Work Text:
The cold, damp stone pressed against Arthur’s spine through his thinly padded gambeson and trousers.. He’d been stripped of his armor, chainmail, and knives at some point. The outfit he was left with did little to protect him against the night’s chill.
The only thing keeping him warm was the unconscious man cradled against his chest like something infinitely precious.
Worry churned in Arthur’s stomach. He had no way to tell, but he was sure it had been over an hour since he woke and found Merlin limp on the ground next to him in a dingy cell. He hadn’t so much as twitched, not even when Arthur manhandled him so his back was pressed to Arthur’s front, arms wrapped around his chest to keep him warm and steady.
Arthur pressed his palm against Merlin’s chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath the only thing keeping him calm.
He took a deep breath and blew it out between his teeth.
This was all his fault. He’d wanted to go on a hunting trip, get out of the city and away from his father. More importantly, he’d been desperate to draw Merlin out of the shit mood he settled into the last couple weeks. When Merlin tried to argue, logically, that it might be dangerous, Arthur blew him off. He said a change of scenery would be good for both of them. And, when they settled on the riverbank for the night, he decided they were safe enough in Camelot’s borders not to need a lookout.
Arthur regretted that decision immensely.
And now… now Merlin wasn’t waking up.
Another hour passed in relative silence before Arthur felt a low groan rumble through Merlin’s chest.
“Merlin?” Arthur murmured urgently, rubbing his palm against his chest like it might wake him faster. He bit down on the urge to shake him, knowing it could do more harm than good.
“Ugh,” Merlin groaned. It took him a minute before he moved, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. Slowly, he started to shift so he could push himself upright, off of Arthur. He sat there for a second, swaying just slightly, as he came back into consciousness.
The rush of blood into Arthur’s legs was painful, but he ignored it when Merlin blinked blearily and took in their predicament. He twisted a little, still seated between Arthur’s legs, to see the cell door. “Well, this is a nice change of scenery.”
The words were mocking, a hit at Arthur’s argument to go on a hunt at all. They landed true, an ache taking up residence in his chest. He hated when Merlin’s unending wit made an appearance when he already felt like shit. Arthur grumbled, “It’s a prison cell.”
“I was being sarcastic,” Merlin shot back, sneering. He turned to make sure he got the full effect of his annoyance, but Merlin paused when he got a good look. “Are you bleeding?”
Reaching up, Arthur brushed the deep, aching cut on his lip. It hadn’t hurt for the hours Merlin had been conspicuously silent. But, of course, the throbbing started the second he pointed it out. Then again, it probably ripped open when he started talking. And he couldn’t regret that. “It’s fine.”
“Looks fine,” Merlin automatically answered. He tilted his head and grimaced.
The sight reminded Arthur of the awkward way he’d been discarded on the floor. He itched to reach out and press his hand back into Merlin’s chest to feel his breathing, even though he was upright and talking now. To avoid embarrassing himself further, Arthur pushed off the wall. It took a second for Merlin to realized he was still sitting between Arthur’s legs, but he shifted away when Arthur shot him a pointed look.
Arthur rolled to his feet to stretch aching muscles. A light twist cracked his back, loosening the cramping. He ignored it to walk over to the bars of their cell. He counted out his steps as he did to see how much room they had to maneuver. Then, he did the same for the width of the cell and frowned when he found it lacking.
Oh, it was big enough for them to both lay down, but there wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver. And the tight space meant Arthur would need to keep his hapless manservant in mind even if he did manage to disarm someone.
“Who has us?” Merlin asked after a moment.
“No idea. No one’s come to take credit,” Arthur admitted. He jerked back around when Merlin pressed his hands into the stone and tried to stand. He caught him by the arm just as he tipped forward, before he could land face-first on the stone. He managed to help Merlin find his balance. “You shouldn’t be up yet.”
The drug left Arthur woozy for at least an hour after he woke. He doubted it would be any easier on Merlin.
“I can’t stay down here forever,” Merlin argued, breathing heavily from where he was bent almost in half. He pressed his hands into his knees and sweat gathered along his brow. He'd turned a bit green around the edges.
Holding tightly to his upper arms, Arthur braced himself in case Merlin went down again. He had no intention of letting him hit the floor.
“The knights will find us soon,” Arthur lied, anything to get Merlin to relax even a little. He glanced at the door and saw the first rays of gray morning light painting the ground. “It’s been two days since we left Camelot.”
