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Chapter Text

VI: The Prince's Favor (Part 1)

That day, training began as it had every other:

"Merlin…! That is not how you are supposed to hold a crossbow!"

Tiredly, Merlin rolled his eyes, shifting his finger to the correct position on the trigger, "Is that better, Your Prattiness?"

Arthur laid a frustrated glower on his manservant. Merlin was a sword master's dream: quick-witted, clever, possessed of lightning fast reflexes, and horribly stubborn. The last of which often resulted in nightmarish sparring sessions with both boys at loggerheads with each other:

"Arthur, why does it matter how I hold a weapon? What matters is that I have one!"

"Merlin…! That's not the point…!"

…Ultimately, Arthur chose the thrill of adrenaline and the elation of a good fight over how best to handle a broadsword (which was so ill-fitting for Merlin's physique that it made one appearance and never appeared again.)

Beneath Arthur's glower, Merlin shrugged helplessly. Daggers he knew, but the crossbow was far too…springy. Arthur's broad shoulders and muscled back allowed him to handle it with ease, but despite the conditioning Merlin's body had undergone in the past three months, it seemed likely the crossbow would be discarded just as quickly as the broadsword had.

(That it killed far too cleanly and quickly had absolutely nothing to do with it. Really.)

Sighing, Arthur pressed down gently on Merlin's hand…and Merlin's finger de-pressed the trigger, causing Arthur to yelp softly as he jumped out of the way of the crossbow bolt that embedded itself in the ground with a solid thwack.

Wide-eyed, Merlin stared at him for a full tenth of a second, before breaking down into helpless laughter.

"It isn't funny, Merlin!" came the indignant exclamation. "You could have shot my foot!"

"I am so sorry, Your Highness," more helpless laughter filled their clearing, "but you deserved it."

Scowling, Arthur demanded, "How did I deserve it? I haven't done anything, yet!"

Smirking, Merlin opened his mouth to retort, but Arthur brought his hand up sharply and cut him off, "Don't answer that, Merlin."

Grinning wearily, if warmly, Merlin gladly relinquished the crossbow to Arthur's sure hold without a smart come back.

Trust Arthur to notice.

Frowning thoughtfully, the Crown Prince accepted the weapon and carefully set it aside. "Merlin…?" and the question was oddly tentative, "Something has upset you again, hasn't it?"

Startled, Merlin flushed, averting his eyes. Arthur, although it went unnoticed, tensed slightly. Both boys clearly recalled the events that had unfolded only a few weeks prior:

Merlin had tried to make himself scarce in the early morning hours that followed his return from the Lake of Avalon, and he had succeeded for the most part, avoiding the majority of the castle's inhabitants and holing himself up in Arthur's chambers. Gaius had, of course, offered to brew him a sedative and inform Arthur he was indisposed for the day, but Merlin had only given the elderly physician a weak smile and quietly slipped out of the room.

Arthur had been up even earlier than his manservant had, disturbed by the girl-turned-Bastet he had faced the previous evening and the fact that Merlin had essentially disappeared directly afterwards (because, of course, he had seen him in the courtyard that night). That he had been missing during the dark, cold hours of hunting that followed had not helped matters any, either.

Undeniably, both boys felt a flicker of surprise when, upon Arthur opening his chamber door that morning, they found themselves face to face with one another.

Arthur, true to his upbringing, recovered first, "Ah, Merlin. There you are. I've been looking for you-"

Merlin hitched his shoulders up, rushing to complete Arthur's sentence before the prince finished it himself, "Yes. Right. Umm…you want me to polish your armor and…wash your clothes and-"

Without a word, Arthur slipped into place beside Merlin, touching, then capturing, the hand that had continued to scrub furiously at his muddied boots. When Merlin's "clean your room" ended on a barely audible choke and Arthur caught sight of the hard swallow that accompanied it, he swallowed himself, squared his shoulders, and plunged ahead, "Something's been upsetting you, hasn't it?" stated with all the confidence he could muster.

Startled, Merlin finally paused in his scrubbing, staring down at the hand that had clenched (but not too tightly) around his own. He could barely talk now, "Maybe," whispered.

Arthur sighed, dropping his shoulders and withdrawing his hand, "Was it because I threw water over you?"

(He sincerely doubted it, but then, Merlin had never been entirely logical.)

Merlin's hand jerked on the boot he had continued to scrub, slightly thrown by the casual question. Despite himself, he gave a small snort, shaking his head, and looked up at Arthur with the faint beginnings of a grin, "It wasn't very nice."

Encouraged by that small glimpse of the Merlin he knew (and trying to ignore the brief flash of guilt that accompanied it), Arthur turned away and acknowledged, "It was a bit unfair."

He couldn't resist adding, of course, especially at the miniscule smile that touched Merlin's lips, "Like...when you called me…fat?" suggested with all the idle innocence that he knew Merlin would see through.

Less startled by the playful tone than he perhaps should have been, Merlin gave up all pretense of scrubbing and turned to Arthur, asking rather matter-of-factly, "Why was that unfair?"

Arthur did not see through the banter quite as easily as his counterpart did: turning sharply he retorted hotly, "Because I am not fa-"

The tiny sparkle in Merlin's eye and the small quirk at the corner of his mouth gave the younger boy away, and Arthur quickly bit off his retort, slightly embarrassed by how sensitive he was about his weight.

Unable to help himself, and relieved to see the teasing back, the prince reached out and grabbed his manservant in a gentle headlock.

With a cry as the older boy started knuckling his head none-too-lightly, Merlin struggled and squirmed, caught between yelping and laughter, "Ow, ow, ow ! Arthur…!"

He was suddenly released to sit upright, and held his somewhat dizzy head, panting slightly from his laughter and unable to ignore the wide grin now adorning his face, "Wha…wha…what…?"

Arthur's finger lightly touched his cheek, tracing the smile that curved there, "That's better."

A hand touched Arthur's arm, drawing him out of the memory. Merlin was there, again, smiling softly at him, "Nothing's upsetting me…as such. I'm just tired."

Arthur perked up, smirking slightly, "Too tired to duel? My, Merlin, what have you been getting into?"

Hearing the underlying suggestiveness of the tone, Merlin flushed deeply and retorted crankily, "Oh, shut-"

A throat cleared pointedly behind them.

Going by the sudden tension that sang through Merlin's body, and the fact that he immediately retracted his hand, it wasn't Leon who wanted their attention.

Turning to face the man who had interrupted their verbal sparring match, Merlin and Arthur found Sir Kay waiting expectantly in front of them.

Awkwardly, Arthur cleared his own throat and smiled tightly at his knight, unused to anyone but Leon (and perhaps Gaius) seeing him at his most unguarded, "Kay," he acknowledged.

Merlin quietly dropped back a respectful pace behind Arthur, standing attentively at his left shoulder as all proper manservants should. He knew Arthur hated it, but with this particular knight—and Sir Boris—Merlin often chose caution over error.

Frowning at Merlin for reverting to docility, Arthur returned his attention to the man who had, at one point, been one of his oldest friends, "What did you need, Kay?"

Sir Kay shook his head, gauntlet clutched in one hand, and bowed to Arthur, "Nothing from you, Sire, my apologies."

Merlin, who had intended to listen in on the conversation without making it obvious, now tensed again and straightened, warily eyeing the older knight. What could this man possibly want from him? Sir Kay had made it vastly apparent that he did not approve of Arthur's decision to train Merlin, so why did he seek him now?

Arthur, whose own thoughts mirrored Merlin's, also tensed, "What do you want from Merlin, Kay?" he demanded.

Sir Kay coolly surveyed them both, although his look quickly turned deferential when it turned to Arthur. Arthur, of course, wasn't fooled. He knew Kay had something in mind that he would not like, and he knew Kay knew that, as well.

Nothing that involved Merlin could ever be simple, could it?

Sir Kay took in a deep breath, "Forgive me, Sire, but if you would step aside…"

In the end, Merlin catalyzed the situation. Gently pressing a hand to Arthur's side (who reluctantly stepped away), the warlock asked cautiously, "Sir Kay…? Is there something I can help you with?"

Dust, dirt, and grass flew up into the air as Sir Kay threw his gauntlet down to the earth between them. When he looked up at Merlin, the knight's face was still and pale, "I challenge you."

End The Prince's Favor (Part 1)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 2)

"…I simply meant that as a knight, Kay is honor-bound to protect you, that's all!"

Twisting his head to eye his irate prince curiously over his shoulder, Merlin placed his hand on the oaken door of Camelot's armory and shoved it open, "How is he honor-bound to protect me, Arthur? You are the one he swore fealty to."

Arthur stormed after his manservant into the armory, flush high on his cheeks and blue eyes snapping angrily, "I have always followed the chivalric code, Merlin, just the same as I expect my knights to. As a knight, Kay pledged to protect those weaker than he and unable to defend themselves; it's even written into their oath! That means he is expected to protect all my subjects, including certain infuriating manservants!"

Merlin whipped around so fast, blue eyes flaring hot and bright, that Arthur stumbled to a stop in barely enough time to avoid crashing into him. The armory door slammed shut behind them with a resounding clang: "I am not helpless, Arthur! Of all people…you should know that!"

To his credit, Arthur only briefly gaped at the younger man, "I never said you were, Merlin!" he returned hotly. "I merely meant that because he is a knight, because he is in a position of power, he ought to use his station to defend you, not abuse it by issuing a challenge you cannot deny!"

"And how is that any different from issuing ridiculously long lists of chores that even George wouldn't be able to finish in two days, let alone one?" Merlin demanded incredulously, fisting his hands against his hips and facing Arthur head on.

(Not that the chore lists had been anything but reasonable recently.)

"That is different," Arthur insisted, and if either of the two young men noticed their raised voices rang throughout the empty armory, neither made any mention of it. "You are my frien-"

Wide-eyed, Arthur bit down—hard—on his tongue.

Trust Merlin to notice.

Squinting inquiringly, Merlin unconsciously relaxed his stance and murmured, "Arthur…?"

"—Frustratingly insolent manservant," Arthur amended hurriedly.

Merlin eyed him skeptically, tilting his head slightly to the side. A moment later, his own eyes widened as realization settled in and he nearly laughed, "You're worried about me, aren't you?"

Arthur's cheeks flushed hot and red, "No, I am not-!"

Merlin really did laugh, brightly, and grinning, finally turned away to scour the armory's supply-laden shelves for a kit that might fit him, "You are," stated surely.

Helplessly, Arthur watched his manservant's lithe back. He could not deny a statement that was true, after all (at least, not with any sort of conviction): "Let me fight in your place, Merlin," it was not begging, not quite, "I know Kay's fighting style, I know what to expect, and he would never-"

Merlin, who had picked up a set of chain mail in order to properly size it up, now set that hauberk down with such a clatter of interlocked links that he rattled the shelves around it.

