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Day one
Merlin groaned as sunlight spilled across his pillow and birdsong filtered through the small window. The bells rang signalling a new hot July morning, the air already thick and muggy with humidity. Outside, Camelot stirred into life, servants began their daily routines, and knights made their way to the training grounds.
Merlin loved it here, in this palace, in this life. Despite the exhaustion from yesterday’s endless chores and the strong temptation to stay in bed, he was happy. Content. Eventually, he dragged himself up, splashed cold water on his face, and dressed in his usual red tunic and blue neckerchief. With a final glance in the mirror, he attempted to tame his unruly bird’s nest of a head of hair, then headed out, climbing the familiar stairs to Arthur’s chambers. He’d made this journey a thousand times, each step unhurried and certain. He didn’t bother knocking anymore. Instead, he slipped inside as quietly as ever and began preparing for the day. Arthur lay asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, a picture of peace.
Merlin paused. Just for a moment.
The king looked so calm, so at ease, and Merlin’s chest tightened at the sight. From the very beginning, even during their ridiculous first meeting, full of insults and half-hearted punches, something had told Merlin that Arthur was someone. Someone important. Over the years, their relationship had shifted from manservant and prince to something deeper, a friendship built on trust, loyalty, and sacrifice. But for Merlin, it hadn’t stopped there. He’d tried to suppress his feelings, bury them where they couldn’t surface. But it was impossible. Arthur had an invisible, magnetic pull that Merlin couldn’t resist. Sure, there was the fact that Arthur was objectively handsome, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a body honed from years of training, but that wasn’t what held Merlin’s heart. It was Arthur’s kindness, his fairness, his intelligence and wit. It was his unwavering loyalty, the way he cared for his people and stood by his friends. Arthur was, simply, a good man.
And Merlin was undeniably, irrevocably, hopelessly in love with him.
Shaking himself free of the thought, Merlin got to work. He collected Arthur’s discarded socks, always laying on the floor despite the king going to bed with them on, a routine that never failed to amuse Merlin. He fetched hot water, slipped down to the kitchens for breakfast, laid out the day’s clothes, and finally, drew back the heavy, red curtains.
Sunlight poured into the room, bathing everything in golden light. As Merlin turned back, he caught the soft profile of Arthur’s face, peaceful in the morning light, until the king stirred, groaning and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Merlin chuckled and stepped closer. “Good morning, sire. Your breakfast is ready, the knights are training in the field, you’ve got a council meeting this afternoon, and Claude of Shirewood arrives this evening for trade discussions.”
He stood at the bedside, hands clasped behind his back, ever the dutiful servant.
Arthur grunted in response, unmoving.
“There’s hot water in the--”
“Shut. Up. Merlin,” came the grunted reply as Arthur pulled the covers higher. “It’s too early.”
Merlin smiled. “I gave you an extra half-hour today, sire. Unfortunately, kings don’t get lie-ins.”
Arthur lowered the blanket and fixed him with a half-hearted glare. “If you weren’t so annoyingly useful, I’d fire you. Maybe even put you in the stocks for a week,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed and stretching with a groan.
Merlin rolled his eyes. He was used to Arthur’s grumbling, his morning moodiness, his empty threats. They were just another part of him, one of many things Merlin loved. As Arthur washed and began his breakfast, Merlin moved around the room efficiently, making the bed and preparing for the day ahead, the quiet rhythm of their morning as familiar as breathing.
Before long, Arthur had eaten, dressed, and was making his way to the training ground, with Merlin trailing cheerfully behind. As they walked, Merlin drew in a deep breath, savouring the fresh air as it filled his lungs. The sun warmed his skin, and a soft breeze tugged gently at his clothes and ruffled his hair. Around them, knights were already gathering, some spinning swords in their wrists with casual ease, others locked in bouts of sparring. Watching them, Merlin couldn’t help but feel a shiver of relief that he hadn’t been born a noble. The idea of waking each day to lift swords, knives, and bows, repeating training and drills under the sun, held no appeal. Though he was no longer the scrawny, weak boy he once was, and had built a modest amount of muscle, the thought of training in the heat still made him wince a little. He handed Arthur his training sword and, with no small amount of satisfaction, settled down to watch as the king and his men launched into combat.
In contrast, however, Merlin rather enjoyed mornings on the training field. While Arthur was locked in combat, brow furrowed in focus, Merlin was free to watch him without fear of being caught. His eyes followed the way Arthur’s steady hand lifted his sword, how the muscles in his arms shifted beneath his shirt. When Arthur spun neatly on his heel to dodge a quick strike from Gwaine, his hair whipped round and tumbled into his eyes and Merlin felt something twist in his chest. He tried to ignore it, but it was always the same. Arthur moved like he belonged on that field. He was a true knight, confident, unshaken, infuriatingly graceful.
Merlin sighed quietly, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The way Arthur twirled his sword in that particular, showy flourish, gods, that one always got him. It was ridiculous, really, how something so simple could make his face go hot. There were days Merlin wondered if Arthur even knew what he did to people. Probably not. And certainly not what he did to him in particular. Yes, training mornings were many things, but above all, they were a chance to look, to admire, and to feel—just for a while—like it was allowed.
“Come on!” Arthur bellowed, tearing Merlin from his thoughts. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Arthur had moved to square up against Leon now, one of his longest-serving knights. Leon wore a grin that promised chaos, but Arthur’s answering smirk made it clear he was more than ready. After years of sparring, Arthur had learnt all of Leon’s tells, even as the knight came charging towards him at full force. Leon dipped left, Arthur ducked right and swept a leg out to knock him down. But Leon recovered swiftly, rolling to one knee and driving forward with his blade. Arthur met him with equal force, each strike matched with smooth confidence. Leon stepped in again, turning sharply, his sword slicing through the air with the ease of a man who’d spent years mastering his craft. And Arthur never backed down. And from the sidelines, Merlin watched it all, quietly entranced, hopelessly besotted, and entirely convinced there was no one in Camelot, in all the world, quite like Arthur.
Training eventually came to an end, and as always, Arthur had worked up quite a sweat. He rubbed a hand over his face, breathing heavily, before strolling over to where Merlin was now on his feet, brushing grass from his trousers. Merlin swallowed, feeling a familiar warmth creeping up his neck. He was fairly sure a blush was spreading across his cheeks, though if anyone asked, he’d blame it entirely on the heat. Arthur muttered something about needing a wash and some lunch, and just like that, Merlin shifted back into his role, quick, efficient, and invisible. He gathered Arthur’s discarded sword, cradling it with care, and darted off ahead to the palace to prepare his chambers.
It almost felt like a repeat of the morning. He fetched hot water, slipped down to the kitchens for lunch, laid out fresh clothes, and finally, turned his attention to Arthur’s sword. The weight of it was familiar in his hands, the grip worn smooth by use. He took a cloth and began polishing the blade in slow, steady strokes, watching the metal catch the light. Arthur entered a moment later, barely sparing Merlin a glance, but that didn’t bother Merlin. Not anymore. Merlin had long since grown used to moving in the background, unnoticed, a constant presence. He simply kept working, running the cloth down the length of the blade, bringing it to a clean, bright shine.
Lunch was quiet. Arthur ate at his desk, tucking into roast chicken and fresh bread like a man starved, though he'd barely trained more than usual. Merlin stood nearby, idly fiddling with a jug of water, pretending not to watch the way Arthur’s jaw moved as he chewed or how his brows dipped slightly when he was thinking, even over something as simple as whether to reach for the water or more bread. Merlin waited until he was finished, then moved in to clear the plates and wipe down the desk. He stacked the dishes carefully in his arms and vanished off to the kitchens before returning just in time to help Arthur into his council cloak.
There was a certain rhythm to these hours… Quiet, almost ceremonial. Going through the motions as if they’d done it a million times before. Merlin followed him through the corridors to the council chamber, where Arthur was greeted by murmurs and respectful nods. Merlin slipped into his usual place by the wall, in the shadows and silent, where no one ever asked anything of him. Where he could see but wouldn’t be seen, could hear but wouldn’t be heard.
The meeting began, the usual talk of taxes and border patrols and grain shortages and Merlin’s mind wandered. Occasionally, more often than not, his gaze drifted back to Arthur, his expression unreadable as he listened to his advisors, his fingers drumming absently on the arm of his chair. Merlin knew that face well, had come to understand his expressions over the years. Right now, it was the one he wore when he disagreed but hadn't decided how much of a fuss he wanted to make.
And so on it went, an hour, maybe two, Merlin lost track of time. When the meeting finally finished, Arthur gave a polite nod and swept out, Merlin following like a shadow. Or almost like an obedient dog, Merlin mused to himself. They returned to the chambers once more, where the late afternoon light was beginning to stretch across the stone floor. The room was warm as the sun drifted lower in the sky and Merlin stared out of the window with a smile. The view from here really was quite spectacular.
“Dinner with the visiting lords tonight,” Arthur muttered, untying his cloak and tossing it over the back of a chair.
Merlin caught it before it hit the floor, smoothing it out with a sigh. “Of course. I’ll get everything ready.”
Arthur just nodded and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. For a brief second, Merlin hesitated, wanted to say something. Wanted to ease the worry from Arthur’s shoulders. But he stopped that train of thought before it could go any further and quietly left to fetch yet another set of fresh clothes, a jugful of wine, and make sure everything was in place for the evening to come.
Claude of Shirewood was a short, red faced man who treated his servants with the same regard someone might give to their furniture. A click of his fingers and a vague gesture was all the instructions they ever received. He never wasted breath on pleasantries like “please” or “thank you,” not even to Arthur when he welcomed the man in. When he ate, he chewed with his mouth open, spraying crumbs of bread and half-chewed meat in all directions. His jokes were crude, his laughter too loud and far too long, echoing across the hall like a challenge to anyone not already annoyed. Merlin disliked him, and he was sure the feeling was shared with everyone in the room. But, Camelot and Shirewood had been negotiating a trading plan for some months now and Arthur was determined to see it finished tonight.
Merlin was heading towards Arthur to refill his wine glass when he caught the second half of a story that the visiting lord was telling.
“...and that’s when I said to her, I said, ‘if you can’t do your job right, then at least get on your knees!’” The man guffawed with laughter as faces around him forced themselves into a reluctant grin. Around him, a few others forced out chuckles, the kind given more out of obligation or pity rather than amusement. Merlin grimaced, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but Arthur beat him to it. The king cast a quick glance over his shoulder, meeting Merlin’s gaze with an exasperated look that said everything without a word. Clearly, Claude’s humour wasn’t as appreciated as he’d hoped. Still snorting to himself, Claude took a swig from his goblet and drew in a breath, attempting to compose himself before turning his attention back to Arthur, as if preparing for yet another round of unbearable conversation.
Merlin slipped into the shadows, close enough to hear but far enough to avoid being noticed. He caught the way Arthur’s shoulders tensed, the slight tilt of his head, the subtle readiness in his posture. After years of watching from just this distance, Merlin had learned to read the signs. That shift in weight, the way Arthur held his jaw, it all said the same thing—a conversation he’d rather not have, but would endure out of duty. It was one of the many things Merlin admired about him.
And then Claude opened his mouth, and Arthur moved in that unmistakable way that screamed, I hate this fucking guy. Arthur had lowered a hand, clenched it into a fist, and smoothed a too polite smile onto his face as he turned to face the visiting lord.
“Now I say, lad,” Claude began, smacking his lips and tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth, “This whole trade deal nonsense! I don’t know why you bother yourself with it. Let me handle it. Save you the trouble.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “I’m bothering, Sir, because I’m the king, and I want what’s best for the people of Camelot. My people. You received the revised agreement. Have you reviewed it? Are you ready to sign?”
Merlin watched intently. He saw the way Claude’s face darkened, the twitch in his jaw, the slow turn of his neck like a man trying to hold back frustration. Merlin felt himself lean ever so slightly forward, his instinct picking up on… Something. But he held back. Arthur had this. He always did.
Claude exhaled through his nose and finally spoke. “I read your revisions,” he said, his voice bored. “Didn’t much care for the bit about trading my timber for your grain. I’ve got a better idea.” His eyes gleamed with trouble, and Merlin frowned.
Arthur kept his tone even as he asked, “What did you have in mind?”
Claude straightened. “We supply timber, however much you require. Our Shirewood trees are known for their ability to withstand even the strongest of winds, you’ll remember. Your ships will be the sturdiest on the seas, your houses will stand for years to come.”
Arthur nodded once. “I’m well aware of your timber’s strength. What do you want in return?”
Claude’s grin widened, revealing far too many teeth with food stuck in between them. “In return, my boy, I want your knights. The best of them. At my command, whenever I require them.”
