Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Merlin?’ Mordred asked, gently closing the door behind him. ‘You in here?’

‘Over here.’ A voice responded.

Mordred followed it around a corner where he found the warlock in question on the ground, various objects scattered around him. He was pale, with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead.

Mordred raised an eyebrow. ‘Need a hand?’

Merlin nodded. ‘Help me up?’

Mordred took both Merlin’s hands and began to pull him up to his feet, only for Merlin to cry out part way and crumple forward. Mordred quickly kneeled to catch him by the shoulders.

‘Merlin! What happened?’

Merlin was doubled over, his eyes clenched shut as he breathed through the pain.

‘Merlin?’

Merlin seemed to decide he didn’t quite have it in him to talk right now, and so switched to mindspeak. That connection is the reason Mordred was the one sent to find Merlin in the first place.

Not sure. Old wounds. Feel wrong.

‘Have they given you trouble before?’ he said, hoping Merlin would say yes only so that he might know what to do.

No.

Mordred felt the edge of Merlin’s pain as he cut off his communications.

Always been fine. Don’t know why…

‘... why they’re playing up now?’ Mordred finished for him.

Merlin nodded.

Mordred waited, just holding him steady as the pain slowly ebbed away, watching for Merlin’s expression to relax.

After far longer than a few seconds, it finally did.

‘Can you move?’ he asked quietly.

‘Ugh. I think so.’

Mordred let Merlin hold onto him as he slowly got up, straightening out very slowly, but clearly still aggravating whatever was wrong with him if the way his brows pinched was anything to go by.

‘You should see Gaius.’

Merlin shook his head. ‘No, it’s fine, I probably just need to…’ he trailed off.

‘At least come up with your excuse before you refuse help.’ Mordred, as with most people in the king's inner circle, was very used to Merlin's tendency to reject help. That being said, he could almost always think of something to say, rather than faltering the way he was now. It was worrying.

Merlin snickered. ‘Fair enough.’

Mordred glanced over at the objects on the floor. There were a few scattered papers, a book, a candlestick, and a pot of ink that had spilled out.

‘What were you doing?’

Merlin scowled at the mess behind him and waved a hand, the things tidying themselves where they were.

‘Research. Experimenting. You know the drill.’

‘No, I mean over there specifically.’ Mordred asked, perhaps he could figure out the cause of this?

Merlin sighed. ‘Nothing. I was just putting the book back, and, I don’t know I guess I stretched weirdly or something.’

For once, the mundane answer didn't sound like a deflection. It sounded honest.

Mordred eyed him sadly. ‘Do you need to lie down?’

Merlin seemed to consider it, then glanced to the objects behind him, then back to Mordred. ‘You’re not going to help me back to the desk, are you?’

Mordred shook his head.

Merlin looked towards his desk, judging the distance, whether he would make it on his shaky legs. 

‘Yeah. Yeah that would be good.’ he relented.

Mordred helped him stumble slowly over to his bed and settle down on it. Once he made sure Merlin had at least a glass of water nearby, he made to leave.

‘Wait.’ Merlin called out.

Mordred turned around.

‘Why’d you come in here?’

‘Arthur was looking for you.’

Merlin scoffed. ‘Course he was. What’d he want?’

‘There’s a council meeting. You were supposed to go over some things with him beforehand, but you never showed up.’

‘... so he sent you?’

Mordred shrugged. ‘He probably thought you were deliberately avoiding him and that I was more likely to be able to get you.’

Merlin laughed, but it was strained. ‘Prat.’

A second passed.

‘I’ll tell him you can’t make it.’

Merlin's eyes widened. ‘You can’t tell him about this.’

‘... why?’

‘It’s Arthur. These wounds, I got them when I was- when I was still doing everything on my own. He’ll blame himself if he finds out.’

To anyone except Merlin, the logic was utterly ridiculous. Unfortunately, Merlin is the person who knows Arthur best in the world. If anyone was able to predict the king's thoughts and feelings, it was him.

‘He’s going to find out eventually.’ Mordred protested.

‘Please, Mordred.’

Merlin's eyes were doing that thing, the pleading thing no one could really say no to.

Mordred gave up and nodded. ‘I’ll tell him you got caught up experimenting with something unsafe to leave unattended.’

Merlin sank back into his pillows with a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks.’

Mordred had never been more glad that Arthur left most of the burden of understanding magic to Merlin, otherwise he might’ve asked for specifics Mordred didn’t have the peace of mind to make up. Merlin may be convinced that he’s fine, or at least lying about it out loud, but wounds don’t simply play up once and never again.

Mordred just hoped Merlin would reach out, sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

Gwaine was the next to find out.

The two of them were out on the grass by the walls, in a smaller area individual knights used to train away from all the others. Arthur had used it a few times as prince, so Merlin was familiar with the spot. These days, Gwaine and Merlin mostly used “training” as an easy excuse to hang out. Merlin had been busy lately, overseeing a visit from a Catha delegation, too busy to spend much time with most of his friends. However the second he slept off the exhaustion, he was at Gwaine’s door.

Despite what one may expect, they were actually sparring — both to keep up appearances and because it was fun. Merlin enjoyed indulging in these friendly fights, especially since he didn’t get to do much physical fighting these days. For him, combat magic was easier, not to mention quicker and safer. Even if he would prefer to fight physically, the knights (Arthur more than anyone else) fuss over Merlin a truly embarrassing amount. He would rather just use magic and get it over with than have them work themselves up over any scratch he might sustain.

Gwaine and Merlin fought well. They began with a short warm up, testing each other, working the energy into their waking muscles, then moved on to training exercises, sparring experiments, and talking all the while.

‘Getting a bit slow there Merls?’ Gwaine teased.

‘Too much sitting around. I’m becoming like Arthur.’

‘D’you reckon he understands “peace in Albion” will mean he’s got less fighting to do?’

‘Please, he doesn’t think that far ahead.’

Merlin’s quarterstaff met Gwaine’s sword head on, they eyed each other between the gaps.

‘Offended any nobles lately?’ Merlin asked.

‘Only the ones who already hate me.’

‘You’re getting slack!’ Merlin punctuated the statement with a short, teasing jab.

‘Too much do-gooding, your influence is rubbing off on me Merlin, I don’t like it.’

They exchanged blows a few more times, Merlin’s eyes flickered gold as a wind flared to life, blowing Gwaine’s hair into his face.

‘Oi! Cheating!’

‘You didn’t call it cheating when my magic helped you steal from the kitchens last week.’

‘That was different.’

‘How?

‘It was in my favour.’ He grinned. ‘How is our dear Audrey?’

Merlin hit Gwaine’s shoulder, his parry just a moment too late. He recovered quickly and struck back at Merlin, who only barely blocked in time. His breath stuttered a moment as he shifted his stance.

‘Caught a nasty cold recently. She’s alright, but won’t be back for at least another week.’

‘I suppose you personally went to see her?’

‘Her house is a bit out of the way for a man of Gaius’ age.’

‘Merlin—’

‘I know, I was dealing with the Catha, I should have sent someone else. Arthur’s already told me off.’ Merlin groaned.

‘And what did Arthur say?’

Merlin bent to manoeuvre a sweep at Gwaine’s legs, who leaped back out of range. He shot a satisfied grin as Merlin huffed and returned to his full height, having failed to knock him down.

‘Something about how it’s “not my job to do that anymore”. As if he even knows what my job is!’

‘Somehow I think you missed his point.’

Merlin’s next strike had a bit more grunt to it.

‘You’re saying Arthur has a point? Who are you and what have you done with Gwaine?’

Gwaine somehow found time to roll his eyes between his attempts to disarm Merlin.

‘He’s worried you’re overworking yourself. You’ve had enough to deal with lately without helping Gaius.’

‘Someone has to help him.’

‘And that has to be you?’

‘No!— Yes? Ugh. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.’

