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Arthur didn’t let himself hesitate before he knocked on the door. The hut was modest, thatched roof ducked into the cover of a hill, looking small and forlorn in the twilight. Barely more than a hovel. It didn’t look at all like the home of Camelot’s renowned wizard of the woods.

But Arthur wouldn’t have risked coming here if he wasn’t certain. This, here, was the wizard’s dwelling. A tiny, unremarkable hut in the middle of the forest, miles from even the nearest hermit. Something that only those most knowledgeable of the area should have been aware of. And yet, even people who barely left the sanctity of the upper town seemed to have heard about the wizard.

Even in the citadel, right under the king’s nose, Camelot’s sorcerer was a badly kept secret. The sort of thing servants whispered to each other behind their hands, guiltily falling silent whenever they caught sight of Arthur. That no one ever really mentioned out loud and yet everyone seemed to somehow know.

The wizard of the woods, they whispered, could give you anything you wanted.

Arthur knocked again, just two quick raps of his knuckles against the wood, before he took his hand away.

The door opened silently.

There was no one on the other side. A gloomy darkness awaited him, the door wide open in clear invitation, but Arthur still hesitated.

He shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t even the treason that should have kept him away; the knowledge that, crown prince or not, his father would have him beheaded in an instant for even knocking on a sorcerer’s door. And if the king should ever find out about what Arthur planned to ask the wizard for…

The threat to his life, knowing that he was breaking his kingdom’s most stringent laws, ought to have been enough to keep him away, and yet that wasn’t even the most urgent of reasons why this visit was a bad idea. No, Arthur simply didn’t have the time. The desk in his chambers was piled high with maps and plans and letters. Every time he poked his head out the door, there was someone there, asking him to look at something or decide something or take care of something. He had no excuse for sneaking out of the castle when there so much for him to do, so much he hadn’t done. How could he possibly justify spending hours trekking through the woods to ask a favour of a man whom he wasn’t even sure would be able to help?

And yet, here Arthur was. Because try as he might, he could no longer handle it on his own. The stress was wearing on him, invading his sleep at night and sleeplessness making him irritable and prone to mistakes during the day. He was falling apart. If there was even the slimmest chance the wizard could help him, Arthur had to take it. No matter how his father might feel about it, no matter how it tightened something sharp and cold in his belly to be doing this, Arthur owed his people his best.

He stepped over the threshold.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Barely any of the day’s light filtered in through the small windows set into the ceiling, leaving the single room in permanent dusk and the hut’s rafters invisible in the darkness. All around him, boxes and crates and chests stacked up on top of each other created a near-impassable labyrinth. Shelves stuffed with vials and flasks lined the walls. In the dim light, he could see several worktables, each piled high with detritus; books and tools and ropes and all manner of things Arthur couldn’t identify in the gloom.

He shuffled sideways past a particularly unstable-looking stack of wooden crates. “Hello?”

“Hello,” someone replied cheerfully.

Arthur’s trained eye caught movement across the room. A glint of gold lit up the darkness before several candles, melted onto shelves and tables and niches in the walls in a way that looked distinctly unsafe, burst into light around the room. Caught off-guard, he jolted backwards, slamming his elbow into the shelf behind him. Thankfully, it withstood the impact with minimal rattling.

While Arthur held his arm and tried not to curse, a man emerged from the shadows, his cloak contained with one hand while he stepped gracefully through the chaos.

When he saw Arthur, his eyes grew wide. His fingers clenched in his cloak for a split second before abruptly letting go; his weight shifted like an animal desperate to flee. His lips parted. He didn’t look away.

While the wizard stared at Arthur, Arthur stared at the wizard. Dark hair, bright eyes, an angular sort of face. He was tall-ish, though he stood slightly stooped as if he wasn’t quite comfortable with his own height, with a slim torso and narrow hips. No meat on him at all. He’d get absolutely clobbered on the battlefield.

Although he was the fabled wizard of the woods, an open secret in the heart of a country that despised the use of magic, so maybe not.

The wizard didn’t look like much of a threat, though. Not much like anything. Not when he shrunk back like that, arms wrapping protectively around his ribs. “S-sire,” he stuttered.

Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Have we met?” he asked, frowning.

The wizard blinked a few times. After a silent moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, he huffed. He ran a hand over his face, over his hair, before his mouth twisted into a humourless smirk. “Everyone in Camelot knows who you are, your highness.”

Arthur supposed that was true.

The wizard’s arms crossed, posture shifting from defensive to a little more expectant. It was a confident gesture, easy and self-assured. A lot of Arthur’s diplomatic tasks depended on his ability to read body language, and this looked honest enough. And it suited the man, better than the meek, worried stance from before. Arthur must have really caught him off-guard.

The wizard tipped his head to the side. “So what can I do for you? Your highness?”

Arthur looked away. Shame rose sharply, heating his cheeks and settling painfully between his ribs. To the dark of the room, he said, “They say the wizard of the woods will give you anything you want.”

The wizard huffed. “Well, I wouldn’t say anything…” When Arthur turned to look at him, his gaze grew a little sharper, fixing him with bright, attentive eyes. “But there are plenty of things I can give.”

Arthur acknowledged that with a dip of his head. “And what is it you demand, in exchange for this… assistance?”

“Demand?” Frowning, the wizard turned away, stepping over a weathered wooden crate to head deeper into his tiny hut.

After a moment, Arthur followed, cloak tucked close to keep it from upsetting the delicate balance of the chaos around him. There was a reasonably empty area in the very centre of the hut and that’s where he sought refuge, shifting uncertainly while the wizard shuffled into the shadows.

The man glanced over his shoulder at him. “I don’t demand,” he said, belatedly. “I trade.”

Semantics. Arthur raised a brow. “What do you trade, then?”

“Whatever my customers can afford to give.” The wizard’s smile was crooked. “A basket of eggs, some sweets, a bit of fabric perhaps. Camelot’s citizens aren’t known to be swimming in gold.”

Arthur gave a curt nod. As much as he and his father tried to be fair with taxes and tariffs, as much as they listened to their people and helped where they could, the citizens of Camelot more often than not were poor. It wore on Arthur every time he left the citadel, leaving behind a sour taste that would reawaken late at night when he was overtired and overworked and shamefully overwhelmed. If there was some sort of way to change that, to afford them all the life and lifestyles they deserved, he would move heaven and earth to accomplish it.

The wizard tilted his head again, not unlike a curious dog. “Have you come to ask for my help?”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his tongue. Spoken aloud like that, the folly of his actions seemed so obvious. What was he doing? Why was he creeping around the woods hoping a sorcerer might have the solution to his problems? Magic wouldn’t save him; Arthur’s burdens were Arthur’s to carry alone.

“Never mind,” he said, turning to go. Stupid, it had been stupid to come.

“Wait.”

When he turned back, tensing, the wizard wore a calculating expression. “Tell me what it is you want.”

It sounded like an order.

He probably hadn’t meant it as one – because who did he think he was, to order about the crown prince of Camelot? – but it sounded like one, and Arthur felt his body relax of its own accord. Orders were easy. Orders were clear goals with clear expectations and a clear directive. You could follow an order or not follow it, but there was nothing to be debated about it.

(Unless you were Merlin, in which case you could debate anything.)

“I need a way to give up control,” Arthur said.

The wizard’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. “I thought you loved being in control.”

With a wry smile, Arthur shook his head. “I love serving my people,” he said. “I love what I do. I love being a knight.”

“But?” the wizard prompted.

“But I can’t…” Arthur reached up to run a hand through his hair, then aborted the movement. No fearful fidgeting in front of a sorcerer, he reminded himself sternly. “I can’t handle it right now. It’s too much. There’s always more, and more, and for every task I finish, two more take its place. I always have a dozen irons in the fire at a time and no matter how much I do, it’s never enough.”

“Sounds familiar,” the wizard said lightly. And then, before Arthur had the chance to ask, “You’re asking me to allow you to give up control.”

Arthur nodded.

The wizard smiled genially. “That sounds like something I can do.”

Arthur’s heartbeat quickened. “How?”

“I’d have to think about it for a little while,” the wizard admitted. He picked up a tiny vial from a nearby table and fiddled with it, an oddly nervous gesture compared to his generally calm demeaner. “It’s not quite in my usual range of requests.”

The heat that had just started to leech from Arthur’s face returned sharply. “If you tell anyone…”

“No need to start threatening me,” the wizard said, hands rising into the air in a soothing surrender. “Why would I do anything to hurt you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

The man huffed softly, halfway between a laugh and a scoff, brows drawing together. “Why would I? Magic or not, you’re still my prince. It would bring me no pleasure to see you fail.”

Arthur acknowledged the words with another dip of his head. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a sorcerer openly declaring his loyalty to the Pendragon line, but there was no point arguing about it now. “And what is it you want in return?”

“A promise,” the wizard said. He barely even seemed to have to think about it. “I want you to promise me that, if you ever find out about someone having magic – magic that they’re not using to harm anyone, or for ill gains. If they have magic, and use it, and they are no threat to you or the kingdom… I want you to promise me that you will not condemn them for it.”

Arthur frowned. “Why?”

“Because it would be a little hypocritical of you otherwise, wouldn’t it?” the wizard said, with a bit of an edge. “To seek the aid of magic when you need it but condemn another when he does the same?”

Arthur looked down at his hands. That was true, wasn’t it? Here Arthur was, running to a sorcerer for help the moment his problems grew too big for him to handle. Arthur, son of King Uther, crown prince of Camelot. And the wizard did have magic, after all. It made sense for him to want to protect his own kind.

“Your terms are...” Arthur took a deep breath. “…agreeable.”

The wizard fixed him with a sharp look. “Do you promise?”

Arthur swallowed. “I promise.”

“Good.” Then, incongruously, the wizard smiled at him – a sweet, wide, boyish smile. “Return in one week. I will have something for you then.”

A week crept by, interminably. Arthur threw himself into his work, supervised his knights’ training with eagle eyes and refused to let his mind wander during council meetings. He read until late into the night and woke up early for additional sparring sessions with those of his men who needed the help. But it wasn’t easy, not when his limbs were heavy with exhaustion and his eyes burned with lack of sleep. When he almost nodded off during a discussion about bridge tolls but spent all night staring at the canopy of his bed, his mind never quieting enough to let him rest. And with any leeway he gave himself, his thoughts returned to the wizard. To the man’s easy, commanding presence; to the self-assured way he spoke; to his quiet confidence when he promised Arthur something Arthur could only dream of.

It didn’t lighten his mood. Arthur was tired, and irritable, and aching for something he wasn’t sure was even possible. And it didn’t help that Merlin was similarly distracted, dropping things left and right as if it were still his first week in Camelot, and every time Arthur achieved even the slightest whisper of relaxation, an ear-splitting clatter of his valuables being knocked around the room yanked him right back out of it.

“What is wrong with you?” he finally hissed when he had to dive in to protect his papers from the candlestick Merlin knocked onto his desk. Melted wax spilled onto the parchment, ruining his quill and burning his fingers.

“Nothing!” Merlin laughed, a touch hysterical. He reached in to pick up the candlestick, and Arthur just barely resisted swatting at his fingers. “I’m fine, I’m absolutely fine, I’m great! Why, what’s wrong with you?”

With a disgruntled noise, Arthur covered his face with his hands. It wasn’t Merlin’s burden to bear. It wasn’t anybody’s problem but his own. But Arthur was starting to unravel like a bit of cheap knitting. He needed to work, but in order to work well, he needed to rest, and he couldn’t rest because there was so much work, and maybe…

“I just…” He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “I just always feel like I should be doing something, you know? There’s always something that needs attending. Something I should take care of next. Always more.”

When he looked up, helplessly, hoping for Merlin to understand, Merlin was looking back at him with a furrow between his brows. Contemplation, not understanding. Arthur smiled bitterly. Of course he didn’t get it. Nobody ever understood, and in his more frustrated moments, Arthur wondered if trying was even worth the effort. After all, he could never have everything he wanted.

Merlin tilted his head to the side. Not unlike a dog. And not one of the purebred hunting hounds in the castle, but one of those street mongrels that followed you home whether you wanted it or not, panting and doe-eyed and hoping for scraps. “You’re upset because you can’t let yourself be calm. Because there is always more to do.”

Arthur huffed. “Yes, Merlin, that’s what I just said.”

“So if you couldn’t do anything…” Merlin muttered, sounding distracted and far away, as if they weren’t even in the same room.

“Merlin.” Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin jerked upright. He clutched the candlestick to his chest. “Nothing!” he said. “Never mind! You know me, I never know what I’m prattling on about.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That’s the first intelligible thing you’ve said all evening.”

“Sure.” Merlin straightened. “Seeing as it’s evening and all, do you need anything else, sire? There are some… things I have to take care of.”

Arthur frowned. “What kind of things?”

Merlin smiled vaguely. “You know. Things.”

“Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go!” he said, when Merlin didn’t move. “Go take care of your ‘things’ and leave me in peace.”

Perhaps with Merlin gone, he could finally start making some headway.

A week to the day, Arthur waited until the sun had passed its zenith and started to dip towards the horizon beyond Camelot’s rolling hills before he swung his cloak around his shoulders. His people’s opposition to the new, raised bridge tolls would have to wait. “I’m going out,” he told Merlin, who glanced out the window, noting the time, and promptly dropped the coal pan in his hands with an ear-splitting clang.

Arthur glanced down at the flecks of soot settling on his floors. “I expect you to have that cleaned up before I return.”

“Where are you going?” Merlin asked, noncommittal.

“Nowhere that concerns you.” Arthur pointed a stern finger at him. “And that is not an invitation to follow me.”

Going slightly cross-eyed with Arthur’s finger in his face, Merlin blinked at him, soot-stained and guileless, and Arthur softened. 

“No need to wait up for me. I’ll be back late.”

“How very mysterious,” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes. Arthur did him the favour of pretending not to have noticed.

The wizard spread a thick blanket onto the hut’s rough floor and bade him sit. Arthur did, feeling foolish, crossing his legs underneath him. It twisted his stomach to be sitting like an obedient dog while the wizard towered over him, but he shoved the feeling away. If the wizard could help him, somehow, Arthur owed it to himself and his people to try.

The man shot him a distracted smile as he moved away. He had looked a little hectic when Arthur had arrived, flushed and muttering, but he was calming down by the minute. Somehow, it made Arthur feel calmer, too. Less like he was making some sort of terrible mistake.

“So,” the wizard’s voice floated through the candle-lit gloom. Arthur could hear him rummage around in some dust-riddled corner. “You want to give up control. Because you always have to be in control, always on guard, the one everyone relies on. The work never ends, and because there is always more to do, you cannot convince yourself to ever stop working.” The wizard raised his head to peer at him. “Feel free to interrupt me if I’m wrong.”

Arthur didn’t.

After a moment, the wizard returned his attention to the crate in front of him. “Luckily, I’ve come up with something.”

Arthur had expected that – surely the wizard wouldn’t make him sit here if he was just going to send him away again – but he still felt his heart beat faster. The mere thought of finally being able to rest for a moment…

He cleared his throat. “You have something that will help?”

“I had an idea,” the wizard said. “Of what we might try.”

Arthur craned his neck, preparing himself for some sort of maliciously gleaming vial or prickly herb or whatever magic the wizard was about to inflict on him. But when the man emerged from the shadows, the only thing in his hands was a thin, sturdy rope.

Arthur frowned at him.

Smiling, the wizard came to sit opposite him. He wore buckled boots that he tucked under his thighs, half-hidden beneath worn breeches. Arthur wasn’t sure why the sight surprised him. The wizard had already explained about not profiting off his work, after all.

“I hope your idea isn’t to tie me up,” he said.

“It is, actually.” The wizard smiled at him, gently amused, like he’d been expecting Arthur’s incredulous response. He laid the hank of rope in his lap. “Think about it: What sort of work would you be able to do with your hands tied? You couldn’t fight, you couldn’t write, you certainly couldn’t attend any sort of official function.” 

Arthur stared at the rope laying across the man’s legs. It looked like any other rope, really, and Arthur frowned, trying not to give in to the thought of how desperately he wanted what the wizard had described. A day – hell, an evening – when he simply… couldn’t.

Arthur wasn’t sure what the wizard saw in his face, but the man’s expression softened into something light and affectionate. “Do you think you could try that? To let go? Be calm?”

A part of Arthur wanted that so much he ached with it. Another part, however…

He tore his gaze away. “And you expect me to just… deliver myself into your hands like that? Offer myself up for you to harm me?”

The wizard ran slim fingers over the rope. “If I wanted to harm you, this wouldn’t make a difference.”

Arthur felt a shudder of fear run through him, followed, oddly, by a wave of calm. He’d forgotten, in between all the talking and the wizard’s frankly insane idea and his harmless demeaner, that the man was a sorcerer. The wizard of the woods. No matter how much Arthur let himself be distracted by menial things, the man was dangerous.

Arthur understood danger. He dealt with it every day.

It was a calculated risk. “How do you want me?” he asked.

The wizard shrugged one shoulder. “Just like that is fine. It would be best if you would take off your shirt.”

“You want me to undress?” Arthur echoed.

“Just your shirt for now.”

The wizard started to unwind his hank of rope without watching to see if Arthur obeyed. Arthur curled his hands into the hem of his tunic. It wasn’t quite an order, but it also wasn’t anything else. Orders were something he was used to; both giving and receiving. He’d obeyed significantly worse and he certainly wasn’t shy about his body. He stripped out of his tunic and undershirt without letting himself linger. Didn’t cross his arms over his chest either. This was what he wanted, after all.

His reward was a brief nod. “Sit up straight,” the wizard told him. “Hold out your arms.”

He did, awkwardly letting his hands hover in the space between them. Unlike orders, Arthur didn’t have a lot of experience with this. Skirmishes and wars had always been part of his life, but Arthur was too good at what he did to let himself be captured often. He could only recall two or three times when he had been taken hostage by enemy forces – once as a child kidnapped by another kingdom to use as a bargaining tool – and all of those had involved chains and heavy manacles.

This wasn’t like that at all. The wizard’s touch was light, the bind painless. He looped the rope around Arthur’s wrists and underarms in neat double rows before running it around itself in between his limbs, cinching Arthur’s arms firmly together before he knotted it off. He was done in no more than a few minutes. It was a clean tie that would make any knight proud, but nothing more than that. It didn’t hurt or weigh down Arthur’s arms. Aside from the obvious, it barely restricted him at all.

The wizard squeezed the tips of Arthur’s fingers. “Is it comfortable?”

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Arthur nodded.

“I’m going to use magic now,” the wizard told him. One of his hands settled on Arthur’s knee. “Stay calm.”

It was half a question, a lilting sort of statement, so Arthur nodded again.

The wizard smiled at him. His eyes, blue and bright, lit up with gold.

Arthur had seen magic done before, but not like this. He had been attacked by sorcerers and creatures alike, screamed at and cursed, enchanted and put to sleep and thrown across the room.

It had never looked like this.

Before Arthur had the chance to startle at the glowing eyes, the rope around his arms lit up with that same, golden light. The shine faded instantly from the wizard’s eyes, but the rope remained agleam, casting a warm glow over Arthur’s arms where he held them aloft. It didn’t change the way the binding felt, rough and tight against his skin, but it made it seem different. Less coarse, perhaps. More purposeful.

“What did you do?” he asked quietly.

“I made sure the rope wouldn’t injure you,” the wizard said. “It’ll hold the knots like this but come apart easily if we need it to.”

Arthur nodded. The warm gold of the rope made it look like it should feel warm, but it didn’t. It just felt like rope. He could barely tear his gaze away, fascinated by the sight. Like liquid light wrapped around his wrists, though unlike bright sunshine, this didn’t hurt his eyes to look at. Like the soothing glow of a fire after a long, hard day.

The wizard offered him a hint of a smile. “Stay like this.” With that, he rose and walked away, disappearing from Arthur’s field of vision.

As Arthur stared at the rope binding his wrists, he could feel his heart begin to pound. It was stupid, really. The tie wasn’t particularly tight, or complex. If he tried, he should be able to free himself with relatively little effort. Certainly Arthur had survived – and escaped – worse.

He glanced around for the wizard, but the man was somewhere behind him, not even looking at him. Expecting – trusting – Arthur to stay as he’d been put.

Restless, he turned his arms over, inspecting the glowing binds. Magic aside, he couldn’t see anything special about them. The rope was coarse, grasping at his skin with little hairs. When he tried to pull his wrists apart, there was no give to it at all. It ought to have frightened him, perhaps, but instead Arthur found himself relaxing a little. Magic or not, it was just rope. Wizard or not, he was just a man. Crown prince or not, Arthur’s problems were just problems – difficult, perhaps, but nothing he hadn’t faced before.

His eyes narrowed a little. “And you say this is going to help me give up control?”

The wizard returned. His hand came to rest lightly on Arthur’s hair. “Why don’t we give it a little time and see if it works?” He smiled. “Arthur.”

Oddly, Arthur found himself liking that. There was no need for a title like this – the wizard wasn’t someone Arthur had to impress, or someone trying to impress Arthur. No servant determined to make him happy because their livelihood depended on it, and no foreign king whose goodwill towards Arthur would decide the fates of their lands and subjects. Just like the wizard’s name, Arthur’s titles didn’t matter. Arthur was Arthur, and the wizard was a wizard, and that was the way things were.

He smiled back absently, not minding when the man disappeared again.

It was a good thing, too. Being just Arthur. He didn’t even want to imagine what his father would have to say if he saw him right now.

The thought heated his cheeks with shame, so he shoved it firmly away. His father wasn’t here. No one was here but Arthur and the wizard. The wizard who could make such beautiful magic. Clearly the man was insane, to think that something as simple as a bit of rope could ease Arthur’s mind. But it really was beautiful to look at: Warm golden light spilling over his naked arms, over the fabric covering his legs. The wizard had implied that there were ways to do this entirely naked, too, and Arthur didn’t mind the thought.

A smile pulled at his lips. He tipped his head to the side, easing the ever-tense muscles in his shoulders, and shifted his arms in his lap.

Perhaps that was some sort of signal for the wizard. Arthur heard the soft rustling of his clothes before the man returned to his side, stopping just near enough that Arthur had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t think this is working,” Arthur told him.

“No?” The wizard smiled down at him. “You’ve been worrying about your royal duties all this time?”

Arthur opened his mouth to agree, then closed it again. His mind had been plenty occupied, that much was true, but not with the minutiae of his daily life. It took him a moment to remember what it was he had been so stressed about earlier in the day, and even when the memory returned to him – the new bridge tolls, and how their people were reacting to those – it didn’t carry quite the oppressive weight it had before.

“How did you do that?” he asked suspiciously.

The wizard smiled at him, mischief sparking in his brilliant eyes. “Magic.”

Arthur’s chambers felt oddly – large. He lay on his bed, arms that had been previously tightly bound resting loosely on his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. It wasn’t quite relaxation. He wasn’t stressed, wasn’t worried, but everything felt just slightly off. His bed was so big, so much softer than the hard floor of the wizard’s hut, and his bedchamber lit up with candles that shone into every nook and cranny of the room, illuminating the beams of the ceiling and even the decorations carved into the board above his head.

Idly, he twisted his wrists, listening to the joints crack. The wizard hadn’t left him tied for very much longer, instead unravelling the rope with a flash of his golden eyes, still-glowing coils falling into Arthur’s lap. Strangely, Arthur had felt – disappointed. It had seemed too simple, somehow. Too easy. There was no way sitting still for a… he didn’t actually know how long it had been, but it hadn’t been long, he didn’t think. And it hadn’t been… much, had it? Just that rope around his arms for that little while and then the wizard had untied him and rubbed his skin where the rope had bitten in, soothing away the itch as quickly as it came, and sent him home, and told him – not asked him, ordered him – to return another week later. And Arthur had gone, and so here he was, quiet and motionless even though he could see the stacks of papers piled up on his desk from where he lay. Piles and piles of papers, of things left to do, and he was aware of their urgency but somehow it didn’t matter as much at the 
moment. There was far too much for him to get it done tonight, and it would all still be there in the morning, and he would curse himself for his indulgence then but for now it was far simpler to just… lie here, lie in his bed with his palms resting hot and heavy on his chest and his mind oddly empty, not quite relaxed but also not churning desperately.

