Chapter Text
***
His quarry was slowing, staggering now, betrayed by broken branches and crushed vegetation. He could have followed the trail this far by scent alone. Arthur knelt and peered through the underbrush as it gave way to reveal a small clearing crowded by low, shublike trees under a dark, dappled canopy.
The body lay in a crumpled heap in the center of the clearing. Scratches about the head and arms told of a struggle. Perhaps that was why his prey had fallen, or perhaps it was only weariness from a long and dangerous trek. For a moment he feared he was too late, but then he was reassured: though the eyes were closed and the limbs lay at awkward angles, the skinny chest rose and fell with steady breaths.
“Merlin!” Arthur called.
But only silence answered him.
***
Merlin shoved another apple into the leather satchel. If he was quiet enough, he would be able to pilfer dried meat and a sizeable hunk of cheese from Gaius’s pantry without being caught. Guilt twisted in his stomach. Unconsciously, his hand went to the coin purse on his belt. The leather bag bulged with so much gold, it hadn’t even jingled when he slid it from Arthur’s desk into the clothes hamper, and then carried it away right under the prince’s nose.
He would make amends later.
Assuming there was a later.
***
Arthur awoke slowly, groggily, with a growing sense of unease.
His chambers were empty and dark. The drapes were still drawn across the windows. No smell of food greeted his nostrils. And most unsettling, no cheery morning greeting disturbed the silence.
What time was it? Had he missed the start of training already? And where the hell, where the hell, was Merlin?!
A soft knock came from the corridor. Arthur rolled out of bed, dumping most of his covers on the floor as he did so, and lurched towards his chamber door, throwing it open to bellow, “For gods’ sakes, Merlin, you’d better have a good excuse for this!”
The silver-haired physician folded his hands and waited for Arthur’s sleep-muddled brain to catch up.
“You’re not Merlin.”
“No, Sire,” Gaius answered.
“Where’s Merlin?”
“I was very much hoping that you could tell me.” Gaius lowered his voice. “I need to speak with you. May I come in?”
Arthur took note of the way the old man’s eyes darted up and down the corridor. The prince nodded. “Yes, I think you’d better.”
Gaius stepped inside and stood stiffly with his head bowed for a moment before he spoke.
“Sire, I have come to ask for your help.” He hesitated. “It’s to do with Merlin.”
Arthur grunted. “Of course it is. Where is that no good layabout excuse for a manservant? He didn’t show up for work this morning. And don’t tell me he’s been at the tavern.”
“No, Sire. And I’m afraid I can’t tell you where he is, either.”
“Well why the hell not?” Arthur snapped.
“Because, Sire, I do not know,” Gaius answered. And then wearily admitted, “I believe Merlin has run away.”
Arthur simply stared at Gaius.
Gaius sighed. “Sire, you know that Merlin has been my ward since he came to Camelot.”
“Of course. Very good of you to take him on, honestly.”
“It’s a little more complicated than charity: Merlin is my nephew. My youngest sister’s child. I have known him all his life.” Gaius cleared his throat, searching for the next words. “I have taken responsibility for his safety and wellbeing over these past three years. But this time, I have failed him.”
“Come now, Gaius. If you and Merlin have had a row--”
“No, Sire. Not exactly a row. It’s a bit...delicate. I have kept a personal matter of Merlin’s secret, from everyone, including you. I must confess, I would not disclose his secret even now, if I had any choice. But I fear,” Gaius cleared his throat and his next words came out in a tight, gruff voice. “I fear that his life may be in danger.”
Arthur frowned. “And what is this great secret?”
“Sire, Merlin is an omega.”
Arthur actually laughed. “Gaius, you’ve been at the cider! Merlin is a beta. And he’s been with me practically every day since he became my manservant. I think I would have noticed if he were an omega.” A thought occurred to him. “And my father would never have permitted an omega to become my manservant. You know his plans for my future union.”
“Exactly so. But Merlin wanted to serve you. He cares about nothing so much as his duty to you.”
Arthur searched Gaius’s face. “You’re serious.”
Gaius nodded.
“But...how would that even be possible? I’m with him nearly every waking hour! He’s never been in heat, I know that much.”
Gaius pursed his lips. “No Sire, he never has. I provided him with herbs to mask his scent and potions to suppress his heats. He has been suppressing his heats since he presented.”
“That’s incredibly dangerous! Even I know that. You’ve been drugging him since adolescence?”
“No Sire. He did not present in adolescence. He did not present until he came to Camelot. He presented when he met his soulmate.”
Arthur found himself unable to speak. What Gaius was suggesting was preposterous.
“Gaius, I know this fairytale. Destiny, soulbonds, the omega who only presents when he meets his soulmate. None of it is real.”
Gaius’s eyebrow arched. “No, Sire? It was real enough to Merlin. Real enough that he ran away in the dead of night.”
“But why now?”
“Because, as you point out, Sire, it is dangerous to repress the natural workings of an omega’s body indefinitely. He could become dangerously ill, infertile, or worse. It was a risk I was no longer willing to take, although he begged me to change my mind.” Gaius’s eyes were decidedly misty now. He spoke as though to himself. “I just couldn’t do that to him.”
“Gaius,” Arthur put a hand to the older man’s shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll get him back. I’ll send my best knights--”
“No, Sire.” Gaius interrupted, anxiously. “Please, you must go after him yourself. The knights are Alphas, to a man.”
“Gaius, are you suggesting that my knights would mistreat Merlin?”
Gaius shook his head. “Not exactly, Sire. But Merlin is an unusual boy. There is more to him than meets the eye. When he goes into heat, he may behave unpredictably towards an Alpha he doesn’t trust. And you must admit, Sire, that none of your knights has your training. Even the best of your men might find it a challenge to resist an omega in full heat for a prolonged time. At the very least, it would be a dangerous distraction. Merlin will resist returning to Camelot until his heat is over.”
