Chapter Text
Arthur was unbearably hot.
There had been no significant rainfall in Camelot for over a fortnight, and the August sun blazed down from a merciless blue sky. Farmers' hands were as dry and cracked as the fields they tended, and all manner of folk from the lower town were suffering from sun-induced ailments. Even Arthur's knights – those paragons of rude health and manly virtue – had succumbed to the general feeling of listlessness that had beset the kingdom, and Arthur understood. It was too hot to even wear mail, let alone train in it; better a dunk in the river or a spot of archery practice in the shade.
But Arthur was Uther's son, and as Uther was apparently made of colder, sterner stuff, so must his son be, which was why Arthur found himself riding out in full armor on what his father and Gaius had deemed a very important mission.
And just what was this very important mission? An urgent act of diplomacy to prevent a wider war? The slaying of a predatory beast come to feast on the weary, over-baked citizens of Camelot? The arrest of some foul sorcerer or fair sorceress who was withholding rain?
No, no, and again, no. Arthur had been roused early from sweat-damp sheets and a pleasant jumble of dreams by one of his father's servants. After a paltry breakfast, he'd been sheathed in layer upon maddening layer of fabric and metal and summoned to the council chamber. His father, with Gaius and an annoyingly perky Merlin in attendance, had then ordered Arthur to ride out on this blistering day for the noble cause of assisting Merlin in the collection of some weeds. Assisting Merlin. With weeds.
Granted, Gaius claimed that these particular weeds were required for effective treatment of the overheated populace. Granted, too, that when Gaius had said, "assist Merlin," Arthur had assumed that what he really meant was, "keep Merlin from harm, or at least keep him from doing something monumentally stupid." As he had done in Ealdor and at the end of that wretched maze, as well as any number of times within Camelot and its surrounding forests and, really, one would think that he were the one working for Merlin, not the other way round.
But still. Arthur could think of a thousand and one more important, more sensibly-dressed (or rather, undressed) things he could be doing on a hot day than acting bodyguard to his idiot manservant's weed-collecting expedition. Especially as he was forced to rely on said idiot manservant's sense of direction.
"It should be, ah, just a bit farther," Merlin called back over his shoulder. "After we pass that big table rock, I mean." He flashed Arthur a nervous smile.
Arthur wanted to ask Merlin whether by "a bit" he meant one mile or five, and hadn’t they already passed that big table rock once before, but he merely sighed and nodded his acknowledgment. It was too hot to argue, even with Merlin. And that was saying something, as arguing with Merlin was one of Arthur's few private pleasures.
Their good-humored sparring reminded him of how he and Morgana had been as children, except with Merlin there was not that ultimate boundary of the sexes – no nurse clucking her tongue and reminding him that he must never lay disrespectful hands on a lady, even one as high-spirited as Morgana.
With Merlin, there was no need for Arthur to rein in his impulses to jostle or prod, to grab at whatever appendage was nearest and give it a twist or a rub with his knuckles. He could shove his feet in Merlin's face, pinch his ears, muss his hair and throw things at his backside and Merlin, well, Merlin seemed to accept that this was Arthur's way of showing trust and affection. Although lately…
Arthur mopped his brow, frowning. Lately his nighttime urges had begun to infect his waking thoughts, and there were times when his roughhousing with Merlin brought him perilously close to full arousal. Merlin never seemed to notice; if he did, he seemed to find nothing odd in it, which made it easier for Arthur to ignore his self-doubts on the matter. His father, however…
Arthur was uncomfortable with the way his father watched them at times. As Arthur's crowning ceremony had approached, his father had taken to ambushing him in the corridors or after training for awkward chats, and in one of these he'd expressly warned Arthur off being over-familiar with his manservant.
Arthur had been bewildered at the time, as just that afternoon he'd thoroughly bested the team of Merlin and Sir Leon at the quarterstaff with one arm tied behind his back, and he'd thought he'd read approval (or at least amusement) on his father's face.
Now, Arthur wondered if his father had sensed something untoward in the encounter. Had Arthur sat on Merlin a little too long after sweeping his feet out from under him? Was there something unseemly in the way he'd helped him up afterward? Was it not proper to have given him a friendly swat on the backside and showed him how to adjust his stance, so he wouldn't be so easily upended in future?
