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It was Leon’s watch, the moon high in the starry sky. He needed some time to escape Arthur’s labored wheezing, so he occupied himself by making sure the horses were secure. He could still the others, sleeping around the low fire, crackling steadily.
Leon heard a faint rustling, his gaze snapping to the culprit. Merlin. He had sat up from his bedroll, and looked around. He reached for his satchel, and nearly silently crept to Arthur’s side.
He watched as Merlin placed his hand over Arthur’s forehead, checking for fever. Tenderly, he brushed Arthur’s hair away from his face. He moved to examine the wound on the Prince’s leg, from a poisoned arrow. Carefully, the physician’s apprentice checked the bandages. Merlin sat back on his heels, face upturned to the stars.
He saw a shudder in his friend’s chest and shoulder, and heard a matching, shaky exhale. The next breath was worse, and Merlin pressed his fist against his mouth to stifle it. The firelight illuminated a tear trail down his cheek.
It wasn’t good news. It wasn’t good to see the physician’s apprentice react so to a wound. It wasn’t good to see his friend so distraught over what should have been a minor inconvenience. Leon hated it.
Merlin looked down, and rifled through the satchel. He rifled more. Murmured quietly, loud enough that Leon could hear his fear and frustration, but not his exact sentiments. His hands clenched around the fabric of the satchel, before nearly throwing it aside.
Leon wasn’t sure what to do. He felt it would be awkward if he returned now, but would it be worse if he waited? Perhaps Merlin would return to sleep, and there wouldn’t be any issue at all.
Merlin set his hands against Arthur’s leg, and began to speak quietly. Leon strained to hear, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“I’ll not have you dying on me, you prat.”
The corner of Leon’s lips quirked into a bittersweet smile. You could always trust Merlin to be so honest, his heart on his sleeve.
And then he spoke again, and Leon couldn’t make heads or tails of a single word. The fire light still made the tear track on Merlin’s cheek shine, but Leon knew it wasn’t the fire that made his eyes glow gold in the night.
His heart pounded like the rushing footfalls of a dozen knights, echoing like thunder through Camelot’s halls. The words of a foreign tongue and familiar threat poured from Merlin’s mouth, like a dangerous waterfall. The steady crackling of the fire was a backdrop to it all, a comfort that could easily turn into a vicious and unforgiving foe.
Merlin was silent, and the gold disappeared. A trick of the fire, of the faint breeze, a trick of the tired mind. Merlin couldn’t be a sorcerer. Arthur labored to breathe in his sleep, just as he had been all day.
“No, no no no…” Merlin whispered, a plea. A gasp, a sob. “No.”
Merlin’s voice came again, quiet, but as commanding as the King. The gold glow returned to his eyes, and Leon couldn’t deny it. It was no trick, and Merlin was a sorcerer.
Leon knew he should stop Merlin, he should protect his prince from the sorcerer. He could not move. Goosebumps covered his flesh, his hair standing on end. His instincts screamed at him, keeping him from apprehending.
He felt like a deer, who knew the wolf was nearby. He knew this was not a danger he could outrun, and he could not fight it. How he knew, he didn’t know.
Not a single sorcerer he’d come across before instilled this fear in him. Merlin was something Other. Leon’s entire image of him shattered. He thought he knew Merlin. But this being, half illuminated by the small fire, was a stranger.
Merlin went quiet, and through the blood rushing and his heart pounding, Leon heard Arthur breathe. It was a deep, shaky breath, and then… It was steady, and full. Peaceful. Healthy.
A small giggle was stifled in Merlin’s throat, and he leaned over Arthur. Leon watched on, petrified. But Merlin set his head on Arthur’s chest, and brought his hand to the prince’s forehead again. He ran his fingers through his hair, a tender gesture.
A few minutes pass before Merlin withdraws, grabs his satchel, and slips back into his bedroll. Leon does not return to the fireside then. He does not return once he’s sure Merlin has fallen asleep again. He knows then, that his opportunity is now, to strike while the sorcerer is unaware. He does not reach for his sword.
He does return to wake Elyan for his watch, doing so without speaking. He doesn’t trust his voice. He knows Elyan notices his distress, that he cannot sleep even long after settling into his bedroll. But Elyan doesn’t ask.
Morning comes, and Leon hasn’t slept. His fellow knights rouse, and Merlin uses some of their rations to make a good breakfast. Leon forces himself to eat, even though his stomach churns at the idea. But at the clinking of dishes, and gentle conversation, Arthur rouses.
His leg is a little sore, but he feels fine, he says. He eats without difficulty, and walks with only a hint of a limp. The knights applaud Merlin for his skills as a healer, and Merlin is ever so humble.
They all act like nothing has changed. They are all the same as they were yesterday. Except Leon. It is only Leon’s world that has been shattered. Arthur and Merlin are exactly the same as they have always been.
Leon tries to understand. He thinks of Merlin scheming against Camelot, but none of the images Leon conjures sit right with him. It’s not until two months pass that he finally learns, and it’s yet again because he hears something he shouldn’t have.
“-good man. He’ll make a great king.” Merlin says, something heavy in his voice.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Lancelot asks softly.
“I love him.” Merlin says.
Leon can’t see them, but he’s afraid to breathe in case they hear him. There’s a pause, and Leon has time to think over those three words. Does Merlin really love Arthur as his future King? Do they have a sorcerer, defying law, for their future king?