Merlin managed to push himself to standing. He still looked impossibly pale, veins a blue shadow against his skin. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of a drugged sleep, not a restful one, and he looked just as skinny and fragile as he always did. It made Arthur wish he’d left him back in the citadel, where he knew he’d be safe.
“Do you think they want something from us, or are they just sending a ransom demand to the king?” Merlin asked, patting Arthur’s wrist when he didn’t let him go.
Slowly, Arthur peeled away from him, one finger at a time.
“A ransom demand would be useless,” Arthur told him. Ransom negotiations went on for weeks, sometimes months. The longer the negotiations went on, the more dangerous it would get for Merlin. Anyone smart enough to ransom him would have no need for a mouthy servant. And Arthur’s father would expect them both to hold out against torture and find their way to freedom before the gold ever left the castle. If Arthur absolutely couldn’t free himself, his father would begrudgingly pay for the return of his heir. At least, Arthur assumed he would. It hadn’t gotten that far since he’d started his knight’s training. But the king would never, ever pay for the return of a servant.
Stomach twisting, Arthur vowed that Merlin, at least, would be fine. He would ensure it.
“Then, we hope the knights find us,” Merlin said, shrugging. He immediately winced at the movement before idly striding toward the door.
Arthur hovered behind him, feeling less than useless. He watched carefully, ready to catch him at any moment, when Merlin lowered himself to look at the lock on the cell door. A slow smile started to spread across his face. Relief, sharp and aching, spread through Arthur’s chest. He didn’t even care why Merlin was smiling. He was awake and smiling, and that was all Arthur cared about.
The relief crashed and burned when the smile stalled; and Merlin slowly turned on his heel to face Arthur. He bit into his bottom lip in that nervous way he did before tugging on the sleeve of his tunic and avoiding eye contact.
If Arthur wasn’t so used to Merlin’s sudden changes in mood, he would have been even more upset. Instead, he shifted his weight carefully so his hands were visible to show he had no weapons, and he wasn’t reaching for one. For some reason, knowing Arthur didn’t have his weapons helped when Merlin got like this. It was something Gaius taught Arthur to do when his knights lost their heads in panic, but it came more naturally to Arthur when faced with his hapless manservant. He had no reason to pull a weapon on Merlin, and he couldn’t imagine any circumstance where he might.
For some reason, Merlin didn’t always agree with that assessment. And, the day Arthur found out why, he would make sure Merlin knew that there was nothing — nothing — he could do that would make Arthur hurt him.
Merlin’s gaze flicked from one empty hand to the other before he blew out a slow breath. “I can get us out of here. But you can’t ask any questions.”
Arthur stifled the urge to snort ruthlessly.
When did he ever ask questions?
He didn’t ask when Gaius told him Merlin was at the tavern, even though the tavern owner, when asked, only knew him as the physician’s assistant who treated his daughter for a fever last year. He didn’t ask when Merlin disappeared from the castle for days on end and came back with bruises he hid behind an exhausted smile. He didn’t ask when Merlin took off into the woods with bandits on his tail and came back, hale and healthy, without them, only for his men to find their bodies littering the ground, broken, hours later.
He never fucking asked.
And maybe he was a bit bitter about it, but he refused to look at any of it too closely. He couldn’t. Not when his father sat on the throne. Not when he’d killed people for less. Not when Merlin was still squirrelly and nervous and — more importantly — afraid.
“I won’t ask,” Arthur agreed, regretting every life choice he’d made up to this point.
Merlin watched him for a long moment, gauging his sincerity, before he carefully ducked down and pulled a thin dagger from his boot. He turned to the door and started to fiddle with it, managing to wedge the blade into the lock and pry it open.
Breathing deeply, Arthur stared at Merlin.
Merlin — manservant to the prince of Camelot, the court physician’s apprentice, his best friend, and the single most confusing being in the entire universe — turned to him with a pathetically hopeful smile when the door to their cell swung open.
And Arthur — prince of Camelot, First Knight of the greatest military force in Albion, future king — gave in. He had dozens of questions lining up in his mind, but he had promised not to ask, and he would keep his word.
So, he focused on the immediate problem.
“Stay behind me,” Arthur ordered, narrowing his eyes when Merlin’s pale face twisted into something like surprise. He had no intention of letting Merlin lead the way. He might have a knife and more talents than Arthur knew, but he doubted the idiot could fight the way he needed to to get out of here. And, even if he could, Arthur would always place himself between Merlin and danger. It was a fact of the universe — the sun rose in the East, his father hated magic, and Arthur would always protect Merlin.
