Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note: This is the single, longest chapter I think I have ever written (I am not joking), and that includes for my Narnia fics. I promise, I did read through it—multiple times—and every single scene has a purpose for being there. It is one of my favorites (even if I am too sleep-deprived to fully process that right now), and I had so much fun writing the different parts of it. As a result, maybe, it came out more light-hearted than I was expecting (don't worry, it still has enough angst to qualify under my tendency to write 'flangst'—fluff + angst). It's also quite plot-heavy, as it lays the foundations for upcoming chapters and events. Trust me, our characters are going to need this break ::sweat-drop::. Please enjoy, and Happy New Year!
Reviewers: All 315 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 Helios 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 12)
"…What about the drawbridge?"
Arthur's question was one in a long series of them that he had peppered their knights with almost as soon as they rejoined their people at the garrison.
(After first summoning Kilgharrah far enough away that the Great Dragon's sudden appearance would not cause undue alarm.)
So far, Merlin had listened quietly as they laid out a potential plan of attack, for the first time in over four months secure in the knowledge that Arthur would seek his counsel once they were through here.
Now he glanced down at the map of Camelot spread open in front of them and laid across Bruta's Stone, watching without a word as Leon moved several mahogany markers into place along the depiction of her curtain wall.
"Well manned," their Head Knight stated softly.
"As are the northern gates," Percival added, moving those pieces into place.
"The battlements on the south side?" Arthur tapped that empty location on the map.
Bors released a quiet sigh, moving several additional indicators into place, "Archers, at least twenty strong. Even if we can breech the wall, she has an army, Sire—"
"Getting in will not be a problem," Arthur muttered absently, examining the ring of defenders Morgana had set up for any potential blind spots or weaknesses, just as Merlin was at his shoulder, "Merlin will take care of it."
Startled, Merlin jerked his head up, "I am going to do what?" he demanded.
Around them, their knights stirred and exchanged incredulous glances.
Then Bors scowled and Percival frowned. Leon frowned, too, and opened his mouth, prepared to object.
But it was Kay who spoke, his response delicate and quiet, "Sire…Arthur…Merlin is but one man. Do you really think…?"
Arthur finally seemed to take note of their reactions, frowning as he lifted his head and responded softly, "I am well aware of Merlin's limits, Kay. Of course…" and there was his crooked smile, flashing over at Merlin who breathed a sigh of relief upon receiving it. Whatever crazy scheme his best friend had come up with, he had full faith in Merlin's ability to carry it out, "He won't be alone. There will be at least two others with him."
"Others, Sire?" if Bors's response came out a little too sharp, Arthur ignored it.
"I was hoping you might be one of them," he offered up instead, shrugging as he held his hands out, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture.
Frowning, Merlin raised an eyebrow, unsure exactly what Arthur had in mind. Although he and Bors both had extraordinary prowess with magical weaponry, they could hardly take on dozens of armed men when there were only two of them. Especially since Merlin suspected a large part of Bors's job would be to watch the warlock's back.
Bors seemed to think along the same lines as Merlin, for he held himself stiffly, "Of course I will go, Sire…but I would appreciate it if you were to elaborate on the nature of our assault."
The knight's response came out deceptively soft, his eyes sharp and cold as he regarded Arthur. Just as Merlin began to feel extremely anxious about the direction of this conversation, a maid suddenly burst into the clearing, her borrowed furs flying.
"My Lords-!" she gasped out, bent double with her hands on her knees as she struggled to regain her breath. "The dragon has been sighted!"
In the heartbeat between the shock of her announcement settling in and the knights galvanizing into action, Arthur grinned at Merlin, his expression pure mischief and so boyish that the warlock's heart gave a hard thud in his chest, "I was thinking an aerial assault might do."
IOIOIOIOIOI
How Arthur managed to convince their knights to cease and desist and, furthermore, let Merlin "scout" out this dragon on his own, the warlock did not think he would ever know.
