Chapter Text
Shit, shit, shit. Merlin is out of breath as he gives the room a quick look around, overlooking the turned bookshelf, the glass table broken to his right, and the curtains thrown wide, daylight pouring. None of it is what he’s looking for.
“Merlin, come on!” Arthur grunts. He has a man pinned to the wall, pressing against him from chest to hip, his left hand clutching both of the man’s against the wall to stop him from fighting back. His right elbow is digging into the man’s neck, preventing him from reaching forward. The position is practiced, done instinctively, but it doesn’t mean it’s not a struggle. “Hurry up, would you?”
“I can’t find it!” Merlin shouts back as he moves to crouch down by the broken table, shoving damp flowers out of the way, turning over the wet remains of a vase.
“What do you mean, you can’t find it?” Arthur yells. “We don’t have time for this!”
“I’m not the one who lost it!” Merlin shoots back, wincing as a sharp piece of glass cuts through his skin when he clutches one of the table’s broken legs. He lifts it up. “Will this do?”
Arthur turns his head the best he can to look at him. “You’re useless,” he says, but is quick to add, “come on, then, what are you waiting for?”
Merlin stumbles upwards towards him, rushing past the ruined remains of a couch as he holds out the piece of wood, only stopping when he reaches them.
It’s the first time since they’ve ambushed the man that Merlin gets a chance to look at him properly. The man has a wild look on his face, a cornered animal struggling to survive, his face pale, marked with stark blotches of red on his cheeks, blood dripping from his mouth. His greasy auburn hair is a mess, and his eyes, wide and aggressive, glow orange. He turns them to Merlin, widening as they take him in.
“Please, Lord-”
“The Lord won’t spare you,” Arthur cuts him off, and with a quick motion, almost gracefully, he grabs the broken table leg out of Merlin’s hand and plunges it into the man’s chest.
The man makes a desperate sound, shaky and incomprehensible, before in one last attempt he bares his teeth as he tries to reach for Arthur, but it’s too late for him. He shudders, body twitching as the glow fades from his eyes. It only takes a moment for his body to go limp in Arthur’s arms. Arthur pulls back, the dead man dropping onto the floor lifelessly, body bending uncomfortably.
Arthur gives another step back, panting as his hands come up to his chest to fix his ruined suit jacket and he lets out a hard sigh when his fingers catch on the large rip at his waist. He looks from it to Merlin. “Suppose you can’t fix this one.”
Merlin looks away from the corpse to his companion, from his flushed face to the mess his fine suit has become. There are large slashes across the front, and Merlin takes a moment to appreciate the fact there’s no blood in sight. Arthur wasn’t hurt, even if his clothes are beyond salvation. Merlin can deal with that.
“You’ve got enough money to replace it,” Merlin says, with a small shrug. “Never liked that one on you anyway.”
Arthur lets out a short laugh, and leans closer, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “So that’s why you picked this one for today.” He shakes Merlin a little and pushes him off lightly, turning around to leave the room. “Come on, we have to get back home in time for dinner.”
Merlin nods, but doesn’t follow him straight away. He lifts the hand that had brought the improvised stake to Arthur, turning it palm up. With two fingers he slowly pulls out the sharp piece of glass buried into the meat of his hand, flinching as he does so. He smooths a thumb over the cut, trying to ease the pain, and inhales slowly, both to gather himself and to brace himself to look at the dead man again.
The body is crumpled up in an awkward position, with his chest turned up, very little blood staining the wood sticking out from it. His chin is pointing upwards at the ceiling, with his face upside down, his eyes dull, hair a dark red curtain spread on the floor. His mouth hangs open, teeth gleaming as they bounce the light coming in from the window, his canines sharp.
He was long dead before Merlin and Arthur got to him.
This is the job Merlin had signed up for a year ago, when he joined the staff at Camelot Abbey: Arthur’s clothes laid out on his bed for him to put on their owner, brand new and pristine, the bath prepared to clean him up before dinner, dressing up the heir of Lord Pendragon. (The ruined jacket, dumped on the floor and kicked into a corner of the room hours ago, was not part of his contract.)
Merlin stands before Arthur, tidying his shirt for him, eyes on Arthur’s neck as he hides it from view, one button at a time. Arthur’s hand comes to the side of it, as he twists his neck to feel it snap into place under his palm. Candlelight illuminates the room, painting Arthur’s neck in a warm glow. Merlin turns away from the sight of his uptilted jaw, and goes to the bed once more to grab his waistcoat.
“It’s a pity we were too late for the poor maid,” Arthur says, as he shifts so Merlin can put the waistcoat on him, sliding it up his arms from his back.
Merlin tenses when he thinks of the dead body they had found on their way to the man they were hunting. She had been lying face down on the floor on the hallway right before the living room they had caught him. He thinks of her pale face, the wounds on the back of her neck deep, barely bleeding. “We stopped him from killing others.”
Arthur closes up the waistcoat himself as he faces his reflection in the mirror, his face drawn. “That won’t bring her back.”
“Neither will dwelling on it,” Merlin reminds him gently. This is his favorite kind of Arthur, and Merlin moves without thinking, hands sliding over his shoulders, to smooth inexistent creases from his waistcoat.
Their eyes meet in the mirror. Merlin indulges himself for a moment, gives them the timespan of Arthur’s deep breath, which he feels in the shift of the shoulders still beneath his hands. Then he breaks away from the sight, hands dropping to his side, and moves away towards the bed again to collect Arthur’s new jacket.
“I suppose you have a point there,” Arthur says, as Merlin helps him into the sleeves of the suit jacket. “Rare as it is.”
“It is rare that you acknowledge it,” Merlin agrees, stepping so he stands on Arthur’s side, to see him button up the suit.
“It’s rare I have reason to,” Arthur glances at him, amused. He brings his hands up, one twisting the cuffling of the other as he looks back at the mirror. “I can retire myself tonight, Merlin. You can have the rest of the evening off.”
“Are you sure?” Merlin asks. “I know for you getting dressed is an arduous task.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Arthur throws him a look, side of his mouth twitching up. He gives himself a last look in the mirror and turns to leave. “Have a good night, Merlin.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Merlin stands still for a moment after Arthur closes the door. A hand comes up to his chest to rub at it, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Then he moves to the large desk by the window, where piles of notes are spread in an unorganized mess. He still has work to do before he can rest.
