Merlin

The visiting princess didn’t seem all that bad, honestly. Merlin had been pleasantly surprised when she smiled and kindly thanked him for pouring her wine. Any time he served her, she acknowledged him. She never ignored his presence or insulted his service or asked for anything ridiculous. Occasionally, she even spoke with him, whispering her thoughts on the latest treaty negotiation when her father wasn’t paying attention.

King Odin ignored her with the kind of steady devotion that got under Merlin’s skin. Prince Tyr monopolized his attention, his pride and joy rested upon the young man who sat at his righthand side while Princess Idona demurred at the end of the negotiation table. And the princess noticed, if the way her tiny smiles wilted the second her father glanced at her were any indication.

Serving Arthur was a full-time job, of course. Merlin only saw Princess Idona at meals, when her father chivvied her into the seat next to his master. It was obvious he hoped for Arthur’s eye to stray.

Poor Princess Idona put up with Arthur’s mercurial moods with the grace of someone three times her age. She sat silently when he snapped and chattered lightly when he bothered to acknowledge her. On the days he disappeared for meals, she sat with Morgana and giggled with Gwen, much more at ease in the presence of women near her age.

“What did you think?” Arthur asked from where he slouched in the chair before his fire. He had exactly one hour before he needed to be back at the negotiation tables. Until then, though, Merlin knew he planned on drowning his headache in heady wine and ignoring his responsibilities.

Merlin sighed and strode over to where he sat. “I think that you’re being a right arse for someone who wants to make a good impression on King Odin.”

Gently, Merlin slid his fingers into Arthur’s golden hair. To his credit, Arthur stayed still for the ministration, finally getting used to Merlin’s touch after almost two full seasons. The first time he’d tried to do this, Arthur launched himself off the chair like a startled cat, all hissing and spitting. When Merlin had explained, Arthur had been skeptical and refused to be touched for over a week, going so far as to dress himself.

Now, Merlin carefully scratched his nails along Arthur’s scalp and felt the way Arthur leaned into it just enough to show his pleasure, though he made no noise and asked no questions.

“Making a good impression doesn’t mean giving in to his frankly horrendous demands. Father nearly ended the negotiations yesterday, you know,” Arthur said, taking another long sip of wine.

The spicy scent swirled through the air and relaxed Merlin’s tense shoulders while he worked his scratching down to the back of Arthur’s neck. Soft, short hair slid through his fingers and fell back into place, leaving only the smallest ruffled bits. When he got to Arthur’s neck, he slid his hands down to his shoulders and pressed his thumbs on either side. The tense area twitched under the pressure.

“I did hear something about that. Maybe it was during all that yelling,” Merlin hummed, leaning forward to press more of his weight down.

“Kingly yelling,” Arthur said, snorting into his wine.

“Yes, that,” Merlin agreed, because he knew he’d get a lecture about treason if he pushed too hard. He eased the pressure a bit and ran his thumbs up the line of the muscles on either side, mirroring movements until the edge of his thumbs touched the base of Arthur’s skull. “Princess Idona wasn’t very impressed either. She tried to talk to Odin, but he wouldn’t listen to her suggestions.”

Sliding his thumbs back down the same route, Merlin did that another time and felt some of the tension easing.

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked, eyes falling closed. The hand holding his wine moved to rest against the arm of the chair, and he finally stopped gulping it down like he wanted to choke on it.

“I served her at dinner last night. You know, when you disappeared?” Merlin said, digging his finger viciously into a knot right by his left shoulder.

Arthur grunted and flinched, but he didn’t try to get away. “I didn’t disappear. Sir Leon and I needed to patrol the dklfsjfklaj…” He trailed off into a mutter of nothing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Merlin said, smirking as he pressed harder at the knot and felt the muscle spasm underneath Arthur’s warm skin. The little noise of pain Arthur gave almost made him feel better about his master literally abandoning him. “Did you say you had to go patrol the woods for fairies? Because I haven’t heard of any fairy sightings recently.”

