Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although the weather had begun to turn for the better, the weak sunshine illuminating the streets a little earlier than it had done yesterday did nothing to warm them. At this hour, most of the businesses lining the cobbled road had not yet opened, though the quiet bustles of preparation promised the day’s activity. As Merlin shoved his hands into his armpits against the cold, he took a deep breath beside the still-closed wine merchants’ and held it as he walked on. This early morning walk had taught him quickly that a lungful of fresh air by the merchants’ saved him from the pungent smell of the fishmongers’ a few stalls over, whose reeking nights’ work was being doled out onto the salt-crusted shelves of the stall. Merlin averted his eyes from those of the fish, which gazed up blindly at the grey sky above, and hurried along, before gratefully inhaling once more in front of the blacksmith’s storefront. It was important to resume normal breathing at this point of his journey, because in a few moments, the air would be divine. Sure enough, Merlin drank in the heavenly aroma of baking bread emanating from the baker’s greedily, letting it warm him from the inside out. The thought of fresh loves, hot muffins, flaking pastry, and baked fruit made the hungry ache in his stomach even worse, and he quickened his pace. He was quite, quite empty.

 By the time he got home, though he had not yet had breakfast, Merlin felt as though he had already done a day’s work, and a hard one at that. All he wanted was to go upstairs, curl up on his bed, and cry himself to sleep. But there could be no questions of that, for already, the cooking pot was bubbling over the fire, and the room was filled with a warm, sweet smell. A figure dressed in long, loose robes was already putting two steaming bowls of porridge on the table. Despite himself and his misery, Merlin’s stomach still found it in itself to growl. Through the actor was exhausted, the performance could not cease, not yet. 

 This was the part where Gaius pretended not to notice that Merlin had been out all night, and Merlin pretended to not to notice him noticing. It was another scene Merlin knew well. Without meeting his eye, Merlin sat down, and began to apply liberal spoonfuls of sugar to his bowl. He watched as the heat of the warm oats melted it to liquid, just as it had done yesterday, and the day before, and would again tomorrow. Step by step, move by move, always the same. It was almost comforting, in a way, that the same dance almost every night would lead to the same morning after.  

 And yet, through the events of the previous evening had been rehearsed to perfection...that morning, the show had come crashing to a hault. 

“Oi. Dollophead.” Merlin hissed as he tugged at the bedclothes. “Move over, will you? You’re hogging the blanket.”

 “That sounds an awful lot like your problem, Merlin...”

 In the darkness, Merlin could just make out the shape of Arthur’s head on the pillow beside him as he yawned hugely, pulling the covers more tightly around him. What was the point, Merlin thought, of sleeping in a bed so superior to his own if he could not even enjoy it? But it was the yawn that annoyed him more than the selfishness. It wasn’t as if Arthur had any reason to be tired - not after that day. Today, Merlin had lugged laundry up and down the stairs, polished armour, overseen deliveries, taken messages, and spent a good half hour searching for a missing pair of breeches requested by His Highness - not to mention running errands for Gaius, measuring and delivering medicine, and even finding time to comfort a crying Gwen on the back staircase (for the usual reason). Meanwhile, Merlin had watched Arthur working comfortably at his desk and enjoying lunch with his father, before spending the afternoon's "training session" sparring in the courtyard with the knights, where the only lesson seemed to be how to laugh and slap each other's shoulders. Sweating onto his tenth armful of laundry, Merlin had glared at them through the lancet window. 

 As the sun set, and the darkness hid that which Arthur kept most secret, the day's events would prove prophetic. Just as they always did. 

 Merlin sighed into his pillow. He was bone-tired, aching all over - and yet it was Arthur who had the audacity to yawn? Frustrated, he pulled at the covers so sharply that he overbalanced, and his elbow collided with Arthur’s shoulder.

 “Ouch!” the prince complained, massaging it. “God, why do all your corners have to be so sharp? It’s like sharing a bed with a bag of marbles…”

 “From the way you snore, it’s like being inside a bag of marbles.” Merlin shot back.  “And someone is shaking it.”

 Arthur snorted. “I still don’t believe you.”

 “It’s true!” Merlin insisted. “Your mouth is always wide open. I could fit my entire fist in it.”

 “That would be a horrible way to lose a hand, Merlin...”

 To anyone beyond the curtains of this four-poster bed, it may have sounded like an argument. It was, Merlin supposed, but unlike every other argument he had ever found himself in, he never, ever wanted it to end. Despite himself, despite his resentment, Merlin found, to his disappointment, that he was grinning. He simply couldn't help it; it was like asking a river not to flow. He gazed a little at Arthur’s shape in the darkness; the way his hair flicked over his forehead, the shape of his eyelashes, the gentle fullness of his lips...even after all this time, it was still sometimes difficult to believe Arthur was even real; that he had not stepped from the frame of a painting; that he was not a statue come to life. No, Arthur was warm, and real, and his reality alone was a miracle. Merlin watched the gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, proof that he continued to live and exist, and felt that familiar little flicker of warmth deep in his own. Of all the extraordinary things that had happened in Merlin’s life (and they were more numerous than almost anyone knew), perhaps the biggest mystery of all was why Arthur Pendragon had chosen him to share his bed. Him! Even after all this time, nothing could dull the wonder of simply being by his side. It was nothing short of magic...

 Meanwhile, Arthur stifled another yawn - and prepared himself for the final scene of their long-running play. “Goodnight, then.” With that, he rolled over. Expectantly.

 Here it was. The most rehearsed routine of all. And yet, familiarity had made it no less difficult to perform. Especially tonight. 

 Merlin needed to be cuddled. He needed it desperately. He was exhausted, defeated, and certain that being held in those golden arms, even for a moment, would relieve him of the worst of it. Would comfort his mind and sooth his breast. Would prove him human, and worthy of his place in this bed...But he looked at that sculpted back, and knew his duty. And so, without a word, he wound his arms in a practiced gesture around Arthur, and pressed his front against his back. No amount of practice made this position any more comfortable for Merlin. Arthur was broad enough that his left arm practically dislocated as it stretched over his torso, while the right was crushed beneath broad, muscular shoulders. But the contented sigh that Arthur always made, and the way he snuggled in, ensured that Merlin would endure it another night, any night, every night…

 “There has been another sighting of the beast.”

 Merlin had been contemplating his porridge rather than eating it. As his mind swam back to reality, hurriedly, he stuffed a spoonful into his mouth. “The what?”

 Having replaced the salt cellar, Gaius fixed Merlin with the sort of look that never failed to make him feel like a schoolboy caught in an act of mischief. “I don’t tell you these things for my health, Merlin.” he murmured. “The least you can do is listen to me.” Oh, Gaius did this so well. He wasn’t angry. He was disappointed, and that was far, far worse. “It was spotted at the edge of the Darkling Woods again last night.” he was explaining, a flicker of concern behind those constant eyes. “The lookout who saw it said its red eyes were glowing like –“

 “Oh…” Suddenly, the memory of the previous morning’s conversation presented itself in Merlin's mind – and it rolled his eyes. Oh, not this. Not this nonsense again. “I don’t know what your lookout thinks he saw – probably just some poppies fluttering in the breeze, or something...” He took another big bite of porridge, relieved that it was nothing more serious. After all, and Merlin was absolutely certain of this: “There is no such thing as a Necker!”

 Once more, Gaius’ expression was quietly disappointed. “I would have thought you of all people would be open to the possibility of –“

 “Oh, Gaius! It’s just a story to scare children into coming home before dark!” Merlin gave a humourless laugh. “When I used to play out with Will, my mother always told me that if we were still out when the sun went down, Old Red Eyes would come and get us.” He snorted at the memory. “Come on. I gave you more credit than that.”

 “That’s three reports this month.”

 “Well, of course! As soon as one gullible idiot on his way back from the tavern thinks he saw a monster, everyone’s going to start seeing shapes in the dark!” Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a load of rubbish.”

 Still, Gaius did not budge. “All the same, Merlin, until there is a definitive explanation, I don’t want you going out alone at night.”

 “Oh, Gaius…” Merlin smiled indulgently over their bowls. “You might as well say there’s a giant in the clouds ready to grind my bones to make its bread!” With that, he golluped down the last of his porridge, and leapt up from the table to find a clean shirt.  “I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late!”

 But when he thundered back downstairs, his mind already on Arthur's breakfast and boots...he found Gaius sitting exactly where he had left him, and the look in his eyes stopped him in his tracks. It was an old look, a weathered look, a strange look...and yet, it was filled with so much warmth that Merlin suddenly felt as though he could burst into tears. This was the part of Gaius Merlin had the most trouble with. It wasn't the work, nor the criticism, nor the irritating tendancy the man had to know if he was hiding something just as easily as if he could see through a little window straight into his mind...It was this. This...care. This special kind of care he was never too tired to give. To be so regarded by an older man seemed to fill a long-empty hole in his heart, a hole he had always had, ever since he was a child, a hole that had emptied as soon as it had been filled by a figure who had vanished as soon as he had appeared. That old ache...Right on cue, as if he knew it all, Gaius gave him a small, sad smile. “Won’t you help an old man rest easier in his bed?”

 “You think I'd go looking for trouble?” Though the words were casual, Merlin's voice had come out strangely gruff, as if he had a cold. In front of him, Gaius' eyebrows had raised. 

 “I think trouble has never failed to find you yet.”

 Here it was. His words were so warm and so caring that Merlin couldn't stand it a second longer.The events of the previous evening, and of that morning, washed over him, and he knew that if he stood here a moment longer, he would break down. And so, without another word, he grabbed his bag, and rushed out of the front door. He let it bang behind him as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. 

“Do you want me to come tonight?” Merlin had asked, pulling his shirt on over his head, and preparing himself for the long, cold, walk home. Still in bed, Arthur was as bleary-eyed and tousle-haired as he ever was before cock-crow. He was sweeter in the mornings, Merlin thought, all fresh and sleepy. Younger, somehow. More vulnerable, without his armour and titles. More...human. 

 “Ah." Arthur croaked, rubbing his eyes. "No. Thank you. I have…" He paused, swallowing hard. "A late appointment." He made a small, bubbling sound that was almost a laugh. "You may take the night off, Merlin. I shan't be requiring your services."  

 At this, Merlin had snickered. "I hate you." 

 "No you don't!" Arthur had called at his retreating back. It was a good thing he had been retreating, Merlin thought, as he closed the door noiselessly behind him. If Arthur had seen the sappy smile on his face, he'd never have heard the end of it...

 That should have been where the curtain had come down on the night's performance. He wished it had. Oh, Merlin wished with all his heart that it had. 

 “Well, that's a turn-up, and no mistake!" came the shrill voice of a chambermaid as Merlin had snuck past the servant's quarters. "Who would have thought it of the prince? In and out, in and out, it's like a parade! A different girl every night!”

 Merlin had stopped in his tracks. 

 "Never had Arthur down as the sort who'd keep whores!" 

 It had knocked all the air from his lungs. And still, Merlin could not catch his breath. 

 He had only been scrubbing Arthur’s boots for a few minutes, but already his back was aching something dreadful. Almost as badly as his heart. 

 Merlin felt a fool. Perhaps his love for Arthur had predisposed him to delusion, but still, he could not believe he had been this stupid. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. The idea that Arthur Pendragon was his exclusively was ridiculous, he knew that. But until then, his ignorance had allowed him to live in a pleasent, dreamlike state in which, he imagined, despite the small annoyances he assumed typical of any relationship, everything might still be perfect. He loved Arthur, and Arthur loved him, and that was all he could ever need - so surely, that was all either of them could ever need. And yet, evidently...he was wrong. Oh God. Oh God, the thought of Arthur in bed with another, being held by another, loving another, made Merlin feel as if his insides had been scraped out onto the floor. 

 Perhaps it was for the best, Merlin tried to think, as he scrubbed away. It wasn’t as if Arthur had ever been famed for his generosity in bed, or his experimentalism. In the early days, Merlin had been in such a state of disbelief at what was happening that he had barely noticed. Arthur Pendragon was in his arms, touching him, kissing him, loving him, and that was all that mattered in the world. But now, as even the most spectacular view grows stale with familiarity, it was starting to feel like a routine, as banal as the making of beds or even the emptying of chamber pots. Still, even as Merlin grew bored, he noted that the feeling had never seemed mutual. Arthur seemed to thrive on this predicable aspect; perhaps his real life was so changeable and chaotic that an anticipated life in his bedroom was probably a great comfort. It was hard to guess what relieved his stress more, their sex, or the cuddles that followed. To be the one to bring Arthur that comfort, that comfort that only he could, had thrilled Merlin beyond all else. But now, he knew...Arthur didn't just want it from Merlin. He could get it anywhere he wanted. And he was. Right in their bed. Merlin wanted to vomit into Arthur's boots.

 Still, even after all this hurt, Merlin's heart was unchanged; Arthur meant more to him than anyone else in the world, and for better or worse, he would love him until he drew his last breath...but even though he hated himself for it, Merlin was still human. And as a human, he felt used. He felt bored. He felt taken for granted. And, frankly, he was exhausted with the whole performance.

 But the worst thing, the very worst thing, was that if Arthur was lying with sex workers, who were paid to do exactly what he wanted...why couldn't he have found it in him, even once, even one time, to hold Merlin afterwards? 

 “Think fast!”

 “Oh!” Merlin’s head jerked up just in time for a ball to bounce smartly off his cheek. As he reeled, desperately trying to pull himself back into reality, from the doorway, there came a loud, bark-like laugh. It was a gloriously sunny sound; already, the room felt warmer, the daylight brighter, the ache in his back a little less acute. Feeling as though he had just taken a long drink of cool water, Merlin looked up to see a filthily handsome smile glistening down at him.

 “Useless.” Gwaine swaggered into the hall, arms folded across his armoured chest, his red cloak hanging rakishly off one broad shoulder. Anyone else would have looked ridiculous, but Gwaine could have shown up in a potato sack and still look like the most stylish person in the room. It was one of the most irritating things about him; and yet, today, Merlin found himself unabashedly happy to see him. “Hopeless." the knight was drawling. "Don’t know why they still employ you here. Charity?”

 Despite himself, Merlin was smiling back. “My sparkling wit?”

 “Nah. They’ve got me for that.” Gwaine made to pick up the ball - and almost overbalanced. "Ahh!”

 “What was that about a charity case?” Merlin snorted, returning to the boots. Though he polished as hard as he ever had...he couldn't stop his eyes from wondering back up to the knight who had, with a rustle of chainmail and a clink of metal, crouched down in front of him. 

 “Come on then, what’s wrong?”

 Having carefully positioned himself on the same level, Merlin could not help but meet his eye. Oh...those eyes, those shining dark eyes that seemed to be locked in a permenant state of come-to-bed...

 “Wrong?” Merlin spluttered out, looking away. It wasn't as if he had never noticed them before...but still. No matter how bright the stars were, how could he look at anything but the sun? 

 “You’re not showing those boots much charity." Gwaine was pointing out, the corner of his mouth flickering up. "That leather'll be paper thin by the time you’re finished with them." 

 The last thing, the very last thing in the world Merlin needed right now, was any more care. “…Nothing at all.” he mumbled determinedly. 

 At this, Gwaine gave a low whistle. “Alright." he sang, straightening up. "If you’re going to lie to me, I’ll find someone more fun to bother.”

 “Wait!" 

 Merlin's mouth had moved before his brain. Why had it done that? But now that it had...Well. He was doing himself no good, sitting here wallowing in misery. And a friend's care was not the same as a father's. Or even a lover's. 

 "Look…" Merlin discarded the boot polish, and forced himself to look up. "You’re right. Well done. Very clever.”

 Despite his best efforts, there was simply no way not to noticed how Gwaine's eyes crinkled as he smiled. For goodness sake, it ought to be illegal...Meanwhile, Gwaine was giving a comic little gasp. “No one’s ever accused me of that before. Keep your voice down, I've got a reputation to maintain.”

 “Ha!" Merlin laughed. No. No, it wasn't quite a laugh. It was...well. It was a giggle. Since when did he giggle? "I can’t tell you." he said, truthfully. "But I do appreciate the distraction.”

 Gwaine's smile stretched across his cheeks into something people would claw one another's eyes out over... “If you want a decent distraction, why don’t we head to the tavern tonight, hm? Just you and me. A proper boys’ night! What do you say?" 

 Merlin snorted. He had been to taverns with Gwaine - he knew exactly what his idea of a 'boy's night' would entail... "I don't think so..." 

 "Go on!" Gwaine pressed. "The way Gaius tells it, you’re always hanging around the place, but I never seem to catch you. And I’ve got terribly good aim.” Oh, that smile. That wide, boyish smile that was every bit as deadly as the sword in his scabbard...Perhaps, Merlin thought, it was time to write a different sort of scene. Besides...it wasn't as if he was busy tonight. 

 “…Alright." Merlin heard himself saying, a sick sort of excitement already stirring inside him. "Fine. But you’re buying.”

 “Oh." Gwaine grinned dangerously. "Oh, I don’t plan to...”

Chapter Text

 “To be fair,” Gwaine reasoned, as they slammed the tavern door behind them just in time to avoid being hit with a flying tankard. “Why would they put up all those swords on the walls if they didn’t want me to use them?”

 “They’re decorative!” Merlin was half amused, half terrified, as another tankard thudded on the back of the door, accompanied by a barrage of insults that would have made a docker blush.

 “Oh, are they?” Gwaine breezed. “That’s why it was blunt as a spoon…” The angry shouts were drawing closer. “What d'you say?” He shot Merlin a wicked grin. “We could take them between us easy enough.”

 Merlin let out a high laugh. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” He met Gwaine’s eye, and realised, in disbelief: “Alright - not joking!”  

 “Well, I could handle them by myself, 'course I could.” Gwaine drawled, casually scratching his head as footsteps thundered towards the door. “Just didn’t want you left out of the fun.”

 “Fun?” Hearing the sound of scraping steel, Merlin grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him firmly away. “Come on!”

Goodness, he had forgotten just how chaotic life was with Gwaine. Happily, the knight seemed to have drunk just enough ale to be easy to drag down the street, but not so much that he was entirely out of his senses. Therefore, with some relief, Merlin managed to pull him into a blind alley just in time to avoid the onslaught of drunks spilling out onto the street.

 “Killjoy…” Gwaine was still grinning in the half-light. It was such a dopey grin, Merlin thought, so unabashed, a look that rarely survived adulthood. It put him in mind of a mischievous dog, wagging his tail at his master over the remains of a pillow. Perhaps that was why, despite the abject terror of the moment, Merlin found himself laughing.

 “Well, yes. I didn’t want your joy to kill me.”

 They stayed there, sniggering in the dark like schoolboys, until the noise had died down, and the street was filled only with the sounds of the night once more. Though the danger had passed, still, Merlin found that his heart was racing, his breath refusing to be caught. As he looked at Gwaine, at that deadly smile, he found himself feeling more alive than he had in weeks. Perhaps months, even. Blood rushing, chest heaving…this was exactly what he had needed.

 “Hey – you hungry?” said Gwaine suddenly, as if they were simply on a stroll through the forest, rather than coming out of hiding. “I know a place.”

 A quarter of an hour later, Merlin found himself sitting on a stone wall, his hands being warmed by a steaming baked potato, covered in cheese curds and fried onions. The onions especially had an incredibly pungent smell; sulphurous, but cut with good, clean fat, and it set his mouth watering. Through the night wind had picked up, and the stone chilled him through his trousers, this late-night street food warmed him inside and out as well as any fireplace. Or any royal bed…

 “There’s a better place further up the road.” Gwaine pulled himself up beside him and dug into his own portion. “They give you slices off this huge cut of lamb they keep turning on a spit, day and night. It’s rubbed with butter and spices. Lush, it is...” He paused. “But I know you’re not the biggest fan of meat.”

 Merlin paused, almost choking on a mouthful of potato and cheese. “Well remembered.” he mumbled. Goodness, he was feeling less cold by the moment. Surely he had not drank enough ale for it to have had so much of an effect? No – he felt sober enough, if not completely. Could the potato alone be keeping him warm? Or was it, as he suspected…more to do with the company?

 This thought turned his stomach as much as it thrilled him. Quickly, he tore his eyes from Gwaine, and looked up instead at the night sky. The stars never seemed to shine so brightly over Camelot as they did over his mother’s house. There was something about the cities that seemed to dull the sky. Perhaps they had too many of their own firelights to need much help from those above. Merlin’s gaze traced the familiar constellations, all the way down to the horizon, where it fell upon Camelot’s skyline. So many buildings…so many towers and turrets, so many smoking chimneys and bubbling taverns. It seemed as though the capital never slept.

 Speaking of not sleeping…Merlin’s eyes fell, as they were always inevitably drawn, upon the citadel. Even from here, he knew which window was Arthur’s…what was Arthur doing, as Merlin sat on this wall and ate fried onions? And with whom was he doing it? The thought made Merlin’s stomach do an unpleasant backflip. Who were they, then, who were they that kept Arthur from him? How long had it been going on? Did Arthur prefer them, prefer the things they did, preferred the way they held him in their arms, preferred even their face? Suddenly, Merlin felt like kicking the wall.

