Fic: Crossroads Of Disbelief, Merlin BBang

[thoughtreflex]

Chapter 10

Arthur would like to say that this final battle with Edgar was the same as any other he had fought in the name of truth and the preservation of his kingdom.  In many ways this was even true.  The air might not be still around them, but he ceased feeling the wind, feeling the coolness of the early morning mist still swirling thinly about the trampled grass upon his bared skin.  Sound sharpened, smell dulled, and the blood pounded through his body in preparation, giving him energy.  Giving him energy he sorely needed at this time.  In many ways this fight was like so many he had fought before- and like none of them at all.

He turned when Merlin’s body stiffened, watching Edgar approach, tall and strong and dressed in full armour.  At least he had the sense to loose the deep red cape that had adorned his shoulders, Arthur’s cape, though he did not lose his helm, even in the face of Arthur being so unprotected himself.  It sent a flood of disgust through him.

But more than that Arthur felt rage.  He had pushed it aside when they’d thundered into this council and seen Edgar for the first time since…in many days.  Arthur had forced himself to take deep breaths, forced himself to keep a clear head and appeal to his father in the only way he knew how before Edgar got a chance to have him once again bound, perhaps even killed before anything could be set to rights.  Arthur knew that his father would see reason, just as he knew that his father would not have any reservations about allowing his ‘son’ to battle.  Edgar Baranak was not lacking in skill with a sword, but he had never been a match for Arthur.  Uther would have no doubts that his son could win a fight such as this, especially against a foe so injured.  Uther would see it as a chance to stall bloodshed and to perhaps honour the memory of Edgar’s father.

Arthur was, of course, right.

He saw the look of anger on Edgar’s face at this turn of events, at having his plans turned on him so close to the end.  He saw the mocking, callous cut in his eyes as he stared at Arthur in his approach, the Pendragon crest stitched boldly into the tunic laid over his chainmail, and he felt rage.  But, more than that, for a brief, stabbing moment he also felt fear.

“Put him in the ground, sire,” Merlin whispered then, his words breaking through the white wash of foreign uncertainty, steady and calm and full of confidence that Arthur wasn’t sure he deserved.  It grounded him, and he looked briefly from his approaching enemy to Merlin, meeting his stormy grey eyes, and the fear was nothing but a bad memory.  Arthur wasn’t sure, but he thought that his lips may have curled in a mockery of a smile even as he turned away once more.

“Gladly.”



Art by: Eppy7

The rage though, the rage stayed with him.  The anger and frustration that had been entrenched within him since he had been dragged before his kingdom, his father, flogged and spit on and hated because of the treachery of this man before him, now fuelled his weak and damaged body.  The fury of the atrocities committed, so personally, so devastatingly, burned white hot within his body and, with a lifetime of practice, he honed it, controlled it, and moved to attack.

The first clash of sword against sword was near devastating.  The shock of pain a compressed agony along his ribs and back, through his wrist and shoulders, and Edgar leaned on his sword, pressing closer to Arthur as he fought to keep the blade between them instead of in his neck.

“You think this little show means you’ve beaten me?” he hissed and Arthur planted his foot in a lump of earth, braced himself, and shoved Edgar back.  Their blades scraped piercingly as they pulled apart before Edgar swung around again, fiercely.  Arthur was more prepared for the pain this time.  “You’re nothing,” spittle landed on Arthur’s cheek, “I’ve already won!”

Arthur spun away, the tip of Edgar’s sword catching across his gut warningly, but he gained the momentum to step right into Edgar space, forcing the man to raise his sword just in time to block Arthur’s from severing his neck.  Arthur bared his teeth, sucking air through his clenched jaw.

“You lost the moment you tried to take Camelot from me,” he snarled and prepared to break their lock when Edgar huffed a sharp, derisive, knowing laugh.

“That’s not all I took from you,” he taunted.  It felt like Arthur had been stabbed with heated steel, burning to his core and sucking air from his lungs, much like Edgar had probably planned.  Edgar’s miscalculation, however, was that it was not a physical blow, and that was the only thing that was going to stop Arthur now.