But then again, Uther had also expressed his disapproval of Arthur joining in on the knights' unofficial grappling contests, bathing parties, and bonfire revels. So perhaps it was just his father's general distaste for crowned royalty engaging in informality of any kind, and nothing to do with Merlin.
Uther had told Arthur more than once in recent months that he needed to start acting more like the knights' leader and less like their friend, going on at length about birthright and dignity. Only the other week he'd warned him against hanging around the guardhouse, "like an overeager pup," unless it was for inspection purposes. "You want the men's respect, Arthur, not their love."
And Arthur had of course nodded, had said, "Yes, Father," while privately wondering why he couldn’t have both, and if he could even stand being king if it meant always keeping himself apart – aloof and untouched.
Aloofness had its uses, but it was lonely and ultimately quite boring. And Arthur liked being touched. He envied the knights in their quarters and the hounds in their kennels, sleeping all jostled up against one another. He'd secretly relished sleeping on the floor of Hunith's cottage in Ealdor, Merlin a solid, reassuring presence all down his side.
Arthur sighed and patted his mount’s neck. Was that it? Was he so desperate for any type of contact or affection that he'd focused all his feelings, both noble and base, on the nearest warm body – namely, his manservant? More importantly, given that his manservant wasn't just any manservant, but Merlin, was it really all that unnatural? Merlin caused virulent outbreaks of fond smiling and reciprocal do-gooding nearly everywhere he went, and, although he got so many of the day-to-day things wrong, he always got the important things just right.
Arthur studied what he could see of Merlin. From this angle he was a thatch of dark hair, a roll of crimson fabric, and a clinging, faded blue tunic – all framed by an ungainly arrangement of limbs, stirrups and reins. Arthur smiled. Merlin still had a terrible seat. He was awkwardly put together – hardly knight material – but there was something appealing about him nonetheless, and he was the closest thing Arthur had these days to a real friend. And wouldn’t it be so much more pleasant (not to mention convenient) to engage in bed sport with an agreeable friend than with the most well-formed of strangers?
After all, as Arthur knew from personal experience, well-formed strangers didn’t always have the best intentions.
Still, Arthur suspected that he was in the minority. He'd witnessed many men risk their lives and reputations for the merest glimpse of a fair face or shapely hand, and while plenty of nobles bedded their servants, it was not done out of friendship. Such encounters were hardly equitable. Which meant that Arthur should probably take his father's advice and distance himself, or at least stop taking advantage of Merlin's friendly nature, his wide-openness to Arthur's teasing and touches. That would be the crown princely thing to do.
Except Arthur couldn’t stand the thought of being formal with Merlin, especially when it was just the two of them out and about, like today. It gave him a visceral chill, even as the sun did its level best to roast him whole.
Arthur sighed again and nudged his horse up towards Merlin's.
After they passed the table rock (this time on the left, Arthur noted with satisfaction), the track wound down round the side of the hill, heading for a thick screen of grasses and shrubs. Just beyond, Arthur could make out a canopy of tall trees.
"Are we heading for water?"
Merlin looked back, shading his eyes with one hand. "Lake," he said, nodding.
"Thank God," Arthur murmured. He had visions of diving in naked, of cool mud between his toes.
As if summoned by Arthur's thoughts, a scrap of breeze suddenly appeared from the direction of the lake, teasing his burning brow with the promise of relief. And with it came a sound: a faint screeching, bellowing sound.
Arthur sat up straighter in his saddle. Was it a hawk? A stag? But then, just as suddenly, the breeze and the sound were gone. The rump of Merlin's horse disappeared into the stand of tall grass and Arthur grimaced as he felt new beads of sweat blooming on his forehead. Probably just his heat-addled imagination. He took a deep breath and urged his horse after Merlin's. He couldn’t wait to reach that lake.
The air in the grass was, if possible, even hotter than it had been out in the open fields. It was damp, cloying, and full of pollen and bits of chaff that tickled Arthur's nostrils and irritated what little of his skin was exposed, so that where before he had merely sweated, now he sweated and sneezed and itched. Forthcoming swim or no, it was all becoming too much to bear.
