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Merlin gasped, feeling the rush of cold wash over him, and tried not to choke on the water splashing down his throat without warning. He coughed, spluttering. “W-Wh—” 

He recognized, distantly, an ache in his arms and legs, and did his best to blink through the water flowing from his hair into his eyes. What the hell is going on? 

“Wakey wakey,” a slimy voice said from in front of him, the most disgusting gravelly laugh to accompany it. As Merlin’s vision cleared, he saw a man’s face, bald and scarred, loom closer. 

Oh, he recognized that face. He was—

“Let us go, you worthless bandit,” Elyan growled, spitting at the man’s feet.

The man laughed. “Bandit? My name is Boris. But perhaps you recognize me better by my other name: The Highway Hitman.”

The Highway Hitman. They’d heard of him alright, and how embarrassing that they were on this mission solely to capture him for his crimes. But they had been bested just like everyone else.

“What is it that you want from us?” Arthur asked, face stoic and calm. “What is your goal in capturing us?”

Boris paced the space in front of them, twirling his knife around his finger. “A little birdy told me that correspondence from allied kingdoms carrying sensitive information will use a code word. This code word is good for a lot of things, you see. It grants you access to a lot of valuable places.” He smiled, and Merlin almost shuddered at the grime in it.

Arthur shook his head. “I would never betray the secrets entrusted to me. And none of my knights know anything about it.”

“Even if we did,” Percival spat, blood from an injury Merlin wasn’t awake to witness flowing from the corners of his mouth, “we would never jeopardize this kingdom and its allies. We would die first.”

No, no, you idiot, Merlin thought, resisting the urge to groan. Why do they always say that? Why do they always put death and their own self together in the enemy’s head?

As Merlin expected, Boris grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He stopped twirling his knife, surveying all the men bound and helpless at his mercy. “Who would like to go first?”

Gwaine lifted his chin. “I—”

But Arthur cut off what was sure to be a scathing remark and said, “Leave them alone. This has nothing to do with them. This is about information you want from me.” 

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. For someone who loved to remind Merlin he was the king, he sure did love to forget it himself. Camelot, the knights, Merlin… they needed him, damnit, and didn’t he realize what was happening here? He could never survive this. Didn’t he know what Boris was planning to do with that knife?

Flaying was one of the most gruesome ways to go, and yet Arthur hung there with a steeled face, nodding minutely to where Gwaine looked stricken across from him. 

Merlin felt the prick of tears in his eyes. How far was he willing to let this go to preserve himself?

He cut a look at Lancelot, who was already staring back at him. He could see the decision in Merlin’s eyes clearly, and shook his head. Don’t do it, Merlin, it communicated. If they could actually converse, he knew what Lance would say. He’d say that they’d find some other way to get out of it, that there’s no possible way Merlin could do magic and hide it here in this state, that Arthur was trained to withstand this and he could handle it.

Merlin took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself as Boris pressed a knife into Arthur’s neck, just enough to let a single drop of blood roll down the long expanse of skin. 

Merlin was not calm. His breaths were coming too quick, and he glanced frantically at Lancelot, looking for warm brown eyes to ground him, but Lancelot couldn’t look either. He was staring at the floor.

Merlin looked at Arthur, at his eyes squeezed shut, and the knife made a swift slice downward and Arthur yelled and Merlin, he couldn’t do it any longer.

The knife flung from Boris’s grasp to slide across the floor and he roared, a sound guttural and animalistic and hardly recognizable as his own. Merlin looked to Arthur, to his neck, and he was so relieved to see that the knife didn’t get as far as it could have, that Arthur still had the skin, as ripped and cut-up as it was right now. But he was bleeding, oh god, was he bleeding. 

“Sorcerer.” Boris’s lip curled up in disdain. He looked to Merlin, gave him a once over, and then bizarrely, his eyes flickered to the knights, as if waiting for one of them to present themselves as the magic-wielder. 

Well, there was an advantage to being constantly underestimated. They always overlook what’s right in front of them.

Merlin smiled. “You guessed it.” 

He doused the manacles in his magic and ripped his wrists from their grasp, letting them clank to the floor, and dropped with grace, like a cat from its favorite perch. He stalked closer. Boris froze in place.

“Magic is an evil disease of the soul,” he sneered. “A dangerous—” 

Merlin stepped closer, face calm, but his blood simmered beneath the surface. With each step he took, the man was pushed farther away from Arthur and nearer to the wall opposite. “Do not talk to me about dangerous,” he said in a deadly voice. Boris slammed against the wall, groaning, and Merlin reached out with his magic to slink the rope on the table forward and up his body. He wrapped him tight and immobile, just like he had been moments ago. 

