Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Two
Title: Before the Sun Breaks Another Day
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,572
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Once again, thanks so much to our beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous chapters: One
CHAPTER TWO
The grey light of dawn filtered limply through the forest crown, as though it could barely dredge up the effort to shine, mottling Merlin's skin in speckled shadow. The knife-edge planes of his cheeks fractured the little sunlight afforded them this dreary morning as they set out from Camelot, but it was still enough for Arthur to make out the dark rings, like old bruises, underneath his eyes.
Business as usual, then, Arthur thought. But it wasn't, really. He'd thought Merlin had been improving.
Watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye wasn't a skill he'd proudly advertise, but Arthur doubted he'd find anyone who could do it better. It had been a habit borne of necessity -- someone had to make sure Merlin didn't accidentally set things on fire, or get tangled in the reins, or fall over from doing strenuously complicated tasks like walking and talking at the same time -- and then it had turned into second nature long before Arthur realised it.
Occasionally Merlin's limbs still acted independently of one another, but nowadays, Arthur didn't just watch him out of fear for his own safety; he watched because he knew there was something much, much deeper going on, though he wasn't sure what.
Months ago, after the whole debacle with Morgana disappearing and the dragon laying siege to Camelot, he'd noticed Merlin steadily losing weight, sinking into himself like it was even possible his whipcord frame could stand to get any thinner, on top of which he obviously slept poorly. Arthur had taken to inventing all kinds of ridiculous reasons not to finish his meals so Merlin would have to (and secretly thanked the castle cooks for being chippy bastards who took it as a personal slight if dinner trays came back untouched), and had chosen not to say a word when sometimes he found Merlin napping on the job.
It wasn't coddling if Merlin's well-being was at stake, and even if Arthur was being unreasonably accommodating, it was only because he couldn't figure out what else to do. Although Merlin had still smiled or given him put-upon sighs when Arthur made jokes at his expense, they were hollow and perfunctory, like he had incorporated a quota of mandatory responses into his daily functions, to be drawn out and displayed whether or not he felt like it. And the handful of times Arthur had simply tried to ask what was wrong -- and it was clear that something in Merlin's life had gone horribly off course -- it had been as though Merlin was the one who had the command of a phalanx of knights at his fingertips, throwing up a wall of armed defences so quickly it was nearly staggering.
Maybe it was Arthur's own fault for having contracted a foot-in-mouth disease the time he'd blithely told Merlin they couldn't really be friends because of their stations, and he dearly wished he could take it back. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd likely stand by the statement, but Merlin wasn't a mere servant, scraping and bowing at every opportunity and fading into the background when unneeded. Merlin was always there, had seen Arthur at his worst, had hauled him from the brink of death, had been willing time and again to sacrifice himself for Arthur's sake, and after every turn, he'd still come back to stand by Arthur's side. Sheer stupidity couldn't account for it; at the very least, Merlin was foolishly loyal to someone who'd casually tossed his friendship aside with a run of careless, damning words.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur studied the curve of Merlin's shoulders, the weighted bend of his back, the quiet exhaustion that sang out of every sigh as their horses slowly picked footholds along an unsteady path.
Of late, it had seemed that Merlin was opening up again, as though whatever darkness he'd succumbed to was pulling its claws from him, and Arthur had welcomed that change with relief. Merlin had a smile that could light up the sky, and Arthur couldn't remember when he'd seen it last, but with this morning's heavy mood settled all around Merlin's shoulders like it intended to bury him, Arthur felt his hopes whisk away and tried to stifle the return of his helplessness in the face of Merlin's deep melancholy.
At dusk, a terse hand signal from Arthur at the lead brought the search party to a halt. All around him, Merlin felt the bustle of activity as the knights dismounted, set up camp, unpacked their rations, picked through the damp forest floor for good firewood.
The day's weather had accorded with their moods, its clouds hanging low and grey and useless as dulled steel, and the journey had been silent. It wasn't necessary since their target was still at least a two-day ride ahead, and horses weren't exactly built for stealth anyway, but no one had been inclined to be the first to break the ringing silence that surrounded them, a preternatural stillness that seemed to suck even the sound of the horses' steady hoofbeats dry.
Normally, it would have fallen to Merlin to prattle on shamelessly until Arthur either joined in or begged him to shut his gob, but he had no desire to listen to himself talk. He couldn't even stop his thoughts roaring at him, a mess of accusations and pleas and desperation. He'd spent the entirety of the previous night trying to sift through them, trying to make even an iota of sense from it all, but all he'd managed was to make himself sick. He was empty.
"Merlin?"
He jumped a little, and realised Sir Bedivere was trying to take the reins from his white-knuckled grip.
"I'm going to tie up the horses," Bedivere said slowly, like he wasn't sure Merlin would understand him. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, fine," Merlin scrabbled for the words, heavy on his tongue. He released the reins. "Sorry."
The night's chill was already beginning to settle in, and Merlin felt its touch whisper into his bones. Distracted, he hadn't packed properly; he didn't have much more than the clothes on his back. He cast a glance at the fire Arthur was tending, wondering if he'd be lucky enough that Arthur might let him sleep near it tonight; then again, it seemed lucky already that Arthur wasn't shouting at him about neglecting his duties, like starting the fire in the first place, instead of standing around like an idiot.
Merlin hurried over to make himself useful.
"You need to go back to Camelot."
Morgana started, surprised at the unexpected intrusion, hands stilling on the worn pages of the book that rested in her lap. She tilted her head up, meeting the steady, determined gaze of Morgause. "Why? I thought we were making preparations to finally free the people from Uther's tyranny."
Mogause nodded, eyes gleaming secretively, and she took a seat across from Morgana. "We are. But you shall play a most significant role in his demise, if you're still willing to go through with it, that is."
Hands enveloped hers then, with a reassuring and encouraging squeeze. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all this time, wasn't it? Yet Morgana couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been so close to doing the deed and had failed miserably instead. Did she really think that she would be able to go through with finishing Uther off this time? Morgana swallowed, ignoring the hollow feeling bubbling up in her gut at the thought, before assenting with a quirk of her chin. "I want to see Uther pay for what he's done."
Morgause smiled, brilliant and terrifying.
*
Morgana slept fitfully that first night, tossing and turning, visions of Uther's brutal and bloody death assaulting her mind, until she awoke with a violent start, mouth formed into an "O" of horror. It had been months since Morgana last experienced such a mental and emotional ravaging, and these recent dreams struck like a physical blow, leaving her with little more than the energy required to climb out of bed and dress. She made the conscious decision to stay in her chambers all day long, staring out of her bedroom window in introspective thought, refusing to be disturbed for any reason, except to assure the guards stationed outside her door that yes, I'm here and just fine, thank you.