“It’s the last thing you’ll take from anyone.” He dropped his elbows together, stepping to his side and rotating his wrists so the lock of their pressed swords ended abruptly and Edgar, who had been putting his weight into holding Arthur off, stumbled forward half a step.  It was enough misbalance to allow Arthur to thrust his arms forward once more, twisting his swords hilt until the heavy round pummel at the base of his grip smashed right into Edgar’s nose, crushing the thin metal ridge of the helmet.  There was a crack and an outraged cry as Edgar staggered back and away, putting a bit of space between them as blood began to run down his face and over his lips.  He blinked heavily, tears from the damage springing to his eyes even as they heated with battle craze.  He barely took time to regain his footing before he was lunging at Arthur with all his might.

Arthur met him half way.  It was time for this to end.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Merlin watched.

Silently.

There was only one way this was going to end, one way it had ever been destined to end, and that was in death.  Ultimately it was conspired by Edgar’s hand, but it would be Arthur who finished it.  Merlin had lost all fear for Arthur before the fight even began.  Lost it the moment Arthur nodded when Merlin requested he put Edgar in the ground, and smiled.

It wasn’t a smile he ever wanted to see on Arthur’s face again, but it was one that left no question about who was in charge.

Merlin had so much confidence that he didn’t even watch the first few sword thrusts, content to lean on the horse as he led him over to stand by Sir Holden’s, and then use the animal to continue to prop him up.  Thankfully the beast was amenable to the task, because Merlin wasn’t sure he could manage on his own anymore.

Then Merlin watched.

But he didn’t watch Arthur.  He watched Uther.  Watched as the man stood proudly by his horse, confident, secure in his son’s ability.  He watched the moment Uther realized that the battle wasn’t turning out the way he had assumed it would, saw the light of true fear enter his normally hard eyes.  Watched as he reached for his own sword, hand curling around the hilt and preparing to draw and step in to his child’s defence, and forcibly staying his self.  Merlin wasn’t normally one to feel pity for Uther, but here, now, after everything, seeing the horror rise in the man’s eyes, he felt that maybe the brief flash of pity was warranted.  Even if he knew it would only be brief.

The clashing of swords was like a sharp barking in his ears, screaming loudly into a world that had otherwise been growing more and more muffled for Merlin as they had approached Edgar.  The sounds wrought what felt like a hole in his skull that did nothing to relieve the pressure, instead getting tighter and tighter as they went on.  Until there was one final clash of steel, and a thump, followed by a wretched shriek of pain.  Merlin looked then, blurred vision falling to where Arthur was standing, both hands still wrapped around his sword even as he had it thrust deep into Edgar’s gut.  The chainmail split around the blade, and bunched slightly as Arthur twisted the sword ruthlessly.  With a stumble Edgar fell back, his hands wrapping around the blade where it entered him, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

With one final twist Arthur ripped the weapon clear, stepping back from the killing blow to watch dispassionately as Uther gave a strained cry and moved swiftly forward.  The king fell to his knees beside the man he still perceived as his son while his true boy stumbled a few steps to the side and stabbed the bloody sword into the ground to lean on as a crutch.  Merlin wanted to go to Arthur, wanted to rush over there but he just couldn’t move, couldn’t stop looking at the faces of Camelot, eyes wide with shock and horror as they gathered around their fallen.

Edgar convulsed, once, his legs twitching in a way Merlin would never forget nor ever regret.  He would spend many a night fearing that this lack of remorse made him a monster, and even more nights thankful for it as he watched Arthur wake from nightmares or struggle to not flinch at a casual touch during a banquet.

Merlin reached up, knocking the overwhelmingly heavy helmet from his head once and for all and looked back to Arthur.  Arthur was watching him.  Arthur looked like he was ready to fall down.  Merlin did fall down, collapsing to his knees as the agony finally became too much and the world burned bright as the sun.  He was going to die.

He was going to die.

When the pain ended, sudden and absolute, it took him a long moment before he realized it was actually gone.  The shock came when he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder, unnecessarily sharply, and he jerked his eyes open to find Arthur’s face right before his own.  Close and staring intently, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes blood shot and skin pallid as a ghost.  A few drops of Edgar’s blood smeared on his bare neck.  Merlin swallowed and took a shaky breath in.

“You look awful,” he blurted, his world coming back to him as his vision cleared completely, his hearing returning with a steady rush.  Arthur blinked slowly, swallowed, nodded, and the hand gripping his shoulder, Arthur’s hand, squeezed tightly.

