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Arthur knows two things.
One, Merlin is hurt.
Two, Merlin is trying to hide that he's hurt.
That in itself isn’t all that unusual. Usually he has to use a combination of stubborn prattishness and soft coaxing to get Merlin to admit to anything being amiss, and even that only works half the time.
No, the concerning (or at least extra concerning) thing is that no one else knows Merlin is hurt. Even if Merlin is hesitant to come to him, he’s much more likely to go to the knights, or to Gwen.
Gwen can get it out of him faster than anyone else. All it takes from her is a look, and Merlin will crumble, admitting where he's hurt, if not from what. Elyan seems to share that ability, so perhaps it’s genetic.
Lancelot and Gwaine often know Merlin's hurt, even if he hasn’t told anyone. They also seem to know from what, though they deny it. When asked, he gets brushed off by Gwaine, though the man's usually careless smile is undercut by the suspicion and mistrust in his eyes. Lancelot is gentler, but also refuses to divulge anything, saying it’s not his place to say.
Leon doesn’t have to be told. He somehow just knows, can just tell, even when Merlin is acting perfectly normal, he’ll notice Leon pulling Merlin aside, talking to him in a low voice that makes Merlin's shoulders sag, and usually ends with the two of them going off somewhere alone for a bit. He'd tease the two of them, but he doesn’t want to let Merlin know he notices these private moments, and he doesn’t want to make Merlin any more hesitant to seek out help than he already is.
Percival is far cleverer than anyone gives him credit for, and his “merlin is hurt" radar is nearly as good as Leon's. Where the others offer aid, however, Percival offers himself as a bulwark between Merlin and the world, shielding him from the gaze of the court, watching him with silent fierceness, daring anyone to comment, to do more harm. No one ever deigns to test him on that.
Arthur, the others will say, is oblivious. He’s always the last to know when something happens with Merlin, despite arguably spending the most time with the man, he often has to find out second or even third hand that Merlin is hurt at all, if he’s told at all.
That isn’t exactly true, though he may have led them to believe it is.
He notices. He notices, faster than anyone, the second there is something even the slightest bit off with Merlin. He notices if Merlin moves a little slower than usual, he notices if Merlin winces when he bends over, he notices when Merlin wears his neckerchief a little higher than usual to cover his neck, or when he keeps tugging at his sleeves to make sure they cover his arms. He notices when he has bags under his eyes speaking of sleepless nights, he notices everything.
He rarely, however, chooses to say that he knows.
Merlin rarely wants to let on to him that he’s hurt, and he’s under no illusions as to why.
Merlin gets hurt, he knows, defending him, defending Camelot. Fighting off magical threats with his own magic, which is why Gwaine and Lancelot are in the know, and refuse to tell him the how. Everyone thinks he’s just as oblivious to the magic as he is to the injuries.
It isn’t his place to press to Merlin to reveal to him the truth. Merlin will do that in his own time, when he’s ready, when he feels safe enough. What he can do is coax Merlin into letting him help when he’s able, and help him without Merlin realizing when he isn’t.
If it just so happens that Merlin always gets the easiest chores, gets left alone in Arthur's chamber for hours, gets the day free from his servant duties to help Gaius, after each particularly bad magical misadventure, well. It’s just coincidence.
This, however, is something else entirely.
From what he’s able to gather, Merlin has told no one he’s hurt. He hasn’t even gone to Gaius about it, which he nearly always does.
Merlin hasn’t taken a trip to “the tavern" recently, either, though that’s not to say something magic related hadn’t gotten close enough to do damage that Merlin hadn’t had to go anywhere to face it, it wouldn’t be the first time, he knows.
But Lancelot and Gwaine seem just as at a loss as he is, brushed off with a too bright grin and excuses that are doubly unbelievable, because they’re usually reserved for when his own prodding hits too close to home. Merlin is studiously avoiding Gwen and Elyan, he scampers away at the slightest hint of Leon paying him any close attention, and Percy hasn’t even been able to get near the man in almost a week.
So. Arthur is concerned. They’re all concerned.
Everyone except Merlin, who seems content to carry on as usual and pretend that nothing is amiss. Which, of course, is par for the course when it comes to Merlin.
…
He gets back to his chambers late.
It’s been a long day, the council members even more insufferable than usual, fighting him on every little piece of legislation that would make life easier for the common people, simply because it would cost them less money. Thank gods for Leon being there and able to keep his head, because he was close to exploding on them all.
It hadn’t helped that Merlin was busy with Gaius, he didn’t even have him with him in the council meeting, and sometimes Merlin’s quiet, steadfast support made it all the easier to push through the other’s arguments and keep his cool.
So he perhaps isn’t at his best when he slams open the door to his chambers, already scowling and barking orders.
“Merlin! Have you polished my armor? And why is the room still a mess, haven’t you had plenty of time to get the laundry done? Honestly, do you even do anything, or are you just here to cause me more problems?”
“sorry, sire. Right away.” He freezes at his desk. Merlin’s voice is too small, too quiet, without a single trace of sarcasm in it, ready to bite back at his demands, to snap him out of his attitude. He’s not supposed to sound almost… timid.