True, the last time he'd gone on a quest for some mysterious plant he'd had to deal with a cockatrice, a devious enchantress and a horde of overlarge spiders, but then Merlin's very life had been at stake. At present, Arthur could not see why the gathering of a few weeds would necessitate an armed guard, let alone the crown prince. Even the most depraved bandits were more likely to be napping in the shade than out marauding in this heat. Besides, at this point he would almost rather face those spiders again in the Caves of Balor. There in the nice, cool caves with the lovely bluish-white ball of light that he knew would not let him come to any harm.
"Arthur!"
Merlin's panicked cry came mere seconds before the screech-bellow sounded again, louder this time. Arthur's brain registered, as any good huntsman's would, that this meant that whatever was making the sound was closer, much closer. Shaking his head clear, he spurred his horse onward and reached for his sword.
He burst forth from the tall grass to find himself beside the lake. He just had time to take in a few details (that its banks were dotted with wildflowers, for example, and that here and there clusters of large flat stones broke the water's surface, practically begging a man to strip off, swim out to them and spend an idle afternoon splashing about and sunbathing) before Merlin's flailing arms directed his attention to the thing that was emerging from the lake.
It was the color of an old bruise. And scaly. It had a tangled, weedy black mane that spread out across the water and a long muzzle ending in nostrils ablaze with an eerie blue flame. It churned its way towards them with powerful forelegs, screech-bellowing and rolling its wild, bulging eyes. And then, with a lunge, it was no longer in the lake, but out of it, and it was immense.
Arthur drew his sword and looked at Merlin in disbelief. He opened his mouth to ask Merlin what in the blazes the creature was, and couldn’t Merlin have warned him, and for God's sake to keep back and find some cover as, whatever it was, it didn’t seem best pleased at their presence. But before he could speak Merlin shouted, "Don’t kill her, just keep her busy, yeah? I'll be as quick as I can," jumped off his startled mount and plunged into the lake. Which Arthur thought most unhelpful.
"Don’t ki – keep her what?" he roared, seriously contemplating riding straight into the lake after Merlin and spearing him like the slippery eel that he was. But then the creature reared up on her hindquarters and roared back. Her breath stank of night soil and rotten fish. Her spittle was viscous and black, and Arthur noted that, where it fell, the wildflowers and tender greens began to wither and smoke. Merlin's horse gave a distressed whinny and took off at a trot round the edge of the lake.
"Oh," came Merlin's voice from somewhere out in the water, "and don’t let her lick you!"
"I'd just about worked that one out for myself, thanks," Arthur shouted, furiously jamming his helmet onto his head and reaching down for his shield. He had a devil of a time unfastening it, what with his own horse snorting and vibrating with a distinctively uncharacteristic case of the jitters. If Arthur let it, he felt sure it would bolt after Merlin's mount, which had gained the far side of the lake and was doing its equine best to conceal itself amidst some shrubbery. But then Arthur couldn’t really blame the poor beasts; if horses had nightmares, then this creature could well have been in them. She was like an abomination of a horse, really, slavering and stinking and slimy.
And squinting at him?
As soon as Arthur freed his shield from his saddle, the creature stilled, tilting her massive head to one side. The flames in her nostrils died down to a mere flicker and thick green lids slid partway across her eyes. This made her appear more reptilian than equine (and rather sleepy, but Arthur was not fooled; he thought it far more likely that the creature was sizing him up, deciding which bits of him and his horse to have for a light luncheon and which bits to save for her dinner). When Arthur's horse took a sudden jog sideways, the creature's head followed their movement. She made a sort of wet whickering sound deep in her throat and took a step forward.
Arthur clamped his knees firmly to his horse and whispered a word of encouragement in its ear. He then raised sword and shield into defensive position, silently cursing Merlin for pitching up in Camelot, of all towns, with all manner of strange, wonderful and terrifying adventures at his back. Even Arthur, who was not naturally given to finding conspiracy round every corner the way his father did, had not failed to notice that life in Camelot had become rather more exciting since Merlin's arrival.
"Huwaagh!" Arthur cried, pressing forward. He felt a bit silly, but the situation demanded a battle cry, and without his fellow knights to rally or an earthly opponent to warn, neither, "For Camelot!" nor, "Ready!" would do. "Raah!" he added for good measure, and whirled his sword round once to show he meant business.
The creature waggled her head, never taking her eyes off Arthur, and made the whickering sound again. Then she huffed a great fiery breath out through her nostrils, turned around thrice where she stood, and sank down on her forelegs, blinking up at Arthur and making little grunting noises. Arthur found this more unnerving than the screech-bellowing and corrosive saliva.
