Archive of Our Own

Arthur first holds a sword when he is eight years old. It’s a short blade, meant for close range fighting, but perfect for a boy still not tall enough to reach his father’s chest. The metal is cold in his hand and he has to focus hard to keep the blade aloft, its weight heavier than he expected.

Arthur tilts the sword in the sunlight, letting the stark white reflect back in his own eyes. He squints, stabbing the blade’s tip into the ground and looking up at his father with a thrilled grin. “Is this mine?” he asks, barely able to contain his excitement.

Uther nods, smiling. “You will use it to begin your training with Sir Godric.”

His father looks past him and Arthur slouches, wondering why Uther’s attention ran like water through his fingers no matter how tightly he cupped his palms. A man with long red hair tied in a ponytail and dressed in a long leather coat walks towards them, giving Uther a short wave.

Uther smiles, clapping the man on the back when he arrives and turns to his son, proud. Arthur wonders what the man did to deserve that look. Was it something Arthur could do too? Will Uther look at him like that one day then?

“Godric, you’re early!” Uther greets.

“When I heard you summoned me, I came running, my lord.” Godric answers with an easy smile and Uther laughs, sharp and short.

“Well, I’m pleased you tore yourself away from your adventures to return to Camelot once more. Godric, come. Meet my son, Arthur.”

Arthur grits his jaw, straightening his back and sticking out his hand. Godric appraises him for a moment, his gaze dragging up from Arthur’s toes right up to his face. Arthur fidgets, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the long stretch of silence before Godric takes his hand in his and squeezes it. “It’s an honour to meet you, Prince Arthur.”

And there, that’s more like it. Godric should be worried about Arthur’s scrutiny, not the other way around.

“Likewise.” He answers haughtily, dropping his hand and staring up at his father so he can finally explain what it is they’re all doing here.

“Godric,” Uther explains, clapping the man on the shoulder once more, “is Camelot’s finest swordmaster. He has trained the best of the knights since just after I earned my own knighthood.”

Arthur blinks, looking up at Godric once more and really looking this time. He’s older than he first appears, with his boisterous attitude and easy smiles. There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the normal signs of middle age. Arthur pegs him at around thirty or so but doesn’t care to think about it any further.

“Will he be training me then?” he drawls, already bored.

“No. You will have to earn being trained by me.” Godric interjects and Arthur frowns, looking up at him through his bangs. “You heard your father. I only train the best.”

Godric bends down until they’re at eye level, he’s so close Arthur can see the flecks of brown in his green eyes. “Are you the best Arthur?” he asks softly and Arthur scowls, crossing his arms.

“I’m going to be the greatest knight there ever was.” He boasts and Godric only laughs before his hand shoots out and collides against Arthur’s chest.

Arthur stumbles backward, eyes widening, arms flailing before he catches himself. He’s jumped back a foot and a half and Godric looks at him with judging eyes. “A real knight stays rooted in place. He moves only when he wants to. If this were a battle, I could have pushed you right into the open blade of an enemy.”

“But we’re not in a-”

“We’re always in a battle. That’s what it means to be a knight. You’re always fighting. You’re always vigilant! You must be ready to kill or be killed at any given moment!”

Arthur’s chin drops, glaring furiously at the grass. Knights are supposed to protect people. Knights were honourable. He doesn’t think there’s a lot of honour in bringing the war back home. But he knows better than to say anything silly like that.

Godric turns to Uther, “You’ve let him grow up soft Uther.”

His father simply sighs, “He has great potential Godric. You’ll see it too.”

Godric merely sniffs. “Perhaps.”

“Again.” Arthur demands, planting his feet and clenching his fists.

Godric raises a brow before complying, shoving him once more. Ready for it, Arthur lowers his centre of gravity and rocks on his feet, sliding back just an inch. Godric looks at him again, all of him coming apart.

“Come along Arthur,” he says at last and Arthur represses the urge to pump a fist, “let’s see what more you can do.”

Arthur turns to his father who merely nods his approval, already walking away. Godric looks at him with expecting eyes, holding out a hand and Arthur takes it. They walk side by side. Hand in hand.

This is the beginning of the end, of course.

But Arthur is only eight. How was he supposed to know?

A week later, Uther hosts a tournament in Godric’s honour. It is both a celebration of his return and a show of strength to the visiting nobility. Arthur sees the message as plainly as the visiting duke does; the knights of Camelot are a force to be reckoned with.

And then there is Godric.

At his place next to Uther’s throne, Arthur lurches from his seat, his little fingers gripping the water-worn wood of the railing, digging so tightly he’s sure it’ll snap right in two. He leans his body forward, desperate to get closer, desperate to be nearer to Godric’s fearless swings and effortless parries. He weaves through his enemies like a beam of light piercing right through the night.

Arthur’s never seen a person move like that, like their body was liquid silver, hard and soft all at once. Godric is fluid when he needs to be, his muscles bending like the reeds Arthur’s played in before his every angle sharpens like a knife, his body becoming an immovable mountain that his enemies collide into before tumbling to the ground. He is a warrior. A soldier. All the poetry, the ballads, the songs, the epics Arthur struggled to stay awake through during feasts all suddenly make sense. Godric is a man built for war and he will be Arthur’s teacher.

He will be Arthur’s teacher.

He grins and can’t stop. He doesn’t stop smiling even when it looks like Godric has been tossed to the ground without a sword, his luck finally running out. He doesn’t stop when Godric blows upward like an explosion, punching the man in the head so hard his eyes roll behind his head. He doesn’t stop when Godric beats the last man standing and Uther stands up to clap, undeniable pride in his eyes. “Congratulations to the winner! The Lion of the North returns once more to Camelot!”

The crowd explodes into cheers and screams, Godric’s colours rippling through the stands. Arthur looks around the whole stadium, soaking in the people’s joy and boundless pride, it piles on top of itself, turning the whole sky bright with it. Godric stands in the centre of the arena, blood pouring down his face. He presses a hand to the wound and lifts up a bloody fist, pumping it in the air as the crowd screams its approval.

When Arthur is old enough, he will win this tournament too. Just like Godric.

When the moment is over, Arthur rushes out of his seat, sprinting down the stairs to make it to the ground where he finds Godric in his tent, bandaging his wounds.

“You were amazing!” he cries, barely even panting despite how quickly he’d ran.

Godric looks at him a moment before his lip quirks up in a crooked grin. “Why thank you Arthur. How kind of you.”

“When I grow up, I’m going to be just like you!” he announces, hand at his hips, lips pulled in a determined line.

“Ay well, you can certainly try little bear.”

Arthur tilts his head, “I’m not a little bear,” he frowns, “I’m a dragon. A Pendragon.”

Godric laughs, his head thrown back all the way. “You might have a dragon on your crest, but your name means as strong as a bear. It’s an old name you see, an honourable one.”  

Arthur’s little mouth forms an oh before he grins, “Well it’s true. I’m definitely strong as a bear.” He grabs a side table to prove it, lifting it above his head, grinning widely.

“Strong indeed.” Godric agrees and Arthur feels himself grow taller just by hearing the words.

“When do we start training for real! I want to learn how to use a sword! And a bow! And a spear! And everything! I want to learn everything. Just like you!”

“Patience little bear. First, let’s work on your horseback riding. One thing at a time.”

“But what about weapons!”

“If you’ll fall off a horse at the slightest bit of a challenge, it won’t matter how good at a sword you are if you’re on the ground being trampled.”

Arthur can’t really think of a good argument against that so stays silent save for his puffed out lower lip and sulky eyes. Smiling softly, Godric beckons him closer, smoothing out his frown before ruffling his hair, “I will make you the greatest knight the kingdom has ever known, Arthur, you can be sure of that.”

Arthur’s certain if anyone looked, every star in the sky would be shining in his eyes.

“Now run along. I have wounds to mend.”

Arthur nods seriously, darting out of the tent and racing to find his father. He finds him chatting to a nobleman and crashes into him smiling widely, “Father! Do you know what Godric said to me!”

Uther glances down at him, pushing him away gently, “Not now Arthur. Tell me later.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue but Uther has turned his back to him. His shoulder still feels warm from where Uther touched him and Arthur thinks about how Uther had clapped Godric on the back so many times when they’d first been introduced. If Arthur got good at something, really, truly good, would Uther do that for him too? Would he finally look at him and actually see? Would his love harden from water to ice, solid in his hands?

If you’re the best, nobody looks away from you. If you’re the best, it doesn’t matter if no one loved you because they’d always need you. And sometimes, you’re too desperate to care about the difference.

Sometimes, Arthur feels a little desperate. Look at me! He wants to cry. Look at me look at me look at me! But that would just end up embarrassing his father and then he’d get attention but it would be none of the right kind and Arthur doesn’t want that. He wants what Godric has. He wants to be Godric. So Arthur makes a resolution. He will train every day. He will do every exercise. He will do every regiment. He will master every weapon, tame every horse, he will conquer the land itself and he will make his father and swordmaster proud.

He could do that. Just you wait and see.

Their training happens on sunny days and rainy days. Godric prefers the rainy ones where Arthur’s shirt sticks to his torso and his hair curls from the humidity. They gallop across the fields and over treacherous lands. When Arthur falls, rolling the way he was taught to avoid injury, Godric merely picks him back up, rubbing his hands up and down Arthur’s arms. “You did very well Arthur.” He’ll praise, “Look at you, not a single broken bone.”

And Arthur will beam and beam and beam, feeling warm even in the rain.

Godric helps Arthur get on his horse even when doesn’t need help anymore. Arthur doesn’t like it that much, because he’s big now and can do it by himself but Godric insists on helping, just in case. He grabs Arthur by the waist, hoisting him atop the saddle and moving his thighs into the correct position, his hands skimming the leather of Arthur’s pants. It’s a little strange that he does that, because Arthur knows where his legs are supposed to go, it’s all common sense, but Godric snapped at him when he told him so and so he kept his mouth shut, preferring his smiles to his ire.

Some days, Godric came to the stables with a little treat. He would bring a finger to his lips and whisper “Shhh, don’t tell your father.”

Arthur would run closer, putting a hand to Godric’s knee as he bent lower, peering into the bag he’d open in his lap. “Those are cook’s shortbreads!” Arthur whisper shouts, already digging a hand to pull one out.

“They’re for today’s special feast.” Godric confirms, “But you’ve been doing so well that I wanted to give you a treat and tell you the good news.”

Arthur munches happily on the sweet, looking up at him with trusting eyes, “What news?”

“We’ve graduated to the next level of your training; you’ll be accompanying me on a hunt. In a fortnight’s time.”

Arthur lights up, bouncing up and down, “A hunt?? Will I get to do any of the hunting!!”

Godric laughs, ruffling Arthur’s hair, letting his fingers linger down his scalp and against his neck. He massages Arthur’s skin and he looks at Godric curiously, head tilted. “Not yet little bear. For now, you will hold my weapons and watch how a hunter gets their prey.”

Godric looks at him with an intensity Arthur doesn’t recognize. It makes him feel almost bad for the little rabbits and the deer. They stood no chance. Naïve young never do.

The problem with Arthur’s life is that despite his resolution to become a knight, he still had lessons about other things; boring, stupid, pointless lessons. He’d rather be learning about how the winds affected a bow’s arc in the air, not about which king married which queen and how many countless children they had before they all inevitably died having done nothing much of anything at all. Arthur doesn’t put much stock into history, but unfortunately for him, his father does and that’s where all the trouble starts.

He's done badly on his history examination. He mixed up his geographies and his dynasties and then drew a particularly crude drawing of his tutor on his test paper that had him turning a particularly funny shade of purple. Arthur’s a prince, so he can do whatever he wants as far as he’s concerned. The problem is, he’s still subject to a king. And sometimes, kings can get very, very angry.

Uther’s tirade is long and burning. “I didn’t raise you to be an insolent student and a lazy one at that! You’re better than this Arthur! You are the future king of Camelot and I expect you to act like it or how will I, or anyone else, trust you to lead?”

I’m just eight! Arthur wants to shout. I’m not ready to be a king or even really a prince. I just want to run through the trees and maybe even make a friend but I’m trapped in this castle all day doing things I hate. Everything Arthur does is for the greater good, but what about his good? What about him?

When Uther is done, he dismisses his son from his sight and Arthur runs out the Great Hall crying until he bumps into a pair of legs. He looks up, rubbing the tears from his eyes because boys, no matter how small, don’t cry, when Godric crouches down and consumes him in a hug without Arthur even having to beg.

The affection is so unexpected and so deeply craved that Arthur buries himself deeper in his arms and bawls, burrowing into Godric’s neck as he strokes Arthur’s hair and up and down his back and over his bum. “There, there Arthur. It’s okay.” Godric soothes and Arthur shakes his head.

“Father yelled at me because I did bad at history but history is stupid and I don’t need it and I already know I’ll be a terrible king so why does he keep having to say it. Why can’t he say anything nice to me?” Arthur sniffles, his feelings bubbling up his throat, “He doesn’t love me at all. Nobody loves me and I don’t have any friends and I’ll never have any and I’m just alone.” He cries and Godric’s arms wrap tighter around him before pulling away.

Arthur watches as Godric settles on his knees, putting his hands on each of Arthur’s shoulders and staring into his eyes, brows drawn. “That’s just nonsense Arthur.” He says and Arthur’s lip wobbles, preparing for another lecture. “I’ve only known you for a short time and I already love you. You’re my favourite friend.” He promises and Arthur’s eyes widen.

“Really?” he pushes, needing to hear it be repeated.

“Of course.” Godric nods, “You don’t need anyone else, because you have me, okay? I will always be there for you. Because I care about you the most.”

The tears dribble down Arthur’s cheeks and Godric’s thumbs wipe them away. “Do you promise?” Arthur asks, voice small and shaky.

“I promise little bear. You’ll always have me.”

And Arthur smiles, bright and golden, throwing his arms around Godric’s neck and laughing as he sweeps him upward, spinning them around. It doesn’t matter if his father yelled at him today or any day, because Godric was here. And he promised he always will be and now Arthur finally has a friend.

Arthur has a friend.

