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What was it about Merlin, Arthur thought. The first time Arthur'd seen him, the silly git'd been utterly gormless, tripping over his own feet, practically begging boys to bully him. It didn't help that he had such a stupid haircut, either, and his ears sticking out like bookends, or those big blue eyes that pretended to be so guileless. Something about his mouth made Arthur want to punch it. And yet, he wanted Merlin around, for reasons he chose not to examine.
Merlin was a terrible manservant, cheeky, clumsy and far too good at getting into trouble, which then necessitated Arthur's getting into trouble trying to rescue him. Uther thought Merlin was far more trouble than he was worth, and Arthur didn't disagree with him. And yet. Merlin frequently gave Arthur cause to wonder why he kept Merlin around.
He told himself it was just because he wanted a mate, someone his own age, and though the unseemliness of the idea – the Prince, pal'ing around with a commoner, let alone a servant! – was absurd on the face of it, it was very nearly true. All the soldiers his own age went home to their families at night. Sometimes Merlin refused to leave and insisted on sleeping across the doorstep for no good reason. Arthur let him stay but felt vaguely guilty about it.
Sometimes Arthur lay awake, in the semi-darkness listening to Merlin softly snoring, wanting something he could not name, his erection making its presence felt by nudging into his hand like an aggressively friendly hound, and he felt weird and nervous taking care of it with Merlin there, even though it made no difference anyway, Merlin would find out when he changed the sheets, and the thought of Merlin touching his spunk, even cold and dried-up, was strangely arousing, and even as he tried to tell himself it wasn't that it was degrading for Merlin to have to handle his dirty sheets but the sheer intimacy of sharing his bodily fluids, even once removed, and he was picturing the look on Merlin's face as he realized what it was, that lush mouth dropping open with surprise, probably rolling his eyes or even smiling a little, and then Arthur was spilling into his hand, hot and wet and in utter silence, controlling his breathing. The next morning he rushed out before Merlin awoke – even though he knew that in and of itself would be suspicious, since Arthur almost never even stirred until Merlin came in to rouse him – having realized that attempting to wash his own sheets would be a dead giveaway as well. When he came back that night from training he could hardly look at Merlin.
After a while it became obvious to himself, and then he began toying with various ideas. Princes could pretty much do whatever they wanted – the sheer number of people in the castle that Arthur could actually command into his bed was astonishing – but he didn't want it that way. That was too easy. Yes, he could make Merlin sleep with him – and he was pretty sure he could make him like it; not all of the people he had slept with had known who he was at the time, which removed the incentive to flattery – but that would be a hollow victory. Taking advantage of his position to coerce Merlin into it would be cheating. He wanted to see Merlin's cheeks stained rosy with blushes of his own accord, to see his eyes flash gold with lust as he looked at Arthur; he wanted to kiss those full pink lips and not fear Merlin's flinch.
* * * * * * * * *
“I want you to survey the Northern border,” said Uther one day, tossing him a map. “Take a small company, just a few trusted men; see what they're up to out there. I don't entirely trust those Northerners. There has been talk of banditry and maybe even minor insurrection. Lay low and scout it out; if something is brewing we will send a troop to stamp it out.”
He would need a body servant, of course. Never mind a competent one, Arthur chose Merlin.
“How long will we be gone?” Merlin asked, somehow managing to make a simple factual query sound ludicrously saucy. Arthur successfully suppressed the corresponding urge to put him in a headlock.
“About a month, I should say. But pack lightly; we have to carry all this stuff ourselves. And by ‘we’, I mean you.”
“Oh, right then, I'll just leave your good cauldron out.” He made as if to remove something giant and invisible from the pack. Cheeky monkey, Arthur thought fondly. He rolled his eyes to counteract it.
“What about my history books? We won't be needing those.”
Merlin started and actually did take out an enormous tome from the topmost sack – it had to have weighed half a stone at least. He caught Arthur's amused stare and flushed adorably.
“What? Just a little light reading.”
Arthur chuckled and this time gave in to the urge to ruffle Merlin's hair.
* * * * * * * * *
At first they had unseasonably excellent weather for early March, for three days in a row, until Arthur made the mistake of mentioning it.
“It doesn't seem quite natural,” he remarked to Merlin, whose plump brown gelding was plodding lethargically aside Arthur's second-best stallion (the cranky gray with the unfortunate biting habit).
“Sorry,” said Merlin inexplicably.
The rain started within the hour and didn't let up for five days. This made camping exponentially less comfortable, which was rather a shame.