“Ow, Merlin,” Arthur said, reaching up to swat at him. His fingers curled around Merlin’s arm when he found it, though, and he didn’t shove him off. Instead, he pressed his own fingers into Merlin’s wrist like he was searching for his heartbeat.

Merlin eased back on the pressure, moving his other hand to press into a different knot.

“Fine. I’ll forgive you this time,” Merlin said, pressing upward strokes along the right side of his neck.

Arthur’s head tilted to give him more room, his cheek pressing against his left forearm. The harsh brush of stubble said he needed to shave again, but they could put it off for another day or two. The weight became heavier, and Merlin realized Arthur had fully leaned in, no longer holding his own head up.

Smiling softly, he ran his fingers up to gently press his two middle fingers against the hinge of Arthur’s jaw, right near his ear, where most of the pressure sat. He carefully rolled his fingers along the joint and eased into it, knowing that it was tender even as Arthur finally let his jaw fall from the way it was clenched since King Odin road into the courtyard.

Merlin kept quiet as he shifted his weight, pressing his thighs against the back of Arthur’s chair. He slid his left hand up Arthur’s neck and directed his head back to lean against his stomach instead of his arm. The way Arthur moved with his touch made Merlin’s stomach twist pleasantly, the sight of someone so stiff and formal soft like dough in his hands a treat he never thought he’d witness.

Gently, he started to relax the muscles of Arthur’s jaw on the other side, easing away the tension with careful strokes.

Arthur went a bit boneless as Merlin stroked up his cheeks to his temples. He gently massaged both sides, sliding his fingers along the muscles and bones while he named them in his mind. The muscles of the temple, otherwise known as the musculi temporum, tended to tense after a long day. Merlin waited until Arthur’s brows finally relaxed before tracing along them, the arcus superciliaris. He pressed the tips of his pointer fingers into the tender spots on either side of his nose, right at the ridge of his eyes, the corona oculi.

A small noise broke through Arthur’s throat, and Merlin gave an answering hum, just low enough to soothe. He knew it wasn’t comfortable, but he also knew that it would ease away more of the tension, which was what Arthur really needed.

Letting up on the pressure, he traced his fingers up Arthur’s forehead, to his hairline, where he smoothed the skin and muscle before swooping his fingers back in and tracing back down to his brow. He kept up the familiar route for a while, losing himself in the repetitive motion.

“I’m going to fall asleep,” Arthur slurred after a few long minutes.

Merlin sighed, cupping Arthur’s head in his hands and leaning forward so he could hold him still as he observed him upside down.

The prat opened his eyes and met his gaze without a single ounce of surprise.

But the aching pinch of his brow had relaxed and his jaw stayed loose. He didn’t squint at him this time or scowl automatically. Instead, Arthur just watched him, the pale blue of his eyes flickering with firelight. The crown of his head still pressed against Merlin’s stomach, the softest, most vulnerable part of him, and neither of them moved.

“But do you feel better?” Merlin asked softly, rubbing his thumbs gently along his prince’s cheeks.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment, the naked affection on his face almost too much to handle. The itch to make a joke and move almost tore through Merlin’s hard-won patience, but he forced himself to keep that stare.

Some days, Merlin could almost convince himself that Arthur cared about him even a fraction of how much he cared about his prince. This was one of those days.

“I might,” Arthur admitted, finally.

Merlin took that as his cue to gently retract his hands. He waited for Arthur to lift his head to step away, his attention already sliding to the clothes he needed to take to the laundry and the meal he needed to serve. The world rushed back in and broke apart the soft, warm little moment they’d created.

“I’ll be at dinner tonight,” Arthur told him, voice low and smooth now. He rolled to his feet and stretched, the deep v of the laces on his shirt tilting to show a frankly absurd amount of his chest. It took everything in Merlin to leave it with one quick glance, the sight of Arthur’s toned chest and golden, wiry hair making his mouth water.

“That’s what you implied yesterday,” Merlin said, because he wasn’t about to let Arthur’s Arthur-ness distract him. He turned to stack some dishes together and wondered if he could carry both the dishes and the laundry without dropping anything.

