Chapter Text
The king refused to abandon the search for his ward, and he refused to have anyone but the prince himself lead the attempts to find her. But search after search, the prince returned alone, his expeditions fruitless.
Meanwhile, the servants talked. Rumours spread in the citadel, and questions arose as to the truth. Did the king’s ward truly have magic? Or did the esteemed Crown Prince lie in a failed attempt to remain in the king’s good graces despite his failure?
No one really knew. No one had any means to find out.
The only thing that was known was what the prince had said, and that the king did not believe him. That, and the fact that despite accusing the king’s ward of magic, the prince still continued to look for her, day in and day out, with nary a chance to rest.
To the manservant’s embarrassment, it had taken the nudge of the king’s ward’s maidservant for him to get his head out of his arse and get over his anger. Once he did, once he paid attention, he realised what he should have seen all along. What the maidservant had seen the first proper chance she’d gotten to talk to the prince.
He was running himself ragged.
Why, the manservant did not know. He did not believe it was in an honest attempt to find the king’s ward, not considering the prince had let her go in the first place. But whatever the reason, it could not be good enough.
No matter how angry, disappointed or low-key betrayed the manservant felt, he was not cruel enough to wish harm and misery on his master. And so it was little wonder that, as soon as the realisation had come, it was followed by a resolution to do right by the prince once more. To take care of him when he was too foolish to take care of himself. By natural as well as magical means.
Arthur almost stumbled when Hengroen nudged him with his nose. Catching himself, he turned his head to glance at the stallion. Hengoren nudged him again, a bit more gently this time and blinked once. His ears were turned towards Arthur, who allowed himself a small smile and reached out a hand to rub Hengroen’s nose. The horse’s ears fell into a relaxed almost-droop in response.
“It’s all right. I’m doing fine,” he said quietly. Hengroen blinked, then let out a snort, pushing his nose against Arthur’s hand for a moment longer before he turned away, facing forward again. He didn’t move otherwise, remaining perfectly still as Arthur finished saddling him up and checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything.
Once he was certain that he had everything in order, he looked up to call out to the knights and squires accompanying him this time that they were to move out. The order died in his throat, however, when he noticed an additional horse in their midst, and more importantly, an additional person.
“Merlin!” he called, and his servant paused where he was checking his own horse’s saddle before he turned to look over his shoulder at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Merlin blinked at him, then glanced at the horse he was standing by, the full saddlebags on its back, then finally at Arthur again.
“Saddling up and ensuring I packed everything I need for the trip?” he asked as though it was obvious. Arthur turned around to face him properly, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I didn’t order you to accompany me,” he said, but Merlin only shrugged.
“You didn’t need to.” He turned back to the horse he’d been saddling up, checking the girth. Arthur’s grip on his arms tightened and he looked down briefly in thought. What was that supposed to mean? That Merlin believed Arthur would have asked him to come with him? What reason would he have to think that? It wasn’t like Arthur had told him to accompany him any other time he left on a search for Morgana. It wasn’t really part of Merlin’s duties, anyhow.
“Don’t you have enough work already?” he asked softly, remembering the conversation between Merlin and Gwen that he’d overheard what felt like a lifetime ago. Merlin snorted.
“With you constantly out of town? Hardly. I almost have more free time than I know what to do with.”
Arthur didn’t reply. Not that long ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to retort with some joke or other about how it was a miracle someone as lazy as Merlin decided to refuse some free time to relax. But that was before Morgana left. Before Arthur told his father about her magic and Merlin found out about it. Before Merlin got angry. Now, Arthur didn’t dare. It was already uncertain enough whether he could salvage his friendship with Merlin or not. If there was a chance, he didn’t want to risk destroying it with an ill-timed joke.
“You don’t have to come,” he said instead, and Merlin looked over at him again, his eyes narrowed.
“I do, actually,” he said sharply, and Arthur suppressed a wince at the anger he could hear in his tone. “Someone’s got to look after you.”
“I don’t…” The reflexive denial of needing to be looked after died in Arthur’s throat, and it wasn’t only because of the way Merlin glared. It was also because it would be a lie, if only in part. Whether or not Arthur needed someone to take care of him the way Merlin did, he couldn’t deny that he wanted it.
“You do,” Merlin shot back without hesitation. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
Arthur shook his head with a sigh and closed his eyes. He had to force himself to point out, “That’s not your job,” and was glad when his voice came out steady and sure. Merlin rolled his eyes.
“Yes, because everything I do has to be in relation to my job,” he muttered under his breath before pinning Arthur down with a stare Arthur didn’t know how to read. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I do some things for other reasons than just because ‘it’s my job’?”
It had, if only because Merlin had hinted at it. Just last evening, in fact.
Arthur had pulled himself together and finished bathing by the time Merlin had come back, sans dirty clothes or Arthur’s hauberk, but with a large plate of food that had been Arthur’s supper. Given Merlin mood before he’d left (not to mention the way he’d left), Arthur hadn’t tried to talk to him. He nibbled on his food more than eating it and Merlin glared at him until he ate more, and then he decided to retire right after supper. Following his lead, Merlin left the dirty dishes to dispose of later and focused on changing Arthur into his bed clothes first. Or at least half of them, because the shirt was left out. Arthur blinked, then scowled.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he couldn’t help but snap, straightening once he realised no shirt would be pulled over his head. When his gaze found Merlin, the lad was giving him a quizzical look, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a bottle of oil in his hand. It gave Arthur pause.
“No?” It was more of a question than an answer. Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure this is the part where you lie down and wait for me to work the knots out of your shoulders. Unless you don’t want it today?”
“No. I mean, yes. I do.” Arthur stumbled over the words, then snapped his mouth shut and crossed his arms over his chest. Merlin continued to stare at him.
“What’s the issue then?” he demanded, and Arthur shook his head before lying down on the soft mattress on his stomach.
“Nothing. Get to it.”
“Yes, Sire.” Merlin’s cutting response made Arthur wince, the reaction hidden by the pillow he’d buried his face in. A moment later, the mattress dipped as Merlin climbed into position before he poured a bit of oil onto Arthur’s back. The liquid was cold, and he couldn’t help but jolt slightly at the contact before Merlin’s warm hands spread the oil around and began with the by now familiar routine of kneading Arthur’s shoulders and pressing into his back.
Arthur didn’t understand. Why would Merlin go out of his way to do this for him? Especially since Arthur not only didn’t ask, but even resigned himself to having to give up this part of their routine. This technically wasn’t part of Merlin’s job. He didn’t have to do it and Arthur had been convinced he wouldn’t, given how angry it was. Yet here Merlin was, kneading the knots out of Arthur’s stiff muscles like he always did, and silencing the enchantment while he was at it.
Arthur didn’t understand.
It was weird enough that Merlin could silence the enchantment somehow in the first place. Everyone else, with extremely few exceptions, triggered it in some way, shape or form. And it wasn’t surprising. Arthur was a prince. It was only natural that people looked at him and saw the Crown before they saw the man wearing it. That they looked at him and saw an opportunity, a chance to get something if they played their cards right. This was how things worked. It was all Arthur had ever known.
It was miraculous enough that Merlin didn’t trigger the enchantment, to say nothing of silencing it. But now he was angry. He was angry, and he probably hated Arthur; Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if it had caused the enchantment to react to him, if only slightly. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if Merlin, in his anger, wished some petty form of ‘harm’ on him.
But he didn’t. He didn’t make the enchantment react, he kept silencing it, and he still did things like offering Arthur a massage or insist to accompany him on an excursion to ‘take care of Arthur’ even though he didn’t have to.
Arthur didn’t understand. He hadn’t last night, and he certainly didn’t now.
