Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Arthur tried to be honest with himself (which didn’t happen very often), he assumed that all this had begun about a year ago. He wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint the exact moment, it just had happened when he wasn’t paying attention to his own heart. He hadn’t noticed the subtle change in his feelings — how warmth and appreciation had turned into something… more than that.

When he tried to be completely honest with himself (which happened even less often), he admitted that he knew exactly when all this had begun. It started during their second meeting, of course, when that insolent peasant boy called him a prat and bowed mockingly, looking at Arthur from beneath his lashes without any respect. Something fluttered in his chest then — something he thought was annoyance and disbelief, but with time proved to be… well, annoyance, sure, but mixed with a tiny portion of excitement and interest. And it was just a seed that found fertile ground in his heart and grew and grew and grew until it became impossible to ignore any more. Admitting that he actually never even tried to ignore it and enjoyed the developing affection felt like surrendering.

Arthur was not used to surrendering. He tried not to be completely honest with himself ever again after such a revelation.

All this made his life more difficult, especially at night when there were no trainings to do, no reports to read and no hunts to focus on, because a human mind is a vile thing, and it’s always near impossible to shoo away bothering thoughts. So when a letter came, announcing that Brion would visit in just a week, Arthur took it as a blessing. That was exactly the distraction he needed.

He told Merlin that Brion was an old and true friend, his fellow knight, and loaded him with every possible task under the pretext of wanting to make the stay perfect. Change the sheets and wash the curtains in all the guest rooms, Merlin; make sure that all the vases and doorknobs and window frames shine, Merlin; please, stay away from me because I don’t know how to act in your presence any more, Merlin.

Nothing was easy with Merlin, though.

'There are other servants in the castle who can take care of all that,' he complained after the first portion of tasks, and collapsed in a chair in Arthur’s chambers. Without asking for permission, just as always. 'It’s not even my job.'

He put his hands on the table and examined them critically: the skin was red and rough from all the water and soap he’d had to use to wash the curtains and sheets. Arthur knew that there was a hint in this gesture, it was hard not to figure it out when Merlin was failing to hide a mischievous smile. He knew also that his manservant tried to make him feel guilty — and almost succeeded.

Almost, because Arthur’s own sanity at that moment was more important. He needed Merlin to go and be somewhere else. As long as possible, even though he craved a small playful banter.

'Your job,' Arthur slowly moved away from the window and loomed over him, aiming to look intimidating — not to scare Merlin, but to discourage him from trying to continue the conversation. Merlin didn't seem to be impressed, though, but his smile faltered, 'is to serve me, and I want you to make sure the rooms are perfectly clean and overall ready to host the guests. So get your arse off my chair and go finish today’s tasks. I’ll give you some more tomorrow.'

Merlin was loud and disrespectful and bad-mannered, and he groaned with utter exasperation — much to Arthur's joy and despair simultaneously. He left eventually, of course; he wouldn’t have dared not to, but now the room smelled like the soap Merlin always used, and it was too much. Arthur fled, hoping that it would disappear by the time he returned.

The rest of the week was busy. The whole castle turned into a beehive where everybody was doing something without a minute’s rest. Preparations for a small friendly tournament and for several feasts: one at the beginning of the visit and one at the end; commission to smith a fine sword as a gift; tidying up chambers for Brion and his every knight. Only royal delegations from other kingdoms usually received such treatment, but it was Brion, who’d once saved Arthur’s life and who all those years had to guard Camelot from intruders because his family’s lands were near the border. Even Uther, practical to no end, decided to indulge his son and didn’t say a word against all the preparations.

Merlin was always somewhere near, Arthur knew it for sure, felt his gaze on the back of his own neck, but whenever Arthur turned trying to catch the familiar smell of herbs and potions, he failed. Merlin obviously didn’t want to be noticed near his prince, when he in fact was supposed to tend to his duties in the opposite part of the castle. Arthur, who himself tried his best to avoid Merlin, was alright with that. Every night Merlin still came for his evening servant routine, but Arthur thankfully was so exhausted and full of pleasant anticipation that he couldn’t bring himself to worry about his newfound dumb feelings he couldn’t even name.

The day the procession with Brion at the head arrived, was an incredibly good one. It was spring, a warm breeze pleasantly ruffled Arthur’s hair, sun warmed up his skin even through all the layers of his closing. As he walked forward to meet his old friend, Arthur thought that it all seemed like a good sign.

Brion looked nice. Healthy. He’d always been big, all broad shoulders and strong arms, but now the slight amount of fat he’d had in his early youth was gone from his cheeks. Watching the courtyard with sharp gray eyes, Brion straightened himself in his saddle and grinned. He became a handsome and confident young man, and Arthur’s chest swelled with happiness and pride. It seemed like they had trained with wooden swords and dreamed of being real knights only several days ago.

The small procession finally reached the courtyard, and Arthur was already there together with the castle’s stable boys. Smiling radiantly, Brion dismounted and pulled him into a tight embrace. Arthur had missed him as if Brion was his brother, not a friend and fellow knight.

In a sense, he actually was.

'Arthur! It’s so good to see you, my friend!'

'Likewise, Brion. How long has it been? Four years? Five?'

'Nearly five, yes. Gods, we shouldn’t get separated for that long.' Brion held Arthur’s shoulders, beaming at him, and then gave him an affectionate pat.

'Definitely. I do hope it won’t be necessary for you to stay all the time with your father.'

'I do, too. Now that the treaty is signed, I believe the borders are safe, and I won’t be needed back home all the time.'

Arthur’s knights were there as well, giving the rest of the guests welcoming hugs and pats. Most of them knew each other already, and it was nice seeing them reunited with old friends.

'It would be wonderful to have you here. I think I could use your counsel from time to time.' Arthur led his friend further into the courtyard, but not in the direction of the castle entrance. He knew for sure that Brion would be really keen on seeing the training grounds instead of retreating to his chambers to get some rest. Arthur himself would have wanted that. 'Merlin, bring Sir Brion’s bags to his chambers. And do it quickly.'

Arthur fervently wished for everything to go as smoothly as possible.

But unfortunately for all of them, when Merlin was told to do something quickly, he either didn’t care to hurry at all, or rushed and spoiled everything with his stupid clumsiness. That day he probably decided that the occasion called for doing everything in time, and hastily took the bags from Brion’s page only to swing left, stumble upon his own feet and fall upon one of the bags. Arthur winced as he heard a loud crunch followed by Merlin’s grunt. Who would have thought…

Fighting the sudden urge to roll his eyes, Arthur opened his mouth to call Merlin the biggest fool Camelot had ever seen, but wasn’t quick enough. Brion was back there in mere seconds, he lifted Merlin from the cobblestone and shook him with force.

'Oi, boy, the things in these bags are worth more than you’ll ever come to possess in your life,' Brion hissed, furious. He was holding Merlin firmly, fist in the fabric of his jacket, not letting him go and making him stand on tiptoe. 'You’d better pray that nothing is broken.'

'Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to.' Merlin subtly tried to free himself, to flee, but Brion’s grip was strong enough. His face became a grimace, the smile vanished as if it hadn’t been there in the first place. He stopped being a visiting friend and turned into a warrior.

It probably would have been fine, it wouldn’t have bothered Arthur much, if it hadn’t been Merlin in front of him.

Brion was angry, and Arthur understood the emotion. Hell, it seemed it was the first feeling for almost everyone who ever met Merlin. Not that it was undeserved. Merlin did tend to bring other people’s fury upon himself, that was a truly remarkable talent of his. But Brion was so big and definitely too strong, and Merlin looked scared, his hands clutching helplessly to the bags he was still holding. Arthur interfered before he could stop himself.

'It’s all right, Brion, I sincerely doubt he is heavy enough to break anything in your bags by falling on them; I’m sure everything is fine. But if it isn’t, I’ll personally make sure he is punished — and you get compensated.'

The knight looked at Arthur, who managed to continue smiling lightly as if nothing had happened, reluctantly let Merlin go and even steadied him when he swayed from the unexpected loss of something to hold him.

'Yes, all right,’ he said almost calmly. ‘I guess I overreacted a bit. Let the boy bring the bags to my room, I’ll examine them later.'

Merlin, tense and uncomfortable, gulped.

'Please do. And let me know if something is wrong.'

He used it as an opportunity to sneak past them and rushed towards the stairs. Arthur spared him a quick glance and noticed that he was moving as if there was something awfully heavy in the bags. Spare armour, maybe. Which was good. Merlin by no means could have damaged it. If Brion kept there something else, though…

'He is your servant, isn’t he?' when Arthur looked at Brion, the wide grin was there again. He sighed, relieved. Arthur didn’t want to insult or disappoint his friend within just five minutes of his stay in Camelot. 'I should’ve brought one of my father’s servants, they know what discipline and hard labour are. You’d spot the difference and ditch that boy and probably half of other Camelot’s servants in just a couple of minutes.'

Arthur’s initial happiness turned a bit sour. Wonderful. Now Brion thought that all the servants in the household were as clumsy and stupid as Merlin.

'He is more competent than he may seem,' he said lamely. Arthur didn’t know if what he felt was the urge to protect Merlin or to save his own (and other Camelot’s servants’) dignity. Probably a bit of both. 'He grows on you.'

Brion just snorted with evident disbelief.

