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It hadn’t been easy, keeping Arthur safe, that is.
Dispatching of the enemies with speed and stealth? That he could handle, better than anyone would know.
But Arthur just had to ruin everything, the noble prat.
Instead of leaving as he was told, he came back for him.
He didn’t listen to a single word Merlin said, insisting on carrying him.
‘You have a sprung ankle’ he’d said.
He supposed he should’ve been glad that Arthur hadn’t asked any questions when Merlin had muttered that he’d been hurt worse.
With his added weight they got slower, and the rest of the knights kept getting further and further.
Until it happened.
An arrow shot out of nowhere and straight to Arthur’s stupidly regal head.
And then another.
So yes, it had been a struggle keeping his King safe long enough for them to reach the rest of the knights, the horses and then ride back to Camelot.
The ride itself was quick and without incident and soon they were back in Arthur’s chambers.
Merlin was tired and his ankle was swollen both from the sprung and an arrow he couldn’t deflect but treating Arthur’s wounds was a priority.
Because Merlin couldn’t make a myriad of arrows disappear without revealing himself, so his King had to suffer the consequences of his silence.
“Ow” hissed Arthur as Merlin gently rubbed the place where one of the arrows had managed to pierce both the chainmail and the flesh underneath it.
“I know it hurts, but I must clean the wound. I don’t want it to get infected.”
“I’ve had worse than this” complained the King, hissing once again when Merlin resumed cleaning the arrow wound and the other gashes that accompanied it.
“That’s no consolation. You shouldn’t be hurt at all” mumbled Merlin, using the soap and the washing rag with such delicate care that Arthur only complained, for lack of something better to do.
Because if he was left with nothing to do, his mind wandered.
And it kept coming back again to the moment he realized Merlin wasn’t beside him.
The fear that he had been hurt or worse, killed.
How he searched for him in the middle of the battle only to find him pale and trying his best to stand only to fall again.
The way his heart fell when Merlin insisted, with a tone that admitted no question, that he should leave him, that he’d manage on his own.
What a stupid idea! Only Merlin could come up with something so idiotic.
Because there was no way he’d leave him.
Not him.
So, he picked him up, despite Merlin’s complaints, and made their way back to where he knew the knights were.
They had been close to reaching them, just a bit further when the arrows started.
He wasn’t overtly concerned, he was wearing the best armour Camelot had.
But not Merlin.
Merlin could’ve ended like a pincushion.
It was sheer luck that they had managed to come back almost unscathed.
He watched as Merlin limped, his hurt leg making him move slower around the room.
Once he found what he was looking for, he resumed taking care of him, pouring some sweet smelling oils into his bath and massaging his sore shoulders, careful not to touch his wounds.
Arthur clenched his teeth.
He had been so close to losing this.
No, not this.
Close to losing him.
Merlin.
Being pampered was meaningless if it wasn’t Merlin.
Driven by impulse, he caught one of Merlin’s hands and turned to look at him.
“I thought I'd never see you again" he said gravely
To this his servant gave an uneasy chuckle.
“As if you could get rid of me that easily.”
Arthur tightened his hold.
“I’m being serious, Merlin. We were surrounded by these bandits and then I couldn’t find you---I didn’t know what had happened to you”
Merlin tightened his grip back.
“I was scared” admitted Arthur, as if revealing a great secret.
Merlin’s eyes widened and then he moved closer to his King.
“I was scared too” he confessed in a low voice “That you would get yourself killed and that I wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“I’m the King and the best knight in all the Five Kingdoms”
“And you’re not immortal” replied Merlin, once more rubbing his liege’s back, his touch even softer than before “Try to understand how hard it is for me to see you run into danger without care.”
“Neither are you” whispered Arthur, noticing how close his servant’s head was to his, to the point he could feel his breath on his moist skin “You should have a bigger sense of self-preservation. You’re not a warrior.”
Merlin stopped his ministrations for a second time to move as close as he could to Arthur.
“My place if by your side. No matter where that is” he whispered, his warm breath imprinting the words on the King’s naked skin.
The intimacy of the moment got Arthur speechless long enough that Merlin dared to place a kiss to his shoulder, gentle and fleeting like the fluttering of butterfly wings.
Arthur put his hand on top of where Merlin had kissed him, looking at his servant with wide vulnerable eyes.
“Someday, maybe, you’ll understand.” said Merlin.
They stared at each other, as if willing the other to make the next move.
Merlin gave him a look that couldn’t be described as anything but adoring and then left the room, giving an excuse of needing some linen and salve to dress his wounds, leaving the King to ponder his words.
He understood.
And one day, he’d make sure Merlin understood too.