Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Is there anything else you need, sire?” Merlin asked as he set down the prince’s supper.

Arthur only briefly met Merlin’s eyes as he picked up his fork. Merlin had tried not to sound too eager to leave, but Arthur knew Merlin almost as well as Merlin knew him. A slight tonal inflection could give him away.

“That will be all for tonight, Merlin,” Arthur replied.

Merlin bowed his head in a rare display of servility and hurried through the castle corridors back to his chambers. He’d already brought the tub into his room earlier; he only had to fill it with water and heat it with magic.

Merlin was antsy all through his own supper of rabbit stew with Gaius. Gaius’s damned eyebrow was the only thing keeping him from running straight to his bedroom and jumping right out of his clothes.

Finally, Merlin drained the last of the broth and set his empty bowl down with a hollow thud.

“Night, Gaius,” he said, magically cleaning his dishes before Gaius could reprimand him.

Merlin filled two buckets a time at the water basin he and Gaius kept in their chambers, then emptied them into the large tub in his room. He’d have to refill the basin the next morning with a few trips to the water pump outside, but for now he shut his bedroom door, muttered a quick spell, and undressed.

He sank into the water and sighed at the same time his gills flared. Finally, after a whole week, he’d found the time to rest. He immersed as much of his body as he could beneath the surface, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing through the six horizontal slits in his side instead of his nose. It was so good to finally use them again.

Gaius didn’t like when Merlin fell asleep in the bath because it was too risky, but sometimes Merlin couldn’t help it. He had tried to liken it to when the old man put his feet up in front of the fire on a chilly night and dozed off. It was relaxing, comforting.

The water was cold when Merlin woke up the next morning, but he didn’t really mind. It was only when it was freezing that he couldn’t stand it. As far as Merlin was concerned, any water was good water. He would take what he could get.

He dried off quickly and hurried to get dressed. He was already late with Arthur’s breakfast and told Gaius he’d come round later in the day to refill the water basin. He didn’t fancy having Arthur throw something at his head after such a peaceful evening. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to the kitchens.

As Merlin waited for Audrey to finish loading the prince’s tray, he wondered when Arthur’s next hunt would be.

Arthur had a strange fondness for impromptu hunts, so when Merlin lightly suggested the kitchen could use a bit more game, Arthur said they’d ride out the next afternoon, as he was free then. Merlin went about his chores that day more lighthearted than usual and willed the elements to hold back on the rain that was due.

“I suppose this is the time you ask if we can go swimming,” Arthur said as they wrapped the game in their packs the next afternoon.

Merlin shrugged noncommittally, but his pulse had quickened at the prospect. He never felt more at ease than when he was completely submerged in water. A tub just wasn’t the same.

“If you want to.”

"You always ask, and we always do, unless it's too cold. Why should this time be any different?" Arthur said, amused.

Merlin smiled and started for the lake.

Swimming was the only time Arthur wasn't a complete and utter prat. Merlin guessed he hadn’t got to swim much as a child and therefore enjoyed it. That only made the time they spent together so much better, because it meant both of them were happy.

"Want to see who can hold their breath longer?" Arthur asked, splashing Merlin in the face.

Merlin laughed. "No thanks. Think I already know who'll win that one."

"Have a little confidence, Merlin. Nobody likes someone that gives up before they even try."

"Good thing I don't have anyone in particular I want to impress, then." Merlin splashed him back. "Besides, I meant I would win, obviously."

Arthur threw his head back and laughed at that. “You? You’re so skinny I’m surprised that body even has lungs to fill.”

“How would you know if I’m skinny or not? You haven’t seen me naked.” Merlin never undressed in front of Arthur and always kept his clothes on when they went swimming, no matter how hot it was.

Arthur blushed. “Prove it to me, then. Take off your shirt.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll see who can hold their breath the longest. But I want to know what my prize will be when I win.”

“If you win, you don’t have to muck out the stables once we return. When you lose, you have to take your shirt off.”

“Deal.” Without any more warning, or even taking a deep breath, Merlin ducked under the water. Arthur followed soon after.

Thanks to Merlin holding off the clouds, it was a sunny day and he could see Arthur staring back at him in the tinted blue world. Arthur’s blond hair floated lazily, drifting about his head and swaying side to side with the waves. The sun shone brightly through it, highlighting each separate shade and making Arthur himself seem to glow. The ripples of sunlight across his skin was a sight that always made its way into Merlin’s dreams.

Unlike in his dreams, Arthur wasn’t naked. He’d kept his smalls on, but even so, it left little to the imagination, what with the way the fabric clung to him like a second skin. Merlin hoped Arthur would give up soon, so he wouldn’t have to be faced with the challenge of keeping his eyes averted.

After twenty and then thirty seconds passed, Merlin smiled and stuck his tongue out at the prince. Even underwater Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn’t shove Merlin’s shoulder playfully as he normally would have done. He saved all his energy for holding his breath.

Near the minute mark Arthur gave up, and Merlin stayed under another few seconds to rub the victory in. Arthur’s hand pushing his head down made him realise it was probably a good idea to pretend to come up for air.

“Well,” Merlin began as he resurfaced, not the least bit out of breath, “whatever shall I do with my afternoon now?”

Arthur sneered and launched a spray of water at Merlin’s face. “You’ll spend it polishing my armour, that’s what.”

Merlin wiped the water out of his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “There’s simply no winning with you, is there?”

“Of course not. I’m the Crown Prince. Haven’t you learned by now, Merlin?”

One of Arthur’s feet kicked Merlin in the shin, and even though it wasn’t hard—how effectively could one kick underwater anyways?—it surprised a yelp out of Merlin all the same. It was the sentiment that bothered Merlin the most; Arthur seemed honestly angry that he’d lost their childish game.

Merlin tread carefully, falling back on banter as always. “You’re just upset you didn’t get your prize,” he said, smirking.

Arthur looked unimpressed. “Please, Merlin. If I really wanted to, I could just order you to take your shirt off.”

“Then why don’t you?”

The words escaped before Merlin could hold them back. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the answer. Arthur was a better man than that. But something in Merlin, the part of him that wanted to share everything with Arthur—his magic, his affection, and yes, even his horrid gills—had manifested itself in the form of a tactless slip of the tongue.

Arthur sputtered, taken aback. “Because!”

“Because why?”

“Because. Obviously, I’m...I’m not that kind of prince, Merlin. And besides, you’re insubordinate as it is. It’s not like you’d ever listen.”

Merlin laughed it off as nonchalantly as he could manage, for which Arthur seemed grateful. “You’re certainly right about that. Sire.”

Arthur sighed and tread backwards so he could float on his back. “You’ll be the death of me, Merlin, I swear.”

Merlin didn’t like the tone of resignation in Arthur’s voice, or the way in which Arthur let his eyes slide shut. It was an obvious close to the conversation, and Merlin couldn’t help but feel he was missing a crucial part, not reading between the lines hard enough.

Still, the view wasn’t bad. It wasn’t every day that Merlin got to see the gorgeous prince of Camelot glistening wet in the sunshine, with his face to the sky and seemingly at peace. He’d seen Arthur naked plenty of times, of course—as Arthur’s manservant it was his duty to bathe and clothe him—but in the sunny weather, with Arthur’s face devoid of its usual smirking expression… That was a treasure. Merlin boldly watched Arthur float in peace for a few minutes.

Then it occurred to him that he should be using this time to swim properly. Arthur wasn’t watching; Merlin wouldn’t have to come up for air, and he could fly through the underwater world at his leisure.

“I’ll just be over there,” Merlin said. Arthur grunted and acknowledged Merlin with a lazy wave of his hand.

Merlin didn’t lose any time sinking beneath the surface. He slipped silently deep underwater, nearly to the rocky bottom, and started kicking his legs, propelling himself forward and away. There was so much space, so many different little lake plants and fish, and the shimmering sunlight was so perfectly beautiful.

Merlin pushed his arms out in front of himself and barrel rolled, navigating the currents of the water as easily as a bird flew in the air, even with his clothes loose and in the way. He laughed giddily, bubbles erupting from between his lips. A silver fish slowed in its path, eyeing Merlin warily, as if he were a sea nymph that’d lost his mind, then darted away. Merlin just laughed again.

He tried not to lose track of time and stray too far from Arthur, but he didn’t know when he’d get to do this again, when he’d next have so much freedom to swim and breathe and dance beneath the waves in the warm sunlight.

Not nearly enough time passed before Merlin began to get the feeling he often got when he left Arthur’s side whenever they were away from the castle. A tugging in his mind told him he ought to return.

