[Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’) - derryere

[solstice_mods]

[ Part I] | [ Part II] | [ Part III] | [ Part IV] | [ Part V]
[ Part VI] | [ Part VII] | [ Part VIII]



(Part IX)

Merlin wasn’t expecting it when it happened. He doesn’t think anyone did, judging by the way he can hear Morgana yelling at Uther through the closed doors while he paces by the same pair of lit torches in the hallway over and over, or how distraught Gwen looks where she stands by the wall, wringing her hands in the apron over her dress. Merlin had already known that screaming at Uther was probably not going to make a bit of difference for Arthur’s case, but he had to admire Morgana for trying to stand up for him anyway. Which is ironic, because the last time something like this happened it was her scolding the Prince for not reigning in his restless hormones, rather than trying to get Uther to give leniency for what he’d called, ‘a brash decision made in poor judgment’. Despite what anyone might have ever tried to say to the contrary, Morgana’s loyalties were always clear as day.

Merlin still can’t help wincing at the memory of the verdict that had come down off Uther’s throne not a quarter of an hour earlier. Five lashes.

Arthur really was an idiot.

It hadn’t even been a noblewoman this time, but some knight-hopeful named Tristan or Tobias or something or another, a nineteen year old fourth son of a lord who was either already packing his bags or getting a set of lashings to match Arthur’s before being sent back home in shame. No doubt the story would be all over the castle rumor mill by morning - how a serving girl had stumbled upon two figures in the dark of the armory, how her scream of surprise had made a nearby guard come running, and how the situation had quickly gotten out of hand when the individuals were discovered to be none other than a squire and the Prince himself.

Merlin had been in his chambers at the time, completely unaware of the events going on in the lower part of the castle, and it was only when Gwen had shown up at his door, breathless and ashen, that he’d come down in time to hear Uther’s judgment resonate through the main hallway. He’d only been able to watch helplessly as Arthur was marched out of the audience chamber in the direction of the castle dungeons, his back a stiff and small shape that had quickly been swallowed up by the shadows.

It had also been when Morgana had stormed back into the hall to plead on Arthur’s behalf, an effort that Merlin could hear was doing nothing but making the girl go hoarse as her arguments fell on deaf ears. Uther was, if nothing else, a man who stubbornly kept his word.

Morgana’s cheeks were flushed when she stormed out of Uther’s audience chamber a few minutes later. Merlin and Gwen both came to her side as she continued to march down the corridor, taking in deep gulps of air with a hand across her sternum. Her eyes were dark and a bit wild, and Merlin hoped that she hadn’t inadvertently caused something to move or break in a fit of passion while standing in front of Uther.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Gwen asked worriedly.

"I’m fine, Gwen," she said. Her tone was short and her shoulders were nearly vibrating with anger. "Uther is the most stubborn, closed-minded bigot I’ve ever met. This is his own son and he refuses to see reason!"

Merlin had only heard the story of the events upon his arrival outside of the main hall, and a part of him could understand why maybe Uther was taking it hard that his son had taken up with enjoying the company of other men. Merlin was still reeling from it himself.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Gwen asked, looking tearful.

Morgana came to a stop around a corner, out of earshot from any of the guards, and all three of them pressed in close. "I’m afraid not," she said with a sigh. "Uther’s not thinking clearly and I don’t think I managed to make it any better. He’s determined to set an example for Arthur."

"You mean using Arthur," Merlin said tightly.

Morgana nodded with a pained, pinched look to her face. "He’s almost as upset about this as I’ve seen him when he’s talking about magic. I can’t… how could Arthur be so stupid? Especially after what happened last time!"

Gwen made abortive hushing motions, which Morgana took with another sigh as she slumped with her back against the stone wall. "I think it’s going to happen, whether we like it or not."

Gwen made a soft noise of distress and fisted her hands in front of her mouth. Merlin reached out to pat her shoulder gently. "It’ll be all right. Arthur’s tough - it’ll hurt for awhile, but he’ll be fine in the end."

"I’m more worried for his ego than his back," Morgana said. She sounded unusually serious, and Merlin met her eyes as a look of understanding passed between them. Whether ordered one or ten lashes, Arthur would take the punishment hard, more mentally than physically, which had probably been Uther’s intent from the start.

"Has Gaius been told?" Merlin asked.

Morgana straightened. "No, I don’t think so. Gwen and I will go get bandages and liniments from his quarters. Merlin, will you go and bring him? Take him to… no, on second thought, take him to your rooms. I’ll let Gaius know so he can give a convincing story to Uther if he comes looking for his son. Gwen and I will bring everything you need."

Merlin was a little confused by the change, but he nodded anyway. "Thank you," he said.

Morgana took Gwen’s closest arm and gave Merlin one last, tight nod, before she and the other girl moved off down the corridor in the direction of Gaius’ rooms. Merlin turned to walk the other way toward the lower cellblocks.

Merlin half-expected to hear the chilling crack of the whip as he began descending the narrow stairs to the dungeon, but there was only the soft echo of low voices and the scuff of boots against the dirt floor. Merlin followed the sound past the first few empty cells until he spied two guards standing by an open door farther down the corridor, and when he got close he could see Arthur through the bars sitting on the room’s lonely cot, his tunic hanging off his wrists and his back bare. Arthur was facing the door and keeping the evidence of his punishment of sight, but his face was pale and sweating, and Merlin could see how carefully he was holding himself upright.

"I’m taking his highness to the physician’s quarters," Merlin told the two guards, who gave him short nods as he stepped over the threshold into the open cell.

Arthur had looked up at the sound of his voice, and his eyes were bloodshot but dry. "Merlin," he said.