“What other reason could you have?” The question slipped out unbidden. Arthur bit back a wince and chanced a glance at Merlin, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, Arthur was about to look away before scowling at Merlin in defensive irritation instead. “You’ve made it quite clear what you think of me lately.”
Merlin blinked, and stared some more. And then his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare that could rival the one he’d sent Arthur’s way after he’d returned from that first disastrous search for Morgana.
“Is that what you think of me?” he hissed, and if Arthur didn’t have Hengroen standing behind him and acting as a wall, he might have taken a step back at Merlin’s furious expression. “What, do you think that I enjoy seeing you self-destructing just because I’m pissed with you?” He didn’t give Arthur a chance to respond, stepping closer and poking a finger into Arthur’s chest. Arthur couldn’t feel it through his chainmail and he suspected the insistent poking hurt Merlin more than him, but the servant didn’t seem to care. “Do you really think I’d actually enjoy seeing you in pain? You’re my friend, you bloody idiot! Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing you miserable!”
To his credit, Merlin didn’t shout. He kept his anger contained, his voice a furious hiss. A part of Arthur felt like it might have been better if he had shouted, though.
Merlin glared at him for a moment longer, then stepped away with a huff and turned back towards his horse, muttering under his breath all the while. Arthur fought back the urge to bite at his lip and turned away as well. Merlin didn’t reiterate that he was going to accompany him, but he didn’t need to. Arthur closed his eyes and lowered his head.
Merlin was angry. That much hadn’t changed, not really. Or maybe he hadn’t been angry before and Arthur just messed up all over again. But… Merlin also called Arthur his friend.
Arthur had thought his friendship with Merlin was a thing of the past. That he’d messed up so badly that there was no recovering it, at least not easily. But Merlin called Arthur his friend.
Arthur took a deep breath. The knowledge terrified him as much as it gave him hope. If Merlin still saw him as a friend, then maybe Arthur could fix things somehow. Maybe all wasn’t lost.
He just had to make sure he would stop screwing up.
Nodding to himself, he took a deep breath and looked up, then got himself into the saddle and looked around. Merlin was already on his horse as well, as were the others. Arthur turned towards the gates of the courtyard.
“Let’s go!” he called authoritatively. And with that, they headed out for yet another fruitless search.
The roles everyone played in a search party were not difficult to figure out. While on the move, the knights were the ones who ran the show, looking for leads and tracks, occasionally murmuring to the squires and teaching them. The squires followed along, shadowing the knights, but generally tried to not get in the way.
When their little group stopped for a break, it all flipped around. The knights became shadows, often chatting or lying down under the trees, while the squires took care of everything that needed to be done, from taking care of the horses to preparing a quick meal, often dividing the tasks between themselves for efficiency’s and time’s sake, to keep the breaks short so they would cover more ground and have better chances of picking up a trail despite how cold it had gone days ago.
The whole system was all well and good except for one, glaring problem: Arthur didn’t have a squire. At least not that Merlin knew of. Even if he did, he hadn’t taken him on these excursions even once, which was the entire reason why Merlin was here right now.
One would think that, being the privileged, entitled ass that Arthur sometimes was, he would simply expect one of the other squires to take care of his horse and do everything else the squires did, but that wasn’t the case. On the first break they took on their first day, even with Merlin there, Arthur had started to unload the saddlebags off Hengroen to give him a break and to tether him to a tree. Merlin had to almost bodily push him away from the horse to get Arthur to leave the work to him and get some bloody rest, and he had to keep fighting for it every break they took.
It was no wonder Arthur looked so worn out. He hardly gave himself any chance to relax.
It was ridiculous. He was a prince, for crying out loud, and Merlin knew well just how used to being tended to Arthur was. He was supposed to always expect things to be done for him, especially if Merlin was there to order around. He wasn’t supposed to try and do everything himself. But for some reason, here outside of the castle walls, he did.
Merlin couldn’t even begin to understand the reasoning behind it. Arthur had never had any qualms about giving him a list of chores every day. He’d never had qualms about making demands, dishing out orders or generally complaining the few times he ordered Merlin accompany him on a hunt, either. So why had he not asked for Merlin to accompany him now if he had no squire to tend him? Why did he insist on trying to do everything himself?
It made no sense. Not until Merlin noticed a few other things that he couldn’t have noticed before due to not having accompanied Arthur on the searches. Like the way Arthur tended to take first watch for the night and, if Merlin stayed awake to watch him, failed to wake whoever was to relieve him on time. Or the way he rarely finished his meals. Merlin could suspect Arthur of being a picky eater only so much before it became obvious there was something else going on. What that something was, he couldn’t be sure; he had a suspicion, but it wasn’t one that really made sense. Self-punishment of this sort wasn’t Arthur’s style, or at least it didn’t use to be.
Whatever the case, Merlin intended to put a stop to it. Starting today.
Filling a bowl with the stew he made – a recipe he altered the way his mother sometimes had, either when some ingredients were scarce or when they needed something easier on their stomachs for one reason or another – he marched over to Arthur and unceremoniously handed him the fool.
“Eat,” he ordered, earning a raised eyebrow from Arthur in response. He half-expected some snarky remark how he wasn’t the one giving orders here, but Arthur only shook his head and looked away.
“I’m not hungry.” His tone was low and Merlin wasn’t entirely sure if it was a lie or not. Either way, he didn’t really care.
“That would most likely be because your stomach has given up on asking you for sustenance,” he accused, and Arthur shrugged in response. Merlin’s expression softened. “Arthur,” he said quietly, crouching so as to not loom over Arthur like he was, though he wasn’t sure why he thought it mattered. Arthur jolted at the sound of his name and seemed to tense for some reason. After a moment, he sighed and held out his hand for the food, which Merlin was happy to hand over. “You better finish all of it,” he warned as he stood up again. Arthur snorted.
“Mother hen,” he said, but his tone was low and subdued, a far cry from how he usually delivered his jabs. It almost sounded like he wasn’t sure if an attempt at teasing would be well-received. Merlin couldn’t exactly blame him for it. He rolled his eyes and pretended he didn’t notice.
“You don’t get to complain about it. You’re the one who can’t dress himself in the morning,” she shot back with a little grin and Arthur startled again, blinking quickly. A moment of awkward silence ensued before he replied, his voice a little closer to normal.
“I resent that.”
“Yes, well, it’s the truth,” Merlin said cheekily and braced for the half-hearted swat that Arthur would usually respond with. It didn’t come though, and Arthur didn’t reply. Merlin’s grin faltered. If he hadn’t been worried about Arthur before, he certainly was now. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong.
How had he not seen it before Gwen pointed it out to him?
Shaking the thoughts off, he stood up and left Arthur to his meal. He had to serve the other knights and the squires before he took his own portion, and he was getting quite hungry himself. Nobody commented on the food when he handed it to them, but he’d have to be blind to miss the sceptical looks the bowls received, as if the nobles weren’t certain if they would get sated by it. Or if it would be good enough for their sensible palates. It was very satisfying, then, when they took their first bite and their eyes widened in surprise before they continued stuffing their faces. Merlin hid his grin behind his own food as he ate.
“Merlin!” Arthur called out a few moments later, and Merlin looked up from his food to see the prince waving at him with his bowl. “Seconds,” he ordered, and that was far closer to the expected Arthur-behaviour. Merlin rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation to hide his relief, set his half-empty bowl aside and stood up to serve the prince.
