Arthur Pendragon was not a coward. He had faced every kind of opponent, from monsters to entire armies, and proven his courage time and time again. That didn't make the dryness in his mouth and the fluttering in his stomach any less pathetic as he steeled himself for what he was about to do.

"What is your opinion of Sir Mordred?" Arthur asked, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He wasn't sure how well he'd done it though, as Merlin visibly stiffened, and paused in sharpening his sword to give him an indecipherable look across the table. Though Merlin tried to hide it there was a flash of something like panic in his eyes, and Arthur could have sworn he heard the whetstone clink ominously against the blade as Merlin's hand shook.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sire," he replied after much too long, fixing his eyes determinedly back on his work.

Arthur winced. The honorific either meant Merlin was angry with him or extremely uncomfortable, and neither was conducive to the conversation he wanted to have.

"Just curious as to what you think of him, that's all," Arthur assured him, in what was meant to be a soothing voice but probably strayed a little too close to nervous, "I do, actually, value your opinion."

Merlin snorted.

"I'm serious!"

Merlin laughed.

Arthur ground his teeth in frustration, but he knew that losing his temper would do no good.

"Look," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice even, "his situation is rather unique, alright? He's the first Druid ever to become a Knight of Camelot. I need to keep a close eye on him. Even you can't deny that it's obvious he's . . . different."

Merlin hesitated a moment. "Yes," he said at length, "I suppose that he is different from the others."

"Good!" Arthur encouraged. "Different how?"

"You're the one who brought it up!" Merlin shot back defensively, though he didn't look at Arthur. "You said he was different. What do you think of him?"

The King knew an opening when he saw one. "He's exceedingly brave," he began, "and loyal. He treats everyone well, no matter their station. He has none of the arrogance you find so offensive in me."

"I don't find it offensive," Merlin interjected lightly, still not looking up from his work. "I just want to make sure that you're aware of it."

"If I want your opinion, Merlin, I'll ask for it," Arthur snapped.

"You just did ask my opinion," Merlin protested.

"Of Mordred!" Arthur shouted, half rising from his chair. When he saw the little half smile playing around Merlin's mouth though he sank back down, realizing he'd been goaded into an argument he didn't want to have at the moment.

"He's quieter than the others," Arthur continued, trying to pick up where he'd left off, "not so prone to reckless or childish antics. He doesn't drink to excess, as some of them do. He's thoughtful, and not afraid to speak his mind."

He paused, grasping at something that would really reach Merlin. "He doesn't enjoy fighting. He doesn't get the same pleasure out of hunting or tournaments that the rest of us do. He's not a violent man. He's . . . merciful. Like you."

Arthur went quiet, watching Merlin closely for a reaction. He hoped that Merlin would catch his meaning, or at least betray something of his thoughts. There was a moment of silence as Arthur's speech settled over the room, the only sound the continued slide of the whetstone over Arthur's sword.

"You think very highly of him," Merlin commented, just as the air between them was beginning to seem too still. He sounded almost . . . disappointed?

Arthur blinked, worrying suddenly that Merlin thought he had been indicating his own interest. "He has all the qualities I value in a knight," he clarified, pushing aside the twinge of offense at the thought that he would betray Guinevere in such a way. "I find him worthy of commendation. And recommendation."

Merlin glanced at him in confusion, but did not let in interrupt his rhythm.

"Put down the bloody sword Merlin!" Arthur snapped, "it's sharp enough!"

Merlin obediently set his work upon the table. "Shall I begin polishing your armor then, sire?" he asked, in obvious attempt to escape.

"No!" Arthur retorted. "I'm trying to talk to you, alright? For all that it may seem unfathomable to you I do actually want your opinion on this."

Merlin stared at him for a moment, a mixture of confusion and concern in his eyes. It made Arthur's gut twist, as though he were deceiving his friend. If he were honest with himself Merlin was his friend; the awkward youth had been with him since he was still an uncrowned Prince, and they had only grown closer as the years had passed. Speaking on behalf of a newcomer to their lives suddenly felt treacherous and dishonest, but Arthur reminded himself that he'd made a promise.

"Mordred is all that you say," Merlin said carefully. "He seems kind enough. His skill in combat is not inconsiderable. He seems a worthy knight."

"What about as a man?" Arthur pressed. "What do you think of him?"

Merlin's mouth clamped shut, his eyes taking on an almost hostile quality. "Do you want the truth, sire?" he asked, a note of coldness in his voice.

"Yes!" Arthur insisted, hoping this meant that he was finally getting somewhere. "Tell me what you think, honestly."

"I think you were too hasty in knighting him," Merlin said flatly. "We know almost nothing about him, and he has a history with Morgana. I don't know that he can be trusted."