"If you would come with me, sire?" he asked. Merlin was fighting to keep his voice unaffected as he spoke, and he had no doubt that his eyes were completely giving away how much it upset him to see Arthur like this. Arthur looked so small and diminished, hardly the image of the robust young man he had been steadily becoming over the past two years. He’d gotten a haircut recently and the sweat on his brow and down the sides and back of his neck was visible in the torchlight. It was just as well that Arthur seemed to be handling his punishment with dignity, or Merlin might have walked straight out to go break the fingers of whichever guard had been given the task of whipping the Prince.

Arthur blinked at him slowly, some of the haze clearing from his eyes, and he gathered himself to make an abortive effort to stand. Merlin stepped in closer to catch him by the arm, and the surprising thing was that Arthur didn’t push him off as he helped him get his feet. "Alright there, sire?" Merlin asked softly.

Arthur only glanced at Merlin, looking uncharacteristically uncertain and, Merlin realized, probably a little ashamed. Merlin let his fingers slip down to his wrist to touch the fabric bunched there, and Arthur seemed to understand, gingerly lifting his arms and allowing Merlin to pull the shift up and carefully lower it over his head. Arthur sucked in a harsh breath as the wool caught on the lash marks, and Merlin had to fight back the urge to place his hands over the torn flesh, to push every ounce of his magic under the skin until Arthur was whole and perfect again. It would be so easy to take it all away with just a word, but Arthur either knew him too well or had learned to read minds and hadn’t told anyone, because his eyes met Merlin’s and he shook his head once, slowly. He was prepared to suffer his sentence despite the pain, and Merlin wasn’t to interfere.

Merlin frowned anyway, but settled for wrapping his hand just above Arthur’s elbow as the two of them left the cramped cell, feeling the solid muscle shift under his hand and the fine tremors that were running through Arthur like a slow ripple. He moved stiffly and cautiously, as if every step burned from his back to his soles, and it was a slow journey as they silently climbed the stairs and made their way into the cool lower corridors of the castle. Merlin kept his hand on Arthur’s arm as they walked through the halls on the ground level, and he gently redirected the Prince before they reached the branch that would take them toward Gaius’ rooms.

"We’re going somewhere else," Merlin said quietly to Arthur’s wordless look of confusion.

Arthur was unusually passive during the trip, even when their destination became clear, and he let Merlin lead him through passages that were no doubt familiar from walking them often over the past two years. By the time they got to the tower door Arthur’s skin had paled further and he was leaning heavily into Merlin’s side, his breathing coming hard and his muscles taught and strained under Merlin’s grip.

When they entered the room Merlin noted the small changes in his absence - the full pot of water steaming on his stove and the jar of salve and thick rolls of bandages on his table. Bless Morgana for her foresight, and her instinct that there were probably few people, if any, that Arthur would want seeing him in this state. Taking him to Merlin’s room had been a good idea to seclude him from the rest of the castle for awhile, and hopefully give Arthur the necessary time to begin his recovery.

Merlin led Arthur toward his bed, sweeping the blanket back with a look and flipping his pillow so the clean side was up, and moved behind Arthur to gently lift the edge of his tunic. "Ready?" he asked.

Arthur nodded and lifted his arms slowly as Merlin gathered the material, gently drawing it away from the fresh cuts on his back, but he was only able to get his arms up halfway before he stiffened with a hiss of pain. "It’s alright, I can do the rest," Merlin reassured him. He carefully pulled the tunic free where the blood had caused it to stick against skin and the open wounds, and though he was wary of agitating the flesh any further it was difficult not to have to peel it away in some places. When he reached Arthur’s shoulders the weight of the fabric had caused it to attach even more firmly into the deep, open welts, and Merlin winced in sympathy with each bitten off gasp that came out of Arthur’s lips as he finally pulled the blood-soaked tunic off.

Once freed, Arthur moved immediately to lie down on his stomach, a quiet groan escaping his mouth as he settled on the mattress. Merlin discarded his robes as a stool slid across the floor to take up a spot next to the bed, and as he sat down the pot came to settle itself by his feet and several fresh rags immersed themselves in the steaming water. Arthur’s head was turned on the pillow so that he was facing Merlin and he rolled his eyes in exasperation, making Merlin smile in spite of how shaken he was feeling inside. He rolled up his sleeves and picked up one of the wet towels.

"Hush, sire. You know they can’t help themselves sometimes."

"Like their master," Arthur slurred, half of his mouth muffled by the pillow.

"You should be grateful they wish to help at all. You are such a very great prat, after all."

"And you’re very old," Arthur retorted, but he was frowning before the words finished leaving his mouth. "Why are you still wearing that?"

"What?" Merlin asked, looking down at his tunic. "I’ve been told I look good in blue."

Arthur huffed. "No. Your face."

"My- oh." Merlin touched the beard on his chin with a rueful smile. "Habit, I guess. Onwréon."

Arthur’s gaze was intent on his face as the disguise fell away, and Merlin licked his lips self-consciously. "You’re all awfully fond of seeing me without this."

Arthur snorted and looked away. "Stop fishing for flattery. It’s just disconcerting."

Merlin had known Arthur long enough and well enough to tell that there was a lie in that somewhere, but he let it drop. There were more pressing matters to deal with that night, and Arthur’s back was still bleeding. He slid the hot rag along Arthur’s torso below the worst of the cuts where some of the blood had trickled down, which made the Prince squirm under his hand. "This is going to hurt more if you don’t stop moving," Merlin warned, and Arthur stilled but looked annoyed at being ordered about.