There was a moment of silence, heavy, pointed. Merlin stepped forward half a pace, eyes locked on Arthur’s face, searching for the tell of what was coming. At first, Arthur gave nothing away. Then, with a sudden bark of laughter, he threw his head back and let out a full bodied laugh that echoed off the stone walls. Claude blinked, caught off guard, then grinned, slapping a greasy hand onto Arthur’s shoulder as he forced out a chuckle of his own.
“So, it’s all settled then!” Claude boomed, clearly pleased with himself.
But Arthur shrugged off the hand and turned, his smile gone in an instant. “You think I would lend my most loyal knights, my best fighters, to a town rumoured to be preparing for war overseas?”
Claude froze. The colour drained from his face. Around them, the court fell utterly silent. Merlin watched from the shadows, a flicker of satisfaction warming in his chest.
“How did you—”
Arthur rose to his feet, voice cool and unwavering. “Claude, I know your timber is unmatched. But I will not send my knights, my friends, to die for a conflict that has nothing to do with Camelot. It doesn’t matter how I know about your plans. What matters is that I do.”
He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle, then looked down at the now pale faced lord. It was obvious that not many people said no to him and he certainly hadn’t been expecting Arthur to do so. Claude opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“You never intended to accept the terms I laid out,” Arthur said quietly, shaking his head. “So let’s not waste any more of each other’s time. The deal is off. Thank you for your visit, Claude.”
And with that, Arthur swept from the room, cloak trailing behind him, the sound of his boots sharp against the stone floor. Claude stammered, trying to gather himself, but the murmurs of the court were already rising, low voices gossiping. Merlin jogged to catch up to his king, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’d seen Arthur face down dragons and beasts, witches and trolls, but few things were quite as satisfying as watching him put a man like Claude in his place.
Merlin found Arthur in his chambers, standing by the window with a goblet of wine in his hand, staring out over the courtyard below. The golden glow of the setting sun lit up his face, catching in his hair and casting his silhouette in warm golden light. For a long moment, Merlin didn’t say anything. He just watched him, heart thrumming in that familiar, quiet ache he always tried to ignore but failed to do so.
“You handled that well,” Merlin said at last, stepping inside and shutting the door gently behind him.
Arthur didn’t look at him, didn’t even flinch at the words. “I shouldn’t have had to handle it at all. Claude knew exactly what he was doing.”
Merlin moved further into the room, hovering near the table. “That’s why it was satisfying to watch you make him squirm.”
Arthur huffed a laugh, dry and tired. “The man’s a pig. And he nearly insulted half the court with that story about his handmaiden.”
Merlin gave a low, amused hum. “I was halfway to pouring the wine over his head.”
“That would’ve been a waste of wine. And it would’ve made a mess,” Arthur said, finally glancing over at Merlin. “But ultimately, it would’ve been worth it.”
Their eyes caught for a moment too long. Arthur looked away first, sipping his wine. Merlin cleared his throat and busied himself, clearing up some nonexistent mess. “Still, turning down a timber deal like that... That was bold.”
“I won’t let him drag us into something dark and ugly just because he knows I value honour,” Arthur muttered. “He thought flattery and a few wagons of wood would be enough.”
Merlin stopped still and gave a small smile. “Well, for what it’s worth... I think you made the right call.”
Arthur looked at him again then… Really looked. Kept his eyes fixed on Merlin’s face and studied him. “Do you?”
Merlin nodded, quiet but sure. “You listened to your gut. And your gut’s not wrong very often.”
Arthur didn’t reply. He crossed the room, set down his cup, and leaned against the edge of the table near Merlin. Not quite sitting. Not quite standing. Just close. It made Merlin’s chest ache, made him want to reach out and hold the king close, reassure him with kisses as well as words.
“You’ve always been good at reading me,” Arthur said softly. “It’s... irritating.”
Merlin smiled faintly. “Comes with being stuck at your side day and night.”
“Is that all it is?” Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly, voice low. “Proximity?”
Merlin swallowed, heart jumping a little. He didn’t answer right away. He found that he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. The air between them felt warmer somehow, tighter.
Arthur sighed, glancing down at the table, as if regretting the question. But before he could retreat, Merlin said, “Maybe. Or maybe I just... pay attention.” His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.
Arthur looked up again, and something passed between them, unspoken but not unnoticed.
Merlin clapped his hands abruptly. “Anyway. Almost time for bed. Better get changed.”
Arthur gave a lazy smirk. “Sometimes I wonder why I keep you around, Merlin. Spoiling the fun of my evening with bed time like I’m a toddler.”
“Must be my charming personality,” Merlin joked, turning to busy himself with the clothes he’d laid out earlier. He fussed with the tunic longer than necessary, smoothing it out as if it might suddenly develop wrinkles just to annoy him.
Behind him, Arthur chuckled quietly, the tension of the moment loosening slightly. “Or because you know me better than anyone else.”
Merlin stilled, his back to Arthur, fingers tightening around the fabric. He didn’t turn. Didn’t trust himself to.
“I just pay attention,” he said quietly, repeating his earlier words. Trying his hardest to believe them.
There was a pause. Merlin felt Arthur watching him, could feel the heat of his gaze between his shoulder blades.
“You always do,” Arthur said, voice softer now, with something almost like fondness stitched through it.
Merlin turned, managing a crooked smile and a light tone as he said “That’s why I’m the best servant you’ve ever had.”
Arthur gave him a look, half amused, half unreadable, completely taking the piss. “Mm. Debatable.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and thrust the clean tunic at him. “Get changed, sire. Before I decide to pour the rest of the wine over your head instead of Claude's.”
Arthur took the tunic, their fingers brushing briefly. Merlin pulled his hand back like he’d touched a flame.
“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Arthur said lightly, but his eyes lingered.
Merlin made for the door. “Good evening, sire. I will see you tomorrow.”
Arthur laughed as the door closed behind him. And Merlin leaned back against it for just a second, exhaling slowly, eyes fluttering shut. His heart was thudding too hard for something that didn’t mean anything at all. Except maybe it did. But in reality, it couldn’t. Merlin knew that no matter what, he and Arthur could never be together. Even if the king did return his feelings. And that was a big if. So Merlin left before he could say or do something foolish. Or before Arthur could come out and catch the way his hand was trembling and his heart was beating.
When he got back to his own room, Merlin felt too full of energy. Too energised and excited. Rather than lie awake staring at the ceiling, he reached under his bed and pulled out an old, dust-covered spell book. It was given to him by Gaius, found in the back of a cupboard somewhere. The problem was, he couldn’t read any of the text. It was either fading away, written with an unsteady hand or in a language he didn’t recognise. He flicked to a random page and sighed. He was never going to know what all the spells meant but this page caught his eye. The red and gold text, fading into the dull beige of the paper itself. He scanned the words, putting a finger beneath each one as he tried to read it aloud. He didn’t recognise the language, but something about it felt... familiar. Ancient. Important. He traced a finger under the first line, mouthing the words slowly, sounding them out like a child learning to read. The air in the room shifted ever so slightly. Just a flicker. A breath.
Merlin swallowed, heart quickening.
“Let’s see what you are, then,” he whispered, and began to read aloud.
Merlin shifted, angling the book so the candlelight spilled more clearly across the fading text. He mouthed the words again silently, trying to get the shape of them in his head before speaking aloud once more.
“Gw… Gween… No, wait.. Gwneeee… Gwnewch i’r…” He paused. “Gwnewch i’r dydd hwn ddod…”
The candle flickered. Merlin looked up, alert, but nothing else stirred. The room remained quiet. He inhaled slowly, steadied himself. Then he spoke again, this time with certainty. The words rolled from his tongue as though they had always lived there, waiting.
“Gwnewch i'r dydd hwn ddod i ben ac ailddechrau nes y llefarir gwirionedd o'r galon.”
This time, the candle didn’t just flicker, it flared wildly into life. Shadows leapt across the walls as the flame danced and then… Just like that, it vanished. Snuffed out, as though swallowed by the dark. Merlin froze, the book resting on his knees, suddenly heavier in the silence. Nothing moved. The world outside remained still. No lightning, no rumble of earth. No shimmer of magic.
Just darkness.
And a growing sense in Merlin’s chest that something had changed. He just didn’t know what.
Day two
Merlin groaned as sunlight spilled across his pillow and birdsong filtered through the small window.
Another hot morning. The sun was already beaming over Camelot, casting golden heat across the stone walls. Outside, the day began just like any other. Just like it had yesterday, the bells rang, servants began their daily routines, and knights made their way to the training grounds for more drills. Feeling a little less worn than the day before, Merlin dragged himself upright, splashed cold water on his face, and got dressed. A blue tunic today, but no neckerchief, it had been far too hot yesterday to suffer through that again. His hair remained stubbornly nest-like despite his best attempts to flatten it, and he gave up with a sigh as he climbed the stairs to Arthur’s chambers.
As always, he didn’t bother knocking. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, beginning the morning’s duties as if by muscle memory. Arthur was still asleep, a motionless lump beneath the deep red covers, almost perfectly mirroring how he'd looked the morning before. Merlin smirked at the sight and got to work, collecting yesterday’s socks from the floor, preparing the wash water, setting out breakfast, and pulling back the heavy curtains to let in the light. It was a well worn routine, a quiet dance he’d perfected over the years.
The king groaned, stirred, and groaned again at the sunlight assaulting his face.
“Good morning, sire,” Merlin said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “Your breakfast is ready, and I’ll be off to ready the horses soon for the big hunt today.”
Arthur grumbled and sat up, hair standing wildly in every direction. “The hunt?” he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I’ve got training this morning, you idiot.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. The insults barely registered anymore, they were as much a part of the routine as pulling the curtains. “No, sire. That was yesterday. Today you’re hunting with Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival, remember?”
Arthur scowled, clearly not convinced. “No,” he said, more firmly this time as he stood and stretched. “Today is training, then the council meeting, and then that insufferable Claude is coming to bore me half to death with trade negotiations.”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to frown. He studied Arthur closely, trying to gauge whether the king was still half asleep or simply being forgetful. “We did all that yesterday,” he said slowly. “You called off the negotiations with Claude.”
Arthur looked at him like he had lost his mind.
Merlin stepped closer and placed the back of his hand gently against Arthur’s forehead. The king immediately swatted him away. “What in hell are you doing?” he snapped.
“Just checking you’re not ill,” Merlin replied breezily. “Because you’ve clearly forgotten an entire day.”
Arthur scowled, running a hand through his hopeless hair. “You’re a terrible servant, Merlin. Go away. Go wait for me at the training field.”
Merlin furrowed his brows further as he stepped towards the door. “As you command, sire,” he said, his voice quiet and unsure. He continued down the stairs and out towards the training field, still frowning, still trying to make sense of whatever had gotten into Arthur. But as the field came into view, he slowed. The knights were there, sparring, warming up, just as they had been yesterday.
The sun kissed Merlin’s skin, a soft breeze tousled his hair. He stopped in his tracks as a shiver ran down his spine. Something wasn’t right. Arthur strode onto the field, grabbed a sword without a word, and shot Merlin an irritated glance, apparently annoyed to have to fetch it himself. Then he turned and began to spar with Gwaine, spinning on his heel to dodge a strike… Exactly as he had the day before.
“What the…” Merlin whispered, blinking hard.
Across the field, Arthur’s voice rang out, booming with energy: “Come on! Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Leon stepped forward, grinning. Arthur met it with his usual smirk. Merlin’s breath caught. He knew what was about to happen. Leon dipped left. Arthur dodged to the right. Then, with a sweeping motion, Arthur knocked Leon to the ground. Leon rolled, quick to recover, dropped to one knee, and lunged forward. Arthur blocked, fought back.
Every movement. Every word. Every expression. Exactly the same.
Merlin watched, stunned. It wasn’t déjà vu. It was a repeat. The exact same field warm-up as the day before. Merlin clutched at his chest, panic surging through him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Arthur was approaching, strolling across the field. He looked worn out from the training, breathless and sweating, golden hair tousled in the sunlight. Merlin’s heart gave a painful jolt. Part of it was from the sheer, infuriating handsomeness of the king. But more than that, he’d seen this before. Every step, every look, every moment of this interaction had already happened. So Merlin fell into step. He moved as he had before, gathering up Arthur’s sword and hurrying back to the castle. His mind was elsewhere, dazed and scattered, but his body knew what to do. Muscle memory carried him through. Before long, he’d fetched hot water, grabbed lunch for the king, laid out fresh clothes, and begun polishing the sword, just as he had yesterday.