“If he’s so adamant, why force him to return at all? Won’t he come back when his heat passes?”
“That's not the problem, Sire. I know he wishes to return. But it is precisely because his heats have been suppressed so long that the next few days are of critical importance. When you find him, he will be in preheat or full heat. He'll need medicine to help his body through the transition. Normally an omega would have gone through several preheats before experiencing a full heat. Nature means the process to be gradual. Those early preheats allow the internal reproductive organs to mature and shift position, so that when full heat is achieved, the omega will be fertile.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the process is a painful one. And for Merlin, whose body has not yet begun to transition, it will be nothing short of excruciating. At the very least, it will incapacitate him. He will not be able to protect or provide for himself.”
“Does he know all this? Did you explain it to him?”
“Of course, your highness. But Merlin wouldn't listen.”
“I still don’t understand why he ran away. If his…" Arthur swallowed, finding the next word unaccountably difficult to say, “soulmate is here in Camelot, why not go to them? At the very least, he could have asked for time off, gone through his heat in safety. I wouldn't have known.”
“There I must beg your understanding. Merlin has secrets that he does not share, even with me. He clearly felt that it was impossible to undergo his heat here in the city.”
“He must be mad, to risk so much. Why didn't the little fool just tell me? I could have helped him!”
“Would you then have dismissed him from your service?”
Arthur hesitated, then admitted, "I couldn't have kept him on. If my father found out, he'd have Merlin's head. And it would be...difficult..."
Gaius folded his hands. "And that was a risk Merlin would not take."
“What if I don't find him in time?”
“I will not countenance the thought. You are the finest hunter in Camelot. There is no one else I would trust with his safety. You'll bring him home.”
Arthur sighed, resigned. “Then there's no time to lose. I'll need to borrow some clothes, a cloak...I can't be recognized on the road.”
“I've already prepared what you'll need.”
“You were that sure I'd say yes?”
“There was never a doubt in my mind.”
“When all this is over, I'll put him in the stocks for a year.”
Gaius smiled a little. “Indeed, Sire. I might even throw a tomato or two, myself.”
***
Despite the urgency of his mission, Arthur held Hengroen to a slow, steady pace as they rode out of the city. He needed time to think and to adjust his senses to this hunt--a hunt unlike any other.
He felt uneasy, as if he'd forgotten something, but the sensation didn't grow as he left the Citadel in the distance. Rather, the closer he drew to Merlin, the more he felt able to settle. The sensation that his skin didn't sit right on him had troubled him even before he'd fully woken that morning, but diminished little by little as he pursued his foolish, reckless manservant. He almost imagined he could catch Merlin's scent in the air. So subtle, so comforting, and downright destabilizing in its absence.
How much of that was because Arthur had spent nearly every waking hour in the company of an omega for the past three years? And how much because the omega in question was his best friend, his truest companion, his... Merlin? Whatever the reason, Arthur was shaken by his flight. The idea that he might be in danger spurred Arthur on. Merlin might be an idiot, but he was Arthur's idiot. He might be a fool, but he was a faithful fool. Yes,it hurt a little that Merlin hadn't trusted Arthur with his secret. But if Gaius was to be believed, Merlin had only kept his secret to stay at Arthur's side.
Something ugly growled within Arthur. Who was this mysterious "soulmate", if such a thing were even real? Why couldn't they be together? (Odd. He found even the thought distasteful…) Were they noble-born, above Merlin's station? What possible reason would they have to reject Merlin in his time of need? Or was it the other way round? Perhaps Merlin found his soulmate unsuited to himself? But what kind of sense did that make? Soulmates--(Arthur still scoffed at the word internally)--should be perfectly matched. Who ever heard, even in the fairytales, of an Alpha or an omega rejecting their soulmate?
But there was one shred of evidence Arthur found in real life that made him reluctant to disregard the concept of soulmates: his own father. Arthur only knew his mother from whispered stories, mostly from Gaius. When Arthur had been sick with a fever as a child, the good physician had distracted him with little anecdotes about the Queen, his mother, who had died giving birth to Arthur. She was generous, playful, brave, to hear Gaius tell it. And once in a long while, an older palace servant--the blacksmith in the royal armory, a tutor, a ladies' maid--would remark on Arthur's eyes, how like Igraine's they were. Arthur always longed to be compared to her in character, but even this little similarity gave him a sense of pride and connection.
Uther never spoke of her. Ever. He would have punished any subject, even Gaius, for speaking of the Queen, had he known. No, Arthur did not believe in soulmates because of anything his father said about his mother.
But his silence? That spoke volumes. The bitterness in his heart. The hate Arthur glimpsed in his father's darkest moments. He could discern the greatness of his father's lost love by the shadow it cast. The shadow that touched nearly every part of Uther's soul, that stole his affection and approval from Arthur, that darkened his kingdom with bloodshed and fear.
If Uther had found his soulmate in Igraine, Arthur could see what its absence had wrought, and the cost was terrible. Surely it was better to never love so much, if its loss could wreak such destruction on a heart, a father, a kingdom.
Arthur shook his head. His "training" had protected him from attachment. It had given him the fortitude necessary to track down an omega in heat, without fearing that he might be overcome by his instincts. It prepared him to be a perfect royal partner, without involving his heart. After all, if Arthur were to be Camelot's perfect heir, he would need to be undistracted by love or fairytales, and above his own chemistry and physiology. He would need to be ready and willing to make the political marriage that best benefitted Camelot.
That was his proper, first, and truest love: Camelot herself. And so Arthur trained on the field and studied his lessons and molded himself into everything his country needed him to be: leader, warrior, statesman, tactician, diplomat, and one day, husband and partner in a union of political expedience.