A hand curled around the back of Merlin’s neck, a warm chest brushing against his back as Arthur slid into the space behind him. He wasn’t quite pressed against him, but a blush still worked its way to Merlin’s ears at the intimate feeling. “And now I’m saying it, which is a lot more reliable, don’t you think?”

He was gone as fast as he arrived, the press of his fingers leaving behind an imprint on Merlin’s very soul.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Merlin said, his sarcasm keeping up with the conversation even if all the blood in his body had suddenly rushed south.

The free, joyous laugh that broke from Arthur would keep him warm for days.

In the rush to get everything done for the day, Merlin told Arthur he’d meet him at dinner. He needed to refresh one of the guest rooms with new linens and pick up a wine skin before he made his way there. The instructions he’d been given — to hurry up — weren’t all that helpful, especially when he still had to drop the laundry and the dishes off.

But Merlin found himself in the guest room, stripping the bed efficiently, far sooner than he thought he would.

“SHUT UP!” a roaring yell tore down the corridor, so loud Merlin jumped.

He dropped the sheet he was spreading when a high-pitched yelp of pain followed. Spinning on his heel, Merlin felt his magic spark. It burst into a wildfire only seconds later, burning beneath his skin. It took most of his energy to stifle it as he strode to the door, which flew open on its own.

Down the hall, Prince Tyr held Princess Idona by her upper arms and shook her hard enough that her head snapped back and forth. “YOU’RE A SOILED, DISGUSTING THING, SUITED ONLY FOR THE DITCH!”

Merlin found himself right next to the pair before he’d consciously decided to move. His hand snapped out and caught the man’s wrist, twisting the skin in a sharp movement. It had him dropping his sister like she burned him, the grunt of pain enough for Merlin to know he definitely wasn’t getting away with it.

But the rotten bastard in front of him wasn’t what he was worried about.

Gently, he caught Princess Idona’s arm and pulled her physically away from the prince. His attention flicked to the two knights — Odin’s men — down the hall, both staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. Neither had stepped in for Princess Idona. Neither would say a word against their prince, Merlin knew, because there were many knights like that in Camelot too.

He was on his own.

“I was sent to escort Princess Idona to dinner, my lord,” Merlin blurted out the first thing he could think of, positioning himself between the princess and the prince. He squared his shoulders and made sure he stood at his full height, glaring at the man who hurt her.

The hiccuping sobs he could hear at his back told Merlin more about her state than anything else.

“YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME, YOU INSOLENT BEAST?”

Merlin braced himself just in time. The sudden crack of pain across his face sent the world tilting to the left. He stumbled as his vision flickered in and out, ears ringing and blocking out some of what the bastard spit at him.

“— YOUR TONGUE IS TORN OUT OF YOUR THROAT! WHAT? DID MY SISTER INVITE YOU TO HER BED? IS THAT WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT? I WILL HAVE YOU BEATEN AND FLOGGED BEFORE THE SUN RISES, YOU WHELP,” the prince shouted, shoving Merlin into the wall.

The stone dug into his back painfully, but Merlin planted his feet so Tyr couldn’t yank him out of the hallway. The copper sting of blood on his tongue helped focus Merlin.

“Tyr, please!” Princess Idona jerked forward, her hands grabbing at his wrists to try to shove him away. “He’s just here to escort me to dinner! He’s just doing as his master told him!”

“AND YOU!” The prince swung out an arm that slammed into Princess Idona’s chest, sending her collapsing to the floor with a cry. The way he swiveled to focus on his sister made Merlin’s magic boil, sparking along his consciousness and pushing back the ache behind his eyes until he could see the very obvious fact that Tyr would kill them both if Merlin let him.

Releasing just enough of his magic, Merlin sent out a pulse of desperation, an invisible plea for help that would flood the citadel and hopefully bring anyone with even a hint of magic in their veins. It wasn’t foolproof. He had no idea who would be compelled to find him, but he had to hope that at least one knight or noble had enough magic to feel it.