The invitation to dine with Uther that evening came somewhat as a surprise -- she had not expected him to seek her out so quickly, yet at the same time it made sense. Uther was a man who liked to keep tabs on his possessions, and now that Morgana had been returned to him, it was unlikely that the king would let her stray too far from his gnarled grasp. With great reluctance, while also recognising that this was an ideal opportunity to begin laying the foundations for further events, Morgana accepted his request to join him for dinner, feeling the first twinges of bitterness clouding her mind since the distress of her nighttime visions had faded.
That Uther felt it necessary to have guards accompany her everywhere she went, even within the castle, was more than a nuisance, but she knew it would be some time before he'd entertain the thought of calling them off. As she opened the door, however, to let them know that she was ready to be escorted to Uther's table, it was not one of the nameless, bland sentries who greeted her, but Sir Leon.
"My lady," he said, bowing low, a hand over his heart.
She managed a smile, and when no further address seemed forthcoming, she asked, "Is there something you wished to see me about?"
Leon's eyes widened a fraction, and the smile on her face stayed. They were barely acquainted -- he'd only arrived in Camelot about a year ago to train to be a knight, though his obvious physical skill and quiet intelligence had propelled him through the ranks so swiftly that he now occupied a place in Arthur's inner circle -- but there was an honest, open air about him that she'd always liked. Duplicity seemed beyond his measure, and she admired as much as envied him for it.
"No, my lady. That is to say," he added hastily, "I am at your disposal. I understand you are dining with the king."
"Yes, I'm about to head there just now, although my chaperones appear to have deserted their posts," Morgana said, peering about the corridor for the sentries. Unable to resist, she added, with the mildest causticity, "I'm not allowed out without them."
"I beg your pardon, my lady," Leon said. "I ought to have mentioned it before -- the king assigned me to take over their duties; I'll be your personal, er, retinue."
Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Don't you usually accompany Arthur on his outings?"
"The king thought my services could be put to better use here."
"Well," she said, as they walked down the hall together, "I'm sorry you had to miss out on all the fun with the rest of the boys."
Leon gave a slight start. "No, not at all. It is my honour to serve you, my lady."
Morgana threw him a sharp, but amused glance. "You can call me Morgana, you know."
"Oh. Well. All right."
When Morgana entered the dining hall a few minutes later, Uther rose from his seat, moving to escort her to her typical place at the long table. She plastered a demure smile on her face, averting her gaze in the hopes of disguising her true emotions -- none of which were remotely flattering or appropriate at this particular moment.
"I asked the kitchen to prepare your favourite dishes," Uther said as he took his seat once again, gesturing to the spread of food laid out before them. "I hope it is to your satisfaction."
Morgana was prepared to respond with a pat answer, assuring him that of course it would be fine, when she actually took a moment to survey the food arrayed across the table. For all the lies and half-truths that frequently spewed out of Uther's mouth, this was certainly not one of them. Indeed the expression 'fit for a king' had never rung truer -- some of Camelot's finest meats, cheeses, breads, vegetables, pastries and wines graced the table; and true to his word, virtually all of Morgana's favourite foods had been prepared. She felt a sudden twinge of genuine surprise that he even knew what her preferred dishes were, and was struck with the idea that perhaps Uther paid more attention to her than she'd originally been led to believe.
"It looks delicious," Morgana told him, making it possibly the first truthful statement she'd uttered to Uther since her return to Camelot. And even though she wasn't particularly ravenous, Morgana felt it would be a waste to leave all this food uneaten. Months of living off the land with Morgause had done wonders for her spirit and mental well-being, but there simply was no comparison to castle food.
They ate in relative silence for several moments before Uther finally spoke. "Is there anything at all that you need? New clothes, different chambers, another servant?"
Morgana briefly considered the opportunities that could potentially open up for her, should she accept something from him, but in the end concluded that, for now, playing the part as planned was the wiser option. "No, I'm fine, my lord." A pause; mildly dramatic. "I have everything that I need, now that I'm home."
Uther nodded, swallowed, carried on eating. But Morgana could tell there was something gnawing away at him, a question he was itching to ask, and she welcomed whatever it was that he had to say, if for no other reason than she was looking forward to watching the great Uther Pendragon unknowingly eat out of her hand.
"There's something you wish to say to me, isn't there?" Morgana asked, trying to sound both casual and meek. She bit into a piece of bread, pasted an innocent expression on her face, and scrutinised Uther openly.
Uther's hand paused halfway between the plate and his mouth, eyes rising to meet her steady gaze, searching them for an indication of what he should do. "What happened to you?" he finally managed to force out, though the question seemed unfinished, as though he had more to ask but had stilled his voice before allowing it to spill out. Morgana had to admire his acting prowess -- Uther almost sounded like he genuinely cared, even though she couldn't see how that was possible. Not after everything that'd happened.
Morgana pressed her lips together and looked away. She had known this question would be asked of her, probably a thousand times over until everybody was satisfied, but in truth, the only person she needed to convince was sitting right in front of her. She knew what she had to do. Taking a deep, shuddered breath, Morgana opened her mouth as though to speak, but no sound passed her lips. She stared at the distance past Uther's shoulder, letting her gaze go slack, and began to recount the horrors that never happened.
"It was terrible," she said cryptically, willing tears to prick at her eyes, purposefully dropping her gaze down to her dinner plate. "I didn't know where I was, and it was so dark. They bound my hands and feet, laughing, as if it were some kind of joke--" her voice broke on the last word, as the tears she'd conjured up slowly began to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away hastily, as though ashamed to appear weak in front of the king.
With a shaky intake of breath, Morgana carried on, her voice quivering harder with every word. "I spent most of the time dreaming of returning home to Camelot, not knowing if I would ever see you all again. It was the only thought giving me hope these past few months. But I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would make it back here alive." At this, she clapped her hand over her mouth, making a show of trying to stop a desperate cry escaping her throat.
Uther nearly stood from his seat, one hand reaching out towards her.
"I'm sorry," Morgana whispered, reaching up to wipe delicately at her tear-filled eyes, and knowing without even looking up that Uther would likely not press her any further on this topic for the time being.
Worry lines etched his features, eyes seeking out hers in an almost pleading manner. There was nothing but anguish and concern written clearly across his face; Morgana decided to press forward knowing she had the advantage at the moment.
"But I did come to one important conclusion while I was gone."
Curiously, he quirked a single brow. "Oh?"
