When he was a boy, Arthur's father once told him that nothing worthwhile was ever easy. All these years later, that piece of advice comes to Arthur and he wants to throw it in the trash with the coffee grounds.
If loving Merlin is this impossibly easy, then it shouldn't be worth it, should it? Growing up, it had always been that the most stubborn horse made the finest steed, the more pain in your muscles the more skill you gained. Love was the same, that you had to fight for the person. There had to be frustration, and heartache, and pain before the romance can come and you get your reward.
Falling in love with Merlin had felt like the most natural thing in the world. It happened so seamlessly, in fact, that Arthur didn't realize what was happening until it had already happened. He had looked at Merlin one night while they were camping in the woods, in the months of autumn when the ground was beginning to frost in the night. Arthur had looked at Merlin huddled in his sleeping roll, shivering and looking so in need of warmth, and it came to Arthur in a soft, "oh."
That had been that. He shuffled closer and placed his blanket around them both, and fell asleep with his front pressed to Merlin's back, thinking to himself that he could always blame the cold weather. By the time the sun rose Merlin had turned around, and they woke up together, the sight of the other's eyes blinking awake the first thing they saw.
It had been so painfully easy to fit their mouths together then, to smile into kisses and laugh when their fingertips grazed across their faces.
It shouldn't have been that easy, Arthur thought. It could be some kind of spell, keeping him enamored like this, but he knew it wasn't. Spells were sudden and quick, whereas Arthur had known for a very long time before that first night, even if he hadn't realized it until much later.
From then on it was easy to evade notice, as Merlin spent all of his time with Arthur anyway. It was all too simple to tell his father he needed Merlin to accompany him on a hunt, or that Merlin would need to attend to him that night on account of a pain in his back that needed tending.
And it was easy, so so easy, to hold Merlin in his arms and breathe in his scent every night, to press adoring kisses to his face and neck, to whisper loving endearments into Merlin's ear.
For months, that was how it was, easy and carefree and good. Until the day it wasn't.
Arthur wasn't surprised when they were caught. It was, after all, too good to be true. But his lack of surprise didn't stop the overwhelming horror he felt when Merlin's sentence for exile was pronounced, to return on pain of death.
When Arthur protested, he immediately wished he hadn't, because his father's face turned a curious red color. He spat at Merlin still kneeling on the floor of the council chambers, adding crime after crime to Merlin's list. Sorcery, enchantment, love spells, mind control, deflowering the prince, conspiring against the throne, malicious intent towards those of royal blood,so the list went on.
Arthur's blood boiled as Uther's men searched Merlin's room, the room Merlin hadn't slept in for months. He kept telling him it was useless, there was nothing there, Merlin was innocent…
Then they found the book of spells hidden under the floorboards, and suddenly Arthur didn't know what to think.
Through the bars of the cell, Merlin sobbed his apologies. Kneeling on the rat-dropping covered floor, clutching at the bars, Merlin tearfully told Arthur that he was a sorcerer, yes, but he never meant to harm anyone, he only wanted to protect him, he was born to protect Arthur.
I'll leave Camelot if you want me to, Merlin said, but I will never stop loving you. You cannot ask me to do that.
Arthur walked away.
He thought he should hate Merlin. It would be so nice to hate Merlin, then he wouldn't have to feel this way. His stomach wouldn't clench so painfully as he saw the men constructing the pyre in the courtyard, and his heart wouldn't break when he climbed into bed with no body to curl himself around.
He should hate Merlin, he thought. It would be so much better that way.
This, he realized, was what his father meant when he said nothing worthwhile was ever easy.
So he tried to hate him. He tried with all his might to change the image of Merlin in his mind to one of evil, so that it might not hurt when Merlin burned tomorrow.
He tried thinking of all the ways Merlin had wronged him. He was always disrespectful. He was clumsy. He always sent game fleeing on hunts. He was lazy. He dared to call Arthur anything other than 'my lord.' He was a dirty, conspiring sorcerer. He only wanted Arthur for his crown, he only meant to hurt Arthur, to kill him, to get his hands on Camelot. He was a dirty, lying, thieving, filthy, deceiving magic-user.
Arthur repeated this list to himself again and again that night as he tried to fall asleep, telling himself over and over that it would be best to hate Merlin, that he should hate Merlin, that he does hate Merlin…
The last thing that Arthur thought of as he drifted into sleep was the way Merlin had looked so broken as Arthur left him alone in the cells.