“You could have just stood up and served yourself, you know. The pot isn’t far,” Merlin joked as he took the bowl, already turning to walk to the fire and the pot hanging over it. When Arthur flinched in response, however, Merlin paused and stared at him, worry returning full force.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, his eyes lowering to stare at the ground. Merlin’s eyes widened and he had to make a conscious effort not to gape in response. Instead of answering, however, he turned on his heel and marched over to the pot to get what was left of the food into Arthur’s bowl. Then he picked up his own and returned to Arthur, plopping himself down by his side and handing the second serving to him. His worry only grew when Arthur muttered a low, “Thank you.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the apology or the thanks, but Arthur wasn’t one to dish out either so easily. He was more likely to show it than say it, as if he were incapable of letting the words pass his teeth. Coupled with everything else Merlin was seeing on this trip, it made all sorts of alarm bells ring in his mind. He frowned and took a slow bite of his food, watching Arthur eat through narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly after a moment of silence. Arthur glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugged.
“Nothing,” he said, and Merlin couldn’t help but snort.
“And you say I’m a terrible liar,” he said and Arthur scowled. He drew himself up to sit up straight, rather than slouched than he had been. His expression closed off. In an instant, Merlin knew he’d said the wrong thing. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he tried to push regardless, keeping his tone low and soft, glancing back discreetly to ensure the others weren’t paying them any attention. They weren’t. “I’m worried about you.”
“Well, you don’t need to be. I’m fine,” Arthur replied, and unlike Merlin, he wasn’t keeping his voice particularly low. His tone was strong and firm, as it was when he spoke to the knights while they were on the move. It was as good a sign as any that Merlin wouldn’t get anywhere if he continued pushing, so he let it go with an exasperated sigh, muttering under his breath about stubborn dollopheads who wouldn’t let their friends help them as he ate. Once he was finished, he glanced briefly at Arthur and, when he was sure it was fine to do so, collected his bowl and stood up to grab the others and do the dishes. By the time he was done, the squires were finishing up readying the horses and the knights were stretching and getting ready to jump back into their saddles and continue following whatever trail they were following. Merlin had a feeling they were just wandering aimlessly at this point, truth be told.
He came over to Hengoren and petted his neck before getting him ready to continue the search before doing the same to his own mare. When he was done, he waited for the usual call for them to get going again. It didn’t come. Frowning, he looked around and saw the knights and squires hovering awkwardly by their steeds, while Arthur was still sitting at the base of the tree as if unaware that everyone was waiting for him. Rolling his eyes, Merlin wandered back over to him, deciding that he might as well do it if nobody else was going to.
Whatever sarcastic remark he was going to make to grab Arthur’s attention, it didn’t make it past his teeth. The sarcasm fled the moment he got a better look at Arthur, who was curled up where he sat, his head leaning sideways at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Frowning, Merlin crouched by his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Arthur didn’t react, and a quick look at his face revealed why. His eyes were closed. He was asleep.
That in itself shouldn’t really be that surprising. Arthur had looked exhausted before they even left, and their days searching for any sort of trail and his refusal to eat couldn’t have helped any. Really, it was more surprising that he hadn’t drifted off on a break before.
What gave Merlin pause was the fact that Arthur was shivering. It was slight and barely visible, but there. Looking closely, he also noticed that Arthur was pale, which only made the dark shadows under his eyes all the more pronounced. Merlin frowned as his mind began to pull up whatever information it had, pages upon pages of medical texts flitting through his memory as he slowly connected the dots. The exhaustion. The shivers. The reticence to eat, yet eating two full portions of a stew specifically made to be easy on the stomach. On a whim, he put a hand to Arthur’s forehead, his other going to his own for comparison.
He swore under his breath.
Arthur was feverish.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a high fever, or at least Merlin didn’t think so. It wasn’t anything that warranted true worry or needed an actual physician (which Merlin was decidedly not). But it was definitely something that needed to be taken into consideration and nipped in the bud before it grew.
Another shudder ran down Arthur’s spine, this one more pronounced than before. Merlin took off his jacket and laid it over Arthur as a make-shift blanket before standing up and glancing back at the others. He singled out the knights with his eyes and glanced between the two of them, deciding to approach the one he vaguely remembered watching as he trained with Arthur. The one he thought had a bit of a closer relationship with the prince than most other knights did.
“Sir Leon,” he said as he approached, inclining his head respectfully, if only to have better chances at being listened to. The knight looked at him in askance, which Merlin took as a silent prompt to continue. “I wish to ask that we set up camp and stay here for the night.”
“Why?” the knight demanded, his eyes narrowed. Merlin folded his hands in front of himself in that way most servants did when addressing the nobles, but he didn’t bow his head. Instead, he looked up to meet the knight’s gaze.
“The prince is unwell,” he stated simply, for once biting his tongue before he could refer to Arthur by name to another noble. “I’m no physician, but I think it’s more than just exhaustion. He’s running a slight fever already. If it gets much worse, he’ll need to see Gaius, and we’re days away from Camelot. We might have to turn back either way, but right now, he needs rest.”
The knight gave Merlin a long, severe look before his gaze moved over to where Arthur sat, obliviously dead to the world. After a tense moment, Sir Leon nodded and Merlin relaxed. He offered the knight a quick bow in thanks before rushing back to Hengoren’s side to unpack his saddlebags just as Sir Leon called for the others to do the same because they were to set up camp for the rest of the day, and likely the night as well. A slight commotion erupted as the squires and remaining knight began to demand explanations and argue whether or not Sir Leon had the authority to call for them to stop for the day, but Merlin didn’t pay them any mind. He got Arthur’s bedroll out and set it up near the still-smouldering fire, then found and added a few fresh sticks to revive the flames. They’d have to go gather more firewood later, but it would do for now.
With everything prepared, Merlin walked back over to Arthur and crouched at his side again before taking hold of his shoulder and shaking him gently.
“Arthur. Arthur, wake up.” Arthur grumbled in response and tried to shift away, but another gentle shake had him blearily open his eyes. He blinked a few times, groaned and raised a hand to his face to rub at them.
“Time to go?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a reply before pushing himself up. The movement made Merlin’s jacket fall off his shoulders and Arthur paused to look down at it, blinking in visible confusion.
“No. Time for you to get some proper rest. We’re staying here. Come on, your bedroll is waiting for you,” Merlin said, but if he had expected Arthur to just docilely comply, he would have been disappointed. Because of course the prat had to fight him every step of the way.
“What? No, we’re not doing that,” Arthur protested as he jumped to his feet. He swayed and leaned against the tree in the next instant, holding a hand to his head again. “We can’t just take a break for no reason. We need to keep searching.”
“It’s not for no reason,” Merlin replied with a roll of his eyes. He grabbed Arthur by the arm and wasn’t entirely surprised when the other man leaned heavily against him. Now that he was awake and upright, Arthur looked even worse. “You need rest. You’re not well.”
“I’m fine.” The denial was feeble at best, and it wasn’t helped by the way Arthur allowed himself to be laid down on the bedroll, his eyes already closing, his body clearly giving in despite his verbal protests. Merlin contemplated getting him out of the hauberk for only a moment before discarding the idea, at least for now.
“You’re really not,” Merlin muttered, unable to keep the worry out of his tone. “Why are you so insistent anyway? It’s not like we’re going to find any trace of Morgana at this point.”
“’Course we won’t. Promised I wouldn’t find her…” Arthur replied, his words more of a mumble than anything. Merlin paused.
“What?” he couldn’t help but ask, but a glance at Arthur told him he wouldn’t be getting answers any time soon. Arthur had already drifted off to sleep.
Frowning to himself, Merlin stood up and wandered over to the tree Arthur had been resting under to grab his abandoned jacket. He shook it out and put it back on before returning to the horses to unsaddle them.
He supposed Arthur’s admission shouldn’t surprise him. He’d said he’d let Morgana go. Taking that into account, it only made sense that Arthur wouldn’t want to find her trail again. Not when he’d already decided she was better off with the druids.
But Uther insisted on searching for her and he insisted on Arthur leading those searches. And Arthur always tried to be the perfect son. To make Uther proud. To meet his expectations. If Uther gave him a task, Arthur always put all of himself into it. Always, without exception.
