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“Merlin!” Arthur barged through Gaius’s door without knocking. It was a taste of Merlin’s own medicine, he thought, and it was working hours anyways. When he saw a raven head of hair bent over a medicinal encyclopedia, not even bothering to look up, he rolled his eyes. “Come on, Merlin, I don’t have all day. I need you elsewhere. Tell your little potions goodbye.”
Merlin finally looked up and turned, making eye contact. “What’s the matter? I’m trying to help Gaius—” Merlin narrowed his eyes at Arthur’s hand, gesturing for him to hurry up and finish speaking. “You know, just because you’re the king, doesn’t mean you can order me about—”
“Actually,” he interrupted with a wry smile, “I do believe that was in the job description.”
“Really,” Merlin deadpanned.
“Yep, says it right there on paper: ‘Can make Merlin do whatever I want, by order of being the bloody king. ’ Come with me. We’re training.”
“But Arthur,” he whined, not caring that he sounded like a bratty child, even as he stood up from his spot to follow. “I helped you train earlier today! No, I didn’t even help! I just stood there while you guys came at me with swords.”
“Exactly, Merlin. You’re absolutely useless out there.”
Arthur can’t help the flashes of earlier excursions, in which large, burly men with swords and maces and the like came at them with lightning speed. Merlin, the helpless little lamb that he is, just kind of stood to the side and bit his fingernails while Arthur dodged blows to the face. This all worked out well and good for a couple years now, but the last trip they went on… When that wretched man came straight for Merlin… and Arthur, he wasn’t quick enough, he was fending off three other men already, and there was so much yelling… But somehow amidst it all Arthur heard Merlin’s pained grunt, almost inaudible to most but to Arthur he might as well have howled like a wolf. He’d fallen to the floor when the man pulled his knife out from between Merlin’s ribs, and Arthur snapped. He nearly sliced the man in two before the knights had called to him from Merlin’s side, and he decided that getting Merlin to Gaius was more important than anything.
I can’t go through that again is what he didn’t say. Instead, he told him, “The knights and I agree you’re a liability. We came to the conclusion that if you can’t learn to defend yourself we can’t take you on these outings anymore.”
“But I have to go!”
“Why?”
“I have to be there with you, Arthur, so I can…” He stopped, though, and didn’t continue, suddenly looking uncertain. Arthur almost smiled. He knew what Merlin would’ve said: So I can protect you . After last time, however, and considering how recently he recovered, the prospect was becoming more and more ridiculous. Not that it was ever plausible to begin with.
They kept quiet for the rest of the time until they reached the training grounds outside. The knights were all standing around on the green, fully equipped, waiting for orders. Even Gwen stood off to the side, leaning against a tree, with a basket of— were those medical supplies?
“You’ve just recovered,” Arthur said, as if he were reading his mind. “Gwen is here to make sure you won’t re-hurt yourself. If you do, well… well, first of all, I’ll be very cross, and Gwen is a great mediator. But mostly she can stitch you back up. Gaius gave the go-ahead since he was too busy to stay here himself.”
Merlin looked around, his gaze halting on an array of swords, maces, and spears. “Arthur,” he said, making an effort to keep the mild panic out of his voice, “I don’t think this is going to go well.”
Arthur gave Merlin a hearty clap on the back that made him stumble forward. “Nonsense!”
Merlin toppled to the ground, his armor clanking, and let out an oof . He groaned, feeling like he knocked something loose in his head, and closed his eyes against the setting sun. When a shadow blocked he bright light, he opened them again. Arthur was standing there, frowning down at him.
“This did not go well,” he said.
Merlin closed his eyes again and grumbled under his breath. “Go figure, who would have guessed, just little old me again…”
Arthur sighed. “That’s enough, Merlin. Up.”
Merlin blinked his eyes open to see an ungloved hand thrust directly in his face. He took it and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. “It’s no use, Arthur. The sun’s going down. Let’s at least call it a night for now.”
