I don't own Merlin.
This was inspired by the German lullaby "Der Mond ist aufgegangen".
Against all assumptions, the prince of Camelot was not a bad singer.
It was not as if he had a particularly beautiful voice or the talents of a bard, mind you – but he was not bad.
Not that said prince would ever have admitted that, of course. He wouldn't. Ever.
Just as he would certainly never admit that one time when Merlin had actually caught him doing it.
It had been late evening and Merlin had been dismissed for the night. His mind already on supper, the servant had hurried down the cold and dark corridors of the castle – until he had realised that he had forgotten the very much filled to the brim laundry basket in his master's chambers.
So, with a sigh, Merlin had turned around again and made his way back to Arthur's chambers. Hoping against hope, that the prince had already gone to bed and would not notice his little slip, he had carefully pushed the door open as quietly as he could.
What he had seen – or rather what he had heard – had let him stop dead in his tracks.
Arthur had been sitting at his desk, quill in his right hand, the paper in front of him illuminated by the small candle, that had been the only source of light in the dark room. And he had been singing. Arthur Pendragon, the oh so mighty prince of Camelot, had been singing absentmindedly under his breath – and he had not even sounded too bad.
Unfortunately, Merlin had not been granted the chance to really appreciate the whole scene before Arthur had noticed him standing in the door and had thrown one of his infamous tantrums. And of course the redness in his cheeks had if at all come from anger at his manservant's late interruption and most definitely not out of embarrassment. Because first of all, princes did not blush in embarrassment and second, he had most certainly not been singing.
But even though tasked with what felt like a hundred new chores for the next day, Merlin had left Arthur's chambers with a smile on his face that night.
The second time Merlin heard the song was not too long after the first time. The whole castle was in an uproar ever since Morgana's disappearance, the destruction after the Great Dragon's attacks and all the deaths – it all weighed heavily upon each and every single person in the city.
And all of it was Merlin's fault.
It was only when a pillow hit him square in the face that he remembered where he was.
"Sleeping with our eyes open, Merlin, are we?", Arthur smirked at him from the bed.
"Yes – no – I mean I'm sorry."
"What's wrong with you?", Arthur frowned, watching as his servant picked up the pillow and carefully positioned it back on the large bed.
"Nothing."
And now Arthur wore his stupid I'm-going-to-question-you-until-you-give-me-a-satisfying-answer-look again and Merlin knew he had to change the topic before he would be reduced to a sobbing and confessing mess.
"Um, that song you sang the other night", he quickly started.
"Merlin", Arthur immediately growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously, "didn't I tell you to never mention it again?"
"No, I mean yes, you did. But, you know, I was just thinking about it and, uh, I was wondering where you've learned it."
There was a very uncomfortable moment of silence.
"You didn't tell anyone about it, did you?", Arthur asked, trying to sound at least a little dangerous and he raised a threatening finger. Just for good measure. "Because if you did…"
"No!", Merlin was quick to answer. "No, I didn't tell anyone."
He was surprised when Arthur dropped his finger again with a sigh.
"Someone must have sung it to me when I was younger", he said quietly. "A nurse or something, probably."
"Oh", Merlin just made, confused that the prince had even answered him. "Um, it was … nice."
Arthur's raised eyebrows should have been a warning but for some reason – let it have been his exhaustion, or the crushing never-ending guilt, or just the fact that he could really have done with a simple lullaby – he suddenly found himself asking: "Would you sing it again?"
The silence that followed this question was even more uncomfortable than the first one.
Merlin swallowed nervously.
"You want me to sing to you?", Arthur scoffed, disbelief in his eyes.
"No!", Merlin almost shouted – before tilting his head a little. "Well – sort of."
And perhaps Merlin really looked as miserable as he felt because Arthur actually sighed, grumbled a last: "One word of this to anyone, Merlin, and I swear you're dead", and then actually gave in to his servant's request.
In silent wonder Merlin waited as Arthur just stood there in the darkening room, taking a quick but deep breath. And then the prince started singing.
Quietly, Merlin listened to his suddenly soft voice, to the sweet melody. He could not even really focus on what Arthur was singing about, there was something about the moon and the hushed black woods, but it was beautiful. Simply that.
By the time he finished, Merlin's eyes were moist.
And of course, Arthur had to ruin the moment.
"God, Merlin, if you start crying on me now-"
"No", Merlin quickly said, shaking his head and trying to blink away his tears . "No, it was just … It was just beautiful."
"Well, the show is over", the prince said brusquely, morphing his face back into the stern scowl he had practiced so long. "You should leave. We have a long day ahead of us. And I need you to clean up here, help down in the lower town, the western tower is still far from being restored, the…"
But Merlin had stopped listening somewhere after "clean up here".