As always, Arthur entered without so much as a glance in Merlin’s direction. He settled at his desk and began eating quietly, the soft clink of cutlery the only sound in the room. Merlin kept polishing the sword, his eyes flicking up now and then to watch the way Arthur moved, each gesture painfully familiar. When Arthur finished, Merlin moved on instinct, clearing the plates with practised ease. He headed for the kitchens, letting out a quiet, breathless sigh. He had to figure this out, why they were stuck, reliving the same day. And he had to do it fast. Merlin was jolted from his thoughts when Arthur, grumbling as ever, demanded help with his council cloak. Once properly dressed, the king strode off down the corridor, and Merlin followed in his wake.
Inside the council chamber, Merlin slipped quietly into his usual place by the wall, eyes sharp, ears tuned. This time, he listened more closely than he had the day before. Words and phrases stood out, familiar. Each conversation mirrored what he’d already heard. Even Arthur’s expressions followed the same rhythm, the furrowed brow, the subtle tilt of his head when he disagreed with something, the fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.
Then that expression again. The one Merlin hadn’t paid much attention to yesterday. He leaned in slightly. It was about Claude, and whispers of an impending battle. Merlin couldn’t place where the information had come from, but he knew better than to question the council, especially when he already knew the rumours were true.
Claude’s face had been all the confirmation he’d needed. Yesterday. Or today. Or… later?
Merlin winced and rubbed his temple. His head ached just trying to make sense of it all. And then Arthur gave a polite nod and was heading for the door. Merlin followed again, back to the king’s chambers where, once more, the late afternoon sun was stretching across the room. Merlin looked out at the view just as he had yesterday, and even the trees in the distance seemed to be swaying in the same way as before. Shadows in the room fell in the same places. Merlin felt dizzy with all the parallels of the previous day.
“Dinner with the visiting lords tonight,” Arthur said, the words falling from his mouth more as a statement of fact than anything else. He untied his cloak and tossed it over a chair.
This time, Merlin didn’t move to catch it. He simply watched as the fabric slid off and pooled on the floor. His gaze lingered there as he replied softly, “O-of course… I’ll get everything ready, sire.”
Arthur crossed the room and sat at the edge of his bed, shoulders heavy with a weight Merlin now recognised. The rumours of war in Claude’s lands were clearly pressing on his mind, and Merlin knew what was coming. In just a few hours, Arthur would be asked to send his knights in return for lumber. Merlin’s instinct was to go to him, to say something, to offer comfort and reassurance. Tell him it would be all right. But he swallowed the impulse. Man servants didn’t comfort kings. Instead, he busied himself laying out another set of fresh clothes and pouring a jug of wine.
Unfortunately, that also meant sitting through Claude’s dreadful stories again. The short, red-faced lord was every bit as unpleasant as Merlin remembered, loud, pompous, and dismissive of anyone in his service. He spoke with his mouth full, spewing bits of food as he talked, and Merlin clenched his jaw each time the man barked a laugh or waved his goblet without care. Arthur, as ever, said nothing. He sat through it all with the calm, unflinching patience of a king, polite, composed, and far too generous a host. And then came that stupid, offensive story about his handmaiden that Merlin had overheard before.
“...at least get on your knees!” Claude boomed out, bursting into laughter. He was once again met with forced chuckles and a few grimaces. Arthur gave nothing away except when he glanced over his shoulder and caught Merlin’s gaze. A moment passed between them, silent and unspoken, but so much was said. Once Claude had regained control of himself again, he opened his mouth to speak and Merlin paid more attention again. He looked out for subtle words or expressions he might have missed the night before.
“This whole trade deal nonsense! I don’t know why you bother yourself with it. Let me handle it. Save you the trouble.”
The way Arthur’s shoulders tensed, Merlin hadn’t seen that before. Hadn’t noticed the subtle tightening of the king’s fists. “I’m bothering, sir, because I’m the king, and I want what’s best for the people of Camelot. My people. You received the revised agreement. Have you reviewed it? Are you ready to sign?”
“I read your revisions. Didn’t much care for the bit about trading my timber for your grain. I’ve got a better idea.” Claude’s voice was just as nasally, as frightfully irritating as it had been the last time.
“What did you have in mind?” Arthur’s fist clenched a little more, which Merlin hadn’t last night before either. Or this night, he supposed.
“We supply timber, however much you require. Our Shirewood trees are known for their ability to withstand even the strongest of winds, you’ll remember. Your ships will be the sturdiest on the seas, your houses will stand for years to come.”
A nod from the king. “I’m well aware of your timber’s strength. What do you want in return?”
Merlin recalled the wicked grin that Claude gained at this moment, how his face turned into something untrustworthy. He had a plan in his mind, one he had been waiting to reveal until the exact right moment. “In return, my boy, I want your knights. The best of them. At my command, whenever I require them.”
The silence that fell over the room was just as excruciatingly awkward as Merlin remembered, and it was broken once again with Arthur’s hearty laugh. Claude’s returning grin was all teeth, and his laugh grated on Merlin’s nerves. He loathed the sound and silently willed Arthur to end the charade with his signature shrug.
“So, it’s all settled then!”
“You think I would lend my most loyal knights, my best fighters, to a town rumoured to be preparing for war overseas?” Arthur asked, his tone flat.
Merlin saw Claude freeze mid-smile, confusion settling across his face like a shadow. “How did you—”
And Merlin watched it all unfold again, just as it had the first time. Arthur, calm and commanding, revealing he knew about Claude’s not-so-secret plans. Claude, floundering for words. Arthur, dismissing the proposal with effortless authority before sweeping out of the room, leaving silence in his wake. Back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin found him standing by the window, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. He searched his mind, trying desperately to recall what he’d said the last time, what words of comfort he’d offered in this very moment.
“Well, that went well.” Merlin mused, stepping closer.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Arthur snapped, turning on the spot to glare at Merlin.
Okay, so maybe those weren’t the right words. Merlin continued, “I just mean that it was fun to watch you put him in his place. Claude was out of line to ask for the knights.”
Arthur’s face dropped from irritation to something near amusement. “The man is… A pig.” He gave a tired laugh and stepped closer to Merlin. “Did you hear his story about his handmaiden?”
Merlin responded with a chuckle of his own. “I was about to pour the wine over his head just to shut him up.”
Then Arthur’s face lit up with a genuine smile, bright and unguarded. It made Merlin’s heart stumble, just for a moment, but as the king began to speak, he forced those feelings back down where they belonged. “I wish you would’ve done that. Would have been worth it.”
Merlin laughed along with his king and they shared a quiet moment together, alone in the chambers. Their eyes met and something, once again, passed between them. It was happening more and more recently. Merlin could feel the emotions rising in him and knew he needed to say something else, to change the subject as quickly as he could.
“But. The timber deal. Shame that that’s gone.”
Arthur shrugged. “I won’t let him drag us into something dark and ugly just because he knows I value honour,” Arthur muttered. “He thought flattery and a few wagons of wood would be enough.”
Merlin recognised that from yesterday, the honourable king making difficult decisions for the safety of his knights and his kingdom. “Well, I think you made the right call.”
Arthur looked over at Merlin again, his eyes fixing him on the spot. “You do?” He asked, his voice much quieter than Merlin had expected it to be.
“You did the right thing, Arthur. You listened to your gut, you put your kingdom first.” Merlin nodded. “You did well.”
Merlin didn’t get a response, not straight away. Arthur slowly walked closer, crossing the room to lean on the table beside Merlin. The king looked at him curiously, an expression that Merlin couldn’t quite place.
“You’re very irritating sometimes, you know that?” Arthur said eventually.
“Is that right?” Merlin chuckled. There was no trace of amusement on Arthur’s face, but something in his eyes lingered, something that made Merlin question everything he thought he understood.
“You’re just very good at reading me. Knowing when I trust my gut.” Arthur paused. “Assuring me that I’ve made the right choice.”
Merlin remembered this part of the conversation from yesterday, vaguely, but enough. The way his heart had skipped a beat and thundered in his chest, how the air between them had grown thick with tension. He could still feel it, the weight of his feelings pressing up, dangerously close to the surface.
“I just… I pay attention.” He repeated those words, swallowing up the confession he really wanted to say. “That’s what happens when I'm forced to stick by your side every day and night.”
Arthur’s face changed into another smile, smaller this time. “Is that all it is? Proximity?” He murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Merlin expectantly, waiting for more. But Merlin didn’t know if he could say it. Not right now, not like this anyway.
Merlin let silence fall between them and then shook his head, broke the moment and headed towards the door. “Time for bed.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I’m not a toddler, Merlin. You needn't remind me about bedtime!” He got up from the table and went to stand beside the bed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder why I keep you around.”
The sentence struck a familiar chord, tugging at Merlin’s memory. He’d heard it before, lived this moment already, and he had to fight the urge to laugh, not out of amusement, but at the sheer absurdity of it all. He had been here before. He’d had this conversation, felt the same tight coil of emotion in his chest, the same unspoken tension hanging in the air. And even if things were slightly different this time, it was no less terrifying. He was still walking a tightrope, still afraid that one wrong word or gesture might shatter everything. Merlin didn’t say anything, couldn’t think of the right words to break the atmosphere that had fallen over them. He looked down at the floor, already inching closer to the door, when Arthur’s next words stopped him cold.
“I don't know. Maybe I keep you around because you know me better than anyone else.”
Merlin froze, then slowly turned. Arthur was climbing into bed, his expression unusually soft, almost peaceful. He pulled the covers up to his shoulder and lay on his side, facing away. Another moment stretched out between them, quiet, heavy with unspoken things, and Merlin stood motionless, unsure whether to break the silence or let it linger. He stayed there, rooted to the spot. It could have been minutes or hours; time had lost all shape.
Then Arthur groaned. “I can feel you staring, you clotpole.”
The familiar grumpiness snapped the moment like a twig, and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. He gave a mock bow, even though Arthur wasn’t looking.
“Good evening, sire. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Merlin closed the door to Arthur’s chambers, he exhaled a long, unsteady breath. The day had been a whirlwind, an emotional storm of confusion and déjà vu. He’d lived every moment already, each scene unfolding with only the slightest of differences. He didn’t know why this was happening. There was no clear cause, no magical explanation he could grasp onto. It defied logic, and with every step back to his own chambers, panic gnawed at him a little more.
What if it happened again?
What if he woke tomorrow only to be dragged through the same endless loop, watching Arthur train, enduring the same council meeting, suffering through Claude’s insufferable stories and forced laughter, all while trying to keep his composure under the weight of everything unspoken between him and Arthur? The thought was suffocating. And worse, he had no idea how to stop it. Merlin trudged into his room, barely sparing Gaius a glance before collapsing onto his bed with a weary sigh.
Then the thought struck him, sharp and sudden. He rolled over and reached beneath the bed, fingers scrambling through dust until they found the old spell book he’d pored over the night before. His heart pounded.
Of course. Of course.
How could he have forgotten? The whispered spell, spoken into the dark. He’d barely thought twice about it at the time. Nothing seemed to happen except the subtle flickering of a candle. But now, it all made sense. He sat up, the weight of realisation sinking in. He’d been such a fool. That spell had to be the reason. He rushed to Gaius, slamming the book on the table before the older man.
“Merlin?” Gaius exclaimed, looking up from his own book.
“Can you translate this?” Merlin breathed.
“What are you—”
“Can you translate it?!” Merlin asked again, his voice urgent.
Gaius raised an eyebrow and drew a slow, measured breath. That familiar look settled on his face, the one Merlin knew all too well. It was the look Gaius always wore when Merlin had landed himself in trouble, and he was already bracing to pull him out of it… yet again. The old physician pulled the book closer, eyes scanning the spell again and again, his brow furrowing with each pass. After a long breath, he looked up at Merlin, clasping his hands over the open pages.
“Merlin,” he said slowly, voice laced with both patience and warning, “I’m only going to ask you this once. Did you use this spell?”
Merlin hesitated. He considered lying, claiming he’d just been doing a bit of light reading, but he knew better. Gaius would see right through him. “…Maybe,” he muttered.
Gaius sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face, the weariness clear in every line. “The translation is simple,” he said. “Make this day end and restart until truth is spoken from the heart.”
Merlin just stared at him, the words echoing in his head. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done this, brought the loop on himself. All because he couldn’t resist whispering words from a dusty old spell book without knowing what they truly meant.
“Merlin, talk to me,” Gaius said gently, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts.
“I did this…” Merlin whispered, eyes fixed on the open spell book. “Today was yesterday. Or, no… Yesterday is today. I’ve already lived this day once—no—twice. I’ve been here before.”
Gaius watched him closely, one eyebrow still raised in that familiar way, but he didn’t interrupt, just let Merlin speak, let the weight of it all spill out.
“But… what does that even mean? ‘Until truth is spoken from the heart’?” Merlin asked, voice tight with uncertainty.
