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Merlin truly wondered what he had done to deserve the misery that was this outing with the knights.
It had started off in high spirits for everyone other than himself. It was easy to chatter and laugh and enjoy the sunshine when you weren’t tasked with keeping up with others’ supplies in addition to your own. But now, half a day into the weekend hunting trip, it was pouring down rain in buckets.
Merlin had done his best with a quick spell to keep all the supplies dry on his horse. He could always pass it off later as having used a well-placed blanket; no one was paying attention to him anyways. They were mostly protected by the heavy tree canopy anyhow, so they were mercifully only a little damp as they went along.
Merlin didn’t even have Gwaine or Lancelot for company as he usually did; they were kept busy in conversation with the two guests on the trip. Sirs Cassian and Emil were visitors from yet another noble household that wanted to get in Camelot’s good graces; Merlin couldn’t be bothered to remember which one. They were boisterous and friendly enough with the other knights, but they hadn’t even deigned to look him in the eye when he helped them prepare to leave.
The pair tried to engage the other knights in a discussion of the beauty of the women working in the castle. The conversation made Merlin’s mood sour further, but he was pleased that Camelot’s knights were polite enough to steer things in another direction. It was one thing to have that sort of discussion among friends, knowing that everyone present was honorable and kind; it was quite another to have it with two strangers who gave a leer as they asked for salacious details.
Unfortunately for Merlin, turning the conversation away from the women of the castle only brought the attention onto the next most vulnerable target: himself.
“Now what about the squires in your employ?” Their voices carried all the way to the back where Merlin rode, despite putting on a false whisper. “Like the one back there, he’s not too shabby-looking,” Cassian said with a gesture to the back end of the procession.
“Looks like he’d be agreeable to taking on some extra duties,” Emil egged on. Merlin’s blood boiled, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from retaliating. To his surprise, Arthur interjected and cut them off.
“His name is Merlin, and he is not a squire, he is my personal manservant. He is doing you a courtesy by keeping your supplies along with mine and his own. You would do well to remember that, and to refrain from propositioning my staff in the future.” Merlin could hear the steel in his voice without even seeing the glare he was certainly delivering. He sat up with a little more pride at that, and suddenly wasn’t so bothered anymore.
When the sun began to set, Arthur called out to the remainder of the party that they would look for a clearing to set up camp for the night. He did a quick scan over all his men, and was pleased to see that they were in good spirits. The hunt had been decent so far, with at least enough food for that night’s dinner, which meant anything they caught tomorrow would be an excellent surplus. The knights were ambling two by two behind him as they took an easy pace towards what looked like a decent clearing up ahead. Arthur pulled off to the side from his position next to Leon and let them pass.
His gaze hardened at Cassian and Emil, who tried to give gracious nods as they passed. Then Gwaine chatting Lancelot’s ear off, Percival and Elyan in companionable silence, and finally Merlin bringing up the rear. Arthur brought his horse into step with Merlin’s. His manservant had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole trip, and it left Arthur a little unsettled.
“You alright?” he asked without making eye contact. Merlin looked over to him, surprised, before turning his gaze back to the group ahead.
“Fine, sire,” he replied. Arthur nodded silently, and urged his horse forward a bit faster to catch up with the rest of the group, leaving Merlin to his own thoughts.
By the time he rejoined the others, they had already started dismounting and setting up a spot for the fire. Arthur was grateful for the warmth it began to give off when it came to life, as it was starting to get rather chilly as the sun set.
He saw Merlin finally reach them, and watched him dismount like the weight of the kingdom was on his shoulders. He just looked… worn out. There wasn’t any other word for it, really. Arthur made a mental note to himself to ensure that once they returned to Camelot, Merlin would find himself with an unusually light day of chores and some time to rest. Of course, Arthur had to justify it to himself as making sure Merlin wouldn’t need a day off if he was run ragged, since that would leave him with George.
His hackles raised as he spotted Cassian and Emil nudging each other and clearly whispering about Merlin as they stared in his direction. Arthur clearly needed to put some distance between them.