Arthur gestured towards the training grounds in the hope that it would be enough for Brion to forget the episode with Merlin and feel better after the long road. He proved to be right. As soon as the knight saw the sword rack and the selection of shields brought from the armoury specially for Arthur to show off, everything except weapons and battles was forgotten.

Parting again after such a brief reunion was difficult, Arthur had so much to tell and to hear, but Brion needed some time to have himself washed and dressed.

There was a great feast later that evening. Arthur intended it to be mainly for the knights, but the king decided to sit with them and forced his ward to visit as well. Uther and some of the older knights left soon after a short welcoming speech to let the young ones joke and laugh without the bewilderment, inevitable in the presence of someone with so much experience and authority. Morgana, visibly uninterested in talks about old maces and new scars, followed him shortly.

There was enough mead and ale for the whole lower town and nearby villages all put together, so nobody was surprised when talks about victories on battlefields changed into talks about victories of another sort, won in the privacy of bedrooms, which everybody deemed scandalous — but which everybody secretly enjoyed. For Arthur, no matter how much he drank, it wasn't something he was eager to discuss with those who weren't personally involved in his not exactly numerous affairs, so he mostly listened, nodded and murmured with approval even when he didn’t think the story was worth it.

He in fact didn’t need to know that much about his knights and their… personal experiences, but he also didn’t want to be a sourpuss and spoil the evening. The mood was already there, and nothing would make the knights stray from the topic, anyway.

'You know,' Brion, who probably decided to overindulge a bit and was finishing his fourth tankard, fixed his gaze on a group of serving girls carrying empty plates back to the kitchens, 'when I told you that you should ditch half of your servants earlier today, I obviously didn’t mean your maids. Just look at them, gods, they are simply beautiful, aren’t they?'

Among a small crowd of serving girls Arthur noticed Merlin, who was entrusted with the heaviest dish where the roast suckling pig had been at the beginning of the night. Merlin, who was supposed to stay at his side to make sure the mead is present in his tankard at any given moment of time. Merlin, who couldn’t say no when others asked him for help.

Compared to the serving girls, he wasn’t beautiful, at least not conventionally beautiful, but there was something attractive in the way he looked, something that made Arthur want to stare, to fix his eyes on him and memorise every feature, every wrinkle, every curve.

He was scared that one day he wouldn’t have it in him to avert the gaze when he needed to.

'Yes. Yes, they are.'

Brion followed his gaze, directed at the flock of maids with Merlin as the only male exception in the centre, and chuckled knowingly.

'So, have you chosen one of them to keep you warm at night?'

'What?' Arthur choked on his mead and laughed, suddenly nervous and exposed, as if he had done something obscene and now was mercilessly teased for it. He hoped his cheeks had already been red from all the drink and hadn’t become worse. 'No. No, of course no!'

Raising one brow, his friend looked at him sceptically.

'Why not? It’s good. You should try it.'

'I… don’t think I would. I wouldn’t want to be obliged to… you know…'

Brion cackled, relaxed, and sent a grape into his mouth.

'They are maids, they won’t expect you to marry them after one night. Or after a dozen.'

'Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind a dozen bastards.' Arthur felt pretty drunk and hoped his words didn’t sound too slurred. Brion, on the contrary, seemed absolutely sober, even though it was impossible not to be at least a bit light-headed after four tankards of Camelot’s best mead.

'I admit, it wouldn’t be perfect, but none of the maids would expect you to play father for their children anyway. They are usually just grateful that you pick them out of all others.' His friend shrugged nonchalantly and glanced at one of the serving girls standing near the knights’ table with a jug in her hands, waiting for someone to need a refill. She was pretty with her straight brown hair and big blue eyes, but Arthur had never paid much attention to her. She was just pretty, nothing more, nothing really special, nothing that would draw attention. The look Brion gave her, though, seemed predatory and wanting — or it seemed to be like that in the dim light of the hall candles. 'But another thing is, even if they are not very happy, they don’t say no, because they don’t want to lose their job.'

Arthur had to try hard to fathom what Brion meant, and he was not sure if he actually understood him. Somehow this conversation felt wrong. Deeply, awfully wrong, but Arthur was probably too drunk to figure out what exactly made him uncomfortable. He apparently was hearing things in Brion’s words that weren’t actually there.

Not a good sign, Arthur thought as he decided that it was high time he went to bed, and stood up. It was past midnight anyway, and he didn’t plan to drink himself into a stupor and spend the rest of Brion’s visit with migraines and a sour taste in his mouth.

'Well, I think I should retire a bit early. We still have training tomorrow,' he reminded his knights, who were not overly enthusiastic about this information and groaned in unison. 'I would be honoured, if you decided to join us,' after receiving a short nod from Brion Arthur finally moved from his place. 'Merlin! I’ll need you in my chambers.'

Damn this formal garb of his, Arthur wouldn’t be able to take it off by himself in such a state without tearing the whole thing apart or breaking something in his chambers.

Merlin, who’d returned from the kitchens with a huge dish of fresh sweet pastry, placed it carefully on the table where Arthur and Brion were seated, shot the latter a suspicious look and only then headed to the doors, trying not to lag behind. Some knights started moving as well, but all the newcomers stayed in their places, intending to continue the feast.

'You shouldn’t have been running with all those dishes. That’s not your job,' Arthur reproached Merlin as they walked past the guards towards his chambers. The nights were freezing: the day’s subtle warmth still wasn’t sufficient to chase away the cold that had made the castle its home during the long winter months. He shivered and hastened his pace in an attempt to get rid of the numbness in his feet.

'Washing sheets and curtains and polishing doorknobs in the guest rooms is also not my job, but it didn’t stop you from having me do it,' the reproach in Merlin’s voice sounded stronger, and Arthur gave a quiet laugh. Merlin rubbed his hands and looked at him curiously. 'So… how long exactly is Sir Brion going to stay here?'

'I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.' Arthur hoped that his friend’s stay would last longer, but it was up to Brion. 'Why? Do you like him already and think you’re going to miss him terribly?'

'Like him? Miss him? Gods, no.'

No? Everyone liked Brion. Loved him, actually. Even Arthur’s father did.

'If it is about today, you are the one to blame, Merlin. Brion just wanted his things to be all right.'

'It’s not about that. Not about me. I don’t care about that, but, Arthur, have you seen him watching the maids?' Merlin started rambling as if he’d been waiting for an opportunity to tell someone about it the whole evening. 'He tried to grab Caitlyn by her arm when she brought him water for the bath and tried to leave. Have you heard the way he talked to her? He sounded like a perverted old…'

'Merlin,' Arthur growled, there was a warning in his voice, but Merlin decided to ignore or didn’t even notice it.

'What? He told Caitlyn — who is very much married, mind you — that he wanted her to lay on the bed in his chambers and…'

'Merlin.' That was enough. Arthur was not going to listen to this slander. He stopped abruptly and shoved Merlin against the cold castle wall, grabbed his jacket the way Brion did earlier that day, and snarled. 'Don’t you dare speak about my friend like that. He is a knight of Camelot, and whatever you think you saw or heard, is just… you’re imagining things, Merlin. Either that, or you can’t let today’s morning go. You may think it was embarrassing, maybe even humiliating, but it doesn’t mean you can accuse Brion, my knight, of anything. If there’s really something, I expect the victims to speak up themselves, not… gossip with you'

'You humiliate me every single day, but I don’t run around the castle telling everybody nasty lies about you.'

'That’s exactly what you do in your free time.'

'It’s not! I don’t even have free time,' Merlin grumbled. 'And the victims are too afraid you won’t believe them and punish them.' He tried to free himself from the firm grip, and Arthur let him. It pleased him, when he noticed that Merlin had no intention to run from him the way he ran from Brion. Sadly, the feeling didn’t last long, because Arthur needed Merlin to understand something, and it was not the time to be soft.

'Well, they shouldn’t be. I’d iniziate a thorough investigation to make things right.'

'That’s another thing they are afraid of.'

The thought of someone being afraid of an investigation when they had nothing to hide seemed laughable.

'Don’t make an even bigger fool of yourself and just shut up. You can dislike Brion, but I won’t let you insult him with your stupid accusations. He is a knight, a noble. He would never do anything you imply he did. Do you understand me?'

Merlin looked like he wanted to argue, but decided against it, grimaced and nodded, as if it pained him. Stepping back from Arthur, he tried to readjust his jacket, but gave up. For a moment, he looked so sad and lonely that Arthur almost wanted to apologise for his outburst. He probably would have apologised, he had enough ludicrous thoughts and mead in him to do it. But Merlin closed his eyes, put his hands on his own shoulders as if hugging himself, and went towards Arthur’s chambers.

None of them said a word.

Spending time with Brion was exactly what he needed, Arthur decided after the first several days. As the prince, the person for others to look up to, he was still better with a sword than any of the visiting knights, but few could surpass him in a fair fight. Brion was still pretty good — and he was bigger, his attacks were slower but more forceful, and Arthur was always happy to train with such a partner. Usually his knights were more agile and nimble than he himself, so it was a great opportunity. Moreover, sparring with an old friend, listening to his comments was simply fun.

After one such sparring session, Arthur found himself getting ready for a small walk Brion had suggested. The woods around Camelot were magnificent in spring, and they both used to spend so much time there when they had been younger. Brion must have remembered the meadows full of flowers and bushes full of rich red berries which were poisonous, but looked so pretty. It was worth spending an afternoon there.