“Here,” Merlin said in a quiet voice, offering his knife.
Arthur only hesitated a moment before taking it. A weapon would serve him well, and it would likely be more effective in his hands than in Merlin’s, loathe as he was to take the only thing he had to defend himself.
He nodded to Merlin and turned to lead the way into the corridor of empty cells.
Arthur turned the first corner and came face to face with a man a few inches taller than him. The only thing in his mind was Merlin behind him, about to turn that very corner. So, he launched himself forward. Instinct honed by years of training guided his hand. He sunk the knife into the man’s jugular and tore through his throat in one sharp movement. Hot blood poured over his hand and splattered his gambeson as the man slumped, eyes still wide in surprise.
Arthur took two steps back, dodging the body as it fell, and glanced over his shoulder, his heart in his throat. Merlin watched him with wide, dark eyes. He didn’t look horrified by the murder. He didn’t look anymore afraid than he had in the cell before pulling his knife. And he still met Arthur’s gaze steadily, expression startled but not scared.
Clenching his jaw, Arthur wiped his hands clean on his trousers before stepping over the dead man to continue down the hall.
Merlin had seen him kill before but never in such an intimate setting. There was a difference between slicing someone down with his sword during battle and mercilessly murdering men who didn’t have a chance to fight back. He never wanted Merlin to be afraid of him, but he wanted him safe even more. He could shoulder Merlin’s fear if it meant he made it home.
They found two more men on their way out of the dungeons.
The first, Arthur slammed into the wall hard enough to tear the breath from his lungs. He kneed him in the groin and cut his throat when he jerked forward with the pain.
The second — smarter than the first two — recognized Arthur’s biggest weakness and threw himself at Merlin. Arthur flew forward, fury burning in his blood. He bulldozed into him, sending them both to the ground. The knife slipped from his grip to clatter across the stone while Arthur grappled with the bastard.
The blood still slicking his hands made it hard to get a good grip. It gave the bastard the ability to slip his wrist from his hold. An elbow to Arthur’s right side knocked some of the air from his lungs and brought pained tears to his eyes. Twisting his wrist, Arthur caught the man’s arm and jerked it viciously. The pop of a dislocation sounded. The man howled in pain.
Arthur slammed his fist into the man’s throat to cut the sound off, unsure if there were others in the building who would come to help. He grunted when a knee slammed into his unprotected side and something in his ribs gave.
“Arthur!”
Merlin appeared, holding out the knife, and Arthur grabbed it. He slammed the blade through the man’s eye socket, into soft brain tissue.
The struggle ended suddenly.
Arthur breathed harshly as he rolled sideways off the man he’d just killed. He lay on the cool floor for a second, staring at the dark ceiling. His ribs ached with every breath.
Merlin dropped to his knees next to him. His hands fluttered anxiously.
“Are you okay?” Merlin asked. The words soothed some of the worry still curling in Arthur’s gut.
Arthur groaned when he pushed himself upright. Sitting made sharp pains shatter through his side, but the ache just reminded him he was still alive. Merlin was still alive. Which meant they needed to get out of here, if they wanted to stay that way. “Bruised but fine. We need to keep moving.”
Turning slightly, Arthur grabbed the hilt of the knife and tugged it free with a sickening sucking noise. He grimaced as he heaved himself to his feet. Pressing his elbow down to support his side, he limped forward. He still made sure to put himself in front of Merlin. He had no intention of letting him throw himself into danger.
Whoever was behind the kidnapping must have left at some point, because they limped out into the low sunlight without meeting anyone else. The keep behind them, rundown and half collapsed, stayed quiet and empty. The only people left inside were dead.
They hit the outer gate just as a group of men road up on horseback.
“Sire!” Leon, Arthur’s second and one of his few friends, launched off a horse at the head of the group. The knights behind him, most of them his father’s most trusted, stared with wide eyes at the bloody and bruised prince and his meek manservant. Leon got to them in seconds, hands gripping Arthur’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. “Where are the kidnappers? Are you both all right? You’re hurt.”
“The guards that were left are dead,” Merlin said in a tone Arthur had never heard from him. He glanced sideways to see Merlin’s furious scowl. “We got free, and Arthur killed them.”
