Chapter Text
"You have your sleeping roll?"
"Yes, Gaius."
"Did you remember to pack an extra pair of breeches?"
"Yes, Gaius."
"Woolens? It's quite cold these last few evenings, you know."
"Yes, Gaius."
"Thick socks? You've fallen behind on the darning. There are holes in those you're wearing right now, don't think I haven't noticed."
"Yes, Gaius." Merlin stifled an exasperated sigh.
"You didn't forget your smallclothes, did y--"
"Gaius." This time Merlin's sigh was audible. "I've packed. I'll only be gone a few days. You can stop fussing over me."
Gaius hurrumphed and turned away, but Merlin was sure he caught a fond look in the old man's eyes. "I promised your mother I'd look after you. Now you're going off into the wilds with the prince..."
"He's a knight, Gaius. Knights might be thick--Arthur more than most--but I'll be perfectly safe. Which is more than I can say for whatever unfortunate creatures cross his path." Merlin grunted. "Hunting trip... Why does Arthur need to hunt? He eats meat every day! In Ealdor, we'd be lucky to catch a couple of skinny rabbits for the stewpot. And half the village would share in it!"
Gaius paused and turned back towards Merlin. "While it may be true that hunting is not a necessity for the prince, it sharpens his senses and--"
"He trains with 'the finest knights in the realm'! How is a startled stag going to make him fitter?"
"As I was going to say, Merlin, you might consider that honing his martial prowess is not perhaps the real reason Arthur goes on these hunting trips."
Merlin looked up from repacking the food in his satchel. Nonplussed, he stared at Gaius.
Gaius' voice softened. "Merlin. Arthur is under tremendous pressure, and whether he admits it or not, the weight of his father's expectations takes a toll on him. Can you think of any other time he is not under Uther's watchful eye? When he's not the crown prince or the first knight of Camelot? When he's...just Arthur?"
Merlin swallowed, a little abashed. It was true that something of a bond had developed between himself and the prince. At times they were almost like...friends. But each time they approached familiarity, Arthur reasserted himself as Merlin's superior. He didn't seem to resent his position. If anything, he seemed to relish lording it over Merlin's head! But then, Gaius had known Arthur the whole of his life, had watched him develop into a prince and leader of men. Merlin felt some of his resentment fade. If he were being honest, he wouldn't trade positions with Arthur for all the wealth in the world. Merlin had Gaius, always supportive, always in his corner. Arthur had, well, everyone--and no one at the same time.
He shoved another apple and some cheese into his satchel. Of course the kitchens would provide food for their travels, but Arthur was prone to get snippy when he was hungry. Merlin thought about Gaius' admonition. Well, it wasn't true that Arthur had no one. Not anymore. Whether he likes it or not, Merlin promised himself, the prat's got me now.
As the setting sun painted the citadel a gleaming coral, Merlin took his leave of Gaius and made his way to Arthur's chambers.
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Arthur stood at his open window watching the sunset. He frowned. His last meeting with his father had been frustrating. Uther seemed bent on extracting as much information from Arthur as possible before allowing him to depart, and Arthur had the distinct impression that his father was unsatisfied with his preparations. Arthur had delivered a complete update on troop readiness, summarized the most recent reports from newly returned border scouts, and detailed the training regimen Sir Leon would lead in his absence. He'd dispatched scribes to gather harvest forecasts from the outlying farms. He'd even brought up the knighting ceremony by nearly a week, so that the new recruits could begin their preparation before his return. And still, Uther brimmed with criticism. He'd even offered to cancel the hunting trip if Uther found the timing inconvenient, but the king waved him off. The occasions when Arthur managed to garner his father's approval were rare, and it seemed that today was not to be among them.
Arthur's gloomy thoughts were interrupted as the door to his chambers swung inward without warning. He gripped the windowsill, visibly startled. Merlin entered, apparently not slowed by the large number of bags slung across his shoulders, already talking at full speed.
"I know what you're going to say, sire, but the kitchens are understaffed and it took ages to get our food. I've been by the stables. Llamarei and Hengroen will be saddled and ready to ride at first light. Gaius prepared a salve for your strained shoulder--I have it around here somewhere." Merlin paused and swung wildly around, searching for the right bag. "The armoury will have your crossbow and spears delivered to the stable. And....um...what was the other thing I was supposed to remember?" Merlin muttered to himself and scratched his head. He looked up as Arthur turned to face him.
"I don't know, let's see. Maybe you were supposed to remember to knock, Merlin! How many times do I need to remind you? You are entering the chambers of the prince of Camelot, not barging into the tavern!"
