Chapter One
Merlin spends most of his free time in the King's chambers. As his manservant of several years, there's always something to be done: pick up after the royal sod, stoke the fire, prepare his bath. Most of this time is spent in Arthur's company. He sits by the hearth with his feet up, hurling insults at Merlin as he mops or dusts or hauls up buckets of water — but there are times when they both work in silence, Arthur on his Kingly duties and Merlin on keeping the King's head on his shoulders.
Every now and then, after Arthur is washed and ensconced in his nightclothes — which Merlin always makes sure to set by the fire before pulling onto the King's pliant, post-bath form so they are warm enough to envelop him like the hugs he almost never gets — the two of them will sit by the hearth together and just… talk. Sometimes about the kingdom, sometimes about how their days are spent, but mostly about themselves. Merlin tells Arthur about his mother, how he misses her and longs to see her and Ealdor again. Arthur tells Merlin about how sometimes he feels lonely and wonders if he will ever find someone with whom to share his life.
If, after these days, Merlin enchants Arthur's covers to hold him in his sleep, no one needs to know but him.
On sad days, like the day Guinevere rejected his proposal, Arthur will talk about his parents — Merlin thinks maybe he tries to hide his sadness about some things with sadness that he has already moved past. Nevertheless, Arthur tells Merlin about his mother, how he only knows what people can pass on to him, how he would give anything to have grown up with her and that maybe the entire world would have been different — not many can say that of their mother, but most do anyway. He tells Merlin about how his father was a good man, and Merlin clenches his teeth until Arthur admits that he had flaws, too, some of which were transcribed into the written law of Camelot. Arthur has yet to change these laws, but Merlin has faith. He is the Once and Future King, after all.
It's after one of these days, as Merlin pulls the covers over Arthur and tucks them under his chin like he's a child — Arthur doesn't mention that no one else has ever done that to him for fear that Merlin might stop — that the King realizes something: Merlin never talks about his father. So he grabs the servant's wrist as he turns to blow out the candle and pulls him back.
"Merlin," he begins, drowsy but with the vigour of a knight with a mission, which he is, essentially.
"Arthur," Merlin replies cheekily, those little folds forming in his smile, blue eyes shining with tenderness in the candlelight. The sight takes Arthur's breath for a minute — perhaps he's caught some illness, he must pay Gaius a visit — so he covers it up with a pretend yawn. Best not to worry his friend, after all.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did," the servant jests, biting his lip to keep his grin to an acceptable way-too-large.
Arthur chuckles. He's clearly exhausted if he'll laugh at that. Or maybe he's just grown far too used to it. "I should throw you in the stocks for that."
"You know you love… it." Merlin's grin falters, but only for a second.
Arthur wills his tired body to move an inch to the side and pats the empty space by his side. Merlin stares at it, blinking, provoking the King's infamous eye-roll. "Sit, dollophead."
"As you wish, clotpole." The two chuckle together at the memory as Merlin takes a seat… on the King's bed. Shadows dancing across his face, he glances down at his other half, not yet concerned but rather curious. "What is it, Arthur?"
"I was just wondering…" He fidgets with the top of the covers, and Merlin aches to still his hand with his own. "You talk about your mother a lot. Especially lately, with Yuletide nearing."
Horrified, Merlin shoots up. "Oh, Arthur, you're right! I'm so sorry, I know how hard it is for you since you lost your father and here I am complaining about not seeing her often when you-"
"Merlin-"
"-can never see them again, and your sister is off somewhere and we can't find her or know if she's alright — gods, I hope she is — and then Yule comes around and everyone's with their family and-"
"Merlin, I-"
"-the snow won't stop falling which makes it harder to go out and I know you like going out on your horse to clear your head but even that's-"
"Merlin. Shut up." The man in question stops his rambling and stills. Arthur shakes his head, incredulous. "Thank the heavens. I honestly thought you might continue on forever."
When the servant replies, he is unusually quiet. "Well, you know I could never refuse an order from my lord."
"I seem to recall you never doing as your told," the King quips, tugging Merlin back onto the bed. "Now, as I was saying before you so rudely cut me off-"
"I was apologising, you arse-" A warm, firm hand closes over his mouth, and he squirms, protests muffled. Amusement playing on his lips, Arthur watches the playful indignation overtake surprise on Merlin's angular features, much more entertaining than anything the court jester can conjure (not magically, of course, since the law still forbids that).
A hot tongue juts out and darts against his palm, and Arthur pulls back like he's been burned — the trail tingles on his skin, and it almost feels as though he has been. "What the…"
"Salty," Merlin announces as though it's the most important piece of information in the world. "Hint of lavender, like your bath soaps."
"I'm not Gaius's stew, Merlin! You don't need to taste me!"
"You don't need to cover my mouth!"
"I think I do," Arthur says, mirth brightening his eyes. "You never shut up."
Merlin taps his foot light-heartedly. "As much as I hate spending time with you, sire, is there a purpose to this sit-down?"
"Yes, I…" It takes the King a moment to remember just why he had pulled his servant back to him, and when he does remember, he wishes he hadn't. The air around them is weightless, as though it could lift the two of them up off the ground, and Arthur has a feeling that bringing Merlin's father up might destroy that. He wants to make the air lighter, wants it to pick the men up off their feet and carry them somewhere far away… like perhaps…
"I know you're an old man, Arthur, but surely you haven't already begun to lose your memory?" he teases, only a little to cover up his growing concern. The (very mature) King makes a face at him, in response to which he is forced to stifle a laugh so loud it may wake the rest of the castle.
Arthur clears his throat, hoping that the dim light hides his pinking cheeks. "Anyway, I was thinking that, perhaps, we might visit outlying villages as Yule approaches so we can improve relations with all the kingdom's people."
"That's a lovely idea, Arthur, but I don't see how that involves my…" Merlin's breath cuts off in a tiny gasp, and he lowers his gaze as though in disbelief. "Do you mean to say…" But his mother lives in Essetir; it will be off the path to visit her. There is just no way.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stop by Ealdor on the way back," Arthur concludes, "if you would be interested, of course."
Silent for a moment, Merlin seems to exude energy. His eyes twinkle more than usual, which Arthur attributes to the thin layer of tears rising up in them. He asks softly if he means it.
"Of course." Maybe he hasn't been planning this trip all along, but Arthur is about ready to pat himself on the back just for the way Merlin's smile breaks out and flutters. The King remembers once comparing the servant to a daffodil, but at the moment he resembles more the butterfly that lands on it.
He decides that he will ask Hunith about Merlin's father. Maybe that way he will get to know the truth without having to see Merlin upset, ever.
By the time Merlin leaves Arthur's chambers, he's already half asleep. As he makes his way across the castle, the anticipation for the trip simmers beneath his skin, keeping his eyes just open enough that he doesn't crash into a beam or fall down the steps. Gaius is asleep when he returns — all the better for Merlin, who knows that if Gaius was awake he would grill him about the manic grin on his face and would subsequently tease him about Arthur for the rest of the night.
As Merlin slips into his cold, hard bed, he can't help but long for Arthur's once more, having now felt it's softness and warmth underneath him. If other reasons for yearning for the King's bed cross his mind as he drifts off to sleep, no one needs to know but him.