Merlin did his best to clean the angry cuts as gently and quickly as possible, and tried to ignore each drop of pink stained water that slid from Arthur’s back onto the sheets. Most of Arthur’s lower back had been spared from damage, only a few thin red lines under his ribs that hadn’t bled from the touch of the whip. But around Arthur’s shoulders the injuries were more gruesome, with long slashes and deep welts that still bled as Merlin wiped away the dried blood and sweat, the rag turning dark and stained under his hand. He eventually exchanged it for a fresh towel and continued cleaning around Arthur’s neck and the top of his spine, occasionally slipping over to the spaces under his jaw and behind his ears, and the silence stretched so long between them that Merlin might have wondered if Arthur had fallen asleep had it not been for the occasional twitches and short, sharp inhalations that came from the Prince when his hand moved over an open cut.

Merlin applied the thick, cool ointment with the same gentle efficiency, whispering words under his breath with each pass of his thumb and fingers over the worst of the raw and reddened wounds. Arthur eyes were half-lidded but there was a silent reproach in his eyes that Merlin chose to ignore as he let the magic trail from his fingertips. Arthur had made it clear on several occasions that he disliked magic being used on him without his permission, but in this instance he kept his lips pressed tightly together, and as each touch soothed the burning pain faster than the cream might have on its own, his face relaxed into something that could have been taken for silent gratitude.

"I’ll bandage them in a few hours," Merlin said when he’d finished, rinsing off his fingers in the cloudy pot of lukewarm water. "The wounds should air first and give the medicine a chance to be absorbed. How are you feeling?"

"Like I’ve been flogged," Arthur mumbled humorlessly, only briefly glancing up at Merlin.

Merlin laid his hand against the side of Arthur’s head, running his fingers across his temple. "You don’t feel like you’re running a fever, yet. Which is a good sign in any case."

Arthur seemed to flush a bit, and Merlin moved to press the back of his knuckles against the top of his cheek, checking for the source of the heat. Arthur’s eyes had slid partially closed but he was frowning. "You’re such a mother hen," he accused with a grumble.

Merlin smirked and let his fingers drag through the hair just above Arthur’s ear, flattening the moist strands and tucking them back into place. "And you can be an idiot sometimes, but somehow we still put up with you."

Arthur opened his eyes fully and stared, and Merlin stilled his absentminded stroking. "Not… that is to say… not that we don’t care about you. Morgana argued with Uther for ages after you left, to try and get him to rescind the punishment. The girls even brought up the salve and bandages for you."

"Stubborn wench," Arthur huffed. "She shouldn’t be trying to antagonize my father."

"But five lashes? That seemed unduly harsh…" Merlin protested, looking down at the criss-crossed mess of broken flesh and thick ointment layered over the wounds.

Arthur looked away. "The King’s word is law. To question it openly would be viewed as treason."

"As opposed to keeping a sorcerer for a tutor and a Seer for a ward," Merlin said lightly, and he stroked Arthur’s temple until the Prince’s eyes came back to his. "I just… I’m sorry this happened, Arthur. You weren’t even… well, honestly I don’t know exactly what you were doing. Not that it’s any of my business. It’s just… this isn’t fair to you. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Loving someone isn’t a crime."

Something crossed Arthur’s face, a look of surprise that didn’t quite touch his eyes. He drew his lips back and let out a chuckle that turned into a small moan. Merlin moved to cup the back of his neck and Arthur’s eyes drifted shut. "I didn’t love him," he murmured.

"Oh," Merlin said, blinking. "Um, I see. I think."

Arthur said nothing and Merlin realized after a moment that he was still lightly running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. He moved his hand away but Arthur’s arm came off the mattress and his fingers caught Merlin’s before he could draw back. Merlin swallowed as Arthur reeled his hand in to rest on the mattress next to him.

"Why does it always take me nearly dying for you to touch me," Arthur asked, almost absently, his fingers covering Merlin’s.

"Arthur," Merlin protested weakly, wiggling his captive fingers. "You’re hardly on the verge of death right now, and I don’t think this is a good idea…"

Arthur blinked and frowned, which didn’t look nearly as intimidating with half his face hidden by the pillow. "Merlin," he said in turn, and pressed hard on Merlin’s hand to make it lie flat and still. "You think too much."

Merlin pressed his lips together as he watched Arthur shut his eyes again and rub his nose against Merlin’s pillow. Arthur’s fingers curled around Merlin’s palm and drew it closer until it were tucked close by his face, and Merlin could feel warm air blowing across his wrist with every exhale. Merlin could feel himself flushing, trapped by the warmth of Arthur’s touch and the part of him that was insisting it might be a good idea to pull away and retreat to the other side of the room. But the indecision forced him to linger, until Arthur’s breathing evened out and sleep seemed to overtake him, and by then it was too late to move.

As the minutes drifted onward and Arthur slumbered peacefully, Merlin cast about for something to do. He sent the pot and rags back over to the stove to clean themselves up, banked the coals for the night, opened two more of his windows, put out the candles in the room save for a few closest to the bed, and summoned a book over so he could read it by the candlelight. Arthur didn’t stir once, though Merlin felt the hand atop his shift and squeeze in a manner that seemed mostly unconscious, keeping a piece of Merlin tucked close under his chin. Merlin read and did not notice that he stroked his thumb along the tops of Arthur’s knuckles with each turn of the page.

Perhaps an hour had passed when Merlin felt Arthur stir, a subtle shift in his breathing that made him glance over to the bed, and sometime during the interval their hands had turned over to be entwined, fingers locked and curled around each other. Merlin saw Arthur’s hooded eyes watching him, the blue in his irises reflecting back the glow of the candlelight and lined with gold. He looked oddly young, which was strange when Arthur had been nothing but young since Merlin had arrived, always younger than his recollections and the man he had known. But tonight he felt as though he were seeing the adolescent inside for the first time, vulnerable and lonely, craving nothing more than touch, wanting love and comfort as simply and as rightfully as any other human being. It was the first time Merlin had ever seen Arthur laid so bare, and for once he did not miss the grander version of the Prince in his memories, not when the one before him had given him the truest glimpse into the person underneath.