Godric gets more touchy after that but Arthur doesn’t mind. There are always hands on him, on his shoulders, at his back, checking his pants up and down his thighs. It makes Arthur feel strange sometimes, when Godric’s hands linger where he’s not used to. Sometimes Godric walks Arthur back to his room and picks up a book on the stack Arthur’s meant to read. They settle in on Arthur’s bed, both leaning against the headboard and Godric’s arm wrapped around him as he flips the pages of the book with the other, reading aloud.

Sometimes Godric’s hand stops just caressing his shoulder and dips under his shirt, stroking his skin and raising goosebumps up his back. Godric’s hand would glide across the plain of his stomach and over his heart, pressing against the beat of it, feeling the thump thump beneath his palm. Arthur freezes when he does things like that. He doesn’t really know what to do. But Godric knows him so well, sees the uncertainty in his face and just smiles, rubbing a thumb against his lips and stretching it into a smile.

“This is what good friends do Arthur and we’re good friends aren’t we?” he asks, voice low.

Arthur nods, “We’re best friends.” He agrees.

“That’s right.” Godric praises, kissing him on the brow, “And when you’re good friends with someone, you want to get close to them all the time because you love them so much. And you know how much I love you.”

Arthur doesn’t really understand. No one else does this to him. So no one else loves him? Maybe Godric is just special. Maybe Arthur’s special.

“Some people wouldn’t understand though little bear. So let’s keep this between us. Another one of our secrets, okay? Otherwise, I might have to leave.”

Arthur panics. He grabs at Godric’s shirt and twists. “You can’t leave!” he cries.

Who would train him? Who would read him stories? Who would stroke his hair when he cried and tell him he was still good? That he was brillliant and shining.

“I won’t.” Godric asserts, “So shh.” He presses a finger to his lips and waits for Arthur to do the same.

“Shh.” Arthur repeats and Godric smiles.

Arthur likes it when he smiles. It means he’s doing something right and he so rarely ever does.

So he doesn’t say anything. Even when Godric’s hands go lower or higher. Even when the touch makes him feel like he wants to clench around himself. Even when he feels sometimes like maybe something isn’t right. Like something is off. Like maybe he doesn’t really like this at all and maybe this is bad but Godric loves him. And people who love you don’t hurt you, do they?

Even if they do though…Arthur will forgive him. Because no one else does. Godric said so. No one else loves him like Godric does. So it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Everything is okay until one day it all spirals out of control.

It’s the day of the hunting trip and Arthur is so excited he can barely contain it. He’s bouncing off walls, he’s darting around the castle, he bumps into his father who only laughs. “Your first hunt Arthur! Isn’t it thrilling! I expect you to bring us back a stag worthy of being mounted.”

Arthur nods seriously, straightening his back. “Absolutely father. I’ll make you proud.”

Uther ruffles his hair and Arthur beams, “Of course you will. You’re my son. Hunting is in your blood.”

And Arthur is so happy he could fly. It’s in his blood. He and the king are the same. His father and him are the same. This is going to be the best day of his life.

Godric comes to fetch Arthur and Uther grabs him by the forearm, but he’s smiling still. “Take care of my son, Godric.”

“Of course, sire, I will take only the best of care of the young prince.”

Godric takes Arthur by the hand and then hoists him atop his horse and off they go. They ride out with five other knights and some young boys with sticks to beat the brush in search of prey. The men cheer when their arrows land into the necks of woodland animals just going about their day and Arthur cheers with them, pulling the arrows out and checking to see if the creature was really dead.

He hands Godric arrow after arrow, learns how to creep silently through the bushes, how to stay low and blend into the foliage. Godric teaches him about tracks, the positioning of the sun, how to place yourself downwind so you’re hidden to all the senses. Arthur absorbs everything like a rag dipped in water. “Look at you,” Godric praises, when Arthur identifies his first print, “you’re becoming a man right before my eyes.”

Arthur feels himself growing taller by the second. He’s becoming a man. The greatest man in the world thought so.

When it’s time to retire, for this is a three-day long expedition, the servant sets up a tent for Arthur and Godric, who will stay with him for protection. His father is away, so Arthur can stay up as long as he wants and he listens with wide eyes and scandalized expressions as the knights share their raucous tales around the campfire. He watches Godric retire to their shared tent early, curiosity in his eyes.

He stays around the fire until all the knights have left to their own tents and bedrolls and Arthur stumbles into his own, sleepy-eyed and jelly limbed when he sees Godric with his pants down, eyes closed, neck thrown back, hand clamped around a part of him Arthur had never considered much before. Godric’s hand is sliding back and forth and Arthur moves to run away, not understanding what’s going on, but knowing enough to realize this wasn’t something he was supposed to be intruding on.

Godric’s eyes snap open, looking right at Arthur, his hand not stopping. “Arthur.” He gasps, and his name sounds dirty on Godric’s lips. “You’re a man now, you should know what men do.” He grunts and Arthur just stands there.  

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t even know what to think. He can’t help but stare. He has one too, but he’s never seen it look like that, big and scary. Godric beckons him over, “Don’t be scared.” He whispers, “You can touch it if you like.”

This is the moment that haunts Arthur in his dreams when he grows up. This is the moment that he wishes he could grab that little boy and drag him out and hold him close. Tell him he never had to do any of this, never had to act out a yes when all he wanted was to say no. That love doesn’t make you feel sick and twisted and awful. That love wasn’t supposed to be about secrets and grabbing and coercing.

That even though he knows now there was no way he could’ve ever said no, that he wishes every single day of his life that he had. Because that hunting trip when he was all alone with a man he trusted and looked up to and loved had violated him. Had ruined him and tarnished him and left him hollow, except for shame.

That night, Arthur gets covered in something sticky and disgusting. He touches and is touched. His brain becomes scarred with memories he won’t ever be free of and something inside him changes that day. Something fundamental he won’t ever get back. He is only eight years old but is ejected from childhood. He is no longer a boy. He is something else. Something he doesn’t understand and that doesn’t have a name, a child with adult harms. A ghost in the body of a living thing.

When the night is over and Godric is asleep, satisfied and knocked out cold, Arthur sneaks out of the tent and throws up in the bushes where he hiccups and gasps and sobs, stifling the noise so no one wakes up. I love you, Godric said, I love you, I love you, but Arthur didn’t want this. Arthur never wanted this.

How did it come to this?

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the hunting trip. He flinches at the slightest noise, hides from people’s touch. He wants to go home. He wants to go to his bed. But even his room isn’t safe, that’s where Godric and his books are. Nowhere is safe. He can’t go anywhere. He can’t escape.

Before they go home, Godric pulls him aside. Arthur can’t look him in the eye. “Arthur,” he says in a low voice, “why are you being so sullen. It’s not like you. I’m disappointed. This is an excellent opportunity for you and you’re wasting it.”

Arthur’s heart plummets, “Don’t tell father.” He begs, “He’ll be angry at me.”

“I might have to.” Godric warns, “You’re supposed to present the stag’s head to him, but if you look like this then-”

“I’ll do it! I can do it!” Arthur begs, gripping Godric’s hands. “Please!”

“I’m your friend Arthur.” Godric repeats, “I never want you to be in trouble, but you’re concerning me.”

Arthur wants him to be happy with him. Needs him to be happy with him, so he does something he knows makes Godric pleased and takes his hand and presses it to his cheek, rubbing it against his skin, “I’m happy, see?” He pleads, smiling as wide as he can though his entire face hurts, “Look.”

Godric appraises him before nodding, “Good boy. Now come one, let’s go back to Camelot.”

Godric steps foot back in the castle and he stays for four more long and terrible years. In those four years, Arthur fluctuates between bouts of acrimony and mania. He begs after Godric’s attention while simultaneously resenting it. He learns to go stock still when things happen to him, waiting for them to be over, moving only when spoken to, wanting everything to be done with so they can go back to the fun bits. The good bits. He’s being given a sword today, on his twelfth birthday, Godric said so.

Arthur hadn’t known it was a metaphor when he was told. He wouldn’t have smiled so brightly if he had.

Fourth months after Arthur’s horrible birthday, Uther sends Godric away to support a king in a neighbouring kingdom. It is a sad affair, the entire castle in a fuss to throw together a fitting goodbye party. Arthur ducks between flower garlands and weaves between servants, trying to run off the nervous energy he doesn’t understand. He can’t place his feelings, he doesn’t understand them and he has no one to talk to. There’s a new girl in the castle now, Morgana, but he doesn’t understand her yet either and so they dance around each other, forward and back, the push and pull of the waves on the shore.  

He wishes he could talk to her. Someone his own age. Someone grieving like him, though what they’re mourning is completely different.

He sees Godric make Morgana laugh, something he’s rarely ever seen while the girl is still wearing her mourner’s black. Arthur watches her closely for the signs. Morgana doesn’t have a haunted look in her eye, she doesn’t overly focus on Godric’s hand as it barely graces her shoulder in a friendly touch. Arthur focuses though. It makes him run hot with fear and horror. He pulls Morgana out of the way, grabbing her roughly and she glares at him shoving him back.

“What’s wrong with you!” Morgana shouts and he just stares at her, unable to explain himself.

“I- I thought he-”

“Don’t touch me again Arthur! Who do you think you are!” she snaps and Arthur watches her stomp away, feeling something crush inside him.

There’s something wrong with him. Everyone can see it. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe everyone else does what Godric does too and they’re perfectly okay with it. Perfectly fine. There must just be something wrong with him. All he’s ever wanted was love and now he has it so why does he hate it.

He’s spoken to the other boys, the other squires, all training to be knights under Godric. “Do you um…” he asks, trailing off when he can’t find the words, “do you like the way he trains?” he asks stupidly.

The boys cackle around him, “He’s insane that one. He never knows where the limit is.”

“He’s made me so sore I had to ask my mother to drag the tub next to my bed, I couldn’t move an inch.” One boy complains and everyone laughs

“Yes but,” Arthur starts, before realizing he doesn’t know what to say and cuts himself off.

The boys pay him no mind and Arthur can’t really tell either way and realizes it doesn’t even matter. It doesn’t change the way he feels. It doesn’t change what happened.

Throughout the feast, he keeps to himself, trying to catch Morgana’s eye but she refuses to look at him. Finally, the night ends and Arthur has successfully avoided Godric. Feeling pleased with himself, but still with a coil of worry in his belly, Arthur races to his bedroom only to find Godric standing next to the table. Arthur skids to a stop, his heart beating in his ears.

“Were you going to let me leave without saying goodbye little bear?”

Arthur wonders when the nickname stopped making him feel strong and started making him feel weak. When it started making him feel like something small and breakable, something that needed to be held in Godric’s palms just to stay aright.

“I- I was looking for you.” He lies lamely and Godric’s eyes darken.

“After all I’ve done for you, I expected more. You know what this means Arthur.”

Arthur’s stomach sinks. His feet feel like lead weights. He can’t move, doesn’t want to, but he finds himself walking forward anyway, every step getting closer to the noose. He already knows what he’s supposed to do and his fingers tremble as they reach for the drawstrings of Godric’s pants.

It’ll all be over soon.

He’ll just find that part of his mind that he hides in and crawl inside. He’ll come out when it’s safe. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’s about not thinking anymore. Becoming a doll rather than a person.

Arthur doesn’t let himself breathe until he sees Godric on his horse riding out of the courtyard the next day. Only when he sees his figure disappear into the horizon does the tension drain from his shoulders. Does his body stop feeling like broken clay, sharp to the touch. He’s stayed up all night, waiting for morning light, unable to close his eyes out of fear that when he opened them something would have snuck up on him. But Godric is gone. He’s finally gone and now…

Arthur wishes he knew how to forget. But he is twelve and only remembers so many things; so the things he does roll in his mind on an endless loop, over and over, etching the wounds in deeper. There’s only one thing he can do now, only one thing that will possibly help. And it has nothing to do with people, because people won’t help him- they never could and never did- but he can do something all on his own. He can make sure nobody ever touches him. Not ever again.

Arthur picks up a sword and never puts it down. He excels faster than any single knight recruit there ever was. There isn’t a single weapon that he doesn’t understand as intuitively as he knows his own mind. By the time he is twenty years old, there is not a man alive who can take him in a fight. Not a man alive who can make Arthur Pendragon do anything he doesn’t want to do. He is no longer a bear, he is a beast, and he’s learned how to bare his fangs.

After Godric, he’d learned his lesson. No more friends. No more trust. But Arthur turns twenty and then meets a boy with big ears in the square with a sharp tongue and bewitching grin. Merlin extends a hand, Arthur waves around a mace and nothing is ever the same.

Despite every bit of him fighting against it, Arthur falls into Merlin’s gravity helplessly. They banter and they bicker, they toss things at one another in frustration or laughter. They chat about nothing and everything, Merlin cracks jokes that have Arthur wheezing, he shares snide looks with him between stuffy councilmen that have Arthur hiding snorts behind his palm. For the first time in his life, he feels safe in another person’s company, feels utterly comfortable, like Merlin was always supposed to be at his side and he’d just been waiting. All this time.

More importantly though, Merlin is the only one he’ll let touch him.

“Rise and shine sleepy head!” Merlin greets, throwing open the curtains and clicking his tongue when Arthur rolls over to the other side groaning.

“Come on Arthur, you have a whole day ahead of you.”

“Don’t want to.” He complains and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“You never do. And yet, do it we must. Come on.” And when Arthur refuses, Merlin sighs before leaping onto the bed, ripping off the covers and tugging on Arthur’s arms.

Arthur groans, trying to shake him off and Merlin’s hands are all over him, pulling on his chest, his arms, his hands, until finally, Arthur is on the floor, expression bewildered and comedic and Merlin is guffawing, hands at his knees.

“Oh shut up Merlin.”

“Maybe if you stop looking like a drowned cat I might.” Merlin laughs, holding out a hand and a reconciliatory smile.

Arthur glowers at him but it vanishes soon enough, grasping Merlin’s hand and letting himself be drawn up. Merlin’s hold on him lingers before he pulls away, looking down and then up again. “Sleep well then?” he asks after a beat.

The answer is not really. Arthur doesn’t sleep well. Never has. Not since he was a child. He awakens constantly in the night, looking around his room like there might be something lurking. Nothing ever is. But there used to be monsters. They used to be all over him. And now he lives in constant fear of meeting them again.

“The usual.” He replies quietly and Merlin tilts his head.

“Arthur…is everything alright?”