Arthur washed and changed into a more suitable for a forest walk clothing quite fast and got tired of sitting in his room. His duties were put aside temporarily, so he left his chambers and walked through the castle to rush Brion a bit. When he pushed the heavy door, leading to the part of the castle where the guests were placed, down the passage in a shaded alcove he saw Brion with another person. The silhouette, as he came closer, turned into a serving girl. Arthur had seen her many times around the castle, but never tried to learn her name. She’d looked frightened even before she noticed Arthur, and after that her eyes filled with tears and terror. Brion was grinning, as if not noticing the girl’s discomfort.

'Is everything all right?' Arthur asked both of them, frowning.

'Of course.' Brion shrugged. 'We are fine, right, Shela?'

'Yes, everything is fine, sire.' The girl stuttered, staring at something on the floor and not daring to look him in the eyes. Her fingers were twitching nervously, and she jumped when Arthur stepped forward to her. 'May I go?'

'Yes, you may go.' He said and noticed relief on her face. The girl, Shela, bowed her head and almost ran away. Arthur watched her back until she disappeared round the corner. Perplexed, he folded his arms. Shela had never seemed especially timid. 'What is with her?'

'She was like this when she came to my chambers to prepare the bath.' Brion’s hair, still wet, stuck to his forehead, but otherwise he seemed almost ready for the walk. He looked completely unbothered with the girl’s strange behaviour. But worrying about Camelot’s servants wasn’t his duty after all. 'Give me five more minutes, I’ll meet you outside.'

His friend disappeared behind the door to his chambers, leaving Arthur alone in the corridor. The episode with the maid stayed in his thoughts longer than it probably should have, but vanished as soon as he reached the stables and saw the rest of the knights who were to go with them.

They left the Camelot walls at noon. The sun was high in the sky, the weather wrapped them in a warm blanket of early spring. Birds around them were trying to outsing each other, competing in loudness, cheerfulness and tunefulness. The winged singers were too wary to fly close to the mounted group, but they would sit on the branches a bit higher than the knights’ heads and watch them before deciding they were harmless and returning to their musical contests.

One particularly curious and brave robin landed on the head of Merlin’s horse. The rest of the knights chuckled and grunted and laughed, but Merlin tried to sit in his saddle as still as possible not to frighten the bird away. His unexpected fellow traveller decided not to stay with them for long, though, and left, when Brion directed his mare towards Merlin’s and tried to grab the bird.

Merlin managed to look frustrated and deeply disappointed in all humankind.

Brion and Arthur talked a lot, trying to make up for the lost time. The knight was funny and easy to talk to, but Merlin, who was riding just beside him because Brion had broken the formation in an attempt to catch the bird, frowned at every other phrase and bit his lip, making it difficult for Arthur to concentrate on his friend’s words. After the fourth time he’d caught his gaze wandering past the knight, to Merlin, Arthur sent him to ride by Leon’s side and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. He still couldn’t make it as measured and expressive as his mentor did, but it was dangerously close.

Brion suggested a race with an objective to reach the huge old oak down the road. Arthur won and laughed kindly, when Brion’s horse slowed down just in front of the tree. Sitting in a saddle not for a patrol, having conversations about pleasant things that didn’t concern the kingdom… gods, he missed it.

Tired in a good way, they finally made their way into a small clearing. The golden light was seeping through the young leaves and the air smelled like fresh grass. A nice place for a short picnic, Arthur decided and ordered to stop.

They brought everything they needed with them, but Merlin had spotted a stream and decided to refill their waterskins when there was an opportunity.

'Do you need someone to go with you?' Arthur asked as they unpacked. The stream, which looked to him more like a small river, was three minutes’ ride from the clearing, but it would take longer to get there on foot, and Merlin never rode his horse when he could just walk.

'Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable of fulfilling such a difficult task.' He smirked and gave his mare an affectionate pat.

For once, Arthur tactfully decided not to mention all the times when Merlin failed to fulfil the easiest tasks he had been given.

'Let me help,' Brion suddenly suggested, dismounting and taking his and Arthur’s waterskins.

The folded blanket Merlin grabbed from his horse’s saddlebag fell from his hands.

'Oh, gods, no, not you,' he was on the brink of sounding rude and insulting. 'I mean, no, thank you. It won’t take long. I’ll manage. Alone.'

'I just want to help. The two of us will finish much faster. Moreover, there might be wolves, and I believe nobody wants to lose our waterskins', Brion insisted, and Arthur silently agreed with him. He doubted they would meet any wolves, but bandits? Bandits were possible. They were everywhere those days.

'I know this part of the forest better than you…'

'Merlin!' Arthur snapped before Merlin said something for which they both would have to apologise. He wanted a nice and peaceful evening and didn’t wish to deal with whatever had bitten Merlin in the arse. Again. 'Just go. The sooner you two leave, the sooner you return.'

If looks could severely injure but leave a person alive for long enough for them to wish they had never been born, Arthur would have fallen on the forest floor as soon as he finished the sentence.

Luckily, all Merlin could do in reality was glare and purse his lips as if he actually was planning Arthur’s murder in every detail. But he had no other choice but to comply and leave with Brion, who was grinning from ear to ear. Something amused him, had been since after the training, and Arthur couldn’t grasp what was that exactly, so he buried the nagging thought deeper into his mind. He wasn’t going to let anything stupid spoil such a wonderful evening.

Brion was happy, which had been the goal all along.

Arthur switched his attention to the fire, walked through the clearing, stretching after the ride. The first picnic after such a long winter seemed pretty nice, especially when it was going to be in good company. He got involved in the preparations together with his knights when Brion returned.

'That was faster than I thought.' Arthur looked around, expecting his servant to trip from behind a tree. He didn’t. Brion returned alone and without the waterskins. 'Is everything alright? Where’s Merlin?'

'Don’t worry. He just… persuaded me that he’ll manage on his own, so I headed back there.'

Almost uncontrollable desire to groan with frustration got stuck somewhere in his throat together with a huge lump.

'He didn’t tell you anything… insulting, did he?'

'Not at all! We had a lovely chat, in fact.' Brion truly looked content, not like a person who had got offended by a lowly servant.

'Oh! That’s good,' Arthur chuckled, relieved. Probably, Merlin was not a lost cause after all. 'I’m sorry for his behaviour, though.'

'It’s fine. He already apologised.'

'He did?'

For some reason, it was hard to imagine Merlin willingly apologising. Probably because every time he said ‘I’m sorry’ he did it with an intonation and a facial expression of a person who desperately wanted their opponent to just mind their own business. Most likely the same had happened with Brion, too, but he was lucky enough not to have known Merlin long to understand it.

'Yes. I’m telling you, we had a lovely chat and solved all our problems. I’m sure we’ll be good friends by the end of my visit.'

But, again, everybody liked Brion, and maybe Merlin just needed a small private conversation to understand him just a little bit better. Maybe that was the moment he truly genuinely apologised. Arthur would rather die than admit it out loud, but he wanted Merlin to like his friend; it just meant a lot for whatever reason.

Arthur knew the reason, but did his best to ignore it.

Brion sat on a log in front of the fire and spread his legs. If he’d seemed happy and satisfied before, after his return he looked like a cat which managed to get its paws on a huge jar of cream.

They spread the blankets on the ground and retrieved some food brought from the kitchens. Arthur always considered picnics to be for children, for girls, or for wooing girls, but Brion had suggested that they relieve a pleasant episode from their childhood, when the two of them and some other children would go to the woods — sometimes even alone, without their nannies (but not without a knight to look after them, but it didn’t count) — to sit and talk and eat sweet berries. One time, he remembered, Morgana had agreed to join them. But something had stopped them from going to the woods all together again. Maybe it was because Brion had left with his father again or maybe it had something to do with Morgana not liking Brion (it had not been personal, though; Morgana hadn’t liked any of his childhood friends, except, maybe, Sir Leon, because they had never agreed to let her be a knight in their games).

Merlin showed up at the camp some time later, when Leon put aside his portion of food, started shifting uncomfortably and suggested that he went to look for the servant. They all noticed him at the same time, because Merlin, true to himself, stumbled upon a root and fell on one knee. Initial, almost instinctual alarm turned into relieved chuckles, but they died down as soon as the knights had an opportunity to actually look at the wayward servant.

Merlin carried less waterskins than he had taken when he’d left, but what caught Arthur’s attention was water, dripping from his hair and clothes. His face was unsurprisingly glum and paler than usual, his lips turned a sick blue colour, and he was shivering so violently that Arthur noticed it even from across the camp. The weather was pleasant, but not warm enough to have a swim in the freezing spring water without any consequences.

'Gods, what happened to you?' One of the younger knights jumped to Merlin, helped him up, took the waterskins from his shaking hands and led him to the fire. Worried, Arthur leaped up from where he was sitting, but Merlin was already surrounded by concerned people.

'I fell,' his hoarse whisper was barely audible. Leon, who’d always been a bit soft on Merlin, made him take off some of his soaked clothes and wrapped him in a spare cloak. Merlin thanked him through the chattering of his teeth and lowered himself onto the forest floor just beside the fire.

'You fell,' Arthur repeated flatly.

'The pebbles were slippery.'

Of course they were.

'Are you hurt?' Leon shoved a cup with water they had boiled on the fire into his hands.

'No. I fell straight into the water,' Merlin told them as if it should have actually explained everything.

It didn’t. Gods, it didn’t.