Incredulously, he twisted to stare at Arthur, "You would do that? For a servant?"

Arthur shifted edgily from foot to foot and set his jaw, "I have already, if you will recall," he stated softly.

Merlin's eyes widened as the memory of facing Kanen and his bandits rushed to the forefront. "I do," he assured Arthur quietly, reaching out to touch his prince's arm in momentary concession. Then he withdrew, once more facing the weapons' racks, and murmured, waiting for Arthur to draw close to him, "But it's different this time, Arthur."

"How is it any different, Merlin?" Arthur demanded in disbelief, his voice rising again.

Merlin merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Arthur flushed under the scrutiny, but remained obstinately silent.

Seeing the mulish set of his master's jaw, Merlin sighed and picked up the hauberk again, shaking it out and critically examining the chain mail shirt for any weak or missing links. "For one thing, Sire," and he placed deliberate emphasis on the title, "you are showing your men that you do not trust them."

Arthur stiffened, then scowled, a fierceness he had been unaware he possessed coursing through his next words, "That is unequivocally untrue, Merlin! Of course I trust my men-!"

"No, you don't, Arthur," Merlin interrupted him softly, slinging the hauberk over his arm and moving past the chausses, chain mail leggings that would only hinder him during tomorrow's combat. "Not with me, at least." He could not resist adding, a wicked smirk on his lips, "And while it's sweet in its own way…the only one you trust to come near me with a sword in his hand is Leon."

Cheeks deeply flushed, Arthur opened his mouth to refute such an outrageous claim…and had to close it: "Fine," he sighed, "you're right." At Merlin's delighted grin, he quickly added, "But only because I don't want you to incapacitate them!"

Merlin laughed, pausing in front of a rack of shields, and cast Arthur an amused look, "I doubt I could, Arthur, even if I tried."

This Arthur could refute, at least, and he moved to do so with a frown. Before he could object, though, Merlin covered his mouth with a hand and effectively derailed whatever else Arthur might have said.

"There's something else, Arthur," Merlin added softly. At the prince's groan and reluctant nod, Merlin straightened up, lifting his chin, and met Arthur's gaze squarely, "You don't trust me."

Whatever Arthur might have expected, it certainly wasn't that: "That is even more ridiculous than your first statement, Merlin!" he sputtered.

"Is it?" Merlin countered quietly. He turned expectantly towards the older man, "Is it really, Arthur? Because the last time I checked, you weren't the one Sir Kay issued the challenge to." At Arthur's clenched, obstinate jaw, Merlin pointed out, "He's loyal to you, Arthur. He knows you think…kindly of me," it was added awkwardly, and resulted in Arthur's cheeks burning three shades of red. "What else am I supposed to think?"

Arthur coughed, striving to look less embarrassed, "…That's an awful way to put it, Merlin."

Shrugging slightly, with a tiny, no-less-embarrassed grin, Merlin murmured, "Best way I can think of. And anyway, it's true. You don't trust me, Arthur. You don't trust me not to get hurt. Don't even try to refute that."

Sighing, as all his anger burned out, Arthur moved forward to an adjacent rack, dragging an utterly bewildered Merlin with him.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he murmured at last, releasing his manservant's elbow to pick up one of the smaller vambraces that lined the shelves. "It's just…I've known Kay for a while, you know? And for all our…less-than-chivalric antics," he blushed brightly under Merlin's knowing grin, "I have never seen him so serious about a combat before. And that is what worries me," stated plainly.

Merlin softened at Arthur's words, a warm pulse entering his chest as he held out his left arm when Arthur motioned for it, "You've been friends for years, Arthur. Much longer than you have known me."

"I wouldn't exactly call it friends…" Arthur muttered, but couldn't be bothered to explain the difference as he'd come to see it. Gently, he tugged the vambrace on over Merlin's wrist and forearm, fiddling with the laces that held it shut as he tried to size it to Merlin's slender arm.

Merlin's free hand trapped Arthur's in its place. When the startled prince glanced up, Merlin smiled warmly at him, "You were friends, Arthur. It's only natural that he would be jealous that you were spending all your free time training me."

Arthur shook his head, jerking his hand out from underneath Merlin's, and turned to pick up the matching vambrace in this set. It did not go on quite so easily as its counterpart, and Arthur frowned, yanking irritably at the laces, "I would have preferred to have given you a pair with guards," he finally sighed, "but these will have to do for right now. I know you won't use gauntlets, Merlin, and since you are using long daggers, they won't be of any help to you, anyway."

Merlin perked up, letting his arm rest in Arthur's hold for the moment, "You are giving me permission to fight?"

Arthur exhaled softly, giving the laces a final tug, and gently let Merlin's arm down, "I don't have much of a choice, do I? You would never let me hear the end of it!"

Completely startled by the unexpected return to normalcy, Merlin gave a bright laugh, "Undoubtedly, Your Highness. Whatever made you think otherwise?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, yanking the chain mail off of Merlin's arm and folding it with a jangle over his own: "A futile hope, apparently," remarked dryly. "Come on," and he lightly grabbed Merlin by the scruff of his neck, dragging his manservant back towards the first rack they had passed, "This hauberk's far too big for you. Honestly, Merlin, what would you do without me?"

With a yelp of laughter, Merlin struggled free and tugged down on his tunic to straighten it out. He twisted to face Arthur, blue eyes wry, "I have no idea, Sire."

End The Prince's Favor (Part 2)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 3)

"Arthur," and if a note of utter frustration colored Merlin's voice, he was entirely justified in the reaction, "no matter how many hauberks you try to force over my head, there won't be one that fits perfectly!"

Arthur scowled fiercely down at the current shirt of chain mail he held. It was, perhaps, a little too broad around the shoulders and a bit too loose beneath the arms, but that could be remedied easily enough by a leather jerkin, of which he had many. "There should be," grumbled underneath his breath as he folded the hauberk over his arms.

Recognizing Arthur's actions as a signal of his surrender, Merlin scrubbed at his eyes tiredly and gave a rueful grin, "I've never been easy to clothe," he pointed out, moving to pick up the vambraces they had chosen. "Mum had a terrible time keeping me in tunics when I was small."

Smirking, Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Even with these ears?" Gently, he reached out and tugged on one of the appendages in question, "Surely they must serve some purpose."

Rolling his eyes, Merlin batted away Arthur's hand and tried to snatch the hauberk out of the prince's arms. Arthur danced out of the way, a playful grin on his lips. The younger boy snorted, "You. Are. A. Child."

Arthur's grin abruptly dropped and he scowled, "Merlin-!"

Everything seemed so swiftly headed back to normal that he really should have expected it when, for the second time that day, a throat cleared behind them.

Merlin paled so rapidly Arthur glanced at him sharply in alarm, "M-My Lord," he stammered, dropping into a hurried bow.

It did not take much more than that for the prince to deduce who stood in the armory door watching them. Inhaling sharply, Arthur spun around, clutching the chain mail to his chest, "Father," he managed.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Uther Pendragon raised an eyebrow at the pale countenance of his son, and the even paler one belonging to his son's manservant, "Arthur," intoned dryly, as he stepped inside the armory. "Am I to understand that you will allow this…boy," he nodded to Merlin, "to fight one of your best knights tomorrow?"

"Sir Kay issued the challenge, Father, of his own will," Arthur kept his voice even and face blank. "Merlin cannot deny the challenge because, as a servant, he is expected to adhere to the constraints of his station."

(That Arthur saw it as an abuse of Kay's station went unmentioned, but it was most certainly implied.)

Uther, like all clever kings, caught the implication and frowned, "You are the Crown Prince Arthur. They are your subjects. Surely you must have thought to have forbidden it—by all accounts, you should have forbidden it. What honor is there for a knight to fight a servant?"

Merlin grit his teeth as his pride blistered under Uther's dismissive gaze. Judging by the sudden rigidness of Arthur's stance, Merlin wasn't the only one to have caught the king's implication that a servant had no real honor.

Uther caught Arthur's reaction, too. Scowling at his son, the older man demanded, "You have that much faith in this boy's abilities?"

"All the faith in the world, Father," Arthur drawled, and while his tone was dry, the prince knew the truth of it in his bones. Whether his father (or Merlin) caught that implication was another matter.

Startled, Merlin jerked his head up to stare at Arthur's back, convinced he must have heard incorrectly, He can't possibly have meant-

Uther narrowed his eyes, observing in one sweep his son's arms full of armor and his manservant's wide-eyed disbelief, "This is the one Sir Leon calls 'Lady Hawk,'" stated surely.

Arthur set his jaw, "He is, Father. I would not have agreed to this combat otherwise."

(The admittance that he had only under duress remained conspicuously absent.)

Glancing sharply at his son, Uther remarked, "It seems your training has gone well, then. You will have no objection to an audience tomorrow, I trust, if this boy's skills are truly so lauded?"

Had Arthur's face been able to turn any paler, it would have. He determinedly did not look at his manservant, "None, Father."

One last, intense look at the two boys, and Uther swept out of the armory, "Until the morrow, then."

When the armory door slammed shut behind his father, Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then blushed, furiously, once it occurred to him that Merlin had heard the entire…disagreement. "Merlin-!" he blurted, twisting to face his manservant.

For the second time that day, Merlin's hand came up to cover Arthur's mouth. The look on the younger man's face was a mix between coy and mocking, "I suppose I should thank you for defending my honor."

Arthur blushed, then sputtered, yanking Merlin's hand from his lips, "I am very afraid you are mistaken, Merlin. I would never-"

Merlin laughed, reclaiming his hand and nudging Arthur's shoulder companionably with his own, "I get it, Arthur. Really." He added wickedly, "Your princely pride is safe."

"Merlin?" Arthur began, grabbing the collar of his manservant's jacket.

"Aye, Your Highness?" returned ironically, with a wide grin, as he tried to twist away from Arthur's grasp.

The prince rolled his eyes, tightening the grip he had on the back of Merlin's jacket and using it to shove him out the armory door, "Shut up."

IOIOIOIOIOI

"…We should probably let Gaius know about the combat," Arthur remarked softly, seriously, once they had left the armory and begun to walk down the corridor outside it, "and you can tell Morgana and Guinevere, as I do not fancy being castrated."

Merlin coughed to cover a laugh, peering at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, "The girls aren't that bad, Arthur, and what makes you think Gaius will be any different?"

Arthur scowled, whirling around to shove his index finger pointedly into Merlin's chest, "You weren't there when Morgana and Gwen took me to task for even thinking about letting you go off by yourself to fight Kanen. They became so upset with me that they chased after you on their own! At least with Gaius I won't have to worry about crusading females!"

Merlin grinned, "No, just overprotective court physicians who might accidentally let slip a bit of harmless 'potion.' You are so lucky neither Gwen nor Morgana are around to hear you say that, or you most certainly would be castrated."

