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When Leon opens Arthur’s chambers’ door, he expects a puddle of prince. He brought a mop.
The others doubted him.
They always doubt him.
“My lord,” he says.
“Just kill me now, Leon,” Arthur groans into the wood of his desk.
“As you wish.”
He closes the door behind him and lays the mop across it.
“Merlin trouble?” Leon asks.
“Father trouble,” Arthur grumbles.
“Father-and-Merlin trouble?”
“Did you know that Father and Gaius have been conspiring all this time?”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Yes, they have.”
“Conspiring to do what, my lord?”
“To marry off my hopeless manservant, that’s what, Leon. Christ almighty, do keep up.”
See? This is why he brought the mop.
“What an auspicious occasion,” Leon says.
“He doesn’t even like women,” Arthur snaps.
“He will make a fine wife, then, my lord,” Leon says.
Arthur levels him with a look that could scorch stone.
“Your wife,” Leon course-corrects.
“I don’t WANT a wife.”
Right, of course.
“And even if I did, I’d rather marry the most putrid, ridiculous, hateful woman in all the five kingdoms than to have it be Merlin.”
“Who is indeed a man, sire,” Leon readily agrees.
“Exactly,” Arthur says. “It can’t be done.”
“So true,” Leon says.
Arthur flattens himself out again against his desk and stews, furiously staring at the wall for a short time.
Leon waits.
“Leon.”
There it is.
“Merlin can’t make children, can he?”
“Are you seeking assurance or honesty, my lord?”
“Assurance.”
“In that case, I doubt he would know a woman’s hem from her collar.”
“…and honestly?”
“I fear Merlin has something of a reputation among the scullery maids, sire,” Leon says.
“What sort of reputation?”
“It’s vulgar.”
“It can’t be.”
“Then it is not.”
“Leon.”
“Your manservant is known to be something of a woman-pleaser, my lord.”
“A pleaser.”
“Yes.”
“Among the maids.”
“And Gwaine.”
“And Gwaine?”
“Shall we hop back on over to assurance, sire?”
“How could he?” Arthur moans miserably into the desk.
If he was not sure to be speared by a dagger, Leon would go over to pat his shoulder.
“Are you battling again with the green-eyed monster, sire?” he asks instead.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“So this is a new method of celebration?”
“Yes.”
“…are you su—”
“Yes, Leon. I’m sure.”
Leon clears his throat and checks the peeling edges of his nailbeds. They’re still peeling. And still fingernails.
“Does he hate me?” Arthur moans.
There they are.
“Who, sire?”
“Merlin.”
“Assurance or honesty?”
“Assurance first.”
“He would follow you to hell and back.”
“Now honesty.”
“It isn’t that he dislikes you, my lord. I think he does not quite understand your methods of…celebration.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your ways of expressing affection are different from those with which most people are familiar.”
Arthur goes still to chew on that for a short moment. Leon roots for him mentally. The mop handle, he notes, is listing.
He fixes it.
“Leon.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I was nice to Guinevere, wasn’t I?”
“Admirably so.”
“She was nice to me back, wasn’t she?”
“She did indeed stop calling you a rude brute among the laundresses, sire.”
Arthur extracts a hand from his chest to drape over the length of the desk. It’s a courageous stride forward towards dignity and self-reflection.
“Does Merlin call me that behind my back?” he asks.
“I do not believe he mentions you much at all, sire,” Leon says. “If the rumors are to be believed, his mouth is often engaged with other pursuits.”
“Scullery maids.”
“That was the implication, yes.”
“Do you think he will move away?”
“I beg your pardon, sire?”
“When he gets married. Do you think he’ll move away?”
“Assurance or honesty?”
“Assurance.”
“Not in a million years.”
“So he will,” Arthur deadpans.
“Most likely, sire,” Leon admits. “But I am sure your Father will procure for you a perfectly acceptable replacement.”
Arthur continues to lay quietly across the desk, staring at the bend in his elbow. His bracelets shine weakly in the room’s minimal light. The jug at the table’s edge, Leon notes, has been filled with flowers.
They’re beautiful things, soft pink and white and surrounded with tall blue stems of hyssop.
“It is unlike the king to take interest in a servant’s personal affairs,” Leon notes to keep the conversation going.
“It’s because it’s Gaius,” Arthur says. “And were Gaius a woman, Father would have married him out of terror before I was even a page.”
“Your insistence on this point makes the knights uncomfortable, my lord.”
“It is not my problem that they cannot accept the cold truth.”
“I think you mean to say that his highness and Gaius do like to gossip together.”
“I mean their affair is disgusting and violates at least seven of God’s natural laws.”