Dozens of desperate thoughts and dreadful images swarmed in Arthur’s mind. What if Merlin had got injured with no one there to help him? Pebbles were not the softest surface to fall onto. He could have hit his head, or broken his spine, and it would have been fatal. Arthur shouldn’t have let him go alone. He should have gone with him, because Merlin was his responsibility, because he wouldn’t forgive himself if something had happened to him.

Wrapped in a big cloak, he looked way smaller and more fragile than he actually was, and Arthur couldn’t be mad at him. Not really. He could only watch him, as Merlin awkwardly accepted help and thanked and thanked and thanked the knights for every little thing they did for him.

And then there were different thoughts in Arthur’s traitorous mind. Of sitting beside Merlin and putting his hands on him and warming him up with his own body. Of keeping him close and safe, so nothing like that ever happened again. Of kissing the river water off his milk-coloured skin. But it was neither time nor place for that, and Arthur, angry mostly at himself, shook his head. It was easier to snap and shout than to deal with his feelings, so he did what he could best.

'That’s why you shouldn’t have sent Brion away. You know you are clumsy, so maybe let others help you when they are willing!' Arthur didn’t stop himself from raising his voice.

Merlin’s face turned unreadable. He stared into the fire and sipped the hot water, stubbornly refusing to look at Arthur.

'I’ll take that into consideration.'

It was actually funny, how Merlin had become the only person who could cause such a wide range of feelings in him. A strong desire to protect, to keep safe from any possible harm intermingled with an urge to strangle him in his sleep, so Arthur didn’t have to worry any more. Seeing him like that, miserable, cold and sullen, was making strange things to Arthur’s heart.

Instead of doing something with the stupid organ, he huffed, exasperated and suddenly very tired, and joined Brion on the log, letting Leon and other knights take care of their picnic and Merlin, who pretty soon got warm again without his help and began exchanging jokes about his own clumsiness with the knights.

Brion kept him company, just as planned. Arthur didn’t hear half the things his friend was saying, but Brion didn’t notice or didn’t care or was understanding to no end.

Arthur as subtly as could check on Merlin now and then during the rest of the evening.

He brushed off the thought that he worried much more than he should have.

Thanks to his strange everlasting luck and half a dozen of Gaius’s tonics the physician poured down his throat, Merlin got away without a fever. Arthur knew it for sure. He asked Gaius.

Nevertheless, he started seeing his own servant much less than he’d used to, and when he did… he didn’t like it in the slightest. Merlin looked unwell, with dark circles under his eyes, ruffled hair and clothes even more crumpled than usually, and he always seemed to hurry somewhere. After the third time, Arthur tried to ask if everything was fine and Merlin tried to reassure him, the latter apparently decided to just hide. If Arthur didn’t see him, he couldn’t inquire about his well-being, right? Sound tactics.

But it made something in Arthur’s gut shift with unease. He worried; he understood that he was not supposed to worry that badly, and it worried him even more.

It had been fine when he himself had been avoiding Merlin, it had been the goal from the beginning, because Arthur had feelings to ignore, but when he began doing the same…

Merlin still greeted him every morning with a smile, not exactly as enthusiastic as earlier, and forced him into his clothes, but that was it. He wouldn’t give Arthur an opportunity to even open his mouth — he just wouldn’t close his own, chatting about kitchens and herbs and horses. Talking about nonsense like that, he would surreptitiously make his way to the door and leave not fully awake Arthur alone. Merlin knew that morning Arthur was not exactly a functioning human being who could corner and interrogate him. And it repeated every morning for almost a week. The bastard did every chore, but he did them when Arthur wasn’t there; food was served by the time he returned to his chambers from the training, armour and swords were polished, clothes were cleaned and pressed. He was there at the tournament and helped Arthur in and out of his chainmail, but (Arthur was pretty sure) only because he knew that Arthur couldn’t spare time to question him. Merlin suddenly became the invisible servant he should have been from the very beginning. They saw each other in corridors, of course, but Merlin would rush past him mumbling a half-baked excuse.

Arthur tried visiting Merlin in his room, but whenever he came, his servant was away doing some chores or gathering herbs for Gaius or whatever excuse the physician came up with to cover for his apprentice, so he gave up. Arthur still had Brion to entertain, after all, and finding out what was wrong with Merlin couldn’t be his main priority. Merlin couldn’t be his main priority.

On top of that, other people around him started acting strange. Some changes were hardly noticeable: Gwen’s smile she would always give him whenever they met in the caste passages, for instance, became a bit strained, but small talks and light-hearted jokes remained. Other changes, though, made him question his own sanity: Morgana stopped talking to him completely, refused to answer any questions and started sending him sneers when they had to dine with Uther. Usually Arthur had at least some idea what word of his or what action had maddened her, but not in that case. They hadn’t even talked to each other for at least a week and a half prior to the sudden changes.

But with that, he could live. He would try to relieve the tension with another joke when talking to Gwen, and send sneers in return when sitting in front of Morgana. The changes with Merlin, though, gnawed at him, crawled under his skin. He definitely was hiding something, and Arthur didn’t understand whether he was sneaking to see someone else (which hurt and made something that suspiciously resembled jealousy uncoil in his stomach) or he was unwell and didn’t want Arthur to worry (which hurt as well, because he never wanted Merlin to suffer).

And then Arthur noticed that he limped.

The small tournament had ended earlier that day with him being declared the winner, and Arthur was getting ready for the feast. He was almost ready, actually, but he needed Merlin to get him into his clothes, and Merlin was awfully late.

Exasperated, he mumbled vain threats to sack his useless servant for good and went to the window to let some fresh air into the room and maybe look for Merlin. He spotted Gwen, who was returning from the lower town with a bouquet of tiny pink flowers, and several Brion’s knights leaving the courtyard for the marketplace: they had only two days before their departure. People would appear and vanish, horses would pull carts filled with goods into the courtyard and then disappear behind the castle gates, the sound of laughter would follow a child’s crying. Arthur stayed there, breathing in the cooling evening air, almost sitting on the windowsill, until the sun, reflected off the glass on the opposite side of the castle, blinded him for a moment.

That was when he finally noticed Merlin’s jacket among the silver of chainmails and the Camelot red of the capes. The idiot wasn’t even hurrying, when he should have been! Arthur suppressed the childish desire to shout at him right out of the window and simply rolled his eyes, and then he noticed that Merlin was in fact hurrying. It was just pretty difficult to hurry with an injured leg.

An unpleasant feeling stirred deep within. It brought him back to the picnic in the woods, and the same surge of protectiveness washed over him. Arthur watched as Merlin, despite obvious pain, made his way through the courtyard. Judging by the way he walked, his right leg was injured badly enough to make him limp and wince every time he made a step. Carefully manoeuvring through the crowd, Merlin soon went inside the castle, where Arthur’s eyes couldn’t follow him, and most likely hurried to the prince's chambers.

Arthur had some time to think of what to say when Merlin got there, but his head was strangely empty and nothing came to mind.

He jumped a little, when the door opened sooner than he’d expected and Merlin stumbled into his chambers, short of breath.

'I’m sorry I’m late, I was… doing something for—' not trusting his own voice, Arthur stopped him with a gesture and tilted his head towards one of the chairs as if telling Merlin to sit down. When Merlin furrowed his brow, not understanding, and headed to the wardrobe to retrieve the attire for the feast, Arthur caught his arm and tugged him to the chair.

'Sit. Just… sit,' he croaked and finally managed to get Merlin to sit down. There was no need to lean on his leg any more, and the poorly hidden relief on his face made Arthur’s heart ache.

Both silent, they stared at each other. Merlin, expecting, and Arthur, for once, unsure.

'Is it the moment I asked you if you are all right? Because, you know, you never let me sit — make me, actually — and…'

'Shut up, Merlin,' Arthur cut him short with a hint of irritation. 'I saw you limp. What happened?'

The surprised look on Merlin’s face was almost insulting.

Before answering Arthur, he coughed into his fist, looked at the door and shifted on the chair, and it was pretty damn obvious that what he was about to say was going to be a lie.

'I fell,' Merlin finally shrugged, but the wary glance he gave him — the glance of something not dissimilar to anticipation intertwined with hope — only confirmed that, yes, Arthur guessed right. It was a lie, and a poor one.

Falling was perfectly normal for Merlin, of that Arthur had no doubt. He saw him stumbling and tripping and falling, but this time it felt like another terrible excuse. Merlin still looked ragged, and it lasted for more than a week, and it was as if someone did it to him deliberately.

'You are clumsy, but even you are not that clumsy, Merlin. What happened?'

'I’m telling you. I fell. You know, a day without me falling or walking into a door frame doesn’t feel complete,' Merlin laughed weakly and tried to stand up, but Arthur put his hand on his shoulder to keep him there. He couldn’t tell if there were wounds or bandages under Merlin’s baggy trousers, so he intended to look for himself.

'Merlin.' Hoping that his voice sounded dangerous, Arthur sat on another chair and reached out for Merlin’s right ankle just to get his hand kicked by a boot. 'Hey! What do you think you are doing?'

'What are you doing?' indignant, Merlin moved his chair a bit away, to make it more difficult to grab him again.

'I want to see how badly you are injured.'

'What? Why?'

'Because I need to decide whether I should give you several days off to recover or shout at you for being late and not doing what you’re supposed to.'

'Well, I am hurt a bit, but you will never give me even an evening off because of this injury, believe me.'