"They. Are. Evil. Evil, I tell you, or at least Morgana is," Arthur muttered.

Unable to stop his next laugh, Merlin dodged ahead to face Arthur, walking backwards as he ducked his head slightly to meet the prince's gaze, "Should you really be saying that about the woman you love? Or, at least, her best friend?"

Sighing, Arthur fixed Merlin with a look that said in so many words, Must we really talk about this now?

Merlin's smile turned sheepish, "I am sorry, Arthur, but you really did open yourself up for that. We probably won't have to worry about informing any of them, though. You know how fast rumors fly," and he pulled a wry face as he thought back to some of the more embarrassing rumors that had begun to circulate about he and Arthur recently, probably due to how much time they had spent training together over the past three months.

Arthur groaned, shifting the chain mail he still held to his other arm so he could scrub at his face, "I hate that you're probably right."

Merlin smirked, "I am always right, Your Prattiness, you should just learn to accept that."

Arthur's fierce grin, under any other circumstances (or to someone who wasn't Merlin) would have been slightly worrying, "The day you accept that I should always get my way, that's when I will admit you are always right, Merlin, and never before."

Merlin rolled his eyes, "Of course you won't." When Arthur shifted the hauberk again, he reached for it…and found himself evaded, as the prince stepped lightly to the side, just out of reach. "Arthur-" he huffed, as his hands were brushed away.

Immediately thereafter they turned a corner, and his objection abruptly cut off as he accidentally collided with someone coming up the corridor from the opposite direction.

IOIOIOIOIOI

At Merlin's bitten-off yelp of surprise, Arthur grinned, and would have commented on his grace (or lack thereof), had not the manservant's expression transformed drastically into one of shock and dismay as the younger man lurched headfirst toward the flagstone floor.

"Merlin!" he yelped, hastily surging forward to grab his companion underneath his arm. Keeping a firm grip on the (skinny) limb, he remarked, "First the crossbow bolt and now this. I know you can actually be clumsy sometimes, Merlin, but this is ridiculous, even for you!"

Merlin grit his teeth, trying to straighten up without making it seem like he leaned too much of his weight on Arthur's shoulder and arm, "Thank you so kindly, My Lord."

Arthur gave a lopsided smirk, and opened his mouth to retort, when raucous laughter interrupted him:

"Our deepest apologies, Sire," four of his men, clearly just back from practice, stood between them and the last 300 feet of the corridor. Only one of the four looked remotely apologetic, "We did not see him there."

(Except they had to have, how couldn't they?)

"Clearly," Arthur remarked dryly, still holding fast to Merlin's arm and cursing mentally in every language he knew.

As Arthur's grip on his arm tightened, Merlin looked up (and willed back the momentary dizziness). A glance over at the knights confirmed what he'd heard: Sir Boris, and three of his cohorts, blocked the hallway in front of them.

Unhappy that he had once again been caught unguarded, and that, too, by this group of men, Arthur grimaced down at Merlin, who smiled up at him ruefully, Seems rumors fly a lot faster than we give them credit for. This is not the type of day I hoped to have!

Unfortunately, the knights saw Arthur's grimace and took it as a sign of distaste.

Before either Merlin or Arthur could react, the younger man found himself wrenched out of the prince's secure hold and shoved harshly to one side: "Out of the way, whelp," Sir Boris snarled, "you will soil Our Lord's pristine-"

"Do not finish that sentence, Sir Boris," Arthur's clenched teeth lent a hiss to the order, and he grabbed Merlin's arm, yanking him perhaps a little too roughly behind him.

Scowling fiercely as he straightened upright, Merlin tried to jerk his arm out of Arthur's grasp, a bit indignant that the prince thought he was that incapable of defending himself.

Arthur just shot a steely glare over his shoulder, wordlessly commanding his typically sharp-tongued servant to silence.

Merlin's scowl deepened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Arthur's hand slid down to his wrist and gave it a warning squeeze, causing him to wince at the prince's too-tight grip. "Not a word, Merlin," Arthur snarled softly, "do you understand?"

Stewing briefly, and chewing ferociously on his bottom lip, Merlin finally nodded.

Arthur loosened his grip just enough to let Merlin's wrist slip as he turned back to Sir Boris, eyeing the three men shifting restlessly at the knight's back. "Forgive me, gentleman," his voice had lost all its warmth, "but I was unaware my knights had deemed it necessary to protect me from my own manservant."

The three behind Sir Boris at least had the grace to look chagrinned. Sir Boris simply gazed levelly at him, not a trace of repentance in his expression. Arthur's own hardened, "Sir Boris!" exclaimed sharply, when no other response was forthcoming, "Either state your purpose or move along. I have other business to attend to!"

"Will the knights be permitted to attend tomorrow's combat, Sire?" the question came out deceptively soft.

A completely flummoxed Merlin blanched, barely able to conceal it, and sensed Arthur tense in front of him as the same thing occurred to the prince, Bloody-! That news has circulated already?

"Which combat do you refer to, Sir?" Arthur demanded, just as caught off-guard as his manservant and desperately trying to mask it.

"Why, tomorrow's combat with Sir Kay, Sire," drawled, as Sir Boris eyed Merlin mockingly over Arthur's shoulder. "'Twould be a shame, indeed, to miss such an extolled event."

Merlin set his jaw, returning the look as best he could without inciting Arthur's wrath.

The prince caught it, anyway, and frowned warningly at Merlin (who rolled his eyes), before once again facing Sir Boris, "Any knight who wishes to observe the combat is certainly welcome to do so. I would remind you, however," here Arthur's voice turned much sharper, as he heard the mockery in his knight's tone, "that you are to show deference and respect to both of the combatants, regardless of what the outcome may be."

One of the men behind Sir Boris coughed.  Arthur swiftly glanced over, and found himself confronted with a man quite similar in likeness to the knight in question, if shorter, and a bit broader in the shoulders. He raised an eyebrow, catching the briefest flicker of a deprecating smile, and forcibly reminded himself that this man was the only one who had looked genuinely apologetic upon bumping into them, "Sir Bors, wasn't it? You newly arrived in Camelot but a fortnight ago, and although I would have expected your brother to inform you," here he frowned at Sir Boris, "Merlin—and, indeed, any other servant in this castle—is to be treated as you would anyone else, be they man or woman, commoner or noble. As you may have surmised, I do not tolerate ill-treatment of anyone who is a member of the royal household."

At this entirely eloquent defense, Merlin blinked, jaw unhinging slightly, and found himself reminded, once again, of how good a king Arthur would one day turn out to be.

Perhaps Arthur sensed his awe, for the tiniest bit of color began to creep up the back of the prince's neck, luckily concealed from the knights in front of them.

Merlin smothered a small laugh, suddenly a great deal happier than he had been in a while, You'll never cease to surprise me, will you, Arthur?

Glancing narrow-eyed at Merlin upon hearing the chuckle, Sir Bors addressed Arthur, "Forgive me, Sire, but if I may be so bold…" as Arthur gestured for him to continue, he bowed, straightening up curiously, and eyed the chain mail his young monarch still carried, "is that why you carry his hauberk?"

Until that point, both Merlin and Arthur had honestly forgotten why they were in this hall at all. Now they blinked, and simultaneously dropped their eyes to the tunic of chain mail.

Noting that the prince did, indeed, still hold it, Merlin blushed, and Arthur barely managed to avoid doing the same. Consequently, his voice came out rather sharper than he had perhaps intended, "And if it is?" demanded.

Sir Bors bowed again, "Then who am I to question the Crown Prince?"

Exasperated with his men, with himself, and with the entire situation in general, Arthur blew out a long breath and remarked, "Then I would thank you very kindly to ensure that your brother and your cohorts," he nodded meaningfully to the other two knights, "do the same."

IOIOIOIOIOI

When they finally made it to Arthur's room, the prince groaned, sinking into the chair at his desk and running his free hand over his face to tug at his hair, "This day has not turned out as I expected it to."

Smiling softly, Merlin shut the door behind them and tread lightly to his master's side. Reaching out to grasp Arthur's hand, he pulled it down and gently patted the back of it, before stooping to collect the hauberk and set the chain mail on the table next to the vambraces. "No, it hasn't, has it?" he mused quietly. Then smirked, moving towards the window to draw the curtains, "Really, Arthur, three times today you defended my honor. Should I be expecting a ring?"

Arthur turned so vividly red that Merlin had little chance of suppressing his mirth: "Absolutely not," he barked out. At Merlin's continuing laughter, Arthur sputtered, "I just-!"

His manservant's light touch stopped the movement of his lips, and Arthur found himself staring up into the warm countenance of the one person whose opinion would always matter, "I think I told you earlier, Arthur, I get it. I know it hurts your sense of fairness. I know it goes against the code you live by. I do know, Arthur, don't think for a moment that I don't. And I am honored that you chose to defend me."

Over his eyes, Arthur's brows scrunched together in confusion, and he peered up curiously at Merlin. Unable to completely hide his fondness, the warlock let his fingers drop, grinning as he brushed a loose curl out of Arthur's eyes.

The prince's eyebrows flew all the way up to his hairline at the small gesture, and he leaned back in his chair, unsure what to make of his oddly affectionate manservant. "Merlin…" he began, uncertain whether to reproach the younger man for his forwardness, or let it go and focus on the much more interesting issue at hand. He chose the latter, "You are…strangely perceptive for a man who acts like an idiot half the time."

Merlin scowled, suddenly feeling far less charitable towards Arthur than he had a moment ago, and snatched his hand away, "If that will be all, Sire…"

Seeing that his manservant intended to go without so much as a "by your leave," Arthur lurched out of his chair, lunging forward to grab Merlin's wrist, "Merlin, wait! I did not mean…well, yes, I did, but…"

Merlin stopped, cocking both head and hip to face Arthur, "My Lord," he stressed patiently, fisting his free hand against his hip, "I am sure there are others whose company you can seek should you so desire it, but you did sanction a combat tomorrow, and I should fetch your supper before retiring for the night."

Arthur scowled, already disliking this evening far more than he had the day, "Drop the formality, will you? It sounds…wrong…coming from you."

Merlin set his jaw, utterly unhappy with the topic of conversation, "Does it, Your Highness? How should it sound?"

By now, Arthur realized that one of them had seriously mistranslated something in the past two minutes. The smoldering blue eyes that glared into his own gave a clue, however: "Merlin…" he groaned, reaching out for his manservant's other wrist (and a little surprised when Merlin gave it to him), "just stop. What did I say?"

For the first time in a while, Merlin actually dropped his gaze from the prince's and turned it to study the dyed woolen rug beneath their feet. Allowing his shoulders to slump, the younger man sighed, and relaxed out of his defensive stance, "You...nothing really, Arthur. At least, nothing that you haven't said before. I just…I think I'm tired. I am sorry, I should not have-"

Arthur frowned, gently consolidating Merlin's wrists so that he held them between both his hands, "I…could be mistaken, Merlin, but I do not believe you should be the one apologizing."