Morgana nodded. "I realised that my treatment of you before," she paused, breathed, forced the words to sound natural, "was utterly unacceptable."
"Morgana," Uther immediately protested, but Morgana raised a pale hand placatingly.
"But it's true, my lord. My behaviour was deplorable. We don't necessarily need to agree on everything -- and it is likely there are certain issues we may never see eye to eye on -- but sometimes I know I forget my position and act inappropriately."
Uther stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and what Morgana could only define as affectionate fascination. She had him exactly where she wanted him to be, and had to fight back the smirk. "Your firm convictions and strength of character have always been things that I've admired and respected about you."
Morgana tucked her head down to her chest in an uncharacteristically deferential gesture. "Thank you, Uther. You have been good to me all these years, and it took these painful months away from you for me to realise that everything you've done has been to protect me, as you promised my father." With a carefully placed frown and the re-emergence of a watery shine in her eyes, Morgana brought her performance to a conclusion. "I have come to understand that there is an appropriate place and time for my opinions, and I fear I may have gone too far the last time we spoke. For that, you have my sincerest apologies."
The smile that graced Uther's face was nothing short of elated as he gratefully accepted her apology, even offering one of his own. In many ways it was a momentous evening, yet Morgana didn't feel as celebratory as she'd anticipated.
They finished their meals with little acknowledgement of the other, neither wanting to break the temporary illusion of normality; Morgana, however, was not surprised when she felt physically ill later that evening, knowing it had absolutely nothing to do with the food.
Dinner passed in relative silence, as each one of the knights sat around the fire, seemingly lost in their own quiet contemplation. The air was heavy with the knowledge that this journey held a particular significance not only to Arthur, but to the king as well. Failure was absolutely not an option, and the force of that reality was only just beginning to hit home.
After a good couple hours of veritable silence amongst his men -- even Merlin, who usually couldn't shut his trap if it was a matter of life and death, was oddly quiet -- Arthur finally realised that if the mood in camp was going to change, it would have to be through his own doing. With that thought in mind, he began telling stories of past successes of the Knights of Camelot as a way of restoring both their confidence and enthusiasm once more. At first, Arthur's voice pierced the stillness like a flick of a knife on flesh, but soon the other knights were conversing amiably with one another, and spirits finally appeared to rise amongst the group.
It was some time partway through Sir Gawain's second tale of Grand Heroics as Demonstrated by Prince Arthur that Arthur noticed Merlin was not by the fire where he'd been previously. Leaning back to rest his body weight on flattened palms, Arthur craned his neck to investigate the surroundings. He spotted the horses grazing on nearby grass, equipment and supplies scattered about, and Sir Bedivere leaning against a tree just behind the fire; but there was no sign of Merlin anywhere. Arthur swallowed the spike of fear that stabbed at his gut, mentally reminding himself that just because Merlin was not physically in his presence did not imply that some great tragedy had befallen the man.
Nonetheless, Arthur pushed himself up off the ground, brushing the dirt from the back of his trousers, before sauntering as casually as he could over to his second in command.
"Bedivere, have you see Merlin?" he asked hesitantly, trying not to sound overly concerned about his wayward manservant.
Bedivere's face scrunched up thoughtfully, as if he was carefully considering the answer. After what felt like an inordinately long period of time, he nodded and pointed to a spot over Arthur's shoulder. "I believe I saw him wander off into the forest about twenty minutes ago, sire."
Arthur clapped him companionably on the shoulder and muttered a quick thanks before heading off in the direction Bedivere had indicated. As an afterthought, Arthur grabbed his sword and one of the blankets from his stash. In spite of the time of year, the night was dreary and getting colder by the minute. Knowing his luck, Arthur didn’t doubt that Merlin had probably found the lake nearby and was half-drowned already.
He picked his way through the brush and trees, mindful to avoid tripping over an exposed tree root or accidentally getting struck on the head by an errant branch. Arthur could barely see more than a few feet in front of his face, the pink and orange hues of the setting sun having long since faded to the black of night, but he pressed forward all the same. This was the perfect night for bandits, thieves or wandering vagabonds to take advantage of unskilled and unarmed travellers, both of which very plainly described Merlin at the moment. Unable to quell the suddenly irrational sense of urgency boiling in his veins, Arthur reprimanded himself for getting so worked up over a hypothetical situation. It did no one any good, least of all Merlin. Additionally, it made Arthur feel the fool, even if no one else was privy to the thoughts racing through his brain.
Finding Merlin was not as difficult as he'd originally thought, and Arthur inwardly breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his manservant sitting on a rotting log near the lake -- exactly as he'd predicted, minus the drowning. The clearing provided an opportunity for the moon to peek through straggling clouds, assaulting Arthur's eyes with the sudden burst of extra light, minuscule as it may have been under ordinary circumstances. Merlin sat facing the water, shoulders hunched forwards, head tucked into his chest, and elbows digging into his knees. He looked beaten and worn, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone. The sudden thought that perhaps Arthur was somehow responsible for Merlin's current state made him feel physically ill.
Merlin had yet to notice Arthur's stealthy arrival, and while he admittedly had a sort of penchant for watching Merlin (not that he'd ever share that with anyone), it didn't feel right. Especially not to invade on what seemed like a trying time for Merlin.
Arthur coughed lightly, taking a couple of careful steps forward as Merlin jumped a good five feet in the air from shock, limbs flailing almost comically in the process. Merlin clutched his chest and shot Arthur what may have possibly been the dirtiest glare he'd ever borne witness to. "Were you trying to stop my heart, or was that just an added bonus?" he grumbled, inhaling deeply once, then twice.
In spite of himself, Arthur couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that escaped his lips. "You really have no survival skills at all, do you, Merlin?" he asked, making his way over to the log he was currently occupying.
Merlin frowned heavily, but there was a teasing lilt to his response. "Guess you haven't been a very good teacher then. 'Sides... I wasn't expecting you. You startled me."
Arthur arched a brow. "You're exactly what the bandits and thieves are looking for, you know. Someone they perceive as weak or unprepared. What would have happened if they'd found you before I did?" Without waiting for an invitation, Arthur plopped himself down on the log, sitting entirely too close to Merlin but not feeling any desire to move. He snuck a sidelong glance at the man, studying his profile for any indication of discomfort, but found nothing of note.
"There was no one out here, Arthur. But had there been, I'm sure I could have taken them on." Arthur scoffed mockingly. Merlin wisely chose to ignore him. "Failing that, I know you would have come to my rescue," Merlin said, sounding for the world like he believed it to be the absolute truth and there was no room for debate or discussion.
