Soldered (Merlin)

[julesoh]

Title: Soldered
Author: julesoh
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 10300
Summary: Merlin fell to the side, clutching at his leg in agony, and the blue sky dimmed and wavered in his vision, ice-white clouds mocking him as they swirled. He opened his mouth to cry out, but a name came to his lips instead, unbidden: “Arthur.”
Spoilers: Set sometime between 1x09 Excalibur and 1x10 The Moment of Truth, though I don't think it fits too well into canon anymore given later episodes - it was written before the final three aired.
Notes: Written for b_c_draygon in the merlin_the_elf ficathon - which has some truly awesome entries, check it out - for a prompt involving Arthur fighting for Uther's approval.



The pain slammed into Merlin’s thigh without warning, sending him crashing to his knees, the supplies Gaius had asked him to fetch scattering over the cobbles. Nobody rushed to his aid; all of Camelot had gathered to watch the penultimate day of fighting in the tournament and the streets were deserted.

Merlin fell to the side, clutching at his leg in agony, and the blue sky dimmed and wavered in his vision, ice-white clouds mocking him as they swirled. He opened his mouth to cry out, but a name came to his lips instead, unbidden: “Arthur.”

Gaius’ herbs and tinctures forgotten, Merlin pushed himself painfully to his feet and sprinted up the hill, his thigh threatening to crumple. By the time he reached Gaius, standing at the ready at the entrance to the arena, the pain had faded to a dull roar, but there was still panic flaring heatedly in his chest.

“Where is he? Why aren’t you-” Merlin demanded breathlessly, then sagged against Gaius in bemused relief as Arthur and Sir Eoghan swept past in a flurry of thrusts and strikes, grunting heavily.

“Merlin, what on earth?” Gaius asked incredulously. “What’s the matter with your leg?”

Merlin, rubbing the ache, batted his eyes in confusion. “I thought Arthur had been injured,” he said unsteadily. “I thought I felt it.”

“Probably cramp,” Gaius sniffed, though his arm was still supporting Merlin’s elbow warmly. “Where are the herbs I asked you to fetch?”

“Er,” Merlin began, but at his guilty grimace Gaius cut him off with a tap to the back of his head and a long-suffering sigh.

Merlin stood straighter and concentrated on the battle, the last of the day. If Arthur won this match, he would compete in the final tomorrow, against the fearsome Lord Avery, a giant of a man whose stature had made Merlin gulp and shiver when he had first laid eyes on him.

Arthur’s present opponent, Sir Eoghan, was a much closer match to Arthur’s height and build, though he had fifteen years on Arthur.

“That’s good, right?” Merlin had asked earlier that day, eyes nervously following the dangerous-looking competitors as they prepared before the match. He yelped as his finger became trapped between Arthur’s couter and vambrace, and sucked at the injured digit in annoyance.

“Pay attention,” Arthur had scolded with a roll of his eyes, and then he’d cleared his throat and admitted, “Not necessarily. Age does eventually slow a man down, but Sir Eoghan is in his prime at the moment. He is not only likely to be just as fast as I am, but considerably stronger.”

“But, you’re still better, right?” Merlin had hedged cautiously as he fiddled with Arthur’s chain mail.

“Of course,” Arthur had retorted, eyes flicking over to where King Uther was talking with another of the knights competing in the tournament. “I never lose.”

Merlin knew that Arthur had an impeccable record when it came to tournaments, and he knew also that Arthur was an extremely capable warrior, but these men who had arrived in Camelot to compete in this tournament were truly some of the largest, most fearsome men he had ever seen.

And they were men, too, with many campaigns behind them, tough and muscled and strong. Arthur was now the youngest in the competition, the two younger than he currently residing in the infirmary with a head wound and a laceration to the arm respectively - and Merlin had seen both of those young men fight before with impressive skill. Arthur also seemed much smaller than these men - Merlin had always seen Arthur as something of a giant himself, not overly impressive in height but intimidating, with his thick, broad shoulders and solid chest. Yet his breadth was nothing compared to that of many of these knights, especially Lord Avery, whose servants had to wobble on boxes to dress him and were forced to stand four feet away from him in order to meet his eyes without straining their necks.

As Merlin watched Arthur drive his shoulder into Sir Eoghan’s chest with a strained growl, only to be knocked aside roughly with a blow to the neck from Eoghan’s shield, he thought that it might almost be better if Arthur were to lose this match and avoid the certain-to-be-painful fight with Avery. Yet that was never going to be a possibility, he knew, not while the king was watching.

He glanced at Uther as he stood and roared with the rest of the crowd, screaming at Arthur to move as Eoghan brought his sword down, hard, aiming at Arthur’s helmet.

Arthur twisted away at the last possible moment, the blow scraping the side of his shield and only just missing his head, and Merlin suddenly gasped as his thigh flared up again and nearly buckled.

As he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, the crowd let out a collective hiss, but when he stood up and searched for the reason for their horror, the two men were already locked in fierce battle once more.

“What happened?” he asked Gaius desperately, noting the physician’s concerned frown as he watched the match.

“Arthur stumbled,” Gaius told him. “He recovered, but … I’m not so sure that blade didn’t cause damage after all.”

“What blade?” Merlin demanded frantically.

“Sir Eoghan’s sword became entangled in the hem of Arthur’s chain mail - by his thigh - while you were away wrecking my supplies. It didn’t seem to cause any damage - at least, Arthur was perfectly able to continue. Bring him to my rooms after the match, I‘ll take a look at it.”

Merlin breathed in shakily, all of his focus on the fight, but as he watched he became aware of a faint thrum of magic in his bones - more intense than it usually was, though not as fierce as when he was deliberately casting a spell.

The fight was becoming more desperate, both men tiring visibly, and backing off to breathe heavily and recoup their energy between vicious bouts. They had been battling for close to an hour, Merlin realised, slashing and thrusting with no breaks. Arthur, he noticed, was favouring his right leg, but Eoghan was also pulling at his shoulder in clear pain.

“What will happen if neither of them can beat the other?” Merlin asked. It was not something he had seen in any of Camelot’s tournaments so far, but he supposed there had to be an eventuality in that situation.

“They will fight until there is a clear victor,” Gaius informed him. “Until one of them yields, they will do battle.”

Merlin gulped, then winced as Arthur and Eoghan’s swords met once more with a ringing crash. “Come on, Arthur,” he muttered, ignoring the growing ache in his thigh. “Finish it.”

