in which i introduce to you the longest fic i've ever written.
*iz proud* I remember when I last updated my personal LJ about this I was proud that it was 7,000+ words. It's gained a bit of weight since then, but I love it all the more. :D
Apologies for the ridick title and summary, omg.
Measures | Merlin/Arthur | NC-17 | ~11,370 words
The lengths to which Arthur will go.
Author's Note: I want to give huge thanks to my betas, sheswatching, who doesn't know how much she kicked my butt into gear, and soupyfirefly, who deserves hugs. This was written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, including the boys in a somewhat awkward conversation with Hunith about their relationship (established relationship or leading to their first time or whatever!)
Measures
‘What are you moping about, Merlin?’
‘What?’ Merlin looks up from his melancholy (read: slow) wiping-down of the table in Arthur’s antechamber. ‘I’m not moping.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur says, coming around to the other side of said table, ‘you are.’ To prove his point, he leans forward to scrape his nail against a rather disgusting crust that may or may not be some form of vegetable. ‘You missed a spot. You may be the worst manservant in the history of man, but you never miss a spot.’
Merlin glares at him, scrubbing at the crust. ‘That’s because you always huff and refuse to eat when I do. I’m just a bit distracted. It’s just been ages since I’ve been home to Ealdor.’ Quietly, he adds, ‘I miss it a bit.’
Arthur resists the urge to sigh dramatically and throw his hands up in the air. In accusing Merlin of moping, he’d rather hoped Merlin would just come out and say something to the effect of, “Why, yes, Arthur, I am moping, because I really miss my mum and I want to go home.” He’s said just about as much within the past month, anyway.
‘You want me to sack you? You can finally go home and I can finally hire a decent manservant. It’d work out for the both of us!’
‘Actually,’ Merlin begins, and Arthur’s a bit disappointed that Merlin thinks he was serious. Then Merlin seems to change his mind: ‘No. My mum sent me away for a reason; I suppose she’d be doubly disappointed in me if I let myself get sacked.’
He moves to wipe down random other things that probably have been wiped down recently and don’t need it again: the legs of the table and its single chair, the seat of the chair, the mantle above the fireplace, slipping easily around Arthur out of his sight as if he expects to be ignored. On second thought, maybe he’s not so much being thorough in his job as trying to change the subject in his annoying “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m only long-suffering” way.
Arthur turns around so that he can see him. ‘You know, if you wanted to go back to Ealdor, all you would have to do is ask. If you want me to tell you the truth -’ (Arthur is briefly interrupted by a ‘No, I don’t’ and ignores it) ‘- you’re being annoyingly obvious about it. I can manage an excuse to get away for my birthday, and that way I won’t need to sack you at all.’
Merlin stops, turns around with the rag still in his hand. ‘You would really do that for a manservant as terrible as me?’
Arthur scoffs and walks over to the door to his bedroom. ‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m doing it for myself. I hate birthday feasts, anyway. But I expect a better birthday present than last year.’
Merlin looks confused. ‘I didn’t get you a birthday present last year.’
‘Exactly,’ Arthur says, and turns to walk into his bedroom and hide the blush arising on his cheeks at Merlin’s smile.
He throws open the wardrobe door and even as he stands there trying to find his jacket he hears Merlin quickly enter from the other room. Merlin reaches into the wardrobe and grabs it, holding it out for him to step into. ‘I suppose you’re meeting Uther about it, you can’t look like you just got out of bed, sire.’
Arthur sighs. ‘You’re insufferable.’
‘But I do suffer,’ Merlin quips, ‘at your hands, sire.’ He smiles, though. Arthur fights the urge to smile back at him, seeing Merlin’s almost child-like joy at being able to go home once more.
‘Come,’ he says instead, and they leave.
~
‘Please, father, I told you I don’t want a birthday celebration this year.’
‘Just a small feast, Arthur, that’s all -’
‘I believe your idea of a “small feast” is not quite the same as mine.’
‘We must have some celebration, Arthur; you’re the crown prince of Camelot! If we didn’t have a celebration, no matter what excuse we use, it would look as if the kingdom is doing badly. The fact that the harvest this year wasn’t the best is no reassurance.’
Arthur sighs. ‘Then tell them that instead of spending his birthday rolling in piles of gold and stuffing his face with cake the crown prince has instead decided to visit Camelot’s surrounding villages and grace their crops with his presence or something. We’ll figure it out.’
‘You wish to spend your birthday with peasants?’
Arthur shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. ‘My manservant has been skiving off his duties. It seems he misses his home. I thought I might let him come with me; I won’t even need to take him to his own home, as I doubt he knows the difference, anyway.’
‘Hmm,’ Uther says, ‘He isn’t the brightest, is he. However, I worry that you’re willing to do so much for your manservant’s happiness. I’ve had word that the roads are quite dangerous of late; it would be too great a risk for one lowly soul.’
In the corner of the room, where he is pretending not to listen, Merlin shifts.
‘Anyway,’ Uther continues, ‘we can’t simply give all our wealth to peasantries as if it’s nothing. We have Mercia pressing on our borders, Arthur, and we must put our money there.’
‘There’s enough wealth in this castle to feed countries, father! I agree that we should look to threats first and foremost, but you should realize, too, that the reason we’re alive at all is because of the income of crops from the very peasants you debase!’ Merlin coughs; Arthur quiets. ‘I just want to visit them and be sure next year’s crops are coming along well; I’ll return with a report and figure out what to do for them myself, if no one else is behind me. At times, father, it seems you forget that my manservant is the only one who stands behind me. If you wonder why I’m doing this, remember that he’s saved my life.’
Arthur turns to leave. Uther’s voice, more quiet than normal, stops him, though Arthur does naught but turn his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘You should take your knights with you, Arthur; and do not tell the villagers that a solution will be immediately available, should you find problems. I fear war will be on us before we know it. And please have a list of villages you plan to visit and a timeline in my hands tomorrow.’
‘Certainly,’ Arthur says, turning his head back to the door. Merlin barely slips through it before it shuts behind them both.
‘Thank you,’ Merlin says, even as Arthur storms down the corridors. It seems to take all Arthur’s effort to banish his anger toward his father long enough to turn and smile at Merlin.
~
‘So,’ Merlin says, pacing across Arthur’s floor as Arthur stares at him, obviously annoyed. ‘Uther said the roads were dangerous. How many knights shall we take?’
‘I’m not taking any knights.’
Merlin stops. ‘What? Arthur, did you hear nothing your father just said? Do you really trust me to keep you from getting killed? I should remind you that if you’re killed Uther will have my head. If no one else gets it first.’ He gulps.
‘Just as well. And in case you need reminding, you’ve saved my life before. And, er,’ he waves a hand in the air dismissively. ‘At the very least I can use you as a human shield,’ he finishes rather awkwardly. Merlin gets the feeling that wasn’t what he had initially intended on saying.
‘Right,’ he responds, slightly flustered from all that pacing. And the thought of saving Arthur’s life once more, and perhaps at the idea that Arthur trusts him to save his life. ‘Well, then, what villages will we be visiting?’
‘Well,’ Arthur says, shoving a piece of parchment over for Merlin to read. ‘I would only visit Ealdor, but seeing as I had to improvise, and I can’t exactly abandon my duties, I thought we should visit a few of the villages on the way there before arriving, spend a bit of time there, and return. I wasn’t entirely sure how much time you wanted to spend in Ealdor itself, but I was hoping the journey would only take a week or so in all. And seeing that my father will want me to take knights, I thought I might make a list of villages they need to visit in the south while we’re in the north, and hopefully we’ll be able to meet them in time to return to Camelot and appear as if nothing’s awry.’
Merlin nods as he sits down and looks at the parchment. ‘Arthur, nothing is written down but a bunch of scribbles.’
‘Exactly. I was hoping you could help me with that.’
Merlin nods. He should probably be upset with Arthur but, somehow, isn’t. ‘Could I see your quill?’ He asks gently. He shakes his head, looking at the parchment carefully. ‘You have Liferbýl written down here; I stopped there on my way to Camelot, and I doubt they’re suffering too much - and at any rate the people there are vile. You know they use all their excess crops for ale, though, I think your father should probably look into that.’
‘I’ll certainly let him know, after I tell him I’m not going to take my knights after all. So why so vile? They wouldn’t let you sleep at the inn?’
‘They said I was too enthusiastic for the middle of the night,’ he says, nonchalantly. Noticing Arthur’s raised eyebrow and disbelieving expression he answers, ‘It’s quite nice traveling by night. It’s not my fault they have to get up before the sun.’