“Arthur.”
“What?”
“This is what I am talking about.”
“Don’t make this about me.”
“Arthur.”
“What?”
Leon sighs.
“My lord, you can grieve the future loss of your favored servant without spreading lies about your Father and Gaius,” he says.
“I’m not grieving.”
That’s what he took from that?
“I think it is a wonderful and auspicious thing for Merlin to marry,” Leon says. “I’m sure he cannot wait to be wed.”
Arthur grimaces and sinks even deeper somehow into the desk.
“Leon,” he says.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Ask him.”
“Ask Merlin?”
“Yes.”
“Ask him what?”
“Ask him if he cannot wait to be wed.”
Leon raises an eyebrow.
“And if he says yes, how would you like me to report?” he asks.
“Assurance first.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Merlin cannot be found immediately. Leon is not surprised. He goes to Gwaine who points him in the direction of the armory where sure enough, Merlin is leaning against the room’s table antagonizing its overseer.
Osian has had just about enough of him.
Leon spares them both by dragging Merlin out of the room by the back of his jacket. Merlin tears himself away in the corridor and furiously smooths down all the places Leon touched like a cat does when stroked by its most detested owner.
“What do you want?” Merlin asks.
“What do you want, sire,” Leon reminds him.
“What do you want, sire?”
Much better.
“I hear you are soon to be wed,” Leon says.
“Yes, and?” Merlin says.
Leon must admit, he becomes a little flustered. He was not expecting the admission to arrive so quickly.
“His highness would like to know if you are pleased,” he says.
“What, to be married?”
“Yes.”
“He could have asked.”
“He is asking.”
“I mean, he could have asked me.”
“Yes, as I said. He is asking.”
Merlin bares his teeth with irritation.
“With his own mouth. To me,” he says. “I’m not telling you lot a damn thing. I know how you knights put your spin on everything anyone tells you.”
“Suit yourself. I will tell him you are pleased,” Leon says. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“I am pleased,” Merlin spits at Leon’s back as he feigns turning around.
“Oh?”
“Very much so.”
“How excellent.”
“Yeah.”
“I will deliver the message.”
“But tell him I’m miserable,” Merlin says.
“But you just said you’re pleased,” Leon points out.
“He’s easier to deal with when he thinks I’m pitiful,” Merlin says. “So tell him I’ve never been more betrayed in my life.”
“Noted. Might I ask, for my personal edification, what has caused all this to happen now, Merlin?”
“Nothing.”
“A marriage is hardly nothing.”
“Oh, you mean that. Well, my mum met this man who she liked well enough. Some mason. Everyone calls his daughter a witch on account of her having six fingers, so Mum figured that was about the same level of shame as me being a sorcerer’s nephew. Seemed like a good enough fit.”
Leon is…not speechless no, rather in awe of this family’s brutal pragmatism.
“Is she beautiful?” he asks.
“No idea,” Merlin says.
“You two haven’t met?”
“I found out about this, this morning.”
“And you are celebrating by offering our esteemed armorer a ‘hilt warming?’”
“He’s obsessed with me,” Merlin says.
“You purposefully rearrange his storeroom every time you go inside those chambers.”
“Obsessed, Leon.”
“Perhaps consider—and I know this is a challenge for someone like you—not touching other people’s personal affects.”
“Can’t.”
Right, well. No one can say Leon didn’t try.
“I will let Arthur know that you are devastated as of this morning, then,” he says.
“Tell him I offered to polish your hilt, too,” Merlin says.
“Thank you as always for your cooperation, Merlin.”
“You’re welcome. I’m here every day.”
Arthur receives all Leon’s information laying on his back on his mattress this time, staring directly up at the ceiling. Leon is heartened to see that he has moved away from the desk.
He left the mop in the room just in case, but it looks like he might not even need it.
“He never offers to polish my hilt,” Arthur says.
“That is because he is already expected to do so, my lord,” Leon points out.
“What’s wrong with it? Why does he like yours better?”
“He is only being lewd, sire.”
“I know, but he’s never lewd to me.”
“You are his employer.”
“And? Should I write in his duties that he must be lewd to me?”
Leon is not touching that with two mops tied together.
“As the arrangements for his future marriage were made only this morning, I sense that there may be some changes soon in their development,” Leon says.
“Hunith picked her, did she?”
“Hunith, my lord?”
“Merlin’s mother. Hunith.”
“You…know her name, sire?”
“Leon.”
“Yes.”
“Let us not pretend that we both don’t know why I know this woman’s name.”
Ah. So they are entering full-and-total-honesty territory. Leon understands now. He checks the door’s bolt.