Would that extend to looking for Morgana, when he knew from the beginning that he’d never find her? When he didn’t want to find her?
Apparently so.
“I couldn’t betray her any more than I could betray Father.”
Arthur had said it himself: he was choosing the middle path. The one that he thought allowed him to do right by both his father and Morgana. And really, did Merlin have any right to be angry about it? It wasn’t like Arthur ever gave him any reason to believe he wouldn’t sell out a magic user if he found one out. Quite the contrary.
“Even if that’s what I asked of you, why tell me about it? I’m honour bound to inform my father. He will be obliged by law to sentence Muirden to death. He saved Morgana’s life. Even if it was by illegal means, why would you indirectly condemn him to death like this?”
That was what Arthur had said. That even if he thought the magic was used to heal, he would be obliged to inform Uther. He was honour bound.
He’d said the same thing about Morgana, hadn’t he? When Merlin had asked him why he’d told Uther about her, Arthur had said those exact words. That he was honour bound to tell. That he had no choice. That he would tell, no matter who the magic user was or what they used magic for.
“I’m not above the law, Merlin.”
Merlin sighed and leaned his forehead against the bark of the tree where he was collecting all of Arthur’s and his own saddlebags.
He was an idiot. He’d convinced himself that Arthur would do ‘the right thing’ if he ever found out about someone’s (Merlin’s) magic and he’d gotten mad when he’d been shown blatant proof to the contrary because he’d expected better. But he’d never stopped to consider what ‘the right thing’ might be from Arthur’s point of view. Not just in terms of his beliefs about magic, but in context of him being the Crown Prince.
As Crown Prince, Arthur couldn’t disregard the law. He wasn’t above it. On the contrary, he and his father were the ones the most expected to uphold it.
Once Arthur was King, then he’d have the power to change the laws that were unfair and wrong. But he wasn’t King yet, and until he was, he was as bound by those laws as any other Camelot citizen, if not more so. And really, most of Camelot’s citizen’s probably wouldn’t have chosen to take a risk and harbour a sorcerer anyway. Was it fair to Arthur, then, for Merlin to get so mad that he only did what he always said he would? Especially since he could have revealed Morgana’s magic even before she left. He could have arrested her.
But he hadn’t. He’d done his duty by Uther and told him of Morgana’s magic, but he hadn’t done so at her expanse. He’d ensured her safety as best he could. Was still ensuring it, really.
He’d been presented with two options, and he chose to take the third path. The one that allowed him to not really betray anyone. The one that would allow him to stay true to himself. The one that wouldn’t make anyone happy with him, especially not in the short term.
The one that would ultimately hurt him the most.
And Merlin had gotten mad at him over it and left him to deal with the repercussions on his own.
Some friend he was.
Scowling at himself, Merlin finished with their bags and the horses before returning to Arthur’s side. No, he hadn’t been a great friend these past several days. No, he hadn’t done his job as manservant or friend that well, and Arthur was currently paying the price for it.
That changed now. Merlin was done being mad over something he had ultimately no right to be angry about.
And even if he had, no reason in the world could warrant being mad enough to willingly and knowingly leave Arthur to suffer. Merlin liked to think he was better than that.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the sleeping prince. Unsurprisingly, Arthur didn’t answer.
“Arthur! Arthur, wake up!”
The words were hissed with urgency. Between that and the borderline violent way he was shaken, Arthur was awake in an instant and scrambled to his feet. Or he tried to, but the covers of his bed were more restrictive than usual and he only managed to entangle himself more.
The covers were flung off him in the next instant and Arthur couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden change in temperature. He didn’t complain, however, and took Merlin’s offered hand to stand, only then realising he was rising from the floor, rather than his bed. He blinked, looking around in confusion when he saw trees and nature, rather than his chambers.
Right. He was on another search for Morgana…
Before Arthur could ask what was going on, loud shouts cut through the calm of the forest, followed by the clanging of steel on steel. Arthur jolted and turned in their direction, but saw no immediate danger. Merlin tugged at his arm and Arthur stumbled before trying to wrench himself free. Why was Merlin trying to pull him away from the commotion? If there were bandits or other brigands attacking, Arthur needed to be there. He had to help his men.
“Arthur, we need to go! Come on!” Merlin hissed at him again, and again pulled at his arm. Arthur stood his ground, though, and wrenched his arm free, his other one already reaching for his sword. Except it wasn’t at his hip. He cursed mentally and looked around wildly until he spotted the blade by the bedroll he’d been sleeping in. It would have been in immediate reach if Arthur had had the presence of mind to grab it as he got up.
No matter. He took it now and was about to run towards where the shouts when Merlin grabbed him again, with more force this time.
“Arthur, no! You can’t! We need to go!”
“Merlin!” Unlike his servant, Arthur did not bother to keep his voice down. “What are you doing? Let go! I have to—”
“You have to leave,” Merlin insisted. “You can’t fight them! There are too many, even if you were at your best. Which you aren’t! You’re not well!”
“I can’t just leave my men behind!” Arthur protested, once against attempting to get free of Merlin’s grip. Since when was his servant so bloody strong? And why was the world spinning all of a sudden?
The ground rushed up to meet him. Then Merlin’s hold shifted and the ground’s approach stopped before Arthur was hauled back upright. He groaned and held a hand to his head. The world continued to spin.
Not good.
“You’re not leaving them behind. They are fighting to buy you time! Now come on before—” Merlin cut off as some of the yells came closer. An instant later, the foliage rustled as a pair of bandits burst into their camp. “—that happens,” Merlin finished in a resigned tone even as he let Arthur go. It was all the cue Arthur needed as he sprang forward to dispatch the threat. They caught themselves and came at him as well, but Arthur was faster. A quick parry and counter took care of the first bandit before Arthur whirled around to deal with the second. But the movement made his vision spin. His next swing went wild. The bandit blocked with ease, stepped closer and slammed all his weight into Arthur, who lost his balance and sprawled on the ground, losing his grip on his sword in the process.
An instant later, a blade sprung forth from the man’s abdomen. He grunted and looked down at it in incomprehension before it disappeared again, pulled back by whoever stabbed him. The man let out a pitiful whimper and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Behind him, shoulders heaving with gasps, was none other than Merlin, a bloodied sword in one hand, his other extended to Arthur.
Arthur grabbed his hand again and allowed himself to be pulled upright a second time (or was it the third?), though slower this time as the world still spun before him. He swayed with a groan, and only kept his balance because Merlin grabbed him by the shoulders. The lad cursed.
The commotion came closer suddenly, the leaves rustling. Arthur tensed, waiting for screams and shouts and for a blade to strike out at him, but nothing happened. Aside from some last clangs of metal against metal somewhere in the distance, all was quiet. Merlin’s hands were still on Arthur, but his hold had shifted and he came closer. Arthur wouldn’t admit it, but he appreciated the chance to lean some of his weight against his servant. Merlin’s grip tightened.
“I warn you,” the servant said in a hard tone, and it took Arthur a moment to realise it wasn’t him he was talking to. “Leave us be or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Arthur almost snorted at the nonsensical threat. Someone else – a lot of someones – outright laughed. When he blinked and his vision finally focused properly, Arthur realised they were surrounded by bandits now. Merlin had his back to him and was facing the biggest one of them, as though to protect Arthur.
“I have no intention of harming him. At least not yet,” the apparent leader said with a smirk as he came closer, motioning at Arthur as he spoke. Merlin’s grip tightened even more and he seemed to tense, as if bracing for something. “I was hunting for the Lady Morgana, but Prince Arthur is arguably an even better prize. And he’s much more valuable to me alive than dead. A simple servant, on the other hand…”
The man trailed off and Arthur’s heart leapt into his throat. Then someone else grabbed him from behind and pulled while Merlin was yanked forward by the leader of the bandits, his hold on Arthur slipping.
