Disclaimer: I don't own the characters :(
Merlin waited.
Perched on his bed, or pacing the room, or trying to read one of Gaius' old volumes and eventually resorting to toeing the rushes on the floor, he waited.
Patiently, because he was always waiting for him, for that indescribable moment when the door banged carelessly open and the silence was shaken. Impatiently, because he needed that moment, that indelible gust of unbreathed air as he strode in with hair tousled and matted with sweat, and that look of irritation that was always there in some form, dragging the corners of his mouth down. Merlin would spend forever trying to ease it if he could.
He had thought that perhaps he could magic it away, if only Arthur told him why he itched so consistently. He had considered briefly trying to read his mind; he was beginning to comprehend the full extent of his powers and knew it could be done if he so wished. But it would be trespassing into a body & soul that was simultaneously his and yet not his, his destiny but not his destiny. Besides, he didn't really want to know anyway. To know would equal disappointment. Having never expected much from his lot in life, disappointment was not something that Merlin was familiar with, not like the King. He was used to being a disappointment, yes, just as Arthur was to his father, but not to that ominous and unstoppable sinking feeling.
It clawed at Merlin to see the hurt in Arthur's eyes when the King was dissatisfied with him, see him grimace and bow his head into the faux disgrace. Anything Arthur felt, Merlin was beginning to feel too – partly their joined fate and partly, Merlin recognised, because of something that ran deeper than destiny. He couldn't say whether he was exuberant or bitter about the inevitability. Nature, magic and hierarchy would all clash in the end, and Merlin and Arthur's choices were the product. He had eventually grown to love everything about him, and even the temper and the bullying were things he could prize. Arthur seemed to act on his own inbuilt reasoning, and there was so little reason in Merlin's own confused double-life that this was a tumultuous reassurance. Unintentionally, Arthur just made perfect sense.
The heavy footsteps that he'd been listening for resounded down the corridor and all thought dissolved – it was back to structure, solid and inflexible. The door opened crudely and the prince strode in leading the fresh gusts of air. Nodding at Merlin and throwing his sword and shield into the rushes, he stood in the patchy sunlight that the latticed windows allowed to stream through and signalled for Merlin to remove his armour.
"Was the hunt good?" asked Merlin, grinning as he approached.
"Alright. Lancelot was being a prat, as usual." Arthur stopped and looked at his servant. "What?" he said, a smile beginning to form.
He'd done it already; made him smile.
"Oh, nothing," said Merlin, smiling wider. Arthur exhaled impatiently as Merlin took off the weighty metal, but Merlin knew he was smiling too. Armour off, Arthur sat down to eat. Their eyes met as he drank from his goblet and the dependency was mutual.
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