This is not what Merlin had signed up for when he was hired a year ago: joining up in Pendragon’s hunt, searching Arthur’s papers for clues, sneaking off into the night. The last two are a lie, they’re the very reason he had applied for the position in the first place. They’re just not part of his job description, and very much not why he had been hired.
So this is not what Merlin had been hired for but that he had intended to do all along: stopping at one of the last houses right at the edge of the town belonging to the Camelot estate, knocking on the door and hoping to be welcomed in.
He waits, pulling the hood of his coat a little further up his face, glancing around quickly to make sure the street is empty. A shuffling sound comes from within the house, and then a voice, muffled over. “Who’s this?”
“I-” for all the times he has done this, Merlin never really knows how to answer this part. The wrong answer could give himself away. “Listen, I’m here to help. You’re in danger.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re Gilli, right? Gilli Decen?” Merlin asks the door, and takes the lack of reply as a yes. “It’s about your food supply.”
There’s a long pause after he says that, but Merlin understands the need to think wisely before making a choice like this one. He just wishes it didn’t have to happen while he’s out there for anyone to see. He can’t be traced back to this.
The door opens, just enough for him to see half the face, a wide blue eye, dark hair and a large ear. “You’re… wait, you’re-”
“Yes,” Merlin says, raising his chin. “May I come in?”
“Yeah,” Gilli finally opens the door properly, stepping aside so Merlin can finally get out of the open. “What’s going on?”
Merlin pulls down the hood of his jacket as he looks around the kitchen they’re in, which looks clearly unused. He looks away from the spot clean table to the man who owns it. “You need to leave,” Merlin tells him. “You’re on Pendragon’s watch list.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Gilli says, though his hand closes in a hide fist, unable to hide his tremor. “I’m not running away, I’m not a coward.”
“That’s not the point,” Merlin says, stepping a little closer to him.
“I’m careful with my meals,” Gilli insists. “I follow the code.”
“I know,” Merlin says, eyes on Gilli’s face. “Which is why I’m here. They will kill you if you stay,” he stresses, “and I won’t be able to stop it.”
“Why not?” Gilli asks, raising his voice. “They’re killing us, just for existing. If they come- let them come, and we’ll see what happens then, shall we?”
“Look, I’m trying to help you.”
“So help,” Gilli grabs his wrist. “You could do it. You have an in, you could kill them all, you could end this!”
“It wouldn’t end anything,” Merlin pulls his hand free. “You’d only paint a bigger target on your back. This needs to be handled carefully.”
“And that means running away or dying?”
“For now, yes,” Merlin says. “Look I understand, it’s not fair. But things are changing already, it won’t take much time-”
“Until they stop murdering us indiscriminately?” Gilli speaks over him.
“Yes.” Merlin tells him, with as much confidence as he can. “And in the meantime I’m looking out for those who follow the code. Like I’m doing now with you.”
Gilli is quiet for a moment, shoulders bunching up. “How long do I have?”
“A day, maybe two,” Merlin tells him. “They could be here tomorrow, or next week. You should play it safe.”
“Alright,” Gilli says, his tone without its edge. He sounds defeated. “Alright.”
“Thanks for dinner,” Merlin says, stepping out into the night. The moon is high in the sky, bright enough to illuminate the row of residences that line the path towards Camelot Abbey, and house the married staff of the manor. “Sorry I turned up so late.”
“You’re always welcome, you know that, Merlin,” says Gwen, leaning into the doorframe, one of her hands holding the door open. Lancelot comes up to her side, nodding in agreement before he bites down on an apple.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Merlin turns to his side, head down as he opens his satchel. He pulls out Arthur’s ruined jacket from it, and hands it towards gwen. “Here.”
“Another one?” Gwen takes the jacket, opening it to see the damage. Her eyebrows raise high on her forehead as she dips a finger into the large slash. “I can’t mend this for him.”
“What a pity,” Merlin smiles at her.
“Somehow it’s always his best clothes that get damaged,” she adds, smiling as well. The large slashes across the jacket don’t seem to bother her anymore, as she folds it in half and drapes it over her arm.
“I wonder why,” Merlin says, adding a little hum as if it was truly in question. His smile grows into a grin when faced with Gwen’s wide smile and Lancelot’s amused expression. “I heard you were in need of a new waistcoat,” Merlin adds casually to the latter.
Lancelot smiles at him. “I’ve heard you lack a pair of gloves.”
“I do keep losing them with all this… hunting.”
Lancelot takes another bite off his apple as he gives Merlin a heavy look.
“I know, I know,” Merlin stuff his hands in his jacket pockets, holding it tighter against himself to shield against the chill of the night. “You think I should tell him.”
“It would speed things up,” Lancelot says, with the patience of a man who doesn’t mind reminding Merlin of it often.
“Or destroy the whole thing,” Merlin counters. “Things are better already.”
“You’re still hunting,” Lancelot reminds him.
“I know, but it’s different now,” Merlin says, stepping back. “Look, it’s getting cold and it’s late...”
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Merlin,” Gwen says, hand now on Lancelot’s shoulder.
Lancelot nods. “Sleep well. Things will improve.”
“Yeah,” Merlin starts walking away. “See you tomorrow.”
Another part of the job that Merlin has not signed up for: getting to see Arthur sleep warm in the morning, buried in his pillows, and covered by heavy blankets. The sight had not been the issue itself; Merlin had been hired to wake Arthur each morning. He hadn’t been hired, however, for the swelling of his heart at the sight, not for the stopping by Arthur's bed and swallowing down the urge to tuck Arthur further in, to brush the hair out of Arthur’s forehead so he can gently, feather light, brush his lips to skin. He wouldn’t mind getting paid to do so, but he’s not, so Merlin takes a deep breath, buries his heart in his chest, and does his best to move on.
He places the newspaper on Arthur’s bedside, adds the stack of letters on top of it, and then leaves the bedside to go to the closest wall, opening the heavy drapes to reveal a large window, and beyond it a view to the front of the manor, the long gardens, the wall and gate, and the town on the other side.