 “You shouldn’t think so much, kid.” A voice cut into his thoughts. “It isn’t good for you.”

 When Merlin came to, he found a pair of dark eyes holding his. Though Gwaine’s ever-ready smile tugged at the corners of his lips, there was something else in his face. Something Merlin could not quite place.

 “Look at me. I haven’t had a thought in years, and I’m happy enough.”

 At this, even from the depths of his misery, Merlin couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out of him. “Aren’t you just?” Neither could he stop a touch of jealousy leaking into his tone. Those bright eyes, that doggish grin…perhaps, he ventured, even wolfish. The moon was very bright, after all.

 Having demolished half of his potato, Gwaine set the paper it was wrapped in down on the stones, and folded his arms. “So – you gonna tell me what’s going on in that big old mind of yours? Or you gonna keep me guessing?”

Unfortunately, it seemed, Gwaine was just as sober as he was. God. It was much easier when the man was drunk…“Do you really care?” Merlin heard himself saying. He had meant to sound light, jesting, ready to move the conversation on at any and all costs…and yet, the voice he spoke in was distant.

 Beside him, Gwaine snorted. “Oh yeah, I obviously don't care one bit, that's why I asked you.” He pretended to sigh, his tone still gloriously teasing. “'Course I care, you idiot." he grinned, shoving him. There was a short silence, like the draw before the loosing of an arrow. Then- "Go on, then. Tell me. What’s their name?”

 Merlin froze.

 “Excuse me?”

 Though there was still a twinkle in his eye, almost all trace of that smile was gone. “I don’t know much, but I know that look.” Gwaine pressed. “Who is it?”

 Thankfully, it was dark enough that Gwaine could not see the flush that Merlin could feel burning on his cheeks. Still, not wanting to risk it, he turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a wine advertisement painted on the stone of a nearby building. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...” he mumbled, doing everything in his power to keep his voice natural. Unfortunately, it came out a little too natural. He tried to cover it by stuffing another forkful of potato into his mouth – but it was already far too late.

 “Fine. Alright. Have it your way.” Gwaine breezed. For a long moment, he simply stared at him, that unreadable expression all over his face. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn up once again. “Just know that whoever it is that’s making you so miserable…well.” He raised his eyebrows. “They’d better stay out of my way, that’s all…”

 This was enough to make Merlin almost choke again. Swallowing as hard as he could, hard enough that his eyes began to water, he gaped at Gwaine, trying to make sense of what the knight had just said. “…What do you mean?”

 Now, Gwaine’s eyes were positively glowing. He fixed Merlin with another searching look – a look that was almost a request for permission. A request he did not wait for. For already, he had leaned in closer, and dropped his voice to a little above a whisper. “Don’t y'know what I’d do to someone who hurt you?”

 All the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck were upright. Deep inside him, once again, butterflies were flapping fit to burst…but this time, he wasn’t sure he was entirely opposed to the sensation. In fact, he found wasn’t opposed at all. “…What?” he murmured, incapable of anything else.  

 “You really don’t know?” Gwaine blinked a little…before, as he gazed back at Merlin, he found his question answered. “Wow…” He gave a low whistle – before that grin returned, as deadly as ever. “You’re winding me up. You can't actually not have noticed?”

 “Noticed what?” It was safer to plead ignorance, safer to feign naivety, rather than risking being wrong about something like – something like - something he did not dare believe, even inside his own mind...

 And yet, as Gwaine smiled at him, those glistening eyes creasing in a way that turned the butterflies inside him to snakes…This time, the smile was almost guilty. “You’re supposed to be so clever.” Gwaine leaned in even closer, blowing his words straight into Merlin’s ear so close that his breath tickled his skin. “So why don’t you use that big brain, and try to figure it out for yourself…?”

 Every cell of Merlin’s body was vibrating with wonder. The breath on his skin was like a thousand tiny torches, setting him alight with every softest touch. Oh goodness, he was actually quivering. As he gazed back at the knight, utterly in shock, and utterly enraptured, he felt that one more word would send him toppling off the wall and crashing to the ground.

 “I –!” he bleated, stupidly – and found wolfish triumph staring back at him.

 “There we go. Got there in the end, didn't you?” he muttered smugly. God, his arrogance was infuriating – and, at that moment, it was the hottest thing Merlin could imagine. "Clever boy..." 

 That was it. That was it. Sitting there, on that stone wall, Merlin had melted into a puddle that was dripping down onto the ground. How could it be? How could it be that this most gorgeous of knights, this knight who could have anyone in Camelot he wanted with only a glance...was looking at Merlin - Merlin! - as if he was good enough to eat? He gaped at Gwaine, a delicate mixture of astonishment, wonder...and...well. There was no point denying it. No point fighting it. Never, never in his life...not since the early days of Arthur, anyway...had he been so utterly, helplessly, stupidly, undeniably turned on. Completely on the hook, completely desperate, completely at his mercy. And there was no turning back now... 

 There was one thing that would keep him from spending the night imagining Arthur in someone else’s arms.

 “Gwaine…" he murmured, his tone turning to honey in his mouth. Without his mind's specific instruction, his body had acted of its own accord to close the gap between them. "...What would you do to someone who hurt me?

 Dear God, those eyes, those lips, those teeth, those teeth…all the better to - 

 After having kissed the same lips exclusively for such a long time, it took a few moments to get used to the new sensation. Gwaine’s lips were wider than Arthur’s, drier, and they tasted of ale and onions. His tongue was warmer, though, and rougher, far rougher, far more presumptious – indeed, within seconds, it had boldly deepened the kiss into something Merlin had not quite been prepared for - and yet found he did not object to. No. He wanted it. He wanted more. He wanted - A moment later – Merlin found himself clasped in strong arms, warm arms, arms that explored the shape of his body as he did his mouth - by some miracle, those large, warm hands seemed to want him as much as he wanted air to breathe. How novel. How incredible, to want and be wanted - it was beyond - it was beyond - he could no longer think. He felt he was being discovered, mapped out…conquered. And to his surprise, as Gwaine clapped him sharply to his chest and deepened their kisses further, hands already working to find entrances to his clothes...Merlin's head was swimming so much that he did not think of Arthur again.

 With a carnal groan, Gwaine pushed Merlin down onto the mattress. “Hope you’re not attached to this bed, kid.” he growled. “Because I’m gonna fucking break it…”

 Merlin gasped as he felt those eyes upon his neck, those lips upon his neck, those teeth upon his neck. As he wrapped his arms around him, marvelling at the shape of his shoulders, the countours of his back, the firm roundness of his buttocks, he still could not believe he wasn't dreaming. But this could be no dream. No. It was too intense, it was too fast, it was too much, it was - 

 “Stop!" 

 As soon as the sound had left his lips, Gwaine pulled back, hands raised as far off of Merlin's skin as he could. 

 “Merlin?” he asked, doing an excellent job of hiding any annoyance he might have had. "Y'alright, there? Sorry, did I hurt-?" 

 "Stop talking." 

 The voice that left Merlin now was soft, and low...and dangerous. 

 He raised himself into a sitting position, and feasted his eyes on the knight in his bed. The knight who was with him. The knight who wanted him. The knight who had chosen him...The knight, he thought, who he could not quite get his fill of. No. There was something wrong. Something missing. Or rather...something in the way. 

 “…Take off your clothes.”

 At once, all was understood. Tonight, Merlin was the one who was in control. 

 Wearing the filthiest smile Merlin had ever seen, Gwaine obediently straightened up, and planted his feet on the floor, as if it were a stage. Taking on the manner of a performer, slowly, like a magician about to unveil a trick, he began to unlace his shirt. From his place upon the bed, Merlin watched shamelessly as inch by inch of golden, muscular chest was revealed. So hungry was he, so desperate to touch and be touched, it took every ounce of strength he had not to leap up and tear the damned thing off with his teeth. But he forced himself to wait, drinking in that face, that body, that awful, wolfish grin…Why, after all, ought he tear...when he could be torn? The very thought of it sent a rush of warm excitement south…

 Finally, the shirt unlaced – Gwaine ripped it over his head with a flourish. Suddenly - he winked. Taking the shirt in one powerful arm, he whirled it around and around in the air, before letting it fly across the room, hitting the door before it fell to the ground. At this, Merlin had to cover his mouth to stifle his giggles. Oh, by all the gods, look at this man, this ridiculous man, this strapping gorgeous knight in his bedroom, stripping for him, obeying him, wanting him…it was the deepest kind of validation, and Merlin drank it in like the finest wine. He would never, ever get enough...

 As Gwaine reached downwards, his fingers closing around the clasp of his belt...Merlin was quite out of his senses. And they did not return to him all night.

 When it was all over, and they lay panting in a tangle of arms and legs, Merlin had gritted his teeth, preparing for another night of shoulder strain…and yet, with tired, but gloriously happy grunt from his bedfellow, he found his back being crushed to Gwaine’s chest, strong arms wrapping all the way around him, and holding on so tightly that he could not have got away from them if he tried. He was simply being smothered, in the best possible way; his arms around his waist, his chest against his back, his thighs making a lap for him, even his feet rested on Gwaine’s. So this was it. This was comfort. This was care. Oh…as a final kiss was pressed to the back of his head, Merlin felt as though he could have cried himself to sleep…

 Merlin wasn’t sure what it was that woke him that morning with such a start. Perhaps it was a pounding headache, his uncomfortable sweatiness, or the fact that his tongue tasted like it had died. Perhaps, it was the fact he had been attempting to share one little bed in a tangle of arms and legs with a knight of Camelot. Or, perhaps, it was the fact that the low, rumbling snores on the pillow beside him were not Arthur’s.

 Oh God. The previous evening’s events washed over Merlin like a terrible slick of treacle. The kisses – the stripping – the – Merlin blushed at the memory of exactly what had come to pass in this innocent little bed, and winced as he realised just how much he was aching as a result. But none of that, none of those little buzzing bees of embarrassment, came close to the horror of the giant hornet staring him in the face. What would Arthur think?

 And yet, Merlin could not help but imagine Arthur waking up this morning in a similar unfamiliar tangle. His mind, certainly, would not be on Merlin. 

 It was then that he came to realise why exactly he was so sweaty. For wrapped securely around him, like the strong branches of a great oak tree, were a pair of muscular arms. All night, it seemed, he had slept crushed to Gwaine’s chest. It was partially from necessity; the bed was far too small for two grown men. And yet…Merlin’s heart sang as he melted back into the embrace. Still, in the cold light of the morning, he could not help but feel pathetic to be so grateful for something so simple. What was wrong with him? Oh, his mind was a mess...How was he to get through the day's work after such a night? 

 Having carefully unhooked himself, Merlin located his clothes from where they had been strewn around the room, and snuck as quietly as he could towards the door. With a bit of luck, a certain someone would still be abed, and he would be able to simply sneak Gwaine out of the –

 “Ah – Morning Gaius!”

 Gaius was sitting by the fire, a blanket around his shoulders, and a cup of milk clutched between his hands. Though Merlin forced a smile, he did not find one returned. Instead, he was regarded with dull, red eyes and a look so knowing it sent a shiver down his spine.

 “Merlin.” Gaius greeted him. He paused, before –  “Late night?”

 Already, Merlin could feel the colour of his cheeks betraying him. “Er – no, not really!” He tried to sound casual as he stifled a yawn. “Why?”

 Even on a full night of rest, Merlin could not have pulled one over on his guardian about anything. Not bothering to even acknowledge the lie, Gaius simply raised an eyebrow. “You forget that we share a wall.”

 “Oh…” There was nothing he could do but bury his face in his hands, and let out a long, low groan. “Oh my God, just kill me now!”

 To his surprise, Gaius sounded quite amused. “Come, Merlin, I understand. I was young once, you know.”

 “Please don’t make me think about that…” Merlin had never been so mortified in all his life. It was no wonder that Gaius seemed on the verge of laughter – before his tone became serious once more.

 “Now, I don’t want you to take this as me casting judgement on your lifestyle, but if you are going to continue stepping out with-“

 “Stepping out?” Merlin raised his head, his cheeks blushing from peony to rose. “Is this the dark ages?”

 “The point is,” Gaius continued. “I don’t mind you having Arthur here, but –“

 “Wait, what?”

 As if someone had pulled the plug, Merlin felt all the colour drain from his cheeks at once. He gaped at Gaius, hot and cold all at once. The roaring in his ears told him that he might faint. How could Gaius have discovered that which he kept most secret of all? He, who kept so many secrets, kept Arthur’s more closely guarded than any he had ever held. It was as if the bedclothes had suddenly been pulled from him in the middle of the night, leaving him exposed for all to see. “Arthur?”  he sputtered, forcing himself to roll his eyes. “Me and Arthur?” he drawled, trying to make it sound as though Gaius was joking. “You think that me and Arthur – Ha! Hahaha!” His laugh was too high, too wobbly. “As if – “

 It was a pointless exercise, and he knew it. Though he bubbled, and fizzed, and threatened to overflow, Gaius was as quiet and constant as a mountain. He simply fixed Merlin with a look he knew all too well. A look that told him everything he needed to know. A look that read, in short: Do you think I am completely stupid?

 There was nothing for it. Nothing at all.

 At least it was Gaius. Gaius had kept Merlin’s other explosive secret quiet all these years; Merlin knew that he would never do anything that might endanger him. He knew it in his heart.

 “Now, as I said,” Gaius continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened. “I don’t mind you having Arthur here, but I would ask you to refrain from making so much noise when I have work in the morning.”

 “Oh. Ah. Er.” Merlin stammered. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was that…” The look on Gaius’ face told him that he did not want to hear about it any more than Merlin wanted to describe it. “Well.” he finished instead. “Sorry.”

 “I know how it is at your age,” said Gaius patiently “Just don’t let it happen again. You can make amends to me by cleaning out the leech tank – and mind how you go with them. I don’t want to spend another afternoon prizing them off your arms...” He got to his feet, leaving the blanket behind on the chair, and made his way over to the breakfast table, where there was a fresh loaf of bread. “I’m surprised Arthur deigned to spend the night here.” he murmured as he began to slice and butter it. “You must have been awfully cramped. I hope he didn’t make you sleep on the floor.”

 “Er…”

 Suddenly – from Merlin’s bedroom, there was a creak of bedsprings.

 “Is he still here?” Gaius looked appalled. “Where are your manners, Merlin? Aren’t you going to offer him some breakfast?”

 That was when the bedroom door swung open.

 “Ah! Alright, Gaius?” Gwaine lazily fixed his hair with one hand as he stumbled down the stairs, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Though he had put last night’s trousers back on, his shirt was balled up under the other arm. “Not got any milk in, have you? I’m spitting cotton. Ah, thanks.” Impervious to Gaius’ look of surprise, he took a huge swig from the jug on the table, before turning to Merlin, who was praying for the floor to open up and consume him. “Thanks for a great time, kid. See you at the citadel, yeah?” A second later, Merlin found himself being squashed to that same bare, muscular chest, the smell of clean sweat and ale overwhelming him as much as the bear hug. He could have wept...how pathetic he was. Angry and embarrassed, Merlin stiffened, then hated himself for it. He wanted to soak up every second of closeness and lock every detail of being held so tightly into his memory forever.

 Having noticed none of Merlin’s turmoil, Gwaine broke the embrace quite naturally, and grinned, before swaggering towards the door, pulling his shirt over his head as he went, and slamming it behind him. Merlin could hear him whistling down the street.

 It was then that he had to face Gaius.

 “…What was that about no judgement?”

 “Oh, Merlin…”

Chapter Text

 No matter how hard Merlin polished Arthur’s breastplate, he couldn’t scrub the dirty feeling in his chest away.

 Though he had washed that morning, and quite thoroughly, he could still feel traces of Gwaine all over his body. Ghosts of his grasping fingers brushed his skin, the way they had grabbed him as desperately as a life raft, the way the nails had dug in as he just could not grip hard enough…Merlin shivered. Despite himself, excitement bit at him in a way that was almost unbearable. It had been months, years even, since he had felt so wanted. Indeed...if he wasn't mistaken, and he didn't think he was...last night had been the most incredible nightof his life. The things Gwaine had done to him...the things that made his cheeks burn even now, the things that played over and over in the theatre of his mind, the things he could still feel in every ache...Oh God, he was driving himself mad. He couldn't bear it, not for another second. Half of him wanted to drop everything, search the castle until he found Gwaine, those muscly arms, and a flat surface…

 The other half felt dirtier than any breastplate in the world.

 Oh, what had he done? The sigh that escaped him echoed all the way up to the ceiling of the great hall in which he worked. It was as if the very air was shaming him. Oh, what was wrong with him? How many times had he lay in the royal chambers upstairs, Arthur snoring away on the pillow beside him, staring up at the drapings and swearing on everything he held sacred that the man who lay beside him was the love of his life? That he would never love another - never even look at another? How long had he loved him? Was he really so fickle as to throw it all away for one night? Not even such a night...Merlin shivered again, thinking of Gwaine's lips, his tongue, his teeth...Oh, he was the worst person who had ever lived. What if Arthur found out? What would he say? Worse, what would he think? 

 Then again. Last night, he doubted he would have even crossed Arthur's mind. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Perhaps he should just vomit onto Arthur's breastplate - that would teach him - 

 "Oh!" 

 Merlin almost jumped out of his skin. In his deep turmoil, he had quite forgotten that he was not alone in the world. Indeed, evidence to the contrary had just arrived in the doorway. The evidence was dressed in full plates and mail, armed with sword and shield, a red cloak at his back and an expression of surprise on his face. 

 "Lancelot!" 

 “Sorry!" Lancelot grinned sheepishly, lowering his weapon. "I was just..." He gestured vaguely around the hall, as if a full explanation was written on the oak-panelled walls. "Sorry!" he repeated, giving a strange chuckle. Already, he was beginning to back away. "I didn’t mean to disturb you." 

 Goodness, he was so lovely. That sweep of thick hair, those big, dark eyes, that heroic frame…and yet, Merlin thought, as he gazed at him, the man who wore those divine attributes so well seemed scarcely aware of them. Never did he straighten his spine, nor puff out his chest, nor did he ever regard another, regardless of their station, as less than his equal. That delicious arrogance that made some so attractive was simply not a word in Lancelot’s vocabulary.  How could this be, when one was one of the most handsome men the gods had ever sculpted? Indeed, Merlin thought, absent-mindedly fixing his own hair, he had a working theory that Lancelot simply did not own a mirror.

 “You’re not." he said, finding that, despite himself, his own lips had stretched into something that was almost a smile. "Were you expecting someone else?" he suggested, indicating the sword. "Someone bigger?"  

 “Ha!" Lancelot chuckled. It was such a lovely sound, like the bubbling of a stream. "No..." He twirled the sword around in his hand, as if keeping his arm in check. "Just wanted to get some extra practice in before training this afternoon.”

 At this, Merlin smiled properly. “You’re practicing for practice?” That was so...him. 

 "Well. I should keep my strength up." Lancelot twirled the sword again, before his tone became serious. "Last night, I heard tell that there had been another sighting of the beast. I don't know why we're not on alert -"  

 "Oh please, you're worse than Gaius!" Merlin flapped a hand dismissively; but his eyes remained firmly on Lancelot's sword arm. It was so strong...and yet so gentle. How could something exist in such a contradictory state? "But don't mind me." he mumbled, gesturing to the empty space of the hall. "Go on, you train for your monster. Be my guest..." A pause. As he looked up into that face, filled with that same, gentle strength, that absolute, unabashed integrity...he found himself inspired by a similarly honest streak. "I'd like you to stay." 

 For a moment, Lancelot simply stared back at him, as if he was waiting for the punchline of a joke. Then, when it did not come...with a few rapid blinks, he brought himself back to reality. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you." 

 "You're not!" Merlin repeated, shaking his head. How could he ever? "It's good to break the silence..." 

 He did not realise just how much his tone had given him away until it was already far too late. 

 “Are you alright?”

 Of course, this most sincere of knights did not miss a trick. Automatically, Merlin felt his defenses springing up, as if he too was wearing armour. But as he looked into those eyes, those big, dark eyes, as bright as a robin's...he felt every inch of imaginary steel melting away. Oh God, why did he have to be so safe? 

 “Lancelot…" Merlin swallowed hard. "Do you think I’m a terrible person?”

 If the blessed Necker itself had crashed through the window and swooped down in front of him, red eyes flashing and teeth bared, Lancelot could not have looked any more astonished. “Why on earth would I-?" he stammered - before, with a long look at Merlin, he collected himself. "Alright." With a clunk of metal and a rustle of chains, Lancelot had crouched down in front of him, forcing Merlin to meet his eye. Oh, those eyes...they were like pools of molten chocolate, and Merlin wanted nothing more than to dive straight into them and lose himself in their sweet warmth... "No. Of course I don't." Lancelot was saying, as if stating a universal truth. "I think you are a wonderful person, whom I admire very deeply for the burden you carry."

 To hear such tender words from such a person made Merlin feel as though he was basking in a ray of purest sunlight. Sometimes, he forgot that Lancelot knew his secret, so well did he keep it. It was no wonder, then, that he understood him more deeply than almost anyone in the world. Certainly, Merlin thought ruefully, far more than Arthur did... 

