Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The red of the early morning sunlight stretched through the windows as Merlin rushed down the hall, a messenger bag full of medicine that would—hopefully—not crack pounding against his legs. Skidding to a stop by Lord Cumference’s door, he rapped on the wood. And waited, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear the painfully slow dragging of footsteps on the other side of the thick wood. Merlin watched the light stretch across the floor as he waited, shifting from one foot to another, impatient. There was a feast later in the day, and the list of chores he had to get done was longer than Arthur’s self-righteous streak.

Just as the light was cresting over the top of Merlin’s worn boots, the door creaked open. “Who is it?” the older man called, squinting at Merlin from a tiny crack between the door and its frame.

“I’m Merlin, Gaius's apprentice. I’m doing his rounds for him. I have your medicine?”

“Young Gaius has got an apprentice, has he?” the man’s voice creaked. “Ah, well good for him. He’s always run off his feet, that one.”

Merlin handed the older man a small capsule. “Take that,” he said, “I’ll come back next time you need a dose.” 

“Used to be you’d give me enough for a week at a time,” the man complained.

Shifting from foot to foot, eager to be off, but unwilling to be rude, Merlin forced a smile. Though Lord Comference couldn’t see it, Merlin knew the Lord could hear the difference in his voice as he explained that Gauis was low on herbs and was so busy he was barely managing to keep up day to day. “But I swear you’ll get your medicine, sir.”

The man nodded, appeased with Merlin’s falsified information, took the medicine, and vanished back in his quarters. Relieved, Merlin rushed onward, dropping off two more tonics before making his way into the kitchen. 

As he skidded around the corner, he ran smack into Gwen, knocking the tray from her hands to the floor, spilling honeyed oats across his shirt, her dress, and the cobblestones below.

“Sorry, sorry, Gwen,” Merlin stuttered. “I’ll clean that right up.” Pulling his splattered neckerchief from his neck, he wiped the oats from Gwen’s dress, keeping his head down to hide the flash of his eyes as he magicked away the last of the honied mess on her. “There,” he said between panted breaths. “Good as new.”

“Thanks,” Gwen said with a gentle smile. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Merlin replied. “Just busy. I’ll finish cleaning this up, you just get breakfast.”

Gwen agreed and hurried off, while Merlin diverted to the laundry to find a clean cloth. The warm fuzz of magic across his skin stopped him in his tracks on the way back. He tilted his head from side to side, trying to identify the sudden rush of magic. When a side door creaked, Merlin dove down the nearest hall, ducking behind a suit of armor.

“You sure this will work?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“I know the prince better than anyone,” Morgana replied, a gentle smile coloring her laugh. Merlin wished he didn’t know how easily she put on that guise these days. “Some love is exactly the pick-me-up he needs.”

“I umm. . I’ve never seen the prince before,” the first voice replied.

“Just wait in his room after the feast. Give it to him then. He should be alone. His manservant will be helping clean up after everyone.”

Morgana and her young conspirator's voices faded as they passed Merlin and continued down the hall, leaving Merlin pressed against the cold wall, breathing hard. Great , he thought, another bloody thing to worry about today.

Making a mental list to ensure he came back before Arthur, alone, to deal with whatever lovely gift Morgana was planning, Merlin continued on his way, cleaning, then collecting Arthur’s breakfast, Guias’s potion bag still tapping away, now empty, at his side as he ran. 

Arthur was already awake when Merlin burst through the doors, and set the plate down on the table with a clatter. The sausage on the furthest end of the plate rolled off with the disturbance, which Merlin snatched out of the air.

At the sound, Arthur jerked his head up from the speech he was writing. “You’re late,” he stated, looking rather unimpressed.

“You try working four jobs,” Merlin replied, taking a bite out of the escaped sausage as he hurried over to Arthur’s bed and began rearranging the bedclothes with his free hand. It was less efficient that way, but there was still so much to do, and he had to eat something.

“I’m the prince, I work plenty,” Arthur grumbled, standing from his desk with a sigh. “And I have enough to do without getting a late start because someone couldn’t be bothered to wake up on time. Wait. Four jobs? Pick up a late shift at the tavern or something? You certainly spend enough time there.”

Merlin glanced back, satisfied that Arthur was significantly distracted by breakfast for him to risk spelling the far side of the bed into order. “Yeah, four,” Merlin replied, stepping away from the bed and heading for the sock-strewn desk where Arthur had been working earlier. “Your servant, castle servant, Gaius’s apprentice, and your speech writer.” He held the speech he’d written. . . was it yesterday? Or just earlier today? The wee hours had blended a bit already. 

Either way, he tossed the speech lazily to Arthur, then began collecting socks and other articles of clothing that had somehow found their way out of the closet since he’d put Arthur to bed the night before. 

As he tossed the last stray tunic into the laundry basket, Arthur spoke up. “Merlin, this is—it’s good. Adequate even.”

Merlin straightened, holding out his hand for the roll. “Can’t have the prince of Camelot giving an adequate speech,” he said. “Give it back. I’ll toss it for you.”

Arthur’s hands curled protectively around the speech. “Nevermind. It’ll do.” 

With a snort, Merlin turned to continue his cleaning, only to stumble over his own feet, barely catching himself on the wall. Tonight, he would get a decent night’s sleep, he promised himself as he hoisted the full laundry basket. The bruises on his back from being smacked against the wall a few days ago while fighting the latest vengeful sorcerer protested. Merlin hadn’t had a chance to look over the injury, but he past experience dictated it wouldn’t exactly look pretty. Unless one was into that sort of thing, of course.

Unfortunately, the moment it took Merlin to readjust to the load of laundry was enough for Arthur to remember that he existed. “The horses need mucking, and I need my armor polished before the feast tonight. You’ll have the rest of the day to dedicate to your other jobs, since they are oh, so important. But I expect you back in time to get me ready for the feast.”

“Prat,” Merlin muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, right,” Merlin amended, before hurrying from the room before Arthur could think of more things that needed doing. At least Merlin knew Morgana wouldn’t be trying anything until after the feast. So long as he returned to Arthur’s room before Arthur did, everything would be fine.

Until the feast, Merlin had plenty to do, especially since he did actually need to go collect herbs for Gaius, which he did as soon as he finished Arthur’s other chores. Already running late, he practically ran through the damp forest, still wet from the rain the night before. Having hurriedly picked the herbs Guias needed, watching the sun’s descent as he worked, Merlin rushed back. In his hurry, his feet slipped in the mud and soggy vegetation. He tumbled into the mud with a squelch and a groan. 

Gaius gave him the eyebrow when he finally returned, back aching, mud encrusted, exhausted. But Merlin dropped the herbs on the table and rushed to the kitchen to gather water for Arthur’s bath before Gaius could say much about his state of disarray. 

Arthur, on the other hand, had plenty to say. “What, did you decide to wrestle with a pig when you finished with your chores? That better be mud and not what’s left over from mucking the stables.”

Merlin stepped hastily away from the bath he’d just finished warming for Arthur. “Fell while I was gathering herbs for Gaius,” he muttered.

“Well you can’t serve me at the feast looking like that,” he said with a frown. “You’ll have to bathe after me.”

“In your tub?”

“You’re not squeamish, are you? It’s not like we haven’t seen each other undressed before.” As if to punctate his point, Arthur shucked off his trousers and tossed them to the floor.

Technically, while Merlin had seen Arthur naked plenty of times, the reverse wasn’t true. And stripping in front of Arthur wasn’t something he was particularly excited for given the number of bruises and scars he couldn’t easily explain away. But he could hardly tell Arthur any of that. “My clothes will still be muddy,” Merlin pointed out, instead.

“The official ceremonial servant robes are in my antechamber,” Arthur said, voice twisting in fiendish delight as he stepped into the steaming tub. “You can wear those.”

“Or I could not.”

“You can hardly go naked, and you can’t wear what you’re wearing now.”

“I’m not wearing the hat.”

“It’s part of the uniform. You wouldn’t want to disrespect Camelot’s ancient traditions, would you?”

“Camelot wouldn’t want to disrespect its hardworking and self-sacrificing servants, would it?” Merlin shot back, but Arthur only laughed. 

By the time Arthur was out, dried, and dressed, the water was cold, and Arthur was watching him expectantly. “Hurry on now,” he grumbled, “haven’t got all day.”

So, carefully keeping his bruised back facing away from Arthur, Merlin stripped, wincing has he pulled his mud-encrusted shirt over his head. He scrubbed off as quick as he could in the cold water, then dried off with an old towel he’d thought to grab to clean himself off with while he was preparing for Arthur’s bath. With both of them clean and clad in Camelot red (and thankfully without the large-plumed hat) they hurried down to the feast.

The feast itself went well. Arthur’s speech was well received, and Morgana was in a disturbingly genuine good mood. As it began to wind down, Merlin purposefully spilled wine on his clothes, then excused himself to wash them to ensure they didn’t stain. Arthur let him go with only a few grumbles about his clumsiness and uselessness, and Merlin was free.

Given that he couldn’t care less whether or not the clothes were stained, Merlin hurried straight to Arthur’s chambers. Before he’d even had time to shut the door, he was blasted against the wall. His head struck stone and rang. Two blurry servants that looked like the one Morgana had talked to earlier stepped out from the shadows, and approached Merlin, a bottle in hand.

Merlin tried to escape, tried to reach for his magic, tried to do anything but found himself completely pinned. Utterly helpless as the servant poured the potion into Merlin’s mouth, then blocked his airways until Merlin was forced to swallow. Then, with a blurry smile, the servant walked out of the room, the magic pinning Merlin to the wall releasing him as the servant left.

The hard floor stole what little breath Merlin had managed to win back since the forced strangling. With a groan, he tried to get to his feet, but he didn’t get any further than his hands and knees before agony lanced through his stomach. It was like being eaten from the inside.

He opened his mouth to scream in pain, but couldn’t find the breath to do so. Instead, he collapsed, writhing on the floor as his vision darkened. At least Arthur is safe, he thought. At least I’ll finally get some rest.

Chapter Text

The lights and laughter of the feast seemed far less enticing once Merlin had hurried away. As much as Arthur pretended he didn’t care or notice, Merlin’s exhaustion had become more and more evident in the past week, though Merlin thought he was better at hiding it than he really was. He’d seemed off since he vanished, then came back claiming he’d been dying. And while Gaius had remained tight-lipped about where his ward had gone off to, Arthur knew Merlin well enough to know that something had happened. So, if Arthur decided to sneak off to the feast a bit early so Merlin could finish earlier, and get to bed earlier, well, no one needed to know but Arthur. Part of being a good leader meant caring for those in his household after all.

Plenty of servants roamed the halls as Arthur strode toward his rooms. As he turned the corner, he stopped. The wooden door to his room hung slightly ajar. And while it was possible Merlin had simply been too distracted to close it all the way, it was unlikely. Particularly if he’d decided to change out of his wine-stained clothes in Arthur’s chambers. Drawing his sword from his sheath, he crept cautiously toward his door. 

He leaned against the wall, peering into the seemingly empty room, and listened. A strange burbling moan met his ears. Concern peaking, Arthur threw open the door and rushed into the room, sword ready. No enemy met him. The rooms were as he’d left them. Except for Merlin, who was convulsing on the floor.

Tossing his sword aside, Arthur rushed to Merlin, kneeling alongside him. “Merlin?” Arthur called. “MERLIN!” There was no response, but his twitching calmed as Arthur touched his arm. His breath was rasping, face pale, body tense with pain, hair soaked with sweat. Keeping Merlin breathing was his first priority, so he sat against the wall Merlin had crumbled by, and pulled Merlin against his chest to help ease his breathing. Merlin’s limp head lulled onto Arthur’s shoulder, but his breathing did indeed ease, steadying beneath Arthur’s hands. 

Trying to distract himself from Merlin’s pain and his rising panic, he searched the room from where he sat, in hopes of discovering what had happened. Merlin was still in his wine-stained servant’s robes, so he must have come straight to Arthur’s room after he’d been dismissed. Nothing in the room seemed particularly disturbed besides the door which had initially tipped him off. Perhaps Merlin had been in distress before he’d come to the room, which could explain the open door. Or he’d been taken by surprise and the assailant had left the door open in their haste. But why would anyone want to hurt Merlin? The only other clue he could identify was the dampness across the front of Merlin’s shirt. But even that could just be sweat-soaked. 

Either way, Merlin needed Gaius. And there hadn’t been any guards in the hall that Arthur could easily send to fetch him. Which meant Arthur either needed to carry Merlin to Gaius or leave Merlin alone while he fetched Gaius himself. Arthur shifted out from under Merlin, trying to keep him propped against the wall, but as soon as Arthur stepped away, Merlin moaned, and began rasping and twitching once more. Immediately, Arthur bent down and scooped Merlin up. He couldn’t be left alone, not in this condition. 

Merlin remained pliant in Arthur’s arms as he carried him quickly through the halls of the castle. When Arthur reached the doors to the physician’s chamber, he kicked it open, rushing in, calling for Gaius as he hurried toward the waiting patient cot.

