Chapter Text
Merlin had been absolutely sure Arthur was unconscious. And really, he wasn’t to blame. The prince lay on the forest ground with his head lolled to one side, and a nasty gash in his arm. The sweat had caked his golden locks to his forehead, and his chest was rising and falling faintly. His sword, which he had been swinging around just moments ago, was getting picked up by one of their attackers. Who these men were was not completely clear to Merlin. They could be bandits, or soldiers, or have some other occupation that required them to ambush an unexpecting royal envoy. Whoever they were, however, there were too many of them for Merlin’s liking. After all, their group had only been a small one: just Arthur, Merlin and Sir Leon. The last had defended himself and his companions duly until Arthur had dismissed him to find help, which left only Arthur to guard off the attackers. Merlin had tried, he really had, but swords are very heavy things and he didn’t want to expose himself as a sorcerer right away. Now, however, he feared he had to. The three men that had gotten Arthur down were turning around, no doubt searching for the prince’s clumsy manservant.
They spotted him almost immediately, and clumsy manservant in question had not at all appreciated the smirks on their faces. The biggest of the three, a rough-looking man with a patchy beard and long brown braids in his hair, was carrying Arthur’s sword, dragging the tip through the mossy undergrowth with a devilish grin. The two men on his flanks were only a fraction smaller than their leader, and still very much larger than Merlin in both length and breadth. The left one cracked his bloodied knuckles, and the one on the right laughed, showing all his rotting dentures in more detail than Merlin wanted to see.
“Why don’t you run, boy?” the middle man asked. “You know you’re not the one we want.”
Merlin had not known that, but it did make sense. The men had not seemed interested in any of their horses, or the embroidered saddles on their backs, which meant they were no ordinary thieves. They did not wear the colours of a certain kingdom either – instead they were dressed in green and brown rags that made them blend in with the trees. Mercenaries, perhaps, or men hired to abduct a wealthy prince. Who knew what Uther would give to get his heir back? Merlin thought it would rather be more in the ‘total eradication’ direction than the ‘paying a ransom’ direction, but these men had no way of knowing that.
It didn’t matter though. Merlin wasn’t planning on letting them take his prince.
“I’m not leaving him,” he said, clenching his fists. He could feel the magic course through his fingers. It wanted to get out, badly. Not yet, Merlin tried to tell it.
The man in the middle raised his eyebrow, though he did not halt his pace.
“Loyal, are you?”
The man on his right laughed again. Merlin winced at the sight – that man really needed to see a dentist.
“What will you do to him?” Merlin demanded, or tried to, because his voice might have sounded a little shaky. It was taking all of his concentration to keep his magic from lashing out, and he could feel himself tremble from the effort. To the ambushers, he probably looked like he was about to faint.
“That really is none of your concern,” the man on the left answered. He was close enough for Merlin to see that he wore a golden ringlet through one of his nostrils.
“You won’t be there to worry about it anyways,” Bad Teeth piped in. “Because you’re going to be far more occupied with dying slowly and painfully.”
“Maybe we can let him live to tell the tale,” Nose Ring said. “Make a few cuts here and there, take some body parts as souvenirs, nothing bad enough for him to die of. Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do?” He looked at Merlin, and placed his hand on the curved dagger hanging from his belt. “Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do?” he repeated, then bared his teeth. “Wouldn’t that be worth begging for?”
Merlin was not about to beg, which meant he would have to be quick if he wanted to survive this quite unpleasant encounter. Although the men were not in a hurry, they were approaching steadily, and Merlin did not see a way to avoid them without exposing his powers. He cast a quick glance backwards to be certain. The sprawled bodies of the rest of the attackers would certainly trip him before he could hide somewhere. Besides, he couldn’t leave Arthur.
The three men really were getting rather close now. Merlin’s bewildered look for an escape route had only intensified their laughter as they stepped over the bodies of their peers, slowly but steadily, each step bringing them closer and closer and closer –
Merlin shot a last look at Arthur. The prince was definitely out of it.
With a quick, tiny movement of his head, he set the struggling magic free. It burst out and went for the nearest thing it could find.
The tree next to the three men started toppling. The man with the braids shot an astonished look at Merlin, who whispered two soft words. The tree looked as if it had been giving a forceful push by an invisible giant and fell over, trapping the three men underneath it. Judging from the nauseating crack with which the trunk landed, they would not get out from underneath it anytime soon.
