Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note: Well, this was meant to be 9 chapters long, but…I think it is more likely to end up being 11 or 12 chapters long. My muses bit, and they bit hard. I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I love it just as much as I did Part 7. A warning—it's long :grins:. I hope you enjoy it! Keep safe and healthy :).
Reviewers: All 256 of you, thank you!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Winter has come to Camelot, and Destiny blows in with the snow, leaving Merlin with a few vital decisions to make…[Friendshipfic. Bromance.]
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:A Man's Measure:.
By Sentimental Star
VII: The Dragonlord's Son (Part 9)
Utter silence penetrated the Crown Prince's bedchambers, Merlin's mind unable to fixate on anything other than what he had just seen. Finally, he stammered, "N-No, th-that's not…" he swallowed (and found great difficulty in swallowing), "that is not…er…necessary, my lord. I…I…"
Bors chuckled, eyes glowing silver again. As Merlin stared, Arthur's sword gently lifted itself out of his hands—outlined with silver—and slid back into its sheath with a quiet snick.
Bors smirked, turning back to Merlin, "Proof enough, my Lord?"
Merlin swallowed—hard—and nodded. "H-How did you do that?" whispered.
The knight shrugged a bit shyly, "I know the Old Ways."
"N-No," Merlin shook his head, "I-I meant…" he gestured helplessly between the sheath and his hands, "h-how were you able to get a weapon…to do…s-something like that. Y-You didn't say an incantation or…anything!"
"Ah," Sir Bors stared contemplatively at the brazier, shadows flickering across his face, before glancing up at Merlin, "should you like me to teach you how to do it, my Lord?"
"Y-you would do that?"
Bors shrugged again, "You are my sovereign lord. Should you wish it, I would happily give my life for your cause. For surely it is more worthy than what my brother had in mind."
Merlin's eyes saddened, his wits somewhat more balanced now that he saw the more human side to this lord, "Do not blame yourself for his failings, Bors. In the end, your choice mattered."
Stunned and slightly taken aback by this revelation, Bors stared at him, "My choice, my Lord?"
"I know who told Arthur what Boris intended, my Lord," Merlin smirked, expression far more friendly than it had been only moments prior. "I am not so oblivious as Arthur may have you believe."
Bors coughed, and half-choked on a startled laugh, eyes warm as he regarded Merlin, "You and he are far more alike than I ever gave him credit for."
Merlin blinked, surprised and a bit pleased to be compared so to Arthur. He chuckled, "I thank you for the compliment, my Lord."
Bors smirked a bit, for he had indeed meant it as a compliment. These two young men grew more fascinating by the day, and he would love to see what a few years' time might bring.
He sobered as it occurred to him that he very well could if he were willing to make that decision.
Sketching a bow to Merlin, he murmured, "I take my leave of you, Lord Emrys. As per your request, I shall return in the spring."
Merlin started, "But I didn't—" protested weakly, as he packed as much of his scattered wits back together as he could after repeatedly having them scattered in the past few minutes.
Sir Bors, however, merely flipped up his riding hood and—with another, final bow—ducked out of the Crown Prince's bedchamber via the servants' door.
He left an uneasy Merlin trying to figure out if fate or his horrendous acting skills were to blame for how many of his masks had fallen over the past few days.
The situation grew increasingly more complicated when Arthur's hand suddenly reached out and grabbed his own:
"Merlin…?" the query sounded more alert and more Arthur than it had in the past three days. Indeed, as if its owner had only pretended to sleep and just now decided to reveal himself.
As it turned out, Merlin was not too far off the mark.
As he shifted to smile tentatively at this much more awake and aware Arthur, his prince drew in a mostly steady breath and wrapped his fingers securely around those of his manservant, "…Why did he call you 'Emrys'?"
IOIOIOIOIOI
Ringing silence pervaded the Crown Prince's bedchamber, stretching between the two friends as Merlin struggled not to have an asphyxiation fit.
Long seconds later a strangled, "How…How much of that did you hear?" emerged from Merlin's throat.
Arthur glanced down at his covers and rubbed the back of his neck, "…Pretty much all of it? You…rather abruptly let go of my hand and well…" He shrugged, looking up at Merlin with a faint flush on his cheeks.
He flinched when Merlin uttered a strangled sound, "Forgive me."
Yanking his hand away, Merlin all but fled out the servant's door.
