Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Arthur initially told Merlin that they’d be traveling three days south to the kingdom of Notor for a tournament, Merlin had been excited. 

He had never traveled when he lived back in Ealdor and even after coming to Camelot, his ability to travel was very limited. He generally only went where Arthur went. All of his roaming was contained to Camelot’s borders. Plus, ten days away from the castle? Ten whole days where he was free from his normal duties plus fetching things for Gaius. Sure, he still had to attend to Arthur, but Arthur became significantly more low maintenance and much more pleasant when he climbed higher and higher on leaderboards. 

It was for this reason Merlin had a silly smile plastered on his face, ignoring his aching hips from three days of riding, as they approached the outskirts of Notor. He admired the brutish spires of the castle that looked so tiny in the distance. Green flags flew from every turret. 

“What’s got you so chipper?” Arthur suddenly asked, pulling Merlin from his thoughts. He looked up only to find Arthur a mere foot away. They had been riding all day in silence, Arthur a solid few yards in front of Merlin. When had he pulled back? 

“Just excited to see the city, I s’pose,” Merlin answered. 

Arthur snorted. “Don’t get your hopes too high. It’s nothing grand compared to Camelot.” 

“I’ll judge that for myself, thanks.” Merlin cringed inwardly after he said it. No matter how much Gaius and everyone else reprimanded him, he still struggled to not just blurt out everything on his mind. “Sorry, it’s just that… you have to be a bit biased,” he apologized hurriedly.

He stiffened on his horse, waiting for Arthur’s scathing response. Instead, Arthur laughed. “Probably. I doubt I’d find anyone to disagree with me, though. Except you, of course. Always the contrarian.” 

“Happy to be of service, sire.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and urged his mare onward. Merlin bit back his smile and urged his own horse to go a bit faster to keep up with him. 

As the once miniature turrets grew larger and larger in front of them, Merlin finally caught up. “Are the knights here skillful?” he asked. Merlin was never one to fill an empty silence, as he was quite content to ride in peace and take in the rolling landscape as they passed through. However, he was genuinely curious. Besides, even if Arthur may huff and grumble and say “honestly Merlin, don’t you know anything ?” Merlin knew that he secretly loved showing off his knowledge of combat and of neighboring kingdoms. It also helped to calm Arthur down if he was feeling nervous (something the prince would never, ever admit to feeling). 

“Relatively. Nothing I can’t handle. But what Notor lacks in glamour they make up for in ruthlessness. They devote much more of their resources to training their knights over anything else.” 

“Why so?” 

“Honestly Merlin, did you never study anything ?” Yup, there it was. “Geographically, their location is unfortunate. They are surrounded on all sides by much larger kingdoms with many more resources. They have to be ruthless, or they’ll be conquered and their land absorbed by someone else.” 

“And the tournament?” 

“Both a gesture of goodwill and a way for them to show off their steel.” 

“Right. Steel. Makes sense.” 

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him. His gaze was piercing, in the way that only a future king’s gaze could be. When Arthur looked at him like that, straight on and with eyes slightly narrowed, Merlin felt as though he must be transparent. All his thoughts and secrets stripped bare. 

Arthur could have his thoughts. Each and every single one. They weren’t worth much, after all. There was just the one secret that Merlin knew he could never share.

Arthur cleared his throat and Merlin jumped in his saddle, startling his horse. “Are you even listening to me?”  

“Apologies sire.” 

Arthur’s gaze continued to tear through him. “I don’t know what to make of you sometimes.” 

Merlin just grinned. 

They reached the gates of the castle as the sun had just begun to sink under the horizon. Shadows danced in corners as their horses’ hooves clopped loudly against the cobblestone. Two sentries approached them, and Arthur raised his hand in greeting. “Arthur Pendragon, first and only son of Uther Pendragon. Hailing from Camelot.” 

“We welcome you, Sir Arthur.” 

Merlin slipped off his horse, loosening the girth. He did not expect to be introduced. That was something he had grown used to while living in Camelot. Servants did not get introductions. No one cared what his name was. 

He half-listened to the conversation between Arthur and the sentries as he took Arthur’s horse from him and began unbuckling his gear. It was all muscle memory at this point. 

“The stables are just around that corner. The stablemaster will be waiting. He will show your servant to the quarters.” 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Merlin led both horses away down the path that had been pointed out to him. He found his neck craning up to look around at the city as he passed through. As much as he was loath to admit it, Arthur had been right. The structures in the castle courtyard were made from bulky, mitch-matched cobblestones. Nothing like the clean white buildings of Camelot. 

The stablemaster, an older man with a slight limp, greeted Merlin with instructions on which stalls to put the horses in. He didn’t ask for his name, either. 

Merlin let himself take a moment to stretch his aching legs before untacking and grooming the mares. Brushing down horses was soothing to him. It was a time he could get lost in thought and let his comb slide smoothly over their shiny coats. He checked their hooves for stones or loose shoes and then gathered up Arthur’s armor and his own knapsack. 

“Excuse me sir, can you direct me to the armory?” 

“Behind the stables, over there,” the stablemaster said gruffly, waving in a vague direction. 

“Right, thank you. And the servant’s quarters?”

“Just behind the stables, next to the armory.” An odd location for a building of rooms, but he supposed the placement made some sense. Obviously they did things differently here. Although, if the focus was primarily military, it made sense for the servants to live closer to the armory and stables than the rooms of their noblemen. 

“And where do the servants gather to eat?” 

This time, the stablemaster just glared at him. He must have asked too many questions. Another bad habit of his that he had never been able to curb. Oh well, he’d ask someone else later. He nodded his thanks to the stablemaster and headed in the direction of the armory. 

Thankfully the armory was easier to find, due to the many servants swarming in and out, no doubt preparing their own master’s equipment for the start of the tournament at sunrise. Merlin plopped Arthur’s chainmail and sword onto a wooden table, where another young man was polishing a helmet. 

“Busy in here,” Merlin commented, ruffling through his bag for his own polish. 

The man said nothing in return. Merlin noted that he, like the stablemaster, was wearing worn and drab clothing. No hint of color anywhere. 

Merlin fixed his gaze on the chestplate he was polishing, suddenly feeling insecure. Arthur had forced him to wear a bright red tunic, the color of Camelot. Other than a few other servants, clearly also from neighboring kingdoms, most of the people rushing by him and sharpening swords in the corner were wearing the same muted, raggedy clothes. He stuck out like a sore thumb. 

His mother had warned him all his life how dangerous it was for him to stick out, and then Gaius in her place. 

He finished the chestplate and moved on to the pauldron. 

“Do you hail from Notor?” he asked the young man next to him. 

The man grunted in assent. 