They had been training all day. They’d tried everything: the sword, the mace, the spear… Arthur had even tried to teach him how to fight with his hands, and while he was okay at dodging the various things Arthur threw at him, he understood now that he had never used his full abilities— even when he was at his angriest. That last punch had knocked him flat on his ass, and it wasn’t even hard enough to bruise; he simply didn’t expect it. Arthur had spent a good chunk of time explaining each one with different methods and tips to make sure he got a good idea of what he was supposed to be doing, but he was still rubbish at all of them.
Now he just wanted to sleep.
“He’s right, sire,” said Leon, walking up beside them. “No point training in the dark.”
“Then we’ll have to take it inside. Clear a space for us… in the armory, perhaps?”
Leon gave Arthur a strange look, then cast a barely-concealed, worried glance at Merlin. “Sire, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s exhausted; hardly in any condition to be parrying blows. It doesn’t look like you’re getting anywhere tonight.”
Arthur’s lips sealed themselves in a grim line. “We leave for our next excursion in three days time. If we stop now, we’ll hardly have any time to gain proficiency in any skill.”
Merlin sighed, rubbing at his sleep-weary eyes. “Very well. I will stay behind this time. Just, please, Arthur. I can’t tonight.”
Arthur’s eyes softened, and surely Merlin imagined it, the emotions warring on his face. Relief and disappointment. “Very well,” he said. “Get some rest.”
Arthur, in his agitation, strolled briskly ahead to his chambers. Merlin and Leon tailed behind him, walking side-by-side. “Thank you,” Merlin told him quietly.
“Don’t thank me,” Leon replied, grinning. “I’ll have him start you again tomorrow. You and I both know you won’t be staying behind, whether he knows about it or not.”
Merlin threw a sharp look his way. Does he know? But Leon gave nothing away. He just smiled again.
“Don’t count yourself out. Camelot has the best training there is. We’ll make a knight of you yet.”
The next day, Arthur was up right at dawn and in his bedchambers. Merlin woke to cupboards clattering open and clothes being thrown about. He yelled, startled, and promptly received a tunic to the face. “Rise and shine,” Arthur said. “Get dressed and be on the green in ten.”
“A-Arthur!” Merlin sputtered, lifting his threadbare blankets to cover his chest like some kind of distressed maiden. “You can’t just barge in here whenever you wish—”
“See, it isn’t so great, is it Merlin?” Arthur turned and walked out his bedroom door. “Ten minutes!” he called, and then Merlin heard Gaius’s door slam shut behind him.
Ten minutes later— yes, Merlin was punctual for once, to Arthur’s surprise— he was in the armory, examining weapons with his servant. They went through the list of what they already tried, and there weren’t many left. Apparently only one, actually. The crossbow.
“The crossbow seemed a little powerful for you, Merlin,” Leon mused. “But the best control you’ve had thus far. Plus you’ve already used it once, so you’re on familiar ground. Perhaps you can try that again?”
“Well, if the force of the crossbow is his only problem, why not try a regular bow and arrow?” Elyan suggested. He leaned against the armory walls with his arms crossed, looking thoughtful.
Merlin immediately perked up. “Yes, please, let’s try that!”
Arthur tried and failed, he suspected, to hide his surprise. “He can barely put one foot in front of the other, how can we expect him not to shoot somebody?”
“If you don’t let him try, he’s just as likely to run himself through with his own sword—”
“Hey!” Merlin interjected. He was ignored.
“It’s worth a shot, sire,” Leon agreed.
Arthur sighed. “Very well, but I want everyone to steer clear from his arrow. Someone get the targets.”
Moments later, they’ve pulled out all the equipment and set Merlin up on the green. Arthur set the bow down next to Merlin. “Wait until we bring everything out,” he said. “We might have something that will improve your aim. It can be quite difficult at first.”
Arthur strolled forward, heading back the way he came. Then he stopped abruptly at the sound of a string drawing back, whipping around just in time to see the arrow hitting the target. And by the gods, it’s a bullseye.
