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It started with a long night and a eulogy.
From his desk Arthur witnessed pink clouds appearing in the early spring blue, flaring bright before easing away. Noisy geese had flown overhead in lazy arrows and Arthur was almost tricked into forgetting about the last few days. But with the dark he found his eyes went to the yard where the solitary figure of his revived uncle had stood just the night before in the unmoving mist. A living man might have caused some movement, might have set the mist to whorl with his breath. Not this thing.
Now, all action over, it fell to him to write a speech, a send off for Pelinore and Owaine, the knights who lost their lives in the whole, horrible affair. He had spent hours now looking out of the window trying to call some kind of solemn inspiration to himself and he had little but wasted parchment to show for it. No words seemed worthy. For the first time, he lamented that he was handed a training sword and not a quill when he was old enough to grasp things.
As usual Merlin was bumbling about his chambers, bumbling into things and distracting him. By this time he should have long left but he had passed the same hours similarly uselessly, tidying things that didn’t need tidying and reorganising the contents of the wardrobes into an order logical only to himself.
Trying his best to look at the parchment, Arthur finally decided to release him. “I’ll ready myself for bed, that will be all tonight Merlin.”
Arthur didn't need to look up to know that his servant was hesitating, or maybe torn, feet going one way, head going the other, like a stubborn horse refusing to heed a tug on its reins.
“What is it?” Arthur sighed.
He raised his gaze to see Merlin fidgeting with his own fingers. “You’re riding out early tomorrow.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Right, just em, checking…”
“That will be all, Merlin.”
“I’ll see you in the morning then, sire, bright and early… At dawn, and keep in mind the nights are getting shorter-”
“That will be all .”
The younger man put up his hands placatingly and backed toward the door. He took a breath to say something, although he was already most of the way out of the room.
“Shut up,” Arthur said before he could speak again.
A small nod, a very quick glance in his direction and the door squeaked shut.
More time staring at the parchment compelled no more words to appear upon it. The stillness and silence of his chambers stretched on until he started drooping and when he gasped awake he had the fading impression of colourful banners, raised voices and the clash of swords. A dream. But he couldn’t fall asleep and leave the fallen men without a speech.
In the depths of the night, Merlin entered the room the usual way, without knocking. He was dressed unfamiliarly, and he was carrying a candle in a little holder in one hand and cradling the flame with the other.
“Are those your sleeping clothes?” Arthur asked stupidly when he should be asking other questions, taking in the loose, off-white clothing he wore. He knew somehow, even just looking at them in the meagre light that they had once been scratchy, but were now soft with wear. Without his usual neckerchief his collarbones were showing, but what should have been angular was rendered soft by his candle. Arthur was too tired to school himself or feel any sort of embarrassment for the relatively chaste daydream that crossed his mind of pulling a sleepy Merlin, clothed like this, close to him in bed so they might drift off together.
“Arthur?” Merlin had taken a few steps closer and was leaning forward, peering at him in clear concern.
“What?”
“I said ‘never mind about that.’”
“Oh.”
Merlin set the candle down on the desk, went into the shadows and came waddling back toward him with one of the heavy chairs from by the hearth. It scraped loudly along the floor, jarring the prince’s head and reminding him that this boy, as endearing as he might look in his oversized pyjamas, was a nuisance of the highest order.
“I dismissed you for the night,” Arthur said even as he watched him settle across from him.
Merlin scraped the chair some more as he scooted closer. “And I said you have to be up at dawn, so we’d better finish this then,” he countered.
Arthur could argue, draw this out, pretend that word ‘we’ was absurd when really there was so little he accomplished truly alone these days. “Fine,” he said instead.
He was reluctant to hand over the evidence of his ineptitude though he made sure not to show it. Merlin for his part accepted it quietly and Arthur found himself strangely grateful that the young man possessed so much of that underappreciated quality of grace. There was a small smile on his face too, almost concealed in the shadows. He traced his finger along a line of words. “We’ll start with this,” he said, and reached for a fresh piece of parchment, the quill and ink pot. He asked him questions then about how the two had come to be knights, what Arthur had admired or appreciated about them and what he would miss about them. At the last question he had swallowed hard, but he answered all the same. Soon the scratching of the quill started.
A change in the light and a whiff of burning in the air roused him, Merlin’s candle had burned out, he had nodded asleep at some point. Merlin himself, his head bent, still scratching away, hadn’t noticed. Absorbed, he went to dip the quill back into the pot but Arthur shifted and he looked up.
Their eyes caught, Merlin’s were very dark in this light. The prince cleared his throat, “that should be enough for tonight.”
The other shook his head and dipped the quill. “I’m almost finished.” Without asking he continued and Arthur was left to wait and watch him work. He was far stiller than usual, concentrating like this. His skin was still winter pale, Arthur noted, and without his neckerchief, his clothes showed the sharp lines of his shoulders. The shadow of his eyelashes were cast onto his cheeks-
“There,” he said eventually, stopping, and Arthur made a show of looking elsewhere so as not to be suspected of staring. He slid the speech over and Arthur was at least perceptive enough to recognise a similar nervousness to his own when he had done the same.
Merlin’s writing was familiar to him at this point, neat, his lines straight. The letters though had small, consistent quirks, tails and flicks where Arthur would have put none. His servant’s penmanship was the kind meant for adorned, illuminated pages, but it was distinct enough to be picked out from a hundred manuscripts. Arthur tipped it better toward the light and read it silently.
It is difficult to find words deserving of these men, their service and their sacrifice. The pursuit of knighthood is no simple undertaking, of that all those here who have undergone the same will know. There is fame in it, and glory of course, but there too is a willingness to put the lives of others before our own. They, as we, had strength to lend and they chose to lend it to Camelot, to the protection of her people, despite, or perhaps in spite of, the dangers. It is noble to face these dangers, to live as destiny calls us to live, but all of this, I know, is cold comfort to the grieving. They were sons, brothers and friends before they were knights. Know that even in their service they were valued as such, brothers in arms yes, but brothers all the same. I will speak of them as they really were.
Pelinore had the strength to rally us when we struggled to go on. He was beloved of all of the squires, they aspired and still aspire to be as skilled and as honourable as he. He was a favourite sparring partner of mine, in training on the morrow and long after, I know that I will long search for him in my ranks though he is no longer among them.
Owaine was younger than I, recently proven. His enthusiasm for the calling of knighthood renewed our own but not only that, he reminded many of us that we may have joined for the glory that I spoke of, but it was for companionship that we stayed. To share the battlefield, training field or dinner table with Owaine was to share in friendship.
