Archive of Our Own

“It’s Gwen, isn’t it?”

It should be scary, how well Merlin knows him, even if there's a perfectly logical explanation. After all, they’ve spent every day in each other’s company for the past seven years. Knowing everything about Arthur is literally in Merlin’s job description. It’s only natural that Merlin would see through him without having to say a word. 

Except that Arthur himself isn’t nearly as perceptive. So maybe it’s time to admit that this has nothing to do with the years they’ve known each other. Maybe it’s just Merlin and his (not so) inconvenient ability to see right into Arthur’s very soul. 

It should be scary - and yet it’s anything but.

“I look for her in the room, but she’s not there.” He stares blankly at the long table, filled with food and pitchers of wine, two rows of men chatting and laughing like they haven’t a care in the world. “Then I remember why.” 

His gaze shifts to Merlin, tired and a little ashamed of how obvious he is, how pathetic. But Merlin’s not looking at him with pity or judgement. It’s something else, a look Arthur has seen on him before, but for the life of him can’t remember when. Whatever it is, he just hopes it’s not the last time Merlin looks at him like that. 

I can’t lose you, too. 

He breaks eye contact and shakes his head, as if to rid himself of unwelcome thoughts. He’s been having lots of those lately… In the past few years. He lets Merlin refill his goblet, giving him a look when he hesitates, then resignedly obliges. Arthur gulps the wine down and engages in a meaningless conversation with Gaius, making sure Merlin’s at his side the whole time. 

Having been raised to become King, groomed to be a fearless warrior, nothing should take him by surprise. Never let your guard down. Expect danger anywhere you go.

As with most things, the reality is not that straightforward. Arthur is far from fearless, and when Gwaine barges into the throne room, announcing an attack on Camelot, Arthur’s definitely not ready. The only thing he has going for him is his kingly status.

It's a good thing you get by on one out of three, sire, a niggling little voice that sounds suspiciously like Merlin quips inside his head. Arthur’s subconscious delivers a smack to imaginary Merlin, still a bit grumpy about the fat comment from before.

Focus!

After two seconds of weakness, a moment of being just Arthur - Arthur the man, not Arthur the King -  his training takes over and he’s barking orders as he unfastens his cloak and heads into the heart of the battle. The sword in his hand is a welcome distraction, excitement pumping through his veins as he prepares for a fight.

And all thoughts of Guinevere’s betrayal scatter.

He can’t see the fire but he can smell it. Anger surges inside him, turning against those who dare lay a hand on Camelot and his people. The corridors are swarming with Southrons and Arthur slices his way through, trusting his knights to handle themselves. If Merlin were here with him, Arthur would keep looking over his shoulder to make sure he’s okay. The fact doesn’t stop him from wishing he hadn’t sent Merlin to the inner chamber, doesn’t stop him from wishing Merlin was with him. 

He barely has time to finish the thought before white-hot pain flares between his ribs. He turns towards it, disabling the attacker and stumbling away. He presses a hand against the injury, praying it’s not too deep. 

Strong, familiar hands keep him upright, helping him to safety.

“Been hiding in the broom cupboard as usual, Merlin?” he gasps out, hoping Merlin’s not just a pain-induced hallucination. 

There’s an ever-so-subtle quirk to Merlin’s lips, which miraculously soothes the pain. And then Merlin’s yelling at Arthur to get moving. 

I’m the King, Merlin. You can’t tell me what to do, he wants to remind him. Instead, he does as told, trusting Merlin to lead the way. It’s been a long while since he’d wondered what makes him trust Merlin so blindly. 

Once outside, they hide behind a column.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Poking at the injured site, Arthur determines he’ll probably live, but given how his muscles seize when he tries and fails to take a proper breath, that’s where the good news ends. “Maybe a broken rib or two.”

Broken ribs hurt like all hell, but it’s nothing against the sharp, numbing pain that slices through him at the sight of Agravaine marching side by side with Morgana and her army. 

