Work Text:
The bandits really were getting sloppy.
Merlin slid off his horse and ducked an arrow that flew over his head. He grimaced as Leon’s horse screamed as it buried in her side. She reared and kicked, but Leon had long since thrown himself away from her to tackle the nearest enemy, so her hooves met empty air. She took off, scared and pained, and Merlin knew the magic he wove into her harness would lead her home.
Now, he had more important things to worry about.
“Get down!” Arthur snarled. Fingers caught in Merlin’s tunic and forced him into a crouch while a sword flashed in front of his chest. One of the bandit’s blades clanged as it met Arthur’s. The king put himself between them as a living, breathing shield and struck out viciously.
Merlin scrambled into the tree line, like he knew Arthur preferred, and wondered if maybe he should have insisted on more knights for their retinue.
A quick scan of the road showed seven bandits against three knight of Camelot. Sir Kay, a good friend of Sir Leon’s and one of Arthur’s mentors, fought two bandits at once. He favored his left side but had the skill and speed not to let the bandits take advantage of it.
A bandit screamed as Leon’s blade bit through his thigh. Blood spurted from the wound and stained Leon’s trousers. He didn’t even look down, spinning to catch the next blade.
Merlin threw a hand out as an arrow cut out of the tree line toward Leon’s unprotected back. A push of his magic redirected it into the packed dirt, just to the left of the knight.
Turning, Merlin scanned the trees nearby.
He couldn’t make out the archer right away. And he knew Arthur would be furious if he started after a known combatant. But he wasn’t about to let the archer get away with attacking the knights. Someone needed to take care of that problem, and he was the best equipped to do it.
So, he started along the tree line at a clipped pace. The brambles tangled with his boots and sharp thorns caught along the legs of his trousers. He ducked a tree branch or two and kept glancing back at the knights to check on them. They were skilled, yes, but his protection in the last few years made them sloppy sometimes. And he wouldn’t forgive himself if any of them got hurt.
A flicker of golden eyes and a twist of his hand later, and the bandit who had been sneaking up on Arthur while he dispatched the bandit he fought had the attacker slipping on dirt. He hit his knees with a grunt loud enough to have Arthur turning with his blade poised.
Merlin let the ambient magic of the forest settle along his skin and felt out for the life force of the bandit he was looking for.
The awareness took his breath away.
The forest around him brimmed with life, every living thing vibrating with the amount of magic stuffed into its mortal shell. He could feel the individual trees, the leaves, the bugs that fluttered in the air. A thousand paces into the forest, a bunny froze at the noise coming from the knights. Behind him, a squirrel ran up a tree and huddled with its bounty.
In front of him, a bandit let loose another arrow.
This time, Merlin flicked it down before it could get too far from the tree line. He knew no one would see it change course, the knights still focused on their prey. But the dull thunk of the arrow hitting something had him glancing back to see it buried in one of the bandits' chests, knocking him forward.
Sir Kay caught the dying man on instinct when he tipped into him. It left his back open.
Arthur saw it happen the same time Merlin did. He lunged to get between his knight and a bandit with a score to settle. He tripped on a wayward stone and barely managed to get his sword between them before the bandit attacked. The clash of their swords sounded loud even to Merlin, where he sent his consciousness up and into the tree to drag the bandit from his roost. The man hit the ground; and Merlin darted forward to grab his wrist and tear the life from his body.
The flush of power and energy up his arm sent his heart racing, but he had more important things to focus on. He didn’t pause as he took off at a dead run toward where Arthur clumsily parried a blow. He was off center, struggling, and a heavy weight pressed on Merlin’s lungs when he realized the world around him had settled, the vibrations thrown off, the air too heavy and the sun too hot. Panic burned in his lungs as Arthur hissed out a pained breath at the next blow and almost lost his hold on his sword.
Sir Kay had dropped the bandit and spun, but his sword was on the ground; and he had no time to get it.