“Arthur, someone has to marry Merlin,” he says.
“And it should be meeeee,” Arthur whines.
“Your father would die on the spot.”
“UGH.”
“I told you to match-make Merlin with Morgana while you had the chance.”
“You don’t understand—they hate each other so much, Leon.”
“People who hate each other get married every day,” Leon says.
“Do you think he really doesn’t know how I feel for him?”
“With respect,” Leon says. “If you wanted him to, perhaps you might refrain from throwing things at him.”
There is a pause.
“He likes when I throw things at him,” Arthur says.
“Arthur.”
“He likes when I’m bratty, Leon. I know he does. He gets off on it.”
“Too much information.”
“What is her name? Did you get her name?”
“No name,” Leon says. “If you want him to decline, you’re going to have to tell him how you feel.”
Arthur rolls miserably onto his side to face the wall.
“I can’t,” he says.
Exhausting. This man is exhausting. Leon’s eleven-year-old brother isn’t this obnoxious.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says.
“UGH.”
Yes, finally something they can agree on.
“Fine, I’ll talk to him.”
“Hm,” Leon says.
“No, I will,” Arthur insists.
“Of course, you will.”
“Stop that tone. I will. I’m going to do it right now.”
“Lead the way, then.”
“No, not while you’re here.”
“Fine. I’ll leave.”
“No, you can’t leave. I need moral support.”
“Arthur.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I see that.”
“I’m going to tell Morgana.”
“I guarantee you that Morgana already knows,” Leon says.
Arthur rounds on him with an amazed expression.
“Do you really think?” he asks.
Morgana opens her chambers door and shuts it immediately. She tries again, but Arthur’s boot prevents it from closing no matter how hard she swings it. Eventually, in disgust, she abandons the door which Arthur takes as permission to enter. He drags Leon in after him.
Morgana takes one look at the two of them and says, “Fine, who’s dying?”
“I am,” Arthur says immediately. “Sister, I am in love.”
Morgana takes a calculated, measured step back.
“Not with you,” Leon adds on.
“No, obviously not with you,” Arthur says.
“Oh, you mean love-love,” Morgana says.
“Yes.”
“How…sad? Happy? Are we happy?”
“Sad.”
“He is taken with his manservant again,” Leon says.
“Not again,” Arthur snaps.
“My apologies. He is taken with his manservant as per usual.”
“Sorry—with Merlin?” Morgana says.
“Yes.”
“Oh. That’s.”
“I know,” Arthur says. “I need you to marry him.”
Morgana opens her mouth and holds up a finger, but in the face of outrage and total disaster, admirably chooses curiosity.
“Praytell: why?” she asks.
“Because if he moves out of Camelot, I’m going to go bald,” Arthur says.
“Does he even like you?”
“Unclear,” Leon says.
“Arthur, he doesn’t even like you.”
“Leon just said it’s unclear.”
“That’s a no.”
“It’s not a no.”
“It’s basically a no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“How long has this been going on?” Morgana asks Leon.
“The last six or so months,” Leon reports.
“Months? Months? Arthur, you don’t actually love him. You are feeling the vitality of your youth, that’s all. Go find some discreet woman to fix it for you.”
“I can’t, my manservants has had every one of them in this goddamn castle, and even if that mattered—which it doesn’t—I can’t be satisfied until I have his stupid, cheeky little rat-bastard face under my hands.”
“So that sounds…trying.”
“Tell me about it.”
Morgana covers her snort with a pale hand.
“He’s jealous,” Leon says.
“You’re jealous?” she asks.
“I’ve never been jealous in my life,” Arthur huffs. “I am only trying to maintain the proper order of this kingdom.”
“Merlin is to marry,” Leon says.
“Is he? Who?”
“Some mason’s daughter,” Arthur says.
“Said to be a witch,” Leon adds on.
“My word,” Morgana says, “The devil works hard, but Gaius works harder.”
“Merlin’s mother located her,” Leon says.
“Nevermind. The devil works hard, but Merlin’s mother works harder,” Morgana corrects. “Is she actually a witch?”
Arthur takes her by the shoulders.
“He can’t stay if he’s married to a witch,” he says.
“Yes, dear. That does mean he’d have to move over the border to Essetir,” she says. “It’s not all a lost cause, though. He could mind the children while she works in Cenred’s sorcerer army.”
Arthur stares.
“Morgana,” he says, “I’ve never asked anything of you.”
“I’d rather choke, thanks.”
“Morgana, please.”
“If you’re so heartbroken, why not appeal to Uther directly?”
“Because then he’ll know he’s marrying a witch,” Arthur says spitefully.
“I’m fairly sure he already knows,” Morgana says.