“I think it’s quite simple,” Gaius replied. “There’s something you’re hiding. Something in your heart that you need to confess.”
Merlin’s chest clenched. His first thought was his magic, of course. He should tell Arthur, finally reveal what he was. Finally reveal himself as a sorcerer. But the wording of the spell echoed in his mind… From the heart.
And that was when panic truly set in.
Because what if it wasn’t just about magic?
What if the spell demanded a deeper truth, one he’d buried even further?
What if he had to confess how he felt about Arthur?
Merlin murmured a quiet thanks to Gaius, pulled the book back toward him, and slipped away into his room, confusion etched across his face. He shoved the spell book back into its usual hiding place beneath the bed, then collapsed onto the mattress with a weary sigh. His mind was spinning, thoughts crashing over one another, each more frantic than the last. He imagined countless versions of the day ahead, each scenario more terrifying than the one before. Which one would become reality? Panic danced in his chest. Curled onto his side, arms wrapped tightly around himself, Merlin tried to steady his breathing, to quiet the pounding of his heart. But the question lingered, pressing and unrelenting.
What choices did he truly have?
He could confess his magic, reveal himself as a sorcerer, and almost certainly be sentenced to banishment, at the very least. At the very worst… Death.
Or…
Or he could confess his feelings for Arthur and risk losing the one person he couldn’t bear to live without.
Either truth could destroy his whole life. Destroy him.
Day three
Merlin groaned as sunlight spilled across his pillow and birdsong filtered through the small window. As the bells rang and servants began to meander to and fro.
Merlin let out another groan as the memories of the day before came flooding back with unsettling clarity. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but deep down, he knew. He knew. The day was going to repeat itself. Again. And he would have to relive every moment, every conversation, every look… all over once more. Merlin let out a heavy sigh as he dragged himself out of bed and dressed for the day. Still, his hair wouldn't sit right. His steps were slow and reluctant as he made his way toward Arthur’s chambers. Despite the golden sunlight streaming through the castle windows and the warmth in the air, a heavy gloom settled over him. The stone steps felt steeper than usual, each one a reminder of the day he was being forced to repeat.
Merlin knew there was a simple way to end all of this, a way to break the cycle and finally let the day move on. But the spell had been vague, offering no direction, no clue as to who the truth needed to be spoken to.
Make this day end and restart until truth is spoken from the heart.
The words echoed relentlessly in his mind, looping like a song he couldn’t escape. He chewed over every possible meaning. Maybe… maybe the answer wasn’t about anyone else. Maybe he just had to admit the truth to himself. That thought stopped Merlin mid-step as he walked a long corridor toward Arthur’s chambers. Heart racing with sudden hope, he slipped into the shadowed alcove of a stone archway. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and whispered into the silence…
“My name is Merlin… and I am a sorcerer.”
He waited.
No shift in the air. No flash of light. No sign the world had changed.
Nothing.
He tried again. “My name is Emrys and I am a sorcerer.”
And once again. nothing happened.
Merlin exhaled, brows furrowed, but tried not to let the disappointment take root. Maybe it still meant something. Maybe the spell needed more time to register his confession. He continued toward Arthur’s chambers, doing his best to keep the flicker of hope alive. Inside, everything looked just as it always did. Merlin quietly set about his morning duties, lighting the fire, setting out breakfast, preparing the bathwater. As he drew back the heavy curtains, sunlight spilled into the room in golden waves, washing over the walls and floor.
He turned to Arthur’s bed and smiled, voice light with forced cheer.
“Good morning, sire.”
Arthur groaned in reply, no surprise there, so Merlin carried on as usual. “Breakfast is on the table for you.”
With a grunt, Arthur sat up, rubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. As he rose to stretch, his tunic shifted just enough to reveal a sliver of golden skin above his waistband. Merlin’s breath hitched. Some mornings, he allowed himself this, these fleeting, stolen glances. It was the only closeness he’d ever get, the only truth he dared to touch. He looked away quickly, swallowing the ache that always followed. Arthur yawned, scrubbing a hand over his face as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Merlin moved quietly around the room, gathering clothes, trying to act as if everything were normal, despite the nerves rising in his chest. He stepped toward Arthur with the bundle in his arms, placing it at the end of the bed.
Arthur’s gaze landed on the clothes, and his brow immediately furrowed. “These aren’t my training clothes,” he said, his voice sharp with that familiar edge of irritation.
Merlin froze. The breath caught in his throat. That one sentence pierced through him like cold steel. The aching hope he’d held onto cracked in an instant.
“No…” he murmured, voice faltering. “They’re not.”
And just like that, Merlin realised that the spell hadn’t been broken.
“You’re such an idiot sometimes, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled as he brushed past to retrieve his own clothes. "I honestly wonder what it is that made me keep you around for so long." Arthur started undressing and groaned in annoyance at having to find his own clothes. "You're lucky that I can't be bothered to find anyone new."
The words stung. More than usual. Arthur often threw insults around, harsh words and scathing remarks but there was never any heat behind them. They were simply that, just words. Merlin knew deep down that Arthur didn't actually mean anything by it all. But this morning felt different because Merlin's heart was already seized with worry about his situation.
He was dragged from his tormented thoughts when Arthur grunted; “Leave those clothes out for the council meeting later.”
Merlin drew in a steadying breath and quickly moved to make the bed, willing himself to stay calm. “Right… the council meeting…” he said, voice light, casual, testing the timeline. “And then…”
Don't say it, please don't say it…
Arthur didn’t miss a beat. “And then dinner with Claude,” he replied, his voice dripping with exaggerated irritation. He cast Merlin a scathing look, exasperation flaring in his eyes. “Honestly, do you pay attention to anything?”
Fuck.
Merlin winced inwardly as Arthur’s words confirmed what he already knew, the day was still repeating. It was almost heartbreaking to admit it to himself, really, truly admit it. Merlin bit down hard on his lip, doing everything he could to stop the scream of frustration building in his throat. If confessing his magic hadn’t broken the spell… then maybe it was the other truth, the one buried even deeper, that held the key. Merlin threw himself into the morning routine with renewed urgency, helping Arthur dress, setting out breakfast, keeping his words to a minimum. The moment he could, he excused himself, slipped out of the chambers, and made his way back to the shadowed alcove that had become his sanctuary. Merlin stood in the dim corridor and took a long, shaky breath.
“My… My name is Merlin, and I… I am…”
The words caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected it to be this hard, but maybe that was the entire point. Maybe the spell wasn’t just about speaking the truth, but facing it. Owning it.
He closed his eyes.
“My name is Merlin,” he whispered again, steadier now. “And I am in love… with Arthur Pendragon.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Nothing changed, there was no sign that anything had altered. Merlin waited a moment more before running back to Arthur’s chambers. The king was exactly where Merlin had left him, tucking into another chunk of bread. He looked up from his seat as Merlin burst through the door and screwed his face up.
“What the hell are you doing, Merlin?”
“I… Uh…”
“Whatever. I’m going to be late for training. Come on.”
And Merlin’s heart dropped again. It hadn’t worked. His confessions hadn’t changed anything. He stood in the doorway and a cold wave of disappointment washed over him as the truth settled in his chest, heavy as a stone. Confessing to himself hadn’t been enough. The day was still repeating. He was trapped, forced to live it over and over, and the answer—whatever it was—remained just out of reach. If the solution wasn’t to confess to himself then… Who?
The rest of the day slipped by in a haze, each moment unfolding with a numbing familiarity that made Merlin feel like a ghost haunting his own life. He stood through the same training session, already knowing every move before it happened. He lingered at the edge of the council meeting, hearing the same words echo around the chamber.
Yet again, back in Arthur's room, Merlin encountered the same events as before.
"Dinner with the visiting lords tonight," Arthur murmured, untying his cloak.
Merlin grabbed the fabric before Arthur even had the chance to try and throw it on the back of the chair. "Of course. I'll…" What had he said before? "I'll get everything ready."
Merlin couldn't be sure if they were the right words but Arthur reacted in much the same way. He sat slumped on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched and rubbing his temples. This, Merlin remembered, was the moment when he was tempted to step out of the role of manservant and into friend, but each time, he held back. Comforting Arthur was… Dangerous territory. So he did nothing, he just let time pass by and slip into evening.
Claude’s tiresome stories grated on him more than ever, and Merlin found himself silently mouthing the man’s sentences before he even spoke them. The story about his handmaiden was even worse than the first time he'd heard it. And yet, despite the repetition, he couldn’t help but marvel at Arthur’s composure, how effortlessly the king shut Claude down with that same measured grace. Once they were back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin moved through his duties with sluggish precision, the weight of disappointment settling deep in his bones. Arthur stood by the window, gazing out over Camelot, his voice a low mutter.
“Fucking Claude.”
Merlin only hummed in reply, drifting through the room like a ghost. He let out a quiet sigh, not entirely sure what Arthur had even said. His mind was elsewhere, looping through the evening for the third time now. He knew what he was supposed to say, the familiar lines waiting on his tongue. But this time, they wouldn’t come. What was the point? The night would end, and then it would all start again. Over and over. He couldn’t see a way out.
“Hello?” Arthur’s voice snapped, loud enough to break Merlin from his thoughts. “Are those massive ears of yours not working?”
Startled, Merlin blinked up, brushing the thoughts away. “Sorry, sire. Just tired.”
“Well, that’s no excuse,” Arthur grumbled, turning toward the bed.
“Sorry,” Merlin repeated, retrieving Arthur’s bedclothes and handing them over. “Would you like anything else, sire?”
Arthur paused, eyes narrowing as he studied him. “Are you all right?” he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.
Merlin considered telling him everything, just blurting it out right there. What did it matter? Come morning, he’d wake to the same day, the same weight, and Arthur wouldn’t remember a thing. He pictured it in his mind, bitterly amused…
Hey, Arthur! I’m stuck in a time loop, reliving this day over and over. The only way to break it is by confessing something. Either that I’m a sorcerer… or that I’m in love with you. Oh, and the best part? I did this to myself. By accident. Surprise.
Yeah. That’d go down brilliantly.
Merlin swallowed hard and forced the rising lump in his throat back down. “I’m fine, sire. Like I said, just tired.” He hesitated, then added, “You handled Claude well tonight.”
Arthur’s expression softened, pride flickering in his eyes. He gave a small nod. “Yes, well. Camelot comes first. No matter what.”
Merlin was back in familiar territory now, able to navigate this conversation with ease. “You’re a good king, Arthur.”
Arthur scoffed as he looked up. “You have to say that, you’re my servant.”
“Yes, I’m your servant,” Merlin chuckled. “But I also know you. And I know that you’re a great king.”
“You know me?” Arthur changed into his bed clothes quickly, Merlin averting his eyes as he did so. The king then stood up, looking down on Merlin slightly. “And what, Merlin, makes you think that you know me?” There was a smirk on his face, amusement lining his voice.
Merlin paused for the briefest of seconds, considering how honest he could—and should—be. “I pay attention. I’m with you almost all hours of the day. We’re near each other a lot.”
Arthur didn’t flinch, didn’t move a single muscle as he listened and Merlin almost wanted to shrink from his gaze. He stood his ground though, keeping his eyes fixed on the king. They stood mere inches from each other, breathing the same air. There was an atmosphere around them, the air charged with an energy that Merlin didn’t want to acknowledge. He didn’t want to admit that his heart was hammering against his chest, that his chest felt tight with how close Arthur was.
Eventually, Arthur broke the silence. “Is that all it is?” His voice was barely a whisper, a murmuring on the air. “Proximity?”
Merlin’s chest clenched at the familiar words, wanting so much to share everything. It was the third time Arthur has posed the question to him and the answer played on Merlin's mind. But he pulled back and nodded. “Guess it must be. Goodnight, sire.”
Merlin dipped into a small, polite bow before swiftly turning on his heel, fleeing the room before he could risk catching the look on Arthur’s face. He didn’t want to see it, couldn’t bear to. Whether it was confusion, amusement, or something else entirely, it would undo him. He moved quickly through the corridors, taking the stairs two at a time, heart still pounding, thoughts trailing behind him like shadows. By the time he reached Gaius’s chambers, he all but collapsed into the chair opposite him, exhaling a heavy, exhausted sigh.
Gaius glanced up from his book, an eyebrow raised in quiet amusement. “Long day?”
“You could say that again,” Merlin muttered, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.
Gaius watched him silently, patiently, the weight of his gaze urging Merlin to speak.
And so, he did.
The words spilled out in a rush… About the dusty old spell book he probably shouldn't have touched, the spell that looked harmless enough, the strange translation, and then how the day had repeated. Again. And again. He told Gaius how he’d even said it aloud, I’m a sorcerer, expecting the world to shift, the loop to break. But nothing had changed. He didn’t mention the other thing he’d said. The thing that burned in his chest and on his tongue but felt too fragile to offer up to someone else just yet. That part he kept to himself.