He was entirely correct, of course. But Arthur felt slightly uneasy at the fact that he would not only risk his life for Merlin's in a heartbeat, but that Merlin was equally apprised of this truth. In an effort to steer the conversation onto a different path, Arthur yanked the blanket he'd been carrying from under his arm and tossed it haphazardly onto Merlin's lap.
"What's that?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow and staring at the blanket as though it were a foreign object.
Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed with mock exasperation. "It's called a blanket, Merlin. I'm sure you've seen one before."
"I know what it is," Merlin replied petulantly, running one hand across the top. "I meant, why do you have one with you? Here?"
Arthur kicked absently at a rock half-buried under the dirt beneath his feet, taking great care to keep his features neutral. "I had no idea how long it would take me to find your lazy arse, and I wasn't particularly keen on freezing to death," he lied easily, words rolling off his tongue without effort.
"My hero," Merlin said snidely, but there was no mistaking the mildly amused tone in his voice.
Arthur smiled, elbow digging lightly into Merlin's side before they settled into a comfortable silence. For several minutes, Arthur allowed himself to be mesmerised by the sparkling glimmer of the moon's rays dancing on the surface of the lake in front of them. It filled him with an unanticipated sense of tranquillity, simply sitting here with Merlin, staring out across the lake on a chilling but otherwise peaceful evening, and it occurred to Arthur then that he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this calm, safe and in control. That thought was followed by a fervent desire to have more stability and peacefulness in his life, a craving for these things in the same way a starving man craved food, or a thirsty man water. Arthur shifted slightly then, partly because he was uncomfortable with that particular line of thinking, especially when he seemed to equate it with Merlin, and partly for the sake of his princely arse. Merlin cast a sideways glance in Arthur's direction when he casually pressed their legs together, but he neither pulled away nor said anything in response to the action.
They remained that way, bodies neatly pressed together, for several moments. It was at this point that Arthur felt Merlin start to shake. The initial, though admittedly irrational, thought that passed through Arthur's brain was that Merlin was nervous, though what he had to be nervous about was beyond Arthur. It took a few seconds for Arthur to figure out that he wasn't shaking from nerves, but was shivering. And it was no wonder, Arthur mused wryly, considering how thin Merlin was.
"You're cold." It was an observation, not a question.
Merlin shrugged unconvincingly, but continued to shiver all the same. "Maybe a bit," he admitted after a moment's pause.
Arthur's gaze shifted pointedly to the blanket still resting on Merlin's lap, hoping his manservant's generally clueless brain would pick up on the not-so-subtle hint he was throwing Merlin's way. Less than a minute later, with no action whatsoever on Merlin's part, the answer was a clear and resounding no.
"It's not just for decoration, you know," Arthur said, gesturing to the blanket with the jut of his chin.
"This?" Merlin sounded confused as he tapped the fabric laying across his legs.
Arthur snorted, torn between wanting to cuff Merlin on the back of his head for his ineptness, and ruffling his hair affectionately. He chose neither, forcing his hands into his lap instead as a means of preventing them from doing anything spectacularly stupid.
"Honestly, Merlin, sometimes I wonder how you're able to walk and talk at the same time."
"I'm cold. My mind isn't as sharp as it usually is right now," Merlin protested weakly as he finally started to roll out the blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.
Arthur chuckled loudly. "You'd be doing well if even a tiny part of your addled brain was working to its fullest extent, Merlin," he said with a smirk. A thin smile tugged at the corners of Merlin's lips, and when he cast a furtive glance in Arthur's direction, he could see that the humour nearly reached his eyes this time. It was the closest thing to a genuine smile Arthur had seen out of Merlin in far too long, and he was once again struck with the reality that there was something seriously wrong with Merlin.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked at long last, finally giving voice to the one thought that had been plaguing his mind all day.
Merlin didn't answer right away, just turned to Arthur, staring, eyes hooded and intense, before he responded with a "Yes," and promptly averted his gaze to the forest floor.
Arthur frowned openly, filled with the knowledge that Merlin wasn't being honest with him yet again. He was anything but okay. However, Arthur had learned a thing or two about picking his battles, and something in him whispered that now was not the time to push this particular topic. It hurt to know that Merlin didn't feel he could share with Arthur whatever it was that was wrong, but he feared that if he pushed too far, he might lose Merlin for good, and that was not even remotely a plausible option.
With a resigned sigh, Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing it in what he hoped came across in a supportive manner, and smiled encouragingly at Merlin when his head darted to the side, their eyes meeting.
Arthur was taken aback by what he saw in Merlin's face. Something about his expression -- dark and yet strangely vulnerable -- made Arthur's stomach flop and his heart rate quicken involuntarily, and it occurred to him just how easy it would be to lean in, close the gap between them, capture Merlin's soft lips with his own. There were barely more than a few inches between their mouths; Arthur could feel Merlin's hot breath on his cheek, hear the way his breath hitched slightly when Arthur instinctively leaned forward just a little. The thought of pinning Merlin to the ground and making him forget everything that was haunting him sent a thrill down Arthur's spine, and he swallowed heavily in an attempt to quash the sudden desire that was coursing through his veins.
The universe apparently had other plans for them, however, as the sound of movement came from the brush behind the two men, and Arthur was immediately pulled out of his pleasurable fantasy, head whipping around at the intrusion.
Grabbing his sword by its hilt, Arthur jumped up to move in front of Merlin, shielding his manservant's body from whoever was lurking in the forest.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" Arthur called out into the darkness, eyes scanning the trees for any suspicious movement.
"Sire?" Bedivere appeared a moment later, brandishing his own sword. "Did you find Merlin?"
Before Arthur had an opportunity to speak, some of Merlin's typical insolence returned with full force, and he popped up from behind Arthur. "I'm right here," he said, and even had the audacity to throw a little wave in Bedivere's direction. Bedivere quirked a confused brow but smiled kindly in return.
With an eye roll, Arthur sheathed his sword once again and started to make his way back to camp with Sir Bedivere, Merlin trudging along closely behind. And in spite of Bedivere's attempt at conversation, Arthur couldn't get what had nearly happened out of his mind. I don't want Merlin like that, Arthur told himself firmly, ignoring the back of his mind that seemed determined to remind him of the dreams he'd been having as of late about a certain manservant who shall remain nameless. Arthur loved Guinevere; he wanted to kiss her and be near her and seek her guidance and approval. That was how it was, and that was how it was going to stay. Or at least that was what Arthur was going to continue to tell himself.