“No,” comes from the bed, voice weak, buried into a pillow.
Merlin smiles, still with his back turned to the bed, and prepares for the first fight of the day. “No?”
“If you don’t close that off, Merlin, you’re fired,” Arthur warns him, the sound of rustling sheets accompanying him.
Merlin turns on his feet to face him again, just in time to see the top of Arthur’s head disappear beneath the blankets. “If you don’t get out of bed your father will fire me.”
“That’s a you problem,” Arthur draws out. “Now leave.”
“How about you get up instead?” Merlin moves to the bed, hand curling on the edge of the blanket. “You have work to do. Probably.”
“You should know my schedule,” Arthur replies, holding the blanket as well, tension growing on the fabric between them. “You’re a lousy servant.”
“I know where you’re supposed to be, I just don’t know if what you’re doing is considered work,” Merlin replies. He tugs on the blanket. “Come on, you prat.”
“Merlin, cut it off this instant,” Arthur says, putting some warning into his voice. That’s good, it means he’s waking up.
“How about you drop it before I get you on the floor?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Arthur says quickly, but he seems to reconsider, because he adds “You couldn’t do it.”
Merlin pulls hard on the covers, in a tug war with Arthur, holding him off just enough so that when he lets go, Arthur loses his counterweight, unbalancing him enough that Merlin can get his hands on Arthur’s torso and push him off in the direction Arthur had been pulling.
“Merlin!” Arthur lets out, shocked, as he rolls towards the edge of the bed, clutching at the sheet to spare himself the fall to the ground. “You insolent little-”
“Up and at ‘em, you lazy daisy!” Merlin says loudly, grinning as that’s one task done. He tries to tug the sheets off Arthur’s hold, but it’s not an issue anymore, Arthur is clearly awake by now.
“This is not how a servant is supposed to behave,” Arthur complains as he gets up.
“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to behave either,” Merlin says with a shrug. Leaving the bed to one of Arthur’s closets, he gets a robe out for it and returns to his side. “If you were to behave like a proper lord you'd be reading your mail in bed.”
“And you think I’m not?” Arthur asks, holding out his arm for Merlin.
Merlin helps Arthur get into the extra layer of clothing, and ties the sash around his waist for him. “I think you’re a child.”
Arthur shoves him off with a hand on his shoulder, and moves to sit at the breakfast table he has set up on a corner of the room. Merlin follows along to open the window facing it, illuminating the area.
“I’m expecting your letter of resignation this evening,” Arthur says as he sits down.
“I’ll turn it over once I get my raise.”
Merlin moves back towards the bed, making a face at the state of the sheets. It might be the fastest way to get Arthur out of bed, but it’s also a nightmare to get it all tidied up again. He needs to figure out a more efficient way to take care of both. He grabs the papers he had left on the bedside table, and goes back to Arthur, placing them on the table.
Arthur stops pouring himself his cup of tea and grabs the letter addressed to him by his father. He opens it with the knife Merlin had set aside for butter, and drops the envelope by the slices of bread. Arthur places an elbow on the table, letter open in his hand so he can read it properly.
Merlin goes to fix the sheets as he waits for Arthur to finish and share the letter with him. Coming from Uther it can only mean a change of schedule, either for his estate business or his hunting. As Merlin had snooped into the mail the previous evening, he already knows what’s coming.
“Father says another one was spotted in town,” Arthur comments at last. “A Gilli Decen, have you heard of him?”
“Don’t think so,” Merlin says lightly, lifting the sheets to spread them out over the bed. “Maybe, I’m not sure. Does he work for the baker?”
“Why would I know that?”
“Suppose you wouldn’t,” Merlin shrugs. “What about him?”
“Apparently he was seen collecting blood.”
“Lots of people do that,” Merlin says casually. “Maybe he wanted pudding.”
“Pudding?” Merlin is still not looking at him, but he can picture Arthur’s disgusted face.
“Yeah, or sausages.” Merlin glances at last over his shoulder, to see Arthur looking back at him. “Just doesn’t seem much of a lead, if that’s all there is to it.”
“You’re right,” Arthur sighs, turning back to his breakfast. “I’ll have a word with Father at lunch.”
Merlin had known, when he applied for this position at Camelot Abbey, that he would have to come to be in Uther Pendragon’s presence often, but it’s still hard. Merlin struggles every day to look at the man and show him deference. He pours him wine, to a man who can’t spare him a look, and swallows down the urge to maim him.
“Have you finished business already?” Uther asks his son, unaware of the mercy Merlin is granting him.
“Yes,” Arthur replies. “I’ve visited the Essetir estate as required, Cenred was reluctant to-”
“Not that,” Uther speaks over him, his tone hard. “Arthur, when I assign you a target I expect you to prioritise it above all matters.”
Merlin is standing just at the right height to close his hands around Lord Pendragon's neck. He moves to Arthur’s side, pouring wine for him instead, and tries to meet his eye to show him his support. Arthur isn’t looking at him, eyes furrowed as keeps them on his father.
Merlin moves to serve Lady Morgana, with whom he manages to share a long-suffering look. With that he returns to stand by the wall, next to Gwen, watching the argument with no way of helping out.
“Your assignment wasn’t clear,” Arthur says, looking away from his father at last, so he can cut at his meat.
“It was as clear as required,” Uther says, his voice steel.
“You targeted a man who bought blood,” Arthur insists. “Apparently it’s a thing commoners do.”
“Not human blood, surely,” Lady Morgana looks at him. “Where would one even buy it?”
“Straight from the source, hopefully,” Arthur shares an amused look with her.
“Enough,” Uther cuts them off. “Why would a regular person buy blood?”
“For pudding, it seems,” Arthur says, “and… what was it, Merlin?”
“Sausages,” Merlin chips in from where he stands.
Uther still doesn’t look at Merlin, saving his disdainful look for his son. “And you believe this?”
“Why would he lie?” Arthur asks. “It seems pretty easy to check, in any case. Guinevere?”
“Yes, sir?” Gwen asks.
“Is this true?”
“It is, sir.”
“Thank you.” he turns to his father again. “See?”
“Disgusting,” Lady Morgana makes a face. “Why on Earth would anyone use blood to cook?”