Relieved, Merlin let out the breath he had been holding and wiped his forehead.
He might have celebrated his victory a tad too soon, though.
Because when he glanced over to see how the prince was faring, Arthur stared right back at him.
***
Arthur didn’t have a clue why Merlin was acting so strange. Admittedly, his poor manservant had just looked death straight in the eye, and if it hadn’t been for that tree suddenly losing its century-old balance, Merlin would most likely be minced meat by now. For someone not as used to the throes of battle as Arthur, such close encounters with death would surely be frightening.
Yet it didn’t really fit.
Arthur cast a look at Merlin, seated on his short brown horse, some feet behind him. Merlin never rode behind him, even though that was the proper place for a servant to riding. But Merlin had never been a proper manservant. He had been nothing short of a friend, although his incessant chattering would sometimes drive Arthur up the wall. But now, not a word escaped from Merlin’s lips – not even a gruff complaint about the uneven terrain. That truly was unusual. Merlin would never forego an opportunity to complain.
“I think this is the longest you’ve ever been silent,” Arthur tried to joke. He turned around to see if it had landed, but the smile on Merlin’s face was obviously fake, and disappeared before Arthur had completely turned away again.
Not that this discouraged the prince. Merlin was obviously in need of some cheering up, and although Arthur’s head was still buzzing from that nasty blow it received, he was more than willing to try to calm Merlin down.
“Did those robbers manage to steal your tongue after all?” he attempted, with even less success – Merlin didn’t even bother to fake a smile now.
How can he possibly be so distraught? Arthur thought. This was not the first perilous situation Merlin had survived. This boy had faced dragons, sorcerers and entire armies. How could a group of second-rate bandits scare him so much after all he had endured?
Maybe it was because we were with so few. It had, after all, only been the three of them. Normally, three men of Camelot would easily have defeated the twelve robbers they encountered, but since Merlin was about as useful as a blind cow when it came to fighting, they had been outnumbered. Perhaps that had been the thing that upset Merlin: having to face three armed men alone, when he was fully aware he could not possibly defeat them. Arthur tried to picture having to face three hundred men alone, which he imagined was roughly the equivalent needed to inspire such fear in him. He had to admit, he did not like that thought. Arthur even wondered if he’d be as brave as Merlin in such a situation.
Because that was the thing that puzzled Arthur most of all.
Merlin’s courage.
Despite being threatened, outnumbered and not that well-paid, Merlin had refused to leave Arthur’s side. He had stood there, shaking like a leaf, looking at his assailants, and stayed. Fair enough, he wouldn’t have been able to run very far, but it spoke for him that he didn’t even try. He had been ready to accept his death without flight. Arthur furrowed his brow. How could someone be so brave one minute, and so terrified the next?
The question burned on his tongue, yet he bade himself to be patient, to give Merlin some time to return to his senses. Sooner or later his manservant would be joking again, of course he would. A smile passed his face at the thought of Merlin’s stupid remarks. It would be alright.
Just then, he could hear Merlin take in a deep breath, which undoubtedly would get wasted on some witty remark that would have landed him in the dungeons if he’d worked for any other prince.
Instead, Merlin’s voice sounded almost angry. “I seriously can’t see how you can be so cheerful right now,” he snapped, halting his horse with an aggressive tug.
Arthur almost fell of his own horse in surprise. Merlin was never rough with an animal, let alone his horse. Quickly, Arthur stopped his own steed. Things were clearly much more amiss than he ever could have expected.
***
Merlin was seething with rage. He had known that the prince could be cold. He had known him to be merciless, unwavering, proud and obstinate. But Arthur had never been like this before. Cruel.
And judging from his raised eyebrows, the crown prince didn’t feel he was being unjust, either. Perhaps Merlin should have known that, should have known that Arthur was his father’s son, that there would never be a place for magic in Camelot. And yet.
This was too much. To know that Arthur saw him perform magic, and yet completely let it go unacknowledged, instead trying to joke as he led Merlin to the gallows of Camelot, that was too much. Merlin could accept his fate – that was his own fault for performing magic in public. That had been his own responsibility, and he would bear the consequences, no matter how undeserved.