It took another five minutes before Arthur was able to do as Merlin begged, gaining a sudden burst of speed and dodging under a slightly too-high strike by Eoghan. Twirling round, he slammed his blade against Eoghan’s back, knocking him off balance, and when Eoghan turned to make his counter attack, he kicked out at his shield, knocking both it and Eoghan flying.

From there, all Arthur needed to do was step on Eoghan’s sword and press the tip of his own blade to Eoghan’s throat, and the crowd erupted into a frenzied cheer.

Merlin grinned along with them, Gaius too, but his eyes were drawn to the slow, uneven gait Arthur adopted as he exited the arena after throwing his arms into the air victoriously and bowing to Sir Eoghan.

“Make sure he gets that leg checked out,” Gaius said, nudging Merlin’s shoulder, then headed back to the infirmary to check on his other patients.

Merlin fell in with Arthur as he walked back to his tent, reaching out to take his helmet as Arthur removed it with a groan and pushed back his coif, shaking loose dark, sweat-soaked hair.

Worry coiled immediately in Merlin’s stomach at the pallor under Arthur’s flushed cheeks, and he steered Arthur into their tent and pushed him over to a chair.

“No!” Arthur ground out, his first words since leaving the arena - which was worrying in itself, Arthur had usually given Merlin ten different commands by this point. “If I sit - there’s something wrong with my leg.”

Merlin dropped to one knee, ignoring the discomfort in his own thigh, and gingerly peeled Arthur’s chain mail and tunic up. “You’re bleeding,” he announced, horror lacing his words. Up close, Arthur’s dark trousers were soaked through and sticky, and at the slightest touch Merlin’s fingers came away bright red. “You’re bleeding,” he repeated, waving his hand in Arthur’s face. “We need to get to Gaius, now.”

“No!” Arthur objected again. “It doesn’t feel painful. It’s just weak, and my father will be here any moment.”

“And as soon as he is here he will tell you to stop being a prat and go to Gaius,” Merlin hissed, smacking Arthur’s hands away from his armour as he attempted to undo it with awkward fingers and taking over the task.

“Arthur,” Uther said, sweeping into the tent.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s eyes brightened as he looked on his father, and he nodded at the king respectfully.

“Sire-” Arthur began, but Uther cut him off swiftly.

“You took far too long to beat him,” he growled, and Merlin felt Arthur’s flinch even through the metal plates on his shoulders. He was hard pressed not to cringe himself - Uther’s voice had taken on that frighteningly icy tone that always made him shiver, and it was doubly affecting given that Uther and Arthur’s relationship seemed to have improved in recent weeks.

“He was a worthy opponent,” Arthur attempted.

“Lord Avery is twice the fighter Eoghan is, and you will have to face him tomorrow. If you make any silly mistakes like getting his sword stuck in your hauberk - you!” he addressed Merlin suddenly. “You will take his mail and repair it for tomorrow so that it is no longer a danger in the arena, do you understand?”

Merlin stuttered an affirmative as he removed the last of Arthur’s armour, and kept his eyes on the battered metal as Uther left his son with just a few parting words: “I expect the best from you, Arthur. Make me proud.”

In his wake, Arthur seemed to tremble, eyes fixed on the rich red flap through which Uther had just left.

“I’m sure he’s just concerned,” Merlin began hesitantly, and then gasped as Arthur listed sideways, all remaining colour draining from his cheeks. “I’m going to fetch Gaius and a litter,” he decided, but at that Arthur roused and gripped Merlin’s jacket fiercely.

“Don’t you dare. Get me to Gaius, now, without drawing any attention. Don’t let me down, Merlin.”

“You can’t walk,” Merlin protested, but Arthur snarled at him savagely.

“Shut up, and get me there.”

---

Merlin did, somehow, but between Arthur’s increasing light-headedness and the growing stab of pain in his own leg, they made a strange picture, hobbling along like a pair of old men who had lost their canes.

“Don’t let my father know,” Arthur mumbled for about the tenth time as Merlin struggled to open the door and keep the prince standing, and Merlin grimaced as they fell into the infirmary noisily.

“He’s bleeding,” Merlin informed Gaius, who rushed over to help. “A lot.”

“I can’t feel a thing,” Arthur said woozily as he was helped onto a cot.

“Lucky you,” Merlin muttered, and waved Gaius away when he leaned over him in concern. “I’m fine, sort him out and I’ll explain. Or try to, anyway.”

Gaius looked torn, but as the sheets under Arthur’s leg began to grow dark with his blood, he quickly got to work. “Make a tourniquet,” he ordered Merlin, who set about the task with nervous fingers.

Arthur wasn’t fully unconscious, but he didn’t look as though he was entirely alert to his surroundings as Merlin pulled the tourniquet tight, and it was Merlin who had to hold back a scream of pain as his own thigh spasmed violently, as though someone had shoved a red hot poker into a wound.

Gaius returned, expertly cutting around Arthur’s wound and pulling the fabric away to reveal a deep, nasty-looking gash where Eoghan’s sword must have entered. “Arthur, there’s no way you should have been able to stay upright with this,” he said, shocked, as he applied pressure and motioned to Merlin to start cleaning the blood away from the surrounding area.

Arthur mumbled incoherently in response.

“Hopefully, Sir Eoghan keeps a clean sword,” Gaius said grimly, and then looked at Merlin’s leg, his eyes widening in shock. “Merlin - you’re glowing.”

Merlin nearly lost his grip on Arthur’s thigh as he cast his eyes downward and found that there really was a pale white light filtering through the rough fabric of his trousers, and he looked around frantically.

“It’s all right, the others are in private rooms,” Gaius reassured him, then glanced at Arthur. “The blood loss and reaction mean he won’t see a thing.”

Merlin felt all around his thigh, but despite the white-hot pain, he could discern no actual injury. “It’s in the exact same place as Arthur’s, isn’t it?” he asked.

Gaius nodded, looking lost for words himself.

“It’s why he’s not feeling any pain. I’m not doing this on purpose, Gaius. I don’t even know how I’m doing this. Is he going to be all right? It hasn’t hit that big blood vessel, has it?”

“I see you’ve been studying your anatomy a little - no, he would have been dead within minutes if it had,” Gaius said, which Merlin supposed was reassuring. “He will live, but I doubt that he could have continued the fight if he had felt the pain you took from him. Now he is here, there is no need for you to keep carrying it - you look no better than him.”