"You stayed," Arthur rasped, sleep thick and low.

"You didn’t give me much choice," Merlin said with a small grin, squeezing the hand wrapped in his. He sent his book back to the table. "We should put the bandages on now."

"Why is your bed so comfortable?" Arthur muttered after a moment, heavy and endearingly confused. "Your bed should not be better than mine."

Merlin grinned. "Is that really something you have to ask? A sorcerer refuses to sleep on anything less than perfection."

"Mm, I forbid it," Arthur slurred, his eyes closing once more. "Claim this for Camelot."

"Really, sire. And where would I sleep then?" Merlin asked, jiggling their joined hands to get Arthur’s attention. "Come on, Arthur. Wake up so we can wrap your injuries."

"Mine," Arthur mumbled, sounding stubborn, but his eyes snapped open a second later and fixed on Merlin. "What did you give me? I can’t feel them."

"Feel what? I haven’t given you anything," Merlin said, worried.

"The pain," Arthur said, lifting his head slightly. He shifted to move, pressing his elbows into the bed, and then stopped with a small grunt and a wince. "Never mind. Felt that."

"I may have dulled the worst of it," Merlin confessed, not feeling particularly apologetic. "The wounds are still there, but it should let you rest a bit easier now."

"Insufferable nursemaid," Arthur glowered, but he moved to sit up anyway. Their hands were still clasped, and Merlin stood up to help pull Arthur into a sitting position so that he was perched on the edge of the bed with both feet on the floor. Arthur looked like he’d lost a little color from the effort this cost him, and he’d yet to release Merlin’s hand or slacken the tight grip he hand on his fingers. Merlin moved to sit on the bed next to him and floated the rolls of bandages over.

There was an awkward moment when Merlin tried to tug his hand free and Arthur didn’t let him go. Then Arthur seemed to realize what he’d done and dropped Merlin’s hand quickly. Merlin didn’t want to think on the light blush that was staining the Prince’s cheeks, or the way his own heart had thumped a little heavier.

Merlin moved to climb onto the bed behind him and made steady work of wrapping the wide strip of linen around Arthur’s chest and across his shoulders, the strong scent of the liniment coming off his skin each time Merlin leaned forward for another pass. Arthur was motionless while Merlin worked, save for when he lifted his arms to allow him to pass the bandages over his ribs, and Merlin could feel that his breathing was even and steady under his hands, which was impressive given that the wounds must have still pained him each time the wraps were pulled tight. Eventually Merlin had Arthur’s entire upper torso and the tops of his shoulders swathed in white, and he tucked the last end into the wrappings just under Arthur’s right arm. Merlin sat back, pleased with his work, but again had to resist the urge to skim his hands down Arthur’s back and apply a little healing magic to the mix. Arthur would never give him permission to remove these scars as much as it pained Merlin to see them.

"All done," Merlin announced briskly, and scooted back to slide off the opposite side of the bed. He rubbed his hands together to smear away some of the ointment that had gotten on his fingers. "I suppose it’s time we got you back - Arthur?"

There was a creak and Merlin turned to see that the Prince had once more fallen face first on the mattress, arms loose at his sides and spread wide against the sheets so not to disturb his wrappings. Merlin frowned and walked around the bed. "Arthur…?" he began.

Arthur’s eyes were open, and he blinked up at Merlin before looking away. "I’d like to go back to sleep now, if you don’t mind."

Merlin crossed his arms. "You are not sleeping in my bed."

Arthur sighed noisily. "By all rights I should have the most comfortable bed in the castle, and since at the moment this happens to be yours, I think I shall."

"Ignoring for the moment that that kind of logic hardly makes sense, where am I supposed to sleep? And don’t you dare say the floor, or I’ll have Archimedes pluck your hair out," Merlin threatened, but Arthur merely rolled his eyes.

"Wherever you please. Why don’t you conjure up another couch."

"I’m not going to start flying furniture into my room just so you can get a good night’s rest," Merlin said. He walked around to the opposite side of the bed, which had barely enough room left on the mattress to fit another body. "Move aside you, or I’ll shove you onto the floor."

Arthur stubbornly didn’t budge as Merlin climbed onto the bed, and Merlin shoved his knees into Arthur’s thigh to make a little more room for himself. He was forced to turn sideways so that he was facing Arthur’s bandaged torso, but he could feel that even in that position his butt was hanging off the edge. He picked up Arthur’s arm that was lying closest to him and scooted into the space it left open, but when he tried to settle it in between them Arthur shook his hand off and let his arm drop heavily back into its original place, which was now occupied by Merlin’s hip.

"And you call me insufferable," Merlin grumbled, determined to ignore the warm weight of Arthur’s arm and the vague sensation that he was being pulled inward as he shifted to get comfortable. Merlin yanked on their shared pillow so he had a little more of the edge to rest his head on. Arthur’s face was still turned away from him, but Merlin thought he heard him sigh.

"Are you done griping? Some of us are trying to sleep."

"My apologies, highness," Merlin mumbled. He lifted his hand and waved it vaguely in the direction of the room, and the remaining candles went out in soft puffs of smoke.