They will both be missed and it is with great sorrow that we commit them to flame. To those here who have survived them, we knights are grateful to have known them.
Not for the first time, Arthur felt uplifted by Merlin’s words. For someone who was a clumsy nitwit most of the time, his manservant was capable of summoning words of surprising surety and feeling. Arthur had already faced many hard trials braced up with his words, his faith in him. This time was no different. He nodded at him and leaned back, “it’s a worthy send off.”
Merlin let out a breath, leaning back as well and pausing. “We won’t be getting much sleep,” he said eventually, brushing off the concealed thanks.
“We won't,” he echoed.
“I better get you ready for bed.”
Arthur made a gruff sound of agreement, and another strained sound as he bullied his stiff body upright.
He was only in a simple tunic and breeches. On a normal night Merlin might have handed him the change of clothes while Arthur disrobed himself and threw his worn garments over the changing screen, but tiredness made him slow and without needing to be asked Merlin went to the wardrobe and was soon undressing him. He was quick, perfunctory, and didn't leave him shivering in the cold air any longer than necessary, nor did he leave time for Arthur’s imagination to invade the situation. It was not long before they were both standing in their sleeping clothes. Arthur opened his mouth to speak but the other peeled off to turn down the bed sheets.
He followed him. “Wait, it’s hardly worth…”
Merlin turned around. “Worth..?”
“Hardly worth it to leave.”
Merlin furrowed his dark brows. “But the antechamber isn’t made up.”
Arthur shuffled. “Right. Fine… here,” he went off to his desk and fished a candle out of the drawer where Merlin kept them. He lit it against the ones still burning and used it to replace the one in the holder he had brought. “Take a new one, can’t have you falling flat on your face on the journey back.”
“Kind o-of youu… sire,” he tried to smile but a yawn took over. He rubbed at one eye with his free hand, his clothes falling off one bony shoulder. He very quickly tugged it back up.
Arthur swallowed as he envisioned himself acting on his earlier fantasy, his imagination finally catching up. Instead he grumbled and turned towards the bed, getting in. Merlin moved about the room, blowing out the remaining flames and so that everything but him was overtaken by the dark.
“I’ll be back when the cock crows,” he said from the door, despite the lack of the creatures in the proximity of the castle. When he closed it the light left with him.
By the next evening, he had delivered the eulogy and returned home on those slow dark horses with white fetlocks that they brought out for ceremonies and the bearing of carriages. It played out before Arthur again. They stood on a windy hill but his voice carried over everyone all the same. His knights had raised their heads and straightened at the simple words and the people who had survived Pelinore and Owain, family, friends, had held their hands at their chests. When they lit the bale fires, he realised that he had been so focussed on penning and delivering the right words for everyone else’s grief, that he had not truly given a moment to his own. He said goodbye to these men, his brothers in arms.
Stopped now in the yard, Merlin helped him and some of the others dismount and Arthur watched him soothe the horses, whispering to them like they were friends in on a secret. Some of his knights went on ahead but Arthur brushed at his own horse absently with his gloved hand, wishing to linger a little, maybe accompany Merlin and the grooms to the stables to check up on his favourite palfrey.
Behind Arthur, there were short footsteps. ‘M’lord?” an unbroken voice called politely. He turned to see it was a page dressed in red courtly clothes.
“Yes?”
“The king summons you for your report, sire,” the boy told him, his hands behind his back.
“Very well,” Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand and the page swivelled directly around and walked away.
They parted, Merlin led Arthur’s horse in the direction of the stables and Arthur went toward the castle. When he looked back, Merlin was also looking over his shoulder, a small smile spread on his face before the horse decided to munch on his hair and he had to quickly duck away.
In the throne room, Arthur bowed his head to his father. Uther was leaning to one side, casual in a way that Arthur found incompatible with the happenings of the past few days.
“I hear that the people were moved by your speech,” he said. News must have spread fast.
Praise like this was rare, Arthur nodded once.
“You still have it, the speech?”
Arthur nodded again, he had anticipated the king might wish to see it.
“Give it to me.”
Uther unrolled the parchment and read, pale eyes moving, his face unreadable in its scrutiny. He turned his head and pulled his mouth in a line.“A little flowery maybe... Whose handwriting is this?”
“Merlin’s, sire.”
He handed it back to his son, his head turned minutely to the side as if in thought. “Is that not the name of your manservant?”
“It is…” the prince answered hesitantly.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Did you dictate to him?”
“Not all of it. Some of it may have been-” Arthur cleared his throat, finding that he was too tired and to come up with a lie- “drafted by him. It was under my direction, of course.” Suddenly, saying it like that, Arthur felt a little ashamed that he had delegated something of such sensitivity and import at all, these were men’s lives afterall. But then again, to produce something of such feeling had been nigh on impossible for him, Arthur hadn’t been taught to feel whereas it was likely Merlin had never been taught not to.
But Uther clearly shared none of these sentiments. “You mean to say he is a scribe, and can write, properly ?”
In the entirety of Merlin’s time in Camelot the king had taken an interest in him only once that he knew of, and that was when he offered him the post in exchange for saving Arthur's life. It was a little unsettling the way Uther was leaning forward in his seat now.
“Who taught him to write? Did he have a formal education?”
Even Uther knew reading and writing was not a matter of intelligence but of education, it was an unusual skill for someone of Merlin’s background. But the prince faltered, he’d never asked. There was a lot he didn't know. “I don't know,” he admitted aloud.
The king waved a dismissive hand, it was abnormal, afterall, to take interest in the life of a servant. “No matter. Have the boy report to me after he’s finished his morning duties.”
What could Uther possibly want with Merlin? Arthur tamped down his bewilderment (and the part of him that wanted to tell his father that in fact, he needed his servant all day and there was absolutely no room for another item on his schedule), instead saying, “of course, sire, I’ll inform him in the morning.” It was a plain fact that Uther superseded him in all things and any wishes or words of protest that ran counter to the king’s was rarely worth voicing.
The morning was all sunshine and birdsong. Merlin hummed and whistled as he worked his merry way around Arthur’s chambers, although he couldn’t keep a tune and he produced more air than notes. He picked up the sleep shirt he’d uselessly but ritualistically dressed the prince in last night, a prince that rarely if ever kept it on because he preferred to sleep half-naked. The shirt ending up on the ground and the needless washing of said shirt was also part of the ritual.
