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Despite all Arthur’s promises, in the end it’s Leon who comes to escort Merlin back to Camelot. Merlin doesn’t really seem surprised that Arthur hasn’t come himself — and if he feels disappointed he hides it well. But then Merlin hides a lot. Merlin's dimpled grin comes forth so readily, but when Merlin thinks no one is looking he can appear far too weighed down for someone who is not yet twenty. When Leon was Merlin’s age, life was simple: all he had had to think about was sword drills and horsemanship, as he and the other squires trained to earn their spurs.
Hunith is not so understanding. “After all you’ve done for him, he’s just sent some messenger to pick you up, like a misplaced package!”
Leon snorts, but covers it by turning it into a cough when Hunith swings around and glares at him. Merlin flushes with embarrassment and hisses at his mother. “Sir Leon is the First Knight of Camelot, Ma. He’s the second son of one of the kingdom’s biggest landowners. He’s hardly a messenger. And Arthur has too many duties to ride to Ealdor and back, just to collect me. I’m only his manservant.” Merlin is right of course, Arthur is busy. But a year ago, he would have come anyway. If Leon knows that, Merlin must too.
Hunith is not particularly short but Leon is tall, even for a knight. She tips her head up and looks him in the eye, appraisingly. He tries to strike an affable, yet noble air, as he stoops under the low roof of her dimly lit, earthen walled home.
“First Knight,” she says, consideringly. She smooths her apron and gives him a smile that is all teeth. “It is our pleasure to welcome you to our village, Sir Leon. I would be honoured if you would stay the night here, in my humble home.”
Too much of a gentleman to intimate, in any way, how transparent he finds Merlin’s mother’s change of attitude, he merely bows his head. “If it won’t cause you too much trouble, Mistress Wyllt, I would be most grateful.”
—
The next morning, Leon is keen to get going. As soon as a stripe of dull, mid-winter orange stains the bottom of the inky-black sky, he heads outside and starts to saddle the palfreys — his own bay stallion, Fumeus, and Llamrei, Arthur’s beautiful grey mare, which the prince had Leon bring for Merlin to ride. As Leon is checking the stirrups, Merlin joins him, his breath making translucent clouds as he blows on his hands and stomps across the frosty ground. The Pendragon red cloak that Arthur insisted Merlin borrow for the trip drapes heavily from his shoulders, barely moving in the brittle air.
In the doorway of her home, Hunith stands watching her son getting ready to return to his other life, her lips pulled into a thin line. Leon understands why Hunith is unimpressed that Merlin hasn’t made more of his connections at court — he might be a servant but everyone knows that no one is closer to the prince. But he also understands why Merlin would never accept any money or favours from Arthur. Merlin has never treated Arthur like the royalty that he is, and Arthur trusts him because of it. There’s probably nothing about Arthur that Merlin isn’t privy to. Merlin, on the other hand, is not such an open book; to Arthur or to anyone, Leon suspects.
As Leon approaches Hunith and bids her goodbye, he slips two gold coins into her hand, murmuring that they are a Yuletide gift from His Highness, although in fact they come from his own coin bag. Her face lights up as she clutches them in her hand. “Thank you, Sir Leon. Please pass on my gratitude to Prince Arthur.”
Although Merlin is clearly suspicious about what just happened, he doesn’t ask. Perhaps he is just pleased to be able to take a memory of his mother looking happy away with him. He leads his horse over to where she stands and bends down to hug her. They clasp together for several moments, if a little stiffly. She pats his cheek and says something to him quietly. He bites his lip, a frown flickering over his face as he shakes his head. She rolls her eyes, then pulls him down to her again and kisses his forehead and Merlin smiles, tight-lipped.
Merlin swings up onto Llamrei, leaning forward to pet the mare and whispering to her affectionately. This country-born lad rides her more than Arthur does despite her being, literally, a horse fit for a king. When Merlin urges Llamrei into a gentle walk Leon falls into step behind him, and they make their way between the modest houses in the monochrome morning light.
—
The air is cold and the wind bites at them with callous disregard for their numb fingers as they huddle in the lee of a large oak tree, pulling chunks off the loaf of bread Hunith provided for them and nibbling at the dried meat Leon brought from Camelot. They have made good progress this morning and they should reach Camelot by midday tomorrow. The horses need to rest though, so for now they can do nothing but pull their thick cloaks around them and blow on their hands between mouthfuls of lunch.