“All right then?”  Arthur asked, voice rough, eyes assessing and Merlin realized that yes, yes he was in fact all right.  For the first time in over a week everything felt as it should.  It felt-

“What is this?  Explain!” Sir Holden demanded suddenly, loudly, ripping Merlin’s attention from Arthur to finally look about him and see the confusion on the knight’s face as he stared at Arthur.  Arthur used Merlin’s shoulder to push to his feet and Merlin swiftly arose with him, placing himself between his prince and the enraged, confused knight.

“Arthur?” Merlin turned along with Arthur to where Uther was now standing, leaning over the prone form of Edgar Baranak.  The king looked at Arthur and then down to Edgar and back again.  He had blood on one hand from where he had tried to halt the bleeding and, if it were possible, he paled even further as the realization of what this all meant sank in.  “He was lying all along,” he did an admirable job of collecting himself, of masking the relief mingled with the lingering pain of what he had thought he’d lost even as he made to move forward.

“He was,” Arthur agreed, louder now but still sounding wrecked; like a man who had been tortured, and left to rot, and spent days on the run with a potential war on his shoulders.  “He can lie no longer,” he added hollowly.  Then, looking about, his eyes turned sharply cold once more as he set his gaze on Sir Darcel.

Merlin didn’t make a move to stop him as he once again raised his sword.  Nobody made a move to stop him, be it from shock or from the sincere wish to not interfere with their prince’s will.  Arthur moved swiftly across the grass towards the man, his step labouring on his right side, his one shoulder turned slightly away with the instinct to protect it.  Darcel unsheathed his own sword, his eyes wide and white with fear as he held out his empty hand imploringly.

“Please sire, please,” he begged, voice cracking and high pitched as he stumbled back a half pace and quickly looked to Leon and Kay for help.  The two knights stepped aside, their faces impassive as Arthur drew closer.  They would never dare interfere with Arthur’s intentions.  “I didn’t know it was you, I swear-”

“You were warned your life was forfeit, you made your choice,” Arthur’s tone was a study of cool detachment.  When he reached Darcel the man had his sword raised and he stepped forward to meet Arthur’s attack, to defend his life.  Arthur bat the sword aside with his own easily, fast and furious and not giving the man any more chances.  He plunged his blade into Darcel’s throat, cutting deep, cutting through, and pulled it out just as quickly.  He stepped back and watched dispassionately as Darcel’s body crumpled to the grass, blood spraying hot and red across the yellow green stalks.  The moment was followed by a still silence, nobody daring to speak as Arthur stood breathing, his hand beginning to tremble before he tossed the bloodied sword to the ground and clenched it into a fist.  After a long moment he turned back to them, tall and proud.

And done.

He was done.

Merlin raced to him even as his knees began to buckle, but Sir Kay and Leon were already at his side, catching him under his arms and helping to lower him gently to kneel in the earth.  Merlin dropped to the damp ground, not even aware that he was issuing orders for a stretcher and shelter and bandages as he began unbuckling the few pieces of armour Arthur wore and threw them aside.   Leon and Kay helped remove the heavy chainmail.  His back was sopping red, soaked through his shirt.   The wounds ripped open once more from the battle and Merlin must have let loose a sound of dismay because Arthur looked up at him.

“Don’t worry Merlin,” Arthur tried to smirk reassuringly, his words slurring as he began to shake beneath his steadying hands.  “Be good as new in the morning,” he decided, and gave in to his exhaustion completely, eyes rolling back in his head and body slumping to the side.  Leon helped lie him down on his side, keeping his hand beneath his head for support.

“I’d rather you were good now,” Merlin muttered under his breath and then, with the kings rather imploring blessing, he got about trying to fix his idiot once and for all.

If his hands shook slightly while doing so not a single person around him said a thing about it.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Arthur’s fever comes back with a vengeance and for two days Merlin sleeps in brief intervals on a straw mat in Baranak’s castle guest quarters while he tends to him.  Sirs Kay and Leon are always around as an honour guard and Uther spends great chunks of time sitting by Arthur’s bedside, watching his uneasy rest silently between organizing his armies move back to Camelot and meetings with Sir Holden and the kingdom’s council.

It’s a long two days and it’s worse than it was before, worse because Arthur’s body seemed to realize he was safer now and decided that it could shut down more thoroughly than it had before.  Sir Holden sent their best physician to help and stopped by three times a day to check on Arthur himself, apparently still having difficulty coming to grips with what his King had done; that his king was truly dead.