* * * * * * * * *
Arthur wasn’t sure what had awakened him, but he opened his eyes to see Merlin sleeping by his feet. His dark hair was tousled, and his eyelashes fluttered (becomingly) as he muttered something incomprehensible, obviously deep in dreams. Gwaine and the other knights were snoring lumps nearby.
A bush across the clearing chose that moment to mysteriously burst into flames.
That's got to be a coincidence, thought Arthur. He kicked Merlin lightly in the shoulder, waited until his eyes were open, gestured at the burning bush, then turned over luxuriously, sliding his arms around the lumpy mass of his bundled-up traveling cloak, as he prepared to fall back to sleep. (Arthur always slept with something to hug; back at the castle it was the indolent softness of a feather pillow, but when on the road some sacrifices did have to be made. Whether the prince ever wished the object of his hugging were a scrawny, liquid-eyed walking disaster of a manservant was nobody's business but his own.)
* * * * * * * * *
As they passed by villages and towns in the central regions Arthur would often stop for a bit, no more than an hour or so, to hear disputes and attempt to settle them. Sometimes this ended well, such as when he convinced Aleton to trade their excess corn for neighboring Pieville's surplus wool. Other times it ended with their hightailing it out of town to the accompaniment of muttered curses and baleful looks, the feuding parties even more aggrieved than before Arthur showed up.
In Eelsvil Arthur settled a pitched battle over a misplaced/stolen cow to everyone's satisfaction, only to hear a squawking from two cottages down. It was human and sounded urgent, quickly evolving into words, most prominent of which was "Sire!", so he went over. He found Merlin in a Gaulish standoff with an older woman who was glaring at him suspiciously. She held a ratty gray ball of fluff in one hand and stood over a barrel full of water. The ball of fluff was dripping.
"That one, 'e wants me not to dispose of my property!" she croaked.
Merlin turned liquid blue eyes to Arthur. "She's going to drown a kitten!"
The ball of fluff chose that opportune moment to mew piteously. Arthur scowled at it. Gwaine and Leon were snickering.
“So? How is that any of your concern? I assume it belongs to her,” a glance at the woman confirmed she was nodding enthusiastically, “and anyway, aren't you from a village? They drown unwanted kittens all the time in the country.”
Merlin looked rebellious and guilty simultaneously. “I know. They tried to drown them in my village too, but somehow they never quite succeeded.”
“Not every'one 'as the luxury of keeping all the kittens, me lord,” the woman whined at Arthur.
Suddenly Arthur tired of the whole mess. It was getting late and his feet hurt, and they had more riding to do before they made an uncomfortable camp. He took a copper penny from his coin purse and held it out to the woman begrudgingly.
“Look, just give it to him already, would you? We've got to be on our way. Please accept this token of our appreciation.”
The woman seized the penny and went to hand Merlin the kitten, but somehow he was already holding it. Arthur spun on his heel and marched out, throwing over his shoulder, “Come on now” to his errant manservant.
* * * * * * * * *
Morgana awoke abruptly, drenched in sweat and shocked to the core. Gwen came in and sat on the bed. It was near dawn and Morgana could hear birds cheeping not-so-quietly outside.
“Nightmare again?” Gwen asked, trying for nonchalant and missing.
Morgana swallowed, her throat parched. “Yes,” she lied, feeling guilty. It had been a true dream, a foretelling, but not exactly a nightmare.
She didn't know what to think – when she closed her eyes she saw it again – Arthur's naked chest pushing out as his back arched, his eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy, hair damp with sweat, that was bad enough, but even worse and more perplexing was whose head lifted up – who was revealed to be the architect of that pleasure. She could not think it even to herself, though she knew if it hadn't already come true, it would.
She told herself it didn't matter. It was none of her concern, anyway. She did wonder a little why she would have dreamed this, as her dreams usually were portents of danger. She saw nothing dangerous in this. Ill-advised, perhaps, but not harmful to the realm, at least as far as she could tell.
* * * * * * * * *
The company was ten days out from Camelot when they were set upon by bandits. Everyone fought bravely – except Merlin, who hid in the bushes, as usual – but Percival was wounded, a nasty sword cut to the upper thigh that would fester if he didn’t receive some decent medical attention, which was hard to find out in the sticks. Elyan and Leon were dispatched to take him back to Camelot post-haste, leaving Merlin and Arthur with Gwaine as their only companion. No new knights were to be sent to meet them, as the logistics of meeting up were too difficult in the barely charted Northern regions. Getting closer to being alone, Arthur thought half-guiltily.