Arthur had put it off long enough. He cleared his throat and Merlin ceased all movement. “My father has asked that you report to his chambers once you're finished here.”
He caught a cornered, wide-eyed expression that flashed across the boy’s face before it was gone. He wondered if Merlin wasn't a little scared of the king. Something like sympathy (but not sympathy because Arthur certainly didn't fear his father) tugged at him.
Merlin looked like he wanted to ask a question.
“I don’t know what for,” Arthur answered without needing to hear it.
He swallowed and nodded, when he resumed his work he did so without the whistling and general noisiness.
Arthur frowned, finding that, despite wishing for it often, he didn't enjoy the silence.
Merlin was gone all afternoon. Morgana had leant him Gwen to handle his armour and the squires took on the tasks of positioning dummies and targets, and handing the knights their weapons and rags for their sweat. It had been a halting affair and Arthur found he had to direct the squires; he had taken for granted the time and effort saved purely by virtue of Merlin’s familiarity with the whole process.
It was once the training was over that the missing servant reappeared. The tent flap moved aside, letting the early spring sunlight in, and Gwen’s face lit up. She stopped working on removing Arthur’s bracers.
“There you are Merlin!” she chided, like he had been skiving off work. “Morgana told me you were attending the king?”
Arthur turned around to find his wayward manservant ducking inside. “Er well, not attending really, not yet but uh… I’m a scribe now apparently,” he responded dazedly, barely moving when Leon pushed past him into the tent.
Arthur suddenly had the feeling he had taken a blow and something in him had dislodged and sunk to the ground. The king didn’t need to consult his son about matters of the royal household but surely his father hadn’t-?
“Oh that's wonderful!” Gwen exclaimed. “Poor old Beatus really wasn’t up to the task anymore and Geoffrey can only do so much.”
“Beatus?” Merlin looked off the side, clearly trying to place the name.
“Court Scribe?” Gwen prompted. “You know him, surely? Always raving about the end of the world?”
“Em, what? N-no, I don’t think I do…”
Leon, a waterskin in his other hand, clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well done, Merlin, don’t go drinking all those extra wages away at the tavern now!”
A blank expression came over Merlin’s face. “Extra what..?”
“Of course!” Gwen shook her head at him. She had forgotten about Arthur’s armour entirely. “You’re no mere servant anymore.”
“...I’m not?”
Arthur’s brow twitched, feeling invisible as his former servant (his father moved swiftly and Arthur knew a royal decision when he saw one) looked between the knight and the maidservant, his mouth parted in obvious confusion. Stupidity was more like it, surely he understood that becoming a scribe meant change?
“No silly,” Gwen continued, “if you can write properly you're a little, um, a lot better paid, you could say. It’s an entirely different position in the household, far more valued. Usually you need an education but scribes are in short supply.”
“You’ll be above a servant, well above,” Leon chimed in, elaborating further.
Merlin took a halting step forward, his palms turned up to the tent ceiling beseechingly. “But it's harder being a servant than a-!”
The prince couldn’t take it anymore. “Did you feel like sharing the news with the prince you’ve been attending that you’ll no longer be in his service, or would you like to tell the whole castle first?!” he erupted and Gwen and Leon took a noticeable step back.
Merlin didn’t move, his face went a little slack with shock. “I won’t be..?”
Arthur’s anger faltered a little, but it shimmered still. God, the boy was an idiot. “No, not anymore. If my father didn’t tell you that, what did he tell you?”
Merlin’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish on land before he answered. “He said to report to his chambers again in the morning and then to go to Geoffrey… He didn’t say why.”
Arthur took in Merlin’s uncertain expression and tried to ignore the unexpected squeeze in his chest. There was no changing Uther’s mind, Merlin was just another member of the household and he could do what he willed with him. He cleared his throat. “Right, well, better do that,” he said tightly, turning away. “Really you should ask more questions. You're dismissed for the day.”
Leon and Gwen went stock still, daring not to move or say anything.
“Arthur?” Merlin called softly, his tone unsure, hurt.
Arthur didn't answer him, just tightened his jaw.
The shadow of him left the opposite wall of the tent slowly. Gwen carefully and quietly resumed her work and Leon set about removing what he could of his own armour.
The prince managed to avoid Merlin for the rest of the day. But later, returning to his chambers, he found his dinner cold on his desk. Clearly his dismissal had gone unheeded. For once, nothing was stolen from the plate. He groaned at himself as he sat down, but he didn't pick up his knife. Arthur’s anger had yet to leave him.
Except it was something more breakable than anger.
A part of him insisted that if Merlin didn’t resist his new post it meant that he had no wish to stay by Arthur’s side, another part of him asked why it should be so important he do so in the first place, and another still seemed to fish around in his chest for something and when it found it was a handful of failings, each as good of a reason as the next for Merlin to desert him.
That was new. When had it started mattering to him, he wondered, that he be the kind of person Merlin might wish to keep in his company?
He listened and heard nothing but the faint voices far below his window, and he saw nothing but the dust motes in the light.
The next day came, then the next, the next and the next and they kept coming.
Someone from the kitchens brought him his food when he wasn’t dining with his father and Morgana.
George dressed him, kept his schedule and organised his baths.
Gwen came to collect his laundry, make his bed and mend anything that needed mending.
The pages and squires helped him in and out of his armour, polished his swords and stood by on the training field.
The grooms and stable hands attended his horses.
He wasn't sure who exercised and fed his hounds but they seemed exercised and fed.
The food was rarely to his liking.
George was George.
Gwen was far too perceptive of his moods when he wished to be left to stew.
The pages and squires both worshipped and feared him to a degree that nauseated him.
He couldn't fault those who cared for his animals, not yet anyway.
It was only when he sent for a draught for a headache that his former manservant reappeared, clearly the change in his position in the castle hadn't meant a change in his position with Gaius.
He knew him immediately by the door squeak, predictably preceded by the distinct lack of knocking. He raised his aching head off his desk.
“George said you have a headache,” Merlin said.
Not even a ‘hello, sire.’ Typical, the prince thought.
There was a bottle in his hand and a streak of ink on his cheek. Although a little dishevelled, he looked more rested than usual. Some of his clothes were new, not much finer but a little more formal, better made, though he still wore his raggedy red neckerchief. That wasn't the only thing that was new, Arthur understood; Merlin had been given an office, an office, near the library. He had yet to see it. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really care to see it.
