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bitsandbobsofwriting · 2 years

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5 times Arthur sees Merlin doing more and more ridiculous shit for him,

and +1 time, said shit is so ridiculous that Arthur feels the need to make him promise to let Arthur come next time.

TW: uuuh blood and gore, Nobles (including Uther) being dicks?

Arthur is having a terrible day, and it’s only noon.

First, there was the early morning council meeting, in which some posh ponce—who was demeaning to Arthur and cruel to the servants—was allowed to run rampant with no consequences because of his supposed “friendship with Uther”, who was coincidentally not attending this specific meeting. Then training, which had been nothing short of disappointing; the new recruits barely knew which end of the sword was the sharp bit, never mind the basic skills that their rich, powerful parents had promised him they’d possessed. And now, Arthur can’t find his stupid manservant.

He’s due some lunch, having chosen to skip out on breakfast this morning; he’s starving, and Merlin is no where to be found. The Prince storms into his room, startling the guards in the corridor who’d tried to bow and wish him a good afternoon, with clenched fists and grinding teeth. Merlin isn’t here either, though to be fair to the servant, Arthur had only checked the armoury before he came here; he finds himself stopping in shock, anger draining from him slightly.

He had almost been hoping to find Merlin lazing about so he had an excuse to shout and yell and throw things, but... his room has been tidied and cleaned, his desk has been reorganised so he knows what work is a priority and what can wait, his bed has been made, dirty laundry is missing, and his favoured banquet outfit has been returned from the tailor and hung over his changing screen. Merlin had... apparently, been hard at work for he last few hours.

No lunch though.

He makes his way from the room, slightly calmer than he had been moments before, though still tetchy with hunger as he decides to just go straight to the kitchens himself. If he has to get his own food because Merlin had failed to, well, that’s definitely excuse enough to yell, and that will definitely make Arthur feel better.

The Prince makes quick work of his journey down to the kitchens, but stops just outside the door, a familiar voice catching his ear:

“Please? Come on, you must have heard how terrible the new recruits were, and he looked like he was going to punch someone when Lord Arsehole started yanking George around this morning. He’s going to be a in a foul mood, so will you just do this for me?? Your tarts always make him feel better, and he’s going to need a pick-me-up before this afternoon.”

Arthur’s face pulls down into a curious little frown; from the tone of Merlin’s voice, he wouldn’t be surprised if he walked in to see the servant on his knees begging. Before he can entertain that idea, Cook answers:

“Fine, just this once, Merlin. And what’s so horrible about this afternoon?”

Merlin sighs and lets out a quiet, grateful “Gods, thank you,-” before continuing, a little louder:

“-I sorted through his desk this morning, and he’s got a mountain of paperwork to do. He always runs himself ragged with all that shit, so I figured he could do with something nice for once.”

Arthur’s anger is long forgotten, and his curious frown morphs, out of his control, into a small smile as he slowly steps closer to the door, intent on listening for as long as he can:

“Hmm. No wonder the boy likes you so much, you’re the only servant he’s ever had who actually knows what he needs, I’m sure of it.-”

There’s a short pause, in which Merlin openly snorts at Cook’s assertion, and Arthur frowns and pouts. He is not a boy, and he does not like Merlin so much. He barely tolerates him. He’s an annoyance, that’s all.

“-Now here, off with you, or he’ll be grumpy that you’re late.”

“Yes, yes, I know, thank you. I owe you one.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide and he quickly speed walks back down the corridor, turning the corner and rushing off to take an alternative route back to his rooms so he doesn’t run into Merlin somewhere along the way. His thoughts run a mile a minute as he stalks through the castle, but he finds, when he eventually gets back to his rooms, that all he can think of is Merlin, and how Cook is right: he does always seem to know what Arthur needs, even if it’s not what he wants.

Merlin is already there when he finally goes in, laying the tray out on the table and humming something nonsensical under his breath:

“Sire! Just in time, I worried I was late.”

Arthur almost says something, but finds his anger sorely lacking as he glances around the room at the comforting neatness:

“...No, no you’re fine, Merlin. Thank you.”

Merlin frowns and pauses at Arthur’s thanks, only momentarily, but it’s said so casually, and Arthur doesn’t look at him again as he sits down to eat, that he decides to let the oddness of the Prince’s gratitude slide. He just begins humming again and steps away, towards Arthur’s desk, where he sifts through the various papers. His jaw twitches as he frowns and picks a quill up, quickly taking notes and signing and circling various things on Arthur’s behalf.