Merlin still carried the kitten – which he had boringly named “Fluffy” – everywhere he went. Arthur got used to seeing its little grey head peeping out from Merlin’s shirt or clinging to his saddle-horn. Gwaine mocked Merlin mercilessly for it, but Merlin just smiled. Arthur tried to stifle his own smile, usually succeeding.
* * * * * * * * *
The little party was three days from the nearest habitation when disaster struck. A poisonous snake, lurking unseen in the trees, fell down and landed on Arthur’s lap. He flung it away with an expression of disgust, but it was too late. He had been bitten on the arm. Merlin said something low under his breath that sounded almost like a curse, and his eyes flared gold in the late afternoon light.
At first it didn’t seem so bad. A small mark, not much swelling. But over the course of the day it grew redder, and Arthur began to feel extremely peculiar, like he was fading in and out of reality. Finally his sight grew dim, and he felt dizziness crowding in around him like a grey mist. He was falling – and darkness descended with a horrible finality.
* * * * * * * * *
He opened his eyes. He had no idea who or where he was. He was lying on the ground beneath a stand of oak trees. Nearby a gray horse was cropping grass with an evil expression on its ears. A small fire burned merrily, which was nice because it was rather cold. Or was it hot?
He looked around for signs of life. A tiny, adorable ball of fluff was watching him with enormous golden eyes. He smiled at it and made a motion towards it, but just then the bushes rustled and a tall skinny boy came out.
“Sire! You’re awake,” said he, with a relieved look. “I sent Gwaine back to fetch help – it’s too far for you to travel back to Camelot in your condition.”
He felt as if he should be glad that they were alone, but couldn’t remember why that should be so. The boy saw the puzzled look being directed at him and a frown grew between his eyebrows.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
The boy’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t remember?”
“Not a thing. But I’m sure you can handle it. You seem competent enough, and you have very kind eyes. And beautiful,” he added, almost as an afterthought. His lids were growing heavy again.
He fell back asleep before the astonished boy could say anything else.
* * * * * * * * *
The next time he awoke, he was in a shallow cave. The boy was bending over the fire stirring something in a pot.
He restlessly moved his head, and the boy turned to him eagerly.
“Arthur!”
“Oh, is that my name?”
The boy looked distinctly worried. “Yes, you are Prince Arthur of Camelot.”
“Wow, fancy. And who the hell are you?”
“I’m your... friend, Merlin.” The boy looked slightly guilty, as if he were telling a white lie. Arthur noted it, but was more concerned with the pain in his arm.
“What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I remember how I got here?”
“You were bitten by a snake. It was definitely poisonous, but of a type I’ve never seen before. Otherwise I would be able to brew up a remedy to counteract it.” Merlin’s eyes were enormous (and gorgeous) in the soft glow of the firelight. He still looked extremely concerned.
Arthur frowned. “You think I’m going to die, don’t you?”
“No!” yelped Merlin. “You can’t die now. Not like this. I won’t have it.”
Arthur smiled. “Oh you won’t, won’t you? That’s good to know.” Comforted, he fell back asleep.
* * * * * * * * *
The next time he woke, the kitten was curled in the space between his head and his shoulders. Merlin was nowhere to be seen. Arthur heard a strange singing noise emanating from somewhere behind him. Then Merlin’s disembodied voice spoke.
“Arthur, if you’re hearing this, I’ve gone out to fetch water and forage for food. Don’t be alarmed, I’ll be back soon. I left you Fluffy to keep you company.”
Arthur petted the kitten and waited, wondering about the strange message and how it worked. He still didn’t remember anything from before.
An endless time seemed to pass, and the light was fading by the time Merlin’s shadow darkened the cave entrance. He glanced at Arthur and seemed glad to find him conscious.
“I had to –” he started apologetically, but Arthur interrupted him.
“Get water and food, I know. I heard your little message. How did you do that, anyway? Neat trick.”
“Oh, I have my ways,” said Merlin evasively. “I didn’t want you to be frightened if you found me gone. D’ya want some water? How about food?”
“Depends – what’s on the menu?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. I could only find some greens and berries.”
He could tell by the way Merlin was looking at him that he was wondering if Arthur had remembered anything from the time before.
Arthur shook his head and answered the unspoken query. “Still a blank slate, I’m afraid.”