‘Merlin, if it weren’t for your duties you wouldn’t get up at all in the mornings.’
Merlin smiles and puts a finger to his lips. ‘No one has to know,’ he says, and adds a note to the parchment. Arthur swallows the sudden lump in his throat.
~
Merlin could swear Uther is using telepathy to ask the parchment whether his son is telling the truth. Or he might, if Uther advocated the use of magic.
Arthur is agitatedly tapping his fingers on the corner of the chair as the king examines the list. Uther’s brow furrows and Arthur looks back at Merlin. Merlin smiles gently.
‘When are you going to set out?’ Arthur turns back to his father and takes the parchment back.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Arthur says. ‘As close to dawn as we can. I was going to alert my knights soon after I met with you today.’
‘Certainly,’ Uther says. ‘Well, you are dismissed, but I was quite hoping you would dine with me tonight.’
Arthur nods. ‘Of course, father.’
~
Arthur pays a personal visit to Merlin’s room the next morning. It’s still dark, and the scarce light of the moon illuminates the gold of his hair and the glint in his eye.
‘I just fell asleep,’ Merlin complains weakly, and is promptly attacked by a piece of clothing via the prince himself. ‘Why on earth did Gaius let you in?’
‘He didn’t. Does he keep the door unlocked often? That’s not safe.’ Merlin turns his head and looks at Arthur questioningly, who only looks down to where Merlin’s holding the sheet against him and shrugs. He looks away, leaving Merlin unsettled in the wake of his gaze.
Merlin dresses as quickly as he can and tries to sort out his room while Arthur wanders about. ‘I suppose you need to eat?’
‘Erm,’ Merlin says, hastily putting the Book under his pillow. ‘That would be nice.’
‘I’ll get something while you’re gathering your pack. Meet me at the stables when you’re done.’
Merlin nods. ‘Right,’ he says, but Arthur’s already out the door.
~
Merlin shifts from one foot to the other, watching his breath puff out into the cool gray air, his face lit by a single lantern.
‘Here,’ Arthur says behind him, and he jumps about five feet in the air.
‘Thanks,’ he says skeptically, briefly looking into the bag Arthur hands him, handing Arthur the lantern and already digging in. ‘What -?’
It’s the most beautiful food Merlin has seen put right in front of him; he can’t fathom why -
‘We’ve a long day ahead of us; I know your stamina isn’t the best - some may even say terrible - so I thought you should require a larger portion,’ Arthur answers. ‘Anyway, the cooks didn’t have to know it wasn’t for me.’
‘Thanks,’ Merlin says, smiling and sitting down on the ground to eat quickly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been enchanted by anyone lately? You seem…human.’
Arthur scowls at him. ‘Did they pack the apples?’ he asks, grabbing the bag from Merlin and looking into it quickly. ‘Ah, yes; we should save those for later. Hurry up, you eat slower than anyone I’ve ever seen.’
~
They’re off at the first light while the sky is still a thousand fiery colors.
‘You know, as much as I hate getting up before sunlight,’ Merlin says, ‘it really is beautiful.’
Arthur scoffs at him, but lightly. ‘You really are a girl, Merlin, I swear.’
Merlin kicks his horse to let it trot ahead a bit, laughing at him.
~
They see the first building of Corngesælig, their first village on the list, when the sun is reaching its zenith. It is the grain store, and when Arthur dismounts his horse to have a peek inside (against Merlin’s protestations - ‘You realize they’ll think you’re a thief if they catch you’) he realizes it is locked. ‘Well,’ he says, mounting his horse once more and riding forth, ‘I suppose we’ll find out how their stores are when we find someone.’
They do, naught but a few minutes later. It is a man going in the same direction with a small bag of grain. He stops and turns to them as they approach.
‘Sir,’ Arthur greets him, ‘I am the prince of Camelot. I’ve come to inquire on your grain stores this season. You live in Corngesælig?’
‘Yes, sire,’ the man says, bowing low. ‘My name is Odin. If you’ll just follow me, I must be home with this wheat for my wife and I’ll tell you as much as I know.’
~
Arthur and Merlin are sitting around a small table with Odin and his wife, Mildred.
‘The recent crop wasn’t our best, and, though we’re glad the village is growing, we haven’t been able to feed everyone as well as we always have,’ Odin says, ‘and we’ve been forced to determine who we should feed first. We have weak children and weak grandparents, those crippled by disease and those we rely on the most for their strength.’
‘It becomes an issue of who needs it the most,’ Mildred adds, and Odin nods in agreement. ‘Seeing as Odin and I are older, and childless, we’ve been one of the families not taking as much as we usually do.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Arthur says. When they’d entered the couple’s small abode, they had immediately been told that food would be prepared for them if they had enough for guests, but when Mildred brought out a small single loaf of bread to serve them for sustenance, Merlin had noticed that it was barely even enough for the two of them.
‘How long has this been going on?’ Merlin asks.
‘The rain has been scarce for the past two years or so, but we hardly had any rain this season,’ Mildred says. ‘We were forced to bring in some of our crops early, and unfortunately the rest died before we could bring them in as well.’
‘Could we have a look at your fields?’ Arthur ventures.
‘Of course,’ Odin says, and leads them out the door.
~
After looking at the bare fields and listening to more of Odin’s story, Arthur asks to speak to Merlin for a moment.
‘What?’ Merlin asks, shaking Arthur’s hand off his arm and leaning against the wall of the couple’s house.
‘You used to live like this,’ Arthur says, ‘do you know if Ealdor had any implications in place to help in such cases?’
‘Actually,’ Merlin says, ‘some of the farmers used this - system of furrows. I’m not entirely sure how it worked, but -’
‘Do you think it could work here?’
‘I suppose - of course it should, if we do it right. Like I said, I’m not sure how to go about it, exactly, and plus the point is to build furrows and fill them with water, or ensure that they’re filled. And seeing as it’s not been raining -’
‘They may not have the water to fill them. I suppose it’s worth the risk, though.’
~
‘How did you say it worked again, boy?’
‘You make a sort of small hill in between fields, and make a ditch in the hill to fill with water,’ Merlin says, showing him with a pile of dirt. ‘You put siphons in the furrow to allow the water to go down the hill into the fields, and - it should fairly equally distribute the water.’
‘Where are we going to get all that water, though? We’ve been short lately, of course, and though we’re trying not to use as much -’
‘You have wells, don’t you?’ Merlin asks. ‘And winter’s coming soon; you could always gather any snowfall into the wells and use it come spring.’
‘And you should probably get a start on digging now while the earth’s still somewhat soft,’ Arthur adds.
‘Good, good,’ says Odin. ‘That’s excellent. We’ll get started straightaway; will you be overseeing our labor, sire?’
Arthur shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve only begun traveling this morning. We have other villages to attend to. I would help if I could, though.’ He stands up and Merlin follows suit. ‘As soon as we can once we get back to Camelot, however, I’ll try to see if we can’t gather resources of our own to send out here for you.’
‘Thank you so much, sire,’ Mildred says. ‘We’ll be sure to talk with the others about it.’
~
By the time they’re far enough from Corngesælig that they cannot see even a hint of its fields it is dusk. There are woods near, and Arthur stops underneath a group of trees that stand slightly aloof from their brethren, as if guardians of the forest. ‘We should stop for the night,’ he says. ‘Good spot; not too open, yet not far into the woods where we may run across dangers.’
‘Thank you,’ Merlin says, and grunts as he practically falls off his horse. His legs are wobbly from riding and walking all day and his skin is still warm from the sun.
‘Graceful,’ Arthur comments, and slides easily off his own horse. ‘Now, once you’ve stopped being an ass, you can unload our packs and get camp set up. I’ll get a fire.’ He’s off before Merlin can complain.
~
‘That was a good idea you had, there,’ Arthur says, and puts a few random twigs onto the fire. ‘About the furrows, I mean. Possibly one of the only good ideas you’ve ever had.’
‘A few of the other good ideas including those to save your life, of course.’
‘Oh, right; how could I forget,’ he responds sarcastically, and fishes the leftover apples from breakfast from his pack. ‘Dessert?’
Merlin catches the apple that’s tossed to him and chomps down on it hungrily. Juice runs down his chin and he wipes it away with his sleeve.
‘Your face is red,’ Arthur says, oddly.
‘What?’
