Merlin woke to fingers carding through his hair and his cheek pressed to warm, smooth skin, Gawaine's heartbeat thudding against his ear in a slow, steady rhythm. "Mmm, morning," he hummed, stretching. As the covers fell away from his skin, he shivered, tucking quickly back down against Gawaine's chest. If the man wanted him to move, he would have to say so. "I'm freezing again," he said, slightly worried about his temperature, but he really didn't feel as bad.
Gawaine's fingers wove through his hair, the back of his hand resting briefly on Merlin's forehead. "Your fever's not returned," Gawaine assured, chuckling. "It's just chilly." He pulled the blankets back up around their shoulders, folding his arm beneath his head. He didn't seem in a hurry to get up either. "I heard the camp stirring. We won't have much longer, lazy daisy."
Merlin stiffened at the name, sighing and pushing up, one hand on the centre of Gawaine's strong torso, looking down at his friend. "Best not linger. Arthur hates it when-"
"Wake up, you two!" Both of them turned as the tent flap was pushed aside and Arthur's face appeared, looking decidedly annoyed. "Get up. We've got a long ride and we don't want to keep your mother and Gaius waiting." Arthur tossed Merlin's now-dry boots into the tent, though not at Merlin himself. Surprising, given his apparent mood.
"All right, just give me a moment to get my eyes open," Merlin said, looking back down at Gawaine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur's head pull out of the tent. "May I?" he asked Gawaine, shifting to sit up, his thumbs hovering over Gawaine's swollen, bruised nose.
"I don't think it's broken, but I'll buy you a tankard in the next town we come to if you can make it stop throbbing," Gawaine said, looking down his nose. "I must look like a raccoon with these bruises."
"A bit," Merlin said, smiling. "I'm not sure this will do much, but it's worth a try." He laid his thumbs on either side of the swelling, barely touching the bluish purple skin. "Senthuis alreya heathu."
He watched Gawaine's expression as he cast, seeing wonder in the dark eyes as they witnessed his magic up close for the first time.
Gawaine gasped and Merlin jerked his hands away quickly, but the bruises lifted, the swelling shrank a bit and Gawaine laughed, fingers touching the bridge of his nose. "Much better, thank you."
Smiling in relief, Merlin shivered, tucking back down under the blankets, his head on Gawaine's chest again, fingers brushing back and forth where his hand lay trailing over Gawaine's side. He just wanted a moment more of peace before he faced Arthur. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It was surprising to wake up like that, to say the least." He felt his face heat as he thought of himself sandwiched between Gawaine and Arthur, the memory of so much heat touching everywhere along his body still fresh in his mind.
"I can imagine. Especially since you're not accustomed to it," Gawaine said, ruffling Merlin's hair and grinning down with a teasing smile. "Someday it will be old hat to you and I'll never get to see your face redden."
Merlin closed his eyes. There were times when Gawaine's smile and teasing felt like a brick to his chest. "I doubt it." He sighed and patted Gawaine's side, rolling away to sit up again, casting a spell to fill the tent with warm air as he crouched, running his hands through his hair. "Well, I've got a hungry prince to feed. Thanks for..." Merlin gestured at the blankets and gave him a half-smile. "Well, thanks."
"Anytime," Gawaine answered, kneeling up, the blankets falling away. He was dressed in only his smalls and Merlin looked away quickly, pretending he didn't see the state Gawaine was in.
Mornings did that to him, too, usually.
He nodded, pausing at the door to the tent, steeling himself for whatever Arthur might throw at him. Literally or figuratively.
"It's about time," Arthur barked. He chucked his leftover breakfast into the fire before looking at Merlin. "Sorry. I'm just... Lancelot made breakfast while you were sleeping. He thought you could use an extra candlemark or two of rest."
For an instant he wondered what he'd done to earn Arthur's ire this time. He wouldn't have guessed Arthur would be angry at him about the night before, but Arthur could get worked up about dust on his windowsill. Why did Merlin always hope for more consideration? "I'm not hungry, thanks," he said, warming his fingers at the fire.
"No, me neither, not after last night," Arthur said quietly, the words spearing into Merlin as sharp as a crossbow bolt.
He didn't look up. He couldn't. His face burned with shame and the sinking feeling that this was more than Arthur's usual morning moodiness.
Maybe he'd lost far more than he'd thought when he'd kissed Arthur. The thought made him unsteady on his feet. "Could we please not talk about it? Ever?" His voice barely wavered, but Arthur still obviously heard.
He looked sharply up at Merlin, anger poorly-concealed and showing in the slight hitch of his upper lip. "I had thought I'd asked as much before you left my tent."
"If you're trying to make it worse, you're doing a damned fine job of it." Merlin felt sick as soon as he'd said it, his throat clogging as he swallowed hard. Before Arthur could yell, he said, "I'm sorry. I'm not altogether here this morning, Sire."
"When are you ever?" Arthur threw a stone into the fire, not looking up. "Eat. I don't care if you're not hungry; you need the nourishment and I'll not have you fainting and falling from the saddle. Your mother wouldn't thank me for breaking your head."
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but just then Gawaine came out of the tent, shaking his hair back from his face and frowning. "What are we talking about?"
As Merlin looked in disgust toward the hanging pot of thick wheat meal, Arthur stood and slung an arm around his shoulders, yanking him back as if showing him to Gawaine, his false smile and the weight of his arm on Merlin's shoulders made his chest ache.
Arthur's smile was the one he saved for court functions. "My bean pole of a servant isn't hungry. Tell him to eat, Gawaine; maybe he'll listen to you."
Merlin ducked out from under Arthur's arm, busying himself with bowls and cups for him and Gawaine.