“Merlin,” he called across the campsite. Merlin’s shoulders visibly tensed, but he made his way over to the prince.
“Yes, sire?” That kind of deference meant he was really not himself.
“Take these skins and the pot to the stream up ahead and fill them,” he said, carefully piling it all in Merlin’s arms. “Please,” he added sheepishly at the look on Merlin’s face. An eyebrow quirked.
“Please will certainly get you far with me, Your Highness,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“You’d think being your prince would get me far enough without the pleasantries, Merlin,” Arthur retorted, but Merlin was already on his way to the stream.
Merlin worked in comfortable silence, opening the skins one by one and filling them with water for the knights. He and Arthur still had their moments of disagreement (often), but he had been pleasantly surprised twice that day. It was Arthur’s generally good nature that kept Merlin by his side in spite of all the danger and headaches.
As he turned his attention to filling the pot for that night’s meal, he heard the brush rustle behind him. His magic buzzed under his skin, warning him that it wasn’t one of his knights.
“Look at the little serving girl, preparing to cook our supper,” Cassian joked.
“Think she needs a bit of help?” Emil chimed in. Merlin refused to turn and face them, focusing on the pot in his hands and trying to get clean, clear water from the gentle flow. He let the freezing chill of the water sharpen his concentration, even as he lost feeling in his hands.
“I believe so,” Cassian replied, suddenly much closer than Merlin thought they were. He yanked Merlin up by his neckerchief, causing him to drop the pot into the water. Thankfully the water was slow moving, so it didn’t float away as Merlin whirled on him in anger.
“I think I’ve got it under control, thank you,” he gritted out. Cassian’s grin was missing a tooth, and Merlin hoped it hurt when he lost it. He started sizing up his opponents.
Emil was a stout man, built like a barrel with a face only a mother could love and a mop of piss-yellow hair atop his head. Merlin was fairly certain his footwork in a fight would be atrocious, but he looked strong enough to make up for the lack of dexterity.
Cassian, on the other hand, was tall and lean, with long brown hair that he slicked back in a way he probably thought was attractive. His gaze was unsettling and he was unfortunately quick with a blade, though most of his pride was unjustified by any real skill or chivalry.
With magic, of course Merlin could undo the two men with little more than a word, but it was too risky. He decided to try and de-escalate, as much as it pained him to back down. He pulled himself out of Cassian’s grasp, and turned back to the stream to retrieve the pot.
As soon as his back was turned, he felt a boot slam into his back, pushing him straight into the icy water. It wasn’t deep, but he was certainly soaked through from head to toe. Cassian and Emil were guffawing as they watched Merlin pull himself out of the water, teeth already starting to chatter. This time, Emil pulled him up and held his arms behind his back painfully, as Cassian grabbed his face and stared him down cruelly.
“You should learn some respect for your betters, boy, or there’s more where that came from,” he threatened. Cassian walked away and Emil shoved him to the ground. Merlin winced as he caught himself on his hands and knees, shivering.
He wasn’t sure how best to dry himself off with magic, and even if he did, he didn’t want to risk the visitors putting two and two together. He decided all he could do was try and warm up by the fire after he finished cooking dinner for the party.
He retrieved the skins and the pot after filling it with water, and carefully balanced everything in his arms as he walked back to the clearing, trying to suppress the shivers that threatened to overtake him.
Arthur made to return to the fireside after a discussion with Leon about their path back to Camelot tomorrow, but stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.
The knights were all preoccupied in their own conversations and duties as they set up camp, and there was Merlin cooking dinner over the fire, absolutely dripping wet and shivering in the night air, despite the flames.
“What happened?” Arthur asked, tone sharp and cutting through all the ambient noise. Five knights of Camelot trailed off in their discussions and turned to where Arthur’s gaze was locked.
“You alright Merlin?” Lancelot chimed in, and even Gwaine had an uncharacteristic look of concern take over his usually devil-may-care expression. Leon visibly stiffened, and Percival and Elyan drew closer to see what was the matter. The two foreign knights remained casual and unconcerned, ignoring the interruption. Merlin suddenly noticed the silence and all the eyes on him, and he struggled to reply.