"Right. Yes. Knocking." Merlin turned back to the door and knocked soundly, then swung back to face the prince.
Arthur folded his arms and sighed. "You're really hopeless, aren't you, Merlin?"
Merlin's shoulders sagged. He smiled apologetically. Merlin really looked quite pathetic, weighed down by their bags and sleeping rolls. Arthur couldn't help himself. His tone softened. "Well, come on then. Put those down and help me out of my armor." Arthur held his arms out expectantly as Merlin divested himself of his burden.
As Merlin unbuckled each piece, he chattered away at Arthur. Arthur would deny it to the end, but Merlin's breathless recounting of the day was the perfect antidote to his moodiness. Somehow his father's criticism receded before the onslaught of inanity that fell from Merlin's lips. "The head groom was going to drown the runty one, Arthur! But Cook got word and started sending the stable boy scraps from the kitchens to feed it and now she's nearly as big as the others. Edward still calls her Tiny, but Cook calls her Beauty and she's still allowed all the scraps--well, after the pigs--and she's already a better tracker than her brothers."
Arthur smiled inwardly. When Merlin paused for breath he took the opening. "Yes, well, you would feel for the runt of the litter, wouldn't you, Merlin? Tell me, how long before you stop looking like a scarecrow and start to fill out? Should I have Cook send scraps up for you too?"
Merlin huffed. "I keep telling you, I'm stronger than I look."
"You'd better be, Merlin. I won't have you lagging behind on this hunt." Arthur leaned forward and allowed Merlin to shuck the chainmail off his torso. It was probably his imagination, but Merlin seemed to be gaining on him in height, if not in muscle. When Merlin stood close to dress and undress him, Arthur found to his annoyance that he had to look up to meet Merlin's eyes.
Merlin helped Arthur out of his gambeson and laid each piece of mail out on the desk neatly, waiting for his attention on their return. On this trip Arthur would be protected only by his hunting leathers, and Merlin had already oiled and burnished the set. Merlin might be an abysmal manservant on many, many counts, but he did take faultless care with everything to do with Arthur's safety.
"You should let me see to your shoulder," Merlin reminded him.
"It's nothing."
"If a wild boar comes charging at us, I don't want to be gored because your throwing arm is stiff! Sit down, Arthur." Merlin actually pushed him towards his chair. Arthur opened his mouth to object, but then Merlin was tugging his tunic over his head and the next moment, strong hands were kneading at his sore muscles. Arthur found himself sighing aloud as he relaxed into Merlin's touch.
The first time Merlin had massaged him after training, Arthur sat stiffly throughout the procedure. It was disorienting. No one touched the prince of Camelot, except for when Gaius probed for injuries or wrapped a sprained wrist. And certainly, no one's hands strayed so familiarly beneath his clothes or rested on his bare skin like Merlin's. Arthur kept trying to tell Merlin to stop, and instead caught himself leaning into his touch. Briefly he wondered if this was something all commoners did. Did Merlin grow up being touched as easily as he touched Arthur? Was that usual? Was it proper? But gradually, as Merlin's massages became part of their evening routines, Arthur stopped asking himself those questions. As it was, Arthur already felt an ache whenever Merlin's hands left him. He'd grown accustomed to the comfort of Merlin's hands, and deep inside, Arthur doubted he could give it up now if he tried.
Merlin kept up his prattle throughout the massage. Arthur listened more intently than he gave on. It was refreshing to listen to palace gossip instead of speeches and petitions. He found himself interested in the minutiae of his subjects' lives. Merlin gave him a window into their struggles and their joys. Once Merlin told Arthur of a widow in the lower town whose fine embroidery was simply not in demand enough to keep her from poverty. Within days, Arthur saw to it that the woman received a commission from the Lady Morgana to refresh a number of her older dresses. Another time, the potter whose broken leg was being treated by Gaius found himself in possession of enough grain and coin to allow the bone time to set properly before returning to work.
Arthur didn't know if Merlin brought him their stories in hopes that he might help. Merlin never asked him for anything and Arthur never told him about his intervention, and so it never felt like a burden to listen. And despite his father's frequent criticisms, Arthur found a sense of self-worth in these simple acts. Maybe Merlin knew. Maybe that was his intention all along. There was much about his disaster of a manservant that Arthur still didn't fathom.