‘I think you’re the only one not on your side, mate.’

Merlin managed to tempt Gwaine into a lunge which he skilfully sidestepped, gently tapping him on the back in lieu of sending him to the ground.

‘Break?’ Merlin suggested with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yeah.’

They wandered over to the wall where they were leaning their spare supplies and drank from their waterskins. To be truthful, Merlin needed the break as well. He could feel the way even this simple exertion was grating at him, especially after so many days stuck doing diplomacy (despite it being his job, he still cringes at the word).

One or two of his scars were starting to twinge. He needed to stretch more.

‘You know the new barkeep at the Rising Sun?’

‘You know I don’t Gwaine, I haven’t had time.’

‘Shame. You should come down and meet him sometime. Lucky bastard’s got a good deal o’ magic about him, and you know what he uses it for?’

Gwaine took a swig while Merlin gestured for him to continue.

‘Keeps a tally of how many drinks he’s given out!’

Merlin blinked a little. ‘... so?’

‘Little smartass actually answers when someone asks “How many have you had?”! Gets all smug about it too.’

‘And he’s using magic for this?’

‘Yeah, he’s got some contraption going on behind the bar, never has trouble keeping up no matter how many people are in the room.’

Merlin drank then. ‘Sounds like a smart kid.’

‘Oh yeah. Knows it too.’

Merlin laughed. ‘Alright, you ready to get back to it?’

Gwaine clapped Merlin on the back and stretched out his shoulders, walking to retake his position. ‘Was only waiting on you my friend.’

This time the fight escalated more quickly, their weapons meeting blow for blow, pushing and pulling at the distance between them, losing and gaining territory with each sweep and strike. The banter died down as the fight grew more intense, as their muscles began to burn, their bodies twisting and curling and lunging around each other.

Block, parry, lunge, (smirk!)

Their steps trod roughly on the soft grass, the sun sinking ever lower in the sky.

The thing is that Merlin preferred quick fights. He was used to using big displays of strong or terrifying magic, or otherwise encounters he could sprint his way out of. Gwaine was used to longer ordeals, having to fight even for the right to escape, or for his life in an escapeless situation. The longer this fight went, the more likely Gwaine was to gain the upperhand. They both knew this. Merlin started to play conservative, kept his staff in closer quarters to himself, his strikes shorter and faster, his stance more defensive. Gwaine was only emboldened by Merlin’s behaviour, swinging harder, stepping wider, pushing further.

Merlin’s brow furrowed as one of Gwaine’s strikes came dangerously close to his face. He was wearing down, it should never have made it that far.

As he was contemplating such a thing, he felt Gwaine’s sword (training sword, far too blunt to do any real damage) collide with his calves, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He landed with an undignified thud on his back, but his attention was quickly drawn to pain elsewhere.

For a moment, lying there with the sun in his eyes, he could almost see the shade of the canopy, Morgana leering on the clifftop above him, her poison still pressed to his lips.

Then he blinked, and the shadow became Gwaine, and he was fine.

He blinked again and shook the memory off.

‘...rlin? Can you hear me? Did you hit your head?’

Now that he was paying attention, it probably wasn’t wise of him to’ve not responded to his friend, who was looking at him with blatant concern.

‘Uh…’

Gwaine’s expression deepened. Merlin blinked again.

‘No, sorry, I’m fine.’

It seemed to do almost nothing to soothe Gwaine’s worry, whose lips pressed together in a thin line as he held out a hand and hauled Merlin to his feet.

Merlin, who got to his feet, locking eyes with Gwaine to convey his thanks, only for his knees to immediately buckle beneath him, a white hot pain shooting up his right leg.

Thankfully he fell forwards, into Gwaine who still had a hand on him and caught him before he could get very far. Merlin’s hands instinctively shot down to tentatively cradle the scar where the old gouge had been.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t realise I hit you that hard.’

‘No,’ Merlin responded, his voice suddenly hoarse, ‘not your fault.’ He breathed shakily through his teeth, riding out the pain. ‘Hit an old injury, ‘ts all.’

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Old injuries aren’t usually so painful you can’t hear for several seconds. Let me have a look.’

‘It’s fine, I mean it.’ He protested weakly, but made no attempt to get back up when Gwaine lowered him gently to sit on the ground.

‘Don’t be an idiot about this Merlin.’

Merlin was never very good at saying no to Gwaine.

He shot him a stink-eye but did as he was told, gently rolling up his trouser leg to reveal a large, jagged, uneven scar across the side of his calf, the skin still mottled around it. It was mostly a pale pink, but growing a darker red where Gwaine had unintentionally hit it.

‘Jeez Merls, what did you do?’

‘It wasn't my fault!’

He could see Gwaine looking at him skeptically, so he reluctantly told the story.

‘Makes sense why you never told us the truth about how you met Daegal then.’ Gwaine murmured.

‘I forgave him a long time ago. He almost died helping me straight after that anyway, so I think we’re even.’

Gwaine scoffed. ‘At least that explains why it healed so poorly then. I imagine days going untreated with no food or water while poisoned doesn’t help, and of course after that you run across half the kingdom, and I’m sure the princess didn’t give you a break after that either?’

‘Well, he laughed at me a bit, but he was lenient with my duties for a few days.’

‘“Lenient” is not time off to rest.’

Merlin chuckled darkly. ‘Yeah, it’s not. Help me up?’

‘Has it stopped hurting?’

Merlin grimaced. ‘Mostly.’

‘Honest?’

‘Yes! Honest!’

‘You know, somehow I don’t trust that.’ Gwaine said, but helped Merlin up anyway. ‘Come on, Gaius’ tower isn’t too far.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Merlin.’ He said slowly. ‘That did not heal right, it won’t get better if you ignore it.’

‘It is fine, Gwaine.’

‘You’ve sent me home for less!’

‘That’s different!’

‘How is it different? Why can’t you get help when you need it?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Oh isn’t it? Come on Merlin, if you won’t let Gaius help, at least take the day off or something.’

‘And what do you propose I say to Arthur? How can I possibly tell him about this without making it seem like it’s his fault?’

‘Why does that matter?’

‘He has enough to deal with. I mean it, just let me sort this out on my own.’

Gwaine clenched his jaw. ‘Alright, but we’re going back early.’

Considering the pain (that Merlin was only barely hiding) still pulsing dully in his leg, he reluctantly allowed Gwaine to lead him back to his chambers (and was quietly very grateful when Gwaine didn’t say anything about how much Merlin was leaning on him the whole way).

Gwaine left at the door, face full of that stern devotion he showed sometimes. As it clicked shut behind him, Merlin sagged against the wood, and tentatively limped the last few paces to his desk. He would never admit it, but he knew Gwaine was right. He wouldn’t have made it back without help.

He was sticking by his earlier statements though. While he could probably get away with a lazy day or two, Arthur is still his boss. He was not going to bring this up, not going to ask for time off, and he certainly was not going to Gaius. After all, he was fine, and had work to do anyway. There was always more work to do.

He put his head down on the desk. Maybe he could rest for just a few moments. He’d get back to work after the burning, throbbing feeling went away — he could barely think over it anyway.

Yeah, just a few moments.

Chapter Text

This castle was far too big, far too hot, and had far too many stairs for Merlin to still be doing this.

There is simply no reason the Court Sorcerer should be lugging his own equipment around the place, there are plenty of people he could employ to do it for him, or at the very very least to help… is what Arthur would say if he could see Merlin at that moment. Merlin in turn would respond something along the lines of ‘Servants have enough to do already, not that you’d know, having never done a day of actual work in your life.’ despite the excuse being less than half the reason. It wasn't entirely wrong, but the reason he was doing this on his own was more to do with the overwhelming awkwardness Merlin felt whenever he enlisted a servant to help him in his new rank. He was much more used to the equal exchange of being one of them, swapping tasks and paying in favours. There wasn't as much he could tangibly do for those who help him these days, having no shared work to repay their kindness with, even if their job description is to help him when he needs. Really it was just not worth the hassle of dealing with all that, and the fuss of the excuses (or worse, the explaining) could be entirely avoided as long as Arthur didn’t find out.