Merlin leaned back in his chair, voice trailing off as he reached the end of it all. “I don’t know how to stop it,” he admitted quietly. “And I can’t keep doing this forever.”
Gaius had listened the entire time without interruption, nodding occasionally, allowing Merlin the space to unravel. When it was finally over, Merlin let his head fall onto the table with a dull thud. Gaius exhaled, the weight of the situation settling between them. "And is that the only hidden truth you can think of?"
Merlin blushed and lowered his gaze, wondering if Gaius could see right through him. There was of course the truth about Arthur, about his love. But Merlin had said that aloud and still nothing had changed, so it couldn't be that, right?
"There is something else you're hiding," Gaius said. Not a question. Not an accusation. Just a simple observation. He continued, "Look at it this way, my boy. If you tell me now and it is not the truth needed to break the spell, then I will wake up tomorrow with no memory of it. So no harm done."
Merlin chewed on his bottom lip as he considered this. Before today, he'd never even uttered the words I love Arthur Pendragon aloud. He hadn't admitted it aloud because in his mind, that made it all the more real. And pretending it wasn't real was the only way Merlin could see that he wouldn't be hurt. So admitting aloud to someone else was terrifying. But Gaius was right, there was every chance they'd wake up tomorrow and the old physician would have forgotten the whole thing. On the other hand…
"And what if it breaks the spell and you do remember? What then?"
Gaius chuckled. "Then the spell is broken, and surely that is worth something."
It was a risk. Both ways. Tell Gaius and nothing changes, wake up tomorrow and relive this day again. Or tell Gaius and tomorrow comes and his love for Arthur is out there in the world.
Merlin chewed his lip again, almost hard enough to break the skin. He reasoned with himself that even if the spell broke, even if Gaius then did know about his feelings, it wouldn't be all that bad. Arthur still wouldn't know and that was the main thing worrying Merlin.
So, he sat there, lip stinging from the assault of his teeth and took a deep breath. He looked Gaius in the eyes, this man who loved him like a son, and whispered his confession quietly.
"I… I have feelings. For Arthur."
Gaius didn't move. Didn't react. And then he rolled his eyes. "You think that is some great secret to me?"
Merlin froze and stared ahead. His mouth hung open, his eyes widened and he had no idea what to think. Gaius knew? "You're the one who accused me of hiding something! You said all that stuff about not remembering tomorrow!" he cried eventually.
"And you are hiding something!" came Gaius' quick response. "Only, you're not hiding it from me. You forget that I know you better than you know yourself sometimes, Merlin. And I wanted to check something. What I meant—" Gaius raised a hand as Merlin tried to interrupt. "What I meant was that you are hiding this from someone. Whether it is your magic or your feelings, I think Arthur may be the key to this."
Merlin was stumped. Dumbfounded. Speechless. He sank down in his chair and grumbled, running his hands over his face. Gaius moved around the table and clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder.
"Make this day end and restart until truth is spoken from the heart." Gaius repeated the words of the spell and paused. "Think about those words carefully, Merlin. From the heart."
And with that he left and Merlin was sat alone at the table with a million thoughts running around his head. Could Gaius be right? Could telling Arthur about his magic break this spell? And if not his magic, then his love?
Either option was fucking terrifying, and as Merlin lay down to sleep that night, he prayed to whatever gods were listening that clarity would come in the morning.
Day four
The day began just as before. Just as it had the past three times. Sunlight poured in, the bells rang, servants meandered to and fro, and Merlin couldn't get his hair to sit right. It was monotonous and painful to keep living this same day over and over and over again. It was only the fourth time, but Merlin was already sick to death of it. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get through it all again, but what was the alternative?
He stormed up to Arthur's room and carried out his chores with little care. Arthur snapped at him for being so clumsy and loud, and then they were at training once more. Merlin watched as the same battles played out right before his eyes; Leon dipped left, Arthur swung right.
Arthur laughed when he disarmed Gwaine, bright and breathless, sunlight catching in his hair like a crown fashioned by the gods themselves. Merlin’s chest tightened painfully. He had seen that laugh three times already. He would see it again tomorrow. And still it ruined him.
Then the council meeting with the same boring conversations about trade negotiations and the rumour of Claude's plans. And finally, the dreaded feast with said lord. Merlin felt on edge throughout it all, like a tightly wound coil waiting to be released. He spilt more than a handful of drinks, walked into numerous people, and almost snapped at a dozen more. He was agitated, irritated. He was at his wits’ end, and tomorrow, he'd do it all again.
Tomorrow he would watch Arthur politely smile at Claude’s flattery and grimace at his disgusting treatment of his handmaiden. Tomorrow he would wonder, again, whether there would come a day when Arthur looked at someone else the way Merlin foolishly wanted him to look at him.
When they walked into Arthur's chambers that night, Merlin stormed about like a petulant child and it seemed that Arthur had finally had enough. He slammed a hand on the table hard enough that Merlin jumped.
"What the hellis going on with you today?" Arthur moved his palm from the wooden table and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was serious, solid. No room for arguments.
But his eyes—his eyes were searching.
Merlin tensed immediately. "Sorry, sire. I am not myself today."
Arthur scoffed. "You could say that again. You've been a bloody prat all evening, looking like you'd rather be anywhere else but here. Looking like a puppy who's been kicked in the side." Sure, there was anger in his tone but there was also something else underneath: a hint of worry, concern.
It softened the sharp edges of him. It made Merlin’s resolve falter. Merlin tried not to focus on it too much. Instead he continued to gather up Arthur's dirtied clothes and headed for the door. "I have a lot on my mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, sire, I have chores to get on with."
Merlin was almost halfway out the door when he felt a strong hand on his upper arm, holding on tight enough to stop him from leaving but not tight enough to hurt. Arthur's breaths were heavy in his ears. "Wait—"
"Arthur, let go." Merlin's voice was weak even to his own ears. He didn’t trust himself to turn around. Didn’t trust the fragile thing inside his chest that was already splintering.
Arthur didn't let go. "No. Not until you tell me what's going on. You're upset over something, dammit, so just talk to me." His grip tightened, not cruelly—desperately.
Merlin finally turned back and considered just spilling everything right there and then. He could tell Arthur the truth about it all, about being a sorcerer and using spells he had no business knowing, about his love for him, about the weight he felt on his shoulders. About how every time the day reset, it was Arthur’s face he searched for first. About how loving him felt as inevitable as sunrise and just as unreachable. But instead, Merlin simply shrugged and held the king's gaze for a beat longer than a second. Too long. Long enough for the air between them to turn thick and charged. When he did speak again, his voice was soft and full of pride.
"For what it's worth, I think you handled Claude well tonight. And you will continue to do so." Oh, how those final words held more meaning than Arthur could ever understand.
Arthur's expression softened and his hand fell away from Merlin's arm. "Oh," he said simply. He looked almost… disappointed.
"You're a great king, Arthur. Don't ever forget that." Even in his own turmoil and pain, Merlin couldn't help but to say it. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops, announce it to the world over and over. He wanted everyone to know just what a great king Arthur truly was. He wanted Arthur to see himself the way Merlin did—radiant, impossible, worth every sacrifice Merlin had ever made and ever would make.
Arthur didn't say anything for a moment. "You really are a mystery, Merlin." His voice had dropped, roughened, as though the words cost him something.
Merlin wasn't sure what to say to that, how to respond as his cheeks flushed a furious red and his heart hammered against his rib cage.
"You spend all day worrying me, confusing me, and then you come in here complimenting me?" Arthur shook his head. "I don't think I will ever understand you."
"You don't need to understand me. I understand you." Merlin said softly. The words felt dangerously close to a confession.
Arthur let out the smallest noise, a tiny inhale of breath that if he weren't standing so closely, Merlin would've missed. He swallowed hard before speaking again. "I think you understand me better than anyone." There was something raw in it. Something unguarded.
Finally, probably for the first time that day, Merlin smiled. "I guess that comes from being by your side day in and day out."
It was just like before, the same tension. Merlin knew what was coming next, knew what question would fall from Arthur's lips and yet he still wasn't prepared for it when Arthur asked; "Is that all it is? Proximity?"
Arthur stepped closer as he said it. Close enough that Merlin could feel the warmth of him, could count the flecks of green in his blue eyes. Close enough that it would take only the smallest movement—a tilt of the head, a lifted hand—to ruin them both.
If Merlin were a braver man, he'd say no. He'd spill his heart to Arthur and tell him no, it's more than that. More than proximity. I understand you because my heart calls out for you, because without you I am half a soul.
He would say it's more than proximity because I love you. I love you every day even when I have to live that day over and over again.
But Merlin wasn't a brave man. At least not that night. He held Arthur's gaze for a second and then looked down, stepped out of the man's orbit. "I just pay attention, sire."
And without looking back, he stepped from the room and let the door shut behind him, regret following in his wake. As he fell asleep that night, Merlin would replay the many times that Arthur had asked that same question over and over in his mind.
Is that all it is? Proximity?
He would dream of it and all the different ways he could respond. In some dreams, Arthur kissed him. In others, Arthur walked away. In all of them, Merlin woke up alone and just as confused as before. But ultimately, he knew he'd never say anything more than what he'd said tonight.
And when the sun rose again, he would live the day again, he would go through the motions again and he would love Arthur just the same.
Day seven
Merlin didn't bother showing up to Arthur's chambers. He simply closed his eyes against the sunlight, ignored the bells and the hustle and bustle of servants, and buried himself under the covers. He ignored Gaius's worried voice from the next room, ignored the loud pounding at his door when Arthur eventually turned up, completely livid. He barely said anything when Gwaine and Percival forced themselves into his room and dragged him from the bed. He did register the gentle "Sorry," that Gwaine murmured as he slung Merlin into the dungeons but Merlin didn't say a word in return. He curled up in the damp corner of the cell and closed his eyes, willing the day to just end already. After all, tomorrow would be the same, wouldn't it?
It always was.
Day eleven
This day brought with it more hiding in bed. But this time, when Percival banged against the door, Merlin yanked it open and shouted in the man's face. He'd never seen Percival look so shocked before, and when Merlin had finally finished his screaming and cursing, he was placed in the stocks for the rest of the afternoon. He felt almost guilty shouting that way, but ultimately, it didn't matter. Because day twelve came just as he expected it to.
Day twenty
Merlin tried to shift his attitude. He figured with himself that if he was going to have to spend the rest of eternity in this reality, he might as well make the most of it. He made up an excuse to Arthur about Gaius needing a rare type of herb, commandeered a horse and set forth into the forests surrounding Camelot. In the safety of the trees—and the safety of knowing that there weren't really any consequences—Merlin practised spell after spell, ones that he knew this time. Spells that sparked fires into life, spells that caused delicate yellow flowers to bloom wherever he stood. Spells that sent flashes of light up into the night sky where they exploded over head, casting a colourful glow on his skin.
He laughed when the magic answered him so eagerly. He let it pour from his fingertips without fear of pyres or prisons or Arthur’s horrified eyes. For once, he did not have to hide. For once, he was only himself.
Day twenty was a good day, all in all.
Day twenty-one
The next day, not so much. For most of the day, Merlin went through the motions. He trailed after Arthur like the obedient servant he was until it came to the council meeting. Merlin interjected on more than one occasion, knowing exactly what each advisor was about to say. Arthur had warned him through gritted teeth but then, when he spoke of Claude's plans before they'd fully come to light in the meeting, Merlin was accused of being a spy and thrown into the cell he'd come to know as a second bedroom. Arthur hadn’t met his eyes as the guards dragged him away. That, more than the chains, more than the cold stone floor, was what truly stung.
Day twenty-four
That morning, he stole a pie from the kitchens before breakfast and ate it sitting on the castle roof. He watched the sun rise over Camelot with sticky fingers and jam on his sleeve, half-expecting Arthur to appear and scream at him for being late for his duties that morning. Nothing happened. The bells rang. Sunlight poured over him. Servants meandered to and fro. Merlin couldn't get his hair to sit right.
Day thirty
Merlin told Gaius everything once again. About the resets and the time loop. About all the different ways he'd spent the day. About the secrets he had to share but he wasn't sure with whom. Gaius had listened, grave and steady as always. He had placed a hand on Merlin’s cheek and said, “Magic like this is delicate and the answers can be scary. You must be willing to make sacrifices." He paused. "Magic of this magnitude always demands balance.” Merlin had asked what that meant. Gaius had not answered.
