Chapter Text
Time continued on in Camelot, as it always did, and for once brought little change. The only thing that really changed was that Merlin, reluctantly, began to realise there may be something worthwhile in taking care of yourself. He started being much more careful, hoping to avoid a repeat of what had happened with — at this point — most of the king’s inner circle. Really, far too many people.
So he was being careful — keeping his chambers warm, taking it slow when no one was looking, trying to massage the skin and the scars that itched and pulled and burned when he had the time, especially now that the first snow of winter was approaching. The knowledge that winter always tended to make injuries worse he held both as a physician and as a patient himself. It hadn’t always been easy for him in years prior, but then he always had some reason to push on, some threat demanding constant vigilance, and somehow he found enough desperation to keep it from getting too bad. Now he had nothing to stave it off, and was beginning to learn just how bad his scars could get.
He did have friends on his side this time, friends who gave him those strange glances of concern and offered a quiet arm whenever he stumbled, friends who kept an eye out for him when it rained and tried to ensure he was never left wanting for an extra pair of hands.
Friends who kept telling him he needed to get help, needed to stop bearing it all on his own, needed to tell Arthur.
Merlin understood that, though he was being careful, the consequences of having a body so harshly battered for so many years could not be held at bay forever. One of these days he was going to wake in the morning and fail to get up, or be out and about til his muscles grew cold or stressed and pull his scars taut against all motion, and at some point his serket sting was going to flare up and make him badly sick again. It was only a matter of time.
In the army, it’s considered crucial to know if a comrade is injured. To work effectively, the whole team must be aware of each member’s limitations, so they know what they can and can’t expect of each other. Merlin himself has doled out many lectures about not hiding injuries before battles, so he knows all the right words he should tell himself. Though they aren’t in any wars at the moment, no peace can last forever, and there are smaller battles of different kinds raging every day. As much as he wishes he could, he just can’t keep up the way he used to, can’t get through the month without needing a bit of help.
(Which, he was trying to believe, bore no shame, as Leon had been drilling into him for some months now.)
More importantly, Merlin was sick of keeping secrets, especially from Arthur. Their souls were made for each other, they were born to know each other.
Arthur, of all people, deserved to know.
And besides, maybe Merlin could squeeze a few days off out of it.
They were eating dinner together, as they often did, laughing and talking as they shared a meal in Arthur’s chambers. Guinevere was staying with Elyan as she did once in a while, leaving the night open for the two of them. The meal itself was hearty, a soup of shredded meat and vegetables, partially sourced from Arthur’s latest hunt (which Merlin had actually managed to avoid for once), the final of the season.
‘Seeing as you weren’t there, apparently the burden of your unearthly clumsiness had to fall upon someone to ruin the hunt on your behalf. Of all people, it ended up being Leon who tripped and fell in the creek, just in time to scare off the boar we’d been tracking all morning. You know, I did used to have hunts where nothing went wrong, but after you got here apparently the very idea of something going to plan decided to take a holiday and not come back.’
‘Have you thought that it may be you bringing all this misfortune? A great heavenly sign saying stop killing innocent animals for your enjoyment or you shall look like a great buffoon.’
‘It’s never me looking like a buffoon!’
‘Is that a challenge sire?’
Arthur shook his head in fond exasperation. ‘Thankfully there are no hunts for you to ruin until the spring now.’
‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t forget.’
The two of them tidied their plates and moved over to the two plush chairs by the fire, where usually they would drink and talk until either a wrestling match ensued or one of them bordered on sleeping — which undoubtedly would have happened if Merlin hadn’t been planning something that night.
Their conversation fizzled out naturally, the banter drawing to completion and leaving them in a comfortable quiet, until Merlin spoke.
‘Arthur?’
‘Yes Merlin?’
Merlin took a deep breath.
Arthur narrowed his eyes and stiffened slightly, though there was a small smile on his face. ‘Oh god, you’ve not got some third huge secret you’ve been keeping, do you?’
Merlin laughed softly until Arthur had relaxed again.
‘No, no, nothing like that, but it is something I’ve been keeping from you.’
‘Go on.’
Merlin waited a few seconds to build up his nerve, then met Arthur’s eyes.
‘When I told you about my magic, about all the things I’d done in service of you and the kingdom, I smoothed over some of the details.’