Merlin had to admit he felt awful, the pain in his leg making his eyes water and his stomach churn queasily. “I don’t know how,” he said. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to - surely Arthur being in no pain was less stress upon his body.

Gaius grabbed his wrist and tugged. “I need Arthur to be able to tell me how bad the wound feels to him. And I need you conscious enough to help me when I stitch him up.” He tilted his head at Merlin, who nodded reluctantly. “Right, take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

Merlin obeyed, and although at first the nausea and pain seemed to increase, Gaius’ soothing voice penetrated his ears and some of the ache began to ebb away. “Relax. Try and feel your magic, Merlin, just find it.”

Finding it was easier than he had expected; a low hum in his blood that was louder than usual, a constant buzzing through his nerves. “I have it.”

“Gather it, Merlin, and then push. Let it go.”

Merlin screwed up his eyes in concentration, and if Gaius said anything more to him, he was not aware. He did not know how long he sat there, although he suspected it was a shorter time than it felt, but when he opened his eyes again it was with a sigh of relief as his leg relaxed and he could finally breathe easily once more.

His smile fell from his lips immediately when Arthur arched off the bed with a strangled moan, arms searching out the wound on his leg uselessly, but insistently.

“Hold him still,” Gaius ordered, and Merlin half knelt on the bed to pin Arthur’s arms, looking back desperately at Gaius as he threaded the needle and Arthur writhed semi-consciously.

“I shouldn’t have stopped it,” he cried, biting his lip as Arthur groaned again. “I don’t know how to do it again!”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice, thready and weak, shocked him, and he looked down to see Arthur’s eyes cease rolling in their sockets, dark with pain but more lucid now. “I’m the one who’s been stabbed, stop raving!”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurted, unable to help himself, and Arthur’s next eye roll was intentional.

“You’re not the one who stabbed me. And it’s hardly your fault I choose not to wear mail on my legs.” He gasped as Gaius pinched the skin over the wound together. “Gaius, how is it?”

“Lucky,” Gaius informed him darkly. “Bad enough that you should have stopped fighting immediately.”

“It didn’t feel that bad at the time,” Arthur said between gritted teeth, and raised an eyebrow at Merlin. “You don’t have to hold me anymore, I’m fine.”

Merlin eased back carefully, but Arthur stayed still as Gaius sutured the wound, the only sign of his pain now the white-knuckled grip he had on the sheets.

Merlin glanced down as Gaius did his work, and immediately wished he hadn’t - he had always hated watching Gaius tend to this kind of injury, the ones where there was a lot of blood and skin. He turned away and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, clamping his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and his ears began to roar.

“Merlin,” Arthur said with a tap to his side that Merlin suspected should have been a poke, “if you faint like a girl, I will never let you live it down.”

Merlin risked a look down, but Arthur’s stupid, stoic smile was ruined by the horrid grey cast to his skin and the lines of tension stretching across his forehead.

“He didn’t quite cut through to the bone,” Gaius’ voice floated up from further down the bed. “How does it feel?”

“Fantastic,” Arthur gasped.

“Arthur.”

“It’s bearable - no worse than I’d expect. It’s gone through the muscle, though, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gaius said grimly, tying off the thread. “You won’t be able to fight tomorrow.”

Arthur bared his teeth. “I will,” he ground out, his voice lower and more dangerously angry than Merlin had ever heard it before. He glanced at Gaius, who was wearing the same expression Merlin had seen many times before, the one that inferred that he was an absolute foolish idiot with not even a hint of common sense.

Gaius heaved a weary sigh. “If you think you can stand on it, fine,” he said casually.

Arthur set his jaw and shuffled his legs over the side of the bed, and gripped the wooden sides with a grimace as he prepared to stand.

Merlin braced himself, just in case the pain returned to his own leg, but Arthur’s yell assured him that was not going to happen. Feeling oddly disappointed at the lack of agonising pain, he reached out automatically to steady Arthur and push him back down.

“It will feel better tomorrow,” Arthur panted, carefully settling down once more.

“You know that it will be worse tomorrow, hell the day after, and only then will it start to feel better,” Gaius said patiently, and despite his vague I-told-you-so tone, Merlin could see the sympathy in his eyes.

Evidently Arthur could, too, for he didn’t snap at Gaius but merely threw his head back against the rough pillows with a faint huff of frustration. “I’ve never dropped out of a tourney in my life,” he said tiredly, reaching one hand up to brush at his sweaty hair.

“The court won’t think you’re a coward because of this,” Merlin attempted, gesturing at the angry-looking wound.

“It’s not the court whose opinion I care about,” Arthur murmured, scrubbing at his eyes. Gaius and Merlin exchanged a significant glance over the top of his head. “Get on with it, then.”

“Of course,” Gaius said, going over to the fire. Merlin frowned in confusion, and Arthur offered him a dry, humourless grin.

“Cauterisation, Merlin. Going to stick around?”

“I’ll, er, fetch some water,” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose already, and made a face when Arthur looked pointedly at the water supply already installed in the infirmary. “From somewhere else.”

---

When he returned, a half-filled pail hooked on his elbow, the infirmary doors were open and Gaius had lit some incense to chase away the smell of burning flesh. He made to check on Arthur, seeing the blond head peeking over the cuff of the blankets - nice, warm blankets, he noted, possibly stolen from his own bed - but Gaius intercepted him. “He’s sleeping. Leave him for now.”

Taking advantage of Arthur’s slumber, Merlin sat at the table as Gaius stirred what he presumed was his dinner. “Why was I feeling his pain?”

“If you don’t know yourself, Merlin, then I’m not sure how to answer that,” Gaius responded, but the vertical line between his eyebrows made Merlin sit up straighter.

“But you have some idea, don’t you?” he asked.

Gaius looked at him, his brow creased into concerned lines. “Do you remember when Nimueh poisoned you?”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Er, yeah, I vaguely recall,” he said with a quirk of his lips.

“But you remember nothing of actually being unconscious?” Gaius pressed.

Merlin frowned. He had hazy memories of pain, extreme heat, of a horrible darkness and nauseating despair. “Nothing clear,” he replied after a moment, suppressing a shiver.

“While you were unconscious, you became agitated and restless, moaning and calling out Arthur’s name in your sleep,” Gaius said. Merlin blushed furiously and ducked his head, praying that Gaius would get to the point of the story quickly. “You summoned some kind of orb that glowed as your thigh did earlier. I had my suspicions earlier that it helped Arthur in some way - when he came to me after returning, while you were still recovering, he said something about escaping only because he followed a light. He seemed somewhat confused and shaken up by the entire affair - and this is too much of a coincidence.”