Day thirty-six
Merlin left Camelot entirely. He woke before the bells and the meandering servants. He ignored how sunlight spilled across his pillow. He couldn't care less about the dishevelled state of his hair. He rode until the castle was a blur on the horizon behind him and kept riding. He wanted to see if distance would break the spell. If it belonged to him or to Camelot. It didn’t matter. He woke in his bed the next morning anyway when the bells rang. Sunlight poured over him. Servants meandered to and fro. Merlin couldn't get his hair to sit right.
Day forty
Merlin shifted gears and tried cruelty. He ignored Arthur’s jokes. Let him dress himself. Spoke only when spoken to and even then his words were filled with insults. Arthur grew quieter as the day wore on. Less sharp. Less golden. By evening, he dismissed Merlin early with a tight nod and did not look at him again. It hurt worse than the dungeons.
Day forty-one
The next day, Merlin went the opposite way. He was kind. Unbearably so. He laughed at every joke. Adjusted Arthur’s collar with lingering fingers. Shared a smile with every opportunity he got. Told him—three separate times—that he was a good king. Arthur had stared at him strangely by nightfall.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Arthur had asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say goodbye.”
Merlin hadn’t answered.
Day fifty
The day began again, just like it always did. The bells rang. Sunlight poured over him and his pillow. Servants meandered to and fro. Merlin couldn't get his hair to sit right.
It was a day when Merlin couldn't be bothered to test the limits of the spell or his freedom within it. He just carried on as usual, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And he supposed, for everyone else, nothing was out of the ordinary. Arthur still groaned about being woken up, the knights still attended training. Leon still banked left as Arthur dodged right. The council meeting still took its toll on Arthur.
But when the king returned and uttered those words: "Dinner with the visiting lords tonight," again and then slumped onto the bed, two fingers rubbing his temple, Merlin did something new. Something he hadn't tried these past fifty days.
"Of course. I'll get everything ready." He began and then, softly; "Are you okay, Arthur?"
Arthur looked up, as if surprised to hear someone questioning him in that way. But when his eye met Merlin's, there was gratitude in them. He held Merlin's gaze, chewing on his bottom lip and Merlin could tell he was considering how much to share. "I am… worried. For this evenings feast with Claude."
Merlin nodded knowingly. "The trade deal."
Arthur hummed in agreement.
Merlin stepped closer and placed a tentative hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You will do the right thing, Arthur. You always do." You have done for the last forty-nine evenings, Merlin thought.
The words and the gesture seemed to relax something in Arthur's posture and he let out a long breath before nodding. The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile and it was a immense victory for Merlin to see such a beautiful thing. "You have such faith in me, Merlin,"
"I just know that you're a good king,"
Arthur placed his own hand over Merlin's on his shoulder, holding him in place. Warm and calloused, the touch of Arthur's hand made Merlin's head spin and his lips parted ever so slightly.
"No, it's more than that." Arthur continued on, his eyes softening. "You understand me."
Oh gods. Merlin could almost guarantee where this was going; they'd had this conversation before, though on other days it came later on in the evening. This usually happened after the feast, not now. The change of timing almost threw Merlin off and he could feel himself breathing heavier.
"I u-understand you because I… I'm forced to spend all this time with you." He stammered out, trying to turn this into a joke.
Why the fuck had he said that? Merlin knew he could've said anything, any other words to lead Arthur away from the next sentence, but he'd basically encouraged it. He'd practically opened the door for Arthur to walk right through and laid out a red carpet.
"Is that all it is?" Arthur said, right on cue. "Proximity?"
Merlin paled. He wasn't ready for those words just yet, no so early on in the day. This was supposed to happen later. After the feast. And with his hand still firmly on Arthur's shoulder, the moment felt heavier and more important that it ever had before.
"Must be," Merlin forced himself to say. Forced himself to pull his hand back. Forced himself to witness the look of disappointment on Arthur's face which disappeared so quickly it might as well have not been there.
The rest of the night was painful and awkward and Merlin was almost glad to know that he'd wake up and all of it would be forgotten.
Almost.
Day fifty-nine
Merlin hated everything.
He hated the bells. Hated the sunlight that poured over him. Hated the servants that meandered to and fro. Hated that he couldn't get his hair to sit right. Merlin especially hated the way that knights passed him by with smiles as if the world wasn't imploding in on itself. As he forced himself out of bed that morning and pulled on a red tunic, Merlin despised the way his tunic clung to his clammy skin. The walk to Arthur's chambers—usually easy and effortless—was filled with anger and contempt and when he entered the king's room, Merlin absolutely hated the way that Arthur was sleeping soundly without a care in the world. Hated how peaceful he looked. Hated that even now, even fifty-eight repetitions later, Merlin’s breath still caught at the sight of him.
Most all, Merlin hated himself.
He hated the spell book. The ancient words he couldn’t read, the inscriptions he dared speak aloud, the arrogance that made him think he could understand. He was a fool. A damned idiot. And he alone had called this misery down upon himself. The loathing inside him was hot, and it churned painfully in his stomach.
When he began preparing for the day, Merlin trudged around unhappily. His usual easy morning routine felt stale and pointless. He'd already delivered this breakfast and picked up those particular socks. He'd already lifted this hot water to the bathing tub and laid out these clothes. He'd done all of this fifty-eight times before. And tomorrow, he'd do it all again. Repeating. Endlessly. Pointlessly. So what was the point of anything now?
Merlin moved about without putting too much care into anything he was doing. He didn't try to keep quiet for fear of waking Arthur. He slammed the breakfast plate down and stamped around on the stone floor like a toddler who hadn't gotten their way. And when he finally pulled back the heavy curtains, Arthur groaned loudly. Louder than he had the past few mornings.
"Have you quite finished making all that bloody noise?" Arthur growled from under his blankets. "Or are you trying to wake the whole of Camelot and not just me?"
Usually, a comment like this would amuse Merlin. He'd laugh along and then make a point of making more noise simply to annoy Arthur. He'd laugh and joke, see how far he could push and all would be well. But not today. Today, there was no humour or laughter or joking. Merlin simply huffed an apology and pulled back the covers, letting in the chill of the morning air.
Arthur blinked up at him, frowning faintly. For half a second, their eyes locked. Merlin saw it then—the confusion. The searching. As if Arthur felt something was off but couldn’t name it.
"Breakfast is on the table. Training in half an hour. Council meeting after and this evening, Claude of Shirebrook will be visiting." Merlin said each word flatly, bored. There was hardly any emotion in his voice as he turned away and continued with his chores.
Arthur rose up from the bed and stretched high, eyes narrowing "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Merlin huffed again and grabbed a random candelabra to polish. Anything to keep his hands busy so he didn't pull out his own hair in frustration. How many times could he live this day before he went entirely mad? How many times could he force himself through the motions he was beginning to despise? Day fifty-nine was looking like it might be the day that Merlin would lose his mind. He was about ready to ask Arthur to just go ahead and run him through with a sword already.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?" Arthur demanded, stepping closer.
"Nothing," Merlin snapped back already planning when he could make his escape. He lifted his head to meet Arthur's gaze just as the king raised a brow as if to say excuse me and Merlin softened his tone. "Sorry. Nothing, sire. I’m just tired."
“Well, that’s no excuse,” Arthur grumbled, the familiar words echoing from another time. This time, this exact day and yet so many days ago.
“Sorry,” Merlin gritted out again. And before Arthur could say anymore, Merlin stepped from the room and out into the corridor where he leaned heavily against a stone wall. Servants passed by without sparing him a second glance. This was all too much, too difficult. He knew this day. And knowing every little thing that was about to happen made it worse. The weight of repetition, the inescapable cycle, pressed in around him, suffocating. Merlin's heart began to race. The walls started closing in and his chest constricted. It was suddenly incredibly difficult to breathe—and hot. Way too hot.
Merlin needed air. He needed to get out of this damn castle.
He sprinted from his spot outside Arthur's room and out towards the training fields. The glare of the sun did nothing to help Merlin's overheated body and he leant forward, hands braced on his knees as his lungs ached for a full breath. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, Merlin couldn't breathe. He felt faint and panic rise. Each inhale felt like sand in his throat. His heart drummed a warning, a relentless staccato. Tears stung his eyes as his knees buckled and he was forced to the ground. It was there on the grass that Arthur found him.
The king stalked forward and stood before Merlin, hands on his hips and looking thoroughly disappointed. "There's something going on with you today," Arthur said—quick and to the point. There was a hint of worry in his voice, but Merlin was struggling to focus on anything in that moment, least of all that.
"I…I'm…. I'm not well," Merlin gasped eventually, his voice weak and strained. His throat felt like it was scraped raw. He hated this, hated the vulnerability of the moment, being exposed to Arthur in this way. His fingers dug deep into the grass as his heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears. "Fuck."
Arthur lowered himself to Merlin's level and grasped the man's shoulder, his face melting into concern. "Shit, Merlin… You're… You're shaking."
Merlin focused on that one point of contact, that warm and calloused palm enveloping his shoulder. It was like a lifeline, grounding him to the moment and even though his heart still hammered against his rib cage, it was slowly becoming easier to breathe. Merlin used every ounce of energy he had to focus entirely on Arthur's hand and the grass beneath him. He took a deep breath in, held it for a second and then released it slowly. He did this a few times, in and out. In and out.
In. And. Out.
Arthur didn't move, didn't say anything. He just held on tight and supported Merlin through his panic. But somewhere deep in Merlin’s mind, a tiny voice whispered; tomorrow, you’ll do this again. And again. And again.
A ragged and broken sob fell from Merlin's mouth and Arthur's grip tightened. Where he had been crouched on his toes before, Arthur now fell to his knees and used both hands to steady Merlin. "What the…" he muttered under his breath, and then: "Merlin, talk to me. What's going on?"
Arthur’s voice was different. Lower. Rougher. Not king to servant.
Just Arthur to Merlin.
Friend to friend.
Merlin looked up as and was struck by the intense blue of the king's eyes staring back at him, wild and wide and worried. It was a look he rarely saw and something tugged at his heart as Merlin fell sideways from his knees and onto his backside instead. He pulled his knees up close and hung his head low, ignoring Arthur's plea to just talk to me, dammit. The sun was hot on his skin and Merlin could feel his tunic beginning to stick to his body uncomfortably.
He couldn't focus on anything except the weight of Arthur's hand still on his shoulder and then eventually, he found the strength to look up, to speak. "Arthur… I made a mistake. I did something… Terrible. And I can't escape it."
Arthur's brow furrowed even further, confusion mixing with his worry. "Merlin, what is it? You can tell me."
Around them, Merlin was aware of stares, of people watching them. Of people witnessing the king reassuring his own manservant. It was completely improper and only the thought of Arthur's dignity being affected was enough for Merlin to finally move. He stood up on wobbly legs and shook his head.
"Merli—"
"I'm fine. Sorry, I was just… I am not well. Please, may I be excused for the day? I will ensure that all my duties are covered."
Arthur stared at Merlin for a long moment looking far from convinced. "Wait, Merlin—"
Merlin took a step back from Arthur, putting that impossibly painful distance between them once more.
"Fine." Arthur continued, his voice suddenly a lot firmer. "But I expect to see you back tomorrow, understand?"
Merlin nodded. Tomorrow. Gods, if only that could be true. If only he could just get to tomorrow. He'd do anything for a glimpse of it.
"But, Merlin?" Arthur continued, lowering his voice. "Please know that you can talk to me. If something is wrong, I want to know."
Merlin didn't say anything in return. He wasn't sure he could.
After employing the services of George, Merlin spent the rest of the day locked in his room and under the blankets. He'd fallen apart today under the pressure of repeating this existence. The day had become more painful and difficult with each iteration and the answer was laying right before his eyes. He just hadn't wanted to accept it before.
Telling Arthur was more than just confessing a few simple words. It was opening his heart to the only man who had the power to crush it entirely.
And yet, Merlin knew that he couldn't do this again. He couldn't live in this reality for one more day.
Tomorrow would be the last time.
Day sixty
Merlin was already awake as sunlight spilled across his pillow and the bells rang. The hot July morning was one he was painfully familiar with now, pressing against him like a memory he couldn't escape. Camelot stirred into life, servants meandered to and fro. Merlin didn't need to look in the mirror to know that his hair wasn't sitting right. He made his way to Arthur’s chambers with a determined weight in his chest. Today—this day—would be different. Today, it would end. The words of the spell echoed in his mind, haunting and seductive at once.
Gwnewch i'r dydd hwn ddod i ben ac ailddechrau nes y llefarir gwirionedd o'r galon.
Make this day end and restart until truth is spoken from the heart.
Confessing to Gaius hadn’t been enough. Confessing to himself hadn’t worked. The universe was nudging him—no, shoving him—toward the truth he’d spent the last sixty days evading.
Telling Arthur was the only way forward.
