Merthur One-shots

Against The Harshest Of Tides (And Cruelest Of Winters)

Summary: “I have magic.”

The words felt like the sweetest of poison. He wasn’t ashamed, he was quite proud of his magic, in fact, but he knew this admission would forever change the bond he’d grown to have with the prince. Carelessly dismantle and demolish the careful, tentative bond they’d formed over the years. He wasn’t ready to lose what he’d built with Arthur—rather, he wasn’t ready to lose Arthur…

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“Arthur? I—we—can I talk to you?”

Arthur looked up from his desk as Merlin set down his tray of dinner, his hands shaking softly. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, he swore the prince could hear it. He’d been planning and practicing this conversation for hours, days, weeks even. Surely Arthur had noticed the change in his demeanor recently. The changes that made him spill wine more often as he found himself lost in his thoughts, and the changes that made him take twice as long to dress and undress the prince with how bad his hands would shake as he reminded himself silently how this might be the last time he got to do it.

He was sure Arthur had noticed. He was quieter, his teasing more forced, hell, even the knights noticed. Gwaine had asked him just two nights ago if everything was okay with Arthur and him, no joking or anything. He was serious, and concerned. That was when Merlin knew he had to get this over with, and he stayed up all night the past two planning out what he would say. Now… Now, it was time, and he would make sure he said what he needed to and Arthur would listen.

Merlin must have been more lost in his head than he thought, just now, because suddenly Arthur was clapping his hands in front of his face with a frown.

“What? Oh, yes, sorry,” he shook his head, taking a deep breath as he pulled up a chair and sat down across the desk from Arthur. “We need to talk. Well, I need to talk.”

“Merlin, are you alright?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at his manservant, and Merlin swore he looked worried, “You’ve not been acting yourself. Now you’re saying you need to speak with me, while looking like a frightened newborn deer. One would think you’re quitting!” It was a joke, but Merlin didn’t laugh. He just averted his gaze, trying to reign in his restless nerves.

Arthur, of course, took this the wrong way. “Wait, hold on, don’t tell me you’re really trying to leave! Merlin, you can’t just quit being the Prince’s manservant.” He huffed, crossing his arms.

“I’m not quitting, Arthur, I just—” Merlin shook his head again, silently willing himself to pull it together, “I need you to listen, okay? I… I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen, and not interrupt me. I need you to just… Let me explain… Can you promise me you’ll just listen to what I have to say before jumping in? Because I’m not sure I can do this as is, let alone having you interrupt every two seconds before I get a chance to say what I need to say.”

The air was tense, and still. Merlin swallowed hard as he felt the harsh claws of regret already begin to scratch at his neck and face, leaving his throat dry and eyes burning with anxiety and fearful hesitance. The silence around them was suffocating, so suffocating, and Merlin hadn’t even started yet. He hadn’t even started yet, and still, he already felt as if every ounce of oxygen was rapidly being seeped from the room; as if the world was eager to see the young warlock gasping, sobbing for one sweet breath of bliss to save him from the disaster that was forming already around himself…