Arthur nodded.
‘There just wasn’t enough time not to, and you didn’t need every moment, so long duels became just “we fought”, and so on. I didn’t really want you to know, didn’t want you to think of me as weak or incapable, and I didn’t want to you worry, or- or feel bad-’
‘You’re rambling.’
Merlin took another deep breath, then huffed out a laugh.
‘Sorry, this doesn’t need to be as dramatic as I’m making it. It’s really not that big of a deal.’
Arthur gave a sad smile, but nothing more. ‘If it’s important to you, Merlin, you’re allowed to treat it like it is.’
‘Ha. Right.’ Merlin scratched at his collar. ‘Well, ok. I— uh—’
Arthur raised his eyebrows not unkindly. Merlin’s voice dropped to a whisper.
‘I’d like to take my shirt off.’
Arthur’s eyes widened, though quickly schooled his expression as he stood, inviting Merlin to do the same. They both knew how modest Merlin had always insisted on dressing, mostly wearing long sleeves and trousers and a neckerchief even in summer, and only really adjusting that when it was necessary for his work as a servant. Never did he join the knights cooling off in lakes, or remove his shirt in front of them to allow it to dry by the fire after rain. No one had ever really learned why, whether it was some ingrained personal moral, or shame, insecurity, or something else he had to hide. If he intended to reveal it to Arthur, Arthur was going to be as respectful as humanly possible.
They locked eyes one more time before Merlin lowered his gaze to untie his neckerchief, placing it reverently on the chair behind him, then reached down to the hem of his tunic and pulled it up over his head — slowly so as not to get tangled and embarrass himself, slowly so as not to hurt himself any more — and dropped it beside the neckerchief.
He watched with anticipation as Arthur took him in, used every ounce of will not to pull his arms in front of his body and beg Arthur to look away. He could see it, the way Arthur’s face fell more and more as he passed over each scar; the arrow wound from when he met Finna, the strange figures highlighting his veins from all the Sidhe lightning dotted across his torso, the pock-marked gouge from the flail…
The burn.
It was one of his earliest scars and still one of the largest, taking up at least half the width of his chest, with smaller fragments from the way the flame had burst on impact reaching up over one shoulder and down towards the other hip. He knows how twisted and unpleasant it looks, how twisted and unpleasant he looks.
Eventually he couldn’t take Arthur’s scrutiny anymore and looked instead down to his feet, almost laughing at how comical it was to be in wooly socks without a shirt.
He heard Arthur take a series of deep breaths. He sounded angry.
‘Are there more?’
Merlin nodded, quickly folding up his trouser legs above the knees, then stood and slowly turned around, exposing his back. There were less there, but the jagged mark from the fomorrah on the back of his neck and the still discoloured and poisonous-looking serket sting, alongside various other marks and grazes accumulated over the years… He’s not intimately familiar with how his back looks, but if Arthur’s sharp intake of breath was anything to go by, it’s not much better than the front.
‘... And you didn’t think to tell me about this at the time?’ Arthur said, voice filled with a measured calm that Merlin knew was a careful facade.
Not angry. Furious.
‘No— well—’
‘You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were hurt?’ He asked, louder this time.
‘I couldn’t.’ Merlin responded, voice cracking at the thought of being on the wrong end of Arthur’s ire again.
‘Why not!? Did you not think I would care that this was happening to you?’
Merlin turned around almost shocked.
‘What?’
‘Was keeping your secret so important you would rather almost die than let me know?’
‘No— that’s—’
Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, a brief wave of melancholy overtaking his demeanor. ‘I would never have made you go through that alone.’
Merlin felt the claws of shame climbing painfully up his exposed chest.
‘Do you promise it’s not still happening?’
‘What?’
‘This. You’re not still getting hurt and keeping it a secret, are you?’
‘No, there’s been nothing for a while now.’
Arthur turned suddenly and launched a pillow at the door with as much force as he could muster. Merlin flinched.
‘I wish I could go back and kill whoever did that to you. If I had seen any of it I would’ve ridden out then and there.’
Merlin’s expression softened, catching onto the cause of the frustration. Arthur’s always been a man of action, so situations where he can’t do anything don’t tend to rub him the right way. Situations where he can’t help make him feel guilty, which, like most things, he still tends to express as anger.
