By the cover of night, they stole through the sleepy village, gingerly stepping around recently tilled fields, ducking under wooden fences. Although the moonlight made it easier to see where they were going, it also made it harder to hide their approach and Merlin sighed with relief when they finally darted behind a hut, disappearing in its shadow. Pressed against the stone wall, Arthur bent over his knees trying to catch his breath. Still weak in his recovery, his heart was beating hard and fast and dangerous, the muscles in his legs burning after several days of walking in heavy chainmail. His strain did not go unnoticed and soon Merlin was gently pushing down on his shoulders.
"Sit, rest here a minute," he whispered. Arthur was too out of breath to resist and he slumped to the ground in a heavy heap. "It's best I go in alone first anyway," Merlin assured as he checked Arthur's pulse with two fingers against his neck. The touch, at first clinical, turned familiar when Merlin briefly cupped his jawline with a warm palm. Then he was up at the wooden door of the hut, eyes flashing gold toward the latch, and slipping inside without a sound, leaving Arthur breathing hard for another reason altogether.
He made his way across the hard, mud floor, into the adjoining room where a figure stirred in sleep on the small, impoverished bed. Hovering over her, he quickly covered her mouth to stifle any sound as she startled awake.
"Mother! It's all right! It's me!" he whispers until recognition dawns on her face. He drops his hand away just as she reaches up to pull him into a tight embrace.
"My boy!" her arms are tight around his neck. The softness and warmth of her is like a balm and he closes his eyes, holds her close, allowing himself a brief indulgence of comfort.
"Mother, I'm sorry to return to you like this," he finally manages once she's withdrawn enough to look at him.
Her smile stretches wide and her tears glisten in the light of the moon coming through the window. "Merlin, that you return to me at all is a blessing! You know how I worry about you!" Her whispers are too loud.
"We need somewhere to stay, somewhere no one will find us…" the worry in his forehead tells her more than his words. She does her best to look encouraging, though her whole body tenses.
"You know you are always welcome here," she knows her son understands this, but she sees with a mother's eye that he needs encouragement to say something more, something difficult. When he watches her cautiously, as if to gauge her reaction, she steels herself.
"Arthur is here. He knows about my magic." Despite her best efforts, a surprised gasp escapes her. Her eyes search his, confused, concerned, but Merlin (Arthur) is too tired to herald questions now.
"Please, I'll explain everything in the morning," a promise assured with a hug, "For now, we need rest. We've been traveling for days."
The weight of her son leaning into her sets her priorities in order.
"Of course," with a last squeeze, she lets go of her son. Merlin straightens, stepping back, giving her room to get up.
"Bring him in," and he darts away. She reaches up to the cupboard, pulls out extra blankets and lays them in a bed arrangement on the floor, smoothing out the wrinkles.
Barely audible sounds of the door as it opens and closes, hushed voices, the rustling of clothes. When she turns around, the King of Camelot is standing in her bedroom, looking a bit worse for wear, one arm draped over her son.
"Come," she ushers them toward the bed, but Arthur shakes his head.
"No, Hunith, I couldn't. We're already asking a great deal of you, I'll not take your bed too." His chest is moving rapidly, his words are hoarse, sweat shines on his brow.
She smiles warmly, sweetly, like a mother, and Arthur feels a pang of longing for someone he's never known.
"Please, Your Highness, it is no trouble and I would consider it an honor," a slight bow of her head, respectful, expected. The deference makes Arthur cringe inside.
"It's just for tonight, Arthur," Merlin urges, "we'll think of other arrangements tomorrow."
Arthur allows himself to be lowered to sit on the bed, wincing at an ache in his side. Merlin kneels in front of him, starts unbuckling his chainmail.
"I'll fetch some water," Hunith says before disappearing into the other room.
As the constricting chainmail is lifted over his head, Arthur sucks in a deep breath, coughs at the rush of air into his lungs, like his chest has forgotten how to expand that much. He feels Merlin close, noting every sign of physical distress, but doesn't dare meet his eyes. He knows Merlin is just monitoring his recovery, like any physician, but it feels more…intimate. He doesn't trust himself not to pull Merlin flush against his body, to seek warmth and comfort from the friend who's always been by his side.
Hunith returns and hands a cup to Merlin. He immediately brings it to Arthur's lips and tips it forward for him to drink, though he must be parched himself. Arthur takes a few sips then signals he's done, making sure to leave most of it for Merlin who he knows now won't drink until he thinks Arthur's had his fill. Once empty, Merlin stands and hands the cup back to his mother, placing a hand on Hunith's arm and whispering something that must have been about needing to sleep because she says goodnight and leaves again. Turning back to Arthur, Merlin leans over and pushes his shoulders back until he's lying down.
"Rest."
Arthur suddenly feels a bone-tired weariness weighing his body down. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He doesn't see the light flicker in Merlin's eyes.