Notes:

Hey y'all, sorry for the long wait. I rewrote the whole chapter a few times, whoops. Its done now. Not as long as I wanted it to be. I hate chapters like this where nothing really happens but I felt like if I didn't publish it now, I never would. So thanks for your patience and thanks for all the likes and comments. i really appreciate them! Thanks to ERVE for multiple thoughtful comments!

Chapter Text

Merlin knew that the streak of the prince being nice to him would come to an end. The blond had been weirdly kind, for a prince's standard, since having woken up from the self induced sleeping curse. He prayed that the peace between them would last long enough to allow for a lie in. Instead the defector was jolted awake when something rocketed into the ground, barely avoiding collision with his skull.

"Pack up, we're leaving." was rudely commanded while Merlin struggled to identify the blurry object as his own pack.

It wasn't quite dawn yet and the royal was already stomping out the fire and kicking up dirt in an irate flurry to bury the ashes. It seemed the prat was back to wasting no time.

Arthur intended to get a few hours of sleep and rise well before sunrise. They couldn't afford to stagnate. Instead he woke up peacefully to an ever-brightening sky. The sun hadn't risen yet but enough ambient light had built up that no torch was needed. He sat for a moment enjoying the warmth of sleep and the quiet bird song before his eyes shot open in horror. He tried to spring out of his bedding but got tied up in his blankets. The engulfing fabric was unrelenting as he struggled for freedom. His mouth opened to curse the situation and instead inhaled smoke from the starved coals that had once been a cozy fire and choked.

"Merlin!" the royal bellowed between coughs, "you dolt we slept in!"

Arthur wheezed out a "get up!", finally kicked the bedding loose and ran to saddle the horses, shouting at the oblivious, unconscious fool all the while.

The stupid idiot hadn't so much as twitched by the time he returned.

Arthur plucked the bum's bag from amongst the strewn about laundry and chucked it at his head. The bag was meant to make contact, it was soft enough, but it missed. It still landed with a satisfying thud.

Muddled eyes shot open and landed on a point behind him.

"Pack up, we're leaving."

Merlin woke both delayed and instantaneously. Immediately his body was sitting upright, blinking smoke out of his eyes but his mind lagged behind, unable to make sense of the chaos that the followed the prince around their campsite. The lanky escapee had fallen asleep the moment his bowl of broth was drained. In fact he fell asleep still holding it in his hands. The last stubborn drops that clung to the interior of the metal dish leaked into his lap, waking him just enough to push the bowl aside and lay down properly. A vaguely recalled insult from Arthur about lazy incompetence permeated his memory as he fell back asleep unbothered. Now that it was morning (or close enough) and his lap smelled of broth and his feet were still booted from the day before; he wished he had bothered a bit more. If only to get more comfortable. The moment the ranting slotted back into English in his mind, Merlin understood the hurry and practically jumped off his bed roll.

After a flurry of activity the two were once again on the road to Camelot, this time on separate horses. Their pace was much faster now that neither horse had to carry both men and they were fresh off of grazing and rest. Idle chatter did not permeate the air like the day before. It was impossible with the more brutal pace. The prince kept staring at Merlin periodically. It was irksome.

"What?!" the sorcerer demanded.

"You're quiet" was noted loudly.

Conversing on separate horses moving at speed was much more complicated than it had been when they shared a horse. If it were anyone else with him Arthur would accept the quiet as a natural consequence of the change, but he learned his lesson. A silent Merlin was not a good omen. Arthur was not prepared to lug his companion around like a corpse again.

"I'm just thinking about how grateful I am that I'm not stuck with you anymore." Merlin yelled back cheekily.

"Agreed" Arthur shouted.

Every aspect of life had become easier the moment the heavy chain linking them finally split in two, especially going to the bathroom. He wasn't entirely free from the experience yet. The pesky chain still chafed at his wrist. Another problem for later.

"You're not going to keel over again are you?" the royal accused.

"What? No!" Merlin shouted, "I'm not some some wilting flower."