“So, you think-” Merlin asked, waving a hand vaguely at his thigh and over at Arthur, and looking up at Gaius expectantly.

“I think that you or your magic can sense when Arthur is in dire need of your assistance, and you automatically help him. You saved his life when he went to fetch the Mortaeus flower, and today you kept him on his feet when he surely would have fallen otherwise.”

“His life wasn’t in danger, though. Not today - this is not a tournament to the death,” Merlin mused. “But he is desperate to win this competition - if his injury is revealed, will he be allowed to fight?”

“He shouldn’t be,” Gaius warned. “Technically, he could still take part. But there is no way Uther would allow it, if he saw the wound. There is too much potential for disaster.”

Merlin took a long look at Arthur as he shifted on the cot, a grimace flashing over his features before he settled down, one hand reaching out to brush over the hilt of the sword leaning against the wall beside him.

He looked back at Gaius, who pursed his lips and said, “No,” immediately.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Yes, I do,” Gaius said, spooning out what looked like stew and placing Merlin’s bowl down in front of him firmly. “You want me to keep the seriousness of his wound from Uther.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, aware from Arthur’s comments that the action made him look like a fish, but he had to consent that Gaius was right; that had been what he was going to ask. “I know I have no right to ask you,” he said after a moment’s thought, chewing on his lip. “You already protect me so much, and your duty is to Uther, not to Arthur.”

Gaius squinted at him from across the table, but said nothing, giving Merlin permission to continue.

“If, as you say, I took Arthur’s pain today because he desperately wanted to stay on his feet and win the match, so that he could become champion tomorrow, then his need must really have been dire,” Merlin said. “He needs to prove himself to Uther, or at least feels that he does. I’m supposed to look out for him, to help him - if I can take his pain tomorrow, then I’ll be doing that!”

“I thought the dragon told you to protect his life, not preserve his happiness,” Gaius said snippily, though Merlin was sure he could sense a softening in his voice.

“Arthur spends most of his time trying to be exactly how Uther wants him to be, and the other half feeling guilty because his father’s expectations aren’t always … logical.”

“In this case, Uther would not be suffering his usual paranoia, merely acting out of worry for his son’s safety,” Gaius pointed out.

“That’s not how Arthur would see it.” Merlin cast his eyes down at his bowl. “I don’t say this enough, but I know how lucky I am that you don’t hold me to such high expectations, and that you show me affection.”

Peering up through his lashes, Merlin saw Gaius’s shoulders relax and a soft sigh escape his lips, and he straightened a little, only to receive a sharp whack on the head from an errant roll of parchment that Gaius chose as a weapon. “You’ve made your point, Merlin, don’t get overly sentimental,” he said, but after a moment’s consideration, with a warm smile, he added, “Thank you.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me? And him?” Merlin asked.

Gaius hesitated, still reluctant, but before they could continue their conversation the door to the infirmary was flung open with a bang, and Uther strode in imperiously.

“My shoulder is giving me hell in that wretched seat, Gaius,” he began impatiently, then catches sight of his son on the other side of the room. “Arthur!”

Arthur woke with a jolt, snapping to attention immediately, but Merlin was sure that were it not for Uther’s presence then he would not have been able to stifle a yell of pain.

“Are you injured? That damn hauberk!” Uther spat, but his eyes were hard only with fear, Merlin noted.

“My leg,” Arthur began reluctantly, and Merlin felt suddenly and horrifically sick, seeing that the prince’s eyes were dark not just with physical pain but with what he thought he recognised as shame. A look he had seen before on Arthur’s countenance, most prominently when Uther had dismissed him from his chambers over the incident with Knight Valiant, crossed his face.

He bit down hard on his cheek and wished violently that he knew some magic that could change what was happening, but he knew that the situation was too far out of hand and that even if he could wipe memories or somehow take Arthur’s pain once more, he had no ability to cure wounds such as this.

“It’s just a scratch,” he heard someone say, remarkably airily, and he gawped for a minute in confusion, seeing the same surprise flit across Arthur’s features, before he realised that it was Gaius who had spoken, and the physician was gearing up for a casual but nuanced performance fit for the stage. “Eoghan’s sword scratched Arthur’s leg a little, nothing serious, of course, but he very sensibly came to me to see if I had any salves to make sure it would not be a bother to him tomorrow. He’s quite well, sire, but I also gave him a potion to stave off any aches and pains that might hinder his mobility in the fight against Lord Avery.”

Gaius stepped between Arthur and Uther nonchalantly, offering the king a laid-back, easily reassuring smile. Arthur’s grin was a little too falsely bright as he assured his father of the benefits of the fictional salve, but after a moment‘s scrutiny, Uther seemed to relax.

“Good,” he said, allowing a stern smile to cross his lips, and Merlin saw the king’s back loosen visibly. “I look forward to seeing your victory tomorrow, Arthur,” Uther then added, and Arthur’s smile grew impossibly tighter, and fell the moment Uther turned back to Gaius.

“My lord,” Gaius said respectfully, and Merlin admired his ability to stay so calm.

“Perhaps you could see fit to send some of this fantastic salve for aches and pains up to my rooms before dark,” he said silkily, then turned to Merlin, who froze. “And aren’t you supposed to be seeing to Arthur’s armour?”

“Oh, yeah!” Merlin said, pasting a grin on his face. Uther cocked his head expectantly at him and he jerked. “Oh, right now, okay - I’m just going to fetch my book.” Gaius shot him a glare, and he stumbled over his tongue to explain. “My book on cleaning armour, that is,” he said, then bolted into his chambers, grabbed his book of magic from under his bed and muttered a quick disguising spell over it.

He offered Uther and Gaius a jaunty wave as he exited the infirmary, and spared a glance for Arthur, whose pallor was evident, and hoped vainly that he had made the right decision.

---

Merlin stayed in the armoury until well past dark, performing his usual spells in order to clean and repair Arthur’s armour, then checking it over manually countless times to make sure that there was nothing that he had missed - that every piece was oiled and smooth-edged, particularly the hauberk, which was stained with a few flakes of dark brown where Eoghan’s sword had caused the damage.

He then spent another two hours painstakingly going through the well-worn pages of his book, curled up on a stool in a spare red cloak, trying desperately to find a spell that could help him form that odd connection with Arthur once more. He even read through the more complicated potions in the latter half of the book, which he generally tried to stay away from as he hated any form of cookery, and considered potion-making to be a glorified form of that.

