Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's a few weeks after Merlin's arrival in Camelot that he approaches Leon.

His scars are aching worse than ever with the cold and all the extra work that's causing. Gaius has given him ointment, but he can't reach them all himself. Gwen knows what happened, but she doesn't know know. Gaius has seen the scars, but it's not fair to ask him. So that leaves Leon.

Who probably would've done it from the beginning, if he's honest with himself.

It takes every ounce of his courage to walk to the barracks and knock on Leon's door (and thank the Triple Goddess his rank affords him his own room). Leon answers almost immediately, already dressed for sleeping, looking taken aback.

"Merlin?"

Seriously, why does he always sound surprised to see him?

"Can you help me with something?"
Leon steps out of the way, gesturing Merlin inside. Once the door's shut behind him, he says urgently, "Did someone find out?"

"What– no. No, I just..."

He trails off, holding out the jar of ointment. "I can't reach the scars. And they're bad. Please will you help?"

"Of course. Come, sit, take your shirt off."

Merlin does so, presenting his back to Leon. He doesn't actually know how Leon will react.

Leon traces the circular outline of the brand lightly with his finger.

"Oh, Merlin."

"It's fine. Most of the time." He doesn't mention that the scars don't generally cause the worst of his back problems. Leon was there, he's probably guessed that.

"The switch did scar, then."

Merlin shrugs, wincing as the movement pulls at the skin on his upper back. "You beat someone hard enough to break it on their back, of course it will," he says lightly. Far lighter than he feels. Leon squeezes his hand briefly.

"All right. Let's do this."

The ointment is cool on his burning back, and Leon is so gentle, gentler than anyone's ever been on there (but he never lets people touch it, does he, Gaius helped with the mace injuries which was good but not excessively gentle, and he didn't let his mother because he didn't want her to see more than she absolutely had to. The slavers were the last people to really touch his back and that– that isn't a memory he can afford to fall into right now).

His back has been burning a lot lately, like the injuries are only just healing, and it's... it's been bad. But this is helping, even before the ointment starts becoming effective.

Merlin bends his head to allow Leon access to the scar on his neck. In this room, with its thick walls and mostly-sleeping red capes next door, it's as quiet as the castle ever gets, and he's grateful for it. He couldn't stand shouting right now.

"I'm finished with your back. Turn around?"

Merlin does so, unable to meet Leon's gaze. There's something about this that's so exposing, and he doesn't just mean physically. Only Leon.

Leon brushes his fringe away, and Merlin doesn't know what he sees in his face but it must be something because he says, "Are you all right to continue?"

In answer, Merlin bares his throat for Leon to apply the ointment. He's aware that the knight could do anything, this is the most vulnerable part of him, but he won't. Merlin wonders how this came about, that he trusts a red cape more than his own village.

He came here willingly, and showed Leon his back, offered his neck and bared his throat, trusting the knight not to hurt him when it would be so easy. He's an enemy of Camelot, everything Leon is supposed to stand against, but Merlin isn't scared. He trusts Leon, and he's a red cape, maybe he shouldn't, but Leon saved his life. He doesn't act like most red capes do, like he should. He acts like a knight.

A real, proper, knight-in-shining-armour type knight, acting according to the Knight's Code (there's nothing in there about killing innocent women and children, even sorcerers, he's checked). And he's Merlin's friend, like a long-lost older brother. So Merlin bares his throat and lets him do it.

They reach the wrists. Merlin can do those himself, and Leon knows that too, but neither of them bother pointing it out.

Leon takes his forearm gently, applying a thin coating of ointment. And oh. Oh, he's so soft. Merlin hasn't let anyone touch his wrists since he was twelve, the last time he was conscious for it was when one of the slavers almost wrenched his arm out of his socket, snapping the cuff on and catching skin in the process. Then the other wrist, so, so tight, and then the ankles, all chained together, and finally the neck. That was the straw that made him scream.

But this, cool ointment on Leon's gentle, calloused fingers over the raised and mottled skin, this feels so good he could cry. Chasing away the memories of what the slavers did.

Leon wipes away a tear with a questioning look and Merlin smiles weakly. "It's good tears."

"Come on. Feet up on the bed so I can do your ankles."

Merlin does so, shuffling up against the headboard at Leon's gesture so he can stay upright. It's hard, but he manages it. He lays a hand on Leon's shoulder, reminding himself where he is. That Leon's here to protect him.