Quiet.

Arthur breathed in deep, feeling his chest expand underneath his hands.

The wizard had promised him calm. Arthur wasn’t sure this really qualified, but it also wasn’t not calm. He could think about all the things he had to do without feeling the tendrils of uncertainty, of panic, creeping up his spine, he could fill his lungs without choking on his own breath. He could lie here and not do anything and simply… accept it.

He was still lying there when there was a knock on the door, soft and oddly hesitant.

“Come,” Arthur called.

The door opened. Arthur looked over belatedly to see Merlin standing in the gap, looking shifty. Not guilty-shifty, though. Uncertain-shifty. Arthur felt his brows pull together. Merlin didn’t usually come to bother him this late.

“Yes?” he asked. His voice came out even and mild.

Merlin curled one hand around the solid wood of the door. “I was – wanted to see if you needed anything. Sire.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur said absently. He rolled one shoulder, feeling the phantom pull of the rope in his muscles still, the way his skin pricked in memory of the rough fibres. He’d voluntarily held out his hands for a sorcerer to bind and he was still here, safe and sound, and while that thought would have to be examined again at a later date, he was fine for now.

Well, even.

Merlin shuffled from one foot to the other. “So it’s alright if I… leave?”

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh. “Were you going to stand watch over me all night?”

Merlin didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Arthur watched him hover in the doorway for another moment before returning his attention to the ceiling. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

From the sound of it, Merlin shuffled a little more. “Goodnight, sire.”

Arthur waited until the door had closed with a firm click before he pulled up his sleeves. The marks still showed a little, pale red lines on the white of his skin, curled around his forearms like an odd bit of jewellery. They’d be gone by tomorrow, just like the wizard had promised.

Tomorrow, when he would have to pick up all the slack he was giving himself right now.

But not yet. For tonight, Arthur turned onto his side and curled his arms around his pillow, content to drift in hazy contemplation.

The wizard took Arthur’s hands in his. With the slightest furrow between his brows, he ran his thumbs over the knobs of Arthur’s wrists. Just like he’d done the week before, after he’d unwound the ropes. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find. Just as promised, the marks had faded completely overnight, as if they had never been there at all.

Still, Arthur had kept catching himself rubbing at the places they had been over and over during the course of the week, running his palms over his forearms again and again. Like the wizard was doing now, his touch friendly and proprietary. Like they did this all the time.

Perhaps the wizard did. Arthur watched the man’s face while the wizard laid a new length of rope over his arms; the sharp rise of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. Who could say how many people he did this with? The wizard of the woods was an open secret. Half of Camelot seemed to know of him; who knew how many of them came to seek his help.

Arthur shifted on his knees. It didn’t make the hard ground any more comfortable. “Aren’t you worried someone might turn you in?”

“Not particularly,” the wizard said, looping the rope around and around. At Arthur’s silence, he looked up. “I have taken precautions to keep myself safe.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that.

“It’s a spell,” the wizard said. “A glamour.” He smiled at Arthur’s puzzled look. “Protective magic. As long as I’m ‘the wizard,’ even the people who know me won’t recognize me.”

Arthur had a hard time believing it. Surely magic couldn’t do that. Couldn’t change something as fundamental as that. Even if he didn’t recognize someone’s face, he would still know their body, or their voice, or their manner of speech and the gestures they used. Their laughter.

“That sounds…” He hesitated. “Ridiculous.”

The wizard shrugged one shoulder. “It’s proved to be effective thus far.” He grinned at Arthur, voice lowering as if sharing a joke, a secret. As if that was something they did. “I do forget sometimes. Thought I was going to die from fright a few times, running into people I know.”

Arthur stared at him. “They know you, and they see you, but they don’t recognize you?”

“Apparently not,” the wizard said cheerfully. He knotted off the rope and took Arthur’s bound wrists in his hands. “Are you ready?”

Nodding, Arthur shifted on his knees, already looking forward to the way the ropes would light up with gold.

The wizard smiled crookedly. “I have to admit that I never expected to see you this excited to watch me practice magic.”

Before Arthur had time to do more than frown at that, the wizard’s eyes lit up. Golden light spilled over Arthur’s arms as the rope echoed the glow. It was just as mesmerizing as before – more familiar this time, but also less unsettling, and just as beautiful. Arthur watched the glow on his skin, little golden hairs made visible by the light. He didn’t bother to test the tie this time, only settled his arms on his thighs and curled his hands together.

The wizard rose, brushing one hand over Arthur’s shoulder as he disappeared.

Kneeling on the blanket in the middle of the sorcerer’s hut, Arthur waited.

He noticed it this time. Noticed when his thoughts started to slow, when the things his mind latched onto to bring to his attention stopped being about that councillor who had scoffed at his suggestions, or that knight whose hanging left was going to get him killed, or that barely legible report one of their lords had sent in. Instead, his attention was drawn to where his skin itched underneath the rope. Where the uneven ground pressed into his shins. Where the tension in his back pulled on his shoulders, which pulled on the tie around his forearms, and he made the conscious decision to take a deep breath, to roll his shoulder down and relax into the sensation.

“Good,” the wizard said behind him, light and calm and easy.

Arthur allowed himself a small smile. He took another deep breath, slower this time. There was no point in worrying about his work – that was back at the citadel, and he was here, arms tied to uselessness. There was nothing he could do but kneel here. There was nothing to feel but sensation.

Another breath, and another, and Arthur let his spine straighten and his shoulders sink and settled in.

Arthur stepped out into the sunshine on the battlements with a quiet sigh. The sun was still high in the sky, shining down from the cloudless blue with unseasonal warmth, but it had already been a long day. Week. A long year. If he never again had to tally up how many citizens had been slaughtered by bandits in their own homes, it would be too soon.

At least he had found one way to help with the overwhelm. He’d only been to see the wizard twice – to let the man tie him up, and in his saner moments, Arthur still had a hard time believing that he was entrusting his life to a stranger, a stranger with magic, just like that – but each time had left him a little calmer, a little more at ease. He’d been able to rest afterwards without the tension in his shoulders keeping him awake, and even if his time with the wizard hadn’t reduced the sheer amount of things he had to worry about, waking well-rested and in a reasonable mood in the mornings had certainly improved his productivity.

If only it were a permanent change. Whatever magic the wizard wrought on his mind to make it clear and quick and calm again usually faded within a day or two, and the slow, steady creep of worries encroaching on his thoughts was painful to witness. Painful, but unstoppable. Arthur didn’t want to say that he was counting down until he could next visit the wizard’s hut, but, well. It was only three more days.

He still rubbed his arms sometimes. In distracted moments, he even found himself pulling the sleeves of his tunic tight around his wrists, letting the fabric dig into his skin. His father glared at him every time he noticed. After one particularly tedious council meeting, he even pulled Arthur aside to hiss a reprimand about fidgeting, but it wasn’t really. It wasn’t the distractible, restless movements Arthur had had trained out of him as a toddler. Instead, the pressure helped Arthur push aside the stress and worry and focus on the here and now, reminiscent of the way his mind had calmed in the dim chaos of the wizard’s hut.

But it wasn’t like he could explain that to the king.

Sighing, he pushed up his sleeves to rest his bare forearms on the stone of the battlements. They were rough and grounding and warm from the sun, and no one would perceive it as weakness if Arthur leaned into the sensation a little too hard, letting the tiny imperfections in the rock dig into his skin and his face tip up into the light.

He wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the good weather. When he leaned over the wall, he could see Merlin in the courtyard below, sitting on a wall and kicking his legs like he was waiting for something. A minor noble stood in a patch of sunlight talking to his squire, the boy nodding eagerly at every word, and one of the stable hands had rolled up his sleeves to pump water at the well.

Arthur paused, eyes caught on the man’s dark hair.

If there really was a glamour preventing the wizard from being recognized, then the wizard could be anyone. Any person he passed in the street, any of his guards or knights, any farmer or innkeeper or vagrant in his kingdom. Hell, Merlin could be the wizard, for all he knew.

The thought made him grin. He craned his head over the wall, watching Merlin jump from his seat to take a basket of herbs and plants from an arriving tradeswoman. A nearby guard said something that made Merlin crack a smile. Whatever he shot back in reply had the guard aim a slow, harmless swipe at him with his polearm; a swing that Merlin side-stepped smoothly, laughing all the while.

Remembering the easy way the wizard had navigated the chaotic overflow of his hut, Arthur raised interested brows. Maybe –

Below him, Merlin, walking backwards away from the guards, found the only uneven flagstone in the whole of the courtyard and tripped over it, landing heavily on his arse and spilling the basket of greenery all over himself.

Unlike the guards, who made no secret out of their laughter, Arthur hid his amusement by turning away.

Alright, so Merlin couldn’t be the wizard. That still left all of the rest of Camelot to contend with.

Somewhere in the area, some sort of beast prowled the wilderness. Gaius hadn’t been able to identify it yet, but tales of its sharp claws and glinting fangs had made it all the way to Camelot by now. First a bandit infestation, now a magical creature. Some villages simply couldn’t catch a break.

Of course the king had sent him out to look for the beast, but so far, neither he nor Merlin had spotted any sign of it. Feeling self-indulgent, Arthur had made them stop for lunch at an inn near the river. The taproom was empty save for Arthur and the couple who ran the inn, Merlin having wandered outside to look after their horses. Hopefully without finding new and creative ways to get himself into trouble.

For his part, Arthur finished his food in silence. He was reasonably sure he had been recognized because the woman kept shooting him little looks and his bowl had been in a much better state than Merlin’s, with none of the chips and cracks that had caught Merlin’s spoon.

At least Merlin had taken it with good humour.

Across the room, the innkeeper’s ungainly husband teetered atop a ladder, trying to fix the gable window’s shutter. With one hand on the wall keeping him upright, the man huffed. “The dowel’s come loose again,” he complained. “At this point, we might as well just leave it broken, for all the good that fixing does it.”

The woman waved him off. “Leave it be for now. We’ll just ask the wi-” She glanced at Arthur. “Um.”

Arthur turned his attention deliberately back to his food, ignoring the frantic whispers and rustling from their corner. He ate slowly, steadily, as if he hadn’t the slightest concern in the world. As if he didn’t know exactly whom the woman had been about to mention. He kept his eyes down and his ears peeled, but despite her nervous tone, the woman didn’t slip up again.

The next time Arthur glanced up, the husband had vanished along with his ladder. The woman was behind the counter, smiling a little too widely while she polished her pots. Arthur laid his coins on the table and left with nothing but a curt nod, ignoring the way his tongue burned with the need to ask questions. If there were things he felt he had to know, he already had the perfect person to ask.

Arthur pushed open the door to the wizard’s hut one-handed, securing his hood against the steady drizzle of rain with the other. After the grey skies and the cold, the inside of the little building was warm, just shy of stuffy. Welcoming despite the clutter. Arthur wasn’t sure when he’d started to associate the place with something not unlike relaxation, but he could feel his shoulders start to sink of their own accord when he stepped over the threshold.

Bent over a worktable, the wizard glanced at him over his shoulder, smiling. Arthur took off his boots before he settled on the blanket. He folded his cloak and tunic to lay beside him and tucked his feet underneath him, waiting more or less patiently until the wizard sat, lap full of rope, and gestured for Arthur’s hands.

It was still an odd feeling, to be sitting docilely still while a sorcerer tied his hands together. Long years of conditioning had his muscles tensing instinctively, but Arthur’s mind was trained just as expertly as his body. He sat motionless and quiet, no matter how much his body wanted to twitch away.

This time, the wizard didn’t keep the binds around his wrists. As directed, Arthur held his arms out side by side. The wizard brushed his thumb over Arthur’s wrists, finding the bone, before he looped the rope well underneath. Once his wrists were firmly cinched together, the wizard began wrapping loops around his forearms, hooking the rope in on itself in a surprisingly sturdy bind. Arthur watched as the rope climbed higher and higher, almost all the way up to his elbows. The wizard offered him a tiny smile when he tied the binding off, knot on top of the rope where Arthur couldn’t feel it against his skin, then tucked the loose ends into the weave to hide them from view.

Experimentally straining against the rope, Arthur barely managed to part his arms at the elbows. It was too much effort to keep up for long and, sighing, he let his arms drop onto his thighs. “How do you know how to do this?”

The wizard ran his hand over the rope crossing Arthur’s arms. “This?”

Arthur gave a sharp nod. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this. Tying people up. Not for – sport.”

“Not for leisure, you mean?”

Arthur shrugged.

The wizard smiled. “I’m not an expert by any means.” He gestured at Arthur’s bound hands. “I have some experience, as you can see – I know what I’m doing with the rope. But all the practice I’ve had, I’ve had with the people teaching me. I’ve never tried it with someone less experienced than I.” He rose gracefully, looking so very tall from Arthur’s vantage point. “But it’s going well, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur stared up at him. “I hope that wasn’t meant to be reassuring.”

The wizard arched a brow at him. It did something odd to Arthur’s stomach, to be kneeling, essentially, at the man's feet, with that half-amused, half-stern expression aimed his way. “It was meant to be honest,” the wizard said. “So we can both be clear about where we stand.”

Arthur twitched his bound hands. “It would have been nice to be told you don’t know what you’re doing when I still had the chance to run away.”

The wizard lifted the other brow as well. “Are you really in a position to sass me?”

“I’m certainly not in a position to do anything else,” Arthur pointed out.

The wizard rolled his eyes. He covered Arthur's mouth with his hand, briefly. “That means hush.”

Arthur would have happily continued to be as smart-mouthed as he felt like, but the wizard’s eyes flared up with that golden glow then. The ropes around his arms lit up with that same warm light a moment later. He smiled at the sight, instinctively, feeling his jaw loosen and his shoulders settle.

“Better,” the wizard said. When Arthur chanced a look upwards, the man was smiling as well. He reached out to nudge a few loose hairs out of Arthur’s eyes. “Isn’t that better, Arthur?”

Arthur let his gaze drop down to his bound arms. It was better, yes. Tension leeched from his muscles, eyes drawn to the golden light spilling over his arms and thighs and blanket, a soothing sight to distract him from his worries and questions and thoughts.

He shifted his legs, settling into his kneeling position, and let his eyelids grow heavy in anticipation of the relaxation to come.

The wizard’s hand lingered on his hair a moment longer.

Sunlight glinted off the sword swinging towards him. Arthur’s body seemed to move of its own accord, thousands of hours of training having turned into muscle memory. He parried, tore his blade away, had already turned to block the next blow before it had the chance to connect. Caridoc hissed through his teeth when Arthur thrust forward, jumping back to avoid what would have been a harmless but painful blow with a dull practice sword. He stumbled a little, weighed down by his armour, and Arthur raised his blade and moved in for the kill –

Ear-splitting clanging tore through his concentration. Arthur’s head snapped around instinctively. On the other side of the ring was Merlin, standing over a pile of dropped swords, grinning sheepishly at the knights laughing around him, an embarrassed flush high on his cheeks.

Caridoc used Arthur’s distraction to land a blow to his thigh. He pulled his strength, of course – nobody wanted to break bones here, not even to teach a lesson – but not by much, and Arthur grit his teeth against the pain while he jerked his sword upward, flinging Caridoc’s blade out of his grasp.

Caridoc grinned at him, a gracious loser. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you’re to slay this creature of yours.”

Arthur gave him a grim nod. He might have won the round, but Caridoc was right. Arthur couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted like that, not even by Merlin.

“Take a break,” he said. “Good work.”

Still grinning, the man headed off to take a drink. Their spots in the practice ring were taken up by two other knights, readying their shields and weapons. Arthur nodded for them to start before he leaned against a weapons rack, a little too heavily to truly look casual. His thigh burned like someone had lit it on fire. “Ow,” he muttered.

It earned him the attention of Geraint waiting nearby. “Man up, sire!” He clapped a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Nobody wants to hear your whinging.”

Arthur forced a smile.

On the other side of the ring, Merlin had started picking up the swords, getting a bare handful into his arms before dropping them all once more.

He let his head sink back to rest on the blanket, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. In the ever-dim light inside the hut, the rafters were hidden in shadow, but sometimes Arthur thought he could see something glinting in the darkness. The wizard had bound his arms together, hands curled into fists underneath his chin, and there wasn’t anything for him to do but lie there while the man did the same to his legs.

Being naked didn’t bother him. The heavens knew being in the army trained any false modesty out of a man. But it was strange to do so here, knowing the objective was to have him bound and helpless and lost in his own head. And not in the way where he was overwhelmed by his worries – just that odd, oddly peaceful feeling where nothing but the here and now seemed to matter at all.

At the wizard’s direction, he let his legs fall to the side, offering up his thigh for the next series of knots. He didn’t notice anything amiss until the wizard’s hand settled against his skin. “What’s this?” the man asked, frowning.

Arthur raised his head. It took some doing to persuade his muscles to put in the work when all they wanted was to melt into bone-deep content under the wizard’s hands, but he caught a glimpse of the bruise on his thigh. “Training,” he said, before giving in to the pull of gravity and letting his head drop back onto the blanket.

“Training?” the wizard repeated. “Arthur, this looks like you got knocked around by a sidhe.”

“Have a lot of experience with those, do you?” Arthur asked, lips curling into a grin. He tried to imagine it – the man squaring his bony shoulders as he faced off against some unseen enemy, flinging his magic at it with his eyes glowing gold.

The wizard turned away to pick up another length of rope. “More than I ever wanted to have, certainly.”

“Wait, you do?” Arthur tried to lift his head again, except this time the wizard pushed it back down with a hand on his forehead. “When? Why?”

“I’m not sure this is really helping you be calm,” the wizard said wryly.

“No, I’m calm! So calm. Look.” Arthur let his shoulders drop onto the blanket. “When was this?”

The wizard laughed at him. “A while ago,” he said, indulging him, before returning his attention to Arthur’s hips. “The sidhe threatened – someone I care about. Wanted to sacrifice that person instead of paying for their own mistakes. It all turned out well in the end, but not without a couple of bruises.”

Arthur watched the wizard’s profile as he talked. His jawline, his eyes. He was handsome, Arthur thought, and while at another time it might have shocked him to think such a thing about a – a sorcerer, there wasn’t anything he could do with the realization while restrained and at the other man’s mercy. So he didn’t.

The wizard eased warm fingers underneath the rope at his hip, tugging lightly, then checked the knot against the outside of his leg before giving his flank a light pat. Like he’d passed muster, somehow.

“Did you think you were the only one with a stake in keeping this kingdom safe?”

If Arthur were to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t something he had ever really thought about. He had grown up constantly reminded of his duty to Camelot. How his kingdom had to come before all else. There had never really been talk of other people. “I suppose I did, yes.”

The wizard smiled at him, like he was a precious and slightly stupid child. “You cannot shoulder the burdens of an entire kingdom by yourself, Arthur. No one can.”

Arthur wasn’t sure – it certainly felt like he was expected to, sometimes.

Perhaps the wizard could see the doubt in his expression, because he settled down on the blanket and laid his rope aside. “Do you remember what our bargain was?”

Arthur nodded.

The wizard pulled his legs in close, folding his hands around his shins in an oddly youthful gesture. Something you might see from a boy. “Remind me,” he said.

Brows furrowing, Arthur replied, “You’ll let me give up control, and in return, I won’t hold people’s magic against them.”

“That’s right.” The wizard smiled at him.

It made something curl in Arthur’s stomach; a strange but not uncommon sensation. Arthur felt it every time someone praised him, no matter how much he chided himself for it. He knew he shouldn’t be so desperate for other people’s approval; especially not if he earned it by recalling a bargain he’d struck with a sorcerer. Certainly a half-remembered sentence didn’t deserve any praise; and neither did ignoring his father’s word and the law just because Arthur could not manage the princely duties he’d been raised into all his life, by himself.

Still, there it was – that thrill of pleasure; that intoxicating feeling that he’d done something right.

The wizard rubbed his hand over the outside of Arthur’s leg, soothing the muscles there. “And I’m going to hold you to that. Because there are people out there who may break the law by practicing magic, but that doesn’t mean that what they’re doing is wrong, you know?”

Arthur, still half-dizzy from his reaction to the wizard’s praise, had to pull his thoughts together with some effort. “The laws exist for a reason,” he said. “We cannot pick and choose which ones to follow as it suits us.”

“And you’ve never defied your father when you thought he was in the wrong,” the wizard said, with a challenging tilt to his chin.

Arthur scowled at him. He didn’t want to argue with the wizard about this, particularly not when he was naked and immobilized. “I don’t see what you would know about that.”

The wizard hesitated. Then he smiled. “Nothing,” he said. “I know nothing about that. And now…” He lifted a finger to Arthur’s lips, hushing him, once again like a child. “No more talking. Or I’m going to have to find a way to silence you.”

At the head of the dinner table, the king dissected his mutton with a white-knuckled grip. “I don’t understand how you can be so blasé about the matter, son.”

Arthur poked at his dinner with a little less enthusiasm. “I do understand the severity of the matter, Father, but there have been no reports of this beast hurting anyone. And the bandit attacks have all but stopped, haven’t they?” He glanced up. “It’s one village, Father. One creature. I’m just not sure we should be expending the effort.”

His father shot him a look along the table. “Surely you’re not attempting to suggest that we leave the creature be.”

Arthur shrugged, more of an uncomfortable shift than any sort of real movement. He almost bumped his arm into Merlin moving in to fill up his wine. “If it’s not hurting anyone…”

“It’s magic, son,” his father said. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he lifted his goblet to his lips before saying, “All magic hurts someone. Hurting people is all it does.”

Merlin jerked, spilling scarlet droplets onto the table. Arthur scowled instinctively, shooting him a dark look, but when his father’s face darkened as well, Arthur just shifted his goblet over the stains and returned his attention to his plate.

Merlin tried to pretend to be ignorant of magic, but he always grew tense at the king’s more enraged rants. Sometimes they made him angry, sometimes he drooped like a wilted flower afterwards. Arthur would have had to be blind not to notice. Maybe it was because of that friend of his, Will, who’d died, perhaps it was someone else, but Merlin didn’t condemn magic the way Camelot’s citizens ought. And he suffered under the king’s condemning eye.

“Of course, my lord,” Arthur said agreeably, when the silence stretched on a little too long. He waved two fingers. “Merlin, would you mind going ahead and getting my chambers ready for me? I’m sure we can manage without you.”

The rope pulled across his chest when he shifted onto his knees, around his thighs and waist, digging in over his hipbones. Arthur tried not to react to the sensation; the ache where the cord compressed his skin, the tickling touch where the wizard’s sleeve dragged over his naked body.

The wizard glanced down at him. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Cold?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur said. And then, because he’d woken up freezing because someone hadn’t properly stoked the fire before disappearing for the night, added, “You’re a lot more attentive than Merlin is.”

“Merlin,” the wizard echoed.

“My manservant,” Arthur said. “Unfortunately.”

The wizard drew back. “What makes you say that?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That he’s very, very bad at it,” he groused. “Truly. He may well be the worst servant in Camelot.”

The wizard turned away. He really was very tall when looked at from below; and slim. Arthur could see the knobs of his skinny shoulders even through his shirt. “Have you ever considered that he might be trying his best?”

“Then his best is terrible – ow!” Arthur dropped his gaze, glaring at the rope that had twisted sharply, magically, around his thighs. “What was that for?”

“Why should it be for anything?” the wizard asked, turning. There was another length of rope in his hands now. Arthur couldn’t quite read his expression. “Was there anything unkind about what you said?”

“Maybe unkind, but not untrue.” Arthur huffed, exasperated. He wasn’t sure if the wizard was listening, head bending over the rope while his fingers twisted and turned and knotted it in his hands, so he raised his voice. “Merlin is truly, absolutely, the worst servant I have ever encountered. Anywhere. And trust me, I’ve been a lot of places and encountered a lot of servants. He is without a doubt –”

The wizard reached for him. Arthur faltered, but he hadn’t even had time to close his mouth before the wizard brought his hand down over Arthur’s face, slipping something coarse and hefty past his lips. Arthur bit down on it instinctively. A gag, he realized, knotted from the same rope that bound his body, just large enough to press down his tongue where it sat behind his teeth.

He blinked.

The wizard’s hand lingered for a moment, middle finger sealed across Arthur’s lips. He could hear the grin in the wizard's voice. “You have no idea how satisfying that was.”