“How did you see through the curse?”  Holden asked softly that first evening in the chambers.  Merlin didn’t look up from the application of Gaius’s healing salve, one enhanced by magical properties whispered hurriedly in a snatched moment of privacy.  King Uther looked up from where he sat, eyes hard and imploring as he focused the entirety of his attention on Merlin.  Merlin shrugged.

“I dunno,” he put the salve aside and went to examine the scabbed branding on Arthur’s stomach.  “It took me a few days before I realized which man was truly Arthur, but I suppose…I spend so much time with him, as his manservant, maybe the proximity allowed me a clearer picture.”  He could feel the eyes of both men burning on his back and took care to appear at ease.

“You’re saying you believe you know my son more than I?” Uther’s tone was cool and at this Merlin looked over quickly, floundering for words in the face of such a delicate question.  He couldn’t very well say ‘yes’ to that, not to the king no matter how true he felt it was.

“No sire!  No, I would never dare to presume- I wouldn’t- he is the focus of my days sire.  A great amount of my time is spent in his presence, seeing to his needs- I wouldn’t ever-”

“You are very loyal Merlin,” Uther cut him off, sharp eyes watching him steadily for another moment before he turned back to watch Arthur’s restless slumber.  “Arthur is fortunate to have found that.”

“Arthur is worthy of the loyalty sire,” Merlin swallowed and moved away from the bed as he finished, suddenly unsure what to do.  Uther smiled then, a warm pride that Merlin had never seen from him before, chased with regret and distance.  Nobody asked again how Merlin was able to see through a curse where two kingdoms had failed and, to the best of his knowledge, nobody ever dreamed that magic might have had something to do with it.

In the afternoon of the second day Arthur’s fever broke.  Uther waited long enough to speak privately with his son while Merlin stood awkwardly outside the bedchamber, Sir Kay standing sentry by his side watched him with an unnervingly keen eye.  When Uther was finished he marched out of the chambers with a purpose in his step and informed them that he is heading back to Camelot to take care of matters there, and to reassure the people that all is well.

“When he’s ready,” he looked at Merlin sternly, “you will bring Arthur home to us.”  He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, turning and striding away purposefully.

“Aren’t you going with the King?”  Merlin asked Sir Kay softly only to be answered with an arched brow, as though the answer should be obvious, before resuming guard at the door.  “Right, staying here then.  Good, that…that’s a relief,” Merlin muttered awkwardly and then fled into the room.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

They came back to Camelot.  The streets were near overwhelming with the sheer number of people piling up to see their true Prince home.  There was clapping and cheering, solemn gazes and crying women, words of encouragement and the silent.  Bluebells and sun brightened dandelions were tossed on the path before Arthur, the scent of crushed thyme rising from beneath their horses hooves as they wound through the streets.

You wouldn’t know to look at him the ordeals he had gone through.  You wouldn’t know the three days travel home had lent him little rest and little comfort.  They should have remained another week as guests of Baranak’s kingdom as Sir Holden had tried to insist, but Arthur wouldn’t have it.  Restless and wanting to get home he left with peace once again brokered between the two kingdoms, Merlin and his guard having no choice but to follow lest they be left behind.

Now though, waving and smiling grandly to his people, it would be easy to forget he still had scabbed over wounds on his back or bright pink scars across his torso.  Easy if you hadn’t spent so long trying to put him back together.  Easy if you didn’t know how much there still was to heal.  Finger tipped bruises and scrapes on his wrists hidden by soft leather gauntlets.

Merlin followed suit and grinned and waved as he and the knights followed in Arthur’s tracks, and when they pulled up to the castle grounds he watched with a smile that felt too wide on his face as Arthur swung off his horse and greeted his father with a hearty hug.  Thank goodness Uther seemed to have sense as he refrained from gripping too hard before leading Arthur inside the castle.  Nobody stopped Merlin from following as they tromped up the stone stairs to the balcony that over looked the castles inner yard.  He stood back and watched as Arthur stood beside his father and waved down at the people beginning his homecoming speech.

Merlin should have probably focused on the words being said.  They were no doubt historical and filled with reassurances and goodwill with forgiveness subtly laced into it somewhere.  Arthur wasn’t dim, despite Merlin’s oft teasing words, and he would have seen the looks of guilt and self-flagellation many carried for standing by and cheering as he had been dragged before them and flogged.  Especially from his knights.  The people who really mattered would hear the words, but would no doubt not heed them.  The best way for Arthur to truly absolve the people from their guilt was to show them in person that he was fine.  He was healthy and whole and back with them.  Nothing was wrong.