“Do—” ‘don’t you dare hurt him!’ Arthur wanted to yell, but he didn’t get a chance as a vicious cough broke out of his throat instead. It was so sudden and unexpected that it made him double over. There was a loud curse behind him and then he was shoved forward none too gently, landing on all fours on the ground.
“Arthur!” Merlin yelled, but when Arthur looked up, the servant was still held by the bandit leader. The man glared down at Arthur with a deep scowl before his eyes fell to the servant, hardly seeming to notice his futile attempts to break free.
“I suppose even a simple servant can have his uses,” the man sneered before shoving Merlin forward. He motioned with his head at the same time and Arthur was yanked backwards again in almost the same moment until he was kneeling, his hands pulled behind his back and securely tied. Merlin fell to his knees in front of him and gave him a long, worried look, but whatever he saw in Arthur face must have somehow placated him because, inexplicably, the worry melted into relief soon after. “Take them away. Let Uther’s dogs find this place or the knights’ bodies, and the ransom note with them.”
Arthur watched as Merlin glanced outside the tent their captors had put them in. Evidently, they didn’t think the servant was any threat to them, unlike Arthur, who still had his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound together. He wished he could say that they were wrong, but unfortunately, he knew Merlin being free wouldn’t help them much. He had already tried (and pitifully failed) to undo the knots on Arthur’s bindings. Even if he hadn’t, though, Arthur could admit that fighting their way out wasn’t really an option. He was feeling better, and his head had stopped spinning, finally, but there were too many enemies for him to handle alone.
Which was the entire reason why they weren’t going to attempt fighting their way out through all of the bandits and instead were going to attempt a plan Arthur wouldn’t have deigned to try in any other situation. It didn’t seem honourable. More importantly, it was cowardly, and he was no coward.
He was also not an idiot. But he was definitely going to make Merlin swear to never breathe a word of any of it to anyone once it was all over.
“He’s coming,” Merlin whispered as he stepped back from the tent flap and came to Arthur’s side, crouching down. Arthur gave him a long, measuring look.
“You know what to do?” he asked, though there was little reason for Merlin not to. And even if he didn’t, there wasn’t any more time to discuss or plan. It was time to act.
Merlin nodded and Arthur took a deep breath before forcing his body to relax and slouch in his restraints, leaning lightly towards Merlin for good measure. He let his head drop and closed his eyes. Then he began to breathe through his mouth as though he was panting.
“I trust you’re comfortable?” the leader of the bandits asked, though it was doubtful he expected a response. Merlin gave him one anyway.
“Does he look comfortable to you?” he snapped, and the groan Arthur allowed to slip past his lips then wasn’t even faked. Bloody idiot. He wasn’t supposed to antagonize a man who’d only kept him alive on a whim!
There was a moment of silence, during which Arthur supposed the bandit was appraising him. He forced himself not to fidget nor to open his eyes to make sure. They needed to capitalize on the bandits’ belief that Arthur was unwell. That he was sick enough that he wouldn’t be able to fight well, if not sick enough to not be a threat at all.
Arthur’s feelings on that matter were mixed, in all honesty. The part of him that was a proud knight of Camelot inwardly preened at the fact that his enemies considered him a threat even when they believed him to be partially incapacitated by sickness. The logical, strategical part of his mind, on the other hand, cursed them for it because not being considered a threat would have been advantageous.
There was a dismissive scoff.
“Better ensure he is then. We have a long journey ahead of us. Rest while you can,” the leader said, and Arthur felt Merlin’s hold on his shoulders tighten.
“Where are you taking us?” he demanded, but was unsurprisingly not given an answer.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Arthur heard the bandit leader say, though his voice sounded just a little quieter now. Like the man wasn’t facing them anymore. Like he was walking away. Damn it.
“If the journey is long, you may find His Highness not making it.” There was no fear or worry in Merlin’s voice as he said those words. He didn’t play the part of a terrified servant worried for his master. Instead, he made the words sound like a threat. It seemed to have the desired effect, as the bandit didn’t outright ignore him this time.
“That’s why you’re here,” he said in a low tone. “Should Prince Arthur not make it, it is your head that will roll.”
Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he glared at the man, trying to shift into as straight a position as he could with his hands and feet bound, but Merlin’s grip on him tightened and the servant pulled pressure on his shoulders to stop him. Arthur reigned himself in at the last moment and forced his tense muscles to relax, his body to sag again as though exhausted.
“Leave him out of it,” he growled anyway. “It’s me you want. He’s but a servant.”
“Which is why he’s lucky to still have his life. Whether he keeps it or not is up to him,” the bandit replied dismissively. He was already out of the tent and merely looking over at them over his shoulder. They were missing their chance. Possibly the only chance they would get. Arthur cursed inwardly and racked his brain for a way to get them on track. Merlin spoke up again before he could.
“And how do you expect me to help him? I’m no physician!” he snapped, glowering at the bandit as though he had no reason to fear for his life. Not for the first time since their capture, Arthur wondered if Merlin was that brave, or that incredibly stupid. His current belief was that it was probably a mix of both. “Even if I was, I don’t have anything here to treat his illness with! What do you want me to do, magic it out of him?”
Despite the question being rhetorical and likely sarcastic, Arthur couldn’t help but still and glance over at Merlin incredulously. Now really wasn’t the time to nit-pick about what his servant said or think about why he said it, but some small part of his brain whispered about all the oddities, the coincidences, all the things that would click into place if he just considered the idea that…
He shut the thought down. Now really wasn’t the time.
Besides, why would he even need to consider it? If that were the case, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. Probably.
“It’s not my problem how you keep him alive. But it is yours that you do,” the bandit sneered and Arthur knew that this was their chance. Merlin seemed to sense it as well, because he didn’t hesitate to seize it.
“I can’t! His fever keeps getting worse and I have nothing to give him to try and break it! If you want him to live through the night, at least let him bathe!” That was laying it on a bit thick, Arthur thought with another groan as he dropped his head. It was as much a pretence of not feeling well as it was a genuine reaction to Merlin’s words. ‘Live through the night’? Arthur could hardly pretend to be on death’s door if he wasn’t! There was no way the bandit would think anything other than that Merlin was being extremely dramatic. Damn. And they’d been so close…
“Bathe?” the bandit replied, sounding equal parts amused and incredulous. Arthur couldn’t blame him. He felt similarly, if for a very different reason. He resisted the urge to hold his breath in anticipation.
“If you want him to not get worse, he needs to keep clean. Don’t need to be a physician to know that,” Merlin said, his tone holding just a note of judgment and even cheekiness that made Arthur bite back another groan. The bandit didn’t appreciate the mocking, either.
“Watch your tone, boy. Don’t need your tongue to keep the prince alive,” he growled and Merlin, the brave idiot, only sat up straighter and glowered back. The two stared at each other for a long while before the bandit finally turned away and towards the rest of the camp. “Prince Arthur wishes to bathe!” he called out mockingly and Arthur heard a few snickers in response. “Who wants to help me guard him?”
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and opened his eyes when Merlin squeezed his shoulders. His servant gave him a brief look and a tight nod. Arthur nodded back before letting his head drop onto Merlin’s shoulder in an attempt to fake exhaustion he didn’t feel.
It didn’t take long for the bandits to organise themselves and soon enough, one of them approached to untie Arthur’s ankles so he could walk. Only two bandits went with them, which was even better than what Arthur had expected or hoped for. Now he just had to get his hands free somehow.
That was why a bath had been the excuse they picked. That and the fact that the nearest stream was a decent walk away, ensuring no one in camp would be able to immediately follow them once they heard the inevitable commotion.
