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On the one hand, Merlin is really quite good at magic. Good, in the sense that he’s powerful, and not just according to Gaius. He knows he’s powerful. He can do things with just a wave of his hand that would require thirty seconds of chanting from anyone else. He can summon the elements and bend them to his will. He can, if he so desires, turn a teapot into a rabbit. Granted, the rabbit had been patterned with fetching little yellow flowers, but still, it had been, recognizably, a rabbit.
On the other hand, Merlin isn’t very good at magic. If he summons a gust of wind, eight times out of ten it’s more of a gentle breeze than a galestorm. The rabbit had barely lasted the night before turning back into a (suspiciously hair-filled) teapot. It seems that the only times his magic works as it should are when he’s trying to avoid doing his chores (which he considers to be a sort of self preservation), and when he’s saving Arthur, neither of which are terribly helpful when he wants to heat his cold, congealing dinner of porridge, porridge, and more porridge.
“Hléownes,” he breathes, the magic rippling under his skin, something that might feel unpleasant if he didn’t know it was as much a part of him as his breath. His porridge bubbles a little bit, but remains stubbornly unheated.
“Perhaps you ought to return in time for dinner, if you want a hot meal.” Gaius’ tone is arch without being truly chastising. Merlin shovels a spoonful of porridge into his mouth and swallows gamely.
“Arthur wanted his boots cleaned, and his sword polished, and…”
Gaius holds up a hand. “I understand, Merlin. Still, I can’t imagine that he needs you so late every day.”
“Oh, you’ve not seen Arthur’s boots.” Gaius’ brows furrow, and Merlin adds, with a haunted look, “Not like I have.”
“Ah. Well. Perhaps…”
Merlin forces himself to eat another spoonful of porridge. If he doesn’t eat now, he’ll wake up hungry and Arthur will notice and he’ll snap at Merlin for not taking care of himself. Arthur is the only person Merlin has ever met who’s had the ability to simultaneously worry about and want to humiliate someone.
“It’s all right,” he says. “Not the most pleasant work, but…” Merlin rolls his shoulders. Work is work, and if it’s not for Arthur then it’ll be for Gaius, cleaning out the leech tank or mashing frogs, or something equally as disgusting.
“So long as you are happy, Merlin,” Gaius murmurs, and Merlin smiles at him.
~
Merlin gulps down his porridge (as fast as he can, so as to avoid the taste), and then goes to bed with the tacit understanding that he will not only be getting up early tomorrow, but he will also probably be hungry again, despite the fact that he’s just eaten dinner. He tries to force himself to sleep, but, as with his magic, forcing the issue doesn’t seem to help anything. He lies there in the dark, helplessly, frustratingly awake, his blanket tangled around his left thigh. He’s cold – the stone walls offer some protection from winter’s chill, but no room without a fireplace ever truly becomes warm – but he doesn’t feel like moving, and so the blanket remains where it is.
“Nihthelm ábrǽdan,” he whispers, the only energy he is willing to exert, and the darkness that spreads across the ceiling separates itself, becomes familiar shapes, becomes a house with a tiny chimney, smoke rising, becomes one of Gaius’ steeping pots, becomes, after a moment, a silhouette of Arthur’s face. Merlin recognizes the curve of his nose and the line of his jaw, the way his hair flops to the side. He wishes he could add details to the shape, but, more than that, he wishes that he could show this to Arthur himself, without the threat of being burnt at the stake, or banished, or otherwise inconvenienced.
He thinks wistfully of that teapot, the rabbit with the flowery pelt, and sighs so loudly that anyone hearing him might think him lovelorn. Really, though, he’s just…lonely. For all that he has a friend in Gwen, and a sort of father in Gaius, he doesn’t really have anyone that he can be unabashedly himself with. He’d told Gaius that he’d been looking for a spell to give them an easy food supply for the winter, but the truth was that Merlin had been looking for a companion. Sorcerers had familiars, didn’t they? And it had been a wonderful idea! An animal, something small and easily concealed, that didn’t eat or make a mess, something with soft fur, something just large enough to hold without hurting it. No one could begrudge him a companion, could they?
Especially Arthur. It’s Arthur’s fault that he’s lonely in the first place, being all princely and obviously above Merlin’s station, and…and prattish. He can’t forget prattish.
Merlin absently scratches his chest and thinks that, what he wants, even more than a companion, is for Arthur to be his friend.
~
Merlin is up at dawn, displeased with his inability to sleep, irritable, and utterly certain that Arthur is going to make his life a living hell because of it. Sighing miserably, Merlin retrieves Arthur’s breakfast from the kitchens without accepting the customary sweet bun from the third cook, Edith, and carries the whole lot up to His Royal Thickhead’s chambers. In deference to his spiteful mood, Merlin doesn’t knock, but rather bursts through the doorway like a storm, plastering on a faux-cheerful expression and feeling the tension vibrate through his body.
“Morning, sire,” he chirps, and Arthur, still abed, groans and tosses an arm over his face.
“You are a terrible servant,” he mumbles as Merlin sets the breakfast tray down. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Merlin uncovers the bread, still steaming from the oven, the cheese with its hard rind, and the salt pork, which is, unfortunately, less fresh than the bread.