…leaving a pole-axed Arthur to stare after him, wondering what he had done wrong.
A beat later, and Arthur struggled out from underneath his covers, in too much of a hurry to go after Merlin to be careful. His sheets and duvet tangled around his ankles, tripped him, and he went sprawling onto the floor with a startled yelp.
A sharp flash of pain shot through his still-healing side and ribs as they made harsh contact with the flagstone floor. Gritting his teeth, Arthur swore quietly as he fought to untangle himself from his bed linens.
"My Lord…?" Leon's voice spoke up from the doorway, worried and incredulous in equal measure.
Arthur jerked his head up, nearly cracking it on the mahogany of his bed behind him. Staggering woozily to his feet, he tried to present as unruffled a countenance as possible, self-conscious enough about his state in Leon's presence that he wore a prominent blush on his cheeks, "Leon, er…"
It was testament to just how long Leon had served Arthur (and Merlin) that he merely stared at his prince for a whole tenth of second, assessing that the younger man was indeed mostly hale…before he coughed into his fist to cover a laugh and pointed out the door, "I believe Merlin is headed to the kitchens, Sire."
"Oh, um…" Arthur pointedly ignored the way his blush worsened, "thank you, Leon."
…Then blew out a breath and looked straight at his Head Knight, as he recalled that Merlin had not been the only one to more than fulfill his duty to the Crown on the night of the feast. Gratitude echoing deep in his eyes (and for more than just the information about Merlin), he murmured, "I appreciate it."
The ill-concealed amusement on Leon's face passed swiftly into genuine relief and concern, "You are most welcome, My Lord." He critically eyed his sweat-soaked, rumpled, and still weary young monarch, "If I may, Your Highness…"
Arthur gestured for him to continue.
"It would set my mind much more at ease if I could accompany you."
At which point, Arthur's mind chose this most inconvenient of times to remind him of why he had found himself in this situation. He had not lied when he told Merlin he had heard pretty much everything. That meant he needed to step up his protection of Merlin, if his manservant was indeed harboring the secret he thought he was. And even though he trusted Leon, he knew that a secret shared did not remain a secret for long…and he dared not risk Uther finding out about this secret.
"To the kitchen only, Leon," Arthur compromised. His entire countenance was composed and serious, this new responsibility one he held close to his heart. "Then you may guard the kitchen entrance as you desire. I ask only that you do not allow anyone else to pass within." He hesitated…then squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, solidly meeting Leon's green eyes, "Not even my father."
Leon drew himself up sharply, somewhat taken aback by the picture Arthur presented. Despite his disheveled hair, despite the shadows lingering dark beneath his eyes and his sweat-stained tunic…the younger man had never looked more regal.
This was the king Leon had started to see glimpses of, the king that Merlin had seen all along…and this, Leon knew, was a king he would gladly serve, for as long as Arthur would have him.
It made perfect sense, then, that the older knight bowed deeply and murmured, "It will be as you say, my Liege."
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin did not know why he had fled. Well, he did—somewhat—but…his powers could hardly be kept a secret from Arthur now. They had not been a secret, really, for the past three days. And that had been his choice…
Still, he had hidden them for so long. Three years this past summer.
It had become habit to flee these situations or attempt to conceal them with half-assed excuses. Honestly, the fact that Arthur had not figured it out by now was perhaps more shocking.
The warlock released a troubled breath, peering down into the depths of his chicken stew as he tightly grasped the mug between his hands, acquired when he had holed himself up in the castle's kitchens.
And now? Now what should I do?
Surely Arthur would order Leon to follow him and bring him back to the prince's chambers. Once there, Arthur would want explanations. And Merlin had no idea what to tell him or where to start.
He had not wanted the revelation to happen this way. It had appealed to him, the idea that he could control where and how much to tell Arthur. But now…
He already knows everything, and now he will want to know why…
Though, to be fair to Arthur, Merlin could not count the number of times his friend had remarked, seemingly apropos of nothing, "There's just something about you, Merlin…"
He knew something was odd. That was for sure. He had to have known something did not quite make sense. That my explanations did not quite connect. Otherwise…why on earth would he have made that remark, and so often? Really, Arthur simply knows me too well—
And of course, of course Arthur chose that singularly inopportune moment to come striding into the kitchens.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin lurched to his feet when Arthur entered, nearly spilling the contents of his mug over its rim, "Arthur-? I-! What-? You're supposed to be in bed!"