Arthur looks at him, takes in the genuine concern in his eyes, the lack of judgement. He doesn’t like admitting it, would never say it out loud, but sometimes he feels lucky. He looks at his father and knows he doesn’t have anyone in his life he considers a true friend. He has allies and knights and loyal subjects but it’s not just about someone who’s willing to die for you and your cause, but who will sit with you shoulder to shoulder in front of a fire. It’s about who can look at you and see right through you, without even having to try.

“I’m not such a sorry case that people like you have to worry about me.” Arthur wrinkles his nose, feeling amused at Merlin’s exasperated expression.

“See if I ever care about you again.” He shoots back.

Arthur clutches at his heart, turning wounded eyes at him, “Merlin, no.”

Merlin grins, pushing against his bicep gently, “Shut up.”

“Excuse you, I’m the prince.”

“How could I ever forget.” Merlin replies, but he says it fondly, warmth in his eyes and Arthur can’t help but smile back.

Yes, he’s lucky. And one day, he’ll be brave enough to admit it.

Uther pulls him aside and with an uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye leans in and says, “I have a surprise for you Arthur, coming in four days time. I think you’re going to like it.”

Arthur raises a brow, glancing ever so slightly at Merlin who has a curious look on his face. It’s a real secret then, because Merlin knows all the servants and all the good gossip.

Arthur smiles, “I look forward to it father. Do I get a hint?”

Uther claps him on the shoulder, “That’ll ruin the fun! But think back to your childhood and someone you’ve missed, that’ll be a start.”

Arthur’s brows furrow, an uncertain smile falling up and down his lips. He watches his father go with questions in his eyes and waits for Merlin to bound towards him, as he always does. As Arthur relies on him to do.

“What was that about?” Merlin asks, eyes narrow as he peers after Uther.

Arthur shrugs, “He said to think about my childhood, but there’s nothing particularly fond about that.”

Merlin blinks in surprise, “You were the prince of Camelot, what do you mean there was nothing fond?”

Arthur grimaces, all too aware of what he sounds like. What an entitled spoiled prince he must be. Had the whole world on a plate and it still wasn’t enough. Who was he to complain? He never starved, he never slept beneath torn rags, never got too sick because he couldn’t afford a cure. Merlin had grown up in a village pillaged by bandits and disease.

Who was Arthur to complain.

“You’re right.” He says, with a tight smile, which only makes Merlin’s disbelief greater.

“I’m what.” Merlin presses a hand to Arthur’s forehead, “You’re ill. I know you are. Why didn’t you say anything.”

Arthur slaps at his hand, “I’m not ill. I’m just-” he runs his fingers through his hair.

He’s what? He’s what? An adult trapped in the past because he’s too much of a weakling to get over it? Why isn’t he over it. God, how long can a person be sad for? How long can you lament. What happened, happened. It doesn’t matter. He’s moved on. He’s moved on, he’s moved on.

He’s so sick of himself, he aches from it.

“I need to get out of here.” He mutters, already stalking off to the stables.

Merlin looks dumbly upon him before sprinting to join him, “What are you on about, where are we going?”

“We,” Arthur interrupts, “aren’t going anywhere.”

Merlin frowns, pulling at his wrist and bringing them to a stand stop. “Where you go, I go. That’s how it is with us.”

“There is no us Merlin.” Arthur says with a sneer. But he doesn’t pull away. And Merlin notices that he doesn’t.

“You make everything so difficult. One day you’re going to admit that I’m your friend.”

Arthur snorts, “The day my father casts a spell, ask me then.”

Merlin can’t help but chuckle, “Can you imagine? Uther a sorcerer?”

“The world will have gone mad.” Arthur agrees, feeling something loosen inside of his chest.

“You’re really coming with me?” he asks, hating the doubt in his voice.

“Yes, really. God knows why though. Ungrateful prat.” Merlin jabs, just because he can.

Arthur snorts, his eyes sparkling as he grabs Merlin in a headlock, ruffling his hair and enjoying Merlin’s pointless swatting and wriggling. “Then go get us some food, I’ll get the horses. Meet you at the stairs.”

Merlin shoots him a weak glare and Arthur grins harder. This could still be a good day after all.

They ride out into the woods, just enjoying the sun and the breeze. Merlin tells Arthur about some of the more gruesome medical cases he’s assisted Gaius on, Arthur hanging on his every word in grotesque curiosity. Arthur in return tells Merlin about how dismal this batch of knights are, how none of them have the heart required for the work they do and how he misses Lancelot, noble as he was.

“Can’t you just magic up a noble seal for him?” he asks lazily.

“Arthur,” Merlin replies flatly, like he’s stupid, “I did that and we got caught, remember?”

“Yes well, I didn’t know about your magic then.”

“And how would that have helped exactly?”

“Well for starters, I could’ve helped you pick an actual son of a lord who we had no chance of ever seeing. So there’s that.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything and Arthur laughs.

They make camp next to the river and Merlin brews them some tea, steeping it in a little clay pot above the flames. He pours them both out a cup and they sit side by side, knocking shoulders to emphasize some point or another as they talk.

Despite the ease of the moment, there’s a balloon of dread hanging in Arthur’s chest. Uther’s words have poked a hole in the bottom and he can feel the drip drip of acid burning his organs clean through. He has a vague sense of what is to come. For all that Merlin might joke, Arthur is no fool. There was only one thing he ever loved as a child. Only one thing that might return but he can’t bear the thought of it. So he represses it. But no matter how many times he stuffs it down, it rises like hot air, scalding his face.

“Merlin,” he says quietly, looking pointedly at the fire, “would you lie to the king for me?”

Merlin’s expression scrunches and he looks at him through his lashes, confused, “Why would you ask me that?”

“Just answer the question, would you?”

Merlin regards him for a moment more, “I have before and I’d do it again. I’m your man Arthur. Not the king’s.”

“That’s treason.” Arthur answers, though his heart pounds in joy.

Merlin shrugs, “Well it’s the truth.”

“Because you think I’ll make a good king. A better king who’ll bring magic back.” He amends, feeling tired, rubbing at his face.

“Yes.” Merlin says and Arthur feels his heart sink.

Oh.

“But it’s more than that.” Merlin continues and Arthur doesn’t bear hope. “I like you, Arthur. God knows why, but I do. You’re my best friend.” He says simply and Arthur can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop drinking him in, he feels like he’ll never get enough.

“So yes, I’ll lie for you. I’ll play along with your schemes and your terrible ideas and jump into all sorts of danger for you, but won’t you tell me why? There’s been something on your mind, I know there’s been.”

Arthur draws away, pulling his knees into his chest. “I’m just thinking is all.”

“Well that’s no good.” Merlin jokes, but Arthur doesn’t shove him or flash him one of his many ridiculous faces and Merlin frowns.

“Arthur,” he says again, reaching a hand out to his shoulder and just laying it there. It’s warm and solid and Arthur can’t help but lean in until he’s on the ground, head on Merlin’s lap, arm over his eyes, hiding.

Merlin stares down at him, uncomprehending before he just smiles softly and begins carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I know you feel sometimes that you’re alone in the world Arthur-”

“I don’t.” Arthur mumbles, still shielding his face.

Merlin pauses, looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes ashine.

“I was,” Arthur clarifies, “lonely, I mean. But I’m not now. Because of…well, you already know it’s you. I’ve never had a friend before. A real one anyway and…” he trails off, biting his inner lip before his voice drops to a mumble, “I know I’m not perfect, but I’ll be better, just be patient with me.”

Arthur’s worried he’s said too much, or maybe too little. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He’s only just starting to understand how broken he really is. How he’s never learned to connect with other people. Doesn’t know what a real friend is, much less how to be one. He just knows that Merlin makes him laugh and feel at ease. That the chaos in his head quiets when Merlin walks into a room and that Merlin is the only person in the world Arthur is sure of. That makes him feel like person and not a wound.

“If I said we should hug it out, would you hit me?” Arthur can hear the smile in Merlin’s voice and hides his own.

“Shut up Merlin.”

“Shutting up.”

Merlin keeps stroking his hair despite it all. “You could try being a little less hot-tempered.” He says after awhile, “That’d be a start.”

Arthur grunts. Burrows deeper into Merlin’s lap.

“Who would’ve thought that most fearsome warrior in the land had such an endearing side.” Merlin murmurs and Arthur lets out an amused breath.

“Are you calling me lovable, Merlin?”

“Well, I’m not, not saying it.” He answers uncommittedly.

“You’re not entirely hateable either.”

“Wow, what a lofty compliment. I’m going teary eyed.”

Arthur laughs at his dry sarcasm, turning over so he can look up into Merlin’s face. He brings up a hand, taps it against Merlin’s cheek and feels his heart flutter when Merlin turns into the touch. “You should be so honoured, Merlin.” He says in a low voice and is thrilled when he feels Merlin’s cheek rise with his smile.

“You’re just a walking problem, you know that?”  

“Yes, but I’m your problem, so suffer.”

Merlin grabs his hand, his fingers wrapping around Arthur’s own. “There are worse fates, I suppose.”

Arthur grins, pulling down their joined hands so they’re at his hair once more, “You could be the archives assistant.” He offers and laughs when Merlin wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“I’d die from dust inhalation.”

Arthur hums in agreement, “I’m half convinced Geoffrey’s just a highly corporal ghost sometimes.”

“He’s certainly curmudgeonly enough to be one.”

“And old.”

“Well that’s not exactly a crime.”

“At a certain point though,” Arthur insists, “don’t you just want to lounge in your own home all day and be with your wife?”

Merlin pauses, “Does he…have a wife?”

“I just assume all old people have wives.”

Merlin laughs, he can’t help it, it’s such a ridiculous and utterly Arthur thing to say. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Why?”

And Merlin laughs harder at the actual offense in Arthur’s voice.

“What about Gaius? Or your father.”

Arthur opens his mouth before closing it. “Alright.” He says at last, “Maybe that was an unfounded assumption.”

“Maybe.” Merlin agrees solemnly and laughs at Arthur’s scowl.

They’re quiet after that, Merlin playing with Arthur’s hair before Arthur captures his fingers with his own, wrestling with Merlin’s hand playfully in the air. Merlin watches their hands, voice lowering, “How long did you want to camp out here Arthur?”

Forever? Arthur wants to say but knows that would be ridiculous.

“Two nights.” Is his pitiful compromise. “The last thing we want to do is join up with the delegation when it arrives.”

Merlin hums in the back of his throat. “Okay.” He says softly and there it is again, that gratefulness in the back of Arthur’s throat.

Maybe things will be okay. Maybe with Merlin at his side, he won’t crawl back into that part of his mind that turned him into just a shell. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

When Arthur falls asleep that night, Merlin’s gentle breathing beside him, he doesn’t wake up once. It’s the best he’s slept in a long time.

The day of his surprise arrives and Arthur couldn’t close his eyes all night. Merlin only looks at him sadly, moving slower than he normally does as he dresses Arthur with care. “You look like you’re being walked to the pyre.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Merlin.” He tries to joke back in his normal commanding way, but his voice sounds raw and he feels sick all over.

Maybe he should just hide in bed, get some herbs from Gaius as cover for his story and bury himself in the covers. Though he tries hard to kill it, a memory flares up, unbidden, of this same bed and a younger body and bigger hands. No, he wouldn’t be safe here. There would be nowhere safe. Nowhere except-

“Stay by my side today. And don’t leave for a second. There will be no more hunts for rare flowers or magical creatures. I don’t care if there’s a bloody plague.” His voice is sharp and Merlin doesn’t flinch necessarily, but he starts, taken aback by his fervor

“I’m always at your side Arthur.”

“No you’re not.” Arthur says without thinking, “Sometimes I look for you and you’re not there.”

Merlin bites his lip, hangs his head. “You know I don’t want to be elsewhere, it’s just sometimes-”

Arthur holds him by the wrist. He doesn’t care that his entire expression is bleeding, “Promise me, Merlin.”

The concern returns to Merlin’s face, his lips twisting in a frown, “Arthur-”

“Promise me.” He repeats, his chest aching.

“I promise.”

But Arthur doesn’t look away, can’t find the faith to believe in him so Merlin cups his face in both of his hands and Arthur remembers when someone else did it first and flinches backwards violently, unable to stop himself.   

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice breaks and he steps back, looking pained and hurt.

“I-”

What is he supposed to say. What can he possibly say?

“I heard something. We- we have to go. Come on Merlin.” The fight has all gone out of him, “There’s a long day ahead of us.”

Merlin follows him out the door, but he hangs slightly behind, like he’s not sure what his place is anymore. Arthur’s heart squeezes. He hates himself and he hates what he’s become and he hates today, he wants it over, he wants it done.

He stands like a statue at his father’s right hand, feeling like his face has been carved from stone, his smile curved, his eyes flat. He glances at Merlin, leaning against the pillar where he always is. He’s sure someone will notice the frequency. The obsessive nature of his stares. No one, other than Merlin himself, does. Arthur supposes he should feel grateful.

The dread he’s lived with his whole life pools over his liver and stomach, burning them right through with its acidic touch. The door flies open, trumpets blare, there is too much sound and colour, Arthur can’t feel his hands, his face is frozen, he’s smiling, he’s smiling, he’s-

Godric walks into the room, hair slightly greyer, beard slightly shaggier, but his eyes just as green, his reflexes just as sharp. Uther rises from the throne, raising his hand in greeting, “The Lion of the North has returned to Camelot once more! Welcome, Sir Godric!”

The crowd cheers and claps as Godric strides in, his confidence oozing out of him in waves, his entourage following silently behind. He places himself before the king and falls to one knee, bowing his head, “My lord,” he starts and Arthur feels his blood freeze in his veins because it’s that voice, it’s that voice once more, it’s all over his skin, it’s in his ears, it’s everywhere, everywhere, “it is an honour to be back home. Thank you for your kind welcome.”

“Rise Godric, you are amongst friends. Come! You must tell us all about your adventures and-” Uther pauses, turning to his son, “Arthur, come greet our old friend properly.”

Arthur’s well aware of how he looks right then, eyes wide, a vague panicked air about him, his cheeks paling by the second. “I, of course sire, I just…didn’t want to interrupt.” He finishes lamely.

