Chapter Twenty-One.
Merlin hadn't fallen asleep in a bed. He was sure of it, even though he didn't actually remember falling asleep at all.
He'd been sitting on the floor, watching Arthur lying on his back on the rug. Arthur's knees were propped up and knocking into each other as he swung them, and his fingers were tapping rhythmically on his stomach. He'd been deep in thought. Merlin had been pretending to think, too, but all of Arthur's tiny movements distracted him.
Merlin had been warm and content. For the first time in weeks, he could not feel rottenness, the disease, of his core. He wondered, if he tried it, whether or not Arthur would kiss him back. But he didn't try it.
And now Merlin thought maybe the previous night had been a dream. The thought dropped deep into him and echoed as it sunk, like a rock tossed into a black well. Kanen was still alive. Arthur still hated Merlin. Merlin was still banished.
Only, the softness beneath him felt nothing like Freya's floor. And he was aware of someone snoring next to him—and Freya didn't snore.
Merlin blinked at the golden and red striped wallpaper, at the daylight coming through the windows, at the nightstand with the radio, and at the desk piled with paperwork and a telephone. It struck him how right it all was. It was a sight Merlin had awoken to many times, and one he realized he'd taken for granted.
Arthur hadn't changed anything. At all. It wasn't lost on Merlin that his things were still in the drawers, and his pillow was still on the bed. He nuzzled into it, his cheek sinking between the lumps and feathers.
And then there was Arthur. He was still sound asleep, and Merlin turned over as stealthy as he could to not wake him. Arthur always looked so relaxed when he slept—and he slept deeply. His face was unlined and the muscles in his shoulders carefree, his pink chest exposed and vulnerable, and his eyes flittering back and forth beneath his lips in a dream he wouldn't remember.
Merlin probably didn't have to be stealthy. It was an easier task to wake the dead than Arthur Pendragon.
But Merlin treaded carefully. He wanted to run his fingers along Arthur's cheek, just to convince himself he wasn't, in fact, dreaming. He contained himself. It would be worse if he disturbed Arthur's sleep, and Arthur regretted allowing Merlin stay the night.
Would he regret it?
Merlin closed his eyes to listen to Arthur's shallow breathing. That had always been his favorite part of waking up. He could measure time by the pauses between Arthur's inhales and exhales; he could live his life in the spaces between Arthur's breaths.
After a while, he realized Arthur was waking up. Merlin's lashes fluttered open. He knew he should get out of bed before Arthur became conscious. He didn't want to push his luck or overstay his welcome. But he couldn't bring himself to move. He wanted to pretend, just for a moment longer.
When Arthur stretched and grunted in wakefulness, Merlin pretended to be asleep.
Arthur shuffled. There was a long pause, and then, "I know you're awake, Merlin."
There was no point denying it. Merlin opened his eyes again and tried to look innocent. At some point, Arthur had rolled onto his side to face him. He looked startled at first, not that Merlin had actually been awake, but that Merlin was really there at all. As though the fact of Merlin's presence hadn't really hit him until that moment.
Merlin wanted to kiss him so badly.
Arthur didn't know what he wanted. He'd probably let Merlin do it, too. It would escalate. It would become like any other morning, like they'd never been apart. All Merlin had to do was lean into him.
The temptation became even harder to resist when Arthur reached for him. He didn't make contact at first, but let his palm hover over Merlin like he couldn't remember what he wanted to do with it—to caress or to throttle.
I wouldn't be able to stop if I started, Arthur's eyes said.
Caress or throttle.
It should have mattered which.
It didn't matter which.
Merlin would let him do either.
Arthur stroked his palm along Merlin's throat. It sent a chill through Merlin's bones at first. His muscles tensed in preparation for pain, but his skin prickled in response to pleasure. He remained still, not even daring to breathe, as Arthur traced the hook of his jaw and roamed up and down the incline of his Adam's apple.
Arthur's touch was tantalizing. It wasn't fair. Merlin wanted more than to be touched. He wanted to touch in return.
Kiss him.
Merlin's breath hitched. He wanted to cry.
Arthur flatted his palm across Merlin's cheek.
Kiss me.
Merlin leaned into his fingers. He kissed Arthur's wrist. Arthur let him, so he did it again and again. He didn't notice that Arthur had frozen. He studied Merlin, as though wondering how far Merlin would take it.
Finally, he drew away, expression pained. Merlin felt empty again, all at once. His eyes sparkled as much as his lips, and were as red as the patch Merlin sucked into Arthur's wrist. The space between them on the mattress might as well have been a vast, treacherous ocean. He was on an isolated isle in the middle of it.
"No, Merlin," Arthur whispered apologetically. It wasn't fair. He'd started it. Merlin was starved, but he was too weak to argue.
"I have to find Cenred," Arthur continued. Merlin didn't know if he was using it as an excuse or if he was changing the subject completely.
Merlin's gut wrenched as he remembered the plan they'd come up with the night before. It was a stupid plan. He'd said it then, and he said it again.
Arthur swallowed hard. "Maybe. But it's the right thing to do. It'll work."
"If Cenred doesn't kill you before you can even ask him," Merlin reminded him. Remnants of hatred and anger lined his tone, but really it was just fear. Merlin couldn't lose Arthur again. He hadn't even properly gotten him back yet. "Promise me you won't go alone."
Arthur snorted like the idea was ridiculous. "If I don't, Cenred will see it as an affront. And he'll definitely kill me."
"Then, take me."
Merlin hadn't been able to look at Arthur when he begged it. He couldn't see Arthur's face harden.
"Then, he'll kill us both," Arthur said with an edge to his tone to hide his true feelings on the matter. Whatever he was feeling, his logic was sound. Merlin couldn't risk following Arthur. If he were caught, it would be the end for both of them. The plan had to go perfectly.
Merlin took in a breath, trying not to emote. He had to accept it. "He once mentioned his hotel overlooked Central Park," he remembered, trying to be helpful. "It's probably on the Upper East Side. Start your search there." If all went smoothly, Arthur would be meeting Cenred by lunchtime.
Arthur nodded briskly before sitting up and kicking his feet off the side of the bed. Merlin did the same on the opposite side, because he was having trouble schooling his emotions and he didn't want Arthur to see. Neither of them stood.
"Stay here until I get back," Arthur told him. He probably meant it as an order, but his tone was too soft for it.
Merlin scoffed in protest. He couldn't bear to wait around all day, staring at the walls and wringing his hands until Arthur returned. He needed to do something useful. At the very least, he had to find a way to let Freya know he was still alive. She was probably worried sick.
"What am I supposed to do all day?" Merlin argued.