The Prince finds that he doesn’t mind that much, he finds that he trusts Merlin’s judgment, and he finds that Merlin was right, the tart really is making him feel better.

If Arthur had to listen to one more damn courtier yammer on about something or other entirely irrelevant, he’d combust.

He’s sick. He’s tired. He’s already had to listen to four entirely baseless complaints of supposed disrespect, three terrible, terrible tax reform ideas, and six (six) subtle-but-completely-unsubtle marriage proposals from various young Ladies and Lords. The Prince doesn’t understand how his father deals with this all day everyday, and with The King sick and bedridden with this year’s strain of flu, Arthur is going to have to deal with it all for at least another week yet.

Arthur knows he’s sick too, but he’s younger and fitter than his father, and if both of them get sick, then there’s no one bar Morgana to look after the Kingdom, and though Arthur trusts her implicitly, he knows that trying to rein in the council is not all Morgana thinks it’s cracked up to be.

He can feel his headache getting deeper and deeper, and full body aches had prompted him to skip out on training this morning, lest he make it worse. Leon had covered for him, thankfully, but at this point he’s fairly certain he’d preferred to have taken two hours of training over two hours of courtiers being... courtiers.

Merlin is acting like a cool balm through the process, not that Arthur would admit it, but he’s keeping the Prince topped up on medication from Gaius, and is filling his study with pleasant smells and low lighting to avoid making things worse. A knock at the door doesn’t catch Arthur’s attention, despite its insistence, but it does catch Merlin’s, and the servant removes himself from his armour polishing without the other man noticing. He opens the door only a crack, going out into the corridor and shutting the door behind him when he sees who it is; it’s the quiet click of the door latch that finally draws Arthur out of his head.

The Prince stands on stiff, sore legs, and walks towards the door so he can make out what Merlin's soft voice is saying:

“I apologise Lord Dagon, but the Prince is currently unavailable for any audiences.”

Arthur frowns at that, technically he is available, he’s supposed to be available, but he doesn’t want to give the Lord a reason to smack Merlin upside he head, so he stays quiet, and stays where he is:

“What do you mean he isn’t available? I know he’s in there, I demand to speak to-”

“Once again, My Lord,-”

Merlin’s voice is hard now, hard and cold and commanding, and Arthur wonders just why he never uses that voice on him when he’s being a prat:

“-the Prince is currently unavailable. If it is an absolute emergency, akin to an invasion or similar, then I can pass the message along to him whilst you wait out here, otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Arthur isn’t sure what Merlin does, if he gives a look, or waves hand, but the Prince hears the distinct sound of two pairs of armoured feet walking closer. He quirks an eyebrow; though he is surprised, he isn’t too worried about that fact that the castle’s guards apparently trust Merlin’s word and orders above that of a demanding Lord. He hears said Lord splutter and stutter for a moment or two, before huffing and stomping off again, down the corridor and out of earshot.

Arthur quickly sits down again, but can still hear Merlin’s sigh of relief, and soft “thanks guys, appreciate it” and one of the guards’ responding “no problem, Prince looks in a proper state, and we figured you was giving him some peace for a reason”.

Arthur is fast to look back down to his work, furrowing his brow as his eyes struggle to focus on the words in front of him, but he looks up again when, out the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin shut the door behind him:

“Who was that?”

Merlin smiles softly and shakes his head as he wanders over, looking over Arthur’s shoulder and raising his eyebrow at the single sentence that he’s managed to write in the last hour:

“No one important. Come on, I set the sofa up earlier so you can take a power nap. I’ll ward off any visitors and finish off some of this for you whilst you sleep.”

Arthur shakes his head and rubs his eyes, first at Merlin’s quick lie, and then at his offer for sleep:

“No, no, I have to get all of this done before tomorrow.”

Merlin tuts and rolls his eyes, snatching the quill from the Prince’s tired hand and pointing it at the sofa across the room:

“Sleep, you idiot. I’ll do the paperwork, I’ll even leave it for you to check over, if you really want me to, but we both know I can imitate your hand writing and signature perfectly.”

Arthur sighs but nods, standing and wandering over to the sofa, eyes closing before he’s even collapsed on the soft seating. Merlin chuckles to himself and tucks the quill away before following, kneeling down in front of the Prince to remove his boots, then his jacket; he pushes him back to lay down before covering him in the blanket and brushing his hair away from his face. Almost all of which Arthur is completely unaware of, already having succumbed to his previously unknown desperate need for sleep.

