Arthur could count the times he had been truly frightened on one hand: the first time he heard a thunderstorm, the time he and Morgana were wrestling and she fell off the bed and pretended she'd cracked her head open and he thought he'd killed her, the time he accidentally slept through a training session and he'd thought his father would personally behead him… and the time Merlin was accused of being a sorcerer by the Witchfinder.

Arthur had been against this whole Witchfinder deal from the beginning. Aredian might have thought he was doing good but his presence would only serve to cause hysteria among the court. He hadn't dared speak up against his father, not about this, but he did not agree with it. He'd told Merlin as such that night—or "ranted for over an hour," as Merlin had put it. But disagreeing with something was entirely different from fear.

The moment Aredian accused Merlin, Arthur felt his stomach drop. Merlin was innocent—he was the worst liar Arthur had ever seen, and besides, they'd been living in the same room for a couple of weeks now, surely Arthur would have seen Merlin practicing magic at some point. And Merlin was far from evil, magic or no. But he couldn't say all of this to his father. Uther wouldn't listen and would probably order Arthur to be punished for daring to care so much about a servant.

It didn't stop him from spending all night in the cell with Merlin, ready to beat the living daylights out of the first person who tried to harm him. Merlin protested that such measures weren't necessary, but Arthur had heard of Aredian's methods. He wasn't letting the Witchfinder anywhere near Merlin.

Even after Merlin had been proven innocent by Gaius's confession, Arthur was wary. He didn't want to let Merlin out of his sight. He kept reaching out for Merlin, making sure that he was still there. He didn't believe in Gaius's guilt either but that was nothing compared to the fear that froze his blood when he pictured Merlin at the executioner's block. It certainly didn't help that Merlin was distracted by Gaius's imprisonment and determined to free him, which meant he kept slipping away from Arthur's side, disappearing for hours at a time. It drove Arthur mad, made his skin itch and feel too small, stretched tight and dry over his muscles.

Only when it was all over, when Aredian was shown to be guilty of false accusations and underhanded methods, when Gaius was proven innocent and Uther was once again made to eat his words, only when Merlin was safe, did Arthur relax.

Well, to a point.

He was a little desperate that night, clutching at Merlin and kissing him until they both couldn't breathe, making the headboard tremble as it banged against the stone walls. Merlin made soothing noises and forced Arthur to go more slowly, whispering things like "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," and "We have time, we have all the time we want."

When he spent himself, he made a sound against Merlin's mouth that was rather close to a sob.

"I didn't know you cared," Merlin said afterward, a trace of his usual sass creeping in where only solemnity and urgency had been the past few days.

"I don't like to lose what's mine," Arthur replied. It was the closest he'd let himself get to understanding the panic he'd felt at seeing Merlin in the dungeon cell.

Merlin traced strange patterns into the skin of Arthur's chest—a habit he'd quickly picked up and seemed to use as a relaxation method. "What if Aredian had been right?"

"About what?"

"About my being a sorcerer?" Merlin looked up at him. "Would it change anything?"

Arthur looked down at him. Merlin's eyes were bright where Arthur's own were dark, like the sky to the sea. He had two hickeys, one at his clavicle and another at his pulse point on the side of his neck, and his lips were red and swollen from the biting and kissing. His hair was unbelievably mussed, and parts of his skin still carried droplets of sweat. His cheekbones and collarbones stood out, delicate frames for a pale, unearthly face.

He was beautiful.

He was also terrible at lying, far sassier than any servant had a right to be, stupidly loyal, annoying, didn't know when to shut up, unexpectedly wise, and absurdly good at blow jobs.

"As long as it didn't change you," Arthur replied. "I like you just fine the way you are."

Merlin's lips quirked up into a smile—a bittersweet smile, Arthur thought, and wondered why that should be—but then they were kissing again, and all Arthur could focus on was that the fear was gone, replaced by something warmer and deeper and infinitely more dangerous.