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Concussion protocol meant they needed to keep Arthur awake until they could be sure the hit didn’t damage his brain. Merlin left them with strict instructions to keep Arthur talking as long as possible while he went hunting for herbs with Lancelot in tow.
Leon, seated with his legs crossed right next to his king, glanced sideways at the other knights.
Hesitation wasn’t something he was familiar with. His knighthood relied on him being quick witted and ready with a sword. Movement came naturally. But the things he would need to do to keep Arthur talking that long — a man notorious for his inability to process his own emotions — might give away too much. And, while Leon knew he could trust the Knights of the Round Table, he knew Arthur would not thank him for it.
And so, he hesitated — just a moment, just long enough for the other knights to notice.
“What do we do?” Gwaine asked, crouched as he was on Arthur’s other side. For once, the usually sarcastic knight looked worried. And he asked Leon for guidance, not just as his superior officer, but as his friend.
Pale blue eyes flickered open and found Gwaine after a long moment. Arthur frowned. He grumbled out a low, “Mmmm.”
“It’s all right, sire,” Leon soothed. Then, he glanced at Gwaine. “We need to get him talking. You heard Merlin.”
“Mmm.” This time, Arthur’s attention flickered past them and around the clearing. His eyes weren’t quite able to focus, but Leon had a suspicion he knew what he was trying to say and who he was looking for.
Unfortunately, he wouldn’t find Merlin among them.
So, slowly, Leon admitted to Gwaine, “And you know what his favorite topic of discussion is.”
Gwaine’s lips twitched. The amusement was there and gone fast, most of the urge to tease stripped away after their king had been smacked with a mace. Passing bandits shouldn’t have been able to do that much damage, but they had. Now, the knights all worried for his recovery.
“You really think that’s a smart idea?” Gwaine asked, watching him curiously.
“Nope,” Leon admitted, shrugging. It was the best option they had, though.
Merlin was the king’s worst-kept secret. All the Knights of the Round Table knew where his affections lay. Only Merlin and the king himself seemed oblivious, still running unending circles around one another, just like they had been since the moment Merlin stumbled into Camelot. If Merlin came back in the middle of it, all the better. Maybe they would actually do something about their mutual obsession with one another.
“Good. I’d be concerned if you did,” Gwaine admitted, shaking his head. Then, he shifted to sit and face the king. “So, princess, what’s Merlin’s favorite color?”
Leon grimaced.
Merlin’s name pulled Arthur’s focus over to Gwaine, though, his gaze sharpening. The king finally got a full word out: “Why?”
“Does it matter?” Gwaine shot back, raising an eyebrow.
And that wasn’t the right approach at all. Even shit-faced drunk, Arthur would fight against the urge to monologue about Merlin to Gwaine of all people. Arthur considered Gwaine one of the only real barriers between him and Merlin. He thought Merlin way too fond of the man, and Gwaine himself far too fond in return. If Gwaine asked about Merlin, Arthur would shut down.
No, it was best someone else ask.
“Actually, Arthur, do you remember when Merlin first came to Camelot? He was quite young then. I often forget he grew up in a small village and didn’t have the resources for a tutor,” Leon said, drawing the king’s attention to him. He knew that was more acceptable. While Leon liked Merlin and counted him as a close friend, if not something of a younger brother, he only physically interacted with him when necessary. An occasional ruffle of Merlin’s hair or friendly clap on the back was easily forgotten in the face of Gwaine’s smacking cheek kisses and Lancelot’s expansive hugs.
The assessing gaze turned to him, far less angry.
“Merlin,” Arthur said slowly. Then, his eyes absolutely lit up.
Leon pressed his lips together to avoid grinning. The sight was familiar and sweet, a clear sign that Arthur was still himself beneath the pain and confusion. Because nothing made Arthur light up quite like Merlin did.
“Small and skinny and too sarcastic…” Arthur trailed off and seemed to lose himself in the memory of a much younger Merlin.