“Had it for long?” he asked, shuffling minutely. Not too long ago he was perfectly content in Arthur’s chambers, like he belonged there. Now he looked a little tense, awkward, like he fully wasn’t sure of his welcome.
“What?”
“Your headache?”
“Only since this afternoon.”
He peppered him with questions. “Any fever, chills? Your nose isn't stuffed up? Had enough water today?”
Arthur groaned. “It’s just a headache.”
“Right then,” he came forward and placed the bottle before him on the desk. “Don’t drink it all at once, take half tonight and half in the morning.”
Arthur, nodding, picked up the bottle and wondered what on earth could be in it to make it so bright orange. He uncorked it, sniffed it and grimaced. Merlin was still standing there, as though he didn’t trust Arthur to follow his rather simple instructions. He was absently playing with the cuff of new dark jacket, belying a nervousness.
Arthur eyed him, then quickly downed the recommended dose. It was like the sourness of every piece of unripe fruit he had ever bitten into concentrated into just a finger of liquid. “ Guhh ,” he gagged despite himself, undignified, his eyes watering. He put the offending bottle down with a bang. If anything, the lingering taste would distract him from the pain.
“Let me know if you start seeing anything unusual,” the boy instructed casually.
“ Seeing anything?!”
“It’s a joke.”
“Ha-ha,” he intoned, closing his eyes, scrunching up his nose and kneading his brow.
“Well if that’s all…” the other swayed from the tips of his feet to his heels.
“Wait,” Arthur said, trying to stop himself from reaching out towards him.
“Mm?” He stopped, his expression suddenly a touch brighter.
And just as suddenly Arthur had nothing to say to him, because what could he say? “You have ink…” he told him instead, trailing off and pointing to his own cheek.
“Oh.” Merlin frowned. He passed his hand over it but it came away clean.
“It's dry.”
The scribe licked his own fingers and rubbed vigorously at his face.
“Is it gone?” There was a bluish smudge left behind now, like a bruise.
“Yes, it's gone,” the prince lied.
He swayed on his feet some more, doing that thing that he did when he wanted to say something but was wrestling with himself. “I should go,” he said instead.
“Right,” was all Arthur could say.
And Merlin left.
***
They nodded at each other sometimes in the corridors. Occasionally when Merlin was too busy or Arthur’s mood was foul they did not so much as glance at each other, and those occasions were becoming less occasional by the day.
***
Spring came and went. The king's addresses improved greatly, morale and spirits were unusually high. The new scribe seemed to have the king’s ear, the people were saying, and the ordinary folk were starting to pin their hopes on the boy. Every time Arthur managed to hear of these hopes however, something ugly within him twitched. As an early summer rain storm dashed at the windows, Arthur found himself dining with his father, Gaius and Geoffrey. Morgana had declined to join what she had called the “grey haired committee” on the grounds that the last such dinner had almost been the end of her and she ‘couldn't risk being bored to death again.’ He shouldn't have been surprised that she didn't deem his presence a worthy counterbalance, not that he cared.
“That boy of yours has proven a surprising asset. I had thought his mental afflictions might preclude such… talent,” the king said to the court physician as he sawed into his spit-roasted ham.
Arthur tried not to choke on his wine, his manservant? Talented?
“His afflictions affect other facets of his being, sire, I can assure you,” Gaius informed him, with the tiniest scan over Arthur.
Uther made a thoughtful sound but he suddenly looked disinterested, really his interest in Merlin didn't extend beyond what he could do with a quill.
“I for one am most appreciative of his services,” Geoffrey chimed in just as a soft roll of thunder sounded out outside. “Many of the older manuscripts have succumbed to some sort of infestation. It’s vital work that he’s doing, he’s quick at it and he has rather good handwriting too.”
Arthur grumbled, moving his food around with his knife. It seemed the whole kingdom was better for having Merlin as something other than his servant. Something dark and bitter that he had been chewing on for some time pushed past his lips. “I’m surprised he’s capable of being useful, he wasn’t nearly as good of a servant. He was a clumsy dolt at the best of times and those times were few.”
Geoffrey looked from Arthur and raised his goblet to the king. “Well, isn’t it fortunate then that he’s been put to better use.”
“Indeed,” Uther agreed, raising his own and drinking and the conversation moved on.
Gaius gave him an unguardedly reproachful look, the dreaded eyebrow making him, fierce warrior though he was, sink into his chair a little. That had been a mistake.
After a few days of tense jaws, swift exits and pointed avoidance, it became painfully clear that his words had reached Merlin.
He wasn’t the only one who was angry. Gwen must have been waiting to find him alone because when he happened to be passing by Morgana’s room as she exited, she was immediately upon him, laundry pressed to her hip and her other hand pointing at him in clear accusation. He was all but pinned to the wall by her sudden vitriol. He’d backed up so quickly that the back of head bumped against the stone. “Merlin’s only ever been a friend to you,” she glowered, her eyes may as well have been brimstone.
He was stunned stupid by her anger. “Uhh…” Was all he could manage.
“I don’t know who, but someone must have let slip and told Merlin what you said about him,” she continued. “That was very unkind, Arthur. I knew something was wrong but he wouldn't tell me what. But Uther told Morgana and I overheard. Surely you understand how much he cares for you?”
He put up his hands placatingly and swallowed. “I didn’t mean…” he started, but the words came out strange, like he was underwater.
“I hope not. Now apologise to him,” she demanded, before huffing off and not looking behind her.
The next time he found him he was descending the small wraparound stairs that led to the great hall while Arthur was going up. Merlin almost stopped when Arthur stopped but instead he set his sights ahead and continued as though he wasn’t there.
The prince didn’t dare block his way, but pressed himself to the wall and held out his arms in surrender as he passed. “Merlin,” he spoke his name. Then, with great difficulty he looked at his uncharacteristically straight back and said, “I’m sorry.”
Arthur thought he had been ignored until he heard the other’s steps stop. He peered over the rail. Merlin was looking up at him from the bottom, head tipped back. “Why are you such a prat?” he asked.
Arthur swallowed. “I don't know.”
“Well work it out,” he said, more softly than the words demanded or Arthur deserved, and he walked away.
***
It was all hands on the deck for the swearing in of the new knights, even Merlin was running around again for the occasion. There was a new hopeful, Lancelot, who seemed to have Merlin’s endorsement, so Arthur tested the man’s mettle in earnest. It was likely the new recruits did not notice but Arthur was off his game. His reactions were slow, more than once he had come close to losing the all important spars and he made up for it with a large helping of bravado and nonchalance. Leon, he noted, was watching him closely and from afar he even noticed his former servant’s gaze upon him, his mouth pulled into something that looked like concern.