Leon is also sure the King already knows, but Arthur has his occasional need and sometimes that need includes sneaking around behind his father’s back.
“If he knows, then he’s doing this to hurt me specifically,” Arthur says.
“I doubt that. It’s more likely he’s excited about matchmaking. Uther loves matchmaking.”
Alas. It is one of his highness’s more delicate hobbies.
“This is not about matchmaking,” Arthur insists.
“Arthur. You can’t very well marry a man,” Morgana says. “So unless you have something you’ve been meaning to tell me, none of this matters anyways. Let Merlin go off to make Merlinlings with this witch. He seems like he might be good with children. Leon, is he good with children?”
“He has not murdered any that I know of.”
“See? Father material right there.”
“I hate you and I am leaving,” Arthur says. “Know that I will not intervene in your miserable nuptials when they occur.”
“Understood. Bye-bye. Nice to see you, Leon.”
“My lady.”
“LEON, COME HERE.”
Leon is abused, berated, accused of treason, and summarily banned from Arthur’s chambers until evening, which is fine. He goes down to train on the grounds and bumps into Gaius coming up from the fields where someone, apparently, has twisted an ankle.
“Gaius, forgive me, I heard a piece of gossip of which I thought you might want to be aware,” Leon says.
Gaius stops to give him a long, flat look.
“If you are referring to his highness’s continued interference within our family’s affairs, then I am more than happy to clear those airs,” he says.
Aha.
“I heard Merlin is to be married,” Leon says.
“Merlin was to be married,” Gaius says. “But thank all that is holy, it turns out the girl’s father is more interested in my sister than his daughter is my nephew.”
“So it is now your sister who is to be married?”
“I doubt she is in any true danger.”
“Danger, sire?”
“Pity the man when the banshee reveals itself,” Gaius says. “Good day, Leon.”
Leon knocks on Arthur’s door when his time of banishment is up. Arthur tells him to get himself fucked if he’s not going to be helpful.
Leon promises that he will be helpful.
He is allowed inside.
“It was Merlin’s mother who received a proposal in the end,” he says.
“Oh, thank god,” Arthur moans, collapsing onto his bed.
“So it seems your present issue is now a matter of potential father-in-laws,” Leon says.
“I can manage father-in-laws.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“That heartens me, sire, but just as a matter of personal curiosity, do you know why this man is attempting to court Merlin’s mother now? Is she not already married?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“So then Merlin is a bastard?”
“In law and personality, yes.”
“Noted, sire. Thank you. Shall I, then?”
“No, no. You can stay. Eat with me, I haven’t had an appetite all day.”
That is evident by all the trays Arthur has helpfully moved to other horizontal surfaces besides the desk.
He does love good piece of pine to mope against.
“I cannot imagine going through life without a father,” Leon admits as he takes the seat across from Arthur and pours them both water from the untouched jug on a nearby stool.
This one has no flowers in it. A pity.
“I fear Merlin has learned all his tricks from the worst men his village has to offer,” Arthur grumbles.
“Which appeals to you,” Leon says.
“Which appeals to me, obviously.”
“Does it fill any particular void inside your heart, my lord?”
“Not my heart, per se,” Arthur says.
“Another hole, then?”
“Very funny, Leon. And rude. We’re eating.”
“My apologies.”
Leon is allowed two mouthfuls of bread before Arthur leans on his desk and sighs the sigh of a man with a captive audience.
“Do you think if I found Merlin’s father for him he would be grateful?”
“And thereafter fall into your arms?” Leon asks.
“That was the thinking.”
“I suppose that depends on whether he feels bereft of one.”
“Of what?”
“A father.”
“He can have mine.”
“In your dream wedding, my lord, I fear he will have no other choice.”
“No, Father would banish us both,” Arthur muses.
“If Merlin is secretly the son of a lord, this would not be an issue.”
“Telling fairytales now, Leon?”
“Why not indulge? He could be a prince in his own right. A prince of all the field mice.”
Arthur wheezes as he chuckles.
“His sword could be a mighty needle,” he says.
“And his father could knight you with one as well and allow you into the realm of the poor and promiscuous.”
“He’s not that promiscuous.”
Leon will not comment on that.
No. That is a trap.
Leon goes to sleep and awakens to several reports of his knights gallivanting about in town. They are disciplined and he moves on with his daily tasks. He takes stock of the weaponry and assesses the most recent batch of squires. He picks out a few to offer Arthur so he can inevitably refuse them in favor of making Merlin ready his horse.
Speaking of horses, a new one has been brought to the stables as a gift from a lord. He is too unwieldly to be ridden at the moment.