It probably helped that Bors went from outright combative to utterly stunned by the implications of Arthur's announcement. Mostly, Merlin thought his tutor and the other knights may have been too shocked by the king's absolute confidence in Merlin's ability to handle himself when faced with a dragon to really object.
It was a type of autonomy Merlin had never expected, given how stubborn and protective his best friend tended to be when it came to Merlin's safety…and he thought the knights might feel the same.
It also left the warlock feeling slightly off kilter, especially on the heels of Arthur's decision to entrust Merlin with the responsibility of wrecking nearly the entirety of Morgana's defense forces.
Of course, there was the small matter of an actual dragon to address first, at least with Gwen.
As Kilgharrah touched down in a nearby glade (still some distance from the garrison), Merlin found himself accosted by a whirling blur of curly dark brown hair, the hug more stranglehold than embrace:
"Merlin…Merlin why didn't you tell me you knew a dragon, let alone two? I would have loved to meet a baby dragon! And the flight here was absolutely amazing! Kilgharrah said—oh, you know his name is Kilgharrah, don't you?—he said dragons can cover the entire span of the world in less than a sennight and-!" the breathless, delighted string of words burst out of Gwen as she did her damnedest to squeeze the breath (and an explanation) out of him. But he did not mind in the least. This was a Guinevere he had not seen in months, ever since Morgana first disappeared.
He enjoyed having yet another dear friend slowly returned to herself.
Tristan did not look quite so sanguine as he helped Isolde dismount; in fact, the older couple looked faintly ill.
"Well, at least one of us enjoyed the ride here," the man muttered.
Their mount huffed, his scaled hide rippling with annoyance.
"It is not my fault that some human bodies are unequipped for flight!" Kilgharrah grumbled.
Merlin laughed, finally returning Gwen's hug.
"How ever did you manage to get them to trust you?" he murmured, wearing a warm smile as he dipped his head in thanks.
Kilgharrah shuffled in something like embarrassment, "I—may have—promised to explain how I came to know you."
…Which meant Gwen had had out the entirety of Kilgharrah's story—and probably Aithusa's, too—before she even considered allowing the Great Dragon into their clearing.
Kilgharrah's demeanor seemed to confirm it, as he kept a respectful distance away from her and watched the younger woman with unreserved admiration.
Despite the heat creeping into his cheeks, Merlin snorted in amusement. He could only imagine what Gwen—non-magical and without any dragonlord ancestry as she was—had done to earn such a reaction from the ancient dragon.
Dropping a kiss on his friend's head, he murmured, sincerely, "You are amazing."
"Merlin…!" she scolded, bright blush on her cheeks as she stepped back and lightly slapped his chest.
Merlin just smirked at her, lifting his head as Tristan and Isolde joined them.
"She was, though," Isolde put in warmly, smiling at Gwen (who blushed again).
Tristan was shaking his head, just as impressed, "What kind of court is Camelot, that their maidservants should wield a sword with as much aplomb and skill as a seasoned swordsman?"
Merlin laughed, giving his female best friend one last squeeze before releasing her, "A slightly dysfunctional one," he muttered. Then he raised an eyebrow at Kilgharrah, lips twitching, "Really, Kilgharrah? A sword? You've faced down entire armies…!"
Kilgharrah drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster (which was quite a feat for a massive reptile who looked like nothing so much as a cowed dog), "And they did not have an ounce of the same courage or determination this Lady does."
"High praise," Merlin informed Gwen with a wide grin.
(After all, there was a reason Arthur fell in love with her.)
She blushed and lightly slapped his arm, "Hush, Merlin."
The warlock sketched her a bow, "As my Lady commands."
Gwen rolled her eyes and poked him in the side, "You have some explaining to do. Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
Merlin's grin this time was a bit more sheepish, his cheeks a bit more flushed.