Merlin felt a sense of calm, a sense of rightness wash over him as he let the arrow go, watching it drive into the center of his target. He hadn’t picked up a bow in… years. It felt nice to hold one again. It brings him back to his days hunting in the woods with Will, and it makes his heart ache. Will would’ve loved to see the look on the knights’ faces just now. It truly was funny— especially Arthur, who stood off to the side with his mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers.
“Merlin!” Elyan yelled as he jogged up to him, grinning wide. “That was brilliant!”
Elyan hugged him, and the other knights swarm to offer a pat on the back.
“How did you do that?” Percival asked. He just shrugged.
“Well, why didn’t you say something before?” Arthur said crossly, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks that Merlin couldn’t quite decipher.
He looked at his king dryly. “Would you have believed me?”
Arthur looked away, seemingly finding it difficult to swallow, although Merlin wasn’t sure why. He cleared his throat. “I suppose not.”
The next day, it was time to go out hunting again— but Merlin refused to use his skills to help them catch game; only in case they run into trouble.
As usual, trouble found them.
An hour or two in, they come across a beast blocking their path— the beast can’t see them, as they have yet to come down from atop their hill, but it would certainly be hard for Merlin to miss. From where they sit on higher ground, it would be easier for Merlin to use his bow to take him down instead of risking the men’s lives trying to shoo it away, or more likely, strike it down.
Merlin must have come to the same conclusion, because he did so with startling accuracy. Arthur watched the way his eyes focused and the tension left his body; the back muscles he can’t believe he never noticed before tensed as his chest expanded, preparing to release…
Get it together, Arthur, he chided. He’s tempted to give himself a slap in the face. Snap out of it.
Merlin’s deft fingers released the arrow on an exhale they both shared. It hit its target, but Arthur wasn’t watching the beast go down; he was watching Merlin. Merlin, who never asked for anything, who never took any credit. His servant’s lips quirked up into a smirk, and Arthur watched with wonder— this self-assured Merlin, where had he been?
And then just as quickly it fell, as if he couldn’t allow himself to have it, to take pleasure in an achievement. Arthur narrowed his eyes. He would have to chat with him about that later.
Merlin drew back yet another arrow, going for the kill shot. Of course, in moments the beast would have stilled as it bled to death, but Arthur felt his heart swell at the knowledge that Merlin wanted to cease its suffering anyway. How could anyone deserve such a big heart?
“Careful, princess,” Gwaine whispered from behind him, leaning forward so his mouth was close to his ear and only they could hear. “You’re getting moony eyes again.”
Arthur glowered at him darkly. “I don’t moon.”
“Very well, what word would you prefer then? Pining?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Fantasizing?”
Arthur would’ve elbowed him in the stomach hard enough to make him double over— he had the urge to— if he wasn’t sure the armor Gwaine donned would crack his elbows. He settled for knocking him upside the head.
“Ow!” Gwaine whined. Arthur smirked.
“What were you fantasizing about? Beating up Gwaine? Glad to see you’re living out all of our dreams.” Merlin’s voice sounded from his other side, and Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. He was so focused on making Gwaine shut up he didn’t even realize that he’d moved to stand next to them. How much had he heard?
Arthur laughed nervously, and as soon as Merlin turned his back to look back at the beast, he scowled at Gwaine. “ Shut. Up ,” he mouthed.
One of the knights had the good sense to haul the beast on their horse and drag it with them; they figured Merlin can cook it for dinner when they set up camp tonight, and then they’ll bring the rest back to Camelot with them. It will be a hard winter, after all, and they’ll need all the food they can get. Besides, it simply could not be any worse than rat stew.
They continued along the road in the valley between the trees, Merlin keeping attentive and purposeful eyes on the foliage and Arthur keeping attentive and purposeful eyes on him. He should be listening intently for any sounds of animals rustling, but instead he was listening to Merlin’s breathing, the way it evened out when something had his complete and undivided attention, and he felt like slapping himself. Was it possible to be jealous of the goddamn trees?