Arthur gave the rope an experimental chew. The rough fibres prickled against his tongue and cheeks, enough to discourage any unnecessary movement. He knelt motionless while the wizard, crouching down behind him with a rustle of his cloak, picked up the lengths of rope trailing from the corners of Arthur’s mouth and tied them into a firm knot at the back of his head. Not tight enough to hurt but so tightly he had no chance of spitting it out.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” the wizard asked. He rose, towering over him with a displeased expression. “This is your opportunity to confront your own shortcomings, not to slight someone else’s.”

Arthur had been gagged before – once, by enemy soldiers that managed to get the drop on him and his men. Back when Arthur was still young enough to fall for such tricks. He wasn’t scared now, not the way he had been back then, but he still didn’t like it. The way the rope dug into his cheeks, the indignity of drool collecting in his mouth and seeping into the gag.

But it wasn’t about what he liked, was it? What he wanted. It was about what Arthur needed, and if the wizard thought that Arthur needed to be silenced, then it was Arthur’s responsibility to submit.

He bowed his head forward, just a little, feeling the rope shift against his skin.

“Good.” The wizard’s hand ruffled his hair. “Better.”

Arthur tried not to lean into the touch, unsure if he was allowed, but judging by the wizard’s soft, amused sound he was unsuccessful.

“Like that?” the wizard asked, brushing through his hair again. His thumb drew across Arthur’s forehead. “You’re very sweet like this, you know?” he said softly. “When you let yourself be.”

This time, Arthur made no secret out of tilting his head into the wizard’s touch. He shifted, leaning his shoulder against the wizard’s leg, blinking slowly at the sensation of the man’s fingers rubbing circles into his scalp.

“You need to be calm,” the wizard told him, softly, gently, hardly an admonishment at all. “You need to be at ease with yourself, and much as you might enjoy it, griping about Merlin is not going to help you relax.”

Arthur, robbed of speech, managed to huff into the fabric of the wizard’s breeches.

The wizard’s hand tightened in his hair. “However much you might have to complain about him, I’m sure he feels the same way about you.”

Arthur tilted his head back, partly so the wizard could witness his doubtful expression to full effect and partly because he found he liked the heavy, steady feel of the wizard’s grip in his hair.

The wizard looked down at him, expression teetering between humour and annoyance for a moment before he smiled. “Don’t worry about Merlin,” he said, grin taking on a bit of an edge. “Worry about you.”

With Merlin following him around the castle, long legs easily keeping stride, Arthur was starting to understand the wizard’s preoccupation with shutting him up. Because Merlin talked. And talked. He talked while they went up to the hall of records to consult the census books, and he talked while they went down to the stables to check on Arthur’s horses, and he talked while they crossed the courtyard headed for the armoury. He didn’t even seem to notice the guards laughing at the pair of them, but Arthur certainly did.

“… and it’s just some creature,” Merlin said, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the armoury doors slamming shut. “All it’s doing is exist. Why does that mean we have to kill it?”

Arthur shot him a look. “It’s a terrifying beast stalking our villagers, Merlin. What else are we supposed to do with it?”

Merlin didn’t seem to have a solution ready, but that didn’t stop him from crossing his arms over his chest with a huff, staring at Arthur like he was disappointed.

Arthur gritted his teeth. He hated that look. He hated knowing that he was the one responsible for it, that he was the one who had put it there. He hated that Merlin, who was a commoner and a servant and an obnoxious, insolent lout, could make him feel like the worst person in the world.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Plenty,” Merlin replied, matching his sour tone, but he stayed right where he was.

The wizard watched him from the semi-darkness, eyes glinting with the reflection of candlelight whenever he blinked. “You’re even more tense than usual.” His tone was mild enough, but it still felt like reproof. “What’s got you so upset?”

Arthur huffed. With his arms tied to the tops of his thighs, he couldn’t throw his hands up in frustration, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. “Merlin,” he snapped.

The wizard flinched. Then, when Arthur continued to stare at him expectantly, his face darkened. “Your manservant.”

“Wish he wasn’t,” Arthur muttered.

The wizard crossed his arms. Arthur didn’t usually notice how broad the man’s chest was, but he was noticing it now. “I thought we’d gone over this?”

“I don’t know why you keep defending him,” Arthur grumbled. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

With a shake of his head, the wizard came to stand beside him. “I am on your side, Arthur,” he said. He ran his hand over Arthur’s hair, following the curve of his skull. “But being on your side means telling you when you’re being an ass.”

Arthur furrowed his brows. There was something about the way he’d said it… Something oddly recognizable, almost familiar –

The wizard pulled on Arthur’s hair, hard, and he yelped.

“What is wrong with you today?” he panted once he’d caught his breath.

“You’re spending a lot of time thinking about things,” the wizard told him. “That’s not why you’re here.” He tugged on Arthur’s hair again, lighter this time, but still hard enough to sting. “Is it, Arthur?”

Scowling, Arthur sealed his lips together.

“Better.” The wizard released him, giving the hair he’d pulled a soothing pat. The way you’d reward an obedient dog.

Arthur kept his jaw tight and ignored the warm pull in his belly at the wizard’s approval. He wasn’t some mongrel in the street that could be bought with a little bit of affection.

The wizard laughed very quietly. “He’s got you that upset, has he?” he asked. “Or I do?”

Arthur looked away. “You’re supposed to be here for me,” he said, stomach tight, feeling stupid and petulant and childish. He wished he could move.

The wizard’s voice was light with his smile. “I’m always here for you, Arthur.” His hand settled like a grounding weight on Arthur’s neck. “Why don’t you forget about Merlin for now?”

He squeezed, lightly, but it still made all of the air rush from Arthur’s lungs. “Good,” the wizard said, warm approval in his voice. It filled the harsh, empty spaces inside Arthur, lighting him up with a pleasure he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Breathe in now,” the wizard said. “Slow, steady. Yes, just like that.” His hand slid down over Arthur’s shoulder, fingertips dipping underneath the rope crossing his back, and Arthur breathed out again, slow and steady, letting his irritation flow away with it.

“You are so good for me,” the wizard said softly, and Arthur’s breath stuttered of its own accord.

The village was poor, as all villages in the area were. So small it didn’t even have a name. Rough huts with dirt floors, some still showing cuts in doors and shutters where the bandits had hacked away at their makeshift barricades. Despite that, children played in the road, laughing and giggling, utterly unafraid of Arthur and his men.

“It’s the creature,” one woman said, holding a tiny child on her hip. “Ever since it started living in the area, no bandits will come near us.” She shot a quick look at Arthur’s knights. “No soldiers try to take our food. Or our girls.”

“And you’re not scared of it?” Arthur asked mildly. “A beast like that?”

“We were at first, sure. But it’s been weeks now,” she said, gesturing at the children playing at her feet. “Weeks of being able to work our fields and send our children out into the woods and sleep soundly at night without having to fear for our safety. The creature doesn’t harm us, and as long as it’s out there, neither does anyone else.”

“Mhm.” Arthur glanced back at his knights. “And you don’t find it at all suspicious that this creature has appeared out of nowhere to protect this village? Only this village?”

She shifted. “What are you saying, your highness?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

The woman’s expression hardened. “We know nothing about any sort of magic.”

The child in her arms perked up at that. “But the wiz-”

“Quiet!”

The child fell silent, pouting.

The woman transferred her glare to Arthur. “We know of no sorcerers, your highness,” she said, with an icy tone that dared Arthur to argue. “And if we did know them, we would not be telling the son of the king.”

Arthur glared into the gloom. He wished he were feeling irrational enough to glare at the wizard, seated on one of his worktables with a mildly concerned expression, taking up the only free space amidst a clutter of bottles and vials and books. But Arthur couldn’t bring himself to blame the man. It wasn’t his fault the villagers trusted some hermit in the woods over Arthur. It wasn’t the wizard’s fault that he had what Arthur so desperately wanted.

Groaning, Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. He felt like he was vibrating with tension. “How can I help my people if they won’t even trust me?”

The wizard watched him pace. There wasn’t far for Arthur to go in the small, cluttered hut. Barely a handful of strides had him reaching the bounds of the small open space in its middle, boxed in by chaos on all sides, and Arthur fisted his hand in his hair on the next turn. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t be here.

The wizard shifted. “Calm, Arthur.”

“How?” Arthur hissed at him. “How am I meant to be ‘calm’?”

The wizard watched him, impassive. Whereas Arthur’s advisors or servants or the king might have picked up on his mood and reacted with similar agitation, the man let it fizzle out in the darkness of the hut, unheeded. “I’m not asking you to be relaxed about your worries, or happy with them.” He leaned forward ever so slightly. “I’m asking you to acknowledge them, and then leave them be.”

Arthur laughed, loud and bitter. “Oh, I’m acknowledging them, trust me.”

“You’re letting them consume you,” the wizard corrected him, soft but implacable. “Accept them, acknowledge them, and then let them go.”

A sharp turn brought Arthur face to face with another stack of crates half-hidden in the darkness. Brought him nowhere. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, sharp enough to feel his nails catch on his scalp. “How?”

“I think,” the wizard said slowly, “that you’re ready for something new.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

The wizard slid off his table and picked up an armful of rope. So far, he’d only ever used two or three hanks, but apparently ‘something new’ involved a whole lot of them.

He glanced at Arthur. “Undress.”

Arthur did. He wasn’t keen to admit it, but the wizard’s stern tone helped. Having clear instructions to follow helped. He didn’t have to think about anything, didn’t have to decide anything. He only had to stand; to fold his arms together behind his back; to shift his legs; to let his body go where the wizard moulded it, encasing his arms and hips and chest in rope. Nothing to think about except how to obey. Nothing to do but wait.

The wizard stepped back with a considering expression, fingers smoothing a line of rope as he went. He picked up one more coil. “Good?”

Arthur blinked a few times before he remembered to nod.

The wizard smiled at him. He looped the rope underneath the lines already crossing Arthur’s chest, knotting it off with utter concentration. Then he gathered its ends into his outstretched palm and, with a quick glance at Arthur, let his eyes flare gold.

As with a snake charmer, come from afar, the glowing rope began to climb upward. Up and up towards the ceiling, towards the rafters, towards something metal gleaming in the darkness. When the rope grew close, Arthur could recognize it as a ring suspended from the ceiling beams – a sturdy silver loop with a druid’s triskelion enclosed inside. As if guided by invisible hands, the rope threaded itself through the loop and floated gently down to earth to settle back into the wizard’s palm.

The wizard pulled the line taut. Where his fingers touched the rope, golden sparks rippled up and down the cord, running along the length of it to light up the hut’s ceiling like fireworks. Warm light danced over everything, drenching clutter and chaos and the simple thatch roof in gold. Arthur, being crown prince and present at all of Camelot’s major celebrations, had seen a lot of impressive things in his life, but the sight still took his breath away.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Well now you’re just showing off.”

“Is it working?” the wizard asked, flashing him a bright, happy grin.

He looked so thrilled, so proud, that Arthur hesitated. The wizard of the woods wouldn’t have many opportunities to boast. Whatever magic he did had to be done in secrecy, furtive and as unobtrusive as possible. When had been the last time the wizard had been able to perform magic like this, magic that served no purpose except to impress, to show off his considerable skill?

Arthur couldn’t imagine such a thing being possible in Camelot. So instead of giving in to his first instinct and saying something flippant, he just nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

The wizard smiled gorgeously. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, eyes creasing at the corners. “Now – are you ready?”

Arthur’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t, but he still bowed his head.

The wizard heaved.

The rope pulled him upwards, yanking his weight off his feet. Arthur jerked instinctively. With nowhere to flail to, his tied hands clamped down on his elbows. His jaw clenched and his neck ached and his entire body rotated, dizzyingly, in the air.

The wizard leaned over him to tie the rope back onto itself, adjusting the lines until Arthur was suspended on his back, almost reclining in mid-air. Then he moved back, fixing his bright eyes on Arthur’s face. Silently watching. Waiting.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“Giving you time to adjust. It can be disorienting at first, so just let your body get used to the sensation.” The wizard reached over to touch his cheek. “And stop grinding your jaw.”

He was right – it was disorienting. Like everything had shifted ever so slightly, and even though it all still looked and smelled and felt the same, Arthur had a hard time recognising it now. Craning his head around, he was surprised to find he was barely a foot or two off the ground. Low enough that it probably wouldn’t even hurt if he fell. It felt a lot more precarious than that.

At his side, the wizard was watching him carefully. “Alright?”

Silently, Arthur managed to nod.

The man brushed a bit of hair out of Arthur’s eyes. “Good.”

Arthur squirmed. The sensation was unlike before, when he could relax into his binds and feel the hard floor underneath him, steady and trustworthy. Instead, rather than being absorbed by the ground below, every move he made was magnified, every shudder and twitch amplified by his weightlessness. Every shifting muscle fed into the ropes, agitating them, which moved his body in turn, and Arthur rolled his head to the side and tried not to feel nauseous.

The wizard reached above him, folding his hand around the rope and stilling its movement. “Relax,” he said firmly. “Be calm.”

Arthur wanted to laugh. Instead, all that came out was a quiet protest, spilling over his lips before he clamped them shut. His body shuddered with the movement, and the rope shuddered with it.

The wizard fixed him with a firm look. “Stop fighting this, Arthur,” he said. “The ropes aren’t hurting you, or harming you. They’re only here to keep you safe.”

“This isn’t helping me be calm,” Arthur ground out.

“Patience.” The wizard leaned over him. “Sometimes the best thing to do is wait.”

Arthur scoffed. He wanted to argue. Part of him was itching for a fight – to poke and prod at the wizard until he exploded into anger, the way Merlin so often did – but he didn’t quite dare provoke the man who held Arthur’s life and limb in his hands, helplessly held aloft by magical rope.

And the wizard didn’t seem as if he was about to let him. With a mild, tuneless hum, he settled down beside Arthur, seating himself on the blanket by his head like Arthur wasn’t hanging immobilized from the ceiling. Arthur watched him from the corner of his eye. The wizard didn’t even raise his head to check on him. He didn’t move from Arthur’s side, but he didn’t pay him any attention, either. Like Arthur belonged there; like the wizard had slotted him into his rightful place and now could go about his day. Like all Arthur had to do was give in, accept, and that would be enough to make the wizard happy. Arthur liked that idea. And yet, there was a part of him that absolutely hated it, that felt despair pool in his stomach the moment the wizard’s eyes left him, ignored and forgotten and alone.

But he wasn’t, was he? The wizard wouldn’t just leave him like this. (He could, but he wouldn’t.) And while he had, in the past, left Arthur’s field of vision to give him space to settle, this time he stayed right there, at his side, not making eye contact but almost close enough to touch.

Arthur took a deep breath. He wasn’t here to fight with the wizard, was he? He was here because the wizard’s ridiculous ideas helped. Having the man at his side helped. And it wasn’t really anything new, was it? Arthur had been tied before; had been unable to move before. So what if gorgeously glowing lines held him suspended? If anything, this should help more – calm him more. He was utterly immobilized. There wasn’t anything to do. All he could do was let himself be there. Be calm. Wait.

The wizard looked up. There was that hum again, toneless and pleased. He smiled as he leaned over Arthur, touching his lips to Arthur’s forehead like a benediction. “Well done.”

A shudder ran down Arthur’s spine.

Of course the wizard noticed. He noticed everything. His sharp-cheeked face shifted into a smile, one Arthur had to almost cross his eyes to see.

“Mhm, no.” The wizard’s hand settled over his eyes. “Don’t do that. You just stay right there.”

Arthur wasn’t sure where he was expecting him to go, naked and bound and suspended. And the wizard didn’t explain. He kept one hand over Arthur’s eyes, darkness striped in warm orange where the ropes’ glow made it past his fingers. The other, he brushed over Arthur’s cheek, down his neck; over the tie crossing his chest, trailing his fingers along the crook where the rope met his skin.

Carefully. Like he was something precious.

It twisted something inside Arthur, odd and not entirely pleasant. He was important, he knew that. He was the future ruler of his kingdom and the apple of his father’s eye. His people loved him. His knights, his advisors, his king, they all knew they could depend on him. They knew that whatever expectations they had of him, Arthur would do them justice. Whatever challenges they heaped onto his shoulders, Arthur would rise to meet them. No matter how skewed the odds, Arthur wouldn’t back down.

And he wouldn’t back down from this.

Arthur stumbled over the topmost stair, catching himself against the wall with one hand. It was almost like he was still floating but his body felt like lead, every step an effort, his chambers at the end of the hall but so very far away.

"Son."

He flinched, stomach jerking, surprise turning into fear turning into nausea. With one hand against the cold stone keeping him upright, he turned to look down the corridor. "Sire?"

His father looked him up and down. He looked as regal as ever, straight backed to Arthur's slouch, tall and composed when Arthur felt small and weak and insignificant.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking off," the king said, gaze and voice level. Emotionless.

Arthur stared at him. His heartbeat pounded in his throat, in his ears. Even if he'd known what to say, he didn't think he would gotten the words past his lips.

His father's mouth curled in displeasure. “Whatever… dalliance you have gotten involved in, I trust it will not interfere with your duties.”

Arthur looked down at his feet. “Of course, sire.” Because that dark, foreboding man wasn’t his father, not like this.

He didn't look up again, not until the king's footsteps had faded down the corridor. His feet were too heavy to lift, his knees too shaky to hold him, and he sank down onto the ground at the top of the stairs and pulled his legs towards him with his hands, all alone in the dark and frightened.

Calm, Arthur. He leaned his arms onto his knees. Hooked his fingers into his sleeve, twisting the fabric until it started to bite into his skin. It wasn’t the same. It was too sharp, and it hurt, not like the dull ache of the rope but something harsh and unpleasant. But it helped a little bit, and Arthur tipped his head against the cold stone behind him and breathed deeply.

“Here,” Merlin said, much later, sliding down the wall to sit next to him on the cold, grimy floor. In his hands he held a ball of waxed linen. He folded it apart, the fabric rustling in the quiet, to show Arthur a handful of iumbolls.

Arthur had to swallow a couple of times to get his throat to unstick. “Where did you get those?” he asked.

Merlin waved a vague hand. “I did someone a favour,” he said. “Here, try one, they’re great.”

He stuffed one of the biscuits into Arthur’s mouth before Arthur had the chance to ask any more questions, like what kind of favours someone as inept and incompetent as Merlin could possibly be doing that earned him trade-offs as delicious as this, good heavens, it rivalled even the desserts served at the citadel’s elaborate feasts, and Arthur covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a moan.

Merlin bumped their shoulders together. “Good, right?”

“Very good,” Arthur agreed after he’d swallowed, and managed the first – small, tentative – smile of the evening.

With the scale held tightly in his tweezers, Gaius hummed thoughtfully. “It does look to be genuine, sire,” he said.

Leaning against the wall of the council chamber, Arthur tried to stay out of the way. Up until now, he hadn’t been entirely sure the beast protecting the villagers wasn’t some elaborate hoax. But that scale, dark and almost the size of Arthur’s palm, didn’t belong to any creature he had ever seen.

“It is absolutely genuine,” the wayfarer said, loud and insulted. He smiled, a little too wide to be charming, and held his bag of belongings firmly at his side. “When I found it, I knew I had to bring it in. Any opportunity to serve my kingdom, you know?”

The king gave a curt nod.

The wayfarer stepped forward. “And also I heard there was some sort of reward?”

The king’s expression tightened near-imperceptibly. Gaius on the other hand didn’t react to the man’s blabbering. He motioned to Merlin, and the boy pulled a vial from his satchel and passed it over.

“This will determine the creature’s origin,” Gaius explained to the king. He gave the scale a little shake.

Arthur watched the old physician’s movements carefully. Would the wizard know how to do this? If Arthur brought him some sort of magical trinket, would the wizard bend over it like this, brows drawing together as he prepared to divest it of all its secrets?

Gaius uncorked the vial and dotted a little of the liquid inside onto the scale. It puffed and, after a moment, began to smoke.

The wayfarer, never one to speak when spoken to, took another step closer. “So it is from the creature, yes?”

They all turned to look at Gaius, who gave a brief nod.

The king inclined his head. “We thank you for your diligence,” he told the wayfarer. “Your service for the kingdom is appreciated.”

The man ducked into a deferential bow. Then he peeked up. “And will be rewarded…?”

Arthur very nearly smiled. Brows raised, he looked past the man to where Merlin was hovering at Gaius’ side and was even more tempted to grin when he found the boy wearing an identically disbelieving expression.

“Yes, yes, and rewarded,” Arthur’s father said sourly. “Gaius?”

“There can be no doubt,” Gaius said, fixing them all with a grave look. “This creature was summoned by magic.”

The king hissed in displeasure.

Unsurprised, Arthur leaned his head back against the wall, twisting the hem of his sleeve around his wrist. There was always magic involved with these creatures.

The wayfarer puffed up his chest. “I bet it was that hermit woman’s daughter,” he said. “She’s always been a little… odd. Standoffish. And there were these herbs in her kitchen…”

Arthur tugged his sleeves down over his palms. “And what were you doing in the woman’s kitchen?”

The man paled.

Sighing, Arthur waved a hand at the guards. “Search the man’s belongings. See if he’s stolen anything.”

The wayfarer, bag clutched tightly to his chest, bolted for the door.

He didn’t get very far – barely a step or two before he tripped over absolutely nothing and crashed onto the ground hard, contraband and all. The guards were on him before he could so much as get his bearings, hands clamping down implacably on his shoulders.

The king sighed deeply, looking entirely put-out by the commotion. Arthur glanced at Merlin again, to make sure he was alright and perhaps earn a smile at having caught the wayfarer’s slip, but Merlin had ducked his head, hiding his face. And if Arthur hadn’t been watching, he might have missed the look Gaius shot the boy once the king had turned away.

The wizard touched his ankle lightly before he threaded another rope through the cuff there and pulled it taut. It left him hanging on his side in the air, one leg extended, the other angled back behind him. Arthur tried to orient himself in the swaying room for a moment before he gave in to gravity, letting his head sink down, and aimed a drowsy smile at the wizard.

The wizard reached out to brush the hair from his eyes. “Oh, you are lovely like this, Arthur.”

Arthur blinked. He wasn’t… lovely; what a ridiculous thing to say. Arthur was many things, and most of them good, but he wasn’t… Who said something like that to a grown man? Flowers were lovely, or sunsets, or beautiful maidens, but not…

“Lovely,” the wizard repeated, leaning in to brush at the furrow that had formed between Arthur’s brows. “I told you to stop fighting me.”

Arthur’s head was too heavy to nod, but he managed an inarticulate noise of assent.

“That’s good.” The wizard’s hand moved back to his hair. “Just stay there, Arthur. You’re not in charge here. There’s nothing for you to control.”

Arthur took a deep breath. Nothing for him to control. Nothing for him to battle. He couldn’t have fought if he’d wanted to, and he did not want to. He wanted things to be easy. He wanted to rest.

“Yes.” The wizard’s voice, low and seductive, right by his ear. “Just like that. Very good, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breathing hitched. They were simple words. Perhaps silly. But they seemed to settle into his very bones, a warm and pleasant presence that took his breath away. He’d never before been praised for simply… existing. There was always some new quest to go on, some new expectation to fulfil. He’d never been enough before.

But perhaps he was now.

“I think you’re ready to come down,” the wizard said quietly. Arthur would never tire of the way his eyes lit up with magic, or the way the golden ropes would mould themselves to their master’s wishes. It made it easier to accept that it was over, now – that he was sinking down to earth, steadily and inexorable, as the ropes unwound themselves from around him.

He wobbled when he got his feet underneath him. He wasn’t sure why – it wasn’t like he had actually done anything, but his body felt like as limp as if he’d marched through icy rain for two days before fighting off an entire enemy army. Not the adrenaline and terror, but the same sense of bone-deep exhaustion.

The wizard was at his side in an instant, one hand cupping Arthur’s elbow. “Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” Arthur said. He gave the wizard a, likely dopey, smile. “I’m just fine.”

Arthur scowled. His mattress was soft under his tense body, so soft it was irritating, the bedcovers unpleasantly sleek against his clothes. Arthur hated it, but he couldn’t muster the energy to get back up. If it hadn’t been for Merlin puttering noisily around the room, Arthur would have dragged his pillow over his face and screamed.