Merlin curled his body into a ball, spun gracefully, and shot off back in the direction he’d come. As he neared Arthur’s strong, kicking legs, he felt the vibrations of sound from underwater. Arthur was calling his name.

Merlin swam to the surface and took in a big gulp of air as soon as his head was above water. Arthur’s neck nearly snapped from how quickly he turned to look at Merlin.

“Where were you?” Arthur demanded.

“Just over there.” Merlin waved in the general direction. “Like I said I would be.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t quite believe it.

“What?” Merlin asked innocently. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve done this.”

And it wasn’t. Merlin always went off on his own while Arthur relaxed, floating on his back, ever since the first time they’d come out here. To Arthur it probably seemed like Merlin just really enjoyed swimming and being in the water, the same way Arthur had a passion for hunting or training. Everyone had their hobbies, right? So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Merlin had simply lost track of time doing what he loved so much.

“I didn’t see you,” Arthur said. “Thought maybe you’d drowned.”

Merlin couldn’t help it; he threw his head back and laughed.

Arthur raised a puzzled brow. “Glad you find that so funny. Come on, let’s head back. And don’t go so far out next time.”

Merlin swam behind Arthur, back to the edge of the lake. “What, did you miss me?” he teased.

Arthur snorted. “Hardly. Believe it or not, it’s actually quite nice being able to float in peace without you chattering on. No, it was just bothersome that you weren’t there when I wanted to leave, and I had to wait for you to grace me with your annoying presence again.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, then ducked underwater and swam as fast as he could the rest of the way, easily beating Arthur.

The only downside to their swimming was, of course, Merlin’s wet clothes. He always took off his boots beforehand, but his clothes were so weighed down with water that they managed to get soaked every time regardless. They made squishing sounds as he walked—because Arthur wouldn’t let him ruin the leather of the horse’s saddle by riding—and his entire body felt heavy and burdened. Ignoring Arthur’s “I told you you were a complete idiot” expression had become easier over time, though.

And Merlin always felt better after a day out swimming. He would drop the game Arthur had killed off at the kitchens, return to his room to magically dry his wet clothes, then lay on his bed, closing his eyes and remembering the feeling of flying through the water. Sometimes he’d lie there until the sun went down and he had to serve Arthur supper, and sometimes he just fell asleep that way, where his dreams were of him and Arthur, naked beneath the waves in the shimmering sunlight.

Today, unfortunately, was the former. There was no time to fall into a restful sleep, and shortly after lying down to cast his mind back to the afternoon, Merlin sat up to study before he was needed again. When the natural light began to fade, Merlin closed his spellbook and hid it away.

He knew something was wrong the moment he walked into Arthur’s chambers with supper. Arthur was slumped in his chair by the fire, holding his chin in his hand and staring ahead at seemingly nothing. He didn’t even move when Merlin placed his food down on the table.

Merlin could guess the cause of Arthur’s sour mood. He’d probably gone to see his father again, the once mighty king of Camelot still mourning Morgana’s betrayal. If Gwen’s chewed lips were anything to go by, the king’s state of oblivion had not improved.

It made Merlin ache to see Arthur so forlorn after a pleasant day spent carelessly hunting and swimming.

“Sire?” Merlin nudged cautiously. Arthur didn’t reply. He probably only blinked because he had to. Merlin tried something else. “Really, Arthur, you’re not so fat you should starve yourself.”

That got a snort out of the prince, even a barely noticeable twitch of his lips. Merlin tried not to smile too triumphantly and poured wine into a goblet beside the plate.

“If you won’t eat this, I know someone who’d be glad to,” Merlin continued. “Dark hair, winning smile, bit on the tall side? Know who I mean?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair. “You wouldn’t dare eat the prince’s supper, Merlin,” he said, walking over.

“No, of course not, sire,” Merlin replied, grin widening. He turned away to begin tidying the room.

Merlin had stoked the fire, swept the hearth, put away clothing, organised documents into a neat pile, and turned down the bed before he looked back to find Arthur pouring more wine into his goblet. Arthur’s cheeks were already flushed pink with intoxication and his hand was swaying from the effort of holding the jug steady.

Merlin hurried to Arthur’s side. “I think that’s enough, sire,” he said, taking the jug from Arthur’s grasp. “It’s getting late. Perhaps you should try to sleep.”

Arthur swatted Merlin’s hand away and reached for his cup. Merlin sighed and watched helplessly as Arthur drained half of it in three large gulps.

“Arthur, it’s late—”

“It’s not your place to decide anything for the Crown Prince, Merlin!” Arthur snapped, setting the goblet down with a loud thud. “Can I not even be miserable in peace?”

Merlin took a respectful step backwards. “I apologise, sire, I only meant—”

“You only meant for me to retire early so you could go to the tavern like you always do, or meet with some woman down in the lower city,” Arthur finished for him. “Just put the brooding prince to bed and go have a good time before you have to wake up and do it all again. Leave me here to stare aimlessly ahead, mourning the decline of my father. He’s a king but he’s a man too, you know. I seem to be the only person who hasn’t forgot that.”

“That’s—That’s not true at all!” Merlin sputtered. “I would never abandon you, Arthur. Nor do I visit the tavern nearly as much as you think, and I promise you, no such woman in the lower city exists.”

As if anyone could compare or take up Merlin’s whole world as dominantly as Arthur did. As if anyone could ever even want a deformed creature such as Merlin. He’d more than a few times lain in bed and ran a finger along the folds of his gills as he got himself off, wondering what a prostitute would think. Wondering against his better judgement what Arthur would think.

“A lad then,” Arthur remarked, reaching for his goblet. “One of the stable boys, no doubt. They always were up for a tumble in one of the stalls.”

Merlin grabbed the cup and moved it out of Arthur’s grasp. “Arthur, please. Stop. You’re not yourself.”

“You don’t deny it, then?” Arthur said, raising his glassy eyes to Merlin’s.

“I don’t deny that drinking yourself silly won’t help anything, certainly not tomorrow morning when I’ve got to deal with you.”

Arthur sneered and slumped back into his chair. “Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which stable boy?”

Merlin sighed in exasperation. “Arthur, I’m telling you there’s no one. Nobody, woman or man, would look twice at me even if I wanted them to. And it’s no business of yours either way. Now would you please get up and go to bed?”

Arthur’s mouth tilted in a pouty frown and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would you say that, Merlin?”

“Yes, I know, I’m not supposed to make demands of the Crown Prince,” Merlin responded, rolling his eyes. “But really, Arthur, it’s all for your—”

“No, no,” Arthur waved it off. “Why do you think no one would look twice at you?”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

“It’s not as though you’re unattractive,” Arthur said. “Despite those unfortunate ears and that doe-eyed expression.”

Merlin stuttered, at a loss for words. Did Arthur just call him attractive?

No, Arthur was definitely not himself. He wouldn’t dare talk so openly about things like this if it weren’t for the wine.

Arthur leaned forward and reached for the goblet once more. Merlin was almost too distracted deciphering words to notice, but reached to stop him at the last second, a second just too late.

“This will be the last one, Merlin,” Arthur said. “The last cup, and then you can go do whatever it is that is so important you find it suitable to order me to bed.”

That kicked Merlin’s brain into proper working order again. What he had actually planned to do was return to studying from his spellbook, practising defensive spells in preparation for an attack by Morgana. The afternoon spent swimming and connecting with nature had left him feeling rejuvenated, and his magic was thrumming happily, eager to get some use.

“Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you that it really is quite late and I’d simply like to go to sleep myself. Sire,” Merlin replied.

The expression on Arthur’s face was sceptical as he drained the rest of his goblet. He swatted Merlin away at first, but then let Merlin help him stand and guide him to bed. Merlin quickly removed his boots and clothes, leaving him in only his smalls. Arthur waved Merlin away, muttering, “That’ll be all, Merlin,” and rolled over onto his side beneath the covers.

Merlin began snuffing out the candles, and Arthur’s breathing steadied into a slow, easy rhythm. Merlin was certain Arthur was already heavily under by the time he reached the last candle at Arthur’s bedside, but Arthur’s rough voice pierced the silence.

“Merlin?”

Merlin stilled his hand, perched above the last candle flame. “Yes, Arthur?”

“Do you believe there’s a chance he’ll get better?” he asked, and Merlin knew instantly of whom Arthur was speaking. “Has Gaius or Guinevere said anything?”

Merlin chewed his lip, formulating an answer. Neither Gaius, Gwen, nor the maid who often helped Gwen had said anything that hinted at a possible recovery. At last, he said, “As far as medicine goes, I’m not sure. But maybe he simply needs a reason to smile. My mother always said one never got any better if they sulked all the time. If you want it badly enough, you’ll recover.”

