The Magic Word, a merlin fanfic

The Magic Word

Five times Arthur refused to say "Please" and one time he did. Merthur. For alessariel on tumblr (also on AO3) for the one line prompt: "You forgot to say the magic word."

...

"You forgot to say the magic word."

Arthur stopped mid-reach for his goblet and lifted a questioning eyebrow, turning to face his manservant at his manservant standing by the door. "Excuse me?"

"You forgot to say the magic word," Merlin repeated with a casual shrug.

"I told you to fetch my dinner," Arthur said, confusion evident in his tone. "Most people don't need magic to carry a tray up the stairs. And even if they did, they wouldn't because it's illegal."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant. Not actual magic." He waved a hand toward Arthur. "Come on, children are taught the proper way to ask for things. As a prince, you should know how to say it better than anyone."

And suddenly Arthur understood. Merlin wanted him to say 'Please.' Three years Merlin had been in Arthur's employ and never before had the commoner made such a demand of his prince. He rolled his eyes.

"I am the crowned prince of Camelot," Arthur informed his servant, though they both knew that Merlin didn't care about titles. "I'm not asking you to bring me my dinner. I'm telling you."

Merlin frowned. "A little courtesy would do you a world of good."

Arthur snorted. "I'll save my courtesy for members of the court." Then he smiled at his own joke.

The hint of a smile on Merlin's face showed his manservant also enjoyed the humor, but was refusing to accept it. It always made warmth settle in the prince's chest to know he had made Merlin smile. Clearing his throat and reaching for his goblet once more, Arthur waved him away.

"On your way then. I'm hungry."

Merlin scoffed, though it wasn't an angry sound, and turned to leave. "I'll see if I can't find you a side of manners somewhere in the kitchens," he joked before he was gone.

...

There were knights strewn about in the woods, skulking around and being as quiet as possible. Even Merlin was out there somewhere, managing to keep from falling into the underbrush. It was Arthur, in fact, who was crashing about without a care. And he really didn't worry if anyone heard him, because he was chasing the only person it would've mattered to.

"Halt!" he shouted. "You, Sorcerer! I said halt!"

He would've called the girl by name, but he didn't know it, all he had was the knowledge that her mother sewed lovely gowns and that she herself practiced magic - and that his father wanted her captured. Merlin had said she was a seamstress's daughter, had even sewn many of Gwen's gowns herself. Arthur knew Gwen had seemed upset when she watched them ride out in search of the runaway girl, but until Merlin had mentioned it he had thought she was simply worried for their safety. Merlin had said she wasn't dangerous; that she'd been ousted as a sorcerer because someone saw her using magic to mend a broken seam without need for a needle; that she played hopping games with the smaller children in the lower town; that she was only a child herself.

His father said she was evil, her soul blackened by the evils of sorcery. She was to be brought back to face the executioner's axe or felled by Arthur's sword in the forest. He didn't care which.

Arthur had met the girl once, before this magic madness, when he had gone to her mother to commission a gown for Morgana. Upon seeing him, she had dropped her entire basket of fruit in the street at his feet in shock, then apologized as she quickly scooped them up. She had been a sweet child, eagerly helping her mother with sewing or household work every time Arthur visited to check on the dress. Now she was a fugitive.

"Girl!" Arthur called out as he saw her thin arm disappear behind a large rock formation.

Turning around the rocks, Arthur saw he was at the top of an incline. The girl was slipping in the leaves going down. Merlin was ambling down the path along the bottom.

"Merlin!" Arthur's voice echoed down to the servant, causing him to freeze in place and slowly lift his head up, a guilty look on his face. He didn't seem surprised to see them half flailing down the hill. "Stop her, Merlin!"

The girl, barely sixteen by Arthur's guess, stumbled onto the flat ground at the bottom of the hill, directly in front of Merlin. She snapped her head up to look at him, eyes wide and fearful. Then, when the servant didn't immediately move to grab her, she gave him a brief nod and took off running into the bushes on the other side of the trail. Merlin's gaze followed her unerringly.

By the time Arthur was standing beside his servant, he couldn't even hear the girl's footsteps on the leaves and a fog was beginning to drift in, possibly warning of coming rain. Their chances of finding her were dwindling by the second.