Finding nothing that didn’t require the blood of a cockatrice or the tears of a unicorn, he scrubbed sleep from his eyes and headed back to his rooms, only to find that Gaius had moved Arthur from the cot in the infirmary into Merlin’s bed, and was leaning over the prince dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth.

“He’s got a fever?” Merlin asked, his stomach curling unpleasantly.

“Mild,” Gaius confirmed. “The wound is not hot - it’s a result of shock and exhaustion, most likely, but it needs to be kept from rising further.”

His tone was casual, but the line over the bridge of his nose had deepened, and as Merlin stowed the book away right at the back of his cupboard, he felt the vague feelings of apprehension and uncertainty that had been plaguing him since Gaius had lied to Uther begin to swamp him.

“What can I do?” he asked in a croak, hovering at the foot of the bed and wringing his hands as Arthur shifted fussily, his cheeks no longer white but flushed an unhealthy cherry red.

Gaius looked at him. “You can relax, for starters, and stop feeling guilty,” he said, his voice adopting the soothing tone Merlin knew so well. “I chose to lie to Uther - I could just have easily said no. And I did it for Arthur as much as I did it for you.” He re-wetted the cloth and ran it over Arthur’s forehead, pushing the darkened hair off his face. “Uther loves his son dearly, but I’m afraid that it isn’t always easy for Arthur to see that. You already know this.”

“If Arthur can win this, Uther will be pleased, and Arthur will be happy,” Merlin murmurs.

“And his happiness is important to you, yes?” Gaius pressed quietly. Merlin felt his own cheeks burn, and nodded his admittance of the fact.

There was a silence, punctuated only by Arthur’s breathing, loud and huffing in his discomfort, then Gaius laid down the cloth and stood, and gestured to the chair he had placed beside Arthur’s bed. It was one of the high-backed, more comfortable chairs that Gaius used to do paperwork in, and Merlin sank into it with a sigh, grateful not only for the proximity to Arthur but for the blanket Gaius passed to him.

“He should sleep well enough,” Gaius informed him. “If he becomes restless, cool his face. Otherwise, get some sleep. I’ll leave open the door so you can call me if you need to.”

“What are you going to do?” Merlin asked, already feeling his eyelids growing heavier as he settled down.

“Apparently,” Gaius said, grimacing at Merlin, “I have to invent a new miracle salve to cure aches and pains.”

“Oh, no,” Merlin said, suddenly sitting up straight. “I need to find some way to take Arthur’s pain tomorrow.” He made to stand and fetch his book again, but Gaius pushed him back down onto the chair with a concerned frown.

“Sleep. You’ll be no use to him if you’re so tired you can’t stand. The match isn’t scheduled until tomorrow afternoon, you can search for an answer tomorrow morning. Trust your magic, Merlin. It will work for you.”

Unable to resist the pull of tiredness any longer - the moon was high in the sky now, nearly half the night gone - Merlin let his eyes fall shut, one hand reaching out to grasp the corner of Arthur’s blankets. His fingers remained tight around the fabric as he slept.

---

The castle is filled with high orange flames, every corridor thick with smoke and heat, and the stone walls blister Merlin’s palms as he tries to navigate his way to an exit. He fumbles for his scarf with trembling, sooty fingers, meaning to pull it over his nose and mouth, but his hands encounter nothing but the drawstrings of his shirt.

He turns a corner and skids to a halt, facing Morgana, her cheeks burning angrily as flames lick at the train of her dress. She looks at him with parted lips and red-rimmed eyes, her mouth pinched in sad accusation.

Merlin moves instinctively towards her, reaching out, but when he gets close the flames roar and crackle, and she fades into the glare with a wounded expression as Merlin lets out an anguished yell, his vision blurring as he stumbles towards another corridor.

The tears are seared from his cheeks by the heat, and the breath is ripped from his smoke-choked lungs by the next sight that greets him: his own mirror image, ducking and dodging helplessly as the fire sparks and bites at his sleeves. He meets his own eyes with a gasp, seeing the flames reflected in his golden pupils, glowering at him with loss and betrayal.

Merlin reaches out desperately, but his reflection retreats and vanishes as Morgana did, and as he leans he is struck by a sudden twinge in his hip. Glancing down, he sees the source of the pain, the hilt of a sword that he does not usually carry digging into his waist.

Merlin feels as though his heart is beating irregularly, skipping against his ribs, and he slowly, gingerly raises his hands to his face, taking in the unfamiliar thickness of his palms, the calluses that do not match his own.

“You cannot save them, Arthur,” a voice sounds behind him, cool in the sweltering heat, and Merlin whirls around to meet Uther’s hard gaze.

“Why not?” he asks, lips dry and sore.

“They defy me. My laws. That is why they burn. Will you do the same?”

Merlin gapes, and feels fresh tears prick his eyes at the twisted screams of himself and Morgana at his back. “I cannot leave them,” he croaks.

Uther’s eyes flash icily. “Then you must betray me instead.”

Merlin blinks, feeling at his waist for the unfamiliar sword, heavy and raw on his hands, and unsheathes it. “Father,” he murmurs, then louder, “Father!” and he drives the blade home.

“Merlin. Merlin, wake up!” Gaius’ worried tones roused him from the nightmare, his hands still tingling and his nerves fried and singed from the feel of fire against his skin. “I can cope with just one of you having a nightmare, but not both!”

Merlin coughed into consciousness, pushing up against Gaius’ soothing hand on his chest, and shook his head to clear the last of the smoke away. A plaintive moan reached his ears and brought him entirely to his senses and he focused on the source of the moan; Arthur, flailing hopelessly on the bed, kicking his covers away in obvious distress.

Merlin moved automatically, brushing past Gaius’ concerned hands and kneeling over Arthur on the bed. He could hear Gaius talking, telling him that Arthur was caught in some nightmare he couldn’t wake from, still under the influence of the mild sleeping draught Gaius had given him earlier. “I don’t know how to help him,” Gaius finished, and though his voice was muffled under the pounding in Merlin’s ears, he caught the uncharacteristic note of panic in the physician’s tone.

“I do,” Merlin said, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it came out in English. That insistent buzz in his veins had returned, and this time Merlin was attuned to it entirely - could feel how strong it was; how ready it was to be used.

Merlin did not consider himself a particularly trusting person, and had in fact become increasingly distrustful during his time in Camelot, but he had always been able to rely on his magic, and so when he pulled on that cord of power, taking control, he tried not to think too hard about it. He let his eyes close and simply concentrated on Arthur, placing his hands on either side of the prince’s strong jaw.