“You must be familiar with all the knights then. Who do you favor to win?” If he was to be stuck down here polishing all night, he could at least gather Arthur some intel. 

The man looked at him in total confusion. “It’s not my place to favor a winner.” 

“What, surely you must be cheering for your master?”

Again, the man looked at him like he had two heads. Merlin almost found himself checking that he hadn’t accidentally used magic to do so. Eventually, the man shook his head. “Who wins is of no concern to me.” 

“Fair enough, I suppose. I’m Merlin, by the way.” 

“Emory.” 

“Have you worked here long?” 

“Long enough.” 

Though social cues sometimes escaped him, even Merlin could tell that this conversation was entirely unwelcome. He shut his mouth and went back to preparing Arthur’s armor. When he was finished, he set everything in place for the morning. Beside him, it looked like Emory was finishing too.

“Sorry to be a bother, but could you show me where the servants eat?” 

The way that Emory looked at him had Merlin again double checking that he didn’t unknowingly use magic to change his hair color or grow an extra ear or something.

“You’d be lucky if there's anything left, at this hour,” Emory told him. 

Anything left?

“Could you, uh, direct me where to check?” Merlin pressed. He and Arthur had stopped for a quick meal at noon, but that was seven hours ago and his stomach had been grumbling for the last two. 

Emory sighed. “I’m going back to the quarters. You can follow me.” 

Merlin slung his knapsack over his shoulder and followed Emory out of the armory. He bounced impatiently, trying to shorten his gate because Emory was walking almost painfully slowly, shoulders hunched over. Merlin turned his attention to what must be the arena. It was impressive in both size and decoration. 

Finally, they arrived at a large, one story building just beyond the arena and behind the stables. Emory pushed the wooden door open, causing a loud creaking sound to invade the silence. Merlin followed him. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the low light, as there were hardly any lanterns or torches anywhere. 

The inside of the building was one large room. The stone floor was covered in hay, and there were rows and rows of thin cloth mats lining the ground. Most of the mats were occupied by lumps covered in torn blankets that looked to be people sleeping. 

Emory pointed to two wooden tables pressed against the back wall. “You’re out of luck,” he whispered. “Food’s gone. Sleep as close to the table as possible, and wake up as early as you can. You may be able to grab some in the morning.” 

“Can we not just visit the kitchens?” Merlin whispered back. “Surely they have something left. Stale bread, anything.” 

Even in the dim torchlight, he could see Emory’s face pale. “Knight servants are not allowed in the kitchens. We eat what they give us. If you fancy execution, you could try your luck.” 

Merlin was dumbstruck. 

“Bathing water is over there,” Emory continued, gesturing to some large buckets in the corner. “Wouldn’t bother with it now. We all have to share, so it will be more grimy than you are. Don’t confuse it with the drinking water, although that’s probably gone too. Don’t take someone’s bed or blanket, or you’ll be pummeled. Good luck.” 

With that, Emory left his side and crossed to one of the mats in the far corner, closest to the table. Merlin stood in the doorway, hands tightened on his knapsack. Unsure of what to do, he cautiously made his way to the corner opposite the bathing water. It was hard to walk, because mats and sleeping figures littered almost every inch of the floor. There was a small space in the very corner, enough for him to set down his pack and sit beside it. 

Merlin slid to the floor, and the cold stones of the wall behind him dug into his back and made him shiver. He was grateful for the bedroll tied to the bottom of his bag. With no space to unroll it, he just draped it over himself like a blanket. 

His stomach growled. The hunger had reached that stage where it was borderline painful. Merlin sighed. He knew that stage would pass and eventually he would become numb to the feeling. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to hunger. It had been his constant companion for the weeks that Camelot was under a curse after Arthur killed a unicorn. 

He curled up as best he could, trembling slightly despite his bedroll. The night air grew chillier here than at Camelot. Or maybe it was the cold ground beneath him and the stones at his back that caused the chill. 

Oh well. This wouldn’t be his first uncomfortable night and it wouldn’t be his last. It was hardly different from sleeping on the ground while traveling, even if he could find a soft patch of grass and stretch out on his bedroll. Perhaps Notor had been unable to accommodate so many extra visitors, and this was their last resort to house everyone. Must be. 

With that last thought, Merlin drifted off into an uneasy sleep. 

_

First Bi-Annual Tournament of Notor: Day 1: 

“Couldn’t have bothered to clean up even a little bit and represent Camelot well?” was the first thing Arthur said to him. 

Merlin just heaved the chestplate over Arthur’s head and started fastening the buckles, not bothering to answer. Arthur always got snappy the mornings before a fight. 

“I’m serious, Merlin.” Arthur grabbed his chin, forcing Merlin to pause his buckling and look Arthur in the eyes. “You have dirt on your face, for heaven’s sake!” 

Merlin batted Arthur’s hand away, rubbing his face with the sleeves of his tunic before grabbing Arthur’s gauntlets. “I got a late start to the day,” he lied. “Won’t happen again.” 

In truth, Merlin had barely slept in his upright position in the corner. He drifted in and out of consciousness and had been awake long before the sun rose. Not that it had helped him any. The second that three large platters of food had been brought into the room, a swarm had descended upon the kitchen staff and wiped the platters clean before Merlin even had a chance to stand. 

The sharp stabbing pangs of hunger had now given away to the dull ache that was much easier to ignore. Silver linings. 

Arthur sheathed his sword and Merlin handed him his helmet. 

“Good luck,” Merlin offered, as he always did. 

“Won’t need it,” Arthur responded, as he always did. 

Arthur strode out of the armory and towards the arena, head held high. People turned and whispered as he passed by. Merlin trailed behind him, eager to find a vantage point where he could watch Arthur fight. 

As he was about to enter the preparation area behind the arena, he was stopped by two sentries. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“To watch the fight?” Merlin said, not sure if his answer was a question or a statement. “Just in the back, from behind the wall. I’ll be out of the way.” 

One of the sentries laughed. Merlin cracked a smile. 

“What are you smiling at, boy?” the other sentry asked. Too late, Merlin realized that the laughter had been cruel in nature and not jovial. Why was it so hard to tell sometimes? 

Merlin made to move past the sentries, and was met with a staff blocking his way. “Get lost,” the first sentry said. 

“I just want to watch! I’ll be no trouble.” 

The punch landed before Merlin had even seen the sentry’s hand move. The force of it sent him flying backwards, sprawling onto the ground. He dragged himself upright with shaky arms. Placing a hand on his cheek, he pulled it back and saw blood on his fingers. No doubt from the spikes lining the knuckles of the sentry’s gloves. 

“I don’t give orders twice,” the first sentry snarled. “Next time, you’ll end up in the dungeons. Don’t let me see you sneaking in here again.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to argue that he wasn’t sneaking anywhere and had just tried to walk right in, but he snapped it shut again when he saw the way the second sentry gripped his staff. He didn’t want the spiked tip to end up in his stomach. 

He forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to the armory, where the other servants were lined up on benches, waiting. He collapsed on the bench next to Emory, who shuffled as far away from Merlin as he could manage. 

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Emory cut him off. “Leave me alone. I want no part in your squabbles.” 

“I was just going to watch the fight!” Merlin insisted. 

Emory barked a short, mean laugh. “Why would you be allowed to watch the fight?” 

“I’m allowed to in Camelot.”

“Well, this isn’t Camelot. Do yourself a favor, and keep your head down while you’re here. You stay in the armory and the quarters and that’s it. And don’t speak to me again. I won’t spend a week in the dungeons because of you.” With that, Emory left the bench entirely. 

Merlin sat alone, cheek throbbing in pain. Things were clearly done much differently in Notor. He wished Arthur had warned him. Maybe he had, and Merlin hadn’t listened to him. 

It was so strange. Perhaps it was sinfully prideful, but Merlin was used to people liking him. Most people were either charmed by him or at least had the grace to ignore him. He made friends quickly. It felt different here. He didn’t know how to navigate it. 

His chest felt funny, the way it felt every time Arthur asked him to lie to the king or when he was forced to make decisions that would result in life or death. It felt tight. Or heavy? Like there was a great weight pressing down on his ribs. Perhaps he had bruised them in the fall. 

Merlin mindlessly plucked a rag from his pack of supplies and did his best to clean the blood from his cheek. He winced as the cloth rubbed against his torn skin. Arthur wouldn’t be pleased to see him in such a state. 

He hated this feeling. It was how he felt when he first came to Camelot. Excitement, and wonder, quickly followed by the realization that he had no clue how he was expected to act and that he couldn’t quite seem to figure it out by watching what people said or did. There was always something he missed. A tone that was meant to be sarcastic that he took as genuine. A compliment that turned out to be an insult, or vice versa. 

In Camelot, though, he had quickly overcome that. Gaius and Gwen didn’t care if he spoke his mind without thinking, or if he misjudged their words. They found him intelligent and funny. Even the king and Arthur seemed charmed by him, even if they thought him to be stupid. Well, Arthur maybe less so. He had felt safe at Camelot. 

He didn’t like the feelings that Notor gave him. 

Merlin was broken from his musings as Arthur stormed into the armory. He silently stood and immediately started unfastening his prince’s armor. 

“You won,” he said carefully. The only reason he could tell is that if Arthur lost, he would have been much, much angrier. 

“Of course,” Arthur snapped. 

“Congratulations.” 

Arthur just huffed in reply. 

Merlin made short work of Arthur’s armor, laying it all out on the table. Arthur slumped on the bench next to it. “What did you think of my matches?” he asked Merlin, staring at the floor. 

Merlin swallowed. With the way that Arthur was acting, he didn’t dare admit that he hadn’t watched it. “You fought well,” he said, choosing what he was sure wouldn’t be a lie. 

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that I got paired with their best fighters in the first bracket? It’s supposed to be randomly drawn,” Arthur snarled. 

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Arthur finally looked up at his face for the first time since the morning. “Heaven’s sake Merlin, can’t you go anywhere without running into a wall?” 

“I-”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to have a servant who can’t walk straight?” 

“Well-”

“Forget it. Prepare my armor for tomorrow. I won’t need your help getting ready for the feast.”

“Arthur, I-”

“Goodnight, Merlin.” 

The only pros to having his master angrily storm to his room instead of staying in the arena to gloat with the other knights and flirt with the young ladies was that when Merlin finished cleaning and storing away Arthur’s armor, he opened the door to the servant’s quarters and found some food left on the large platters. 

He plucked two apples from the tray, not wanting to get in trouble for taking more than his fair share. What if someone hungrier than him came in after? 

He spent the next hours nibbling his apples down to the smallest possible core and drawing designs in the dirt with his fingers. He wanted to go home. But the tournament would only last three days. He could also last three days. It really wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. 

When the evening bells were rung and the remaining stragglers stumbled into the servant’s quarters and collapsed onto their mats, Merlin began to unpack his bedroll. The conversations around him all blurred together, turning into a solid wall of noise. 

‘-oing to be okay. I promise,” he picked out of the chaos. 

He turned to see two older men standing over a young boy who was laying on the ground. From his vantage point in the corner, Merlin could see that the boy was covered in sweat and his eyes were bloodshot. 

“Medicine?” the boy croaked. 

One of the older men kneeled down and gently brushed back his hair. “The court physician turned us away. He had too many wounded soldiers to treat. We’ll try and get you some as soon as the tournament is over.” 

“I’m so cold,” the boy whined, despite his sweaty appearance. 

“You have both of our blankets in addition to your own. There’s nothing more we can do for you,” the other man said, not unkindly. He sounded worn down. Listless, even. 

Merlin sighed, standing up and gathering his bedroll. “You can have mine,” he told the boy, dropping it on his lap. “How long have you had this fever?”

“Just a day,” one of the elders told him. 

“Wrap yourself up tightly. Hopefully the fever will break tonight, but you will need to stay warm. If it doesn’t break by tomorrow, you will need a remedy from the court physician. Make sure you drink as much water as you can,” Merlin mumbled. At least his days following Gaius around were good for something. 

“Thank you mister,” the boy said earnestly. “Thank you so much. I’m in your debt, honest.” 

Merlin just nodded wearily and returned to his corner. He couldn’t lean the left side of his face against the wall because his cheekbone still ached terribly. The apples in his stomach almost made his hunger situation worse, because it reminded his body of what it should have. Now blanketless, Merlin sat slumped against the wall. 

He didn’t even attempt to sleep. 

-

First Bi-Annual Tournament of Notor: Day 2

The next day started better. 

Due to his sleepless vigil, he was ready when breakfast arrived. He managed to grab a whole chunk of bread and some cheese to go with it. He devoured both quickly. 

Arthur was in a considerably better mood that morning. He looked well rested and eager to start the day. “I’ve decided it doesn’t matter if they rigged it,” he told Merlin. “I beat them all anyway, as we knew I would.” 

Merlin handed Arthur his helmet. “Good luck.” 

“Won’t need it.” 

This time, Merlin didn’t even attempt to sneak a peek of the action. He sat near Arthur’s armor station and lightly snoozed as much as he could without getting in trouble. His eyelids felt heavy and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He stared at the wood pattern on the table, listening to the clanging swords and shouts from the arena. 

Arthur turned up halfway through the day this time. “I need my other shield.” Merlin stood to get it, and his vision blurred. “Now, Merlin!” 

He stumbled over and grabbed the shield from the wall, taking the cracked one Arthur was holding. 

