Chapter Text
This would be the biggest fight that Merlin and Arthur ever had.
“Arthur, I need to talk to you about something.”
Arthur would later defend his particularly terrible reaction on a whole slew of things—he and Merlin had been in a bit of a row over the whole magic thing, and Arthur was currently spending his days trying to fight the council in repealing the magic ban. And this, mind, was something he was doing entirely for Merlin.
The frustration from endless, repetitive arguments with his council had, in turn, become frustration aimed at the very man he was doing all of this for. It was rarely when he deserved it, but perhaps partially because Arthur believed that Merlin deserved it in general, for having kept such a secret. So Arthur griped and lashed out, all the while Merlin patiently took it. He never fought back, even when Arthur could see from the way his eyebrow twitched that he really wanted to. Maybe Merlin too thought he deserved this, or more likely that he knew Arthur thought so.
“What is it, Merlin?”
In many ways, Arthur's urge to fight and Merlin's reluctance to retaliate were both ways of avoiding having a real conversation about their relationship. Friendship, Arthur reminded himself. Relationship, his annoying heart repeated.
Arthur would also later blame his actions on the way in which he was raised, and the awful mental affliction that he must have to make him so mean to the person he loves most. Even feeling justifiably mad was not enough to overturn the years of obsessing and pining over his stupid pretty manservant.
“This is . . . uh, awkward. But I wanted to ask you for a raise.”
Not that Arthur could ever reveal the regard with which he holds Merlin, lest he humiliate himself and/or scar the man for life. No, what Arthur felt was far too big and vulnerable and all-consuming; what had started as a pigtail-tugging infatuation morphed into this strange, heady, life-defining love.
Certainly Merlin would be creeped out. Even if Merlin had a romantic thought to spare, he would eventually flee when he learns how many times Arthur has scribbled Merlin Pendragon on his expensive parchment, or—gods forbid, if Merlin found out what Arthur did to that visiting nobleman who made a pass at him! The warlock would run for the hills.
“Absolutely not.”
A raise? A raise. There was no way Arthur would give Merlin a raise. That would be too revealing—imagine the entire castle saying, "have you heard? The king gave his manservant a raise! He's obviously in love with him!" And if they wouldn't say exactly that, well, it would be something close. Picture those gossiping hens running to and fro, speaking about favoritism and pining. It was true, but he couldn't have everyone else knowing that. Especially when he was rather angry with him.
“Look, I need the money–”
“Oh, you need it?”
Desperate as Arthur was to keep his cards close to his chest, he did have a conscience enough to know that he was being a massive prat. His sign? The overwhelming guilt that consumed him whenever Merlin looked at him with that twisty bottom lip that held back overwhelming frustration.
“Would you please let me finish? I wouldn't ask you this, you know I wouldn't–”
“And yet you are,” Arthur cut him off again, ruthless. He would later realize that this was a grave mistake. “I don't care why you need the money, Merlin. I already know too well.”
Merlin perked up for a moment. “You do?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, and then put the final nail in his own coffin. “You need to fund your generous trips to that tavern.”
He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Merlin turn that shade of red. Arthur knew that Merlin had rarely been to the tavern, and Merlin knew he knew that. They both knew that as long as Arthur could hold the 'you lied to me for ten years' card over Merlin's head, the warlock had no recourse.
But it seemed that at last, Arthur's temper pushed even the patient manservant over the line.
“You are such a pompous ass, do you know that?” Merlin shot back angrily. “I do everything for you, everything! And I don't ask for much, just this one thing—for a very special circumstance!”
“You don't ask much?” Arthur echoed with a sneer, well-aware he was teetering too far, but lost in momentum. “So these grueling council meetings I suffer through for your sake, those aren't good enough for you? Lifting the ban is easy, then?”