Arthur woke curled on the side of the bed where Merlin usually slept, and then he remembered that Merlin wouldn't be sleeping there ever again. The thought sent a jolt of dread through his heart.
Merlin was going to be executed because he was a dirty sorcerer, he reminded himself. He heaved himself out of bed and got himself ready for the day.
The pyre was ready. Crowds were already assembling to witness the burning.
Arthur stood on the balcony, staring at the spot where in a few hours' time, Merlin would be bound and consumed in flame.
He's a lying sorcerer, he told himself. Merlin deserves to die.
He told himself that again, and again, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself, he couldn't stop the tears that formed in his eyes, nor could they stop the overwhelming fear of never seeing Merlin again from consuming him.
Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Arthur thought to himself.
An hour later he was racing to the cells, a leather pack flung over his shoulder.
Merlin stammered his name when he saw Arthur, but Arthur said nothing. He unlocked the cell, grabbed Merlin by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him from the dungeons.
I want the pleasure of beating the sorry cockroach one last time, he told the guards in answer to their puzzled looks.
Merlin's eyes widened impossibly at that, and Arthur felt him start to tremble beneath his fingers.
Arthur still said nothing to him as they walked into the forest, keeping his most furious face and angry posture. Merlin played his part wonderfully, tears streaming down his face and begging Arthur for forgiveness.
They walked until they were far from Camelot, where Arthur had a horse waiting tied to a tree.
Take this, Arthur said, thrusting the pack into Merlin's arms, And go.
What? Merlin asked.
Arthur grabbed Merlin by the face and pulled him in, crushing their lips together in one last, desperate kiss. It lasted longer than he expected it to, because it felt so good. It was fierce, and hurried, and frantic, even as Merlin dropped the pack and slid his hands around Arthur's waist.
Arthur was the one to finally break the kiss. He told Merlin to go, picking up the pack and putting it back in Merlin's arms. He told Merlin that if his face was ever seen again Uther would have him killed.
Merlin asked if he would ever see Arthur again.
Arthur told him he knew the answer.
Merlin grabbed Arthur's hands and said he did not want to leave Arthur, that it was too much. Arthur brought Merlin's hand to his own cheek, kissed it, and told him that nothing good ever came easily.
Come back to me one day, he said. Return to me. Promise me.
Merlin did. And then he jumped onto the horse and rode away.
Arthur returned to Camelot just as the warning bells were going off, and Arthur brandished his knuckles that were raw from punching trees on the way back from seeing Merlin off.
I was beating him, he told his father, and he died. I left his body to the wolves. He will be devoured by morning.
His father accepted this. The pyre was taken down. Arthur was given a new manservant, one who was proper and efficient and everything Merlin wasn't. Arthur hated him.
A year passed. Then two. Then three. Then a whole many years, full of feasts and tournaments and visiting nobles. Underneath it all there was heartache. This, Arthur knew, was the hard part of love. One day he would reap his reward.
Another year passed. Arthur was betrothed to a woman, Lady Catherine, daughter of King Pellinore. She was beautiful and funny and very, very rich. Uther delighted in her. Arthur noticed that her face was round and her hair was blond, her eyes brown, and she was nothing like Merlin at all.
Arthur would have married her, until she was found raising a dagger above Arthur's sleeping form, and Catherine and Pellinore were sent to their kingdom in shame.
Another year passed. Arthur met a boy, a servant of Sir Ector, a visiting Lord. The boy was named Robin, and he had dark hair and sharp, pale skin, though his eyes were brown. Arthur's heart jumped so at the sight of him, and he bedded Robin that night, and again the next, and on the morning after the third night Arthur sent him away and never spoke to him again. He whispered his apologies to Merlin into his pillow, where they soaked into the sheets.
Another year passed. Uther, after a wayward arrow pierced his side during a particularly nasty hunt, died. Arthur was crowned the King of all Camelot.
Arthur waited. And waited. He presided over court, he trained his knights and led them on quests, he entertained nobles, he saw to the wellbeing of his people. And he waited.
And waited.
And finally, after Arthur had been king for a year and a half, news reached him that someone had arrived in Camelot, someone wearing a dark hood and was walking to the castle.
Arthur ordered his men leave him alone in the council chambers, and he stood watching the doors, hardly daring to hope.
They opened. A hooded figure stepped through and closed the door behind him.
Arthur reached out and lifted the hood with two shaking hands, raising it up and pushing it back so that it fell around Merlin's shoulders.
Hello, Merlin said.
I missed you, Arthur said.
They kissed, and it was the easiest thing in the world.
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