“What happened?” Gaius asked as he spotted his charge in Arthur’s arms.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, setting Merlin carefully down on the waiting cot. “I found him like this, alone, in my rooms. I left the feast maybe five minutes after him, Gaius! What could have happened in five minutes?”

“Did he seem distressed when he left the feast?” Gaius asked, as he began his examination. 

Arthur thought back, then shook his head. “He left because he spilled wine on himself. He seemed tired, but no worse than he’s been the last few days.” Arthur stepped away to give Gaius space to work. Merlin moaned, and began thrashing moments later, whole body rigid.

“He seems to be having trouble breathing,” Gaius observed, one hand gripping Merlin’s wrist, the other resting gently on his heaving chest.

“He was doing that earlier,” Arthur said. “I held him up, and it seemed to help.”

Merlin’s flailing became more intense as Gaius hurriedly checked under eyelids, then hurried to his herbs. “Watch him. I can’t give him anything until he’s stopped seizing.”

Arthur nodded gravely, standing awkwardly by the cot as Merlin writhed in pain. As his lips began to discolor, and Merlin’s fit showed no sign of ending, Arthur’s hands clenched, own heart pounding. He wouldn’t stand there helplessly and watch Merlin die. He wouldn’t! 

So he shoved aside the line he’d been taught not to cross once again, and gently settled himself on the cot, pulling Merlin up to rest on his chest. Nearly as soon as Merlin was resting on him once more, the seizing stopped, and his rough breathing resumed once more.

With Merlin’s eased breathing, Arthur’s lungs also released. Gently, he combed Merlin’s sweaty hair away from his face so he could check Merlin’s forehead for fever. When he dragged his eyes away from Merlin’s calmed form, he was met with Gaius’s quirked eyebrow. 

“What is it, Gaius?”

“That shouldn’t work,” Gaius replied thoughtfully, setting aside the potion he’d supposedly been preparing. “Merlin’s shirt’s wet. Did he spill his wine across his front?”

“No, it was like that when I found him.”

Hurrying over, Gaius leaned in close, to Merlin and Arthur and gave a hefty sniff. His nose wrinkled, and he came back with a pair of scissors. Carefully, he cut the damp part of the fabric off, then cut that fabric into more pieces, putting them in various beakers with different liquids, some of which he heated up, all the while muttering under his breath. As the final beaker came off the heat, having turned a brilliant pink, Gaius set it down in obvious disbelief. 

“What is it, Gaius?” Arthur asked again.

Gaius sat directly across from Arthur and leaned in, meeting his eyes earnestly. “Now I have a question for you, and you aren’t going to like it. But I need you to answer honestly. Merlin’s life could depend on it. Understand?”

Arthur nodded, swallowed, mind racing.

“Do you, by any chance, harbor any romantic attraction to Merlin?”

“WHAT? Of all the RIDICULOUS. . . I . . .” Arthur spluttered. “I mean, we’re friends. And I’ll have you HUNG if you tell him that, but of course we’re friends. But I like girls, like Gwen. Not Gwen specifically of course, just girls like Gwen. And Merlin. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like anyone. Not like that at least. We had this whole talk after Elena and. . .” Realizing he was still talking, and that it wasn’t very dignified, Arthur trailed off at Gaius’s severely cocked eyebrow.

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed,” Gaius replied, standing and shuffling around his book shelf. After flipping through a few books, he gave a little ‘ah’ of success, then returned to his seat alongside Arthur and Merlin.

“I believe Merlin has been poisoned with a love potion, my lord,” Gaius said, tapping the book in his hand as he showed the page to Arthur.

“He’ll be forced to love someone, then?” Arthur asked.

“Not at all, my lord. This was a spell common amongst followers of Aengus, one of the old gods, commonly associated with love. This potion was originally designed to cause a constant sensation of uncomfortableness until the subject came in contact with their soulmate. Followers of Aengus believed that every person had one other person in the world that was destined for them. Once the subject came in contact with their soulmate, the pain would stop, and they could be assured that they were marrying the right person, or be saved from a bad marriage.”

Arthur’s mind raced as he listened to Gaius’s explanation, understanding suddenly why Merlin seemed to calm whenever Arthur held him. But it wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense. 

“When the followers fell out of favor with other practitioners of the old religion, a small group of them began to use the potion militantly. They believed humanity had forgotten how to love, so they strengthened the effects and began to use it as a political poison. If those poisoned couldn’t find their true love, they would suffer a horrific death, and finally die alone. Poetic justice, they believed.”

“But Merlin and I. . . We aren’t. . .”

“There are different kinds of love, my lord. Platonic devotion holds no less weight to fate than the romantic variety.”

Arthur frowned, glancing down at Merlin who rested, unconscious, but still on his chest. Dark rings of exhaustion bagged under his closed eyes, but his breathing had steadied completely in the time Gaius had done his research. Arthur had never once thought he’d find himself holding Merlin as he slept, and while nothing lustful or romantic stirred within him, he did feel a surge of fondness, and a desire to protect. Still, he could hardly run about Camelot literally holding Merlin’s hand. People wouldn’t understand. And his father would hang Merlin before letting such an apparent disgrace happen under his watch. “How do we get rid of it?”

“The potion could be dispelled by a powerful magic user,” Gaius replied, reading from his book. “Given that obviously isn’t possible, it should wear out on its own, eventually.”

“And until then he’ll die if we don’t stay in contact?” Arthur asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m afraid so.” 

The silence between them grew heavy. Both of them staring down at Merlin’s limp, pale form. Merlin shifted slightly as they stared, his head falling limply to one side so his steady breaths gusted reassuringly across Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s arm’s tightened slightly around Merlin as he smiled sadly down at him. He knew only one thing. He couldn’t lose Merlin. 

Swallowing, Arthur looked back up at Gaius. “I need to ask you a favor, Gaius. It’s dangerous, but I believe it to be the only way to protect Merlin.”

“What are you thinking, Arthur?”

“Whoever did this to Merlin, they must have gotten us mixed up. So we simply tell my father that I was the one who was poisoned. That if Merlin stops touching me, I’ll be the one to die. He’ll be furious, but he won’t try to separate us. Not if my life is at stake.” He glanced down at Merlin, and swallowed again. “You should also probably not bring up the soulmate thing, he won’t. . .”

Arthur trailed off as the door to Gaius’s chambers flew open. His father stood on the other side, still dressed in full regalia. His eyes scanned the room, mouth twitching in fury, hands clenching, one going for the ceremonial sword at his waste. “Just WHAT is going on here?” he demanded.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke to the king’s angry ranting and someone frantically poking him in the side. Despite the rude awakening, his brain remained blurry and it was frustratingly hard to open his eyes as the king continued his rant about how inappropriate it was for a servant to be sitting on his better’s lap.

As the king spoke, Merlin gradually realized that he was, actually, sitting up. Or more accurately leaned up against and being held by a very warm body. But who would hold Merlin like that? And what sort of strange circumstances would put him in such a position.

Oh.

Oh.

Merlin’s eyes shot open. Uther glowered in the door, radiating disapproval, anger, and general disgust. Gaius stood between Merlin and Uther, head bowed in deference. And Arthur’s legs stuck out from under Merlin’s. He would have recognized those boots anywhere. 

Frantically, he tried to scramble out of the bed and off of Arthur’s lap. Except everything hurt, and his body wasn’t quite responding normally. Instead of standing or moving, he instead managed to roll off Arthur and right toward the floor.

“Woah, woah, Merlin,” Arthur cried over his father’s rant, scrambling to yank Merlin back onto the center of the bed. “We can’t let go of each other, remember?”

Merlin blinked. No, he didn’t remember. But before he could ask what in the nine hells was going on, Gaius quickly began explaining to the king that Arthur had been poisoned by something that meant he must stay in contact with Merlin at all times or he’d die. As soon as Gaius finished speaking, Arthur jumped in. He told his father he’d returned to his room after dinner and was accosted by a sorcerer who’d knocked him against a wall before he’d had a chance to defend himself and forced a potion down his lips. 

“Merlin found me,” Arthur explained. “And as soon as he touched me, the pain went away. We hurried to Gaius to determine what I’d been poisoned with before we informed you. But Merlin was falling asleep, and I was tired myself from the poisoning so we did this. To avoid the chance that we’d stop touching while unconscious.”

Merlin frowned. “That’s not. . .” he started, but Arthur squeezed arm hard, and Merlin trailed off.

“You must excuse my servant,” Arthur replied. “He’s a fool. And time after time he’s shown that his brain takes a few minutes to catch-up with his mouth when he first wakes.”

Uther glowered. “My son is NOT the soulmate of some mere servant .”

“It’s entirely possible that the spell was modified, sire,” Gaius replied quickly. “Arthur might have imprinted on Merlin merely because he was the first person he saw after ingesting the poison.”

“That makes more sense,” Uther said with a nod.

No it doesn’t, Merlin thought. Why would anyone try to kill someone with a spell that makes you keep in contact with the first person you saw and not stay around to ensure that they were the first person to ensure the death of the target?

“We can’t have my son running about the castle holding hands with the serving boy,” Uther glowered.  “Will killing the sorcerer who did this undo the curse?”

“It’s unlikely, sire,” Gaius replied. “Given that it was administered in potion form, it is no longer actively being maintained by the sorcerer. Their death would undo nothing. Only a powerful magic user could undo this curse. Because of the nature of potions, however, the effects will eventually run out as the poison runs its course.”

“How long will that take?”

“Unknown, sire. It would greatly depend on the strength of the sorcerer who made the potion. It could last anywhere from a couple of days to a few months.”

Uther glared down at Merlin, who tried to shrink away. This only succeeded in him huddling in closer to Arthur who still had not released his uncomfortably tight hold on Merlin’s wrist.  “You’ll need to stay confined in your room until this passes,” Uther demanded, finally. “We’ll tell the court you’re very sick. That you and your servant have been quarantined together out of necessity.”

Merlin felt Arthur tense beside him. “Father—”

“Exercise will make the poison pass sooner,” Merlin added, drawing simultaneous glares from the other three people in the room. But Merlin would go crazy if he was stuck in a room with Arthur for several months. He’d rather die a horrible painful death. Already, he wondered how he was supposed to keep his magic a secret while in extended contact with Arthur. “We could go to Ealdor while Arthur recovers. They won’t say anything, not after Arthur saved them and. . .”

“That’s enough, Merlin,” Gaius cautioned.

But Arthur had perked up. “That might be an acceptable course of action, Father. News of my illness could cause our guests undue stress. My being gone hunting or on patrol would be far less suspicious.”

“No,” Uther replied, instantly, though some of his anger had diminished. “You’d be too vulnerable outside the castle. A large guard would draw too much attention, and you can’t properly protect yourself while shackled to a good-for-nothing servant.”

“If I travel in disguise we shouldn’t come across too much trouble, and I believe that Merlin is right in asserting the people of Ealdor’s loyalty. Staying there would be the optimal way for me to disappear until this . . . unsightly mishap has passed.”

Uther frowned in thought for a long moment, fingers tracing the book Gaius had set in front of him. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. But you’ll take Sir Leon with you. And you’ll leave tonight, once the guests are all abed. If I hear the mere whisperings of a rumor that you have romantic inclinations for your servant you’ll be sent to the dungeons, and he’ll be executed. Understand?”

Merlin shrunk back further, but Arthur only nodded. “Of course, Father. We’ll be discreet, Father.” 

With a plan struck, Uther strode out of the room without a second look. As soon as he was gone, Merlin turned to Gaius and Arthur. “So just to be clear, Arthur definitely isn’t the one poisoned.”

“No,” Arthur replied. “Only one of us was stupid enough to drink a bottle of mysterious shiny liquid.”

“It’s not like I did it by choice!” Merlin protested. He tried to sit up again, without falling off the bed or letting go of Arthur, which proved to be quite a challenge with his aching body. With a couple helpful nudges from Arthur Merlin successfully managed to sit next to Arthur instead of on top of him. The maneuver left him breathless, head wheeling. But he refused to lean his head on Arthur’s tempting, well-placed shoulder. Not while he was conscious and had a say in it at least. He had the sneaking suspicion that the next few months would be a special ring of hell as it was. 

“How are you feeling, Merlin,” Gaius asked, scanning him carefully.

“I’m okay,” Merlin said, forcing a smile past his pounding headache. The guise was ruined as he tried to shift again, and his muscles protested. He wobbled, and was only saved from falling off the edge of the bed by Arthur’s quick, steadying hand. “Just a bit . . . sore.”

“He’s in no state to travel,” Arthur replied with a frown.

“Luckily, you’ll be sharing a horse,” Gaius replied. “As long as you remain in contact as much as possible, he’ll be fine. I’ll have Gwen fetch your things from your room so you can leave quickly.” Then he handed Merlin the potion he’d made earlier. “Drink this, Merlin. It will help with the pain.”

Merlin took the vial with trepidation, then downed it with a wince. “That tastes like a Wilderon’s ass.” Then he began to try and stand up.