Continue to Chapter Three
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,572
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Once again, thanks so much to our beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous chapters: One
CHAPTER TWO
The grey light of dawn filtered limply through the forest crown, as though it could barely dredge up the effort to shine, mottling Merlin's skin in speckled shadow. The knife-edge planes of his cheeks fractured the little sunlight afforded them this dreary morning as they set out from Camelot, but it was still enough for Arthur to make out the dark rings, like old bruises, underneath his eyes.
Business as usual, then, Arthur thought. But it wasn't, really. He'd thought Merlin had been improving.
Watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye wasn't a skill he'd proudly advertise, but Arthur doubted he'd find anyone who could do it better. It had been a habit borne of necessity -- someone had to make sure Merlin didn't accidentally set things on fire, or get tangled in the reins, or fall over from doing strenuously complicated tasks like walking and talking at the same time -- and then it had turned into second nature long before Arthur realised it.
Occasionally Merlin's limbs still acted independently of one another, but nowadays, Arthur didn't just watch him out of fear for his own safety; he watched because he knew there was something much, much deeper going on, though he wasn't sure what.
Months ago, after the whole debacle with Morgana disappearing and the dragon laying siege to Camelot, he'd noticed Merlin steadily losing weight, sinking into himself like it was even possible his whipcord frame could stand to get any thinner, on top of which he obviously slept poorly. Arthur had taken to inventing all kinds of ridiculous reasons not to finish his meals so Merlin would have to (and secretly thanked the castle cooks for being chippy bastards who took it as a personal slight if dinner trays came back untouched), and had chosen not to say a word when sometimes he found Merlin napping on the job.
It wasn't coddling if Merlin's well-being was at stake, and even if Arthur was being unreasonably accommodating, it was only because he couldn't figure out what else to do. Although Merlin had still smiled or given him put-upon sighs when Arthur made jokes at his expense, they were hollow and perfunctory, like he had incorporated a quota of mandatory responses into his daily functions, to be drawn out and displayed whether or not he felt like it. And the handful of times Arthur had simply tried to ask what was wrong -- and it was clear that something in Merlin's life had gone horribly off course -- it had been as though Merlin was the one who had the command of a phalanx of knights at his fingertips, throwing up a wall of armed defences so quickly it was nearly staggering.
Maybe it was Arthur's own fault for having contracted a foot-in-mouth disease the time he'd blithely told Merlin they couldn't really be friends because of their stations, and he dearly wished he could take it back. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd likely stand by the statement, but Merlin wasn't a mere servant, scraping and bowing at every opportunity and fading into the background when unneeded. Merlin was always there, had seen Arthur at his worst, had hauled him from the brink of death, had been willing time and again to sacrifice himself for Arthur's sake, and after every turn, he'd still come back to stand by Arthur's side. Sheer stupidity couldn't account for it; at the very least, Merlin was foolishly loyal to someone who'd casually tossed his friendship aside with a run of careless, damning words.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur studied the curve of Merlin's shoulders, the weighted bend of his back, the quiet exhaustion that sang out of every sigh as their horses slowly picked footholds along an unsteady path.
Of late, it had seemed that Merlin was opening up again, as though whatever darkness he'd succumbed to was pulling its claws from him, and Arthur had welcomed that change with relief. Merlin had a smile that could light up the sky, and Arthur couldn't remember when he'd seen it last, but with this morning's heavy mood settled all around Merlin's shoulders like it intended to bury him, Arthur felt his hopes whisk away and tried to stifle the return of his helplessness in the face of Merlin's deep melancholy.
At dusk, a terse hand signal from Arthur at the lead brought the search party to a halt. All around him, Merlin felt the bustle of activity as the knights dismounted, set up camp, unpacked their rations, picked through the damp forest floor for good firewood.
The day's weather had accorded with their moods, its clouds hanging low and grey and useless as dulled steel, and the journey had been silent. It wasn't necessary since their target was still at least a two-day ride ahead, and horses weren't exactly built for stealth anyway, but no one had been inclined to be the first to break the ringing silence that surrounded them, a preternatural stillness that seemed to suck even the sound of the horses' steady hoofbeats dry.
Normally, it would have fallen to Merlin to prattle on shamelessly until Arthur either joined in or begged him to shut his gob, but he had no desire to listen to himself talk. He couldn't even stop his thoughts roaring at him, a mess of accusations and pleas and desperation. He'd spent the entirety of the previous night trying to sift through them, trying to make even an iota of sense from it all, but all he'd managed was to make himself sick. He was empty.
"Merlin?"
He jumped a little, and realised Sir Bedivere was trying to take the reins from his white-knuckled grip.
"I'm going to tie up the horses," Bedivere said slowly, like he wasn't sure Merlin would understand him. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, fine," Merlin scrabbled for the words, heavy on his tongue. He released the reins. "Sorry."
The night's chill was already beginning to settle in, and Merlin felt its touch whisper into his bones. Distracted, he hadn't packed properly; he didn't have much more than the clothes on his back. He cast a glance at the fire Arthur was tending, wondering if he'd be lucky enough that Arthur might let him sleep near it tonight; then again, it seemed lucky already that Arthur wasn't shouting at him about neglecting his duties, like starting the fire in the first place, instead of standing around like an idiot.
Merlin hurried over to make himself useful.
"You need to go back to Camelot."
Morgana started, surprised at the unexpected intrusion, hands stilling on the worn pages of the book that rested in her lap. She tilted her head up, meeting the steady, determined gaze of Morgause. "Why? I thought we were making preparations to finally free the people from Uther's tyranny."
Mogause nodded, eyes gleaming secretively, and she took a seat across from Morgana. "We are. But you shall play a most significant role in his demise, if you're still willing to go through with it, that is."
Hands enveloped hers then, with a reassuring and encouraging squeeze. This was the moment she'd been waiting for all this time, wasn't it? Yet Morgana couldn't help but remember the last time she'd been so close to doing the deed and had failed miserably instead. Did she really think that she would be able to go through with finishing Uther off this time? Morgana swallowed, ignoring the hollow feeling bubbling up in her gut at the thought, before assenting with a quirk of her chin. "I want to see Uther pay for what he's done."
Morgause smiled, brilliant and terrifying.
*
Morgana slept fitfully that first night, tossing and turning, visions of Uther's brutal and bloody death assaulting her mind, until she awoke with a violent start, mouth formed into an "O" of horror. It had been months since Morgana last experienced such a mental and emotional ravaging, and these recent dreams struck like a physical blow, leaving her with little more than the energy required to climb out of bed and dress. She made the conscious decision to stay in her chambers all day long, staring out of her bedroom window in introspective thought, refusing to be disturbed for any reason, except to assure the guards stationed outside her door that yes, I'm here and just fine, thank you.