A light touch on his arm distracted Merlin from his increasingly dark thoughts and he looked to see Morgana by his side and Guinevere at her shoulder, staring at Arthur across the balcony.  Morgana was watching Merlin though, her pale green eyes intense as he met her gaze.  For lack of what to do he nodded at her slightly and tried on a small grin.  It felt crooked and off and she seemed to see right through it as her grip grew stronger a moment and she blinked rapidly a few times before her composure was secure.

“You brought him home,” she said softly and he lay his free hand over hers, feeling the light tremble in her fingers.

“We brought him home,” he whispered back.  “I could never have done it without yourself and Guinevere believing in us, helping us.”  Beyond the balcony the people cried out reverently at something Arthur said.  Morgana didn’t argue the point, though he could see the doubt in her eyes.  Before he could even begin to think of what to say to address it she tore her gaze away and directed it at Arthur.

“How is he?  Really?”  She asked and his smile faltered, became a difficult thing to keep up so he lost it all together.

“He’ll heal.”

“Yes, of course he will,” her agreement was thin, watery and she took another deep breath.  “Thank you Merlin,” she whispered softly and leaned in, grazing a very light kiss across his cheek.  Then she was gone, off to greet Arthur now that the speeches were concluding.  Merlin watched the reunion from his place off to the side, but it wasn’t long before Arthur was taking his leave of the group and heading his way.

“To my chambers Merlin, I believe it’s time I was reacquainted with my proper wardrobe.”

“Of course sire,” Merlin moved to his side as they departed, feeling many eyes upon their backs.  Beside him he could tell exactly when Arthur stifled a sigh at the continued attention, but he kept his step even and paused a few times to greet the castle staff and thank them for their well wishes.  As soon as Merlin closed the door to his chambers Arthur sort of hunched over, his shoulders drooping and the exhaustion back in every line of his face.

“Time for a nap then?” Merlin asked cheerfully as Arthur carelessly tossed his crown on the heavy wooden table where he took his meals and began trying to unclip the cape that must be weighing down on his shoulders.  Merlin stepped up to help and tried not to worry when the expected rejoinder never came to be.  Without much fanfare Arthur lay atop his covers and fell asleep.  Or pretended to, Merlin wasn’t sure which but he understood the request regardless and, after a few brief words to start the fire in the hearth, he bid a soft wish for easy rest and left Arthur to his privacy.

A banquet in Arthur’s honour came about.  Then one of the most uncomfortable meals in Merlin’s lifetime of experience as Uther ordered a private sitting with Arthur, Morgana, and Merlin himself at the table.  Merlin didn’t know what to do, how to act, and definitely had no idea what to say as he shared the table with Camelot’s royalty, wearing the shirt Arthur had insisted on giving him for staining his other one with blood.  Honestly, as far as thank you’s from the king went Merlin would have preferred being given a roast to share with Gaius and Gwen at home.  Thank goodness Morgana came prepared to carry most of the conversation that evening as Merlin feared opening his mouth and saying something that would have him sent to the stocks.  Arthur mostly opened his mouth to eat and nothing more.  It was the first and last time he would ever share a royal table while Uther was in reign and Merlin thanked his lucky stars for that.

It wasn’t lost on him when Arthur began to occasionally order two evening meals for Merlin to fetch, but he protested only the first time Arthur had ordered him to sit and share the meal with him.  The look on Arthur’s face as he glared at Merlin wasn’t one he was likely to forget.

“Merlin, you have stood by my side even when I gave you no personal reason, you have tended to my wounds, performed treasonous acts to save my life, and trusted me with a secret that’s revelation could have you killed at any moment.  You might be the worst manservant I’ve ever had, but you’re also,” he’d stuttered here, clearly uncomfortable but forging on while Merlin stared like a wide-eyed pillock, “you’re also the best friend.  We share meals around the fire all the time, I see no reason why we can’t share them in my quarters as well.”

Merlin sat.  He also very wisely did not tease Arthur once about labelling him as a friend.  Arthur also shared meals around the fire with his fellow knights, and occasionally when he went to the knights hall to eat and make merry, but to Merlin’s knowledge he never invited anyone to his quarters.  It must have been lonely for him, to keep such a distance throughout life.