'That’s why I need to see,' Arthur was pressing him to talk already, to let him see, but Merlin shook his head and folded his arms.

'I hope you don’t think you are more competent than Gaius, because he has already seen to it.'

'And he said that your leg didn’t need rest?'

'Yes! He did say I’m healing fine, and there’s no reason for me to neglect my duties. Just a scratch, you know.'

Arthur couldn’t decide which was more unbelievable: Gaius allowing Merlin to do his usual chores with an injured leg, or Merlin wanting to actually do them.

It all felt wrong, but Melin looked at him with a stubborn glint in his eyes. And Arthur was tired.

He wanted the life he used to have before he had discovered his unnamed, but such intense feelings for Merlin; before he had even met him. It had been easier back then. He hadn’t had to worry about his servant or ogle him and then look around anxiously trying to figure out if someone saw that. He hadn’t needed anybody to be constantly near, to see their bright blue eyes and easy smiles and long slim fingers. He wanted to go back.

If Merlin was going to be difficult, Arthur wouldn’t deny him that.

'Right. Just a scratch.' He nodded. 'In this case, I need you to dress me for the feast and serve me tonight. By the morning, I need my tournament armour cleaned and polished. And I want you to fix my lance; it was damaged a bit. And don’t forget to mend my shirt. The red one. I want to wear it tomorrow.'

Doing all that would require a sleepless night, and a pang of guilt was hard to ignore, but Arthur managed. He raised from his chair, waiting to be dressed, and turned to the open window not to see Merlin limping immediately behind him.

When the heavy fabric of his formal attire settled on his shoulders and Merlin came into his sight, fighting the fasteners of his leather bracers, Arthur peeked at him, because he hoped to get some cruel satisfaction from his reaction. There was no terror, though, no anguish and definitely no despair on Merlin’s face; he only pursed his lips with grim resolve and shifted his weight onto the healthy leg.

'I do expect you not to be late for the feast,' Arthur said. 'Until then, you have some time to polish my armour.'

He hadn’t known he wanted to hear the usual hissed 'prat' behind his back until he didn’t hear it.

'Yes, sire,' Merlin said instead, not mockingly, but coldly. Officially. The way Arthur didn’t know he hated with all his heart.

The feast was supposed to lift his spirits, and it did. Brion and the knights and enough mead to fill a small pond were good for his mood, and even Merlin, standing behind his shoulder with a jar in his hands and an inscrutable expression on his face, couldn’t spoil the joy of the evening.

Brion told the story about one of his victories at the tournament; the knight who had been his opponent winced but smiled awkwardly, and Brion’s speech was lively and colourful, and Arthur laughed. Still humming in the back of his mind, the feeling of something being out of place faded, became bearable. He enjoyed the evening almost as if there had been no one-sided confrontation with Merlin earlier that day. Arthur laughed, drank, told stories and listened to others telling, and did not look at his servant.

Wanting to make sure everybody was enjoying the evening, he looked around the hall and noticed that Leon’s place near Kay was empty, and a half-eaten drumstick still laid on his plate. He didn’t usually leave before Arthur, unless there was a reason for that. Surprised, Arthur scanned the hall and found Leon hastily making his way to the small servants’ door, through which food was brought and empty dishes were taken away. He waited for Leon to look at him, to notice his questioning stare, but the knight’s eyes were firmly fixed on something behind Arthur and Brion’s chairs.

'Why is Sir Leon leaving so early?' he asked Merlin more out of habit than really hoping to get the answer.

But it wasn’t Merlin’s voice he heard in response.

'Unfortunately, I do not know, my lord,' the owner of the foreign voice replied. Arthur turned his head so fast that his neck hurt. Another servant, smiling shyly, stood behind Arthur’s chair with a jug in his hands. 'Perhaps, I could ask around if…'

'Where’s Merlin?' Arthur interrupted, frowning.

'Ah.' The servant’s smile became strained, his posture turned jittery. 'Merlin is unwell, and he asked me to cover for him.'

Arthur desperately didn’t want to feel guilty, because it certainly was Merlin’s fault, and Merlin’s alone. He couldn’t help but admit, though, that he was at least partially, at least a little tiny bit, to blame as well.

He’d had to be more pushy, when something definitely had been off. He shouldn’t have punished Merlin for his pain.

And there was that nagging feeling of concern again. Merlin didn’t even warn Arthur that he was too unwell. Either he was too much in pain, or he just didn’t want to after their conversation. Or both.

'I’m going to send him to the dungeons for a month,' Arthur groaned, referring to Merlin hiding his state, not to him being absent from his work, but judging by the darkened expression on the servant’s face, he was misunderstood.

Arthur didn’t expect any response from the man, but he got one nonetheless.

'If I may, sire.' The man made a small step towards, gave a distracted Brion a strange look and said in a hushed tone. 'It wasn’t Merlin’s fault. He was just trying to help.'

'Help who? You?'

'No, sire. Not me, but I can’t tell you more, I’m afraid. I don’t know everything myself.'

'Why can’t anyone just tell me anything?' annoyed, Arthur raised his voice enough to startle the poor man and make Brion and several other knights look at them.

The man noticed Brion’s attention, and his face paled.

'Oh, I see your servant left early today, Arthur. What a pity,' Brion sighed.

'He is unwell, sire. His leg… He couldn’t stand any longer.'

And this man, an ordinary servant, despite the obvious wariness, glared at Brion as if the knight hurt Merlin himself. He held the jug with mead in his arms, almost like a weapon ready to be put into action.

'Unwell, huh,' Brion gave a short laugh and returned to the conversation with one of his knights, and Arthur glanced at the nameless servant.

He trembled, fear mutilated his face. This man hadn’t been scared of Arthur’s outburst, but somehow Brion’s smile made him shake with terror.

Something clicked in Arthur’s mind, but he didn’t — he couldn’t bring himself to believe it yet.

'You will not tell me more, will you?' He quietly asked the servant, who shook his head, clinging to the metal handle of the jug. 'I won’t make you. At least not now.'

'Thank you, sire.'

Arthur, who hated being kept in the dark, clenched his fists. He rose to his feet and gave Brion a pat.

'I saw Sir Leon leaving. I believe he might have overindulged, so I’d better get him to his bed. I’ll return this instant.'

'Of course. Please make sure Sir Leon is fine.'

'I will, don’t worry.'

For some reason, he sincerely doubted that Brion worried about Leon’s wellbeing.

Arthur left through the same door as Leon, and the servants he stumbled upon in the narrow passage gave him wary looks.

The air in the corridor was cooler than in the hall and Arthur, who hadn’t finished even one tankard of mead, felt sober at once. He turned right, then left, then stopped, because he didn’t have any idea of what he should do. To go find Leon? To find Merlin? To sit on the stairs and just ponder?

So he walked, without any sense of destination, along the cold stone walls of the castle, past the guards, up and down the stairs, until he stopped in front of the door behind which he would find a spiral staircase leading to a very familiar tower, filled with the smell of herbs and dusty books.

In light of the recent events, Arthur was willing to acknowledge that he tried to come here from the moment he had stood up from his seat. Maybe even from the moment he had heard an unfamiliar voice instead of Merlin’s.

No sooner had he made it to the wooden door upstairs than he heard voices from behind it. Two voices, and none of them belonged to Gaius, who Arthur expected to find there in hope the physician would tell the truth about Merlin’s wounds.

There was a rustle behind the door, then a ping of glass against glass, then a sound of ripping fabric. Arthur never liked to eavesdrop, he was a warrior who met every battle and every enemy head-on, but at that moment he stood still in the darkness and listened, because those days everybody had suddenly decided that he was allergic to facing the truth. Merlin, Morgana and Gwen, the nameless servant at the feast… he wouldn’t have been surprised if there were others in the castle who were silent about something pretty damn important.

The first person to speak was Merlin, and Arthur’s stomach fluttered, because he sounded distressed, but he was there, practically within his grasp.

'Where did you learn how to dress a wound?'

'The knights are not allowed to take Gaius on patrols, so we have to make do on our own.' He probably shouldn’t have been startled by Leon being the other person in the room. 'Basic medical skills are obligatory for every knight.'

'Yeah. But whenever any of you is injured, it is I who has to tend to your wounds,' Merlin grumbled and then cried in pain.

'Sorry, the blood dried, but I need to remove the cloth,' Leon’s voice was calm and collected. He was acting as if it was another fellow knight before him, not a servant, and for that Arthur was strangely grateful. 'We ask you because you are still better at this than any of us. But when you are not there, I do it, so you are in good hands now.'

'Thanks,' said Merlin between hisses and curses. Whatever Leon was doing, it was clearly pretty painful.

Arthur didn’t know where the wound was exactly and what kind of wound it even was, but his mind made it up for him, and he suddenly felt a pang of phantom pain in his own leg. If Leon truly was removing the bloody dried bandage, he didn’t envy Merlin in the slightest. The disturbed wound would hurt a lot, thumping to the beat of the pulse, even hours later, unless he was given some poppy.

'Will you tell me what happened?'

'Nothing.'

Leon chuckled without a tint of joy in his voice.

'I fell,' Merlin said stubbornly, because apparently mules were his not so distant relatives. 'It’s really nothing.'