Arthur’s skin was hot and stubble-rough against his thumbs, and he thrashed weakly in Merlin’s grip so that his lips caught against Merlin’s palms, just for a moment, before Merlin tugged his head back up and breathed out with his magic, letting it flow into his fingertips.

He heard a sharp yell as a connection established, different from before but still the same, and the image of himself burning once again entered his mind. He suspected briefly that the yell had been his own, and dimly registered Gaius’ hands skittering over his back worriedly.

He could feel everything just as vividly as he could five minutes ago: the horrendous heat, the ashy air, and the rotten sensation of powerlessness as he watched himself and Morgana burn through Arthur’s fevered vision.

Merlin opened his eyes to see that his hands were glowing, a peculiar pearly luminescence emanating from his palms and fingers that bathed not just Arthur’s face in its shine but the entire room. He focused on that glow, letting it fill his vision and his mind, chasing the flames and Uther’s chilly smile away, like cold water over a burn.

Arthur’s jaw, cupped between his hands, loosened, and his eyes and lips softened as Merlin forced their minds to relax, pushing back all fear and doubt until Arthur’s head fell to the side and he laid it gently on the pillow, sliding his hands away and sitting up.

“Merlin, what-” Gaius breathed beside him, and Merlin turned to him with a delighted, successful grin which fell almost instantly from his lips as that thread of magic, so powerful, drained from his grasp in an instant, too quickly for him to catch a hold of it.

“It’s gone!” he cried, frantically pressing his hands back against Arthur’s now blessedly cool cheeks. “I can’t - Gaius-”

“Easy,” Gaius soothed, pulling him away from the bed. Merlin tried to fight him for a second before realising that his limbs were like jelly, all strength sapped from them, and then he let Gaius usher him back onto the chair. “You helped him, Merlin. You used your magic. That means you can use it again.”

“I can’t control it, not properly,” Merlin gasped, and was only half-surprised to hear his voice sounding like a sob, his breath tight and hard in his chest. “I can’t summon it.”

“It will come, when you need it. When Arthur needs it, that’s been proven tonight,” Gaius said, crouching so that he was eye-level with Merlin. “You have to trust that it will.”

Merlin took a few deep, choking breaths, and looked over at where Arthur was now sleeping soundly, covers still flung back and the bandage around his leg stained with a few spots of blood. He blinked, and the image of Uther’s face, mocking and expecting and cruel, jumped into his mind’s eye. When he next looked up at Gaius, his eyes were nearly black with steely determination. “I cannot leave it to chance.”

---

Merlin, at Gaius’ insistence, lay down on one of the infirmary cots for another couple of hours, trying to get some sleep, but he managed a light doze at most, which he kept jerking awake from, his head filled with the terrific weight of the emotions he had encountered in Arthur’s dream - emotions that had surprised him not just because of their nature - fear, for he and Morgana, and utter hollowness and dread at the thought of betraying or disappointing Uther, but also their shocking intensity. Arthur was so gleefully glib and sarcastic most of the time that Merlin found it difficult to believe that so much could possibly be brewing under the surface, and yet when he recalled some of the occasions when Arthur did actually adopt a serious tone, he thought that perhaps the prince could have more depth than he had suspected. Than anyone suspected.

“I thought I was the one who was horrifically wounded yesterday, but you’re the one who looks more affected by blood loss, Merlin,” Arthur said as he hobbled down the stairs later that morning, stressing Merlin’s name in that taunting manner he seemed to so much enjoy. The light, teasing manner made Merlin relax, just a little, as he sat at the table and picked unenthusiastically at an apple. “You look whiter than Morgana in winter. Miss out on your beauty sleep?”

“Your sleep was unaffected?” Merlin asked, dodging Arthur’s teasing.

“I slept like a baby,” Arthur responded, and Merlin only caught the minute hesitation because he was looking for it.

Arthur lowered himself onto a stool with a muted hiss, and Merlin detected a faint trembling in his hand as he reached for a piece of fruit. “How’s the leg?“ he asked casually.

Arthur looked as though he might be about to lie, give the expected answer that it was fine, but his voice softened and his eyes darted down to look at his breakfast as he answered seriously. “Painful. I can put weight on it, but only to a certain degree.”

“Will you be able to fight with it?” Merlin asked, managing to keep his voice from coming out strained and high by some feat he might have called magical, had he not known better.

“I can cope with the weakness. It is not my leading leg, which is to my advantage, although I will have to keep my speed up in case it does cause problems. But if the pain continues, my speed will suffer, as will my reflexes. I can only hope that it fades as it did yesterday, that by engaging in battle the pain will somehow be chased away when I need it to go.”

“Is that what you think happened yesterday?”

Arthur’s gaze, as it fell upon Merlin, felt oddly heavy, and he hesitated two seconds too long before replying. “I cannot think of any other explanation. I felt … that something was keeping me upright. Something beyond my control.”

Merlin fiddled with the stem of his apple, twirling it until it snapped off and then stabbing it at the skin, not quite meeting Arthur’s look. “When is the fight?” he asked eventually.

“Noon,” Arthur informed him, grabbing a piece of ham and chewing and swallowing it with impressive speed. “So I have the rest of the morning to strengthen my leg.”

“I should go and check your armour,” Merlin said, thinking of those potions in the back of his book.

“Again?” Arthur demanded through a mouthful of cheese, now.

“Merlin got up, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to let down your father,” he said daringly, and watched as Arthur’s mouth thinned.

“No. My father is not a man to be let down,” he ground out, before turning decisively back to his meal and moving one hand down to aggressively massage his thigh.

Merlin burst into his room with a moan, and was met by Gaius, changing the slightly bloodied, sweat-stained sheets on his bed. “Merlin,” he greeted him. “You look terrible.”

“How hard would it be for me to collect the tears of a unicorn in the next few hours?” Merlin demanded maniacally. Gaius blinked at him in confusion. “How far away do cockatrices live?”

“Did you manage to get any rest after last night, Merlin?” Gaius asked incredulously, as Merlin fumbled for the hidden book behind a pile of his ratty neckerchiefs, and flicked desperately to the back.

“I think I’m going to need to sacrifice three golden-haired maidens,” he said deliriously, and Gaius snatched the book away from him and seized his wrists.