 "Where has all this come from, hm?" Lancelot was saying. Something uncharacteristically mischievous flashed across his face. "Do I need to have a strong word with someone?”

 At this, a giggle bubbled out of Merlin. Oh goodness, not this wretched giggling business again. What was wrong with him? “Not that you would!”

 Though Lancelot was smiling...there was something else behind his eyes. Something sober. Something solemn. Something...strange. “Oh...I'm sure I'd find it in me...were it for your sake." 

 Oh, he was so gentle. So wonderfully, painfully gentle. Too gentle. It was far too much; in his tired state of harsh confusion, Merlin simply couldn’t bear it. He hated himself as he felt tears welling behind his eyes. Images flashed through his mind; Gwaine's shameless grin, Arthur's golden, chiselled back...those robin eyes. Though he turned his head away before they could spill stupidly down his cheeks - there was nothing for it. How could Lancelot not have noticed. 

 "Oh..." he murmured. It was not an "Oh" of shock, nor one of awkwardness. It was pure, simple understanding...and grief. “Please don’t cry, I can’t bear it!" Lancelot grinned that sheepish grin. "You’re going to set me off, and I'll never hear the end of it if I turn up to training with red eyes!" He began to pat down his pockets. "Come on - I bet if you ever had a handkerchief, you’ve lost it. So silly…" Triumphantly, he pulled one from his breast and began, gently, to dab at Merlin's eyes. Oh...not since childhood had Merlin been touched so tenderly. It only made him cry harder. "There now, it’s alright. You can let it all out." Having mopped him up as best he could, Lancelot carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and squeezed. "You’re safe. And I’m here.”

 How did he do it, Merlin wondered - how did he managed to comfort him with such careful respect? There was nothing patronising, nothing clumsy; Lancelot did not treat tears as an evil. He simply allowed him to cry, safe in the knowledge that he would not be judged for doing so, until he reached the blotchy gulping stage. Having blown his nose into Lancelot's handkerchief, he allowed himself to lean into him for a moment. Despite the cold, hard armour, he was so warm and so tender that Merlin almost forgot all about it. 

 “…Do you really mean it?" he whispered, desperation trembling in his voice. "You don’t think I’m terrible?”

 At this, Lancelot gave a sad little sigh. “You don’t know how it pains me to hear you say that." He had not removed his arm. A moment later...he dared.

"Merlin. You…"

 For a long moment, there was silence. A silence that seemed to echo right up to the rafters. The longer Merlin waited to hear the end of the sentence, the thicker the air seemed to be. It grew heavier and heavier with the unspoken, until he couldn't bear it a second longer.

 "I-?" he asked. 

 But with Lancelot's gentle respect came caution. 

  "Forgive me." he murmured, carefully unhooking his arm from Merlin's shoulders - before ploughing forth, as if nothing had happened. "I told you, I think you are wonderful.”

 “No." Merlin held up a hand. "Wait. Hold on a second." He leaned forward eagerly. "What were you going to say?”

 Not even his biggest, widest eyes could turn Lancelot now. With a final little smile, he shook his head. “It wouldn't be honourable, not when you are in such a state." The matter was ended - and Merlin was practically gagging. "For now, I just want to make sure you're alright." Lancelot was saying. "Why don't you tell me about it, hm?" 

 What words did Lancelot guard as carefully as he guarded Merlin's secret? It was so typical - and completely maddening. Oh, would that Merlin did not cry so easily - he was so stupid! If only he was half so strong as Lancelot. There was simply no question of getting it out of him if he did not think it right - he would have more luck drawing blood from a stone. No. He could not break him now...but maybe...just maybe...? "...Not here." 

 “I understand." Lancelot nodded. There was another pregnant pause as Merlin allowed himself to bask in the glow of those eyes, those eyes that regarded him so kindly...but as he looked, as he looked deeper and deeper into them...he found a flicker of something he would later realise was hope. "Look..." Lancelot swallowed hard - and steeled himself. "Why don’t you meet me tonight, in the courtyard after dark, and you can tell me all about it?" 

 How could it be that twice in as many days, Merlin had found himself agreeing to an illicit meeting, after dark, with a knight of Camelot? Three days running, if one counted Arthur...that had to be some kind of record. 

 Oh, Arthur…Merlin wished he had not through of him. As he looked at Lancelot, that most familiar of faces presented itself in his mind, and with it, a barage of deepest guilt. When one had been away on holiday, no matter the beauty one had encountered away, there was truly no sight in the world quite so glorious as the sight of one’s own bed. Indeed, as he pondered Arthur, the sigh that almost escaped his lips was one both of wonder, and shame. That chiselled face, those broad shoulders, that golden hair…he was nothing short of an angel. Even after all this time, it was still difficult to believe that he was real; that he was not a living statue, a painting come to life, a god…How could he, Merlin, by some miracle, some once-in-a-century quirk of fate, have kissed those lips?

 Then again…only last night, someone else had been kissing them.

 it was torture to think of it, pure, utter torture, worse than any rack. How could he love someone who had so betrayed him? What sort of opinion did he have of himself, that he was willing to accept such treatment? To be one of any number of options Arthur had, warm bodies eager to warm his bed...perhaps, in Arthur's heart, one was just as good as another. How could he have kidded himself that a prince could ever love him, and him alone? Merlin wanted to shake himself fiercely - what was wrong with him? And yet, to his disgust...he could not help himself. His heart was so torn between love and hate that his eyes were growing horribly wet once more. How could Arthur have done this to him? What a wicked, cruel way to treat the person who loved him most in the whole world...It had driven home the truth he had suspected ever since the day their lips had first met; his love was not enough. He was not enough. Not enough for Arthur Pendragon. Not enough for anyone...

 But, perhaps, he could yet prove Arthur wrong. 

 It was that poor, broken heart that reached up, and nodded his head. 

Chapter Text

 “Ah! Merlin." Arthur greeted him as he strode into the chamber, mail gently clanking with every step. He bore his habitual signs of a training session gone well: a pink blush from the exercise, a good amount of mud on his boots, and a chest that was even more puffed than it had been that morning. "Have you drawn my bath?" 

 “Oh!" Merlin scrurried forward to begin to remove Arthur's armour, silently kicking himself. How could he have forgotten? Well...today, he knew exactly how. "Er – nearly!" Perhaps he could chance a couple of sneaky spells- 

 "Nearly? You have either drawn it or you haven't!" Arthur scolded him lightly, holding out his cloak. Clearly, nothing was going to spoil his mood this afternoon. “If you can't even draw a bath, I’m going to have to think hard about your future as my manservant. Perhaps you would be better suited to scrubbing potatoes in the kitchen?”

 “Or perhaps you would be.” Merlin mumbled testily, removing his breastplate. It was going to need polishing again; goodness, the cycle never seemed to end. He dreaded to think how many hours of his life had been spent scrubbing at armour...Having taken Arthur's cloak, he allowed himself to gaze at him for a moment, truly taking in his expression. Arthur always looked lovely after training: hot and happy, all messy hair and pink cheeks...but the look on his face drove all thoughts of this from Merlin's mind. Why were his eyes so shiny? Why did the corner of his mouth keep cocking up, as though he was fighting harder than he ever did while training to keep from beaming a mile wide? Was last night's visitor really that good? 

 Well, Merlin thought, a sick excitement flickering in his stomach. He too had enjoyed a tremendously skilled visitor, and he refused to believe whoever Arthur had hired would be anything like as good as Gwaine. No one on earth was as good as Gwaine, about that he was absolutely positive. What's more, Arthur's girl had been an anonymous worker, paid well for her time and expertise to show Arthur a facsimile of love. He, Merlin, had pulled Gwaine all on his own. 

 What's more...if tonight went the way he suspected it was going to, knightly lightning may have struck twice. Oh...oh. Merlin's heart skipped as he hung up Arthur's cloak. The way Lancelot had looked at him, with those big, brown eyes, like he was someone special. Merlin couldn't help himself. He felt good. Attractive. Desirable...Worthy. He felt his back straighten, his head raise. Oh, if only Arthur knew what was going on under his nose! Then, Merlin would never be taken for granted again... 

 “…Have you done something different with your hair?”

 Merlin was brought sharply out of his thoughts. He spun around to see Arthur half in and half out of his shirt, regarding him with an expression of curiosity. “…No?”

 At this, Arthur frowned. “It’s just…" He thought hard, his forehead creasing. Goodness, he was so cute when he tried to use his brain... "It's just you look...different, somehow. Sort of…" He made a vague gesticulation. "Oh, I don’t know!" Giving up, he continued to struggle out of his shirt. Confused, but uninterested, Merlin had been about to begin to make his way down to the water well - before a final comment stopped him in his tracks. "...Whatever it is, it’s no bad thing.”

 It took Merlin a few seconds to realise that Arthur had just, in his own, restrained way, paid him a compliment. Had hell frozen over? One could have knocked him down with a feather. “…Thanks?”

 But Arthur wasn't done. Having removed his shirt, he balled it up beneath one arm, and began, slowly, to approach him. Despite himself, Merlin found that he had given an involuntary shiver. No amount of resentment could numb him to Arthur's beauty, especially when he displayed it so brazenly. How many years, Merlin wondered, would it take for the novelty to wear off? He was beginning to think that day would never come. 

 “Look…" Arthur stopped in front of him, close enough that Merlin could breathe in his clean, sweaty smell. Lowering his voice, he leaned forward, and, in something barely above a whisper: "I missed you terribly last night..." His breath tickled Merlin's neck. "Why don’t you find your way into my bed at sunset? If you don't get lost on the way, that is.”

 Not so long ago, the mere suggestion of such a night would have made Merlin's knees buckle. He couldn't lie, they had gone weak...but still, with an air of smugness, he stood firm. “Oh. I can’t.”

 Silence. 

 “Can’t?" Arthur blinked in astonishment. He did not handle a refusal well, so rarely did he encounter it. "What do you mean, can’t?”

 “I’m –" He thought fast. "I’m going to the tavern.”

 “The tavern?"

 “Yes." Merlin smirked at him, absolutely thrilled. "The tavern. I have proir arrangements, and I am not going to change them for your whims." 

 For a long moment, Arthur simply gaped at him, eyes as wide as the moon. As Merlin stared defiantly back, he wondered if Arthur was going to shout at him, repremand him for his rudeness, insist upon his presence. That would feel good...but not as good as the perculiar look that was beginning to cloud his expression. It was quite a distinctive look, a look Arthur wore often...but not like this. Not at Merlin. It was a look he wore more often in the midst of melee, on the jousting field, whenever he had a sword in his hand. Yes. It was unmistakeable. That look in Arthur's eyes was...competitiveness. 

 "...Alright." Arthur nodded, folding his arms. He looked Merlin up and down in a manner Merlin could only describe as hungry. Once more, the corner of his mouth cocked up. "Alright, then. Have it your way. But I warn you..." As he leaned in, he placed his hands gently on Merlin's hips. "I do not like to be kept waiting..." 

 Perhaps it was true. Forbidden fruit was always the most tempting...Merlin drank in every inch of Arthur's thirst, relishing it like the finest wine. Perhaps, if all went well tonight, he would taste yet more wine before the day was out... 

 "You came!" As soon as he saw Merlin, Lancelot had sprung to his feet, as if he were royalty. He had been sitting in a little hollow alcove in the courtyard, upon a low stone bench. It was dark enough to cast them completely into shadow, but the moon shone bright enough to allow Merlin a perfect view of that smile. It was as handsome as ever; Lancelot was not capable of not looking handsome, whatever he seemed to think of himself. But there was something more behind that smile. Something pure, unadulterated, unabashed. He was, unmistakably, happy to see him. 

 "Of course I came!" Merlin beamed at him, shaking his head. "How are you doing?" 

 "Oh, wonderfully, thank you." Lancelot offered him the seat beside him with a sweep of his arm. The alcove was quite lovely, really; the curved sides broke the evening breeze, and the stone was as smooth as marble. It offered privacy too, more than one would think upon looking at it. In short, it was the perfect place for an ilicit moonlight meeting. It wasn't the wind that made Merlin shiver. 

 "I brought you these." Suddenly, Lancelot produced a little cloth bag, seemingly from nowhere. Inside, a sweet, buttery smell instantly set Merlin's mouth watering. "Strawberry pastries."

 "Oh wow, thank you!" Merlin was quite flustered as he took an enormous bite. As the sharp, sugary fruit jam, and the golden flaky pastry exploded on his tongue, it was just about the best thing he had ever tasted. "Mmm!" 

 Lancelot watched him, trying to his how delighted he was. "I thought you would be hungry. You do work so hard..." He paused, smiling as Merlin licked jam from his lips. "They only usually make those on a Sunday, but I did the baker a little favour, and she was only too generous." 

 With Gwaine, he had been cagey, guarded, unwilling to take even the smallest risk. But tonight, as he thought of the way Arthur had looked at him, the way Gwaine's hands had grabbed at his flesh with an animal desperation...he found himself smiling back, as jammy as the pastries. "That's so sweet of you, Lancelot." he purred. "So thoughtful." 

 Even by the light of the moon, he could see the slightest pink tinge of pleasure that had appeared on the knight's cheeks. Oh, this was the most enormous fun in the world...

 "Now, I don't want you to feel that you are under any pressure to talk about it." Lancelot was saying, his eyes all earnest. "But if you do want to tell me about why you were so upset this morning, I want you to know that I am here for you, and more than happy to listen, whatever it is that is troubling you." He paused, wondering if he dared. "It would be my honour to be of assistance." 

 Oh, he was so sweet, as sweet as any strawberry. But as he looked at him, all innocence, Merlin knew that the last thing in the world he wanted right now was to discuss his actions that week. The idea of sleeping with two knights in the course of one week would surely turn that pink blush rose. Besides...there were other things he would much rather be doing.

 "Oh, it doesn't matter." he said, casting his eyes down. "I was being silly, that's all." When he lifted them again, he held Lancelot's rapt gaze in the palm of his hand. "Instead...Why don't you tell me what you were going to say? Before you decided it was....dishonourable?" He allowed a smile to play around his lips. "Truly I can't imagine you doing anything that might bring you dishonour." He leaned forward slightly, treating Lancelot to his most appealing eyes. "That makes me quite desperate to know exactly what it is..."  

 It was so easy to make him blush. How gratifying it was to watch a handsome knight trying to gather himself. "Er!" Lancelot coughed slightly, a hand burying itself in his hair. "Well..." He looked at Merlin, those eyes shining in the moonlight, as if he was gazing at the crown jewels. He could not get used to it; could not get used to being regarded as if he was someone special. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't willing to try... 

 "I...Forgive me." Lancelot was saying, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have said anything, not when you were in such a terrible state. It wasn't-"

 The deflection only made Merlin more impatient. Oh, why were they sitting here talking when there were far more interesting things they could be doing with their lips? "Lancelot." Emboldened, Merlin reached out, and placed his hand gently on his arm. "Please. You can tell me anything. And I want very much to hear it." 

 What Lancelot was doing could not quite be called staring. That was far too gentle a word. No. He was positively gaping. Clearly, Merlin could have pulled off all of his clothes and lay naked on the courtyard stones in front of him, and Lancelot would not have looked any more astonished. He throught of Gwaine's fingers working to unlace his shirt, the way he had whirled it around so comically before it had hit the floor. How wonderful it felt, to have so much power...

 "...I can refuse you nothing!" Lancelot was saying, all honesty. He swallowed hard, as if facing down an enemy...before, with a deep breath, he steeled himself enough to charge forth. "Look...I...oh my goodness!" He laughed that wonderful laugh, and fixed Merlin with the softest eyes he had ever seen. "Forgive my foolishness. I've so often thought of how I would tell you, so often pictured it, and now the moment has come, I am struck dumb! Forgive me...I don't know that I have the words to express myself anyway..." 

 Merlin's heart was beating so fast that he felt quite dizzy. Every one of Lancelot's words appeared to fly straight to it, like fuel to a fire. And he simply could not believe what was happening. Were it not for Gwaine, he would have been certain he was dreaming. But the stone was hard beneath him, the night air chilly on his skin, and, as if to assure him that he was definitely wide awake...a large, warm hand had come to rest on his. 

 "But my heart tells me that you already know." Lancelot whispered, a sheepish smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Hardly surprising...You are the most intelligent person I know, and, well...whenever you are near, I can hardly contain it." 

 "Oh!" he squeaked out, unable to stop smiling. Another knight, two in as many days, falling at his feet! Oh, Arthur would be sick with jealousy now...

 "Please don't think I expect a thing of you!" Lancelot insisted, his voice growing passionate. "I value our friendship to the highest degree, and I would not risk it for anything. I am perfectly content to adore you from afar, and to be there for you whenever you need me." he swore. Though his tone was steady...his eyes had begun to cloud over with mist. "Well, Merlin..." With a cough, and a mammonth restraint, his tone became business-like. "I thank you for the opportunity to unburden myself of this secret, and when you find someone who is worthy of you...I wish you all the best." 

 Oh God. Merlin had been flying as high as the stars. Such a proclaimation should have set his heart alight all over again. But now, as he looked into those eyes, so earnest, as loyal and loving as a devoted dog...he was wracked with guilt. 

 "...It is I who is unworthy of you." he mumbled, feeling his own cheeks beginning to burn. 

 At this, Lancelot looked pained. "Please don't say that about yourself." he murmured back. "I can't bear it." 

 "Oh God!" Merling buried his face in his hand for a moment. What was he to do? He had come here tonight with a head full of excitement, of illicit meetings and kisses to mark as points in his favour against Arthur...and what he had found instead was something painfully sweet. He knew in his heart that Lancelot had meant every word he had said, and this fact terrified and thrilled him in equal measures. He had laid himself completely bare, and now, Merlin was in a position to hurt him so badly that one so pure might never be the same again. The right thing, he knew, was to walk away...But oh...as he gazed at Lancelot, so handsome, so wonderful, looking at him, holding his hand, adoring him...it was simply too much. Merlin was just a man. What was a person supposed to do?  "Lancelot..." he breathed, threading his fingers through his, and holding on. The little gasp that escaped the knight's lips was an arrow of guilt in his side - and yet, he did not stop. "How could you be unworthy of anyone? You are so strong, and brave, and gentle...and you don't think I'm terrible!" He laughed, strangely. The tide of excitement was growing stronger and stronger. It was time to simply surrender, and allow it to sweep him away. "Do you remember the day we met?"

 "How could I forget?" 

 "You saved me." Merlin breathed, leaning closer. Oh, he smelt so good, of clean clothes and soap...had he bathed for the occasion? His dear Lancelot, his sweet knight, who would never hurt him...

 "And you me." Lancelot was saying solemnly, squeezing his hand tight. "In every way..." 

 It was awful. It was horrible, and callous, and selfish. But still, Merlin could not find it in himself to stop. "You said you could refuse me nothing." he whispered. 

 The gap between them had almost closed. 

 "I never could." Lancelot swore passionately, taking Merlin's hand in both of his own and holding it to his chest. "I am yours to command, Merlin. Only say the word - I go anywhere, be anyone, do anything you asked of me! I would climb the highest mountains, sail the widest seas, leap up into the sky and catch a falling star for you! Only say the word, my love, only name the quest, and I swear by all my vows I will prove myself worthy to-" 

 Never, never in Merlin's life, had he imagined that he would ever hear such words. Still, a part of him felt that he must be dreaming. Surely not - surely no one could ever actually think so highly of him? Surely no one could think him worth such shocking praises? And yet...and yet Lancelot was speaking them, and there was only one way Merlin wanted to stop his mouth. 

 "Kiss me!" 

 The falling stars were in Lancelot's eyes.

 "I - I - Only if you're sure! I would never presume to-mphm!"

 By the time they had found their way to Lancelot's chamber, in a foggy haze of laughter and kisses, Merlin felt as though all the world was his. There was nothing in this world so glorious as the feeling of wanting, and being wanted in return. Not only wanted. Adored. It was beyond his wildest dreams, and he basked in Lancelot's adoring gaze like rays of purest sunlight. 

 It was a small room, containing only a bed, a small chair by the window, and a wardrobe, but it was meticulously neat and tidy. There was not one item out of place, not one stray sock on the floor. The bedclothes was so precisely tucked into place that it looked as though it might take both of them to pull them free. But Merlin was more than prepared to try...

 Still...as he glanced out of the window at the night sky, strewn with cloudy stars, he thought of someone very close by, and all alone tonight...What if Arthur was staring up at the sky as well? What if he was lonely? The very idea turned Merlin's heart to ice. 

 Well, he thought ruefully. If Arthur really missed him that much, there were no shortage of other people he could summon to warm his bed. 

 Feeling desperately guilty, Merlin turned, pushed Lancelot into the waiting chair, climbed onto his lap, and began to kiss him with as much gusto as he could. It was as if to stop his mouth, to numb his thoughts, to freeze his brain; to his surprise, he found himself rather frantic. He wanted to get down to things as quickly as possible, to cloud himself in the heady fog of sex.