“You know that's not what I meant!” Merlin shot back, dangerously close to tears. “I'm grateful you're doing it, goddess, I am! I'm not undermining what you've done, I'm just asking–”
“Too much, Merlin. You're asking too much.” Arthur turned away with finality, and he could feel the way Merlin wilted behind him. Don’t turn around, don’t let Merlin’s cute sniffling bend your nerve, dammit!
And he didn’t turn around. A success.
Merlin’s sniffling had only gotten louder as his footsteps ran out the door. Less of a success. But wasn’t that what Arthur wanted? To hurt Merlin the way Merlin had hurt him?
No, argued his traitorous heart.
Arthur knew he was riding a fine line, snapping and lashing out. But it was what Merlin deserved, for all the lying.
Wasn’t it?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merlin slammed his little door shut behind him, grateful Gaius was out. He had managed to stop crying in his huff, but now cold rejection took its place.
Arthur hated him.
True, the man was repealing the magic ban. For Merlin, as the king just couldn’t stop reminding him. At first, the notion was flattering. Now it just felt like a reminder that Merlin could have received a death sentence, and that Arthur didn’t owe him anything.
And he didn’t, Merlin never did anything in hopes of being paid back! He didn’t even need a raise permanently, just long enough until he’d saved it. But Arthur wouldn’t even give him that. He wouldn’t even hear him out!
Merlin thought their relationship was salvageable. Friendship, Merlin corrected himself. Relationship, his heart retaliated. Either way, it didn’t matter. Even if Arthur reciprocated Merlin’s feelings before all this, he certainly didn’t now.
Merlin ran a hand over his face, sitting down on the edge of his bed and picking up the letter he’d left there that morning, rereading its’ contents.
My dearest boy,
What great news indeed! I couldn’t be happier for you. I knew that King Arthur was a good and just man, and I knew I was leaving you in safe hands.
With Camelot growing a safe place for you, I’m wondering what there is left for me in Ealdor. I always wanted you to have a home to return to, but it seems Camelot is finally becoming that home. Perhaps it is time that I consider joining you.
Don’t work too hard, my darling. I’ll visit you in the citadel once the repeal is finished so we can properly celebrate together.
All my love, Hunith
Merlin smiled as he reread the words his mother wrote. His initial letter to her about the ban repeal and Arthur . . . well, things had seemed a bit sunnier then.
Overturning the ban was harder than any of them had expected, and Arthur was run ragged. The Knights of the Round Table were supportive, but mostly of Arthur. They weren’t unkind to Merlin, and had been rather accepting of his magic, but it didn’t change the fact that if Arthur was avoiding Merlin, so too were they, even if it was done with sympathetic, pitying glances that kept Merlin up at night.
Well, everyone but Gwaine, at least. Gwaine acted like nothing had changed, both when it came to Merlin’s magic status and Arthur’s new negative, irritated attitude. It was good, to have a rock like that.
Merlin folded his mother’s letter and put it back on the bedside table. Merlin hated money, always had. Found it too polarizing an institution. Couldn’t everyone just share and be kind? Too much to ask, he knew. Yet, money was an unfortunate evil, especially if his mother suggested moving to Camelot.
There isn’t much Merlin wouldn’t do to get his mother to come live in Camelot. He could look after her, and she him, and honestly he just missed her all the time. She’d never expressed any interest in leaving Ealdor before, but with my magic ban being overturned, she finally found reason to.
Ironic, how the very thing that inspired his mother to move closer is also the very reason why she can’t. Because Merlin had found her a place, somewhere perfect to live, but he couldn’t afford it. And if Arthur weren’t so annoyed with him all the time, he’d likely have no problem giving Merlin a pay raise to afford the place.
