Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note: This chapter went through several iterations, but I think I finally settled on a version I like :). I am trying to balance subtle with major hints, action with reflection, and it is no easy task :sweat drop:. One of the elements I love about this series is the slow build of Merlin and Arthur's relationship, and I am trying to stay true to that. Here's hoping it works! Please enjoy this next chapter while I go crash for the next two days ;).
Reviewers: All 288 of you, thank you!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Three years have passed since Merlin's partial reveal of his magic. On the eve of their assault on Heilos and Morgana's forces, Emrys must finally reveal himself in full. Quite without his knowing, it alters the entire course of Camelot's future—as well as his own, with the Once and Future King…[Ambiguous Relationship (Merlin/Arthur)]
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:A Man's Measure:.
By Sentimental Star
VIII: The King's Grace (Part 4)
"..You certainly took your time!" Tristan snarled when Merlin and Arthur emerged from the cave tunnels two hours later to find their companions waiting for them under a faintly pink sky.
"Sorry," Arthur answered shortly, removing the protective arm he had kept braced against Merlin's back for most of their journey here.
If Tristan's voice sounded a little terse when he greeted them, Merlin could be inclined to forgive him. It was clear from a glance at the woman that Isolde was utterly spent, the flight through the tunnels having done her wounded side no favors.
In fact, Merlin felt fairly sure one of the only reasons the smugglers had waited for them was because Isolde could not bear to go much further.
The other reason, he suspected, from the mulish cast to her jaw, was because Gwen had not allowed them to go any further. His dear friend was nothing if not loyal, despite Morgana's attempts devised to show the contrary, and she displayed that in spades now.
Gwen's eyes widened as she took in their appearance with the aid of the gradually brightening sky.
"What happened to you two?" she breathed, instinctively reaching up to touch the cut on Arthur's forehead that Merlin had attempted to clean during their trek out of the tunnels.
Arthur flinched and turned his face aside, side-stepping her hand with a swiftness that had Merlin frowning at him, especially when Gwen looked devastated by his refusal of her affection.
He caught a momentary glimpse of Arthur's own pained grimace before his attention turned back to Gwen where she had bitten her bottom lip, curling her hands into loose fists at her sides.
Although Gwen's eyes were not on him, Merlin spoke to her, anyway: "Agravaine happened," he revealed with a sigh, not overly insulted when she jerked around to face him in clear startlement.
Her eyes widened even more when they landed on the livid red bruise still throbbing along the right side of his face, despite two hours having passed since their confrontation with Agravaine in the tunnels.
"Merlin…" she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek.
Merlin winced and let her examine his face, suffering her ministrations good-naturedly until she had finished.
"We're all right, Gwen," he assured her with a tight-lipped smile once she was through, stepping forward to hug her.
Gingerly, she returned the embrace, well-aware he had other bruises concealed beneath his chain mail and jerkin. In his ear she whispered, "I hope you gave him a few good lumps for me."
Merlin laughed at her response, heartened by her resilience, and stepped back, offering a grin that pulled at his aching face muscles, "I think Arthur handled that nicely, but I did try."
When her eyes inevitably wandered back to the king in question, Merlin leaned down and murmured in her own ear, "Don't worry, he'll come around."
Gwen glanced up at him sharply, but said nothing, releasing him with a final, tentative squeeze of his ribs.
Behind them, Tristan spoke up, voice a demand, "But he's dead? He can't follow us? What of his men?"
Merlin raised an eyebrow at the stormy look he was met with, stepping back to join Arthur as his best friend regained his side.
"Quite dead," responded curtly. "As for his men…they'll never make it past the mountains."
He felt a bit guilty for his tone when Tristan seemed to take in one huge breath and let it out, shutting his eyes in momentary gratitude, before he tightened his hold on Isolde's waist and opened his eyes to regard Merlin and Arthur with something that wasn't quite distaste, "Where to now?"
Merlin and Gwen glanced at Arthur, whose lips set in a thin line under their attention.
Anyone else would classify the expression on the king's face as grim determination, but Merlin knew his best friend well enough to notice the slight hitch to his shoulders and the tension in his stance that suggested he did not want to be the one to make this decision.
"…To the plains beyond the mountains," Arthur finally decided.
Tristan raised an eyebrow at the king, something that was almost a smirk touching his lips, "You sure? That's Lot's kingdom. He's no friend of the Pendragons."
Merlin bristled, not particularly caring for the man's tone as he addressed Arthur. To the warlock's surprise, he felt Arthur's hand press against his hip, quelling the agitation he had been unaware he felt.
It allowed Gwen to speak up while he was thusly preoccupied, and he ruefully admitted that was probably a good thing. Their female friend would be a great deal calmer than he when she spoke, "Well, perhaps we could find a house. Someplace where we could rest."