With the candles out the room was black and formless, the only hint of illumination coming from the starlight that glinted silver off the windowpanes, and in the far corner the stove’s grating carried just a hint of a red from the lifeless coals. Sleep didn’t come immediately to Merlin, and as the minutes wore on he could feel some lingering tautness in Arthur’s frame that told him the Prince hadn’t succumbed to sleep yet either. He’d shut his eyes and attempted to adjust his breathing, and it didn’t take long for the small remnants of the annoyance he’d been feeling to slip away into a familiar, fond sense of futility that often came about in regards to anything having to do with the Prince. Arthur was so innately stubborn and used to getting his way that it usually left Merlin feel like he was running up against a wall and only hurting himself in the process. He couldn’t fault Arthur for having his pride, or being strong willed, or any of those traits that would one day aid him in being a great king, but some days the urge to take Arthur by the shoulders and shake the prat out of him could be overwhelming.

"You’re mad at me," Arthur said abruptly out of the dark.

"No, I’m not," Merlin denied, blowing out a long breath. "If I was mad at you I would have turned you into a lizard and let Archimedes play with you."

Arthur was silent but Merlin felt the arm resting on his waist shift, rough fingertips catching on the wool fabric at his lower back. Though probably nothing more than an involuntary twitch, the touch raised goosebumps on Merlin’s skin, and he opened his eyes to look at the back of Arthur’s head, no more than a dim outline in the darkness.

"Do we get on?" Arthur asked suddenly. "In the future. You said you were my manservant."

"I guess so," Merlin replied, perplexed. "We argued a lot but we didn’t hate each other. I doubt we would have kept on saving each other’s lives if we did."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, and Merlin wondered if that had been the end of the conversation. But then he spoke quietly. "A prince can’t have friends."

"Hm, I think I remember you saying that once or twice," Merlin admitted.

"Then why did-" Arthur began, but broke off with a grunt.

"Why what?" Merlin asked curiously.

There was a long pause again before Arthur spoke, soft and bemused. "Sometimes you talk to me like you know me. Like you see inside my head. Like you know me better than I know myself."

"Maybe I can read your thoughts," Merlin said glibly.

Arthur scoffed. "I know you can’t."

"Alright," Merlin relented. "Why so curious all of a sudden?"

"It’s nothing," Arthur denied, which was a lie if Merlin had ever heard one.

He licked his lips and spent a moment thinking before he spoke. "He and I… sometimes I thought we were friends. He’d have me pick up after him and come up with crazier things for me to do just to make me stay late in his rooms; and he dragged me everywhere, even while he went hunting though I hated it and made too much noise and he always said it was my fault when we didn’t bring back any big game - but if something was bothering me he would pick on me until I laughed or forgot about it, and if I was ever in trouble or needed help he always came, so… I guess we were, in a way. But I don’t think he could ever say it."

"Probably not," Arthur agreed quietly. "Why didn’t you ever go back?"

"Go where?" he asked, yawning.

"Back to Camelot. To him. After you argued when he found out you were a sorcerer. Why didn’t you go back and talk to him?"

Merlin blinked and felt something tighten in his chest, surprise maybe, the memory of his fear and the sensation of his world shattering around him. His shoulder twinged. "I couldn’t go back."

"But did you try?" Arthur asked again. He sounded unexpectedly earnest for something that had happened so long ago.

Merlin shut his eyes. It was easier to speak without Arthur’s profile in his sight. "He tried to kill me. I think that sent a pretty clear message I wasn’t to come back."

Arthur was silent, but Merlin thought he felt the hand at his waist curl into a fist against the fabric, and inwardly he cursed himself three times over for being an idiot.

"Sorry. I know that’s not you," Merlin added quickly. "That wasn’t something I was going to tell you about if I could help it. It was… more complicated then. I hurt him horribly and he had every right to be that furious with me. But… he wasn’t the Arthur I knew anymore. I didn’t think it would make a difference if I went back. Maybe I’m a coward for that, but it’s what I thought was for the best. I’m sorry." Merlin moved to roll onto his back, to put a little space between them, but Arthur’s arm tightened and prevented him from turning away. Arthur shifted so he was facing the other direction, putting their heads a hand’s width away on the pillow. Merlin could see nothing in the darkness, not even his eyes, but he could feel the stir of air moving across his face with every breath Arthur took.

"I think I can understand how he felt," Arthur said. "You’re a difficult thing to lose, Merlin."

"I don’t think he quite saw it that way," Merlin protested, something thick lodging in his throat. It was ridiculous; he wasn’t going to cry over this now, so many years later.

"You’ve said I’m not him, but I think you’re wrong. I think I can understand what he felt better than anyone. But in the end, he was the fool."

Merlin let out a tight gasp. "What?"

"He let you go. He was the fool."

"Arthur," Merlin swallowed, feeling his neck heat. "What are you-"

"You wanted to know why I did it tonight, didn’t you? Why I took up with Tiberius. Why I let him touch me. Why I did those things with him in the armory, and in the barracks, and in that alcove off the northern stairwell?"

Merlin felt the breath on his face warm and he pulled back hesitantly, his heart rate kicking up a notch as Arthur’s shadowed head moved closer. The hand on his waist moved to cup the arch of his hipbone, and Merlin felt his stomach contract in a whirlpool of sudden heat. "Arthur, you don’t have to explain…"

Arthur’s voice was very low and close. "It was never him I wanted. Every time I wanted it to be someone else."

A surprised shiver ran through Merlin. Arthur’s face loomed, no more than a breath away, and in a blind burst of panic Merlin did the only thing he could think of. "Swefe."