Or he was going to die here.

Merlin shoved off the wall and managed to get between the prince and the princess, who had scrambled backward like a scared child. Merlin wobbled but planted himself firmly. “I do as my lord demands. And he would never ask me to stand aside and witness another lord beating a lady of the court, no matter how high that lord’s standing. He would expect me to step in.”

The words sounded a lot more confident than Merlin felt. He knew Arthur would be furious when he found out Tyr was beating his sister, but he also knew that Arthur would prefer he keep his head.

Unfortunately, Merlin never did learn when to shut up, even if it was for his own good.

The next hit sent him flying.

Arthur

The pulse of — hurt, fear, desperation, HELP — sent Arthur flying out of his seat at the dinner table. He didn’t pause when Morgana jumped up after him, the familiarity of the call ringing in his bones. His chest clenched, and his throat closed, and he knew Merlin needed him right now.

Tearing through the halls, Arthur didn’t pause as knights and guards and noblemen shouted questions in his wake. He ran like the hounds of hell chased him and skidded around corners and took the stairs three-four-five at a time to get to where he needed to be.

The journey across the castle took him too long, too long, TOO LONG before he nearly ran right into the scene of the egregious crime being committed against his Merlin.

Arthur threw himself forward with all the force he’d mustered on the long run and collided with the bastard beating Merlin. The shock of impact didn’t surprise him and neither did the sound of bones snapping as Arthur slammed the man to the stone floor. His half shriek of pain sent vicious satisfaction burning through his lungs, and Arthur threw them both into a roll so he could pin the bastard.

He registered the wide eyes, the shock and horror, the sneer of fury, before he slammed his own fist into Prince Tyr’s perfectly white teeth. Something gave, but Arthur wasn’t anywhere near done. He dodged a wild smack of hands and landed another hit that gave a satisfying snap. The next hit and the next left bloody smears on his knuckles.

The haze of battle settled in fully, and Arthur lost himself to the feeling of tearing his enemies apart piece by piece. The world blurred, the only noise the crack of bone and the ringing in his ears.

Muffled yelling came from the side.

Arthur knocked the knife out of Tyr’s left hand blindly. It aimed at his side and hit the stone floor with a clatter. Arthur slammed the man’s arm into the ground and felt bones and ligament give. He reached for the weapon and slammed the blade home in the bastard’s neck, right where his pulse beat wildly.

The choke Tyr gave shouldn’t have sounded as loud as it did, but Arthur waited until the light faded from his eyes to finally look up.

Merlin had managed to get himself into a half-upright position, his injured arm bracing his ribs. Puffy bruises meant he couldn’t even open one eye, the other half-shut. The bridge of his nose was caved in, and blood smeared his mouth, down his chin, over his neck, and into his scarf. Even so far away, Arthur could hear the faint wheeze of his breathing. The arm Merlin had cradled against his ribs looked broken from this angle, and he hadn’t even tried to get up.

“You killed him,” a wavering voice said softly, so quiet that Arthur would have missed it if he hadn’t noticed that the woman who spoke was right next to Merlin, within touching distance.

That needed to end.

Arthur painstakingly pushed himself off the corpse of the former prince of Gwynned. He hissed when he had to open his hands to do it, his knuckles bruised and broken. Still, Arthur stumbled over to Merlin and dropped to his knees next to him, only noticing the ache in his side when it twinged.

“You need Gaius,” Arthur said. His voice sounded torn up, like he might have been screaming or cursing or growling.

“Hands,” Merlin managed to get out, his voice rougher than Arthur’s. A glance at his throat showed a ring of bruises purpling the skin. They would get darker before the night was done.

Shaking his head, Arthur reached up and trailed his fingers along Merlin’s sharp jaw on the only stretch of skin without bruises or cuts. It was a mirror of the way Merlin stroked his cheek earlier, the warm calm of it torn to pieces and scattered to the winds now that Merlin was hurt.

“My lord,” a voice broke his concentration, his head snapping up.