“A good hit, but he wasn’t fast enough afterwards. My feint was sloppy though, don’t you think?” 

“It all happened too fast for me to see,” Merlin lied. His tongue felt like it was glued down in his mouth. 

Arthur squinted at him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Merlin lied again. 

“Well, get your head out of the clouds. We have a tournament to win!” 

As Arthur strode away, Merlin was almost too distracted by a wave of dizziness to process the warm feelings that came from the way Arthur said “we.” 

Almost. 

-

First Bi-Annual Tournament of Notor: Day 3

After another sleepless night, Merlin was again able to grab some breakfast. 

Which he immediately surrendered to the young boy who was still wrapped up in Merlin’s bedroll, now too weak to move. The boy needed the food more than he did. The court physician was apparently still brushing off the needs of anyone who wasn’t directly involved in the tournament. 

Gaius would never. 

Merlin knew his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated as he tried to get Arthur armored up for the semifinals, and he could tell Arthur was quickly losing patience with him.

“What’s the point of having a servant who can’t latch a gauntlet?” Arthur muttered. He swatted Merlin’s hand away and clasped it himself. Merlin turned to fetch Arthur’s sword instead. “I can’t bring you to tournaments if you’re going to get so distracted every time. I know you haven’t traveled a lot, but it’s no excuse to lose your head!”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. 

Arthur sheathed his sword and accepted his helmet. Then he stood there. 

Merlin froze, gaze darting over every inch of Arthur’s body. Had he missed something? Had he forgotten something? Why was Arthur standing before him, head cocked to the side like a curious dog, instead of striding towards the arena? 

“Do you need something else, sire?” 

“How hard did you hit your head?” Arthur demanded. 

Merlin brushed a hand over his still swelling cheekbone. “It’s just a scratch.” 

“Right then. Well…” Arthur fidgeted. “I have a tournament to win.” He spun on his heel and left, not glancing back. 

It was only when Arthur was well out of earshot that Merlin realized he hadn’t wished him good luck. 

__

Instead of sitting alone on a bench and getting lost in somber thoughts for six hours, Merlin decided to sit just outside the armory and try to listen to the tournament. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on, but he could get a general idea by listening to the audience reaction when the knights were introduced, and then the booing and cheering rising over the sound of metal on metal. 

It was well into the afternoon when he heard Arthur's name announced. 

“Prince Arthur Pendragon, first and only son of Uther Pendragon and sole heir to Camelot!” Wild cheers erupted from the arena. It seemed that as always, Arthur was a fan favorite, even in a different kingdom. 

Merlin couldn’t quite catch the name of the rival knight going against Arthur, because screams and cheers drowned out the announcer. Another fan favorite, then. He mindlessly plucked some blades of grass and shredded them into bits as he heard the announcer start the fight and the first clang ring in the air. 

The sounds of dueling went on for several minutes, interspersed with excited shouts, and then there was a loud thumping noise and a large collective gasp. 

Merlin’s head shot up. There was only a moment of silence after the gasp before the clanging resumed, and then the arena broke into applause. 

He slumped back against the wall, fiddling with his blade of grass. When he looked back up, Arthur was storming towards him, three sentries and a man in fine robes following in his wake. 

Merlin struggled to get to his feet, pushing past the blurry vision and leaning heavily on the wall. He was barely standing upright when Arthur slammed against him, pinning him in place. Only then did Merlin realize that part of his armor was missing - the large piece of metal that went over his left shoulder and down his upper arm. The chainmail was still intact, but Merlin could smell the thick scent of blood even before he saw it dripping down Arthur’s arm. 

“Prince Arthur, you need medical attention! Allow me to direct you to the court physician right away.”

“I wouldn’t need medical attention if my servant knew how to do his job!” Arthur snarled. His grip on Merlin tightened, and Merlin could see how red his face was. From athletics or anger, he didn’t know. But Arthur’s lips were pressed together in a thin line.

“What happened?” Merlin whispered. 

“You nearly cost me the tournament! My pauldron fell off at the first light blow!” Arthur spat. “Being clumsy is one thing, but you’ve gone too far!”

“Please, allow us to punish him,” the man in fine robes begged. “We’ll have him executed, and we’ll provide you a new servant! The best in Notor.” 

Merlin watched the shock flash across Arthur’s face before he schooled his expression. His grip loosened, just a bit. “I’ll not have a man executed over a mistake.”

“The dungeons, then! But please, allow my physician to examine you. I cannot send the son of Uther Pendragon home injured.” 

“I need no preferential treatment,” Arthur snapped, though this time at the nobleman and not at Merlin. He released Merlin’s shirt and it took everything in his power to stay upright as Arthur stepped back. “As for my servant, he shall have his punishment by the hands of our court, not yours. For now, assign me a new one and get him out of my sight.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Merlin told Arthur, as a sentry gripped his arm and started dragging him away. 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I can’t have an incompetent servant who can’t do his job. We’ll discuss this after the tournament.”

Arthur turned his back as Merlin was herded towards the servant’s quarters. Merlin just gave in, slumping against the guard and letting himself be pulled away. He was dumped roughly inside the servant’s quarters, empty except for the sick little boy and one or two other people. 

Merlin felt all of the fight go out of him at that moment. He crawled his way back into his corner and brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. He buried his head in his knees and let a few tears trickle down his face. 

Why did he feel like this? He had faced many harsh conditions and horrible situations with ease. His head felt all scrambled, like he couldn’t grasp on to any single thought. His body ached and trembled, utterly betraying him. He dug his fingernails into the skin of his arms, trying to focus on the pain and not the world spinning around him. 

Arthur could have died. 

He could have died because Merlin was careless. Because Merlin couldn’t deal with a little hunger and lack of sleep. He knew he had a tendency to lose focus, but Arthur was right. Today was too far. Today was unforgivable. 

His destiny was to protect Arthur. How could he do that when he himself was such a potential threat?

Merlin didn’t process the sound of the evening bell ringing. He didn’t remember when dinner was brought in. He didn’t bother to stand and get some. He couldn’t. He didn’t hear the whispers around him, as the other servants asked what was wrong with the strange boy from Camelot. As they pondered why he was pressed into a corner, face buried in his hands and unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to think. 

He sat, and he sat, and unlike the times that he had felt like this before, nothing in his brain began to sort itself out and become understandable again. He felt as though he were trapped underwater. Everything around him was heavy, muffled. He forced himself to breathe, fighting past the choking sensation that each inhale brought. 

And he sat. 

____

Arthur shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. 

He regretted not letting Odicus bring him to the court physician. It was truly an act of stubbornness, one of his worst traits and one of the many things inherited from his father that he did not particularly like. 