He looked flummoxed and relieved in equal measure, apparently unable to decide which seemed to be the better reaction of the two of them.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Clearly," he drawled, thinking rather ruefully of the past three days, "I have been in bed long enough."
He wandered over the kettle where it hung over the banked fire, steam still escaping from under its iron lid. The smell of chicken stew pervaded the kitchen, and Arthur's stomach gave a small rumble as he grasped the linen-wrapped handle, attempting to lift it.
A quick, hot flash of pain in his side and he nearly dropped it.
…Or, well, he would have, if Merlin had not abruptly appeared at his side and grabbed his elbow, his own mug of stew now sitting abandoned on the table.
The prince held in his grimace as his manservant relieved him of the lid.
"You shouldn't have done that," murmured lowly as Merlin replaced it on the kettle.
Arthur rolled his eyes, although not much ire went behind it: "I am no longer an invalid, Merlin," he, too, kept his voice low, keenly eyeing the dark head at his shoulder.
Merlin snorted softly, "Forgive me, Your Highness, but you aren't exactly healed, either."
Arthur scowled, "I am perfectly fine, Merlin."
"When you can actually lift a five-pound iron lid without wincing, My Lord, then I will deem you fully healed!" Flush sat high in Merlin's cheeks and his blue eyes glittered blackly in the firelight as he whirled around to face Arthur.
Arthur roughly shrugged off his hand, setting his jaw to return obstinacy with obstinacy, "Being the Court Physician's apprentice does not give you the authority to command me or my actions, Mer-!"
"-My Lord's health is not something to trifle with!"
The furious outburst shoved itself into Arthur's diatribe and stopped him cold. Namely because of the waver, and then crack, that finished it.
All the air went out of Arthur. "Merlin…?" he murmured, pressing a cautious hand to his manservant's shoulder.
At Arthur's touch, all the air went out of Merlin, too. Uttering a broken groan as his own words registered, he dropped his face against his clenched knuckles.
"…Sorry," came the muttered apology from behind his hands.
Arthur sighed, tightening his grip on the slender arm. Better than anyone, he knew that Merlin might put up a fuss or present a surly façade, but beneath it all (if one cared to look), his manservant did, in fact, deeply respect his prince. If they fought—actually fought—and did not just bicker and banter, there was a justifiable reason why.
Arthur hoped it wasn't because of their confrontation in his chambers but couldn't rule the prospect out. And that was the very last thing he wanted right now.
Merlin raised his face, and Arthur could not entirely hide his wince at the younger man's now-midnight eyes, which were hollow with exhaustion and grief.
"What are you doing down here?" the voice that asked it was strained, and Arthur frowned uncomfortably.
There were so many possible responses to that question ("Well, why else would one be in the kitchens, Merlin?"), but Arthur chose the wiser route, "Following my best friend. Obviously, Merlin."
…Sort of.
It did turn out to be the right thing to say in the end, however.
Merlin released a somewhat strangled sound, "What did you just call me?"
…Maybe.
But the words had already been spoken, and hovered between them, unable to be taken back.
Arthur inhaled a short breath and took Merlin gently by both shoulders, now completely serious as he turned the younger man to face him, "You heard me. Don't make me repeat it, Merlin."
"I may have heard you," Merlin muttered, leaning out from beneath Arthur's hands and sagging back against the kitchen table behind him, "but that doesn't mean I am able to believe it." He brought a shaking hand up to his face.
Arthur scowled and crossed his arms over his chest with a thump (hiding a wince as he did so), "Why is this so shocking, Merlin? I—" He turned away, and grit out around his teeth, "You know I…care about you."
Strangled laughter interrupted him, and as he spun around to face Merlin, countenance stormy with frustration, his manservant murmured, "If this is a joke, it's surely a good one."
Stormy turned thunderous. "This isn't a joke, Merlin! I would never-!"
More of that soft, cracking laughter Arthur had heard on tower several days ago (and had since come to intensely dislike), but Merlin's hand was gentle when it touched him, "I think I got the message, Arthur. Sorry." The hand on Merlin's face pressed a little harder against his right eye as the younger man sought to prevent its heat from spilling over onto his cheek.