How quickly it all went to pot.
The creature shrieked, making a sound like no living animal could or should, giving weight to the ravings of Gaius and Geoffrey that what he was facing was something else entirely. As his father sent him out to face the thing he couldn’t help but feel that there was a man currently in the dungeons who, despite his attempted deception, was sorely needed in this fight. It descended on its huge, eagle-wings, talons out, and came at him with a speed that he could not match.
“What happened?” Merlin demanded, immediately rolling his sleeves to bare his forearms and rushing to scrub his hands into a waiting basin of water. He indicated the cot off to one side of the physician’s office. “Bring him here.”
“The beast attacked, it had him under its talons,” Leon explained as he unslung Arthur’s good arm from over his shoulder and helped set him down.
Merlin went to the head of the cot and took over getting him properly prone.
“Would’ve made a meal of him had he not thrust his sword into it,” the knight went on.
“Didn’t kill it,” Arthur muttered miserably as Merlin lowered him with gentle but strong hands. “My sword, it shattered.”
“But you lived,” Leon gripped the prince's forearm affectionately. He looked over at Merlin. “It's just his shoulder, I think.”
Merlin replaced Leon at his side and leaned over him to begin his assessment. Arthur himself had yet to take stock of the fullness of his injuries but Merlin quickly confirmed what Leon had said because his attention became focussed wholly on his shoulder.
There was pain ahead. “Just do what you need to do,” Arthur told him.
The scribe, the physician’s apprentice, whatever he was these days, nodded. He enlisted Leon’s help to remove his mail. Arthur wasn’t above making his pain known, he gritted out a shout when they moved his arm up and the weight of the metal passed over him.
Then Merlin began to peel back his shredded gambeson with great care, apologising when the dried blood caused him to pull the skin along with it. He decided instead that the easiest thing to do was cut him out of the garment, which he achieved with Arthur’s own dagger and an efficiency that surprised him. He set about picking at the threads stuck in the wound with a small metal implement, managing not to hurt him all the while.
“I have to clean it,” he warned him grimly.
There were shouts outside, Leon turned to the prince with wide eyes. Arthur nodded his assent for him to leave.
“You’re in good hands, sire,” Leon reassured him.
“Be cautious, Leon, this thing can’t be killed easily,” Arthur managed.
Leon nodded once as he left and then they were alone.
“I should be out there,” Arthur lamented.
“No, you should not,” Merlin said evenly, his words final and commanding.
“So, cleaning the wound,” he said hoarsely after a few beats, looking up at the ceiling where various herbs hung.
“Yeah,” the other winced. He had a vessel with a little spout in his hand. “Ready?”
“Get on with it.”
The liquid stung horribly as it washed over his skin. “Ah–hhh, lovely,” he sang, his voice breaking.
“I know… I’m sorry,” Merlin said quietly. He mopped carefully around the broken skin. The next thing he produced was a sphagnum poultice, which he placed upon the wound with steady hands.
Just when Arthur started to relax Merlin suddenly swore, the words far more colourful than he had expected from him.
The prince raised his eyebrows.
“I haven't given you anything for the pain,” he frowned deeply, leaning back and running a despairing hand through his own hair.
Arthur tried to tell him it didn't matter but he ignored him and he went to fetch something, coming back with an armful of glass vessels.
He started to crush and mix the contents on the nearest surface, muttering, “I knew I should have refused all this writing business.”
Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Refused ?”
“You were hurt,” he said. His face was red, his eyes dark as he concentrated on whatever pungent plant he’d placed under his pestle, which he worked at almost violently. “I’ll quit, it’s not worth it.”
“What’s not worth what?” Arthur raised his head a little to look at him more properly. “And quit? You’re going to have to tell me why on Earth you think your writing and my injury could ever be related.”
Merlin sniffed. Was he trying not to cry ? “Maybe you wouldn't have gone charging into danger if I’d been there as a voice of reason.”
“My father ordered me to go ‘charging into danger’ and I fail to see what you could have said to stop me,” he countered, then he fell back, mumbling, repeating the absurd words he had just heard, “...Voice of reason…”
Merlin looked away.
“I’m Camelot’s prince, that means I have to go.”
The other sniffed again and wiped quickly at his eyes but remained silent. He continued to busy himself with the bottles, putting drops from the tinctures into what Arthur assumed was a goblet of wine. Clearly Merlin didn't agree that this was what it was to be a prince.
At length he handed over the mixture and Arthur drank, tasting, miraculously, a not unpleasant herbal undercurrent to the watered down grape wine.
Soon after he felt a warmth settle all over him. He wasn’t sure if it was the medicine or the sight of his former servant unconsciously gnawing on his own lips in clear apprehension that made him soften but he did.
The other seemed to take this release of tension as a good sign and started to gather the bottles up again.
“Who taught you to write?” he asked a tidying, but still reticent Merlin. He had wanted to know ever since that conversation with his father in the throne room that started all of this.
“My mother.”
“Who taught her?”
“Probably her mother, why are you asking this?”
“A little unusual for…”
“People of our standing?” he clipped.
“I was going to put it another way.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“Fine, I'll pry no more.”
Merlin picked up a bottle, sighed, put it down again and turned to him, the fight drained from him. “It was useful to us, for the village I mean, to have a few who could write. We used alder for ink and paper of our own making most of the time… And I'm grateful, it means even though I’m apart from mum I can write to her.”
Arthur smiled inwardly. “How often do you write?”
“About once a fortnight, unless there’s news.”
That, Arthur knew, was how often the servants were paid. Either Merlin was saving up the coin to send the letters or he was sending her his wages. Wages, he also realised, which had seen a recent increase, and which, if he really meant what he said, he would be giving up, but for what reason?
The answer seemed a little obvious, but he couldn't claim to understand it no more than he could understand his own nascent, muddled feelings.
Bewildered, he looked at Merlin who had resumed his activity and had gathered up the last of the various bottles he’d brought to the cot. He was over ambitious with the number he could carry at once and he had to race to dump them onto the counter before a few slipped from his grasp to the floor.
He’d missed him, Arthur finally admitted to himself.
If Merlin felt the same way, maybe he did understand.
Suddenly he felt very sorry, truly sorry, for everything.“You are a clumsy dolt, really you are, but not when it matters,” he told him, trying to keep his voice from slurring. “I didn’t mean it, when I said it.”