"I'll tell you soon, I promise," he murmured, squeezing her hand. "Right now, we should be getting back to Arthur. He's waiting for us in the next clearing over. Erm, he has several of the knights with him…" he trailed off, nervously eyeing her scowl and the hands she had fisted against her hips. He quickly revised his statement, "Or…uh…I can tell you on the way there…?"
Isolde smothered a chuckle as Gwen looked satisfied and let her hands fall from her hips.
IOIOIOIOIO
Although Merlin told Gwen only of his dragonlord heritage—and why he had hidden it, even from her—his female friend still watched him with unconcealed wonder for the rest of the afternoon.
In fact, Tristan, and Isolde—despite their own knowledge of such things—watched him with a little bit of awe (and a great deal of fearful reverence), too.
It made Merlin feel uncomfortable in a way he had not expected. Especially when Kilgharrah invited himself along to the rendezvous with Arthur.
I've hidden for so long…I didn't expect—once I emerged in the light—for it to be so bright.
Arthur had not explicitly stated he should reveal himself. In fact, his best friend seemed content to let things happen as they would. But the king also no longer made any effort to hide it.
Which had led to their current situation: Leon doing his damnedest to stare down a twenty-four-foot dragon and the twenty-four-foot dragon, for his part, looking down his snout at Camelot's Head Knight, utterly unimpressed.
Gods…did Kilgharrah just sniff…?
"…I blame you for this," stated with a groan as he firmly planted his face in his palms.
Arthur laughed, bright and unabashed, "Oh, come on, Merlin…you can't tell me that that," and his best friend jabbed his finger at the tableau unfolding in the clearing in front of them, "isn't one of the best things you've seen in days…"
"That," it should be noted, was four of Camelot's finest knights locked in a staring contest with the massive reptile, varying degrees of shock plastered across at least three of their faces. Comprehension, however, was swiftly dawning—at least for Bors, who narrowed his eyes and glanced sharply at his magical protégé, before his gaze eventually settled on Arthur.
Mentally, Merlin groaned, Sparring tomorrow will be so much fun…
Arthur lightly jostled him out of his thoughts, "Well, Dragonlord…? This is your territory…"
Merlin swung at him, which Arthur ducked with the ease of long practice. But a moment later, when his beloved friend came up again, the man grabbed his hand, startling Merlin enough that he did not immediately retaliate.
Arthur suddenly seemed much more serious as he straightened, and the intensity of his blue eyes pinned Merlin in place as he spoke, "If you really aren't ready for this, Merlin…"
Merlin swallowed and shook his head, blinking against the blatant concern filling Arthur's face at his continued silence.
"I agreed to this, Arthur," he insisted softly. "I-I was never going to be ready, but…if we want to defeat Morgana…"
Arthur gave a put-upon sigh that Merlin knew better than to take at face value, and offered the warlock his free hand (as the other had somehow wrapped itself around Merlin's shoulders), "I suppose I can be persuaded to accompany you…all in the name of chivalry, of course…"
Surprised, and more than a little touched, Merlin snorted out a laugh, taking the hand that his beloved friend held out to him, "I thought you said chivalry did not apply to your manservant."
He found himself graced by one of the most enigmatic expressions he had ever seen Arthur wear.
"Well…" the king's blue eyes glittered as he watched Merlin's cheeks steadily redden, "maybe I changed my mind."
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin only started to process it much later that evening when he finally found the time to sit down on a fallen log and catch his breath:
He had never been busier in his life, and that included during mid-winter, when illness often ran rampant in Camelot's lower town.
This was nothing like those cold, endless nights he had spent with Gaius, running tinctures, teas, and any other herbal remedies the elderly physician could spare door to door. This was a war camp, with dozens of wounded and undernourished refugees.
Then, as now, he had Gwen with him. But they had also had Gaius, who would have known exactly how to handle this situation, instead of Merlin, who felt like he was drowning.
And it was not only for his knowledge and experience that Merlin missed him.