“Nonsense! I know how close you two were, don’t let me get in the way of a touching reunion.” Uther all but shoves Arthur closer to Godric and he holds out his arm, hating the way Godric’s fingers feel around his elbow, squeezing tight.

He feels sick. He’s going to be sick. Get off him, get off him get off.

“You’ve grown, Arthur.” Godric praises, “You’ve become a fine young man.”

His gaze flicks up from Arthur’s feet to his face just like it did when he was still a child, meeting him for the first time and once more, Arthur feels the need to curl away and hide.

There’s acid in his throat. It burns through his lungs and straight through his stomach.

“Thank you.” He says tightly.

“Arthur has become Camelot’s finest warrior.” Uther praises and Arthur is too ill to even enjoy it. “I think he could take even you.”

Godric raises a brow, gives Arthur a look, “Oh I’d be happy to let Arthur try to take me any time he wishes.”

Arthur’s insides twist and he jerks away. “I think you’ll find I’m a stronger foe than you think.” He says coldly, ignoring his father’s frown at his impudence.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Godric replies before nodding at Uther and turning to greet the rest of the council.

“Arthur,” Uther hisses, “you should show your teacher some respect. I know you are keen to prove yourself, but there’s a line between banter and discourtesy.”

Arthur grits his teeth, curling the hand Uther can’t see into a tight fist. “Yes, father. I’m sorry.”

Uther softens, “It’s fine. I remember what it was like at your age. Show him what you’re made of on the field.”

Arthur loosens his shoulders, giving his father a small smile. “I will.” He promises and makes a vow then and there to beat Godric into the ground so that he’ll be too afraid to ever approach Arthur again.

Throughout the feast, Arthur keeps careful watch of his surroundings, trusting Merlin to be at his back and do the same. He keeps the drinking to a minimum, has only one glass when his father insists on making a toast and then subtly handing the rest off to Merlin to dispose of without anyone seeing. He can’t breathe properly, it’s like he must remember he needs to, but when he does, stops knowing how.

He's on the constant lookout, waiting to see when Godric will make his move but he never does. He simply sits with the nobles and laughs and makes jokes and has the time of his life while Arthur sits in a pool of his own anxieties, worrying and burning.

He hates this.

Why did he have to come back. Why is here, in this room, in his presence. He had gone. He had left. Arthur had watched him go all those years ago so why is he here once more? When does Arthur get peace? When is he fixed?? Seeing Godric again makes all the holes in his heart and his body light on fire, burning wider wounds and giving him such an array of symptoms he doesn’t even know which is worse; the nausea, the sweating, the coil in his stomach, his shortness of breath, or the ever-present fear that someone might know and he will be humiliated forever.

Worse, the fear that Godric will find him once more and for all that Arthur has learned to fight, he will be helpless against him. But he can’t think like that. Can’t let himself even ponder that possibility because it is too horrifying to conceive of and Arthur can’t.

He spills his drink on himself on purpose, makes a show of getting up and complaining, “Best to retire for the night.” Arthur says by way of an apology, forcing a laugh, “I’ve obviously lost my wits.”

He pretends to stumble into Merlin, who wraps an arm around his waist to play his part. When they round the corner and are far enough away for it to be safe, Arthur drops the act, sighing into his hand. Every step they take towards his bedroom fills him with fear. What will he find when he opens the door? How many locks would it take to keep the monsters out?

He lets Merlin enter first and when he doesn’t hear a surprised gasp, follows behind him, carefully checking behind curtains and corners and his partition.

“You’re acting strangely.” Merlin comments and Arthur straightens, trying to look haughty.

“This wouldn’t be the first time someone has used a festive occasion for nefarious reasons. We’ve had assassins sneak inside using stupider means.”

Merlin quirks his brows as though agreeing, “Fair enough. But I can assure you Arthur, there’s no one here but us.”

Arthur knows he’s right. Obviously he does. But it doesn’t make him any less worried. Merlin dresses him for bed, looking at him like he’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. Arthur avoids his eye, hopes that for once in his life Merlin will let something slide.

“Sir Godric,” Merlin starts and Arthur has to force every muscle in his body to stay still and not flinch, “he was your first swordmaster?”

“Yes. Though he left just after he taught me the basics of swordsmanship.”

He can do this. Keep it removed and factual.

He can do this.

Merlin nods, “Rumour is you were quite close.”

Arthur freezes before he grabs at Merlin, his entire face darkening like a cloud, “What rumors?” he all but shouts, “What are they saying?”

“Arthur! That hurts.” Merlin pulls out of his grip, rubbing at his wrists and Arthur steps back with shock, shaking his head.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“What’s gotten into you? You faked being drunk at dinner and you’ve been distant all day. I look at you and it’s like you’re a thousand leagues away, hidden in your head.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. It’s the first time anyone’s ever acknowledged what he does out loud.

“Do you think anyone else noticed?” he asks quietly and his question flabbergasts Merlin who only sputters for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“No. Unlike you, everyone else was drunk.”

“Good.” Arthur deflates, falling onto his bed, “Good.”

“Arthur-”

“Please Merlin.” And it’s the please that has Merlin stopping in his tracks, “I have my reasons.”

Merlin walks closer to the bed, crouches down so they’re eye level. “You can trust me, Arthur. What’s the matter?”

And his face is so kind and open, so darling and dear. Merlin’s eyes are clear and strong. Maybe he could lift both of them up because Arthur feels like he’ll never recover enough strength to stand. But the shame is stronger than his need. He will never be able to tell.

Merlin looks at him and sees a man worthy to be king. Arthur knows how Merlin softens when Arthur isn’t looking, knows how his heart soars in his eyes when Arthur saves a life or shows signs of the future he will create. Merlin thinks Arthur is good. He thinks he’s whole. He can’t ever show him his brokenness, the dirty sludge inside him, the terrible disgusting things he’d done. He can’t be honest about the things he let happen, the things he sometimes didn’t even hate. Can’t tell him that he was truly just a coward when Merlin thought him so brave.

“You’re the only person I do trust, Merlin.” He admits, Merlin’s expression breaking.

“Then why.” Merlin pushes and Arthur turns away from him.

“Because I’m selfish.” He answers at last, “You can go now Merlin. That will be all.”

He feels Merlin linger behind him, torn between obeying or not, but finally he leaves, looking at Arthur one last time before he closes the door. Arthur waits a minute or two before running out of bed and sliding the bolt across the door. When that isn’t enough, he shoves two chairs against it and puts his sword next to him on the bed.

He falls asleep holding the hilt, knuckles white.

Arthur is out training the knights on the field. He’s distracted and it shows. He forces through it, glaring at anyone who tries to speak to him until they’re all scared into submission. Arthur’s set to have them run drills just out of spite when Godric walks onto the pitch, the sunlight glinting through his hair like fire.

Arthur’s grip around his sword tightens. He finds the cool metal a comfort, feels the ridges of the design on his palm. He is untouchable with a sword. He knows that. They all know that. He’s untouchable.

He wonders how many times he needs to repeat it before it’s true.

Godric waves at them, grinning cheerily, “Hello boys, fancy having a real teacher?”

From the bench where he’s watching, Arthur sees Merlin frown and feels just the slightest bit better. “Sir Godric,” he greets, swinging his sword around his neck so it rests on his shoulder, “what brings you here?”

“Why to train of course. Who’s your best knight here.”

“That would be Prince Arthur, sir.” Leon says proudly, looking to Arthur with a gentle smile.

“I would’ve been disappointed otherwise.” Godric replies, pulling his sword out of its scabbard, “What do you say Arthur? Shall we show them how real men fight?”

Arthur’s blood thrums, his heartbeat is so loud in his ears everything else fades into the background. It’s like his vision has tunneled, he can’t see past Godric’s lazy stance and curled smirk. He slides his sword off his shoulder, eyes narrow. “I’m ready when you are.”

Godric only smiles before he flies at him, his sword dancing through the air just as rhythmically as Arthur has always remembered. But Arthur had been training too, had never stopped, never given up. He parries and he blocks and attacks, attacks, attacks. They jump around each other, ducking blows and landing some of their own when it becomes clear that Arthur has the upper hand.

He's pushing Godric back, jabbing at the small weaknesses in his footwork that make it easy for him to keep him off balance. Arthur swings his sword and it clashes against Godric’s own. They push against one another, the metal grating, when Godric leans in, so close his face could be sliced between their blades, “I missed you little bear.” He whispers, smile twisted, “I thought of your face every night while we were apart.”

The name knocks the air from his lungs and Arthur loses all focus. Every single thought drops from his mind. His arms just entirely give out, it’s like his heart just gives up. He stares at Godric in horror and in that moment of weakness, Godric slides his sword downward, hitting Arthur in the wrist and his sword clatters at his feet. Godric sweeps a leg and Arthur falls to the ground, his hands slapping the earth before he shoots up, only making it to his knees when Godric’s sword just touches his throat, “How nostalgic.” He murmurs, “You on your knees.”

Arthur wants to throw up. The nausea piles up inside him and he swallows it back down, eyes burning at the taste and the heat that flames up his throat. He’s panting hard. He can’t move. He’s gotten out of situations like these before, everyone’s watching him now, there are too many eyes there are too many eyes. He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. But he can’t move and that’s when Arthur realizes that he will never be untouchable.

That no matter how strong he became, one word from Godric and he will be eight years old once more, trembling and scared and so utterly naïve. He is at Godric’s mercy and so he bows his head in defeat and waits for the shame to devour him whole.

But their world is made of politics and even defeat is never that simple.

“That was excellent Arthur!” Godric praises in his for-other-people-voice, pulling him up by the arm and sheathing his sword, “Did you see that, men? Who could hope to challenge me in that way?”

The knights all clap but the praise is hollow in Arthur’s ears. There’s no strength left in him, he’s just empty. That’s it. That’s it. He’s just damaged. That’s all. God.

“How would you like to take over the training session?” he asks Godric, feeling like he’s floating outside his body.

“I would love to Arthur.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder and squeezes, shaking him slightly. “Good man, go bandage up your wrist.”

Vaguely, Arthur realizes that his wrist is bruised and panging but he pays it no heed. He’s gone numb. He does that sometimes. When he’s in that part of his mind no one can pry him out of.

Merlin runs toward him, giving Godric a hard look before leading Arthur away. It is only when they’re safely indoors does Merlin take Arthur’s wrist and turn it over in his hand. “It’s just a bruise. We’ll put on the usual ointment.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, his gaze wholly unfocused.

Merlin taps at his cheek, bringing him down to earth. “He said something to you. Godric. On the field before he knocked you down.”

Arthur blanches and he turns away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice is hard and Arthur stops though he doesn’t turn back around, “I’ve seen you fight a thousand times. You were beating him. I know you were. Did he ask you to let him win?”

Arthur snorts. He can’t help it. Ask him? Godric didn’t need to ask, he only needed to take. And Arthur would apparently always give, no matter how unwilling.

He tilts his head, showing half of a heartbroken expression, “Will you take my armor off?”

Merlin’s expression twists in pain but he follows after him and Arthur is thankful. Merlin’s fingers flutter above the straps and leather, carefully sliding each piece off of him until he’s just wearing his tunic, now dried of the sweat. He feels Merlin’s breath on his neck before he rests his forehead against Arthur’s back, pressing into him.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Arthur says quietly.

“Then don’t make me say it.”

“Everything is alright Merlin, I promise. Now how about you fetch us some lunch so we can eat in peace.”

“Us?” Merlin’s so surprised he jerks back and Arthur grins.

“Shockingly, I enjoy your company somewhat. Something must be wrong with me.”

There are a thousand things wrong with him, but none of them would ever be Merlin. He doesn’t say that though, but he hopes Merlin hears it anyway.

“You have such a way with words, sire.” Merlin drawls and Arthur turns around, grinning at Merlin’s fond shake of the head.

“Steal something sweet, would you?”

“Are you sure you need a little extra padding?” Merlin teases, reaching forward to pat Arthur’s stomach.

Arthur stops the movement before it fully happens, freezing his instinctive jerk backward. For a moment, he’s afraid Merlin’s caught it, but Merlin merely draws away and nods his head to the door, “I’ll be back in a bit. Sit tight.”

Arthur nods jerkily, all but falling into his chair. He rests his elbows on the table, buries his face in his palms. His fingers pull at his hair, the sharp pain making him gasp, but drawing the world into focus once more. He needs to get it together. He needs to stop jumping at every little thing. The world wasn’t full of monsters and even if it were, Merlin would never, ever be one of them.

Merlin is kind and endearing and unfairly charming. He’s brave and he’s true-hearted and he’s unfailingly loyal- more than Arthur could ever deserve. He’s loved Arthur more truly than anyone ever has his entire life and he would never, ever betray him. Arthur knows it. Some days, it’s the only thing he knows for sure.

He’s let Merlin touch him since the moment they met so why.

Godric’s face flashes in his mind and his fist slams into the table, again and again, his hand turning red from the impact. He wishes it were Godric’s face, smashes his fist atop the wood, angry at him, angry at himself, angry at the whole entire world, feeling more rage than he knows what to do with. Why couldn’t he just stay gone? He’s ruining everything. He’s ruining all of it and Arthur can’t lose Merlin, he can’t, but he will.

He knows he will.

Because the longer Godric stays, the less Arthur will be until nothing of him exists at all. He will retreat back to his sunken place, hide in the corners of his mind where no one can reach him or hurt him. He will fade from this earth until he stops being anyone else’s but Godric’s. Bitter tears sting at Arthur’s eyes and he wipes at them furiously, feeling his lungs constrict inside him.

When does he get over it? When does he just move on? Hasn’t it been long enough, hasn’t he suffered enough, when is it finally enough and who decides? Do the gods in heaven look down at him and laugh at his weakness, regretting their choice to prophesize him as king. What kind of king is he?  To sit at tables hiding when there are monsters he should be slaying and people he can be saving.

There’s blood dripping down his knuckles from scraping the wood with just his skin one too many times. Arthur doesn’t feel the pain, it’s a distant thing, separated from his nerves by layers of grief he’s never been able to name. He watches the streaks of red with detached fascination, hearing the drip drop of it fall against the table.

