CHAPTER 5

At the Druid camp, Arthur tried to keep himself busy whilst Merlin was tended to. He made sure the horses were fed and watered and, once done with that, he rifled through Merlin's bag for the spellbook they had brought for Iseldir.

Soon the Druid Leader himself appeared, eyes alighting upon the heavy tome. "Ah, yes. A protection spell, was it?"

"Merlin thought so. Is he..?"

"He's alright." Iseldir took the book from Arthur and pointed toward one of the larger tents. "Go see him if you wish."

Arthur just about managed to remember to throw a quick, "thank you" over his shoulder as he sped across to the tent in question.

Merlin was mid-argument with one of the healers when Arthur entered.

"Just a little spell?" He was propped up in an enormous nest of plush throws and cushions, bigger and comfier looking than Arthur's double bed. Evidently there were some perks to being the mighty Emrys. "To speed things along?"

"It's best for it to heal by itself," the healer chided. "Iseldir says you recover faster than most do anyway. It should only be a few weeks."

Merlin caught sight of Arthur at the tent entrance. "Arthur! Will you please tell - uh, sorry, what was your name again?"

"Faelan."

"Please tell Faelan that the fate of Camelot rests solely on my ability to use both arms."

"Faelan," Arthur delivered in his most regal voice. "Camelot will be absolutely fine."

Merlin fell back with a pretend cry of woe. "Traitor!"

"Did you really expect anything else?"

"I'll leave him with you, Sire." Faelan bowed. "Please don't tire him too much. He needs rest."

"Of course. Thank you for all your help."

Faelan left and Arthur turned to Merlin, who was unsuccessfully attempting to pour himself some water with just one arm. The other had been resplinted and was now securely strapped to his chest.

"Here."

Arthur strode forward to help. As he took the jug, his hand briefly grazed against Merlin's. He froze, heart racing.

"You alright?"

"I..." The jug slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. "I uh..."

"Woah!" Merlin jumped back as water went everywhere. "What's wrong?"

"I'm..." It was getting harder to breathe. "I can't..."

"Arthur?"

His father's voice reverberated in his mind, shouting at him to Stop stammering! If you can't control your nerves, how do you expect to control a kingdom?

"Arthur, what is it?"

But Arthur could not answer, a vise-like pressure squeezing his chest.

I'm dying, he thought to himself with terrifying clarity as he wheezed desperately for a breath that didn't come. I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm-

Suddenly Merlin was there, pulling him in tight with his one good arm. He was saying something, tone low and soothing, but Arthur didn't listen. He anchored to the hand rubbing gentle circles on his back and the regular thumping of Merlin's heart next to his ear. It felt nice, it felt calm, it felt safe. With relief, he discovered he could breathe after all.

Then, to his immense embarrassment, he started to cry.

He had never cried like this before. His entire body convulsed with sobs, desperate and heaving, which tore from his throat with such force that he feared he might be ripped into disparate pieces of grief and longing. Hot tears filled his vision, reducing everything to a shaky blur, and his eyes ached from the strain. He could not remember weeping like this even as a boy.

Merlin backed off with a panicked apology, thinking he had somehow prompted the outburst, but Arthur yanked him back. He knew he should be gentler, should be mindful of Merlin's recent injury, but all he could focus on was the overwhelming need to be held. His father's voice was relentless, but at least now it was interspersed with Merlin's.

You let your emotions get in the way.

"I'm here, Arthur."

A true leader keeps his feelings in check.

"It's alright. You're alright."

But he wasn't alright. He wasn't sure he would ever be alright again.

He woke up with no memory of having fallen asleep. Shame crept over him, his father's voice hissing in his ear. Show no weakness, Arthur. Weakness is what destroys kings.

"I'll admit, that did taste a lot better than Gaius's." It was Merlin's hushed voice which had roused him. "You'll have to tell him what your secret is."

"Do you need anything else, Emrys?"

"Actually yes. Can you please just call me Merlin?"

"As you prefer. Is King Arthur well?"

"He's just tired, I think." Merlin sounded uncertain. "Maybe save some food for when he wakes up?"

"I'll be sure to set some aside for both of you Emrys- sorry. Merlin."

Faelan departed and there was a rustling nearby as Merlin repositioned himself. Arthur realised, embarrassment growing, that not only had he cried himself to sleep, but done so in Merlin's bed - for now he could feel a body, lithe and warm, settling close to his with a quiet sigh.

He considered feigning slumber for a little while longer, but Merlin's cry of pain in the ravine lingered in the back of his mind. The memory served as a stark reminder that time was not promised. Talking about his newly discovered feelings might be difficult, but the thought of continuing to push Merlin away was even worse.

He rolled over and faced up to the inevitable.

Merlin started in surprise, his face much closer than Arthur had realised. Their noses were barely an inch apart.

"You're awake!"
"Always one to state the obvious." Arthur marvelled that he had never noticed just how startlingly blue Merlin's eyes were. "How's your arm?"

"It's alright." Worry lingered in Merlin's expression. "How about you? How do you feel?"

"Tired. Embarrassed."

"Don't be," Merlin was quick to reassure. "Really. Just remember that I'm here whenever you want to talk. If you want to talk, obviously. You don't have to talk, I'm just saying that-"

Arthur cut Merlin's ramblings off with a kiss.

He thought he had left his days of hotheaded impulsivity behind him. Riding out on impromptu hunts, dodging council meetings, launching attacks without preparation - these were all the hallmarks of an immature prince, not a king. Nowadays he prided himself on his forethought, his strategic mind, his propensity to think things through and plan ahead.

This kiss was not planned. Perhaps it was the weeks and months (years?) of restraint and duty fraying at the edges. Perhaps it was how close Merlin's lips had been, breath warm against Arthur's cheek as he spoke. Perhaps it was how exhausted Arthur was, how desperately he longed for action over words.

For half a second his thoughts spiralled. What if Merlin didn't want this? What if he had done the wrong thing? Then Merlin's mouth was moving on his and Arthur's heart stuttered as he realised that Merlin was kissing him back.

It was remarkable how good it felt, how natural - how right. The embrace deepened, Arthur's hands coming up to either side of Merlin's face, and he wondered why they hadn't been doing this all along.

Then Merlin broke away and panic surged again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's not you. Faelan gave me a sl- sl-" Merlin yawned deafeningly. "Sleeping draught." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but was overtaken by another yawn, head nodding no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

"You should rest."

Arthur shuffled away to rearrange cushions, pull up blankets, anything to keep his hands busy. Merlin watched his nervous motions through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

"It was nice."

"Sorry?"

Merlin's hand flopped vaguely in Arthur's direction. "The kiss." He was fading fast. "It was nice..."

He drifted off with his fingers outstretched. Ever so tentatively, Arthur reached out and took the hand in his own.

He didn't let go for the rest of the night.