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Merlin collapsed onto the lumpy inn bed with a sigh.
“That’s probably infested with bedbugs, you know,” said Arthur mildly from the doorway.
Merlin couldn’t even bring himself to care. They’d been travelling the whole day; his legs could barely support his weight anymore. They hadn’t even reached their destination- not that the prince had deigned to share with him where exactly they were going, or why. Tired and frustrated in equal measure, Merlin planned on getting some well-earned rest, bedbugs or not.
“We’ll set out again at first light,” planned Arthur as he shucked his gloves and tossed them on the small table between their beds.
“You always say that,” Merlin said, shifting his head so his voice wouldn’t be muffled by the pillow, “but I usually get something thrown at me whenever I try to wake you up before noon.”
“I don’t see the problem.”
Merlin groaned and buried his face back into the coarse fabric of his pillow. Arthur had pushed their horses to ride fast and hard the whole day through; Merlin could only imagine their pain if his own aches were anything to go on.
The whole thing had been rather impromptu. When Merlin had arrived in Arthur’s chambers that morning, he was already awake and dressed. He had paused in his pacing and snapped his head around wildly when Merlin opened the door, obviously broken out of his thoughts. He had even said Merlin’s name in a sort of awestruck way, like he had forgotten who it was that brought breakfast every morning.
Arthur hadn’t stayed shocked for long, though- within a split second he was piling task after task onto Merlin to prepare for a quest he’d somehow been assigned overnight. As much as Merlin had complained about all the last-minute packing, there had been something in Arthur’s eyes that gave him pause. The kind of profoundness they took on only when it truly mattered.
“We should get some rest,” Arthur muttered now, the candlelight casting shadows over his cheeks. “Long day tomorrow.”
*****
It was still night when Merlin heard it. Through the haze of sleep, his magic whispered awareness into his bones. He waited cautiously. There was a quiet rustle of cloth, the sound of boots scuffing across the floor. He squinted an eye open as inconspicuously as he could.
Through the small tavern window, a square of moonlight illuminated the bed opposite. Arthur was sitting on the edge of it, facing away and tying his boots. He was fully dressed on his own for the second time in a row (Merlin figured miracles were bound to happen every once in a while) and he looked almost muted in the semi-darkness, the bright yellow and red of him subdued. Merlin watched him stand, cringe as the bed creaked underneath him, then slink to the door and shut it gently behind him.
He was sneaking out.
So, of course, Merlin threw off the covers and followed him.
The village was quite large, certainly bigger than Ealdor, with the luxury of torches dotting the cobblestone streets. During the daytime, the people had carried a tired ease which had washed over Merlin like a breath of fresh air compared to the constant bustle of Camelot.
Luckily, Arthur had chosen a bright, Pendragon red jacket, whose gold collar flashed in the firelight. It only took Merlin a moment to spot the crown prince rounding a corner, his blond hair disappearing. He hurried as casually as he could after him, sticking near the side of the street where he could duck behind a barrel or wagon if necessary.
In an alley, Arthur strode toward a pair of burly men in leather armour. They were standing guard at a curtained doorway and kept a wary eye on him as he approached. The three of them had a rapid whispered exchange, then they pulled the curtains back to let him pass.
What the hell was he playing at? Unless solitude was a direct order from his father, Arthur normally forced Merlin to follow him everywhere. Even hunting, even though Merlin complained loudly and annoyingly the entire day through. What could be so important that he felt he couldn’t talk about it?
Ignoring the small voice that told him he wouldn’t like it if Arthur discovered what he was doing when he was sneaking around, Merlin muttered a simple spell under his breath. Next to the guards, a few barrels pitched over and rolled away. The moment they stepped away to investigate, Merlin sprinted across to the doorway and ducked under the curtain.
The smell of sweat and blood smacked him full force immediately. The room was dark and dingy, dust from the floor curling up into the air and layering over every surface. Men with sloshing tankards were shouting at a cleared-out circle in the centre of the room, where two swordsmen clashed fiercely.