He hears rather than sees Merlin shout his name, rushing over to him, abandoning his tray of food and grabbing at Arthur’s hand. “What the hell happened??” Merlin demands, “I left you alone for barely twenty minutes what-”

When it becomes clear Arthur won’t answer, still staring stubbornly at his shoes, Merlin sighs, though it comes out more as a growl. He drops Arthur’s hand and digs around in one of his cabinets, pulling out a roll of bandages and some rags. He pours a bit of water out of the jug onto the rag before taking Arthur’s hand once more and gently rubbing at the wound, cleaning the now flaking blood from his skin.

Arthur watches him without speaking, drawn to the way Merlin’s fingers wrap around him while the other hand dabs almost rhythmically at the blood, washing, washing, washing. It reminds Arthur of when he was younger, when he would dive into scalding baths like burning his skin could get rid of the evidence of touches long past.

When Merlin is satisfied that the wound is clean, he wraps the bandage around Arthur’s knuckles and ties it with a sharp knot. “You’re such a difficult patient, but keep it on for at least tonight, alright?”

“Okay.” He answers, in a voice barely above a whisper and Merlin frowns harder.

“What happened?” he asks again and Arthur just shrugs.

“I hit my hand against the table. It happens.”

Merlin’s brows draw in tighter, “Yes, but why.”

“I don’t know why Merlin!” Arthur explodes, “Bad things just happen for no reason! They just do! And you can’t do anything about them so just leave it be!”

Merlin recoils and Arthur stares at him with big eyes, breathing hard. Merlin’s angry, he can tell, even though he isn’t saying anything. It’s in the lines of his face, now dark and edged. Arthur wants to say sorry. He wants to fall to his knees and pull at his shirt and beg him not to leave and that he’s sorry that he’s broken and damaged and a coward but please, please, please.

Merlin reaches across the table and slides down the tray. He puts one plate in front of Arthur and the other in front of himself. “Bad things just happen, it’s true.” He says after a while, pushing the chicken around on the plate, “But you’re wrong about not being able to do something about it. We can always do something about it.”

Arthur swallows hard, he feels like his whole body is tightening. “You can’t change the past Merlin.”

“No, but you can address it. You can confront it and make sure your future’s better. But you can’t do any of that if you won’t acknowledge it.”

Sensing their conversation has strayed too far past the theoretical, Merlin lets it go, taking measured bites of their meal instead. They eat in silence and Arthur wishes he had never lashed out with the table, wishes they could go back to their easy camaraderie from before. The silence save for the scrape of their utensils against the metal of the plates drives Arthur mad, he can’t stand it.

“Let’s restart. I don’t want you to be upset.” He blurts out, cheeks heating ever so slightly.

Merlin blinks, a smile twitching before he straightens his expression, “I’m upset because you’re upset and won’t tell me why.”

Arthur groans, giving him a look, “Won’t you ever just let something go.”  

“No. I won’t.” Merlin narrows his eyes, and Arthur knows now he won’t ever back down, “I care about you Arthur, get it through your thick skull.”

“And I’m telling you-”

“If you say it’s nothing I swear to God-”

“If you want to help me then just- just soothe me.” He cuts in and Merlin blinks at him, bewildered, “Sometimes it feels like I’m suffocating and I can only really breathe when I’m out of everyone’s eyes and I can be just me.” He looks at Merlin from across the table, soul in his face, “You let me be me.”

Merlin’s hand flies to grasp his own, squeezing it. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side, you know that. That’s why it hurts me, seeing you like this, because I know you. And you know me.”

“I wish we could go back to the woods, run wild under the trees.”

“Then let’s go. Why not?” Merlin’s hand around his is warm, it tugs him forward.

“There are only so many days I can shirk off my responsibilities, Merlin.” Arthur looks away, “That’s just a dream.”

“I want you to have everything you want. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.” Merlin swears and Arthur feels his heart jump right to his throat.

“I-” they fly apart when there’s a knock on his door and Leon walks in.

“Apologies my lord, but your father is requesting your presence, shall I escort you to him?”

Arthur lets out a disappointed breath. He stands up, nods at Leon, “I’ll be right out.”

To Merlin, he stands next to him, cupping his face in one hand, “I’ll see you when I come back.”

Merlin looks up at him with eyes of the truest blue, framed by the most perfect lashes Arthur has ever seen. “I’ll be waiting.” He murmurs and Arthur takes one more look at him before he leaves.

It’s like a good luck charm. Arthur just hopes it helps.

Arthur’s gone so long, wasting away in the Council Room that he’s not surprised to see Merlin waiting outside the doors in the hall, brightening when he sees him. “Long meeting then?”

Arthur sighs, rolling out his shoulder, “I wanted to stab myself with my own sword at least twenty times, you have no-”

Merlin feels Arthur tense before he sees it, watching as each and every muscle stiffens as Godric walks down their way, the corridor almost getting smaller as he approaches. There’s an ever so subtle shift, Arthur leaning back just a breath, hiding ever so slightly behind Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin hates it.

It makes him anxious. It puts him on edge. He knows Arthur’s whole soul and this is just the echo of it. He’s seen Arthur face dragons and beasts and entire armies with that beloved grit of his jaw and his heart high. Not even Uther, in all of his complicated love and hate, made Arthur look so small.

“Arthur!” Godric greets, voice booming, “You rushed out so quickly I barely caught up.”

“Apologies Godric. I have urgent matters to attend to.” Arthur replies dully, not looking him in the eye.

Godric smirks at Merlin, “Are you his manservant? The one responsible for keeping him so busy?”

Merlin glances at Arthur from the corner of his eye. He’s still slightly hunched and he swallows. “I don’t set the schedule unfortunately. I just implement it.”

“What’s your name boy?”

“Merlin…sir.”

“Merlin.” Godric repeats, like tasting the name and Arthur’s hackles rise, a possessive fear surging through him.

He never wants to hear Godric say that name. Not now, not ever. Wants Godric as far away from Merlin as possible.

“Well,” Godric says, nice and slow, his fingers reaching out to grasp Merlin by the chin and turn his eyes to the light, “if I had someone like you walking me about, I wouldn’t hate it either.”

Merlin’s mouth opens, genuinely taken aback when Arthur lurches beside him, ripping Godric’s hand away and tugging Merlin into him. His fingers around Merlin’s arm are tight, almost bruising in their intensity. Merlin can feel Arthur shaking against him, though in fear or rage or both, he doesn’t know.

“Don’t touch him.” Arthur hisses and Godric merely chuckles.

“Don’t be jealous little bear. You know you’ll always be my favourite.”

Arthur’s recoil at the endearment is violent. Merlin raises an invisible hand up Arthur’s back and presses against his spine. I’m here, he wants to say. I’m with you. I’m always, always with you.

“I don’t want to keep you from your duties.” Godric says with a gracious bow of the head, “I only wanted to speak to you as your father said I could borrow little Merlin here for the hunt.”  

“The hunt?” Arthur licks his lips, paling. Merlin hears his breath tighten.

Godric smiles. It’s like being on the wrong end of an arrow.

“Oh yes. Your father wants us to bring back some mighty game. Should be fun. Just like old times.” To Merlin he says, “We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“No.” Arthur staggers out, his arm out, pressed against Merlin’s stomach, “I need him.”

Godric looks between them curiously, a sinister smile spreading, “I’m sure you can be without him for just a couple nights, Arthur.”

“No.” Arthur repeats, before he realizes he’s going to lose this battle and so despite the fear and the horror it creates, he opens his mouth to sign his doom, “I’ll be coming too. So you can’t have him.”

Godric raises a brow, “The more the merrier, my lord. I look forward to it.”

Godric leaves to Arthur’s staggered breathing and soon it’s just Merlin and Arthur, still standing close and uncertain, the fading light of the sun filtering through the windows.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispers, for once in his life unsure of what to say.

“I can’t go on that hunt Merlin.” Arthur says, voice hitching. “I can’t go. But I have to. Because otherwise- otherwise-

His voice gets more volatile with every word and Merlin’s eyes widen, pulling away so both of his hands are squeezing Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, you don’t have to go. I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t know what he can do.” Arthur whirls towards him, an animal trapped in a snare. “He’s dangerous.”

“Arthur…” Merlin frowns, brows drawn, “If you know something…you need to tell the king. He’s the only one who can get rid of him.”

And that there, is the crux of it all. Had it been anything else. Anything at all, Arthur would have raised every alarm bell himself if had to. But not with this.

“I have to go.” Arthur says suddenly, “You can have the day off Merlin. You always want more of those.”  

“Arthur, wait!”

But Arthur has already taken off, he doesn’t even know where he’s going, just knows he needs to clear his head, get a grip. He finds himself on the roof, on a small stretch of stone that isn’t patrolled as often as it should be. He wraps his arms around his knees and stares out into the sky wondering what it might feel like to be as endless and fearless.

Sometimes he’s tired of his own self. Of the way his mind works, the way his emotions short-fuse, the way he sometimes feels like he’s desperate to shed his skin and finally grow but he’s trapped within himself because he’s never really learned how to move on from anything. The thing about trauma is that it sneaks up on you sometimes. With Godric away, Arthur had been able to pretend like he was fine, that it was all normal and when Merlin arrived in his life, pretending almost felt real.

But now he’s gone and ruined it. Like he ruins everything. Because he doesn’t know how to share anything that matters and doesn’t know how to be anything but angry and petrified while always taking it out on all the wrong people. The irony of loving someone is that they’re the only ones you feel safe baring your worst side to even when they’ve done nothing to deserve seeing it.

Arthur loves Merlin. He can admit that now. He can say it in his own heart. He’s in love with him and he will never, ever be able to love him the way he deserves. To give himself to him the way he deserves. He will always balk and flinch and be close to tears. His heart will be jagged when Merlin tries to hold it and his tongue will be sharp and cruel to defend himself against threats that are non-existent.

Godric has broken him and barred him from any future worth having. He has destroyed him so perfectly that only Godric himself would want him. So that Arthur would have no shelter left but him. He will never be happy. Will never be whole.

He sees that now.

Arthur buries his face in his hand and for the first time in his life, wails the way grieving mothers do. He sobs, wet and heaving and fierce. He cries because being broken wouldn’t have mattered had he not had someone he wanted to be better for. He cries because when he thought he was never going to be happy, he finally got a chance and now he’s going to ruin it. The cries rip from his throat and the tears are hot against his lips. He cries for the child that never got to be. He cries because his ideas of love and intimacy are so fundamentally twisted and he was just a boy. He was a child. How could someone have done that to him?

When he walks by little boys and girls running through the streets, their eyes wide, their laughter bright, all he wants to do is hold them close and protect them from the world. He wants to keep their smiles on their faces, make sure they always grow up in a world where they can be safe and loved.

How do you look at someone who loved you so and then destroy them with a smile?

Arthur sobs until his lungs tremble and he feels exhausted right down to his marrow. He cries until his eyes are puffy and red, his entire heart feeling scraped and raw. He wants to fall into the clouds, blend into the rain and turn into something useful, sprouting the crops and the flowers. The ballads of old speak of heroes who reincarnate, over and over. Arthur thinks he would have made an excellent tree, providing a home for the birds and shade for the traveler. And when he was big enough, a father of four would chop him down and turn him into a house that would become a home for decades to come.

Instead, he is just a man, about to lose both himself and the person he loved most in the world.

Arthur watches the sunset, the colours bleeding into the horizon before dissipating into an inky blue. On wobbly legs, he walks back to his room, keeping his gaze rooted to the floor so no one sees his washed out pallor and pink eyes. He pushes open the door of his chambers, closing it quietly behind him. The first thing he sees is a plate of food on the table, filled with all of his favourite things and just like that, just when he thought it was impossible, he smiles, and it’s filled with warmth and real affection.

“You know, your boy waited hours for you before he finally gave up.” A voice cuts through his joy and Arthur freezes.

Godric is sitting at his desk, having been hidden from view. He taps his fingers against the wood, looking at Arthur with an indiscernible expression.

“What are you doing in here?” Arthur manages to get out, not moving from where he’s safely placed behind his chair and a whole table.

“I’m here to see you of course.” Godric replies, standing up and walking toward him.

Arthur takes a step back, then another and another until he’s pressed against the wall and Godric is right before him.

“Well I don’t want to see you. Get out.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you were trying to tell me you were jealous. Before. When I wanted your servant boy over you.” Godric whispers, reaching out a hand to cup Arthur’s face.

Arthur throws it away, glaring. “You can’t be here.” His voice shakes before he stills it, “You need to leave.”

“Is that any way to treat your only friend Arthur? I’m the only one who’s ever cared about you. Even now. You know that.”

Arthur shakes his head, though he feels the words dribble through him like poison.

“I know you missed me, Arthur. I see how often you look at me in a room. You can tell yourself you hate me all you want but we both know that I didn’t make you do anything. You wanted me to.”

And Arthur’s shaking his head but Godric’s lips are on his and his hands are all over him and like a torch blowing out, he turns limp beneath Godric’s hold. Had he not wrung himself dry, he wonders if there would be tears trailing down his lashes, but he is silent and pliable, Godric moving against him uncaring that Arthur is dying before him.

“Stop it.” He chokes and Godric grabs his wrists, smashing them against the stone.

“Let me go.” He says again.

Godric pinches his wrists tighter, his mouth at Arthur’s neck and Arthur snaps, shoving him back, breath heaving, “Let me GO!”

“You would do well to just do as I say lest I tell your father what a good whore you’ve been to me-”

There’s a cursory knock on the door and Arthur already knows it’s Merlin by the way the man doesn’t wait for a reply before throwing it open. Godric surges away, panting hard, red and furious. Arthur stays at the wall, haunted and bruised.

Merlin stops in the entrance, looking between the two of them, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes.” Godric spits, “Leave. Now.”

Merin ignores him, looks right at Arthur and Arthur knows he could try to hide all he wants, but Merlin will always see right through him. Arthur watches it all happen, the scrutiny, the realization, the tightness in Merlin’s jaw and the hardness of his eyes. “Forgive me sir Godric, but Arthur has a training injury that I must attend to every night on Gaius’ orders. As the hunt is tomorrow, it’s important that the prince be at his best, don’t you agree?”

They all but glare at each other before Godric nods stiffly. “Be well Arthur. I shall see you later.”