In his defense, it really just a scratch. The sword couldn’t puncture through that much of his chainmail. The bruising was the worst. That was what ached. But bruising wasn’t dangerous. 

Also in his defense, Odicus had been kissing up to him since the second he arrived in Notor. He clearly wanted Uther’s favor, and had been unsubtly throwing young Notorian noblewomen towards Arthur at every evening’s feast. 

Arthur sat up suddenly, and chucked his pillow to the end of his bed. He stomped over to his knapsack and started rummaging through the pockets. He could have been sure that Gaius had given him a small vial of a draught that relieved pain. Something about “you can never be too careful” and “can’t always trust other courts’ physicians”. Arthur hadn’t been paying attention. 

His frustration grew with each pocket that was emptied and didn’t contain the small blue vial. His lack of ability to control his anger was another thing inherited from his father. It was perhaps the main thing about himself he wanted to change. 

Where could that vial have gone?

Merlin , he realized. Merlin had taken the bottle from Gaius, making a joke about how Arthur would only shatter it with the way he threw his pack around and that he’d keep it safe. 

He debated whether or not it was worth the trip to wherever the servant’s quarters were to get it. He could call for the personal attendant that Odicus had assigned him and have him fetch it instead. That felt like defeat, though. 

Besides, he should check on Merlin anyway. Merlin had never been as attentive as some of his previous manservants. He often ran errands for Gaius or could be found assisting Gwen or even Morgana with other random tasks. Still, he was always around when Arthur needed him and he typically was relatively attentive. It was weird to not have him near as much these past days. 

Odicus had said something about the knight’s servants mostly assisting in the armory and had assigned him a different personal attendant for his quarters. Arthur hadn’t argued. You don’t spend years of childhood learning about court etiquette only to go to a different court and demand to do things your way. 

Still, he missed boring Merlin with his post-fight debriefs. He missed chucking his shoes at the boy, making him dodge and laugh. Even out in the arena, he found himself looking around to see where Merlin was watching from. Merlin watched every single one of his fights whenever Camelot hosted a tournament. Every one. Arthur hadn’t realized that Merlin’s face was the first one he sought out after victory until he could no longer find it. 

He shouldn’t have shoved Merlin against the wall today. He’d lost his temper yet again. This tournament had been more difficult than expected. He found himself just barely winning his matches instead of clearing his rounds with ease, and that worried him. He shouldn’t have taken that out on his servant. On his friend. 

Merlin had been acting odd too. Arthur knew that he had been so excited to travel to Notor and had assumed that Merlin spent all his down time running around the city and taking in everything Notor had to offer. Merlin did the same in Camelot, after all, and he’d lived there for awhile. 

He had even forgotten to wish Arthur luck this morning before the tournament. Not that Arthur needed it. 

But still…

He trudged his way down the steps. He knew it was his own arrogance, but he considered Notor to be almost ugly compared to Camelot. Everything seemed utilitarian. Built only with consideration of the purpose it served, and not how it looked. 

“Where are the quarters for the knight’s servants?” he asked a sentry who was standing in the hallway. He was sure they had to be around here somewhere. Most of Camelot’s servants had rooms on the bottom level of the castle near the kitchens if they didn’t have houses of their own in the surrounding city. 

“Behind the stables, sir. Next to the armory.” 

Interesting. 

He made the trek outside, getting curious stares from each of the sentries he passed. He went behind the stables, but all he saw was a large one-story stone building that must be a storage shed for extra equipment. He could find no other buildings beyond the armory. 

“Are you looking for something, my lord?” An old man in tattered clothes was limping towards him. 

“I have need of my servant. Where are his rooms?” 

The old man pointed to the dingy stone building. 

“There are rooms in there ?” Arthur asked, incredulously. He saw how many knights were here. How on earth did they have enough rooms to fit everyone? But the old man nodded before shuffling back towards the stables, so Arthur went to investigate. 

Cracking open the door, he peered inside. Instead of several rooms, the building seemed to be one singular large room. He took a hesitant step inside, nearly tripping over something. No, not something. Someone . 

He blinked as his vision gradually adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out that the floor was strewn in thin mats with people curled up under worn blankets.

This was where Merlin was sleeping? 

His soldiers had better sleeping conditions even when making camps outdoors! 

Arthur scanned the room helplessly, unsure of how to find Merlin in the sea of bodies. That is, until he felt something tug on his pant leg. He looked down and found a young boy wrapped in two blankets and a bedroll that looked awfully familiar. 

“Are you Prince Arthur? From Camelot?” the boy whispered.

“I am.” 

“Are you here for him? He’s wearing red too. I heard him mutter your name.” The boy pointed to a figure slumped in the corner and Arthur’s heart sank. “I think he needs help.” 

Arthur shoved down the anger that was quickly welling up inside him as he picked his way through the mats to the corner. The state of this place was unthinkable! Even the dungeons in Camelot were nicer than this crammed pig sty. 

Fists clenched and face red, he covered the last few feet and finally found Merlin. 

The sight made Arthur want to burn Notor to the ground.

Merlin was curled up in the corner, leaning against the hard stone wall. His arms were wrapped around himself, legs pulled in tight, with no blanket to be seen. He was trembling violently. Arthur knelt gently next to him and noticed that he looked much paler than usual. 

He forced himself to take deep, controlled breath as he reached out and gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle shake. 

“Merlin,” he whispered. 

Merlin’s eyes blinked open slowly, like it was a struggle, then closed again. Arthur shook him again, more forcefully. His eyes opened, and Arthur could tell that something was indeed wrong. Merlin’s eyes looked glassy. It seemed like he was staring right through Arthur instead of at him. 

“Merlin, it’s Arthur,” he whispered. 

Merlin’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his arms tightened around himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“You almost died. It was my fault.” 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Arthur assured him. He glanced around. Merlin’s trembling had only gotten worse after he had opened his eyes. Arthur needed to get him someplace warm. 

He spotted Merlin’s knapsack and slung that over his good shoulder first. “Come on, let’s go,” he instructed quietly. 

To Merlin’s credit, it did look like he was trying his best. He sluggishly unwrapped his arms from around himself and grabbed at the wall, attempting to pull himself up. He was halfway to fully standing when his legs gave out. 

Arthur grabbed him before he could hit the ground, grunting as it put pressure on his bruised shoulder. He went to put Merlin’s arm over his other shoulder to help him walk before realizing there was no way he would make it from the crowded room. Merlin was staring at the floor, eyes still glassy and unfocused. Arthur could feel his thin frame shaking. 

Resigned to his fate, Arthur reached down and placed his arm under Merlin’s legs, scooping him up smoothly, and carried him out of the room. 