“Magic,” he said, “is not dangerous. People are dangerous.” 

Boris shrunk against the wall as much as he was able, and Merlin picked up the knife from where it lay conveniently at his feet. He pressed the tip of the blade to his neck, just as Boris had done to Arthur. “Let’s take you, for example. A virtually powerless, pathetic excuse for a man, and here you are, trying to torture my friends. No, magic isn’t dangerous, but if you touch my friends ever again, I sure as hell will be.” 

Merlin breathed heavily through his anger and fear until Arthur said, softly, “Merlin.”

Merlin dropped the knife. 

He stared in horror at Boris, at the knife, at his own hands, and what he’d almost just done. Had he really almost just killed a man?

But it wouldn’t be the first time.

He turned to look at Arthur, and knew instantly what he’d never admit out loud.

For him, it wouldn’t be the last. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, very softly, his body slumped and weakening but his eyes deep and blazing. Come back, they said. 

Merlin shook his head and ran to him, letting his magic undo the manacles in his wrists and ankles and going straight for the injury at his neck. As Arthur dropped to his feet, Merlin steadied him, leaning him gently against the wall. “Are you okay?” He asked, looking him over frantically, framing his face in his hands.

“I’m— Merlin—”

“Oh, Gods, Arthur— don’t worry.” When Arthur tried to speak, he shushed him again. “Don’t worry, I’ll— I’ll take care of everything.” He gently pressed the mangled skin back over the wound and focused, trying not to let his eyes tear, feeling the heat flowing from his body and into Arthur’s own. Tendrils of light swirled around his neck, and when Merlin lifted it again, it was like it had never happened. 

Arthur stared at Merlin with eyes wider than he’d ever seen them and, without breaking eye contact, reached a trembling hand to his neck. When he found it healed and painless, he released a shaky breath.

Despite his efforts, a tear slipped down Merlin’s cheek. 

A cough came from across the room, and he swiveled to see Lancelot with his eyebrows raised with shock, but looking expectant still, and Merlin kicked himself mentally.

“Sorry,” he told him, waved a hand, and let them all free. The clanking of metal against the stone floor filled the silence, and he surveyed the room, trying to see how bad it was. If he’d have to flee immediately once he made sure Arthur was safe and sound, or if he could at least stay the night.

There wasn’t as much disgust or loathing on their faces as he’d pictured, but rather, just complete and utter shock. He supposed they would find it rather unusual, him with magic. And of all ways to find out…

“Well, that was rather dramatic,” Gwaine finished for him, lighthearted as ever, but Merlin could see right through it, how carefully crafted it was to mask his unease. 

“Quite,” Lancelot said, bless him, laughing nervously.

Elyan, Leon, and Percival stared at him, jaw slack and eyes wide. After a full minute of awkward staring, he turned to Arthur. “Alright?” He asked, and at Arthur’s slightest, flabbergasted nod, tugged him out of the building and into the fresh air, knights following.

***

Once outside, he tried to stride forward quickly into the forest, eager to get away from, well, everything. But Lancelot stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Easy, Merlin,” he said soothingly. “Hold on for a moment. We came here for a mission. You’ve got the Highway Hitman all tied up in there— let’s bring him back to Camelot for trial.”

Merlin nearly scoffed. He tried to flay the King. There would be no trial.

“Yes,” Leon said firmly. “Percival, come with me, and we’ll bring him out. Elyan, bring a horse around for him.”

Percival and Elyan followed without complaint, too blind-sided to argue, and then Merlin and Arthur were left alone with Gwaine and Lancelot. 

“So, Merlin,” Gwaine started, sidling up to him jovially, “I mean this in the best way possible, and truly cannot stress it enough: what the fuck? ”

Lancelot didn’t even bother trying to stifle his laugh, which earned a sharp look from Arthur, who Merlin noticed had been startlingly quiet this whole time. 

“You don’t seem very shocked by this, Lancelot.”

Lancelot immediately ceased laughter. “No, sire.”

Arthur turned, narrowed his eyes. “And why might that be?”

“Well,” Gwaine said with a heavy sigh, flipping his hair out of his face, “obviously Merlin here has been playing favorites.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed dangerously further, until they were just two slits, spewing violence. Merlin chuckled nervously and then stopped abruptly to throw a look to Gwaine. 