But to be led to the pyre by Arthur – his friend, his master, the other side of his coin – to be led by him, and not once see the marks of doubt on his battered face – that was too much. He deserved to explain himself. He deserved to be spoken to in something other than taunts. Had Arthur not seen how loyal he was? Had all his years of service been forgotten?
So he snapped. He thought that was quite reasonable, everything concerned.
“I seriously can’t see how you can be so cheerful right now,” he had snarled after yet another jab about his understandable silence. Never was Arthur cheerful. He was always complaining, always serious, always pretending to be the big boy prince. But as soon as his friend, or servant, or whatever the hell he was to this liar, as soon as Merlin was caught red-handed in an act of sorcery, the prince was chatty? Smiling? Frolicking around? Fuck that and fuck his royally brattish smirk.
Except Arthur wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead, he looked dumbfounded, dumbstruck and just plain old dumb.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” Merlin sneered. He might not admit it to himself yet, but the way Arthur handled his accidental reveal stung. It stung so much that his whole body had pre-emptively decided to go numb, anything to preserve itself against that awful ache of betrayal. It made him feel empty of anything but shock and raw, ravelling anger. And even if it was the last thing he did – and it might very well be – Merlin would let Arthur know it.
If only Arthur would play the part.
“What are you talking about?” the prince asked. He looked so confused that Merlin started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the confusion was not a front. And yet… Arthur had seen him. It was actually impossible for him not to have seen it – Merlin’s eyes had still been glowing gold when they had met with those of the prince.
Still…
It wouldn’t be the first time that Merlin’s magic had managed to avoid breaking through Arthur’s incredibly thick skull. Merlin decided to wager a little test.
“You saw…” he started, but his throat seemed to live a life of its own, tightening at the very thought of pronouncing those words in Arthur’s face. Instead, Merlin just gestured vaguely. “Back in the woods,” he added, as if that would help.
Arthur looked around him. “We’re still in the woods,” he commented dryly.
Merlin let out an exasperated sigh and placed a hand on his forehead.
“This is really hard for me to talk about, okay?” he brought out. “Can you just tell me what you’re going to do with me?”
***
Oh.
That explained a lot.
Arthur recalled the last few hours. The terrified look on Merlin’s face when he found out Arthur had been watching his stand-off with the robbers. How his friend had avoided his eyes when bandaging his wounds, his hands shaking so much that it took much longer than normal to apply the needed bandages. Arthur had gripped Merlin’s wrist, trying to make the boy face him, but his lower lip had trembled so much that Arthur had feared Merlin would start crying, and he had let his hold on him go.
It explained the distance Merlin had created when they drove back to Camelot, keeping their eyes out for Leon and his enforcement on the way there. It explained the silence.
What had happened with the robbers had shaken Merlin to his core. But it wasn’t the rogues that had inspired this fear.
Merlin was afraid of Arthur.
The realisation made Arthur’s breath hitch. All of a sudden, his mind whirred into action, adding all the pieces of the puzzle together at breakneck speed.
"I’m not leaving him," Merlin had said. Faced with death, that is what that foolish boy had said.
The bandits had called it loyalty. And if Merlin had been a knight, Arthur might have accepted that. But this was not a knight; this was Merlin. Merlin, who was constantly moaning about how much terrible chores he had to do, and that with so little days off. Merlin, who seemed to think Arthur an insufferable clotpole half of the time. Merlin, who had never sworn loyalty to him before a court, and yet had always be the one he trusted above any other. Not because his advice was that great (although he could sometimes be surprisingly wise), but because he cared. He cared so much for
Arthur, that the prince felt like an idiot for only noticing it now.
It made perfect sense. Of course Merlin felt scared – embarrassed, but truly fearful too. He had been revealed as willing to give his life for somebody he supposedly only tolerated. And not only that – in his display, he had proven himself to be a deviant, a deceiver, a person of illicit and outlawed nature.
Of course Merlin feared the prince’s reaction.
Merlin wasn’t just loyal. He was in love with Arthur.
If Arthur had been like one of the characters in the songs the bards liked to regale the court with, his heart would have skipped a beat at this point. Or maybe not, since none of the bards ever mentioned what it would be like to be loved by a member of the same sex. Not that it mattered, since Arthur didn’t return Merlin’s feelings.
