Sacrifice; 300 words
"I'm scared, Merlin."
Merlin keeps his eyes shut tight and lets the whisper of Arthur's breath crash against his nape. The forest floor is unpleasantly damp through the bedroll, but it is offset by the warmth of Arthur's body near him, the unsteady burn of the dying fire an intermittent comfort.
The knights, scattered all around them, resemble the dead in their still slumber—the hunt for the assassin who poisoned Uther Pendragon has failed, and the forest looms unfriendly over them as they sleep.
"I'm not ready."
Merlin lies still as a statue. Arthur shuffles a little closer to him and Merlin almost jolts in surprise as Arthur covers Merlin with his own cloak, tucking the ends in carefully under Merlin to ward off the cold wet.
"Ruling Camelot is all I've trained for. Ever since I was old enough to wield a sword and sit on my father's lap bearing the weight of my circlet. It's all I know how to do. But I can't." Arthur's voice breaks.
All Merlin wants to do is roll over and hold Arthur close, place a hand on the back of Arthur's head and rest it on his shoulder, but Arthur may never forgive him if he does.
"I have no one by me," Arthur whispers. "Who'll ever dare to look past my crown and sceptre."
Merlin grits his teeth, aching to shout some sense into the broken man behind him.
"No one but you, Merlin."
Arthur's ungloved hand gently brushes through Merlin's hair. The tip of his nose is a chill on Merlin's neck.
"Turn around if you're awake, Merlin. Turn around and we'll run, far away to a kingdom which knows no Pendragon—manage a farm, till some land. Turn around."
Merlin swallows and remains unmoving. Arthur's hand keeps stroking.
Judge Myself Guilty; 200 words
"You idiot!" Arthur roared. Merlin flinched, chagrined as Arthur strode over. He should've got out of sight earlier.
"What the fuck were you doing, right in the beast's line of sight?"
Ensuring it didn't gore you, Merlin hissed inwardly. Arthur caught something of Merlin's defiance in his eyes and dragged him deep into the thickets, away from the knights milling about the eviscerated creature's ruins.
Merlin hadn't expected to be shoved up against a tree—he opened his mouth to protest when he caught the utterly gutted look on Arthur's face.
"I really should stop bringing you everywhere, you're fucking useless," Arthur said, lowering his head onto Merlin's chest, ear over where Merlin knew his heart beat steadily.
"Sorry, sire," Merlin snapped. "I'll be certain to stand by and watch you get killed next time."
Arthur looked up, then. Hooked a thumb in Merlin's mouth and slid his tongue past the seam, making Merlin melt into the bark at his back—keeping his hand pressed against Merlin's jaw as he kissed and licked at him, both forgetting to breathe in the chaos of Arthur's frustration, Merlin's devotion.
"You had better," Arthur said, stepping back, drawing his thumb into his mouth.
Somnolent; 100 words
"Look at them," Arthur whispers. Merlin yawns. "They're sleeping together. We should do that."
"What d'you think this is," Merlin mutters, lazily patting Arthur on his stomach.
"But he's got a hand between her—"
"Then you should prolly stop staring."
"I want to do that with you!"
Merlin props himself up on an elbow. "Really?" he asks, smiling widely, making sure not to glance Tristan and Isolde's way. Arthur cups Merlin's face, leaning in for a kiss that Merlin doesn't give.
"Ask me once you're you again," Merlin breathes.
"I will," Arthur promises. Merlin curls into Arthur's side, drowsy, hoping.