Merlin watches him leave, glowering at his back and when he closes the door behind him, Merlin bolts it shut, staring at it for a moment before turning to Arthur, eyes hard. “I waited for you after you left but you never came. I asked the other servants to let me know if anyone saw you return and I came to your room as soon as Thomas told me.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything and Merlin comes closer, slowly, like giving room for Arthur to bolt. “I waited outside the door and I heard you yelling.” Merlin looks down, sucks in a breath and when his eyes meet Arthur’s, he already knows it’s over, “And I heard what he said back.”

Arthur stumbles back, shaking his head. “It’s just a misunderstanding, what did you even hear- you’re deaf half the time anyway Merlin, I don’t even-”

“Arthur,” Merlin cuts in, and his voice is so tender and soft and gentle that Arthur wants to cry all over again, “what did he do to you?”

“The last person I can tell that to is you.”

“Why?” Merlin pushes, close to yelling, “Because I’m a servant? Because I don’t matter to you? Because I-”

“Because you’re the only thing that matters to me!” Arthur snaps, falling into his familiar rage that gives him enough energy to stand.

Merlin’s eyes widen, mouth parting before his brows narrow, “Then let me in! Stop turning me away!”

“I can’t! If I tell you what happened, you’ll never look at me the same again. You will know what I let happen. You will know what a coward I’ve been. You will see every terrible thing about me that proves what everyone’s always thought about me.”

Arthur’s expression shatters, “You’re the only person who looks at me and thinks I’m-” he cuts himself off, heart too broken to even say it, “if you knew what I did, I’ll lose you and I can’t. I can’t.”

One moment Merlin is in front of him and the next, he is buried in Merlin’s embrace, Merlin’s hands pressing him tight against him, folding him into his neck protectively. “You won’t ever lose me. There is nothing you could say that would make me turn you away. You know my biggest secret Arthur. Please. Let me know yours.”

Arthur shakes his head, “Your secret is beautiful, mine is vile.”

Merlin pulls away, smooths Arthur’s hair over his head, looking at him with more adoration than Arthur can handle, “There is nothing about you that isn’t as golden as the sun. I know you Arthur. I know you. And if you’ve ever cared about me at all, then let yourself be open to the possibility that I care about you just as much.”

Arthur bites his lip. He can’t look away. He’s so tired. His burdens are too heavy for him to bear anymore. He’s just petrified. He’s never been more afraid.

“Does it upset you that I touch you without asking?” Merlin asks quietly, “You’ve never flinched from me before like you did this week.”

“It’s not you. It’s never you. I’m just ruined.” He confesses and he can see Merlin’s pain pulse.

“So someone else did that. Touched you when they shouldn’t have.” There is a vengeful rage in Merlin’s voice and a thousand questions unasked.

Arthur looks at him. Merlin looks back. Arthur thinks about what it means to take a plunge off a cliff, looks in Merlin’s eyes and sees a lake that might just be deep enough to dive within. It’s a terrifying thing trust.

Arthur nods.

Merlin’s eyes flare gold and a vase shatters.

“The reason your childhood wasn’t fond…” Merlin’s jaw tightens, “Godric did something to you. When you were young.”

“I was eight.” Arthur says before his face is in his hands and Merlin is leading him gently to the window.

They sit on the floor, pressed together and Arthur spills his secrets unable to look at Merlin straight on. He talks about what it felt like, to be violated and taken advantage of and not really know it until you were older. Talks about how sometimes he still feels hands on him and he can’t ever run away from them.

“I was so lonely Merlin.” He confesses, voice aching with its sadness, “I was desperate for anyone and when I started to realize how wrong it all was I couldn’t do anything anymore. He looks at me and I just- I’ve fought beasts and monsters, but one man and he can throw me against a wall and-” he squeezes his eyes shut, fingers digging into his knees.

“You are not to blame.” Merlin says vehemently, “That man took advantage of a child, someone who trusted him and looked up to him. He said exactly what he needed to, to get you to keep things a secret and make you feel like you needed him, but you never needed him. And you are so much more than him and what he did to you.”

“How can that be true?” Arthur’s head rolls towards him, weak and helpless, “When I feel so consumed by him.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t know what to say. Arthur doesn’t either. He hears Merlin breathing beside him before he takes Arthur’s hand and holds it, brushing his lips featherlight to his knuckles.

“I don’t know what to say to take away all your pain, but I wish I did. I would give up everything I have to take away what happened to you Arthur, but I can’t. Instead, I can tell you some things I know for certain.”

Arthur doesn’t dare speak, focused on Merlin’s words. “I know that you were a child and that you did nothing wrong. Not one single thing. Everything that happened was done to you, not because of you. And I will tell you every day that not one thing was your fault until you believe it. He is-” the sheer hate in Merlin’s face is so visceral it’s startling, “he is a vile, evil, twisted man who I should feed to Kilgarrah in pieces and everything he did is because he is a monster and you were just a boy who needed to be protected.”

Arthur ducks his head but Merlin lifts his chin up, “The other thing I know is that you are no coward, you’re the bravest man I know. You have more courage than anyone and however highly I thought of you before, I only think you higher now.”

Arthur shakes his head, pulling away but Merlin pulls him back once more. “You survived Arthur.” He insists, “You survived and instead of becoming twisted and crooked, you became kind. You became good, better than all the people who had so terribly let you down. You pushed through and you carried on and I know it feels like you’re slipping now, but you will recover. I know this with as much certainty as I know anything. You will get past this and you will be stronger for it and I will be there with you every step of the way.”

“How do you know?” Arthur whispers, ashamed of his weakness, “How can you possibly know I’m not irreparable.”

“Because you’re a fighter.” Merlin declares and Arthur’s heart thumps in his ears, “And I know you’ll never give up. You deserve a happy ending. You deserve a happy middle too. I wish I could rewrite your beginning Arthur. I wish it more than anything.”

“I see him Merlin and I…I lose all sense of myself. It’s like I turn into some kind of puppet,” he spits with disgust, “and I hate that. Why am I like that? How could I have never been a child and yet still have him make me feel like one.”

Arthur’s lip trembles, “I just want him gone.”  

“And I want to kill him.” Merlin’s eyes flash, his entire face lined with rage.

Arthur believes him and he loves him, he loves him.

“But then I think about having to watch you be forced to sing his praises at his funeral and I just infuriate myself.”

“There are worse things.” Arthur shrugs.

“No. I don’t want you to compromise on anything anymore. I want you to have everything you want, I told you that before, and I meant it.”

And it’s all just too much for him. He doesn’t know how to process any of this. Can’t fathom why someone like Merlin, beautiful, wonderful, powerful Merlin, would champion him so strongly. Him, with nothing to offer anymore. Him, so obviously and tragically broken.

“Why Merlin? Why do you go so far for me?”

It’s completely the wrong time. It’s entirely inappropriate. Merlin will say that he’s his friend and Arthur will just end up hurting himself because he wants so much more but doesn’t know how.

“It isn’t obvious yet?” Merlin smiles, small but tender, “I’m in love with you, you blind dollophead.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and Merlin lets go of his hand, raising them both in the air in a calming gesture, “I know this isn’t the best time but I don’t want any more secrets between us and you deserve to know and I just…it’s important to me that you know that I would never, ever do anything that you-”

“I don’t care what you do to me.” Arthur says in a rush, “I love you too.”

“You- what?”

Arthur huffs a laugh, so enamoured by Merlin’s genuine bewilderment. “I love you. I love you more than anyone else and I know I can’t give you all that you deserve yet but I’ll fight through it. I’ll fight harder than I ever have so just,” he holds Merlin’s chin, leans in and presses a chaste peck to the corner of his mouth, pushing through his anxiety and trying to focus on the bloom of fondness bursting within him, “wait for me, please.”

Merlin’s hand holds onto his wrist. He looks starstruck and riveting and Arthur vows then and there to do his best, to not succumb to his hopelessness, to let Merlin be his faith in himself.

“I’m going to get rid of him for you.” Merlin promises, eyes hardening, “I swear it.”

“Let’s just get through his hunt first.” Arthur sighs, rubbing at his brow before falling against Merlin’s shoulder, closing his eyes when his arm wraps around him and holds him close.

“Do you think differently of me now?” Arthur asks, the moonlight filtering into the room.

“Yes.” Merlin answers, “I love you even more now.”

Arthur lets himself be held, thanks Merlin silently for having his hands stay in one place and not wander. He will unlearn his twisted associations. He will learn to accept touch freely and happily. He will. One day. But today, this is more than enough.

“I’ll fix this Merlin.”

“We’ll fix it.” Merlin corrects, tightening his hold.

And Arthur wishes with a fearsome desperation that he could go back in time. How eight year old Arthur would cry to know that one day he’d be this loved. How twenty-three year old Arthur can still cry about it, even as it’s happening.

There is no heroic catharsis moment for Arthur. The day of the hunt arrives with just as much dread as he knew it would bring. He walks slowly to the courtyard, every step feeling herculean. Merlin is beside him, standing almost too closely, jaw set and eyes hard, on high alert and ready to murder someone. Someone in particular.

Once upon a time, seeing that face would have made Arthur laugh but he knows now what power lurks in Merlin’s chest, in his veins, in his very hands. He knows that Merlin could bring the world to its knees if he wanted to, but he chooses to be right here instead, where Arthur has always felt he simply belongs.

It’s a comfort to have him there, more for his heart than his body. Merlin is the balm to his burns, he feels braver with him beside him, feels like he can survive this. Either way, it didn’t matter whether or not the secret was out because the moment Arthur saw Godric turn his sights to Merlin, he knew no amount of fear or guilt or self-recrimination was going to stop him from making sure nothing like what happened to him would ever happen to his best friend. There isn’t a world where Arthur wouldn’t put it all on the line for Merlin. There isn’t a version of him, no matter how decrepit or ruined that wouldn’t risk everything for the boy who became his heart made real in the world.

He's starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he can stomach his way through these two days when he hears a child’s laughter and he freezes in his tracks. There’s a little boy with brown curls and a missing tooth in his smile. He weaves between the horses before stopping at Godric’s legs, his grin dropping almost imperceptibly.

Arthur recognizes it instantly.

“Come on Benedict, you can ride with me today.” Godric smiles and Arthur just watches.

He sees it all in his head, the boy all but in Godric’s lap, the press of something stiff and hard at his back, Godric’s hands roaming around his chest under the guise of keeping him from falling off the steed. He sees the boy’s fake smile, his confused heart batting hysterically in his ribs, the way he won’t know what to do and so will do nothing because this is an adult who said he loved him, of course he wouldn’t hurt him.

Godric bends down to lift Benedict up and before Arthur knows what he’s doing he’s grabbing him by the arm, both of them staring at each other.

“Arthur. What are you doing?” Godric asks, voice tight, but still polite.

“I didn’t know we would have a guest today.” He says, feeling outside his body.

He’s looking into Godric’s eyes, touching his body, but he isn’t nauseous. He isn’t terrified. He isn’t going stock still, losing himself to his mind. All he sees is Benedict. His big brown eyes, the spattering of freckles on his cheeks, the innocence radiating from his face. He sees Benedict and finally feels like himself, feels like the dragon that is emblazoned on his chest.

This is the first time he’s faced Godric and didn’t instantly feel like a victim.

“This is Benedict. He wants to be a squire one day.” Godric says slowly.

“A squire! Would you like to be a knight, Benedict?” Arthur asks, looking down at the boy with kind eyes.

Benedict nods furiously.

“Then you should ride with me today. I’ll tell you all about it. What do you say?”

Arthur lets go of Godric’s arm, turns his back to him trusting Merlin to be right there watching and crouches down to Benedict’s level. “Would you like to ride with me?” he asks softly and Benedict looks up to Godric, hesitating.

“This is your choice, Benedict. But I’d really like to ride with you.”

“Okay.” He says shyly, pointedly not looking Godric’s way.

Arthur can almost fall over from relief. He stands, extending a hand and Benedict’s little fingers in his own make his heart squeeze. He’s going to protect this boy. He’s going to make sure nothing ever happens to him. He will live and die for him. He will be his sword and his shield and he will be the person he so desperately needed when he was Benedict’s age.

He can feel Godric’s glower burning the back of his neck but he doesn’t turn back. Merlin comes up to his side, putting himself in between Godric’s rage and smiles at Benedict, “Hello, I’m Merlin. What’s your name?”

“Benedict.” He answers in a small voice, “But you can call me Ben.”

Merlin’s smile widens, “It’s good to meet you, Ben. Are you going to be riding with Arthur today?”

Ben nods and Merlin leans in conspiratorially, “You should dig into the right-side saddle bag if you’re feeling hungry. That’s where Arthur hides all his best snacks.”

“Merlin!” Arthur fake yells and Ben giggles, looking up at Arthur through his hands.

“Is that true, sire?”

Arthur grumbles, looking away, “It’s not untrue. Now come on, let’s get you on the horse. Can I put you up now?” he makes a point of asking, anger racing through his blood when Ben startles in surprise.

“Yes, please.”

In one movement, Arthur swings Ben atop his horse, climbing on top a moment later, placing Ben behind him. “You can hold onto me alright?”

Ben nods and he’s so small behind him, so tiny, Arthur just doesn’t understand. Was he that small once? Was that what he looked like? Baby fat still on his cheeks, silly expressions on his face, hands that couldn’t yet hold a sword.

“How old are you, Ben?” he asks, almost unable to bear the answer.

“I’m eight and a half!”

Arthur catches Merlin’s look and they share something he can’t vocalize in their gaze. Merlin rides to his right for the entire trip, letting the forest border Arthur to his left. They spend the entire time talking to Ben, making him laugh with their ridiculous stories and seeing his eyes go round when they share some of their adventures.

He’s a sweet boy with a gentle heart and a clever wit and though he doesn’t expect to, Arthur enjoys their time with him immensely. When they get to the hunting ground, he purposefully ignores Godric’s attempts to take Benedict back, allowing the boy to hold his arrows for him and teaching him quietly about the wind and the hunt. Even Merlin, who hates hunting and everything to do with it, gives some tips, bending to Ben’s level and making him laugh when he gets nervous- usually with jokes at Arthur’s expense.

They make camp near a river, some of the bush-beaters having gone back to the castle with some of their game in advance. The servants busy themselves with making camp, Merlin setting up Arthur’s tent before being sent off to get firewood. Arthur himself is seated on a log, Ben next to him, showing him how to peel an apple with a dagger.