At a table on the outskirts sat Arthur, who raised a hand to a waitress. She eyed his jacket suspiciously but made no comment as she went to get his drink. Merlin could have laughed- in spite of whatever effort Arthur made to be inconspicuous, it was impossible not to notice him. Even without the jacket, everything about him screamed royalty. Merlin rolled his eyes and stalked towards the table.
“Tempting, isn’t it?” Merlin sighed sympathetically once he was in earshot. “I mean, why be a prince when you could fight dirty, desperate men for money every day?”
Arthur whipped around and scowled. “Merlin? What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”
“Me? I’m just doing my job, at the ready in case you have need of service.” Arthur raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Fine, following you because you were being sneaky. Although I will remind you that you were the one who suggested we wake at first light, which is roughly twenty minutes from now. I’m just following orders.”
“You take joy in being insufferable, don’t you?”
Merlin grinned. “It’s one of my finer qualities, sire.”
A deafening cheer sounded from the crowd as one fighter, pinned to the ground by the threat of the other’s sword at his neck, raised his hands in surrender. The two shook hands, then the winner collected a sizable pouch of coins from a heavily-bearded man at the head table.
“Is watching a more violent, underground version of tournaments that you see twice a month part of the quest, or just for fun?” Merlin asked.
Arthur squinted at the entrance, examining the new set of fighters and sighing. “I’m following a lead.”
“A lead?”
“That’s what I said.”
Merlin gritted his teeth and plopped himself into the chair adjacent stubbornly. Clanging rang out as the next fight began.
“You’re really not going to tell me what this quest is for?” he pressed. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“It’s a good job you’re never any help anyway, then, isn’t it?”
It was Merlin’s turn to scowl. He crossed his arms and leaned back with a huff. The daily petty daydream to see just how long the royal arse would last without magical protection rose. Better yet, as the fights went on, Merlin pictured the many ways he could actively pursue his vengeance. Changing his hair bright green, cursing every sword he touched to transform into a bouquet of flowers, giving him back those flattering donkey ears. . .
Another cheer.
“Let’s go,” said Arthur, clasping his shoulder as he stood. “That’s the last fight, there’s nothing here for us.”
Perhaps revenge could wait a while.
They were heading towards the curtains when the bearded man who had handed out the prize money stepped in front of them. His grey eyes glinted like steel as he placed an authoritative hand on Arthur’s chest.
Arthur’s jaw clenched as he looked at the hand blocking him, then up at the face it belonged to.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, unintimidated by the man’s significant height advantage.
“I would recognize that colour anywhere,” rumbled the man. “There’s nothing unlawful going on here, Pendragon. We don’t want any trouble.”
Arthur bristled at his last name. Merlin clenched a fist and kept a ready grip on his magic, just in case.
“Neither do I,” Arthur said.
“Then what business have you here?”
“I’m looking for someone. I heard he’d fought here before.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “And who’s that?”
Arthur’s eyes flickered to Merlin’s and he swallowed. “His name is Lancelot.”
Merlin inhaled sharply. Why would Arthur want to find Lancelot? Had he realized magic must have been involved in killing the griffin? Did he want to be sure, once and for all, that Gwen’s heart belonged to him? Had he decided to go against his father’s rules and recruit a knight not of noble blood?
“He’s a good man. Honourable.” The man clapped Arthur’s arm heavily; he barely concealed his wince. “I hope you do not mean him harm.”
Arthur forced a pained smile. “None at all.”
The man smiled heartily back and removed his hand, stepping out of their path. “Then I wish you and your friend luck, Pendragon.”
“I appreciate that.”
Merlin made it all the way down the street before he couldn’t help himself any longer.
“We came all this way for Lancelot? Why?”
Arthur picked up his pace as his lips tightened. “It’s none of your concern, Merlin.”
Merlin stopped. “Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
“Since when is a prince expected to tell his servant everything? Besides,” Arthur said, glaring, “you keep plenty of secrets.”
“I do not,” Merlin sputtered.
“You do so.”