Of course he didn’t.
The flush in his face was because he felt flattered, anyone could tell. The rapid beating of his heart had been caused by the surprise of his discovery. And his heart had definitely not skipped a beat.
No, he did not feel that way towards Merlin.
He felt honoured that his friend would hold him in such high regard, and he had to admit it was no blow for his vanity. But surely Merlin did not expect the prince to return such a sinful sentiment towards a mere servant.
No, no such thing could be expected. Arthur inhaled deeply. He would accept the compliment, and reassure Merlin that his misguided emotions would stay secret, that he could resume his duties without shame or fear of punishment. Still, it would have to stay out of doubt that the feeling was not mutual, so Merlin could forget these errings and their relationship could return to its old, platonic form. Yes, that was what Arthur would do, in the most subtle of ways, so as to spare the poor man as much embarrassment as possible.
Arthur scraped his throat, and noticed the haughty and desperate look with which Merlin awaited his verdict. Truly, a lovelorn and pitiful fool, that Merlin.
“I’m not going to do anything with you,” he stated, in response to Merlin’s question. Arthur quite liked the way that sufficed to clarify two things. At seeing that Merlin’s anguish had not yet receded,
Arthur added: “I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me to keep your secret.”
Merlin exhaled. The wave of relief that washed over his delicate features was almost painful to watch. Had he really expected Arthur to hand him over to Uther’s executioner over something so… trivial? It hurt a little to know that Merlin had so little faith in him.
Although most of the fear had left Merlin’s face, some of it still resided in the creases of his brow, the tight lines around his usually smiling mouth. The questions in his eyes were unmistakable.
Arthur bit his lip, and looked at the ground underneath his horse’s hooves. He found it impossible to look at Merlin’s face as he uttered the next sentence.
“I’ll keep your secret,” he repeated, then swallowed, “but that doesn’t mean I… approve of it. You have to understand I cannot.”
After a few seconds, Arthur ventured to peek at Merlin’s face. The result was even more shattering than expected.
Merlin looked as if he might break down in tears any moment. The corners of his mouth tugged down despite his valiant efforts to keep up an untouched façade, making his lips twitch in an uncontrollable way that was truly heart-breaking to watch. Arthur quickly averted his gaze, but he already knew he would never be able to forget the image now seared into his mind.
He could hear Merlin’s ragged breathing, then a voice, croaked, almost begging.
“Can- can I at least explain?”
Arthur never thought himself a coward, yet he felt one now as he shook his head, unable to meet Merlin’s eyes. This really was for the best, he told himself. It was the best for both of them.
Arthur turned his horse around, spurring it into a gentle trot. He could hear Merlin do the same thing behind him, the boy still stifling his sniffles. Arthur didn’t look back at him.
“I think it would be best if we just let this matter rest.” The prince did look back now. The servant nodded weakly. The prince quickly turned away again. “I’m certain we will be able to… navigate around this issue without having to cause a stir,” Arthur said to woods in front of him. “Please don’t think this has altered my regard for you. You are still welcome to remain my manservant, if you wish.”
“If you still think the same of me,” Merlin said, in what seemed like the first time in ages, “why do you talk like one of your ministers?”
Arthur couldn’t suppress a smile. “I am merely addressing you in a way that is appropriate.”
“Hmpf,” it sounded behind him. Arthur actually had to turn around to see if Merlin was smiling, or had only bumped his head on a low-hanging branch. It lifted his heart to see a faint smile playing around his friend’s lips.
“I think you are just confusing me,” he started, eyes widening at how quickly Merlin’s face clouded over again. “You’re keeping such a respectful distance that I mistook you for a proper manservant for a second,” he added quickly.
Shaking his head, Merlin urged his horse to catch up with the prince’s. Arthur could feel a burden leave his heart as he saw Merlin’s familiar profile next to him again. The boy even opened his mouth again, although Arthur quickly raised a hand to shut him up.
“If you dare to tell anyone I got knocked out, I will not hesitate to have you thrown in the dungeons for slander,” he warned, though less darkly than he might have.
Merlin shot him a cheeky look. “Irritated because I saved you again, aren’t you?”
The idea actually made Arthur laugh out loud. “Idiot,” he let out affectionately.
“Clotpole,” Merlin hummed in return.