New fic: The Map of Honor, 2/2 (Merlin BBC, Arthur/Merlin)
The Map of Honor (2/2)
Arthur/Merlin, 12,700 words, canon-era, hurt/comfort, adult
See part one for summary and notes.
He dreamed.
From deep beneath the waters, he rose, striving toward shore, until he emerged onto land. The world was still around him, no birdsong, no breeze to bend the trees. All was quiet, as if Camelot was listening.
Waiting.
Above, the sky was full of sooty clouds curling up toward the heavens. Their edges were tipped with orange, like the breath of a dragon. Beneath the darkened clouds, golden light shimmered like molten metal, bright and beautiful, the color of magic in Merlin's eyes.
Arthur climbed toward the light, over gentle hills, across rolling country, and eventually he came to a valley bathed in warmth. Merlin stood there, smiling, not as Arthur had always known him, but a bit older - still slender, but clad in finer clothing, with a hint of a beard.
"Just like you, to make me search for you," Arthur said crossly, one hand at the hilt of his sword.
Merlin's eyes flicked to the sword, then back to Arthur, and gold began to fill the blue of his gaze. "Just like you, to bring a sword everywhere, even here."
"Well, I could hardly leave it in the lake, now could I?" Arthur ran his hand across the hilt, and listened to its song in his blood. It was a curious sort of sword. Probably enchanted. That was the kind of day Arthur seemed to be having. But it was a very nice sword, and he didn't especially want to give it back.
"This is the journey up," Merlin said. The way he was looking at Arthur took his breath away, fondness and adoration and power, all inclusive, like the most familiar stranger Arthur had ever met. "The journey back to me. You are meant to go before me to Avalon, my king, but not now. Not yet."
"I don't suppose I can keep the sword, can I?"
"All things in their time," Merlin said, his smile brighter than the liquid sky above them.
Arthur jolted from the dream with a gasp, looking wildly about for Merlin. Where he expected Merlin to be, Gaius stood, watching Arthur with a guarded expression.
With both hands, Arthur reached down to his stomach and tore at the bandages.
"Sire," Gaius began, but Arthur ignored him, because he had reached healthy pink skin where the gaping wound should be. He could still feel the sensation of Merlin's hands on him, and Merlin's magic winding its way through him, saving him.
When he met Gaius's eyes, the old physician lifted his chin and said, "I did arrive rather late, sire. Perhaps the wound was not as serious as your men believed. I--"
"Gaius," Arthur said. Only his name, and nothing more; the tone was its own warning.
Gaius bowed his head and waited.
Arthur sat up, then stood. He got his legs under him, testing for pain, for weakness. Other than a lingering dizziness, he felt fine -- refreshed, as if he'd just emerged from a long overdue nap. He pressed a hand to his side, remembering the agony there just a day ago.
Remembering Merlin's gentle hands, and dreams of fire.
A fierce gladness spread through him at the idea of Merlin's touch, the idea of being with Merlin. It had seemed so impossible the night before, but now anything seemed possible, the world opening up before him. The sheer happiness of being alive, of being without pain, of knowing he could act on all the things he'd held back before -- it was overwhelming.
Even more astonishing was the fact that he owed his second chance at life to Merlin.
Reality settled over him like a smothering cloak, and his happiness dimmed as Arthur remembered Merlin's hands crackling with energy, the blue light surrounding him. Merlin, a sorcerer -- one with enough power to heal a dying man and restore him to full health in a matter of hours. It hardly seemed possible, and yet it was clearly true.
Had Gaius known? Arthur considered it, and knew immediately that he had to have been aware, perhaps the entirety of the time Merlin had been his assistant. But if he had not -- well, perhaps it was best if he could continue to have deniability. Best for Merlin, in particular.
Gaius was watching him with sad eyes, and Arthur couldn't bear it. He suspected it was only a taste of what awaited him. "Where is Merlin?" he asked.
"He is outside, sire, with your knights."
Arthur recalled the shouting outside the tent as Merlin was healing him, and his stomach sank. "With the...have they hurt him?" Arthur demanded, reaching for his tunic.
"No, sire. Quite the contrary; they have taken care of him. He is..." Arthur looked at Gaius intently, until Gaius finally said, "It took a great deal of his strength, tending to you."
"Tending to me," Arthur repeated softly. The words did not begin to encompass what Merlin had done. A thousand questions were running through Arthur's mind, a thousand directions to take, but first he had to show himself, and see to Merlin.
"Gaius, is there a tent for you?" he asked.
"Yes, sire."
"Go there, then, and I wish you a good evening. And make sure I am not disturbed by the men. I know they must be anxious to know my condition, but I will be out in a moment."
Gaius inclined his head. When he pushed open the tent flap, Arthur looked out and saw the glint of fire on metal - knights, clustered about the fire. Gaius spoke softly to them, and a murmur went up, then quieted again.
No one entered the tent.
Arthur tugged his tunic on gingerly, expecting the wound to pull, but there was no pain. It was as if the injury had never happened. This could not be explained away; the Escetian physician had seen the extent of it. Arthur would have to play at being less fit than he was, until such time as that fiction could be dissolved with the healing power of time on the body.
He rummaged until he found a pair of breeches, and pulled them on, fixated now on Merlin, and the extent of his power. He could think of a dozen different times he now suspected Merlin had had a hand in protecting him, or others within the court. Astonishingly, Merlin had never revealed himself, until now. He had been so careful, and now all the knights knew. It would be nearly impossible to conceal what Merlin was now, or to protect his secret. The laws of Camelot were clear. Arthur had been enforcing them all his life.
With a moment of supreme clarity, Arthur realized the direction of his thoughts. He had already accepted Merlin, as he was -- all questions about the extent of his power were beside the point. His decision about Merlin's fate was already made.
Even more to the point, Arthur was the damned king, and he could bloody well shout Merlin's secret to the entire world if he wished. Uther was dead; the only strictures on magic were those he had put in place. They were not Arthur's laws. No one would enforce them, if Arthur did not.
Merlin, however, had no way of knowing what Arthur would do to him for using his magic, and had thrown his life into Arthur's hands regardless, thinking only of Arthur's well-being and not his own. For one agonizing moment, Arthur thought of his pronouncement to Merlin after Uther's death, his gut-deep and grief-driven feeling that magic was pure evil, and his chest began to ache.
"Damn it, Merlin," he hissed, grabbing at a boot. He yanked it on, thinking of the way Merlin had looked as he laid his hands on Arthur, and the brief flash of anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. Gaius had said Merlin had used much of his strength, so it appeared Merlin had nearly thrown away his life twice-over: once by showing his magic so blatantly, and again by giving all he had to heal Arthur. It was fortunate for him that the knights loved him as they did, or else Merlin's head might have been Arthur's recovery present, severed in Arthur's name.
"Idiot," Arthur muttered, viciously tugging at the second boot. An overwhelming desire to see Merlin thrummed in his blood. For a moment, he wondered if a part of Merlin's magic was in his blood, now, a part of him; the thought made him smile, out of nowhere, and he wiped the smile from his face with effort.
When he pushed open the tent flap, the area nearest the tent had been cleared, with the exception of a few knights, and Gaius -- who clearly was as bad at following commands as Merlin -- and Merlin, sitting on a log with Gwaine at his side.
Merlin looked dreadful. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He was without his neckerchief, and his shirt was loose and unlaced. His skin was ashen down into the line of his shirt, where it disappeared from Arthur's greedy gaze. A blanket lay half on Merlin, half on the log, and he clutched a steaming cup between his hands.
Gwaine's hand rested on Merlin's shoulder. He was speaking to Merlin, words so soft Arthur couldn't make them out. All Arthur could see, all he could focus on, was the way Merlin trembled, the sad look in his eye. He wanted his hands on Merlin, wanted to touch him as Gwaine touched him, to comfort him, to be sure he was well.