'Nothing? Merlin, I saw you almost faint at the feast, and all this blood… It’s not ‘nothing’,' Leon sounded indignant, and it was such a rare occasion that Arthur, without seeing the wound, realised that it was worse than he had imagined before. 'It was Sir Brion, wasn’t he? I saw him three days ago, when he tried to grab you at the training field. And at the picnic, too, right? I suspected it when you returned after him and were, well, all soaked.'

At first, there was silence, interrupted only by Merlin’s loud breathing which almost bordered on whimpering.

Holding his breath, Arthur froze, because he dreaded the answer and because it was actually so obvious, and yet he had somehow ignored it.

'Yes,' Merlin said so quietly that Arthur would have missed it if not for Leon’s deprecating grunt.

An ugly feeling that had already started budding in his stomach bloomed in full force. In his own chambers, behind closed doors, he would have let himself weep a little: because he was betrayed, because he lost one friend and let another get hurt. And Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t lying, even without the other servant’s fear of Brion, he just knew, and it knocked the wind out of him. Punched him right into the solar plexus and left helpless, breathless. But Arthur had to swallow a sob; he couldn’t afford crying at that moment, not when he still didn’t know the whole truth.

Anger, directed at himself, burned almost like real pain, and grief gave place to something violent and oh so ugly.

'I also noticed how other servants tried to avoid him, and you didn’t. Let me guess, you told them that you would deal with him all by yourself?'

Merlin probably nodded.

'Oh, Merlin,' Leon muttered. 'What happened today?'

'I truly fell. Well, he pushed me, and I fell. It was in the armoury, I came to put Arthur’s lance there, but Brion followed me. He pushed, and I kind of landed on the lance, and, you know—'

'And it ripped your leg open,' Leon finished for him, gloomy. 'Why does he even do it?'

'As if bullies ever need a reason,' Merlin’s muffled voice turned annoyed. 'I stood up for one of the maids he wanted to force into his chambers, so he switched his attention to me. Which was good, at least he wasn’t harassing the girls all this time. He said he wouldn’t touch others if I kept my mouth shut and let him pick at me. So I did keep my mouth shut. He hates me, probably because of what happened on the very first day.'

'Because of his bags?' Leon gasped incredulously.

'I guess. I mean, why else? I’m not the best servant, of course, but nobody usually starts hating me for no reason the moment they see me.'

'When Arthur finds out—'

'He won’t,' Merlin said firmly.

'He won’t? Why?'

Oh, Arthur, fuming and imagining Brian’s very cruel and very slow execution, wanted to know why as well.

He was about to blow his cover and burst into the room with curses and promises to deal with Brion, when Merlin spoke.

'Because he doesn’t believe me half the time when I have proof! And now there is none. I’m injured, but I could get these wounds and bruises anywhere, and Brion will never admit it, so it will be my word against his. He is a noble, a knight and Arthur’s childhood friend, so I guess I know whom he will believe,' the angry speech turned sad, heartbroken closer to the end, and all Arthur’ own fury dulled, as if all his fire was put out with a single strong blow of wind. He leaned on the wooden panel which separated him from the talking men. 'He will just think I hate Brion because he shouted at me the day he arrived in Camelot.'

Of course Merlin would think that; Arthur had never given him a reason not to doubt him. He stood like that, covering his face with his hands, because his heart broke a little bit. Lamenting over not pushing Merlin into telling him everything earlier today, not showing him that he could rely on Arthur, he pressed his ear to the thin panel and listened, because he needed to hear everything Merlin had to say.

Merlin didn’t add anything, and neither did Leon. Obviously bitter, Merlin only cursed and panted, as they both decided that everything had already been said.

To the sound of glass vials moving and dinging and Leon asking where Gaius usually put poppy, Arthur moved, leaving his spot with the intention to return as soon as he could. There was something he needed to do before going to Merlin and finally talking to him properly. Agitated, Arthur climbed down the stairs and headed to the kitchens. He personally didn’t want any further evidence, but he needed it just in case.

Among the servants crowding the passage near the kitchens he spotted a girl, the one he had caught Brion talking to right before the picnic. She carried a huge pile of dirty plates and yanked when Arthur stepped in front of her and with a gesture offered to take them.

'Shela. Here, let me help,' he said softly, trying not to scare her, but the maid was back to her previous self, no tears in her eyes and no terror on her face. Shela narrowed her eyes with suspicion but gave him the plates which proved to be way heavier than Arthur expected.

'Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?' she asked and led him to the kitchens.

'Yes, actually,' Arthur nodded and, having put the dishes on a vacant table, led the maid to a far corner where they were not likely to be heard. 'I want to ask you about Sir Brion.'

Curiosity washed away from her face, instead giving in to a neutral schooled expression.

'Sir Brion. Yes. What about him?'

'I want to know if he abused or threatened to abuse any servant of the castle,' Arthur said straight from the shoulder.

She glanced at him, surprise cracking through the mask void of emotions, and Arthur contemplated if he should be offended by such lack of trust by people around him.

'Well, I mean…' she mumbled, trying to buy herself some time to think of a better answer.

'Shela.'

'He was… he wasn’t…'

'I need the truth, not to punish any of you, but to make sure it won’t happen again. Did he try to abuse or harass or hurt anyone in the household? Yes or no?'

'Yes,' she finally responded, barely audible.

Yes.

The wish to murder Brion returned, this time cold and weighted. Causing numbness in the part of Arthur’s heart that kept all the good memories of him and all the affection.

'Good! I mean, it’s not good, obviously, it’s awful! But I’m glad I know it now. Thank you, Shela.'

'Any time, sire,' she uttered as if not believing what had just happened, but Arthur didn’t care.

Now there were other witnesses and victims, and even though Arthur hoped he would manage without his father’s involvement, he needed this information in case Uther wouldn’t be happy with whatever his son would do with Brion. He rushed back to Gaius’s tower, because he had so much to say.

In haste, he ran through the door leading to the tower and crashed into another person, but managed not to fall.

'Ah! Leon, right when I need you!'

'Arthur.' Leon, who clearly didn’t expect to find Arthur there, squirmed and hastily hid his hand, still stained with Merlin’s blood, under his cape. 'I needed to see you as well. There is something I have to tell you.'

'I know already.'

'It is about Sir Brion.'

Well, at least one person decided to confide in Arthur.

'Yes, yes, I know. Look, I need you to make sure he doesn’t harass anyone else. Secure the corridor where he and his knights are placed, or do anything else, but don’t let him hurt anyone. I trust you. Now I really need to go to—'

He didn’t finish the sentence, just looked up, but Leon nodded, a small proud smile on his lips.

'Yes, sire.'

Arthur almost flew up the stairs, but slowed as he reached the thin wooden door. Breathing in and out, he grabbed the knob, cold under his fingers, and pushed, hoping that the old creaking door hinges won’t startle Merlin. The door didn’t fail him and opened without any sound, giving Arthur time to watch.

Sinking in the warm candlelight, Merlin, naked from the waist up, was sitting on a bench at Gaius’s work table and rubbing a dark green salve that smelled like swamp into his shoulder. That salve Arthur knew very well: Gaius would always give it to him and his knights when they were badly bruised.

Standing at the door, he finally saw the terrifying pattern of scratches and bruises on Merlin’s arms and back. The huge one, under his left shoulder blade, had started to turn yellowish, but most were still new, awfully purple, almost black. On the pale skin they stuck out conspicuously, and Arthur hated every last one of them.

He must have gasped, because Merlin turned to the door and froze, his eyes glinted with alarm.

Suddenly Arthur didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t planned it this far and had probably hoped that the words would have come once he saw Merlin. They didn’t. Even if there had been some, he swallowed them as soon as he saw the dreadful marks on Merlin’s body.

Awkwardly standing in the doorway, Arthur shrugged, cleared his throat and made a step forward. When Merlin didn’t finch, he made another one.

'Let me,' he uttered suddenly for them both, his voice hoarse. 'The salve, I mean.'

Merlin blinked at him, then looked at the vial in his hands. They both kept silent for several moments, until Merlin snorted.

'Even if you’ve suggested it only out of courtesy, it’s not like I’m going to refuse. I won’t reach my back, and it hurts the most.'

All the desire to go back to the times when he hadn’t known Merlin turned into ashes, because he sat here, so alive and so human, with trust and hope and a tiny droplet of wariness in his eyes.

In two huge steps Arthur was near him. Trying not to pay attention to a very shirtless Merlin, whom he most definitely would later see every time he closed his eyes, he took the vial from him. Arthur sat on the bench, almost touching Merlin’s thigh with his knee, and prompted his servant to move and change his position to have a better access to his back.

'So,' Merlin almost hissed, when Arthur spread the cooling salve on his fingers and started working on one of the bruises. 'It’s not that I’m complaining, but are you here and not at the feast with your friend?'

'Noticed you were gone,' he answered, scooping a bit more of the salve and rubbing it into the purple spot as gently as he could. Not thinking about Merlin’s hot skin under his palms was impossible, so he stopped trying after the first attempt. He loved the feeling and the intimacy of the moment, and despised himself for that a little bit: mooning over someone who had been beaten, while tending to their wounds, was highly inappropriate. 'Then went here and accidentally eavesdropped on your conversation with Leon.'

He wanted to know the truth, and it seemed only fair to tell the truth in return.

'Ah. Shit.'

'Yes, this word characterises the situation pretty well.' he huffed and then added before Merlin thought something he didn’t want him to, 'Brion won’t touch anyone else in the castle, Leon will take care of that. And he will leave tomorrow, but not before he gets some punishment from me.'

