"I could never sleep in the saddle," Gawaine said, his voice pulling Merlin gently awake. "Then again, I never had a Prince to lean on."
"I've managed it a few times, but I don't recommend it." Arthur voice hummed against Merlin's ear as he slowly woke, his eyes still closed to savour the last moments of his and Arthur's closeness.
"He looks like hell, Arthur." Gawaine said in a low, concerned voice. "I've never seen him so haggard."
"I'll try not to take that in the worst possible way," Merlin said, slowly opening his eyes. "It's going to be a bit difficult though, given how you put it."
"Glad you're awake." Arthur said, pulling Hengroen to a standstill and looking back over his shoulder. "All right?"
"Yeah," he answered, wishing he and Arthur hadn't caught up to the other knights and had had the entire ride to themselves. "Just a bit groggy. I'll be right as rain in a moment or two."
Arthur nodded and, watching Merlin to make sure he was steady on his own, lowered himself from the saddle. He handed the reins to Gawaine and offered Merlin a hand down.
"Here, Sire," Lancelot said, holding up a new-filled water skin.
Arthur took the offered skin from Lancelot, pressing it to Merlin's chest. "Drink."
Merlin looked at the water skin and then pushed it away, shaking his head to free the last cobwebs of sleep. "You first, Sire."
"We're at the edge of Ealdor." Arthur impatiently took a quick drink, then held the skin out to Merlin again insistently. "We're going to clean up a bit before we go in. Give you a chance to get your eyes all the way open before you see your mother and Gaius."
"Oh, right. Gaius will be there," he said, frowning. His mentor was not going to be pleased with him.
He took a long pull of the water as Arthur walked toward the small stream that ran along the edge of the village, only about a league from where they'd caught up to the knights, who had been talking to a local farmer about the long winter. He'd not been asleep all that long, then.
"Yes, and you just wait until he and your mother see you. We'll all catch hell for letting you fall into such a state," Lancelot said, looking Merlin up and down.
Merlin shook his head, sighing. "Why does everyone feel the need to keep telling me how horrid I look."
"No mirrors," Gawaine supplied with a grin. "Come on, you'll feel better after you get cleaned up."
"But will I look better?" Merlin smiled as Gawaine pressed their foreheads together.
"They're going to be glad to see you alive and well no matter what you look like," Gawaine said quietly. "As we all are."
Still, as hesitant as he was to dig himself any deeper into trouble, Merlin knew he would be casting one more spell – one that would cause more good than harm for once. He followed the knights to the slow-moving stream, trying to remember which syllable of the incantation was supposed to be stressed as they stripped down to their trousers and boots and began washing.
Ice crusted the edges of the water and the bank was slippery with snow, but they all managed to find a rock or a log to brace themselves on while they scooped up handfuls of frigid water, splashing their faces and necks, underarms and chests. Merlin washed quickest, spluttering and shivering louder than the rest, but he supposed he had a right to. Winter water would forever take him straight back to that fall through the ice.
He didn't quite catch the scrap of cloth Gawaine threw at him, but at least it didn't fall into the water. He dried and quickly pulled his tunic back on and tied his neckerchief tighter than usual so it would catch any ice-cold drips from his hair before they could slide down into the neck of his tunic.
As he turned away from the stream and the others, he cast the simple glamour over his features. He lightened the circles he knew sagged under his eyes, pulled pink into his cheeks and lips and, very carefully softened the scrapes and bruises that littered his face and body.
"By the Gods! What did you do?" Gawaine shouted as Merlin turned, grinning shyly at his astounded expression.
"No!" Arthur yelled, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed to slits as he wiped his face and neck. He threw the cloth he'd been using to the ground, stalking toward Merlin. "Stop it this instant or I swear to you, Merlin, I will knock you unconscious without a hint of remorse."
He took a quick step back from Arthur's advancing stride, hands up in the air between them to stop his progress. "I'm fine – it's just a small glamour so I won't frighten my mother. It didn't even make me dizzy."
Arthur stopped, looking wary and shaking his head. "Not one more spell. I'll make good on my threat and lay you out before I even see your eyes glow. Don't believe I won't."
Lancelot and Gawaine flanked Arthur, who snatched his tunic and hauberk from Lancelot's hands and worked his way into both, his glare enough to keep Merlin from reaching to help him.
"Your mum would want to see your actual face, I would think," Lancelot said under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "Is it real, or a mask?"
Merlin smiled. It wasn't often he got to discuss his magic or the unique uses he could make of it. Lancelot's wonder surprised him. Killing the Griffin had been far more spectacular. "It's a sort of mask, painting a layer of illusion over my skin. It does the trick, though by the time I take it off tomorrow, I'll be strong enough to heal myself anyway."
"Well, the healing would come in handy – I've more than a few scars I'd just as leave have done without. It's amazing - you look fresh as a flower, though you'll have to work on your steadiness," Gawaine said, walking to him and clapping a hand on his back, leading him to the horses as if he was worried Merlin would be too wobbly to walk back alone.
"I'm really all right," he assured, but Gawaine just patted his shoulder and kept walking. "I could try healing your scars," he offered, smiling shyly to show he wasn't bragging. "I never thought to offer before now."
"Nah, I've lived with them long enough now that we're old friends." Gawaine cupped his hands as they reached the horses, stooping and lacing his fingers together to give Merlin a leg up. When Merlin hesitated, Gawaine nodded in the direction of the village. "Up you go. Mum's waiting," he said with a grin.
Back ahorse, their small party cleaned up as well as they could manage in a stream with no soap and even less warmth, they made their way into Ealdor.
Merlin held his breath as they passed through the gate, grinning and pointing when he saw the curly mop of Leon's head turn their way from atop his mum's house. Leon waved a thatch-filled fist in their direction then scrambled, half-sliding, to the ladder and down to the ground just as they stopped and dismounted.
"Sir Leon," Arthur said, his tone sharp and chiding. "You have straw in your hair."
Leon bit his lips, obviously stifling a grin, then nodded. "I'm sure I do. I've been patching the roof since breakfast."
"I might've known you'd allow yourself to be conscripted into household chores by the first woman who fed you." Arthur's stoic facade crumpled into laughter as he reached to brush bits of straw from Leon's shoulder.
Leon laughed with him, giving Arthur a wry grin. "Wait until you taste her cooking, then judge me," he said, nodding at Merlin. "You're looking better than when i last saw you."
Merlin's face heated as Arthur's look hardened, silently daring him to be smug about his glamour. "Mum's terrified to go up there," Merlin said, stepping forward to clap his hand on Leon's arm. "Thank you for helping her. When did you arrive? Where's Elyan?"
"Last night. Elyan stayed in the city – the King thought I was sufficient to escort Gaius" was all Leon got out before Hunith and Gaius poured from the tiny house.
His mother's hands went straight to the back of his neck and his forehead. She stared at him in wonder, then beamed as bright as the mid-day sun at him, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. "Thank the Gods you're all right," she said, squeezing hard.
She held on as if she'd never let go, leaving Gaius to pat Merlin's shoulder and grin, unable to take a hug of his own.
"Mum, I can't breathe," he choked, face flushing. He might be her son, but he was surrounded by knights who revelled in using such displays as so much cannon fodder when they were in their cups.
Hunith held him at arm's length, looking him over. "You're tired – I can see it in your eyes," she said, giving him a look that said much more. Merlin ducked his head and nodded grudgingly, and Gaius raised an eyebrow at him.
"I just overdid it, that's all," he said quietly, glancing over at where Leon was helping to unload the boar. "The fever wiped me out, but I'm on the mend."
Arthur stepped forward then, and Merlin realized he must've been allowing them a moment to say hello uninterrupted. "Hunith, it's good to see you, despite the circumstances," he said, smiling, and Merlin grinned, too, hearing the sincerity in Arthur's words.
"It's always a pleasure to have you in Ealdor, Sire. But let's go inside. You're bound to draw a crowd if word gets out you've come. Some of the others have already been asking if you were following Leon and Gaius." She led them into the tiny home where Merlin had grown up.
The door creaked on its hinges in what used to herald his return from playing in the creek or, as he grew, working in the fields each day.
The floor was packed smooth but uneven, the hard lumps pressing up through the soles of his boots as he stepped inside. The furniture was all the same; nothing had been moved or replaced at all. Despite the constancy of its appearance, the house seemed smaller every year, this time in particular - it'd been so long since his last visit. "This place always smells like home," he said, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.