The prince turned a furious gaze on his manservant. "Why didn't you stop her?!" he growled. "I expressly told you to stop her!"

Merlin was absolutely unapologetic as he deadpanned, "She didn't deserve to be caught, and you didn't say the magic word."

Arthur stomped his feet angrily. "THAT'S THE POINT, MERLIN!" he bellowed, tossing his sword into the dirt and stamping over to the nearest tree. He grabbed tightly onto one of its low branches so that he wouldn't give in to the urge to strangle the commoner behind him.

For once, Merlin didn't say a word. He stayed utterly silent and waited for Arthur to calm down.

If Arthur were being honest, he was glad Merlin had failed to listen. The girl had been kind when he briefly met her, if not overly memorable. He doubted she could have changed so much in so few years, that magic could have turned her soul dark. She hadn't even attempted to use magic on them as they pursued her.

He believed Merlin. The girl wasn't a danger. But now, even if Arthur let her live and convinced the knights she had died, she could never come home. And wouldn't that be worse?

"Her name," Arthur said, his voice much quieter than before.

"Sire?" Merlin asked, deferential as he never was.

Arthur let out a heavy sigh, his gaze still on the branch though his grip on it was loose now. "The girl. What is her name?"

For a moment, Merlin hesitated. Then, "Mariana. Her name is Mariana."

Mariana the seamstress's daughter. As he turned to face Merlin, who was already holding Arthur's sword out for him, Arthur promised himself he would never forget her. Now, he had to find his knights and call off the hunt before they could find Mariana. If he got to them first, they would take him at his word. He could convince them he'd killed the girl, and even if they didn't believe they wouldn't voice it to his father. She would escape without further hassle.

...

Arthur tried to slam the door to his chambers shut behind him, but instead, Merlin caught it without even a grunt of effort. Arthur had long since stopped being surprised that nothing he threw at Merlin ever hit him. His servant slipped inside before calmly shutting and locking the door.

"Arthur-"

"He's a bloody ungrateful lay about!" Arthur interrupted in a growl, strutting angrily about the room. Without turning around he said, "Shut up, Merlin."

There was a hesitant hint of a smile in Merlin's voice when he said "I didn't say anything."

Arthur pointed at him accusingly. "I'm not pacing," he denied as he turned and walked back the way he'd come.

Now was usually when Merlin made a crack like 'Of course not. But I can see the study downstairs through the floorboards, so maybe you should move to the other side of the room for awhile' or something of the sort. Today, he just shook his head and frowned. Now was not a time for easy banter. If Merlin made a comment, they would just end up shouting at each other.

Like Arthur and Gwaine had shouted at each other.

He didn't like shouting at anyone in anger, least of all his knights. But while the rest of the knights had been training, Gwaine had been sitting making flower crowns with a little girl at the edge of the training field. And when Arthur called for a meeting of his most trusted men, Gwaine had been absent, found later at the tavern chatting with the bar maids. And today, when Gwaine was supposed to have been out guarding a young hunting group, Arthur had discovered that Percival had gone instead while Gwaine lounged in the stables while the stable boy slept nearby. It was as if Gwaine were allergic to putting in any effort to being a knight!

With a grunt at the floor, which was beginning to look scuffed from the repetitive passes of Arthur's booted feet, Arthur moved over to the other side of the room to continue his strides. On the way, he saw Merlin frowning at the window across the room, eyes distant, avoiding Arthur.

If Merlin had something to say, he should say it. He should remind Arthur that the girl had been chased by dogs onto the field and Gwaine had been calming her down and taking her mind off the pain and bandages he'd wrapped around her scratched arm; that Gwaine had been in the tavern because the bar maids had been assaulted by some out of town men and Gwaine had beat the louts up and kicked them out and then stayed to make sure the men didn't return. He should come up with some excuse for today, something that proved Gwaine was being a good man and not lazy. He should tell Arthur that the stable boy had gotten drunk for the first time in his life and passed out so Gwaine stayed to keep watch over him, or that a horse had kicked him in his head so Gwaine was there to wake him every few hours to check he was okay, or that his house had been ransacked and he wasn't sleeping well so Gwaine had offered to stay and guard him while he got some rest for the first time in over a week. Arthur wanted him to say it, to say something.