Magic and heart were inseparable in him. Merlin without his magic was unthinkable. Merlin without his love for Arthur was impossible. And now, that truth burned with a clarity that could no longer be ignored. He had to tell Arthur who he really was—who he truly was and had always been.
Merlin scanned his memory, retraced his steps back through the last sixty days to find the opening line. He climbed the familiar stairs and corridors to Arthur's chambers, let his gaze roam over the king's sleeping form and felt that gnawing in his heart. Arthur lay asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, just as he had every morning. Merlin went through the motions of his chores—collecting socks, prepping the wash water, setting out breakfast, pulling back the curtains—all whilst trying to decipher in his mind just how he would voice his confession.
When Arthur stirred from his dreams, Merlin didn't feel ready. He wasn't sure enough in himself yet so he did what seemed best; he carried on as if nothing was wrong.
“Good morning, sire.”
Arthur groaned in reply as Merlin continued, “Breakfast is on the table for you. The knights are training in the field, you’ve got a council meeting this afternoon, and Claude of Shirewood arrives this evening for trade discussions.”
If Merlin concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that this was day one. That he'd not lived this all before in so many different ways. He could simply let the events transpire as if they were happening for the very first time. Arthur yawned, stretching up his arms over his head before trudging over to the breakfast table to start his food.
Merlin watched with a soft smile. Yes, he could do this. He could get through the day. He'd wait until tonight to tell Arthur. At least then he'd be so much closer to midnight if all went wrong. Close to the clock resetting and this day beginning again.
As Merlin helped Arthur dress for training, his mind wandered to what the king was about to face. He chuckled despite himself and Arthur fixed him with a pointed stare.
"I think Leon will be a strong opponent this morning," Merlin said quickly, earning another start from Arthur. "When he dips left, duck right. Trip him with your leg."
Now it was Arthur's turn to chuckle. "One, what on Earth makes you think I'd take sparring advice from you?" The words should've stung Merlin but they didn't. Arthur was right; Merlin had no experience in sparring. Except for watching this exact match play out numerous times before. "And two," Arthur continued; "How do you presume to know what Sir Leon will do?"
Merlin shrugged. "I've watched you all spar plenty of times before," he replied, as if it were a satisfactory explanation.
"Whatever. Let's go."
On the field, it all went exactly as expected. Gwaine stepped up first, Arthur moved swiftly and fluidly through the moves, dodging and attacking and spinning his sword in that particular flourish. It was true, Merlin had never had any formal training in sparring or swordsmanship, but after hundreds of times watching Arthur on the field, the almost sixty times he'd watched this particular training session, he was sure he might be able to pull out a few moves at least. A step forward, a lift of the shoulder, hands tight around the hilt of a sword… Sure, he might not be able to move as elegantly as Arthur, but then again. no one did.
“Come on!” Arthur bellowed, tearing Merlin from his thoughts just as he had before. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
When Leon stepped up, Arthur's eyes met Merlin's and he looked almost amused, his expression seemed to say are you watching? It was a rare sight to see and Merlin leant back in the grass with rapt attention, a smirk forming on his lips.
Arthur twisted his wrist, crouched into a fighting stance and the dance began. The give and take, the back and forth. Then, Leon dipped left and Arthur ducked right but whereas before he'd kick out a leg to trip Leon, Arthur faltered. His gaze lifted up to Merlin's in a mix of confusion and disbelief before Leon seized the opportunity and disarmed the king. Arthur didn't tear his gaze away from Merlin right up until Leon knelt down and offered the king his sword back.
"Apologies, sire," Leon said, ever the dutiful knight.
Arthur grabbed the hilt of his sword and shook his head, forcing a laugh out. "No need, friend. It seems I am not on my best form this morning." They stood together and shook hands. "Congratulations, Leon."
The knight beamed with a wide grin before Arthur dismissed them all early.
"How did you know that was going to happen?" Arthur demanded when he and Merlin were back in his room.
Merlin rolled his eyes as he pulled out clothes for Arthur's council meeting. "Like I said before; I've watched you all spar plenty of times. You all have predictable moves."
This wording seemed to annoy Arthur who snatched a shirt and stormed to the middle of his room. "I am not predictable."
Arthur's annoyance seemed to carry forward into the council meeting. He sat there tenser than usual as advisors discussed taxes and border patrols, grain shortages and eventually, the rumours of Claude's plans. Merlin knew each piece of information by heart now and stayed in his shadowy corner, present but not participating. He used this time to tune out the dull and monotone sound of voices and focus on Arthur. His profile in the sunlight, the way his hands clenched and relaxed, the subtle expressions on his face. Even after watching this scene almost sixty times, Merlin was still absolutely certain that there was no one more beautiful than Arthur. Even when deep in thought with a furrow between his brows, even with the subtle twisting of his lips. Arthur was beautiful.
Back in Arthur's chambers and readying for the night ahead, Merlin was met with yet another familiar sight, one that tugged at his heart and caused him to feel a sting of pain. Arthur sat at the edge of his bed as if the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders. Looking like that weight was becoming too much to handle. Merlin had been here before. On that first night, he'd said nothing. Another time, he'd said too much.
Now, Merlin stepped closer and took a deep breath. "You will do well tonight, Arthur."
He was met with another one of Arthur's quizzical looks.
"Claude is a… difficult man," Merlin continued. He was standing tall in front of Arthur, his hands twisting nervously by his sides. "But I know that you will do the right thing when he tries to change the terms of the contract."
Arthur stiffened. "What the hell do you mean change the terms?"
Was this the moment? Was this the time to risk it all? Merlin opened his mouth to let the secrets spill out but stopped himself at the last second. Because, if his confession really did break the spell, he wanted Arthur to at least get through this feast first. He couldn't send Arthur into the situation with even more weight on his shoulders. Merlin didn't want to be the reason for his resolve finally breaking.
"He just seems like the kind of lord who would do that. You heard what they said in the council meeting, that there are rumours of his planning a war."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Right," he said, suspicion lacing his tone.
"He may also try to charm you with a story about his servants, his handmaiden. I find it best to ignore him."
"Have you met this lord before?" Arthur enquired, finally standing up from his bed.
Merlin laughed and shook his head. "Oh, Arthur. If only you knew."
Merlin watched as Arthur's mouth opened, as if to ask more but Merlin hurried them along. Said they'd be late for the feast and it just wouldn't do for the hosting king to show up behind schedule.
Claude was every bit the same vile man as before. The same red face and spluttering laugh. The same food being spat everywhere as he ate and recounted stories. When he wanted one of his servants, he clicked his meaty fingers together and barely gave them a second look before demanding whatever it is he wanted. There was no please or thank you when it came to Claude, Merlin wondered if he even knew those words existed. The people of the court forced to sit by and listen to Claude all wore similar expressions. Ones of disgust and forced amusement. They obviously hated him but they sat by and suffered through for the sake of Arthur. For the sake of Camelot.
Merlin poured out a fresh goblet of wine for Arthur and caught the end of the dreaded story he'd come to loathe and made a mental note to find the handmaiden and whisk her away. He'd beg Arthur to find her a place in the household, anything to save her from this monster.
“...at least get on your knees!” Claude boomed out, bursting into that same ugly laughter. The forced chuckles didn't seem to bother him in the slightest but Arthur's gaze snapped directly towards Merlin. The same look of confusion and disbelief was all over his face and Merlin resisted the urge to smirk. Especially when Arthur's confusion faded away into anger before he schooled his features into neutrality and faced Claude.
“Now I say, lad,” Claude began, his words trailing off into the same negation he'd tried so many times before. Merlin barely paid attention anymore. He simply slipped back to his place along the wall and watched it all play out before him like a well rehearsed play.
The thing that brought him back into the room was the quiet and dangerous anger in Arthur's voice when he said,“You never intended to accept the terms I laid out, so let’s not waste any more of each other’s time. The deal is off. Thank you for your visit, Claude.”
The words weren't new; they were painfully familiar. But the tone he had used… The subtle rage lining his voice was entirely new and Merlin's stomach twisted with worry as they stepped from the room and back towards Arthur's chambers in silence.
Arthur tore off his cloak and flung it across the room before turning on Merlin with a scowl. "What the fuck was that?" He demanded.
Merlin froze in place. He hadn't been expecting this, the venom. The anger. He stood his ground by the door, hands behind his back. The very picture of a devoted and obedient servant. "What do you mean?" He asked calmly.
Arthur's grin shifted into calm irritation. "You know what. That, the meeting with Claude. You said… You said that he would change the terms. That he would tell a story about his bloody handmaiden."
Merlin said nothing.
"How did you know that was going to happen?"
"I know everything that is going to happen," Merlin said eventually. The words were soft, quiet, a final acceptance of everything that had happened over the last sixty days. Over this day, sixty times.
"And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Arthur said, his voice suddenly low, almost dangerous. He stood in front of Merlin as solid as the walls that surrounded Camelot, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Arthur," Merlin began slowly. This was it. This was the moment that he could confess and all would align. The spell would break and then tomorrow would finally come. Merlin knew this, he knew it in his soul. So when his next words fell from his mouth he wasn't sure why he'd said them.
"I just mean that I know what you will do. What sacrifices you are willing to make on behalf of the kingdom."
Why had he said that? Why had he not just confessed?
Arthur didn't seem to move a muscle. He just stood there, staring, eyes searching Merlin like he was trying to unravel him."That still doesn't explain how you knew what Claude was going to say. What he was planning."
"No… It doesn't," Merlin agreed, lowering his gaze to the floor. "But I know that you're a good king and you will always do right by Camelot."
The atmosphere suddenly felt heavier, charged with an energy Merlin couldn’t name. When he looked up again, something sparked in Arthur's eyes. "And how do you know that, Merlin?" Arthur huffed out. "You seem to have this unyielding blind faith in me and I don't understand where it comes from."
"Because I know you, Arthur. I have stood behind you time and time again as you've made the right choices even when it's difficult. I've watched you carry the weight of this kingdom by yourself for so long without a single complaint." Merlin paused. "I know you."
At last, Arthur moved. It wasn't much, and Merlin wondered if he weren't standing so close, he might not have noticed. But a muscle twitched in Arthur's jaw, and his eyes softened for just a heartbeat.
"You know me." Arthur said simply, his voice and expression betraying nothing.
"I spend nearly every waking hour at your side, Arthur. Every part of my day is spent next to you, near you, serving you. Of course I know you."
Arthur stepped closer and all the anger from before seemed to melt away completely. He dropped his arms to his side and stared deeply into Merlin's eyes. "And… Is that all it is?" A pause. A heartbeat. "Proximity?"
Merlin felt like he was back on familiar ground, having navigated these waves before. But this time, he wouldn't brush it off. He wouldn't ignore the words clawing to break free. "It's not proximity," he whispered.
"Then what?" Arthur's voice was a breath on the wind, a whisper of something. Hopeful and wanting.
Merlin knew that it was now or never. If he couldn't stand here before Arthur and confess it all then he'd wake tomorrow and have to do this all again. He'd open his eyes and hear those bells, witness the servants attending to their chores. His hair would once again resemble a birds nest and he would spend another day loving Arthur in secret. They stood there, almost but barely touching, heartbeats synchronising as Merlin tried to fathom how he could put this all into words.
"Arthur… I… Of course it's not proximity." Merlin began softly. "I have watched you live this day so many times, live through these events with the same self assurance and never once ask for help when it became too much." Merlin knew he wasn't making sense but Arthur did not interrupt.
And then came the words that would change it all.
"I love you,"
Arthur visibly froze. The world felt like it had stopped moving.
"I love you," He repeated, the words stronger and more assured now. "And I have loved you for so long. Long before this day, long before I have had to live through this existence sixty damn times."
"Merlin—"
Merlin didn't stop, he didn't pause. He couldn't. Now that the words were out, the confession spilled forth uncontrollably. "And I will love you tomorrow and every day afterwards. Even if you wake up tomorrow and forget all about this. I will love you and the king that you are. The man that you are."
Merlin hadn't realised it until that moment, but tears blurred his vision and he was clenching his fists so hard that his nails bit into his palms. He knew his confession was a rambling mess of words that didn't make sense. He knew Arthur would have questions. But for now, for this split second of time, he felt free. He loved Arthur. And Arthur finally knew.
"How… how could I ever forget this?" Arthur finally said. Croaked. His throat sounded dry.
Merlin scoffed and rubbed at his face. "Because you always forget. Each day I go to sleep and I wake up and you forget. I wake up and you are still Arthur, unchanged. And I have to pretend like everything is okay when it isn't. When I have to live this day over and over again when for you it is happening for the first time."
Arthur looked shocked. Speechless. His lips parted in a small exhale. "I don't… Merlin, I don't understand."