Merlin cut a look behind them, briefly, and Arthur tensed thinking he must have sensed danger. But when Arthur looked behind him, all he saw was Elyan and Gwaine with their heads together, both wearing identical smirks and whispering, looking in his direction.
He scowled. He hadn’t even noticed they’d been doing it, which was a problem, but goddamn it it wasn’t his fault. Merlin was so bloody distracting.
He looked over at him again, having a feeling he knew why the knights were whispering and hoping to the gods Merlin wouldn’t catch on. But Merlin only wore the endlessly fond and exasperated look that was always on his face when he gazed at Gwaine, and yes, occasionally Elyan— unexpected troublemaker as he could sometimes be.
Eventually, after three long days on the road, they made it back to Camelot with many spoils to show for it. Merlin continued to fulfill his normal duties in the weeks following, except instead of serving as a moving target he trained alongside them with his bow and arrow.
There were a few times when Arthur had to start training exercises over again with the other knights because he was so focused on watching Merlin work— not that this was a new thing, but servant Merlin was very different from archer Merlin, and, well, he tended to completely lose all train of thought. A few times, they had been mid-combat training and he’d taken a fist to the face because he wasn’t paying attention.
“Sire,” Leon said one evening, as they were in the armory putting away the used weapons. Merlin had just left to fetch his dinner— Arthur was ravenous.
“Yes, Leon, what is it?”
“We would like to discuss training with you.” His tone was strange: equal parts caution and mirth. Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.
“Yes…” he drawled, waving his hand for him to continue.
Leon and the other knights shared a look, then he said, “You seem… awfully distracted lately, my lord. We just want to be sure it won’t hinder training.”
“Distracted? What do you mean?” Arthur, of course, knew exactly what he meant, but he felt it was better now to play dumb rather than admit the King of Camelot was brought down by blue eyes and raven hair and quite prominent scapular muscles.
The knights all gave him identical looks, which basically translated to You aren’t fooling anyone, you numpty . Arthur would’ve laughed if the situation weren’t so mortifying.
“Look, you just need to get it over with,” Gwaine exclaimed, “just—”
“ Gwaine ,” Arthur growled.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Just a suggestion,” he said cheekily. And then, under his breath, “I would certainly take it.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, but Gwaine ducked behind Percival, almost completely hidden behind his large stature, beyond his unruly locks peeking out around Percival’s shoulders.
Elyan put a hand on his chest to stop him from advancing, but it was light enough that he knew Elyan was too amused to step in any more than this. It was the reminder he needed though, and he calmed down. Elyan grinned at him lopsidedly but wisely said nothing.
“I appreciate your suggestion,” he said through gritted teeth, “however I think I can control myself.”
He pointedly ignored their disbelieving looks as he stalked out of the armory and into the castle.
A few months later, they were on yet another excursion— this time, because their presence was requested at the neighboring kingdom. They were meant to celebrate the anniversary of alliance between the kingdoms, as well as negotiate some added terms that Arthur suspected would likely have him declining a hand in marriage.
As annoying as the knights were for being so nosy about his relationship with Merlin— or lack thereof— he almost wished that everyone was as astute as them. Perhaps he would not have turn down princesses’ offers every few months. How many times could he say that this was not the journey he intended on taking at this moment for them to realize he would never be taking that journey?
He glanced over at Merlin, who had spent the better part of an hour laughing at the prospect of him finally settling down and expressing how bloody happy he was that someone as kind and funny and perfect as Princess Isidora would be his future wife.
“Are you sure you don’t want to marry her?” he’d snapped, harsher than he truly meant to, and that ceased conversation for a while. (By a while, he meant five minutes, because Merlin had the bounce-back time of a bowstring.)
Arthur didn’t need to look at the knights’ smug faces to realize he’d been sulking for half the ride here, but he just couldn’t help himself. He was quite positive that if it were Merlin being carted off to an arranged marriage with some virtually perfect princess he would not be smiling.
Abruptly, Merlin froze, bringing his horse to a standstill. Arthur heard it too, a second later: heavy crunching. They turned around, looking at the high ground… and found themselves surrounded.