Arthur’s hand tightened on his arm, restraining him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To pack,” Merlin responded. “Gwen isn’t gonna pack for me, and I’m not wearing this all day for the next two or so months.”

“You should rest,” Arthur protested. “I’ll. . .” Then he trailed off. Likely realizing at the same moment as Merlin just how inconvenient this was going to be. There would be no dividing and conquering. They’d have to go to Merlin’s room together to pack. Which meant Merlin couldn’t pack his book of magic, which means he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to break this curse while they were gone. Even if he could somehow sneak it into the bag, the chance of Arthur finding it, or waking up while Merlin was studying it at night would be too high. They really were going to be stuck like this. 

“Maybe Gaius can do it?” Arthur suggested.

But Merlin wasn’t going to make Gaius pack for him after forcing Gaius to go through the panic of Merlin having yet another health emergency. “Come on,” he urged Arthur, sliding off the bed. “It won’t be that bad.”

It was that bad. 

Cautiously, Merlin stood. His legs trembled. They felt strange, like the muscles had been replaced by marshland. He didn’t entirely trust them, but they didn’t immediately give out on him, and Arthur’s steadying hand on his shoulder kept his woozy head from sending him instantly to the ground. But then he took a step. And his legs decided that they’d done plenty of work, thanks, and he went down.

Arthur’s arms tightened around him, and pulled him back to the bed before he could strike the floor. “Really, Mer lin. For a physician’s assistant you’d think you’d know better.”

“It needs doing,” Merlin snapped, ears red, furious at his body for failing him. If Arthur wasn’t there, he could magic his stuff into his bag in a few moments without needing to stand. But he was there and he wasn’t going to be going away any time soon. He sighed. “Would you sleep if I slept?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Merlin sighed under his breath. There goes any hope of getting things done while Arthur was sleeping. And he hated this. Hated what he was going to have to do. And to have to do it to Arthur of all people. But, as he’d said before, it needed doing. “Will you help me get to my room?” he asked.

Arthur nodded grimly, and Merlin slung his arm over Arthur’s shoulder. With Arthur taking most of Merlin’s weight, and steadying him when his legs gave out twice more on the short walk to Merlin’s room, they managed to make it. By the time they collapsed on Merlin’s bed his face was burning from exhaustion and embarrassment, and his heart and lungs were racing. Arthur sat next to him, eyebrows drawn together in silent, infuriating worry. 

As Merlin’s breathing began to steady, Arthur glanced around at Merlin’s mess-strewn room. “You have no right to criticize me for leaving stuff about,” he said, glaring pointedly at a sock which hung from the door of Merlin’s open and criminally empty cabinet. 

Without bothering to respond, Merlin leaned forward to grab his traveling bag which was resting where it belonged by the side of his bed. Just as his hands wrapped around the strap, a wave of horrific pain overcame him. He cried out as he pitched forward off the bed, slamming his head into the wall in the process.

Dimly, he heard Arthur curse, and then a warm hand gripped his arm, and the pain receded. All except the new pain in his head, which throbbed all the merrier.

“ Mer lin. We’re supposed to stay touching ,” Arthur chided. “Are you too much of an idiot to remember that one simple mandate?” 

Merlin drew his hand away from his head, satisfied that it came away clear of blood. “I was getting my bag,” Merlin snapped back. “You were the one that let go of me.”

And though it was a joke, just an attempt to keep things normal between them when everything was topsy-turvy, Arthur winced and withdrew, all save his hand which remained firmly grasped on Merlin’s wrist. 

“Hand me that shirt, will you?” Merlin asked, gesturing to a stray shirt that rested on the floor near Arthur’s hand. He half expected Arthur to make some joke about his smelly peasant shirt, but instead Arthur just handed it over and Merlin put it in his bag. Between the two of them, and some awkward shuffling, they managed to get Merlin’s bag packed without too much more trouble.

At least until Merlin asked Arthur to grab the dagger that he kept under his pillow. Arthur had snorted, but had twisted around to get it, forgetting, in the moment, to keep ahold of Merlin. Once again, horrific pain seized Merlin’s body, so quickly he was unable to scream nor make a sound of protest. 

It took only a second for Arthur to grab the dagger under the pillow, turn around, see Merlin rigid in pain and realize his mistake. By then, Merlin’s vision was already going gray. But then the pain was once again a lingering memory. Muscles trembling in exhaustion, Merlin leaned back against the bed, eyes closed. Once he was sure he had control of his hand enough again, he took the dagger from Arthur and tucked it into the sheath in his belt. “One more thing,” Merlin said. “Hand me that boot over there.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but tossed Merlin the single boot with the hand not holding Merlin’s arm. With still-trembling fingers, Merlin unlaced the boot and used the lace to tie his wrist to Arthur’s. “That way we don’t forget again,” Merlin said.

“Good idea,” Arthur replied with a solemn nod.

They sat there in weary silence until Gaius returned. “Gwen’s taken Arthur’s bag out to the stables. The castle is asleep. It’s time to go.”

Merlin groaned as he imagined the long trek through the castle, then a night on horseback. Maybe he should have just let Uther lock them up together in Arthur’s rooms. At least it would involve less moving.

Chapter Text

Dragging Merlin through the castle was a thorough test of Arthur’s athletic ability. Honestly, it would have been easier to throw Merlin over his shoulder and drag him around like the useless sack of potatoes he was. Still, somehow, they made it. Leon was waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived, watching them struggle impassively. 

Next step, find some way to get them both up on a horse without losing contact with Merlin. The guilt from the few moments of forgetfulness while packing still dragged painfully against Arthur’s lungs. It had never been so easy for neglect to cause so much pain. For that, he was intensely grateful for Merlin’s idea to tie their wrists together. But that knot would have to come undone for them to get onto the horse. Keeping ahold of Merlin after untying them was relatively easy while he literally lifted him up on the horse like he was a damsel. Then he stood for a moment, calculating how best to get himself up on the horse without letting go or putting too much pressure on an already swaying Merlin. 

In the end, Merlin leaned down so Arthur could use the horn to mount. It required a split second of not touching Merlin, which left Merlin still mounted but gasping, and Arthur’s chest even heavier with guilt. Neither of them talked, though, as Arthur spurred his horse into action, and they rode quietly out of the citadel, Leon following along beside on his own horse.

Before they’d even left the city, Merlin had collapsed back against Arthur, head resting on his shoulder. Each of Merlin’s warm, steady breaths gusted across Arthur’s exposed collarbones. And Arthur thought he should probably mind, and would have had they been sharing a horse for practically any other reason. But after watching Merlin struggling to breathe, in pure agony, having the gentle assurance that he was just fine warmed Arthur’s chest. 

“Sire,” Leon said once they’d left the city. “If you don’t mind, what is going on?”

“Merlin and I were cursed to be forced into maintaining contact,” Arthur replied, quietly to avoid waking the slumbering Merlin. “Father didn’t want anyone to see us touching and believe we were in a relationship.”

Leon nodded, a small frown on his face. “Why would someone poison Merlin?”

“He’s not—” Arthur trailed off as he realized that the facade he’d used for his father wouldn’t work with Leon, not if he were to remain with them long term. Even from what Leon had seen, it was clear enough that it was Merlin, not Arthur, who was struggling. “I don’t know. It was likely an accident. Merlin was wearing ceremonial clothing, and he was attacked in my chambers.” It’s my fault , Arthur thought. Merlin was like this because of Arthur. That was why he had to be better. Had to make sure Merlin didn’t suffer more than he already had.

Leon didn’t need to ask why someone would try to poison Arthur. But he did mention that Merlin had seemed more stressed than normal today. “Usually, when he’s stressed, something bad happens before the week is over.”

Arthur blinked. “Are you suggesting that Merlin knew about this?” His mind flew back to Merlin, who’d asked to be excused early because of the wine spill, but hadn’t gone back to his chambers. Instead, he’d gone straight to Arthur’s room. Which didn’t make any sense. There were no other clothes for Merlin to change into in Arthur’s room. Merlin shouldn’t have been there. Stupid, stupid, self-sacrificing, loyal Merlin. Arthur shifted in the saddle until Merlin’s head rested more comfortably on his chest as Leon rode on in suggestive silence.

As the adrenaline from finding Merlin like that in his room faded, it became increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. Figuring they were far enough from the castle, Arthur led the horses away from the main road, then called a stop. He nudged Merlin awake and warned him that they’d need to get off the horse. Merlin nodded in sleepy recognition, body tightening in expectation of pain. 

Again, it was just a moment, when Arthur let go to dismount before he could resume contact with Merlin. And Merlin took the pain without complaint or moan, though his whole body went truly rigid and his breathing quickened in distress. Once he’d helped Merlin down, practically lifting him, Arthur tied their wrists together once more. Leon offered to take the first watch, so Arthur led a sleep-muddled Merlin to a level sleeping place, then threw his brown cloak over both of them.

His whole body heavy with exhaustion, Arthur expected to fall asleep nearly instantly. But no matter how still he stayed, his brain was constantly drawn to the warmth radiating from Merlin. His brain screamed danger at having someone so near while he tried to rest. Every nerve in Arthur’s fingers tingled where they brushed against Merlin’s skin. He was sure that he’d never be able to sleep so long as he remained in contact with Merlin, so long as the shoelace together kept them in contact, and yet wouldn’t be able to sleep without it knowing that he might roll away while asleep, possibly killing Merlin in the process. Merlin whose life was in danger because he’d apparently purposely and knowingly stepped into an assassination attempt. So despite his exhaustion, he remained awake. Body numb with exhaustion, brain racing about in useless circles. 

He was still in such a state when Leon came to ‘wake’ him for the next watch. Groggily, Arthur tried to sit up to ensure he’d stay awake.

“Arthur?” Merlin mumbled sleepily, woken by Arthur’s movements.

“I’m just taking watch,” Arthur replied, surprised at how rough and tired his own voice sounded. “Go back to sleep.’

Instead of listening to him, like any one else would, Merlin sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his free arm. “I’ll take watch.”

“What? No, Merlin. . .”

“I slept on the way here. I can sleep on the ride tomorrow. You need to be well enough rested to protect us.” Then Merlin flashed a cheeky smile, teeth glinting in the bright moon light. “Can’t have you missing out on your beauty sleep.”

“I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” Arthur replied, trying to convince himself, though Merlin’s logic was extremely tempting.

Merlin’s hand rested on his shoulder, pressing Arthur back down to the ground. “Try again.” 

“Why can’t you ever do as you’re told?” Arthur replied from beneath the cloak, eyes already closing despite his protests.

“You’d get bored.” Merlin hadn’t released his hold on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur thought for sure that it would be yet another point of contact that would keep him awake. But then Merlin began to sing quietly, words he was too tired to understand. Comforting warmth seeped through him from that point on his shoulder, until, finally, sleep claimed him. 

The light and heat from the sun woke Arthur gradually, but the strange calm that lured him to sleep was slow to release it’s grasp. So, Arthur laid there, listening to the rustling leaves and the twittering bird song. When he finally gathered the energy to open his eyes, he was met with Merlin’s ever-cheerful grin.

“Up and at ‘em lazy daisy,” Merlin said as he met Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur groaned. “You’re inane sayings are going to drive me insane before we can separate.”

“Rise and shine, butterfly,” Merlin added, his smile growing. 

“That doesn’t even rhy—”

“Seize the sun, royal one.”

Leon snorted, as Arthur punched Merlin in the arm. Or at least, tried to. Unfortunately, he did the punching with the arm that was tied to Merlin, which only resulted in an awkward tangle of limbs. 

Cheeks burning, Arthur sat up trying to reclaim his dignity, and loudly declared that they should keep riding. The group ate a quick breakfast of bread and meat, then continued riding. With Merlin more aware of what was going on, he was able to keep a hold of Arthur while Arthur mounted, which saved Merlin pain, and Arthur guilt, and they were able to continue their ride. With the sun up, and Merlin chattering about different types of birds, awake and well, the warmth in Arthur’s chest only burned hotter. 

Perhaps, Arthur thought, this wouldn’t be too bad.  He was outside and riding with his two best friends. For the next few months he’d be free of princely responsibilities and away from his father’s expectations. Merlin would be fine as long as they kept touching, and well, there’d been a bit of a learning curve, but it couldn’t be that hard to keep in touch with his servant. 

His optimism remained through lunch, burning bright enough that Arthur didn’t bother to ask Merlin what he had been doing in Arthur’s chambers. There was plenty of time to ask, and Arthur didn’t want to ruin the good mood. An hour’s ride into the hot afternoon, Merlin fell asleep once more on Arthur’s chest, head settling into that same niche as before. With Merlin’s chatter finally fading, Arthur and Leon rode in companionable silence amidst the free sounds of the forest. 

The calm faded as the sun began setting and Merlin jerked suddenly. Arthur only barely managed to keep Merlin from toppling off of the horse, who startled at the sudden movement on its back. 

“What the hell, Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed as he managed to settle the horse, heart pounding.

“I heard something,” Merlin replied 

“Yes, Mer lin , we’re in the forest. There are noises in the forest.”