As they walked towards the river, Arthur made sure to lean heavily on Merlin and to trip almost every chance he got in the hopes it would make the bandits lower their guard even more. His struggles were admittedly only partly faked, however. Keeping his balance with his hands still tied behind his back was turning out to be harder than it had any right to be.
They reached the river soon enough and the bandits didn’t waste any time to shove Arthur towards the water. He stumbled at the rough treatment, ignoring the way his skin burned at the contact, the invisible flames that had been licking at him since he first looked the bandit leader in the eyes briefly growing hotter before the heat receded. Merlin was quick to grab onto him as if to ensure he wouldn’t fall over and Arthur let out a breath as the pain faded to the dull kind of burn he sometimes felt in the summer when he’d been out in the sun for too long.
“His Highness may find the water a little icy,” the bandit leader sneered, and Arthur resisted the urge to scoff. The man was acting like he had a spoiled brat on his hands. Did he not know that Arthur was a knight like any other? Did he not know that despite being a prince, Arthur knew well how to rough it out in the woods and what it implied?
Apparently not.
“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Merlin shot back, his tone seething. Arthur blinked. He knew by now that Merlin was terrible at lying. Or acting. Especially if he had to improvise. That meant his anger right now had to be genuine.
Why would he be mad about some ruffians poking fun at Arthur, though?
“You better. Now get on with it,” the bandit leader commanded. Merlin scoffed.
“How do you expect me to undress him if his hands are tied behind his back? Or do you want him to bathe as is? I thought you wanted him to survive whatever long journey is ahead, not kill him even faster.”
Merlin really needed to stop antagonizing the people who held his life in their hands in this very moment. If they decided to run him through because he annoyed them, there was little Arthur could do about it. Didn’t Merlin realise that? Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot? He had to have some self-preservation. Right?
Then again, probably not, given this was the man who willingly and knowingly drank poison in Arthur’s stead once.
When Arthur glanced at the bandits again to gauge their reaction, he saw the bandit leader motion towards them with his head. Then the other man came forward and grasped Merlin by the arm before yanking him back. Merlin’s hold on Arthur slipped and he stumbled back, almost falling on his ass due to the momentum.
“Hey!” he protested as the bandit leader grabbed his arm to keep him in place.
“You stay right here,” he growled as the other bandit put a hand on Arthur’s neck and pushed him down none too gently. The move caught Arthur off guard enough that he went down without a fight, grunting when his knees hit the ground. The bandit kept one hand on his neck and undid Arthur’s belt with the other. Once the belt was off, he moved on to the ropes binding Arthur’s wrists, then manhandled him roughly to pull the hauberk off of him. Arthur had to bite back a startled cry as the chainmail came off, feeling oddly like it had snagged on something and pulled before the connection snapped. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was unpleasant and unexpected, so it startled him.
Once the chainmail was off, the bandit reached out to grab onto Arthur again, but he’d recovered his wits by then and struck as fast as he could. His fist met the man’s jaw and the bandit stumbled back. At the same time, Arthur heard the bandit leader swear and the sound of a sword leaving its sheath. He spun around, his eyes wide, but the bandit wasn’t armed. He’d let Merlin go and seemed to have jumped away from him, his eyes wide and angry. Merlin was already turning towards Arthur before throwing him the sword he’d recovered. Arthur caught it easily and faced the man who had been manhandling him a moment before, just in time to sidestep a punch. With his fist meeting air where he expected resistance, the bandit wavered and struggled to recover his balance. Arthur didn’t give him the chance. He slammed his shoulder into the man to further destabilise him, then slashed at his unprotected torso. The man yelped and fell back, blood spurting from the slash across his abdomen. Arthur turned away, knowing he wouldn’t be getting up again any time soon. If at all.
He moved towards the bandit leader then, slashing again, but the man managed to avoid the strike. Arthur would have kept on the offensive, knowing his opponent couldn’t dodge him forever, but he heard more shouts coming from the direction of the bandits’ camp. Arthur froze for a split second, then turned his head to meet Merlin’s eyes.
“Run!” the servant yelled unnecessarily as Arthur did just that. They took off through the forest, heedless of the noise they were making. Stealth didn’t matter when they could already hear pursuers coming after them.
A part of him wanted to stay and fight. Fleeing like this was cowardly. But Arthur was no fool. He might be the best knight Camelot had, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could take on twenty men all on his own. Especially not if he had to protect Merlin.
They ran in the general direction Arthur was sure they had come from when the bandits had first led them away from their own camp. He hoped to run into Sir Leon or Sir Ector, if either one of them were still alive. He hoped they and their squires were, no matter how unlikely it was. But in case they weren’t, Arthur needed to think of some way to lose the bandits, because if it was doubtful someone from their little search party was still alive, then finding any other help was even more so. And Merlin and Arthur could hardly run forever.
As if to prove himself right, Arthur uncharacteristically stumbled over some root or other and went down with a grunt. He was quick to push himself up to all fours, but that was as far as he went before a sudden, vicious cough burst from his throat.
“Arthur!” Merlin was at his side in an instant, grabbing onto his shoulder and pulling him up. Arthur let him and tried to take a deep breath once he stopped coughing, intent on getting his breath back before they took off again. Instead, he only started to cough again, the fit almost making him bent double with how vicious it was. His legs suddenly felt weak, the energy he thought he had disappearing like it had never been there. Or like the short run had already burned through all of it. “Arthur, come on!” Merlin tried to pull him forward, and Arthur followed only because he didn’t have the strength to resist. But he knew with a sudden clarity that they wouldn’t get away. Or at least, he wouldn’t.
“No, no!” he gasped out, trying to push Merlin away, but the servant refused to let go. “We won’t outrun them. You have to—” another coughing fit cut him off and if it wasn’t for Merlin’s hands on him, Arthur’s legs might have given out right then and there.
“Right. Come on, this way,” Merlin urged, dragging Arthur deeper into the underbrush before unceremoniously pushing him down. Arthur half-fell half-sat as directed, finding himself tucked between a large tree and a rock, out of sight. “Stay here until you recover. When you feel better, run.” Merlin’s words were quick and urgent. He let Arthur go and stepped away. Arthur blinked, uncomprehending. Why should he run? He would be found soon enough. Merlin was the one who should be escaping.
He didn’t get the chance to ask as Merlin took off as expected. Except he didn’t run in the direction they’d been going before. He didn’t run away from the cries coming closer. Instead, he ran towards them, back the way he and Arthur had just come.
“Merlin, no!” Arthur gasped out and tried to grab onto him, but the lad was too fast and Arthur’s hand grasped only air. His attempt at getting up and going after the stupid, loyal fool was futile as well as the world spun before his eyes again and another cough fought its way out. Arthur sagged against the rock behind him just as he heard the vague yells of the bandits.
“This way!”
“After him!”
“Don’t let them get away!”
But the screams soon grew fainter and before long, Arthur heard nothing at all.
It felt like forever before he felt like he could get up without falling over, though it was probably only a few moments. Still, it was long enough that the forest was entirely quiet now. The bandits were gone.
And so was Merlin.
Arthur rose to his feet slowly to make sure his vision wouldn’t spin again. Once he was upright, he looked around, trying to regain his bearings and orientation. Which way had Merlin gone? Which way did Arthur have to go to follow and get him back?
Before he could fully figure that out, the rustle of leaves behind him made him spin around, his stolen sword already up in a reflexive parry. The clang of steel against steel rang out as another sword met his, but the strength behind the blow waned almost immediately just as Arthur’s eyes recognised the man in front of him.
It was Sir Leon.