Unable to help himself, Merlin glanced up with a small smirk, "Arthur Pendragon doesn't apologize, remember?"

Arthur had the grace to blush, but he reached out to touch a finger to Merlin's cheek, as he had only a few weeks prior, and murmured, "In this case, it seems like I must."

That won a full smile from Merlin, who shook his head, "Arthur-" he began.

He was interrupted by the door to Arthur's chambers banging open, and a worried Sir Leon rushing in with as much decorum as possible, "Sire," he began hastily, bowing, "My Lord Uther has just informed me…"

Perhaps Arthur could be forgiven for dropping his head against the table and giving a long, low groan.

End The Prince's Favor (Part 3)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 4)

Even after Arthur had dismissed him for the evening (as well as for most of the following morning), Merlin's warm laughter trailed him down the hall.  As the door to Arthur's bedchamber fell shut behind his manservant, the prince bowed his head with a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. A moment later, he raised his head and met Leon's gaze, grimacing slightly at the warring mix of concern and mirth that lit his head knight's face, "I see now why you warned me about showing my regard for Merlin," admitted ruefully.

Sobering, Leon reached out to clasp his young monarch's shoulder, prompting a startled look from Prince Arthur, "The only thing wrong about showing your regard for Merlin, Arthur," and the use of his name prompted another surprised glance from the Crown Prince, "is the fact that so many oppose it. Do not let what they think discourage you from interacting with Merlin as you have, Sire. There are few who can make you so happy. Even your royal father has seen that, and it has made him curious enough to attend the combat tomorrow."

Despite knowing he would never admit it to the man in question (most likely, he would never admit it even to himself ), Arthur suddenly had no qualms about bearing all to Leon, "Merlin is my friend, Leon. For a while," and he eyed his head knight with a not-so-hidden look of wonder, "I believed him to be my only one."

The creaking of the armory door startled Arthur out of last night's memory, and as he pushed open the oaken door with his free hand, he caught sight of an equally startled Merlin, who spun around on his heels to face the entrance, caught halfway through yanking his hauberk over his head.

Merlin bit back a surprised yelp as his dark hair tangled in the steel links.

With Leon's words from last night fresh in his memory, Arthur snorted in amusement, quickly making his way over to the younger man with as much princely decorum as possible, "Honestly, Merlin, I know you do not actually have a mental affliction, but sometimes I do wonder. Would you like me to untangle you, Your Clumsiness?"

Merlin's retort garbled and muffled. Arthur grinned, setting down the bundle of jerkin he'd been carrying with him on a nearby shelf, next to Merlin's vambraces, and moved to gently untangle the soft midnight strands, "Speak up, Merlin, I am not sure I caught that."

Merlin gasped as Arthur yanked the shirt of chain mail firmly over his head and his face emerged, "I said," and he accompanied the retort with a highly irritated glower, "you shouldn't be here. What will the knights think? Or your father, for that matter?"

Arthur busied himself by tugging the hauberk straight and adjusting the collar of Merlin's (borrowed) gambeson beneath it, "Why does it matter?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, and tried not to fidget, "I don't know, Arthur, maybe the fact that you can be accused of playing favorites?"

"Favorites?" Arthur snorted in what he hoped was an appropriately disparaging manner, reaching for the right vambrace in lieu of smoothing his manservant's wild hair. "I assure you, Merlin, I have no idea what you are talking about. One would think you know more than I about how to run a kingdom."

Merlin gave a cheeky grin, "Of course, Sire—I have more common sense than you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and gave the laces of Merlin's vambrace a final yank, not looking terribly apologetic when his sparring partner winced, "What is it that you always say? Pot, kennel?"

Merlin smirked, jerking his right wrist out of Arthur's hold and giving the prince his left one, "Pot, kettle, Your Prattiness. You are confusing your words, Sire. Did you sleep last night?"

(Damned if the question weren't half serious, too.)

Arthur scowled, glaring into the slightly glazed eyes that met his own, "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Expecting a smart retort, Arthur was a little surprised when, instead, Merlin offered up a warm, wry smile, "I am fine, Arthur."

Giving the laces of the final vambrace a decisive tug, Arthur released Merlin's arm to cross his own over his chest with a deepening scowl, "You are far calmer than you have any right to be. You are aware that my father, Leon, half the knights—at least—and Morgana and Guinevere will all be there, aren't you?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, "Arthur-" The prince frowned, prompting a sigh, "Yes, I am aware of it, but what good will it do me to fret over it?"

"But my father, Merlin-" Arthur found himself interrupted by his manservant's palm.

"Arthur, it's all right," and Merlin reached out to grip both of Arthur's forearms, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Think of it as me proving to your father and Sir Kay that I can protect you."

Arthur, quite literally, did not know what to say. He rarely exhibited his regard for Merlin with physical affection, but when he did, he was seldom so tactile. Until now, his manservant had been much the same.

Merlin's skin burned where it touched his own, but Arthur blamed his embarrassment for that. He just couldn't explain why his arms stayed warm, long after Merlin's hands had dropped from them.

Clearing his throat, the prince reached for the bundle he had brought with him and carefully unfurled it, absolutely determined to forget this had ever happened (except that he really, really wouldn't). He placed the two daggers it contained on the shelf, and turned back to Merlin, "Come here, you idiot, you aren't even properly suited up, yet."

Merlin smirked, not fooled in the least, "As you say, My Prince."

"Merlin…" Grabbing his manservant's shoulders, he yanked the younger man towards him and turned his companion around, stepping back to slip the jerkin over Merlin's back. Spinning his manservant around after the sleeveless leather jacket had been straightened properly over his shoulders, Arthur did up the laces in front, and stepped back to survey his handiwork with a satisfied nod, "It will have to do."

Merlin rolled his eyes, "So glad you approve, Sire."

Arthur scowled, gently grabbing Merlin's chin to tilt his head and check that the gambeson did not chafe against the younger man's neck, "You are entirely too cheeky for your own good, Merlin."

Merlin ignored the remark, batting away Arthur's hands with more than a little irritation, "Enough, Arthur, stop your fussing."

"I am not fussing, Merlin," Arthur hissed, moving to pick up the long daggers and carefully handing them blue-dyed hilts first to Merlin, "I simply have no intention of letting you look a fool."

He did not receive the sassy retort he expected. Merlin's blue eyes had widened, "Arthur…"

Disconcerted, Arthur frowned, glancing down at the weapons, "What is it?"

I just checked them this morning, so there shouldn't be—

Merlin swallowed, gingerly accepting the daggers, "These are your daggers, Arthur. Why would you-?"

Oh.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "How very perceptive of you, Merlin. Don't let it go to your head. You needed a set of daggers. I had one. That's really all there is to it."

The prince was doubly surprised when his manservant's head abruptly jerked up and eyes as blue as his own flashed, "That isn't all there is to it, dollop head! For someone who insists you aren't playing favorites you certainly have a funny way of showing it!" and he turned the hilts to face Arthur, pointedly displaying the right one.

Deep, Camelot red against the blue-dyed leather of the hilt, a scrap of fabric trailed into Merlin's palm.

Arthur swallowed.

Oh. I had forgotten about that…

"What of it, Merlin?" he tried for nonchalant, and did not really succeed.

Merlin's exasperated glare told Arthur he was not really buying it, "This is a favor, Arthur."

Arthur's cheeks burned two shades of red, "You are delusional, Merlin, that's not-"

Merlin's lips were tugging suspiciously upwards, "It is, isn't it?"

"Merlin-!"

"Ar-thur," Merlin mimicked warmly, and the younger man was definitely smiling now.

Arthur cleared his throat and glanced away, the steady burn of his cheeks doing little to obfuscate his true purpose, "Do not take me for a fool, Merlin. I am well aware of who has the greater prowess between you and Kay."

Merlin smothered a laugh, well-pleased, "That doesn't really help your case, you kno-"

"Merlin," this time, it was Arthur who interrupted, and he was quite serious. Turning back to his manservant, the prince placed his hand lightly over the palm of Merlin's own, covering the bedecked hilt of the dagger, "I cannot cheer openly for you, as Morgana and Guinevere will. That would be improper." He smoothed the leather of Merlin's jerkin one last time with his free hand and left it there, before murmuring, "But just because I cannot," and he rubbed his thumb over the red scrap pressed between their palms, "does not mean I am not."

End The Prince's Favor (Part 4)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 5)

Twenty minutes after Arthur had taken his leave of him, ostensibly to examine the practice field, Merlin emerged fully suited from the interior of Camelot's castle, shading his eyes against the noonday sun.

"Merlin, over here!" Gwen's voice sang out over the low murmur of the voices on the practice field as she waved at him from an inconspicuous corner.

Merlin grinned tiredly, and made his way over to her. "Gwen," he greeted her warmly once he reached the young woman's side, "shouldn't you be with Morgana?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, "She's with the king, playing the good ward today, and so, sent me along without her."

Merlin winced. Morgana's relationship with Uther could be rocky at best; had it only been Arthur out there today, and maybe the knights, he knew she would have been standing right there beside Gwen.

"She did send something with me, though."

Before Merlin could ask, Gwen's hands busied themselves at his left shoulder. When he glanced down after she pulled away, he found a securely fastened nosegay of flowers on his (borrowed) jerkin.

Gwen grinned shyly, indicating each bud in turn, "Apple blossoms, cowslip, white heather, and pear blossoms."

They were tied with a yellow ribbon on their metal pin.

Merlin, who knew the meaning of those flowers just as well as the girls did (and the color of the ribbon did not escape him, either), gave a small laugh, "A favor, Gwen? What will Arthur think?"

Gwen blushed brightly, lightly slapping Merlin's arm for his teasing, "Merlin!"

"Not that he's in a position to object," Merlin added wickedly, showing her the daggers' hilts.

There's no way Gwen could have missed the deep, Camelot red of the scrap trailing against their blue, but she merely raised an eyebrow at it, before tilting her head to the left expectantly and watching him with a small frown furrowing her brow, "Merlin…?" she drew out the end of his name thoughtfully.

After all, there's no way she could have missed his uncharacteristic exhaustion, either.

Merlin flushed under her worried gaze, Uh-oh.

Before he had time to even fully process his decision, Merlin leaned close and quickly kissed her cheek, "Thanks, Gwen."

As he had hoped, his friend's lovely face turned three shades of red and her thought process was effectively destroyed.

Leaving a red-cheeked Gwen thusly distracted, Merlin quickly escaped over to Arthur where the Crown Prince stood at the edge of the practice field, lips compressed into a thin line as he watched the growing crowd gather across from him.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"You'll get permanent wrinkles if you keep that up, you know. Where will your princely physique be then, hmm?"