Gawaine didn't respond to Arthur, instead coming to stand next to Merlin by the fire. When Arthur shrugged and walked away toward the opposite end of camp, he turned and took the bowls from Merlin's hands, setting them down.
Merlin clenched his jaw, as angry as he was humiliated. "I've ruined everything, haven't I?" he whispered, holding in the sigh that might let loose every emotion he had at once.
Gawaine moved in front of him, cutting off his view of Arthur's retreating back, hands on Merlin's face, forcing Merlin to look at him. "It will pass," he whispered, "he can never stay angry with you, Merlin."
"Yeah, well" Merlin shrugged, not looking Gawaine in the eye. "He doesn't have to be mean about it, does he? I'm humiliated enough already."
"I've something better than pottage. Come here." Gawaine led him over to the tent they'd shared, crouching to rummage through his pack. He came up with two cloth bundles of cheese and dried meat, handing one to Merlin. "It startled him, seeing us like that, you know."
Merlin looked away, taking a bit of cheese. It stuck in his throat as he swallowed. "More likely he's upset I was still here at all. I should have just gone on to Ealdor alone last night."
"If you had, my tent would have been cold and we'd all be tracking you down by now," Gawaine said, a soft smile on his lips as he looked in Arthur's direction. "He likes to keep an eye on you, you know."
"No, he doesn't, but he should," Merlin said, his stupid, blindly-enduring hope slipping a little through his carefully straight-faced delivery. "I'm quite valuable," he teased, the corners of his lips turning up as he glanced sideways at Gawaine, who bumped their shoulders together and laughed softly.
"Too expensive for the likes of him," Gawaine said, smirking. "Finish up. He'll put us both in the stocks if we don't get a move on."
They ate as they packed up Gawaine's tent and then the cooking things, now cool to the touch. He nearly dropped the kettle on his foot anyway when he tripped on a root.
"Careful," Gawaine said, stopping the kettle from rolling with his boot and grabbing Merlin's elbow to steady him. "I'll take that if you take the blankets," he said, and Merlin gave him a grateful smile.
As Gawaine handed him a wadded quilt, Arthur came up behind him, wrapping an arm around Gawaine's shoulders and leaning his head in close, stage whispering, "Merlin's always a bit clumsier in the mornings. Isn't that right, Merlin?"
Gawaine stepped away, kneeling to shove a coiled rope into his pack, fury plain on his face as he looked up at Merlin.
"Yes, Sire," Merlin said, touching Gawaine's knee with his boot as Arthur turned away. He shook his head in warning, willing Gawaine to remain calm. There would be hell to pay if this turned the two men against one another. Merlin would never be able to choose between them.
Despite his behaviour that morning, Arthur was still his friend, would always be, he hoped, at least in some small way. He didn't think he could go back to how things were in the beginning, when Arthur had only ever seen him as a nuisance.
Gawaine shoved the last of his things into his pack and, throwing one more look of carefully-checked anger in Arthur's direction, stood up, shouldering it.
The morning was dripping wet, the snow falling in great heavy heaps from the branches overhead, splatting thickly on the forest floor. Merlin's boots had dried by the fire for an entire day, the leather stiff and unyielding from all the abuse it'd taken. Still, they were more comfortable than Leon's had been and kept out the worst of the melting snow.
"Merlin, I could use a hand with my tent-" Gawaine began, but Arthur stepped between the two of them, raising a hand in the air.
"I think you've had Merlin long enough, Sir Gawaine. My own tent needs seeing to and I'm eager to put horseshoe to packed dirt and be on our way," Arthur said, smiling his non-smile, the one that Merlin loathed.
"Follow me – I have a task for you," Arthur ordered Merlin, still smiling, waving him into their tent. Once inside, he dropped the grin and shook his head. "Rolling blankets?" he asked, disgust evident in his tone. "You won't find me treating you like an invalid just because you managed to go for a swim in winter."
"No, Sire," he answered, picking up the nearest blanket and beginning to roll it anyway. It had to be done and likely as not he'd be the one that ended up doing it, no matter what Arthur said.
"You healed Gawaine's nose," he said, almost accusingly. "How is your..." Arthur made a waving gesture in the air between them, frowning at the blanket in Merlin's hands. "For Gods's sake, Merlin, put that down and pay attention."
"I don't actually flail my arms about like that, you know," he said, smirking and tossing the blanket onto the pile of supplies by the tent door. "And it's fine, I suppose. Why? Worried you'll need saving between here and Ealdor?" He picked up another quilt and began rolling it as well.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "The fever hasn't returned?"
Before he could so much as open his mouth to answer, Arthur's palm pressed against his forehead. He knocked it away with the back of his hand, ducking a bit. "I wish people would stop doing that. You have no idea how annoying it is."
"As annoying as, say, a servant who cannot stand to have a single conversation without managing some sort of backtalk?" Arthur asked, tilting his head to the side, dishevelling his hair.
Merlin set down the blanket and picked up the last. "Oh, it's far more annoying than that, Sire."
"Arthur."
Merlin looked up in time to see Arthur's satisfied smirk. "But you said-"
"What I said, I said over a year ago, Merlin, and you've hardly listened up to this point, have you? Besides, the knights call me by my name away from the citadel. It's awkward, you being the only one bowing and scraping."
"I'm not bowing and scraping," Merlin said, shaking his head just a little. The abrupt change from Arthur throwing insults at him to being concerned and kind was too odd for him to decipher. "It's awkward for me, too, you know. The way you keep switching between prat and... friend."
Arthur shifted in the uncomfortable silence that followed. He sighed heavily and laid a hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin flinched at the touch, and Arthur sighed again, this time with less frustration behind it.
"Listen to me, Merlin," he began, and something about his tone made Merlin stop what he was doing and give Arthur his full attention. They were close, closer than they usually were to one another. "I apologize for... for my reaction this morning."