When the Prince wakes, what must be several hours later, his paperwork is finished, a note on his desk tells him dinner is waiting in his chambers, and the guards outside tell him that Merlin had scared off at least six more unwanted visitors.

He smiles to himself, shakes his head, doesn’t bother checking the paperwork, and heads to meet Merlin in his chambers.

He’s running late. He knows he’s running late.

Fuck, his father is going to kill him.

Arthur pulls his clothes around as he rushes down the hall, trying desperately to look as though he hadn’t just forgotten the meeting, and had in fact been up to something very important that couldn’t be avoided that he is still trying to come up with a name for. He’s failing miserably, on all levels, and he doesn’t even have enough energy to be annoyed at the sympathetic frowns the passing guards are giving him.

He finally pulls himself to a stop outside the council chamber, trying to catch his breath and fan away the redness of his cheeks, thankful beyond anything that there aren’t any guards stationed at the doors at the minute. The Prince takes a deep breath, hand hovering over the doorknob as he prepares to go in and receive a verbal lashing in front of a crowd when he hears a familiar voice pipe up:

“I apologise, Sire, I’m sure the Prince will be along shortly. There was... there were some oversights in the knights patrol rota that had to be seen to immediately. No one’s fault, of course, just unexpected illness that left some rather demanding gaps.”

He pauses, frowning slightly at the blatant lie that Merlin had just told The King, straight to his face. If there were any knights in there, like there should be, then.... well.

He hears the distinct sound of Leon, clearing his voice as though to say something, and Arthur presses his eyes shut, begging that now not be the time for Leon’s otherworldly loyalty to The King to shine through:

“He’s correct, My Lord, I’m sure Prince Arthur won’t be long.”

Arthur lets out a breath, a breath that he’s sure Merlin is letting out as well. Stupid man, where does he get off, lying to The King like that?? Arthur wonders briefly if Merlin has ever lied to him like that, and then he remembers that ninety percent of the stupid shit he’s caught Merlin doing has been either completely nonsensical and harmless, or harmful only to himself, and in defence of others; he decides very quickly, and rather horrifyingly, that he doesn’t think he minds if Merlin lies to him. He takes in one last deep breath as he hears his father grumble, straightening his hair before walking into the room briskly:

“I apologise father, I-”

Uther cuts him off, sitting down and speaking strongly:

“There’s no need. Sit, and we can finally begin.”

He’s annoyed still, but after spending so many years berating Arthur for not taking his duties seriously, for not working hard enough, he can hardly start yelling now, not over this. Arthur tries to subtly glance over his shoulder to nod at Merlin, but the servant is too busy doing the same to Sir Leon, stood on the opposite side of the room, and so Arthur leaves it, joining in on the meeting without another distracting thought.

It had been stupid really, for Arthur to wander off, but they’d needed more firewood, and Merlin had looked so miserable that The new King had been loathed to send him into the cold forest alone. The servant had been soaked to the bone in the day’s earlier downpour, whilst Arthur had been reasonably well protected by his many layers, so The King left Merlin to hopefully keep at least a little warmer by what’s left of the campfire whilst he ventures away from their dreary set up to look for more fuel.

He’d assumed he’d only be gone for ten minutes, at most, but half an hour soon passes and he barely has a handful of dry wood; it seems his servant is not the only thing the earlier flash flood had soaked through. He returns eventually with a few damp logs that he hopes will dry quickly, held tightly under his arms, and a large handful of dry kindling that he’s praying will keep the fire burning long enough for that to happen, but he finds himself dropping it all to the floor silently and lowering himself to a crouch just beyond the edge of the camp.

He hears multiple voices, and considering none of them sound friendly, and the only person who should be at the camp is Merlin, he thinks it’s reasonable for him to be cautious. The King draws his sword and creeps closer, peeking from behind a tree to see if he can figure out what’s going on. His blood runs cold and his hand tightens around the hilt of weapon when he sees a group of three bandits surrounding Merlin, dirty grins on their faces:

“This is quite the big camp for one person, hey? Two ponies, two bedrolls... tell me, where’s your friend?”

Arthur expects Merlin to point him out and braces himself, ready for a fight. What he doesn’t expect, is for Merlin to scoff derisively and lie as thoroughly as he’s able:

“I’m camping alone. There’s no one else, just me, so take my coin and fuck off.”

