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Chapter Text

“It’s for the good of the kingdom,” Uther stated again. 

“But I don’t understand why! I would get it if you were marrying me to a foreign princess, but what are we getting out of a marriage to an Albionic noble family?”

Uther slammed a hand on the table between them with force. Arthur steeled himself so that the small flinch he made in return would escape Uther’s notice. 

“You will do as you are told! It is not your place to question me!”

Later, Gaius kindly took Arthur aside and said he felt that he owed the prince the truth. His father’s extravagant spending had drained the country’s coffers beyond repair. The marriage would be an exchange: Arthur in return for a tidy sum of money that would save Uther from losing face. 

Arthur told himself that it wasn't that bad. He had never really believed that he would marry for love anyway. Sure, it stung a bit to be sold off for money, but neither the country nor his father’s reign would survive without funds. Ultimately, he was doing this for the good of the people. Arthur had always strived to be a good leader and now was his chance to make a noble sacrifice. And it was a small one in the grand scheme of things. 

Right?

~

Given that the goal of the wedding was to repair Albion’s financial crisis, the wedding preparations were exorbitant. His father, not one to be outdone, had invited monarchs and nobles from surrounding countries. The celebrations would take place over a period of months, finally ending with the wedding itself. 

In the lead-up to their arrival, servants skittered back and forth preparing decorations. Arthur was either left alone with his thoughts or with his new fiancée. Despite trying to find something positive to latch on to, the more time that Arthur spent with her, the more displeasing attributes he discovered. 

Short, plump, blonde, and self-centered. The woman, Alicia, clearly considered herself a great beauty even though in actuality, she was quite plain. It was clear that she had only ever been showered with needless praise. Which Arthur found particularly irksome given how he had been a constant target of criticism from his own father over the past few weeks. The prince wasn’t so shallow that he couldn’t have overlooked this, but her personality was so loathsome, it somehow made her plain face look positively repellant to look at. 

Alicia was unfailingly vapid. She was seemingly only able to engage in cruel gossip, berate passing servants, and praise Arthur’s looks. He was starting to feel more like a trophy than a person which was exceedingly depressing given the circumstances. More and more, everyone else was avoiding eye contact with him entirely with the exception of occasional pitying looks from servants. He had expected that at least Morgana would be outraged on his behalf and comfort him by making rude remarks about his fiancée’s conversational skills. Instead, she was avoiding him and looking guilty across the dinner table. He had quickly realized that if his marriage fell through then it would be Morgana on the chopping board next. Which explained the unusual lack of stinging barbs from the king’s ward.

Her silence stung more than he cared to admit. 

However…Alicia was likely the least of his problems concerning the family that he was marrying into. Uther had gathered the family’s patriarch, his two sons, and Alicia for a dinner. The king had been in high spirits listening to the head of the family pander at length. Morgana had been quiet and taciturn, still avoiding Arthur’s gaze. Alicia had been running her mouth as usual. 

The problem had come with the middle brother, Kiernan. Older than Alicia, the youngest. But younger than the frigid and stone-faced older brother. Unlike his siblings, he was handsome and charming, sliding in and out of the conversation with ease. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to make the Prince feel at home, won’t we Liza?”

Arthur frowned and stopped mid-sip. 

“What?”

“Well, we can’t just throw our Liza right into court with no preparation. We want her to be comfortable, so the king agreed to have you come stay at the manor for the first few months of the marriage,” Kiernan drawled. 

Arthur looked at his father who waved him off dismissively. 

“Yes, whatever you need,” Uther said. 

Something about Kiernan’s gaze made Arthur feel like slime was sticking to his skin. His heart was pounding anxiously in his chest and he couldn’t put a finger on why other than a vague, but deep sense of discomfort. 

He sensed there was no point in arguing with his father, so he remained silent. Gwen had stopped mid-step after overhearing the conversation and was hovering anxiously near Morgana, clearly trying to catch her eye. And then another servant accidentally brushed too close to the eldest brother. 

A resounding clang rang out as he stood and smashed the man’s head into the table, berating him for his ineptitude. There was a loud silence as the servant staggered away. Kiernan looked at his brother and then laughed. 

“So sorry about that. Everett gets carried away sometimes. You know, war changes a man and all that.”

Uther brushed off the apology and insisted he would punish the servant. Gwen anxiously wrung her hands and looked at Arthur before slipping away. 

After dinner, he overheard her pull Morgana to a stop on the way back to her chambers. 

“My lady…I really think you should try to convince the king that this is a bad idea.”

“Since when has Uther ever listened to me?” Morgana snapped. 

“That man, Kiernan! He- there are horrible rumors about things he’s done to servants.”

“I can’t help how they treat their staff, Gwen.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Gwen said, before stumbling for words. “He’s had a bunch of porters and they never last long. One of the stable boys killed himself because of…”

They wandered away before Arthur could hear the rest. He didn’t know what exactly she meant, but an uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut when remembering Kiernan’s look and didn’t dissipate. 

~

The arrival of dignitaries from different countries was a long and harrowing ordeal. By the end of the lengthy procession of greetings, Arthur was shifting back and forth trying to relieve the strain on his knees caused by standing at attention for hours. 

Cenred’s kingdom was the last to arrive, bringing in tow a large group of nobles, servants, and soldiers. Surprisingly, those soldiers were mostly put to duty moving heavy cases on behalf of the nobility. Cenred only had one personal bodyguard tailing him. 

Well known among the people of Cenred’s kingdom and surrounding areas was the court’s elite group of assassins, spies, and mercenaries. The kingdom identified children who possessed exceptional magic or abilities and ripped them from their families for brutal training. Known as fostaì, they were feared and generally given free range to do whatever the hell they wanted as long as they didn’t cross the king. Even Cenred’s favored nobles didn’t dare attempt to flex power over them. Generally, you could identify them by a distinctive tattoo on the wrist. 

Arthur saw his father stir with nervous energy as he clocked the man standing behind Cenred who had not made any move to bow or show reverence to Uther as Cenred greeted him. The man was likely a powerful magic user and although his father hated sorcerers, it was apparently worth tolerating in order to show off his court’s splendeur in front of the rival king. 