What good would a soulmate do Camelot? What did it matter if Merlin had one? What sense did it make that Arthur felt, deep inside, a terrible sense of loss, that he would never know the love Merlin knew, even if it was unrequited or impossible? And why in the world did he feel this nagging but unshakeable jealousy?
Arthur rode on, nearer to his quarry, but further than ever from peace.
***
Arthur had been on the main road for nearly three hours and was beginning to feel unsure about his path when he arrived at the first major crossroads outside the city. The main road continued straight ahead. To the left, some of the larger farms and landholdings. To the right, the path meandered a bit, narrowing to little more than a cartswidth. Arthur knew it would eventually lead to a cluster of medium-sized villages. Would Merlin seek out a simple farmer's hut, or seek the anonymity of a larger community, where he might more easily pass unnoticed? Arthur imagined that alone, nearing his time, and probably frightened, Merlin might hope for welcome in a simple peasant farm like his own in Ealdor, where he might pass his heat in a stable or hayloft. Then again, his gold would buy plenty of hospitality in a proper village--secrecy, too.
While Arthur pondered his choice the wind picked up, blowing from the east, and carrying with it the most enticing aroma. Arthur had slipped from Hengroen's saddle before he realized it and staggered a few paces, sniffing the air.
It was...clean and light, like washing day, but salty too--the tang of the sea perhaps, but how this far inland? And underneath, something muskier, heady, almost like exotic sandlewood.
It was sweet. It was seductive. But more than anything, it was familiar.
It was Merlin. Intimately familiar, entirely Merlin, his friend, manservant, and bosom companion. But it was also Merlin, the omega, drawing near his first heat. It was Merlin, unmasked, as Arthur had never known him.
Arthur leaped on Hengroen's back and started down the westward road at a gallop.
***
Arthur intended to pass the hardscrabble-looking inn by. He was familiar with it and with its rough patrons, legal traders and smugglers both, transients and travelers. It didn't seem like an inviting choice for someone in Merlin's position.
But then Arthur smelled something that drew him up short. Here was Merlin's scent, yes, but something else. The air held an acrid note of fear. Merlin's fear. And as Arthur slowed, something else drew his attention. The unmistakable scent of death.
In front of the dark wood signboard reading simply "The Dusky Rose" stood a gaggle of people, chattering animatedly. As Arthur approached, Hengroen's height allowed him to see over their heads, where a cart was being loaded. A burly man lifted a large cloth-wrapped bundle over his head and heaved it into the cart, where two similar bundles already lay.
"Ho, there!" Arthur hailed. The circle turned and the chatter died away. "Where is the innkeeper?"
A stout, matronly woman stepped forward. "I'm Mary. And you might be?"
Arthur pushed back his hood and Mary gasped. A few patrons jostled each other in confusion, but Mary dropped into a surprisingly graceful curtsy.
"P-prince Arthur?" she stammered. "How might I be of service, your highness?"
Arthur dismounted and giving her a disarming smile, gestured for her to rise. "I'm seeking a companion of mine. We were separated on the road. I was told I might find him here." Then Arthur gestured to the cart. "But what's all this? Have you come to some misfortune? Do you require aid?"
Mary beamed at the young prince as her compatriots gawked. "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. Summat strange happened in the night. I've never seen the like, Sire."
"Perhaps we could talk somewhere private?" Arthur suggested. Mary bobbed another curtsy and pushed open the inn door. Arthur followed her to a kind of back parlor. At his insistence, she stopped curtsying and offering him refreshment, and finally took a seat. She began to speak.
"It must've happened last night, though no one heard a sound, Sire."
"What happened?"
"Well, Sire, these three men had been staying here the past couple of days. Gruff types, threw their weight around a bit, but nothing Mary can't 'andle, as you might say. Then this morning, they didn't come down for breakfast, though they paid up room and board in advance. And it wasn't until midday we went round to check. None of 'em was in their rooms! Well, for a moment I supposed they'd run off, but that didn't wash, cos they paid up front like I told your highness."
Arthur was growing impatient. The scent of Merlin's fear was stronger here and it set Arthur's nerves on edge. He gestured for her to proceed.
"Well, the bit I don't like to think about is that we found them all up in the attic. They had no business being there, Sire!" Mary seemed upset by this specific point.
"Why? What's in the attic?"
"Well, I didn't like to say in front of strangers, but as you're Prince Arthur 'imself…" She smiled a watery smile at him. "No one would stay there, not normally, but….he was such a young thing. And near his time, I could tell it."
Arthur thought he would go mad trying to be patient. "Who was?"
"I didn't ask his name, not that he would have told me straight anyway. But like knows like. He was an omega, all on his own, and near his time as I told your highness." She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron. "He was ever so polite. He offered me gold--though I'll be a grand duchess if he came by it honestly. He was so scared, anyone could see. He wanted someplace to wait out his heat. Poor lamb, I couldn't see why he couldn't have any Alpha he wanted, he was pretty enough."
She sighed. "We found them in his room, Sire, all three of them. Things were knocked all about. I can't bear to think of him coming to harm when Mary offered him the safety of her roof, but...summat bad must have happened, don't you see, Sire?"
"Where is he?" Arthur leaned forward and fought the urge to shake her. "What did he look like?"
"A little taller than your highness, begging your pardon. Pale, slender thing. Dark curls, and a mouth as pretty as a girl's." She actually giggled for a moment. "And his ears! Stuck out the sides of his 'ead like teacup handles! Oh!" She dabbed her eyes again. "He was such a lamb. I'll never forgive myself if he's come to harm."
"But where is he?" Arthur hardly kept himself from shouting.