It wasn’t unusual for people – councilmen and servants alike – to jump out of his way when Uther stormed down the corridors. Uther was well aware that he was intimidating on a good day, and even more so since Morgana had been taken from him. He had long since learned to accept it. Instead, he saw it as an asset when he had to make haste somewhere and didn’t want to be distracted by anyone. Like right now.
He reached the room to Arthur’s chambers unperturbed and threw them open without knocking. A quick glance helped him locate Arthur and Gaius standing by the bed, and he marched over to them. They noticed him at the same time. Gaius folded his hands in front of himself and took a step away from where he’d been crowding into Arthur’s space. Arthur himself stared like a deer at crossbow point before he caught himself, straightened and held his hands behind his back. The only way the posture differed from usual was how he wouldn’t meet Uther’s eyes.
“Father,” he greeted quietly, his voice rough. Uther narrowed his eyes, stopping at less than arm’s length from him, and then grasped Arthur by the shoulders. He let his eyes move quickly up and down in assessment.
“You’re unharmed?” he asked, just to be sure, willing Arthur to look up and meet his eyes. Arthur did, his head snapping up quickly.
“Huh? I…” He blinked owlishly, as though he didn’t comprehend the question. Uther pursed his lips. Arthur was paler than normal, and while he didn’t look injured, he also didn’t look well. “Yes. I’m all right,” he answered, dropping his gaze to the ground again. Uther relaxed marginally.
“It’s a relief to see you safe,” Uther admitted, lowering his hands and gripping Arthur’s arms instead, not quite ready to let go. “I couldn’t bear the thought of someone harming you.”
“I know,” Arthur said, but he didn’t really sound like he believed it. Uther couldn’t blame him. Not after how he’d treated him this past moon cycle. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” Those words sounded rehearsed, too. Like Arthur was just saying them because he was supposed to say them, not because he believed they needed to be said.
“You have nothing to apologise for.” Much like Arthur, Uther stuck to the script, if only because he hardly knew what else to say or do. A part of him wished Arthur were angry at him. That he would lash out and yell about how Uther had no right to act like he cared. It would have been easier than this quiet acceptance, as if Arthur had resigned himself to Uther seemingly hating him.
“If I may, Your Majesty?” Gaius cut in from where he stood a few feet away. Uther reluctantly let Arthur go and turned his attention to the physician, nodding at him to continue. “His Highness may indeed be largely unharmed, but he is not well. I insist on bed rest for at least the next day or two.”
“Of course,” Uther agreed without hesitation.
“I don’t need it. I’m fine,” Arthur said at the same time. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him.
“You are exhausted and feverish,” Gaius stated bluntly, his tone hard. “You need rest, or you will only get more ill.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur insisted with a shake of his head. Uther frowned. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“That’s not what Sir Leon’s report indicated,” Uther pointed out, and didn’t fail to notice how Arthur twitched lightly, like he’d tried and failed to fully suppress a flinch. “How did you get captured, Arthur?”
“I… they caught us off guard. And there were too many to fight off by myself,” he said, lowering his gaze to the floor again. Uther’s stomach twisted, but he pressed on.
“You were alone?”
“Merlin was with me.” Merlin. Arthur’s servant. Why had he been there? It wasn’t any place for a servant to be.
“And the rest of the men had scattered around to fulfil various tasks necessary to set up camp,” Uther finished for him instead of questioning the servant’s presence. “Which you set up early because you weren’t well and couldn’t continue.” Arthur lowered his head and didn’t reply, visibly unwilling to outright lie. Uther sighed. “You are to listen to Gaius on this. If he says you need to rest, then that is what you’ll do,” he commanded. Although he kept his voice soft, Arthur still seemed to shrink where he stood.
“Yes, Father.”
Gaius took that as an incentive to usher Arthur to bed, and while Arthur obeyed, it was with visible reluctance. Uther wondered briefly why his son seemed so unwilling to take care of himself, before realising it was probably his own fault. After all, he hadn’t exactly acted like Arthur had the right to rest and recover until he’d found Morgana.
He’d known he’d failed his son again, but he was only now realising just how badly.
“The bandits still have Merlin,” Arthur said after a moment of silence, his voice quiet. His hands fisted in the sheets of his bed. “I believe they were Mercian. Their weapons were of Mercian make and we’ve received reports of Hengist crossing the border…”
“Hengist?” Uther asked with a scowl, sitting down on the edge of Arthur’s bed so as to not loom over him. Arthur was subdued enough already without being intimidated further. “If Hengist is holding him, it would take a small army to rescue your servant.” Arthur wouldn’t ask him to send an army, Uther knew, because Arthur was aware how much of a waste of resources it would be to send an army for one servant. But Uther also knew his son enough to guess why he was bringing it up. And, considering how he’d been acting before, why he’d been so insistent that he was fine.
Arthur had gone on a near-suicidal quest to save this servant’s life before, after all.
“I can’t abandon him,” Arthur said, raising his head. He glanced at Gaius briefly before looking to Uther, his expression calm, but his eyes frantic. “He gave himself up so I could escape. He led the bandits away from where I was hiding. I owe him my life. Again.”
Uther didn’t fail to notice how Arthur’s insistence was focused on himself. He couldn’t abandon the servant. Not ‘you’ or ‘we’ as he would have said if he expected anyone (particularly Uther) to be in his corner. Arthur wasn’t asking for help.
He was asking to be allowed to go on a suicide rescue mission.
This really was the poisoned chalice debacle all over again. The only difference was that Arthur was far less demanding and openly confrontational than he had been back then.
“He did so willingly, and he shall be honoured for it,” was all Uther could say in response. All he could offer, really.
“I don’t want him honoured. I want him rescued.” For the first time since Uther came in, Arthur voice was firm. Terse, even. His eyes, on the other hand, shone with a frantic worry that bordered on outright fear. Uther sighed.
“A servant is of no value to these bandits. I fear he may be dead already.” It had been a long time since he last spoke to Arthur like this. So gently and soothingly, as though addressing a child. Arthur wasn’t a child anymore. He hadn’t been for a long time. And yet, right in this moment, Uther couldn’t bear to be as strict with him as he usually was.
“He isn’t. He can’t be,” Arthur denied with a shake of his head. His knuckles had turned white where he was clenching the sheets. It wasn’t Uther who answered Arthur, however. It was Gaius who reached out to him to lay a hand on his shoulder as he slowly lowered himself into a chair at Arthur’s bedside.
“Merlin is resourceful, Sire. Far more than most give him credit for. I’m sure he’ll find a way to survive, at the very least,” he assured gently. Arthur nodded in response, but Uther doubted he was entirely convinced.
“You believe there is a chance he is still alive?” Uther asked Gaius, narrowing his eyes in thought. Gaius sat up a little straighter in his chair and nodded slowly.
“Yes, Sire. Unreasonable as it may be, I do believe so.”
“Then I have to try and—” Arthur moved as though to get out of bed again, only to cut off as he started to cough. Gaius gave him a stern look.
“What you have to do, My Lord, is rest. At least a full day or two. You are in no condition to do anything strenuous, let alone taking on a whole army by yourself.”
“But Merlin…”
“Can take care of himself, I assure you.”
Arthur was silent for a beat before asking, “Are you not worried for him at all?”
“Of course I am,” Gaius scoffed. “But as I just told you, the boy is resourceful. Prone as he is to get himself in trouble, he somehow always manages to get himself out of it as well. I choose to believe now will be no different.”
“You really think he can return to Camelot by himself?” Arthur asked dubiously, and Gaius pursed his lips.
“I believe he can keep himself alive,” the physician answered neutrally. Arthur didn’t reply, but his opinion that that wasn’t good enough was plain to see on his face. Uther narrowed his eyes.
“Leave us, Gaius,” he ordered after a moment of silence. Gaius bowed his head and left without a word, closing the door softly behind him.