“If I woke you any earlier you wouldn’t have gotten any sleep.” Merlin glances surreptitiously at Arthur, wondering if he can get away with swiping a bit of pork and bread for himself. Perhaps if he eats he won’t feel the need to foist his poor mood off on Arthur, who so far has been undeserving of…
“Merlin, you idiot. You’d think you’d know the difference between clean and dirty by now, but judging by my boots that lesson has yet to sink into your thick skull.”
Merlin vindictively takes a hunk of cheese as well as some bread and pork, wrapping them in his kerchief and stuffing the whole lot under his jacket. Arthur rarely begrudges him food if he really needs it, but Arthur also sounds like someone pissed on him this morning, so Merlin’s not taking any chances.
Speaking of…Merlin turns, intending to tell Arthur off (mildly, of course) for not getting out of bed and at least undressing himself – honestly, does Merlin have to do everything? – only to find that Arthur has not moved from his earlier position: arm flung over his eyes, nightshirt rucked up to his thighs, sheets tangled at the foot of the bed. Merlin swallows and attempts to avert his eyes from the long stretch of bare, pale skin that Arthur seems to have no idea he’s displaying. This doesn’t work (Arthur has strong, heavily muscled thighs that speak of long hours spent riding horses and lunging after opponents on the training grounds), so he clears his throat instead.
“Arthur?”
Arthur makes a weak, rather befuddled noise, as if he’s just woken up and is still not sure where he is. “Why are you still here?”
Slightly concerned, Merlin takes his bundle of food and sets it down on the table, choosing Arthur’s well being over the temptation of a decent meal. He crosses quickly to the bedside, pulling Arthur’s arm from where it’s draped across his face and placing his palm against the prince’s sweaty forehead. He’s not hot, precisely, but there are blotches of high color on his cheeks, and his eyes, when he opens them, are tired. Arthur turns his head to the side, glaring at the boots that Merlin had failed to adequately clean last night.
“Arthur, are you feeling well?”
“Of course,” Arthur says, and then heaves a deep breath, as though he’s just run race in full armor. “Have someone tell the knights that I shall join them on the training grounds shortly.”
“Oh no you don’t.” Merlin grabs hold of Arthur’s leg just as it begins to swing out of bed, hauling it back and pinning it down with his own weight. Arthur turns his glare from the boots to Merlin. “You look horrible.”
“Thank you for that scintillating observation.”
“I mean it, Arthur. There’s no way you’re going out there in the cold to train.” Merlin cautiously removes himself from Arthur’s leg. “Can you even stand?”
Arthur, in response, shoves Merlin away from him and makes a valiant attempt to do precisely that. The mind is willing, but the body is weak; Arthur’s legs wobble so violently beneath him that he’s forced to sit down before a minute has even passed.
“Right,” Merlin says. “I’ll tell the knights they’ve got the day off, shall I? And Gaius can come and take a look at you.”
“It’s nothing,” Arthur mutters. “Didn’t sleep.”
“Do you reckon you’re ill?”
“Nonsense.” Arthur flops back down onto the bed, and it’s by this that Merlin knows for certain that something’s wrong. Arthur normally puts up much more of a fuss than this. “Odd dreams, is all.”
Merlin hovers uncertainly at the edge of the bed, glancing occasionally over to the table, the cooling bread. He doesn’t want to send it back untouched. Well, mostly untouched. “My mother told me once that we’re supposed to tell our dreams to other people. That’s how we make sure they don’t come back to haunt us.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Merlin shrugs. “I was six, I think. It’s rubbish, but…” He trails off, and Arthur scowls at nothing in particular.
“It was nothing,” he eventually says, and Merlin bows his head. He supposes that sometimes you have to keep your nightmares to yourself. “Tell Gaius to come when he has a moment of free time. There are others more in need of his services than I.”
“You know, it might just be me, but for a moment there you actually sounded like a real human being.”
Arthur grabs his pillow and swats at Merlin with it, grunting with the effort. Merlin dances back, laughing to cover up his worry. He flits nervously about the room, tidying Arthur’s clothes and righting various knick-knacks from foreign princesses, until Arthur finally drifts off into a fitful sleep. Only then does Merlin leave Arthur’s chambers, leaving behind the majority of the intended breakfast and carrying the remainder to Gaius, presenting it for their own breakfast, feeling strangely guilty all the while.
Gaius orders him to powder and bottle some dried herbs after he’s informed the knights that there shall be no training today, and then he sets one of his many potions to steep and bustles away to attend to Arthur. Merlin spends most of the day feeling lost. Sir Leon, upon seeing his morose expression, offers his armor and sword up for polishing, or his blue tunic for mending. Merlin cannot help but smile at the knight’s hopeful look, and tells him, “Thanks, but it just isn’t the same.”
Without Arthur to boss him around, Camelot in winter is a dreadfully quiet place. Merlin makes a nuisance of himself in the kitchens, hoping for someone – perhaps Edith – to take notice of him and provide him with a fresh-made cake to distract him, but even the cooks are subdued today, and eventually he retires to his room around midday. Gaius looks up from an ancient-looking book of herbal remedies, the writing dusty, spidery, and entirely in Latin. Merlin is absolutely miserable at Latin.
“Ah, Merlin. You’ll be pleased to know that there is nothing wrong with Arthur.”
“He looked like he was about to fall over when I saw him. He almost did fall over.” Merlin drops down into a seat at the table, huffing softly.
“It is a cold, nothing more. Though how it came upon him so quickly I do not know.”
Merlin perks up.“You think it’s magic?” Gaius raises an eyebrow at him, inquisitive and a little bit indulgent.
