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A lot of memories dear to Arthur’s heart come from the physician’s tower. From hiding in one of Gaius’s stinking barrels to get away from angry tutors and a very angry king, to listening to stories of knights and dragons, kicking his feet while he sat on the old doctor’s table when he was meant to learn of science and herbology, getting his first injury stitched up like a badge of honour at the age of six, in a fight he’d bitterly lost. There’d been once a small period of time where Arthur grew distant from the old study and its smells and its sights, young and arrogant and strolling down streets with boys he called his friends.
And now, he’s found a home in it once more.
“You look happy,” Merlin says, strolling over from the other end of the room where a pot simmers with some tonic he's been tasked with to brew, a feat Arthur still struggles to wrap his head around. He’d forgotten a hundred stumbles and twenty odd death wishes ago that Merlin had once turned up to learn to use his magic for healing. And he’d wanted to be a physician. He's been watching him a while now, methodical and precise in a way that's so uncharacteristic for his clumsiness when chores are concerned. And it's a pleasure to watch, the low hum of him mumbling ingredients and recipes to himself, recoiling at the white smoke that comes when he lifts the lid off the pot with a wrinkle in his nose that's so endearing. He joins Arthur at the work table, a new basket of lavender and herbs at his side.
“It’s just nice to see that you’re competent at at least one thing that you do,” Arthur shoots back.
Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m competent at many things, my lord. You just refuse to see it,”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I keep you in line just fine,” Merlin jabs, and the basket of lavender comes flying at Arthur’s face. Arthur smacks it away just in time; and watches the fallen flowers float back into place in the basket. Next to him, Merlin’s eyes are a warm gold, which he’s grown fond of, especially that small fade in fade out between blue and gold whenever he does something extraordinary; which makes him loathe the possibility of a reality where he isn’t given the privilege to see it. It's strange to see magic like this still, so inconsequential and harmless. Playful and unthreatening and not preceded by a million odd foreign words that make it all the more incomprehensible. But Merlin's made a point to show him, since the day he'd told him he will, and it becomes a part of his every day life, to see the magic in the ruffle of a tree and in the dew that glistens in the sun, and in the flowers that do not wilt by sundown and the aches that vanish at a touch.
“You don’t keep yourself in line. Be careful,” he scolds anyway. The consequence of magic outside them was still death. And that was a simple fact. Merlin hums, perching on the table facing him. He’s got a petal stuck in his hair. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Come down here,”
“You want to talk about careful?” Merlin chuckles, but leans down anyway, a smug that Arthur wants to wipe right off his face. But having a sense of self-preservation, and the knowledge that Gaius would be back following his council with the king, Arthur rolls his eyes, and pulls the flower away. “That poor petal,” he says, showing it off. Merlin pouts. “Stuck on the head of a complete idiot instead of being a part of something of value,”
“Oh hush you,”
They find a rhythm, picking lavender and prepping ingredients, and it’s a pass-time surely unfit for a prince; but in the familiar bubbling of a potion, and the pleasant smell of flowers and herbs, and the world outside them completely irrelevant; in that moment, Arthur’s more content than he’s been all day. The simple comforts of familiarity perfectly enough to keep him satiated.
“I’d actually forgotten you were a physician,” he comments, leaning an arm on Merlin’s thigh while he continues to pick flowers.
“Don’t start,” Merlin sighs. “I told you I’m fine right where I am,”
“You can help more people,”
“Hey I still use my medical skills plenty, since you insist on walking into the mouth of death every other day,”
“That’s not what I mean,”
“I just want to be by your side, where I can see you safe and happy. And besides, it’s safest for me to avoid suspicion, that I’m your manservant. You know how many times I’ve confessed to magic for the sake of another life,”
“One day, situations will change,”
“Then we’ll see about that then,” Merlin says, putting the basket aside. He sticks a flower behind Arthur's ear before he returns to the pot that simmers a bit louder in the distance. “Nothing will ever take me from you, and I don’t need anything to stay by your side. It’s as simple as that,”
“As simple as that,” Arthur echoes, and believes him with his whole heart.