When Merlin carried the one meal up to Arthur’s room, a few weeks after the Edgar thing, he hadn’t been expecting much but another quiet evening of tending to Arthur, perhaps some half-hearted discussion about the upcoming tournament or the new horses Uther had acquired for the stables.  Another evening of pretending things were getting better, that Arthur was dealing with what had happened and coming around to his old self again.  It was stilted, mixed with genuine light-heartedness that Merlin could confidently brag Arthur only showed around him these days, but they were both trying.

What Merlin hadn’t been expecting as he shoved into the room and kicked the heavy door shut with his heel, was to turn around and see Arthur standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and with his arms crossed, staring right at Merlin.  Merlin paused, his eyes automatically tracking to the healed burn on his too pale stomach, before raising an inquiring eyebrow.  Something was up, his nerves were singing, but he forced himself to remain cavalier and moved to put down the meal.

“Don’t tell me you soiled all your shirts beyond use again,” he let his eyes drift to the large hearth, where a fire that had obviously been burning for a while know, threw light around the room.  It was late, the sky outside beginning to darken, but nowhere near cold enough for such great heat.  He looked back to Arthur, who had tracked his movements with his steady gaze.

“I have plenty of shirts Merlin,” he said softly.  Merlin frowned, his gut beginning to twist.

“Might want to think about throwing one on, judging by the size of that fire you started I’d say you were cold,” he said back lightly, looking at Arthur closely.  Something was afoot, he couldn’t rule out magic just yet though he’d dearly hoped to not have to deal with such a thing for a while yet.  Merlin could also be jumping at shadows; he could admit to himself that where Arthur was concerned he was always worried, but more so than usual for obvious reasons as of late.

“I need you to do something for me Merlin.”

Merlin’s gut clenched at the tone.

“What?”  he asked and Arthur narrowed his gaze a moment before moving, the sudden shift nearly startling Merlin and he watched Arthur’s back, scars healed to sharp pink lines, as he walked boldly to the fire.  Merlin wasn’t sure what he had been expecting after that leading question, but it was not for Arthur to wrap his hand in a thick towel and then grasp the end of a long metal handle that had been sitting in the flame.  He turned to face Merlin and held it up in display and Merlin took a physical step back.  “No,” he said immediately, firmly, perhaps a little sickly as he stared at the branding rods glowing end, tracing the shape of the Camelot’s dragon crest.  It was the most basic of outlines and familiar Kingdom’s over, but even more so to Merlin who had spent near countless time fretting over an injury of the same shape.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed and placed the metal stamp back in the flames.

“No,” Merlin shook his head and glared.  “I am not going to do whatever it is you’re asking here Arthur, I won’t.”

Arthur moved a few steps closer but kept a distance between them, head bowed slightly and shoulders hunched in that familiar way he only kept in the privacy of his room.

“Merlin, let me explain first before you turn me down.”

“What is there to explain?  You want me to help you disfigure yourself some more?  Sure, why not, that’s easy enough to understand isn’t it?  Except that I won’t do it!”  His voice rose and he fought to control it as Arthur continued to watch him with that same, calm, determined stare he had that Merlin was beginning to loathe.   Arthur took a deep breath before him, then another, and his fists clenched rhythmically by his side.

“This mark,” he gestured to the burn that had healed well enough to be mostly distinguished, thin lines of scar raised around the wings and mess of a head where it had burnt deepest, “it will always be with me Merlin.  I see it everyday, I feel the pull of it when I move, it is still tender to the barest of touch.”  Merlin swallowed, but kept his mouth closed, because this was the first time Arthur had talked about the injuries beyond asking how they were healing.  Arthur frowned and glared around the room, eyes crinkling in the corners as he searched for words and looked back at Merlin.

“This is the mark of my house, of Camelot.  It is a noble, strong symbol of everything that my family stands for, that I stand for,” he swallowed and Merlin mimicked the action thoughtlessly.  “Edgar took that from me when he gave me this,” he waved unnecessarily at the mark, but Merlin wasn’t looking at it anymore anyway, his attention focused on the anger and hurt leaking into Arthur’s eyes.  It was the first time Arthur allowed it to show since their nights on the run in the forest.  “This is a mockery of honour, this is hate filled jealousy and madness and it is something that will never leave me.  A reminder of the things he did-” Arthur pressed his lips tightly, cutting himself off and taking another steadying breath.