And then his mouth, forgetting the forever-looming threat of execution, got away from him. “I keep secrets for good reason!”
Arthur blinked. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Merlin to agree with any part of his accusations. He asked slowly, “What sort of reason?”
Merlin cast around for anything that wasn’t incriminating. “It would just- some things are best left alone. I. . . don’t want anything to change, you know, between us.”
“Maybe things could change for the better,” Arthur said quietly, staring intensely.
Before Merlin could reply, a voice shouted out from behind them.
“Wait! Pendragon!”
A square-jawed young man, extraordinarily tall with shoulders so bulky that the sleeves had been cut off his chainmail, was running up after them. “I overheard you’re looking for Lancelot?”
Arthur took a step towards him. “And if we are?”
The man looked almost bashful in the face of royalty but carried on. “My name’s Percival. I think I can help you find him.”
*****
It was early afternoon when the three of them found themselves trotting down a forest path to the next town over. The foliage was thin, allowing splashes of sunlight to spread across the scene. The horses huffed happily now and then, pleased by the slower pace compared to the previous day’s vigorous gallop. Percival led the way on his coppery mare, while Merlin and Arthur rode a few paces back.
Merlin hadn’t said a word since they’d set out. The silence between them was interrupted only by the tread of hooves and chirping of birds overhead. Every once in a while, Arthur glanced over at him like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. Merlin was sure he was doing the same.
“Fine, you win,” said Arthur finally, squinting out into the trees as if it didn’t matter to him at all whether or not Merlin responded. To be fair, Merlin did consider not answering for a moment, just to be a prick, but his curiosity overtook him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean- I’d rather tell you then have you pout like a girl for the rest of the trip,” Arthur said.
Merlin rolled his eyes but nodded for Arthur to continue.
“I’m looking for Lancelot-,” he paused and took a steadying breath- “for Guinevere.”
Merlin frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“She’s in love with him, and we’re better off as friends,” Arthur explained, “so I figured. . . well, I’m the reason the two of them broke it off in the first place, so I should be the one to fix it, right?”
It would have been less shocking if the prince had said he wanted to wear one of Morgana’s dresses to the next ball.
“But- you love Gwen, she’s your true love,” said Merlin, flabbergasted.
“Is she?” asked Arthur, meeting his gaze. There was something so piercing about it that Merlin felt pinned in place, paralyzed by the flash of emotion in Arthur’s eyes.
“It’s just over this hill!” Percival called over his shoulder. Arthur kicked his horse into a faster trot so that he began closing the distance between them and Percival. Merlin watched for a second, shaken, before following suit.
As they crested the hill, Merlin saw that the town, while not as large as their last stop, spread widely across the valley. Though there was nothing to suggest any trouble, going by the charmingly thatched roofs and muddy streets, something set him on edge as they approached. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end and his stomach churned; his magic was sensing something off, even if he couldn’t.
He cited this as a bad feeling to Arthur as their horses plodded downhill. Arthur’s returning comment that he worried too much was negated when he checked for his sword at his hip.
The closer they got, the more obvious it became that Merlin’s hunch was correct. The village was as silent as the forest behind them; no gossip or laughter, no children running across the square, no traders shouting to advertise their wares. It had been completely deserted.
Arthur leapt to the ground and unsheathed his sword warily, frowning. “You’re sure Lancelot came here?”
Merlin and Percival joined him on the ground, keeping loose holds on their reins. Percival answered, “Certain of it, sire. There were rumours of trouble and Lancelot is too noble to stay away.”
Arthur nodded and began to lead them through the empty streets. The wind was a high-pitched whistle as they walked, singing unimpeded in the openness. Other than the lack of people, nothing seemed awry. Merchant’s tents stood intact with flaps whipping back and forth. Laundered clothing items and linens were strung across the streets on strings, long dry. A dog trotted past carrying a branch proudly.
An instinct that pulled low in Merlin’s chest directed his feet towards one of the smaller houses. It was pitched low, the roof drooping in places, the wooden door beginning to rot. It had a small set of steps leading to the entrance; as Merlin approached, he heard a terrified intake of breath from underneath.
