Day Three

"Why?" He was being rutted into on the bed.

The day had been normal as everyone attempted to assemble their lives. He talked a few moments with Editha, and with the other village women, though stilted. Again, he was the only one. Merlin needed to understand.

He had been biting the pillow to keep his moans in his throat while Arthur didn't give any pretence with his grunts and groans. Merlin tried to remember if Arthur had someone guarding the door.

Arthur made the first move this time, dragging him to the bedroom and threw him down onto the bed, told him to undress as he did so himself. This he was used to: rough and hard, that left him gasping as he was smothered down.

Those hands worked themselves over his bruise, the smell of the salve potent between them, all the while making new bruises and the old ones more pronounced. The Prince wasn't unscathed from yesterday either. Merlin noticed the slight difficulty Arthur had holding his sword, training the knights near the village. Everyone went to watch, in awe of one man's commands and the synchronicity of the army that followed. It was hard not to compare Arthur to Kanan and see the differences, the distinction between respect, fear, and loyalty. Osric had made a run for it, and Merlin wondered how many of the raiders had tried as well.

Everything was changing in Ealdor. Merlin noticed the mood lifting with each day, with every helping hand the Prince and his soldiers provided. It was too soon to tell a sceptic would say, yet their days of oppression were undeniably absent. Their fears still existed, one that Merlin unknowingly caused-some of the village women asked if he was alright, providing for Arthur's pleasure for two nights in a row. He understood very clearly what they wanted to know: was it just going to be him? The army's leader took him to bed and they were waiting for these men to turn on them. Merlin didn't know if he should have reassured them because he felt that every step he took, Arthur was taking two.

So Merlin asked "Why," between the creaks of the bed's wooden frame. Arthur paused ever so slightly, before continuing his tempo, panting in his ear and driving against that same spot that kept pushing him closer to an edge. Merlin didn't think he was going to answer until Arthur said in a disjointed manner, "There's just something about you Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Those words. Merlin couldn't stop thinking about them. He went to bed that night listening to Arthur's voice repeat the sentence. It went over and over, he turned it this way and that, and Merlin still didn't understand what Arthur was saying. It left something warm to grow in his chest and the taste of sweet honey Arthur had eaten for supper.