Which he would if Merlin fell and broke something — whether that be something in the castle, or his equipment, or himself. As a man infamous for being exceptionally clumsy, Merlin was simply going to avoid this by being very careful. That’s the only reason why he was stopping for a break and cautiously putting everything down in one of the arches near the courtyard. The only reason.

He sorted through his things briefly — making sure his round ornaments wouldn’t roll away and that nothing was stacked too precariously on the ledge — then stood back upright and stretched his arms above his head. Merlin winced as a series of pops trailed up his spine, pulling his shoulders back and tugging at the tight and fragile skin of his upper chest. Summer forces a strange kind of movement, keeping arms away from the rest of your body, limbs stretched out, trying in vain to avoid all contact between skin and clothes so as not to sweat a river. For a man like Merlin, it causes a bit of a struggle.

He let his arms down slowly and gently tugged his collar out, not quite daring to touch the overheated irritation beneath.

‘Merlin!’ Gwen’s melodic voice called from behind, her footsteps rushing happily towards him. ‘Just who I was looking for.’

‘Gwen! What for?’ He responded, plastering on a smile, being careful with how he turned.

She smiled at him. ‘Is it wrong to miss your friends and want their company?’

Merlin let out a startled laugh. ‘No of course! There’s nothing wrong with that. I’d love to hang out, you’ve just caught me in the middle of something here.’

Gwen eyed the collection of things on the wall. ‘What’re they for?’

‘Uh, just setting up some easy communication circuits for the druids.’

‘And you need all of that?’

‘No. Just those crystals and powders there, everything else just needed to be moved.’ He said, gesturing to the items as he spoke.

‘Here, let me help.’

She immediately moved to the ledge and started picking up various things, laying them carefully in her arms.

‘No, no, it’s alright, I’ve got it.’

She smirked good naturedly. ‘Please, I was a servant longer than you. I can help my friend carry some of his things. Besides, I can see you’re having trouble with it.’

He looked at her with vague surprise. ‘You can?’

‘Usually I don’t move as slowly as you are unless something hurts, and you’re clearly uncomfortable.’

Merlin broke eye contact, feigning a casual glance around. ‘Yeah well you know how it is, temperatures like these.’

Gwen almost laughed, but settled for shaking her head at him. ‘You forget how long I’ve known you. I can tell when something’s wrong.’

‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

‘If it was nothing, you would tell me.’

Merlin let out a huff, knowing better than to argue with her. She smiled, thinking she’d won.

‘It’s just— well…’ he trailed off, not being inclined to tell. No one really needed to know, he could handle his scars fine. He didn’t need any of his friends thinking he was weak or in any way hindered, or giving any unwanted pity.

‘I have to get these to the casemate I’m using.’

It wasn’t a lie, just a deflection.

He was proud of his scars, really he was, but he was happy to be proud of them in private.

Merlin quickly went to pick up his things again, knocking one of the round containers over in his haste. He lunged over the ledge to catch it as it fell off the other side, a brief gasp escaping him as the scars on his chest pulled in ways they were no longer able to. He couldn’t reach it in time. His eyes flickered gold, and the sphere gently lowered itself to the ground before it could smash.

He swore under his breath as he straightened out, gently drawing his arm back to his side.

‘You’re hurt.’

‘No I—

‘Merlin, you’re hurt.’

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor, not willing to respond properly to Gwen’s care and concern.

‘It was a long time ago, it just pulls weirdly now.’

‘Oh Merlin, you should’ve told me.’

Merlin almost shrugged, but didn’t want to risk it with the throbbing not even beginning to die down.

‘It’s Nimeuh’s fire, isn’t it?’

His gaze shot back up to look at Gwen.

‘How… how did you know?’

Her eyebrows pinched together. ‘I told you, you’re my friend. Here, really, let me help.’

He swallowed, the shame settling over him as Gwen picked up his things and slotted them gently in her arms. They fit there much more neatly than they did in his.

She smiled again as she saw him staring at it.

‘I told you, I was a servant a lot longer than you were. I was better than you too, but that wasn’t hard.’

He gaped at the insult. ‘Gwen!’

‘I’m just saying!’

They set off walking.

‘That happened years ago, it should be healed by now.’ She noted.

‘To be fair, it was magic fire. I’m fairly sure I should’ve died.’

‘You’re too stubborn for death to try.’

Merlin smiled at her joke, then continued quietly.

‘It’s not just Nimueh. It’s… there were a couple other things too. Remember the fomorrah?’

‘I do.’ She said.

‘Arthur may have mentioned, but I was hit by a flail before that. It was healed, but it’s not pretty. Where it overlaps with the burn, well, it’s not exactly baby’s skin.’

They moved in silence as Gwen let that sink in.

‘Does it happen often?’

‘What?’

‘Your— that.’

‘That? Oh— uh, no, no not at all.’

Gwen frowned at that. ‘You should get it looked at.’

Merlin grimaced. That was not the response he was hoping for.

‘I know what scars can be like,’ she continued, ‘gods know Arthur has enough of his own. If it’s playing up now, it might get worse in winter.’

‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.’

‘Merlin.’ Gwen stared right at him, not pausing as they walked.

‘Gwen.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

He sighed. They broke their gaze again to watch where they were going.

‘It’s really not a big deal.’

‘You shouldn’t be in pain when you don’t have to be.’

Merlin nodded, conceding the point. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Good. Do.’

They walked on.

‘Gwen?’ He started softly, knowing she would understand he meant what he was about to say. ‘Can you not mention this to anyone?’

She nodded slowly. ‘Of course. May I ask why?’

He pressed his lips together as he thought about his answer. It was personal, but this is Gwen. She’s been his best friend since his first day in Camelot.

‘I don’t want people to think I’m weak, or worry about me more than they already do. It’s something I can deal with on my own.’

She nodded again, not happy with his conclusion but willing to respect his wishes.

‘As long as you promise to ask for help when you need it. And don’t try to carry stupid amounts of things on your own, or even normal amounts of things. You really were a hopeless servant.’

‘Of course.’ Merlin said, chuckling briefly before his tone turned more solemn. ‘Thanks, Gwen.’

‘Anytime, Merlin. I mean that.’

Chapter Text

Merlin was quiet, really quiet.

Everyone who’d met him (or hadn’t) knew he was fairly loud by default. He’d grown some respect and deference over the years, and then grew out of it again once promoted to his current position in court. He was bursting with opinions and insults and jokes, and had spent a lifetime curating relationships with all those he met. In politics, discussion, or law, this meant he spoke often and with great authority. He shot down poor ideas when they’d barely breached the table, and would ask the right questions or add the right suggestions to those with potential. It was this that made him an excellent councillor, one worthy of his place at Arthur’s right-hand.

On this particular morning, if Percival’s observations of him and those around him could be trusted, Merlin had woken up distracted and stayed that way. He was slow, almost sullen, and the longer the meeting went on, the more silent he became. He didn’t speak even once in the second half of the meeting, no matter what issue was at hand.

A quick glance around the table confirmed everyone had noticed, even those lords who openly held no love for Merlin. The king’s inner circle were especially clued in, mouthing their confusion to each other while others were talking in a poor attempt to parse out what was going on.

The King himself ended the meeting right on time and not a moment later, citing some appointment he had with Elyan, though anyone who followed the concern in his gaze knew otherwise.

Arthur stood in an invitation for the lords and ladies to file out of the room. Once they were gone, Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, who hadn’t lifted his eyes from the table or even noticed the meeting ending, and gently touched him on the shoulder.

