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'It wasn’t love. Not like he had loved Freya. However, something had died between Arthur and him. Though not love, it ached his soul with an equal intensity…' Merlin struggled to label his feelings while he stood in Arthur’s chambers and absentmindedly polished his armor.
In the dining hall below, food hardened on the cluttered table and the guards that Uther had posted outside the doors grew weary. Near midnight, Arthur woke to soreness in his hip, still pressed into the cold stone floor. The warm softness of his pillow superseded his discomfort, so he remained a while longer as he gazed up at Guinevere. She slept peacefully in the chair. He dreaded parting with her lap and her serenity in contrast to the awkward apologies that he must face, tomorrow.
Awkward or not, Arthur knew that he owed apologies. He owed them to Morgana, his father, the knights… for his recent hostile behavior. However, he doubted that his father would appreciate his humbling words. His father always said, "…Kings (or future kings) never apologize. It is a sign of weakness…" Arthur decided to apologize to him nonetheless, to lighten his own conscience. Then, there was Merlin. The mere thought of him ached Arthur's heart. An unparalleled companion who willingly would die in his stead, but Merlin had suffered the brunt of his anger. Arthur felt that a few apologetic words seemed so, so… inadequate. Yet, what was left, he asked himself. Unable to answer, he woke Guinevere and in the fog-covered night, he escorted her home.
Upon entering his chambers, Arthur startled to find someone standing there. He startled more to see bruises that swelled to nearly close an eye.
Merlin stood while slowly sharpening his sword. Added bruises, elsewhere, dictated that he stand. Healing enchantments continued to escape him, Merlin had learned. Although Arthur had inflicted both sets of injuries, Merlin tried to calm Arthur's stunned and guilt-laden eyes by speaking first. He gently offered, “I seem to be startling you a lot, lately.”
Arthur could not meet his gaze. He directed his own eyes toward Merlin’s hands. Seeing grace and proficiency in light of his own awkward silence, he wanted to flee. However, his chambers was his sanctum when distressed. Denied his refuge, he finally said, “Perhaps, it startled me to find you sharpening my sword. How appropriate. Do you suggest I fall on it?”
Not the words that Merlin hoped to hear, he ignored them. “Arthur, all I want is for you to talk to someone. I had planned to tell your father about the Plains, that it might be him. Then, I learned that you were in the dining hall with Gwen. There so long, I hope you told her?”
Arthur still could not look at the damage he had done to Merlin’s face. He nodded at his hands.
“I’m glad,” he said while nodding, too. “Gwen is an excellent listener.” He started leaving although stiff and precariously slow. Obvious to him, Arthur yearned his solitude. “I waited, just to make sure that you’re alright,'' he asked, while also disguising the reason for his slow movement.
“I’m better,” he spoke, to Merlin’s feet while watching them leave. "I'll send word when I need you, again," he uttered, still lost for apology. Words remained so, so… deficient, to him.
Two mornings later, Gaius stood over Merlin’s bed. He gazed down at his battered face for several moments, fully aware that Merlin pretended to be asleep. Finally, he asked, “are you planning to get up, at all, this day?”
Merlin never opened his eyes but with his pretense at sleep an obvious failure, he answered, “Arthur insists that I take more time off. He’s right. I can use the rest.”
“As long as that’s all it is,” he said, insinuating otherwise.
“I’m not hiding from anyone, Gaius,” he assured him, although he turned from the light of his window. “Like you, it doesn't take a genius to equate Arthur’s anger with my face. Everyone knows what happened, by now.”
Gaius raised a brow to accept the insult that Merlin was too despondent to notice. “I’m relieved to hear that you’re not hiding,” he tempered, since he was referring to Merlin’s melancholy, instead. He tried again to get him up by reminding him of a chore. “I have a list of herbs that I need gathered.”
“Can they wait,” he mumbled.
“Not for long. The season is changing and rather quickly.”
“Tomorrow, then,” he promised.
Gaius tried yet another tactic to get him up. “You must be hungry," he said. "We have soup for lunch.”