Sirs Leon and Bors stood at the mouth of the hall, a squadron of knights behind them. It must have been Sir Leon, pale under his thick beard, that spoke.

“Arrest the former knights of Gwynned,” Arthur ordered, letting his hand fall to the hard stone so he could lever himself upright. “They’re to be put in the dungeons until I come speak with them. Move the body to the physician’s chambers. Tell the physician he’s to report to my rooms immediately. Tell my father and King Odin that I require their presence in the throne room.”

“Arthur, you just killed the prince of Gwynned,” Morgana said slowly, her tone wavering between shock and concern.

Arthur turned his attention on Morgana and scanned her for just a moment. She wasn’t a threat to him or to Merlin. Morgana could be a voice of reason to his father, but he would just as soon dismiss her words to further his own narrative. And Arthur already knew the narrative he would make of this. Because he could feel some aching pulses starting in his ribs and along his back and legs where the prince had managed to catch him, the hits not registering in the heat of battle.

Now, though, it was evidence.

And so was the young woman carefully ripping strips off her skirt, handing them to Merlin to wipe away the blood on his face.

Princess Idona, Arthur knew, had been kind to Merlin. And Merlin liked her well enough, practically a glowing recommendation from the sassy servant. She still showed Merlin immense kindness as she helped him tend to what he could.

Arthur dismissed both women as threats and instead eyed the knights who had already moved to do his bidding.

Sir Leon hovered next to him, directing the other men with firm orders. He didn’t show any discomfort at the sight of the dead; and he showed no respect for the former knights who would soon lose their freedom and their lives. He gave no indication he thought Arthur lost his temper or somehow made a mistake by protecting Merlin.

He could be trusted too.

“Sir Leon,” Arthur ordered, turning back to where Merlin was dabbing at his own wounds. “Help me get Merlin to my rooms.”

“You can’t seriously want to move him,” Morgana argued immediately, her face going pale. The worry took over, and the caution disappeared, and Arthur knew he could trust Morgana to help him too.

“We have to. He can’t be found here, not when this is where the prince died,” Arthur said, shifting to brace himself. He reached down for Merlin’s hands and raised an eyebrow when Merlin looked up curiously. Merlin’s blue eyes ran over his face. There wasn’t a hint of fear, no caution, no hatred. He didn’t seem disgusted by Arthur’s reaction. No, Merlin reached up with his good hand and slipped it into Arthur’s palm like nothing had changed from that morning, when he’d given out gentle touches so freely.

That was what Arthur had killed to protect.

Two days later, after King Odin left Camelot in despair; and Princess Idona was safely betrothed to a knight of Camelot, Arthur ran his bandaged fingers through Merlin’s feather-soft hair. He gently traced his hairline down to his ear and swirled his finger along his cheekbone in a soothing rhythm before running it down his jaw. He made sure to use no pressure over the bruising and swelling, the poultice and ice Gaius put on the wounds eased the worst of it, thankfully.

It was well past midnight now, all the way into the early hours of the morning. The gray of dawn just barely lit the room. Arthur had only stumbled in after confronting the two former knights of Gwynned and watching as the headman took their lives. They died without honor, without sorrow, and without anyone to mourn them.

Now, all Arthur wanted was to speak to Merlin. He hadn’t had a chance in the whirlwind of trials and threats and furious kings. The truth had come out, of course. His brave, beautiful, idiotic manservant stepping in to save the princess of a foreign nation from her own brother, who regularly abused her under the blind eye of the king.

Arthur couldn’t even say he was surprised that Merlin did such a thing.

Princess Idona standing up before his father and pleading for mercy from Camelot and its king for both herself and Merlin, though, had surprised him. She tearfully admitted to her own torture and begged his father to see how Merlin had helped her.