‘Your face,’ Arthur emphasizes, ‘is red. Suppose it’s from the sun, though. No worries.’
Merlin suddenly feels very self-conscious. ‘Is it terrible?’ he asks.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘I mean,’ he asks again, ‘what type of red is it? The sort of color of a pink rose or a bright bloody red?’
Arthur raises an eyebrow. ‘Rosy pink, Merlin. Just like a blushing maiden.’
Merlin really does blush at that, but doesn’t get the chance to respond because Arthur turns away. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
‘Right,’ Merlin says thickly around a mouthful of apple. ‘Er, ’night. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done. Uh, sleeping, I mean. Over there,’ he points, unnecessarily, and Arthur waves a hand up in dismissal from underneath his blanket. Merlin notices he hadn’t taken a single bite of his apple.
~
They arrive at Lyfthelm around mid-morning only to find it in a similar state as Corngesælig. They give them the same advice as they did the others and are on their way, refusing the meager food so kindly offered them.
~
By nightfall they’ve reached the northern borders of Camelot - specifically, Liferbýl. Merlin groans.
‘We have to stop here for the night,’ Arthur says, ‘unless you’d rather continue the journey in the dark?’
Merlin curses the new moon, for without it he wouldn’t complain against traveling at night. ‘They may eat me.’
Arthur shrugs. ‘It’s a risk we’re going to have to take.’ They dismount their horses, finding the inn quickly, and Arthur knocks on the door.
They are greeted by a scruffy-looking old man - or it may be a terribly hideous woman - who stays behind the threshold of the door except for the arm holding the lantern, which reaches out to illuminate their reprobate faces. ‘Yes?’
‘We come from the court of Camelot; we seek housing for the night.’
The man-woman looks Arthur up and down and flicks his gaze to Merlin. ‘Maybe you, sir,’ he says, ‘but not that one. I remember him.’
‘Perhaps,’ Arthur says, ‘but whatever trouble he’s caused in the past shall be eradicated from your memory. He is with me now.’
‘What will you be wanting, then?’ says the innkeeper.
‘A room with two beds.’
‘Aye, sir, we only have single-bed rooms open tonight,’ the innkeeper responds, with a glint in his eye. ‘Unless, of course, you’d be willing to pay to kick one of our current customers out of their own room - by the crest on your tunic I’d say you would.’
‘I have fled the court of Camelot,’ he says, ‘I was a knight, but my prince wronged me. Now you must give me quarters for the night. We’ll take a single bed.’
The innkeeper smiles and retreats into the inn, opening the door wide for them to enter. Arthur pays him a small fee - though, small as it is, it seems to Merlin to be more than necessary - and tells Arthur which room it is. Arthur comes back to the doorway. ‘I’ll get the horses,’ he says.
Merlin reluctantly enters the inn and, under the watchful gaze of the innkeeper, enters the room and is immediately greeted with a chill air and a stench of sweat. He covers his nose with his neckerchief.
Taking advantage of the prince’s absence, Merlin tries some spells to warm the room, as well as a few to make the air smell better - and after trying a few spells that make the room smell in turns like various flowers, he finally conquers a spell that, somehow, makes the room smell all at once familiar and nice, and Merlin knows he must be mimicking the smell of another room he knows, only he can’t pinpoint it. At any rate, it’s better than the inn’s own horrid musk. He pulls back the sheets of the bed - scarce, they are - and runs his hands over the lumpy mattress, muttering heating spells along the way.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Merlin jumps at Arthur’s voice in the doorway - he hadn’t even heard the door open - and waves his hands around nervously, hoping that the spells were indeed quiet enough that no one could hear them.
‘Just, er, feeling the bed. Just lumpy enough for me, but I’m a bit worried about your royal arse -’
Arthur scoffs. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ he says, and then stops and looks curiously around, appearing to sniff the air. ‘Hmm, that’s strange.’
‘What?’ Merlin asks, slightly paranoid.
‘It reminds me of my room,’ Arthur answers distractedly. ‘I was expecting it to smell like horse manure, actually.’
Merlin shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed. ‘Who knew?’ he asks, and his voice is a bit too high-pitched to be believable. Luckily, Arthur’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice.
‘Yeah,’ the prince says, half to himself, and begins bringing out their own blankets and laying them atop the bed’s own.
Once he’s done, he stands there with his hands on his hips, looking at Merlin. ‘Well, go on. I’m not particularly tired.’
‘Oh,’ Merlin says, ‘thanks.’ He turns around and strips down to his tunic and pants, and immediately regrets not at least keeping his neckerchief for the chill air. He turns around quickly and almost topples into the bed, noticing that at some point Arthur has turned away, to the window. Merlin settles in, trying to make the sheets ever warmer with more quietly-uttered spells and his body. He watches Arthur for the longest time, the prince remaining an immovable presence by the window, and blearily notices just before he slips into unconsciousness Arthur’s face turning to look at him, and he smiles at it.
~
When Merlin wakes up, he has Arthur’s snoring head on his shoulder and Arthur’s leg thrown over his and Arthur’s arm across his torso and Arthur’s erect penis digging into his thigh.
He makes a small sound and tries to shove Arthur off him, but somehow he doesn’t budge. And all Merlin can think about is how this isn’t supposed to be like this, how maybe it would be alright if he woke up like this in Camelot and they were - well, if they’d done this before; and then he can’t even believe he’s thinking about it at all.
‘Arthur,’ he groans dramatically, trying to mask his own interest and suffering after nearly getting Arthur completely off him only for the prince to fall flat on his chest once more, causing all Merlin’s air to leave his lungs. Instead, he digs his fingers into Arthur’s biceps painfully, being rewarded with a yelp directly in his ear in response.
‘What was that for?’ Arthur says, and in post-jump embarrassment, sitting down casually on the bed and trying to cover up his crotch, realizing - realizing. ‘Never mind, we should get going.’ He climbs out of bed, turning around and clearing his throat loudly, beginning to get dressed already. Merlin nods, pointlessly, and climbs out of bed himself, dressing slowly in the cool air. By the time he turns around, though, he has to laugh, because Arthur’s put on his tunic inside out and backwards and, for all his standing and waiting impatiently for Merlin to finish dressing, hasn’t noticed.
‘What?’ he asks huffily, throwing his arms out in exasperation and only magnifying his ridiculousness. Luckily, Merlin notices, he isn’t hard anymore.
‘If you were aiming for hiding the crest on your tunic, sire,’ he says, smiling widely, ‘you’ve definitely succeeded.’
‘What?’ Arthur asks again. Merlin walks up to him and pulls on the tunic where the crest should be, and Arthur backs up, pulling it off with a barely-concealed blush and a scowl. Once he’s got it on right, he looks at Merlin again, slightly annoyed at Merlin’s still-smiling face, but everything in him seems to melt and he looks at Merlin seriously. They’re very close, and if Merlin really thought about it he would think that it’s too close, perhaps, particularly considering how he was awakened this morning (much more pleasant than the last two, actually), and how he really kind of wants to kiss Arthur right now.
Arthur clears his throat and turns to grab his pack. ‘We should be off,’ he says, ‘it’s practically noon anyway.’
‘Of course,’ Merlin says, and can’t help but feel a blankness somewhere inside or around him.
~
‘I told you they were vile,’ he contends, and while Arthur doesn’t argue, he doesn’t exactly praise Merlin, either.
They’d made inquiries to the innkeeper about their grain stores lately - how their crops were doing, et cetera, and the innkeeper had only laughed and told them they’ve never had any problems with their crops. Arthur and Merlin had paid a visit to their grain store after leaving the inn and, looking through a rather convenient window (though it required Merlin to kneel rather awkwardly on his horse’s back), had noticed that their stores were close to overflowing.
‘They probably don’t even use excess grain for ales; I bet it’s all they need to live on.’
‘I’m sure, Merlin,’ Arthur says, rather bored.
‘Anyway,’ Merlin says, ‘I suppose that was the last on the list?’
‘Off to Ealdor, now. You did send your mum a letter telling her we were coming, right?’
Merlin’s voice is very small when he says, ‘Uh, not quite. Anyhow I thought she would be delighted at a surprise.’
Arthur runs a hand down his face. ‘Merlin.’
‘Well, she’ll certainly be surprised, right?’
Arthur kicks his horse, causing it to run ahead. ‘Certainly.’
Merlin is compelled to get his horse ahead of Arthur’s, and if they’re far more tired than in days previous when they stop that night, it isn’t a bad thing.