“Uh, I was collecting water by the stream, and I was just being clumsy when I filled the pot, and I may have splashed myself a bit. Sorry for the delay, sire.” What a load of horse shite. There was that ‘sire’ again. Arthur couldn’t count the number of times he had nagged Merlin to use proper titles when addressing himself and the knights, but now it just sounded wrong. Before any of the other knights could intervene, Arthur strode over to the campfire, and they returned to their tasks with a bit of unease.
“That looks like more than a splash,” he said when he was within Merlin’s earshot, voice lowered. Merlin’s shoulders tensed.
“It was a rather large splash, my lord.”
“Would you stop calling me that? What happened?” Arthur ground out in frustration. Merlin wouldn’t meet his gaze, and continued stirring the stew.
“Nothing of import, si- Arthur.” Arthur gave an exasperated huff, looking to the obvious culprits. The other knights were also throwing dirty looks in their direction, muttering quietly to each other. None of them could do anything without proof or Merlin’s testimony, so he had to let it lie for now.
“At least go put on some dry clothes, would you? I’m sure the stew will be just as inedible when you return,” he tried to tease. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“I only brought what I’m wearing. I didn’t expect to ruin a whole set of clothes in less than two days,” he grumbled. Arthur winced, and decided sitting by the fire was the best course of action for now. He went and retrieved a blanket to drape over Merlin’s shoulders. Well, to dump on Merlin’s head and almost catch on fire, but it had the same result.
Merlin was at least a little warmer and drier, and if the blanket getting soaked through had come from Cassian’s pack, well, no one else would be the wiser.
After serving everyone’s supper, Merlin was anxious to get Arthur’s tent set up so he could set up his own and go to bed. They normally didn’t bother with the trouble of bringing and setting up tents, but they had anticipated a bit of inclement weather due to the season and decided to bring them along just in case. Merlin was certainly grateful for them now, especially after his unfortunate swim earlier.
The downside was that he was now away from the fire, and the warmth was being leached away from his skin by the crisp night air. He felt the tremors of his chill in all his limbs. It was a vicious cycle, as the longer it took to set up, the colder he got, which just made it all take even longer.
He finally had the tent up, and heard the din of the knights’ laughter and conversation become muffled as he entered the tent to lay out Arthur’s bedroll and blanket. He unrolled the bedding, and flopped backwards onto it to just appreciate the quiet and the warmth for a moment.
The dampened noise of the knights outside was almost soothing, and his shivering finally subsided into stillness. His lids felt heavy, and a voice in his head shouted that he shouldn’t sleep here. That voice was overtaken by the drowsiness as Merlin lost consciousness.
Arthur smiled at the sight of the knights engaged in merry chatter around the campfire, the incidents of the day nearly forgotten. Bellies were full and bodies were warm. One by one, each knight peeled off from the group to set up their spot for the night. Most came back to the fireside, but Elyan and Lancelot were each sensible enough to go to bed while they had the chance before their turn keeping watch.
As there was a companionable lull in the conversation, the unwelcome intrusion of Cassian and Emil reminded Arthur that all was not yet well until they were out of the borders of Camelot. They made a big show of getting up and heading off to bed, emphasizing how tired they were and avoiding the question of whether they would contribute to one of the night shifts. Not that Arthur would trust them to keep watch regardless.
He watched them retreat to their tents, and Arthur was glad that he (and Merlin) could be relieved of their presence for a little while. With that thought, he realized that he hadn’t heard Merlin in a while, which wasn’t unusual with the two visitors around, but he hadn’t seen him in a while either. He felt a low-level panic in his gut as his eyes searched over the clearing, but decided it was unreasonable to panic until he checked the most logical places first.