“Uhm,” Merlin squinted his eyes. “Apology accepted, I guess?”
“You might fall over your own feet but you can write a good speech, pick things out of a wound… You’re capable.” But he could do that and more, Arthur realised, he could lift hearts, he could even make a man a better king.
“Careful sire, that sounded an awful lot like a compliment,” he responded with suppressed laughter. He reached over to the foot of the cot and drew a scratchy blanket over him with fussy movements, belying a sudden nervousness.
“If I had anything nice to say I’d keep it to myself, can't have a servant with a big head,” he said drunkenly.
“Not your servant anymore,” the other mumbled. “Anyway there'd be no room in here with yours already so big.”
“Ha-ha.”
With that, the air between them felt finally, fully cleaned.
Merlin bandaged him not only to keep his poultice in place but to restrict any ill-advised movements that he might decide to make.
It was when he was finished and the two had lapsed into easy conversation that Uther entered. He looked out-sized in the small physician’s office as he swept his gaze around.
“Where is Gaius?” he demanded.
“Treating the wounded in the hall, sire,’ Merlin informed him, getting up from the chair he’d been sitting in and tipping his body in an awkward approximation of a bow.
“And not my son?”
“He’s perfectly capable, father,” Arthur complained from the cot.
Uther looked a little sceptical but he moved on. “When should I expect you to be in fighting form?”
Arthur glanced up to see Merlin’s Adam’s apple bob slowly, he watched too something change in his expression. “Four weeks, five to be sure,” he answered on his behalf.
The king made a gruff noise and assessed his son with a frown before drawing in a tight breath. “There’s no doubt an incident like this will have the men-” at this he seemed to search for the word- “ hesitant on the morrow. They need a reminder of all the progress we’ve made, that these efforts are not wasted. There are fewer creatures such as these at large, once this one is defeated there will be one less and we grow ever closer to peace.” He clicked his fingers at Merlin. “Repeat what I said, beginning ‘there are fewer.’”
Merlin to his credit didn’t miss a beat, but that expression, whatever it was, deepened. “There are fewer creatures such as these at large, once this one is defeated there will be one less and we grow ever closer to peace.”
Uther nodded once and continued. “The same goes for magic, sorcerers… Our efforts this past year, changes in patrols, are rooting them out. If you’re done here, follow me to my chambers, you will write that down, change it however you may need to and compose something along those lines.”
“Yes sire,” Merlin agreed flatly. With poorly concealed reluctance he left Arthur's cotside and made to follow the already exiting king.
And then the oddest thing happened, Arthur watched Merlin go shifty-eyed, as though he were thinking. Thinking deepened to conspiring and kept deepening until he looked like he was planning arson.
Arthur caught his eyes before he turned away. Don’t you dare even think about it, he’ll have your head. He tried to convey to him.
I’ll dare all I like. He seemed to say back.
His father did not say goodbye, but trailing after him, Merlin looked over his shoulder and gave him a look he could not read, something between pain and determination.
He was planning something already, something that had little chance of ending well.
The shouts outside rose and then ebbed as he heard a call for retreat. A great raucous shriek sounded out occasionally, sometimes near, sometimes far. It was circling in the skies, prowling the rooftops. Thoughts turning to the safety of his people, he considered something and alone still with no one to stop him, he shimmied off the bed and got himself upright. He knew that the medicine was dulling the pain, but his wellbeing was of far less importance right now.
If anyone he encountered on his journey cared that the prince was half-naked, bandaged and sweating, they didn't voice it, especially not with such a look of determination on his face. Although the floors were tipping like a ship in a squall and everything felt swaddled in wool, he headed for Lancelot’s cell.
Merlin didn't return to his room that night.
When Arthur asked where he might be, Gaius, having done all he could for the wounded and requiring much needed rest, shrugged and flicked his wrist offhandedly. “With his new duties, sire, he occasionally sleeps elsewhere in the castle. I wouldn't worry. Now get some sleep, you need it.”
Arthur had heard nothing of new quarters and from his understanding of the office Merlin had been granted and its rather small dimensions, he couldn't imagine it would be conducive to a particularly comfortable night. He tried to take comfort in Gaius’ lack of concern, but he didn't like that there was a creature at large and a Merlin missing.
By early morning, a lack of sleep no doubt clouding his judgement, Arthur quietly dressed himself with great difficulty in a tunic George had brought for his modesty. He tiptoed past the court physician asleep in his own cot across the room, lining up his movements with the old man’s snoring. Finally he made his own slow and painful way through the castle to the little scribe’s office, grateful that this time, the floor remained on an even keel.
He didn’t bother knocking.
The room was even smaller than he had envisioned and so filled with vellum, paper and parchment that one badly placed candle would no doubt send the place up in flames. There seemed to be little order to it, half-ancient looking scrolls were tucked in beside vellum so new it took on the shine of the weak morning sun from the singular high window. Sitting to one side, writings spread out before him, was Merlin. He was mid-way through a word it seemed and now he lifted his quill off the page in surprise and ink dripped from it. He cursed as he had yesterday, set it aside and shot out of his chair. “What are you doing up? Who even dressed you?” he demanded irately, getting up. “Go back to bed.”
“You can’t order me around,” Arthur said low, trying not to make it obvious that he was leaning into the doorway for support.
“As the court physician’s apprentice I can,” he declared and came forward to no doubt deliver him bodily back to Gaius.
Arthur sidestepped him with great effort. “I’m here to stop you from doing whatever stupid thing you’re planning on doing.”
“Which one?” he gestured around the space as though he had multiple stupid things on the go. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“I saw that look on your face, I know you plan on doing something to my father’s speech.”
Merlin’s mouth was a defiant line. He looked haggard too, maybe he hadn’t slept at all.
Arthur growled, turned and tried to walk stiffly away, his bandages, probably due a change soon, snagged and pulled on his wound a little as he moved. “I’ll just have to warn him then.”
Merlin swiftly came to block his passage out. “And tell him I’m planning something? Great idea!”
“You’ll make a fool of him, move aside.”
Hurt appeared and promptly fled from the younger man’s features. Suddenly stony-faced he made way for him, gaze on the floor and arm out, encouraging him to leave. “If that’s what this is about, carry on then.”
“No, Merlin, that’s not…” Arthur leaned back onto the open door and sighed, unable to put voice to what this was really about.
The hard lines of Merlin’s expression smoothed out somewhat. He settled on the opposite side of the doorframe and waited for Arthur to speak again.
