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"Once upon a time in a land far away there lived a noble Prince," began the storyteller. A lot of stories began that way, and Arthur hated it. Everyone in the room automatically looked at him, just because he was the only prince there. Hopefully the next thing the storyteller said would make it clear that he was not the prince in question. Something like 'His raven hair and dark eyes were the envy of all maidens' or 'He was the youngest of three brothers'.
"He had hair as fair as the wheat at harvest time," the storyteller said, to Arthur's scowl,"and eyes as blue as the summer sky. All the maidens of his kingdom were a little in love with him, and they would have been even if he were the butcher's boy or a cow-herd. But since he was the Prince they sighed and simpered from dawn to dusk."
Butcher's boy? Arthur's mouth parted in indignation. Merlin had once said...
But Merlin was long gone, fled with only a glance, hot and apologetic, upon the revelation that he was a sorcerer. The King had shouted 'Kill him on sight!' so Arthur didn't blame him in the least - and the dead sorceress at his feet had rather proven his good will, in Arthur's eyes at least.
Arthur looked at his current servant, leaning long and lanky against the wall. His father had been furious that he had chosen a peasant straight from the fields to serve him, but Arthur already knew that he could trust Will's discretion. Not one of the noble maidens who had flirted with Sir William ever recognised him in the Prince's new manservant.
Will wasn't Merlin, but he was better than some colourless, inbred rabbit who would scrape and bow to every whim.
When Arthur turned back to the storyteller he had reached the exciting part.
..."and the servant boy stood with the flaming torch at the entrance of the cave so that the monster could not pass. It raised itself up on its rear legs, waving all its monstrous, clicking claws like a nightmare come to life..."
So it had, Arthur remembered. After he'd stuck his sword in its brain and Merlin had torched the body they had camped a short walk away and every time he had looked into the flames he had seen those waving claws. He'd shared Merlin's bedroll that night less for warmth, although it had been autumn and frosty, than for the comfort of his bony manservant's humanity, for his soft even breathing that spoke of friendly life rather than monstrous death.
"The leaves were gold and red, falling like a soft rain as they came in sight of the castle. The Prince stopped and looked at his servant. "There is no need to speak of our deeds when we return," he said, "for it is not glory that I seek but only the reward of knowing that there is one less danger to my father's kingdom."
"The servant protested, but the Prince would have his way, so that on his return the King reproved him for his laziness, and the ladies sighed (as always), and only his servant ever knew of the scar on his right ankle where the monster's claw ripped one last time before it died."
Arthur's heart was swollen in his chest. He could still feel the throbbing where that scar lay across his ankle. The storyteller's eyes were on the children, his grey head turned away as he drew some moral out of the tale.
Arthur gestured to Will to fill his cup. "Could you ask the storyteller to come to my room after the feast?" he said, his voice idle.
"Yes, Your Highness," Will said correctly. Arthur smiled at him and twirled the cup in his hands.
The storyteller's hair was grey, his eyes were grey and his hands were lined and spotted with age. He stooped small, but his voice was sweet and flexible.
"Stand there and close your eyes," Arthur said, pointing to the centre of his room.
The old man looked a little startled, but did as commanded.
"You may go, Will," said Arthur and waited for the click of the door-latch before approaching the figure standing quiet and still on the rug.
"How may I help you?" asked the man, but Arthur merely said,"Hush. I want to try something."
He stood behind the storyteller and closed his own eyes, leaning in close, very close to the man's neck. Then he breathed in.
He felt as if he had been holding his breath ever since the words 'butcher's boy' had left the storyteller's lips. No, he'd been holding it ever since the sorceress had dropped dead at his feet and Merlin had glanced at him just once before running.
Arthur smelled dust and soap - which was to be expected. He inhaled wintergreen; all old men smelled of wintergreen. Gaius would know why. Underneath the wintergreen - almost, but not quite buried beneath the pungent odour - was what he had been hoping for.
"Merlin," he said, quite sure.
His arms went around Merlin, his Merlin, and he pressed his nose into the crook of Merlin's neck, breathing in Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.
His eyes were still closed when Merlin turned around and kissed him, as if they had always been this close, as if a kiss were the most natural thing in the world.