 But somehow…that wasn’t the direction in which things seemed to be heading.

 Lancelot’s hands did not grab. They did not tear, and they did not rush to find entrances to his clothes. They were…gentle. They touched him so softly that he shivered whenever his fingers brushed the bare skin of his neck, of his arms, of his face. Unlike Merlin, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry whatsoever. The way he kissed him…oh God, guilt stirred again in the pit of Merlin’s stomach as he realised…he meant it. With all his heart, he meant it. These were not kisses for the sake of kisses, no simple preamble to the main event, oh no. They were something altogether worse. Lancelot was not kissing him because he hoped it might lead to something more. He kissing him because it brought him joy. Because he wanted to bring Merlin joy. Because he wanted him. Not just sex. Him. To use someone so pure…Merlin was the most terrible person who had ever lived. And yet, he did not stop. 

 Lancelot permitted Merlin to take his shirt off, and thank the gods he did-he was absolutely glorious-but when he eagerly reached for his trousers, Lancelot tactfully removed his hands, placing them on his waist instead. It worked for a time, as Merlin shamelessly enjoyed his abs, his biceps, those incredible forearms...God, he could have licked him all over...but every time his hands reached southward, Lancelot pulled them back. It happened time and time again, before Merlin had to stop. 

 "Is there something wrong?" 

 How could Lancelot's eyes be so soft? "Merlin." he murmured, taking his hands and kissing them, letting his lips linger as long as he could. "You were very upset today. We are moving so fast! I don't want you to rush into something you might regret."

 What? No! No, no, no, no! Merlin stared at him in disbelief - he couldn't stop, not now! It was too much, too urgent, too desperate. He needed him. He needed his arms, his touch - and the idea of being denied was too much to bear. Quickly, he wrapped his arms around Lancelot's neck, fixing him with the biggest, widest eyes he could muster. "You don't want me?" he whispered, fluttering his lashes. 

 It was as if Merlin had suggested Lancelot did not want to breathe air. "Merlin!" He was utterly aghast. "Of course I-but I care about you too much to risk-"

 "Lancelot." Merlin took his hands, and met his eyes. "How could I ever regret you? Please..." He leaned in, beginning to plant a row of kisses down the side of his neck. "I want you..." he whispered into his skin, feeling the knight tensing beneath him. "I want you close. I want..." Before he reached his chest, he came up for air, and met his gaze once more. "We needn't go all the way, if you aren't sure. But please..." With a wicked little smile, he resumed his kissing route, slipping off of Lancelot's lap, and kneeling on the floor to kiss all the way down to his waist. "Won't you let me-?"

 But Merlin's words were stopped. For Lancelot had leaned down, taken his face in his hands, and kissed him squarely on the mouth. As Merlin lose himself in the kiss, he found himself being gently lifted upward, until he was standing on his feet once more. A second later - those feet were no longer touching the floor. 

 Merlin squealed with delight as Lancelot swept him up in his arms, and carried him like a bride over to his bed. He placed him down on the mattress with a reverence that was almost religious, and his kisses dissolved the last of his guilt like snow in the rain. Merlin was melting, melting into a puddle of bliss, as his knight's kisses began to travel lower...and lower...

 “Er!" Merlin squeaked in surprise, catching Lancelot's face in his hands. "Erm – you – you don’t have to do that! Not - not if you don't want to!” He was not used to this - well, not used to being on the receiving end, anyway. The thought of it made every cell in his body tense up like a coiled spring. 

 “I know." Lancelot smiled, trying to kiss every inch of Merlin's fingers. "...I want to.”

 “I mean!" Merlin felt as though he was on the edge of a cliff. "It’s just I’m the one who usually – It’s been a long time since anyone...I mean, if you'd rather, I can –!“

 “Shhh…" So tenderly, Lancelot placed a kiss on each of his hip bones, sending a bolt of lightning through Merlin's brain that rendered it almost completely useless. "Oh, Merlin...Oh, you poor thing, with no one looking after you..." he cooed, tutting as he kissed...and kissed... "Well. I'm here now. Don't you worry about a thing...I'm going to take good care of you." And kissed... "My love..."  

 "Oh! Well. I-I mean-If you're sure! But-but if you'd rather-why don't you just let me...? I mean-I mean-! Oh...oh God...oh God...mmm..."

 There was nothing Merlin could do but close his eyes, twist his hands into the suspiciously ironed-looking sheets, and lose himself.

 He couldn’t say it was the most mind-blowing, earth-shaking sex he had ever had. It didn’t come close to the way Gwaine had made me feel...but that didn’t mean he didn’t love it. Lancelot was so loving, so tender, so attentive, so…mmm. Never, never in Merlin's life, had he had someone who wanted to concentrate entirely on his pleasure before. Never before had he been able to just lie back, and...Oh, he could get used to this...

 Lying in Lancelot's arms afterward, the world felt small and safe. Merlin felt as light as air, pleasure still coursing through his veins as he realised how much he had been missing. Lancelot carefully cradled Merlin, pressing his lips to the back of his head in a set of kisses so long and so soft he couldn't tell when one ended and the other began. This was no Gwaine bear hug; this was so gentle, so romantic, that he could have wept. The tips of Lancelot's fingers gently ran over the length of his forearms, stroking his skin as if it were the softest silk. As he did so, the rhythm was soothing as a mother's lullaby, and already Merlin could feel his eyelids growing heavy. He was so safe, so warm, so...adored. Oh, if only Arthur...but Lancelot was here now. Lancelot cared for him.  And as he kissed the most sensitive part of his shoulder, and whispered beautiful words into his skin, for the first time in a long time, Merlin even dared to believe them...

Chapter Text

When Merlin woke up that morning, it was to an unfamiliar, but altogether pleasant, smell. The smell of clean sheets, of floor polish, of soap. As he came to his senses, the memory of where he was, and the events of the previous evening, washed over him. Oh God, not again. For the third day in a row, he was going to wake up to a different head on the pillow beside him; what was wrong with him? And yet, he couldn’t help but grin. He had slept well, better than he had slept in a long time. Usually, an unfamiliar bed was not conducive to a good night’s sleep, but he had felt so warm, so safe, so cared for that he had rested dreamlessly all night long. As he opened his eyes, he reached out, fingers grasping for a warm body, but as he came to, he found himself holding nothing but empty air. It was with a sinking feeling that he realise that Lancelot was gone.

 Given all his protestations and declarations the night before, the memory of which still set his heart alight, he had not been expecting Lancelot to be the sort of person who would leave without a word the next morning. It seemed terribly out of character; indeed, Merlin could not recall opening a single door the previous evening for himself. How could he have acted with meticulous chivalry one moment, then split the next? Perhaps, in his hazy morning state, Merlin had overestimated Lancelot’s adoration of him. Maybe he had deluded himself. Maybe –

 But before Merlin could spiral any more, the door was creaking open.

 "You're awake!” Lancelot had opened the door with his back; in his hands, he carried a bowl and a mug. “I hoped you wouldn't miss me.” Oh, he was positively beaming. Once more, he was, unmistakably, happy to see him, and it made the world feel small and safe. "Did you sleep alright?” Lancelot was asking, slightly anxious. “I know I can snore a bit, if I am on my back-?”

 "Oh, no!” Merlin pulled himself upright, blinking the last of his sleep away. "I didn't hear anything at all!"

 "Ah. Good.” With some relief, Lancelot’s smile was firmly back in place. Oh, he was so handsome that it ached to look at him. How on earth could Merlin have done it again? “I hope you like honey."." Lancelot smiled, relieved. Gently, he placed a steaming bowl of porridge in Merlin's lap, the mug of milk on the bedside table. "My mother used to make it with honey when I was small."

 "Oh!" As he gazed down at this sweetly prepared breakfast, Merlin was quite flustered. "Oh Lancelot, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble!”

 "It isn’t trouble at all.” Lancelot could hardly contain his delight as he sat down on the end of the bed to watch Merlin eat. “Did you think I'd let you go to work on an empty stomach after last night?"

 Mmm…last night. The very memory of it sent a warm rush through the innermost parts of his body. He had simply lain in this bed, and clung on for dear life as Lancelot cared for him in every conceivable way…goodness, he had forgotten how good it felt…

 "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."

 Hearing this, Merlin could not begin to hide his astonishment. "I would have found it very hard not to enjoy it!” he exclaimed, close to laughing.  “I mean...” His voice took on a honey tone. “If you had been there when I woke, I would certainly have returned the favour..."

 A faint pink tinge appeared on Lancelot’s cheek. Oh, this was so easy.... "I know.” he murmured, laying a hand shyly on Merlin’s knee. “But pleasing you was everything I needed.” He paused, casting his eyes down, before he finished: “Trust me.”

 "Well…I mean, that’s very…nice!” Merlin took another bite of porridge to cover his awkwardness. “But still – I ought to have –“

 But as Lancelot took his hand, his words dried in his throat. “You owe me nothing. I’m just happy to have spent time with you, and that you were here with me.” He paused, steeling himself, before, with a squeeze of Merlin’s hand: “You don’t have to make me like you.” he said, gently. “I...I like you very much.”

 Deep inside Merlin's chest, a warm blanket had been wrapped around his heart. The room seemed fresher, the porridge sweeter, the sunlight brighter than ever. Never, never in his life, had someone made him feel so adored.

 Even as Merlin scrubbed and scrubbed away at Arthur's chainmail, the smell of the polish kept sending little signals to his brain that made him desperate to drop everything, return to Lancelot’s room, and let him love him again. Oh...how glorious it was, to be so desired, so cared for, so...safe. He had been floating on air all morning. Nothing, not even the longest list of orders in the world, could bring him down today.

 Three knights in three nights. They should write a song about him...

 Oh, it was wrong, and he knew it, but he simply couldn’t help himself. After so long feeling taken for granted, to prove otherwise to himself was headier than the strongest wine in the world…

 That was when a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

 “Mmm...You know, you smell absolutely delicious. I’m going to have to eat – you – up!”

"Ahhh!” Merlin cried out as he felt familiar teeth digging into the side of his neck, giggling fit to burst. “And you smell of...” He took a deep sniff – and almost choked. “Beer?”

 “What can I say?” Gwaine sniggered, kissing everywhere Merlin’s neckerchief did not conceal. “Early lunch. It’s hard work, this knighting lark.”

 “Have you come to rescue me from my chores?" Merlin twisted around to catch his lips, tasting clean sweat and hops – before, with a little scream, he found himself airborne.

 "Come to ravish you…” he growled into his ear, so close that Merlin could feel his warm breath on his neck. It made every hair on his body stand on end. “Come to destroy you. Come to tear you to pieces, every inch of you, until there is nothing left but that scrubbing brush..."

"Mmm...” Merlin’s mind went temporarily blank – before, with a terrible start, he remembered where he was. “Put me down! Someone will see!”

 “Killjoy.” Gwaine pretended to groan – but he set him down all the same. “Not my fault you’re here looking so gorgeous, leading noble knights like me astray...”  

 You don’t say.

 “…I’m sure I can keep from devouring you until tonight.” Gwaine was saying. “But not a single moment longer. I'll be at your place at sundown...”

 Merlin was tingling from head to foot. The thought of another night with Gwaine was so intoxicating that he was amazed he could still stand upright. Oh…what the hell? After all, why shouldn’t he? He was more than due a bit of fun…or a lot.

 “No…” A shirtless Gwaine tutted gently, looking Merlin up and down with eyes so filthy his knees almost buckled. “No, not on the bed…” He pushed him up against his bedroom door, filling him with the most delicious fear in the world. “I can’t wait that long…” With that, he grabbed Merlin around the waist, and began to kiss him so hard and so rough that they almost passed straight through the wood…Merlin could barely control his trembling fingers as they undid Gwaine’s trousers, letting them fall to the floor, exposing – exposing…oh, Merlin was going to faint. He was going to pass out. He was going to –

 “Merlin?”

 Nothing was a colder bucket of water than Gaius’ voice.

 “Er!” he called back, trying to sound casual – as if something absolutely outlandishly enormous was not brushing against his thigh. “Er – I’m just getting dressed!”

 A small grunt. “There is someone at the door.”

 “Er…” Merlin felt as if he could scream. “Can’t you…you know – answer it? Maybe?”

 “I am fairly confident they are looking for you.”

 “Er - how do you know-?”

 At that moment, Merlin could hear a faint knocking sound coming from the front door. A second later – the knocking was accompanied by a voice that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

 “Merlin?”

 Shit.

 “Hide!” Merlin gestured frantically to Gwaine, who looked as though he had never seen anything funnier than Merlin’s panic. But all the same, he sauntered obediently over to Merlin’s bed, and slipped beneath the covers.

 “Why would anyone want to hide all this…”

 “Merlin!”

 Ensuring that his own clothing bore no sign of attempted entry, Merlin fixed his hair with a brush of his fingers, and skedaddled through the door and down the stairs. Gaius had returned to his seat by the fire, with a large tome of medicinal plants on his lap. The look he fixed Merlin with told him that he had not been as successful in sneaking Gwaine into the house as he had thought. With a desperate silent plea, Merlin hurried over to the door, and cracked it open. There, standing on the doorstep, was the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

 “Ah!” Arthur folded his arms, a half smile playing around his lips. “I was just about to go and search the local taverns.”

 “Mmm…” Merlin agreed, trying to look natural. “Er - ?”

 “Well, I did tell you.” Arthur answered the question before he’d had the chance to ask it. Now, his gaze turned hungry. “I do not like to be kept waiting…”

 A week ago, the sight of Arthur on his doorstep, regarding him as if he was the most delicious slice of cake in the world, would have been a joyous miracle that might even have brought him to tears. But now – his blood ran cold.

 “Come with me…” Arthur murmured, treating Merlin to the full force of his charm. “We can christen my clean sheets…or else…” As his eyes flicked to the interior of the house Merlin was keeping concealed behind the barely open door, he could not quite hide a slight wrinkling of the nose. “I suppose we could squeeze up together in your little bed, if that’s what you’d prefer…?”

 The shock of being asked by Arthur for his own preference was completely clouded by the approaching calamity.

"You can't!” he ejaculated. “Not tonight! Er-" Merlin's tongue had worked faster than his brain-which, he considered, was what had got him into this mess in the first place. Hidden by the door from Arthur's view, his arms gesticulated wildly of their own accord as he racked his brain for an excuse. "Er-" There's a naked knight in my bed. "Er-" Inspiration. "Gaius isn't feeling well!" He shot a quick glance backward to the armchair in the corner, silently pleading with its occupant. With a look of deepest disdain, and utter exhaustion, Gaius intoned:

  "...Ahem. Ahem."

 "Ah." Arthur had already taken a wary step backward from the supposed sick-house. "Is he going to be alright?"

 "Oh, fine!" Merlin clutched the doorframe, dizzy with relief. "He's just getting old, you know." Another cough from behind-pointed this time. "Don't want to leave him, in case he gets confused again." Cough.

 A half-smile played in the corner of Arthur's mouth. "It's sweet how devoted you are to him."

 “Mmm, yes, very sweet!” Merlin grinned desperately. “Look – maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

 “Maybe?” At this, Arthur looked more ravenous than ever. “Aren’t we playing hard to get this week? Mmm…You know I cannot resist a hunt.”

 “Oh – hahahahahahaha!” Giggling hysterically, Merlin began to inch the door closed. “Anyway – best get back to Gaius! Night!”

 “You can’t run forever, Merlin…” Arthur purred, as the gap in the door grew smaller and smaller. “I’m going to catch you…”

 God, I hope not. “Night – night!” With that, he clicked the lock into place, and collapsed, panting, against the wood. Oh goodness, this was getting more complicated by the moment…and yet, Merlin thought, as his eyes flicked past a furious Gaius back to his bedroom door…he felt no inclination to stop. Gwaine craved him – Lancelot adored him – and Arthur was as sick as a dog with jealousy. With a smug little skip of his heart, Merlin caught his breath, and barely caught the snipe from the armchair as he floated back towards the bedroom, feeling every inch the most desirable person in Camelot…

 “I am never doing that again!”

Chapter Text

 Merlin had never been more in need of a night off. His mind and body were exhausted, and the only thing that would repair them was a night of uninterrupted sleep. Suddenly, stretching out in his own little bed with no one to share it felt like a luxury. With no strange snores to wake him up in the middle of the night, no muscular body to bump up against, and no one trying to steal the covers, he slept very well indeed. Still, when he awoke, it felt strange and lonely not to have someone there when he opened his eyes. No vision of Arthur’s golden sculpted back, no Gwaine eager for a second round, no smiling Lancelot, just happy to see him…nothing but his own bedroom, and his own thoughts.

 What a week. And it was only Thursday. Merlin forced himself to rise before his own desires rendered him incapable of doing anything but lying back and thoroughly enjoying his most vivid recollections of the previous evenings. Which of his lovers, he wondered, would he take tonight? He couldn’t help but giggle as he washed and dressed; how thrilling it was, to have so much power, to be able to do exactly as he wished, with whom he wished to do it with. Did he need another night with Gwaine, who quenched his thirst best? Would he go to Lancelot, where he was pampered in every way imaginable, in the manner to which he was becoming accustomed? Or perhaps, with his newfound power and confidence, he would march straight to the citadel and show Arthur exactly what he had been missing…

 Oh, this was all going to go to his head. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

 Dizzy with desire, and his own daring, Merlin floated down the stairs to the familiar smell of simmering porridge over the fire. It made him wonder vaguely if Gaius had any honey squirrelled about the place…but the warm, oaty smell was being cut with something altogether more fragrant.

 To Merlin’s absolute astonishment, there, sitting in the middle of the breakfast table, was an enormous bunch of flowers. “Bunch” was truly the operative word; nothing about them could have been called a bouquet. They were a crazed mish-mash of wildflowers: roses that looked as though they had been plucked from several different bushes, enormous half-wilted sunflowers, mismatched peonies, late daffodils, and frothy bunches of baby’s breath to set it off. The wild bunch had been hastily shoved into a vase that was clearly far too small to contain them. Merlin blinked at them, confused. He and Gaius were hardly flower-buyers.

 "...What are those?” he asked, stupidly.

 "I trust you know what flowers are, Merlin.” Gaius fixed him with a hard look; he had still not quite forgiven him for his part in Arthur’s deception, and wouldn’t for some time. “They must have turned up on the doorstep before dawn."

 "Got yourself an admirer?" Merlin grinned, eating a handful of raisins straight from the sack.

 "Not unless she has confused the two of us." Gaius tapped a small piece of parchment on the table beside the vase. In a black inky scrawl he did not recognise, it simply read: Merlin.

 "Oh!" Merlin was quite flustered; he had never been given flowers before. "Who do you think they're from?"

 Another hard stare. "The fact that you don't know says rather a lot…"

 But Merlin was far too pleased to care. He leaned over the bunch, gently fingering the soft petals and drinking in the sweet aroma. Goodness, was he the sort of person someone wanted to buy flowers for? Was he worth all that sweet effort? Maybe he was…  "Aren't they pretty?"

 "Actually, they look a bit past their best.” said Gaius, rescuing the bubbling porridge from the fire. “No florist worth their salt would have sold them, and certainly not in that arrangement. They look as though they were picked by someone in a terrible rush. Someone who will be in big trouble with the owner of whatever garden they came from..."

 "That probably precludes Arthur,” Merlin murmured, more to himself than Gaius. “That’s not his handwriting – besides, I can't imagine him stealing dying roses...” Mismatched flowers? A childish scrawl? A surreptitious dumping on the doorstep before dawn? And, more telling than anything else – theft? Merlin’s heart leapt. This had Gwaine written all over it…Perhaps he did know who would be sharing his bed tonight.

 “Well, if you do manage to work out who gave them to you,” Gaius rolled his eyes slightly as he began to spoon porridge into bowls. “tell the lad not to go out at night again. It’s too dangerous. I am going to petition the king later this afternoon to…” 

 But the last thing Merlin wanted to hear about was Gaius’ blessed Necker. As he spooned honey onto his portion, his daydreams were far, far sweeter…

 “Gwaine!”

 Merlin called after the knight’s retreating back. With a swish of cape and a clunk of steel, Gwaine turned around, a grin stretching over his face. Though he was only on his way to training, his hair already had that windswept effect that made him look as though he had just got off the back of a horse. Oh, that smile, that deadly smile…he was so handsome that Merlin almost lost his breath. How could it be that such a person had even looked at him? And yet, he had done far more than look.

 “Here comes the one person I wouldn’t mind making me late.” Gwaine winked at him, sending a tremor through his heart. Then, he considered. “Well – I mean, that’s a lie, I’m already late –“  

 Merlin’s heart came pouring out of his mouth. "Thank you!"

 At this, Gwaine blinked, his expression blank. "For my presence?"

 "You know what for.” Merlin approached him, and, with a furtive glance around, pecked him on the lips. “They were lovely. I can’t tell you how much they meant."

 Though he had enjoyed the kiss, when Gwaine looked down at him, he was more puzzled than ever. "...Sorry, kid, I’ve no idea what you're talking about?” 

 Having searched his face for any sign of an elaborate deception, and found none, Merlin was absolutely stumped.