Here he was, with a stack of papers to look through that would keep him busy for days even without all the training and the meetings and the missions and saving Merlin from his own incompetence, and all Arthur seemed capable of doing was lay on his bed, lazy and useless.

The wizard had said he was ‘lovely,’ doing nothing. He’d said it would help, but it hadn’t. If anything, Arthur felt worse than he had before their meeting. He’d taken hours out of his day, hours he couldn’t afford to waste, trudging through the woods and letting the wizard truss him up like some sort of prize pig and it had gotten him nowhere. The visits to the wizard were useless. Arthur was useless. All of it was a waste of time.

There was so much still left to do. There was so much to do, and he couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t focus, he’d picked up one paper after another all evening but would forget what they said the moment he put them down. The oil lamps were too bright, the fire too warm, the room stuffy and oppressive and wrong.

He ran his fingers through his hair a little too harshly, scraping his nails against his scalp and making himself wince. It hurt and it didn’t help his mood at all, and neither did Merlin coming over to hover by the side of his bed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he eyed Arthur with concern.

“Are you alright, sire?”

Arthur just barely managed not to throw something at him. With what felt like enormous effort, he flopped onto his stomach with a growl. “What is wrong with me?”

Merlin didn’t reply right away.

After a moment, Arthur felt his weight dip the mattress. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” His fingers settled, light and hesitant, on the back of Arthur’s head. When Arthur didn’t react, he ran them down the length of his neck, thumb and forefinger pressing into the tight muscles along his spine.

Arthur shifted his face deeper into the mattress, allowing him better access. “Something’s wrong,” he growled into the fabric. “I’m moody, I’m irritable, I want to tear people’s heads off for breathing…”

“So business as usual?” Merlin teased. His fingers dug deep into the sides of Arthur’s neck, painful but delicious, making him groan first from discomfort and then from the sudden, rushing release of tension.

“You are the worst manservant I have ever had,” Arthur muttered into the covers.

But he did feel better. Under Merlin’s calm, firm touches, he could feel his shoulders loosen, his body sink further into the bed. He mumbled something not even he himself could decipher, but Merlin didn’t make him repeat it, just shifted more fully onto the mattress beside him.

A gentle pull on his shoulder had Arthur rolling back onto his side. For a long moment, there was nothing: No more touching, no soothing words, just silence. Then, Merlin’s weight settled behind him, warm even through their layers of clothing, bony knees nudging into the backs of Arthur’s.

Arthur huffed. “I’m not a girl, Merlin, I don’t need to be cuddled.” But he didn’t shift away, and neither did Merlin, instead wrapping his arm firmly around Arthur’s waist and pressing his nose into the soft hairs at the back of Arthur’s neck.

Merlin was gone when Arthur woke the next morning, still curled up on top of the covers but astoundingly refreshed and well-rested. Breakfast waited for him on the table, his usual hardy fare but with a thick slice of gingered brie tarte near the rim of the plate. Merlin’s way of trying to cheer him up, he supposed.

It wasn’t necessary. Whatever darkness had taken hold of Arthur last night was gone, leaving him calm and self-assured and not relaxed but something close to it. He settled behind his desk and picked up the topmost of his papers. Arthur could do this. He could pick himself up and keep going. It was what he always did.

Arthur had left the wizard’s hut with that now-familiar strange feeling still clinging to him, his smile a little too wide, his movements a little sluggish. The wizard had walked him to the door, like he was some sort of girl to be courted, and eyed him from below the hood of his cloak, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a little while?”

Arthur had waved him off, but the truth of the matter was that he was in no particular hurry to return to civilisation. Alone in the woods, there was no one to demand anything of him, no one to peer at him doubtfully or lay claim to his time, and he found himself wanting to cling to that soft, full feeling in his chest for a little longer.

So maybe he’d been dawdling. He didn’t relish returning to the citadel only to be swamped with more work, surrounded by loud chaos after an evening of stillness, the relaxation the wizard had coaxed into his body deserting him in an instance. So he let himself wander, looking at a flower on this side of the road and an interestingly shaped log on the other, backtracking to pick a few edible leaves from a bush to chew. He spent a while sitting by a little brook in the almost-dark, bare feet in the water with his boots beside him, rope marks still indented and red around his ankles. Looked up at the emerging stars. Rested.

Night had settled, black and deep, by the time he reached the lower town, light spilling out of windows into the darkness. He caught glimpses inside here and there, families gathered around fireplaces or dinner tables, smiling and laughing over meagre meals. Alone in the street, Arthur suddenly felt unbearably fond of them all. These were his people, making the best out of their exhausting existence, sharing joy and affection despite the hardship of their lives.

This was why he did it all. All the work he put in, the late nights and early mornings; hell, even his visits to the wizard. This was who he did it for.

Bootsteps came up behind him in the dark, harsh and rushed. Instinctively, Arthur sprang into a defensive stance, hand going for the hilt of his blade, battle-ready.

Merlin squeaked.

Huffing, Arthur relaxed his posture once more. “Are you a man or a mouse?” he asked, though he couldn't quite muster his usual disdain. His fighting instincts faded away as quickly as they had come, leaving him as relaxed as he had been all evening. Sure, Merlin was ridiculous, but that was nothing to get unpleasant over.

And in any case, Merlin was scowling enough for the both of them. His hair was messy, his cloak all askew. “What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“I didn’t realize I had somewhere else to be,” Arthur said pleasantly.

Merlin faltered. He’d come the same way Arthur had, though at a much faster pace, and he gestured vaguely as he said, “You’re just usually back at the citadel by now.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He normally didn’t pay too much attention to Merlin’s ramblings, but there was something about Merlin’s behaviour…

His hand itched for the hilt of his sword. There was no way Merlin was out here, coming the same way Arthur had come, by accident. Merlin lived and worked and had all his friends inside the citadel. What business did he have, wandering the woods at night?

Unless, of course…

Arthur crossed his arms. “You went to see the wizard.”

“…what?”

“The wizard.” Arthur gestured impatiently down the road. “It’s alright, you can admit it.”

Merlin stared at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t know any wizards,” he said, high-pitched and panicked and so very obviously lying.

Arthur shook his head.  “There’s no shame in needing help sometimes,” he said. (Not for other people, that was.) 

Merlin swallowed. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Truly, the worst liar he had ever met. “Merlin.” Arthur raised his brows. “Am I going to have to start finding other explanations for you being out here this late?”

Merlin flailed his hands “Girls!” he blurted. “He helps me with girls.”

Arthur laughed. Of course he did. Of course he did.

“It’s not that funny,” Merlin hissed. Even in the darkness, Arthur could see his face turn red. It simply made him laugh harder.

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you see the wizard, then?”

Smirking, Arthur recovered enough to say, “I don't see how that's any of your business.”

“You asked me!”

“You didn't have to answer, did you?”

Merlin huffed. 

Relenting, Arthur slung an arm over his bony shoulders, ignoring how Merlin didn’t even have the grace to relax into his hold. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault he was awkward and incompetent and infuriating.

“Come on,” he said jovially. “We can stop at the tavern on the way.” He paused. “Might even meet some girls.”

Golden light filled up all of Arthur’s vision. The wizard’s magic had lit up the ropes with that familiar warm glow; a glow that Arthur was starting to like more and more. The one he watched for sometimes, tied up and down and utterly caught, waiting for the wizard to start the show. Golden strands of rope crossed Arthur’s chest and up to the rafters, illuminating a wooden beam here and a bit of thatch roof there, the silver hoop in the centre lit up with reflected magic. Arthur could have stared – did stare – at it for hours. Like a child’s mobile, keeping him occupied so he wouldn’t bother the wizard. Arthur would have laughed about it if it wasn’t so effective.

As it was, he was barely even aware of the wizard’s presence. Sometimes he’d feel hands on his body, tightening knots and smoothing along the ropes; or he’d catch a glimpse of dark hair out of the corner of his eye. He thought the man was kneeling beside him. It didn’t seem to matter much, not when there was nothing he could do, anyway. All he could do was hang there, suspended and unmoving, and everything was soft and warm and slightly hazy, like being half-asleep after a long day, or drinking just enough ale, or lying down on the battlements in the height of summer and feeling the heat of the stones seep into your bones.

Maybe the wizard was feeling something similar because he hummed under his breath while he worked, toneless but somehow still soothing.

Maybe that was why Arthur asked, “Do you wish you didn’t have to hide?”

The wizard glanced at him, brows raised in mild amusement. “Hm?”

“You’re so proud of your magic,” Arthur said absently. “But you can’t ever tell anyone. You can’t even show me your face.”

The wizard grimaced. It was only for a fraction of a second, not long enough for Arthur to grow unsettled over, yet he recognized the pain in the man’s expression.

But the wizard didn’t reply. Instead, he cupped Arthur’s cheek. “Why are you asking me this?”

Arthur stared back at him. The wizard had blue eyes, wide and bright, not too dissimilar to Arthur’s own. He wasn’t sure why he was asking – wasn’t sure why he cared. He didn’t know how to even begin to unravel the feelings in his chest, the attachment, the affection, the gratitude. And so he didn’t, just stared at the wizard’s face, letting his gaze trace over the man’s eyes and nose and the questioning-but-amused smile on his lips.

“Oh, now you’re all quiet.” The wizard scooted closer, settling back onto his heels near Arthur’s shoulders. “I do look like this, you know,” he said quietly. “I have to ensure that I’m not recognized, but I’m not trying to deceive you.”

“Have we met?” Arthur asked him. “If you didn’t use the glamour, would I know who you are?”

The wizard sighed. He shifted, drawing his legs out from underneath him and close to his chest. His arms wrapped around his shins in a self-soothing hug, and Arthur would have loved to close his arms around him, to offer him that comfort he so clearly craved. But he couldn’t, because he couldn’t even brush his own hair from his eyes, bound and suspended and unable to help.

“Yes,” the wizard said, and he looked so utterly miserable that Arthur didn’t press.

He knew the wizard. The wizard as he was in actuality, without magic hiding his true nature from Arthur. If he didn’t wear his protective glamour, Arthur would be able to point him out in a crowd. Would be able to say, That, right there, is a sorcerer.

But he wouldn’t. Would he? Surely the wizard knew that Arthur wouldn’t turn him in. They knew each other well enough by now to have established that sort of trust. Arthur wasn’t his father’s drone. He wasn’t; he’d saved that druid boy after all. Hadn’t he? Perhaps if the wizard knew about that, then he would be willing to trust Arthur with the secret of his identity.

But what if he wasn’t? What if he thought Arthur wasn’t trustworthy? What would that say about him, and them, and the wizard’s regard for Arthur?

Arthur turned over with a huff. He’d started to anticipate it, this uncertain, slightly restless mindset that sometimes followed on the heels of his visits to the wizard. He hadn’t yet figured out what caused it, but it no longer unsettled him the way it had in the beginning.

Didn’t make it any easier to fall sleep, though.

Arthur turned back the other way. He pulled the pillow out from underneath his head and turned it over, pressing his cheek into the cool fabric. He kicked his legs beneath the covers and wiggled against the mattress and tried to blow the hair out of his face.

None of it helped. Arthur kept jerking every time he shifted, expecting his limbs to be held into position and startling when they weren’t, when there was nothing there to catch him when he moved. The indentations in his skin itched and the room was too big and his bed was too soft.

His bed was too soft.

Huffing, Arthur dragged the bedcovers off the mattress and, after some uncertain wandering, draped them on the ground in front of the fireplace. The floor was hard and cold when he laid down on it, but not unbearable, and he turned onto his side and shuffled close to the fire. Then, carefully, he twisted the end of the sheet around his forearms, once, twice, three times. Nothing too tight; nothing that would impede him if he had to get up in a hurry. Just tight enough to feel. Carefully, he edged his body underneath the covers, pillowed his head on his hands, and slept.

He woke up with the dawn, the embers in the fireplace sputtering and almost gone out, specks of soot smeared across the fabric. He was cold and a little stiff in the shoulders but oddly cheerful. Certainly more rested than he would have expected to feel, tossing and turning in his bed all night.

He stretched out his body as far as it would go, letting his chest arch upwards and relishing in the sense-memory of doing the same thing suspended in mid-air. Then, slowly, he rose and replaced the covers on the bed, tucking them in haphazardly to resemble what they might look like after a night of restless sleep. He was dressed and ready by the time a servant came with breakfast, like nothing at all had happened, his night-time adventures staying private and undetected.

“What did you do!?” Merlin cried, a couple of hours later, holding the soot-stained sheet out to him with an accusing air.

Well. Almost undetected.

The villagers welcomed them with open arms. Perhaps it was because Arthur had brought Merlin with him instead of his knights, perhaps because Arthur had bothered to return at all. Either way, Arthur felt himself smiling in relief and gratification when the village youths helpfully directed them out to an old hermit’s shack. If anyone around here was a sorcerer, they assured him, it would be the old man out in his ramshackle hut. 

Except that the old man in question had clearly lost his mind a long time ago, muttering spells and enchantments that even Arthur could tell were pure gibberish. There was no way this old man had successfully summoned a beast to protect the village from bandits.

“This isn’t magic,” Arthur scoffed.

The old man didn’t even look at him. He picked up a handful of chicken feathers and tossed them into the dusty air, mumbling all the while.

At his side, Merlin looked similarly unimpressed. “Obviously not.”

“Obviously?” Amused, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a look. “How would you know?”

Merlin flushed and looked away.

So they returned to the village, where Merlin gathered up the handful of giggling adolescents in the square to lecture them on wasting their time. Arthur let him, hanging back with the adults of the village who had come to witness the spectacle. He leaned against the rough stones of one of the more substantial huts and pressed his shoulders into the rough surface, dimly wondering when Merlin had turned into a man.

Oh, he was young, sure. Barely grown into his hands and feet and bony frame. But Arthur had always felt the age difference between them so keenly, had always thought of him as the insolent, impertinent boy who had challenged him in Camelot’s streets all those years ago. Now, watching him line up the local youths with a mildly disapproving expression, Arthur had to admit the simple fact of the matter: Merlin was no longer that boy. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an easy confidence that belied the awkward stuttering and stammering he still occasionally lapsed into.

(Handsome, too.)

Clearly, Arthur’s thoughts were getting away from him. He turned sharply, fixing the huddle of villagers behind him with a stern look. They shrank from his attention.

“Now then,” he said, schooling his expression into something calm and regal. “Who here has actually experienced magic?”

The ropes swayed above him, the hut’s ceiling lit up in gently flickering light. By rights, Arthur should have been halfway to utter quiet, cradled by rope and with the wizard a gentle presence beside him, but there was so much to do. There was so much to consider.

“Would you do it?” he asked. “Summon a creature to protect your village?”

Or rather, had he done it? He had clearly helped them before – did the wizard’s assistance stretch that far?

The man’s forehead wrinkled. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it concerns my kingdom,” Arthur said. What other reasons did he have for doing anything?

The wizard tilted his head to the side. “I wouldn’t summon a creature, no,” he said.

He didn’t continue, so Arthur did it for him: “Because you would use your own magic.”

The man made eye contact with Arthur for just a moment before he looked away again. “Because I would use my own magic.”

Perhaps Arthur ought not to have felt as relieved as he did. If it wasn’t the wizard who had done this, then some other sorcerer had. But try as he might, he felt nothing but relief at the knowledge that the sorcerer his father had sent him out to hunt wasn’t the wizard of the woods.

Would Arthur do it, if he could? Would he summon a magical beast to protect his people?

He pursed his lips. “If I were a sorcerer, and I were trying to secretly use my magic to keep Camelot safe…” He narrowed his eyes at the light-crossed darkness above him. “I wouldn’t hide myself away. What threats am I going to hear about here, in a safe little hut in the middle of nowhere?” He flexed his hands, bound as they were. “No, I would have to be in the citadel, wouldn’t I? Close to the source. And not as someone who is easily recognized, or scrutinized – not a noble. No, I’d have to be doing something that allowed me to go anywhere, and yet have no one pay attention to me. A steward, or maybe a guard –“

The wizard took a deep breath. Arthur wasn’t sure why – was he offended at the implication that he was a coward, or alternately stupid? – and he couldn’t see the man’s face to read his expression. But the reaction was enough to silence him. He didn’t want to upset the wizard, after all. The thought of disappointing the man settled like a stone in his stomach.

Fingertips brushed against his leg. Arthur wasn’t sure what the wizard did, but one of the ropes tightened, cutting into his skin. He tensed, readying himself for pain that didn’t come. It hurt, sure, the rough rope biting into the meat of his thigh, but it was nothing like getting injured on the training grounds or a battlefield. It was just – there. Uncomfortable and unyielding, but more of a nip than a bite.

“What were you saying?” the wizard asked.

Arthur couldn’t remember. He drew in a breath, ready to protest the mistreatment when the rope loosened and the wizard took his hand away, sending him swaying. A light touch of his fingers and now the rope drew tight around Arthur’s other leg, drawing his attention gently but irresistibly.

“If you can’t recall,” the wizard said, leaning his body against Arthur’s, “then perhaps it wasn’t important.”

And perhaps he was right.

“What do you think?” the king asked, peering at him across the papers spread over the table.

Arthur picked up the sketch. It looked like – any of the magical beasts that had plagued Camelot over the years; scaley and sharp-toothed and enormous. “Gaius hasn’t identified it yet?”

His father shook his head. “He’s still searching.”

Arthur nodded. It would be easier if he knew what he was dealing with, but not ultimately necessary. He’d figure out a way to slay it. He always did.

But if he killed the creature, would he be violating his promise to the wizard? He didn’t think so, because he had mentioned the beast to the man and he hadn’t reminded Arthur of his oath, but he didn’t know, and the thought of the wizard’s calm, easy affection turning to anger made Arthur want to die.

But he hadn’t yet. He hadn’t killed it yet, and he hadn’t disappointed the wizard yet, and everything was alright. “Calm, Arthur,” he told himself firmly.

His father glanced at him.

Arthur froze. His worry shifted from the wizard to his father; it was one thing for Arthur to struggle, another for the king to find out about it. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

“We are men of action, son.” His father’s disapproving gaze was a well-known weight, settling heavily on his shoulders. “We cannot waste time hesitating. We cannot afford to be afraid.”

Arthur felt a familiar wave of dread wash over him. He hadn’t meant anything by it. Hadn’t meant to suggest he was incapable of making snap decisions when the situation called for it, or that he couldn’t handle the responsibility. All he’d wanted was to calm himself down, push back the doubt and stress and overwhelm and give himself a moment to think, to make sure he was doing the right thing.

Arthur made himself take a deep, silent breath. He tried to imagine the ropes around him, digging into his skin and pressing down on his limbs and holding him safe and steady. He let his arms squeeze his sides as if they were tied there and breathed, searching desperately for that place of calm the wizard had offered him and finding nothing.

His father was right, of course. Arthur couldn’t rely on having the time to figure out how he was feeling before he had to act – he didn’t have that luxury. Wizard or not, he had to be ready – ready to judge, ready to fight, ready to act – at a moment’s notice.

He bowed his head. Overwhelm was creeping in, wrapping paralyzing tendrils of doubt around his heart. “Of course, sire.”

Arthur dragged his hands across his face, hard enough to hurt. "This isn't working."

The wizard frowned at him. He’d fled from Arthur’s restless pacing by pushing himself up to sit on one of his less cluttered tables, boots tucked against one another. “What isn’t?”

“This!” Arthur gestured with a sharp hand, encompassing himself and the wizard and the hut and the ring hanging from the rafters. “This is – it’s – I can’t do it. What are we even doing here, this is a waste of my time –”

“Arthur.” The wizard leaned forward, hands curling around the tabletop. “Take a deep breath. Calm down.”

Calm, Arthur. The words seemed to sink into his very bones, easing his agitation and settling his restless mind. He ran shaky hands through his hair. “That's what I mean!” he hissed. “It’s easy with you, but what am I supposed to do when I’m not here?”

The wizard tilted his head to the side. “So it is working?”

“Yes, when you do it!” He ground his nails into his scalp. “And then I leave here, and I go back to it all, and then it just ends up worse than before!”

“Mhm.” The wizard pushed himself off the table to stand on his own two feet. He stepped out from his chaos of boxes and headed across the gloomy room as if Arthur hadn’t even spoken, as if he didn’t even care –

He caught Arthur's wrist in his fingers on his way past, gripping tight. Stumbling after him, Arthur let out an automatic breath, shoulders sinking reflexively. It had become so instinctive, so easy, to associate the wizard’s hands with the serenity in his mind, that apparently the man’s touch was enough to calm him down.

The thought had him grinding his jaw. Anger was a sharp, painful knot in his stomach despite the way the wizard squeezed his wrist on their way across the room.

He took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. "If I'm only calm when I'm here, what good does that do me? Will you still be holding my hand when I'm sitting on my throne, governing my kingdom?"

If the wizard was annoyed at his tone, he didn't show it. Instead, he gave Arthur's wrist another tug, pulling him to stand in front of a workbench. “Our agreement,” he said, “was for me to allow you to give up control. To let go of your burdens and let yourself be calm.”

He held out his other hand. Without thinking, Arthur laid his free arm inside it, wrist fitting neatly into the wizard's palm.

The wizard smiled. Shifting both of Arthur’s wrists into one large hand, he reached out to pick up a length of rope from the workbench and draped it over Arthur’s arms. Despite his foul mood, Arthur found himself watching in silence; the way the wizard shuffled the rope around his wrists, looped it around and through and under, one hand still holding Arthur while he locked the rope in place with golden-eyed magic.

“There,” the wizard said when he had created a set of soft, pliable manacles around Arthur’s wrists, the ends of the rope resting in the wizard’s hand like a leash. With a soft expression that wasn’t quite a smile, he stepped around Arthur and tugged.

Arthur had no choice but to follow the movement, arms rising up and back. His elbows settled on either side of his head, hands folding down to rest on the knob at the nape of his neck.

The wizard pushed down on his shoulder. “One knee,” he said quietly.

Arthur obeyed, sinking onto one foot and one shin. It was an awkward, wobbly descent without the use of his arms to help him balance. The floor was hard and uncomfortable without his blanket.

Wordlessly, the wizard settled behind him in a swish of clothing and air. The rope echoed the curve of Arthur’s spine, following the dip in the centre of his back, while the wizard’s hand wrapped around his ankle. Arthur could feel rope closing around it, three of his limbs now solidly cuffed, and wasn’t altogether surprised when the wizard pulled at the trailing ends. He had to tilt his arms back almost uncomfortably far to allow the man to knot the ropes together, but once they had settled, the sensation wasn’t too bad.

In the silence that followed, the wizard rose and walked away.

Arthur knelt without moving. First because he was surprised, then because any squirming he tried to do was quickly halted by the ropes. He couldn’t pull his arms forward because they were anchored to his leg, and he couldn’t move his leg because his arms wouldn’t bend back any further. It was uncomfortable, but not torturous.

And he wasn’t alone. He knew that. He hadn’t heard the door open or felt the accompanying cold gust of wind, and no matter where in the tiny hut the wizard might go, he could return to Arthur’s side in the blink of an eye.

But he felt alone, somehow. He couldn’t see the wizard, nor hear him. For all intents and purposes, there was no one to rely on but himself.

He turned his head, letting one arm take some of the weight off his neck.

It was different like this. He wasn't on the familiar blanket carpeting the floor, utterly naked, bathed in golden light and blossoming under the wizard’s attention. Instead, he was down on one knee, facing the darkness underneath the wizard's workbench, muscles constantly shifting to keep him balanced and feeling his ribcage expand with every breath.

Arthur would have expected it to be terrible. To be awful and disquieting, to feel abandoned and alone and for it not to work. The ropes were one thing, but the wizard’s presence was another; guiding him into stillness with soft words and gentle touches.

He breathed. The wizard thought this would work. Arthur didn’t, but he’d never thought any of it would work and the wizard had proved him wrong every time. And every time, the wizard had smiled at him instead of gloating, as pleased with Arthur’s stillness as if it were some achievement of his own.

The wizard would be proud of him, if he could do this. If he could take his mind off the ropes, not forgetting their presence but surrendering to their inevitability. If he could let his head tip against the cradle of his arms and let his eyes go heavy, relax into the instability and let his breathing slow. If he could just be here; not tense or excited or scared or frustrated or in pain. Just be.

