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Merlin let Lancelot dress him in some of the old armor Arthur kept from his youth. He had a grimace pulling at his lips, his attention focused as he made sure the fit was correct. Lancelot had argued against the idea. So did Leon, surprisingly. Neither of them seemed happy Arthur decided to have Merlin act as bait during this quest.
“I’ll be fine,” Merlin reminded him as Lancelot tied on one of his arm guards. Merlin wiggled the fingers of his free hand pointedly to remind him that he had magic if anything did happen. The knights also insisted he take a sword, though he had strict orders not to engage.
“Arthur doesn’t know that,” Lancelot muttered, eyebrows drawn together tightly. He tied off the first arm guard before moving to the next one, his movements deft.
“I’m not going out there alone. You’ll be right there. All the knights will,” Merlin said. The plan was simple: Merlin would run past the group of slavers and scatter them so Arthur and the knights could pick them off one by one instead of having to fight twenty-odd men.
“He doesn’t know you can protect yourself. And he’s sending you to draw in men who are armed and dangerous,” Lancelot said in a low, angry voice. “It would be different if he knew or if you were trained. But a knight should be doing this.”
Merlin sighed.
No amount of arguing would talk Lancelot around. He hated putting Merlin at risk, something Merlin himself didn’t really understand. It was better him than someone else, right?
“I’ll be fine,” he told him.
Lancelot sent him a look as he finished strapping Merlin into the armor. A warm red cloak came next, swept over his shoulders to complete the official look. The dragon emblem on the side and the special clasp were only on Arthur’s personal cloaks. An old ceremonial outfit had been sacrificed for Merlin’s use. Merlin brushed his fingers against the soft fabric and straightened his shoulders as it fell into place.
“So? How do I look? Like a knight?” Merlin asked, smirking at his friend and hoping a change of topic might ease his worries.
The sharp look on Lancelot’s face softened. He shook his head and looped an arm around his neck. “Spitting image.”
Merlin laughed as he ducked away. He shoved Lancelot away from him and jogged out of the tent. The armor weighed him down a bit, but it wasn’t enough to throw him off as he ran. He rolled his shoulders so it sat better and wondered if maybe he should have left some of the panels off. The knights might argue about having his major organs covered, but the goal was to make sure he wasn’t caught, not to protect him if he was.
“Look at you!” Gwaine crowed, bouncing over to greet him. He ruffled his hair, already prepared for Merlin to duck away. “Lookin’ good, Merls.”
“Maybe I’ll keep it,” Merlin shot back, laughing. He knew he looked ridiculous. The chainmail, at least, fit him pretty well, but he wasn’t built for the bulky knights’ armor.
“That armor costs more than your life,” Arthur told him.
Merlin spun to see him, Arthur’s lips curled into a grin. He stepped forward to tug on random pieces of armor, checking the fit. Merlin stumbled forward a step or two, some of the tugs sharper than others. Arthur ran his fingers under the straps and hummed. The concentrated purse of his lips amused Merlin, who couldn’t believe that Arthur didn’t trust one of his own knights to help him into some armor.
“It fits well enough,” Merlin told him, sighing when Arthur flicked the cloak back so he could check the sword belt. The sword — Excalibur because Arthur insisted — rested warm against his hip. The magic resonated, a soothing vibration against his own. It felt right on his hip. The feeling was reassuring, in some ways, and worrying in others. Because Excalibur was supposed to be Arthur’s blade, not his. Yet, she seemed to recognize her maker.
“It’ll have to do. Are you sure you can run?” Arthur asked, reaching up to fuss with the lay of the cloak like Merlin was about to step into the throne room instead of run through the woods.
“Yes. It’s not that heavy,” Merlin said, shrugging. It wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as it felt when he had to lug it all in his arms. And it weighed about the same as a full basket of laundry or the fully packed saddle bags.
“Nothing is rubbing?” Arthur pressed, frowning now. He didn’t have his gloves on yet, so Merlin felt his warm, calloused fingers brush his collarbone when he ran them under the edge of the neckline.
Reaching up, Merlin caught Arthur’s wrist in a gentle hold. “It’s fine. Promise.”
Sky blue eyes met midnight blue, and Merlin tried to press his surety into Arthur’s skin.
Finally, Arthur blew out a breath and nodded. “You’ll take the route we discussed over to the river. If you need to keep running, go toward the citadel. You’ll eventually run into another patrol ready to provide backup.”
“I remember,” Merlin said, nodding sharply.
“We’ll be right behind you, mate,” Gwaine said, clapping him on the back.
The rattle of chainmail was odd, but Merlin turned toward where he was meant to be as the knights grabbed their weapons and took off into the trees. Just like him, they would split up.
Arthur watched his men go with steely determination. Then, he turned to Merlin. “Don’t take any chances. If they get too close, surrender. I’ll get you out of it.”
“Won’t they just kill me?” Merlin asked, eyebrows drawing together. He hadn’t really considered if the bandits would show him mercy if they caught him. And he didn’t much want to think about it right now.
The scowl that pulled across Arthur’s face was fierce. “No, they’re slavers. They’ll sell you before they’ll kill you. So, if you have to, let them catch you. We’ll find you before they cross the border.”
As reassuring as he was trying to be, Merlin knew that Arthur couldn’t actually promise that. The slavers who came into Camelot had to be quick; and they had to be sneaky. That was one of the few things Uther had no patience for, and they knew it.
Besides, if they found out he had magic, Merlin didn’t have to worry about dying. He’d need to worry about being dragged back to Essetir and sold to King Cenred.
The pyre was a mercy compared to what they did to their sorcerers.