The line about the tavern had just been uncalled for. They both knew Merlin was never at the tavern, not unless he was dragging Gwaine out of there or going on the occasional night out with the knights. Not that there’d been any of those lately. No, the tavern was just another reminder to both Merlin and Arthur that Merlin and Gaius had done nothing but lie. And Merlin felt remorse, he really did, but he’d apologized until he was blue in the face. Another ‘sorry’ wouldn’t help. Only time would fix it. Except recently, Merlin began to wonder if it would take more time than he and Arthur had left.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That night, to be a bit spiteful for the first time since his magic was revealed, Merlin decided to go to the tavern. One, because he knew Gwaine would be there and he needed a friend, and two, because Arthur was being extra prattish not letting Merlin explain why he needed a raise. If Arthur thought Merlin was blowing his coin at the tavern (which they both knew was untrue), then why not do it one time?
But when Merlin crossed the threshold into the tavern, he was immediately shocked by what he saw.
It was a busy night of the week for drinking, but Merlin had never seen it so busy before. And loud. Perfect for blending in, sure, but maybe not so much for the warlock’s frayed nerves. Fights were breaking out—tussles, Gwaine liked to call them. They sure looked like fights to Merlin.
Speaking of Gwaine, he saw the knight charging right up to him, two flagons in hand. “Merls!” he cried with a huge smile, as though this was normal. “What brings a handsome fella like you to a tavern like this?”
Merlin cocked a judgmental eyebrow. The Rising Sun wasn’t usually so rowdy, and they both knew that. “What’s going on, Gwaine? Something in the air here?”
The knight cast a look over his shoulder. “Well, there was an incident with Torin and a regular about an hour ago, so now Annabelle and Eadwulf are on their own.”
Merlin frowned at the tale—Torin was the proprietor of the Rising Sun, as well as their head bartender. Eadwulf made food, and Annabelle waited tables. “No wonder it’s so wild in here,” Merlin acknowledged. “Is Torin alright? What was the incident?”
Gwaine scratched the back of his neck. “Well . . . you know Darren?”
“The stonesmith?”
“That’s the one. He had way too much to drink, and when Torin cut him off, Darren tried to dive over the bar to get more ale. He tackled Torin in the process, and they had a wee tussle, and long story short, Torin broke his leg.”
Merlin’s eyes bugged out of his head. “He broke his leg?! Where is he?”
“In the back.”
“The back?! Why didn’t anyone take him to Gaius?”
Gwaine shrugged defensively. “He didn’t want to go! I told him it was a bad idea to just hobble around on it, but he demanded we leave it alone.”
Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really had come just to blow off some steam, but in true fashion, he now had a job to do. “Take me to him, would you?”
Gwaine looked him over a minute before throwing his hands up in the air, sloshing the contents of his flagons. “Alright, but he’s probably just going to yell at you.”
Rolling his eyes, Merlin reminded him, “most patients do.”
The back of the tavern was small, but when Gwaine had shut the door behind them, it muffled the sounds of craziness in the main room long enough for Merlin to take a deep breath. He was well-versed in rooms full of drunk people—usually they were nobles at a banquet, though, which gave Merlin more room to breathe. The tavern could feel a bit claustrophobic, loud as it was now.
Torin sat in the back, leg propped up on a stool so that it was flat in front of him as he was clearly trying to balance some books. His pant leg was rolled up to the mid-thigh, so Merlin got a pretty good look. Torin glanced up when Merlin and Gwaine entered, huffing some air from his bottom lip up to his forehead to cast aside a strand of blond hair that fell from his topknot.
“What do you two want?” Torin asked, a slight rude considering Merlin had been nothing but kind to the man. Though, he supposed, if Torin was the bartender, he was probably annoyed to see Gwaine on any given day.
Gwaine, as if reading Merlin's mind, belched loudly. “Merls wanted to check on your leg.”
Torin scoffed, his cheeks a tinge pink. “I'm fine as is.”
Merlin looked down at Torin's leg. “I disagree,” he replied dryly, giving his best imitation of Gaius’ unimpressed-physician expression. The swelling just below his knee was throbbing so exaggeratedly that Merlin could see the pulse of muscle beneath the man's pale skin. “It's definitely at least fractured. The sooner you let me look at it, the sooner you can get back to work.”