Merlin gave a weak laugh, relaxed his shoulders and slumped a bit, as if a heavy burden had been finally lifted from him.

'So, I don’t have to come up with a lie about… all that.' Merlin squirmed and lowered his head.

Arthur noticed the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and gulped.

'Just this once I will pretend not to have heard that you were going to lie to me,' Arthur tried to sound strict and sovereign-like, but he didn’t put in any real effort.

When Merlin spoke, there was a smile in his voice.

'So you believed what I told Sir Leon?'

'Of course I did. You shouldn’t have ever doubted me. If only you told me from the beginning...'

'I did! You didn’t believe me.'

'You never told me he was hurting you or that he even threatened you. You said he was being creepy, it’s not the same as actually beating someone.' In an attempt to convey the message, Arthur poked him under the ribs after examining the place and finding no wounds. Hearing Merlin laugh instead of him crying in pain or sounding heartbroken was simply marvellous. 'But I guess I did tell you to shut up, because I thought Brion would never do anything like that. I was sure that he, as a knight of Camelot, wouldn’t even think of forcing a woman into doing something she doesn’t want, or beating someone just because he doesn’t like them. I’m sorry. I was drunk, but I still should have paid more attention to what you had said. Some knights tend to have a sense of humour that can be described as… bawdy, and maybe I hoped it was the case.'

'You, apologising? Now I’m almost sure I hit my head earlier today.'

'Oh, shut up,' Arthur said, feeling guilt wash over him. 'Will you tell me what he had done to you? I seem to have missed quite a lot.'

'Beside the armoury? Nothing especially noteworthy. He shoved me into the walls on several occasions, tripped me up here and there, called me names almost every time he saw me. I tried to serve him instead of other servants when I wasn’t serving you, so he made sure to make my life difficult with stupid orders. What happened in the armoury was an accident, though. He hadn’t noticed the lance and got really scared when he saw all the blood.'

'Doesn’t excuse him,' Arthur grumbled. 'But he didn’t, you know… hm, make advances on you? I know he tried to, on some of the maids, and…'

Merlin gave a short laugh, and there was no mirth in it at all.

'No, he didn’t. He threatened me, because, well, I made sure none of the female servants would go somewhere near him, but I guess this all—' Merlin pointed to his beaten torso— 'was enough for his satisfaction.'

'He threatened to, what, rape you?' Arthur snarled, trying to remain calm, but Merlin’s indefinite shrug made the fire of his abhorrence shine brighter than ever. Even breathing turned difficult, as if obstructed by a knot of hatred and disgust stuck somewhere in his throat. He clenched his fists, forgetting about the salve for a moment. 'He should be rotting in the dungeons right now, and tomorrow I should be able to beat him until he can’t walk.'

'Please don’t. Your father will make Gaius take care of Brion, and he will stay here for at least several weeks, which none of us will be able to endure,' Merlin’s attempt to joke came out lame, not convincing at all, but it made Arthur huff and after a moment or two he began calming down. Merlin needed him to rub in the salve, not to fume and snarl, so Arthur used his words as a pretext to change the topic.

Merlin sighed, relieved, when Arthur asked:

'And where is Gaius, by the way? I can’t believe he let you deal with all this.'

'Ah. He is with Fiona, a butcher’s wife. Her pregnancy is pretty difficult, and she might go into labour any moment, so Gaius is staying with her until she gives birth.'

'So he doesn’t know.'

'Not all,' he tried to turn around, but squeaked, when Arthur got to another nasty bruise without a warning.

'And he didn’t examine your leg?'

'Ah, no. I intend to ask him as soon as he returns.'

Arthur sighed.

'I do hope there will be no next time,' he said, generously spreading the salve. Keeping his temper after all he had heard was a herculean task, but he needed to try, for Merlin’s sake. 'But if there is, promise me that you won’t suffer alone and will go to someone. Me, or anyone else: I think Leon might like you enough to help. Or Gaius. Gods, I’m sure even Morgana would do at least something.'

With a humble smile, Merlin turned around, this time successfully, and looked him in the eye. In the dim light of the candles his irises seemed dark, nearly the colour of the starry night sky.

'I promise. Thank you, Arthur.'

They sat in companionable silence, Arthur’s hands on Merlin’s back, arms and then, when they changed their positions, on his chest, which wasn’t as battered and looked better, but still needed treatment.

Arthur tried not to miss even the smallest bruise, and it took more time to finish than he expected, but he was not going to complain.

The feast probably had already ended without him.

'And your leg?' he asked, passing Merlin his shirt and definitely not feeling disappointed when he put it on. Merlin’s trousers were rolled up, his right shin freshly bandaged, and, to Arthur’s relief, no blood on the cloth.

'I had stitched the wound right before I came to dress you for the feast. Leon helped to clean it and change the bandage,' Merlin answered, stretched the leg a bit and grimaced.

'Hurts?'

'Of course it does. I wanted to take some poppy before going to sleep.'

'Then take it and go. You are to rest for at least several days. That’s an order.'

'As if I would ever refuse such a generous offer. Thank you.'

'Stop thanking me. Coming from you, it sounds weird.' Arthur grabbed him by his elbow, when Merlin tried to stand up, but swayed and almost plopped down back onto the bench.

'All right. No thanking Arthur. Got it,' Merlin snorted and leaned heavily on him, letting Arthur walk him to his room.

They had touched before, they absolutely had. It was impossible not to when they spent almost every waking hour together. But it had never felt like that, like there was trust and affection between them. Arthur selfishly didn’t want to let him go, but Merlin needed rest and it was still inappropriate.

'What will you do to Brion?' Merlin asked, when they half-entered and half-stumbled into his room. He then furrowed his brow and asked gingerly as Arthur lowered him to his excuse of a bed. 'I can avoid the ‘sir’ part, when I talk about him, right?'

'Only because he doesn’t deserve it, I’ll let it go,' Arthur grinned. The room was dark, lit only by candles from Gaius’s room, so he could only guess, but he was sure that there was a matching smile on Merlin’s lips. 'I don’t know what I’ll do, though. I can’t strip him of his knighthood without involving the king, and father just… he won’t understand,' with an unhappy sigh Arthur winced: it pained him to admit that his father wouldn’t care about several bruises a simple servant got from a knight. 'But I won’t let him leave as if nothing happened.'

'It means a lot. And since you said not to, I won’t thank you, but you should know that it is implied.'

'Still weird.' Wishing to prolong the contact, Arthur patted Merlin’s head as if he was a small dog. 'Sleep and let yourself heal. I hope that in a week’s time you will be ready to get back to your work. My swords won’t polish themselves.'

'Yes, sire!' Merlin said enthusiastically, but tiredness was seeping through his voice.

'Making the word ‘sire’ sound like an insult is your only talent, Merlin.'

'It’s not a talent,' his servant uttered with feigned offence. 'It’s a skill and I practice every day.'

'Sleep.'

'Yeah. Good night, Arthur. And thank you.'

Arthur slept poorly that night. He tossed and turned, thinking about everything at once, it seemed.

He mourned Brion. The man was alive, obviously, and Arthur wouldn’t have killed him even if he could have challenged him to a duel, but to Arthur he was as good as dead. The innocent, kind and a little bit mischievous Brion, with whom he used to explore the castle and practice footwork, died in his heart, and it wasn’t an honourable death.

When Arthur didn’t think about Brion, he thought about Merlin. About how he hadn’t trusted him enough and about the way his own fingers moved along Merlin’s spine like it was the most natural thing to do. Then he slept a little, closer to the dawn, and in his sleep he saw blue eyes and milk-white skin, not marred by bruises of sickening colours.

It was Leon who woke him up.

'I wouldn’t, if not for Sir Brion', he said apologetically as he opened the curtains. Bright sunlight burst into the room, making it a little bit easier for Arthur not to shut his eyes again. 'He demands to know why nobody came to serve him yesterday and why he can’t leave his chambers.'

'Of course he does,' Arthur groaned, grumpy from the lack of sleep.

Seeing Brion when Arthur still remembered the exact pattern of bruises on Merlin’s back was going to be tough. If only he was capable of challenging him to a duel…

'Send someone to free our poor Sir Brion and remind him that we’re to meet at the training ground for our last spar together.'

'Should someone make sure he doesn’t take it out on the servants?'

'Definitely.'

He still had a pretty vague plan of what to do, so Arthur decided not to hurry. Instead of a simple chainmail he chose to wear his best armour which required a servant’s help and fifteen more minutes to put on properly, because the man wasn’t Merlin who knew what to do with all the fasteners; he changed three pairs of trousers and two of boots until he was satisfied with the way he looked; he tried to comb his hair a bit differently.

Leon sat at his desk, looking amused.

'Are you trying to show Sir Brion that he is not in favour any more by making him wait?'

'Something like that,' Arthur shrugged and, not wanting to delay the meeting any more, left the room.

Annoyed Brion met him at the training ground, fuming and walking back and forth with a sword in his hand. Sir Kay was telling him something with a cheerful expression on his face, as if not noticing his unwilling interlocutor’s mood. Arthur delighted in Leon’s choice of the person to look after Brion: they all had known each other since childhood, and Brion had never liked ever so chirpy Kay, who had never really cared about it.