Arthur wanted to preen, but he still wasn’t sure that the violence he rained down wouldn’t harm his relationship with Merlin. It was one thing to know your master was a killer and another to see it with your own two eyes.
He couldn’t change it, though, and he wouldn’t. Not even to protect the fragile affection Merlin always heaped upon him. As long as Merlin was safe, Arthur could handle all the rest.
“Your father sent us to get you,” Leon told him, leading them toward the horses. A few of the other knights had gotten down and spread out, Sir Kay giving them orders to check the perimeter while they were treated. It wasn’t the most welcoming sight, but Arthur felt something rigid with tension in his chest loosen a little.
He was no longer a one-man army against an unknown number of assailants. The knights here might not be his, but they would defend against an attack on their prince. And, so long as Arthur made sure Merlin stayed close to him, they would defend Merlin too.
“Not to negotiate?” Merlin asked in a low voice, hovering.
“Lord Hanford ordered the kidnapping. He’s to be executed as soon as you’ve been returned to the castle. He admitted to where you were being held in an effort to save himself once your father found out he had a hand in it,” Leon explained, scowling. “There was no need for negotiation after that.”
Leon reached up to his horse’s pack and pulled out a spare tunic. The dark blue looked nice enough, and Arthur stared at it as the sharp adrenaline of the day started to fade. He felt hazy with tiredness as the battle-ready buzz drained out of him.
Then, Merlin was there, peeling his bloody gambeson over his head and throwing it to the ground. It was easy to let Merlin strip him of his tunic too. Then, Leon was pouring water onto his hands and arms, scrubbing away the blood. Arthur gritted his teeth against the cold and let it happen until Merlin was stuffing him into another tunic, warmer and clean. Leon stripped his cloak off his own shoulders and gave it to Merlin, who swung it around Arthur’s shoulders and clasped it at his throat. He relaxed further at the familiar feeling and wondered if he would even be able to stay awake for the ride home.
By the time the knights were sure the keep was empty and the remaining kidnappers dead, Arthur was seated on Leon’s horse, wheezing through the pain of jostling his broken ribs. He ignored the eyes of the rest of the knights and reached down a hand for Merlin.
Merlin blinked up at him, frowning. “What?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and absently wondered how Merlin’s mother could be such a lovely woman — and so intelligent too — and raise such an idiot.
Thankfully, Leon was able to read him well. “You can’t walk all the way back to the castle, Merlin. And Melynias can hold two men if we take the route slowly.”
“Are you sure? Arthur is hurt,” Merlin reminded him, frowning worriedly.
“And he’s not leaving without you,” Leon said in a low, amused voice.
The glance Merlin gave Arthur had him nodding, because he wasn’t going anywhere if Merlin wasn’t perched in front of him, safe and sound. “Come on. Up.”
Arthur managed to push himself backward enough to sit on the hump at the back of the saddle to give Merlin room to get up. He freed his feet from the stirrups too. The movement sent pain through his entire chest, but he bit down on a whimper and resolutely ignored it. All that mattered was getting Merlin home. And he could put up with pain if it got him there faster.
“Here,” Leon said, offering his hands when Merlin hesitated. He helped to lift Merlin up when he got a foot in the stirrup, steadying him when he carefully swung a leg over the saddle and tried not to kick Arthur. Thankfully, Leon was a patient man, so he held Merlin steady while he got into a position that was comfortable enough.
Once he was seated, Arthur slowly lowered himself off the hump of the saddle and up against Merlin’s back. It was a mirror of the way he had him cradled to his chest in the cells. But, this time, Arthur was able to rearrange the cloak on his shoulders so it covered Merlin too, cocooning them in warmth.
Merlin settled carefully against him, curling his shoulders and trying to make himself smaller so it wasn’t as awkward. Arthur hooked his chin over his shoulder to see the reins when Leon handed them to him. He adjusted to get both reins in one hand and rested the back of his hand on Merlin’s inner thigh in a move that was so inappropriate he would have blushed at any other time. But, well, it was the same spot he rested his hand on his own thigh, and he honestly didn’t care what the other knights thought, if they thought anything about it at all.
The important thing was that Merlin was melting into his chest, warm and solid, and they would be home soon.
As Leon went to mount the spare horse, Arthur snuck his free hand up to press his palm against Merlin’s chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall as he breathed.
Arthur silently thanked the gods that they were safe and sound, Merlin warm against him, as it always should be. And he let the horse have her lead to take them back to Camelot, on the way home at last.