“Arthur.” The wizard’s fingers settled over the exposed skin of his neck. Arthur could feel his own heartbeat throb against the touch.

“Next time you’re struggling,” the wizard said, “remember this. If you can find it in yourself to reach that place of calm even like this, when you’re feeling unsettled and uncomfortable and there is no magic and I’m not there, you can reach it anywhere.”

The village elder – a doddery old man who, standing next to Arthur on his horse, barely reached up to his knee – stopped them on the road before they even reached the first houses.

“Respectfully, your highness – we don’t want you here.” He bowed his head but didn’t lower his eyes.

Arthur took a deep, even breath. “I promise we’re here to help.”

“Maybe we don’t want your help.” The man tilted his chin upwards. “That creature has done more for us than Camelot ever has.”

At another time, Arthur might have bristled at the implication. Protective creature or not, this village lay in Camelot’s lands. Their taxes paid for roads and bridges, their tithe for the upkeep of Camelot’s borders. At another time, Arthur might have laughed or scoffed or felt a familiar wave of dread at being unable to help his people, even when they didn’t want to be helped.

But that was what the wizard had meant, wasn’t it? Arthur could keep calm even on horseback, even in the middle of the day with Merlin’s watchful eyes on him, even when old men accused him of serving a worthless kingdom.

“I understand why you might feel that way,” he said, keeping his voice pleasantly even. “And we are not trying to upset you. But sorcery is illegal within Camelot’s borders. If the king finds proof you’re harbouring a magic user, he will not go easy on you.” He didn’t glance over his shoulder. He could feel Merlin’s gaze on his back even without looking.

The old man raised his chin even higher. Age-spots dotted his cheeks. “We’re not afraid of kings in their castles,” he said. “Let him face the creature, if he dares.”

Arthur hadn’t even gone to see the wizard. Their next meeting wouldn’t be for another four days, and yet there it was, that increasingly familiar pull beneath his skin. That restlessness. Like his body didn’t quite fit him. 

And maybe if Merlin stopped whinging for a moment, Arthur would be able to sort through all the things that still needed to be done, do what he still could today, and then stop worrying for long enough to be able to fall asleep.

Until then, he lay flat on his back, staring up at the canopy of his bed. They’d invited the lord whose previously bandit-infested lands were now creature-infested to the citadel, to hear his troubles and not-so-subtly impress on him the need to manage his own territory. Arthur had already assigned Merlin to tend to the man during his stay, but he’d have to make sure any entourage wasn’t getting passed over. And question them; perhaps they had any further insight into the matter with the villagers.

Merlin, halfway through sorting through Arthur’s laundry, gave a displeased grunt. “And he told me to clean them all, right there in his room – do you have any idea how much longer it takes when there’s someone watching me? I have things to do, I don’t have time to sit around and polish boots with someone breathing over my shoulder the whole time.”

“Right,” Arthur said to the ceiling. He should ask Gaius to attend the banquet this evening. The old physician knew the most about what kind of creature they were dealing with; even if it wasn’t much. He’d have to introduce the man to make sure the guests knew to pay him respects and keep track of any particular reactions their visitors gave. And he’d need to give a detailed report to the king; perhaps afterwards, after everyone else had already gone to bed.

“And the washing! How do you nobles get your clothes so dirty when all you do is sit atop your horse all day? All of their washing! Nothing but work with you people.” Merlin tossed Arthur’s favourite tunic into a dusty corner. “Do you even know what that’s like, working? Because just in case you don’t: It’s terrible.”

“Terrible,” Arthur agreed.

Merlin hesitated. “Are you making fun of me?” he asked, glowering.

“No, Merlin.” Arthur pushed himself up onto one elbow to fix his servant with a tired look. “I’m not making fun of you. I understand what it’s like to have a lot on your plate, and to be overwhelmed, and so tired you can barely think straight but it doesn’t matter because rest isn’t an option. But you don’t hear me yammering about it at all hours of the day because that’s what duty means, Merlin, and nobody wants to hear your whining.”

Merlin glared at him.

Arthur rose from the bed. “I’m going to the council chambers to get some work done,” he said. “I’m sure Gaius or someone will be very interested in listening to your very important problems.”

There was something off about the wizard’s demeanour. Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on it, because the man had smiled at him like usual, and spread the blanket out on the ground for him like usual, but there was something in his stance or his movements or his eyes that Arthur wasn’t familiar with.

He wasn’t sure why that made him want to shrink in on himself.

He hadn’t seen much of Merlin since the banquet, and while it was nice to experience some peace and quiet and some semblance of what having a proper servant should be like (someone who passed through his chambers like a ghost, prompt and competent and so unobtrusive as to be just about invisible), it was such a change from normalcy that it had left Arthur unsettled rather than pleased. He’d hoped coming to see the wizard would ground him, a little, but right now he wasn’t so sure.

“So,” he said awkwardly, into the silence. “How was your week?”

In return, the wizard handed him a gag.

Arthur stared down at it. “Oh,” he said. “Um.” He didn’t precisely mind being gagged, could find a certain peace in not being expected to respond, just to listen and react. But if he were being honest, he preferred being able to speak.

He suspected that part of what he liked about their arrangement was having all that unfiltered attention focused on him – just on him, who he was, what he needed. The wizard wasn’t one of his advisors, constantly analysing everything he said for its merit or flaws or something Arthur might have missed; or one of his knights or servants, slotting everything Arthur said away for future reference. (Or, in Merlin’s case, cheerfully letting it go in one ear and out the other.)

And as much as the ropes served to distract him from all the issues clamouring for his attention, their conversations did much the same, in a different way. When they were talking, Arthur didn’t find his mind drifting back to everything he still had to take care of, as it so often did with other people. He liked talking to the wizard. The man came from such a different background to Arthur and he always had something new to teach him, and his patience for Arthur, it seemed, was practically bottomless.

Most of the time.

With an anxious pit forming in his stomach, Arthur closed his fingers around the gag. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” the wizard said, just shy of harsh. “I just don’t want to hear your voice today.”

Arthur jerked, just a little bit. Concentrating on his ropes, the wizard didn’t catch the movement, and Arthur had himself back under control by the time the man returned his attention to Arthur. It was just a harsh comment. Certainly Arthur had heard worse, much worse, over the years. He could handle it.

And he did. He stood in easy silence while the wizard knotted the gag around his head, and knotted a harness around his chest and hips, and heaved him into the air in a shower of golden magic. He let the ropes take his weight and attempted to relax into the strain of the suspension and tried not to spare any attention for the itch under his skin or the burn behind his ribcage or the overly noticeable rasp of his own breathing.

But once he’d noticed it, he couldn’t make himself stop listening; every inhale too loud, grating and shaky; every exhale hissing unpleasantly over his teeth. The rope itched where it dug into his skin. His hair, fallen into his forehead, tickled. The gag bit at the corners of his mouth. He shifted his shoulders, trying to settle into the tie and find that place that would let him forget about those unpleasant sensations, but he couldn’t. Whereas these past few meetings, relaxation had been a wide-open gate welcoming him inside, this time he couldn’t even find the door.

He jerked when something touched his hair, flushing painfully when he realized it was the wizard gently carding the strands back from his forehead.

“Shh, Arthur,” he muttered. “It’s alright. It’s fine, everything’s fine, you’re doing just fine.”

Arthur, refusing to acknowledge how the knot in his belly loosened instantly, lifted an eyebrow.

“Look at you.” The wizard grinned. “Trussed up and suspended and still giving me attitude.” He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s middle and dug his chin into Arthur’s belly, eyeing him with a smile that was somehow both mischievous and fond.

“I’m alright,” the wizard promised. “I’m alright now. I’m sorry I let my temper get the better of me.”

His eyes flashed golden. Arthur felt the knot at the back of his head fall away and wasted no time spitting out the gag, feeling his jaw unclench and the muscles in his cheeks soften almost instantly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

The wizard hugged him close. “Don’t be,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you like this.”

Arthur blinked at him. Now, with the tension gone, the draw of the ropes was suddenly almost impossible to ignore. His eyes wanted to slip shut of their own accord. “Why are you angry?” he managed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” the wizard said. His hand cupped the back of Arthur’s head, light and warm and tender. With the other, he reached out to flick the ropes holding Arthur suspended, sending a warm shimmer running up the lines and lighting up the roof of the hut, glimmering and shining like the coarse material was made of the brightest gold.

Staring, wide-eyed, at the display above him, Arthur barely heard the wizard’s voice anymore: “I’m over it now.”

Arthur almost wished the marks would last longer. Even after a suspension, when the full weight of his fighter’s body hung on nothing but thin cords, the red lines would fade within a day at the latest, leaving him with no proof at all of his time spent with the wizard. Intellectually, he knew that to be a good thing – no evidence meant no way to get caught – but he still found himself grieving their disappearance. He liked to run his fingertips over the thin marks, phantom reminders of calmness and quiet and ease. It gave him something to soothe himself with while the king snapped orders, displeased with him and his knights and the whole of the kingdom. Arthur didn’t know what to tell him. He could only find a sorcerer if there was a sorcerer to be found.

At least Merlin seemed to have forgiven him for their little spat. He even went so far as to smile at Arthur, half-heartedly smoothing out the covers on Arthur’s bed, while Arthur hovered by his desk, wanting to collapse onto his mattress but with a mountain of work still looming between him and the promise of rest.

“The maids offered to bring you something to eat.” Merlin fluffed up a pillow. “I said yes.”

Arthur eyed him. “What, no comment on how spoiled I am and how easy I have it?”

When Merlin passed by behind him, his hand brushed over Arthur’s shoulders, skimming over the back of his neck as he moved on to the rest of the room. “Not today.”

Arthur almost asked. Almost asked what had changed; what was different now from just last week, when Merlin had happily piled his derision onto Arthur’s already overflowing plate. But when he turned to look at him, his eyes caught on the papers on his desk. The visiting lord and his people had provided them – listing the villagers and any contact they were rumoured to have had with any sort of magic. He picked them up and leafed through them, mood sinking with every page.

Merlin, righting the chairs around Arthur’s table, glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Arthur sighed. “Nothing you know about.”

Merlin considered him for a moment. He turned towards Arthur, body all awkward angles, and pushed himself up to sit on the tabletop. “Tell me, then.”

Arthur almost smiled. It was such a Merlin thing to do; to refuse to do his chores with any sort of diligence yet readily volunteer himself to shoulder Arthur’s burdens.

He tapped the papers against his desk. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to.” Merlin folded his hands together in his lap. “But I’m offering. So there’s no need to martyr yourself.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

Merlin raised his brows, silently conveying that absolutely he could. And would. It startled a laugh out of Arthur, which made Merlin grin in turn.

“Alright, fine.” Arthur dropped the papers onto his desk and leaned back against it. “You’ve heard of that creature protecting those villagers. But the problem is…”

He’d lost all track of time. He knew he’d been worried about something, so tense with it that it felt like his skin might tear. He couldn’t remember why. All that mattered were the quiet of his mind, and the ropes holding him aloft, and the wizard sitting on a nearby stack of boxes, watching him.

Suspended on his side, Arthur swayed. There were ropes around his thighs and ropes around his chest; golden lines from the hoop above him linking to his shoulder and hip and knee. It took too much effort to hold his head up and so he didn’t even attempt to, hair spilling into the air below him like it, too, had utterly surrendered.

Smiling, the wizard stretched out and nudged Arthur's leg with his toes, directing his gentle movement the other way. Arthur watched him until he drifted out of view, and then watched the walls float by, the cluttered furniture, the softly glowing candles. He didn’t even try to fight the movement.

“Look at you,” the wizard said, soft and pleased.

Arthur couldn’t help his quiet sound of contentment. He wanted to spend the rest of his life like this, drifting endlessly, where everything that mattered was right here in this room.

“Lovely, Arthur,” the wizard said, or maybe “Lovely Arthur,” and he smiled, happily, helplessly, utterly spellbound.

“I was wondering,” Merlin began later that night, hovering in Arthur’s peripheral vision (because he always seemed to be hovering these days), “if you’d like to take a bath.”

“A bath?” Arthur frowned. “Why?” He shifted his shoulders; the ache in his back was particularly bad today. It happened sometimes, after he’d seen the wizard; like all the tension he managed to let go of in that tiny hut in the woods came back all at once. But he wasn’t particularly keen on the whole ordeal of Merlin lugging the tub into his rooms with the usual clanging and banging; and undressing; and staying awake for hours more when all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed in the darkness and scowl.

Merlin shrugged. “It was just an offer,” he said, far too casually. “I wouldn’t want to go to bed smelling like that, is all.”

Hesitantly, Arthur sniffed at his armpit. He smelled… fine. Not worse than on any other day that Merlin let him go to bed without insisting he wash, first.

He narrowed his eyes.

Merlin smiled guilelessly.

“Fine,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin beamed at him. He all but ran from the room, eager to fulfil his duties in a way he almost never was. Arthur let himself sink onto the edge of his bed in his wake. His head drooped from the effort of holding it upright, but that didn’t help with the tension headache stemming from the muscles in his neck.

Neither did Merlin, dropping the tub onto the ground with an ear-splitting clatter.

Scowling, Arthur turned away to undress while Merlin prepared the water. He pulled his tunic over his head with effort, shoulders sore and aching like he’d been training all day, and shoved his breeches off with curt movements. And then he just stood for a while, head leaning against a bedpost, all of him stiff and tired and displeased, before he roused himself. “Is it ready yet?”

“It’s ready,” Merlin replied. He sounded like he was rolling his eyes.

Arthur turned back around. Too late, he remembered the rope marks scoring his body, distinctly different from the bruises and scratches that came with being a knight. They stood out markedly on his pale skin, impossible to ignore, but Merlin didn’t even seem to notice them. He certainly didn’t comment on them. Instead, he gestured Arthur towards the bath without a word, and Arthur tried not to look too cagey while he climbed inside.

The water was – alright, it was wonderful. Just a shade too hot, the way it only ever was when Merlin prepared it. Every other servant in Camelot managed mostly warm water at best. Merlin really had the oddest skills.

He folded himself into the tub, legs bent and knees exposed to the night-time chill in the air. He kept his torso submerged as best he could, unwilling to subject his shoulders to the same, and made himself take a deep breath. If nothing else, the bath would help with his sore back.

Merlin, armed with a sewing needle and thread and one of Arthur’s more battle-worn pairs of breeches, sat down on the end of Arthur’s bed, just out of his reach.

Arthur watched the top of his head for a while. “Are you bored?” he asked suspiciously. “Should I be giving you more to do? If you’re so keen on lugging all this water up here for me unprompted?”

Merlin didn’t look up. “You’re going to give yourself a headache if you keep scowling like that.”

Arthur sunk deeper into the water. Merlin’s utter lack of attention jabbed at him like a bit of rock in his boot. Inconsequential but irritating. He didn’t like it.

“Looking at you gives me a headache,” he grumbled.

Merlin’s head did snap up at that. “What was that?” he asked, oddly sharp.

“Nothing,” Arthur muttered. He pulled his knees closer, hiding in a little cranny of his own making, protected by the tub’s walls behind him and his body in front. It made him feel a little more settled, a little less adrift. Also, this way he didn’t have to look at Merlin paying him absolutely no attention. He was a crown prince! Surely Merlin wasn’t supposed to be more concerned with some stupid bloody mending than with his lord and master.

“Arthur.”

He ducked his head. There were rope marks wound below his knees like jewellery, just barely visible above the water’s edge. More of the same on his arms, and Arthur sank them back underneath the surface, lest Merlin notice after all.

“Arthur.” Some of Merlin’s stern tone had melted away, replaced with something fond and indulgent. “Stop sulking. You look ridiculous.”

Arthur sulked harder.

Merlin laid the breeches aside and stood. Arthur flinched, body growing rigid, but all Merlin did was settle on his knees next to the tub, leaning one arm against the rim. “I thought a bath would help, but you’re still so tense,” he said quietly.

Arthur clenched his jaw. He didn’t feel tense. He felt alone, and unimportant, and – humiliatingly – like he might cry. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to relax when you keep, keep,” he flailed a hand around, spraying water droplets everywhere, “doing stuff.”

“Ah.” Merlin’s expression softened. He tilted his head to rest against his arm without looking away from Arthur. “Is this better, then?”

Arthur glanced away. It was better. Parts of that odd tightness between his shoulder blades unfurled under Merlin’s watchful gaze, like all it needed to ease was to be fixed with that unwavering attention.

But he certainly wasn’t about to just say so.

“You’re such a child.” Merlin reached out to brush the fringe from Arthur’s forehead. He had such big hands, for such a lanky guy. “Come on, I’ll wash your hair.”

He shuffled behind Arthur, and while a part of Arthur wanted to frown at Merlin disappearing from his line of sight, a larger part of him near purred with pleasure when Merlin’s hands slid over his naked shoulders.

“Here, lean back.”

With his hands clutching the rim of the tub, Arthur tilted his head back, ceiling and bedposts and Merlin a blur above him as he ducked beneath the water. The sweet scent of soap hung in the air. The hand in his hair was gentle and familiar, as were the pads of Merlin’s fingers, rough and worn from a long, hard servant’s life, rubbing over his scalp.

Arthur sighed. This was better. Merlin’s attention on him and not on some stupid mending, right where it ought to be. He squirmed in satisfaction, water sloshing dangerously high, fingernails clicking against the rim of the tub.

Merlin flicked his ear. “Stop that. Relax.”

Arthur was tempted, so very sorely tempted, to dump all of the bathwater right on Merlin’s head. But then Merlin would be angry, and they would fight, and the thought of Merlin eyeing him with that disappointed, displeased expression of his was nearly enough to make Arthur wince. So he restrained himself – even if Merlin would have absolutely deserved it – and leaned his neck into Merlin’s hands with a huff.

“Child,” Merlin accused quietly.

“I could have you beheaded,” Arthur said, but closed his eyes instead.

Cheers rang deafeningly loud around the arena.

Arthur’s opponent was a big man, tall with broad shoulders. Slower than he was, but Arthur would have to be fast – one blow from that broadsword would be enough to knock him to the ground. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He wasn’t bound with rope, but his armour was strapped tightly around his arms and legs and torso and he could tell himself it felt the same. Calm, Arthur, he reminded himself, letting himself sink into the feeling of the leather binds reining him in, finding that place where all his worries fell away to be replaced by a sharp, quiet focus. Where nothing mattered but the here and now.

The knight swung at him. 

Arthur stepped back just far enough to escape the blade, then darted forward to return the favour. Thrust, parry, jab. His opponent had to rush his movements to defend against Arthur’s sword, but he made it every time. Arthur could hear the man’s breathing through the visor of his helmet.

He shifted his shoulders, feeling the leather straps pull against them, and let the noise of the crowd fade away. Lost himself in the clang of metal against metal, the screech of blade against blade. The shuffle of his boots in the dust. The sweat in his eyes, the weight of his armour on his back. He took a hit caught by his shield, painful but nothing more. Discomfort, he could handle.

It was a dance. Advance, retreat, sidestep, jump. Blades swinging through the air. Dust kicked into his eyes. He let his opponent come close, slow but looming, and flung himself forward; slammed his body weight into the man’s shoulder and knocked them both onto the ground, his opponent’s sword thrown from his hand and his own pressed against the man’s neck.

The knight turned his head away.

Arthur rose, reaching up to take off his helmet before he stabbed his sword into the dust. Cheers rang out all around him, a familiar sound that never quite seemed to lose its magic. He shook hands with his opponent, barely feeling the grin stretching his lips; accepted his father’s proud nod as his due. Looked around for… there, by the arena’s entrance, leaning his head against the wooden slats with a smile on his face.

Merlin nodded at him, and Arthur nodded back, heart pounding hard from the fight and the victory and everything.

With one hand on Arthur’s hip and the other reaching over him, the wizard shot him a look. “I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory.”

Spread out on his back on the familiar blanket, Arthur drew up short. Did he mean… the tournament? The wizard had watched him fight?

“Really?”

One corner of the wizard’s mouth tilted upwards. “Really.”

Arthur wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. The wizard was a citizen of Camelot, after all. Any that could make it to the tournaments usually did, drawn in by the promise of festivities and food and free entertainment. Even the ones who didn’t manage to find seats in the arena hung around nearby, soaking in the cheers and jeers and sneaking glances at the knights staggering to and from their fights.

He shifted, feeling embarrassed heat creep into his face. “And did you… Was it…?”

“It was a splendid fight, Arthur,” the wizard said, lips curving into amusement. “Very impressive.”

It had been, hadn’t it? Arthur shifted against the ropes, pleased, pushing his hips further into the wizard’s hands.

The wizard laughed. “Oh, stop preening, you know perfectly well your win was well-deserved.”

Arthur held still while the wizard knotted off the rope at his flank, feeling something warm unfurl in his insides at the words. He’d always taken pride in his fighting skills. He had always been pushed to be the very best, and as much as people (Merlin) liked to mock him for his arrogance, Arthur was the best. He excelled at it. He wasn’t sure why it made him so happy to hear the wizard acknowledge that, but it made the decades of hard work Arthur had put in suddenly feel worth it.

“Oh yeah?” The wizard dragged a teasing line of rope across his thigh. “You like that, hm? You want to hear all about how stunning you are when you fight?”

Arthur, as a fighter, had been called many things. Skilled, accomplished, gifted. ‘Stunning’ had never been one of them.

“You are, you know?” the wizard said, like Arthur’s breathing hadn’t begun to quicken beneath him. “You look so effortless in the ring. The other knights are good, or even great, but you… You fight like you were born for it.”

“I was born for it,” Arthur mumbled.

“You know that’s not how it works.” The wizard’s fingers slid around the back of his knee. Familiar with that particular touch, Arthur bent his leg, setting his foot onto the soft blanket. “There are plenty of young noblemen and squires with almost as many expectations resting on them as you who would be an absolute embarrassment in the arena.

“Whereas you…” The wizard threaded a new length of rope underneath the one crossing from his hips up to his waist. “You make the best fighters in the kingdom look like utter amateurs.” He leaned over Arthur then, resting one elbow on Arthur’s stomach and his chin in his hand. He couldn’t possibly be putting all his weight on it, not with how light he felt against Arthur’s belly, but the touch alone was enough for Arthur to draw in a sharp breath.

When he looked down at Arthur, there was something contemplative – almost sad – in the wizard’s expression. “And yet you look so surprised that I noticed.”

Arthur tried another breath, forcing down the flutter in his belly. “I know I’m excellent,” he said.

“But you’d like to hear it from other people, too?” The wizard took his arm away. Arthur, simultaneously disappointed and relieved, took another few breaths while the wizard leaned over him to knot off the rope at his other side.

“Sometimes,” Arthur admitted.

The wizard nodded, unsurprised. “See, I used to think it was all an attempt to flatter yourself, that you’re so good at what you do that you couldn’t possibly need the reassurance. That you were surrounded by sycophants who had no goal in life except to tell you how special and important you are.

“But they don’t, do they?” The wizard’s hands ran down his arms, smoothing along Arthur’s sides before coming to rest on his hips. His fingers settled between the webbing of the ropes. His lips came close to Arthur’s ear. “People might say that you fight well, or that you’ll make a good king one day, but no one ever tells you what a delight you are to watch.”

Arthur keened. Actually pressed his head into the ground, a desperate, helpless noise spilling over his lips before he could seal them together. Heat flared in his cheeks. He sounded like an animal.

He turned his head away, wishing for the first time in a long time that his body wasn’t bound so that he could hide his face somehow.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” the wizard said softly. “I understand wanting to be recognized for who you are and what all you do, trust me.”

Arthur rolled his head back to the other side, considering. His cheeks still throbbed with hotness, but the wizard didn’t look like he was laughing at Arthur. Instead, there was quiet understanding in his eyes.

And he did, didn’t he? No one would ever tell the wizard how impressed they were with him or how amazing his magic was to watch, except in furtive whispers behind guarding hands.

“You are, too,” he said. He looked up at the wizard, watching in fascination as the man first blinked, then met his eyes, a flush appearing over his sharp cheekbones. “A delight to watch, I mean. Your magic is the most wondrous thing I’ve ever seen.”