“No, it sounded like. . . I think there’s someone else here.”

“Yes, Sir Leon, remember?”

Merlin frowned, clearly not satisfied but didn’t bother explaining more. Instead, he sat up, body tense, his head shifting back and forth.

Reluctant to release the general good feeling that had lingered throughout the day, Arthur told himself Merlin must have had a bad dream, and relaxed back into the forest’s ambiance. But Merlin didn’t relax, and his tension began seeping, unwelcome, into Arthur’s chest. 

His horse was war trained, and he’d be able to do significant damage while remaining in contact with Merlin. But, as he was trying to travel incognito, he wore only simple leather armor. Awareness of his vulnerability wormed through every attempt he made to dismiss Merlin’s sudden anxiety.

Finally, Arthur decided to call it a night. He’d just dismounted and was turning to help Merlin off the horse, when bandits poured from the forest.

Chapter Text

Merlin wished he could be surprised when everything fell to pieces. Unfortunately, that was just the way his life was. Either way, he didn’t have much time to contemplate the law of bandit inevitability as Arthur roughly pulled Merlin from the horse. Merlin squawked as he slid from the horse, only barely managing to keep his feet, but not before stumbling into Arthur. Luckily, Arthur was as sturdy as ever so they didn’t start the bandit fight in a tangled pile of limbs, but it was a near thing. 

“Keep hold of me,” Arthur instructed, as he yanked Merlin behind him, pinning Merlin between himself and the eye-rolling steed Merlin had just dismounted oh so gracefully. Merlin nodded, wrapping his hand tighter around Arthur’s as he evaluated the situation. 

Arthur was unarmored, on the ground, and hampered by needing to keep a hold of Merlin. Still, he was the best fighter in the kingdom and had his sword drawn and ready to meet the on coming bandits. Sir Leon also had his blade, and was already engaged with the bandits coming from the other side. One bandit had already fallen to his blade, and he was currently keeping two back at once. And of course, they had Merlin, strongest warlock to ever walk the earth, who could hopefully help with a few silent, instinctual bits of magic that wouldn’t be too obtrusive. Or noticeable.

Arthur’s hand tightened around Merlin’s as he shifted to meet the on coming fighters. He met the first attack with a grunt as Merlin heated the handle of the bandits friend. The second bandit cried out and dropped the blade as Arthur knocked his opponent's blade away and drove his sword into his gut. 

Merlin glanced up from the falling bandit just in time to see a bandit in the trees draw back a bow. “Arthur, get down!” Merlin yelled, crouching and yanking Arthur down with him. The arrow sailed through where Arthur had been standing just a few moments earlier, striking their horse. It reared, stumbled a few feet, and collapsed as Arthur blocked another blow that would have decapitated Merlin.

Together, Arthur and Merlin stood, back to back, or as close as they could while holding hands. Merlin drew his dagger from his belt, holding it uncertainly in his left hand. His heart pounded as he tried to block an incoming strike. Then Arthur jerked the hand Merlin was holding, and he stumbled off balance. Blazing pain struck his arm as he went down, dagger clattering from his hand. As he fell, he realized Arthur would be dragged down with him. And that couldn’t happen.

He let go.

Agony immediately grasped him. Every ounce of his body seized. His vision blurred into darkness and flashing silver. The magic within him roared to his defense, sizzling beneath his skin. Merlin fought to contain it, as the clash of battle continued above him.

Then a hand wrapped around his wrist, and the pain receded. Still barely able to breathe, he was pulled to his feet. 

“No, Arthur. . .” he said between gasping breaths, shocked at how hoarse his voice was. “Leave me.”

“Stop joking, Merlin,” Arthur replied. “Now’s not the time to be lazy. On your feet.” As he spoke, swords clashed again. His body tensed beneath Merlin’s weight, and he let out a hiss of pain.

Merlin forced his eyes open. Everything blurred and swayed. But he could see enough to know they were still surrounded. Leon had made it to Arthur, was covering their back, fighting well and unimpeded. Unlike Arthur, who was barely managing to fend off the attacking bandits with Merlin draped over one shoulder, slowing him down.

Subtly raising his hand to his waist, Merlin attempted to shake a few branches loose as was his custom. Unfortunately, his head still ached, and his magic still roared beneath his skin. His magic surged out of him in a massive wave. It struck the trees, but instead of shaking lose a few branches the whole tree creaked ominously.

Without time to yell out a warning, Merlin threw his body weight against an unsuspecting Arthur. They both hit the ground in tandem with the crashing tree.

Massive cracking and cries of pain pierced Merlin’s ears as debris pelted his exposed face and arms. Then, stillness.

Beneath Merlin, Arthur groaned. “What the hell was that?”

“Bandit cut down the tree,” Merlin said, pulling his hand away from his face and cautiously sitting up. Pain shot through his leg as he moved, but that didn’t matter, because as he managed to scoot a bit away from Arthur, he saw red. “Arthur!”

“I’m fine,” Arthur huffed, then he tried to sit up, and hissed. The hand that had been holding onto Merlin let go, flying instinctively to his wound. 

The pain returned. Horrific and overwhelming as ever, but receded almost immediately. As his vision cleared, Merlin found himself collapsed on top of Arthur, whose face was tight with pain. “Sorry.”

It was even harder to struggle up to a sitting position a second time, his muscles screaming in protest.

“You’re bleeding,” Arthur noted.

“Yeah, so are you,” Merlin replied, “Stay down. Leon, I need a med kit.”

Leon rose from a short distance away, covered in dirt, stray twigs and leaves entangled in his long hair. “The horses are gone.”

Merlin’s mind flashed back to the fight. “Ours went down. Check under the tree. See if that pack is accessible. Arthur’s hurt.”

“You’re forgetting who’s in charge here, Merlin,” Arthur replied.

“Shut up, clotpole,” Merlin snapped, yanking his scarf from around his neck and pressing it to Arthur’s side to stem the bleeding. “I’m the physician, and you’re hurt. That means I’m in charge.”

Arthur grunted with the pressure. “You’re only an apprentice.”

“Well if there’s someone else you’d like to keep you from bleeding out, I’d be happy to step back and let them do the work, sire.” 

Finally, Leon returned with a ripped bag of supplies, which Merlin took eagerly before telling Leon that he needed a fire. Quickly, he rinsed his blood-stained hands with the water from his water skin, then cut away Arthur’s shirt to better get to the wound. 

As soon as he peeled away the blood stained fabric, blood welled to the surface once more. Merlin replaced his blood soaked scarf, then pressed Arthur’s hand to the cloth. “Hold that there.”

Merlin needed both hands to care for the wound, but he couldn’t let go. He tried to shift again, so their legs could touch, and was met with another jolting pain from his ankle which didn’t move. He gasped in pain, and Arthur called to him in concern. “Fine,” Merlin replied, panting a bit. “Just sore.” 

Carefully, Merlin moved only his free leg so it pressed against Arthur's, his other leg stretched out awkwardly behind him. Then, with his hands free, he quickly began mixing up the herbs needed to cleanse the wound and slow the bleeding. 

Once they were ready, handed a needle for Leon to heat up in the flames. With a steady count to three, Merlin had Arthur pull away his scarf. Then Merlin dumped some of the mixture over the wounds. Arthur grunted, body tensing. His eyes squeezed shut, breath’s strained and focused as Merlin began stitching his side back together. As he worked, he evaluated. The cut was deep. Bleed enough to be dangerous and painful, but it hadn’t hit anything important. Arthur would be fine.

“All done,” Merlin finally announced, placing his hand on Arthur’s arm to steady himself as he leaned away. “You’ll live. But you should rest for a bit.”

Arthur sat up cautiously with Merlin’s help, still pressed to his side. “We should keep moving,” Arthur declared.

“I just told you that you should rest!” Merlin protested.

“You’re not in charge, Merlin.”

“Right, well, that’s going to be a problem anyway.”

Arthur frowned, blue gaze focusing on Merlin, scanning him. They noted his bleeding arm, which probably also needed stitches, then scanned down to where his leg still stretched out awkwardly, painfully behind him. The foot itself was still pinned beneath the tree. 

“Merlin, you idiot—” Arthur exclaimed as Merlin shot him a sheepish smile. “Sir Leon, can you help my useless servant get his foot unstuck?”

Leon did indeed manage to strain against the tree just enough for Merlin to slip his foot out, the bark scraping against his skin as he pulled, until he managed to pull it free, toppling into Arthur at the sudden lack of resistance. Arthur grunted in pain as they sat up together once more.

Merlin glanced down at his foot. He couldn’t see much damage with the boot in the way, but the way it throbbed just sitting there, and the way it sent shooting pains through his leg as he moved it, Merlin knew the damage was extensive enough walking anywhere was going to suck. And, given the horses were gone, there was a lot of walking between them and safety.

Chapter Text

Arthur was shaking too much to be of any use helping Merlin. So he laid there, letting Merlin squeeze his hand while Leon cleaned and stitched the cut on his arm. Then they turned their attention to Merlin’s foot. Because Merlin had apparently been totally fine not mentioning the fact that he was trapped and in pain the whole time he was helping Arthur. 

“The boot needs to come off,” Leon said. “The swelling could cut off his circulation.”

Merlin shook his head stubbornly. “The boot is stiff enough to support my ankle. There’s no way I’ll be able to walk without it.”

And Arthur wouldn’t be able to carry him, not with the injury to his side. Staying in the clearing where they were originally planning to rest seemed like a better and better plan. Night was beginning to stretch its dusky fingers through the forest, they were injured, and horseless. But they were also surrounded by dead and dying bandits. Staying here any longer than strictly necessary was too dangerous. “We’ll head a bit deeper into the forest,” Arthur decided, “then we’ll rest and see to Merlin’s foot.”

Leon nodded grimly before reaching out to Arthur. Getting up with his injured side and a wobbly Merlin was not a fun or fast experience. But sheer determination helped him stay up, despite the pain. Walking by himself would have been uncomfortable, but doable, but then Merlin tried to take a step on his injured leg. He grimaced, then toppled, crashing into Arthur. Pain flared through Arthur’s side, as Leon’s steadying presence kept them both from toppling right back to the ground. 

“Try to stay on your feet, Merlin,” Arthur advised through gritted teeth.

He expected Merlin to shoot back some sort of reply, but instead he just nodded grimly and took another step forward. Once they started moving, the pain just sort of became everywhere, then faded into the distance like a bug buzzing about Arthur’s ear. None of them talked, even when Merlin or Arthur stumbled and Leon had to catch them again. They continued forward in dogged silence as the shadows of the forest grew.

Merlin stumbled again, and Arthur caught himself on a tree, vision whiting momentarily. “We’ve gone far enough,” Arthur declared.

At his words, Merlin lifted his head for the first time since their walk, looking around at the tightly packed trees that really weren’t a good place to stop. “There’s a cave just ahead,” Merlin said. “We could rest there, if you’d rather.”

“Merlin, how could you possibly know something like that?”

“Where do you think I go when I disappear all the time?” Merlin asked, shifting his weight enough to warn Arthur that he planned to keep going without Arthur’s consent.

“The tavern.”

“The tavern?” Merlin snorted. “I don’t even know where the tavern is, Arthur.”

Arthur was far too tired to deal with that information at the moment. “So what, you just go galavanting about in the woods at all hours to escape work?”

Merlin was quiet for a few steps. “Some herbs only grow in very specific places.”

Arthur frowned. “If you were gathering herbs for Gaius, why would he say you were in the tavern?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, a bit of comic exasperation tingling his words. “Maybe he gets his kicks out of making my life miserable like a certain other part I know.”

“You can’t talk to a prince like that, Merlin.”

“I didn’t say anything about a prince. Are you finally admitting that you’re a—”

Merlin lurched, yet again, and Arthur tightened his grip on him automatically, but it wasn’t enough. Merlin slipped out of Arthur’s trembling arms, crashing to the ground without even a grunt. 

“Shit, Merlin!” Arthur half-fell, half-crouched at Merlin’s side, reaching in the gathering darkness for his shoulder. As his hand made contact with Merlin’s arm, he could feel the tension in the muscles relax. “Merlin, come on, it’s not time to be lazing about.”

Merlin groaned slightly, shifting beneath Arthur’s touch. “Arthur?” he murmured, “what. . . ?” 

“You fainted like a girl,” Arthur told him, the pounding of his heart slowing slightly as Merlin replied. “Did you hit your head?”

The arm Arthur was touching reached up rather quickly, and Arthur nearly lost hold of it. “It’s not bleeding,” Merlin said after a moment.

“Right, then, you’ve no excuse to be lazing about. On your feet Merlin. We’re going to that cave you mentioned.”

Merlin responded by making attempts to get up which were aided by Arthur, despite his screaming side and own dancing head, and Leon. Together they stumbled about in the forest until they came to what was indeed a cave burrowed into the side of a mountain. Exhausted and relieved, Arthur collapsed as soon as they’d ducked into the alcove, Merlin alongside him. 