“I think it is both easy and quick to assign a magical cause to every problem. Sometimes, Merlin, a cold is merely a cold.”
Merlin subsides into uneasy silence, watching Gaius slowly trail his finger down the faded list of ingredients for something that looks like a remedy for congestion. It does not, he thinks, look like a terribly palatable concoction, and he is pleased that he has such a hardy winter constitution, but also a little bit sorry that Arthur will have to drink something that has ground up beetles in it.
“So long as you are just sitting there,” Gaius murmurs, “I might as well remind you that the dried frogs from this past spring are in need of grinding.”
“Oh look, time for me to study! Sorry, Gaius, but you know how important learning is!” Merlin flees while he still can, pursued by Gaius’ somewhat sneaky laughter.
Secretly, Merlin is grateful for the excuse to simply exist for a while. In Ealdor it had been easy to take the quiet and the levelness for granted. Every boy Merlin knew had grown up dreaming about a life of adventure and excitement, but the truth is that excitement is overrated, and adventures are more often than not a nuisance. He’s looking forward to sitting on his bed and daydreaming for a while, as he opens the door to his room and…
There’s a rabbit sitting on his bed.
Merlin glances over his shoulder, expecting to see Gaius with a knife in one hand and a cup for holding rabbit guts in the other, or perhaps one of the stable boys, who generally like Merlin, but not enough to stop playing pranks on him. There’s no one there, though, no one lingering at the bottom of the stairs. There is only him, and the rabbit.
“All right,” Merlin says, and lets the door fall shut behind him. The rabbit stares at him with something that, if it were on a human face, Merlin might call accusation. “How’d you get in here, eh?”
The rabbit bites down on a corner of Merlin’s blanket and chews furiously. Merlin makes a loud and wordless noise of protest, rushing forward and grabbing the rabbit by the scruff, lifting it up and holding its body with his other hand. The rabbit glares at him with huge, blue eyes.
“I really ought to take you to the kitchens,” Merlin sighs, and the rabbit freezes up, almost as though it had heard him. “A bit of fresh meat might put Arthur in a good mood for once.” He strokes his fingers over the rabbit’s soft fur as he drops down onto the bed, holding the frantically wriggling creature in his lap. It has yet to try and bite him. Odd.
“Then again,” he says, and the rabbit stills again. He thinks about the other night, lying in bed and thinking how nice it would be if he had something – or someone – who appreciated him. If he can’t have Arthur, he might as well have a rabbit, right? “Might be nice to keep you around for a bit. What Arthur doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He lifts the rabbit so that they’re facing each other, their noses almost touching. “I don’t like lying to him, though. Maybe I’ll head out to the woods tomorrow after chores, trap a quail or something.”
The rabbit’s profoundly disappointed expression smoothes out into something more like approval. Merlin runs his fingers over the velvet-soft ears, digging in just slighty, scratching at the bases. The rabbit grinds its teeth in apparent satisfaction. “I ought to give you a name, if you’re going to stay here. Let’s see if you’re a boy or a girl.”
He gets a vicious kick in the arm for his troubles, the rabbit squirming in his hands like it’s mortified, but Merlin eventually decides that, not only is the rabbit male, but he also has fur that’s almost the exact same tawny blonde color as Arthur’s hair. He holds the shivering creature in his arms, soothing him with quiet, nonsensical words and pats on the head.
“Do you think it would be treason if I named you Arthur?” he asks, and the rabbit tilts his head. “Maybe not treason. I’d spend the day in the stocks for sure, though. Still…you remind me of him.” He gently sets the rabbit down, letting him hop about the bed as he pleases. “I’ve got it. I’ll call you Pen. Short for Pendragon, yeah? I can always just say it’s because I found you trying to eat a quill.”
The rabbit looks offended. It’s such an Arthur look that Merlin bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed and giggling helplessly. “Ah,” he sighs. “Wish you really were him. Arthur, I mean. We’re supposed to have this great destiny together, but…” Merlin shrugs, helplessly. “Half the time I think he hates me. How am I supposed to protect him if he can’t even stand the sight of me on a bad day?” He sighs, reaching out and letting the rabbit – Pen – examine his hand.
“I wish I could tell him everything,” he murmurs. He falls asleep like that, hand outstretched, and Pen staring at him with something that, were he human, might almost be pity.
~
Merlin’s afternoon nap is interrupted quite early on by Gaius slamming open his door and shouting at him.
“Merlin! Have you seen Arthur?”
“Muh,” Merlin says, rolling over, belatedly remembering his new pet rabbit, and then briefly when he can’t feel the little body beside him. He shoves himself up, patting the bed beneath his chest, wondering if maybe he crushed it by accident. There’s nothing, though, no sign that the rabbit was ever in his room in the first place. He glances up at Gaius, mouth working soundlessly for a few moments, before he swallows and says, “Wasn’t he in his room?”
“He was when I went to see him, but a serving girl has just informed me that she went to bring him his dinner and he was not in his chambers. She thought he might be here, seeking treatment for his illness.”
“Haven’t seen him.” Merlin yawns, leaning up and stretching as extravagantly as he dares with Gaius watching. “He’s probably wandering about.”
“Go and find him, then, before Uther gets word of this and decides it’s a crisis.”
Gaius sweeps from the room, and Merlin breathes a sigh of relief and drops down to his knees on the ground, looking for the rabbit. There aren’t all that many places to hide in his tiny room, though, and he’s left to sadly conclude that his life is, once again, rabbit-free.