Torin groaned, slamming the ledger shut. “That's just it, Merlin! I can't go back to work! I'm not an idiot, I know I can't walk right now.” He slid a hand down his face. “But this is my tavern, and it will fall apart without me. Usually my nephew covers for me when I'm ill, but he's on a trip visiting some family in Mercia for the next month or so! I don't know what to do.”
“Take a deep breath,” Merlin instructed softly, coming to kneel beside the man's outstretched leg. He was well familiar with Torin’s whole ‘buck-stops-with-me’ attitude, because Merlin felt that way all the time. “Don't worry about tomorrow, worry about tonight. What do you need to get through the next hour?”
Torin let out a long breath. “I need to get my leg checked,” he grumbled, upset to admit it. “Then I need to close the tavern.”
“Whoa, wait, let’s not be hasty!” Gwaine scrambled forward, eyes wide. “The sun’s barely set! You can’t close the Rising Sun!”
“And who will tend bar? You?”
Gwaine puffed out his chest. “I know the menu like the back of my hand! I can mix any drink.”
“You’re drunk,” Torin replied, unamused, “and your hands are shaking. You can’t tend bar like that—Annabelle and Eadwulf would spend most of the night mopping up your messes.”
Merlin had been gently examining the wound while they bickered, but he perked his head up. “I could help,” he offered. “If Gwaine knows all the drinks but he can’t pour them, I can be his hands.”
Torin looked surprised at the offer. “That’s . . . not an awful idea. But Merlin, these people are already drunk and rowdy, and I know this place isn’t really your scene.”
Merlin shrugged. No, the tavern was most definitely not his favorite place, not the least of which because the tavern was always where Arthur accused him of being when he was out saving His Royal Arseness. And while Merlin wasn’t a big drinker, he certainly was used to brash, burly assholes. These ones wouldn’t even be trying to kill him!
“Trust me, there aren’t many scenes Merlin can’t handle,” Gwaine volunteered, a wide grin on his face. “Give him a chance!”
Torin seemed to think about it. “It doesn’t pay much,” he warned, but even offering the warning told Merlin that he’d won.
“That’s quite alright, anything helps right now,” Merlin replied as he pulled out a roll of bandages from his pack. “Now hold still. This is going to hurt, but I have to wind it really tight.”
Gwaine hopped from foot to foot excitedly as Merlin wrapped Torin’s leg. “This is gonna be so fun!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Fun isn’t the word Merlin would ascribe to bartending, but profitable might be.
Merlin was just as clumsy as usual, breaking the occasional bottle and dropping the occasional platter, but all of that angry, nervous energy he’d had all day since his fight with Arthur, fueled his movements. He tended that bar like it was a feast table during Uther’s time as king—except this time, he had Gwaine sitting on top of it, legs swinging as he translated some of the absurd drink names that were thrown at him.
(Seriously, how was Merlin supposed to know that a whiskey sour had an egg in it? He wasn’t a psychopath.)
When Annabelle kindly told Merlin that they were locking up, and Eadwulf shouted last call, Merlin felt like no time had passed, when really it was closer to dawn than sunset.
Merlin was wiping down the bar and calling goodbye to Eadwulf when Annabelle dragged Torin and his chair out to collect the money from the night.
“Alright, Ann, you take this, and leave Ead’s under the vase,” Torin said, not even looking up from his sorting and counting. “And Merlin, this is for you.” This time he looked up as he handed over a pouch. Merlin gaped at the weight of it.
“This is a lot!” he cried, setting the rag down and putting the coin in his pocket. “This is far more money than I make in a full day as Arthur’s servant.”
Torin cocked his head. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it all night, that thing you said. ‘Anything helps.’ Do you need money, Merlin?”
Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, that’s why I was more than happy to help tonight.”