He also, over the years, has grown much more emotionally aware.
Arthur pinched the ridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths before turning back to Merlin.
‘If anyone ever even touches you again, you come straight to me, understood?’
Merlin nodded. ‘Of course. I promise.’
Arthur nodded back. ‘Good.’
They stood there appraising one another for a short few moments, until eventually, Arthur cracked.
‘Merlin I— I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s ok Arthur.’
‘No, you—’
‘You didn’t do this, you couldn’t’ve known.’
Arthur laughed. ‘Why are you the one comforting me?’
Merlin smiled. ‘This is only new information for one of us.’
Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, tentatively reaching out.
‘Can I…?’
Merlin nodded, sharply inhaling at the first touch of Arthur’s hand on his chest.
He stood still while Arthur — gently, ever so gently, Merlin wasn’t aware he was someone who could be touched with such care and reverence — lightly traced over the edges of the scars across Merlin’s front, avoiding areas where any overlap.
‘Do they still hurt?’
Merlin nodded. ‘Not all of them, not all the time, but they do.’
‘And right now?’
‘The one on my leg, a little, but not really.’
Arthur walked slowly around to Merlin’s back, touching the line from the fomorrah with his thumb, the rest of his hand atop Merlin’s shoulder.
‘Will you tell me about them?’
‘Anything you want to know.’
Arthur’s ruminations went on for some time in silence, his touch affording the serket sting a wide berth before coming back round the front.
‘Which one was first?’
Merlin almost laughed. ‘Uh, probably this,’ he pointed to a pale mark below his elbow, ‘Will and I were play fighting in a tree and I fell out.’
Arthur’s lips quirked up at the corners.
‘Or maybe…’ Merlin examined his hands. Most of the scars there were from his work as a servant and a physician over the years, and as such were all to be expected; nicks from paring knives or marks from dropping things, getting hands stuck in doors. ‘I stuck my hand into the fire as a kid once.’ He held out a finger to Arthur, where a small splotch was coloured only slightly differently from the rest of his hand.
That got Arthur to laugh. ‘You clearly weren’t the brightest.’
‘No, not really.’ He smiled before he continued. ‘There are a lot of small ones from before I left Ealdor. I was a pretty nervous kid, so I picked my scabs and bit my nails and all the rest of it, and things that definitely should not have scarred did. They’re so faded you can barely tell anymore. The first one in Camelot would be one of these.’ He pointed to the marks from the Sidhe’s lightning on his chest. ‘I’m not sure which one, but I think all of them happened in my first year.’ He bit back a smile. ‘You get good at dodging at some point.’
‘What happened?’ Arthur’s voice was low and quiet.
‘Sofia and Aulfric happened. I was saving you, as per usual, and they didn’t exactly take kindly to it.’
‘Meddling in other people’s plots doesn’t tend to be a friendly move.’
‘Oi! It was your sorry arse I was saving!’
Arthur smiled softly, that sorrow still in his eyes.
‘I know. I really owe you a lot, don’t I?’
Merlin looked down.
‘And after that?’
‘The burn, I think.’
Arthur nodded for him to continue.
‘It— when you were struck by the questing beast, you know I went to trade my life for yours, and you know that Nimueh took my mother’s and then Gaius’ before I killed her instead. The full story is only slightly longer, but the main thing is that I didn’t just stroll up to the island and murder her, no questions asked.’
‘Frankly, I’d be a bit worried if you did. How old were you?’
‘... nineteen?’
Arthur exhaled harshly, reaching a hand up to smooth out his forehead, then gestured for Merlin to continue.
‘Well, we fought for a bit. She did this.’ Merlin waved a hand at his chest, then blinked a few times, trying not to get caught up in the memory. ‘I thought I was dead, really I did. But something… I don’t know… I just got up and— killed her. I honestly didn’t remember actually doing it until afterwards, I was so focussed on getting to Gaius. It didn’t take long at all for him to wake up, so it all turned out ok.’
‘Except for this.’ Arthur stroked over the burn, trailing down across the smaller burn on Merlin’s hip.
‘Yeah. Except for that.’
They went on like that for some time, Merlin filling in the gaps of the stories he’d told before, while Arthur listened.