Tall, lithe, and dressed all in black, the man looked positively bored. He was striking for an assassin, standing out amongst the frumpy nobles with dark hair, very blue eyes, and sharp cheekbones. He caught Arthur staring, and an amused smirk graced his mouth. Arthur quickly looked away. 

He hadn’t seemed to be carrying any weapons, but that was surely untrue. Probably hidden among his clothes or with magic. 

Arthur chanced another discreet glance in his direction and saw the black sigil curled around his wrist when the man tugged his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. It wasn’t the only tattoo: there was a snake wrapped around the skin, climbing up onto the part of the arm that remained covered. 

Alicia’s grating voice broke through his observation. 

“Hmph. Finally someone brought some appropriate gifts,” she said, gesturing toward the chest full of jewelry that a pair of soldiers was carrying up the steps. 

Arthur had the sinking feeling that he had really crossed the point of no return. 

~

The festivities leading up to the wedding had barely begun and Arthur was already tired of them. Greeting after greeting. Dealing with Alicia hogging him for every dance and repeatedly stepping on his feet. It was all blurring together and it was only the first night. 

It was a little odd to see so many of the surrounding countries’ courts assembled in one place at the same time. You could see distinct differences in their attitude and presentation. The country to the north of Camelot was rather stuffy in dress and socializing, but they had brought some exquisite silks as gifts to show off their nation’s wealth. They were, objectively speaking, a huge driver of trade within the entire region. And they did not like frivolous people. Even Alicia’s doting father had the sense to corral her away from that group. They were mostly keeping to themselves anyway. 

The small nation from the west was socializing, but a little openly confused at all the wealth being flaunted. They dressed frugally, but being from a warmer region showed more skin than their northern counterparts who were covered to the neck, but flaunting large jewels. Arthur could tell that the servants were openly favoring this group and kept approaching them with refills and food. He supposed they looked less intimidating to a commoner, but Arthur knew that some of the group were distinguished soldiers. They valued physical power over wealth in their political dealings. 

Finally, from the south, was of course, Cenred’s kingdom. They were the liveliest group by far. Cenred’s court had a reputation for hedonism and social scheming. Watching them laugh loudly and drink more than their fair share, Arthur tried to map their social connections. Which was a difficult task. One minute, two nobles would be friendly with one another. An arm slung around a shoulder and broad smile. Then upon turning away, the smile would drop and be replaced with a shared look at different aristocrat. One of exaggerated disdain. 

The king was at the center with a young woman on his lap and a wine goblet in his hand. Despite his playboy appearance, rumor had it that Cenred kept a harsh grip on his nobles. They were free to infight with each other, but anyone who threatened his power was known to suddenly find themselves facing great difficulty. Unlike Uther, Cenred punished people behind the scenes. Investments fell through, unfavorable positions were handed out, and occasionally someone just dropped dead. Not by official execution, but by coincidence. 

Unlike Alicia and Emerett, Kiernan was weaving through the different groups with ease. He was a social chameleon. But from where Arthur stood, it was evident that none of his shades were Kiernan’s true color. Watching the man charm his way through the crowd filled Arthur with a piercing sense of unease. The smiles he directed at other people looked disingenuous, but the ones sent at Arthur had a weird undercurrent. There was something nasty in the curve of his mouth. 

Arthur tried to brush the feeling away. Kiernan was a politician by nature and potentially a con man, but he didn’t pose a threat. No matter what Arthur’s instincts seemed to think. As long as Arthur went along with the wedding, there was no reason for Kiernan to try and turn social favor against him. 

Kiernan was currently mixing with Cenred’s group and Arthur noticed the dark-haired assassin watching his future brother-in-law from the corner. The man was lounging catlike, leg hiked up to rest on a second chair and arms propped on his knee, but observing the scene closely. Cenred’s country ran and relied on magic. The fostaí sitting against the wall was likely no exception. It made for a fractious relationship with Albion, but Uther was in no position to invade or try to unseat Cenred. Despite numerous skirmishes over border regions and gripes about lines on maps, neither country dared engage in any large-scale conflict with the other. Arthur remembered visiting once as a teenager and being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of magic constantly occurring in the streets and the castle there. Noble families who couldn’t do magic themselves hired people to do it for them, outfitting their clothes and their households with spells in a show of wealth. It looked like they had divested themselves of any visible spells today to avoid angering Uther. 

The party began to wind down and as guests left, Arthur ducked out to avoid a last dance with Alicia. He took a hallway mostly used by servants to avoid the crowd which was spreading out over the castle to head back to their guest rooms.

“Oh look, I finally found you alone.”

Arthur turned to see Kiernan approaching with a grin. He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“We should have a chat, shouldn’t we? You are marrying my little sister after all.”

“Sure,” Arthur said, aware that he needed to make a good impression and trying to ignore the sudden alarm surging through him. 

“Good!”

He put an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, walking along and talking about his sister in a friendly tone. By the time he stopped to turn and face Arthur, Kiernan had led them into an empty hallway void of other guests. 

“You know I’m as excited as she is. You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

Kiernan shoved Arthur against the wall and placed a hand on his hip, gripping his chin with the other hand. He leaned in close with a lascivious look down Arthur’s body. Arthur grabbed his wrist and wrenched it off of him. 

“Relax, would you? I know you don’t want to piss off the in-laws. Your father would hate that.”

Arthur shoved, and Kiernan stumbled. The things that he had overheard Gwen say were ringing in his ears. He took a step to the side to put distance between them and so that he no longer had a wall at his back.

“You-”

Kiernan laughed. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t look it, but I like a fight. Then again, if Uther heard you had been disrespecting my family…”

Arthur felt bile rise in his throat. Kiernan smirked down at him. If anyone else were standing before him like this, Arthur would have drawn his sword. The hilt was clenched in his hand. But Arthur was paralyzed to take any action here without incurring his father’s wrath regarding the marriage. 

“See? Now, you get it.”

Kiernan stepped forward into Arthur’s space. Arthur froze, desperately searching for a way out of the situation, but his mind had gone blank. 

And then a hand slammed into the wall between them. 

“Who the hell-” Kiernan raged, but then stopped short when he looked over at the man between them. 

“Ah, sorry to interrupt. But it seems I’ve gotten a bit lost,” the stranger said in the lilting drawl found in Cenred’s kingdom.

He turned to look over his shoulder at Arthur. The man was a few inches taller than either of them, but with a lithe frame. Certainly not the countenance of a noble. 