Gaius took a deep breath and nodded. "Something in the soil, perhaps."
"Or the leaky roof," his mother said, smiling, looking up at where sunlight filtered through the loose straw here and there.
"It's the lumber of the walls," Arthur guessed, reaching out to run his hand down the smooth, old timber that had weathered all of Merlin's years and years before him, too. "It absorbs the smells of a place, holds them."
"All of it together, then" Merlin nodded, snatching a lump of cheese from the platter laid out on the table. "I'm starved! Where did you get this?"
Hunith slapped his hand and took the cheese away, rolling her eyes and holding it out to him again when he pouted. "Gaius brought it from Camelot."
"Gwen offered her assistance and I could think of nothing useful to ask of her. When I made it down to the courtyard, she had two sacks full of food already tied to the packhorse." Gaius shrugged, then sat on the low bench at the table, eyeing the blue-veined cheese with distaste. "It certainly wasn't my idea to bring that."
Hunith bumped her hip into her old friend's back as she walked past, giving Gaius the same look she'd given Merlin. She held the tray up for Arthur, obviously offering him first choice. The brightly-coloured wagon-wheel of vegetables and cheeses on the platter was as tempting and decadent as candied fruit to anyone in Ealdor, but Arthur wasn't likely to think so. Merlin could hardly get him to eat a bit of anything green, and cheese was completely out of the question, even if Merlin bribed him with pie for dessert. He winced in anticipation as Arthur's hand hovered in the air over the tray.
"Thank you," Arthur said, taking a short carrot and, gesturing to Merlin with it as if to say "bottom's up." He took a large crunching bite, chewed and swallowed, making a passable effort to look pleased.
Merlin grinned and walked to the platter, taking a carrot of his own and two small blocks of cheese. As his mother turned her back to put the tray down, he held his cupped hand out behind himself, palm up. Almost instantly he felt the cool, wet, uneaten half of Arthur's carrot being pressed into his hand. "It's nice to see colour in food again," he said, grinning and closing his fist over Arthur's discard, slipping it covertly into his pocket. He didn't mind finishing it himself, and at least Arthur hadn't chosen a parsnip.
"How long will you boys be staying?" Hunith asked, and Merlin cringed. "Of course I want you to stay as long as you wish," she added, looking at Merlin in distress. "Did I say something wrong?"
"They're hardly boys, mum," he whispered.
Hunith blushed and stepped around the table, laying a hand on Arthur's forearm. "You'll have to forgive my country manners, Arthur. They're the only ones I have."
"No offense taken, Hunith," he said graciously, shooting a look at Merlin, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We'll set up camp outside the village. You won't even know we're here."
"What joy would that be? No, you'll stay here; I insist. The loft of the barn is plenty large and will be far warmer," she said, winking at Arthur. "Or I could ask the townsfolk to put the knights up. They'd be honoured, I'm sure."
Merlin sighed and bit his carrot, imaging the knights being pampered and fussed over for days, never wanting to leave. "I'm really fine on the floor, mum. Always have been," he said with a smile. "Who's going to have to put up with Arthur?"
Arthur said, turning to Hunith. "The barn will be an improvement over our thin tents. We'll not put the townspeople out," Arthur insisted.
"You and Merlin have beds in another house already," she said, looking over at Merlin with sadness in her eyes and a soft smile. "No one has taken Will's home. We all thought he was waiting to share it with you someday, when you returned from Camelot. He would have wanted you to use it when you're here."
Merlin shook his head, noticing that Arthur was doing the same. "I couldn't, Mum. We'll sleep here, on the floor," he said, begging Arthur as loudly as he could with his eyes. "Right, Arthur?"
"Absolutely," he agreed, and Merlin mouthed "thank you" when he caught his eye.
"Nonsense. We've been using Will's house for storage, but it's clean and dry and you'll have plenty of space. There are two beds, though you'll have to re-stuff the mattresses before dark, since they were emptied ages ago." Hunith went to the door, pausing and turning back to them. "How long did you say you were planning to stay?" she asked gently.
"Just tonight, but Leon will be returning to Camelot at once. I must send word ahead to my father," Arthur said, looking between Merlin and his mum with obviously genuine regret. "We've been away nearly a week already and Leon said the King is anxious for my return."
"I understand," she said, obviously disappointed. "I do wish you could stay longer, though. It's too quiet around here without Merlin."
"You're always welcome to visit the castle, Hunith. In fact, I'm sure we could find a room for you near Merlin if you decided to stay," Arthur proposed. "I hope you know we'd love to have you there."
Struck by the sincerity of the offer and the fact that it was made at all, Merlin beamed at him.
"Thank you, Arthur. It would be lovely to visit more often, but I'm ill-suited for city life, I'm afraid." She looked from Arthur to Merlin, eyes narrowing, a smile spreading on her lips. "He told you, didn't he?" she asked, looking back at Arthur, who nodded despite his look of confusion.
"He saw me cast when I saved him. Gawaine and Lancelot, too," Merlin confessed, ducking his head and pulling at a string on his cuff.
"Well, I'm glad you finally know. Though I hope you realize how unconcerned he is with his own safety now. He still needs a bit of looking after."
"Mum!" he shouted, face heating. "I do not need looking after! I'm the one that saved him, remember?"
"Yes, dear," she said, scrubbing her hand through his hair and tugging his neckerchief straight before licking her thumb and swiping at his cheek. Gaius and Arthur both laughed and Merlin flushed hotter, grinning despite himself.
Merlin batted her hand away gently. "It's a bruise, and that's disgusting," he said, wiping his shirt cuff over the wet spot. "Arthur is a prince, Mum, not a nursemaid."
"Oh, he doesn't mind," she said, smiling at Arthur. "I'd wager he's used to it by now. Help me with the firewood?"
Merlin held Arthur's gaze for a moment before following his mum out of their home.
"It's a form of magical exhaustion, Sire," Gaius said a moment after the door whined shut.
Of course Gaius had known of Merlin's magic. Gaius had once been a sorcerer himself, though Arthur rarely thought of him as such. For all of Arthur's life, Gaius had seemed a harmless old physician, nothing more. To look at him as a powerful warlock was a stretch his mind could hardly make.
"He suspected as much," Arthur said, nodding and taking a seat on the low wooden bench across from Gaius. "He thinks his fever was magical – a way for his body to warm itself."
Gaius raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, considering. "It's possible. Most warlocks cannot heal themselves, but Merlin has always been able to do so, even when he was a boy. It's others he has trouble healing, even when he desperately wishes to do so."
"It's odd to think of him as a warlock." Arthur pinched his nose between his forefinger and thumb, hoping to ward off the headache that threatened. The more he heard and saw about Merlin's magic, the more concerned he became. "He's Merlin, for Gods' sake."
"Yes, I imagine it must've been a shock. You should know that he's very powerful, Sire. Powerful enough to be Camelot's greatest ally."
Arthur looked up, wanting to hear more but not sure he would ever be able to reconcile the two versions of Merlin. "That strong already? Tell me about him, Gaius."
"Sire, I believe Merlin should explain..." Gaius paused, sighing as if giving up. "I have done what I could and advised him as I believed the King would wish."
"I'm sure you've done all you were able." Arthur said, leaning forward. "Has he had any other instruction?"
"He is almost entirely untrained. Most of what he knows, he learned from books or discovered on his own." Gaius took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if fighting an internal battle.
"Please continue. I cannot help him if I don't know this part of him as well as the rest," Arthur said, hoping to persuade the older man to speak more freely. "Has he improved since coming to Camelot?"
Gaius frowned, pausing for a long moment, but finally spoke. "The Dragonlord gift steadied him a bit, but I've long been afraid there is no one who will be able to train him properly."
The Dragonlord gift. "Merlin is a Dragonlord? But wasn't Balinor the last?" he asked, mind playing over the night they'd faced the Great Dragon. Merlin had insisted on coming with him and the knights, and Merlin had been the only one left standing when it was over.
Gaius brushed some crumbs from the table, folding his hands on the worn wood. "The gift passes from father to son, but only upon the father's death. Merlin had no idea until just before you left to find Balinor that he was his father."
Arthur shook his head, disbelieving, all questions about the dragon chased away by the sympathetic ache in his chest for Merlin. "Gods, and Balinor was killed right in front of him. He died protecting Merlin."