Merlin looked positively scared. “I don’t understand it – I’ve never heard of snake venom causing amnesia before. I wish Gaius were here to help me. I’m afraid I’m way out of my depth.”
“I don’t know who this Gaius person is, but he must be very learned, from the way you speak of him.”
“Oh yes, Gaius knows everything there is to know about healing and m– ” he cut off abruptly and busied himself with the fire. Whatever he had been about to say, it was something he didn’t feel he could share with Arthur. Arthur didn’t have the energy to worry about it.
“Now, how about some nice berry soup?”
* * * * * * * * *
That night Arthur awoke to bitter cold. The fire didn’t seem to help in the slightest. His teeth were chattering of their own accord and he moaned softly. The boy with the beautiful eyes – his name escaped Arthur again; he was barely hanging on to his own name at this point – woke up immediately and bent over Arthur solicitously.
“What’s wrong?”
“C-c-c-cold,” stammered Arthur through his shivering.
The boy felt his forehead. “Hm. Yet not a few hours ago you had a fever. This is not good.”
“I c-c-c-an’t seem to g-g-g-et w-w-arm.”
The boy pushed at Arthur’s blankets, scrabbling to make room, then lay down beside him.
“Here. I’m here. Don’t worry.” He put his arms around Arthur. His thin body felt like a furnace compared to Arthur’s bone-deep chill. Arthur felt himself beginning to thaw, but still could not stop shaking. The boy hesitated for a second, then lightly began stroking Arthur’s hair. Arthur felt himself slowly slipping back into sleep, but managed to whisper, “Thank you.”
He felt rather than saw the boy’s smile. “You’re welcome,” came the soft reply.
* * * * * * * * *
Half-asleep, Arthur cuddled his pillow defiantly. He was the Prince, no one could make him get up before he was good and ready, damn it.
His pillow felt oddly bony, rather like a big sack of twigs. He poked it experimentally.
Suddenly it spoke. “What do you want?”
Arthur could hardly believe his ears. “Merlin? What the devil are you doing in my bed?” He opened his eyes indignantly.
Merlin's back was to him, thank God, so all he could see of his face was the backs of his giant ears, which were turning red. “You were ill in the night, you were freezing cold. I did the only thing I could think of to get you warm again –” suddenly he stopped and turned around, obviously struck by something. “Do you remember who you are? Camelot, and... everything?”
Arthur scoffed. “Of course I remember. We were going up to the North countries; there’d been reports of some unrest or something. We got ambushed by bandits and Percival was sent home with a wound –” now it was his turn to stop. “And then it's a blur, until I woke up today.” He remembered flashes without context: Merlin’s face in the firelight looking worried, some kind of god-awful berry concoction. Not much more.
Merlin looked oddly relieved. “You were bitten by a venomous snake, which – rather bizarrely, at least in my experience – gave you amnesia. See, look at the bite.”
He pushed up the sleeve on Arthur's left arm to reveal twin puncture marks that were clearly a partially healed snake bite.
“You didn't even remember your own name – let alone mine.” A rueful half-smile flitted across his face. “I was beginning to fear I'd lost my arrogant prat of a prince forever.” The smile grew to cheeky proportions.
“Why you little –” Arthur swatted him.
“I think you're well enough to set off back to Camelot now, my lord.”
“Oh you do, do you? And what about our mission?”
“I think you should send someone else to do that. I still want to confer with Gaius about the effects of that bite. We can send some knights to recall the party that was supposed to be coming to help us when we get back.”
“How long has it been, anyway? I’ve rather lost track of time.”
“Three days since the snake bit you. About fifteen days since we set out from Camelot.”
“Father’s going to kill me. Not only did I fail to complete my mission, but I’ve managed to get myself into trouble. Again.”
* * * * * * * * *
On the road again, Merlin gave Arthur a sidelong look. “You said I had beautiful eyes,” he remarked pertly.
Arthur scowled. “That was the poison talking. Obviously.”
“Interesting,” said Merlin. “Never knew anyone to pay unwarranted compliments whilst in a poison-induced delirium before.”
Arthur scowled harder. “Well, the things you don’t know would fill a book, Merlin.”
“Hm." Arthur stole a glance at him. Merlin was smiling, as if to himself. "You said it more than once.”
“Will you shut up?!”
“I’m just saying.” A pause that somehow managed to be saucy. “So I just want to get this straight – you’re denying that you think my eyes are beautiful?”