~
The next day Merlin awakens to the sound of approaching horses. Shit, he thinks, and climbs out of his blankets, half-dressed, to see the men - four of them - approaching their camp.
‘Arthur,’ he hisses, ‘Arthur.’
Arthur doesn’t wake up before the men reach their camp, and the man in front - the leader, apparently - greets Merlin.
‘What do you want?’ Merlin asks, skeptically.
‘What do you have to offer?’ the man asks, in response.
‘Nothing,’ Merlin says. ‘We are armed.’
The bandit laughs. ‘It would seem your companion may be well-armed, while you are not; and he is asleep.’
Merlin shifts from foot to foot, turning swiftly when the other bandits try to circle around behind him. ‘Arthur,’ he tries again.
‘We’ll just be taking this, then,’ the leader says, dismounting his horse and walking over to Arthur’s horse tethered to a tree.
‘No!’ Merlin says, ‘Forwiernan!’
The man lands with a loud thud on the ground and the other bandits immediately dismount and surround Merlin before he can realize it. He turns to them with his hands out, trying in vain to let the same spells course through both hands at once. It’s something he’s never done before, but he’s read it in the Book, and it’s worth a shot, anyway.
‘Arthur!’ he shouts, once he’s knocked one of the men back. One runs after Merlin and another follows, and Merlin can do naught but run to where Arthur is sleeping and shove him awake.
Arthur jumps with a start, immediately recognizing the situation, grabbing his sword and going after the men. The one Merlin had managed to knock back comes after him, so Merlin runs away to keep him from Arthur. He can still see the prince, and doesn’t even think twice about using magic against the man, his only weapon.
‘Ymbbindan.’ The man’s body goes completely stiff and he falls back like a board, and Merlin utters another spell so that everything he tries to say sounds like it’s being uttered around a ball of fabric in his mouth.
Another man runs toward him, the only free one not fighting Arthur, and Merlin utters the same binding spell. Merlin muffles his voice as well, running to the horses to try calming them as much as he can.
‘Merlin!’ Arthur yells, and dodges a sword-blade. Merlin manages to do the same to these two, knocking them down in front of Arthur. Arthur knocks them cold with the flat edge of his sword for good measure. He then stumbles away, arm bleeding. ‘Think you can pin them to the tree?’ he asks, and Merlin, too flabbergasted to say anything in response, nods, and Arthur gathers the men under a tree to allow Merlin to nail them to it with magic. In a fit of derision, he flips them all upside down before pinning them.
The bandits’ horses have run amuck now, and Arthur goes to their own to quiet them. He grabs his arm where it’s bleeding and kisses one horse on the nose. ‘So,’ he says, as nonchalantly as possible, ‘you’re a sorcerer.’
Merlin’s blood runs cold and he nods, head suddenly feeling thick and full of lies. Arthur walks over to him and holds his arm out. ‘Can you heal me, then?’ Merlin is so surprised he doesn’t do anything but nod again, and puts his hand over Arthur’s exposed wound to try and stop the bleeding, pulling off his neckerchief and tying it around the muscle for good measure.
He walks away even as Arthur thanks him and says quietly, ‘I expect we should be off,’ gathering their things and mounting his horse before Arthur can disagree.
~
As they travel further north, it becomes cloudy. It’s been a quiet day, neither of them speaking a word since leaving camp, Merlin riding ahead to avoid conversation. Until now, Arthur has let him, but he can’t let it go on until they reach Ealdor.
‘Thank you, again, Merlin,’ Arthur tries, but Merlin kicks his horse forward.
‘Will you please listen to me?’ Arthur asks, his voice earnest as he pulls roughly on the reins to stop his horse. Luckily, Merlin stops his as well, and turns around to face him.
‘Please, Merlin,’ Arthur continues, and his voice sounds tired and perhaps a little lonely. ‘If you want me to be honest I’ll say I’ve had my suspicions that something was up - a puny bloke like you could hardly ever do much to save someone like me without help - but I’m not angry. I just want to know how long this has been going on.’
‘I’ve been able to do magic from birth. It wasn’t exactly a choice.’
‘You came to Camelot, a sorcerer, knowing that my father had sorcerers executed?’
Merlin shrugs and looks down. ‘My mum sent me.’
‘She knew?’
‘It’s a bit hard to hide being a sorcerer from the woman who raised you, yeah.’
‘You’ve been in danger this whole time,’ Arthur says, venturing to bring his horse closer to Merlin’s. ‘Yet you’ve not left. Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ Merlin says, ‘to help Gaius. Because someone had to save your arse, and I thought that I might try to make sure the Pendragon line would continue while I was there.’
Arthur scoffs. ‘As if I ever really needed saving -’
‘Besides, you’re a much better person due to my mentoring. You’re still a prat, but at least you don’t throw daggers at serving boys anymore.’
Arthur smiles despite the interruption. ‘I could always pick up the habit again.’
‘No,’ Merlin says, turning back around and continuing riding, Arthur following suit, ‘you wouldn’t be able to. My effects are rather permanent.’
Merlin laughs and his horse trots ahead. Thunder rolls through the sky and it begins to drizzle. It only makes Merlin laugh the harder.
‘You’ll be responsible for making sure my chain mail doesn’t rust, you know,’ Arthur says after him.
‘It’s fine,’ Merlin responds, ‘I’ve always used magic anyway.’
And suddenly, while he runs ahead on his horse with his hands out to the rain and his voice ringing through the air, the sight of Merlin against a sky lit by lightning makes his throat close up, and Arthur wonders at the sight and the warlock himself.
~
They stop once they find an area of land untouched (yet) by the storms and Merlin sneezes.
‘I think I’ve caught cold,’ he says, voice a bit thick. He coughs.
‘It’s your fault for frolicking in the rain,’ Arthur says, but smiles. ‘I’m only hoping it doesn’t rain tonight. Could you possibly improvise a tent?’
Merlin shrugs, even with his arms held tight across his chest to keep him warm. ‘I could try,’ he says. Somehow, he manages to expand and thicken one of their blankets into something representing a tarp, and uses blades of grass to create stakes and a pole to create a zenith.
Arthur turns around from where he’s started a fire. He looks at it appreciatively and pats the log next to him, indicating Merlin to sit there.
‘So how do you learn spells?’
‘Gaius,’ Merlin says quietly. ‘He gave me a book of spells after he found out, to help me control my magic.’
‘Gaius knows?’
‘Yes.’
‘So your friend, Will -’
‘Wasn’t a warlock,’ Merlin says, picking at a thread on his sleeve.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur says gently. ‘He must have loved you greatly to lie for you.’
‘He was like a brother,’ Merlin says, and looks rather sad.
Arthur looks at him for a moment and then tosses the leftover apple into Merlin’s lap. ‘Here,’ he says.
‘Is this yours?’ Merlin asks. ‘The one you didn’t eat the other day?’
‘Not anymore. Go ahead.’
Merlin eats the apple as Arthur continues to feed the fire.
‘The storm today spread into the south and east for miles,’ Arthur says. ‘Hopefully that means our friends in Corngesælig and Lyfthelm got the rain they need.’ He rubs his arm where Merlin’s neckerchief is tied and removes the cloth to find the wound nearly completely healed.
‘I suppose you don’t want this back? At least not until it’s washed properly.’
Merlin wrinkles his nose. ‘I’ll save your life, but I draw the line at wearing your blood on my neck,’ he says, and twists around to get a better view of the wound.
‘It’s healing nicely. I suppose that spell I did earlier wasn’t just to stop the blood; it seems to be helping the skin to heal as well. Does it hurt?’
Arthur hisses when Merlin presses his fingers against the skin around the wound.
‘Hmm,’ Merlin says, running his fingertips ghost-like across the actual wound and whispering indistinguishable words. It immediately seems to close up just a hair more, and further, it feels better, and doesn’t hurt as much when Merlin presses it again.
‘Alright?’ he asks, and Arthur nods. Merlin looks up at him and Arthur notices the firelight glowing in Merlin’s eyes, and the glow is intensified when Merlin utters a spell that Arthur can’t actually bother listening to. Merlin pulls away slightly and holds out his dinner-bowl, now full of water. He uses a clean, dry area of his neckerchief to dab at Arthur’s wound, washing off the encrusted blood. His fingers are so soft on his skin and so nimble-quick that Arthur wants, needs to do something to them, but is prevented when, quicker than he had begun, Merlin pulls away and stands up.