The warlock swallowed harshly, grief roaring in his chest as he thought of his mentor, still missing and presumably within Morgana's clutches; she would not be kind to him, because he had chosen Arthur's side and not hers.
"Merlin…?"
At the soft voice, Merlin blinked his surroundings back into focus—it was now dusk, and the supper fires were burning. He glanced up to find Camelot's Head Knight seated beside him on the fallen log, green eyes glinting oddly in the twilight.
"…They whisper about you, you know," Leon murmured, nodding to the people around them, who gave knight and warlock a respectful berth.
Merlin tried to ignore the awe in their eyes, as they beheld him.
Swallowing, he rubbed his palms together nervously, "Do they?" whispered.
Leon hummed in confirmation, studying Merlin sidelong in the firelight, "Oh, yes…
"'Did you hear…? He's tamed a dragon!'
"'A dragon, you say? Well I heard he tamed two…no, no make that three…!'
"'Well, I heard he can speak their language…!'
"'No…!'
"'Really…!'"
Despite himself, Merlin broke down into helpless laughter, touched to his core by Leon's overdramatization of the townsfolks' gossip (he even waved his hands around for emphasis).
Guess I shouldn't have worried about his reaction, after all…
Leon finally grinned, apparently pleased he had managed to elicit such a positive response from Merlin.
Merlin snorted, then smiled warmly, hoping the depth of his gratitude echoed in his eyes, "Well…nothing so unusual, then."
"Indeed," Leon chuckled, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulder before hanging his head forward and allowing his own shoulders to relax. "So…a dragonlord…?"
Merlin ducked his head and blushed, "Uh…yeah…"
"And I assume your Kilgharrah is, in fact, the Great Dragon that Uther imprisoned beneath Camelot…?"
"Well…he's not exactly my dragon…and, um, maybe?"
"And you freed him three years ago…?"
"Possibly…" Merlin's voice ended with a squeak.
Loud, unrestrained laughter poured out in their clearing, causing quite a few curious heads to pop up from their suppers to regard Camelot's unusually boisterous Head Knight.
Merlin pouted, more embarrassed than intimidated now, as Leon seemed to find his revelation incredibly amusing.
As the older man's laughter died down, it drew Percival over to their fire, who sat on Merlin's other side, adjusting his sling with a wince, "What's going on, Leon? Come on, share the joke."
Merlin eyed him sideways, wondering if he should add another revelation to the half dozen (and more) he had already divulged today.
Leon smothered a final chuckle, "Nothing, as such. Just confirmation of a suspicion I have had for quite a while."
Merlin completely abandoned his internal debate over magic versus medicine.
"What?" he squawked. "You knew?"
Leon held his hands up placatingly, unable to quite suppress the twitch of his lips, "I had guesses only, Merlin."
"But—" sputtered.
Leon's face softened, "I was not so unconscious as you seem to think, Merlin, the night you faced the dragon."
Merlin rubbed his face with both palms, trying to stave off the impending headache.
We were so careful to keep it quiet…
"…Why didn't you say anything?" he whispered.
Their Head Knight offered a faint smile, "Forgive me, Merlin…but I did not think it was the wisest course of action, considering Uther's ban on magic. Arthur would not have borne your loss well…and I did not wish to lose a friend."
Merlin found himself having to blink back the sudden heat behind his eyes. Gripping Leon's shoulder to steady himself, he murmured around a tight throat, "Thank you…"
Not quite trusting himself to speak, Leon nodded, blinking back his own tears.
Perhaps sensing this, Percival cleared his throat.
Merlin scrubbed his hands over his eyes, before swallowing, "What is it, Percy?" he hoped the knight would ignore how his voice cracked.
Fortunately, Percival had always been discreet.
"Is it only that you are a dragonlord, or…?"
…Mostly. Slightly stunned, Merlin blinked at him.
Is he implying…?