“Quiet!” he hissed, dragging him over to the door and eyeing a seemingly oblivious Arthur before pushing the door all the way shut. “Panicking will do neither of you any good. The fight takes place in two hours. All you can do now is relax, and trust your magic.”

“I do,” Merlin insisted shakily. “I just - I really think Arthur needs to win this. I can see it in his eyes. But even at full health, this fight would be testing - that’s why he is so determined. Imagine how proud Uther will be. And how angry he will be if Arthur does not.”

“Arthur’s view of his father seems to have rubbed off on you,” Gaius mused, a little sadly. “But there is nothing you can do now save focus on Arthur, and let your powers do their job.”

“I hope it’s enough,” Merlin said flatly, eyeing the book, thrown on the bed, but Gaius was guarding it carefully. “For all our sakes.”

---

Merlin took his time over the final polish and check of Arthur’s armour, going over it once before carrying it to the red tent just outside the arena, and again once he had delivered it. The act, one that he had always found horribly long and boring before, seemed today to take too little time as he thought back over the times he was aware of his connection with Arthur and tried in vain to summon the magic once more.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Arthur asked when he arrived, and Merlin sprang up from where he had scrunched up his eyes and nose in concentration, his arms wide open in front of him as he attempted to make his hands glow.

“Nothing, just stretching,” Merlin said, feeling his teeth start to chatter as true nervousness set in, now that the fight was imminent. As Arthur limped over to stand before him, stretching out his arms, he swallowed excess saliva. “Nervous?” he forced himself to ask, slipping into their usual routine.

“No,” Arthur replied, but instead of his usual arrogance, his tone was subdued

Merlin pretended not to notice, and pulled Arthur’s mail over his head. It settled on Arthur’s shoulders with a jangle, and Arthur let out a small huff of air as his leg nearly buckled beneath him.

“I’ve prepared some extra mail for your leg for protection,” he suggested, but Arthur shook his head.

“It’ll slow me down even more, and my leg can’t take the weight.” Arthur’s tone was flat, and Merlin noted the utter lack of expression in his face, all emotions carefully schooled away so as not to give away his pain. The numb features made Merlin feel sick: Arthur’s face was usually the most expressive part of him, all twitchy eyebrows and scornful lips and wide eyed taunting.

“Winning this is very important to you, isn’t it?” Merlin asked quietly as he tackled Arthur’s shoulder plates.

“It is more a matter of losing not being an option,” Arthur replied, oddly honest.

“In order to impress your father?” Merlin hedged, ready to flinch if Arthur’s temper suddenly snapped.

“In order to impress upon the court that I am a leader,” Arthur said, sounding as though the words he spoke were well-learned. His voice softened a little. “Which will gain my father’s approval, yes.”

Merlin gasped a little, feeling a sudden hum in his veins. “Do you do everything to please your father?”

It was Arthur’s turn to startle, and Merlin thought perhaps he had pushed too far, but that thrum of power was starting to grow, despite his not quite knowing why. “Not always, anymore,” Arthur breathed, and Merlin finished tying off a strap and tucking away the cord to meet the prince’s startlingly open eyes.

The magic was dancing just out of reach now, and Merlin was beginning to understand, he thought, what would bring it within reach. His magic had helped Arthur at the times he needed it most, yes - when certain he was to die; when in desperate pain but determined to win, and when caught in a terrifying nightmare. All moments of shocking vulnerability. Merlin needed only to push Arthur into the most emotionally open position he could, and the magic would work, he was sure of it.

He was standing so close to Merlin now that they were nearly breathing the same air, but the contact was lost as the bell rang to signal that Arthur should take his position in the arena.

“Time,” Arthur murmured, gritting his jaw, and he made to leave the tent, but Merlin, doing his best not to think too hard about his actions and the possible consequences other than relief of Arthur’s pain, lunged forward and pressed his lips to the surprised prince’s.

He had expected Arthur to pull away immediately, hoping for just one moment of complete shock that would enable him to unleash his magic and take the pain. What he hadn’t expected was that Arthur would pause, just for a moment, before kissing him back, his lips soft and warm against his own.

His magic soared, throbbing in his ears, and he felt the pain flood back into his thigh. He would have fallen, had Arthur’s hands not gripped him hard by the shoulders, and his cry of discomfort was cut off and lost in a moan of pleasure as Arthur pushed his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, exploring and teasing hotly.

They only pulled apart when the bell rang again, more insistently this time, and Arthur panted at him, his eyes shining brightly.

“Good luck,” Merlin managed to gasp, attempting a light grin that he knew didn’t come out quite right.

“I won’t need it,” Arthur said, putting his weight fully onto the injured leg, and then with a strange bob of his head, he set off.

Merlin followed with much less speed, the nagging ache settling into his thigh, and he was thankful that he was wearing his darkest trousers to hide the pearlescent glow his thigh was emitting.

Gaius, waiting by the arena, pushed him into a stool when he reached his side, looking at Merlin with both fear and something that looked suspiciously like pride. “It worked?”

“It worked,” Merlin confirmed. “I caught him at a vulnerable moment. Now he just needs to win.”

He looked out over the arena where the two warriors faced one another, helmets pulled down over their faces and swords and shields raised high.

He had expected to be terrified during this fight, watching through his fingers as Avery, standing a foot taller and possibly another two feet wider than Arthur, struck at him with frighteningly strong blows. Instead, he felt strangely confident, his heart singing in his chest - and he realised, as Arthur grinned through the gap in his visor and leapt for Avery as soon as the fight was called to start, that his feelings were not all his own.

His heart rate increases as Avery, initially surprised by Arthur’s furious first attack, parries and thrusts with obvious skill and experience, forcing Arthur to move nimbly on his feet to duck under his heavy longsword.

It was the shield that posed the problem. Merlin found himself thinking. It launched at him with all of Avery’s weight behind it, and even the slightest graze against his shoulder sent him spinning, knocked off-balance and unable to control the weight he placed on his injured leg.

But the fact that Avery placed so much strength behind his blows could be used to their - to Arthur’s advantage, Merlin realised, watching as Arthur ducked yet another blow and swung out with his sword, landing a strike to Avery’s side. Arthur was strong, but against Avery his blows were next to feather-light.

“The sword,” he hissed under his breath. “Next time take his sword!”

He had whispered purely out of his own frustration, but the magic pounding through his body jerked, and he saw Arthur whip his head around, slightly confused for a moment before he took a slam to the upper left arm, and Merlin felt his own limb go numb.