No wonder Merlin had been so quiet, so distant when Arthur expected Merlin's usual pointless reassurances and endless optimism. And Arthur had naïvely told him no man was worth his tears.
No man but a father, as Arthur knew all too well. He'd shed them for his own once, and Merlin hadn't said a word in reproach.
"He told me about that afternoon, Sire. He regrets not saving Balinor more than anything in his life, I'm sure." Gaius said, looking at Arthur with such sadness that Arthur could feel it filling the space between them.
"But he didn't even try to heal him. He let his father die because of me," Arthur realized, shaking his head. "Because I would have seen his magic?"
Gaius nodded, then took a deep breath. "I tell you this in confidence," he said, "though I'm aware you may have need to speak of it with him someday."
"Why would he have done that? His own father..." Arthur wondered. "Surely he had to know I wouldn't allow him to be executed."
"You will have to ask him for his reason, though I don't know that any answer will suffice to explain how one can make such a choice. Merlin has always been very careful never to pit you against the King. He is very protective of your relationship with your father, perhaps because he never knew his own." Gaius raised an eyebrow.
Arthur looked at him incredulously. "You're saying that Merlin wouldn't ask me to defy my father's edict against magic? Not even to save his life?"
"Merlin lives life in simple terms, Sire. He does not see edicts and law. He sees a father and son, not a King and Prince. He sees you, Arthur, and I believe..." Gaius trailed off, looking at Arthur as if begging him to comprehend. "I believe Merlin would do anything for you."
"He would," Arthur agreed, thinking of Merlin volunteering first to drink poison to spare Arthur, then insisting on drinking poison to spare Arthur. He thought of the half-dozen times when he'd impossibly survived, thanking the Gods and not the young man grinning over at him as he heated Arthur's bathwater or emptied the rubbish bin. "He has."
Nodding slowly, Gaius seemed older, more worn than Arthur remembered seeing him before. It must've taken a lot to tell Merlin's secret, to talk about such things with a man who until now must've been seen as a threat to his ward.
Arthur stood, walking around the table and touching the old man's shoulder. "Thank you, Gaius." He stepped outside, the bright afternoon sun cutting through the sharp, cold wind to warm his face.
Merlin deserved knighthood, Arthur knew, at the very least. He'd done more for Arthur as an ill-taught and unmotivated manservant than all his league of knights combined. But Merlin would never consent to be made knight, nor would he fare well on the battlefields without his magic.
Outside the house, Arthur leaned on the doorframe and watched Merlin chopping wood, the wedge falling to the side as the axe connected, doing nothing more than making a dent. Merlin picked it up, righted the log and the wedge and raised the axe again, grunting.
Tired as he obviously was, Merlin was smiling as he worked and watched his mother talking to the villagers and knights. What kind of powerful warlock chopped wood by hand without even a proper wedge or a sharp axe?
A warlock who'd let his own father die in his arms rather than force a friend – a prince – to choose between Merlin's life and the King's law.
Gaius' words rang through his head. 'Camelot's most powerful ally.' Perhaps someday, Merlin could be practicing sorcery on Camelot's behalf, but at what cost? Merlin would give everything of himself in the process, seemingly without hesitation – his father's life, his own. He would hide and lie and stifle the strength that Arthur was just beginning to understand.
He couldn't imagine being asked to give up that kind of power, and Merlin had done it for four long years, swallowing his pride and bowing and serving in the basest of ways. He'd never once boasted about saving Arthur before, never once thrown his power in Arthur's face when Arthur had teased him mercilessly about his weaknesses.
It was the kind of loyalty Kings courted and hoped for but rarely found even in a knight, and never in a servant. It was loyalty of the highest order, fealty Arthur would never have asked of Merlin, though he had been loyal from the start.
Arthur'd known that much all along.
He watched as Merlin worked, the calm, slow pace of the village dulling the edge of his thoughts. Merlin's axe thunked down again, this time splintering the log in twain. He tossed the pieces onto the pile beside the house, and then, seeing Arthur, gave him a small wave.
The sun shone on Merlin's black hair and touched the sweat just coming up on his forehead. As he wiped his sleeve across it, Arthur walked to him, taking the axe from his hand and pushing him gently toward the bench by the door to Hunith's home.
"Sit," Arthur ordered, his hand lingering on Merlin's back until he moved. He watched him walk away, clamping his jaw on the overwhelming urge to say more. His fist clenched around the axe handle, holding tightly to it so he wouldn't accidentally pull Merlin back to him.
Merlin obeyed him, sitting down hard on the bench, catching his breath and squinting toward the sun. "Thanks."
Arthur shook his head, dismissing the need for gratitude. After all he'd sacrificed for Arthur, Merlin need never thank him for anything ever again.
They busied themselves with chores, stockpiling firewood until the pile was as tall as Hunith, mending a fence with newly-cut timber, finishing the roof work. The villagers went about their daily routines for the most part, only stopping by for a quick hullo or to offer their assistance, even when word got around that the Prince was there.
Not one of them asked him or the other knights for anything more than a handshake.
The boar couldn't be roasted whole – they didn't have the time and the meat would do the village far greater good if smoked and preserved, anyhow. Leon helped the men Hunith brought round to butcher it and then he was off for Camelot, though Arthur offered to let him stay for the evening meal.
True to Merlin's word, Hunith had created a feast. The boar was now in bite-size chunks, swimming in thick gravy with vegetables from Camelot and savoury spices Arthur wasn't familiar with. His mouth watered as he took a seat beside Merlin, who piled a few pieces of bread on a small metal plate, setting it between them.
Arthur's elbow brushed against Merlin's, their legs pressing together beneath the table. He'd never once invited Merlin to sit down with him for a meal in his rooms, though he'd come close to offering a few times. It had seemed too intimate a thing to ask Merlin, but now, in Merlin's home, it was as natural as breathing to be sitting so close, breaking bread with his servant.
Everyone settled in front of their bowls, pronged spoons in hands, looking at Hunith for a cue to begin. They followed her gaze to Arthur, waiting expectantly.
"Mum wants you to go first," Merlin whispered.
Slipping into his role as Prince, Arthur sat up straight and raised his mug. "A toast is in order," he said, pausing until everyone held a cup in the air. "To you, Hunith, and to Merlin, without whom I wouldn't be here to enjoy this fine feast."
"To Hunith and Merlin," the knights and Gaius repeated, and softly, beside him, Merlin said, "To Mum."
Formality fell away as they touched their cups together, smiling. They tucked into the delicious stew with a vengeance, though Arthur was pleased to see his knights remembering they were guests and not patrons at a pub. They wiped their mouths and spoke quietly to one another.
"Merlin, could you get the pitcher?" Hunith asked, craning her neck to look into everyone's cups and mugs. "See if anyone needs their cup refilled."
Arthur had guessed the quiet wouldn't last long with this group and he wasn't mistaken. Before he'd taken another bite of his dinner, Gawaine snorted.
All eyes went to the knight, then to the pitcher floating along behind Gaius, Lancelot and Hunith. It stopped at the end of the table, sloshing, then carefully tipped to pour Lancelot's cup full to the brim. Not one drop spilt as it continued down the line, doing the same to Arthur's mug, then Gaius'.
"Merlin, not at the table," Gaius chided, not even looking up from his dinner. He broke a piece of bread and handed half to Hunith, who grinned and took it.
"Oh, let him, Gaius. It's not every day he gets to show off. Everyone here knows – I imagine it's a bit of relief to be able to be so casual about it again," Hunith said, sharing a broad smile with her son, and Arthur saw where Merlin had got his mischievous grin.
"No, he's right, Mum," Merlin said, smiling gratefully at her, then glancing at Arthur. "It's probably not a good idea to get used to it." The pitcher floated to his outstretched hand as he stood, circling the table and pouring the rest of the cups full by hand.
"Aw, come on, Merlin," Gawaine urged, "You know you want to, and I for one would like to see more of what you can do. You've been holding out on us all this time."
Merlin looked to Arthur, not his mother, and, in the odd position of being asked permission by Merlin to do anything, he frowned.
Gaius saved him from having to provide an answer. "Go on, then, Merlin, but no fire. I won't have your mother's new roof ruined for another of your spark dragons."
Arthur felt his eyes go wide and looked quickly down at his almost-empty bowl, not sure he was prepared to witness Merlin casually throwing spells around the dinner table. As he spooned up his last piece of boar, the ladle appeared under his nose, giving him another helping.