"Not my problem." Arthur's tone was suddenly biting.
Merlin dropped his shoulders. If he refused any more, Arthur would probably chain him up like a proper jailer. Or worse, he'd wash his hands of Merlin and kick him out. Merlin didn't want either.
"What if I get hungry?"
Arthur groaned and scrubbed his face. "Fine. I'll stop by the deli and bring you something before I go the Camelot. You still like tuna salad, don't you?" He said it like he was accusing Merlin of lying about something as silly as a sandwich preference. It stung.
Merlin fought through it and nodded. His back was turned, but he was sure Arthur got the message.
"Fine," Arthur said again. The bed shook a little when he stood up. He was halfway to the bathroom when he paused again.
"You will be here when I get back?" It wasn't an order this time. It hadn't even been a question. It was a plea. Merlin couldn't refuse him.
He nodded again, softer this time.
Arthur closed the bathroom door behind him.
A little before noon, a snitch located Cenred at the Plaza Hotel in Midtown. When Arthur had informed those who needed to know what he was planning, the general consensus was that he'd lost his mind. In truth, he'd never thought so clearly before. He'd never been so sure of his actions.
Morgana phoned the Plaza in advance to pass along a message to Cenred, inquiring a meeting. A half hour later, a hotel clerk called back to accept on Cenred's behalf. Arthur arrived at the hotel a few minutes early and left Percy and Elyan to wait in the extravagant lobby as he alone was led to Cenred's suite. He in no way wanted Cenred to think this was an ambush. That would only get them off on the wrong foot, as though they hadn't already.
The bellboy knocked on the door with a white-gloved hand, and promptly left after Arthur tipped him. Before he reached the elevator, the suite's door swung open. A large muscular man filled in the threshold. Arthur had to look up to meet his eyes, and he tried not to feel too weak in his presence.
"I'm here for Cenred," Arthur told the goon.
The goon grunted and stepped aside.
Inside, the suite was the very picture of high living. Lavish furniture was lined up on an antique carpet in front of a marble fireplace. A grand piano, with a vase of white roses on top, sat in the corner. The velvet curtains were drawn to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the frozen Central Park. A four-poster bed, raised on a platform, was on the very far side of the room.
It wasn't at all what Arthur expected of Cenred from reputation. It was almost as though Cenred had booked the room to impress someone.
Cenred, looking for all the world like royalty, sat on one of the sofas, in front of a hor d'oeuvres spread on the glass coffee table. He fed cheese and grapes to the woman sitting next to him. Arthur assumed she was his wife, Morgause. There was a wretchedness to her beauty, like watching from afar as bolts of lightening struck the earth.
They both turned their black stares onto Arthur as the goon led him into the room. "Arthur Pendragon, as I live and breathe," Cenred said, almost mockingly. He stood up to offer his hand. Arthur shook it firmly. Cenred's grip tightened, like the handshake was a competition.
"Allow me to introduce my better half, Morgause," Cenred continued, gesturing towards his wife, who remained seated and glaring at Arthur like she could kill him with her eyes alone. Actually, she might have been able to.
"Charmed," Arthur said, extending his hand to her. He knew at once that, in order to strike a deal with Cenred, he'd have to get in Morgause's good graces—or, at the very least, mildly impress her. However, she did not take his hand, and remained indifferent when he dropped his arm to his side in defeat.
"Wait outside," Cenred told the goon. The goon did as he was told. Arthur reminded himself that his men were in the lobby should he need them. The lobby—eighteen floors beneath his feet. Cenred's man was just outside the door, and there were probably at least a dozen others sulking around.
"To what do I owe the honor?" Cenred sat down again, indicating that it was okay for Arthur to do the same. Arthur briefly looked at the food, awkwardly wondering if he was expected to eat it or if he was intruding on their lunch. The couple no doubt picked up on his trepidation, but they did not instruct him either way. Obviously, they liked to play games.
"The honor?" Arthur echoed unsurely.
"Indeed," said Cenred. "I must say, I've never seen so many people flock to one man in such numbers. With those leadership qualities, you could start your own religion." He plopped a grape into his mouth and smiled pleasantly as he chewed around it.
"We needn't remind you what the Romans did to Jesus," Morgause said quite pointedly. Her voice dropped the temperature in the room to below freezing.
Arthur reminded himself to not let the threat get under his skin.
"Which is why I'm here," he began after clearing his throat. "I don't believe anyone else has to die because we can't see eye-to-eye. This war has already gone far enough."
"After last night, I'm inclined to agree," Cenred said. He didn't exactly snip out the words, but he sounded testy and accusatory. It made Arthur shuffle slightly to regain composure.
"Last night was . . . unfortunate," he answered politically, "but there have been acts of aggression on both sides. And now you know our strength when tested."
Morgause still seemed uninterested. Cenred, however, looked humored. "Yes, you've certainly proved your mettle, Arthur, but I have forces in every corner of this country and beyond. With a few phone calls, I can have them all in New York by this time tomorrow. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bring them here?"
Cenred had ample time to amass his army, but he hadn't. It gave Arthur hope that this plan would work in his favor, after all.
"I don't need to give you a reason," said Arthur, "because you haven't phoned them yet."
Morgause tilted her head to the side and regarded Arthur like he may have been worth an iota of her time.
Arthur leaned forward to keep their attention. "You said it yourself, you're a soldier. You don't want a fight. You don't want to risk your people's lives if this can be settled in another way."
"And what way do you propose?" asked Morgause.
Arthur had to fight back a smirk of victory. He had her ear, which meant Cenred was listening, too.
"A boxing match," he said with conviction. It would have sounded silly had he been anything but confident.
Apparently, it sounded silly anyway. Both Cenred and Morgause sniggered.
"You're new to war," Morgause dismissed.
Cenred ate another grape and shook his head.
"Maybe," said Arthur forcefully. He needed to get the situation back under his control. "But I'm not new to gambling. The winner will decide the outcome of the truce."
This seemed to recapture their interest. "A truce?" Cenred repeated, nonplussed.
Arthur took a heavy breath. "I know we'll never be allies," he leveled, "but there's been bloodshed enough. It would be in both our interests to stay out of each other's way."
Cenred and Morgause shared a look. Then, they looked back at Arthur.
"Very well, Arthur. State your terms," Cenred prompted.
Arthur didn't know if he was humoring him or if Cenred really wanted to deal. Trying to remain optimistic, he said, "If you win, my Knights and I will leave New York. We'll close down the Camelot and head back to London. Everything goes back to the way it was before we came here."
There would be some aggression from the other gangs, but the Kings would be able to squash them easily, as they always had. The alliance would fall to nothing without the glue that held them together. Everyone present knew that.