Gwaine scoffed. “Yeah, but you don’t need the money, Merls. You can just give Princess a pouty lip and he’ll fork it over!” Both Gwaine and Torin chuckled, but Merlin’s tight frown gave away his true feelings.
“No, I definitely cannot,” he argued. “Arthur doesn’t like me all that much these days.”
The knight looked down at his lap, furrowing his brow. “I know . . . but it’s still you two, ya know? Merlin and Arthur.”
“Arthur and Merlin,” Torin chimed in agreement.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “More like Arthur and the sorcerer that lied to him. Look, for your information, I did ask Arthur for a raise today.”
“Atta boy!”
“No. He was very unhappy about it. Wouldn’t let me defend myself, wouldn’t let me explain, just yelled and shooed me off, like usual lately.”
“Then screw the bloody king!” Gwaine declared resolutely, slamming a fist on the bar. “I can’t believe he’s still pissy about your magic! He doesn't deserve you! You've spent most of your bloody night off helping the tavern staff—Arthur doesn't know what he has! You're a workhorse, my friend.”
Torin leaned on the bar counter, resting his chin on his knuckles. "That you are, Merlin. I can't thank you enough for helping me tonight. You fixed up my leg, then finished my shift and managed my tavern for me! The king should be so lucky to have you as his servant."
Merlin only sighed dejectedly, smiling gratefully at Torin's compliment but otherwise unmoved by either man's passion. "I just don't get it. I know Arthur jokes a lot about how bad I am at my job, but I'm just not! Yes, I'm a little clumsy, and I break dishes and embarrass him sometimes, but I can't help that! It's chronic, or something! No magic in the world can keep my limbs from shooting akimbo, and why is the wall always right there? I swear, the walls move–”
“Merlin.”
“Sorry. That's not the point. The point is, I’ve never asked for a raise, so obviously I had a reason. The worst part of all of this is that I thought we were friends. I thought that was why Arthur was repealing the ban! I know it’s hard work, but goddess, Arthur hates me for it.” Merlin picked the rag back up and started aggressively wiping the bar to busy his hands. “Anyway, I guess I’m hurt that he wouldn’t even let me explain why I needed the money. Sure, I think I deserve it anyway, but I really need the money!”
“What for? You never spend any money unless you're giving it away,” Gwaine pointed out.
Merlin smiled, despite the whole affair. “Since Arthur is repealing the magic ban, my mother wants to move to Camelot. I've found the perfect place for her to move into. There's a small cottage far from the city, with a little land. I know the owners—they're sheep farmers, of a small flock. They're moving back to where they're from to raise a family, so they're willing to sell it for fairly cheap to me, because my mother would love to tend their sheep. But, even so . . .”
“. . . you don't get paid quite enough to buy the place, even with the discount,” Gwaine finished the thought. Merlin nodded, and Gwaine shared a bewildered look with Torin. “Merls, you're the king's manservant. I thought that just by sheer proximity you were overflowing with gold.”
“Gwaine, I do laundry. I fetch things. I clean.”
“For the king!”
“So what? The king certainly thinks he is not entitled to pay me more.” Throwing down the rag again, Merlin’s face fell into his hands. “Goddess, how am I going to make enough coin to buy that farm? I know my mother, and she won’t want to be too near the loud city noises, and she loves her isolated space. This place is her dream home, and really the only place I've found where she'd be happy. But the couple is leaving in a month, and if I can't drum up the money by then, they will sell it to their neighbor, who will sell their sheep.”
Torin put his hands on his hips. “I know where that little farm is—all things considered, it doesn't sound like it should be all that expensive, especially not when you have a month to pay. How much is it, compared to your wages?”
“I've already counted, the cottage would be six month's work.”
“And what does that number look like?” Gwaine asked curiously. “What's an average payday for you, Merls?”