“Ah, well,” he breathes. “Perhaps someone will find him.” Pen, after all, had been quite large for a rabbit. He hopes that the cooks don’t find him first.
He straightens his clothing, chooses a new kerchief that doesn’t have bread crumbs all over it, and then heads out into the castle to search for his wayward prince.
The maid obviously hasn’t told anyone other than Gaius yet, because the corridors are still quiet, and the few guards that Merlin sees seem more interested in their gambling (not strictly allowed while on duty, but Merlin hardly cares) than in finding a missing person. He makes it to Arthur’s chambers relatively unscathed, having been waylaid only once by an enthusiastic – and quite drunk – scullery boy who’d wanted to talk to him about the Lady Morgana’s breasts. Merlin is glad to get away, and in his attempt to hide from the boy he bursts into Arthur’s rooms with a little more fanfare than usual.
Arthur is sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the quiet, snow-capped grounds outside, the window cracked slightly so that a cold breeze blows over him. His hair is sweaty and unbrushed, but other than that he looks much improved from that morning.
“There you are,” Merlin says, and feels almost smug that he found Arthur so quickly. Arthur might treat him like an idiot sometimes (well, most of the time), but the dragon hadn’t been entirely exaggerating. He could always tell when Arthur was in trouble. Always.
Arthur doesn’t respond at first to Merlin’s relief, keeping his gaze trained on the window. Snow has begun to fall, and Merlin shivers. The breeze is rapidly becoming uncomfortably cold. “You oughtn’t do that,” he says, and shuts the window before Arthur can protest. “Gaius said you’re sick.”
“I’m fine.” Arthur glances up at Merlin, squinting. “Did…Gaius say anything about other symptoms?”
“Symptoms?” Merlin frowns. “It’s a cold. You’ll be sniffly and achy and more miserable than usual for a few weeks. You’ve had colds before, haven’t you?” Gods help him if Arthur hadn’t, because if that was the case then these were going to be the most awful few weeks of his life. Arthur, though, nods, and Merlin feels a little kernel of anxiety in his chest shrink and then vanish. “Does this have anything to do with those dreams you mentioned?”
Arthur snaps a look at him, suspicious and little bit angry, but it smoothes away as quickly as Merlin had noticed it. “You’d be wise to mind your own affairs, Merlin.”
“I would if you didn’t keep involving me in them,” he says cheerfully, and then goes to clean up the half-eaten dinner on the table.
Merlin spends the rest of the day doing menial chores for Arthur: mending his second-best pair of trousers, cleaning his armor, and washing his laundry. He makes sure to head down to the kitchens at one point, spreading the news that Arthur is alive, well, and most certainly not missing. Then, with Arthur’s blessing, he goes directly to the castle steward and informs him that Prince Arthur is not to be bothered and will be unable to attend any formal events until his illness has passed. Merlin, who has never had occasion to speak to the steward before, feels terribly important, and never mind that the man looks at him like he’s simple.
By the time evening rolls around, Merlin is comfortably tired and pleased to note that his foul mood from that morning has dissipated entirely. He chalks some of it up to the soothing effects of animals, but also to his uncharacteristically peaceful conversation with Arthur. Not that it had been much of a conversation, but still. He had stood in Arthur’s presence for longer than five minutes without having a single thing thrown at him, and that was always good. Merlin thinks about the way Arthur had been sitting, staring out the window, his skin pale but still golden, his hair blown back from his face by the breeze and his mouth, lips reddened like he’d been biting them, fallen open slightly as though he’d been breathing the winter in…
Merlin shakes his head as he makes his way to his room, promising Gaius that yes, he’ll go out tomorrow to try and find some of the few winter-grown plants that he needs for joint pain and headaches, before barricading himself in the safety of his bedchamber.
He is amused to note that he is not the only one who had been contemplating sleep.
“Hello, you,” he says, and the rabbit – it is most definitely Pen, Merlin would recognize those eyes anywhere – raises his head and blinks at him, nose twitching. “Where’d you run off to earlier?”
Pen stamps his foot in response. The result is probably less than the rabbit had been hoping for, considering the sorry state of Merlin’s mattress. He really needs to get it stripped down and replace the straw, he just…keeps forgetting. Merlin drops down at the head of the bed, holding out his hand for Pen’s perusal. “Just glad no one saw you. Not sure how the ratcatcher would react if he saw you loping about the place.” He laughs quietly, and then hefts the rabbit up with both hands, securing the little animal’s kicking feet against his chest. “Hush, now. I won’t hurt you. Thought I’d proved that earlier?”
Pen eventually calms, staring up at him…no, glaring up at him. Merlin laughs again. “I should have named you Arthur. Well, you’ve come back just in time to watch me sleep. Have to go out and collect herbs tomorrow, so I’ve got to be rested. Hope Arthur doesn’t want me to muck out the stables or anything.” Merlin yawns, setting the rabbit back down on the bed and going about his nightly routine, kicking off his boots and stripping down to nothing. He thinks he ought to feel odd, what with Pen watching him walk about naked, but it’s only for a few moments anyways, seeing as how Merlin’s no more keen on the cold than anyone else in the castle. He finds his nightshirt and pulls it on, then shoos Pen off to the side so that he can climb into bed and beneath his blanket.