"Merlin!" he called, scanning the lake for sight of him. "Merlin, what is she doing?"
A dark, wet head popped up near one of the large rocks. "You're doing great, Arthur," he cried, adding an exaggerated thumbs-up gesture. "Almost finished here."
"But what's she doing, Merlin? What does she want? How do I – ?"
"Just keep moving about. And try to stay in the sunlight!"
And with that Merlin disappeared beneath the surface of the lake, leaving Arthur no more enlightened, and even more frustrated, than before. With a snort of disgust he straightened in his saddle and looked down at the ghoulish beast, who was still staring at him with half-lidded eyes. He cautiously urged his horse a few paces to the right, then to the left. She followed his every move with her gaze. He wheeled in a circle and brandished his sword high above his head. The creature grunted happily and sank all the way down on her haunches, head bobbling as she followed the movement of Arthur's sword.
"Right then," Arthur said under his breath. "It's a show you’re wanting? Then a show you'll bloody well get."
And Arthur embarked on a series of parade maneuvers, with full side passes and half-passes and the slow trot used when one wanted to see and be seen by people who mattered. All the while he kept up a series of postures with sword and shield, bending this way and that to swipe at imaginary opponents, or striking dramatic poses with his sword in the air. He could not see the creature's reaction, what with the limited peripheral vision afforded by his helmet (not to mention the sweat streaming down his face), but by her continued grunts and snorts and whickers he gathered she was enjoying the performance.
As was Merlin, who was suddenly (to Arthur, who would have sworn that his manservant couldn’t possibly have exited the lake and retrieved his horse without him noticing) lounging against a nearby tree, dripping wet and mock-clapping.
Arthur drew up short, panting. Merlin's hair was plastered to his head, his clothes were plastered to his body, and the dopey grin plastered on his face stretched from one jutting flap of ear to the other, yet somehow Arthur felt more ridiculous in comparison.
"Don’t stop," Merlin said, seemingly trying to suppress a laugh. "I think she likes you. Well, not you, exactly, as it's the sight of shiny stuff that keeps her docile, but really, when you think about it, it is you inside the shiny stuff so – "
Arthur didn’t hear what came next, as he screamed bloody murder and charged at Merlin, who sprang onto his horse in a surprisingly agile fashion. Impudent scoundrel and beast legged it off back through the grass the way they'd come and Arthur, seeing the affronted expression on the face of the creature at the interruption to her afternoon's entertainment, followed.
There was a great screeching and bellowing and positively plaintive-sounding lowing for a time, and Arthur sincerely hoped that the creature hadn’t been hiding a pair of wings beneath that giant tangle of mane. The cries soon faded, however, and Arthur – who'd probably not drunk enough water to compensate for performing vigorous maneuvers in full armor under a blazing sun – promptly fainted in his saddle.
His last conscious, smug thought was that, as he had a far better seat than Merlin, at least he would not topple off sideways and wind up gawping skyward in a patch of nettles.
Arthur awoke to the twin sensations of finally being cool, which was divine, and of being smothered in a wet red fog, which was less so. He coughed. The red fog suddenly lifted, and a pale, dear, infuriating face loomed into his field of vision.
"Owha whath thath theen?" Arthur said, frowning as he realized that his mouth was painfully dry, his tongue clumsy and thick.
"What? Oh, hang on!"
Arthur felt a hand support the back of his head. A water skin appeared in front of his face, and he drank down several large swallows before waving it away.
"What… what was that thing?" Arthur said, squinting up at Merlin. There was something different about him, Arthur thought, but he couldn’t place it. His head still felt muzzy.
Merlin's dark brows drew together as he dribbled water from the skin onto a wadded up piece of red fabric. He looked from the fabric to Arthur's face.
"It's my neckerchief. Um, scrap of cloth I usually wear round my neck? I was trying to cool you off." He corked the skin and set it aside. "You looked so flushed and – oh, Arthur, did you hit your head? Here, how many fingers am I holding up?"
Arthur blinked as three long digits were thrust in front of his nose. A laugh rumbled up from his belly, but came out as a sort of raspy cough. Thankfully though, his arms were in full working order, and he swatted Merlin's hand away from his face.