Still disgruntled, but unable to muster the proper ire when his manservant looked like that, Arthur grumbled, "Shall I plight a troth, my Lord? '…For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings/That then I scorn to change my state with—'" (1)
"Stop, stop, STOP!" a flustered Merlin's hands clamped over his mouth and interrupted him. "I get it, Arthur. Truly! I-I am sorry I didn't believe you…" he trailed off, his hands dropping to hug his arms to his chest as he bent his head.
Worry crept into Arthur's eyes as he gazed down at the bowed black head, a little more emotion in his voice than he had intended to reveal when he spoke, "Merlin…"
Merlin shook his head, his hands again slipping up to press against his face, "I'm fine, Arthur. Don't mind me."
Arthur snorted derisively, "You are very clearly not 'fine,' Merlin."
Merlin's fingers curled into fists, but otherwise no outward sign existed to show that Arthur's observation was correct.
The Crown Prince's voice softened, "But I am not here to argue with you."
Merlin snorted quietly, raising his head and fixing Arthur with an exhausted stare, "Then why are you here, my Lord?"
Arthur did not respond right away, choosing instead to gaze without a word back at Merlin.
"You can't be that much of an idiot, Merlin," he murmured at last.
His friend flushed, and Arthur turned away.
"Is there stew enough for two?"
IOIOIOIOIOI
As Merlin pushed himself off the table to head for the cupboard that contained the crockery, Arthur headed for a second chair at the table. As they passed each other, the Crown Prince abruptly stopped him, reaching out to grasp his manservant's arm. Meeting his friend's eyes, concern darkening the hue of his own, he murmured, "Get yourself one, too, Merlin. Your first has probably gone cold by now."
"And whose fault is that?" despite his muttered retort, Merlin looked up at Arthur…and nodded.
Blowing out a relieved breath (he had half expected another snap), Arthur released him with a light squeeze and finished walking to the table. Sliding into the chair and touching Merlin's mug as he did so, he found that it was still mostly full and indeed growing cold.
Shaking his head, Arthur pushed it to the side and silently studied his upturned palms.
He had no idea what to say to Merlin, though he thought an apology might be in order. He had not meant to scare him, and felt wretched that he had, but there was no way to open that discussion without discussing what had caused the argument in the first place.
And that led...somewhere Arthur was not sure he was ready to go.
Something warm nudged into Arthur's hands.
Started, the Crown Prince jerked his head up just as Merlin's shoulder brushed his own.
"Your stew, Sire," murmured as his manservant leaned close to press the steaming mug into his hands.
For a moment, Merlin's entire side pressed against his own. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his mug as he suddenly remembered just how often the two of them had been in close proximity to each other over the past few days.
Then the moment was gone, and Merlin's weight lifted from his side.
"Merlin…" Arthur's voice half-caught in his throat as he realized what he had been about to ask.
Merlin appeared not to notice, pulling out his chair and sliding into it as he mechanically took a sip of his stew.
Naturally, Arthur assumed this meant his own stew was quite cool enough to sip, too.
He nearly scalded his tongue.
His shocked, half-muffled cry had Merlin starting out of his seat in alarm…before he more accurately assessed the situation. When he had, he startled Arthur (and himself, apparently, if the slight widening of his eyes were any indication) by giving a faint chuckle, "Shall I fetch you a glass of water, my Liege?"
Arthur glared at him over the arm he had used to futilely scrub at his tongue.
Merlin chuckled again, "You're hopeless, Arthur. Here, let me see…"
Gentle hands took the mug from his own, and before Arthur could quite process what had happened, Merlin bent over the mug where he now cradled it in his hands, murmuring something under his breath.
Arthur could not see his eyes, but felt rather sure he knew what the murmur intended, "Merlin, don't—"
The surface of his stew flared briefly gold—so briefly gold, Arthur blinked and found it had gone.
"Don't what, Arthur?" Merlin's smile flashed up at him and Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, watching the gold quickly bleed out of his best friend's irises. "I only blew on it."
Arthur could have pretended to believe him (calling him a girl's petticoat in the process) and that would have been the end of it. But a more crucial concern presented itself at that moment.
Merlin held out the mug with a smile on the edge of breaking, and Arthur knew…he knew this was more than a favor granted by a friend. This was Merlin's plea and test all rolled into one: will you accept me, for all that I truly am?