“And look, I’ve run into the owner of the castle. Good luck, isn’t it?”

Arthur thought that the man must be an idiot to have blustered up and angered Kiernan, but then the pieces clicked into place. Sharp blue eyes and black hair. The hint of a tattoo wrapped around his arm where his sleeve rid up. Kiernan had shut up because Cenred’s assassin escort had stepped between them. 

“You are interrupting. Tremendously,” Kiernan replied curtly, jaw clenching.

The assassin tilted his head in Kiernan’s direction and grinned. 

“Ah, sorry about that. You don’t mind though, do you?” 

The tone was casual. Playful even, but there was an undercurrent of threat ringing underneath it. Even if Kiernan could act with impunity around the castle, it wouldn’t help him against this man. 

Kiernan gave a strained smile. 

“Of course not,” he replied shortly and to Arthur, said. “I will certainly see you around, my liege.”

Arthur’s stomach turned. And then he was alone with someone equally dangerous. 

The man turned to face him and leaned haphazardly against the wall. He pressed a hand to his chin as if assessing Arthur with his gaze.  

“Goldilocks, didn’t anyone ever tell you to be wary of predatory animals like that one?”

Arthur reddened at the nickname. 

“Is that how you address royals in your country?” he spluttered.

“Oh no, I call them much worse things than that.” 

The man shot him an amused grin. 

“I didn’t need your help. So get lost again, would you?”

“The name is Merlin, by the way. And I wasn’t actually lost. You should be more careful with your castle blueprints. A foreign spy might get hold of them and memorize the layout.”

Whatever Arthur had meant to say next was lost at that casual admission. Who said that to a foreign royal? Was he trying to get executed?

“More importantly, do you want me to walk you back to your room? Your castle seems a little perilous.”

“If you’re trying to kill me, shouldn’t you be a little less obvious about it?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin’s expression was delighted. 

“If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead. So is that a yes?”

“No,” Arthur turned on his heel to leave, but Merlin trailed after him.

“Really-?!”

“We must be going the same direction,” Merlin declared. 

“Guest chambers are in the opposite direction!”

“Oh, I must be lost again. Damn my poor sense of direction,” Merlin said playfully. 

When Arthur finally reached his door, Merlin departed with a mock salute. 

~

When Arthur closed the door to his chambers, he leaned against it and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was still pounding. 

What the hell? 

Morgana had certainly been on the receiving end of sleazy advances over the years, but it had never happened to Arthur. The blatant disrespect that Kiernan had shown was extreme, but what was Arthur even supposed to tell his father? 

Regardless of how he worded it, if he could even find a way to word it, surely it wouldn’t go over well. His father was set on this marriage. Arthur took a deep breath. Nothing had actually happened, right? Maybe he was overreacting. 

But then again if Cenred’s man hadn’t intervened…no, that was ridiculous. Arthur was the prince. Even if Kiernan was a noble, he couldn’t just…

Arthur couldn’t put words to the thought. Technically, after the marriage, he was meant to spend a few months in the manor and not the castle. But that didn’t mean anything. Arthur could just avoid him…or throw a punch if needed. 

He told himself that it was fine. Arthur willed his breathing to even out. 

It didn’t. 

~

What is she thinking wearing that dress?!” Alicia sneered. 

Arthur had a growing headache and it wasn’t from the sun bearing down on them blindingly. Alicia made another attempt to hit the croquet ball through the hoop and missed. A pout was stuck on her face. Nobles were mingling all around and Arthur was praying that none would approach for a chat. One of the visiting courts had brought the game with them and now he was stuck playing it with the worst possible partner. He wanted to track down the sport’s inventor and throttle them. 

Sensing that a neighboring group was walking over to schmooze with Alicia, Arthur excused himself.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

And then he retreated into the nearest alcove for some shade and a break from his fiancée. Merlin quirked an eyebrow at him when they made eye contact. Long fingers were wrapped around a rolled bundle of weeds. He exhaled, breathing out smoke. It reminded Arthur of those illustrations of dragons that showed up in old tomes. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Arthur could see an inked snake curling around his forearm.

“What are you doing? Just skulking around in the shadows?”

“Clearly, I am taking a smoke break.” Merlin said with an irritated air. “Your highness is probably too innocent to have tried smoking, so you wouldn’t understand.”

Oh, so he could use titles. Arthur felt his face heat.

“I’m not that innocent.”

Feeling bold from his irritation with Alicia, Arthur stuck out his hand. To his surprise, Merlin stepped forward and held up the rolled paper to Arthur’s mouth. Arthur cautiously leaned forward into Merlin’s space before wrapping his lips around it and inhaling. 

Then immediately choked on the smoke, coughing. Great, now it was obvious that he was lying. 

Merlin laughed and placed a hand on the back of Arthur’s neck while Arthur bent over coughing. 

“I need to work on corrupting you if that’s how you react.”

Arthur regained his breath. His mouth tasted like mint and the skin on his neck prickled where Merlin had touched it. 

“What is that anyway?”

“Just some plants to take the edge off. Maybe it’ll help you cope with your fiancée. She’s really annoying.”

Arthur couldn’t really argue with that. Merlin dropped the rolled paper and stepped on it, extinguishing the light. Then his eyes widened at something past Arthur’s line of sight. 

“Wow. She threw red wine on that girl’s dress.”

“What?!”

Arthur surged forward to look and saw one of Albion’s noble daughters covered in red wine. And Alicia standing over her. Oh god. 

Merlin grabbed him across the collarbone and pulled him back. 

“No, don’t go over there. You’ll have to defend her. Just pretend you didn’t see anything,” he laughed. 

Arthur placed his head in his hands and groaned in frustration. 

“I hope that wasn’t anyone important.”

“No, she definitely is,” Arthur replied.

“Goldilocks, you have a talent for attracting very disreputable people.”

“Are you included in that tally?”

Merlin’s eyes sparkled. He acted like found Arthur very entertaining. 

“Sure.”

Arthur sighed. He should really get back and try to mediate this disaster of a situation. 

“Any advice?”

“Hit her with the croquet mallet,” Merlin replied.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know why I even asked.”

“Because you secretly want to do it and just need someone to give you permission.”

Arthur glared at him, but it was hard to make it convincing since Merlin’s assessment wasn’t technically wrong. 