"That's just it! He was gone. Came to me in the night, disappeared by morning, and all that was left was those three ruffians you saw in the cart. Heads caved in, the lot of them." She lowered her voice. "I keep thinking...what else could it be? But that poor boy…" She shook her head. "I never would have guessed it."
"Guessed what, Mary?"
"Well...I don't like to say, but…how else could a little thing like that escape them three brutes lying dead in that cart?" She whispered, "Magic, your highness. Sorcery!"
She covered her mouth with her hands as soon as she finished speaking and shook her head vehemently. "No. I don't care. Begging your lordship's pardon, but it can't be a sin, it can't. Not when the strong prey on the weak like that. Even if he had magic, I'd have hid him just the same. He was so polite, and he was so frightened…"
Mary trailed off, quite overcome by her retelling. And Arthur, well, Arthur didn't know what to think.
Merlin had been attacked, from the sound of it. But Merlin had escaped. And to judge by the bodies in the cart and Mary's impassioned defense...Merlin had used magic? Not only used magic, but used it to kill three grown men. Brutes, to be sure, but it was beyond anything Arthur had ever seen.
And he was on the run. Merlin was alone, frightened, nearing his heat...and was he really supposed to believe his clumsy, knock-kneed, scatterbrained,I manservant had magic?
"Can you show me to his room? The boy, he's my friend. I didn't mean for him to be alone. Thank you for giving him shelter."
At that, Mary burst into tears. Arthur found himself patting her shoulders comfortingly. "You did right by him. I'll see that you're rewarded, too. I just want to see if there are any clues that might help me find him before his time."
Mary looked up and suddenly her gaze was piercing. Arthur felt that he'd given something away without meaning to.
"Oh, Sire...I didn't know. I would have looked after him better. I just didn't know."
Arthur opened his mouth to object, but Mary had already taken him by the hand and was leading him up the back stairs towards the attic. "The poor lamb left everything behind. You find him, Prince Arthur. You find that boy and bring him home. He's a good lad, I could tell. He's just scared and confused."
She turned back suddenly. Worry was written on her brow. "You won't hurt him, will you? On account of the…" Mary whispered, "Magic?"
"I…" Arthur fumbled for words. "Of course not," he heard himself saying--and realized that no matter what happened or would happen, it was the truth--"I just want to bring him home."
Mary squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You'll find him. You'll keep him safe. You're Prince Arthur."
And Arthur really didn't know what else to say. He nodded and gave her a smile, and followed her to the attic.
Oh gods, Merlin, he thought, What have you done now?
***
Arthur had scarcely been back on the road an hour before he had to dismount and enter the deepening forest. Merlin's scent was as clear a trail as he had ever tracked. It led him unerringly past broken branches, bootmarks, and most poignantly, a torn piece of leather coat that Arthur knew all too well.
Arthur dismounted and exhaled hard, trying to clear his increasingly muddled senses. Though the trail was easy to follow, the strength of Merlin's scent was dizzying. Arthur had never been so affected by an omega's scent. He found himself too quick to forget that his mission was to protect and retrieve Merlin. The blood in his veins sang of desire and conquest. Arthur continued to breathe slowly as he rooted around in one of Gaius's packs. He found a winding scarf and fastened it tightly over his mouth and nose. He drew forth a bottle of macerated purple-red berries. Gaia berries, the physician explained. They'll help cover his scent, so it won't be so difficult when you find him. Having baffled his senses, Arthur lowered his hood like a horse's blinders to restrict his field of vision. He willed himself to use his mind--his training as a hunter, his visual acuity, his common sense--to guide him to Merlin. It certainly wouldn't do any good for him to find Merlin in need and find himself impaired by a purely pheromonal phenomenon.
And so he hunted, as the sun sank, and guided Hengroen by the reins as he crept slowly but unerringly towards his quarry.
***
“Merlin?” Arthur called again. The figure in the clearing didn’t move.
Arthur stepped carefully between the trees and brush and entered the clearing. Suddenly the space felt suffocatingly small and Arthur wrapped his scarf more tightly across his mouth and nose. Nevertheless the familiar scent of Merlin’s body, heady to the point of intoxication, seemed to slip between the very weave of the cloth to settle under his skin. He found himself closing the distance, until his shadow fell across Merlin’s face. Arthur knelt beside him.
Merlin lay in an awkward heap, one arm upflung, the other across his chest. His long legs lay askew. He looked as if he had stumbled to the ground and lost consciousness where he fell. At this distance, Arthur could see that a sheen of sweat covered his face and his cheeks were flushed. Arthur let his eyes rove over the prone figure. Merlin’s blue tunic was ripped at the neck and revealed parallel red scratches. Both wrists wore purple bruises. A low growl rose from deep inside Arthur. Someone had laid hands on Merlin. Had hurt him. Arthur thought back to the bodies at the inn.
Merlin couldn’t possibly have fought off all three of those men. Their necks had been broken, their skulls battered. How did he escape then, if not by magic? Perhaps someone had come to his rescue. But if so, where was his rescuer? And why had Merlin fled his protector to hide in the forest, like a wounded animal?
Merlin’s hair lay plastered against his forehead, soaked with sweat. A leaf was caught in the dark curls. Instinctively, Arthur reached to brush it away. As he shifted his weight, a branch snapped beneath his boot.
Merlin’s eyes shot open, pale blue and wide with terror; he froze for a moment, staring at Arthur without recognition. Then, before Arthur could speak a word, Merlin pushed himself away, stumbling as he tried to stand. Instead he tripped over a tree root and landed hard, sprawling only a few feet from where he’d started. He flipped over again and looked back at Arthur, chest heaving.
“Get away from me!” Merlin hissed. He continued to crawl backward on his elbows, trying to put distance between himself and Arthur. The fear in his eyes was undiminished, but there was rage in them too. “Don’t touch me!”
