Chapter Text
Sunlight splashed against shields like lacerations when Leon pushed open the door to the armoury. The subdued sunshine of the day had strengthened in time for its death and it passed over Leon’s face as he advanced further into the room, returning weapons with the same care that he’d removed them with. They’d been taken in the hope that sharpening his skills might sharpen his mind and prevent a repeat of attempted regicide from the Crown Prince, but all Leon had earned was sore hands and a weary head. It was as he was slotting an axe back into place that a metallic object crashed to the floor and Leon’s head snapped around.
Arthur’s servant – Merlin, if Leon remembered correctly – was sitting on the bench, leaning against one of the columns as they polished the prince’s armour. The armour was draped over one folded leg and they had halted in their task to retrieve the vambrace that had fallen beside them. Cautiously, Leon approached them. He had said little to them, despite them constantly being in his periphery; it seemed that in the time he’d been away, the role of Arthur’s servant had also entailed becoming his shadow.
‘Merlin?’
He had remembered correctly and Merlin looked up sharply. ‘Sir Leon,’ they murmured, perfectly polite as they avoided his gaze.
Leon took a step closer, leaning against the column opposite and pushing the hair off his perspiring forehead. ‘Do you usually do that down here?’
‘Sometimes,’ replied Merlin, gaze following the light glancing off the curve of cuirass as they continued. ‘It depends how many other tasks Arthur has planned for me.’ A small smile grazed their mouth. ‘He never thinks to look for me in the place where I should actually be.’
Silent for a moment, Leon studied them. From what he’d seen and from what he’d gleaned from conversations with Gwen, there was a familiarity between Merlin and Arthur, one that seemed more akin to the camaraderie between the knights than the typical relationship between courtier and servant. Merlin seemed almost ignorant of rank in their interactions – that much had been clear when they had barrelled towards Leon outside the throne room. As much as it had initially unnerved Leon, returning from the borders to find that there was a new addition to the royal household, and one who wasn’t even from Camelot at that, he had to admit that it was somewhat soothing to see Arthur more at ease, more confident, than he had been before Leon had left.
Merlin had returned to their task when Leon finally opened his mouth. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said, voice imperceptibly uneven to anyone outside of his inner circle.
‘Thank me?’ repeated Merlin, frowning at a particularly stubborn patch of matte finish. ‘What for?’
‘For barging into the throne room today.’ Leon traced a ridge of stone along the column with his thumb, bowing his head. ‘What could have happened if you hadn't done so doesn’t bear thinking about.’
He had borne the thought, of course, between taking lunges at a stuffed opponent. Camelot would have been destroyed, that much he could be certain of. Leon knew Arthur well enough to prophesy that the ensuing guilt would have made him vulnerable to outside attacks, should he have defeated the King. And, had been the other way around, it would have been grief that rendered Camelot weak. Either way, Leon knew that his duty would have driven him six feet underground.
‘It was nothing,’ Merlin said. ‘Anyone would have done it.’
Leon hadn’t. He kept his gaze averted and began to tap his fingers against the column, trying to define what it was that he felt he still had to say. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, was a stunned voice reprimanding him for his commendation of Merlin blatantly disregarding authority. Beneath his lashes, he saw Merlin’s eyes dart towards him and pushed his fingers further into the stone when he tapped them.
Merlin’s voice was soft, feeble over the insistence of their polishing. ‘Is there anything else?’
It was a question that should have come from Leon, not from a servant, not when there were no instructions being given to them, no demands to be met. Leon cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to apologise. I realise that I’ve arrested you twice, now, and likely would have arrested you a third time earlier today—’
‘You’re not the first to get a kick out of seeing me in manacles,’ Merlin brightly said, causing Leon’s head to snap up.
‘That’s not what I—’
Merlin grinned, pausing in their polishing. ‘You were just doing your job, I know.’
‘Yes, well, on this occasion doing my job might have caused a catastrophe.’ Leon watched a frown pass over Merlin’s mouth as they slowly moved the cloth across the cuirass. ‘I know…I know that you tell the prince exactly what you think.’ Continuing to polish at a slow pace and hold Leon’s gaze, Merlin said nothing, waiting for him to continue. ‘Given what happened today, I would like for you to do the same with me and I will promise to hear you out.’
‘Tell you what I say to Arthur?’ asked Merlin, eyebrows drawn.
‘No, no.’ It wasn’t too late for Leon to tell them to forget it, to pretend that he’d got wires crossed and had really meant something else. There was something about Merlin, almost a raw belief in their own worth, that Leon was unfathomably reluctant to crush under the weight of codes and expected conducts. ‘Tell me when I’m about to do something that you think I shouldn’t, or when I’m wrong.’
Merlin’s hand fell flat and their back straightened against the column. ‘Why?’
‘The prince trusts you,’ Leon replied simply, curling his fingers around his belt. ‘I should, too.’
‘Doesn’t mean you have to listen to my opinions.’
The lines on their face were carved from confusion and, perhaps, suspicion. Leon swallowed. He was under no obligation to listen to their opinions, Merlin was quite right. He was under even less obligation to encourage it, particularly when mouthing off nobility was an assured way to spend a night in the cells. Yet Merlin was still Arthur’s servant, which meant that nothing they had said had backfired so much that their employment had been terminated or they themself had. And, after a few drinks and under the protection of high-backed chairs in The Rising Sun, Leon had listened to Gwen’s opinions. The only difference was that he had known Gwen for most of his life and trusting her was not a conscious choice.
‘It doesn’t,’ Leon finally said. ‘But I think, perhaps, that sometimes they may be right.’
Slowly, a smile transformed Merlin’s face. ‘And if you do hear me out but still disagree, could you throw me in the middle cell? It’s got the best floor. Full of indentations to sit quite comfortably in.’
Against his better judgement, the corners of Leon’s mouth turned up. ‘I’ve never known someone to be so nonchalant about the prospect of incarceration.’
‘Well,’ replied Merlin, looking down to resume their task with gusto, ‘you’ve never known me.’
With a hum, Leon watched their hand pass over the cuirass, entranced by the repetitive motion. Then, he levered himself from the column and bid a quiet farewell that Merlin, lost in their own thoughts, didn’t acknowledge. Leon hadn’t known Merlin, that was true, but, with time, he reflected as he meandered towards his chambers with the promise of a hot bath, he would.