Arthur stirred beneath the heavy fabric, turning to look at him. “You don’t think he wants to recover?”

Merlin continued carefully. “I think, perhaps, wherever his mind is right now… He feels he has no reason to want it badly enough.”

Arthur propped himself up on his elbow. “Am I not enough? His own son?”

Merlin didn’t need to bring up Morgana’s revelation of her being, in fact, Uther’s own daughter. He saw the knowledge rise to the forefront of Arthur’s mind as a pained expression crossed Arthur’s face.

“Of course you are enough, Arthur. You simply haven’t said the right thing to get through to him yet. But you will. You’ll find a way, I know it.”

Arthur lay back with a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such blind faith.”

Merlin wanted to say that it wasn’t only what Arthur had done, but what he would do, what he was destined to do. Instead he put out the candle. “Good night, sire.”

Merlin returned to his room and lit a single candle with which to see by. He retrieved his spellbook from its hiding place, then plopped down onto his bed, opening to the bookmarked page.

He'd been looking up shields before he went to serve Arthur. Normal, deflective, and absorbing shields he could do well enough; his innate magical ability made the task nearly thoughtless. It was reflective shields that interested him. He wasn't even aware such magic existed until he came upon the page in the book. These shields would let him repel a magic attack back at the attacker, with more force if Merlin added his own magic to it. Merlin set upon learning the spell intently.

It was always difficult learning something new, but by the time Merlin's eyes were drifting closed with fatigue he felt he had got the hang of it. The only problem was that he had no one attacking him, and therefore no way in which to test its effectiveness. Not that he was complaining; he'd had enough of threats on Camelot and Arthur. He could always put the spell to practise the next time some sorcerer with a grudge managed to slip into the castle walls.

Merlin got to his feet, closing the book. He set it on the table as he walked to the window.

Summer was coming to a close. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and colder. Looking at the sky, Merlin noticed the grey clouds were blocking out the stars. He remembered putting off the rain today so that Arthur and he could have a pleasant day. He let the rain fall freely now.

Merlin could feel the release of tension as the sky broke and the elements thanked him for being allowed to run their course. Thunder rolled appreciatively.

Merlin stared out at the sleeping city a little while longer, breathing in the chill night air and feeling the earth's natural magic seep into his skin. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could sense the magic of the Old Religion vibrating in the air, could breathe in the sweet scent of the forest all the way from the citadel. The earth, the sea, the sky—they were calling to him, nature’s energy flowing through his veins, and he longed to be connected with it again, deep in the water where he felt the extent of his power the most acutely.

Only when a flash of lightning split the sky like a chiding slap on the wrist did he turn away from the window and go to bed.

It looked like it would rain all the next day, preventing Arthur from doing anything outdoors. He was always bitter when restricted inside, so Merlin went to Arthur's chambers the next morning prepared to have at least two things thrown his way. If he was lucky, it wouldn't be anything too hard and pointy.

Merlin also came prepared with a phial of something rather nasty-tasting but effective in treating headaches, which Arthur was sure to have after how much he’d drank the previous night. He set Arthur's breakfast down on the table, put the phial on Arthur's nightstand, and pulled the curtains apart to let the muted sunlight in.

"Rise and shine!" he sang.

Arthur groaned and burrowed deeper under the blanket. "Can't you think of anything new to say?"

Merlin put his hands on his hips and raised an amused eyebrow. "The last time I tried that you threw something at me."

"I'll throw something bigger at you if you don't close those blasted curtains."

Merlin sighed but acquiesced. "Only because you don't have to be anywhere soon this morning."

At that, Arthur did roll over and peer at Merlin with a heavy-lidded eye. "I don't?"

"It's raining. Your morning training session is cancelled. Also, none of the patrols have returned so there are no meetings to—"

"Haven't returned?" Arthur echoed, sitting upright.

"No, sire. But perhaps the rain has delayed them?"

Arthur frowned, obviously not convinced of Merlin's explanation, or maybe it was the headache that had him pinching his face. Merlin picked the phial off the nightstand, unstoppered it, and handed it to Arthur.

"Here, drink this. Quickly, all in one go."

Arthur took it gratefully and swallowed in one large gulp. Merlin set the emptied container back on the table.

"Breakfast?" Merlin asked.

Arthur groaned and threw back the covers, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Merlin had to retreat a few steps and divert his eyes. Even with his hair in disarray and fresh from sleep, Arthur seemed to give off some sort of glow. It took Merlin by surprise nearly every morning without fail, something he’d especially hated when he was first assigned as Arthur’s manservant. It’d been frustrating wanting to reach out and touch Arthur's sleep-warm body when he was acting like a spoilt arse.

Merlin squared his shoulders and went about his morning chores, choosing something for Arthur to wear, cleaning Arthur’s boots, and straightening the bed. Arthur seemed to be brooding over something again this morning, and hadn’t finished his breakfast by the time Merlin completed his tasks.

Merlin thought he’d just take Arthur’s basket of dirty, foul-smelling clothing down to the laundresses when Arthur called him back.

“Merlin.”

Merlin halted in his tracks. “Yes, sire?”

Arthur eyed the half-eaten apple in his hand as if it had said something to offend him. “I’d like to apologise for my behaviour last night.”

Merlin didn’t see why Arthur felt the need to apologise, especially since it was something he hardly ever did. Never did, in fact. He’d been drunk, hadn’t been able to help his outbursts. It happened to the best of men, and Merlin had assumed they’d just put the whole thing behind them. But he wasn’t going to pass up the rare chance to see Arthur display some sort of humility.

“Er...You would?”

Arthur set the apple down and sat back, folding his hands across his stomach. His tone shifted to that of his most arrogant, or his most princely, as Arthur would call it. “Yes. It’s no concern of mine what you get up to in your spare time, least of all with whom you choose to keep company. I apologise for my unbefitting behaviour.”

Merlin shifted his weight to his other foot, uncomfortable under Arthur’s intense stare. “Yes, well, apology accepted, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“No, that’s not—” Merlin sighed. “It’s simply strange that you find it necessary to apologise over something as trivial as ‘unbefitting behaviour’ and not something like, say, throwing a goblet at my head or using me as your personal training dummy or making me wear that awful feathered hat.”

Arthur snickered, clearly thinking of the same ridiculous red outfit that Merlin still had nightmares about.

“And honestly, between doing things for Gaius and running around behind you, I have no idea how you think I’d manage to find time for romance. Not that it bothers me,” Merlin hastened to add. “It’s never bothered me before, and it doesn’t now.”

Merlin bit his tongue. He’d said too much. That last bit had been wholly unnecessary, and now Arthur was staring at him curiously, pursing his lips as if contemplating how to comment on that piece of information. Merlin tried to escape with the basket of clothes still held tightly in his hands.

“Merlin.”

Merlin halted and spun on his heels slowly. “Yes?”

Arthur’s frown deepened and he opened his mouth to ask—Merlin knew exactly what he would ask, and dreaded it, because the answer was, embarrassingly, yes—but then decided better of it. He shook his head and waved Merlin off.

Merlin exhaled in relief and quickly made his way downstairs. Hopefully Arthur would have moved on to other things by the time Merlin returned.

Arthur had already begun to dress himself when Merlin came back. He had just pulled his trousers up over the swell of his arse—the sight of which made Merlin’s breath hitch in his throat—as Merlin opened the door. Arthur abruptly dropped his hands.

“It’s about time,” he said petulantly.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why I have to dress you if you’re perfectly capable.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Merlin. Royals do not dress themselves. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, of course not,” Merlin muttered as he set to work tying up the laces of Arthur’s trousers, taking especial care as always not to be too heavy-handed. He picked up Arthur’s tunic from where it lay folded on the bed and put it over Arthur’s head.

He turned away to get Arthur’s boots. As he bent over to pick them up, Arthur apparently lost the battle against his curiosity and better judgement and asked what he’d stopped himself from asking before.

“Oh, for gods’ sake, I give up. I have to know. Are you a virgin, Merlin?”

Merlin snapped upright, nearly dropping the boots, and spun around, blushing. “Arthur!”

He was lucky that Merlin considered him a friend, in their backward sort of way. Merlin would’ve been more than just mortified if anyone else had asked; he would’ve been angry that someone had the audacity to pry into his personal life. But then, Arthur was also the man he thought about when he touched himself, which certainly made a difference, made his heart race nervously.

“I simply can’t understand it,” Arthur continued, unaware of how much Merlin had started sweating. “Is it that you don’t want to?”

“That I don’t—Of course I want to! I have needs and, and urges just like anyone else.”