Tristan snorted, strengthening his grip on Isolde's waist, but his frustration seemed to soften when he saw Gwen's concerned glance at Isolde as she spoke, "We're fugitives. Anyone who harbors us would be in danger."
Like Ealdor, went unspoken.
Merlin tensed. He had been actively not-thinking about his mother and his home village for the past few hours, but now…Tristan's reminder smarted.
(After all, hadn't he been the one to lead their party there? And look what had happened…)
"He's right," Merlin took a deep breath to master himself, glancing up at Arthur. "We must travel back towards Camelot."
Arthur's sharp glance at him told the warlock his thoughts had not gone undetected, but his best friend nonetheless frowned and withdrew his hand to cross his arms tightly across his chest as he considered Merlin's argument, "Why do you say that?"
Merlin sighed, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck…and winced, quickly aborting the motion, as his bruised shoulder muscles vehemently protested the movement. Ignoring the flash of worry in Arthur's eyes, he explained, "If we hold up in the Forest of Essetir, we'll be safe for at least a little while."
Arthur pursed his lips, thinking it over. "How do you know that? Morgana certainly didn't have trouble tracing us to Ealdor!"
Merlin shook his head, "Only because Agravaine was on our heels and she probably expected it, Arthur. If anyone has survived the battle, that's where they'll be hiding. You know that, Arthur! You designed those plans yourself!"
Arthur grit his teeth, unable to refute it, but Merlin was heartened to see he was actually listening to him, for the first time in a while.
A blunt and unapologetic Tristan spoke up in the slightly awkward silence that followed, "I know what I'd do. But you're the king, Arthur. You're our leader…"
It took Merlin a second too long to realize the smuggler was baiting Arthur. By the time he had and begun to open his mouth to snap a rather impolite retort, Arthur was already nudging him along the path in front of them, "Fine. To the Forest of Essetir it is."
Merlin only just caught a glimpse of the smirk adorning Tristan's lips as they began their climb down the mountain.
IOIOIOIOIOI
He was still riled up by the time they had left the trail to set up camp.
Of course, he did not realize he was fuming until Gwen pointed it out, touching his arm where they worked together to build up the fire.
"Merlin?" she asked cautiously, gently squeezing his arm as he shoved together two pieces of wood with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "What's wrong? Why are you angry?"
Suddenly aware of the scene he must be making, Merlin released a long, low breath and sat back on his boots, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.
"…Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't realize how much it was affecting me."
It was testament to their years-long friendship that Gwen knew exactly what he meant: "It's Arthur," she murmured, raising her hand to lightly rub at his shoulder, "of course it's going to affect you."
"He's been like this since we left Camelot, Gwen," Merlin admitted miserably, "and Tristan isn't helping by demeaning him at every turn. I get why Tristan's angry, and frustrated, and…and scared…" he lowered his voice in deference to Isolde, whom they watched struggle to sharpen her knife nearby, "But it's the last thing Arthur needs to hear right now."
They both glanced up at Arthur and Tristan, where the two men collected wood for the fire along the edges of their clearing, neither servant sure what they could do to reinstate the confidence their king had so clearly begun to lose since their flight to (and from) Merlin's village.
At that moment, Tristan's voice carried to them over the wind, and Merlin clenched his teeth as he heard the derision with which the older man spoke, "Well, well look at you…!"
It was clear from Arthur's motions (still collecting firewood) that his best friend was trying to ignore the smuggler, but Merlin found it impossible to do the same. Especially when the subject of the conversation turned to him: "First you go back to rescue your servant, now you're getting your hands dirty. But then again, why shouldn't you? You're just like everyone else, after all. There's nothing special about you, is there?"
Merlin hissed angrily under his breath, causing Gwen to glance at him in alarm. She began to speak, most likely in attempt to placate him, "Merlin—"
But Merlin ignored her, having had quite enough of Tristan's thinly veiled attempts to provoke Arthur, and shoved himself to his feet, shrugging off Gwen's hand as he strode over to join them.
He arrived just in time to hear Arthur retort, "Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I don't deserve to be king."
…Merlin probably should have expected the hurt that statement evoked, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to wrestle his temper under control. He had no idea what his magic would do if it were provoked.
Tristan snorted, "Well, that's all right, 'cause you're not. Not anymore."
"Well, actually…"
Merlin's icy interjection caused both king and smuggler to jump, Arthur's armload of wood tumbling to the ground as he pivoted sharply to face the warlock.
Merlin smirked at him, but his expression grew progressively grimmer as he turned to face Tristan.
"You're wrong," stated firmly.
Tristan's eyebrows shot to his hairline, clearly not having expected the servant to speak up so vehemently in defense of his master.
The problem was Arthur had never been just a master to Merlin.