 “Good to see you though!” Happily, Gwaine was not the sort to question things too deeply. “Missed you last night. Well…” Merlin squeaked with surprise as he grabbed him quite roughly on the – “Missed this anyway. Maybe catch you later, yeah?”

 With a final kiss, he was gone, leaving Merlin breathless and utterly bewildered. 

"Knock knock.”

 Merlin had been contemplating Arthur’s laundry rather than folding it. From his place cross-legged in the middle of Arthur’s bedchamber in the private royal apartments, the last thing he had been expecting with any company. However, he considered, he had left the door wide open, and so to be so surprised was a little foolish. Nonetheless, he was anything but disappointed. There, standing in the doorway, was yet another knight, resplendent in chain mail. Hot and happy from exercise, he looked more handsome than ever. Merlin’s heart gave a warm little skip.

 "Oh! Hey, Lancelot!” Without his specific instruction, his face had already arranged itself into a smile. “Sorry, I was half asleep." Indeed he had been; he had been dreaming of a sight much like the one that had greeted him from the door, though he had not yet added a face to the suit of armour in his mind. But this one was as lovely as the day was long. So distracted he was, in fact, that it took him a second to realise that Lancelot had not arrived empty-handed. In fact, he was carrying a small wooden plate.

 "I thought you might be up here. Arthur has had you running around like a headless chicken all day, so I wanted to make sure you had some lunch." Delicately arranged on the plate, there was a hunk of bread, a lump of cheese, an apple, and even a sliver of iced lemon cake that the kitchens had certainly not intended to be consumed by a servant.

 "Oh, I could kiss you!” Merlin leapt up to accept the plate, doing so upon Lancelot’s cheek. “Thank you!" Suddenly realising how hungry he was, he dug straight into the bread and cheese. “Mmm!”

 “Oh, it’s nothing at all. Just wanted you to know you were on my mind.” The patch of Lancelot’s cheek he had kissed had turned delicately pink. Indeed, for a split second, he could have sworn Lancelot had actually pressed his fingers to it, before continuing: "You look lovely today."

 "Hm?” Merlin grunted, his mouth full of crust. “Really?” He swallowed hard, looking down at his usual outfit, which didn’t exactly feel fresh. “I was sweating like a pig carting this lot upstairs!”  

 "Well then,” Lancelot’s eyes glistened in the weak sunlight. “You are a dewy morning rose."

 The realisation hit Merlin with the full force of a jousting pole. Oh!  Oh, how obvious! He slapped a hand to his forehead as he gazed in wonder as his sweet, selfless knight. "...Oh my – Lancelot, thank you! I would never have expected – not in a million…But perhaps I should have.” He kissed him again, properly this time, discarding the plate on Arthur’s dresser and winding his arms around his metal shoulders. “It is you, after all.” Another kiss. “I can’t believe anyone would go to so much effort for me.”

 At this, Lancelot frowned. “Why on earth would you think that? I meant what I said – I’d do anything for you.” He paused, adding, rather shyly: Especially if it means one of your kisses.”

 “Or many…” Merlin kissed him rapturously, letting one flow into another. How wonderful life was, when he was so adored…he felt a thousand feet tall. What Lancelot had done for him was more precious than all the gold in the world, and now, he wanted him like he wanted air to breathe. Damn the fact it was the middle of the work day, damn the fact they were in Arthur’s bedchamber of all places – actually, that made it all the more exciting. The idea that Arthur could walk in and catch him in the arms of a handsome knight thrilled Merlin to the core. There was nothing he could do but hold him tighter, kiss him harder, try to steer him towards the nearest flat surface so that they could –

 “Ah.” Very gently, Lancelot untangled himself from Merlin’s hungry grasp. Holding him at arms length, he planted a small, sad kiss on his cheek. “Please don’t take this as rudeness, or a lack of gratitude, but…perhaps not.”

 Merlin was in too much of a frenzied state to think clearly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking.

 Awkwardly, Lancelot gestured at their surroundings. “Well, firstly, this is Arthur’s bedroom, and I value my position. Secondly-“

 “Isn’t that exciting, though?” Merlin tried to wind him in again, his blood still up. “Don’t you think it’s thrilling to -?” 

 “Ah. No.” answered Lancelot, with plain honesty. “Not in the slightest.”

 “Oh.”

 Merlin felt as though he had just been plunged into a bucket of cold water. The disagreement had startled him – not to mention the rejection, which had crushed his new admittedly rather overinflated ego.

 “Right.” he stammered, feeling his cheeks beginning to flush red. “Sorry! I – I’d never have wanted to make you feel uncomfortable!”

 “You haven’t!” Lancelot insisted, taking both of his hands. “Not at all! It’s just…” He paused, swallowing hard, before forcing himself to continue. “I know this is not…well. Very modern of me. But I…I usually wouldn’t have…you know. Not the first night.” His cheeks were darker than Merlin’s.

 “Oh…” Now, Merlin was nothing short of mortified. “Sorry! I didn’t know-!“

 “It’s alright! How could you have known? I didn’t tell you. And I wanted to.” He squeezed Merlin’s hands tightly. “I wanted to more than anything. It’s just…” He gave a tight smile. “This is new territory for me, and certainly not how I imagined things would go with you!”

 Slowly, Merlin’s mortification was being replaced with curiosity. “How did you imagine it would go?”

 “Well…I thought I’d at least take you out a few times first.” Lancelot’s eyes had misted over, as his fingers rubbed Merlin’s palms. “Maybe we’d go for a walk in the forest, or along the river, or – anywhere really, as long as it was with you. I’d cook you dinner, and we’d share the evenings, and just get to know one another at our own pace. I’d learn everything there was to know about you – all your favourite things, all your hopes and dreams, everything you wanted from the future…and if you learned all you could about me, and by some miracle you still wanted to be with me…” He paused, chuckling, before growing solemn once more. “Then, when we were together, really together…we would be together in every way…”

 With every word he said, a new knot tied itself tightly in Merlin’s stomach, making him dizzier by the moment. Those knots had begun to swim sickly in circles, as if they too were being spun. The room felt hot and cold at the same time. As he looked at Lancelot, saw the sincerity in his eyes, as he listened to his words, and heard their earnestness…a dead weight was beginning to settle inside his chest. It took a few moments for Merlin to realise exactly what that heavy feeling was. It was guilt.

 “Sorry!” Lancelot laughed again, this time, a little too high-pitched. “I know it’s a bit intense – but I’ve had much longer to think about all of this than you have. I just wanted to be honest with you. You know there is nothing I hold in higher regard than the truth.”

 Hammer it home, why don’t you? Merlin could have vomited then and there.

 “Oh…” He pressed his lips together, searching desperately for the right thing – before, in the spirit of Lancelot’s plainness, he had to admit defeat. “I literally don’t know what to say!”

 “It’s alright.” Lancelot gave the sort of gentle, understanding smile that made anyone feel a thousand times worse. “You don’t have to say anything at all. Ultimately, I will do, and be, whatever makes you happy. That’s all I want. And all I want to work for.” He leaned down, and kissed Merlin’s hands. “For you to be safe, well, and happy.”

 Unfortunately, Merlin didn’t think Lancelot would like to hear exactly what was making him happy at the moment. He didn’t think his sweet, honest knight could take it. Oh, as he looked at him, all smiles and innocence, Merlin knew that he was going to break his heart…

 “Why don’t you let me walk you home this evening?” Lancelot was suggesting. “The last thing in the world I want is for you to be carried off by the Necker before you can even taste my cooking!”  

 Merlin didn’t even have it in him to make a snide comment about this fictional beast everyone he spoke to was so obsessed with. That morning, he had been on cloud nine, floating above the moon, among the stars…and now, he had been brought crashing down to earth with a bump. When he had awoken alone in his bed, wishing that there had been someone there to share it, he had not considered that each of his bedfellows was a real human being, with feelings as acute as his own. They had simply been a means to an end, a way to feel good about himself, and a quiet way to get his own revenge against Arthur. But now…as he looked into those big, dark eyes, as bright and trusting as a robin’s…he wanted the earth to swallow him up, and bring him down as low as it was possible for anyone to go.

Chapter Text

 Oh, decisions, decisions, all of them messy…Merlin wandered about the citadel, unable to settle to one task or another. There was much to do, but he just couldn't seem to concentrate on anything that wasn't his own beating mind. Every time he went to fetch water, or fold laundry, or even scrub every ounce of mud from Arthur's chainmail, he could not keep the same three faces from floating around and around in his head, like bees around a flower. Still...at least he was the flower. How thrilling it all was, to be the centre of dramatics, the eye of the storm, in the midst of the mess...Even with the complications, even with the basketfull of laundry in his arms that felt like rocks as he climbed the stairs, he couldn't help but feel as though he was floating on air. 

 That was when the familiar sound of quiet sobs eminating from the back staircase brought him crashing back down to earth with an unpleasant bump. 

 With a heavy heart, he followed the noise to find a figure sitting recumbent on the topmost stair, her face buried in her hands to muffle the noise. 

 "Oh, Gwen..." 

 "Sorry!" Seeing him, hastily, she scrubbed her eyes on her lilac sleeves. "I'm - I'm being silly!"  

 "You're not." Merlin rested his chin firmly on his friend's head, holding her as close as he could. "You're not in the slightest. Oh..." He gave a soft little sigh as her tears redoubled. She was so beautiful, Gwen. Her soft, smooth skin, her dark curls, those eyes that could melt the hardest of hearts to butter. How much better she deserved than the hand life had dealt her. As Merlin sat down beside her and held her in his arms, he felt more guilty than ever. The worst part of all was that he knew there was nothing he could do to help her; help, and hope, had long since left the city for Gwen. It seemed that time's healing still eluded her, and once more, she was left weeping for what was gone. 

"Hadn't heard you for a few days!” said Merlin, trying to sound bracing as he felt in his pocket for a handkerchief that was long since lost. “Thought you might be feeling better." 

 From under a curtain of wet eyelashes, he was shot a reproachful look. "...I've cried every day this week." 

 “I'm sorry…” Merlin sighed, feeling sick with guilt. “I've been such a terrible friend lately! I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It's just I’ve been so…distracted.”

 This time, the look he was fixed with made him feel like a schoolchild in disgrace. “Yes.” Gwen sniffed, determinedly drying her cheeks. “I know.”

 At once, Merlin’s guard sprang up. “What do you-?”

 “I know what you’re doing.” Gwen turned to face him, swallowing a hiccough. “And I know why you’re doing it.”

 “I don’t know what you’re – “

 “Don’t bother.” Gwen raised a hand to stop his mouth. “Lancelot tells me everything, you know that. And whenever he’s not been drying my tears this week, he’s been talking about you.”

 One look at those eyes told him that there was no point arguing, or denying. Merlin was constantly amazed by Gwen’s strength. Even in the depths of her grief, she was as sharp as ever, while he had been floating around all week so blinded by his own problems that he had not even checked in with his friend. Oh, he was truly the worst person who had ever lived…

 “…Well, I’m glad someone knows why I’m doing it!” he murmured, trying to laugh it off. “Look, Gwen, I really think we should focus on y –“

 “You know Lancelot has been in love with you for years?” Gwen lectured. She had folded her arms, her shoulders square. At least laying into him seemed to be steadying her voice. “Do you know how difficult it’s been to listen to him waxing lyrical about you, as happy as I’ve ever seen him, when all the time I know the truth? On top of everything else I have to..." 

 At this, Merlin’s stomach clenched. He had shared some of his secrets with her, but those beautiful eyes seemed never to miss a thing. What was the true extent of her –?  

 “If he knew about you and Arthur, it would break his heart.”

 Phew.

 “You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Merlin asked anxiously. 

 “No, but I think you should. It isn’t fair, Merlin. I don’t know how you can do this to him. To either of them!”

 This set a new fear flickering inside him. A fear he had been trying to quash all week - a fear that he was in no way ready to give voice to. Even thought. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like with Arthur.” he sniffed. 

 At this, Gwen stiffened. For a second, her gaze flicked up in the direction of the royal apartments. To one apartment in particular, which had now been empty for some time. “No." she murmured, her lip trembling. "I wouldn’t understand at all.”

 Oh, how could he be so selfish? Merlin could actually feel his cheeks burning. “Sorry.” he mumbled, feeling like a child in disgrace. 

 "Look -" Gwen dismissed his apology with a tired wave of her hands. “You haven’t got Arthur completely figured out, you know. I think you should talk to him.”

 Talk? To Arthur? Merlin actually had to hold back a laugh. Since when did he share his secrets with the prince? At that moment, the thought of sharing any more of himself with Arthur was absolutely unthinkable. Why should he be honest, while Arthur was keeping secrets of his own...secrets that still set a cold knife in Merlin's back. 

 The threads that had been holding his heart together were being stretched almost to breaking point. To be in love with the person who had so betrayed him - and still, to his horror, find himself loving him so much he was almost prepared to forgive him, forgive him anything...what did that say about what Merlin thought of himself? Even after everything Gwaine and Lancelot had done to make him feel good, still, he was still that same heartbroken boy who had walked through the streets of Camelot that awful morning. 

 He hated Arthur for what he had done to him, to them, hated what he had destroyed...and still, to his shame, to his disgust, he loved him more fiercely than ever. Oh God. He needed Lancelot, needed Gwaine, needed anyone in the whole world to make him forget for a little while what had been lost...forget, even for a second, just how much he had been hurt. 

 And Gwen, his dear, dear friend, was hurting just the same. 

 "I'm sorry." he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tight. "I should have been there for you. But I'm here now. I'm here, and I love you. I love you more than I can say, and the two of us are going to get through this together." 

 But though he had turned all of his energy to comforting his friend, still, in the back of his mind, the beating endured. How could he have got himself into such a mess? 

 But whatever sort of mess Merlin had found himself it, it didn’t compare to the absolute carnage that was Gwaine’s bedroom. To even reach the unmade bed, he had to cross a gauntlet of discarded shirts, underwear, and socks, and he couldn’t even reach up to run his fingers through that glorious mop of hair without worrying about knocking one of the three discarded mugs off the bedside cabinet with his elbow. Still, he tried to lose himself in Gwaine’s kisses, in his broad shoulders, in his biceps…but it was no use. Though he was wrought with confusion, Merlin wasn’t exactly sure his coping mechanism was helping. Still, at least this was solely about sex - and incredible sex at that. At least with Gwaine, lovely, simple Gwaine, things would never get too complicated –

 “Hey.” Suddenly, Gwaine pulled back from where he had been gently biting Merlin’s neck. “Are you sure you’re into this?”

 “What?” Merlin arranged his face into something he hoped looked like polite confusion. “Of course I am!”

 “Hmm…” Gwaine folded his arms, casting a searching look over him. “It’s just you’re usually much more enthusiastic. It’s very gratifying. But today…I don’t know. There’s something wrong.”

 “Sorry!” At once, Merlin threw himself on the knight, sinking his own teeth into Gwaine’s neck hard enough to elicit a little cry of pain. He pulled him as close as he could, working his crotch into his lap, hands wondering over his body, any movement, any distraction, anything in the world that would –

 The next thing he knew, he was being held at arm’s length. “That didn’t mean start trying harder. If you’re not enjoying it, you can rest assured I’m not.” He forced him to meet his eye. “Don’t do this to yourself, I can’t stand it.”

 “But-!”

 “Merlin. It’s alright. We can just stop.”  

 “Oh!” Merlin twisted from his grasp, furious. A few days ago he had his pick of knights to share his bed, and now neither of them wanted to touch him! Well – of course Gwaine had done the right thing, but as he looked at him, he was more frustrated than ever. Those eyes, the eyes that had regarded him with all the hunger of a wolf, were now filled with the most irritating kind of concern. It turned his stomach. If he had wanted care, he would have gone to Lancelot – and if he had wanted to feel undesirable, he would have just stayed home and stared at the wall until he cried himself to sleep…

 “Talk to me.” Gwaine said. It wasn’t a question. “Come on.”  

 “I can’t –“

 “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all that before.” Gwaine drawled, rolling his eyes. “Look, your business is your business, but your happiness? Well, that’s mine.”

 Oh. Oh no. Oh please, God, no. “You don’t mean that…” It was a petition that fell on deaf ears. 

 “Why on earth wouldn’t I mean it?” Gwaine had reached for his hand - and Merlin had snatched it away. 

 “I mean, you must be annoyed with me!" he tried, keeping his tone cold. "You asked me back here because wanted sex, and now-" 

 “Sure, I wanted sex." Gwaine interupted, with a shrug - before his own tone became as warm as a hearth. "...But I wanted it with you.”

 No. No, no, no, no, no, he couldn't hear this. He didn't want this. He couldn't bear it, not a word of it. “Shut up!” It came out in a rush he could not help. 

 For a second, the ghost of deep hurt passed across Gwaine's face. Merlin watched on, daring to hope. But, to his exasperation, it was quickly replaced with the sort of gentle concern that made him want to scream. “I don't know what you think this is." Gwaine was saying, his voice carefully casual - but his eyes gave him away. "But whatever you might think of me…I couldn’t do all of this if I didn’t care for you." Once more, he reached for Merlin's hand. "In fact…I more than care for you.”

 “Oh, for goodness sake!” As if his touch might burn, Merlin leapt up off the bed, almost tripping over a pile of discarded socks. 

 Now, there was no disguising how wounded Gwaine was. “What?”

 Oh, that face. That lovely, well-meaning face...Merlin felt his cheeks flush. “…Sorry." he murmured, covering his face. "Sorry. Weird day.”

 “Look, forget it, alright?" said Gwaine, quickly. "Forget I said anything. Let’s just have a cuddle.” But as he reached out towards him - he knocked all three mugs from the bedside cabinet, sending them crashing to the floor. 

 “Urgh!" Merlin hopped out of the way to keep their contents from splashing on his shoes. "You dollophead!”

 It took a few seconds for him to realise what he had said. And when he did...all of his heartstrings snapped clean in two. 

 “Dollophead?" From somewhere far away, Gwaine was laughing, wholly unconcerned. "What kind of a word is that?" 

 Oh God. What was he doing? What was he doing?

 “…Sorry!" Merlin's legs had already started to carry him towards the door. "I have to go!”

 "Merlin?" 

 Ignoring the call in his wake, Merlin half-sprinted out of the front door, almost knocking the old woman with whom Gwaine lodged off her feet in the corridor. Slamming it behind him, he rushed out into the cold night air, racing the moonlight through the cobbled streets. His mind, and feet, were both aflame. 

 It was like asking a river not to flow. 

 Merlin didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't know what he was planning. But somehow, he found himself running uphill, past the empty bakery, past the deserted fish-stall, and all the way up through town until the citadel loomed above his head. And high above his head, behind those familair curtains, in that room he knew better than he knew his own...He would push on, through the streets, past the houses and storefronts, past everything and everyone in the world that seperated him and the prince he so hated - and so loved.  

 What would he do when he found him? Scream at him? Shout, shriek, shake him until he understood just what he had done to him?

 Merlin didn't know - he didn't know, and he didn't care. But one way or another, he had to see him, had to see him, had to - 

 That was when he saw them.

 Hiding in shadow at the end of the blind alley. Half-obscured by the darkness - but real, real, horribly, terribly real...and the sight of them turned his blood to ice. 

 A pair of glowing red eyes.

Chapter Text

 Perhaps one day, Gwen thought ruefully as she began to wind her way through the streets of Camelot, perhaps one day she would be able to look up at her place of work without wanting to burst into tears. Maybe on that day, she would be able to walk down the corridors, up the staircases, through each door, without every stone, every brick, every wooden panel reminding her of what she had lost. Goodness, she thought, as she miserably picked at a handful of berries by way of a portable breakfast, maybe then she would even be able to look at her own reflection without seeing herself through the eyes of her love. Just to touch her own skin, without every brush of her fingers feeling like hers, seemed as impossible as flying up into the air, high enough to see the whole world down below, and finally finding her again... 

 But as she turned the corner to find herself in the shadow of the citadel once more, even through her veil of misery, something caught her eye. 

 An old man in a long, loose robe was hurrying down the street at a pace much faster than a man his age should sensibly employ. As Gwen blinked away the last of the fog, she recognised him at once. 

“Gaius?" Gwen hurried to meet him. "Is everything alright?”

 Gaius had been brought out of his own fog by her voice, enough to bring him to a halt. Though his voice was habitually measured, the flicker of fear behind his eyes gave his state away. “I don’t suppose you know where Merlin is? It’s just he never came home last night.”

 “Oh!" Gwen couldn’t help but feel instantly skeptical - from what she knew of the life Merlin was currently leading, there were two different beds he might have awoken in that morning. "Oh dear.” she murmured, trying to sound convincing. 

 It was clear that Gaius did not share her cynicism; perhaps Merlin hid his conquests from his surrogate father. She supposed she would have done the same...“I wouldn’t ordinarily be so concerned – I know he can look after himself – but one can never be too careful these days." Gaius was saying. "There were more reports of the beast last night, and I can’t help but imagine –”

 At the mention of the famous Necker, the first seeds of fear began to sow themselves in Gwen's gut. “Merlin's not stupid." she lied. "I'm sure he can look after himself." 