“Wish I had a nicer blanket,” Merlin sighs. He sticks his toe through one of the more prominent holes at the end of said insufficient blanket, wiggling it thoughtfully. “Be cheaper to just buy a bit of fabric at the market, though. Mend what I’ve got. Could buy Gwen a new hammer. A little one. She’s been talking about making jewelry, you know, to add to what her father makes.”
Pen twitches his nose again, and Merlin, after a moment, pats the small space of bed next to him. “You’re allowed to be up here, you know.”
Pen sniffs, and then gingerly hops to the head of the bed, butting against Merlin’s hand with his head.
Merlin falls asleep like that, feeling warm despite the chill of winter, carding his fingers through Pen’s fur and pretending, for a little while, that it’s Arthur’s hair he’s touching, and Arthur warm and still against his side.
~
When Merlin wakes with the dawn, he’s not surprised to find that Pen has once again vanished from his room. His door is slightly ajar, so he must have left it open the night before, and that’s how the rabbit got out. He tries to ask Gaius about it, casually, over a breakfast of more porridge and bread from the kitchens.
“You haven’t seen a rabbit running about, have you?”
Gaius levels him with a look that implies, heavily, that he thinks there’s something wrong with Merlin’s brain. “Why on earth would there be a rabbit in the castle?”
“No reason,” Merlin says quickly. “But you’ll let me know if you see one. ‘Cause it’s strange.”
Gaius stares at him. Merlin considers this to be a wise time to retreat, and does so.
He retrieves Arthur’s breakfast from the kitchens – there’s smoked fish, from the fall’s catch, and bread, and some kind of winter berry that Merlin has eaten before but doesn’t know the name of – and carries the lot up to the prince’s chambers, knocking once before pushing the door open. “Morning, sire!”
“Must you be so disgustingly cheerful,” Arthur groans. He’s dressed himself, which Merlin finds odd, but not odd enough to comment on. Sometimes Arthur gets into moods where he feels like he has to do everything by himself.
“Only for you,” Merlin answers, and Arthur makes a small noise of disgust. “Breakfast! Come on, eat up.”
Arthur wearily leaves his vigil at the window and plunks himself down at the table, staring at the food that Merlin has brought him. “No pork?”
“This is what they gave me.”
Arthur grumbles something about pork and cooks and Merlin’s fault, but he sets to the food with an enthusiasm that seems wholly at odds with his previously wrinkled nose. Merlin manages to snag a bit of bread, but that’s all. Arthur saves the berries for last, sucking the meager flesh clean and then spitting the seed onto his plate. Merlin watches this process with fascination, until Arthur finally looks up at him, lips shiny with juice, and says, “What?”
Merlin shakes his head. “Nothing, just…berries in winter, that’s quite fancy.”
“It’s probably Morgana,” Arthur mutters direly. “Trying to tell me that I’m fat again.”
Merlin peers at Arthur, and then surreptitiously underneath the table, but Arthur looks no larger or smaller than usual; Arthur, meanwhile, stares off into the middle distance, idly sucking berry juice from his fingers. Merlin clears his throat. “If you’re finished…”
Arthur waves his hand, and Merlin grabs the remains of breakfast, piling it onto the tray and preparing to whisk it out to the kitchens before Arthur decides he needs Merlin to…
“Merlin.”
Merlin freezes with one foot halfway out the door. He sighs, taking a step back and turning to face Arthur, balancing the breakfast tray against his chest. “Yes, sire?”
Arthur makes an extravagant, waving gesture towards his bed. “Take that away. I need a new one.”
Merlin blinks. “Er. The bed?”
The look that Arthur gives him is both indulgent and exasperated. “Yes, Merlin, the bed. Of course not, take away the blanket. It’s beginning to wear thin and I’ve a mind to purchase a new one.”
Merlin cautiously edges towards the bed, just in case this is some sort of joke. “Shall I…have it burnt?” Oh please, no, he thinks. Even if he can’t have it for himself, he can give it to someone else, or it can be used for mending scraps. He breathes a sigh of relief when Arthur shakes his head.
“Give it to someone who needs it,” he says, after what feels like a very long moment of silence. Merlin balances the tray on one hand and scrabbles to get the blanket rolled up and flung over his shoulder with the other. Arthur watches him with barely concealed amusement. Merlin retreats again once the blanket is – if not securely – over his shoulder, Arthur’s voice following him out into the hall. “Do try to wear warmer clothing, Merlin. Can’t have you getting too sick to serve me.” The last thing he sees before the door falls shut behind him is Arthur standing from the table, looking so tired it makes Merlin’s heart ache, and shuffling towards the now blanket-less bed.
~
Merlin’s first thought is to sell the blanket. It’s rich fabric, heavy and perfect for keeping warm, and even though Arthur had said that it’s wearing thin Merlin can’t find any spots that are even close to needing mending. It’ll fetch a high price in winter, whether as a blanket or as fabric for the making of something else, and Merlin could use the money. He could buy Gwen that little hammer she’d been looking at, or he could buy Gaius a new flask, or…
He opens the door to his room, intent on setting the blanket somewhere until he decides what to do with it, and almost trips over Pen.
“Gods! You just come out of nowhere, don’t you?” Merlin carefully steps over the rabbit, setting the rolled blanket down at the foot of his bed and staring at it. “Don’t suppose you know where I could sell this, huh? Or maybe I could just give it to Gwen as is. She can always use a blanket these months.”