He looked up to see Merlin grinning wide, the stew-pot hovering before him. Everyone got another ladle-full, and as Merlin began eating his own, Arthur followed the pot's progress back to the hearth. The wash basin filled with water and suds, a brush scrubbing along the dishes and utensils in a rhythmic motion. Hunith's hair-tie slipped from her hair, letting it fall down over her shoulders. Gaius sat up straighter, a hand going to the small of his back with a soft "ooh," obviously having been healed of some pain.
All the while Merlin ate, spooning up the stew, dipping his bread in and eating that, drinking his water. He grinned like a fool but otherwise, it was as if Merlin wasn't even paying attention at all.
"Will it break your concentration if we speak?" Lancelot asked, looking behind himself at all the activity.
"Nope!" Merlin answered, wordlessly and effortlessly lifting Lancelot's napkin and wiping it across the knight's mouth. "I'm used to it, actually."
"Merlin and I have attempted to tax his abilities before," Gaius said, "but we've yet to reach the point where he passes out or is truly harmed."
Arthur paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. They'd been training Merlin's magic? Of course they had – it would have been irresponsible to neglect his training, but... in the citadel itself?
"I shaped a boulder, once. That was taxing. I was tired for days, though nothing like I have been lately." Merlin admitted, looking for all the world as if he were honestly trying to be modest while talking about shaping boulders.
"That's simply because I forbade you to use magic until you regained your strength." Gaius looked over the rim of his cup at Merlin.
"I tried to do the same, but he refused to listen," Arthur said, not wanting Gaius to think he'd just let Merlin run around casting at everything in sight, then fall over with exhaustion.
"Merlin!" Hunith chided, shaking her head at her son. "Now that Arthur knows about you, you're to respect his judgement in this just as much as Gaius' or your own."
The table went quiet, the swishing sound of the brush on the dishes filling the silence.
"Did you melt it?" Gawaine asked, taking another bite with his eyebrows raised. "Carve it? You reshaped stone, Merlin - we need details."
"Hmm. It's hard to describe." Merlin turned away from Arthur a bit, angling himself toward Gawaine. "It just became soft, almost like clay, I suppose. The part that did me in was re-hardening it. It felt as though I was squeezing with my entire mind."
Arthur's own mind felt a bit like it was in a vice. Each and every new bit of information about Merlin's magic turned the crank, tightening it a little more. He looked over Lancelot's shoulder at the water pitcher as it wobbled and lifted into the air again, coming to top off his cup.
Merlin hadn't even looked at it! How had he known he wouldn't miss?
There was a feeling in the room, too, a kind of build-up of energy or magic – he didn't know which. It felt as though the air was going to start crackling any moment, sparking or thundering. It didn't though, not even when Merlin began sweeping the floor and folding the laundry Hunith had pulled from the lines and piled in a basket as the sky darkened that afternoon.
Not one corner of cloth touched the ground as the skirts and blankets folded neatly and stacked themselves upon the low shelves by Hunith's bed.
He couldn't say what he wanted to: that Merlin was a wonder, that he should be using his magic for things far more useful than folding sheets and refilling cups.
Arthur shivered at the ease with which Merlin cast, imagining him working the same magic in Arthur's own chambers every day, his power one thin door away from being discovered.
The pyre was always erected in the citadel courtyard, in plain view of Arthur's bedchamber windows. Had Merlin watched the executions and thought of himself tied to that post? Had he thought he would be able to escape before the fires were lit beneath him?
The very image of Merlin bound there made Arthur's stomach curl into a tight knot. He set down his spoon and stared at Merlin's long, thin fingers resting on the table next to his own. That had been the hand that cast and saved his life, likely more times than Arthur would ever know. It was hard to believe it was the same callused, clumsy hand that dropped armour on the stairs and never once got his collar straight.
And Merlin used it then, lifting it high in the air, his eyes flaring golden as the spell slipped from between his lips. Everything in the room slowed to a snail's pace. Arthur drew in a breath and saw the others around the table stare in awe, silent for a long moment as Merlin grinned and chuckled.
"Stop it," Arthur breathed out, "please."
Merlin glanced over, his smile faltering, and the objects all around them sped to normalcy.
Normalcy? Perhaps in Merlin's eyes. Perhaps that was why he was flippant about his powers.
Pressing his leg harder against Merlin's, Arthur clenched his jaw on the scream of frustration that welled in his chest.
Down the table, Gawaine clapped his hands, laughing and wrapping an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Well done! That was fantastic!"
Across from him, Lancelot grinned in agreement and Hunith looked proud, of all things. Gaius had an eyebrow raised, but even he was smiling.
Arthur wanted to shake them all, to force Merlin to understand the danger he was putting himself in.
In truth, he was sure Merlin knew and was simply apathetic about being found out, which just fuelled Arthur's anger. Why wasn't Merlin as careful as he could possibly be with his magic? Why had he ever come to Camelot if he valued his life? Everyone knew sorcery bought a warlock an unchallengeable death sentence.
And did Merlin honestly think that Arthur would let him get away with such stupidity now that he knew Merlin was casting for things like chores?
As ingrained as sorcery seemed to be in Merlin's everyday routine, Arthur couldn't imagine him willingly stopping, not even if he was ordered. And Arthur had seen just how effective his order had been earlier - Merlin had completely ignored it.
If Merlin refused to see the danger he was in and protect himself, Arthur would force him to.
"Merlin," he began, but hesitated as Merlin turned to look at him, his smile falling away as if Arthur had growled his name.
Belatedly noticing the silence of the others, Arthur smiled and carefully softened his tone. "Why is it I have to badger you to get your chores done, but your mother doesn't even need ask?"
Merlin grinned as everyone laughed, the light in his eyes a gift Arthur wouldn't soon forget.
He would have to extinguish it, he knew, but he wouldn't ever forget what Merlin had looked like in that moment, so entirely at peace with himself and everyone around him.
"I have something I need to speak with you about," he whispered, leaning in to Merlin's ear. "Immediately."
Merlin nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. "That was delicious, Mum." As everyone agreed, Merlin floated their dishes to the basin, standing to hug his mother. "I'm exhausted. I'll leave those to finish, but I think I'd better lie down soon."
Hunith nodded and rubbed his back, reaching out for Arthur's hand as he stood and stepped toward the door. "You boys – um,young men - get some sleep." She went to the shelves and got two blankets, handing them to Merlin. "Take wood for the fire, too. It's going to be a chilly night with all this rain."
He and Merlin nodded and thanked her, Arthur memorizing the soft skin of her hand on his and her gentle smile.
He didn't expect to see it again.
Merlin walked slowly beside him, looking up at the sky, face scrunching up as he considered the clouds overhead. "If it pours like it looks like it's going to, we'll have a rough time on the road back. Mudslides and puddles from here to Camelot."
Arthur didn't say anything. He couldn't, not yet.
When they got to Will's house, Arthur followed Merlin inside and closed the door behind them as Merlin stood, staring around the room.
"We don't have to stay here. We can sleep in the barn with the others," Arthur suggested, though any kindness he showed now would seem false soon enough. "Or you can return to your mum's house."
Merlin turned to look at him, shaking his head. "It's fine – I'm fine. Will's gone. It doesn't even look like his home anymore."
Arthur nodded, stepping to the fireplace to deposit the logs, then tossing his pack onto one of the low beds built against the wall.
"You said you needed to speak to me?" Merlin prompted, and Arthur cringed inwardly.
He wasn't quite ready for this, hadn't figured out exactly how to word it. He'd known from the instant he'd decided that it would be as difficult to say as it would be for Merlin to hear. He took a deep breath, reminding himself over and over again why this was absolutely necessary.
He reached out and laid a hand firmly on Merlin's good shoulder, realizing as he did that Merlin had likely already healed the injured one. More magic he hadn't even noticed, right under his nose.
"You won't be returning to Camelot with us tomorrow, Merlin," he said, his voice low and as gentle as he could manage while trying to sound certain as well.
Merlin shook his head, pulling his arm out of Arthur's grip. "You're sacking me?" he shouted, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Because of my magic? Arthur, you can't."
"My father imposes the death sentence for sorcery on a regular basis. Have you not seen the charred corpses in the courtyard? Are you blind to the consequences of practicing magic in Camelot?" The words were harsh, but maybe they would get through whatever wall of denial Merlin had built around the issue.