Merlin wasn’t by the stream, or in the surrounding forest, or with the horses. When Arthur patted Merlin’s mare on the neck, he realized that Merlin’s pack was still slung over her back, which meant he hadn’t even set up his own tent. Bewildered, Arthur looked back and realized that his own tent was set up. He felt annoyance (and relief) as he strode over to his tent and lifted the flap. He was about to chew Merlin out for mixing up their packs when he saw Merlin’s pale, shivering form on top of his bedroll.
Arthur realized that it probably wasn’t idiocy, but cold and exhaustion that led to Merlin’s unwelcome presence. Arthur sighed deeply, and decided to just go set up Merlin’s pack as his own for the night. It wasn’t worth the effort to bother Merlin now.
Arthur hadn’t pitched his own tent in a while, but it was muscle memory at this point. He unrolled Merlin’s bedding and clambered in, ready to be dead to the world.
But no matter how hard Arthur tried, sleep refused to take him. He tried to bore himself to sleep with thoughts of grain reports, but nothing helped. His mind couldn’t stop wandering over to the tent beside him, where he knew Merlin was probably still cold without a blanket covering him. Finally, he decided that he wouldn’t be able to rest until he satisfied his conscience, and got up to rectify the situation.
He quietly exited his tent, and spotted Elyan and Lancelot off in the forest nearby, doing a casual patrol. Everyone else had gone to bed, judging by the snores filling the other tents around the campsite. He went back into his own tent, and it looked like Merlin had barely moved in the last hour or so. In fact, aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest, he looked disturbingly still.
Arthur hissed at how cold Merlin felt when he reached out to check his temperature. He quickly and quietly worked to gently pull the blanket out from under Merlin, but it wouldn’t budge. Arthur cursed and gave up, returning to Merlin’s tent and retrieving his bedroll and blanket. He shifted Merlin over to one side, set up his own spot in the small space, and threw the blanket over so it covered them both. He tried to lay still then and focus on finding sleep, but he could only watch Merlin and wish he would look less like an icicle.
Thankfully Merlin had at least stirred enough to burrow under the blanket, so he would hopefully warm up a bit soon. Un-thankfully, this pulled the small blanket away from Arthur, who huffed in frustration.
“Merlin,” he hissed. He rolled his eyes at the sleeping form beside him, and decided the only thing he could do was scoot closer to gain a bit of blanket once more. He turned on his side so that he and Merlin were back to back and covered up. It was probably better this way anyhow, as his body heat helped to thaw Merlin. He still felt guilty that this was the only thing he could do about what had happened. Besides, if Merlin was ill and miserable, Arthur would never hear the end of it. It really was in his own best interest to ensure his swift recovery.
With that bit of internal peace, his mind and body finally succumbed to slumber.
Merlin usually woke on trips like these to sunlight gently reaching him through his tent, his magic doing a sort of big internal stretch like a cat after a good nap. But this morning, he felt like a big weight was thrown over his chest, and he was almost too warm.
His head still felt foggy and he was definitely a little out of it as the details of the night before slowly filtered back to him. He had fallen asleep in Arthur’s tent, but Arthur never woke him up to send him back to his own pack…
…and the weight across his chest was Arthur’s arm.
Merlin had a slight panic at the realization, and was suddenly quite awake. Arthur was snoring like a dragon, flopped over on his stomach with his arm draped over Merlin. They were both tangled up in a mess of two blankets, and Merlin couldn’t figure out how to extricate himself without waking the prince. He stopped trying when he realized doing so would mean exiting the tent to who-knows-which-knights.
He decided he couldn’t get out of this alone, and needed a second head to brainstorm. He also couldn’t concentrate when someone who was a little distracting was half on top of him. So, he pulled an arm out from under the blankets, and reached over to shake Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur just grunted and went back to snoring.
Merlin gave him another shake, but all Arthur did was roll onto his side, tucking in his arm, and bringing Merlin with it into his chest. Merlin was now thoroughly flushed with embarrassment, and trying to figure out how he had made this even more difficult.