Arthur promptly fell asleep, his forehead lolling across the pillow to bump against Merlin’s chin. Merlin let out a shaky breath and gently maneuvered Arthur’s face away with his free hand so that it rested once more on the pillow. His heart was still beating hard, and something hot and sharp was clawing urgently low in his belly. They hadn’t once talked about the kiss in the tent, and Merlin had tried hard not to think about it these last few months, or not often anyhow, and now Arthur was… far too young to be making the kind of confessions that made Merlin’s heart pound just from the memory of his voice. Merlin wanted to recoil and deny the words had ever been spoken, push Arthur away and back into the persona of a child too young to comprehend the needs and emotions of an adult. But the way Arthur had sounded, so distant from the youth Merlin had come to know… a part of Merlin had been caught up by the thrill of possibility, even while another protested loudly that Arthur’s feelings were entirely inappropriate. Merlin didn’t know if the guilt he felt was for not stopping Arthur sooner, or because he knew he should have felt more remorse for nearly giving in to temptation.

The only thing he did know for certain was that Arthur was going to be pissed when he woke up.

*~*~*

Fortunately Merlin awoke before Arthur the next morning, but only to find that during the night he’d also wrapped an arm around the Prince’s waist, and they’d somehow gravitated together so that Merlin’s nose was pressed into the crown of his blond hair. Arthur was still sleeping heavily thanks to his body’s need to heal and whatever remnants of Merlin’s magic had lingered on until morning, and Merlin was allowed a quiet moment to take in the scent under his lips before he extracted himself and gathered up the spare bandages and leftover ointment. Arthur continued his impression of a motionless log while Merlin changed clothes and chanted the spell to his disguise, and he took a moment to quietly greet Archimedes, who had come in sometime during the night, before he left the tower to give Gaius an update on Arthur’s condition.

When Merlin returned to his quarters an hour later, enough breakfast in hand for two in case Arthur had yet to awaken, he found Arthur lounging in Merlin’s bed with an open book. There was a brief moment when Merlin stood in the doorway and Arthur’s attention slowly shifted away from his reading to look at him. He didn’t appear upset, which was a relief, but there was also a guarded element to his face that warned Merlin to tread carefully. He let himself the rest of the way in and dropped his disguise.

"Breakfast?" Merlin offered with a smile, coming to the table. A few books leapt out of the way to make room for the plates as Merlin set them out.

"Famished," Arthur agreed, pushing himself off the bed with a wince and a muffled grunt. Merlin resisted the urge to rush over and help, though he did wait until Arthur was seated before taking a seat himself. The cooks had been generous to supply Merlin with many of Arthur’s favorites, though he’d forgone some of the more fattening treats with half a mind on Arthur needing all the strength as he could get while he healed. It was an improvement that Arthur ate his grapes in silence, and even seemed more favorable of them then the last time Merlin had attempted to load his plate with fruit. They ate breakfast in silence, and Merlin managed to limit himself to only sneaking a few glances at the Prince. For the most part.

"Gaius said Uther came looking for you last night," Merlin shared when their plates were nearly clear, and Arthur looked up with poorly concealed interest. "He told the King you were sleeping in his anteroom and couldn’t be disturbed, so your alibi is covered. He also said he wants to see you this morning - ‘get a look at my shoddy workmanship’ is the phrased I think he used. How are you feeling?"

Arthur made a noncommittal sound and pushed his plate away. He hadn’t made much eye contact with Merlin since he’d come into the room, and he did now with only a brief glance before looking aside. "Better, though I suppose I have you to thank for that," he said.

"I know you don’t like me using magic on you like that," Merlin said, not feeling very apologetic but affecting his voice to reflect it all the same. Arthur had long grown out of his wariness of seeing magic performed around him, but magic being used on him was still an issue of trust that Merlin had, for the most part, managed to integrate himself into. And on some occasions to great effect and amusement, but giving permission was always Arthur’s final act of control over the situation. He had still to allow Morgana any sort of leeway in that regard, which Merlin knew sat a little sorely with the girl. "But you have to admit, given the circumstances, you’d prefer to be able to walk then doubled over in pain."

"True. I doubt Gaius’ concoction would be so potent on its own. But that wasn’t the only time you used magic on me," Arthur said, and now he turned to look at Merlin, accusation firm in his eyes. "I don’t remember all of it, but you did something to me last night. One minute I was speaking and then the next… all I can remember is seeing your eyes flash gold. Don’t tell me it didn’t happen, Merlin."

Merlin frowned, which very well may have actually been a pout. He could feel his neck flushing with guilt at being caught and the memory of what had forced him to play that hand. Being dishonest with Arthur was never an option these days, though he had been hoping to delay or avoid the conversation entirely. "I wasn’t going to deny it. I just wasn’t going to tell you."

Arthur sighed something long suffering and exasperated, but surprisingly not sounding angry. "Merlin…"

"It was just a sleeping spell," Merlin interrupted, hastening to explain. He rubbed his upper lip with a contrite shrug. "You were starting to babble… I think the pain had loosened your tongue. You were saying things you didn’t mean."

For the first time Arthur looked disconcerted and a little embarrassed, and he swallowed. Something in his eyes seemed to shift more toward unwarranted apprehension, and Merlin felt his own self-reproach fade quickly at the sight of the prince so discomfited. "You will have to forgive me if I... if I said anything untoward."

Merlin let a small chuckle escape, and he lifted both brows. "Well, sleep deprivation and pain can make us say the oddest things. I doubt you seriously intended to proposition me, even if that’s what it sounded like."

"What?" Arthur yelped, an odd squeak escaping with the sound.

"I’m sure the medicine was entirely to blame," Merlin explained, his smile growing and feeling entirely too amused. "Perhaps we should be grateful that it was me and not Morgana you were spouting sweet-nothings to last night."

Arthur spluttered. "I did not… I would never do such a thing."

Merlin’s smile turned wicked. "I’d always suspected you were a soft-hearted poet at the core, Arthur."

Arthur glared, but there was a telltale blush across his cheeks, one that was spreading to his ears the longer he stared defiantly at Merlin’s grin. "I don’t know why I put up with you, Merlin."