He felt Arthur’s eyes on him as he kneeled down to peer under the steps, but paid him no attention. Wide brown eyes stared back at him and he did his best to look friendly. It was a young boy, probably seven or eight years old, tear tracks caked onto his cheeks. Merlin was reaching a hand out to him when the boy’s eyes flashed suddenly in an all-too-familiar fashion. A rather weak invisible force attempted to push him away.
“Wait, I’m a friend, I swear,” Merlin whispered. He held his hand close to his chest where Arthur wouldn’t be able to see and allowed a small golden sphere to swirl briefly above his palm. “See? Me too.”
“Having fun over there, Merlin?” came Arthur’s voice, impatient.
Merlin ignored him and held out a hand to the boy once again. This time, he took it. Arthur shifted in place when he saw them come out together, surprised, but regained his air of confidence within the moment. He came over to kneel at the young boy’s side, who clung to Merlin’s hand tightly, and smiled gently.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said kindly. “My name’s Arthur. What’s yours?”
“Cadal, sir.”
Arthur nodded intently. “Do you know where everyone else has gone, Cadal?”
Cadal looked up at Merlin searchingly, as if asking permission. Arthur followed his gaze with a furrowed brow. “They- they left in the night, sir. One at a time. The ghosts took them.”
“Ghosts?” Arthur asked, shaking his head in confusion.
“They said voices were calling out to them. They couldn’t resist it. I couldn’t-,” he looked again at Merlin with a frightened gulp- “I never heard anything.”
Arthur rose back to his feet. His shoulders were drawn back in a determined stance, his jaw set. “Right. You said this always happened in the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we wait until night.”
*****
“Arthur?”
Arthur hummed in response, but didn’t move from his hiding spot behind the fence. Merlin had dressed him in a full set of armour in preparation, the chainmail clicking together as he shifted. He was peering out into the street, where Cadal was sitting cross-legged. The sunset had long since drained away and had left everything indigo. The young boy was perfectly still in the darkness.
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” said Merlin, crouching beside him. He couldn’t see Arthur roll his eyes, but he heard the huff of exasperation.
“I’m right here to jump in if something happens, the boy is perfectly safe.”
“No, not that- although that’s also bad.”
Arthur sighed. “Then what are you whinging about?”
Merlin pursed his lips. His instinct to hold back always seemed to kick in once he’d already dug himself into a hole. “I don’t think you should break things off with Gwen.”
“Merlin-,”
“I’m serious! You’re throwing away your happiness based on a whim. What happened with her and Lancelot was a long time ago, you’re just being an overly noble, self-sacrificing prat!”
Arthur gripped the fence very tightly. His whole body was wound wire-tight, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “My relationship with Guinevere is my business. I thought you- if I had known this would bother you so much, I wouldn’t have told you.”
Merlin scowled. “You’re missing the point! If you love Gwen, you should-,”
“I don’t!” Arthur hissed finally, twisting to face him. In the beat of silence that followed, his eyes widened slightly, as though that wasn’t what he’d meant to say.“Not- not anymore. I don’t love Guinevere.”
Merlin gaped at him. “What are you talking about? Sure you do.”
“You’re wrong,” said Arthur. The piercing look was back again, but with a desperate edge. Like Merlin was missing something important. His heart knocked rapidly against his breastbone.
Movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. It was almost too dark to see it- Merlin suspected without his magic it would be completely obscured- but Cadal was swatting at a dark, pixie-like figure that buzzed around his head.
“Arthur,” he said, pointing, “something’s going on.”
The pixie had clearly given up on Cadal and flew off down the street, but he sprinted after it at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible on his short legs. Arthur snapped into action immediately, as if they hadn’t just been suspended in the oddest tension Merlin had ever experienced. Before Merlin could add anything, he was off into the street chasing him. Merlin cursed and followed suit.
Arthur, with years of knight’s training, was able to keep a few feet behind, but the two of them pulled quickly away from Merlin. When they disappeared from sight, he whispered a spell under his breath and grinned as the path they had taken lit up golden.