The wizard laughed, quietly, sounding pleased. He was pleased with Arthur, he’d seen Arthur duel and he’d enjoyed it, and if he asked Arthur right now to fight entire armies for him, Arthur would pick up his sword without hesitation.

Merlin wouldn’t leave.

Arthur sunk down on the side of his bed. He’d been having an amazing evening, flying through his work ever since he’d returned from the wizard’s hut, digging into the ever-present stack of writing awaiting his attention and drafting letters he hadn’t managed to get around to for weeks. But he had had to grow tired eventually, and he could feel exhaustion creeping in now, slow and insidious, and Merlin just. wouldn’t. go.

He didn’t prattle on, at least, thank whatever deities Arthur could think of, but Arthur was still painfully aware of his presence. Of the swish of his clothing as he moved around the room, and the clattering whenever he tried to tidy anything, and the way he kept glancing at Arthur, silently intrusive. He never spent this long tidying any of Arthur’s chambers, but by now it was pitch dark outside and he was still there, a presence so strained Arthur could feel it from across the room.

Arthur sighed, thinking longingly of the wizard’s calm, easy demeaner. Of the way the man had smiled at him, impressed and fond and proud.

But what did that even matter? Why did he need someone to pat him on the head like a pleading dog, or an overeager child? He knew he fought well. There was nothing new about that. There was nothing remarkable about that. He was Camelot’s future ruler. Being its best fighter wasn’t an achievement, it was the bare minimum.

Across the room, Merlin knocked over something metal, jarring and loud.

Arthur dropped his head into his hands. “Merlin,” he ground out.

He was by his side in an instance. “Yes, sire?”

Arthur’s jaw was so tense it ached. “What will it take,” he managed to get out, “for you to leave?”

Merlin hesitated. For the briefest of moments, he looked almost hurt, and that didn’t help Arthur’s mood at all. Because besides the wizard, Merlin was probably the person who knew him best. The one who was by his side constantly; the one who smiled at him when he strode out of the arena, looking prouder than a servant really ought. The one who made sure Arthur was feeling alright after his visits to the wizard, even if he had no idea of the cause of Arthur’s unsettled moods. The wizard would want him to be kind to Merlin, and here he was, disappointing both men in one fell swoop.

Merlin shifted on his feet. “I don’t think I should go.”

Arthur glared down at his hands. “And I think you should.”

Always contrary, Merlin took a step closer. One hand rose to flutter in the air between them. “Shh.”

Arthur jerked. “You can’t shush me –”

A finger touched his lips. “Arthur,” Merlin said. “Just… be still for a moment.”

Arthur raised his head. Merlin looked back at him with an uncertain smile hovering in the corners of his mouth, but there was something in his eyes. Some calmness that Arthur desperately craved.

He stayed quiet.

After a moment, Merlin took his finger away. “Sit up straight,” he said.

Arthur did, pulling back his shoulders and straightening his spine. It was the way he sat for the wizard before the man guided him into whatever position he needed Arthur to take, and instinctively, he expected the next touch to be to the bare skin of his back, the barest press of a palm before the rough slide of rope.

Instead, Merlin took his elbow, easing his arm straight. Arthur copied the motion with his other arm, and Merlin hummed quietly, moving Arthur’s palms down until they curled over his knees.

“Keep your hands there.”

Arthur took a deep breath. It helped, a little. His muscles unclenched, just a fraction, and he adjusted his posture, letting his head pull back and bringing his elbows close together out of habit.

“Good.” Merlin’s voice was soft. Low. Perhaps Merlin was spending a little too much time getting help from the wizard – he was starting to sound almost like him. “Stay like this,” he said softly. “Don’t move unless you have to.”

When Merlin drew away, Arthur almost laughed. Little did Merlin know how prepared Arthur was for that particular command.

But he didn’t laugh. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, alone but motionless like an unattended hound, staring at his hands on his knees. Distantly, he felt a little silly, but he couldn’t deny it helped. Having clear expectations to meet – orders to follow – helped.

When Merlin returned, he had a mug cradled in his hands. “It’s tea with honey,” he explained. He came to stand by Arthur’s side. “I think it’ll help.”

Merlin tipped the cup up for him and Arthur drank, reduced to the warmth running into his throat and the sweetness on his tongue and the smooth clay against his lips. It wasn’t until Merlin had taken the drink away that Arthur realized he could have – should have – taken it from his hands, instead of simply opening his mouth for it like some sort of baby bird. Because his hands weren’t actually bound together in his lap, and Merlin wasn’t the wizard, and Arthur was in his own rooms, on his own bed, and not in a run-down hut in the woods.

He looked away, face heating.

If Merlin noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He made Arthur rise off the bed to untuck the covers and then shooed him underneath them, dressed as he was, tucked the blankets firmly around him and settled himself against the length of Arthur’s body. He propped himself up on one elbow and stroked his free hand through Arthur’s fringe, cutting off all of Arthur’s attempted protests with soft noises.

“I won’t be able to sleep yet,” Arthur finally managed to tell him.

“That’s fine,” Merlin said easily. He wasn’t even looking at Arthur, gaze fixed firmly on his own hand in Arthur’s hair. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

While Arthur pulled his tunic over his head, the wizard came to sit across from him. He wasn’t carrying any ropes. Like that first meeting, he crossed his legs underneath him, looking a little embarrassed at Arthur’s surprise.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “Because I was starting to notice some things, and I… It.” He brushed his hair out of his face with an impatient gesture. “I want you to remember that I’m new to this, too.”

Smirking, Arthur said, “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” (Even though he kind of had.)

The wizard huffed. Arthur smiled at him, feeling deeply and probably unfairly amused at the man’s discomfort. All Arthur had to do was lie there, after all. The wizard was the one doing all the work.

Sighing, the man said, “I think I might have underestimated your… emotional needs. Afterwards. I didn’t realize that someone ought to be keeping an eye on you – taking care of you – even after you leave here.” He settled his hands on Arthur’s knees. “I apologize for that.”

Arthur shrugged one shoulder. He wasn’t thrilled about the terms the wizard had used, but it wasn’t… wrong. Plus, he knew the wizard wasn’t particularly experienced; the man had been open about that from the start. And if there was a part of Arthur that purred with satisfaction at the knowledge that he was the first, the most, the only… well, Arthur wasn’t going to think too hard about that one.

Across from him, the wizard ducked his head to meet Arthur’s eyes. “I suppose I just… I wanted to make sure you have that.”

Arthur thought back to the nights spent lying in bed, restless and irritable and staring at the ceiling. He thought of those dark, angry thoughts that would creep in, unbidden, staining everything Arthur turned his eyes on with insinuations of uselessness. Of pointlessness.

And he thought of Merlin, curled hot and heavy along Arthur’s back. His gentle touch, his easy acceptance of Arthur’s moods, the way he was always there, friendly and calm and undeterred.

“Yes,” he said, offering the wizard a smile. “I have that.”

He was very nearly asleep, curled around his pillow and the blankets deliciously tucked around him, when the soft rustling sounds of Merlin readying his chambers for bed came closer. He’d been late, today. Arthur peeled open one eye to watch Merlin replace the water pitcher on his nightstand, moving gently in the dim light of the fire.

“What do you do?” It came out sleep-slurred and barely intelligible. Arthur lifted his face from his pillow a fraction. “When I’m with the wizard?”

Through barely opened eyelids, he saw Merlin fumble the pitcher, thankfully catching it before he dropped it or spilled water all over the bed. “Oh!” Merlin said, a little too loudly. “You know! Nothing important.” He set the pitcher down on the nightstand and pushed the washbowl a little closer to the centre and brushed invisible dust from the bedcurtains, all without once meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“Are you lying to me, Merlin?” Arthur asked, amused. He kept his eyes open a moment longer, just to watch Merlin turn white, and fell asleep with his grin still on his face.

Merlin avoided him the next day, and most of the day after. It was unfortunate, because Arthur had already decided to ignore the matter before he’d even fought his way out from underneath the bedding. Whatever it was that Merlin was hiding, Arthur was reasonably sure he didn’t actually want to know. Knowing Merlin, it was probably something stupid but embarrassing.

So the avoidance was both unnecessary and unfortunate. Very unfortunate. For Merlin, that was, because the lord with the creature problem had sent one of his merchants to the citadel with a sampling of his finest wares in the hopes of regaining favour with the crown. His father had barely picked at them enough to appease, and with Merlin hiding himself away somewhere in the castle, Arthur had to sprawl out by the fire and eat them all by himself.

He bit into a dried fig, soft and sticky and sweeter than the sweetest honey.

Truly, truly unfortunate.

He was soaring. The ropes had lifted him high, so high, arms outstretched to either side. There was a harness knotted around his waist and thighs that kept him half-upright in the air, one leg angled back at the knee, the other pointing down at the floor. It shouldn’t have been comfortable but it was; like Arthur belonged there, like he could stay like this forever.

Arthur laughed, breathless. He felt, strangely, like someone had taken away all his thoughts and had filled the space they usually occupied with his senses. He could feel things he never felt: The stretch of his muscles, caught between the ropes holding him aloft and his own bodyweight. The twist of the rope where it dug into his skin. The air moving between his fingers. There was rope underneath him and rope around him and rope above him, glowing golden, cradling him in light.

It felt like those rare moments on the battlefield, when everything that wasn’t the swing of his sword and the movements of his opponents faded away. When it felt like flying; his feet moving of their own accord, blade singing through the air, every second stretching into eternity. Like this, Arthur thought, he could level any opponent who stood in his way. If he could only hold a sword, he would be unstoppable.

A hand touched his jaw, tilting his chin gently up. “You’re smiling,” the wizard said. He didn’t sound like he expected him to answer, so Arthur didn’t, pushing back into the fingers on his skin and the rope on his body and the magic holding him upright.

“Just like that,” the wizard whispered. “So good for me.” There were fingers brushing the back of his hand, lips ghosting over his knuckles. “Fly, Arthur.”

Arthur obeyed, sinking into the ropes and the darkness lined with gold, and surrendered.

“But how,” Merlin said, running his rag over the blade of Arthur’s sword, “can your father be sending you out to kill the creature if we don’t even know what kind of creature it is?”

“It’s a creature,” Arthur said. He motioned for Merlin to hand him his weapon, trading his second favourite blade back in its stead and ignoring Merlin’s exasperated expression. “How hard can it be?”

“What if it can’t be killed?”

“Anything can be killed.” Arthur tested the edge with his thumb. “You just have to know how.”

“And do you know how?”

Arthur tossed a grin his way. “I’ll figure it out,” he said. “I always do.”

Merlin didn’t look convinced.

Arthur tried not to feel insulted. He always managed to kill the creatures, even if he himself wasn’t entirely sure how. And he’d saved Merlin’s life plenty of times, too. Really, after everything he’d done for Merlin, surely he’d earned a little more faith.

Arthur eased himself into the wizard’s hut. The stacks of belongings around him were surprisingly sturdy – he’d yet to see one of them collapse, even if they all looked like they should – but he still didn’t trust them. Better to shuffle sideways through the chaos to reach that open space at its centre. A smile tugged at his lips of its own accord, and Arthur glanced around, ready to tease the wizard about his disaster of a home.

The wizard wasn’t there.

Frowning, Arthur turned on his heel. The wizard was always there, muddling around his chaotic space with a wide, almost idiotic grin that Arthur liked to pretend he reserved just for him, neat hanks of rope piled up on the overflowing worktables.

But while the door had opened easily for him, silently inviting him inside, the hut was unoccupied. Arthur stood silently for a moment, listening for any sort of rustling or breathing or footsteps to prove him wrong, but there was no one else there.

He was alone.

There was an empty space on one of the tables, where the wizard sat sometimes, and Arthur pushed himself up onto the surface and tucked his cloak around his body. Folded his hands in his lap. Looked at the little containers and dried herbs and yellowing scrolls stacked up around him.

Twitched his legs.

Tapped his hands together.

On the table’s scratched surface, wedged between an old book and a dead flower tucked into a waterless vase, lay a strip of rope. Perhaps a foot long, if that. An endpiece of the same rope the wizard used on him. As far as Arthur could tell, the wizard’s ropes were all uniform – some longer, some thinner, but all cut to particular lengths and carefully coiled. This wasn’t one of those. A loose end, that was all, something overlooked in the mess of the hut and unneeded in this strange game he and the wizard were playing. He picked it up and turned it between his fingers, around and around, all alone in the wizard’s hut, first wanted and then forgotten.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there by the time the door opened. Someone slipped inside, cloak wrapped tightly around their body to keep from disturbing the clutter. Instinctively, self-conscious and feeling foolish, Arthur stuffed the bit of rope into his sleeve. In the dim light, he could see the dark head of hair – bright eyes searching the room. When the man caught sight of Arthur, the hard line of his jaw softened.

Arthur frowned. “Merlin?”

Merlin jerked. His expression shifted, too quickly for Arthur to interpret the emotions crossing his face, before he ran his hand over his hair. When he looked at Arthur again, he was entirely blank-faced. Nothing to read on his usually so expressive face at all.

Unsettled, Arthur said, “If you’re looking for the wizard, he’s not here.”

“Yeah.” Merlin looked away. “He’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

“He’s… busy.”

“Busy,” Arthur repeated. He couldn’t even read his own tone, uncertain if he was amused or offended or simply confused. The wizard wasn’t busy. This was Arthur’s evening. If there was anything the wizard was supposed to be doing right now, it was be here, in his hut, with Arthur.

Merlin gave a curt nod. He didn’t look Arthur’s way. “We should return to the citadel,” he said.

Slowly, Arthur nodded. It felt wrong, somehow. To leave like this. Without the man knowing that Arthur had honoured his word, even if the wizard hadn’t.

“Your highness!” Someone hammered on the door, loud and insistent. Arthur, who’d been staring at the canopy of his bed, still mostly clothed and feeling the stolen rope tucked into his sleeve shift against the soft skin of his underarm with every movement, blinked.

“I’ll get it,” Merlin said. He pushed himself up from where he’d been sitting on Arthur’s table, so silent and pale that Arthur had almost forgotten he was there, and went to open the door.

“Ah, Merlin.” It was one of the guards, glancing past Merlin towards Arthur’s bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, your highness, but the king insisted – we’ve just received the news that the creature has been found slain. It must have happened just this evening.”

Arthur nodded silently. He felt like he’d been jerked from an ill-timed nap, over-tired and disoriented. He was only dimly aware of Merlin closing the door. It was like all he did was blink and suddenly Merlin was at his side, fussing with the bedclothes and spreading the covers over him. By the time he’d gotten situated, Merlin had abandoned him once more to set the room to rights and extinguish the lights.

“It was the wizard, wasn’t it?” Arthur asked, watching Merlin over the top of his blanket. Merlin hesitated over the candelabra, candlesnuffer in hand, and Arthur settled a little deeper into his pillow. “The one who slew the creature.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, looking down at the last of the candles. “I think so, yes.”

“That’s why he wasn’t there.”

Merlin offered a brief nod.

Arthur smiled a little, feeling the odd tension in his belly ease. The wizard hadn’t abandoned him. He’d been busy keeping Arthur’s kingdom safe.

Merlin extinguished the last of the candles on the table, leaving only one burning in its chamberstick, the one he would use to navigate the night-dark castle back to Gaius’ tower. He was moving oddly, like his shoulder or arm was hurting, but also like he didn’t want Arthur to know.

Perhaps Gaius would help him treat it. Arthur found himself disliking the thought of Merlin in pain.

He shifted under his blankets. He wasn’t as calm as he often was after seeing the wizard, when his body was relaxed and his mind wiped clean of all the concerns he carried with him all day, but he also wasn’t as unsettled as he might have expected. If there was a hint of dread creeping up his spine, it was because he was worried about the wizard, not about all the things he still had to do.

It helped that Merlin was there, stiff and quiet but still familiar. Still safe.

Arthur peered at him. “Do you think I should – reward him, somehow?”

For some reason, that made Merlin smile. He was a dark silhouette against the warm glow of the fire, head bent, expression just barely readable. He opened his fingers, laying the candlesnuffer down on the table. Arthur watched him shift his weight, leaning towards the bed and away and towards it again, before he came over to Arthur’s side. Still, he kept his head angled away while he bent over him, tucking the blanket around his shoulders like he were a child.

“I think that, if the wizard wanted that kind of recognition, he wouldn’t hide himself away in the woods.”

“But that’s because of my father’s laws,” Arthur replied. “Not by choice. He has to hide himself away. That’s hardly fair.”

“No, it’s not, is it?” Merlin’s hand rested on his shoulder, light and easy, but his head stayed turned away.

Arthur’s forehead furrowed in confusion. He felt naïve, and a little stupid. Like a child. It seemed like he spent a lot of time feeling like a child lately, and he didn’t like it.

Still, he asked: “So what should I do?”

Merlin smiled very, very faintly. “I think you should trust the wizard,” he said lightly. “I’m sure he tells you what he expects from you.”

Arthur frowned. “But this isn’t about what he expects. It’s about what he deserves.”

“Deserves?” Merlin echoed faintly. At Arthur’s nod, he asked, “What does he deserve?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted, scowling. He twisted under the covers, looking up at Merlin imploringly. “But it has to be more than he’s getting now, doesn’t it? Because it isn’t fair. If he’s helping us keep Camelot safe, then that shouldn’t get swept under the rug just because of his magic.”

Merlin smiled again. Arthur could see the way his shoulders shifted, easing almost imperceptibly down from their hunched position. His fingers drifted from Arthur’s shoulder to the side of his neck, squeezing briefly, before they moved away. “You’re a good person, Arthur.”

It wasn’t an answer – it certainly didn’t solve Arthur’s conundrum – but Arthur smiled anyway. He was a good person. Not a good prince, or a good leader, or a good son. A good person. Like his title, his birth right, didn’t matter at all. Like all that counted was that Arthur be himself.

He wiggled deeper into the sheets. “I am, aren’t I?” he said, satisfied.

Merlin tapped his finger against Arthur’s nose. “But not very humble.”

Arthur grinned up at him. “No,” he said, tucking his arms under his head. “You’ve already said it. You can’t add caveats now.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Where’s a gag when you need it?” he muttered.

Arthur was almost, for just a moment, tempted to tell him about the wizard’s fondness for them, but that was likely taking things a little too far. The wizard probably wouldn’t want Arthur to spread that sort of information around. And probably Merlin didn’t want to know.

Or, if Merlin and the wizard had the sort of relationship that meant Merlin already knew about the wizard’s fondness for gags, then maybe Arthur didn’t want to know.

“I’m the future ruler of Camelot, Merlin,” he said instead, shifting deeper into his pillow and pulling the covers up under his chin. “People love to hear me talk.” He closed his eyes. “Whereas you had best be silent.”

If Merlin had anything to say about that, Arthur didn’t hear it. He did, however, feel the lightest brush of a hand in his hair, fondly stroking over the top of his head.

Sleep came easily.

The wizard hooked two fingers underneath the rope crossing his chest, his knuckles hot against Arthur’s skin. With his hands tied behind his back and his body weight resting on top of them, there wasn’t much Arthur could do but lie there, stare up at the darkness swallowing the hut’s ceiling and hope to catch glimpses of the wizard’s face.

“Why did you kill it?” It was barely more than a whisper. The wizard gave no indication of having heard. “The creature? It wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“It was going to hurt you,” the wizard replied. “It had been summoned to protect the villagers, yes. But you were going to try and slay it, and it could only be defeated by magic. You would have died.”

“But it was magic,” Arthur said. He was a little surprised that the wizard wasn’t angry at him for intending to slay it, but for the wizard himself to go out and kill it in his stead – that just made no sense at all.

The wizard smiled then, serious and sad. “It was you or it, Arthur. And I’ve made my choice on that.”

Back in his chambers, cloak slung over the back of a chair and with only the fire’s glow lighting the darkness, Arthur pulled open his wardrobe. There, at the very back (behind a stack of tunics that had somehow shrunk around the middle), was where he’d stashed the bit of rope he’d stolen from the wizard’s hut. He’d stuffed it there for lack of a better place to put it, unable to forget the utter loneliness he’d felt sitting in that hut all by himself, and yet equally unable to throw it away.

He pulled it out now. It felt exactly like the wizard’s ropes when he rubbed it between his fingers, rough and coarse and a little prickly. Not pleasant, but comforting in its familiarity.

The piece was just long enough to wind around his wrist twice and tie into an unsightly knot. Arthur considered it for a moment before deciding that it would be hidden well enough by his tunics and armour. The only ones who ever saw him without either of those were Merlin and the wizard.

For the wizard, Arthur would just have to remember to untie it before he headed out into the woods. But even if he did forget, he thought – hoped – that the wizard would see the humour in Arthur’s thievery and forgive him.

And Merlin… well, he’d already demonstrated that he seemed to be incapable of noticing anything.

“What do you mean,” the king seethed, “the villagers have sought aid from King Bayard?”

The unfortunate messenger boy ducked his head. “They’ve, uh. They’re quite upset that their creature has been slain. They blame Camelot for its protector’s death.”

“Their creature?” the king echoed sharply, and Arthur quickly motioned for the boy to leave the room.

He did, with a grateful bob of his head. Arthur wished he and Merlin could escape with him; but they had no choice but to bear the brunt of his father’s anger.

The king stomped across the room. “Their creature? Their protector?” He turned to Arthur, eyes blazing. “I will not stand for this!”

“Of course, sire,” Arthur agreed.

“You will ride out and you will find out where that creature came from and you will make sure no one in that village ever dares to associate with sorcerers again.”

“Yes, sire,” he said.

At his side, Merlin stiffened. Arthur could sympathize. His father in one of his rages was a truly terrifying thing to behold, and Merlin hadn’t learned to weather the storm the way Arthur had.

The king paced a few loud, angry steps. “Magic has no place in Camelot. Magic will never have a place in Camelot.”

The words and sentiment were familiar; still, Arthur could feel himself growing cold. He brought his hands together behind his back, one finger hooking into the rope tied around his wrist. Feeling the familiar tug on his skin helped – a little, but not much. Because if magic had no place in Camelot, then neither did the wizard, and if the thought of the wizard being close with someone who wasn’t Arthur was hard to stomach, the thought of the man falling prey to one of the king’s rampages was unfathomable.

Arthur made himself take a deep breath. He didn’t need the ropes – he could find calmness anytime, even uncomfortable and unsettled, even here. He aimed a reassuring smile at Merlin; one the man did not return. Instead, he gazed straight ahead, barely blinking, staring blankly at the empty wall opposite.

Perhaps he was concerned for the wizard himself? The way Merlin knew things about the wizard that not even Arthur did; the readiness with which the wizard defended Merlin every time Arthur complained about him – Arthur had to assume that they were friends. Irrationally, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Of course the wizard had friends, of course he did. They saw each other one evening a week, of course the man had a life outside of whatever it was he did with Arthur.

It would make sense for Merlin to be worried about the wizard. Arthur was worried about the wizard. He tried to keep calm, to school his face into something impassive and nod whenever his father turned an angry eye his way, but he couldn’t help but think about his sorcerer. About the way the ropes glowed for him like starlight. About the way he helped the people of Camelot. It was hard to bring himself to nod when the king declared magic and all those who used it as evil when Arthur had experienced personally how beautiful magic could be.

He bumped Merlin with a comforting shoulder when the king’s back was turned. The wizard would be fine, he told himself sternly. He was a sorcerer. He knew how to fight. It stood to reason that he knew how to be cautious, as well, didn’t it?

Still, Arthur resolved to be particularly careful the next time he went to see the wizard. Because no matter how his father ranted and raved, there would be a next time for Arthur.

Merlin stomped into Arthur’s rooms a bare few moments after him, scowling at everything and letting the door crash into the lock.

After that entire unpleasantness with the king, Arthur wasn’t sure he had the capacity to deal with Merlin’s snottiness as well. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, Merlin, haven’t you ever heard of –”

Merlin waved an impatient hand. “The wizard wants to see you.”

Arthur faltered. “Now?”

“Yes, your highness,” Merlin said. There was something harsh about his tone, almost insolent in its displeasure. “At your convenience, of course.”

Arthur… Arthur wasn’t sure he knew how to react to this. To this angry Merlin, or this strange summons, or his father’s near-manic hatred for magic or his own muddled mess of feelings. 

He tried not to let his discomfort show when he asked, “You spoke to him?”