Merlin stepped forward and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, turning it to face palm up. He was in Arthur’s space again. Arthur wondered if he was doing it deliberately. He could see a small scar just below Merlin’s mouth from this distance. 

“The key is to distract them first so they don’t dodge.”

He held up the hand that wasn’t holding on to Arthur. The loose bracelet that had been looped around Arthur’s wrist was dangling from it. 

“Hey!”

Merlin placed the bracelet in his palm and flipped Arthur’s hand over, dipping to press a kiss to the back of it. Arthur blushed, taken aback by the sudden gesture. 

“Good luck, Goldilocks,” Merlin said, walking away and throwing a wave over his shoulder. 

Arthur rubbed the skin where Merlin’s lips had touched. He had heard that fostaí could be eccentric, but really. Arthur wasn’t a noble lady. Someone else would have punched him. 

Which, you know, Arthur could have. If he hadn’t been so startled. 

~

As much as Alicia and Kiernan seemed to be lusting after him, Arthur got the impression that Emerett really didn’t like him. 

He had been gruff, taciturn, and generally dismissive of Arthur’s presence up to this point. And then Arthur had tried to save a stilted conversation with him by mentioning the tournament. 

Emerett’s attention suddenly turned on him all at once. 

“It’s bad enough that I have to watch you marry my sister, but now I have to have a petty little sparring match with a spoiled prince.”

Arthur’s face heated with rage. He was an exceptional swordsman, and Emerett knew it. But Emerett was quite a bit older than his younger siblings and had been part of the campaign to exterminate the Druids. He looked down on anyone who hadn’t been actively part of a war, even if they had seen plenty of combat in other situations.

“Are you scared you’ll lose? Bit out of practice, aren’t you?”

The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before he could stop himself. He would probably catch a scolding about this from his father, but Arthur also knew he could beat Emerett in a fight. 

Emerett sneered at him.

“You’re not good enough for my family, and you’re a brat who thinks that flashy moves make you a soldier. If it weren’t for my respect for my sister, I would have knocked your teeth out to teach you a lesson by now.”

Unlike Kiernan, Arthur didn’t fear Emerett. He had experienced the displeasure of meeting plenty of men like this. Former soldiers who wanted to rest on their admittedly bare laurels and look down on younger competitors. 

Emerett was wildly out of line to disrespect him here, but if Arthur pulled rank, he would just be giving into the stereotype that Emerett had conjured of a childish prince who couldn’t stand on his own. Arthur would let the tournament results speak for themself. 

~

“You can’t be serious!”

Uther wasn’t even facing him, completely disregarding Arthur’s reaction. 

“We need to do everything to make sure the marriage proceeds smoothly.”

“You want me to throw the fight to Emerett?! Isn’t that just disgracing the throne? All this time, I’ve gotten lecture after lecture about…”

Uther finally turned to face him. Arthur’s throat went dry when he saw the cold and irritated look in his father’s eyes. Years of telling Arthur that every mistake he made in tournaments was a dishonor on the Pendragon name and now he was expected to lose on purpose? Had anything he had ever done actually mattered? Was he just a prop for making his father look good?

Arthur clenched his fingers together behind his back, trying to get a grip on his emotions. The thought of throwing a fight in front of all the knights that he had trained, in front of Leon who had mentored him when he was younger while he father critiqued every misstep Arthur made in sword practice had him feeling nauseous with anger and shame. 

It was bad enough that he was being made to go forward with this marriage, but to be asked to throw away his pride? Wasn’t this too much?

“Do as I say,” Uther said simply, “or there will be consequences.”

~

Arthur leaned against the rampart and took a deep breath, trying to recover a sense of calm. He was supposed to meet with Alicia soon, but the thought of doing so made his head spin unpleasantly. 

“Hey, Goldilocks!”

Arthur looked up. Merlin was sitting on the ledge above him and waving down at him with a grin. 

“How the hell did you even get up there?!” Arthur yelled. 

The door to this part of the castle was locked and there was no way someone could have climbed up to that ledge without a ladder at the least.

“Magic,” Merlin replied with a humorous flourish of his hands.

“Magic is illegal here. By death penalty.”

“What, are you going to snitch on me? I didn’t know you were such a goody-two shoes, Goldilocks.”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Why? I think it suits you. You have such pretty hair.”

Arthur blushed and reached up to touch his hair self-consciously. Merlin grinned and reached his hand down. 

“Want a boost?”

Arthur hesitated, but reached up to grab his hand. He really didn’t want to be found right now and no one would look up.

Merlin helped pull him up, while Arthur balanced his foot on a nearby wall. He was surprisingly strong. But he was an assassin so Arthur wasn’t sure why he had been startled by the subtle flex of muscle in Merlin’s forearm. Arthur settled on the ledge and looked out at the view. Merlin leaned back with his hands against the stone. 

“You know, I hate to put my own credibility at risk here, but should you be sitting on a steep drop next to an assassin?”

Arthur blanched. Merlin reached over and patted his head. 

“Don’t worry. I only mean that your lack of self-preservation is slightly concerning.”

Arthur put his own hand to the hair that Merlin had ruffled. This jerk was really bold. No one ever just reached out a hand and touched him like that. He was the prince. Even the servants who dressed him gave him a wide berth. 

“Unless you’re trying to hire me to off your fiancé, in which case, I’ll give you my price list.”

Arthur glared at him. 

“I’m getting some air. You just happened to be here.”

Merlin leaned his head against one shoulder lackadaisically and regarded Arthur. 

“Are you really going to marry into that godawful family?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business.” Arthur replied.

“No, I don’t mean your father’s atrocious spending habits. I mean why are you going along with it?”

Arthur’s head whipped to look at him in shock.

“You thought I didn’t know about that? It didn’t take much intel gathering to find out.”

Arthur expelled a breath of air and felt all the tension return to his shoulders. 

“It’s my duty as prince. If it benefits the country then it’s only right that I do it.”

Blue eyes were still observing him steadily, and Arthur fought the urge to squirm. 

“I gave you the wrong nickname,” Merlin said. “I bet you wouldn’t steal oatmeal from a bear. You’re like a fairytale prince. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so pitiful.”

Arthur couldn’t decide which part of that statement to focus on. Or determine whether he was being insulted or not. 