Arthur snorted, scrubbing irritably at his burning eyes, Well, there was ever only going to be one answer to that question.
He accepted the mug and took a sip.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Midnight hour found both young men ensconced in front of the kitchen fire, Cook Margot's forgotten steamer rug tucked around their legs. Arthur had Merlin's shoulder pressed into his as his manservant sipped from a mug of Gaius's chamomile tea which the kitchens always had on hand, and he was quite content to keep it there, despite any protests he may have made to the contrary.
Their other mugs, including one that contained peppermint tea which Merlin had insisted on dosing him with (much to Arthur's dismay), lay strewn across the tabletop. Arthur felt a small pang of conscience when he thought of Margot or Guinevere coming into the kitchen to find it a mess the next morning, but soon had other worries.
"What do you want to know?" Merlin's low voice spoke up after quite some time, causing Arthur to start against him.
The dark head lifted, and Merlin chuckled, though little mirth filled it, "Sorry."
When the cleft chin shyly slid onto his shoulder, Arthur just about had a heart attack.
"Merlin, what-?" his breathing sped up just a touch.
But Merlin shook his head and shut his eyes, pressing a bit more firmly into Arthur's side.
…And then Arthur understood. He had not believed Merlin would ever be incapable of asking for comfort, but wasn't that exactly what this was? A wordless request for comfort because Merlin—at this moment—felt physically incapable of asking for it?
Arthur swallowed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Merlin's, hoping he might prove as much of a comfort as his beloved friend had to him over the years.
It seemed to work. A moment later, Merlin drew in a not-entirely-steady breath and lifted his chin, blinking his eyes open to offer his prince a tentative smile.
Arthur's heart broke a little at the gesture, but he knew it might be a while before he saw his best friend's familiar grin.
"Just tell me what you can, Merlin," he murmured. His eyes hardened as the younger man opened his mouth in attempt to speak, "And nothing that would endanger you."
Merlin gave a thick snort, "That rather limits my storytelling capacity, then. In case you have forgotten, Your Highness, magic is banned in Camelot."
"I haven't forgotten, Merlin," Arthur retorted irritably. "I just didn't want—"
"—Then you shouldn't have asked!" came the aggravated snap.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I didn't," he pointed out, stating it as a matter of fact. "You did."
Merlin opened his mouth to retort. Frowned. Then thought about it a moment.
A few seconds later he groaned, dropping his head into his hands, "…Right."
Despite himself and despite the situation, Arthur smirked, "Of course I am. We've established this already, Merlin."
A hand lightly shoved the side of his face, eliciting a startled laugh from the prince.
"Gloating does not really become you, Your Majesty," Merlin retorted snippily.
Arthur laughed again, a little softer this time, grateful they had not devolved into another argument.
Merlin's expression grew solemn as he watched Arthur in the flickering firelight. When he risked a hesitant glance at the kitchen door, Arthur pulled himself together and reached out to touch his friend's shoulder, "Merlin."
Merlin looked at him, his discomfort obvious. Arthur shook his head, "It's all right," murmured. "I have Leon guarding the door."
The younger man blanched, "What? Then does he-?"
"No," Arthur gripped the slim shoulder. "No, Merlin, he doesn't. He's just…" A slow blush crept into Arthur's cheeks as he scratched the back of his head, recalling the scene earlier in his bedchambers, "Well…frankly…I think he's just a mother hen—"
Merlin's outburst of real, out loud laughter startled Arthur. His blush blazed, "Merlin!"
"Sorry (laugh)! Sorry, Arthur (laugh again)! I…wasn't expecting that…" his laughter eventually petered out.
Arthur groaned, vigorously rubbing the back of his neck, "At least I got you to laugh about it," he grumbled.
Merlin blinked, and Arthur blushed again, determinedly looking anywhere but at his friend's face.
As he watched Arthur search in vain for a distraction, Merlin's face softened, "Then I appreciate it."
Arthur released a breath, sliding both his hands down to rest in his lap, before turning back to the younger man, "Merlin?"
"Hmm?" amusement still played at his friend's lips, but when he saw how serious Arthur had become, Merlin sobered, too "What is it, Arthur?"
"Leon has orders not to let anyone else pass through that door. Not even my father."