"You did just say 'wilting flower' and you did faint after riding a horse for a few hours yesterday." Arthur replied just as loudly.

Merlin had no good response, it was a slanderous oversimplification and he would not respond to it.

"How soon until we reach Camelot?" he asked instead.

Arthur thought for a moment before answering, "early evening if nothing delays us."

Merlin could tell by the tight way the prince said it that he was probably thinking the same thing. Cenrid knows about them. At least one of their previous captors has made it to Essetir by now. Yesterday they were outrunning the possibility that someone was after them but today they were outrunning the guarantee that someone was.

"it's all clear." Merlin called to the empty forest around him as he sat on his horse beside a riderless one.

Arthur emerged from the trees and Merlin unwrapped his neckerchief from his shackled, left wrist and reattached it to his neck.

"What's with the girly scarf anyway?" Arthur jabbed while quickly gathering his belongings from underneath the blanket of leaves that had been hastily kicked over them.

The warlock shrugged, "It's useful to have extra cloth."

When Merlin saw the look on the prick's face that said 'really?' he asked, "Did it or did it not just function as an excellent fake bandage?" while jingling the remaining links of the chain on his wrist.

It had been decided that the horses would be impossible to hide behind trees if they heard another party approach on the road. Arthur was an all too easily recognizable figure, as they already discovered, so Merlin pretended to be traveling alone and ponying a spare horse while the prince hid in the forest that swallowed the thin road. The exhausted magician was much less recognizable as an escaped soldier since he acquired new clothes. Fortunately the last party to pass appeared to be a merchant leaving Camelot.

Rolling eyes accompanied Arthur's quick subject change to avoid admitting that the idiot had a good point, "We got lucky. I wouldn't trust anyone coming from the east not to be a magical bloodhound in disguise"

Merlin bit his tongue. The distaste with which the prince spoke on magic was not surprising. What was surprising was how much it had bothered him. The warlock thought he was callous to such things by now.

Reigns in hand, the royal moved to mount his horse. It snorted and side stepped away from the prince.

"Arthur?" his companion tried.

Merlin was pointedly ignored as the prince tried to reach for the saddle a second time only for the animal to move its body sideways out of reach. Human frustration seemed to ignite the horse's as well. It stamped its feet, warding off another attempt.

"Arthur?" Merlin called a bit more forcefully

"What!?" The horses reigns were dropped and Arthur spun to confront Merlin's chiding.

"He's tired, we should lead them for a bit," Merlin practically begged.

An exasperated and fatigued sigh spilled out of the prince. There was nothing to argue... despite wishing there was.

"Now that we are getting closer to Camelot you should think about changing the way you talk to me," Arthur said breaking the silence that settled between them as they walked.

Merlin, a peasant, was addressing him, heir to the throne, as a peer. It hadn't felt out of place. They met as equals after all, tethered to the same fate as prisoners headed towards different but equally unpleasant futures. This would not be tolerated in Camelot. Not by his father and not by the court. He would be seen as a weak-willed pushover and ungrateful of his title. That's just what they would do to him, Merlin would not be treated so lightly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" his incredulous companion asked.

"It means I'm royalty," was said artlessly, "that means you should have some more respect."

"It suddenly matters now?" Merlin was confused. He had spent his entire life navigating the titles of those above him. Some insisted every interaction be a petty reminder that they held power over you. Some insisted that you maintain "proper respect" by using titles and following etiquette even if it wasn't quite malicious. Even fewer understood that blood and nobility were all coincidence of birth. That certainly didn't stop them from using their privilege (what's the point of power if not to be used?) but it usually prevented them from abusing it. As many nobles as the well traveled soldier had met and served under, he thought he was a good judge of which nobles were which. Apparently not.

"In Camelot it does," Arthur said curtly, gesturing towards their destination.

A small defeated, "sorry, Sire" escaped the sorcerer's lips. He couldn't afford to lose the prince's favor now.

Arthur frowned as Merlin and his horse fell a few steps behind to take up the traditional position of a servant. This felt familiar. This also felt wrong.