“Can we drop the bloody nickname then?” he said finally.

“No, it’s too late for that. I’m attached to it,” Merlin replied immediately. 

“Have you considered that I might push you off the castle wall?”

Merlin beamed at him. An assassin with dimples felt like a contradiction somehow. 

“It’s adorable that you think you could grapple me.”

Arthur fought the heat that suddenly rose in his face. 

“You know I’m a trained swordsman, right?”

“Yeah, but how will you get down from the ledge without me?” Merlin countered. 

Arthur looked down and realized with some degree of vertigo that there was no perceptible way for him to safely return down to the rampart below. 

“That will be five gold,” Merlin joked, extending a palm towards Arthur. 

Arthur scowled at him. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Cenred? You make an awful bodyguard.”

Merlin laughed. 

“You think I’m a bodyguard? That’s a little insulting. A bit below my skill level.”

Fuck. Was Merlin actually here to kill someone? Arthur had just assumed that he was guarding Cenred, but Merlin was only around the foreign king a small part of the time. 

“Relax, Goldilocks. I’m mostly doing intel work. Your wedding is a good opportunity to gather secrets on foreign dignitaries. Plus Cenred likes to occasionally test his nobles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I made it so they each stumbled upon a different piece of fake intel. If any of those gets leaked or sold, then it becomes obvious who doesn’t get to play politics in court anymore.”

Albion’s own court was full of sycophants and schemers. Arthur grimaced at the thought of how many of their own nobles might fail such a test in a grab for power. 

Merlin sighed.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I like the bastard. But our kingdom’s court is like a hydra. You cut off one head and two more poisonous ones will grow in its place.”

“Should you be musing about the drawbacks of killing your king? Here, that would end with a treason charge.”

“Why, what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I’m way too good at my job. He definitely couldn’t pull off killing me and he also can’t let me walk off and work for someone else with all his state secrets. Or incentivize me to kill him. So all in all, it’s a pretty cushy position.”

“Which is why you can spend your free time bothering a foreign prince on a random balustrade mid-day?”

“Precisely. Although, I was here first, you know.”

“It’s my castle!” Arthur protested.

Merlin snickered. 

“So princeling, who are you hiding from? Father, fiancée, or in-laws?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“I’m an assassin, you think I don’t know what hiding looks like?”

A guard stuck his head out and glanced around. Arthur froze. Thankfully, they went unnoticed. It kind of blew a hole in Arthur’s lie about not being hiding, though. 

“Erm, how exactly do we get down from here?”

Merlin jumped down, and Arthur braced himself for the other man to break a leg against the stone from the steepness of the drop, but Merlin’s descent seemingly slowed and he landed gently with catlike grace. When he looked up at Arthur, his eyes were a sparkling shade of gold. He held a hand up to help Arthur down. 

Arthur’s breath caught in his chest, wavering something between fear and awe. 

He took the offered hand and pushed himself off the ledge. Merlin caught him around the waist. Arthur’s heart did a funny flip when he landed and realized that they were standing chest-to-chest and only a breath away. It felt a bit silly being helped down like a lady dismounting a horse. 

Arthur stepped back and turned to leave. He paused. 

“Are you going to watch the tournament?”

Merlin grinned at him again. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Damn. 

~

Arthur had steadily knocked his opponents out of the roster all day long. He was truly fighting at his best. Which made the whole thing even more of a farce. 

He had only caught a few glimpses of Emerett fighting and what he did see looked brutal. If he threw the fight, there would be no way to do so without getting injured and painfully so. He really doubted Emerett would pull punches for him, given the disdain he had shown for Arthur so far. 

With each match, his anxiety was growing. He kept hoping that someone would win and knock Emerett out of the bracket, but the man was also advancing steadily. At this rate, they would be the final match. 

Leon was the only person who had come to wish him luck before the competition. And the discretion which the older knight had done so made Arthur wonder if the sudden isolation he was feeling was actually on his father’s orders. It was a very sinking feeling of slow and claustrophobic descent. To wonder if anyone was actually really rooting for you. Or if anyone had ever actually been on your side. 

Obviously, he had not been given any tokens of luck or affection for this tournament. Even his tittering fiancée had neglected to give him a ribbon. He wondered if she had given one to her brother. 

A squire came to get him and he left the tent for his next match. Maybe he should just throw this one instead? Give it to an aspiring knight. But he knew that wasn’t really an option. His father would consider him losing here as much a betrayal of disobedience as if he won in the final round. 

Arthur took a quick glance around the crowd while he waited for his opponent to arrive. There was no comfort from the booth where his father, Morgana, and future in-laws sat. He swallowed an unpleasant lump in his throat. Gwen was standing behind Morgana looking anxious which didn’t exactly give him courage. Curious, he looked over to Cenred’s section. The nobles there seemed more interested in drinking and socializing than the actual fighting, but he did spy Merlin, leaning against the front row railing and wearing a calculating look. It was such a different expression than the one he had been giving Arthur yesterday that it gave him pause. 

He wasn’t able to contemplate it for much longer because his opponent had arrived. The match was respectful and his opponent was reasonably skilled. But Arthur was clearly the superior swordsman and they both knew it. The man seemed determined, not to win, but to stick it out against Arthur for as long as possible. When he lost, he gave Arthur a grin and a bow. Arthur’s stomach churned. 

He returned to his tent. George went through the motions of rechecking his armor and disappeared. Arthur downed some water and fought the urge to pace anxiously back and forth. Did it even matter if he wasted his stamina?

When someone ducked into the tent, he thought it might be George bringing more water, but he turned to see Merlin. 

“You know, you’re not just supposed to wander into people’s tents, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned.

“Yeah, but who’s going to stop me?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin wandered up and pulled on an armor strap. 

“Are you sabotaging me, now?” Arthur asked.

Merlin gave him a searching look. He had really long, dark eyelashes. Arthur kicked himself for getting distracted and tried to remember that Merlin was in fact objectively quite dangerous. 

“Do you want some advice?”

“From you?” Arthur said, fully knowing he sounded like an arse, but unable to stop himself.

Merlin just looked mildly amused. 

“Yeah, believe it or not, I’m pretty good at combat analysis.”

Merlin’s eyes were as piercing as ever. It made you feel a little bit like a butterfly pinned to a cork board, under careful observation. Arthur, who was mostly used to subservient attitudes from nobles and servants, had to fight the urge to shift on his feet. 