“Shut up, you’re thinking too loudly,” Arthur mumbled into Merlin’s shoulder. “Just don’t let the cold in,” he said with a yawn before rudely just going back to sleep. Merlin couldn’t believe the audacity of the young man sometimes.
Despite this, he was still rather tired, and it it was still too early to be up, and Arthur was rather warm and comfortable. Thus, Merlin decided the only reasonable decision was to go back to sleep and let this be a problem for his future self to solve.
When Arthur woke up again later in the morning, he recalled where he was and felt a bit of warmth color his cheeks at his earlier decisions. But he felt his embarrassment subside as he saw that the intended effect was achieved; Merlin looked thoroughly warmed back up and much more rested. Arthur gently brushed back his fringe so he could test his temperature with the back of his hand like his nurses used to do, and was very satisfied that all was well.
Now for his discreet exit. Arthur sat up and listened carefully to the voices outside the tent. He couldn’t be certain, but with any luck, it was mercifully only Percival and Leon. If it had been Cassian or Emil, or worse, Gwaine, he would have really been screwed. Arthur counted his lucky stars that he was able to swiftly leave the tent without any trouble from the knights.
Merlin was still quiet for the day’s ride, but this time it was a contented silence rather than one of annoyance. The visitors had been sensible enough to avoid antagonizing him in front of the other knights, so he tried to stay within sight and earshot of Camelot’s finest at all times.
When they had reached a part of the forest that was deemed suitable for hunting, Arthur suggested that they all pair off to cover more ground, and to avoid scaring the wildlife with a large group. Merlin volunteered to remain with the horses, of course. They wouldn’t be too far, and Arthur was with Leon, so he would be alright.
Merlin spent some time tending to the horses, gently brushing their manes and feeding them a few treats he had brought along.
“Aren’t you glad to have a break from the prince’s pompous ass on your back,” he joked to Arthur’s mare, who gave a nicker that seemed to say tell me about it! At least, it did in Merlin’s head anyway.
“You should watch what you say about your master, boy,” Cassian’s voice cut through the trees. Merlin’s blood ran cold.
“He’s not my master,” he said defiantly. “He’s my prince, and a good man, but he does not own me.” Emil revealed himself first, coming in from the left, while Cassian cornered him in on the right.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Emil snickered. Cassian chuckled as he drew closer.
“You exist to be at his beck and call, to shine his shoes, and to warm his bed,” he sneered. “Nothing more.” Merlin’s heart stuttered, afraid that the men had seen himself and Arthur sharing a tent last night.
“I don’t know what kind of brutish rules your household governs by, but that’s not how things are done in Camelot,” Merlin replied with a proud lift of his chin. He would not let himself be intimidated by a pair of uncouth dickheads.
“I told you to watch your tongue, you insolent bastard,” Cassian growled.
“You’re too cowardly to even face me alone. What, is an insolent bastard such as myself too much trouble for you?” Merlin provoked, though he was subtly looking past their shoulders to see if there was a clear path to get away.
Emil lunged to grab Merlin from behind, while Cassian tried to block him in from the front. Merlin was too quick though, sensing the trap and ducking to avoid Cassian’s grasp. He made a break for the treeline up ahead, desperate for somewhere to hide until he could-
Merlin’s foot caught on an errant tree root, and he crashed painfully to the ground. He tried to get back up and keep going, but putting weight on his ankle sent him tumbling back down again. It was definitely sprained, if not worse. His heart sank when Emil and Cassian caught up moments later, huffing and puffing.
Cassian hoisted him to his knees, and he cried out as his ankle was jostled. He received a strike across the cheek for his trouble.
“You need to be taught a lesson in humility,” Cassian threatened, as Emil came up behind Merlin and forcefully held him in place on his knees. Merlin couldn’t focus on anything except how he could get out of this without risking his magic being revealed. A well-timed branch ran him the risk of a concussion while he was this close to the pair. His train of thought was interrupted by a caress that made his skin crawl.