“Take his sword!” he hissed again, and this time when Arthur faced one of Avery’s dangerous strikes with his shield, one that would surely have knocked him out cold even with a glancing blow to the helmet, he left his dodge until he very last moment, and then spun as he dived under the thick wood, using his sword to aim at Avery’s fingers where they gripped the hilt of his own blade.

Avery let out a shriek, the first sound of pain or weakness he had uttered during the entire fight so far, and dropped the sword, pushing his hand tight against his body to press the pain of the injured digits away.

Arthur kicked out at the sword, sending it far to the side of the arena, and straightened in front of Avery with some effort. Merlin could see his eyes blinking dazedly, whether from the blows he had taken or the effects of his wound catching up with him, he wasn’t sure, but he could also feel that the fight was Arthur’s. He could see Arthur glance at Uther, leaning forward in his seat with a tense look on his face, and he pushed with his magic to forcibly wrench Arthur’s attention back to the way Avery held his shield, now his only weapon.

Avery’s arm was strapped to his shield, two thick bands holding it in place so that he could use it as a solid weapon just by punching, which was his preferred way of fighting. Arthur’s preferred style was to use his speed to dive and then slam into his opponent and knock them off-guard. His strength was useless in this fight, but his speed could still save him, as long as he timed his next move right.

“Twist the shield behind his back,” he muttered, barely aware of Gaius looking at him in puzzled concern, and he thought he saw Arthur nod very slightly before Avery charged.

Arthur made to duck left, but Avery, used to this trick now, went low. Arthur, however, had only been feinting, and he rolled to the right and used every ounce of strength he possessed to pull down on Avery’s shield arm, using the impulsion behind his blow to drive the shield under and around his back.

He then kicked out with his injured leg, causing Merlin to choke as the air was driven from his lungs by the sudden agony, and caught Avery at the sensitive part of his leg, right behind the knee. Avery dropped like a stone, and Arthur twisted and pushed his knee onto Avery’s chest, pinning him, and before the stronger man could push his way up again, he knocked away Avery’s helmet and held his sword to his throat.

The crowd’s yell thundered in Merlin’s ears, as he saw Avery nod his defeat and then allow Arthur to pull him to his feet - it took a little while, what with Avery’s injured fingers and Arthur’s lingering shakiness, but then they were up, standing, and Uther had entered on to the arena, carrying the gleaming gold trophy that was Arthur’s prize.

Merlin let himself lean back against the wall, feeling suddenly more exhausted than he could ever remember feeling as waves of elation and pride washed over him.

He blinked and rushed to his feet when Arthur approached, his leg looking shaky but solid, his cheeks flushed and a grin plastered over his face.

“Merlin. Take the rest of the day off,” he instructed.

“Your armour-” Merlin began, confused, but then Uther appeared at Arthur’s shoulder, reaching one hand up to ruffle at Arthur’s sweat-stiff hair.

“I’ll deal with his armour today. Gaius, I believe Lord Avery has some wounds requiring your attention.”

“My lord,” Gaius said respectfully, and turned to Merlin with a smile. “It worked,” he repeated from earlier, looking as proud as Uther had been.

“It did,” Merlin confirmed, grinning, and then forced his eyes wide open as they threatened to fall shut.

“Sleep, Merlin,” Gaius instructed. I can deal with a couple of sliced fingers without you collapsing on me. Go to bed.”

Bed, Merlin thought, sounded like a very good idea.

---

He woke to an incessant poke against his shoulder, all the pain gone from his leg, and yawned sleepily, batting the intruding hand away, until he heard Arthur say his name in that ridiculous tone he liked to use.

“Arthur!” he replied, scrabbling to sit up, and found Arthur sitting in the chair he had occupied the night before, his injured leg resting on the bed frame. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”

The celebrations would go on probably until well into the next morning, he had thought, and he said as much as he took in the light shining through the windows.

“It’s the next afternoon, you idiot,” Arthur told him, rolling his eyes. “You slept for ages and missed all the fun of the feast.”

“Was it good?” Merlin asked.

“Er, yeah, I think so,” Arthur replied, clearing his throat. “Very memorable.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows at that. “Do you need me to do anything?” he asked.

“I always need you to do things, Merlin, but you rarely do what I ask anyway,” Arthur said, sounding very put-upon. Merlin noticed him fiddling with the hem of his blankets, and frowned.

“Are you all right? How’s your leg?”

“Awful,” Arthur sniffed. “It always is, on the second day after the injury. it’ll start getting better tomorrow.”

“And the king doesn’t know?” Merlin confirmed.

“No,” Arthur said, his voice dropping an octave. “I went to thank Gaius for that, a few moments ago. He said that the person I ought to thank is you.”

“Well, you know, I was just being a good servant,” Merlin stuttered modestly, and received a flick to the ear.

“You’re a rubbish servant, Merlin, quite the worst I’ve ever had,” Arthur informed him. “But you’re a very good friend.”

Merlin swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat, and realised how suddenly very close Arthur seemed, as close as he had been yesterday.

His head against his pillow, Merlin had nowhere to move, and he wasn’t sure that even if he had been able to move he would have as Arthur’s mouth descended on his.

There was no magic roaring through Merlin’s veins this time, no pounding in his ears or desperation flooding his lungs as he thought only of protecting the prince, but instead there was just Arthur, his kiss surprisingly gentle and his hand resting lightly at Merlin’s nape.

Arthur let out a little half-whimper as he pressed closer, his tongue flitting across Merlin’s lips until he opened them obediently. Arthur tasted of wine and something else he couldn’t quite place, something refreshing and cool even though his lips were warm and Merlin could feel his ears beginning to turn red with pleasure. He didn’t need his magic to sense what Arthur was feeling, and he groaned with the force of the trust and gratefulness that filled Arthur’s touch.

He felt as exhausted as he had yesterday when Arthur finally pulled back, his mouth kiss-swollen and cherry-red. “Thank you,” he said, flatteringly sounding as out-of-breath as Merlin himself felt.

He pulled back and straightened his jacket, clearing his throat. “I’ll expect you to resume your usual duties tomorrow,” he said after a moment, heading for the door, but his tone was far from dismissive and his eyes were sincere as he nodded to him.

“Was it worth it?” Merlin asked impulsively, just before he exited. Arthur tilted his head questioningly. “For your father. Was it worth lying to him and bearing the injury?”

Arthur’s face showed a myriad of emotions, from hurt to hope in a mere second, and the smile he offered Merlin as both rueful and full of promise. “I’ll let you know.”

End.