Beside Merlin, Gwen shifts as if she wants to answer, but they both know she’s not part of the conversation anymore. She settles again, glancing at Merlin, who gives her a shrug. The Pendragons never had to get creative with their food supply to make sure there was food on the table.
“Peasants might have given it some purpose, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t others,” Uther says, his tone commanding. “You will visit this… beast, and deal with it as required.”
“Yes, father,” Arthur says, returning to his meal. “First thing after lunch.”
“Make sure that you do.”
The bakery is packed when they arrive, and it is with reluctance that the baker releases Gilli to them when Arthur asks, but it’s not as if he can really deny him. Gilli meets them at the door, looking nervously between Merlin and Arthur, patting his hands on his apron to get his palms rid of flour.
“What can I do you for, sir?” Gilli asks, polite enough.
Merlin wishes Gilli had understood the urgency of Merlin’s warning the previous night, but even he hadn’t expected to visit him this early on. He’s glad he’d spoken on his behalf at breakfast, or this would have taken a harsh turn for the worse. Merlin stands close to Arthur, light on his feet so he can get in front of him if needed. Gilli had, after all, shown some interest in murdering the Pendragons, and Merlin doesn’t want to see when he’s faced with desperation.
“I’m sorry to trouble you during work, Mr Decen. Could you take us to see your home?” Arthur demands, just as polite. “Nothing to worry about, as your landlord I require some routine checks, you understand.”
“Of course,” Gilli says. He leans to look inside the bakery and motions with his hands to explain he’s leaving. With that he opens his arm for Arthur, showing him the way to go. The walk down the street to the edge of town is tense, and Merlin hadn’t been looking forward to repeating it so soon.
“Do you cook much?” Arthur asks, with forced casualness to ease the conversation.
Both Merlin and Gilli know better.
“As much as I require, sir,” Gilli answers, just as casually. “Haven’t got a missus, so I must fend for myself.”
“I see,” Arthur says with a nod. He holds a hand behind his back, in a seemingly unguarded stance. His weapon rests hidden, on the path between his hand and his front.
“Do you enjoy cooking, sire?” Gilli asks.
“Gods, no,” Arthur is quick to answer. “I wouldn’t dare to try.”
“I think I’d pay to see that,” Merlin quips.
Arthur nudges him with an elbow, shooting him an amused look. “But I am most curious about it. What is an easy meal for a man to cook?”
“Oh,” Gilli says as he stops by his porch. He pulls out the keys to his home. “Meat, mostly, I’d say. Couldn’t bake a pie if you paid me to.”
“You work at a bakery.”
“And thank the Lord I’m not in charge of the dough,” Gilli says, giving him a lopsided smile. He unlocks the door, and steps aside. “After you, sir.”
Arthur goes in and Merlin trails after him, after meeting Gilli’s eyes in silence. The kitchen looks different in the daylight, more lived in. Perhaps Gilli did listen to Merlin’s warning after all, as the kitchen is filled with all sorts of food, from the apples in a bowl in the middle of the table to the basket where fresh vegetables are piled up. To the cut bread on the counter and from the open pantry, a stroke of luck: black pudding.
“Sorry for the mess, sir,” Gilli comes in after them both, moving around them to place the bread in the pantry and closing it. “Left in a rush this morning, and I wasn’t expecting company.”
“That’s quite alright,” Arthur says. “Would you mind giving us a tour?”
The house isn’t big enough for a tour, but there is a small bathroom with the bare essentials, a bedroom with an unmade bed, clearly slept in. A small sitting room with two wooden chairs and a table, where a plate filled with crumbs sits beside an open pot of marmalade. It’s all very human.
Arthur nods along as he moves from room to room, and then leads them out of the house to stand on the street again. “Everything seems to be in order here,” he says, as Gilli locks the door behind him. “Do you require company on your way back to work?”
“There’s no need, sire.”
“Again, very sorry to trouble you while you’re on the clock,” Arthur says, and reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket, pulling out a couple of coins. “Here, for your trouble. Do give one to your boss, for the time I took you away from him.”
“Thank you, sire,” Gilli says, voice colored with surprise. His hand closes around the coins.
“Good day, Mr. Decen,” Arthur adds. He looks at Merlin and tilts his head in a quick gesture to call him up.
Merlin turns to glance at Gilli one last time as they walk away from him, his heart still hammering in his chest. Gilli seems to be just as shocked, standing still as he watches them go.
Merlin can’t help but grin as he catches up to Arthur, bumping their shoulders together. This is what he means, when he insists things are getting better. Merlin remembers those first months of his employment at Camelot Abbey, before he was let in on the secret agenda of the House. Arthur disappeared into the night at his father’s command, returning battered and with bloodied clothes for Merlin to clean. He remembers putting pastes on Arthur’s bruises and cuts, pretending to believe his excuses for his wounds, for the clothes that disappeared, too damaged for a believable excuse.
He remembers the way Arthur always looked the following days, drained and battered, having gone hunting on his own. He remembers his own impatience, up until he was finally brought into the fold, trusted enough to know the work the Pendragons did in secret, alongside other Houses across the country.
He hadn't expected to feel for Arthur when he saw him hurt, but he did know how hard he’d have to work to change his mind, how patient he’d have to be. That’s what Lancelot doesn’t see, he’s not there when Arthur questions the orders he’s given when before he followed them blindly, that now he takes his time to validate the claims, that Merlin now has time and intel to warn enough victims of their predators, and no one who follows the code falls to Arthur’s hands.
Said man now puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, as they approach the gates to the manor. “Good thinking with the sausages, Merlin,” Arthur says, in good spirits. “Sometimes, you’re surprisingly insightful.”
“I beg you to warn me before you do this next time,” Merlin says, smiling back at him. “I’m not used to your praise.”
Arthur shakes his shoulder with a firm grip before shoving him off. “That’s enough from you. Can’t you take a compliment like a well bred man, or is that too much to ask?”
“My deepest thanks for your flattery, my liege,” Merlin says, in the most fake serious tone he can manage, and punctuates it with a bow. “I am unworthy.”
Arthur snorts, pleased. “That you are.”