Merlin sighs, and then begins to search his room for the basket he uses to collect herbs. He finds it half-hidden behind his bed, and he drags it out, not relishing the thought of going out into the cold to find bark and things for Gaius.
When he turns back, Pen is chewing at the edge of Arthur’s blanket where it drapes over the side of the bed.
“Pen!” The rabbit stops immediately, but the damage is already done. Merlin drops the basket in order to examine the edge of the blanket, the neat little tooth marks, the frayed threads. He won’t be able to sell it for as high a price now, and he definitely can’t just give it to Gwen. “Now what am I going to do with this?” Keep it, a small voice at the back of his head says. It’s always so cold in your room, and Arthur doesn’t want it anymore.
“I should sell it to the fabric peddler,” Merlin says, trying to ignore…well, himself. “The material’s still worth something, right?”
It probably smells like him.
Merlin glances uneasily at Pen, but the rabbit is nonchalantly staring at a spot on the wall, seemingly interested in the stonework. Merlin lifts the blanket and presses his cheek to it, breathing in. It’s softer than cotton, some heavy fabric that feels almost like warm fur as it brushes against his skin. Velvet? It smells like sunshine, and musk, and rosemary. It smells like Arthur.
“He did say give it to someone who needs it,” Merlin says absently. “Maybe…I’ll just hold on to it until winter’s over. Then I can sell it.”
Pen hops closer to him, bumping up against his leg like he wants to be patted. Merlin reaches down without thinking about it, rubbing the rabbit’s ears. “All right, then,” he murmurs. “Just for a little while.” He carefully folds the blanket in half so that Pen can’t get at any more of it, then reaches down and scoops the rabbit into his arms. “So, Gaius wants me to go out and get some herbs. Don’t suppose you want to come along?”
Pen’s nose twitches erratically. Merlin laughs, gently setting the rabbit down on the bed. “No, I guess not. Running about the castle’s one thing, running about the woods is another.” He shakes his head, then gathers all of the things he needs for an excursion into the nearby woods: his cloak (nowhere near as heavy or nice as Arthur’s, but it’s better than nothing), a pair of well-worn boots, his pack, so that he might carry a bit of bread along with him. He sets it all down on the bed while he pulls off his thin indoor shoes and pulls the boots on instead.
“Right,” he says, standing and stretching, then reaching for his pack and cloak. “I’ll be back soon, I hope…oh!” He nearly drops the pack when a tiny, pink nose pokes out of it, followed shortly by twitching whiskers and long ears. Pen grinds his teeth in apparent satisfaction, and Merlin shrugs. “Well, if that’s what you want. Better make sure you don’t get cold, though.”
He balls up his old blanket, tucking it in around the rabbit’s surprisingly calm form. He can just carry the bread, he thinks. He’s certainly hauled around worse.
“Wonder what Arthur would think, seeing me carrying you about,” he muses. He fastens his cloak around his neck, and then carries his pack down the stairs, searching for some bread, or, if he’s lucky, some smoked meat to take with him. “Probably call me a disgrace. Never been much for hunting, though. Closest I ever got was trapping little birds in Ealdor.”
He finds a hunk of bread on the table, and breaks off a piece large enough for himself and for a particularly hungry rabbit. He holds it in one hand, his herb basket in the other, and the pack slung over his back, heavy and warm. “Suppose it hardly matters. Let’s get going, before it gets any colder.”
Pen doesn’t answer him – of course not, Pen’s a rabbit – but Merlin gets the sense that he agrees.
~
The woods are hardly welcoming this time of year, with the dark trees and their spindly, spider-leg branches, and the thorn bushes with their deceptively red berries, but Merlin always feels a quiet sort of ease when he’s on his own, with no one around save for the animals. He carries Pen a fair ways into the woods before stopping and brushing the snow off of a large rock, and then setting his pack down. Pen’s head pokes out of the top, sniffing wildly.
“See this?” Merlin gestures towards the tree they’ve stopped next to, and then reaches out and pries some of the bark from its trunk, putting it in his basket. “This is a willow tree. The king gets headaches sometimes, and Gaius uses the bark to make a tea. He says it helps with pain.” He wrinkles his nose. “Not sure how I feel about drinking bark tea, but whatever works.”
It’s a good place for them to stop. Merlin spends a little while gathering bark from the willow, and then digging about underneath stones and fallen logs, looking for the small, hardy plants that have escaped the worst of winter’s chill. He sends everything he finds floating back to his basket, the herbs and plants tucking themselves neatly inside. Pen startles the first time he does it, eyes huge and blue and breathing like he’s just spotted a fox and is resisting the urge to run, but the more Merlin does it the more relaxed the rabbit becomes. He eventually finds a wild turnip buried near a tree root, and he digs it up and shakes it free of dirt before carrying it back to Pen.
“You’re the only one I don’t have to worry about,” he says quietly, breaking the turnip in half with a bit of effort and then holding out the cleaner piece to Pen. “Doing magic in front of you, I mean. I think animals are a lot smarter than people in that way. It might…startle them, I think, but they don’t hate you for it.”
Pen turns his nose up at the turnip, and Merlin laughs. “Snooty little thing. All right then, have some bread.” He unwraps the bread where it sits next to the pack, breaking it in half and leaving the other piece there so that Pen can eat his fill. The rabbit sits there, motionless, staring at him, and Merlin sighs.