“He’s the bludgeoning type. I got that much. I can also do combat analysis,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, but he also favors his right ankle. Probably scar tissue from an old injury. So his weight distribution is off. He makes up for it by smashing at his opponent so they can’t counter strike.” Merlin rattled off, tapping Arthur’s right ankle with his foot.

Arthur blinked in surprise. It was unusual for even experienced knights to pick up that much about an opponent. 

“So, if I was you and didn’t want to get injured…instead of trying to block and counter, I’d dodge the first strike by stepping to his right and then attack him on that side so it forces weight onto his bad ankle. Just saying.”

Arthur wanted to complain out of habit. But it was technically a good strategy. Even if he was aiming to win, he would probably get badly injured if he let Emerett set the tone of the fight the way the man had done with prior opponents.

The problem, however, was that he wasn’t meant to win. 

“You’re fast enough,” Merlin commented offhandedly. 

“Have you been analyzing everyone’s fighting styles this whole tournament?”

Merlin smiled.

“Good luck, Goldilocks.”

He tapped Arthur’s forehead with a finger. Arthur frowned and covered his forehead with his hand while Merlin strode off. Really, this guy was so touchy. 

Well, Arthur didn’t hate it, considering everyone else was avoiding him like he had contracted the plague. But still, he was the prince for fuck’s sake. Merlin should try for a little decorum. 

A horn blew. It was time for the final fight.

~

Even with the helmet on, Arthur could tell that Emerett was sneering at him. The worst part of this whole situation was that Arthur still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do. He knew his father would be furious if he didn’t throw the fight, but he felt physically repulsed by the idea. 

If it had been someone he respected then maybe he could have swallowed his pride and done it with gritted teeth. But the truth was that Arthur didn’t want to lose. 

The situation had been chipping away at his autonomy slowly but surely. And he had made the sacrifice because he was the prince. But more than that, even deeper in his identity was the fact that he was a swordsman. How many years had he trained through heat and calluses and injuries and doubts? How hard had he worked to prove that he was good ? That he was worth following, not just because he was a prince, but because he was skilled?

All his emotions were compressing in his chest. Arthur was fucking angry and he wasn’t even allowed to be that. 

He wasn’t sure what was worse…people thinking he had lost or people knowing he had thrown the match. Arthur had put up with so much, had worked so hard …and now he was just supposed to roll over like a dog? Accept being beaten up with grace and a smile? 

The match began and Emerett slammed his sword down above Arthur’s head. Arthur blocked. Damn it. Merlin had been right, this put him at a disadvantage. He had been so furious that he had let his focus on strategy slip away. 

Emerett began raining blows down on Arthur in succession, not giving him a chance to counter. Clearly, the man was used to exhausting his opponents by driving them into a corner. But Arthur was smarter than the others. 

Instead of stepping back on instinct from the barrage of blows, Arthur waited until Emerett raised his sword and stepped forward. By closing the space, Emerett couldn’t strike as effectively and was forced to step back himself. Arthur slammed forward into him to knock his opponent off rhythm. The man responded with more rage, slashing at Arthur erratically. 

His strategy had only given him a temporary window of relief, but it was enough. Arthur parried and countered. Now the fight was evening out and Arthur had a chance to strike instead of being strictly on the defensive. 

The fight was dragging, both growing exhausted and Arthur could feel his limbs jarring under the blow of the opponent’s sword slamming into his own. 

It continued. Parry and counter. At this rate, whoever tired first would lose. Arthur wasn’t thinking anymore. He was acting on instinct from years of combat. 

He saw an opening. It was risky and stupid, but he would win. Arthur would win if he just- 

Emerett pulled his sword back to strike. 

Arthur didn’t block. 

The sword struck into his upper arm with a searing pain. 

Arthur stepped into the strike, slicing his arm further. 

And then he drove his sword toward Emerett’s neck, stopping only a hairsbreadth short of piercing his throat. 

The crowd cheered. Arthur grinned. He had won. He had won. Then realization struck. 

Shit. 

He had won. 

~

Arthur had been expecting a punishment. Getting screamed at by his father. Confinement to his room. Long days with his insipid fiancée. 

He hadn’t been expecting this. 

The whip cracked into his back and Arthur gritted his teeth. There was still blood pouring from his poorly bandaged arm. And now there was blood pouring down his back. He was trying really hard to suppress the nausea and spots in his vision, knowing it would only prolong things if he passed out and angered his father further. 

This had only happened once before. When Arthur was fifteen and a nobleman had gotten too handsy with Morgana. Arthur had told him off, only to find out that the man’s key position on the council meant that he should have kept silent. Arthur had solemnly toed the line of obedience ever since then. So he supposed, he shouldn’t be surprised. Somehow he had forgotten how harsh his father could be when Arthur wasn’t playing the perfect, dutiful son to the best of his abilities. 

The pain struck again, and Arthur ground his teeth together to fight the urge to vomit. 

Even the castle executioner who was holding the whip seemed to pity him. Arthur wondered how far off track his life must have gotten if the man who burnt people alive for a living was giving him a sympathetic glance. 

His back was torn to shreds. He could feel the overhang of flesh from the cuts which was a sickening sensation in of itself, even aside from the pain radiating across his spine. 

This was a very clear message. If Arthur didn’t toe the line where the marriage was concerned, Uther would drag him to it. 

~

Arthur laid face down on his bed and tried to think of anything except the waves of pain sliding across his back. Uther hadn’t even let Gaius treat him immediately. He was told to wait until morning. Which was a bit shocking because this extensive kind of wound could be deadly if infection set in. Arthur was suddenly hit by the image of his corpse propped up in the wedding party. God.

He let out a small laugh and immediately regretted it when he felt the movement stretch the cuts. 

Morgana had always been convinced that Uther didn’t really love them. That he wasn’t capable of it. In her mind, Uther’s affection only extended as far as their value as assets. And Arthur had always argued with her, upset and wanting to believe the contrary. Now, he was starting to doubt. 

He hadn’t broached the topic of Kiernan with his father, ashamed and afraid to see his reaction. Was it possible that his father knew about the rumors surrounding Kiernan and just…didn’t care? Uther had always been willing to turn a blind eye to anything except magic where nobility was concerned. But still, this was Arthur. His father didn’t exactly have kind feelings about men who bedded other men and surely he wasn’t willing to subject Arthur to…?