It was his responsibility to ensure Merlin was safe, but that did not account for the deep, possessive need to touch him -- a need he now tamped down firmly, with effort. He cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen," he said.
As one, the knights all rose -- all but Gwaine, whose hand went to the hilt of his sword, even as his eyes tracked Arthur's movements toward the fire.
"Sire," Leon said, and there was relief and joy in his voice as he reached out to clasp Arthur's hand. "It is good to see you on your feet."
He clasped hands in turn with Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival, their warm greetings cheering him, even though he could still see wary strain on their faces. Best to get that part of this over with, then.
When he turned to Merlin, Gwaine's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Arthur ignored it, and said softly, "Merlin. A word in my tent, if you please."
Merlin met his eyes, and Arthur nodded encouragement. Like an old man, Merlin seemed to gather himself, but Gwaine's hand on his shoulder was heavy, and Merlin turned questioning eyes to his friend.
"Perhaps you should have that word with him here," Gwaine said tightly. "Where he is safe. If you catch my meaning, sire."
"This is not your concern, Gwaine," Arthur said, more than willing to take up this challenge, if Gwaine pressed it.
Lancelot fixed him with the kind of hard stare Arthur was more accustomed to seeing from his father. It was disconcerting on Lancelot's gentle features. "Sire, I believe this is our mutual concern. You are my king, and I would gladly die for you, but let us face facts: you could order Merlin to his knees this moment in order to separate his head from his body, and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop you." Lancelot met his gaze steadily. "It would fall to us to intervene on his behalf, and I tell you now, with all due respect, that I could not allow you to harm him."
"Nor would I," Gwaine said, but he was far less calm than Lancelot. Fear and alarm were written all over his face; they blazed in his eyes with shocking intensity.
Arthur looked at each of the knights in turn, and last to Leon. Each wore identical expressions of wariness, coupled with worry.
"Sire," Elyan said gently, "Merlin has...well, that is, he...I believe he saved your life. We are in agreement that for this, Merlin should go free. No matter that...well, no matter."
I would never hurt him, Arthur wanted to say, and How could you think it of me, but the fact was - it was the law, a law he had never overturned, and had in fact embraced from the moment of his father's death. He had thought about Merlin's death himself, had turned over the gut-wrenching possibility of it and concluded that he could never take Merlin's life, though it was not something he had known until that moment. They were no less honest with him than he was with himself.
"Oh, for pity's sake, I'm not going to run him through," Arthur said, unable to keep the scorn from his voice, and winced to see the tension ease in Lancelot's shoulders. "You cannot seriously think Merlin is in any danger."
"Gwaine." Merlin's voice sounded from behind them, and Merlin pulled roughly on Gwaine's shoulder, making a space for himself between Gwaine and Arthur. "This isn't your affair. Or yours either, Lancelot. This was my choice, and I knew what I was doing." He leveled that cool blue stare on Arthur, swaying on his feet, and said, "Arthur, I have trusted you all these years to know what the right course of action is, and I won't stop now simply because it's my neck. You are my king, and I have served you faithfully, even...even in this," he said, and Arthur could hear the shadow of death underlying every word. "I submit to your judgment."
"Merlin, don't be daft," Gwaine hissed, but Merlin shook off his cautioning hand, his eyes only for Arthur.
Arthur gestured toward the tent. Steady on his feet now, Merlin nodded in assent, and disappeared into the tent. Arthur looked at each of the knights, tension flowing from them like water over stone.
"You have my word, I am not going to harm him." He met Gwaine's stare until Gwaine finally -- wisely -- bowed to Arthur's honor, and looked away. To Leon, Arthur said, "See that we are not disturbed. There is much to be said and decided here tonight, but it is between Merlin and me."
"Sire," Leon said, standing. "We are all very grateful you stand among us now."
"Thank you, Sir Leon." Arthur smiled, though his heart was not in it. His heart, in fact, was behind him, in the tent, waiting. "Thank you all."
"Sire," came the murmur of several voices in response.
Arthur turned, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the tent flap, tying it behind him.
In the half-light, a few candles guttered, their light nearly spent. Arthur did not trouble himself with them. Instead, he lit four new candles on a candelabra and set it on the great table, beside the sword Merlin had utterly failed to clean after the battle. The blade would have to be honed, and the metal examined for rust.
Arthur swallowed hard, thinking of the way Merlin's time had been occupied this night. He was a dreadful servant, but that was because he was in no way a servant at all.
Merlin knelt near the heavy chair which served as Arthur's throne when he was gone to battle. His head was bowed, and the fine trembling Arthur had observed in him was still there, but subdued, as if Merlin was working very hard to hide it. No doubt hiding things from Arthur, concealing them with every fiber of his being, was second nature to Merlin now. The idea of it, of being tricked and lied to, brought another brief wave of anger, but Arthur squashed it immediately. Arthur was no fool, and he could certainly understand why Merlin hadn't said anything to him while Uther was alive.
The fact that he had concealed the enormity of his power after Uther's death was a bit more troubling. With regret, Arthur thought of the soldiers Camelot had lost in its various battles, the dead and dying Merlin could have saved with a simple wave of his hand.
It was complicated, and Arthur knew it. For a moment, he tried to imagine what he would have said, if given the option to use magic to avert a battle, and found he was utterly without an answer. This in and of itself would seem to justify Merlin's decision not to tell him of his powers. If Arthur could not even be sure how he would have reacted, Merlin was right to have waited until such time as he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what reception this news would bring.
Merlin shivered, but was otherwise still under Arthur's measuring gaze.
Arthur's first instinct was to tell Merlin to get up, to face him, but he considered what Merlin was saying. It was not in the silence; it was in the fact of his silence, the offer of his neck. It was what Merlin had always done, thrown himself bodily at all the problems facing Arthur.
"Thank you," Arthur said. "For healing me."
Merlin flinched, and his flinch was like a blow to Arthur's face. He fought not to recoil, fixing his steady gaze instead on Merlin, on the arch of his back, the strength in his body, even given over in submission to Arthur's will. Merlin, who had never left Arthur's side in the most dangerous situations, even when ordered to do so.
"Don't you want to ask me?" Merlin's voice was soft, but there was a core of iron behind it.
"What is it you think I should ask you, Merlin?
"Whether I've ever used my magic on you."
My magic. Even said so casually, the words still sent a chill down Arthur's spine. Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "I already know the answer." Merlin's shoulders tensed then, impossibly tighter, so tight he seemed ready to shatter, despite his calm. "Given the way you harangue, insult, and argue with me, I should think it's very clear. Why would anyone waste that much time on words when you could just...." Arthur waggled his fingers in the air, aware Merlin could still see them, even though his head was down. "Obviously you relish telling me how wrong I am far more than you desire to convince me with magic."
Merlin nodded once, and exhaled softly. The tension in his shoulders didn't decrease; if anything, his shoulders rose closer to his ears. "Well, then, don't you want to make me swear my loyalty to you? Pledge my magic to your aid?"
Now it was Arthur's turn to sigh. He stepped closer, and then walked around Merlin, who didn't move. His sword caught his eye again, crusted with the blood of his enemies. Arthur moved away from it, left it where it was.
"And what is it you would swear, Merlin?" he asked. He crouched down behind Merlin, one knee on the ground for balance. "That you would give your life for mine? That your magic is mine to command?" He leaned in, close to Merlin's ear, and said softly, "I'm your king. I already know."
"Arthur," Merlin began, and quite suddenly Arthur had had enough. He knelt on the ground behind Merlin, close enough to slide his arms around him, one low across his belly, one high against his chest. Merlin startled, but made no move to pull away. Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of Merlin's neck, a trail of devotion where Merlin expected the sword to fall.