‘All clean,’ he says softly, and Arthur feels the loss of warmth at his side, though his skin still tingles where Merlin had touched it, and beyond.
Part 2
Apologies for the ridick title and summary, omg.
Measures | Merlin/Arthur | NC-17 | ~11,370 words
The lengths to which Arthur will go.
Author's Note: I want to give huge thanks to my betas, sheswatching, who doesn't know how much she kicked my butt into gear, and soupyfirefly, who deserves hugs. This was written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, including the boys in a somewhat awkward conversation with Hunith about their relationship (established relationship or leading to their first time or whatever!)
Measures
‘What are you moping about, Merlin?’
‘What?’ Merlin looks up from his melancholy (read: slow) wiping-down of the table in Arthur’s antechamber. ‘I’m not moping.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur says, coming around to the other side of said table, ‘you are.’ To prove his point, he leans forward to scrape his nail against a rather disgusting crust that may or may not be some form of vegetable. ‘You missed a spot. You may be the worst manservant in the history of man, but you never miss a spot.’
Merlin glares at him, scrubbing at the crust. ‘That’s because you always huff and refuse to eat when I do. I’m just a bit distracted. It’s just been ages since I’ve been home to Ealdor.’ Quietly, he adds, ‘I miss it a bit.’
Arthur resists the urge to sigh dramatically and throw his hands up in the air. In accusing Merlin of moping, he’d rather hoped Merlin would just come out and say something to the effect of, “Why, yes, Arthur, I am moping, because I really miss my mum and I want to go home.” He’s said just about as much within the past month, anyway.
‘You want me to sack you? You can finally go home and I can finally hire a decent manservant. It’d work out for the both of us!’
‘Actually,’ Merlin begins, and Arthur’s a bit disappointed that Merlin thinks he was serious. Then Merlin seems to change his mind: ‘No. My mum sent me away for a reason; I suppose she’d be doubly disappointed in me if I let myself get sacked.’
He moves to wipe down random other things that probably have been wiped down recently and don’t need it again: the legs of the table and its single chair, the seat of the chair, the mantle above the fireplace, slipping easily around Arthur out of his sight as if he expects to be ignored. On second thought, maybe he’s not so much being thorough in his job as trying to change the subject in his annoying “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m only long-suffering” way.
Arthur turns around so that he can see him. ‘You know, if you wanted to go back to Ealdor, all you would have to do is ask. If you want me to tell you the truth -’ (Arthur is briefly interrupted by a ‘No, I don’t’ and ignores it) ‘- you’re being annoyingly obvious about it. I can manage an excuse to get away for my birthday, and that way I won’t need to sack you at all.’
Merlin stops, turns around with the rag still in his hand. ‘You would really do that for a manservant as terrible as me?’
Arthur scoffs and walks over to the door to his bedroom. ‘No,’ he says, ‘I’m doing it for myself. I hate birthday feasts, anyway. But I expect a better birthday present than last year.’
Merlin looks confused. ‘I didn’t get you a birthday present last year.’
‘Exactly,’ Arthur says, and turns to walk into his bedroom and hide the blush arising on his cheeks at Merlin’s smile.
He throws open the wardrobe door and even as he stands there trying to find his jacket he hears Merlin quickly enter from the other room. Merlin reaches into the wardrobe and grabs it, holding it out for him to step into. ‘I suppose you’re meeting Uther about it, you can’t look like you just got out of bed, sire.’
Arthur sighs. ‘You’re insufferable.’
‘But I do suffer,’ Merlin quips, ‘at your hands, sire.’ He smiles, though. Arthur fights the urge to smile back at him, seeing Merlin’s almost child-like joy at being able to go home once more.
‘Come,’ he says instead, and they leave.
~
‘Please, father, I told you I don’t want a birthday celebration this year.’
‘Just a small feast, Arthur, that’s all -’
‘I believe your idea of a “small feast” is not quite the same as mine.’
‘We must have some celebration, Arthur; you’re the crown prince of Camelot! If we didn’t have a celebration, no matter what excuse we use, it would look as if the kingdom is doing badly. The fact that the harvest this year wasn’t the best is no reassurance.’
Arthur sighs. ‘Then tell them that instead of spending his birthday rolling in piles of gold and stuffing his face with cake the crown prince has instead decided to visit Camelot’s surrounding villages and grace their crops with his presence or something. We’ll figure it out.’
‘You wish to spend your birthday with peasants?’
Arthur shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. ‘My manservant has been skiving off his duties. It seems he misses his home. I thought I might let him come with me; I won’t even need to take him to his own home, as I doubt he knows the difference, anyway.’
‘Hmm,’ Uther says, ‘He isn’t the brightest, is he. However, I worry that you’re willing to do so much for your manservant’s happiness. I’ve had word that the roads are quite dangerous of late; it would be too great a risk for one lowly soul.’
In the corner of the room, where he is pretending not to listen, Merlin shifts.
‘Anyway,’ Uther continues, ‘we can’t simply give all our wealth to peasantries as if it’s nothing. We have Mercia pressing on our borders, Arthur, and we must put our money there.’
‘There’s enough wealth in this castle to feed countries, father! I agree that we should look to threats first and foremost, but you should realize, too, that the reason we’re alive at all is because of the income of crops from the very peasants you debase!’ Merlin coughs; Arthur quiets. ‘I just want to visit them and be sure next year’s crops are coming along well; I’ll return with a report and figure out what to do for them myself, if no one else is behind me. At times, father, it seems you forget that my manservant is the only one who stands behind me. If you wonder why I’m doing this, remember that he’s saved my life.’
Arthur turns to leave. Uther’s voice, more quiet than normal, stops him, though Arthur does naught but turn his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘You should take your knights with you, Arthur; and do not tell the villagers that a solution will be immediately available, should you find problems. I fear war will be on us before we know it. And please have a list of villages you plan to visit and a timeline in my hands tomorrow.’
‘Certainly,’ Arthur says, turning his head back to the door. Merlin barely slips through it before it shuts behind them both.
‘Thank you,’ Merlin says, even as Arthur storms down the corridors. It seems to take all Arthur’s effort to banish his anger toward his father long enough to turn and smile at Merlin.
~
‘So,’ Merlin says, pacing across Arthur’s floor as Arthur stares at him, obviously annoyed. ‘Uther said the roads were dangerous. How many knights shall we take?’
‘I’m not taking any knights.’
Merlin stops. ‘What? Arthur, did you hear nothing your father just said? Do you really trust me to keep you from getting killed? I should remind you that if you’re killed Uther will have my head. If no one else gets it first.’ He gulps.
‘Just as well. And in case you need reminding, you’ve saved my life before. And, er,’ he waves a hand in the air dismissively. ‘At the very least I can use you as a human shield,’ he finishes rather awkwardly. Merlin gets the feeling that wasn’t what he had initially intended on saying.
‘Right,’ he responds, slightly flustered from all that pacing. And the thought of saving Arthur’s life once more, and perhaps at the idea that Arthur trusts him to save his life. ‘Well, then, what villages will we be visiting?’
‘Well,’ Arthur says, shoving a piece of parchment over for Merlin to read. ‘I would only visit Ealdor, but seeing as I had to improvise, and I can’t exactly abandon my duties, I thought we should visit a few of the villages on the way there before arriving, spend a bit of time there, and return. I wasn’t entirely sure how much time you wanted to spend in Ealdor itself, but I was hoping the journey would only take a week or so in all. And seeing that my father will want me to take knights, I thought I might make a list of villages they need to visit in the south while we’re in the north, and hopefully we’ll be able to meet them in time to return to Camelot and appear as if nothing’s awry.’
Merlin nods as he sits down and looks at the parchment. ‘Arthur, nothing is written down but a bunch of scribbles.’
‘Exactly. I was hoping you could help me with that.’
Merlin nods. He should probably be upset with Arthur but, somehow, isn’t. ‘Could I see your quill?’ He asks gently. He shakes his head, looking at the parchment carefully. ‘You have Liferbýl written down here; I stopped there on my way to Camelot, and I doubt they’re suffering too much - and at any rate the people there are vile. You know they use all their excess crops for ale, though, I think your father should probably look into that.’
‘I’ll certainly let him know, after I tell him I’m not going to take my knights after all. So why so vile? They wouldn’t let you sleep at the inn?’
‘They said I was too enthusiastic for the middle of the night,’ he says, nonchalantly. Noticing Arthur’s raised eyebrow and disbelieving expression he answers, ‘It’s quite nice traveling by night. It’s not my fault they have to get up before the sun.’