He slumps back against the column, paralyzed with defeat. He feels something inside him die, like a string severed. Something gives, and in a surge of rage he nearly throws himself at the whole army. But Merlin holds him back, firm and steady. His voice cuts through the high-pitched noise in Arthur’s ears. He leans into the security of Merlin’s hands, grasping at the semblance of safety. This is all he has left. 

I can’t lose you, too.

It’s why he doesn’t resist when Merlin drags him away. He follows, as he always will. 

*

“I can bind the ribcage, but even that would run the risk of puncturing a lung,” Gaius tells him for the third time, his patience obviously running thin. 

Arthur doesn’t care, standing his ground. No matter how many ribs he breaks, or if he loses a bloody arm; he’s getting back to the front lines and dealing with his snake of an uncle himself. 

Gaius huffs irritably and walks away to speak to Merlin. No doubt connecting over their shared frustration with the King of Camelot, Arthur muses. 

How has it come to this? He had been happy. Everything had been right in the world. Well, as much as it could, given the circumstances. His father is dead and his childhood friend - his sister - has turned against him. Things had never been perfect, but they were good. Agravaine had walked into his life like a light flickering in the dark. Arthur still had a family left. And he’d finally got over his qualms about propriety and whatnot, throwing himself into this new, scary thing with Guinevere. 

And through it all, Merlin has been there. 

Things had been good. And then they weren’t. And nothing will ever be the same. 

Arthur jolts when Gaius manifests by his side, Merlin joining them. 

“I’m sorry, sire, this is going to hurt.”

Good. He should hurt. It’s what he deserves. 

“Just get on with it.”

He grits his teeth in preparation when Gaius’ hands land on him. He focuses on Merlin’s presence behind him, one small comfort among all the blindsiding hits that have been coming his way lately. 

Agonising pain spreads through his ribcage and he can’t help but scream. His stomach rolls with nausea, his skin breaking out in cold sweat. There’s a rush of warmth, strange yet familiar, and then everything goes quiet. 

Arthur’s head spins. Maybe he’s had too much wine. He should’ve listened to Merlin when he tried to get him to slow down. 

Arthur’s eyes roam around the room, taking in the hurried pace and panicked voices. Why are they panicking? And why are Percival and Gwaine watching him like that? 

“We have to leave now, sire!” Merlin’s voice cuts through the fog of Arthur’s mind. 

Leave? Why do they have to leave? Ah, yes, there’s been, uh…something. Not good.

It’s no matter. If Merlin says they have to, Arthur has no reason to question him. 

“Of course!” He hoists himself up, swaying as he does, but Gwaine and Percival steady him. They look at Arthur as though he’s a peculiar critter. Is there something on his face? 

The knights exchange a glance, then shrug and support Arthur as they lead him outside. His body feels heavy and there’s an unpleasant sensation on his left side. Also, breathing doesn’t feel very nice. 

Craning his neck, Arthur searches the crowd for Merlin. Why isn’t he here? He wants to protest, wait for Merlin, but Gwaine and Percival aren’t stopping. It’s okay. Merlin said they had to leave. Which means he’s leaving with Arthur. He’ll catch up with them. 

Once outside, they separate. Gwaine speaks to Pericival before running back to the citadel, and, not long after, Merlin takes his place. Arthur grins, pouting a little when Merlin doesn’t smile. He seems worried, and Arthur wants to demand why, so he can make it better. He doesn’t get a chance. Percival’s strong arms haul him towards the woods, and this time Merlin follows. He doesn’t snake an arm around Arthur to support him from the other side like Gwaine had done, though. Is it because Arthur’s too heavy? Merlin did say he’s getting fat. That wasn’t nice. But he was also making an extra hole in Arthur’s belt, so no one else would notice. That was kind of nice. Thoughtful. Merlin’s always so thoughtful.