“I’ll come to the table,” he spoke while pulling his blanket higher on his shoulder, “later.”
Gaius stood a moment longer while looking down at him. Both his guardian and physician, he grew more concerned to see him so gloomy. Obvious to Gaius, it centered around Arthur. Short of death, no one else could have left Merlin so sad. Exhaling, he conceded, "I’ll leave you to your rest.”
Merlin couldn’t. His face and ass still black and blue, he didn’t know which hurt him worse -- the guilt in Arthur’s eyes or that Arthur failed to understand. Like Guinevere, Merlin would have lost tremendous respect if Arthur had not suffered. Unfortunately, his body bore the brunt of Arthur's anger. Yet, Merlin considered himself man enough, and friend enough, to take Arthur’s punches.
What he couldn’t take was their loss of, of… again, he tried to label… comradery? Before the Greenwich campaign, he and Arthur had laughed, argued, wrestled, sought sexual release in each other… but with the Greenwich tragedy culminating in blows, Arthur now seemed afraid to smile, yell or even look at him, let alone touch him. Strange, Merlin thought, that an insult or a slap on the head, he was accustomed. Not appreciative, but accustomed. That was the true Arthur. Not the meek and cowering person who now cringed or fled at the sight of him.
Merlin abruptly rose. Smiling honestly for the first time in weeks, he quickly dressed and joined Gaius for lunch.
A curious gaze met him. “I thought you needed to rest," Gaius asked.
Merlin stood again while drinking his pea-green soup. Between swallows, he quickly spoke. “I forgot that Arthur and Morgana are going horseback riding, this afternoon," he explained. "Gwen said that it took Arthur half of yesterday to convince Morgana that he means the ride as an apology and not an ambush.”
“I heard that Arthur issued quite a few apologies, yesterday. But I haven’t heard you mention one to you,” he asked, gazing again at Merlin's face while wondering if that caused his sadness.
Merlin tilted his head in thought. He was unwilling or even unable to explain his feelings. In a rush to leave, he gave Gaius what he thought the old physician expected to hear. “I must admit, Gaius," he said. "It’s a bitter reminder that I’m just a servant.”
“I’m sorry, Merlin," he sympathized. "Perhaps, Arthur soon will realize his error.”
“Who knows,” he grinned, contradicting his own disappointment. He then joked, “I better go muck his horses or risk a second black-eye.”
The misplaced grin and joke triggered another concerned brow from Gaius. “Merlin, what are you up to,” he asked.
Merlin laughed aloud. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there, Gaius," he said. "You’re worried when I’m sad and worried when I’m not.” Still smiling, he grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese before rushing out.
Clumps of horse dung smeared on his clothes, in his hair, on his jaws and even in his ears, Merlin purposely covered himself with the smelly excrements. He then commandeered the horses from the bushy redheaded stable boy with tales of re-earning the prince’s good grace. A goofy grin plastered on his face, Merlin waited in the courtyard.
Moments later, Arthur and Morgana descended the steps. Engaged in their usual spiteful retorts, Arthur suddenly went quiet. He saw Merlin standing beside their horses laboriously covered in dung and with the sun highlighting the deep purple bruises around his eye. Turning to Morgana, he forced a laugh. “I’ll race you to the river,” he said, then quickly grabbed his reins.
Merlin held firmly to his grin. He tried to hide his disappointment and his mounting melancholy that he still sent Arthur in stressful flight.
Fortunate for Merlin, Morgana was not so quick to leave. She found their strained behavior entertaining. Amid the strain, she saw opportunity to further hammer their wedge. Verbally whacking Merlin first, she said, “Wait a moment, Arthur. I should check my saddle straps. I know how incompetent the servants can be." Deliberately slow to do so, she added, “Just look how filthy this one is." Then whacking Arthur, she said, "Frankly, I didn't know that you had it in you. I see that you throw powerful punches. Bravo. It’s a shame that some servants require such harsh disciplinary measures for their ineptness. However, I'm sure they can find recourse, by simply quitting.” Implying Merlin, she gazed upon him a moment.