Once they were alone, Uther looked at Arthur again. His son was clenching the sheets tightly and his whole posture was tense. Uther waited a few more moments, but when silence continued to reign, he finally spoke up.
“Why are you so adamant on risking yourself for one servant?” he asked, because he truly couldn’t understand.
“Because I owe it to him,” Arthur replied, quiet but without hesitation. “He saved my life.”
“As he should. He merely did his duty.” The dismissal came naturally, although it wasn’t as though Uther didn’t appreciate the sacrifice. It brought Arthur back home, safe and sound, after all. “I have told you many a time that people will die for you and you need to accept it. That is not something you can change, Arthur. You are Crown Prince. One day, you will be King. Your life is and always will be more important than that of a lowly servant.” Uther paused, watching Arthur and waiting for a rebuttal. They’d had this conversation many times, after all, and Arthur had never wanted to hear the harsh truth. Uther hoped he had at least started to understand and accept it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t expect some sort of pushback.
None came, however. Arthur remained mum and kept his head lowered. Uther bit back a sigh.
“He is more than a lowly servant, however, isn’t he?” he stated, rather than asked. Arthur twitched in response and tensed further. Uther pretended not to notice. “Why was he with you? An expedition such as this is no place for a servant to be.”
Arthur pursed his lips, a strained expression crossing his face before it smoothed over again.
“I…” he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. Uther had the distinct feeling his son was fighting with himself not to shrink away or to try and make himself smaller, and it hurt his heart. He had done that. “He insisted on coming,” Arthur finally replied in a low tone, his gaze still fixed resolutely on his lap. “He apparently thought I needed looking after.”
If it had been anyone else, the words would have been said with derision. Actually, Uther thought even Arthur would have said them with derision. Rather than angry and slighted, however, Arthur sounded ashamed.
“Hmm. He does that a lot, I’ve noticed,” he said instead of questioning Arthur on his tone. “Going above and beyond what is expected of a mere servant. He shows you loyalty that goes far beyond the line of duty.”
“I know,” Arthur replied, and this time, his shoulders dropped and he bowed forward just a little. He didn’t seem happy about the observation, but maybe that was due to the current circumstances.
“Loyalty like that is hard to come by,” Uther continued, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s behaviour made his heart heavy. He wished he could undo the damage he’d caused, but that wasn’t possible. Nor could he apologise, for no apology in the world could possibly convey how sorry he was or ever make up for how he’d acted. Neither could he make amends as King. But as Father… he could, at the very least, try. “And I suppose a good King would know not only to not take it for granted, but to reciprocate when needed.”
Arthur stilled where he sat. Uther wasn’t even sure he was breathing. When he didn’t reply, Uther continued, “I believe there is a chance your servant may still be alive.”
“Father?” Arthur finally looked up again, and he was staring at Uther with wide eyes as though he didn’t recognize him. Uther couldn’t blame him. But he had promised himself before that he would be a better father to Arthur, not just his King, and it was high time he acted on it; that he set the Crown aside, if only for a little while, to be the father Arthur needed.
“Hengist’s plan had been to take a hostage and demand ransom,” he explained, turning away from Arthur to stare out the window instead. “A plan he followed through if the note Sir Leon found is any indication. He may have heard of Morgana’s disappearance and either hoped to find her before we did, or been willing to pretend he had her even if he didn’t. But then his men had stumbled upon you.”
“Hengist doesn’t have me, though,” Arthur pointed out slowly. “I escaped.”
“And yet Hengist has made no attempt to undo the damage that would be caused purely by me knowing he’d attempted to kidnap you. His men did not attempt to retrieve the note before it was found, nor did they attempt any other contact to smooth things over, however unlikely it would be that they’d manage.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Arthur replied with a frown. “Shouldn’t he want to ensure Camelot wouldn’t retaliate against him? He can hardly expect support from Mercia and Bayard after a stunt like that.”
“Indeed.” Uther nodded. “Which means he’s either that certain Camelot will not march against him despite his transgression,” he said, pausing for a moment before finishing, “or he still believes he can get his ransom.”
“How could he believe that? He doesn’t have me. He can hardly believe he’d get anything from you for Merlin.”
“Not unless he believes he actually does have you as his hostage.”
“How? Merlin looks nothing like me.” Arthur tugged at a loose thread in his quilt briefly, then caught himself and clenched his hand into a fist.
“But Hengist has never met you, nor is he known for his leniency when disappointed. If your servant didn’t decide to impersonate you to save his own skin, chances are the scoundrels who captured you forced him into it to spare themselves Hengist’s ire.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment, but he looked a little more relaxed when Uther looked back at him. He’d released the sheets from the death grip he’d had on them, at the very least.
“But that won’t last. You won’t respond to the demands for ransom, and eventually he’ll know something is up,” he said finally. “Even if it’s as you say… all it does is buy Merlin a few days. Nothing more.”
“It will be more if Hengist receives some form of reply,” Uther countered, and couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction when Arthur startled. His son had been so certain he wouldn’t respond to Hengist at all, and truth be told, Uther couldn’t blame him. Despite his own desire to help Arthur and to make up for how he’d treated him, a part of him couldn’t believe he was suggesting this, either. “The council would never stand for it, of course, but the council need not know.”
Arthur remained silent once again. This time, he was openly gaping.
“Father?” he asked, his voice oddly brittle.
“You shall have your chance to help your servant once Gaius deems you better,” he declared, and Arthur’s eyes widened. He blinked owlishly, but didn’t respond. Uther gave him a stern look. “But only once Gaius deems you better. No earlier. And you will not take any unnecessary risks.”
“You… you’ll let me do that?” If Uther were a different man, the incredulity in Arthur’s tone might have offended him. “Why? I mean… he’s… you never…” Arthur trailed off, as though unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
It wasn’t that Uther approved. He didn’t, and that was unlikely to change. That wasn’t what mattered here, though. Not this time; which didn’t mean he would make a habit of allowing Arthur to put himself on the line for a mere servant. But this once, he had more than enough reasons to make an exception.
“I am well aware,” he replied to Arthur’s unfinished thought – though which one he was responding to was anybody’s guess – waving a dismissive hand as if to physically remove the words from the space between them. “I am also aware that you have very strong feelings on this matter and that you will go no matter what I tell you to do. You have done so before. If I can at least assure you will take care of yourself before you do, then I shall do so.”
“I… But… It never…” Arthur continued to stammer, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly. Uther sighed and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder again. Arthur stilled at the touch, but he didn’t push Uther off. It was more than Uther deserved, and he knew it.
“Arthur,” he said softly, but firmly, “you need to understand that as your King, I will always tell you that you need to get used to the idea of people sacrificing themselves for you. But as your father, I hate to see you suffer. You aren’t just my heir. You’re not just the Crown Prince. You are my son, and I cannot bear to hurt you any more than I already have, even if the Crown demands it.” Arthur jolted at those words and blinked again. When he didn’t answer, Uther continued, “I may not approve of your desire to save a servant, but I know you think differently. I can see it is important to you. And while that can never be reason enough for a King to support you, it is more than reason enough for your father to do so. So this time, I shall not be your King, but your father. But you have to give me your word that you will not go without Gaius’s leave, you will not go alone, and you will not take any unnecessary risks. I shall let you go with my blessing, but I demand that you return safe and sound. Is that clear?”
Arthur didn’t answer verbally. He only nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright and full. He lowered his head again and mumbled something too low for Uther to hear clearly, but he thought it might have been a ‘thank you’. It made him bite back a sigh.
He had failed Arthur terribly. And yet, Arthur didn’t hate him. Didn’t blame him, even though he should.
Arthur seemed to be more than willing to forgive him, even.
Uther knew better than to take that for granted.