Arthur immediately spun around, scowling at the cheeky remark as the younger man gained his shoulder, "I should have followed my instincts that first time and appointed you court jester, Merlin."

In response, Merlin merely hid a grin, "At least then they'd be laugh lines."

Arthur sighed, turning to regard the milling crowd with a troubled, dark eyes. He felt Merlin's sudden frown burn into the side of his head, but did not particularly care to address it. Instead, he glanced at his manservant from the corner of his eye…and noted the flash of color at his left shoulder.

He blinked, and turned fully to face Merlin. The yellow of what he could have sworn was Guinevere's hair ribbon jumped out at him, and it tied together a tiny bouquet of flowers, Apple blossom—Preference, cowslip—Winning Grace, his childhood nurse's lessons returned with sudden force, after he had gone years without thinking about them, white heather—Protection, pear blossoms—Lasting Friendship.

(Another) favor, clearly from Guinevere and, he suspected, Morgana. By rights, he ought to be jealous, but all he could really think about was how grateful he was that the girls had added the white heather.

"Arthur?" a discreet touch to his wrist startled the prince out of his contemplation of the girls' token, and he jerked his head up to meet a worried Merlin's gaze.

Rapidly blinking himself out of his stupor, he grimaced and angled his head towards the center of the practice field where Sir Kay was already in position, keeping his level gaze unwaveringly fastened on the two of them where they stood partially screened off from the crowd, "You'd better get out there."

"All right," Merlin's worry did not seem to disappear. If anything, it heightened, but for once his manservant obeyed him.

Was it horrible that Arthur actually wished he hadn't?

"Merlin!"

Merlin, who had already crossed half the distance between Arthur and Kay, now started and spun around to face him. "Arthur?"

Arthur quickly loped his way over to his manservant's side, opening his mouth (and closing it) several times, before finally settling on, "Try not to incapacitate him."

Startled, pleased, Merlin gave a soft snort, which quickly developed into full-blown, warm laughter, "Right."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Once both combatants had entered the practice field, those who had gathered to watch the match fell silent. At the center of the crowd sat three relatively ornate wooden chairs on a raised dais. The Lady Morgana and King Uther had already taken their seats, and the one at Uther's right remained empty, waiting for Arthur to take his place.

Camelot's Crown Prince did not join them. Instead, he exhaled softly and strode out onto the practice field, standing between his manservant and his knight. A few moments later, Sir Leon gained his right shoulder and gave a slight nod.

Arthur inhaled deeply: "Three rounds," he began, "twenty marks each. Sir Leon will tally the hits; the first to reach twenty wins the round. If what would be a killing blow in battle is landed, then that round will be over and the man with the higher count will win. If, for any reason, one of the combatants surrenders, the duel will end and normal practice will resume. Is that understood?"

Naturally there were objections, ill-disguised as they were in obeisance:

"My Lord!" Kay protested softly.

"Sire-" Merlin also objected, fighting a scowl.

Arthur returned Merlin's almost-scowl with one of his own, leveling his glare first at one man, then at the other, "Enough! That is my final word on the matter. I cannot afford to lose either one of you to an ill-timed training accident!"

It stopped their complaints cold. Kay blinked at him, quite obviously startled, but Merlin eyed him intently for a tenth of a second, before his entire expression went soft.

"It will be as you say, My Lord," he murmured, bowing deeply.

Kay, still rather stunned, could only utter a similar acquiesce.

When Leon drew up even with his shoulder, smiling so slightly only Arthur would have noticed it, the Crown Prince released a shuddering breath, and swallowed against the lump in his throat, "Begin."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur would have expected Kay to unsheathe his sword in an ostentatious whirl of steel and leather—his old…acquaintance had always possessed a flare for the dramatic, after all.

(Yes, he knew what Merlin might have said in response to that.)

Instead, two whirls of steel and leather unsheathed themselves, one to either of Kay's hands; twin blades of steel, both much shorter than Kay's customary sword, which nestled snugly in his palms.

Arthur felt his stomach drop to his toes, When did he learn how to use daggers?

For all the mock-duels they had had when they were younger, and for all the skirmishes they had actually fought in together, never once had Kay used those daggers, but he clearly knew how to wield them.

Swallowing, Arthur glanced at Merlin, expecting at least a vague imitation of his own shock to appear on his manservant's face.

He did not expect the look of fierce, primal joy that abruptly lit the younger man's face. Going by the swiftly concealed flash of worry in Kay's eyes, his knight had noticed it, too.

Arthur had, however, never known Kay to be a coward, and his…his old friend, if Merlin insisted on labeling the other man as such, proved that once again, by straightening up his spine and setting his jaw.

Suddenly not at all certain he could determine the outcome of the match, Arthur swallowed hard, and took a step back. He desperately desired to stay here, stay close, in case he missed something, could warn Merlin somehow.

Such a desire was neither chivalrous, nor noble; Arthur knew that well. Just as he knew that Merlin would never listen to him even if he had tried…but chivalric codes did not exactly take into account extraordinarily reckless manservants.

"Sire?" Arthur started just as much at the first crash of steel against steel as he did at Leon's voice near his elbow, "Do you intend to judge the combat from here?"

At his young monarch's jump, Leon quickly shot out his hand to gently grasp the prince's elbow, "…Arthur?" prompted again, voice low and more than a little worried, even as he tried to keep his focus on the match heating up in front of him.

"N-No," Arthur coughed, unable to tear his eyes from the two men, who now warily circled each other, intent on finding an opening. He cleared his throat, wrestling his voice steady, "No. I-I'm…I mean, I'll watch it from-"

Kay abruptly darted forward, swinging both daggers down simultaneously at Merlin's neck. When his manservant swung his own two daggers up in an arc, effectively blocking Kay's from landing, Arthur choked on his own saliva.

Leon did glance at him then, eyebrows knitting together in clear worry.

Arthur coughed again, hastily trying to clear his throat, "—Seat!" exclaimed perhaps an octave higher than he cared to admit. "I'll watch it from my seat!"

Leon watched him back away (still battling his inability not to look), brows high and green eyes concerned, "As you say, Sire."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Not that moving away from the combat had done much good, Arthur reflected dizzily sometime later, as he watched Merlin narrowly avoid a double-bladed sweep from Kay's daggers by ducking and lashing out at the back of the knight's shins with his right foot.

At his elbow, Uther spoke with something like admiration as Kay stumbled backwards and Leon called out the hit, "Did you teach him this, Arthur?"

Wordlessly, Arthur shook his head, the sizeable lump in his throat growing no smaller as he watched Merlin twist around a second sweep, this one aimed at the vulnerable flesh between ribs and hip. In retaliation, the younger man crashed his daggers against Kay's right wrist.

It would have done little good (Kay, unlike Merlin, wore a guard on his vambrace), except that the sun had long since passed its zenith, and the lengthening shadows told Arthur it was nigh half past one o'clock. Slowly, both Merlin and Kay were growing tired, but both men refused to surrender any ground. Inevitably, something had to give.

And it did. Kay lost his right dagger, his grip on its hilt now too loose and too sweaty to maintain.

Merlin, not one to waste an opportunity, kicked it away with his boot. It spun off to the side, colliding with a dull thud against one of the nearby stone walls of the castle (if "nearby" constituted a distance of fifty feet).

Arthur would have expected Merlin to follow it up with a double-bladed, downward sweep at Kay's neck. His manservant even added Arthur's signature spin as he twirled the left dagger's hilt.

Instead of bringing the blade down for a "kill point," however, as Leon had since termed it, he shoved the dagger into his belt.

"What is he doing, what is he doing?"

Guinevere's worried chant, though under her breath and near inaudible, expressed Arthur's sentiments quite well, and he found himself torn between pleasure that Merlin had kept the dagger that carried his favor, and anxiety over the fact that his manservant had chosen now of all times to display every chivalrous bone he contained within his body.

When Merlin brought up his single dagger, holding it still and level between them as he waited for Kay to regain his equilibrium, Arthur promptly resolved to no longer assume anything when it came to his enigma of a manservant.

End The Prince's Favor (Part 5)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 6)

Merlin tried to ignore his legs' trembling as he brought his left hand up to wrap it around the hilt of his dagger, adjusting his sweaty grip on the leather. Keeping his eyes locked on Kay, who slowly straightened up from the defensive crouch he'd fallen into, the younger man huffed a short breath and set his own stance.

Behind him, murmurs rose from the watching crowd, and Merlin tried not to think about the anxiety he was surely causing Arthur and the girls. If only because he suspected Arthur would yell at him about how idiotic he had been later.

In front of him, Sir Kay blew out a long breath, shoving his bangs out of his face. All at once, Merlin found himself reminded that this knight could not be much older than Arthur, whose age he himself forgot half the time, anyway.

Kay must have seen something in his eyes, for his expression drastically transformed into something far kindlier than he had ever displayed to Merlin before. A hint of a smile even graced his lips, "They are talking about you, you know," the knight pointed out, referring to the disbelieving whispers that, even now, both combatants could hear running rampant through the crowd.

It was the first Sir Kay had spoken to him since the combat began, and Merlin started, his grip on the dagger wavering slightly. He shrugged, eyes still locked on his opponent, "Nothing out of the ordinary, then."

Kay shook his head, actually grinning as he swept his free hand through his hair. "If I did not fear insulting you," the older boy's smile caught in the corner of his eyes, "I would have already thrown my vambrace in."

Merlin nearly dropped his dagger at the admittance, knowing as well as any knight that to "throw in your gauntlet" meant you forfeited the match. Shocked, he straightened abruptly, "Umm…"

Kay laughed, not unkindly, and suddenly darted forward, swinging his remaining dagger around in a slicing arc, but with none of the angry, power-packed movements that had so characterized their first two bouts, "Of course, I would be a fool to pass up on the chance for a truly challenging duel."

As his cheeks colored at the genuinely meant compliment, Merlin realized, with no little disbelief, that this round was meant to be much more playful.

Twisting underneath Kay's intended blow with a reverse block, Merlin slowly started to grin, enjoying himself as he had meant to since the beginning—and side-stepped the knight's attempted sweep at his knees with his right leg. "Then, Sir," he replied with a laugh, spinning on his heels to aim a slash at Kay's unprotected side as the older boy stumbled sideways, "I would be thrice a fool to refuse it."

The blade glanced harmlessly off of Kay's chain mail and Leon, grinning wryly, called out the hit.

Kay straightened, shaking his head again as he regained his balance, and still smiling, if a little more ruefully, he remarked, "I see now why Prince Arthur likes you."

Merlin, who had gone to follow up his hit with a pivot and an elbow jab at the man's neck, now faltered in his movement, completely startled by Kay's observation, "What?"

Kay looked at him like he couldn't quite believe Merlin had missed that little fact and, blinking at him, closed the distance between them with a lunge and attempted hook of Merlin's wrist with his dagger's cross guard. Merlin barely managed to avoid it, hooking his own cross guard with Kay's in an upwards block.