"Not the cloth, you bumpkin," he said, struggling to raise himself onto his elbows. He noted that his armor had been removed and was now lying in a jumble around him. "That ghastly thing at the lake – what was that? It looked like the bastard offspring of a dragon and a particularly unfortunate horse."
"Oh! Not concussed then; that's a relief." Merlin's face cleared and he smiled down at Arthur in that open, delighted way that made Arthur feel as if he were in on the best secret in the world. "It's a water demon – a kelpie, according to Gaius, although she has lots of different names. You were brilliant, Arthur. Literally and metaphorically."
Merlin chuckled and began busily dabbing at Arthur's forehead with the wet cloth. Normally Arthur would have rolled his eyes, would have pushed Merlin's hand away and told him that he was not a maiden, thank you very much, and enough with the coddling. But the cloth was cool and soothing, as were Merlin's fingers when they occasionally brushed at his temple or smoothed the hair back off his brow.
"She ignored me completely once you turned up," Merlin prattled on. "I was able to get enough clumpwort to keep all of Camelot from sunstroke for weeks, not to mention all the burn salve and cooling tonics Gaius can make from the roots. He'll be so pleased. He wasn't sure the old girl would still fall for it after all these years, but then as far as he knew no one had disturbed her since that time Sir Pellinore and those poor hounds blundered by, and he reckoned she might be a bit bored – "
"Wait, what?" The meaning behind Merlin's words had finally penetrated through the fog in Arthur's brain. He pushed himself up to sitting and caught Merlin's wrist in a firm grip. "You mean to tell me Gaius knows the wretched beast? That you knew she would be here? He didn’t mention that in the council chamber, Merlin!"
"Um." Merlin's smile faded, but didn’t disappear altogether, and he gave a little shrug. He looked warily down to where Arthur was still clutching his wrist. Arthur immediately let go, then changed his mind and grasped Merlin by both shoulders and gave him a shake.
"'The location is somewhat remote,' Gaius said. 'And the journey not without risk, which is why I daren't send him alone. But don’t worry, sire, the most difficult part will fall to Merlin.' Am I remembering that correctly?" Merlin nodded, eyes wide. "Bandits, I thought. Angry boars. Or perhaps you'd need some assistance in not tripping over your own two feet. But what's this? I think I may have concussed myself after all, Merlin, because I don’t recall anyone mentioning the fact that what you really needed was for me to risk life and limb, not to mention expensive horseflesh, serving as a distraction to a dirty great – and let's not forget venomous – water demon whilst you went for a swim!"
Merlin winced. Any impression he might have given of actually being ashamed of his actions was quickly ruined, however, as he blinked several times, looked directly at Arthur with the widest, bluest eyes Arthur had ever seen and said, "I was not enjoying myself out there, sire, honestly. Holding my breath, trying to see underwater – don’t look at me like that; it really stings! – and the clumpwort is prickly and slimy and I nearly severed a finger cutting it off those boulders. The reason we didn't say anything was because, well, Gaius wasn't even sure the kelpie would still be here. We didn’t want to worry you – or the king – unduly."
Merlin was pouting and knotting the wet neckerchief between his hands at this point, and he looked so perfectly aggrieved that Arthur nearly released him. But then he registered the fact that Merlin wasn't trying to get away at all; that, in fact, he was leaning into Arthur's grasp, and that the corner of his mouth was twitching with a suppressed smile. He didn't have time to fully consider what all of these things added up to before he found himself bowling Merlin over onto his back and pouncing on him.
"I'll worry you unduly, Merlin," he said, snatching the neckerchief out of Merlin's hands and smothering his face with it.
And then it was all spluttering and laughter, the smack of the wet cloth as Arthur flicked it at Merlin's head and chest, and Merlin's protests as he tried to wrest the cloth from Arthur's hand.
At some point during the tussle Arthur realized that what had seemed different about Merlin when he'd first come to, what he had noticed without being able to put a name to it, was the very fact that Merlin was no longer wearing his neckerchief. The pale corded column of his neck was fully exposed, from the prominent lump of his Adam's apple down to the hollow nestled between his collarbones. Arthur decided that he liked Merlin better without his neckerchief. He looked less like a peasant boy, more like a man. (Though why that should please Arthur so was not something he should probably dwell on.)