“Not. Helping,” he grit.

“He’s my manservant,” Arthur said.

Lancelot nodded, accepting his fate. “Yes, sire.”

Gwaine, as always, butted in unhelpfully. “Well, he’s my lover, but you don’t see me—”

“He’s what?” Arthur exploded.

Merlin put his hands through his hair, tugging in frustration. “Oh, my gods, Gwaine! No,” he said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture towards Arthur, “I am not—” 

“Well, not yet,” Gwaine said, winking.

“ Gwaine,” Lancelot, Merlin, and Arthur growled in unison.

Gwaine was unfazed. “Don’t worry, Princess,” he said, untying his cape from his neck, “he still loves you best—”

“Holy shit,” Merlin said distantly, giving up completely. 

Arthur turned dangerously on Lancelot. “Hm,” he said.

“No, no,” Lancelot laughed, holding up his hands. “If you remember, I’m planning on winning Guinevere’s hand, so— really, I just happened to be there at the right time, I—”

“You’re planning to do what?” said Elyan. They all whipped around to see Elyan with his eyebrows raised, standing there holding horse reins beside Leon, Percival, and a surprisingly docile, nonplussed Boris. How long had they been there?

“Oh, dear gods,” Lancelot muttered, “this is not how I planned to ask for her hand.”

Merlin couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, why doesn’t everyone just calm down—”

“Shut up , Merlin,” they all turned to bite at him, then went back to bickering.

Merlin sighed. And he had been worried about all the attention. 

After a few minutes, it was actually Boris who broke in. “Are you guys always like this? And, can we hurry it up, do you think? These ropes are rather chafing my—” 

Elyan reached up and gave him a swift knock upside the head with his plated wrist, and Boris slumped, knocked out entirely.

But then Leon reasoned, very patiently, Merlin thought, all things considering, “He does have a point, though, he is rather heavy—even for the horse.”

“Fine,” Arthur snapped. “Let’s get riding back to Camelot. You,” he emphasized, darkly, pointing a finger into Merlin’s chest, “will stay beside me where I can see you.”

Merlin nodded, and they mounted their horses, beginning the journey home. 

***

“I just… Merlin ?” Elyan asked, apparently still processing things, even after an hour or so of riding. “I mean, our sweet, helpless little Merlin?”

Leon shrugged. “Oh, I would hardly say helpless. I’m not quite sure why you all are so surprised, actually. Don’t you remember how Merlin and Arthur met?”

“Leon,” Arthur sighed.

“Hm,” Gwaine said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I ever heard this story, actually. Kind of thought Merlin just popped out of the womb with a neckerchief and polish for Arthur’s boots.”

Percival smiled. “I reckon it was only me and you, Leon, who were here for that.”

“Well, out with it, then,” demanded Elyan, and Leon began telling the story. 

***

Minutes later, silence descended over the steady clop of hooves, and Elyan once again broke it.

“So, just to recap,” he started, with forced casualty, “Merlin strolled into a completely new kingdom, decided to humiliate and bully a man who was clearly nobility, at the very least, in front of everyone—”

“I wouldn’t say humiliated—” Arthur protested.

“Then after discovering he was the prince of this new kingdom, and after Gaius had to bail him out of jail, decided to challenge Arthur again? Immediately after stepping out of his cell?”

“In my defense,” Merlin interjected, “Arthur wasn’t exactly on his best behavior either.”

“And then,” Elyan yelled, clearly baffled by the events, “comes at Arthur, Crowned Prince of Camelot, with a bloody mace? Just, swinging it in the middle of town square? Isn’t that, like, regicide? Or treason, at the very least?”

“Exactly my point,” Leon agreed. “Magic is really just the icing on the cake. We passed treasonous behavior from Merlin about 10 years ago.”

“Oh, but you left out the best bit!” Percival said, laughing. “What— what was it, exactly, he said to Arthur that day? After Arthur picked another fight with him? Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass—”

“ I just didn’t realize you were a royal one! ” Leon finished, chuckling. “Oh, yeah, that’s my favorite bit too.”

“I am still here, you know,” Arthur grumbled, body swaying as they rocked with the horses steps. “You could at least try to be sympathetic to my situation.”

“Oh!” Percival laughed, lifting a finger into the air like a stellar idea just hit him, completely ignoring their King. “Oh, and the part after, I rehearsed that in my bathroom mirror for weeks, it was so awesome— what was it Merlin?”

