Arthur's Bane summed up in one sentence: Epic marital spat interspersed with sword fights.

Someone was tugging on Arthur's arm, trying to get him to leave his cozy nest of blankets. "Arthur."

King Arthur, dignified ruler of Camelot, mumbled "nnrgh" and rolled over, choosing to ignore the someone. Whatever their reason for waking him up, it couldn't be as important as relaxing in the sheets and warm sunlight filtering in through the window.

"Arthur. Get up." This someone's voice was familiar.

The someone was climbing on top of him now, shaking his shoulders. "I swear, you're like a five year old."

Ah, yes, Arthur knew that voice. He grinned and flipped himself over, taking the someone with him and pinning them to the bed. He opened his eyes and smiled down at a less-than-pleased Merlin.

"Good morning," Arthur said. Hmm. Merlin's neck was white and bare. Somebody ought to change that.

By 'somebody', he meant himself.

"Nngh, Arthur." Merlin shoved at him. "We have to—ah—we're going to be late, dollop head!"

"Oo are," Arthur replied, trying to speak around his mouthful.

"What?"

Arthur raised his head. "Who cares? I'm the king, I arrive precisely on time." He then went back to sucking at Merlin's neck. Merlin shoved at him a few more times in a feeble attempt to stop him, but once Arthur started rocking their hips together it was all over for Merlin's self-control and he clutched at him, gasping his name.

"You're an absolute prick," Merlin panted a few minutes later, considerably rumpled.

Arthur surveyed the hickeys he had placed on Merlin's neck and congratulated himself on a job well done. "Yes, but you love me anyway."

"Unfortunately," Merlin grumbled.

Arthur nosed his way up Merlin's jaw. "Three years," he murmured. Three years since he had named Merlin his consort. Three years of being king with Merlin at his side. Three years of peace and prosperity and happiness.

"Mmm yes, and if you'd like three more then you're going to do as I say and get up," Merlin replied. He tried to sound stern but the fingers he tangled in Arthur's hair and the hand he slid down Arthur's back gave him away.

"I should just keep you tied to the bed," Arthur mused, his words slightly muffled because he kept pressing his mouth to Merlin's skin. "Have you whenever I want and I won't have to put up with your nagging once I leave the room."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Hopelessly in love," Arthur replied, pulling back and winking.

Merlin grinned up at him. "Yeah, guess that makes two of us."

Unfortunately, it seemed that such bliss wasn't to last.

After years of silence, Morgana had returned.

They had hoped that she had died from her injuries in their last battle with her, but apparently she was now alive and well and searching for a way to discover what could kill Arthur. The past few years, it seemed, had only strengthened her hatred, adding a dash of madness as well.

On top of that, he and Merlin were fighting.

It wasn't a proper fight in the sense that they were at risk of permanently damaging their relationship, but it was definitely the longest marital spat they'd had in ages.

The thing was, something was up with Merlin. Arthur fell asleep among the bandits that night and woke up shivering, reaching for a body that wasn't there. He opened his eyes when his hands met cold air and searched for Merlin, only to find his husband still awake, staring into emptiness. He was whispering quietly to himself, but all that Arthur could catch was the phrase never-ending cycle of his fate.

"Merlin?" He whispered.

Merlin jumped, startled, and crawled over to him. "You all right?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

Merlin stroked his cheek, his voice soft. "Go to sleep. You need to rest up."

Arthur caught Merlin's hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

Merlin swallowed. "It's nothing. Just me being a worrywart."

It was more than that, Arthur could tell, but he couldn't press the issue right then. "All right." He released Merlin's hand and lay back down.

A smile slowly spread over Merlin's face. "There is one thing I wanted to tell you."

"What's that?"

"I was right about the clothes. They mistook me for a servant."

Arthur groaned. He'd never hear the end of it now.

Everything was (mostly) set to rights. He and Merlin had patched things up, Morgana was temporarily defeated, they were all safely back in Camelot, and they even had a new knight: Mordred, the druid boy that he and Merlin and Morgana had once rescued.

That had been back when Morgana was good, when she slept in a bed down the hall and played the part of sister before they even knew it was her role.

Mordred couldn't have been more than sixteen but he was brave and eager to learn, and Arthur looked forward to training him.

There was just one problem.

Arthur didn't know exactly what the druid prophet had told Merlin, or what the overheard never-ending cycle of his fate meant, but there was a knew darkness in Merlin's eyes. There was a heaviness in his shoulders, a tightness in the line of his mouth, that hadn't been there before. Whenever Arthur tried to broach the subject Merlin brushed it off as nothing, but he could feel Merlin's eyes tracking him around whatever room he happened to be in. A few times during training Arthur would turn to find Merlin watching him fearfully, or he'd feel Merlin's hands trembling as he helped him into his armor. And at least twice during the week Arthur would wake up in the middle of the night to find Merlin resting his face on his elbow, watching him with a heartbroken expression on his face.

But whenever Arthur asked him about it, the answer was always the same.

"It's nothing, really. I just love you, that's all."