The path led him deep into the forest, where the tree trunks grew close together and the ground was knotted with roots. It twisted and turned violently until finally snaking down into the dripping mouth of a cave. Merlin swore for the second time staring into the darkness, weighing the risk, then summoned back the light he’d shown Cadal. He took a deep breath, then ran inside.
Only to collide with a body covered in chainmail. His heart went straight into a free fall to his stomach as a pair of hands gripped him by the shoulders.
“Merlin?” asked a voice that wasn’t Arthur’s. Merlin held his light up then laughed, relieved; Lancelot stared back at him, confused.
“Lancelot! We’ve been looking all over for you!”
Lancelot furrowed his brow and shot him a puzzled smile. “We?”
Merlin nodded. “Arthur and I- it’s a long story. What are you doing here?”
“There’s some sort of creature luring people into this cave. I figured I’d take a page out of your book and investigate.”
“I see I was a good influence on you, then,” said Merlin, grinning. Lancelot just shook his head exasperatedly.
The two of them set off together into the tunnels, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of Arthur, Cadal or the villagers.
“Why aren’t you with Arthur?” asked Lancelot, raising his sword protectively as they rounded a corner.
“He ran off without thinking. As usual.”
Lancelot nudged him with his elbow. “I’m sure with all your talent that you’ll be able to figure something out.”
Merlin rolled his eyes but smiled. “I wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t such an impulsive dollophead.”
“I doubt you’d care so much if he wasn’t,” Lancelot said thoughtfully.
Merlin frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“I know you. You’re good at hiding it, but you like being the hero. Being noble, Arthur’s secret rescuer.” When Merlin didn’t respond, Lancelot nudged him again. “Besides, he wouldn’t be your Arthur if he wasn’t a bit, you know. . .”
“Thick? Pigheaded?” Merlin suggested. Lancelot laughed. “And he’s not my anything.”
It was as they were rounding a corner that they heard shouting- they shared a quick look and broke into a sprint after the noise. They stumbled to a halt at a fork in the tunnels; a woman’s scream came from the left, while the familiar clanging of a sword against rock came from the right.
“I’ll get the villagers out of here,” Lancelot said rapidly, making for the left, “Arthur must be the other way, you go after him!”
Merlin muttered grumpily to himself about the idiocy of knights, extinguishing his light as he ran after Arthur.
He crept up to a cavern slightly wider than the rest, where he could just make out Arthur swinging his sword wildly into open space. A swarm of pixies surrounded his head, making strange chattering noises, easily dodging his every swing. They tore at his hair and cut at his cheeks at every vulnerable moment- more joined in the closer he got to the wall.
Arthur grimaced and dropped his sword as his back hit the cavern wall, clamping his hands over his ears. As he dropped to the ground, the pixies closed in like vultures, gnashing their tiny teeth. With a desperate, sinking feeling, Merlin knew there was nothing else for it.
Recalling the light to his palm, Merlin leapt in front of Arthur and landed in a protective crouch. While one hand braced him against the ground, the other remained in the air, the spell expanding in luminescent bursts. If the creatures thrived in darkness, Merlin was going to take every ounce of it away from them.
The pixies recoiled, hissing and spitting, before disintegrating onto the cavern floor.
When its work was done, and the cavern was awash with yellow, Merlin stood up slowly and let the light float up to the ceiling. He knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for since he’d arrived in Camelot- the turning point. The moment where everything would change, for the good or for the bad. For so long, he’d wanted to know how Arthur would react, but now in the moment, there was nothing he dreaded more.
Merlin heard him stand and slowly forced himself to face him. Arthur looked confused, like he was still processing all that had just unfolded in front of him.
“So you-,” Arthur started, then stopped himself. “This- this is your secret.”
Merlin nodded mutely, flexing his fingers and willing his magic down. Arthur’s face pinched in on itself and he pressed his fist to his mouth and looked away briefly.
“The thing you couldn’t bear to tell me, that would. . . change everything.”