"And if I win, this war ends," he continued. "We'll stay in the West, and the Kings stay in the East—only the Lower East Side. The rest of New York is off limits. Encroaching on others' territories will no longer be tolerated."
It was simple. Straight forward. It was fair and honorable, and Cenred had just as much to gain as he did to lose.
"Is that all?" Arthur looked to Morgause after she'd posed the question. She was raising a thin, manicured brow in speculation. In knowing.
Arthur's heart sank. There was more for him to lose than there was for Cenred. Arthur could lose everything.
"Merlin," he said. This breath tripped as it expelled the word. "Merlin isn't punished for his actions. He goes free."
They had to say yes. Arthur couldn't let any harm come to Merlin. He couldn't hand Merlin over like he was a prisoner of war. They'd just found each other again—completely, honestly. They could love each other again.
They had to say yes, but Arthur prepared himself for a no. He had to close himself off to emotions, to remain logical. He had to take the deal that was best for everyone's safety, not just Merlin's. He had to let himself suffer if it meant an end to the fighting.
He was ready for a no. It's why he'd stopped himself that morning before things got too far with Merlin. He'd never be able to think logically in the recent memory of Merlin so close to his skin.
It turned out, it didn't matter, anyway. Merlin was already closer than Arthur's skin. He was a part of Arthur, in his bones.
But, surely enough, Cenred's expression darkened.
Morgause scowled. "He killed one of his own."
"I know," Arthur said hurriedly. "But Kanen was going to kill me if Merlin hadn't stopped him. If I'd died, the fighting would continue. Merlin was preventing this war from getting—"
"Merlin wasn't thinking about stopping this war when he pulled the trigger," Cenred interrupted. "We both know that."
Arthur fell silent. He looked away, trying to come up with another way to convince them. He came up empty.
"Merlin is not part of this negotiation," Cenred said with finality. "I will do with him what I see fit. He is not your concern."
He was. But he was not Arthur's only concern. He wasn't even the most important, but he was the dearest. Arthur reminded himself not to be emotional.
"As you wish," he conceded, hating himself for it. He would find another way of protecting Merlin. He had no choice. "Do we have a deal?"
Cenred sat back and appeared to think. His eyes flickered to Morgause. She smirked slyly and nodded sternly.
"It appears we do," said Cenred, standing up. Arthur did the same. "Let's say, dawn tomorrow? We can use your ring at the Camelot."
"I look forward to it," Arthur agreed.
They shook on it, keeping each other's gaze. There was something malicious lurking in Cenred's eyes.
A key was turning in the door. Merlin jolted to a sitting position on the bed. His pulse hammered as he watched the lock turn at an impossibly slow speed. Every sound was blaring in the way only noises could after dark.
The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and there was still no sign of Arthur. Merlin had been on pins and needles the entire day waiting for him to come back. He couldn't stand the four walls of the apartment for a minute longer. He did little but pace or sit at the desk and tap his fingers.
At multiple points, he seriously considered taking a walk outside. He didn't care about the risk of being seen. He just couldn't be cooped up anymore. His worry over Arthur wouldn't fade, but at least he'd have fresh air and the ability to stretch his legs. At least he'd be doing something!
But, every time he got up the courage to leave, he wondered what Arthur might think if he returned to an empty apartment. So, he remained, and the cycle began again.
And Arthur really should have been back by now. Merlin convinced himself this was some kind of cruel and unusual punishment—because, if he didn't, he'd be convinced that Arthur was dead. Even now, he got a sinking feeling that it was Morgana at the door to tell Merlin the horrible news.
However, when the door swung open, Arthur was standing in the threshold. Merlin breathed, and then he shot Arthur a death glare.
"Have you been sucking on a lemon?" Arthur goaded after the look.
"Where have you been all day?" Merlin yelled.
As Arthur closed the door, he raised his brows like he'd been taken aback. "At the Camelot," he said in a tone that reminded Merlin he was only there because Arthur allowed him to be. Arthur shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack. "We've been preparing for tomorrow. Cenred agreed to my terms."
It didn't relieve Merlin any. He huffed. "I still don't like this plan."
"It was your idea."
This wasn't completely untrue. Granted, Merlin had offered the idea sarcastically. He didn't actually expect Arthur to run with it. Then again, he probably should have. The noble git . . .
"Not seriously," Merlin protested.
"If you weren't serious, maybe you should have kept your big mouth shut, Merlin."
Scandalized, Merlin opened his big mouth to argue. That was until he noticed the laughing smirk pinching Arthur's cheeks. Merlin shut his big mouth.
Arthur paced further into the room, his arms folded across his chest. His cheeks were still flushed with cold. Merlin got the urge to warm them up, so he looked away.
"Cenred's not like you," he said instead, getting the conversation back on track. "He won't honor the deal you struck. He'll do anything to win." Merlin knew that all too well. Cenred and Morgause were power-hungry, ruthless. They had to be ruthless in return.
He didn't voice it. Arthur wouldn't have listened.
"He'll try to kill you," Merlin told him. "If he wasn't afraid of you before, he is now. You took an entire city that had been fighting against itself for decades, and united it in a matter of days."
Arthur rolled his eyes modestly. "It was more like a week," he corrected.
"Oh, you're right! That's so much more time! In that case, there's no way Cenred sees you as threat."
He forced himself to make eye contact with Arthur again, so he knew his point had gotten across. Arthur respected the gravity of the situation, but he didn't speak. Merlin filled the silence with, "If he doesn't kill you in the ring, he'll do it after! He'll probably make it look like an accident of some kind. It won't even matter if he wins or loses! You'll just be walking down the street and an ice sickle will fall on your head or a sanitation truck will run you over or—or—"
"You know, I'd really hoped the rambling had been part of your act," Arthur interrupted. He'd been biting back another smirk.
Merlin shut up and sat back against the headboard with a huff.
Arthur sat down at the bottom of the bed and fixed Merlin with a stern look. "You may be right. Cenred could go back on his word—but he may not."
Merlin scoffed. Arthur could be so naïve sometimes.
Not everyone is a bloody knight in shining armor, Merlin wanted to scream.
As though anticipating it, Arthur's voice rose slightly to talk over the argument still in Merlin's throat. "But—I have to try to settle this before anyone else gets killed. I have to do this in my own way, and this is the only way I know how."
Merlin looked to his lap. There was no way he could argue against that. Even if he could, he wouldn't. It was just so Arthur.
"And, if all goes according to plan, I know my friends will be safe—whatever the outcome," Arthur added, but it wasn't an afterthought. It was the force that drove him. The safety of those in his charge came before his own self-interest, which is exactly why he needed Merlin to look out for him.