Arthur gaped at him. Never had he heard Merlin express so open a disapproval of his choices. Usually his servant's tone would be one of dry irritation, or else cautious in it's entreaty that Arthur might reconsider. This blatant condemnation of his decision was wholly unexpected.

Merlin seemed to realize that he'd gone too far. "I'll go and fetch your armor then shall I?" he suggested, turning quickly from the table, head down.

"No!" Arthur cried, wincing as he saw Merlin flinch. "I told you to speak plainly and you did so. There's no need for you to be nervous. You just surprised me, is all."

He frowned in confusion. "Is there a reason for this distrust you seem to have for him?"

Merlin, who had looked up at Arthur's apology, dropped his eyes to the floor again. "No, sire," he said quietly.

Arthur wanted to scream. "I won't have this Merlin," he insisted, "you're lying and I want the truth. Now out with it. Why don't you trust Sir Mordred?"

For a moment Merlin held his gaze, eyes clouded with fear and indecision. His teeth began to worry at his full bottom lip, making it even more puffy and pink than normal. Arthur was struck by a sudden fascination with that lip. The way it stuck out. The way it darkened in color as it was nibbled. How soft it looked. In fact he might have let the matter drop, just staring at Merlin's mouth, if the man himself had not spoken up again.

"It is a matter of . . . personal nature, sire," Merlin told him quietly. "It is complicated."

"By all means, sit down and explain it to me," Arthur said, indicating the chair opposite his own.

"It is not a matter of a long explanation," Merlin replied desperately. "It involves things which are . . . delicate."

"What do you mean?" Arthur demanded, searching Merlin's face for some clue, but finding nothing but more pain and worry. He was beginning to think that he was drawing close to something that Merlin had been keeping from him for a long time.

"Why won't you trust me Merlin?" he asked. "You act as though you're afraid of me. What have I done to make you think I could ever hurt you?"

Merlin swallowed. "You don't trust me with every little detail of your life," he pointed out, "some things are just-"

"You share every detail of my life!" Arthur protested. "You know everything about me Merlin. You were there for most of it. I trust you with everything."

"Some things aren't as simple as trust," Merlin said softly, looking down, "and trust isn't defined by how much you care for someone. I care for you Arthur, but that doesn't mean . . . that isn't -"

"Enough?" Arthur choked, his throat suddenly blocked by a lump he hadn't felt forming. Merlin flinched, a look of shock flitted across his face before his expression returned to one of desperation.

"What could be so bad you couldn't tell me?" Arthur insisted, trying to hold Merlin's gaze, trying to let his sincerity show in his eyes.

Merlin's eyes were shining with unshed tears now. Arthur realized he'd asked too much, pushed Merlin too far, but he had to know. Whatever this was Merlin had been hiding it for too long, and Arthur felt his desperation to clear the air peek as Merlin closed his eyes in exhaustion and bowed his head again. It was obviously causing Merlin pain, having to keep whatever it was a secret, and Arthur felt . . . hurt. It hurt him that Merlin didn't think he could trust him.

He had to wonder, if Merlin didn't trust him, who did he trust?

"He loves you, you know," Arthur pleaded. "Mordred? He's sick with it. Absolutely besotted. He can't take this inexplicable suspicion of yours Merlin, it's tearing him apart." It's tearing me apart.

"So, what?" Merlin spat, looking back at Arthur with eyes suddenly furious, and Arthur almost jumped. "Just because he thinks he's in love with me I'm obliged to return his attentions? I must revise my opinions for the sake of his infatuation? Why? Because he is a knight and I am a servant? For this I am required to give myself to him, regardless of my own preferences?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all!" Arthur stumbled, completely floored for the second time during their conversation. "I just want you to give him a chance."

Merlin was blinking back his tears now, voice full of venom. "With all due respect, sire, I don't owe him a chance. I don't owe him anything. Did it ever occur to you that there might be someone else for me?"

"Is there?" Arthur asked, his blood going cold.

"That's not the point!" Merlin shouted, hands flying up to tug at his hair in frustration.

"Is there, though?" The idea shocked him, but not nearly as much as the twist in his stomach when he considered that Merlin might already have a lover he didn't know about.

"No!" Merlin howled, voice breaking in anger. "And there doesn't need to be! I don't need a lover to use as a shield against Mordred! I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself who I take to my bed, and you, my Lord, have absolutely no say in the matter!"

And with that Merlin stormed out of the King's chambers, leaving Arthur feeling more wretched than he'd felt in a long time.

Author's Note: I was going to pretend that this story could end anywhere, so it was at any given time complete, but that's not really going to work is it? The next chapter will be "Merlin and Mordred Have it Out." When I get around to it.