"It's my choice, and I'll risk it, thanks," Merlin retorted, moving to kneel at the fireplace, the logs blazing with flames in a blink. "Besides, no one's caught me yet."
"Do you hear yourself?" he asked, his anger flaring as he realized Merlin actually thought he could get away with living in Camelot and never being found out. "There are three knights in this village who've seen you commit what amounts to treason over and over again."
"We're not in Camelot and you know that Lancelot and Gawaine count me as a friend." Merlin stared at the fire, not looking up at him. "And I don't believe you would turn me over to your own father, not even if he asked you directly."
Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reining in his anger. "You're right. I would defy my father and my King to protect you," he said, reaching down to pull Merlin to his feet and turn him around, holding onto his shoulders. "But it wouldn't be enough. He would execute you on suspicion alone. He doesn't need proof, you know that. You've come within a hair's breadth of it happening, Merlin. It makes me ill to think of how close you've come to the pyre."
"I don't care. I belong in Camelot, even if I end up a pile of ash," Merlin's fists were clenched, his eyes narrowed. He closed his hands hard on Arthur's forearms. "I have to protect you."
In light of the past few days, and seeing so many misadventures in hindsight now with the knowledge that Merlin had magic, Arthur couldn't argue that Merlin wasn't capable. "I have a company of knights to protect me."
"They follow you, they don't protect you," Merlin whispered, letting go of Arthur's arms and worrying the edge of his tunic, then looking into Arthur's eyes, pleading, "Please don't ask this of me."
He'd expected a fight, defiance, but not this, not what amounted to begging. Arthur shook his head. "Until I am King, I cannot protect you. By then, you'll have a life elsewhere. You should have a life in a place where you aren't breaking the law simply by breathing."
Merlin pulled away from him, stepping towards the door but stopping, his back to Arthur. "Is this because I... because of this?" he asked, gesturing between the two of them. "You don't have to worry about that. I'll respect your wishes - you know that, Arthur."
Arthur blinked hard. "You think I would exile you for that?" he asked, swallowing hard. Did Merlin really believe he would be so cruel? Under the circumstances, though, Arthur could see why. Removing Merlin as his servant and leaving him in Ealdor was probably the cruellest thing he could do to him. "No, it's not because of that."
"Are you exiling me, then? Because this village will be a part of Camelot soon enough."
"No, Merlin," he said softly, though he considered saying yes because in truth, anywhere under his father's rule was too close to be safe. "Ealdor is small enough to go unnoticed, I believe. I didn't expect you to stay here, regardless."
Merlin turned to face him, leaning on the table, arms stiff and head hanging. "What if I swore never to use it again, unless I was saving a life?" he asked, his voice breaking.
'It.' As if Merlin wasn't willing to even say the word magic.
"This isn't negotiable," he whispered, stepping closer, wanting to comfort him but knowing it would be neither welcome nor fair, given what he was ordering. "You shouldn't be a servant, Merlin. You shouldn't have to give up your gift and you shouldn't waste it on a kingdom that would murder you for it."
There, he'd said it. Camelot wasn't worthy of Merlin.
Merlin backed away as Arthur stepped forward again, reaching out to him. He didn't know how to do this, to push Merlin away when his body felt half-empty with the desire to touch him.
"Don't. If you're getting rid of me, then just get rid of me," Merlin said, his voice thick and strained. "Don't try to soften the blow."
If anyone else had put that look on Merlin's face, Arthur would have laid them out flat.
The pull was too strong – he needed distance if he was going to finish this. He went to his bed and sat on the newly-stuffed mattress, feeling straw poke through the fabric, realizing he was in Merlin's home, now. It felt odd to give him permission for anything, but Merlin seemed reluctant to leave. Still, the words barely formed. "You're no longer my servant, Merlin, and I am not Prince here. You can go if you'd like."
Merlin stood staring at him, the only sound the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Arthur was sure he must look every bit as shocked and stripped raw as Merlin did. In the course of a short couple of days, they'd gone from admitting their attraction and giving up any possibility of them ever acting further on it to now, losing one another entirely, friendship and all. Arthur couldn't think beyond this moment, the most obvious turning point in his life since the day Merlin had become his servant.
"It was an honour, Sire," Merlin said, voice straining to sound strong. He held Arthur's gaze as he made a short bow. Arthur could almost see the damage he'd done as he looked into Merlin's over-full eyes. "No matter what you order, I'll serve you until the day I die. If you send for me, I'll come to you, no matter how far away I am."
Arthur sighed softly, wanting nothing more than to take Merlin into his arms and hold him until the pain eased, his own and Merlin's both, however impossible that seemed. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to keep from apologizing. He couldn't be sorry for this, for keeping Merlin safe.
The storm broke overhead, sending torrents of rain pounding down on the roof and walls. Arthur started at a loud thunderclap that split the air over the small home. Without a word, before Arthur could say a thing in protest, Merlin opened the door and walked out.
The squeaking wooden hinges of the door brought Arthur out of his brooding haze as Merlin returned.
Rolling onto his side, he watched as Merlin stripped off his coat and neckerchief, eyes flaring in the dim glow of the firelight. He shook his hair, then cast again, drying it.
Each time Merlin cast in front of him made him surer of his decision. It was Gods-damned lucky Merlin hadn't been executed already. If that Witchfinder hadn't been using sorcery himself, Arthur suspected Merlin would be dead, along with Morgana and Gaius. He might have been anyway, had Arthur not spoken up for him when he went to sacrifice himself to save Gwen.
Did he not value his life at all?
It didn't matter, because there would be no one to sacrifice himself for in Ealdor. He would be safe, live a quiet life with a small group of people who would protect him as fiercely as he would protect them. Or he would travel to a kingdom where sorcery was exalted instead of reviled. He could serve as court warlock to a king who would appreciate his loyalty and unfailing support.
Merlin lay down on the twin of Arthur's bed, only a few metres away, turning to face the wall. "I'm never going to see you again, am I?" he whispered, so softly Arthur wondered if he should answer.
Arthur swallowed hard. He'd thought of this, too, while Merlin was out in the storm. "Of course you will. The company already patrols here often and will do so even more often when Ealdor is annexed into Camelot. I can easily come to see you and join back up with them later," he said, though, difficult as it was to admit, he couldn't imagine it happening. He rarely rode patrol anymore. His father kept him fairly close since Camelot's last devastating battle.
"No," Merlin said shakily, taking a deep breath. "I don't want you to ever come back here."
The words felt like hot stones in his chest and Arthur closed his eyes. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He couldn't believe Merlin was cutting him off completely, even though he'd intended to do the same to Merlin.
He'd never truly believed he wouldn't see Merlin again.
"Yes." Merlin pulled the blankets up to his neck and held his hand up, fingers spread above his face. He murmured a spell, the glamour falling away to reveal Merlin's drawn, pale visage. He glanced at Arthur, frowning, and raised his hand again, the spell sliding past his lips, sibilant and smooth. Merlin's hand dropped to the bed and a moment later Arthur realized he was asleep, his breaths even and slow.
Arthur lay still as the rain continued to sheet down against the walls and roof. He stared at Merlin's sleeping form, unable either to look away or fall asleep himself.
Merlin was his closest friend, his only friend, to be truthful. The knights were his men and they had good times together, but no one else knew him the way Merlin did.
And despite knowing him so well, Merlin had believed in his ability to become a better man from the beginning. Arthur wasn't blind; he could see that Merlin had reshaped his attitudes over the years, had taught him to think for himself instead of blindly following his father's example. He learned from Merlin to see beyond pride and the nobility, to be a servant to the people instead of ruling them as his father did.
From the very first moment they'd met, Merlin had encouraged him in the gentlest, surest way to seek out the right thing and do it, say it, help it to happen if he could.
And the things he felt with Merlin, he'd never felt before. The emotions he'd kept bottled up for so long seemed to bubble over and spill with the slightest urging from Merlin. He could speak with him as he would a brother or lover, confessing all manner of sins or worries without fear of judgement.
Merlin listened even when Arthur couldn't say a word. Especially then, in fact.
Being alone with him was Arthur's escape, his sanctuary, no matter where they were. He could be himself with Merlin, teasing and laughing, speaking about his mother without fear of reprisal, sharing his concern for the future or his fears of inadequacy.
Arthur would remember it all – every bit of humility and selflessness and concern - everything he'd learned from his humble, loyal, noble, terribly-inept servant. He would become a King Merlin would be proud of.