Merlin nodded again. His throat was squeezed in on itself, so tight he couldn’t force his voice through it.
Arthur let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? You are many things, Merlin, but you are certainly not predictable. Every time I think I’ve figured you out. . .”
“You have now,” Merlin spoke up.
Arthur looked at him and frowned.
“I mean, now that you know about- this.” Merlin sighed at Arthur’s continued look of confusion. “It’s my destiny to keep you safe, to help you become the king you’re meant to be. Doing that, well, that’s my whole life, when I’m not running around doing chores for you. So- this is the only piece that you were missing.”
If anything, that seemed to wound Arthur deeper. He said quietly, “So that’s why you’re around, then. Why you follow me into battle, why you insist on giving me advice. Because I’m the prince.”
“No,” Merlin said, “I do those things because I’m your friend.”
“My friend,” repeated Arthur, shaking his head again. “Right.”
Footsteps rang out in the distance and approached rapidly. Lancelot burst past the entrance to the cavern and blinked into the sudden brightness. When his eyes caught on the light hovering near the ceiling, his eyebrows shot up and he looked from Arthur to Merlin, concerned.
“Everything alright in here?”
Arthur took a protective step forward, almost unconsciously shielding Merlin. Almost. “We got lucky,” he said lightly, “one of the creature’s spells malfunctioned and it drove them all away. That’s all that’s left of it.”
“Arthur,” Merlin said, “he knows.”
Arthur hung his head for a moment and clenched his fist. Then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Right. Never mind. Let’s get out of here.”
Then he strode off ahead into the darkness. Merlin shuddered out a breath. As he motioned for the light to lead them ahead, Lancelot shot him a questioning glance, but he shook his head. Explanations could wait for another time.
*****
The villagers were equally shaken and grateful once out in the breaking morning light. Arthur, royal as ever, guided each of them to their homes, reunited them with their families and assured them that there was no longer any threat. Merlin did his best to help while staying out of Arthur’s way, no matter how wrong it felt to leave him alone when he was upset. But this was wildly outside of their normal territory and if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid of what Arthur might say after having had time to think, or what he might do if he felt cornered.
Cadal surprised him with a running hug around the middle when he spotted him.
“I know it was you who saved us, sir, not the prince,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
And in that moment, all the desire he’d ever had to be recognized felt greedy and small. He managed a smile, but replied firmly, “It’s Arthur you should thank. He came up with the plan and he was the one who went after you without a second thought. That’s why he’s going to be a great king. Because he’s a good man.”
Cadal turned to look at Arthur in awe. He was down on one knee, pointing another child to her mother and smiling proudly as she scooped her into her arms. He was a mess. His armour was scratched and dull, his hair was matted with drying blood and his cheeks were smudged with dirt and grime. But he had never looked more handsome.
Merlin’s heart swelled the way it did when he could almost see their future laid out before them, of the great kingdom they would build, of the wise and courageous man that Arthur would become. That he already was. And he allowed himself to indulge the bittersweetness of loving him- of knowing that it was both the most painful thing he would ever experience and the most incredible. Knowing that even without entwined destinies, he would have been doomed to fall for Arthur’s toothy grin.
Though he could not see himself, Merlin was sure that looking at Arthur, he and Cadal wore twin expressions of wonder. He just hoped that the night hadn’t ruined everything.
*****
“You talked to Arthur?” Merlin asked as Lancelot settled down next to him.
It was closer to noon now and the villagers were nearly settled back into a rhythm. Merlin still hadn’t spoken to Arthur since the cavern- it was making him anxious. He twisted the edge of his sleeve with his fingers as he waited for an answer.
“Yes,” said Lancelot. “He explained about Gwen. That the two of them didn’t work out.”
“Will you return to Camelot?”
Lancelot shifted uneasily. “I have some affairs to set in order, but. . . if she still wants me, after what I did, I will. I’d like to see her again.”
Merlin nodded. “I think she’d like that too.”