The servant slowly reaches a hand to his hip, but is stopped when a blade presses to his throat:

“Watch it, pretty boy, I’m feeling rather twitchy, and you don’t want me... twitching, do ya?-”

As he says it, he pulls the sword to one side slightly, making a small cut at the base of Merlin’s throat that the servant barely even flinches at. The other two men laugh, but don’t lower their weapons quite yet, still looking around as though they expect someone else to jump at them. Arthur’s blood boils, but he doesn’t reveal himself just yet:

“-And don’t lie, pretty, there’s two of everything.”

Merlin rolls his eyes so hard Arthur’s sure it must’ve hurt, and continues to reach for his hip, ignoring the bandit’s slight growl. Arthur gulps, hoping to God he wasn’t going for a weapon, but relaxes when he pulls out what appears to be a small pouch of cones:

“I’m on my way to pick someone up from a village, that way,-”

He nods his head to the opposite side of the circle to Arthur, but the bandits don’t look away long enough for the King to be able to do anything:

“-so like I said, take my coin and fuck off. I’m a physician, I don’t have the time or the energy for this.”

If Arthur hadn’t seen it a million times before, he’d be impressed with Merlin’s brazenness, as it is, he just rolls his eyes and prepares to lunge; Merlin doesn’t even glance in his direction, but Arthur knows, he knows, that the servant is aware of his presence. He trusts. Merlin throws the pouch of coins to the side, and when the bandits turn, when they stare, obviously thinking it over for some reason, Merlin shuffles back, just a few inches, and Arthur runs.

The largest of the bandits, the one that Merlin had been in the most danger from, is taken care of first. Merlin hurls himself at another, tackling him to the floor before kicking burning embers at his face; the bandit’s screams distract his friend, and Arthur quickly despatches him, before silencing the screaming one. The whole fight is over in a matter of seconds, and Merlin sighs, hands on his hips, before picking up his coin pouch and then staring despondently at the sad remains of the fire. His hand absent-mindedly reaches up to wipe away the blood from his neck; the cut has already stopped weeping though, so neither of them are overly worried by it.

Arthur rolls his eyes and before frowning at him:

“What the hell was that about?!”

Merlin shrugs and gets to work on dragging the bodies away from the camp, and Arthur casually wonders just when the servant had gotten so used to dealing with such morbid things:

“I couldn’t exactly tell them that I was travelling with the King, without any guards or knights, and that he was wandering the forest alone, could I?-”

He comes back for the second body:

“-And anyway, we managed, didn’t we?”

Arthur stares at him for a few more moments before hooking his hands under the arms of the last bandit, and dragging him over to where Merlin had been piling them. He doesn’t respond, just hums vaguely before joining his servant by the side of the dying fire:

“I did have wood.-”

Merlin just hums:

“-I could go get it again?”

Merlin hums again, but it’s shorter, lower, and Arthur nods, turning to gather their bedrolls from their packs and laying them together. He grabs his spare cloak from his bag, as well as both blankets and their spare tunics. They layer up before getting into the bed rolls and shuffling to be pressed together; it happens more often than they’d care to admit to anyone, but they don’t really care anymore. Body warmth is best way to stave off hypothermia, after all, and Arthur is glad Merlin doesn’t want him to go hunting for the wood. He can’t quite remember where he’d dropped it, and he’d be loathed to leave Merlin at the camp alone whilst he wandered off.

When he’d first heard them, Arthur had had absolute faith that the rumours were false.

After all, how many other times had someone whispered something about an assassination attempt to him, for the whole castle to go into lockdown, for nothing to then happen?

Merlin had rolled his eyes and Lancelot had coughed in a manner that sounded suspiciously like a snigger when he’d expression that particular sentiment to the council earlier in the day, but he hadn’t had the time, or the patience, honestly, to question it. Now though, he’s starting to think that perhaps he should have.

He had just about managed to lose his guard dog (he hadn’t asked for it, but Leon had taken to unsubtly following him around, hand on the hilt of his sword at all times), and had opened a door into a dark corner of the library only to spy something rather odd through the dusty shelves. He shuts the door softly behind him, sending thanks to whoever had recently oiled the hinges, and sneaks closer, keeping his knees bent and his hands held out for balance.