“Whatever you’re doing, whyever you’re doing it, if you think it’s worth it go ahead. I won’t stop you digging your own grave, just know you’ll have to lay in it.”
Merlin’s lips curled and he glanced at him tentatively. “Maybe I should stay a scribe if you’re going to mix your idioms like that.”
“Never stopped you before… Stay a scribe? What do you mean ‘stay?’ Do you really want to-?”
“You can lead a horse to water but you shouldn't look it in the mouth.”
“What are you even on about?”
“I’ll decide for myself what I'll do, thank you very much.”
Arthur pulled a face, but he understood. If what Merlin decided was to become his servant again, he certainly would not take that gift for granted. How the boy planned to do so after deliberately embarrassing the king, the prince wasn't sure.
“C’mon then, let’s get you back,” he said, offering himself for Arthur to lean on in whatever way was comfortable.
On their awkward journey, when he happened to look down, Arthur saw that Merlin’s boots were freshly muddy.
“By the way, not sure if you heard but the griffon’s dead,” the muddy-booted scribe said conservationally.
“What?!”
“Yeah, had to revise the speech.”
“I’m sure,” Arthur felt dizzy again. “Who felled it?”
When Merlin said the man’s name, Arthur had expected as much.
Despite Merlin’s protests he couldn't miss the crucial moment, so after only a few candle marks he left his cot once more, this time to go to the great hall to sit on the right side of his father's throne. Uther wanted him in attendance to encourage the men, whether he bled through his bandages in bed or a chair was immaterial.
Uther stood on the dais, surveying the crowd of knights and guards, sitting or standing according to their rank. Gwen was pottering around with a pitcher of wine and Merlin was standing off to one side of the dais, his face in profile, unreadable, and his hands behind his back. Morgana was in attendance too, sitting on Uther’s left, her arms were folded and she was staring daggers at the king, clearly like Merlin she also blamed the man for the harm that came to Arthur, or else she was angry at him for some other slight, it was hard to tell with Morgana. George held the scroll open for Uther in an uncomfortable looking sustained half-bow. Arthur saw Merlin’s neat, innocuous hand upon it and tensed with apprehension. He stared at the boy and he prayed to anyone who might answer that there wouldn't be a noose around his neck next morning.
The king took a breath. “I deliver good news, the creature has been felled. Camelot is strong. We are reminded this day that whether they be man or beast, despite the destructive power they wield they can be defeated, and with each victory we grow ever closer to peace. This past year we have ensured that the past the year,” he stopped, his grey brows pinched, then he resumed. “This past year we have ensured that no strongholds for users of magic or magical creatures alike could take hold within Camelot’s borders. Her brave knights and patrolmen have doubtfully carried out new… Her brave knights and patrolmen have dutifully carried out new orders, ensuring no predictability to the recently increased patrols. Furthermore, penile meas- punitive measures have ensured the past year… ahem… have… sent a clear message to all who would use magic in this kingdom that there is no place for it in this kingd… for it here. As for those that remain, we must keep abreast of the best breast… dear god…”
Across the room Gwen fumbled and almost dropped the pitcher and Leon had gone bug-eyed. In the corner of his eye Arthur saw Morgana punch her own leg. Merlin carried no expression at all, even as his father's murderous gaze fell upon him.
Uther waved George away and continued without the sabotaged speech. He took a new breath. “Despite the risks that we endure, it is my hope that our progress will provide the courage required to finish what has been started so that we may see peace and be free of magic and other threats such as this creature in our lifetime.”
The knights beat their fists loudly on their chests and an awkward round of ‘hear hear’s’ sounded out. Uther waited until all had settled down.
“You, stay,” he said loudly and cooly then, pointing directly at Merlin. “Everyone else is dismissed.”
Merlin did not shrink back or cower, instead Arthur could have sworn he shrugged as everyone began shuffling out and he stepped onto the dais . So much for thinking he was scared of the king. Arthur struggled upright out of his seat and though they passed each other they were too close to Uther for Arthur to exchange anything other than a silent plea to him to cease all further stupidity if he valued his own life.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he caught up with Morgana on her way out.
“I need to speak with you, Morgana,” he said quietly in the wide corridor, and they stopped as all others streamed past them murmuring about the last few minutes. He overheard more than one person suggesting that the scribe’s head would surely roll.
“About Merlin and his little stunt?” she half-sang, suppressing a leer that made her teeth look sharp.
“Yes about Merlin and his little stunt!” he hissed and he looked around to make sure no one could overhear. He brought her closer to the wall for privacy. He realised he must seem frantic but he didn't care. He thought quickly. “I need your help. Dinner, meetings with boring lords who want your hand, anything of the like, I’ll get you out of them, any excuse.”
She leaned against the wall, her eyes twinkling in interest. “How many times?”
“Three.”
She arched an eyebrow. “If you think-”
“Five.”
“Fine,” she acquiesced. “What do you want?”
“My father will listen to you, just tell him that Merlin has a mental problem, that he’s better suited to work with his hands.”
“Oh, say what you mean for once you thick oaf,” she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
Confused, Arthur tried again. “He would be better reverting to his original post as my manservant.”
“Well it's a start,” she sighed, looking disappointed in him for some reason. She considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Anyway Arthur we both know Uther doesn’t do charity, he won't take pity on him.”
“Then tell him you want to take pity on him.”
She threw her head back and scoffed loudly. “What? You think I need only appeal to his good nature,” she all but spat out her last few words.
Arthur blinked.
“Don't be daft, he listens to me least of all. He can’t be moved. In fact, I’m sure if I were to ask him he’d only double your boy’s punishment.”
Arthur sagged. She was right, of course she was right. Uther moved for no one, least of all her. Briefly he considered that just maybe, Camelot might be a kinder place if Morgana really did have influence with its king.
“Then help me find another way,” he pleaded, mind racing now.
She made a show of considering something. “There are two people whose opinions he might listen to.”
“Who?”
“Come on, it’s not that hard. The other members of our favourite committee?”
“Gauis, Geoffery,” he realised, sagging even further, this time in relief.
“I did say might, you may remember he sent his only son to go kill a creature they warned couldn't be killed? That it's dead now might harm their chances of convincing him.”
“We have to try,” he all but panted.
She looked him up and down then assessingly. He hadn’t realised that his breath was heaving until just that moment. “You look like you’ll fall over,” she said flatly as though this was all very dreary. Without asking she left the wall, looped her arm around his and helped him down the corridor. She sighed. “I’ll speak to them about Merlin.”