"I can't promise the same for you," Arthur whispered sadly.
Merlin pulled his brows together.
"I tried to make you part of the deal," Arthur explained. "I tried to get you a pardon, but Cenred wouldn't allow it."
Merlin hadn't expected it. Honestly, he hadn't given much thought to what would happen when all this was over. He figured it he would deal with the future when it came. Right now, he had to focus on Arthur. Later, if Merlin had to pay for what he did to Kanen—Well, that was later's problem.
He never expected Arthur to think that far in advance. He didn't expect Arthur to fight to for him after everything he'd done. Perhaps it wasn't out of caring. Perhaps Arthur wanted to settle the score between them. He didn't want to be indebted to Merlin for saving his life. Merlin didn't want him to feel that way.
"Arthur, you don't owe me anything—," he tried to say, but Arthur shook his head vigorously at the bed sheets.
"That's not why I did it." When his eyes swept up to Merlin's again, his face was soft. Merlin didn't want to think about what that could mean. He didn't want to give himself hope only to have it squandered again. It would tear him apart.
"You should leave," Arthur said at once. It threw Merlin for a loop. He realized he had given himself hope, and it had been squandered. Arthur wanted him gone. Arthur was casting him out.
But, before Merlin's heart fully disintegrated in his chest, Arthur went on, "You have to. You can go anywhere, start over—some place Cenred will never find you."
Oh.
Somehow, that was worse than Arthur rejecting him. The world had never seemed so big. Whoever said it was small had obviously never been in love.
Merlin found himself shaking his head. "No! I'm not going anywhere."
"Merlin, he will kill you if you stay!" Arthur emphasized through his teeth.
"So, what?"
"How can you even say that?" Arthur was yelling now. "Don't you care what happens to you?"
Not really, Merlin almost said, but he didn't want to make it about himself. It was too selfish. "Don't worry about me!"
Arthur laughed bitterly. "So, you're the only one allowed to worry?"
Selfish, Merlin scolded himself. He dropped his voice to normal level again. "I just meant . . . You have more important things on your mind right now."
Arthur remained eerily still. He glared at Merlin like Merlin was a hostile intruder, one that Arthur had never seen before and couldn't quite categorize. Finally, he blinked, and he didn't look so much like a statue anymore.
"You're an idiot," he told Merlin with venom.
Merlin took it in stride. He leaned off the bed frame and edged closer to Arthur—as close as he dared. He ended up in the middle of the mattress before deciding he couldn't risk another inch.
"Tomorrow, I will be at the fight to make sure Cenred doesn't try anything," he told Arthur clearly. There was no chance of him being talked out of it. No force on Earth would prevent him. He lifted a challenging brow. "I'm going to be at your side. If Cenred wants to kill both of us, let him try."
Arthur held his stare in silence for a few seconds. Neither of them wanted to be the one to blink first. But, finally, Arthur backed down.
He looked to the window in thought, his eyes blurred and gazing somewhere far off, somewhere beyond the room.
"There's another option," he said slowly, his tone dreamlike. "We could leave together."
Merlin blinked. He wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined Arthur's words.
"We'll pack up and go tonight," Arthur said, looking back to Merlin. His eyes were wild with the possibility. It caused something in Merlin to soar.
The world had never seemed so big.
But then whatever took flight in Merlin crashed prematurely. He wouldn't allow Arthur to throw away everything for him. It was just a dream.
"You would never do that," Merlin told him. Arthur would never forgive himself if he left now. Merlin would never forgive himself, either.
Arthur nodded sadly, like he knew. "Would you ask?"
He already knew the answer.
"There are things you have to do," said Merlin. "There are people who need you." Arthur needed them, too.
Arthur swallowed hard. "What if I fail them?" he feared.
It was the stupidest question ever posed.
"You won't."
Arthur wasn't convinced. He looked down again. "We should have never left that cabin, Merlin," he said softly.
It was a nice thought, but that's all it was.
"It wouldn't have changed anything," Merlin reasoned. He let himself ponder aloud, "But maybe we could have pretended."
Arthur's head snapped back up instantly. "I don't want you to pretend." His tone was still low, but there was heat behind it. "I want you."
Arthur's ability to surprise Merlin always floored him. It rendered him speechless every time. He couldn't think of a single thing to say in return, so he fell back on the familiar.
"You've got me."
Neither of them could hold it in for any longer. They crashed into each other. Maybe the collision was the birth of a star, or maybe it was a car crash. It could create or destroy. Only time would tell.
The only thing that was important to Merlin now was Arthur's body against his, and the friction and the heat it caused all in the right places. All that mattered was that Arthur, like Merlin, had been on the edge of his sanity since the moment they saw each other again. He'd been repressing and just barely containing himself, too.
Arthur's hands were frantic. They skidded beneath Merlin's clothes in a desperate attempt to feel every piece of him at once. Merlin blindly grabbed on to anything he could—Arthur clothes, his hair, his hips, his shoulders. Merlin wanted to explore everything, relearn everything.
Every kiss was an apology.
Every kiss was forgiveness.
"Make yourself useful and take your trousers off," Arthur ordered into Merlin's hair. But he didn't give Merlin any room to do so. He stayed on top of him, sucking Merlin's neck in a line down the tendon and fighting off his own shoes. One dropped to the floor with a thud.
Merlin snaked his fingers down the back of Arthur's trousers and pressed him in closer. Arthur rolled his hips to oblige.
All the right places. All the right places.
"Someone's in a rush," Merlin teased. He was happy for this to never end, and at the same time too eager for his own good. But he was always better at playing it cool than Arthur was.
Arthur propped himself up to give Merlin an offended look. "It's been too long!" he defended. Merlin didn't know if he was talking about sex with Merlin or sex in general. He didn't want to ask how Arthur coped with his betrayal. He didn't want to know.
Either way, it hadn't been that long.
"It's been three weeks!" Merlin shot back. It seemed so much longer than that. It seemed like years.
"Too long," Arthur repeated, unwavering.
Merlin lifted his head off the pillow and stressed, "You're a prat."
"And you're a fiend," Arthur returned, probably because he'd already called him an idiot and he wanted some variety. He'd gotten right into Merlin's face. "Now, take off your clothes!"
"Take them off for me!"
Arthur smashed their lips together again to cut short Merlin's laughter, but not his grin. He reached between them and worked on unfastening Merlin's belt.
"You had all day to get undressed," Arthur reproved when Merlin trailed away from his lips to kiss his cheeks and hairline. "Do you know what that makes you?"
"Useless?"
"Useless!"