 "I'm sure." Gaius' raised eyebrow demonstrated that he shared her sentiments exactly. "But I shan't rest until I know he is safe." 

 There was nothing like a father's love...the hole in her heart opened up that little bit wider. In light of this, though she was certain they would bring comfort, she would have to chose her next words very carefully. "He is a young man, you know." she began, as vaguely as she could. "He’s probably just spent the night with…Well – you know – anyone! He might be with–“

 But the look on Gaius' face said it all. "Oh, I am fully aware of where he might be." the man intoned, looking extremely tired. Oh, the poor old fellow...Gwen really should have known that he would not miss a trick. "But he isn’t at the citadel – and even if he had spent the night there, he would have come home for his breakfast. I’m calling around to his friends to see if –“

 “I’ll find Lancelot!” said Gwen at once. 

 “Excellent." said Gaius, though he frowned slightly, as if confused. "Thank you, Guinevere. I’m on my way to Gwaine’s.”

 Gwaine's? Why would he be there? She supposed they were friends...but the image of a terrible red-eyed beast drove any more questions from Gwen's mind. Merlin never failed to find himself in the midst of trouble - if anyone was going to run afoul of any magical creature, it was him. Oh, what if he had been hurt? Or worse... "He'll be alright." she said firmly, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. "Meet us back at the citadel either way.” With the best smile she could manage, which was tightly returned, he patted his arm. "Don't worry, Gaius." 

 “Lancelot!”

 The knight had just locked his front door. Immaculately dressed, his hair freshly washed and combed into place, Lancelot did not look as though he had a care in the world. He was so pure, so earnest...this was going to be rough. Gwen steeled herself, trying not to look as frightened as she felt. 

 “Ah! Good morning. To what do I owe such a pleasure?" He beamed at his friend - before, within moments, he sensed that something was deeply wrong. "Gwen?" he asked, stepping forward as his expression flooded with concern. "Whatever is the matter?”

 “Merlin’s missing.”

 “Missing?" She could have sworn he went white. "What do you mean, missing? How long?”

 “Gaius says he went out last night and never came home. I thought he might be with you!”   

 “He isn't here.” Lancelot's eyes widened, their fear redoubling - then, seeing how scared Gwen was, very valiantly, he attempted to compose himself. “…Come now, we mustn’t panic." Reaching Gwen, he put his arms around her, squeezing in a way that way almost comforting. "He’ll be alright, I’m sure." He managed a wobbly smile - before fear consumed him once more. "Wait. When was the beast last sighted? My God. My God, what if - ?"  

 “I thought you said we mustn’t panic!" His reaction only made everything worse. If even Lancelot was afraid for him, maybe Merlin really was in danger... 

 “We have to go straight to the citadel." Lancelot took Gwen's arm and began to steer her, rather roughly, back towards the castle - before stopping in his tracks. Indeed, the man was so worried he didn't know what to do. "Or maybe I should just go and look for him myself?”

 “If it comes to that, you’ll be better off with reinforcements." Gwen pointed out. "Come on." She took his arm again, and led the way, trying not to sound sick with worry. "I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he's turned up already!" 

 But a few streets away, Gwen spotted something that made her almost vomit straight onto the cobblestones. 

 “Alright, Gaius?" Bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, Gwaine answered the door half-clothed and in bare feet. "Sorry, I'm not long up. My landlady's been bending my ear about this blessed Necker - reckons she saw it through the window. Bloody ridiculous - the old man up the road's got a black wolfhound, I'd bet my sword it was just...Uh oh." He properly took in his expression. "Whatever it is, it wasn't me. And if it was, it was an accident, I swear. Or they deserved it. Or -" 

 “Was Merlin with you last night?”

 “…I mean, yes, but he left after dark.”

 “Left?" Suddenly, Gaius' gaze became probing. "After dark, on his own? Where did he go?”

 “I don’t know, he sort of sprinted." Unconcerned, Gwaine couldn't help but snigger. "It was quite funny, actually, you know - the way he runs…" It took another couple of seconds for the penny to drop. But when at last it did...Gwaine's heart dropped too, at a sickening speed. "Are you saying he didn’t come home?”

  By the time Gaius and Gwaine reached the council chamber, Lancelot and Gwen were already there, pacing nervously around the table. Though Lancelot was determinedly composed, the look in his eyes gave him away. Meanwhile, Gwen's were filled with tears, so much so that Gwaine could do nothing but throw his arms around her. The air was so thick with concern and fear that breathing felt like choking. From the adjoining chamber, there eminated the low buzz of familiar voices. 

 “Arthur is petitioning the king.” Lancelot explained, holding onto his scabbard far too tightly. "We haven't seen him yet." 

 "Alright. Thank you." Though Gaius did not say it, every person in the chamber knew exactly what he was thinking. And five minutes later, these pessimistic sentiments regarding the king were confiirmed by the look on the emerging Arthur's face.

 “I assume you are all here about Merlin." Arthur said, by way of a greeting. His skin was ashen. "Unfortunately, my father maintains there is no evidence that Merlin has been attacked by any magical creature." Though he managed to maintain a note of respect when speaking of his royal father, every part of his face betrayed white-hot rage. "As such, he will not agree to reinforce the city watch." As Arthur tried in vain to hide his disappointment, a distraction came. For Gwen, still grasping Gwaine's arm for support, gave a tiny, strangled groan, like a kitten in distress. 

 "Gwen?" the prince asked, taking a step towards her. As he did so, as if waiting for an execution, Lancelot fixed his eyes upon the ground. "What is it? Do you have news of him?" 

 Fighting to remain composed, Gwen gulped hard, before reaching into her pocket. As her eyes flicked from face to worried face, it was clear that whatever she had found could be nothing good. "We found this a few streets from here. I...I'm so sorry!" Like the world's worst conjurer, slowly, Gwen pulled a length of red material from her pocket. It was in a terrible state, torn practically to ribbons, as if it had been in the jaws of a lion - and yet, it was familiar. At once, all present recognised the remains of an article of clothing they saw almost every day.  

 It was Merlin's neckerchief. And, most terrifyingly of all - it was stained with great splashes of a dark red liquid that could only be blood.

 Having seen the awful thing first, Lancelot's eyes remained fixed upon the floor, as if to look again would cause him the greatest pain imaginable. As Gwaine stared at it, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, a gasping noise escaped his lips. Meanwhile, though Arthur was silent, his expression carefully blank...his skin was the colour of chalk. 

 It was truly a testiment to his mettle that Gaius managed to stay calm. As he studied the torn strip of cloth, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and intoned: "A bloodied neckerchief is not a body." 

 "No. No." Gwen agreed, relieved to hear even the coldest words of comfort. "He's strong. I'm sure he's fine. He has to be fine. He-" 

 "Surely the king will listen to this!" Gwaine ejaculated, gesturing to the awful item with a sweep of his arm. He could no longer stand still, shifting from foot to foot as he practically vibrated with frustration. But when Arthur finally found his voice, he could offer no reassurance. 

 "Even if we showed him...that…" He gulped, before averting his eyes. "Father has made it clear that will spare no men to try to rescue a servant.”

 Though no one in the room dared speak ill of the king, none of them had to. And as Arthur met each of their eyes, it was clear he knew as well as they did what lay unsaid. But still - with determined energy, Arthur strode into the centre of the room, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword. 

 “But that isn’t going to stop me." he declared, his lips a tight line of resolve. "So I ask for volunteers. Who will come with me to save Merlin?”

 “I.” said Lancelot, without a moment's hesitation. 

 “Yeah, yeah, me too.” Gwaine nodded, stepping forward with relief. 

 “Excellent." Arthur clapped them both clumsily on the shoulder. "You are brave men both. Together, we are better than any army. Quickly now - there isn't a moment to lose." 

 Obidently, both knights nodded in respect to their commander, before making to leave the room to prepare for whatever lay ahead. But before they did so - Gwaine seized Gaius' forearm. He opened his mouth, and an apology began to tumble out, before Gaius silenced it with a wave of his other hand. Guilty, but resigned, Gwaine squeezed the old man's wrist. 

 “Don’t worry." he said, as solemnly as anyone had ever heard him speak. "Don't you worry. I’ll get him back for you.” With that, he was gone. As the door slammed behind him, Lancelot threw his arms around the weeping Gwen, so tightly that she was almost lifted off the floor. 

 “Have comfort." he murmured to her. "Keep hope alive. I'm sure we’ll have Merlin safely home where he belongs before you know it.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and followed suit. 

 After a few seconds of unbearable silence, Gaius rubbed a hand across his forehead. Remaining still, and doing nothing, were the furthest thing possible from an option. "I shall fetch my notes on the beast. There may be something that will help." Without another word, he disappeared through the door, frantic footsteps fading down the corridor. 

 In the absence of the knights, and of Gaius, the room suddenly felt as empty as if it had been deserted completely. So wrapped up in her own torment was Gwen that she almost forgot that a third knight remained. 

 “The neckerchief was found on the road to the citadel?" Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper. When Gwen nodded, he seemed to shrink. With the knights gone, and only Gwen, the servant who had loved his father's ward, remaining, Arthur's mask of determination was allowed to slip. And as it did so, it brought with it a wave of quiet grief. 

 "He must have been on his way to see me. Out at night, all on his own, with a monster..." Arthur's chalk skin had turned postively grey. "It’s all my fault.”

 Though both Gwen opened her mouth to counter this, the prince held up a gloved hand. 

 “It’s all my fault." he said, as if he were his own judge. His lip gave the slightest tremble. "I should have…I ought to have…”

 “What could you have–?“ Gwen started - but Arthur wasn't finished. 

 “He has been so distant lately..." he murmured, looking distant, as if regarding a terrible battefield. "He hasn't come to see me all week. I thought the flowers might help, but – “

 “Flowers?" 

 Arthur nodded, his face the picture of agony. “I was so busy that day..." he sighed. "There was so much work to do, and it all seemed so terribly important at the time – but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. So I had one of the stable hands gather them, and write him a note, and..." Suddenly, he hid his face in his hand. "Why couldn’t I even find ten minutes to do it myself? Why didn't I find him myself? No wonder he had started to pull away!" His voice had become horribly thick. "And now he is missing, hurt, and in danger, and it is all my fault!" 

 Gwen didn't know what to say. The sight of Arthur, the tower of strength for the entire kingdom, crumbling before her, was enough to make her own tears spring forth once more. But summoning all of her courage, she forced them back, and wrapped her arms around him. 

 "If anyone can save him now...it is you. And with Lancelot and Gwaine by your side, if there is still hope - and I am sure there is - you will be unstoppable." She squeezed him as tightly as she could. "I believe in you." 

 It was only then, as she felt Arthur's arms wrap around her in kind, that she remembered just how perilous a joint mission might prove. But it was too late to stop it now. 

 Arthur left Camelot with his head held high, urging a gleaming white horse into a gallop as his red cloak flew in his wake. Behind him, there rode Gwaine, with an air of focus and determination that looked quite alien on his usually carefree face. Finally Lancelot rode at the rear, his eyes held skyward as if appealing to any gods who would listen to aid them on their quest. None spoke, and all were resolved. All three of them went forth, united by a shared goal - to find Merlin, to slay the beast that had dared take him, and to bring him home safe - even at the cost of their own lives. If only they knew just how much they had truly shared... 

Chapter Text

 Typical Albion; within a quarter of an hour of setting off, it had begun to rain. It wasn't a complete downpour, which would have felt worth complaining about at least, but it drizzled just enough to soak one who had the misfortune to be caught in it through to the skin. Still, the three knights rode stoically on into the woods that surrounded Camelot, attempting to steer their horses from the worst of the mud, and ignoring the cold droplets that found their way down their necks and beneath their armour. As the skyline of the capitol disappeared behind them, enveloped completely in branches and leaves, there was no turning back from their pursuit of the beast - not that any one of them would have wished it. Though each man's face was quiet, each mouth a tight line of effort, their pace, coupled with the looks in their eyes, betrayed the worst of their fears. 

 "Did Gaius manage to find anything helpful?" Gwaine asked, as they followed a stream deeper into the heart of the forest. It was decidedly out of character for him to be so quiet; indeed, Lancelot looked mildly relieved, before answering. 

 “Only that the beast has been sighted most often in the Darkling Woods." he explained. "And that it is said to prefer...fresh meat.” As the reality of what he had suggested hit him, his voice faded to nothing. 

 "Well." Gwaine drawled, looking rather ill. "That's comforting." 

 "It might be!" Lancelot insisted, desperate to cling to anything like a scrap of hope. "Perhaps the beast will have taken Merlin alive to his lair, so that he is completely fresh when it..." Once more, his words were lost. Indeed, giving voice to his worst ideas about what could have befallen his beloved sorcerer seemed to be leading him down a hole into the dark abyss, from which he could not emerge.

 In front of them, Arthur made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed gasp.  

 "We can't lose hope." said Gwaine, trying to sound bracing. "I'm sure whatever's going on, Merlin's putting up a bloody good fight." 

 "Not if he's been badly hurt." said Lancelot from his pit. "There was so much blood on the neck-" 

 "Hold your tongue or I'll rip it out." 

 Gwaine had spoken so suddenly, and so loudly, that a bird flew from a nearby branch. Indeed, the violence of his words was so unexpected that they seeemed to bring Lancelot to his right mind. 

 "My apologies." he murmured, sounding almost like himself again. "I shouldn't have said it. I am...I am quite out of my senses." He made a strange, yelping noise that was almost a laugh. "You're right. We cannot let ourselves think it, or all shall be lost. I'm sure we'll have Merlin home in one piece before the day is out." 

 Before them, Arthur had bowed his head. Then, for the first time since leaving the city, the prince spoke. 

 "Do you really think that?" Arthur's tone was carefully measured; but he could not desguise the edge that crept into every syllable. "You think he's going to be alright?" It was nothing short of a prayer. 

 "With all my heart, sire." said Lancelot at once. 

 "He's stronger than he looks." Gwaine said, warmth creeping back into his own voice. "He's only got to hang in there until we find him." One hand slipped from the reins of his horse to the hilt of his sword. "And when we do...the creature will rue the day it set foot in Camelot..." 

 "Good." said Arthur flatly. "Good." 

 There was a pause, in which there was no sound but the blowing of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, and the fall of the horses' hooves. During this pause, Arthur appeared to be selecting his words with the care of a parent selecting the name of a first-born child. When he spoke again, though his voice was oddly distant - his face was set. 

 "Now, listen to me." He drew a deep breath, before ploughing on. "If one of you gets to Merlin first, whatever is happening to me, your instructions are to leave me behind and get him to safety at once." He regarded Gwaine and Lancelot with solemnity. "I mean it. Disregard your sense of duty to me-just rescue Merlin, and take him straight to Gaius. Do you understand?"

 Silence fell as each knight digested their prince's words. Though Lancelot attempted to mirror Arthur's semblance, he could not keep a flicker of astonishment from flashing across his face. Meanwhile, Gwaine looked openly nonplussed. 

 "Well, I for one won't be doing that." he murmured, loyally. 

 "Yes." Lancelot agreed, relieved that Gwaine had said it first. "We are sworn to you upon our honour. How could we -?" 

 But Arthur had held up a gloved hand. Still, there was something peculiar in his eyes. It was the air of a man about to be martyred. 

 "You have your orders. I expect both of you to do your duty, as I will it." 

 Another silence followed this. Arthur urged his horse on, as if to close the subject. In his wake, though Lancelot still looked extremely uncomfortable with the situation, his mouth became a tight line of resolve. Meanwhile, Gwaine's eyebrows had raised. Indeed, he seemed to have taken the implication that he could not save both prince and servant personally. Nonetheless, he too pushed on in silence. 

 But once again, the silence was broken by the prince. From his position at the head of the party, he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead as he spoke. It was clear that he could not - or would not - look at them. 

 "...You are amongst my most trusted knights, and I do not wish to do you the dishonour of deceiving you." he began, sounding as though he was speaking from a long way away. "However, before I share this with you, I must on that same honour swear you to secrecy. Do I have your word?" 

 "Of course." said Lancelot at once. 

 "...Yeah?" Gwaine's agreement sounded more like a question - but Arthur seemed to deem it worthy. 

 "Right. Uh. Right..." He paused. He coughed, cleared his throat, and coughed again. Behind him, both knights waited. When at last Arthur found his voice again, it hardly sounded like his own at all. But, having visibly squared his shoulders, with that same brave air of a man upon a scaffold, he pressed on.

'You see...Merlin and I...we...well. We are in a relationship." Cough. Cough. Cough. Then, as if someone were pulling the words from his very soul, he finished. "A...romantic relationship."

 The third silence of the trip was the deadliest of all. 

 Anything beyond a monosyllabic response was beyond them now. 

 "Oh." Pink spots had already appeared on Lancelot's cheeks. 

 "Right..." Lancelot's eyebrows had almost disappeared into his hairline. 

 Conversely, Arthur's shoulders had dropped entirely. It was as if he had been carrying a great burden of rocks upon his back, and at last he had been relieved. He could breathe again. He could simply, simply breathe. 

 "Almost since first we met." He let out a deep, shuddering sigh, and pressed on, sounding more certain by the word. "You cannot know how good it feels to finally say it aloud! I understand it must come as a surprise to you, but...well, I suppose it came as a surprise to me too! And then again, perhaps it did not..." His words trailed off into thoughts, before, with a shake of his head, his voice grew gruff. "Well. I hope that explains both my continued bachelorhood, and my anxiousness to see him safely back where he belongs." Finally, he looked over his shoulder to face his knights. And he did so with a grim, but very honest, smile. "Do we have an understanding?"

 Gwaine's eyes were fixed upon his hands. "...Sure." he mumbled. 

 Though Lancelot had managed to arrange his face into something that was almost neutral, there was nothing he could do about the colour of his cheeks. "Of course..." he choked out. 

 But Arthur seemed not to notice that either of his knights were anything less than accepting. With a snort of relief, Arthur turned his eyes back to the road, and urged his horse on again.

 "I am glad you do not look at me any differently."

 "God no."

 "No, sire."

 As Arthur urged his horse on, his head was held higher than ever. "I know it will take some getting used to, but I must say, neither of you look particularly surprised. Perhaps I did not hide it as well as I should. But I am glad I won't have to hide it any longer - at least from you. It is not honourable to keep secrets from one's most trusted friends, no?" At long last, he sounded quite himself again, a hint of his old bravado creeping into his tone as he rode proudly forth. "You are right, Gwaine. The beast hasn't a chance. And when we bring Merlin safely home, I shall never let him out of my sight again." 

 "If you're still out when the sun goes down, Old Red Eyes will come and get you..."

 Yet again, Merlin awoke to find his head on an unfamiliar pillow. But today, that pillow was one of stone - and that head felt as though it was on fire. 

 Before he opened his eyes, Merlin's hand had already brought itself to the source of the worst of the agony. He touched his fingers to his forehead to find hot, wet stickiness; blood. Blood that had glued his hair to his skin. It had run down his face and onto his neck, which he realised was strangely bear; he had lost his neckerchief. But that was the least of his problems. For it was only then that he realised he could hear low, animal panting. 

 Merlin opened his eyes to find himself near the mouth of a shallow cave. It was cold, damp, and every breath echoed. Every one of his own breaths; and those that eminated like nightmares from the black shape in the corner. The black shape, with glowing, red eyes. 

 The most disturbing thing about the beast was the fact that it looked almost exactly like a dog. It had a shaggy black coat that hung from its body in long, thin tangles. Its ears and tail resembled any wolfhound Merlin had ever seen; but for those eyes, he would have taken it for an ordinary stray. And yet...the more he looked at it, the more sick to his stomach he felt. Its snout was a little too long, a little too pointed. Its jaws were too wide. And those eyes - those eyes were the slightest bit too far apart. Those tiny mistakes in what looked like an otherwise perfect copy of a dog seemed more troubling than any outward monsters. The perverted familiar was strangely nauseating. But he hardly had time to ponder this strange phenomenon...for, seeing that its meal had stirred, on enormous, silent paws, the Necker had begun to advance. 

 It seemed, as it so often did so, that Gaius had been proven right. 

 Oh, if only Arthur was here, with a strong arm and a flash of righteous steel. If only Gwaine...if only Lancelot...but Merlin was quite alone. No one was coming to help him. He would have to help himself. 

 As the creature approached, close enough for to smell the putrid stench of rotting meat on its breath, Merlin took a deep breath, summoned all of his strength, and focused. 

 Suddenly, the sure, steady progress of the rescue party was brought to an abrupt halt. 

 It was Lancelot who pulled his horse's reigns first, bringing her to a stop beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree. A few seconds later, sensing the ceasing of movement, Gwaine too clicked his tongue, and his own horse slowed to a standstill. From his place at the head of the party, it was only the ceasing of the sound of hooves that told Arthur that something was wrong. 

 "What is this?" he asked, turning his horse to face his men with some annoyance. "We must not dally. There isn't a moment to lose!" 

 But, perhaps for the first time in his life, Lancelot did not obey the wishes of his prince. Instead, he simply stared at him, eyes wide, cheeks pink. Now, it was he that looked like a man about to be put to death. 