"You seem very sure of that," the man observed with something like bewilderment.
"I am," Merlin answered readily, if a bit hotly.
He felt Arthur stare at the side of his head but ignored it in favor of defending his best friend.
"He has no kingdom," Tristan's bewilderment had turned to disbelief, and his voice rose as he gestured incredulously to the forest surrounding them, "all his people are gone—fled or dead. What is there left to be king of?"
"He's my king," Merlin retorted fiercely, fists clenching at his sides.
Arthur inhaled sharply beside him, and Merlin was almost distracted by its tremble. If he thought it would have made any difference, he would have challenged Tristan to a duel right then and there, but the man was now staring at him, anger and disbelief giving way to astonishment.
"…You sound like Isolde whenever she defends me against her father," the smuggler muttered.
It took Merlin precisely 0.2 seconds to parse that response and understand its implications. When he did, a violent blush suffused his face to the roots of his hair.
Arthur seized the opportunity to grab Merlin and yank him into the woods, leaving Tristan staring after them in something akin to awe.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin only recovered himself enough to fight Arthur's hold when they arrived at a nearby stream.
"Enough, Arthur," he muttered, attempting to throw off his best friend's hands (albeit without much ire). "Let me go…"
Arthur released Merlin but grasped his upper arms after the warlock turned to face him, clearly uneasy and unsure what to say.
"Merlin…" the king began rather helplessly.
Merlin frowned at him, "Why did you drag me away?"
"Why?" Arthur gazed at him incredulously. "Merlin…you looked like you were about to attack him!"
"He insulted you! I'm the only one who gets to do that!"
A startled snort of laughter burst out of Arthur.
"Oh?" he murmured, amused and incredulous in equal measure. "Decided that, have you?"
"Yes," retorted stoutly, and perhaps a bit more forcefully than Merlin had intended.
Arthur's hands slid down to Merlin's wrists and held them, the gentle squeeze he gave them assuring the warlock that he had heard it.
"I am not sure I feel particularly flattered, Merlin," the king teased. "I mean, your insults leave much to be desired—"
"Oi!" despite Merlin's best efforts and the ache in his jaw, his lips began to twitch. "I'll have you know my insults are very creative, you clot—"
-pole would have ended that exclamation, but Arthur's arms suddenly closed around Merlin and the rest of the insult got smothered against Arthur's jerkin and chain mail.
A startled, semi-steady oof of air, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face against Arthur's neck as he heard the thank you his king could not seem to find the words to express.
"…Why didn't you say anything to Tristan?" Merlin asked when it became apparent Arthur had no intention of releasing him.
Arthur shook his head against Merlin. "I didn't want to antagonize him," the king murmured, hands sweeping up to cradle the warlock's neck.
Merlin stared at him in disbelief, his earlier ire rearing its head. "But he's certainly antagonizing you!"
"It's not antagonizing if it's true, Merlin," Arthur countered softly.
"Says who?" Merlin demanded. His hands tightened around Arthur's wrists. "Arthur…nothing Tristan has said is true! He doesn't know you-!"
A low, incredulous chuckle interrupted him. Arthur raised his head and met Merlin's eyes, lips twitching fondly (albeit sadly) as he brought his thumb up to caress the younger man's cheek.
"…What?" Merlin asked, baffled.
"Tristan was right," murmured. Arthur's thumb rubbed Merlin's cheek again, a bit harder than the warlock thought strictly necessary. "You do defend me like a lover would."
…Which, of course, completely derailed Merlin's argument (never mind his thoughts) as his best friend's observation processed.
"But I didn't—" sputtered, as his cheeks turned brightly red.
Another chuckle from Arthur and his beloved friend's hands swept further up Merlin's neck to cup the back of his head.
Merlin flinched and released a startled hiss, an unexpected zing of pain flaring up at the nape of his neck, just where skin met hairline.
Immediately, Arthur released him, glancing sharply at the warlock, "Merlin?" he demanded.
The younger man winced and brought his hand up to the back of his neck, encountering a stickiness he had neglected to address on their way out of the cave tunnels.
"…Oh," murmured as he pulled his hand away and glanced down at his palm, "I didn't realize—"
"Didn't realize—" Arthur seemed to choke on air. "Merlin, you idiot, you're bleeding…!"
Merlin rolled his eyes, ducking Arthur's hand as his best friend reached for him and coming up a hand's span away, stance wavering only slightly.
"Relax, you prat," he grumbled. "It's barely a scratch—"
Arthur scowled and attempted to grab him.
"I'll decide that," he growled.
Merlin frowned but let himself be led over to the nearby stream without much protest, guided by the gentle grip on his elbow.
"Arthur…" he tried.
"Stay there," Arthur ordered shortly, pushing him down to sit on the damp grass by the water's edge.