“I’ll be fine,” Merlin assured him, watching Arthur scan him one more time.
“Just...” The words stalled as Arthur’s throat worked, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” Merlin told him, which wasn’t all that true, really.
“Your medical record says otherwise,” Arthur grumbled, pulling his sword — one of the older ones that he’d used before Excalibur — from its sheath.
“You’ve been talking to Gaius again, haven’t you?” Merlin snapped back, scowling. He hated when Gaius and Arthur ganged up on him.
“Just go,” Arthur ordered, waving him toward the trees.
Merlin grinned, spun on his heel, and took off running.
Hitting the ground hurt.
Merlin rolled with the momentum and threw an elbow. He grinned viciously when he hit something hard. A loud crack; and the man who caught him howled. Scrambling upright, Merlin pulled Excalibur from her sheath, the runes flickering gold. The magic of the forest hummed, and Merlin blinked so he could pick out the bright stars of his friends among the chaos. Arthur, the brightest, bolted toward him. He blinked the golden glow away.
“Think you can defend yourself, boy?” another of the slavers demanded. He had a sword too, though it was shorter and out of balance.
Turning, Merlin kept both slavers in his sightline. His next words just came out, sarcastic, “What part of this outfit makes it look like I can’t defend myself?”
Merlin twirled Excalibur the way Arthur always did and settled into a stance that allowed him to move quickly. The standing slaver lunged at him and swiped out.
Merlin caught the blade with Excalibur and felt the reverberation through his arms. Then, Excalibur’s edge cut through the metal like dough, and Merlin stumbled backward to avoid the broken edge where the blade severed. The man stumbled forward with nothing to stop him.
“What the—” the man started.
A blade cut swiftly through his gut and wrenched sideways.
Arthur kicked the body off his sword and spun to kill the slaver on the ground. He moved with swift purpose, and Merlin immediately relaxed. He turned to see if there were any more attackers on their way, but a hand clamped onto his shoulder and dragged him backward before he could do more than a cursory glance. Thankfully, there was no one around that he could see.
“Are you hurt?” Arthur demanded, one hand patting down his front like he might feel any bruising through the chainmail.
Rolling his eyes, Merlin slipped Excalibur back into her sheath. “Just bruised.”
“You’re bleeding,” Arthur argued. His sword slid back into his belt, and both of his hands came up to cup Merlin’s cheeks. His thumb brushed a stinging spot where a tree branch cut through skin while he ran.
Merlin met his gaze, running his fingers up Arthur’s forearms until he could hold his wrists, pressing his fingers against his pulse and feeling the steady thump of his heart. “I’m fine.”
Without answering, Arthur leaned in until he could press his forehead against Merlin’s. Arthur’s eyes flickered closed for a second. The warm puff of his breath brushed Merlin’s lips. His life force vibrated against Merlin’s magic, familiar and warm. “I heard that scream and couldn’t tell if it was you or not.”
“First of all, rude. I don’t sound like that,” Merlin said, amused and feeling affectionate. He rubbed his thumbs against Arthur’s wrists while he watched his face. “And second, he tackled me, but he didn’t hurt me. The scream was because I broke his rib when we fell.”
“Good,” Arthur said, prying his eyes open.
One of Arthur’s hands slid around to the back of his neck and pulled him just the smallest bit closer. It was just enough to press their lips together. The kiss was chaste and calm and sent Merlin’s nerves tingling. It was over just as fast as it began; and Merlin stared at the man before him, the one he loved more than life itself.
“No one is allowed to hurt you,” Arthur told him. He scanned his face and then his lips tilted into a cocky grin, one Merlin recognized. “Well, no one but me.”
Merlin threaded his fingers through Arthur’s hair and yanked him into an open-mouthed kiss. He thrust his tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth. Saliva swirled; and Merlin drank in the flavor of Arthur — watered wine and sea salt. He grunted when Arthur shoved against him with his full weight. The clatter of their chainmail meeting was loud in the relative silence of the forest.
A hot tongue slid along his as Arthur gave as good as he got. He leaned impossibly closer, the press of his fingers into Merlin's neck and cheek sharp and pointed.
Merlin fisted his hand in Arthur’s soft hair and tilted his head forcefully, opening him up to a deeper, better kiss. Merlin licked along Arthur’s teeth. After a small eternity, he had to pull Arthur back to breathe, panting wetly against his lips.
“I should’ve put on armor sooner,” Merlin muttered, the first thought to make it through the haze. Hell, he would have put armor on his first day in Camelot if it got him this.
“No,” Arthur snapped, yanking him in and curling one arm around his back. It was a hug in only the sense that Arthur held him, but his arms were mostly restraints, tight and unyielding. Arthur pressed his lips to his cheekbone and then his hairline as he tucked Merlin’s head protectively next to his. “No, you can wear my colors and my cloak and even my crown, but you don’t get to wear my armor. Never again.”
“Arthur,” Merlin started, ready to remind him that it all turned out fine. That he was fine.
But Arthur made a low noise in his throat and pulled Merlin back just enough to see him. The hard, harrowed look on his face left Merlin speechless.
“You can’t wear armor, Merlin. I can’t do that again.” This press of lips was just as hard and sharp as his words, a declaration in itself.
Merlin sucked in a breath and nodded quickly.
He didn’t need armor anyway.
Arthur peeled away from him when a clatter of armor announced the arrival of the knights, but he kept a firm hold on Merlin’s wrist and refused to let him out of his sight for the rest of the trip. And, when they got home, he made good on his promise and dressed Merlin in his cloak and his tunics and his jewels but never his armor, not even after he became Court Sorcerer and Prince Consort.