 "Well, what is it?" Arthur demanded, more frustrated by the moment. "Quickly now - anything could be happening to Merlin! I thought you were his friend!" 

 “That's just it..." Though Lancelot tried to raise his head, he could not meet Arthur's eye. It all came out in a great, slippery rush. "I’m sorry, sire, but this isn’t right." he said to the forest floor, his cheeks burning with shame. "I cannot lie to you. It is a greater dishonour than the one I have already done.”

 At once, Gwaine narrowed his eyes. But far from looking troubled, Arthur even looked faintly amused. “What is it, Lancelot?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Did you accidentally yawn in my presence or something?”

 "No, sire. I am afraid it is far worse than that." 

 As his horse pawed impatiently at the floor, Arthur pulled at the reigns to steady her. "Out with it, then." he said, his eyes flicking back to the path ahead. "Come on, we are wasting time, and-" 

 “I too have fallen in love with Merlin."  

 Silence. 

 "Yes." At last, looking relieved and thoroughly ashamed at the same time, Lancelot managed to raise his eyes to meet Arthur's. "For many years now. And, of late…we have been seeing one another.” 

 Arthur's expression was completely unreadable. 

 By Lancelot's side, Gwaine's eyes were as wide as the moon. “...Seeing?" he asked, a hand buried awkwardly in his hair. "Meaning…?”

 “I will not ask for your forgiveness." Lancelot's gaze remained fixed upon his prince. "Whether I knew of your relationship with Merlin or not, I have still behaved without honour. I have disgraced my vows, and I will accept whatever consequences you -" 

 “No way!" Gwaine had slapped a hand to his forehead. After a beat - he let out a strange, high laugh. "You too? Seriously?" 

 As both Lancelot and Arthur's eyes snapped to Gwaine, the realisation dawned upon both of them at once. As it did so, Lancelot's cheeks blushed from peony to rose. 

 “My God..." he stammered, shaking his head in disbelief. "You mean...You mean Merlin has been stepping out with you as well?" 

 "Stepping out?" Now, Gwaine roared with laughter, rocking back and forward on his horse. "Is this the dark ages? But yeah, yeah, we've sure been stepping out!" Clutching the saddle for support, he turned to his friends, the corners of his mouth twitching with every word. "Alright - alright - let's get this straight. Merlin has been sleeping with all three of us? At the same time?" 

 Neither knight could say a word. 

 "Oh, that's classic!" Gwaine sniggered, almost slipping sideways from his horse as he struggled to catch his breath. "Oh, that's absolutely classic! Who would have thought he had it in him? Incredible! Hahahahaha...Hahahahaha!" 

 But as Gwaine's laughter echoed up to the treetops, and Lancelot covered his burning face in shame and humiliation...Arthur remained silent. Far from Gwaine's laughter, he could not make a sound. Far from Lancelot's blush, his skin was deathly pale. Indeed, he looked as though the only thing that could come out of his mouth was vomit. And yet, he neither moved, nor spoke. Not even the smallest twitch of his facial muscles revealed what was going on inside his head. 

 But all too quickly - once more, Arthur's face was set. 

 “Come." he called back to his knights, urging his horse on. "Let us pray Merlin is still alive…"

 A pause. Then, from under the prince's breath: 

 "...So that I can kill him myself!" 

Chapter Text

 The monster was close enough that Merlin could smell the stench of rotting flesh on its breath. But if Merlin thought too hard about this smell, the smell that confirmed the beast's success as a hunter, he would lose all hope. And if he lost hope, his only hope - his magic - would never work.

 Summoning all his might, he stared straight back at the approaching monster, and focused. 

 Nothing. 

 The Necker was close enough now that Merlin could feel bursts of warm air emanating from its mouth in great, gasping gulps. Once more, Merlin focused as hard as he could, willing the creature immobilised. He pictured it in his mind, the creature simply frozen by his word, and whispered the words of an incantation. 

 And still, there was nothing. 

 Merlin had less than a few seconds before it would be too late. The creature was bearing down on him, and soon, he would sweeten its breath with the smell of his flesh. Oh, why wouldn't it work? Had the old religion deserted him at this, his most desperate, lonely time of need? Was the creature immune to his magic? It seemed fitting that a beast of fairytales would be impervious...But there was nothing else. He had no weapon, no strength, no knight to save him - only himself, his gift, and this empty, useless cave - 

 Wait. The cave. 

 Inspiration struck Merlin like a bolt of lightning. Without a moment's hesitation, and offering up a prayer to any and all gods that might be listening, Merlin fixed his eyes upon the roof of the cave, gathered up the last of his strength, and concentrated harder than he had ever concentrated in his life. 

 At last - the cave was filled with a flash of golden light. 

 With a deafening crash, the ceiling caved in. The Necker barely had time to roar, before he was swallowed beneath a pile of rubble. 

 Suddenly, the cave was far, far too quiet. 

 As the dust settled, Merlin massaged his throbbing head, feeling warm, wet blood. Oh, he was dizzy, so dizzy...there was an acute buzzing in his ears. Finally, when the air was clear once more, Merlin chanced a look at what remained of the great Necker. All he could see, poking out from under the rocks, was a large, black paw. Now that the creature was dead, it seemed no more than that of an ordinary dog. 

 As he gazed at the paw, hardly noticing the edges of his vision were beginning to blur, a great sadness overcame him. The poor beast had been a living, breathing thing, only doing what it was naturally programmed to do, and he had taken its life. He had destroyed it...just like he had probably destroyed his own life. Looking at the pitiful remains of the once mighty creature was like looking at the ruins of his actions that week. Though he had been kidnapped, suddenly, returning home seemed like the worst possible thing he could do. Oh God...if he even made it back to Camelot, what would he do once he got there? To whom would he go? Into which arms would he fall? If any of them even still wanted him...if any of them had even noticed that he was gone. Especially Arthur. Oh Arthur...and yet, as Merlin's head swam, and his soul ached, he tried to harden his heart. Of all his suitors, he doubted he was even on Arthur's mind - unless, of course, the prince had run short of clean socks. He was probably swanning about the citadel without a care in the world, attending council meetings and training in the yard, wondering just who he would call to his bed that night. And it certainly wouldn't be Merlin. It would be someone better, more worthy, less desperate for scraps of affection, not wanting simply, simply to be held by the prince he loved...No. It wouldn't be Merlin...

 His eyelids were too heavy to keep open for a second longer. In a haze of pain, dizziness, and confusion, he lay his throbbing head down on his arms, and let himself fall into the dark safety of sleep. 

 When Merlin came to, it was to the sound of thundering horse hooves. As he listened to them, growing closer and closer, the last fog of sleep left him, and he returned to his senses. Though his head ached, the worst of his dizziness seemed to have cleared. Perhaps half-passing out had actually done him good. He shook his head a few times, averting his eyes from the creature's paw and toward the entrance of the cave, and the source of the approaching sound. Who was riding towards him? 

 Whoever they were, thank goodness they had come - he didn't think he could walk back to Camelot in this state. With a grunt of effort, he clambered awkwardly to his feet, just in time to see - 

 Never in his wildest dreams would Merlin have imagined the sight that greeted him at the mouth of the cave. Arthur, impossibly, ethereally handsome, resplendent on a gleaming white horse, flanked by Lancelot and Gwaine, red cloaks flowing at their backs - it was a vision from the page of a book. The flood of light-headedness that overcame him was nothing to do with his head injury. The sight had stolen his breath. They had come for him, all of them - even Arthur! So intoxicated was he by his knights that all memories of the previous week had deserted him. 

 "You came!" he blurted out, feeling as though he could weep for joy.  

 "Ha." Gwaine gave a dirty chuckle as he slid from the saddle. "Oh yeah. We sure did." 

 At this, Lancelot visibly winced. It was a miracle he managed to remain sure-footed as he landed on the ground. Quickly, he busied himself with the pile of rubble in the centre of the room. With one gloved hand, he touched the visible black paw, and shook his head. 

 Beside him, Arthur had also dismounted. To Merlin's surprise, the prince was the only one of the three who met his eye. 

 "Are you alright?"

 Arthur had asked the question without emotion. The more Merlin stared at him, trying desperately to read the expression of the person he knew best in all the world...the more confused he was. 

 "Er...Yes?" he stammered, pressing his fingers to the wound on his forehead. "Pretty much." He gestured unnecessarily to the mess in the centre of the cave, suddenly realising that he could not disclose exactly by what means he had managed to overcome the beast. "Thank goodness the roof caved in! What a stroke of luck, hey? I don't think I could have come any closer to..." But as he looked from knight to knight, his words dried in his throat. The more he looked at them - at Arthur's sword-like gaze, at Gwaine's knowing smirk, at Lancelot's downcast eyes - the worse he felt. Deep inside his stomach, a thousand sickening butterflies had taken flight. "What's going on?" 

 The next thing Merlin knew, he was being seated firmly on a low rock.

 When he looked up, his eyes were met with an extraordinary sight. Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot stood side by side, looking down at Merlin. And each knight had folded his arms over his chest. 

 Not a single word of explanation was required. 

 The butterflies in Merlin's stomach had turned into snakes. And as they slithered, each one wrapped itself around his guts, and squeezed so hard that he almost vomited onto their boots. 

 "I can explain..."

 His mouth opened and shut of its own accord, but no sound came out. Stomach churning, head spinning, throat beginning to close, he searched for something, anything, to say. But once more...there was nothing. There was nothing he could say. 

 "Actually...I can't!"

 Silence. 

 Arthur moved first. Without a word, without even a glance, he grasped the saddle firmly in both hands, and swung his leg over his horse's back. No sooner had he grabbed the reins had the animal been pushed into a sharp trot, then a gallop. Seconds later, all that remained of the prince was the distant sound of thundering hooves. 

 As Arthur left the cave, so too did all the air. Merlin had to steady himself on the rock. He felt hot and cold at once. The roaring in his ears told him that he was in danger of fainting once again. 

 When Gwaine broke the silence, it felt as jarring as a blade. 

 "So..." The knight shot Lancelot a wicked grin. "Threeway?" 

 The blushing Lancelot gaped at Gwaine as if he had just murdered a kitten in front of him. 

 "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Gwaine laughed, slapping Lancelot's shoulders so hard that he almost overbalanced. He looked back at Merlin, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Nice one, kid. Never thought you had it in you! So who was best, hm? Was it me? I bet it was me. Ooh - who's the biggest-?" 

 It was all too much for the gentle Lancelot. Summoning the last of his dignity, he pulled himself up to full height, and regarded Merlin with the most miserable eyes he had ever seen. 

 "I am glad you are safe." he managed to say, before, sounding horribly thick: "Forgive me. I trust the honourable Sir Gwaine-" He could not keep a touch of venom from his tone. "-will see you safely home." A second later, he too had mounted his horse. But before he turned to go...he looked back at Merlin, who was quietly willing the ground to swallow him up. 

 "I...I'm sorry I wasn't..." He swallowed. "Enough for you. I wish..." 

 But he would not - could not - continue. And so, with a final, long look, and without another word, Lancelot too sped away. Once more, the cave seemed as silent as the grave. 

 Oh God. Merlin had done it. He had broken his heart. He was the worst human being who had ever lived. 

 "Come on then, kid." Gwaine offered a hand to pull him to his feet. "Let's get you back to Gaius, so he can take a look at that wound." He started to give Merlin a leg-up onto the last steed - before a wicked grin flashed across his face. "Well. You might as well ride my horse too." 

 "Gwaine." 

 "What?" Gwaine snorted, climbing up in front of him and taking hold of the reins. "You've got to admit - this is really, really funny! Oh, you should have seen their faces..." 

 As the sniggering Gwaine kicked their horse into action, and Merlin reluctantly wrapped his arms around his waist, never in his whole life had he felt less like laughing. 

Chapter Text

 By the time Merlin could see Camelot’s skyline again, clinging grimly to Gwaine’s waist as they rode homeward, though the worst of his dizziness had subsided, he felt sicker than ever. He could already see the highest points of the citadel, stretching up into the summer sky. It was as if the building itself was looking down on him, judging him for all he had done that week. All he had done to its prince…

 Well, Merlin thought coldly, staring back at it defiantly; it was only because of the actions of its precious prince that he had been driven to such extreme measures. He could not and would not allow himself to feel guilty. After all, he had done nothing wrong – no more than Arthur had done, anyway. Still, every time he imagined Arthur lying with someone else, in their arms, in their bed, he felt as though a shard of cold steel was being pressed through his heart. No wonder Arthur had fled without looking at him when they had met in the cave. The moment he learned about Gwaine and Lancelot, he must have realised why Merlin had done what he had done. Perhaps he was ashamed of himself. And yet…the look he had given him. That look, that look that had been every bit as awful as any image of Arthur with someone else…It was that look that prevented Merlin from entirely swerving his own guilt.

 Then there was Lancelot. Oh, poor, sweet, Lancelot – it had been just as Gwen had warned, and he had not listened to her. As a result, Merlin had hurt a warm, kind, gentle person who had never, would never, knowingly hurt anyone. It was like kicking a puppy. Merlin’s guilt redoubled. Never again would those dark eyes regard him with such warmth…suddenly, he felt colder than ever.

 And as for Gwaine…

 “Not Leon as well?”

 Merlin could hardly believe how long he had managed to keep up this line of teasing.

 “Shut up.” he mumbled back, keeping his eyes on the citadel.

 “How about Percival?” Gwaine grinned over his shoulder as he urged the horse on. “I mean, I would. Though I’ll never know what his problem with wearing sleeves is –”

 “Shut up.”

 “Oh, come on.” Gwaine sniggered, nudging his leg against Merlin’s. “You’ve got to laugh at these things.”

 If this situation would ever feel funny, it wouldn’t feel so any time in the near future. As they drew closer to Camelot, the citadel disappearing behind the city walls, Merlin simply held on, and closed his eyes.

 “How can you laugh?” he mumbled into the back of Gwaine’s jacket, unable to hide the disbelief in his tone.

 It took a long moment for Gwaine to answer. When he did so, though Merlin could hear the smile in his voice, there was something else just beneath the surface that no front could ever fully contain.

 “You’ve got to laugh.” he said, as casually as he could. Then, with a sigh so small it was almost imperceptible: “Or you'll cry.”

 By the time they reached the heart of the city, Merlin’s felt as though he was on a ship being tossed on a stormy sea. Every fibre of his being felt as though it was spinning, lurching back and forth with sickening repetition. As Gwaine halted the horse in the middle of the street, the sight of two figures, one in a long red robe, the other in a lavender dress, hurrying out onto the street to meet them, made him feel more nauseous than ever.

 It was Gaius who reached them first. The old man’s face was more haggard than ever, but every breath was a sigh of relief. “Merlin, thank goodness!” he exclaimed, as Merlin slid off the horse, barely landing upright. A second later, all the wind he had left was knocked out of him as Gwen threw herself into his arms.

 “I’m so glad you’re alright!” Her voice shook as she kissed his cheek. But he barely felt it.

 “Thank you, Gwaine –“ Gaius began – before, with more aggression than he had meant, Merlin cut him off.

 “Yeah, yeah, you were right about the bloody Necker!” he snapped, rubbing his sore head. “I know, I know, it’s all my own fault, my fault for “stepping out” with whoever – can we please save the lecture until – “

 But when he met Gaius’ eyes, he found them extremely wounded. “How could you think that would be the first thing I’d say to you?” he murmured, hurt. “I am just relieved you are home in one piece!”  

 It wasn’t until now that Merlin realised just how defensive he was feeling. As he looked at his guardian, regarding him as only a father could, he was filled with that special type of guilt only Gaius, or his mother, could evoke. “Sorry.” he mumbled, like a schoolboy in disgrace. “I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s just been a…” He could not finish. Luckily, Gaius seemed to understand.

“Don’t think for a second that the lecture isn’t coming.” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But now is not the time. Come inside – I shall see to your head –“

 But Merlin was shaking it. “It can wait.” he said, feeling suddenly like a caged animal. If he didn’t bolt now, he would never get away. “I’ve got to go.”

 “Where on earth-?” Gaius began – before Merlin bolted up the street.

 “Merlin!”

 Merlin didn’t quite know whether it was courage or cowardice that led him to Lancelot’s door first. The closer he got to the citadel, the bigger it seemed, the harsher, the more intimidating. If he could put off feeling its judgement for a little longer, so be it. Still, the only thing he could think of that seemed worse than confronting the prince, was looking into those big, dark eyes again, and facing the hurt they betrayed – the hurt he had caused. And if he didn’t face them now, he feared he never would.

 “Lancelot?” Merlin hammered on the neat front door. No answer came. “Lancelot! I know you’re in there! Please!”

 It took another few seconds of desperate knocking before the sound of reluctant footsteps came from the hallway beyond. Merlin stopped, heart catching in his throat, as, with the smallest hesitation, the door opened to reveal a knight, still fully dressed in cloak and armour – and with horribly red eyes.

 “Merlin.”

 His voice was strong – he did not sound as though he had been crying – but his eyes could not lie. As Merlin looked at him, at the wounded puppy dog he had kicked, he felt an inch tall. It was at that moment that he realised – he had no idea what to say. What could he say? What would ever be enough to convey just how much it hurt to be the cause of such noble tears? Indeed, Merlin could feel wetness welling up behind his own eyes. He had broken Lancelot’s heart – and now, this broken Lancelot was shattering his.

 “I’m glad you’re home.” the knight was saying, his voice carefully smooth. “And mostly unharmed.” Leaning forward, he lowered his tone. “Did you use magic on the beast?”

 “I did.” Merlin managed to say.

 “Good.” Lancelot nodded. One gloved hand swiped the area beneath his eye. “Good. I’m – “ He swallowed, collecting himself, before he persisted. “I’m sorry we weren’t there in time to...”

 Every word made it worse and worse. If Merlin did not interrupt this tirade of care, in the face of such betrayal, he feared he would die of shame.  

 “Lancelot…” he began. “I don’t know what to say! I’m so sorry, I really am, but it doesn’t seem like anywhere near enough! Look – “ He reached out, and tried to take Lancelot’s hand. When he finally caught it, he held on tight. “The last person in the world who deserves to be hurt like this is you, and you can’t know how much I hate that I'm the one who caused it. I know how important honesty is to you, and I ought to have respected that.”

 The more Lancelot listened, the more his head bowed. It was as if he was slowly sinking into the ground, and it was all Merlin's fault. Heart heavier than ever, he forced himself to continue, gripping his hand so tightly he thought it might break. 

 “I know this doesn’t excuse it, but…look, I was going through a very difficult patch. My head was a mess, and I wasn’t thinking – I was just doing. Something happened, and I…I felt I needed to…Look, I don’t know! I’m still trying to understand it myself! But for the record – and if you don’t believe another word I say, please believe this: how could you ever not be enough for someone?” Gently, he took Lancelot’s cheek in his hand, and forced him to meet his eyes. “It so hurt me to hear you say that about yourself. It wasn’t like that. I promise it was nothing to do with you, or anything you are, or anything you did. You were…you were perfect. Look..." Oh, he hated himself for what he was about to say... "It wasn’t you, it was me. It was all me. I…I was a complete mess. I still am! I'm still working everything out. But Lancelot…most of all, I am sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I never deserved your honesty if I wasn’t prepared to give mine in return.”

 As Merlin's final words hung in the air, Lancelot was silent. It was like the swell before the final plunge. Then, just as Merlin could stand it no longer...Lancelot did the unthinkable. He did the worst thing anyone in that moment could have done. 

 He was kind. 

 “…I understand." he murmured, nodding his head, and looking at Merlin with the sort of empathy that could melt stone. "It must be so difficult with Arthur.”

 Sick with guilt, Merlin felt like screaming. “Oh God, don’t be nice, I can't stand it! Look, I’m sorry!" It had come straight from the heart. "I am so sorry I hurt you. You don't have to forgive me - I don't think I can ever forgive myself.” As he gazed at him, that lovely face, those proud features which softened every time they looked at him, he hated himself. What had he ruined? What could have been? What future could this beautiful soul have given him? 

 But what was left of the only future he had ever wanted? Still, high above their heads, the citadel loomed...

 “Alright then." Lancelot had nodded. He reached out, and covered Merlin's hand with his own. "Thank you for apologising. I appreciate it." Then - at last, the mask faultered. With a sharp, shuddering gasp, the next words tumbled from his mouth in pain and relief. "But if it is alright with you...I will ask for a little time to myself. I also have....things...I must work out.”

 “Of course it’s alright with me!" said Merlin quickly, nodding too. "You need to ask for what you need.”

 “Yes." Lancelot agreed as he stepped back, hand on the door. "You're right. I might not know as much as you do about these things…but I do know that it has to be a two-way street." He gazed at him for a long moment. For a second, his lips seemed to be on the verge of saying more. But, with a determined grimance, Lancelot forced himself to close the door. "Goodbye, Merlin." 

 Oh. Didn’t Merlin know it. 