Lancelot bounced his fist on his knee for a moment, then looked at Merlin sideways. “Arthur doesn’t seem in the mood to execute.”
“You haven’t seen how fast his mood can swing,” Merlin joked half-heartedly. Lancelot just frowned at him.
“You don’t seriously believe he would kill you.”
Merlin shrugged. “I guess not. . . I just hope he’ll be able to trust me again.”
“He will,” said Lancelot, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Anyone could see how much you two care for each other. No secret could ever come between that.”
And with that, he left to rejoin Percival.
*****
Merlin dumped a load of kindling in the centre of their campsite. Arthur had interacted with him only enough to tell him they were leaving, then to tell him they were stopping for the night. He was off in the forest now, trying to find a rabbit or a squirrel for Merlin to cook, while Merlin set up camp and started the fire, as was their routine. It was nice, in a way- it allowed him to pretend like nothing was different.
Upon Arthur’s return, however, the fantasy was broken. The prince remained distant and mute, laying out his bedroll in silence and settling himself down while Merlin cleaned and roasted the rabbit he’d caught. It was torture. The unsaid pooled between them.
“I spoke with Lancelot,” Arthur said suddenly from where he sat, back against the tree. Merlin stilled the movement of his hands, which had begun mixing the cooked meat in with the stew. “He told me a bit about what you’ve done for me. Do you want to know what the worst part is?”
“What?” he asked softly.
Arthur seemed entirely focused on ripping up bits of grass as he answered. “It’s entirely impossible to be angry with you.”
Merlin set the stew pot down cautiously, pulse fluttering. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t pretend to be mad about the magic, because it’s clear you’ve saved my life too many times to count with it,” he began, “and then I can’t be upset about the lying either- not only because my father would have your head if he knew, but because-” he swallowed- “I’ve been lying to you too.”
Relief and curiosity warred for dominance in Merlin’s chest. He at once wanted to cry hysterically and also to demand Arthur reveal whatever secret he could have been keeping. He settled for sitting at Arthur’s side and staying quiet for once, letting him take the reins.
Arthur inhaled sharply at his approach but made no move to stop him. His gaze flickered to his mouth and back as he added, “Perhaps less lying, more omitting the truth. . .”
“Arthur.”
He swallowed. “I ended things with Guinevere because I felt guilty.”
Merlin frowned and shook his head, not understanding. “Guilty?”
“For having fallen in love with someone else,” Arthur said, voice hoarse.
Merlin’s heart beat so hard it felt like it could break his ribs. Arthur had twisted his body toward him and their faces were mere inches apart. “Who?” Merlin asked.
Then Arthur sighed dramatically and looked deliberately at his lips. “Come now, Merlin, surely you’re not that thick.”
And then Arthur wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and kissed him. His lips were chapped and steady and Merlin’s spine melted right into his boots. Arthur’s fingers tightened in his hair, uncertain.
Before he could pull away, Merlin pressed back, framing his face with both hands and holding him in place. He shifted over into his lap. Arthur’s other hand grasped his hipbone as he grinned into the kiss, letting Merlin feel the slight crookedness of his teeth beneath his lips, the final reassurance that this was Arthur, that this was perfect, that this was. . .
“Wait,” said Merlin, breaking away. Unable to help himself, he rested his forehead on Arthur’s, whose thumb soothed unconscious circles into his skin. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”
Arthur blinked his eyes open to stare at him incredulously. “What on earth are you on about now?”
Merlin pulled back further, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m supposed to, you know, harbour an unrequited love for you while I watch you become king and marry a queen and everything.”
“That sounds awful,” Arthur laughed. “I’m terribly sorry to ruin your plans, Merlin, but as you should have gathered from the last minute, it’s not so unrequited, is it?”
“And you’re just. . . fine with the magic?”
“No, you’re still in trouble for that. But given recent events, I’m feeling rather lenient.” Arthur smirked and reeled him back in until his words ghosted across Merlin’s lips. “Now, am I ever allowed to kiss you again, or are you just going to come up with more excuses for me not to?”
Who was Merlin to argue with a prince?