Merlin seemed to come back to himself then, dragging his gaze up to look at Arthur with none of his characteristic quickness.

‘Are you alright?’ Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin blinked a couple of times, looking around the room and seeming to finally process his surroundings.

‘Uh… yeah.’

Arthur seemed no less worried than before, but looked up to see Elyan waiting for him by the doors.

‘Take it easy, alright? You don’t look well.’

Merlin nodded groggily and got to his feet, Arthur lightly clapping him on the back before leaving with Elyan, and then walked out the door himself, clearly on autopilot.

Those remaining in the room — Mordred, Gwaine, Gwen, Percival, and Leon — gathered quickly.

‘He looked horrible.’ Gwen started.

‘Didn’t even make an excuse.’ Gwaine added.

‘I was trying to get through to him with our mindspeak but he wasn’t responding, not once.’ Mordred said. He went quiet a few moments. ‘Still silent.’

‘Does that happen often?’ Leon asked.

‘Not unless he’s angry with me and doing it on purpose. Generally it’s even easier than speaking normally, so if he was only queasy or something he could still speak to me no problem.’

The group let that sink in.

‘Someone needs to go after him.’ Gwaine suggested. ‘I’d do it myself but Arthur’s dumped the squires on me this afternoon.’

Leon nodded. ‘I’m the same.’

‘I’ll do it.’ Percival said.

Gwen gave him a smile and put her hand on his arm. ‘Really keep an eye on him, he thinks asking for help will kill him.’

‘Of course.’

They each nodded their thanks to Percival, who made quick work of crossing the room and heading out the door.

Into an empty corridor.

Problem #1: Find Merlin.

Percival searched in the castle for some time. He first headed to Merlin’s chambers, then Arthur’s, the library, and the physician’s tower, and found them all empty. Each one only made him more worried, even moreso when he realised all of Merlin’s other duties would have taken him out into the town when he was certainly in no condition to do so.

Percival jogged briskly down past the courtyard and into the town, sticking his head down alleyways and generally keeping a close eye out for anything approximately Merlin-shaped. The markets were crowded; loud and overwhelming. Percival preferred quieter places with smaller groups of people, and tried not to imagine Merlin — off as he was — caught in such a messy, busy sort of place.

He came quickly out on the other side of the market, deciding someone would certainly have noticed and called him over if the Court Sorcerer was collapsed or ill in there, and continued down through the town. He was getting closer to a number of other places Merlin could reasonably have headed towards, this part of town was known for housing a variety of craftsmen and their workshops. While he wasn’t Arthur’s servant anymore and thus was no longer sent on random errands or fetch-quests, he still has plenty of reasons to be in this part of town. Sometimes he’s called upon to lend his magic to solve difficult issues, or to assess if any sorcery in use is being conducted safely. Sometimes he carries out the more mundane courtly missions to help Arthur out, and beyond all of that, his own innate curiosity has led him halfway across the kingdom before. There were very few places that could be ruled out as Places Merlin Has No Reason To Be. Even the tavern. Word of the magical bartender has spread far and wide among the knights recently (many bets have been made, most of them lost), no doubt Merlin had caught wind of it.

But that’s besides the point. The point is that Merlin looked awful and was still nowhere to be found.

…

Oh gods, he really does look awful.

Problem #2: What on earth is wrong with Merlin?

Merlin clearly had some sense remaining in him, because Percival found him at a bench rather than hidden away in the dark of some random alley.

Key word being at the bench, not on it. He was on the ground beside it, as a result of either falling off or not making it that far in the first place.

Merlin was dramatically pale on a good day, but now he was whiter than a sheet. His breathing was shallow and quick, and his face was screwed up as if in pain yet still asleep.

Percival rushed to his side and crouched down, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder.

‘Merlin?’

He shook him gently and called out his name a few more times, but Merlin didn’t stir.

Percival’s frown deepened.

‘Let’s get you home.’

Percival moved to pick him up, placing a hand beneath his knees and a second around his back.

The second he touched Merlin’s back, however, Merlin cried out and curled forward, a pained, strangled whimper falling from his lips.

‘Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me? What’s happened?’

Merlin seemed awake now, but only barely. His response was little more than a small and frantic shake of his head. He was trembling.

Now worried that maybe it was an injury rather than an illness causing Merlin to act this way, Percival retracted his hands and gently peeled Merlin’s shirt up his back.

There, in the middle of his back, right over his spine, was a serket sting.

Percival almost gagged.

The wound itself was ugly, a scarred-over puncture, sunken in the middle and pulled taught. Around it the skin was raised, red, and hot to the touch. The whole area must be beyond sensitive.

Percival swallowed and lowered Merlin’s shirt, praying that Gaius would be able to fix this. Serket stings, if the prey was fully pierced — as Merlin clearly was — were fatal. Victims don’t live long enough for after-effects to show, let alone for physicians to learn how to treat them.

Problem #3: Get him home

Slowly and very carefully, Percival put his hand back under Merlin’s knees and the other tentatively around his back, higher up this time to better avoid the scar. He watched as Merlin’s expression twisted into a grimace, as tears gathered in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is going to hurt. It’ll be over soon.’

Percival continued to mutter quiet apologies as he lifted Merlin and pulled him close against his chest, and kept up his litany as he stood and began to walk back through the town. He did everything he could to keep his movements steady, trying his best to avoid jostling Merlin or putting any more pressure than necessary on his back. He considered carrying him over his shoulder instead, but he doubted that would do anything except make the poor man nauseous. He probably already was, he definitely looked it.

Percival had carried Merlin several times over the course of their friendship, oftentimes by necessity as with things like the Dorocha, but sometimes just while roughhousing with the knights or for a bet or a joke. He’d stopped being surprised at how light Merlin was years ago, but now he seemed even lighter. Not much, only a small amount, but on top of everything else, it only made Percival more worried. Had he been unwell for a while? How often was he hurting with no one around to help?

As he passed through the upper town, Percival glanced back down at Merlin and found that his eyes had opened a crack.

‘Merlin?’

‘... Perce?’ He mumbled in response, his voice hoarse and so quiet Percival could barely hear it.

‘That’s right.’

‘I feel bad.’

‘I know Merlin, we’re getting help.’

Merlin eyes roamed around, blearily scanning their surroundings.

‘You… carryin’ me?’

‘Like a princess.’

Merlin chuckled breathlessly, but it turned into a choked sob and he squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Mhh.. back.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Percival responded, words so laden with concern it may as well have been dripping off him. ‘When did you get stung by a serket?’

Percival watched as Merlin opened his eyes again and knitted his brows together, searching for the answer.

He seems so out of it.

‘Um… ‘Gana… just got back… helpin’ Morgause.’

Percival may not have been in Camelot at the time, but these days he is a senior knight, close to the king, and thus knows plenty about all the things Morgana did in the time leading up to his knighthood.

Which was years ago.

He looked back up at the road they were travelling along, and by now they were almost at the courtyard. The tower wasn’t far.

‘Try to rest Merlin, you’re safe from all that now.’

‘Still hurts.’

‘Just rest, you’ll be all fixed up in no time.’

‘Mm.’

The next time Percival looked down, Merlin had fallen into a restless sleep in his arms.

* * *

Merlin felt weightless when he came to. He felt numb, groggy, stuffed full with cotton. His eyes were heavy, and stung mercilessly when opened. He waited patiently as the world came back to him, blinking enough that his eyes stopped hurting, and the beginnings of a distant conversation trailed into his ears. It was all garbled, like he was underwater.

When he looked towards the noise, he found Percival and Gaius standing inside the open door of his old room. Eventually Percival turned enough to meet his eye, and his expression immediately softened.

‘Hey. You alright?’

Merlin made a faint noise of agreement and nodded. ‘Feel like I’ve been asleep forever.’

A gentle smile graced Gaius’ face. ‘That’d be the painkillers. You’ve not been asleep very long, it’s just barely evening now.’