The sound of rather furious whispering comes into focus, and if he squints through the dust, he can see... Merlin... holding a grubby looking man against the wall... with a dagger to his throat. He blinks rapidly, certain at first the the dust was distorting the image, but when he opens his eyes once more, the sight before him is the same. He blinks again, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths through his open mouth, and listen:

“...Now. I’m going to ask one more time, or things are going to get a hell of a lot worse for you. Who sent you, and how many partners do you have?”

The man growls, the vitriol dripping from his words as he harshly responds:

“Fuck you, I ain’t saying nothing, you’re just a fucking servant.”

From his angle, Arthur can see the bone chilling smile on Merlin’s face, and he gulps:

“Let’s see how long you stick to that, sunshine.”

In any other circumstances, The King might think that Merlin calling someone sunshine would be incredibly endearing and morale boosting and all sorts of lovely, but in that cold tone of voice, with that creepy smile, he knows it means no good. What comes next is a squelching sound, then a surprised squeal that is quickly cut off by Merlin’s hand pressing harshly over the man’s mouth, then a snapping, then more suppressed screeching, then more squelching.

Arthur allows his gaze to slip lower, and he suddenly understands, with a growing nausea deep in his stomach, why the man had tried to scream and wriggle away; there on the wall is his hand with another dagger cutting straight through it, pinning it palm first to the brickwork. Merlin’s other hand is still pressed to the man’s mouth, the sharp point of the dagger held in those fingers barely an inch from the other’s eye. He speaks again, his voice low, and slow, and commanding in a way that Arthur has never heard before, not with annoying courtiers, not with twitchy bandits:

“When I take my hand away, you’re not going to scream, you’re not even going to squeal. When I take my hand away, you’re going to speak very calmly, and clearly, and quietly. When I take my hand away, you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, or instead of putting a few extra holes in you, I’ll start cutting things off, starting with your fingers, moving on to your dick, and ending with your eyelids. Do you understand? Nod.”

The man is shaking by the time Merlin has finished, but he nods nonetheless, and Arthur gulps as Merlin smiles again:

“Good. Now, who sent you?”

He slowly moves the hand away from the man’s mouth, and though he whimpers quietly, he is evidently trying very hard not to make too much noise. He pants, but at Merlin’s raised eyebrow, he begins to slowly speak, as calmly as he’s able and with only a slight stutter:

“Ki- King Lot. He p-p-paid me half before, said there was-was more after Pen-Pendragon was dead.”

Merlin nods, as though the information is unsurprising to him, but Arthur scowls. He’d known that tensions with Lot were bad, but bad enough to start sending assassins? That, he was unaware of. Before he can think on it further, Merlin speaks again:

“And how may people are working with you?”

The man doesn’t even hesitate this time, obviously somewhat used to the pain, though he’s still shaking and stuttering like his life depends on it. Arthur wonders if it does, he wonders if Merlin plans on... on killing this man:

“None at-at the moment. There were f-five to start, but Lot only sent-only sent one at a time. I’m the-the first, if I fail-”

Merlin interrupts him, so quietly Arthur has to strain to hear it, as if he’s just talking to himself:

“Then more will follow...-”

The man nods, but doesn’t say anything, not until Merlin looks back to him again:

“-How long until someone else comes?”

“Two-two weeks.”

Merlin nods this time, considering the information carefully as he looks around, like he’s chasing all his thoughts into one corner of his mind. He nods once more, more decisively this time, and steps away from the man, leaving the dagger imbedded in the stone so he can’t move lest he cause himself quite a lot of pain:

“Thanks for that, and sorry for this. Well... not really, you’re a danger to Arthur and I really can’t be having that, but you know, my mam raised me with manners.”

With that, Merlin steps forward once again, whipping his other hand up and pushing his second dagger up through the man’s chin, into his brain. He flails for barely a moment before sagging down, the weight of his body finally pulling the hand from the wall. He’s dead, Arthur is certain of it, and The King struggles to keep his breathing even, more so when he sees the steely look of determination on his friend’s face and the slow trickle of blood from the assassin’s wound and mouth and nose.

It’s late at night, so it’s a complete coincidence that Arthur had stumbled upon the scene (yes, Leon had even stationed himself outside of Arthur’s chambers, and had followed him on his midnight stroll. Yes, the knight is probably besides himself with worry, but that is a problem for another time. He wonders if the knight would even believe him, if he told him where he’d been, what he’d seen), but Merlin still glances around the library, just to make sure no one else was there. He bends over to pull the two blades from the body and tucks them into a pocket, before hoisting the corpse up to flop over his shoulder.