Arthur stared at Merlin incredulously, quite clearly caught between the desire to ask more and the need to remain as uninterested as was ‘befitting.’ Merlin relented with a drawn out sigh. If he didn’t satisfy Arthur’s curiosity now, he’d just bring it up again later.

“I’m not like you, Arthur,” he said, waving his hands between them in a general gesture. “I mean, I look decent enough, I suppose, but the rest of me is all...undesirable.”

Arthur raised a brow. “Are you, er...lacking?”

It took Merlin a moment to understand, and even then it was only the blush that rose to Arthur’s cheeks that clued him in.

“Oh gods, no!” he exclaimed, not sure whether to be horrified at the question or amused that Arthur was actually blushing. He ended up laughing. Yes, laughing was safe, appropriate for their established relationship. “Everything is all perfectly average-sized down there, thank you!”

“So it’s your upper body then,” Arthur concluded. Merlin stopped laughing. “That’s why you never take your shirt off. Is it your nipples? I’ve known men who are self-conscious about the shape of their—”

“It’s not my sodding nipples!” Merlin protested, face heating even more. At this point Arthur was taking it too far. “You want to talk nipples, let’s talk about how you have almost as much cleavage as Guinevere,” he spat.

Arthur didn’t rise to the insult. He squinted his eyes, looking closely at Merlin as he took a step toward him. “A scar then? Were you maimed as a child?”

“No!”

Arthur’s mouth tilted slightly upward. “Is it because you’re not as muscular? Really, Merlin, there’s no shame in being a little on the lanky side.”

Merlin laughed bitterly. He was anything but lanky, and it was only his ill-fitting clothing that made it seem so. Maybe once, when he’d been younger, he’d been a bit skinny, but since he was fifteen he’d always had strong arms and legs, toned muscles that he’d acquired from swimming. Even the section of abdomen that his gills intersected was lean and sculpted.

“No, Arthur. And honestly, why do you care so much? I’m nothing but your servant. It doesn’t make a difference to you either way.”

Arthur huffed. “You’re so—You drive me mad, Merlin!”

“I do? Me?”

“Yes! You’re always putting others above yourself, you endure me even when I’m intolerable and pissed, and you’re so...so confident in every other aspect, that it’s a complete mystery to me why you would even think a fraction of yourself ‘undesirable.’ You simultaneously claim there’s nothing and something wrong with you and...and...UGH!” Arthur threw his hands up in defeat and turned away for good measure.

Merlin forced himself to breathe. Those were all definitely compliments that just came from the prince’s mouth. Weren’t they?

“Right, glad we cleared that up then,” Merlin said when he could think of nothing else. He tossed Arthur’s boots on the floor beside him. “Is there anything else you need, sire, or will that be all?”

Arthur turned to face him again, but didn’t speak. He stared at Merlin like he was trying to figure him out, as though he had solved the puzzle save a couple pieces that he couldn’t quite place. At the same time, he looked anguished and his mouth tilted in a pained frown.

The expression unnerved Merlin, who hated seeing it on Arthur’s handsome face and wished dearly to smooth away the lines. As it was, Merlin was a servant and barely a friend, and kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

At last, Arthur sighed, his features relaxing. “Forgive me, Merlin. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Merlin could piece together some of Arthur’s argument. To Arthur, it must have seemed the easiest thing in the world for Merlin to find someone with which to keep company, and his advice must have made him seem mature, confident. Merlin replied in as friendly a manner as he could, while also attempting to reveal the partial truth.

He shrugged to let Arthur know how little the questions troubled him. “It’s alright. You only wish to understand. I can see how that might be frustrating.” Merlin swallowed and took a breath. “It’s only, I can’t explain why I feel so...so ugly—”

“You are not ugly, Merlin.”

“Regardless—” Merlin stopped himself. He didn't want to get upset, but he was beginning to feel rather sorry for himself, and he generally tried to avoid that. “Will that be all, sire?”

Arthur pressed his lips together in a thin line, but he must have seen how ridiculous the whole conversation was as well. Merlin refused to begin listing his own undesirable qualities just to prove his unattractiveness to the prince, and Arthur… He seemed determined to make Merlin believe he was some sort of prize, all for the sake of losing his virginity. Merlin couldn't believe how stupid the entire argument was.

“Yes, Merlin, that will be all for now. I’m sure Gaius has much for you to do, considering you have little time for anything else.”

Merlin grit his teeth, biting back a retort, and turned on his heels to leave. He didn’t even care that he’d left Arthur’s breakfast tray and failed to empty the chamberpot.

Like most of their disagreements, it was soon forgotten and in the past. There were times when Merlin caught Arthur staring curiously at him again, as though a question was about to slip through, but it was never brought up. Arthur respected Merlin's privacy, for which Merlin was simultaneously grateful and disappointed. He almost wished Arthur would ask again so that Merlin would be forced to tell the truth—that it was Arthur and Arthur alone he craved, Arthur that he dreamt of and imagined late at night.

It never came up.

Two weeks passed, and it had been more than long enough for the last patrol to have returned. Arthur began to visibly fret and it wasn't long before he, not surprisingly, declared he would lead a group to search for them. There was a chance they had located Morgana and were taken prisoner, or that they had got close and were attacked by her own sentries. It was not the work of bandits—they were knights of Camelot, after all—and each day that passed was a day their trail went cold. They would leave at dawn.

The day before they left, Merlin made all the necessary preparations early so that he could spend the evening taking a long, warm bath. Once they began travelling, it would be a tedious journey, with nights spent on the cold, hard earth, and Merlin's nerves would be on constant alert for signs of a threat.

Gaius gave Merlin bandages and all sorts of potions and salves to take with him for treating effects from poisonous plants, sore limbs, or bleeding wounds. Merlin loaded his pack, went over the shield spell a few more times, then hurried to ready the horses. Despite being thoroughly prepared, Merlin's magic seemed uneasy, and a terrible sense of foreboding weighed heavily on him as they left the city walls.

The first day of travelling was filled with the normal silence, the mission in the forefront of everyone's minds. What would they find as they followed the footsteps of the lost patrol? Corpses, or valuable information about the enemy? It seemed even the trees were quiet and respectful, not swaying as happily as they might in the late summer breeze. It didn't sit well with Merlin at all.

The third day found the party of nine a bit more relaxed. As they travelled deeper, farther away from the heart of the kingdom, everyone became less tense and on edge. They joked and told stories, and though they never once let their guard down, they became a little more at ease. They soon expected to find—or not find—the lost men, and return home.

The fourth night was when the inevitable happened. Merlin fed and brushed the horses while the rest of the knights began to drift off to sleep at their various places around the fire. Sir Gareth had taken the first watch, and it was he that allowed Merlin to join him as they walked the perimeter of the camp. Merlin’s magic had been more restless than ever the whole afternoon, and Merlin knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without putting up at least a few sigils on the trees. Merlin would sense it the instant someone stepped within his barrier, and if any magic users happened by, they would know the area was under the protection of a powerful warlock.

It was no light step of a magic user, however, that both he and Sir Gareth heard on their seventh revolution of the camp. Merlin felt the prickly dark intent of the intruder entering his domain and took a step toward the darkness of the trees.

Gareth’s hand alighted on Merlin’s shoulder and pulled him back. Merlin scowled at him but Gareth didn’t notice, shoving Merlin behind him and drawing his sword. It wasn’t a second too soon, because only a heartbeat later an armour-clad man came charging into the clearing, leading a group of yelling warriors behind him.

The clash of metal and the roar of battle quickly alerted the rest of the knights. Merlin felt himself being pulled backwards by his neckerchief and his heart raced as he panicked at being taken unawares. However, it was only Arthur, dragging Merlin out of the melee and pushing him back toward the horses, before drawing his sword and running to join the brawl himself.

Merlin scanned the mass of bodies, watching with apprehension each swing of a sword and strafe of feet. He prayed to the gods that each grunt and groan heard was that of the enemy and not a Camelot knight.

Merlin stroked a horse’s neck gently and began walking backwards into the shadows. Everyone, Arthur especially, was occupied with more than one attacker, and though Merlin could only prevent so many blows from falling, he couldn’t stop them all.

Something wasn’t right. Merlin sensed magic, dark magic, though from where, he couldn’t tell. If he stopped for a moment to feel it out, let the crackle in the air guide him towards the source, he would certainly find it. But there was too much going on, too many people to keep track of, too many blades aimed at his beloved prince—

Suddenly Merlin was pushed back by an unknown force, half his body smacking against a tree as he was propelled backwards. His shoulder felt like it had been torn from its socket and the left side of his body throbbed in pain. He fell roughly on his back, his head bouncing off the gnarled roots of yet another tree.