A glance to his servant showed Merlin was looking at him now, as if he knew Arthur's anger was slipping away like dust in a sunbeam. His expression was of fond exasperation, as if to say that Arthur was surprisingly thick but at least he had good intentions.

Except that Arthur hadn't had good intentions at all today, not when he'd been shouting at Gwaine. Gwaine had shouted right back, of course, but nothing so hurtful as what Arthur had come up with.

With a sigh, Arthur stopped moving. He covered his eyes with his hands for a moment and then took a deep breath. "Go fetch Gwaine and bring him here," Arthur stated, his hands on his hips as he too looked to the window across the room.

For a moment, Merlin remained quiet. Then, "You...didn't say the magic word."

If the room had been any louder, even just a fire crackling in the hearth, Arthur would have missed the hesitancy in Merlin's tone. But as it was, he heard it. With a curious lift of his eyebrows, Arthur turned around to face the other man in the room.

Why was he so cautious? Did he think Arthur was still angry? All he wanted was to apologize to Gwaine, but he knew the knight would think Arthur was only coming so he could continue to berate him. If Merlin brought Gwaine here, to Arthur's chambers, the possibility of a fight was much lower. Gwaine trusted Merlin more than he trusted Arthur, the king. And he would know that Merlin would never consciously put either Gwaine or Arthur into a situation that wasn't good for them. And yet here Merlin was, for once misreading his king and thinking Arthur honestly wanted a fight to break out in his bedroom.

"You know a lot more about magic than I do," Arthur joked, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere around them, "so really that should be my line."

Merlin frowned but he didn't seem worried anymore, more aggravated and incredulous. "I'm not the one who started a pointless fight. It's not my job to fix it."

Arthur rolled his eyes and waved a hand at Merlin. "Which is what I'm trying to do, but you're being uncooperative, Merlin." The old, familiar drawl to his name made Merlin's lips quirk up. Finally, Arthur thought, a weight in his stomach easing. "Now go find Gwaine and bring him here so we can talk. Properly."

Merlin dropped into a comically low bow. "As you wish, sire."

...

The banquet was still going on downstairs in the great hall, celebrating one year of Arthur's reign, but the king wasn't there. After many many many congratulatory glasses of wine (many of them that Arthur had faked drinking) from a host of different people, Arthur had grabbed his ex-manservant and fled upstairs.

"I think you're drunk, Arthur," Merlin teased.

Arthur glared at him for a moment, but had to stop when he stumbled on the stairs and was forced to catch the wall or smack his face on the stones. He should've told Lord Bagdemagus no after the third cup the visiting king had thrust at him, but the lord was notoriously easy to offend when he'd had a bit of wine. Arthur had had several cups of water afterward, but obviously that had not done enough for his balance. Merlin giggled beside him, reminding Arthur that he hadn't been the only one to partake of the wine tonight.

"I think you're drunk, Merlin," Arthur shot back with a smirk.

Merlin didn't even deny it, though he didn't need to. He just shook his head good naturedly and continued up the stairs, his hand trailing the wall lightly but his steps even and remarkably smooth. He either hadn't had as much as Arthur or he was better at holding his alcohol. Arthur frowned after him.

"Not that I need help," he grumbled, following after the younger man, "but as I am your king, you should at least offer some assistance."

He got a smirk thrown over a shoulder for that. "I could. But you'd resent me more for it."

"I don't resent you," Arthur muttered as he continued down the hall toward his chambers.

Once in the bedroom, Arthur began fumbling with his many layers of ceremonial robes. The cloak came off easily enough, but everything else was proving difficult.

"Merlin," he seethed, angry at the cloth and not the man. "Get this stuff off me."

Merlin snorted. "You forgot to say the magic word," he said, his words sliding together playfully. Still, he didn't hesitate to come over and begin unfastening the belts and pulling off the layers of Arthur's clothes, though it wasn't his job to do so anymore.

Which begged the question of why Arthur had pulled Merlin from the room with him, but left his new manservant behind. And why Merlin had let him. Because Arthur was strong enough to admit to himself that he preferred Merlin's presence to anyone else's in the world, and that no matter how tired or drunk or delirious he was, he would always want Merlin at his side. But Merlin kept so much to himself that Arthur had no idea where he stood in the other man's eyes.