It was sincere, Merlin could tell, but he wished he could go back in time and leave the tent so he wouldn't have heard it. He didn't ever relish hearing Arthur say he was sorry for his actions, not even ones Merlin thought warranted the apology.
Arthur's apologies were alternately like admissions of failure or blatant accusations instead of heartfelt remorse for mistakes. He might as well have been flogging himself, saying, "I'm debasing myself like this for you, because of you."
It turned Merlin's stomach.
He took a deep breath, knowing he'd only made the whole thing worse by pausing to think about it. "No need for an apology. You didn't know where I went last night. I'm sure you-"
"I knew where you were," Arthur interrupted, his voice low. He let his hand fall from Merlin's shoulder, head tilted down to watch his own hands as he ran a thumbnail over a scrape on his palm. "As much as I've come to expect your... impertinence, I thought for once you'd obey a direct order."
Merlin furrowed his brow in confusion. Not only did he not remember a direct order not to sleep in Gawaine's tent, but Arthur really hadn't the right to order such a thing, especially not after he'd refused Merlin.
"You never said I had to sleep here." When Arthur didn't look up or say anything, Merlin reached for their soiled clothing, quickly stuffing everything into a duffle indiscriminately. It would all likely be relegated to the rag pile when they got back to Camelot anyway, and he wanted out of the tent as soon as humanly possible.
Arthur looked over his shoulder as if he thought someone might be listening through the tent wall. "I told you not to speak of what happened," he whispered, his voice tight with poorly-concealed anger. "I mentioned the knights specifically."
Arthur's eyes locked on his, daring. He should know by now that Merlin never backed down from a dare, spoken or not. "What makes you think I told him?"
The returned glare sharpened, the apology apparently replaced with contempt. "I heard you, Merlin."
"You couldn't have, because I told no one, not even my closest friend, not even when he asked." Merlin whispered fiercely, resenting the hell out of this conversation and the presumptions Arthur had made, mostly because he was right. Gawaine had known without him saying, that was truth enough, but Merlin hadn't told him he was wrong. He'd needed every moment of Gawaine's sympathy. That Arthur would deny him even a friend's comfort just made him angry. Merlin yanked the drawstring on the duffle and tossed it so hard the tent wall shook.
"I'm sure he could guess what happened, the way you were..." Arthur cut himself off with a frustrated growl, anger slowly falling from his face as Merlin sat there, dumbfounded, heart in his throat. He shook his head, but Arthur nodded. "I heard you..."
Crying. Gods, he'd cried, and not as quietly as he'd thought, apparently. Face flushing, he brushed past Arthur and crouched at the door, collecting the blankets. "It won't happen again."
A promise he didn't know if he intended to keep, and Arthur likely knew it as well as Merlin did, but at least he didn't say that, too.
"See that it doesn't." Arthur's hand closed on the back of his neck, pulling him around so they were face to face. "You understand why I ask it."
"Of course, Sire," he whispered, forcing himself to smile, quickly looking down at the blankets in his arms, not quite brave enough to look into Arthur's eyes. When he saw the small shake of Arthur's head out of the corner of his eye, he realized what he'd said, his fake grin falling. "Arthur," he croaked out, too late, stumbling as he grabbed the duffle and ducked out of the tent.
Arms full of supplies, the only place he could go was the side of the camp where Lancelot was saddling Arthur's horse. He felt like dropping the whole lot and running until his legs gave out, which, judging by their weakness, wouldn't be all that far.
He dumped the load onto the ground-cloth Lancelot had stacked everything else on and gave the knight his brightest smile. "Morning, Lancelot! How goes the packing?"
"You don't have to do that," Lancelot said, looking pointedly at his plastered-on grin. "Go ahead and frown - I won't ask if you don't wish me to."
For a moment he considered laughing and forcing the facade, but Lancelot knew him too well to be fooled and Merlin knew he would be true to his word. "Thanks," he said, breathing out hard, shaking his head. "I- I just don't feel much like myself this morning." Such an understatement, but it would have to do.
"You nearly died. It'd throw any man off-balance for a day or two," Lancelot said with a small grin, handing him an apple and nodding at Hengroen. "Bribe him for me? Stubborn fellow won't let me tighten this."
Merlin held the fruit on his open, flat palm for the horse to nibble, the rough whiskers around his lips tickling Merlin's hand. He patted the stallion's nose with his free hand, watching as Lancelot thumped him hard on his ribs, one hand wound around the girth strap, ready for the moment when the horse finally gave in and exhaled.
"You'll feel better when we get to Ealdor. Leon is bringing Gaius – did you hear?" Lancelot asked, yanking on the girth strap of Arthur's stallion. The horse neighed softly and shook its mane and Lancelot gave it a pat, slipping the strap through the buckle and securing it.
Merlin pressed his cheek to the white splotch on the horse's forehead. "Gawaine told me, but I wish they weren't. I'm fine now and he'll have ridden all that way for nothing," he said, moving to help Lancelot settle a supply pack behind the saddle. He steadied it while the knight tied it into place. "Mum will be beside herself with all the company. Don't know where everyone will sleep, but she'll figure it out. She always does," he said, thinking of their sleeping arrangement the night before the skirmish, Arthur's foot in his face and Gwen and Morgana cuddled together for warmth.
If he'd known then how things would be now, he would have fought harder to keep the four of them together, to make sure Morgana hadn't drifted away from them. She'd even been kind to Merlin's mum, never once complaining about the food or the floor.
"Hunith will send us to a field outside of town, I'd imagine," Lancelot said, chuckling. "It's what I would do with our lot."
Merlin shook his head, pushing away his regret as he'd done so many times since Morgana had taken Camelot.