The large man shrugged shyly, "I ask only because…well, Lancelot…"
Releasing a shuddering breath, Merlin attempted to gather himself together. He had full faith Lancelot would never have willingly revealed his secret, but surely, during all the time he had spent with the man, Lancelot must have let a few things slip. Percy was keen enough that he could read between the lines.
Merlin would contemplate his own, abysmal acting skills later.
"May I try something?" he whispered instead, reaching for the knight's injured arm.
Percy's eyebrows raised and he shot a glance over Merlin's head at Leon, who straightened imperceptibly.
"Merlin, what are you-?" the Head Knight began to ask.
He did not get the chance to finish. Almost as soon as Percival offered his arm (reluctantly—it had to hurt, considering it had nearly been shattered by a mace), Merlin spread his hand and murmured, eyes flaring gold, "Ge heale…!"
With a snap, all splints and bandages burnt to ash. Stunned, Percy slowly unwrapped his arm, carefully rotating it as far as it would go to either side and releasing a small gasp when he found it still had its full range of motion.
Merlin rubbed his neck, cheeks burning, as he stared into the fire and pointedly refused to look at either one of them, "It will most likely be tender for a few days. I'd say let it rest…but we all know that's not an option. Just…be careful with it tomorrow night."
All that could be heard in response was the crackling of the fire.
As the silence stretched—and stretched—Merlin swallowed harshly.
It was one thing to acknowledge his heritage as a Dragonlord. It was something else entirely to reveal—and in such an irrefutable manner—that he was, in fact, a warlock.
Finally, Leon spoke up, his fingers gently gripping Merlin's arm, "…Does Arthur know?"
He did not sound angry, only concerned, and Merlin mustered his courage enough to swallow again and raise his head. He gave a single nod.
A huge sigh of relief gusted out of the older man, "How long?"
Merlin swallowed and brushed his palms over his eyes, wishing he were not so prone to crying, "…Three years."
Leon drew himself up sharply, eyes wide, "Three? But that means…"
"…Right after Boris's coup," whispered in confirmation. His throat ached from the pressure of holding back his sobs.
Percival gave a soft grunt, tossing his arm—somewhat clumsily—over Merlin's shoulders. The squeeze he gave him nearly broke Merlin's ribs, but the sentiment was understood, and the warlock released a strangled laugh.
When he glanced up at Leon, it was to find the older man gazing back at him with an odd little smile playing at his lips, "…Does this have something to do with why Bors is currently bashing Kay across the training grounds behind the garrison?"
Merlin blushed bright red, "Umm…" responded intelligently.
The smile Leon wore widened, "And why over a dozen injured have left their pallets claiming to be fully healed?"
"Er…that is…"
"And why Guinevere has barely spoken a coherent sentence to you all evening…?"
"Uh…when you put it that way…"
Leon laughed, compassion and relief warming the sound, "Merlin…they are not talking about the evils of sorcery…they are talking about how miraculous it all is; it is a miracle that they are even freely speaking of it at all…!"
Merlin had long suspected many of the younger knights—like Leon, and Kay—had never quite agreed with Uther's purge, and when Arthur started taking a more active role in petitioning for fair trials (incidentally, also three years ago), many had fallen in line behind their prince. How Morgana had ever believed Arthur was remotely like their father—
"—And they will hopefully do so long after this battle is over."
All three jumped as Arthur entered their circle of firelight, two steaming bowls of stew balanced carefully in his hands.
Leon glided to his feet, swiftly adopting his mantle of duty, "Sire," he bowed.
Arthur shook his head, "At ease, Leon. And call me Arthur, will you? You have long since earned it by now." He placed one bowl in Merlin's lap, turning to his warlock, who futilely tried to scrub the last remnants of tears off his cheeks, "You are going to eat that," stated pointedly. "It has dried meat and root vegetables and was made specifically for you by Gwen. Don't think I missed how you skipped dinner this afternoon to tend to the wounded."