‘Merlin, if it weren’t for your duties you wouldn’t get up at all in the mornings.’
Merlin smiles and puts a finger to his lips. ‘No one has to know,’ he says, and adds a note to the parchment. Arthur swallows the sudden lump in his throat.
~
Merlin could swear Uther is using telepathy to ask the parchment whether his son is telling the truth. Or he might, if Uther advocated the use of magic.
Arthur is agitatedly tapping his fingers on the corner of the chair as the king examines the list. Uther’s brow furrows and Arthur looks back at Merlin. Merlin smiles gently.
‘When are you going to set out?’ Arthur turns back to his father and takes the parchment back.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Arthur says. ‘As close to dawn as we can. I was going to alert my knights soon after I met with you today.’
‘Certainly,’ Uther says. ‘Well, you are dismissed, but I was quite hoping you would dine with me tonight.’
Arthur nods. ‘Of course, father.’
~
Arthur pays a personal visit to Merlin’s room the next morning. It’s still dark, and the scarce light of the moon illuminates the gold of his hair and the glint in his eye.
‘I just fell asleep,’ Merlin complains weakly, and is promptly attacked by a piece of clothing via the prince himself. ‘Why on earth did Gaius let you in?’
‘He didn’t. Does he keep the door unlocked often? That’s not safe.’ Merlin turns his head and looks at Arthur questioningly, who only looks down to where Merlin’s holding the sheet against him and shrugs. He looks away, leaving Merlin unsettled in the wake of his gaze.
Merlin dresses as quickly as he can and tries to sort out his room while Arthur wanders about. ‘I suppose you need to eat?’
‘Erm,’ Merlin says, hastily putting the Book under his pillow. ‘That would be nice.’
‘I’ll get something while you’re gathering your pack. Meet me at the stables when you’re done.’
Merlin nods. ‘Right,’ he says, but Arthur’s already out the door.
~
Merlin shifts from one foot to the other, watching his breath puff out into the cool gray air, his face lit by a single lantern.
‘Here,’ Arthur says behind him, and he jumps about five feet in the air.
‘Thanks,’ he says skeptically, briefly looking into the bag Arthur hands him, handing Arthur the lantern and already digging in. ‘What -?’
It’s the most beautiful food Merlin has seen put right in front of him; he can’t fathom why -
‘We’ve a long day ahead of us; I know your stamina isn’t the best - some may even say terrible - so I thought you should require a larger portion,’ Arthur answers. ‘Anyway, the cooks didn’t have to know it wasn’t for me.’
‘Thanks,’ Merlin says, smiling and sitting down on the ground to eat quickly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been enchanted by anyone lately? You seem…human.’
Arthur scowls at him. ‘Did they pack the apples?’ he asks, grabbing the bag from Merlin and looking into it quickly. ‘Ah, yes; we should save those for later. Hurry up, you eat slower than anyone I’ve ever seen.’
~
They’re off at the first light while the sky is still a thousand fiery colors.
‘You know, as much as I hate getting up before sunlight,’ Merlin says, ‘it really is beautiful.’
Arthur scoffs at him, but lightly. ‘You really are a girl, Merlin, I swear.’
Merlin kicks his horse to let it trot ahead a bit, laughing at him.
~
They see the first building of Corngesælig, their first village on the list, when the sun is reaching its zenith. It is the grain store, and when Arthur dismounts his horse to have a peek inside (against Merlin’s protestations - ‘You realize they’ll think you’re a thief if they catch you’) he realizes it is locked. ‘Well,’ he says, mounting his horse once more and riding forth, ‘I suppose we’ll find out how their stores are when we find someone.’
They do, naught but a few minutes later. It is a man going in the same direction with a small bag of grain. He stops and turns to them as they approach.
‘Sir,’ Arthur greets him, ‘I am the prince of Camelot. I’ve come to inquire on your grain stores this season. You live in Corngesælig?’
‘Yes, sire,’ the man says, bowing low. ‘My name is Odin. If you’ll just follow me, I must be home with this wheat for my wife and I’ll tell you as much as I know.’
~
Arthur and Merlin are sitting around a small table with Odin and his wife, Mildred.
‘The recent crop wasn’t our best, and, though we’re glad the village is growing, we haven’t been able to feed everyone as well as we always have,’ Odin says, ‘and we’ve been forced to determine who we should feed first. We have weak children and weak grandparents, those crippled by disease and those we rely on the most for their strength.’
‘It becomes an issue of who needs it the most,’ Mildred adds, and Odin nods in agreement. ‘Seeing as Odin and I are older, and childless, we’ve been one of the families not taking as much as we usually do.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Arthur says. When they’d entered the couple’s small abode, they had immediately been told that food would be prepared for them if they had enough for guests, but when Mildred brought out a small single loaf of bread to serve them for sustenance, Merlin had noticed that it was barely even enough for the two of them.
‘How long has this been going on?’ Merlin asks.
‘The rain has been scarce for the past two years or so, but we hardly had any rain this season,’ Mildred says. ‘We were forced to bring in some of our crops early, and unfortunately the rest died before we could bring them in as well.’
‘Could we have a look at your fields?’ Arthur ventures.
‘Of course,’ Odin says, and leads them out the door.
~
After looking at the bare fields and listening to more of Odin’s story, Arthur asks to speak to Merlin for a moment.
‘What?’ Merlin asks, shaking Arthur’s hand off his arm and leaning against the wall of the couple’s house.
‘You used to live like this,’ Arthur says, ‘do you know if Ealdor had any implications in place to help in such cases?’
‘Actually,’ Merlin says, ‘some of the farmers used this - system of furrows. I’m not entirely sure how it worked, but -’
‘Do you think it could work here?’
‘I suppose - of course it should, if we do it right. Like I said, I’m not sure how to go about it, exactly, and plus the point is to build furrows and fill them with water, or ensure that they’re filled. And seeing as it’s not been raining -’
‘They may not have the water to fill them. I suppose it’s worth the risk, though.’
~
‘How did you say it worked again, boy?’
‘You make a sort of small hill in between fields, and make a ditch in the hill to fill with water,’ Merlin says, showing him with a pile of dirt. ‘You put siphons in the furrow to allow the water to go down the hill into the fields, and - it should fairly equally distribute the water.’
‘Where are we going to get all that water, though? We’ve been short lately, of course, and though we’re trying not to use as much -’
‘You have wells, don’t you?’ Merlin asks. ‘And winter’s coming soon; you could always gather any snowfall into the wells and use it come spring.’
‘And you should probably get a start on digging now while the earth’s still somewhat soft,’ Arthur adds.
‘Good, good,’ says Odin. ‘That’s excellent. We’ll get started straightaway; will you be overseeing our labor, sire?’
Arthur shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, we’ve only begun traveling this morning. We have other villages to attend to. I would help if I could, though.’ He stands up and Merlin follows suit. ‘As soon as we can once we get back to Camelot, however, I’ll try to see if we can’t gather resources of our own to send out here for you.’
‘Thank you so much, sire,’ Mildred says. ‘We’ll be sure to talk with the others about it.’
~
By the time they’re far enough from Corngesælig that they cannot see even a hint of its fields it is dusk. There are woods near, and Arthur stops underneath a group of trees that stand slightly aloof from their brethren, as if guardians of the forest. ‘We should stop for the night,’ he says. ‘Good spot; not too open, yet not far into the woods where we may run across dangers.’
‘Thank you,’ Merlin says, and grunts as he practically falls off his horse. His legs are wobbly from riding and walking all day and his skin is still warm from the sun.
‘Graceful,’ Arthur comments, and slides easily off his own horse. ‘Now, once you’ve stopped being an ass, you can unload our packs and get camp set up. I’ll get a fire.’ He’s off before Merlin can complain.
~
‘That was a good idea you had, there,’ Arthur says, and puts a few random twigs onto the fire. ‘About the furrows, I mean. Possibly one of the only good ideas you’ve ever had.’
‘A few of the other good ideas including those to save your life, of course.’
‘Oh, right; how could I forget,’ he responds sarcastically, and fishes the leftover apples from breakfast from his pack. ‘Dessert?’
Merlin catches the apple that’s tossed to him and chomps down on it hungrily. Juice runs down his chin and he wipes it away with his sleeve.
‘Your face is red,’ Arthur says, oddly.
‘What?’
‘Your face,’ Arthur emphasizes, ‘is red. Suppose it’s from the sun, though. No worries.’