Arthur’s lungs burn with the pace they’ve set, but he doesn’t complain. Merlin is in a hurry, so there must be a reason for why they’re rushing. 

They come to a stop, Arthur’s arm sliding off Percival’s shoulders. 

“Can you walk on your own?” Merlin asks. 

For a split second, Arthur wants to lie. If he says no, then Merlin must help him, right? But he looks at his friend, and the concern in his eyes forbids him from lying. 

“Oh, yes. Just point me in the right direction.”

Merlin looks at him funny. Was it the wrong thing to say? Before he can ask, Percival is shushing them, preparing for a fight, but it turns out to be just Elyan. Amazing! More of his knights coming with him. Maybe Gwaine will join them again later. 

Arthur’s gaze snatches onto the smoke and flames in the distance. Camelot. Camelot’s burning. That…shouldn’t be happening. Why is there a fire? And isn’t he supposed to be there? To…do something? 

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin prompts him. 

Right. Of course. Merlin said they had to leave. Arthur has nothing to worry about.

Arthur does manage to walk on his own, but as they quicken their pace, his chest starts to convulse. Before he can crumble to the ground, Percival’s hands are on him, holding him up. Then Elyan’s, fisting Arthur’s cloak and dragging him forward. But Merlin doesn’t touch him. Why isn’t he helping? Does he think Arthur is annoying? He’d asked him if Arthur could walk on his own and Arthur said yes. Maybe he’s upset, because Arthur was wrong?

One of them must have tripped, because they’re suddenly flying through the air. Arthur lands heavily, another set of hands helping him up. It’s Merlin, and Arthur’s face almost breaks on a smile. Elyan joins them and they stumble forward, running again. This time, Percival is nowhere to be seen. Did he hurt himself when they tripped? 

Merlin and Elyan are talking frantically, too fast for Arthur to follow. He hears Merlin say something about Ealdor, and his heart jumps with excitement. Are they going to visit Merlin’s mother? Hunith was so nice the last time they met. 

They’re running again, but Elyan’s not with them. So far, three of his knights have left. Is Merlin leaving him, too? 

Merlin starts to run faster, and Arthur pushes himself to catch up with him. What if he loses Merlin in the woods? No, that can’t happen. 

He can’t lose him, too. 

Arthur bumps into him when Merlin comes to an abrupt halt, shooting an annoyed glance over his shoulder. 

“Sorry! My fault,” Arthur apologises quickly, hoping he hasn’t mucked up too bad. Merlin frowns, eyeing him critically. Arthur drops his chin in chastisement. 

“Well, I think we're safe for now. But we need to find you some kind of disguise. You're too conspicuous in these clothes.”

Arthur peruses his attire. What’s wrong with his clothes? Isn’t a king supposed to look the part?

He shakes the thought away. If Merlin says he needs to change, then Arthur will do it.

“Whatever you say. I’m entirely in your hands.” He smiles. With a bit of luck, Merlin will forgive him for the mishap if Arthur heeds his instructions. 

Merlin frowns again, but then smiles. Arthur takes it as a victory and smiles back, happy Merlin’s not upset with him anymore. 

*

It’s broad daylight when they stumble upon a solitary house in the woods. Merlin scans the surroundings from a bush - is he hiding? He makes a satisfied sound, mumbling something under his breath. Curious, Arthur squeezes behind him, a little confused when the only thing he can see is a line of clothes hung up to dry. Is Merlin seeing something Arthur can’t? Whatever it is, Arthur puts on a thoughtful expression and nods, hoping it will hide his confusion. The last thing he wants is for Merlin to think Arthur’s stupid. 

Merlin turns then, his face - oh, he really is beautiful - only a hair’s breadth away from Arthur’s. He freezes, as though he hadn’t realised Arthur’s there. His gaze roams over Arthur’s face, slightly cross-eyed from the proximity. For a fraction of a second, his blue eyes flick to Arthur’s lips before they close. Merlin huffs, extracting himself from the small space, leaving Arthur there with a pounding heart and warm face. Why does this always happen when Merlin’s close?