“Get down!” Merlin shouted as an arrow flew straight past his head, close enough that he could hear the whistle as it went down. He distantly heard Arthur shouting orders, the sound of metal clashing, but all he could focus on right now was the archer on the hill, aiming the arrow straight for Arthur’s heart. He inhaled deep and, as quick as he could, drew an arrow back, his knuckles brushing against his ear, and released on the exhale.
It struck the archer right in the heart, and he toppled down the hill, with the added bonus of taking out another bandit on his way. Merlin lowered the bow for a moment, stringing up another arrow, before raising it again, his hand on the right side of his face—
And then he was knocked sideways with the most crippling pain.
He dropped to the ground, clutching his hand, and looked up to see a big burly man smiling down at him with gnarly teeth, swinging a mace. Clearly he had been aiming for Merlin’s head, but caught his wrist instead— it was surely broken. He had no way to protect himself or anyone else.
He looked around, seeing the knights parrying blows and striking with swords, and he briefly makes eye contact with Arthur, his baby blues meeting his with matching horror and despair as the mace comes down on him again. Merlin had just enough sense to roll away at the last moment, and one of the spikes grazed his ear as it smashed through the soil.
He looked over again at Arthur, who had to stop and fight a bandit but was slowly inching himself towards Merlin, as if he could get close enough eventually to save both of them. It just wasn’t possible.
The bandit next to him tugged on his mace, trying to free it from where it was stuck in the ground. Merlin looked at Arthur, making sure his back was turned, and then held a shaking hand over his shattered wrist, whispering a quick healing incantation. He winced and gasped in pain as his bones mended themselves back together, and he wished he knew a spell that would numb it for him but he didn’t have the time.
Once his wrist was back to normal, all except a lingering, deep ache, he grabbed his bow and shot him in his neck. The man collapsed to the ground, fumbling for the arrow and pulling it out, blood gushing out of the wound.
A fatal mistake.
Now he would bleed to death in no time; a few minutes at most. This had happened once with one of Gaius’s patients— he had lost consciousness before succumbing, and he hoped the same happened with this bandit. It was a horrible thing to feel life slip away from you.
At the sound of Arthur’s surprised “Merlin!” he whipped around and met his astonished gaze. Was he… truly disappointed in him for taking this man’s life? But then Arthur looked down and said, “Your hand!” and Merlin realized he must have noticed that it had been broken before.
“It’s alright,” he said, “I was just shocked… you know. It wasn’t as bad as I thought.” Arthur looked entirely unconvinced, but then his face was wiped of emotion and he turned, off to help his men. There was no time to wonder what that abrupt change in mood meant, so he strung up another arrow and got to work.
When they were safe again and resting by a fire Merlin had built for them, he’d finally decided that everyone was acting just normal enough that the best course of action would be to pretend that never happened, that he never got struck by that mace.
As it turns out, this was a bad idea.
What he originally presumed to be adrenaline crashes and nonchalance— in his optimism, he will admit— he can now see was actually Merlin being put under careful surveillance. Everyone was watching him. He could feel it. Not outright, but constantly out of the corner of their eyes. They took turns, like they were on some kind of unspoken patrol, which was bizarre in itself…
That is, everyone except Arthur. Arthur stared at him openly, an unreadable look on his face. He spent the better part of an hour wishing he knew what the man was thinking, and then when he just couldn’t take it anymore decided he would come right out and ask.
“What?” Merlin asked, more exasperated than he meant to. He was tired, goddamnit.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but his face remained impassive otherwise. He looked over at the knights, whose eyes flicked away swiftly after Merlin turned in their direction.
“What?” He was met with more silence. “Is there something wrong with my face?”
“Not precisely at this moment,” Arthur replied, still watching him shrewdly. His eyes held a meaning in them that made Merlin’s heart skip a beat. “But perhaps,” Arthur continued, “you’d like to tell me how you hold the record for the fastest healing bones to date.”