Leon begins a mental list of annoying subordinates to assign him to.
He is called to stand in court around then and goes to don his formal cape. He finds Merlin standing outside the Great Hall, yawning.
“A late night with Osian, hey Merlin?” he asks in passing.
“Even giants fall,” Merlin hums.
“I’m sure they do.”
“You’ll see.”
Through a series of events over the next few days Leon discovers himself to be a target.
Or more accurately: prey.
He apparently did not pick up on the fact that Merlin was in a foul mood the other day in court and unknowingly followed his muttering into a guest’s room while in pursuit of a man to treat a nobleman’s fainting wife.
Merlin did not hear him following.
If he had, he certainly would not have snapped his fingers at the hearth and fire definitely would not have sprung forth from the wood therein.
Leon gasped before he could think anything of it and, in doing so, procured Merlin’s attention.
That is, his complete and undivided attention.
“Leon?” Morgana asks as he hurries past her up the stairs to the guest rooms on the castle’s higher floor.
“Afraid I can’t talk at the moment,” Leon says.
The corridor is empty behind him. He can’t trust that. He thought the armory was empty, too.
“Leon?” the king says as Leon dances past him, apologizes profusely, and keeps on moving.
“What on earth has gotten into that boy?” he hears the man say in his wake.
He takes a sharp corner at the next available opportunity, stops, and sprints back the way that he came, this time with Merlin hot on his tail.
He’s faster than he looks.
Back down the stairs, Leon goes, again past Morgana, and so swiftly that his momentum carries him into the wall directly across from the steps at the bottom. He pushes off it and ducks into the kitchens as soon as he spies the open door.
“Sir Leon?” one of the cooks says.
“Hello,” Leon says. “Sorry, just—” He slips between the work benches out to the back door where the scullery maids are scouring pots.
They are as surprised to see him as he is to nearly trip into their vessels. But thankfully, after a small commotion, he makes it to the field where he can sprint again to his heart’s content.
And sprint he must because the last thing he is about to do is be caught by Arthur’s servant. If it means he has to climb into a barn, he’s ready to make it happen.
Somehow, however, he trips. Over smooth grass, too. There are no holes in the area, nor any particularly ropey foliage.
And yet there he lands, hard enough that the air evacuates his lungs and he is, for a beat, absolutely paralyzed.
That’s all it takes for a shadow to cast itself over him. He dares not look up.
“I didn’t see anything,” he pleads.
A hand seizes the back of his cape.
“I swear,” Leon says.
“No, I bet you didn’t,” Merlin says. “Walk.”
“Merlin—”
Merlin orders him again to walk and Leon’s legs do so without his leave. Onwards they go, towards the castle.
Why towards the castle? He tries to ask Merlin but is silenced and instead forced back inside the building, past the kitchens and the staircase, and down the corridor towards a familiar door.
He tries to stop his trudging feet to no avail.
Merlin opens Arthur’s chamber doors and guides Leon inside first. He shuts the door behind them firmly and points at the small cot in the room’s antechamber.
“Sit,” he says.
Leon realizes that he again has control over his legs.
He pretends to sit but makes a go for the door only to be caught around the chest and shoved backwards until his behind makes contact again with the cot.
“Relax,” Merlin says as he swings a knee over Leon’s hips. “It’ll be fun.”
“Merlin, I swear—”
“It’ll. Be. Fun.”
Merlin is long and lanky and terrifyingly in control as he sits himself directly on Leon’s groin. Despite himself, Leon reacts.
“There you are,” Merlin says. “C’mere, let’s have a talk.”
He is very, very close. Too close as a matter of fact. Leon is just going to—
“Stay, or you’ll be the one explaining to Arthur what you were doing coming out of his room.”
Right. Leon will let himself have a moment of rest here. He doesn’t have anywhere to be.
“Good boy, now, was that so hard?”
Unfortunately, it’s getting there.
“Now, Leon, let’s have a talk. Just you and me,” Merlin says casually.
“I saw nothing,” Leon says.
“Shhhhh. Me first. You saw nothing.”
Has Merlin always been this scary? The flickering gold eyes thing is new.
“And if you open your pretty mouth about what you didn’t see, I’m going to vanish all your teeth, yeah? Want to know where they’ll go? Me too.”
“Have you always been like this?” Leon asks.
“What do you think?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Alright. I’ll bite. What are you?”
“Take a guess.”
“A witch?”
“Take another guess.”
“A pixie?”
“Warlock,” Merlin says. “To answer all your questions now: yes, I was born with it. Yes, many people. And no, only for Arthur. Only for Arthur, do you understand?”