Merlin couldn’t see his attacker; they were too far from the light of the fire, and the thick foliage blocked the moon. All he saw was a black shape, flowing with a cloak, coming towards him at a leisurely pace. Merlin raised his right hand, a spell already on his lips, when he heard a cry that sent a shiver down his spine.

He snapped his head to the left and felt his chest clench in agony as he saw a blade pierced straight through Arthur’s shoulder. It was the same shoulder that the questing beast had hurt so long ago, that still gave him trouble on particularly cold or rainy days. What was worse, the man whose sword had landed the blow, pulled free and raised his weapon to strike again.

Ignoring the threat on his own life, Merlin rolled and scrambled toward Arthur, words of power pouring from his mouth. He crawled forward on hands and knees, desperately trying to close the distance though they were so far away, and finally let loose a torrent of magic, shattering every bone in the attacker’s body simultaneously. The blade dropped from his hands and he fell to the ground, only a step away from where Arthur had passed out.

Merlin tried to get to his feet so he could run the remaining distance, but as soon as he was upright he was knocked back down by a heavy weight between his shoulder blades. He collapsed with a pained grunt, and black spots dotted his vision.

He rolled onto his back, digging his fingers into the earth and drawing desperately for natural power, begging, pleading the elements to come to his aid. The wind picked up and the leaves were torn from the trees, spiralling in a whirlwind towards the cloaked figure, aiming for the fragile face that was hidden beneath the hood.

But Merlin was weak, and his thoughts were on Arthur, on whether or not he was still alive or bleeding out. Groaning, Merlin dug his fingers deeper, urged the ground to split apart and swallow up the dark sorcerer, but all Merlin succeeded in doing was cause the figure to trip.

The shadow was almost upon him now. In a final attempt, Merlin raised his hand, and the branch above cracked as it began to separate from the rest of the tree. Merlin pushed a little more, added more power, drawing from deep within. But then the shadow raised a staff, swung at Merlin’s head, and then it was too late.

Merlin woke up to a throbbing headache. In fact, his whole body seemed to pulse in time to his heart, leaving him with an aching feeling all over. It didn’t help that wherever he was was cold and hard and generally unpleasant. He would coax the air around him to heat up a bit, and that would take care of the temperature problem at least.

But… he couldn’t access his magic.

Merlin snapped his eyes open and the first thing his gaze landed upon was the flickering shadow on the cave wall across from him. There was only a single candle lighting the entire chamber, though the space was small and therefore amply lit.

The second thing he noticed was the shackles around his wrists securing him to the wall. Cold iron.

“No!” Merlin pulled and pushed the metal, trying to yank himself free of the bonds, his only achievement being to make his skin tear and bleed. He ignored the pain and pressed on, only occasionally wincing when it chafed too much.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch and jerk away.

“Merlin.”

Merlin knew that voice. He blinked and brought the face into focus, peering through the haze of pain.

“Arthur!”

Oh thank gods, Arthur was alive. It even looked like his wound had been treated. “Who are they?”

Arthur’s mouth tilted in a sneer. “Allies of Morgana and Morgause. We’re to be kept alive and taken to them.”

Merlin didn’t miss the emphasis on ‘we.’ Arthur was clearly confused as to why they’d decided to keep Merlin, a simple servant, alive as well.

They had to get out.

Merlin went back to fighting with his restraints. If he could just slip his wrists a certain way...

“Merlin.”

Arthur’s voice was gentle, even a little worried. Merlin knew what he’d find if he looked up, that rare display of emotion Arthur sometimes let slip past his hard exterior. But there was no time for gentility, not now, not when Merlin felt the loss of his magic as if a piece of himself had been cut off. Without his magic...

A chuckle cut through the metallic rattle of Merlin’s chains, making Merlin abruptly still. He raised his head and looked at the dark entrance to their chamber from where the sound was coming.

The shadow from the forest emerged into the light. His hood was lowered, revealing a balding man old enough for his hair and beard to be grey, and cold eyes filled with sparkling hatred. Merlin felt himself tremble with rage. This man had taken away his magic, his life.

But on the man’s robe was a familiar symbol. Perhaps there was hope.

“Foolish little sorcerer,” the man said. “I must admit, you’re quite strong. Morgana certainly wasn’t exaggerating that. Now...Well, now you’re little more than a servant, aren’t you?”

Merlin ignored Arthur’s gasp beside him. He clenched his jaw and stared daggers at the man, loathing him more with each step that brought them closer together. But his words were puzzling. Morgana didn’t know about Merlin’s magic. Neither did Morgause.

“She’ll be pleased,” he continued. “She said that the prince had a sorcerer serving him, but I never would have believed for a second she meant actually served him.”

That explained it. Morgana—or Morgause—must have pieced together that someone was protecting Arthur.

Merlin was on his feet in a second, and in the man’s face in less than three. “You’re a druid,” Merlin said. “That mark on your robe—that is what it means, yes? The druids are peaceful and have sworn their allegiance to Emrys—”

The druid sorcerer scoffed. “Emrys. He is nothing but a made-up legend, meant to reassure the feeble-minded. No, I won’t put my faith in some imaginary man destined to ‘bring magic back to Albion.’ The Pendragons are good for nothing,” he spat, glaring down at Arthur. “If you want something done, you must take it into your own hands.”

“And that is why you’ve strayed from the path? Why you’ve allied yourself with Morgana?” Merlin asked.

“It is. The sisters are strong, and they are becoming stronger. Together they will reclaim Camelot and the time of magic will again be upon us.”

“You’re wrong. Arthur is the Once and Future King, your Once and Future King, and he will bring magic back to Albion, you must simply trust—”

“Oh, don’t tell me you believe that same children’s story the druids preach,” the sorcerer said, giving Merlin a scornful look.

“I do. I believe it with every breath in my body.”

“You might think about saving your precious few breaths on something more worthwhile.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. He stared hard at the old man before him, wanting to shatter his bones the same way he did Arthur’s attacker. But if he’d been weak back in the forest he was even weaker now. He had no magic, and life was slowly slipping from his body the longer he was without it.

“What is your name?”

The sorcerer laughed. “Ruadan.”

“I’ll kill you, Ruadan.” For taking away his magic, for calling him and his destiny a children’s story, he’d gladly dispose of this threat to Camelot.

Ruadan’s triumphant grin disappeared, replaced by a hateful scowl. He thrust out his hand, slamming Merlin back into the wall.

“You are nothing without magic, boy. If Morgana didn’t wish to see you and the prince back alive, I’d have killed you both long ago.” Ruadan threw his head back and laughed, his raspy sounds of amusement echoing even when he’d left the chamber.

Merlin chewed his lip and went right back to trying to get the damned shackles off. He couldn’t bear to be without his magic a second longer, not only because he wasn’t whole without it, but because he’d die if he couldn’t let it flow freely through him.

Arthur’s cold hands came to rest on top of his. “Merlin.”

“What?!” Merlin snapped.

“They’re not going to come off. You’re hurting yourself for no reason.”

“Don’t say that! They have to come off, they have to.” Merlin set about it furiously, but couldn’t help thinking Arthur might be right.

They had to come off. He couldn’t die here, not like this, not in front of Arthur. Merlin felt himself start to panic. He couldn’t breathe properly and he felt his gills flapping wildly beneath his shirt as not enough oxygen reached his lungs.

“Merlin.”

Merlin let his hands fall into his lap, giving up at Arthur’s stern tone. “He’s right,” Merlin said miserably. “I’m nothing without my magic. I can barely protect you with it and now… Now we’re both going to die.”

Merlin was almost too frightened to look up. He wasn’t ready to see Arthur’s face. But Arthur’s silence made avoiding it unbearable. At last, he dared a glance sideways.

Arthur, not surprisingly, was frowning. What was surprising, however, was the way he furrowed his brow and bit his lip, as though he wasn’t angry, but having trouble comprehending something. Merlin certainly couldn’t blame him for that. There were probably lots of situations Arthur was now considering in a new light. How that would affect Merlin—and, more importantly, their odd friendship—remained to be seen.

If they lived long enough for the revelation to affect them at all, of course.

Merlin was still waiting for some sort of verbal reply long moments later. He darted his eyes up when he heard Arthur inhale as if in preparation to speak. Arthur’s lips had indeed parted, but just a second later he closed them again. Merlin lowered his gaze and went back to rubbing the chafe-marks on his wrists with his thumbs.

Then one of Arthur’s shackled hands tugged on Merlin’s neckerchief, pulling his head down to his shoulder. Merlin blinked in surprise as he was pulled closer into an awkward embrace meant to comfort. He hadn’t even realised Arthur’s armour had been taken until his nose was pressed against the fabric of Arthur’s gambeson.