Arthur kept his head held high and his expression carefully schooled as he walked back to his own room. He ignored the twinges of pain as his shoulder protested the situation. He knew his cheeks were slightly red as the guards and sentries watched him move silently through the castle. 

If you had told younger-Arthur at any point that he would go so low as to carry his own servant, he would have vehemently denied it. Scoffed. Laughed. The very thought of it was ludicrous. 

He had to shove those feelings deep down as he felt the guards’ eyes following him. He didn’t particularly like that every instinct in his brain was screaming at him that this was disgraceful. That the Prince of Camelot would never do such a thing. 

Merlin was more important to him than his pride. 

Well, his people were more important than his pride. The people of Camelot. That was a lesson that he was slowly learning and was trying to uphold every day, even if he struggled with it. And Merlin was one of those people. A citizen of Camelot. So really, Arthur was just being a kind and gracious ruler to his people. A person. Nevermind that this particular citizen was his servant. And friend. Kind of friend. His servant and also his friend. 

By the time his justification was fully worked out in his head, he had reached his chambers.

The first thing that he did was place Merlin gently on the bed. He grabbed a blanket from the bench at the end and tossed it over him. Merlin clutched at the blanket, drawing it around himself. He sat against the headboard, curling himself up and continuing to stare at nothing. 

It was unsettling. 

The next thing that Arthur did was add several logs to the fire. The room was already quite toasty and he was sure to sweat, but he’d give anything at this point to stop Merlin’s teeth from chattering so violently. 

Arthur sat next to Merlin on the bed. 

“Did you eat dinner?” 

Merlin didn’t respond. 

“Merlin?” 

Arthur gently reached for Merlin’s face, forcing his friend to look him in the eyes. The swelling on Merlin’s cheek had gone down, leaving an angry bruise and a thin cut that was already scabbed over. “Merlin, have you had any dinner?” 

Merlin shook his head ever so slightly. 

“When did you have lunch?” 

Merlin shook his head ‘no’ again. 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

Merlin opened his mouth and then closed it again. He blinked a few times and then opened his mouth again. It was as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. “I.. I don’t…” he began to rasp. 

Arthur immediately stood and crossed to where a water carafe and a goblet were sitting on his table. He filled the cup and brought it back over. As Merlin’s shaking hands reached for it, Arthur decided it may be better that he bring it to Merlin’s lips instead. Merlin took a few small sips and then coughed a couple times. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Arthur asked. The tone he used was much gentler than he could ever recall using before. 

Merlin brought his hand to his mouth, covering it with his sleeve as he coughed again. His eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know,” he finally whispered. 

“Why not?” Arthur pressed. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking. Why didn’t Merlin eat? Why didn’t he remember when he ate? He’d take either, honestly. 

“The boy needed it more,” Merlin murmured. He fixed Arthur with a piercing stare, as though challenging him to argue. 

Arthur was at a complete loss with what to do. He had little to no helpful training beyond basic battlefield medical experience. Other than the cut on his cheek, Merlin seemed to have no other wounds. He looked paler and possibly skinnier than normal. 

“Right,” he said, punctuating it by slapping both hands on his legs before standing. “You’re going to eat something, drink more water, and go to sleep. I’ll bring you to the court physician first thing tomorrow.” 

Merlin didn’t respond. 

By the time Arthur had called his chamber attendant and requested food and accepted the food delivery, Merlin’s teeth had stopped chattering and his trembling had ceased. It took Arthur nearly a half hour to get Merlin to eat a few bites of bread and take several sips of water. It was maddening. 

The only thing quelling his rising frustration at Merlin’s lack of cooperation was that Merlin had now gone completely nonverbal. He either could not or refused to answer any of Arthur’s many questions. Which was infuriating, and Arthur would be sure to scold him for it later. 

When he was well again. 

Giving up on getting answers, Arthur wet a cloth and gently wiped down Merlin’s face. He took great care to be gentle as he dabbed the rag against his cut. How had Merlin gotten it? 

Arthur’s first assumption when he saw his servant’s banged up face was that Merlin had just been clumsy again. He seemed to always be dropping things or tripping. Now, Arthur was considering for the first time that perhaps this might not have been Merlin’s fault. Good heavens, what if he had a brain injury? 

The feelings welling up inside Arthur were confusing and unpleasant. He felt anger… but towards what or whom he didn’t know. He felt… jealous? No, no, that wasn’t right at all. Protective? Yeah, that was more like it. He had felt protective before. Protective of Camelot. Protective of his pride and his honor. 

He had never felt so protective for one individual before. Not for his knights, who he cared for greatly but expected to have the strength to fend for themselves and die with honor if they couldn’t. Not for Morgana. She’d never allow it.  Certainly not his father. 

The feelings left a bitter taste on his tongue and a storm in his head. 

All he was certain of is that he’d do almost anything, even give up his crown if he had to, if he could know that he’d never see Merlin like this again. 

What could that mean? 

When Merlin’s face was cleaned to Arthur’s satisfaction, he tossed the wet rag next to the bowl on the bedside table. 

“Time for you to sleep,” he ordered gently. 

Merlin blinked. He then shuffled out of his blanket and, using the bedpost for support, began trying to stand. 

“Woah, woah, where are you going?” 

Merlin just ignored him and took an unsteady step forward. Arthur launched to his feet and grabbed Merlin’s shoulders. He forced him to sit back down on the bed. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Arthur muttered as he unlaced Merlin’s boots. Tossing them over his shoulder, he stood again and shoved Merlin backwards, forcing him to lay down on the bed. 

Merlin still looked dazed and confused. Arthur sighed heavily as he pulled the covers to his nice, soft bed over his servant. 

What had the world come to? 

Even though the room had grown uncomfortably hot and beads of sweat were beginning to drip down Arthur’s back, he tossed the extra blanket back over Merlin. He watched Merlin shift once, twice, and then immediately pass out. 

Arthur glanced around the room, weighing his own options for the night ahead. The floor was honestly the only viable alternative. He looked back to the bed. It was quite large, even bigger than his own at home. Merlin really was quite skinny, and he was tucked in at the very edge of the bed. 

Arthur crossed the room and locked the chamber doors. 

Despite the proximity that soldiers slept in on the battlefield or that even the servants of Notor seemed to sleep in that cursed hovel of a servant’s quarters, Arthur knew the assumptions that would be drawn if a prince and his manservant were found in the same bed. No matter how far apart they were laying and how large the bed. Arthur wasn’t stupid. 

That kind of scandal would be devastating to his reputation. 

Still, he couldn’t bear to let Merlin sleep on the floor. And he himself would never sleep on the floor. The crown prince of Camelot? On the floor of his own chambers? Ha!

He tucked himself into the other end of the bed far more carefully than he ever had before. Typically he threw himself on his bed and slept with all his limbs spread out, almost resembling a starfish. He was determined to stay still, just for tonight. 