Percival walked to his bedside and crouched down beside it, softly placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The action felt familiar, part of some faint memory he couldn’t quite recall.

‘If you ever feel like that again, you have to tell someone, alright? You were in pretty rough shape, we don’t want anything bad happening to you.’

Merlin nodded timidly and averted his eyes.

‘And I’ll always be here to help when you need me.’

His gaze shot back up to meet Percival’s, finding that same stoic determination he wore when receiving an order from his king.

Merlin nodded again and gave him a smile. ‘Thank you, I won’t forget it.’

Percival stood back up and momentarily smoothed out Merlin’s blankets.

‘Now take it easy. I’ll come by again tomorrow.’

Percival left but Gaius asked Merlin to stay awake just a little longer. He made sure he had something to eat and drink before he laid back down to sleep.

When Merlin woke again the next day, everything hurt just a little less.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often Merlin could still be found doing his servant duties, but when he was, it usually didn’t mean anything good.

Any friend of the king knew what a worry-wart Arthur was, and so Camelot’s First Knight, Sir Leon, has been sent on an important quest: find Merlin, make sure he’s ok.

(The quest was actually assigned by Guinevere, who was currently masterminding some scheme to force Arthur to rest and relax for a few days after the stress of a recent diplomatic summit. Arthur himself would never send anyone else after Merlin - after all, he still views protecting Merlin as his own job.)

It was deep in the evening, that time of day when the sky remained light, though inside objects turned to silhouettes. He was sitting on the floor of the laundry, staring out the empty window, silently clutching his upper arm.

Leon walked in and sat quietly on the bench behind him.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked eventually.

Merlin nodded, still somewhere off in the distance.

‘Nothing I can do to help? I know you’ve been off recently.’

He shook his head. ‘Just thinking, you know how it is.’

Merlin turned to Leon for confirmation. Leon simply shrugged.

‘It was the first week of winter that we met Morgause,’ he started. ‘I was so afraid for Arthur then that I never thought about Morgana, not even once… Uther said some strange things to me that day.’ Merlin smiled, though it was strained.

‘You don’t have to fake it, Merlin. You can be sad, there’s no need to pretend anymore.’

Merlin’s smile faltered. ‘Yeah. Yeah I suppose you’re right, after everything we’ve all been through.’ He sighed. ‘Can I show you something?’

‘Of course.’ Leon shifted, sensing Merlin’s infamous walls softening.

Merlin let go of where he was holding his arm and pushed up his sleeve, revealing a flat, white scar on his upper arm. All being said, it was unremarkable, just a thin, straight line.

‘This is from Idirsholas.’ He said. ‘Arthur patched it up, which I’m sure is the only reason it scarred at all. He called it my “first battle wound.”’ Merlin let out a breathless laugh. ‘I don’t know, it doesn’t ever bother me, not really, but it makes me laugh, even though the days around that time were not… not what you’d look back on fondly.’

Leon nodded. ‘That was nowhere near your first, was it?’

Merlin laughed. ‘Not even close.’

They let that settle.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Hurt? No, not at all. I barely notice it most days.’

Leon nodded and looked around.

‘Is there anything else you need to do down here?’

Merlin shook his head.

‘Shall we go somewhere nicer? I can get something to eat.’

Merlin smiled. ‘Thanks Leon, but I’ll survive.’

‘Are you sure? Sometimes it’s better not to be alone at the end of a long day.’

Merlin looked up very slowly at the pale light fading beyond the high window. As he sat and stared, it occurred to Leon, as it often did, that for all his loudness, Merlin was a very quiet man.

Eventually he stood.

‘That would be nice.’

* * *

No one missed the awkward, stumbling way Merlin had walked off the field at the end of his bout. Most of their close friends had tried approaching him after that, and when everyone else was turned away, Leon wandered over and sat on the bench beside him.

‘Here to bother me as well?’

Leon huffed and shook his head. ‘If Gwaine didn’t succeed there, I’ve got no chance.’

‘I wouldn’t doubt so quickly, you do possess a great many qualities he does not.’

‘Like what?’ Leon probed.

‘Subtlety, patience, an inclination towards any amount of peace and quiet.’ Merlin groaned.

‘Pissed you off, has he?’

Merlin leaned forwards and put his head in his hands, sighing loudly. ‘Yeah. It’s not his fault, I’m just a bit… short… right now. Really, he’s being far too good to me.’

Merlin lifted his head to look at Gwaine across the field.

‘I don’t deserve him.’ He mumbled.

Leon watched on as Gwaine adjusted a squire’s form, nudging the boy's outer foot backward, then demonstrating the effect himself.

‘That was unfair.’ Merlin admitted shamefully. ‘I shouldn’t have said that about him. He really can be patient and gentle. I have a feeling it’s closer to his natural inclination than he’d like any of us to realise.’

The squire scored a point on Gwaine in their spar, who nodded sagely before breaking into a wide, proud grin.

‘He’s really special to you, isn’t he?’ Leon asked.

Merlin nodded. ‘He is.’

Leon noticed the edge of a smile creep up Merlin’s face as he watched Gwaine and the squire reset and start another bout.

‘So what happened?’

Merlin sighed again, the smile dropped immediately. ‘Nothing, really. He’s just protective. I can take care of myself, I’ve been through much worse on my own than these trifles him and Arthur and everyone else love to fuss all over me about.’

The squire ended up on his back, Gwaine’s sword half a foot from his throat. Still, they could make out his saying ‘Good. Much better.’ as he sheathed his sword and helped the boy up, then sent him back over to the others, while he wandered instead to Arthur’s side by the wall.

‘It is nice though, just a little.’ Leon said.

‘What?’ Merlin asked, stunned out of his thoughts.

‘Merlin, would you say I’m sensible?’ Leon suddenly asked.

‘Wh- uh. In general yes?’

‘Well, you may call it fussing, but more sensible people refer to that kind of behaviour as worrying and caring. None of us doubt you’ve been through some awful things on your own, that you’ve been the one to get yourself through, but that doesn’t mean you’d enjoy doing it again. If you were abandoned on death’s door, you’d likely crawl back to aid us, but it would be nicer if we were there to hold you up, wouldn’t it?’

Merlin blinked blankly a few times, unable to fault Leon’s logic.

‘... Yeah.’

‘So would the same not follow if you were merely struggling rather than actively dying?’

‘Uh… yeah. I suppose.’

‘Let your friends take care of you Merlin, if only to stop their worrying. You send my knights into all sorts of moods, you know that?’

That earned a chuckle out of Merlin, however confused it may have been. Leon playfully elbowed Merlin in the ribs, only for the resulting groan to remind him why he was over here.

‘Oh sorry! Didn’t mean to- are you hurt?’

‘No, no, I’m fine.’

Leon shot Merlin a skeptical look.

‘Are you sure? You may not be dying, Merlin, but you can tell me about small things too.’

Merlin looked into Leon’s eyes from where he was, slightly hunched over beside him. Eventually he pushed himself (shakily, though he did his best to hide it) to his feet and smiled.

‘Nothing I can’t handle. Better take off from training before one of you makes me though.’

‘Alright then. Take it easy.’ Leon conceded.

‘Thanks Leon.’

As Merlin walked off, Arthur and Gwaine shot Leon a questioning glance. Leon simply waved back, gesturing to leave it alone. The two nodded solemnly and returned to their conversation.

* * *

It was well after night had descended, only after all the chatter and banter had long cooled, after most others had turned in for the night, that Leon finally got a chance to talk to Merlin. Percival was on watch, though he stood on the other edge of their camp, gazing watchfully out into the deep black to afford them some privacy. Neither of them much minded his being there either way.

‘How’re you going?’ Leon asked quietly, slotting in on the log beside Merlin.