He'd done the right thing this time, too, even if Merlin couldn't see it yet. Maybe someday he would be able to. Maybe someday he'd forgive Arthur for severing their friendship, their partnership and see that Arthur had been trying to save him, literally.
The fire burned low, the draughty walls of the house doing little to keep out the chill, damp wind. Arthur went to the fireplace, adding another log to the hearth, using a smaller piece of wood to stoke the flames back to life since there was no iron poker. The fire grew, heating his face, warm against the skin of his chest where his open tunic parted.
A moan slipped under the sound of the constant shower of rain on the thatch above and Arthur stood, looking over at Merlin. He shifted under the covers, obviously uncomfortable, kicking and then tearing them off altogether, screaming as he bolted upright.
Arthur dashed to his side, sitting on the bed next to him, hands on his shaking, shivering arms. The feeling of Merlin's skin, warm and dry against his palms, was glorious reassurance that the fever hadn't returned. "Merlin, it's all right. Shh. Was it a dream?"
Merlin nodded mutely, his chin quivering and lips pressed tightly together, hands fisted in the mattress beneath him.
"You're awake. It's all right," Arthur said, rubbing his hands up and down Merlin's arms, more grateful for the contact than he had any right to be.
"You died," Merlin whispered, shaking his head. "You died and I wasn't there."
"It was just a dream," he said, trying to sound as comforting as he could, pulling a little to urge Merlin into his arms fully, but Merlin put his hands on Arthur's chest, pushing him away.
"You can't know that. Please, Arthur," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this."
Hands sliding up to either side of Merlin's neck, Arthur leaned closer, not quite daring to press their foreheads together. "I won't watch you die."
"Then close your eyes, but let me... stay with you." Merlin's fingers brushed down over Arthur's eyelids, pulling them gently shut.
"No," he whispered, keeping his eyes closed. He pulled back, wondering if Merlin had heard him over the sound of the rain on the roof. "It's too dangerous for you."
Merlin's thumb brushed along his cheekbone then swept down to his lips. He heard Merlin take a deep breath and felt the gentle breeze as he blew it out again. "Then, if I'm no longer your servant, I need to ask something of my friend."
The words were anathema and ambrosia at once, spiking into Arthur without mercy. Friend was not a word he wanted to hear, but Gods, how he needed to. "Of course," he said, his voice strained.
Fingers trailing from his lips to his jaw, Merlin's other hand drifted up his arm, his shoulder, curling up around the back of his neck. He started at the soft brush of Merlin's lips over his own, the dizzy breathlessness of sharing the same air, of tasting Merlin's breaths. He wetted his own lips. He moved blindly, kissing the warm, slick mouth, then abandoning all hope of remaining resolute and took hold of the moment as though it were a lifeline. He clutched at the front of Merlin's tunic, hand closing on the nape of his neck and pulling him closer, fingers rubbing up into Merlin's soft hair. They drew in breaths as if drowning, fingers digging into each other's flesh, unable to get close enough though they were close enough for anything.
Merlin breathed against his ear as they broke apart, panting. "Take me back to Camelot with you this way if you won't any other. Please, Arthur."
Turning his head and opening his eyes, he looked into Merlin's and found no resentment, no anger. He saw every good thing he was giving up and hoped to the stars and back his rejection wouldn't tarnish Merlin beyond righting. He breathed, shaking his head, his chest a riot of pain and anticipation. He watched Merlin misinterpret his movement and leaned in for another kiss, unable to find the right words to convey everything he was feeling.
One would suffice, though. He sucked a wet path from Merlin's jaw to his ear and whispered his answer, teeth tugging gently on Merlin's earlobe. "Yes."
Merlin arched and tilted his head, offering his throat and Arthur took it, kissing and sucking all the way to the collar of his tunic, hands brushing down the front, never breaking contact with Merlin's chest. He lifted the hem and pulled the shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor, then quickly stripped off his own, Merlin's fingers pushing and pulling to help him.
Merlin was warm, Gods, warm and soft and strong, arms twining around his neck and pulling them both down, Arthur lying on top as they kissed. Their lips parted at the same moment, their tongues slipping together on a dual moan.
Merlin shifted, rocking up and back with abandon, all timidity seemingly burned away by the raw desire that flared back and forth between them. Merlin paused, looking up at him, knees pushing at Arthur's hips until he got the hint and moved to the side.
Fingers curled into Arthur's waistband and paused as Merlin looked to him for permission. The tension reflected between them, doubling, tripling as Arthur realized exactly what Merlin was asking for.
He couldn't accept such a gift; he knew with certainty that Merlin had never given himself to anyone, man or woman. It was too much to claim on the eve of their separation, when he'd been the one to inflict so much pain.
He nodded anyway, unwilling or unable to let the moment pass, knowing he could give Merlin pleasure and release without taking him completely. He stood, allowing himself to be stripped, carefully watching Merlin's face as he saw the evidence of Arthur's arousal. He looked at Arthur's body in wonder, the tips of his fingers ghosting lightly along Arthur's thighs and cock, his sac, the insides of his thighs and the crease where leg met groin.
Pulling Merlin to his feet, barely able to stop the hands from touching, it felt so good, Arthur knelt and slowly slid Merlin's trousers and smalls to his ankles, one hand on Merlin's bare calf as he stepped out of the clothing.
He looked up at Merlin from where he knelt on the hard-packed ground of the hut, the rain thrumming as steadily as his heart against his ribcage. Merlin's hand slid up to card through Arthur's hair and Arthur let his forehead fall to Merlin's thigh, eyes closed as he took a moment to breathe, to fully grasp the moment. It would be one of their last, he knew, though everything in him was screaming against it.
Pushing slowly to his feet, he pressed his lips to Merlin's forehead, his cheekbone, the hollow below his ear. Guiding him down, Arthur laid them back on the bed, gently. He slid up Merlin's body, slipping between the soft, strong parting thighs, capturing full lips in another slow, sensual kiss, their moans vibrating between them.
Their cocks lined up, smooth bellies and chests brushing as Arthur pushed up on his elbows. They glided together, velvet against velvet, steel beneath, side-by-side as Arthur kissed his way from the hum in Merlin's throat to the thumping in his chest. He tasted the salt of Merlin's collarbone, then further down, drawing a rosy nipple between his lips, stroking slickly across it over and again as Merlin writhed beneath him.
Hand pressed deep into the straw mattress, Arthur rolled the neglected nipple between his fingers, sucking hard when Merlin's hand closed on the back of his head in encouragement, his groans buzzing against Arthur's fingertips and lips. He matched the constant, even strokes of Arthur's cock one by one, their movements elliptical and smooth, no beginning or end, their arousal building the longer they pumped.
He could spend his lifetime doing nothing but this, hearing nothing but Merlin, tasting and feeling nothing but his skin. But his lifetime with Merlin would only last a little while longer, he knew. His fingers dug into Merlin's flesh, his body pressing him deeper into the mattress as Arthur sought as much sensation as he could find.
Merlin's hips bucked wildly at the intensified pressure, a hand pushing at Arthur's shoulder. "Wait, please, Gods, I can't-" he whispered, gasping for breath. "I want-"
"Yes," he answered, though he knew he couldn't do all Merlin wanted. There were ways to simulate the feeling, ways to drive Merlin to distraction and overwhelming pleasure without taking his virtue. "Roll onto your side," he whispered, pushing gently at Merlin's shoulder, kissing the smooth skin, feeling the strong, lean muscle shift beneath as Merlin obeyed.
Lining their bodies together from chest to knees, one hand tucked in under his side to grasp his hip, the other trailing lightly down his thigh, Arthur suckled at his shoulder, at the line of bumps along his neck, then stretched up to breath into Merlin's ear. "Trust me." He slipped his hand between Merlin's legs, urging his thigh to lift up and hook over his own.
"Always," Merlin whispered, looking over his shoulder at him, eyes glazed with desire and need, eyes lowering to watch as he spread himself open for Arthur, his hand reaching back to lie on Arthur's hip, pulling him closer.
Pressing his fingers to Merlin's mouth, he whispered, "Wet them."
Moaning and closing his eyes, Merlin opened his mouth, allowing Arthur inside, licking and sucking rhythmically. Arthur pushed his fingers in and drew them out, arching against Merlin as the sensation seemed to spread through his body. He could almost feel Merlin's lips around his cock, his tongue licking stiffly up the underside, darting over the tip. He let his eyes drift closed and imagined Merlin on his knees before him, looking up at him, taking Arthur's cock with perfect trust that Arthur wouldn't harm him.