He lay there, focusing on not tossing and turning about, until sleep took hold. 

–

Arthur’s first realization upon awakening was that he was pleasantly warm. 

His second realization was that there was hair tickling his face. And it couldn’t be his own because he always kept it short. 

His third realization was that his leg was tossed casually over something, and his arm was wrapped around it too. Almost like when he cuddled against his pillows as a child. 

Arthur’s eyes flew open. 

As his cheeks flushed dark red, he forced himself to stay still and keep his breathing even to avoid waking Merlin. 

Merlin, who he was wrapped around like a possessive snake. Merlin, whose dark hair was pressed against Arthur’s cheek, because Arthur’s head was tucked into the crook of his neck. 

Blast it all. How dare Merlin move around in his sleep? How dare he end up pressed against Arthur in Arthur’s own bed? How dare he? He ought to be thrown in the stocks! In the dungeons! 

Lifting his head ever so slightly, Arthur came to the sickening realization that Merlin was still tucked gently into the right side of the bed, where Arthur had placed him the night before. Arthur craned his neck to see the sheets on his own side of the bed crumpled and pulled apart and his pillow on the floor. 

Oh. 

As gently as he could, Arthur disentangled himself from his still sleeping servant and crawled out of bed. It was just in time too, because a knock sounded at his door. 

“Breakfast, Sir Arthur.” 

He unlatched the door and accepted the tray, but refused to let the attendant enter the room. “But sir! Allow me at least to make your bed!” 

“Leave me,” Arthur demanded. “I’m in no mood for company this morning.”

“Yes sir.” 

Arthur divided the food into two equal portions and was halfway through his own when he heard shuffling. 

The sheets were pushed away and a sleepy Merlin half-sat up in bed. His eyes searched the room and his forehead crinkled up the way it always did when he was deep in thought. Arthur could not help the fond feeling the sight brought to him. 

Arthur cleared his throat. Merlin’s eyes snapped to his. Then back to the bed. Then back to Arthur. 

Then he was scrambling out of the bed, stumbling on socked feet and nearly crashing to the floor. The bedside table was his savior, giving him something to grab before his face hit the stone. He forced himself upright and gave a slight bow. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep, honest. I don’t know what came over me! I’ll just… finish making the bed and…” Merlin continued to ramble as he started to pull the sheets back up and tuck the pillows into place.

Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have maybe rolled his eyes and chuckled. His face remained stony. “Merlin, come here.” 

Merlin ceased his battle with the sheets and scurried over to Arthur’s side. “I didn’t me-”

“Sit,” Arthur ordered, gesturing to the chair next to his. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. 

Merlin sat. 

Arthur shoved the plate of food towards him. Merlin looked a little bit better this morning. His color had not returned to normal, but he was not as ghastly white as he had been last evening. The dark circles under his eyes had lessened only slightly. His eyes looked clearer. He looked overall more lucid. And he was talking again. That was a good sign. 

The amount of times in the past that Arthur had to order Merlin to shut up made it laughable that he was so relieved to hear him speak now.

“Eat,” Arthur requested. Merlin’s mouth opened, like he was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the food and he shut it immediately. He reached for a piece of bread, and then all his restraint seemed to waver and fall away. 

Arthur watched as Merlin absolutely devoured his entire plate. He refilled his goblet three times with water from the pitcher, chugging it like a man found lost in a desert. It was only when Arthur shoved his own half-eaten plate of food in Merlin’s direction that he hesitated. 

“Arthur, I…” 

“I’m not hungry,” Arthur insisted. 

“But you’ll need your strength for the tournament!” Merlin insisted, shoving the plate back. 

“Their plan to cheat the system and attempt to knock me out of the tournament in the lower brackets means that I face less of a threat now.” Arthur pushed the plate forward again. 

“But-” 

As Merlin’s hand reached for the plate once again, Arthur felt his own restraint snap completely. 

“Do you care to explain to me why I found you shivering and barely conscious on the floor of a shed last night?” 

“That’s just the servant’s quarters, I wa-” 

“What do you mean? Did they not give you a room? Or at least a bed in a bunkhouse?”

“You didn’t have to bring me here, I can handle it. I know my place. I’ll do better and-” 

Arthur stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. “Handle it? Do better?” 

“I promise I wi-” 

“For heaven’s sake, Merlin! The poorest people in Camelot live in better conditions! Our own dungeon is better than that… that…” Arthur began to pace. 

“It’s just one more night!” Merlin said, trying to calm Arthur down. His mind was racing. He didn’t remember coming to Arthur’s chamber. He could barely remember anything after Arthur shoving him against a wall and yelling at him yesterday. Was that even yesterday? 

Arthur whipped around. His fists were tightly clenched, knuckles turning white. “Did they not  feed you?” he asked. “You’re eating like a starving man!” 

“I tried,” Merlin argued. “The food was gone too fast. And other people needed it more than me.”

“Damn it, Merlin. Why must you be such a martyr all the time?” Arthur shoved a second chair to the ground. The sound of wood against stone rang loudly in the empty chamber. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin offered, not quite understanding what he was apologizing for. “I thought it was just how things were in other kingdoms.” 

“Maybe here, but not in any other kingdom I’ve been to.” Arthur crossed the room again and came right up in front of Merlin’s chair. “You never let anyone treat you like that again. No matter what. You come straight to me, and that’s an order.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

“Get your boots, we’re going to the court physician.” 

Merlin scrambled to collect his shoes from where Arthur had chucked them the night before and tugged them onto his feet. “But why?” 

“Because you’re still awfully pale and you haven’t smirked at me or sassed me a single time this morning. I’m starting to think someone knocked your insufferable personality right out of your skull.” 

“You’d think it a cause for celebration,” Merlin offered half-heartedly. 

Arthur scowled and swung the door open. “Go on.” 

—

A half hour later found a still scowling Arthur leaning over a half-sleeping Merlin. 

“And you’re sure he’ll be alright?” he asked Caiaphus, Notor’s court physician, for the third time. 

“He’ll be quite fine with more rest and water,” Caiaphus assured him. “Dehydration is a dangerous thing. It can be much more serious than people think. Even a day or two without water can cause delirium and fatigue. The lack of food and sleep certainly did not help.”

“And the blow to his face?” 

Arthur had been furious when Merlin reluctantly admitted that he had been forcibly turned away from watching the competition. The fluttering in his stomach when he realized the lengths Merlin had gone to just to try and watch him fight did nothing to quell the anger overtaking his senses. It had taken everything in him to not find the offending sentry and put a sword through his stomach. 

“Already healing,” Caiaphus promised. “I’ll administer a salve for the bruising. Now, you must go and prepare for the tournament final, Prince Arthur. I’ll keep good watch over him.” 

