Chapter 3

It turned out Merlin could hold a grudge for a very long time.

He hadn't referred to Arthur as anything but "Sire" or "My Lord" for over a week. No matter how often Arthur tried to lure him into conversation, or even argument, Merlin reacted with perfect professionalism.

His breakfast was on time. It consisted of food he most hated, of course, but nothing was wrong with it otherwise. Whereas before Merlin would sneak in a pastry treat or nab some extra fresh fruit, Arthur now had bland, if not perfectly acceptable, early-morning breakfasts.

There were no more obnoxious "rise and shines!". Now, he quietly and gradually opened up the curtains and puttered about quietly until Arthur had no choice but to get up or be late. He'd almost been tardy to his first morning practice, the day after their fight.

There were no friendly conversations while he bathed, or while he settled down for the night. There were no knowing smirks when the nobles made their bootlicking just a little too obvious. Nor the quiet camaraderie when Merlin assisted with his armour, the encouraging pats on the shoulder, or touches that lingered just a bit too long to be proper.

Any arguments Arthur finally managed to goad Merlin into ended with Merlin clenching his jaw, and then taking his leave - no snarky retorts, nor blatant disregard for his title.

He'd spoken to Gwen, a few times, for advice. She told him Merlin's hostility was lessening, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

So a long week and a half after Merlin's fateful outburst, he decided it was time to have a candid, heart-to-heart conversation with Merlin, even if it killed him. Although to be perfectly honest, risking death in a fighting tournament was preferable, any day.

He trapped Merlin in his room that night, edging between Merlin and the exit, while his servant was busy stoking the fire - his last of his duties before turning in.

"Merlin," Arthur began, causing the other man to look up. Merlin narrowed his eyes, his gaze flickering between Arthur and the door.

"My Lord?" he asked cautiously.

"I wanted to apologize again," Arthur said. He'd already done so the night of the fight, not long after his conversation with Gwen, but perhaps it hadn't gotten through. There was still a desperate hope inside that maybe if he tried just one more time, he'd finally be forgiven.

Merlin watched him with tight lips, his jaw stubbornly set. He looked more tired than angry, though, and Arthur took this as encouragement.

"I didn't mean to mock you," he insisted. Merlin raised a doubtful eyebrow, perhaps an unconscious habit picked up from Gaius, and Arthur's mouth dried. "I only wanted-" he began once more, only to quickly run out of words.

Merlin was not amused.

"You only wanted what?" he pressed,distrust clear on his tone.

Arthur faltered.

"I wanted… I only wanted you to say you loved me," he said slowly, carefully. He eyed Merlin, but his servant's eyebrow was unwavering, and that didn't bode well for Arthur.

He hastily pushed on. "I wanted it because... because-" Arthur stumbled through his words, horrifically reminded of his conversation with Gwen, when he'd been unable to explain his reasoning. Except he was talking to Merlin this time, and he really couldn't botch this apology.

"Because why?" Merlin demanded impatiently. He looked a hair away from storming off.

"Because-" Arthur's mind raced, trying to latch onto to something, anything, that could work as an excuse. Anything to keep him there; to cease Merlin's suspicious gaze. "Because I'm in love with you," he blurted without thinking, unwittingly repeating the words Gwen had given him.

His eyes widened in horror.

"What?" Merlin exclaimed, and Arthur thought he sounded equally horrified. The servant's eyes were wide, mouth hung open in an undignified manner.

Speechless from his own words, Arthur could do little else but inwardly lament his misfortune.

Granted, Arthur had considered the idea, but, with a little help from Gwen, he had also understood how dishonorable and unbecoming it was of a knight and prince. Though he'd never intended to act on it, he'd lingered on the idea for a long time after Gwen suggested it; maybe too long, for him to blurt it out like this in a moment of panic.

Before him, Merlin's expression flickered from incredulity, to suspicion, and then rested on angry resignation.

"You're mocking me again," Merlin finally spoke, before Arthur could gather his wits.

"No," Arthur said loudly and quickly, then gave a cough to clear his throat, panicked. "I mean … No."

He tried to appear calm, but internally, Arthur was floundering. He couldn't say that he'd been lying - not without a good excuse, or Merlin would think that he was mocking him. Arthur wasn't, but he was at a loss as to how he could explain himself without implicating Guinevere; it had been her fault he'd even considered those words, after all, but he couldn't very well say that he'd discussed the situation with her. He didn't need Merlin further angry at him for revealing his secret crush. It suddenly seemed like a betrayal of confidence, no matter how trustworthy Gwen proved.