'Arthur!' Brion called out as he noticed him approaching and walked towards him. 'Nice of you to finally show up. Maybe you could explain why…'

All the warm feelings he’d had for that person disappeared the way spooked birds soar into the sky. His speech now sounded obnoxious, and all Arthur wanted was to shut him up and never have to listen to him again.

'Let us not talk,' Arthur interrupted him with the brightest smile he could force out of himself. He put on a helmet and nodded, prompting Brion to do the same. 'Today is our last day together, and I want this training to be something we both would remember.'

Without giving Brion time to reply, he swung the sword. His partner’s reaction was immaculate, and the metal clanged against metal. Brion was a decent warrior, good even: he protected the kingdom borders from Cenred, and he could never have managed without considerable skill. But Arthur was still better, probably because he spent his time training and not torturing servants who wouldn’t even defend themselves. So Arthur moved faster, parried and then attacked using brute force together with dexterity, parried and attacked again, driving his opponent to the edge of the training ground, closer to the barrier.

Brion wore a chainmail for the training, and chainmails saved people who wore them from cuts and slashes, but they didn’t protect against hits aimed to bruise bodies underneath them. Arthur’s blunt training sword landed on Brion’s ribs two times, then one just above his left hip bone; then there was a scattering of lighter hits on his shoulders and arms. Getting to Brion’s back was more difficult, as he tried to be facing Arthur all the time, but not impossible. He let Brion’s sword graze his chainmail and probably leave a small bruise, but it let Arthur get him closer and then shove his opponent with his shoulder, making him fall on his side.

He wasn’t sure he managed to hit the exact same spot, but Brion would doubtlessly end up with a huge purple bruise under his left shoulder blade.

Brion was exhausted less than ten minutes into the training. He was not used to a defending position and definitely not used to getting beaten, so pretty soon he was panting and sweating under the hot noon sun. Brion started making mistakes that wouldn’t have been forgiven in a real battle, at a tournament or even during a proper training. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to yield unless he was on the ground without a sword in his hands, and Arthur wasn’t done with him yet.

Only when he himself started feeling ache in his muscles, Arthur made the final move, aiming into the opening in Brion’s defence and hitting his right shin with all the power he had. Brion squeaked and fell, clutching to his leg. There was no wound, but the bruise would be huge enough to make his life more difficult for at least a couple of weeks.

'Do you yield?' Arthur asked, his sword hovering just above Brion’s neck.

'I yield,' he croaked and looked at his leg which most definitely throbbed with pain, with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

Instead of offering his hand, Arthur removed the sword from his throat and straightened.

'I must inform you that you are no longer welcome in Camelot, Sir Brion. Also, I would appreciate it if you left earlier than planned.'

That was it. He hoped Brion had enough common sense to leave quietly.

Arthur gave the helmet and the sword to a squire, who jumped up to help him and stretched his limbs. After everything Brion had done or threatened to do, this small revenge wasn’t enough to be called a proper lesson. Still, it brought him some comfort.

Walking towards the castle and smiling as Kay continued his enthusiastic babble as if he and Brion had not been interrupted, Arthur noticed that his training session was watched by someone who was not supposed to be there.

Not far from the entrance to the castle, right next to Leon, leaning on him, stood Merlin who, of course, had decided that he couldn’t have missed Brion’s beating and public humiliation.

Merlin looked better, flush on his cheeks and glimmer in the eyes; one still could tell he was ill, but at least the unhealthy ashen pallor of his skin was gone.

Arthur shook his head with disdain; he wanted to shout at him for getting out of his bed and coming here when he was supposed to be resting, but couldn’t stop himself from waving his hand triumphantly and grinning.

Merlin grinned back.

Standing on the wall, Arthur watched the procession with Brion at the head leave through Camelot’s main gate, relief uncoiling in his chest. He made sure Brion was exhausted and sore and miserable, but well enough to crawl back to his family lands without causing a diplomatic disaster, and it warmed Arthur up like a heath during a cold winter night.

Brion was ready to go in less than an hour, which was truly remarkable considering how drained he must have been after their so-called training.

Arthur doubted Brion learned the lesson, but the knight didn’t dare to glance at him and even had the decency to look ashamed, so Arthur chose to consider it a victory.

He breathed in the air that smelled of some spring blooms when the sound of heels clicking on the cobblestone neared him from behind. Morgana approached him, the expression on her face sly and content.

She chose to wear a beautiful lilac dress with pink lace neckline and embroidered flowers. Morgana wore this dress only when she was immensely pleased with something and wanted to annoy Arthur, or his father, or them both.

'I was surprised when I learned that your friend left earlier than planned,' she hummed, looking too amused for Arthur’s liking. 'You two seemed to be enjoying your time together.'

If Arthur had known that the news would have made Morgana look so smug, he would have told Brion to stay in the castle, but ordered him not to leave his chambers on pain of another similar training session.

'Yes, well, it was some… urgent matter.'

'Pity,' Morgana said dryly, watching Brion’s procession disappear into the woods, and her tone suggested that she was more than happy because of the knight’s departure. 'I also was surprised when I heard that this urgent matter appeared because of you.'

'I don’t know what you mean.'

Arthur didn’t want to talk to Morgana about Brion and his wrongdoings, because she was going to make him feel like a stupid guilty child, and it was not something the future king of Camelot should go through.

But Morgana obviously sought him to torture.

'Oh, really? Beating him like he was a mere squire, not a knight… Some would think you did it to make him leave.' She narrowed her eyes and looked at Arthur closely, weighing up if she could go on. And Morgana probably saw something, because she continued. 'It’s good he is gone, even though I didn’t even hope you would realise how much of a bastard he was. What finally opened your eyes?'

'Don’t tell me you know about what he did,' Arthur groaned, wondering whether he was too oblivious or people around him were too shrewd.

'Anyone who was not a complete fool figured it out pretty fast. He tried to threaten Gwen and several other maids, so of course I knew. He stopped pretty fast, though, but even one attempt is too many.'

Considering Morgana’s protectiveness of those she held dear, Arthur wasn’t surprised by their hostility towards Brion.

'Yeah. But for some reason, nobody felt like telling me that my friend was harassing the servants, while I thought that the whole household was just having a bad week.'

Something resembling sympathy appeared in Morgana’s eyes, but didn’t last long.

'He is a bastard who thought he would get away with what he did even if you knew. Nobody told you because they thought you would never believe their words. Or worse, that you wouldn’t care.'

'Same reason as you, then,' Arthur defensively crossed his arms.

'Yes,' Morgana nodded, not even having the decency to hesitate a bit. 'Everyone knows he is — was — your close friend. Why would you choose to believe a servant, and not him? Why would you do something and spoil your friend’s fun?'

'Because contrary to the popular belief I can see and draw conclusions,' there was truth in Morgana’s words, and nothing he hadn’t already thought, but it still stung and made him sick. What kind of ruler did they all think he was going to be? 'And you must know that I would never let such a thing go on.'

'That, I know. Most of the castle does,' her tone softened. 'Not everybody, or course, because you do have a history of being a bully. But you changed, and people notice it.'

They stood there silently, the sun leaning towards the horizon and making all the colours around them so vivid and bright. The castle walls shone almost white; people below carried red and blue and yellow stars of the first spring flowers in their hands.

Almost sleepless night wrapped Arthur in a blanket of exhaustion. The thought of not only Merlin but other people of his kingdom not trusting their future ruler laid heavy on him. He had never been particularly self-conscious, but the situation with Brion made all his hidden doubts and fears rise to the surface.

Morgana let him stew in his own thoughts a little before asking:

'So, you saw it with your own eyes, then? Do you know how many servants he hurt? Really hurt, I mean; not just threatened.'

'Only one, actually.'

'Just one?' Morgana raised her brow.

'Yes. Merlin annoyed Brion into bullying him alone.' Arthur shuddered despite the warm gentle breeze. 'Brion didn’t stop, he just switched his attention to Merlin, who decided to deal with it himself.'

'He has been harassing Merlin all this time?' Morgana asked, steel in her voice.

'Yes. Injured him pretty badly in the end. I learned only yesterday, at the feast.'

It was nice seeing Morgana lose her composure. The smug smile turned into a threatening scowl.

'Brion is lucky he left, and I won’t be able to put my hands on him.'

'Didn’t know you cared about Merlin,' Arthur chuckled. 'But I believe I put my hands on Brion for the two of us.'

'That you did,' she sighed. 'You did all of it for Merlin, did you?'

'He tried to hurt others, too, and nobody deserves to be treated like that.' Arthur furrowed, because of course he did it for Merlin, but Morgana didn’t need to know about it. He wouldn’t have allowed Brion to continue harassing servants in his household in any case, but the punishment probably wouldn’t have included a severe beating at a sparring session in front of other knights; it would have been something more subtle. For a pretty selfish reason, he just wanted Merlin to confide in him, to trust him and to continue grinning at him the way he had done the day before, in Gaius’s chambers. So he did what he did. 'He is a servant, yes, but he is also a living being. Moreover, he did make sure no one else had to suffer.'

Morgana looked at him, her light green eyes seemed almost silver, ethereal.

'You heard it many times, and I don’t want to blow your ego even more, but… you are going to be a good king one day. If you are smart enough, what happened with Brion will teach you.'

'Coming from you, it seems like a high praise.'

'Because it is, you ungrateful sod.'

But she didn’t mean it. She smiled and put her narrow hand on his shoulder.

And there was hope in her gaze, and Arthur felt that hope in his own heart.