Leon remembered those days well. He left for a patrol only a fortnight before Merlin arrived. By the time he returned, every knight he knew was talking about a young man who threatened the prince. And how that same young man just drank poison and almost died in his name. The citadel hadn’t been the same since, and neither was Arthur. He wasn’t the arrogant, sometimes cruel man Leon had known. Oh, even before Merlin, Leon knew Arthur’s heart was in the right place. Most people recognized it. But after Merlin, he started acting on those instincts and showing the people around him his care.
It was a night and day difference, and Leon hadn’t been prepared.
The first time Merlin got hurt on patrol, Leon realized just what the other knights meant. It was just a small cut on his arm, a knick with a blade. The kind Leon might not even bandage on himself, it was so small. But Arthur caught the moment it happened, ran the man who did it through, and treated Merlin like he might tip over dead at any moment. The casual way he dragged him closer and tied a bandage around the wound made of his own tunic was unheard of. The prince never showed that much care to any of his compatriots.
Since then, Leon had made a point to keep Merlin in his sights during attacks and step in when anyone got too close. Not that he really had to — Arthur was always there, ready to defend him.
“Not much has changed,” Arthur said, sighing heavily. His lips curled just a little. “Still pretty, though.”
Thankfully, Gwaine bit down on the burst of laughter Leon could see rocking his frame.
“Merlin’s much changed since those days, my lord. He’s much stronger now,” Leon said, making no attempt to comment on Merlin’s attractiveness.
“Strong,” Arthur agreed, eyelids heavy as he blinked. “Stupid, though. Too dangerous for him. Needs to be smarter.”
“Oi, he’s plenty smart!” Gwaine perked up to argue, the offended line in his eyebrows coming out full force. He smacked Leon, who grunted at the hit. “Tell him Merlin’s smart. I can’t believe I still have to fight this battle after Aggravating.”
“Agravaine,” Leon corrected automatically. It was reflex at this point because Gwaine used to call him that while he was alive and sitting at the Round Table too. Arthur had hated it, and so had the lord himself. Leon might agree with the assessment, but his main goal was always to keep his knights alive long enough to be useful. Insulting a member of the royal family, especially one that Arthur was so protective over, wasn't conducive to that.
“Should have killed him sooner,” Arthur mumbled absently.
The surprised glance Leon leveled at him went unnoticed. He’d thought Arthur mourned his uncle and missed him. He insisted on a state funeral for him, at the very least. But this man… this man didn’t miss his uncle. No, the downturned corners of Arthur’s mouth and the clench of his jaw was the same way he looked when an enemy split up his men, the same way he looked last year when he, Lancelot, Elyan, and Merlin had been captured by a mercenary and separated in different halls of the dungeon. That look only eased when Merlin came into view, limping but alive.
“Next time, I’ll just kill whoever Merlin tells me to; and then we won’t have this problem,” Gwaine said, petulant.
It showed just how furious and injured Arthur was that he didn’t even try to argue.
“And we’re not having that fight. Merlin is smart. But he’s also… naive, sometimes.” Leon very carefully chose his words, drawing them back to the topic he needed them on.
“Smartest person I know,” Arthur agreed easily, face softening again. “Always wandering off, though.”
Leon almost snorted.
Gwaine shot him an amused look.
While Merlin might be Arthur’s worst-kept secret, Merlin’s worst-kept secret was his magic. How he thought he could hide having life-changing magical abilities from some of the best knights in the kingdom, Leon would never know.
Leon wasn’t sure if Arthur knew the truth or not — his opinion on that changed by the day. After all, his king wasn’t daft enough to believe the weak excuses Merlin made for disappearing at the literal worst times. He barely put any thought into them anymore. Really, practicing poetry? Visiting the tavern? Checking for wood worms? No one could consistently hear those sorts of excuses and actually believe them.
But Arthur was remarkably oblivious when it came to Merlin. And the affection he held for him might blind him to his magic, if he wanted it to.
“Eh, Merls knows what he’s doing. Though, he should at least warn George when he’s about to run off, you always look ridiculous when you have to dress yourself,” Gwaine said, shaking his head and smirking.
“Not just gone, missing,” Arthur said, frowning now. Then, his unfocused eyes started scanning the area again. “In danger. Have to protect him. Where is he? Where is Merlin? Merlin!”