"I have lived this day before, Arthur. I have woken up to the same bells and the same routines. I have watched you disarm Leon almost sixty times. I have listened to Claude's foul story about his handmaiden almost sixty times. And I have kept this truth to myself all this time because… Well… I was ashamed."
Arthur recoiled slightly but Merlin stepped forward quickly. He placed his hands on Arthur's upper arms and held tight. "Not ashamed of my feelings for you, Arthur. Ashamed that I brought this on myself. This… spell."
"Spell?" The word was a squeak, broken and confused.
"Arthur… I…" Merlin breathed deeply. "I made a mistake. I was foolish and thought I could handle it but… I used a spell I did not understand. I cursed myself. I am a sorcerer."
Merlin stood there trembling, exposed in every possible way.
Magic.
Love.
Guilt.
Time.
All of it laid bare.
Arthur took one slow step forward. He didn’t shout for guards. He didn’t reach for a blade. He just stood there, staring at Merlin like the ground had disappeared beneath him. “You,” Arthur said at last, voice dangerously steady, “are confessing to sorcery.”
“Yes.”
“And treason.”
Merlin swallowed. “If you must call it that.”
Arthur's brow furrowed and he stared at Merlin for a second. He looked like he was trying to process everything. Eventually, he asked, "A spell? A curse? Merlin, what exactly did you do?"
Merlin wiped at his face again, pushing away tears. "I… I have an old spell book. I was arrogant and thought that reading out a spell wouldn't do anything. I didn't understand the words until I asked Gaius to translate it but… I trapped myself."
His words faltered. He swallowed hard, heart hammering. “I trapped myself in a loop. This day, over and over. Sixty times. Each day, the same events… the same choices… the same moments.” Merlin let out a dry and humourless laugh. "Apart from all the times I tested the limits of the curse and did something new. But every morning… I'd wake. And the day would restart."
Arthur’s eyes widened, and he ran a hand over his face, disbelief and shock etching deep lines into his expression. “Sixty… times?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. “Merlin… you lived this day… sixty times?”
"Yes,"
Arthur was silent for a long, torturous moment. His arms hung at his sides, and he seemed to be weighing every word, every breath, every confession Merlin had just laid bare. Then he spoke, low, hesitant, almost as if he were afraid to hear his own words. “Merlin… you—”
Merlin’s chest tightened. “Arthur… I'm sorry…”
Arthur raised a hand, stopping him. “Let me finish.” He stepped closer, though not all the way, still keeping a small, careful distance. “I… I don’t fully understand everything about this curse. I need details. I need to know… what happened, exactly. The moments you were forced to repeat…"
Merlin took a deep breath. “Each day… the same. Breakfast, training, council meeting, feast. Claude… And the smaller moments too, like watching you wake, seeing you eat, seeing you laugh… I lived all of it. Over and over. I remembered it all. I remembered every feeling. Every fear. Every hope. Every tiny moment I wanted to tell you… I remembered it. And you didn't.”
“You have lived through something impossible. Alone. Because you believed I would not understand. Because you believed I would — what? Punish you?"
Merlin didn’t answer.
Arthur searched his face. “Is that really what you think of me?”
The question landed like a blow and Merlin paled. The tears that had stopped falling now flowed freely again. He stepped closer to Arthur and shook his head. "No! No, of course not, Arthur. I don’t think that at all. I was just… scared." Merlin took in a shaky breath. "You know I don’t think that. I think you are a good king, a good man."
“You say that I’m a good king. You trust that I am a good man,” Arthur replied. His voice sounded thick with emotion.
“You are.” Merlin believed it with every fibre of his being.
“Then trust that I am also a man capable of loving you.”
Merlin’s chest heaved, the flood of emotions threatening to drown him. He felt like he couldn't move or breath anymore. The whole of Camelot—hell, the world—faded away to nothing leaving only the two of them and this moment. Merlin had never heard such beautiful words in his whole life.
“Arthur… I… I’ve lived this day… sixty times. I’ve watched you, protected you, loved you… and you never knew. Every day I woke up, and you were still Arthur. Strong, fearless, untouchable. And I… I could never tell you. I thought… I thought if I confessed, I would ruin everything.”
Arthur reached out, hesitating for a heartbeat, then finally let his hand rest on Merlin’s cheek. “Merlin… you could never ruin anything between us. Not you. Not your magic, not your feelings. I love you. And nothing you’ve done—nothing you’ve endured—changes that. Not for a second.”
Merlin’s tears spilled freely now, but for the first time in sixty days, he felt the warmth of hope. The weight of time, magic, guilt—all of it—seemed to lift, just slightly, as he let Arthur’s steady, unwavering presence ground him. Then the king's gaze suddenly changed into something more questioning. "What was the spell? The translation of it? Is there a way to break it?"
Merlin released a breath and closed his eyes. He let the words rise up in him and he whispered them to life. "Gwnewch i'r dydd hwn ddod i ben ac ailddechrau nes y llefarir gwirionedd o'r galon."
Arthur's cheeks had gone a curious shade of pink when Merlin opened his eyes again. "What… What does it mean?"
Merlin swallowed. "Make this day end and restart until truth is spoken from the heart."
Merlin’s eyes burned with tears, with the revelation of it all.
Arthur held firmly. "And your truth, the truth in your heart, is that you are a sorcerer," There was no anger in his voice. "And that you love me."
“Arthur—”
The first bell began to ring. Distant. Low.
Merlin’s blood ran cold as he looked to the window. “No,” he whispered.
Arthur’s eyes followed Merlin's. “What is it?”
“It's midnight.”
Day thirty-three.
The day began as usual. Bells rang, sunlight spilled across his pillow, servants drifted through the corridors, Merlin's hair refused to sit flat. And Merlin had gone through the motions just like before. Arthur's breakfast—from which Merlin had discovered on day eighteen that he could steal a slice of toast without being noticed—was delivered right on time. His bath water was the perfect temperature. Arthur grumbled as he was awoken and continued to be grumpy when Merlin described the day ahead.
There was nothing new about the morning's training. No new steps or swings of swords. Just the same old Leon dipping left and Arthur ducking right. Then the same boring council meeting and the same vile stories from Claude. Merlin had discovered that day that his handmaiden's name was Marie—that was new. A small revelation that barely seemed worth noticing at the time.
But the evening came and went and so with it did Merlin's confidence in being able to live through this day one more time. He sat in his quarters with Gaius explaining his situation once again. Gaius had done the same as always and listened without interruption. He nodded occasionally, lifted his eyebrow and then shook his head. He glanced curiously over the spell book when it was presented to him and asked the all important question; "And what is this hidden truth you must speak?"
Merlin had explained that part carefully, tip-toeing around the matter of his heart delicately. But Gaius always saw straight through him and guessed what it was the young warlock was hiding. It was a little infuriating really that Merlin was that obvious. But this night, night thirty-three was different.
On every previous evening, Merlin had fallen into bed exhausted and hopeless. He would sink into the pillow defeated, knowing that the moment he opened his eyes, the day would begin again. But tonight, Merlin was determined to fight back. If he stayed awake past midnight—if he physically witnessed the turning of the hour—surely he could outwit the spell. He would greet tomorrow with open eyes and finally escape this relentless, repeating reality.
So he sat there in his bed, waiting for the bells to ring, staring out of his small window into the night sky. The minutes passed by painfully slowly but eventually…
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Nine more bells rang out and Merlin held his breath in anticipation. Had he escaped? Could this really have worked just like that? Was it really that easy?
Unable or just unwilling to wait until morning to find out, Merlin slipped into Gaius's room and gently shook the man awake.
Gaius let out an angry yelp and gave Merlin a very irritated look. "What are you doing?" He demanded.
“Wh—what did we talk about earlier?” Merlin asked, the words tripping over themselves. “Before you came to bed. You remember. The spell book. The—the hidden truth—”
Gaius pushed himself upright, squinting at him in confusion. The irritation faded, replaced by concern.
“Merlin,” he said slowly, “I have no earthly idea what you are talking about. We had supper. You complained about Arthur’s behaviour—as you do every evening—and then I retired. I most certainly did not discuss spell books with you.”
Merlin’s stomach dropped.
Gaius studied him more closely now, taking in the wildness in his eyes, the tremor in his hands. His voice softened. “Have you been sleeping at all?”
Merlin didn’t answer.
Gaius sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It is the middle of the night. If this is about some nightmare or imagined enchantment, it can wait until morning. You are overtired, and when you are overtired you grow dramatic.” He fixed him with a firm, familiar look. “Go back to bed.”
The words struck Merlin hard as realisation sunk in. Nothing had changed. Midnight had come and gone, and still the spell held fast. Merlin’s stubborn actions had changed nothing at all.
Day sixty
"No… No, no, no!" Merlin choked out, panic and fear rising in him. The pain was sharp and blinding in his chest. At some point his hands had found their way to Arthur’s hips; now his fingers dug in, clutching as though the king himself were the only solid thing left in the world.
Arthur caught his face between both hands, thumbs warm against Merlin’s cheeks. A crease cut deep between his brows. “Merlin. What is it? What’s wrong?”
Merlin’s gaze, wild and unfocused from staring at the window, snapped back to Arthur. His breath hitched painfully. “Y-you… do you remember?” he stammered. “What do you remember?”
"Merl—"
“Please,” Merlin begged, the word breaking. “Please, tell me that you remember. Tell me midnight didn’t reset it all. Tell me that it didn’t just—” His voice faltered. “That you didn’t just forget. Oh, gods…”
Emotion swelled, hot and choking. He could feel it stealing the air from his lungs, making him shake.He had tried this before. Stayed awake. Listened as the bells dragged the night into morning. Midnight had come and gone—and the spell had remained, merciless and unbroken. He had endured the same cursed day another twenty-seven times after that.
Merlin wasn’t sure he had another twenty-seven left in him.
Arthur's hands tightened on Merlin's face, pulling his attention back into the room. "Merlin, listen to me." His voice was firm and yet somehow gentle all at once. "I remember."
Merlin was speechless, his breaths coming in thick and fast. He watched as Arthur's face softened into something he'd never seen before and then—
Then Arthur was pressing his lips to Merlin's forehead and stroking a hand over his cheekbone. "I remember," The king said again. "I remember that you love me and I you. I remember that you are a sorcerer and that you have been dealing with something terrifying. I remember that I cannot even begin to fathom a single day where you are not by my side."
All the air in Merlin's lungs felt like it had been stolen. His heart hammered relentlessly against his chest and his eyes widened. Because it had worked.
The spell had broken.
A new day had finally dawned and Arthur remembered.
And Arthur loved him.
Merlin felt his knees buckle with relief and Arthur's strong arms lowered them both to the cold stone floor and then came around him fully, crushing and certain, as if he could anchor Merlin to this moment by strength alone. Merlin clutched at him, fingers twisting into fabric, afraid—absurdly afraid—that if he loosened his grip the world might splinter and start again.
But it didn’t.
It didn’t.
Arthur’s heartbeat thundered steady beneath Merlin’s ear. Not fading. Not vanishing. Steady and real and present. “You remember,” Merlin whispered, because the words were too miraculous not to say aloud.
Arthur huffed softly, the ghost of a smile brushing Merlin’s skin. “Yes, you ridiculous man. I remember.”
Merlin drew back just enough to look at him. Candlelight flickered nearby, catching in Arthur’s hair, softening the gold there. No confusion clouded his eyes. No distance. Only fierce affection and devotion.
“You love me,” Merlin said, voice small and disbelieving.
Arthur’s expression gentled into something that made Merlin’s chest ache. “I do,” he answered simply.
That did it. Merlin surged forward and kissed him. Not tentative. Not stolen. Not something that would vanish with the changing of the day. It was desperate with relief, bright with wonder, months—maybe even years—of fear and sixty endless days poured into one breathless collision. Arthur made a soft sound of surprise that melted immediately into a kiss returned just as fiercely, his hand sliding into Merlin’s hair, holding him there as though he intended to keep him forever.
When they finally broke apart, they were still on the cold stone floor, the room wrapped in deep night. Moonlight spilled through the window exactly as it had moments before—unchanged, undisturbed. Time was moving forward. Quietly. Naturally.
Merlin let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s not resetting,” he whispered, almost disbelieving. “It’s finally over.”
Arthur’s arms tightened instinctively. “It is,” he said, like a vow. A promise.
Day one
Merlin's eyes were heavy but he forced them open anyway. It was finally morning and he had things to be getting on with. Outside his window, the bells rang, servants were getting on with their duties. Merlin looked in the mirror and saw that his hair was, once again, a bird’s nest of black strands that wouldn't sit flat.
Outside, it began to rain.
Merlin smiled.