"You swore that oath to me the first time you offered yourself up in my place," he said, lips lingering on Merlin's skin, where goose bumps rose in the wake of his kisses. "And every time thereafter, when you threw yourself ridiculously into the path of enchantments, and beasts, and other dangers. You have given me all that you are." He tightened his arms around Merlin. "I have accepted it."
Merlin's next words were a whisper. "You know all this?"
"Give me some bit of credit," Arthur said. "Once I realized what power you possess, I understood what choices you have made to be by my side." He laid another gentle kiss to the nape of Merlin's neck, thrilling to the way Merlin's breath quickened at the touch of his lips. "I can't claim to understand it all, but you will tell me all of it, now. Won't you?"
"Anything," Merlin said fervently. "Anything, Arthur."
They were quiet together for long moments, king and sorcerer. Arthur simply held Merlin, binding him to Arthur with more than his arms around Merlin's body. The longing Arthur had felt, to know the strength of Merlin's body against his own, to touch him, to have him understand his importance to Arthur, began to ease with Merlin in his arms, even as the tremors in Merlin's body eased, and finally stopped altogether.
"This isn't how I pictured this going," Merlin said shakily, and Arthur laughed quietly into his shoulder.
"Do tell," he said, biting gently.
Merlin's hands crept back to Arthur's thighs, sliding along until he grasped there, and he leaned back into Arthur, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Arthur moved his hands to the laces of Merlin's breeches, separating them with a patience which brought the return of Merlin's small shivers, but for a different reason entirely, Arthur hoped.
"Is this what you want?" Arthur asked. His desire was a living thing inside him, caught up in the turmoil of revelation and gratitude and wonder, but Merlin's position must seem precarious to him, no matter the words Arthur chose or his reassurances. "Merlin, you must tell me; I cannot -- I won't--"
"Arthur," Merlin said, turning his head to nuzzle at Arthur's cheek. From there it was simple; Arthur met his lips, taking his mouth in a slow, deep kiss.
When he curled his fingers around Merlin's cock, Merlin arched back against him, twisting to allow him closer access.
"This I swear to you," Arthur said, his hand moving faster on Merlin's cock. "No harm shall ever come to you by my hand." Merlin drew in a breath, writhing against Arthur. "While I am king, none shall harm you; you need never fear persecution for your magic."
"Arthur," Merlin said again, so much reverence in the word, and Arthur buried his face in Merlin's hair, pressed against him, body to body. He was blindingly hard; he was close, only from the sensation of Merlin's skin, his cock in Arthur's hand, his trust in Arthur.
"I need no oath to bind you to me," Arthur whispered. "I have been in your keeping all along; I simply was too foolish to understand." He slowed the motion of his hand, tightening his grip, allowing and welcoming the small thrill of possessiveness it brought. "Now you are in my keeping as well."
One more rough stroke, and Merlin threw his head back with a sharp cry, his release coating Arthur's hand. Arthur soothed him through it, nudged at his cheek until Merlin turned his head for more of Arthur's kisses, more gentle this time, expressive in all the ways Arthur's words would never be.
They rested together for a moment, until Merlin began trying to turn in Arthur's arms, his hands reaching. Arthur shook his head; his body was not yet ready, it seemed, and though he was still hard, he wanted sleep most of all -- sleep, and Merlin close at hand. Release would be all the sweeter when he could properly enjoy it, when he could take the time to learn Merlin's body, and allow Merlin to learn his.
There was so much Arthur wanted to know, to share, and that would be just the starting point.
With reluctance, he sat back from Merlin, then rose to his feet. Merlin stood up beside him, like his shadow, and this time, when he reached for Arthur's tunic, Arthur allowed it. Cool air met his skin as Merlin efficiently stripped the tunic from him, his eyes trained on the new pink scar covering most of Arthur's side and belly. His fingers traced it, earning a sharp intake of breath from Arthur; heat from Merlin's touch suffused Arthur's entire body, and a fresh wave of desire followed it.
"When I am rested," he whispered, taking Merlin's mouth again in a deep kiss, "we will have the pleasure of each other, if you wish it."
"I do," Merlin said, his eyes glittering as he met Arthur's gaze.
In turn, Arthur stripped Merlin's tunic off, wiping his hands on it before tossing it aside. "Into bed," he said, pointing.
"I should change the sheets," Merlin said, and Arthur laughed.
"You will have more important things to concern yourself with," he said, brushing his thumbs over the shadows beneath Merlin's eyes. "Sleep, first. We ride for home in the morning. And then there are things we should resolve."
Merlin nodded, but the light in his eyes was bright with its own joy, every time he glanced sidelong at Arthur. Arthur found smiles creeping across his face, unexpected, at each furtive glance. Merlin clambered into the narrow bed, and Arthur fit himself against Merlin, wrapping his arms around Merlin just to be certain neither of them fell onto the hard ground.
"You've been piss-poor at following my commands, you know," Arthur murmured, running one hand up and down Merlin's arm. "You'll have to improve, if you're to be Camelot's first authorized magic user during my reign. You will be fully in the king's service."
Merlin made a sound halfway between a snort and a cough. "Well," he said. "I can try."
"You'll do more than try." Arthur sighed. "Let's begin with something simple. You are never again to put your life in danger to save mine as you did this night. The loss of your life is not an acceptable cost."
"I didn't really think I would die," Merlin said softly. "I just wasn't certain if I had enough power to heal you. I've tried before, you know." Arthur shivered, thinking about when that might have been; he couldn't quite bring himself to ask. Not yet. "Magic demands an equal exchange - a life for a life, a death for a death. An equivalent amount of energy. I just wasn't sure how much I had to give you, or if it would be enough." Merlin paused, and added, "I'm much more powerful than I was when I first came to Camelot. I'm glad what I had to give you was enough."
Arthur stroked his hand down Merlin's back, wondering about the power thrumming under his skin -- how much of it there was, and just how powerful Merlin might truly be. Merlin's explanation had brought a fresh flood of questions and curiosities, but Arthur's eyelids were growing heavy. "There's so much I don't know about you," he said, "and about your magic."
Merlin nodded against his chest. His hand splayed across Arthur's stomach, light as a feather, and so warm. "This is not what I expected of you," he said, a quiet confession.
Arthur curled his fingers around Merlin's arm, holding him close. "I am the king you have helped make of me," he said, and uncomplicated happiness threaded through him at the feel of Merlin's smile against his shoulder.
**
Morning came all too quickly, battering at Arthur in ways he had always found difficult to appreciate. His loathing of the early hour was tempered, however, by Merlin's warmth pressed against him, and his delight in waking Merlin with slow, deliberate kisses, until Merlin gasped against him, fingers curling around Arthur's shoulder.
"I might have thought this was a dream," Merlin murmured, as Arthur tugged him closer. The color had returned to Merlin's cheeks, and his eyes were bright again.
"Do you dream of me often, then?" Arthur asked, grinning when Merlin rolled his eyes.
"Your arrogance, majesty, is unsurpassed by any in the kingdom."
"Now, now. It's very early in the day for such blatant insolence." Arthur released Merlin with one last lingering kiss and sat up, patting at his stomach. It did still feel like much of the last two days had passed in some sort of feverish nightmare, except for those moments the night before when he had held Merlin in his arms, felt his passion spend against his fingers. Only that, and finding Merlin at his side in the morning light, felt real. "The very moment we set foot inside the castle, I will need a bath."
Merlin sat up behind him, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. "I completely agree," he said, sniffing at him as though he were a particularly nasty bit of laundry. "A good scrubbing will do you wonders."