Merlin fought the urge to flash gold his eyes and send her flying through the air-- especially, when her words left Arthur hunched and staring pitifully at the ground while kicking at the cobblestones to wait on her. He knew that Arthur felt bad enough without her praising his brutality. As she gazed upon him, Merlin gave her a defiant wink with his bad eye, then suddenly, as if panic-stricken, he cried out, “Sire!”
Arthur startled and looked up.
"Please, my lord!" Merlin begged him, groveling. "I don't want to leave you! I don't want to quit!" He pretended to be so distraught that he grabbed Arthur in a bear hug. "I'm happy to be your servant," he insisted. "I would never leave you. Not until the day I die." As he squeezed, he shifted and smeared the horse dung into Arthur's clothes, in his hair, on his face...
“Get off of me, you imbecile! Have you lost your mind!” Arthur shouted while struggling to break free while Merlin squeezed and smeared and pleaded, “Sire, I promise. I’ll be a better servant. I'll work harder. You'll see. I’ll work my fingers to the bones,"
Morgana stood, ecstatic. Excitement dancing in her eyes, she expected to see, firsthand, the powerful punches thrown at her nemesis, this time.
Two guards started rushing to Arthur's aid. Suddenly, they stopped when they saw him break free. Convinced the prince was in no danger, they eased backward from the smell and with stifled laughter.
Arthur didn't think it was funny. He stood, glaring at Merlin. “Just look at me," he shouted. "Look at what you've done! You are, beyond a doubt, the biggest idiot who ever lived!”
"Hit him!" Morgana's mind screamed. "What are you waiting for! Hit him!"
Merlin lowered his head like a scolded little puppy as Arthur continued to yell at him. “I said, look at me! Look at my clothes! Look at what you’ve done! Are you even listening to me," he demanded to know. "I said, look at what you've done!”
Merlin slowly raised his head. However, his broad and goofy grin plastered his face, again. “I am listening,” he said. "To every word." The insults and yells seemed a symphony to his ears.
Arthur glared harder, baffled to find the humor. Suddenly, beyond the dung, beyond the bruises, he saw a joy in Merlin’s eyes that brought equal joy to his own. Finally, he was catching up. Giving a preposterous laugh, he threw back his head as he said, "Merlin, you idiot."
They then stood, laughing at each other.
Morgana stood, too. Disappointed. More so, perplexed. Covered in horse dung obviously was a male thing, she concluded, as she walked away, now headed for her dressmaker.
Arthur called after her. “Tomorrow, for our ride," he promised. "It'll take this imbecile that long to clean me up.” Turning back to Merlin, he started ordering him, like old times. “You need to take the horses back to the stables, then draw my bath, wash these clothes, clean my room, polish my armor…” He walked up the steps, still issuing his orders as Merlin stood by the horses while still grinning.
The larger clumps of horse dung wiped off, Arthur soaked in a cedarwood bath. Despite the fragrance, he frowned at Merlin, whiffing about his chambers to bag his soiled clothes and lay our fresh ones. “Add more oil to the tub,” he insisted. “I still can smell you.”
“Sorry,” he said.
The closer Merlin got, the more Arthur frowned. “On second thought, stay away.”
"Do you want the oil or not," he insisted.
“What I want, is to not smell you! Take off those filthy clothes and toss them into the fire.”
“What?”
Arthur laughed that he now could laugh at Merlin, again. “Then, stuff them into your wash bag in the hallway along with mine and take others from my wardrobe to wear.”
Merlin stared at him a moment, somewhat hesitant, then he started removing his outer clothes. While he did, he grumbled, "I don't know what good this will do. The odor is still in my hair, on my skin, in my ears," he stopped and frowned at a clump of dung that he dug out of one. After he placed his own soiled clothes outside, he resumed his grumble. "I need a bath, too. But no. I have to take care of a fully grown cabbagehead, first.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed, that he could scoff at him, again. His thoughts already were on a solution. Drawing his knees closer to his chest, he gauged the space left in the tub. “I think you’ll fit.”