Merlin grinned, but glanced at Arthur, not wanting to test his luck. He didn’t need to answer though, because Percival finished the line for him anyways.

“Been training to kill since birth? Wow, and how long have you been training to be a prat?”

“ You can’t address me like that,” Leon mocked, bringing his voice low and tilting his chin into his chest, attempting to replicate Arthur’s deep voice. 

“ How long have you been training to be a prat…”

“... my lord!” They finished together, laughing so hard they both nearly fell off their horses.

Percival wiped a tear from his cheek, chuckles finally dying down, and Gwaine rode up beside Merlin.

He reached over to clap him on the back. “Well done, Merlin! I can’t believe you’ve never told me about this before. I’ve never been so proud. They grow up so fast,” he said, with mock solemnity, shaking his head.

“That’s enough,” Arthur commanded firmly. They stopped chattering immediately, but it was a softer silence now. His posture was more relaxed, the memory of their first meeting apparently reminding him of their history and all they’d faced together, and Merlin let out a breath of relief.

He figured while they had all this time, and Arthur was doing all this thinking, he may as well start pleading his case. He never did know when to shut up, after all.

“I would never, never betray you, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head. “Merlin, I don’t—”

“No, please, listen. If I’m riding off to my death, I at least want to plead my case,” he argued with a soft, sad smile he couldn’t help tugging at his lips. 

Arthur’s face closed off completely. “Very well.”

Merlin let out a ragged breath. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that, and it really should have been. “I only use my magic for you, Arthur. Only for you. Well, sometimes to clean Gaius’s leech tank when he’s not looking—” he shudders— “but I even polish your armor by hand! I just— I know you will be the greatest king Albion has ever known and I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t there to see it, and by the gods you have just about every magic-user in all 28 kingdoms coming after you thanks to your father, and I just need you to be safe, Arthur, because I—” he fumbled slightly, trying to find a different word than the one he was thinking of. Not love not love not love— weren’t there any other useful words in this gods-forsaken language?

Arthur didn’t reply, just looked stoically onward.

Elyan coughed into his fist. “Anyone else feel like they’re intruding?”

“Mmm,” “Mhm, yeah,” and “Me” echoed around the forest clearing they rode through. Merlin winced.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, and suddenly Merlin was taken back to that shack, hours ago, tied up and watching Arthur nearly be skinned alive, pressing a knife to Boris’s jugular. He swallowed around a thick lump in his throat. 

“I know.”

“Y-” Merlin stammered, unprepared for this response. “You do?” 

Arthur looked over at him, for the first time since he’d rescued him from torture, since they went on this bloody trip in the first place, a mix of exasperated and fond. His heart jumped a little at the sight, sparking alight with hope. “Honestly, you idiot, I know I’ve been rather blind over the years, but really. Your motives are hard to miss when the person in our group with the most tender sensibilities almost flays a man because I got a little cut with a knife.”

“That was not a little cut,” Merlin protested, eyes blazing with fury at the memory. He cast a dangerous glance towards Boris, and when he turned back, Arthur’s lips were slightly lifted at one side, a small, private smile. 

“Alright,” Arthur appeased. “But I… don’t suppose I can question your loyalty after that. I’ve been making plans to lift the ban for a long time. I didn’t tell you because I… well, ironically, I was a bit worried about what you might think.” He scoffed, shielding what Merlin could clearly see was embarrassment, and Merlin had to grin a little. 

“Oh yes,” he said, “quite right, too. You know, your father did thank me once for being a most trusted ally in the fight against magic.”

“Oh, gods,” Lancelot laughed. “I bet that was hard to keep from spilling it all right there.”

“I was so shocked, I don’t think I said much of anything,” Merlin told him, laughing too at the memory and the irony of it all. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. He also thought I spent all my time bedding women when I was really out with you—” He immediately flushed.

“Is that so?” said Gwaine, in mock outrage. “My lover has been unfaithful?!” He pressed a hand to his heart, pretending to faint.

Merlin blushed crimson, matching Arthur. “ No— I mean, I’m not—”

Percival waggled his eyebrows. “What else did Uther say to you, Merlin?”

Merlin laughed and grinned at Arthur, feeling like the greatest weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “He did say once that he noticed a bond between us, and he was glad of it.”

Arthur choked on his spit. “He- He said what?” he asked hoarsely.

Merlin smirked at him. “It’s true. Then he told me to look after you. And here we are.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, looking perturbed but strangely pleased, staring off into the forest. “Here we are.”