"Mum will find room for all of us, and if we bring something, she'll cook, too. I was thinking of stopping to fish on the way, if you think we can talk Arthur into it. Her larder isn't big enough for the seven of us."
"Fishing, eh?" Lancelot gave him a conspiratorial grin. "I think we can manage something better than that, and away from lakes."
"Yeah," he laughed, flushing. "Arthur would likely love to shoot something this morning."
"When have you known him not to?"
Merlin crouched down on the ground-cloth to adjust the buckles on Arthur's pack, remembering a time when Arthur had no taste at all for hunting. No one else knew that he'd lied for the Prince, the first hunt after he'd killed the Unicorn. That morning, Arthur'd taken up his brooding stance at the corner window of his chambers, silent even when Merlin goaded him. He'd brought a huge breakfast with extra helpings of all the meats and had taken a sausage from the platter and made satisfied noises as he'd eaten it.
With obvious reluctance, that silence had turned into a carefully-worded, quiet refusal to join the hunt. He'd helped Arthur strip back down to his trousers and return to bed.
Merlin had drawn the curtains and gone to lie to the King without a second thought. No one else would ever know that Arthur hadn't developed a severe headache and upset stomach, or that the lunch Merlin gathered in a large square of cloth hadn't been for himself at all.
"Wool-gathering won't get us on the road any quicker, my friend," Gawaine said, clapping a hand on his back. "Did I hear something about a hunt? Please, Gods, let it be something we can eat!"
"We'll need enough for all of us in Ealdor, and Merlin swears his mum will cook it," Lancelot said, looking hopeful.
"I don't remember my last home-cooked meal. The mess hall is better than a campfire, but only just. You can count on my knives, Merlin." Gawaine grinned and took the pack from Merlin, handing it to Lancelot, who began fastening it to the back of the saddle, behind the first.
"And my crossbow, when he misses. This is the last of it, Lancelot," Arthur said, striding up with the two tents in his arms, both tightly rolled and folded, tied with twine. He tossed them to the ground, turning to Merlin. "We won't be a burden on your mother or Ealdor, and after two days of camp rations, I'm ready for a proper meal."
Merlin wasn't the only one who knew Arthur's weakness for food. None of the knights would turn up their noses at a home-cooked meal, and if they brought their own supplies, his mum might be able to put together a real feast. It wasn't often that she got to show off her cooking skills, though the one time Arthur had visited Ealdor had been the worst possible time for sampling his mum's cooking. All of the truly edible food supplies had already been confiscated.
Even he'd been embarrassed by the bland, gooey pottage she'd served. She'd be grateful for the chance to redeem herself.
Merlin nodded, frowning at the horses. They each had their own, but Lancelot had loaded Merlin's mare from shoulders to flanks with supplies. He supposed he couldn't even argue against riding double now, since it would take far too long to untie and rearrange everything.
"We're keeping you close for a day or two," Gawaine explained when he saw that Merlin noticed the arrangement. "Can't have you relapsing and keeling over into a frozen puddle."
"Could I ride with you?" he asked in a whisper, turning his back to where Arthur and Lancelot were discussing the placement of the last supplies. "Your horse is more... comfortable."
"You're welcome to, if he doesn't mind," Gawaine said, stressing the last bit. He pulled a face, as if he really didn't want to say the next. "I think he's going to mind, though. He's a bit possessive this morning."
"Thanks," he muttered with little hope that he would get his way if he did ask. "I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder, turning and heading off into the woods, noticing Arthur beginning to follow. It was a good job Lancelot didn't want to feel his forehead, too, or they'd all think he had a fever again, flushed as he was.
"A little privacy wouldn't go amiss," he said, not bothering to look back at Arthur as he sidled up to a tree beside his and began unlacing his trousers.
"Just because we happen to need to take a piss at the same time doesn't mean I'm following you, Merlin," Arthur drawled, stepping right into Merlin's personal space, pulling open his trousers. "Find another bit of woods if it bothers you so much."
Merlin rolled his eyes but stepped to another tree, wondering when Arthur had de-aged ten years. "Mum really is a good cook. She makes a fantastic rabbit stew. No rats or anything."
Arthur snorted a laugh. "We'll take her something a bit better than rabbit, I'd wager."
"Could I ride with Gawaine?" he blurted out, finishing and tucking himself away, doing up his trousers but not turning around in case Arthur wasn't done. "His horse was really steady with the two of us yesterday."
"You were unconscious! You wouldn't have known steady if it'd hit you between the eyes." He heard Arthur's boots on the snow, walking away.
Merlin sighed and turned to follow, throwing his hands up in the air behind Arthur's back. "It'd be more comfortable. You'd have Hengroen to yourself and you wouldn't have to listen to me. You know how I love to blather on," he said, tossing out every excuse he could think of.
"No."
"No? Just like that? I don't get a say in the matter?" he snapped, stopping then running to catch up as Arthur stalked out of the woods, ignoring him. "You don't even want me to ride with you. You just don't want me to ride with him," he said under his breath.
"Did it never occur to you that I feel just as protective of you as he does, if not more so?" Arthur spun and saw Merlin shaking his head, then raised his hands in exasperation. "You can never manage to believe anything but the worst of me, can you?"
"I never said-" Merlin began, but Arthur's fist closed on the front of his tunic, dragging him back into the woods. He stumbled along, unresisting.
Arthur pushed him against the largest nearby tree, knocking the breath out of him. "Aren't you going to ask mewhy? Aren't you even the least bit curious?" he ground out, his voice carefully low as he obviously tried not to scream at Merlin.
"I may take your myriad of insults and teasing with a smile," Merlin retorted, "but even I have my limits."
"Insults?" Arthur's face screwed up in disbelief. "You think I just don't want you," he said in that tone that said he clearly thought Merlin an idiot.