"I don't need any magic words to get undressed," Arthur snapped dully a minute or so later as Merlin pulled the final shirt over Arthur's head.

Except Arthur tried to stand up before Merlin was fully done and forced Merlin forward. They crashed into each other, both letting out startled shouts (Arthur's muffled by fabric). Then Arthur tried to hurriedly rip the shirt off himself at the same time Merlin tried to let go and step back, which only resulted in Merlin's hands getting tangled in the fabric alongside Arthur's arms. And when they both tried to step back at the same time, they instead managed to step on each other's feet and collapsed to the floor in a heap instead.

Arthur's heavier frame boxed in Merlin's slighter one. The shirt had come free of everything but Arthur's left arm as they fell, leaving Arthur's chest bare while they both panted from both the wine and the adrenaline. This close, Arthur could see every shade of blue in Merlin's eyes, could smell the hint of wine on his breath, could see the flush crawling blatantly across every inch of Merlin's pale cheeks. He never let himself get this close.

His eyes glanced down when Merlin swallowed and caught on Merlin's lips. There had been many times that Arthur had been fascinated by Merlin's mouth, had wanted to find a way to make him stop talking, or to make him start. Too often, Arthur had been mean to Merlin instead of kind because he had felt far too close to showing exactly how much Merlin meant to him. Because Arthur was a king, and few would oppose a king's demands. If Arthur asked for more from Merlin, more than friendship, would Merlin say yes because he was a king or-

"Arthur," Merlin said, drawing Arthur's attention back up to his imploring eyes. He gripped Arthur's shoulders lightly. "Please."

For at least the moment, all of Arthur's worries drifted away and he leaned down to press his lips to Merlin's in a kiss that felt as searing as a brand. He wasn't sure how long they kissed or how many times, lost in the pleasing knowledge that Merlin had asked for this, that it had been Merlin's decision, that Merlin actually wanted to kiss Arthur.

Then Merlin began to chuckle, which broke the kiss. Arthur made his displeasure known with a grunt. Merlin shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized, sounding completely unrepentant. "But apparently you do need a magic word to get undressed."

The king paused, confused. Then he realized that the shirt was gone from his arm, his boots were off, and his pants were halfway to his knees. When had all that happened? Shaking his head, Arthur lightly smacked Merlin on the forehead.

"Hey," Merlin protested weakly before Arthur was pushing himself up and off of him.

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the wrist with one hand and the post of his bed with the other and hoisted Merlin to his feet. He kicked off the rest of his pants and reached forward to begin unlacing Merlin's own, much less complicated, ceremonial robes.

When he glanced up at Merlin's face, he saw confusion written in the arch of his eyebrows and the curve of his lips.

"Stay with me tonight," Arthur said, just shy of being a question.

The soft request changed Merlin's expression into one of surprise and then the ex-servant was nodding quickly and helping Arthur remove his clothing. Arthur had never been one for cuddling, but he didn't mind waking up entangled with Merlin the next day.

...

Arthur wrapped his hand in the front of Merlin's shirt, a shirt made especially for him by a talented young seamstress, and pulled him forward until they were nearly flush against one another. "Come to bed with me?" he asked quietly against Merlin's ear.

Merlin shook his head. "Say the magic word," he ordered lightly.

It was like a game now, trying to get Arthur to say 'please' for anything. Years and years of this game and Arthur had only ever said it when Merlin wasn't in the room to hear it. He asked for things a lot more now instead of ordered them, but he had yet to tag Merlin's 'magic word' to the end of those requests.

"No, I don't think I will," Arthur said as he pulled back, grinning at Merlin puckishly.

Merlin gave an amused scoff and said, "I'm beginning to wonder if you even know what the magic word is," as he trailed his hands up and down Arthur's arms.

The Court Sorcerer leaned in, his breath ghosting across Arthur's cheek and then the shell of his ear. Arthur untwisted his fingers from Merlin's shirt so that he could reach down and slide them up under the hem, brushing Merlin's stomach and making the taller man jump.

"I know plenty of magic words. I learned them from you," Arthur breathed out, turning his head and kissing Merlin jaw. "Swebban."

