Chapter Text
Gaius found them that way in the morning, Merlin’s head pillowed on Arthur’s arm.
“I told you to go to bed, Merlin,” he said in admonishment.
“Arthur woke up.” Merlin shrugged. “And you were snoring.”
“Hmph. The injured don’t seem to mind.”
“You have at least five poisons that would readily kill them as they slept. I would think so!”
“I certainly hope you haven’t poisoned me, Gaius,” said Arthur as he walked up to the small table where they were eating their breakfast.
“Of course not, sire. Could I offer you something to eat?”
Arthur joined the table and slid tentatively onto the seat next to Merlin.
They ate in relative silence, the clank of spoons on clay bowls accompanied only by the sound of their working mouths.
The small bench that Merlin and Arthur sat on was not meant to accommodate more than one person, and as such, Arthur brushed against Merlin’s side every time he brought another bite to his lips. Their long, gangly legs knocked together as Merlin tried to shift his body.
Gaius watched as the two boys fidgeted like young pups.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Off with the both of you. And Arthur, no training today.”
Gaius affixed the young prince in his gaze, one eyebrow raised tellingly.
Merlin quickly fitted Arthur into his standard day tunic, taking care to avoid the wound.
“You’ll need to change that later, Merlin,” added Gaius, but they were already leaving the room and shutting the door behind them.
As they walked down the corridors of the castle, it was obvious that Arthur was working over several phrases in his head, stuck between a desire to speak and a desire to stay silent.
“You,” Arthur started. “I asked you to stay last night. I’m sorry, you should’ve gone to bed.”
“S’alright. You were injured and feverish. And there really isn’t any difference between the bed and the floor.”
Arthur looked horrified at this, so Merlin continued.
“A few blankets and a place to put my head are all I need.”
“And what of the battle?” Arthur asked.
“There were casualties on both sides, but it was a decisive victory—for Camelot.”
“I made a mistake,” admitted Arthur defeatedly. “It should have been simple, easier, I should have done better. They trusted me to lead them into and out of battle.”
“We won, Arthur. You were successful.”
“I was wounded,” countered Arthur angrily, a ferocious light roaring in Arthur’s eyes for a split second.
“You were taking on three men at a time, and you killed them all. It was a fluke,” rationalized Merlin, not shaken by Arthur’s temper.
“Not to my father,” he responded dismally.
And so they found themselves in the throne room. Merlin stood behind Arthur at the end of the long table. At the other end sat Uther, who had yet to look up from the papers before him since Arthur and Merlin had entered the room.
“Father,” prompted Arthur cautiously.
“You must prepare for the unexpected at every moment, Arthur.”
“Yes, father. The dagger, it was a fluke.”
“Kings can’t afford flukes!” Uther roared. “A fluke could mean your assassination. A fluke could mean that the whole of Camelot burns.”
Uther was standing by now, his hands planted on the table, and hew as glaring down its length at Arthur. Merlin could see the physicality of Arthur’s reaction to the words. Arthur’s fingers curled tightly in his palms and he shook with anger as he receded into himself, his jaw set firmly even as his lips were soft and sad.
“And what good leader rides off to safety while his men still do battle?”
“He was injured,” shouted Merlin, and both Pendragons turned sharply to look at the servant. “You asked him to lead his men and he did. You won the battle with his guidance. He was injured fighting off three men larger than himself, and he still is, and your ire does nothing but worsen his condition.”
Merlin’s face was now fully flushed, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. He had during the course of his rant stepped up slightly in front of Arthur as if to protect him from Uther’s wrath.
But Uther hardly spared a glance at the boy.
“Arthur, I’ve told you too many times to get a hold on your manservant. I’ll not stand for this insolence in my presence. Guards!”
The two armored men standing outside of the room then rushed in.
“To the stocks, if you please,” said Uther.