 As the door shut, Merlin stared at the wood for a long moment. He felt hot and cold at the same time. The roaring in his ears told him that he was about to faint...and yet, summoning the last of his strength and courage...he looked up at the citadel once more. All the fear, all the intimidation, all the judgement...but if he did not go now, he never would. And he needed to go. He needed to. He needed to go like a drowning man needed to surface...

 He had to march up to the citadel, and have it out with Arthur, once and for all...

Chapter Text

Though Lancelot’s words rang in his ears, the closer Merlin drew to the citadel, the more they sounded as incoherent as distant church bells. As he stared up at the great fortress, it seemed less and less his place of work, the place in which he spent almost every day, the place in which he had so loved, and so lost…and more like a judge’s bench. But still, Merlin pushed down the memory of Arthur’s face as he had entered the cave, that awful blank look in his eyes, the speed at which he had left, and with these images all of the terrible guilt that kept flapping inside him with the strength of a dragon. If anything, he told himself, as he swiped dried blood from his forehead, Arthur was the one who should be guilty…and Merlin was going to make sure he was the one who suffered instead.

 But still, in the back of his mind, dark eyes, different eyes, stayed stubbornly in the corner, fixing him with the look of a wounded deer. Oh Lancelot…what had he done? He had lost the only unconditional adoration he had ever had, and it was all his own stupid fault. What if he never again found anyone who could make him feel so good? So worthy? So human? Quiet, gentle, loving people were so rare. There was a good chance that he would never meet another one again. 

 Still, the citadel looked down upon him, with the judgement of a thousand eyes – and yet, he would not turn away. He could not turn away. It was almost as if the building itself was calling to him. Merlin…Merlin…

 “Merlin!”

 Though Merlin jumped at the noise, not even the sound of a familiar voice could turn him from his quest. As horse’s hooves clattered over the cobblestones behind him, he did not even turn around.

 “Get away from me.”

 As the horse snorted, he felt it on the back of his neck. A shiver went down his spine as he remembered what it felt like to have the owner of that voice’s warm breath upon his skin…He squared his shoulders, and closed his mind.

 “I wouldn’t have minded, you know?” called Gwaine from the back of the horse. Though his voice was carefully casual, there was a strange, quiet edge to his tone. “I always knew there was someone else, right from that first night…I just wish you would have told me who the hell it was!”

 “Well, you never told me who else you were seeing.” Merlin shot back, marching on.

 “…No one, actually.”

 At this, Merlin actually laughed aloud, high and humourless.

 “Well – I mean, I was-” Gwaine admitted – before pausing. “But I called it all off.”

 This was enough, at least, to make Merlin slow down. “Why would you do that?”

 “…You really don’t know? You’re supposed to be so clever...”   

 Oh, Merlin knew. He didn't have to turn around to know what sort of look would be on Gwaine's face, what would be lurking in his eyes like a chest about to burst open. Merlin knew every bit of it - and he couldn't bear it, not for a second. He couldn't feel it - he couldn't allow his soul to tear into thirds. He wouldn't. “Shut up. You don't mean it." It wasn't an accusation - more of a plea. Please. Please, not again. Not Gwaine as well. He wouldn't break a second heart today - and so, he hardened his own against his knight, and fixed his eyes upon the citadel. 

 "How can you say that?" Gwaine urged his horse on, hot on Merlin's heels. "I know where you're going - to see Arthur. And I know you've just been to Lancelot's. What about me? You don't think I have feelings too?" No longer could he keep the hurt from his voice. "Because I do. Believe it or not, Merlin, I care about you. And I..." He paused, stumbling out of spite - then, with a deep breath, he forced himself to continue. "Fuck it. What have I got to lose? I love you."

 The words were like a death knell. 

 "And I want to be with you." Gwaine was more earnest and passionate than Merlin had ever heard him. "Not just to use you like Arthur - though I won't say I don't enjoy that. Not to put you on a pedestal like Lancelot. You are not some servant who is beneath me, not some romantic ideal I want to lock in a tower and write poetry to - you are Merlin. My Merlin. I care about you - just as you are, just as you will ever be. Fuck them - fuck both of them, and fuck everything that happened this week. I love you. I've always loved you. And I want to love you - the real Merlin - for as long as I live. No more secrets, no one else, never again. Just us. The two of us. Together." 

 Merlin said nothing. Inside, he was on fire.  

 When Gwaine spoke next, every inch of bravado had drained from his tone. 

 "...You won't even look at me." 

 He couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't, or he swore he would leap up on that horse, wrap his arms around Gwaine's waist, and never look at the citadel again... 

 Suddenly - Gwaine drove his horse into a short canter. The next thing Merlin knew, the animal had pulled itself around him, blocking his path. Breathing heavily, Merlin had to look up. 

 “Just answer me one thing, alright?" From his place in the saddle, Gwaine's hair was wild, his eyes wilder. "If we were ever friends - if you ever cared about me even a little bit. Just one thing…Was I the best?”

 Merlin felt sick. “Shut up.”

 “Come on, Merlin." Gwaine pushed. "Give me the truth." He paused, staring down at him with eyes like lightning. Merlin could only stand, could only stare. But the longer Gwaine looked, the harder his gaze bore into Merlin's very soul...the more certain he became. With a slight nod of the head, a slight twitch of the lip - Gwaine spoke once more. "I know the answer anyway.”

 It was useless. All of it, every bit of it, useless. 

 “…Yes." Merlin whispered. The truth made his chest feel lighter - and sent a heavy stone into the pit of his stomach. "Yes." He tried not to savour the word. "You were the best.”

 At the news, Gwaine did not smile. He did not make some witty quip. He did something far, far worse. 

 “Think about it. Now you have had a taste, I know you won’t be able to get back into bed with Arthur without thinking about the only man who really knows how to love you." He gave the horses' reigns a sharp tug. "Without wishing that he was me.”

 With that, and a clatter of hooves, he was gone. Merlin was left, breathless, in the shadow of the citadel. 

 Merlin had raised his fist to knock on the chamber door three times. Each time, his fist had found its way back to his side. The final time, he had noticed a strange tremble in his fingers that made him angrier than ever. How dare his body betray him in this, the moment of moments? He wanted to go in, guns blazing, and tell Arthur exactly what he, Merlin, was worth. How it didn’t matter how hurt he was – there were countless other people in the world who would treat him like he deserved, even if Arthur Pendragon would not. He had to make Arthur believe it, so that he could believe it too. And shaking hands were not part of the plan.

 If he stood there for much longer, staring at the wood of the door, he thought he might remain frozen there forever, until the citadel crumbled around him. For goodness sake, what was he doing? It was Arthur who should be nervous. Arthur who should be guilty. Arthur who should be scared.

 He felt like a man on the scaffold, waiting for the axe to fall - and he could wait no longer. Summoning all of his courage and strength, Merlin abandoned the attempt to knock – and simply threw the door open.

 “Arthur - !”

 But the shout caught in his throat.

 There, on the edge of the bed, sat the crowned prince of Camelot. But he wore no crown, no cloak, no armour. In his undershirt, trousers, and socks, he looked no more than a common man. He sat there, listless, his legs hugged to his chest. And as his eyes slowly raised to meet Merlin’s…he felt his heart tear in half.

 “Why, Merlin?”

 It didn’t even sound like a question.

 “How could you do this to us?”

 This was not the great confrontation Merlin had been invisioning. But though he was caught off-guard as he was by this stillness, this quietness – this humanity – there was too much adrenaline passing through his veins for him to stop now. In this moment, this moment of moments, he could not afford to love him. 

 “Well, how could you do this to me?” he snapped back, letting the door slam behind him.  

 At this, Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. “What on Earth are you talking about-?”

 “Oh, come on!” Merlin folded his arms to hide his trembling hands. “How stupid do you think I am?”

 “Right now?” Arthur let his legs fall to the floor, fixing Merlin with a hard look. “Pretty stupid!”  

 “Me, stupid?” No matter how beside himself he was, Merlin could not stop himself. “Look who’s talking!”

 Ordinarily, Arthur would have shot back an insult of his own. But today, his astonishment at Merlin's insolence only made him angrier. “For goodness sake, Merlin! You’re the one who – !”

 “Oh, please!" Merlin shouted back, not caring who heard. "Don’t think I don’t know what you've been doing! Believe me, I know all about it! I just wish I knew why you would -!" He paused, realising to his horror that tears were trying to force their way up his throat. Furious, he swallowed them, and let nothing but rage tumble out. "I just wish I knew what on Earth I did wrong! Day after day, night after night, I have done everything you asked of me. I have slept with you exactly the way you wanted me to, the same way, again and again - and always focusing on you! And when it’s all over, I have held you in my arms, the same way, night after night. Do you know how that makes me feel? Never, not even once, has it even occurred to you that I have feelings too-!" He stumbled over the all-too-familiar words, but forced himself to continue. "Did you never think that I might want to feel like something more than a body to be used for your own ends? Like a whore you didn't have to pay? Or God forbid, after all that work, all that effort, all for you - you never thought that I might need to be held?" His tears were a second away. "I lay in that bed and loved you for years, and it didn't mean a thing! Not one bit. And now I know for certain that you never loved me at all! I don't even think you could! You just used me, and threw me away the moment you found something better!" 

 As he listened to this outpouring, Arthur was ashen. He looked as though Merlin had just punched him in the face. 

 “And so then, after all that, all that labour, all that love - how do you think I felt when I heard you were paying someone else for it?" 

 Suddenly - Arthur's eyes practically popped out of his skull. 

 “…What did you say?”

 “Don’t lie to me, Arthur." Merlin blinked as hard as he could, and raged on. "I know what you’ve been doing. I know who has been visiting you here at night. Late appointments! I can't believe I ever bought that rubbish - but when I found out you were seeing sex workers, I -" 

 "Oh!" 

 "Oh, don't you even try to deny it -!" 

 But Arthur did deny it. In fact, he was shaking his head, so hard that it looked in danger of falling off - before he buried it in his hands. Then - he let out a long, low groan. 

 “Oh God…" he mumbled into his palms. "Merlin, will you just listen to me for a second? It isn’t what you think.”

 “Go on then." Merlin folded his arms again. "I’m waiting.”

 When Arthur's head rose - there was a definite red tinge to his cheeks. He stared at Merlin for a long moment...before, with the air of a man on the scaffold, he nodded. “…Yes." he admitted, as if being stretched on the rack. "Yes...I’ve been seeing a sex worker.”

 “Ha!” Merlin practically jumped up into the air, hot with furious triumph. 

 “But it’s not like that!" Arthur had got to his feet. As quickly as he could, he crossed over the stone floor, and stood himself right in front of Merlin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "It wasn’t to sleep with her." he said, his gaze steady. "On my honour, I have never laid a finger upon her. Not even once.”

 At this, Merlin started to scoff - but Arthur held up his hand. 

 "I couldn't, Merlin!" His voice was nothing short of a prayer. "No judgement meant to those who can just sleep around -" At this, his eyebrow raised, and Merlin squirmed. "...But I could never. Not with someone I didn't know. Didn't trust." Suddenly, he grabbed Merlin's hands, and, despite Merlin's efforts to snatch them back, held on, held fast, held them to his chest. "Come on, Merlin. Please say you know me even a little? You are the only one in the world who ever could..." 

 As Merlin gazed back into those eyes, those eyes he knew the colour and shape of better than he even knew his own...despite searching, longingly, for any hint of deception...he found nothing but the truth. And the truth was more terrible than any lie. “So what?" he managed to gasp out, forcing a sneer into his voice, desperate for any way he could possibly pull this back. "Were you asking them for their counsel on kingdom matters?”

 “…Well." Now, something new entered Arthur's expression. Something Merlin could not yet place. "If I am to one day be the kingdom incarnate...essentially yes.”

 “What do you mean?”

 At this, the blush in Arthur's cheeks deepened. Letting go of Merlin's hands, he crossed over to the fireplace, and stared directly into the ashes. Merlin realised, to his dismay, that Arthur's new expression was one of shame. 

 “…If I was sick, I would go to Gaius. If I needed armour, I would go to a blacksmith. And if I needed…advice…I thought the best person to consult was a professional.”

 As the implications of what Arthur was saying dawned on Merlin, he felt all the air leave the room. Once more, he stared at the back of Arthur's head in disbelief, looking for any hint of a lie - it had to be a lie! It had to be! It was so ludicrous, so unthinkable, such complete and utter fantasy - and yet...Arthur was horribly, painfully still. Merlin couldn't believe what was happening. And if he dared let himself believe it, even for a second, he would die of shame.

 “Do you really expect me to believe-?”

 Now, Arthur let out another groan. He whipped around, and faced Merlin again in mortification. 

 “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to admit that? Admit I needed help with…that I had no idea what I was…" He gestured vaguely with his arms - before they shot to the sides of his burning neck. "Look. I wanted to be better, and I didn’t know how. So I went to a professional for advice. Anna is her name – she’s a friend of Gwen’s, so I felt safe with her. She has been more than helpful, actually. I thought I was beginning to get a handle on things. I...I was actually starting to feel better about myself." 

 "But why would you do all that-?" 

 Exhausted, exasperated, and completely candid, Arthur fixed Merlin with a look that simply read: You are the stupidest person who has ever lived. 

 As the truth, the whole truth at last, dawned upon Merlin, it was as if his entire body was being submerged in boiling oil. Every inch of him, every hair, every pore, burned. Oh God. Oh, by every god there may or may not be. What had he done? What had he done? What had he-? 

“...I knew I bored you."

 The tremble in his voice shook him to the core.

 Once more, Arthur had shrank into himself. "I could see it in your eyes. How do you think that felt? I knew it, but I didn’t know what to do. Who could I have gone to, my father?” He gave a mirthless laugh, and Merlin wished for death. 

 The person who had burst through the door, guns blazing, ready to give Arthur Pendragon a piece of his mind, could never have imagined the turn this conversation would take. This Arthur, this quiet, sad, real Arthur, was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. And the feeling in his chest made his horror at the discovery of what he had thought he had known seem almost a kindness. “…You could have talked to me.” he heard himself whisper. 

 “Just like how you talked to me?" Arthur returned at once, and Merlin knew he could say no more. But Arthur was far from finished. He rounded back upon him, his folded arms unable to disguise the pure, unadulterated agony in his eyes. "And - and as for holding me after...I thought you liked holding me! You always wrapped your arms around me first - and - and - I loved every second of it." His mouth was a line of pain. "If...If I'd have known how much you hated doing it -!" 

 “I don't" Merlin cried, tears welling behind his eyes once more. Now, he too was finally speaking the truth. "I don't at all! It’s just – it’s just it's every night! Sometimes, I need to be held!”

 “So why didn’t you say?" Arthur shot back, his own voice growing horribly thick. "You need to ask for what you need, or how am I supposed to know?” 

 Merlin could not stand to hear his own words turned against him. Eyes wet, mouth dry, he simply could not answer. Why? Why had he never said anything? Right now, that felt like the stupidest thing he had ever done. Why had neither of them ever opened their mouths and simply told the truth? And look where it had got them. Face to face, chest to chest, equal in their agonies, and with no path forward. 

 When Arthur spoke again, his voice was very low. “I know you think my life is easy. That I take your hard work for granted. But after a long day of being Arthur Pendragon...you are the only one who can make me feel…simply myself. You have no idea how good it felt to be held. I needed you. I chose you. I choose you.”

 “...Arthur-" 

 "How can you say I never loved you?" Arthur hissed, his hands closing on Merlin's arms, and holding on so forcefully he felt them beginning to bruise. In his eyes, there was blue water- and blue flame. "Of course I love you, Merlin! I have loved you since first we met, I have loved you every single day, and when I thought that Necker had killed you, I loved you more than ever.” His grip tightened, as if he feared Merlin might float away. “I love you enough to have forsaken all others. Do you know how much pressure I am under to marry? But I refuse to, and I would have take all the pressure in the world for the rest of my life if it meant I got to spend every day knowing I am yours, and you are mine. And for goodness sake, I loved you enough to lay myself bare to a near stranger to please you! Do you have any idea how difficult that was? Do you know how hard it is for me to open up to people? But I bore it, gladly, for you. It was all for you. It always has been. All for you." 

 As these words left Arthur's lips, Merlin was shaking all over. This - this was everything he had ever wanted to hear Arthur say. Everything he had never dared hope was true. But now - every syllable was a dagger in his heart. 

 As suddenly as they had grasped him - those hands let him go. 

 “Clearly the feeling is not mutual.”

 Oh, it wasn’t true. It was so untrue that it was obscene. Merlin was hot. He was cold. The roaring in his ears told him that he was in danger of passing out. “Of course I love you!” he spluttered out, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. It wasn’t enough. It was nowhere near enough. “I love you, Arthur! I love you more than anything, more than my life, more than – more than – oh!” He threw his arms around Arthur, hanging onto him like a life raft – and felt his heart break again as Arthur stiffened in his arms. “Oh Arthur, I swear I – I only slept with Gwaine and Lancelot because I loved you, and I thought you had hurt me so badly. I was – I was hurting so much I wasn’t thinking!” He cupped Arthur’s face in his hands, begging him to soften, begging him for any hint that there might be a way back from this. “If I’d have known how you felt, if I’d have known why you were doing what you did…If I – “ he stammered. “If I’d have known –!“

 “Yes." Arthur snapped. "If I’d have known too.”

 The silence that followed was worse than any battle with any mythical beast. As he looked into those eyes, the eyes of an angel, the eyes into which he had once thought himself the luckiest person in the world to gaze into…he knew that it was true. He was the luckiest person in the world. And he hadn’t had a clue. He had been so lost in the fog of not feeling good enough for Arthur, good enough for anyone, that he had not seen what was literally staring him in the face. In the endless blue sky of those eyes, the clouds had finally cleared…and there was nothing in them but love. Nothing but love. And nothing but pain.

 At last, with a long, final look at Merlin, a look of pure, undiluted hurt…Arthur had turned away. He strode back over to the fireplace, and stared so hard into the ashes that Merlin thought they might once more burst into flame.

  “In light of your injuries, you are to take the rest of the day off.” he murmured, forcing Arthur Pendragon’s voice from his throat. “I don’t want to see you here, do you understand? Then tomorrow…we’ll see if I can stand the sight of you yet…”

 Lower than the ground, lower than the soil, even lower than the buried dead...Merlin slipped back through the door, let it shut behind him - and all the horrors of the day came upon him at once. With a final, shuddering gasp of grief, he slid down the wood, landed in a heap on the cold stone floor - and began to sob into his hands. 

 As Gaius dabbed dittany into Merlin’s forehead, he hardly felt the sting at all. There were so many thoughts in his head that he was numb to the pain he thought he probably deserved.

 This whole week had been about Merlin trying desperately to feel good about himself. It had felt good to show Arthur he was desirable. Good to be lusted after by Gwaine. Good to be adored by Lancelot. And now, the idea that there was anything in the world that could make him feel good felt as distant as the moon. In the space of one week, a single, stupid week – he had ruined everything.  He had hurt Gwaine. He had broken Lancelot. And he had destroyed the most important relationship he had ever had. Every bit of good he had clawed out for himself was now worse than the worst kind of bad. 

 One thing was certain. Merlin wanted his Arthur. He wanted his Arthur like he wanted air to breathe. But that look, that awful look in those eyes he loved above the world…what if there was no way back? What if Merlin had to consider a future he would never have thought was possible? What if he was faced with the unfacable? A future in which Arthur would no longer want his love...The thought of it sent a shard of ice into his heart that he feared would never lodge.

 If that was his future…then who else would love him? Could he ever gain Lancelot’s trust again? Could he find the courage to look at Gwaine, and feel everything he would not allow himself to feel? Who would he choose?

 Oh God. He was doing it again.

 This had to stop.

 It was fun while it lasted. It was what he had needed. But they were right – he needed to ask for what he needed, or how was anyone supposed to know? Least of all him…

 As Gaius wrapped a bandage around his head, his fingers were uncharacteristically gentle. There was a knowing look in the old man’s eyes that told Merlin everything he was working hard to keep himself from saying. I told you so? That was probably the kindest of them. But Gaius was possessed of an old, quiet sort of kindness that Merlin had yet to learn. Having tied the bandage into place, Gaius rested his gnarled old fingers against Merlin’s temple with the sort of gentleness he had not felt since he had left his mother. The touch was so soft, so caring, that Merlin felt as though he could start sobbing all over again.

 “I am glad you are safe.”

 As he looked at his guardian, Merlin remembered that there were many different types of love in this world. And some kinds were far less tenuous than others.

 With a quick pat, and a lot of tact, Gaius got slowly to his feet, and left Merlin to his thoughts and his tears.

 The Merlin who sat at that table was the lone survivor of the shipwreck - and he had driven into the rocks himself. Now, against reason, against hope, against the whole, awful world, he had to try to salvage something. He had to try. He had to choose.

 The situation was this: he had three options before him. Each of them loved him, and each of them offered something the others could not...but each had as much reason to refuse him as the last. it was the simplist thing in the world - and yet the most complicated. Whatever happened now, if any of them were still a choice to be had…there could be no more secrets, no more lies. His short summer was over…and now, he had to choose. Arthur...Gwaine...or Lancelot. 

 What on Earth was going to happen now?