The servant circles around the shelves Arthur is hiding behind, and Arthur follows him quietly, so he isn’t spotted, and watches as Merlin leaves through the same door The King had entered through, silently pushing it closed behind him.

Arthur allows himself a moment to breathe, not quite sure what to think, other than the fact that Merlin is a lot scarier than he lets on, and actually has the skills to back up what Arthur had previously thought was a funky, but ultimately useless protective streak. He glances to the blood staining the wall and floor for a few seconds, and then follows Merlin out the door as quietly as he can; it takes a few minutes of silently jogging the castle halls, occasionally following trails of blood and occasionally listening out for soft footsteps or the swish of fabric, before he finally spies Merlin entering one of the lesser used back doors to the dungeons.

The door doesn’t shut properly, and Arthur sneaks up to the wall so he can listening in (sending thanks to whoever hadn’t fixed the latch on this door). He hears the voice of a guard that he vaguely recognises; he's confident that he could point him out in a crowd, as one of Merlin’s friends, and one of the captains of the guard, but he couldn’t recite his name:

“Merlin? What are you doing up so- bloody hell! Is that another one??”

A thump echoes from the room, a rather harsh one, and Arthur guesses that Merlin must’ve dropped the body:

“Yeah, the first of five from King Lot, apparently. The King isn’t going to sort out his own security, not until he has proof, and I don’t plan on letting them get that close, not yet, anyway, so can you up the guard rotations and keep an eye on Essetirian nationals? Nothing too overt, but I can’t have eyes on Arthur every hour of the day, so I could use some help.”

Arthur hears the jangle of armour, and what sounds like a ring of keys:

“Yeah, yeah sure, I’ll have a chat with the boys. Want me to let them in on it, or just tell them it’s because of the rumours?”

There’s a pause, and Arthur finds himself a little surprised at how he can picture the exact thinking face Merlin is pulling right now; the one where his mouth thins because he’s biting the inside of his lips, and there’s a slight crease in his brow as he looks down and to the right:

“Hmm. No, just blame the rumours. I’ll tell Lance, George, and maybe Cook what’s going on, but I don’t want anything to get too far out of my hands. Keep an eye out for me whilst I’m in there?”

“Sure, I’ll sort it in the morning. And yeah, I know the drill. Do you need a hand, or can you manage?”

There’s a slight groan, a flapping of fabric, the sound of a door being unlocked and opened, and then a wave of heated air that can only be from the incinerator, almost permanently lit in winter to keep the lower levels from freezing. Arthur feels the nausea increase:

“Nah, I’m fine.”

The door shuts, and Arthur waits. Maybe ten minutes pass before the door opens and closes again and the sound of a lock being turned reaches The King’s ears:

“Anything interesting?”

“Meh, an unsigned letter with instructions, from Lot, no doubt, and a few coins, nothing concrete. Everything’s in there, bar any metal he had on him. I’ll keep a hold of it for a while then send it out of the Kingdom to be sold on. Nothing to connect anyone, unless Lot fancies stepping forward to say that the assassin he sent to kill Arthur never returned, and he’d like to accuse us of something.”

The guard chuckles, but doesn’t say anything, and Merlin just mutters a quiet “goodnight, see you in the morning” before making his way to the unclosed door that Arthur is hiding behind. The King quickly presses himself into the shadows, knowing that unless Merlin decided to stick his hand in the corner of the hallway, he’d remain unseen. He waits for the servant to pass him, then waits for five more minutes, and only then does he make his way back into the main part of the castle.

He wanders aimlessly for a little while, feeling somewhat relaxed considering everything. He supposes that Merlin being cold-hearted and vicious when it comes to protecting the people he cares about... shouldn’t surprise him, and it doesn’t, for the most part. But the daggers and the threats and the secrecy and the incinerator sure as hell had.

He eventually finds Leon, pacing up and down the corridor outside The King’s chambers, and though the First Knight sends him a despairing look, Arthur just smiles, rolls his eyes, and quietly dismisses him for the second time that night, rather more forcefully this time. He seems reluctant, but goes eventually, and Arthur waits until he’s out of sight before he turns back around, and heads to the library again. He’s not even sure what he wants to accomplish, what he wants to find, but he sees it when he gets there: a far too clean, far too dust free patch on the wall and floor right at the back of Geoffrey’s domain. There’s not a speck of blood to be seen, and as far as Arthur’s memory can recall, he hadn’t seen any in the hallways either.