Shaking himself, Arthur follows Merlin, already nodding when Merlin instructs him to stay put and takes off. Arthur suffers a short moment of panic - is Merlin leaving? Arthur knows he’s annoying. What if Merlin’s had enough? But this is Merlin. Merlin wouldn’t leave him. Sometimes he disappears, but he always comes back. Always. 

Arthur’s smile nearly overtakes his whole face when Merlin comes running back with a heap of fabric. Before Arthur can ask, the clothes are shoved into his hands. 

“Go on. Try them,” Merlin prompts with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Arthur eyes the clothes. No red. Should he be wearing that? He looks up at Merlin, who watches him expectantly. Well, if Merlin says so… 

“Okay.” 

He holds his breath when Merlin steps closer and starts removing Arthur’s chainmail and gambeson, his hands working smoothly and efficiently. And there goes Arthur’s madly beating heart. 

“You can change behind the wall.” Merlin steps away, gathering the discarded armour while Arthur stands there dressed in a white tunic and trousers. 

“Oh. Alright.” He hides his disappointment at the fact that Merlin isn’t going to help him with the rest too. 

Head hung low, he makes his way behind the wall and sheds his clothes, only to falter when he brings up one of the shirts Merlin got for him. Picking up a pair of simple, threadbare trousers, he starts to worry that Merlin might’ve been right. Maybe he is getting fat. 

He manages to squeeze into a scratchy tunic, but nearly faints from holding his breath for too long when trying to fit into the trousers. 

“In your own time,” Merlin calls impatiently and mutters something else.

Arthur pouts. He doesn’t want to complain, but also doesn’t want Merlin to think he can’t dress himself.

“Sorry, Merlin!” He groans when the trousers finally make it past his hips. “Some of these things are a little on the tight side.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, sire.” 

Arthur deflates. Has he mucked up again? Merlin’s brought him all this way to escape…something bad, and got Arthur these clothes to…um…he said as a disguise, right? The least Arthur can do is be grateful.

“No, you’re right. Probably should learn to think before I speak, shouldn’t I?” 

Merlin is silent at first, but finally says, “It’d be a start.” To Arthur’s relief, he doesn’t sound upset, but actually kind of pleased. 

Trousers finally secured in place, Arthur stumbles to his feet and steps out. “All done!” He smiles proudly, then ducks his head when Merlin presses his lips together, then bursts out laughing.

“Well, Arthur, what can I say?” He stands up. “You look like a total turnip head.”

Shoulders slumping, Arthur points in the direction of the wall. “Well, should I try something else? There’s-” He stutters, avoiding Merlin’s gaze. “There’s plenty more here-”

Merlin’s already shaking his head. “No. No, that…that will do absolutely fine.” 

Will it? Yellow is not exactly Arthur’s colour and he probably should lose a bit of weight. Merlin obviously doesn’t like the clothes, but then again he’s the one who picked them.

“Although, maybe I’ll take that.” Merlin reaches over and snags the pouch of gold from Arthur’s belt. 

“My gooold,” Arthur whines. The money is the only thing that makes him look like a king.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Probably safer with me?” 

Safer? Why-

Oh. Right. Merlin’s trying to convince people that Arthur isn’t a king. Stupid, stupid Arthur.

“Of course!” 

Merlin gives him a strange look as he pockets the gold, but doesn’t say anything. He turns around and gestures for Arthur to follow. Arthur takes a few steps before a sharp pain makes him gasp. 

Merlin’s hands are instantly on him. It almost makes him forget about the pain. 

“Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He winces and presses a hand against his ribs. “It’s hard to breathe.”

Merlin frowns, pulling Arthur closer to hold him up. “Will you be able to walk?” 