By the time Arthur had recovered his breath, Sir Leon had started a fire, and Merlin was fast asleep by his side. With cautious, shaking fingers, Arthur gently probed Merlin’s head, which was resting on his shoulder, until he found a bump. It didn’t seem to be overly large nor was there any sign of blood. Though he didn’t doubt it was painful, it didn’t seem hard enough to give Merlin a concussion. Thank the heavens for that, Merlin’s brains were scrambled enough as it was. 

“How are you doing, Sire?” Sir Leon asked. 

Arthur blinked in surprise, then glanced down at his own cut, bloodied shirt. The bandages that peaked out from under it were blood stained, and Arthur had no doubt he’d popped at least one of his stitches while getting Merlin up here. “I’m fine,” Arthur replied. “Tend to Merlin.”

Leon nodded, pulling gently at Merlin’s boot. Merlin groaned in pain, shifting against Arthur, but didn’t wake. Having made no progress with the boot, Leon pulled out Merlin’s medicine pack and used the scissors within to cut the boot off. Merlin’s foot and ankle beneath was a swollen, purple mess. “I cannot tell if it is broken or not,” Leon reported after prodding at it gently. “However, I believe it would be wise if he didn’t walk further on it, Sire. At least if you wish him to heal without a permanent limp.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded, thinking. “We won’t be able to keep traveling by foot. You’ll need to go to the nearest village or city and procure horses.”

“Sire, I can’t leave you alone. It could take days to walk to find the nearest village with a horse. We’ve lost most of our food, and you and Merlin will hardly be able to defend yourself in the case of an attack.”

“I know that,” Arthur snapped, hands curling into fists. Merlin shifted on his shoulder, and Arthur lowered his voice. “I know that, but we can hardly stay here. Merlin needs Gaius.”

“He is a proficient healer unto himself,” Leon said.

Arthur shook his head. “He’s got worse self-preservation skills than a woodlouse. He’ll never be honest with us about how much he’s injured. Especially when he already sees himself as a burden. Whether we go back to Camelot or continue on to Ealdor, we need horses. Merlin can’t travel, and I can’t leave him, which means you must go.”

“Very well, sire,” Leon said with a nod after contemplating for a while. “I will leave at first light. Now please, let me check your wound.”

Arthur capitulated, gritting his teeth through Leon’s inspection and restitching. He was much rougher than Merlin, his stitches wonkier, but in the end, no less effective at holding the skin together. Finally, Arthur tied his wrist to Merlin’s once more carefully maneuvered himself and Merlin onto the ground. For a brief moment, he wondered if he’d have trouble sleeping as he had the first time. But exhaustion and blood loss dragged him into blissful unconsciousness.

He was awoken rather abruptly by stabbing pain in his side. His eyes shot open as he punched toward whoever was touching it. Except that his hand was tied to another hand, and it didn’t really work for some reason. Which was good, because the person he tried to punch was a rather tired looking Merlin. 

“Woke up on the wrong side of the cave, did you?” Merlin asked as he wrapped Arthur’s side back up with one and a half hands.

Ignoring him for the moment, Arthur scanned the cave which was flooded with morning light, empty besides the pack Leon had managed to scavenge from Arthur’s dead horse. “Where’s Sir Leon?” Arthur asked, voice still rough with sleep.

“He went to get horses,” Merlin said, handing Arthur a water skin. “Drink. You lost a fair amount of blood yesterday.”

Arthur took the skin gratefully, and drank a fair bit of it, before realizing it could be a bad idea. “How far is the nearest water source?”

Merlin grimaced. “Not far. It’ll be annoying to get there, but we can manage. I think. We won’t die of dehydration, at least. Dying of hunger, on the other hand, is a possibility.”

Arthur frowned, sitting up with a wince and taking the pack from Merlin. Within he found a few more freshly filled water skins (Leon must have attended to that before he left), the medicine pack, one of Merlin’s shirts, and a day’s worth of rations. “It’ll take Leon at least two, maybe three days to get back,” Arthur calculated out loud with a frown. That is, if he didn’t run into more bandits and die alone in the forest. 

“Kind of makes you wish we’d stayed locked up in your bedroom, doesn’t it,” Merlin asked.

Arthur’s initial instinct was to agree, then make some sort of joke about how they were only out here because Merlin wanted to be able to skip around in the flowers, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed Merlin’s knee with his free hand until Merlin looked up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “This is far more interesting than being locked up in my bedroom.”

Merlin granted Arthur one of his brilliant smiles, before muttering something about how Arthur was a “crazy dollophead.”

“I heard that!” Arthur replied lightly tossing his waterskin at Merlin ducked out of the way, pulling at their bound hands as he did. 

Despite their injuries, they passed a fairly pleasant day lounging around bickering with each other in order to ignore their unsated hunger. Unfortunately, as evening began to settle into the outside forest, Arthur went to take a drink and was met with an empty waterskin.

“Merlin, throw me some water,” Arthur said.

Merlin shook the other two waterskins. “Can’t,” he replied. “All out.” And then they stared at each other, trying to figure the easiest way to meet the next challenge. 

Using the cave wall, Merlin began to stand unsteadily on his one good foot. Arthur tried to follow him, but winced as his side protested the movement. He curled naturally around himself, drawing his hand down quickly. Unfortunately, that hand was tied to Merlin, who was yanked off balance by Arthur’s movements. Arthur hissed in pain as Merlin literally fell on top of him. 

“Sorry, Arthur!” Merlin said, scampering off of Arthur. “So sorry. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Arthur replied, uncurling cautiously, hand still pressed to his burning side. Before he could try to stand again, Merlin was leaning over him, pulling his shirt back to get at the wound. 

“I’m fine,” Arthur snapped, using his free arm to shove Merlin off of him.

“You’re bleeding again,” Merlin said. “That isn’t fine.”

“The stitches didn’t break. It’s old blood. I’m fine. We don’t have the resources to keep changing bandages.”

“Oh and you think we have the resources to drag you around the country when that wound gets infected?” As he spoke, Merlin reached for the shoelace that had tied their wrists together.

“Merlin, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking off the tie,” he mumbled, without looking up. Luckily, Merlin’s free hand was his left one, which left him fumbling rather unsuccessfully at the knot.

Arthur took his right hand and covered Merlin’s fluttering fingers. “And why,” Arthur asked when Merlin had looked up at him. “Would you untie the thing that’s keeping you alive?”

“You need more water,” Merlin replied. “We can’t both go. With my foot, the probability that I’ll trip and hurt you even more is too high. You’ll need to go get the water alone.”

“And what, leave you here to die?” Arthur asked.

“I won’t die immediately,” Merlin replied. “I figure you have fifteen to twenty minutes before non-contact becomes fatal. It had to have taken you at least that long to make contact with me the first time. The stream isn’t far. It’ll be easier this way.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, flabbergasted. Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing things. . . but then Arthur remembered his earlier conversation with Leon. “What were you doing in my room that night?”

Merlin blinked and the I’m-happy-to-be-your-servant-until-the-day-I-day look faded from his face, transforming into the blankness Arthur associated with searching-for-woodlouse and other slightly wonky excuses. “What do you mean?”

“You left the banquet to change after you spilled wine on yourself,” Arthur replied, speaking slowly and clearly like he was talking to a toddler, so that Merlin couldn’t feign ignorance or a misunderstanding. “You had no clothes in my room except the mud-covered ones. So why go back to my chambers?”

“Oh.” Merlin looked down, a bit of a sheepish smile on his face. “Just getting the muddy clothes so I could wash them at the same time. Bad timing on my part. If I’d have just left those clothes, it could be you lying on the ground in indescribable pain while I went to go get water.”

Darn, that sounded almost plausible. If Leon hadn’t told Arthur that he’d noticed Merlin acting differently that day, Arthur might have bought it. Might have made a joke at Merlin’s expense and moved on. But Merlin had seemed stressed that day, more so than normal. And then, when they’d been fighting, Merlin had let go of his hand. And now this insistence that Arthur leave him. It was a pattern he couldn’t let continue. “No. You knew there was an assassin in my chambers, somehow. You knew something was going on. You went there on purpose.”

Merlin looked at Arthur like he had a few screws left. “ Why would I purposely walk into an assassination attempt?!”

“I don’t know, Merlin?” Arthur asked, throwing his hands in exasperation. “Why did you?”

“To protect you, you prat!” Merlin snapped. Then his eyes widened, as if he’d just realized what he’d said.

Before Merlin could react or pull away, Arthur put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, meeting his wide brown stare. “That isn’t your job, Merlin. You aren’t meant to sacrifice yourself for me.”

But Merlin only smiled. “It may not be my job,” he said quietly. “But it is my destiny to serve you Arthur. And I’m happy to do it—”

“Until the day you die, I know,” Arthur replied, cursing internally as his throat constricted and his voice wavered. “But I’d rather wish you’d stop trying so hard to get out of doing your job. A half-decent servant is hard to come by.”

Merlin looked away, turning until Arthur’s hand was forced off his shoulder. They sat in silence, Arthur waiting for Merlin’s reply, and hearing only a gentle sniffle of held back tears. Finally, Merlin responded, voice quiet. “How would you propose we get more water then, Arthur?”

“Together,” Arthur replied, stealing himself for the painful quest that lay ahead of them. “Together.”

Chapter Text

The quest to get water was just as bad as Merlin had expected it to be. About half way through hoping about the forest, he was seriously considering staying behind next time, poisoned or not. The way that Arthur was cursing and sweating beside him, he figured Arthur was having similar thoughts. To make matters worse, his magic was seething under his skin reacting to his pain and frustration, yearning for an outlet Merlin couldn’t grant. 

By the time they finished what should have been a ten minute walk, but was actually closer to an hour of stumbling, cursing, and pain, Merlin and Arthur collapsed simultaneously back into their cave. They drank gratefully, ate sparingly, then Merlin convinced Arthur to let him care for his wound (so long as Merlin saw to his own ankle). Arthur settled into a light sleep as Merlin switched out the bandages, opting to not wash it with the stream water. 

Once Arthur was settled, Merlin leaned back against the cave wall. His eyelids dragged downward in exhaustion as his sprained (not broken he checked) ankle throbbed and his muscles ached. Rather than give in to the painless call of sleep, he began gently untying the shoelace that held him and Arthur together. 

It had only been a few days, and they were both already incapacitated. The probability of something worse happening, of them needing to separate before the curse released its hold was extremely high. He needed to be able to function without Arthur holding his hand, especially if whatever happened next required a magical solution. There was only one way to be able to control his body despite the pain: practice. And two nights in a cave while Leon fetched horses was the perfect opportunity, especially with Arthur wiped out by his injury. 

Finally, Merlin’s clumsy left hand got the tie undone. He let it fall away around Arthur’s wrist, so if Merlin fell unconscious during his experiments Arthur would think the knot just came undone somehow. Then, cautiously, Merlin pulled his hand away. The return of the pain was immediate, and he automatically grabbed Arthur’s wrist again on instinct. He froze, breathing hard, as Arthur shifted. When he didn’t wake, Merlin prepared himself once more and let go, this time fighting against his instincts, forcing himself to stay still through the pain until his vision grayed. As soon as he’d recovered, he tried it again and again, counting through the agony, trying to make it just a little longer each time as his magic flared angrily beneath his skin.

. . . 28, 29, 30, 31. Everything was hurting. All he could hear was his heart pounding. His lungs burned, his head swam. Maybe I should take a break , Merlin thought.

And then, it was dark, and he was laying beneath his blanket, Arthur’s voice ringing through the castle calling to him, but Merlin was so comfortable. He didn’t want to wake. Vaguely he was aware of trembling, exhausted muscles and swollen ankle. Then he opened his eyes. Arthur’s face swam into his vision, leaning over him, speaking urgently. Strange, since Merlin had been sure that Arthur’s voice had been coming from further away only moments later.

Just past Arthur’s head was the ceiling of the cave. Merlin searched through his memories wondering why he was in a cave. Once he remembered the poisoning, the fight, the painful hike, he continued on trying to figure how he’d ended up on the cave floor when he couldn’t remember going to sleep. He’d been practicing, and. . . he must have gone too far. Arthur would have woken up to Merlin seizing, the cord holding them together loose. No wonder he was panicking. Oh, and Merlin still hadn’t said anything despite his worried prompting.

“I’m all right,” Merlin said, forcing his screaming muscles to lift himself up. Arthur’s hands were there to steady him, gently maneuvering him against the cave wall. Merlin glanced out the opening of the cave, noting the complete darkness. “Why are you awake?”

Arthur stared at him, mouth ajar. “Why am I awake? Maybe because my useless servant was busy dying less than a foot from me. What happened?”

Merlin felt around in the relative darkness until he found the shoelace. He held it up for Arthur to see. “The lace must have been loose after I tried to undo it earlier. Came off while we were sleeping, then we rolled away from each other.” Gods, but Merlin was too tired for this. His whole body ached, and it was still hard to breathe for some reason, as though his lungs were sore from struggling to breathe. And still his magic reared away within him, pacing like a caged animal. 