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m sure my knights are searching for us.”

Merlin suddenly couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of blood rushing through ears. Even though some of the positioning was all wrong—they were in chains, after all—Arthur’s arm over Merlin’s shoulder, holding him close, was the most intimate they’d ever been. Merlin could smell Arthur’s sweat and the herbal salve used to treat his wound. He could feel Arthur’s reassuring solidity and warmth, even though he was in no better a situation than Merlin.

And wasn’t this all...wrong? Wasn’t Arthur supposed to be angry or at least disappointed that Merlin lied? The embrace was nice—Merlin was even thinking about taking it a step further and wrapping his arm around Arthur’s chest to make it a full-on hug—but wasn’t this reaction a little incongruous? Where was the yelling and declarations of betrayal?

Maybe that would come later, when they weren’t in immediate danger. For now, Merlin would take what comfort he could get, and speak to Arthur as though he weren’t completely puzzled.

“It won’t matter if they don’t find us soon,” Merlin replied, turning his head to rest his cheek on Arthur’s shoulder. “I need magic like I need air and water. Without it, I’ll die. I’m already weak. I can hardly hold myself up. And I’m so thirsty.”

Arthur looked down at Merlin with wide, fearful eyes. “You’ll die without magic?”

Merlin swallowed and nodded. The action had his cheek rubbing against Arthur’s worn gambeson, and the touch should not have made Merlin feel so utterly right given the circumstances.

“Not all sorcerers are like that though, are they?”

Merlin wanted to say he wasn’t a sorcerer, he was a warlock. He wasn’t some ordinary spellcaster that didn’t know the first thing about the laws of magic; he’d been making things float before he could even speak. He wanted to say that he was the last dragonlord, that he was the Emrys. That he had gills, for fuck’s sake. But Arthur was taking it so well, for the moment. Learning about the extent of Merlin’s power might be too much.

“No,” Merlin gave in. “I’m...a bit weird.”

Arthur laughed. “Even when it comes to magic you can’t follow the rules?”

Merlin cracked a wry smile. “I suppose not.”

Arthur was quiet a few moments. When he broke the silence, his voice was almost a whisper. “Tell me everything you’ve done.”

Merlin looked up, but Arthur wasn’t looking down at him. His eyes were closed.

“I shouldn’t...”

Arthur’s eyes snapped open, and his brow furrowed with angry hurt. “Why the hell not?”

Merlin lifted his head from Arthur’s shoulder and placed a palm on Arthur’s chest, begging with his eyes for Arthur to understand.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that! I only meant because I’m so thirsty and talking will make it worse.” Arthur’s expression seemed to soften a bit, so Merlin dared to go on. “And my body...Arthur, I can feel the life being sucked out of me.”

Arthur blinked a few times, then his gaze lowered to where Merlin’s hand lay splayed across his chest. Merlin watched dumbly as his hand rose and fell with each of Arthur’s breaths. He knew he should move it. He knew Arthur expected him to move it. And yet, he didn’t want to. Arthur didn’t seem to mind.

So he left it.

“I’ll try to get them to give us a waterskin when they come back,” Arthur said, raising his eyes back to Merlin’s. “I don’t think I can do much about anything else, unfortunately.”

Merlin hesitantly lowered his head back to Arthur’s shoulder, testing if he was still welcome there. It seemed he was.

“That’s fine,” Merlin said. “It’s probably best you do it anyways. I don’t think Ruadan is rather pleased with me at the moment.”

Arthur snorted. “You were being an idiot, as usual. You don’t just declare you’re going to kill someone, Merlin, no matter how angry they make you. You bide your time and plan an attack.”

Merlin was searching the dregs of his mind for a witty retort, but was suddenly so overcome with fatigue that he could hardly keep his eyes open.

“Merlin?” Arthur shook him when he’d started to lean more heavily on Arthur’s shoulder. “Merlin!”

Merlin groaned and tried to take some of his weight off of Arthur, certain that he was a burden, but Arthur’s arms kept him from going anywhere. He couldn’t find the will to do much more about it, and gave in. At the same time, a wave of numbness seemed to pull him under. He felt disconnected from his body entirely.

“Merlin?” Arthur shook him again, but Merlin’s eyes had already closed, and it seemed like too much effort to open them again. “Oh gods, how the hell have you gone so pale so fast? Merlin...”

That was the last thing Merlin heard before he awoke what must have been some hours later. When he next opened his eyes, the candle had burned down considerably.

He was laying with his cheek to Arthur’s chest, half on top of him, and Arthur himself was breathing steadily. Merlin’s heart began to race but he didn’t dare move, not yet. Sleeping with Arthur—even in the most innocent sense of the word, as they were doing now—was a moment Merlin wanted to savour.

When Merlin finally did sit up, he did it slowly, not wanting to disturb his prince, but the sound of the chains roused him anyways.

“Hnn,” Arthur groaned and rubbed an eye with the back of his hand. Merlin thought he looked so young that way, so innocent. Then Arthur registered their surroundings and he quickly became the man Merlin was used to. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m sleeping with my eyes open.” His mouth was as dry as a desert, and his voice came out appropriately rough.

Arthur ignored Merlin’s sarcasm and scanned the ground around them, feeling the shadows with his hands. When he finally found what he was searching for, he held up his prize.

“I got them to give us a waterskin. I said it wouldn’t help if we died from dehydration before we arrived.” He handed it to Merlin and Merlin was surprised to find it was mostly still full. “I saved as much as I could for you, considering...”

Merlin took it gratefully and raised an eyebrow, urging Arthur to continue.

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be out,” Arthur admitted. “But I figured you’d need lots of water since you...” He waved his hands in Merlin's general direction, and Merlin arched his eyebrow higher. Oh gods, had Arthur looked under his shirt while he’d been sleeping? “I thought maybe you needed more than the average person. I don’t know, just drink, you idiot.”

Merlin brought the waterskin to his lips, drinking deeply. Maybe Arthur just thought he needed more water to offset the loss of his magic. Merlin decided he’d tread carefully, just in case.

“Thank you, Arthur. You should drink more, too. I promise I don’t need much more than ‘the average person’ as you say. And besides, your shoulder—”

“Was healed for the most part. One of the men mended it.” Arthur scowled as he said the next bit. “It seems I wasn’t meant to be fatally wounded, only isolated from my men and rounded up. Apparently Morgana looks forward to torturing me herself.”

Merlin bristled with rage and clutched the waterskin tightly in his trembling hands. The thought of Arthur tied up and at Morgana’s mercy—at anyone’s mercy—was enough to make Merlin see red. And here Merlin was sat utterly useless right next to the prince he was usually so adept at saving.

Arthur’s hands pried the waterskin from Merlin’s fingers and continued to methodically unclench the fist Merlin’s other hand had formed. “Don’t, Merlin,” he said. “If you get yourself worked up while you’re still weak, it’ll only make things worse.”

Merlin frowned but had to admit Arthur had a point. He had to save his energy for when they eventually started walking. What was taking so long? The weather? They wanted to make sure the knights gave up searching first?

At that moment, Merlin heard heavy footsteps approaching them. He stared at the entrance, wondering whose face he’d see emerge from the darkness.

It wasn’t Ruadan, but one of the other faceless attackers, clad in leather and iron armour more common to bandits than soldiers of honour. He came in carrying a plate of meat that didn’t look at all appetising or substantial enough for the two of them.

Merlin rolled onto his knees and crawled over, reaching for the plate and sliding it over with as much dignity he could manage. Arthur didn’t move, but when the man turned to leave, he called him back.

“Wait.”

The man turned around in the doorway wordlessly, eyeing Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

“I have a proposition for you,” Arthur said. Merlin took a hesitant bite of meat and watched with curiosity.

The man, however, just laughed. “I have no interest in the Camelot jewels or a meagre piece of land,” he said with a gruff voice.

“Is that not what your reward would be if Morgana succeeded in taking the throne again?” Arthur challenged.

Their captor narrowed his eyes. “I’ve sworn my allegiance to the rightful Queen. Even if I was interested in forfeiting that allegiance I wouldn’t consider it seriously. She’d have me hunted down and killed.”

“If you let us go, you can accompany us back. You’ll have not only your own land but the protection of Camelot as well.”

The man scoffed. “You’ve not seen the punishments that befall traitors. I’ll happily see you rot, thank you.” He turned on his heel to go again.

“Wait!” Arthur stopped him.

“What?”

“At least grace us with more food. I doubt Morgana wants our starved corpses.”

The man grunted and walked out. Merlin slid the plate of meat over but Arthur shook his head.