"Arthur," Merlin began, but stopped as the king began to lift Merlin's shirt up, letting the fingers of his free hand trail over Merlin's stomach and along the edge of Merlin's pants as he did so.

"Cysban." The hand pulling the shirt up grazed a nipple and Merlin gasped. "Yppan," he continued, pulling the shirt over Merlin's head and tossing it across the room haphazardly. Merlin didn't even bother to frown at him for it. His eyes were alright half lidded and he was hanging on Arthur's every word and movement.

Arthur drew his palms, rough from years holding weapons, slowly down Merlin's sinful, long, beautiful neck, then leaned in to kiss his adam's apple. Merlin shivered under his hands.

"Bærnan," Arthur whispered against the Merlin's neck.

Merlin's hands came up and grabbed Arthur by his still clothed shoulders. "Oh never mind," he said, voice low and husky, which was enough to make Arthur shudder on its own. "Just get on the bed already."

Arthur gave a wicked grin when Merlin pushed him backward onto the mattress and soft quilts.

...

He was too slow.

His feet pounded against the hard dirt of the earth as he rushed forward. His sword was all sharp metal when he swung it wide and it cut into the sorcerer's chest. But even as she gasped and hit the ground, Arthur knew it didn't matter. The spell she'd thrown had landed, and Merlin had hit the ground.

The battle around them was already dwindling, the knights taking care of all remaining enemies. Arthur didn't even cast them a cursory glance. All his attention was on the body lying on the ground before him. He crashed to his knees, not caring if he would bruise later, and dropped his sword so he could pull Merlin into his arms.

"Merlin," he said, shaking the younger man. "No. No, Merlin. Merlin!"

Merlin was limp against him, eyes shut and body still. Arthur shook his head. Not like this. He didn't want to lose Merlin like this. They were still young men. They still had so much to do, so much to experience, together.

"Get up," Arthur ordered, his voice thick but authoritative. "Merlin, open your eyes. Open your eyes, Merlin. You've survived worse than this." He took a harsh breath. "I told you to get up. I'm the king, you have to do as I say. Wake up, Merlin."

Merlin had never listened. He never did as he was told. Now was no different. No amount of repetition, no matter how much his chest hurt, made his commands have any more effect.

"Please, Merlin." He lowered his head, feeling his eyes sting with the promise of tears, and hid his face in the crook of Merlin's shoulder. "Please, please, please. Merlin, please open your eyes. Please get up."

He wasn't concerned about any possible spectators, even with his armor bloody and his tears catching in the cloth of Merlin's shirt. None of his knights would judge him for it and he didn't care if they did. He'd been too slow and the killing spell had landed. He'd been too slow and Merlin was dead.

"Please don't be dead, Merlin," he croaked into the fabric in front of his mouth. "Please don't. Don't."

Something shifted against Arthur's hair and then Merlin's body was wracked with shakes and he was coughing harshly. Arthur jerked back, sitting up so he could see Merlin's properly, and Merlin grabbed hold of his armor so he couldn't move any further away.

"Merlin?" Arthur gasped, shocked and awed and filled with tentative relief.

Merlin did his best to nod even while he still hacked and shuddered in Arthur's dazed loose grip. When he could breathe again, the sounds grating but filling both Merlin's and Arthur's lungs with needed air, Merlin even managed to smile.

"You're alive? You're alright?" Arthur asked, even if the answer seemed obvious. It felt like his brain had completely shut down and he couldn't believe anything his eyes were seeing. It felt as if maybe he had died right alongside his beloved sorcerer.

One more nod and then Merlin collapsed, exhausted, against Arthur's chest. "You," he panted quietly.

"Hm?"

Merlin grinned against the stained metal. "You said the magic word."

Something in Arthur's chest gave way and he laughed, clutching Merlin tightly to his chest and blowing nearly hysterical chuckles into Merlin's dark hair. He didn't know if Merlin was joking as always or if he had actually made the word 'Please' magic when Arthur said it. He didn't really care. Merlin was alive and wrapping his arms around Arthur in return and that was all that mattered.

With a bright, manic smile on his face, Arthur said, "I'll say it every day for the rest of our lives if you never do that to me again."

"Okay."

...

fin