Here’s another thing that is better now than it was a year ago. Merlin had heard of Arthur, as anyone invested in this cause would. Arthur Pendragon, trained to kill since birth, unmatched in a fight, with no mercy for his prey. But Arthur’s just, too, when he’s informed before passing judgment. He’s honorable, which was unexpected. He’s an arrogant prat, yes, but most of all he believes in protecting those who are weaker than him and that’s… well. Merlin just knows life is better with that knowledge. With Arthur ruffling his hair and calling him names, as well as shielding him from harm and saving him the good scones on occasion.
“Who’s that?” Arthur asks with a frown, face tilted up as they see a man climbing the wall. “Who’s there?” he calls out.
The man swoops up to sit on the wall, with a leg thrown on either side, and flips his hair over his shoulder with a turn of his head, grinning down at them. “Just who I was looking for!”
“Just what I needed,” Arthur mutters.
“Gwaine!” Merlin grins, raising an arm to wave at him as he speeds up his pace to come up at the gate, to look up at his friend.
“What are you doing over there?” Arthur asks. “We have doors.”
“Yeah, but no one was opening them for me,” Gwaine replies, jumping down to stand beside them. “And I wanted to visit my buddy Merlin. Got a problem with that, princess?”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that,” Arthur moves to unlock the gate. “And as a matter of fact, I do. Merlin has plenty to do today.”
Merlin turns to him with a slight frown. “Do I?”
Arthur pauses, eyes moving over Merlin’s face, before he sighs loudly, looking away. “Our last appointment has been cleared quicker than expected. Never say I don’t give you time off.”
Merlin grins at him, a hand squeezing Arthur’s arm for a moment, before he turns to Gwaine, who’s grinning back at them.
Arthur leaves them with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to hear about whatever trouble you get into, and don’t expect me to bail you out!”
“You’re no fun!” Gwaine calls out with a laugh, still grinning when he looks back at Merlin. “I brought a little wine for us,” he tells him, opening his jacket to reveal his hidden treasures. “Thought we could catch up. Wanna grab a bite?”
Merlin bumps his shoulder into Gwaine’s. “Let’s hit the kitchen first to get some food then. With any luck Cook is on her break.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
To Gwaine’s delight Cook is in fact not on break, which means they have to work a way around her, but it’s not the first time they’ve done it. Gwaine gets inside the kitchen first, to get Cook’s attention and distract her with some chatter. Meanwhile Merlin sneaks inside, crouched down as he walks through the cupboards until his arms are full. Gwen winks at him as she slides him some mince pies, and then Merlin tiptoes his way out. Once outside, Gwaine catches up to him and takes half the load, so they hurry back to Merlin’s room before someone stops them to ask where all the food came from.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” Merlin asks, as he lays their feats on the small desk he has in his room.
Gwaine pops open the first bottle. “Ah you know me, Merlin,” he says, throwing the cork in the air and catching it again. “I’ve got the odd job here and there. Figured it has been too long since I visited you.”
“Yeah, it’s been.. Three months, I think?” Merlin replies sitting down on the bed.
Gwaine flops down next to him, making Merlin bounce a little on the mattress. “Yeah, and did you manage to get drunk while I was gone?”
“You know I didn’t,” Merlin answers, watching him take a large swing of the wine.
“That’s what happens when you only keep friends in the likes of Lancelot,” Gwaine says, lifting the bottle to drink again. “But don’t you worry, I came prepared.”
“I figured,” Merlin grins again, heart warm. It really has been too long since they’ve last met.
The knock on Merlin’s door comes unexpected, and Merlin lifts his head in panic as he hears the voice coming from the other side.
“Merlin?” Arthur says, the door handle twisting as he opens the door Merlin forgot to lock. He leans into the room “I know I said you could-”
He stops, eyes widening as he takes them in. Gwaine is laying on the bed on his back, with Merlin on his side, facing him, facing the door, holding Gwaine’s arm close to his chest. Gwaine’s wrist, wounded and bloodied, and Merlin’s mouth, dripping red.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, dropping Gwaine’s hand and rubbing the back of his own over his mouth, blood wetting his hand and the end of his sleeve. “Arthur, wait.”
“Shit,” Gwaine sits up, using a hand on the bed to prop himself up.
“You’re…” Arthur seems lost for a moment, looking between them, and then everything seems to click, everything changes. He moves into the room, his hand coming up to his own waist. Arthur snarls, the word not spoken but spat out, “ Vampire .”
He moves fast, as fast as Merlin has seen him in a hunt, striding over, stake in hand as he comes around the bed towards Merlin.
“Arthur, wait!” Merlin pleads again, lifting his open hands in a show of peace.
“Don’t you dare,” Gwaine leans over Merlin, covering his chest with his own back as he spreads his arms. His wrist is still bleeding. “One more step and I’ll make sure it’s your last.”
“Move out of the way, don’t you see what he’s done to you?” Arthur lets out loudly, his eyes wild. “You were lucky I came in, or you’d be a dried out body before-”
“Please, I'm so soaked in wine, a desert wouldn’t dry me out,” Gwaine says, with a dozy grin. He wasn’t supposed to move this much, and he had drank a lot just before, trying to prove his ridiculous theory. Merlin shouldn’t have indulged him on it. He can still taste Gwaine's blood in his mouth, and he swallows around it as he places his hands on Gwaine’s shoulder, guiding him to lie down again.
“Stop, cover your wrist, it’s still bleeding.”
“Yeah, that’s probably not good,” Gwaine agrees, lifting the end of his shirt to wrap around his wrist.
Merlin barely has time to turn before he’s being lifted up, pinned against the wall. He hits the back of his head on the hard stone, and doesn’t have time to wince before Arthur’s hip is pressing sideways into his own, a leg between Merlin’s, his forearm digging hard into Merlin’s chest to hold him against the wall. He hisses, wanting to touch the back of his head, but that’s nothing to the tip of the wooden stake that rests over his heart, ready to plunge.
“Arthur,” Merlin says again, his voice shaking. He knows he makes a bad case for himself, with his mouth red, teeth stained, with Gwaine still bleeding out. “Please, you don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand?” Arthur lets out, outraged. “You’re… Merlin, I don’t…”
“Told you… told you to leave him alone,” Gwaine says, slurring slightly. He falls down on the bed as he tries to get up.