Leon steals glances at Merlin; noticing the dexterity with which his long fingers dig into the crusty bread, the way his full lips close around his flask as he washes down a mouthful of food with his mother’s cider, and how his throat flexes as he swallows. Leon is pretty sure that Arthur noticed all those things too when Merlin first entered his service; he recognises how Arthur looks when he gazes on someone with desire.
But these days the prince’s attention is on Guinevere, and she is a gracious, steadying influence, strengthening him, without stirring him up as Merlin had. While Arthur has definitely moved on, it’s much harder to tell where Merlin stands, besides it being clear that he cares for and is loyal to both Arthur and Guinevere. Merlin deserves someone to show the same care and loyalty to him that he does to them, Leon thinks, surprised by the vehemence of his own thoughts.
When Merlin looks up he catches Leon watching him. He smiles gently and holds out the flask in invitation, his red cloak and the pink on his cheeks the only spots of colour amongst the grey trunks of the forest and the damp, dull leaves they are sitting on. Leon takes it and gulps a mouthful of the sweet liquid. “We should get going,” he suggests.
“My arse is numb with cold, I don’t think I trust myself to keep my seat on the horse,” Merlin laughs as he stands up.
Leon pulls his eyes away from Merlin’s hand where it’s rubbing the back of his breeches. “You couldn’t say something like that in front of Gwaine,” he observes, wryly.
Merlin grins. “True. He’d be offering to warm it up for me with a sound spanking, as soon as blink.”
“And then Arthur would be growling and threatening his life and limb.”
Merlin blushes, and his grin becomes a little forced. “Yeah, probably.” He shifts on his feet and stops rubbing at his bottom.
Leon inwardly kicks himself for having made Merlin think of Arthur. At one point, mentioning Arthur would have been a certain way of making Merlin light up, but these days it's more likely to produce the melancholic half smile that Merlin’s wearing now, as he goes to fetch their horses.
—
By late afternoon, they are keen to find a place to stop for the night. “We probably should have gathered sticks for the fire earlier,” Merlin observes. “Everything is damp already.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage. You have a magic touch, even with the dampest wood,” Leon replies. He watches the younger man carefully but Merlin doesn’t flinch; just gives Leon a half-smile and a shrug.
Leon is certain his suspicions are right. The way Merlin can relieve the pain of injuries; start fires in the rain; see off magical beasts; amongst many other things. He’s never actually seen Merlin’s eyes glow or heard him speak any incantation, but he’s exhausted every other feasible explanation. He wishes he knew how to let Merlin know that there is someone he can trust; someone from whom he doesn’t have to hide who he is.
They plod on a while longer, until Leon sees a spot he recognises. They dismount, and after walking away from the main track for several hundred yards, they reach the overhang that Leon remembers. A rock face emerges out of the leaf litter, towering sullen and dark amongst the smooth, grey trunks of the beech trees. It isn’t much, but it is as good a place to stop as any and will provide shelter from the wind, if nothing else.
“I’ll have a fire going in no time,” Merlin says as he springs from his horse, with more vigour than he’s managed all day: the prospect of warming his fingers and drying out his boots obviously motivating him.
“I’m sure you will,” Leon says. “I’ll go and tend to the horses then.” From experience, Leon knows Merlin won’t use magic if he thinks anyone is nearby, even though he’ll have no credible explanation for how he already has a fire roaring away in the time it will take Leon to brush the horses down and fill their nosebags. In some ways, Merlin is worryingly blasé about using magic, considering the consequences of being caught.
That’s not to say that his current acceptance of Merlin’s magic had come to Leon immediately; he is First Knight of a kingdom that’s committed to eradicating it, after all. But Leon has childhood memories of sorcerers entertaining crowds at country fairs, and his father welcoming druids onto his estate to bless the land in the time before the magic ban, so the idea that magic is intrinsically evil had never sat completely comfortably with him. By the time he realised Merlin had… special talents, he already knew the kind, loyal man well enough to know there is no desire for anything evil within him, even if he sometimes makes bad decisions.
The palfreys taken care of, Leon returns to where Merlin is already raking coals to the side of the main fire and putting the small potatoes his mother had given them in the embers. They will both appreciate having something hot to go with the rest of the bread and meat.
He can’t resist commenting. “That was quick work with the fire. Everything is so damp.”
Merlin looks up at him and grins. “I’m hungry! And cold.”
“Well, there’s no stronger incentive.”