Vaguely, he felt Arthur pull his worn wrist up, wrapping it twice over with the shoelace before securing it. From the amount of tugging, Merlin figured that saying it had just come undone next time would be a completely unbelievable excuse. 

“It’s secure now,” Arthur said quietly. “It won’t come undone. Now, let’s get some sleep.”

Merlin agreed, sliding down the wall until he lay alongside Arthur on the cave floor. Given his exhaustion and pain, he expected to fall asleep almost immediately. Then blue light flickered on the other side of his eyelids. With a groan, he forced them open once more, and found himself glaring blearily into a glowing blue orb. It took him a moment to recognize it as his magic, and force it away. The magic fought back, yearning for release, but he managed after a moment.

Huffing with the effort, Merlin glanced over at Arthur, relieved to find him fast asleep once more. With a sign, Merlin closed his eyes once more, only to be met with the blue light once more. With a groan, Merlin once again wrestled his magic into submission. Then he lay staring up at the ceiling focusing entirely on keeping a tight grip on his magic. There was too high a risk that Arthur would wake. The night hours stretched on.

Near dawn, he’d finally managed to wrestle his magic into submission and was just deciding it might be safe to close his eyes when Arthur shifted. Instead of sleeping, Merlin pulled his dirty sock off his foot and tossed at Arthur. “Up and at ‘em lazy daisy.”

The sock hit Arthur across the mouth, and near instantaneously, Arthur was up and spluttering.

“I’ll keep that tactic in mind for the next time you need waking,” Merlin said with a grin as Arthur glared at him.

“You’re spending a week in the stocks when we get back,” Arthur swears. “And I’ll double the punishment each time you repeat such actions.”

“Noted,” Merlin replied. “I’ll just save it for emergencies then. When you really need to get up quick.”

“I wouldn’t need to get up quickly if you’d arrive to work on time for once, Mer- lin.”

“I wouldn’t arrive late for work if I wasn’t constantly saving your ass.” As he spoke, Merlin dug into his saddle bag and tossed Arthur his bit of rations for the morning. Then he glanced in and calculated how much food was left. “You think Leon will arrive by nightfall?”

“Tomorrow morning’s more likely,” Arthur replied as he nibbled on the rations Merlin had handed him. As he ate, he glanced out the cave mouth, and only then did Merlin take his rations from the dwindling supply, about half what he had given Arthur because Arthur had been stabbed and he needed the extra food to recover. And Merlin’s magic could sustain him, though not comfortably.

When Arthur turned back around and saw Merlin nearly finished with his portion, he raised an eyebrow. “The food is not going to go anywhere, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Just because we’re living in a cave doesn’t mean we have to eat like wolves.”

Merlin ignored him, exhaustion, hunger, pain dragging at his body and mind. None of it was serious or life threatening. He’d been nearly dead so many times in his life that being uncomfortable didn’t even seem like mentioning. His body yearned to curl into a ball and just stop existing for a moment. Which was ridiculous, because Merlin was fine. Just a bit tired was all. 

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice filtered in through Merlin’s musings, and he realized that Arthur must have already repeated his name several times.

“Arthur,” Merlin replied dryly, focusing his attention on the prince.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” 

“You zoned out on me.”

“I’m practicing selective hearing,” Merlin replied, forcing a smile. “Figure if I’m going to be stuck with you for a while longer, it will be a useful skill.”

Day two of cave-dwelling passed much as day one did, with the addition of a short nap during the afternoon before they set out to gather water once again. When Arthur fell asleep while Merlin was tending his side, Merlin cautiously undid the tie once more and resumed practicing dealing with the pain. This time, he tied their hands magically together, so that he had to forcibly resist to pull away and the second he reached the point he could no longer fight the pull, his hand was drawn back to Arthur’s arm. Even with this mild expenditure of magic, he had to take breaks to control its flaring between bouts of self-inflicted pain. 

When Merlin had reached a full minute and a half before blacking out, his inability to breathe properly without keeping hold of Arthur hindering him trying longer at the moment, Merlin replaced the shoe lace. Or attempted to. His fingers were shaking so hard, he quickly found it impossible to do left handed. 

Loath to wake Arthur, but more weary of risking Arthur waking up to find Merlin seizing once more, Merling gently kicked Arthur awake.

“Merlin?” Arthur groaned as he rolled over. “Everything all right?”

“Undid the knot to get water. Didn’t want to wake you, but I needed two hands. Only I can’t tie the knot again.” 

Arthur moaned, reaching for his wrist and finding Merlin’s and the string waiting nearby in the dark. Merlin closed his eyes, focusing on the tugging on his wrist, the fumble of tired fingers against his skin.

“You did a good job, waking me,” Arthur said after a while, fingers withdrawing, voice still heavy with sleep. “Everything else all right?”

“Fine,” Merlin replied, hearing the obvious lie in the shakiness of his response. 

Dirt and rocks clattered, and then Arthur’s body was leaning against the wall alongside Merlin’s, warm against the cave’s slight chill. “You’re trembling.” Suddenly Arthur sounded awake and concerned. 

“I know,” Merlin replied. “I’m a girl.”

“No, Merlin. I mean, yes , sometimes but. . .” Arthur trailed off, but his fingers sought out Merlin’s, twisting them together where before they’d dangled awkwardly alongside each other. “You’re in a vulnerable position. It’s perfectly natural to be. . . a little concerned.”

“I’m not concerned,” Merlin protested. Not for himself, at least. “I trust you with my life, Arthur. I know you’d never let anything happen to me if you could help it.”

Arthur didn’t respond right away, but his fingers curled tighter around Merlin’s. “Right,” he said finally, voice husky. “Right then. We should get some sleep. We’ll be riding out tomorrow.”

Merlin grunted in agreement, shimmying down the wall in time with Arthur. He thought he’d have to fight his magic down again, but for some reason, it stayed down. Perhaps it’s because Arthur hadn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, and the sensory input he could focus on until darkness claimed him and he slept.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke to the steady clop of horse hooves and found the cave flooded with morning light. He jerked awake, going first for his sword before glancing back at his sleeping servant. Dark circles rang his eyes, which were squeezed in pain even in sleep. Through the string that bound their wrists together, Arthur could feel the minute trembling of Merlin’s body. Despite maintaining constant contact the last two days, the poisoning effects were clearly getting worse though he knew Merlin would never admit it.

The horse stopped its approach, and heavy footfalls sounded outside their den. Arthur gripped his sword tighter, carefully shifting into a crouch, wincing as his side protested. It was probably Leon, but just in case it wasn’t. . .

“Arthur?” Leon’s voice called quietly.

Arthur relaxed, easing himself back against the wall. “Here,” he called quietly.

Leon ducked under the cave, the curls of his hair still full of leaves, appearing nearly as tired as Merlin had last night.

“You look as though you’ve barely slept,” Arthur observed. “I see you were successful?”

“The nearest village didn’t have a horse strong enough to carry two,” Leon explained. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” Arthur replied. “Merlin’s been motherhenning me enough for both of you.”

“And how is he?” Leon asked, settling on the other side of the cave. Arthur scooted enough that Leon could get a better look at the servant. Mourning light filtered across Merlin’s grayed face. 

“He looks worse,” Leon observed, a note of concern in his voice he didn’t quite manage to hide. “Did anything happen while I was gone? Were you two separated yesterday?”

Arthur shook his head, pressing the fingers of his free hand to his aching eyes. “Two nights ago I woke and we’d gotten untied somehow. Merlin was—” It had been bad. Perhaps as bad as it had been the first time Arthur found him. It was hard to judge in the panic of the moment. “But we’ve been together since then without a break, but he’s still. . . He’s worse .” 

Leon absorbed the news without comment, studying Merlin silently. Something about Leon’s calm, accepting demeanor drove Arthur’s deeper fear to the surface.

“Gaius said this was meant to be something between lovers, soulmates. What if—” It was hard to keep speaking, but he needed to voice the fear out in the open. “What if our bond isn’t enough, Leon? What if I don’t love him enough?” Arthur’s throat closed at the effort of saying those words as tears blurred his vision. 

“Sire, in all honesty, I highly doubt that,” Leon replied softly after a moment’s contemplation.

Taking several steadying breaths, Arthur turned and blinked away the tears. “Of course,” he said. “It’s ridiculous to worry. We should get going. Merlin!”

Merlin groaned at the raised voice, but didn’t wake immediately. Arthur yearned to reach over, shake him gently, help him sit up, ascertain Merlin’s exact state before he woke and put on his ‘I’m fine’ act once more. Instead, Arthur pulled his sock of his foot and threw it at Merlin’s face. Turn about was fair play after all.

Even with that rude awakening, Merlin spluttered and flailed a bit before coming fully to consciousness. “‘Thur. . . what?” he groaned. Then his eyes focused, and his face scrunched. And then Arthur found his sock thrown back at him.

“Time to go,” Arthur said as he slipped his sock back on. “Leon’s back. He found your lazy ass a horse so you don’t have to walk.”

Merlin groaned but sat up, his free left hand raising to his head as though he had a headache. “You’ll be riding that horse too,” Merlin reminded Arthur, then his head jerked up. “Will that be too much pressure on your side? That hasn’t healed enough yet. Arthur—”

“I’ll be fine, Merlin,” Arthur said as his stomach growled. “The prince of Camelot can handle supporting your girlish weight.” Then, while Merlin was still recovering Arthur reached over to the saddle bags and glanced in, expecting to find it completely empty given the portions they’d been eating over the last two days. To his shock, there was still roughly a bit and a half or so of bread. 

Glancing at Merlin’s dazed, exhausted countenance, he tossed the larger bit at Merlin. “Eat up,” he said. “Then we’ll head out.”

Leon’s extra hands made standing and limping out of the cave far easier. As did his ability to hold the horse as Merlin mounted it with only minor difficulty, Arthur keeping a hold of him the whole way up. Then they switched, Merlin keeping hold of Arthur as he tried to mount. Mounting the horse sent a blind spear of pain through his side, and had it not been for Merlin’s steadying hands, the probability that he’d have fallen right off would have been incredibly high. Not that Arthur would have admitted it. 

With the two of them settled on the horse, Merlin curling forward rather than leaning against Arthur as he had previously, likely to avoid aggravating Arthur’s side further, they set off, Leon walking alongside the slow plodding horse. Hardly an ideal form of travel, but far better than hobbling through the forest toward Ealdor.

Arthur kept a careful eye on Merlin who was slouching further and further over the horse as the day wore on, tugging Arthur’s arm further forward. As Merlin began to tip dangerously to one side, Arthur reached his arm around Merlin to steady him, pulling him back on the center of the horses back with a hiss of pain. Merlin jerked awake at the contact, muttering a protest about Arthur’s side. But it wasn’t long basking in the warm, humid air, before Merlin was once again on the verge of falling off the mount.

It was Leon this time, walking alongside them, who pushed Merlin back on the horse. He then shot Arthur a concerned glance. Arthur could only grimace, trying to ignore the constant flaring pain in his side that protested with each of the horses plodding steps.

When Arthur could no longer stand the pain, he called for a stop. Merlin jerked awake again, and they began the process of dismounting. Leon hunted as Merlin and Arthur blustered about setting up camp. Merlin cooked the rabbit Leon managed to find cheerily, then they settled to sleep, Merlin offering to take first watch since he’d napped on the horse. Arthur wished he could protest, but a two man watch wasn’t sustainable, and Leon was clearly exhausted. So he settled to sleep while Merlin sat next to him, humming quietly.

He was woken to a gentle nudge. Merlin’s breath heaved unsteadily in the otherwise quiet night, and the arm tied to his was damp. Arthur frantically scrambled upright, peering through the darkness to try and get a good look at Merlin by the light of the dying coals. “Merlin?”

“Fine, Arthur,” Merlin responded, sounding out of breath and exhausted. “It’s your watch.”

Arthur glanced up at the stars, noting their positions. Merlin had taken more than half of Arthur’s watch as well. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep during watch, had another nightmare, and only recently awakened. Not ideal, but understandable, and given that they were all still alive, forgivable. He didn’t know how to phrase his worry and didn’t want to increase Merlin’s discomfort by accusing him of sleeping on the job, even if it was likely. So, Arthur just nodded, ordered Merlin to get some rest, and began his watch. 

The next morning, Merlin seemed even weaker, though he did his best to pretend he was fine. They resumed their journey toward Ealdor without breakfast, and Merlin started up his usual inane chatter. But by sunhigh, he was once again sagging on the horse, and only Leon and Arthur’s combined efforts could keep him there.

When they stopped that night, Arthur estimated that they would reach Ealdor the next afternoon, which seemed to cheer Merlin slightly. Merlin took first watch again, though Leon offered to take second, which Arthur eagerly allowed given his own exhaustion upon settling in. Merlin noted his pain and insisted on checking Arthur’s injury once more. It had bled again at some point during the day, likely when Arthur had been mounting or dismounting the damned horse. Merlin fretted and cared, and then Arthur was given a tonic for the pain, and sent to sleep. He didn’t have the energy to resist.