Once again, Arthur is sorely tempted to say he won’t. Anything to ensure Merlin will keep touching him. But he’s already caused Merlin plenty of trouble. Merlin shouldn’t have to deal with this, too.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

Merlin studies him, his hands still on Arthur’s arms. Arthur soaks it up as much as he can, but all too soon, Merlin’s stepping away. 

“We’ll go slow,” Merlin tells him. “I’ll stay close.” 

Arthur smiles. “Yes, please.” 

*

One day, Arthur really needs to discuss with Merlin what the meaning of ‘slow’ encompasses. They’ve been on the move for a couple of hours now, and Arthur has found himself huffing and puffing for the better part of it, trying to keep it down so as not to disturb Merlin. 

The stitch in his side makes him falter, but before he can beg Merlin to actually slow down, Merlin holds up a hand. 

“Stop.”

Finally, they are going to rest for a bit. Arthur cheers on the inside. But instead of settling down, Merlin turns to him with a solemn expression. Something is wrong. 

“Wait. Here,” he enunciates, giving Arthur a meaningful look which Arthur returns, bobbing his head. 

He watches Merlin go…somewhere. Curiosity gets the better of him. Surely Merlin didn’t mean for him to stay rooted to the spot. More like he doesn’t want Arthur to wander off. That’s okay, Arthur will stick close. 

He moves in the opposite direction from where Merlin had gone. If there’s danger, they should cover as much ground as possible, right? Ideally, they would stick together just in case, but since Merlin has already taken off, that’s not the plan. And it’s not fair that Merlin is the only one making sure they’re safe. Arthur is a king, shouldn’t he do something?

Finding nothing suspicious, Arthur walks back to where Merlin had left him. Well, he tries, suddenly lost. He considers calling for Merlin, when the familiar sight of a brown jacket and blue neckerchief makes him falter. 

Because Merlin isn’t alone. And some woman is holding a sword to his back. 

Panicking, Arthur shoots forward, ignoring the sting between his ribs. He has no idea what he’s doing, but doesn’t care. He needs to protect Merlin. 

He must make a lot of noise, because the woman turns. Instantly the sword is pointed at him, making him halt short of impaling himself. 

“No! Please, don’t hurt him. He’s harmless, I swear,” the words pour out of Merlin, his eyes wide. He holds his hands in the air, shuffling as if to put himself in front of Arthur. 

The woman’s gaze sweeps over Arthur, then returns to Merlin. She smirks and jerks her head. 

“Both of you,” she starts, looking amused. “This way.” 

At a loss for what to do, Arthur looks at Merlin for help. Merlin lets out a shuddering breath and takes Arthur by his elbow.

“Come on. Stay close.” 

Arthur obliges, pressing himself against Merlin. His shoulders droop when Merlin moves away. 

He messed up, didn’t he? They’re in trouble because of him, and now Merlin is upset. 

The woman stays behind them, following the whole time. 

Arthur doesn’t try to touch Merlin again. 

The sound of horses gets Arthur’s attention. There are wagons in front of them, about a dozen men carrying heavy-looking chests and bags and loading them onto the wagons. 

“I found them lurking in the woods,” the woman says, and only then does Arthur notice a man leaning against the tree in front of them, idly sharpening a dagger. 

“See anything interesting?”

Yes, Arthur means to say. He has no idea what he’s seeing, but is definitely curious. 

“No,” Merlin replies firmly. 

Really? He doesn’t find this interesting? 

Merlin pushes Arthur to duck down when the dagger flies at them, embedding itself in the tree behind them. 

Wow. That was close. 

“You want to watch where you stick your beak, boy,” the man snarls, stepping into their space. 

Arthur fights the urge to flee. Merlin doesn’t seem scared, just wary. 

“I didn’t see anything. I promise. We were just passing through.”

“They’ve no horses, no supplies. Nothing,” the woman confirms.