"You're okay, Merlin. You're okay."

Merlin nods, a tightness in his throat that feels too much like a collar for his liking. Leon's hand moves to his knee (which he remembers, vividly, the pain in) and stays there. He runs two fingers of his other hand over Merlin's ankle.

"If you don't mind me saying, these scars are much thicker than I imagined."

Merlin shrugs, voice quiet. He doesn't really want to think about this. But Leon won't insult him or make fun. He's one of the only people who can ask.

"Gaius says it's probably because my magic is so strong, it's worse. He did something to make them more flexible but it doesn't always work."

"I'm sorry."

Merlin drops his gaze, tears pricking at his eyes. Leon's one of the only people he'll never need to hear that from, and yet it helps.

"Sometimes they feel like their own shackles," he whispers, "but these ones are part of me. I've put them on myself, like I've sold myself out willingly. They feel like Camelot on bad days. When I can barely move and everything's closing in and the guards feel like slavers in their own right, because this is what they'd do if I was caught. I wish I could just be rid of the memories that put them there."

Leon sets down the ointment, and for a heart-stopping moment Merlin thinks he's going to send him away after that insult to Camelot, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls him into a gentle embrace. Merlin leans on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry my kingdom is like that. Your own home shouldn't feel like a prison. Neither should your body."

"'s not your fault. You're one of the only good things here."

"Bad day today?"

Merlin nods. It's been a bad few days, actually. He can't sleep for nightmares, everyone is a danger, he's still not used to the suffocating artificialness that is the citadel. He can't use his magic, his body and mind keeping him captive even if no-one else is, and he's definitely hallucinating. That doesn't happen often. Everything's bad and he's drowning.

"There's too much stone and soldiers and sound here. I feel like a child again. Can't use magic, they'll see. It's bad bad."

Leon pulls him in closer and strokes his hair.

"I'm sure Gaius needs herbs picked. And the bandits are dangerous out there. But if you ever need to let your magic loose without escaping you can do it in here."

Merlin grasps onto the offers like a lifeline. It's like he's down a well and Leon's just offered him a rope.

"Thank you. Thank you."

"That's all right. Shall we continue with the ointment? Just one ankle to go."

Merlin nods. As Leon encases his ankle in a cool, slippery mimicry of a shackle, he murmurs, "You're kinder to me than I deserve."

"I'm really not, little falcon."

Merlin wavers.

We're going to keep your monstrous powers under control until your master can tame them.

We should just leave you to die. You'd deserve it.

The evils of sorcery.

On days like today, the voices are louder. It's near-impossible to convince himself that they're wrong. He doesn't deserve Leon's kindness.

But that's a well he doesn't want to fall down, he can't lose earlier's rope, because it's deep and dark and he'll never make it out again if he does.

"That's the last of it."

Oh. Does Merlin have to leave now? He doesn't want to. He's not sure he can. He's shackled to this bed, to this room, to somewhere the red capes can easily find him and take him to be burned or hanged or sold–

"Do you want to sleep here?"

"I mean. You don't want me here. I have nightmares and I thrash, I'll probably hurt you, and what if I start seeing things again? You won't like me if I do that."

"That's not true. You don't have to stay but if it'll help, I'm more than willing. I don't care about those things, little falcon. God knows I've had my fair share of nightmares."

Merlin hesitates for a second, but just a second. Just while his throat loosens enough to speak again. When everything else is way too much, Leon is so damn kind.

"If– if you're sure then. Yes, I'd like to stay."

Leon smiles. "Let me go for a few seconds and I'll fetch you a nightshirt."

Merlin nods, disentangling his fingers from Leon's shirt reluctantly (he didn't even realise he'd done that). He watches closely as Leon rummages around in the dresser, eventually pulling out a soft-looking white shirt.

"This one should fit you best."

"Thank you."

Merlin pulls it on, grateful that he's already topless so Leon doesn't have to turn his back. If Leon looks away, the lurking shadows will grab him before the knight can even think about saving him.

Everything tightens around him and his breath hitches. He thinks he'd fall if he wasn't already sitting. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, and the shadowy figures behind Leon have somehow got the collar on without even touching him, and that's new, that's new, they've gotten worse.