“See that you do,” Arthur ordered. He turned to leave the infirmary, and then paused. “There is a child in the servant’s quarters in need of medical care. You will find out what he needs and deliver it right away. I will cover any cost.” 

“But sir, the king has ordered that I only care for kni-” 

“I do not care what Odicus has decreed,” Arthur spat. “Ensure it’s taken care of.” 

Caiaphus gave a low bow. “Yes, my lord.” 

Arthur continued to exit the room but paused when he heard Merlin’s ragged voice call, “Arthur.” 

He paused. “Yes?” 

Merlin blinked awake slowly from the cot he was laying on. A small smile crossed the servant’s face. “Good luck.” 

Arthur found that he could not stop himself from smiling back. “I won’t need it.” 

—----

Even as Arthur took his place in the center of the arena with Camelot’s flag held high, he felt nothing but rage. 

The audience cheered and clapped as Odicus launched into some sort of speech about honor and victory and other utter bull that Arthur could not stand to listen to. 

Every step he had taken away from Merlin had only increased his wrath. Every piece of armor he buckled on by himself fanned the flames of his outrage. It wasn’t helped when he took a moment to look around at the servants of Notor for the first time. They all looked terribly gaunt and frail. They wore tattered clothing and kept their heads down. 

Would this have been Merlin’s fate, if his mother had sent him to Notor instead of Camelot? 

Arthur took off his helmet when he heard the king introduce him as the champion. The audience roared and whistled. 

“Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot! What words will you offer us as our victor?” King Odicus shouted down at him. A tournament tradition, of course. At Camelot, he always went on about honor and glory and such. 

He had no such speech planned today. 

“King Odicus of Notor,” he began. The noise in the arena died down so that all could hear his words. “It is with great regret that I announce that I find no honor in winning this tournament of yours.” 

He heard a few gasps, and saw the nobles in the stands lean closer as King Odicus’s mouth dropped open. 

“It is a shame that such an event is weighed down by the horrible treatment of your subjects. I have seen firsthand how you starve and beat your servants. I have seen how swift and merciless your punishment is with those who make mistakes. I have seen how your lack of kindness extends even to the servants of your esteemed guests.” 

He watched as Odicus’s face grew redder and the king frantically looked around. Ordering his guards to remove Arthur from the arena would be a public scandal and a great embarrassment. There was nothing he could do but wait.

“As heir to the throne of Camelot, I have learned that you can judge much about a court based on how they treat the lowest of their people. I have judged your efforts, King Odicus, and I have not been impressed. I thank you for your invitation to compete in this tournament, my lord, but I warn you that if you see no reason to change your ways you should be wary of reaching out to Camelot again in the future. You will not like what you hear.” 

Arthur could see a squadron of guards begin to assemble near the preparation area. The muttering from the stands grew louder as people discussed his words. “Thank you for your time, people of Notor. It has been my privilege to fight both for glory and for the rights of your people.” 

A strained silence blanketed the arena as he brought his horse to the gate. No one dared clap. All eyes darted between him and the king. As he fully exited, he could hear people begin to shuffle out of the stands. 

Arthur dismounted and traded pleasantries and congratulations with the other knights as he crossed through the preparation area and subtly headed towards the front gates. He had spoken without fully thinking through the consequences. He did not think Odicus was foolish enough to kill the only son of Uther Pendragon.  

Probably. 

Warily, he watched as King Odicus stormed through the crowd, a unit of Notorian soldiers at his back. He caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and turned his head ever so slightly to see Merlin approaching him. Merlin had his own horse tacked up with this knapsack and saddlebags already packed. He carried Arthur’s knapsack and other bags on his shoulders. 

Arthur smirked. 

He waited calmly as King Odicus approached him. He felt Merlin’s presence just behind him, and saw his friend and servant place a hand on the stirrup opposite side of Arthur. A counterweight so that the saddle would not slip in the case of a quick mount. 

Arthur schooled his expression as King Odicus stepped up to him. “How dare you!” the king shouted. He pointed a finger at Arthur’s chest. “You have made an enemy of Notor, Arthur Pendragon.” 

“Camelot needed no friendship from Notor,” Arthur answered calmly. “And we care about your threats even less.” 

With one swift motion, he mounted his mare. He reached down and grabbed Merlin’s arm, helping him onto his own horse within seconds. As soon as they were both roughly seated, they took off. 

Arthur could hear shouting behind him as they rode through the gates and into the countryside. The wind stung his eyes and caused them to water, but he urged his horse onward. He dared to look back only for a few seconds every now and then to make sure that Merlin was still just keeping up. 

Only after Arthur was sure that Notor’s guards would not catch them did he dare slow to a canter. He and Merlin continued at a steady pace for another hour or two. Arthur kept checking behind him to make sure Merlin was alright, and he was growing increasingly anxious. 

They came to a stop as the sun was beginning to set. Sliding off his horse, Arthur was at Merlin’s side instantly. 

“Sit down.”

“But I have to get the bags and untack the horses and…” the words died on Merlin’s tongue as Arthur borderline shoved him to the ground and turned to loosen the girth on his own horse and then Merlin’s. Merlin sat back against a tree and kicked his boots up. “Well, I’d be stupid to complain about you doing work for the first time ever.” 

“You’re already stupid,” Arthur shot back. Merlin just grinned. 

Arthur pulled the saddle off of Merlin’s mare and set it on the ground. “How did you have our things ready so fast?” 

Merlin smirked. “Because I know you. I had your things packed and my horse tacked before your final event even began.” 

Arthur scoffed. “You lie.” 

Merlin tossed a pebble towards him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest. “Everyone knows you say dumb things when you’re mad. I figured we’d need a quick exit.” 

“Nothing I said was dumb,” Arthur grumbled, placing his saddle next to Merlin’s. 

“No, it wasn’t. I heard the whole thing. What you did was very brave.” 

“Wasn’t that either. It was the right thing to do.” Arthur dropped his bags next to Merlin and took a seat. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“Loads better. I ate and drank a lot of water when I woke up in the infirmary.” 

“Good, don’t ever scare me like that again.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

“I mean it. Who else will muck out my stables? Polish my shoes?”

Merlin stretched his legs out and yawned. “I’m sure you’d find someone else eventually.”

“I could search the whole world and never find someone half as irritating as you. But don’t you dare make me.” 

Merlin’s grin was an answer in and of itself. To Arthur’s words, yes. But maybe to something more. An answer to the feelings that had been swirling uncomfortably in his gut. An answer to the tangled thoughts in his head. An answer to everything. An answer to Arthur. 

“Come on, you need more rest. We’ll head back to Camelot in the morning.”  

“Ugh, I can’t wait to be home.”