“Shhh,” Leon jerked forward and gently gripped Arthur’s shoulder to hold him in place. He racked his brain quickly for anything he could say to calm him down. “Merlin is fine. He’s safe. He just went to go get some herbs. Lancelot went with him.”
“Stupid Lancelot,” Arthur bit out immediately with a vehemence that had even Gwaine’s eyebrows raising. He shrugged when Leon glanced at him.
Arthur usually liked Lancelot. He definitely trusted him to protect Merlin. Oftentimes, Lancelot had strict orders to get Merlin to safety during attacks, a task he took on happily. He was the most noble of them all, and even Leon could admit it. He couldn't imagine Arthur holding a grudge against him.
Thankfully, Arthur kept going, “Stupid Lancelot. Merlin’s favorite knight. Not fair. I should be his favorite knight. I’m better. The best knight, in fact. Better than stupid Lancelot.”
Leon smacked Gwaine without looking away from the king, already aware he would make all of this much worse if he spoke. The grunt Gwaine gave sounded vaguely offended, but he took the order for silence as it was meant.
“I don’t know if I agree with that, sire,” Leon tried. He resolutely didn’t look at Gwaine, because he knew Gwaine’s competitive side would demand an acknowledgment that he was Merlin’s favorite knight, duh. Even though they all knew Merlin’s favorite knight was also his favorite king.
“Lancelot already has Guinevere! He doesn’t get Merlin. He’s being greedy,” Arthur told him, swatting at Leon with less coordination than he usually had.
Gwaine choked on his own spit and coughed frantically to hide his laughter.
Leon prayed to the Old Gods for patience. Okay, maybe he could imagine Arthur holding a grudge against Lancelot. Merlin's friendship seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in their king. It made him a better person, a better man, and a better king, but it also made him unreasonably jealous of anyone who got even a few minutes of Merlin's attention. “I think you’ll find that you’re Merlin’s favorite king, which is arguably more important.”
“I should be more: his favorite knight, his best friend, his king,” Arthur listed. “He’s too nice, though. Got too many friends. How am I supposed to compete with so many people? I can’t be the best friend, so I must be the best king and the favorite knight.”
“Arthur,” Leon said seriously, leaning closer so he could meet his king’s gaze. Arthur looked honestly upset that he couldn’t be a good enough friend to get the title of best friend, as if Merlin didn’t automatically name him whenever anyone asked about best friends. Everyone knew Arthur was Merlin’s best friend. It was the other way around that a lot of people questioned — a lot of people, but never Leon. “You are Merlin’s favorite. I promise. He told me so.”
“But… he’s too nice.” Arthur pouted up at him, and Leon had to physically stop himself when his hand found Arthur’s hair and started to ruffle it. That was a move he pulled on a much younger Arthur, one that wasn’t quite as tense as this one.
But Arthur leaned into the touch and let his eyes fall closed, so Leon carefully followed through anyway. “He is. Merlin is very kind.”
“It’s all in his eyes, Sir Leon,” Arthur said.
Waxing poetic about Merlin’s eyes really showed Arthur’s superior education. He spouted words like sparkling, luminous, enchanting, and more. As he spoke, he stretched into full sentences. He woke from his stupor and kept talking like he couldn’t help himself. Any time he started to lag, Leon asked another question.
And he learned a lot of interesting information about everyone’s favorite manservant. Like, for example, that he did most of Arthur’s paperwork and knew how to forge the king’s signature. In fact, said king hadn’t signed a single document in years.
“Oh, and he did the grain reports last time because I can’t read your reports, Leon, they’re so incredibly boring, but he really likes to do the maths. Don’t tell anyone on the Round Table, though. A king shouldn’t rely on his servant to do his paperwork, and I don’t want Gwaine to get any ideas,” Arthur said, still rambling. He talked with his hands, now, waving them and very nearly smacking Leon in the face. Leaning sideways, Leon dodged the flying appendages and nodded absently.