"Because you fancy me," Merlin said unthinkingly, and felt his breath stutter when Arthur’s blush turned tellingly from pink to crimson. "Um… oh dear."

Arthur ducked his head, and would have probably dropped his forehead on the table had his injuries not prevented him from making such a dramatic gesture. He said nothing but continued to stare resolutely toward the floor, and Merlin felt his earlier amusement vanish as if a gust of cold air had washed through the room, leaving his palms clammy and the back of his prickling. Merlin was distantly aware of the rapid beating of his heart in the heavy silence, and as he watched Arthur’s flush slowly fade away it was almost impressive (but mostly unsettling) that when he looked up he was entirely composed, blush gone and eyes distant and unreadable.

"Thank you for your hospitality last night, but I won’t intrude any longer. I must go see Gaius."

"Arthur." Merlin rose halfway from his seat as Arthur slowly stood, movements stiff and encumbered by his injuries until he was on his feet. Merlin fisted his hands on the table. "Can we talk about this?"

"About what, exactly?" Arthur asked tautly, moving away from the table. His eyes were on the floor and he seemed to be on an intent search for his personal items.

Merlin lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I don’t want you to think… that I don’t…"

"Don’t what?" Arthur snapped. He turned to face Merlin, expression grim and guarded, but he seemed to collect himself quickly and Merlin watched his posture loosen marginally. His face gave nothing away, but Merlin thought there was something tired in his eyes, a reflection of age that Merlin had yet to see before. "There isn’t anything to talk about."

Merlin watched with a growing heaviness in his chest as Arthur located his boots and set about putting them on. He found his shirt shortly after but refrained from putting it on, staring down at the bloodstains with a concerned slant to his mouth.

"I can let you borrow a shirt," Merlin offered, and as if summoned a gray and threadbare tunic lifted itself out of the basket at the foot of Merlin’s bed and coasted across the room to drape itself over Arthur’s arm. Arthur stared down at the shirt for a moment before he dropped the dirtied one at his feet. Merlin watched Arthur struggle to lift the tunic over his head, hampered by his inability to lift his arms much higher than his chest, and it was readily apparent that he wasn’t going to be able to do it on his own. Merlin stepped in to help, which got him a narrow look from Arthur, arms dangling in mid-air inside the sleeves.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping you get dressed," he said and took hold of the tunic to gently stretch the collar and pulled it the rest of the way over Arthur’s head.

"I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself," Arthur protested as his head came through the neck, hair mussed even further along with the bed hair he’d been sporting for the last half hour.

"Not with these injuries you’re not. Stop being so stubborn."

"This isn’t exactly your job," Arthur pointed out as Merlin tugged on the hem to straighten it, and walked behind Arthur to settle the fabric over his back so as not to disturb the wrappings. "You’re not my manservant anymore."

"True. But old habits die hard." Merlin came back around and reached for the laces at Arthur’s throat with a small grin, fingers deftly tugging on the strings to give the tunic a snugger fit. This close, Merlin again had a moment to marvel at how much Arthur had grown in the past few months, the strong breadth of his shoulders and how his eyes were nearly level with Merlin’s nose. There were still small blemishes here and there on his chin and cheeks, but his complexion was smoothing out with his summer tan and his eyes were even bluer with the contrast of his sun-lightened hair. Arthur’s slightly unfocused gaze had come to rest somewhere in the vicinity of Merlin’s chest, and Merlin realized that even though he’d finished his fingers were still loosely clasping the laces over his collarbone, allowing him to feel every distinct rise and fall of Arthur’s chest.

Merlin swallowed and felt himself sway forward. "Arthur…"

Arthur quickly roused himself and stepped back; Merlin’s hand was forced to fall away, and he frowned at the distance being placed between them. "I should go," Arthur said again, not making eye contact with Merlin as he moved to slip past him toward the door.

"You can come back," Merlin blurted, and Arthur stopped to swing around and look at him in confusion. "After Gaius and… anything else you have to do. If you don’t feel like… if you don’t want to deal with everyone else right now you know my door’s always open. And I mean that kind of literally because it still won’t stay locked for you. You can use my bed and I’m sure the pitcher will be happy to bring you water and I know you’re in the middle of reading a few books, and we don’t have to talk, or do anything, not if you don’t want to. We don’t even have to do any lessons. I just wanted you to know… I wouldn’t mind. You’re always welcome here."

Merlin could feel a flush warming his neck and his lips twisted but failed to fully turn up in a smile, which seemed to mirror Arthur’s cautious look of curiosity as his eyes flicked over Merlin’s face, eyes wide but mouth an unreadable line. After a moment he nodded and looked away. "Thank you," he said. It sounded genuine, if not a little overwhelmed by Merlin’s candor.

Merlin felt his chest loosen and exhaled easier. "Till then, sire."

Though the tension had lessened between them, when Arthur turned to the door there was still something shadowed in his eyes that nearly tempted Merlin to lock the door and keep Arthur hidden from the rest of the castle awhile longer. It seemed Morgana had been right to worry more for the mental scars than the physical ones, and though Merlin didn’t think Arthur was the type to care for castle gossip or be embarrassed that he’d been caught (which, given the circumstances, might have even been part of the point anyway), Uther’s disappointment and anger had to be eating him up from the inside. Watching Arthur leave silently, head held proudly and chin raised, threatened to inspire a whole new slew of worries for Merlin to fret over in the Prince’s absence.

