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Arthur feels the shift before he understands the reasoning for it. Suddenly the world lightens its stranglehold on his senses, the air doesn’t seek to rend his lungs, and he is happy.
He thinks, for a moment, that maybe the strange feelings that plagued him were over this treaty and have been dispelled by the sight of his new ally bent over the document to sign it.
He discards the thought quickly when the bubbling feeling of anxiety crashes over him again, as if eager to prove the theory wrong.
Arthur only smiles because he should when Leon looks at him but his mind races with why, why, why. Merlin is nowhere to be seen. The anxiety ebbs slowly again and Arthur swears he is crazy. How can his body know where Merlin is? He isn’t magic, he isn’t a druid. He is unremarkably normal, as he should be, and therefore there is no way he should feel Merlin’s return.
But there is no denying the crippling calm he feels as he watches his ally crumple under an arrow’s impact. Or the instinctive way he shouts for Leon to investigate although he feels detached. And, most importantly, the sudden dizzying elation as he follows Gaius’ stunned gaze to the stain glass windows where they gloriously frame Merlin in streaming sunlight.
It is otherworldly and strangely perfect.
As is the placating feeling that follows, soothing Arthur’s frayed nerves and anger at his manservant’s disappearance. And it’s scary, how readily he accepts that Merlin just happened to be with the young boy who saved his life, how readily he accepts and does not question.
It’s only later, in his chambers with Merlin and Gwen, that he understands completely why his world felt so off kilter.
It is second nature to lean in toward Merlin as he speaks, whether to the man or not, or to turn to catch his eye as he suggests something, as if hoping for Merlin’s advice. There is some born habit of continuously making eye contact with Merlin as they speak unless Merlin refuses to look back. Automatic reflexes goad him into banter and affectionate teasing. They touch, consistently and without thought, and Arthur finds strangely that he missed that as well.
And the noise, constant noise, of Merlin’s presence is akin to the sound of a crackling fire or the rustle of bed sheets after a long day. Something like home.
With Merlin’s return, the void seems gone and Arthur feels utterly relaxed and sure of himself again.
He doesn’t voice it, manages to bite back what would surely be awkward words, but the thought lies heavy on his mind.
He feels whole with Merlin at his side.