Merlin was staring absentmindedly into the flames, wrapped tightly in his blankets yet making no move to sleep.

‘Cold.’ He chuckled breathlessly. ‘I don’t understand why you all love coming out here when it’s freezing. Believe it or not, I like being warm when I sleep.’

Leon quietly made sure their shoulders, at least, were touching.

‘I am inclined to agree with you, but really it isn’t that cold. A bit frigid, sure, but survivable. I know you slept on the ground as a kid.’

Merlin’s gaze sunk further into the coals.

‘... You alright?’ Leon asked gently.

‘Yeah, alright as I’ll get.’

‘Something bothering you?’

‘Like I said, I’m cold.’

Leon stood and walked the short few paces to where his bedroll was laid out, then returned with his own blanket, which he draped around Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin’s hands darted out from within his cocoon to grab the ends, pulling it tight around himself.

He smiled. ‘Thanks.’

‘Of course.’

Leon settled back down next to Merlin and shuffled up against him, knowing contact helps.

‘I get cold easier now, since the dorocha.’ He offered almost shamefully.

Leon looked on in sympathy.

‘It’s not that bad most of the time, gets pretty miserable on Samhain itself, but it’s ok. We all build up big fires, and we have bigger things to think and be miserable about that day anyway.’

The fire spat quietly in the silence.

‘Is there anything I can do?’

Merlin lifted his gaze to Leon’s, smiling.

‘An extra blanket helps.’

Leon returned the smile and stood. ‘Turn in soon, ok? And I’m here if you need anything else.’

‘Sure. Thanks Leon. Sleep well.’

* * *

The rain was that type which may be enjoyed by children unconcerned with muddying their clothes, or the fact that being out in the cold and wet would inevitably lead to them becoming cold and wet. It was the type of rain which could be pleasant, if one did not have things to do or places to be.

Which Leon might have, until he saw Merlin.

Merlin, who was… sitting down? On a bench? In the rain?

Leon watched for a few moments, people rushing to and fro from shelter to shelter while Merlin simply… sat. He was hunched forwards, hands clasping the front of his knees.

After standing dumbstruck for slightly longer than was befitting the First Knight, Leon rushed over to Merlin.

‘Merlin! What are you doing out here!?’

‘Leon! Uh, nothing really. Enjoying the rain!’ He tried, pushing out a smile.

Leon’s eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and judgement. ‘That’s not what it looks like.’

‘Well! I’m fine, happy out here, so you feel free to get back inside and be warm and dry and-’

‘Merlin.’

Merlin shut his mouth.

‘You look miserable.’

The carefree lilt to Merlin’s expression melted off before Leon’s eyes.

‘Yeah.’ He admitted.

Leon took a seat next to Merlin on the bench.

‘You don’t have to.’ Merlin immediately raised.

‘Would you rather me go back inside?’ Leon asked.

‘Honestly?’

Leon nodded.

‘I don’t know.’ He mumbled.

‘What’s wrong Merlin?’ Leon asked, soft as he could manage.

Merlin sighed almost inaudibly beneath the rain.

‘I uh… I’m just having some trouble.’

Leon waited for Merlin to continue, prompting him when he didn’t.

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘Uh. Maybe I’m just not feeling well, or something?’

‘Or something? If you’re not well we should go inside.’

‘Yes, right, well, that’s the problem.’

‘... Are you avoiding someone?’

‘No! Not at all, I’m just having trouble… getting there.’

Leon stared bemused for a few seconds.

‘How so?’

‘Well, you know, sometimes my legs and my stomach and things get… sore. I’ve got some kinda thick scars, well, all over, and sometimes it just… gets all messed up.’ Merlin’s gaze had dropped to his feet. ‘It gets really painful sometimes.’ He tearfully admitted.

‘Merlin.’

Merlin met Leon’s eye.

‘Can I help?’

‘What?’

‘It’s not doing you any good to be stuck out here, is it? Lean on me, I’ll help you inside.’

Merlin looked up at Leon, something sad shining in his eyes, and then anxiously over at the stairs at the far end of the courtyard.

‘I don’t know…’

‘We can go slow.’

‘What if someone sees?’

‘No one’s out here, falcon, and the guards have seen you in much worse shape. At least this time you aren’t covered in tomatoes.’

Merlin laughed.

‘You don’t have to worry about them.’

He grimaced. ‘Alright.’

Leon stood and held out his arm to help Merlin up. Once he was standing, Leon wrapped an arm around him, and took one of Merlin’s over his own shoulders, doing his best to take some of his weight. Leon was happy to go slowly, but Merlin seemed keen to go as fast as he could. Leon only let him because it would get them both out of the rain more quickly.

Merlin kept his head down as they passed the guards by the doors, who nodded silently to Leon as they passed. Once they were out of sight, Merlin sagged against Leon’s side and slowed down considerably.

‘You’re doing well falcon. I’ve got you.’

He felt the ghost of Merlin’s nod against his shoulder.

As they went, Merlin seemed to be focussing more and more on simply moving his feet, and so didn’t notice the direction they were talking until they’d almost arrived.

‘Almost there now.’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘My chambers. I left the fire going earlier, so they’ll be warmer than yours.’

‘Leon-’

‘It’s no problem at all, I promise, I just want to see you well.’

Merlin went quiet again after that.

He sat shivering by the fire as Leon called up a bath, taking care not to notice the sympathetic smiles of the servants working behind him, or the gentle way Leon supported him as he undressed and sank into the tub once they were all gone. Leon sat around the other side of the privacy screen, absentmindedly thumbing through a book.

‘You didn’t have to do all this.’ Merlin’s voice came from around the screen.

‘I told you, you don’t have to be on death’s door to be allowed help.’

Leon heard a faint slosh of water as Merlin shifted around.

‘It’s hard to know when it’s not something I have to do on my own.’

Leon didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but did his best to say something useful.

‘If it feels like it would be easier to have someone with you, then it probably would, and at the end of the day it causes no trouble to ask. That’s what friends are for, to make life more bearable.’

He heard Merlin’s brief huff of amusement. ‘I don’t want to burden anyone.’

‘You were on your own for so long Merlin, if anyone deserves to depend on those around them, it’s you.’

They sat for some time like that, Leon reading, occasionally hearing faint movement from the other side of the screen.

‘Alright, I’m done.’

‘Would you like my help getting out? Please, be honest.’

There was silence as Merlin deliberated, until his voice came quietly.

‘Could you help?’

‘Of course.’

Leon helped Merlin to stand and step out of the bath, and led him to a stool he could use as he dressed, carefully keeping his eyes diverted.

He found himself smiling, not long later, when they were both seated by the fire with mulled wine in their hands, Merlin ensconced safely in Leon’s thickest blanket.

‘Thank you, Leon. I’m glad you came.’ He mumbled, voice thin with exhaustion.

‘I’m just glad you’re ok.’

Chapter Text

Time continued on in Camelot, as it always did, and for once brought little change. The only thing that really changed was that Merlin, reluctantly, began to realise there may be something worthwhile in taking care of yourself. He started being much more careful, hoping to avoid a repeat of what had happened with — at this point — most of the king’s inner circle. Really, far too many people.

So he was being careful — keeping his chambers warm, taking it slow when no one was looking, trying to massage the skin and the scars that itched and pulled and burned when he had the time, especially now that the first snow of winter was approaching. The knowledge that winter always tended to make injuries worse he held both as a physician and as a patient himself. It hadn’t always been easy for him in years prior, but then he always had some reason to push on, some threat demanding constant vigilance, and somehow he found enough desperation to keep it from getting too bad. Now he had nothing to stave it off, and was beginning to learn just how bad his scars could get.

He did have friends on his side this time, friends who gave him those strange glances of concern and offered a quiet arm whenever he stumbled, friends who kept an eye out for him when it rained and tried to ensure he was never left wanting for an extra pair of hands.