Merlin looked up from ransacking the lower wardrobe for some of his old clothes to wear. “In that little space," he almost shouted in doubt.
“You’re mostly bone, anyway,” he countered as he gauged the feasibility, again. “Either this or stop complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining. You were,” he corrected but the glare he received from Arthur made him repeat, “shut up, Merlin.”
With Arthur’s constant insistence, Merlin finally gave it a try. Face-to-face in the small space with knees raised and legs interlaced like canned sardines, Arthur boasted, “see, I told you that we’d fit.”
“You’re sitting on my foot,” he grumbled, and he tried to shift from Arthur's own leg wedged between his thighs and Arthur's hard anklebone pressed against his penis.
Arthur joked, that he could joke with Merlin, again. “Your bony little bottom is sitting on my foot, too, but you don’t hear me complaining.” He playfully wiggled what toes he could behind Merlin’s scrotum. However, his play did not garner the response that he expected. Instead, he watched Merlin grimace, then quickly grab a washcloth to disguise his pain. Suddenly, it occurred to Arthur that he had injured Merlin there, as well. He wanted to flee, again. However, filth forced him to stay. He turned serious as he said, "Let’s wash this odor off before the water gets cold.”
Readily scrubbing any limb, shoulder, flank or head in convenient reach, by the time they finished, Merlin's pale porcelain complexion had turned nearly beet red from his awkward seat. He practically leaped from the tub, grabbed a towel and moved half-hidden beside the wardrobe. His back to Arthur to conceal his pain, he busily dried himself.
Arthur climbed out, too. Slowly toweling dry, his sympathetic and guilt-laden eyes remained on Merlin’s back. An apology seemed so, so… feeble, to him. Still, he needed to try. “Merlin,” he said, approaching him.
“Arthur, I’m alright,” he insisted, quickly.
"Are you," he countered, but in a sympathetic voice. Merlin's tense and discolored body said that he wasn't alright. Arthur cupped the good side of his face and beckoned him to turn. With tender touches, he inspected the bruises surrounding his orb. “Still sore,” he asked.
“Just a little. It's not that bad.”
“And the other damage I caused,” he almost whispered, still finding it hard to acknowledge what he had done.
Merlin flushed redder in his hasty reply. “It's fine, too, Arthur.”
“Then, appease me,” he pleaded. “I’d feel better if I saw for myself.”
Merlin stared at him with widening eyes, with his objections spilling in stammers from his lips. “But Arthur, it's not, um, doesn’t hurt, not bad, not, um… ” All the while he objected, he was being tugged toward the bed. Arthur pressed against his back, trying to lean him over it. Merlin started to tremble. From dampness or embarrassment, he didn’t know which but either made him struggle. The strong hand still pressing on his back started to rub up and down to calm him.
Again, Arthur asked, heeding his tremble. “Merlin, please," he begged. "I’ll take only a moment. Maybe then, I can finally find words to apologize.” It took a great effort from Arthur, but he admitted the true reason for his awkward request.
Merlin looked around at him. In the sad and pitiful eyes, he saw how much it meant for Arthur to face his guilt. Merlin took a deep breath and exhaled it, to relinquish his objections. He then leaned over the bed, himself. Feeling his buttocks gingerly spread and for what seemed a mortifying eternity, he then sensed as Arthur knelt behind him. This time, Merlin became the startled one. So stunned, he started to cry.
Arthur soothed his tears, as well as his own guilt. “Shhh, shhh…” he whispered, grateful that he saw no major damage. Sprinkled within his atonement, he soothed them both, "shhh, shhh," relieved that Merlin had remained his unmitigated friend, unchanged by his brutality.
Although Arthur soothed him, Merlin could not control his emotions. Instead, he cried harder that he had been so wrong. His elusive feelings finally were made clear. It was love, after all. He literally sobbed that the ache in his soul was leaving him, taking with it the thought of being a punching bag. His sobs turned to absolute heaves, panting for air to feel each feathered kiss meant to wipe away his bruises and his pain. Such a tender gesture went far beyond words. Merlin never had felt so moved, or so loved, than by Arthur’s apology.