“I’m not going to hurt you!” Arthur protested, raising his hands. He stood up slowly and backed away to the edge of the clearing. “No one is going to hurt you, Merlin! I promise.”
Merlin snorted at that and continued to retreat until his back was against a tree, as far from Arthur as he could get. Then he cocked his head and, narrowing his eyes, demanded, “How did you know my name?”
Arthur blinked, nonplussed. It was almost as if Merlin didn’t recognize him. Of course, he realized an instant later. The cloth over his hair and face. The cloak. Even his scent--the gaia berries must have masked it. Arthur moved his hand to unwrap the scarf...and then stopped.
It was wrong. Of course it was wrong, but there was so much Merlin had lied about. So much he’d kept secret. So much Arthur wanted to understand. And Merlin didn’t recognize him.
Arthur left the scarf in place. When he answered, he spoke in a low, soft voice.
“I was sent to find you. Your friends in Camelot were worried about you.” Well, that much was true, at least.
Merlin squinted up at him suspiciously. “Who sent you?”
“Gaius, the physician.” Then he added, “And your master, Prince Arthur.”
Merlin shook his head slowly. “No. Gaius wouldn’t...he wouldn’t tell you. He wouldn’t tell Arthur…” But he sounded unsure now.
Arthur followed up, “You ran off during the night without a word to anyone. You could have been hurt. You could have been killed. Are you really so surprised that they would send someone after you?” He could hear his emotions spilling over into the words and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from speaking.
“Well I didn’t get myself killed, so you can go back to Camelot and let them know I’m fine,” Merlin spat back at him.
“You don’t look fine.” It was true. Merlin’s cheeks were flushed but his face was bloodlessly pale and he looked as though he might fall over at any moment. “Here. You need to eat something.” Arthur reached into his pack and tore off a hunk of bread. He held it out, but Merlin shrank away and shook his head.
“Go away. I don’t need your help.”
“Be reasonable. You’re hurt. You’re in the middle of nowhere with no supplies, no weapons. You need to come back to Camelot with me. I’ll protect you. You have my word.”
Merlin scoffed. “Your word? I don’t even know your name! And I don’t need your protection.” His voice took on a threatening tone. “Leave me alone. I’m not helpless. I don’t want to hurt you. But I can. I can stop you.”
An unwelcome suspicion arose in Arthur’s mind. “Like those men at the inn? Like you stopped them?” Merlin blanched at his words, and Arthur's stomach dropped.
The anger in Merlin's face vanished. Now he looked on the edge of tears. “Yes.”
Silence fell heavy between them.
“You’re a sorcerer.” It was not a question.
A whisper. “Yes.”
Suddenly Arthur felt terribly weary. He reached for the support of a tree and sat down heavily.
They stayed like that for a long time.
“Well,” Arthur said at last. “I’m not leaving without you. So whatever you’re going to do to me, sorcerer, just do it.”
Merlin opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Then without warning he gasped and crumpled in on himself, clutching his sides. Arthur couldn’t see his face, but a keening cry emerged from the miserable figure.
“Go...please just go,” Merlin whimpered.
Arthur sighed. “It’s started, hasn’t it? We’re going to need a fire. And you have to eat something. It’s going to be a long night.”
***
It was strange, Arthur thought, that his situation didn’t feel nearly as strange as it should. The onslaught of revelations about his erstwhile manservant should have left him bewildered, hurt, furious. Instead he found himself unaccountably calm. It was as if many disjointed truths had slotted into place, making sense of a puzzle he’d never been able to solve.
Merlin was an omega. That in itself was a kind of relief. Arthur had spent years pushing aside confused and inappropriate feelings where Merlin was concerned. At the time he’d put them down to his stifled urges, his “training”, his body’s desire to reassert its nature somehow fixating on his manservant, mistaking one kind of intimacy for another. Instead, his instincts had been perfectly natural, unfooled by herb pouches and Gaius’s potions.
Ironically, Arthur needed now to ignore those trustworthy instincts and rely on his training instead. It was maddening to be so near to an omega in preheat. And no omega had ever caused Arthur’s blood to rise the way Merlin did. His scent was touchingly familiar, maddeningly exotic. It was both stimulant and opiate, sharpening Arthur’s senses and befuddling them. He’d reapplied the paste of gaia berries beneath his eyes and taken care to rewrap his scarf tightly over his mouth and nose. It was hard enough to control himself in this proximity to Merlin, who was only beginning his preheat. What came next would be worse--for both of them. If it became necessary, Arthur planned to remove himself from the clearing and take up a more distant perimeter, to guard Merlin through the period of his greatest vulnerability.
To guard Merlin. There was an instinct Arthur could give in to. It brought out the hunter in him and he was alert to every falling leaf, every snapped twig, the patter of squirrels in the trees, the stealthier movement of the buck and the boar, keeping their distance from the intruders to their woodland sanctuary. He ran his tongue along his canines and felt their sharpness, ready to descend and deliver the mating bite--or to tear out the throat of a rival. Whatever Merlin was, whatever lies he had told, whatever secrets he had concealed, none of it mattered now. Merlin was his. If not his to have, then his to protect and defend. Arthur was an unsheathed sword, his body a weapon at the ready. No one would touch his Merlin again.
Arthur paused and braced his palms against a tree, dragging them against the rough bark to the point of pain. He needed to clear his head. Merlin would need guarding, yes, but first he would need care. And that meant calming the frenzy in his blood. He had been trained to kill since birth. He had never practiced the skills he would need to provide single-handedly for a mate in heat.
An omega in heat, Arthur corrected himself. Merlin was not his mate, could not be his mate. The idea was madness. And yet…in the gathering shadows of evening in the woods, far from his throne and his title, Arthur could almost pretend that it was so. The thought made his heart swell with affection for Merlin, the brave, reckless idiot, his best friend and constant companion. If he were anyone but Prince Arthur...if Merlin were anything but a servant and a sorcerer, for god's sakes… Arthur shook his head.