The man snickers, giving them a once-over. “Like to travel light, do you?”

“Something like that.”

“So where’re you headed?”

“North over the border.”

“Lot’s kingdom!” The man’s eyebrow arches. “He doesn’t take kindly to strangers, I can tell you. Likes to decorate his fortress with their heads.”

Wait, what? And that’s where they’re headed?

“So why are you heading there?” Merlin challenges. 

“I have my reasons.”

Uh-huh. That doesn’t sound good.

“I agree with him!” Arthur announces, looking pointedly at Merlin. He gets an unimpressed glare in return and deflates. Right. He should let Merlin do the talking. 

The man frowns, glancing at Arthur. “What’s wrong with your friend?”

“He’s a simpleton, he can’t help it.” 

Arthur doesn’t know what that means, but he knows Merlin’s defending him. It makes him smile. 

The man narrows his eyes at Merlin. “Look after him, do you?”

“Without me he wouldn’t last a day.”

Arthur nods enthusiastically. He has no idea what he’d do without Merlin. Merlin is the best person he knows, always taking care of him, even though Arthur doesn’t make it easy. Always managing to muck up somehow. 

“Very well,” the man says cautiously and goes to retrieve his dagger. “I suppose you can be on your way.”

Arthur beams. That wasn’t too bad! He freaked out a little when he saw Merlin was in danger, but Merlin saved them again! 

He grins at Merlin, thinks he might go for a hug, but Merlin calls, “Could we not come with you? I mean…” He glances at Arthur sideways. “I would be grateful for the company, to be honest.” 

Grateful for the company? Why-

Oh. 

Of course he would. Why would he want to be stuck with Arthur the whole time? 

His chest aching, Arthur leans forward. “I’m very annoying,” he confesses, hoping Merlin can’t hear the hurt in his voice. 

The man snorts, dismissive. “I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Merlin insists, and Arthur dies a little inside.

He tunes out the rest of the conversation, his sole focus on the fact that Merlin finds him so annoying he’d rather travel with strangers who have held a sword against his back and thrown a dagger at him. 

He smiles when everyone else does, pretending to be happy about the development. He catches Merlin looking at him, his expression grim, and Arthur’s smile falls. 

He doesn’t say anything as they walk to the wagons and get on, afraid he’ll say something to disappoint Merlin. Merlin rides in the back while Arthur climbs inside. He stares outside the whole time, watching the trees become a green blur.

Time gets away from him, but when the wagons finally stop, the sun has started to set. They must be settling down for the night. 

Merlin and the man - Arthur doesn’t remember his name - get off first. Arthur goes to do the same, but then he sees the man reaching up and helping the woman down, the two smiling at each other lovingly. 

Longing spreads through him, growing stronger when he looks at Merlin. He tries to climb out, reaching for Merlin who only pushes him back inside. 

Huh, maybe going head first wasn’t a good idea. Shifting onto his backside, Arthur sticks a leg out. Merlin catches it, and Arthur cheers internally, only to be pushed back inside. After that, he gives up, managing to climb out by himself, no matter how ungraceful. 

Merlin ignores him, that super serious expression still on his face. He keeps looking at the wagon, studying it.

Not wanting to interrupt him, Arthur leaves him be. Something’s not right. Merlin’s always so affectionate, always touching Arthur briefly. 

Suddenly craving a hug, Arthur goes to the nearest tree and wraps his arms around it while everyone else fusses around, unloading things from the wagons. The tree trunk is cold and unyielding, but Arthur leans on it anyway. 

A hazy memory of Merlin knocking on the headboard of Arthur’s bed to search for woodworm surfaces. Are there woodworms in these trees? There should be, right? Trees are made from wood, right?

Gently, he knocks on the trunk. How will he know, though? What do woodworms even sound like? He needs to ask Merlin later. 

A soft whistle sounds from close behind, and when Arthur turns, Merlin’s there. He looks more relaxed now and steers Arthur away. 