Merlin didn’t respond, and he didn’t look away.

Arthur scrubbed his hands through his hair. No, he decided. He was in absolutely no state to deal with Merlin’s mood right now. He couldn’t even handle his own. “Still having girl trouble, are we?” he snapped.

"Something like that," Merlin said, sounding vaguely bitter.

Arthur hesitated. His father expected him to follow up on the villagers and their sorcerer. Merlin was in a snit. The wizard wanted him to trek into the depths of the forest to see him off-schedule, for some unknown reason.

Arthur didn’t think he wanted to know how Merlin knew what the wizard wanted. He didn’t want to think about the wizard and Merlin together, talking.

Alone together.

Talking about him.

He sighed. Pressed his fingers against his eyes. Calm, Arthur.

“Alright, fine.” He ran his hands over his face. “Can you – ?”

“No.”

When Arthur took his hands away to stare, Merlin’s face was entirely blank. “I have things to do.” One of his hands twitched. “Go see the wizard.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. He wasn’t entirely sure where he had intended to take this, but it didn’t matter anyway, because Merlin stalked away before he had the chance.

The door slammed shut once again, this time leaving Arthur alone in his chambers.

Go see the wizard it was.

The wizard was angry.

He hadn’t said as much, of course not, but Arthur still remembered the last time: The jerky movements, the tense set to his shoulders. The way he wouldn’t quite look at Arthur.

Undressed, Arthur stood in the centre of the hut, just a little too cool with nothing to protect his skin from the afternoon air. The wizard banged around in the darkness. He hadn’t told Arthur what he was looking for, or to sit, or why he was so upset. Arthur tried not to feel ignored as he waited, distracting himself by running his fingers around his arm. He’d barely remembered to unwind the strip of rope from his wrist before heading out, and there was still the faintest of red marks imprinted on the skin.

The wizard shot him a look. His eyes were light and bright. It was entirely at odds with the vengeful way he picked through his chaos and Arthur drew in a sharp breath, stomach flipping the way it always used to do whenever he was summoned to his governor’s room for a scolding as a boy.

“Was it…” he hesitated, “…something I did?”

“You have to ask?” the wizard snarled under his breath.

Arthur grew cold. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it clearly wasn’t anything good. Instinctively, he ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” The wizard turned to face him. His fingers, long and slim, clenched around a bundle of rope. “Oh, no, Arthur, don’t do that. I just…” He sighed, then, loud and deep, and untangled one hand to run it through his hair. “I had a really bad day.”

Arthur kept his lips from curving upwards through sheer force of will. He didn’t want the man to think that Arthur was pleased to hear that, because he wasn’t! What made him want to smile so badly was the thought that the wizard had had a hard day and it was Arthur he asked for. Arthur he wanted to see. No matter how close Merlin and the wizard might be, it wasn’t Merlin who was here, standing in the centre of the cluttered hut, ready to let the wizard’s ropes do the talking.

(Unless Merlin would be coming by later, but that was a thought Arthur pushed away with blind determination.)

The wizard offered him a tired smile. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he said. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this today.”

Arthur’s stomach flipped again. “Why not?”

Sighing, the wizard dropped his rope onto a table. “Because I’m upset and tired and angry and that’s mostly not your fault. I don’t want to take it out on you.”

“You could.” The words were out before Arthur could let himself think about them. “You could take it out on me. If that would help.”

The wizard’s gaze sharpened.

“I mean…” Arthur gestured with one hand. He really would have preferred to be dressed for this. “You wouldn’t… beat me, or anything, would you? It would still be the rope. And you, and me. Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” the wizard agreed. He fixed Arthur with a calculating look. “Are you sure?”

“No.” Arthur laughed a little, tense and awkward. “But there’s a reason you asked me here, isn’t there? So I want to try.”

“I can’t promise it’ll help you.”

“That’s fine,” Arthur said, shrugging one shoulder. He had a finite amount of courage to push the man, and its end was quickly coming into view. He stood, awkwardly, looking away and then glancing at the wizard and then away again, and all the while the wizard stood there, silently, considering him.

Then, abruptly, he turned away. “Lie down on your front.”

While Arthur obeyed, the wizard went to rummage around in the shadows again. In his dark corner, things rattled and clanged alarmingly, but the wizard only reached for something with a triumphant noise.

When he returned, he was holding a wooden stick. Thick, about the diameter of a small fist, and about a yard long, dark and smooth and polished.

Arthur, halfway through settling down on his stomach on the blanket, hesitated.

“Not like that,” the wizard said. He collected his ropes and seated himself at Arthur’s hip, where Arthur had to crane his neck around to look at him. He laid the piece of wood across Arthur’s back. “Last chance to back out,” he warned.

Arthur buried his scowl in the blanket. “How do you want me?” was all he said.

The wizard was silent. His hand came to rest on Arthur’s back for a moment, just a brief touch, before he reached for Arthur’s arm.

It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as some of the other ties the wizard had put him in. No multiple layers of rope cradling his hips or supporting his back. No decorative loops. No teasing. Wordlessly, the wizard tied his upper to his lower arms, trapping the piece of wood in the crooks, leaving his elbows pulled back behind his body and his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. He had Arthur bend his knees and fixed his ankles to the wood as well, and already Arthur was starting to feel the strain in his back, the tension in the backs of his legs.

“Almost done,” the wizard promised.

“Uh-huh,” Arthur muttered. It was hard to talk like this; lungs compressed, his body weighing down on itself.

The wooden bar pulled his arms back just a little more – another rope, he assumed, just before the hut’s insides lit up with that warm, familiar glow.

Arthur couldn’t see the ropes unless he turned his head, and turning his head put even worse of a burden on his already straining muscles, so he let his head fall forward and the golden light spill over him from behind. He was a little disappointed at having been cheated out of seeing the wizard’s eyes light up, but there was no time to dwell on his more childish emotions. The wood pulled upwards, forcing his chest and knees off the ground, and he barely managed a stuttered breath when the line settled, keeping him there.

Slowly, the wizard sank into a cross-legged seat in front of him. “Alright?”

Arthur almost glared at him. Almost. The ache between his shoulder blades was a painful reminder of how precarious his position was, and he managed a strained “Fine.”

The wizard grinned at him. “Look at you,” he said, one hand reaching out to cup Arthur’s heated cheek. “You’d rather die than back down from a challenge, wouldn’t you?”

That was probably true.

Arthur took a couple of deep breaths through his nose. Already the small of his back ached, already his thighs had begun to quiver. Holding his head up was an effort, but letting it drop forward put even more strain on his back. The wizard’s hand on his cheek was too warm and too sticky, and there was a part of him that wanted to tell the wizard to stop. To release him. To not put Arthur through this.

But he wouldn’t. The wizard wouldn’t push him beyond what he thought Arthur could handle, and Arthur could handle this. If he thought of it as training of a sort – something to make him better; stronger. Something that would earn him his tormentor’s approval – it wasn’t so bad. Arthur had endured worse, for worse reasons.

And the wizard approved of this. There was a sharp glint in his eyes unlike his usual soft attention, but Arthur wasn’t bothered by that. Someone who would tie him into this painful, undignified position to make themselves feel better would have to have a little bit of sharpness in them.

But mostly, the wizard looked pleased. Affectionate. A little impressed. He looked like he’d expected a lot from Arthur and Arthur had exceeded all his expectations, and there wasn’t much Arthur wouldn’t do to keep that expression aimed his way.

He’d done that. He’d put that look on the wizard’s face. He’d made the wizard happy. And, he realized belatedly, he wanted to make the wizard happy however he could.

He wanted to kiss the wizard.

Not in that moment, obviously. Not with his muscles straining and his limbs shaking.

But perhaps… perhaps afterwards. Perhaps after the wizard had taken him apart and then slotted him neatly back together, bigger and better and more orderly than before, the wizard would lay Arthur down on his bed and kiss the marks left on his skin and kiss Arthur, too, smile at him pleased and quiet-like, tower over him to pull his shirt over his head before bending down to press their lips back together.

Except that, when Arthur took a surreptitious look around, the wizard didn’t have a bed. The hut consisted of one small room, and though it was steeped in darkness and its walls hidden behind shelves and boxes and dried plants suspended from the ceiling, there was nowhere any grown man could sleep.

Frowning, Arthur turned his head to the other side. He could see cluttered worktables, and a dust-blinded window, and stacks of crates, but no sleeping nook, no cooking area. No sign that anyone actually lived here at all.

“Am I boring you?” the wizard asked. When Arthur jerked his head back to the front, the man had shifted towards him, a length of rope a familiar but somehow threatening sight in his hands.

“No?” Arthur mumbled.

“Mhm,” the wizard returned, sounding very unconvinced. Arthur flinched instinctively when the man leaned in close, jerking the ropes keeping him trapped, but the wizard only gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. “Do you think you can relax, like this?”

Did he? Not his body, perhaps, but his mind. It wasn’t too different from training, after all. Or fighting. Letting the discomfort melt away, letting his mind forget everything that would distract him from what was truly important.

Arthur pulled his head back, meeting the wizard’s eyes. The wizard’s expression softened at that. He reached out to run his hand through Arthur’s hair, uncaring of the sweat building at his temples, and Arthur let his body relax as much as it could and his face go slack despite the strain. He was halfway gone already.

Merlin slipped into his chambers so quietly Arthur barely even noticed him. He’d been staring up at the canopy of his bed, mind an odd mixture of empty and far too full, awash with the memories of the rope and the wizard and his own fantasies, all swirling around and around and around. Every once in a while, he’d recall the wizard’s fond eyes on him and smile.

At the quiet rattle of his door lock snapping shut, he turned his head. The wizard had made him promise what felt like a thousand times that he wouldn’t try to send Merlin away tonight before he’d allowed Arthur to go home, so he didn’t comment when Merlin crossed the room with a steaming mug in his hand and set it down on his bedside table. And why would he protest? He liked having Merlin around.

(Though he refused to tell either of them as much.)

Merlin smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Arthur said. He stretched his limbs, both relieved and unsettled by the unrestrained movement.

Merlin’s smile widened.

Arthur liked that. He could still recall the tense, bitter way Merlin had held himself when he’d delivered the wizard’s summons, so much like the terse, angry comportment of the wizard. And Arthur had managed to calm the wizard, to centre him and ease the scowl from his face, so maybe he had the power to do the same for Merlin, too.

Softly, he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Better now,” Merlin said, reaching for the mug, before coming to a sudden, jolting stop and turning a wide-eyed look on Arthur.

Arthur didn’t have the energy to ask. His body felt limp and lifeless as a cooked noodle. It took more effort than he would have liked to admit to turn over on his pillow.

He couldn’t hear any of the whisper-soft sounds of Merlin moving, so after a moment, he huffed and patted the mattress.

After another long moment, Merlin eased down beside him.

He did look better. Whatever bitter tension had drawn his body into taut lines before had faded away, leaving him relaxed and rosy-cheeked and with the hint of a smile just hovering in the corner of his mouth. Maybe it was simply that Arthur was so calm and at ease, still half-floating from his visit to the wizard. But Merlin was right there, lying next to him on the bed, and he was calm and quiet too and when Arthur smiled, Merlin smiled right back at him. So Arthur summoned all the energy he could muster and leaned over to touch his lips to Merlin’s.

Merlin sighed, soft and easy, one hand coming up to splay against Arthur’s hip. Arthur slid his hand into Merlin’s hair, soft and thick and smooth between his fingers, holding him steady while they kissed. He didn’t pull away until he ran out of air, and by then, a warm flush had spread across Merlin’s cheeks.

“Arthur,” he mumbled – an invitation, not protest – so Arthur did it again, opening his mouth against Merlin’s, dragging his reluctant body across the covers to kiss him properly.

This time, when he pulled away, Merlin offered him a sleepy, red-lipped smile. He reached up to tuck a bit of hair behind Arthur’s ear. “Look at you,” he said softly.

Arthur blinked back at him. Merlin really was spending too much time with the wizard, if he was even starting to mimic the man’s speech.

Perhaps realizing Arthur’s distraction, Merlin kissed him again, more forcefully this time. He shifted to lean over him and Arthur surrendered into the change, letting his head sink back into his pillow, gasping ever so lightly when Merlin slid a leg between his thighs.

“Is this why you have trouble with girls?” he asked, barely paying attention to the words as they left his mouth. He himself didn’t care much either way, but he knew some people had very strict preferences.

“Girls?” Merlin asked, between kisses. He wasn’t deterred, but there was a bit of a frown forming between his brows. “What girls?”

“You said…” Arthur mumbled, but truth be told it didn’t really matter to him, beyond an opportunity to tease Merlin, and it seemed like a waste of time – time that could be spent on more pleasurable activities – to debate the matter now.

Arthur woke up half on top of Merlin, one arm and one leg thrown over the lanky body next to his. Merlin was fairly self-contained in sleep, perhaps due to his own narrow bed, and he didn’t shift when Arthur carefully disentangled himself.

Standing barefoot in the early morning chill, he allowed himself a sigh. It was his day to visit the wizard. There should have been pleasurable excitement rising in his belly, his mind already settling in anticipation of what lay ahead. Instead, his father had opened their dinner conversation the night before by announcing that Arthur would be riding out to find out once and for all where the villagers’ helpful sorcerer was hiding. And it wasn’t that Arthur wasn’t willing to do anything his father commanded. He’d lay down his life for king and kingdom. But why did it have to be this day?

A soft knock on the door heralded breakfast. Arthur was fed and most of the way dressed by the time Merlin woke up, yawning as he sat up with his hair all askew.

Arthur smiled at the sight. He threaded one armguard’s strap into the buckle, pulling the leather so tight he could feel it even through his hauberk. Underneath, the wizard’s rope pressed into his wrist. “We have some time before we have to leave,” he said. “Will you tell the wizard?”

Merlin’s sleep-narrow eyes grew wide. “What?”

“The wizard,” Arthur repeated. “You know how to reach him without trekking all the way out to his hovel, don’t you? Will you let him know that I won’t be there tonight?”

“Oh, I… yes.” Merlin combed his hands through his hair. “Um. Arthur, there’s something that I –”

There was a sharp rap on the door, followed by someone calling, “Your highness!”

“Later,” Arthur said, already striding across the room.

But later was filled with planning and plans and preparations and the pair of them riding out at a clipped pace. On horseback, quickly making their way through bandit territory, Merlin didn’t bring it up again, and so Arthur ended up forgetting about it entirely.

They made camp near a stream, on a flat little clearing surrounded by trees. While Arthur tended to the horses, Merlin gathered up a rope and went to hang their provisions in a tree where they would be safe(r) from scavengers in the night. Arthur watched over one horse’s back as Merlin deposited the bundle by his feet. His head and his neck, long and pale, tilted to the side while he tied his knots; hands steady and sure around the rope.

Then he hesitated.

He looked from the rope up into the tree. Glanced at Arthur, saw him watching, and flushed.

“Something the matter, Merlin?” Arthur drawled.

Merlin didn’t look him in the eyes, and he didn’t resist when Arthur swaggered over and took the rope away from him. It was of good quality, thicker than he was used to but well-crafted and sturdy. The knot, he noticed, was tied impeccably.

“How can you do this,” Arthur asked, waving it in Merlin’s reddening face, “and not know how to throw a rope into a tree?”

“I never really need to,” Merlin mumbled, glancing away.

Arthur rolled his eyes. It was a miracle Merlin had ever managed to survive on his own. Arthur wound the rope into a tidy handful and then, with a couple of swings and a discerning look at the tree above him, tossed it upwards, where it looped around a sturdy branch and came plummeting back down, safe and secure and landing neatly back in Arthur’s hand.

“Show-off,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur grinned. He kept hold of the two ends of the rope with one hand, tipping himself off-balance to kiss him. Merlin made a soft noise against his lips so Arthur stayed there, one arm coming up to steady him against Merlin’s shoulder while Merlin reached for his other hand, fingers lacing together with strands of rope still caught between them.

It was easy, after that, to lay Merlin down on the soft moss on the banks of the creek and kiss him, softly, gently, to strip the shirt from his narrow body and let Merlin do the same to him.

Spread out on the cool ground, Merlin reached up to run his hands over Arthur’s skin with a familiar touch. He trailed his fingers over Arthur’s chest, up the side of his neck and down over his shoulder blades and arms. His fingertips caught gently on the rope tied around Arthur’s wrist, but he didn’t ask. He only caught Arthur’s hand and lifted it to press a dry kiss to his palm.

With Merlin underneath him, smiling at him like that, Arthur couldn’t not return the favour. He propped himself up on one elbow and ran the other hand over Merlin’s pale belly, the bumps of his ribs because how could one person be so skinny?, the sharp bones in his shoulders and the hair falling into his eyes.

Would it be like this with the wizard?

Did Merlin know if it would be like this, with the wizard?

When Merlin’s gaze grew quizzical, Arthur leaned in to kiss him again. No, he wouldn’t ask. He didn’t want to risk it. Prying into Merlin’s relationship with the wizard might invite Merlin to start prying into Arthur’s, in turn, and Arthur was absolutely not ready to have that particular conversation.

Better to stay quiet and keep kissing him instead.

Later, dressed again but with their lips still slightly swollen, Arthur cut slices off their loaf of bread while Merlin stirred the pot sitting in the fire. Arthur kept his feet close to the flames, drying the leather of his boots, and watched surreptitiously. Watched Merlin shift his weight while he crouched, let his gaze follow the outline of Merlin’s bony shoulders and the curl of his slim fingers around the spoon.

“I’m onto you, Merlin.”

Merlin jerked, pouring half the pot’s content into the fire. “W-What?” he stuttered.

Arthur shook his head. “You’re not half as incompetent as you’re pretending to be.” Even if Merlin had just done his best to prove him wrong by single-handedly destroying most of their meal. He raised his brows at Merlin. “It’s alright, you can admit it.”

Merlin laughed, shrill and startled. He picked up the spoon where it had landed in the ashes. “You’re very astute, sire,” he said without looking Arthur in the eye.

Taking pity on him, Arthur pushed himself up. He crouched down next to him and, when Merlin stared at him with wide eyes, reached over to pat his head. “No need to look so scared,” he said. “If I was going to sack you, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“You can’t sack me,” Merlin replied. He still sounded a little frazzled, but a familiar hint of mischief was creeping back into his expression. “The wizard would have your hide.”

And that, Arthur mused as he helped him salvage what was left of their dinner, was probably, unfortunately, the truth.

Later still, with Merlin curled up in the soft grass beside him, turned towards Arthur in his sleep, Arthur let himself entertain the idea. He crested his hands on his chest and looked up at the stars and let himself imagine: Not the wizard, but Merlin, knotting Arthur’s pliant hands together. Not Merlin but the wizard asleep next to him, dark hair falling into his forehead, blinking sleep-hazy eyes at him in the morning.

It was a heady thought. Arthur picked at the rope around his wrist, feeling it pull against his skin when he slipped his fingers underneath it. He’d never encountered the wizard outside the confines of his hut. Not knowingly. The wizard had said they knew each other, but the glamour kept his identity secret from Arthur, and that meant Arthur didn’t really know him at all.

But he wanted to. If he kept his gaze turned upwards, he could pretend the dark head beside him belonged to another man. That he had the wizard by his side when he rode out to save his kingdom, a fighter by day and sleeping peacefully by night, the trees around them rising into the sky like benevolent giants. 

A wizard at his side.

The thought made him smile.

Leaving aside the ridiculousness of Merlin having magic (because really, who would let themselves get knocked around and humiliated and stomped on the way Merlin did if they had that kind of power?), the idea had him grinning stupidly into the dark, and he forced himself to swallow down the reverie before it got away from him entirely.

Because it would be too easy, wouldn’t it? It would be so neat, so orderly, so lovely, for Arthur to get everything he wanted. To get to have Merlin, dear sweet Merlin curled into his side, snuffling into his shirt, and to get to have the wizard also? To have someone who could rile him up and take him down, someone who submitted to him and someone he could submit to, someone who understood every part of him and accepted him as he was, difficult and flawed and whole?

Arthur couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t let himself believe it. Couldn’t give in to the thought, no matter how tempting it was, because that road would only lead to disappointment. 

He didn’t get things just handed to him. Not the things that mattered. He always had to fight, fight tooth and nail and with everything he had, work himself to the bone, train from sunup to sundown because it wasn’t enough to be good at what he did, he had to be the best. Arthur had been holding a practice blade since he could walk, had been practicing diplomacy since he could talk, had been attending council meetings since he was old enough to sit still for an hour. As much as people assumed that he was overindulged and spoiled (and perhaps he was, a little bit, sometimes, although he would never admit it out loud), Arthur had spent his life shouldering every burden heaped onto his broadening body. Training every day. Working every night. Taking on every challenge that was too big for his people or his advisors or his knights to tackle. Everything he had, he had earned it fair and square.

But the wizard was different. They had agreed to their bargain and Arthur fully intended to honour their agreement, and the man was good to him, but Arthur had not yet earned anything more.

Merlin was good to him too, when he wasn’t being the most infuriating servant in the history of the kingdom, but Arthur had earned that. Merlin had saved him, and Arthur had saved Merlin in turn. Merlin infuriated him, and Arthur infuriated Merlin. There were moments when it felt like he and Merlin were of one mind, hewn from the same rock, cast in the same mould, and there were moments when Arthur would have happily pitched him from the nearest window. They deserved each other.

It wasn’t like that with the wizard. It was… too easy. There was nothing for Arthur to fight but his own churning mind, nothing to earn but his own relaxation. All he had to do was obey the wizard, and the wizard would be pleased. With him. For him. All Arthur did was go for a long walk once a week, and then lie down for a while, and then retrace his steps back to the citadel. That was no way to win someone’s respect, or attention, or affection. That wasn’t how Arthur’s life worked. He might have earned Merlin, but he hadn’t earned the wizard.

He hadn’t earned that sort of happiness.

“Here,” Arthur said, pointing at the map laid out on the table, at an area decently far away from the wizard’s tiny hut in the woods. “If there is a sorcerer to be found – and I’m not convinced there is – then that is where they’re hiding.”

His father looked up at him. “You’re sure?” His face was set into stern lines. “That is what your search has yielded?”

Arthur, whose ‘search’ had consisted of a solid week of lazing about on the banks of the stream with Merlin, kissing until their lips were sore and lazily waving off Merlin’s questions as to what, precisely, they were meant to be doing, nodded. “I’m sure.”

Let them have their wild goose chase. Arthur didn’t care who or what they found, as long as they stayed far away from his wizard.

Tension seeped from his body the moment the ropes hoisted him upwards. Above him, gold lit up the rafters like fireworks, but for once, Arthur didn’t care about that. All he cared about was a pair of warm, firm hands, running down the length of his body like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

The wizard grinned at him when he reached up to stroke Arthur’s hair from his temples. “I missed you.”

“It’s only been a fortnight,” Arthur protested, forcing himself to stay focused despite the rush in his ears and that soothing, familiar feeling dragging him downwards. The wizard had missed him. Wherever Arthur’s mind went when they did this, it was already halfway there.

“A fortnight,” the wizard agreed. He gave Arthur’s shoulder a gentle push, leaving him swinging across the room like a pendulum. Arthur barely had time to relax into the feeling before he was caught again, two hands closing around his shoulders, holding him still and firm and tight. The wizard’s breath ghosted over his ear. “A fortnight without someone flying for me, Arthur.”

Arthur swallowed. He could feel the rope pull across his chest. “Do you not –”

The wizard laughed. “I do not.” He let Arthur go again and he spun there, gently disoriented. The room was a blur of familiar objects, darkness lit up with brilliant strands of light. “Did you think I did this with just anyone?”

Arthur was having a hard time keeping his thoughts collected. Conditioned by the ropes and the warm golden glow of the magic around him and the wizard’s quiet attention, his mind tried to scatter of its own accord. He shook his head to try and herd his thoughts back into order, and the wizard grinned at him like he knew exactly what was happening.

“But you…” Arthur’s fingers twitched, uselessly, wrists immobilized by rough, tight knots. “You…”

“I?” the wizard echoed, smirking.

“You’ve done this with other people,” Arthur managed.

“I have.” The wizard trailed his fingertips up Arthur’s ribs. “I told you – I’ve done this with the people who taught me what to do. But other than that…” He shrugged, the faintest hint of embarrassment staining his cheeks. “This isn’t one of my usual requests, you know.”

