his heart all the way to the tips of his toes, a feeling he did not quite understand.

Sometimes he caught Merlin staring back, the conversation having trailed off long ago without either of them noticing. They would look at each other, and Arthur could feel his breath picking up and his heart fluttering and he would clear his throat loudly, breaking the spell, and he would be too flustered to notice that Merlin was blushing, too.

It was frightening for Arthur, hovering as he was between yes and no, absolutely not. Because Princes did not consort with peasants. It wasn't allowed. So why did he feel this way?

He refused to think of the word love. He did not even let such words to cross his minds, words like infatuated, smitten, and besotted. Those were words he was not allowed to think, they were feelings he was not allowed to feel, because the law said so. Thus he labeled these words as taboo in his mind and did not allow himself to think them.

He would slip, though, of course he would slip. It wasn't his fault, he reasoned, if he one day found himself with his arm casually draped across his servant's shoulders without any memory of having moved there, especially if Merlin just felt right in Arthur's arms.

At night his thoughts would stray, in that foggy state between wakefulness and slumber. He would think of Merlin, of his too-big ears and his grin so bright that it put the sun to shame. He would find himself smiling, and his toes curling, and a strange tingling in his heart that he would not call love.

In this time Arthur was floating.

Everything changed one night in the palace, after an assassin tried to take the prince's life. Before Arthur could grasp the enormity of the issue the criminal was thrown back and held against the wall, his feet dangling uselessly in the air. Arthur looked and saw Merlin with his hand outstretched, his eyes glowing with the unmistakable glimmer of magic. Fear caught in his throat as he watched Merlin flex his fingers, and the assassin's neck twisted to the side with an audible snap. Arthur winced as the body hit the ground.

Merlin's eyes faded back to their original blue, looking at Arthur uncertainly, waiting for his prince to make up his mind.

Before he knew it Arthur was spitting, screaming things like sorcery and lies and betrayal. Anger and madness and hurt pounded in Arthur's veins, the word scum escaping his lips.

Disappointment showed on Merlin's face at the term. He set his jaw, lowered his eyes, and dipped his head in a bow. I'm sorry, Arthur, he he stood, tears streaming down his cheeks, and fled. Watching him go, Arthur's heart clenched in misery, feeling almost as though Merlin had died.

So this was falling.

That night Arthur dressed himself on his own. He paced his chambers for hours, and lay awake in his bed for many more.

Thoughts and memories swirled round and round in his head like a hurricane. His father telling him of the evils of magic, gazing upon magic users with cold eyes, face expressionless as he ordered their deaths, deaf to their cries for mercy.

It wasn't the crime that bothered Arthur, not really. Magic, he might be able to handle. But Merlin had lied to him, betrayed him. He had kept such a crucial part of him, something so vital to Merlin's very essence, away from him for all these years. If Arthur had missed something so essential, how could he know Merlin at all? How could he trust all that he thought he knew about the man he-

No.

Love was not a part of this.

Down, down, down Arthur plummeted, scrabbling for something to hold onto but finding nothing. Hurt and grief and pain followed him in his descent, and all the way down he saw Merlin's wide smile and innocent blue eyes.

Merlin's eyes, as they looked at Arthur with hurt, as though he was the one who had been betrayed. They had been blue and teary when they had been molten gold just moments before. How could eyes that held magic also hold tears? Those eyes Arthur had come to treasure, surely those weren't lies as well.

As Arthur fell, he thought of how the next morning he would not wake to Merlin's happy chatter. No, Merlin would be gone, perhaps gone already, headed back to Ealdor, fearing capture or execution.

He wouldn't report Merlin, no matter what crime Merlin had committed. Even if Merlin had killed in cold blood, Arthur thought he wouldn't tell anyone. If Merlin was sentenced to death, Arthur would move Heaven and Earth to save him.

Because Merlin had saved him, after all. If it weren't for Merlin, Arthur would be dead, killed by some stupid assassin. Arthur owed Merlin his life. Merlin, who was a sorcerer, but who was also the prince's manservant, and Arthur's dearest friend. Who Arthur might lose.

The thought of losing Merlin caused Arthur to sit up in bed, thoughts running wild, and suddenly he was bolting from his room towards Gaius' chambers in the dead of night. He ran, faster and harder than ever before, hoping with everything he had that he was not too late to undo the biggest mistake of his life, to stop himself from falling.

He ran with the words I'm sorry on his tongue.

Some time later, years and years later, Arthur lay in his bed, the early morning sun tickling his face awake. His arms tightened around the warm body he held in his arms, smiling as he pressed his nose into the rumpled head of dark hair.

He breathed deeply, inhaling Merlin's scent, a lazy hand coming up to card through his hair. Merlin shifted and blinked up at Arthur through his morning haze. Arthur wanted nothing more than to kiss that sleepy smile, so he did, and then did it again, muttering a good morning somewhere along the way.

The kiss turned to another kiss, which turned into another, which turned into something else entirely, and by the time the sun had fully risen they were both very much awake, collapsed in each other's arms.

The morning bell chimed, signaling the start of another day. Arthur tightened his grip around Merlin regretfully, not wanting to let go. Alas, he knew that he must. The council would be needing their King soon, as well as the official Court Sorcerer.

Arthur said so, and Merlin only laughed and pulled his King in for another lingering kiss.

Finally, Arthur thought, as he looked adoringly into blue eyes,

This is flying.

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) Thanks for your reviews and favorites, too!