He was nearing the clearing. Despite his precautions, Merlin’s scent assailed him and a wave of dizzying desire washed over him. He shook his head to clear it and readjusted the packs on his back. Arthur had seen to Hengroen’s comfort and safety, although the beast seemed to understand why he was being left behind. After all, even in his confused state, Merlin could hardly mistake the proud stallion for any horse but Arthur’s. And Hengroen would give the game away himself, as he and Llamrei always greeted Merlin with snorting and stamping and the expectation of a sweet apple or other treat.
Arthur made sure to tread heavily, to warn Merlin of his approach. Nevertheless, when he stepped into the clearing, Merlin startled. Recognizing the intruder, Merlin had wrapped his arms around himself again and laid back down to rest before the next bout of cramps overcame him. He refused to acknowledge his unwanted companion, as though he hoped Arthur might give up and leave him alone.
Arthur tossed a bundle in Merlin’s direction and Merlin jumped. Arthur laughed and Merlin scowled across the clearing at him, before examining the bundle. He gave a cry of surprise on recognizing his traveling pack and sleeping roll.
“How did you know--?” Merlin began.
“The innkeeper described you. Very attentive. She mentioned the ears, especially.”
Merlin huffed and sat down to unpack his belongings. When he came to the coin purse, he paused, holding it up to examine it.
“It’s all there,” Arthur reassured him, a little tartly. “I didn’t enrich myself at your expense, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Merlin looked surprised that Arthur had addressed him. “No, it’s not that.” He sounded a little abashed. “It’s just...none of this went to plan. I shouldn’t even have this. I don’t know how I can face him again after this.”
“Him?”
“Arth--my master,” Merlin corrected himself. He felt unwilling to reveal too much to this stranger, and his use of Arthur’s name was too intimate, suddenly. “All I wanted to do was serve him. Now he knows I’m an omega, that I’ve been lying to him all this time. He’ll send me away.”
“Does he know about your magic, too?” Arthur tried to sound disinterested.
Merlin swallowed against the lump that rose in his throat as he answered. “No. I can’t tell him. Maybe not ever."
"Why not?"
Merlin looked at him incredulously. "Magic. Magic. He's the king's son. If he knew I had magic...he'd have to let me burn or defy his father. I couldn't put him in that position."
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Arthur is loyal, but he wants to do what's right. His father, his upbringing, everything he’s ever believed about magic...I don’t know what he would decide, but I couldn’t do that to him.” Merlin sounded tired and sad, as if he’d had this conversation with himself too many times before.
Arthur said nothing, but began to build a fire in the center of the clearing, concentrating on the task to drown out his thoughts.
Merlin watched him work, a curious look in his eye. “Alright then. You’ve stuck to me like a burr. You might as well tell me your name.”
“Dairon,” Arthur answered, without looking up. It was the name of his first swordmaster, when he was a child, one Merlin would have no cause to recognize.
Merlin frowned. “And you’re what...some kind of bounty hunter?”
Arthur grunted. “Something like that. I’m an old friend of Gaius’s.”
Merlin looked skeptical. “He’s never mentioned you.”
Arthur continued to work, striking his flint until the tinder caught and then breathing the little sparks to life. He inhaled the smell of burning wood gratefully. It masked Merlin’s scent a bit and cleared Arthur’s head. Then he retreated to the opposite side of the fire and began to unpack Gaius’s neatly wrapped bundles.
“How is the pain?” Arthur asked.
Merlin shook his head. “Not too bad, for now. I can take it.” He shrugged. “What choice do I have?”
Arthur scratched his head. There was hardly enough light from the fire to read the instructions Gaius had included. He held up one bundle. “This is for the muscle cramps...I think. It says here to prepare a potion, no, poultice? Damn it! I can’t make out his writing.”
Merlin laughed and Arthur looked up, startled. “Give it to me. I’m pretty sure I could read his chickenscratch upside down at the bottom of a well, by now.”
Arthur didn’t bring him the bundle, but rather retied it and tossed it across the clearing to Merlin’s feet. Merlin eyed him thoughtfully.
“You’re avoiding me. You don’t touch me,” he observed.
“You told me not to,” Arthur countered.
“You don’t look at me, either. And your scent. You smell…you smell awful!” Merlin concluded, wrinkling his nose. “But you don't smell like a beta and...well you’re obviously not an omega are you?” Suddenly the fear returned to his eyes, and Merlin inched further away. “You can’t be an Alpha! Gaius wouldn’t send you after me if he knew you were an Alpha! What are you?”
Arthur raised his hands slowly in a gesture of reassurance. “I’m no threat to you, Merlin.”
Merlin shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Those men at the inn--”
Arthur growled softly. “What did they do? What happened at the inn, Merlin?”
Merlin shook his head.
"Merlin, tell me what they did." Arthur's Alpha voice emerged with the words, at once reassuring and commanding.
Merlin looked up sharply, but with less fear in his eyes. They remained fixed on Arthur as he answered in a monotone, “I just wanted someplace safe to hide out until my heat passed. The innkeeper gave me the attic. No one should have known I was there. Only…”
Arthur felt the blood rushing to his face as his rage grew. “Only they scented you.”
Merlin nodded. “They came to my room at night. Said...things. Because I was an omega, they said I wanted it. They held me down.” Tears slipped down Merlin’s cheeks, but he seemed not to notice. “They would have…”
“Shh...shh…..it’s alright Merlin. They can’t hurt you. You’re safe now.”
“I had to. I had to. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I had to.”