Leon buried his blade into the bandit he fought just as Arthur scrambled back, ran into Sir Kay, and lost Excalibur to a solid hit.
“Arthur!” Merlin yelled, not surprised when his best friend’s gaze snapped over to him, wide, terrified and then stupidly relieved.
Time froze as a blade plunged toward Arthur’s unprotected side.
Merlin broke into a desperate run as the strain dragged at his lungs and his heart. He could barely breathe as he took control of the time-stopping rift his magic created and held the reins impossibly tight. It was like holding a spooked horse that threw its head again and again.
Time wasn’t meant to stand still. It wasn’t meant to halt for any one man, and Merlin could feel it tearing away from him even as he pushed himself the last few feet. He didn’t pause when time started to shift, slowly at first, and faster all at once. He threw out his hand, palm open, and called Excalibur.
The sword hilt smacked into his palm, recognizing the other half of its chosen wielder.
Sword forms flashed through his mind as Merlin threw himself between Arthur and the bandit, braced his feet and thrust in one smooth move.
Merlin hissed when the bandit’s blade cut along his ribs, hot pain sliding through his body.
But Excalibur landed true. The enchanted blade slid easily between ribs and into the heart of the man trying to kill his king. Merlin twisted his wrist and tore the sword sideways to be sure. The bandit was dead before he hit the ground.
And Merlin, hearing the ragged gasp behind him, let go of the blade and scrambled backwards, one hand jumping up on instinct to press into the bleeding, aching wound on his side.
He tripped and hit the ground on his arse, staring, wide eyed and terrified, at his king.
Arthur sucked in a sharp, ragged breath that hurt his lungs.
One minute, Merlin had been by the tree line, blessedly alive and uninjured. The next, he’d been between Arthur and a bandit, effortlessly thrusting Excalibur into the man’s chest like he did it every day. The blurred moment in between, where Arthur had just enough time to realize he was about to die and feel a flicker of terror at the thought, hadn’t explained how his manservant — his Merlin — managed to get there so fast.
The way Excalibur flew from the ground to his hand answered that question and so many more.
Merlin scrambled away from him so quickly, he tripped over his own feet and landed hard on his butt.
“He’s… he’s dead,” Arthur said, the ringing in his ears making it hard to think through the rush of memories filling his head. Moments where his manservant did inexplicable things, where bandits dropped dead under mysterious circumstances, and magical threats suddenly died at the end of his sword after days of unsuccessful attacks.
Never, not once in all the years Arthur had known him, had Arthur looked at Merlin and thought ‘magic.’
“He was trying to hurt you,” Merlin murmured, pale and shaking. He sat on the ground with one hand bracing him and the other pressed to his side, big blue eyes wide in his face. A fine tremor ran through him. HIs pale face made his eyes look darker and more terrified. The fear forced Arthur to speak, because Merlin should never be that scared.
“I… I know,” Arthur said slowly. He did know. The bandit meant to kill him — would have killed him. It settled into his bones like the knowledge that Merlin was magic, just as interminable and just as solid.
He almost died here.
“I had to do it,” Merlin started, a frantic edge to his voice. His gaze flicked behind Arthur before landing on him again. The words tore from his throat like wheat through a hole in the granary, unstoppable now that it started. “I can’t— I can’t let anything happen to you. I had to—”
The shaking got harder. Merlin jittered where he sat, like he might crawl out of his skin at a moment’s notice. The terror gained a sharp edge, like he was trying to convince himself as well as Arthur.
Adrenaline spiking again, Arthur jerked forward and dropped to his knees. He didn’t pause when Merlin flinched, grabbing his shoulders in a firm hold and shaking him just slightly to get his attention. “Hey, hey! I know, okay?”
The snap of Merlin’s gaze to his face eased some of the matching panic Arthur could feel burning to life in his chest. He relied on Merlin’s unshakable calm to get him through the worst days of his life. He needed his steady presence. He knew he would fall apart without it. But he also knew that this… this wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the way he should have found out about Merlin and his magic.