“Merlin, I need this to be honourable again, so that when I look at myself I don’t see the bitterness of defeat.  So that I can be proud of what it stands for and remember victory.  I will carry this mark forever, but not by his hand, and I can’t do this by myself.”

Merlin lost time as they stared at each other, Arthur waiting patiently for a verdict while the desperateness of it was laid out for Merlin to see.  It took a long time for Merlin to nod slowly, and he held up his hand when Arthur looked genuinely relieved and was about to break the silence.

“This will be the only time Arthur,” he implored.  “This will be the only time that something like this ever takes place on accordance of our will, the only time I will raise a hand with intent to do you harm and I won’t-”

“You will never do me harm Merlin,” Arthur cut him off swiftly, his voice fierce and certain.  “If there was any doubt then I would not ask.  After everything I know you are aware of this.”  And maybe Merlin was aware of this, was humbled and elated by this, but it sort of paled in importance for what was about to come.  “And I give you my word that I will never cause myself harm needlessly,” Arthur finished, and that seemed to be what Merlin was really waiting to hear, reassurance that this wasn’t to become common.  He didn’t know if he believed it yet, but he wanted to, and the sheer relief in Arthur’s eyes was enough to keep that fear at bay.

“Okay,” he agreed, “okay.  But I need some supplies,” and a chance to gather himself.  He didn’t ask for permission to depart, instead fleeing the room back to his own to gather bandages and healing ointments and to take a few moments to look through one of his books of spells until he found what he wanted.

When he returned Arthur was still shirtless and picking at his meal, though Merlin doubted he had really eaten anything.  He stood and swiftly moved to his bed, the bedclothes already pulled aside to keep them unsullied, and he lay down, unlacing his pants just enough to tug them further out of the way.  Merlin took in the sight, maybe stared a bit too long when Arthur’s expectant cough got him moving again.

He handed Arthur the strap of leather.

“You will bite this,” he ordered and Arthur placed it between his teeth without comment, only to spit it out and protest a moment later after he watched Merlin pull the brand from the fire and souse it in the pail of water Arthur had so thoughtfully prepared ahead of time.

“Merlin-”

“Quiet Arthur.  If we’re doing this I’m using flame cleaner than that,” he explained, softly, because he could see the trepidation Arthur was ruthlessly trying to hide beneath his conviction.  Merlin studied the mark on Arthur, noting where he would need to press it, before wiping a clean cloth across the warm skin.  Arthur jerked at the touch but didn’t pull away, instead watching silently as Merlin muttered a few preparatory words of pre-healing over the site.  He placed the leather back between his teeth when Merlin turned his sights on the brand, new words in old tongue danced through the air and the dragon lit up with a hot blue flame before dimming to a cool white glow.  He held it close to the base for a steadier hand, not worried about being burnt and looked back to Arthur, who watched with steady blue eyes that damn near glowed in the magical light.

“Are you sure Arthur?”  He asked one last time and Arthur took a breath and nodded firmly, leaning his head back into the pillows.

When it was done, the near silent scream of pain imprinting in Merlin’s memories, Arthurs skin was flushed and sweaty.  He spit the leather out, his teeth marks clear punched into the soft surface, and took a few gasping breaths as Merlin dropped the awful tool back into the water and moved to examine the wound.  It looked clean, it was deep but the lines were crisper than the first injury.  He felt the urge to giggle bubble up inside at the thought that it would have looked rather bizarre had he not matched the dragon up correctly, but quashed it down as he was fairly sure that it was hysteria.  It would heal a hundred times better, was even now beginning to scab over in the shallower parts as the magic kicked in.  It would be a few days yet before it would heal fully.

Merlin felt shaky, light-headed, and his hands were trembling as he picked up the jar of healing salve by his knee.  Before he managed to open it, however, Arthur was pushing to sit up and Merlin nearly pulled away as one hand reached out and he wrapped his arm around Merlin’s neck.  It was easy to forget how quick Arthur could move when you spent so much time seeing him sit still through meetings and banquets.  Regardless Merlin did not resist as Arthur dragged him forward and buried his head in Merlin’s neck, breath still shaky.  Merlin wrapped one arm loosely around his back and, with a small sigh of relief, relaxed into the loose embrace.