Arthur laughed, surprised by the sheer joy in his heart. Even with the weight of all the unspoken words, the undisclosed secrets still to be shared -- for he had not forgotten any of that -- this morning seemed less burdensome than most others since he had become king. Perhaps it was Merlin's arm slung carelessly around his chest, or his lips touching Arthur's shoulder, to press smiling kisses there.
"Come on," Arthur said, disengaging from that tempting hold. "We'd best be getting to it. We'll need to break camp immediately if we are to set out for home today."
"True." Merlin rolled off the bed and stood watching Arthur for a moment, then set about getting a fresh tunic and hose for him. He laid them out efficiently, long years of practice behind him, and Arthur dressed as if it were a normal day. All the while, he stole glances at Merlin's rumpled tunic, at his stained breeches, and smiles threatened to creep across the entirety of his face, ruining his stoic and kingly demeanor.
"You are a terrible influence," he informed Merlin, when Merlin laced up his trousers with wandering fingers.
"Haven't I always been, sire?" Merlin asked innocently, stealing a kiss before helping Arthur into his chain mail.
When they parted the tent flap and emerged into the early morning light, they found Gwaine standing only a few feet from the tent, still in his mail, sword at the ready. He immediately moved to Merlin's side, eyes raking him head to toe, as if expecting to see him the worse for the wear after a night in Arthur's company. It made Arthur bristle a bit.
"Sire," Gwaine said to Arthur, without even looking at him; his tone was less than respectful. To Merlin, he said in an entirely different tone, "You're all right, then?"
"All right," Merlin affirmed, giving him a brilliant smile.
Gwaine sighed out a long breath, and something twisted inside Arthur, something possessive and ugly he hadn't even known he'd been ignoring. He forced it to silence as he looked between Gwaine and Merlin. Whatever they had shared, he knew Merlin well enough to be quite certain it was at an end, now.
"Sir Gwaine," Arthur said, commanding his knight's attention. "Those matters we discussed...there won't be any need for your oversight of them any longer."
"Sire," Gwaine said, bowing his head, and this time, his tone was entirely respectful. He flashed a grin at Merlin, who was looking at Arthur with deep suspicion, and said, "By your leave."
Arthur nodded, and Gwaine moved off toward his fellow knights, who unlike Gwaine were a respectful distance away.
"Arthur," Merlin said, in a dangerous manner. "Did you auction me off like a horse to the highest bidder?"
"Of course not," Arthur said. "I merely provided for your care."
Merlin's stare blazed hot on Arthur's skin. "You can't be rid of me that easily, you know."
"Oh, believe me, I know." Arthur turned and leveled a stare of his own on Merlin, one so intense that a slow blush began creeping up Merlin's pale skin, reaching all the way to his ears. With a satisfied smile, Arthur turned away toward the cook's tent. Breakfast beckoned, and he was famished.
The business of dismantling camp was a complicated one, but surprisingly quick. The tents and supplies were loaded into carts and sent ahead by late morning, and most of the knights were mounted and ready to depart in caravan. Arthur walked down the line at a leisurely pace to the cheers and applause of his men. It was good to hear, and good to be capable of the simple act of shaking their hands. He felt alive in ways he had never been before, filled with hope for the future.
The Escetian prisoners had been bound together by rope and chain, and were to walk back to Camelot. It was not what Arthur would have preferred, but they lacked sufficient horses, and there were not enough carts to carry the wounded along with the prisoners. Arthur made his way among them, speaking to each of the knights who guarded them in turn. It was his intention that they should not be mistreated. Camelot had shown enough cruelty under its previous king.
Even now, thinking of it pained Arthur in ways his wound never could have, but he was definitively not like Uther, and he would not leave a trail of Escetian dead behind him as a harbinger of his reign.
"Sire," came a voice to his left. Arthur turned and saw the Escetian healer there, the one who had given Arthur a death sentence. Arthur nodded to him, and felt Merlin move closer to him, at his shoulder.
"Physician."
"You seem to be remarkably robust," the healer said, assessing Arthur's posture and manner with a practiced, narrowed eye.
"The court physician of Camelot is a miracle worker, it is true," Arthur said affably. "You should not be too hard on yourself, healer. There are few who possess our physician's skill."
"It is enviable skill, indeed." The healer glanced at Merlin, and then back to Arthur. "I wonder what to make of it."
Arthur regarded him for a moment, then turned to glance at Merlin. He could not have said what he intended, when he met Merlin's eyes; only that perfect understanding passed between them, and in the next moment, Merlin's eyes flashed a molten gold, and the Escetian gasped.
"Make of it what you will," Arthur said, and with another nod, moved on into the crowd of prisoners, looking them over until he was well satisfied with their treatment.
"I'm not sure that was wise," Merlin said, his arm brushing against Arthur's.
"Perhaps not," Arthur said. "Perhaps he will keep it to himself, or perhaps he will tell others, and the word will spread that King Arthur has a sorcerer at his side. Perhaps no one will even believe him."
"Perhaps," Merlin said, his fingers curling around Arthur's in the briefest of touches. The corner of his lip turned upward in a knowing smile.
For the rest of the morning, Merlin busied himself with seeing to the knights and their squires, as had been his custom since Arthur became king. Arthur took advantage of the opportunity to pull Leon aside for a private chat. "Ensure there is always a knight assigned to Merlin, to shadow his every move," he said, eyeing Merlin as he moved among the squires, laughing in an unbearably endearing way. "He is prone to wandering off to put his life in jeopardy. At the very least, I want to hear about it the moment he goes off on his own."
"I doubt he needs protection, sire," Leon said, no tiny amount of awe in his voice.
"True enough," Arthur said, watching as Merlin tripped over his own pack. "But I feel compelled to provide it anyway. It will ease my mind."
"Yes, sire," Leon said, grinning at him in such a way that Arthur knew all was back to normal.
They made ready to depart as the sun was at its zenith in the sky, and Arthur mounted his horse at the head of the column. Lancelot rode forward to his left side, leaving room for Merlin at the right.
"Sire," Lancelot said, nodded. Arthur returned his nod. "Regarding our discussion last night...I understand if you no longer feel as you did then."
"I assure you, Lancelot, nothing has changed." Arthur took a private pleasure in the way Lancelot's face transformed from wary resignation to open hopefulness.
"If you mean it, sire...."
"I do."
"She will not be unhappy," Lancelot said, a promise of sorts, Arthur imagined.
"See that she is not." Arthur reached out a hand, and Lancelot clasped it tightly. There was bittersweet trust in the sealing of such a promise, for Arthur. There would be conversations yet to come with Guinevere, and explanations Arthur was not yet fully prepared to articulate. But in his heart, he was sure this was the just course. Second chances were remarkably enlightening.
Soon enough, they were on the road, and Arthur sighed with relief at being underway at last. Merlin rode beside him as they traveled, and Arthur made no attempt to stop himself from watching, from wanting; he let his eyes rake over Merlin, let Merlin see everything he felt. For his part, Merlin ducked a wayward tree branch only to collide with another, and nearly unseated himself from his horse while blatantly undressing Arthur with his eyes. Powerful sorcerer, indeed.
Arthur's laughter was long and loud, and the quizzical looks Leon and Lancelot sent his way were more than worth it.
They were within an hour's ride of the citadel when it began to rain, the sky breaking open and unleashing a downpour on the spur of the moment. Arthur blinked up at the sky, which seemed determined to drown them all in the brief distance between the road and a warm bed.
"Shame, isn't it," Merlin said, and when Arthur glanced at him, Merlin's eyes glowed gold like the sun, and the rain seemed to draw back from them, clearing the way for the entire retinue.
Arthur held his breath as the gold retreated from Merlin's eyes, and they returned to a stunning sky blue as gentle rain fell all around them, never touching them.