The invitation to dine with Uther that evening came somewhat as a surprise -- she had not expected him to seek her out so quickly, yet at the same time it made sense. Uther was a man who liked to keep tabs on his possessions, and now that Morgana had been returned to him, it was unlikely that the king would let her stray too far from his gnarled grasp. With great reluctance, while also recognising that this was an ideal opportunity to begin laying the foundations for further events, Morgana accepted his request to join him for dinner, feeling the first twinges of bitterness clouding her mind since the distress of her nighttime visions had faded.
That Uther felt it necessary to have guards accompany her everywhere she went, even within the castle, was more than a nuisance, but she knew it would be some time before he'd entertain the thought of calling them off. As she opened the door, however, to let them know that she was ready to be escorted to Uther's table, it was not one of the nameless, bland sentries who greeted her, but Sir Leon.
"My lady," he said, bowing low, a hand over his heart.
She managed a smile, and when no further address seemed forthcoming, she asked, "Is there something you wished to see me about?"
Leon's eyes widened a fraction, and the smile on her face stayed. They were barely acquainted -- he'd only arrived in Camelot about a year ago to train to be a knight, though his obvious physical skill and quiet intelligence had propelled him through the ranks so swiftly that he now occupied a place in Arthur's inner circle -- but there was an honest, open air about him that she'd always liked. Duplicity seemed beyond his measure, and she admired as much as envied him for it.
"No, my lady. That is to say," he added hastily, "I am at your disposal. I understand you are dining with the king."
"Yes, I'm about to head there just now, although my chaperones appear to have deserted their posts," Morgana said, peering about the corridor for the sentries. Unable to resist, she added, with the mildest causticity, "I'm not allowed out without them."
"I beg your pardon, my lady," Leon said. "I ought to have mentioned it before -- the king assigned me to take over their duties; I'll be your personal, er, retinue."
Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Don't you usually accompany Arthur on his outings?"
"The king thought my services could be put to better use here."
"Well," she said, as they walked down the hall together, "I'm sorry you had to miss out on all the fun with the rest of the boys."
Leon gave a slight start. "No, not at all. It is my honour to serve you, my lady."
Morgana threw him a sharp, but amused glance. "You can call me Morgana, you know."
"Oh. Well. All right."
When Morgana entered the dining hall a few minutes later, Uther rose from his seat, moving to escort her to her typical place at the long table. She plastered a demure smile on her face, averting her gaze in the hopes of disguising her true emotions -- none of which were remotely flattering or appropriate at this particular moment.
"I asked the kitchen to prepare your favourite dishes," Uther said as he took his seat once again, gesturing to the spread of food laid out before them. "I hope it is to your satisfaction."
Morgana was prepared to respond with a pat answer, assuring him that of course it would be fine, when she actually took a moment to survey the food arrayed across the table. For all the lies and half-truths that frequently spewed out of Uther's mouth, this was certainly not one of them. Indeed the expression 'fit for a king' had never rung truer -- some of Camelot's finest meats, cheeses, breads, vegetables, pastries and wines graced the table; and true to his word, virtually all of Morgana's favourite foods had been prepared. She felt a sudden twinge of genuine surprise that he even knew what her preferred dishes were, and was struck with the idea that perhaps Uther paid more attention to her than she'd originally been led to believe.
"It looks delicious," Morgana told him, making it possibly the first truthful statement she'd uttered to Uther since her return to Camelot. And even though she wasn't particularly ravenous, Morgana felt it would be a waste to leave all this food uneaten. Months of living off the land with Morgause had done wonders for her spirit and mental well-being, but there simply was no comparison to castle food.
They ate in relative silence for several moments before Uther finally spoke. "Is there anything at all that you need? New clothes, different chambers, another servant?"
Morgana briefly considered the opportunities that could potentially open up for her, should she accept something from him, but in the end concluded that, for now, playing the part as planned was the wiser option. "No, I'm fine, my lord." A pause; mildly dramatic. "I have everything that I need, now that I'm home."
Uther nodded, swallowed, carried on eating. But Morgana could tell there was something gnawing away at him, a question he was itching to ask, and she welcomed whatever it was that he had to say, if for no other reason than she was looking forward to watching the great Uther Pendragon unknowingly eat out of her hand.
"There's something you wish to say to me, isn't there?" Morgana asked, trying to sound both casual and meek. She bit into a piece of bread, pasted an innocent expression on her face, and scrutinised Uther openly.
Uther's hand paused halfway between the plate and his mouth, eyes rising to meet her steady gaze, searching them for an indication of what he should do. "What happened to you?" he finally managed to force out, though the question seemed unfinished, as though he had more to ask but had stilled his voice before allowing it to spill out. Morgana had to admire his acting prowess -- Uther almost sounded like he genuinely cared, even though she couldn't see how that was possible. Not after everything that'd happened.
Morgana pressed her lips together and looked away. She had known this question would be asked of her, probably a thousand times over until everybody was satisfied, but in truth, the only person she needed to convince was sitting right in front of her. She knew what she had to do. Taking a deep, shuddered breath, Morgana opened her mouth as though to speak, but no sound passed her lips. She stared at the distance past Uther's shoulder, letting her gaze go slack, and began to recount the horrors that never happened.
"It was terrible," she said cryptically, willing tears to prick at her eyes, purposefully dropping her gaze down to her dinner plate. "I didn't know where I was, and it was so dark. They bound my hands and feet, laughing, as if it were some kind of joke--" her voice broke on the last word, as the tears she'd conjured up slowly began to trickle down her cheeks. She brushed them away hastily, as though ashamed to appear weak in front of the king.
With a shaky intake of breath, Morgana carried on, her voice quivering harder with every word. "I spent most of the time dreaming of returning home to Camelot, not knowing if I would ever see you all again. It was the only thought giving me hope these past few months. But I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would make it back here alive." At this, she clapped her hand over her mouth, making a show of trying to stop a desperate cry escaping her throat.
Uther nearly stood from his seat, one hand reaching out towards her.
"I'm sorry," Morgana whispered, reaching up to wipe delicately at her tear-filled eyes, and knowing without even looking up that Uther would likely not press her any further on this topic for the time being.
Worry lines etched his features, eyes seeking out hers in an almost pleading manner. There was nothing but anguish and concern written clearly across his face; Morgana decided to press forward knowing she had the advantage at the moment.
"But I did come to one important conclusion while I was gone."
Curiously, he quirked a single brow. "Oh?"