"It's obvious you don't," Merlin whispered, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see Arthur laugh at him, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Could you please let me go?"
Arthur pressed him harder against the tree and he opened his eyes, gasping.
"I'm choosing Camelot over you, Merlin. An entire kingdom's welfare. My bloodline's future. My Gods-damned destiny. And yours, if you stand by me." Arthur held his gaze a moment before leaning in to breathe against his ear, sending chills down Merlin's spine. "Believe me, the choice was not an easy one."
Merlin closed his eyes again and tried to breathe, his heart pounding as if it wanted to leap from his chest. Arthur hadn't been laughing at him all along. He really did... Gods. Arthur wanted him.
Arthur let go of his tunic, pushing him away so the bark of the tree dug into Merlin's back one more time. His fingers slid along Merlin's arm as he leaned back in close, lips brushing softly against Merlin's for an instant, a heartbeat, almost as if by accident. "You may ride with Gawaine."
When he heard Arthur's footsteps fading away, Merlin opened his eyes and looked skyward, grasping for control.
The worst part, the very worst part, was that Arthur had done the right thing, the thing Merlin would have wanted him to do. Camelot was more important than either of them. How could Merlin blame him for choosing the very thing Merlin had been charged with protecting?
He should be thanking Arthur for thinking rationally when Merlin was letting his heart lead him around by his nose.
But now, now that he knew the truth and Arthur had given him permission to do so, the last thing he wanted was to ride with anyone other than Arthur.
He should be grateful that Arthur hadn't let him believe the worst, that Arthur didn't even want him. The truth was like salt to his already scrubbed-raw emotions, a whole new brand of torture.
Maybe Arthur didn't realize that every moment they were alone from now on, every word he tossed in Merlin's direction would be like fire under his skin, scorching him from the inside out. Knowing that Arthur might be feeling the same pull toward him as he felt toward Arthur was just going to make not having it even harder to live with.
He'd have to fight against every feeling and thought now, instead of shoving them to the back of his mind or simply keeping quiet about them and admiring from a distance. If Arthur was fighting for Camelot, Merlin would fight, too, alongside him.
It's what he did.
Swallowing down his emotion, Merlin pushed off the tree, fingers digging into the sharp bark. Taking a steadying breath, he set his feet down in Arthur's footprints as he slowly made his way back to camp.
Before long, the fire was out, the horses loaded and the knights all three mounted. Merlin carefully didn't look at Arthur as he slipped a foot into the stirrup Gawaine vacated for him, swinging up behind the man and wrapping his arms around to hold onto the saddle horn.
"All right," he whispered against Gawaine's back, pressing his face against the cool leather jacket. "Take me home."
They were nearly halfway to Ealdor when Arthur called them to a halt, deciding the terrain was perfect for a short hunt. Lancelot volunteered to stay behind so Merlin wouldn't be alone.
Arthur and Gawaine fetched their weapons from the packs, leaving Lancelot and Merlin to tend to the animals. Before they mounted, Gawaine stepped in close to Merlin, leaning so his lips almost touched Merlin's ear. Arthur looked away. He wouldn't interfere, but he couldn't yet bring himself not to begrudge Merlin the comfort Gawaine was all too ready to provide.
When he looked back, one of Gawaine's spare daggers rested on Merlin's hip, tucked into his borrowed belt. Gawaine had an uncanny knack for knowing Arthur's mind or at the very least thinking the same things at the same moments; it was unsettling to say the least.
"Merlin, you'll rely on Lancelot for protection; do you understand?" Arthur asked, walking Hengroen close and leaning down from the saddle, pointing a commanding finger in Merlin's face. "You're not to... He is perfectly capable of defending you and you will allow him to do so."
Arthur hoped the implicit order behind his insistence was clear: Merlin wasn't to use magic, not even to defend himself. He could depend on Lancelot to protect Merlin.
"I understand," Merlin said quietly, walking sulkily to a nearby bolder, taking up a pinecone and starting to pick it apart, throwing each little bit to the ground.
"How are we supposed to get that to Ealdor?" Merlin asked, slipping out from under Lancelot's arm and tugging on the end of the crossbow bolt protruding from the boar's throat.
Lancelot didn't step away, his hand brushing against Merlin's as if he were about to take hold of it. First Gawaine, now Lancelot? Surely not even Merlin required that much coddling?
The boar was Arthur's kill, of course, and an easy one. It was only a youngling, small and without tusks. There had been another larger one, perhaps the father, but Arthur had let it pass, knowing it would be absolutely impractical for either the horses or Ealdor.
"It'll just have to ride double with Gawaine," Arthur said, holding a hand up to forestall any argument as Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "You'll ride with me, Merlin."
Arthur began to strip off his blood-spattered tunic, his chainmail hindering his movements. Merlin stepped forward to help him, pulling it off and holding it at arm's length as if he hadn't handled worse.
"There's enough meat to keep your mother well-fed for weeks. I'd have thought you'd be happy," he said, a little sharper than he'd meant to. Merlin's ability to needle in under his skin was nothing new, but it seemed particularly effective when it also involved Arthur's knights.
"Of course, Sire," he said softly, clenching the tunic and stepping around Hengroen, apparently to stuff the shirt into Arthur's pack and get a fresh one for him. Arthur followed him around, intending to help take the pack down for him, but as Merlin started to untie the rucksack, he paused.
He stared at the tunic in his hands as Arthur watched, unnoticed, behind him. The shirt was torn, faded and filthy from the past few days. It wouldn't even be worth trying to mend, but Merlin was looking at it intently, as if he were going to...
"Merlin!"
Jumping like a child caught with his hand in the larder, Merlin turned and dropped the tunic to the ground.