Arthur huffed, barely a laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The wizard grinned at him, inviting him to share the joke. “I much prefer this to finding lost cows and curing boils on farmers’ behinds and talking lovesick fools out of brewing potions to ensnare their beloved.”

“Boils?” He pulled a face.

“Boils,” the wizard agreed gravely. He stroked his thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone. “So don’t apologise for offering me something so lovely.”

Arthur made a strangled noise. He hadn’t meant to. It was instinct, to deny the claim, and he regretted it instantly when the wizard’s fond expression turned disapproving.

“Lovely,” he repeated sternly. “You are noble and proud and a pleasure to look at.” Before Arthur had the chance to digest that, the wizard smiled, sliding his hand up into Arthur’s hair. “But even if it were possible to take all that away, you, Arthur, would still be lovely.”

Arthur wasn’t sure why that scared him, but it did. The words tightened in his stomach like an iron fist. “I’m not lovely,” he managed to get out.

“Are you sure?” The wizard tugged lightly on his hair. “You haven’t worked so hard to become a better person? You haven’t given yourself over to me, without reservation, no matter how much it scared you? You haven’t taken the time to get to know me, to understand my life and to comfort me, when you could have just come here and demanded your due?” He hesitated. “Because that’s not how Merlin tells it.”

Arthur sucked in a shallow breath. It was good and it wasn’t. It was too much, and while a part of him blossomed under the wizard’s words, the rest of him wanted to shrink away from all that attention. He didn’t want to hear this and he didn’t want to talk about Merlin right now and he wanted out, he wanted off, he wanted away.

The wizard stroked his head again. It took Arthur a few moments to realize he had stopped speaking. Perhaps it was because of the sharp rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, the way his muscles had tensed despite the ropes, dragging him away from that familiar calm and quiet. Arthur took a few deep breaths, concentrating on those rough fingertips running over his scalp.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” the wizard said. “But I do mean it. I think you’re lovely, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

He had to swallow a couple of times first, but Arthur managed to scoff. “Then maybe you just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The wizard grinned. “Are you backtalking, Arthur?” He let Arthur go to pick up a short bit of rope, leaving Arthur to already miss the soft pressure of his fingers in his hair. With a pointed look, he twisted the rope in his hands, fashioning it into a knot the perfect size to slip behind Arthur’s teeth, and Arthur quickly shook his head. He’d rather accept compliments he didn’t think he deserved than be gagged again.

The wizard’s grin sharpened. “That’s what I thought.”

The doors to the council chamber burst open with a bang. Arthur’s hand was on his sword before he had even properly identified the intruder. Beside him, his father had done the same, the pair of them relaxing only when they recognized Geraint.

“We’ve done it,” the man reported, beaming. “We’ve captured the sorcerer!”

Arthur just barely managed to catch himself. While his father beamed beside him, he schooled his expression into something vaguely approving even as nausea bloomed in his stomach. “You found them… where I said?”

“We did,” the knight reported happily. “There was a forest there, not far from the village, with a little hut – a hovel, really, and that’s where we found the sorcerer responsible.”

Somehow, Arthur made himself say, “Good work.” His tongue wanted to stick to the roof of his mouth. It didn’t matter if they had captured some other magic user, or if Arthur had somehow led them to the wizard after all. Whomever they had managed to find, they had found them because of Arthur.

His father clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Your good work, son,” he said, looking as delighted as he only ever did when he managed to strike a blow against magic. “It was your inquiries that made this arrest possible.”

Arthur nodded, barely listening. The words didn’t make him feel that same eager, hopeful, hungry-mongrel sort of adoration, yearning for more and willing to do anything to get it, that the wizard’s praise did. He didn’t care that his father thought he had done well. He didn’t want to move heaven and earth to hear more of the same.

The only coherent thought he could manage was, Please, don’t let it be the wizard.

It wasn’t the wizard. Instead, it was an old woman, stooped and shaky, hanging off the guards who were not so much restraining her as holding her upright. The sickly relief Arthur had felt when the doors had opened and it hadn’t been the wizard being dragged inside in chains, turned into sickly despair when he saw the skinny, wrinkled wrists the manacles were hanging off of.

A threadbare scarf wrapped around her shoulders did nothing to protect her from the castle’s chill.

Arthur stood stock-still at his father’s side. She was a sorcerer, he reminded himself. She had used magic to summon the creature.

A creature that had harmed nothing and no one, and had died because Arthur would have been sent out to slay it regardless.

A sorcerer so terrified she burst into tears before a single word was spoken.

Arthur was glad Merlin wasn’t here to see this. At least one of them would be able to live without these memories. At least only Arthur had to bear the burden of being the reason she’d been caught.

The king rose from his throne. He towered over the woman; perhaps on purpose.

“So this is the sorcerer threatening our lands and our people?”

Arthur’s hand closed around the make-shift bracelet tied around his wrist. He didn’t dare loop his fingers underneath, not when he needed to be able to have his hands free at a moment’s notice, but feeling the pressure of the rope against his skin helped.

The woman shook her head frantically. Her manacles rattled against her age-spotted arms. “I’ve harmed no one. It was harmless, I swear!”

The king laughed, harsh and hard. “And you expect us to believe that?”

“I wouldn’t,” she pleaded. Her voice creaked. “Please, your majesty, I would never! My family lives in that village, my daughter and her children. I only wanted to protect them. I would never risk their lives.”

“And yet you’ve no hesitations ruining your own,” Arthur’s father said coldly. “The use of sorcery and magic are banned on penalty of death.” He stared down at her, at that tiny, frail, trembling old woman. “There is but one sentence I can pass.”

The door slammed open.

Arthur wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting behind his desk, slumped forward with his head in his hands, but the shadows had lengthened across the floor and the room had grown colder and there was an old woman in the dungeons underneath the castle, scared and bewildered and shivering with only her thin scarf to keep her warm.

No amount of calm, Arthur could fix this.

Merlin’s familiar footsteps stomped across the room. Arthur thought he could feel him coming closer, anger rolling off him like some sort of tangible presence.

“You have to do something!” he snapped, coming to a sharp stop in front of Arthur’s desk.

Arthur sighed into his hands. Merlin always seemed so ready to believe that Arthur could fix anything, that he could defeat every monster and right all wrongs and change the world while he was at it. But the unpleasant truth was that Arthur was tangled up in a web of honour and duty and obligations far too complex for Merlin to ever hope to understand.

Muffled, he asked, “What would you have me do?”

“Anything,” Merlin hissed. “Anything but let an innocent die.”

Arthur sighed again. He hated this – hated having to argue for something he didn’t believe to be just. But no matter how he himself felt on such matters, Camelot came first. Camelot always had to come first. “It’s the law, Merlin.”

Merlin scoffed.

Arthur looked up in time to watch Merlin’s expression shift from disbelief to disappointment. He stood abruptly, unwilling to watch Merlin despair of him right before his eyes. Because he couldn’t bear the consequences of his own actions.

Even if he didn’t go anywhere, only pacing a few feet away from his desk, it felt like running away. He didn’t turn back around, but he could feel Merlin’s gaze bore into him regardless, furious and scalding.

“You promised me you would not condemn your people for harmless magic,” Merlin spit, so angry, so disappointed. “You promised me.”

Arthur realized the implications of what he had said a moment before Merlin did – whipped his head around to see Merlin’s eyes grow wide; saw his lips part, red and trembling. Merlin’s hands stuttered at his sides – big hands, fingers long and slim. His feet twitched, his weight shifted.

And then he was gone, bolting from Arthur’s chambers with a speed Arthur hadn’t thought he’d be capable of. The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud.

Arthur stared after him, too stunned to follow. Apparently there were a lot of things he hadn’t realized Merlin was capable of.

The hut’s door offered no resistance to Arthur’s shove, banging into the shelving behind it with an overloud thud that rattled the little jars and pots lined up in the gloom.

Somehow, Arthur hadn’t expected the wizard to just let him in, and he eyed the dark doorway suspiciously. The long, lonely, quiet hike through the woods hadn’t done much to ease his agitation. Perhaps it had even made it worse, providing no distractions from the wild merry-go-round of feelings forcing its way into Arthur’s mind. He felt confused, and betrayed, and foolish, and every whispered calm, Arthur floating through his thoughts had just made him angrier and angrier.

Arthur took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and stepped inside.

Customary darkness enfolded him. The candles around the room flickered in the rush of air that swept inside with him, but Arthur didn’t need their light to pick his way through the by now long-familiar chaos.

Across the room, half-hidden in shadow, the wizard sat on his worktable like always, his cloak wrapped around him and his face buried in his hands.

There was no blanket spread out on the ground this time. No ropes waiting for him. Still, Arthur stopped where he usually did, in that small open space where the triskelion loop hung, near-invisible, over his head.

The wizard lifted his head from his hands. He didn’t look surprised to see him.

Arthur stared at him. He could see all the ways the man looked like Merlin: the dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, the broad shoulders and slim limbs. The wizard looked just like Merlin, but he wasn’t Merlin, he was just a man with dark hair and bright eyes and the same unhappy pull to his mouth.

He curled his hands into fists. “Drop the glamour.”

“Arthur –”

“Drop it.”

Nothing changed. There was no shift to the wizard’s face, no magic being wrought but for the familiar golden flash in his eyes. And yet, Arthur found himself, expectedly but still surprisingly, face to face with Merlin.

Even knowing it would happen, knowing whom it would reveal, Arthur reeled back. Because it was Merlin, sitting there wearing the wizard’s cloak, in the wizard’s hut, surrounded by the wizard’s disorderly stacks of magical paraphernalia with the wizard’s ropes by his elbow.

A hundred thoughts went through his head. A hundred questions burned on his tongue, but he found himself staying silent. What could he possibly say? What could Merlin say, to make all of this alright?

Arthur undid the clasp of his cloak.

It slipped off his shoulders and pooled at his feet. There was no blanket on the ground, nothing to soften what was to come.

He looked up instinctively, seeking the wizard’s eyes. Instead, it was Merlin staring back at him, pale-faced and hunted-looking.

Arthur’s jaw grew tight. He kicked the cloak aside, then his boots, yanked his coat and tunic and undershirt off one by one.

Merlin watched him with wide eyes. “Arthur, I’m not sure –”

“This is to help me be calm, isn’t it.” Arthur threw his shirt onto the bedraggled pile of discarded clothing with more force than it deserved. “Trust me, I’ve never quite needed to be calm as much as I do right now.”

Merlin looked away. Arthur shoved his breeches down and stood, naked and expectant, and after a quiet moment, Merlin pushed himself off the table and picked up his ropes.

It wasn’t like those other visits, when the wizard took his sweet time laying every knot just right, the journey as important as the destination. Tonight, Merlin moved quickly, tying knots with efficiency and speed, looping ropes around Arthur’s wrists and hips and thighs; trying his best to catch Arthur’s gaze while Arthur did his best to avoid it.

It wasn’t easy, being that close and that angry. Because Merlin’s touch was so familiar, so painfully known. The feeling of his callused fingers running over Arthur’s skin was enough to tempt him, to make him want to forgive and forget and sink into oblivion. But he couldn’t. He held his breath instead, until the lack of air and Merlin’s fingers nudging his ribs forced him to give in.

Merlin looked upwards. “Ready?” he asked, quiet and resigned, like he wasn’t expecting an answer.

Arthur didn’t give one.

It jabbed at him like a blade, seeing that well-known glow in his – Merlin’s, Merlin’s, Merlin’s – eyes, the familiar jolt when the ropes pulled him into the air. Arthur refused to look anywhere but up. Watching the lines light up with that golden shine that was still breath-taking, no matter how upset he was, no matter how much it hurt.

Determined, Arthur let his body relax into to the ropes, allowing the coarse strands to take his weight, to ease the tension holding him upright.

It did nothing to calm his mind. There was no peace to be found here. There was only Merlin, his servant and confidante and friend, who was the wizard of the woods.

He looked up at the golden ropes in the darkness above him. “Explain.”

Merlin’s sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet. Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, stretching on for so long Arthur thought he was going to have to make it an order.

Then, finally, Merlin started to speak.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

Merlin had magic.

Merlin had always been able to do the things he was able to do, he’d come to Camelot knowing how much danger he was putting himself in. Not really, perhaps, but intellectually, at least. He’d come to Camelot to learn, and because Ealdor had become too small for a boy of his powers.

(Yes, he’d used magic in that brawl they’d had in the streets of the town.

“I knew it!” Arthur burst out, forgetting to be quiet. “You arse! I knew there was no way you could have beaten me.”

That startled a laugh out of Merlin. “I did beat you,” he said, with a smile so bright Arthur wasn’t quite comfortable looking at it. “You used your weapons, and I used mine.”

“Trickery,” Arthur said, turning his head away, and the quiet turned uncomfortable between them.)

Merlin had spent years always looking over his shoulder, keeping his secret safe even though he so dearly wanted to share it. He’d debated telling Arthur, over and over, but then Arthur had found him first.

“You were so desperate, and lost, and I…” Merlin’s hand closed around the rope holding Arthur aloft. “I thought I might be able to help.”

“So that was the truth, was it?”

Merlin made a wounded noise. “I never lied to you, Arthur.”

Arthur laughed at that; he couldn’t help it.

“As the wizard, I mean,” Merlin amended. Arthur could see his face from the corner of his eye, darkly solemn; swallowing, he returned his attention to the ceiling.

“I may have kept certain things from you, but I’m sure you can understand why.”

Arthur’s dark amusement faded into bitterness. “You lied to me,” he insisted. “Merlin. You lied to me so many times.”

“And I know you’re angry. I understand.”

There was a warm, solid pressure against his side. When Arthur craned his neck, he could see it was Merlin’s forehead, pressed against the skin there. All Arthur could see of him was the dark crown of his head, lit up by the ropes’ gentle glow.

“But when you’re a little calmer, I hope you can understand me, too.”

Anger flared in Arthur’s belly once more. How dare Merlin assume that he deserved forgiveness. How dare he imply that Arthur’s fury wasn’t justified.

And yet, angry as he was – he understood.

If Merlin had magic – and he had magic, he clearly had magic, he obviously had magic – then he was putting himself in harm’s way every day he stayed in Camelot. Hell, nowhere in the five kingdoms was safe for him to be. Arthur had no idea how many sorcerers his father had had executed since Merlin’s arrival, but no one could fault Merlin for keeping his magic a secret. Of course he had. It would have been… reckless, at best, to do otherwise.

So while he was angry at the lies, and hurt by the lack of trust, and feeling stupid at having never figured it out himself – he understood.

Sighing, he tipped his head back, letting his eyes slide shut.

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound their hushed breathing. Then the rustling of fabric as Merlin moved closer. A hand touched his back from below; then, when Arthur gave no complaint, pushed forward to curl around his far hip.

Merlin used this grip to pull Arthur against his chest, rope shifting above him, cradling him like one might a bride. Arthur knew full well he was too heavy for Merlin to carry, magic or not, but with the rope holding most of his weight, Merlin could hold him close without any issue.

“You’re so lovely,” Merlin said.

Arthur bit down on the instinctual denial. No matter if he agreed or not, Merlin clearly seemed to think so. Arthur knew that Merlin liked him, and if Merlin was the wizard…

Merlin was the wizard.

The realisation ran through Arthur’s body like a lightning bolt. It was Merlin Arthur had been sneaking off to see these past few months. Merlin who had tied his body down, leaving his mind with no option but to quiet down and surrender. Merlin was the one who had held him close, and stroked his hair when he struggled, and touched him so reverently as if Arthur was the most precious thing in the world.

Arthur drew in a sharp breath.

It couldn’t be that easy.

Pressed against Merlin’s chest, he could feel Merlin startle in response to his reaction. But he didn’t care, thoughts racing, events falling into order in his mind. Things the wizard had said. Things Merlin had said. Their apparent closeness, their infallible communication. The wizard’s defensiveness of Merlin’s work, Merlin’s sad sympathy for the wizard’s predicament. And both of them had been utterly kind to Arthur, no matter what silly or offensive or obtuse thing Arthur had said in his ignorance.

But Merlin had known all along. From that very first day, Merlin as the wizard had known who Arthur was. And still, he’d offered to help him. He’d suggested they try the ropes. He had soothed Arthur into calmness as the wizard and then soothed him back into the real world as Merlin. Merlin had known, and he’d praised Arthur as the wizard and kissed him as himself and he had always been there, right at Arthur’s fingertips.

Maybe Arthur just had to let it be easy.

“If I’m being honest…”

He said it quietly, but Merlin jolted like Arthur had screamed it in his ear. His arms tightened around Arthur, clutching him close, like the thought of letting him go was too much to bear. Arthur’s breathlessness wasn’t brought on by the tightness of Merlin’s embrace.

He took a deep breath. “If I’m being honest, I can’t even say I’m surprised.”

A smile lit up Merlin’s face, disbelieving but still bright. “You were all ready to take my head off!”

“You lied to me!”

“And I’m truly sorry for that.” And Merlin did look contrite, head ducked, a quick glance aimed at Arthur’s face through his lashes. “I’ll be honest now,” he said solemnly. “I swear it. Ask me anything.”

Arthur let his head sink back, looking up at the rope rising towards the ceiling in a golden line. Anything. He could feel the questions unfurling in his mind, one after the other, every possible answer Merlin could give him unfolding into more questions he had to ask. He had to know it all. He had to do so much.

And so he asked the first question he could grasp that didn’t, ultimately, matter. “Whose hut is this?”

Merlin’s laugh came out choked. “That’s what you want to know?”

“It can’t be yours,” Arthur said. “Your family’s not from Camelot, so you didn’t inherit it, and I know your wages wouldn’t allow you to afford such a thing.”

“Maybe you should pay me more, then,” Merlin said with the ghost of a smile. “But no. It belonged to an old hedge witch. I’d help her with repairs, upkeep, that sort of thing, and in return she let me have it when she finally decided to go live with her children.” He motioned around the room. “That’s how the whole ‘wizard of the woods’ thing got started.”

That made sense, in a way. Trust Merlin to accidentally stumble into a whole secret identity. “And the…” Arthur gestured at the detritus spread over every surface. Bound as he was, the movement pulled on the ropes, and on Merlin’s hold on him. “Things?”

“Hers,” Merlin affirmed. “Most of them, at least.” He gave Arthur’s body, hands folded over his hip and ribcage, a settling squeeze. “And I don’t have any idea what most of them are or do. One time I dropped one of the pots and had purple toes for a week.”

Arthur was actually a little disappointed he didn’t get to see that. “Of course you did,” he muttered.

Merlin smiled weakly. Now that Arthur let himself look at him, he seemed tired. Exhausted. Scared. He’d run the gamut of emotions today, too, after all. Perhaps even worse than Arthur had.

Arthur sighed. “I’m alright now,” he said. “You can let me down.”

“Are you sure?”

Brows raising, Arthur fixed Merlin with a look. Until now, it had always been the wizard – Merlin – deciding how long to keep going. When it was enough. But a lot of things were different now. “I’m sure.”

Still, Merlin hesitated. “You don’t want to…”

Arthur shook his head, pretending not to see Merlin’s face fall. Even if he wasn’t angry anymore, even if he understood, he didn’t think he had it in him to reach that tranquil place right now. His mind was whirring, replete with all the things that had to be done now – questions he needed answered, stories they had to set straight, he had to find out who else knew because there was no way Merlin was cunning enough to pull off such an elaborate deception by himself. There was an endless list of things that had to be taken care of, but for once, Arthur wasn’t overwhelmed by it. Despite all the tasks clamouring for his attention, despite everything, he was calm. 

And when he was back on his feet, ropes puddled around him and still glowing faintly in the ever-steady darkness of the hut, he reached out to cup Merlin’s face and kiss him.

Merlin relaxed into him with a quiet sigh. His hand settled against the side of Arthur’s neck – large and long-fingered, the wizard’s hand, except it was attached to Merlin and Arthur could have everything he had ever truly wanted, if only he let himself.

He smiled.

Merlin sealed the hut with a hand on the weather-worn door, golden symbols lighting up across the wood. He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur with wide eyes, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Arthur eyed him back, keeping his face impassive while feeling impossibly fond.

“We need to figure out how to rescue that old woman,” he said.

Merlin glanced at him again. His smile was slow to follow, first surprised, then delighted. Then it spread into a grin. “Oh, I have a plan.”

Arthur raised his brows. “And what is your plan?”

Merlin wriggled his fingers. “Magic.”

“That’s not a plan, Merlin, that’s… Ugh.” Arthur covered his face with his hand. His sleeve slipped with the movement, revealing a fraction of the rope knotted around his wrist.

Merlin reached out to curl his fingers over it. “I can make you a real bracelet,” he offered. “From the rope. If you’d like.”

Silently, Arthur nodded.

Merlin’s thumb brushed over the back of his hand. “You’ll help me free her?” he asked quietly, head bowing, face hidden in shadow.

“It’s not right,” Arthur replied. “She did what she could to help her people. That’s what should decide her fate, not how she chose to do it.” He laced his fingers into Merlin’s. “And also I made someone a promise.”

In the encroaching darkness, Merlin’s smile lit up his whole face. His brightest smile, so wide it made him look a little deranged; so pleased Arthur couldn’t help but smile back.

Merlin lifted their entwined hands to press a kiss to Arthur’s knuckles. “You’re lovely, Arthur.”

A hot flush rose into Arthur’s cheeks. He scowled. “Stop saying that.”

Merlin squeezed his hand. “Never.”

Arthur looked away, hiding his half-embarrassed, half-pleased expression in the darkness of the woods.

With a weary sigh, Merlin tugged him towards the path. They walked in silence for a while, navigating the familiar trek with ease in the dusky twilight, before Merlin squeezed his hand again.

“You’re going to have to lie to your father.”

Arthur shrugged. “I lie to my father all the time.” When Merlin raised sceptical brows at him, Arthur raised his right back. “Do you really think he’s never wondered where I’ve been disappearing to all this time?”

Merlin’s eyes near bugged out of his head. “Did you tell him?”

“No!” Arthur stared back at him, horrified. “What kind of idiot do you think I am!?”

Merlin’s shrug was an uncomfortable wiggle. “None of this is going how I expected it to go,” he admitted.

Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgement. Merlin must have been so scared, hiding a secret of that magnitude – hiding his magic. And perhaps, under different circumstances, Arthur would not have taken it this well. But he trusted the wizard, and he trusted Merlin, and he and his sorcerer were too deeply entangled now for that trust to be so easily forsaken. They kept each other’s secrets. They helped each other grow.

“Um.” Merlin squeezed his hand once more, looking away. “In the future, do you still want to…”

Arthur didn’t even hesitate. “I want to.”

“Oh.” Merlin smiled, pleased. He squeezed Arthur’s hand again. “Good.”

Arthur squeezed back. “But maybe we don’t have to come all the way out here into the woods every time.”

“You mean…” Merlin stuttered, gesturing towards the citadel somewhere beyond the trees. When Arthur nodded, he actually blushed.

Arthur smiled to himself. They would have to be careful, of course, doing this sort of thing in his very own rooms (because he was not going to let himself be tied in Gaius’ chambers, no way, absolutely not), but he had faith that Merlin would find a way to keep their secret safe.

He still wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this. Somehow, he was being offered everything he wanted on a silver platter, and the thought made his insides flutter with something that was both elation and fear.

But that was alright. Because he had overcome his fears, over and over and over again. Because he had the wizard Merlin at his side, ready to help him however he could, ready to catch him when Arthur let himself fall. Ready to aid him in saving a desperate old woman from a fate she didn’t deserve. And maybe later, in Arthur’s bed under the cover of darkness, Merlin would unwind still-golden ropes from Arthur’s skin and kiss every mark they had left behind, and then lean over him to kiss Arthur’s lips, and press the length of his body against Arthur’s and leave no space for the dark thoughts to intrude.

For now, he was content to walk in silence. The woods were quiet all around them, the sky darkening steadily above them. Back in his chambers, a near-insurmountable mountain of work awaited him. A night of law-breaking and deceiving his father – his king – lay ahead.

But that was the future. For now, nothing mattered but the wizard of the woods holding his hand, forearms pressing together, holding him as warm and safe and steady as the ropes ever had.