Morgana nodded. "I realised that my treatment of you before," she paused, breathed, forced the words to sound natural, "was utterly unacceptable."
"Morgana," Uther immediately protested, but Morgana raised a pale hand placatingly.
"But it's true, my lord. My behaviour was deplorable. We don't necessarily need to agree on everything -- and it is likely there are certain issues we may never see eye to eye on -- but sometimes I know I forget my position and act inappropriately."
Uther stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and what Morgana could only define as affectionate fascination. She had him exactly where she wanted him to be, and had to fight back the smirk. "Your firm convictions and strength of character have always been things that I've admired and respected about you."
Morgana tucked her head down to her chest in an uncharacteristically deferential gesture. "Thank you, Uther. You have been good to me all these years, and it took these painful months away from you for me to realise that everything you've done has been to protect me, as you promised my father." With a carefully placed frown and the re-emergence of a watery shine in her eyes, Morgana brought her performance to a conclusion. "I have come to understand that there is an appropriate place and time for my opinions, and I fear I may have gone too far the last time we spoke. For that, you have my sincerest apologies."
The smile that graced Uther's face was nothing short of elated as he gratefully accepted her apology, even offering one of his own. In many ways it was a momentous evening, yet Morgana didn't feel as celebratory as she'd anticipated.
They finished their meals with little acknowledgement of the other, neither wanting to break the temporary illusion of normality; Morgana, however, was not surprised when she felt physically ill later that evening, knowing it had absolutely nothing to do with the food.
Dinner passed in relative silence, as each one of the knights sat around the fire, seemingly lost in their own quiet contemplation. The air was heavy with the knowledge that this journey held a particular significance not only to Arthur, but to the king as well. Failure was absolutely not an option, and the force of that reality was only just beginning to hit home.
After a good couple hours of veritable silence amongst his men -- even Merlin, who usually couldn't shut his trap if it was a matter of life and death, was oddly quiet -- Arthur finally realised that if the mood in camp was going to change, it would have to be through his own doing. With that thought in mind, he began telling stories of past successes of the Knights of Camelot as a way of restoring both their confidence and enthusiasm once more. At first, Arthur's voice pierced the stillness like a flick of a knife on flesh, but soon the other knights were conversing amiably with one another, and spirits finally appeared to rise amongst the group.
It was some time partway through Sir Gawain's second tale of Grand Heroics as Demonstrated by Prince Arthur that Arthur noticed Merlin was not by the fire where he'd been previously. Leaning back to rest his body weight on flattened palms, Arthur craned his neck to investigate the surroundings. He spotted the horses grazing on nearby grass, equipment and supplies scattered about, and Sir Bedivere leaning against a tree just behind the fire; but there was no sign of Merlin anywhere. Arthur swallowed the spike of fear that stabbed at his gut, mentally reminding himself that just because Merlin was not physically in his presence did not imply that some great tragedy had befallen the man.
Nonetheless, Arthur pushed himself up off the ground, brushing the dirt from the back of his trousers, before sauntering as casually as he could over to his second in command.
"Bedivere, have you see Merlin?" he asked hesitantly, trying not to sound overly concerned about his wayward manservant.
Bedivere's face scrunched up thoughtfully, as if he was carefully considering the answer. After what felt like an inordinately long period of time, he nodded and pointed to a spot over Arthur's shoulder. "I believe I saw him wander off into the forest about twenty minutes ago, sire."
Arthur clapped him companionably on the shoulder and muttered a quick thanks before heading off in the direction Bedivere had indicated. As an afterthought, Arthur grabbed his sword and one of the blankets from his stash. In spite of the time of year, the night was dreary and getting colder by the minute. Knowing his luck, Arthur didn’t doubt that Merlin had probably found the lake nearby and was half-drowned already.
He picked his way through the brush and trees, mindful to avoid tripping over an exposed tree root or accidentally getting struck on the head by an errant branch. Arthur could barely see more than a few feet in front of his face, the pink and orange hues of the setting sun having long since faded to the black of night, but he pressed forward all the same. This was the perfect night for bandits, thieves or wandering vagabonds to take advantage of unskilled and unarmed travellers, both of which very plainly described Merlin at the moment. Unable to quell the suddenly irrational sense of urgency boiling in his veins, Arthur reprimanded himself for getting so worked up over a hypothetical situation. It did no one any good, least of all Merlin. Additionally, it made Arthur feel the fool, even if no one else was privy to the thoughts racing through his brain.
Finding Merlin was not as difficult as he'd originally thought, and Arthur inwardly breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing his manservant sitting on a rotting log near the lake -- exactly as he'd predicted, minus the drowning. The clearing provided an opportunity for the moon to peek through straggling clouds, assaulting Arthur's eyes with the sudden burst of extra light, minuscule as it may have been under ordinary circumstances. Merlin sat facing the water, shoulders hunched forwards, head tucked into his chest, and elbows digging into his knees. He looked beaten and worn, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone. The sudden thought that perhaps Arthur was somehow responsible for Merlin's current state made him feel physically ill.
Merlin had yet to notice Arthur's stealthy arrival, and while he admittedly had a sort of penchant for watching Merlin (not that he'd ever share that with anyone), it didn't feel right. Especially not to invade on what seemed like a trying time for Merlin.
Arthur coughed lightly, taking a couple of careful steps forward as Merlin jumped a good five feet in the air from shock, limbs flailing almost comically in the process. Merlin clutched his chest and shot Arthur what may have possibly been the dirtiest glare he'd ever borne witness to. "Were you trying to stop my heart, or was that just an added bonus?" he grumbled, inhaling deeply once, then twice.
In spite of himself, Arthur couldn't hold back the bark of laughter that escaped his lips. "You really have no survival skills at all, do you, Merlin?" he asked, making his way over to the log he was currently occupying.
Merlin frowned heavily, but there was a teasing lilt to his response. "Guess you haven't been a very good teacher then. 'Sides... I wasn't expecting you. You startled me."
Arthur arched a brow. "You're exactly what the bandits and thieves are looking for, you know. Someone they perceive as weak or unprepared. What would have happened if they'd found you before I did?" Without waiting for an invitation, Arthur plopped himself down on the log, sitting entirely too close to Merlin but not feeling any desire to move. He snuck a sidelong glance at the man, studying his profile for any indication of discomfort, but found nothing of note.
"There was no one out here, Arthur. But had there been, I'm sure I could have taken them on." Arthur scoffed mockingly. Merlin wisely chose to ignore him. "Failing that, I know you would have come to my rescue," Merlin said, sounding for the world like he believed it to be the absolute truth and there was no room for debate or discussion.