Merlin laughed dryly. “Funny you should ask. I usually wouldn't do this in a tavern, but,” Merlin pulled out the pouch of coin he'd received from the steward before seeing Gwaine. He dumped out the contents on the bar, and the three men leaned in.
“That's . . . liveable,” Torin muttered.
Gwaine was less subtle. “Merlin, that sucks!”
“Guys, what did you expect? I make stew and clean up horse shit.”
"Yeah, and you fight magical creatures and outwit assassins. Arthur knows this now, and he still won't compensate you for your time?"
Merlin shrugged uncomfortably. “That’s more of a volunteer . . . gig . . ."
“Honestly, it is kind of ridiculous,” Torin piped in, still staring at Merlin's wages on the counter. “The king is the richest man in the kingdom, and he pays you like a newly appointed dishwasher. I could afford to pay you more than this, for gods' sake!”
Gwaine straightened in his seat, eyes alight. “Do you mean that, Torin?”
Torin raised his eyebrows at Gwaine's implication, and he looked over at Merlin. “Honestly? I just lost the ability to move my leg for a while, and the perfect replacement is my physician. I'd say that's pretty useful, and worth about five times what you have right there.”
Merlin's eyes widened, shocked. “Five times? That would be . . . I mean, that's–”
“Still not even enough,” Gwaine pointed out. “You said six months of work for a cottage, due in one? With regular expenses for food, you're still not going to have enough.”
“Ah, but you two forget the best part,” Torin said with a wide grin. “Working here means getting tips.”
Merlin cocked his head. “Why would anyone tip me? I've heard from a reliable source that I have appalling manners and an inherent lack of respect for authority.”
Torin blinked, but inevitably moved past it. “Everyone liked you tonight. In fact, I was already planning on tipping you out for your help today.”
“Besides, Merls, getting tips is an easy task for someone that looks like you,” Gwaine said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Merlin scoffed at his suggestion, but the more he thought about it, the more tempted he became. But then he shook his head. “No. I can’t! I took tonight off, but I can’t afford to lose diligence in protecting the kingdom. The middle of the night is the only time I have to strengthen the protection wards I have up in the forest, do my own magical patrolling, fighting off magical beasts—you know the drill.”
Gwaine and Torin shared a look. “Merls . . . do you have to do those things at night?”
“Well, no. But when else can I? I spend all day doing chores for Arthur.”
“Who pays you a fifth of what Torin can pay you,” Gwaine reminded him. “The way I see it, you have three job options right now, and you can only pick two. Since ‘protecting the kingdom’ is an essential, then you can either do it at night and work for Arthur in the day, never getting that cottage for your mum, or . . .”
“Or you protect Camelot during the day, and work for me,” Torin completed his thought. “And then you’ll be able to afford the cottage before it’s too late.”
Merlin gaped at them. “What are you saying, that I should quit my job as Arthur’s manservant? I’ve worked for him for ten years!”
“Ten years with no pay raise, getting paid like he picked you off the street?”
“Well, he kinda did–”
“That’s not the point!” Gwaine exclaimed, frustrated. “Arthur clearly doesn’t respect your work, and he’s been treating you even worse since finding out you save his life all the time!”
Merlin looked down at his feet. “But . . . if I quit, what would happen with the ban repeal? Arthur’s said a million times that he’s only doing it because of me—it’s why he’s been so pissy with me lately. What if me quitting makes him stop the efforts altogether?”
“I won’t let him,” Gwaine said determinedly. “None of us knights will. I swear it.”
“So what do you say, Merlin?” Torin asked. “Will you come back tomorrow night?”
This was the hardest decision Merlin had ever made. If he quit now, even just for a month, Arthur probably wouldn’t want him back. And he’d miss him, not being by his side every day. But Arthur didn’t like him hanging around much lately anyway.
But Merlin wanted that little farm. He needed his mother, more now than ever before. And he wasn’t going to get it working for Arthur.
“You have a deal.”
And Merlin had a letter of resignation to write.