Arthur picked it up and growled. It was still faded, but the blood and dirt were gone and the worst tear had closed up as if someone had woven the threads back together. His anger flared. "This? This is worth your neck?"
"I- I-"Merlin stumbled forward and landed hard on his knees despite reaching toward both Hengroen and Arthur for balance.
"Oh, for Gods' sake!" Arthur said, taking his waist and arm and hauling him to his feet. "I swear you're trying to kill yourself!"
"I was fine earlier!" Merlin dropped his head and swayed. "And it looked shabby! Do you want my mum seeing you like that?" he asked, jerking his arm out of Arthur's grasp and taking a step away – a single step – before falling again to the ground, groaning in pain.
"You do realize you could be seen," Arthur hissed, looking over his shoulder just to be sure there was no one in sight. He reached for Merlin again, but he moved away from Arthur's touch. "Are you always this careless with it?"
The knights had come running when Merlin cried out, and Gawaine was crouching beside him now, gently, slowly helping him to kneel up, then to stand.
"Yes," Merlin answered when he stood, doing his level best to stare Arthur down as he leaned against Gawaine. "You never wondered how one manservant does the work of the three he replaced? Or how I manage to work for both you and Gaius at once?"
"If you actually did the work, I might," Arthur snapped, coming closer, biting down on his anger and the ridiculous desire to punch Gawaine in his newly-healed nose. "You are never to use magic for chores again, do you hear me, Merlin?"
"All of the countryside could hear you when you bellow like that," Merlin gripped his head and turned his back, obviously done listening. "Gods, even I know better than to scream it at the top of my lungs," he muttered.
"He has to talk that loud to get it through your thick skull, apparently," Gawaine said, his voice softening as if talking to a girl, for Gods' sake. "Are you all right?"
Merlin pushed Gawaine's hand away before it could close on his forehead. "I'm fine. Everyone just leave off, will you?"
"Merlin," Lancelot said, frowning and stepping between Gawaine and Arthur as if he thought Arthur was about to throttle the knight. "Perhaps it's best if you don't use it for a day or two. You can test it again on the way back to Camelot, all right?"
Arthur took a step back and a deep breath, but his anger still simmered as he watch Gawaine fuss over Merlin, leading him to a boulder to rest.
"Gawaine. Prepare the horses," he said, not even trying to come up with a task that he would normally give a knight. When the man nodded curtly and walked away, Arthur retrieved a tunic and an apple from his pack. He pulled the fresh shirt on quickly and went to Merlin, crouching on the dewy grass. "Eat this," Arthur ordered, thrusting the apple under his nose. "You need to keep up your strength."
Merlin waved away the offer. "No, thanks." At Arthur's disapproving look, he added, "I'm still full. Gawaine gave me some meat and cheese earlier."
Arthur stood and chucked the apple as far as he could, frustrated that once again he couldn't seem to comfort Merlin when Gawaine was so competent at it.
"You didn't have to waste it," Merlin said, starting to push himself to his feet and walk away, wobbling with his arms out to his sides as if for balance.
Arthur grabbed his sleeve and firmly laid Merlin's hand on his forearm for balance as Merlin headed toward the horses.
"We should get going if we're going to make it to Ealdor before dark."
"See to the boar," Arthur called back over his shoulder as he and Merlin reached Hengroen. "How long does it usually take you to recover from something like this?" he asked, lowering his arm only when Merlin let his hand slip away.
"Never more than a few days, and it's only dizziness. Well, that's if I'm sleeping through the night, which..."
"Which you've not been," Arthur said, smiling softly, sparing Merlin the embarrassment of saying it himself. They both knew why he'd been up half of the night before.
"Look, I'll try not to use it, but I won't promise. It's as natural as breathing to me," Merlin said, smiling shyly. "I'm always careful, you know."
"Throwing yourself off a cliff in front of a company of knights?" Arthur asked, his voice low and tight. He didn't find any of this amusing. "I wouldn't call that being careful."
Merlin sighed and shook his head. "Forget I said anything." He turned away and strode off toward Lancelot and Gawaine.
He wouldn't speak to Merlin about this in front of the two knights. It seemed far too secretive and personal, even if the knights did know about Merlin's magic.
The boar rode slung across the horse's flanks behind Gawaine, where Merlin had been seated up until the hunt. Now, he rode behind Arthur, who could feel Merlin's muscles flexing against his own from hip to knee. He was obviously tensing with the effort to hold himself as far back in the large saddle as he could manage, his hands first pushing against Arthur's back, then gripping the rear of the saddle behind himself, then closing briefly on the backs of Arthur's hauberk sleeves before he heard Merlin sigh and felt his palms spread, pushing on his back again.
"What are you doing back there?" Arthur whispered over his shoulder, smirking. "You're as tense as a bowstring and if you don't stop wringing Hengroen with your legs, we'll be galloping all the way to Ealdor. He's not a washrag, you know."
"He could use one," Merlin retorted over Arthur's shoulder, a smile creeping into his voice, the sounds such an unexpected relief, Arthur resolved to hear it again and again on the way to Ealdor.
"Yes," he answered vaguely, looking down at the bits of dirt caught in Hengroen's mane. Merlin usually took great care of their mounts, but with he and the knights all so concerned with his illness, the horses had only received rudimentary attention.
"And so could you. When's the last time any of you bathed?" Merlin teased, loudly enough for the others to hear him, too.
Gawaine snorted and Lancelot chuckled, shaking his head where he rode just in front of them.
"What?" he asked, but at the incredulous look Arthur threw over his shoulder, Merlin finally got the joke. "Oh, right," he said, realizing they all must've been soaking wet after they'd pulled him from the water. "Well, a little lake water doesn't count for a bath."