‘Is that why you seem like you’re injured sometimes?’ Arthur asked eventually.
Merlin narrowed his eyes in confusion.
‘Sometimes you walk with a limp, or take longer to stand up than the rest of us after a meeting, or seem like you’re having trouble carrying half as much as you used to as a servant.’
He blinked blankly a few times. ‘... you saw all that?’
‘It may come as a surprise to someone like yourself, but I do pay attention. I didn’t know the specifics of why, but I know you’ve been having trouble with these.’
Maybe it was because it had been a long week, or the stress of the whole interaction was finally catching up to him, but Arthur’s unexpected compassion had tears gathering in Merlin’s eyes.
By the time Arthur looked up at Merlin’s face, they were starting to spill down his cheeks.
Arthur took one look at Merlin, standing before him, half-disrobed and crying, and made up his mind.
Quickly he closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into his chest, letting his head fall down to lean on Arthur’s shoulder, nevermind the growing wet patch.
‘I need you to know this is not something you ever have to carry on your own.’ Arthur said, holding Merlin as firmly as he dared. ‘Whatever the specifics, you did this in service of Camelot. You’ve been one of our fiercest protectors for years, all without the support you deserved. Rest assured you’ll have it now, whatever you need. You don’t have to struggle by yourself Merlin, you’re not on your own anymore.’
And so they stood until Merlin had cried himself out and a level of exhaustion began to make itself known. Arthur lowered him back down into the chair he was sitting in before.
‘Come, let’s get you to your chambers.’
Merlin nodded groggily and let Arthur pull him back to standing. He turned around to pick up his shirt, only for Arthur to reach for it before him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You’ve done this for me for so many years, Merlin, will you let me return the favour?’
There was an earnestness in Arthur’s eyes Merlin found he couldn’t deny, and so he stood and allowed Arthur to put his shirt and neckerchief back on, motion full of the same reverence with which he had touched the scars earlier. After this, he took Merlin by the hand and guided him gently back to Merlin’s own chambers, leading him all the way to the bed.
‘Do you have anything you use to help? Please tell me you’re using your physician’s training for something.’
Merlin nodded. ‘I’ve got a cream I put on some of them sometimes, when it feels like it’s going to get bad, though I can’t always tell.’
‘And that helps?’
‘Yeah.’
Arthur looked around a bit, eyes settling on the tub on the nightstand.
‘May I?’
‘You don’t have to, I know you like to feel useful—’
‘Please.’
‘... Alright.’
Again he sat as patiently as he could as Arthur untied his neckerchief and raised his tunic over his head, then tenderly began to apply the cream to the scars Merlin pointed out. Merlin closed his eyes while surprisingly gentle, practiced hands spread the cool, soothing salve over him, again crossing the boundary of care he ever thought he could receive. He had spent so much of his life toughing it out on his own with crude, simple care, or none at all, and even Gaius’ ministrations could be rushed or reductive, if he accepted them at all. That was besides Merlin’s feelings on the matter. A lifetime of being told he was a monster, or a traitor, that those he loved could never be allowed to know him, of having those he trusted killed long before their time, it convinced him that he was simply not worth the effort. Yet here Arthur was, a man raised to rule from above, to have things done on his behalf, insisting that Merlin deserved something so soft, so slow and careful it was almost sacred, for nothing more than to help.
Once finished, Arthur fished out some sleepwear from Merlin’s drawers and handed it to him. When he was dressed again, Arthur stood to leave.
‘Arthur?’ Merlin asked, making sure Arthur was looking.
‘Merlin.’
‘Thank you.’ Merlin said, words drenched in the sincerity that had haunted them all night.
Somehow, sitting in that silence, Merlin was reminded of a similar thank you many years ago, when Arthur had defied his father to retrieve a flower, one of the first of many times they had saved each other’s lives. This time, Arthur had a better response.
‘Thank you, for everything you’ve done. Please, never forget to ask me for whatever you may need to deal with this, with any trouble your scars may give you.’
Merlin nodded. ‘... Can I get another hug?’
Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes, but walked back over to the bed and did just that.
‘Just this once, don’t go pushing it.’
‘How about a day off?’
Arthur cuffed the back of Merlin’s head as he let go.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you then.’