“Just let me help Gwaine,” Merlin says, trying to keep his tone even, reasonable, ignoring the hammering of his heart. Gwaine slumps against the headboard of the bed as he tries to get up, and his wrist is still bleeding.
“Haven’t you done enough? Look at him,” Arthur breathes hard, close enough for Merlin to feel it against his own mouth. Arthur must be able to taste the iron tang of Merlin’s breath.
“You interrupted us,” Merlin tells him. “Just let me get him some food.”
“Move and I’ll kill you,” Arthur says, pulling back. “I’ll get it.”
Merlin waits impatiently, holding himself against the wall as Arthur walks slowly towards the small desk, backwards so he doesn’t lose sight of Merlin. He grabs a loaf of bread and throws it at the bed.
“Cheers, mate,” Gwaine says, sitting up to grab at the bread. He looks between the two of them, and holds out his wrist towards Merlin. “Here.”
“Are you mad?” Arthur rushes closer again. “Don’t-”
“Shut it, princess,” Gwaine says. “I know what I’m doing.”
Merlin moves slowly then, sliding against the wall until he bumps into the bed. He tries to ignore the way Arthur grips at the stake as he sits down by Gwaine’s side.
“Don’t worry,” Merlin says, grabbing Gwaine’s wrist with care. He lifts it slowly, eyes on Arthur’s. “I’m not going to hurt him, I give you my word. If I hurt him you can put me down, I won’t fight.”
His eyes are still on Arthur’s as he places his mouth on Gwaine’s wrist, and the rush he feels at the two different senses playing at him are unexpected. He ignores it the best he can as he drags his tongue over Gwaine’s skin, slowly as he covers the two puncture marks, watching Arthur pant the entire time. He lifts his head again, and turns Gwaine’s wrist so Arthur can see as the two small wounds slowly close up until they fade away, leaving pink bruises behind. Merlin presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, sucking at the remains of blood, before he swallows it down.
Arthur looks away from Merlin’s face at last, to see the healed wrist for himself. His breath is labored, Arthur’s face twisted into some unknown expression. He gives a step forward, closer to the bed, shoulders rising. Then he turns leaving the room as quickly as he had gotten in before, the door closing loudly behind him.
“That went well,” Gwaine says around a mouthful of bread. “Can you get me some wine?”
“This is a stupid idea,” Gwaine says again, an hour later, as Merlin stops before the door to Arthur’s room. “He’s going to try to kill you.”
“I need to speak to him,” Merlin tells him again, trying to slow down his erratic heart. “And I don’t think he will.”
“You’re all packed up, we can just go now and make sure you getting killed isn’t a possible outcome of this evening,” Gwaine insists.
“Gwaine,” Merlin looks down at his feet. “I have to do this.”
Gwaine crosses his arms, posture tense. “Yell if he makes any move. I’ll burst in and kick his ass.”
Merlin gives him a tense smile, and turns back to face the door. He takes a deep breath, his heart racing up his throat, and knocks before he lets Gwaine change his mind.
He can hear people speaking from inside the room, the sound faded, and then footsteps coming closer to the door before it opens, revealing Lancelot to him, who looks surprised to see him there. “Merlin,” he says, quickly glancing back inside the room. “Arthur said you were unavailable, he asked me to stand up for you this evening, is everything alright? Should I tell him you’re here?”
“Well,” Merlin gives him a tight smile. “Could you not? I just need a word alone with him.”
Lancelot looks over his shoulder inside the room again, and then turns to Merlin again, giving him a quick nod. “I won’t tell him,” Lancelot gives him a wink, and opens the door further so he can leave. Dear Lancelot and his immense trust in Merlin. He turns, unable to conceal his shock when he sees Gwaine there as well, and gives Merlin a questioning look as he lets him pass.
Merlin answers with a small shrug and the best smile he can muster, and then he’s stepping into Arthur’s room once more.
“Who is it, Lancelot?” Arthur asks, still not in sight.
Merlin moves further into the room, to see Arthur look into his own wardrobe, his back turned to Merlin. Merlin inhales quietly, giving himself a moment to memorise the sight. Arthur is casually dressed as he prepares for the evening meal, with a half buttoned white shirt, untucked from his high waisted brown trousers. He’s barefoot, and his shirt is still rolled up to his elbows, something Merlin won’t get to help him with again.
Was it this morning that he held his open hand to Merlin’s stomach after closing the buttons of his waistcoat? Was it really so recently that he moved into Arthur’s space, mocking him as he helped him roll up the sleeves, tuck them in so they wouldn’t fall down to his wrists during the day? Was it really the last time he got to hold his thumb to the soft skin of the inside of Arthur’s elbow, and share a moment of breathless eye contact with him? He didn’t savour it enough when it happened, comforted with the misled notion that it wouldn’t be the last time.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, doing his best to hide the tremor of his voice.
He sees Arthur’s shoulders hunch, tense, still for less than a second before he has a weapon in hand pointing it at Merlin.
“What are you doing here,” Arthur doesn’t quite ask, almost baring his teeth at him. “Don’t you dare come closer.”
Merlin holds his hands up again, and moves backwards until he feels the door against his shoulder blades. “I just want to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you. You’re… you’re a monster,” Arthur spats out.
Merlin swallows the hurt. “Kill me, then.”
“What?” Arthur looks taken aback.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I won’t fight you.” Merlin holds eye contact the best he can. “I just need to speak to you, and then I’ll leave. You won’t see me again.”
“Why would- Is this some sort of trick?” Arthur gives a step closer, dagger still held at shoulder height, still aimed at Merlin. “Want me to come closer so you can kill me?”
“I’ve been dragging you out of bed for a year. I’ve been feeding you for just as long, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“What do you want then?” Arthur asks, raising his voice.
“I just want you to listen,” Merlin says again. “I want you to understand.”
“So do I,” Arthur lets out an empty laugh. “But I don’t think you can give me any understanding.”
“Let me try,” Merlin asks. “Just a few minutes.”
Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, exhaling loudly, mouth closed tightly as he sounders this. Then he squares his shoulders up and gives Merlin a tight nod.