When Leon woke Arthur for his watch, the first tones of dawn were already beginning to brighten the horizon. “Merlin took most of my watch,” Leon whispered when Arthur gave him a quizzical look. “I thought I’d pass on the favor. When he woke me he seemed. . . bad.”

Arthur frowned at the knowledge, glancing down at the servant who was fast asleep at his side. “Thanks for letting me know,” Arthur whispered back, swallowing against the fear that rose at Leon’s report. “Get some rest.”

He watched Merlin, during the early hours of the morning, contemplating the lines of pain and exhaustion carved into his friend’s sleeping face. If Arthur could choose to love him romantically, if he could choose to yearn for his body, if that would stop the pain, he would do it in a heartbeat. Anything to stop Merlin’s steady decline. I wish I could love you the way you need me too, Arthur thought, fingers trailing absently through Merlin’s sweaty black bangs.

Perhaps it was the stress of travel and lack of food. Perhaps getting to Ealdor would help Merlin regain his strength. If not, Arthur would send for Gaius. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t lose Merlin. 

Chapter Text

Merlin riding into Ealdor sharing a horse with the Prince of Camelot got looks. Merlin getting off the horse then holding hands with the Prince of Camelot had people running to get his mother. She met them with happy, surprised hugs and hurried them into her house away from the curious eyes of the rest of the villagers.

The three of them spent a fairly movement-free month at Ealdor, enough that the swelling in Merlin’s foot diminished and the slash in Arthur’s side began to heal. But the more time passed, the more anxious Merlin got waiting for Morgana’s inevitable attack. The way his unspent magic roared under his skin, he feared going to sleep next to Arthur, but the growing exhaustion was making it harder and harder to focus. 

To make matters worse, Arthur and his mother were fretting over him. His mother bringing him food and hovering as Merlin tried to read, Arthur taking to poking and prodding him at odd times to attempt to provoke a smile. One particularly unexpected poke when Merlin had fallen asleep reading very nearly ended in Arthur being instinctively thrown against the wall. At the last minute Merlin had managed to divert the instinct, instead sending one of his mother’s pots sailing out the window to crash discretely to the ground outside.

Arthur, completely oblivious of his near-death, grinned down at Merlin. “Come on then, lazy-daisy, time for a bit of a walk.”

“That’s my word,” Merlin complained, rubbing at his burning eyes.

“And it describes you perfectly,” Arthur shot back, sending him another overly forceful smile. Merlin groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair, but did get to his feet. They took a small lap around the village, Merlin naturally leaning against Arthur to take some of the pressure off his still healing ankle. The villagers did not approach, just watched curiously from a distance. And Merlin, in attempt to lessen Arthur’s poorly hidden concern, did his best to talk as much as he normally would have. Except he knew his chatter made even less sense than normal. But Arthur didn’t say anything about his nonsense.

That night after Arthur had fallen asleep and the house had fallen to creaking silence, Merlin once again untied the knot that bound them (he’d gotten very good at undoing a knot with his left hand after so much practice). Then he took a deep breath and pulled his hand away. 

The horrific pain flooded him instantly, burning agony reminiscent of sekret stings, morpheus flower poison, and being thrown against hundreds of walls all rolled up in one. His vision blurred, his magic roared, his hands trembled. It was just pain, in the end. Merlin counted steadily in his head focusing on the itch of the sweat that trickled down his temple rather than the distant, overwhelming pain. 

Pain wasn’t the problem, he could deal with pain. But the way his entire body tensed the second he lost contact with the warm comfort of Arthur’s skin forced the air from his lungs and refused Merlin more air. He held out until his vision went black from lack of oxygen, then he let his hand fall back on Arthur’s wrist. He’d gasp for breath until his vision and heart rate stabled, then let go again, trying to get himself to relax enough into the pain to allow himself to draw breath. On the third attempt of the night, just as Merlin’s vision was graying out, hands wrapped around Merlin’s wrists.

Beyond the ringing of Merlin’s ears, he could make out Arthur’s cursing. His mother and Sir Leon’s voice rose in the distance. As the darkness of breathlessness receded, Merlin’s eyes picked up the light of a freshly lit fire which illuminated Arthur’s face. Merlin stared into it as he forced his magic into a state of dormancy. 

“You with me now, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded.

“Good,” Arthur said, then reached out and slapped Merlin across the cheek.

Merlin blinked, raising a hand to his cheek. “What was that for?” he protested.

“For untying us. What in the nine hells were you thinking, Merlin? That we were tied together just for the fun of it? We’re trying to keep you alive here. I left my kingdom, lied to my father, risked the embarrassment of being seen attached to you to keep you alive, and you’ve just thrown all that back in my face!”

“I wanted to see if the curse was over,” Merlin muttered. “And then I couldn’t. . .” But he trailed off, because he could see the anger in Arthur’s gaze, but also the glint of understanding.

“You’ve been doing this every night, haven’t you?” Arthur asked. “That’s why you’ve been getting worse.”

Merlin stared down at the wrist Arthur held in his firm grasp. He considered denying it, but he already lied to Arthur about so much. So he nodded, watching Arthur’s fingers tighten around his wrist at the confirmation.

“Why?” Arthur asked again.

Merlin looked up this time, meeting Arthur’s blue eyes. “When we were attacked you almost died because of me. Because this curse is a liability. It was meant to kill you, and I won’t let it. I needed to practice so I could fend for myself when. . .”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his wrist settling around the back of Merlin’s head. “Listen to me, we made it out of that. We’re here now, we’re safe. No one is going to attack us. This isn’t necessary.”

Merlin shook his head. “The person who tried to poison you, they aren’t going to just let us hide out here. They’re going to strike again, before the curse wears off. And I need to be ready for it. I need to protect you.” Perhaps he was saying too much. But gods, he was exhausted. 

“It isn’t your job to protect me, Merlin,” Arthur said gently. “That’s what Sir Leon is here for. And it definitely isn’t your job to . . . to torture yourself for me.”a

Merlin forced a smile. “Right, the only one allowed to torture me is you, my lord.” He’d hoped the diversion would be enough to get Arthur to laugh, tie their wrists together, and go back to bed. Instead, Arthur’s hand shifted from Merlin’s hair to his shoulder. 

“We need to talk about this, Merlin,” Arthur insisted. “Do you have any idea how worried you’ve made Leon and your Mother? I think they’ve sent for Gaius. They didn’t think us keeping in contact was working, because you’ve been getting worse. How do you think Gaius will feel upon getting Hunith’s letter? Hells, how do you think we’d have felt if we woke up one morning and found you . . .” Arthur’s voice wavered, and the hand on Merlin’s shoulder tightened.

Merlin stared back down at his lap and their entwined hands.”At least then I wouldn’t be making you vulnerable,” Merlin whispered under his breath. He hadn’t intended Arthur to hear his words, but Arthur’s hand reached for Merlin’s chin, tilting it until Merlin was forced to meet Arthur’s blue eyes.

“You are not a vulnerability,” Arthur said sternly. “You are my strength. My compass. My friend. But never, never a weakness. If it weren’t for your actions and your presence, this poison would have already killed me. But if you think for a moment your death would be preferable to mine, you’d be even more of a fool than normal.”

Merlin couldn’t help but smile, giving Arthur a small nod.

Arthur smiled back at him, the fear that pinched around his eyes easing as he released Merlin’s chin. “While we’re being honest then, who is it that tried to poison me?”

“I don’t have any evidence besides what I saw,” Merlin mumbled. “You’d rather not know. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, a bit of impatience coloring his tone. “Who is trying to kill me.”

Merlin licked his lips, took a deep breath, sighed. “Morgana.”

Arthur snorted. “Seriously, Merlin.”

“I am being serious,” Merlin snapped. “She’s got magic, Arthur. That’s why she kept having dreams that foretold the future, why there was a fire in her room. I tried to help her, she was so scared of Uther, of you. But then she met Morgause and the sleeping spell. . . Ever since she’s come back she’s been plotting against you.”

Arthur sat there staring stupidly at Merlin as his brain processed. “Morgause has allied with Cenrid in the past. We’re literally in his kingdom now. And if Morgana really is a traitor, this is the first place she’d guess we’d go to hide.”

Merlin nodded. “That’s why I’ve been pract. . .” The tramp of distant hooves drew his attention. Closing his eyes, he let his unwieldy magic race ahead, feeling out the mass of men and horses coming their way. Toward the home he’d put in danger by hiding here. He waited until his magic had settled before opening his eyes. “They’re here. We need to go.”

“No,” Arthur’s hand tightened around Merlin’s wrist. “If we leave, Cenrids men will destroy this village looking for us.”

“They’re smart,” Merlin said. “As long as we aren’t found here he won’t have any reason to punish them. And your father will kill us both if Cenrid finds us stuck like this.”

“Merlin’s right, sire,” Hunith’s voice sounded from the doorway. “It will be better for us if you aren’t found here.”

Arthur nodded, calling for Sir Leon as he and Merlin sprang to their feet packing up their things. In moments, Arthur and Merlin were on horseback, Leon on his own borrowed horse, galloping out of the village. From his place sitting in front of Arthur, he was able to close his eyes and cast out again with his magic, sensing the force of men as they arrived in the village. Several stopped there, but more chased after them. Still more were further ahead. 

They were surrounded. “Arthur,” Merlin said. “Whatever happens tonight, remember that everything I do is for you.”

“Merlin. . .” Arthur started, voice tense.

“Sire, there’s more ahead,” Leon reported, pulling his panting, frothing horse to a stop. 

“We’ll go west,” Arthur started.

“It won’t work,” Merlin said. “We’re surrounded.”

Arthur didn’t question how Merlin knew, just pulled his sword from his sheath as the horse shifted nervously under them. “Keep a hold of me,” Arthur commanded as he dismounted the untrained horse, Merlin at his side.

“Sire,” Leon said, coming alongside them. “You should take my armor.”

“There isn’t time,” Arthur replied as the rumble of horses and war cries grew nearer. There had to be at least a hundred men, Merlin figured, though at least half of those were still searching the village. There was no way Leon and Arthur could face those odds.

Merlin took a step toward a nearby tree with Arthur, and his injured ankle suddenly gave. Arthur caught him before he went all the way down, casting Merlin a concerned, determined glance. But real fear wrapped around Merlin’s throat. He’d pushed himself too hard. His magic roared in his ears, demanding a more explosive release than the carefully controlled sensory magic. But once that magic was gone, Merlin had no doubt he’d collapse.

He had one chance then. He needed to wait until all the soldiers were close enough.

The first fighters broke through the trees, bearing down upon them. Arthur parried the first blow. The numbers were overwhelming. “Let go of me,” Merlin demanded, wiggling his hand from Arthur’s grasp. “I’ll be all right.”

And, to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s hand did slip away. Perhaps he realized that they’d both be dead if Arthur couldn’t protect them. Perhaps he’d just let go on instinct. Either way, the familiar horrific pain encased Merlin. 

He let out a gasp as the tightening of his muscles expelled the air in his lungs. His hands reached for the tree, barely managing to keep himself upright as his legs trembled. The clash of metal on metal filled his ears as more and more men rode through the trees. Sir Leon and Sir Arthur fought, teeth gritted, swords flashing, with all the skill of Camelot, while Merlin counted.

Then Arthur went down, knocked aside by a horse, blade skittering out of his hand. The mercenary he fought grinned, raising his sword above Arthur’s chest.

This was it. Please, don’t hate me Arthur , Merlin thought as he held out a shaking hand and released the magic he’d been holding back for a month. It flew from him in an instinctual rush, unguided by words or planned thought. 

For one moment, his graying vision cleared. He watched in grizzly detail as man and horse alike were thrust away from Merlin and his friends. The horses struck the trees hard enough to fell them. The lucky men only struck the trunks before collapsing to the ground. The unlucky found themselves gored upon branches, screaming in agony, watering the forest in their scarlet blood. 

Then the curse's pain returned with a vengeance. Far worse than it ever had been before, when his magic had fought against it. The screams faded into the ringing of his ears as Merlin glanced toward Arthur, already darkening. He couldn’t make out Arthur’s face, but Arthur was moving. Alive. 

And there was so much pain.

Chapter Text

Arthur had been ready to die. Disarmed, staring up at the blade and the smirking mercenary who would be his end when a sudden warm strength engulfed him, and his enemies were flung away. Screams, thumps, and the cracking of trees filled the air.

Instinctively, Arthur grabbed the nearest blade to him and sat up, searching for the rest of his enemies, only to find them all felled. On the other side of the tree, Sir Leon was finding his feet, seemingly stunned but otherwise fine. And Merlin. . .

Merlin was standing where Arthur had left him at his insistence. In a desperate moment, Arthur had let go of him, and Merlin was still there, leaning against the tree, one hand out in front of him, eyes awash with fading gold. Arthur had just enough time to tighten his grip on his sword before Merlin’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed, head bouncing against the tree on his way down.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, scrambling through the bloody mud to his side. Yet just before they came into contact Arthur hesitated. Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin had lied. Merlin had lied about so, so much. He was a traitor, and it was Arthur’s duty to kill traitors.