“No fucking way-“ he said, struggling to break free of Emil’s grasp, ankle be damned. If he could just get out of the way, he could-
“I said, watch your fucking tongue!” Another strike, this one splitting his lip against his own teeth. Merlin spat in response. He closed his eyes as he flinched away from another blow, but it never came. He heard the collision, but it wasn’t between Cassian and himself, and suddenly the weight of Emil’s grip was removed as well.
He opened his eyes to see that the blow had been between Cassian’s face and Arthur’s fist. Leon had made quick work of Emil as well, the man sprawled against the forest floor and groaning as he held his ribs. Cassian had the gall to draw his sword against Arthur in retaliation. Leon quickly came to Arthur’s defense, but Arthur waved him off.
“This waste of air is not foolish enough to cross blades with the Crown Prince of Camelot,” Arthur insisted, his haughty gaze locked with Cassian. Cassian looked ready to challenge this assertion, but after taking in the sight of Emil disarmed, and two trained knights of Camelot very much armed in front of him, he clearly thought better of it. He sheathed his sword and backed away, hauling Emil to his feet and pulling him along back towards their horses.
“Sire, should I intercept and apprehend them?” Leon asked. Arthur shook his head.
“Let them run like the cowards they are. They can return to Camelot on pain of death, if they are stupid enough to do so,” he replied. “I’ll send word to their head of house about their dishonorable actions on this excursion.” At the sound of hoofbeats heading away from them, he finally looked to Merlin, still on his knees. Arthur knelt down to eye level.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly. Merlin nodded, swiping at his cut with his sleeve.
“Had it under control,” he tried to tease, but he sobered at the look on Arthur’s face. “Really, I’m fine, thanks to you two.” Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and looked him over for his injuries. “Everything else is alright, it was mostly my own clumsiness that got me hurt. Tripped on a tree root,” he muttered grumpily, gingerly sitting back and stretching out his left leg to gesture to his ankle. Arthur sighed.
“Leon, please go round up the others and let them know we’ll be heading back to Camelot ahead of schedule, without our companions.”
“It’s alright, I can wait-“ Arthur cut him off with a look, and Leon gave an affirmative nod before departing through the trees to look for the other knights. Arthur told him to wait there (as if he could go anywhere), and came back with a long strip of fabric. He began to carefully wrap Merlin’s ankle and foot before breaking the silence.
“We shouldn’t have split up, not when you were so sick yesterday, and when I knew they were targeting you,” he muttered bitterly.
“First of all, you couldn’t have predicted that they were that scummy and cowardly. Second of all, I can handle myself, you know,” Merlin insisted.
“What can you do to defend yourself against two grown men, Merlin? You’re a beanpole no matter how much you’re fed, and you have no training to rely on,” Arthur fussed. Merlin rolled his eyes, but knew he couldn’t tell Arthur that he had another way of defending himself. The thought dawned on Arthur then. “Training,” he mused out loud. Merlin gave him a wary look.
“Oh no you don’t,” he warned. Arthur completely ignored him.
“That’s it,” he decided. “You need training. If not with a sword and shield, at least on how to physically defend yourself.” Merlin groaned.
“And when am I meant to have time for such a thing?” Arthur tied off his handiwork.
“We’ll make time, Merlin. It’s important,” he said firmly.
“If it would make you feel better, Your Highness,” he replied after a long-suffering sigh. Arthur had a self-satisfied smile at that, and pushed his dark fringe back with a kind of gentle affection that made Merlin’s stomach flip.
“Let’s get you back to the horses,” Arthur said. He put Merlin’s arm around his shoulders, and Merlin tried to stand with him, but Arthur simply put his other arm under Merlin’s knees and picked him up like he was little more than a sack of flour. Merlin gave an unmanly squeak of protest, which just made Arthur laugh.
“I’m not a helpless maiden, you know,” Merlin insisted, fighting off a blush and a small smile. Arthur nodded.
“Yes, most maidens are much more capable than you,” he teased. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“I’ll have you know, I was simply defending your honor,” he huffed.
“Were you defending my honor with your face or your ankle?”
“You absolute, complete, insufferable clotpole-“
“Not even a word!”