Arthur felt his cheeks flaming and refused to dignify that with a response. He kicked his horse angrily to try to get ahead of Merlin. The evil nag promptly turned its head and tried to bite him. Arthur responded by slapping it across the nose with the reins. First bandits, then snakes, insubordinate servants, now badly behaved horses – would this curséd trip never end? Suddenly it occurred to him that he had had an ulterior motive for bringing Merlin along, one which was spectacularly derailed by this whole poisonous snake nonsense. Remembering this made him scowl even more. Why the hell had he thought it was a good idea to try to get Merlin into bed again? Of all the cheeky, wayward prats in Camelot, I had to pick this one to seduce... And then he remembered that this morning he had had Merlin in his bed – or bed-roll, anyway – and he hadn’t even taken advantage of the situation!
Well, if Merlin’s reckoning of time was at all accurate, they still had fifteen-odd days before they got back to Camelot. If Arthur still wanted to, he had a chance to get somewhere with this ludicrous project he had set himself. Grumbling under his breath, Arthur kicked the gray into a shambling trot. He wasn’t entirely sure he still wanted to bed that ungainly sack of bones, anyway.
* * * * * * * * *
The next few days passed without incident. The weather was lovely, they didn’t make the mistake of stopping anywhere unless they needed supplies, and Merlin held his tongue for once. Arthur’s snake-bite continued to heal – Merlin checked it twice daily, and spread some kind of weird cream on it – and there was no further resurgence of his amnesia. All was quiet. Too quiet, if you asked Arthur.
Arthur found himself deeply bored, and spoiling for something. Either a fight, or a swive – he felt like getting massively drunk and seeing which came first. Luckily, just as dusk was drawing down like a soft blanket over the countryside, they came upon a wayside inn.
“Let’s sleep here tonight!” said Arthur, failing to contain his excitement.
Merlin shrugged. “If you say so, Sire,” he muttered.
Arthur made a moue at that, but didn’t bother hectoring him about it, since he was getting what he wanted. He sprang off his horse and strode jauntily into the tavern, leaving Merlin to see about the horses and deal with their belongings.
Inside the low building – it was half-empty and not a bit smoky from the ever-present fire – he walked up to the bar and looked around for the proprietor. A large, somewhat unkempt man popped out of the back, sized Arthur up instantly and said, “What’ll it be, friend?”
Arthur said, “My servant and I would like a room” – he almost said rooms but caught himself just in time – “for the night, if you please. And some supper.”
“Absolutely, sir, I will have my finest room prepared immediately. Tonight we have a fish stew and a lovely roast capon. Which would you prefer?”
The fish stew sounded unappetizing, so Arthur went with the capon. The innkeep was most gratified at seeing the quality of Arthur’s coin – he didn’t even surreptitiously bite it as most people did to test the gold content – and as Arthur had suspected, he recognized Arthur’s profile from the half-sovereign Uther had (perhaps prematurely) issued last year. The hushed way the staff waited on them made it obvious that he had shared his insight with them – a frowsy serving-girl, brushing back her hair with spit-damped hands, and an older woman missing most of her teeth who led Merlin to the room, both bowing and scraping for all they were worth. Arthur tipped them a few ha’pennies, feeling magnanimous.
The capon was quite nice, and what was even nicer was the strong local ale, which was pale blonde and had a clean, yet fruity taste. After four tankards of it, Arthur found himself embroiled in a pitched argument with a random traveler about Uther’s campaign to clean up the Northern borders, waving a half-eaten capon leg to emphasize his point (“Mer – my man – an’ I were attacked by bandits not ten days ago! One o’ my knights got a baad sword cut and had to be sent home! We were lucky to survive with our lives!”) and glanced over to see Merlin looking rather dreamy (in both senses of the word), his blue eyes darkened with drink, smiling at Arthur like a half-wit. On seeing this Arthur choked in mid-swallow and had to be clapped on the back by the traveler, their dispute temporarily forgotten.
After seven tankards of glorious ale, Arthur found himself leading a round of bawdy songs with the entire patronage of the tavern joining in. Merlin was laughing and singing along, eyes now glowing merrily in the firelight, and Arthur was compelled to sling his arm around him chummily.
Arthur had lost track of how much ale he had consumed by the time Merlin dragged him off to their room, which was small but clean, with but the one mid-sized bed. Merlin started to make up a bedroll on the floor for himself, but Arthur would have none of it.
“I insit – insissst! You sleep in here wi’ me! What if I get cold in the night again?” Arthur slurred in a hammy attempt to play upon Merlin’s sympathy.