Merlin nibbled at Arthur's jaw. Arthur groaned.
"Not entirely useless," he amended into an exhale. His fumbling fingers finally managed to pull Merlin's trousers off.
Meanwhile, Merlin unbuttoned Arthur's shirt. He hooked his knee around Arthur for leverage and rolled them over. He liked being on top. It gave him more access to move. It allowed him to command all of Arthur's senses.
Arthur squirmed a little beneath him. His hands flew down to his own belt. Merlin caught them at the wrist.
"Let me get that for you," he offered, and he kissed down Arthur's stomach, lower and lower and lower . . .
Arthur couldn't sleep a wink.
He'd tossed and turned for hours, chasing after unconsciousness that always seemed to roll to the opposite side of the bed with his every move. It didn't help that he couldn't get comfortable, either. The bed linens had been damp and balmy with sweat, evidence of his reunion with Merlin. And their second reunion. And their third.
And, really, Arthur should have been more tired.
Finally, after endlessly alternating between tucking himself beneath the humid covers and kicking them away into the cold, Arthur got out of bed completely.
He went to the bathroom to splash water on his face, but then lost track of time watching the running water disappear into the drain in the basin. The rushing sound calmed him somewhat, as though it channeled his thoughts into a stream as steady as the water.
He gripped the edge of the porcelain sink as he looked at himself hard in the mirror. His complexion was pale. He thought about the match in just a few hours' time. So much depended on his victory. If he lost, everything they achieved in New York would be for naught. He'd have to leave the city. He'd have to go back to London. In that moment, he couldn't think of any fate worse.
He didn't even want to think about what would happen to the other gangs. They wouldn't band together forever. A common enemy wouldn't be enough when they fell back into their own wars. They needed a common ally. They needed someone to guide them.
Arthur regretted taking that responsibility on himself, but someone had to do it. They were stronger together.
Arthur had to win, but he would do it fairly. He had to be an example to his allies.
But that didn't mean Cenred would feel the same way. He would cheat; Arthur was sure of it. He might win. He might make Arthur an example.
And then there was the other concern that swam around Arthur's head. It regarded the man sleeping in their bed.
Arthur shut the faucet off and peered into the room. In the light streaming through from the bathroom, Merlin was still a lump on the mattress. His back, painted with a constellation of freckles and grooved with the rises and dips of lean muscles, was facing Arthur.
Merlin would be at the fight tomorrow. There was no stopping him, so there was no point trying. And besides, Arthur wanted him there. Arthur needed him there. But it was already such a delicate situation without Merlin having to stare Cenred and the Bandits in the eyes. They could kill him on the spot, and Arthur would forget all about the truce on impulse, feral and outside the realm of reason.
Like he'd been before.
He just got Merlin back. He couldn't give him up again. Even the notion of his absence was unthinkable.
Arthur leaned against the doorway, watching Merlin's shoulders breathe.
It was so much easier to fit this new Merlin into the place of the old one when he was like this. There were so many similarities between the two, Arthur realized, similarities that were unspoken and unknown unless you looked for them. Perhaps Merlin didn't even know them himself, so they were traits he was unable to hide. They were inherent and natural to him.
His facial quirks. His habit of playing with his fingers as he thought deeply. His worried nature. The way his eyes brightened right before he smiled. The way his cheeks reddened, warning tears. His bad posture and clumsy limbs. The way he sighed into Arthur's skin and the way his shoulders arched when he was touched. The sounds he made, his scent, his stubbornness, even his speech pattern, minus the accent.
This, and so much more, was Merlin. They were little things, all of them still as much of a shock to the senses as they were the day they met. Arthur trusted them all.
Of course, he knew now that there was more to Merlin than meets the eye. There was darkness in him, too. There were shadowed alleyways that most men would shy passed, ducking their heads and watching the blackness out of the corners of their eyes until they were safe on the other side. No matter how much their hearts pounded with fright, they would deny the existence of the dragons and vermin and filth within, just for their own peace of mind.
Arthur always prided himself on being a courageous man. He did not fear dragons. He would navigate the labyrinth inside of Merlin until he reached the heart of it, mending the broken branches of its tall hedges along the way. He would get lost in it, until he forgot what life was like outside the maze.
It was, after all, the least he could do after what Merlin had done to him. Not his deceit—beyond it.
Arthur thought of the man he was when he first stepped off the Ocean Liner into Manhattan. Merlin had taken all Arthur's broken layers and shattered them, only to reconstruct them into something more complete. All Arthur pieces fit together better than they had before Merlin.
Arthur mustn't lose that again.
The thought of leaving together was even more inciting. It would just be the two of them, and Merlin could sink his fingers further into Arthur to mold and create and build up. He could be an architect, a sculptor. Arthur could be his masterpiece.
But leaving now would be asking Merlin to dismantle the work he'd put in thus far. It would be forcing him to rip up the blueprints and scatter his sketchbook. It would be telling him to disregard the pieces that Arthur had given him to work with in the first place. The current work was imperfect, Arthur knew, but he also knew it was unfinished.
He could be more. He could do more.
But he'd be damned if Merlin weren't there to refine his edges.
They both needed to stay. They were staying. Anything else was out of the question.
Merlin stirred, like he knew by some sixth sense that he was being watched. He took a sharp breath in through his nose and looked over his shoulder, suddenly alert. The tension in his brow softened when he spotted Arthur in the bathroom door. He squinted in the light.
He thought I left him, Arthur realized. He turned off the bathroom light and walked into the room to assure Merlin that he wasn't going anywhere.
"Is it dawn?" Merlin asked, sounding concerned, but mostly groggy.
"We still have a few hours left," Arthur informed him.
Merlin shifted and propped himself up as Arthur sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "You should get some sleep," he advised.
Arthur rolled his eyes at the obvious. He said dryly, "Really, Merlin? I hadn't thought of that. What a novel idea."
Merlin pressed his lips together in annoyance, but didn't say anything. His expression flickered after he got a good look at Arthur. "Are you nervous?"
"Not for myself." If Arthur lost the fight, it meant Cenred probably cheated; and, if Cenred cheated, that meant Arthur was probably dead. There was no use in being nervous about that. Those who were left behind would be the ones stuck with the mess.
Merlin dropped his shoulders in a thoughtful exhale. "Don't be," he said like it was so simple. "Tomorrow, you're going to get into the ring and you're going to win, like you always do. And all of New York will be on the sidelines cheering you on."
He said it like he was certain of what would happen, like he could see the future. Arthur wanted to believe him.
"And I'll be there to make sure Cenred doesn't try anything," he added, leaning in to fish for Arthur's eyes.