Arthur couldn’t think about this right now. He needed to focus on anything else. Even the pain in his back. 

Then he heard a knock. Arthur didn’t know who the hell was bold enough to come visit right now against his father’s wishes. Gaius or Morgana maybe? Then the knock sounded again and Arthur realized it wasn’t the door to his room, it was the balcony door. 

“Hey Goldilocks, you still alive?”

Arthur tried to sit up, but flinched and collapsed back on the bed. In a way, it was ironically hilarious that the only person who came to see him was a foreign assassin. If Merlin had decided to kill him now, he had great timing.

“Unfortunately,” he croaked in response. 

Merlin slipped into the room and sat down on the bed next to Arthur. 

“Bloody hell,” Merlin said, taking in his back.

“How the fuck did you get here? This is the third story.”

Merlin gave him a look. Oh right, magic. Arthur was too tired to consider the implications of that. 

The assassin hefted a shoulder bag onto his lap and started pulling out bandages. 

“These have a really strong healing potion on them,” he said, referring to some odd looking strips of bandage with a green sludge on them.

Arthur probably should have been concerned about poison, but he was in too much pain to protest. 

“If you keep them on, the wounds will mostly heal by morning. It will still scar though, sorry.”

“Ok,” Arthur mumbled into the sheets. 

He wasn’t sure if he believed Merlin, but maybe Cenred’s fostaí had magical technology that Arthur was totally unfamiliar with. Merlin stood up and leaned over him, carefully sticking the bandages to his back to seal the wounds. The potion must have included pain relief, because it felt cool and the pain dulled each time one was placed. Within a few minutes, the pain felt manageable instead of incapacitating. 

“I’ve been injured badly before, but good god,” Merlin commented, sitting back on the bed next to where Arthur laid, still on his stomach. 

“It’s not that bad,” Arthur lied.

Merlin reached over and tousled his hair. Arthur hoped he wouldn’t move his hand away. 

“Pet, if you were going to torture someone for information this would be overkill. It’s generally advised that you don’t risk killing them like this.”

Arthur’s brain tried to grapple with the information that: A) a trained assassin thought his father had really gone overboard and B) that Merlin had called him pet.

“You should get some rest,” Merlin said, pulling his hand back.

Arthur caught his wrist and flinched at the twinge in his back. He really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now. But he also wasn’t really sure how to ask Merlin to stay. 

“I won’t be able to sleep like this. Just stay and distract me for a while,” he blurted out. 

Merlin gave him a surprisingly soft look and dropped back to lay on the bed next to him. 

“Does it hurt?” Arthur asked, looking at the snake tattoo curled around his arm.

“Not as much as you probably do right now. And no, not really. It feels more like a constant cat scratch from the needle? Wanna see something fun?” Merlin said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Merlin flexed the arm and the tattoo moved, slithering and shifting across the skin. And then Arthur startled while the snake became three-dimensional, emerging from the skin to become a real snake, wrapped around his arm. 

Arthur felt a small measure of fear. He really wasn’t used to seeing magic up this close without it trying to kill him. 

“It’s not a real snake, but it is venomous,” Merlin added.

“It’s just…made of magic?”

Merlin hummed.

“Something like that, yeah. For a country dedicated to killing magicians, you sure don’t know much about magic, huh?”

The tattoo slid back into Merlin’s arm and settled. Arthur wondered if the thrill he felt in a sword fight and the pull he felt toward this clearly dangerous person came from the same pool of risk-seeking compulsion. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Arthur blurted out. 

Damn, that wasn’t the way Arthur intended to word the question. It was meant to sound suspicious. Now, he sounded like a lonely child. 

Merlin’s eyes scanned his face and Arthur once again had the feeling that he was being perceived much more accurately than he was comfortable with. He reached out and pushed a lock of hair off Arthur’s brow. 

“I just think you’re interesting, that’s all. You’re not as mousey as you look at first glance.”

Arthur was positive that no one had ever described him as mousey before. Not even behind his back. But then again, he had a feeling that Merlin perceived most people as belonging to the prey animal portion of the food pyramid. 

“I like people with a little bit of bite in them,” Merlin continued. “What’s that story that has the tiny mouse with a needle sword?”

“I thought maybe you were trying to recruit me to work for you,” Arthur joked. 

Merlin chuckled.

“It’s not really the kind of thing you apply for. Or join as an adult.” 

“I’m also lacking in dangerous magic.”

“Most magic isn’t actually dangerous.” Merlin laughed. “Mine is just a little sharp-edged.”

“That’s not my experience.” 

“It’s not inherently any more brutal than a sword or a whip. Just a little more intellectual.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin grinned. Then he stretched his arms.

“Fine, want to see some tamer magic? I’ll try to think of a baby spell that won’t scare you.”

Arthur was beginning to feel a little bit insulted. He wasn’t that scared of magic. Just…a little cautious. Then again the person who had drilled that caution into him had just had him whipped half to death so…

“Ah, what should I do?” Merlin mused. “Minor illusion or…transfigure something?”

He grabbed a coin from his pocket and flung it in the air where it hung suspended. Merlin’s eyes glowed gold again and his hands moved through the air as if he was weaving at strings or plucking at an instrument. The coin seemed to shudder a little before its shape began to change, shifting into something new. It finally settled in the form of a dragonfly. Merlin flicked it with his finger and it took flight. 

“You don’t even understand how impressive that spell work was, do you?” Merlin said, while Arthur watched it flutter around erratically, wings buzzing. 

The statement startled a laugh out of Arthur and he was surprised to notice that his back didn’t hurt as much. Merlin smiled. 

“Not a baby spell, then?”

“No, for you, only the most stunning displays of advanced magic.” 

“Very impressive.”

“It’s all in the sleight of hand,” Merlin said with a smirk.

~

At some point, Arthur really did fall asleep. When he awoke in the morning to sunlight peeking through the curtains, Merlin was gone. He had left the coin in Arthur’s hand, though. It was a foreign currency that he didn’t recognize. 