They rode on toward Camelot. Toward home.
end
In thy face I see
The map of honor, truth and loyalty.
- Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part II
Arthur/Merlin, 12,700 words, canon-era, hurt/comfort, adult
See part one for summary and notes.
He dreamed.
From deep beneath the waters, he rose, striving toward shore, until he emerged onto land. The world was still around him, no birdsong, no breeze to bend the trees. All was quiet, as if Camelot was listening.
Waiting.
Above, the sky was full of sooty clouds curling up toward the heavens. Their edges were tipped with orange, like the breath of a dragon. Beneath the darkened clouds, golden light shimmered like molten metal, bright and beautiful, the color of magic in Merlin's eyes.
Arthur climbed toward the light, over gentle hills, across rolling country, and eventually he came to a valley bathed in warmth. Merlin stood there, smiling, not as Arthur had always known him, but a bit older - still slender, but clad in finer clothing, with a hint of a beard.
"Just like you, to make me search for you," Arthur said crossly, one hand at the hilt of his sword.
Merlin's eyes flicked to the sword, then back to Arthur, and gold began to fill the blue of his gaze. "Just like you, to bring a sword everywhere, even here."
"Well, I could hardly leave it in the lake, now could I?" Arthur ran his hand across the hilt, and listened to its song in his blood. It was a curious sort of sword. Probably enchanted. That was the kind of day Arthur seemed to be having. But it was a very nice sword, and he didn't especially want to give it back.
"This is the journey up," Merlin said. The way he was looking at Arthur took his breath away, fondness and adoration and power, all inclusive, like the most familiar stranger Arthur had ever met. "The journey back to me. You are meant to go before me to Avalon, my king, but not now. Not yet."
"I don't suppose I can keep the sword, can I?"
"All things in their time," Merlin said, his smile brighter than the liquid sky above them.
Arthur jolted from the dream with a gasp, looking wildly about for Merlin. Where he expected Merlin to be, Gaius stood, watching Arthur with a guarded expression.
With both hands, Arthur reached down to his stomach and tore at the bandages.
"Sire," Gaius began, but Arthur ignored him, because he had reached healthy pink skin where the gaping wound should be. He could still feel the sensation of Merlin's hands on him, and Merlin's magic winding its way through him, saving him.
When he met Gaius's eyes, the old physician lifted his chin and said, "I did arrive rather late, sire. Perhaps the wound was not as serious as your men believed. I--"
"Gaius," Arthur said. Only his name, and nothing more; the tone was its own warning.
Gaius bowed his head and waited.
Arthur sat up, then stood. He got his legs under him, testing for pain, for weakness. Other than a lingering dizziness, he felt fine -- refreshed, as if he'd just emerged from a long overdue nap. He pressed a hand to his side, remembering the agony there just a day ago.
Remembering Merlin's gentle hands, and dreams of fire.
A fierce gladness spread through him at the idea of Merlin's touch, the idea of being with Merlin. It had seemed so impossible the night before, but now anything seemed possible, the world opening up before him. The sheer happiness of being alive, of being without pain, of knowing he could act on all the things he'd held back before -- it was overwhelming.
Even more astonishing was the fact that he owed his second chance at life to Merlin.
Reality settled over him like a smothering cloak, and his happiness dimmed as Arthur remembered Merlin's hands crackling with energy, the blue light surrounding him. Merlin, a sorcerer -- one with enough power to heal a dying man and restore him to full health in a matter of hours. It hardly seemed possible, and yet it was clearly true.
Had Gaius known? Arthur considered it, and knew immediately that he had to have been aware, perhaps the entirety of the time Merlin had been his assistant. But if he had not -- well, perhaps it was best if he could continue to have deniability. Best for Merlin, in particular.
Gaius was watching him with sad eyes, and Arthur couldn't bear it. He suspected it was only a taste of what awaited him. "Where is Merlin?" he asked.
"He is outside, sire, with your knights."
Arthur recalled the shouting outside the tent as Merlin was healing him, and his stomach sank. "With the...have they hurt him?" Arthur demanded, reaching for his tunic.
"No, sire. Quite the contrary; they have taken care of him. He is..." Arthur looked at Gaius intently, until Gaius finally said, "It took a great deal of his strength, tending to you."
"Tending to me," Arthur repeated softly. The words did not begin to encompass what Merlin had done. A thousand questions were running through Arthur's mind, a thousand directions to take, but first he had to show himself, and see to Merlin.
"Gaius, is there a tent for you?" he asked.
"Yes, sire."
"Go there, then, and I wish you a good evening. And make sure I am not disturbed by the men. I know they must be anxious to know my condition, but I will be out in a moment."
Gaius inclined his head. When he pushed open the tent flap, Arthur looked out and saw the glint of fire on metal - knights, clustered about the fire. Gaius spoke softly to them, and a murmur went up, then quieted again.
No one entered the tent.
Arthur tugged his tunic on gingerly, expecting the wound to pull, but there was no pain. It was as if the injury had never happened. This could not be explained away; the Escetian physician had seen the extent of it. Arthur would have to play at being less fit than he was, until such time as that fiction could be dissolved with the healing power of time on the body.
He rummaged until he found a pair of breeches, and pulled them on, fixated now on Merlin, and the extent of his power. He could think of a dozen different times he now suspected Merlin had had a hand in protecting him, or others within the court. Astonishingly, Merlin had never revealed himself, until now. He had been so careful, and now all the knights knew. It would be nearly impossible to conceal what Merlin was now, or to protect his secret. The laws of Camelot were clear. Arthur had been enforcing them all his life.
With a moment of supreme clarity, Arthur realized the direction of his thoughts. He had already accepted Merlin, as he was -- all questions about the extent of his power were beside the point. His decision about Merlin's fate was already made.
Even more to the point, Arthur was the damned king, and he could bloody well shout Merlin's secret to the entire world if he wished. Uther was dead; the only strictures on magic were those he had put in place. They were not Arthur's laws. No one would enforce them, if Arthur did not.
Merlin, however, had no way of knowing what Arthur would do to him for using his magic, and had thrown his life into Arthur's hands regardless, thinking only of Arthur's well-being and not his own. For one agonizing moment, Arthur thought of his pronouncement to Merlin after Uther's death, his gut-deep and grief-driven feeling that magic was pure evil, and his chest began to ache.
"Damn it, Merlin," he hissed, grabbing at a boot. He yanked it on, thinking of the way Merlin had looked as he laid his hands on Arthur, and the brief flash of anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. Gaius had said Merlin had used much of his strength, so it appeared Merlin had nearly thrown away his life twice-over: once by showing his magic so blatantly, and again by giving all he had to heal Arthur. It was fortunate for him that the knights loved him as they did, or else Merlin's head might have been Arthur's recovery present, severed in Arthur's name.
"Idiot," Arthur muttered, viciously tugging at the second boot. An overwhelming desire to see Merlin thrummed in his blood. For a moment, he wondered if a part of Merlin's magic was in his blood, now, a part of him; the thought made him smile, out of nowhere, and he wiped the smile from his face with effort.
When he pushed open the tent flap, the area nearest the tent had been cleared, with the exception of a few knights, and Gaius -- who clearly was as bad at following commands as Merlin -- and Merlin, sitting on a log with Gwaine at his side.
Merlin looked dreadful. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He was without his neckerchief, and his shirt was loose and unlaced. His skin was ashen down into the line of his shirt, where it disappeared from Arthur's greedy gaze. A blanket lay half on Merlin, half on the log, and he clutched a steaming cup between his hands.
Gwaine's hand rested on Merlin's shoulder. He was speaking to Merlin, words so soft Arthur couldn't make them out. All Arthur could see, all he could focus on, was the way Merlin trembled, the sad look in his eye. He wanted his hands on Merlin, wanted to touch him as Gwaine touched him, to comfort him, to be sure he was well.
