Half written for Day 9—Week 2, Day 2—of the BBC Merlin Fest and half me finishing something I started writing a few months back. Takes place during "The Coming of Arthur (Part 1)" just after Cenred's men get the Cup of Life, and while Arthur is unconscious.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

His Prince

*.*.*.*.*

Gwaine had known from the second Merlin had hinted at needing more firewood that what he really wanted was some time alone with the unconscious prat of a prince. He wasn't entirely sure why, so he had given him a bit of a hard time, fishing around to see if he might drop some sort of hint or another as to his real reasons, but he had offered nothing. So Gwaine had agreed to go off for it, telling Merlin he was just taking the piss out of him before leaving to gather some firewood.

He gave Merlin plenty of time to do whatever it was that he needed to do before deciding he had enough firewood to last the night and went back to their camp. Approaching slowly, Gwaine made sure he wasn't interrupting anything too private before making himself known. Merlin didn't even jump as he approached and dropped his armful of wood near the fire, his attention was so focused on Arthur's still unmoving form.

He was quiet, thoughtful, worried. His face fallen, almost as though something was... wrong.

"How's he doing, then?" Gwaine asked, gesturing to the unconscious prince as he hovered for a moment. Merlin didn't answer right away, giving Gwaine a moment of panic—had something happened, had something gone wrong in the few minutes he was away? Surely, it would have been the first thing he mentioned when Gwaine returned?

"I don't… He'll last until we get him back home." Merlin nodded at last, still slightly distracted and distant.

Gwaine nodded and took his seat by a nearby tree, letting silence pass on until he saw Arthur's hand grasped tightly in Merlin's, pressed to Merlin's mouth as he mumbled something or another.

"You don't have to hide it, you know," Gwaine said suddenly, something clicking inside his head.

Merlin twisted around to face him, eyes wide and guarded and wondering before Gwaine continued.

"You don't have to send me away. If you want to do it, just do it; don't mind me; I'm not here to judge, Merlin."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked, suspicion written in the way he asked the question slowly.

"You, Arthur—" Gwaine made a wide gesture. "—You're in love. S'all right to admit it, Merlin." He smiled slightly, sure that had been why Merlin had sent him off, so he could get all touchy-feely with him, show him in his unconscious state how much he still loved him, how much he needed to wake up and be all right.

"Me? In love with this prat?" Merlin snorted, still holding Arthur's hand in a way that made Gwaine give him a skeptical look.

"You're always so worried about him, so willing to risk your life for his."

"He's my prince." He insisted, as though that was the only sort of explanation needed.

And if Gwaine squinted against the light the fire was casting upon Merlin's face, he could almost swear he was blushing, which only pushed him forward with his wonderings.

"He's a lot of people's prince, yet you're the one always willing to risk everything for him."

"Yeah, but... it's not... like that, Gwaine."

"What's it like, then?"

"I..." Merlin narrowed his eyes in thought, his mouth parted as Gwaine awaited an answer. "I don't know, really." He sighed, almost helpless with the admission. "I just... I need him to be all right, Gwaine. I need him to be."

Gwaine nodded thoughtfully. Merlin's eyes were so intense in that moment, there was something almost unreadable on his face, that it almost startled him. "Just your prince, then." He said softly, not believing the words even as he said them, but knowing that Merlin needed him to, needed him to at least pretend he did—for his sake.

"Just my prince." Merlin agreed somberly. He squeezed Arthur's still hand and then gently let it go, placed it back under his jacket, and sat contemplating Arthur's shivering form for a few moments longer.

And in that moment, Gwaine could almost swear he felt his own heart break, just a little, for his friend.

*.*.*.*.*