Gods, he had magic.
Shaking his head quickly, Arthur forced himself to continue calming Merlin. He needed him to focus. He needed… he needed him to understand. “That motherfucker was going to kill me. You saved me. I’m just… shit. I’m just shocked, I guess?”
“But not scared?” Merlin’s voice came out small and lost, tears filling his blue eyes and his lips quivering.
Of course, he was scared! He had a moment where he realized that he would never make it back to Camelot, to his knights, to Merlin. He’d seen the future crumble to ash in his palms. He’d understood, in that second, that he would never be able to really talk to his best friend about how grateful he was for him. He’d never be able to drag him to the Round Table to take his seat again. He would never be able to breathe in the scent of herbs and static that always surrounded Merlin.
But, then, he realized that wasn’t what Merlin meant. The adrenaline made it hard to think, but that terror stuck out. He’d never seen Merlin look so afraid, and he knew it wasn’t for himself.
No, he wasn’t asking if Arthur was afraid of death.
It didn’t take a moment’s thought to answer.
“Of you? Never.”
Arthur dragged Merlin forward to press their foreheads together. He could feel the desperate puffs of Merlin’s breath on his own mouth, and he breathed in just to keep the feeling with him. He squeezed the back of his neck in his palm and felt how his heart was racing against the pad of his thumb.
“You’re my best friend,” Arthur said in a low voice. He knew, if there was a time to say it, it was now. And he could still feel the weight of his impending death, the realization he had so much left to say. It made it easier to force words past numb lips. “I know you. I know you would never hurt me.”
The words seemed to cut whatever quivering strings had Merlin tangled up in them and upright. He slumped, and Arthur had to quickly catch him against his chest. His forehead pressed into Arthur’s shoulder now, and his hands weakly scrabbled at his chainmail like he wanted to grab his shirt.
Pressing his lips into Merlin’s temple, Arthur continued because Merlin still shook where he sat. “And, if you lied to me, it was to protect yourself. And I would never blame you for that. Because I want you safe more than I want anything else.”
More than he wanted to be safe in his chambers right now, more than he wanted all the bandits in the entirety of his kingdom dead, fuck, more than he wanted his kingdom at all — he wanted Merlin safe. It was the only thing, in those moments where he was about to die, that gave him peace. Merlin had been safe and there and the last thing he saw.
Nothing else could bring him that much peace.
And, while he was sure the pain of the secrets and lies would cut through him later, he knew it would never hurt as much as Merlin being hurt or killed.
Merlin’s shaking turned into hitching sobs, devastatingly silent. The only reason Arthur knew he was crying was the way he sucked in sharp breaths like he was drowning. And it hurt all the more to know that this couldn’t be the first time he’d stifled his tears.
Running a hand down what he could reach of his back and up into his hair, Arthur twitched when someone moved in the corner of his eye.
He gripped Merlin tighter when Leon crept into view.
Sir Kay stood behind him, at a distance, sword in hand but still. He stared at them like he’d never seen Arthur before.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at one of his most-trusted knights, daring him to take even a step closer with a weapon in hand. He would tear him limb from limb if he tried. With the rush of adrenaline in his veins, he doubted he would need a sword to kill him. No, he would tear through his entire army with his bare hands to keep Merlin here and safe.
Thankfully, Leon had somehow stripped his weapons. He had his hands up in a conciliatory gesture as he crouched and plucked a cloak from the ground.
It only took Arthur a second to recognize it as his own.
Leon took a few more steps toward them and shook the cloak out before carefully dropping it around them. It draped over Merlin, who flinched like it might hurt him while Arthur carefully adjusted one arm at a time so he kept a firm grip on Merlin even as he readjusted the cloak. It had his crest on it, a declaration if there ever was one.
The way Merlin settled when he realized what it was had Arthur breathing a little easier.
He trusted Merlin, but he didn’t think Merlin trusted him. At least, he trusted him with this.
The rest would come later.