"It does when it's all that's handy and there's a shocking lack of soap to be had," Gawaine said, still laughing. "But we know you aren't used to your men smelling like men, what with all the flowery oils and potions Arthur puts in his baths."
"He stopped using those ages ago!" Merlin countered, slapping a hand over his mouth as Arthur huffed and twisted to glare at him. "Sorry," he murmured, looking off into the trees, his face as red as Arthur's felt.
Lancelot and Gawaine burst out in laughter, sidling up to one another. Gawaine sniffed loudly as he leaned over to Lancelot, who pushed him away with a hand to his forehead.
"Oh, Sire, you smell heavenly! Is that au d'Hengroen you're wearing today?" Gawaine asked Lancelot, unable to control his laughter even long enough for the tease.
The two knights were still laughing as Arthur angled Hengroen apart from the others. The wide open field gave way to tall hills ahead, the last before the valley where Ealdor lie.
"You're fuel for their fire, Merlin," Arthur said quietly, smiling and shaking his head. "You have been since day one, remember?"
Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur's back, his thighs finally beginning to unclench and relax, pressing closer against Arthur's.
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the contact. Since they had pulled him from the lake, Arthur hadn't been able to forget what Merlin's body felt like, but he'd made every effort to push the memory of it from his thoughts. Now he had no choice but to feel Merlin's body against him again.
"Are you sorry for it?" Merlin asked softly, and it took Arthur a moment to realize what Merlin meant: that they'd been thrown together as they had been.
Merlin sounded as though he suspected Arthur did regret it, or else he truly needed to hear Arthur admit that he wasn't. Either way, Merlin deserved the truth, though as Arthur began to answer, he found himself swallowing hard on the admission. He'd as good as said it before, and it would do neither of them any good to hear the words spoken aloud.
"Only when you ask such ridiculous questions." Arthur teased gently, reaching back to take Merlin's elbow, drawing his hand forward, pressing it to his side.
Merlin curled his fingers into the fabric, turning his face so his cheek pressed between Arthur's shoulder-blades. He lowered his other hand to match the one Arthur had placed. The weight pressing all along Arthur's body was comforting, though he wouldn't have thought he needed it.
He did. He needed Merlin like this as he needed him in every other way. Knowing that and not having it was going to be more difficult than he could imagine.
"You made the right choice," Merlin whispered as if reading his thoughts, slipping his hands down to lie gently at the top of Arthur's legs. "I should have made it myself."
Still holding the reins loosely, Arthur rested his hands on top of Merlin's. Silence comfortable between them again, their bodies moving with the rhythm of Hengroen's steps, he felt Merlin gradually relax, his hands slipping lower and body pushing against Arthur's.
The meadow gave way to a proper road that didn't narrow for as far as he could see, but he didn't increase their pace, suspecting that Merlin was asleep in the saddle.
Lancelot rode up beside them, nodding at Merlin, his voice low. "He's out, Sire. Should we stop and tie him on?"
Arthur shifted, testing to see if Merlin was well-seated against him. As he did, Merlin clenched his thighs around Hengroen again, setting him to trot for a moment before Arthur stayed him. Merlin held perfectly still and heavy against him, obviously wanting the others to believe he was asleep.
The trot might have seemed a test of their balance to Lancelot, so Arthur merely said, "No, we'll be fine. Let's continue." Realizing Merlin's farce must have a reason, and guessing that the reason could only be that he wished the two of them to have more time alone together, Arthur added, "In fact, the two of you ride on ahead. Let Hunith and Gaius know he is well. They are likely anxious to hear news and we're close enough to Ealdor I can spare you both."
Lancelot nodded and pressed his mount into a trot, turning in the saddle to see if Gawaine was behind him. As Gawaine rode past Arthur and Merlin, his eyes lingered. "See you in a bit," he said, not looking at Arthur as he spoke.
When they were out of earshot and nearly out of sight, Arthur laced his gloved fingers through Merlin's bare ones and lifted them up to his lips. "They're gone," he said, lowering their hands to rest on his thigh again, hoping Merlin's ice-cold fingers would warm beneath his own.
Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest pressing tightly against Arthur's back. "I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, squeezing Arthur's hand.
For a moment Arthur thought he meant the visit to Ealdor, but when Merlin clutched his hand tighter, he realized. Merlin meant him. Them.
He slowed Hengroen to a snail's pace, giving him his head. It didn't matter if they wandered as they spoke, but Arthur didn't want to dismount and have to face Merlin just yet. "I know it will be difficult," he began, looking off into the distance, searching for the right words. "I'll assign some of your duties to another servant." It wasn't enough, not by half, but it might be a start.
"Still," Merlin said quietly. "I don't know if-"
"Yes." Arthur looked down at their joined hands, wondering if it would always be like this, Merlin touching him, their attraction sparking and being smothered over and over under the weight of duty for as long as Merlin stood at his side. He didn't think anyone could stand that much caged emotion, not even someone trained to hide their feelings.
He knew Merlin would never manage to hide how he felt. Arthur had known the first time they'd gone into battle together –in Ealdor, in fact – when they'd been putting on their armour and Merlin had looked at him with such an open expression of admiration. He hadn't quite believed what he was seeing. No one else looked at him that closely; no one paid that much attention to the man he was beneath his circlet and armour.
But if almost-admissions and almost-intimacies were constantly being exchanged between him and Merlin, Merlin wouldn't be the only one struggling to conceal their connection. As difficult as it was to admit to himself, Arthur realized he might not be able to let go and move on, even for Camelot, if Merlin wasn't able to do the same.
"Perhaps you could find another position in the citadel," he suggested, his throat closing hard on the words so that they came out gravelly. "If we rarely saw one another..."
Merlin's fingers gripped tightly between his own, raising and pressing their hands to Arthur's chest. "Arthur," he choked, but stopped, his mouth pressing to the collar of Arthur's tunic.
