The King and His Sorcerer

Part XIV: Prelude to a Kiss

“MERLIN!”

Merlin rolled his eyes at the clear agitation in Arthur’s voice. What does he want me to do now? He thought to himself. Surely it isn’t the clothing again. Carefully schooling his features into a picture of calm serenity, Merlin pushed open the doors to Arthur’s chambers.

“You called, my lord?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Arthur narrowed his bright blue eyes at Merlin. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling for hours.”

Merlin knew this was a lie. It was only the second time Merlin had heard Arthur calling his name; and he’d been a hundred yards from his chambers when he heard the first. A human being could only walk so quickly.

“I apologise. But I am here now,” Merlin replied, with a slight sigh.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed ever further, until Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur even had eyes any more.

“You can quit with the lies, Merlin. Gaius told me where you spend your free time.”

The accusation in Arthur’s voice was almost more than Merlin could bear. He couldn’t believe that Gaius still ran with the story that Merlin spent almost all of his time at the tavern. He could count the times he’d been to that place on his two hands! Surely Arthur thought better of him than a common drunk.

“Sorry, my lord. It won’t happen again.” He paused for a brief moment. “Are you ever going to tell my why I’m here?”

Arthur rose from his place at the large wooden table in the left corner. That was when Merlin finally took in his appearance. Rustled blonde hair, creased over-shirt with several stains, no belt, and pants that hung dangerously low off his hips. Merlin quickly raised his gaze to Arthur’s face.

“This, Merlin, is why you are here. It is your duty to make me look presentable! How can I meet with numerous guests from surrounding lands looking like this?”

I think you look handsome, Merlin thought. But he wouldn’t dare say it. Any indication of his feelings had been more than badly received by the king of Camelot. He wasn’t about to out himself again. Before he could prevent it, the memory of when he leaned in for a hug and Arthur dismissed him came to mind. Merlin could still feel the sting of the rejection. A hug is innocent; it’s not like he was asking for Arthur’s hand. If only I could. Merlin was wrenched back into the current situation when Arthur all but yelled ‘well!’.

“I know it is my duty, sire. And I beg your forgiveness. I shall have all your attire cleaned and ready for your important meeting with important guests.”

If Arthur detected the inherent sarcasm in Merlin’s words, he did not show it. Instead, he walked over to where Merlin stood, placing a hand on his servant’s shoulder.

“I’m worried about you, Merlin,” he said softly, his eyes seeming to pierce right into the very depths of Merlin’s soul.

“Whatever for, my lord?”

Arthur removed his hand from Merlin’s shoulder, clasping his hands behind his back. He started to walk the length of the large room, stopping to tug on the end of the sheet that hung neglected over the side of his unmade bed. Turning back to Merlin, he came to a standstill.

“You may have a problem with ale.”

It was all Merlin could do to not laugh in Arthur’s face. He truly had no idea how much time Merlin spent protecting him, and all of Camelot. Upholding his destiny to serve and protect Arthur at all costs; even if that cost was Merlin’s life. Instead of laughing, Merlin simply made a humming sound.

“Merlin,” Arthur stated, drawing out the second syllable in a way that made Merlin drop his gaze to the floor.

“Merlin!”

Merlin raised his eyes to his king, his lord, his sire, his master, his love. And was startled by the extreme closeness of Arthur to his own self. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he met Arthur’s gaze head-on. Expecting Arthur to pull back, and once more regain a more appropriate distance from him, Merlin leaned forward slightly. It was then that he realised that Arthur had no intention of altering the distance between them, and before Merlin knew what was happening; his lips were approaching Arthur’s.

The moment seemed to span a lifetime. Merlin was entranced by the colour of Arthur’s lips, the softness of them, the supreme closeness of them. I should stop – lean away, he thought. But he simply found himself closing the minute distance between them, hoping finally to erase what imaginings he had previously entertained about what it would be like to kiss Arthur, and replace it with this actual moment.

But all of a sudden, Arthur turned his head to the side, and Merlin’s lips barely grazed his cheek. Ever so quickly, Merlin took a step backwards, and observed Arthur’s reaction from a safe distance. The king’s cheeks were flaming scarlet, as Merlin imagined his own would be at that moment. Merlin opened his mouth to comment on what had just passed, but Arthur beat him to it.

“Just get the clothes ready. Leave them here for me. I can dress myself.”

Merlin was sure the unsteadiness of Arthur’s voice was not in his imagination. He inclined his head, waiting a moment to see if Arthur would glance his way. When he did not, Merlin quietly exited the chambers.

What on earth was I thinking?

Merlin berated himself for the rest of the day. The only reprieve was when he lay his head down to rest, and was not ashamed to think of what might have happened, if only he had been a little bit quicker.