“Merlin?” He turns away from his desk, where he’d been shucking off his cape, to look at Merlin, concern mounting as he finds the man almost cowering away from him in the corner of the room, eyes downcast, hands clasped before him, standing stiff and straight. Something isn’t right. This isn’t right.
“Yes, sire?” Still, so small, and Merlin’s body is tight with tension, like he wants to run, but he can’t bring himself to move, like a rabbit frozen before the hounds.
He approaches slowly, seeing how Merlin flinches with each step forward, pressing farther back, until he’s standing before him, ever so gently taking his chin and lifting it, so they’re eye to eye, letting out a harsh exhale.
Merlin’s cheek is swollen and bruised purple. He can barely see bruising peeking out from under his kerchief, and he reaches for it, letting out a soothing sound, that seems to help, as he unties it, shock hardening into anger at the deep fingerprint bruising around Merlin’s neck, at the slight wheeze he can hear to his breathing this close.
“merlin…” He breathes out softly, watching tears well up in his eyes, that he stubbornly blinks away.
“I’m f-fine, sire.” Merlin mutters, trying to push past him, though the second he reaches out and rests a hand on his shoulder he freezes, and Arthur can feel the fear pulsing through him.
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“And yet, you always do.” His brow furrows.
“What does that mean?” Merlin shakes his head, shooting him a smile that is far too tired and fake to be sincere.
“Nothing. Good night, sire.”
“Wait, hold on.” He reaches out as Merlin pulls away, grabbing his wrist, feeling Merlin’s pulse jump and shudder, realizing suddenly that Merlin is scared. Merlin is scared, and he’s suddenly sure that he can’t let Merlin go. Not until he gets out of him what’s going on.
“please, Merlin. You’re hurt.” Merlin mumbles something, and he tugs at his arm again, getting the man to turn around, though he doesn’t meet his eyes.
“What was that?”
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He sucks in a breath at that, eyes going wide. Merlin freezes once again, clearly not having really meant to say that out loud, but he doesn’t give him time to panic, instead guiding him over to the bed and sitting him down.
“Really, Arthur. I’m fine.” He shakes his head, cupping Merlin’s chin carefully, inspecting the bruising closer, swiping his thumb softly over Merlin’s uninjured cheek.
“You aren’t. And it isn’t. This isn’t. If someone is being hurt, in my castle, it’s never alright, especially if it’s you.” Merlin scoffs, pulling out of his grip, resolutely looking away, staring down at the floor.
“Why don’t you believe me, Merlin? If it were anyone else being harmed, you would be raising hell until I did something to stop it. Why is it different, if it’s you? Why wouldn’t I care that my closest friend is being hurt?” Merlin’s gaze does flicker to his, at that admission, eyes wide and watery. Merlin looks on the verge of saying something, before shaking his head, leaning away.
“There are things you don’t know, Arthur. And if you did…” Merlin’s voice cracks, and so does his heart, that Merlin is still so, so scared. Still so sure, that he’ll be hurt, that his efforts to make Merlin feel safe haven’t been enough, or Merlin was too blinded by his own fear to see them. That Merlin believes he would ever be able to bring himself to hurt him, though he doesn’t begrudge him that fear. He would be a fool to not recognize why Merlin is so hesitant, so afraid.
“I know more than you think I do, Merlin.” He feels Merlin’s breath stutter, his pulse start to race, and he kneels before him, taking his hands, meeting his eyes, forcing all his sincerity, all of his worry and care into his gaze. “You have nothing to fear from me. Never. I swear it on my life.” Slowly, he raises one of Merlin’s hands to his lips, kissing it gently, watching too many emotions race across Merlin’s face for him to hope to name.
“You… you know?” His voice is a croak, and he smiles wryly, standing slowly, to sit on the bed beside Merlin, though he doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, instead settling it in his lap, running his fingers over his knuckles.
“Not everything. Not even most of it, probably. But I know you have magic. I know you use it to protect us. I know you’ve gotten hurt, keeping others from harm, and had to weather it alone as best you could. I know that these injuries,” He gestures to Merlin’s cheek, his neck, “Are not the kind that come from that, and I know they aren’t the only ones you have. The knights have noticed, I’ve noticed, you’ve been off for weeks, now, Merlin, and you won’t let them help, in the ways they usually do.” Merlin lets out a shuddering breath, as he turns to look at him once more, a wary hope starting to grow on Merlin’s face, as the tense line of his body starts to relax, as he starts to believe him. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”
Merlin swallows hard, looking down at their intertwined hands, a furrow growing between his brow, as the silence between them grows. He doesn’t push. He’s done enough pushing. This is a big enough step, for them both, as much as he hates it, if Merlin says to leave it alone, he will.