“Exactly,” Merlin replies, turning back to the fire and prodding at it.
Leon folds his cloak around himself and sits down beside the younger man, the glowing flames warming his cheeks and throwing a dancing, orange light over them both. It’s familiar from so many campfires, but also a little otherworldly as they relax within their illuminated domain, the darkness beyond indeterminate and unimportant. They talk easily, making each other laugh, as their potatoes cook and they pass the remainder of the cider between them.
When it is finished, Leon gets out a hip flask of Gwaine’s home-brew — something to really chase away the chill. Merlin’s laughter becomes freer and his cheeks rosier as they partake of the stronger drink. Leon feels a pleasant buzz himself.
Leaning forward, Merlin prods at the potatoes with the hunting knife Leon hands to him.
“They must be done by now,” Leon complains.
“They are. Look.” Merlin breaks open the blackened skin of one of them, steam rising up from the pale softness inside. He drops it in his lap and pinches his ear lobes with the fingers that were holding the food.
“What are you doing?” Leon points at the curious way Merlin is grasping his ears.
“This is the official way of cooling down too hot fingers! Gaius showed me.”
“I think that only works for people with magic ears.”
Merlin’s smile becomes a little forced. “Hey, don’t make fun of my ears. I didn’t choose them.”
“I wouldn’t. I like your ears,” Leon assures him. “But I am serious; they must be magic if they can stop your fingers burning.”
Merlin laughs, but it sounds tight. “You’re accusing my ears of treason. You could get them burned at the stake saying things like that.” He looks away as he says it.
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Leon says. Merlin doesn’t look back at him and so he reaches out and touches Merlin’s shoulder. “Really. I would never let someone who has served our prince so selflessly, who has risked himself so many times for Camelot, who has been such a good friend to me — who I care … what I mean is, I’d not let harm come to them.”
Merlin turns to look at him. “You’re the First Knight of Camelot. You have a duty.”
Leon lifts his hand from Merlin’s shoulder and touches his cheek. The wind shifts in the branches above them and the amber firelight flickers over Merlin’s pale face. Leon fastens his gaze on Merlin’s dark, troubled eyes. “Yes, but I’m Leon before I’m a knight. And as Leon, I’d keep someone’s secret and I’d protect them, because I’d know that whatever they might be able to do — whatever gifts they have — they are never going to use them in a way that would harm Camelot.”
Merlin’s eyes are shining with intensity, his brow furrowed. “Would you? Really?”
“Yes.”
There is a glint of dampness in Merlin’s eyes, as he sucks in a ragged breath. “Arthur wouldn’t see it like that.”
Leon’s voice is gentle. “I think he might.”
A tear gathers in the corner of Merlin’s eye and rolls down his cheek. He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to put him in the position of having to choose between duty and loyalty. They are both standards he lives by. Even if he didn’t execute the person with magic, he’d still send them away.”
With the pad of his thumb Leon wipes Merlin’s tear away, then pulls Merlin towards him. Merlin slumps against his chainmail, the carefully cooked potato rolling from his lap into the dirt. His shoulders heave as Leon wraps his arms tightly around Merlin’s narrow frame.
They sit for some time. Leon’s thoughts are circling, wondering what he should do next and how he can help Merlin. It feels very right to have this burdened, young man in his arms: to hold him, to comfort him, to help him find ease … or even pleasure. He had felt the same when he’d held a sixteen year old Arthur, the night after he lost control of his men during the raid on a druid camp. They young prince had been wracked with confusion, guilt and shame, but it hadn’t been Arthur’s fault: he’d been too young for such a command, yet Uther had sent him out under-prepared, forbidding Leon to intervene… until Leon had realised he had to anyway, Uther’s orders be damned. Arthur had been better comforted by actions than words; he’d found absolution in a combination of pleasure and punishment that Leon had had the privilege to give him. No one Leon has ever been with has yielded so beautifully as Arthur did to the reprimands and praise he had heaped on the young prince. But Arthur had grown out of needing that from Leon, even before Merlin had come to Camelot, and Leon has not found anyone since who needs his personal loyalty and protection in that way.
In due course, Merlin sits up and wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He looks at the potato, cooling and covered in dirt at their feet, and sighs. “We should eat something, but the potatoes are either charred lumps or filthy.”
Leon squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll live. You sit. I’ll sort it out.”