“You did well. You escaped. You survived.” Arthur found himself straining towards Merlin and he fought back the urge to go to him, to hold him and reassure him that no monsters would come for him in the night.
“I had to,” Merlin whispered. He seemed frozen in a memory of fear, unable to shake himself free.
“Merlin. Listen to me,” Arthur began, but Merlin continued to whisper to himself. And so Arthur reached inside, reached for his Voice. It was the voice of command, the voice of a leader of men, the voice of an Alpha. “Merlin.”
Merlin fell silent immediately and looked up, his eyes still round with fear but focused at last on Arthur.
“Listen to me. You’re safe now, I swear it. No one will hurt you, no one will touch you. I will guard you with my life. This circle is your sanctuary. Do you hear me?”
Merlin nodded, gulping in the cool evening air as he tried to calm himself.
“Do you believe me?”
The omega’s voice shook, but he answered, “I do.” He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he only gazed at Arthur with an indefinable look in his pale blue eyes.
“Good.” A satisfied rumble ran through the word. “Now read me those instructions. I want everything to be ready before the pain comes again. I don’t know how long this will last, without a mate to bring on your heat properly. Gaius seemed to think it could be another day or more.”
Merlin sighed. “I hate this.”
Arthur nodded. “I know. But you’ll get through it.”
“And then what?” Merlin murmured.
Arthur busied himself preparing their evening meal, and wondered the same.
***
"Dairon?"
Arthur almost didn't respond and then he remembered himself.
"Yes, Merlin?"
"Why are you doing this?"
Arthur continued to grind together the fresh leaves and dried herbs that made up Gaius's poultice.
"Doing what?"
"Your charge was to bring me back to the city. Why are you helping me? Why are you being...kind?"
Arthur grunted as he crushed the last berry into the paste, and considered. "Maybe I should just take you back to Camelot. This poultice smells disgusting, and there's more to do after."
"That's not an answer."
Arthur sighed. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to tell me the truth. You say you can't go back to Camelot for your heat. Why not? There are Alphas that would never hurt you like those monsters. It would be easier, less painful. Why did you run away in the first place?"
"I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone. I just...can't take a mate, even for this heat. I won't," he finished, fiercely.
Arthur felt a sudden surge of jealousy rise in his blood. "You already have a mate."
Merlin looked surprised, but nodded, as tears began to form in his eyes.
Arthur found himself standing, nearly shouting, "Who the hell are they? How could they leave you to go through this alone?"
Merlin recoiled. Arthur caught himself and turned away to recover his composure. "I just...don't understand. How could they do this to you?"
"He doesn't know. He can't."
Now Arthur was thoroughly perplexed. "How…?"
Merlin hung his head. For a long moment silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Then at last: "He's my soulmate." He shook his head. "But he's not free to claim me, even if he wanted to. It would only make him miserable to know. Sometimes, though, I wonder if he can feel it..."
Merlin trailed off, then looked up curiously at Dairon. "Why am I telling you this? Why do you feel familiar to me? Why do I want to trust you?"
Arthur laughed softly and gestured to his hood and wrap. "Guess I just have one of those faces."
Against his will, Merlin laughed too.
Arthur finished laying the paste between plantain leaves to form a poultice. He held the poultice over the hot coals, turning it over until it was warm and steamed throughout. He pulled on his gloves again and resecured the wrap over his mouth and nose, tugging the hood down further.
“Here,” Arthur said, and he walked slowly, cautiously over to Merlin’s side of the fire. He felt Merlin’s eyes on him, searching for a break in the fabric that concealed his features. “Lie back. Lift your shirt.”
Merlin looked incredulous, but found himself following ‘Dairon’s’ instructions.
Arthur avoided Merlin’s eyes, keeping his focus on his belly instead. Despite his precautions, Arthur felt his own stomach warm with desire. He moved quickly and surely, pressing the poultice against Merlin’s lower abdomen. “Keep it there. Try to sleep now. The cramps will begin to come closer together, but this should help with the pain. Get some rest while you can.”
Arthur turned sharply and took up his seat again on the far side of the fire. He lowered his hood to block out the sight of Merlin’s clear blue eyes, his strong but slender frame, his shapely lips. He breathed in the smoke and began to rehearse a sword drill in his mind, mentally moving through each stance and swing of the blade until he no longer felt his mind clouded by desire.
It worked, but Arthur was still discomfited. If this was his response to Merlin in preheat, he would certainly need to remove himself when Merlin’s heat began in earnest. The thought gave him a pang. He imagined, just for a moment, enfolding Merlin in his arms to keep him safe. Murmuring in his ear to calm him when his blood began to rise. Taking him gently when--
No. Arthur bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. It could not be, and so it would not be.
But Arthur could no longer deny the truth: he wanted Merlin. Wholly, desperately, from the deepest place within himself. Gods, would even his training be enough to overcome his instincts?
No, he admitted to himself. Not his instincts.
His heart.
***
The water is cool as Arthur wades in, his clothes already strewn carelessly along the stony bank of the forest stream. His men have abandoned all knightly decorum and the sounds of whooping and splashing drift downstream, bringing mirth to the afternoon stillness.
Arthur cannot join them and cannot enjoy his own bathing, for one reason. That reason is standing stubbornly on the bank, arms crossed, shaking his dark locks in a gesture of refusal. Merlin.
Arthur waves his arms and calls to the bank for Merlin to join him in the water. He cannot explain why it's so vitally important that Merlin come into the stream with Arthur, but it is, and his impudent, disobedient, recalcitrant excuse for a manservant will not budge.
Merlin hasn't even loosened his ratty neckerchief, though the sun overhead is blazing and the boy's shirt is stained under both arms and down the middle of his chest. The red fabric around his neck has shifted, though, and his sweat-soaked tunic gapes open, exposing a triangle of light skin and dark hair. At the same moment, Arthur becomes aware of the most delicious scent in the air.