Pulling Hengroen to a halt, Arthur swung his leg over and slid from the saddle, turning to hold the horse still for Merlin. "Come here."
Merlin nodded and dismounted, Arthur's hand on the small of his back before his foot ever touched the ground. Taking Merlin's by the hand, he brushed his thumb across the sharp points of knuckles and tugged, pulling him under the overhanging branches of a pine.
"What is it?" Merlin breathed as Arthur stopped and turned to face him. Merlin was obviously avoiding his gaze, looking down at their boots.
"We'll figure it out together. For now, we both need this," he whispered, lifting Merlin's chin and leaning in before his nerves or sense of duty could get the better of him. When Merlin didn't stop him, he pressed their lips together gently, his hands on either side of Merlin's jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
Stepping closer, Merlin pressed their chests together, his hands on Arthur's forearms, urging them down from Merlin's face. Confused but determined to honour Merlin's wishes, Arthur relented, starting to back away, but Merlin hummed. His tongue pressed along Arthur's lips, parting them and deepening the kiss.
Merlin stripped away his gloves then and dropped them to the ground, pressing Arthur's hands back to either side of his face. Against his mouth, Arthur felt the corners of the Merlin's lips turn up in a smile.
Pushing one hand into Merlin's hair, he dragged the other down, past the neckerchief that was so familiar. He'd seen it daily for years and never touched it, not once. It was soft, almost downy, and thin, not coarse or thick as he'd always imagined. Merlin's hair was twice as silken, his loose waves twining between Arthur's fingers as if pleading to be stroked.
Merlin's breath was hard against his cheek as they kissed, small, needy noises humming against Arthur's lips. He rubbed his hand down and around Merlin's waist, fingers touching hard through the overlarge shirt. If it wasn't so damned cold, it would be off and forgotten by now, and his own not far behind. He wanted skin and hands, he wanted every inch of Merlin against him as he'd had two days before. His chest ached at the memory, his hands clutching as if to take it back. But there was only so much he could claim on the side of the empty road, only so much Merlin might give this one last time they would touch.
And while he would accept whatever Merlin offered, he couldn't ask Merlin for anything at all.
"Gods," he breathed, body thrumming with pent-up energy and emotion and passion as Merlin's hand trailed down his back and around his hip, slowly brushing closer and closer to the laces of his trousers.
He took Merlin's mouth again, hard, tongue sweeping inside, hips thrusting against Merlin's, his hand closing roughly on the back of Merlin's neck.
The long fingers he'd watched scrubbing his floor and making up his bed slipped into his waistband, more determined and purposeful than they ever had been at chores. He sucked in a breath against Merlin's ear at the cool touch on his belly, hearing Merlin's near-silent apology and shaking his head to dismiss it.
He grasped at Merlin's back as the fingers dipped inside, the sharp pull of honour striking him like a lightning bolt, too strong and too intense to ignore. Merlin deserved far more than a quick jerk on the side of the road. He deserved far more consideration and time than Arthur could give him there and then.
He took Merlin's wrist and stopped him gently, placing Merlin's hand on his side so at least the contact wouldn't be broken. "Wait." When Merlin's mouth pulled away from his skin, his breaths coming hard, Arthur lowered his lips to Merlin's ear. "Not like this, Merlin."
As he said the words he realized that he hadn't thought it through, not all the way to the end, when he and Merlin would see each other often and never once touch like this again.
"If this is our last chance..." Merlin whispered, more defeat than hope in his voice. Arthur hated that he'd put it there, wished he had never gotten off the horse to begin with.
"No," he answered, eyes staying closed even when Merlin leaned away, though his hands still rested on Arthur's sides as if he was just a loathe as Arthur to quit.
"Thank you," Merlin whispered, pressing his forehead to Arthur's. "I couldn't have stopped. Not on principle."
Arthur shook his head, inhaling deeply and pulling Merlin into a strong hug, face tucking down into his neckerchief, breathing in his scent. His voice was muffled against the fabric and Merlin's skin. "It's not that I-"
"Please don't," Merlin said quickly, arms tightening around him like a vice. "This isn't how I want it to happen, either." Merlin leaned away, brushing Arthur's hair from his forehead. "Will you... kiss me again?" he asked, looking down at Arthur's mouth and biting his own lip.
Arthur didn't bother with an answer, his blood still rushing through his body unchecked by the interruption. He kissed Merlin softly, sighing as their tongues met, the warmth and intensity of their close embrace seeping all the way to his toes, a steady pulse of want and need instead of a headlong rush this time.
Merlin's full lips moved on his, their salt-sweetness making him want to taste them again and again. He pulled back, thumbs rubbing hard over the blush on Merlin's cheekbones, then leaned in to kiss it away, Merlin's eyelashes tickling against his lips. Exhaling slowly to gain some control, he sucked a wet line up Merlin's jaw, teeth nipping his earlobe. Merlin's fingers carded through his hair, his other hand spread wide on the small of Arthur's back, holding him close as if Arthur would slip between his fingers at any moment.
The fear was palpable, the undeniable desperation edging every soft, warm caress with emotion. Arthur tucked his face against Merlin's neck and held on, held him impossibly close, for once letting the strength and depth of his feelings bubble to the surface. Merlin answered his tight embrace not with weakness or submission but with thrumming emotion of his own, fingertips digging into Arthur's shoulder and back, arms as desperate in their strength as his own.
They stood there on the side of the road to Ealdor, the afternoon still as if it were the dead of night.
When the sound of wheels broke the silence, heralding a cart's passing, Arthur let him go.
(Chapters 3 & 4 will both be up today. The next Springes update will be in about two weeks!)
Feedback is greatly appreciated!