It was his responsibility to ensure Merlin was safe, but that did not account for the deep, possessive need to touch him -- a need he now tamped down firmly, with effort. He cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen," he said.
As one, the knights all rose -- all but Gwaine, whose hand went to the hilt of his sword, even as his eyes tracked Arthur's movements toward the fire.
"Sire," Leon said, and there was relief and joy in his voice as he reached out to clasp Arthur's hand. "It is good to see you on your feet."
He clasped hands in turn with Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival, their warm greetings cheering him, even though he could still see wary strain on their faces. Best to get that part of this over with, then.
When he turned to Merlin, Gwaine's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Arthur ignored it, and said softly, "Merlin. A word in my tent, if you please."
Merlin met his eyes, and Arthur nodded encouragement. Like an old man, Merlin seemed to gather himself, but Gwaine's hand on his shoulder was heavy, and Merlin turned questioning eyes to his friend.
"Perhaps you should have that word with him here," Gwaine said tightly. "Where he is safe. If you catch my meaning, sire."
"This is not your concern, Gwaine," Arthur said, more than willing to take up this challenge, if Gwaine pressed it.
Lancelot fixed him with the kind of hard stare Arthur was more accustomed to seeing from his father. It was disconcerting on Lancelot's gentle features. "Sire, I believe this is our mutual concern. You are my king, and I would gladly die for you, but let us face facts: you could order Merlin to his knees this moment in order to separate his head from his body, and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop you." Lancelot met his gaze steadily. "It would fall to us to intervene on his behalf, and I tell you now, with all due respect, that I could not allow you to harm him."
"Nor would I," Gwaine said, but he was far less calm than Lancelot. Fear and alarm were written all over his face; they blazed in his eyes with shocking intensity.
Arthur looked at each of the knights in turn, and last to Leon. Each wore identical expressions of wariness, coupled with worry.
"Sire," Elyan said gently, "Merlin has...well, that is, he...I believe he saved your life. We are in agreement that for this, Merlin should go free. No matter that...well, no matter."
I would never hurt him, Arthur wanted to say, and How could you think it of me, but the fact was - it was the law, a law he had never overturned, and had in fact embraced from the moment of his father's death. He had thought about Merlin's death himself, had turned over the gut-wrenching possibility of it and concluded that he could never take Merlin's life, though it was not something he had known until that moment. They were no less honest with him than he was with himself.
"Oh, for pity's sake, I'm not going to run him through," Arthur said, unable to keep the scorn from his voice, and winced to see the tension ease in Lancelot's shoulders. "You cannot seriously think Merlin is in any danger."
"Gwaine." Merlin's voice sounded from behind them, and Merlin pulled roughly on Gwaine's shoulder, making a space for himself between Gwaine and Arthur. "This isn't your affair. Or yours either, Lancelot. This was my choice, and I knew what I was doing." He leveled that cool blue stare on Arthur, swaying on his feet, and said, "Arthur, I have trusted you all these years to know what the right course of action is, and I won't stop now simply because it's my neck. You are my king, and I have served you faithfully, even...even in this," he said, and Arthur could hear the shadow of death underlying every word. "I submit to your judgment."
"Merlin, don't be daft," Gwaine hissed, but Merlin shook off his cautioning hand, his eyes only for Arthur.
Arthur gestured toward the tent. Steady on his feet now, Merlin nodded in assent, and disappeared into the tent. Arthur looked at each of the knights, tension flowing from them like water over stone.
"You have my word, I am not going to harm him." He met Gwaine's stare until Gwaine finally -- wisely -- bowed to Arthur's honor, and looked away. To Leon, Arthur said, "See that we are not disturbed. There is much to be said and decided here tonight, but it is between Merlin and me."
"Sire," Leon said, standing. "We are all very grateful you stand among us now."
"Thank you, Sir Leon." Arthur smiled, though his heart was not in it. His heart, in fact, was behind him, in the tent, waiting. "Thank you all."
"Sire," came the murmur of several voices in response.
Arthur turned, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the tent flap, tying it behind him.
In the half-light, a few candles guttered, their light nearly spent. Arthur did not trouble himself with them. Instead, he lit four new candles on a candelabra and set it on the great table, beside the sword Merlin had utterly failed to clean after the battle. The blade would have to be honed, and the metal examined for rust.
Arthur swallowed hard, thinking of the way Merlin's time had been occupied this night. He was a dreadful servant, but that was because he was in no way a servant at all.
Merlin knelt near the heavy chair which served as Arthur's throne when he was gone to battle. His head was bowed, and the fine trembling Arthur had observed in him was still there, but subdued, as if Merlin was working very hard to hide it. No doubt hiding things from Arthur, concealing them with every fiber of his being, was second nature to Merlin now. The idea of it, of being tricked and lied to, brought another brief wave of anger, but Arthur squashed it immediately. Arthur was no fool, and he could certainly understand why Merlin hadn't said anything to him while Uther was alive.
The fact that he had concealed the enormity of his power after Uther's death was a bit more troubling. With regret, Arthur thought of the soldiers Camelot had lost in its various battles, the dead and dying Merlin could have saved with a simple wave of his hand.
It was complicated, and Arthur knew it. For a moment, he tried to imagine what he would have said, if given the option to use magic to avert a battle, and found he was utterly without an answer. This in and of itself would seem to justify Merlin's decision not to tell him of his powers. If Arthur could not even be sure how he would have reacted, Merlin was right to have waited until such time as he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what reception this news would bring.
Merlin shivered, but was otherwise still under Arthur's measuring gaze.
Arthur's first instinct was to tell Merlin to get up, to face him, but he considered what Merlin was saying. It was not in the silence; it was in the fact of his silence, the offer of his neck. It was what Merlin had always done, thrown himself bodily at all the problems facing Arthur.
"Thank you," Arthur said. "For healing me."
Merlin flinched, and his flinch was like a blow to Arthur's face. He fought not to recoil, fixing his steady gaze instead on Merlin, on the arch of his back, the strength in his body, even given over in submission to Arthur's will. Merlin, who had never left Arthur's side in the most dangerous situations, even when ordered to do so.
"Don't you want to ask me?" Merlin's voice was soft, but there was a core of iron behind it.
"What is it you think I should ask you, Merlin?
"Whether I've ever used my magic on you."
My magic. Even said so casually, the words still sent a chill down Arthur's spine. Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "I already know the answer." Merlin's shoulders tensed then, impossibly tighter, so tight he seemed ready to shatter, despite his calm. "Given the way you harangue, insult, and argue with me, I should think it's very clear. Why would anyone waste that much time on words when you could just...." Arthur waggled his fingers in the air, aware Merlin could still see them, even though his head was down. "Obviously you relish telling me how wrong I am far more than you desire to convince me with magic."
Merlin nodded once, and exhaled softly. The tension in his shoulders didn't decrease; if anything, his shoulders rose closer to his ears. "Well, then, don't you want to make me swear my loyalty to you? Pledge my magic to your aid?"
Now it was Arthur's turn to sigh. He stepped closer, and then walked around Merlin, who didn't move. His sword caught his eye again, crusted with the blood of his enemies. Arthur moved away from it, left it where it was.
"And what is it you would swear, Merlin?" he asked. He crouched down behind Merlin, one knee on the ground for balance. "That you would give your life for mine? That your magic is mine to command?" He leaned in, close to Merlin's ear, and said softly, "I'm your king. I already know."
"Arthur," Merlin began, and quite suddenly Arthur had had enough. He knelt on the ground behind Merlin, close enough to slide his arms around him, one low across his belly, one high against his chest. Merlin startled, but made no move to pull away. Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of Merlin's neck, a trail of devotion where Merlin expected the sword to fall.