He rocked his hips against Merlin's backside, arousal slipping into the warm cleft as if it knew the way by heart, sliding smoothly along the crevice with every swipe of his leaking cock. He groaned as Merlin's flesh pressed around him but pulled slowly back, slipping his fingers from Merlin's mouth and sucking along the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Arthur reached between them, rubbing his slick fingertips up the inside of Merlin's thigh, over the tight, smooth skin behind his sac and up, sliding wetly across Merlin's entrance.
Merlin gasped and tensed, but Arthur didn't stop.
"That's it, Gods, you feel good." he whispered, drawing his fingers back and forth, increasing the pressure with each slow, rhythmic caress, watching Merlin's face for a reaction. He tilted his head back against Arthur's neck, mouth open, breaths coming in shuddering inhalations.
"Do you like that?" he asked, the words just a breath against Merlin's ear.
Merlin nodded, his hips beginning to rock in counterpoint to the friction.
Arthur sucked at his earlobe, his throat, his shoulder and on the next hard rub, slid one fingertip past the gripping, tight ring of muscle, up and in, slowly, steadily working it inside.
Gods, he was tight.
Breathing out as if in pain, Merlin shifted away and Arthur stilled against him, his finger buried in that clinging heat, giving Merlin a chance to either adjust or refuse. A moment later, his legs rubbing back and forth along Arthur's, Merlin arched in one slow, feline stretch, the muscles of his body flexing against Arthur's, his head thrown back as Arthur bit down gently on his shoulder, licking and sucking.
"So tight, Merlin. Just... just don't resist me. I'll go slow," he murmured, "Let me in, let me have you."
Arse pressing tentatively back, Merlin reached back to hold onto his neck, turning his head, eyes drifting open and closed, crimson mouth begging silently to be taken. Arthur lifted up and met him halfway for a slow, lingering kiss, their lips pressing sweetly together, tongues twining in a long, slow slide. As they shared panting breaths, Arthur began to slip his finger out, pushing slowly back in as Merlin moaned against his mouth, the smooth muscles inside him flexing as Arthur began fucking him with his finger in earnest.
Merlin moved into every thrust, arse rocking up and back, he moaned wantonly, demanding a faster pace, a deeper touch.
On the next arching press against his hand, Arthur slipped a second finger inside, licking the hiss from Merlin's lips, pulling his hand from beneath Merlin's side, propping up on one elbow to deepen their kiss as he slowly, carefully twisted his fingers and pumped them in and out.
"Does that feel good?" he murmured against Merlin's lips, the flesh around his fingers squeezing in response.
Merlin opened his eyes and pulled back, biting and licking his lips as if savouring Arthur's taste on his smeared, red mouth. "I want... will you-" Merlin breathed, swallowing hard. "Do you want to?"
Arthur groaned, pushing his fingers all the way in and holding them there, tight and hard. Merlin's body clenched around him, throat a long, smooth stretch where he'd thrown his head back, his breath panting through parted, blushing lips. Gods, yes, he wanted to, wanted every part of himself inside Merlin, wanted Merlin pushing back on his cock as greedily as he was using Arthur's fingers.
His cock dripped onto his stomach as Merlin's tight arse squeezed his fingers deliciously.
"Please, Arthur," he begged quietly, chin lifting as he rocked forward and pushed clear back to Arthur's knuckles, moaning. "I need you to."
Gods, yes, he could tell, and there wasn't one bit of his body that didn't want Merlin just as shamelessly. But it was Merlin.
How could he be that cruel, even if Merlin begged him for it? Tomorrow, he'd be gone and Merlin would be broken and Arthur couldn't leave him with nothing, with no reason to ever move forward with someone else. The thought of that, of Merlin moving on, of another man's hands on him...
Fuck.
No, Merlin's body wasn't his to take, shouldn't be his. He'd taken enough already. More than he'd ever intended.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes as he felt Merlin's body fall, the disappointment and grief crashing over Arthur as clearly as if it were his own. He supposed it was, too. "I can't... you'd only regret it."
Merlin's eyes filled as he held Arthur's gaze, but after a moment he nodded gently, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I wouldn't," he whispered, his voice broken. "But I understand." He turned his face into the pillow, hips pulling away so Arthur's fingers slipped from his body. "I'm so sorry. I should never have asked you. Oh, Gods, I can't- how can I-" He didn't even sound like Merlin, his voice was so thick.
"Don't," Arthur murmured against his shoulder. "Don't think about tomorrow." As if either of them would listen. Arthur kissed his shoulder, his neck, under his ear.
Merlin shook his head, groaning. "I can't stop. I thought you-," Merlin shook his head again, starting to push up on his hands. "No," he said, as if speaking to himself. His back was a long, smooth expanse, the firelight playing over the dips and curves of his muscles."I'll go if you want me to."
"What I want is for you to stay with me tonight," Arthur whispered, his voice husky with unchecked desire, his face flushing as he pulled at Merlin's shoulder, pulled him back to the bed and slipped his hand between Merlin's legs, urging his thighs apart again, hooking Merlin's knee back over his own. "Let me just..."
He reached down and tucked himself back into the crease of Merlin's arse, moaning at the sweet pleasure that raced along his spine, thrusting his hips up and back, nose pressing into the hair at the nape of Merlin's neck as he groaned. He slid gloriously, all the way into the tight, hot space behind Merlin's sac, cockhead pressing against the back of his bollocks. Merlin gasped and after a few more thrusts, moved against him, pushing his hips flush against Arthur's, letting his head fall to the pillow, offering his neck for Arthur to nip and suck.
Up and back, again, harder, faster, the friction of his cock in the tight valley made smooth and hot by the slickness that slipped out of him. He'd never done this before, never known it felt so much like fucking. Did it feel that way to Merlin? As if he were sliding inside him, thrusting into him with every smooth roll of his hips?
Merlin's hand clutched on the back of Arthur's thigh, pulling him in and in, the other twisting in the blankets, knuckles standing in sharp relief in the flickering firelight. Arthur let go of Merlin's hip and reached for his hand, pulling it back to his mouth so he could taste each dip between those knuckles, turn it over and suckle the pulse point of Merlin's wrist, moaning against the thin, soft skin that tasted so good, tasted like home and heat, the tendons taut and flexing beneath his tongue.
Licking every inch of Merlin's palm, he lowered the hand, curling the long fingers around Merlin's cock, his own fingers lacing between, urging Merlin into long, slow strokes that matched the languid slide of his cock against Merlin's hole.
As Merlin's hand sped, so did Arthur's thrusts and the answering counterpoint of Merlin's hips matched the pace, pushing back, pushing harder and harder until Arthur was pounding into his sac, the friction more than the drag of skin against skin. They were creating heat, warmth that radiated through Arthur's hand and cock and hips, down to his toes and up to his flushing face.
Arthur drowned in his inexorable pace as he watched in wonder, watched Merlin shiver and shake, his long, pale throat littered with red smudges from Arthur's desperate kisses, eyes fluttering closed, hips jerking. His body went taut as a bowstring and spilt, groaning and gasping his release, slippery and hot pulsing over and through their entwined fingers.
He pulled away gently, staring down for a moment at the picture he'd made: Merlin, twisted to look back and up at him, flush high on his cheeks, lips as red as if stained with wine, eyes shocked and wide but hungry, starving.
The sight of him, Gods, of his Merlin so completely focused and utterly undone was magnificent. He gasped and thrust hard as Merlin fisted the blanket again and levered himself back, rubbing his arse into Arthur's desperate thrusts, passion seeming to increase though he'd just climaxed. Merlin's eyes locked on his, the heat blazing behind them enough to show him how much Merlin wanted him even without the body writhing beneath his own.
He pushed his forehead against Merlin's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he panted, dragging in a breath as Merlin shifted onto his back, slipping his thigh beneath Arthur's, urging him up and over Merlin's body. Arthur propped up on his elbows, looking into Merlin's eyes, knowing he didn't have the will to resist, didn't want to and wouldn't.
Not when Merlin was already almost lost to him, when this was their last experience together before they would wake and say their impossible goodbyes and part.