“You need it more than I do. I’m not that hungry, anyways.”

“Arthur—”

“Eat, Merlin.”

Just then the man came back, tossing a dark cut of meat onto the floor beside Arthur’s legs. “We’ll be leaving soon. If you try anything while we’re transporting you, we have orders to cut the hand off the sorcerer.”

He left not a few seconds after uttering the words that made Merlin’s heart stop. He felt the colour leave his face and couldn’t seem to continue eating.

Arthur shuffled over and forced Merlin’s hand to resume its path to his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Merlin. I’ll think of something.”

Merlin pushed the cold meat between his lips and managed to make himself chew, but his thoughts had flown off in a thousand different directions. There had to be a way to get the restraints off. If he could just nick the key from whoever had it—

“Here, now drink.”

Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts and Merlin realised Arthur had been feeding him when his own hands had stopped picking the meat. He parted his lips and let Arthur tilt the waterskin, swallowing when his mouth was too full to take any more. When Arthur lowered it, he even went so far as to wipe Merlin’s chin with his thumb.

Merlin blushed and swatted Arthur’s hand away. “I’m not that weak, you know,” he said.

Arthur’s face turned bright pink and his brow furrowed in irritation. Of course he couldn’t show how much he truly cared for Merlin’s wellbeing. A prince wasn’t supposed to have feelings.

“I know that,” he insisted. “You were just staring off into space, thinking who-knows-what, so naturally I had to do it for you.”

“Naturally,” Merlin echoed, grinning.

“Ugh, even when you’re ill you’re intolerable.” Arthur pushed the plate closer to Merlin. “Keep eating.”

“Or what? You’ll force-feed me again?” Merlin countered. “I have to say, I could certainly get used to you serving me for once.”

“Fine. Don’t eat. Starve yourself after I went to all that effort.”

Merlin sighed and went back to his slab of meat. He hoped they’d be moving soon, and not just because he was getting weaker by the second. It’d be easier to think of a plan once he had more options.

Merlin didn’t know how long they were kept in the cave, but it couldn’t have been more than two days considering he was still strong enough to stand on his own. He didn’t exactly have any experience with cutting off his magic and making note of the benchmarks, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t have been much longer before he could do little more than sit up. Who knew how much longer after that before he closed his eyes for good.

When he and Arthur were finally led out of the cave, strung along like slaves to be sold at auction, the first thing he did was take a deep breath of fresh air. It was a blessedly cloudy day, easy on his eyes, and it was as if he’d inhaled the sky. He felt the wind in his lungs and wished his feet were bare so he could dig his toes in the earth.

A tug on the chains he and Arthur were bound in made the length go taut and yanked him a few steps forward. “Come along,” one of their stern-faced captors barked.

Arthur was behind Merlin, and Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes acutely on the back of his neck as they trudged onward. Every footstep that made the leaves rustle and every metallic clank of the chains made Merlin feel heavy with guilt. He couldn’t help but feel like the position they were caught in was his fault, his failure to protect Arthur. He felt miserable and weak.

A drop of water fell on his cheek. Merlin looked up.

The swaying foliage was a muted green in the dreary light of the day, but Merlin was looking past that, to the grey clouds above. A little further ahead they darkened and became a larger mass of rain clouds.

Water!

One drop on his skin turned into two, then three, then four, and after a few more steps, it was raining. Merlin exhaled a short laugh of disbelief at his luck as the man in front of him groaned.

It wasn’t much, but it helped. The fresh air, the rain—nature was giving him the little push he needed, and he’d be a fool to waste its efforts. His magic was still out of reach, but he could draw what little power there was to channel it into strength. He felt the slightest bit reinvigorated, felt the burden of his weight lessen as he started looking around with sharp eyes.

Besides the man in front of him, there was one man behind Arthur. There were also men on either side of them, both on horses. Ruadan, also on horseback, lead them all. Five in total, all but Ruadan clad in the iron armour of ordinary bandits, who was in the dark cloak Merlin remembered from the forest. Merlin couldn’t run left, right, forward, or backward, and even if he could, the length of the chain kept him from running too far.

He was beginning to lose hope after it’d been raining long enough for the path to turn into mud. They’d been walking for what felt like the whole morning (even though the light was so grey that it was hard to mark time) and the rain had stopped feeling like a gift as soon as the droplets turned fat and heavy, pouring incessantly down on them. His stomach growled miserably.

Someone else must have been hungry, because the man on horseback to Merlin’s left grumbled, “Let’s stop and eat.” It was the same man Arthur had tried to bargain with before and who had given them more meat.

There was no response except Ruadan slowly looking over his shoulder and pinning the man with a glare.

“Ruadan,” the man on Merlin’s right ventured.

“There’s no time!” Ruadan snapped.

They dropped into silence until the man in the rear started speaking in a quiet voice so Ruadan wouldn’t hear. “Only a few of their knights made it, but that’s a few too many,” he explained to the others. His voice was gruff and low, and sent chills down Merlin’s spine. “Fled to Camelot for more men, he expects. They’ll be in even more of a hurry with the king weak and their only leader gone. Out searching like hounds.”

“We should’ve killed them already,” the horseman on the right complained. Merlin tensed.

“You think Ruadan doesn’t agree? It’s not just time that’s got him on edge. Wishes he could’ve had the honour himself. The prince and his pretty pet spell-slinger.”

Merlin heard a change in the rhythmic clank of chains, then the shuffle of bodies. He whipped his head around just in time to see Arthur elbowing the man in the chest and looking annoyed.

“Get your hands off me!” Arthur growled. The man shoved him forward, knocking him into Merlin, who nearly fell over.

Ruadan was alerted by the commotion, and his voice rang out over the sudden exchange of grunts and blows between Arthur and the captor at the rear. “Enough!”

Merlin pulled Arthur back and the other man stood innocently, only the savage look in his eyes giving him away.

Ruadan looked down at him hatefully, scorn in every line of his face. “As long as I’m commanding this group, you act like men, not like the wayward bandits you were. This is the prince of Camelot as your prisoner, and though to you he may be just another spoilt royal, he’s of great importance to Morgana. There will be other times to have your way with nobles when we take back the kingdom. Lords and ladies of the court you can string up and do with as you please. Until then, you follow my orders and you don’t act out of line. We have one job, and it’s to see them to the Queen alive. Is that understood, Jarin?”

Arthur was staring unblinkingly at the man named Jarin, who stared right back at him as he nodded. Merlin’s heart was in his throat and he wanted to punch that dirty-looking Jarin in the face himself, but the feeling of cold iron shackles chafing against his raw wrists held him back.

“Good,” Ruadan said. “Come, let’s move on.”

The rain didn’t let up until later in the day, and even then it kept on at a steady drizzle. Merlin was used to being on his feet all day, running from one side of the castle to another, up and down stairs, through the town on errands for Gaius. Even without food he probably would have been alright to travel so far any other time.

This was not any other time. His state was worsening, and he could still find no way out of the situation.

“There’s a river not far ahead,” Ruadan said after one look around and another look up at the sun. “We’ll rest a few moments there to eat. But only a few moments.”

“Thank the gods,” the man on Merlin’s right sighed. “I have to piss, and this rain isn’t helping.”

Where Merlin’s mind had been slowing and his feet dragging before, he found another small surge of energy at the mention of a river. He licked his chapped lips and swallowed the saliva in his mouth, too eager to be near water again. His already aching body ached even more, and for a few minutes there was only one thought in his head.

Water water water water water water

He had to think of something. He’d caught a glimpse of the key to their restraints on Jarin’s belt during his and Arthur’s scuffle—at least he hoped it was the key to their restraints, since it was a lonely key on a large ring and had no other apparent use—but as of yet no way to get it. If they got close enough to the river, maybe…

Merlin waited until they neared the river to even think about telling Arthur his plan. The river wasn’t beautiful like it was in the sun; it was restless and dark and largely matched Merlin’s mood. Still, he wanted to run and throw himself into it, to be out of the upper world and beneath the waves where everything was so much more simple. He clenched his fists and turned his attention to watching the movements of the men.

“Don’t try to do anything stupid,” Arthur whispered. Merlin kept scanning the area.

Ruadan was tearing into a chunk of bread as he sat against a tree on the riverbank. The two men who’d been on horseback beside them were taking their horses toward the water, one of whom quickly handed the reins off to the other and hurried to go relieve himself. That left Merlin and Arthur with only Jarin holding one end of the chain and the man in front holding the other.

Merlin leaned forward and cleared his throat before speaking to the silent man in front of him. “Can we get some water as well?” he asked.

