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He is cold, he is wet, he is tired, he is practically naked, and he really wants his bath. A nicely hot one, in which to both get clean from a morning spent hunting and an afternoon riding back in the rain, and to warm up.
Of course, it always takes Merlin absolutely forever to get the bath full. Arthur has tried to spare him enough time by peeling off the wet layers – doing it alone takes more time- but he is ready for that bath now.
He's in the privacy of his own suite of rooms. The towel goes in his hand and he comes around to the bath naked as the day he was born. He drops his towel near the bath, dips a finger into the water.
It's damn near cold.
Where in Camelot is Merlin with his hot water?
“Merlin!” he yells. Silence greets him and he struts back behind the screen to grab something more decent than a towel. If he has to go hunt his manservant down, he'll at least wear his pants. A moment later and the door leading from his rooms out to the hall almost bangs open, and he knows Merlin's tread by now.
“Finally!” Arthur tosses his pants back onto the pile and hears what sounds like mumbled apologies. He sighs and steps back out, already berating. “When I ask for a bath, Merlin, I mean now, not in-”
There's steam rising from the tub.
Steam. And Merlin is holding only one bucket. Arthur's eyes narrow as he looks from the tub to Merlin.
“I'm sorry it took so long. Everyone is wanting baths tonight, it seems. I had to wait -” Merlin's voice trails off in the face of Arthur's scowl. “I know, you're the prince, of course,” the words come out hurried and apologetic and most any night, Arthur might have ignored them or agreed. He's the prince, his servant should have some claim on fetching hot water first.
Tonight, however... that water had been nowhere close to warm. And now it's steaming in invitation.
He has been called stupid and thick headed and so many variations thereof over the years. But he's not completely oblivious. “Merlin,” he says simply, and lets his tone shut his manservant down in the middle of the apology.
Arthur stares Merlin down for a long minute, watching as he fidgets slightly, opens his mouth and closes it again, and finally shrugs. “I'm sorry?” he tries. Like this is about the delay on water. Okay, that's part of it.
“Want to explain how this water is steaming?” Arthur keeps his voice low, and quiet, and only a little threatening. He'd really like to scream. Or maybe draw his sword. He's not certain. He is naked, however, which means he'd have to find his sword. He thinks he left it on the chest by his bed. Bugger.
“I just brought hot water!” Merlin's face breaks out into a somewhat lopsided smile and he lifts the bucket. Like Arthur hadn't seen it already, thank you.
“I just checked that water.” Arthur stalks around the far side of the tub, conveniently between Merlin and the door. Merlin's eyes dart to his and then back down at the water. “Right before you came in, in fact.”
Merlin swallows and shivers, maybe, or flinches; every little gesture Arthur watches critically. Like the way that Merlin's avoiding looking at him. Or his thumb is rubbing in tiny circles over the rope handle of the bucket. And Merlin's shoulders crawling inwards, slowly, like he's not even aware of it. “The bucket was hotter than usual.” he tries, but it falls flat. Especially under Arthur's raised eyebrow.
“Merlin,” Arthur stresses. Frail shoulders curl in more. He'd feel bad about it, but there is only one reason Arthur can think of for the huge difference in temperatures. “Don't. Lie. To me.”
Merlin looks up at that, and something about his straightens, draws up. Like he found his courage again. Good. That's good.
Maybe.
“The truth, Merlin.” He locks eyes with his servant, watches him for any sign that something might go wrong.
Merlin's eyes go haunted, just a little. Arthur knows the look of fear in a man's eyes. Intimate with it, really. He tenses.
“Don't tell Uther.” It's the closest to begging that Arthur has ever heard from this man. “I'll go if you want me to but please.”
“It was magic?” He doesn't really need to ask, he think, but Arthur can't help himself. He needs a straight answer.
Merlin stares at him, stiff and tense, but before Arthur can press again he nods. “Yes.” He hesitates, licks his lip nervously. “I'm a sorcerer.”
Questions stir at the confirmation, and Arthur asks the one that repeats itself the most in his mind. “How long? Did Gaius teach you? Your mother?”
“Since I was little.” Merlin shrugs a bit, which only emphasizes his scrawny shoulders. “No one taught me. It just been there for me nearly as long as I can remember. I managed to get ahold of a book a few years ago that taught me proper spells, but … I don't always need them.”
And he's avoiding looking at Arthur again. The prince squashes the urge to grumble at that and focuses instead. “And you came to Camelot, where we execute your kind. Why? Didn't you know?”
Merlin manages an expression that is neither a smile nor a grimace. “The day I got here there was an execution. I was well aware of the risks. But I needed to.. find my place.” He's staring at the water, which, amazingly, is still shimmering with heat. “I like it here.” he says softly.
Arthur stares at him openly. “Like it here? But you complain all the time!”
“Because you are still a royal clotpole.” Merlin smiles a bit at the one but he doesn't quite look up. “Yes, I have to hide what I am. But even with that over my head I have enjoyed myself.”
Arthur shifts his stance and folds his arms over his chest. “And if I ordered you to never do magic again?” Gaius had made a similar vow to his father, he knows. Maybe he could secure one from Merlin.
It's then that Merlin actually looks back up, and he looks stubborn. “You would have to promise not to keep risking your neck, Sire. I think about half the magic I've used has been on your behalf. Do you even know how many times you've nearly died?” Merlin pins him with what's rapidly turning into a glare. “And I can't promise anything like that. I've done magic in my sleep and while unconscious. If I don't use it with intent, then it comes out as it will. Especially when you're doing something remarkably stupid.”
It's Arthur's turn to stare dumbly, until he realizes and slams his jaw shut. “So you intend no harm on me. Or at least, not now. What about my father?”
“I would never harm you.” The words sound very much like a vow. “And as much as I do not agree with Uther on certain views, I will not seek to actively harm him either. He is... important.” Merlin's eyes look bright in the light of the room. “I have defended you both before, and will continue to do so for as long as Camelot has need of me.”
Arthur looks over him, all the way down to the tub and back up to meet Merlin's eyes again. “We'll talk more about this later, Merlin.” He takes the last few steps to the tub and finds it, if no longer steaming, still far warmer than the first time he'd checked. “Keep your magic in service to Camelot and I will keep your secret safe from my father.” It's a fair enough offer, he believes.
“Of course, sire. Thank you.” Merlin steps back, gives him room to step into the tub.
“And do me a favor, Merlin? Run those wet clothes down to be washed.” It's an order, not a request, and he catches the weighted, familiar sigh as Merlin walks away.
“Yes, Arthur.”
“No respect!” Arthur calls out, falling back on familiar routine. A cold, wet sock smacks him in the face. He peels it off with two fingers and holds it over the edge of the tub, letting it drip onto the cold stone floor. “Merlin!”
“It got away from me,” Merlin's smile is a little tense, but there's something open about it as well. He takes the sock and adds it to the rest of the pile in his arms.
And then, while Arthur watches, Merlin looks down at the tub and his eyes flash. The water promptly gets significantly warmer. “I'll be back as soon as I drop these off. Unless there's anything else?”
“Bring food when you come back.” Another familiar order, and Arthur watches as Merlin leaves.