At length, Merlin's tongue slowed and Arthur found he could move the strained shoulder as easily as the uninjured one. Merlin left to bring up their evening meal, and Arthur sunk into his chair, relaxed and in a far better mood than Merlin had found him. He watched the small fire spark and smoulder in the fireplace. There was no doubt about it. Merlin might be incompetent, absolutely without a sense of his position, mouthy and overly familiar. But his life had changed the day of their meeting. Merlin had simply barged into Arthur's life and banished the loneliness he didn't even know was there. Nearly any of the palace staff was a better servant, but no one made him feel cared for like Merlin. And for all his threats, he'd sooner sack the lot of them than lose Merlin.
Not that Arthur ever intended to let him know it.
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Merlin returned with a tray piled high with cold meats, cheeses, and fruit. He stood stiffly as the prince began to eat, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and eyeing the meal until Arthur kicked out a chair and ordered him to sit and eat. At that, Merlin tucked in with gusto. When his appetite slackened, Merlin stood and shuffled through a drawer until he drew forth the prince's sleeping clothes. He turned down the sheets and unfolded a heavy blanket from the foot of the bed, while Arthur finished his meal. It was early spring and Gaius was right, the night was already getting chilly. Merlin closed and latched the window.
After dinner Arthur allowed Merlin to dress him for sleep. Merlin worked quickly to minimize Arthur's exposure to the cold air and made a mental note to put another log on the fire before retiring. Normally Arthur would dismiss him and Merlin would return to share a late supper with Gaius, but tonight he would stay in the antechamber. They would leave at first light and Arthur had made it clear that he expected Merlin to be on hand and ready to travel.
It felt strange, Merlin thought, not to wish Arthur goodnight and depart to sleep in his own small cot. Arthur made no move to go to bed, choosing instead to watch the fire. Should Merlin stay with him? Did the prince want company or solitude? Already Merlin was sleepy. The day had been long and filled with preparations for their journey.
"Will there be anything else?" he asked.
Arthur started at that. Merlin felt a twinge of annoyance. Had Arthur actually forgotten Merlin was there? Merlin felt awkward and waited for an answer. He tried and failed to stifle a yawn.
Arthur turned his head and gave a half-smile. "No. Go to bed, Merlin. I won't have you falling asleep on Llamarei's back. Get some rest. I'll go to bed shortly."
Merlin inclined his head. "Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight, Merlin."
And with that, Merlin walked a little hesitantly into the dark antechamber, feeling altogether out of place.
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The servant's bed in the antechamber was more than twice the size of Merlin's cot, if not nearly as large as Arthur's four-poster. Merlin sat on the edge, hesitantly. The mattress was springy and pleasantly soft. Merlin had changed the sheets that afternoon and some of the mustiness of the unused room had been replaced with the scent of lavender and laundry soap. From his bed, Merlin could see the flickering firelight and knew Arthur was still awake. What kept him awake at such hours? Did he often stay up long after Merlin left him? His day might have been more physically comfortable than Merlin's, with the exception of his exertions during training, but Merlin had woken him early that morning and he knew Arthur's schedule had been a busy one.
Really, he should be asleep already. But who would tell the prince of Camelot to go to bed?
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Arthur watched the fire, his mind far away. Without Merlin to keep them at bay, his thoughts returned to his father's dissatisfaction at their last interview. Maybe Arthur shouldn't go on the hunting trip. Maybe Uther wanted him to realize that on his own and stay in Camelot to attend to his duties without needing to be told. After all, he was the heir to the throne. A young man now, and not a boy. Perhaps that was the source of his father's underlying displeasure. Sometimes Arthur felt he would go mad, trying to read between his father's words to find something he had been missing all along, a way to become the prince--the son--his father wanted.
Arthur sighed. That was the crux of it, really. He wasn't the son his father wanted. Perhaps he never could be. How could he make up for his disastrous entry into the world? The son his father wanted had a living mother, a queen and a wife that Uther loved. No matter what he became, Arthur could never make up for her sacrifice. As much as Arthur longed for his father's approval, deep down, he didn't feel capable of forgiving himself. How could he expect anything different from his father?
The fire was burning low when Arthur heaved himself up out of the chair and flopped into bed. Arthur slipped under the covers and let his head fall heavily on the pillow. From the next room he heard Merlin's gentle snore. Unfamiliar as the sound was, it soothed him. Sleep came with merciful speed, relieving the troubled prince of the burden of his thoughts.
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Merlin awoke with a start, completely disoriented. Only the moonlight through the window showed him to be in Arthur's chambers and not in his own familiar room. He shook his head and tried to remember what had awakened him.
A cry broke the silence. Merlin tumbled out of bed, tripping on the tangled covers and groping at the floor to regain his balance. The cry had come from Arthur's room.