At impasse, they stared at each other, Kay's eyes darting down to the red scrap fluttering in the breeze, "But I thought…surely…that is a favor, isn't it, Merlin? And Lady Morgana's maid already pinned your-"

His eyes flickered up to the nosegay on Merlin's shoulder, a little rumpled and a little ragged, but still attached to the jerkin nonetheless.

Merlin flushed under the knight's attention, more than a little embarrassed, "Er…I guess-"

Kay twisted his wrists and Merlin dropped, narrowly escaping the "kill point" at his throat and rolling behind the knight. A moment later, he lurched rather unsteadily to his feet and whirled, bringing his dagger around to lightly rest its blade against Kay's jugular vein.

"Kill point!" Leon's voice rang out across the clearing.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Arthur had spent most of the combat on the edge of his seat, eyes riveted to the combatants, and nails dug so deep into the wooden chair's arm that they had splinters embedded beneath the keratin. Once Leon announced "Kill point!" Arthur had all the impetus he needed to slip out of his chair and hastily make his way down to the practice field.

Uther whipped around in his seat, less startled by his son's actions than he would have liked, "Arthur!"

Arthur jerked to a halt at the foot of the dais, tension singing through his limbs as he kept his back turned, afraid of what his father would read in his eyes if he looked at him, "Yes, Father?"

"We have a council meeting within the hour, Arthur, where do you think you are going?" demanded.

"To the field, Father," Arthur replied stiffly. "Is it so wrong to offer congratulations to the winner?"

Uther pressed his lips together, displeased, "While I admit the boy deserves…some sort of praise," for Merlin had won two rounds out of the three, "it is not your place to offer congratulations to a servant."

Arthur turned to face the older man, his own lips tight, "And why not?" he challenged. "He fought as well as any knight!"

"Perhaps, but the fact remains he isn't one, Arthur. You cannot skip a council meeting to coddle the boy!"

Arthur grit his teeth. Apparently, his father had at least divined enough from his reactions to the combat to see past Arthur's façade of impartiality and locate the prince's true purpose at its core, "Then I will excuse myself, Father, if it please you."

Before Uther could say no, in fact, it did not please him, Arthur had already left.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Merlin's legs had not stopped their trembling, and he desperately fought the sudden desire to sit, preferably lay down. Gwen, at least, already suspected something was amiss. Even from this distance, he could read the worry clear in her eyes as she began to patter across the practice field towards him.

Leon's smile likewise promptly turned into a frown and furrowed brow as he approached Merlin, taking in the minute tremors coursing through the younger man's body: "…Merlin?" he kept his voice low and cautious as he laid a hand on the younger man's arm; so low, Merlin held out hope that they would be the only two able to hear it.

Therefore, when Kay's own hand touched his shoulder, Merlin started, his breath stuttering in surprise at both the unexpected touch and the soft query that accompanied it, "Are you all right?" a light frown dusted the younger knight's lips.

As it turned out, startling when he could not reliably keep his feet proved an unwise decision and Merlin's knees buckled.

His eyes wide, an alarmed Kay lunged to grab his arm, even as Leon surged forward to snatch the dagger away before Merlin could pitch forward onto it.

But it was not Leon's chest or Kay's grip that saved Merlin from making abrupt acquaintance with the ground. Instead, Merlin staggered forward into familiar leather-clad arms, their owner just about the last person in the world he wanted to see him like this.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice held far too much emotion for what Merlin determinedly believed was nothing more than simple over-exertion.

His self-imposed delusion shattered a moment later when a sword-calloused hand slid gently across his forehead, pressing briefly against the skin there, before jerking back with an accompanying hiss, "By all the Gods, Merlin-!"

At that point, the swirling greys and whites that had attended Merlin's untimely dive towards the grass overwhelmed him and, wincing, he let his vision fade completely into black.

IOIOIOIOIOI

When Merlin's body went limp in his grip, Arthur could not even affect being impartial, "Alert Gaius!" he barked, catching Merlin by the shoulders and middle before his manservant could completely collapse. When Kay, and a few of the knights who had come to mill around them, merely stared at him, he barked again, more forcefully, tightening his grip around Merlin's waist, "Kay! Alert Gaius!"

That seemed to snap the older boy out of his stupor. As Guinevere, who had arrived on Arthur's heels, gathered her skirts and rushed off to comply, Kay quickly grasped Merlin's shoulders and helped the prince lower his manservant carefully to the ground.

For a few seconds, Arthur was too preoccupied by taking Merlin's pulse and monitoring his breathing to take notice of Kay's aid. At the sudden fluttering of Kay's cloak as he undid it and laid it over Merlin, Arthur glanced up sharply at the other young knight, slightly startled by the depth of concern he read in his old friend's eyes as the older boy gazed down at Merlin, "Kay…?" he asked cautiously.

Kay, contrary to whatever Arthur might have expected, ducked his head. "Sire," he acknowledged quietly, smoothing the fabric between them.

Arthur frowned, "Kay, why would you even...?" He trailed off, not entirely sure he knew what he intended to ask or even how to ask it.

To his surprise, Kay flushed, retracting his hand and ducking his head even further, "I…apologize," he murmured stiffly, formally, clenching his hands into fists. "I fear I did not start our duel with…the best of intentions."

Arthur remained silent, concealing his uncertainty with a mask of neutrality and unsure how to respond to such a frank admission. Wondering if, perhaps, Merlin had been right all along and Kay was jealous.

Kay hitched his shoulders up and set his jaw, suddenly meeting Arthur's gaze head-on, "And I will take any punishment you deem fit."

Arthur managed to keep his mouth from dropping open, but only just. "Kay?" he all but sputtered, completely flummoxed.

All that did, of course, was make Kay blush harder, "I dare not presume to say it, Sire."

Arthur closed his mouth, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, and momentarily shutting his eyes, "Kay…" he began, as they flashed open.

"Please, Sire, I am not like Merlin. I cannot…" the older knight gestured helplessly between them.

From the corner of his eye, Arthur caught sight of a tight-lipped Uther descending towards him, and set his jaw, turning his attention back down to Merlin as he pulled his manservant's upper torso into his lap. Shoring up his stubbornness for the coming confrontation, he murmured, "Go. We will speak about this later."

He felt Kay tense beside him, but eventually his knight nodded, half-bowing, and climbed to his feet.

Just as he sensed the older boy start to move off, Arthur abruptly jerked his head up, "And, Kay…!"

Startled, Kay spun around, "My Lord?" he asked, uneasily shifting in place.

Arthur forced his jaw muscles to relax, if only momentarily, into a much softer expression, "You can start by calling me 'Arthur.'"

IOIOIOIOIOI

As Sir Ector's son flustered, stammering out a "good day" as he left that nonetheless had an "Arthur" tacked onto the end of it, Uther hid a slight frown.

He knew it was a bit hypocritical of him—to be so displeased when the entire reason he had even deigned to watch (what he thought of as) this farce of a combat was because he wasn't blind. He had seen the changes Arthur had undergone since his current manservant's arrival, had watched with well-hidden awe some of the changes, and privately despaired at some of the others.

Either way, he had seen his son transform, into a man Uther was quickly losing sight of, as he became unpredictable and different from the reckless boy who had grown up within Camelot's halls for the past nineteen years.

Gaius, wise fool that his councilor was, seemed to think it an improvement, although he knew enough to never directly state it. In the past year, unfortunately, Uther had found himself forced to agree: his own reign had consisted of wary trust and, after the Great Purge (in some, anyway), deferential terror. But Arthur…the people loved Arthur, and although Uther strongly believed fear by far a more effective governing tool than care, even he had been forced to admit that a monarch loved by his people had his own advantages.

Nearly three years ago, that had not been the case. Then this Merlin came along—apparently useless, apparently suffering from a mental affliction, and fatally loyal.

While the boy's fealty was admirable in its own right, that did not mean he would condone the rather unhealthy attachment his son had developed to the manservant in question. After that first poisoning incident at the feast with Mercia, however, Uther had left it well enough alone, hoping the friendship might fade on its own.

It didn't; instead, it persisted, and grew. Uther might have known it would eventually lead to something like this: "…For gods' sakes, Arthur, put the boy down and listen to me! Our discussion is far from finished!"

Arthur's jaw set as he gathered the younger boy close to him, and Uther inwardly groaned at the mulish expression it lent to his face, "What else is there to discuss, Father? You made it clear that we had a council meeting, and I made it clear I would not be attending it."

Uther did not have quite as much success controlling his own expression, and he scowled, "Damn it, Arthur…! He is your servant, not your champion! You cannot-!"

"He may as well be!" Evidently, if the expression of mortified shock on his son's face was any indication, Arthur had surprised himself with that outburst just as much as he had surprised Uther.

He hid the rapidly flashing emotions that crisscrossed his face from his father by smoothing the corners of Sir Kay's cloak and tucking them close to his manservant. Which, actually, did not help his case terribly much.

Watching this display, the king exhaled heavily through his nose, pinching it as his son had only seconds before, "Arthur…this is ridiculous. Put the boy down—he will be fine with Gaius to look after him. He is the man's apprentice, after all. A physician's apprentice cannot be a knight, let alone a champion, Arthur…! You know that just as well as I do."

"Why? Because he is a commoner?" Arthur's demand was not entirely unexpected, as they already fought quite frequently over this, and as he spat it out, he jerked his head up.

Ygraine's blue eyes flashed at Uther, causing him to react perhaps a bit more forcefully than he had meant to, "I cannot overturn the laws for a single serving boy!"

"Father-!"

"Arthur, enough! You are attending the council meeting and that is final! If you are so reluctant to leave the boy on his own, perhaps then I should toss him in the dungeons. He will not lack for company there!"

Uther had not meant to add that last sally, but Arthur reared back as if struck, fear flashing so briefly through his irises that, a moment later, his father could almost imagine it had not been there.

Despite the shuttered look that veiled his son's eyes, then, and the wooden expression that hardened his face, Arthur—utterly unaware of the gesture's telling nature—clutched his manservant to his chest. Gritting his teeth, the Crown Prince stared down the older man, "Fine, Father. You will have your way, but know I do not want it."

Uther could, of course, launch into how no king had ever been afforded such luxuries, but a quiet word from Sir Leon shattered the tension between father and son, "Sire, if I may…"

Whipping around to face his head knight where the man had knelt next to them, Uther cut in sharply, "No, Sir Leon, you may not."

Unable to go against the reigning king, Sir Leon dipped his head in acknowledgement of Uther's will, "As you say, Your Majesty," and turned his attention to Arthur, who had remained obstinately silent throughout the entire exchange, "I will take him to Gaius, My Lord."

Only then did his son's impassive mask fracture, the first clear indication of how deep his worry ran creeping into his eyes. Reluctantly, he relinquished his manservant's form into Sir Leon's arms. "I am indebted to you, Leon," he murmured.