“I wish I could tell Arthur. He’s the one I’m protecting, it makes sense that he should know, but…I mean, I don’t think he’d have me executed. He’s not that kind of person. Maybe he’d have me banished? That’d be just as bad, though. No point in anything if I’m not around to keep him safe.” Merlin bites into the bread, chewing the hard crust, feeling oddly talkative. Perhaps it’s the fact that Pen is the best listener Merlin’s ever seen. Perhaps it’s that Pen can never tell anyone the secret that Merlin is giving him. “I don’t want to make him choose between me and his father, though. He’d have to, wouldn’t he? The way Uther is when it comes to magic.” Merlin shudders. “There’s no helping it, but I just…wish I could tell him.” He brushes his hands off on his trousers, showering crumbs down onto the ground. Pen hasn’t touched his half of the bread.
“Too snooty for bread, too? Or just not hungry?” Pen’s ear twitches, and Merlin shrugs. “Suit yourself. We should be heading back anyways. Gaius will think I’ve tripped over a root and broken my neck or something. And Arthur…” Merlin frowns. “I’m worried about him. He’s usually sort of predictable, you know? But for the past two days he’s been very quiet. Hasn’t asked me to do his laundry once! And you should have seen his room this morning. Clean. Like he didn’t do a single thing yesterday.”
Merlin gathers up his basket and gently hefts his pack – complete with rabbit – over his shoulder and onto his back. “Hope nothing’s wrong. Think I’ll put some dried lavender in his pillow tonight.” At Pen’s startled look, Merlin adds, “It’s not a spell to make him better or anything, it just smells nice. I’ve done it a few times, and he always seems to sleep better for it.”
The rabbit settles back into the pack, grinding his teeth quietly. Merlin takes that to mean that Pen is happy enough for them to continue, and so, hefting his basket, Merlin turns until he spots his own trail and begins to head back towards the castle.
~
Pen disappears and reappears when he wants, vanishing from rooms that Merlin could have sworn he locked and always showing up again in Merlin’s general vicinity. He never hears anyone else talking about a rabbit hopping around the castle, so he figures Pen has a nest that’s somewhere small and out of the way, within the walls, maybe, or behind someone’s bed. Where Pen goes when he isn’t with Merlin is hardly important, though, as long as he keeps coming back, which he does. He finds Merlin in the stables, mucking out the stalls for Arthur, and he finds Merlin in the kitchens while he’s sitting quiet by the fire and mending Arthur’s tunics…in fact, the only time Pen doesn’t seek Merlin out is when he’s attending Arthur. Other than that, though, he’s a good listener. He doesn’t judge Merlin for his magic, or for his occasional clumsiness, or for his shabby clothes. He doesn’t giggle at Merlin behind his back like some of the other servants do, sometimes, and he doesn’t ask Merlin to do anything other than pet him and carry him about.
There’s no mucking out stables for Pen, no mending clothes, no washing laundry, no…no roughhousing on the training field when no one is looking, no gentle knuckles rubbing through his hair, no laughing at bawdy jokes when feasts get slow and boring. Merlin sighs heavily, and Arthur looks up from where he’s reading on his bed.
“Why Merlin, I had no idea dusting the shelves distressed you so.”
Merlin snorts. “It’s not that.” He dusts in silence, thinking about Pen, and about Arthur, and how he’d rather like it if he could take Arthur out with him to the woods to gather herbs, or maybe sit with Arthur in the stables, aired out and smelling like clean horse sweat and fresh hay, or show Arthur the book that Gaius had given him, the little notes in the margins, and how excited he gets whenever he finds something written in Gaius’ spindly handwriting. The thrill he feels when he gets a spell to work for the first time. He wishes he could just…just stride up to Arthur and put his arms on Arthur’s shoulders, and then…
“All right, out with it.”
Merlin glances up. Arthur is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking much improved from the beginning of the week. There’s a healthy flush of color in his cheeks, and he’s no longer suffering from night sweats. “Hm?”
“Whatever it is that’s got you so melancholy.”
His cheeks feel suddenly hot, and Arthur perks up like a dog hearing its master’s whistle. “It’s nothing, my lord.”
“Don’t you my lord me, you’re not getting out of this one.” Arthur seems to hesitate, expression something like…anger? Jealousy? It’s gone too fast for Merlin to tell, but he knows it wasn’t a good look. “Who is she?”
Confused, Merlin repeats, “She?”
“Yes, the girl who’s got you pining over her like a lost pup. What’s her name?”
“There’s no girl, and I’m not pining.” His flush grows darker as Merlin abruptly realizes that he sort of was, though not for any girl. He was pining for the life he knows he can’t have. A life with Arthur.
You’re a right masochist, he thinks dismally. Going and liking someone who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.
“It’s fine, Merlin, you’re allowed to have…you know, relations. With other people.” It sounds like there’s something caught in Arthur’s throat. Merlin makes a note to tell Gaius that Arthur might still be a little congested. “Servants, I mean. Other servants. Or is she from the lower towns?”
“She doesn’t exist,” Merlin says, resolute in his refusal. “I wasn’t thinking of girls, I was thinking…” He pauses, turning to look at Arthur, who’s staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh, you clever bastard.”
“I could have you thrown in the stocks for that.”
“What, for telling the truth?”
Arthur grabs one of his boots from the floor and pitches it at Merlin’s shoulder. It hits, but not hard, which makes Merlin think that Arthur didn’t really mean it. He rubs his shoulder anyways, pretending at wounded innocence. “It’s really nothing.”
“Do I have to order you to tell me?”