This short moment would be stored somewhere in his heart forever.
When Merlin heard the song for the third time, a long time after the second time, he knew he had to be dying. If Arthur was singing to him, he had to be on death's door.
The day had started out as any other. They had set out into the forest, just him and Arthur. Merlin had been in a rather good mood that morning, seeing as these trips where it was just the two of them had become rarer and rarer ever since Arthur had been crowned king and usually they were surrounded by a bunch of knights now.
But that day it had been just Merlin and Arthur.
And then the bandits had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and they had run. Run faster than Merlin remembered ever having run, and yet – and yet he had been hit.
Strangely enough, his first thought when he had felt the small arrow piercing his side had been for Arthur. And if he would make it out of this situation alive without Merlin's magic there to help him.
His second thought had been "ouch".
But Arthur had made it out of the situation alive without Merlin's magic there to help him. He had even somehow managed to get Merlin out of the situation – if maybe a little less alive.
And now it was dark in the forest, Arthur had not dared to light a fire in case the bandits were still close by, it was cold, Merlin was hurting, and Arthur was singing.
And it was a good thing, too, Merlin decided. Because the pain in his side was terrible. It was making him sick and he could feel his sticky blood soaking through the makeshift bandage.
Arthur's voice gave him something to focus on, something to cling onto, while his mind seemed to slip away.
And perhaps it was because he was fighting against unconsciousness, or maybe because he was far too occupied with the throbbing pain in his side, but Merlin never noticed the quivering of Arthur's voice – nor the tears in his king's eyes.
When Merlin heard it for the fourth time, he was maybe a little drunk. But in his defence, Arthur was too.
And Merlin found this to be his good right, actually, seeing as the prince's birthdays seemed to have sworn to conspire against him.
On his very first one he had lost his mother and then many years later his father had been stabbed on another one of them.
Tonight, just before midnight when the dreadful day had almost found an end, Arthur was sitting in his chambers with Merlin next to him, having left all of his guests at his banquet table.
"I should be thankful", Arthur commented, sipping at his goblet. "Maybe I'm not cursed after all."
"Ah", Merlin said playfully, "the bell for midnight did not ring yet. Never count your chickens before they hatch, Arthur."
Grinning, Arthur shook his head.
"Honestly, Merlin, you should spend less time coming up with stupid sayings and more with doing your actual chores."
"I didn't come up with it", his servant protested. "It is a saying."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You should spend more time with-"
However, he cut himself short when in the distance the bells started ringing.
"Congratulations, Arthur!", he laughed instead, and jumping to his feet he raised his own goblet. "You officially made it through your birthday!"
Chuckling to himself, the king mirrored his servant's movements and emptied his cup.
"What was it about the chickens then, Merlin?"
But Merlin just smiled at him, happy that Arthur was grinning like that, that he was drinking here with him – that for now his king was safe and content.
"What?", said king asked him now, the grin still on his face. "Too much wine already?"
"No", Merlin replied in mock indignation, and following a sudden impulse, he put down his goblet and rounded the table to stand next to Arthur. "I was just thinking we should sing something."
"Sing?", Arthur chortled.
"Yeah", Merlin insisted. "My mother used to sing to me when it was my birthday."
"Merlin", Arthur said slowly, shaking his head fondly, "the point of this whole thing here was that my birthday is over."
"Well, but since I just congratulated you because it is not your birthday, I think that's alright."
"You're drunk", Arthur stated drily.
"Maybe", Merlin retorted. "But that's not the point. So – what about that song of yours, eh?"
"That song of mine?", Arthur echoed, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
"Yup", Merlin nodded enthusiastically. "Why don't you teach me? I know there was something about a moon … oh, and a forest, right?"
And it was probably, no, definitely thanks to the already consumed wine that Arthur actually complied.
They spent far more time than any of them would ever admit later sitting in Arthur's chambers, singing and laughing – mostly laughing to tell the truth – and just enjoying themselves. At least for the moment.
The fifth time Merlin heard the song, he was singing it himself.
It was cold, it was wet, and Arthur was dead.
Merlin had been too late, he had been too weak, too what did it matter anymore?
Arthur was gone and Merlin was singing.
He did not have Arthur's voice, he did not even remember all of the words. His throat was almost raw with the sobs and screams that had torn at it. And yet there he stood, at the muddy shore of the lake, watching the wooden boat drifting out into the waves.
Singing.
And as new tears rolled down his pale cheeks, it were the last verses that he almost choked on. The last verses that he forced forth between his chattering teeth, just as the small boat vanished from his sight.
Look at the moon so lonely,
One half is shining only,
Yet she is round and bright;
Thus oft we laugh unknowing
At things that are not showing,
That still are hidden from our sight.