Watching Merlin was one of Arthur's favourite pastimes, and not one that he allowed himself to indulge in often. But as the thinner man sat there in front of the fire, the orange light flickering across his skin and playing past his blue eyes, Arthur was mesmerised. Thank the gods there was a fireplace in the Prince's chambers, and that it was part of his manservant's duties to keep it lit constantly in wintertime. It gave Arthur unrivalled opportunities to observe Merlin. On this occasion, he was so lost in relearning all of the angles in Merlin's face – angles brought into sharp relief by the firelight – that he did not realise that Merlin had turned until their eyes met.
There was a moment when Arthur felt as though he was teetering on the edge of something; something that could go either terribly wrong, or impossibly right. And then Merlin smiled. And Arthur knew, instinctively and without thought, that this was the right way.
Later, when only the embers of the fire were glowing, the shadows of the two young men were thrown softly against the stone wall, so close together that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.