The man sighed and turned around. He was sturdily-built, with a thick neck and, well, thick everything. His bored eyes looked past Merlin, presumably to his fellow captor. Merlin followed his gaze and looked at Jarin, who was scowling.

“If it were up to me, they’d get nothing,” Jarin said. “Ask him.” He nodded toward Ruadan on the bank.

The man dropped his end of the chain and started walking. Merlin stopped breathing and forced himself to remain still. Not yet. Jarin called the man back.

“Hey, Ulric! Hey, idiot!”

Ulric stopped and turned around. Big, but stupid, Merlin noted. No wonder he didn’t talk much.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Jarin sneered.

Ulric heaved a sigh and walked back. Merlin swallowed again (the saliva still wasn’t enough to quench his thirst) and felt his hopes dwindle a little. The one thing he had left to hold onto was the fact that bigger, heavier things sank the fastest.

They were lead over to Ruadan, where he was now washing down his bread with long gulps of water from his waterskin. Merlin watched the man’s throat work with envy, then stared longingly at the river that wasn’t even a full leap away. He had to time this right or he was sure to die sooner rather than later.

It’s going to ruin my boots, he thought forlornly.

He waited until Ulric was speaking to Ruadan. They were standing horizontally now, with Arthur on Merlin’s left. Ulric’s grip on the chain was relaxed, and with any luck, Jarin’s would be, too. Merlin used what little time he had to prepare Arthur.

“Want to see who can hold their breath the longest?” he whispered. He kept his gaze forward, watching Ulric get down on his knees to fill a waterskin with his free hand. It was now or never.

“What?” Arthur hissed back. “Merlin—”

“Run when I run.”

“Merlin, don’t. You’re gonna kill us both.”

Merlin cracked his toes in his boots and hoped he didn’t slip in the mud. He needed a running start and a jump, something to get them far enough away that it wouldn’t be easy to climb back out.

“Just trust me.” He hoped Arthur did. He hoped Arthur could trust the man who’d been lying to him since the day they met.

He ran.

“Stop them!” Jarin yelled.

It was too late. With startled eyes Ulric looked up from filling the waterskin, and instinct must have told him to reach for his sword when being yelled at to stop someone. He let go of the chain and Merlin hoped the tone of distress in Jarin’s voice was from his sudden loss of control as well.

He didn’t know how far back Arthur was behind him until he hit the water and started sinking. The furious shouting of their kidnappers became muted and he could hardly see. He spun around, nearly getting his legs tangled in their chains, and found the whites of Arthur’s wide eyes in the underwater darkness. There was first one splash then another behind where Arthur was frantically treading water.

“Stay above the water whenever you can,” Merlin told him, carefully shaping his mouth to make the words around the escaping air bubbles. He didn’t have time to say more, not when Ulric and Jarin were swimming toward them, apparently having thrown off what parts of their armour they could before jumping in to pursue them.

Merlin called on every last bit of strength he had. He pointed for Arthur to go up, then propelled himself forward as much as the chain connecting him to Arthur would allow.

It was Jarin he met first, the smaller man being the faster swimmer. Merlin managed to grab hold of his arm and pull him down. He was wary of just how far he pulled him down, not wanting to drag Arthur along with him.

Flailing and fighting desperately to reach the surface again, Jarin got in a couple successful kicks to Merlin’s head. Merlin’s vision went black and starry a few seconds while Jarin started swimming upward.

Time was still of the essence, especially with Ulric now upon them. Merlin took a few deep breaths in with his gills and tried to gather his wits. Arthur could deal with Ulric for a little while maybe, and it helped that he wasn’t nearly as weak as Merlin, but he still had the disadvantage of needing air. It wouldn’t be until they’d defeated these two and were back on land that Arthur would be of the most use.

It was Merlin’s turn for now.

He hated the way his boots and restraints limited his movements, but this was more than just his life he was fighting for. This was for Arthur, for Camelot, for the future of Albion. He pushed himself onward, upward, and grabbed hold of Jarin’s ankle.

“Arggh!” Jarin screamed under the water, letting out a torrent of air bubbles. That was his mistake.

Hand over hand, Merlin climbed his way up Jarin’s leg, dodging the man’s frenzied, uncoordinated attacks and steeling himself against those that landed. He got a hold of his leather belt just as the movements became slower and more futile. Jarin was all out of air.

The hardest part was getting the key’s ring off the belt, but once it was done, Merlin let Jarin’s body sink and went straight to freeing himself of the wretched cold iron shackles. He glanced up at the struggle between Arthur and Ulric and unlocked his restraints as fast as he could.

Then he went for Ulric.

Magic flared under Merlin’s skin, filling him from his toes to his fingertips to every strand of hair on his head. He felt like a flame that had been snuffed out allowed to burn bright again. And like a flame, he lashed out wildly, sending a tendril of magic shooting out to grab Ulric and pull him down, down, down.

With Ulric being steadily brought to the bottom of the river to drown, Merlin swam back up toward Arthur and worked on freeing him as well. He had the shackles off in only a moment, and the chains that had been their bane before sank to the riverbed along with Ulric now.

Finally, Merlin broke the surface of the water.

“Think you can take care of the other two?” he asked.

Arthur was wheezing, and looked more like a soaked, pitiful kitten than Merlin had ever seen him, but there was still strength in him. He nodded. “What about you? You’re still weak.”

“I told Ruadan I’d kill him and that’s what I plan to do. Go on, Arthur.”

“Merlin—”

“I feel better with the shackles off. Go!”

Arthur frowned but started for the riverbank. Ruadan was shouting and gesturing for the two horsemen to do something, but he wouldn’t be for long.

Merlin remembered how powerful the man had been in the forest the night of their capture. There was no way Arthur could take him on, even without the other two threats distracting him. Ruadan was Merlin’s kill, and now Merlin had an advantage.

Merlin rose until he was standing on the water’s surface. Raising an arm, he lashed out again—a jet of water sprang out of the river, arching high above him and making straight for Ruadan on the bank. Like the tendril of magic that had been Ulric’s end, Merlin wrapped the magic stream around Ruadan’s middle and pulled him in.

Merlin kept him there, held in his water’s grip, for just long enough to look him in the eyes. Ruadan’s face changed from belligerent hatred to pleading in less than five seconds.

“Please,” he gasped. “I have a daughter. My… my beautiful Sefa.”

“For her sake I hope you haven’t taught her to be anything like you,” Merlin said. Before Ruadan could draw another breath, he dropped his arm and forced Ruadan beneath the waves. He kept him held tight in his grip until he sensed the man had stopped struggling.

The clang of metal up ahead reminded Merlin of Arthur. He focused his attention back on the battle on land and used the last of his energy to run toward it. Arthur was looking more tired by the second, and Merlin hoped he himself could keep upright for just a bit longer.

“Merlin,” Arthur growled when Merlin sent one of the attackers into a tree with the force of his magic. “I can—handle this—don’t—exert yourself,” he gritted out between sword strikes.

“I told you I feel better,” Merlin said. Not two seconds later, his vision swam again and he had to put his hand out and lean against a tree to keep from collapsing. Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion were finally beating him.

“Merlin!”

Merlin saw red in the distance. At first he thought something might be wrong with him, but he blinked, shook his head, and squinted. There really was something red flitting between the muted forest colours, coming straight toward them.

He tried to take a step forward and fell to his knees, nothing but mud and grass now his entire view. Head down and hands in the mud, Merlin groaned, more because he hated being suddenly useless than anything.

The clang of metal stopped at the same time Merlin heard the death gurgle of Arthur’s opponent. He raised his eyes and once again saw the man Arthur had tried to bargain with, life leaving his twitching body.

“Merlin.”

Merlin started at Arthur’s unexpected touch.

“Knights are coming. Come on.” He crouched down, put Merlin’s arm over his shoulders, and helped him up.

Merlin was fighting fatigue and the heaviness of his eyelids, but he had to get the words out. “Arthur,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“When you tell them everything… When you explain what happened… I just want you to know, you can tell them about me. I… guess it doesn’t matter now.”

Arthur sighed. Merlin could hear horse hooves getting closer.

“I understand, Merlin.”

“Take me straight to Gaius,” Merlin said. “Don’t try to treat me with anything yourself. Don’t change my clothes. It’s just exhaustion, I just need to sleep it off.”

“We’re going to have a long talk when you’re up to it, don’t think we aren’t.”

“I know, I know.” Merlin finally let his eyes close with a sigh and rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder. Even though they were both dripping wet, he could feel Arthur’s heat under the soggy clothing. “One more thing. Don’t let go of me until we reach Camelot.”

“Is that important to your health as well?”

Merlin chuckled. “No, that’s just for me.”