“Okay,” Merlin says, holding back a relieved sigh. His heart hasn’t slowed down at all, it only seems to have sped up over his unexpected outcome. “Alright. So.”
“Get on with it, Merlin,” Arthur says, a mockery of their usual banter, lacking the feeling needed to make it playful.
“Right,” Merlin nods as he speaks, trying to remember what exactly he needs to say. “I’m a vampire.”
“I’ve gathered as much,” Arthur sneers at him. “Did this happen during one of our hunts?”
“No, I’ve always been like this,” Merlin says.
Arthur’s upper lip curls in an ugly expression, but he doesn’t add anything else.
“The Pendragons are famous for hunting down my kind,” Merlin says. “Of all the Houses, your father… you’re massacrating us. You give no mercy, we-”
“You deserve no mercy,” Arthur shoots back. “The bodies we’ve found, do you think we do this for fun? I go out there to prevent others from suffering at the hands of you.”
“You’re judging as all for the actions of a few,” Merlin insists. “I’ve never killed anyone, not to feed myself, not to feed anyone. We have a code.”
Arthur snorts. “A code?” he asks. “You expect me to believe you have any sort of honour when you’ve spent this entire year deceiving me? I gave you a home, security, and all the while you were scheming my destruction.”
“Not yours, Arthur, you know me,” Merlin tries again, against the wavering of his voice. “You know me, that’s not what I want.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Arthur holds up the dagger again, having realized he had lowered it during the conversation. “And I won’t be fooled by you again. Leave, or I’ll put you in the grave where you belong.”
“Arthur, please-”
“LEAVE!” Arthur yells, the hand holding the dagger shaking.
Merlin does as he’s told one last time, He turns, fumbling with the door handle before he manages to open it. He glances over his shoulder at Arthur one last, the shakiness of his shoulders, the tight expression on his face, and Merlin closes his eyes, moving outside and shutting the door behind him.
“Are you alright?” Lancelot asks, as he and Gwaine come up to him.
“We can go now,” Merlin says, his voice breaking just at the end. A loud crash is heard from inside the room, making him flinch. “Can we go?”
“Of course,” Gwaine grabs his elbow. He shares a look with Lancelot over Merlin’s shoulder, and they walk out together, each step taking Merlin further away from Arthur.
“I’ve packed you some jerky,” Gwen says, her voice shaky, as she places a wrapped package in Merlin’s arms. “And here, your gloves. So you won’t get cold.”
“Gwen,” Merlin says gently, holding it up to his chest.
“And I added one of Lance’s jackets,” she continues. “He won’t mind, I can get him a new one.”
“I don’t mind,” Lancelot confirms, holding her to his side, his eyes on Merlin.
“There’s some honey bread in there as well,” Gwen continues. Her eyes are getting redder, and Merlin feels lost as he looks at his two friends. “And there’s a pouch with some hard biscuits…”
“I’ll write every week,” Merlin says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Whenever we stop for a while, you’ll get an address to write to us, yeah? You too, Lance.”
“You really must,” Lancelot says, putting a hand over Merlin’s. “Keep us updated. And we’ll return the favour.”
“Be careful,” Gwen adds, and then she’s pulling him into a hug.
Merlin leans into her hold, smiling, his own eyes tearful as Lancelot moves in and Merlin finds himself engulfed by them both. He clutches at them, sinking into their warmth, before he pulls back, sniffling loudly. “We’ll visit.”
“Don’t you dare!” Gwen shuts him down fast. “You can’t risk coming here again, we won’t put you through that.”
“Maybe in a few months we can come by undercover,” Merlin insists. “And you two will get some days off, yeah? We’ll meet again.”
Merlin regrets pushing the point, because now Gwen is really crying. Lancelot moves to hold her against his chest, looking heartbroken. Merlin takes one of Gwen’s hands between his own, squeezing it. “I swear it, I swear to you both.”
“We’ll stay in contact, meet in another town,” Lancelot says. “This isn’t the end.”
Merlin nods, doing his best to hold back his own tears. He steps back from them, looking away to wonder at the number of bags Gwen prepared for him, and that Gwaine is carrying out of Gwen’s and Lancelot’s home. Merlin goes to help, blinking the tears again. When they finish they split the weight between the two of them, and Merlin turns to the house again, smiling at his friends. “You’ll hear from me soon enough, you won’t even have time to miss me!”
Gwen laughs, smiling back at him through her tears, her fingers rubbing at her cheeks to dry them up. “You’re wrong.”
“I’ll send so many letters you’ll give up on reading them and use them only as kindling!” Merlin insists, with a smile that hurts.
“That’d be a waste of paper!” Gwen replies.
Merlin gives a wet laugh, and waves at them, walking away before his feet fail on him.
Gwaine bumps his shoulder on Merlin’s, making the two of them stumble over the weight they carry, and gives him a concerned look, eyebrows pulled together. “If you ask me, you’re getting an upgrade,” Gwaine says, in a too cheery tone. “No more stuffy Arthur bossing you around, instead you have me, your dearest friend in the world, and the entire country to explore!”
Merlin smiles back, touched, but he can’t help himself. He looks away from Gwaine to glance over his shoulder at the mansion. The sun is setting in the distance, the clouded sky a dim orange, casting wide shadows from the manor over the path they thread on. He imagines he sees the curtain from Arthur’s room moving, but he’s too far away to tell.
"I'm very glad you stopped by for a visit," Hunith says, caressing her son’s cheek, her thumb rounding his grin. "It has been too long since I've seen my boy."
"Mum," Merlin says, only half meaning his embarrassed tone.
Gwaine swoops an arm around Merlin's shoulders, pressing their cheeks together to look at Merlin's mother. "How about me? Did you miss me too?"
Hunith laughs, charmed as always by his friend. "I'm very glad you've been such a good companion to my son."
"The best!" Gwaine calls out.
Merlin shares a look with his mother, and they both smile. It's been a little over a month since they left Camelot Abbey, and Merlin was glad their first fixed stop had been in Ealdor. It has been over an year and half since he had last seen his mother, and he hadn't realized how much he had missed her until he saw her again.