Merlin drew himself up sharply, eyes flashing to Arthur's. "What?" hissed. "Arthur, you know if he has to do that and Uther finds out you ordered him to do it, your father will consider it—"
"—Treason," Arthur calmly replied, having come to terms with this (indeed, having already done so long ago). "I know, Merlin. It's nothing I haven't done before."
"Haven't done—" Merlin choked on the thickness starting to fill his throat. "This isn't bandits or a morteus flower, Arthur! This is-!"
"I know what it is, Merlin! And I don't care," Arthur obstinately set his jaw, gripping Merlin by his shoulders. "You are going to be safe here. Things won't be like this forever-"
"You are being reckless, Arthur! Reckless and stupid! You can't know-!"
"I can, Merlin! I do! And it is no more reckless or stupid than what you've done!"
Merlin's mouth clicked shut and Arthur blew out an unsteady breath, pretty sure he had made his point.
"I am not unaware of the consequences, Merlin," Arthur softly offered a few moments later, when Merlin's hand had risen again to cover his face. "I just choose your friendship over fear."
It took a few minutes for Merlin to raise his head, and when he did so, his cheeks were wet…but his eyes contained more peace than Arthur had seen in days.
"You are infuriating, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin's remark was low, but his gaze was gentle as he glanced up at Arthur.
A startled smirk crept across the older man's face, "Why, Merlin," he drawled, "was that a compliment?"
Merlin snorted and whacked his shoulder, "Shut up, you prat."
Arthur continued to smirk, well-pleased. But Merlin sobered, and blew out a tremulous breath, "What do you want me to tell you?"
Arthur became grave. He suspected Merlin would not like his answer: "Nothing," stated softly.
Merlin's eyes widened. "What?" he demanded; voice strangled.
"I don't want you to tell me anything, Merlin."
"But—" Merlin sputtered, completely flummoxed.
Arthur shook his head, gathering Merlin's hands between his own before he had even consciously processed the motion, "Merlin—" he began.
Merlin sucked in a startled breath, blush blazing up on his cheeks.
Arthur paused, furrowing his brow as he took note of his friend's reaction. "Merlin? What is it?"
Merlin merely shook his head, shutting his eyes and turning his palms up to grip Arthur back.
…Which made Arthur realize exactly why he had received such a reaction in the first place.
"Er…" an echoing blush flared up on Arthur's cheeks, but he made no move to release Merlin's hands.
Instead, he exhaled a wavering breath and tightened his grip as Merlin's eyes flashed open to look at him.
"I want to keep you safe, Merlin," Arthur murmured, trying to impress the importance of this on his friend. "I can't do that if I know more than I should—"
"But I promised you-!" Merlin's not-entirely-unexpected outburst interrupted him.
And was interrupted in return: "I know you did, Merlin," Arthur cut him off. "But I am releasing you from it. Your safety is more important."
It will also give me plausible deniability should my father ever ask, Arthur kept that part of his plan strictly to himself, not wishing to alarm his friend.
"You may have released me from it," Merlin retorted stoutly, "but that doesn't mean I have."
"Merlin-!" Arthur ground out. He clenched the other man's hands, simmering with frustration.
Merlin shook his head. "One thing, Arthur. That's all I ask to tell you right now."
"Fine," Arthur grit his teeth, "what is it?"
"The Dragonlord."
Arthur blinked, taken aback by the forthright response. "The Dragonlord?" repeated cautiously as he sought to confirm he had correctly heard his friend. "Merlin…are you sure? You know you don't have to—"
Merlin's throat tightened at the genuine concern that lit Arthur's eyes, "Arthur. I'm sure."
"But four days ago, you—"
"Arthur…I know. Please. I'm ready to tell you."
Arthur compressed his lips, somewhat displeased with the topic and harboring more than a few reservations about how this might affect his friend's current emotional state.
"Please," Merlin repeated, quietly.
Arthur sighed, studying him intently, "I am never going to win this argument, am I?"
Merlin shocked himself by snorting in amusement. This was just too good an opportunity to pass up: "Arthur, dearest," retorted sweetly as the prince glared at him, "when have you ever won anything?"
TBC
Author's Note: Aside from his warlock's loyalty, that is. LOL, poor Arthur. Just for your reference:
(1) From "Sonnet 29" by William Shakespeare. Yes, I know he was not alive when Arthur would have been. The final word is "kings," by the way. Basically, Arthur is telling Merlin he would not trade his friendship for the world (without directly stating it, of course :winks:).