“Er, so just for clarification, that was, born with it, definitely murder, and all in service of the prince?”
“It’s only murder if you get caught. Could be you next.”
“I am sworn to tell Arthur about all things magic in this kingdom.”
“Alright, go ahead. No one will believe you.”
“They will.”
“Will they?” Merlin asks, grinding his hips downwards. “Or will they think a knight played around with a servant until that knight got embarrassed?”
“You’re very good at this, did you know that?”
“Thanks, I learned it the hard way. Swear on the grave of your mother.”
“I swore to Arthur already.”
“I’ll dig her up and animate her corpse if you don’t.”
“That is so unnecessary, Merlin. All this is so unnecessary. I already gave you my word.”
“No, you said you swore fealty to Arthur,” Merlin says.
“Two things can be true at once.”
Merlin pauses. Leon tries to pause with him to keep his mind off the mortifying pressure on his groin. Sadly for him, Merlin notices it.
“Hm,” he says.
“You’re heavier than you look. And faster. Impressively fast,” Leon says. “Is there a reason you pretend to be useless?”
“Stop distracting.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Swear on your mum. Shake on it.”
“Can we shake standing up?”
“No. Here’s good.”
Yes, but see: the pressure is getting a little dangerous down there.
“You’re not a virgin are you, Sir Knight?”
“Thank you, Merlin. I don’t need your assistance at the moment. Here, you want to shake?”
“I could shake this? If you want?”
“A hand is fine, thank you. There. Are you happy?”
Merlin draws his tongue up the full length of his palm where Leon’s hand was only moments ago. It’s obscene. Leon can’t help but grimace at the phantom sensation of slickness on his own hand.
“I think you liked that,” Merlin says.
“Get off. Now.”
“You mean that?”
“Get off me, Merlin.”
“Alright, alright, fine. You’re no fun.”
“UM. Hello? Am I interrupting you two?”
Arthur is furious. Leon understands completely why he is, and he knows that no amount of apologies are going to change that in the moment. Were he in any other place, he would see himself out, but no, Arthur has instead ordered him to stay where he is while he works through two to twenty emotions at a time.
At least he ordered Merlin back to his quarters in the physician’s chambers downstairs.
“I cannot believe,” Arthur finally says. “That my own first knight would betray me like this.”
“Am I allowed to defend myself?” Leon asks.
“No.”
“Understood.”
“I cannot believe you, Leon. I trusted you. I’ve trusted you all my life. And you took him in here and—did you want him this whole time? Were you jealous of my affection?”
“Am I allowed to defend myself?”
“No.”
Leon sighs.
“Go on, then,” he says.
“What is it about you that captured his attention?” Arthur laments. “Why you when I am right HERE.”
“My lord, Merlin, I fear is a sorcerer.”
“I didn’t say you could speak.”
“Arthur.”
“Obviously, he’s a sorcerer. Look at his uncle and his witchy ex-wife.”
“They didn’t even meet much less marry.”
“Is it my face? Are you more handsome than me?”
“Wait. Arthur. You knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That Merlin has magic.”
“Merlin has what?”
“Magic? You just said—”
“Merlin’s a what?”
“A sorcerer?” Leon tries. “You said he’s—”
“I didn’t mean it?” Arthur blusters. “Did you mean it?”
“Yes?”
“Wh—no. No, that’s impossible.”
“I saw him light a fire. He chased me like the hounds of hell and enchanted me to follow him into your chamber.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Sire, respectfully, why would I lust after a boy six years my junior who threatened to vanish all my teeth?”
“He did what?”
“And threatened to tell people that I fondled him, after manhandling me the way he did.”
Arthur covers his mouth.
“Merlin wouldn’t,” he says.
“He would,” Leon says sharply. “You were right, sire. A little rat-bastard indeed.”
He waits for a response to that. After a few moments of its absence, he looks to Arthur who appears to be staring off in the distance.
“Tell me that does not arouse you,” Leon deadpans.
“Hm? What?”
“You know what? You two deserve each other.”
“Oh. So you finally agree?”
“Wholeheartedly,” Leon says. “And I am now sworn to secrecy or else he will reanimate my poor mother in her grave.”
“That’s terrible, Leon. I’m so sorry,” Arthur says.
“Yes. How sorry you are. I see it all over your face, my lord.”
“Tell me, was it intense? Was it comfortable when he clambered over you?”
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“I will help you bed your servant if and only if you confront him and learn how to control him.”
Arthur sits back and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I can control Merlin no problem,” he says. “It’ll take nothing at all.”