Merlin suddenly feels very self-conscious. ‘Is it terrible?’ he asks.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘I mean,’ he asks again, ‘what type of red is it? The sort of color of a pink rose or a bright bloody red?’
Arthur raises an eyebrow. ‘Rosy pink, Merlin. Just like a blushing maiden.’
Merlin really does blush at that, but doesn’t get the chance to respond because Arthur turns away. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
‘Right,’ Merlin says thickly around a mouthful of apple. ‘Er, ’night. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done. Uh, sleeping, I mean. Over there,’ he points, unnecessarily, and Arthur waves a hand up in dismissal from underneath his blanket. Merlin notices he hadn’t taken a single bite of his apple.
~
They arrive at Lyfthelm around mid-morning only to find it in a similar state as Corngesælig. They give them the same advice as they did the others and are on their way, refusing the meager food so kindly offered them.
~
By nightfall they’ve reached the northern borders of Camelot - specifically, Liferbýl. Merlin groans.
‘We have to stop here for the night,’ Arthur says, ‘unless you’d rather continue the journey in the dark?’
Merlin curses the new moon, for without it he wouldn’t complain against traveling at night. ‘They may eat me.’
Arthur shrugs. ‘It’s a risk we’re going to have to take.’ They dismount their horses, finding the inn quickly, and Arthur knocks on the door.
They are greeted by a scruffy-looking old man - or it may be a terribly hideous woman - who stays behind the threshold of the door except for the arm holding the lantern, which reaches out to illuminate their reprobate faces. ‘Yes?’
‘We come from the court of Camelot; we seek housing for the night.’
The man-woman looks Arthur up and down and flicks his gaze to Merlin. ‘Maybe you, sir,’ he says, ‘but not that one. I remember him.’
‘Perhaps,’ Arthur says, ‘but whatever trouble he’s caused in the past shall be eradicated from your memory. He is with me now.’
‘What will you be wanting, then?’ says the innkeeper.
‘A room with two beds.’
‘Aye, sir, we only have single-bed rooms open tonight,’ the innkeeper responds, with a glint in his eye. ‘Unless, of course, you’d be willing to pay to kick one of our current customers out of their own room - by the crest on your tunic I’d say you would.’
‘I have fled the court of Camelot,’ he says, ‘I was a knight, but my prince wronged me. Now you must give me quarters for the night. We’ll take a single bed.’
The innkeeper smiles and retreats into the inn, opening the door wide for them to enter. Arthur pays him a small fee - though, small as it is, it seems to Merlin to be more than necessary - and tells Arthur which room it is. Arthur comes back to the doorway. ‘I’ll get the horses,’ he says.
Merlin reluctantly enters the inn and, under the watchful gaze of the innkeeper, enters the room and is immediately greeted with a chill air and a stench of sweat. He covers his nose with his neckerchief.
Taking advantage of the prince’s absence, Merlin tries some spells to warm the room, as well as a few to make the air smell better - and after trying a few spells that make the room smell in turns like various flowers, he finally conquers a spell that, somehow, makes the room smell all at once familiar and nice, and Merlin knows he must be mimicking the smell of another room he knows, only he can’t pinpoint it. At any rate, it’s better than the inn’s own horrid musk. He pulls back the sheets of the bed - scarce, they are - and runs his hands over the lumpy mattress, muttering heating spells along the way.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
Merlin jumps at Arthur’s voice in the doorway - he hadn’t even heard the door open - and waves his hands around nervously, hoping that the spells were indeed quiet enough that no one could hear them.
‘Just, er, feeling the bed. Just lumpy enough for me, but I’m a bit worried about your royal arse -’
Arthur scoffs. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ he says, and then stops and looks curiously around, appearing to sniff the air. ‘Hmm, that’s strange.’
‘What?’ Merlin asks, slightly paranoid.
‘It reminds me of my room,’ Arthur answers distractedly. ‘I was expecting it to smell like horse manure, actually.’
Merlin shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed. ‘Who knew?’ he asks, and his voice is a bit too high-pitched to be believable. Luckily, Arthur’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice.
‘Yeah,’ the prince says, half to himself, and begins bringing out their own blankets and laying them atop the bed’s own.
Once he’s done, he stands there with his hands on his hips, looking at Merlin. ‘Well, go on. I’m not particularly tired.’
‘Oh,’ Merlin says, ‘thanks.’ He turns around and strips down to his tunic and pants, and immediately regrets not at least keeping his neckerchief for the chill air. He turns around quickly and almost topples into the bed, noticing that at some point Arthur has turned away, to the window. Merlin settles in, trying to make the sheets ever warmer with more quietly-uttered spells and his body. He watches Arthur for the longest time, the prince remaining an immovable presence by the window, and blearily notices just before he slips into unconsciousness Arthur’s face turning to look at him, and he smiles at it.
~
When Merlin wakes up, he has Arthur’s snoring head on his shoulder and Arthur’s leg thrown over his and Arthur’s arm across his torso and Arthur’s erect penis digging into his thigh.
He makes a small sound and tries to shove Arthur off him, but somehow he doesn’t budge. And all Merlin can think about is how this isn’t supposed to be like this, how maybe it would be alright if he woke up like this in Camelot and they were - well, if they’d done this before; and then he can’t even believe he’s thinking about it at all.
‘Arthur,’ he groans dramatically, trying to mask his own interest and suffering after nearly getting Arthur completely off him only for the prince to fall flat on his chest once more, causing all Merlin’s air to leave his lungs. Instead, he digs his fingers into Arthur’s biceps painfully, being rewarded with a yelp directly in his ear in response.
‘What was that for?’ Arthur says, and in post-jump embarrassment, sitting down casually on the bed and trying to cover up his crotch, realizing - realizing. ‘Never mind, we should get going.’ He climbs out of bed, turning around and clearing his throat loudly, beginning to get dressed already. Merlin nods, pointlessly, and climbs out of bed himself, dressing slowly in the cool air. By the time he turns around, though, he has to laugh, because Arthur’s put on his tunic inside out and backwards and, for all his standing and waiting impatiently for Merlin to finish dressing, hasn’t noticed.
‘What?’ he asks huffily, throwing his arms out in exasperation and only magnifying his ridiculousness. Luckily, Merlin notices, he isn’t hard anymore.
‘If you were aiming for hiding the crest on your tunic, sire,’ he says, smiling widely, ‘you’ve definitely succeeded.’
‘What?’ Arthur asks again. Merlin walks up to him and pulls on the tunic where the crest should be, and Arthur backs up, pulling it off with a barely-concealed blush and a scowl. Once he’s got it on right, he looks at Merlin again, slightly annoyed at Merlin’s still-smiling face, but everything in him seems to melt and he looks at Merlin seriously. They’re very close, and if Merlin really thought about it he would think that it’s too close, perhaps, particularly considering how he was awakened this morning (much more pleasant than the last two, actually), and how he really kind of wants to kiss Arthur right now.
Arthur clears his throat and turns to grab his pack. ‘We should be off,’ he says, ‘it’s practically noon anyway.’
‘Of course,’ Merlin says, and can’t help but feel a blankness somewhere inside or around him.
~
‘I told you they were vile,’ he contends, and while Arthur doesn’t argue, he doesn’t exactly praise Merlin, either.
They’d made inquiries to the innkeeper about their grain stores lately - how their crops were doing, et cetera, and the innkeeper had only laughed and told them they’ve never had any problems with their crops. Arthur and Merlin had paid a visit to their grain store after leaving the inn and, looking through a rather convenient window (though it required Merlin to kneel rather awkwardly on his horse’s back), had noticed that their stores were close to overflowing.
‘They probably don’t even use excess grain for ales; I bet it’s all they need to live on.’
‘I’m sure, Merlin,’ Arthur says, rather bored.
‘Anyway,’ Merlin says, ‘I suppose that was the last on the list?’
‘Off to Ealdor, now. You did send your mum a letter telling her we were coming, right?’
Merlin’s voice is very small when he says, ‘Uh, not quite. Anyhow I thought she would be delighted at a surprise.’
Arthur runs a hand down his face. ‘Merlin.’
‘Well, she’ll certainly be surprised, right?’
Arthur kicks his horse, causing it to run ahead. ‘Certainly.’
Merlin is compelled to get his horse ahead of Arthur’s, and if they’re far more tired than in days previous when they stop that night, it isn’t a bad thing.
~
The next day Merlin awakens to the sound of approaching horses. Shit, he thinks, and climbs out of his blankets, half-dressed, to see the men - four of them - approaching their camp.