Arthur opened his eyes in time to see grey eyes brighten to blue and grey hair darken to a shock of dark hair that he would have recognised anywhere. (He would later swear that the ears doubled in size as he watched, but Merlin would swat him and tell him that his ears were totally unaffected by the spell.)
"I can't stay," he said, as if Arthur needed to be warned.
Arthur huffed into his shoulder. "But you're here now," he said simply, then breathed in again, hoarding a lungful of Merlin to carry him over to lock the door and then back to start stripping the dreadful old-man clothes from Merlin's clean, pale limbs.
Merlin laughed, clear and happy, and began to unlace Arthur's shirt. "I thought you would have more to say," he said cheerfully.
The pain that pierced Arthur's chest was no less for being made of joy. "What's to say? Thanks for killing the sorceress, by the way."
"It's what I do," Merlin admitted. His hands had finished their appointed task and were tracing through Arthur's chest hair. "You made William your manservant?"
"He reminded me of you," Arthur said thickly, his own hands resting on Merlin's waist. "And he's trustworthy." One hand came up to cup Merlin's cheek. "How long can you stay?"
"Maybe a week?"
"In my bed every night?"
"If you wish."
Arthur's voice was husky as he said plainly, "I wish."
Merlin's smile had been missing from this room for too long. They didn't have long, so Arthur pulled him to the bed and they made the most of the time they had.
He'd be back, Arthur reminded himself. This wasn't the last time that he would have Merlin in his bed. The dawn was barely lighting the room but Arthur didn't want to waste the light illuminating his lover's face when that face would be gone so soon.
Merlin looked about 12 when he was asleep, despite the scruffy stubble on his chin. His lips were red enough to give Arthur vaguely horrified thoughts of poetry. It was probably Merlin's fault, given how much time Arthur had spent this week listening to flowery barely-disguised versions of their adventures together.
It was the tale that Merlin had told last night that was lingering in Arthur's thoughts now. It had been the tale of a poor-but-honest peasant driven from his home by a wicked sorceress (Arthur's mouth twisted wryly at this detail) and his adventures in the big wide world. The peasant nearly drowned in a flood, was attacked with a pitchfork by a crazed man and wandered lonely and starving across the mountains 'with a heart as empty of joy as his pockets were free of gold'.
At last the peasant had come to a mansion where he had performed three tasks for a master who proved to be a kindly prince, and the story ended with him well-fed and contented with his place there.
One day, Arthur thought; one day Merlin's wanderings would end and he would come home to Arthur.
Merlin stirred and sent out a questing hand in search of Arthur, who took it and held it to his chest. Merlin's lips curved in total contentment as he opened his eyes and looked up. "Have we time before Will comes?"
"Not long," Arthur said roughly. "Long enough, maybe."
Merlin dived under the blankets, wasting no time in finding Arthur's cock, heavy and hopeful at his groin. Arthur groaned, but all he could think was 'not long enough'. Merlin would be gone in a matter of hours.
Merlin pulled off with a quick lick of apology and pulled the blankets off Arthur's chest so that he could see his face. "Stop thinking. It's wasting time."
"I want..." Arthur said inarticulately.
"Well I want to suck you off before I go," Merlin said, "Do you have a better idea?"
"You're too far away, down there. Come up here and kiss me."
Merlin climbed up into his arms, his face puzzled but pleased. "You'd rather kiss me than have me suck you off?"
"You could be anyone down there. Up here I can taste you."
"Down there," said Merlin with some asperity, "I can taste you. Thoroughly."
Will knocked on the door and Arthur got up and went over to unlock it, glaring at Merlin. "Thanks Will. Come back in an hour," he ordered as he took the tray and closed the door in Will's surprised face.
"Now we have time for both," he said smugly as he got back into bed.
A crowd of children and servants came to wave farewell to the storyteller, perched on his donkey. The court physician gave him a bottle of wintergreen liniment and the Lady Morgana's maid pressed a parcel of food upon him. Even the Prince could be seen on the battlements, watching as the old man rode out of Camelot and up into the forest. Will fetched his master from up there when it was time for his midday meal.