"I am in love with you," Arthur said slowly, trying to sound resolute. The words tasted strange on his tongue. "That was why I... I only mean, I didn't intend to mock. I wanted you to... say it back," he blurted, half-rambling as he improvised his way through. Suddenly, as he said those words, the reason behind Guinevere's excuse were finally clear to him. "Yes, that's it. I wanted you to say it back. That's why I wanted you to admit it," Arthur repeated with stronger confidence.

"You pestered me about it," Merlin summarised doubtfully. "Because you have ... feelings for me."

"Yes?" Arthur answered weakly.

Merlin paused, seeming to think it over. "No," he finally announced. "No, I don't believe you."

"What?" Arthur said, indignant. He disliked his honor being questioned, even if he was behaving dishonorably at the moment. "Don't you trust me? Why would I lie about such a thing?"

"To 'poke fun' at me," Merlin said sourly, without hesitation.

"I wouldn't," Arthur insisted, agitated, but honest for once. "Haven't I apologized?"

Merlin mulled over Arthur's words for a long minute until he finally displayed the first hint of possible belief. It seemed to add an odd vulnerability to his stance.

Arthur, though, didn't spare a second to ponder about it, quickly seizing his chance.

"I wouldn't," he said again, firmly, staring unflinchingly into the depths of Merlin's eyes.

Merlin watched him with his eyebrows furrowed, and expression pained. An agitated fist drew over his face before it landed over his mouth, pressed against it as if not trusting himself to speak words he wouldn't regret.

"I'll prove it to you, Merlin," Arthur said, more compellingly, trying to fill in the uneasy silence. "Just give me time. I'll make it up to you. I swear it."

The expression on Merlin's face was near unreadable, but Arthur thought he caught a reluctant flicker of hope.

"All right, Arthur," Merlin said slowly, using his first name for the first time in over a week. Arthur almost could have wept with relief. "But if this is all a joke, you'd best tell me now, or I shan't forgive you."

Arthur felt a jolt of indecision, but only a moment.

He'd take this secret to the grave, if it meant having Merlin as a friend again.

"It's not a joke," he promised, and he was gifted with the smallest of upward tugs to the corner of Merlin's lips. In that instant, all lingering thoughts of indecision fled his mind, and Arthur felt victorious.

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Arthur might have said that he'd make it up to Merlin, that he would prove he wasn't lying about his love towards the other man, but he wasn't sure how to actually go about it.

With a bit of deliberation, he decided that breakfast was a place to start. Before Merlin arrived to fetch him the next morning, Arthur woke uncharacteristically early to order another servant to bring him his meal.

Merlin came bursting in not ten minutes after it was delivered, slightly out of breath, and carrying his own platter of food for the prince. He drew up short when saw the stocked table, frowning as his eyes flickered up to where Arthur sat, fully dressed, on the sill of the window.

"You're up early," he observed, frown ever-present on his face. Arthur felt unusually nervous; even if he didn't really love Merlin, he still needed Merlin to think he loved him, because Arthur did like Merlin, just not in that way, and wanted Merlin to like him back.

And, perhaps, dealing with Merlin's love wouldn't be a terrible cross to bear, either.

"You could've sent someone to tell me that you wouldn't need breakfast," Merlin said disapprovingly, setting down his own plates so that he could go tidy Arthur's blankets. He might have dressed himself, but a prince certainly couldn't be expected to make his own bed.

"But I did need a breakfast," Arthur said, forcing his voice as casual as he could.

"Another one?" Merlin asked dubiously. "No matter how much extra training you put the knights through, there comes a point where you'll still need another notch poked in your belt."

"Not for me, Merlin," Arthur said irritably. When Merlin looked at him with raised eyebrows, he cleared his throat subconsciously. "You've brought me my breakfast. The one already here is yours."

"Oh," Merlin said, completely taken aback. Opening his mouth as though to say something, he bit his lip just after, hands reaching up to fidget with his scarf, for a lack of proper words. "Oh."

"Yes," Arthur said awkwardly, clearing his throat again. "What I mean is- Merlin, will you dine with me?"

"Oh," he said once more, softly. Hesitantly, he glanced between the table and Arthur, then seemed to take heart when he saw that the prince was visibly nervous.

"All right," he decided slowly, and Arthur's heart inexplicably stuttered.

Merlin plopped down in the chair across from Arthur's, before the prince had a chance to come over and pull it out for him, much to his annoyance. Still, Merlin had accepted the invitation. Surely that meant something.

"Well, are you going to join me?" Merlin asked, regaining some of his spirit. Despite having his own breakfast, he reached over and plucked a grape from Arthur's plate.

Merlin was smiling up at him, though, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to mind the stolen fruit.

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