It was Morgana who made all the difference, though. She came up with a story herself, it seemed, and built the evidence brick by brick and bruise by cut. She told the king that she tried to step in to help Merlin because she was too soft hearted to let anyone be killed in the castle corridor — an amusing claim considering she watched Tyr die by his hand only moments later. But her story of Tyr lunging at her with a knife in his hand, prompting Arthur to throw himself into the battle — that was marvelous storytelling. Especially when she pulled up the sleeve of her gown shyly and showed the king a bandaged cut.

King Odin had no way to defend himself against Arthur’s father’s fury. He was banished from the kingdom on pain of death within the hour, his retinue thrown from the stone steps out into the world without a care for their precious belongings. Only Princess Idona remained, and she was now simply Lady Idona, a member of the king’s household until her betrothal became a marriage; and she moved to her new estate.

Arthur’s talk with Sir Pellinore had gone well when he explained the important of Lady Idona’s sacrifice. He knew he could trust Sir Pellinore to keep her safe and happy, a good man through and through.

Merlin would be satisfied.

Smoothing his fingers along Merlin’s nose, Arthur smirked when Merlin twitched. His nose wrinkled, and he tried to turn his face away, but Arthur just gently ran his fingers over his cheek instead.
The unamused grunt had his lips curling further.

“Ar’ur?” Merlin murmured, eyes still closed as he struggled awake. The pain tonic Gaius gave him had stolen his consciousness from him swiftly, the only way to keep him in bed. Gaius told Arthur about it when he relieved him, his tone weary. Apparently, being unable to speak to Arthur was too much for his poor manservant, who threw a fit and was summarily drugged for it.

Arthur hated that he understood Merlin’s feelings perfectly.

“It’s me,” Arthur said in a low voice, watching with amusement when Merlin managed to pry his eyes open just enough to blink at him.

The bruising had gone down so he could mostly open his eyes now. The dark blue was hard to make out in the low light. It took a second for Merlin’s attention to focus, though, and Arthur frowned again. Gaius said the head wounds had been serious. It was only when Arthur stumbled in sometime after the noon bell, up all night and half the next day, that he found out how close he had been to losing him.

“How’s your head?” Arthur asked, keeping his voice low.

“Ugh,” Merlin muttered, blinking sleepily. “Gaius drugged me.”

“He did,” Arthur agreed, smoothing his fingers back up Merlin’s forehead to his hairline. “He said you were going to try to walk down to the throne room to see the trial.”

Merlin hummed in agreement, tilting his face so Arthur’s fingers pressed a little harder.

“It would have been stupid to do so. The trial was over before you woke,” Arthur told him, sweeping his thumb down around Merlin’s eye to trace the green bruise on his cheekbone. He remembered the feeling of Tyr’s face caving underneath his fist fondly, the grim satisfaction burning back to life. He hoped Tyr felt even half of the pain Merlin had before he died.

“Everyone’s?” Merlin asked, blinking stubbornly against the medicine.

Arthur hesitated. The satisfaction he got out of the prince and his knights’ fates was vicious and cruel and curled in his gut like a cat, comforting and heady. The violence was something even his knights had flinched away from. But that moment of numbing clarity where he’d known he was losing Merlin pushed him on until he could no longer remember the Knight’s Code or his vows to his kingdom or his own name. No, all that mattered was right here, at his fingertips, alive because he hadn’t hesitated.

“Do you want to know what I did to them?” Arthur asked, letting the restrained violence he barely held back show in his tone. He kept his fingers light as he traced Merlin’s bruises. “I can tell you. Or, you can never think about them again. They won’t be an issue.”

He let out a concerned noise when Merlin started shifting, pushing himself upright. Arthur reached out to brace him, trying to remember where each bruise was and how he could hold him without pressing against them. Thankfully, Merlin decided to take matters into his own hands and just tipped face-first into Arthur’s chest.

Arthur caught him with all the gentleness he could summon, wincing when Merlin let out a pained grunt. He knew that no matter how Merlin decided to move, it would hurt.

“Clotpole,” Merlin mumbled, his dry lips brushing Arthur’s chest through his thin shirt. Merlin wiggled until he was comfortable, and Arthur kept his arms loose around his waist until Merlin was sprawled across him.