He takes a deep breath, blinks away his quiet surprise, gulps, and goes back to his rooms.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, as he thinks on all the things Merlin had done for him over the years. The paperwork and pick-me-ups can be counted in his duties. But the lying, the excuses, the aggressive, apparently extremely aggressive, protectiveness... Arthur isn’t quite sure what to make of it all. He finds himself unworried about Merlin’s loyalty, after all, if it was one big trick to gain Arthur’s trust, then Merlin would make a show of it. As it is, as far as the servant is concerned, Arthur is entirely unaware just how far Merlin will go to protect his King.

Arthur wonders if he is aware, or if there’s more. There always seems to be more, with Merlin.

+1)

After the first assassin incident, Arthur had taken to keeping a closer eye on Merlin. He’d watched the servant secretly despatch of two more of the assassins, and then tactically lead a group of knights and guards to one, and Gwaine and Percival to the other. Arthur had marvelled at that, but hadn’t said anything. It’s obvious now he knows what to look for, the pointers in the way Merlin moves and speaks, the way he controls every situation he finds himself in, and eight out of ten times, gets exactly what he wants out of them. Arthur would normally be very wary of that, but considering it’s his own safety and happiness that Merlin wants, he can’t exactly be mad about it. And besides, it’s Merlin. Arthur thinks he might be physically incapable of losing trust in the man.

He’s also learned that Merlin is not quite as alone as he’d feared. Sir Lancelot is definitely in on it, this whole... “making Arthur’s life easier” scheme, most of the time, and the guard, whose name Arthur now knows is Gavin, is in on the majority of it as well. The servant, George, seems to be in on at least half of it, though Arthur gets the impression that, like Merlin, he’s smarter than he looks; he always happens to walk past, always happens to make himself suspiciously available, whenever Merlin and Lance need an extra pair of hands. The Cook too, is made aware of the validity of the assassination rumours, and Arthur correctly figures that’s mostly down to the possibility of poison.

All of this just means that Arthur is suddenly very aware of the shadows that Merlin moves in, and that when he turns around to find the servant not in his, he knows exactly where to look.

So far, Arthur has only had to follow Merlin out of the city once, and when he does, it turns out that the servant really was just picking herbs for Gaius. The King had gotten fairly bored of that fairly quickly, and went home after barely twenty minutes, which is lucky really, because about ten minutes later the Druids that Merlin had been waiting for finally showed up to tell their Lord all about the horrific beast that had been destroying their camps and hunting in local villages.

The next time The King follows Merlin beyond the city walls, Gaius had said the servant was spending his afternoon off in the tavern, so Arthur knows that he’s on track to see Merlin doing something wacky. He’s a few minutes behind the servant, following his tracks through the underbrush as opposed to Merlin himself, to stop himself being spotted; when he finally catches up, spurred on by the sounds of an entirely unnatural fight, what he sees takes his breath away.

He seems to have stumbled upon the scene during a lull in the battle, and he gapes from behind a tree at a giant, grotesque... monster. It looks sort of like the troll that his father had once married—Arthur momentarily shudders at the reminder—but much larger, and wearing significantly fewer clothes. His mind supplies the word “ogre” with an image of a picture book he’d had as a child; he’d honestly never believed in such things before, but then again, if Griffins and Lamiae and Unicorns and trolls exist, then why can’t ogres?

The lull doesn’t last long, and with a mighty roar that shakes the ground, the beast charges at Merlin. He stands in the centre of the clearing with no armour or weapon to speak of, but his wide-legged stance doesn’t falter, and Arthur watches in frozen horror as the servant flexes his hands and clicks his neck from side to side. Arthur can’t move, no matter how much he wants to draw his sword and rush to Merlin’s defence, and he can’t even whisper, no matter how much he wants to scream at Merlin to run. But then the unthinkable happens, the unexpected. Though at this point, Arthur thinks his surprise is his own fault, and he really should’ve seen this coming.

Merlin stretches his arms out in front of him, roars something that sounds unintelligible to Arthur, but clearly has a purpose, and pushes a writhing, storming stream of fire out from his hands. Arthur lets out a breath and sags against the tree as Merlin controls it with ease, dancing around the clearing to stay out of the ogre’s reach as the beast screeches. Arthur figures he must have arrived near the beginning of the fight, because with the way it’s going... Merlin really has got it down pat.