Vindication is watching Arthur lose every shred of dignity he has in pursuit of his moonsick sorcerer. Leon did not see their initial conversation, but from the way that Arthur keeps throwing himself in front of Leon now when Merlin makes to lunge his way, he has a sense of how it went and what information was conveyed.
If Arthur was not so efficient in tackling grown men on the battlefield, Leon might have felt less safe where he is, perched securely on a low stone wall on the training grounds.
Things as they are, however, he feels rather good, certainly much better than the day before.
It helps that Merlin seems incapable of directing his magic towards Arthur and, as a result, is subject to being hefted up and carried around like a sack of barley.
“Put me DOWN,” he snarls.
“We’re talking like men,” Arthur says. “Like normal, intelligent men.”
“And I’m talking to a fucking horse,” Merlin snaps.
“Merlin. I am your prince.”
“LET GO.”
“Calm down. Jesus Lord. What has gotten into you? Leon has done nothing but show you grace.”
“LIAR.”
“Merlin.”
“You wait ‘til I find your mum, Leon—”
“Take it back.”
“NO.”
“Take it back right now. That’s an order. Look at me. That’s an order, do you understand?”
Merlin’s rage dies down enough that he can look into Arthur’s eye as if he’s raised his hand to him. Leon’s eyebrow twitches at the guilty jerk of Arthur’s spine.
“I thought you would kill me if ever I told you,” Merlin says.
Leon rolls his eyes.
“Merlin. It’s okay. You’re safe. I would never—” Arthur starts.
“You helped him kill the others.” Merlin interrupts.
“I-I know. I know. You were right to be frightened.”
“He swore he would not tell, Arthur.”
“It’s okay. He told me. He knew I wouldn’t harm you.”
“Who’s to say you won’t? Who’s to say?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“You-you really don’t?”
“No, I don’t. Why would I? You bow to your father’s will every time.”
“You are the one who said there is no place for magic in Camelot.”
“What was I supposed to say? You think I should have revealed myself in front of the king? You think I should have allowed myself to be slain by your hand by his order? Is that how you think I want to die?”
“You could have run.”
“And serve some other man? I cannot. I will not. I shall not. I believe in the kingdom that you will build. I believe in the goodness in your heart. But I don’t believe that this time last year, you would not have put your sword through mine had you known what you do now.”
The more Merlin speaks, the more eloquent he becomes.
How interesting, wonderful, and incredibly dangerous.
He truly has a history that keeps on giving the deeper you dig, though he is so skilled at concealment that no one would ever think to start digging in the first place.
He would be an asset on the battlefield if only there was a way to direct him without inflicting mental anguish upon his countrymen.
It’s not a challenge Leon takes lightly, though the longer he watches Arthur calm his sorcerer, the more he sees that it is one he will have no choice but to accept.
That’s alright.
Leon has tamed angry stallions before, and worse than that, prideful men. He can work with whatever Merlin’s got in him.
“I can’t do anything now,” Arthur says meanwhile. “But I want to help you.”
“There is no difference between me and a druid, and yet you slaughter them.”
“I regret every second of that. I swear to you. I have tried to atone for my actions.”
“Forget it. I’ll just go.”
“Merlin, no.”
“WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?”
“Stay. Stay. Stay with me.”
“No. No. NO.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“No, Arthur. You don’t get it. I protect YOU.”
“You protect me?”
“From magic. From poison, from lightning, from bandits, from kelpies and fairies and poltergeists and trolls—”
“Uh?”
“And brownies and boggarts and your own stupid actions and—”
“Yes, alright. I’m hearing you. That’s.”
“—and the witches and the changelings and the crystals, the plagues, the black dogs—”
“Er.”
“The priestesses, the dragons, the prophecy itself—”
“Merlin?”
“—every goddamned assassin for miles—”
“You make it sound like you’re some kind of magic warrior.”
Merlin’s shoulders heave as he stares deep and wide into Arthur’s eyes.
“Do I look like an amateur to you?” he blurts out.
“Yes?” Arthur says.
“I’m EMRYS.”
“Woah. Alright. Is that—should I know who that is?”
“I’m FUCKING Emrys.”
“You are extremely impressive, Merlin. I’m extremely impressed. I’m so impressed by you. And—”
Arthur looks desperately to Leon over his shoulder.
“Grateful,” Leon mouths.
“—And so grateful, Merlin. For all you’ve done for me and Camelot. It sounds like it’s been a lot.”
Merlin’s wild eyes thankfully begin to lose some of their franticness.
“It is,” he pants.
“And so much for one person to carry,” Arthur soothes. “Maybe you can show me how to help you hold it?”
“Absolutely not. All you do is make my life more difficult.”