Merlin rolled his eyes but picked up the chunk of crusty bread that had come with it and dipped it into the stew with a muttered, "Yes, Mum."
Arthur cuffed him lightly upside the head, but Merlin was too busy devouring the rich broth to pay him much mind at first.
It was good stew, as Merlin had known it would be—hearty and thick with a hint of the wild herbs Gwen must have foraged from the surrounding forest. He was halfway through his first bowl by the time he started listening to the conversation swirling around him:
"…Will you go to her, Leon? She has worked at least as hard as Merlin, and I am quite sure she has not had any supper, yet," Arthur had seated himself beside the warlock on the fallen log, their hips just barely touching, and Merlin suspected it might have been that which had distracted him from his hunger.
He made no mention of it to Arthur, however, hastening to thread together the parts of the conversation he had missed.
Leon stood uneasily beside their king, his hands behind his back in parade rest, "Sire…Arthur…are you sure? Oughtn't you be the one who-"
This conversation was about Gwen, Merlin realized, glancing quickly at his best friend.
But why is Arthur…?
Perhaps sensing Merlin's gaze, Arthur swallowed, leaning a bit harder into the warlock's side.
"I can't, Leon," he murmured, fiercely blinking back tears, "not right now. I-I hurt her too badly, a-and well…you've always been kind to her…"
Leon did not quite meet Arthur's gaze on that one, a faint blush crawling into his cheeks.
It slowly began dawning on Merlin what this might be about.
"She likes violets and bluebells," he offered softly.
Two startled gazes jerked to him. Merlin shrugged, "What? She is basically my sister…"
And if this cheers her up…
Leon inclined his head in acknowledgement, a deep flush coloring his cheeks, "I thank you for the advice, my Lord."
IOIOIOIOIOI
"…How long has this been going on?" Merlin asked in a low voice a few minutes later, once Leon had left their fire.
Arthur shrugged, not quite meeting the warlock's gaze as he picked at his bread, "…Long enough. Honestly, I just started noticing today."
A large hand clapped Merlin's shoulder, causing the startled warlock to jerk around to face Percival, who levered himself up to his feet.
"Two years, four months, and seven days, give or take a few," the knight offered with a crooked smile. "Not that we were counting…"
Stunned, Merlin straightened up, "And he never said anything…?"
Percival shook his head, another rueful smile curling up his lips, "He is loyal to Arthur, as you well know. I'd imagine he would have considered it treason to say anything more."
"I understand that," acknowledged softly. He slid Arthur a small smile, watching as his best friend stopped fiddling with the bread and dropped his head into his hands, stew balanced precariously in his lap, "We all are."
Arthur's head jerked up, obviously overhearing that last comment, and he flushed.
"Merlin…" muttered embarrassedly.
Merlin chuckled and Percival snorted in agreement, sketching a bow, "May I take my leave of you, Sire?"
Still willing back his blush, Arthur nodded, "Go ahead, Percy, and rescue Kay from Bors, will you? I can't have two of my best fighters black and blue tomorrow."
Percival smothered a laugh, "So I shall, my Lord. I had intended to head that direction, anyway. Should I send them to you, Merlin, if the situation warrants healing?"
"Uhh…" was all the pole-axed response Merlin could manage, his expression a little dazed and his own cheeks burning as he reminded himself, Not hiding, anymore, remember?
Arthur snorted, gently cuffing the warlock upside the head, and answered for him, "Do, Percy, if you think medical aid is necessary, although I think Bors would never intentionally harm Kay."
A second bow, this one to both Arthur and Merlin, and Percival conceded with another chuckle, "Aye, Sire," before striding away in the direction of the garrison.
A moment later, Arthur's shoulder nudged Merlin's, "Sooo…" drawled. "Told them, have you?"
Merlin snapped out of it, scowling fiercely as his blush rose high in his cheeks, "Not. Another. Word," and he emphasized each word with a jab of his finger into Arthur's chest. "This was your idea."