He was entirely correct, of course. But Arthur felt slightly uneasy at the fact that he would not only risk his life for Merlin's in a heartbeat, but that Merlin was equally apprised of this truth. In an effort to steer the conversation onto a different path, Arthur yanked the blanket he'd been carrying from under his arm and tossed it haphazardly onto Merlin's lap.
"What's that?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow and staring at the blanket as though it were a foreign object.
Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed with mock exasperation. "It's called a blanket, Merlin. I'm sure you've seen one before."
"I know what it is," Merlin replied petulantly, running one hand across the top. "I meant, why do you have one with you? Here?"
Arthur kicked absently at a rock half-buried under the dirt beneath his feet, taking great care to keep his features neutral. "I had no idea how long it would take me to find your lazy arse, and I wasn't particularly keen on freezing to death," he lied easily, words rolling off his tongue without effort.
"My hero," Merlin said snidely, but there was no mistaking the mildly amused tone in his voice.
Arthur smiled, elbow digging lightly into Merlin's side before they settled into a comfortable silence. For several minutes, Arthur allowed himself to be mesmerised by the sparkling glimmer of the moon's rays dancing on the surface of the lake in front of them. It filled him with an unanticipated sense of tranquillity, simply sitting here with Merlin, staring out across the lake on a chilling but otherwise peaceful evening, and it occurred to Arthur then that he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this calm, safe and in control. That thought was followed by a fervent desire to have more stability and peacefulness in his life, a craving for these things in the same way a starving man craved food, or a thirsty man water. Arthur shifted slightly then, partly because he was uncomfortable with that particular line of thinking, especially when he seemed to equate it with Merlin, and partly for the sake of his princely arse. Merlin cast a sideways glance in Arthur's direction when he casually pressed their legs together, but he neither pulled away nor said anything in response to the action.
They remained that way, bodies neatly pressed together, for several moments. It was at this point that Arthur felt Merlin start to shake. The initial, though admittedly irrational, thought that passed through Arthur's brain was that Merlin was nervous, though what he had to be nervous about was beyond Arthur. It took a few seconds for Arthur to figure out that he wasn't shaking from nerves, but was shivering. And it was no wonder, Arthur mused wryly, considering how thin Merlin was.
"You're cold." It was an observation, not a question.
Merlin shrugged unconvincingly, but continued to shiver all the same. "Maybe a bit," he admitted after a moment's pause.
Arthur's gaze shifted pointedly to the blanket still resting on Merlin's lap, hoping his manservant's generally clueless brain would pick up on the not-so-subtle hint he was throwing Merlin's way. Less than a minute later, with no action whatsoever on Merlin's part, the answer was a clear and resounding no.
"It's not just for decoration, you know," Arthur said, gesturing to the blanket with the jut of his chin.
"This?" Merlin sounded confused as he tapped the fabric laying across his legs.
Arthur snorted, torn between wanting to cuff Merlin on the back of his head for his ineptness, and ruffling his hair affectionately. He chose neither, forcing his hands into his lap instead as a means of preventing them from doing anything spectacularly stupid.
"Honestly, Merlin, sometimes I wonder how you're able to walk and talk at the same time."
"I'm cold. My mind isn't as sharp as it usually is right now," Merlin protested weakly as he finally started to roll out the blanket and wrap it around his shoulders.
Arthur chuckled loudly. "You'd be doing well if even a tiny part of your addled brain was working to its fullest extent, Merlin," he said with a smirk. A thin smile tugged at the corners of Merlin's lips, and when he cast a furtive glance in Arthur's direction, he could see that the humour nearly reached his eyes this time. It was the closest thing to a genuine smile Arthur had seen out of Merlin in far too long, and he was once again struck with the reality that there was something seriously wrong with Merlin.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked at long last, finally giving voice to the one thought that had been plaguing his mind all day.
Merlin didn't answer right away, just turned to Arthur, staring, eyes hooded and intense, before he responded with a "Yes," and promptly averted his gaze to the forest floor.
Arthur frowned openly, filled with the knowledge that Merlin wasn't being honest with him yet again. He was anything but okay. However, Arthur had learned a thing or two about picking his battles, and something in him whispered that now was not the time to push this particular topic. It hurt to know that Merlin didn't feel he could share with Arthur whatever it was that was wrong, but he feared that if he pushed too far, he might lose Merlin for good, and that was not even remotely a plausible option.
With a resigned sigh, Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing it in what he hoped came across in a supportive manner, and smiled encouragingly at Merlin when his head darted to the side, their eyes meeting.
Arthur was taken aback by what he saw in Merlin's face. Something about his expression -- dark and yet strangely vulnerable -- made Arthur's stomach flop and his heart rate quicken involuntarily, and it occurred to him just how easy it would be to lean in, close the gap between them, capture Merlin's soft lips with his own. There were barely more than a few inches between their mouths; Arthur could feel Merlin's hot breath on his cheek, hear the way his breath hitched slightly when Arthur instinctively leaned forward just a little. The thought of pinning Merlin to the ground and making him forget everything that was haunting him sent a thrill down Arthur's spine, and he swallowed heavily in an attempt to quash the sudden desire that was coursing through his veins.
The universe apparently had other plans for them, however, as the sound of movement came from the brush behind the two men, and Arthur was immediately pulled out of his pleasurable fantasy, head whipping around at the intrusion.
Grabbing his sword by its hilt, Arthur jumped up to move in front of Merlin, shielding his manservant's body from whoever was lurking in the forest.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" Arthur called out into the darkness, eyes scanning the trees for any suspicious movement.
"Sire?" Bedivere appeared a moment later, brandishing his own sword. "Did you find Merlin?"
Before Arthur had an opportunity to speak, some of Merlin's typical insolence returned with full force, and he popped up from behind Arthur. "I'm right here," he said, and even had the audacity to throw a little wave in Bedivere's direction. Bedivere quirked a confused brow but smiled kindly in return.
With an eye roll, Arthur sheathed his sword once again and started to make his way back to camp with Sir Bedivere, Merlin trudging along closely behind. And in spite of Bedivere's attempt at conversation, Arthur couldn't get what had nearly happened out of his mind. I don't want Merlin like that, Arthur told himself firmly, ignoring the back of his mind that seemed determined to remind him of the dreams he'd been having as of late about a certain manservant who shall remain nameless. Arthur loved Guinevere; he wanted to kiss her and be near her and seek her guidance and approval. That was how it was, and that was how it was going to stay. Or at least that was what Arthur was going to continue to tell himself.
Continue to Chapter Three