"You swore that oath to me the first time you offered yourself up in my place," he said, lips lingering on Merlin's skin, where goose bumps rose in the wake of his kisses. "And every time thereafter, when you threw yourself ridiculously into the path of enchantments, and beasts, and other dangers. You have given me all that you are." He tightened his arms around Merlin. "I have accepted it."
Merlin's next words were a whisper. "You know all this?"
"Give me some bit of credit," Arthur said. "Once I realized what power you possess, I understood what choices you have made to be by my side." He laid another gentle kiss to the nape of Merlin's neck, thrilling to the way Merlin's breath quickened at the touch of his lips. "I can't claim to understand it all, but you will tell me all of it, now. Won't you?"
"Anything," Merlin said fervently. "Anything, Arthur."
They were quiet together for long moments, king and sorcerer. Arthur simply held Merlin, binding him to Arthur with more than his arms around Merlin's body. The longing Arthur had felt, to know the strength of Merlin's body against his own, to touch him, to have him understand his importance to Arthur, began to ease with Merlin in his arms, even as the tremors in Merlin's body eased, and finally stopped altogether.
"This isn't how I pictured this going," Merlin said shakily, and Arthur laughed quietly into his shoulder.
"Do tell," he said, biting gently.
Merlin's hands crept back to Arthur's thighs, sliding along until he grasped there, and he leaned back into Arthur, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Arthur moved his hands to the laces of Merlin's breeches, separating them with a patience which brought the return of Merlin's small shivers, but for a different reason entirely, Arthur hoped.
"Is this what you want?" Arthur asked. His desire was a living thing inside him, caught up in the turmoil of revelation and gratitude and wonder, but Merlin's position must seem precarious to him, no matter the words Arthur chose or his reassurances. "Merlin, you must tell me; I cannot -- I won't--"
"Arthur," Merlin said, turning his head to nuzzle at Arthur's cheek. From there it was simple; Arthur met his lips, taking his mouth in a slow, deep kiss.
When he curled his fingers around Merlin's cock, Merlin arched back against him, twisting to allow him closer access.
"This I swear to you," Arthur said, his hand moving faster on Merlin's cock. "No harm shall ever come to you by my hand." Merlin drew in a breath, writhing against Arthur. "While I am king, none shall harm you; you need never fear persecution for your magic."
"Arthur," Merlin said again, so much reverence in the word, and Arthur buried his face in Merlin's hair, pressed against him, body to body. He was blindingly hard; he was close, only from the sensation of Merlin's skin, his cock in Arthur's hand, his trust in Arthur.
"I need no oath to bind you to me," Arthur whispered. "I have been in your keeping all along; I simply was too foolish to understand." He slowed the motion of his hand, tightening his grip, allowing and welcoming the small thrill of possessiveness it brought. "Now you are in my keeping as well."
One more rough stroke, and Merlin threw his head back with a sharp cry, his release coating Arthur's hand. Arthur soothed him through it, nudged at his cheek until Merlin turned his head for more of Arthur's kisses, more gentle this time, expressive in all the ways Arthur's words would never be.
They rested together for a moment, until Merlin began trying to turn in Arthur's arms, his hands reaching. Arthur shook his head; his body was not yet ready, it seemed, and though he was still hard, he wanted sleep most of all -- sleep, and Merlin close at hand. Release would be all the sweeter when he could properly enjoy it, when he could take the time to learn Merlin's body, and allow Merlin to learn his.
There was so much Arthur wanted to know, to share, and that would be just the starting point.
With reluctance, he sat back from Merlin, then rose to his feet. Merlin stood up beside him, like his shadow, and this time, when he reached for Arthur's tunic, Arthur allowed it. Cool air met his skin as Merlin efficiently stripped the tunic from him, his eyes trained on the new pink scar covering most of Arthur's side and belly. His fingers traced it, earning a sharp intake of breath from Arthur; heat from Merlin's touch suffused Arthur's entire body, and a fresh wave of desire followed it.
"When I am rested," he whispered, taking Merlin's mouth again in a deep kiss, "we will have the pleasure of each other, if you wish it."
"I do," Merlin said, his eyes glittering as he met Arthur's gaze.
In turn, Arthur stripped Merlin's tunic off, wiping his hands on it before tossing it aside. "Into bed," he said, pointing.
"I should change the sheets," Merlin said, and Arthur laughed.
"You will have more important things to concern yourself with," he said, brushing his thumbs over the shadows beneath Merlin's eyes. "Sleep, first. We ride for home in the morning. And then there are things we should resolve."
Merlin nodded, but the light in his eyes was bright with its own joy, every time he glanced sidelong at Arthur. Arthur found smiles creeping across his face, unexpected, at each furtive glance. Merlin clambered into the narrow bed, and Arthur fit himself against Merlin, wrapping his arms around Merlin just to be certain neither of them fell onto the hard ground.
"You've been piss-poor at following my commands, you know," Arthur murmured, running one hand up and down Merlin's arm. "You'll have to improve, if you're to be Camelot's first authorized magic user during my reign. You will be fully in the king's service."
Merlin made a sound halfway between a snort and a cough. "Well," he said. "I can try."
"You'll do more than try." Arthur sighed. "Let's begin with something simple. You are never again to put your life in danger to save mine as you did this night. The loss of your life is not an acceptable cost."
"I didn't really think I would die," Merlin said softly. "I just wasn't certain if I had enough power to heal you. I've tried before, you know." Arthur shivered, thinking about when that might have been; he couldn't quite bring himself to ask. Not yet. "Magic demands an equal exchange - a life for a life, a death for a death. An equivalent amount of energy. I just wasn't sure how much I had to give you, or if it would be enough." Merlin paused, and added, "I'm much more powerful than I was when I first came to Camelot. I'm glad what I had to give you was enough."
Arthur stroked his hand down Merlin's back, wondering about the power thrumming under his skin -- how much of it there was, and just how powerful Merlin might truly be. Merlin's explanation had brought a fresh flood of questions and curiosities, but Arthur's eyelids were growing heavy. "There's so much I don't know about you," he said, "and about your magic."
Merlin nodded against his chest. His hand splayed across Arthur's stomach, light as a feather, and so warm. "This is not what I expected of you," he said, a quiet confession.
Arthur curled his fingers around Merlin's arm, holding him close. "I am the king you have helped make of me," he said, and uncomplicated happiness threaded through him at the feel of Merlin's smile against his shoulder.
**
Morning came all too quickly, battering at Arthur in ways he had always found difficult to appreciate. His loathing of the early hour was tempered, however, by Merlin's warmth pressed against him, and his delight in waking Merlin with slow, deliberate kisses, until Merlin gasped against him, fingers curling around Arthur's shoulder.
"I might have thought this was a dream," Merlin murmured, as Arthur tugged him closer. The color had returned to Merlin's cheeks, and his eyes were bright again.
"Do you dream of me often, then?" Arthur asked, grinning when Merlin rolled his eyes.
"Your arrogance, majesty, is unsurpassed by any in the kingdom."
"Now, now. It's very early in the day for such blatant insolence." Arthur released Merlin with one last lingering kiss and sat up, patting at his stomach. It did still feel like much of the last two days had passed in some sort of feverish nightmare, except for those moments the night before when he had held Merlin in his arms, felt his passion spend against his fingers. Only that, and finding Merlin at his side in the morning light, felt real. "The very moment we set foot inside the castle, I will need a bath."
Merlin sat up behind him, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. "I completely agree," he said, sniffing at him as though he were a particularly nasty bit of laundry. "A good scrubbing will do you wonders."
