“I love Guinevere,” Arthur said after a moment of pondering, taking a swig of wine he rather shouldn’t be taking, given how he was already baring his heart to Gwaine, of all people. “She is my chosen one, the one I want to rule alongside me, the Queen of Camelot. Merlin is… a part of me. Like my own extension. I don’t think about him being there, I assume that he will be - and if he’s not, I miss him like a limb, or an organ.”
Gwaine snapped his fingers as if having an amazing idea. “He’s your brain, princess!”
Arthur’s face contorted in rage, but when he aimed a punch at his most loud-mouthed knight, he missed and slumped to the side. “’S treason, Sir Gawaine.”
Gwaine just laughed and settled back more comfortably.
After another moment of silence, he sighed. “Do you never worry you’d have to choose, someday?”
That had Arthur’s face darken into a bitter grimace, and suddenly, their silence felt smothering.
“I already did, didn’t I?” An inquiring sound from Gwaine had him elaborating. “On one of my dates with Guinevere, I once told her I’d take Merlin with me if I’d ever leave Camelot. We’d become farmers, I said, and I’d have him do all the work.” Arthur smiled fondly, before searching Gwaine’s eyes with his own hazy, blue ones. “Merlin’s place is always at my side. There’s no role, no title, no name for it; but he’s there.”
Then, the smile dropped from his face. “Or at least in my mind.” Feeling drained, Arthur stared into the fire. “We have to find him. I can’t return home without him.”
“No,” Gwaine agreed, throwing back the last wine in his waterskin. “And we won’t.”
How Queen Guenever rode on Maying, Aubrey Beardsley, The Birth Life and Acts of King Arthur, of His Noble Knights of the Round Table, Their Marevllous Enquests and Adventures, the Achieving of the San Greal and in the End Le Morte D’Arthur with the Dolourous Death and Departing out of This World of Them All (Between p. 46 and p. 47), 1893-1894