Merlin nearly choked on his own saliva. “Pardon?”
“Yes, I was rather surprised too. Explain it to me, Merlin. Go ahead.”
Merlin hesitated.
“Now.”
Merlin laughed, unconvincing even to his own ears. “I told you before— it was nothing, I was just being dramatic—”
Arthur clenched his jaw. “Your eyes turned molten gold. Right before your wrist got better. Do not lie to me, Merlin.”
Merlin was frozen in place, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, unable to speak. Out of all the times he performed magic in the open, he hadn’t expected something as (comparatively) small as this to rat out his secret. He wasn’t expecting any of this.
He could feel his breaths getting quicker and quicker the longer Arthur stared at him, demanding answers.
Gwaine broke away from the group and stepped forward to give him a shoulder squeeze. “It’ll be alright,” he said softly. “We have your back.”
Merlin looked up to see the knights’ faces behind Arthur, smiling sympathetically at him. He startled. Gwaine squeezed again to calm him.
“Awesome,” Arthur blurted suddenly. His face remained stoic as ever. “So, to recap: Merlin has been hiding the lie of his life right here in Camelot, directly under my nose, and you all knew about it.” He scanned each one of his men’s faces. “And no one thought it was a good idea to tell me.”
There was a tense silence. Unfortunately, no one could dispute it.
“What the hell?!” he bellowed. “I feel betrayed by my own damn knights! We’re supposed to trust each other absolutely! When did that change?”
“My lord, maybe you should take a se…” Leon trailed off, clearing his throat when he met Arthur’s icy stare.
“I didn’t tell them, either,” Merlin said, trying to make his voice as placating as possible. “They just figured it out on their own.” More than he’d thought, actually. He knew Gwaine knew, and he suspected Elyan, but Leon and Percival he hadn’t guessed. But they did not look surprised in the least.
“And we didn’t tell you,” Gwaine said hastily, “because we weren’t sure how you’d react.”
Arthur fell down on the log by the fire, holding his head in his hands. “You thought I’d kill him, didn’t you?” He looked at Merlin, directly in the eyes this time. “You thought I would kill you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Merlin answered it anyway. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do. And I didn’t want to put you in the position to figure it out— especially not when Uther was around. And even after he passed… well, the longer I kept it a secret, the harder it seemed to come out and tell you.”
“You weren’t sure what I’d do?” His voice was so small, and when Merlin whipped his head up, Arthur looked crestfallen. A look he had only seen a few times before, in all the years he’d known him; after a loved one had fallen and Merlin would sit with him as he mourned privately in his bedchambers.
“Gods, Merlin,” he said softly. He’d picked up a stone, fiddling with it as he thought, and now he took it with him as he stood up abruptly. He would not meet his gaze anymore.
Arthur stared at the ground momentarily, then shook his head. Like he was disappointed, which was somehow worse than if he’d try to tie him to the stake.
He offered up a chuckle that was not amusing in the least. “Am I that fucking hard to read?” he said bitterly, tossed a stone into the fire, and stalked off.
Merlin had attempted to go after him, but Elyan had grabbed his arm and forced him to stay on-site with them. “Give him time to cool off,” he said.
It was the reasonable thing to do, but he couldn’t stand the look on Arthur’s face. He must be battling with so many things right now, and he wanted to take that pain away from him, wanted to ease it somehow.
As if he’d read Merlin’s mind, Gwaine stared at him hard— with more seriousness than he would normally find him capable of— and said, “You can’t fix everything for him.”
“Some things,” Leon agreed, coming up to grasp his shoulder in a firm, fond squeeze, “a man just has to work out for himself.”
“What about a dollophead?” Merlin scowled at the foliage where Arthur had retreated into, mostly to cover up his aching chest.
The knights laughed. “That’s the spirit, Merlin.”
Eventually Arthur came back, and the tense silence that settled upon his arrival lasted until they returned back to Camelot. Percival and Leon rode ahead to the neighboring kingdom to send word that they had been attacked and, due to injuries, would be regrouping and unable to attend. To King Arthur’s deepest regrets , of course.