Merlin sighs again, which only makes Arthur arch his eyebrow higher. “It’s just…have you ever wanted something that you thought would make your life easier, except when you got it, it wasn’t what you wanted at all?”
Arthur stares blankly at him.
“Never mind,” Merlin huffs. “Can I have the evening off?”
“Whatever for?”
Because I’ve got a pet rabbit and I need to make sure he eats. “I…because?”
Arthur rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t give himself a headache, but he flaps his hand. “Fine, fine. I suppose there’s not much for you to do while I recover, is there?”
“You look recovered to me.”
Arthur glances away, and…and is he blushing? He coughs. “Not entirely. That will be all, Merlin.”
Merlin bows, only slightly sarcastic, and takes his dusting rag with him as he leaves. He glances back once, watching Arthur stand and go to the window, utterly still as he gazes down at the courtyard below.
~
Arthur doesn’t call him again for three days.
Merlin fills the daylight hours with menial chores for knights and servants alike, fetching water for the cooks and polishing Sir Leon’s armor, powdering and bottling herbs for Gaius, and delivering dried flowers to Gwen, that she might brighten Morgana’s room with them. Merlin thinks he should feel grateful that Arthur hasn’t called on him, not once, in order to insult him and give him difficult chores.
He doesn’t, though. Not the slightest bit. He lies in bed every night, Arthur’s blanket wrapped around him (tragically no longer smelling of musk and rosemary) and Pen huddled in the crook of his arm, not feeling bone-weary as he usually does. It should be a good thing, but all it does is make it more difficult for him to go to sleep. He idly casts shadows across the ceiling, Pen watching the moving images in apparent fascination. Merlin conjures up a bit of orange-ish light, somewhat carrot-shaped, for Pen’s perusal.
“When I first came here,” he murmurs, “I thought Arthur was the biggest prat in the world. I still think that.” Pen nibbles at the cuff of his nightshirt, and Merlin pulls his hand away for a moment. “Now, though…It’s hard to think of what to do with myself if he’s not around. He’s so bad at taking care of himself, Pen. He doesn’t know how to sew, or cook, or wash clothes. I think he needs me for more than just protection.” He rolls onto his side, sighing. “And I think I need him, too.”
He strokes his fingers over Pen’s long ears, rubbing the velvety skin. He’s been thinking about this for a while, ever since Pen showed up, really. It was only when Arthur had mentioned him pining (and Merlin hates that Arthur had recognized his feelings when Merlin couldn’t even do it himself) that Merlin had realized what he was doing. He leans down, pressing his lips to the crown of Pen’s head, the tiny skull fragile beneath the thin skin, soft fur against Merlin’s mouth and chin, but all he can think about is how much he wants to do this to Arthur. To be this for Arthur, not just his servant and his guardian, but his everything.
“Hate to say this, but I’ve been using you, Pen.” One long ear twitches against his cheek, and Merlin laughs softly. “Sorry. It’s just…you’re not Arthur, and it’s Arthur I want.” He cups the rabbit to his neck, soft weight and the shift of breath. “I was thinking it’d be nice, having a break from him…but I only miss him more. Think I might even…fancy him a bit. You know?”
Merlin closes his eyes, the shadows fading from the ceiling. The last image to vanish is the silhouette of Arthur, a crown sitting firm upon his brow.
“I wish you were Arthur,” he breathes, and cherishes that idea, of a closeness between him and the prince, until he finally drifts off to sleep.
~
Merlin wakes up with the hefty weight and warmth of another person lying next to him. This is a new and unusual enough occurrence that, for a long moment, he considers just turning over, because this is obviously a dream, and if it’s a dream he can’t feel ashamed of himself for shagging some anonymous dream-man instead of Arthur. Or maybe it’s a dream and he’s already shagging Arthur. Maybe when he wakes up for real he can get a few moments to himself and…
“Merlin,” the dream man – it’s definitely a man – says. “Are you awake?”
“Um,” Merlin says, and opens his eyes. Arthur is staring back at him.
Arthur is naked. Merlin can feel his mouth dropping as he glances over the broad shoulders, the smattering of dusty blonde hair across Arthur’s chest, the trimness of his waist and…
“My eyes are up here,” Arthur says, and Merlin’s gaze snaps back up. “You’re aware that we’re going to need to talk about this…sorcerer…thing.”
“Um,” Merlin says again, and then Arthur leans forward and kisses him. It’s so light, so chaste, so very not Arthur that Merlin briefly reconsiders the “maybe it’s a dream” stance. Then Arthur’s hand finds his hip, fingers deftly plucking their way beneath Merlin’s nightshirt and making him shudder. No. No, that’s definitely Arthur.
“And Merlin,” Arthur breathes, hot against Merlin’s mouth, just barely sucking at his lower lip, a faint hint of teeth, and Merlin makes a rather pathetic noise that he refuses to classify as a whimper, but which Arthur will probably remind him of later (possibly with smirking). “The next time you see fit to turn me into an animal, might I suggest something a bit more fearsome than a rabbit.”
Merlin is about to suggest that maybe a dog might be more to Arthur’s taste – the ability to lick his own genitals and no scruples regarding eating garbage come to mind – but Arthur chooses that precise moment to kiss him again, deeper than before, his thumb rubbing circles into Merlin’s hip. Merlin loses track of what he was about to say, and Arthur presses up against him, warm and solid and real.
It probably wasn’t very important anyways.