The head knight smiled gently as he shook his head, so much kindness in his expression as he looked at Arthur that Uther had to glance away, lest he let so unbecoming an emotion as jealousy enter the conversation, "It is gladly done, Prince Arthur."

Ignoring his father, the prince gazed intently at Sir Leon, "Will you let me know how he fares?"

Sir Leon blinked, the briefest speck of surprise flickering in his eyes at the request, before his lips curved more fully upwards, "Happily, Your Highness."

Arthur clasped the older knight's shoulder, and Uther felt vaguely certain he might even have clasped both, save for his presence, "Thank you."

A hue of red lightly touched Sir Leon's cheeks, but he gathered the limp servant carefully into his arms and stood, bowing as best he could to both royals.

As his son's carefully crafted mask completely cracked, Uther watched him track their head knight's path across the practice field, displaying his anxiety clear for all to see. Only then did the whispers surrounding them register, and with a start, the king realized that neither he, nor Arthur, had remembered they would have an audience.

Such weakness he could not abide, and therefore turned his most forbidding scowl to those knights who still hovered on the outskirts of the field, barking out with the full force of his anger, "Dismissed!"

Most of the knights did-not-quite-run as they left, but when he returned his attention to Arthur, his son merely gave him a cold look and stormed back into the castle.

End The Prince's Favor (Part 6)

Chapter Text

The Prince's Favor (Part 7)

By the time Arthur had left the council meeting and (sullenly) conducted the last of his usual duties, supper had long since come and gone. When he creaked open the door to Merlin's chamber (albeit, after slipping past a snoring Gaius), only Guinevere sat beside Merlin's pallet, mending one of Morgana's dresses by candlelight.

He straightened abruptly, the wooden door falling shut behind him with a dull thud, "G-Guinevere."

His acknowledgement came out half-whisper, half-stutter, and he hoped his burning cheeks, at least, were not apparent. Guinevere jumped, the basket by her feet scraping across the floor and her spindle rolling across the planks to rest at his feet. Stumbling upright, she dropped into a half-curtsey, "Sire—Arth—My Lord."

The shadows played across her face becomingly, and Arthur, in order to distract himself, bent to pick up the spindle touching his boots.

Guinevere was twisting her apron between her hands, dark cheeks a rosy hue, and Arthur managed to force his stammering mind into some form of coherence. The smile that came to his lips then felt a bit too much like the one he had worn pasted to his lips in the Council Chambers, but he managed to form them into an intelligible response as he handed her the spindle, "Please, Guinevere," she blushed prettily at the unintended warmth in his voice, "if you stand, then chivalry dictates that I stand, too, and I intend to sit."

Accepting her spinning tool, Guinevere bit her bottom lip to hold in an embarrassed laugh, and reclaimed her seat, "Thank you, Sire."

Self-conscious and half-grateful, Arthur took his own seat on the edge of Merlin's thin mattress, and was quickly distracted by the play of fire-flicker that danced across her face as she folded Morgana's dress, repacking her basket. He swallowed, "You…you can call me Arthur, you know. If it's just us, I mean. Or…or…Morgana and Merlin," the last part added hastily.

Unfortunately for Arthur's continued sanity, she blushed again and smiled brightly as she amended, "Arthur."

He would have done something monumentally foolish (like kiss her), if someone he had-not-entirely-hoped-to-hear at the moment had not spoken up, voice slurring and creaky, "Sh'uld I pr'tend t' still be uncon'cious while you two st're longingly at each oth'r?" The speaker gave several rasping coughs.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelped, nearly toppling off the mattress as he whipped around.

He caught himself on the bedpost just as Guinevere hurriedly scrambled to her feet and retrieved a pewter pitcher and goblet. Pouring water from the jug into the goblet, she placed the pitcher on the small table beside Merlin's bed and made to reach her free arm out to wrap around Merlin's shoulders, intending to lift him, but Arthur gently intercepted her, not even consciously processing his own movement.

While Guinevere startled, Merlin peered up hazily at him in confusion, but submitted willingly enough to the arm Arthur wrapped around his back.

The prince would not have thought much of it, except for the fact that this was Merlin, who would not follow an order unless it saved his life, and sometimes not even then (to save Arthur's life, on the other hand…). Without Arthur's consent, his heart gave a small lurch. In an attempt to ignore it, Arthur nodded to Guinevere, "Go ahead."

Guinevere blinked, then smiled, eyes bright. Leaning close to Merlin, her face softened as she carefully held the goblet to his lips, "Drink, Merlin," she urged him quietly. "Gaius says you must."

Merlin wearily rolled his eyes, "'M not an inval'd," but contradicted himself by taking a shaky sip, curling his hand around Guinevere's on the pewter stem.

A few more swallows followed, but after the last swallow, Merlin started coughing again, and turned his head away.

"Merlin-" Guinevere began desperately, and Arthur attributed the second lurch his heart gave to the waver in her voice.

Merlin shook his head, giving a few more harsh coughs, before regaining his breath, "No mor' now, Gw'n."

Her entire lovely face tight with worry, Guinevere nonetheless nodded, and set the goblet down, "All right, Merlin. For now."

A brief smile flickered across Merlin's countenance, before he tiredly shut his eyes, unconsciously turning towards Arthur.

Carefully, Arthur laid him back down on the mattress, and had halfway reached out to brush back Merlin's sweaty bangs before he realized it. Mortified with himself for displaying that much emotion, he hastily retracted his hand, and glanced a little desperately at Guinevere, hoping she had not seen.

Luckily, she had not, and in fact, leaned down to push back their friend's bangs herself, kissing Merlin's forehead as she did. "Still too hot," she murmured worriedly as she pulled away.

Arthur should have found himself irrationally jealous; instead, his shoulders stiffened and a sensation he was not unfamiliar with when it came to Merlin stole over him—helplessness. "Can't anything be done?" not-quite-demanded.

Sighing tiredly, Guinevere straightened and retrieved a bowl from Merlin's window ledge, bringing it over to Arthur where he sat, tense and uncomfortable (he had not meant to yell at her), on his manservant's pallet, "We are doing everything we can, Arthur. Gaius thinks it's nothing more than a fever and cough, and all that can be done for that is to keep him cool and give him water—no matter how much he might protest it," the last part added wryly, as Merlin gave another series of dry, wracking coughs.

"He said that two winters ago—and Merlin was gone for three weeks. Is he sure?" despite Arthur's best efforts, a note of anxiety crept into the question.

Guinevere apparently spent too much time around Merlin and Morgana, because she heard it, and glanced up at him inquiringly, gently pressing a damp cloth to Merlin's forehead. Merlin moaned, and turned into her touch, "It's Gaius, Arthur. I'm fairly sure he is, otherwise he would not have said so."

In the candlelight, Guinevere's eyes looked red and tired. Arthur frowned, suddenly aware she may have been sitting beside Merlin for as long as he had been attending to his duties, "How long have you been here, Gwen?" somehow, her full name did not seem appropriate here, and if his query held more compassion than he had meant it to…well, he could always blame Merlin.

Tiredly, she rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, "Since supper. Four hours by the candlemark? I'll need to see to Morgana soon…" she trailed off thoughtfully, wetting a second rag in the basin she had placed on Merlin's bedside table.

Gently, Arthur took the soaked rag from her, cutting the younger woman off before she could form any sort of objection. "Go to Morgana, Gwen," Arthur advised her softly, a note of command in his voice, "then sleep. I will watch him tonight."

Even half-exhausted, Guinevere mustered the willpower to raise an eyebrow, "Arthur-" she began.

Arthur shook his head, the tightly controlled mask of his emotions finally slipping as he squeezed out the rag in the basin and pressed it to Merlin's cheek, leaving something like desperation in his eyes, "Guinevere, please. I-I need to take care of him, and I need to know you will be taken care of as well. Morgana can do that."

A year ago, Guinevere would have remarked on such a rarity for what it was. Now, however, having watched Arthur's evolution from arrogant boy-prince to golden-hearted man, she simply blushed prettily and hesitated.

Arthur's impassive expression softened even further as he read the hesitation for what it was—reluctance to leave Merlin's side. He smiled warmly at her, wiping down Merlin's face, "Go on. I promise to let you know if anything changes."

Still, she hesitated. Arthur shifted closer to Merlin, as if to show Guinevere he really would take care of his manservant, lightly pressing the cloth to Merlin's cheeks again and cooling them as best he could.

Half-asleep, and mostly unaware of either of his friends, Merlin sighed, and shifted on the mattress, his head turning back towards Arthur.

Distracted by the hitching sigh as it dissolved into a cough, Arthur instantly glanced down, aware of the faint tremor that coursed through his fingers as he brushed the cloth over Merlin's face once more. His manservant murmured something unintelligible and semi-consciously butted his face into Arthur's hand. Swallowing harshly several times in quick succession, Arthur blinked back the odd burning in his eyes and dunked the cloth he held into the basin by his elbow.

As a rule, he did not take care of sick people, but with Merlin—

Guinevere's hand settling on his shoulder startled him. Feeling his cheeks burn, he quickly looked up at her, expression fierce as he dared her to say anything about his current predicament.

Drat his heart, its beat merely increased tenfold when she smiled tenderly at him, "Are you sure? I can take care of him, Arthur, truly. I want to take care of him. It's all right. You don't have to-"

Arthur swallowed hard, interrupting her with a quiet, "Gwen. I am sure."

She stopped speaking, then, and nodded, slowly leaning down to pick up her sewing basket and tuck Morgana's dress carefully into her arms. Hesitating again, she worried the hem of her apron, before abruptly leaning down (narrowly avoiding a second spill of her basket) and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Before Arthur could stop her, Guinevere retreated out the door, all but running as it swung shut behind her.

Camelot's Crown Prince found himself left with burning cheeks, and his manservant's uneven breathing filling the room. Just to fill the space that silence left in its wake, and absolutely not because he wanted to hear Merlin's voice more than anything at the moment, he whispered, pressing a hand to his burning cheek, "Shut up, Merlin."

The unexpected retort that answered him was actually half-lucid, "Hav'n't said anything, yet."

Arthur only just managed not to jump this time: "Merlin!" he hissed, grabbing at the balustrade near his head.

Merlin's glazed eyes wearily cracked open. Groggy, midnight-hued irises squinted up at Arthur where the prince hovered over him. Despite himself, the older boy found his face relaxing as he adjusted the damp cloth resting on Merlin's forehead, and immediately wrestled his gone-too-soft expression under control.

"'thur? Y're still here?" Despite Merlin's puzzled inquiry, his blue eyes remained clouded over as Arthur pressed the rewetted second cloth to his fever-flushed cheek, "Feels nice."

Arthur blustered, "Well, if you had taken better care of yourself…"

The Crown Prince's bluster did not really register. Merlin nodded vaguely, "Uh-huh. Gai's?"