“Right. Well, I can see, I suppose, how you could get to that point. What would be helpful for you, then? Do you want me to, I dunno, help you fight the werewolves?”
“What do you know about the werewolves?”
“Nevermind. Forget the werewolves.”
“Did you hear them? Did they wake you? Don’t tell me you shot one.”
“We are putting the werewolves behind us, Merlin. We are putting the werewolves right over here, so we can move on with this conversation.”
“I’ll find them.”
“No, you won’t. Because we aren’t involving ourselves with them.”
“We’re not?”
“No. We’re not. We are focusing on me and you right now. And I asked you how I can help you do what you do.”
“Do what? Protect you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s alright. You don’t have to know now. But when you do, can you tell me?”
Merlin squints suspiciously.
“Before or after you burn me on a pyre?” he asks.
“Before,” Arthur says.
“I’ll take it under advisement. I need to turn your first knight into harp strings now. Can you move?”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Because you two are going to work together,” Arthur says, lacing his fingers as a demonstration.
Merlin laughs out loud.
“Very funny,” he says.
“Leon is the smartest man I know,” Arthur says. “And the most tactically minded.”
“I’m not working with him,” Merlin says.
“Yes, you are.”
“What, you’re going to make me? I’m a servant, remember? You can’t throw me out with all those bucket heads. Your father will notice right away.”
“I will make you because I’m going to ask nicely,” Arthur says. “And you like it when I’m nice to you, don’t you?”
“No?” Merlin blurts out in utter confusion.
Arthur flushes bright red from chin to throat.
“You don’t?” he asks.
Merlin’s expression takes on worried notes.
“Do you think I haven’t drowned you yet because you’re nice and pretty?” he tries.
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I regret to inform you that I have many, many things wrong with me, up to and including a devasting fondness for your immaturity, my lord.”
“Oh. You’re fond of me?”
“Arthur, you cannot be serious,” Merlin says.
“It’s an honest question.”
“After everything I’ve told you today, you get stopped up on that?”
“It’s an honest question, Merlin. I can’t ever tell. All you ever do is call me a spoiled brat and a thoughtless turnip.”
“And who else do I go around calling a spoiled brat and a thoughtless turnip?”
“I dunno. Maybe Gwaine?”
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“I like you.”
“Understood.”
“A lot. Too much. It’s a problem. To my very existence.”
“Oh.”
“Any other honest questions?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’re here aren’t we? Go on.”
“They are…very bratty.”
Merlin sighs.
Leon almost pities him for backing himself into this emotional corner.
Almost.
His charity has not yet recovered from being pinned to a servant’s cot.
“When you say ‘like,’ do you mean ‘like-like’ or just normal like?” Arthur asks.
“What is he on about?” Merlin asks Leon over Arthur’s shoulder.
“His highness is asking if your affection is romantic or platonic,” Leon translates.
“LEON,” Arthur snaps.
“No idea.”
“Merlin.”
“It goes like this,” Merlin says, waving his hand around chaotically. “Like with most people. That’s how it is.”
“It’s not like that for most people,” Arthur says.
“No?”
“It’s like this for most people,” Arthur puts a hand first onto Merlin’s shoulder and then wraps it around his knuckles.
Merlin peers at the grip on his hand.
“See? So are you here?” Arthur asks, lacing their fingers together. “Or here?” he removes his hand to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder.
The man continues to observe him like an owl.
“Yes,” he says.
“To which?”
“All.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“This all feels the same.”
“It’s totally different.”
“No, it’s all the same. Look. Here. See?”
“It’s not the SAME.”
“Why is your face doing that?”
“Because that’s the romantic thing.”
“What this? I do this with Gwen all the time.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“Here we’ll do this one. See, it’s like a threat. Like graaah, I’m gonna kill you but first?”
“First what?”
“What do you mean first what? First you fu—”
“That is not what that means.”
Fantastic. They’re a tag-team of hopelessness. Leon is so happy to know the cause of his next headache.
Arthur is pleased. Arthur is smug. Leon watches him scrub his face against his bedlinens. It seems to be doing something pleasurable for him and the mood of the room as a whole.
Leon will experiment with it himself at a later time.
“I presume Merlin spent the night with you here?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Did he fulfil all the roles you hoped he would?”
“He slept on the floor.”
Whatever brain sickness these two have does not seem to be improved by additional time together.
“Has he committed himself to remaining in your service?” Leon asks.
“Yes,” Arthur says.
“So he is now my problem?”
“You always said you wanted an indestructible scout.”
Leon meant a man who could run and ride quietly in full armor.
“You two will learn to make it work,” Arthur says.
“Or we will die trying, I imagine.”
“Or that. Yes.”