“Thank you, Morgana.”
“You can thank me in a sennight when you tell the visiting Prince Claudin that I’m out teaching orphan lepers to read, and that I might even catch it.” She flashed a devious smile at him and briefly, they were a united front.
Once the citizens of Camelot had tired of throwing rotten food and had mostly returned to their homes for the night, Arthur sneaked out of his room, down the gallery steps and into the courtyard. Ahead, he could see Merlin’s stupid little bottom where he was locked into the stocks. He marched across the cobblestones with his fists clenched, injuries forgotten, skirted around and pointed at him angrily. “You could have been sacked or flogged or hung!”
“Well, he deserved it and besides, it was worth the risk!” Merlin defended, his hands attempting their usual gesticulations though they were as equally locked into place as his dumb head.
Arthur reared his head back at the blatant admission, did the lunatic really humiliate the King of Camelot because he dared to send his son, a knight, into battle? Had Merlin really taken it upon himself to punish a king ? “Other than the simple joy of committing treason, what exactly was worth the risk?!” he asked him through clenched teeth.
Merlin suddenly looked like he was chewing on something.
“Well?!”
“Missed the horses,” he blurted. “Scribes don't tend to the horses.”
The prince’s mouth fell open.“You missed… the horses? You wanted to be demoted because of-?”
“They're lovely horses if you ever cared to notice,” he said accusingly, scowling up at him.
“And that was worth all that?”
“Yes,” he held his gaze before looking sheepishly around, his eyes compensating for his very limited range of movement. “While you're here sire, I have an itch just behind my ear…”
For a moment Arthur considered leaving the idiot to his well-deserved punishment, but instead he looked around them for witnesses, then reached over and scratched into Merlin’s hair.
“A little higher.”
The prince grumbled but complied.
“Mm that's it, thank you. Y’couldn’t give my back a rub too while you're here?”
Arthur gave his ridiculous ear a hard flick.
“Ow!”
“I’m expecting extra sausages in the morning,” Arthur told him.
“What?” he asked but the prince was already withdrawing and making his way back to the castle.
“Be grateful,” he shouted over his shoulder. “My father was going to dismiss you.” Uther hadn't shared the news with Merlin either way, it seemed, he had been too focussed on the affront. It was Gaius and Geoffrey who had carefully dissuaded him from his plan to banish the boy entirely.
“Did you plead for me? Arthur?!” he called after him. But the prince only walked on, smiling to himself and shaking his head.
After all of the ill-advised movement Merlin had expressly warned him against, by morning Arthur was well and truly bed-bound. Exaggerating the severity of his fever he claimed not to be hungry anymore and pushed his still sausage laden plate across the bedsheets in the direction of his fretting, newly reappointed servant.
Merlin slowly sat down on the bed, his back against the bedpost at Arthur’s feet and took the plate onto his lap. He was not long out of the stocks and his miserable, sleepless night was apparent in his over-pale face and in the way he frequently stretched and rubbed his own shoulders. He stretched again before he picked up a sausage, ate half of it, then put it down. The sounds of Camelot coming from one of the open windows across the room filled the silence before he spoke. “I don't know what you did, but thank you,” he said, his gaze firmly on the food.
Arthur huffed. He watched the dust motes for a time, then he traced that same beam of sunlight where it played over the younger man’s face. It was swiftly becoming impossible to mistake or tamp down the feelings that welled up in him, feelings that had him wishing to reach out, but instead he threw his head back into his pillows and rolled his eyes. “Just eat it, would you?”
And all the parts of Arthur that made him worthy of the unguarded smile Merlin gave him in response, of his loyalty and friendship, glinted, picked out by the light.
***
And so it went through the years.
If anyone asked the prince and his servant why they slept increasingly close on hunting trips and campaigns, the servant would have said it was never too early nor too late for the prince, a meathead regardless of the time of day, to need a voice of reason. The prince might have said that it was safer this way, that the servant was too weak to defend himself should some danger come their way. No one did ask, of course.
***
Then the siege.
Arthur’s chambers were half-looted, what couldn't be carried was broken and upturned.
A part of him still reeled at the treachery of Morgana, at all that had passed between them and ached too to know that all along they had shared blood. In that kinder world he glimpsed all those years back, with a kinder king who heard his ward’s daughter’s pleas, Arthur wondered whether, even with the corrupting force of magic, Camelot would still be ripped half-asunder by her wrath. He shoved that painful line of thinking away, for now.
Though they were ultimately victorious, everyone was shaken and weary, many were wounded or otherwise beaten. Not everyone escaped with their lives.
When Merlin let himself into the room in the middle of the dark night, Arthur had been expecting him, or maybe, he was beginning to admit to himself, he’d been hoping for him. Even after all these years he still wore the same sleep clothes. As he crossed the room he tried and failed to smooth down his own dark peaked hair, revealing a line of stitching, a repair under one of the arms. Like he had years ago, he dragged over the big chair from the hearth. His clothes slipped off one shoulder as he did so. He didn’t fix it. There was a scar on Merlin's chest, a big one, round, with edges like an illustration of the sun.
Arthur frowned, when had he got it? What could have caused it? Had it hurt? How was there so much he still didn't know?
He didn't ask about it, but Merlin caught him looking and gave him an odd little smile.
They worked into the night.
A candle burned out, a sense of déjà vu came over Arthur. He watched the line of smoke it left behind for a time, then turned his attention to his servant, who was still scratching away.
He cleared his throat and Merlin, hearing, slowly put his quill aside.
“That’s enough for tonight,” Arthur told him. “You have to get up before dawn tomorrow to wake me.”
Merlin grimaced over his shoulder at the door. “I know, I-”
“Hardly worth…” Arthur interrupted him, exhaustion making him bold.
Merlin’s brows furrowed. “Worth?”
“Leaving,” he coughed, finishing.
“I’ll take the antichamber then.”
“It's not made up,” he said as casually as he could. “You can sleep in mine.”
Arthur didn't miss Merlin’s small smile as he rose to pull him out of his chair and undress him.
In the softness of the bed later Merlin rolled a little too close. “Sorry, I’ll-”
But Arthur found himself reaching out, and hearing no protest, he pulled Merlin’s lean, softly clothed form close. Merlin gave a quiet little laugh and a sigh, a sound of relief, of contentment, as he slung an arm over Arthur's waist and wriggled until he was comfortable. They weathered the night like that, pressed together. When the new day came they would face it like they always did, side by side.