Ben watches him quietly and Arthur chooses his words carefully, “Ben…today when I asked you to ride with me, a part of it is because it looked to me like you didn’t want to ride with Sir Godric. Is that true?”

Ben doesn’t say anything. Arthur glides his knife around the apple, the peel spiraling above his fingers.

“Is there maybe a secret he has you keeping you’re not supposed to share that you might not like a whole lot?”

He watches Ben’s eyes widen and his grip around the dagger tightens.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ben mumbles, shrinking in his spot.

“You can tell me Ben. You can trust me, I promise.”

Ben shakes his head, burrowing deeper. Arthur backtracks, dropping his voice to something he hopes is more soothing. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m sorry. Here, have some.” He holds out a piece of the fruit and offers it again until Ben takes it slowly, biting into it hesitantly.

“Delicious right? I don’t know how, but Merlin always picks out the best ones.”  

Ben nods, looking at him for more when he finishes his slice. Arthur cuts the whole apple and then another, the two of them eating in silence. Only when they’re done does he break it, “Can I tell you something about friends Ben?”

Ben tilts his head, eyes open and curious.

“When I was your age, I thought I had a very good friend. He would say nice things to me all the time but when we were alone, he would do bad things. Things I didn’t want him to do. But since I didn’t know any better, I thought that’s what all friends did.”

Arthur tries to even out his breathing. It happens naturally when he speaks next, “And then I met Merlin and I realized that real friends don’t hurt you. Real friends are kind and respect when you don’t like something and always try to make your life better, not worse. Do you know what we should do with good friends like that?”

Ben shakes his head.

“We need to do everything we can to keep them by being good friends back. And as for the bad friends? The ones who don’t treat us nicely and do things we don’t want? We have to run far away and never go back to them.”

Ben’s gaze snaps to the floor, his feet digging into the dirt.

“I want to be your friend Ben. Would you like that?”

“I don’t know if I’m a very good friend.” Ben mumbles and Arthur shakes his head.

“I don’t believe that for a second. How about we both try to be very good friends together?”

Ben’s smile is shy when he nods, “I can try.”

“Excellent. Now, how about we-”

A shout interrupts him. Arthur’s eyes snap up and he sees Merlin’s wince from a mile away. He’s being prodded by Leon, trying to hide his arm that’s so obviously injured. Arthur jumps to his feet immediately, sprinting towards them, hands fussing all over Merlin. “What happened?? Where are you injured?”

“Arthur,” Merlin drags his name, “I’m fine. Honestly. I think I just sprained my wrist. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Arthur doesn’t believe him, taking hold of Merlin’s arm and pulling up his sleeve. After inspecting it and determining that it probably is in fact, just a sprain, he calms down, telling Leon he can go and that he’ll take it from here.

Arthur taps the back of Merlin’s head, his fear finally dissipating.  “You idiot.” He huffs, “What even happened.”

“It was stupid. I thought I heard something and when I went to check, I took a tumble into a ditch, that’s all. I can fix it now though.” Merlin’s eyes glow and his wrist turns back to its original milky white.  

Arthur sighs, long and dramatic, “Well?” he pushes.

“Well, what?”

“Was there anything?”

The tips of Merlin’s ears pinken. “No.” he finally answers and Arthur can’t help but throw back his head and laugh, “But there could have been!”

“And there could mermaids in the river, but there aren’t.”

“That we know of! Who knows what sorts of magical creatures exist.”

Arthur wrinkles his nose, “I doubt any self-respecting human procreated with a fish.”

“Who are you to stand in the way of true love, Arthur. Don’t judge.”

Arthur guffaws, clapping a hand over his mouth as Merlin beams. “I haven’t seen you laugh like that in a while.” He says fondly, touching Arthur’s cheek briefly.

Arthur softens, wanting to lean forward when he stops. “Wait, I ran to you without thinking and left Ben behind. Do you see him?” the panic edges upwards in his voice as he looks around the camp and can’t find that little head of curls anywhere.

“We’ll find him. Don’t fret yet.” Merlin tries to say but Arthur is already beyond worrying, he knows.

He just knows.

“Godric has him.” The ground is falling away beneath him, the sky is crushing him, he is failing. “We need to find him. Now.”  

Arthur sprints to Godric’s tent, ripping it open and finding no one within it. He checks the insides of each and every one before he calls every knight’s attention to him. “I want Benedict found and I want him found now.”

“Wasn’t he with Godric?” a knight asks, “I’m sure he’s safe my lord.”

“Did you not hear my order?” Arthur demands, every bit the commanding prince that he is, “I said find him. Everyone, split up into pairs. Merlin, with me.”

The person he trusts most in the world rushes toward him, Merlin’s stance sharp and strong. Arthur sees his eyes flash gold, “We should start in that direction.” Merlin points northeast and Arthur is so grateful for him he could kiss him.

“Let’s go then.”

The two of them run through the trees and determination floods through Arthur’s veins. Enough is enough. There will be no more victims. There will be no more suffering, no more shame, no more humiliation, no more guilt. He is ending this. Right here and right now.

He hears Ben crying before he sees him. He slows down his steps, Merlin stopping instinctively beside him. Ben’s sobs flash him back to when he was ten years old, tears streaming down his face as Godric told him to quiet down before someone heard them. He was so paralyzed in the past, so powerless. He had silenced himself for someone else’s gain and he will never let that happen to anyone else ever again.

As he stalks Godric from the trees, the irony isn’t lost on him. That the man who taught him stealth and how to hunt will be captured by his very own techniques. That today, a dragon will devour a lion and a boy will slay his monster.

He peeks up above the brush and sees Ben’s terrified face and wonders how he could ever have thought it was his fault. How he ever could have thought he could’ve done things differently; fought Godric off, bit him, screamed, done anything at all. Ben is half Godric’s height and weighs even less than that. He is frightened and small and precious and Arthur sees himself, exactly where Ben is, and thinks how victims can shed their skins and become heroes. That Arthur couldn’t save himself, but he can damn well save Ben.

The fear at the sight of Godric’s face dissolves under the sheer might of Arthur’s desire to protect. Ben is just a boy. And Arthur will let himself be run through with his own sword to make sure he stays a child for as long as he wants to.

“Get AWAY from him!” he roars and Godric lurches back, his shame clear for all to see.

He’s naked from the waist down, Ben on his knees, lips trembling, hands shaking. Godric scurries to pull his pants up, sputtering until he sees Merlin and pales. Arthur’s sword is out in an arc. He’s running towards Godric who stumbles backward, tripping over a rock and landing on his back. Arthur’s sword is at his heart. He’s breathing hard, the hatred and the venom blackening his vision, twisting his soul.

“He’s just a CHILD!” Arthur roars, “I was just a child!”

“Arthur, I-”

“Shut up!” Arthur’s wrist shakes, “This is the end Godric. I will have you imprisoned until the end of time, I swear to God and to every living thing, I will see you imprisoned or hanged for what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed too many lives and I won’t let you do it again. Not to Ben. Not to anyone else.”

Godric sneers, “Mighty words from someone who attacked a defenseless man.”

Arthur laughs, sharp and disbelieving, “Defenseless? No. You don’t need a sword to be dangerous. You just need your silver tongue. But I’m not afraid of you anymore Godric. And I never will be again.” Arthur’s eyes are clear, “You can’t control me.”

“Can’t I, little bear?”

Arthur falters and Godric’s smirk makes him see red until he hears Ben’s little cries and everything stops mattering. This rage, this hate, this venom that pulses through him. He doesn’t want any of that. Doesn’t want this to poison Ben as it has him. He won’t add more horror to this boy’s life. What he needs isn’t violence, but love. He needs Arthur, not the beast he wants to become.

Arthur thinks about what he first thought knights to be. He won’t bring the war home. He won’t mar his soul with murder in cold blood for a man not worth a single bit of that emotional weight in his heart.

“You’re nothing.” Arthur realizes, “Just a pathetic shell of a person who needed to prey on children who couldn’t fight back to feel good.”

Arthur sheaths his sword, turning his back to Godric, ignoring his shouting. “Merlin, restrain him.”

And trusting Merlin to do it on his own, Arthur bends down and without touching Ben, gestures to him, “Ben, I am so sorry that this happened to you but I promise I won’t ever let him touch you ever again. Did he hurt you?”

Ben shakes his head, his cheeks still wet, eyes turning red. “I want to go home.” He whimpers before breaking out into sobs anew.

“I know. I know, I’ll take you home this second. I’m here for you Ben. I’ll take you back safe and sound and I will work every day to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

Ben looks up at him before launching into his arms, crying into Arthur’s neck with too much force for such a little body. Arthur grips him tightly, pressing his hand against Ben’s head, shielding him from harm. “I’m so sorry Ben.” He cries, “I’m so so sorry. You’re going to be okay. I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

“I know what this feels like and I promise you, you’ll be okay.”

Ben wails and wails. Arthur never lets him go.

Uther banishes every living person from his court when Arthur drops Godric at his feet, hands still tied behind his back.

“My lord, he’s lying.” Godric insists, “He’s upset that I beat him in our bout and now is acting well below his station.”

Arthur doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t react at all. This isn’t about him anymore. It can’t be about him. Because if this becomes about Arthur then he will fall apart, but if it’s about Ben then Arthur will move mountains and drain oceans and he will make the very sun flicker at his feet. That’s the thing with people like him. He doesn’t know how to deal with fear until he sees it echoed in someone else’s eyes and his heart cannot bear it so much so that it fills him with bravery instead.

Ben is hidden safely with Merlin outside the door and he refuses to walk out without ensuring he has good news. He won’t disappoint him. Won’t let him down.

“Father, I saw Godric committing acts of utter indecency and shame against a child.” He raises his chin, urging his lips not to tremble, “Benedict the third, second son to Lord Byron.”

Uther doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrutinizing him with those eyes Arthur’s never been able to escape.

“When I noticed Benedict was missing, I went looking for him with Merlin and you know how I was able to find him?” he asks softly, “Because he was crying. Crying harder than a child should ever cry. Godric’s trousers were at his feet, his hands were forcing Benedict to his knees and prying open his mouth.” Arthur’s voice drops, the anger ripping through him with such a fury he’s certain he’ll split in two, “Do you need me to say more father?”

His voice is poison and Uther flinches.

Good.

Uther is still taking his time. Arthur can’t understand why. He just can’t. “Is my word not good enough.” He asks flatly.

Uther’s eyes glance up to his. “This is…these are heavy accusations Arthur. Perhaps you misunderstood what you saw.”

“I didn’t misunderstand anything.” Arthur seethes, “Merlin was there. He can confirm.”

“Merlin is a servant.” Uther retorts contemptuously.

“Does he not have eyes?” Arthur snaps, “Has he not proven to be more loyal than any of our knights? That man lives and dies for me and you would not believe him, even when I’m here, at your feet, pleading with you to listen, because of a mistake of birth?”

Arthur’s panting hard, his fist is shaking, his whole body must be shaking, or maybe that’s the earth, spinning so fast he can’t see straight. Everything is- everything is wrong. This is wrong. How can this possibly be something difficult when it’s all so simple?

“You would have me destroy the life of Camelot’s best knight for-"

“I am Camelot’s best knight!” Arthur yells, “The recruits we just got last week are Camelot’s best knights if Godric is to be the standard. The knights of Camelot are to be the height of nobility and honour- where is the honour in violating a little boy who could do nothing but sob? Where is the nobility in ruining your own son fifteen years ago.

Uther jerks backwards like he’s been stabbed. “What did you say?”

Arthur’s eyes are cool. “You heard me.”

Godric sucks in a breath, “He’s lying! He's a liar!”

“I’m not.” Arthur’s back straightens, jaw clenched, “And everyone here knows it. So you will imprison him for life father, so that he may never hurt anyone ever again. And you will do it outside of this castle, for if I see him once more,” he looks at Godric, letting the full wrath of his hatred glow within him like embers, “I will snap your neck and see how you like it when a grown man puts his hands on you.”

Arthur doesn’t wait for a reply, he sweeps around, his cape billowing behind him and walks right out the hall, ignoring his father’s shouts for him to come back. He slams the door behind him, finds himself buried in Merlin’s arms, Ben hugging at his legs.

“What happened?” Merlin rushes to ask as Arthur holds him close, breathing in his scent and calming down.

“My father will do the right thing. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”

Arthur pulls away, let’s himself be lost in the sky of Merlin’s eyes, feel the warmth of his genuine care, and smiles. "Thank you." he says before bending down to meet Ben.

"He will be in prison for the rest of his life. You’re safe now. He will never hurt you again. You or anyone else.” Arthur’s eyes gentle when Ben’s start to water and he hugs him to his chest, “If you ever need anything Ben, you can come to me, day or night, and I will come running.”

“Thank you.” Ben cries, his tears hot against Arthur’s neck. “I was so scared.” He confesses, and Arthur feels his sadness echo in his heart.

“I know. I was scared too. But it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Three days later, Godric is sent to a distant prison far from where Arthur will ever be. He spends the rest of his life rotting in a cell plagued with filth and disease. He spends every day crying out his innocence to deaf ears.

It is the least he deserves.

When Arthur walks into his chambers later that night, he finds Morgana waiting for him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry Arthur. I should have known.”

Arthur shakes his head, “How were you supposed to know?”

“That time you pushed him from me I- I should have known, I-” she can’t speak, just keeps shaking her head, pressing her fingers to her face like she can hide her shame, “I wish I could go back, I would’ve killed him, I swear it. I could kill him right now. With just my hands.”

The violence in her eyes doesn’t shock him, he’s always known Morgana to be a blade, but he hugs her anyway, wants her to be soft instead. “I know. I wish I had told you too. I wish it every day.”

“No more hiding things.” Morgana makes him swear, “I can’t bear it. I can’t bear the thought that you’ve been suffering all alone all these years.”

“It wasn’t all suffering. One day we really did become friends and it made me so happy Morgana. You’ll never know.” Arthur confesses, feeling freer than he has in his life. “We’ve both spent so long acting like we were alone when we could’ve had each other and I’ll do right by both our younger selves. We can be better.”

Morgana squeezes him tightly, “I need to tell you something Arthur. Something I too, should have told you a long time ago.”