Arthur laughed, surprised by the sheer joy in his heart. Even with the weight of all the unspoken words, the undisclosed secrets still to be shared -- for he had not forgotten any of that -- this morning seemed less burdensome than most others since he had become king. Perhaps it was Merlin's arm slung carelessly around his chest, or his lips touching Arthur's shoulder, to press smiling kisses there.
"Come on," Arthur said, disengaging from that tempting hold. "We'd best be getting to it. We'll need to break camp immediately if we are to set out for home today."
"True." Merlin rolled off the bed and stood watching Arthur for a moment, then set about getting a fresh tunic and hose for him. He laid them out efficiently, long years of practice behind him, and Arthur dressed as if it were a normal day. All the while, he stole glances at Merlin's rumpled tunic, at his stained breeches, and smiles threatened to creep across the entirety of his face, ruining his stoic and kingly demeanor.
"You are a terrible influence," he informed Merlin, when Merlin laced up his trousers with wandering fingers.
"Haven't I always been, sire?" Merlin asked innocently, stealing a kiss before helping Arthur into his chain mail.
When they parted the tent flap and emerged into the early morning light, they found Gwaine standing only a few feet from the tent, still in his mail, sword at the ready. He immediately moved to Merlin's side, eyes raking him head to toe, as if expecting to see him the worse for the wear after a night in Arthur's company. It made Arthur bristle a bit.
"Sire," Gwaine said to Arthur, without even looking at him; his tone was less than respectful. To Merlin, he said in an entirely different tone, "You're all right, then?"
"All right," Merlin affirmed, giving him a brilliant smile.
Gwaine sighed out a long breath, and something twisted inside Arthur, something possessive and ugly he hadn't even known he'd been ignoring. He forced it to silence as he looked between Gwaine and Merlin. Whatever they had shared, he knew Merlin well enough to be quite certain it was at an end, now.
"Sir Gwaine," Arthur said, commanding his knight's attention. "Those matters we discussed...there won't be any need for your oversight of them any longer."
"Sire," Gwaine said, bowing his head, and this time, his tone was entirely respectful. He flashed a grin at Merlin, who was looking at Arthur with deep suspicion, and said, "By your leave."
Arthur nodded, and Gwaine moved off toward his fellow knights, who unlike Gwaine were a respectful distance away.
"Arthur," Merlin said, in a dangerous manner. "Did you auction me off like a horse to the highest bidder?"
"Of course not," Arthur said. "I merely provided for your care."
Merlin's stare blazed hot on Arthur's skin. "You can't be rid of me that easily, you know."
"Oh, believe me, I know." Arthur turned and leveled a stare of his own on Merlin, one so intense that a slow blush began creeping up Merlin's pale skin, reaching all the way to his ears. With a satisfied smile, Arthur turned away toward the cook's tent. Breakfast beckoned, and he was famished.
The business of dismantling camp was a complicated one, but surprisingly quick. The tents and supplies were loaded into carts and sent ahead by late morning, and most of the knights were mounted and ready to depart in caravan. Arthur walked down the line at a leisurely pace to the cheers and applause of his men. It was good to hear, and good to be capable of the simple act of shaking their hands. He felt alive in ways he had never been before, filled with hope for the future.
The Escetian prisoners had been bound together by rope and chain, and were to walk back to Camelot. It was not what Arthur would have preferred, but they lacked sufficient horses, and there were not enough carts to carry the wounded along with the prisoners. Arthur made his way among them, speaking to each of the knights who guarded them in turn. It was his intention that they should not be mistreated. Camelot had shown enough cruelty under its previous king.
Even now, thinking of it pained Arthur in ways his wound never could have, but he was definitively not like Uther, and he would not leave a trail of Escetian dead behind him as a harbinger of his reign.
"Sire," came a voice to his left. Arthur turned and saw the Escetian healer there, the one who had given Arthur a death sentence. Arthur nodded to him, and felt Merlin move closer to him, at his shoulder.
"Physician."
"You seem to be remarkably robust," the healer said, assessing Arthur's posture and manner with a practiced, narrowed eye.
"The court physician of Camelot is a miracle worker, it is true," Arthur said affably. "You should not be too hard on yourself, healer. There are few who possess our physician's skill."
"It is enviable skill, indeed." The healer glanced at Merlin, and then back to Arthur. "I wonder what to make of it."
Arthur regarded him for a moment, then turned to glance at Merlin. He could not have said what he intended, when he met Merlin's eyes; only that perfect understanding passed between them, and in the next moment, Merlin's eyes flashed a molten gold, and the Escetian gasped.
"Make of it what you will," Arthur said, and with another nod, moved on into the crowd of prisoners, looking them over until he was well satisfied with their treatment.
"I'm not sure that was wise," Merlin said, his arm brushing against Arthur's.
"Perhaps not," Arthur said. "Perhaps he will keep it to himself, or perhaps he will tell others, and the word will spread that King Arthur has a sorcerer at his side. Perhaps no one will even believe him."
"Perhaps," Merlin said, his fingers curling around Arthur's in the briefest of touches. The corner of his lip turned upward in a knowing smile.
For the rest of the morning, Merlin busied himself with seeing to the knights and their squires, as had been his custom since Arthur became king. Arthur took advantage of the opportunity to pull Leon aside for a private chat. "Ensure there is always a knight assigned to Merlin, to shadow his every move," he said, eyeing Merlin as he moved among the squires, laughing in an unbearably endearing way. "He is prone to wandering off to put his life in jeopardy. At the very least, I want to hear about it the moment he goes off on his own."
"I doubt he needs protection, sire," Leon said, no tiny amount of awe in his voice.
"True enough," Arthur said, watching as Merlin tripped over his own pack. "But I feel compelled to provide it anyway. It will ease my mind."
"Yes, sire," Leon said, grinning at him in such a way that Arthur knew all was back to normal.
They made ready to depart as the sun was at its zenith in the sky, and Arthur mounted his horse at the head of the column. Lancelot rode forward to his left side, leaving room for Merlin at the right.
"Sire," Lancelot said, nodded. Arthur returned his nod. "Regarding our discussion last night...I understand if you no longer feel as you did then."
"I assure you, Lancelot, nothing has changed." Arthur took a private pleasure in the way Lancelot's face transformed from wary resignation to open hopefulness.
"If you mean it, sire...."
"I do."
"She will not be unhappy," Lancelot said, a promise of sorts, Arthur imagined.
"See that she is not." Arthur reached out a hand, and Lancelot clasped it tightly. There was bittersweet trust in the sealing of such a promise, for Arthur. There would be conversations yet to come with Guinevere, and explanations Arthur was not yet fully prepared to articulate. But in his heart, he was sure this was the just course. Second chances were remarkably enlightening.
Soon enough, they were on the road, and Arthur sighed with relief at being underway at last. Merlin rode beside him as they traveled, and Arthur made no attempt to stop himself from watching, from wanting; he let his eyes rake over Merlin, let Merlin see everything he felt. For his part, Merlin ducked a wayward tree branch only to collide with another, and nearly unseated himself from his horse while blatantly undressing Arthur with his eyes. Powerful sorcerer, indeed.
Arthur's laughter was long and loud, and the quizzical looks Leon and Lancelot sent his way were more than worth it.
They were within an hour's ride of the citadel when it began to rain, the sky breaking open and unleashing a downpour on the spur of the moment. Arthur blinked up at the sky, which seemed determined to drown them all in the brief distance between the road and a warm bed.
"Shame, isn't it," Merlin said, and when Arthur glanced at him, Merlin's eyes glowed gold like the sun, and the rain seemed to draw back from them, clearing the way for the entire retinue.
Arthur held his breath as the gold retreated from Merlin's eyes, and they returned to a stunning sky blue as gentle rain fell all around them, never touching them.
They rode on toward Camelot. Toward home.
end
In thy face I see
The map of honor, truth and loyalty.
- Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part II