If Uther were alive, Arthur would be eaten alive for this, Merlin knew. But it was just Arthur now, and he suspected that this may be an issue too big to be ignored until they returned from their stay, as long as that would turn out to be in all likelihood.
There was an attempt made by Gwaine and Elyan to bring some life back into the group on their return journey, but Merlin had been too busy trying to sort out what Arthur meant about being hard to read. He’d never seen Arthur like this before, so he didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. It was maddening.
Gwaine and Elyan quickly stopped trying to fool around and succumbed to the silence. It made for a long, arduous ride back.
When they arrived back in Camelot, the knights knew better than to offer encouraging words to Merlin aloud, so they each squeezed his shoulder as they passed, a gesture which gave him strength. Then Merlin was left there, alone, to tend to the horses. This was typically when he’d put them back in the stable… except he wasn’t alone, he realized. Arthur hadn’t left yet, just kept glowering at the cobblestone.
He swallowed. They’re going to do this here, then?
He waited a moment for Arthur to speak. When he didn’t, Merlin spoke his name, hoping to prompt him into speaking his mind. But all Arthur did was snap, “Meet me in my chambers,” and strode up the steps to the citadel.
When Merlin finally did make it up to his chambers, Arthur was waiting for him, wet hair indicating he’d already taken his bath. Merlin took a deep breath. This was good. Baths always calm Arthur.
“Sire?” he asked quietly, shutting the door behind him.
Arthur tilted his head. “You shut the door.”
“I thought you would like some privacy, my lord.”
Arthur was still looking at him with that shrewd gaze, as if there was some sort of mystery in Merlin’s response he were trying to solve.
“I have nothing more to hide from you, Sire. Ask what you wish to know.”
Arthur leaned back in his desk chair, considering. “You closed the door. But I am King of a land who has banned magic. You are not afraid to be alone in here with me?”
“I spend most of my nights alone in here with you.” Merlin nearly smiled at Arthur’s unimpressed look. “Truthfully, sire, I know what kind of person you are. You do not kill for the sake of it. I suspect I will either be exiled or tied to a pyre at dawn.” Arthur winced, and Merlin pretended to ignore it. “Either way, being in here with you will change neither of those outcomes.”
Arthur nodded. He motioned for Merlin to sit, and he did.
“Next question?” He was desperate to keep talking. He did not want to fall into an awkward silence with him again.
“You know what I was thinking about, the whole ride here?” His gaze was distant, staring off into space, in another world entirely.
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “No… what?”
“I was thinking about all those times before you became our archer. The danger you were in. Dear gods, Merlin, you almost died during that bandit attack those weeks ago! Died! All because you wouldn’t use magic in front of me!” He was basically yelling now, stood up from his chair in outrage. Merlin had to fight to keep his chin up.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, because frankly there was just nothing else to say.
Arthur paused, his eyes softening. “I’m not… angry at you Merlin.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m angry at myself. If you could have trusted me with this sooner…”
Merlin shook his head and stood, striding over to where Arthur was. “No, Arthur, no. This isn’t your fault. I’ve wanted to tell you. Every day. I just knew that without the ban lifted, and how worried you are about not living up to your father’s legacy… I didn’t want to be the one that put that weight on your shoulders.” As if to emphasize his point, he placed both palms on Arthur’s shoulders. “You already have so much resting there.”
Arthur’s eyes were misty as he said, “So you have tried to carry it for me? Merlin, that’s…”
Merlin smiled. “It’s okay, Arthur. If you haven’t figured it out by now, there is very little I wouldn’t do for you.”
Arthur looked away abruptly, blinking rapidly, and Merlin knew he was trying not to shed tears. Oh, his poor, poor king. How long had it been, he wondered, since someone had told him he was worth shouldering these burdens for? Not out of obligation, but out of love?
Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin’s and his heart skipped a beat. “And I you,” Arthur whispered, and pressed his lips to Merlin’s, sweet and tender.