“Thank you” Arthur mumbled a long moment later when he had his reaction to the pain back under control and pulled away.  It took Merlin a few moments too long to remove his own arm, and even then he kept a light hand on Arthur while he went about dressing the wound.  Merlin nodded, not having words to respond just then, and Arthur lay back down and threw an arm over his eyes.  They didn’t speak again that night, though Merlin stayed in a chair by the bed until the early morn, waiting until Arthur finally fell asleep under his watchful gaze.

They didn’t speak of it again at all.  Not with words at least, and even then not for a few years, but after that night something in Arthur shifted subtly.  Something loosened.

It was a start.  A start was all Arthur ever needed.

ΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦΦ

Weeks later, after a glorious day accompanying Morgana and Guinevere on horseback through the forest ripe with the crispness of fall, Merlin found himself humming as he meandered through the castle halls.  Arthur, of course, had left him with the task of taking care of the horses when they got back in favour of heading off to speak with a group of knights fresh off the training grounds.  His laughter cut through the castle grounds, loud enough that the stable boys took notice and shared pleasant smiles with Merlin.  Of course Arthur was gone by the time Merlin finished up with the animals, but Merlin couldn’t begrudge him that because it was commonplace.

He found Arthur quickly enough, camped out in his room pouring over some of the newer maps at his table.  Merlin made no effort to remain quiet as he thumped in and dumped Arthur’s armour on the floor, the clatter remarkably loud in the closed room.  He peeked over his shoulder to see Arthur’s attention had turned to him now, a bemused quirk to his lips and Merlin went back to his task of shoving the armour into its place on the stand.  When he finished he turned back to Arthur, grinning wider than he had in a while and generally feeling pretty good about life.

“Merlin, correct me if I’m wrong,” he drawled and Merlin narrowed his eyes at the innocent tone, “but you polished that armour remarkably fast.”

“Yes, well, maybe I’m a better servant than you give me credit for,” Merlin mock-bowed with a flourish.

“Oh I couldn’t agree more,” Arthur smiled easily.  Too easily, as he straightened to lean back against the heavy table, arms crossed over his chest and red sleeves pushed up to his elbows.  Merlin blinked.  “In fact it has recently come to my attention that I may not be utilizing your rather unique skills to your fullest potential,” he sounded a little too happy to be discussing Merlin’s magic so casually.  It concerned Merlin, with good reason, and he frowned at the blonde man suspiciously.

“I think I’ve been saying that since the day I was given the dubious honour of being your manservant,” he said slowly, which just seemed to please Arthur even more, a wicked glint in his eyes as he pushed away from the table and uncrossed his arms.

“I’m so glad to know you feel the same Merlin,” he announced enthusiastically and walked up to Merlin, clapping a warm hand on his shoulder and using his grip to turn Merlin bodily.  Merlin swallowed, the heat of Arthur’s hand relaxing him despite the smug amusement that had been so apparent as Arthur approached him.  Then he looked to where Arthur was gesturing, and manfully withheld a sigh.  “As I had a few people bring the rest of my personal armour and weapons along with my old jousting tack here.  I trust it won’t be an issue for you to set it all to rights and give it a nice shine?  After all it would be a shame for such potential to go to waste.”

Merlin eyed the pile of metal and leather and shook his head mournfully, though, oddly enough, he did not feel his good mood dampen.  Not even a little.

“You are a horrendous person and I can’t fathom for the life of me what I have done to be punished by your continued company.”

“Cheer up Merlin, it’s just a bit of wash and repair,” Arthur’s grin widened smugly even as his eyes warmed significantly with fondness.  His hand lingered longer than necessary, burning a welcome patch of warmth where it rested before he released Merlin and moved back to his table.  Merlin watched him walk away, certain the same look of fondness had been easy enough to read on his own features.

“A bit of wash and repair?” He muttered loudly, the irritation in his tone false even to his own ears.  He eyed the heaping pile before him, resting so innocently on the floor.  “This’ll take me all night.”  Perhaps, he thought warmly, that was the point.

“Not if you use your words Merlin,” Arthur called back, his attention mostly back on his maps but a pleased smile still lingered on his lips and in the corner of his eyes.  Merlin looked back at the pile thoughtfully.

“Maybe I will,” he agreed, and then rolled up his sleeves to get to work.  In the end he didn’t use his words to speed the task along after all.  Turns out he wasn’t in a great hurry to be anywhere else.

End.

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