*~*~*

Merlin knew that disappointing the King was a private source of shame for Arthur, and had been so for as long as he’d known him. Arthur’s constant quest for his father’s approval had put the Prince in the direct line of danger more times than Merlin wanted to consider, and had sparked its fair share of arguments between he and Morgana both now and in the future; it was possible that this driving force had even contributed to Arthur’s zealous determination to wipe all traces of magic from the earth, with Uther looking on like a proud father as his son passionately slaughtered hundreds of people. Arthur loved his father, that much was clear, but Merlin had never seen a man more desperate for some glimmer of that love returned, for some sign that he was considered strong enough, smart enough, worthy enough of his father’s praise. It had always felt to Merlin like the worst sort of relationship a parent could have with their child; the constant, silent pushing for greatness with little reward in return. It had the potential to break even the strongest of familial love, or twist it into something that Merlin didn’t care to ever witness again.

Given the years Merlin had watched Arthur struggle with these very issues, it wasn’t farfetched for him to worry over the repercussions of recent events and what it might mean for Uther and Arthur’s relationship. It was very possible that even Arthur knew just how coldhearted a sentence it had been for Uther to order the flogging of his own child, even if he did claim to defend the King’s decision. But whatever anyone may have expected as the outcome once Arthur’s affair was made public, the lashings across his back were nothing less than a complete surprise. Uther’s heavy-handedness was legendary in regards to magic and defeating his enemies militaristically, but the bigotry that had been displayed toward his own son was something Merlin could never have predicted. It remained to be seen whether Uther would cow Arthur into obedience using the threat of future punishment, if this singular incident and its fall-out would be all it took to steer Arthur toward a different path, or whether Arthur’s own stubbornness would triumph over his father’s iron will. Merlin preferred to have faith in Arthur following his heart, given how well he’d maintained the secrecy of Merlin and Morgana’s magic, but Merlin also knew all too well of the guilt that came with every lie that was told, the pain it caused to keep secrets from someone you wanted to extend your trust as well as your love to. Merlin hated the thought of losing a part of Arthur when he felt as though he was only now beginning to be allowed a glimpse through to the person underneath, the almost-man emerging with each passing day, and having that snatched away scared Merlin more than he liked to admit.

But in all honesty, Merlin’s more immediate worries stemmed more from whatever was happening between himself and Arthur, this slow discovery and transformation that Merlin hadn’t really been aware of or capable of admitting; even now he wasn’t sure what sort of conclusions he was meant to draw from the conversations and encounters he and Arthur had shared. Things had changed more so than after that first impulsive kiss, which had gone so long unspoken or acknowledged that there were times when Merlin had doubted that he even remembered it the way it had really happened. But given enough time for introspection, he’d gradually come to acknowledge a thing long buried, a warmth behind his chest that had always been there around Arthur for as long as he’d been near him - an emotion of such overwhelming need to keep Arthur safe, shadowed only by the guilt he never let himself truly forget. Arthur was the center of his world in ways that he’d never even allowed himself to contemplate, his reason for every instance when he’d placed his life at risk when there was a chance that Arthur could be saved by his deeds, and the driving force behind the year of isolation that had eventually brought him to the past. But in the span of a single night and by the heavy hand of a King that loved his son to the point of irrationality, it could all come to naught if the consequences proved to be too much for Arthur to handle. Arthur’s desires had shown themselves to come with a risk, one that had unfolded in a painful and unexpected way, and there was nothing quite as paramount as a child seeking forgiveness from a parent.

Yet it was difficult to say which would be the better path in the long run, even if Merlin did harbor a growing curiosity about Arthur’s intentions, for the feelings that had thus far gone unspoken but seemed to hang, charged between them at times, lurking beyond the edge of their banter and the familiar conversations that, Merlin had realized upon reflection, had always skirted a line that was hard to define. Arthur may be better off burying his feelings entirely and sticking to more socially acceptable outlets for his curiosity, even if that meant sacrificing a part of their relationship that, for all Merlin knew, could end badly anyway. He wasn’t even sure what it all meant in ways that he could label with words and intent, because of course he loved Arthur, loved him as his future sovereign and as his truest friend and confidant, but there had always been a precipice he’d hesitated to approach beyond the safe confines of his mantle of duty. To name that love as something more than simple duty, to give it form through fantasy or let it transform outside of his control was something Merlin had never dared to attempt, not when Arthur was so young, too immature to even know his own wants and needs and burden with the emotions of an adult. Merlin could bring the world to heel at Arthur’s feet and never ask for anything in return, so long as he remained his Prince and his friend. In any other way, Arthur was untouchable.

And yet without knowing or realizing how it had happened, he’d created a bond with Arthur that transcended any facsimile of friendship they had shared in the past, had forged a connection of trust and admiration and affection that had brought them to this place where Merlin had sworn to himself never to go. Arthur had given so much and asked for so little in return - had allowed Merlin to see him vulnerable and afraid, confused and seeking guidance; he had let Merlin see the human need under his skin, so well hidden from the rest of the world, and something in Merlin’s heart yearned to reach out and gather those precious pieces keep for him and him alone. Through the act of loving Arthur unconditionally, through their friendship and his mentoring, Merlin had been given more in return than he could have ever dared to want to expect. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting. Nebulous, ambiguous desires without clear direction or purpose, but the ache was there in his chest whenever Arthur was in the same room. Merlin could hardly deny its existence when it was such a large part of his very being, when the love he felt ran deeper than duty or friendship or even time itself. But he could not help to wonder if the nature of his feelings were all for naught, if stepping off the edge of into the unknown would only lead to disaster and a future once more foundered by his mistakes. It was a risk almost too horrifying to contemplate.

Merlin thought he’d made his choice, to be resolved against temptation and to keep his hand and his emotions close where they could do the least harm. But Arthur’s mere existence made it so very, very difficult sometimes, and Merlin was only made of flesh and blood, after all.

[ Part X]