He and Gwaine have decided to stay for a week, at minimum, while Gwaine reaches out for his contacts to see where they can find work for the both of them. It's good to take a break at home, where he and Gwaine can help patch up Hunith's place, lend a hand to her tasks and household, and get a chance to breathe properly ever since Arthur caught them.
It's also good to have his mother there, whenever he thinks of Arthur and feels his chest squeeze tight, with no room to breathe. She lets him wander into whatever room she's in and sets him up with something to busy his hands with, and as they work in silence his chest expands again and he manages.
"Will you tell me what happened?" Hunith asks, ten days after they settled in her home.
Merlin keeps slicing the carrots with the knife Gwaine had sharpened the day before. He doesn't need much strength for it to cut through the orange, for the carrot to crack under the sharp edge, the sound of the knife hitting the board a pattern to lull Merlin into a space where he doesn't really have to think. He hesitates, eyes on the task as he thinks of what to say. He doesn't want to worry his mother, who won't be happy to learn that the most prominent hunting family knows what he is, but what lie could he tell her?"
"Arthur found out," Merlin says, "he didn't really try to kill me, I had time to leave on my own."
Hunith is quiet for a moment, as she moves from the counter to the boiling pot, using the edge of her knife to push the sliced pumpkin into the water. "Do you think he'll come after you?"
"I don't think so," Merlin says. "I wouldn't have come here otherwise, I wouldn't risk you like that."
"I wish you didn't risk yourself," Hunith replies.
"I know," Merlin says, grabbing another carrot. "But I think if he wanted to kill me he would have done it there. Maybe... maybe this can be a good thing."
Hunith turns to him to raise an eyebrow at him in silence.
"He could have killed me but he didn't," Merlin says. "He let me go. If everything was the same as before, if he had been the same man I had met a year go... then he wouldn't have done that. Do you think he could in good conscience let someone like me just go?"
"Merlin," Hunith puts down her cutting board to place a hand on his lower back.
"A monster who could be out there killing people-"
"You're not a monster, love," Hunith says gently, with a sad ring to it. It's not the first time she’s felt the need to tell him that.
Merlin inhales shakily, and gives her a nod. "If he thinks it's okay to let me go... then he can think it's okay to let others go. Maybe... maybe he can see that we're people as well."
Hunith smiles at him, hand leaving his back to touch lightly at his hair. "The most wonderful of people."
"You're biased."
"And Arthur isn't?" she asks.
Merlin can feel some heat on his face. "We weren't- that wasn't... we weren't like that."
"Merlin, you wrote to me about him often," Hunith says, carefully.
"Yeah, well, it was him all day long, wasn't it?" Merlin says, his voice a little higher, lighter. "Didn't have much else to write about."
"Even from your letters I could tell he cares for you," Hunith continues. "I know he needs you."
"He's not getting me, not unless he gets alright with... with all of this," Merlin says. "There's no going back now."
Hunith pets his hair a little more, and then nods, returning to her counter. "Well. Maybe you're right. What will you do with that?"
Merlin shrugs. He picks up a new carrot. "I don't know, I can't do much with them now. I don't think I can do the same with another House, Arthur is in communication with them often, they'd know who I am and ask Arthur why I was let go."
"Good," Hunith says, "I don't like the thought of you in the middle of all that danger."
"You know I can't stop," Merlin says. "I've got to help. Kilgharrah said..."
"I don't care what that old loony said," Hunith interrupts him. "Just because he bit your father-"
"We owe him a lot," Merlin says, "you know we do. And even if we didn't, I want things to get better. I want... I want us to be free."
"I do too, Merlin," Hunith sighs, "I just wish someone else would take that responsibility off your shoulders."
Merlin quiets down at that, and adds the carrots to the stew. He knows he could stay right where he is, stay with his mum and let Gwaine move on with his life. She'd find work for him somewhere and he could have a quiet, peaceful life. But he knows what happens to those who don't get to run away like him, he knows he'd keep living in fear, so he has to do something. He can't keep still.
"I'm visiting Kilgharrah tomorrow," Merlin says. "Just to hear what he has to say. I'm not staying with him."
"Good," Hunith says with some strength. "He's dangerous. I don't want you there more than you have to be."
Kilgharrah lives in an actual cave in the middle of the woods, which is probably the saddest thing about him. Merlin has the feeling he's the only one who visits the old vampire, the closest thing to a friend Kilgharrah has since Merlin’s father, but that's still not as sad as the damp cave, long and dark echoing every step Merlin takes further in.
He finds Kilgharrah in a large opening deep in the cave, with candles lighting the area. At least in this area there is some furniture, the ground layered with long carpets. Kilgharrah sits in an armchair, smoke coming off his cigarette. "Ah, young Merlin," he says.
Kilgharrah's been calling him that since he first visited Hunith when Merlin was a babe, and he only really still gets away with it now because he's centuries old. Merlin has figured as much from the occasional comment Kilgharrah has made, but nothing he's said has ever set a limit to his existence. Merlin has the odd suspicion Kilgharrah is one of the originals.
"Hey," Merlin says, coming around to find a chair for himself. Kilgharrah hasn't made his cave exactly friendly towards guests, so Merlin has to drag a footstool closer to the armchair, and sits down facing the elder vampire. "How have you been?"
"I'm tired, Merlin,” Kilgharrah sighs, smoke pouring out of his mouth, his nostrils. He shakes his head and takes another drag. "What has brought you over? Last I heard you were in Camelot."
"Yeah, got fired," Merlin says with a shrug. "It... the job wasn't really for me."
"Yes, you're not exactly the type to set out as a spy," Kilgharrah comments, with an amused laugh, "as I told you before your endeavour."
"I wasn't a spy," Merlin tells him. "I was... I was a change in the system."
"And how did that work out for you?" Kilgharrah asks, raising his eyebrows.
Merlin shrugs again, looking down at his hands. He's tired of answering that question and having everyone doubt his answer.
"Very well," Kilgharrah continues, nonplussed. "I suppose as you're not a spy, you won't reveal inside information regarding the workings of the Pendragons?"
Merlin shifts his weight in the stool, not meeting his eye. "I didn't say that."
"Then I'm all ears," Kilgharrah grins with sharp teeth, gleaming in the candlelight.