He toasts some of the bread over the fire and finds an apple in his saddle bag that he cuts into pieces. Together with some more of the dried meat, it makes a reasonable meal and it warms Leon’s heart to see Merlin tuck in, smiling at him as he eats.
The world looks better on a full stomach even if you’re a sorcerer, it seems, because by the time Merlin has finished eating there is a bit of sparkle in his eyes and some genuine depth to his dimples. Tentatively, Leon gestures in front of himself and asks, “Will you sit with me?”
“Why, yes, Sir Leon.” Merlin grins cheekily and shuffles over, positioning himself between Leon’s legs, with his back to Leon’s chest. He tips his head back against Leon’s shoulder and the ease that Merlin seems to be feeling seeps into Leon too. It’s nice. Better than nice, it feels good.
“Is this alright?” Merlin asks, eyes closed, his breathing even and relaxed.
“More than alright. I like having you close like this.”
“Hmmm.” Merlin sounds peaceful, content. “I never imagined someone finding out about my magic would go like this.”
Leon’s heart flutters at Merlin’s outright admission; that Merlin trusts him with it. He strokes Merlin’s dark hair. “Well I didn’t exactly just find out — I guessed a long time ago. It’s just the first time we’ve spoken about it.”
“Yes, but I only just found out that you know. I thought Gaius was the only person in the whole of Camelot who would keep my secret, but now I have you too.”
“No one else?” Leon asks. He is sure others must have realised.
“Well, Lancelot knew, because he saw me using it when we first met, but he’s gone now, of course.”
“Might you tell anyone else?”
He feels Merlin tense in his arms. “No, I can’t. And you mustn’t.” He turns to look at Leon, face full of concern.
Leon shushes him gently. “I won’t. It’s not mine to tell.”
“Thank you.” Merlin exhales and returns to leaning back against his chest.
Leon twirls Merlin’s curls through his fingers for a few moments. “But I think there are others you could trust,” he says carefully, “and it might turn out better if you tell them, rather than if they find out another way and feel they have been deceived.”
“You mean Arthur.”
Leon hums.
“I can’t tell him.” Merlin leans away from Leon, hunching himself over his knees, his body coiled up, stiff with tension. His voice is brittle, fragile. “I’ve done things that he won’t be able to forgive me for.”
Leon lets his hands fall to his sides, giving Merlin space, although he’s not happy about the loss of contact between them. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he says.
Merlin’s voice turns fierce. “Really? Because I’ve killed people with my magic, Leon. A lot of people.”
His pulse rate rises, but Leon keeps his voice calm. “And I’ve killed a lot of people with my sword. So has Arthur.” Merlin needs to realise that what he’s done is no different to the things that any of them who serve the crown will do, when required.
“That’s different. You had to. You were following orders.”
“Have you ever killed someone who you didn’t think a knight would have been ordered to kill, if they had been there and able to accomplish the deed?”
Merlin sighs. “It’s more complicated than that. I’ve … I’ve done things I thought would make things better, but people died and I don’t know whether it means what I did was wrong.”
“Those are the sorts of choices Arthur and I have to make, too. Choices about the lives of people who serve under us, and the people we have sworn to try to protect. It’s hard, and none of us get it right all the time.” Leon pauses, and takes a deep breath. He so wants to help Merlin understand. “But we have to be willing to continue, because we are good people who are trying to do our best. It’s so much better that we wield that power and make those calls than leaving it to people who are prejudiced, or greedy, or cruel. I’d never condemn you for mistakes you might make or have made: I have plenty of my own to think on, if I want to make those kinds of judgments.”
As Leon speaks, Merlin turns around and looks at him. His expression is quizzical at first but it softens as he listens to Leon’s confession. He kneels up facing Leon and cups Leon’s face. Slowly, Merlin leans forward, gently pressing their mouths together. The warmth of his lips is a beautiful contrast to the feel of his long, cold fingers against Leon’s heated cheeks. Leon parts his lips a little and their mouths move slowly together in a careful press that tastes of the salty meat they ate.
After a moment, Leon makes himself pull back, and he rests his forehead against Merlin’s, calming his breathing. He knows that they can’t just drift into whatever this is — it will change things for Leon, even if Merlin doesn’t regard it the same way.
He is pleased that his voice comes out steady and clear, even though his insides are an uncomfortable knot. “If you want this, I want it too, but I will regard you as under my protection — above and beyond anything else, you will be my priority to care for and to ensure you are safe. I mean what I say — you might find it a bit much.”