"Arthur?"
Arthur started, mortified to find that Merlin had stopped struggling and that Arthur had evidently been sat there straddling his belly, gazing – no, glaring – down at him for some moments now. Merlin was breathing heavily; with every inhalation, his stomach pressed against Arthur's crotch. Oh. Oh.
Arthur hastily dropped the neckerchief and scrambled backwards. He stood, turned away from Merlin, and made a show of shaking himself like a wet dog. When he'd composed himself, he turned back around. Merlin was still sat on his backside looking up at him with an odd, intense expression.
"Up you get, Merlin," Arthur said, grudgingly offering his hand. "We’ve a long ride back. We'll be late enough as it is and I don’t fancy explaining why to my father." He looked away as Merlin took his hand. He'd planned to release it as soon as Merlin was upright, but Merlin gripped it and stepped in close, tugging on his arm.
"Arthur," he said, once he had his attention, "you wouldn’t have come to any harm, I swear."
"What are you on about?" Arthur said, distracted by a red welt that was coming up on one side of Merlin's neck. Not to mention the bits of dried grass stuck to his chin and strewn throughout his wild hair, the smudge of earth high on his cheek, the beads of water – or sweat? – that clung to all the creases in his skin.
"The kelpie. If she had… if something had gone wrong, I wouldn’t have let her hurt you."
Arthur snorted, but Merlin pressed on. "I wouldn't. You know that, right?"
Merlin released Arthur's arm only to place his hand flat against Arthur's chest, and Arthur was suddenly having trouble meeting Merlin's eyes. He swallowed and stared at Merlin's chest instead, at the gaping neckline of his tunic and what it exposed – another welt just below the collarbone, the barest hint of muscle, a scatter of dark hair – and now Arthur was suddenly having trouble thinking as well. Maybe he had hit his head.
"I promised Gaius," Merlin continued. "That's why he didn't say anything to your father. I swore that you’d come to no harm and we both agreed that the less your father knew about the source of the clumpwort, the better."
"Merlin," Arthur said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strangled, "why would my father be bothered by the fact that a water plant can only be found in a lake?"
"A lake inhabited by a magical creature, Arthur."
Arthur finally tore his gaze away from Merlin's chest. "Who said anything about magic?"
It came out more harshly than he had intended. Merlin snatched his hand away from Arthur's chest, and Arthur held his breath and cursed himself for this lapse in his own private discipline – to try and tread more lightly around Merlin where the subject of magic was concerned, ever since their trip to Ealdor. He couldn’t fault Merlin for his devotion to a childhood friend. He'd wanted to talk to Merlin about it, but the whole subject had become more awkward in the wake of Gwen's father's death.
He watched as Merlin's face wobbled through a dizzying array of expressions, and only released his breath when he saw him settle on the one he'd secretly dubbed the “day we met face." It hovered between outrage and amusement, with a healthy dose of that strange (and strangely appealing) Merlin bravado.
"Are you serious?" Merlin said. "Arthur, I know you're only just recovered from an impressive swoon – not to mention sort of rolling off your horse into a ditch – but you cannot expect me to believe that you thought that that kelpie was ordinary, what with all the," and here Merlin began gesturing wildly around his face in a manner Arthur could only assume was meant to evoke the beast's terrifying visage. "It had hooves and scales, Arthur. Scales and hooves. That is not natural. Not to mention acid spit and flaming snots. It's not something you run into on the average walk in the woods. Even your average walk in the woods, which seems to involve rather more magical creatures than – "
"Merlin," Arthur broke in. "Stop your nattering. Of course I knew the kelpie was no ordinary beast – and for the record I did not swoon, and I'll pretend I didn’t hear the part about the ditch – but I still fail to see what that has to do with lying to my father."
"Oh… er… guilt by association?" Merlin began shifting from one foot to the other, clearly ill at ease. "You know."
"No, I don't know," Arthur said. "Enlighten me."
"Because clumpwort only grows… I mean, because it was growing in a lake where a magical creature lives. He might think it tainted. With magic."
Arthur took a step forward and adopted his best training ground face, the one he used to intimidate the new recruits.
"And is it?" he said. He fervently hoped that Gaius had gotten round to teaching Merlin the finer points of plausible deniability; it was a lesson that had served many in his father's court well over the years.