Arthur just wanted to skip ahead to the end of the fight. He wanted it to be over, whatever the outcome. At least, then, he'd be able to deal with whatever came next. He made his living off uncertainties, but he never took pleasure in them when the stakes were this high.
He groaned and touched his forehead to Merlin's. "Then can we run away together?" he begged. It didn't have to be forever. It just had to be the two of them. They deserved at least that.
Merlin let out a sound halfway to a chuckle. "Wherever you like."
"The Hamptons are supposed to be nice," Arthur considered.
Merlin nose wrinkled unhappily. "It's full of rich, pretentious bastards who think they're God's gift to humanity. Actually, you might fit in."
Arthur snorted and leaned back. "Somewhere warm, then." New York wasn't the only place in the world, after all, although sometimes Arthur forgot.
Merlin's smile grew as warm as the white sand of the tropics. "Anywhere," he said again.
Arthur kissed him to seal the deal.
He pulled away ever so slightly with a hum, letting the kiss vibrate on his lips. "If I told you I still love you," he mused, "would you leave again?"
Merlin's eyes fluttered open, but they looked as though he were dreaming. "If you told me that, I'd never leave your side again," he promised. Arthur believed him.
No more words on the matter were needed. The moment lingered. Neither of them wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.
"Now, get some rest! Leave the worrying to me," Merlin ordered at last. He leaned back onto the pillows and dragged Arthur down with him. Arthur pressed his chest to Merlin's side and cupped his palm on his ribs, like the hollow space between them were made for Arthur's fingers to rest. He heard the steady thumps in Merlin's chest against his ear, and counted them out in a metronome.
Soon, his eyes drooped heavily. He hadn't known he'd fallen asleep until he woke up a few hours later.
The sky was a fiery hombre of reds and oranges. The orb of the sun, on the cusp of rousing, was still tucked away snugly behind the horizon. Factory smoke was puffing up towards the clouds, twinged pink by the morning light. The tall buildings of Midtown were sleepy silhouettes.
Merlin let out a deep breath, watching it fog in front of him. February wind blew off the Hudson as he and Arthur stood outside the entrance of the Camelot. They'd paused at the door to silently prepare for what they'd face on the other side.
Arthur's jaw was squared and strained. His shoulders were in knots. Merlin could practically feel the tension radiating off of him when he stood too close. But, then again, Merlin was a bundle of nerves himself. He felt frayed, and pulled in too many directions. He was concerned for Arthur's safety, and anxious about being face to face with the Bandits. His stomach sloshed, too, at the thought of the people currently standing on the other side of the door.
Would they accept him? Would they hate him? Would they try to kill him before the Bandits got the chance?
No. Arthur wouldn't allow that. But that didn't mean they wouldn't want to.
Arthur glanced at Merlin. Merlin steeled himself. They pushed through the door.
A group had amassed inside the ring. The Knights, Gwen, and Morgana were at the front. Kilgharrah and his men were there, as were Tristan and Isolde. Merlin recognized some other familiar faces—patrons like Mordred and Kara, boxers like Orn and Owaine, and employees. Then there were Arthur's allies, the gangs of New York. Each boss had brought with them a handful of their men.
They all stood to one side of the square circle, closest to the stairwell leading to the speakeasy, as though they had partitioned themselves off. The other side of the divide was reserved for the Bandits.
The room went silent as the main door swung closed. Bodies angled themselves to face Arthur, and Merlin just a step behind him, pacing further into the room. Necks swiveled towards them and eyes followed them. Sentences died mid-word.
Merlin suddenly felt very cold. There were too many eyes on him—staring, carving him up. He searched the faces before him, trying to find one that took pity on him. There were only a handful he truly cared for, and most of them seemed wary and unsure of what to do in Arthur's presence.
Externally, it was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Internally, Merlin's thoughts were raging. His pulse betrayed him.
It was Gwaine who broke the ice first. He stepped forward with a large grin. "Hey-hey, Merlin!" he sang, and wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin. He gave Merlin's back a few forceful but friendly thuds.
Merlin instantly crumpled into Gwaine. He let go of all his nerves in a heavy exhale. He embraced the man around him, and patted his back in return as Gwaine swayed him slightly from side to side.
Noises started up again—half a dozen voices at once. There was a handshake from Leon and a slap on the back from Percy. Elyan shook Merlin's shoulder. Morgana pinched his cheek, and Gwen excitedly pecked it. Lancelot hung back, the softest of smiles in his eyes, and offered Merlin a gentle nod. Merlin had a feeling that Lance had a major part to play in this warm welcome. He locked eyes with Lance and nodded back gratefully.
There were smiles and chatter all around him. He'd never been more relieved. He belonged there, amongst the people who did not abandon him, who knew he could never harm or betray them. Such warmth overcame him, Merlin felt as though he could melt into a puddle. There was an aching swell in his chest.
He looked to Arthur and noticed some of the tension in his back had dissolved. Of course, it came back in force the moment the door opened again. Cenred, Morgause on his arm, filled out the threshold. Behind them was a mass of shadows in the early glinting sunlight.
A second wave of silence fell.
There were too many men, more than anyone else had brought. It wasn't a good sign. It instantly made Merlin's hackles stand up and his fists tighten. He looked at Arthur to convey his unease. Arthur was experiencing the same thoughts.
The Bandits filed inside, gravitating toward the empty side of the ring. Cenred and Morgause, however, made right for Arthur and the Knights.
"Arthur, good to see you again," said Cenred loftily. He wore no sign that he'd lost any sleep the previous night.
"Cenred," Arthur said, shaking his hand. "Morgause, good morning."
"Yes, it is," she replied in a very self-satisfied way. Her eyes scanned everyone in the immediate vicinity.
Merlin did the same for the Bandits, and instantly realized something very peculiar. None of them were looking at him. In fact, they were very pointedly looking everywhere else but him—with the occasional glance out of the corner of an eye, only to quickly be ripped away. Merlin had expected glares and growls. He expected to be cursed and spit on.
He did not expect this.
His gaze latched onto Cenred again. He wondered what orders Cenred had given the Bandits regarding Merlin. Was Cenred trying to lower Merlin guard or put it on high alert? If it were the latter, it was working.
"Well, there's no point in delaying," Cenred told Arthur. "If you're quite ready, let's begin."
"Of course," said Arthur. His tones were strong, and his expression that of a man who knew he was doing the right thing. The confidence exuded masked the trepidation beneath. The future was unknown, and would be decided very soon. The weight of it all was resting on Arthur's shoulders, and Merlin wished he could carry some of the load.
He remembered the pistol hidden against the small of his back. He concentrated on the cold press of the metal, its weight and shape.
