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“Merlin?!”
That was Lancelot’s voice, Merlin noted to himself. He blinked a couple of times in an attempt to get his vision to clear, and realized he was standing in the doorway of Lancelot’s chambers.
“Hi,” he said, trying to remember how he had gotten here. He could vaguely recall sneaking out of the castle last night to stop a wrangwren from destroying the kingdom before anyone got hurt. (Merlin had gotten hurt, but he didn’t count; it was the price he paid as Camelot’s secret protector.) Gaius was out bringing someone medicine in a neighboring village, so it had been up to Merlin alone to take care of the beast. “Sorry. I know it’s early. I couldn’t go to my chambers in case Arthur came looking for me.”
He offered a smile, but he expected it wasn’t quite as effective as he would’ve liked since he was covered in dirt and scrapes, and clearly struggling not to topple over.
“What happened?!” Lancelot asked, taking Merlin’s arm and guiding him over to his bed to sit down. His concern was evident in his voice and expression, and Merlin was unsure whether the funny feeling in his belly was merely from his bad state, or the fact that Lancelot cared; he wasn’t used to people other than his mother, Gaius, or Gwen worrying about him like that.
His first instinct was to lie, as he had to so many people since he’d arrived in Camelot. He had no lack of excuses for when he was questioned, and though they might not have all been good excuses, he’d told so many of them that no one was really doubting him anymore. He could easily tell one to Lancelot now, but…
He had come to Lancelot for a reason, he remembered. He didn’t have to lie to him about this. After having to hide this part of himself for his whole life, it was easy to forget he could trust Lancelot.
“Magical beast got into Camelot,” he explained casually, as if it was something that happened all the time — which, to be fair, it was. “Tried to stop it.”
“By yourself?” Lancelot asked, but his tone suggested he already knew the answer. Merlin nodded and tried not to wince in pain from the movement, but Lancelot saw right through him. “Where’s Gaius?”
“He’s out of town until tomorrow,” Merlin said, which was mostly why he’d went out on his own to stop the creature. Gaius was the majority of his impulse control in situations like this; without him, Merlin jumped into action without thinking twice, and was now paying the consequences. “It’s all right, it’s not too bad.”
“You can barely move,” Lancelot pointed out, and Merlin had nothing to say to that because it was true. “I have some extra salve you can use.”
“Oh,” Merlin said, moving to stop Lancelot, not wanting a fuss to be made over him. “You don’t have to. Really, I’m fine. You don’t have to go out of your way to do this.”
“It’s no trouble,” Lancelot reassured him, and naturally, Merlin still stubbornly tried to object.
“But—”
“Merlin,” Lancelot said, firmly but gently. “You’re hurt. I want to help you.”
Merlin hesitated, but he didn’t have much resolve left after what he’d just been through, so it wasn’t long before he gave in. “…Okay, fine,” he mumbled, and Lancelot gave him a thankful smile that baffled Merlin, because he should be the one being thankful for the knight’s care. Lancelot went to the opposite side of the room to retrieve the salve and bandages, returning to Merlin’s side within seconds.
“Tunic off,” Lancelot instructed him, tugging lightly at the hem. “I have to see how bad it is.”
Merlin blushed despite himself; he knew Lancelot had completely honorable intentions, but he couldn’t help but consider the implication of being asked to undress in his bed. If he was being honest, he’d been crushing on Lancelot since he saved him from the griffin, and there was a tiny part of him that wished that was actually what Lancelot had meant — not that it’d be very enjoyable for either of them, after he’d just nearly been attacked to death. He paused for a moment before he pulled it off in one swift movement, making quick work of it, and looked down to assess the damage that had been done.
All things considered, it wasn’t that terrible. It wasn’t ideal, and he’d obviously rather not have gotten injured in the first place, but he had already experienced a lot worse since he’d arrived in Camelot. He had gotten lucky and honestly ought to have been pleased he’d only been hurt as much as he was, but when he looked up at Lancelot, he was looking at Merlin’s wounds with a frown on his face.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Merlin said, but it was obviously a lie. Lancelot raised his eyebrows and Merlin pointedly looked away, ignoring Lancelot’s disapproving expression.
“You have to be more careful, Merlin,” Lancelot chastised him, but Merlin could hear the underlying worry in his voice. It was one thing to risk his life when no one was aware of it, but it was another when there were people who genuinely cared. He didn’t like worrying his friends; he was entirely too familiar with the feeling himself and wouldn’t wish it on any of them.
“Making sure Arthur is safe is a dangerous job,” he joked, offering a smile that didn’t quite land considering how obviously hurt and tired he was.
“And who will make sure you are safe?” Lancelot asked as he poured the salve onto his hands, apparently oblivious to the way he had just stunned Merlin into silence.
Merlin looked away, unsure how to respond to that. No one was meant to keep him safe, he was the one who had been given the job of protecting. He had known from before he even stepped foot in Camelot that he couldn’t ask anyone other than Gaius to look out for him, not when he had to hide his magic.
At last, he said, “I’ll be more careful.”
“See that you do,” Lancelot said with a nod. His touch was gentle as he spread the salve across Merlin’s wounds, who was trying to keep still underneath Lancelot’s hand. After several minutes of silence, Lancelot asked, “Have you considered telling Arthur?”
“I can’t,” Merlin answered immediately. Against all odds, he had actually started to like Arthur, but he couldn’t fully trust him — not about this. Lancelot was the only other person who could know; he had given him his word that he wouldn’t expose his secret. But there was a part of Merlin that still felt wary about him knowing. What if Lancelot changed his mind? What if he turned him in after all? He urgently added, “Please, Lancelot. You can’t tell him. He can’t find out.”
He immediately felt guilty for thinking such things. He’d only known Lancelot for a short amount of time, but it had already been enough to know the most important thing to Lancelot was his honor. Still, he was filled with relief when Lancelot nodded, seeming to understand.
“I won’t,” Lancelot promised him, pausing to take Merlin’s hand in his. It was hard not to believe him when his eyes were so sincere, so honest. “I told you your secret is safe with me, and I meant it. You can trust me, Merlin.”
“I know,” Merlin said, and he truly meant it. Lancelot was as honest as a man could be; he was lucky that out of all the people who could’ve discovered his magic, it was him. “Thank you, Lancelot.”
“You have nothing to thank me for,” Lancelot told him, finishing applying the salve and taking his hands away. “There. All done.”
Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was slightly delirious, or perhaps it was the nice words Lancelot had told him, or perhaps it was the way the newly risen sun hit Lancelot’s features through the window and left him looking stunningly handsome. Either way, Merlin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lancelot’s cheek, as quick as he dared.
He pulled back seconds later. He went to apologize, to tell him that he didn’t know what had come over him, but the words didn’t make it out when he saw the pleased surprise on Lancelot’s face. Lancelot gave him a shy smile that he returned, and for the first time since he’d come to Camelot, he felt truly welcome here.