“I can’t ever be his queen.” Merlin says. His voice is steady, melancholy, and yet the pain in it strikes Leon like a dagger to his chest. Suddenly Leon understands.
He doesn’t hear what is said next, because he turns on his heels and rushes away. He recalls what he’s seen of Merlin and Arthur, and is astounded that he didn’t see it before.
Quietly, he rethinks about everything he knows of magic. He watches Merlin carefully when magic-related things happen, and he listens intently to what he says. He’d ask Merlin directly if he weren’t so afraid of what the consequences could be.
Leon knows it’s treason against his king, to doubt the laws.
But now, he can’t help it. He can’t help but doubt, and doubt, when he sees Merlin so endlessly devoted to Arthur. As if Arthur is already the king in his mind. Perhaps he should do the same, Leon thinks, every time Uther issues a command, or speaks his hatred and cold ways.
And noble Arthur is always keeping Merlin at his side. As if he’s afraid Merlin will disappear forever if he goes too far, for a second too long. Leon doesn’t think there’s much that would be able to keep Arthur from Merlin.
Leon is patrolling the halls one night when he hears a scuffle, and a grunt. With quick steps, he goes to investigate. He doesn’t expect to see a hooded figure pinning Merlin against a wall, hand around his throat.
Leon rushes, sword drawn, with a shout. The hooded figure is a skilled fighter, Leon quickly learns. An assassin, most likely. The assumed assassin fights with two daggers, and Leon is struggling to defend and attack.
Leon tries to figure out how to turn the fight in his favor. He has a dagger himself, but it’s more of a spare, and he isn’t good with dual wielding. The assassin stumbles, a quiet cry of pain leaving him. Leon doesn’t take the time to ponder why, and uses the moment to strike true.
The assassin falls to his knees, and then his side. Leon’s breathing is heavy as he looks down at the body. Red begins to pool on the floor, and Leon realizes there’s a wound on the assassin’s thigh.
Leon’s gaze flicks to Merlin, who somehow has his dagger in hand. There’s blood on it. A flick back to the assassin, and the growing pool of blood tells him that Merlin’s wound would have been fatal if Leon had been slower.
“Merlin, are you alright?” Leon asks, still on alert for other assassins.
“Thanks,” Merlin replies, leaning against the wall by his shoulder. He holds Leon’s dagger out for him to take, and Leon sheathes it.
Leon looks over Merlin’s throat, and can’t see much beyond the neckerchief. “Are you alright?” He asks again, “Are there more?”
Merlin shakes his head, no. “They work alone.”
“How do you know?” Leon asks. He doesn’t miss that Merlin has ignored his inquiry twice.
“The tattoo on his neck.” Merlin said.
Leon looks back at the assassin, and carefully avoids the blood while he gets a closer look. He spots the tattoo, just under the ear. He also sees the two daggers, and though they aren’t touching the pool of crimson, something red hued clings to one of the blades.
In a second, Leon whirls on Merlin. With how he’s leaning against the wall, his arm pinned against his side, the jacket kept closed… Leon isn’t so gentle when he pries the arm away. The tear in Merlin’s shirt is clear as day, even in the dim light. Wet blood makes it cling to his skin.
“Merlin!” Leon hisses.
“It’s nothing, really…”
Leon slings Merlin’s arm over his shoulder and guides him away, ignoring Merlin’s protest. “Arthur’s chambers are closer, we can set you down there and send for Gaius.” Leon says.
“No!” Merlin’s eyes are wide, more panicked than after the assassin fell.
“And why not?”
“I- I’m fine, really. I can just go to Gaius, you don’t need to fuss.”
“You just helped me stop an assassin. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself walking through half the castle with a stab wound.” Leon said.
“It’s not that bad, I promise. I doubt I even need stitches.” Merlin said.
“Don’t lie.” Leon says. He saw the blade, the tear, the amount of blood on his shirt.
“Leon, please…” Merlin begs.
“Why, Merlin?” Leon asks. “Why can’t Arthur know you’ve been stabbed? By an assassin! Who knows how bad it actually is? Is it poisoned?”
“It’s not poisoned-”
“Are you sure?” Leon asks, “You haven’t even looked, and it’s only been a few minutes.”
“It isn’t.”
“Is it really, or are you just trying to get me to let you go so you can magic it better?”
Merlin freezes entirely, and Leon silently curses himself.
“That’s not funny, Sir Leon.” Merlin says.
Leon actually looks at Merlin. “The poisoned arrow. I saw you heal him that night.” He tries to say it as calmly as possible, as if he’s asking about a scarf, and not talking about illegal sorcery.
“That- That’s why you’ve been avoiding me.” Merlin says, a whisper to himself.
Guilt hits Leon like a mace. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” Merlin said. He’s quiet, thinking, and Leon can’t think of what to say either. Merlin finds words first. “...I can’t heal myself. And Arthur can’t know that I get involved in… Not servant stuff.”
And so Leon helps Merlin get to Gaius. He keeps Merlin’s secret. He doesn’t think he understands why Merlin does what he does. He gets all the credit for stopping the assassin, and he wonders just how many others have walked these halls, bearing the credit for a deed of Merlin’s doing.
He’s not sure if he wants to know.