"No! No, of course not." Merlin took a step back, shaking his head side to side. "Complete coincidence clumpwort growing in a lake guarded by a kelpie. Bizarre, that. What are the odds?"
"I'm sure I don’t know."
"Faint, sire. Slim to none." Merlin nodded sagely. "But as I mentioned, Gaius and I felt it best to be prepared, on the off chance."
"Of course. Gaius is a most sensible man."
Merlin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in a fierce pout. With the dirt on his cheek and the state of his hair, he looked like one of the wild men depicted in the books Arthur's nurse had read him as a child. Or a disgruntled wood nymph.
Arthur fought a smile. He knew that this should be the end of it. He should leave off with the banter, have some more water, order Merlin to check the horses – in short, resume his role as crown prince. But a terrible fondness was welling up in his breast, and if he didn’t do something about it he was afraid he might burst.
"A most sensible, well-mannered, well-groomed man," Arthur continued. "You, however," he swiftly advanced, snatching the damp neckerchief that dangled limply from Merlin's hand, "are a mess, per usual." He grasped Merlin by the back of the neck and twisted his head this way and that, as if trying to decide where to begin mopping up.
If Merlin gasped a little at this, his plump lips parting before clamping mulishly shut, then Arthur ignored it. And if Arthur felt a thrill, low in his belly, at the way the girth of Merlin's neck felt in his naked palm, then he ignored that, too. Instead he concentrated on the little things – each lash, each pore, each blade of grass, each pulse of the artery in Merlin's neck. And then, as the little things weren't helping Arthur ignore anything at all, he decided to ignore them as well. He brought the neckerchief to Merlin's cheek, and with fingers that were most certainly not trembling, scrubbed at the smudge of dirt there. He knew he was being too rough – saw it in Merlin's eyes, felt it in the tension of his neck – but he couldn’t bear to be any gentler. The dirt was long gone by the time Arthur dropped his hands and stepped away.
He took a deep breath.
"That's much better," he said, grinning for all he was worth. "Now, what say you collect my armor and prepare the horses for our return journey, hmm?"
Arthur's back was turned when Merlin's muttered reply came, and although he couldn’t make out the exact words (many of which, Arthur was convinced, were Merlin's own inventions), he caught the general meaning. He looked back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Merlin? Perhaps on the way back you’d care to explain, in detail, mind, how on earth you could have protected me from an angry kelpie." It would prove a laugh, he thought. At the very least, it would serve as a distraction.
Much later, after he'd bathed and eaten and been metaphorically patted on the head by his father, Arthur admitted that, in the immediate afterglow of a successful adventure and far from the walls of the city, he'd been prepared to listen to – would have welcomed, even – almost any explanation Merlin might have given, no matter how wild or unlikely. The fact that Merlin did not even try – that, instead, he had stared miserably in front of him and told Arthur in a flat voice that he was right, that he hadn't really thought things through and must be as much of an idiot as everyone suspected him of being – hurt. It gave Arthur an uneasy feeling in his gut, and it made something in his chest, which was normally one of his most stalwart, dependable assets, feel shaky and raw.
Lying in the sultry dark of his chambers, Arthur was at a loss to explain these feelings, as he was neither ill nor wounded. He tried telling himself that perhaps it was only the aftereffects of having been low on fluids earlier in the day, but he'd been in that situation before, and it usually just left him exhausted and aching.
Then there was the fact that no physical ailment Arthur knew of could possibly explain why he had hung on to Merlin's neckerchief, tucking it up into his sleeve and even lying to Merlin about dropping it somewhere. Guiltily, Arthur slipped a hand beneath his pillows and clutched at the swatch of fabric hidden there, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. It was dry now, and wrinkled from its earlier confinement.
Arthur rubbed it and thought of Merlin's deft fingers at his brow and, in contrast, his own rough ministrations when the tables had been turned. He thought of Merlin's bare neck, pale initially but now pink with sunburn from the ride home. At least Gaius would be able to give Merlin something for it soon – Arthur had left the two of them up to their elbows in clumpwort clippings and vats of fragrant goo. Arthur wondered what it would feel like if he were tasked with spreading the salve on Merlin's neck, if he were given permission to touch Merlin gently and mindfully, the pads of his fingers sliding over the worn cloth, the warm skin…