"Guinevere sent him off to sleep some time ago."

"Gw'n?"

Arthur ignored him, "And I sent her off to sleep just a few minutes ago. Really, you had to cause an uproar, didn't you? Why else do you think I'd be doing this?"

"'Cause…worri'd."

Arthur's skeptical snort came out sounding rather desperate, "I am very afraid you are mistaken, Merlin."

Merlin simply gave another vague nod, "Mm-hmm. 'S night out, sh'uld be sleepin'."

Arthur deliberately misheard it, "Yes, you should be sleeping. You're sick, you idiot. Do you know how inconvenient that is?"

Merlin just leaned into Arthur's hands, which, despite the Crown Prince's words, never once stopped gently bathing his face, "Sh'ldn't worry. M'all right. Jus'….fever."

Arthur fell silent.

Merlin's eyes, which had gradually begun to slide shut, jerked open at the prince's lack of response. "Art'ur?"

At Merlin's addled insistence, Arthur dropped his own eyes and focused intently on the actions of his hands. "…I know," he murmured at last, so faintly, he hoped Merlin would not hear, "but it was 'just a fever,' two winters ago…and you were gone for nearly a month."

Too out of it to process the thinly veiled fear behind Arthur's response, Merlin nonetheless gave a gentle snort and shut his eyes again, "Won' be gone tha' long."

Another brief spell of silence from the prince, then, "See that you aren't," Arthur remarked softly, lightly running the damp cloth over his manservant's face.

A faint, roguish grin, and Merlin's glassy blue eyes flickered open, "Prom'se." A few minutes later, Merlin interrupted their silent companionship by twisting weakly to face Arthur and asking, "F'ght well?"

Certain he had misheard, Arthur jerked his hand back in surprise, "Sorry, what?"

"Wi' S'r Kay," Merlin insisted, curling his torso even closer to his now slightly gob smacked prince, "Want'd t' make you proud since you 'sist 'm useless."

Horrified to feel his throat tighten and his eyes burn, Arthur blinked rapidly, "Of course you fought well, you idiot! I knew what I was doing when I gave you those daggers."

Merlin nodded again, his continued momentum forward bringing him into contact with Arthur's side, "Mmm. 'S nice set of daggers. Like 'em a lot."

Arthur, who could no longer speak, immediately tensed at contact with Merlin.

Merlin, of course, instantly registered his master's discomfort. Squinting one eye up at the prince, he murmured, "'thur? What's it?"

Slowly, Arthur released a long breath and relaxed incrementally, "It's…nothing, Merlin. It's all right. I'm…not used to this, remember?"

Merlin opened both eyes now, frowning sadly, "Kno' that. Sh'uld be, tho'. 'S not fair tha' you sh'ldn't be. Need 't like ev'ryone else."

Arthur laughed thickly, "In case you haven't noticed, Merlin, you are the only one who seems to think that."

Merlin frowned, and weakly shook his head, "'S not true. Gai's, an' Leon, an' Gw'n think so, too."

Arguing with Merlin when he'd ignored a sickness and exhausted himself because of it, was not unlike trying to convince one of the stables' cats to play with a discarded bit of string—rather useless (that he had been the one attempting to entice those cats remained unsaid). Instead, Arthur shook his head, and gave a small smile, lightly brushing his hand through Merlin's sweat-damp hair, "You were the first."

Slim shoulders shrugged, "H'ppy t' help."

The simple factuality with which Merlin uttered that statement had Arthur passing his free hand across his eyes, desperately fighting against their burning. Once he had his emotions in check, the prince murmured, keeping that hand pressed against his face, "You should sleep, Merlin."

"So sh'uld you," Merlin grumbled. His hot forehead shoved itself against Arthur's hip.

The older boy swallowed hard, dropping his hand to resume his ministrations, "I'm fine here."

"Arth-"

His other hand gently covered Merlin's lips, "I'm fine," stated a bit more strongly. "Please, Merlin, just rest."

After a few more inaudible grumblings, Merlin finally muttered, "Won' forget you said 'please.'"

His petulant response startled another thick laugh out of Arthur, "Of course you won't. Go back to sleep, Merlin."

One of Merlin's hands lifted to tug at the front of Arthur's tunic, "Sh'uld lay down."

There could be no misconstruing what Merlin, fever-muddled as he was, meant.

Arthur froze, staring down at his manservant. This certainly hadn't been one of Guinevere's suggestions, but then, he was tired (and whoever thought that worrying could prove so draining?), and Merlin's bed, while not the most comfortable piece of furniture, looked, at least, inviting… "Don't I get a 'please,' too?" he finally murmured, shifting to remove his jacket.

A smile flickered across Merlin's lips, and he shut his eyes, "'M sick. 'S implied."

Grateful his manservant remained too out of it to notice how deeply that response relieved him, Arthur shucked his jacket and boots on the floor, before swinging his legs up onto the mattress and pushing back against the wooden headboard in order to keep the bowl of water and the rags within easy reach.

Once the prince had settled, a content sound rose from Merlin and the younger boy rolled over so that his body pressed lengthwise against Arthur's side.

Seized by a tight throat and a fit of affection, Arthur gingerly, oh-so-carefully, curled an arm around Merlin's shoulders. A moment later, his forehead dropped to rest against the dark head buried against his ribs, "Good night, Merlin," he whispered.

End The Prince's Favor (Part 7)

Chapter Text

Epilogue: The Prince's Favor

At the behest of his prince, Leon stood in the corridor outside Gaius's and Merlin's quarters three days later, a brown paper-wrapped parcel tucked securely under his arm and thoughtfully contemplating the wooden door in front of him.

Arthur had been absent from the practice fields since the single combat, and a proverbial storm cloud accompanied father and son daily. As often as he had to be roused from Merlin's side, Arthur just as often sent for Leon (or Guinevere), during whatever princely duties he absolutely had to complete in order to receive updates on his manservant's condition.

(And if each meal, every day, and no few breaks in-between, was perhaps a bit excessive…well, it wasn't Leon's place to point that out to Arthur.)

Leon had his own reasons for stopping by—Merlin, from what Lady Morgana's maid shared with him daily in the hall, had been in and out of lucidity for two days, and Leon (whose fondness for Merlin had only grown over the past three months) wished to assess his well-being.

When he greeted Leon at his door, Gaius grinned knowingly, "Go on in. Merlin has taken to complaining loudly and vociferously about his confinement to bed. I am sure he would appreciate the company."

"Gaius!" Merlin's mortified call reached them through the manservant's partially open door and the physician chuckled.

Leon pressed his lips together to hold back a chuckle, amusement shining in his eyes, "So it appears. Thank you, Gaius."

Bowing his head to the older man, Leon crossed Gaius's workshop and padded up the stairs to Merlin's room.

A bright grin from the chamber's occupant greeted him when he entered, "Leon!" although he smiled, Merlin's voice cracked and dissolved into a hoarse cough as he sat up more fully, setting aside the book he had been reading.

Leon eyed him worriedly, moving to adjust the pillows behind him and absently taking note of how flat and threadbare they were, "Merlin. I was given to believe you were somewhat recuperated after this week's earlier exertion."

Merlin grinned slightly at his fussing and rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Leon. I've a bit of a fever still and a bit of a cough," whereupon he promptly coughed again, "but Gaius says it should only take a day or two longer." He coughed once more, but did not look particularly bothered by it, "Arthur can hold onto his princely horses until Gaius clears me for duty in a couple days."

By this point, of course, Leon knew that Merlin performed his jobs for Arthur as more an expression of his care rather than any sort of duty, and therefore did not give any credence to the manservant's complaint. It wasn't something one ought to speak of, however, as it was private to Merlin and his Master (no matter how amused and touched one might be to observe it).

Instead, he chose to watch Merlin with growing concern as the younger man gave several shallow, but painful sounding coughs, "Merlin…"

Merlin waved him off, "Really, Leon (cough), I'm fine. What do you have there?" he indicated the package under the head knight's arm.

Leon eyed him speculatively, "How much do you recall from the past two days, Merlin, if you do not mind my asking?"

Merlin smiled ruefully, "Not much, I'm afraid. I know Gaius was here, and Gwen. I think Arthur may have checked in once or twice, but I don't really remember."

"Ah," the knight remarked mildly, "that is understandable."

Merlin eyed him quizzically, "Leon? Did Arthur actually stop by? Was he not supposed to?"

"You might say that, yes," Leon seated himself gracefully on the edge of Merlin's bed, arranging the parcel carefully in his lap with a faint jingle. "Prince Arthur and my Lord Uther had a...ah…rather volatile, ongoing…disagreement this week, over a few things I am not sure they will ever quite see eye to eye on."

Merlin groaned, rubbing his (slightly aching) forehead and face with his hands, "Somehow, I am not surprised. What was it this time?"

Although Merlin could not see it, a faint smile traced its way across Leon's lips at the manservant's utterly unconscious acknowledgement that he knew the prince far better than anyone else, and made itself known accordingly in the head knight's next word, "You."

Startled, Merlin jerked his head up, blinking rapidly in disbelief, "Me? What could Arthur possibly be arguing over me for?"

Leon's smile grew, "He thought it more prudent that he remain with you during your convalescence than attempt to carry on his duties without you." Leon grinned slightly at Merlin's blush, "My Lord Uther, naturally, saw it differently. He did not attempt to forbid His Highness from visiting you—I think even the King knew it would be futile—but he has made his displeasure known quite frequently."

Still blushing, Merlin cleared his throat, "Oh."

Leon smiled warmly, indicating the parcel in his lap, "The package, Merlin, is for you. From an anonymous benefactor. But I believe you will figure out who sent it rather quickly." and handed Merlin the parcel.

In fact, Merlin already had a guess who had sent it, and when he carefully smoothed back the brown paper, he wasn't disappointed.

Only one person could afford such a finely wrought hauberk of steel links, and the leather jerkin that accompanied it was of such high quality that he doubted even what a knight made in a month would viably allow for its purchase.  Embroidered onto the back of the jerkin by the hand of some talented seamstress was the black-and-silver-threaded form of a lady hawk caught in mid-flight.

Additional confirmation came in the form of the delicately chiseled, metal-studded vambrace set (a vambrace set, Merlin wryly noted, that sported guards).  Experimentally, Merlin slipped one vambrace on and found it fit snugly, as it should and with none of the discomfort his borrowed set had afforded him.

The true revelation of this "benefactor," however, came in the form of a pair of sheathed daggers, their blue-dyed leather hilts still be-decked with Arthur's favor.

Pressing his forehead to the butter-soft leather in his lap, Merlin clutched the bundle—brown paper and all—to his chest.

Grinning slightly at the top of the young man's bowed black head, Leon murmured, "I believe you know our prince's stance on that argument, Merlin."

Finis (The Prince's Favor)