Merlin's thighs spread for him, letting him lie between. He fit perfectly against the heated flesh, cock slipping first against the heat of Merlin's slick, warm belly and half-hard cock. Then, under Merlin's insistent fingers, he fitted down between Merlin's thighs. He rocked down experimentally and groaned as Merlin's legs spread wider, his arms closing around Arthur's neck and thighs lifting, legs wrapping around his waist. The movement lined him up perfectly to glide into the tight space behind Merlin's sac.
Passion flaring as intensely as it was moments before, Merlin's body still thrummed with energy despite his release. A slick hand slinked down between them, smoothing slippery wetness down his cock and up, rubbing it gently over his sac, pulling a soul-deep groan from Arthur's body. The hand retreated, closing slick and hot on his shoulder, pushing him down as Merlin arched and moaned, pleading and urging. Arthur threw his head back, crying out as his cock slipped wetly over Merlin's entrance, catching on his clenching, tight hole.
Merlin strained beneath him, back arching and thighs rubbing up and down where they wrapped around Arthur's waist, fingers curling into Arthur's hair, twisting there, lips seeking his own as they slid along his jaw. Merlin took his mouth, tongue gliding against Arthur's softly, slowly, as gently and sensually as if it were their first kiss. Arthur couldn't stop his pained moan as Merlin broke the kiss, whispering against his lips. "Please, Arthur. Give this to me..."
Hand drifting down to cup Merlin's hardening shaft, he stroked it once, twice, and pulled back, clutching Merlin's hip, keeping him still as he swept more of the slick come onto his cock and pushed gently, holding just a pressure against Merlin's entrance, which seemed to clench and open against the head of his cock. "You're sure?" he gasped against Merlin's ear, blood racing to keep up with his crashing heartbeat.
"Yes," Merlin cried, the word full of pleading, turning to a low moan of pleasure as Arthur took his mouth and pushed resolutely past the guardian muscles and up and in, in, Gods, deep inside Merlin's hot, gripping body.
He entered slowly and steadily, sliding to the hilt in one long, aching push and then held there, giving Merlin's body a moment to adjust. He felt too small in Arthur's arms, too fragile and tight to take all of Arthur inside him. If Merlin's body didn't yield to him soon, Arthur couldn't - wouldn't - force Merlin to hurt himself for this. He wrenched his mouth away, pressing his forehead to Merlin's shoulder, groaning as his cock flexed deep in Merlin's arse, Merlin gasping and fisting his hair, pulling him in for another scorching kiss.
Arthur waited as still and patiently as he could, gritting his teeth and holding on because it was Merlin, Merlin whose tongue curved slickly along his own, thumb rubbing along Arthur's jaw and up to trace his cheekbone. Arthur broke the kiss, lips almost touching Merlin's, unwilling to be any further away.
"All right?" he asked softly, hips still but cock flexing again as if unable to resist the feel of Merlin's tight body clenching around it.
"Arthur," Merlin breathed out, eyes heavy-lidded and legs squeezing around him, body slowly relaxing beneath him. "Yeah. Yes."
He kissed the lips beneath his again, softly, slowly, then pulled away and looked straight into Merlin's eyes, every emotion written plainly on his pale face. Pain. Gratitude for this, this joining that was more a gift to Arthur than anything else, though it was obvious Merlin didn't see it that way. Exhaustion was clear behind his eyes, bone-deep, the kind that never truly goes away once a person has it.
And affection. Above all, that.
Arthur moved carefully, slowly pulling out and pushing all the way back in as he watched Merlin's face for distress or pain.
Eyelids falling almost all the way closed, Merlin's lips parted, small, needy noises escaping between panting breaths. His hand slipped from Arthur's hair and down his shoulder, his bicep, thumb pushing against his wrist and fingers closing over his own, lifting their joined hands back to Merlin's cock, which jumped and hardened to silk over stone under their shared touch.
One long, slow stroke and Merlin's hand slipped away, over his side and up his spine, up the back of his neck, tangling again into Arthur's hair, urging him into another kiss as he stroked his fist over Merlin's arousal and thrust gently inside his clasping heat. The hand that closed on the back of his thigh pulled him into a strong, steady rhythm as he sucked in a breath and felt himself thicken even more, filling Merlin's tight body so full it nearly hurt to draw himself out and push back in.
He kept his thrusts short but stayed deep inside, their bodies rocking in perfect cadence as soon as they began to move together. With a groan, Merlin shifted his weight, hooking his thigh up and smoothly turning them over, body held close against Arthur's as they rolled.
Merlin fit in his lap as if he was moulded to it, made to be there, his body adjusting further to accept Arthur's length and girth deeper inside it. Merlin knelt over his hips, raising up off Arthur's cock. With Merlin's body controlling every movement, Arthur slipped in a long, slow drag out and glided back in, hard and deep, his groin pressed flush against Merlin's arse.
Back arching beautifully, chest thrust out and head thrown back, Merlin moaned, almost whining, low and needful. Arthur pushed his hips into the bed as Merlin lifted again, holding his body just on the tip of Arthur's cock for an instant before sinking all the way down again.
Arthur thrust harder this time, reaching as far as he could inside as Merlin fucked down and down, grinding and groaning, hands spread wide for balance on Arthur's chest, fingers dragging across Arthur's nipples, then clawing against his chest as, not waiting, not pausing, not holding back a second longer, Arthur pulled himself nearly all the way out and drove up into him, slick and smooth, Merlin's body as tight and warm and soft as Arthur had always imagined.
His mouth closed on the nearest bit of flesh as Merlin arched and fell onto him, their chests pressing together, his teeth scraping along Merlin's shoulder as he growled with need, his blood pumping thickly through his veins.
Dimly he heard Merlin whispering against his skin, pleading for more, for it to never end, for Arthur to just stay, just stay with him, never let it end.
He let Merlin's whispered prayers fill his thoughts and become his own as he lost himself again and again inside Merlin's tight, clinging body. Between them, his hand clutched around Merlin's cock, the cadence of his strokes lost as their chests and stomachs pressed closer together. He tightened the slick, hot glove of his fist and Merlin's hips rolled and thrust, fucking himself up through Arthur's fist and back onto Arthur's cock, his passion spilling over them like a wave, cresting as he came, groaning "Oh Gods,Arthur" against his lips and holding on as if Arthur might disappear from beneath him.
"Merlin, yes," he breathed, lathing over the red marks he'd left on his pale shoulder, aching to bite, to claim, to keep. "Say it again," he whispered, desperate to hear his name on those lips, with that much passion, one more time. He gasped for breath, slipping his hand up to Merlin's chest, his heart a wild drumbeat against Arthur's fingertips.
"Arthur." The whisper tickled against his lips, chased away by the hot slide of Merlin's tongue, then the hard press of his mouth on Arthur's, the kiss desperate and possessive and he would never have expected anything so absolutely selfish from Merlin. It was better than anything, hearing Merlin ask, hearing him beg for more of him. "Please, Arthur!"
Shuddering his release, cock burying in and jerking out in ruined rhythm, back arching and vision going white-hot behind his tightly-shut eyelids, Arthur drank in the sound of his name on those lips and came. Came and came in the clenching, gripping heat surrounding him.
Inside Merlin.
Absolutely unwilling to let Merlin go, not for one instant, he breathed hard against Merlin's mouth, biting gently at his ruddy lower lip, tongue slipping in and twining with Merlin's again and again. They lay as close as they could be, bodies flush from their slow, gentle kiss to the easy rub of Merlin's ankle along the side of Arthur's knee.
Moaning low in complete contentment, Arthur pulled back to look into Merlin's eyes, to tell him how good it had been, how perfect, how much worse it made losing him. He couldn't do it, couldn't find the words.
Merlin shook his head, pressing a finger to Arthur's lips as if he'd already heard every unspoken declaration. He smiled gently, then laced his fingers into Arthur's and squeezed, letting go, turning his head away, chin pressing into Arthur's shoulder.
Panting and breathless, Arthur slipped a hand up Merlin's spine and into his hair, cradling his head. Squeezing his eyes closed, he wrapped his other arm around the slim curve of his Merlin's waist. Arthur held him tightly, wincing as he started to carefully withdraw, not wanting to end their intense connection so soon.
Merlin gasped and tensed his thighs against Arthur's hips, a hand closing on Arthur's bicep, stilling him, holding him place. "Not yet," Merlin whispered, and it was exactly the thought Arthur had been pushing away.
Not yet. Not. Yet.
The next Springes update will be in about two weeks (and I *promise* it will get happier)! Feedback is greatly appreciated!