Merlin rolled his eyes again, but for once did as he was told, too tired to continue resisting any longer.
"…I really am fine, Arthur," he murmured, as the other young man settled behind him, belt pouch in hand.
Arthur sighed, and Merlin felt his thumb stroke the nape of his neck, eliciting a small shiver and then a wince.
"…I know," the king muttered at last, "but you can't blame me for being worried."
Merlin snorted, "No, just overprotective."
A light swat to the back of his head told Merlin his best friend had heard him but did nothing more than cause him to grin.
Especially when Arthur did not bother trying to deny it and instead pressed his forehead against Merlin's shoulder blade as the warlock reached back to squeeze his knee, "Shut up, Merlin…"
IOIOIOIOIOI
"…I'm sorry I lost it," Merlin murmured a few hours later, once his injury had been tended and they had rejoined their companions for an early supper.
Arthur blinked at him owlishly where they lay together across the campfire from a sleeping Gwen, unsure what he meant.
Merlin raised a hand to his newly bandaged neck and rubbed it, a faint hue of red spreading rapidly across the bridge of his nose.
"My necklace—" he began, neck feeling conspicuously bare without the familiar weight of Arthur's long-ago Yule gift.
Arthur's face cleared and one of his hands untucked itself from underneath his head to rest on top of Merlin's own against the bandages.
"It's fine, Merlin," he murmured with a gentle squeeze, "I would rather have you than a broken necklace."
Merlin blinked, taking a moment to process his best friend's response, before he blushed, fanning himself with mock coyness, "Spare me my blushes, my King."
Arthur rolled his eyes, thumbing the side of Merlin's jaw, "You are ridiculous. I was being serious, Merlin…"
Blush flared up again on Merlin's nose and cheeks. "…Oh."
Arthur rolled his eyes again, "Yes, 'oh.'"
"…Sorry?" Merlin had the good grace to look sheepish.
Arthur sighed, but could not quite hide the fond twitch of his lips.
"Idiot," he retorted softly, curving his hand more securely around the nape of the other man's neck.
In response, Merlin curled himself closer to his beloved friend, watching the blue eyes that gazed at him with unnerving intensity.
"…Arthur?" he murmured at last, unsure how to translate the look he was receiving.
Arthur's eyes dropped to the ground, but his thumb never stopped stroking the warlock's jaw.
"…That was the first time I've seen you use magic, you know," the king finally whispered sometime later, when Merlin was just on the cusp of sleep.
Merlin's eyes flickered open, studying Arthur's face in the gradually dimming twilight.
"No, it wasn't," he murmured, "you've seen me use magic before, to heal you…and others…"
…a flare of gold, and Lancelot's splints and bandages disappeared with a snap. In awe, the knight rotated his newly healed forearm…
…a bright burst of gold light and Uther looked as hale and as hearty as one expected a man might in his prime, despite the lack of breath in his chest…
…Aithusa's whimpers quieted as the gold light of Merlin's magic blanketed her. She was peacefully asleep by the time he entrusted her to Kilgharrah's care, unsure how to raise such a little one…
…Merlin's magic washed over Elyan, reviving the man from the dead faint he had fallen into and bringing color back into his ashen skin…
Arthur shook his head, the movement bringing Merlin out of his memories as his best friend swept his thumb along his cheekbone, "No, I mean…I sort of knew you used magic for more than just healing, but you've always had to hide it, even after I learned what you possessed." He chucked Merlin's chin when the warlock lowered his eyes, "…This is the first time I've really seen you use it, to help me during a battle. It's just…a little overwhelming, because I don't know why you do it. I'm not—I don't-"
Merlin drew in a sharp breath, interrupting him, "Arthur…the first thing you need to know is that I use it for you. I've only ever used it for you—"
Arthur's arm cut him off, sliding down to wrap around his waist and giving it a tight squeeze.
"…Why?" asked softly, as the king shifted to pillow his head on his other arm.
Merlin lifted his own hand to tuck a stray piece of blond hair behind Arthur's ear.
"…Surely you don't need me to answer that?" he whispered, tracing the curve of his beloved friend's jaw, and lingering on his chin, before his fingertips finally dropped from the other man's skin.
Arthur's hand caught his before it could touch the ground.
"Well, maybe I do…" the king murmured, squeezing the warlock's fingers.
Merlin frowned and opened his mouth to respond, but his face split into a large yawn.
Arthur laughed at him.
"Go to sleep, Merlin," he whispered. "It will keep until morning."
Merlin would have liked to point out that with their luck it likely wouldn't, but he was too exhausted to string a coherent sentence together, much less an argument, so he settled for the warmth of the fire at his back and the glide of Arthur's fingertips against his palm as his best friend slid their fingers together, murmuring a good-night.
TBC