"But, first, let's remind everyone of the terms of our deal," Arthur went on. He wanted everything out in the open so Cenred couldn't back down.
Cenred waved it away in a blasé way. "Yes, yes. If I win, you all shove off to London; and, if you win, my men are exiled to the Lower East Side. I remember quite well."
Arthur bit back whatever he wanted to say in return. He forced a toothy smile. "A man's word is his honor," he stated curtly.
"Indeed," Cenred agreed. "Shall we?"
Arthur looked to Merlin, and Merlin instantly felt the weight of every gaze in the room on him as well. He only had eyes for Arthur.
"Merlin?"
It was now or never. Merlin nodded.
Arthur returned his focus to Cenred. "Ready."
They broke away, Cenred and Morgause returning to their men and Arthur spinning in place to regard everyone else.
"Remember," he said to the huddle, "you honor our terms no matter what happens here."
The Knights nodded their understanding.
Merlin looked over his shoulder. Cenred and Morgause were whispering to one another as Cenred stripped out of his jacket and shirt. Merlin narrowed his eyes and strained his ears to their conversation. It was too hushed for him to pick up on anything.
"You'd better win," Morgana was saying when Merlin returned his focus. "You do not want to spend a week with me on a ship back to England."
"No, I learned that lesson on the way here," said Arthur.
Gwen stepped forward, voicing what Morgana had really meant to say: "Good luck, Arthur." There was a moment between them—expressions of pride and humility, of support, of thanks.
Annis made her way to the front of the group. She was giving Arthur very stern eyes. "I hope you know what you're doing, Arthur Pendragon."
"You've trusted me in the past, Annis. I ask for it one more time," Arthur answered. He addressed the group as a whole, all the way to the back, to the last man. "I ask all of you."
There was only assent in response.
As the rest of the group fell back to form a circle around the mat, Merlin helped Arthur out of his jacket, shirt, and tie. The lightness he'd felt before was completely gone now. He was heavy with dread. A million disquieted thoughts swirled in his mind.
"Remember to swing for the face," he said, unbuttoning Arthur's shirt more slowly than usual.
Arthur pinched his face and puckered his lips. "Are you trying to tell me how to box, Merlin?"
"I don't want to take any chances. Everyone else may have faith in you, but they don't know how unimpressive you really are. You're all talk."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "At least I know the which end is my backside."
"Can't imagine how you tell the difference with your head stuck so far up your arse."
Merlin bundled the articles of clothing under his arm, not bothering to fold them first. A smirk was pressed to Arthur's lips as he regarded him. Merlin's gaze turned heavy; Arthur's jaw set into stone.
And then Arthur disappeared towards the square circle. Merlin breathed. He put the clothes down by a beam before pushing towards the front of the crowd. By the time he got there, Cenred and Arthur were already on the mat, standing in their neutral corners.
Shortly, Lancelot sounded the bell, and the fight began.
It wasn't like any boxing match Merlin had ever seen before. Usually, the spectators whooped with energy. The prizefighters always responded with a certain amount of showmanship to egg the crowd on. Both parties fed off each other as audience and performers.
Now there was only silence, apart from the occasional gasp or grumble. Everyone watched in rapt attention, like any sound would break the focus of the man they'd put their money on. There was nothing but the thudding sounds of landed punches and the soles of shoes on the mat.
Arthur fought in the same style he always had—calculated and graceful. The arcs of his throws were elegant and his footwork refined. Even his ducks and stumbles were nimble.
Cenred was a different animal. He wasn't so much calculating as he was cunning. In the ring, he seemed to have picked up Morgause's omniscience. It allowed him to block most blows—more than that, he used them to his advantage while Arthur was distracted.
Every grunt out of Arthur's throat went right through Merlin.
Merlin tracked Cenred's hands, following every moment, no matter how miniscule. On the peripherals of his vision, he clocked Morgause and the Bandits. They all remained still, so Merlin didn't zero in on any of them. His focus was on the match. He scolded himself for even blinking when he had to do so.
The bell gonged again, startling Merlin slightly. The first round was over.
Cenred went to his corner, where Morgause was waiting on the other side of the ropes. He leaned over them to kiss her. Meanwhile, on the other side of the mat, Arthur was glowering down at Morgana. She and Leon were standing at the edge of the ropes, Morgana saying something that Merlin couldn't hear in the distance and Leon nodding his agreement.
"I know!" Merlin heard Arthur interrupt his sister. He sounded beyond frustrated. His posture was stiff as he wiped a bead of sweat from his hairline.
The next few rounds went on much the same as the first. There was a point, however, in the fourth round, when Arthur appeared to overpower Cenred. He had Cenred backed into a corner. Cenred blocked his face from Arthur's incessant jabs.
It could have been a TKO. It could have ended the match. But then Cenred managed to get a blow in. He unexpectedly elbowed Arthur in the nose, making Arthur fumble backwards and clutch his face.
Instantly, mixed shouts erupted into the air. The Bandits cheered; everyone else was angry.
"That's illegal!" someone shouted above the rest. It may have been Annis.
Merlin's heart skipped. He readied himself, and reached for the gun in his waistband by reflex. The bell gonged before he got the pistol out, and he forced himself to calm down.
Cenred corrected himself and merely shrugged off the insults hurled in his direction. He was grinning like they were praise.
A group had congregated around Arthur in hushed conversation. Gwen had handed him a towel, which he held to his nose to stop the bleeding, and a glass of water. Sarrum was saying something. Whatever it was, Arthur didn't like it. He shook his head resolutely.
Just before the next round began, Arthur made eye contact with Merlin. A bruise was darkening his left cheek. Merlin bit his tongue and frowned back severely.
From then on, Cenred didn't hold back. He fought with a disregard for the rules of the game, now that he knew Arthur would allow it. Usually, the dirtiest moves came right after Arthur got a hit in.
No matter how cheaply Cenred fought, Arthur never responded in kind. It was a one-sided fair fight. If Arthur threw out the rulebook and treated the match like a street fight, he could have ended it sooner. Merlin was sure of it. It would be a mess of blood and limbs—a death match rather than a grapple—but Merlin was certain Arthur would come out on top.
But he wouldn't dare do such a thing, not with so many eyes on him. Not ever. Once, that may have frustrated Merlin. Now, the only thing that made him frantic was his own anticipation.
Whatever Cenred was building up to, he wished he'd just try it already.
Merlin took to pacing a semi-circle around the mat. His eyes flickered to Morgause. She was watching just as avidly as he was, but with glee lining her face.
There was a jab. A right hook and a duck. Arthur was thrown against the ropes and bounced off. Cenred was knocked to the ground, only to roll back to his feet.