A few more streams of fire, a few thrown boulders (both by the ogre and by Merlin’s waving, powerful hands), and a strike of lightening that Arthur feels in his bones, the ogre lies dead, off to the side, and Merlin pants, his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. His eyes still glow golden, and Arthur finds himself staring at them, not quite certain whether he is awed or a little afraid. Perhaps a mix of the two.

Before he even makes the conscious decision, Arthur’s legs are moving him out from behind the tree and walking him towards his servant. It takes a moment or two for Merlin to notice him, but when he does, the gold zaps from his wide, suddenly frightened eyes quicker than The King can blink, and he stumbles back, his hands held out defensively in front of him as if Arthur hadn’t just seen him massacre a giant magical beast:

“Arthur? What are you... I can explain just... just give me... just let me explain!”

Arthur stops and frowns at Merlin’s fear, and then suddenly remembers that yes, the purge had been a thing that had happened, and yes, Arthur had been spouting his father’s beliefs since before he could walk, and yes, he himself had been enforcing the illegality of magic. He blinks and opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the words, but before he can, Merlin’s fear drains a little, to be replaced with concern. The servant still doesn’t step any closer, but he frowns and lowers his hands slightly:

“Arthur... are you alright?”

The King blinks and shakes his head, though not in disagreement, more to just try and rid his mind of the guilty fog that had stopped him from speaking:

“Uh... yes, yeah, I’m fine. Just... processing. Give me a moment.”

He doesn’t sound all that angry, but to be fair, he doesn’t sound all that anything. Merlin jumps to his own defence, desperately trying to explain everything at once before Arthur has a chance to realise how furious he is:

“I’m not evil! I use my magic to protect you, and Camelot, and I swear on my life I have never acted against you! Please, Arthur you have to believe me, I’m still the same man you know, and I’m not-”

Arthur waves away his words and untenses his shoulders with rolled eyes:

“Calm down Merlin, you dolt, I’m not angry. Well, I am, but not about the magic. I’m very much aware of how much you do for me: all the lying and the excuses and the... assassination of assassins. Which honestly somehow caught me more off guard than this did.”

He gestures vaguely to the smouldering corpse of the ogre, and Merlin glances at it before whipping his head back to Arthur, eyes wide:

“You knew about that?!”

Arthur raises an eyebrow:

“Yes, Merlin, I knew about that. I saw you... deal, with the first of Lot’s five, and as disturbing as it was, began following you around to see what else you get up to when you think no one is watching. Which brings me back to my anger, actually.-”

Merlin gulps, but seems to understand that he isn’t in any actual danger from The King. Arthur puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes at the servant:

“-You’re never doing this alone again. First of all, it’s dangerous, and I don’t want you wandering off to deal with Camelot’s latest disaster and then not coming back because you’ve been skewered or... or squished and eaten-”

He nods at the dead ogre again:

“-without anyone knowing what’s happened to you. And second off,-”

At this he gets visibly more annoyed, and Merlin cringes slightly as Arthur gestures wildly with his hands:

“-how dare you leave me out of this! That fight looked incredible, and you left me at home! You’ve deprived me of one hell of a tavern story, and I fully expect you make up for that by not leaving me behind next time. Dick.”

Merlin freezes and narrows his eyes in confusion, before all the tension drains from his body and he stares at Arthur incredulously:

“That’s what you’re mad about?! I almost died, and you’re mad that you didn’t get to join in on the fun??”

Arthur blinks and purses his lips, allowing his gaze to wander the clearing as he momentarily thinks, before looking back to the servant and nodding decisively:

“Yes.-”

He abruptly turns as Merlin sputters and waves his arm for the servant to follow him:

“-Now come on,-”

He turns, frowning in confusion as he looks between Merlin and the ogre’s corpse:

“-or do we have to... do something, about that?”

Merlin just wordlessly shakes his head, and Arthur smiles and turns away again, walking in the direction of the castle. The Warlock stays where he is for a few moments, confusion freezing his legs and muddling his mind, but Arthur calls out from ahead of him:

“Come on then, slow poke. It’s late, I’m tired, we can work on the repeal tomorrow.”

The King’s words nudge Merlin into a jog so he can catch up, but he doesn’t respond, just blinks, shrugs his shoulders, and decides that, in the grand scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

The End!!!

That was fun to write! Definitely not my favourite, but I hope y’all enjoy it!!

Head over to This List and let me know which you’d like me to prioritise! :D

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