He glanced up at Leon, his first knight who was staring down at the scene, arms folded. Trying to fight back the tears that blurred his vision, Arthur could say nothing more than Leon’s name, voice shaky. Seeking guidance.

“Do not leave him to suffer, Sire,” Leon advised, voice rough.

Arthur turned back to Merlin, whose lips were turning blue, whole body convulsing. Just like Arthur had found him at the beginning of this mess. He understood Leon’s advice. Kill him now or resume contact to fight off the curse. Each mercy of a different sort, either better than allowing Merlin to suffer through Arthur’s indecision.

Arthur’s mind flew back to Merlin’s grim words before the fight. He’d known then that his magic would be revealed, Arthur realized. He hadn’t told Arthur, not in that moment before the fight. It would have been too much of a distraction. But he’d done what he could. He’d pledged his loyalty to Arthur in the same breath he’d explained his treachery. He’d done it for Arthur. 

He’d done it for Arthur just like he’d taken the curse for Arthur, just like he’d tortured himself night after night for Arthur, just like he’d revealed himself only when Arthur’s life had been at risk. All for Arthur. A prince could ask for no more loyalty, from servant, knight, or friend. 

So he reached out, clasping Merlin’s cold hand in his own, expecting the seizures to stop as they had in the past. But they didn’t, Merlin continued to jerk in the dirt, whole body rigid.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, reaching for Merlin’s head and cradling it in his hands to protect it from the tree roots. “Merlin, I’m here. Everything will be all right. Please, be calm.”

And yet, the seizing continued, and Arthur could do nothing but cradle Merlin. “Leon,” he called again, and then Leon was there, crouching over them, holding a hand before Merlin’s blue lips.

“He’s not breathing,” Leon reported, voice rough.

Arthur’s mind raced, trying to determine why contact wasn’t working when it had before. The only thing that had changed was that Arthur had learned that Merlin was a sorcerer. Perhaps Arthur’s hesitation was killing Merlin. Perhaps the curse knew Arthur had hesitated. Perhaps it knew Arthur didn’t love Merlin enough. “Please Merlin,” Arthur cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I’m sorry I wasn’t a person you could tell. I’m sorry I hesitated. You’re still my friend. My best friend, Merlin. And I can’t. . . I can’t do this without you. Please, Merlin. You can’t die. You can’t leave me. I couldn’t stand it. Please.”

As Arthur’s begging came to an end, Merlin’s seizure stopped. He collapsed, boneless and unresponsive in Arthur’s arms. His breathing resumed, but it was shallow, shaky.

“We have to get him to Gaius.”

“Hunith is closer,” Leon replied. “And Gaius is likely on his way. If we ride back now we risk passing him.”

“There will still likely be soldiers in town,” Arthur said with a shake of his head “Merlin needs help, now.”

Either way, they couldn’t stay in the middle of the bloodbath. The rest of the army would definitely find them there. Arthur tore his gaze away from Merlin to search for a ride. But the horses they’d ridden out on had fled at the first sight of danger and the enemy horses, like the enemy, lay scattered dead throughout the forest. “Gaius is old and unfamiliar with these parts. He’ll stick to the road. We’ll have to hope we meet him halfway.”

Leon nodded his agreement, and Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms, too scared to throw him over his back in case of causing more damage. So, carrying Merlin like a bride, he hurried through the forest the best he could, Leon scouting just ahead. They walked through the night in dull exhaustion, continuing their trek as the sun rose, illuminating Merlin’s gray face.

At sunhigh, Arthur could go no further. His numb, stumbling legs raised a danger to Merlin, and his aching arms threatened to drop him. So he collapsed against a tree, holding Merlin in his lap, unsure how much farther he could go. 

Leon pressed a water skin at him, and Arthur drank absentmindedly, struggling to get the thing to his mouth with all his body’s trembling. As soon as he felt he could walk again without collapsing and risking injury to Merlin, they resumed their journey.

As evening fell once more, Leon placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, drawing him from the must-keep-walking trance of exhaustion he’d fallen into. “There’s someone up ahead,” Leon warned.

Arthur glanced up, making out the sound of an approaching horse. He stumbled off the path, more collapsing than crouching in the bushes. Leon crouched above them, hands on his sword, peering above the bushes. As the horse neared, Arthur tried to control his gasping breaths as he clutched Merlin close to him. 

Then Leon let out a little relieved chuckle and stood. “Gaius,” he called, and all the tension fled from Arthur’s body. Before he knew it, Gaius was leaning over the two of them, examining Merlin and asking questions.

Leon explained the fight and Merlin’s collapse without mention of magic.

Gaius appeared grave. “He shouldn’t have continued to react after contact was resumed unless the curse has been allowed to fester.”

“How would it fester?” Arthur asked, the fear in his stomach raising its head once more.

“If you’d been out of contact frequently for long periods of time,” Gaius replied. “The more pain that Merlin was in, the more the curse was able to sink its claws into him.”

Leon frowned. “They’ve been tied together constantly, that shouldn’t—”

“No,” Arthur replied, cutting Leon off. “He untied himself at night. He was trying to become accustomed to the pain, so he could fight even if we were separated. If he. . . if he hadn’t we would have all died. I had to let go of him in the fight, and . . . and he was the one who saved us.”

He met Gaius’s face as he spoke, noting Gaius’s grave, knowing nod. “The curse must be very strong indeed, then.”

“Gaius,” Arthur said. “Please, I can’t lose him. There must be something. . .”

“The curse must be broken,” Gaius said.

“But you said it required a sorcerer,” Arthur said, mind racing. Merlin said Morgana had magic, but Morgana was also the one to do this in the first place. Merlin had magic, but he was unconscious. “Could you undo it?” Arthur asked Gaius.

“Not possible,” Gaius replied. “For the spell to have lasted as long as it has, the spellcaster must be far stronger than I am.”

Merlin moaned from where he lay in Arthur’s lap. His face glistened with sweat and his eyes were scrunched in pain. Arthur frowned, drawing his fingers through Merlin’s hair in an attempt to soothe him. “He’s still in pain,” Arthur said, frowning.

“It won’t abate until the curse is lifted,” Gaius replied. “As long as you keep contact with him he’ll not seize as he did before, but the pain won’t diminish. The human body won’t last long under that amount of stress. If we can’t break the curse, it will be best to keep him unconscious until it wears off.”

“You said this could last several months, will you be able to keep him sedated long enough?”

Gaius shook his head. “Drugging him would give us a week, perhaps two. But given that we don’t have access to a sorcerer. . .”

“Could Merlin do it?” Arthur asked, suddenly. “Could Merlin break the curse? If we let him wake up?”

Gaius frowned, opened his mouth, and Arthur suddenly knew he was going to hear a bunch of lies.

“He saved us from the army, Gaius. I know he has magic. I know he’s strong. I swear no harm will come to him because of it. Now, can he break the curse?”

“It’s possible,” Gaius replied. “But he’d need to come fully awake. If he’s unable to do it, the stress of trying would make trying to wait it out practically impossible.”

Arthur frowned, staring down at Merlin who’d begun trembling with pain, little whimpers escaping with each breath. He yearned to tell Gaius to put Merlin under, to spare him the pain, but Merlin was strong. The strongest man he knew. If he could bear the pain over and over again to save Arthur, then he could do it to save himself. And Arthur would much rather bet on Merlin’s strength as opposed to the weakness of his poisoner. “Let him wake,” Arthur decided, though his heart twisted at the thought. 

Gaius nodded. “We should try and find some sort of shelter then, this could be quite a process.”

“I’ll search for a proper place to make camp,” Leon reported, then took off into the trees. 

Arthur shifted slightly trying to situate Merlin more comfortably in his arms, hating the whimper of pain Merlin made at being jostled. “Can we give him something for the pain while he wakes?”

Gaius nodded, searching through his bag until he came up with a potion. Arthur carefully leveraged Merlin up so that Gaius could pour the concoction little by little down Merlin’s throat. It took a while after, but eventually he calmed slightly, and Arthur found himself dozing against the tree, exhaustion from the battle, the discovery, and the long grueling walk taking its toll. Some time after that, Leon returned and led them to a fairly secure campsite far enough from the road that they shouldn’t be spotted. Arthur retried his wrist to Merlin’s and slept. 

About halfway through the night he was woken by moaning. He groaned awake, reaching out for Merlin in the darkness. Merlin trembled beneath Arthur’s hand. The pain reliever gaius had given him must have worn off. With an exhausted groan, Arthur sat up, pulling Merlin against his chest, brushing his hand through his hair, whispering words of comfort. 

“‘Rthur?” Merlin mumbled after a few moments. 

“Merlin,” Arthur replied gently, his heart leaping in his chest in relief. “Thank the gods you’re awake.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, I know,” Arthur whispered, “But we need you to stay awake. You must break the curse.”

He hadn’t thought Merlin could tense more, already being rigid with pain as he was. Whatever Merlin’s response, it was unintelligible muttering.

“It’s all right,” Arthur assured him. “We’ll talk about it later. All that matters is that you get better. For that we need to break the curse.”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur called to Gaius, who hurried over and began whispering words in another language to Merlin. Merlin nodded along, eyebrows pinched. Then he closed his eyes and whispered the words again. 

Arthur tensed, waiting for something to happen, for the warmth that had filled him before, but the only change was that Merlin began gasping for breath. Arthur curled his hands tighter around Merlin’s hands.

After several long, agonizing moments, Merlin whispered the words again, only to a similar effect. “Can’t,” Merlin gasped out.

“That’s not an option, Merlin,” Arthur replied, hardening his voice like when he was speaking to his soldiers. “All your time practicing, it’s made the curse too strong. You won’t be able to wait it out anymore. I need you to live. And if you’re going to live, then you must break this curse. You must succeed.”

Merlin shook his head. “Can’t, Arthur. Hurts. Can’t concentrate.”

“Tough,” Arthur replied. “Because you’re my best friend, and I can’t lose you. You understand?” As he spoke, his voice cracked, and Merlin shifted at the change in tone, half lidded eyes opening just a bit more. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur hesitated, tempted to pull back into the easy, mocking banter that was typical of their relationship. But he recognized that it wouldn’t be enough at the moment. Arthur needed Merlin to want to live as much as Arthur needed him too. That required terrifying honesty. But losing Merlin was much more scary than being vulnerable. 

“When this started,” Arthur whispered, gripping Merlin’s hand hard. “I found you unconscious, seizing, and I didn’t know why. Gaius told me we were soulmates. I didn’t believe him at first, because I don’t love you, not romantically at least. And I knew you didn’t love me romantically either. But watching you get worse and worse this past month has been terrifying. I thought it was my fault, that I didn’t love you enough, that I didn’t love you the right way. I thought you were going to die, and I knew if I could have changed the way I felt about you to make you better I would have, in a heartbeat. 

“Except then I found you up that night, and I realized the problem wasn’t that I didn’t love you enough, it was that you loved me too much. You went through all that pain, all this pain, for me. Even when you were living in fear that I would hurt you or turn from you if I found out about your magic. That love, that is the most true, most powerful love I can imagine. You’re my friend, Merlin, and I can’t lose you. And if you don’t break this curse, I will. So I need you to do this. I need you to live. You understand?”

Merlin’s shaky hand came up, wiping away the treacherous tears that had blossomed in Arthur’s eyes as he begged. “I lied to you,” he whispered. “I have magic.”

“I know,” Arthur replied. “You’ve told me before, I realized. You told all of us before. We didn’t believe you. And I bet you’ve been using that magic to protect me this whole time as well, just like you’ve always claimed.”

Merlin nodded. “So many stories.”

“Indeed.” Arthur forced a smile, drawing Merlin’s hand away from his face. “You’ll have to tell me all of them later. You’ll have to keep it a secret for now, but when I’m king, you’ll be able to live freely, Merlin. I promise. But only if you heal yourself now. All right?”

Again, Merlin nodded, mumbling a weak, “kay.” He closed his eyes, and Arthur heard him begin to count under his breath, a bit quick at first, then the numbers steadied out. Once he reached sixty, he gripped Arthur’s hand tight and gasped out the long string of foreign words once more.

A slight warmth rushed up Arthur’s hand as Merlin’s body was temporarily wrapped in familiar bluish light. As it dissipated, Merlin sunk back into Arthur’s arms, body released from its previous pained rigidity. Warm relief burst in Arthur’s chest as tears threatened once more to fall from his eyes. Instead, he reached down and undid the cord tying them together, then pulled Merlin closer to him. 

Merlin’s eyes fluttered open at the movement. “Arthur,” he whispered, exhaustion dragging at his words. “You’re my friend too.”

A drunk, tired laugh escaped Arthur’s throat. “I know, Merlin,” Arthur said with a smile. “I know, get some rest now, you’ve earned it.”

Merlin shot him a weak smile, then his eyes slid closed, and his breathing steadied. Arthur smiled down at him, and held him close as he slept. Merlin was well, and everything would be all right.