‘Arthur,’ he hisses, ‘Arthur.’
Arthur doesn’t wake up before the men reach their camp, and the man in front - the leader, apparently - greets Merlin.
‘What do you want?’ Merlin asks, skeptically.
‘What do you have to offer?’ the man asks, in response.
‘Nothing,’ Merlin says. ‘We are armed.’
The bandit laughs. ‘It would seem your companion may be well-armed, while you are not; and he is asleep.’
Merlin shifts from foot to foot, turning swiftly when the other bandits try to circle around behind him. ‘Arthur,’ he tries again.
‘We’ll just be taking this, then,’ the leader says, dismounting his horse and walking over to Arthur’s horse tethered to a tree.
‘No!’ Merlin says, ‘Forwiernan!’
The man lands with a loud thud on the ground and the other bandits immediately dismount and surround Merlin before he can realize it. He turns to them with his hands out, trying in vain to let the same spells course through both hands at once. It’s something he’s never done before, but he’s read it in the Book, and it’s worth a shot, anyway.
‘Arthur!’ he shouts, once he’s knocked one of the men back. One runs after Merlin and another follows, and Merlin can do naught but run to where Arthur is sleeping and shove him awake.
Arthur jumps with a start, immediately recognizing the situation, grabbing his sword and going after the men. The one Merlin had managed to knock back comes after him, so Merlin runs away to keep him from Arthur. He can still see the prince, and doesn’t even think twice about using magic against the man, his only weapon.
‘Ymbbindan.’ The man’s body goes completely stiff and he falls back like a board, and Merlin utters another spell so that everything he tries to say sounds like it’s being uttered around a ball of fabric in his mouth.
Another man runs toward him, the only free one not fighting Arthur, and Merlin utters the same binding spell. Merlin muffles his voice as well, running to the horses to try calming them as much as he can.
‘Merlin!’ Arthur yells, and dodges a sword-blade. Merlin manages to do the same to these two, knocking them down in front of Arthur. Arthur knocks them cold with the flat edge of his sword for good measure. He then stumbles away, arm bleeding. ‘Think you can pin them to the tree?’ he asks, and Merlin, too flabbergasted to say anything in response, nods, and Arthur gathers the men under a tree to allow Merlin to nail them to it with magic. In a fit of derision, he flips them all upside down before pinning them.
The bandits’ horses have run amuck now, and Arthur goes to their own to quiet them. He grabs his arm where it’s bleeding and kisses one horse on the nose. ‘So,’ he says, as nonchalantly as possible, ‘you’re a sorcerer.’
Merlin’s blood runs cold and he nods, head suddenly feeling thick and full of lies. Arthur walks over to him and holds his arm out. ‘Can you heal me, then?’ Merlin is so surprised he doesn’t do anything but nod again, and puts his hand over Arthur’s exposed wound to try and stop the bleeding, pulling off his neckerchief and tying it around the muscle for good measure.
He walks away even as Arthur thanks him and says quietly, ‘I expect we should be off,’ gathering their things and mounting his horse before Arthur can disagree.
~
As they travel further north, it becomes cloudy. It’s been a quiet day, neither of them speaking a word since leaving camp, Merlin riding ahead to avoid conversation. Until now, Arthur has let him, but he can’t let it go on until they reach Ealdor.
‘Thank you, again, Merlin,’ Arthur tries, but Merlin kicks his horse forward.
‘Will you please listen to me?’ Arthur asks, his voice earnest as he pulls roughly on the reins to stop his horse. Luckily, Merlin stops his as well, and turns around to face him.
‘Please, Merlin,’ Arthur continues, and his voice sounds tired and perhaps a little lonely. ‘If you want me to be honest I’ll say I’ve had my suspicions that something was up - a puny bloke like you could hardly ever do much to save someone like me without help - but I’m not angry. I just want to know how long this has been going on.’
‘I’ve been able to do magic from birth. It wasn’t exactly a choice.’
‘You came to Camelot, a sorcerer, knowing that my father had sorcerers executed?’
Merlin shrugs and looks down. ‘My mum sent me.’
‘She knew?’
‘It’s a bit hard to hide being a sorcerer from the woman who raised you, yeah.’
‘You’ve been in danger this whole time,’ Arthur says, venturing to bring his horse closer to Merlin’s. ‘Yet you’ve not left. Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ Merlin says, ‘to help Gaius. Because someone had to save your arse, and I thought that I might try to make sure the Pendragon line would continue while I was there.’
Arthur scoffs. ‘As if I ever really needed saving -’
‘Besides, you’re a much better person due to my mentoring. You’re still a prat, but at least you don’t throw daggers at serving boys anymore.’
Arthur smiles despite the interruption. ‘I could always pick up the habit again.’
‘No,’ Merlin says, turning back around and continuing riding, Arthur following suit, ‘you wouldn’t be able to. My effects are rather permanent.’
Merlin laughs and his horse trots ahead. Thunder rolls through the sky and it begins to drizzle. It only makes Merlin laugh the harder.
‘You’ll be responsible for making sure my chain mail doesn’t rust, you know,’ Arthur says after him.
‘It’s fine,’ Merlin responds, ‘I’ve always used magic anyway.’
And suddenly, while he runs ahead on his horse with his hands out to the rain and his voice ringing through the air, the sight of Merlin against a sky lit by lightning makes his throat close up, and Arthur wonders at the sight and the warlock himself.
~
They stop once they find an area of land untouched (yet) by the storms and Merlin sneezes.
‘I think I’ve caught cold,’ he says, voice a bit thick. He coughs.
‘It’s your fault for frolicking in the rain,’ Arthur says, but smiles. ‘I’m only hoping it doesn’t rain tonight. Could you possibly improvise a tent?’
Merlin shrugs, even with his arms held tight across his chest to keep him warm. ‘I could try,’ he says. Somehow, he manages to expand and thicken one of their blankets into something representing a tarp, and uses blades of grass to create stakes and a pole to create a zenith.
Arthur turns around from where he’s started a fire. He looks at it appreciatively and pats the log next to him, indicating Merlin to sit there.
‘So how do you learn spells?’
‘Gaius,’ Merlin says quietly. ‘He gave me a book of spells after he found out, to help me control my magic.’
‘Gaius knows?’
‘Yes.’
‘So your friend, Will -’
‘Wasn’t a warlock,’ Merlin says, picking at a thread on his sleeve.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur says gently. ‘He must have loved you greatly to lie for you.’
‘He was like a brother,’ Merlin says, and looks rather sad.
Arthur looks at him for a moment and then tosses the leftover apple into Merlin’s lap. ‘Here,’ he says.
‘Is this yours?’ Merlin asks. ‘The one you didn’t eat the other day?’
‘Not anymore. Go ahead.’
Merlin eats the apple as Arthur continues to feed the fire.
‘The storm today spread into the south and east for miles,’ Arthur says. ‘Hopefully that means our friends in Corngesælig and Lyfthelm got the rain they need.’ He rubs his arm where Merlin’s neckerchief is tied and removes the cloth to find the wound nearly completely healed.
‘I suppose you don’t want this back? At least not until it’s washed properly.’
Merlin wrinkles his nose. ‘I’ll save your life, but I draw the line at wearing your blood on my neck,’ he says, and twists around to get a better view of the wound.
‘It’s healing nicely. I suppose that spell I did earlier wasn’t just to stop the blood; it seems to be helping the skin to heal as well. Does it hurt?’
Arthur hisses when Merlin presses his fingers against the skin around the wound.
‘Hmm,’ Merlin says, running his fingertips ghost-like across the actual wound and whispering indistinguishable words. It immediately seems to close up just a hair more, and further, it feels better, and doesn’t hurt as much when Merlin presses it again.
‘Alright?’ he asks, and Arthur nods. Merlin looks up at him and Arthur notices the firelight glowing in Merlin’s eyes, and the glow is intensified when Merlin utters a spell that Arthur can’t actually bother listening to. Merlin pulls away slightly and holds out his dinner-bowl, now full of water. He uses a clean, dry area of his neckerchief to dab at Arthur’s wound, washing off the encrusted blood. His fingers are so soft on his skin and so nimble-quick that Arthur wants, needs to do something to them, but is prevented when, quicker than he had begun, Merlin pulls away and stands up.
‘All clean,’ he says softly, and Arthur feels the loss of warmth at his side, though his skin still tingles where Merlin had touched it, and beyond.
Part 2