If Arthur thought the massage the day everything went wrong was heavenly, this was something else entirely. Merlin lay warm against his chest, each inhale pressing his sharp ribs into all the soft muscles of Arthur’s abdomen. Merlin’s head tucked itself under his chin so all Arthur could smell was salty sweat and herbs. Merlin’s good arm slung over his body, holding him down, and Arthur carefully adjusted to slip a leg underneath Merlin, propping himself up against the headboard and letting some of the tension ease out of them both.

“You’re the idiot. What if I hadn’t been there? What if that…” Arthur trailed off and tried to think of a way to describe the thing that sent him tearing through the corridors. “That call hadn’t gotten to me?”

“What call?” Merlin mumbled, not sounding anywhere near as confused as he should.

Arthur felt his lips curl into a grin again. “You know, the rush of ‘holy shit, come help me, I’m going to die — signed Merlin’ that I led me right to you?”

“The what?” Merlin asked, shifting like he might try to sit up.

Like Arthur would ever let him leave the safe circle of his arms again.

Carefully, Arthur pinned him down and held him to his chest, rumbling out a noise he hoped was soothing as he reached up to pet at Merlin’s hair with his free hand. “I know it was you. It practically had your name on it.”

“I— That….” Merlin trailed off. Then, he took a careful breath and actually said something, which was helpful. “That was only supposed to, uh, call certain people to me.”

“‘Certain people’ as in those with magic?” Arthur asked casually, though something in his gut twisted a bit knowing Merlin hadn’t specifically called for him. Then again, maybe he couldn’t control it. Or, maybe Merlin didn’t think he would feel it. That sounded more plausible.

The tension that slid through Merlin wasn’t a surprise, but Arthur kept absently petting his hair and waited for him to register it again.

“You know,” Merlin murmured, a whisper in the night.

“I had suspicions. I didn’t know until that,” Arthur admitted, grimacing at his own blindness. He hated to admit he’d been naive enough not to notice, but, well, Merlin was an odd man to begin with. And Arthur hadn’t managed to catch him doing anything blatantly magical until he’d been propelled by terror so stark he didn’t even remember flying through the castle.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Arthur said, sighing. He glanced toward the barred door and wondered how much he could say without giving away the overwhelming fondness he felt for the idiot in his arms. Hadn’t his reaction to Tyr made it clear? Didn’t Merlin know, now?

Did he know? Had he been conscious enough to realize Tyr was dead?

“I killed them,” Arthur admitted in a quiet voice, no trace of guilt in his voice or in his heart. “I killed the prince as soon as I found you, but I killed his knights for standing by and letting it happen. Lady Idona stood up for you before my father, and so did Morgana, but I would have killed them too if I had to. I wouldn’t have let my father hurt you either.”

“Arthur,” Merlin struggled up enough to look at him, eyebrows drawn together in a way that had to pull at his bruises.

Arthur cupped his face in his hand and met his gaze firmly. “I would. Your secrets are safe with me. You’re safe with me.”

“I know,” Merlin said, far too quickly for someone with a deadly secret. “You’re safe with me too.”

The sincerity of his gaze made it so Arthur couldn’t laugh it off this time. Instead, he nodded solemnly and pulled Merlin back into his chest. He pressed his lips to his temple and wondered if Merlin understood how rare and precious he was.

Arthur never let himself relax, never let himself accept gentleness. He’d never given anyone a razor to hold against his throat and never let anyone press their fingers near his eyes and never relaxed so much someone else could hold his head up for him. He’d never let anyone lay across his chest or in his bed or in his heart so fully.

Everything he did to keep Merlin safe, he could justify. He could burn Camelot to the ground and run his father through with his own sword and kill his entire army with his bare hands, and he wouldn’t ever feel the guilt of it. Not as long as Merlin laid in his arms and felt safe in his hold.

Settling back, Arthur felt Merlin give back into the tonic Gaius fed him. While he slept, Arthur started making plans for his own kingship — his first act would be a repeal of the ban on magic.