The cry had been Arthur's. He was under attack! Merlin opened his mouth to shout for the guards.
Another cry rang out in the darkness, but this time it was muffled, indistinct. Slowly, Merlin's foggy brain began to comprehend. Arthur was crying out in his sleep. From the sound of it, he was having a nightmare.
Merlin reached the dimly lit opening, caught his shoulder on the doorframe, shrugged it off, and entered Arthur's chamber. Pale moonlight showed the way, but Merlin stopped to snatch a candle from the nearest wall sconce and lit in in the fire. Merlin approached Arthur's bed.
In the candlelight, Merlin could see Arthur's fingers twisted in the sheets. His forehead shone with sweat and his brows were drawn together in an anguished expression. Arthur was trying to speak, but his words were unintelligible.
"Arthur?" Merlin called softly. There was no reply.
Merlin drew closer. "Arthur!"
Arthur only twitched and tossed his head. Merlin pushed the candle firmly into the sconce beside the bed. He closed the distance. Arthur was tangled in the bedclothes. Merlin hesitated, then shook his head fondly. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, and leaned across to grasp Arthur's shoulders.
"Arthur, wake up. You're having a bad dream." He gave the prince a shake.
The next moment was a blur. Arthur's eyes flew open. His hand disappeared beneath the pillow. An instant later Arthur was sitting up in bed, the knife in his hand pressed firmly to Merlin's neck.
Merlin froze in terror. He felt a tickle at his throat. The sharp blade had slipped beneath his skin without pain, he realized, but a trickle of blood dripped from the shallow cut. His heart hammered. "Ar--Arthur?" he whispered.
It could only have taken a moment, but to Merlin it was an age before Arthur's dark blue eyes focused on his, the pupils contracting as Arthur came to consciousness. The knife dropped from his throat.
"Gods, Merlin, what the hell are you playing at? I could have killed you!" Arthur snarled, but beneath the anger he sounded terrified.
Merlin's mouth worked as if to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were enormous in the candlelight, and brimmed with tears.
"Merlin. Merlin, I'm sorry..." Arthur stammered. "Are you alright?"
Merlin sucked in a deep breath and nodded as a tear slipped free, and then another. He couldn't move, still paralyzed by shock and fear.
Arthur pushed himself away from Merlin. He held up his empty hands. "I'm sorry," he said again in a softer voice. "I didn't know it was you. Gods, Merlin, what were you doing?"
Merlin swallowed and found himself able to speak. "You, you were having a bad dream. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't wake up and I just thought, I thought, I..." His voice trailed off again. "I was trying to help."
Arthur gave a weak laugh and leaned back against the headboard. "You thought I was having a nightmare...so you attacked me?"
Indignant, Merlin found himself shouting, "No, you royal ass, you couldn't wake up so I shook you!" Merlin leaped to his feet and turned away from Arthur, angrily wiping away tears and crossing his arms. His heart still pounded in his ears. The cut on his neck began to sting.
"I said I was sorry! What do you want me to say? Gods, Merlin, I've been trained to kill since birth and you just...you have no idea, you absolute idiot, what you could have...what I could have..." His anger sputtered out as quickly as it had flared. "And anyway," he grumbled, "Princes don't have nightmares. I'm not a child, Merlin!"
Merlin whirled back around to face him. "Well you could have fooled me! I was just trying to help--"
"I don't need your help, Merlin. And I don't have nightmares. And even if I--" Arthur's voice cut off abruptly as his eyes came to rest on the skin of Merlin's long, pale neck. "Oh gods, Merlin," he whispered. "Did I do that to you?"
"Yes, you utter prat! I touched you and you attacked me like some kind of maniac! Do you do this every time you have a nightmare, is this just because I put my dirty peasant hands on your royal nightshirt?"
This time Arthur was speechless. He shook his head slowly.
"How many other servants have you scared off? Gods, did you try to kill any of them when they tried to wake you up?" Merlin was struggling to sustain his sense of righteous indignation in the face of Arthur's silence. His thoughts began to catch up to his roiling emotions. "Don't they try to wake you up?"
Arthur just stared at him.
"You mean, no one ever..." Merlin trailed off.
Arthur swallowed but didn't speak.
Merlin stood, still breathing heavily, the anger in his chest extinguished by the expression on Arthur's face. At length he asked, "Will there be anything else...sire?"
Arthur shook his head.
"Goodnight, sire." Merlin turned away without waiting for a reply.
Long after his figure disappeared in the dark of the antechamber, Arthur whispered, "Goodnight, Merlin."