“Lord Maenore. He caught me using magic, when I assisted with setting up his chamber, when the flu was going around, and I took on extra duties to help. The wood had gotten damp, and I couldn’t light it, and I didn’t want to go to the woodshed to get more. It was stupid of me, but he saw and instead of turning me in, he…” Merlin’s hand drifts to his neck, wincing, as he shakes his head. “If I didn’t do as he asked, I’d be burned. It wasn’t so bad, and he was only supposed to be here a week, but then the storm delayed him. I tried so hard, to do everything right, for him, but he always finds a mistake and I didn’t mean to talk back, but I just… I forgot it wasn’t… wasn’t you, and he…” Merlin chokes off, a sob growing in his voice, and he almost growls, as he opens his arms, satisfied as Merlin immediately folds into him, and he pulls him close, holding him tightly, rubbing his back as Merlin cries, easing the worst of his sobs, cradling his head close, murmuring soothing nonsense into his hair, as Merlin scrabbles to hold onto him, tighter and tighter, as if trying to climb inside his chest.
Inside, he is seething with rage.
How dare he, how dare this insignificant, visiting lord threaten Merlin, make him fear for his life, abuse him, beat him, nearly strangle him, just for his own amusement? How dare he hurt Merlin, his Merlin, how dare he? He wants to storm off this instant, sword in hand, and run Maenore through, challenge him to a duel, embarrass him in front of all the court and strip him of all his titles, he wants to make him as hurt and afraid as he’s made Merlin.
But then Merlin hiccups on a particularly harsh gasp, and he softens instantly, holding him tighter, shushing him gently. He can’t do any of that, because Merlin needs him right now, and that’s more important.
…
It’s a long time, before Merlin’s tears dry up, leaving him shaky and shivering in his arms, Merlin’s cold nose pressed to the crook of his neck, as he sags against him, spent up.
“A-arthur…” Merlin’s voice is a tremulous, raspy thing, and he hums in response, turning his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to his to his temple.
“I’m here, Merlin. I’ve got you.” Merlin lets out another shuddering breath, starting to pull away, but his efforts are easily thwarted by his gentle hold.
“You don’t need to go.” He can feel Merlin’s uncertainty, the fear still coiled low in his gut, and he presses another kiss to his head, adjusting his hold so he can lay them both down on the bed, tugging the covers up around them. “I don’t want you to go.” The admission is quiet, as he holds Merlin close, relaxing as Merlin once again sags into his arms, tucking himself against his chest, curled against him like he belongs there, eliciting another low hum from his throat.
“why?” Merlin’s voice is soft, too quiet, too timid. “why are you… doing this?”
“Because you’re my Merlin. And when my Merlin is hurt and scared and far, far too sad for someone so brilliant, this is what I do.”
“But you’ve never…” Merlin’s voice chokes off, and he leans down, pressing their foreheads together, a silent encouragement. A moment later, Merlin continues. “you’ve never done this before.”
“You’ve never let me see you like this before.”
“Weak?” Merlin spits, and he gentles, brushing his hand across his cheek, a smile on his lips.
“Vulnerable. Upset. Scared. As you have every right to be, when someone has been threatening your life and abusing you for the past few weeks, on pain of death. Not to mention all the fear that you must have been living with, having magic and being here, with me. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for you, Merlin. How long I’ve wanted to take care of you, like this. But I knew you wouldn’t let me. You barely let the knights help you, and I know… I know it isn’t easy.” His own voice shakes, as Merlin leans into his touch. “I’ve tried, in the ways that I could, but I know it wasn’t always enough.”
“You’ve always been enough for me, you prat.” Then Merlin’s lips are on his, and he barely has a moment of surprise, before he pushes into the kiss, feeling warmth bloom in his chest, settle over him, tingling against his skin, as he wraps Merlin up in his arms, as though he’ll never let him go.
…
Dawn finds him with his sword at Maenore’s throat, a snarl on his lips, a threat that if he ever returns to Camelot, he will not be spared, rage only growing as the lord tries to grovel, tries to tell him he has a sorcerer in his midst, trying to trade Merlin’s life for his own courtly position.
“Leave.” He growls, and the lord finally seems to understand that if he doesn’t flee this instant, the very little restraint he’s showing right now is going to snap.
The beast in his chest growls until Maenore is out of sight, and only then does he turn on his heel, making his way through the still sleeping castle, back to his room and to his Merlin, curled up asleep in his bed, warm and safe and cared for.
As he always will be. Arthur will make sure of it.
So will the knights, when he tells them to keep an extra eye on any visiting nobles when Merlin is near, his chest purring, as he sees the same protective rage echoed in each of their eyes, when he tells them what happened.
When Merlin finally comes down near midafternoon to the training grounds, he is immediately treated to all the knights fussing over him, peppering him with question of if he’s ok, does he need anything, how can they help, and he has to laugh at how bewildered Merlin looks, as he pushes the worst of their fussing away, reassuring them all that he’s fine, no really, he is, Arthur made sure.
“Damn right he did. He knows we’d kill him if he knew you were hurt and didn’t do anything about it.” Gwaine puts in, and he finally steps forwads, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him close, smiling as Merlin easily leans into his warmth, peeking up at him.
“And I’d deserve it, if I let you be hurt.” Merlin huffs, and that won’t do, so he leans down and kisses him, soft and sweet. “My Merlin.”