The figures become clearer, more distinct, even as they're still fuzzy, and Merlin can hear the clinking of the chains they carry. The chains that will bind his collar and cuffs and ankle cuffs, all together so he can barely move, hobbled like an animal, and there's a horrible weight on his chest and he's going to be branded and sold and someone's pet sorcerer for the rest of his life. And there's nothing he can do about it.

"Merlin? What's wrong?"

"B– behind you," he breathes. Leon turns, turns back, frowns.

"There's nothing there. Little falcon, there's nothing, I promise."

Hands. Hands on him. Hands that will hold him down and bind him and thrash him until everything breaks.

He shoves at them with everything he has.

"Don't touch me! You're not taking me!"

But he already has the cold iron, doesn't he, he can feel it, thick and heavy on his wrists and ankles, restricting his breathing and burning oh so much. He can't use his magic, he scrambles backwards as fast as he can, as far as he can, not paying attention to anything except getting away, because nothing else matters, nothing else–

He lands on the ground with an almighty thud and everything melts away.

Leon. Leon Leon Leon, this is Leon's room, and he's– he's–

Where actually is the knight? He'll know what happened. The slavers were here and then they weren't. Like ghosts.

There's a groan from the other side of the bed and Merlin's heart stops. No. Nonono. He scrambles around the bed. Leon's just sitting up, rubbing his head. Merlin moves to help before remembering that he can't, not with his hands shackled like this.

"Leon? Are you okay? Did the slavers– did they–"

It's starting to sound ridiculous, and he doesn't like it.

"I'm fine. You don't push that hard."

Wait. What?

"What– what happened?" he asks apprehensively, a pit opening in his stomach.

"You were hallucinating, I think. You thought there were slavers. I touched you to help and you pushed me off the bed, thinking I was one. And then fell off yourself, I think."

"But– there were– the manacles and– and the chains and it feels so cold–"

He stops abruptly with a gasp. For a second he could've sworn there was a bloody sword in the room. But that's ridiculous, Leon keeps his sword in the armoury.

"Come and sit down." Leon pats the space opposite and Merlin takes it, careful not to shift the manacles and make them rub worse. "I'm going to prove to you that your restraints aren't physical. Because if there's no manacles or collar you can't be chained."

"I– I suppose that makes sense."

Leon smiles gently. "Try to stay calm."

And then he starts. He touches one ankle with warm fingers, soft but calloused, rubbing across where only the two of them know the cuff sat.

Sat, not sits, because otherwise Leon wouldn't be able to touch him. He continues with the other ankle, then his wrists, then his neck. Leon can touch all of them.

And when Merlin moves his hand, the chains no longer clink.

"Leon... you... I... can I..."

Leon nods, and Merlin buries himself in him, tucking his head under his chin and making himself as small as possible.

It's stupid. How would the slavers have even got in here? But he can't stop himself gripping the knight as tight as he's ever done, hopefully tight enough to stop him being taken.

It's stupid. He's stupid. There's no danger from slavers here, and yet, he keeps thinking there is.

"You're traumatised, not stupid, little falcon," murmurs Leon, and it takes Merlin a moment to realise that he can't read minds, Merlin must've just spoken aloud.

Merlin doesn't think the two are mutually exclusive. He doesn't argue though, too busy breaking down in Leon's arms.

He feels himself being moved, and then set down on something soft. And Leon won't hurt him but he looks anyway, curious.

It's a bed. Leon's bed. Far too soft for the likes of him.

"You– you don't want me around. I hurt you. More than once. I'll just do it again. You won't get any sleep with me here, and– I'm fine, I'm fine, you can leave me."

"I think I'm going to decide what I want for myself," replies Leon firmly. "Would you still like to stay?" Merlin nods reluctantly. "Come on then. No, not on top of the blankets unless you really want to. It's much warmer under here."

"Still not as cold as Gaius' chambers," murmurs Merlin, hesitantly wriggling under, burying himself up to his chin. Under here, his shackles are much lighter.

"I've always thought that's a bad place for somewhere sick people go. Draughty, at the top of narrow stairs."

"Maybe Uther moved it. Wanted Gaius out of the way. Because. You know."

"Hmm."

Merlin feels a flash of terror from no discernable source as his scars feel suddenly worse, and he buries himself right under the blankets, pushing into Leon's side.

Either he'll care or he won't. Merlin's not thinking about that right now.

The knight wraps an arm tightly around him and he breathes.

"Ouch. You're far too bony, you need to eat more."

"Maybe when it all stops tasting like charcoal and mould."