Friends who kept telling him he needed to get help, needed to stop bearing it all on his own, needed to tell Arthur.

Merlin understood that, though he was being careful, the consequences of having a body so harshly battered for so many years could not be held at bay forever. One of these days he was going to wake in the morning and fail to get up, or be out and about til his muscles grew cold or stressed and pull his scars taut against all motion, and at some point his serket sting was going to flare up and make him badly sick again. It was only a matter of time.

In the army, it’s considered crucial to know if a comrade is injured. To work effectively, the whole team must be aware of each member’s limitations, so they know what they can and can’t expect of each other. Merlin himself has doled out many lectures about not hiding injuries before battles, so he knows all the right words he should tell himself. Though they aren’t in any wars at the moment, no peace can last forever, and there are smaller battles of different kinds raging every day. As much as he wishes he could, he just can’t keep up the way he used to, can’t get through the month without needing a bit of help.

(Which, he was trying to believe, bore no shame, as Leon had been drilling into him for some months now.)

More importantly, Merlin was sick of keeping secrets, especially from Arthur. Their souls were made for each other, they were born to know each other.

Arthur, of all people, deserved to know.

And besides, maybe Merlin could squeeze a few days off out of it.

They were eating dinner together, as they often did, laughing and talking as they shared a meal in Arthur’s chambers. Guinevere was staying with Elyan as she did once in a while, leaving the night open for the two of them. The meal itself was hearty, a soup of shredded meat and vegetables, partially sourced from Arthur’s latest hunt (which Merlin had actually managed to avoid for once), the final of the season.

‘Seeing as you weren’t there, apparently the burden of your unearthly clumsiness had to fall upon someone to ruin the hunt on your behalf. Of all people, it ended up being Leon who tripped and fell in the creek, just in time to scare off the boar we’d been tracking all morning. You know, I did used to have hunts where nothing went wrong, but after you got here apparently the very idea of something going to plan decided to take a holiday and not come back.’

‘Have you thought that it may be you bringing all this misfortune? A great heavenly sign saying stop killing innocent animals for your enjoyment or you shall look like a great buffoon.’

‘It’s never me looking like a buffoon!’

‘Is that a challenge sire?’

Arthur shook his head in fond exasperation. ‘Thankfully there are no hunts for you to ruin until the spring now.’

‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t forget.’

The two of them tidied their plates and moved over to the two plush chairs by the fire, where usually they would drink and talk until either a wrestling match ensued or one of them bordered on sleeping — which undoubtedly would have happened if Merlin hadn’t been planning something that night.

Their conversation fizzled out naturally, the banter drawing to completion and leaving them in a comfortable quiet, until Merlin spoke.

‘Arthur?’

‘Yes Merlin?’

Merlin took a deep breath.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and stiffened slightly, though there was a small smile on his face. ‘Oh god, you’ve not got some third huge secret you’ve been keeping, do you?’

Merlin laughed softly until Arthur had relaxed again.

‘No, no, nothing like that, but it is something I’ve been keeping from you.’

‘Go on.’

Merlin waited a few seconds to build up his nerve, then met Arthur’s eyes.

‘When I told you about my magic, about all the things I’d done in service of you and the kingdom, I smoothed over some of the details.’

Arthur nodded.

‘There just wasn’t enough time not to, and you didn’t need every moment, so long duels became just “we fought”, and so on. I didn’t really want you to know, didn’t want you to think of me as weak or incapable, and I didn’t want to you worry, or- or feel bad-’

‘You’re rambling.’

Merlin took another deep breath, then huffed out a laugh.

‘Sorry, this doesn’t need to be as dramatic as I’m making it. It’s really not that big of a deal.’

Arthur gave a sad smile, but nothing more. ‘If it’s important to you, Merlin, you’re allowed to treat it like it is.’

‘Ha. Right.’ Merlin scratched at his collar. ‘Well, ok. I— uh—’

Arthur raised his eyebrows not unkindly. Merlin’s voice dropped to a whisper.

‘I’d like to take my shirt off.’

Arthur’s eyes widened, though quickly schooled his expression as he stood, inviting Merlin to do the same. They both knew how modest Merlin had always insisted on dressing, mostly wearing long sleeves and trousers and a neckerchief even in summer, and only really adjusting that when it was necessary for his work as a servant. Never did he join the knights cooling off in lakes, or remove his shirt in front of them to allow it to dry by the fire after rain. No one had ever really learned why, whether it was some ingrained personal moral, or shame, insecurity, or something else he had to hide. If he intended to reveal it to Arthur, Arthur was going to be as respectful as humanly possible.

They locked eyes one more time before Merlin lowered his gaze to untie his neckerchief, placing it reverently on the chair behind him, then reached down to the hem of his tunic and pulled it up over his head — slowly so as not to get tangled and embarrass himself, slowly so as not to hurt himself any more — and dropped it beside the neckerchief.

He watched with anticipation as Arthur took him in, used every ounce of will not to pull his arms in front of his body and beg Arthur to look away. He could see it, the way Arthur’s face fell more and more as he passed over each scar; the arrow wound from when he met Finna, the strange figures highlighting his veins from all the Sidhe lightning dotted across his torso, the pock-marked gouge from the flail…

The burn.

It was one of his earliest scars and still one of the largest, taking up at least half the width of his chest, with smaller fragments from the way the flame had burst on impact reaching up over one shoulder and down towards the other hip. He knows how twisted and unpleasant it looks, how twisted and unpleasant he looks.

Eventually he couldn’t take Arthur’s scrutiny anymore and looked instead down to his feet, almost laughing at how comical it was to be in wooly socks without a shirt.

He heard Arthur take a series of deep breaths. He sounded angry.

‘Are there more?’

Merlin nodded, quickly folding up his trouser legs above the knees, then stood and slowly turned around, exposing his back. There were less there, but the jagged mark from the fomorrah on the back of his neck and the still discoloured and poisonous-looking serket sting, alongside various other marks and grazes accumulated over the years… He’s not intimately familiar with how his back looks, but if Arthur’s sharp intake of breath was anything to go by, it’s not much better than the front.

‘... And you didn’t think to tell me about this at the time?’ Arthur said, voice filled with a measured calm that Merlin knew was a careful facade.

Not angry. Furious.

‘No— well—’

‘You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were hurt?’ He asked, louder this time.

‘I couldn’t.’ Merlin responded, voice cracking at the thought of being on the wrong end of Arthur’s ire again.

‘Why not!? Did you not think I would care that this was happening to you?’

Merlin turned around almost shocked.

‘What?’

‘Was keeping your secret so important you would rather almost die than let me know?’

‘No— that’s—’

Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, a brief wave of melancholy overtaking his demeanor. ‘I would never have made you go through that alone.’

Merlin felt the claws of shame climbing painfully up his exposed chest.

‘Do you promise it’s not still happening?’

‘What?’

‘This. You’re not still getting hurt and keeping it a secret, are you?’

‘No, there’s been nothing for a while now.’

Arthur turned suddenly and launched a pillow at the door with as much force as he could muster. Merlin flinched.

‘I wish I could go back and kill whoever did that to you. If I had seen any of it I would’ve ridden out then and there.’

Merlin’s expression softened, catching onto the cause of the frustration. Arthur’s always been a man of action, so situations where he can’t do anything don’t tend to rub him the right way. Situations where he can’t help make him feel guilty, which, like most things, he still tends to express as anger.

He also, over the years, has grown much more emotionally aware.

Arthur pinched the ridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths before turning back to Merlin.

‘If anyone ever even touches you again, you come straight to me, understood?’

Merlin nodded. ‘Of course. I promise.’

Arthur nodded back. ‘Good.’

They stood there appraising one another for a short few moments, until eventually, Arthur cracked.

‘Merlin I— I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s ok Arthur.’

‘No, you—’

‘You didn’t do this, you couldn’t’ve known.’

