I haven't tried writing anything like this in a long time, so I'm sorry if it's jumping around funny or doesn't flow well or something else like that!
be warned: this is SLASH. don't like it, don't read it - I've warned you, so don't complain.
Disclaimer - I own nothing, Merlin is all BBC. If it were mine, things would be a liiittle different...
Merlin was late.
Merlin was very, very late. The sun was already high in the sky, it being well nearing noon, and he hadn't even served Arthur his breakfast yet - let alone walked the dogs, mucked out the stables, polished Arthur's armor, or done any of his other usual chores.
Leaping from bed and changing rapidly, he practically galloped down the hall. He tripped (only once) rushing down the stairs and past other servants to the now nearly empty kitchens. A hungry prince is a grumpy one, so breakfast takes priority. The cook gave him a dirty look as Merlin grabbed Arthur's cold breakfast and rushed back out of the room, knocking over a recently cleaned pot in the process. Blushing, he kept his head down the whole run to Arthur's chambers.
Merlin reached the door, pausing a heartbeat to gather himself before slowing turning the handle. He pulled on his best apologetic puppy-dog smile, and braced himself for what was waiting.
And what was waiting was one very moody, dark, and hungry looking Prince.
"Merlin," Arthur growled, "do you have any idea what time it is?"
Merlin sighed and ducked his head, making his way over to the Crown Prince's desk where papers and documents laid scattered and unlooked. He made a space and placed the tray of breakfast down quietly. The entire room seemed dishevelled and overturned, even more so than usual.
"I'm sorry, sire, I was up late yesterday evening and overslept this morning. It won't happen again."
Silence followed. After a moment, Merlin peeked his head up to see a very distracted Arthur staring through his window, already having forgotten about Merlin, clearly deep in thought.
"Sire?"
No answer.
"Arthur?"
Still nothing.
"Dollophead?"
A clunk in the head as an expertly thrown cup smacks Merlin, hard.
"Well someone's not had anything to eat yet." Merlin grumbles, rubbing his head as he navigates the mess to reach Arthur by the window.
The prince nearly grins, "And whose fault is that?" Merlin gets to the window and leans over Arthur to see what's distracted him so much as to forget about being hungry.
The sight, though in his years in Camelot Merlin must have seen it tens of times before, still manages to cause his stomach to clench and his heart to stutter.
"One of the townspeople have accused him of sorcery, and father has been in such a mood lately he isn't waiting for real proof before sentencing..." Arthur murmurs, his eyes trained on the stake slowly being arranged.
"This isn't right, if anything, the boy was only using it to heal his injured and dying sister!"He runs a frustrated hand through his hair which now hung slightly over his eyes, abandoning his post at the window to pace the room. The whole situation was clearly upsetting him.
Merlin stayed frozen, suddenly unable to breath. His eyes are locked on what would soon become the boy's grave. For some reason, this particular instance was hitting him far too close to home. Perhaps it's because it's the first time he's seen a child sentenced. Or maybe it's because he knows that at such a young age, the boy couldn't possibly have studied magic - he was dying because of the way he was born.
It takes a breeze through the window to make Merlin realize the tears rolling down his cheeks. He quickly rubs them away with his sleeve, surprised, before Arthur can notice. It would raise too many questions - like Merlin noted, he had seen this before. Why should this case be any different?
He doesn't get them all in time - a strong hand grips Merlin's wrist and gently pulls it from his face. The warlock glances up to see not the cold face of a prince, but the soft eyes of Arthur. A tear threatens to break once more, so Arthur reaches up and catches it on his thumb before it falls, leaving his hand resting on Merlin's cheek. Gently, he reaches up to brush away a dark section of hair that rests in front of Merlin's eyes, before glancing into them himself.
Arthur's eyes meet Merlin's, blue into blue. Full of understanding and comfort, and something else Merlin can't quite place. Arthur's voice is low, a murmur,
"Merlin. You know I won't let them hurt you. You know I ... I could never hurt you."
The prince pulls a properly confused warlock to his chest and wraps his arms around him tight. Merlin, although confused, warms to the touch and returns the embrace, sinking into Arthur's chest and sighing once. He'd grown used to these arms over the past month, since he and Arthur's relationship had changed from prince and servant to something more. These arms had become a comfort, a home.
Merlin sighed again, his voice slightly muffled from speaking into the prince's chest,
"I don't understand, Arthur - why would anyone hurt me? Why are you saying this?"
Arthur pulled away enough that he could stare directly into the warlock's eyes, never wavering. He spoke softly, but with a determined conviction to get whatever he was going to say out into the open.
"Because I know, Merlin. I know who and what you are."