"And you agreed to it."
Merlin snorted and muttered, rolling his eyes, "Yes, and now I'm starting to regret it."
Arthur's fingers interwove themselves with his own where they rested against the rough bark of the log, a knuckle on his free hand lifting to nudge up Merlin's chin, "And do you…? Regret it, I mean?"
Only because he knew Arthur so well did Merlin hear the faint tremor that underlaid the question.
"Of course not, Arthur," he responded softly, squeezing the fingers tangled with his.
Arthur blew out a relieved breath, releasing Merlin's hand, "Good…I-I hope you know I would never force you to—"
Merlin's hand interrupted him, gently pressing against his mouth, "I know, Arthur. Really."
Another exhale and Arthur nodded, shoulders relaxing. Two hands curled around the warlock's lower back, nudging him into Arthur's embrace.
Gingerly, Merlin set aside their two bowls, noting he would have to get Arthur to eat later, then he wrapped his arms around his beloved friend.
"…You know I need to be the one to confront Morgana, right?" Merlin spoke into Arthur's shoulder, sometime later.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on the nape of Merlin's neck and the small of his back.
"…I know," the strangled response came out a few seconds too late, "just as you know I'll have to be the one to confront Helios."
Merlin stiffened, his fingers tense and tight in the fabric of Arthur's tabard.
"…I don't want you to fight Helios, Arthur," he whispered, burying his face in the other man's shoulder.
Arthur snorted, gently pushing Merlin back far enough to glare at him, "And you think I want you to fight Morgana?"
"That's different," Merlin insisted quietly. "Aside from Bors, I am the only one—as far as we know—who has magic. I am Emrys, Arthur; I am the best weapon we have against her…!"
Arthur growled, shaking himself loose from Merlin's arms to stand up and pace in front of him, "You aren't some sort of weapon for me to use at my whim, Merlin…! If we're going to do this, we're going to do this because you honestly think it's our best hope and because you agreed to it…!"
Arthur stopped his pacing, turning his back to Merlin as he fought to get his temper back under control, tense fists at his sides.
Merlin released a soft sigh, crooked smile flitting across his lips as he stood and shuffled their stew bowls to the side. Crossing the distance between he and Arthur in two strides, Merlin hesitated only an instant before sliding his arms around Arthur's waist and hooking his chin over his beloved friend's shoulder.
"…Well, it's a good thing I agreed to it, then," he murmured at last.
Arthur released a shuddering breath, relaxing in the warlock's hold, and Merlin chuckled softly, giving his friend a tight hug as he nudged his nose against the king's neck.
"You worry too much," he whispered, pressing the words to the chain mail of Arthur's coif.
"With good reason, Merlin…! And you say that as if you don't already worry about me plenty!"
Merlin chuckled again, lifting his head, and turned Arthur's face towards him. He brushed his thumb against Arthur's bottom lip and watched, amused, as a faint blush scrawled across the older man's nose, "It's my responsibility as your best friend to worry about you, Your Adorable Prattiness. You should have gotten used to it by now."
"Merlin…!" sputtered. "I am not in any way, shape, or form adorable. I-I'm the king, damn it-!"
Merlin snickered, "And you're flustered. That doesn't really help your case you know, Arthur."
The blush washed across Arthur's cheeks now, and the warlock laughed outright at his best friend.
Arthur huffed, apparently giving up their playful argument as a lost cause, and turned around in Merlin's arms, wrapping his own around the warlock's waist to reel him in.
Merlin released a startled oof against his chest, before snorting warmly and leaning their foreheads together for a moment of quiet companionship and reassurance.
"Come on," he urged at last, stepping back and reaching up a hand to fondle a loose strand of blond hair that had fallen in Arthur's eyes, "it's time to go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
Easily, Arthur went with him, and Merlin made no mention of the broad hand that intertwined with his own once more.
TBC