Arthur laughed. ‘Why are you the one comforting me?’

Merlin smiled. ‘This is only new information for one of us.’

Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, tentatively reaching out.

‘Can I…?’

Merlin nodded, sharply inhaling at the first touch of Arthur’s hand on his chest.

He stood still while Arthur — gently, ever so gently, Merlin wasn’t aware he was someone who could be touched with such care and reverence — lightly traced over the edges of the scars across Merlin’s front, avoiding areas where any overlap.

‘Do they still hurt?’

Merlin nodded. ‘Not all of them, not all the time, but they do.’

‘And right now?’

‘The one on my leg, a little, but not really.’

Arthur walked slowly around to Merlin’s back, touching the line from the fomorrah with his thumb, the rest of his hand atop Merlin’s shoulder.

‘Will you tell me about them?’

‘Anything you want to know.’

Arthur’s ruminations went on for some time in silence, his touch affording the serket sting a wide berth before coming back round the front.

‘Which one was first?’

Merlin almost laughed. ‘Uh, probably this,’ he pointed to a pale mark below his elbow, ‘Will and I were play fighting in a tree and I fell out.’

Arthur’s lips quirked up at the corners.

‘Or maybe…’ Merlin examined his hands. Most of the scars there were from his work as a servant and a physician over the years, and as such were all to be expected; nicks from paring knives or marks from dropping things, getting hands stuck in doors. ‘I stuck my hand into the fire as a kid once.’ He held out a finger to Arthur, where a small splotch was coloured only slightly differently from the rest of his hand.

That got Arthur to laugh. ‘You clearly weren’t the brightest.’

‘No, not really.’ He smiled before he continued. ‘There are a lot of small ones from before I left Ealdor. I was a pretty nervous kid, so I picked my scabs and bit my nails and all the rest of it, and things that definitely should not have scarred did. They’re so faded you can barely tell anymore. The first one in Camelot would be one of these.’ He pointed to the marks from the Sidhe’s lightning on his chest. ‘I’m not sure which one, but I think all of them happened in my first year.’ He bit back a smile. ‘You get good at dodging at some point.’

‘What happened?’ Arthur’s voice was low and quiet.

‘Sofia and Aulfric happened. I was saving you, as per usual, and they didn’t exactly take kindly to it.’

‘Meddling in other people’s plots doesn’t tend to be a friendly move.’

‘Oi! It was your sorry arse I was saving!’

Arthur smiled softly, that sorrow still in his eyes.

‘I know. I really owe you a lot, don’t I?’

Merlin looked down.

‘And after that?’

‘The burn, I think.’

Arthur nodded for him to continue.

‘It— when you were struck by the questing beast, you know I went to trade my life for yours, and you know that Nimueh took my mother’s and then Gaius’ before I killed her instead. The full story is only slightly longer, but the main thing is that I didn’t just stroll up to the island and murder her, no questions asked.’

‘Frankly, I’d be a bit worried if you did. How old were you?’

‘... nineteen?’

Arthur exhaled harshly, reaching a hand up to smooth out his forehead, then gestured for Merlin to continue.

‘Well, we fought for a bit. She did this.’ Merlin waved a hand at his chest, then blinked a few times, trying not to get caught up in the memory. ‘I thought I was dead, really I did. But something… I don’t know… I just got up and— killed her. I honestly didn’t remember actually doing it until afterwards, I was so focussed on getting to Gaius. It didn’t take long at all for him to wake up, so it all turned out ok.’

‘Except for this.’ Arthur stroked over the burn, trailing down across the smaller burn on Merlin’s hip.

‘Yeah. Except for that.’

They went on like that for some time, Merlin filling in the gaps of the stories he’d told before, while Arthur listened.

‘Is that why you seem like you’re injured sometimes?’ Arthur asked eventually.

Merlin narrowed his eyes in confusion.

‘Sometimes you walk with a limp, or take longer to stand up than the rest of us after a meeting, or seem like you’re having trouble carrying half as much as you used to as a servant.’

He blinked blankly a few times. ‘... you saw all that?’

‘It may come as a surprise to someone like yourself, but I do pay attention. I didn’t know the specifics of why, but I know you’ve been having trouble with these.’

Maybe it was because it had been a long week, or the stress of the whole interaction was finally catching up to him, but Arthur’s unexpected compassion had tears gathering in Merlin’s eyes.

By the time Arthur looked up at Merlin’s face, they were starting to spill down his cheeks.

Arthur took one look at Merlin, standing before him, half-disrobed and crying, and made up his mind.

Quickly he closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into his chest, letting his head fall down to lean on Arthur’s shoulder, nevermind the growing wet patch.

‘I need you to know this is not something you ever have to carry on your own.’ Arthur said, holding Merlin as firmly as he dared. ‘Whatever the specifics, you did this in service of Camelot. You’ve been one of our fiercest protectors for years, all without the support you deserved. Rest assured you’ll have it now, whatever you need. You don’t have to struggle by yourself Merlin, you’re not on your own anymore.’

And so they stood until Merlin had cried himself out and a level of exhaustion began to make itself known. Arthur lowered him back down into the chair he was sitting in before.

‘Come, let’s get you to your chambers.’

Merlin nodded groggily and let Arthur pull him back to standing. He turned around to pick up his shirt, only for Arthur to reach for it before him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You’ve done this for me for so many years, Merlin, will you let me return the favour?’

There was an earnestness in Arthur’s eyes Merlin found he couldn’t deny, and so he stood and allowed Arthur to put his shirt and neckerchief back on, motion full of the same reverence with which he had touched the scars earlier. After this, he took Merlin by the hand and guided him gently back to Merlin’s own chambers, leading him all the way to the bed.

‘Do you have anything you use to help? Please tell me you’re using your physician’s training for something.’

Merlin nodded. ‘I’ve got a cream I put on some of them sometimes, when it feels like it’s going to get bad, though I can’t always tell.’

‘And that helps?’

‘Yeah.’

Arthur looked around a bit, eyes settling on the tub on the nightstand.

‘May I?’

‘You don’t have to, I know you like to feel useful—’

‘Please.’

‘... Alright.’

Again he sat as patiently as he could as Arthur untied his neckerchief and raised his tunic over his head, then tenderly began to apply the cream to the scars Merlin pointed out. Merlin closed his eyes while surprisingly gentle, practiced hands spread the cool, soothing salve over him, again crossing the boundary of care he ever thought he could receive. He had spent so much of his life toughing it out on his own with crude, simple care, or none at all, and even Gaius’ ministrations could be rushed or reductive, if he accepted them at all. That was besides Merlin’s feelings on the matter. A lifetime of being told he was a monster, or a traitor, that those he loved could never be allowed to know him, of having those he trusted killed long before their time, it convinced him that he was simply not worth the effort. Yet here Arthur was, a man raised to rule from above, to have things done on his behalf, insisting that Merlin deserved something so soft, so slow and careful it was almost sacred, for nothing more than to help.

Once finished, Arthur fished out some sleepwear from Merlin’s drawers and handed it to him. When he was dressed again, Arthur stood to leave.

‘Arthur?’ Merlin asked, making sure Arthur was looking.

‘Merlin.’

‘Thank you.’ Merlin said, words drenched in the sincerity that had haunted them all night.

Somehow, sitting in that silence, Merlin was reminded of a similar thank you many years ago, when Arthur had defied his father to retrieve a flower, one of the first of many times they had saved each other’s lives. This time, Arthur had a better response.

‘Thank you, for everything you’ve done. Please, never forget to ask me for whatever you may need to deal with this, with any trouble your scars may give you.’

Merlin nodded. ‘... Can I get another hug?’

Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes, but walked back over to the bed and did just that.

‘Just this once, don’t go pushing it.’

‘How about a day off?’

Arthur cuffed the back of Merlin’s head as he let go.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, see you then.’