Merlin smiled. He was definitely tipsy but nowhere near as far gone as Arthur. “What, with this big blanket? Or do you just mislike sleeping alone?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yeshh, that’s it, I’m so desperately lonely, I need your scrawny ass t’ keep me company. Jus’ shut up and do as I say. Don’t question your liege!”
“Ah yes, because I am so well known for my unquestioning obedience.”
Arthur detected an eye-roll and smirked to himself. “But first, I gotta take a leak. Mebbe several.”
“After the amount you’ve had to drink, I’m not surprised. D’ya need any help?”
“Ha! I’m pretty sure I can still piss by mysel’, thank you very little.” Arthur staggered off to the privy, laughing heartily at his own witticism.
When he came back, Merlin was already ensconced in the bed, hogging the majority of the covers. Arthur threw off his clothes with reckless – and rather loud – abandon, then clambered in beside him wearing only his underthings.
“Shove over! Who’s paying for this bed anyway? You cheeky, insub- insubord’nate underling! Make way for your Prince!” Merlin moved over a fraction of an inch, which meant Arthur had no choice – no choice! – but to snug up next to him. Merlin was so warm, it was like having an animate furnace for a bedfellow. Arthur couldn’t help himself, it felt so very nice – he just had to plant his icy feet right on Merlin’s hot little calf.
“Gah! Why are your feet so cold! They’re like ice! I didn’t sign up to be a bedwarmer, you know!”
Arthur laughed. (Bedwarmer was a frequently disparaging term used for a person who would sleep with anyone for the price of their dinner.) “Oh really? Who paid for your dinner? And whose bed are you, in fact, currently warming?”
“Hey, I thought this bed was for both of us. And warming it was not part of my job description. I’m just saying.”
Arthur’s feet were becoming less chilly by the second, and he wriggled his toes luxuriously.
“Well, it should be. I’m just saying. Must warm the Prince’s bed upon request.”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to laugh, a low, pleasant sound. “Really Arthur, I had no idea you felt this way about me. First you like my eyes, now you want me to warm your bed? Where shall we go from here?”
Arthur turned to him, suddenly driven to distraction by the nearness of him, scrawny frame, liquid eyes, big ears and all. “Will. You. Shut. Your everlasting gob.” He was still drunk, and couldn’t tell whether his dizziness was due to copious amounts of ale or the proximity of that luscious mouth. He stared at Merlin accusingly, closing one eye to see him better. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
Merlin opened his (succulent) lips to make some saucy rejoinder, but Arthur forestalled him with a kiss. It started out a bit awkward, but rapidly became rather heated. Merlin was not resisting, in fact he seemed quite eager, pushing his tongue into Arthur’s mouth with a pertness that was so perfectly Merlin, it was only to be expected. Then he sucked Arthur’s tongue into his own mouth and drew upon it with enough force to leave Arthur gasping. After a few ecstatic minutes of this, Merlin broke the kiss and smiled.
“Hmm, maybe this bedwarming gig’s not so bad after all,” Merlin teased in a low, sultry tone that sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Though just so you know, I serve you by choice, not because you pay me. You have a great destiny ahead of you, and it’s my job to make sure you stay alive long enough to see it.”
“Ha! That’s a funny joke, considering how often you’re the one who puts me in danger, what with all the chasing after you and getting you out of trouble.” Arthur was having difficulty concentrating due to his burgeoning erection. They were so close, Merlin had to feel it, but only a tiny smirk betrayed his awareness.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“About what? Your incredible knack for finding the most dangerous situation and putting yourself right in the middle of it?”
“No, about just how many times I’ve saved your life.”
Arthur scoffed. “You? Save me? Hardly ever.”
Merlin smiled. It was the look of fond amusement that Arthur suspected his own face frequently wore when watching Merlin do something adorably gauche. “That’s what you think. Trust me, you’d be dead many times over if I weren’t here to watch your back.”
Arthur could hardly credit this. He settled for kissing Merlin again, truly, madly, deeply. But Merlin, typically, refused to be silenced that easily.
“Just one more thing – what would you call this?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called noblesse oblige?”
Merlin snickered at that. “Oh, in that case, thank you for your extreme generosity, my liege.”
“You’re quite welcome – don’t mention it,” said Arthur magnanimously.
* * * * * * * * *
Back at the castle, things soon got back to normal, with one small change – Merlin sometimes spent the night in the Prince’s bed instead of at his doorsill, and no one was the wiser. There was more than one perk to this Prince gig, after all.