Arthur learns about Morgana’s magic that day. He holds her while she cries, she holds him in return when confides in her about all the fear he’d held in his heart. They cry over their wasted youth, how they had both been so afraid to be vulnerable that no one ever made the first move, both of them just watching, feeling comforted by just the other’s presence alone. But how much better could it have been, had one of them just taken the first step. How many heartbreaks could they have avoided, how much more happiness could they have gained? If they had only tried being honest.

“I love you.” Arthur tells her, “And I will stand by you, magic or not.”

And the way Morgana smiles at him makes all his wounds disappear. “I love you too. And I promise you Arthur, one day all of this will just be a terrible memory. You’ll see.”

Arthur wants desperately to believe her. Wants to put his faith in something beautiful. So he puts it in Morgana, in Merlin, in his fragile little heart, just now learning to beat once more without a clamp around it.

The trouble with healing is that it’s never linear. Some days Arthur feels on top of the world and others, so ashamed he can’t look his father in the eye when he remembers what he admitted in the Great Hall. He takes over Ben’s training, something a prince would never do, but he told Ben he’d look out for him and that’s exactly what he intends to do. And this time, when it comes to horseback riding lessons and hunting trips, he sees Ben’s excited smiles and hears his curling laughter and knows every bit of that happiness is real.

Seeing Ben helps him internalize Merlin’s message that he whispers in his ear every night. That he was a small, delicate little thing, manipulated by his desperation for love and too young to know any better. Ben listens to what he’s told without pushback. He looks at Arthur with all the trust of a newborn fawn and runs to him when he’s hurt or scared. When he has questions, he asks ready to believe any answer Arthur gives. If Arthur told him to do something terrible, he’d do it without hesitation, running on blind faith alone.

It's a heavy honour, to be someone’s teacher. It is a backbreaking responsibility, to hold a person’s life in your hands. How anyone would ever tarnish it for their own despicable gain hurts Arthur down to his soul.

When Godric gave him praise, it was to win his trust and when he scolded him, it was so that Arthur would do whatever it took to win back his love. Even things that haunted him. Things that seemed so obviously his fault, that if he was just a better student, just a better child, then he wouldn’t have had to be punished, wouldn’t have had to pleasure Godric to win him back, seem so painfully obvious with his adult hindsight.

It was never his fault.

Ben correctly identifies the six different swords Arthur has laid out, absolutely beaming at him. Arthur ruffles his hair and tells him he did a great job.

It was never his fault.

He sees Merlin’s proud smile, that lovestruck look he blinks away whenever Arthur notices. They walk back to Arthur’s chambers together when they wave Ben goodbye, Merlin regaling him with some tale or other, Arthur half tuning in. Like they always do, they stand in the middle of the room, Merlin pulling off Arthur’s chainmail with impressive speed. He’s careful not to linger over Arthur’s naked body, putting his clothes on quickly before giving Arthur a sweet smile.

He never had to ask for it, somehow Merlin just knew. Knew not to conflate their budding new romance with their pre-set boundaries. He doesn’t kiss Arthur when he’s in this vulnerable state, doesn’t run his hands across his chest when pulling on his tunic. Arthur imagines a future where he does do that. Where they change in the morning and night, laughing as the clothes tangle around their arms, warm kisses trailing down each other’s necks. One day maybe.

For now, Arthur is happy just to pull Merlin against him in bed, just holding him against his body, wrapped around him like he is a question and Merlin the only answer he needs. He’s more comfortable with touching Merlin, tracing patterns on his hands, his stomach, his chest. He likes pressing kisses where Merlin’s neck meets his shoulder, likes the little wriggle he does when he’s pleased and how sometimes he grabs Arthur’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles, one by one.

With every night they do this, Arthur feels a little bolder, he rolls Merlin atop of him, taking his hands and hesitantly setting them on his chest. Merlin looks down at him curiously, keeping his steady eye contact as he trails his hands down the plane of Arthur’s torso, stopping when he sees the almost imperceptible tick of Arthur’s jaw as he gets to the waistband of his trousers.

“It’s fine, you can- it’s fine.” Arthur grits out but Merlin shakes his head, leaning down to kiss him, long and tender.

Arthur’s arms wrap around Merlin’s neck, pulling him closer and Merlin’s hands rest on his chest. When their lips part, Merlin bends his forehead against Arthur’s own, sliding his hands up to his cheeks. “I will wait as long as it takes, even if that day never comes.” He promises as he kisses Arthur again, “I love you more than you can ever know and I will spend every day trying to make you feel as safe as you make me feel.”

Arthur blinks, looking up at him with barely disguised wonderment. “I make you feel safe?”

Merlin looks down at him like he’s stupid, “Of course you do. I know nothing will ever happen to me when you’re with me. And even before I knew anything about what happened, I always knew that you, Arthur Pendragon,” he says dramatically, kissing his mouth and then his jaw, trailing down to his neck, “would be a lover most honourable.”

Arthur snorts, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist as he leans into his kisses, “You’re such a girl, Merlin.”

“I certainly hope not. Then we’d have to worry about herbs and pregnancies.” He pulls away, making a face, “Can you imagine.”

Arthur shrugs, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind having a child with you.” He says mindlessly, fumbling when he realizes what he’s said.

Merlin gapes at him and Arthur throws him off immediately, turning on his side and burying his face in the pillow. “Arthur,” Merlin laughs, tugging at his shoulder but Arthur refuses to budge, burying himself deeper, “Arthur come on, why are you so embarrassed, I think it’s utterly sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a child with you too. Just not now. We haven’t had all our fun yet.”

Arthur peeks up from the pillow, sees Merlin’s endeared grin and makes a face, though he turns back over a moment after. “I just think it’d be nice…to have a big family.”

“You think about things like that?” Merlin asks, lowering himself so they’re face to face on the pillows, their hands interlinking absentmindedly between them.

Arthur’s cheek puffs out, “You’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Merlin laughs, “I swear!”

Arthur scrutinizes him some more but Merlin puts on his best innocent face and he sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell you. In this future, I’m king of Camelot and you are too.”

Merlin’s eyes widen and Arthur just rolls his, “Keep up Merlin. Obviously, I’m going to marry you.”

“How is it obvious??”

“Well, are you in love with anyone else?” Arthur pushes and Merlin’s jaw drops, “Great. Me neither. You’re the love of my life, are you happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you said it more nicely, but I suppose it’ll have to do.”

Arthur swats at him and Merlin shouts as he smacks his hand away, the two of them wrestling for a moment before they settle. “Anyway,” Arthur continues, “before I was rudely interrupted-” He ignores Merlin’s expression, “-we’re kings and there’s no war, but there are so many more orphans than we know what to do with because there always are. So we open an orphanage, right here on the grounds, but we find a baby and instead of handing her over, we fall in love with her and decide to raise her instead.”

“We have a daughter?” Merlin asks softly, leaning on his hand as he watches Arthur with besotted eyes.

Arthur nods, “I let you name her, because I am a benevolent husband-”

Merlin snorts and Arthur swats him.

“-but when I picture her, she has hair as black as yours and eyes just as beautiful. She’ll grow up with both of our wit and be smarter than we know what to do with.”

“What comes next?” Merlin murmurs.

“A few years later we travel through a village plagued with sickness and we come across a boy full of rage and grief. He attacks us when he sees us but we prove that we’re friends and when it’s obvious he has nowhere else to go, we take him back to the castle and I teach him to work through his anger and you teach him about how beautiful the world is and every year we make a pilgrimage back to his village so he can visit his parents’ graves.”

“Mostly though,” Arthur says, “I just imagine us happy. I imagine Morgana having children of her own and they all grow up together, playing in the courtyard. I imagine waking up to you every morning and smiling, of bickering with you in the halls, of being so in love it disgusts all of our friends and no nobility ever want to visit us because we’re utterly insufferable.”

Merlin can’t contain it anymore, he throws himself atop of Arthur, kissing him furiously, the entirety of his love and joy and utter affection all but pouring out of him. “God I love you.” He whispers furiously against Arthur’s mouth, “I want that future so badly it hurts. I just want to be by your side Arthur, for as long as you’ll let me.”

“Then stay with me forever. In this life and the next one.” Arthur’s hands slide down Merlin’s back, feeling the slope of his spine, “And every one that comes afterward.”

Merlin smiles shyly at him and Arthur kisses him sound on the mouth.

They go a little farther than Arthur thought he’d ever allow himself, but when he draws the line, Merlin pulls away and simply falls atop him, “I’m tired anyway, close your eyes Arthur, let’s go to sleep.”

Arthur strokes Merlin’s hair as he sleeps atop his chest, feeling so close to peace he can taste it.

Sometimes Arthur doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He feels it whenever Morgana has dinner in his room, their laughter echoing off the walls. He feels it when he pulls Gwen aside in the hall, sharing the castle gossip with smiles at their lips. He feels it when he hands Ben a bow and he shoots his twenty-third arrow into the bullseye. He feels it when he sees Merlin across the room and his entire face lights up just at seeing Arthur’s face.

It’s been more than half a year since his whole world had burnt to the ground but he had regrown a forest even more vibrant from the ashes. Every single day of this new life feels impossible and wonderful and like maybe he doesn’t deserve it but then Merlin is kissing him telling him every wonderful thing he’s ever done and he tries to dispel his worst thoughts.

Sometimes, loving yourself and forgiving yourself and healing yourself is a team sport. Sometimes there are only so many affirmations and mantras you can keep repeating and all you really need is for someone you trust more than you trust yourself to grab your head between their hands and yell at you that you’re worth everything good in the world and by God you will internalize it.

The man Arthur was, the boy he never got to be, neither of them could have ever imagined how much lighter his heart will one day feel, can’t ever imagine how few shadows lurk in Arthur’s eyes when he smiles. The thing about wounds is that they never go away. But saving Ben had staunched the bleeding and all the love in his life had scarred over the damage. When Arthur looks in a mirror, the first thing he sees isn’t a broken thing, but the beginnings of the man he wants to be, the king he will become.

There is danger whirling around a village not three hours ride west. Arthur travels with a handful of his knights, leaving Merlin behind as he intends on coming right back. The village complains of magic, that there is a sorcerer wreaking havoc and so the knights split up to hunt for the villain while Arthur takes his time, speaking to people others wouldn’t look twice at. He finds who he’s looking for hidden beneath a rocky cliff looking terrified and small and Arthur, who still remembers what it feels like to be just like that, sits down next to her and smiles, “My name is Arthur. What’s yours?”

He learns Clarissa’s story, how she killed a man with magic because he’d ripped her from her family and then accidentally hurt people she didn’t mean to while trying to escape. Arthur listens to her with compassion and when she’s done, opens his arms and says, “I’m sorry for what you went through, but I’m here for you now and I won’t abandon you.”  

Clarissa buries herself in his arms, her sobs wracking through her small frame.

“I know somewhere safe for people like you. Somewhere you can hide until one day I am king and make magic safe to use once more. Can I take you there?” he asks gently.

“I’m scared.” She whispers back.

“I know. It’s okay. I’ll be with you the whole time and if you want to leave the Druids when I bring you, I’ll think of somewhere else.”

“Can’t I just go back with you?” she asks him, teary-eyed and Arthur feels like a sun is rising in his chest.

He hears Merlin’s words in his head, I will spend every day trying to make you feel as safe as you make me feel. He rests his chin on Clarissa’s head, thanking every god there was and will ever be, for letting other people see a hero where he had always seen a tragedy. For keeping his heart kind and not bitter. For helping him become the man he’s always wanted to be.

“It’s not safe for you in Camelot. Not yet. But I’ll keep in touch with you, make sure you’re alright, I promise. The minute it’s safe once more, I can bring you if you still wish it.”

Clarissa is quiet for a moment before she nods against his chest. “Okay. I’ll go. Do you promise it’ll be safe?”

“I won’t leave you until I’m sure of it.”

She hugs him once more when Arthur puts her in Iseldir’s care and he holds her tight, wishing her only the best of things and peace for her wounds. “Find someone who needs you.” he tells her, “Someone only you can help. You’ll start to heal when you see how much more you are than your hurt. How much good you have to offer to the world.”

When Arthur arrives back to the castle, it’s to Merlin’s untameable worry and ire, “Where have you been?? The knights returned without you- do you know how worried sick I was?? You’re never allowed to go anywhere without me again, I swear to God Arthur, I-”

Arthur tugs him into his arms, holding him tight, face in his neck.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?” Merlin’s voice drops, his hands instinctively checking Arthur for injuries.

Arthur stills his searching, holding his hands. “Nothing.” He promises, “I just love you and I’m grateful for you and everything you’ve done for me. I’m a better man because of you, in so many more ways than you know.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, just pulls away, still looking at him like he doesn’t know whether to be terrified or angry or besotted.

“You’ve been so patient with me-”

“That implies like you’re in the wrong and there is nothing wrong with you. You just need time.” Merin interrupts, voice firm.

Arthur’s expression softens, every bit of him dewy with affection, “What if I told you I’m ready now? That I dream about you constantly. That I crave the taste of you on my tongue. That every second I’m not touching you feels like a waste of my time on this earth.”

Merlin’s eyes darken, he takes a step forward before he hesitates and Arthur loves him even more than he ever thought he could. “I’d say that’s not even half of the way I yearn for you but…Arthur, you don’t have to do anything more for me. I’m happy just being with you.” Merlin touches Arthur’s cheek and he turns his lips into Merlin’s open palm, “I always have been.”

And Arthur is sweeping Merlin into his arms, spinning him into a kiss poets weave into sonnets. His hand is curled in Merlin’s hair, the other pressed into the small of his back. “Everything of me belongs to you. I’m finally able to show that to you, so please Merlin, don’t deny me this.”

Merlin looks deep within his eyes, searching for answers Arthur will always willingly give. “I won’t deny you anything, Arthur.” Merlin murmurs, “I want you to have everything you ever wanted.”

Arthur’s grip is tight. “I just want you.”

“Then take me.” Merlin whispers and every moment is golden and beautiful and so very bright.

Beneath someone else’s touch, Arthur feels cherished and safe and so utterly beloved. Beneath Merlin’s touch, he’s finally whole, liberated to fly free in the blue of Merlin’s eyes and the arc of his smile. There are no more victims or heroes or monsters. With every caress, Arthur is born again and anew, just a man in love. Truly and wholly happy. For the very first time.