They make camp further away from everyone else. Arthur likes it. Finally, it can be just him and Merlin again until tomorrow. 

Merlin cooks. It smells amazing, and Arthur’s belly gives a loud rumble, reminding him neither of them has eaten since last night. He’d love to help. He feels dumb just sitting there while Merlin works, but doesn’t want to get in the way. 

The soup is deliciously hot and tastes even better than it smells and Arthur tells Merlin so. 

Merlin chuckles, giving Arthur a curious look. “More soup?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” Arthur says, offering the bowl for refill. “Thank you.” 

“A please and a thank you at the same time. That’s amazing,” Merlin comments.

“Is it?” Arthur doesn’t get it.

“Mmhmm. Well, let's just say; manners are not your strong point,” Merlin says. He sounds like he’s teasing, like it’s funny, but something heavy and unpleasant unfolds in Arthur’s stomach. 

“Really?” 

Merlin nods.

“In what way?” He’s a bit apprehensive about the answer.

“Rude. Thoughtless. Insensitive,” Merlin goes on, each of the words cutting through Arthur like the dagger that had nearly hit them. “And that’s when you’re in a good mood.”

Is that true? Is Arthur really like that? Surely not. Why would he be, to Merlin of all people? Merlin is his best friend, the best person he knows. His most favourite person in the world. Sometimes he likes to tease Merlin and he thinks Merlin likes to return the favour. But that’s just horseplay. That’s what he does with the people he loves. He and the knights do that all the time. Surely Merlin knows that. 

But what if he doesn’t? What if Merlin hates it? Has Arthur been hurting him all these years? 

“Sorry to hear that,” he murmurs, the gravity of Merlin’s confession dawning on him. How does he fix this? How does he show Merlin he loves him?

“I don't think you realise how hard I work for you,” MerIin continues. Oh God, is there more?! “I know you're the King, but it would be nice if you could do one small thing for yourself as a, um...gesture. Mark of respect.”

That’s not true. Arthur knows how much Merlin does for him, even beyond the line of duty. He thought he’s been showing Merlin how grateful he is. Has he been doing it wrong? 

“Sorry to have been a disappointment, Merlin. I’ll try harder in the future.” If only he knew what to do. If only Merlin told him what to do. 

“I look forward to that,” Merlin says, grinning. A thoughtful expression passes over his face, a glint in his eyes. “On the other hand, why wait?” He drops his bowl on top of Arthur’s.

Arthur looks at him expectantly.

Merlin cocks his head at the now mostly empty pot. “That pot will need rinsing out as well.”

Understanding sinking in, Arthur nods obediently. “Of course.” What a great idea! Arthur can’t cook, but he’s confident he can manage washing the dishes. Probably… Most likely…

“And when you're done with that, the horses need a rubdown, too.”

Arthur draws his back straight. “My pleasure.” This is great! The more he has to do, the better he can prove to Merlin how much he means to him. 

He stands up and grabs the pot, looking around. Um, where does he…

Catching on Arthur’s confusion, Merlin points to the bushes. “Over there.” 

He seems happy, and it motivates Arthur to do his best. With newfound confidence, he makes his way to the bushes. The fire doesn’t illuminate that far, and Arthur trips over a branch, the dishes spilling from his hands. How does Merlin do this all the time? Arthur needs to start paying him more.

“You alright?” comes Merlin’s voice. He sounds happy, too. 

“Yeah,” Arthur grunts, collecting the dishes. He can do this. He just needs to prove to Merlin he can be helpful. Then maybe Merlin will hug him when he’s done with the cleaning. And maybe he’ll find Arthur less annoying and won’t need the company of those strangers anymore and they can continue on their own. Maybe he’ll show Arthur how to cook tomorrow, so Arthur can do it next time. 

He just wants to show Merlin. He just wants Merlin to stay.

He can’t lose him, too.