Arthur pushed himself upright and was shocked to find that beyond some residual tightness, his back was completely free of pain. He went to the mirror and pulled off the sticky strips of bandage. Underneath were only some very fresh, puckered scars. Wow. He had never considered just how much convenience his kingdom was missing out on due to the magic ban. How many injuries had he suffered that could have been healed this quickly? 

Shit. He was absolutely at a loss for how to explain this to Gaius. Arthur rolled his shoulders cringing at the pull of the scar tissue. He pulled out the coin and looked down at it. Arthur really owed Merlin a favor. Without thinking, he brought the coin to his lips while he pondered about how to keep Gaius in the dark. Plus George might eventually show up with food and it would be suspicious if Arthur wasn’t incapacitated and writhing in pain. 

Still, it looked to be mid-morning and no one had showed up with food. Was his father continuing the punishment with a fasting period? 

The balcony doors bust open, and Merlin entered with a brioche bun held between his teeth and a basket of food in his arms. 

“There is such a thing as knocking.”

Merlin dropped the basket and grabbed the bread hanging out of his mouth. 

“You’re very ungrateful toward someone who brought you breakfast.”

“Hey. How am I supposed to explain this?” Arthur said, gesturing at his healed back.

“Oh, it’s fine. I put a ward on the door so that everyone will forget what they came to do and turn around. Plus, I can always glamour it to look injured again if you need.”

Arthur was getting the impression that Merlin’s exceedingly casual use of magic meant that he was in fact very powerful. 

“Isn’t that spell hard to do?”

“No, the magic users in your country are just really weak,” Merlin replied, popping a potato into his mouth. “Was that rude? Sorry.”

Merlin didn’t look sorry at all. 

Arthur walked over and stole some of the food to eat. It looked like Merlin had taken a sampling of things from the market. He was once again struck by the bizarre nature of this situation. He had been told his whole life that sorcerers were dangerous and evil and absolutely out to kill him. And now he was sharing breakfast with one of Cenred’s magical assassins and feeling strangely at ease in Merlin’s presence. Maybe he was becoming a little lonely. 

Then again, like Merlin had said when they met, if he wanted Arthur dead, he could have easily killed him by now. Hell, he could wait for Arthur to marry into this horrible family and watch as they murdered him from afar. No action needed. 

“Magic users here have repeatedly tried to kill me. I don’t think they’re that weak,” Arthur groused around a muffin.

“Ah, no I mean they’re…” Merlin interrupted himself to mumble something in Gaelic, “you don’t have a word for it. Hedge-witches. They don’t have any inherent magic and have to draw it from the environment so they’re a lot weaker. And they don’t have any formal training.”

Clearly, there were complex magical class politics that Arthur was not privy to. He hadn’t really considered that being a thing. But it made a weird sort of sense, despite having always thought of sorcerers as one unambiguous group with the same goals. It was probably more complicated than that. 

“It’s snowing. Do you want to play hooky with me?” Merlin asked, before biting into an apple. 

Arthur looked outside and saw that the first snow of the season had begun to fall. It was tempting. Stupid, but tempting. 

“How am I supposed to sneak out of the castle?”

Merlin grinned.

“The same way I got in.”

~

Once Arthur had washed up and piled on some warmer clothes, he stepped out onto the balcony where Merlin was waiting. 

“Ready?” Merlin said, extending a hand.

Arthur took it, feeling awkwardly like he was accepting a dance invitation. He jumped in surprise when Merlin wrapped the other arm around his waist, pulling them close. He could see their breath mingling together in the cold air. 

“Ah, it can be a little disorienting the first time so…just hold on to me until you feel steady.”

Arthur blushed, hearing a weird double-entendre in the words that Merlin, who looked rather serious, had not intended. 

Then the world warped. Arthur clung to Merlin, consumed by a wild form of vertigo that he had never experienced before. Then he made the mistake of letting go while the ground still tilted and wobbled, crashing into a nearby tree. 

“Sorry,” Merlin said, sounding legitimately contrite for once. 

He helped Arthur up. The dizziness quickly receded and he realized that they were standing at the entrance to the forest outside the citadel. 

What the hell? Merlin was right, Arthur really didn’t know much about magic at all. He had never considered something like that was even possible. 

“It’s your forest. So tell me where we should go,” Merlin said. 

Arthur jumped at the opportunity to regain his pride after that embarrassing tumble and set off hiking toward a spot that he knew wasn’t patrolled. After a while, they eventually reached the lake. It was too early for it to have frozen over, but it was still pretty. The surrounding trees and ground were covered in a downy layer of snow. 

“I guess you have a magical advantage in snowball fights.”

Merlin laughed loudly. 

“Actually I’m a fire mage, so if anything I have disadvantage.”

Arthur grinned. Oh finally, a weakness. 

~

They both laid on the ground, panting from exertion and covered in wet snow. Arthur snorted. And Merlin let out another round of cackles at the un-princely sound. 

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out into the woods and goofed off like this. It felt a little like being a kid again. If he just blatantly ignored all the problems awaiting him back at the castle. He exhaled deeply, and his breath swirled in the air above him.

He sat up and shivered, realizing that he was damp in the freezing cold. Merlin noticed his shoulders shake and sat up as well, flicking his wrist in Arthur’s direction. The air around him warmed immediately and Arthur couldn’t suppress a grin. 

“It’s a shame that the lake isn’t frozen. We could go ice skating.”

Arthur looked at him in confusion.

“What? You don’t have ice skating here?!” Merlin exclaimed with a laugh. 

“Is that the ridiculous sport where you slide around ice on blades?”

Arthur had seen it once while visiting for a diplomatic meeting. 

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it super dangerous?”

“Also yes.”

Arthur doubled over in laughter. God, it had really been a long time since he had any fun, huh?

“It figures you would like that one,” Arthur mused. 

“Where’s the fun without the risk of concussion? Isn’t that why you like sword fighting? I bet you even joust.”

Arthur couldn’t even argue. He did like jousting. 

“Are they still going through with the hunt next week?”

“Yeah, as long as it doesn't snow too badly.”

“Let me guess, you’re expected to show up, injuries be damned?” Merlin said, sounding less amused. 

Arthur felt a lump form in his throat. He changed the topic. 

“Thanks. For um, the bandages,” Arthur said. 

“You owe me 500 gold. Those are expensive,” Merlin teased.

Arthur cracked another laugh as the tension eased. 

“Can I get a discount?”