The inside of Merlin's cheek was raw from how much he'd been chewing it.
The bell dinged. The boxers went to their neutral corners. Arthur was rolling the kinks out of his neck and padding the sweat and grime from his forehead. Cenred and Morgause were kissing again, long and passionate.
Her hand had snaked itself up beneath the leg of his trouser. The motion was sneaky and purposeful, like she was tucking something into his sock. Merlin narrowed his eyes at it and tilted his head, trying to figure out what the hidden object was.
Whatever it was, he had to warn Arthur. His pulse leapt as the bell rang out.
"Arth—!" he tried, but the fight resumed.
Merlin cursed under his breath. There was no use kicking himself. He turned back to the fight, watching every move with renewed vigor. He stilled; even his heart slowed.
And then it happened. Cenred reeled his arm back and punched Arthur squarely in the chest. It elicited a groan that stoked a furnace inside Merlin. Sparks fired against his fingertips and toes in preparation. Before Arthur recovered, Cenred pressed into the bullet wound scar on his shoulder. Arthur shouted.
It seemed everyone in room took a step closer to the mat in expectation.
Arthur tried to swing. Cenred swooped down low to avoid it and, in one fluid motion, pulled a switchblade out from his sock.
"Arthur!" Merlin bellowed like the name was on fire.
Arthur understood the warning. He spotted the blade directed at his gut. Before Cenred could stand, Arthur kneed him the face and kicked him to the mat. The blade fell out of his hands and skidded towards the ropes.
All Arthur's honor was gone, all nobility forgotten, now that he had concrete proof of Cenred's subterfuge.
In the meantime, Merlin sprinted towards the ropes. He pulled the pistol out and tossed it to Arthur. In a moment flat, Arthur caught it, pulled back the hammer, and pointed it between Cenred's eyes.
It'd been their plan. Their failsafe key. Arthur had given Merlin his pistol before they left the apartment that morning.
At once, everyone else pulled out their weapons. There were a hundred clicks as the safeties were pulled back. And then there was nothing.
Everything froze. Everyone waited for someone else to make the first move.
Merlin remained still, in the center of the two armies, with Arthur and Cenred just a few feet away.
Arthur was a statue, expressionless as he held Cenred's stare. Cenred appeared to be in turmoil, weighing his options to find a way to turn the situation to his favor. Mostly, he did not look ready to die.
Then, Arthur shook himself awake. He glanced up, at the Black Kings training their weapons forward. He looked over his shoulder, at his men and his allies. At Gwen. At Morgana. Finally, he looked to Merlin.
Merlin didn't know what to tell him to do. If Arthur pulled the trigger, they'd all go down in a blaze. If he didn't, Cenred might try to kill him, and there'd be shootout, anyway.
Arthur and Merlin were in the middle of it all. They'd be the first to die.
Merlin thought nothing of it. He was willing to go along with whatever Arthur decided. He'd follow Arthur's lead. He'd follow Arthur to the mountains and the rivers, to England, to war, to death. He'd follow him anywhere.
They all would.
Arthur knew it, too.
He retrained his gaze on Cenred. He lowered his weapon.
"This is no way to achieve peace."
The words reverberated off the high ceilings.
Behind him, the Knights lowered their weapons. Kilgharrah's men followed. So did Tristan and Isolde, the patrons, the staff, the prizefighters. Slowly, one by one, the crime bosses did the same. Their men followed their lead.
Arthur held out his hand to help Cenred up.
Cenred's expression swam with emotion, ranging from failure to opportunity to the possibility of this being a trap. Finally, it rested on resolve. He turned his head towards his wife.
Morgause was seething. Her eyes told him that she would not stand for this kind of weakness.
Cenred looked behind her, at the Bandits. He grasped Arthur's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
The Bandits lowered their guns.
One side of the room exploded with applause. The other remained silent.
Merlin breathed deeply. He let the oxygen flow and fill him up, relaxing him.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught sight of Morgause furiously threading her way through the Bandits. She pushed towards the exit.
Arthur ducked out of the ring. He was immediately lost in the celebration that enveloped him. It seemed everyone wanted to touch him, if only with their fingertips. People mussed his hair or gripped his shoulder or thumped him. They reached for him in congratulations, their champion. It looked more like he was a messiah amongst his flock.
Morgana elbowed her way to him and threw her arms around his neck. It shocked him at first, but then he held her closely in return.
Merlin stood at the edge of the crowd, waiting for the excitement to die away. He glanced over his shoulder at the despondent Bandits. Cenred's back was turned to Merlin as he dressed.
He felt someone come up to him, and turned to find Arthur. His face was streaked, bruised, and dried with blood. His golden hair stood on all ends. His pink chest shimmered and heaved as it greedily drank in air. He looked exhausted, but content.
He smiled at Merlin, very softly. Merlin mirrored the expression. Arthur reached for him and cupped his hand behind Merlin's hair and gripped him tightly, inching him in closer.
Before much else could happen, Cenred approached them. A few Bandits flanked him on either side.
"Well, Arthur, it seems you have your truce," he said. Merlin had expected him to be more of a sore loser.
"I believe this will benefit us all," Arthur told him as they shook hands again.
"Some more than others," was the bitter response, despite the gentlemanly grin. "But, rest assured, I will honor the deal."
"Of course. We're all honorable men here."
Cenred's posture stiffened at the slight. His eyes flashed briefly to Merlin. "Yes. It's only fair I carry out the terms we've agreed upon."
Merlin's stomach twisted. Arthur's eyes hardened.
Cenred was as smug as if he'd landed another blow. With a wave, he gestures for the Bandits to follow him out.
Arthur turned to Merlin, the line of his jaw already worried and possessive. Behind them, the celebration was continuing. Now was not the time to dwell on anything else but victory.
Later, Merlin silently urged.
Arthur didn't seem too happy about it, but he put a brave face forward. He turned back to his people.
Gwaine started singing out The Duke of York. Everyone else joined in. Percy and Elyan lifted Arthur onto their shoulders.
Merlin swallowed hard and watched the last of the Bandits leave. When the door closed on them, a hollowness overtook his chest. It was over. It was really over for him. He was no longer a Black King.
He should have been happier. He shouldn't have been this nostalgic, especially because he still had punishment coming his way. Cenred would find a way to get to Merlin; there was no question about it.
Merlin had to answer for what he did. And he would, gladly, so long as it meant Arthur was safe. Whatever his punishment was, it was worth it.
But that was a problem for the future. Today, Merlin shoved down the trepidation building in his stomach. He put on a grin and joined in the song.