He didn’t mind the assessment of his grain reporting abilities because he hated writing them as much as Arthur hated reading them. He felt a little bad, though, now that he knew Merlin was the one slogging through every single boring piece of information Leon stuffed into those things. It was supposed to be revenge on the king for keeping the responsibility on him for so many years, not torture for Merlin.
“Gwaine has enough ideas on his own,” Leon reminded him.
“He needs to keep his ideas and his eyes and his hands and his d—”
“What’s going on?” a familiar voice interrupted.
“—ick to himself,” Arthur finished, before looking up.
Leon turned to find Merlin and Lancelot behind him, arms full of herbs. The pair watched them with varying degrees of surprise. Very few people got to see the king curse so openly, so Lancelot’s widened eyes made sense. Merlin, on the other hand, just looked vaguely confused.
“Uh, Arthur was just telling me the merit of knowing maths,” Leon tried, smiling hopefully up at Merlin.
And, because Merlin wasn’t anywhere near as oblivious as he wanted them to believe, his narrowed eyes never left Leon.
“I was telling him Gwaine needs to keep his dick to himself,” Arthur announced loudly.
Merlin blinked. And blinked again. “Okay… I don’t think I want to know.”
“I do!” Gwaine said, ambling back over from where he’d huddled near the fire. Leon sent him off after the second time he’d laughed himself to tears at something Arthur said. “Last I heard, the princess was talking about his favorite servant. What does my dick have to do with Merlin?”
“NOTHING!” Arthur shouted immediately while Leon glanced at the sky and wondered why the Old Gods had forsaken him. “Actually, that’s treason. I find him guilty of treason. Execute him.”
“How is my di—” Gwaine started, but Lancelot’s hand slapped over his mouth with a satisfying crack.
“That’s enough,” the usually good-natured man said, glaring at Gwaine.
Merlin’s bright red cheeks were almost amusing, but Leon felt the same sort of exasperation he could see mirrored on Lancelot’s face. Teasing Merlin only worked when it didn’t outright embarrass him.
“Merlin!” Arthur snapped, reaching up a hand toward him. He squinted like he was still having trouble seeing, but he managed to shove Leon with surprising force. The second shove wasn’t needed, but it wasn’t a surprise either. Sighing, Leon rolled onto his knees and got to his feet to give them room. He should have expected to be summarily dismissed the moment Merlin showed up. It was the way of things, after all.
“Come on, Sir Gwaine. You’ll need to face judgement for your crimes,” Leon said, because he’d done a lot weirder things for his king. And he didn't mind being dragged into a joke, not when it was at Gwaine's expense.
Lancelot hesitated only a moment before dropping his hand from Gwaine’s mouth. Gwaine was talking almost immediately. “Do I get a trial first? And can I choose what method of execution I get? I kind of want to be hanged. Don’t want to get any blood in my hair. And I don't think anyone wants to burn.”
“I was thinking of sacrificing you to the old gods,” Leon said, shoving Gwaine toward the fire. The knight grinned as he scrambled back, giving the king and his manservant-cum-physician some space. “Maybe we can throw you off a cliff into the sea. That should work, right?”
“Maybe, if it’s at midnight,” Lancelot said, shooting him a grin. "We could make a pentagram just to be sure. Maybe try a summoning circle."
Gwaine flicked his hair over his shoulder dramatically. “A fitting sacrifice, don’t you think? I’d look lovely in a summoning circle. I bet the gods would be impressed. It might be enough to make them look kindly on Camelot even after everything Uther did.”
“We can only hope,” Leon agreed solemnly.
A glance back showed that Arthur was now fully focused on Merlin, who knelt over him to smear a paste on the cut on his head.
Leon settled by the fire with the other knights and helped Lancelot make a willow bark tea to fight off any infection or fever the king might develop.
When he took third watch that night, long after Arthur and Merlin had fallen silent, he checked on his king and the young physician, and found them curled together. Arthur had an arm banded around Merlin’s shoulder, his nose buried in his hair, and Merlin’s head cradled against his chest. Every breath shifted Merlin, and Leon swore they were both bathed in gold, a sign of the golden age yet to come.
He settled on the outskirts of camp and protected the future of Camelot until morning.