Merlin lets out a shuddering sigh. He rests back on his heels and looks at Leon, his face twisted in a way that it hurts Leon to see. “I feel so untethered sometimes. It feels so much. I feel so much. Like I’m caught in a current that no one else sees, but it’s sweeping me along, and somehow, because it has hold of me it’s pulling everyone else, all of Camelot, along with it. Knowing there’s someone who will pull me out and put me back on dry land if I’m getting carried too far away doesn’t sound like too much, it sounds like a relief.”
Leon smooths Merlin’s hair, and softly brushes their lips together again. “I will do that for you,” he promises. Neither Merlin, nor Arthur, should have had to carry so much weight alone, at their tender ages. His heart swells, knowing Merlin won’t have to any longer.
—
That night they sleep with their bedrolls beside each other, Merlin’s back pressed to Leon’s chest, their cloaks swaddling them together. “I can’t wait to get you like this, but somewhere warmer, like my chambers,” Leon whispers as they fall asleep. Merlin hums his agreement, pressing back against Leon’s chest and pulling Leon’s arm around him more tightly.
In the morning, Leon decides that he isn’t ready to let Merlin out of his arms quite yet. He puts all the supplies on Llamrei, feeling a little guilty at relegating Arthur’s prized palfrey to the role of a pack horse, and then indicates the spot in front of him on his larger bay mount.
“Fumeus isn’t going to thank you for asking him to carry us both,” Merlin says, trying to frown, but his dimples show, nonetheless.
“He can carry me in full armour. I think he can manage the addition of a little slip of a thing like you.”
Fumeus takes a step towards Merlin, hooves resonant on the hard, frosty ground, a wet snort making his breath rise in clouds from his nostrils. “See, he agrees,” Leon points out with a smile.
Merlin huffs but acquiesces, passing Llamrei’s lead to Leon and then letting Leon pull him up in front of him. Leon puts his arms around Merlin’s narrow chest and gives Merlin the reins. His young sorcerer is hardly a short man, but Leon is still taller and they fit exceptionally well like this.
As they ride, Leon asks about the times he had suspected he’d seen Merlin use magic. Whilst he has noticed some, he can’t believe how many occasions he’d still been oblivious to it. Merlin gabbles away, gleefully recounting time after time that he’s used magic to do everything from saving people’s lives, to getting Arthur out of trouble, to stealing pies from the kitchen. It is like a dam has burst, and Merlin can’t stop now that he can finally share all the secrets he’s had bottled up.
“Sorry, I’m jabbering. I must be really tedious,” Merlin apologises, as they reach the final part of their ride.
“Not at all. You’re being hugely entertaining. And I want to hear all about it. But we will have to be very careful having a conversation like this in the castle.”
“Yes. Mind you, Gaius and I talk about it a lot, so—”
“Well, we are going to have to review that,” Leon cuts in. “I will speak with Gaius. He should not be putting you at risk like that.”
“It’s not usually him,” Merlin protests. “And anyway he generally wiggles his hand or quirks his eyebrows, rather than actually saying the word ‘magic’.”
“How subtle of him,” Leon says dryly, making Merlin laugh. “Well you and I will not be risking your life with careless chat.”
“And yours,” Merlin points out, looking round at Leon, his eyes suddenly wide with concern, as if the thought might have only just occurred to him. “You’ll be at risk if Uther finds out you know about me.”
“I know,” Leon reassures him. “I’m quite happy with that. I have been risking my life in Uther’s service for more than a decade, for causes that matter much less to me than you do. We are both going to be safe. But you are going to cut back on the magical hijinks inside the castle walls, or there will be consequences from me.”
“You’re bossy! I didn’t know you were going to spoil all my fun,” Merlin huffs.
“There are other ways of having fun…” Leon replies, carefully.
“Are you propositioning me, Sir Leon?”
Leon smiles, and strokes his hand over Merlin’s chest where it is wrapped around him under his cloak. “I am. I am looking forward to taking care of you Merlin, giving you everything you want and everything you need. Showing you how remarkable you are.”
Merlin leans his weight back against Leon again and sighs, happily. “That sounds good to me. Though I have a thing or two to show you there, too. Magic has its uses in the bedroom.” His voice is lighter than Leon has heard it in a long time, and it makes Leon’s chest feel warm.
“You really are going to be the undoing of me, Merlin Wyllt.”
“I certainly hope so, Sir Leon,” Merlin replies.