It is warm and salty like sweat, but not unpleasant. There is something of lavender and washing soap, too. But underneath is the most intoxicating hint of musk, masculine and dark.
Arthur realizes that he has become aroused, though the stream protects him from discovery. He inhales deeply and feels all his senses sharpen. Now the water is deliciously cool, raising the hairs on his thighs and legs. The sunlight refracts into rainbows, skittering across the surface of the stream. It warms him in perfect contrast to the chill of the water.
Merlin must come into the water. He must see the dragonflies alight and flash their iridescent wings. He must sink his toes into the cool mud. He must finally unknot that damned neckerchief and tug his tunic over his head and shuck his boots and breeches and join Arthur.
Arthur shouts. He waves his arms. He cajoles. He threatens. He orders. Nothing moves the lanky form on the bank, and the mysterious smile that plays around his full red lips does not fade.
"Arthur!" call his knights from upstream. The petulant prince is suddenly awash with hot anger. Merlin will not come into the water and now Arthur's men are calling him away and the perfect afternoon is broken.
His eyes implore Merlin one final time, and this at last steals the smile from his lips. Merlin shakes his head again, but there is sadness in his eyes and Arthur is suddenly certain that Merlin wants to be with him in the water as much as Arthur does, maybe even more.
"Why?" Arthur mouths silently. But then the shouting resumes. Merlin turns away and begins to pick up Arthur's scattered clothes and fold them carefully, almost tenderly.
"Arthur!" they shout. "Arthur! Arthur!"
Arthur!
Arthur bolted upright, completely awake. He felt sure someone had called his name, but the only sounds were coming from Merlin's bedroll. The fire had burned low but the night was pleasantly cool, so he didn't move to rebuild it.
From Merlin's pallet came muffled moans, as they had intermittently throughout the night. Gaius had been right, of course. The muscle cramps were excruciating and came on without warning. Merlin had lost the ability to keep silent as they strengthened and his endurance waned. He could sleep for perhaps an hour at most now before the pain came, and it was wearing him down.
For Arthur, it was another kind of ordeal. It was nothing for him to get up and check on Merlin, to reheat the poultice hourly, or urge the boy to eat some bread dipped in the simple stew Arthur had made.
But Arthur ached for Merlin, for the loneliness of his pain, and he cursed the ineffectiveness of his labors. At best he could ease Merlin's suffering a little, but the more he tried to silence his moans, the more keenly Arthur felt them.
"Merlin?" Arthur called out, using the low soft voice of 'Dairon'.
Merlin did not answer him, so Arthur crept across the campground to Merlin's bedroll.
Merlin had thrown off his blankets and as Arthur drew closer, he could see the boy's tunic was soaked with sweat and his face had a sheen to it in the low firelight.
Not good. Gaius had warned him of the signs of a developing fever, but he must have missed them somehow.
"Merlin?" he called again, not wanting to startle him. But if Merlin was aware of his companion, he gave no sign. He cried out and clutched at his belly with his eyes screwed tightly shut.
Arthur remembered that Gaius had supplied him with materials to make a tincture, something to bring Merlin's fever down. If it stayed too high for too long, Gaius warned, there could be permanent damage--or worse. Arthur moved quickly to find the prepared bundle and follow the directions. He fumbled a little with the ingredients in the dark, but soon had a mixture of ground herbs in a kind of tea. It gave off a foul odor, which Arthur found both off-putting and reassuring. It certainly smelled like one of Gaius's remedies.
"Arthur?"
Arthur turned, on instinct. But Merlin's eyes were still closed. He was writhing in his discarded blankets and talking deliriously. His voice was touchingly small, like that of a sick child. "Arthur?" He called again. "Arthur!"
Arthur crept over to him with the cup. "You need to drink this, Merlin."
As the smell drifted up to his nostrils, Merlin scrunched up his nose and turned his head away.
"No. I need...I need…I need...Arthur..."
Merlin's eyes opened. Even by firelight, Arthur could see that his tiny pupils were nearly swallowed by disks of blue. They searched Arthur's shrouded face for understanding. Merlin struggled to sit up.
"Shh...you need to be still and quiet." Arthur rested a gloved palm on Merlin's chest and pushed him gently back down.
"It's time...tell Arthur...please?" Merlin seemed to know he didn't have the strength for this fight, but the fact increased his agitation. "Tell Arthur...have to tell…"
Arthur darted back to Gaius's satchel and pulled out a bottle of fine sandalwood oil and a roll of gauze. He drenched the gauze and returned to Merlin, who had resumed his attempts to sit up.
"Hush now," Arthur murmured, and taking the gauze between his fingers, slid it along the slope of Merlin's neck towards his shoulder. Merlin blinked, heavy-lidded and stopped fighting. Arthur repeated the motion, stroking the sides of Merlin's neck, dragging the sandalwood oil over his scent glands, until Merlin lay still and pliant beneath him. But slow as his blinks had become, Merlin fought to stay awake.
"Need...Arthur…" He whispered, trying to make himself understood. "It's time. I need…tell Arthur..."
Arthur leaned in. "I'll tell him. Whatever you need, I'll tell him. But you have to drink this first." Arthur lifted Merlin's head and tipped the tincture up to his mouth. This time Merlin drank it obediently, though he still curled his lip against the taste. "Good, Merlin," Arthur murmured. "Now what do you need to tell Arthur?"
"Tell him...it's time. Tell him..I need him. I need...my...mate." Merlin sighed deeply and his eyes finally shut.
His breathing was easy after that. By contrast, Arthur could hardly hear over the pounding of blood in his ears.
Merlin's mate. His soulmate.
Arthur.
Arthur buried his head in his hands.